The Haunting of Shimla: A Weekend Getaway Gone Wrong

Shimla is a popular summer destination in India, often swarmed during the peak season as people escape the heatwaves in cities like Chandigarh, Punjab, Haryana, and Delhi. I live in Chandigarh, and on a Friday evening, three of my friends picked up three cases of beer and asked me to be ready with my ice box as we were heading to Shimla for the weekend. It was a casual street trip, so no clothes were packed—just two cases of beer in the car's boot, one case in an ice box in the second row seats. We left Chandigarh around 7:00 PM, with no idea about the accommodations in Shimla. Our friend who was driving told us that one of his friends had a guesthouse in Shimla, but that was all we knew. Some of our other friends were ahead of us in another vehicle, and our friend who knew the guesthouse shared the location with them.

While we got stuck in a traffic jam, the friends in the other vehicle managed to reach the guesthouse on time (around 8:30 PM) and called us to say that the place looked strange and felt uneasy. They left and booked a stay somewhere else in the center of Shimla. They told us to go to that place only if we had no other option. We didn't think much of it.

We got out of the traffic, and three of us had consumed two cases of beer (Kingfisher Light, 24 bottles x 650ml). We had our final case of beer in the ice box as we arrived in Shimla. We had supper at a local place and went on to Summer Hill to the guesthouse.

The path was dim, with tree branches lying over the street like a deserted ghost town. It was around 10:00 PM when we arrived, and the place looked like an abandoned house. We were hesitant to step inside, but we were all 6 feet tall, and the roof was only 5 feet off the ground, so we couldn't stand straight anywhere. The friend who claimed the guesthouse appeared in no time and showed us the rooms. As we weren't carrying any clothes or anything, it was just the beer in the ice box that needed to be unpacked.

We kept the ice box in one of the rooms, and we were given four partitioned rooms. Just as the guesthouse owner was leaving, he said, "Do not open the windows or the doors, no matter how badly they are being knocked." That's when goosebumps took over, and I asked him, who would knock the windows at this hour? As I was about to fix the shades on the windows, he held my hand and said, let the night pass—do not open the window ornaments or the windows. At this time, we were slightly drunk (two cases of beer), and that was enough reason to rest that night. After the owner (friend) left, we all moved into one room that had a window from where we could see our car parked. Four of us slept on a 6x6 feet bed and shared the one connected washroom.

The night went by, with thumps at night, but the bigger issue was four of us trying to fit on that bed. We got up the following morning, and the beer in the ice box was still chilled. We had that case of beer as a pre-breakfast appetizer and, as we were to empty the place, I had this curiosity to see what was behind the window where he stopped me from opening the window ornaments. So, I went outside the guesthouse to see the area behind the window, and it was a deep ditch—not even an inch of space for someone to stand and knock. It was stunning, and we never went to that place again or trusted that friend to book a stay (ever again).

In truth, the four of us never went on a hill trip together again. A few months later, the friend who knew the guesthouse owner conveyed the news that the guesthouse owner (his friend) had committed suicide at that same guesthouse. We never talked about this again.

Thoughts?