"Are you sure this is the place ?'
The taxi driver nodded his head, and started offloading my luggage . Within seconds he had dumped my one duffel bag and a faded strolley on the deserted drive way, and had driven away.
There was one solitary tube light dismally lighting up the exterior. It was an example of the ugliest possible architecture.
One of those designed by a mad millionaire. There was a garden with a profusion of garden gnomes , all painted hastily in bright whitewash. In the dark, all seemed to swivel towards me , facing me like so many ghosts. I quickly turned my gaze.
There was no security at the door.A huge brass knocker sounded somewhere deep in the bellies of this queer house , where I was supposed to spend my night, before catching the morning flight to my destination. It looked so exotic on the net, now I was having second thoughts. The parking lot was vacant. No one seemed to have checked in . Involuntarily, I shivered . I regretted having sent the taxi away.
I was still mulling serious thoughts of escape , when I heard a small cough next to me . I started and was about to yell, when i saw a small man in top hat and coat-tails standing next to me . The door was ajar. For the life of me, i do not remember seeing it open.
He coughed discreetly again before curtseying-"Mr. Miller. Hotel Sylvan Heights welcomes you.I am your concierge Carlton"
With that brief welcome , he quickly grabbed my luggage and swept in , noiselessly. The hallway lit up as soon as we stepped in . There were exotic chandeliers belonging to a bygone era , hanging from the high ceiling. Thick , maroon carpet with persian design covered the floor. There was not a soul in sight . But the place looked clean and well -kept.
Carlton glided ahead of me.We crossed the lobby and entered the lift.
"Your room is no. 203 sir, that is on second floor."was the first sentence , Carlton spoke as we faced each other in the lift.There was some thing in the way he spoke , that set one's teeth on edge . Perhaps it was that last century get up, and that weird victorian era bearings and accent.
"Tell me Carlton. Why is there no crowd here?" I asked him as the lift took us up
"Off-season sir." was his succinct reply.
We spoke no more. When he showed me my room, I had no more apprehensions . It was as lavish a suite as one could ever dream of staying in. There were gold plated bathroom fittings , snow white fluffy beddings on a four poster bed , fresh flowers on the living area table and a well stocked refrigerator.Carlton filled the bathtub with steaming hot water and I had one of the most relaxing baths , in a long while.
I was terribly hungry, when I emerged from the bath. As I stepped into the dining space , I was startled to see Carlton, standing with the food trolley.
"How did you come in ?"
"Spare key sir." was his spartan reply.
My choicest dishes had been served up. I was amazed.
"How did you know my choice of meal ?"
"Your choices sir, in your room service requirement."
I vaguely remembered having filled some such silly detail , while booking the room.
Carlton waited patiently, as I ate . I must remember to leave a generous tip, I thought, before I leave.
Befuddled with such an excellent meal, I slept like a baby. At 0230 am , I suddenly got up with a start.I was sweating , and I thought I heard screams of "Fire !Fire!"I saw an orange glow outside the window and suddenly the curtains burst into flames.A moment later, my four poster bed was aflame. I opened my mouth to scream , but no sound came out. I was frozen on my bed , and fell unconscious. When I came to. there was no fire any where and I was extremely thirsty, I could see some one standing in the room.Even in the dark, I could make out the top-hat.
"Carlton !"I called out. The figure did not move , neither did it respond. I switched on the bedside lamp, and saw Carlton standing there holding a pitcher of water.
"Oh, Thank God , Carlton .Was there a fire Carlton?"
"No , sire, you must have dreamt."
"Yeah, right!Some dream.You gave me such a scare . How did you..? Oh the spare key of course."I kept blabbering, unaware of an intense look, that he fixed me with.
"In the morning , I have to attend to other chores , sire . I may not be able to present myself. But the taxi has been booked for at 0630hrs and your needs will be attended to. Good night sire."
He , then, melted into the darkness.
Groggy with sleep, I slept off instantly afterwards.
Next morning, my hot breakfast waited for me on the table ,but this time there was no Carlton. I remembered what he told me last night. My clothes were kept neatly folded, for me to wear, and my shoes had been polished . I couldn't have asked for more . As I wheeled my strolley and duffel out, the lift moved up to my floor, and stopped, the grill opened on its own , before I could touch it,I marvelled at the technology and remembered the tip. As i reached front desk, which was as unmanned as it was last night, I hastily took out an envelope and placed some bank notes into it. Grabbing a pen I scribbled "For Carlton ."" Thanking you for your impeccable service ." and placed it on the counter.
I could hear the taxi purring outside , so I had to leave.
Few weeks later, I met some friends who lived in the city M, where I had such a memorable stay at the Hotel Sylvan Heights;which I happened to mention to them. I also added, to spite them, that they had never mentioned such a fine hotel of their city .
They all looked at each other , in wonder, then at me . After a while , one of them spoke haltingly,
"Hotel Sylvan Heights you say."
"Yes! " I went onto describe the hotel in great details , and how it was manned by only one man , who was the concierge and the waiter , all in one .As I kept speaking , their eyes kept widening in ever increasing wonder and fear.
There was a long silence after I concluded. Then one of them spoke ,"But you see Miller, the fact is , this hotel you speak so highly of ,has been gutted in a fire two months back. No one died in that accident , all were saved thanks to the diligence and bravery of a waiter called Carlton, the only casualty of the fire."
There was a long silence . Then I began laughing hysterically. I challenged them to come and have a look at the said hotel. My friends stared at me , as though they seriously doubted my sanity.
On my insistence, they agreed to visit the" site", as they kept calling the hotel, next Monday. Even if it was to "clear my mind " and thereby proving their point.
Nothing could prepare me for the jolt I received. The walls, or what remained of them , were charred black, the garden gnomes,sooty, faceless. The place still reeked of smoke and profound dereliction met everywhere.Gone was the beauty and opulence, I had seen.
My friends had that "I told you so" smug look on the face , whereas I was speechless with horror. As we entered those massive doors, now burnt and charred, I showed them what was left of the reception desk, when my eyes fell on some thing I recognised, instantly. I stopped mid sentence.
A white envelope , with"For Carlton.""Thank you for your impeccable services" written in my writing on top stood out amidst the cinders and the wreckage.I quietly picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket. There was no point showing this piece of evidence to my already gloating friends.
When I reached home, I smoothed it out . Inside , the banknotes were missing . A piece of white handmade paper fell out. Under the majestic seal of the hotel, was typed -"Thank you, Mr. Miller."
The taxi driver nodded his head, and started offloading my luggage . Within seconds he had dumped my one duffel bag and a faded strolley on the deserted drive way, and had driven away.
There was one solitary tube light dismally lighting up the exterior. It was an example of the ugliest possible architecture.
One of those designed by a mad millionaire. There was a garden with a profusion of garden gnomes , all painted hastily in bright whitewash. In the dark, all seemed to swivel towards me , facing me like so many ghosts. I quickly turned my gaze.
There was no security at the door.A huge brass knocker sounded somewhere deep in the bellies of this queer house , where I was supposed to spend my night, before catching the morning flight to my destination. It looked so exotic on the net, now I was having second thoughts. The parking lot was vacant. No one seemed to have checked in . Involuntarily, I shivered . I regretted having sent the taxi away.
I was still mulling serious thoughts of escape , when I heard a small cough next to me . I started and was about to yell, when i saw a small man in top hat and coat-tails standing next to me . The door was ajar. For the life of me, i do not remember seeing it open.
He coughed discreetly again before curtseying-"Mr. Miller. Hotel Sylvan Heights welcomes you.I am your concierge Carlton"
With that brief welcome , he quickly grabbed my luggage and swept in , noiselessly. The hallway lit up as soon as we stepped in . There were exotic chandeliers belonging to a bygone era , hanging from the high ceiling. Thick , maroon carpet with persian design covered the floor. There was not a soul in sight . But the place looked clean and well -kept.
Carlton glided ahead of me.We crossed the lobby and entered the lift.
"Your room is no. 203 sir, that is on second floor."was the first sentence , Carlton spoke as we faced each other in the lift.There was some thing in the way he spoke , that set one's teeth on edge . Perhaps it was that last century get up, and that weird victorian era bearings and accent.
"Tell me Carlton. Why is there no crowd here?" I asked him as the lift took us up
"Off-season sir." was his succinct reply.
We spoke no more. When he showed me my room, I had no more apprehensions . It was as lavish a suite as one could ever dream of staying in. There were gold plated bathroom fittings , snow white fluffy beddings on a four poster bed , fresh flowers on the living area table and a well stocked refrigerator.Carlton filled the bathtub with steaming hot water and I had one of the most relaxing baths , in a long while.
I was terribly hungry, when I emerged from the bath. As I stepped into the dining space , I was startled to see Carlton, standing with the food trolley.
"How did you come in ?"
"Spare key sir." was his spartan reply.
My choicest dishes had been served up. I was amazed.
"How did you know my choice of meal ?"
"Your choices sir, in your room service requirement."
I vaguely remembered having filled some such silly detail , while booking the room.
Carlton waited patiently, as I ate . I must remember to leave a generous tip, I thought, before I leave.
Befuddled with such an excellent meal, I slept like a baby. At 0230 am , I suddenly got up with a start.I was sweating , and I thought I heard screams of "Fire !Fire!"I saw an orange glow outside the window and suddenly the curtains burst into flames.A moment later, my four poster bed was aflame. I opened my mouth to scream , but no sound came out. I was frozen on my bed , and fell unconscious. When I came to. there was no fire any where and I was extremely thirsty, I could see some one standing in the room.Even in the dark, I could make out the top-hat.
"Carlton !"I called out. The figure did not move , neither did it respond. I switched on the bedside lamp, and saw Carlton standing there holding a pitcher of water.
"Oh, Thank God , Carlton .Was there a fire Carlton?"
"No , sire, you must have dreamt."
"Yeah, right!Some dream.You gave me such a scare . How did you..? Oh the spare key of course."I kept blabbering, unaware of an intense look, that he fixed me with.
"In the morning , I have to attend to other chores , sire . I may not be able to present myself. But the taxi has been booked for at 0630hrs and your needs will be attended to. Good night sire."
He , then, melted into the darkness.
Groggy with sleep, I slept off instantly afterwards.
Next morning, my hot breakfast waited for me on the table ,but this time there was no Carlton. I remembered what he told me last night. My clothes were kept neatly folded, for me to wear, and my shoes had been polished . I couldn't have asked for more . As I wheeled my strolley and duffel out, the lift moved up to my floor, and stopped, the grill opened on its own , before I could touch it,I marvelled at the technology and remembered the tip. As i reached front desk, which was as unmanned as it was last night, I hastily took out an envelope and placed some bank notes into it. Grabbing a pen I scribbled "For Carlton ."" Thanking you for your impeccable service ." and placed it on the counter.
I could hear the taxi purring outside , so I had to leave.
Few weeks later, I met some friends who lived in the city M, where I had such a memorable stay at the Hotel Sylvan Heights;which I happened to mention to them. I also added, to spite them, that they had never mentioned such a fine hotel of their city .
They all looked at each other , in wonder, then at me . After a while , one of them spoke haltingly,
"Hotel Sylvan Heights you say."
"Yes! " I went onto describe the hotel in great details , and how it was manned by only one man , who was the concierge and the waiter , all in one .As I kept speaking , their eyes kept widening in ever increasing wonder and fear.
There was a long silence after I concluded. Then one of them spoke ,"But you see Miller, the fact is , this hotel you speak so highly of ,has been gutted in a fire two months back. No one died in that accident , all were saved thanks to the diligence and bravery of a waiter called Carlton, the only casualty of the fire."
There was a long silence . Then I began laughing hysterically. I challenged them to come and have a look at the said hotel. My friends stared at me , as though they seriously doubted my sanity.
On my insistence, they agreed to visit the" site", as they kept calling the hotel, next Monday. Even if it was to "clear my mind " and thereby proving their point.
Nothing could prepare me for the jolt I received. The walls, or what remained of them , were charred black, the garden gnomes,sooty, faceless. The place still reeked of smoke and profound dereliction met everywhere.Gone was the beauty and opulence, I had seen.
My friends had that "I told you so" smug look on the face , whereas I was speechless with horror. As we entered those massive doors, now burnt and charred, I showed them what was left of the reception desk, when my eyes fell on some thing I recognised, instantly. I stopped mid sentence.
A white envelope , with"For Carlton.""Thank you for your impeccable services" written in my writing on top stood out amidst the cinders and the wreckage.I quietly picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket. There was no point showing this piece of evidence to my already gloating friends.
When I reached home, I smoothed it out . Inside , the banknotes were missing . A piece of white handmade paper fell out. Under the majestic seal of the hotel, was typed -"Thank you, Mr. Miller."
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