The Lobby Light

Maya had always been a practical woman, a logistics coordinator for a shipping company in Visakhapatnam, a city of hills and sea. Her job was a blur of docks, warehouses, and the constant hum of diesel engines, but it kept her moving, and she liked that. She often combined her business trips with personal visits, and this time, after a meeting in Rajahmundry, she planned to meet her old friend, Arjun, in the temple town of Srikalahasti. They’d agreed to share a hotel for a night before heading their separate ways.

Arjun reached the hotel, the Maruthi Residency, late that Tuesday night. The town was asleep, the streets lit by a few dim yellow lamps that flickered like dying fireflies. He checked in, the receptionist a wiry man with oiled hair and a nervous tic in his left eye. The lobby was small, with peeling paint and an old tube light that buzzed and cast a sickly green pallor over everything. Arjun asked for a room, but the man said, ‘Only the first floor is available, sir, Room 103. It’s our best.’ Arjun, too tired to argue, took the key and climbed the creaking stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

The room was modest, with a hard bed and a window overlooking a narrow alley. The air smelled of stale incense and dust. He set his bag down, locked the door, and lay on the bed, but sleep did not come. He felt a strange unease, a prickling at the back of his neck. The light from the bathroom flickered, and he got up to check the switch. As he reached for it, he heard a faint sound from the lobby below—a low, rhythmic scraping, as if something heavy was being dragged across the floor.

He shrugged it off, thinking it was the night staff cleaning. But the sound continued, punctuated by a soft, wet thud. Curious and slightly annoyed, he pulled on his shirt and went down the stairs. The lobby was empty. The receptionist was gone, his chair empty, a ledger open on the counter. The scraping came from behind the reception desk, and he stepped closer. There, in the dim light, he saw a pair of feet, shoeless, with blackened toenails, twitching slightly. A body lay crumpled on the floor, a pool of dark liquid spreading beneath it. Arjun’s breath caught. He wanted to run, but his legs felt rooted. Then the body stirred, and a face turned towards him—but it was not the receptionist. It was a woman, her skin grey and cracked, her eyes two empty sockets. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, only a long, low moan that seemed to vibrate in his bones.

Arjun stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. He scrambled to the front door, but it was locked. The woman rose with an unnatural grace, her joints popping, her head tilted at an impossible angle. She began to crawl towards him, her limbs moving in a jerky, spider-like fashion. Arjun screamed and ran up the stairs, his heart pounding. He reached his room, slammed the door, and threw the latch. He heard the scratching on the door, soft at first, then more insistent. He dragged the heavy wooden chair and wedged it under the handle, then huddled in the corner, staring at the door.

Through the night, he heard the thing moving in the corridors, sometimes passing his door, sometimes pausing outside. He could hear it breathing, a raspy, rhonchal sound. He did not sleep. At dawn, the sounds ceased. The light under the door turned from black to grey to pale yellow. Arjun, shaking, removed the chair and cracked open the door. The corridor was empty, dust motes dancing in the morning light. He descended the stairs, and the lobby was normal, the sun streaming through the dusty windows. The receptionist was there, looking as if he had just started his shift. He smiled at Arjun, but his teeth were blackened. ‘Did you sleep well, sir?’ he asked. Arjun didn’t answer. He grabbed his bag and left without checking out.

When Maya arrived at the hotel that morning, she found Arjun sitting on the front steps, pale and trembling, his eyes darting to the door. He told her what he had seen, and she listened, sceptical but concerned. He refused to stay there any longer, so they checked into a different hotel on the other side of town. As the day passed, Arjun dismissed the experience as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But that night, in their new hotel, he woke at 3 a.m. to find Maya standing at the foot of the bed, staring at the door. ‘The lobby light,’ she whispered, ‘it’s green.’ And when he turned to look, he saw the same sickly green glow seeping under the door, and he heard the scraping, the wet thud, and the low moan that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

They didn’t sleep again that night. They packed their bags and drove out of town at first light, leaving behind the hotel and its secrets. But as they drove, passing through the outskirts of Srikalahasti, Arjun caught a glimpse of a figure in the rearview mirror, standing by the roadside, grey and still, watching them. He didn’t mention it to Maya, but she saw it too, and they both knew that the lobby light would follow them, a persistent flicker in the corner of their eyes, for the rest of their lives.