Desolated Mansion in Pra Nakorn by Salila Robkob

Desolated Mansion in Pra Nakorn

A Short Story by Napathh

Published by

Publisherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s note This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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DESOLATED MANSION IN PRA NAKORN

A Short Story by Napathh

Contents

Before the story beginsâ&#x20AC;Ś Desolated Mansion in Pra Nakorn About the Author

Before the story begins…

This story is an ordinary stage-play script in the “Halloween Festival Contest” written when I was studying in university. One week after I'd sent the first draft to the directors, my friends, for a rehearsal, they ran to me with anxiety. “Whose story is this?” “What?” I puzzled. “Did you adapt someone’s life into the script?” “No. It’s original. What happened?” “We were haunted!” I was shocked. This kind of thing happened often in films, fictions or drama lots. But it was impossible in reality. I didn’t understand what was going on other than there was a female spirit haunting the directors and actors. On the first night of receiving the script, they practiced an improvisation skill. When time was up, one of the actors volunteered to gave the team a lift home. On the deserted night road, the girl who was driving saw something…no…someone caught on the rooftop of her car and crawled to the front windscreen. She screamed. Whatever, or whoever it was, it had suddenly disappeared when my friend blinked. She told others that she saw a woman with long black hair. The actors got scared since they knew they were to perform a ghost story. All of them tried not to think about it again until they arrived one of their homes. The girl who sat in the backseat got out of the car. She saw her friend sitting next to the driver, and a traditionally dressed Thai woman with long black hair sitting on her lap. Face to face. Directly. Closely. Not far away from the first house, two hours after the incident, one of the directors prepared to go to bed in his apartment. His buddy went to the bathroom and saw a traditionally dressed Thai woman in the mirror, standing behind him. She was there for a while without moving before she simply disappeared.

They told what had happened to other directors. They guessed that the spirit might feel related to the characters or the story so she appeared to let them recognize her. Unfortunately, the whole incident was not that simple. Our only male actor was practicing his walk-blocking skill. It was just an ordinary slow and careful movement, but suddenly his right leg went out of control. He fell and had to be splinted. It was hard to get an accident with such simple movement. He said something crossed his leg. He felt it. After finished telling me what had happened, they went to the temple for some religious protection. The nearest temple housed many homeless dogs. They were lazy and sleeping in the pavilion where a monk laughed and taught them not to be gullible. However, when the monk intonated for our pouring ceremonial water to the Thai woman spirit, all of the sleepy dogs stood up, glared, and unfriendly barked at the directors and actors! They were frightened. Not before finishing the mantra, the dogs calmed down and went back to sleep. The monk either felt nothing or he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t show his thought. However, my friends and the actors believed there surely was something horrible following them. The show must go on though. We adapted the characterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s setting for the plastered actor. Our team was the first to perform in the contest and we won third place. Well, it was OK. We noticed that after pouring the ceremonial water the spirit had disappeared. Thank you, Lord Buddha. From now on is a short story I adapted from the stage script. I have no idea and do not guarantee what may happen to you readers. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not bluffing but it happened to my friends once, it may or may not happen again to others. I will not take any responsibility for any horrible case that may occur. Please accept this notice before reading the following fiction. Here we go.

Desolated Mansion in Pra Nakorn

IT WAS A moonless night. Prem stood still in front of his Thai traditional wooden house. The door was not right before his eyes like London’s shelter he just left from. He walked through the open basement to the long steps-stairs. The sound of wind whistled from gaps of the wooden wall. [Thai traditional wooden house: Central-Thai traditional house is a lift-up style, linking rooms with a broad terrace. The main concept of the house is prefabrication. It must be easy to built, rebuilt and endlessly extendable. The most well-known for the foreigners is the Jim Thomson House. For more details please go to Wiki page] He knocked the wooden door and stood still on the top of the stairs. With squeaking sound, the door opened. Sroi, a servant, wore a pink shawl over her left shoulder on top of strapless shirt and deep violet tube skirt. The truth was Prem missed the Thai beauty round-shape face, black eyes and hair, and jasmine scent from yellow skin. Nevertheless, he preferred European style. “We are waiting for you, sir.” She said timidly, not being overacting. “Suitcases are on the ground downstairs.” He ordered and simply walked pass her. She was a mere servant anyway. “My family, are they asleep?” “Not yet, sir. They are in the dining room.” She answered with a bit harder voice. He glared making her dropped her eyes and spoke softly. “Sir.” “Well, bring in the suitcases after me.” He moved ahead to where his family was, wondering why they were eating so late at night. Everybody, Father Danai, Mother Wilai and Younger Brother Ping, was waiting for him there. He was disappointed they had not welcomed him at the door like Sroi. Father Danai was sitting in a wheelchair. Mother Wilai sat on a wooden chair next to his 8-year-old younger brother Ping. Everybody turned to him and smiled.

“We are waiting for you, Prem,” Father said. Prem sat on the floor then prostrated at his parents’ feet. “My beloved father, I’m home. My dearest mother, I’m home.” “Prem…my son.” Mother Wilai began to cry. “My dearest mother, why are you so sad? I’m here. Aren’t you happy to see me again?” Mother Wilai couldn’t stop crying. “My dearest mother.” He hugged her. “Don’t shed more tear because I’m here to lie on your lap for a while.” “What did you say?” Father Danai cut him off. “For a while? Not forever?” “Yes. For a while. I am employed in London. If my beloved Father may allow, I wish to be there forever, may you not?” Father Danai didn’t answer while Mother Wilai was crying even harder. Their servant carried his suitcases into the room. “Leave them there.” Prem ordered. “Then leave us.” Sroi was not pleased, but she left. “My little brother, I brought you so many toys. They’re in those suitcases.” “I don’t need toys. I need you.” “Need me? Good. I’m here.” “No, you’re not here. Not in Thailand. Not in this house.” Mother Wilai shook her head. “What do you mean? I’m Thai even if I’m going to live in London. Please look...I’m your same old Prem. I’m Thai.” “Be with us.” His Younger Brother hustled. “No, you all have to be with me in London.” Father Danai suddenly wheeled to the door with solemn face. “Father?” Prem was confused.

“I’m full.” “Where are you going?” “Bedroom. It’s time for a long rest.” Prem was stunned. Then his mother and brother followed his father. “What? Aren’t you all glad to see me?” They didn’t answer, just turn their heads and smiled to him. “What?” Prem followed them. Stepping out of the dining area, he raised both of his hands to protect his eyes from dust that blew by a sudden gust. He saw white, gray, and black ashes on his hands and all over his body. “What…is…this?” He guessed the neighbor might burn dry weed. But there was no smoke smell. Only foetid. “Sroi,” he hailed for the servant to handle something rotten he now could smell. She wasn’t there as she should be. Dogs howled. Prem was anxious. He walked through the lightless terrace to his father’s bedroom. He knocked on the door. No one answered so he opened it himself. In the bedroom, Father was sitting on the wheelchair next to Mother and his Younger Brother who was sitting on the bed-tip while the servant sat on the floor. They were waiting for him. “What’s going on?” Mother raised her right hand to him. Prem sat on the floor in front of her. “Don’t you miss my curry soup nomore?” “Be with us.” Father said. Prem sighed.

“It seems like everybody disagree with my decision. Fine, I’ll be here with you forever.” Father, Mother and his Younger Brother got up and held him tight. Very tight. A little bit too tight. Way too tight. Prem couldn’t breathe. “Let go of me, please.” He cried. No one listened. He turned his head to the servant who sat still. “Sroi, pull them out.” She refused. “The truth is that I love you, sir.” Suddenly the house was in raging flame as if it had been on fire for half an hour. “Let me go! Run!” He cried. “This room is the safest part in the house. There’s no way to run. We missed you and had been concerned about you, but our voices couldn’t reach you. So we hugged each other until the end.” Father told his eldest son. “The…the end?” “Of life.” Everybody’s face was melting. Their bodies changed into burnt corpses. “No!” Prem tried to run away but the fire engulfed the bedroom. “NO!!!”

Prem woke up frightened. He panted and was relieved when he found himself on a trishaw on the way home in Thailand. [Trishaw: Tricycle taxi. This kind of transportation can be found in some particular areas in Thailand, both for tourism and daily commuter.]

“Here we are.” The rider said while parking in front of a Thai-traditional wooden fence. Prem got off, so delighted to see the familiar atmosphere that he started to forget about the bad dream. “I’ll drop your suitcases here.” “Fine.” Prem paid his fare. The rider rode away as fast as he can. Prem quirked up but not quite interested. He walked through the green lightless garden to the house. It was a moonless night. Prem stood still in front of his Thai traditional wooden house. The door was not right before his eyes like London’s shelter he just left. He walked through the open basement to the long steps-stairs. The sound of wind whistled from gaps of the wooden wall. He knocked the wooden door stood still on the top of the stairs. Sroi opened it. “We are waiting for you, sir.” She said timidly, not to be overacting.

About the Author

Napathh has worked as creative, script writer, columnist, and PR. She was interested to join Laleng at the moment she knew Laleng’s vision. Her intention is to apply Thai-nature into various stories. From working with huge TV Productions, on-stage and out-of-stage plays, and joining activities to help orphans, up-country and handicap children in education she has learnt what we people shouldn’t forget: keep thinking positive, be moral, powerful, and share your bright aura with others. The importance of our life is from our soul. Sometimes her work is for supporting someone’s hearts that is in need of food to become strong. When free from her daily jobs and supporting people, Napathh likes to play the Electone. You can find and chat with Napathh at www.facebook.com/signariste or follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/i_sign.