The Ghost Hand

It was mid-summer in 2015 on a work-related trip when I checked in at Hotel Drankensburg, in the Northern Cape Province.The time was 9 pm. I headed straight to the cocktail lounge in an upscale bar, to grab a couple of drinks after a long drive from Seymour.

"Double martini on the rocks, please," I placed my order with the bartender. "Oh, yeah! New face around?" asked the man who looked to be in his late thirties.

"First time to see the gentlemen in town. You see, in this small district we know each other," remarked the old man with thin grey hair that looked like a cobweb. He was seated next to me. "By the way, my name is Grumpy from Nightingale Street, just a few blocks from here, said the old man. "Christian is my name from the Eastern Cape Province," I introduced myself.

At that moment the barman placed the cocktail in front of me. "So far? What brings you here, buddy?" The tapster queried. "Conference tomorrow morning at Square One." "What are you doing there?," he continued.

I took out my work identity card from the pocket of my jacket, and showed it to him. "Christian Norman: Eastern Cape News Reporter!" he read it out loud. "Please, sir, can I have some more? Triple sec this time," I ordered another round. "Sure."

I explained that I was there to investigate the case of 15 illegal miners, who were shot dead by the police. That was an incident which took place the previous week, at Steeldale Diamond Mine.

"Big story indeed. Are you planning to sleep over?" said Grumpy, as he blew out a cloud of smoke from his pipe. I told him there was no other way. "That's a dilemma!" the barman exclaimed. "And why is that?" I asked. "There's only one vacant room available tonight which is a no go area. Patrons had been complaining for the past two years about Room Number 357."

"I know about that scary story, too," said Grumpy. "She was a waitress here and that used to be her room," added the barkeep, whose name tag read Mixwell. "What are you guys talking about?" I was curious to know.

"'The Hand Lady' is believed to be haunting our guests at night in that room," the old man agreed. "That's so funny! Ahahahah!!!!" A thundering laugh rolled out of me. "I don't believe in superstitions fellows, that's just madness. The dead remain dead," I concluded.

The clock on the wall read twelve o' clock. I got up from the chair I had been sitting in, to check in with the front desk for Room No.357. "You have yourself a deal," the receptionist booked me in. I ordered Thai Cuisine - which contained of noodles, rice and curry - before retreating to my room. 

I placed my dish on the pedestal and did some paperwork. As I was busy I got drowsy and dozed off. Thirty minutes later, I felt extremely cold and caught something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. To my astonishment, I saw a red light like a spotlight moving toward the door. Once next to the entrance it stopped moving.

I reached for the side lamp switch. The light was on and there was no red light.

Just a silly vision, I thought to myself, and went back to sleep at 1:05 am. I felt the coldness again and the red light appeared were it was. Then each time I tried to switch the lamp on, seemingly, another hand was already there. The entire room remained dark.

As I fixated my eyes on the red light, it looked like electricity arcing and changing itself into a shadowy figure about three feet tall. My heart was thumping in my chest and a chill ran down my spine.

Suddenly, I heard whispers that sounded different from one another: "What have you done?" "It's not my fault!" And then there was a sound of a crying baby. I became frozen and sat bolt upright.

Get away from me! I owe you nothing! I screamed. 

A framed picture on the wall started to move. I shivered but decided to outsmart the shapeless creature by fighting it back. I approached it and the next best thing was a hard slap on my left cheek. What happened next, I don't know, as I found myself at five in the morning laying next to a tunnel near the graveyard.

I was still in pyjamas when I hiked back to Hotel Drankensburg. My cheek was in tremendous pain. "What happened to your swollen cheek dude? It must have been a hell of a hard five," said the man behind the wheel. 

"I was slapped in my face by an invisible entity in the early hours of today," I explained my ordeal. 

"I'm a regular at the Drankensburg and have heard of it before on numerous occasions. Ghosts are humans who are dead and their souls are wandering. They are dead but they refuse to believe that they are dead. Probably, they come back to life in the form of spirits to deal with unfinished business," he explained.

When I reached the hotel I met the owner Dylan Opperman, and gave an explanation of what had happened.

"Supposedly, 'The Hand Lady' was thrown to her death from the top of the same tunnel, you found yourself in. Rumours were that the culprits were our wait staff maidens who became jealous of her. She was an outstandingly beautiful young woman. Our male patrons were only attracted to her," recounted Dylan.

He told me before 'The Hand Lady' died, there was a filthy rich handsome young lad who became a regular at Hotel Drankensburg. Dylan said the first time he pitched up an unexpected incident occurred. She was serving him his favourite dish - Thai Cuisine. But she missed a step and the platter slipped from the tray. 

"So, 'The Hand Lady' landed on the plate of food that was meant for the guest, leaving a hand mark on the rice. I was fed up with her asking what had she done. She apologised and said it was not her fault. I told her to take a day off and followed her to her room. I didn't mean to do it..."

"What didn't you mean to do?" I interrupted him. 

"No, I mean to treat her unfairly by throwing the plate of dish on her, as she wept in her room. I even took a picture of that dish as a reminder. The different whispers and cry of a baby is exactly what had happened in the past," said Daylan.

He went on to tell me that despite that incident, the young rich fellow kept on going to his hotel. Spoiling her with gifts and they finally had a bling together. 

"The other waitresses planned to kill 'The Hand Lady' when they lured her to the tunnel, which was a trick of an arranged marriage to her prince charming. It was at midnight when she met her death," further noted Dylan.

He accompanied me to Room No.357 as he had the spare keys. We noticed that the dish of Thai Cuisine I had ordered, had the hand mark similar to the one on the framed picture in the same room.

"I'm really sorry about what happened, that's why I don't allow people to be booked into this room." "I'm at fault Dylan because I was the one who insisted. Your staff are on the right," I told him.

He then offered to refund me and take me to the doctor, hence my cheek had red finger marks of The Ghost Hand.