tales of Suchita

It was a bitterly cold night. The snow had been relentless for the past two days and now the world looked like it had been painted white. Two individuals were huddled outside the Croner residence, looking in longingly. Quite ostentatiously, the front door, instead of saying welcome said ‘Open, 24 hours.’

The residence was a study in extremes. Where the neon sign gave the place a deadened electricity – a place where degenerates hung out; the crackling fire taunting from behind the closed window looked so invitingly warm that simply staring at it made them feel a little warm inside.

The man looked at the woman next to him – shivering, pale with sunken eyes and yellow teeth. He had been able to smell the piss off of her for miles but the cold had forced him to ignore everything and stay as close to her as he could bear.

The two had arrived outside the house at different times. The man had taken one look at the woman and decided to stay away. He didn’t want to contract any disease from her. But the cold…the damn fucking cold had turned him into a popsicle so fast…when he had started to move closer to her and her body heat he couldn’t say.

Dressed in his best navy-blue suit, you wouldn’t believe he was as broke as perhaps the woman standing next to him. The woman had given him a similarly up-down look and dismissed him. She had stayed away from him for the exact same reason. She had known men like him – who looked all suave and kind and rich but were actually rotten and hollow inside. She was an honest woman looking for an honest handout from the Croners. Days and nights like these were her best friends. They brought out the humane side of this otherwise fucked up town and that meant she’d be getting freebies for the better part of the winter solstice. She was fine with that.

When the man had started to move closer to her, she had wanted to shout out a warning – usually the clothes, the crazy eyes and the smell protected her from the likes of him – but then she caught a whiff of his cologne and having never smelt anything as divine as that she couldn’t help but wish he would come closer.

Though the sign said open 24 hours, no one could enter the Croner residence without an explicit invitation. It was vastly known that anyone who entered rarely exited, unless they died. Well why would anyone want to leave was a question only those asked who had already decided to seek refuge here.

By the time the door to the residence creaked open, the man and the woman were knee deep in snow. They looked at the inviting yellow light, a whiff of hot, spicy brandy and they stamped out of the snow in record time. They entered the house and the door clanged shut behind them.

The old woman who lived across from the Croners lamented as she witnessed two more people sell their souls to the devil for the promise of hot food and a hot hearth. If only they knew what went on inside…she shook her head. No one knew what went on inside.

Only those who were ready to sell their souls, truly ready, were permitted inside. Could she wrong the Croners their Robin Hood theatrics? If the souls were ready, who was she or indeed they to stop them?

And so it had been happening for the past 100 years, and so it would continue for a 100 more.

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Written for the Write Tribe Festival of Words – June 2018 photo prompt.

PS: This was inspired by the song Hotel California