The Moti Mahal monument in Burhanpur, India, can be found on the bank of the Pondhari River to the southeast of the village.
Ross Hunter graduated from San Francisco State University four months ago and had been wandering the Asian subcontinent ever since. With a Bachelor’s degree in Communications and a $100,000 inheritance from a recently deceased grandfather, Ross felt this was the best way to spend his time.
He especially liked ruins and this one was particularly compelling. He was visiting the palace on a day when there were no other tourists. He’d come by rented motorcycle which was a lot faster than walking and a lot safer than hitchhiking.
He wasn’t seeking anything in particular, which is why it came as such a surprise when he found something, or rather, someone.
She was beautiful, the most lovely woman Ross had ever seen. There had been empty space by the grave one moment and the next, she was there.
“Who are you? Where did you come from?”
It was possible she didn’t understand English. She didn’t reply, she just gestured toward the ruins. She was walking toward them now, looking back to see if he were following. Was she a prostitute? Maybe she was just some lass in the mood for a bit of lovemaking with a passing stranger.
Ross followed like a lamb to the slaughter, and slaughter it was.
She had been resurrected last year when some local girl wandered too close to the grave at the right hour and right minute of the right day.
But Moti Begum needed a male to take the place of her lover Shahjehan, who had been long dead in his grave, but now was alive again thanks to Ross Hunter’s unwitting sacrifice, this also being the right hour and right minute of the right day. The revived lovers mated passionately in the dust on the floor of the ruins.
Ross Hunter was reported missing and his disappearence remains a mystery.
I’ve taken a tremendous amount of liberties with a real place and with real and desceased people. Please forgive me. I mean no disrespect to them. But when I read Iain Kelly’s piece of flash fiction Contemplation, based on a writing prompt from What Pegman Saw, I couldn’t help but feel that it should have been a horror story. So I took a wack at it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold my story to the required 150 word count. Mine’s well over 300, even without this bit of commentary.
The other resource I used was Clyde Mendes’ Wanderlust BlogSpot.