The path to the lodge wasn't marked.
It didn't need to be.
The higher they climbed, the quieter the forest became.
Not empty.
Just... aware.
The lodge appeared slowly through the trees.
At first, it looked ordinary.
But as they got closer, something felt wrong.
The angles didn't sit right. The wooden walls looked darker than they should in daylight, as if the color had been drained out of them. The windows reflected nothing. No sky. No trees. Just a dull, flat darkness.
Kabir slowed, unease creeping in.
"...Are you sure we came to the same place?"
A beat.
"Because this doesn't feel like somewhere we've been before."
No one disagreed.
Aarav's gaze stayed locked on the entrance. His voice was clipped. "Stay close."
The porch groaned beneath their feet. Not a normal creak. A long, dragging sound. Like something deep inside the structure shifting in response.
Riya moved closer to Meera without thinking, her shoulder brushing lightly against her sister's arm.
Meera didn't react. Her eyes remained fixed on the door. Almost... expectant.
Aarav shoved the door. For a second—it didn't open. Not stuck. Held. Then suddenly, it gave way.
Inside, the air was warmer. But it wasn't comforting. It felt used. Heavy. Still. As if the room had been holding its breath.
"Hello?" Aarav called.
His voice didn't carry. It seemed to drop—like it had nowhere to go.
From somewhere deeper inside, a sound echoed.
Thud.
Kabir muttered, sharper than usual. "Yeah... that's not normal. And I'm already sick of 'not normal.'"
A man stepped out from the hallway. Mid-forties. Unshaven. Tired eyes. Shirt slightly wrinkled. The kind of man who looked like he hadn't slept properly in a long time.
He stopped when he saw them. His gaze moved across all four—then froze on Meera.
His polite expression faltered. The welcome drained from his face.
"My name is Vijay," he said slowly. "I'm the caretaker here."
"You're here to stay?" His tone was low, hesitant now.
Then his eyes narrowed. "You went to the Steam House?"
Riya's voice tightened. "You know what it does."
Vijay hesitated. "I know what people say. And that's more than enough." He smirked faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Aarav stepped forward, his anger breaking through. His voice was sharp, cutting.
"By now you know why we're here—so stop dodging and start talking."
Vijay swallowed, visibly shaken. "They say it started here. Locals talk. Guests whisper. People who stayed... didn't come back the same."
Kabir snapped. "Then say what you can. Stop staring at her like she's the problem."
A faint sound came again from above. A dull thud. Then—a slow dragging noise. Like something being pulled across the floor.
Then silence.
Vijay shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "I'm just the caretaker. I run the place. Clean, manage bookings... that's it."
Kabir scoffed. "Yeah? And the creepy sounds, disappearing guests—that part of the job too?"
Vijay didn't react. But his silence said enough.
Aarav stepped closer, his voice low but dangerous. "We're not leaving. Not without understanding what's happening to her. And if something happens to her because you chose not to speak..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
The man spoke again, quicker now. "They say the owners—the Shastris—they lost their daughter."
Riya's breath caught. "Sanya," she whispered.
Vijay's head snapped toward her. "How do you know that name?"
Riya didn't answer. She just looked at Meera.
Meera's lips moved slightly. Too faint to hear.
Vijay lowered his voice. "She died years ago. After that... things changed."
Kabir's frustration boiled over. "Changed how? Stop stalling!"
Vijay hesitated, then forced the words out. "Guests started complaining. Sounds at night. Doors opening on their own. Someone walking in the halls when no one was there. Some people left early. Some... just disappeared."
Kabir's sarcasm was gone. His voice was flat. "And you still work here?"
Vijay gave a faint, tired smile. "Some jobs don't give you the option to leave. My mother's ill. I have no qualifications, nowhere else to go. The owners were generous enough to give me this position. One condition—I don't ask questions. I just make sure guests are comfortable."
His voice carried no pride. Only resignation.
Aarav's anger didn't soften. He pointed at Meera. "Comfortable? Look at her. Does she look comfortable to you?"
Vijay flinched, but said nothing.
"We need to speak to the owners," Aarav demanded.
Vijay stiffened. His voice dropped, almost rehearsed. "They don't meet people directly. You need an appointment... and even then, most requests are refused."
Aarav stepped forward, his tone cutting, anger clear.
"They will meet their guests, won't they? We're staying."
Riya's voice was firm. "Book us a room."
Kabir threw up his hands. "...We're actually doing this."
No one backed down.
Vijay studied them. One by one. His gaze lingered on Meera again. Longer this time. As if trying to understand something he didn't want to.
Finally, he nodded. "Fine."
He turned and gestured toward the hallway. "Follow me."
The corridor looked ordinary. Clean walls, framed landscapes of the valley, photographs of the lodge in earlier years. Nothing grotesque. Nothing scratched out.
But the silence between those frames felt heavier than the pictures themselves.
Above them, the dragging sound returned.
Thud. Drag. Pause. Tap.
Vijay's pace quickened. He didn't comment.
They reached a door. Vijay opened it. "This room is available."
Inside—everything looked normal. A bed. A table. A window.
But the air felt the same. Heavy. Still. Watching.
"You'll stay here," Vijay said. "If you want to meet them... it won't be tonight."
A pause.
"They don't meet anyone after dark."
Aarav's voice was clipped. "Tomorrow."
Vijay hesitated at the door. Then added quietly—"Don't walk around at night."
Kabir let out a dry laugh, edged with frustration. "Yeah... wasn't planning to."
Vijay didn't smile. He just left. Closing the door behind him.
Silence filled the room.
Riya looked at Meera. Her voice was steady, but tight. "Tomorrow. We'll fix this."
Meera stood near the window. Looking out. Toward the darkening forest.
"They know we're here," she said.
Kabir exhaled, angry now. "Perfect. Just perfect."
Aarav walked to the door. Locked it. Checked it twice.
Silence pressed in.
Then, from the corner of the room, a voice whispered: "You shouldn't have come."
The sound wasn't Meera's. It wasn't Riya's. It wasn't Kabir's.
It was older. Hollow. Patient.
And before the silence swallowed it again, the words shifted—barely audible, but clear enough to chill them all:
"The Shastris are the only ones who know."