The lodge was silent, but it was not a peaceful silence. It was the kind that pressed against the skin, heavy and suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of the lamps seemed to carry intent. The air itself felt charged, waiting.
Now all they could do was wait.
Meera's condition was worsening. Her body shivered violently despite the blankets piled over her. Her skin had turned pale, almost translucent, and faint green veins snaked across her arms and neck, pulsing as though something beneath her flesh was alive. Her lips moved, whispering words no one could understand, fragments of a language that didn't belong to her.
Riya clutched her sister's hand, tears streaking her face. "She's freezing… but her skin burns to the touch. Aarav, what's happening to her?"
Aarav's jaw clenched, his helplessness twisting into rage. "She's being pulled into whatever they've been hiding. This is possession. The lodge… it's feeding on her."
Kabir hovered near, his voice sharp but trembling. "We need to do something. First aid, anything. We can't just sit here."
They tried everything.
Warm cloths pressed against her skin. Water trickled against her lips. Riya wrapped her in blankets, whispering prayers. Aarav rubbed her arms, desperate to bring warmth back. Kabir searched frantically through drawers, cupboards, even the caretaker's supplies, returning with medicine.
But nothing worked.
Meera's body convulsed, her back arching as though invisible hands were pulling her upward. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment—glassy, unfocused—and then rolled back, leaving only the whites. A guttural sound escaped her throat, not her voice but something deeper, something that didn't belong to her.
The lights flickered.
Riya screamed, clutching her tighter. "She's slipping away! Aarav, do something!"
Aarav pressed his forehead against Meera's, his voice breaking. "Stay with us, Meera. Stay with us. Don't let them take you."
Time dragged. Every minute felt like an hour.
Meera's whispers grew louder, her lips forming words that none of them recognized. The sound was rhythmic, almost ritualistic. Her veins glowed faintly green, pulsing in time with her voice.
Riya sobbed, rocking her sister in her arms. "She's not herself anymore. She's… she's becoming something else."
Aarav's eyes burned with fury. "Then the Shastris better hurry. Because if they don't, she won't be here to save."
And then, faintly, from beyond the door, footsteps echoed. Slow. Deliberate. Approaching.
Riya's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "Are they here?"
Aarav moved quickly to the window, his breath fogging the glass as he peered outside. In the dim light, a car sat in the driveway, its engine still ticking from the climb up the hill.
He turned back, his fists clenched, his voice low and tense. "Yes… looks like it. We've been waiting for them."
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
Silence.
Then, a knock.
The door creaked open, and Mr. Shastri stepped inside. His presence was heavy, the kind that filled the room before he even spoke. At fifty-one, perhaps fifty-two, his frame had begun to stoop under the burden of years, but it was not age alone that bent him—it was grief. Ten years had passed since his daughter Sanya died at just eleven years old, yet the sorrow clung to him like a second skin.
His face was drawn with exhaustion, the lines etched deep across his forehead and around his eyes, carved not by time but by sleepless nights. His hair, once thick and black, had thinned and turned to streaks of iron gray, and his eyes—dark, sunken, rimmed with shadows—carried the hollow look of a man who had stared too long into loss.
Behind him, shadows seemed to follow, stretching unnaturally across the walls, as though the lodge itself bent toward him, feeding on his grief. His clothes hung loose, worn and faded, smelling faintly of incense and damp wood. He moved slowly, each step deliberate, as if the weight of memory pressed against his chest.
There was no mistaking it: this was a man who had bargained with darkness, who had carried his pain for a decade and allowed it to shape him into something both pitiable and terrifying.
Then came the horror.
Meera's lips parted, and in a voice that was not hers, she whispered:
"Do you remember, Papa? You used to tell me stories when we stayed the night here. I still love them."
Riya froze, her blood running cold. She didn't hear the words properly, but the tone was wrong—too young, too intimate, too familiar to belong to Meera.
Kabir's face drained of color. "That's not her voice…"
Mr. Shastri froze. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment the years seemed to collapse around him. His trembling hands rose, hovering in the air as if reaching for a child who was no longer there. His eyes glistened, tears spilling down the deep lines carved by a decade of sorrow.
"Sanya…" he whispered, the name breaking from him like a prayer, fragile and desperate. His knees weakened, and he leaned against the doorframe as though the weight of memory pressed him down.
His voice cracked, softer now, almost pleading: "I remember… every story. Every night. My little girl…"
Then, as if the words had torn open something long buried, his body shook. He pressed a hand to his chest, choking on a sob he could no longer contain. His other hand reached toward Meera, not in fear but in aching tenderness, as though he might cradle her face and believe—just for a heartbeat—that his daughter had returned.
Mr. Shastri's grief was laid bare, raw and unguarded, a father broken by love that had never faded.
Aarav's jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. He stepped forward, his voice sharp, cutting through the fragile silence. "Enough, Shastri. Don't you dare lose yourself in this. Whatever's speaking through her—it's not your daughter. It's something else."
Aarav's fury ignited. He strode forward, his voice rising until it shook the walls. "Look at her!" he roared, pointing at Meera, his eyes blazing. "Look at what you're doing to someone's daughter just to bring back your own!"
"What is her fault? Why is she the one suffering?"
Mr. Shastri's face crumpled, his tears flowing freely now. He opened his mouth, but no words came—only a broken sound, half sob, half denial. His trembling hands fell uselessly to his sides, as though Aarav's words had struck him harder than any blow.
The room seemed to pulse with tension, grief and anger colliding in the air. Meera's body shuddered, her lips parting again, as if the voice inside her was waiting to answer.
Kabir's glare burned into Shastri, his voice sharp. "You've turned this lodge into a graveyard of secrets. And now she's paying the price."
Mr. Shastri's face crumpled. He looked at Meera, then at the three of them, shame flooding his features. His voice broke as he spoke, trembling with guilt.
"I am not a monster," he whispered. "I am just a father… and a husband. My daughter—Sanya—she died too young. My wife… she could not bear it. She tried to leave this world many times. I thought… if I could bring Sanya back, I could save her. Save us."
His eyes glistened, his voice heavy with despair. "Everything I have done… every ritual, every secret… it was for her. For my wife. To keep her alive."
The room fell silent, the weight of his confession pressing down on them.
Aarav's grip loosened, but his voice remained hard. "And in your desperation, you've condemned another girl. You've dragged Meera into your grief. You've made her suffer for your sins."
Mr. Shastri lowered his head, unable to meet their eyes. "I never wanted this. I only wanted my family whole again. But the lodge… it takes more than it gives."
Aarav cried out, desperate. "Then stop this! You are trying to save your world by destroying mine!"
Riya and Kabir froze. For a moment, the horror of the lodge was eclipsed by shock. Aarav's words had slipped out raw, unguarded, revealing what he had never dared to say aloud.
Riya's tear-streaked face turned toward him, her eyes wide. "Aarav… you…"
Kabir's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking between Aarav and Meera. "Aarav, hold yourself… you're not going to lose her—"
Aarav didn't answer, but the silence was enough.
Mr. Shastri closed his eyes, his shoulders heavy with defeat. Slowly, he nodded. "I will help you. I will do what I can. No more secrets. No more silence."
The room fell into a fragile stillness. Meera's whispers quieted for a moment, as if listening.
But the conflict lingered in the air—unspoken, heavy. If saving Meera meant losing Sanya forever, would Mr. Shastri truly go through with it?
Aarav released his grip, his voice steady but burning with resolve. "Then it begins now. Whatever you've been hiding, whatever power you've been using—we'll use it to save her."
Outside, the wind howled against the walls, rattling the windows. The waiting hour was over.
The fight to save Meera—and to decide Sanya's fate—had begun.