The silence at Hollowridge was no longer peaceful. It was heavy—like the air just before a storm. Aarohi stared at the blank phone screen, her grandmother's message echoing in her mind.
"GET OUT NOW. It won't let you go again."
Again? What did she mean by "again"? Aarohi's memories of Hollowridge were vague at best. She had never visited this estate before—or so she thought. A sharp, cold throb began behind her eyes, like her brain was hiding something from her.
She called Veer's name.
No reply.
Her voice trembled as she called again. The silence seemed to stretch. When he finally walked in through the front door carrying groceries, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"You okay?" Veer asked, noticing her pale face.
"I just… I got a strange message. From Dida. She said we shouldn't be here."
Veer rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—some old superstition? Your grandma's always been a little dramatic."
Aarohi hesitated. "She knew the name of this house. She looked terrified when I told her. She said something about it not letting people go…"
Veer scoffed, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. "This place has been empty for years. Maybe she just had a bad experience here as a kid. You know how old people are—they remember ghosts where there were none."
But Aarohi wasn't so sure. That mirror. That locked room. The noises.
And now this warning.
Later that day, Aarohi sat with her grandmother on a video call. The older woman looked tired, worn out, her gray hair tied back tightly, her face creased with age and anxiety.
"You didn't tell me you were going to Hollowridge," Dida said, voice shaking. "I would have stopped you."
"Why? What happened there, Dida?" Aarohi asked.
There was a long pause. Her grandmother's eyes watered. "Your great-grandfather, Raghav… he was a different man back then. Cold. Powerful. Some say he dabbled in things he shouldn't have. Dark rituals, blood rites."
Aarohi blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There was a servant boy. Dev. He was quiet. Strange. Always drawing symbols, reading odd books. Your great-grandfather accused him of witchcraft. Said he had cursed the house."
"What happened to him?"
Her grandmother lowered her voice. "He killed him. Set him on fire in the garden. They buried him under the apple tree. But before he died, Dev swore a curse on our bloodline."
A chill shot down Aarohi's spine. "Dida… why didn't you ever tell me this?"
"Because I thought it was over. We never spoke of it again. Your grandfather sold the house and vowed never to return. But now you're there. And the house remembers."
That night, Aarohi couldn't sleep.
The house groaned like it was alive. Floorboards creaked in a rhythm, as if someone was pacing outside their bedroom door. The chandelier in the hallway swayed without wind.
At 2:13 a.m., the lights flickered off.
She sat up, heart pounding. The darkness felt thick, almost solid.
Then came a sound—tap… tap… tap…—like fingernails on glass.
She turned her head slowly.
The mirror across the room was fogging up from the inside.
And then, written in the mist:
"BLOOD PAYS BLOOD."
She screamed. Veer woke up in a panic. "What the hell?!"
She pointed to the mirror. "Look!"
But the words were gone. Only her pale reflection stared back.
Veer frowned. "Aarohi… I think you need rest. You've been stressed since we got here. You're not eating, not sleeping—maybe you're hallucinating."
"I am not hallucinating!" she cried. "There's something wrong with this place. My grandmother said—"
Veer shook his head. "I'm tired of hearing about your grandmother. This house is ours now. We need to stop looking for ghosts and start fixing it."
The next morning, Aarohi decided to explore the attic—somewhere Veer refused to go. "Too dusty," he'd claimed. But something told her there were answers up there.
The attic door creaked as she pushed it open. Dust danced in sunbeams slicing through a cracked window. The air smelled of mildew and mold.
She coughed, pulling a scarf over her mouth as she dug through old trunks, faded books, and forgotten furniture.
And then she found it.
A leather-bound book, hidden beneath a broken floorboard.
She opened it. The first page read:
"Rituals of Binding and Banishment: Raghav Mehta, 1917."
The pages were filled with symbols, dark spells, and notes written in a language that felt… ancient. There were drawings of pentagrams, blood rites, and rituals designed to trap souls.
And on the last page:
"If he returns, bind him in blood. Let her who bears my curse suffer, as he suffered."
Suddenly, the attic door slammed shut.
Aarohi ran to it. Tried to open it. Locked.
The lights dimmed. Shadows twisted around the room.
And in the mirror beside the old wardrobe, a face appeared.
Burned. Twisted. Eyes hollow and dripping ash.
Dev.
She screamed and banged on the attic door. "Let me out! Veer! Please!"
The shadows moved closer.
But then—click.
The door swung open. Veer stood there, frowning.
"What the hell are you doing up here?"
She shoved the book into his hands. "Read it. Please, Veer. We're in danger. This… this thing—Dev—he's still here!"
Veer flipped through the pages with a sigh. "Aarohi, this is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. You think a ghost is haunting us because of a servant murdered a century ago?"
"Yes!" she cried. "And he wants revenge on me. On us!"
Veer tossed the book aside. "That's it. No more creepy stories, no more ghost books, no more talking to your grandmother. I'm done."
He walked away, leaving her trembling in the attic doorway.
But before she followed, she picked up the book again.
Because on the inside of the back cover, someone had scrawled in blood-red ink:
"I AM ALREADY INSIDE."