The morning air in Shimla was cold and heavy with fog as the girls followed the path toward the forest, guided by the caretaker's directions. None of them spoke much. The tension was thick, and the silence of the woods made their footsteps sound louder than ever.
Prajwal led the way, flashlight in hand, her face calm but eyes alert. Beside her, Swara clutched a notebook filled with notes she had scribbled down the night before. Akshada followed close behind, tall and steady like a pillar, while Apurva, Swarali, Khushi, and Rutuja stuck together, whispering softly. Akshara, Anushka, and Srushti lingered at the back—still shaken but using humor to mask their nerves.
"No double meaning jokes today?" Prajwal teased over her shoulder.
"Ghosts don't get our humor," Srushti muttered. "We're saving it for when we survive."
They reached the ruins after an hour of hiking. A crumbled chapel stood hidden among the trees, the stones cracked and overgrown with moss. An eerie energy lingered in the air, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
"This must be it," Swara whispered.
The caretaker had told them Eleanor Winters' grave was unmarked, but hidden beneath the chapel's altar. They entered slowly, stepping over debris and broken pews.
"I think this is the altar," Akshada said, pointing at a large slab of stone in the center.
Together, they cleared the debris, and Prajwal found a faint engraving beneath the grime. It read:
E.W. – The Woman Who Waits.
"That's her," Swara confirmed. "This is it."
Akshada looked around. "What now? We burn it? Say a prayer?"
"I brought something," Prajwal said, pulling out a folded letter. "It's a release spell… I found it in the caretaker's book."
She knelt before the grave and began to read. Her voice was strong, unwavering:
"Eleanor Winters, your pain is heard, your sorrow seen. May you find peace beyond this realm. May you no longer seek revenge. May your soul be set free."
The wind picked up suddenly, howling through the trees like a cry of anguish. The earth beneath them trembled lightly.
"She's here," Khushi whispered.
The chapel darkened. A figure appeared in the doorway—Eleanor, her eyes filled with fury and sadness.
"You cannot take it back!" she screamed. "He left me! They all left me!"
"No, Eleanor," Prajwal said, standing up. "We're not the ones who hurt you. But you're hurting innocent people now. Swarali, she's just a student. A friend. Let her go."
Eleanor's face twisted. Her gown fluttered in the wind. But then, her expression softened ever so slightly.
"She reminds me of me," the spirit whispered.
Prajwal stepped forward. "Then let her live the life you never could. Don't make her another version of you."
A pause.
And then—Eleanor vanished. A gust of wind blew through the ruins, and the sun broke through the clouds above, casting light over the altar.
The curse was lifted.
---
Back at the hotel, Swarali opened her eyes with a gasp.
"Where… what happened?"
"You're okay!" Apurva shouted, rushing to hug her.
"You've been asleep for almost two days," said Khushi, smiling with tears.
"I saw her," Swarali whispered. "In my dreams. She was crying… then she smiled."
They didn't need to say anything else.
Eleanor was gone. The haunting was over.
Or so they thought.
---
That night, as they packed to leave Shimla the next morning, Akshara found something slipped under her pillow.
A note.
In cursive writing, it read:
"Not all ghosts are sad. Some… are angry."
Her hands trembled as she looked around the room.
Who had left it?
And more importantly…
Was Eleanor really the only one?
---