Back on the bus, no one said a word.
The note, the statue, the name Ophelia—it all pointed to a deeper, darker mystery. The supposed end of the curse now felt like a decoy… a distraction. Something more sinister had been waiting beneath the surface, and the girls had unknowingly stirred it awake.
Prajwal sat near the front, her arms crossed and brows furrowed. Her sharp instincts told her this wasn't just another ghost story. It was personal now. Whatever was happening… was connected to them.
"We need answers," she finally said, turning to Swara, who was already deep into a Google rabbit hole.
"I think I found something," Swara said, adjusting her glasses. "A local legend, never officially documented. Apparently, Eleanor Winters had a sister. Younger. Her name was Ophelia."
Everyone leaned in.
"The story goes that Ophelia was mentally unstable. Kept hidden in the greenhouse, away from visitors. The town whispers that she gave birth to a child… but no one knows who the father was."
"That's horrible," Akshada said, shaking her head. "She was just locked away?"
"Worse," Swara continued. "Some say Eleanor, ashamed of her sister's condition, took the baby from her and tried to raise him herself. But the baby died. Fever, or maybe worse."
Apurva's eyes widened. "And Ophelia lost everything…"
"Exactly," Swara said. "She went mad. Disappeared. People said her soul haunted the forest, not Eleanor's."
"So we were wrong all along," Swarali murmured. "We freed Eleanor. But Ophelia… she's still here."
A cold gust of wind swept through the half-repaired bus windows.
Suddenly, Akshara gasped. "I… I had a dream last night. I was in the greenhouse. There was a woman crying and rocking something in her arms… she looked like Eleanor but wasn't. Her eyes were wild."
"Did she say anything?" Prajwal asked.
"She said… 'You freed the wrong sister.'"
Silence.
Rutuja, usually the calmest, was now visibly shaken. "So… what do we do now? We're leaving Shimla, right?"
"We can't leave like this," Prajwal said. "We started something. If we go without ending it, she'll follow us."
"She's already following us," said Srushti, holding up her phone. A black-and-white photo had appeared in her gallery. None of them had taken it. It showed them in the greenhouse… and behind them, near the statue, a pale figure in white stood watching.
Not Eleanor.
Her face was half-shadowed. Her hair wild. Her hands… clawed.
It was Ophelia.
---
Back at the hotel—delayed another night due to road repairs—the girls gathered in one room.
"We need to go back," Prajwal said. "To the greenhouse. There must be something we missed."
Swara agreed. "Maybe a grave. Or a diary."
"No way," Khushi said. "It's cursed."
"Which is exactly why we can't leave it behind," said Swara.
Apurva looked at Swarali, who had stayed silent. "Are you okay?"
Swarali nodded slowly. "I feel like… she's choosing."
"What do you mean?" asked Akshada.
Swarali's voice was distant. "Ophelia. She's picking someone to speak through. Someone to carry her pain. If we don't stop her… she'll live through us."
The room fell into stunned silence.
And then the lights flickered.
A shrill cry echoed from the hallway outside.
They all froze.
Something—or someone—was back.
And this time, it wasn't going to be as forgiving.
---