The night in Ramgarh had a strange heaviness to it, a silence that felt alive. Vihaan sat by the small desk in his hotel room, the yellow light of the lamp flickering faintly as if struggling against the shadows pressing in from the windows. Nayra's letters were spread before him like pieces of a puzzle, each word echoing louder than the storm outside.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion tugging at him, but his mind refused to stop. The burnt page he had found inside the mansion still lay folded at the edge of the table. Its words were carved into his memory:
"The cliff mansion is only the entrance. Beneath, there are tunnels. I've heard the screams."
The idea of tunnels beneath Ramgarh gnawed at him. If such passages existed, what were they hiding? And why would the entire town want to bury the truth?
He glanced at his camera, which rested by the bed. The shadow it had captured in the mansion replayed in his mind. Someone had been there, watching him. Or perhaps more than one.
Sleep was impossible. He needed answers, and the notebook, the letters, the warnings—they all pointed in one direction.
The mansion.
But this time, he couldn't afford to go alone.
---
A Reluctant Ally
Morning arrived with muted sunlight and damp air. Vihaan left the hotel early, carrying the letters tucked safely inside his bag. His destination wasn't the mansion this time but the bookshop—the place where it had all started.
When he stepped inside, the familiar scent of old paper and dust greeted him. Nayra's father was at the counter, his spectacles sliding low on his nose, his shoulders weighed down by invisible burdens.
The man's eyes narrowed the moment he saw Vihaan. "I told you to leave my family in peace," he muttered, slamming a ledger shut.
"I can't," Vihaan replied firmly. He placed the letters on the counter, spreading them open one by one. "I found these in the mansion. They're Nayra's. She was trying to warn someone."
The old man froze. His trembling fingers hovered above the papers, but he didn't touch them. His eyes glistened, though his face hardened. "Where did you get these?"
"Hidden in the library drawer. And one from a fireplace. She knew something. She wrote about tunnels beneath the cliffs."
At the word tunnels, the man's expression darkened. He quickly shut the letters with a trembling hand, glancing nervously at the shop's door. "You shouldn't have come here with these. Do you want to get both of us killed?"
Vihaan leaned closer. "If you know something, please—help me. Help Nayra. The whole town is silent, even the police. But I can't walk away."
The man's jaw clenched, the fight in his eyes torn between fear and love. Finally, he whispered, "I warned her, too. She didn't listen. And they—" He broke off, lowering his voice to a rasp. "They watch everyone who asks questions. They don't forgive curiosity."
"Who are they?" Vihaan pressed.
But before the man could answer, the bell over the shop door chimed. A uniformed constable stepped in, his eyes sweeping the shop with suspicion. The old man instantly pushed the letters back toward Vihaan and muttered harshly, "Go. Now. And don't return."
Vihaan grabbed the papers and left, his heart pounding. But even as the door shut behind him, he knew one thing for certain: Nayra's father knew far more than he admitted.
---
The Boy in the Market
The marketplace was alive again, its narrow lanes buzzing with murmurs, the smell of fried pakoras mingling with damp earth. Vihaan walked briskly, his mind a storm. As he passed a stall, someone tugged at his sleeve.
He turned sharply to find the same teenage boy from before—the scruffy one who had whispered about Nayra.
"Sir," the boy said breathlessly, glancing around nervously. "You didn't leave?"
"No," Vihaan replied. "And I won't, not until I find the truth."
The boy's eyes darted left and right. "Then listen. Don't trust the police. Don't trust the elders. They'll pretend nothing happened, but they know. Everyone knows."
Vihaan crouched to meet his gaze. "Tell me about the tunnels."
The boy stiffened. His lips trembled, but then he whispered, "They're real. They start from the mansion and go under the cliffs, all the way beneath the forest. My uncle… he once worked there."
"Worked? Where?" Vihaan asked.
The boy shook his head quickly. "I can't say. If anyone finds out I spoke to you—"
A shout cut through the air. The same man who had pulled the boy away earlier stormed through the crowd, anger flashing in his eyes. The boy panicked, backing away. "I have to go!" he muttered before vanishing into the bustle of the market.
Vihaan's chest tightened. The boy's words were proof—he wasn't chasing shadows. Something was hidden beneath Ramgarh, and people were willing to silence even children to keep it buried.
---
The Warning at the Hotel
By evening, Vihaan returned to his hotel room, weary but restless. He placed Nayra's letters on the desk again, staring at them as if they might rearrange themselves into answers.
That's when he noticed it.
His door, which he had locked in the morning, stood ajar.
Every muscle in his body stiffened. He pushed it open cautiously, the hinges groaning. The room was dim, untouched—or so it seemed. But when he approached the desk, his stomach dropped.
The letters were gone.
Frantic, he searched the drawers, the floor, even the bed sheets. Nothing. The only thing left behind was a small slip of paper pinned to the lamp.
Four words, written in harsh strokes:
"Leave, or join her."
His throat went dry. They knew. Someone had been in his room, stolen the evidence, and left a threat.
For a moment, fear gripped him so tightly he could hardly breathe. But then another emotion rose to the surface—anger. They wanted him gone, silenced like Nayra. Which meant he was closer to the truth than ever.
He sat on the bed, gripping his camera like a lifeline. "You can take the letters," he whispered into the dark. "But you can't stop me."
---
Back to the Mansion
That night, driven by a mix of rage and desperation, Vihaan returned to the cliffs. The wind howled louder than before, and the shadows of the pines loomed like watchful figures.
The mansion awaited him, silent, massive, its walls whispering in the wind. He pushed through the gates, torchlight slicing through the gloom. Every creak of the wooden floor echoed like a heartbeat.
This time, he went straight for the fireplace where he had found the burnt note. Kneeling, he examined the hollow again, running his hand along the bricks. And then—he felt it. Another loose stone, hidden deeper.
With effort, he pulled it free. Behind it yawned a narrow passage, dark and suffocating, the scent of damp earth rushing out. It wasn't just a hiding spot. It was an opening.
His torch beam revealed a staircase spiraling downwards, cut crudely into stone.
The tunnels.
Vihaan's pulse raced. This was it—the path Nayra had written about. The entrance to Ramgarh's buried truth.
He hesitated at the threshold, every instinct screaming that stepping inside might mean never stepping out again. But he remembered Nayra's last words in her notebook: "If anything happens to me, it won't be because I ran away."
Gripping the torch and his camera, he descended into the dark.
---
Into the Depths
The staircase narrowed as it plunged underground. The air grew colder, heavier, carrying the stench of mold and something metallic—blood? Vihaan's breaths echoed against the stone, mingling with the steady drip of water somewhere deep ahead.
When the stairs ended, a tunnel stretched before him, supported by rotting wooden beams. Strange markings lined the walls—symbols like those carved in the mansion above.
He pressed record on his camera, whispering into it: "Evidence of underground tunnels beneath the Ramgarh cliffs. Unknown origin. Possible connection to disappearances."
As he walked, faint sounds drifted through the darkness. At first, he thought it was the wind. But then he froze.
It was voices.
Whispers.
Just like Nayra had written.
He held his breath, pressing against the wall. The whispers grew clearer, weaving through the stone like threads. He could swear he heard his own name again, mixed with others. Nayra's voice seemed to echo faintly—"Help me…"
The tunnel forked ahead. One path dipped deeper into the earth, the other veered toward the cliffs. Vihaan hesitated, his torchlight flickering against the damp walls.
Before he could choose, a sudden slam echoed behind him—the sound of a door, or a gate, shutting. He spun, torch beam trembling.
He wasn't alone down here.
---
The Ominous Discovery
Heart pounding, Vihaan hurried down the left tunnel, his footsteps crunching on loose gravel. The whispers followed, rising and falling like a chant. The air grew heavier until he stumbled into a wide chamber carved into the rock.
His torchlight swept across the room.
Chains hung from the walls. Rusted, but some still glistened with fresh marks. Wooden crates lay stacked in corners, strange symbols painted across them. And on the ground, half-buried in dirt, was a scarf.
A woman's scarf.
He bent slowly, lifting it with trembling fingers. The fabric was torn but still carried a faint scent of perfume. His mind reeled. Was this Nayra's? Or someone else's?
Before he could process, the whispers surged louder—this time unmistakably real, human voices carried from the tunnel ahead. Shadows flickered against the far wall. Someone was coming.
Vihaan's torch shook in his grip. He ducked behind a stack of crates, his heart thundering. The voices grew nearer, footsteps crunching on stone.
As the shadows lengthened across the chamber, Vihaan pressed the camera to his chest, his breath shallow.
Whoever they were, they were the keepers of Ramgarh's darkest secret. And now, they were only steps away.