The next morning, Hollow Lane was wrapped in mist so thick it felt like walking through milk. The air was damp, the ground soft underfoot. Amara and Ravi stayed close together as they stepped onto the porch.
The cat was already outside, crouched low, staring toward the garden. Its fur bristled.
"What's wrong with it?" Amara whispered.
Ravi followed its gaze.
Beyond the overgrown hedges, the ground seemed… disturbed. The soil was darker, churned in strange patterns, as if something had clawed its way up from beneath.
A cold ripple went through Amara. "That wasn't there yesterday."
They exchanged a glance. Neither of them spoke the word that was in both their minds: the father.
Inside, the house was still—too still. No wind. No banging doors. No whispering. Just silence, as if the walls themselves were waiting.
Amara kept thinking about the last sound from the night before—the faint click of a door closing somewhere deep below.
"We need to check the cellar," Ravi said finally. His voice was steady, but his eyes told another story.
Amara nodded, even though every part of her wanted to refuse. "We go together."
The cat padded after them, silent as a shadow.
The descent felt different this time. The steps groaned more loudly. The air smelled less of damp stone and more of something old and foul, like rotting flowers.
Plip… plip…
Water dripped from somewhere unseen.
When they reached the bottom, the little room where they'd found Raghav's spirit was empty—no candle, no letters, no feeling of peace. Instead, a wet trail led from the far corner into a narrow passage they hadn't noticed before.
The cat froze at the entrance, ears flat, tail lashing. Then it hissed.
Ravi took Amara's hand. "Stay close to me."
They moved into the passage. It twisted like a tunnel dug by something that didn't care for straight lines. The smell grew stronger. The walls here weren't the cut stone of the cellar—they were raw earth, claw-marked.
Something had dug this… recently.
A faint sound drifted from ahead.
Scratch… scratch… scratch…
It stopped. Then came a low, rattling breath.
Amara's pulse pounded in her ears. "It's waiting for us," she whispered.
Ravi squeezed her hand. "No. It's guarding something."
The tunnel opened into a round chamber lit by a single shaft of light from a crack above. In the center was an old well, the stones black with age. Chains hung from the ceiling, ending in a rusted hook above the opening.
Amara stepped closer. The air above the well was colder than the rest of the chamber.
Then, from the darkness below, a voice rose—soft, mocking.
"You freed the lovers," it said. "But you have left me behind."
A shadow climbed the walls of the well—not smoke, but liquid blackness, like oil spilling upward. It took shape: the father's figure, but wrong—stretched limbs, head bent too far to one side, fingers ending in hooked nails.
"I will not be forgotten," it hissed. "The house is mine. The land is mine. And you…"
Its head snapped toward Amara. "…you smell of her blood."
The black shape surged upward. Ravi yanked Amara back just as the shadow's claws slashed the air where she'd been standing. The cat leapt onto the well's rim, arching its back, eyes glowing like fire.
The creature recoiled, hissing, as if the cat's stare burned it.
Ravi grabbed a loose stone from the ground and threw it into the shadow's chest. It passed through like mist, but the shape wavered.
"It can't hold form in full light!" Ravi shouted, looking up at the narrow shaft above. "We need more light!"
Amara scanned the chamber—there, on the wall, an old lantern. She snatched it, fumbling with the striker. Her hands shook, but the flame caught.
WHOOMPH.
The lantern's glow spread across the walls, and the shadow shrieked—an ear-piercing sound like metal tearing. It shrank back toward the well.
But not before it spoke again.
"You cannot drive me out. My roots are deep. My eyes are everywhere."
And with that, it dropped back into the black water. The surface stilled.
For a long moment, they didn't move. Only the cat's low growl filled the air.
Then Ravi took Amara's arm. "We're sealing this passage," he said. "Today."
As they turned to leave, Amara felt a strange pull—like invisible fingers brushing her thoughts. Her vision flickered. For a split second, she saw herself standing at the bottom of the well, water lapping at her knees, the shadow's face inches from hers.
She gasped.
"Amara?" Ravi's voice was sharp. His grip tightened. "What did you see?"
She shook her head. "It… it's not just the house. He's tied to this land. If we only block the way, he'll find another path."
Ravi's expression darkened. "Then we find where his power is anchored—and we end it."
The cat gave a single, sharp meow, as if in agreement.
Back upstairs, the air felt heavier again, as though the creature's presence had seeped into the walls. The house's earlier peace was gone.
That night, they barred the cellar door and set candles in every room. But Amara couldn't sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she heard the shadow's voice.
You smell of her blood…
She didn't know what it meant. She wasn't related to Asha—or was she? Her aunt had never spoken much about the family's past.
Beside her, Ravi stirred. "You're awake," he said softly.
"I can't stop thinking about what it said," she whispered.
He reached for her hand in the dark. "Then we'll find out together. Whatever it is, we face it side by side."
For the first time since she'd come to Hollow Lane, Amara felt a fragile thread of safety—woven from his voice, his hand, and the cat's steady purr at their feet.
But deep below, in the black water of the well, something was smiling.