Chapter 2: The First Attempt

The farmhouse was silent except for the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. The group stood frozen, staring at the muddy footprints that stopped abruptly at the edge of the living room.

“Maybe it was just… one of us?” Manasvi offered, her voice unconvincing.

“No,” Shreya said, her tone sharp. “We all came from the hallway. These weren’t here before.”

Anshika shivered. “So, what—you think someone’s in the house? Like, right now?”

Misty, still shaken, grabbed the flashlight from the floor. “We need to check every room. If someone’s hiding, we have to find them.”

“Great idea,” Shreya muttered, her sarcasm cutting through the tension. “Let’s split up next and call out ‘hello’ like we’re in a bad horror movie.”

“Enough,” Misty snapped. “We do this together. One room at a time.”

Searching the House

The group moved cautiously through the darkened house, their flashlights sweeping across peeling wallpaper and dusty furniture. Each creak of the floorboards beneath their feet made their hearts race.

Anshika hovered near the back, muttering to herself. “This is insane. I told you this place was creepy.”

They checked the kitchen, pantry, and dining room, finding nothing but old furniture and the damp smell of rot.

“See?” Apoorva said quietly. “Maybe it was just the wind pushing the door open.”

Shreya raised an eyebrow. “The wind doesn’t leave footprints.”

When they reached the upstairs hallway, the atmosphere grew heavier. The air felt colder, the shadows longer. Misty opened the first bedroom door, her flashlight casting a long beam into the room.

“Empty,” she said, exhaling slowly.

They moved to the next room—Ratna’s old room. Apoorva hesitated, her hand on the doorknob.

“We don’t need to—” she started, but Shreya cut her off.

“Yes, we do,” Shreya said firmly.

The door creaked open, revealing a room frozen in time. The bed was neatly made, the shelves still lined with Ratna’s books and trinkets. A faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, unsettlingly fresh.

Apoorva’s flashlight flickered as she stepped inside. “It’s just… how she left it,” she murmured.

“Except for that,” Shreya said, pointing toward the dresser. A smudged handprint stood out on the dusty surface, the shape unmistakably fresh.

The First Attempt

As they stared at the handprint, the group’s nerves began to fray.

“Whoever’s doing this is messing with us,” Anshika said, her voice rising. “And I don’t think it’s funny.”

“No one’s laughing,” Shreya muttered.

A sudden crash echoed from downstairs. The group bolted out of the room, their flashlights bouncing erratically as they ran.

In the kitchen, the glass door of a cabinet had shattered, shards glittering on the floor. Misty knelt to inspect it, her flashlight steady.

“Someone threw this,” she said, holding up a heavy iron skillet that had landed nearby.

“Threw it from where?” Manasvi asked, her voice trembling.

Apoorva stepped closer to the broken cabinet. Her flashlight illuminated something on the back wall—a faint smudge, almost like writing.

“What is that?” she whispered.

They all leaned in, their breath catching as they saw it: a single word smeared in what looked like ash.

“WATCHING.”

Anshika backed away, her hands raised. “Nope. I’m done. This is too much.”

Before anyone could respond, the lights flickered back on, flooding the room with a sudden, harsh brightness.

For a moment, the group stood in stunned silence, their shadows stark against the walls. Then, the sound of shattering glass broke the stillness again.

“Upstairs,” Misty said, already moving.

Manasvi’s Close Call

They rushed back to the upstairs hallway, where the sound had come from Ratna’s room. The door, which they had left ajar, was now wide open.

“Stay behind me,” Misty ordered, stepping inside.

The room was as they’d left it—except for the window, which was now broken, rain streaming in. On the floor lay a shattered picture frame.

Shreya picked it up, turning it over. The photo inside was of the entire group, taken years ago. Ratna stood in the center, her hand resting on Apoorva’s shoulder.

Before anyone could speak, Manasvi stumbled back, clutching at her neck.

“Manasvi?” Apoorva said, rushing to her side.

Manasvi’s breathing was shallow, her eyes wide with panic. She pointed toward the corner of the room, where shadows seemed unnaturally deep.

“There was… someone,” she gasped. “They grabbed me.”

The group shone their flashlights into the corner, but it was empty.

“You’re imagining things,” Shreya said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“I’m not!” Manasvi cried. She pulled down her scarf, revealing faint red marks on her neck—finger-shaped bruises.

Officer Devesh Returns

The group huddled in the living room, their nerves frayed. Misty paced near the window, her jaw tight. Anshika sat curled in a chair, staring at the rain streaking the glass.

When the door opened suddenly, they all jumped. Officer Devesh stepped inside, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“Well, look at you lot,” he said, shaking water off his coat. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe just your own consciences.”

“Someone’s in the house,” Misty said, cutting to the point.

Devesh raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because murderers usually stick around to haunt the scene of the crime.”

“I’m serious,” she said.

Devesh sighed, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on the picture frame on the table. He picked it up, studying the cracked glass and the faces in the photo.

“Funny thing about groups like yours,” he said, almost to himself. “You think you know each other, but it’s the little things you don’t notice that end up mattering.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shreya asked.

Devesh set the frame down carefully. “Probably nothing,” he said. Then, with a faint smile, he added, “Or everything.”

Cliffhanger

As the group argued over Devesh’s cryptic remarks, the camera slowly panned back toward the hallway. The faint outline of muddy footprints appeared once again, leading toward the basement.

The final sound of the chapter: the distant creak of a door opening somewhere below.