Chapter 2: The Town That Forgot

The train to Ravenshore pulled into the station at exactly 3:07 AM. The air was thick with fog, curling around the old wooden platform like ghostly fingers. The station itself looked forgotten—its flickering lamps barely lighting the way, the peeling paint on the sign barely legible.

Aarav Mehta stepped off, tightening his grip on his duffel bag. The letter, the photo of Aisha, and the strange woman on the train had left a lingering unease in his chest.

But he was here now. And he wasn’t leaving until he got answers.

The station was nearly deserted—except for a single man leaning against a rusted pillar. He was in his early fifties, wearing a wool coat and a cigarette hanging from his lips. His sharp eyes locked onto Aarav the moment he stepped onto the platform.

“You Mehta?” the man asked. His voice was rough, like he had spent years drinking cheap whiskey and smoking unfiltered cigarettes.

Aarav gave a curt nod. “Who’s asking?”

The man smirked. “Inspector Vikram Roy. You’re lucky I don’t throw reporters like you back on the next train out of town.”

Aarav raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite the welcome. You know why I’m here?”

Vikram took a slow drag of his cigarette. “I know a lot of things. Like how Ravenshore doesn’t take kindly to outsiders digging up the past. Especially ones that should stay buried.”

Aarav crossed his arms. “I got an anonymous letter. Someone wants me here.”

Vikram exhaled smoke, watching Aarav carefully. “Yeah? And that letter didn’t warn you to stay away?”

Aarav pulled the photo from his pocket and held it up. “Tell me, Inspector—does this place look familiar?”

For the briefest moment, Vikram’s expression changed. A flicker of something—recognition, maybe even fear. But it was gone in an instant.

“The old Verma Mansion,” he muttered. “That place should’ve crumbled into the sea years ago.”

Aarav’s stomach twisted. Verma Mansion. That meant…

“Aisha’s house,” he said.

Vikram met his gaze, his face unreadable. “The house where she was last seen.”

Aarav clenched his jaw. “Then that’s where I’m going.”

Vikram let out a low chuckle. “You’re not going anywhere right now, kid. No one steps foot near that house after dark.”

Aarav frowned. “Superstition?”

Vikram’s smirk faded. “Call it whatever you want. But if you’re smart, you’ll wait until morning.”

Aarav wanted to argue, but the cold wind howled through the empty station, making the silence even more unsettling. He exhaled sharply.

“Fine. Where’s the nearest hotel?”

Vikram smirked again. “Not many options in Ravenshore. You’re staying at The Blackwood Inn.”

The Blackwood Inn

The moment Aarav stepped inside the inn, he felt like he had entered another century.

The wooden floorboards creaked under his boots, and the walls were lined with old paintings—portraits of people long forgotten, their hollow eyes seeming to follow him. The air smelled of dust, wood polish, and something faintly floral, like dried lavender left out too long.

An elderly woman stood behind the reception desk, her silver hair braided neatly down her back. Her name tag read “Mrs. Desai.”

“You must be Mr. Mehta,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Inspector Roy called ahead.”

Aarav set down his bag. “Seems like word travels fast around here.”

Mrs. Desai gave a tight-lipped smile. “In a town this small, nothing stays a secret for long.”

Aarav slid the photo of Aisha across the counter. “Ever seen her before?”

Mrs. Desai barely glanced at it before shaking her head. “It’s late, Mr. Mehta. You should rest.”

Aarav studied her. She was lying.

But he was too exhausted to push further.

“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his room key. “Goodnight.”

3:42 AM – A Knock at the Door

Aarav had barely dozed off when he heard it—a soft knock.

His eyes snapped open. The room was pitch black except for the faint glow of the street lamp outside.