Rain lashed against the windows of the old Viceregal Lodge, the wind howling like a banshee through the pines that clung precariously to the steep slopes surrounding Shimla. Inside, Maya shivered, pulling the thin shawl tighter around her shoulders. The caretaker, a wizened old man named Bahadur, had warned her about coming during the monsoon, but Maya, a budding documentary filmmaker, had been determined to capture the "essence" of Shimla during the off-season.
The Lodge, abandoned for decades, was a sprawling, decrepit building with an air of melancholy clinging to its dusty corridors and peeling paint. Maya had chosen it for its historical significance, a bygone era whispering secrets through its broken windows. But tonight, with the storm raging outside and the flickering oil lamps casting grotesque shadows, the Lodge felt more ominous than historic.
As she brewed a cup of instant coffee over a camping stove, a sudden crash from the upper floor startled her. Her heart hammered in her chest. It must be the wind, she reasoned, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
Just then, a faint, rhythmic tapping sound started echoing through the vast emptiness of the Lodge. It seemed to be coming from above, like someone walking slowly with a cane. Curiosity warred with fear in Maya. Bahadur had mentioned no one else residing in the Lodge, not even security guards.
The tapping grew louder, punctuated by an occasional groan, as if the walker was struggling with each step. Maya grabbed the flashlight, her hand trembling. Should she investigate? Or should she stay put and hope for morning?
Driven by a morbid curiosity, she decided to climb the creaking stairs. The air grew colder with each step, the musty smell of decay thickening. The tapping led her to a long, dark corridor lined with closed doors. The groans seemed to be coming from behind one of them.
Against her better judgment, Maya reached out and pushed the door open. A gust of cold air swept past her, extinguishing the flashlight. Panic surged through her, but then she felt a floorboard creak under her feet. There was somebody in the room.
"Who's there?" she said, her voice cracking in the darkness.
No answer. Just the sound of ragged breathing, shallow and wet. Maya fumbled with the lighter on her keychain, its feeble flame illuminating a horrifying sight.
On a dusty cot lay a figure shrouded in a tattered blanket. The face, revealed in the flickering light, was skeletal, the skin stretched taut over protruding bones. But it was the eyes that truly sent a wave of terror wash over Maya. Black, lifeless holes gaped where eyes should have been.
The figure gasped, its bony hand reaching out towards Maya. Terror gave way to a primal urge to survive. Maya backed away, her foot catching on something soft. She looked down to see a human skull, its empty eyes staring sightlessly up at her.
A bloodcurdling scream tore from Maya's throat as she stumbled, the flashlight falling from her grasp and rolling away into the darkness. She scrambled back, her hand brushing against a sharp object – an old, rusty sword hanging on the wall.
Without hesitation, she grabbed the sword, its cold metal sending a shiver through her. The figure lunged from the cot, its skeletal limbs twitching spastically. Using all her strength, Maya swung the sword. It connected with a sickening thud, the sound echoing through the silent room.
A moment of horrific silence followed. Then, the creature crumpled onto the floor, finally still. Maya dropped the sword, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face. She hadn't meant to kill, but the adrenaline-fueled fight had left her trembling and disoriented.
The storm seemed to have abated outside. Slowly, the first rays of dawn seeped through the dusty windows, casting an eerie light on the scene. With trembling hands, Maya reached for her phone, but it had no signal.
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