The Beautiful Ghost

Chapter one

It was a foggy evening as Shah Rukh drove up the long winding driveway leading to his new home on the outskirts of Mumbai. He had come across the old colonial style house located on a sprawling hilltop property after seeing photographs online, and though the real estate agent assured him it only needed some TLC, something about the isolated landscape gave him an uneasy feeling.

As he parked his car, the dense mist swirling around only added to the eerie atmosphere. Grabbing his box of cleaning supplies from the trunk, Shah Rukh steeled his nerves and walked slowly up the creaking wooden steps to the large front door. "Hello?" he called out tentatively, but was only greeted by his echo in response. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the oxidized brass handle and turned.

The door opened with a piercing squeal that made him jump. Peering inside, pitch black darkness peered back. Fumbling in his pocket for his phone torch, Shah Rukh scanned the narrow beam around the foyer. A thick layer of dust coated every surface, silently testifying to how long the house had stood empty. He sneezed loudly in the stillness.

As his eyes adjusted, vague shapes began to emerge from the gloom. An archway led into a cavernous living area, empty save for a few abandoned pieces of antique furniture shrouded in sheets. A wide staircase opposite wound up towards unknown levels above. Getting his bearings, Shah Rukh decided to begin downstairs before tackling the upper floors.

He moved into the living area, swiping his finger through the dust on a side table and cringing at the mess that came away. This was going to be a lot of work. Over in the far corner, something glinted dully under a sheet. Curious, Shah Rukh grasped the edge of the cloth and pulled. A grand piano was revealed, its mahogany wood still retaining a hint of polish under years of neglect. He ran a hand gently over the closed lid, imagining the music that had once been played here.

Continuing his sweep, a doorway led to a spacious dining room, and past that the echoes of his footsteps guided him to a spacious eat-in kitchen. Though long empty, the quality of cabinetry and appliances hinted at lives once filled with warmth and community around this table. Shah Rukh smiled wistfully at the idea, already feeling at home amongst these founding relics despite their present disarray.

From the kitchen, French doors opened out onto a flagstone terrace overlooking sprawling grounds disappearing into the encroaching mist. He walked to the edge and peered over, just able to make out shapes of trees and hedges far below in the gloom. This place had real potential, if he could breathe new life into its tired bones. Inspired, Shah Rukh couldn't wait to get started on renovations in the morning.

Turning back to the house, his breath caught in his chest. Silhouetted against the streaming torchlight was a figure at the kitchen entry, motionless and spectral in the threshold. "Hello?" Shah Rukh called tentatively, but the shadow did not answer or acknowledge him in any way. Slowly, uncertain if he was truly seeing something or his mind was playing tricks in the low light and strangeness of the place, the figure seemed to waver and then was gone.

Shah Rukh released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, shaking his head to dismiss what was surely a trick of the eyes in such an isolating setting. Yet as comforting as that rationale seemed, an instinct deep within told him that something about this house was not as it appeared...

Shah Rukh stood at the French doors for a long while, gazing unseeingly into the gloom, lost in thought. There was no escaping the unease that had settled heavily in his stomach at what he could have sworn he saw in the kitchen. But perhaps this old empty house was getting to him already, overactive imagination filling empty halls with phantoms.

He needed rest before tackling this project properly. Resolving to explore more in the light of day, Shah Rukh made his way back through the first floor rooms, gathering his bag of supplies. No further anomalies manifested themselves on his sweep, though the prickling on the back of his neck did not fully recede.

Upstairs, the second floor held more mysteries. Here, the narrow beam of his phone did little to cut through the pitch, and he walked slowly, running hands along the walls to steady himself. Doors lined the corridor at intervals, each likely holding unknown histories. The first he pushed open led to a bedroom, outlined in soft moonlight that filtered through gauzy curtains.

Dust sheets shrouded sparse furnishings, but a faint outline against one wall drew his eye. Approaching, Shah Rukh pulled back the sheet to reveal a large ornate mirror, its surface clouded and tarnished. He wiped a sleeve across, clearing away decades of grime. Slowly, his reflection emerged...along with something else, just over his shoulder.

Heart leaping into his throat, Shah Rukh whirled, raising his phone high. But the bedroom stood empty behind him as before. He let out a shaky laugh, scolding his reflection for the scare. "Get a grip, it's just an old house playing tricks." Calming his breathing, he turned back to the mirror-only to scream and reel away in horror.

For just a moment, he could have sworn he saw the faintest impression of a face in the glass, pale and sorrowful, before it melted back into the murk. Hand rising to clutch at his racing heart, Shah Rukh fled the room at a run. No illusion could explain what he witnessed-some presence was here with him, in this place that clearly held dark secrets underneath the years of dust.

He had to know more. But not until morning, when the sun might dispel some of the clinging shadows from both the house and his mind. Finding an empty bedroom at the end of the hall, Shah Rukh barricaded the door behind him as best he could and collapsed into an exhausted, fitful sleep. The night pressed in all around, and he could almost feel watchful eyes upon his restless slumber.

Shah Rukh awoke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat as wisps of haunting dreams slipped away. Sunlight filtering through grimy windows told him morning had come, and with it a measure of reassurance. Whatever spirits seemed to prowl these halls under cover of night, in the light of day he could regain control.

After breaking his fast with a meager ration from his bag, Shah Rukh set about exploring the house once more. He focused his energy on a thorough cleaning of the first floor, throwing open windows to air out musty rooms. Dusting away years revealed gorgeous parquet floors and ornate crown mouldings - with work, this place could shine again.

By early afternoon, his back ached but satisfaction swelled as the living area took on new life. In a bright patch of sun, something glinted among abandoned knick knacks. Retrieving an ornate silver picture frame, Shah Rukh blew away dust to reveal a faded portrait of a young couple gazing adoringly at one another, dressed in finery of another era.

"Who were you?" he murmured, captivated. On a whim, he removed the portrait from its frame to search for any identifying marks. And there, scrawled in delicate script on the back, was a name that sent a chill through him - Kajol. Could this be a clue to the presence he sensed? Resolve strengthening, Shah Rukh knew he must uncover the truth of what transpired within these walls.

After a fortifying cup of tea on the now-spotless back terrace, Shah Rukh steeled himself to tackle the upstairs. The creaking steps no longer seemed so foreboding in daylight as he ascended. Methodically, he threw open each dusty door to cast light and air, banishing remnants of the night. In the third bedroom, movement in his peripheral caught his eye.

Spinning, Shah Rukh's mouth went dry. Floating ethereally by the window was the pale, sorrowful woman from his dreams. Kajol stood gazing at him with desperation in her eyes, lips forming a single syllable - "Please..." Before he could react, she vanished on the wind. This house's mysteries had only deepened, and he would not rest until he unravelled them.