It was a bright and sunny morning when Rajesh, brimming with energy as always, suggested, “Why don’t we go for a trip?” Rajesh had been my childhood friend, and his spontaneity never failed to surprise me. He was the kind of guy who could light up any room with his enthusiasm and charm. What’s even more intriguing about him is his physique—he's remarkably fit, despite the fact that, as far as I can remember, he’s never set foot inside a gym. Whenever I asked him how he managed to stay in such great shape, he'd always reply with a grin, “My ancestors did the work for me—both in wealth and health. Now I don’t need to lift a finger.”

And it was true—Rajesh came from a wealthy zamindar family, a legacy of landowners. His family was steeped in money, land, and power, which he inherited without effort. He often joked that while his ancestors had to sweat for the fortune, all he needed to do was enjoy it. And enjoy it, he did. Rajesh never missed a chance to have fun, and this trip idea seemed to be the latest in his string of spontaneous adventures.

Before I could respond to Rajesh’s suggestion, another voice chimed in—this time it was Rai, our mutual friend from high school. Rai, unlike Rajesh, had a different energy altogether. She was a bit of a tomboy, always on the go and never afraid to speak her mind. Rai didn’t grow up with us—she came from North Bengal and had moved to our town during high school. Over the years, the three of us became an inseparable trio, going on countless adventures together.

“This isn’t our first trip, and it probably won’t be our last,” I thought to myself as Rai spoke up. “Let’s go to Kurseong!” she exclaimed with excitement. Before Rajesh or I could even process her suggestion, she was already explaining why it was the perfect destination.

“Kurseong is just 34 kilometers from Siliguri,” she continued, “and it’s connected by both road and the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. It’s not far from here, and we can get there in no time. The nearest airport is in Bagdogra, and New Jalpaiguri is the closest railway station, just 45 kilometers away.” Her voice took on an enthusiastic tone, and I could tell she was already picturing the trip in her mind. Rai had always been good at details—her family traveled a lot, so she always had insider knowledge on the best places to visit.

Rajesh raised an eyebrow. “What’s so special about Kurseong?”

“Well, for starters, it’s not as crowded as Darjeeling, but it has just as much charm,” Rai replied. “The economy there is based mostly on education and tourism, so you can imagine how peaceful it is. Plus, the weather is amazing. We’ll escape the heat, breathe in some fresh mountain air, and relax for a change.”

She had a point. Rajesh and I had been to nearly every corner of India together—beaches, mountains, cities, villages. From the deserts of Rajasthan to the backwaters of Kerala, we had explored them all. But Kurseong was one place that had somehow escaped our radar, and Rai seemed convinced it would be worth our while.

Still, I wasn’t entirely sold. “But I don’t have much vacation time left from work,” I said, feeling the weight of my job pressing down on me. “I can only afford a five-day trip.”

“That’s perfect,” Rai replied confidently. “Five days is more than enough. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Rajesh, who had been unusually quiet for a while, finally spoke up. “Alright, Kurseong it is then! Let’s pack our bags and get out of here. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. What do you say?”

I couldn’t argue with the energy in the room. Rajesh was in his usual carefree mode, and Rai seemed to have every detail figured out. All that was left was for me to agree. I sighed and smiled, knowing I was about to be swept up in yet another adventure. “Okay, I’m in. Let’s do this.”

And with that, we left the coffee house, our minds already shifting to thoughts of the mountains, cool breezes, and winding roads that lay ahead. The excitement was contagious. Over the years, our trips had become a tradition, a way to escape the routine and mundane of daily life. It didn’t matter where we went or how far; what mattered was the thrill of the journey, the unexpected moments, and the joy of being together.

That evening, as I packed my bags, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. We had grown up together, Rajesh, Rai, and I, and through every stage of life, we had remained close. These trips weren’t just vacations—they were a reminder of our bond, of the memories we’d built over the years. Rajesh with his carefree spirit, Rai with her adventurous streak, and me, the one always caught between their whims, reluctant at first but always thankful afterward.

As I threw my clothes into my suitcase, I thought about Kurseong—a place I had never been, yet it was now our next destination. Maybe it would surprise me. After all, our best trips were often to places we hadn’t planned on visiting. This would be no different.

The next morning, we gathered at the bustling Kolkata train station, bags in hand, excitement buzzing through the chilly December air. Winter had set in early this year, and with it came a thick fog that clung to everything like a damp veil. Rai was running a bit late, which wasn’t unusual—she was always cutting it close—but she had been the one responsible for booking our lodging.

When she finally arrived, slightly out of breath from weaving through the crowd, she gave us news that made me a little uneasy.

“The lodge we were supposed to stay at is full,” she said. “But no worries, I found another place. Not as renowned, but it’s good—and cheaper too.”

Rajesh frowned. “Not as renowned?” he repeated. “What kind of place are we talking about?”

I could see the hesitation in his eyes, and honestly, I felt the same. We had heard great things about the lodge she had originally booked, so switching last minute felt like a bit of a risk. But when Rai mentioned the price—significantly cheaper than the original plan—my budget-conscious side won out. I wasn’t exactly swimming in money like Rajesh, and the idea of saving a bit of cash on the trip was tempting.

Rai, sensing Rajesh’s reluctance, launched into her persuasive mode. No one could argue with Rai when she put her mind to it. Within minutes, she had managed to ease his concerns, spinning the new lodge into some kind of hidden gem. Rajesh finally shrugged and said, “Fine, whatever. But if it’s a dump, I’m not letting you live it down.”

With the lodging issue resolved, we turned our attention to the train. Scheduled for 7:30 pm, the train was delayed by an hour thanks to the thick fog that had rolled in. It was going to be a long journey—twelve hours to New Jalpaiguri, then a car ride that would take us to our lodge by midnight. Or so we had planned.

When the train finally arrived, we boarded and found our seats. Rajesh, lucky as ever, got the upper coach and wasted no time clambering up and passing out. Rai and I tried to get him to stay awake for a while, but his stubbornness won out. He mumbled something about getting up later, but he was out like a light within minutes.

The train’s sleeper coach had a familiar layout. On the right side, there were two seats, one on top of the other, designed more like beds than actual seats. The left side had a larger capacity, accommodating six people. Two bunkers were fixed on the top, and below, a long bench that seated six doubled as a bed. In the middle was a foldable bed that hung down when in use. Since we were only three, we had to share the six-seater with others.

The person sharing the space with us seemed a bit off from the start. He was quiet, yet there was something unsettling about the way he watched Rai and me as we talked. The rest of the seats were supposed to fill up at later stations, so it was just us and him for the moment.

Rai and I passed the time reminiscing about old trips, laughing over forgotten memories. I noticed the man next to us listening in, but I didn’t think much of it until he suddenly spoke. His voice was low and gravelly, cutting into our conversation with a chilling suddenness.

“Don’t disturb her,” he said, his voice rough and commanding. “Let her be alone. She wants peace.”

We stopped talking, stunned by his outburst. For a few moments, Rai and I just stared at him, not sure what to say. I could feel a strange tension in the air, the kind that makes your skin prickle with unease. But then, just as quickly as it started, the moment passed. Rai and I shared a glance, silently agreeing to ignore him. We chalked it up to him being a bit eccentric, nothing more.

After that, the excitement of the trip started to fade as exhaustion set in. The train rumbled on through the night, and we decided to get some sleep. Rajesh was still snoring away in his upper bunker, oblivious to the world. I lay down, trying to relax, but I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The man’s strange words echoed in my mind. I kept one eye open, watching him for a while, just in case he did something odd.

Eventually, fatigue won out, and I dozed off. Sometime during the night, I was startled awake. The train had stopped at a station, and the man was no longer there. I sat up, groggy and disoriented, just in time to see three new passengers boarding our coach. They were confused, talking about how they were supposed to sit in our section. It didn’t take long for us to realize that the strange man had been sitting in a seat that didn’t belong to him. He had been traveling without a ticket the entire time.

Rajesh had apparently been awake through the whole thing, watching from his upper bunker. When he climbed down in the morning, he casually mentioned seeing the man get off the train without saying a word. Rai and I exchanged uneasy glances, but we didn’t dwell on it for long. We had other things to worry about—like the fact that the train had stopped for an unusually long time at one of the smaller stations. Technical issues, they said. It didn’t feel like a big deal at first, but with every passing hour, we were falling further behind schedule.

By the time we finally reached New Jalpaiguri and found our car, it was past midnight. The drive to the lodge was quiet, each of us too tired to talk much. The road was narrow and winding, lined with dark trees that swayed in the cold wind.

When we finally pulled up to our lodge, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. After the long journey, all I wanted was a bed. But as we climbed out of the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The lodge looked older than I had imagined, its windows dark and its structure looming like a shadow against the night sky.

The front door creaked as we entered, and the air inside was cold—colder than it should’ve been.

“Welcome,” said a soft voice from the shadows.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling a chill run down my spine.

“You shouldn’t have come this late,” said the caretaker, his voice as cold as the night air.

We had finally arrived at the lodge after an exhausting, delayed journey. It was past midnight, and as we stood in front of the old building, the uneasiness I’d felt throughout the trip crept back in. The lodge was run-down, much worse than I’d imagined from Rai’s description. Rajesh, rubbing his eyes, didn’t seem to care—he was ready to drop into any bed available. I wasn’t so sure.

The garden we had to cross was overgrown, the once neatly-trimmed bushes now wild and unruly. The iron gate squeaked and groaned as we pushed it open, and the wooden front door creaked ominously as we entered. The caretaker, an old man who looked weary beyond his years, stood waiting for us. His thin figure and lifeless eyes made him blend into the lodge’s eerie atmosphere.

I shot a look at Rai, lowering my voice. “Are you sure we’re going to make it out of here alive?”

She gave me a half-smile, though I could tell she was a bit thrown by the caretaker’s cold greeting. “Come on, it’s just one night.”

With Rajesh already on the verge of falling asleep standing up, we had no choice but to go along with it. Rai didn’t press the caretaker with her usual questions this time. I think even she felt it was better to get to our rooms quickly and avoid further conversation.

The caretaker led us inside, moving slowly down the hallway. The lodge’s interior was a strange contrast to its exterior—while the outside was falling apart, the inside was in surprisingly good condition. The floor was covered with Kashmiri carpets, soft and well-maintained, which felt odd given the building’s neglected state.

Our rooms were cozy enough, with large wooden beds and thick blankets. After the long, uncomfortable train ride, it was a relief. We dropped our bags and freshened up before heading to the dining hall for dinner.

Despite the strangeness of our arrival, the food was a welcome distraction. The rich aroma of mutton curry and steaming rice filled the room, and for a brief moment, we forgot the unsettling feeling hanging over the place. Rajesh perked up with every bite, his earlier exhaustion vanishing. Rai and I exchanged a glance—maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

“Not bad,” I muttered, savoring the warmth of the food.

After dinner, Rajesh and I were ready for bed. “I need sleep,” he declared, stretching. “This day has been too long.”

“Same here,” I added, feeling the weight of exhaustion in my bones.

Rai, however, had other plans. “I’m going to talk to the caretaker for a bit,” she said. “Just want to get some details about the lodge.”

I shrugged. “Alright, but don’t be too long. You’ll need the rest for tomorrow.”

She nodded, and with that, Rajesh and I headed upstairs. As soon as I lay down, sleep pulled me under like a heavy blanket, and the strange atmosphere of the lodge faded from my mind.

---

The next morning, I woke up to the faint sound of footsteps outside my room. I got up and made my way downstairs, where I found Rajesh lounging on the couch in the common area, looking much more awake than the night before. Rai was nearby, talking quietly with the caretaker. When she joined us, she looked thoughtful, as though she’d learned something she couldn’t quite make sense of.

“What’s up?” I asked, grabbing a cup of tea.

“Well,” she began, “I found out something weird about this place last night. The caretaker told me that the lodge had been closed for twelve years before it reopened recently.”

“Closed? For twelve years?” Rajesh raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That’s the thing,” Rai said, shaking her head. “No one seems to know. It used to be really popular, but then one day, it just shut down. The caretaker doesn’t know much either—he’s only been living here for the past five years.”

I frowned, that familiar uneasiness creeping back in. “So, no one knows why it closed down?”

“Nope,” Rai replied. “But something about it just feels... off, you know?”

I didn’t like the sound of that. The lodge had already given me a strange vibe, and now, hearing that it had been abandoned for so long only made things worse.

---

Later that morning, we set out to explore Kurseong and its surroundings. The fresh mountain air was a welcome relief after the staleness of the lodge. We decided to visit Dow Hill, a lesser-known but beautiful spot known for its tranquil atmosphere. It was peaceful, though a bit eerie with its dense forest and the historic Victoria Boys' School, which loomed in the background.

As we walked around, Rai told us about some of the local legends. “People say this area is haunted,” she said casually. “There are stories about a headless boy roaming the woods at night.”

Rajesh rolled his eyes. “Great. More ghost stories.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rai teased. “Places like this always have a history.”

I chuckled, but the eerie tales stuck with me. Something about the isolation of the place, the silence in the woods, and the decaying old buildings made me feel uneasy. The beauty of Kurseong had an underlying darkness, one that was hard to ignore.

---

When we returned to the lodge that evening, the mood shifted once again. It felt colder, quieter, and somehow darker than before. The garden we crossed earlier seemed even more overgrown, and the trees around us swayed in the wind, casting long shadows on the ground.

As we walked inside, I noticed something I hadn’t seen the night before—a door at the far end of the hallway, nearly hidden behind a large, dusty curtain. It was closed, but a faint light flickered from underneath, as if someone—or something—was inside.

I stopped for a moment, staring at it, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. There was something unsettling about that door. Why hadn’t I noticed it earlier? And why was there light coming from behind it now?

“Everything alright?” Rai’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking off the unease. “Just tired, I guess.”

But as we headed upstairs to our rooms, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching us from behind that door, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.