Chapter 5: Inside the Fort

As soon as the students stepped through the enormous gate of the fort, they felt like they had entered a different time altogether. Massive stone towers, eerie carvings on the walls, and a strange, unnerving stillness in the air — everything seemed to whisper a story, yet nothing was clear.

“This place is creepy,” Naina murmured, clinging to her backpack.

“And huge,” Kabir said, twirling around, “we could play hide-and-seek here forever.”

“Forever? What if someone really goes missing forever?” Siya said with a half-hearted chuckle, though her eyes betrayed a sense of nervousness.

The students were accompanied by their teachers and the elderly guide, Baba Dayaram, who shared fascinating legends about every wall, corridor, and chamber. Starting from the main courtyard, they made their way into a long, narrow hallway, where faded old paintings and photographs hung from cracked walls.

Most pictures depicted royal soldiers and kings from the bygone era. Some showed war scenes, others grand courtrooms. But one picture made Aarav stop in his tracks.

“Wait… look at that!” he called out.

On the wall hung a dull, broken-framed painting — a hand-painted picture of an arched window where four shadow-like figures stood. What sent chills down everyone’s spine was that these silhouettes looked uncannily similar to Aarav, Siya, Kabir, and Naina.

“That… that looks like us,” Siya whispered, unable to look away.

“It might just be a coincidence,” Kabir said quickly, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

“It’s spooky, though,” Naina added, inching closer.

Even Baba Dayaram paused. He looked closely at the painting, and then silently moved forward. His face seemed to tighten.

“Baba ji, won’t you tell us about this picture?” Aarav asked.

Baba nodded slowly. “There are many stories about it. None of them are complete. Some say those are the spirits of four children who once wandered into the fort… and never came out.”

A heavy silence followed.

Whether it was truth or folklore, something about the painting felt alive — like those shadows were watching them back.

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Next, the group was led to an old underground chamber. A narrow flight of stairs led them down, and with each step, a cold draft of air brushed against their skin, making them shiver.

At the bottom was a large room made of stone, surrounded by small, windowless cells.

“This is where prisoners were kept,” Baba Dayaram explained. “Many were left here to die, in chains.”

Marks from shackles were still visible on the walls. In one of the cells, someone had scratched words into the dusty clay with their fingernails:

“The night has returned…”

“Who wrote that?” Naina asked nervously.

“Maybe a prisoner,” Baba said softly. “Or maybe… someone else.”

Just as they stepped deeper into the chamber, one of the rusty doors slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

Everyone jumped.

“Who closed that?!” Siya gasped.

“Probably just the wind,” Kabir offered, though now even he looked frightened.

---

By the time they reached the fort's towers, the sun had started dipping low into the sky. The golden light made the shadows longer, darker, and far more mysterious.

While climbing one of the towers, Aarav’s eyes caught sight of a broken staircase that led downward into what looked like a dark tunnel.

“Where does that go?” he asked, pointing toward the passage.

Baba Dayaram didn’t answer immediately. But Veeru, the other guide, spoke up, “You shouldn’t go there. That section has been locked for decades.”

“Why?” Siya questioned.

“Because… no one ever returned,” Veeru replied after a pause.

The children exchanged uneasy glances. Their curiosity was quickly being overtaken by unease.

---

As the sky turned orange and birds began retreating to their nests, the fort grew colder. The wind carried a whispering sound, and the walls seemed to lean in just a little closer.

Even though the teachers tried to keep the group cheerful and light-hearted, the four friends remained quiet.

Then Aarav said, “That painting… those shadows… I can’t get them out of my head.”

“They were watching us,” Naina whispered.

“I feel like the fort is… waiting,” Siya added, hugging herself tightly.

Kabir looked back toward the tower. “Or calling us,” he said.

The thought hung in the air like fog — not heavy, but impossible to ignore.

---

The fort no longer felt like just an old monument.

It felt alive.

As if behind each stone, a story was buried — not told through textbooks, but whispered in the wind, scratched into walls, and painted in faded colors.

It was just the beginning.

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