Ananya steered her small hatchback up the winding road to Misty Hill. The late-evening fog had arrived early, turning the forest road into a tunnel of white. Her phone lost its signal half an hour ago, and the GPS had frozen.

She was on a solo trip to photograph little-known homestays for her travel blog. The forum post about “Hillview Retreat” claimed there was a charming old bungalow near the top. With daylight fading, she felt relieved when she finally spotted a rusty iron gate and a wooden board that read: Hillview – Rooms Available.

The gravel driveway curved to a large colonial-style bungalow. One warm light glowed in an upstairs window.

Ananya knocked on the heavy front door. After a long pause it opened to a tall, thin man with silver hair.

“I’m Mr. Dutt, caretaker,” he said. “You must be the guest who called. Please, come in before the fog thickens.”

Inside, the house smelled of damp wood and incense. The hall held faded rugs and old photographs of the hill station in British days.

“You’re our only guest tonight,” Dutt said as he showed her a modest upstairs room. “Dinner at eight. The fog can confuse Travellers—best stay indoors after dark.”

To her surprise, Ananya found four other people in the dining room later:

• Sameer, a young wildlife photographer

• A cheerful middle-aged couple, the Mehras, on a weekend break.

Conversation was friendly but oddly guarded. Whenever Ananya mentioned how deserted the area felt, everyone went quiet. Dutt served a simple meal of dal, vegetables, and chapatis, then left without a word.

A thunderclap rattled the windows. The lights flickered and dimmed. For a moment Ananya thought she saw Dutt watching her too intently.

After dinner, in the upstairs corridor, Sameer caught Ananya’s arm.

“Keep your door locked,” she whispered. “If you hear footsteps tonight, don’t open it.”

“Why?” Ananya asked, unsettled.

Sameer only shook his head. “Promise me.”

Ananya promised, half-thinking the old lady enjoyed scaring strangers.

Near midnight, soft sounds woke her: tap…tap…tap in the hallway.

Her heart thudded. The steps paused at her door.

Knock. Knock.

“Ananya,” a man’s voice said quietly. “It’s Dutt. We need to talk.”

She held her breath and stayed silent. After a tense minute, the steps retreated.

Morning sunlight cut through thin mist. Ananya went to breakfast and found only Sameer there.

“Where are the Mehras?” she asked.

Sameer looked puzzled. “Who? I thought it was just us and the old lady.”

Before Ananya could answer, Sameer surprisingly enquired. “Where is Mr. Dutt?” he asked.

No one had seen him.

They searched the bungalow. Guest rooms stood open and bare beds made, no luggage, no sign of the Mehras. The bungalow was too big and many times three of them would get lost in any passage or room.

In a small office they found a dusty register. The last written entries were five years old. Among them: Mr. and Mrs. Mehra—dated long before last night.

Sameer ran a finger over the faded ink. “Are we sure we met them?”

Ananya knew she hadn’t imagined their voices, their laughter over dinner.

Behind a bookcase, Sameer discovered a narrow door leading to a stone staircase. The smell of damp and rust grew stronger as they descended.

At the bottom was a low cellar. Old trunks and broken furniture lay scattered. Rusted hooks and chains hung from the walls—likely from the bungalow’s days as a British storehouse.

In one trunk were worn clothes tagged with names and years. The most recent label read Mehra – 2018.

Sameer whispered, “This is insane.”

A lantern light flickered behind them. Mr. Dutt stepped from the shadows.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low. “This part of the house is unsafe.”

“Where are the Mehras?” Ananya demanded.

“There were no Mehras,” he replied. “Old names in an old register. Fog plays tricks. People think they see and hear what there isn’t.”

He motioned them upstairs. “Please. The hill is dangerous. Stay together.”

Something in his calmness chilled Ananya more than anger would have. Both of them decided to leave the bungalow at earliest.

They reached the main door—but it was bolted from the outside. Dutt searched his pockets, frowning. “The key was here…”

A gust of wind slammed a shutter. The lights flickered out. It was dark now, Sameer smashed a window with a chair. They scrambled out into the wet night air.

Fog swallowed them as they stumbled down the muddy path. Behind them the bungalow’s outline faded until only the dim upstairs light remained.

They didn’t stop until the forest thinned, and the main road appeared under a pale sunrise.

At a roadside tea stall they tried to steady themselves. A jeep from the local forest patrol pulled in.

“You came from the hill?” an officer asked.

Ananya nodded. “There’s an old guesthouse. We stayed the night. Something strange happened—”

The officer shook his head. “That building collapsed years ago after a landslide. Nothing up there but rubble and old cellars. We warn trekkers all the time.”

“But we met the caretaker,” Sameer insisted. “Mr. Dutt.”

The officer gave a small, uneasy smile. “Mr. Dutt was the last caretaker. He died in that landslide.”

Ananya felt the blood drain from her face. “Are you sure?”

“I grew up here,” the officer said. “No one has lived on that hill for five years.”

When the jeep drove them to a nearby station, they climbed the hill from another trail in daylight. The “bungalow” was nothing but cracked foundations and fallen stone. Only the cellar remained, half hidden under vines.

Inside lay a single trunk—empty, except for a torn page from an old register.

Ananya pulled the same register from her bag. She didn’t remember putting it there. Its pages were blank.

Sameer whispered, “Maybe the fog and low oxygen made us imagine everything.”

“Maybe,” Ananya said, though the memory of warm lamplight and the sound of footsteps felt too sharp to dismiss.

Back at the main road, the mist thickened again. Ananya turned once more toward the hill. Through a gap in the trees she thought she saw a faint golden glow where the upstairs window should have been.

It vanished when she blinked.