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The Villa of Shadows
Three weeks had passed since the Sharma case,
and I was still untangling the moral knots it had left behind when our next
client walked through the door. Krittika Desai didn’t just walk in—she arrived
like a disturbance in still water. Everything about her—from her designer bag
that looked too pristine to the London-polished accent—said she didn’t belong
in the chaos of our modest office. But the look in her eyes, that raw unease,
was something I recognized. Fear doesn't wear labels.
"Thank you so much for seeing me,"
she said, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. "My uncle
Ramesh Desai recommended you. He said you handle... unusual cases."
Unusual. That word again.
Sukanya didn’t blink. "What kind of
unusual situation are we dealing with, Miss Desai?"
"I recently bought a villa in the
outskirts of town. The Gupta-Agarwal Villa, near the old jungle resort area. I
paid quite a lot for it—probably more than I should have, but I’m new to the
Indian property market and..." She paused, wrapping her arms around
herself like the room had suddenly turned cold. "I think it’s
haunted."
I stifled a chuckle. Ghosts? After all the real
monsters we’d chased—kidnappers, murderers, political manipulators—the
supernatural felt like a plot twist from a pulp novel.
"I know how it sounds," she said
quickly. "But I’m seeing things. Terrifying figures moving in the shadows.
Voices in rooms I know are empty. And last night, I found scratch marks...
inside my wardrobe. I live alone."
Sukanya gave me a look, the one that meant,
*Let’s not dismiss this yet*.
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