The gravel crunched under the tires as Ethan Miller drove the last stretch of winding mountain road. The asphalt ended abruptly, giving way to loose stones, and the forest ahead swallowed the fading light.
He turned off the engine but kept his hand on the steering wheel longer than necessary.
Hollow Creek looked smaller than he remembered, yet heavier, almost oppressive.
The buildings were scattered, wooden and worn, windows dark, as if they were silently watching him. A cold wind slipped through the cracks, but it was more than just cold—it pressed against his skin, sticky and unwelcome.
From somewhere deep in the trees came a sound—not wind, not animal—a long, low exhale that made him freeze.
He quickly shut the car door.
The only inn in town bore a faded sign:
Carter's Inn
Its letters were chipped, as if the sign had been there for centuries.
A woman appeared in the doorway. Her dark hair was tied back tightly, and her eyes didn't rest on anything for long.
Lila Carter.
"Room for the night?" she asked softly, her gaze sharp.
Ethan hesitated, gripping the strap of his bag. She noticed, and her eyes lingered longer than comfortable.
"You came because of someone, didn't you?"
He blinked.
"Brother… his name is Daniel. He disappeared here six months ago."
Silence.
Even the clock on the wall seemed to pause.
Lila leaned forward slightly, her voice low:
"People don't disappear here."
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"They just… don't come back the same."
In his room, Ethan set his bag near the bed.
The place smelled old—wet wood, dust, and a faint metallic tang.
He pulled back the curtain.
The forest pressed closer than he expected. The trees leaned in irregularly, shadows stretching unnaturally, as if the light itself feared to rest there.
When he turned back, the room felt… not empty.
He whirled around.
Nothing.
In the mirror above the desk, his reflection looked normal…
Except for the exhaustion in his eyes, older than it should have been.
Then he thought he saw it—
his reflection blinking a fraction of a second too late.
Footsteps. Or not footsteps.
A presence just beyond understanding.
"You're already too late."
The whisper had no source.
Near the door, on the floor, a shadow darker than the night itself seemed to cling to the wood.
And somewhere in the forest, something had noticed his arrival.
to be continued....