The town was growing colder. Lukas could feel it in his bones.
As he and Eliza left the park, the creeping sensation of something watching them refused to fade. Even as he tried to focus on his sister's excited chatter about the other children, his mind kept wandering back to what he had seen—the unnatural fog, the hollow children, the way reality itself seemed to stretch and bend.
But none of it seemed to bother Eliza.
She hummed to herself, her boots tapping lightly against the cobblestone streets as they made their way home. Lukas walked beside her, his pace slower, more cautious.
The town's narrow alleys and weathered stone houses loomed over them, their ivy-covered facades casting jagged shadows under the fading afternoon light. The buildings were tightly packed, their once-grand architecture now worn down by time and neglect.
The few townsfolk that still remained outside moved quickly, their coats drawn tight, their gazes fixed downward. No one lingered. No one spoke.
It was as if they were afraid of the very air.
Lukas's eyes flicked to the windows of the houses they passed. Some had their curtains drawn, others were eerily empty. It was a suffocating stillness, a forced quiet.
Even the fog, which had retreated somewhat earlier, now seemed to coil around the edges of the streets like something alive.
Eliza didn't seem to notice.
"Today was fun," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You should play with me next time, Lukas!"
Lukas forced a smile. "Next time," he said, though his thoughts were far from the carefree games of children.
They turned the final corner, arriving at their home. Their house, like the others, was built from dark stone, its wooden beams exposed from years of wear. A single iron lantern hung above the door, its glass cracked, the flame inside flickering weakly.
Lukas reached for the rusted door handle, but the moment his fingers brushed against it, an odd sensation shot through his body.
A faint, static-like hum.
Something was off.
The hairs on his neck stood on end. His mind screamed at him to stop.
But before he could react, Eliza pushed past him, throwing the door open.
"Lukas, come on! It's cold!" she giggled, completely unaware of his hesitation.
Lukas inhaled sharply and followed.
The warmth of the house hit him immediately, the scent of herbal tea and aged wood settling around him like a familiar blanket. But the unease from outside lingered, refusing to be washed away.
Something had changed.
And he intended to find out what.
---
The house had fallen into silence.
Eliza had gone upstairs, already settling into her routine, while Helena sat by the fire, her eyes distant as she sipped her tea. The soft crackling of the fire was the only sound that filled the space.
Lukas leaned against the kitchen counter, lost in thought.
The strange sensation from the door, the way the town felt unnatural, the empty-eyed children in the park—his mind churned with pieces of a puzzle he didn't yet understand.
Then, a knock sounded at the door.
A slow, deliberate knock.
Lukas froze.
The sound echoed through the small house, far louder than it should have been.
He turned toward his mother, expecting her to respond, but she had gone still, her eyes locked on the door with an expression he couldn't quite decipher.
Another knock.
This time, it was heavier. More insistent.
Lukas's fingers curled into a tight fist. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse suddenly too loud in his ears.
Something about this wasn't normal.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, Helena exhaled slowly, setting her cup down. Her hands trembled slightly as she did.
"Don't answer it," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Lukas stared at her. "Why?"
She shook her head. "Just… don't."
Another knock.
Louder.
Lukas's jaw tightened. He wasn't a child. He wasn't going to be kept in the dark.
He stepped forward.
"Lukas."
His mother's voice stopped him in his tracks.
This time, he heard it—fear.
He turned back to look at her, and for the first time, he saw something deep in her gaze. Not just worry, not just exhaustion—something closer to dread.
She was afraid.
Lukas hesitated.
Then—
The knocking stopped.
A long, unnatural silence followed, stretching out into something almost suffocating.
Lukas exhaled slowly, his pulse still thrumming in his ears. He turned back to his mother, who was still staring at the door, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line.
It was clear she knew something.
But he also knew she wouldn't tell him.
Not yet.
Lukas clenched his jaw, stepping away from the door. If she wouldn't tell him the truth, he would find it himself.
---
The next morning, Lukas stepped out into the cold, damp air, pulling his coat tighter around himself. The fog still lingered, but it had retreated somewhat, allowing glimpses of the town beyond. The cobblestone streets glistened under the morning light, damp with the remnants of last night's rain.
He needed answers.
His mother's reaction last night—her silence, her fear—had only solidified his suspicions. Something was happening in this town. Something unspoken, something people refused to acknowledge.
And he wasn't going to ignore it.
As he walked, his gaze wandered over the town. The buildings were old, worn with time, their once-grand facades now weathered and crumbling. Ivy crept along the stone walls, twisting through cracks like veins in dead flesh. A few townspeople moved through the streets, their faces downcast, their steps hurried.
They avoided eye contact.
They avoided speaking.
Something was off.
A group of workers stood near a market stall, whispering in hushed tones. Lukas slowed his pace, subtly straining his ears.
"…gone. Just vanished. No one saw him leave…"
"…not the first one, either. Three just this week…"
"…the fog is getting worse. Mark my words, it's not natural…"
Lukas frowned. Disappearing people? That explained the unusual emptiness of the town, the tension in the air.
He needed to hear more.