Evelyn barely felt the cold wind as she walked through Black Hollow's streets, her mind a storm of unanswered questions. Her mother wasn't just dead—she had vanished before her body was found. And the whispers… they had chosen Evelyn, just like they had chosen Margaret Mercer.
She stopped in front of an old iron gate, her breath catching in her throat.
The house stood beyond it, cloaked in shadow.
Her childhood home.
It had been years since she'd last seen it, yet it looked exactly the same. The two-story Victorian sagged under the weight of time, its once-white paint now peeling, its windows dark. Ivy crawled up the sides like grasping fingers, and the front porch tilted slightly to one side.
She swallowed hard. The whispers had led her here. Why?
The gate groaned as she pushed it open. The moment her foot touched the overgrown path, a gust of wind cut through the trees, rustling the dead leaves at her feet.
She hesitated.
Then, beneath the wind—
A whisper.
Come inside.
Her fingers curled into fists. Every instinct told her to turn around, to walk away. But she had come too far.
The front steps creaked under her weight. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the rusted key she had taken from the inn. The same key she had sworn she'd never use again.
It slid into the lock with a soft click.
The door swung open on its own.
The house had been waiting.
Inside the Past
The air inside was thick with dust and something stale—like time had stood still. A single shaft of gray light streamed in through the cracked window, illuminating the dust motes that floated in the air.
Evelyn stepped inside.
The living room was exactly as she remembered. The same floral wallpaper, faded and peeling. The same antique clock on the mantle—stopped at 3:17. And the same crooked family portrait hanging on the wall.
Her mother's eyes stared at her from the painting.
Her breath caught.
A memory surfaced—one she hadn't thought of in years.
She was eight years old, standing in this very room. Her mother was by the window, whispering to someone Evelyn couldn't see.
"Who are you talking to?" she had asked.
Her mother had turned to her, eyes haunted.
"No one," she had said. "Go to your room, sweetheart."
Evelyn had obeyed. But that night, she had heard whispers in the dark. And the next morning, her mother was gone.
Now, standing here again, the house seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
A thump from upstairs.
Her pulse spiked.
Someone was here.
Evelyn forced herself forward, one step at a time, the wooden floor groaning beneath her feet. She reached the staircase and gripped the banister.
Another thump.
It came from her mother's old bedroom.
She climbed the stairs slowly, each step dragging her deeper into the past. When she reached the hallway, the door at the end stood ajar.
A shadow shifted inside.
Her heart pounded as she pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
But the closet door—the one her mother always kept locked—was wide open.
Inside, something waited.
A single, crumpled piece of paper lay in the darkness.
She reached for it with trembling fingers and turned it over.
A name had been scrawled across it, written in frantic, uneven letters.
Her name.
EVELYN.
Then—so close it sent ice through her veins—
A whisper, from the closet's depths.
"We've been waiting for you."
The Locked Room
Evelyn's fingers trembled as she gripped the paper. Her name—written in uneven, desperate strokes—felt like a warning.
Or a calling.
The whisper from the closet still lingered in the air, curling around her like unseen hands.
"We've been waiting for you."
She swallowed hard and took a step back.
The closet loomed before her, its darkness deeper than it should have been. Even with the dim light filtering through the dust-covered window, the space beyond the door seemed endless, like it stretched into something unnatural.
A part of her screamed to leave—to run back down the stairs and never return.
But another part, the part that had brought her back to Black Hollow in the first place, forced her feet to stay planted.
She had to know.
She reached for the closet door, hesitating for only a second before pushing it open wider.
The Passage
At first, there was only dust and old boxes, relics of a life left behind. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw it.
A door.
Small, wooden, almost hidden against the back wall.
Her heart pounded. There had never been a door there before. She was certain of it.
The whispers stirred again, more insistent this time. "Go inside."
Evelyn's breathing quickened. Her mother had always told her to stay out of this closet. Had she known about this? Had she been afraid of it?
A thousand reasons to turn back filled her mind.
But she reached for the handle anyway.
The metal was ice-cold beneath her fingers.
She turned it.
The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward—into complete darkness. A damp, musty smell rose from below, thick with decay. The air that drifted up was colder than the rest of the house, as if something long-buried had been waiting for fresh air.
Waiting for her.
A whisper, closer now. "Come and see."
Evelyn's stomach twisted. Every rational thought told her this was wrong.
But she wasn't leaving without answers.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside and descended into the dark.
The Forgotten Room
The steps groaned under her weight. The deeper she went, the colder the air became, wrapping around her like unseen fingers. The dim glow from the closet above grew fainter until the darkness was almost absolute.
Then—her foot hit solid ground.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, switching on the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing a small underground room.
The walls were made of stone, rough and uneven, like an old cellar. The floor was covered in dust, untouched for years.
Then, the light landed on something that made her blood run cold.
A chair.
Old. Wooden. Bolted to the floor.
Thick leather straps dangled from the armrests and legs.
Her heart pounded. What the hell was this place?
She moved the flashlight, her pulse hammering in her ears. The beam passed over a shelf filled with old notebooks, scattered papers, and… something else.
A photograph.
She stepped closer, reaching for it with shaking hands.
The edges were brittle, the image faded—but she recognized the face instantly.
Her mother.
Evelyn's breath hitched.
Her mother stood in this very room, younger but unmistakable. And beside her…
Evelyn's stomach dropped.
A man stood next to her mother, half-shadowed. His face was unreadable, but there was something wrong about him. Something unnatural.
The whispers rose again, curling around her ears like cold breath.
"He remembers you."
The flashlight flickered.
The darkness pressed in.
Then—just behind her—
A voice.
Low. Ragged. Not a whisper this time.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Evelyn spun around—
And the light went out.