The wind outside howled, rattling the windows with a violence that mirrored the chaos in Lisa's mind. She sat in the living room of the cabin, clutching the edges of the chair as though it could anchor her to some kind of sanity. Liam had gone out to check something—more locks, more precautions—and Lisa was left alone again with her thoughts. And the note. The warning.
She couldn't ignore it anymore. The paranoia was too much. Every creak of the wood, every shift in the air felt like a signal, a whisper in the dark telling her that something was wrong. But what was it? Who was watching them? Who had left the note?
She had to know.
With a sigh, Lisa stood up, pacing the room. There had to be answers. She couldn't just sit here, waiting for whatever was coming. She needed to understand what they were up against. But how? The town was small, isolated, with a history that felt like it was sealed in dust and silence.
But then, a thought struck her. What if the town's past held the key? What if there was something in its history that could explain the strange occurrences, the figures in the woods, and now this mysterious note?
With a sudden resolve, Lisa grabbed her jacket and slipped out the door, into the cold, biting wind. She was going to find out the truth, no matter where it led.
The town's library was a small, squat building near the edge of town, its windows dark and uninviting. Lisa's footsteps echoed as she crossed the creaky floor inside, her breath visible in the cool air. She didn't see anyone at first, the place empty and quiet.
"Hello?" she called, her voice feeling too loud in the stillness.
A figure emerged from behind a stack of old books—an elderly woman with sharp, calculating eyes and a hunched back, her fingers curled into gnarled claws as she adjusted her glasses. She looked at Lisa, then at the empty library, before nodding curtly.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked in a voice that rasped like the sound of brittle leaves.
Lisa swallowed, her throat dry. "I'm looking for information on the town's history. Specifically... strange events. Things that might've happened centuries ago. I know it's a bit odd, but—"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're looking for," she interrupted, her tone unreadable. "Follow me."
She led Lisa to the back of the library, where dusty shelves lined the walls, filled with old, tattered records. The librarian didn't say another word as she pulled out a thick leather-bound book and placed it on the table in front of Lisa.
"Read it," the librarian said, stepping back and folding her arms.
Lisa opened the book, the pages brittle beneath her fingers. She scanned the pages quickly, her eyes darting across the old inked script. Then, she found it—a small section about a necromancer, a figure from the town's distant past.
"In the early 17th century, this town was plagued by a necromancer who used forbidden magic to raise the dead, manipulating their wills for his own twisted purposes. His name has been lost to time, but whispers of his dark deeds persist. Those who opposed him mysteriously disappeared, and some believe their spirits still haunt these lands, seeking vengeance."
The words felt like a punch to her stomach. A necromancer. A man who had meddled with forces beyond human comprehension. And now, a strange note, warnings, figures in the woods—could it all be connected?
Lisa turned the page, her heart racing, but the next paragraph was even more chilling.
"The necromancer's death was shrouded in mystery, but it is believed that his curse lives on. His followers, too, were never found, though some say they continue his work to this day. The town has always had its strange happenings, and many believe that those who meddle too deeply in the past may awaken something they cannot control."
Lisa's breath caught in her throat as she closed the book with trembling hands. The implications were horrifying. Could someone—something—still be carrying out the necromancer's work? Was that what had been haunting the town all this time?
"Is this true?" she asked, turning to the librarian, who had been watching her silently.
The old woman's face was unreadable, but her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—seemed to weigh Lisa's very soul.
"No one knows for certain," the librarian replied, her voice low. "The town's history is filled with stories—half-truths, legends, and horrors that some would prefer to forget. But the dead… they never truly leave. Not here."
Lisa's pulse quickened. The dead never truly leave. That felt like the truest thing she'd heard in days.
"You've felt it, haven't you?" the librarian asked, her voice softer now, but still heavy with meaning. "The presence. The things you can't explain, but that seem to haunt the edges of your mind."
Lisa nodded, unable to speak for a moment as her thoughts whirled. She remembered the cold, unexplainable chills, the creeping sense of being watched, the strange feeling that the air was never quite right.
"The town's history is full of darkness," the librarian continued. "And if you're not careful, it will swallow you whole."
Lisa's stomach churned as she stared down at the book again. She had to warn Liam. Whatever was happening, whatever they were up against—it was far worse than she had imagined. And the worst part was, she was beginning to believe it wasn't just some twisted prank or coincidence.
The necromancer, his curse, the undead... it all connected, but the real question now was: what did he want with them?
Before she could gather her thoughts, the librarian's voice interrupted once more.
"You'll want to leave soon," she said cryptically. "There are things in this town that are not meant to be disturbed."
Lisa felt a chill run down her spine. She had to get back to the cabin. Had to find Liam.
But even as she stood, a lingering dread pulled at her. Was she already too late?
The door to the library creaked open, and Lisa stepped back into the cold afternoon light. The town, silent and still, seemed to be watching her—waiting for her next move. She didn't know what awaited her when she returned to the cabin, but one thing was certain: the past wasn't done with her yet. And whatever force had been unleashed by the necromancer's legacy, it was only just beginning to stir.
As she walked back toward the cabin, a cold wind picked up, carrying with it the faintest whisper of a voice, like a warning carried on the breeze.
"You should have never come back."
Her pulse raced. There was no turning back now.