In the town of Black Hollow, people no longer spoke of her name. It was as though the memory of Annabelle Grey had been buried deep beneath the weight of a thousand forgotten sins. The locals had long since stopped asking about her, as if the fewer questions they asked, the safer they would be.
But the air had changed. There was something wrong with the way the fog hung over the town, thick and suffocating. Something about the trees that lined the road no longer felt natural. As if they had grown to watch, to listen.
Thomas, a young man barely out of his teens, had arrived in Black Hollow under the pretense of finding work, but what he found was something far darker. He rented a small room in the inn, a run-down establishment that reeked of mildew and time.
It was the only place he could afford, and he was too tired to care. The landlady, a woman with hollow eyes and a thin smile, handed him the key without saying a word. She looked at him like she had seen him before, but Thomas couldn't recall ever meeting her.
The first few nights were uneventful, save for the unease that seemed to creep into his bones. The people here were distant, their gazes hollow, as if they were just going through the motions of life. No laughter filled the streets, no sounds of children playing.
Black Hollow was a town muted, where even the most mundane activities felt foreign. Thomas didn't ask why. He had learned long ago that some things were better left unknown.
But one evening, as he walked down the main road after a long day of work, something made him pause. It was the way the trees bent towards him. Not naturally, but with a strange purpose. It felt as if they were pulling him in.
He could hear nothing, not even the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. The only sound was the faint rustle of the trees, but it wasn't a breeze.
He glanced up at the innkeeper's window, seeing her face there, just behind the curtains, watching him with her empty eyes. The streetlamp flickered, and the wind picked up, rushing in from the forest, pressing against his chest. He turned and hurried back to the inn.
Later that night, he couldn't sleep. His thoughts wandered back to Annabelle Grey. The woman who had once lived in Black Hollow, before she vanished without a trace.
Most people had forgotten her, but Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that something about her story didn't add up. She had been a witch, they said. A witch who had cast a spell that bound the town to her will.
He had heard the rumors: how she had cursed the town for some great wrong. But no one knew exactly what the wrong had been. No one remembered, or perhaps no one dared to remember.
The next day, Thomas met an old man in the market. His skin was pale, his eyes sunken, as though life itself had drained from him long ago. The man caught his gaze and smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.
"You're new here," the man said in a gravelly voice.
"Just moved in yesterday."
"Ah," the man muttered, looking around as if checking to make sure no one was listening. "Be careful. Don't get too close to the trees. And never go near the church."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "The church?"
The old man leaned closer. "The church, boy. It's where it started. Annabelle Grey's power still lingers there. It's a place of dark magic."
Thomas didn't respond. He wasn't sure if the man was just another lost soul or if there was some truth to his words. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the town itself was alive, that it was watching, waiting for something.
That night, sleep came only fitfully, and when he finally closed his eyes, he dreamed of trees. Endless trees. They twisted and turned, their limbs reaching for him, pulling him deeper into the darkness. He woke up in a cold sweat, the feeling of being watched still heavy on him.
The days passed in a blur. Thomas tried to keep his mind occupied with work, but the town seemed to demand his attention.
He couldn't ignore the way the people stared at him, the way their eyes seemed to flicker with recognition, or perhaps something more sinister. He had begun to hear things in the silence—the faint scraping of claws against wood, soft murmurs that echoed through the empty streets.
One evening, as he walked past the church, something drew him to the entrance. The door was ajar, creaking softly as the wind pushed it open. He hesitated, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
"Don't go in," a voice said, sharp and clear.
He turned, startled to see the old man from the market standing just behind him.
"Why not?" Thomas asked, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.
The old man's face tightened. "Annabelle Grey. She's still here. Her magic… it's in the soil. In the trees. In the very air you breathe."
"Is she… alive?" Thomas asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The old man shook his head slowly. "Not alive, not dead. She's... something else. And she controls this place."
Thomas's heart raced. He turned back to the church, the door still slightly open, inviting him.
"I'll be fine," he said, more to himself than to the old man.
The old man grabbed his arm, his fingers cold like death itself. "You don't understand. She's already chosen you."
Before Thomas could respond, the man pushed him away, disappearing into the fog without another word.
Thomas stood frozen for a moment, then stepped forward. He had to know the truth.
Inside the church, the air was thick with dust, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he moved deeper into the shadows. The stained glass windows had long since shattered, casting fractured light across the room. A heavy silence pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional groan of the building settling.
At the altar, there was a book. It lay open, its pages yellowed and worn, the ink faded but still legible.
A chill ran down his spine as he approached, the feeling of being watched stronger than ever. He bent over the book, reading the words that had been written long ago.
"Her power grows with every soul she touches," he read aloud. "She binds them with her magic, and they serve her without question. She takes what is given and gives nothing in return."
The last line caught his attention: "And when she is done, the town will be her own. No one will remember the past. No one will remember who they were."
The ground beneath him shifted, and suddenly, the air was thick with the smell of decay. His breath hitched, and he looked around, his heart pounding in his chest. The walls of the church seemed to close in on him, the once-empty space now filled with a presence, dark and oppressive.
The door slammed shut behind him.
"Welcome," a voice said from the shadows.
Thomas spun around, his eyes wide with terror.
Annabelle Grey stepped into the dim light. She was not what he had expected. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes gleamed with a cruel hunger. She smiled, but it was not a smile of warmth. It was the smile of someone who knew something you didn't—and who enjoyed watching you learn.
"You've been chosen," she said, her voice soft, yet it resonated in his very bones. "Just like everyone else."
Before Thomas could react, the ground beneath him cracked open, and tendrils of blackened earth shot up, wrapping around his legs, his arms. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the church, as though the building itself had devoured the sound.
Her laugh echoed in his ears.
And then, his body went stiff, his mind clouded, as the magic took hold of him. The last thing he remembered before everything faded was her smile, the same smile she had worn all those years ago, when the town had first fallen under her spell.
Black Hollow had never been free. And now, neither was he.