Peter sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the old, tattered envelope that had arrived that morning. The paper was rough, aged, and smelled faintly of damp earth. No sender's address. No postmark. Just his name, handwritten in an ink so dark it almost bled through the parchment.
He hesitated before opening it. Years of experience as a journalist had taught him that the most mysterious stories often led to the most dangerous truths. But something about this letter felt... different. It wasn't just an invitation—it was a warning.
"Come to Ravenswood before the next full moon. Find the truth before it finds you."
Peter frowned. Ravenswood. The name tugged at something buried deep in his memory. A village long forgotten by time, rumored to be cursed.
He turned to his laptop and began typing furiously. The search results were sparse—almost as if the village had been erased from history. What he did find sent a chill down his spine.
Ravenswood - A village where time stops at midnight. A place where those who stay... never leave.
He clicked on an old news article. The last known journalist to investigate Ravenswood had disappeared twenty years ago. His final message before vanishing?
"The Shadow Man is real."
Peter's breath hitched. He had covered ghost stories, urban legends, and missing persons cases before. But this? This was different. It felt personal. As if something—someone—was watching him even now.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his trance. A message from Emily, his old friend and documentary filmmaker.
Emily: "Heard about Ravenswood. If you're going, I'm coming too. Pack your bags, we'll leave tomorrow."
Peter stared at the message, then back at the letter in his hands. The words on the paper seemed to shift under the dim light, almost as if they were alive. His instincts screamed at him to burn the letter, to ignore its call. But something deep inside—the journalist in him, the part that craved the unknown—refused to back down.
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an old notebook filled with abandoned leads and half-written stories. Flipping through the pages, his fingers stopped at a scribbled note from a case he had dropped years ago. "Ravenswood – A place where the past lingers, and the dead whisper."
His breath grew shallow. Could this be connected?
The wind outside howled against the windows, rattling them with an eerie persistence
"Looks like we're going to Ravenswood." Peter exhaled sharply, closing his laptop.
Somewhere far away, deep in the heart of a forgotten village, the shadows stirred. A lone streetlamp flickered, casting elongated figures against crumbling walls. A whisper carried through the wind—soft, unintelligible, yet filled with an undeniable warning. The invitation had been received, and the village was waiting.