Peter stepped out of the car, his boots crunching against the gravel-covered road. The air was abnormally still, heavy with an oppressive dampness that clung to his skin. Emily followed, gripping her camera tightly.
"Something isn't right," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
The village stretched before them, a collection of ancient, decaying houses cloaked in vines and shadow. A single streetlamp flickered weakly, its light barely piercing the thick fog creeping along the ground.
As they advanced, the caw of a crow sliced through the silence. Perched on a rooftop, the bird's glowing eyes locked onto them, unblinking.
Peter exhaled, scanning the empty streets. "Let's find someone who actually lives here. If anyone does."
They moved cautiously, the weight of the silence pressing down on them. A rusted sign outside what appeared to be an old inn creaked in the breeze. "Ravenswood Inn – Vacancy."
Peter hesitated before stepping onto the wooden porch. The floorboards groaned under his weight. He raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door swung open with a creepy slowness.
Emily inhaled sharply. "That's not normal."
Peter swallowed the unease creeping up his spine and stepped inside.
The dim interior was layered with dust, as if untouched for decades. A reception desk sat abandoned, an old ledger open to a page marked "Guests Checked In: 0."
A grandfather clock in the corner let out a hollow chime, though its hands remained frozen at midnight.
Then, from the staircase leading to the second floor, came the faint sound of footsteps.