Day 1
The road stretched long and empty, swallowed by towering pines on either side. The sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, washing the land in soft golds and deepening blues. The only sound was the rhythmic hum of the truck's engine and the occasional thunk as the tires rolled over cracks in the worn asphalt.
James Thatcher kept one hand lazily on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. It had been a long drive—hours of nothing but trees, old farms, and the occasional gas station that looked abandoned even when it wasn't.
Harper Quinn sat in the passenger seat, her foot propped up on the dash, idly flipping through a beat-up road map. Not because she needed it—James had a GPS—but because she liked the feel of old paper, of tracing the faded lines with her fingertips.
She let the silence drag for a moment longer before smirking and drawing out the inevitable:
"Are we there yet?"
James exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Didn't take you long to start that."
Harper grinned. "Just making conversation. You're the one who dragged me out into the middle of nowhere. Thought I'd at least get some thrilling small talk."
James drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "This is close to where I grew up."
That caught her attention. She sat up, lowering the map. "Wait, really? You never said your old stomping grounds were out here."
"Didn't think it mattered," he said, keeping his focus on the road ahead.
Harper tilted her head, studying him. "Well, now it does. We should stop by, say hi to your dad or whatever."
James' grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Not happening."
Harper arched a brow at the sharpness in his voice. "Okay… touchy subject. Noted." She let it go, but not before adding, "Still weird you never mentioned it. Feels like something that should've come up at least once in the years I've known you."
James didn't respond. Instead, he slowed the truck as the road curved, the trees giving way to something more unnatural—a tall, rusted iron gate, standing alone like a forgotten relic of another time.
Harper whistled low. "Damn. That's a gate if I've ever seen one."
James put the truck in park and sighed. The gate was wrapped in thick vines, the metal bars darkened by age and weather. A faded wooden sign hung on one side, barely legible in the dying light:
REDFERN ACRES
Harper leaned closer to the windshield, brow furrowed. "Wasn't the old owner of this place the guy who went nuts?"
James glanced at her. "Where'd you hear that?"
She shrugged, still eyeing the gate. "Looked it up before we left. It's not exactly a secret. Some dude named Charles Redfern lived here for years, then one day lost his mind. Started talking about voices in the trees, shadows that moved when they shouldn't. Then—poof—vanished. No body, no trace. Just gone."
James didn't say anything.
Harper turned to him, intrigued. "You already knew, didn't you?"
James finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Does it matter?"
Harper smirked. "Only if the voices start talking to us, too."
James shook his head and stepped out of the truck. The air was different here—heavier, quieter. Even the trees felt like they were leaning in. He walked up to the gate and tested the lock. Solid.
Harper hopped out after him, yanking a bobby pin from her hair. "You're lucky I'm prepared."
James crossed his arms. "You shouldn't know how to do that."
"I shouldn't know a lot of things." She knelt by the lock, muttering as she worked. "Honestly. What would you even do without me? Live in your truck? Probably."
"Probably."
A few moments later, there was a satisfying click, and Harper pushed the gate open with a triumphant grin. "You're welcome."
James didn't thank her, but he did move the truck forward, rolling slowly through the now-open entrance.
---
The driveway stretched long, a winding dirt path cutting through acres of overgrown grass and scattered trees. The farther they drove, the quieter everything became. No birds, no wind. Just the crunch of gravel under the tires.
Harper rested her chin in her hand, staring out the window. "This place is huge. I was expecting, like… a creepy little house in the woods, not a whole damn estate."
James nodded. "Redfern wasn't just some guy living alone in the middle of nowhere. His family had money—old money. This was a working farm once, but after he disappeared, it just… sat."
"Sat and rotted." Harper glanced at him. "And now it's yours. Congrats?"
James hummed in response. He hadn't been expecting much when he bought the place. Just land. A project. Somewhere quiet. But seeing it now, feeling the weight of it as they moved deeper onto the property, he wondered if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
The house came into view at the end of the long drive, standing tall against the backdrop of darkening trees.
It was old, weathered but standing. Blue and white paint peeled in places, the wooden porch sagging slightly with age. The screened sunroom on the right had a few torn panels, and the chimney bore the dark stains of time and use. The windows—four on the top floor, three below—were dark, empty. Watching.
Harper let out a slow breath. "Well. That's a house."
James pulled the truck to a stop and killed the engine. The silence that followed was deep.
Harper leaned forward, peering up at the structure. "I gotta admit, I expected worse. Thought we'd be walking into a death trap."
James stepped out of the truck. "Still might be."
Harper smirked and kicked at the bottom porch step, testing its strength. It groaned but held. "You sure the floor won't collapse under us?"
"We'll find out," James said, heading up to the door.
Harper followed. "If I die, I'm haunting you."
James unlocked the front door, and with a low creak, it swung open.
The air inside was stale but not unbearable, thick with dust and the faint scent of aged wood. The interior was just as worn as the outside—hardwood floors scuffed and faded, old wallpaper peeling in places. The grand staircase in the center led up to the second floor, while doorways branched off into what were once the living and dining rooms.
Harper wandered in, hands on her hips. "Alright, room designations. You taking the master?"
James nodded. "Makes sense."
"Dibs on the second-biggest room, then." She turned toward the kitchen. "And this better have a working stove, or we're living off canned beans and disappointment."
James shook his head with a small smile, but as they moved deeper into the house, something shifted. The weight of the place settled over them—the silence pressing in, the land stretching wide and empty beyond the walls.
And somewhere in the vastness of the Hollow Pines, unseen and waiting, something whispered.