The road twisted like a serpent beneath the thickening fog, swallowing the last traces of daylight. Evelyn Mercer tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she peered through the windshield. The town was close now—too close.

A wooden sign loomed in the mist. Black Hollow: Population 1,342.

Her stomach twisted. The number hadn't changed. After all these years, it hadn't changed.

The whispers had begun a week ago. First, they came in dreams—soft, curling voices slipping through the edges of her consciousness, speaking in words she couldn't understand. Then they followed her into waking life. At first, she convinced herself it was just the wind, or the stress of another sleepless night. But then she started recognizing the voice.

Her mother's.

Come back. You left something behind.

The words haunted her. But she hadn't left anything behind—had she?

A shape emerged from the fog. Evelyn hit the brakes. Her tires skidded on the damp road as a figure darted across, vanishing into the trees. A child—small, too fast to see clearly.

She sat there, heart hammering, scanning the tree line. Nothing. The forest swallowed the child whole, leaving only the rhythmic hiss of her own breath in the silence.

Slowly, she eased off the brakes and continued forward, her nerves thrumming.

The town was just as she remembered—rows of leaning houses, their windows like empty eyes, watching. Many storefronts were boarded up, their signs long faded. Even in the dim light, she could see the rust creeping up the old lampposts. Black Hollow had always felt like a town suspended in time.

She pulled up to the Black Hollow Inn, the only place to stay. The building sagged under the weight of age, its wooden facade dark with rot. The single porch light flickered, barely holding back the night.

Evelyn stepped out of the car, and the air pressed against her—thick, charged with something she couldn't name. As she reached for her bag, something moved in the periphery of her vision.

A shadow, just beyond the porch.

She froze. The shape didn't move, didn't breathe. It was just there, watching.

A gust of wind swept through the trees, and in that moment, she swore she heard it—soft, just behind her ear.

You shouldn't have come back.

Evelyn spun around, pulse pounding. The porch was empty. The shadow was gone.

The bell above the inn's door gave a weak jingle as she stepped inside. The scent of dust and aged wood filled her lungs, grounding her back in reality.

An older woman sat behind the counter, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun. She didn't look surprised to see Evelyn—if anything, she looked as though she'd been expecting her.

"You must be Evelyn," the woman said, her voice even, unreadable.

Evelyn hesitated. "How did you—"

"The whole town knows when someone new arrives," the woman interrupted with a small, knowing smile. "Besides, you look just like your mother."

A chill ran down Evelyn's spine.

She hadn't set foot in Black Hollow since she was eight. No one should have recognized her.

The woman slid an old, leather-bound ledger across the counter. "Sign here."

Evelyn reached for the pen, but the moment her fingers touched the paper, the lights flickered.

A whisper—low, curling like smoke—brushed against her ear.

Leave.

Her breath hitched. The innkeeper didn't react. Either she hadn't heard it… or she was ignoring it.

Evelyn swallowed hard, forcing her hand to move. As she scrawled her name across the page, a single drop of ink spread too far, bleeding into the parchment like a stain.

And then—so faint it could have been a trick of the mind—she heard it again.

A single breath. A voice, barely there.

Run.

The ledger snapped shut.

"Room 3," the woman said smoothly, handing Evelyn the key. "Up the stairs, second door on the left."

Evelyn took the key, her pulse still racing.

Something was waiting for her in Black Hollow.

Something that had never truly let her go.

 The Room

Evelyn climbed the narrow staircase, each step creaking under her weight. The air grew heavier as she ascended, thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic—rust, or perhaps something worse. The hallway stretched before her, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb.

She reached Room 3. The brass number on the door was tarnished, its edges worn smooth. As she slid the key into the lock, a whisper—so soft it could have been her imagination—brushed against her ear.

Don't open it.

Her breath hitched, but she ignored the prickle down her spine and turned the key.

The door groaned open.

Inside, the room was simple. A bed with a quilted coverlet. A wooden dresser with an old mirror. A single window overlooking the empty street below. Everything was still. Too still.

She stepped inside and shut the door, pressing her back against it. She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the unease that had clung to her since she arrived. It was just an old town. Just an old inn.

Then, she noticed the mirror.

It stood opposite the bed, its frame thick with dust. But the glass itself was spotless, reflecting the room with perfect clarity. Her own tired face stared back at her.

Then—something moved.

A shadow, just behind her reflection.

Evelyn spun around.

Nothing.

The room was empty.

Her pulse thundered as she turned back to the mirror. Had she imagined it? The dim light could have played tricks on her eyes. That was the logical explanation.

Still, unease coiled in her stomach.

She shook her head, muttering to herself. "I'm just tired."

Crossing the room, she dropped her bag onto the dresser and pulled out her notebook. She had come here for a reason—to investigate the town's strange history, to understand why people whispered about Black Hollow as if it were cursed. Maybe even to confront the past she had tried so hard to bury.

She flipped to a blank page and jotted down her first notes.

Black Hollow Inn – unsettling atmosphere, mirror anomaly?

The whispers – who hears them? Why?

Population count hasn't changed in decades. Why?

The last point sent a shiver through her. Something about it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

A sudden knock at the door made her jump.

She hesitated before opening it.

A girl stood there. No older than ten, with dark curls framing a pale, solemn face.

"You shouldn't be here," the girl said, her voice quiet but firm.

Evelyn frowned. "Who are you?"

The girl didn't answer. Her wide eyes flicked past Evelyn, into the room, toward the mirror.

"Do you hear them?" the girl whispered.

Evelyn's throat tightened. "Hear what?"

The girl's expression darkened. "The ones who whisper."

A cold dread settled over Evelyn. Before she could speak, the girl turned and walked down the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Evelyn stepped out after her.

The hallway was empty.

No footsteps. No lingering presence.

The girl was gone.

Slowly, Evelyn turned back into her room and shut the door. She locked it this time.

Then she heard it.

Soft. Barely there.

A whisper from the dark.

"We remember you."