Leena swung her leg off the bike, straightening her dress as she glanced around. The site was eerily quiet, surrounded by dense trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. Even in daylight, there was something unsettling about this place—as if the forest itself was alive, listening.
She turned to John, who was busy dusting off his jeans, completely unbothered.
"Alright, tell me something," she said, crossing her arms. "Why does this town feel so… creepy? Everyone acts strange, the guest house staff barely speak, and don't even get me started on that old man I met last night."
John snorted, shaking his head. "Ah, you've fallen for the town's little horror stories, huh?"
Leena frowned. "So you're saying it's all nonsense?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying." He leaned against his bike, arms crossed, that damn smirk still lingering. "People here love their ghost stories. It's what keeps outsiders from sticking around too long. They say the town is cursed, that the forest is haunted, blah, blah, blah. But between you and me? It's just superstition."
Leena studied him. He was too relaxed, too unaffected.
"You don't believe any of it?" she asked.
John shrugged. "Never seen anything spooky in all my years here. No ghosts, no curses—just a lot of paranoia and bored townsfolk keeping old legends alive." He paused, his blue eyes glinting mischievously. "But… you're welcome to prove me wrong. Maybe the ghosts just like pretty girls."
Leena rolled her eyes. "Right. And I suppose they were the ones pulling my towel last night?" she muttered under her breath.
John raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
She exhaled, looking around the site again. Whether John believed it or not, something about this place felt off—and she was determined to find out why.