Chapter 1: The Return
Evelyn stood at the edge of the village, her eyes drawn to the decaying buildings that had once been full of life. The wind whipped through the narrow streets, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and decay. It was a smell she had come to associate with her past, with memories she had tried so desperately to bury. But now, they were rising again, like ghosts in the wind.
The village had been abandoned for years, yet it still clung to its old ways, as if time itself had forgotten to move forward here. The crumbling stone walls, the sagging rooftops, and the wild vines creeping up every structure spoke of a place long left to rot. Yet, it was home.
Evelyn had not set foot in Hollowbrook since the day her husband, Daniel, was buried in the small cemetery at the village’s edge. That had been five years ago. Five long years of silence, of isolation, and of unanswered questions. But now, she had returned. Her heart heavy with memories she couldn’t escape, and a mystery that had begun to unravel in the most unsettling way.
The letter had come two days ago. A single piece of parchment, folded neatly, and sealed with an old, crimson wax. No return address. Just her name written in bold, unfamiliar script: Evelyn Lancaster. She had been hesitant to open it, but something about the way it called to her made her do it. Inside, a single sentence had been written, chilling in its simplicity:
Come home, Evelyn. The whispers will not stop until you do.
The words had gnawed at her since. She had tried to ignore them, to dismiss them as the ramblings of someone who knew too much about her family’s past. But now, standing at the threshold of Hollowbrook, she could feel their weight pressing down on her chest. The whispers. She had heard them before. Or at least, she thought she had.
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, her dark hair blowing in the wind, as she took a final, reluctant step into the village. She was no longer the young woman who had left in the wake of her husband’s death. The grief, the loss, the isolation had changed her. But there was one thing that hadn’t changed: the emptiness inside her, the feeling that something was wrong, that something was missing.
She hadn’t been able to put a name to it for years, but now, as she walked deeper into the village, she felt it—the pull of the unknown, the connection to a past she had tried so hard to leave behind.
The village seemed to breathe around her. Every creak of a wooden beam, every rustle of a dying leaf, was like a voice calling to her. The houses, long abandoned, seemed to whisper her name in the wind. She felt a chill run down her spine, but she pressed on, her eyes scanning the overgrown paths, the forgotten landmarks. They were all just as she remembered them—familiar, yet strange.
She reached the center of the village, where the old town square once stood. The cobblestones were cracked and uneven, overtaken by weeds and moss. At the far end, the church towered, its windows shattered and its doors long rotted away. The graveyard lay just beyond, the rows of stones standing like silent sentinels.
Evelyn’s footsteps faltered as she caught sight of something in the distance. A figure stood at the far end of the graveyard, half-hidden by the overgrown hedges. She couldn’t make out the details, but she could feel their presence. It was a strange sensation, like the figure was waiting for her, beckoning her forward.
A strange whisper seemed to drift on the wind, as if the very earth beneath her feet was calling her name.
“Evelyn…” The voice was soft, faint, and carried a familiar tone.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was it him? Was it Daniel?
She shook her head, trying to clear the thought from her mind. It couldn’t be. She had buried him here, in this very graveyard, all those years ago. There was no way he could be calling her now.
But the whispers persisted, growing louder, more insistent. The wind seemed to swirl around her, tugging at her clothing, at her hair, pulling her toward the graveyard.
With a deep breath, Evelyn steeled herself. There was no turning back now. She had come for a reason, and she would find the answers, even if they led her into the darkness of the past.
She made her way toward the graveyard, her footsteps slow but steady. As she neared the entrance, she paused, her gaze drawn to the old stone archway that marked the entrance. The same archway she had passed through so many years ago. Her eyes wandered over the names etched into the stones, the memories of lives long gone.
But then, something caught her eye. A name she had never seen before.
“Lancaster”.
It was her family name, but this was not the grave of Daniel. No, this one was older, the stone weathered with age. And beside it was another name, one she didn’t recognize.
As she stepped closer, the whispers seemed to grow louder, echoing in her ears. She could hear the wind rustling through the trees, but there was something else—something more… human.
“Evelyn,” the voice said again, this time much closer, as if it was right behind her.
Evelyn spun around, her heart racing in her chest. But there was no one there.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, she thought she might faint. But then, she saw it—something that made her blood run cold.
At the edge of the graveyard, in the distance, there was a figure standing among the tombstones. It was a shadowy silhouette, standing still, staring directly at her. The figure was tall, cloaked in darkness, and seemed to shimmer as though it were part of the very night itself.
She couldn’t move. Her body froze, caught between fear and curiosity.
And then, the figure raised its hand.
Slowly, deliberately, it pointed at her.
