The bus creaked to a stop at the edge of a narrow, cracked road. No signposts. No lights. Just a faded arch over the entrance that once read Welcome to Ember Hollow—the words now weathered into near nothingness, as if the town itself was trying to erase its name.
Ikenna stepped off the bus first. The driver, who hadn't spoken a word the entire ride, didn't even wait for him to gather his bag before slamming the door shut and driving off into the thickening fog. No goodbye. No glance back.
Maya was already standing there, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She didn't greet him. They stared at each other for a moment—two strangers with matching fear in their eyes.
"You got the letter too?" Ikenna asked quietly.
Maya nodded. "And the dreams."
That's when Pastor Samuel appeared, stepping from the shadows of a crumbling building nearby, Bible in hand, his collar damp with sweat. He looked older than his years—haunted.
"There are others," he said. "We're not the only ones who came."
The air around them was wrong—too still, too quiet. No wind, no birds, not even the sound of insects. Ember Hollow felt frozen in time, like it had been sealed away from the rest of the world. The buildings were husks of what they once were—charred wood, rusted roofs, windows like hollow eyes staring into nothing.
The main road split into two directions. One led toward a cluster of homes half-swallowed by ivy. The other curved deeper into the woods, where the fog thickened like breath on cold glass.
Ikenna pointed. "Which way?"
Pastor Samuel looked toward the homes. "The letters didn't say."
Maya pulled out her phone, but there was no signal. The screen flashed NO SERVICE, then died completely. Ikenna's did the same. Powerless. Alone.
They walked toward the houses. Each step seemed to echo, not on the ground, but in the back of their skulls—as if something inside the town was listening, tracking them.
They came to the first house. Its door stood open, swinging slightly, though there was no wind. The wallpaper peeled in long strips, revealing strange black markings underneath. Not words. Symbols. Carved deep into the wood.
Maya ran her fingers over one, then snatched her hand back with a hiss.
"It's hot," she whispered.
The symbol had burned her skin.
Samuel backed away. "This place is cursed."
"No kidding," Ikenna muttered, staring into the empty hallway beyond the door.
Then they heard it.
A soft creaking upstairs. Like footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
They froze.
Maya grabbed Ikenna's arm. "Is someone living here?"
"Shouldn't be," Samuel answered. "This town's been abandoned for over thirty years."
The footsteps stopped.
Then a voice drifted down the staircase—soft, high-pitched, childlike.
"Why did you come back?"
Maya's grip tightened. Ikenna stepped back, heart racing.
The hallway remained empty. No shadows moved. No shape appeared. But the air grew cold—so cold Ikenna could see his breath.
Samuel stepped forward, whispering a prayer under his breath. The walls groaned.
Then—SLAM.
The front door slammed shut behind them, sealing them in.
Lights flickered from above, though no bulbs remained. Just an eerie glow, like ghostly fire trapped in the ceiling.
A second voice whispered, closer this time, right at Maya's ear.
"You shouldn't have come back."
She screamed.
And the town outside exhaled a long, low breath.
The door swung open again—by itself.
But the street wasn't the same.
It had changed.
The fog had deepened. The houses had moved.
And behind them, the stairs creaked once more—this time coming down.