Prologue

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 The fog rolled in thick and heavy over Black Hollow, swallowing the moonlight and muffling the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. The house on the hill had stood for nearly two centuries, its stone walls weathered by time and its halls echoing with stories no one dared to tell. But on this night, something moved within its dark corridors. A whisper. A breath. A presence waiting to be remembered.  
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Chapter Eight: The Escape

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 Eleanor’s heart races as she clutches the key, the presence behind her growing stronger. The attic feels alive with tension, as if the walls themselves are closing in. She can almost hear the low hum of something ancient and malevolent in the air, the feeling of being trapped not just in the house—but in time itself.  


She shoves the papers and the key into her bag, her mind screaming to get out. The door to the attic rattles as if someone—or something—wants to keep her in. She bolts for the stairs, her footsteps heavy as she hurries down the narrow hall. But as she nears the front door, the whispers return, louder than ever:  


"Leave. Or you’ll never leave."  


The door won’t open. The handle turns, but the lock won’t budge. She pulls harder, her fingers slick with sweat. The air around her thickens, and she feels an invisible pressure on her chest, as if the house itself is trying to suffocate her.  


With a scream, Eleanor stumbles backward, falling into the parlor. The shadows around her stretch and twist unnaturally, forming into a shape—a tall, shadowed figure with no face. It takes a step forward, the floorboards creaking under its weight.  


"You should have never come back."


The figure’s voice is deep, rasping, filled with ancient anger.  


In a blind panic, Eleanor rushes for the back door, wrenching it open with all her strength. The cold wind hits her face as she steps outside, the fog swirling around her like an endless maze.  


As she stumbles into the yard, she looks back once—just once.  


The house stands silent, dark. The figure is gone.  


But in the distance, Eleanor swears she sees a faint figure standing in the window, watching her leave. Margaret Vale.  


And behind her, the whispered voice echoes once more:  


"He’s coming for you."

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