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 One: The House on Black Hollow Hill

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 When Eleanor Graves inherited the house from her estranged great-aunt, she barely remembered ever visiting it. She had been a child the last time she stepped foot inside. The town’s stories about the house had always sounded like superstitious nonsense—ghostly figures in the windows, doors that locked themselves, and the eerie sound of weeping in the dead of night.  


But Eleanor wasn’t afraid of ghosts.  


She arrived in the late afternoon, the autumn wind sharp against her face as she stepped out of her car. The house loomed above her, a gray giant against the storm-heavy sky. The front door creaked open with an unsettling slowness as she turned the key. Dust motes danced in the dying light, and a faint scent of something decayed lingered in the air.  


She told herself it was just an old house.  


Then the whisper came.  


Low, almost melodic, just behind her.  


"Leave."


Eleanor spun around. No one was there.

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