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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Epilogue: The Fog Rolls In

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 Eleanor doesn’t return to the house.  


Days pass, and she tries to put Black Hollow Hill behind her, but the fog never quite leaves. It lingers in the corners of her mind, creeping into her dreams. Margaret Vale’s face, half-hidden in shadow, still haunts her, and the whisper—*“He’s coming for you.”*—echoes every night.  


In her dreams, the house is always waiting, its doors ajar, inviting her back. Sometimes, Eleanor finds herself standing on the hilltop, staring at the dark silhouette of the house, knowing that something inside still calls to her.  


But she doesn’t go back.  


Or does she?  


One evening, as the sun sets and the fog rolls in thick, Eleanor feels a strange tug in her chest. She takes a drive, almost without thinking. The road leads her back to Black Hollow Hill, the towering house looming in the distance, shrouded in mist.  


She parks at the edge of the property, the fog so dense now it feels like the world has disappeared. The house stands silent, but Eleanor can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching her.  


And just as she turns to leave, the front door creaks open, ever so slightly.  


The whispers return.  


“Come inside.” 


The house waits. And Eleanor knows—somehow—that it always will.  



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