The next morning arrived veiled in fog. Chizzy stood at the window, the glass cold beneath her fingers. The village beyond was shrouded in that same oppressive quiet, the kind that felt less like silence and more like watching. She couldn't shake the feeling that the house and the land it stood on—was part of something larger. Something old.
She pulled her coat tight and stepped outside. As her boots met the dirt path, a few villagers glanced her way. Their eyes flicked toward her, then away, like she was a ghost walking among them. One old woman made the sign of the cross. Another pulled her child closer.
At the grocer's, Chizzy gathered a few essentials. The shopkeeper, Mr. Okoro, avoided her gaze.
"You're Maura's daughter," he muttered, almost an accusation.
"I am," she said steadily. "You knew her?"
He gave a slight nod, lips pressing thin. "She kept to herself. People talked. Said she was touched. After your father died… well…"
"What really happened to him?" Chizzy asked, her voice low.
Mr. Okoro froze, then leaned closer. "You won't like the answers you're looking for, girl. Some things are best left buried."
Chizzy met his gaze. "And yet they never stay buried, do they?"
He blinked and turned away, ringing up her items without another word.
Outside, the fog had thickened. As she walked back home, a rustling behind her made her stop. She spun around—nothing. But the feeling clung to her, the sense of being followed. Of eyes in the trees.
Back at the house, she set her groceries down and moved to the study. Her mother's journal still sat there, like it had been waiting for her. She opened to the next page.
"He comes in dreams now. Not just mine yours too. I've seen the shadows under your eyes, heard the way you speak his name when you sleep. I fear I've failed you, Chizzy. I wanted to shield you. But he is patient. The Hollow Man never forgets his promises."
Chizzy's hands trembled as she closed the journal. The house groaned around her, as if reacting to the words.
And outside, beyond the window, a figure stood at the edge of the trees.
Still.
Watching.