Chapter 361

The fog came every night. Thick and choking, it twisted around the lampposts, snaking its way through the town. By the time the sun sank beneath the horizon, it was like the fog owned the place, creeping into every alley, seeping into the cracks of every building.

The townsfolk called it "the night veil," but they never dared speak about it. Talking about it only seemed to make the fog thicker, like the air itself would grow heavier if you dared to mention it.

The voices always followed.

It started small. Low, distant at first, a few stray sounds cutting through the fog. Then, as the clock struck midnight, they became louder. Pushing through the streets like a wave crashing over everything.

Most nights, it was only a few voices—laughter, crying, maybe someone calling a name. But it was the desperation that made them so terrifying. The sense that someone was in need, but no one could help.

There were stories, of course. Old stories, the kind the people in town didn't want to believe. There were rumors of people disappearing. Of going outside at night and never returning. But, like all rumors, they were forgotten quickly.

People got used to the fog. It became a part of the town, just like the rusting street signs and the cracks in the pavement. They lived with it, not daring to question it. Most didn't even notice it anymore.

But tonight was different. Something felt wrong. The fog was thicker than usual, almost suffocating. It wrapped around every building, a blanket that stifled everything. The streets were empty. Too empty.

Evan stood in the doorway of a boarded-up bookstore, staring out at the empty road. He had heard the voices. They had been calling his name. The voices always called out, but never for him. Never for anyone he knew. But tonight, they were calling for him. It started soft, like a low murmur in the distance, then grew louder, a chorus of cries. Desperation clawed at Evan's chest, a feeling he couldn't shake.

"Please, Evan..." The voice was faint, a woman's voice, one he didn't recognize. "Evan, help me."

Evan swallowed hard. His legs felt stiff, like they didn't belong to him anymore. He didn't want to go outside, didn't want to walk into the fog, but the voice... something about it felt real. He glanced down the street. Nothing. Just the blackness, the fog, and the silence.

But he couldn't ignore it. Not now.

He stepped out onto the street, the cold pavement slick beneath his shoes. He could barely see two feet in front of him, the fog so thick it might as well have been an ocean. Every step he took felt heavier than the last.

The fog wrapped itself around him like hands, pulling him deeper into the night. He could hear his own breath, ragged and fast, but it felt as if the air was thicker, pushing against him.

The voices followed him.

Some were crying. Some were calling out to him. Some sounded angry, others... desperate. All of them were just out of reach. He couldn't tell where they were coming from—above, below, around him. Everywhere.

"Evan..." It was the same voice. Closer now. Much closer. He froze, looking around, but saw nothing. "Help me..."

It wasn't his name anymore. It was a command, a demand. His heart raced.

"Evan!" The voice was louder, like someone was standing right behind him. He spun around, his breath catching in his throat, but no one was there.

His heart beat faster. He had to get to safety. He turned, rushing for the nearest building. The old town hall loomed ahead, its door half-open, inviting him in. The darkness inside swallowed him whole.

He slammed the door shut behind him, panting. The voices didn't stop. They followed him inside. The air was just as thick here as it had been outside, but at least he couldn't see the fog. He had to get away from it.

He moved deeper into the building, finding himself in a long corridor. The sound of his footsteps echoed, unnervingly loud. It felt wrong. He wasn't supposed to be here.

"Evan, please..." The voice was behind him again. His heart skipped a beat. He turned, but no one was there. The halls were empty.

The voices became clearer, all of them now. Multiple voices. It was like a chorus of them, layered one on top of the other. Pleading. Screaming. Calling. Crying.

"Evan... help us... help me, Evan..." The voice he had been following was so close now, it was all he could hear. He could feel it vibrating in his chest.

A movement caught his eye down the hallway. Someone—or something—was moving toward him. A figure, barely visible through the thick fog that seemed to pool inside the building. Evan's pulse quickened. He didn't want to face whatever it was. The figure's outline grew clearer, its shape solidifying.

"Please..." The voice again, closer this time, almost at his side.

Evan's legs refused to move. He was rooted to the spot, fear keeping him in place. The figure stepped closer, and his blood ran cold.

It was a woman, her face pale and contorted, her eyes wide with terror. She reached out toward him, her fingers clawing the air.

"Help me..." Her voice cracked. Her eyes seemed to swallow the light around her. There was something wrong about her, something too wrong. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His throat was tight, suffocating.

She lunged at him, and in that instant, the fog seemed to pour out of her, flooding the hallway, swallowing the entire building. The last thing Evan saw was her outstretched hand, coming closer, before the fog closed in.

When Evan woke, it was dark. He lay on the cold stone floor of the town hall, gasping for air. His body felt numb, like it belonged to someone else. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't respond. The voices were gone, but the silence was worse.

He forced himself up, his legs unsteady. As he stood, he saw the town hall was empty. The doors were wide open, the fog outside thick and swirling. The world beyond the doors was a void, just like the one inside.

He stumbled toward the exit, but before he could step out, something stopped him. There, at the door, standing in the fog, was a figure. It wasn't the woman. This one was different. Taller. Shrouded in something even darker than the fog itself.

"Evan..." The voice came again. The same voice that had called to him earlier. But this time, it wasn't pleading. It was demanding.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. The fog pressed in, and the voice grew louder, more insistent.

"Come closer, Evan. You belong to us now."

His body screamed at him to run, but he couldn't. The fog had him. There was nowhere to go. The figure reached out, its hand long and skeletal, its fingers reaching for him. And Evan understood, too late, that the voices had never been real.

They had been the fog itself, pulling him in, feeding on his fear, waiting for him to step into its trap.

The last thing he felt was the cold, bony fingers closing around his wrist. Then the world went dark.

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The fog never stopped. The voices never left.

It was just another night in the town.