Part 2: The Ripple Beneath

Erin Crawford pulled her car up to the narrow gravel road leading to the hotel. The landscape was barren, save for a few skeletal trees swaying in the wind. The hotel stood at the end of the path like a monolithic shadow, its dull gray exterior blending almost seamlessly with the overcast sky. She stared at it for a moment before stepping out, her boots crunching against the gravel.

As she entered the lobby, a faint chime echoed, announcing her arrival. The air was stale, tinged with the faint scent of mildew. A woman stood behind the desk, her smile plastered on as though forced.

"Welcome to Crestvale Hotel," she said in a flat tone. "Do you have a reservation?"

Erin nodded, handing over her ID. "Erin Crawford. I booked a room for two nights."

The receptionist's eyes flicked briefly to Erin, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before she typed on an ancient-looking computer.

"Room 314. Third floor. The elevator is down the hall," the receptionist said, handing Erin a rusted key instead of a keycard.

Erin hesitated. "No keycards?"

The receptionist shrugged. "We prefer to keep things... traditional."

As Erin stepped into the elevator, the door groaned, closing with a sluggish, mechanical whine. The dim light inside flickered as the elevator ascended, and she felt an inexplicable chill crawl up her spine.

The hallway to her room was eerily quiet. The carpet, once vibrant, had faded to muted tones, its intricate patterns almost ghostly under the dim wall sconces. She reached Room 314 and turned the key, the lock clicking with an unsettling echo.

Inside, the room was unremarkable: a bed, a wooden dresser, and a window with curtains drawn tight. She dropped her bag on the bed and sat down, her gaze drifting toward the window. As she pulled the curtains aside, she noticed a group of children playing outside in the distance, their laughter faint but distinct.

Erin frowned. The receptionist hadn't mentioned families staying at the hotel. She watched for a moment, noting how the children moved in a strange, synchronized manner, their laughter repeating like a broken record.

A knock on her door snapped her attention away. She jumped slightly before walking over to answer it.

No one was there.

She glanced down both ends of the hallway, but it was empty. The knock came again, but this time, it wasn't from the door. It was from behind her.

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the room. Nothing seemed out of place. The knock came once more, this time from the dresser.

With shaky hands, Erin approached the dresser and opened its top drawer. Inside was a single piece of paper, folded neatly. She picked it up, her heart racing, and unfolded it.

The paper was blank.

The following morning, Erin awoke to a faint sound of whispers. Groggy, she sat up, looking around the room. The whispers faded as quickly as they had come, leaving her in silence. She tried to dismiss it as her imagination and got ready for the day.

At breakfast in the dining area, she noticed only two other guests: an elderly couple seated in a corner, speaking in hushed tones. The receptionist was absent, and a young server silently placed a plate of food before Erin without a word.

"Excuse me," Erin said, stopping the server. "How many guests are staying here?"

The server hesitated, avoiding eye contact. "Not many," he mumbled before quickly retreating to the kitchen.

Erin finished her meal and decided to explore the grounds. The hotel's isolation was palpable. The woods surrounding it were dense and seemed to absorb sound, creating an unnerving stillness.

As she walked near the back of the hotel, she noticed the playground she had seen from her window. It was rusted and overgrown, the swings creaking softly in the wind. There were no children in sight.

That evening, Erin sat on the bed, reviewing her notes. She had jotted down every strange occurrence so far, but none of it made sense.

As she wrote, the lights flickered, and a faint sound of giggling echoed outside her door. She froze, listening intently. The giggling grew louder, now accompanied by the soft patter of feet running down the hall.

She stood, her heart pounding, and slowly opened the door.

The hallway was empty.

Erin stepped out, her bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. She looked down the corridor, her breath catching as she saw a shadow dart around the corner.

"Hello?" she called, her voice trembling.

No response.

She turned to go back into her room but stopped when she noticed something written on her door. In what appeared to be damp fingerprints, the words "Do you remember?" were scrawled across the wood.

The next morning, Erin approached the receptionist, who seemed even more detached than before.

"I need to ask about this place," Erin said, her voice firm. "What happened here?"

The receptionist hesitated before leaning closer. "This isn't the first time someone's asked. But if you dig too deep, you might not like what you find."

Erin spent the rest of the day searching the hotel's archives, stored in a dusty storage room in the basement. Among the faded documents, she found an old guest ledger. Her cousin's name was there, along with dozens of others, all marked with a red X.

Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages, finding a pattern. Every few years, guests would mysteriously disappear, and the hotel would close briefly before reopening under a new name.

That night, Erin returned to her room, determined to confront whatever was happening. As the clock struck midnight, the air grew heavy, and the room's temperature plummeted. The children's laughter returned, louder and more distorted.

Suddenly, the mirror on the dresser cracked, and a voice whispered, "You shouldn't have come back."

The room began to shake, and shadows writhed along the walls, forming vague humanoid shapes. Erin clutched her recorder, documenting everything even as terror gripped her.

The door slammed shut, trapping her inside. The shadows converged, and a figure emerged—a tall, faceless entity that radiated malice.

Erin's recorder slipped from her hand as she stared in horror, her mind racing to make sense of what she was seeing.

The piercing ring of her phone jolted Erin awake, her heart pounding as the remnants of the nightmare faded. She blinked, disoriented, and reached for the device on the bedside table.

"Hello?" she muttered groggily, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Erin, it's me," came the brisk voice of her boss, Richard. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no," she said, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. "What's up?"

Richard's tone softened slightly, though it remained professional. "Just checking in. Everything okay over there? The hotel's in pretty rough shape from what I've heard."

"Yeah, it's... old, but it's fine," Erin replied, glancing at the clock. It was 7:30 AM.

There was a pause on the other end before Richard continued. "You've been pretty insistent about taking this assignment. Care to tell me why?"

Erin hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It's simple, really. No one's ever written anything significant about this area. The mine and the waterfall nearby have been ignored for decades. It's like the whole region's been forgotten."

Richard sighed. "Erin, there's a reason no one investigates those places. People who've gone alone... well, let's just say not all of them come back."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I'm not planning on breaking any records, just gathering enough material for an article."

"If you say so," Richard replied, though his skepticism was evident. "Just... keep me updated. And don't go running off into anything sketchy, alright?"

"Got it," Erin said, forcing a lightness into her voice. "I'll check in later."

The call ended, and Erin set the phone down with a sigh. She rubbed her temples, trying to shake off the unease from both her dream and the conversation.

A sudden knock at the door startled her. She froze, her pulse quickening. Slowly, she got up and approached the door.

When she opened it, no one was there.

She glanced up and down the hallway, but it was empty. Looking down, she spotted a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it.

Leave.

Erin frowned. The handwriting was messy, almost childlike. She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash, shaking her head. "Probably just some prank," she muttered to herself.

Yet deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't.

The truth was, Erin had a much more personal reason for taking this assignment. Years ago, her cousin, Lily, had vanished after staying at this very hotel. No one knew if she had been kidnapped, gone into hiding, or met with something far worse.

The official investigation had been inconclusive, and eventually, the case went cold. But Erin had never stopped wondering.

This trip was more than just an article to her. It was a chance to dig deeper into Lily's disappearance, to find answers no one else had bothered to uncover.

Still, she couldn't confront that reality just yet. Not until she had something concrete to go on.

Later that morning, Erin packed her equipment and headed out. Her destination was the abandoned mine a few miles away, a site shrouded in local rumors and folklore. Some said the miners had unearthed something they shouldn't have, while others claimed the mine was cursed.

As she drove, the landscape grew even more desolate. The road was flanked by gnarled trees and jagged rocks, the scenery bleak and uninviting.

When she arrived, the mine loomed before her like a gaping maw. The entrance was boarded up, but gaps in the planks revealed a dark void within.

Erin stepped out of the car, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots echoing in the silence. She grabbed her camera and notebook, her determination outweighing her fear.

She spent the next few hours exploring the perimeter, taking photos and jotting down notes. The air was thick with an earthy scent, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.

As she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Once or twice, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned, there was nothing there.

By late afternoon, she decided to head back to the hotel. Her notes were thorough, but something about the mine felt... incomplete. Like she was only scratching the surface of a much larger story.

Back at the hotel, Erin sat at the small desk in her room, reviewing her notes. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Lily. Could her cousin have visited the mine? Was there something there that no one wanted to talk about?

The faint sound of children's laughter broke her concentration. She froze, her pen hovering over the paper.

Slowly, she stood and moved toward the window. She peered out, expecting to see the same group of children she had seen the night before.

But there was no one there.

Just the wind, whispering through the trees.

Erin's hand hovered over the door, her grip tightening as the soft whisper reached her ears again.

"Erin..."

The voice was faint, like a breath carried by the wind. Her body tensed, the hair on her arms standing on end. She scanned the dimly lit hallway, but it was empty, silent except for that persistent whisper.

"Erin... come here..."

Her instincts screamed to shut the door and lock it, yet curiosity tugged at her thoughts. What if this was connected to Lily? What if the voice knew something?

The whisper grew fainter, almost pleading. It felt like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Erin hesitated, her pulse racing. She placed her hand on the doorframe, leaning slightly into the hallway to get a better look. The dim lighting played tricks on her eyes, and the air felt heavier, colder.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaking.

No answer. Just the eerie stillness of the corridor.

Finally, her survival instincts overpowered her curiosity. She shut the door with trembling hands and slid the lock into place. She leaned against it, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

As she returned to her desk to focus on her article, the sound of the door handle shaking violently sent her heart into her throat.

Rattling. Jarring. Someone—or something—was trying to get in.

Erin grabbed the lamp from her table, clutching it like a weapon. Her hands trembled as she inched closer to the door.

"Who is it?!" she demanded, her voice quivering but loud.

No reply. The rattling intensified, the door shaking on its hinges.

"Answer me!"

Silence. The rattling stopped abruptly, leaving an oppressive quiet in its wake.

Erin's breathing was shallow, her grip on the lamp tightening. She stood frozen for a moment, her ears straining for any sound.

Nothing.

That night, sleep didn't come easily. Every creak of the old building, every gust of wind outside made her heart race. She kept the lamp on the bedside table within arm's reach and the door locked.

By the time the sun rose, Erin's nerves were frayed. She barely managed to get any sleep, her mind plagued with questions and fear.

Packing her belongings, she resolved to leave the hotel immediately. This assignment wasn't worth the mounting sense of dread.

She threw her bags into the trunk of her car and took one last look at the hotel. Its faded exterior seemed more menacing in the light of day, its windows like soulless eyes watching her every move.

As she opened the car door, a scrap of paper fluttered against the windshield. She hesitated, then grabbed it.

It was the same messy handwriting as the note from the night before.

You can't leave.

Erin's heart sank. She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside before getting into the car. Her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel, glancing back at the hotel one last time.

As she drove away, the hotel loomed in her rearview mirror, shrinking into the distance but leaving an indelible mark on her mind.

Yet, despite her escape, a nagging thought lingered in the back of her mind: Did she really leave it behind, or did something follow her?

Erin's grip tightened on the steering wheel as she continued down the long, desolate road, the cool night air seeping in through the cracked window. She tried to shake off the lingering feeling of unease, telling herself it was just the remnants of the fear that had clung to her in the hotel. The roads were empty, and the soft hum of the engine was the only sound accompanying her.

But no matter how fast she drove, the sensation of being watched never went away. It was like invisible eyes were tracking her every move, and her skin crawled under the weight of it. She glanced nervously at her rearview mirror, half-expecting to see something lurking there, but it was empty. Still, her hands gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white.

As she tried to focus on the road ahead, her phone suddenly rang. The shrill sound broke through the oppressive silence of the car, making her jump. Her heart thudded against her chest as she fumbled to find it. She looked around the car frantically, but it was nowhere in sight. It had to be in one of her bags or under the seat.

The ringing continued, growing louder and more insistent. Panic rose in her throat, and she twisted her body, checking the backseat. The moment she turned back to the rearview mirror, she froze. There, sitting directly behind her, was a figure—too still, too unnatural.

A woman, with skin so pale it looked almost translucent, sat in the backseat. Her hollow eyes were wide, unblinking, and her mouth stretched unnaturally wide—too wide, opening like a grotesque void that seemed to extend all the way to her chest. The woman didn't move, but Erin felt the cold, suffocating weight of her presence.

Erin gasped, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart raced as she slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt. She spun around in a panic, but the backseat was empty. The woman was gone.

She blinked, trembling. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she was unable to breathe for a moment. It was just a hallucination, she told herself, her mind desperately trying to make sense of what she had just seen. I'm just tired, that's all. I need rest.

But when she looked at the dashboard, her phone wasn't ringing anymore. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

Her thoughts were scattered as she tried to steady herself. The overwhelming sense of dread didn't fade, though, and as she glanced around, the road ahead stretched on, empty and uninviting.

Then, everything went black.

Erin gasped awake, her eyes snapping open. She was in her room. The sterile, dim light of the hotel room flickered around her, and for a second, she thought she had simply dreamt it all. But no—her body was drenched in sweat, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

It was midnight again.

Her pulse raced, and she instinctively reached for the phone on her nightstand. It was there, still. No missed calls. No notifications. The quiet, unbroken stillness of the room pressed in on her.

She could feel the weight of the room's air around her, heavy and stifling. Every corner seemed darker than before, and even the smallest sounds seemed amplified in the quiet—her own breath, the hum of the fluorescent lights. She could hear the faintest echo of whispers, but when she tried to focus on them, they disappeared.

Enough.

Erin threw back the covers, determined to leave this place behind. She couldn't take it anymore. This was more than just a story; this was something... worse.

She grabbed her things, throwing them into her bag with frantic energy, her mind racing. The floor creaked beneath her feet as she hurried toward the door, but just before she reached the handle, the door swung open with a violent force, as if something had pulled it from the other side.

A figure stood in the doorway—one of the hotel staff. The woman's face was twisted in an unsettling smile, her eyes too wide, too knowing.

"Leaving so soon?" the staff member asked, her voice too sweet, too soft.

Erin froze, her breath catching in her throat. The woman's smile didn't waver.

"Job called," Erin managed, her voice trembling, though she didn't want to show fear. She tried to step around the woman, but something in the air felt wrong, charged with an oppressive energy. She could almost feel the woman's eyes following her, too intently.

As Erin reached the lobby, a few others gathered near the entrance. Their eyes lingered on her, faces pale, as if they were waiting for her to leave.

One man, dressed in dark clothing, stepped forward, his voice low and cautious. "You should be careful, miss... You shouldn't drive out here at night. Especially not at midnight."

Erin didn't answer, too rattled by the way the man spoke as if he knew something she didn't. As she passed them, another person—older, wearing a tattered coat—shook his head.

"Some things are best left alone. Don't drive tonight. You don't know what you're up against."

But Erin didn't listen. She ignored the warnings and pushed past them, her mind locked on leaving. There was no way she was staying another minute in that place.

The hotel door creaked as it shut behind her. She made her way to the car, her breath shallow, and the car's engine roared to life. The night air hit her like a slap in the face as she sped away, eager to escape.

But even as the hotel shrank in her rearview mirror, Erin couldn't shake the feeling that something was following her. The road stretched out before her, empty and endless, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had truly escaped—or if something more sinister was just beginning to follow her every move.

Erin's breath caught in her throat as the sudden impact threw her car violently to the right. The tires screeched against the road as the vehicle lurched sideways, skidding out of control. Her heart slammed against her chest as her hands tightened on the steering wheel, but it was useless. The car flipped, sending her head-first into the darkness, and everything went black.

The next thing Erin knew, she was waking up in a haze of pain. Her head throbbed, and her vision blurred, but her instinct kicked in. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and winced as a sharp pain shot through her neck.

She groaned and looked around. The car was half-crumpled against the roadside, tilted at a precarious angle. The interior lights flickered weakly, casting strange shadows over the wreckage. She blinked, trying to make sense of what had happened. The road was eerily quiet, and everything seemed still, save for the faint hum of the damaged engine.

"Okay, okay, just breathe," Erin muttered to herself, forcing herself to move. She managed to unclip her seatbelt with trembling hands and pulled herself out of the seat, pushing open the door with difficulty. The cold night air hit her, sending a shiver through her body, but it was a welcome relief from the suffocating panic.

She stumbled out of the car, her legs weak beneath her, and barely caught herself against the door as she stood upright. There was no sign of another vehicle—nothing at all to explain what had hit her.

What the hell just happened?

Erin's eyes scanned the area, but there was no other car, no wreckage or debris. Nothing that could have caused the impact. The road stretched out in both directions, empty and lifeless under the dim glow of the streetlamps.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a growing sense of dread, creeping along her spine. She needed to get help.

With shaking hands, she pulled out her phone, but the screen was cracked. The battery was low, and it refused to connect to a signal. She cursed under her breath, realizing she was stranded.

Suddenly, she heard a low growl—a guttural sound that seemed to come from nowhere. It sent an icy chill crawling up her neck.

Erin's blood ran cold. Her instincts screamed at her to get out of there, to run, but her legs felt like lead. She turned, but her eyes kept darting back toward the woods on the side of the road. It was too dark to see, but the growl echoed again, closer this time.

That was enough. Panic surged through her, and with a burst of adrenaline, she sprinted back toward the hotel. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she pushed her legs harder, ignoring the pain in her body. She didn't look back.

The shadows around her seemed to stretch unnaturally as she ran, as though something was lurking just beyond her peripheral vision. A strange sound—like something scraping against the earth—followed her, but every time she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing there. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, all centered around one thing: What was out there?

The growl grew louder, more insistent, and she could hear the sound of footsteps behind her—slow, deliberate, but heavy. Something was following her. Something dangerous.

Erin reached the hotel's parking lot, breathless and trembling. She threw open the door, slammed it shut behind her, and locked it as quickly as she could. Her hands were still shaking as she backed away from the door, glancing over her shoulder nervously. She didn't dare look out the windows.

The growling continued, now muffled by the thick walls of the hotel, but still unmistakably there. Erin couldn't tell if it was real or if it was just her mind playing tricks, but she was certain of one thing—she wasn't alone out there.

Her heart raced, and a deep, primal fear curled in her gut. Her mind was in overdrive, but there was no way to explain what she had just encountered. There was no animal she knew that could make that sound—no creature that could stalk her with such calculated intent.

She needed answers.

But right now, the only thing she could do was stay inside, barricade herself in, and pray that whatever it was out there didn't find its way inside.

Her phone was still unusable, but she wasn't sure who she could even call at this point. She had to trust her instincts—whatever was lurking in the woods, it was dangerous. And it was coming for her.

Erin slumped against the wall, her chest heaving, her mind racing. She had no idea what had happened to her car or what had attacked her. But one thing was clear now: she couldn't escape whatever had been haunting this place.

All she could do was wait for the dawn—and hope that she would survive long enough to see it.

Erin's breath quickened as she stood in the empty hotel lobby, the eerie silence pressing against her ears like a physical weight. The lobby, once filled with the hum of life, now seemed like a desolate tomb. No staff, no other guests, just the quiet creak of the building settling around her.

She called out once more, her voice faltering as it bounced off the walls, but no response came. "Hello? Anyone here?" Her words hung in the air, unanswered, swallowed by the unsettling stillness.

Her eyes scanned the empty space, her gaze falling on the front desk. Something caught her eye—a small brass key sitting in the center of the counter. It was her room key. She hadn't left it there, and the thought of someone else placing it there made her stomach churn with unease.

Why is it there?

Her fingers trembled as she reached out and grabbed the key. As soon as her skin touched the cold metal, a soft whisper echoed through the lobby.

"Erin…"

It was a voice she didn't recognize, but it was unmistakably calling her. Her pulse spiked, a sudden rush of fear tightening around her chest. She jerked her head toward the direction of the sound, but saw nothing. No one.

The whisper came again, louder this time, almost like it was right behind her.

"Erin…"

Her skin prickled with terror, and without thinking, she clutched the key tightly in her hand and hurried toward the stairs. The elevator was out of service, just as it had been since her arrival.

Climbing the stairs will be faster anyway, she thought, her footsteps quickening as she approached the stairwell. She grabbed the railing, and with a deep breath, she began the long climb up to her floor. The silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the sound of her shoes tapping against the metal steps.

As she ascended, the feeling of being watched—of something following her—became almost overwhelming. Her heart thudded harder with each step, and a strange, creeping sensation wormed its way under her skin.

Then, a sound reached her ears.

The distinct laughter of children.

It was soft at first, like distant whispers, but with each floor she passed, the laughter grew louder, clearer, until it seemed to come from the very walls themselves. She froze for a moment, straining to hear, but there was no movement, no footsteps, just that unnerving giggling echoing down from above.

What was that?

The laughter stopped abruptly, just as she reached the top of the stairs. A chill crawled down her spine as she stepped onto the floor, her mind racing. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to leave, to run, but she couldn't—she needed to know what was going on.

Her hand gripped the door to the hallway, her breath shallow, her body tense. She stepped through the doorway and into the dimly lit hallway, the carpet beneath her feet worn and threadbare. The lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

The hallway was deserted. No one was there.

Where are they?

She rushed to her room, nearly stumbling in her haste, and when she reached her door, she quickly unlocked it, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her. Her hand fumbled with the lock, turning it with desperate urgency.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her heart was still racing. She quickly walked over to the desk and plugged in her phone, hoping that somehow she'd be able to reach someone. She needed help—she needed to get out of here.

As the phone charged, Erin's thoughts raced. She kept replaying the events in her mind, trying to make sense of them. But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Something was wrong—so wrong—about this place.

She glanced toward the window, but the storm outside had worsened. The rain lashed against the glass, the wind howling through the cracks.

Then, she heard something.

A knock at her door.

It was light at first, barely a tap. Then it came again, more insistent, like someone—or something—wanted to get in. Erin's heart skipped a beat as she slowly turned to face the door.

She couldn't move.

Another knock.

And then, the whisper again.

"Erin…"

The voice sounded closer now, as if it were standing just outside her room, its breath cold against the door.

She took a shaky breath and backed away from the door, her eyes wide in panic. Her mind raced, but there were no clear answers, no rational explanation for what was happening. This wasn't just strange—it was terrifying.

But she couldn't stay in her room forever. She needed answers. She needed to get out, to leave before whatever was haunting this place found her.

She grabbed her phone and dialed the number for the local police station, but the call didn't go through. A crackling sound echoed through the line, and her phone screen flickered, showing no signal.

The room felt colder now, and the shadows seemed to grow darker. The air felt heavy, thick with something oppressive, suffocating. A dark presence loomed just beyond the walls.

Erin knew she wasn't alone. And whatever it was, it was closing in on her.

Her only hope was to survive until dawn.

And maybe, just maybe, find out what had happened to her cousin before it was too late.

The door to Erin's room shook violently, the sound of the handle rattling against the frame echoing through the otherwise silent space. It was as if something—or someone—was trying to break in, pushing against the door with a force that made the walls groan in protest. Erin's pulse raced, each frantic shake of the door sending a spike of fear through her body. She could hear the whispering again, soft at first but growing louder, more insistent.

"Erin…" The voice was distant, but it wasn't unfamiliar. It was her cousin's voice. The voice she'd been hearing in her dreams, the voice that had been calling her for so long.

No, not now. Not like this.

The door rattled again, more violently this time, the wood groaning as if it would splinter under the pressure. Erin's heart raced, her breath coming in quick gasps. Her legs felt like they were made of lead, but she knew she couldn't just stand there. She needed to hide—she needed to get away.

Her eyes darted around the room, and they landed on the closet. Without thinking, she rushed toward it, her feet moving as fast as they could carry her. She slammed the closet door shut behind her, her body trembling as she crouched in the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old wood, but all Erin could focus on was the sound of her cousin's voice, growing louder, more frantic.

"Erin…"

She clamped her hands over her ears, but it didn't help. The voice was inside her head now, echoing in her mind, repeating her name over and over.

"Erin… come out, Erin… It's me… It's me…"

She could almost see her cousin in her mind's eye—almost. But she couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.

Then, something else caught her attention. Through the small gap in the closet door, Erin could see the faint outline of someone standing in the dark hallway outside her room. The shadow was tall, unnaturally so, and its shape was wrong, distorted as if it didn't quite belong in this reality.

Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to focus on it, her pulse thundering in her ears.

Was that her cousin?

The whispering continued, relentless, like a distant chant. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't escape it. And then, through the crack in the door, she saw something that made her blood run cold.

The figure in the hallway stepped closer, and Erin could see her cousin's face. But something was wrong. Her cousin's skin was pale, impossibly pale, and her eyes were hollow—black pits that seemed to swallow all light. Her mouth stretched open unnaturally wide, too wide, as if it could unhinge itself, and there was a sickly, unnatural smile playing on her lips.

The figure stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, its gaze fixed directly on Erin.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Erin's chest tightened as she stared into those hollow eyes, her own reflection lost in the darkness of the room. The air grew colder, and the whispering intensified, becoming deafening.

"Erin..."

The closet door rattled again, harder now, and Erin held her breath, praying it wouldn't give way. She couldn't move. Her limbs felt frozen, like her body refused to obey her desperate need to escape. She pressed herself deeper into the corner of the closet, her hands trembling as they clutched the edge of the shelf.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Erin locked eyes with the figure.

Her cousin's eyes met hers, and in that moment, Erin could feel the coldness of death creeping up her spine. Her cousin's face twisted into something monstrous, a grotesque parody of the girl she once knew. The whispering stopped abruptly, leaving behind a chilling silence.

But in that silence, Erin could feel something more sinister. The weight of the moment, the unspoken understanding that whatever stood outside the closet wasn't her cousin anymore.

The thing that had once been her cousin stepped forward, slowly reaching for the door, and Erin's breath caught in her throat.

The last thing Erin saw before the closet door rattled open was her cousin's eyes, staring at her, wide and unblinking, filled with a malice that chilled her to the core.

And then—darkness.