2 – The First Sign

The First Sign

The fog clung to Raven Hollow like a shroud as Liam pedaled his bike through the quiet streets, the chill of the night still gnawing at his bones. His legs burned, but he didn't slow down—not after what they'd seen at Blackwood Manor. The others had scattered to their homes, shell-shocked and silent, their usual banter replaced by a shared, unspoken dread. That figure on the stairs, those glowing eyes—it wasn't a prank. Liam's mind churned, trying to lock it away with logic. A trick of the light. A squatter messing with them. Anything but what it felt like: something alive, something wrong.

He coasted into his driveway, the single-story house dark except for a faint glow in the kitchen. His mom was probably up late again, staring at nothing like she did since Dad died two years back. Liam dropped his bike against the garage, his breath puffing in the cold. He flexed his hands, still tingling from smashing that window, and headed inside.

The kitchen smelled of burnt coffee. His mom sat at the table, a mug clutched in her trembling hands, her blonde hair a mess. She didn't look up as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

"Late practice?" she mumbled, voice flat.

"Yeah," Liam lied, gulping water to steady himself. No point in telling her about the manor—she'd freak, or worse, shut down again. He glanced at the clock: 11:47 PM. "You okay?"

She nodded, but her eyes were glassy, fixed on a photo of Dad pinned to the fridge—a broad-shouldered man with Liam's jawline, laughing on a fishing trip. Liam turned away, a familiar ache twisting his gut. He muttered a goodnight and trudged to his room, locking the door behind him.

Sleep didn't come easy. The lullaby from the manor looped in his head, soft and sinister, tugging at memories he couldn't place. He tossed, the sheets tangling, until exhaustion finally pulled him under. That's when the dream hit.

He stood in Blackwood's foyer, the chandelier swaying above, casting jagged shadows. The sigil from the stairs glowed on the floor, pulsing red like a wound. A voice whispered his name—low, gravelly, not human. He spun, but the room stretched endlessly, portraits lining the walls, their painted eyes bleeding black. His dad's face stared from one, mouth open in a silent scream. Liam stumbled back, heart slamming, and the sigil flared brighter. The voice laughed, cold and close: "You can't run."

He jolted awake, sweat soaking his shirt. The clock blinked 3:13 AM. His room was silent, moonlight slicing through the blinds—until he saw it. On his desk, where his playbook usually sat, the sigil was scratched into the wood, faint but unmistakable. His breath caught. He hadn't touched it. No one had.

"Get it together," he muttered, scrubbing his face. He grabbed his phone, texting the group chat: Anyone awake? Something's off.

Maya replied first: Can't sleep. That humming won't stop.

Sofia: Same. My dog's freaking out, won't stop barking.

Ethan: My laptop's glitching. Keeps opening random files.

Noah: Meet at the diner. Now.

Twenty minutes later, they huddled in a booth at Hollow's End Diner, the only 24-hour joint in town. Neon buzzed overhead, casting their faces in sickly green. The waitress, a tired woman with a smoker's rasp, poured coffee and shuffled off, leaving them alone. Liam tapped his mug, restless, while Maya sketched the sigil on a napkin, her pencil trembling.

"It's not a coincidence," Noah said, sliding an old library book across the table. Its cover read Legends of Raven Hollow, the pages yellowed and dog-eared. "Look at this."

He flipped to a chapter titled "The Blackwood Curse." A grainy sketch showed the manor, captioned: Last known residence of Elias Blackwood, executed 1692 for consorting with dark forces. Noah tapped a passage: "They say he made a pact with something beyond our world. The town hanged him, but the vanishings started after. Every few decades, people just… disappear."

"Like a cycle," Maya said, her voice hushed. "That journal I found—it mentioned a ritual, blood and a lunar eclipse. What if we tripped over something tied to that?"

Liam scoffed, though it sounded forced. "You're saying we woke up a ghost? Come on."

"Not a ghost," Noah corrected. "Something older. The sigil's a marker—Mesopotamian, maybe. It's tied to summoning."

Ethan snorted, leaning back. "Great. We're in a horror movie now. Next you'll say it's aliens."

"Laugh it up," Sofia snapped, her usual spark dimmed. "But I heard that lullaby again at home. My mirror fogged up, and there was a face—not mine."

The table went quiet. Liam's fingers tightened on his mug. He hadn't told them about the desk yet. He opened his mouth, but a clatter from the kitchen made them jump. The waitress cursed, dropping a tray, and the lights flickered—just like at the manor. A chill slithered down his spine.

"We need to figure this out," Maya said, shoving her sketch aside. "If it's not a prank, we're in deep."

Ethan pulled out his phone, now working again, and opened a browser. "Town records are online. I can hack in, see if there's more on Blackwood or those vanishings."

"Do it," Liam said, surprising himself with the edge in his voice. He wasn't buying the supernatural crap—not fully—but that sigil on his desk wasn't a dream. "We meet tomorrow. Dig up whatever we can."

They nodded, a pact forming in the dim light. As they left, the fog thickened outside, swallowing the diner's glow. Liam glanced back, and for a split second, he swore he saw a shadow—tall, thin, eyes glinting—watching from the treeline. He blinked, and it was gone.

Morning brought no relief. Liam skipped practice, his coach's texts ignored, and met the others at Noah's garage—a cluttered space stacked with books and junk. Ethan hunched over his laptop, eyes bloodshot, while Sofia paced, chewing her nails. Maya spread newspaper clippings on the floor, her sketches pinned to a corkboard.

"Got something," Ethan said, spinning the screen. "Raven Hollow's got a history of missing persons—1872, 1910, 1953, all around lunar eclipses. Last one was '98. Five kids, never found."

Liam's stomach dropped. "'98… that's when my dad—"

He cut off, jaw clenching. His dad's death was a car accident, not a vanishing. Still, the timing gnawed at him. Maya touched his arm, gentle but firm.

"My mom's been weird too," she said. "Last night, she freaked when I asked about Blackwood. Said it's 'bad luck.'"

Sofia stopped pacing. "My abuela used to warn me about that place. Said it's cursed, but I thought it was just stories."

Noah flipped through his book, landing on a map. "Here's the kicker: Blackwood Manor sits on a ley line—some old occult thing. Energy hotspot. If Elias did a ritual there…"

"Then we might've restarted it," Ethan finished, voice grim. "That figure we saw—it wasn't human."

A thud interrupted them. Something hit the garage door, hard. They froze as claw marks raked the metal, slow and deliberate, screeching like nails on a chalkboard. Sofia grabbed a wrench, Ethan a crowbar. Liam stepped forward, heart pounding, and yanked the door up.

Nothing. Just fog and silence. But on the concrete, fresh and glistening, were footprints—bare, clawed, like the ones in the manor. They led into the woods, toward Blackwood.

"We're being hunted," Noah whispered.

Liam stared at the tracks, denial crumbling. Whatever they'd unleashed wasn't letting go. He met their eyes—scared, determined, alive with adrenaline—and made a choice.

"Tomorrow night," he said. "We go back. End this before it ends us."....