4 – The Journal

The Journal

The fog hung heavy over Raven Hollow as Maya slipped out her bedroom window, her sketchbook tucked under her arm and a flashlight gripped tight. It was past midnight, the town silent except for the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves in the wind. She couldn't sleep—not after Sofia's panicked call about the mirror, not with that lullaby still worming through her head. The others were shaken, scattered, but Maya felt a pull she couldn't shake. Blackwood Manor held answers, and she wasn't waiting for tomorrow night's group plan. She needed to know.

Her bike cut through the mist, tires humming on the cracked pavement until she hit the dirt path to the manor. The woods loomed, branches clawing at the sky, and the air grew colder the closer she got. Her breath fogged as she ditched the bike at the tree line, her Converse sinking into damp earth. The manor's silhouette rose ahead—spires jagged, windows black, a hulking beast crouched in the dark. Her heart thudded, but curiosity burned brighter than fear. She clicked on the flashlight and crept toward the broken window they'd escaped through.

Inside, the foyer was unchanged—dust thick, chandelier swaying faintly, as if something had brushed it. The claw-marked footprints still scorched the floor, leading upstairs. Maya swallowed, her beam trembling as she swept it over the cracked mirror. No handprint now, just her own reflection—pale, braids frayed, eyes too wide. She forced a breath and started up the staircase, each creak echoing like a gunshot.

The hall upstairs stretched endlessly, warped portraits glaring down. She stopped at the door that had slammed open last time, its wood splintered. Beyond it, a study waited—bookshelves sagging, a desk littered with brittle papers. The air smelled of mildew and something sour, like old blood. She stepped in, her light catching a glint under the desk—a leather-bound journal, half-buried in dust.

Her fingers shook as she pried it open. The pages crackled, ink faded but legible. Elias Blackwood, 1691 was scrawled on the first line. She skimmed, her pulse racing: The Watcher Beyond spoke to me last night… promised power if I spill the blood it craves… a ritual under the eclipsed moon… the town will pay for their ignorance. A sketch followed—rune-covered stones, a sigil matching the one from her dreams. Her stomach twisted. This was no ghost story. It was a confession.

A thud downstairs snapped her head up. The chandelier rattled, crystals clinking. She shoved the journal into her sketchbook and crept to the door, peering down the hall. Shadows shifted in the foyer—too many, too long. A growl rumbled, low and wet, and the lullaby hummed alongside it, mocking her. She clicked off the flashlight, plunging into dark, and pressed against the wall.

Footsteps climbed the stairs—slow, deliberate, not human. Claws scraped wood, and a shape loomed at the landing—tall, eyeless, limbs bending wrong. Maya bit her lip to stifle a gasp, tasting blood. It paused, head tilting as if it heard her heartbeat. The sigil burned in her mind, pulsing red, and a voice rasped in her skull: "Curious little thing…"

She bolted, ducking into the study and slamming the door. It wouldn't hold—already, the wood groaned under a heavy blow. She scanned the room, frantic, and spotted a dumbwaiter shaft in the corner, its hatch rusted but open. Another crash splintered the door as she dove in, yanking the hatch shut. The space was tight, her knees jamming against her chest, but she pulled the rope, descending with a screech of pulleys.

The shaft dumped her into the kitchen—cobwebs and broken china everywhere. She stumbled out, clutching the journal, as the growl echoed above. Doors slammed upstairs, one after another, a tantrum of rage. She sprinted for the window, glass crunching underfoot, and hurled herself into the fog. Her bike was a blur as she pedaled, the manor's roar fading behind her.

Dawn broke gray and cold as the group crowded into Liam's basement, the journal splayed on a card table. Maya's hands still shook, her voice steadying as she recounted the night—every word clipped with adrenaline. Liam leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw tight since she'd mentioned the voice. Sofia sat on the couch, Luna at her feet, her optimism a flicker now. Ethan tapped his fried laptop, scowling, while Noah pored over the journal, glasses fogging with each breath.

"It's real," Maya said, slamming her sketchbook down. "Elias wasn't crazy. He summoned something."

Noah nodded, tracing a passage. "Says here the Watcher feeds on fear and blood. The ritual binds it to a place—Blackwood—but it needs a 'vessel' to break free. The eclipse is the key."

"Next one's tomorrow night," Ethan cut in, pulling up a lunar chart on his phone. "Same as '98, '53—all the vanishings."

Liam's fists clenched. "My dad died during that eclipse. You're saying it's connected?"

"Maybe," Noah said, cautious. "If he was near Blackwood…"

Sofia's voice cracked. "My abuela knew something. She'd cross herself whenever we passed that road. Said it was 'hungry.'"

A silence fell, thick and heavy. Maya flipped to a page she'd sketched—the sigil, the stones. "Elias mentions a circle of runes in the cellar. If we find it—"

"No way," Ethan snapped. "You barely got out last night. That thing's awake now."

"And it's coming for us," Liam said, voice low. "You saw Sofia's mirror, my dad in the gym. We don't stop it, we're next."

The basement door creaked open—Liam's mom, eyes red, holding a box. "Thought you'd want these," she mumbled, dropping it and shuffling out. Liam frowned, peeling it open. Photos spilled—his dad, younger, standing by Blackwood Manor with a group, all wearing grim faces. A note was taped to one: Eclipse Protocol, 10/17/98.

"What the hell?" Liam breathed, passing it to Noah.

"Government?" Ethan asked, leaning in. "Some secret project?"

"Or a cover-up," Maya said. "If they knew about the Watcher…"

A howl cut through the morning—Luna, hackling at the window. The fog swirled, and claw marks raked the glass, slow and deliberate. Sofia yelped, grabbing the dog. Liam snatched a bat, but the marks stopped, leaving a handprint smeared in frost.

"It's taunting us," Noah said, pale.

"Then we fight back," Liam growled, a spark of leadership flaring. "Tomorrow night. Cellar. We find that circle."

Maya met his eyes, nodding. "I'll sketch the runes. Maybe we can undo it."

Sofia hugged Luna tighter. "No more hiding."

Ethan sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting you all."

That night, Maya's mom caught her sneaking back in, eyes wild. "Where were you?" she demanded, voice shrill.

"Nowhere," Maya lied, clutching the journal.

"Don't lie!" Her mom grabbed her arm, then froze, staring at the sketchbook. "Blackwood… you didn't…"

Maya pulled free. "What do you know?"

Her mom sank to the floor, trembling. "It took them. Your aunt, '98. I ran. I should've warned you…"

The words hit like a slap. Maya backed away, journal heavy in her hands, the mystery cracking open wider—and darker—than she'd feared….