5 – Echoes of the Past

Echoes of the Past

The sky over Raven Hollow bruised purple as dusk settled, the fog thickening like a living thing. Noah sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, Legends of Raven Hollow open beside the Blackwood journal, pages lit by a flickering desk lamp. His glasses slid down his nose, smudged from hours of reading, but he barely noticed. The words blurred together—Watcher Beyond… blood pact… lunar eclipse—and his quiet mind raced, piecing it together. The others were counting on him, the bookworm who'd rather analyze than fight. But after those claw marks on his garage, hiding in books felt flimsy.

A chill prickled his neck. He glanced at the window—shut tight, curtains drawn—yet the glass rattled faintly, as if tapped by invisible fingers. Luna's howl from Sofia's place still echoed in his head, a warning he couldn't shake. He rubbed his arms, refocusing on the journal. Elias's last entry was a scrawl: The circle is set. The town will scream. Below it, a map sketch—rune stones in the cellar, a spiral of ink. Noah traced it, his finger trembling.

The lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows. He froze as a whisper slithered through the room: "Noahhh…" Soft, guttural, not his mom's voice—she was downstairs, oblivious. The air thickened, pressing his chest. He grabbed his phone, texting the group: It's here. My room.

No reply came fast enough. The whisper grew—"You see too much"—and the curtains billowed, though no breeze touched them. Books toppled from his shelf, thudding like heartbeats. He snatched the journal and bolted for the door, but it slammed shut, lock clicking. A growl vibrated the floorboards, and the sigil flared in his mind, red and pulsing.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted, voice cracking. He yanked the knob, shoulder slamming the wood. The growl turned to laughter—low, wet, amused. The lamp died, plunging him into dark, and claws scraped the window, slow and deliberate.

A crash downstairs snapped the spell. His mom's voice rang out: "Noah? What's going on?" The door flew open under his next pull, and he stumbled into the hall, journal clutched tight. She stood at the stairs, wide-eyed, a broom in hand.

"Something fell," she said, frowning. "You okay? You're white as a sheet."

"Yeah," he lied, breathless. "Just… tripped."

She didn't buy it—he saw it in her pursed lips—but she nodded, heading back to the kitchen. Noah leaned against the wall, heart hammering, and checked his phone. Liam: On my way. Sofia: Me too. The thing had backed off, but he felt its eyes, lingering.

An hour later, the group crammed into Noah's garage, the air thick with tension. Liam paced, bat in hand, his dad's photo from the box crumpled in his pocket. Maya hunched over the journal, sketching the cellar map, her mom's confession still raw. Sofia sat on a crate, Luna at her feet, her fingers twisting a rosary from her abuela. Ethan tinkered with a drone, jury-rigged from spare parts since his laptop fried.

"It's targeting us," Noah said, pushing his glasses up. "Knew my name. Tried to trap me."

"Same as me," Sofia added, voice tight. "That face in the mirror—it's personal now."

Liam stopped pacing, jaw clenched. "My dad waved at me. Whatever this is, it's digging into us."

Maya looked up, pencil pausing. "My mom said it took her sister in '98. She ran, left her behind. That's why she's a mess."

Ethan snorted, attaching a camera to the drone. "Great. Family reunion with a monster. What's the journal say?"

Noah flipped it open, reading: "Elias bound the Watcher to the manor with a blood ritual—five lives, one per stone in the cellar circle. It's tethered, but an eclipse lets it reach out. Tomorrow's the next one."

"Five lives," Liam echoed, voice flat. "Like the vanishings. Like us."

A silence fell, broken by Luna's low growl. The garage door rattled—wind, maybe, but no one moved. Ethan launched the drone, its buzz filling the space, and angled his phone to the feed. "Sending it to Blackwood. Scout the cellar before we go in blind."

The screen flickered as the drone soared over the woods, fog swirling below. Blackwood Manor loomed, its spires piercing the dusk. The drone dipped through the broken window, buzzing past the foyer, down a crumbling stairwell. Dust motes danced in its light, then—darkness. The feed cut to static.

"Lost it," Ethan cursed, smacking the phone. "Something's blocking the signal."

"Or it didn't like the spy," Maya said, sketching faster. "Look—the cellar map. Five stones, a spiral. If we break the circle…"

"We free it," Noah finished, grim. "Or kill it. Elias doesn't say."

Sofia's rosary snapped, beads scattering. "Then we figure it out tomorrow. No more waiting."

Liam nodded, a spark of resolve cutting through his fear. "We go in armed. Bats, knives, whatever. End this."

A thud hit the garage door—hard, deliberate. Luna barked, hackles up, as claw marks raked the metal, screeching. Liam swung his bat up, Sofia grabbed a wrench, Ethan a crowbar. Maya clutched her sketchbook like a shield, Noah the journal. The door buckled, then stilled. Fog seeped under it, coiling like fingers.

"It's here," Noah whispered.

Liam kicked the door open, bat raised. Nothing—just fog and silence. But on the concrete, wet and glistening, were words scratched deep: COME BACK. The lullaby hummed faintly, drifting from the woods.

"We will," Liam growled, gripping the bat tighter. "And we're not dying."

Later, Liam sat alone in his room, the box of photos open. His dad stared from one—near Blackwood, 1998, with four others. A younger man in a suit stood beside them, a badge glinting: Eclipse Protocol. Liam's chest tightened. His dad hadn't just died—he'd been part of something. The sigil scratched on his desk glowed faintly, and a voice rasped in his head: "He screamed for you."

Liam hurled the photo across the room, shattering the frame. "Shut up!" he roared, but the laughter echoed, cold and endless.

Down the street, Sofia couldn't sleep. Luna paced, growling at shadows. She clutched her phone, replaying the memo she'd recorded: Blackwood's alive… The lullaby wove through it, her own humming warped now, deeper. She deleted it, hands shaking, and whispered a prayer her abuela taught her. The mirror stayed clear, but the air felt heavy, watching.

Maya's mom sobbed in the next room as Maya traced the journal's runes, her aunt's face—a photo from '98—beside her. Same braids, same eyes. The Watcher had taken her, and now it wanted them. She drew until her hand cramped, the cellar spiral taking shape, a plan forming.

Ethan rebuilt his drone in the basement, cursing the static. A radio crackled on his desk—random signals he'd hacked into. A voice broke through: "…containment failing… Eclipse Protocol… Raven Hollow…" It cut off, leaving him staring, dread pooling.

Noah lay awake, journal on his chest, the whisper replaying: You see too much. He didn't sleep. Tomorrow, they'd face it. He just hoped he'd see too much again—and live….