Chapter 2: Threads of the Past

THE DEVIL'S

Threads of the Past

The morning light crept into Black Hollow, weak and pale, as though reluctant to pierce the heavy fog that lingered over the town. Eleanor awoke to the sound of her father's voice calling her from downstairs. For a moment, she lay still, her mind replaying the events of the night before. The memory of Lucian's golden eyes sent a shiver through her, but she pushed it aside. It couldn't have been real.

"Eleanor!" her father called again, sharper this time.

"I'm coming," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

The kitchen smelled of herbs and fresh bread, though the scent did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Her father, Edward Kane, was already at the table, a worn leather book open before him. His graying hair was tied back, and his face bore the tired lines of a man who had spent too many nights tending to the sick and the dying.

"You were out late again," he said, not looking up from his notes.

Eleanor poured herself a cup of tea and sat across from him. "You kept me late, remember?"

He glanced at her, his brow furrowing. "I meant after that. Mrs. Whitlock said she saw you running home well after the church bells rang. Is everything all right?"

She hesitated. She wanted to tell him about Lucian, about the way he had seemed to step out of the shadows themselves, but the words caught in her throat. Her father had little patience for tales of the supernatural. He was a man of reason, a healer who believed in science and logic, not whispers of devils and deals.

"I thought I heard something," she said finally. "It was probably just the wind."

Edward's frown deepened, but he didn't press the matter. "You need to be careful, Eleanor. These are dangerous times. The fever is spreading faster than we can treat it, and people are scared. Scared people do foolish things."

She nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere. The fever had claimed more lives than she cared to count, leaving the town's graveyard overflowing and its survivors desperate. If what Lucian had said was true, if he really could bring the dead back…

No. She pushed the thought away. Bargaining with the devil, or whatever Lucian truly was, could only lead to ruin.

Later that day, Eleanor found herself at the market square, collecting supplies for the apothecary. The square was busier than usual, filled with hushed whispers and nervous glances. She caught snippets of conversation as she moved through the crowd.

"They found another one this morning," a woman said, clutching a child to her side.

"Same as the others," a man replied, his voice low. "No marks, no wounds. Just… gone."

Eleanor's stomach churned. Over the past few weeks, several townsfolk had been found dead in their beds, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. No one knew why or how, though the old stories about the devil's curse had begun to resurface.

As she passed a stall selling candles, she felt someone grab her arm. She turned to see Margaret Whitlock, a stout woman with kind eyes and a perpetually worried expression.

"Eleanor," Margaret said, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard. "I need to speak with you."

"Of course," Eleanor said. "What is it?"

Margaret hesitated, her grip tightening. "It's about my son. He's… he's not been the same since his father passed. He says he sees things, shadows in the corners of his room, and he's been talking about a man with golden eyes."

Eleanor's breath caught. "A man with golden eyes?"

Margaret nodded, her voice trembling. "He says the man comes to him at night, whispering things I can't understand. I thought it was just nightmares, but… last night, I saw him too. Only for a moment, but I swear I did."

A cold dread settled over Eleanor. "Did he speak to you?"

"No," Margaret said, shaking her head. "But the look in his eyes… it was like he knew everything about me, every secret, every fear."

Eleanor swallowed hard. "You need to be careful," she said, echoing her father's words. "Don't let him into your home, no matter what he says."

Margaret's grip loosened, and she nodded. "Thank you, Eleanor. I don't know what I'd do without your kindness."

As Margaret walked away, Eleanor's thoughts churned. Lucian wasn't just a figment of her imagination. He was real, and he wasn't just watching her. He was weaving himself into the lives of others, spinning a web of fear and temptation.

That evening, Eleanor sat in her room, the candlelight flickering as she leafed through her mother's old journal. It was a relic of a time when her family had been whole, before sickness had stolen her mother away. The pages were filled with notes on herbs, remedies, and the occasional personal reflection.

As she turned the pages, a scrap of paper fell out. Frowning, she picked it up. The handwriting was unfamiliar, jagged and uneven, as if written in haste.

Beware the man who walks without a shadow. He comes to claim what is not his.

Her heart raced as she stared at the words. She had heard the stories before, warnings passed down through generations, but seeing them here, in her mother's journal, sent a chill down her spine.

The candle sputtered, and for a brief moment, the room seemed darker than it should have been. Eleanor looked up, her breath catching as she saw a figure standing just outside her window.

Golden eyes glinted in the darkness.

"Soon," Lucian's voice whispered, though his lips didn't move.

And then he was gone, leaving Eleanor alone with the flickering light and the growing certainty that her life was no longer her own.

To be continued...