Chapter 2:The Storm Over Hollow Crook

The air smelled of rain before it arrived, thick and heavy with the promise of a storm. Claire sat on the wooden steps of her grandmother's farmhouse, staring out at the dark clouds rolling in over the Indiana cornfields. The cicadas had gone silent—a sure sign that the storm was close.

"Claire, get inside!" Grandma Ruth called from the kitchen window. "That wind's picking up fast."

Claire hesitated, watching the sky split open with a jagged streak of lightning. She'd always loved storms, ever since she was a child visiting this farm every summer. There was something about the way they made the world feel wild and unpredictable. But tonight felt different. There was an uneasiness in the air, like the land itself was holding its breath.

She stepped inside just as the first fat raindrops hit the tin roof, drumming out a rhythm that grew louder by the second. The windows rattled as the wind howled through the trees surrounding Hollow Creek.

"You remember where the candles are?" Grandma Ruth asked, already gathering blankets in case the power went out.

"Yeah," Claire said, moving to the old oak cabinet near the fireplace. She'd done this a hundred times before, but something about the night made her hands tremble slightly as she struck a match and lit the first candle.

Then came the sound.

Not thunder, not the wind—something else. A deep, low rumble from outside, almost like a growl. Claire froze, glancing at her grandmother. Ruth's face had gone pale, her usual steady hands gripping the edge of the table.

"You hear that?" Claire asked.

Ruth nodded. "It's coming from the creek."

The rain hammered the roof, but through it, Claire swore she could hear something else—a whisper beneath the storm. A voice.

"Claire…"

Her heart pounded. That wasn't the wind.

She turned toward the window, barely able to see through the sheets of rain. Then, in a flash of lightning, she saw it—just for a moment. A shadowy figure standing by the edge of Hollow Creek, motionless in the storm.

And then it was gone.

Claire sucked in a sharp breath and looked at her grandmother. "Grandma… who is that?"

Ruth's eyes were full of something Claire had never seen before. Fear.

She gripped Claire's hand tightly. "It's starting again."

Claire's blood ran cold. "What's starting again?"

Ruth turned to face her, voice barely above a whisper.

"The storm isn't what you should be afraid of."