Chapter Four: The Hollow Remembers

The drive back into town was longer than it should have been.

Leon didn't check the time—he never needed to—but something felt off. The road that had taken mere minutes to arrive at the Carter farm now stretched endlessly, the trees on either side looming taller, the shadows between them darker.

He didn't get lost. That was impossible.

And yet.

The headlights of his car cut through the mist, but the further he drove, the denser it became, swirling thick like smoke. The town should have been just beyond the bend.

But the bend did not come.

Leon exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

He knew what this was.

A test.

Blackwood Hollow was old. Older than its records. Older than its people. And places like this—places that should not exist—did not take kindly to strangers.

Or to things that did not belong.

A shape flickered in the mist ahead. A figure, standing in the center of the road.

Leon eased the car to a stop.

For a moment, the shape remained still, almost blending into the fog. Then, as if pulled from the edges of a half-formed thought, it became clearer.

A woman.

She stood barefoot on the cracked asphalt, her dress whispering against the air as if caught in a breeze that did not exist. Her hair was long, dark, moving unnaturally slow—as if she were standing underwater.

Leon did not move.

He waited.

The woman lifted her head.

And smiled.

The headlights should have illuminated her features, but they did not. Her face remained shadowed, unreadable. But that smile—he could see it clearly. A slow, knowing thing.

Leon lowered the window. The air outside was colder than it should have been.

"Do you know where you are, Mr. Blackwell?"

Her voice was soft. Too soft. Like it had been spoken through layers of time.

Leon tilted his head slightly. "I think the better question is—do you?"

A pause.

The woman's smile did not falter. "You don't belong here."

Leon smiled back, just as slow. "And yet, here I am."

The mist thickened. The woman tilted her head, just slightly.

"She won't save you," she whispered. "Not when the Hollow decides."

Leon's fingers twitched. A memory—no, a warning—stirred at the edges of his mind, something distant and buried.

He had heard that phrase before.

Not here.

Not in this town.

But somewhere else, long ago.

The woman's smile faded. The mist curled tighter.

Then, as if the night itself had swallowed her whole, she was gone.

Leon exhaled.

The road ahead was clear again. The town waiting just beyond.

His grip tightened on the wheel.

Blackwood Hollow was not just old.

It remembered.

And something within it did not want him here.

But then again—Leon Blackwell had never cared much for warnings.