James_Looi

When Lena Carter returns to Black Hollow to settle her estranged grandmother’s estate, she expects dust, memories, and maybe a few ghosts of her past. What she doesn’t expect is the fog—thick, unnatural, and whispering her name.

Her grandmother’s cryptic warning—“Don’t let the fog take you.”—becomes chillingly real when strange figures begin appearing in the mist. Shadows press against the windows, voices call to her from the darkness, and the once-familiar house warps into something sinister. Then she finds her grandmother’s journal, filled with frantic warnings about something in the fog—something that has waited for Lena to return.

As the whispers grow louder and reality begins to unravel, Lena must uncover the truth about Black Hollow’s dark past before the fog takes her, too.

Because once you answer the whispers, you belong to them.

The Fog Whispers

Lena's heartbeat thundered in her ears. The thing in the fog—the thing wearing her grandmother's voice—took another step forward. Its hollow eyes locked onto hers, its smile stretching too wide, revealing too many teeth.

The fog thickened, curling around her wrists like unseen hands. Beneath her, the cracks in the stone floor widened, and something below shifted.

A whisper, rising from the depths.

A sound, like fingernails scraping against stone, echoed from beneath the floor. More voices joined the first, overlapping in a chorus of pleading, desperate hunger.

"She trapped us. But you can set us free."

Lena's breath caught in her throat. She gripped the journal tighter, flipping through the brittle pages, searching for something—anything—that would tell her what to do.

One final passage, written in jagged, frantic letters.

"The fog does not take. It tricks. It whispers. It makes you open the door yourself. Do not listen. Do not answer. If the floor opens—RUN."

The thing in the fog tilted its head.

"What are you reading, sweetheart?"

Its voice was wrong now. Stretched. Hollow. Beneath the sound of her grandmother's voice was something else—something older, something that had no real shape, only a voice made of mist and shadows.

The cracks in the floor widened. More fog slithered up from the gaps, thick and pulsing. And beneath it—hands.

She lunged toward the stairs, but the fog rose up, slamming into her like a living thing. Cold fingers brushed against her neck. She could feel the whispers curling inside her head, pushing, searching for a way in.

The hands from the floor grasped her ankles.

Lena screamed. She kicked, thrashing against their grip, her boot striking something solid—bone. The fingers snapped back, and for a brief second, she was free.

She scrambled up the stairs, reaching for the door. The fog followed, clawing at her legs.

She turned, gasping for breath. The fog rose up, forming shapes.

Figures stood in the mist now, their bodies flickering like candlelight. Dozens of them. Some were missing faces, others had gaping mouths stretched in silent screams.

And in the center of them all stood her grandmother.

Lena did the only thing she could.

She reached into her pocket, grabbed the rusted key, and jammed it into the door.

Lena tumbled through, landing hard on the wooden floor of the hallway

Chapter Nine: The Voices Below