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

The stone cracked apart beneath Lena's feet.

She staggered back, heart hammering, as the thing rose from the mist.

It had a shape—a massive, shifting form, half-shadow, half-flesh. Its body twisted in and out of existence, tendrils of mist curling like fingers, reaching for her.

Just a swirling, endless void where a mouth should be, pulsing, hungry.

The voice was a chorus. A thousand whispers overlapping. Some pleading, some mocking, some laughing in her own voice.

Lena took a step back, her boots scraping against the cold stone floor. The fog shifted, curling around her ankles like it was alive.

Her grandmother's journal was still clutched in her shaking hands.

She flipped through the pages, desperate. There had to be something—some way to stop this.

"The house is a door. The fog is the key. It doesn't come for you—you invite it in. If you hear your own voice, if you see your own face—IT'S ALREADY INSIDE.

Burn the house before it takes you, too."

She looked around wildly. The basement was wrong now—larger than before, stretching into impossible darkness. The walls pulsed like living flesh, veins of black fog running through the cracks.

The fog chased her, whispering, pulling at her clothes, her hair. The voices begged her to stop.

She grabbed the gas can, fumbling with the cap. The smell of fuel hit her nose, sharp and acrid.

A deafening, inhuman shriek that shook the walls, rattling her bones. The fog lurched forward, rushing toward her like a wave—

Lena poured the gas over the floor. Over the walls. Over everything.

The tendrils of fog lashed out, clawing at her skin, wrapping around her throat—

The flames rushed outward, hungry, devouring the fog, the house, the thing beneath it.

She stumbled up the crumbling basement stairs, flames licking at her heels. The house groaned, the walls splitting, the ceiling caving in.

She barely made it to the front door before the house collapsed inward, swallowed by fire.

The last thing she heard—before the roof caved in, burying whatever was left beneath the flames—

"You can't burn the fog, Lena. It never really leaves."

Lena stood in the cold night air, the heat of the fire on her face, watching the house—her family's curse—turn to ash.

For the first time, the night was quiet.

For the first time, she was alone.

Somewhere, deep in the distance—

So soft, she almost didn't hear it.

Chapter Fourteen: The Thing Beneath the House (The End)