Chapter 3: The Vanishing Hour

Evelyn's breath came shallow as she clutched the journal, her fingers pressing into its worn leather cover. The words on the page burned in her mind Don't trust them.

Who had written it? Lillian? Someone else?

A cold gust of air curled around her, carrying the scent of damp wood and something faintly metallic. She swallowed hard, her gaze sweeping the room.

The feeling of being watched was stronger now.

She turned toward the doorway, half-expecting to see a figure standing there. Nothing. Only the darkened hallway stretching ahead, the silence heavier than before.

She needed to get out.

Tucking the journal under her arm, she moved quickly, her footsteps soft against the dust-coated floorboards. As she reached the top of the stairs, a noise stopped her.

A soft creak.

Not from behind her but from below.

Someone or something was in the house.

Evelyn's heart pounded as she pressed herself against the wall, listening. Another creak, then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps crossing the floor beneath her.

She had left the front door shut. Locked.

Her fingers tightened around the journal.

A shadow shifted at the base of the stairs.

Then silence.

She waited, her pulse hammering in her ears. Nothing moved. No breath, no footsteps. But she knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that she wasn't alone.

Carefully, she descended the stairs, her muscles tight with tension. The living room stretched before her, its covered furniture casting eerie shapes in the dim light. The front door was still closed.

But the air was different now charged, electric, as if the house itself was holding its breath.

She reached for the door handle.

A whisper brushed against her ear.

Not words. Just a breath, impossibly close.

Evelyn froze, the hairs on her arms rising.

She turned

A figure stood in the shadows.

She barely had time to register its presence before it lunged.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She stumbled back, her shoulder slamming into the door. The journal slipped from her grasp, pages fluttering as it hit the floor.

The figure moved fast too fast. But as it passed through the slant of moonlight filtering through the blinds, she saw

Nothing.

No face. No features.

Just darkness, shifting like smoke, unraveling before it could fully take shape.

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat.

The thing hesitated, as if studying her, before retreating melting into the shadows, vanishing into the house like it had never been there at all.

The silence returned, deeper than before.

Evelyn forced air into her lungs, her fingers trembling as she grabbed the journal from the floor. She didn't wait.

She yanked the door open and ran.

Outside, the night was thick with mist, the streetlights flickering overhead. She didn't stop running until she reached her car.

Slamming the door shut, she locked it, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands.

For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the house.

It stood quiet, still, as if it had never held anything unnatural inside.

But she knew better.

Something had been waiting for her.

And now, it knew she had found the journal.

A single thought chilled her to the bone.

It let me leave.

This time.

Beneath the Surface

Evelyn drove without a destination, her hands tight on the wheel, her breath shallow. The night pressed in around her, the mist curling along the empty streets. She should have gone back to the motel, locked the door, and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

But she couldn't.

Not yet.

The journal sat on the passenger seat, its worn cover illuminated by the dashboard lights. Don't trust them.

Who was them? The town? The police? The people who still whispered about Lillian in hushed voices?

Or something worse?

She turned onto Main Street, where the only sign of life was the glow from a diner at the end of the block Sam's Café, the same place where she and Lillian used to share fries and milkshakes, their conversations stretching long into the night.

The past tugged at her, a ghost of laughter and secrets.

She pulled into the lot, cutting the engine.

Inside, the place was nearly empty. A lone waitress stood behind the counter, drying glasses. A man sat in the farthest booth, hunched over a cup of coffee. A small TV in the corner flickered with muted news, the sound barely audible over the hum of the overhead lights.

Evelyn slid into a booth near the back, her fingers tracing the cracked vinyl seat. The moment she sat down, the waitress a woman in her late forties with tired eyes headed over.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you back here," she said, her voice neutral but not unfriendly.

Evelyn blinked. "You know me?"

The woman gave a small, knowing smile. "You look just like your mother."

Evelyn stiffened. "You knew my mother?"

"Of course. Everyone did." The woman tucked her notepad into her apron. "She grew up here. Just like you."

Evelyn hesitated. Her mother never spoke about Blackwood. It had always been a subject buried beneath quick changes of conversation and tightened expressions.

She glanced at the woman's name tag Catherine.

"You knew Lillian, too, didn't you?" Evelyn asked.

Catherine's smile faded. "Everyone knew Lillian." A pause. "And everyone knew she wasn't the first to go missing."

Evelyn's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Catherine glanced toward the man in the far booth, as if making sure he wasn't listening. Then she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.

"People disappear in this town. Always have. Most of the time, no one looks too hard."

Evelyn's pulse quickened. "Why not?"

Catherine exhaled through her nose. "Because the ones who do…" she hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the door, "…they don't always come back."

A chill crawled down Evelyn's spine.

Before she could respond, the bell over the diner's entrance chimed.

Evelyn looked up.

A man stepped inside, his presence shifting the air in an unspoken way. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his dark jacket damp from the mist outside. His eyes swept the room before landing on her.

Recognition flickered in his expression.

Evelyn's stomach clenched.

She knew him.

Nathaniel Blackwood.

The sheriff's son.

Lillian's ex-boyfriend.

And the last person to see her alive.

📚End of Chapter 3😊.