Morning crept into the room like smoke. Ira stirred beneath the sheets, the faint scent of rosemary lingering in the pillows, still.
She showered quickly, letting warm water wash away the strangeness of the previous night. Dressed and determined, she packed her duffel bag, glanced once at the turned mirror, and muttered, "Weird place. Pretty, but weird."
Downstairs, the old woman stood behind the desk, stirring something in a chipped teacup. Her eyes never left Ira's.
"I'll be heading out," Ira said, trying to keep it casual. "Long drive ahead. Thank you for last night"
The woman nodded once. "No one ever leaves before the seventh bell."
Ira blinked. "Right. Well, I'm not waiting around for whatever that is."
"There is no exit from here for you."
Ira froze. Then laughed, short, brittle. "Okay... psycho vibes officially confirmed." She turned and stormed out.
She got in her car. Turned the key. Engine roared to life. Relief flooded her chest.
The tires groaned as she pulled onto the misty road. She drove fast, past hollow cottages, crooked trees, the cemetery veil barely visible through fog.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
The forest thickened, became unfamiliar.
Thirty minutes later, her GPS flickered back to life for a brief second before glitching again. And suddenly.
The inn appeared.
Same bend. Same moss-coated sign.
Same porch.
The old woman stood exactly where she'd been an hour earlier.
Smiling.
Not in surprise. Not in welcome.
In recognition.
Ira slammed the car door with more force than necessary. Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she stormed up the inn's front steps, fury swallowing any hint of fear.
The woman hadn't moved. Same eerie calm, fingers laced over the wooden railing like she'd been carved there hours ago.
Ira didn't wait for pleasantries.
"What the hell is going on?" she barked. "I drove. I left the village. I passed the sign!"
The woman tilted her head. "And yet here you are."
"No. No riddles. No creepy grandma wisdom. Tell me how you did it. Is this a prank? Some kind of virtual reality? What is Velm Hollow?"
The woman's smile deepened, not kind, not cruel. Just knowing.
"This place is a hinge," she said softly. "Between places people forget and the ones they can't escape."
"Okay," Ira said, voice rising. "Well then, maybe you should forget me. Because I'm leaving… escaping. I'll call someone. I'll walk if I have to."
"There are no signals here. No walks worth taking. And no clocks that measure your time."
Ira grabbed her phone, waved it. "I don't care. I'll…"
The screen flashed erratically, then glitched to black.
"You have to stay for the funeral. It's almost time." The woman smiled and retreated to the inn.
Something primal in Ira screamed don't follow. But logic was gone. GPS was gone. Her own reflection now felt unfamiliar. So she stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind her like a sigh.
The woman moved ahead without sound, her shawl trailing across the floor like it was dusting something forgotten. Ira followed, at first briskly, then slower, uncertain whether it was her legs or the house that was slowing her.
"This village," Ira said finally, voice low, "what is this place really?"
"A resting ground for repetition," the woman murmured, stopping beside the stairwell. "People forget what death should mean. So the Hollow teaches."
"Teaches who? "
The woman turned to face her,eyes gleaming with something not old, not young, but rooted.
"They are alive enough to mourn. And dead enough to return."
She pointed upward. "Your room is ready again."
Ira hesitated. "But I left."
"Yes. And you returned. You should rest in here before the procession and funeral. I can make you breakfast."
Ira said, her voice sharper now. "Why is this village so quiet? Where are the people?"
The woman moved slowly, as if gravity pressed heavier on her.
"They're nearby," she murmured. "Just not… out."
"Not out?" Ira echoed. "It's morning. No market, no kids, no noise. Just boarded windows and empty streets. That's not normal."
The woman paused at the base of the staircase, her hand resting on the banister. "Some places hold their breath longer than others."
Ira stepped closer. "Cut the riddles. You know something. And I think you know why I can't leave."
A flicker passed through the woman's eyes, fear? Or guilt?
She glanced at Ira's pendant, still glowing faintly from the storm. "You came here with light," she whispered. "And light disturbs what waits."
Ira felt the chill return. "What exactly is waiting?"
A long silence.
Then, finally, the woman replied:
"Something old. Something that watches until it's ready to be seen."
Ira's fists clenched as she stormed out of the inn, the floorboards creaking behind her like they were trying to call her back. The morning was quiet. Too quiet. Not peaceful, sterile. Like the world had been paused.
She stepped into the street, boots crunching over dry leaves that looked too crisp for summer.
"I'm not doing this," she muttered. "I'm not someone's chosen anything."
As she turned to head for her car again, maybe to just drive in circles until the fuel ran out, she stopped short.
A little girl stood in the center of the road.
Barefoot.
No coat.
A doll clasped tightly in one hand, its face painted upside-down.
Her eyes; wide, glassy, locked onto Ira like she'd been expecting her. But the child didn't move. Just smiled faintly.
"Hey…" Ira said, taking a cautious step forward. "Are you lost?"
The girl tilted her head. "I like it when people forget where they came from."
"What?"
"You'll remember soon."
Ira stared. "Where's your family? What's your name?"
"They call me Windie now." Her voice was soft, melodic, but strange. "You're late. But it's okay. The first bell hasn't rung yet."
"What bell?" Ira asked. "Can you help me? I'm trying to leave this place, but… the roads loop. I keep ending up back here."
Windie turned her doll in her hands like it was a music box with no sound. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and placed the doll gently into Ira's hands.
"You won't leave until you stop asking to," Windie whispered. "You have to remember what you forgot."
Ira frowned. "I didn't forget anything. I just want to…"
"Even the ones who scream say that," Windie cut in softly.
Ira stared at the doll, its cracked smile upside-down. She felt something shift, not in the air, but deeper. Like the village had leaned in to listen.
"Look, Windie… I don't know what's happening here. But you're the first person I've actually seen since I arrived, besides that weird innkeeper. And I don't think you're just some random kid."
Windie's eyes sparkled.
"Then maybe you should stay with me," she said. "Until the first bell rings."
"You want me to stay?"
Windie nodded, then reached for Ira's hand with a tiny, cold grip.
"I'm not scary once you know how quiet everything really is."
Windie placed a hand on Ira's shoulder, steady and firm, like she knew the ground itself might shift beneath them. "Just stay here for a moment," she said, voice brushed with something almost ceremonial. "I'll come back."
Ira didn't argue. She watched Windie disappear beyond the streets, her white dress flicking behind her like a sail caught in a hush.
Time felt different here. Slower. Heavier.
Then Windie returned, and gestured for Ira to follow.