The fog thickened the moment Mara Ellison crossed the county line.
One minute, the road stretched out clear and endless ahead of her. The next, a slow gray curtain swallowed the trees, the hills, the world itself. It was as though the fog had been waiting for her, thick and unnatural, creeping in with an unsettling speed. Her headlights flickered—just for a second—like they were hesitating, unsure whether to cut through the growing haze. She gripped the steering wheel harder, eyes darting to the GPS on the dash. It had frozen ten miles back. Now it was just a blinking blue dot in a sea of white.
She didn't need it. Durn Hill only had one road in. That was the point.
Still, the silence of the world outside her car felt suffocating, as if it were holding its breath. Mara could feel her pulse quickening, not out of fear, but out of that old, familiar instinct: the one that told her to stay alert when things were just a little too off-kilter.
The fog pressed in on all sides, thick enough that she couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, their black, gnarled branches barely visible against the white, but stretching farther than she could fathom. The world felt enclosed, small. The forest was too close, too eager.
Mara's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching nothing but the swirling white. It reminded her of the things she didn't want to remember. She had told herself that this was just another case. But it wasn't. There was something about Durn Hill that made it… different. Wrong.
She passed a rusting green sign, half-covered in ivy, like it had been abandoned long ago.
DURN HILL – EST. 1881
Population: 2,104.
Someone had spray-painted a red X over the number.
The town's population had dropped recently, she knew that much. She had done her research, but there were few records, few people willing to talk. Most of the locals had been there for generations, and they didn't much care for outsiders. Especially outsiders like her. People who came sniffing around for things they didn't want to find.
The motel appeared like a shape emerging from a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. Two stories of rotted wood and boarded windows, a hulking mass in the middle of nowhere. No cars. No signs of life. No reception bell, no welcoming smile. Just a key hanging from a bent nail on the door marked "2A," as promised.
Mara stopped the car in front of the stairs and shifted into park, then grabbed her duffel. Her hands were steady, but the air felt strange—too still, too heavy. The fog pressed in from every side, suffocating everything in its wake. She opened the trunk, grabbing the strap of her duffel bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
The pine needles littered the ground like they had been abandoned by the forest, the trees pressing in from all sides like they had grown too close, too quickly. The smell of wet earth filled the air, but there was something off about it. Something stagnant. Like the land had been here long before people had decided to build on it.
Her boots crunched the gravel with a sound that seemed too loud, too intrusive. It felt like the town was listening. Watching.
She climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking under her weight. No birds. No wind. Just the quiet, the oppressive silence, and the low, groaning breath of the forest pressing down on her like it was alive. As if it could feel her presence.
Inside, the room was clean but lifeless, like it had been maintained for someone who hadn't arrived in years. A cracked mirror above the dresser reflected a space that felt almost… sterile. The bedspread was faded, the color of old bruises, and the single lamp flickered once when she plugged it in. The only light came from the harsh glow of the streetlamp outside, filtering through the thin curtains in strips.
Mara dropped her duffel on the bed and sat on the edge, running a hand through her tangled hair. The air was heavier here, as if the walls themselves were holding onto something. The stale scent of old wood and dust filled her nose, and she fought the instinct to cough. She could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her, even though it wasn't much more than four walls and a window.
She pulled the case file from her bag.
SAMANTHA LEIGH
Sixteen. Last seen leaving the diner at 10:41 p.m., three nights ago. Walked home alone. Never made it back.
The sheriff had reported her missing at dawn, the usual story—no witnesses, no CCTV. Her phone had been found at the edge of the forest, cracked, dead.
Mara flipped through the next page. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, a thread she hadn't yet pulled. She paused on a photo of Samantha—a smiling girl with wide, trusting eyes, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. There was something fragile about her, like she was a moment suspended in time.
Her fingers tightened on the paper as she scanned the next page. A list of contacts, a few blurry notes. She stopped, eyes narrowing.
The date of the report was… wrong.
Filed: October 9th, 2015.
Mara blinked and checked the front again, the chill crawling down her spine. No. Samantha had gone missing three days ago. October 26th, 2025.
Mara stared at the mismatch for a moment, then checked the file's cover again. Her own handwriting was there, her signature. Dated yesterday.
She set the file down slowly, her pulse picking up. She could feel her breath becoming shallow, the room's oppressive silence pressing in on her. Something wasn't right. Her mind raced—could it be a mistake? A misfile? But the handwriting. That was hers. She hadn't written this file. Not this time.
Her gaze flicked to the mirror above the dresser. The glass was cloudy, smudged with something she couldn't name. She wiped it with her palm, the dull squeak of her hand against the glass sending a shiver up her spine.
Her reflection stared back at her—pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, long hair tucked into the collar of her coat. But something felt… off. She couldn't name it, but it was there. Something was wrong with the reflection.
Mara leaned in closer.
The reflection didn't.
She jerked back, her heart hammering in her chest. The light flickered once, then settled into a dull, yellow glow.
A knock at the door.
Mara froze, her hand instinctively going to the sidearm strapped to her hip. She moved toward the door, careful, silent. She peered through the peephole. Sheriff Grady. Alone. His coat soaked, his face unreadable, his eyes shadowed.
She opened the door but didn't step aside. The weight of his gaze felt like a physical pressure on her chest. "You're early."
"You shouldn't be here." His voice was low, clipped, like he had already made up his mind. He didn't seem surprised to see her.
Mara's eyes narrowed. She had done her homework on him, too—Sheriff Grady. A man who had seen too much. A man with secrets. But even with all of her training, there was something unsettling about the way he stood there, his clothes drenched, as though he had been out in the fog for hours.
"You requested an outside investigator," Mara said, her voice cool. She stood her ground, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her hesitation.
"No," he said quietly, his jaw tense. "I warned them not to send anyone."
A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Grady didn't flinch. He just looked past her, his gaze landing on the mirror.
"First night's the worst," he said, his voice tight. "You'll see things. They'll feel personal."
Mara's brow furrowed. "What kind of things?"
Grady's jaw clenched. "Whatever it thinks will make you remember."
His eyes flicked to her sidearm, then back to her face. His next words came slowly, as though he had to weigh each one.
He handed her a key on a rusted chain, the metal cold against her palm. "Come to the station in the morning. I'll give you what I have."
Mara hesitated, but only for a moment. She didn't ask any more questions. Sheriff Grady had already said enough. She nodded, and without another word, he turned and walked back into the fog. His footsteps were swallowed by the mist before he disappeared from sight.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the room seemed to exhale, releasing a breath that Mara hadn't realized it was holding.
The reflection in the mirror still lingered in her mind.
But now, she didn't know if it was the fog she feared—or the town itself.