By morning, Hollow Creek looked harmless again.
Sunlight spilled over rooftops, birds chirped from the trees, and the creek glimmered like it always had. If anyone were passing through, they would never guess that something dark had stirred beneath the town the night before.
But Mila knew better.
She lay awake in bed long after sunrise, staring at the crack in her ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the shadow in the mill—the way it had moved too smoothly, too deliberately, as if it had noticed them noticing it.
Fear feeds me.
The words Lia had uncovered echoed in her mind.
Downstairs, the sound of dishes clinking and her mother humming felt unreal, like noise from another world. Mila forced herself out of bed and joined her family for breakfast, answering questions automatically, pretending everything was normal.
That was the first rule of Hollow Creek: pretend nothing is wrong.
They met later that afternoon at their usual place—the broken stone bridge over the creek. It had been their meeting spot since childhood, a place where secrets were shared and plans were made.
Kian arrived first, skipping stones across the water like nothing had happened. Arin followed, carrying a notebook stuffed with loose papers. Lia came last, walking slowly, her eyes fixed on the water as if it might reach out and grab her.
"No one followed us, right?" Arin asked quietly once they were all there.
Kian snorted. "Followed us? By who—ghosts?"
Mila shot him a look. "Don't joke."
He stopped smiling.
Arin opened his notebook. "I didn't sleep. I went through old town records last night—newspapers, local legends, anything I could find."
Lia hugged her arms. "And?"
Arin hesitated. "People go missing here. Not often enough to panic. Just… regularly enough to forget."
Mila's stomach tightened.
"Every few decades," Arin continued, "someone disappears near the creek, the mill, or the forest. Always written off as accidents. Drownings. Runaways."
"And kids?" Lia asked softly.
Arin nodded.
Silence stretched between them.
Kian cleared his throat. "Okay. So the town has a creepy past. Lots of towns do."
"But not like this," Mila said. "That thing wasn't history. It was there."
As if summoned by her words, the wind picked up, rippling the surface of the creek. The shadows under the bridge seemed darker than they should have been.
Lia suddenly gasped.
They turned to her.
"I hear it," she whispered.
"Hear what?" Kian asked.
"Whispers. Not voices exactly. Like… thoughts that don't belong to me."
Mila felt it then too—a pressure behind her ears, like the air itself was leaning closer.
Come closer.
She stepped back instinctively.
"Nope," Kian said, stepping away from the edge. "I don't like this."
That evening, Hollow Creek hosted its weekly night market. String lights were hung across the main street, stalls lined the sidewalks, and laughter filled the air.
Normal. Loud. Safe.
Mila almost believed it was.
Until the lights flickered.
Just once. Then again.
People laughed it off. Someone blamed the generator. Music continued.
But Mila noticed the shadows between the stalls—how they stretched unnaturally, how they seemed to shift even when no one moved.
Arin leaned toward her. "Do you feel that?"
She nodded.
Kian tried to distract himself with snacks, but his jokes fell flat. Lia stood frozen near the fountain, staring at her reflection in the water.
"Mila," Lia whispered. "It's not my face."
Mila rushed over.
For a moment, Lia's reflection looked wrong—blurred, darker, as if something stood behind her.
Then it was gone.
Lia's breath came fast. "It's learning us."
"What does that mean?" Kian asked.
Arin's voice was barely audible. "It doesn't just scare. It studies."
A child screamed somewhere down the street.
Everyone turned.
The scream stopped abruptly. A beat passed. Then laughter—forced, nervous.
"It was just a prank," someone said.
But Mila knew the sound of fear when she heard it.
That night, each of them faced it alone.
Mila dreamed of the creek rising, water filling her lungs while shadows watched from below.
Arin woke to see words written on his wall in dripping darkness—vanishing when he blinked.
Kian heard footsteps pacing outside his door, stopping whenever he moved.
And Lia stood at her window, staring into the trees, certain that something was staring back.
None of them slept.
By morning, they all knew the same truth:
Whatever lived in Hollow Creek had noticed them.
And it wasn't done.