Morning came slowly to the village, as if the sun itself hesitated to rise over the fog-covered rooftops. Evelyn Clarke woke to the faint creaking of the old inn and the distant cawing of crows.
For a moment she forgot where she was.
Then the silence returned.
It was not the peaceful quiet of a countryside morning. It was heavier—like something was listening.
Evelyn dressed quickly and stepped outside. The fog still hung over the streets like a pale curtain. Most of the houses had their windows closed, their doors locked. No children played outside, no carts rolled along the cobblestone road.
It was as if the entire village was holding its breath.
She opened her notebook and began writing.
Village unusually quiet. Locals avoid eye contact. Atmosphere uneasy.
As she walked toward the center of the village, she noticed something strange.
A group of villagers stood near the fountain, whispering among themselves. Their voices were low, urgent. When Evelyn approached, the whispers stopped instantly.
Every pair of eyes turned toward her.
One man stepped forward. His face was pale and tense.
"You shouldn't wander around here alone," he said.
Evelyn frowned. "Why not?"
The man hesitated before answering.
"Someone disappeared last night."
A cold shiver ran down Evelyn's spine.
"Disappeared?" she asked.
"Yes. Thomas Reed. The journalist who arrived yesterday."
Evelyn's stomach tightened. She remembered seeing him briefly at the inn the night before.
"What happened to him?" she asked.
The man looked toward the dark forest at the edge of the village.
"No one knows."
Another villager spoke quietly.
"But people heard something."
"What kind of something?" Evelyn asked.
The villagers exchanged nervous glances.
"Whispers," the woman said.
Evelyn felt her heart skip.
"Whispers?"
"Yes," the man replied. "People say they heard voices calling from the forest… calling his name."
The wind suddenly rustled through the trees beyond the village. The forest seemed darker than before, its branches twisting like skeletal fingers in the fog.
Evelyn followed the villagers' gaze.
Something deep inside her told her this was not just a disappearance.
This was the beginning.
That night, as Evelyn sat in her room writing notes, she heard it again.
A faint voice outside her window.
Soft.
Barely audible.
But unmistakable.
Someone—or something—was whispering her name.
"Evelyn…"
She froze.
The voice came again from the direction of the forest.
"Evelyn…"
And in that moment, she realized something terrifying.
The curse had noticed her.