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The town of Greenhollow lay sprawled beneath a blanket of mist, early morning fog curling around rooftops and climbing the ancient oaks that lined Main Street. Emma Carter drove slowly down the empty boulevard, headlights cutting swaths of golden light through the gray veil. Every glance at the familiar storefronts tightened the knot in her chest. It felt as though time had carved its own scars into every surface: chipped paint on the old bakery's sign, broken windows at the shuttered cinema, rust flecked across the wrought-iron benches in the town square.
She parked outside a faded coffee shop, the place where she and Elena used to meet on Saturday mornings for pastries and orange juice. Now the windows were boarded up, the door sealed with a heavy lock. Emma rested her forehead against the steering wheel, closing her eyes for a moment. Ten years she'd stayed away—ten years of buried grief, half-remembered nights, and endless questions.
The engine clicked as she shut it off, and with a deep breath, Emma stepped out into the damp air. Her boots echoed against the pavement as she walked to the cracked sidewalk. She looked back at her car—a rental, white and unremarkable—and realized it felt like a stranger's vehicle. Everything here felt borrowed, as if she didn't truly belong in this town anymore.
Emma's phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. A text, timestamped three minutes ago.
**Welcome back, Emma.**
No number, no signature. She stared at the screen, heart hammering. For a moment she considered deleting it, writing it off as a prank. Instead, she slipped the phone into her pocket and continued toward her childhood home, determination setting in.
The Carter residence sat on a narrow side street, flanked by towering pines whose needles formed a carpet of green on the lawn. The house was white clapboard and two stories tall, with shutters painted a pale seafoam green—once vibrant, now dulled by time. The front porch sagged slightly, as if exhausted by years of neglect.
Emma paused at the gate, brushing away leaves that clung to her coat. She remembered climbing that fence as a child, giggling with Elena as they raced to see who could reach the front door first. Now the iron bars felt like bars of a cage, dividing her from a past she'd tried so hard to escape.
She climbed the steps and hesitated at the door. Her palm hovered over the tarnished doorknob before she turned it. The lock gave a reluctant click, and she pushed the door open.
Inside, the smell hit her first: mothballs, damp wood, and something faintly metallic—old blood, perhaps, or simply the memory of blood she'd spilled long ago. The hallway was dim, lit only by the dull light filtering through curtains. The furniture was exactly as she'd left it: a wooden coat rack with chipped paint, a small console table with a tarnished silver tray, and family portraits lining the walls.
"Mom?" Emma called softly, setting down her bag.
A faint shuffle answered. From the living room came the sound of someone settling into an armchair.
She walked in. Her mother sat slumped in a threadbare armchair, knitting needles clicking as she worked on a gray scarf. Her hair was streaked with gray, and faint lines traced the corners of her eyes and mouth—lines Emma had never noticed when she was a child.
"Emma," her mother whispered, eyes brightening for a fragile moment. She set aside the knitting and rose, arms opening. Emma stepped forward, hesitant, and they embraced in the center of the room. The hug was tight but brief—her mother's arms trembling around Emma's shoulders.
"Mum, I—" Emma began, voice wavering.
Her mother pressed a finger to her lips. "Not yet," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "You need tea."
In the kitchen, the kettle hissed as water boiled. Emma watched her mother move about with careful precision, placing tea bags in two mismatched mugs. On the counter sat a plate of stale biscuits.
"I didn't know you were coming today," her mother said, pouring hot water.
Emma took a mug, wrapping her hands around the warmth. "I had to come back. You said… you said I'd find answers here."
Her mother winced, her fingers tightening around her own cup. "I didn't mean to call you back out of guilt, love. But the town… it remembers."
Emma's heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
Her mother glanced at the window, as if she expected to see someone peering in. "Greenhollow doesn't forget. People whisper—some say the forest is cursed, that what happened to Elena was… something more."
Emma swallowed. "I need to know the truth."
Her mother closed her eyes briefly, as if steeling herself. "Then you'll go to the forest. Tonight."
Night descended on Greenhollow with unnatural swiftness, swallowing the last traces of twilight. Emma and her mother drove to the edge of town in silence, the streetlights growing sparser and dimmer. When the paved road ended, they continued on a gravel path that crunched beneath the tires.
Her mother parked beside a rotting sign: **Greenhollow Woods—Private Property**. It leaned at a rakish angle, the letters half-erased by decades of sun and rain. Emma stepped out, shivers racing down her spine.
"Go on," her mother whispered. "Everything you seek lies in the heart of these trees."
Emma's shoes sank into the soft earth. The forest swallowed the moonlight, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. She adjusted the flashlight in her hand, its beam slicing through the darkness.
She paused at the treeline, the air thick with the scent of pine and rot. In the distance, a raven cawed. Branches overhead hooked together like skeletal fingers.
Memories she'd forced underground clawed their way up—Elena's laughter, their whispered games, the day they last ran among these trees. Her breath caught, and she blinked back tears.
Step by step, Emma followed the winding path. The beam of her flashlight danced across tree trunks, revealing scars—deep gouges in the bark, as though something had clawed its way out. The underbrush rustled, and she spun, heart pounding, but saw only shadows.
She remembered the stories: children whispering about a bleeding tree, a guardian spirit that demanded tribute. Emma had dismissed them once—until she found the note on her doorstep: **"Some things don't stay buried forever."**
Ahead, the path opened into a clearing. Moonlight fell upon a massive oak—its bark split open like a wound, crimson sap pooling at its base. The gash ran from root to branch, as if the tree itself bled.
Emma approached, her flashlight trembling in her hands. She knelt beside the tree and pressed her palm to the slick wood. The sap stained her palm red.
Breath rasping, she pulled back as a whisper drifted on the wind.
**"Welcome home, Emma."**
She jumped to her feet, swinging the flashlight around. Nothing moved. The clearing was deserted.
Behind her, a soft thud made her pivot. On the ground lay an envelope, yellowed with age. She picked it up, heart racing.
Inside, a single sheet of paper bore three words:
**Ask your mother.**
Emma's stomach clenched. She tightened her grip on the note and stood, the forest closing in around her. The wind rustled the branches, carrying a faint voice.
**"He's still here."**
Emma swallowed, chest burning. She turned and sprinted back toward the path, the note clutched like a life raft. Every crack of twig underfoot sounded like thunder in her ears. The clearing faded behind her, unreal, as she burst through the pine trees and into the gravel road.
Her mother's car was still there, engine silent but lights on. Emma opened the door and tumbled in, hands shaking.
"Mum—" she gasped.
Her mother looked at her with weary eyes. "Did you see?"
Emma nodded, pressing the note into her mother's hand. "They know I'm back. They want answers."
Her mother folded the paper slowly, her knuckles whitening. "Then tomorrow… we begin."
Back in her childhood home, Emma lay awake long after her mother drifted to sleep. She stared at the ceiling, mind racing with questions.
Who sent the note? What secrets did her mother keep? And most terrifying of all—what had Elena discovered here that cost her everything?
The wind rattled the windowpanes, as though the house itself were whispering. Emma closed her eyes and breathed deeply, bracing herself for the silent truths waiting in the shadows.
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