Mist hung over Raven's Creek like a gray shroud, curling along the edges of the streets and draping the town in a cold, quiet tension. Ethan and Clara walked side by side, the chill biting through their jackets. Silence lingered between them, heavier than the fog itself. Each step seemed to echo, swallowed almost immediately by the mist.
Clara's voice broke first, low and measured. "Sometimes I still see her, even after all these years."
Ethan glanced at her. "You mean your sister?"
She nodded, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Samantha… she was only nineteen. That night, she'd gone to meet some friends near the woods on the outskirts — by the Raventon Tunnel. Hours passed and she didn't come home. Panic set over the house, over my parents. We didn't know where she was."
Her fingers trembled as she continued. "Then came the call from Sheriff Reed. They'd found her near the tunnel… lifeless. They said she'd fallen… ruled a suicide. But when I saw her face…" Her voice cracked. "There was a smile. Not hers. A smile that didn't belong to her. Something unnatural."
Ethan's gaze softened. "I remember you told me about that. It haunted you all these years."
Clara exhaled shakily. "Every reflection, every mirror… it brings me back there. I can still see her face. And now…" She shivered, "I fear it's back. And it's hunting us."
Ethan nodded grimly. "Then we need answers. Not guesses."
Clara's eyes darted toward the distant fog. "That's why we should see Reed. He was in charge of Samantha's case. If anyone knows the strange details the town tried to hide, it's him."
They reached the sheriff's office, the brick building cold and imposing. Reed looked up from his paperwork as they entered. His expression tightened when he saw Clara, recognizing the urgency in her posture.
"Clara," he said, voice careful. "Didn't expect you here. And Mr. Matthews, I presume?"
"Sheriff Reed," Clara began, "I need to know the truth about Samantha. That night… there was more than what the reports said. Something unnatural."
Reed's eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. "You've grown since I last saw you. And yet some things never change. That night… your sister's death was… strange. I can't explain why she was found alive for a brief moment, only to be dead minutes later, lying near the tunnel. The scene… it didn't make sense. But the town leaders ordered the case to be closed as a suicide. Panic, they said. The town couldn't handle the truth."
Clara's hands clenched. "What truth? What were you hiding?"
Reed sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure even I know all of it. Only fragments. There were footprints around her that didn't match hers. Evidence of someone — or something — else being present. And… the tunnel itself. The town's founders used it to bury more than stone and rail. A mass grave lies beneath. They wanted it forgotten, hidden from history. That tunnel is not just a shortcut. It's a graveyard."
Ethan's chest tightened. "So all this… the Red Smile, the mirrors… it could be connected to that?"
Reed leaned back, grim and tired. "I don't know what you're calling it. But whatever it is… it's anchored there. That night wasn't an accident, and your sister… she wasn't the last. The fog, the shadows, the reflections — someone or something uses them. That's why we were told to stay quiet. Because fear spreads faster than truth."
Clara's voice lowered. "Then we need to go. If the tunnel is where it began… it's where we have to confront it."
Reed's face hardened, concern deep in his eyes. "I don't like it. You've both seen enough. And that thing… it doesn't forgive hesitation. It feeds on fear and doubt."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "We know. But we can't wait any longer. Every mirror, every shadow… it's telling us to act."
Reed shook his head, exhaling sharply. "Fine. But you leave a trail. Someone must know where you are. And Clara… be careful. The past doesn't rest easily, and neither does whatever lurks under that tunnel."
Clara's fingers brushed Ethan's arm. "We have to do this. For Samantha, and for everyone else."
Outside, the fog swirled thicker, pressing against the windows, curling around the edges of the office like it knew what was coming. In the distance, the faint echo of laughter drifted across the hills — a sound both childish and sinister.
Ethan swallowed and nodded to Clara. "Then let's go. We start at the tunnel — but we keep our eyes open for every reflection along the way."
Clara drew a deep breath, gripping her flashlight tightly. "No hesitation. No mistakes."
And with that, they stepped into his car, preparing themselves to discover the town's forgotten secrets waiting beneath their feet.
Ethan parked the car just past the edge of the woods, a few blocks from the motel. The mist clung to the trees, curling around the streetlamps, making the familiar route feel alien. Clara rubbed her arms, pulling her coat tighter.
"We can't just rush in," she said, her voice steady but tense. "Not without some kind of protection."
Ethan nodded. "Agreed. Let's head back to the motel. We'll grab what we need — weapons, flashlights, anything we can use."
Inside the room, the faint light from the street filtered through the thin curtains. Ethan set his bag on the bed while Clara checked their gear. Flashlights, batteries, a small crowbar, a baseball bat leaning against the corner. Then, more symbolic items: a worn Bible and a wooden cross Ethan had bought after the last encounter.
Clara's fingers lingered on the cross. "You think this will actually… help?"
Ethan shrugged, running a hand over his face. "Maybe it's psychological. Maybe it keeps us sane. Either way, I'd rather have it than not."
He set up his laptop on the small desk, intending to document their findings from Crowe's notes and his research on Margaret Hale. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, he paused, a faint unease settling in. Then he typed the first line: Raven's Creek — the cursed beauty of Margaret Hale…
But the cursor moved on its own. Letters appeared before his fingers could touch the keys:
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
Ethan froze, eyes wide. He yanked his hands away. The words blinked on the screen, pulsing as if breathing. Clara leaned closer, breath hitching.
"That's… that's impossible," she whispered.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "We've seen impossible before. She's… watching. And she knows we're thinking about her."
Clara swallowed, hugging the Bible to her chest. "We need to be careful. Every second we hesitate… she feeds on it."
He nodded slowly, closing the laptop. "No hesitation. Not tonight."
They packed the equipment into a backpack, double-checked batteries, tightened straps on the flashlights. Ethan grabbed the Bible and cross, placing them carefully in the front pouch. Clara loaded a small vial of salt, shaking it experimentally. "For protection," she said, eyes dark with worry.
Once ready, they stepped outside. The fog had thickened, pressing in from all sides, turning streetlights into dim halos. Ethan led the way to the car, flashlight in hand, beams bouncing across the mist-shrouded road.
The drive toward the Raventon Tunnel was silent at first. The air felt thicker here, like it was carrying whispers of past horrors. Clara's eyes scanned the trees and shadows, nerves taut.
"I keep thinking about Samantha," she murmured, her voice low. "Even all these years later… that smile she had in those last moments. It didn't belong to her. It… it wasn't human."
Ethan glanced at her, hand steady on the wheel. "I remember. And we know the risk now. Whatever's waiting, it's patient — it's been waiting for eyes like ours."
Clara's grip on the cross tightened. "I wish we could stop it before we even reach the tunnel."
Ethan shook his head. "We can't. Not anymore. But we can survive it, if we stay smart."
As the tunnel's gaping mouth came into view, dark and foreboding between the skeletal pines, the soft sound of dripping water and faint wind greeted them. Ethan killed the engine, and they climbed out. Mud squelched under their boots, mist curling around their ankles.
Clara shone her flashlight across the tunnel's entrance. The stone walls were slick with condensation, roots creeping downward. The place seemed alive — breathing, waiting.
Ethan stepped forward, flashlight sweeping the interior. "We stick together. Every movement counts. Every glance counts. Crowe warned us — hesitation feeds her."
A faint sound drifted from the darkness: laughter, soft and hollow, wrapping around the stones like smoke. Clara froze, and Ethan's grip tightened on the flashlight.
"Stay close," he whispered. "And whatever you see… don't falter. Not now."
The echoing laughter grew faintly, weaving through the tunnel. For a brief instant, the mist twisted, and Clara thought she saw a shape — pale, smiling, just at the edge of her vision. She blinked. Nothing.
Ethan noticed her hesitation. "Focus on the path. Keep moving."
They entered, every footstep amplified by the hollow chamber. Puddles of water reflected their flashlights, fractured like broken mirrors. Symbols etched into the walls caught the light — spirals and marks they couldn't decipher but instinctively knew were warnings.
Clara bent closer to the ground, brushing away debris. Remnants of old timbers, broken stones, and faint signs of disturbance hinted at what Reed had said — a mass grave hidden beneath the tunnel.
Ethan shone his light further down the passage. "The foundation… this is where it started. And whatever she became, this is where it's anchored."
Clara's hands hovered over the wet stone, trembling. "All the victims… my sister… everyone thought it was just stories. Ghosts."
Ethan nodded grimly. "We're not chasing stories anymore. We're standing on history. And we can't stop now."
The soft laughter circled them again, echoing from deeper within the darkness. Then, almost imperceptibly, a whisper — Do you think I'm beautiful?
Clara froze, eyes wide. Ethan swung the flashlight around — nothing but mist, water, and shadows.
"Stay close," he whispered. "We document, we learn, and we move. No hesitation."
Together, they advanced into the tunnel, mist curling around them, carrying the faint trace of a smile that seemed to linger in the shadows, patient and waiting.