Morning had not yet fully claimed Muntenia when Sophia woke, but the pale light that seeped through her frosted window told her she had slept far longer than she intended. Her dreams had been patchy—fleeting flashes of dark trees, footsteps crunching in snow, and a voice calling her name in a tone both familiar and strange. She couldn't quite piece them together, but the unease they left behind clung to her like cold air.
She forced herself upright. The room was frigid, colder than it had been the night before. The fire had long gone out, leaving only the faint smell of smoke mixed with pine. She rubbed her arms briskly, making a mental note to buy more firewood later. The cottage might have been quaint, but it wasn't generous with heat.
As she dressed, she replayed the strange cry she had heard during the night. It didn't fade or distort with morning clarity the way most sounds from the dark did. Instead, it grew sharper in her memory, more unsettling. Something about it had been too precise, too intentional.
She shook her head. "Stop it," she muttered to herself as she tied her boots. "You're jumpy because you're alone in a new place. That's all."
But she didn't entirely believe it.
The Town Awakens
The cold slapped her again the moment she stepped outside, but daylight made the world feel slightly more welcoming. Crisp snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked toward the town center. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, drifting over rooftops like soft ghosts. A few locals were already outside: an elderly woman sweeping snow from her doorstep, a man dragging a sack of grain from his truck, children stomping down a path to break the untouched snow.
Their presence grounded her. Maybe the night had exaggerated things.
At the corner of the main street, she found a small café with fogged-up windows and a sign that read Casa Bunicii. Inside, warmth enveloped her immediately. The smell of freshly baked bread, steaming milk, and cinnamon felt like an embrace.
A woman in her sixties with sharp eyes and silver hair pinned in a neat bun greeted her from behind the counter. "First time here," she said in a tone that wasn't quite a question.
Sophia nodded. "Just moved in yesterday."
"Ah." The woman's gaze flicked over Sophia—her tired eyes, her travel-worn clothes, the hesitation in her posture. Then the woman nodded once as if she had confirmed something. "Coffee? Tea? Something warm?"
"Coffee, please," Sophia said gratefully.
The woman poured it into a clay mug and slid it across the counter. "You're staying in the cottage near the woods, yes?"
Sophia froze mid-sip. "Yes… how did you know?"
"Oh, everyone knows when someone new moves in around here." The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Muntenia is small. We notice things."
Sophia forced a polite smile. "Right."
"You hear anything unusual last night?" the woman asked casually, wiping down the counter.
Sophia's fingers tightened slightly around the mug. "Like what?"
The woman shrugged, not looking at her. "Just asking. Sometimes the wind plays tricks. Old forest, old spirits. People imagine things."
Something in her tone made Sophia decide not to mention the cry. Instead, she changed the subject. "Is there a market nearby? I need to buy firewood and some groceries."
The woman pointed out the window. "Go down the street until you see the house with the blue lantern. That's Mr. Ilie's place. He sells wood, bread, cheese, anything you might need. And gossip, if you're in the mood for it."
Sophia chuckled softly. "Good to know."
But the woman leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. "Be careful in the forest. Especially at night."
Sophia swallowed. "Because of animals?"
"Because of what isn't an animal," the woman said, then turned away before Sophia could ask anything else.
The House with the Blue Lantern
The blue lantern wasn't hard to find. It hung from a crooked wooden beam above a porch covered in firewood piles stacked with impressive precision. The lantern's glass had a deep sapphire tint, glowing faintly even in daylight.
Sophia stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door.
It opened almost immediately.
A tall man with a thick beard and forest-green eyes looked down at her. He was in his mid-forties, wearing a wool sweater and heavy work gloves. "You must be the newcomer," he said. Not unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming.
Sophia offered a timid smile. "I'm renting the cottage near the woods. I heard you sell wood and groceries?"
"Where else would you buy them?" he grunted, stepping aside to let her in.
The interior smelled of pine resin and smoked meat. Wooden shelves lined the walls, holding jars of honey, sacks of flour, bundles of herbs, and an assortment of handmade tools. A fireplace crackled in the corner, and a large dog—black with tan markings—lifted its head to stare at her with alert, intelligent eyes.
"That's Lupin," the man said. "He doesn't bite unless provoked."
"Oh—good to know."
Mr. Ilie chuckled. "Not planning on provoking him, are you?"
"No," she said quickly.
"Then we're fine."
As he gathered firewood into a crate for her, Sophia glanced around. "People here seem… observant."
"That's one way to put it," he said. "We keep track of what matters."
"Does something matter right now?"
He paused mid-motion.
Then he set the crate down slowly. "You heard something last night."
Sophia's heart skipped. "I… I'm not sure. Maybe just the wind—"
"No." His tone was firm. "You heard it."
Sophia hesitated. "What do you mean it?"
Mr. Ilie looked at her for a long moment, searching her expression.
Then he said, "There are things you'll learn in time. But listen to me carefully—don't go into the forest after sunset. Don't wander too close to the old paths. And if you hear the cry again… don't open your door. No matter what it sounds like."
The air felt suddenly dense.
Sophia whispered, "Why would I open the door?"
He didn't blink. "Because it sometimes sounds like someone you know."
Her breath hitched. "But I don't know anyone here."
"You will," he said. "That's how it starts."
Her skin prickled. "Are you trying to scare me?"
"No," he said. "If I wanted to scare you, I'd tell you what happened last winter."
Before she could demand more, Lupin let out a low growl, ears pricked. The dog stood and moved toward the window, body tense. Mr. Ilie followed its gaze, and for a moment, something like unease flickered across his face.
He closed the curtains.
"That'll be all for today. Take your groceries. Go home before the light changes."
Sophia blinked. "It's barely noon."
"All the more reason," he said, ushering her toward the door.
She left feeling more unsettled than when she had arrived.
Whispers in the Woodline
Back at the cottage, she stacked the firewood beside the fireplace, lit a new flame, and tried to shake off the encounter. Maybe rural towns were just like this—superstitious, cautious, clinging to old stories to make sense of isolation.
Or maybe something really was off.
By late afternoon, the sky began to tint a pale blue-grey, the sun sinking faster than she expected. Long shadows stretched across the snow like dark fingers reaching for the edge of the cottage.
Sophia sat by the window with her sketchbook, letting her pencil wander across the page. Lines formed trees, branches, silhouettes she didn't consciously choose. She frowned at the drawing. It looked eerily similar to the pine forest outside.
She glanced out the window.
The trees loomed still and quiet.
Then—movement.
A shape shifted between them. Tall. Thin. Almost human.
She leaned closer, heart stumbling.
Just as quickly as she noticed it, the shape vanished deeper among the trunks.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay, relax. Shadow. Tree. A trick of the light."
But the hairs on her arms stood straight.
As dusk crept in, the wind picked up—a hollow sound, like breath moving between ribs. She shut the curtains even though it felt silly, as if cloth could keep out anything that meant harm.
By the time night fully draped the world, she had lit every lamp in the cottage.
Just to be safe.
The Second Cry
It came later than the night before.
Sophia had been reading, curled beneath the thick wool blanket, when the fire sputtered suddenly. A gust of icy air swept through the room, though no door or window had been opened.
Her breath fogged.
Then she heard it.
The same cry.Sharp, drawn-out, vibrating with something almost metallic.This time closer. Much closer.
She froze, fingers tightening around her book.
"No…" she whispered. "Not again."
The cry echoed a second time, louder. It made her bones vibrate.
Then she heard footsteps in the snow—slow, deliberate, approaching the house.
Crunch.Pause.Crunch.Pause.
She sat rigid, heart pounding so hard she could hear blood pulsing in her ears. The footsteps stopped just outside her window.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Then—
Knock.
Not on the door.
But on the window.
A soft, insistent tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her lungs locked. Her fingers trembled around the blanket.
A voice followed.
"Sophia."
She almost dropped the blanket entirely.
The voice was hers.The voice was her mother's.
But that was impossible.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Sophia, let me in."
Her mother's voice again—but wrong. Hollow. Mechanical. Like someone had learned the sound but not the soul behind it.
"Sophia, please."
Tears pricked her eyes.
Her mother had been gone for years.
Sophia clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing herself not to make a sound, not to answer.
Tap.Tap.Tap.
Then the voice shifted.
It deepened.Cracked.Twisted.
"Sophia."
This time it sounded nothing like her mother.
This time it sounded hungry.
Sophia did the only thing her terror-frozen body could manage—she backed away from the window inch by inch, keeping her eyes locked on the curtains as though something might rip them apart at any moment.
The tapping stopped.
Silence.
Then—footsteps again. Retreating. Slowly. Deliberately.
When they finally faded into the distance, she collapsed to her knees, shaking violently.
She stayed like that for a long, long time.
A Choice in the Dark
When she finally stood, the fire had nearly gone out again. The room felt unbearably quiet, the cottage too large and too small at the same time. Her mind raced.
She couldn't stay here alone.Not if this was what nights in Muntenia were like.
She needed answers.She needed help.
But from whom?
The café lady? Too cryptic.The villagers? Too suspicious.Mr. Ilie?
Her thoughts snagged on him.He had known.He had warned her.
And his dog… Lupin had sensed something before anyone else.
Sophia grabbed her coat with trembling hands. She didn't care how late it was. She didn't care how cold. She needed to speak to someone before fear swallowed her whole.
She opened the door.
The forest loomed to her right, black as spilled ink.
But she turned left.
Toward the house with the blue lantern.
Where, she hoped, someone might finally tell her the truth.