The train screeched to a halt at the edge of the village, a single echoing sound swallowed almost immediately by the thick fog. Evelyn Clarke stepped onto the platform, her boots sinking slightly into the wet soil. The air smelled of damp wood and moss, heavy and suffocating in a way that made her chest tighten.
The village lay half-hidden in mist. Roofs slanted sharply against the gray sky, chimneys idle and silent. Windows stared blankly, like unblinking eyes. No one moved along the cobblestone streets, and the faint sound of a bell from the distant church seemed unnaturally loud.
She adjusted her satchel and began walking toward the inn, each step crunching softly against the gravel. Evelyn had come here to research folklore for her book, but the oppressive quiet of the village already whispered that there were stories far darker than she had anticipated.
The inn's door creaked open before she could knock. A woman, thin and bent with age, peered out. Her eyes were pale, almost reflective, and she did not smile.
"You're not from here," the woman said, her voice low, a rasp like dry leaves skittering across stone.
"No," Evelyn replied, forcing a smile. "I'm staying at the inn. Evelyn Clarke."
The woman's lips pressed into a thin line. "We don't get many outsiders… especially ones asking questions. Be careful what you pry into."
Evelyn nodded, though unease prickled her skin. "Of course."
The room assigned to her overlooked the forest at the edge of the village. As she unpacked, the fog thickened outside, curling around the branches and the slate roofs like a living thing. That night, sleep was restless. She thought she heard whispers just beyond the window, soft voices speaking in a language she didn't know, vanishing whenever she tried to listen closely.
The next morning, the village was still quiet. Evelyn wandered through the streets, notebook in hand, noting details—the cracked sign of the blacksmith, a church door swinging slightly despite the absence of wind, the way the fog seemed thicker around the edges of certain houses.
A cat hissed from an alleyway, but there were no other signs of life. She stopped by the fountain in the center of the square, the water dark and still. For a moment, she thought she saw a shadow move beneath the surface, but when she leaned closer, the water was empty.
Something about the village was wrong, but she couldn't yet name it. The silence pressed against her ears, heavier than any scream, and in that weightless quiet, Evelyn felt the first stirrings of fear—an unspoken warning that the village had been waiting for her arrival.
And somewhere, hidden in the fog, the curse was already awake.