The room was suffocating. Margret
could barely breathe as she clutched the journal tighter to her chest, her back
pressed against the wall. Daniel lay unconscious beside her, his body twitching
as if still battling whatever nightmare had taken hold of him. The shadowy
figures outside the inn were growing closer, their shapes more defined, yet
still flickering like distant phantoms.
She knew it now—there was no escaping
the Vanishing Hour. No one ever left Black Hollow. Not truly. And the truth had
been staring them in the face all along.
The journal in her hands seemed to hum
with energy, as if the very pages were alive, connected to the malevolent force
that plagued this town. Eldridge had warned them, but Margret hadn’t listened.
She hadn’t wanted to believe that they were already caught in something far
bigger than themselves.
A cold whisper slithered through the
cracks in the walls, curling around her like smoke. It called her name, softly
at first, then louder, more insistent.
“Margret... come…”
Her pulse quickened. The figures had
nearly reached the inn, their distorted forms hovering just outside the door.
She couldn’t face them. Not alone. She knelt beside Daniel, shaking him
frantically.
“Daniel, wake up! Please!” Her voice
was edged with desperation.
Daniel stirred, his eyes slowly
fluttering open. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition, a
glimpse of the man she loved. But then, the darkness returned, clouding his
gaze. He stood up, his movements jerky and unnatural, as if pulled by invisible
strings.
“It’s no use.” His voice was barely
above a whisper, hollow and distant. “They’ve already taken me.”
Tears welled in Margret’s eyes. “No,
I’m not letting them have you!” She flipped through the journal, scanning the
pages for something, anything that could break this grip on him.
The floorboards creaked beneath her
feet as the shadowy figures entered the inn, their forms bleeding into the
walls. They were no longer outside; they were everywhere. Their voices joined
in a haunting symphony of whispers, filling her head until she could barely
think.
“You called us…” they hissed in
unison. “You brought us here…”
“No!” Margret screamed, shaking her
head violently. “I didn’t call you! We didn’t ask for this!”
But deep down, she knew the truth. The
moment they’d stepped into Black Hollow, the town had marked them. It was never
about discovery or journalism. It was about survival. But she had been blind to
it all, thinking they could uncover the town’s secrets and leave unscathed.
Daniel stepped toward her, but his
expression was vacant, lost to the entity inside him. “Margret, it’s over.
There’s no escape. We’re part of them now.”
The weight of his words crushed her.
She had fought so hard, but the town had won, hadn’t it? Eldridge’s warnings,
the nightmares, the whispers—they had all led to this moment. The truth she
sought was far darker than she could have ever imagined.
But then, an idea sparked in her mind,
so faint that she almost missed it.
The journal. It wasn’t just a record
of past victims. It was something else—something that could stop this, if only
she could understand how.
She grabbed Daniel’s arm, her grip
tight. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “We’re not done
yet. I think… I think there’s something in here.” She gestured to the journal.
“Eldridge wouldn’t have given it to us if there wasn’t a way out.”
Daniel’s face flickered, the man
beneath the entity briefly surfacing. “A way out? Margret, it’s too late…”
“No,” she cut him off, her eyes
blazing with determination. “It’s not. Not yet.”
The shadows around them pulsated, as
if growing impatient. The whispering voices were louder now, and the air grew
thick with a suffocating cold. Margret’s hands trembled as she frantically
flipped through the pages.
“There has to be something!” she
muttered under her breath, her fingers tracing the strange symbols.
Suddenly, her hand stopped on a page
near the end of the journal. The writing was different—sharper, more erratic. A
single word stood out among the cryptic scrawl: Sacrifice.
Margret’s blood ran cold.
A loud bang echoed through the inn as
one of the shadowy figures slammed into the door, the wood splintering under
its weight. Margret barely flinched, her mind racing. She had finally
understood. The town demanded payment for its secrets. And the Vanishing Hour
wasn’t just a time of fear. It was a time of collection.
“Margret…” Daniel’s voice was faint,
his face contorted in pain. “What does it say?”
She hesitated, her throat tightening
as she realized what the journal was telling her.
“One of us,” she whispered, barely
audible. “One of us has to stay behind.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “No. Margret,
no.”
The shadows loomed closer, swirling
around them like vultures. The clock was ticking, and the Vanishing Hour was
coming to an end. They had to choose.
Margret looked at Daniel, her heart
breaking. “It’s the only way,” she said softly, tears streaming down her face.
Daniel shook his head, his voice
trembling. “I can’t let you do this. Not for me.”
But Margret’s mind was already made
up. She had brought them here, chasing after a story, and now the story had
claimed them. One of them had to be left behind, or neither of them would leave
at all.
“I love you,” she whispered, stepping
toward the door as the figures closed in. “But I have to finish this.”
And with that, she opened the door,
stepping into the cold embrace of the shadows.
The clock struck 2:06 AM.