The Whispering Shadows. Part 1

In the secluded town of Eldridge Hollow, there existed a rule—ominous and unyielding—that had shaped life for decades: never speak the name of the lost.

The rule was not merely a tradition; it was a law, a whispered warning etched into the memories of every resident, guarding them from a fate few understood. The “lost” were not merely missing souls but rather those who had slipped between the realms, pulled into an existence beyond sight, leaving only faint echoes in their wake. No one dared utter their names for fear of inviting the shadows that seemed to breathe within the fog-draped town.

Dusk crept in, and with it, a fog thick and unmoving, coiling through Eldridge Hollow like an unseen predator. Clara, a newcomer with a disregard for local superstition, had noticed the tense gazes and hushed voices of the townsfolk, but curiosity got the better of her. She was inexplicably drawn to the ancient library—a place that loomed, shrouded in mystery, with walls that seemed to trap the past within. The doors creaked open, seemingly of their own accord, inviting her into a place heavy with dust, secrets, and... waiting.

As Clara wandered through the maze of shelves, a book fell from above, its spine cracked, its pages yellowed with age. The Lost of Eldridge Hollow was written across the cover in faded, silver letters. A chill danced up her spine, but she pushed the feeling aside, opening the book as if it had somehow been waiting just for her. Names were inked across the pages, along with faded photographs and dates. Each name told a silent story—a person who had been swallowed by the fog, lost to the unknown.

A sharp gust of wind suddenly swept through the library, extinguishing the flickering candlelight and plunging the room into shadow. The air grew thick, charged with a presence that felt as real as her own. Shadows stretched across the walls, writhing and curling like tendrils, and then… a voice. Low, barely audible at first, but chilling in its clarity.

“Who dares to speak of the lost?” the voice hissed, carrying a hollow, otherworldly echo that resonated in the silence. Clara’s heart pounded, her breath shallow, as she spun around. The library was empty, but the weight of that rule—never speak the name of the lost—pressed down on her, as if it were physically binding her to the spot. She had broken it.

Watch out for Part 2: The Haunting Echoes.