Chapter 0: The Journey to Kampest

  John Thatcher grinned as he urged the horse forward, the familiar creak of the carriage beneath him lifting his spirits. He’d never been this far from home before, and though the rising mist along the road twisted into shapes that unsettled most, John’s mind was alight with hope. Nosiris was a strange region, or so he'd heard, but Kampest, the city everyone whispered about, held promises of riches beyond what most merchants could dream of.

  "Kampest," John called back to his apprentice, his voice filled with excitement. "We’re almost there, Will! Just imagine—the goods we’re hauling? They’ll fetch a price high enough to set us up for a good while. You’ll be able to afford a pce of your own soon, boy."

  Will, huddled under a bnket amidst the crates in the back, wasn’t nearly as optimistic. "I just hope we make it there," he muttered, eyeing the mist that thickened with each passing mile. At barely sixteen, he had never left their vilge before now. New to the trade, and even newer to the eerie tales of Nosiris—a region known by few, but feared by those who spoke of its empty, haunted vilges.

  John ughed, shaking his head. "You’ve been listening to too many stories, d. Nosiris might be odd, sure—plenty of strange tales come from these parts—but it’s just like anywhere else once you get past the spookiness. What matters is the trade. The people there pay good money for what we’ve got, and we’ll be leaving with more than we came in with. That’s all you need to worry about."

  Will tugged the bnket tighter around his shoulders. "It’s not just the stories, John. Something feels... wrong here. The vilges we passed—they were empty. Too empty."

  John waved him off with a grin. "That’s just the isotion getting to you. These parts have been cut off for ages; vilges like that are bound to feel strange. But trust me, once we reach Kampest, you’ll see why this journey is worth it. The goods here? They’re one-of-a-kind. The herbs, the stones, the crafts—rare enough to fetch a fortune back home.

  Though John had never been to Kampest, he had heard the tales—how the city was the heart of Nosiris, a pce where strange people traded rare and valuable goods. He could already picture it: the bustling markets, the rows of stalls filled with exotic spices and mysterious trinkets. The people of Nosiris might be quiet, their eyes lingering a little too long, but they paid well, and that was all that mattered.

  "Don’t let the mist and silence get to you, boy," John continued. "Once we’re in Kampest, it’ll be a whole different world. Riches are waiting for us, you’ll see."

  John’s grin widened as he thought of Cra. This trip would make all the difference. His daughter deserved better than the simple life they had now. With the gold from this trade, he could buy her the things she’d always dreamed of—proper schooling, a warm home, maybe even a chance at a better future than he’d ever had. As a single father, there wasn’t much else that mattered to him. She was everything.

  “You’ll see, Will,” John continued, his tone almost gleeful. “You stick with me, and you’ll be living well in no time. Nosiris may have its quirks according to what I’ve heard, but I’m sure it’s worth every coin we risk to get here. Just think of the gold, d.”

  Will didn’t seem convinced. He sat quietly, gncing at the trees that loomed over the narrow road, their twisted branches hanging low, almost as if they were watching too. The fog was thicker here, swirling like smoke, clinging to the carriage wheels as they rolled deeper into the forest.

  “Do you ever worry?” Will asked after a long silence. “About what might happen if the stories are true?”

  John shot him a look. “You can’t trade if you live in fear of every story you hear. I’ve been trading longer than you've been alive, and I’m still standing. The goods we’re carrying are worth more than the risks, trust me.”

  He tried to sound confident, but even he couldn’t fully shake the eerie feeling the forest gave him. There was no denying the strange atmosphere of Nosiris—the way the mist seemed to thicken the further in they went, or how the silence seemed to press in on them, muting even the sound of their horse’s hooves. But John had learned to push those thoughts aside. The reward waiting for them in Kampest far outweighed any fears about the nd’s peculiarities.

  John let the reins fall sck for a moment, his shoulders rexing slightly. “But all this talk of riches doesn’t mean a thing if we don’t make camp soon,” he added, gncing at the fading light. “We’re still a good distance from Kampest, and it won’t do us any good pushing through the night. These roads… not the safest after dark.”

  Will, who had been fidgeting with his bnket, looked up. “Camp? Here? In this forest?” He didn’t bother hiding the anxiety in his voice.

  John grinned, though he couldn’t deny a sliver of unease himself. “Aye, here. Unless you’ve spotted an inn somewhere nearby that I missed?”

  Will shook his head. “No, but... this pce doesn’t exactly feel welcoming, does it?”

  John waved a hand dismissively, though the mist swirling thicker around them did make him hesitate for a brief second. “It’s just a bit of fog, Will. We’ve camped in worse pces. Besides, the horses are getting tired, and so am I. Can’t have us stumbling into Kampest half-asleep, can we?”

  “I suppose not,” Will muttered, shifting in his seat. “Just wish we weren’t so... far out.”

  John chuckled again, though this time it was softer, more contemptive. “We’ll be fine. Look, I’ve been on enough of these journeys to know that it’s not the nd that’ll get you, it’s bad decisions. And pushing ourselves too far into the night? That’d be one of them.”

  He slowed the horse as they approached a small clearing off the road. The trees around them were dense, their twisted branches creating an almost woven canopy overhead, but the spot seemed dry enough, and with the firewood they’d packed, it would do. “This’ll be camp for the night,” John announced, pulling the carriage to a stop.

  Will climbed down from the cart, his eyes darting to the shadows between the trees. “What if something’s out there?”

  John, pulling a roll of bedding from the back of the carriage, gave him a reassuring smile. “If something’s out there, it’ll be more afraid of the fire than of us. We’ll set up a nice bze and let it crackle all night. Now, come help me with these crates.”

  Will, though reluctant, obeyed, unloading the goods carefully. As they worked, John began listing off what they carried, more for his own amusement than anything. “Pelts—wolf, bear, even lynx. They’ll keep the people of Kampest warmer than they’ve ever been. That frostroot, too—it’s a fine herb for cold climates, cures all sorts of ailments. Then there’s the stones, polished and gleaming. The Nosirians will think they’re magic, the way they catch the light.” He chuckled. “And the bone carvings… maybe not your favorite, Will, but trust me, they’ll fetch a fine price. These people like things with a story, things that feel mysterious.”

  Will managed a half-smile. “You really think they’ll want all this?”

  John patted one of the crates. “They’ll want it, alright. Pces like Kampest—isoted, dreary—they don’t get much of the outside world. What we’ve got here, it’s not just goods. It’s a piece of something different, something they don’t see every day. That’s what they’ll pay for.”

  They finished setting up camp, and as the fire crackled to life, its warmth cutting through the cold mist, John sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

  The fire crackled steadily as John finished setting up camp, the warmth barely holding back the creeping cold of the mist swirling in the trees. Will sat close, staring into the fmes, his brow furrowed, his fingers idly tapping on his knees in an uneven rhythm. John had come to recognize that habit—it wasn’t just fear that had the boy on edge, it was something deeper, more thoughtful. Will hadn’t spoken much since they’d stopped for the night, but John could sense the wheels turning in his mind. That energy, that restlessness—it was just part of who Will was.

  The silence around them was thick, heavy, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

  John stirred the pot hanging over the fire, breaking the tension with a chuckle. "It’s not much, but this stew will do the job. Fill you up and warm you right to your bones."

  Will’s eyes flicked away from the shadows and back to the fire. "Could use a bit more salt," he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He often gave John a hard time about his cooking—his way of lightening the mood when things felt too serious.

  John rolled his eyes with a grin. "If you think you can do better, be my guest next time. Though, I reckon you'd just burn the pot."

  Will shrugged, his fingers resuming their tapping, his gaze drifting once again to the trees. "Better burnt than bnd," he quipped, though his tone didn’t carry the usual confidence. "John... do you really think this is a good spot? Feels like something’s... off here."

  John’s smile softened, just a flicker of understanding passing across his face. "It’s just a forest, d. We’ve camped in worse pces. Besides, we’re not far from Kampest now. Get a good night’s rest, and by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be ughing about how spooked you were."

  Will pulled his bnket tighter, the cold barely registering compared to the heavy silence around them. "It’s not just the forest... it’s the way it feels. Like... we’re not alone." His fingers paused for a moment, as if trying to ground himself in the stillness.

  John let out a slow breath, leaning back against a fallen log. "I’ve been on this road more times than I can count, Will. Sure, the mist can py tricks, and the quiet? It gets under your skin. But that’s all it is. Tricks." There was no irritation in his voice, just a steady reassurance that came with experience. Will was a smart kid, and John knew he felt things more deeply than most. He’d always been the type to notice details that others would miss.

  Will shook his head, his voice quieter but more certain. "I dunno, John. This doesn’t feel like a trick." His fingers rested on his knees again, his gaze focused, as though he was trying to puzzle out something bigger. John had to admit, the boy had a knack for sensing things others might overlook, but he wasn’t about to feed into that now.

  John didn’t answer right away, stirring the pot again as the stew bubbled. The mist was thickening, curling closer, carrying with it a dampness that clung to their clothes. The fire crackled louder, as if trying to fill the space between them.

  "Listen," John said, breaking the quiet with a calm tone, "I get it. The first time I came this way, I felt it too. The quiet... it messes with your head. Makes you think there’s more out there than trees and fog. But it’s just the forest, d. We’ll be in Kampest by midday tomorrow, and all this will seem like a bad dream. You’ll see."

  Will gnced at John, his eyes searching for any hint of doubt. "You sure? You’re not... worried?"

  John hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze briefly touching on the thickening mist. He wasn’t entirely sure, but that was part of being on the road—you couldn’t let your doubts show. "I’ve been through worse, d. We’ve got a fire, good food, and a sturdy camp. There’s nothing out there but the wind and some old trees."

  Will nodded, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. He gnced again at the trees, feeling the weight of the forest pressing against his senses. "I don’t know... it’s like... it’s too quiet." Then, with a quick smirk, he added, "Maybe the trees know you can’t cook, and they’ve gone silent out of pity."

  John chuckled, the sound breaking the eerie quiet. "Careful, d, or I’ll have you cooking the next meal."

  "Couldn’t be worse than this," Will said with a ugh, but it was clear he was trying to lighten the mood more for himself than for John.

  John’s smile faltered for just a moment. The silence around them had thickened, pressing in like the mist that seemed to devour everything beyond the flicker of their campfire. He didn’t want to admit it, but the quiet was unsettling him too. It felt like the forest wasn’t just silent—it was watching.

  He shifted, trying to shake the feeling. “Quiet’s not bad. Means we’ve got the pce to ourselves.”

  Will didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the swirling fog at the edge of the firelight, as if waiting for something to step through. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “What if we’re not alone?”

  John opened his mouth to brush it off, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes drifted around their camp, noticing the way the mist clung to the trees, the way the branches creaked in the faintest breeze. It was subtle, but the whole night felt... wrong.

  He cleared his throat, forcing a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re starting to sound like the old men at the guild. Always jumping at shadows.” He paused, trying to lighten the tension. “Speaking of which, ever tell you how I first heard about this pce?”

  Will looked up, some of the tension easing as curiosity flickered in his expression. “No... what about it?”

  John sat forward, stirring the pot casually but lowering his voice. “Few weeks before we set off, I overheard two men at the guild. They were tucked away in a corner, talking low, like they didn’t want anyone else to hear. One of them—older guy, scar across his chin—he was talking about Nosiris.”

  Will leaned in a little, despite himself. “Nosiris? What was he saying?”

  John hesitated, stirring the stew with more attention than it needed, as if choosing his words carefully. “Said it was a pce where you could make a killing, if you knew what to bring. Not much competition, plenty of buyers. But then he got real quiet. Like he didn’t want to admit the rest.”

  Will frowned, the curiosity on his face shifting to unease again. “The rest of what?”

  John gnced at the mist again, his voice dropping without him realizing it. “He said there were rumors. Something strange about the nd. One of the farmhands outside Kampest told him a story. It wasn’t new—old, passed down from way back. A warning, he called it.”

  Will shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the shadows around them. “A warning about what?”

  John’s eyes grew distant as he recalled the words, his tone softening, almost like he was repeating them to himself as much as to Will. “The farmhand recited a poem. Didn’t think much of it at first... but the way he said it, it stuck.”

  Will sat up straighter, his voice tense. “What did it say?”

  The fire crackled louder as John began to recite the words he’d overheard, his voice barely above a whisper:

  "In the dead of night, when all is still,A creature stalks upon the hill.Its eyes aglow with burning light,Its shadow moving swift as night.No chains can bind its beastly flesh,No force can stop its hunt afresh.Beware the fields, when the mist does rise,Beneath the glow of full moon skies"

  The final words hung in the air like a chill settling over the camp. Will’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes flicking nervously to the woods. The mist had grown thicker, creeping in closer, as if drawn by the story. The silence around them deepened, the crackling fire now the only sound in the oppressive quiet.

  John sat back, his face thoughtful, but there was an edge to his voice now, something darker. “The man didn’t say much more after that. Just that he wasn’t coming back to Nosiris. No matter how much money was to be made.”

  Will swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest. “Do you think... do you think there’s something out there? Watching us?”

  John didn’t answer right away. He stared into the fire, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, more serious than before. “I don’t know, Will. But if there is... we’ll keep the fire going. And hope it stays far away.”

  The fire crackled gently as John and Will sat in uneasy silence. The shadows of the trees danced in the flickering light, and the mist curled around them like a living thing, thick and cold. The stillness of the forest pressed against them, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two souls left in the world.

  Then, there was a sound—so faint it could have been mistaken for the wind at first. A soft rustling, just beyond the edge of the firelight. John’s head jerked up, his hand instinctively going to the knife at his belt. Will, huddled beneath his bnket, sat frozen, his eyes wide as they darted toward the source of the noise.

  "Did you hear that?" Will whispered, his voice barely audible.

  John's heart quickened, but he forced a grin. "It's probably just an animal. Nothing to worry about." He didn’t believe it, not entirely, but he couldn’t show Will his own unease.

  Then it came again—a soft, high-pitched giggle, delicate and fleeting. It was the sound of a child, pying just out of sight.

  John stiffened, his smile fading. "Who's there?" he called into the darkness, trying to keep his voice steady.

  For a moment, there was only the quiet hiss of the fire and the heavy mist pressing in around them. Then, softly, a girl's voice drifted through the trees.

  "Please... help me..."

  John and Will both froze. The voice was so close, yet they could see no one. John stood, grabbing a burning branch from the fire, holding it up to cast more light around the clearing. He took a tentative step forward, his eyes scanning the shadows.

  "Where are you?" he called out. "Are you lost?"

  From the darkness, a figure slowly emerged—a girl, no more than twelve, her form barely visible in the dim light. She wore a tattered dress, her bck hair wild and tangled, and her pale face streaked with dirt. Her rge eyes, wide and innocent, gleamed in the flickering light as she stepped into view.

  John felt a pang of unease—something about the girl was off. Her movements, though slow, seemed unnaturally smooth, almost as if she were gliding. But as she stood there, small and vulnerable, his protective instincts took over.

  "Where did you come from?" John asked gently, lowering the branch slightly.

  The girl hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I... I got lost," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please... may I stay by your fire? Just for a little while?"

  John felt a tug of sympathy. She was just a child—dirty, scared, and alone in the middle of the woods. She looked about Cra’s age. But something nagged at the back of his mind: her unnaturally pale skin, those wide eyes that seemed to reflect too much light. He swallowed the lump in his throat and offered a reassuring smile.

  "Of course," he said, stepping back to make room near the fire. "Come and warm yourself."

  Will, still seated by the fire, stared at the girl, his eyes wide with apprehension. He didn't say a word, but John could sense his unease.

  The girl approached slowly, her movements graceful yet precise. She offered a small smile—innocent, but somehow unsettling. She settled herself near the fire, csping her hands tightly in her p.

  "Thank you, sir," she said quietly, gazing into the fmes. "It's so cold out there... I thought I'd never find anyone."

  John sat down across from her, trying to put aside his earlier misgivings. She seemed harmless enough. Perhaps he was letting the eerie atmosphere get to him.

  "How long have you been out here?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle.

  She gnced up briefly, then back at the fire. "I'm not sure," she replied softly. "I was with my parents, but I lost my way."

  "Your parents must be worried about you," John said sympathetically. "When the sun comes up, we can help you find them."

  At this, the girl’s expression shifted. Her eyes widened, and a flicker of arm crossed her face. "No!" she excimed, a bit too forcefully. Realizing this, she quickly softened her tone. "I mean... it's better if I wait here. They'll come looking for me."

  John blinked, slightly taken aback by her reaction. He exchanged a gnce with Will, who hadn't moved, his gaze fixed on the girl.

  "Are you sure?" John asked carefully. "We don't mind helping."

  She nodded emphatically. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you."

  An awkward silence settled over them, broken only by the crackling of the fire. John tried to brush off his unease. "Well, if you change your mind, just let us know."

  She offered another small smile. "I will."

  Trying to lighten the mood, John gestured toward the pot by the fire. "You must be hungry. We've got some stew left, if you'd like."

  The girl shook her head politely. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

  "Not even a little?" John pressed gently. "It's no trouble."

  She hesitated for a moment before replying, "I... I ate earlier," she said quietly. "I'm fine, really."

  "Alright then," John said, letting the matter drop. He noticed Will's tense posture and decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. "So, where are you and your parents headed?"

  She looked up, meeting his gaze with those unsettlingly bright eyes. "We're traveling," she said vaguely. "Going to visit family."

  John nodded slowly. "I see. Do you come through these woods often?"

  "Sometimes," she replied, her tone distant.

  Another silence fell. John searched for a topic to ease the tension. "You know," he began, "these woods can be a bit eerie at night. But they're quite beautiful during the day."

  She tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on him. "Do you think so?"

  "Yes," John said, offering a friendly smile. "In the daylight, everything looks different."

  She gnced toward the darkness beyond the firelight. "I suppose."

  Will cleared his throat softly, drawing John's attention. "Maybe we should get some rest," Will suggested, his voice tight.

  "Good idea," John agreed, sensing his apprentice's discomfort. He turned to the girl. "You're welcome to stay by the fire tonight. We'll make sure you're safe."

  "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  As they settled in, John couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. But exhaustion was catching up with him, and he told himself he was being foolish.

  Just as he was about to close his eyes, the girl spoke again. "Do you like stories?" she asked softly.

  John opened his eyes, surprised by the question. "Stories?"

  She nodded. "My parents used to tell me stories when we camped. It helped pass the time."

  He smiled lightly. "I suppose I do. Do you have a favorite?"

  Her eyes flickered with a strange light. "There's one about a creature that watches travelers."

  John felt a chill run down his spine. "I've heard that one," he said cautiously. "It's a local legend."

  She smiled faintly. "They say it's especially known around Kampest."

  John's heart skipped a beat. They hadn't mentioned their destination. He exchanged a sharp gnce with Will, whose face had gone pale.

  "How did you know we're headed to Kampest?" John asked carefully.

  She looked at him innocently. "Aren't all traders going there?" she replied. "It's the closest city."

  John forced a chuckle. "I suppose that's true."

  "The story is just an old tale to scare travelers. I’m sure your parents told you plenty of stories like it."

  The girl tilted her head to one side, the firelight dancing in her wide eyes. "Yes," she said softly, her tone almost thoughtful. "They did. But sometimes... I wonder if the stories are real."

  John chuckled weakly, the sound brittle in the thick air. "Well, if we see any glowing-eyed monsters, I’ll let you know," he said, hoping to ease the tension. But she didn’t ugh. She remained still, her gaze steady, unblinking.

  "Do you think the fire will keep them away?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

  John’s heart pounded.

  "Fire keeps most things away," John said, trying to sound confident. "Animals, the cold..." His voice trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

  The girl blinked, her face expressionless. "But not everything," she said, her voice distant.

  John’s stomach tightened. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. There was something unsettling about the way she said it, as though the words carried a meaning he didn’t fully understand.

  Finally, Will’s voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. "What... what’s your name?"

  The girl turned her head slowly toward him, her movements unnaturally fluid. For just a second, her smile widened—too wide, stretching unnervingly—before settling back into its soft curve. The firelight caught in her eyes, making them gleam with a faint, unnatural glow.

  "Rose," she said sweetly, her voice gentle and melodic. "My name is Rose."

  Will stiffened, his hands trembling slightly. John could see the boy’s growing panic out of the corner of his eye, the way his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to say something to reassure him, to tell him everything was fine, but the words wouldn’t come.

  John swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "That’s a lovely name," he said, though his voice was tight, strained.

  Rose’s eyes gleamed again, the firelight casting strange shadows across her face. "Thank you, mister," she replied softly, the corners of her lips curling just a little too high.

  …

  The cold creeped through John’s coat and settling deep into his bones. Across from him, Rose sat still. Her face was half-lit by the fire, casting deep shadows that exaggerated the sharp edges of her features, making her look like something from another world.

  Will crouched over the pot, his hands trembling as he sliced through a stale loaf of bread. The knife scraped against the cutting board, the sound too loud in the otherwise oppressive silence.

  "Careful," John muttered, his voice barely carrying. "Don’t cut yourself."

  Will gnced up with a tight smile. "Cold’s making me clumsy."

  John’s eyes flicked to Rose. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked, but something in her posture made his skin crawl. Her gaze had settled on Will’s hands, her eyes glinting unnaturally in the firelight. The knife slipped in Will’s grip, the bde slicing cleanly across his finger. A bead of red welled up.

  “Shit,” Will cursed, sticking his finger into his mouth.

  In an instant, Rose leaned forward. Her movements were wrong—too fast, too smooth. Her wide eyes locked onto the blood with a hunger that twisted John's stomach.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked softly, her voice strange, like the echo of something distant, something hollow.

  Will shook his head quickly, not meeting her eyes. "Just a scratch."

  Rose didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Her gaze stayed locked on his hand, watching as he hastily wrapped it in a dirty cloth. John’s heart beat faster. She hadn't been this way earlier—quiet, sure, but not... this.

  “We should turn in,” John said, trying to break the tension. The air had thickened, the mist pressing in closer, muffling even the crackle of the fire.

  Rose slowly turned her head toward him, her eyes glinting in the firelight. Her lips stretched into a grin—too wide, too unnatural. Her sharp teeth were bared, catching the flickering light in a way that made John's stomach twist. It wasn’t a smile; it was something else entirely, something that felt wrong.

  Suddenly, Will stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, though there was no dirt. “Horses,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “They might be restless with all this mist.”

  The excuse was weak, but it was better than staying. Without waiting for a response, Will disappeared into the fog, his steps quickly swallowed by the encroaching night.

  John watched the mist thicken, his mind racing. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, and now, with Will gone, it felt as though the camp was shrinking in on itself, the fire barely enough to push back the darkness.

  John turned back to Rose. She was still watching where Will had gone, but something had changed. Her posture was tense, coiled like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

  John shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to Rose. She hadn’t moved since Will left, her figure still as stone. Her eyes, though—those were alive, gleaming in the firelight like twin embers. They tracked every small movement he made, her sharp teeth still bared in that unsettling grin.

  She hadn’t said a word, but the silence between them had grown more oppressive, more charged. The firelight flickered, casting strange shadows on her face, deepening the hollows in her cheeks, making her look almost skeletal.

  John swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak just to break the tension. “Something on your mind, Rose?”

  Her grin faltered slightly, but she said nothing. Her head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying him, waiting for something.

  The fire popped, and in that brief second, her smile vanished—repced with a bnk, almost predatory stare.

  A knot of dread twisted in John’s gut, and before he could say anything more, a scream tore through the night. Short. Sharp. And far too close.

  John shot to his feet, heart pounding, the blood freezing in his veins.

  The sound was cut off as suddenly as it came, swallowed by the thick mist. He turned back to Rose, but she was gone. Her bnket y untouched, undisturbed, as if she had evaporated into the night. John’s chest tightened. He grabbed a burning stick from the fire, holding it high, the fme casting jagged shadows through the swirling fog.

  "Will!" he shouted again, stepping into the mist. The fire's light barely reached beyond his arm, swallowed by the thick fog that curled around his feet like cold, dead hands.

  Something rustled behind him. He spun, holding the torch out. The mist shifted, but nothing appeared. Just the relentless, pressing silence.

  "Who's there?" His voice came out a tremor.

  A giggle, soft and warped, drifted on the air—a child's ugh, twisted and wrong.

  "Will, if this is a joke, it’s not funny."

  The giggle came again, closer this time, sending icy fingers of fear down John's spine.

  The darkness shifted, revealing the faint outline of something pale moving just beyond the reach of the light. He stepped back, the torch shaking in his grip. His boot hit something soft. Looking down, he saw Will's cap, blood-soaked and still warm.

  "Oh God," John breathed, his stomach turning over.

  A movement—quick and fleeting. He barely caught a glimpse of pale skin disappearing behind a tree.

  "Rose?" he whispered, though dread told him it wasn’t her, or if it was, it wasn’t the Rose he knew.

  Her voice drifted through the fog, closer than it should have been. "He went away."

  John's heart hammered in his chest. "What did you do?"

  The fog seemed to press in tighter. No answer came. He felt exposed, vulnerable. Gripping the torch tighter, he started backing away, toward the dim light of the campfire.

  Something stepped out of the mist ahead of him—a small, still figure. As the firelight flickered, it illuminated the face of Rose. She stood unnaturally still, her head tilted at an angle that sent a shiver down John's spine. His breath caught in his throat as he saw it—her mouth smeared with thick, crimson blood, dripping slowly onto the ground.

  “Where is Will?” John asked, though part of him already knew the answer.

  Her lips curled into that same unnerving smile. “He’s not coming back.”

  John's stomach twisted. Something dark stained the corner of her mouth.

  He tightened his grip on the torch. "What are you?"

  Rose took a step forward, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving his. “Alone,” she whispered, her voice softer than the wind, “just like you.”

  John backed away. "Stay back."

  Her smile widened, a predator toying with its prey. "But you invited me."

  He didn’t wait for her to take another step. Turning, he bolted toward the camp. Behind him, the giggling started again—closer, more menacing.

  The campfire fred briefly as he tossed the torch into it, but the light wasn’t enough to push back the growing darkness. He scrambled into the carriage, smming the door and bolting it shut. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pressed himself against the far wall.

  Silence settled outside, thick and impenetrable.

  Then, a soft tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  "John," Rose's voice was sing-song, almost sweet. "Let me in."

  John froze, his heart hammering. "Go away!"

  The tapping continued, steady, insistent.

  "Why won’t you let me in?" Her voice dripped with false innocence, but beneath it, something darker simmered.

  John squeezed his eyes shut, whispering a prayer under his breath.

  “Don’t you want to see Cra?”

  His eyes snapped open, terror flooding him. "What did you say? How do you know about her?!"

  A pause. Then, "She misses you."

  The words cwed at his mind. "Stay away from her!"

  Rose giggled, the sound cruel and mocking. "I could bring her here. We could all be together."

  John grabbed the iron poker he kept near the door, gripping it tightly. "If you touch her, I swear to God—"

  The carriage groaned as weight settled on the roof. Slow, deliberate footsteps creaked overhead.

  "Let me in, John," she whispered, her voice impossibly close, surrounding him.

  John looked up just as her face appeared at the skylight—a twisted version of Rose, her mouth too wide, her eyes bck and empty.

  "Found you," she hissed.

  With a shout, John jabbed the poker upward, shattering the gss. Rose recoiled before disappearing into the night.

  The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, the door rattled violently.

  "LET ME IN!" she screamed, the words distorted, unnatural.

  John stumbled back, the poker held defensively in front of him. The door shook under the assault, wood splintering as the pounding intensified.

  The windows rattled as she cwed at them, her nails scraping against the gss with a screech that made John’s skin crawl.

  “Don’t you want this to end?” Her voice slithered through the cracks, low and venomous. “It could be so easy…”

  Desperation overwhelmed him. "Go away!"

  For a moment, everything went still.

  Then, in a mocking whisper, "You invited me, John. This is your fault."

  John’s mind reeled. His words from earlier echoed in his head—"Come, sit by the warmth." A simple offer, now twisted into something monstrous.

  He clutched the poker tighter, trembling as her ughter filled the night, growing louder, more distorted, until it became a cacophony of madness.

  Hours felt like days. Whispers seeped through the wood—promises of peace, of Cra, of rest. But he knew better.

  As the first light of dawn filtered through the cracks, the noise stopped.

  John cautiously unbolted the door, stepping out into the cold morning air. The mist was thinning, the fire long dead. The campsite was torn apart—deep gouges in the earth, and the trees scarred as if something had torn at them with fury.

  But there was no sign of Rose