The town of Black Hollow was always shrouded in mist, a thick, swirling fog that never lifted, even in the height of summer. The locals spoke in hushed tones about the abandoned house at the edge of the woods—a place no one dared to enter after nightfall. Lena, a young journalist, had heard the rumors. Drawn to the supernatural, she arrived in Black Hollow, determined to uncover the truth. The house stood tall, its windows gaping like hollow eyes. The air around it was colder than the rest of the town, and the eerie whispers began the moment she stepped onto the porch.
Ignoring the chill creeping up her spine, Lena pushed the door open. It groaned in protest, revealing a dust-laden interior. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, and the air smelled of mildew and decay. As she moved deeper inside, she discovered an old desk with a cursed diary resting upon it, its leather cover cracked with age. She flipped through the yellowed pages. The scrawled entries belonged to a man named Victor Grayson, the last known resident. He spoke of restless spirits that haunted the house, of voices that called to him in the dead of night. His final entry was barely legible:
"They whisper my name. They know my fears. The fog is alive, and it’s coming for me."
A shiver ran down Lena’s spine. She looked up, and the room seemed darker than before. A shadow moved in the corner. Then another. The whispers grew louder, filling her ears with unintelligible murmurs. The air thickened, pressing against her chest. The walls seemed to breathe. As she backed away, the diary flew from her hands, its pages flipping wildly. A guttural voice rasped from the shadows:
“You should not have come.”
The front door slammed shut. Lena spun around, her breath hitching. A figure emerged from the fog creeping through the broken windows—a twisted, contorted thing with hollow eyes and elongated fingers. The whispers became wails, deafening and desperate. She bolted toward the stairs, but they stretched endlessly, trapping her in a nightmarish loop. The entity moved closer, its voice slithering into her mind.
“Stay with us… Forever.”
Lena screamed, the sound swallowed by the fog. The house trembled, and the diary burst into flames. The last thing she saw was a pair of hands reaching from the darkness, pulling her into the void. The next morning, the townsfolk found the house silent once more. The whispers had ceased. The fog had lifted. But Lena was never seen again. The diary, untouched by fire, sat on the desk, waiting for the next unfortunate soul to turn its cursed pages.
