Aiden endured the night to the sound of fingernails scraping against wood.
The distorted whispers, the phantom footsteps in the hall—sleep had been impossible. He'd remained curled on the bed, clutching the *Newcomer's Guide to Blackpine Town* like a talisman.
The sounds outside his door only faded when the sky began to pale.
When the first sliver of sunlight pierced the gap in the curtains, Aiden finally dared to get up and look. The hallway outside was restored to its daytime calm, as if the night's terror had been nothing but a bad dream. But the fine, deep scratches marring the door and the inexplicably damp stains on the carpet told him otherwise. It had all been real.
Aiden sat on the edge of the bed, his head thick and heavy. A full night of fear and tension had left his nerves shot, but he knew he had to pull himself together. He needed more information, needed to understand how this place worked, find anyone who could help him, and most importantly, figure out how to leave.
After a quick wash, Aiden went down to the inn's lobby. Martha was already busy behind the front desk, looking exactly as she had the night before—the same kind, middle-aged woman.
"Good morning, Mr. Aiden," Martha said, looking up with a smile. "How did you sleep?"
"Not well," Aiden said bluntly. "Someone claiming to be the night attendant was at my door all night."
Martha's expression instantly turned serious. "You didn't open it, did you?"
"No. I remembered you said you were only on duty from six in the morning until ten at night."
A palpable wave of relief washed over Martha. "You did well. That wasn't one of our employees, sir. I'm the only staff here. I never hire for the night shift." She paused. "Did... it... harm you?"
"No. It eventually left. But I need to know, what was it?"
Martha glanced around, and seeing the lobby was empty, lowered her voice. "There are many things here that mimic human appearances and voices. Their goals vary, as do their methods, but they all share one thing in common—they prey on human kindness and curiosity."
"Are you saying there are no real people in this town?"
"There are, but not many," Martha sighed. "Most of the 'residents' have either been assimilated or they're... something else. The ones who are still truly sane usually do everything they can to avoid contact with strangers."
Aiden thought of the faceless postman and the bizarre rules in the booklet. "Who made these rules? Why does everyone have to follow them?"
"The rules have always been here, sir." A flicker of fear crossed Martha's eyes. "They've existed for as long as I can remember. People who don't follow them... terrible things happen."
"Like what?"
Martha shook her head. "Some things are better left unknown. The more you know, the easier it is to be 'noticed.'" She paused. "But I can give you a piece of advice—go to the town square. You can usually find other newcomers there. You can watch out for each other."
Aiden nodded. He desperately needed allies; surviving alone in a place like this was too dangerous. "So... how do you leave?"
Martha's expression became complicated. "Some say there's a way out deep in the abandoned mine. Others believe the answer is in the church basement. But I suggest you put that thought out of your mind for now."
"Why?"
"Because no one has ever truly left, sir. At least, no one has ever come back to confirm it."
The words sent a chill down Aiden's spine. Still, he wasn't ready to give up. "I want to look around town first, get a better lay of the land."
"Of course." Martha's smile returned. "But remember, be back before the sun goes down. And keep your guide with you at all times. It might just save your life."
Aiden tucked the *Newcomer's Guide* into his jacket pocket and walked out of the inn.
In the morning, Blackpine Town looked completely different. The sunlight was hazy, but it had banished the shadows of the night. The houses lining the streets appeared almost normal, and he could even see figures moving behind a few of the windows.
But the normality was a thin veneer. Aiden quickly noticed what was wrong—all the shadows were too short, as if the sun was locked in a perpetual high noon. Their direction was strange, too, inconsistent with a single light source.
More unnerving was the silence. There were no car engines, no voices, not even the chirp of a bird. The entire town was blanketed in an unnatural quiet.
Following the map, Aiden headed for the town square. He saw a few "residents" along the way—an old woman watering flowers in her yard, a middle-aged man washing a window, a few people who looked like they were out for a morning jog. But their movements were all mechanical, as if they were repeating a fixed loop of actions.
What unsettled Aiden most was that none of them ever looked up. Even when he walked directly past them, they maintained their exact posture and expression, as if he didn't exist.
Ten minutes later, he reached the town square.
It was larger than he'd expected, with a tall bronze statue at its center. It depicted a robed, hooded figure, its right hand pointing north. The statue was ancient, covered in green patina, but strangely, the patina on the facial area was thin, as if it were frequently touched or cleaned.
Though the statue was clearly pointing north, Aiden couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching him. The sensation was so intense he could barely bring himself to look at the statue's "face."
"First time seeing it?" a voice said from behind him.
Aiden turned to see a middle-aged man in a tan jacket walking toward him. This man looked far more normal—his eyes were clear, his movements natural, and most importantly, he was speaking to Aiden.
"Yeah," Aiden replied. "Are you..."
"New?" The man gave a bitter smile and shook his head. "Name's Jack Cullen. Been here three months. If by 'new' you mean just got trapped in this hellhole, then yes."
Finally, a normal person. Aiden could have wept with relief. "I'm Aiden Krause. I only got here yesterday. I'm completely lost."
"Being lost is normal." Jack glanced at the statue, then motioned for Aiden to follow him to the edge of the square. "Let's talk over there. It's not a good idea to stand near the statue for too long."
They sat on a bench at the edge of the square. Jack scanned the area, and after confirming no other "residents" were nearby, he asked, "Where did you stay last night?"
"The Pine Needle Inn. Room 7."
"Good choice. Martha's one of the few who's still mostly human," Jack nodded. "Run into anything strange?"
Aiden told him about the radio and the mysterious knocker. Jack listened intently, nodding in understanding.
"You handled that well," Jack said. "A lot of newcomers make a fatal mistake on their first night. The fact that you're still here means you have a knack for survival."
"A fatal mistake?"
"Like trusting the night attendant, opening the door, or trying to force the radio off." Jack pulled a worn notebook from his pocket. "I've been keeping a log of my observations about this place. Want to hear them?"
"Absolutely."
Jack flipped open the notebook. "First, the rules aren't monolithic. You have the *Newcomer's Guide*, but there are other versions, and sometimes they contradict each other. The key is learning to judge which rule applies in a given situation."
"Like the radio last night?"
"Exactly. The booklet said turn it off and use salt. Martha said don't turn it off. You were smart—you didn't turn it off, but you still used the salt for protection. Sometimes the answer isn't one or the other; it's finding a third way."
That made a terrifying amount of sense to Aiden. "What else have you found?"
"Time is broken here," Jack said, gesturing at the sky. "Notice? The sun barely moves, always stuck at what looks like ten in the morning. Real time is marked by other things—the church bell, the streetlights changing, the shifts in the residents' activities."
Aiden looked up at the sky. Jack was right; the sun's position hadn't changed at all.
"Also," Jack continued, "the 'residents' fall into roughly three categories. First, there are people like Martha, who've held onto part of their humanity. They're usually friendly to newcomers and give useful advice. Second are the fully assimilated. They just repeat the same behavioral loops, almost completely unresponsive to external stimuli. The third kind are..." he paused, "...the impostors. They mimic humans, but for different reasons."
"Like the night attendant?"
"Probably. The impostors usually have a tell—no shadow, no reflection, or their behavior is just a little too perfect." Jack closed his notebook. "But the most important thing is, no matter what happens, don't try to directly defy a rule. The rules here aren't chains; they're protection. The consequences for breaking them..."
His words cut off as his eyes went wide with alarm.
Aiden followed his gaze and saw a tall figure in a dark uniform at the other end of the square—a police officer.
"The Sheriff," Jack whispered, his voice tense. "Don't look at him. Act natural."
"What about the Sheriff?"
"The *Guide* doesn't say much, but from what I've seen, he's the one who polices rule-breakers. If he notices you... it's bad." Jack stood up. "We should split up. Remember, follow the rules, keep a low profile, and above all else—stay alive."
Jack walked away quickly, leaving Aiden alone to face this new threat.
Aiden forced himself to remain calm, slowly walking toward the opposite side of the square. But he could feel the Sheriff's gaze on his back.
Once clear of the square, Aiden found himself on a commercial street. A few shops looked like they were still in business—a grocery store, a pharmacy, and a small diner.
He decided to check the grocery store, hoping to find more useful supplies.
The store was dim, its shelves stocked with various goods that looked no different from those in any small-town market. But as Aiden approached the counter, he saw the cashier was a young woman, her head bowed as she sorted through receipts.
"Good afternoon," Aiden said, testing the waters.
The woman looked up, and Aiden's blood ran cold. Her eyes were completely empty, just two hollow sockets of pure darkness, like bottomless pits.
"What do you need?" she asked. Her voice was normal, but paired with those hollow eyes, it was profoundly disturbing.
Aiden forced himself to stay calm. "I... I'm trying to learn about this town. I'm new here."
"Ah, a new resident." The corners of the woman's mouth turned up in an unnerving smile. "Then you'll certainly need some essentials. Salt, birch wood, and this..."
She pulled a small cloth pouch from under the counter. "It contains special herbs. If you encounter something you can't explain, a sniff of this might help."
Aiden hesitated before taking the pouch. "Does this... stuff work?"
"The rules work, sir. And these things help you follow the rules." The woman's hollow eyes bored into him. "But remember, your best protection will always be your own judgment."
Aiden paid—surprisingly, she took the US dollars from his passport wallet—and quickly left the store.
Walking down the street, he mulled over the encounter. The cashier was obviously not human, but she hadn't seemed malicious. She had even offered helpful advice. It made Aiden realize that the concepts of good and evil here might be entirely different from what he understood.
The sun remained fixed in the sky, but the light on the street was beginning to dim, as if an invisible cloud had passed over. He remembered Martha's warning to be back before sunset. Though there was no sunset to see, the changing light must be the town's signal for evening.
On the way back to the inn, Aiden saw more strange sights: a cat sitting in the middle of the road, casting a human-shaped shadow; an old man digging in his yard, the hole disturbingly shaped like a coffin; and figures in windows, frozen in the same posture, never moving.