The truck tires screeched against the asphalt, skidding to a halt outside a lonely diner on the ragged edge of Cloverton. The neon "Open" sign above the door flickered like a dying heart, its light casting a sickly glow on the rain-slicked pavement. A shiver, traced down my spine as I stepped out of the truck, the memory of that shadow slamming the tailgate still burning in my mind.
Lila killed the engine, her hands remaining on the steering wheel, the small, silver charm on her rearview mirror swaying ominously. In the passenger seat, Ethan slumped against the door, muttering curses about the forest under his breath, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn't quite hide.
"We can't outrun that thing," I said, my voice barely audible against the hum of the engine's after-tremor. Lila's tired eyes met mine in the dim light, and for a moment, the steady warmth that always seemed to radiate from her flickered in my chest, a small ember of hope in the overwhelming darkness. "We need to figure out what it is." "Am not a simp" said that last part to myself as I looked away turned to face the diner,Ugh, I sighed to my self,trying to understand what's happening to me each time I look at her.
She nodded, a strand of red hair clinging to her damp cheek. "There's an old guy in town—Mr. Hargrove. He knows the legends, the history of this place. If anyone has answers, it's him."
The diner's door groaned in protest as we pushed it open, a sound like an old man's weary sigh. The air inside was thick with the smell of burnt coffee and stale grease, a stark contrast to the clean, cold fear clinging to us. A waitress with a tired smile refilled mugs for two grizzled locals at the counter. One, a fisherman with a deep scar on his cheek, and the other, a sharp-tongued mechanic known as Jenny, eyed us with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity as we slid into a worn vinyl booth. "Hmm...that fisherman looks cool with the scar..." I silently tagged him as Old Tom.
"Late for a hike, aren't you?" Jenny grunted, wiping her hands on a rag, her gaze lingering on the mud caked on my jeans. Her question was a statement, a thinly veiled accusation.
"More like a nightmare," Ethan shot back, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. The waitress, Marge, let out a dry chuckle, but her gaze lingered on the charm hanging from Lila's rearview mirror. It was the same one Lila had insisted on bringing with her from her grandmother's house,
Just then, the bell over the door jingled, and a gaunt, wiry man shuffled in. He was Mr. Hargrove, leaning on a cane, his eyes narrowing at us as he sat down in our booth, uninvited. "Heard you kids stirred something up," he rasped, his voice as dry as dead leaves. "That hollow's cursed—witches bound something there centuries ago. Those symbols? A seal. You broke it."
Lila tensed, her hand brushing mine under the table, a silent question passing between us...."I don't know this woman, do I know her some where?", I wondered to myself I glanced at Ethan. "How do we stop it?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Hargrove's laugh was a dry, rasping sound. "You don't. Not unless you find the key—and that'll cost you." He said...His eyes, knowing, flicked from Lila to me, a predatory glint in their depths. He wasn't talking about money.
The diner windows rattled, a low hum seeping through the glass, growing louder and more insistent with each passing second. The old Tom swore, his hand pointing a trembling finger at the window. In the reflection, the shadow loomed, its form vague but undeniable, a swirling vortex of darkness with two faintly glowing red eyes fixed on us. Jenny grabbed a wrench, Marge ducked behind the counter, and Ethan froze, his face ashen.
Lila's hand found mine under the table, her touch a lifeline, a steadying presence as my heart hammered against my ribs....."do I know this woman somewhere before?" This question kept clicking in my head. "We're not dying tonight," she whispered, her voice fierce and low.