Laura stood frozen, her heart racing, staring into the misty Bristol road where the old man had vanished like a ghost. Haceol. The Whisper's Maw. The words echoed in her mind, stirring something buried deep—a faint, nagging memory from her early days in journalism. Back then, during a late-night binge on unsolved mysteries for a scrapped documentary, she'd stumbled across an obscure online forum post about Edinburgh's hidden horrors. It mentioned a forgotten corner of the city, shrouded in black magic legends from the 17th-century witch trials, where shadows were said to come alive and devour the unwary. She'd dismissed it as urban legend fodder, but now... it felt like fate slapping her in the face.
She glanced at the crumpled page fluttering at her feet, snatched it up, and bolted to her car, her sneakers splashing through shallow puddles.
The paper was yellowed, ink smudged, barely legible under the dim streetlamp, showing shaky scribbles: a jagged sketch of cobbles, "Elenor, my beloved Child" scrawled alone, then "IT took her to the woods" repeated in frantic loops across the page. Laura's breath hitched, her pulse racing in the chilly Bristol night. Haceol? Who is Elenor? What took her? This was her shot, her last desperate chance to save her career.
Slamming the car door, she yanked her laptop from the backseat, the screen glowing harshly in the dark interior. Fingers flying, she typed "Haceol Edinburgh" into the search bar, her breath shallow. The results trickled in—sparse, buried in archived blogs and conspiracy threads. Haceol wasn't a town, but a forgotten quarter in Edinburgh's Old Town, a labyrinth of narrow alleys sealed off centuries ago after the infamous witch hunts. Legends whispered of black magic covens that practiced forbidden rituals, summoning entities from the shadows to grant power... at a terrible cost. People vanished without trace—dozens over the years, their screams echoing in the mist before silence swallowed them whole. The population had dwindled to nothing; locals avoided the area, claiming the cobblestones breathed, the walls watched, and on certain nights, the air thickened with an unnatural hunger, pulling the curious into voids from which they never returned.
Laura's eyes widened as she dove deeper, tabs multiplying like her racing thoughts. Old myths painted Haceol as a gateway to the underworld, cursed by a witch's dying spell during the 1697 executions—her blood seeping into the stones, birthing shadows that fed on souls. Recent posts hinted at a spike in disappearances: a 19-year-old girl named Elenor gone missing in the foggy woods bordering the old quarter, last seen wandering into the trees during last harvest moon, her last X post a cryptic "The whispers call." Laura's breath caught, her gaze darting back to the crumpled page—Elenor. The same name.
"Holy shit, is this the same Elenor??"
She read through the article.
Black magic ties ran rampant—rumors of modern cults reviving the rituals, luring victims with promises of forbidden knowledge.
The low population? A ghost zone, boarded up and forgotten, where even the rats fled. It was intense, dramatic, the stuff of nightmares: bodies never found, whispers luring people deeper, a place where reality frayed and the devil danced in the dark.
She researched until her eyes burned, the clock ticking past 1 a.m., then 2 a.m.,
her fingers scrolling through grainy images of Edinburgh's underbelly. A grin slowly spread across her face, wild and triumphant.
This is gold. Real mysteries, black magic vibes, vanishings—Robert will eat this up! . Her mind raced ahead: a documentary diving into the myths, interviewing survivors' families, exploring the sealed alleys. It was risky, unproven, but big.
Without a second's hesitation, she snatched her phone and dialed Robert, her thumb slamming the call button. It rang... and rang... finally, a groggy voice picked up. "Hello...?"
"Robert! Oh my God, you won't believe this! I found it—the perfect story! Haceol, this cursed spot in Edinburgh, black magic, people disappearing into shadows, witch curses from the 1600s, low pop 'cause it's like a soul-eating maze, and—"
"Laura..." Robert's voice cut in, thick with sleep and exasperation, like a dad dealing with a hyper toddler. "It's 2 a.m. I'm in my pajamas, dreaming about golf. What in the actual hell?"
She barreled on, words tumbling out. "But listen, it's got everything—myths, drama, recent vanishings! I can film it, expose the cults, save the department—"
A heavy sigh on the other end, followed by a muffled rustle, like he was face-palming. "Laura, you sound like a caffeine-fueled squirrel. Tomorrow. Office. 9 a.m. sharp. And for God's sake, take a shower." He hung up with a click, leaving her staring at the phone, a bubble of laughter escaping her lips.
She punched the air, adrenaline buzzing. Yes! He's hooked—or at least not firing me yet. Tossing the laptop aside, she revved the engine and sped home through Bristol's misty streets, the city lights blurring like stars. By the time she crashed into bed, the first hints of dawn were creeping in, sunlight slashing through the curtains like a promise.
The next morning, Laura burst into Horizon TV, hair semi-tamed, dress fresh (for once), her bag stuffed with notes and that crumpled page. She marched straight to Robert's cabin, spilling her pitch in a whirlwind: the old man's tale, the black magic myths, the vanishings, how she'd drive to Edinburgh and uncover the Whisper's Maw herself. It was her all-in gamble.
Now, silence hung heavy in the room. Robert leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his sharp gaze fixed on her with a coffee cup holding.
Laura shifted in her seat, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm, eyes wide and eager, hanging on his every micro-expression. Come on, say yes. This is it—my comeback or my crash. Fresh from the shower she'd finally taken, her skin still tingling with the scent of soap, she felt reborn, ready to fight for her department like a phoenix rising from the ashes of her chaotic night.
The silence stretched, thick and charged, Robert's fingers steepled under his chin as he held his coffee cup, his eyes boring into Laura like he was dissecting her soul. She shifted in her seat, foot tapping an impatient rhythm, eyes wide and eager, hanging on his every micro-expression. Come on, say yes. This is it—my comeback or my crash. Fresh from the shower she'd finally taken, her skin still tingling with the scent of soap, she felt reborn, ready to fight for her department like a phoenix rising from the ashes of her chaotic night.
Finally, Robert exhaled, leaning forward with a resigned nod. "Fine."
Laura shot up from her chair, fists pumping the air like she'd won the lottery. "Yes! Oh my God, yes!"
"But," he added, his voice sharp, cutting through her celebration like a knife. "Two weeks. The documentary has to be ready on time—no excuses, no delays."
"Two weeks? That's more than enough!" she beamed, bouncing on her toes.
Robert raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Uh-huh. Don't give me hope and then crash and burn. And take John and Taya with you."
Laura froze, eyes widening in disbelief. "What? Seriously? You're lending me Taya? Thank you!!"
Before he could respond, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around him in a quick, awkward hug that made him stiffen like a statue. "You won't regret this!" she yelped, then bolted out of the cabin like a whirlwind, door slamming behind her.
Robert stared at the empty doorway, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. "What have I done?"
Outside the cabin, Laura nearly collided with John, who was pressed against the glass wall, ear cupped to the pane, trying to eavesdrop. He jumped back, eyes wide in panic, scrambling to look innocent. "I wasn't hearing anything, sir! Swear!"
Laura burst out laughing, grabbing his collar before he could flee. "Hey, you idiot—it's me!"
John sagged in relief, adjusting his glasses with a sheepish grin. "Oh, thank God. So... what happened? Spill!"
She released him, her face lit up like Christmas lights. "He said yes! We're doing the Haceol doc—black magic, vanishings, the whole creepy shebang. And you know what? He's letting us take Taya with us! Finally, the three of us again!"
John's eyes lit up, and they both jumped up and down, laughing like kids, high-fiving in the hallway. "No way! Team chaos reunited!"
"Ooiiiiiii!"
A high-pitched scream echoed down the hall, turning heads and drawing shocked stares from nearby employees, who muttered curses under their breath at the disruption.
Taya came barreling toward them, arms flailing, her ponytail bouncing wildly as she crashed into the duo. The three of them collided in a messy group hug, squeezing like they'd never let go, giggling and stumbling in a tangle of limbs.
Just weeks ago, Taya had been pulled to another department—a quiet casualty of their team's unraveling—but now, somehow, they were together again.
"So... we're leaving tomorrow for Edinburgh!!" Laura yelled, pulling back with a maniacal grin.
Taya threw her head back and screamed in delight, Laura joining in, their voices echoing off the glass walls.
John, caught up in the moment, opened his mouth to scream too—but froze, face paling.
"Wait, what? Tomorrow? I didn't tell my mom yet..."
Laura and Taya exchanged mischievous glances, then grabbed him from both sides, linking arms with him like a human chain.
"Aw, Johnny boy, still tied to Mama's apron strings?" Laura teased, ruffling his hair.
Taya snickered, pinching his cheek.
"Don't worry, we'll help you pack your lasagna Tupperware. Call her now—tell her you're off to hunt ghosts!"
John groaned, face red, but couldn't help laughing as they dragged him down the hall, the trio's chaos drawing more eye-rolls from the office. Edinburgh—and the Whisper's Maw—awaited.
Will be continued -