Black Hollow was a village forgotten by time. Hidden between a dead forest and a frozen lake, it had only one rule: Never go near the old house on the hill.
But Ethan Carter did not believe in superstitions.
The house stood tall and broken, its windows like empty eyes staring down at the village. The wind always seemed louder near it. The trees around it never moved — even during storms.
One evening, Ethan decided to prove everyone wrong.
As he walked up the hill, the air grew colder. His breath turned white. The birds stopped singing.
When he reached the front door, it slowly creaked open — by itself.
"I guess someone's home," Ethan whispered nervously.
Inside, the walls were covered in strange symbols scratched deep into the wood. The floorboards groaned under his feet.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Right behind him.
"Why… did… you… come?"
Ethan turned around.
No one was there.
But the door had slammed shut.