Scene 35 — "The Town That Locked Its Doors Early"
Rain began before they reached the town.
Not heavy.
A cold, thin drizzle that turned the road dark and reflective beneath the carriage wheels.
The forest had fallen far behind now.
Only fragments of it remained visible through the mist-covered distance.
Yet something about it still clung to the air.
The old man drove in silence.
The traveler sat near the rear of the carriage, hood lowered, unmoving except for the faint rise and fall of breath.
The horses had calmed.
Not fully.
But enough to continue without fighting the reins every few minutes.
Ahead—
Lights appeared.
Warm.
Scattered.
A roadside town resting beside the eastern road, surrounded by low wooden fences and uneven stone buildings darkened by rainwater.
Smoke rose from chimneys.
Lanterns swayed softly outside narrow shops.
Normal.
At first.
Then the carriage rolled closer.
And the traveler noticed something strange.
The streets were emptier than they should have been.
People moved quickly.
Heads lowered.
Windows shut one by one as evening deepened.
Even the lanterns seemed dimmer here.
The old man frowned.
"…Too early for this."
The carriage entered the town slowly.
The sound of wheels against wet stone echoed farther than it should have.
A woman carrying baskets stopped walking when she saw the traveler sitting behind the carriage driver.
Her expression changed instantly.
Not recognition.
Instinct.
She turned away immediately and hurried inside the nearest building.
A wooden door slammed shut.
The old man noticed.
Said nothing.
The carriage continued.
Another person glanced toward them from beneath a shop awning—
Then quickly looked away.
A child standing near a water barrel froze completely for several seconds before his mother grabbed his arm and pulled him indoors.
The traveler watched quietly.
Something in the town felt wrong.
Not fear exactly.
Expectation.
Like everyone was waiting for something unpleasant to arrive.
The carriage finally stopped beside a small inn near the center road.
A faded wooden sign swung above the entrance, creaking softly in the rain.
Most of the windows were dark already.
Too early.
The old man climbed down slowly from the front seat.
"…You can stay here tonight," he muttered.
The traveler stepped off the carriage.
The moment his boots touched the wet stone road—
A lantern near the inn entrance flickered sharply.
Then steadied.
The old man saw it.
Pretended he didn't.
He avoided looking directly at the traveler now.
Not out of fear.
Out of caution.
The inn door opened before either of them knocked.
An older woman stood there holding a lantern close to her chest.
Her tired eyes landed first on the carriage driver.
Then—
On the traveler.
Silence.
Rain tapped softly against the rooftops around them.
The woman's expression changed slowly.
Not shock.
Something more restrained.
Like she had suddenly remembered an old story she wished she hadn't.
"…You came from the western road?" she asked quietly.
The old man answered first.
"Forest path."
The woman went still.
Completely still.
The lantern light trembled slightly in her hand.
Her gaze returned to the traveler.
Longer this time.
Careful.
Then—
"…Come inside before the rain worsens."
Too fast.
Like she wanted the conversation indoors immediately.
The traveler stepped inside first.
Warm air met him instantly.
Firelight.
Old wood.
The scent of cooked broth lingering in the air.
Only a few people sat inside the inn.
All conversation stopped the moment the door closed behind him.
No one stared openly.
That made it worse.
The traveler removed neither hood nor gloves.
He stood quietly near the entrance while rain continued outside.
One man near the corner table slowly lowered his cup.
Another shifted slightly farther away without realizing he had done it.
The innkeeper woman noticed all of it.
"…Enough," she said sharply.
The room moved again.
Barely.
People looked away.
But the silence remained.
The old man rubbed rainwater from his beard.
"…Road's getting worse," he muttered awkwardly.
No one answered him either.
The traveler's gaze drifted slowly across the room.
Then stopped.
Near the far wall.
A hunter's cloak hung beside the fireplace.
Dark fabric.
Marked sleeve.
Damaged.
Old blood near the lower edge.
The room suddenly felt colder.
The innkeeper woman noticed where he was looking.
Her expression tightened.
"…Three hunters came through yesterday."
Quiet.
Careful.
"No one's seen them since."
The old man froze slightly.
The traveler remained still.
The woman lowered her voice further.
"…Then tonight…"
A pause.
Rain tapped harder outside.
"…The forest started making noise again."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
One of the men sitting near the corner finally spoke.
Without looking up.
"…Something came out."
The fire cracked softly.
No one else moved.
The traveler's gaze remained on the hunter's cloak.
Unmoving.
The innkeeper woman stepped closer slowly.
"…You should stay inside tonight."
Not advice.
Warning.
Then—
A sound came from outside.
Soft.
A wet footstep against stone.
Everyone inside the inn froze instantly.
Another step followed.
Slow.
Dragging slightly.
The old man's face lost color.
The traveler turned toward the door.
Outside—
Something stopped beneath the rain.
And then—
Three quiet knocks touched the wood.