The House on Briar Lane

CHAPTER TWO

**THE MARK**

The morning after the terrifying incident at the pub, Jonas woke up with a start. He was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of a nightmare faded from his mind. The memory of the previous night crept in like a slow, creeping shadow-the woman, the darkness, and that book. He glanced at his hand, half-expecting the painful welt to be gone, dismissed as a bad dream. But the mark was still there, a deep red burn shaped like some twisted symbol, pulsing slightly as if it had a life of its own.

Jonas stared at it, dread tightening in his chest. Whatever that book had unleashed wasn't just a figment of his imagination. It was real, and it had left its mark on him. But what did it mean? And what would come next?

As he dressed and headed downstairs to open the pub, he noticed an unnatural stillness in the air. The town seemed muted, as though the events of the previous night had cast a pall over everything. The usual morning bustle was absent; the streets were empty, and the few people he did see hurried by with their heads down, avoiding eye contact.

When he reached the pub, Jonas hesitated before unlocking the door. The thought of stepping back inside filled him with unease. The memory of the room plunging into darkness, the growling, and the woman's disappearance made his hands tremble. But he couldn't just leave it shut; he had a business to run, and the townspeople would come sooner or later, looking for answers or, at the very least, a strong drink to calm their nerves.

Pushing the door open, Jonas stepped inside, half-expecting to see the place in the same disarray as the night before. But everything was eerily back in place-the chairs and tables were upright, the bar clean and orderly, as if nothing had happened. Only the broken glass remained on the floor, a stark reminder that it wasn't all in his head.

And then he saw it-the book, still lying where it had fallen, untouched and humming with that faint, ominous energy. He approached it cautiously, the mark on his hand throbbing in response as he got closer. The symbols on the pages seemed to shift and writhe as if they were alive, and the air around the book felt heavy, almost suffocating.

He had to get rid of it. Whatever this thing was, it had no place here. Jonas reached for the book but hesitated, remembering the searing pain from the night before. He grabbed a nearby towel, wrapping it around his hand before carefully lifting the book from the floor. The moment he touched it, the room seemed to dim, the light flickering as a deep, unsettling cold settled in his bones.

Jonas fought the urge to drop the book and run. He needed to figure out what this was, why the woman had come here with it, and what connection it had to the house on Briar Lane. There had to be someone in town who knew more, someone who could help him understand what he was dealing with.

A name came to mind-Margaret, the town's oldest resident. She was a recluse, living in a small, dilapidated cottage on the edge of the forest, but if anyone knew the town's dark history, it would be her. There were rumors that she had dabbled in the occult in her younger years, that she had seen things no one else had, and that she was the last living link to whatever haunted the house on Briar Lane.

Jonas wrapped the book tightly in the towel, tucking it under his arm as he left the pub and headed toward Margaret's cottage. The streets were still eerily quiet, the oppressive atmosphere weighing down on him with every step. As he walked, the mark on his hand continued to throb, a constant reminder that time was running out.

The path to Margaret's cottage was overgrown and winding, leading deep into the thick woods that surrounded the town. The trees loomed high above, their twisted branches intertwining to form a canopy that blocked out the sun. The deeper Jonas went, the darker and colder it became, as if the forest itself was trying to ward him off, to turn him back before it was too late.