The Night of the Hollow Hunt

Chapter Ten: Lingering Shadows

The diner buzzed with the quiet hum of normalcy—clattering dishes, murmured conversations, and the faint whiff of sizzling bacon. But at their table, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Antonio stirred his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes drifting again to the window, half expecting to see the house reappear on the horizon. Every time he blinked, it felt like the shadows outside grew darker, longer, like they were stretching toward them.

Wren and Jaxon exchanged worried glances, their usual playful banter subdued in the wake of Antonio's unease.

"Maybe it's just stress," Wren offered gently, though her voice wavered. "We've all been through hell, and now our minds are trying to make sense of it. Your brain's probably just conjuring things that aren't really there."

Antonio nodded, but the nagging feeling in his gut refused to subside. The house had felt too real, the weight of its presence too heavy to ignore. He couldn't tell if his exhaustion was playing tricks on him or if something far worse was happening—a lingering connection that refused to break.

Fawkes, still pale and groggy but more coherent than before, glanced up from his untouched plate of eggs. "You really think it's still out there?" he asked quietly, his voice rough from sleep.

"I don't know," Antonio muttered, setting his spoon down with a soft clink. "But something isn't right. I saw it, Fawkes. The house was just... there. Like it's following us."

Fawkes paled further, a faint shadow passing over his face. "You don't think it's still in me, do you? I mean, the house? We broke the symbols, destroyed the mirror..."

"We did," Antonio said, his voice laced with uncertainty. "But maybe that wasn't enough. What if the house didn't need to stay in one place? What if it's—"

"No," Jaxon interrupted, shaking his head. "No way. We're not doing this again. We're not going down that road. We're out, man. We beat it. The house is gone."

Antonio wanted to believe Jaxon's words, to cling to the idea that they had escaped the nightmare for good. But the doubt gnawed at him. The feeling that something—someone—was still watching. He glanced around the diner, the hum of life continuing around them. Everything looked normal, but under the surface, it felt wrong. Out of place.

"Maybe we should leave town," Wren suggested. "Just get out of here, far away from everything. Fresh air, new surroundings... maybe that's what we need to shake this off."

Jaxon grunted in agreement, pushing his empty plate aside. "Sounds good to me. We hit the road, keep driving until this place is nothing but a bad memory."

Antonio hesitated. Leaving sounded right—getting away from the town, the house, all of it. But the shadow of the house seemed to cling to them, no matter where they went. Would putting miles between them really sever that invisible thread? Or would they simply find themselves haunted by its presence no matter where they ran?

Before he could speak, the diner door creaked open, and a wave of cold air rushed in. Antonio's gaze instinctively snapped to the entrance. A man stepped inside—tall, wearing a dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat that cast his face in shadow. He didn't look at them, didn't acknowledge anyone as he moved toward the far corner of the diner, taking a seat by the window. His presence sent a shiver down Antonio's spine, though he couldn't explain why.

The man sat motionless, his back to them, staring out the window.

Antonio's fingers drummed against the table, the growing sense of dread returning with full force. There was something off about the man, something unsettling. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the conversation, but his eyes kept drifting back to the figure in the corner.