The Crimson Creek Curse

Chapter 3: Strange Occurrences

The unsettling quiet that had gripped Crimson Creek since Sarah Miller's death began to unravel into something much darker. The initial shock of her murder had left the town paralyzed with fear, but now, as days passed and the authorities failed to find any leads, strange occurrences started to plague the town like a creeping fog. The town's once peaceful existence was rapidly slipping into a waking nightmare.

It started small—at first, little things that people could brush off. Flickering lights, doors that seemed to open or close on their own, strange gusts of wind that came from nowhere. But soon, these minor inconveniences gave way to more sinister phenomena, and what began as an eerie feeling of being watched escalated into something far more terrifying.

Late one night, as the moon shone down in a milky glow, Mrs. Willow sat in her old rocking chair by the window, sipping her herbal tea. Her house, which sat on the edge of town near the woods, had always felt safe. She had lived there for decades, but now, for the first time, she felt uneasy. The tea did nothing to calm her nerves as she peered out into the thick, shadowy woods.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the window, sending a chill through her. The wind carried with it a faint whisper, something barely audible but unmistakable. It was as though someone—or something—was calling her name.

"Mrs. Willow..."

She froze, the teacup slipping from her hand and crashing to the floor. Her heart raced as she tried to calm herself. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe she was imagining things. But deep down, she knew that something was terribly wrong. That whisper felt too real, too insistent.

In the days that followed, others in Crimson Creek began to experience their own bizarre encounters. Strange noises echoed through the streets at night—low, guttural growls, distant screams, and heavy footsteps, but when anyone went to investigate, there was nothing to be found. People reported strange figures standing at the edge of their vision, only to vanish when they turned to get a better look. Windows would rattle violently in homes, despite the air outside being still.

For Jacob Matthews, the owner of the local grocery store, it all began with a strange smell. One evening, after closing up shop, he noticed a foul stench—something like rotting meat. It permeated the air inside the store, but no matter where he looked, he couldn't find the source. Frustrated, he spent hours scrubbing the floors, checking the produce, and emptying out trash bins, but the smell persisted.

By the next morning, the smell was gone, but it left him with an unshakable feeling of dread. That night, as he lay in bed, he awoke to the sound of scratching—like nails dragging across wood. At first, he thought it was just the wind, but the sound grew louder and more insistent, coming from the direction of his bedroom closet. When he finally gathered the courage to open the closet door, he found nothing—except for deep gouges in the wooden doorframe that hadn't been there before.

Around the same time, a group of children who lived near the edge of the woods began to report seeing a figure lurking among the trees. At first, they thought it was just one of the neighborhood kids playing tricks on them. But as the days went on, the figure didn't go away—it appeared at the same time every evening, standing just at the edge of the woods, watching.

One of the children, a boy named Tommy, had been the first to see it. He had been riding his bike along the dirt road that led into town when he spotted the figure. At first glance, it looked like a man, tall and thin, but as he got closer, something felt off. The figure didn't move, didn't speak—it just stood there, its face obscured by shadows.

Tommy swore he saw the figure again a few days later, standing closer to his house this time. He had told his parents, but they shrugged it off as a child's imagination. That night, Tommy woke up to find muddy footprints leading from his window to the front door.