Dr. Elias Roe sat alone in his dimly lit study, the air thick with silence, like a heavy fog pressing down on his every thought. His eyes drifted to the untouched tea beside him, its warmth long gone, a forgotten ritual in a life unraveling at the seams. The cup, once a symbol of comfort, now sat cold, offering no solace in a mind consumed by spiraling thoughts. It was meant to ground him, to center him, but tonight—as with every night since the accident—it did nothing. Nothing at all.
Shadows stretched across the room, pooling in the corners as if the darkness itself was watching, waiting for something. The flickering candlelight only deepened the sense of being surrounded, not by walls, but by a presence. Elias had tried to tell himself it was all in his head, that the visions—the whispering shadows—the feeling of being...watched, were just fragments of his mind, shattered and disordered. But with each passing day, the whispers grew louder, the shadows darker, and the feeling of being hunted—of being followed—more palpable.
"It’s all in your mind," he muttered under his breath, the mantra ringing hollow in his ears. It was easier to tell himself that, to ignore the creeping suspicion that something had followed him back from that night—the accident that had set this all in motion. But deep down, Elias knew: It wasn’t just in his mind.
A sharp knock on the door broke through his thoughts, the sudden sound making his heart race. He hadn’t expected anyone. In fact, he had isolated himself deliberately—pushed away friends, colleagues, and any who might notice the decay within him. Who would even dare intrude? His life had become a series of quiet days and restless nights, a retreat from the world that had once been his.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the doorknob, the sensation like a cold jolt through his veins. When he opened the door, the hallway was empty—silent as a grave. But then, something caught his eye: an envelope, lying neatly on the floor. Its yellowed surface seemed too old, too worn, as though it had been waiting for him for years. And the handwriting—familiar, yet unsettling—was not his own. It was as if he had seen it before, a ghost from a past long forgotten.
Curiosity warred with caution as Elias picked up the envelope. He stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing the edges, feeling the weight of something unspoken pressing against his chest. He turned the envelope over, breaking the seal with careful precision. The paper was rough, as though it had been handled too many times by hands that had left their marks.
He unfolded the letter, the ink blurred slightly by age but still legible. And as he read the words, an unfamiliar chill settled in his bones.
> Dear Dr. Roe,
There is a place where peace awaits, for those who seek it. Graymere is such a place, a sanctuary for minds burdened with darkness, for those who walk dangerous paths. Only there will you find relief.
Come to Graymere.
A Friend
Elias read the letter again. And again. Each repetition sent a cold wave over him. A dangerous path. A haunted mind. The words gnawed at him, and an unsettling thought took root in the pit of his stomach: How could this "friend" know the turmoil consuming him? How could anyone know the madness that was slowly strangling his thoughts, piece by piece?
He had heard of Graymere before. Dr. Ambrose Thorn—his mentor, his old friend—had mentioned it once in passing. A place "out of reach," he'd said, a village "where time stands still." Elias had dismissed it then, writing it off as one of Ambrose’s eccentricities. But now, as the name lingered in his thoughts, it pulsed with an eerie resonance, a distant memory clawing at the edges of his mind.
Graymere.
It wasn’t just a name. It felt like a summons, an invitation wrapped in the language of fate itself. A whisper, quiet but insistent, tugged at him, coaxing him toward something he couldn’t fully understand. Even through the haze of his fractured mind, Elias could feel the weight of it—the pull toward the village. Toward whatever waited there.
And though his every instinct screamed to turn away, he found himself rising from his desk, the letter still clutched in his hand. His coat hung by the door, heavy with the promise of something he couldn’t escape. He slipped it on, the fabric cold against his skin, and glanced one last time at his study—his sanctuary. But tonight, it no longer felt like home. It felt like a prison.
Elias stepped into the night.
The air was thick, damp with a metallic scent that seemed to cling to the skin, sharp and acrid, like the remnants of something that had been burned. The sky was cloaked in clouds, the stars hidden behind a veil of darkness. He walked toward his car, the unsettling sensation of being watched creeping up his spine. But when he glanced around, there was no one. Only the dark road before him.
As he drove, the fog rolled in thicker, swirling around the headlights of his car, distorting the world into shadows and whispers. The trees lining the road seemed to twist and contort, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands, scratching against the vehicle as if trying to pull him off course. His pulse quickened as his mind began to fragment further—images and faces, half-formed memories that didn’t belong to him, flashing in the periphery. He tried to shake them off, to focus on the road ahead, but the more he tried to ignore them, the stronger they became. Faces twisted in agony. Eyes—empty, hollow, staring back at him.
The fog thickened until it was suffocating, and then—finally—he saw it.
Graymere.
The village emerged from the mist like a dream—a place suspended in time, untouched by the world outside. The buildings were ancient, the streets silent. The air hung heavy with something unnameable, and the stillness felt like a physical weight pressing against him.
Elias stepped out of the car, his boots crunching on the wet ground. The village was dark—too dark. The buildings seemed to watch him, their windows like vacant eyes, hollow and unblinking.
And then, in the distance, he saw it. A figure, just beyond the fog’s edge. A shadow. A person. Their eyes gleamed, burning in the dim light. Elias froze, his breath catching in his throat, but before he could move closer, the figure disappeared into the mist, like a wisp of smoke fading into the darkness.
A whisper broke the silence—too quiet to understand, but unmistakably there, echoing in his mind.
It’s not in your head, Elias. It’s never been in your head.
His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of the whisper settled over him. He felt the pull again, stronger now, as though something deeper, darker, was waiting for him in Graymere.
And despite the fear that gripped him, despite every warning his mind screamed at him, Elias took a step forward.
Graymere had called him. And now, there was no turning back.
YOU ARE READING
The hollow Verge
HorrorDr. Elias Roe was once a renowned psychologist, celebrated for his expertise in delusions and fractured minds. But after a near-fatal car accident, Elias finds himself haunted by visions that defy logic and a growing terror that his own mind is slip...