The hollow Verge

The Heart of the Fog

Elias stood still, his heart hammering against his chest as the shadows of the room seemed to stretch toward him. The air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the echo of the whispers that had returned, louder this time. They called to him, their voices low and distorted, like a distant melody he couldn’t escape. Graymere remembers you. The words were seared into his mind, repeating over and over again.

The room seemed to close in around him. He couldn’t breathe. Every inch of him screamed to run, to escape, but his legs wouldn’t move. The figure—the man from the street—had vanished without a trace, leaving Elias standing at the center of an unearthly stillness. He could feel the pull, the weight of something far older than the village, something ancient and malevolent, crawling into his mind.

His fingers twitched, desperate to find something to anchor him in this growing chaos. His gaze fell to the floor, to the letter he had tucked in his coat pocket earlier, the one that had first drawn him to Graymere. The invitation. The call. He pulled it out now, trembling as he unfolded the paper, the faint smell of decay clinging to it.

The words seemed to dance before his eyes, blurring into something dark and unreadable.

"Come to Graymere. The darkness calls."

Elias’s breath quickened. The same pull, the same sickening sense of familiarity. He had no idea what this place was—what it had done to him—but he could feel it sinking into him, like a parasite feeding off his fear.

Without thinking, he shoved the letter back into his coat and stumbled toward the door. His hand, trembling, brushed against the cold brass of the doorknob, and for a moment, the world outside seemed too distant, too foreign. But the whispers—the whispers were everywhere now, alive in his mind. He couldn’t stay inside. He couldn’t breathe in this house any longer.

He stepped outside into the night, the fog thicker than ever before, swallowing the landscape. The cold air bit at his skin, but it did nothing to numb the sensation that something was watching him from the darkness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so alone, so utterly exposed.

The village was still, its streets empty, the houses looming like silent sentinels, watching. Elias’s eyes darted to the shadows between the buildings. The fog clung to every surface, twisting the world into something strange, something that didn’t make sense. And yet, there was something undeniably real about it. Something about Graymere seemed to transcend the physical world and seep into his mind, into his very soul.

He forced himself to move, walking with no destination in mind, each step feeling heavier than the last. The whispers were louder now, swirling around him, echoing through his thoughts. We’re all waiting. The words slithered into his mind, a chorus of voices that never seemed to stop. Elias could hear them, feel them, like they were coming from inside his head.

Then, he saw it.

At the end of the street, where the fog seemed to part like a curtain, a figure stood. This time, Elias could make out more than just the silhouette. The man—the same man who had been in the room—stood in front of a large, crumbling building, one he hadn’t noticed before. It was an old church, its stone walls overgrown with vines, its windows dark and shattered, like the eyes of something dead.

The man didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stared at Elias with those pale, unblinking eyes.

Elias felt his breath catch in his throat, but before he could take another step, a voice—a voice not his own—spoke inside his mind.

Come closer.

The words burned through him, hotter than any fire, and with them, the pressure to obey grew unbearable. His legs moved of their own accord, carrying him toward the figure, toward the church. With each step, the fog seemed to close in around him, thickening until he could barely see the road beneath his feet.

The man never moved, his gaze steady, waiting. As Elias drew closer, the whispers grew louder, drowning out everything else. The world around him shifted. The streetlights flickered and died, leaving nothing but the pale glow of the moon and the sickly green haze of the fog.

When he reached the man, his voice—low and cold—filled the air.

“You’ve come. We’ve been waiting for you, Elias.”

The figure stepped aside, revealing the entrance to the church. A dark, yawning hole in the stone, inviting him in. The whispers seemed to swell from within, beckoning, pulling him inside.

Elias’s breath caught in his throat. Every part of him screamed to run—to turn away from whatever darkness lay beyond that door. But his body moved against his will. He couldn’t stop himself, not now. Not when the whispers were all he could hear.

He stepped inside.

The air inside the church was thick with dust, the smell of decay overwhelming. His footsteps echoed in the silence as he moved deeper, the shadows stretching unnaturally long as if the very building itself was alive.

The man followed him, silent, watching.

As Elias ventured deeper into the church, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing symbols carved into the walls. Old, ancient symbols. Symbols that seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if the church was more than just a place of worship—it was a temple, a shrine to something older, more sinister.

And then he saw it.

At the altar, bathed in the pale light from above, stood a figure. Not a man, not a woman—something else entirely. Its body was twisted, its face obscured by shadows, but Elias could feel its presence. It was the source of the whispers. The force that had called to him, that had lured him to Graymere.

The figure raised its head, its eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

"You’ve come at last," it said, its voice not human, but something older, deeper, like the earth itself speaking through the cracks of the world.

Elias’s heart pounded in his chest, but it was too late to turn back. Graymere had him now.