The scratching against the wood grew louder, deliberate, like a creature testing the boundaries of its prey. I moved to the window, gripping the edge of the sill as I peered out. Darkness stared back at me, deeper than the night should allow.
“I don’t see anything,” I whispered, my breath fogging the glass.
“Because it doesn’t want you to,” she replied, her voice eerily calm. She stood, unflinching, her sharp eyes scanning the room.
The scratching stopped abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.
“Stay away from the window,” she commanded.
Before I could question her, a low, guttural growl reverberated through the walls. It wasn’t coming from outside—it was inside the inn.
“What the hell is that?” I hissed, backing away from the window.
She didn’t answer, instead pulling a small vial from her pocket. She uncorked it, spilling its contents—a silvery liquid—onto the floor in a tight circle around us.
“Don’t leave the circle,” she ordered. “No matter what you see or hear.”
The shadows in the room twisted unnaturally, stretching toward us like claws. The temperature plummeted, frost creeping up the walls.
Then, it appeared.
The figure coalesced from the darkness, tall and impossibly thin, its limbs unnaturally long. Its face was a void, hollow and featureless, yet it radiated a malevolent presence that made my knees buckle.
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My heart pounded as I clutched my chest. “Is this because of the journal?”
“Partly,” she admitted, her voice strained. “But mostly, it’s because you’re meddling in things far beyond your understanding.”
The figure tilted its head, as if observing us. Then, in a voice that was both a whisper and a scream, it spoke:
“Return what you’ve taken.”
“The journal,” I breathed, realization dawning.
“It’s not here!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “It’s gone!”
The figure stepped forward, its shadowy limbs dripping with inky blackness that hissed as it hit the floor.
“We don’t have it!” she snapped, her cold demeanor cracking slightly under the weight of the entity’s presence. “But you won’t find it here either. Now leave.”
The figure paused, as if considering her words. Then, it lunged at the circle, hitting an invisible barrier that sent it recoiling with a piercing screech.
“Is that... going to hold?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“For now,” she said, though her grip on the vial tightened.
The figure dissolved back into the shadows, and the oppressive atmosphere lightened, though not entirely.
“That thing... What was it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Something that doesn’t care about your survival,” she replied curtly. “It wants the journal because it knows what it can do. And if it finds out you’ve copied parts of it—”
“It already knows,” I interrupted, holding up my notes. “But I don’t understand half of what’s in here. It’s like it’s written in a language I can’t even read.”
She grabbed the notebook from me, flipping through the pages. Her cold eyes softened momentarily, but only for a second. “This... these are fragments of something ancient. These rituals—if they’re incomplete or performed wrong, they’ll do more harm than good.”
“Can you read them?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.
She hesitated. “Some of it. But there’s a reason this knowledge was buried. It’s not meant to be used lightly.”
---
The inn was eerily silent after the entity’s retreat, but the tension between us remained palpable. I slumped onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair.
“What’s your deal?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “You clearly know more than you’re letting on. Why are you even here?”
She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “Because I’ve spent years looking for answers. And now, you’ve stumbled onto something that could change everything.”
“Answers to what?” I pressed. “Why this curse exists? How to stop it?”
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice low. “But not just that. I need to understand why it spreads—why it consumes everything it touches.”
Her tone darkened, her gaze distant. “It’s not just a curse. It’s a cycle. One that’s been repeating for generations.”
I stared at her, unease curling in my stomach. “You’ve been researching this for years, but you’ve never found a way to stop it?”
“I’ve found pieces,” she said, her voice clipped. “But the full picture has always eluded me. Until now.”
She held up my notes, her expression grave. “This journal—whether it’s the original or a copy—contains information I’ve never seen before. If we can decode it, we might have a chance.”
“Then why did you bring me to that hut?” I asked, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You knew I didn’t have the journal with me!”
“Because Hyacinth is the key,” she said firmly. “Her past, her transformation—it’s all connected. That hut wasn’t just her home. It’s where the curse began.”
Her words hung in the air like a death knell.
“And now the journal’s gone,” I said bitterly. “Great. So what do we do now?”
“We find it,” she said simply. “Whoever took it, whatever took it, won’t keep it hidden for long. That journal is power. And power always draws attention.”
She glanced at my notes again, her expression darkening as she traced one of the copied symbols with her finger. “This symbol,” she murmured. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?” I asked, leaning forward.
“In ruins. In places where the curse first took root,” she said. “It’s always there, carved into the walls like a signature.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
Her eyes flicked back to the notes, landing on the fragmented ritual. “This is dangerous,” she said, her voice sharp. “Whoever wrote this journal wasn’t just recording events. They were experimenting. Pushing boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.”
“So it’s a warning?”
“Or a trap,” she said, snapping the notebook shut.
The room fell silent again, the weight of our discoveries pressing down on us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the journal’s disappearance was no coincidence. Someone—or something—wanted it gone.
And now, we were left with only fragments of the truth, surrounded by questions that seemed to multiply with every answer we found.
But one thing was certain: the closer we got to the truth, the more dangerous our journey would become.
