3:33

Chapter 7: The Long Drive North

They left at dawn. Mateo drove while Eloise stared out the window at the highway rushing past. Ivy sat in the back with her grandmother, coloring in a workbook, her face blank and peaceful.

Eloise's mother, Joan, had insisted on coming. "I'm not letting my granddaughter out of my sight," she'd said, jaw set in that way that meant arguing was pointless. She was sixty-three, gray-haired, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. "And if this town's as dangerous as you say, you'll need an extra set of hands."

The GPS kept losing signal as they drove north. First it'd show the route clearly, then the screen would flicker and reset, showing them in the middle of nowhere with no roads around.

Mateo had to navigate the old-fashioned way—following road signs and a printed MapQuest sheet he'd made at the hotel.

The landscape changed gradually. Suburbs gave way to small towns, then farmland, then dense forests that pressed close to the road.

These trees were old-growth—massive oaks and pines that blocked out the sun, turning midday into premature twilight.

"It's so dark here," Joan said from the back seat. "Even the light feels wrong."

She was right. The light filtering through the trees had this gray, underwater quality. Like they were driving through someone's memory of a forest rather than the real thing.

They passed a green road sign: ASHWICK HOLLOW - 23 MILES.

"Almost there," Mateo said, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

"Dad?" Ivy's voice made him jump. She'd been silent for the last hour. "Are we going to the place where Aurora is?"

Mateo met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "What makes you say that, sweetheart?"

"Because she told me. Last night. She came to my room and told me you were taking me to see her."

The car swerved slightly. Mateo corrected it, heart hammering. "Ivy, honey, Aurora can't—"

"She said the walls are thin there. In the Hollow. She said she can almost touch me through them. She said she misses me." Ivy returned to her coloring, like she'd just commented on the weather. "She looks different now, though. Her eyes are wrong."

Eloise turned in her seat. "Ivy, what do you mean her eyes are wrong?"

"They're empty. Like someone cut out the insides and only left the shape." Ivy carefully colored a princess's dress purple. "She says it doesn't hurt, though. The thing that took her eyes said she didn't need them anymore. Not where she is."

Joan's face went white. "Sweet Jesus."

"Mrs. Cross," Mateo said carefully, "would you mind—"

"Distracting her? Yes." Joan gently took the coloring book from Ivy. "Sweetheart, why don't you tell Grandma about what you want for your birthday? It's coming up in a few weeks, isn't it?"

Ivy nodded and started talking about birthday cakes and presents, her voice bright and normal again. Like she hadn't just described her dead sister's mutilated ghost.

Mateo and Eloise exchanged glances. Neither spoke.

The next sign read: ASHWICK HOLLOW - 12 MILES.

"Tell me we're doing the right thing," Eloise whispered. "Tell me we're not driving our daughter straight into hell."

"I don't know if we're doing the right thing. But it's the only thing." He glanced at the dashboard clock. 11:47 AM. "Besides, it's daytime. Whatever's happening, it's worse at night. We'll have time to figure things out, talk to people, get answers. Then we leave before dark."

"And if they won't let us leave?"

He had no answer for that.

The forest grew denser. The road narrowed. Then suddenly, they crested a hill and there it was: Ashwick Hollow.

The town sat in a valley, surrounded on all sides by forest. From above, it looked almost picturesque—a cluster of old Victorian houses, a church spire rising from the center, main street with its row of brick buildings. But something was off. It took Mateo a moment to realize what.

No cars moving. No people visible. And every single building had all its curtains drawn, even though it was the middle of the day.

"It looks abandoned," Eloise said.

"It's not. Look." Joan pointed. "Smoke from chimneys. Lights in some windows. They're there. They're just... hiding."

The road descended into the valley. As they drove into town, Mateo noticed more details. Every telephone pole had the same flyer stapled to it: TOWN MEETING - OCTOBER 31ST - MANDATORY ATTENDANCE.

Every door they passed had a wreath on it—not cheerful autumn wreaths with pumpkins and colorful leaves, but wreaths made of dead branches twisted into spirals.

Spirals with seven knots.

"I don't like this," Joan said. "I don't like this at all. Maybe we should turn around."

But turning around wasn't an option anymore. Behind them, fog had rolled down from the hills, thick and gray, swallowing the road they'd just traveled. In thirty seconds, the entire valley was wrapped in mist.

"What the hell?" Mateo stopped the car in the middle of Main Street. The fog was so dense he could barely see ten feet ahead.

A figure materialized from the mist. A woman, maybe fifty, wearing a long coat and carrying a canvas shopping bag.

She walked past their car without looking at them, eyes fixed straight ahead, lips moving in silent conversation with no one.

Then another figure. An old man with a cane. Then two teenagers holding hands. Then a mother pushing a stroller. All walking with that same blank, purposeful stride, all heading in the same direction.

Toward the church.

"Follow them," Eloise said.

"What?"

"Follow them. They know where they're going. And we need answers." She turned to Joan. "Lock the doors. Keep Ivy safe. We'll be right back."

Before Mateo could argue, Eloise was out of the car, disappearing into the fog. He cursed, killed the engine, and followed.

The church was massive up close—Gothic Revival architecture from the late 1800s, with pointed arches, stone gargoyles, and stained glass windows showing scenes Mateo didn't recognize. Not biblical stories. Something older. Something that made his skin crawl.

The wooden doors were open. The townspeople filed inside, silent and orderly, like sleepwalkers.

Mateo caught Eloise's arm. "This is a bad idea."

"Everything about this is a bad idea. But we're here now." She pulled away and walked into the church.

Inside, it was cold. Not the natural cold of autumn, but the bone-deep cold of a place that'd never known warmth. Candles burned in iron sconces along the walls, their flames guttering and smoking.

The pews were filled with people—men, women, children—all sitting perfectly still, all facing forward.

At the front stood a man in black robes. Not a priest's collar, but something older. Medieval. He was tall, gaunt, with silver hair and eyes that reflected the candlelight .

"Welcome," he said, his voice echoing through the space. He was looking directly at Mateo and Eloise. "We've been expecting you."