The Town of Bogahill

Chapter Two: The Girl in the Woods

The air inside the healer’s house was thick with smoke and rot. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in tangled bundles, their scents sharp and bitter. The walls were covered with symbols drawn in rust-colored paint or blood.Caroline lay Rita on the narrow bed as Mara, the old healer, shuffled closer. Her steps were slow but deliberate, her pale eyes fixed on the trembling child.

“She saw something,” Mara murmured, touching Rita’s forehead with fingers as cold as stone. “Something that remembers.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline asked, clutching Patrick’s hand.

Mara didn’t answer. She began to hum—a low, guttural sound that made the floorboards vibrate. She dipped her thumb into a small clay bowl filled with thick black liquid and smeared it across Rita’s eyelids.Rita’s breathing steadied. Her trembling stopped.Caroline exhaled shakily, tears welling up. “Is she okay?”

“For now,” Mara said, voice distant. “But the child has been seen by the town’s shadow. It will not forget her easily.”Caroline frowned. “The town’s shadow? What does that even mean?”

Mara’s head tilted slightly. “Bogahill remembers every drop of blood that’s spilled in its soil. Those who return carry its memory. Those who resist… feed it.”Gerald cleared his throat sharply. “Enough of this nonsense, Mara. Just tell us what’s wrong with my daughter. Mara’s gaze slid toward him, cold and sharp. “You know what’s wrong, Gerald. You brought it with you.”For a moment, something flickered in Gerald’s eyes something Caroline couldn’t name. He turned away, muttering, “Come on, Caroline. Let her rest. We’ll stay at my old family house tonight.”

But Caroline didn’t move. “Wait—what does she mean, he brought it?”Mara leaned close, her breath foul. “The land calls to its blood. And his runs deep here. Be wary, wife of Bogahill’s son.”Caroline stepped back, pulling Patrick behind her.Gerald’s tone hardened. “Thank you, Mara. We’ll leave now.”

The old woman smiled faintly. “Of course. The night welcomes you.”

As they stepped outside, Caroline noticed the town again. The air felt heavier. The scarecrows on the fences seemed to have turned their heads, their stitched mouths grinning wider than before.Children’s laughter echoed faintly from somewhere, but when she looked, the streets were empty.The old Boffour house sat at the edge of the town, half-swallowed by fog and ivy. The windows were cracked, the roof sagging slightly, yet Gerald looked at it with fondness.

“Home,” he said quietly. “Just as I remember it.”

Caroline hesitated at the door. “It looks… abandoned.”

He smiled faintly. “Just needs a little life in it again.”

Inside, the air was stale and cold. Dust coated the furniture, and the faint smell of iron lingered. A large portrait hung over the fireplace a man who looked almost exactly like Gerald, except older, eyes sunken, expression grim.

“Your father?” Caroline asked.

He nodded. “He died here when I was seventeen.”

“How?”

“Heart failure,” Gerald said too quickly. “He was old.”

Patrick wandered off toward the stairs, his flashlight cutting through the dark. “Dad, there’s something weird up here!”

“Don’t go far!” Caroline called.

“I’ll check,” Gerald said, climbing after him.

Left alone, Caroline sat beside Rita’s bed. The girl was pale but breathing evenly. She brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s forehead and sighed.Then she heard it soft whispering, like someone speaking from the walls. At first it was faint, only a murmur, but soon she could make out words:

“Caroline… leave… before he feeds…”

Her blood ran cold. She looked around. The room was empty. The whispers faded, replaced by a distant sound something dragging across the floorboards upstairs.She grabbed a lamp and made her way toward the stairs.

“Gerald?”

No answer.

The light flickered as she climbed. Halfway up, she saw Patrick standing in the hallway, frozen.

“Patrick?”

He turned slowly, his face pale. “Mom… there’s someone in Dad’s old room.”

Caroline’s pulse quickened. “Where’s your father?”

Patrick pointed. “Inside.”

The door creaked open before she reached it. Gerald stepped out, his face unreadable.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“Just checking on the attic,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Patrick shook his head. “But I saw someone, Dad. In the corner ”

Gerald cut him off sharply. “Patrick, that’s enough. Go downstairs.” The boy hesitated, then obeyed.

Caroline stayed where she was. “Gerald… what’s going on? What did Mara mean when she said the land remembers your blood?” He forced a laugh. “Caroline, please. You’re letting this place get to you. It’s just an old woman’s superstition.”But his hands were trembling. She looked past him into the room. There, beside the window, was a large trunk. Its lid was open just enough for her to see what was inside old photographs, bones, and something wrapped in burlap, stained dark.

“Gerald…” He stepped in front of her. “Don’t. It’s nothing.”

Her stomach twisted. The air felt suffocating.

“Why didn’t you tell me your family practiced rituals?” she whispered.He stared at her for a long moment. “Because they’re gone. It’s over.” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. Downstairs, Rita began to scream.Caroline ran. Her daughter was sitting upright in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“Rita!” Caroline rushed to her side. “What is it?”

Rita’s lips trembled. “The girl in the woods… she’s here.” Caroline followed her gaze. On the ceiling, faint shapes were moving hands pressed from the inside, as if something beneath the plaster was trying to crawl through. The whispers rose again, louder, desperate.

“Caroline… run…”

Then the ceiling cracked, dust falling around them. Gerald appeared in the doorway, his face pale. “Get the children to bed,” he said firmly. “They’re exhausted. The stress is making them see things.” Caroline stared at him, horrified. “You’re not seeing this?” He didn’t answer.When she turned back, the marks on the ceiling were gone.Rita lay back down, trembling. Caroline stayed awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep, watching the shadows twist along the walls. Outside, through the cracked window, she could see the scarecrows lining the street motionless, but their heads now turned toward the house.And in the distance, under the red glow of the rising moon, a small figure stood at the edge of the woods the girl in the white robe, waiting.

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