Chapter Two – The Man in the Fog
558 Words
Amelia didn’t sleep much that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the shadowed figure beneath the streetlight — tall, still, watching.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under, but even in sleep her mind refused to rest. She dreamed of footsteps echoing on wet cobblestones and whispers curling through fog.
When she woke, gray light filtered through the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was. Then the musty scent of the inn brought it back. Elderidge Hollow. The bus. The silence. The man.
She sat up fast and went straight to the window.
The square was empty. The streetlight stood crooked in the mist, its bulb still flickering — but the man was gone. No footprints. No movement. Nothing.
She exhaled slowly. Maybe it had been a trick of the fog. Maybe someone heading home late. Still, a chill clung to her skin.
Downstairs, the inn’s breakfast room was nearly empty. Only two tables were occupied: an elderly couple whispering over tea, and a man sitting alone by the window, a newspaper folded neatly beside his plate.
Amelia chose a seat far from both.
The owner appeared with a tray of toast and eggs. “Sleep well, dear?”
“Sort of,” Amelia said. “This place is… quieter than I expected.”
The woman chuckled softly. “That’s why people come here. To rest. To forget.”
“Forget?” Amelia repeated.
“Hmm?” The woman blinked, as if she didn’t remember speaking. “Oh, just a saying we have around here. Elderidge Hollow takes good care of those who stay.”
Before Amelia could ask more, a voice came from behind her.
“First time in town?”
She turned. The man with the newspaper had spoken. Early thirties. Dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. Sharp eyes that missed nothing. His old leather jacket looked well-worn, but cared for.
“Yes,” Amelia said cautiously. “Just got in last night.”
He nodded, a faint, almost tired smile crossing his face. “Then you must be new enough not to know that nobody walks this town after sundown.”
Amelia blinked. “Is that supposed to be a warning?”
“Call it friendly advice.” He folded his paper, dropped a few bills on the table, and stood. “Elderidge looks peaceful. But this town remembers things it shouldn’t.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gave her a small, apologetic smile. “You’ll see.”
He walked out the door, letting a swirl of fog curl in behind him.
Curiosity gnawed at Amelia. Something about his tone unsettled her — not threatening, but certain. Like someone who’d already seen the consequences of ignoring the rules.
Later that morning, as she stepped outside, she noticed something else.
A flyer was posted on the bulletin board near the square. The paper was old, edges curled, the ink faded but readable:
> MISSING PERSON: ELEANOR HALE.
Last seen near the Hollow’s Rest Inn.
If you have any information, contact the Sheriff’s Office.
The date at the bottom made her blood run cold.
Exactly one year ago.
And the woman in the photograph?
She had the same pale eyes.
The same dark hair.
The same faint smile Amelia saw every morning in her own reflection.
- Writer
