Page 49 of Things Get Dark

Drawing closer to the Tree of Whispers, I notice the air growing colder, and an unsettling sense of being watched washes over me. The shadows play tricks on my eyes, and the moonlight casts unearthly shapes on the cobblestones. Faint, ghostly mutterings seem to emanate from the tree itself.

With trepidation, I place my hand on the ancient bark, and the sounds grow more distinct. The voices of long-lost souls fill my ears, murmuring their secrets, regrets, and desires. It’s as though the tree itself is a repository of the town’s dark history.

As the clock tower in the square strikes midnight, a piercing chill runs down my spine. I glance at the clock, illuminated at the end of the street, and when I turn back, a ghostly figure has materialised before me, like a spectral presence from another era.

I jolt back, stumbling, but managing somehow to keep my footing. Is this real? Or imagined?

It beckons me closer with a gloved hand, and with a mixture of fear and curiosity, I follow. I want answers and I won’t stop until I get them - even if it means being led around town by a spirit or a figment of my imagination.

The figure leads me deeper into the heart of Hallows Creek, where the night’s mysteries unfold. Fright Night has only just begun, and I find myself on the precipice of a journey into the unknown, where the past and the present collide, and the secrets of the town are poised to reveal themselves in the most haunting of ways.

As I follow the spectral figure through the dimly lit streets of Hallows Creek, the sensation of being watched intensifies once more, only this time it reaches a fever pitch, my skin itching like an army of fire ants are marching all over me. It’s as if unseen eyes are peering out from every shadow, tracking my every move. My heart races, and I can’t help but glance over my shoulder repeatedly, searching for the source of this sinister surveillance.

Maybe this was a bad idea,I think as we almost reach the outskirts of town, stopping near a rundown, deserted bar. It’s the last building on the street and the dense woodland from my nightmares looms in the background.

The ghostly guide leads me to a narrow alley beside the pub, where the darkness feels almost suffocating. It’s here that I encounter an unexpected presence – a mysterious masked man who emerges from the shadows. His eyes, though partially hidden behind an enigmatic full face mask, exude a strange mixture of intrigue and allure.

“Who are you, and what do you seek on this Fright Night?” he asks in a voice that carries a hint of danger and an undercurrent of secrets.

Before I can answer, the spectral figure that had been guiding me dissipates into the night, leaving me alone with the masked man.

He takes a step closer. “Hallows Creek is not a place for the faint of heart, especially strangers and outsiders,” he continues, his tone almost mocking. “On this night, the town’s deepestsecrets come to light, and the spirits of the past walk among us. What brings you here, my brave wanderer?”

The masked man seems intrigued by my presence, and the atmosphere between us becomes charged with a strange electricity.

“I came back to Hallows Creek to uncover the truth,” I reply, my voice steady despite the jittery feeling in my stomach. “I am not a stranger or an outsider. I used to live in this town and I saw something on my last Fright Night that I can’t explain. I need to know what happened. Even if that means taking part.”

The masked man nods, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. “The truth can be a dangerous thing, but it is also a powerful one. Come with me, and I will show you the mysteries of Hallows Creek.”

Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out of the town. The woods loom closer, and a sense of foreboding builds like a pulsing knot in my stomach, as if warning me that something is waiting for us in the shadows out there. Something more malignant than the shadows of town itself.

As we walk deeper into the dense forest, the cool, damp air permeates my thin clothes and settles on my skin. The masked man’s grip tightens on my hand, and I can tell he senses the danger that lurks ahead.

We come upon a clearing where a group of hooded figures gather around a large ancient stone altar. Was that there before? Is this even the same spot?

I don’t remember. I was so distracted by the girl in the coffin, my eyes didn’t take in any other details. This is somehow even more terrifying than the coffin that I remember though.

They chant in a language I don't understand, though it’s uncannily familiar, and rustling leaves and twigs snap under their feet as they move in a circle around the altar.

Questions for the masked man burn my tongue, but I can’t voice them.

He pulls me behind a tree and whispers, “You must be careful. They're performing a blood sacrifice, and if they catch you, you’ll be next.”

My heart beats wildly against my ribcage as more hooded figures emerge from the trees and place a terrified young woman on the altar. She is bound and gagged, just like the girl in the wooden box from my memory.

I can’t believe what I'm seeing.

Blood sacrifice?

He has to be kidding, right?

I turn back to ask him, but he’s gone. Melted into the shadows, leaving me alone out here with…I don’t even know what this is. A gang? A cult? A ritual? A sinister gathering of serial killers?

A sense of foreboding floods me and that fight or flight instinct kicks in. I want to rush into the clearing, help that terrified young girl, but I can’t make my feet move. Just like before, I’m rooted to the spot, useless.

They never talk about freezing, just fight or flight.

And just like before, one of the figures turns and locks eyes with me. A jolt of recognition goes through me, and I justknowthat it’s the same hooded figure as last time. I can’t explain it – I just feel it with absolute certainty.

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