Chapter 1

 

Casper Smith gripped the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. Even turning off the car's air conditioning couldn't ward off the shiver that snaked down his spine. The dark road stretched endlessly, disappearing into the night. He’d taken this route countless times, usually with someone else driving, but tonight, he was alone on a road that felt different. The air felt thick, heavy with something… else. Not just the rustling trees, but a coldness that made the hairs on his nape stand up, a feeling he really wasn't used to.

 

He glanced at the fuel gauge. Almost empty. Damn it. He'd forgotten to refill because he'd been too busy thinking about the positive result of the business meeting; he couldn’t wait to tell his Dad the good news. It was part of trying to live a normal life, to tamp down the familiar ache in his chest. Always her. Eight years gone, and she was still there. Her memory is like a wound that wouldn't heal.

 

Headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. For a second, he felt relief, quickly replaced by a prickle of unease. Something about the way the lights swayed felt wrong. The lights swayed violently, as if the car behind him was having an accident, getting closer at great speed as if about to hit his car; his heart hammered in his chest, thinking he was in trouble, but before it reached him, the light died down and just…disappeared out of nowhere. He heard a sickening crunch of metal on metal, followed by silence. His brain couldn’t grasp what had happened. His eyes searched for the car, but… it was totally gone. Fear began to creep into his veins.

 

"Son of a bitch!" he hissed out of panic. He sped up to get out of that place as soon as possible but barely reached a few meters away when his car’s brakes failed, and the steering wheel shook hard in his hands. He struggled to stop the car on the side of the road, the engine sputtering and then stopping. Now, the only sound was crickets, which felt more eerie than calming. The feeling that someone was watching him grew stronger.

 

He hit the dashboard, sighing in frustration. Stranded. Miles from anywhere, in the middle of the night. The city where he lives is still too distant. He felt utterly vulnerable, alone. And that made her memories come back more easily.

 

He got out of the car and kicked its tire out of annoyance; the cold metal bumped against his shoe. He leaned on the bumper afterward, trying to shake off his irritation. While standing there against the dark, he noticed the air smelled like a mixture of moist soil, rotting leaves, and a sweet, nauseating scent. These unpleasant odors made his stomach sick. He pulled his jacket tighter, trying to ignore the shivers. The scent was familiar but somehow wrong, like perfume trying to mask something...decayed.

 

A distant light caught his eye. Squinting, he read a sign barely visible, swaying in the wind: "Blackwood Inn." A tiny spark of hope against the oppressive darkness, but was it a haven or a trap leading to something far more terrifying?

 

He decided to cross the road, needing a place to stay for the night. As he walked, a cold wind seeped into his bones, like icy fingers gripping his neck. He paused, feeling the ground tilting beneath his feet. The air was suffocating, making it hard to breathe. An insidious whisper touched his ear, an eerie voice that sounded familiar. He battled to remain standing, but an unseen presence was strong, making him stumble. He fell hard; the inn was still far away, quiet, and scary.

 

He woke up with a pounding headache. The wind was even colder; the rotting smell, stronger. Pushing himself up, his body felt heavy, pulled down by intensified gravity. Continuing to walk, his limbs were unresponsive, his movements slow as molasses. Nausea consumed him, and he tasted blood in his mouth. What the hell had happened? The Inn...he had to get there.

 

The crunch of gravel was loud beneath his feet, each step a solitary echo in the quiet. He carried a memory of an unforgivable past: his anger at Luna's betrayal, her accident, and his deepest regret. His heart had never belonged to her, despite his forced attempts at love; a marriage dictated by his father. The ultimate wound was when she left him at the altar with his best friend, a moment that drew a curse from his lips. Now, nearing the inn, every step feels like walking over her memory.

 

He reached the building, which was an aging inn with peeling paint and covered windows, as if guarding secrets best left undisturbed. A single, dim bulb cast a sickly yellow glow, barely piercing the darkness and pulling him in like a moth to a flickering flame. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the unnerving chirping of crickets, a chorus of unease.

 

The front door creaked open as he got closer, showing a dark lobby full of shadows. It smelled like dust and old cigarettes, a smell that made his stomach flip. The air was still, like it hadn't moved in years.

 

A woman stood behind the desk. Her face was thin, with dark circles under her eyes. She stared at him like she knew some secrets about him. Her eyes were really sad, and the sadness felt familiar, like he'd seen it before. It was hard to see her face in the dim light, but he felt like he knew her from somewhere.

 

"Rooms?" His voice felt forced.

 

"Yeah," she said in a rough voice, like dry leaves scattered by the harsh wind. "One left."

 

She didn't smile or say anything else. She just pushed a key across the counter. It clicked against the wood, a loud sound in the quiet. "Room Three," she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.

 

Casper grabbed the key; the metal felt cold in his hand. The number '3' seemed carved extra deep. Whispers swirled around him, growing louder. He looked around; the woman was gone. He was alone, yet the feeling of being watched persisted.

 

He didn't know what awaited him in Room 3, but he headed that way anyway, feeling like someone was following him down the hall.

 

In the room, he sat on the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable, even though the room felt creepy. Before long, exhaustion claimed him, dragging him down into a deep slumber, the unsettling events of the night replaying in his mind like a ghastly slideshow of fear and uncertainty. A loud clap of thunder woke him up, like the whole inn was shaking. It was two in the morning. He sat up, his heart pounding, and looked over at the window.

 

Instead of rain, he saw something move in the dark: a shadow walking down the street, turning into the shape of a woman. A chill ran down his back, colder than the night air. Then, as a flash of lightning struck, it started pouring rain.

 

The woman remained motionless on the street, facing the inn and staring up at his window. Even through the blurry glass, he could see her deep sadness; it felt as though her sorrow was captivating the cold night.

 

She was pretty, even with her dark hair stuck to her face from the rain. It was shoulder-length and framed her pale face. She was wearing a plain white shirt and old jeans, and her bare feet were shiny on the wet road. Something about the way she stood, the way she held her head, reminded him of something he'd forgotten. Or was he just imagining things? There were bloodstains on her or were they? He hadn't noticed them before, but now they seemed impossible to ignore, marring the white shirt.

 

She looked worried, like she was lost and couldn't find something. Was she even real, or was he just seeing things because he was tired? A trick of the light? Whatever it was, Casper felt like he had to go talk to her maybe out of pity, or he was curious because she reminded him of someone from his past. She reminded him a little of Luna, the same soft features, the same kind of beauty that hid something darker.

 

He put on his shoes and headed for the door. When he got to the lobby, he saw an old woman on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor slowly, like she was worn out.

 

"Oh, sir," she said, her voice raspy, "it's not safe to go out in this weather. You'll get sick."

 

Casper looked toward the door, but the woman in the rain was gone. "Ma'am, did you see a woman outside?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

 

The old woman stopped scrubbing and stood up straight. Her eyes suddenly looked sharp and like she knew something. "It's best to stay away from her, son," she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. "She only brings trouble. Some people say she wanders around here, looking for something she can't find."

 

Casper laughed a little, trying to ignore her words as just old stories. "A ghost?"

 

"Maybe," the old woman said, still looking right at him. "Or maybe something worse. Either way, she likes men like you. It's best to leave her alone." She started scrubbing again, muttering indistinctly to herself.

 

A shiver ran down Casper's spine. He thanked the old woman and hurried back to his room, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. The stairs creaked ominously under his weight, and a strange smell wafted from the shadows a cloying sweetness mixed with the unmistakable scent of rotting meat.

 

He reached his door and pushed it open, a gasp escaping his lips. He nearly screamed.

 

Inside, standing by the window, was the receptionist. Morgana a name on her nameplate. She was peering out through a gap in the curtains, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide with a fear that mirrored his own. She didn't seem to notice him at first, her entire focus fixed on something outside.

 

Casper found his voice, his words a rough whisper. "What are you doing here?"

 

Morgana jolted, scared, and turned around quickly. Her eyes got big with worry. "You... you saw her too, right?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

 

"Saw who?" Casper asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

Morgana gestured towards the window. "The woman in the rain. She's still out there."

 

Casper approached the window cautiously and peeked through the gap in the curtains. The street was empty, glistening wetly under the streetlights. There was no sign of the woman. "There's no one there," he said, turning back to Morgana. "You're imagining things."

 

"No, I'm not!" Morgana insisted, her voice rising in panic. "She's there, I saw her. She's always watching." She pressed herself against the wall, as if trying to escape something unseen. "You have to get out of here," she warned him, her eyes pleading. "This place... it's not safe."

 

"What are you talking about?" Casper asked, his confusion warring with a growing sense of dread.

 

"It's not important," Morgana said, glancing around the room. "Just forget it. I'll leave now."

 

Casper moved back a step. "You're scaring me," he said. "Who is that woman?" He looked closely at Morgana. More than just seeing someone tired and scared, he realized she was really asking for help. Then, her eyes seemed to darken, the pupils expanding until only a sliver of iris remained. A strange, blank expression crept on her face. "What's happening?" he asked, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach.

 

"It's a ghost!" Morgana said, but her voice was so quiet you could hardly hear it. "I swear, she's real! You have to believe me!"

 

Without another word she just turned and ran, disappearing out the door into the darkness.

 

Casper stood there, alone, the receptionist's words echoing in his mind. Ghost? Was she crazy? He wanted to ignore it, to say it was just because he was stressed and tired. But the look in Morgana's eyes, the old woman's warning, the bone-chilling cold that had settled over the room... it all felt too real to ignore.

 

He crossed to the window and peered out again, his gaze sweeping across the empty street. Nothing. Just the rain, the shadows, and the faint, unsettling feeling that there is someone there, staring at him.

 

He slammed the curtains shut, cutting off the view. The room felt smaller now, the air thicker, the silence more oppressive. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He needed to get out of here. But first, he needed to understand what was going on.

 

He looked around the room, his eyes stopping on the bed. He was so tired that he just wanted to fall asleep and forget everything. Maybe if he slept for a few hours, he could think better in the morning.

 

He lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up. But he couldn't sleep. His mind was busy, thinking about everything that had happened that night and trying to figure it all out: the woman in the rain, the strange old woman, the scared receptionist. What did it all mean?

 

Just as he was starting to fall asleep, he heard a quiet knocking sound outside his door. His eyes flew open, his heart beating fast. He held his breath and listened carefully.

 

The knocking came again, louder this time, and then he heard a soft whisper, like a female voice: "Adam..."

 

Casper froze, every muscle tight. That name. It made his breath catch in his throat. A cold dread coiled in his gut, laced with a familiar, bitter anger. The Adam he knew was dead long ago, like Luna.

 

He lay there, paralyzed, listening as the knocking continued, growing more insistent and more hysterical. And with each knock, with each whispered plea, the darkness in the room seemed to deepen, pressing down on him and suffocating him.

 

Finally, sleep claimed him, but it was a sleep filled with nightmares. He was running through a street, the rain lashing at his face, the dirt sucking at his feet. He could hear her voice calling someone else name, mistaken to be him, getting closer with each step.

 

He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the wet road. As he looked up, he saw her standing over him, her face looked pale and pained, her eyes burning with an unholy light.

 

"Adam," she whispered, her voice dripping with a mixture of longing and bitterness. "I've been waiting for you."

 

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He was trapped, helpless, at her mercy.

 

Then, everything went black.