The sky was still a heavy gray, and no birds sang. The village existed in a strange pause, like someone had hit a button and the whole place forgot how to restart. Even the fog didn't move.
Eva stepped outside the inn wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She hadn't slept. The lavender bundle from her pillow had turned black overnight.
She didn't ask why.
At the bakery—if it could be called that—an old man swept the porch but didn't look up. A child rode a bicycle in slow, perfect circles across cracked stone. No one spoke. No one greeted her.
But they all watched.
Every window. Every door slightly ajar. Eyes followed her, then vanished when she turned.
She made her way to the school.
It was worse than the reports.
—
The building stood behind rusted gates with vines growing between the bars. It had once been bright red brick. Now it was a faded, peeling ruin with shattered tiles and rain stains like scars across its face.
She stepped inside.
The hallway smelled like chalk and mildew—and something else.
Something old. Like a memory left too long in the dark.
The classrooms were mostly empty. Desks overturned. Paper damp and curling on the floor. A child's drawing—four figures, one upside-down—pinned to a blackboard with a nail.
The sound of footsteps echoed.
Eva turned.
No one there.
Then, faintly, from a speaker overhead, a static burst—and a voice. A child's voice. Singing something off-key. She couldn't make out the words.
The bell rang.
It was 3:33 p.m.
And every classroom clock was frozen at 3:33.
She found the teacher's office in the back hall. Inside was a desk, covered in dust, and a small cassette player. A label scratched on the side in shaky handwriting:
"Night #41 – Subject Reporting (Do Not Play)"
She pressed play.
"If anyone finds this…I don't know if I'm alive anymore. They come every night. At 3:33. You think they're dreams—until they leave something behind. Until you wake up knowing someone was in your room. The shadows don't stay where they belong."
[Pause. Breathing.]
"I tried to leave the town. My car drove in a circle. I ended up at the same gas pump five times. It's like the roads are stitched together wrong…"
Eva pressed stop.
Suddenly, a tap.
She turned to the window.
A child stood outside.
Eyes white.
Smiling.
And then gone.
Back at the inn, Miss Hallow served her tea she hadn't asked for. She said nothing about the child. Said nothing about the school. Just placed the cup down and murmured, "Keep the lights on tonight. All of them."
Eva looked at her. "What happens if I don't?"
Miss Hallow didn't answer.
She just looked at the walls.
At the old clock ticking slowly above the hearth.
It was 3:00 a.m.
And outside, something in the fog was moving.