Episode 4
ASHVILLE
"We have arrived at Ashville."
My eyes snapped open. Huh?
A dull ache throbbed in my head as I lifted my hand to rub my temple. Had I fallen asleep? The dream still clung to me like cobwebs—its shadows, its fear. My heart thundered so loudly in my chest I was certain the driver could hear it.
I glanced around. Empty. The bus was deserted. The young man who had sat nearby must have slipped away while I was asleep. A nervous thought crept in: Final Destination. God forbid fate was chasing me down, replaying death until it finally caught me.
I exhaled, forcing a weak laugh. "Don't be ridiculous," I whispered to myself, though the smile that tugged at my lips felt brittle.
"We have arrived at Ashville," the driver repeated.
"Yes—sorry!" I blurted, fumbling to gather my things.
At the door, I paused and turned to him with a small bow. "Thank you for the safe trip."
As I lifted my head, I froze. For the briefest second, I swore I saw blood trickling down his forehead. But when I blinked, it was gone. Just a trick of the eyes.
I hurried off the bus, but still lingered in front of it, bowing once more in gratitude. The bus groaned as it rolled forward, vanishing into the misty horizon.
Something about the driver unsettled me. He hadn't spoken another word, hadn't even nodded back. Not like earlier, when his voice carried the warmth of casual cheer. Perhaps the long night wore him down—anyone would be weary after driving for so many hours.
I turned toward the bus stop. Dawn was bleeding into the sky, faint gold spilling over the woods. Good. If I had arrived at night, with only this flickering bulb swinging over the rusted shed, I might have fainted from fright. The place looked like it belonged in a horror film.
"Geez," I muttered, hugging myself as a shiver ran through me. "Great start, Aria."
From the crest of the hill, Ashville sprawled below—a cluster of stone houses huddled together at the forest's edge. It looked close, perhaps ten minutes by foot. My relief faltered when I pulled out my phone.
Black. Completely dead.
"What? No, no, no." I tapped it against my palm. Nothing. I remembered clearly—it had been at 80% before I dozed off.
I sighed, muttering under my breath, "Lucky me." Kathleen would be worrying if I couldn't send word. She'd been so eager, promising she'd return from overseas just to meet my grandmother. Sweet Kathleen. I never thought I needed a friend, but life had given me one anyway—like a sister born of another family. The thought almost made me smile. Almost.
The forest path toward Ashville was narrow, more suited for bicycles than cars. Mud clung to uneven stones, flanked by waist-high grass that swayed with every gust. The air was alive with the drone of crickets and the croak of hidden frogs.
What I thought would be ten minutes dragged into twenty. By the time I stopped to catch my breath and drink from my bottle, frustration bubbled up. "Ten minutes, my ass," I muttered to the trees. "This place lies."
When at last I reached the village, I froze.
The road was cobbled with ancient, uneven stones—like something Roman legions might have marched across. The houses were squat and sturdy, each built of jagged rocks fitted together like crooked puzzle pieces. Their walls whispered of centuries, of storms weathered and wars survived. Not one house rose above a single story.
The sun had begun to pierce the horizon, yet the village was silent. Too silent. By now, countryside folk should be stirring—smoke rising from chimneys, doors creaking open, a rooster crowing. But here, nothing stirred.
I walked slowly, fingertips grazing the rough stones of a wall. The wind was sharp, threading its fingers through my hair, tossing strands across my face.
Crack.
I froze. My shoe had crushed something.
I bent down and lifted it. A shard of a mirror.
"Perfect," I whispered, rubbing at my temple. Another omen. First the crows on the road. Then the nightmare. Now this.
"Hello?" My voice echoed weakly as I stepped deeper into the village. "Is anybody here?"
Only the wind replied, carrying dust and dried leaves into my eyes. I blinked furiously, forcing them clear. Every window was shuttered tight. Every door bolted.
The silence pressed closer. Abandoned—that's what it felt like.
I didn't stop walking until I spotted it. A stone building taller than the rest, crowned with a cross. A church.
Relief surged. Where there was a church, there were people.
I quickened my pace, nearly running when I saw it—a flicker of light within. A torch burning.
I was almost at the chapel door when I felt it: the icy press of steel against my throat.
A hand clamped around my waist, holding me still. A voice, sharp and cutting, hissed in my ear.
"Who are you? How did you get here?"
Terror shot through me. My tongue knotted. My eyes burned with sudden tears. "P-please…" was all I could stammer. I don't want to die. Not yet. Not here.
"Mira, put down your weapon."
The voice came from ahead—an old man seated in a wheelchair, his presence calm yet commanding.
"Mira," he repeated, "we should welcome our guest properly. Don't be so harsh."
The girl behind me clicked her tongue in annoyance before releasing me, lowering the blade. "I'll keep my eyes on you," she muttered before vanishing inside the chapel.
My knees nearly buckled with relief. Cold sweat trickled down my face as I turned to the old man.
"Please forgive her," he said kindly. "She's only cautious. She carries her own burdens." His eyes studied me. "Tell me, young lady—what is your name?"
"Aria," I breathed. "I'm looking for my grandmother."
His expression softened, though shadows lingered in his gaze. He turned his chair toward the chapel doors.
"Then let us go inside first."