Duskvale is not a truly vibrant city. It is merely a small town located far from the capital. Nestled behind misty hills and dense forests, it seems to serve as a portal separating the modern world from the Middle Ages. The city is surrounded by wilderness, towering old trees, swamps, and newly paved roads covered in dew. It is as if the sun rarely shines on this town. In the afternoon, the old buildings in the town look like Dracula's castles from the past.
Most of the houses in Duskvale are medieval in style with stone walls and mossy sloping roofs, as if time passes more slowly here. Dim streetlights with black iron poles stand far apart, creating an atmosphere that is more dim than bright. There are not many modern shops, only small shops that are decades old, old tea shops, and dusty book stalls that are rarely visited.
Duskvale has several districts, and the district where Mocca will live is Frogride Hill. The district closest to Duskvale City Hall is Central District. Frogride Hill is a hilly area filled with large trees, where several old houses stand in a row, including the house where Mocca and Khan now live.
Central District, or the center of Duskvale, is a little livelier, with a small market, city hall, and an old train station that is still in operation. However, the further one walks towards the outskirts, the more intense the feeling of isolation becomes. It is as if there are invisible eyes watching over everyone who lives there.
From behind the car window, Mocca could only see misty green trees. The atmosphere is gray, as if the area is cut off from the sunlight. A thin fog hangs along the road. Old trees tower over the edges of the newly paved asphalt, indicating that outsiders rarely visit this place, blocking the light that should touch the ground. In the distance, the sound of owls can be heard even though it is not yet dark. This is where Mocca and her father will live.
The car slowed down as the road began to climb. On the right and left, rows of large oak trees flanked the road like an endless corridor. Thin smoke caressed the ground, and in the distance, the silhouettes of gravestones appeared one by one. An old cemetery, thought Mocca. No fence. No name on the gate. Only a small angel statue blackened by moss. She clutched her knees, trying not to tremble.
"This is Fogridge Hill," Khan's voice broke the silence.
"This is where we'll live. It's the closest place to my father's office, so if anything happens, you can go there right away."
The road leading to this hill was known to locals as an ancient path once used for the burials of noble families, before the town was sold to the government and turned into a small administrative town. Fogridge Hill was the highest point in Duskvale—and the most remote. From here, they could see part of the town hidden behind the fog. But today, there was nothing to see except trees and shadows. Khan pulled the car up in front of a gray stone house. The roof was high, the windows large but dark. The walls were covered with moss and small roots. The stairs to the front porch creaked softly as they descended.
"This house belongs to headquarters," said Khan. "They offered it to us during my father's tour of duty here."
"How long will we stay in this old place?" asked Mocca.
"I don't know."
Mocca didn't answer. He looked at the house like a guest invited to a funeral. Mocca looked around. Next to his house was a whitewashed house. Opposite it were three other houses standing in a row, just like shadows in a nightmare. Empty, with no signs of life.
The first house was tightly closed with a cracked wooden fence. The second house had an old swing in the yard that creaked even though there was hardly any wind. The third house had its windows slightly open. Thin white curtains fluttered gently, as if someone had just been watching them.
Mocca swallowed hard. She immediately ran over to her father, who had already reached the porch. She grabbed the hem of his shirt like a frightened child. Khan opened the front door. The heavy wood creaked loudly as it slid open. The smell of dust, old paper, and dampness wafted out. Inside, it was dark, quiet, and too cold for a house that was supposed to have been cleaned.
"The electricity will only be turned on tonight," explained Khan. He placed the suitcase in the narrow hallway. "But we can light the fireplace." Mocca stood in the doorway, reluctant to enter.
"Daddy," she whispered softly. "This house doesn't like us."
Khan turned, smiling stiffly. "Houses can't like or dislike. Houses are just silent."
"I'm scared. I don't want to be in this house, it's so dirty," she whined.
"We'll clean it together, this place is quite beautiful. Okay?" Mocca nodded hesitantly. She remained silent, her feet beginning to step into the house. But in that silence, Mocca felt it clearly. Someone was listening to them. From above. Or from across the street. Or from within herself.
★★★
The sun's rays began to pierce through the gray sky of Duskvale. The fog was still thick, but it seeped in through the large glass windows in the living room. Khan opened the old, dusty curtains one by one, cleaning them carefully with a duster. The house was still cold, but it was starting to feel lived in.
In the middle of the room were several large cardboard boxes labeled "documents," "cooking utensils," "father's clothes," "Mocca's clothes," and "winter clothes." Mocca sat cross-legged on the dull carpet she had cleaned earlier. She tied her long brunette hair into a messy bun as she sorted books to arrange on the bookshelf. Her eyes were still tired but a little more alive than yesterday. Khan came in carrying two mugs of tea. "Chamomile tea for the princess," he teased lightly.
Mocca glanced over and gave a slight smile. "Thanks, Dad."
They sat side by side, surrounded by boxes and dust. The atmosphere of the house, which had been quiet, began to change, becoming a little livelier. Although the upstairs floor creaked occasionally, they just looked at each other and said, "It's old wood, it's rotten. Not a ghost."
Mocca chuckled, then teased, "Are you sure it's not the spirit of the orphan who died in the upstairs room?"
Khan pretended to raise his eyebrows. "If that's true, let Dad be the ghost's friend. We need a night guard, right?" They burst into laughter, small but sincere.
A few hours later, after a pile of clothes had been put away in the closet and the books returned to the shelves, Mocca decided to get some fresh air and clean the yard. She opened the back door and stepped into the small yard on the side of the house.
The yard was quite spacious but covered with old leaves and slightly tall weeds. On the side of the house was a broom for cleaning up the leaves, so she immediately grabbed it and began cleaning. Behind the yard was an apple tree with a tire swing that was almost falling apart, swaying slightly in the wind. Mocca began to tidy up the leaves with a large broom. Her body still felt weak, but moving kept her mind busy. Every now and then she looked up at the brightening sky while wiping the sweat from her temples.
"I like that big broom. It looks like a wizard's weapon from a classic series."
Mocca turned quickly. Across the old wooden fence that separated her house from the white-painted house next door stood a girl her age, with short blonde hair, wearing a large sweater and rain boots. She sat casually on the wooden fence, holding a half-eaten apple. Her gaze seemed to ask, who are you?
"Hello! I'm Melisa," she said while chewing. "I'm the granddaughter of the owner of this house, your neighbor," she continued, turning her head towards her house.
"You're the policeman's daughter, right?"
"Yes."
"You can call me Milky."
"Why?" asked Mocca. It was a strange name.
"Because I like milk," the girl winked. "Are you the new tenant in that haunted house?"
Mocca tilted her head. "If I say yes, will you run away or congratulate me?"
Milky grinned. "Both."
The girl climbed down from the fence and approached Mocca, jumping over the pile of leaves. Without being asked, she began helping to pick up the scattered twigs.
"What's your name?" she asked, throwing leaves onto the pile.
"Monica Khanza Abraham. But I'm usually called Mocca."
Milky nodded dramatically. "Mocca and Milky. It looks like a drink mixed in a mug and enjoyed during winter."
Mocca couldn't hide her surprise. First, this person came suddenly, then barged into her yard, and now she looked strange because she was trying to appear friendly. "Yes... maybe..." she said with an awkward laugh.
"So, where are you from?"
Mocca brushed her hair, which had been blown by the wind. She looked straight at Milky. "I used to live in our country's capital, Eldenbourg, in Luxendale to be exact."
"Then what made you move to Duskvale? I mean, you obviously know this place is a bit gloomy," said Milky as she threw a twig into a pile of leaves.
Mocca shrugged. "My father is on a mission here, and while that mission is ongoing, I'll be staying with my daddy. The thing is, I thought this place would be exciting, but it turned out to be the opposite. I almost died."
Milky was silent for a moment, straightening up from his crouched position as he picked up the twig. "You mean DaVelle?"
Mocca nodded quickly, causing Milky to raise her eyebrows sharply. "He rarely lets his prey go," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.
"What? What are you talking about?" Mocca asked because she hadn't heard.
"Ah, nothing. But you're lucky to have a father who still makes you hot tea and carries boxes for you," said Milky with a small smile. She watched Khan's activities from behind the window, tidying up the never-ending housework. "My mother doesn't even know where the spoons are in the house."
"Seriously?" Mocca asked with a soft laugh.
Milky nodded. "He enjoys being a history professor too much. Sometimes I feel like I'm living with an eccentric professor from the Victorian era."
Mocca smiled, a light smile. "I don't mind having a friend who lives nearby. This house is too quiet."
"Good. Because I'm the type of friend who likes to drop by unannounced and bring too much sweet food," replied Milky, patting the small bag she was carrying. "For example, my grandmother's cinnamon cookies." She handed a small package to Mocca, who accepted it with a surprised smile.
"Thank you." Mocca took a bite, and it tasted delicious and different from the modern cakes she usually ate at fancy cafes.
"Want to go for a walk tomorrow?"
Mocca shook her head. She was too tired and afraid that yesterday's events would repeat themselves. Meeting strangers and being chased by a killer was the worst experience she had ever had and one of the biggest lessons for her to listen to her father's words.
"Aren't you bored staying in that haunted house?" Milky tried to persuade her. "Come on! It'll be fun."
Mocca rolled her eyes lazily, "Fine."
★★★
The living room of the stone house slowly began to feel like their own. The old chandelier glowed dimly, the aroma of peppermint tea floated in the air, and the wall clock ticked slowly but surely.
Khan sat in an old chair facing a wooden table, a stack of brown folders open in front of him. Among the documents was a map of the Duskvale area, marked with red highlighter. Small names were written on it: Fogridge Hill, Grimm Hollow, Ravensgate Crossing—all of them sounding like they were from a crime novel.
"It's a small town, but the crime reports are not small," Khan muttered softly, half to himself.
Meanwhile, at the end of the sofa, Mocca crossed her legs, a laptop on her lap. She typed slowly, opening search pages about Duskvale, the Eastfield institution, and B. DeVelle. But the home internet was like it was lost in time—slow, stuttering, and sometimes seeming to stop breathing.
"Stone age internet," she complained softly, then tilted her head toward her father. "Are you sure this is a house or a wartime archive?"
Khan chuckled softly. "If it is an archive, that's good. It means it's perfect for Dad's work and for you to store your teenage secrets."
Mocca raised her eyebrows. "What the hell! This is a prison!"
Khan pretended to look sharply at her. "That's not proven."
They laughed softly, relaxed. There was no danger that night. No crying, no blood, no masked figures. Just father and daughter, in a living room that was coming back to life with their presence.
After a while, Mocca closed her laptop.
"Daddy..." she murmured, without lifting her head.
"Hm?"
"I think I can get used to it here."
Khan looked at her, then smiled. "You're starting to soften up. That means we've made it through the first day."