The next morning, Hollow Creek felt smaller somehow, like the town had tightened around him overnight. Michael walked down the quiet streets toward the diner, still clutching the old key in his pocket. He wasn't sure why he carried it. Maybe because it made him feel connected to something bigger than this tiny, perfect town. The diner smelled like frying bacon and coffee, like it had for decades. The bell above the door jingled as he entered, but no one looked at him. He slid into a booth near the window, unsure if anyone even noticed him sitting there. "New kid, huh?" Michael looked up to see a girl his age perched on the counter stools, her red hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a smirk playing across her freckled face. "Uh… yeah," he said cautiously. "I'm Lena," she said, hopping down. "Lived here forever. You're the new mystery in town, I guess. Nice to meet you." Michael blinked. "Uh… hi."
She grinned. "Don't worry. I won't bite. Usually." Something about her confidence made him relax a little. Maybe he wouldn't be completely invisible here after all.
"You live with… Grandma Nina? " she asked, tilting her head.
Michael stiffened. "Yeah… how did you—"
"Everyone knows Grandma Nina," Lena said with a shrug. "She's like Hollow Creek royalty. The sweetest old lady ever. Makes the best apple pie. She probably told everyone at the post office you were moving in before you even got here."
Michael half-smiled. He liked that she was blunt, unlike the polite, distant adults he'd seen so far. "You're lucky," she added. "Most kids in this town just… disappear into the quiet." "What do you mean?" Michael asked, frowning. Lena leaned closer. "This town has… secrets. Everyone knows about them, but no one talks. You'll see soon enough." After breakfast, Michael followed Lena around as she showed him the "important" places in town: the library, the old playground, the creek at the edge of town. Everywhere they went, Michael noticed things he hadn't seen yesterday — the way certain windows were always dark, the way some streets seemed… too clean, too straight.
When they reached the creek, Lena stopped suddenly. "You hear that?"
Michael listened. Only the gentle rush of water… until it wasn't just water. There was a faint hum, almost melodic, like a song under the current. He frowned. "Yeah… what is that?" Lena shook her head. "No idea. Some say the creek talks at night, but… I don't believe it. Not really."
Michael wasn't so sure. That humming sounded familiar — like what he'd heard in Grandma Nina's house last night.
That afternoon, Michael returned home, carrying a notebook he'd bought at the library. He wrote down everything he'd noticed — the flickering lights, the hum, the strange way people watched him but didn't speak. Grandma Nina was in the kitchen, humming, as usual. She handed him a plate of cookies. "A little snack for my boy. How was your walk?"
Michael hesitated. "It was… fine."
She studied him for a moment, smiling but not saying anything. There was a tension there, just below her warm exterior, that Michael couldn't place.
Later that evening, while helping her in the garden, Michael noticed something strange. A symbol was scratched into the wooden post of the shed — the same swirling design as the key he'd found yesterday. He pointed to it. "Grandma… this symbol. It's like the key." Grandma Nina froze, her hands tightening on her pruning shears. For a moment, he thought she might yell at him, but then she just whispered, "Some doors, Michael… some doors are meant to stay closed." That night, Michael couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the humming in the creek, the symbol, and the key. And then he heard it again. The whisper. Softer this time, but clearer:
"Return…" Michael sat up. "Who's there?" he called. No answer, just the quiet creaking of the house. He got out of bed and peeked into the hallway. Grandma Nina's bedroom door was closed, but he could hear her muttering something under her breath — a string of words he didn't understand. He pressed his ear to the door. "…keep it safe… don't let them rise…" Michael froze. "Grandma?" he whispered. The whisper stopped. Silence. But outside, the crow was back, perched on the fence post, watching him. Its black eyes seemed to glint with intelligence.
Michael realized something terrifying. Hollow Creek wasn't just quiet. It was waiting. And somehow, it was waiting for him.