Ready to get this crazy little town underway? Eldridge Falls. Picture it, would you? It looks as though time stopped. Those small old—fashioned houses with their porches, peering trees that seem like they'd been there since forever ago, that river—whispering its secrets. Yeah, it's dreamy. But something just…off. Like a veil hanging over the whole thing.
Meet Emma Harper: a very ordinary twenty-six-year-old who wields a paintbrush like it's some sort of wand. She is untamed, wild, and the walking personification of chaos. Colour, life, finding beauty in places she probably shouldn't—this all belongs to her. Eldridge Falls is her canvas, and she's obsessed.
"This place is so weird, Liv," Emma mumbled. Her voice blurred with the walls of the old Victorian house. Liv, her best friend, was without a doubt huddled inside a phone booth somewhere in the big city, sorting out some drama.
"Weird? It's so quaint, Emma. Like a fairytale. " Liv laced her voice with sarcasm.
Emma rolled her eyes. "Charming? More creepy. You should see the way people stare here. It's like they are trying to hide something."
Liv laughed. "You're being paranoid, Em. It's a small town—people gossip."
"Gossip? This is on another level, Liv. Like, they are trying to protect secrets or something."
Emma wandered around; the soles of her shoes echoed on marbled floors in a very grand-seeming hallway. It had been a time capsule, with all the dust-covered furniture and people in the portraits who looked as though they might step out of the frame any second. It used to belong to her grandmother; now it belonged to her.
"I have found something," said Emma, cheerful. She was in the attic, leaning back amongst boxes and trunks with a dusty, leather-bound diary in her hands, apparently old and replete with stories waiting to be told.
"A diary? Ooh, juicy!" Suddenly Liv's voice had grown very interesting. Beautiful writing with faded ink, turning the pages as Emma quickened heart beats like a mystery she wanted to decipher.
"I think I'm onto something, Liv," Emma said very slowly. "Something big."
The sun began to slip down, throwing long shadows across the attic window. Emma felt a shiver run up her spine. This wasn't because of the cold but due to the gnawing feeling that she was being watched.
She closed the diary, placing the book beside her on the table. It was then that the creak came from above them, in the attic. For a moment, she could swear she heard a whisper.
"Did you hear that?" Emma said, shaking her voice.
Liv laughed to calm her nerves. "Probably just the wind, Em. You're getting too into this."
But Emma was not quite won over. There was something in this house, this town, calling to her. And she would find its secrets, no matter what it took.
In the square of moonlight that lit up a corner of the dim attic, one ray had exposed a secret compartment in the old diary. Inside, a key lay small and brown with age.
It vibrated in her dancing heart. What could it unlock? What lay beyond that closed door?
The wind howled, and with it came echoes of the past. My heart felt like some crazy, wild drumbeat in my chest. I reached out for the key; so little, so cold—colder than any witch's kiss. My fingers shook as I slid it into the diary. With a little click, a faint shower of sparks exploded within the quiet attic. A hidden compartment popped open.
Inside was a faded photograph, nestled in velvet. A young woman gazed back at me with her eyes holding that same glimmer I saw in the mirror. In this picture, she was beautiful and strong. Beside her was a man, dark and intense; his hand rested gently on her shoulder. They could have been royalty, lost in some fairytale. But in their eyes, a profound sadness, a secret was locked away.
"Holy crap," I said. It wasn't some dairy but a gateway to another dimension—the one I barely believed in.
All through the night I chased the photograph. Who were these people? What was their relationship with me? And why was it that the whole town seemed to be holding its breath and was only an anticipation away from telling me the game was in action?
Sleep was a myth. The old house creaked and groaned as if to give out all its secrets to me in the still of the night. I almost seemed to catch whispers from times gone by, driven on by the wind.
Morning crawled in, dragging and slumped. I stumbled downstairs to find the stranger at home as familiar as if I'd been awake since time was invented. A different house, alert in another way, as though the very pictures on the wall had gone over into new expressions.
I needed answers, someone to talk to. The first obvious person would have been Liv, but she was miles away. So I headed out into town to try and find some solace. Maybe I'd find answers.
Eldridge Falls was lovelier at dawn when the river shone with a liquid silver that seemed to cast upon the old houses the illusion of fine lace. But deep beneath all this loveliness lay an undercurrent of something else—a secret soon to come to light.
I wandered about the town, looking at everything minutely: old people watching from their porches, kids out in the street playing, shop owners in their stores. Everybody seemed bound by unsaid understanding as if watched by some film scene—a silent movie of some type, but this was too eerily terrifying.
I visited the local library—a grand old building, redolent with that comfortably aged smell of paper. A gentle-eyed librarian harked back to my grandmother's eyes; her face beamed at me as soon as I walked in.
"Can I help you, dear?" she asked, her voice soft as velvet.
"I'm new here," I said casually. "I'm doing some research on the town's history."
The smile deepened. "Eldridge Falls has history, my dear. One might say, of secrets and tales."
There it was—the word. Secrets. And I felt that spurt of excitement. Maybe this old lady held the key to unlock the past.
"You're a goldmine, dear," she said, her eyes sparkling bright behind her lenses. "I've lived here all my life and know these old walls like the back of my hand."
She reached out to a dustier shelf and drew out a book, heavily leather-bound. "This may prove of interest," she said, handing it over. A town history book with faded pictures and yellowed pages.
My heart was racing as I turned from one page to the next. Faces seemed familiar from the picture in the diary. It was as though a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. .. and I knew, somehow, that I was going to find every one of them.
"There was a fire," she said, her voice hushed. "A big one. It destroyed most of the old records. A lot of history went up in smoke that night."
There had been a fire? That explained the gaps. But why? Who was trying to hide the truth?
I came out of the library; the sun was well down in the west; long shadows overflowed the town; the wind picked up to whisper secrets into my ears. That weird energy took on: the town itself, alive, watching me.
I stepped back only faster to the old house. My mind was racing. The diary, the photo, the fire—those had to link up. I had to find out how.
I shivered as I went through the doorway into the house. It was much darker than it had previously been, with the house seeming to be so still—as if it had stopped breathing. I drew a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and began making my way back to the attic.
The attic seemed even spookier in the dark. Dancing, twisting shadows and the sight of the looming old furniture seemed to be monstrous creatures. I clicked on the flashlight; its beam sliced through the darkness.
I walked towards the desk—the same one where I had read the diary. Something did not feel quite right. A little ajar was the door to the desk drawer. I felt my heartbeat rise as I drew it out further.
Inside was a small, ancient, worn wooden box; more importantly, locked. On the outside of that box, there was a piece of paper with one word penned on it: "Blackwood."
Blackwood. The name sent a cold tingle down my spine. I had no idea who Blackwood was, but I did know that I needed to find out—right then.
The wind still cried upon the windows, much like some forsaken beast. The next thing I knew was the rush of a cold draft as my flashlight flickered and went out. And now I stood in that dark attic, surrounded by whispers from the past, feeling deep in my gut that something big was coming.
Then, the creak of the floorboards underfoot sent me into a jump. Had it been the house, just settling; or was there someone else up there with me?
I could hear my heartbeat piping in my ears, almost to a drumline. I felt for my phone, but it turned out to be useless without power. I lay alone in the darkness with something or someone watching me. Cold sweat ran down my forehead.
I took a deep breath, trying to still the racing of my heart. I had to think clearly. This had been an old house—one full of creaky floors and settling walls. It was probably just the wind.
But then the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew something else—something malevolent—was in that attic with me now.
I slowly began to back away from the desk, my eyes scanning the shadows. A sound—a light whisper—came from behind me. I turned; my breath was caught in my throat.
Then came the footsteps. So soft, deliberate footsteps, coming closer.
My blood ran cold. I wheeled but there was nothing. My flashlight beam just ploughed into the blackness and reflected the dancing shadows.
Then I saw them: a pair of glistening eyes from the corner of the attic, belonging to something dark and evil.
The scream welled in my throat, but the sound would not give it the freedom to come out. I stood there, completely paralyzed by fear. Whatever this thing was, it took another step, and then darkness claimed me.
The last thing I saw was the glowing eyes filled with cold, inhuman malice.
