The sun hung low in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the winding dirt road. Jack adjusted the strap of his worn backpack, feeling the familiar weight settle against his back. The rhythmic crunch of his boots against the gravel was the only sound accompanying him, aside from the distant rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. The scent of pine and earth filled the air, a temporary reprieve from the decay that seemed to linger in so many places he’d passed through.

He paused for a moment atop a small rise, gazing out over the landscape ahead. Rolling hills stretched into the distance, dotted with clusters of trees beginning to show the fiery hues of autumn. Somewhere beyond those hills lay the village he’d heard about—a place on the edge of a cursed marsh, beset by troubles that few dared to face.

Jack took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs. He wasn’t sure why he’d accepted the task of helping this village. Maybe it was the haunted look in the eyes of the messenger who’d found him at the last town. Or perhaps it was a lingering sense of duty he couldn’t quite shake, despite his attempts to leave the past behind.

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound—a twig snapping somewhere off to his right. His hand instinctively moved to rest on the hilt of his sword, concealed beneath his gray cloak. He scanned the tree line, eyes narrowing. The forest was dense here, shadows weaving between the trunks.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice steady.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a young voice replied, hesitant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A boy stepped out from behind a tree, perhaps twelve years old, with tousled brown hair and dirt-smudged cheeks. He wore simple clothes—a threadbare tunic and trousers that had seen better days.

Jack relaxed his grip but remained cautious. “What are you doing out here alone?”

The boy shuffled his feet, avoiding eye contact. “I was gathering firewood. Didn’t expect to see anyone on the road.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Firewood this far from home? Where are your parents?”

The boy hesitated. “My village is just over that way,” he said, gesturing vaguely back into the forest.

Jack considered this. “It’s getting late. You should head back before dark.”

The boy glanced up, his eyes meeting Jack’s for the first time. There was something unsettling in his gaze—a mix of fear and something else Jack couldn’t quite place. “I could say the same to you,” the boy replied. “These woods aren’t safe after sundown.”

“I can handle myself,” Jack said evenly.

The boy’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Maybe so.” He took a step closer. “Are you a soldier?”

“Not anymore.”

“Then what are you?”

Jack paused. It was a question he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Just a traveler.”

“Heading to the village near the marsh?” the boy asked.

“Perhaps.”

The boy nodded slowly. “Be careful. People who go there don’t always come back.”

Jack studied him for a moment. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“My grandmother used to tell stories,” the boy said. “She warned me to stay away from the marsh. Said it was cursed.”

“Smart woman.”

“She was.” The boy looked down, his expression momentarily sad.

“Was?”

“She passed away last winter.”

“I’m sorry.”

The boy shrugged. “It’s just me and my father now.”

Jack glanced at the lengthening shadows. “You should get home.”

“I will.” The boy took a few steps back toward the trees, then paused. “What’s your name?”

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“Jack.”

“I’m Thomas.” He offered a tentative smile. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Maybe.”

Without another word, Thomas disappeared back into the forest, his footsteps soon fading into the whisper of the wind. Jack watched the spot where the boy had stood, unease gnawing at him. There was something off about the encounter, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He shook his head and resumed walking. The road descended into a shallow valley, the trees closing in around him. As the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, he quickened his pace, hoping to reach the village before nightfall.

An hour later, the forest opened up, and Jack found himself on the outskirts of a small settlement. The houses were modest, constructed of timber and stone, with thatched roofs that showed signs of disrepair. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, and the faint scent of cooking drifted on the air.

But the village was eerily quiet. No children played in the dirt paths, no merchants called out from market stalls. The only movement came from a woman hurriedly pulling clothes from a line, casting nervous glances at the darkening sky.

Jack approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Excuse me,” he called out.

She jumped, dropping a shirt into the mud. “Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest. “You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m looking for the inn.”

She eyed him warily. “We don’t get many travelers these days.”

“So I’ve noticed. Is there an inn?”

She hesitated before pointing down the main road. “At the end there. But I don’t know if old Bernard is still taking guests.”

“I’ll take my chances. Thank you.”

She nodded curtly, then gathered the rest of her laundry and hurried inside, bolting the door behind her.

Jack continued down the street, the sense of unease growing stronger. Windows were shuttered, and doors were locked. It was as if the village was holding its breath, waiting for something to pass.

He reached the inn—a two-story building with a faded sign creaking in the breeze. The door was ajar, light spilling out into the gathering gloom. Jack stepped inside.

The common room was sparsely occupied. A few men sat hunched over their drinks, muttering quietly among themselves. Behind the bar stood a stout man with thinning hair and a bushy mustache, wiping down a chipped mug.

The innkeeper looked up as Jack entered, his eyes narrowing. “Evening,” he said gruffly.

“Evening,” Jack replied. “Looking for a room.”

The innkeeper studied him for a moment. “Just passing through?”

“Something like that.”

The man shrugged. “Got a couple rooms free. One night?”

“Undecided.”

“Payment’s upfront.”

Jack nodded and reached into his pouch, placing a few coins on the counter. “This cover it?”

The innkeeper scooped up the coins, biting one before pocketing them. “Room at the top of the stairs, last door on the right.”

“Much appreciated.”

As Jack turned to head upstairs, one of the men at a nearby table spoke up. “You’d be better off moving along, stranger.”

Jack paused, glancing over. The man was middle-aged, with a scar running down his cheek and eyes that had seen their share of hardship.

“Is that so?” Jack asked.

“Aye,” the man said. “Nothing here but trouble.”

“I’m not one to shy away from trouble.”

The man’s companion chuckled humorlessly. “Heard that before.”

The innkeeper cleared his throat loudly. “Let the man be. Not your concern.”

Jack met the scarred man’s gaze. “I appreciate the warning.”

The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t say we didn’t tell you.”

Jack headed upstairs, finding his room easily. It was small but clean enough—a bed, a washbasin, and a single window overlooking the street below. He set his pack down and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. The journey had been long, and weariness was beginning to set in.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention. He stood and opened it to find a young woman standing there, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with auburn hair pulled back in a loose braid. She wore a simple dress and apron, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

“Can I help you?” Jack asked.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said softly. “I’m Elyse. I help out around the inn.”

“No bother at all.”

“I thought you might like some supper. We don’t have much, but there’s stew and fresh bread.”

“That would be welcome. Thank you.”

She offered a tentative smile. “I’ll bring it up shortly.”

As she turned to leave, Jack spoke again. “Elyse?”

She looked back. “Yes?”

“Is everything alright in the village? People seem… on edge.”

Her smile faded. “It’s been a hard season. Lots of worries.”

“Anything in particular?”

She glanced down the hallway before stepping closer and lowering her voice. “Best not to speak of it here. Walls have ears.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Understood.”

“I’ll bring your supper soon,” she said, then hurried away.

Closing the door, Jack sat back down, pondering the odd atmosphere. There was more to this village than met the eye, and whatever it was, the locals were reluctant to share.

He decided to explore a bit before settling in for the night. Grabbing his cloak, he made his way back downstairs and out into the street. The sky was now a deep indigo, stars beginning to prick the veil of darkness.

As he walked, he noticed movement at the edge of his vision—a figure darting between buildings. He followed cautiously, keeping to the shadows.

Rounding a corner, he found himself near the village square, where a solitary lantern cast a dim glow over a weathered statue of a soldier. Sitting at the base of the statue was Thomas, the boy he’d met earlier in the woods.

“Thomas?” Jack called out softly.

The boy looked up, surprise flashing across his face. “Jack! You made it.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Jack said, approaching.

“I could say the same,” Thomas replied. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?”

The boy shrugged. “Just thinking.”

Jack sat down beside him. “About what?”

Thomas traced a pattern in the dirt with a stick. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Not particularly,” Jack said. “Why do you ask?”

“People say the marsh is haunted. That spirits come out at night.”

“Do you believe that?”

Thomas hesitated. “I’ve seen things. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t. Heard voices on the wind.”

“That would unsettle anyone.”

“Some of the villagers think it’s punishment,” Thomas continued. “For past sins.”

“What do you think?”

He looked up, his eyes reflecting the lantern’s glow. “I think there’s more to it. Maybe something we can stop.”

Jack studied the boy. “That’s a heavy burden to carry.”

“Someone has to do something.”

“Is that why you were out in the woods earlier? Gathering firewood?”

Thomas looked away. “I was looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“My father. He went missing a week ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly.

“Everyone says he’s gone, but I don’t believe it. I think he’s out there, lost.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“They won’t listen. Say it’s too dangerous.”

Jack considered this. “Perhaps I can help you look.”

Thomas’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Can’t make any promises, but I can try.”

“Thank you,” the boy said earnestly.

“Meet me here tomorrow morning,” Jack said. “We’ll plan then.”

Thomas nodded eagerly. “I’ll be here.”

As they stood to leave, a chill wind swept through the square, causing the lantern to flicker. Jack felt a prickling at the back of his neck—a sense of being watched. He turned, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing.

“Time to head in,” he said.

“Goodnight, Jack,” Thomas replied before hurrying off toward a small house at the end of the lane.

Jack made his way back to the inn, thoughts swirling. The missing villagers, the haunted marsh, the unease that permeated the air—it was all connected somehow.

Upon entering his room, he found a tray on the small table by the window—a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a mug of ale. A simple note rested beside it: “Stay safe. —E”

He ate in silence, the meal hearty despite its modest appearance. As he prepared for bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d stepped into something deep and treacherous.

Lying on the thin mattress, he listened to the sounds of the village settling into uneasy slumber. A distant howl echoed from the direction of the marsh, or perhaps it was merely the wind.

Jack closed his eyes, willing himself to rest. Tomorrow would bring questions that needed answers, and he intended to find them.