A month had passed since that night, and it all felt distant now, hazy, like some fevered nightmare I could barely remember. I hadn't thought about Haverstead Manor, Richard, or Sarah for days. The police had left me alone after their final round of questioning, seemingly satisfied with the story I’d carefully constructed. No supernatural talk, no mention of the book. Just a simple tragedy tied up neatly in my words.
The physical changes in my body—things I hadn’t even dared to tell a doctor—had subsided over the past few weeks. The dull ache in my bones had faded, the strange, sharp pains that came and went had grown softer, almost forgettable. But even now, I could feel it, whatever it was, lingering beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. That subtle, crawling sensation beneath my ribs, reminding me that it wasn’t over. Not really.
Nothing much had happened since then. A few jobs here and there—nothing like the Haverstead case. Nothing that stirred the same kind of unease or danger. Just the usual affairs, the mundane details of people's lives that I used to find some comfort in. I tried to keep busy, but often, my mind wandered back to the book.
That damned book.
I kept it, though I’d never admit it out loud. I couldn’t let the police get their hands on it. And so, I’d been studying it—discreetly, of course. I'd even been spending more time in Luther's library, sifting through his collection for anything that could help me understand what I'd found. Luther didn’t ask too many questions, but I could feel him watching me from time to time, like he knew I was getting too deep into something.
Today, I was heading back to the library again. My car had broken down a few days ago, and it was still sitting in the repair shop. So, I had to take the train, which, despite its rattling and constant stops, gave me time to think.
I stared out the window, watching the city blur by. New Hollow was preparing for another festival—something loud and garish, no doubt. The air was thick with the noise of preparations, people setting up stands, hanging decorations, all of it rolling past in a haze of sound and colour. But it felt muted to me, like I was watching from behind a pane of glass, separated from the rhythm of normal life. Detached.
As the train slowed at the next stop, I glanced down at my hands, half-expecting to see something different. Something wrong. But they looked like my hands had always looked, though I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn’t the same. That I hadn’t been the same since that night at Haverstead.
With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the seat. I had to keep my head straight. Whatever had changed in me, whatever was still lingering, could wait. For now, I needed to focus on the book, the one piece of the puzzle I hadn’t yet figured out. The Elmer book had more to it—more than I could understand alone. Maybe Luther’s library would have something today. Maybe I’d finally find the key to unlock what it was hiding.
The train jerked to a stop, and I stood, grabbing my coat as I headed for the exit. The cool air hit me as soon as I stepped off, a sharp contrast to the thick warmth of the train car. It felt good, like it woke me up from the sluggish haze I’d been drifting through.
The old building loomed ahead, its familiar facade a kind of sanctuary. As I stepped inside, I caught sight of Luther speaking with a stranger at the front desk.
I hesitated. The stranger was a tourist, wide-eyed and excited. Probably another one of the occult enthusiasts flocking to New Hollow since the "Haverstead Murder" case hit the news. They were harmless enough, most of them, but sometimes their curiosity led them into dangerous places.
Luther’s eyes flicked to me, and I saw the briefest flicker of recognition before he returned to the tourist. He handed them one of his typical occult books—a paperback filled with fictional rituals and ghost stories. Harmless.
“Thanks,” the tourist said, clutching the book. They hurried off with a nod, leaving the library quieter than before.
Luther watched them go, a sigh escaping him. “They’ve been coming in droves since the news broke,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen so many of them in town before.”
“New Hollow’s always had its fair share of ghost hunters,” I said, setting my bag on the counter.
“True,” he conceded, his eyes darkening. “But this is different. More of them are poking around in places they shouldn’t be. I’ve heard of people breaking into ruins, trying to perform rituals they’ve read about in trashy occult novels.”
I could hear the frustration in his voice, but there was something else there too. Concern. Maybe fear.
“They think they’re playing with harmless superstition,” Luther continued, his voice lowering. “But they don’t know what they’re really dealing with.”
I paused, studying his face. “What do you mean?”
Luther didn’t answer right away. He walked around the desk, running a hand through his greying hair. “I mean,” he began carefully, “there’s more to New Hollow’s history than they think. More than most people know.”
I felt a chill run down my spine, though I wasn’t sure why. “You sound like you believe those ghost stories.”
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Not ghost stories. Not exactly.”
There was a weight to his words, something that made me feel like I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Luther had always been pragmatic, a man of history and books. But now, there was a tone in his voice I hadn’t heard before.
“You know something,” I said, more as a statement than a question.
Luther didn’t deny it. Instead, he walked over to one of the bookshelves, pulling down an old, weathered tome. He held it for a moment before turning back to me.
“You’re not the only one who’s seen things, Ellie,” he said quietly. “I’ve spent years studying the history of Hollow Town, the witch trials, the Aether. I’ve heard stories, found... evidence. And I’ve seen what it can do to people.”
I stared at him, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. “You know about the Aether?”
Luther nodded slowly. “I’ve known for a long time. Richard wasn’t the first to stumble across it, and he won’t be the last. But it’s dangerous, Ellie. It has a way of... changing people. Consuming them.”
I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words press down on me. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because I was hoping you’d never need to know,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But I can’t keep quiet anymore. I see the way you’ve been pouring yourself into that book. You’re following the same path Richard did, and I won’t let you end up like him.”
“I’m not Richard,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, his gaze softening. “But the Aether is still inside you, isn’t it? You can feel it.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. The lingering presence of the Aether was something I couldn’t deny, not anymore. It had left its mark on me, and it wasn’t going away.
Luther took a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “Whatever you’re looking for in that book, it’s not worth it. The Aether doesn’t give answers, Ellie. It takes.”
I clenched my jaw, the tension building in my chest. “I’m being careful.”
“Careful isn’t enough,” he said, his voice rising just a fraction. “Richard was careful too. But the more you dig, the more it pulls you in. You have to let this go before it’s too late.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. Not yet. There’s still too much I don’t understand.”
Luther sighed, running a hand down his face. “I know. But you’re risking more than just answers. The Aether... it changes reality. It warps it. And it warps you if you let it.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. I had felt it—the subtle shifts, the dreams that haunted me. But I wasn’t ready to walk away.
“I’ll be careful,” I said again, more firmly this time. “I won’t let it consume me.”
Luther didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push further. “Just promise me you won’t end up like him. Or worse.”
I gave him a small nod, though doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Luther had known about the Aether all along, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He had been studying it, just like Richard, but he had stayed on the sidelines, watching as others got too close.
I made my way to my usual table at the back of the library, where I’d left my notes and the Elmer children’s book. It felt heavier in my hands than it had when I first found it—almost like it was waiting for me to make sense of its twisted pages.
The more I dug, the more I began to see the threads connecting Hollow Town’s past to the present. My research wasn’t yielding the answers I had hoped for, but it was giving me something else: a sense of just how deep this thing went.
The first strange finding was the author of The Day the Sheep Learnt Trust, Agdin Janeway. It was supposed to be a simple children’s book, after all. But Janeway was an enigma. No record of any other books. No history as a writer or any known ties to Hollow Town. It was like he appeared, wrote this single story, and then vanished without a trace. There were no interviews, no public appearances, not even whispers of a pseudonym.
I had scoured every archive Luther had access to, including some older local records. But the name Janeway didn’t show up anywhere else. No birth certificates, no census entries. It was as if Agdin Janeway was a ghost—a convenient mask for someone, or something, that didn’t want to be known.
But there was something else, something even more unsettling. I started to notice patterns in Hollow Town’s folklore. The more I looked, the more it became clear: the supernatural stories that had been passed down through generations—the old myths, the legends—were more than just tall tales. They were attempts to explain what people couldn’t understand.
The Hollow Whispers, the strange wind that echoed through the city at night, was one of them. People said it was the voices of the dead, or of witches casting curses. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the Aether seeping through, warping the natural world? The Whispers could be nothing more than the wind reacting to the cracks in the Wall between this world and the Beyond.
And it wasn’t just the Hollow Whispers. Old stories of haunted woods, cursed ruins, and strange occurrences all shared the same underlying theme: encounters with something otherworldly, something that defied explanation. The townspeople, unable to comprehend what they were dealing with, had created their own narratives—witches, spirits, vengeful gods. But beneath the surface, it was clear. They were describing the effects of the Aether.
One legend, in particular, stood out. It was an old one, going back to before Hollow Town was even founded—a tale of a “moving shadow” that stalked the forests. It was said to appear out of nowhere, twisting the shapes of trees, warping the ground beneath people’s feet. Anyone who saw it would lose their way, sometimes disappearing for days or never coming back. When they did return, they were changed—haunted, as if they’d seen something that had no place in this world.
It sounded familiar, too familiar. That moving shadow could’ve easily been an early account of Aether exposure, the corruption spreading into the landscape itself and affecting those unlucky enough to wander too close. The town had made sense of it the only way they knew how—by calling it a cursed being or an evil spirit.
I sifted through other records as well—transcripts of old trial hearings from the Hollow Town witch trials. Though they mostly detailed wild accusations and paranoia, some of the testimonies stood out. People talked about seeing things, strange lights, hearing voices no one else could hear. In one case, a man described waking up to find his hands were no longer his own—twisted and gnarled, as if the bones had reshaped themselves overnight. He’d been accused of making a pact with a demon, but reading it now, it was obvious what had happened. The Aether had changed him.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
I sat back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. The pieces were falling into place, but the more they did, the more questions arose. It wasn’t just Hollow Town that had been touched by the Aether. There were accounts stretching across centuries, all over the world—places that had no connection to New Hollow, or so I had thought.
In one of Luther’s older books, I found references to a phenomenon in 16th-century France. A village had been decimated by what they called “dancing plague.” People couldn’t stop moving, as if possessed, until they dropped dead from exhaustion. It sounded absurd, but when I compared it to other cases of Aether exposure, I couldn’t help but wonder. The erratic behavior, the sudden physical deterioration—was it the Aether? Had it somehow made its way there, altering the people the same way it had altered Richard?
Another case, this one from a remote part of South America, spoke of a mountain where no one would venture after dark. Locals said the place “breathed,” and the few who had dared climb it at night came back with stories of visions—hallucinations of monstrous forms in the sky. One man claimed he saw the sky split open, revealing something so horrifying that his hair turned white overnight. I couldn’t dismiss it as hysteria. It sounded too much like the things I had seen in my own dreams—things I couldn’t explain, but I knew were connected to the Aether.
Then there were the rituals. People had been trying to control this force for centuries, maybe longer, through rites and ceremonies passed down in secret. I found fragments of them in old manuscripts, written in languages barely decipherable. They were vague, incomplete, but the intent was there: to harness the Aether, to bend it to human will. Every single attempt ended in failure, often violently. The rituals never worked, but the fact that so many had tried over the years said something. People had always known about the Aether, or at least sensed it, but they had never fully understood it.
I had become so absorbed in the threads of history, in the delicate web I was weaving between fact and fiction, that I barely noticed when Nancy’s voice broke through my thoughts.
"Still at it, huh?" she said, setting a cup of tea down in front of me with a warm smile. Her voice had a familiar lightness to it, the kind that made me realize just how long I'd been staring at these pages without moving.
I blinked, a bit disoriented, and looked up. "Nancy, I—" I began, but she cut me off with a knowing grin.
"Don’t even start. You didn’t drink the last one either," she teased, pushing the cup toward me. “This time, no excuses.”
I glanced at the tea. A flash of memory hit me—our first meeting back during the Haverstead case. She had brewed me tea back then too, only I hadn’t touched it. She’d pretended not to notice, but now it had become something of a joke between us. Every time I visited, she’d bring me tea, and every time, I’d forget or be too focused to drink it.
But today, with the weight of all this knowledge pressing down on me, I found myself chuckling softly. I lifted the cup, feeling the heat seep into my fingers, and took a small sip. “Happy now?”
Nancy’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ecstatic,” she replied, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “You’ve finally given in. Next thing I know, you’ll actually be enjoying it.”
I smiled, appreciating the brief moment of levity. It was a welcome distraction from the constant churn of thoughts that had been building over the last month. She had a way of doing that—bringing in a bit of light when everything felt too heavy. I sipped the tea again, a little longer this time, and though it was just as strong as I remembered, it was comforting in its own way.
Nancy pulled out a chair across from me and sat down, folding her arms across the table as she leaned in. “So,” she began, her curiosity as sharp as ever, “what have you been up to? Every time I see you here, you're buried under a mountain of books like you're trying to solve the world’s biggest mystery.”
Her question wasn’t an easy one to answer. I could feel Luther's gaze on me from the far side of the library, where he had returned to restocking the shelves. There was something cautious, almost guarded, in the way he moved—like he didn’t want to draw too much attention to us.
I knew why. He hadn't told Nancy anything about the Aether, and he didn’t want her involved in something so dangerous, so incomprehensible. I respected that. It wasn’t my place to bring her into this world if he hadn’t already.
I took another sip of tea, buying myself a second to think. "History," I finally said, setting the cup down. "I've always been fascinated by it. Myths, origins of stories—especially in a place like New Hollow. There's so much that gets lost in time, but sometimes you find pieces of it still clinging to the present."
Nancy tilted her head, considering my answer. “History, huh? Is that what brought you here in the first place?”
"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep it vague. The truth was, I'd been drawn here for reasons I didn’t even fully understand myself—like something had been pulling me toward this place long before I knew what lay beneath it. But Nancy didn’t need to know that.
She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. “I get it, though. This town does have a way of keeping its secrets.” Her gaze drifted toward one of the dusty old windows, where the light barely filtered through. “When I was little, my dad used to tell me stories about Hollow Town. He’d say the place was cursed, that anyone who went too deep into the ruins would never come back the same. Used to scare the hell out of me.”
I smiled softly. “Your dad sounds like he had a flair for the dramatic.”
She laughed, nodding. “Oh, he did. But there was something about the way he said it... I don’t know. It wasn’t just to scare me. Sometimes I think he really believed it, in a way.”
“Maybe he did,” I mused, my mind drifting back to the pages I’d been reading. So many people, over so many years, had believed similar things about Hollow Town. Maybe they hadn’t been wrong.
Nancy’s eyes flickered toward Luther, who was still busy at the far end of the library, but she lowered her voice just slightly. “You know,” she said, her tone more serious now, “he worries about you.”
I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Luther?”
She nodded. “He’s seen a lot of people come and go over the years. Tourists, researchers... people like Richard. He told me once that people get too wrapped up in the history here. They start seeing things where there’s nothing, and eventually, it drives them mad.”
There it was again. That same warning, the same quiet fear that Luther had been trying to protect me from.
“I appreciate the concern,” I said softly, my fingers brushing the edges of the old pages in front of me. “But I’m not Richard.”
Nancy studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I know. But maybe just... take care of yourself, alright? I’d hate to see you lose yourself in all this.”
There was genuine concern in her voice, and it reminded me of the lines Luther had drawn for her—to keep her safe, to keep her away from the truth of the Aether. I wasn’t sure if she sensed that there was more to my research than I let on, or if she simply worried because she’d seen what had happened to people like Richard. Either way, I couldn’t bring her into it. Not now.
“I will,” I promised, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be careful.”
Nancy relaxed a little, as if that was all she needed to hear for now. “Good. Because I’m not bringing you tea every time you land yourself in the hospital.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, matching her grin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The hours drifted by in a haze of old texts and inked pages. I worked methodically, flipping through the fragile pages of manuscripts, piecing together the scattered remnants of forgotten history. The quiet hum of the library surrounded me, interrupted only by the occasional visitor. Tourists mostly eager to bring home some piece of New Hollow’s mystique. A few book enthusiasts shuffled in, their fingers grazing spines, looking for something familiar or perhaps something strange.
But I kept to myself, hunched over the table, my focus anchored to the book before me. Every so often, Nancy would pass by glancing at me with a knowing smile as if she expected me to get lost in this world of myth and legend. Luther, too, remained nearby, his quiet presence offering a kind of comfort.
As the evening wore on and the soft light from the high windows began to dim, the library emptied out. Nancy busied herself at the front desk, tidying up in preparation for closing. I could hear the soft rustle of her gathering papers, the faint creak of the floorboards as she moved from one section to the next. The peace of the library was settling in, the kind that told you the day was nearly done.
Then, just as Nancy was about to lock the doors for the night, the sound of them opening caught my attention. I glanced up, expecting another tourist who had wandered in late, but what I saw made me straighten up in my chair.
Morgan Davies stepped through the threshold; his silhouette framed by the fading light outside. The sight of him immediately set my nerves on edge, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. His eyes swept over the room briefly before locking onto mine, sharp and calculating.
He walked toward me with an air of nonchalance that didn’t match the intensity in his eyes. Morgan always had this way of looking like he wasn’t paying attention when, in fact, he noticed everything. His posture was casual, almost lazy, like he hadn’t slept in days and couldn’t be bothered to stand up straight. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie slightly askew, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He gave off the appearance of someone who’d long stopped caring, yet there was something sharp, almost predatory, beneath the surface.
"Evening, Ellie," he greeted, his voice carrying that same false weariness. He leaned against the table, not bothering to ask if he could sit. His eyes flitted over the books and papers I had scattered across the table. “Still at it, I see.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, not appreciating the sudden intrusion. "What do you want, Morgan?" I asked, my tone a bit more clipped than I intended. His presence here wasn’t random, not with the way he had walked in and beelined straight for me.
He let out a slow sigh, as if exhausted by the mere effort of being here, but his eyes never left mine. "I need your help with something," he said, tapping a thick manila folder on the table. “A case I’ve been working on.”
I raised an eyebrow. Morgan Davies wasn’t the kind of man to ask for help. Not unless there was something in it for him. "What kind of case?" I asked carefully, my guard still up.
He slid the folder toward me, his smirk almost amused, as if he knew I’d be intrigued. “Take a look.”
I opened the file, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the first page: four photographs of young adults, their faces frozen in an unsettling stillness. All were tourists from the UK, all in their mid-twenties. They had been found dead in an abandoned warehouse, arranged in a circle that resembled a ritualistic pattern.
"What’s so special about this case?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The lack of answers in the report was disconcerting, to say the least.
The following pages detailed their last known activities—typical tourist behaviour, nothing out of the ordinary. But then I flipped to the final page. It was an autopsy report, and as I scanned it, my blood ran cold. There were no signs of physical injury, no poisons or venom within their systems, and their medical histories revealed no inherited diseases. The report concluded with a chilling simplicity: they were just dead, with no explanation for how or why.
Morgan's gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. “And it’s not just these four. There’s been a string of similar cases. People disappearing, turning up dead with no discernible reason.”
I stared at him, absorbing the gravity of his words. It was unsettlingly familiar. The idea of people dying without any known cause, without leaving a trace of how or why—it echoed too closely to the fragments of research I had been piecing together.
Morgan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think there’s something more to this. Something connected to the strange occurrences in New Hollow. And I have a feeling you might be able to shed some light on it.”
I forced myself to remain calm, trying to mask the rush of unease that the case stirred within me. Morgan was good at this—playing the overworked detective who couldn’t care less about the job. But I knew better. Beneath that dishevelled exterior was a mind that never stopped working. He was sharp, clever, and always one step ahead. I’d learned that the hard way during the Haverstead case. He had a knack for reading people, for seeing things they didn’t want to reveal. And right now, I could feel his eyes trying to peel back the layers of whatever I had been hiding.
I crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. “If you’ve got a case, why come to me? You’ve got plenty of people at the department to handle it.”
He gave a lazy shrug, but there was an edge to his demeanour. “You’re right, I do. But none of them have your... unique perspective.” His eyes flicked to the research materials in front of me again, then back to my face. “And this isn’t exactly a straightforward case. It’s... odd.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what game he was playing. He wasn’t being entirely honest with me, that much was clear. But whatever he was dealing with... it wasn’t ordinary. And if he thought it was worth bringing me into, that meant it was something big.
Morgan straightened up, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his jacket. “Look,” he said, his voice shifting back to its casual drawl. “I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye. But I think we both want the same thing here—answers.”
I stayed quiet, mulling over his words. He wasn’t wrong. Answers were what I had been chasing for the past month, and now here he was, dangling them right in front of me.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, not willing to commit to anything just yet.
Morgan grinned, pushing away from the table. “That’s all I’m asking for.” He gave me a nod, then turned toward the door, but before he left, he glanced back at me one last time. “Just... don’t take too long, Ellie. Time’s not exactly on our side.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving the library in a silence that felt heavier than before.
I left the library, my mind whirring with the unsettling case Morgan had laid out before me. The night air was cool against my skin as I walked the short distance back to my apartment, my thoughts tangled in the puzzle he’d presented. The eerie similarity between these deaths and the strange occurrences I’d been studying was too significant to ignore. There was a thread connecting them, and I couldn’t help but feel that unravelling it might bring me closer to understanding the deeper mysteries that had haunted me for so long.
My apartment building loomed in the darkness as I made my way up the stairs. The familiar creak of the steps and the faint hum of the building’s aged electrical system felt oddly comforting. I fumbled with my keys, unlocking the door and stepping into the small, dimly lit space that had been my refuge over the past month.
Inside, the apartment was a mess of scattered papers, old coffee cups, and the faint smell of ink and dust. I dropped my bag onto the table, and I reviewed the details of the case in my mind.
The more I considered the case, the more I felt a pull to get involved. Morgan had been clear—he needed my help, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this case was intertwined with the very things I had been studying. It was a chance to dig deeper into the mysteries that had eluded me and to confront the shadows that lingered on the edges of my understanding.
It was late, but not too late to make plans. I decided to meet with Morgan the next day. I needed to know more, to get a sense of what exactly he was up against. There was something significant about this case—something that might lead to answers about the Aether, about the strange occurrences in New Hollow, and about the dark, hidden forces that seemed to shape our world.
I finished tidying up and prepared for bed, my mind still racing with thoughts of the case. As I lay in the dark, the weight of the decision settled over me. I knew that getting involved would mean diving back into the tangled web of mystery and danger, but the pull was too strong to ignore. Tomorrow, I would see Morgan and take the first step toward unravelling this latest enigma.
For now, though, I let the exhaustion take over, hoping that sleep would bring some clarity. But as I drifted off, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever lay ahead would be more complicated and more perilous than anything I had faced before.