BUY NOW
The last thing sixteen-year-old Lena Carter wanted was to move to a town no one had ever heard of.
Blackthorn Hollow wasn’t just small — it was practically invisible on a map. Tucked between endless stretches of forest, it had no mall, no Starbucks, and only one school where everyone knew everyone else. To Lena, it felt like exile.
The house didn’t help.
It was old, three stories of rotting wood and slanted floors, with a wrap-around porch that sagged like a tired sigh. The windows were long and narrow, like they were meant for watching — or being watched.
Her parents called it "charming." Lena called it haunted.
The first night, fog rolled in so thick it felt like the house had been swallowed by clouds. The dampness crept into her bones, and even the air tasted metallic, like something left to rust.
It was from her bedroom window, just past midnight, that Lena saw him.
A boy stood at the edge of the woods, barely more than a shadow through the mist. He didn’t move, didn’t wave — he only stared, his dark hair falling across his forehead, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even from this distance, Lena could feel it — something magnetic, something that pulled at her ribs like an invisible string.
When she blinked, he was gone.
The next day at Blackthorn High, no one sat with her at lunch. Her second-hand sneakers and out-of-place hoodie made her stick out in a sea of familiar faces, all laughing at inside jokes and gossip she wasn’t part of.
She’d been poking at her fries for five minutes when someone slid into the seat across from her.
"You're the new girl in the Hollow House, right?"
Lena looked up to see a boy — tall, blond, with the effortless confidence that only belonged to football players and prom kings.
"Yeah," she said cautiously.
"You know it’s haunted, right?" He grinned, too wide. "They say it eats girls like you."
Before she could ask more, he was gone.
That night, the whispers began.
Lena was half-asleep when she heard them — soft, melodic, curling through her half-open window like smoke. They weren’t words, not really, but they were calling to her, beckoning.
She crept to the window, fingers trembling as she pushed the glass up. Cold air swept in, along with the fog, thick and clinging to her skin.
And there he was again.
Closer this time, standing at the very edge of the lawn, where the grass met the woods. His hoodie was black, blending into the night, but his face… pale, almost glowing in the moonlight.
He didn’t speak. But the whisper in her mind grew louder.
Come outside.
She didn’t remember making the choice. One second, she was standing at the window — the next, she was stepping barefoot onto the cold, wet grass, her breath curling in the air.
The boy turned and walked into the trees. Lena followed.
The forest was ancient.
The trees were twisted, their bark peeling like dead skin. Moss coated everything, muffling her footsteps. The fog was thicker here, dampening sound, swallowing the world until it was just Lena and the boy.
He stopped beside a fallen tree, glancing back at her with dark, unreadable eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.
“You’re the one who brought me,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “I had to.”
“Why?”
His fingers brushed her wrist — they were cold, so cold — and her pulse fluttered beneath his touch.
“Because they want you,” he said.
Before she could ask who, the fog thickened, swallowing him whole.
At school the next day, Lena cornered the blond boy — Jason, someone called him — near his locker.
"What did you mean?" she asked. "About Hollow House?"
Jason’s smile faltered.
"You really don’t know?"
"Would I be asking if I did?"
He glanced around, lowering his voice. "There’s something in the woods. Been there longer than the town. A spirit, or a ghost, or both. It lures girls into the forest, and they never come back."
Lena’s mouth went dry.
"What about a boy?" she asked.
Jason’s brow furrowed. "What boy?"
She didn’t answer.
The next night, she found him again.
The boy was waiting at the edge of the forest, leaning against a tree. His hoodie melted into the shadows, but his face… his face was beautiful in a way shadows could be beautiful — sharp edges, hidden softness, something fragile beneath the dark.
“You came back,” he whispered.
Lena stepped closer. “Who are you?”
He hesitated, then, “I used to live in your house.”
Her stomach tightened. “What happened to you?”
He reached out, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. It should’ve been freezing — but his touch was like static, sharp and warm all at once.
“I died,” he said simply.
The air left her lungs.
“But not all the way.”
And then he kissed her.
His lips were cold — so cold they burned. But beneath the ice was something else: longing, hunger, and something darker. She should’ve pulled away. She didn’t.
When he broke the kiss, his eyes were darker than the sky, swirling with fog and shadow.
“They’ll come for you now,” he whispered. “Because you’re mine.”
The haunting began immediately.
Her reflection flickered in the bathroom mirror. Her phone glitched every time she tried to take a picture of herself. Whispers followed her through the halls of Blackthorn High.
And at night, she dreamed of him standing at the foot of her bed, his dark eyes full of something she couldn’t name — something between sorrow and love.
One morning, she woke to a handprint on her window. From the inside.
The next time she found him, he was waiting deeper in the woods, standing beside a tree split down the middle like a wound.
"Who are you?" she asked again. "Really."
“My name was Isaac,” he said. “A long time ago.”
Fog curled tighter around them. A mist-woman formed beside him, her smile too wide, her eyes voids.
“She feeds on love,” Isaac said. “She takes boys who fall for girls like you. Traps us here. Unless someone takes my place.”
Lena kissed him one last time.
Isaac dissolved into mist.
The whispers never left her after that.
Because love doesn’t always save you.
Sometimes, it haunts you.
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