Her tiny body was warm, soft, completely at ease. Her breath was slow, steady  the rhythmic rise and fall of a child undisturbed by nightmares.

Not stiff. Not whispering unholy things.

Just… Ivy.

Clara stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other cradling her daughter as if the weight of her was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

Maggie stood on the porch, her brows drawn together in concern. The world behind her was alive.

Cars rumbled along the street.

Neighbors watered their lawns, their conversations light and distant.

The air smelled of fresh coffee, damp earth, and the warmth of the rising sun.

There was no stillness. No silence. No suffocating darkness creeping at the edges of the world.

Nothing watched her from the hallway.

Nothing waited in the walls.

Hadn’t she just ?

Clara’s breath hitched. She couldn’t trust what she remembered.

The knocks. The voice. The whispers slithering beneath her skin.

It had all been so real.

But Ivy had been here the whole time.

Sleeping.

Untouched.

Clara’s grip on her daughter tightened slightly.

"You sure you’re okay?" Maggie asked again.

Clara’s throat was dry. Her head felt light, her heartbeat an uneven stutter.

She forced herself to breathe.

"I think I… had a dream," she said slowly, the words uncertain on her tongue.

Maggie didn’t look convinced. "A dream?"

Clara’s fingers curled against Ivy’s back. The warmth of her daughter’s small frame grounded her.

"Yeah," she murmured. "A weird one."

Maggie hesitated, glancing toward the street, toward the morning that had already begun without her.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," she muttered.

Clara swallowed.

Hadn’t she?

The question burned, unanswered.

She stepped back, letting the morning air press against her skin. Letting it push away the memory of what had felt so real just moments before.

"Come in," she said softly. "I could use the company."

Maggie hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping inside.

And as the door closed behind them, Clara told herself the night was over.

That nothing had followed her into the daylight.

That the feeling of being watched was just… left over from the dream.

But deep in her chest, beneath the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty—

She wasn’t sure if she believed that.

Maggie stepped inside, the warmth of the morning trailing in behind her.

The scent of damp grass and sunlit pavement clung to her clothes, a stark contrast to the cold sweat drying against Clara’s skin. The house didn’t feel like a trap anymore. The walls were just walls. The floor was solid beneath her feet. The air was filled with nothing but the quiet hum of a world moving forward.

And yet…

Clara couldn’t shake the unease knotted deep inside her ribs.

She shifted Ivy in her arms, her daughter’s breath still warm against her neck. She had been asleep all night.

Untouched.

Unbothered.

So why did Clara feel like she had survived something?

Maggie’s footsteps were light as she moved toward the kitchen, already pulling her jacket off, tossing it over a chair like she’d been invited into this space a thousand times before.

"You look like hell," she said, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

Clara let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle. "I feel worse."

Maggie was already at the coffee pot, pouring two cups. "So," she said, voice casual, "you want to tell me why you looked like you saw the devil himself when you opened that door?"

Clara’s stomach twisted violently.

She stared at Maggie’s back, at the curve of her ponytail, at the mundane simplicity of this moment.

She could say it.

She could tell Maggie everything the shadows in the hall, the voice at the door, the way the world had stood still and silent, pressing against her like it wanted her to disappear.

She could say it.

But would it even sound real?

Would it sound like anything other than the unraveling of a sleep-deprived mother who had been carrying too much for too long?

Maggie turned, setting a cup in front of her. "Clara?"

Clara forced herself to breathe.

"It’s nothing," she said, her voice steady, even. "I just" She shook her head. "It’s been a weird couple of days."

Maggie arched a brow, taking a sip of coffee. "No shit."

Clara didn’t respond.

She only looked down at Ivy, brushing her fingers through the child’s soft curls.

Everything was fine.

Wasn’t it?

The warm ceramic of the coffee cup pressed into her palms. She stared into the dark liquid, watching the way the surface trembled slightly beneath her fingertips.

Maggie exhaled, leaning back in her chair. "Well," she said, "whatever’s going on, I hope you get some rest soon. You look like you haven’t slept in days."

Clara blinked.

Had she?

Her memories felt fragmented, jagged at the edges. She remembered the woods. The blood. The camera.

She remembered Daniel.

She remembered his body sinking into the dirt.

But then…

Then came the whispers.

The impossible things.

The night that had twisted itself into something she could no longer trust.

Clara exhaled slowly, tightening her grip on Ivy.

She had to let it go.

Had to let the daylight wash away whatever had been gnawing at the edges of her sanity.

Maggie finished her coffee and stood, stretching. "Alright, I got to get going. Just wanted to check in."

Clara nodded, standing as well. "Thanks, Mags. Really."

Maggie smiled, though there was still something unreadable behind her eyes. "Anytime."

She headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

Then, almost as an afterthought *too casual, too light **she said:

"Oh, by the way. James was talking this morning. Said something weird."

Clara’s spine stiffened.

Maggie turned, lips pursed. "He said someone saw Daniel yesterday."

The air turned thick.

Clara’s hands tightened around Ivy.

Maggie let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Obviously, that’s bullshit. Just small-town gossip. But it’s weird, right?"

Clara’s breath felt trapped in her throat.

Maggie didn’t wait for a response.

She just smiled, tipped two fingers in a wave, and stepped out into the sunlit morning.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Clara did not move.

Did not breathe.

The warmth of daylight pressed against the windows, but it did not touch her.

Her grip on Ivy tightened.

She swallowed against the weight in her chest, eyes staring blankly at the door.

Someone had seen Daniel.

A man she had buried with her own hands.

And somewhere, deep inside her…

She already knew they weren’t right

The morning in Ravens Hollow was like any other.

The bakery on Chapel Street had just opened, sending warm scents of fresh bread rolling through the air. A man in a crisp suit sipped coffee outside the café, scrolling through his phone with the kind of ease only possible in a town where nothing ever really happened.

At least, that’s what they all told themselves.

James Turner stood outside his auto shop, arms folded, staring down Main Street.

Something felt off.

He couldn’t put his finger on it just a small thing, a nagging weight in his chest.

Maybe it was the way Mrs. Calloway, who usually walked her dog before sunrise, hadn’t stepped outside today.

Maybe it was the way the sky, despite being bright and cloudless, held an unnatural stillness like the air wasn’t moving right.

Or maybe maybe it was the news.

Daniel Carter.

Missing.

But James didn’t believe that.

No, not for a second.

Men like Daniel Carter didn’t just disappear.

James had seen the way people looked at Daniel. The way mothers tensed when he was too close to their kids. The way women at the bar laughed too loud, too forced, when he made a joke that wasn’t funny.

People knew.

They just never said anything.

And now, he was gone.

James exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t a cop. Wasn’t the type to stick his nose in places it didn’t belong.

But something about this *something about all of this *felt wrong.

He glanced down the street.

At Clara Monroe’s house.

Still. Silent.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain his instinct grew louder

James couldn’t shake it.

The feeling. The weight in his gut, like a warning that hadn’t quite formed words yet.

He told himself it was nothing. Just small-town gossip getting under his skin.

But he didn’t believe that.

His hands tightened into fists at his sides as he stared down the street, toward Clara Monroe’s house.

It looked… normal.

Too normal.

Like a picture in a frame still, frozen, untouched.

But James had lived in Ravens Hollow long enough to know that sometimes, the quiet houses were the ones hiding the worst things.

The street was waking up around him.

A delivery truck rumbled past.

Kids on bikes shot down the road, laughing but something about their laughter sounded hollow, forced.

A few houses down, old Mrs. Calloway finally stepped onto her porch, but she wasn’t watering her plants.

She just stood there.

Not moving.

Not looking at him.

Just… standing.

James exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"Jesus, I need some sleep."

He turned back toward his shop.

Then a movement in the window of Clara’s house.

A shadow. Brief. Unclear.

Too tall to be Clara.

Too broad to be a child.

James stopped breathing.

His feet were moving before he realized it, crossing the street, heading straight for the house.

He told himself he was being stupid.

Told himself it was just a trick of the light.

But the nagging voice in his head the one that had been whispering since Daniel Carter disappeared wouldn’t shut up.

And so, James knocked on Clara Monroe’s door.

And waited.

James stood on Clara Monroe’s porch, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes flicking toward the curtained windows.

The silence stretched.

No footsteps inside. No movement.

His heartbeat picked up.

Something about this house felt wrong.

Not in the way people whispered about haunted places.

No.

This was different. Heavier.

Like the house itself was holding its breath.

James knocked again louder this time.

Still nothing.

He turned slightly, glancing back down the street.

Life carried on.

Neighbors strolled by.

Mrs. Calloway had disappeared inside.

A car door slammed somewhere down the block.

All normal.

Except it wasn’t.

James sucked in a breath, knocking one last time.

Then

A shadow shifted behind the curtains.

James stilled.

Something moved inside.

Not walking.

Not running.

Just… shifting.

Slow. Deliberate.

His pulse kicked up.

He opened his mouth to call Clara’s name, maybe, to make an excuse, to say anything

But then

The door opened.

Clara stood in the doorway.

Barefoot. Hair slightly damp, like she’d just stepped out of the shower.

And yet her face was pale.

Like she hadn’t slept.

Like she’d seen something she couldn’t shake.

Ivy was nowhere in sight.

James cleared his throat. "Hey, Clara."

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him.

Like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

Then, finally

"James," she said, voice thin. "Everything okay?"

James hesitated.

Was it?

Because now that he was standing here, staring at her he didn’t know why he had come.

The feeling in his gut? The whispering unease?

It was still there. Louder than ever.

But suddenly, the words wouldn’t come.

Clara’s fingers tightened on the doorframe. "James?"

He forced a chuckle. Scratched the back of his head.

"Just… checking in," he muttered. "Hadn’t seen you around much. Figured you’d be exhausted with Ivy keeping you up all night."

Clara blinked.

Her grip on the door tightened.

Then, slowly, she stepped forward.

James fought the urge to step back.

"You heard Ivy crying last night?" Clara asked softly.

James hesitated.

Something about the way she said it too careful, too expectant.

He shook his head. "No, I was just assuming, y’know? Kids are restless at that age."

Clara’s lips pressed together.

Like she was holding something in.

Like she was waiting for him to say the right thing.

James shifted awkwardly. "She asleep now?"

A pause.

Then Clara smiled.

Tight. Unreadable. Not quite right.

"Yeah," she said. "She sleeps so well these days."

James’ stomach turned.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

Something felt wrong.

Again.

Still.

Always.

But Clara was watching him now.

And James wasn’t sure if he should be afraid of what was inside the house