The last bus dropped Maren Calloway at the edge of Lantern Wood just after sunset, its headlights cutting a narrow beam through the thickening mist before disappearing down the road. She stood alone with a suitcase and a messenger bag slung across her shoulder, staring at the dense forest that swallowed the path ahead. Her breath came out in faint clouds as early autumn cold seeped beneath her coat. She had not returned to Lantern Wood since she was fifteen. Fifteen and terrified. Fifteen and certain she had seen something that should not exist. Fifteen and desperate to forget the very town she was now forced to return to. If…

The storm reached Blackmerrow Valley the night Liora Halden returned to the abandoned orchard her family had once tended. The sky cracked open with rolling thunder, shedding intermittent light across rows of ancient apple trees. Their twisted branches clawed upward like pleading hands, the fruit shriveled and untouched for years. The orchard had been her mothers pride, a land rumored to be older than the valley itself. Liora clutched her coat tighter around her as she stepped from her car, the wind lifting strands of dark hair across her face. She had not been back in twelve years, not since the accident that took her mother and left her father…

The night the fog crawled back into Ravenshade Creek was the same night Elara Winslow returned after ten years away. She stepped off the old bus that dropped her at the edge of the silent town, her coat dusted with cold mist drifting across the road like something alive. Ravenshade had always been strange but in her childhood memories it was gentle strange, the kind that made her think magic might hide behind every old sycamore tree. Now the air tasted heavier, like the town had been holding its breath for too long. Elara had not planned to come home. She had run from Ravenshade as soon as she turned…

The town of Mistwood rested in a valley where fog lingered long after sunrise. Lanterns hung from crooked posts, their light faint and flickering, giving the streets a ghostly ambiance. Wooden cottages lined narrow alleys, their windows glowing with soft warmth. The forest surrounding the town was dense and ancient, trees twisted into unnatural shapes, shadows stretching long and deep. Locals whispered of spirits wandering the woods and the hills at night, of voices that called travelers away from safety, and of lights that floated without source. It was a place where reality and legend blurred, and only the cautious survived the hollow mist. Mira Thorne arrived on a late…

The village of Silver Hollow was hidden deep within rolling hills, surrounded by forests so thick that sunlight barely reached the ground. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, with a faint metallic tang that hinted at something older than memory. Locals spoke little, and those who ventured out at night often returned pale and silent. It was said that beneath the village, in the caverns of stone and roots, spirits lingered. Some sought peace. Others hungered for something lost in life and death. Travelers often dismissed these stories, but for those who had felt the pull of darkness, the Hollow was a place of reverence and fear. Selene…

Evernight Hollow was a village wrapped in fog and mystery. The houses were made of dark wood, and their windows flickered faintly at night like eyes watching the world. Streets twisted unpredictably, and the air carried a chill that seemed to linger no matter the season. People spoke of strange lights in the forest and voices that drifted across the hills at twilight. Few outsiders dared visit, and those who stayed often whispered that the village had a life of its own. Elena Dusk arrived at dusk, drawn by letters she had received from a relative she had never met. She was twenty six, tall, with hair the color of…

The small lakeside town of Willow Shore woke each day with a gentle quiet that felt almost sacred. Mist drifted above the water like soft white silk. The ripples glowed with morning light. Wooden houses lined the curved shore with faded paint and old charm. Tall pines surrounded the town and whispered softly whenever the wind visited. Willow Shore felt like a forgotten world preserved in calm air and birdsong. Days moved slower here. Time did not hurry. People lived with simple routines and honest conversations. It was the kind of place where every sunrise looked like a promise and every sunset carried a story. Amelia Ward stepped off the…

The town of Riverhollow looked like it had been carved out of an old watercolor painting. Rows of wooden houses stood beside the slow moving river that reflected the morning sun in a soft golden glow. Autumn rolled across the hills with gentle strokes of orange and warm brown. The air was cool enough to sting the skin but pleasant enough to make people stay outside a bit longer to greet their neighbors or walk along the narrow stone paths. The smell of damp leaves lingered in the breeze and blended with the faint aroma of fresh bread from the lone bakery situated near the bridge. Riverhollow felt quiet and…

The night wind drifted across Willowmere Village carrying the scent of wet soil and wildflowers. The town rested quietly at the edge of an ancient forest where the trees grew larger and older than anything recorded in local history. Villagers often whispered that spirits roamed those woods at night. Some feared them. Some honored them. But very few truly believed. Except for Maren Solace. She had believed since she was eight years old when she first saw the glowing figure under the old willow tree by the river. Twenty three now Maren returned to Willowmere after years of working in a distant city. The memories she had tried to bury…

The fog settled over Crestfall Hollow like a second skin, soft and pale, shifting as if it breathed with the forest. Every night the mist returned, and every night the old bridge at the center of the hollow glowed faintly as though lit from within. Locals said it was haunted. Travelers said it was cursed. But no one knew its truth, because very few dared to cross it after sunset. Evelyn Hart had never feared the bridge. As a child she would sit on its moss covered railings, listening to the whispers that rose from the river below. The sounds had frightened others, but not her. She always felt that…