In the quiet
town of Hollow
Creek, the fog
rolled in like
a shroud,
concealing its
secrets.
The
townspeople
whispered about
the old Miller
House,
abandoned for
decades, where
the walls
seemed to weep.
One stormy
night,
curiosity led a
group of
friends to
trespass onto
the rotting
porch, their
laughter
cutting through
the damp air.
As they
stepped inside,
the temperature
dropped, and
the door
slammed shut
behind them
with a
deafening bang.
The flickering
flashlight
illuminated a
figure in the
corner, its
hollow eyes
staring back
with an
unnatural
hunger.
Panic surged
through their
veins as the
shadows
writhed,
revealing
twisted faces,
remnants of
those who
vanished before
them.
One by one,
the friends
were drawn into
the shadows,
their screams
swallowed by
the chilling
silence.
When dawn
broke, all that
remained of the
group were
their
footprints
leading to the
Miller House,
fading into the
mist.
The
townspeople,
ever vigilant,
knew the curse
of the house
had claimed
more victims,
but life went
on as if
nothing had
changed.
Yet, every
time the fog
rolled in, the
whispers grew
louder, a
reminder of the
horrors hidden
within Hollow
Creek.
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