CHAPTER ONE

THE PHOTOGRAPH

The attic smelled of dust, old wood, and forgotten years.

Nia Carter sneezed as she pushed aside another box.

Sunlight slipped through the tiny circular window above her head, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Tiny particles floated through the beam of light, dancing lazily in the air.

She hated this attic.

Ever since her grandmother died three months ago, the house had felt different.

Quieter.

As though it were listening.

Her mother wanted the place cleaned before they sold it.

Nia wanted to finish quickly and leave.

Unfortunately, her grandmother had been a collector.

Boxes.

Books.

Old furniture.

Broken clocks.

Hundreds of things nobody needed anymore.

Nia wiped sweat from her forehead and moved another dusty crate.

Something beneath it caught her attention.

A wooden chest.

Unlike everything else in the attic, it wasn’t covered in dust.

It looked… untouched.

Almost new.

Which made no sense.

The chest had no lock.

No keyhole.

Just a single symbol carved into the lid.

A circle surrounded by twisted branches.

Something about the symbol made her uneasy.

Yet she couldn’t stop staring at it.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered.

Slowly, she lifted the lid.

The hinges groaned.

Inside were photographs.

Hundreds of them.

Neatly stacked.

Nia frowned.

She picked up the first photograph.

A family portrait.

A smiling woman standing beside two children.

Normal enough.

Except she didn’t recognize any of them.

That wasn’t strange by itself.

Blackthorn Village wasn’t huge, but she certainly didn’t know everyone.

Then she flipped the photograph over.

Written in faded black ink were three words.

Forgotten.

By.

Everyone.

A chill ran down her spine.

She reached for another photograph.

This one showed a teenage boy sitting on a bicycle.

Again, she didn’t recognize him.

The back contained another message.

Taken by the Hollow Man.

Nia laughed nervously.

“Grandma, what kind of weird hobby was this?”

She continued sorting through the photographs.

Each one featured a different person.

Different ages.

Different years.

Different faces.

But every photograph carried a similar message.

Forgotten.

Taken.

Gone.

Missing.

The deeper she searched, the stranger things became.

One photograph looked unusually recent.

The colors hadn’t faded.

The paper wasn’t damaged.

It couldn’t be more than a year old.

The picture showed a young man standing beside Blackthorn Lake.

Dark hair.

Sharp features.

Serious eyes.

He looked directly into the camera.

For a strange moment, Nia felt as if he were staring back at her.

The name written behind the photograph read:

DARIAN VALE.

Below it was a date.

October 14, 1998.

Missing.

Another date followed.

October 20, 1998.

Presumed Dead.

Nia frowned.

Then she noticed something else.

A smaller date had been added beneath the others.

Photograph Taken: Last Month.

Her heart skipped.

That had to be a mistake.

Someone missing for nearly twenty years couldn’t have been photographed last month.

Unless they weren’t dead.

A loud thump echoed somewhere downstairs.

Nia nearly dropped the photograph.

The house fell silent again.

She waited.

Nothing.

Just the old wooden structure settling.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Still clutching the photograph, she hurried downstairs.

Her mother stood in the kitchen preparing dinner.

“Mum.”

“Hm?”

Nia placed the photograph on the table.

“Do you know who this is?”

Her mother glanced at it casually.

Then froze.

The knife slipped from her hand and clattered onto the counter.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Nia.”

Her mother’s voice had become strangely tight.

“Where did you find that?”

“The attic.”

Her mother’s face lost all color.

Without warning, she snatched the photograph.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re throwing this away.”

“What?”

Her mother crossed the room and tossed the photograph into the fireplace.

The flame swallowed it immediately.

Nia stared in disbelief.

“Mum!”

“Never go into that attic again.”

“What is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

Her mother refused to answer.

And that frightened Nia more than anything.

Because her mother never refused answers.

That night, sleep refused to come.

Rain tapped softly against her bedroom window.

The village beyond lay silent beneath the darkness.

Nia sat on her bed scrolling through her phone.

11:47 p.m.

Still awake.

She kept thinking about the photograph.

About her mother’s reaction.

About the name.

Darian Vale.

Eventually she gave up trying to sleep and walked to the window.

The rain had grown heavier.

Streetlights glowed weakly through the mist.

Then she saw him.

A figure standing across the road.

Motionless.

Watching her house.

Nia’s breath caught.

The distance was too great to see clearly.

Yet somehow she knew.

Dark hair.

Tall.

The same face.

The same eyes.

Darian.

Lightning flashed across the sky.

For a split second his face became visible.

Not angry.

Not threatening.

Terrified.

As though he were trying to warn her.

The lights inside the house flickered.

Nia blinked.

The figure vanished.

Gone.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Then a sound came from behind her.

A soft scrape.

She turned.

A single sheet of paper rested on her desk.

It hadn’t been there before.

Slowly, she approached it.

Her hands trembled.

Three words were written across the page.

DON’T GO INTO THE FOREST.

Nia stared.

A second sentence appeared beneath the first.

Not slowly.

Not as if someone were writing.

The letters simply emerged.

As though an invisible hand was pressing them into existence.

HE IS STARTING TO REMEMBER YOU.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

And somewhere deep within Blackthorn Forest, something opened its eyes.