PROLOGUE: (The shadows of Raven Hollow Town)

They called it the Raven Hollow Town.

Even the name tasted like ash and shadow when spoken aloud. It was a town, old with time, and hidden in the deep Northern reaches. These town nestled between jagged mountains, and dense ancient woods that whispered of things unseen.

Unlike other cities, Raven Hollow wasn't a place people readily moved in to. The townfolk of this dark city were rumored to be cursed.

They never asked too many questions, never stayed out late, and they never stray too far from the streets once dusk has kissed the sky.

This routine wasn't a thing of choice. It was an unspoken rule that they had to adhere to, for their own safety.

There was something in the air; an unspoken fear that clung to the mist, and threaded through every whispered warning.

"Keep your doors locked at night." They said.

"Do not open your doors to anyone after midnight."

"Stay indoors after dark."

"Never stray into the woods..."

And the loudest warning of them all was;

"Do not trust any friendly stranger with pretty eyes."

It had been these way for decades, centuries even. Every single child in the town grew up hearing these stories. Unlike other cities where their bedtime stories centers on royal fantasies, and fairies, the bedtime stories they listened to was filled with horror.

It was the stories of wolves with glowing eyes, and the shadowy figures that lured you into the trees, only for your screams to echo back hollow, and unanswered.

Though the stories had believable theories, not everyone readily believed them. Some called them folklores wrapped in superstition. Some believed they were old stories, made up to keep children out of the woods.

But those who truly knew the Raven Hollow Town, knew too well that these stories weren't just moonlight tales, told to keep children in check.

Every full moon, an unusual silent tension gripped the town. Shopkeepers closed early, homes glowed with candlelight behind drawn curtains. Even the priests locked their churches. No one dared to step out of their houses.

Those foolish or drunk enough to wander about, rarely came home. And when some did, they never spoke again, and lived out what remained of their horrible lives in fear.

No one knew what they had seen, or what had seen them. And the townfolk knew better than to probe.

Years ago, a family moved into the town on a vacation. As usual, they were told the silent rules of the city, but the white family saw the townsmen as mad and deluded people.

One day, one of their sons named Thomas, wandered into the woods on a dare. Three days later, his remnants was found, mauled beyond recognition.

The local sheriff called it a wild animal attack, even though he knew that no wolf would leave claws in the shape of a hand. And no earthly beast would drain blood the way Thomas's blood had been drained.

Not satisfied with the sheriff's statement, the family decided to carry out a private investigation on their own. Their remnants was buried in the woods where they had died, blood and water drained from their bodies.

No one knew what they had seen, or what had seen them, but still, life at Raven Hollow continued like nothing had happened.

Schools opened.

Grocers stocked up their shelves.

Tourists still passed through, never staying long enough to notice how the town seemed to breathe differently at night.

These town inhabited so many people, but some stood out. The ones that didn't look like the rest.

The pale-skinned man who owned the antique bookstore no one remembered opening. The tall brooding stranger, who ran late night deliveries on a motorcycle that made no sound.

It was the two oldest families in the town, no one dared speak of.

The pale Rousseau family, and the broad-shouldered Volkov family.

Unlike every other family in the town, these people looked different, and lived their lives different, in a way that didn't suit the natural order of things. They were rarely seen. Always in moving in groups, and privately living their lives in their old mansions, aged with time.

No one knew how they got there, but they belonged to the city more than anyone else.

The whispers said they'd been in here, longer than anyone else.

But no one dared to verify that information.

No one dared to ask questions. Not out loud.

And so, the town continued to live, until a new family moved in.

The Ginger family that had moved from Texas to live out their lives in a quiet place. As usual, they were given the warnings, but when their 19-year old daughter heard the stories of the trees that listened, the shadows that didn't belong to the living, and the voices in the wind, Mary Ginger didn't believe any of it.

After all, monsters weren't real. Creatures of the night belonged to horror movies, and bedtime stories. She believed in the real world, one filled with traffic, late night WI-FI scrolling, and iced coffees with baked cookies. She believed in a world where the only monsters were the humans living in it.

So when she was warned about the dangers lurking every corner of the cursed town of Raven Hollow, Mary Ginger laughed it off.

No tale could scare the Texan girl, who had seen more horror movies, than the ones the tales told.

She laughed at the myths.

Until the myths started watching her.

It all began with a dream. The sharp fangs in the dark, the glowing amber eyes in the trees, and hands so cold, that they burned.

Then the whispers came. The feeling of being watched, and followed. The shadows that moved in places where no light touched, and her name, whispered in voices that wasn't quite human.

Mary Ginger didn't know it yet, but her blood had begun to sing.

She didn't know of the two oldest families in the town, but they knew about her.

Their nostrils picked up her scent from a thousand miles away.

Mary didn't know that the horror tales she was told, was soon to become her own story.