Chapter 3

Eloise plummeted into the ravine, her scream tearing through the darkness like shattered glass. The fall seemed endless—wind whipping her hair, jagged rocks rushing past—until the impact slammed her body against the unforgiving earth.

 She awoke with a gasp, wide-eyed and disoriented, a sharp bolt of pain radiating through her back and the base of her skull.

“Ouch… ouch…” she moaned, the sound low and guttural in the quiet room. Her fingers trembled as she reached back, rubbing the tender spot on her head. The dream had felt so real, so visceral, that phantom aches lingered even after consciousness returned.

 Another fleeting vision flickered at the edges of her mind—same shadowy ravine, same solitary terror—before dissolving like mist. She drew in a shaky breath, pushed herself upright, and padded back to her narrow bed.

Her younger sister, Lila, slept peacefully in the cot beside her, chest rising and falling in slow, untroubled rhythm. Moonlight filtered through the threadbare curtains of their small wooden hut, casting silvered patterns across the simple room.

 Eloise envied that serenity. She lay down once more, pulling the thin blanket over her shoulders, and closed her eyes, willing sleep to claim her again.

Then came the barking.

Deep, guttural roars shattered the midnight stillness, raw and frantic. Eloise’s eyes snapped open. The dogs sounded close—dangerously close—as if they were right outside the hut’s flimsy walls, circling the yard. She glanced at the old wind-up clock on the wooden crate that served as a nightstand. The hands glowed faintly: exactly twelve o’clock.

A chill traced her spine. Everyone in the village knew that dogs could see what humans could not—lost souls wandering between worlds, restless spirits stirred by the veil’s thinning at this hour. When the negative elements gathered, when shadows grew teeth, the animals sensed them first. Their howls were both warning and lament.

She pressed her palms firmly over her ears, trying to muffle the savage chorus, but the sound vibrated through her bones. They didn’t own dogs. No one in the neighboring huts did either. Yet the barking grew louder, more insistent, as though the pack had claimed their yard as its hunting ground. The beasts snarled and snapped, their voices overlapping in a frenzied symphony of alarm and fury.

Twenty agonizing minutes crawled by. Eloise counted each one in the dark, heartbeat thudding in her throat, sleep now an impossible dream. The noise refused to fade. If anything, it intensified, as if the dogs were growing more desperate—or more enraged.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw off the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Bare feet met the cold dirt floor. Enough. She would drive them away herself. Grabbing a worn shawl and slipping on her old rubber sandals, Eloise moved quietly toward the door, heart hammering with a mixture of irritation and unease.

The dogs were still howling as she reached for the latch, their cries echoing through the black night like a harbinger of something she could not yet name.

Eloise had just reached for the rusty latch, her fingers brushing the cold metal, when the barking ceased.

The silence fell so abruptly it felt unnatural—like a curtain dropping mid-performance. One moment the night had throbbed with savage howls; the next, nothing. Only the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the forest remained. She paused, hand hovering, then scratched her head in bewilderment, tousling her sleep-matted hair. A wry, uneasy smile tugged at her lips. It was almost as if the dogs had been teasing her, drawing her to the door only to vanish the instant she obeyed.

Shaking her head, she turned away and padded back to her bed. The wooden planks creaked softly under her feet. She slid beneath the thin blanket once more, pulling it up to her chin, and let her eyelids drift shut.

But peace was not to be hers.

A low, mournful moan slithered into the room, faint at first, like wind sighing through cracked earth. Eloise’s eyes flew open. She clapped her hands over her ears, pressing hard, willing the sound away. Yet the voice seemed to bypass her palms entirely—intimate, feathery, and far too close, as though the speaker were leaning over her pillow, lips brushing her ear.

“Aaahhh… Please… help me! Take me out of here!”

The plea was laced with raw desperation, feminine and trembling. Eloise squeezed her eyes tighter, pretending she heard nothing. A wave of icy air caressed her bare arms, raising every fine hair on her skin. Gooseflesh rippled across her body.

For one disorienting second, she felt as if she were hanging upside down—blood rushing to her head, the world inverted, gravity pulling her toward an unseen abyss. Her scalp prickled violently. She clutched the pillow with white-knuckled fingers, burying her face in its musty fabric.

“Eloise! Eloise… Help me! Bring me up to where I am!”

The voice sharpened, calling her by name. It sounded as though it rose from beneath the floorboards—from deep underground—muffled by soil yet terrifyingly clear. Eloise flinched, her heart slamming against her ribs. She bolted upright in bed, breath coming in shallow bursts.

The small room—once shared with her parents before they passed, now occupied by her and Lila—looked unchanged in the moonlight. The simple wooden walls, the cracked mirror hanging crookedly, her sister’s peaceful form breathing steadily in the adjacent cot… nothing stirred. No shadowy figure. No spectral woman. Yet the voice continued, persistent and pleading, echoing inside her skull.

Unable to bear it any longer, Eloise slipped out of bed again. Her bare feet met the cold dirt floor as she moved cautiously through the hut. She checked every corner, behind the old cupboard, near the cooking hearth, beneath the rickety table, even peering into the narrow space under her parents’ old bed frame. The air grew heavier, colder, as if something unseen watched her frantic search. She found nothing—no apparition, no trace of the desperate soul calling her name.

Trembling, she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Just a hallucination,” she whispered to the empty room. “It’s only in my head… nothing more.”

Exhaustion weighed on her like a stone. She returned to her bed, lay down, and drew the blanket over her head, willing sleep to come. But even as her body stilled, the faint, sorrowful moan lingered at the edge of her hearing, patient and unrelenting, waiting for her to listen.

 

Eloise lay rigid beneath the thin blanket, willing herself back into oblivion, when the disturbances returned.

Again and again, the faint but unmistakable creak of the wooden door echoed through the hut—slowly opening, then clicking shut, as if an unseen hand were testing the latch. Her pulse quickened. She kept her eyes squeezed shut at first, but curiosity finally forced them open. Before she could lift her head, a new scent drifted through the darkness: the rich, waxy aroma of freshly lit candles. The smell was overpowering, intimate, as though someone had placed a cluster of flickering tapers right beside her pillow.

Yet they owned no candles. In their modest hut, they had always relied on the old kerosene lamp, its glass chimney blackened with years of use. The scent had no earthly source.

She tried desperately to ignore it, to convince herself it was only her exhausted mind playing tricks. Rolling onto her left side, Eloise reached out and drew her younger sister, Elena, into a tight embrace. The girl stirred faintly in her sleep but remained deeply unconscious, her breathing soft and steady. Eloise buried her face against Elena’s shoulder, craving that same peaceful oblivion. At twenty years old, she had never felt so helpless. These visitations had only begun recently, coinciding with their parents’ unexplained absence. It felt like a curse had finally settled over their fractured family, its shadow lengthening with every passing night.

Her thoughts spiraled in the darkness. When had it truly started? The answer came quickly, sharp as a thorn.

She remembered that strange afternoon weeks earlier. Her father, Fernand, had been crouched behind the hut, feeding a small fire with papers and photographs. Flames licked greedily at the edges. Eloise had glanced at him from a distance but said nothing—his face had been closed, unreadable. Only after he walked away into the forest did she approach the dying embers.

Most of the items had been reduced to blackened curls of ash. But one photograph had survived, half-consumed by fire. Its scorched edges curled like withered petals. A woman’s face stared out from the remaining portion—beautiful, solemn, eyes that seemed to follow the viewer. Eloise had slipped the fragment into her pocket without fully understanding why. She still kept it hidden beneath her mattress.

It was only after that day that the nightmares began: the endless fall into the ravine, the desperate female voice calling her name, the cold presence that watched and waited. The soul—Eloise was now certain it belonged to a woman—seemed to be pleading for justice, for release from some terrible wrong buried in the past.

But how could she help? She possessed nothing but a half-burned photograph and a growing dread. No proof. No witnesses. Only these nightly hauntings that grew bolder with every refusal to listen.

Eloise tightened her arms around Elena, drawing what little comfort she could from her sister’s warmth. The candle scent lingered in the air, thick and accusing. The door creaked once more—opening, then closing—though the hut remained still and empty in the moonlight.

She closed her eyes again, but sleep refused to come. The voice, she knew, would return soon. And this time, it might not accept her silence.

The next morning arrived cold and unforgiving, the kind of chill that seeped into the bones and made the future feel even more uncertain. Survival had become a daily question mark—food was scarce, their parents were still gone, and the weight of unspoken fears pressed heavier than the threadbare blankets.

Eloise stirred awake to bright sunlight slanting through the gaps in the weathered wooden walls, sharp golden beams cutting across the small room like blades. The sun was already high, far later than she ever slept. She reached instinctively for the warm shape beside her, but Elena was gone. The cot was empty, the blanket neatly folded.

She lay still for a moment, listening. The soft clink of plates and spoons drifted in from the other side of the thin partition wall—familiar, domestic sounds that almost felt comforting after the terrors of the night.

Eloise pushed herself up slowly, but the room tilted violently. A heavy dizziness crashed over her, her head throbbing as if filled with wet sand. Her vision blurred and spun. She swayed, gripping the edge of the bed to steady herself. The sleepless night—filled with barking dogs, whispering voices, phantom candles, and that desperate, pleading soul—had exacted its price. With a quiet groan, she sank back down and closed her eyes, willing the vertigo to pass.

How am I supposed to escape this? she thought, heart tightening. The ghost was no longer content to haunt her dreams. It was bleeding into her waking hours, growing bolder. And she still had no idea how to make it stop.

“Good morning.”

The voice was sweet and gentle, warm like sunlight on still water. Eloise’s eyes fluttered open. George stood beside her bed, looking fresh and composed. His dark hair was still damp from a recent bath, a few droplets tracing down the side of his neck. He smelled faintly of soap and the cool morning air. For a brief moment, the sight of him eased the knot in her chest.

She turned her head toward the old clock. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Shit!” she blurted, bolting upright despite the dizziness. “Elena, why didn’t you wake me up?”

George chuckled softly, a gentle, affectionate sound. He crouched beside the bed so their faces were level. “It’s Elena who asked me to let you sleep,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “She’s outside preparing breakfast. It’s already nine o’clock. You looked like you needed the rest.”

Eloise rubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake off the lingering fog. Nine in the morning. She rarely slept past dawn. The night’s disturbances had stolen more from her than she realized. Yet even now, in the bright light of day, she could still feel the echo of that underground voice calling her name… and the faint, ghostly scent of candle wax that refused to leave her memory.

Eloise bolted upright on the bed, heart racing as the reality of the hour sank in. She jumped to her feet, the old wooden frame creaking sharply beneath her sudden movement. Sunlight streamed aggressively through the cracks in the walls, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny ghosts. Even though she couldn’t see her sister from the sleeping area, she raised her voice and called out deliberately.

“Elena! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

She rarely slept past dawn—certainly never until noon. The fact that she had done so now filled her with a sharp pang of guilt and frustration. It was all because of the things that had tormented her through the night: the phantom dogs, the whispering voice from underground, the scent of nonexistent candles. Those disturbances had drained her completely.

“I don’t have the heart to wake you when you were sleeping so soundly,” Elena replied from the other side of the thin wall. Her voice was light and sweet, carrying the gentle innocence of a younger sibling who only wanted the best for her sister.

Eloise rubbed her temples, still fighting the lingering dizziness. Before she could respond, George’s calm, reassuring tone drifted in.

“Don’t scold Elena yet. You look like you haven’t slept properly—those eye bags are turning dark.”

He said it kindly, but the observation made Eloise self-conscious. She touched the delicate skin beneath her eyes, knowing he was right. Exhaustion had left its visible mark.

She sighed heavily and stepped out of the sleeping area into the main room of the hut. “I’m embarrassed that it’s already so late,” she admitted, her voice tinged with worry. “I need to find a job—something stable for Elena and me. We can’t keep going on like this, not knowing when our parents will return.”

That had been her plan since their parents’ disappearance: to secure steady work that could put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. But the dilemma weighed heavily on her. She couldn’t possibly leave Elena alone for long hours. Her little sister was too young, too vulnerable, with no one else to guide or protect her.

George smiled gently, his damp hair catching the morning light as he leaned against the doorway. “Don’t think about wandering around looking for work just yet,” he said. “Mom told me that if your parents still haven’t come back, you and Elena should stay at our house during the day. She needs help planting flowers in the garden. She’ll pay you both fairly, so you won’t have to search all over the village. It’s steady work, and you’ll be close to home.”

Eloise paused, surprised by the generous offer. A small flicker of relief eased the tightness in her chest. Helping in George’s family garden would allow her to earn money without abandoning Elena. Yet even as she nodded in tentative acceptance, the memory of last night’s haunting whispers lingered at the back of her mind like a shadow that refused to fade in the daylight.

For now, though, survival had to come first.

Eloise’s eyes softened with reluctant gratitude. “Really? I’d feel so embarrassed… but I have no other choice. Elena and I need to survive day by day,” she replied, her voice carrying both humility and quiet desperation.

George offered a warm, understanding smile and gently took her hand. “Before you start dramatizing things, come on—let’s have breakfast first. After that, we’ll talk properly.”

He tugged her lightly toward the rough-hewn wooden table in the main room. The simple meal Elena had prepared—steaming rice, fried fish, and a small bowl of pickled vegetables—waited under a thin cloth. For a precious few minutes, as they ate together, Eloise allowed herself to forget the shadows haunting her nights. The warmth of the food, the familiar clink of spoons, and George’s steady presence almost pushed the terrifying memories aside.

Yet the weight never truly lifted. She wanted—needed—to tell George everything: the dreams, the barking dogs that weren’t there, the pleading voice from underground, the phantom scent of candles. At the same time, a different idea had taken root in her mind. Perhaps she should visit the old lady doctor, the village healer known for dealing with restless spirits and negative forces. If anyone could help her sever this connection to the supernatural, it was her. The disturbances were growing stronger, bolder, bleeding from midnight into her waking hours. She couldn’t keep living like this.

After breakfast, while Elena busied herself washing dishes in the small kitchen area, humming softly to herself, Eloise caught George’s eye and nodded toward the door. They slipped outside together, leaving her little sister none the wiser. The morning air was still cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. They walked a short distance from the hut, stopping beneath the shade of a tall acacia tree whose branches filtered the sunlight into soft, dappled patterns on the ground.

Eloise turned to face him, nerves tightening in her chest. “Who should start the discussion?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

George leaned against the tree trunk, arms loosely crossed, and flashed her that familiar, boyish smile—the one that always made her heart feel a little lighter. “Ah, ladies first, of course,” he replied, his tone playful yet attentive, eyes fixed gently on hers as he waited for her to speak.

 

Eloise took a deep breath, her fingers twisting the edge of her shawl as she gathered her courage. The dappled sunlight beneath the acacia tree did little to ease the tension in her shoulders.

“I’d like to ask you to come with me to the old lady doctor,” she said softly. “I haven’t been sleeping properly, George. The disturbances… they grow stronger every time night falls.”

She sighed, her gaze drifting toward the distant tree line. Hesitation lingered in her voice. For twenty years she had lived without any real encounter with the spirit world. Why now? Why had the negative elements suddenly chosen to torment her after all this time? The unanswered question gnawed at her like an open wound.

George’s expression grew serious. He stepped closer, his damp hair now drying in the morning breeze. “Is that why you woke up so late today? What exactly have you been noticing every night?”

Eloise glanced back toward the hut to make sure Elena was still out of earshot, then spoke in a hushed tone. “Many things. I hear voices whispering my name… strange sounds that don’t belong in our home. I smell candles burning right beside me, even though we have none. Dogs barking furiously outside when we don’t even own any. And the nightmares…” She shuddered. “They feel too real.”

George listened intently, his brow furrowed with concern. After a moment, he asked gently, “Do you still pray every night? Maybe your faith in God has weakened with everything that’s happening. That could be why the souls are drawing closer to you now.”

Eloise nodded slowly, appreciating his sincerity. She knew George had a natural gift for comforting those who felt lost or discouraged—he had pulled her through many dark moments before. Still, she met his eyes with quiet conviction.

“I haven’t forgotten to call on God,” she replied firmly. “Even with all the troubles my family is facing, my faith has never wavered. I grew up with it, and I will never renounce Him. But there must be a reason this is happening now. That’s what I need to understand.”

The weight of her words hung between them in the cool morning air. George remained silent for a moment, studying her face as if searching for the right response. Around them, birds called from the branches overhead, and a soft wind rustled the leaves—peaceful sounds that felt almost mocking against the fear she carried inside.

Whatever was haunting her, Eloise knew she could no longer face it alone.

Eloise felt a chill crawl down her spine despite the warm morning sunlight filtering through the acacia leaves. George’s expression had shifted from gentle concern to something far more solemn, almost grave. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as though the very trees might overhear.

“Are you truly confident about this?” he asked, searching her eyes. “Are you ready for whatever revelation you might uncover? My knowledge of these matters comes with a price—a substitute. It could cost your life… or the life of someone in your family.”

The words landed heavily between them. Eloise’s breath caught. She stared at him, her mind reeling at the implication. Sacrifice? Could she truly risk Elena’s safety, or her own, just to silence the voices? For a fleeting moment, she pictured her little sister’s peaceful sleeping face, then imagined her own body cold and still on the dirt floor of their hut. The thought made her stomach twist. She exhaled a long, shaky sigh, fingers clenching the fabric of her skirt.

“But how do you know such things?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

 “You’ve never mentioned anything like this before.”

George leaned back against the tree trunk, running a hand through his now-dry hair. A faint breeze stirred the leaves above them, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face.

“I’m a high school teacher, yes,” he said quietly, “but I’ve spent years studying local folklore and spiritual practices in our region—partly out of personal interest, partly because students and their families often come to me with these kinds of problems during counseling. It’s vacation season now, so I have time to help you properly.”

Eloise studied him with fresh eyes, a quiet astonishment blooming beneath her worry. She had always known George as the patient, reliable boyfriend—the one who taught literature and mathematics to village teenagers, the one who brought small gifts and offered steady words of encouragement. Never once had she imagined he carried hidden knowledge of restless spirits, substitutions, and the dangerous rituals of the unseen world.

The revelation both comforted and unsettled her. If George truly understood these forces, he might be the ally she desperately needed. Yet the warning he had given echoed in her mind like the phantom voice from the night before.

She swallowed hard, her gaze steady despite the fear flickering inside her chest.

 “Then… will you take me to the old lady doctor?” she asked. “Whatever the cost, I need this to end.”

George nodded slowly, his expression softening with quiet resolve. The peaceful morning around them suddenly felt fragile, as though the shadows of the night had already begun stretching toward the daylight.

Eloise listened closely as George continued, his voice steady and thoughtful beneath the rustling acacia branches.

“I’ve met several students over the past few years who faced almost the same issues you’re describing,” he explained. “Restless voices at night, phantom smells, nightmares that feel too real—enough stories that I started looking deeper into these matters. Yours matches many of them.”

“I just want to know the root of it,” Eloise murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground. “I need to understand why this is happening to me now, after twenty peaceful years.”

George nodded, then glanced back toward the hut. “How is Elena? Should we bring her with us?”

“No!” Eloise answered immediately, her tone sharp with protectiveness. She softened it a moment later.

 “Elena knows nothing about this, and I want to keep it that way. She’s still so young. I don’t want her carrying fear or worry on my behalf. Life has already taken enough from her. She isn’t strong enough yet to face these kinds of burdens.”

George’s expression warmed with understanding. He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder.

 “Okay, I understand completely. I’ll speak with Mommy first. She can look after Elena at our house while we’re gone. I’ll go with you to the old lady doctor and help you however I can.”

A quiet wave of relief washed over Eloise, easing some of the tightness that had gripped her chest since the night before. Though her problem remained unsolved, George’s calm presence and willingness to help felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. She looked at him—his kind eyes, the gentle strength in his posture—and felt a deep swell of gratitude.

She couldn’t imagine how she and Elena would have survived these past difficult months without him. In a world that had taken their parents and left them struggling for daily survival, George had become their anchor. His support wasn’t just practical; it was emotional, steadying them when everything else threatened to fall apart.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Truly… thank you.”

George offered her a reassuring smile and took her hand. For a moment, beneath the dappled morning light, the weight of the unseen world felt just a little lighter. Yet in the back of her mind, Eloise knew the real journey was only beginning. The old lady doctor might hold answers, but she also sensed that uncovering the truth could come at a price neither of them was fully prepared to pay.