On the Road to Glore Valley –
45 Minutes In...
The wipers struggled against the unrelenting downpour as Max gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched.
The car's headlights barely pierced through the sheets of rain ahead.
The world beyond the fogged-up windows looked abandoned—
Not a single car, not a soul on foot, no lights from distant farmhouses or road signs.
Just a long, empty road swallowed by grey mist.
Clover sat in the backseat, fists clenched in her lap.
"____"
Every flash of lightning made her flinch.
She hated storms.
Ever since childhood, thunder felt like something alive, something hunting.
"Still nothing?"
Abel asked from the passenger seat, wiping the condensation from his side window.
His voice was tight, trying to stay calm.
"Just trees and road,"
Max replied.
"We should've hit something by now."
Nina muttered from behind him.
"A town sign, a gas station, anything. It's been an hour."
Clover's eyes narrowed.
"____"
She looked at her phone.
No signal.
Something didn't feel right.
"…Max,"
She said slowly,
"Turn around. Let's get back to the main road. We can come back once the rain stops."
There was a pause.
"____"
Max's knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"…I was going to say that,"
He admitted.
"But I think we're lost. I—I think we've been driving in circles."
That landed like a brick in the car.
"What?"
Megan's voice cracked.
"What do you mean—"
"I've passed that same crooked tree like three times now,"
Max muttered.
"And the bend before it… I'm telling you, we're going in loops."
The cabin filled with rising murmurs of frustration and anxiety.
Nina swore under her breath.
Megan banged the back of her seat.
Clover's heart thudded in her chest.
And then—
Silence.
"____"
"____"
"____"
The rain stopped.
The thunder ceased.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The road became eerily quiet, save for the gentle hum of the engine.
Even the wind had vanished.
"…Did the storm just turn off?"
Abel asked quietly.
Max slowly hit the brakes, and the tires hissed to a halt.
Screech~
Just ahead, barely illuminated in the headlights, stood a tall, weather-worn wooden signpost on the side of the road.
A cracked and fading plank swayed in the still air, the words barely legible through rot and moss:
"Welcome to Glore Valley."
Next to it stood a two-story Victorian-style house, worn but intact.
The windows were dark.
A broken porch swing hung to one side, creaking gently… despite the absence of wind.
Max leaned forward and pointed.
"I… I think we're here."
The car engine idled softly as the group stared at the old house ahead, its silhouette outlined by the headlights against the unnatural quiet.
Above them,
The sky was a spectacle of wrongness—
Storm clouds hung in a perfect circular formation, swirling in a ring that stopped precisely above the house like a border drawn by some divine or cursed force.
The rain had ceased—
But only over the house.
Outside that boundary, the downpour continued in torrents.
"What the hell is this…"
Abel muttered, stepping out of the car and staring up.
"Rainclouds don't move like that."
He turned toward Max, who was still gripping the steering wheel.
"We need to leave. Now. Something's not right."
Max shook his head, tired and frustrated.
"Leave? We've been driving in circles for hours. No gas station, no people, no roads on GPS—and by some miracle we found this place."
He motioned toward the decaying sign and the house beyond it.
"We stay here until the rain clears."
Inside the car, the others were glued to their phones.
"Still no bars…"
Nina muttered, frowning.
"No Wi-Fi either."
"Did anyone get a signal?"
Abel asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Megan snorted and pointed past the crooked wooden cross planted near the house.
Snort~
"Yeah. We've got a signal—a bad one."
Her sarcasm faded into unease as she added,
"…look."
Behind the cross stretched rows of gravestones, half-buried in overgrown weeds.
Fresh soil was turned in some.
At least seven newly dug graves sat open, waiting.
"____"
"…Jesus,"
Max muttered.
"Maybe someone inside can help,"
Nina suggested, breaking the silence.
"It's an old house. Maybe there's a landline. Maybe people live here."
One by one, they began moving toward the house, their footsteps hesitant, quiet.
All except Clover.
"____"
She stood still, eyes locked on the line where rain met dryness, just a few feet in front of her.
Rain fell furiously before her—
But not on her.
She was bone dry.
She extended her hand beyond the invisible boundary.
Soaked.
She pulled it back.
Wet.
She gets a bad feeling about it for some reason.
But her friends were already crossing the porch, calling her name.
Still, she stared at the rain curtain.
And took one step forward.
The house creaked softly under the weight of age and silence.
Dust danced in the faint light filtering through grimy windows.
The group fanned out to explore, each person drawn to something different.
Nina, scanning the living room, paused in front of an old wall calendar.
The page, yellowed and curling at the corners, read:
October 24, 1988
She blinked.
"Guys… this thing hasn't been updated in decades,"
She muttered, more to herself.
Her gaze shifted to an antique wall clock, not digital but powered by an hourglass mechanism.
The sand trickled silently inside the glass tube, completely disconnected from any wires or electricity.
"Weird…"
She whispered, mesmerised.
Meanwhile,
Megan, wandering down a narrow hall, found the restroom.
The tiles were cracked, the mirror stained with age.
She turned the faucet.
Click… click…
Nothing. No water.
She sighed.
"____"
Sigh~
"Great. Creepy haunted house with no plumbing."
Meanwhile,
Max had his camera out, documenting everything—
An old habit, a hobby that helped him keep calm.
Tools were scattered around the storage room:
Rusty hoes, hatchets, sledgehammers—
Each with dried dirt or something darker on them.
Then he saw the bulletin board.
Tacked to it were dozens of missing person posters—
Children, teens, adults, and even the elderly.
The dates ranged across decades.
His heart skipped when his eyes landed on one photo.
Melanie Sanders –
Age 22 –
Missing since October 2023
It was Clover's sister.
His voice cracked:
"Guys! Come here—now!"
Meanwhile, Clover still stood just outside the boundary, eyes on the swirling wall of fog and rain.
That's when she saw it—a figure.
A girl.
Standing still in the fog just beyond the tree line, face obscured by shadow.
"____"
"…Melanie?"
Clover whispered, stepping forward.
The figure turned slightly, vanishing deeper into the mist.
Without thinking, Clover chased after her, slipping past the invisible rain barrier.
Back at the house's entrance, Abel stepped out and scanned the area.
"Clover? Hey! Where are you?"
Inside the fog, Clover could hear his voice—
But it sounded distant, warped, like it was coming through water.
She spun around, confused.
"Abel?"
No response—
Only fog.
Then—
A hand gripped her shoulder.
She gasped and turned.
It was Abel.
"…What the hell are you doing out here?"
He asked, his eyes narrowed with worry.
Clover blinked.
The fog was thinning.
"I… I saw someone. A girl. I thought…"
"Let's get inside. Now."
While Abel and Clover returned to the house,
Inside, Nina had discovered a guest logbook on an old wooden desk.
The names of dozens of visitors were written inside… each with a date and time.
Each name and time was repeated exactly thirteen times.
Nina frowned.
Frown~
"Why would the same person write their name thirteen times… on thirteen different pages?"
A confused look crossed her face.
Still, she picked up the nearby pen and scribbled her own name:
Nina Parker – 3:42 PM
As Max shouted from the next room, Nina closed the registry and ran over with Megan.
"What is it?"
Max pointed at the board.
"Look."
Clover's eyes widened as she stepped into the room and saw the poster of Melanie.
Her fingers trembled as she reached toward the photo.
"That's… that's her,"
She whispered.
"Why is her poster here?"
Megan asked, voice low.
None of them had an answer.
Outside, thunder echoed again—
But the skies above the house remained calm, dry, and far too silent.
Night blanketed Glore Valley in a cold, eerie silence.
The house, already drenched in mystery, now seemed to breathe darkness from its very walls.
The group, exhausted from their strange discoveries, settled uneasily—
Each in their own corner of the house.
That's when it began.
CRASH.
A window shattered upstairs.
Before anyone could react, a masked figure—
Face obscured by a pale porcelain mask smeared with old blood—
Appeared in the hallway with unnatural speed.
Max barely had time to scream before the killer drove a blade through his chest, pinning him to the wall like a rag doll.
Blood sprayed across the old wallpaper.
"NINA, RUN!"
Megan screamed.
But Nina barely made it past the living room before the killer slit her throat in a flash of motion.
Megan tried to hide in the bathroom, slamming the door shut—
But the killer punched through the rotted wood and dragged her out by the hair, her screams muffled by the downpour outside.
Abel tried to protect Clover, wielding a fireplace poker.
He fought—
But it was overpowered.
The killer snapped his neck with a casual twist.
"NO!!"
Clover cried, eyes wide in horror, as she was the last one standing.
Tears streaming down her face, she lunged with a kitchen knife and stabbed the killer through the chest.
But… nothing.
No scream.
No flinch.
No blood.
He tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
Then, with a flick of his arm, he drove a blade into her stomach and lifted her off the floor.
Her last breath came out in a sob.
Everything faded to black.
Suddenly—
FLASH.
A blink.
And…
It was daytime again.
Nina was once again in front of the guestbook, pen in hand, staring down at the open page.
Megan was inside the bathroom, twisting the faucet.
Max stood in front of the bulletin board, camcorder in hand.
Abel was calling out to Clover near the entrance.
Clover stood on the porch, blinking, confused.
'Wasn't it just night? Weren't they just… dead?'
Max glanced again at the wall of missing posters.
His hand trembled.
"____"
Because now, alongside Melanie's poster, there were new ones.
Max Everett – Age 23 – Missing
Nina Parker – Age 22 – Missing
Megan Liu – Age 21 – Missing
Abel Cross – Age 25 – Missing
Clover Sanders – Age 22 – Missing
His breath caught in his throat.
"No… No. This… wasn't here before."
He stumbled back, calling out,
"NINA! MEGAN! ABEL!"
They all gathered around, staring at the posters.
"____"
"____"
"____"
Each one looked at their own face, their own name, under the bold red heading:
MISSING – LAST SEEN: GLORE VALLEY
Panic set in.
"What the hell is happening?!"
Megan shouted, her voice trembling.
Clover looked around as the realisation hit her.
"We… died,"
she whispered.
"We were killed."
"But we're still here…"
Nina whispered, backing away from the wall.
Abel rubbed his temples, his breath shallow.
"We're stuck..."
The five stood frozen in front of the wall of missing posters.
The ticking of the old wall clock echoed in the silence.
Then, Max muttered, voice grim,
"The killer… he comes at night."
The words settled like ice in their bones.
"We need to barricade the house. Now!"
Clover commanded, her instincts kicking in.
Without wasting another second, they scrambled into action.
Abel and Max dragged bookshelves, wardrobes, and dusty tables across windows and doors.
Clover and Nina pushed the heavy oak dining table against the front door.
The creaking wood and thuds of shifting furniture mixed with the howling wind outside.
But in the middle of the chaos, Megan stood still—
Breathing heavily, her hand trembling over her stomach.
"Megan?"
Abel asked, catching her frozen expression.
"Are you okay?"
She slowly turned her head to him, her lips twitching, pupils dilated.
Then her eyes rolled back—
Turning pure white.
CRACK. CRACK.
CRRRACK.
The sickening sound of bones shifting, popping, and snapping filled the room like the cracking of dry branches.
"Jesus Christ—MEGAN!"
Nina screamed.
Megan's body convulsed violently, her back arching in unnatural angles.
Her jaw stretched wide in a silent scream—
Then let out a piercing shriek that shattered every light bulb in the room.
The room fell into darkness.
POP. POP.
POP.
The only light came from the flickering fireplace—
Until Clover grabbed a flashlight from the drawer near the desk.
"Where is she?!"
Max shouted, panting.
They swept the beam of the flashlight across the room…
Shadows leapt and danced like demons across the walls.
"Megan—!"
Clover called out.
"MEGAN!"
The light found her.
Standing still.
Back turned.
She was in front of the bulletin board.
Her shoulders heaved unnaturally, head twitching side to side like something broken inside her.
Then her hand reached out—
And pointed to the first missing poster.
"M-Mommy… please… I'm scared… help—NOOOO!"
She spoke in a trembling child's voice, imitating a little girl's final cry.
They froze.
"____"
"____"
"____"
She moved to the next poster.
"Don't take me… PLEASE! I don't want to die!"
This time, a man's desperate scream, pitch-perfect.
One after another, Megan's voice shifted with each poster—
Mimicking dozens of voices, some pleading, some crying, some screaming in rage or fear.
Each was different.
Each was too real.
Max dropped the flashlight from his shaking hands.
"What the hell is this…"
Clover gasped, covering her mouth.
"She's… repeating their last words."
Abel slowly stepped forward.
"Megan… please, stop…"
Megan turned around—slowly—her face a blank mask.
But when she opened her mouth again, it wasn't a scream or a word.
It was hundreds of whispers, all at once.
All overlapping. All desperate. All dead.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review and power stone!!!