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Chapter One: Blackwood Hollow's Shadows Thomas arrived in Blackwood Hollow under cover of twilight, the dying sun casting jagged shadows over the crooked buildings. He had expected the town to be small, forgotten by time, but he hadn't anticipated the silence-the kind that pressed against his skin like a living thing. The villagers spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting toward him with suspicion. Strangers were dangerous here. The fear of witches burned in their bones, fed by sermons and whispered warnings. Thomas knew better than to engage them. He had seen men hanged for lesser offenses than arriving unannounced. The house at the end of the road was his now, left to him in a will signed by a name he didn't recognize. It stood alone, leaning against the wind as though it had been waiting for him. Waiting. He felt it the moment he crossed the threshold. The air was thick, but not suffocating-filled with something unseen, something watching. The scent of old wood and damp earth greeted him as he stepped inside, the floor groaning beneath his boots.

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