Day 5: The Unseen Presence

The cold crept into Thornwick early on the fifth day, chilling the already tense air. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on Eira as she stepped outside, the wind biting at her face. The cemetery incident had unsettled her deeply, but it was Evandra’s whispered words that haunted her the most.

"You cannot stop what is already in motion."

Eira tried to shake the memory of the witch’s voice as she made her way into town. The streets were quieter than ever, and the few townspeople she passed had the same look of fear etched into their faces. Something had changed overnight—the atmosphere felt heavier, as though the town itself was holding its breath.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a group of children playing near the church. As she walked by, one of the children—a young girl with dark curls—stopped and stared at Eira, her expression blank, her eyes wide with something that looked like fear.

Eira slowed, her heart quickening as she locked eyes with the girl. There was something unsettling about the way the child stood so still, almost like she was seeing straight through her.

Then, in a voice that was far too calm, the girl whispered, “She’s watching.”

Eira’s breath caught in her throat. “Who’s watching?”

The girl didn’t blink, didn’t move. “The witch. She’s coming.”

Before Eira could ask anything more, the girl’s mother appeared, hurrying over and pulling her daughter away. “Come along now, no more playing,” the woman said quickly, casting a nervous glance in Eira’s direction before leading the child away.

Eira stood frozen, the chill in the air suddenly feeling more oppressive. The witch’s presence was growing stronger, and even the children were sensing it. Whatever was coming, it was getting closer.

The Stranger’s Return

Later that afternoon, as the sky darkened with the promise of an early winter storm, Eira decided to visit Margaret. She needed to talk to someone, and Margaret, for all her fear, had always been open to discussing the strange happenings in Thornwick.

When Eira reached Margaret’s house, she knocked but received no answer. Concerned, she tried the door and found it unlocked. Pushing it open, Eira stepped inside.

“Margaret?” she called out, but the house was eerily quiet.

The small living room looked untouched, everything in its place, but there was an unsettling stillness in the air. Eira felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach as she walked further inside.

Suddenly, a low whisper floated through the room.

"Eira..."

She spun around, her heart racing, but there was no one there. Her breath came quicker now, her skin prickling with fear. The whisper had been real—too real. She could feel the presence of something watching her, lurking just beyond her sight.

And then, a movement from the corner of her eye.

Eira turned slowly to see the cloaked woman standing in the doorway, her figure partially obscured by shadows. The woman’s face was still hidden, but her voice was unmistakable.

“You are not alone,” the woman said softly, stepping into the room. “The witch’s disciples have begun to stir.”

Eira’s pulse quickened. “Disciples? What do you mean?”

The woman came closer, her presence heavy and foreboding. “Evandra was not alone in her quest for vengeance. She had followers—those who practiced the dark arts alongside her. When she was executed, their spirits were bound to the curse. Now, as the solstice draws near, they are awakening.”

Eira felt the weight of the woman’s words settle over her. The graves, the disturbances—they were all connected to these disciples. Evandra wasn’t just exacting her revenge alone; she had a legion of followers ready to rise with her.

“What do they want?” Eira asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The woman’s hood tilted slightly, her face still shrouded in darkness. “They want to finish what was started. They want the bloodlines of those who betrayed them. And they want you.”

Eira’s blood ran cold. “Me?”

The woman nodded slowly. “You are the last of Alden’s line. The final piece in Evandra’s curse. She will not rest until she has your blood.”

Eira’s heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts racing. The curse wasn’t just about the town—it was about her. She was the key to Evandra’s vengeance, the one who would bring the curse to its conclusion.

But there was still hope. The woman had given her the dagger, and Eira had managed to disrupt the witch’s power at the cemetery. There had to be a way to stop the disciples before they could rise fully.

“How do I stop them?” Eira asked, her voice firm despite the fear coursing through her veins.

The woman’s shadowed face turned toward the window, where the sky had grown darker, the first flakes of snow beginning to fall. “The solstice is the witch’s most powerful night. If you can sever the connection between her and her disciples before then, you may stand a chance.”

Eira swallowed hard, gripping the dagger that was still tucked into her coat. “How do I sever the connection?”

The woman turned back to her, her voice heavy with warning. “You must find the place where they were bound. The place where the betrayal took place. Only there can you break the link.”

Eira felt her stomach twist with dread. The betrayal—the place where Evandra had been condemned. She knew where it was. The old gallows, just outside of town. It had been left untouched since the day of Evandra’s execution, a place steeped in dark history and fear.

“I’ll do it,” Eira said, though her heart raced with uncertainty. “I’ll go to the gallows.”

The woman nodded, her voice soft. “Be careful, child. The witch’s power grows stronger with each passing day. She will not let you interfere easily.”

As the woman turned to leave, disappearing into the shadows once more, Eira stood in the silent room, the weight of her task pressing down on her. The disciples were awakening, and time was running out.

She had to act, or Thornwick—and her family—would be lost.

The Shadows in the Night

That night, Eira could feel the weight of the witch’s presence even more intensely. The wind howled through the streets, carrying with it the eerie whispers of the unseen. She kept the dagger close, its cold weight a small comfort against the mounting fear.

As she prepared to leave for the gallows, a knock echoed through her apartment, startling her. She opened the door cautiously, and there stood Lucas, his face pale and drawn.

“Eira, something’s happening,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve been hearing things... seeing things. There are... figures. Shadows moving through the streets. It’s like they’re watching us.”

Eira’s heart pounded. “The disciples.”

Lucas frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Eira explained everything—the curse, the witch, the disciples—and as she spoke, Lucas’s face grew more serious.

“I don’t know if I believe in curses,” he said finally, “but something’s not right. People are disappearing, Eira. The town is... changing.”

“I’m going to the gallows,” Eira said, her voice determined. “That’s where it all started, and that’s where I can stop it.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lucas said without hesitation.

Eira wanted to protest, to tell him that it was too dangerous, but the truth was she didn’t want to face the gallows alone. She nodded, and together they stepped out into the cold night.

The Gallows

The path to the old gallows was dark, the trees looming overhead like twisted sentinels. The snow fell softly around them, the wind carrying the faintest hint of whispers—voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Eira clutched the dagger tightly, her heart racing as they reached the clearing where the gallows stood. The old wooden structure was still intact, though weathered by time. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. This was the place where Evandra had been condemned. This was where it had all begun.

As they approached, Eira felt the air grow thick with magic, the same dark energy she had felt in the cemetery. The wind picked up, swirling around them as if the gallows themselves were alive with the witch’s power.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them shifted, and the gallows seemed to groan, the wood creaking as if something was stirring beneath it.

“We need to do this quickly,” Eira whispered, her breath visible in the cold air.

She knelt at the base of the gallows, the dagger in her hand, and began carving the same symbol she had used at the cemetery. The wind howled louder, and the shadows around them seemed to move, closing in.

As the symbol took shape, the air seemed to crackle with energy, and the ground beneath the gallows shook. Eira’s heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

Just as she finished carving the final line, a deafening screech filled the air—a sound that chilled Eira to her core.

And then, the shadows moved.

From the darkness surrounding the gallows, figures began to emerge—tall, twisted figures draped in shadow, their faces obscured by darkness. The disciples. They had arrived.

Eira stood, her heart racing, the dagger still in her hand. The disciples moved slowly toward her, their presence suffocating, their power palpable.

Lucas stepped in front of her, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We need to get out of here.”

Eira nodded, her pulse quickening as they backed away from the gallows, the disciples still advancing.

But as they moved, Eira could feel it—something had shifted. The symbol had worked. The connection between the witch and her disciples had been weakened. They were still there, but their power wasn’t as strong as it should have been.

They had bought themselves time, but the curse wasn’t broken yet.

The final reckoning was coming.