Day 9: The Shadows Grow Closer

The air in Thornwick had grown colder, heavier, as if the very atmosphere carried the weight of the curse. Eira felt it with every step she took, the dark energy clinging to her like a shadow. The blackened Christmas bell they had found in the church weighed heavily on her mind. It was more than just a warning—it was a signal that the curse was accelerating, that the disciples were gaining strength.

She and Lucas had spent the night pouring over old town records, trying to uncover more about the people who had disappeared. The pattern was becoming clearer: the disciples were targeting those with deep connections to Thornwick’s past, people whose families had lived in the town for generations.

And that meant Eira was in grave danger.

As the morning light struggled to break through the thick clouds overhead, Eira and Lucas met at the town square, their faces drawn with worry. The blackened bell sat in the middle of the table between them, wrapped in cloth, its eerie chime still ringing in Eira’s ears.

“We need to find the next target,” Lucas said, his voice low. “If we can figure out who it is, maybe we can stop the disciples before they take them.”

Eira nodded, but her heart was pounding. Every day that passed, the curse grew stronger. Every day, the disciples claimed another victim. They were running out of time.

“We know the disciples are targeting people connected to Thornwick’s history,” Eira said, her mind racing. “But why? What’s the connection to Evandra’s curse?”

Lucas leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Evandra’s curse was born out of betrayal. The people of Thornwick turned on her, accused her of witchcraft, and condemned her to death. The disciples were her followers, the ones who stood by her. Maybe the people they’re targeting are descendants of those who betrayed her.”

Eira’s heart skipped a beat. It made sense. The disciples weren’t just taking people at random—they were exacting revenge on the bloodlines that had condemned Evandra.

“My family,” Eira whispered, her throat tight. “We’re connected to this. My great-grandfather, Alden, was the one who led the charge against Evandra.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. “Then they’ll come for you.”

The words sent a chill through Eira. She had known, deep down, that she was a part of this curse, but hearing it aloud made it feel all the more real. The disciples wouldn’t stop until they had claimed her too.

“We need to act fast,” Lucas said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We need to find out more about the people who have disappeared—who their ancestors were, how they were connected to Evandra. If we can understand the pattern, maybe we can break it.”

Eira nodded, though her pulse raced with the weight of the task ahead. She knew that time was running out.

Uncovering the Past

Eira and Lucas spent the day visiting the families of those who had disappeared. First, they stopped by Mrs. Finch’s house, hoping to find more information about her family’s history. Richard, who had recovered from his eerie trance but was still shaken, welcomed them inside.

“I still don’t understand what happened,” Richard said, his voice trembling as they sat in his kitchen. “One minute, I was at home, and the next, I was standing in the church with no memory of how I got there.”

Eira exchanged a glance with Lucas before speaking. “Richard, we believe that the disciples—the followers of Evandra—are targeting people connected to the town’s history. Do you know if your family has any connection to the witch trials?”

Richard frowned, thinking for a moment. “I know my great-great-grandfather was involved in some way. He was a town elder during the trials. But I don’t know the specifics.”

Lucas leaned forward. “Do you have any records? Old letters, journals—anything that might give us more information?”

Richard nodded slowly. “There’s an old trunk in the attic. My mother kept some family papers up there. You’re welcome to take a look.”

Eira and Lucas followed Richard up to the attic, where they found the trunk buried beneath dusty old blankets. Inside, they uncovered a stack of letters and documents, many of them faded with age. As they sorted through the papers, Eira’s heart raced.

One letter, in particular, caught her attention. It was addressed to Richard’s great-great-grandfather from none other than Alden, her own great-grandfather.

The letter was brief, but its message was chilling.

“Evandra’s power grows too strong. We must act quickly before she brings ruin upon the town. The council will meet at the gallows to decide her fate.”

Eira’s hands trembled as she read the words. Alden had been behind it all—the betrayal, the accusations, the trial. And Richard’s ancestor had been part of the council that had condemned Evandra.

“This is it,” Eira said, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is why the disciples are targeting your family.”

Richard stared at the letter, his face pale. “So... we’re being punished for something our ancestors did?”

Eira nodded. “Evandra’s curse is about revenge. The disciples are carrying out her vengeance against the bloodlines of those who wronged her.”

“But why now?” Lucas asked, his brow furrowed. “Why after 25 years?”

Eira shook her head. “I don’t know. But whatever’s coming, it’s building to something big.”

Another Twisted Gift

As they left Richard’s house, the air felt colder, darker. The clouds overhead had thickened, casting the town in a perpetual twilight. The sense of dread that had been growing over the past few days was now suffocating.

“We need to figure out who’s next,” Eira said, her voice tense. “If we can stop them before they take another person, we might have a chance to break the curse.”

But before Lucas could respond, a familiar sound filled the air—the eerie chime of a bell.

Eira froze, her heart pounding. The blackened Christmas bell. Its sound echoed through the empty streets, sending a chill down her spine.

“It’s happening again,” Lucas whispered, his voice tight with fear.

They turned toward the sound, their eyes widening as they saw something lying in the middle of the street.

It was another gift.

A small wooden box, similar to the one they had found at the church, sat in the middle of the cobblestone road, its dark symbols glowing faintly in the dim light.

Eira’s pulse quickened as she approached the box, her hands shaking. She knew what this meant. The disciples were marking their next target.

With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid.

Inside was a single item—a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, the lenses cracked and foggy with age.

Eira stared at them, her heart pounding. She knew who they belonged to.

“Mr. Abbott,” she whispered. “He’s the next target.”

Lucas’s face paled. “The librarian?”

Eira nodded. “His family has been in Thornwick for generations. If the disciples are targeting people connected to the town’s past, then he’s next.”

“We need to warn him,” Lucas said, urgency in his voice. “Before it’s too late.”

The Race Against Time

Eira and Lucas raced through the streets, their breath visible in the cold air as they made their way toward the library. The old building stood at the far end of town, its tall, gothic windows looming like dark eyes watching their every move.

The door was slightly ajar when they arrived, the faint glow of candlelight spilling out onto the street.

Eira’s heart raced as they stepped inside. The library was eerily quiet, the scent of old books and dust filling the air. But there was something else—something darker. A presence that felt all too familiar.

“Mr. Abbott?” Eira called out, her voice echoing through the empty aisles.

There was no response.

The two of them moved deeper into the library, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. As they reached the back of the building, where Mr. Abbott’s office was located, Eira’s pulse quickened.

The door to his office was open, and inside, the scene was chilling.

Mr. Abbott sat slumped over his desk, his spectacles lying shattered on the floor beside him. His hand was outstretched, as if he had been reaching for something, but his body was still—too still.

Eira rushed forward, her heart pounding as she knelt beside him. “Mr. Abbott?”

But it was too late.

His skin was cold, his face pale and lifeless.

Another victim of the curse.

Eira’s heart sank as she looked around the room, her eyes falling on the twisted wreath that had been placed on his desk, identical to the ones they had found before.

The disciples had claimed another.