genarepazz
The fog in Hollow Creek never lifted on Halloween.
It rolled in at sunset and stayed until dawn, swallowing the forest and muting every sound — except for the laughter.
Locals said it was the children from the old orphanage, the one that burned down a century ago.
They played in the mist, calling names that no one should answer.
When Daniel moved into the cabin near the woods, he thought it was just a story.
That was until he heard them — giggles, footsteps, a skipping rope tapping against wet ground.
Then, a soft voice outside his window whispered, “Come play with us.”
He peered through the fog and saw small shadows moving between the trees.
He opened the door and stepped out — just one step.
The laughter stopped.
The fog thinned.
And the clearing was empty, except for a line of tiny, wet footprints leading back into the woods.
In the morning, his porch light was still on.
And next to it — a child’s handprint pressed in ash.