Mara stepped off the creaking bus, her boots sinking into the damp earth of Cedar Hollow. The air smelled of pine and decay, a scent that clung to her like a memory she couldn’t name. She hadn’t returned in ten years, not since the night her father vanished without a trace. Now, the town’s whispers followed her, sharp as splinters in the wood of the old lodge where she’d grown up.
The lobby was colder than she remembered, its walls lined with faded photographs of men who’d disappeared over the decades. A flickering bulb above the desk cast shadows that danced like specters. Mara’s fingers brushed the edge of the reception counter, its surface rough with years of use. She didn’t need the receptionist to confirm what she already knew—the lodge was empty, save for the ghosts of those who’d never left.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said. Mara turned to see a man in his fifties, his face etched with the same weariness that clung to the building. His name was Eli, the lodge’s caretaker, though he’d never been paid. He’d stayed after the last owner died, bound to the place like a moth to a dying flame.
“I’m looking for my father,” Mara said. “He came here in 2008. You remember him?”
Eli’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Everyone who comes here ends up missing. You’re not the first to ask.” He turned away, but not before she saw the tremor in his hands.
The room above the lobby was a maze of dust and forgotten memories. Mara’s father’s files were gone, but the desk still held a single envelope, its seal cracked. Inside was a map marked with red Xs, each one corresponding to a location she’d seen in the photographs below. The final mark was near the old mill, where the river ran black and the trees grew crooked.
The mill’s entrance was hidden behind a tangle of ivy, its door hanging off its hinges. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of mildew and something older, something metallic. Mara’s flashlight flickered as she stepped over broken machinery, her breath shallow. At the center of the room lay a rusted cabinet, its lock shattered. Inside were files—names, dates, and a list of companies that had operated in the area over the years. One name stood out: Veridian Industries.
The town’s history with Veridian was a wound that never healed. The company had built the mill in the 70s, then abandoned it when the EPA shut them down. But Mara’s father had been investigating something deeper, something that tied the disappearances to the company’s past. As she pored over the documents, a noise echoed through the rafters—footsteps, deliberate and slow.
Mara froze. The flashlight dimmed, casting the room into near darkness. She heard the scrape of a boot against stone, then a voice that sent a chill through her bones. “You shouldn’t have come back.” The speaker was hidden in the shadows, their voice distorted by the mill’s acoustics.
“Who are you?” Mara demanded, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.
“A warning,” the voice replied. “Leave Cedar Hollow before it’s too late.”
The footsteps retreated, leaving Mara alone with the weight of the files and the knowledge that her father’s disappearance was only the beginning. She didn’t know what Veridian had done, but she knew one thing: the answers lay in the town’s buried history, and she wouldn’t stop until she uncovered them.
The next day, Mara sought out Jax, a local journalist who’d spent years chasing the same stories. His office was cluttered with newspapers and half-finished articles, each one detailing the town’s tragedies. “You’re digging up old wounds,” Jax said, his tone more curious than accusatory. “Why now?”
“Because I need to know what happened to my father,” Mara replied. “And I think Veridian is involved.”
Jax’s expression darkened. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just about your dad. The company’s secrets run deeper than you can imagine. They’ve been covering things for decades.” He handed her a folder containing old news clippings and internal memos. “But be careful. Some people don’t want this light shone on them.”
As Mara pored over the documents, she realized the pattern was more complex than she’d imagined. Veridian had been experimenting with something—something that had gone wrong. The disappearances weren’t random; they were part of a larger scheme, one that had cost lives. But there was a thread connecting them all: a series of encrypted files stored in an abandoned server farm on the edge of town.
The server farm was a relic of the 90s, its structure half-buried in the earth. Mara’s flashlight revealed rows of dusty servers, their lights long dead. She found the mainframe, its interface cracked but functional. As she navigated the system, she discovered a directory labeled “Project Elysium.” The files inside detailed experiments that had been conducted on volunteers—people who’d disappeared without a trace. The goal was to create a neural interface that could merge human consciousness with machines, but the trials had gone catastrophically wrong. The subjects had been lost, their minds fragmented across the network.
Mara’s hands trembled as she read the final report. The company had tried to erase the evidence, but some data had survived, hidden in the server’s backups. She knew what she had to do: expose the truth, no matter the cost. But as she prepared to leave, a voice echoed through the chamber.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” the same voice from the mill said. “This isn’t your fight.”
Mara turned, her flashlight illuminating a figure standing in the doorway. It was a woman, her face obscured by a mask of circuitry and flesh. “You’re one of them,” Mara whispered. “A subject.”
The woman nodded. “I was. But I escaped. And I’ve been waiting for someone to find the truth.” She stepped closer, her movements mechanical yet fluid. “Veridian’s experiments are still active. They’re using the remnants of Project Elysium to control people, to manipulate their thoughts. You have to stop them.”
Mara didn’t know if she believed the woman, but the weight of the files in her hands left no room for doubt. She left the server farm, her mind racing with the implications. The town’s secrets were deeper than she’d imagined, and the battle for its soul had only just begun.
In the weeks that followed, Mara worked tirelessly to gather evidence, contacting former employees of Veridian and piecing together the company’s history. She published an article detailing her findings, but the response was mixed. Some townspeople believed her, while others dismissed her as a conspiracy theorist. But Mara didn’t stop. She knew the truth was out there, waiting to be uncovered.
One night, as she reviewed the files in her small apartment, a knock at the door interrupted her. She opened it to find Eli, his face pale and drawn. “You’ve stirred things up,” he said. “They’re coming for you.”
Mara’s heart pounded. “Who?”
“The ones who still work for Veridian. They won’t let you expose them.”
Before she could respond, a car pulled up outside, its headlights blinding her. She grabbed the files and ran, her breath ragged as she fled into the night. The town’s streets were empty, but she could feel the eyes of those who watched from the shadows.
She didn’t know where to go, but she knew one thing: the truth had to be told. And no matter the cost, she would see it through.
