Lila’s fingers brushed the dusty spine of the journal as the attic light flickered, casting jagged shadows across the rafters. The air smelled of mildew and forgotten things, a scent that clung to her skin like a second layer. She’d found it beneath a loose floorboard, hidden beneath a tangle of yellowed newspaper and rusted tin cans. The leather cover was cracked, its edges frayed, but the embossed symbol—a serpent devouring its own tail—gleamed faintly in the dim light. She opened it to a page marked with a faded red ribbon, and the inked words leapt off the page like live things.
‘The veil thins where the river bends,’ it read. ‘But beware the hollow heart that feeds on memory.’
A gust of wind slammed through the attic window, sending a cascade of dust into the air. Lila coughed, her pulse quickening. The journal’s pages were filled with sketches of the town’s landmarks—old millstones, the crooked oak at the edge of the woods, the abandoned church with its shattered stained glass. Each illustration was accompanied by notes in a cramped, looping script, some entries smudged as if by tears.
She traced the lines of a map drawn in the margin, her breath hitching when she recognized the location: the hollow beneath the mill. It was a place she’d avoided since childhood, a patch of land where the earth seemed to swallow sound and light. Her grandmother had warned her never to go near it, muttering about ‘unquiet things’ and ‘voices in the dark.’ Lila had always thought it was superstition—until now.
The attic door creaked open, and Lila snapped the journal shut. Her cousin, Jace, stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes narrowed at the journal in her hands. ‘You shouldn’t be up here,’ he said, his voice low. ‘This place is cursed.’
‘It’s just an attic,’ she replied, though her fingers trembled as she tucked the journal into her backpack. ‘What’s wrong with you? You act like it’s haunted.’
Jace stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floorboards. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘The mill—it’s not just a place. It’s a wound. My grandfather died there, and your grandmother… she vanished after that. Nobody talks about it.’
Lila’s stomach twisted. She’d heard the stories, of course—how her grandmother had disappeared years ago, how the town had buried the truth beneath layers of silence. But she’d never believed them. Until now.
‘I’m going to the mill,’ she said, her voice steadier than she felt. ‘I need to know what happened.’
Jace’s expression hardened. ‘You don’t want to know,’ he warned. ‘Some secrets are better left buried.’
But Lila had already made up her mind. The journal was a key, and she would find the lock.
—
The mill stood at the edge of the town, its stone walls weathered by time and wind. Lila approached it under the cover of dusk, the sky bruising to violet as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a reminder of the forest that encroached on the abandoned structure. She pushed open the rusted gate, its hinges groaning in protest, and stepped inside.
The interior was a labyrinth of broken machinery and shattered glass. Faint beams of light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling, illuminating motes of dust that swirled like tiny constellations. Lila’s boots crunched over debris as she moved deeper into the building, her heart hammering in her chest. The journal’s map had led her here, but the path was unclear, the shadows stretching long and jagged across the floor.
A sound echoed through the mill—a soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingers drumming on wood. Lila froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sound came again, closer this time. She pressed herself against the wall, her hand brushing against something cold and metallic. A rusted pipe. The tapping stopped.
‘Hello?’ she called, her voice barely above a whisper. No answer. Just the creak of the building settling around her.
She continued forward, her fingers tracing the walls as she navigated the maze of machinery. The journal’s notes had mentioned a hidden chamber beneath the mill, a place where the veil between worlds was thin. She found it near the back—a narrow stairwell descending into darkness. The steps were slick with moss, each one a challenge to climb. At the bottom, she emerged into a cavernous room, its walls lined with strange symbols carved into the stone. The air was colder here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older, something unnameable.
In the center of the room stood a pedestal, and on it rested a small, ornate box. Lila approached it cautiously, her hands trembling as she lifted the lid. Inside was a collection of objects: a silver locket, a bundle of dried herbs, and a single black feather. But it was the journal entry tucked beneath them that made her breath catch.
‘The veil is thin here,’ the entry read. ‘But the price is high. To see what lies beyond, you must offer something in return. A memory. A life. A part of yourself.’
Lila’s mind raced. This wasn’t just a relic—it was a trap. The journal had led her here, but at what cost? She could feel the weight of the room pressing in on her, the symbols on the walls seeming to pulse with a faint, eerie light. She needed to leave, but the door had vanished, replaced by a solid wall of stone.
A whisper curled through the air, soft and insistent. ‘You were never meant to find this.’
Lila spun around, her heart pounding. The room was empty, yet the voice lingered, echoing in her skull. She stumbled back toward the pedestal, her hand brushing against the locket. It clicked open, revealing a photograph of her grandmother—smiling, young, and alive. A memory. A life. A part of herself.
The whisper grew louder. ‘You must choose.’
Lila’s hands shook as she clutched the locket to her chest. The journal had warned her, but she hadn’t listened. Now, the price was clear. She could leave, but at the cost of her grandmother’s memory—or stay and risk losing herself entirely.
The symbols on the walls flared to life, casting an otherworldly glow across the room. Lila closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. She had come seeking answers, but now she faced a choice that would define her. The veil was thin, and the hollow heart awaited.
—
The next morning, the town awoke to an eerie silence. The mill stood unchanged, its stones weathered by time, but something had shifted. The air felt different, heavier, as if the very fabric of the world had been altered. Lila emerged from the woods, her face pale, her eyes distant. She didn’t speak of what she’d found, only that she’d seen the truth.
Jace found her at the edge of the town, staring at the mill. ‘You’re different,’ he said, his voice tinged with both fear and understanding.
Lila didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The memory of her grandmother was gone, replaced by something else—a knowledge that burned in her chest, a connection to the hollow heart that now pulsed within her. The veil had thinned, and she had paid the price.
As the sun rose higher, casting golden light over the town, Lila turned away from the mill. The secrets of the past were buried, but the future was uncertain. The hollow heart still beat, and somewhere in the shadows, the veil waited for its next visitor.
