Maya’s boots sank into the damp sand as she stepped off the ferry, the brine-heavy air stinging her lungs. The town of Hollow’s End stretched before her, a collection of weathered cottages huddled against the cliffs like children clinging to their mother’s skirts. She adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of her mother’s journal pressing against her ribs. It had been six months since the accident, six months since she’d last seen the jagged coastline that now loomed over her. The ferry captain had muttered something about ‘tidal shifts’ before he’d vanished into the fog, leaving her with a map scribbled in her mother’s looping script. She traced the ink with her thumb, the paper brittle beneath her fingertips. A gull shrieked overhead, and she flinched. The sound was too sharp, too close. The town had no name on its sign, just a carved wooden arrow pointing inland. Maya followed it, her boots crunching over gravel as the sea breeze tugged at her sleeves. The air smelled of salt and something else—something metallic, like rusted iron. She paused at the edge of the woods, the trees leaning inward as if whispering secrets. Her mother’s journal had mentioned a ‘pier that never creaks,’ but she couldn’t remember why. A sudden gust of wind sent leaves swirling around her, and she shivered. The sun was low, bleeding orange through the clouds, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch toward her. She pressed forward, the path narrowing until it opened into a clearing. The pier was there, its planks bleached white by the sun, but it didn’t creak. It didn’t move at all. Maya approached cautiously, her breath shallow. The water below was still, reflecting the sky like a shattered mirror. She reached out, fingers brushing the wood, and felt a vibration—a low hum that resonated in her bones. A voice echoed in her mind, not spoken but felt: *You shouldn’t have come.* She stumbled back, heart hammering. The journal slipped from her hands, pages fluttering open to a sketch of the pier, its lines jagged and uneven. A note scrawled in the margin read: *They don’t want you here.* The wind howled, and the trees groaned. Maya turned, but the path was gone, replaced by a wall of blackthorn bushes. She ran, her boots slapping against the earth, until she stumbled into a courtyard bordered by stone buildings. A woman stood in the doorway, her face half-hidden by shadow. ‘You’re late,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’ Maya froze. The woman stepped forward, and the light caught her face—sharp features, eyes like storm clouds. ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ the woman continued. ‘But since you are…’ She gestured to the courtyard, where a circle of stone benches surrounded a dry well. ‘This is where it starts.’ Maya shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’ The woman tilted her head, studying her. ‘You will.’ She turned, striding toward the nearest bench. ‘Sit.’ Reluctantly, Maya obeyed. The bench was cold, the stone seeping into her legs. The woman sat across from her, fingers steepled. ‘Your mother came here looking for answers. She found something she wasn’t meant to see.’ ‘What?’ The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘A door. One that doesn’t open.’ Maya’s pulse quickened. ‘What kind of door?’ The woman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out a pendant—silver, shaped like a spiral. ‘This is what you’re looking for,’ she said. ‘But be careful. Some doors don’t close.’ Maya reached for it, but the woman pulled it back. ‘First, you need to understand what you’re up against.’ She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘The town doesn’t remember. The people here… they forget. But the water remembers everything.’ A chill ran down Maya’s spine. ‘What does it remember?’ The woman’s gaze hardened. ‘What you’ve lost.’ Maya opened her mouth to protest, but the sound was swallowed by a sudden roar. The courtyard trembled, and the well began to fill with water, rising fast. The woman stood, her expression unreadable. ‘You have to choose now,’ she said. ‘Stay and learn the truth, or leave before it’s too late.’ Maya stared at the swirling water, her reflection distorted in its surface. She thought of her mother’s journal, the cryptic notes, the way the pier had hummed beneath her fingers. The voice in her mind returned, clearer this time: *You were never meant to leave.* She took a step back as the water spilled over the edge of the well, dripping onto the stone. The woman’s face was calm, almost sad. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But you’re already part of it.’ The world tilted. Maya’s vision blurred, and she felt herself falling—not down, but forward, into the cold, dark water.
