The Village That Lied

Vance Escaped Through the Bedroom Window and Climbed Down an Old Trellis.

He Returned to The Village Just Before Midnight.

Margaret Was Waiting Outside the Inn.

“You Saw Her,” she Said as If She Already Knew What Happened.

Vance Grabbed Her Arm with A Trembling Hand Full of Anger and Confusion.

“Tell Me Everything.” He Demanded.
She Looked at Him for A Long Time Before Unlocking the Inn’s Back Door.

Inside, She Led Him to A Storage Room Filled with Old Newspapers, Dusty Records, And Photographs.

“Your Father Was Not the First Person to Lose His Family in That House.” She Spoke.

She Placed a Newspaper on The Table.

Its Headline Read:

Five Residents Missing After Fire at Vale Estate.

The Date Was 1986.

Another Newspaper Was Dated 1966.

Then 1946.

Every Twenty Years, Something Terrible Happened in Nokin.

Families Disappeared. Children Were Found Wandering the Roads. Villagers Died in Locked Rooms. Sometimes, Entire Households Vanished Without Leaving a Single Trace.

The Official Explanations Varied: Fires, Accidents, Mental Illness, Unexplained Departures.

But The Pattern Was Always the Same.

The Tragedy Began at The Mansion.

“What Is This?” Vance Asked.

“A Secret the Village Has Kept for Generations.”

Margaret Opened an Old Ledger.

Inside Were Lists of Names, Each Accompanied by A Date and A Handwritten Mark.

The Final Page Contained the Names of Vance’s Family.

Adrian Vale
Eleanor Vale
Clara Vale
And Vance Vale.

Beside Vance’s Name, Someone Had Written:

Returned.

“Why Is My Name Here?” Vance Said in Frustration.

“Let’s Take a Sit First,” Margaret Said.

“Your Father Believed He Could Control Whatever Lived Beneath the House. He Was a Physician, A Clever Man, And A Fool. He Thought He Could Turn Death into Something That Obeyed Him.”

She Told Him That In 1986, A Group of Villagers Had Discovered a Chamber Beneath the Mansion. It Contained Old Photographs, Personal Belongings, And Records of People Who Had Disappeared Over More Than a Century.

The Villagers Believed the Chamber Was a Burial Place.

Adrian Believed It Was Something Else.

He Began Studying the Disappearances, Interviewing Survivors, And Collecting Objects Recovered from The House. Eventually, He Convinced Several Villagers to Help Him Conduct Experiments in The Basement.

“What Kind of Experiments?” Vance Asked as His Heart Was Pounding Heavily with Fear.

Margaret Looked Away.

“Experiments Involving the Dead.” She Said with A Sad and Serious Tone.

Adrian Claimed He Could Hear Voices Through an Old Underground Passage Beneath the Mansion. He Said the Voices Belonged to People Who Had Died in Nokin. And That They Could Answer Questions About the Past.

At First, He Used the Chamber to Investigate Old Disappearances.

Then His Own Mother Died.

After That, He Became Obsessed.

He Wanted to Hear Her Voice Again.

“And The Villagers Helped Him?” Vance Retorted in Disbelief.

“Some Believed Him. Some Were Afraid of Him. Others Had Secrets of Their Own.”

Margaret Slid Another Photograph Across the Table.

It Showed a Group of Villagers Standing in Front of The Mansion In 1986.
One Of Them Was a Younger Margaret.

Beside Her Stood Adrian.

Behind Them. Barely Visible in An Upstairs Window, Was A Woman with A Face Identical to Eleanor’s.

Except The Photograph Had Been Taken Years Before Eleanor Was Born.

“Your Father Called It a Doorway,” Margaret Whispered. “But The Others Called It the Hunger.”

“What Is It?” Vance Stared Intently at Margaret.

“Something That Learned to Wear the Faces of The Dead.”

Vance Looked at The Photograph Again.

“Why Didn’t You Tell the Police?” Vance Said as If It Was Stating the Obvious.

Margaret’s Eyes Filled with Tears.

“Because We Were the Police. We Were the Doctors, The Teachers, The People Who Signed the Reports. Nokin Survived by Agreeing Not to Remember.”

She Took His Hand.

“Your Father Didn’t Create the Evil in That House, Vance. He Only Gave It a Way to Enter Our Lives.” She Said, Trembling with Fear in Her Eyes.

A Bell Rang from The Church.

Once.

Twice.

Three Times.

Margaret Went Rigid.

“Midnight.” She Whispered as If She Was Waiting.

From The Street Came the Sound of Footsteps.

Dozens Of Them.

Slow, Synchronized Footsteps Moving Toward the Inn.

Margaret Blew Out the Lamps.

Through A Crack in The Curtains, Vance Saw the Villagers Gathering Outside.

They Stood Perfectly Still.

Everyone Of Them Was Facing the Mansion.

And Everyone of Them Had the Same Pale, Empty Face.

Margaret Whispered:

“Whatever You Do, Don’t Let Them See You.”

Then Someone Knocked on The Inn Door.

Three Times.