Chapter 1
Everly felt the coolness of the evening air drifting through the trees as she gazed at the old country house rising before her. It was a weathered building, overgrown with ivy and moss, the perfect retreat to rekindle her creativity. Her painting had been flat and empty these past months, her muse vanished as if it had fled—but perhaps the solitude of the forest would bring inspiration back to her.
She had packed all her belongings into her small car, and now, in the shimmering light of dusk, she was ready to begin a new chapter. Though it was not truly a new chapter—more a long vacation, a chance to relax, and surely to create a few masterpieces for the gallery. After all, in just two months, the exhibition needed to be well supplied.
The forest around her was mystical and mysterious, the trees so dense the sky was barely visible. The silence was eerily thrilling, as though the forest itself were holding its breath, waiting for something. Everly pulled her coat tighter as she walked the stony path leading up to the house. It was truly quiet here. No birdsong, no rustling animals—only the faint whisper of the wind through the branches. She shook off the uneasy thought and climbed the last steps to the front entrance. Perhaps it was simply the wrong hour for forest creatures; in the early morning, things would surely look different.
The door opened with a soft creak, and she stepped inside, breathing in the scent of old wood and dust. The house was larger than she had expected. For the price, she had anticipated something much smaller. Perhaps the remoteness explained its affordability—the nearest village was half an hour’s drive away.
Everly looked around with interest. The furniture was antique, the walls adorned with faded paintings—everything matched her vision of a place of peace. Yet something about the house felt strange, as though a dark secret lingered between its walls. She did not believe in ghosts, but the longer she stood in the silence, the more uncertain she felt. Carefully, she climbed the stairs, strangely comforted by their creak, and hoped not to encounter anything supernatural above. In such an old and remote house, anything seemed possible.
Upstairs she found a bathroom and four bedrooms, all well kept. No dust lay anywhere. The beds were draped in great white sheets, as were the chairs and armchairs. Everly chose the room next to the bathroom. She pulled down the covers, folded them neatly, and placed them in the old dresser in the hall. Then she flung open the window, inhaling the resinous scent of the forest. Here she would feel at home, here she would surely find inspiration—more than in the city.
She hurried downstairs and unloaded everything from her car, preparing the house for her stay of two months. In the conservatory she spread a sheet on the floor for her easel, then arranged her paints, brushes, and canvases. She put her groceries away in the kitchen, which, to her surprise, looked modern. She wondered briefly where the running water and electricity came from, but decided it did not matter. What she needed was quiet, fresh ideas, and time—plenty of time to finish her projects. Two months were not long. In truth, she had only six weeks, since the paintings had to be delivered to the gallery for framing.
Once everything was set, she brewed herself a cup of hot tea and sat on the veranda, gazing at the forest as fatigue washed over her. Soon she went to bed, and it was not long before she fell into an exhausted sleep.
A strange dream held her captive.
Everly found herself lost in a dense gray fog that cloaked the forest in a mysterious, almost uncanny light. The ground was soft beneath her feet, and the trees rising into the mist loomed like silent, watchful giants. Her steps echoed dully in the damp air, and she pressed her arms tightly around her body, as though the mist itself meant to devour her.
Suddenly there was a sound—a rustle in the undergrowth. Her heart skipped a beat. A strange feeling, part excitement and part fear, coursed through her as she turned. At first, she saw nothing—only the fog, lying like a veil across everything. But then—a glimpse. Out of the mist, out of the shadows, a silhouette emerged.
A man.
He was tall, his figure dark and mysterious, and though his features blurred in the haze, she felt his gaze fixed on her. His eyes—a deep, almost hypnotic blue—met hers, and something unspoken flared between them. An electric sensation drew her toward him like a magnet. Yet he spoke no word. He only stood and watched her.
Instinctively she began to move, then to run, her steps quickening, as though she fled from something she could not name. But the man followed. Always one step behind, moving with an almost supernatural grace. She could not see him, but she knew he was there, watching her. The fog thickened, closing in, and the more she ran, the more it seemed to envelop her.
In the distance she saw a faint light, like a promised escape. It looked like a vast eye, framed by wings. Her legs carried her toward it, faster than she thought possible. But still, the man followed, never letting the distance widen. He was there, always close behind, silent, relentless.
The forest seemed to shift around her. Trees changed shape, shadows danced. The mist felt alive, drawing her into its cold embrace. At the same time, she felt an inexplicable pull toward this stranger who both terrified and fascinated her. She longed to sense him closer, to understand him—yet knew she could never fully resist.
Her steps slowed, and now she tried to approach him. He whirled around, his wide cloak sweeping through the air. The fabric brushed against her, and she halted. She tried to dodge, but could not; again and again, the cloak brushed her, until at last it wrapped around her completely. A dreadful chill spread from him. Suddenly his eyes glowed red, and in a voice heavy with menace he said: “Run—or you are lost.”
Horrified, she stared at him, panic surging. And then …
… she awoke with a scream, her heart racing, the taste of damp fog still lingering in the air, as if the dream had spilled into the waking world.
Shivering, Everly realized her blanket had slipped to the floor. No wonder she had dreamed of cold. And now, awake, the dream seemed less frightening than it had—almost sensual, for the man had been strikingly attractive. Though his red eyes were unsettling, and his words a threat.
She grabbed her blanket, nestled into it, and hoped she would dream of the mysterious man again. And indeed, her wish was granted…
