Amelia walked beside her mother, following the sidewalk of the small town. Their footsteps echoed faintly between the old buildings, the windows lining the street staring down at them through dusty glass like silent observers.
"Is the library still far, Mom?" Amelia asked, her eyes fixed ahead.
"Not much. Just two more blocks. But don't take too long, alright? I don't want us getting home too late," Margaret replied, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "I don't like the weather today."
Amelia nodded, her eyes scanning every corner of the town. There was something strange in the way people looked at them—an uneasiness… or a quiet fear. Faces that barely smiled. Eyes that turned away too quickly.
Finally, they reached an old building with a sign that read Grimsvale Public Library. The structure was made of grey stone, with tall stained-glass windows—some cracked, others patched. The front door was thick wood, worn and splintered with age.
"Go on in. I'll wait for you here," said Margaret, choosing to sit on a small bench beside the entrance.
Amelia opened the door, greeted at once by the groaning creak of rusty hinges.
The air inside was damp, laced with the scent of old paper and decaying wood. The ceiling stretched high above her, and the towering bookshelves stood like solemn walls of forgotten knowledge. Behind the reception desk stood an elderly woman in a knitted cardigan, round glasses perched on her nose.
"Welcome," she murmured. "Looking for something?"
Amelia stepped closer, polite. "Do you... have any books on history?" she whispered, as if afraid someone might overhear.
"What kind of history, dear?" The old woman eyed her, suspicion flickering behind her gaze.
"Any kind will do. It's for a college assignment," Amelia lied.
The woman paused, narrowing her eyes slightly. She didn't seem convinced.
"There isn't any?" Amelia asked again, glancing around as if something was making her uneasy.
The woman let out a slow sigh before rising from her seat. "Follow me."
Amelia trailed after her through the dust-coated shelves until they reached a forgotten corner of the library. The shelves here were smaller, the light dimmer, and in the upper corners hung webs that shimmered faintly in the low light.
"Here," the woman said. "Books on history. You may find what you're looking for. But remember—" she adjusted her glasses, "—only take what you need."
"Thank you," Amelia replied with a soft smile. The old woman turned and walked away, leaving her alone.
Amelia scanned the shelves. Her fingers paused on a worn spine. The title read: Secrets of Grimsvale: The Old Castle and the Inhabitants Who Must Not Be Named.
Its cover was tattered, but the title alone sent a tremor through her chest.
This was it. She was sure of it.
Sitting in a wooden chair tucked in the corner, Amelia opened the book. Page by page, she discovered tales of villagers who had vanished, fog-laced nights, and shadowy beings that only emerged after dark. But what made her skin crawl was a crude sketch—of a man with silver hair, a long cloak, dark eyes, and a grin revealing sharp fangs.
Griffon...
His name wasn't mentioned, but Amelia felt it. She knew the figure resembled him.
As she prepared to turn the next page, something fell out from between the book's binding.
An old letter. Its paper yellowed with age, the ink faded, but the handwriting still legible.
> If you've found this, it means you've seen them. Trust no one. Even your own family may be blinded by their magic.
Amelia stared at the letter, her body frozen. What did it mean?
She folded it carefully, tucking it back into the book.
Then, slipping the book beneath her coat, she picked up another volume—something ordinary—and returned to the front desk.
"Did you find something interesting?" the old woman asked.
"Yes, ma'am. This one's perfect for my assignment," she replied, handing over the unrelated book.
"Good choice," the woman said, scribbling something on a slip of paper. "You may borrow it for a month. Take good care of it."
"Thank you," Amelia smiled, though her mind was elsewhere. She'd found what she came for.
By the time she stepped outside, the sky had darkened. It always did that. As if the sun had no desire to linger over this town.
Margaret stood up, worry etched on her face.
"What took you so long, Amelia? Let's get home before the weather worsens."
Amelia only nodded, pulling her coat tighter around the book. Something was happening—something long buried, waiting to be found.
Rain began to fall just as they reached the house. Light drops, but the cold made them feel like needles against the skin. Margaret hurried to shut the door and lit candles across the dining table—the electricity had gone out.
"Why were you gone so long?" Philip approached, concern on his face.
"Sorry, I just needed a bit more time to find the right book."
"Then wash up and come downstairs. We're staying together tonight. No one goes off alone."
"Why are you so worried, Daddy?"
"I have a bad feeling. Don't waste time—go get ready."
"I hate the weather in this town," Margaret muttered, closing the windows.
Candles flickered through the house, barely holding back the creeping darkness. She hoped the power would return soon. Truth be told, there was something in that darkness—something dangerous—lurking in the silence of the woods.
Amelia moved quickly. Her room looked gloomy in the candlelight. She took out the hidden book again.
She stared at the letter. Each word echoed louder in her mind. What did it really mean?
Unable to resist, she opened the history book once more.
She read slowly, page after page. And then—she found it.
The name: Griffon.
Written in black ink on a nearly torn page.
Griffon Xander, the last of the clan that had occupied the old castle for centuries.
Her eyes widened.
She read on.
> Griffon Xander was known as a handsome and generous young man, caretaker of the castle and the surrounding village. He controlled the town's economy, yet was rarely seen. Whispers began to spread. Rumors that he was no ordinary man. Warnings to stay away from the castle followed.
"Amelia." Her mother's voice nearly made her heart leap out of her chest.
Amelia scrambled to hide the book before her mother entered.
"Amelia, did you hear me calling?"
Her heart pounded. Footsteps approached. The bedroom door opened. She had just enough time to conceal the book.
"Why are you taking so long? Hurry up—we need to stay close."
"I know, I'm coming."
"And don't forget to close your windows." Margaret closed the door behind her and went back downstairs.
Amelia rushed to the window. As she reached to shut it, her eyes fell on the darkening forest outside.
That shadow—the one she saw last night—sent a chill crawling up her spine.
Without hesitation, she closed the window tightly and pulled the curtains shut. She didn't want to look toward the forest again.
Because whatever lay in that darkness... it was watching.