Snow crushed beneath hurried footsteps as two figures moved through the forest, their breathing uneven against the freezing night air.
The mist was everywhere.
It was not just moving around.
It was watching.
Branches scraped against the outerwear of the girls who kept on moving through the forest. They accidentally tripped over some frozen roots hidden under the snow. One of the girls was casting anxious glances behind as if she felt that something was following them. Her pale fingers were almost physically shaking as she held the other girl's wrist.
The older girl rebuked the other: "Stop looking back."
"You heard it too, " the younger girl replied in terror.
A moment of silence was followed by the crunch of a step.
Somewhere behind them a barefoot step.
The younger girl immediately went rigid.
"N- No…" she whined in a terrified whisper. It was as if the fear had caused her to lose her voice altogether.
Then a sure step followed even nearer to them. The sound however was peculiar.
Too slow.
Too calm.
Like the one who was behind them was not chasing them at all. It was as if it was already aware of the place where they would end up, in the exact same way as a predator spotting a prey. It was too calm that if a person saw it they would ignore it and at the same time it was very aware.
The older one pulled her sister's hand even stronger and dragged her along.
"Push ahead."
The woods stretched endlessly. All the directions looked alike snow everywhere, black trunks of the trees, dense fog swallowing the path behind them within seconds.
"We shouldn't have come here, " the voice of the younger girl quivered.
The older didn't give an answer right away.
Because, on some level, she realized that it was true.
Then out of nowhere, the fog in front of them moved. The environment went from normal to a very unusual situation of silence and a sensation of anticipation existed only for the storm.
It was hidden among the trees, a figure.
Standing motionless.
Still.
The only contact with snow was made by the soft soles.
Even though moonlight filters in through the branches, the face remains completely obscured by the shadow.
The young girl stopped breathing.
"What is that...?"
Automatically, the elder sister went in front to shield the younger one. Slowly, the figure took a step ahead.
Crunch.
One more.
Crunch.
The younger girl clung on to her sister's sleeve feeling terrified.
"It has caught us..."
"No, " the elder one suddenly whispered, despite her voice being laced with fear. "Don't say that."
The creature was coming closer.
Leisurely.
Time to react.
The little girl was having trouble breathing.
Suddenly, she glanced at her sister as if something had dawned on her
Fear glazed her eyes.
"It's after one of us only."
The elder sister moved her head from side to side.
No.
"You realize it is not."
One more step.
Almost within reach.
The fog surrounding it was contorting in a way that the cold seemed to be the only element that could be wrapped around its body.
The little girl slowly let go of her grip.
"You should have allowed me to go when I told you, " she muttered with a very faint voice.
The elder sister had tears in her eyes.
"Please don't."
"You never trusted me."
The shadow advanced a great deal in an instant.
Unthinkable.
First, it was far away.
The next only a few feet away.
The younger girl screamed.
Suddenly, a hand snatched her from the smog. The older girl threw herself forward but her fingers only grazed her sister's wrist for a brief moment before the icy blackness dragged her away into the white mist.
"No!"
The cry split the air in the forest.
Through the mist, the elder girl went halfway by herself, trying to touch someone who wasn't there anymore.
Only silence responded. A whisper right next to her ear.
Quiet.
Deep.
"You were the reason it followed me."
Elena sharply shook awake and started to breathe heavily. She was sweating and panting abnormally. Her breaths were short and irregular as she felt as if the darkness was surrounded her bedroom's walls. After that, for a little while, she was frozen. However, she took her hand to her forehead, and, in a soft voice, said, "Yet again that nightmare."
The nightmare was like cold water that stuck to her body. In fact, it was one of the things, along with sleep deprivation, making her crazy. Elena was not even sure when her last peaceful sleep was.
Through the window of her Blackthorne apartment, the rain was hitting the glass softly, and morning's faint light was struggling to get through the clouds.
Another nightmare.
Another winter.
Another night when Aurelia disappeared again.
Elena covered her forehead with her hand and opened her eyes again.
It has already been four years since her sister disappeared and this memory still lingers in her mind just as a form of punishment.
By the time she got to the kitchen, the scent of coffee was in the air.
Viviane Voss, her mom, silently was standing by the stove, making breakfast, and Dr. Adrian Voss, her dad, was sitting and reading a medical journal but it was obvious that his mind hadn't left the journal in quite a long time now.
Both of her parents are from very distinguished backgrounds. Her father, Dr. Adrian Voss, is a highly experienced neuroscientist and a university researcher mainly focusing on trauma memory, behavioural responses, and cognitive disorders. On the other hand, her mother, Viviane Voss, is a criminal psychologist specializing in missing persons and trauma survivors. She has dedicated many years to helping victims regain memories after cases of abuse or manipulation.
They passed these qualities down to their daughters both of whom were gifted in their own way academically: Elene Voss was a standout student especially in science, while the younger one, Aurelia picked up her dad's interest and focus on brain research.
They both glanced at the time Elena entered and she really hated those glances. That wary look people get when they are around grief.
"Good Morning, Eli" her mother said softly.
Elena nodded once and reached for a mug.
"You didn't sleep again," Adrian observed. Not a question.
Elena leaned against the counter. "I slept."
Viviane exchanged a glance with her husband. Nobody pushed further. They had learned not to.
Silence settled naturally between them, the kind families learn after tragedy reshapes the structure of normal conversation.
Elena's gaze drifted toward the hallway wall. Toward the portrait. A girl dressed in bright pink fork with a bow that clung onto her hair. Aurelia smiled brightly from inside the frame, frozen forever at twenty. The photograph had been taken during a summer trip years ago before everything fractured apart.
Before police reports.
Before interviews.
Before missing person posters slowly faded from city walls.
Back when their home still sounded alive. Aurelia used to fill silence effortlessly. Music in the mornings. Arguments over breakfast. Late-night laughter drifting down hallways. Now the apartment felt too organized.
Too careful.
Almost as if everyone in the house was afraid that if they made a noise, the grief that was lying under the surface would wake up and disturb them. Viviane caught Elena's gaze and then, quietly, told her, "She wouldn't like it at all, if she saw the house being so serious all the time."
Elena quickly looked away. Her father took off his glasses and slowly setting his journal down he said, "Your mother worries about you."
"I'm fine, " Elena's voice was firm as she said that, hinting at wanting to get out of there.
Viviane kept a gentle tone, "You can say you are okay but, from what I see, you, in fact, only manage to function."
Elena remained silent. It was because, on some level, she knew that they were right.
Since the day Aurelia had vanished, Elena had been living as a machine: study, work, sleep, and repeat. Feelings were being kept very tightly under control through the use of routine.
"I just wish, " a hushed voice, from Viviane, dropped, "that you will not hold her responsible for everything, eternally."
Elena grasped her mug more tightly. None of her parents explained the statement further. It was simply not necessary, as each person in the room was already well aware of what was meant by it.
Aurelia went missing four years ago after a trip to a conference for scholars outside Blackthorne.
According to the official investigation, it was only a kidnapping that was suspected. Authorities have not been able to identify any witnesses. No body seems to have been found. The forensic results have been inconclusive.
Though Elena never believed the explanation given by the government, the case gradually faded from public memory after six months because the evidence never seemed to follow the natural course.
The security camera video was damaged. Phone records partly deleted. Witness times did not match.
Only then did Elena realize for the first time how easily one can lose the sense of right and wrong when the system, which is supposed to keep it, is not willing to do so any longer and, this discovery became not only a preoccupation but also, in the end, a professional career for her. In forensic science, Elena found that which no amount of sorrow could provide: certainty.
Evidence either existed or it didn't. Blood told stories people lied about. Bone fractures preserved violence long after memory failed. Crime scenes remained honest even when institutions were not.
At least that's what Elena used to believe.
"Just remember, sweetheart, we are always here for you, and nothing that has happened is your fault. Please don't keep punishing yourself," Adrian said gently. "It hurts to see you like this." Watching his daughter in such pain was almost more than he could bear. He once hoped to see a smile on her face, but now he could only see a person whose heart felt heavy and who had lost the ability to weep for the hurts it carried.
Viviane gently placed her hand on her husband's shoulder, her touch a soothing gesture meant solely for comfort. She couldn't help but notice the cracks beginning to show beneath his composed exterior, a silent struggle that weighed heavily on her heart.
Elena sitting across the edge of the table watched the scene unfold before her, a profound heaviness settling in her chest as if a hand had gripped her from within. She longed to reach out and offer solace, but the weight of her own guilt kept her frozen in place. As she finished her coffee and took a hurried bite of her sandwich, she finally spoke, "I need to get to work," before heading upstairs to change, feeling the emotional turmoil linger in the air.
Both her parents watched her go with heavy hearts, fully aware that their conversations often reached an end. In their silence, they were left waiting, holding onto the fragile hope that, with each passing moment, healing would come. It was this hope that sustained them as they navigated the pain of separation, wishing for a brighter outcome for their beloved daughter.
By the time Elena arrived at the Blackthorne Forensic Division, the city had fully awakened around her.
Cars flooded wet streets.
Sirens echoed somewhere downtown.
The world moved forward the way it always did.
Indifferent.
Elena stepped through the laboratory doors and exhaled quietly.
Another day.
Another attempt to outrun memory through work.
She adjusted her gloves slowly while fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
The beginning of a new day.
That was what she always told herself.
Even when every day felt like an extension of the last.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
DECEMBER 12
11:43 PM
ASHFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND
Warm light spilled from the windows of Whitmore Bakery onto the snow-covered streets of Ashford, shining like the only living thing left awake against the seemingly endless winter night.
Inside, the smell was of freshly made bread, cinnamon, butter melting, and wood being burnt.
The difference from the freezing streets outside was almost too much to believe.
Behind the counter were dozens of golden bread loaves waiting to be cooled while steam was drifting softly from the oven-heated pastry trays. Frost had a hold on the bakery windows, turning the storm outside into vague white forms.
The old man, clasping a cup of tea in his weathered and rather heavily built hands, sighed happily, "Nothing beats hot bread in winter, really."
A second customer started laughing and while tearing a piece of warm bread said "Especially on Fridays, isn't it? It's like, bread helps people get over their fear of going out."
What followed was a low hum of conversation, the clinking of cups, and the crackling of a gentle fire. Before long, the bakery managed to appear as if it had not noticed the oppressive gloom that had descended over the entire town.
Secure.
By the counter, Clara Whitmore, a seventeen year old girl, was very careful to place the freshly-baked bread in baskets while trying to shake off flour from her sleeves.
The old lady gave her a kind smile. "It is your bread that keeps this place alive, my dear."
Clara grinned gently. "Or keeps them everyone so stuffed that no one has the time to be grouchy."
Several customers snickered softly.
Still, the baked goods' delicious aroma and the flickering fireplace in the bakery could hardly smother the harsh reality awaiting them outside. Periodically, someone would give a nervous look towards the window which was getting darker by the minute.
At the snow.
At the clock, which was almost hitting midnight.
Because Ashford's winter Fridays were the nightmare of a good mood in the room once night came too close. Snow was falling hard a few seconds before midnight.
The town was silent already.
On winter Friday's shops closed earlier. Doors were locked before it even got dark. The curtains were also drawn tightly.
Here, people considered silence a kind of protective shield.
Clara clutched her coat as she dashed across the deserted street since she was already freezing and because of the wind, even if it came from the narrow spaces between the buildings made it more difficult. The bakery where she worked had been closed late due to the beginning of the storm.
Currently, she was alone at Ashford, Friday nights are the moments where no one really wanted to be alone.
The churches bell rang . Clara stopped moving. The fog started settling down.
Rapidly.
Dangerously fast.
Within a minute, the road ahead was covered by a pale white haze.
She was getting scared. She was whispering her disbelief "No. Not tonight. Please not tonight."
She hastened her pace, slowly getting heavier with every step.
That's when she heard it.
Crack.
Behind her.
One step more.
Crack.
Turning abruptly, Clara faced the source of the sound.
There was no one.
Only the snow that was continuously falling beneath the weak glare of the street lamps.
She retreated cautiously.
Then she discovered the footprints.
Naked footprints.
Newly-made.
With one after another emerging behind her in the snow.
As though an invisible person was coming closer and closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Clara took off running.
The fog engulfed her instantly, and in the depths of the silent winter night of Ashford, something lurked behind.