1. Two hours from now…

TWO HOURS FROM NOW…

THE VICTIM

T he night air is crisp and charged with the eerie howls emanating from the Halloween Hollow Festival.

The grounds here at Willoughby Hall—aptly renamed for the season, Halloween Hollow—are alive with the sounds of distant laughter, the shrieks of teenagers, and the excited chatter of children.

Ghostly decorations sway in the breeze, offering a fright and a delight to all who dare come this way as I stand in the makeshift graveyard that I helped construct, reading the epitaphs on the headstones. But this place looks anything but fake. It looks and feels all too real.

It's as if I can sense the dead, ready to rise from their graves, ready to warn me of the looming danger this time of year seems to promise.

" Here Lies Trouble ," I mutter, chuckling at the creativity of the staff in charge of scribbling on these tombstones.

My eyes flit to another, Beware All Ye Who Enter . Fitting, considering the dangers lurking in this town. As of late, Brambleberry Bay has become a cesspool of lies hidden behind the friendly facades of polite smiles.

A shiver rides through me and it has nothing to do with the icy breeze. The sense of foreboding in this place is palpable.

I cast a glance out at the expansive acres before me. The grounds at Willoughby Hall were practically made for the Halloween season with their brooding hillsides, their depressing flatlands, and the mysterious mansion that looks haunted from the get-go.

The staff at the hall have really done the place up with pumpkins that glow with sinister grins and the distant hum of spooky music to set the mood. Leaves rustle in the breeze, adding to the eerie feel of the place.

Teenagers run by in costumes that are scary enough to frighten the socks off just about anyone, laughing and daring each other to venture deeper into the haunted maze, while younger children clutch their parents' hands, wide-eyed at the spooky spectacle. It's safe to say this month has taken a frightful turn.

And so has my life as of late.

The actions I've taken and the leverage I've gained over the past few weeks run through my mind.

Sure, I'm no saint, but the sins of others far outweigh my own. The people of this town, especially a select few, all have dark and twisted secrets hidden beneath their somewhat normal exteriors. And it's high time I use their indiscretions to my advantage.

They think they can threaten me into submission?

They wish.

I've survived worse and come out stronger.

Now, it's their turn to squirm.

A chill prickles the back of my neck as I hear footsteps approaching, crunching behind me on the gravel path.

I turn, squinting into the darkness to see a shadowy figure emerging from the fog. The light from the jack-o'-lanterns casts an ominous glow on their face, making it hard to distinguish their features. But the closer they get, the clearer I can see them. And my adrenaline surges once I spot that dark look in their eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to sound low and steady even though my heart begins to race. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

The figure steps closer. A cold smile spreads across their face, and the glint of a blade catches the light.

My breath hitches.

"You realize this is the end for you, don't you?" I say, trying my best to sound defiant—to sound in control.

My mind races with thoughts of those dark secrets I've uncovered as of late.

They can't silence me. Not like this.

They raise a silver knife, and in that moment I realize that it's my end that has come.

Pain erupts in my chest as the blade plunges in, and a strangled cry escapes my lips. I stagger, clutching at the wound.

"You think this will save you?" I gasp, struggling to stay on my feet. "You think your secrets will die with me?"

The killer steps back, watching me with cold detachment. My vision blurs, but my resolve hardens. Even in this moment, I know their sins won't remain hidden forever. Not if I can help it.

As I fall to my knees, the world around me fades into a haze. The sounds of the festival become distant echoes, and the fake gravestones around me blur into shadows. The irony isn't lost on me—dying in the graveyard I helped build.

But my knowledge, my secrets, won't die with me. I'll haunt them, even from the other side. They won't escape the truth. No. My death won't be in vain.

Darkness engulfs me, but still a fierce determination burns within.

They think they're safe, but they're wrong.

Their sins won't be buried with me.

Even in death, I'll make sure they pay.