Evelyn sat in the back of the small mountain bus, her headphones snug over her ears as the engine rumbled beneath her. She wasn’t listening to anything; the music had stopped hours ago, but she kept the headphones on. It was easier that way—to stay in her own world, to avoid the endless thoughts clawing for her attention.
The bus wound through narrow, serpentine roads, climbing higher and higher into the mountains. Outside the window, the landscape blurred between jagged cliffs and dense forests, all blanketed by the creeping fog of dusk. She hadn’t been back to her father’s town in years, not since the day she left for university, swearing she wouldn’t return. And yet here she was, against her better judgment.
Her father’s voice crackled in her mind from their last phone call. “It’s getting worse. I need your help.”
That was it. No explanation, no details. But it was enough to stir something deep inside her. Despite everything—his years of cold distance, the silence after her mother’s death—she had come.
The bus finally pulled into a small, dilapidated station in the heart of the town. Evelyn stepped off into the cool evening air, pulling her jacket tight around her. Stone Hollow hadn’t changed much—still as quiet and forgotten as she remembered. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few shadowy figures moving behind the yellow glow of windows.
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and began the short walk to her father’s house. As she passed through the town square, something caught her attention—a notice board plastered with missing person flyers. At least a dozen faces stared back at her, their names bold underneath. The most recent one was a woman, mid-thirties, named Lydia Marston. The date on her flyer read just a week ago.
A chill crept up Evelyn’s spine. She hadn’t heard about this in the city. No news of disappearances, no mention of anything out of the ordinary. The town had always been isolated, but this seemed... different.
She reached her father’s house—a small, sagging structure on the outskirts of town, half-hidden by overgrown trees. The lights were off. She knocked on the door. No answer. After a moment, she tried the knob. Unlocked.
Inside, the house was cold, dark, and musty. She flicked on the lights, revealing cluttered rooms and an air of neglect. “Dad?” she called, but only silence responded.
Her pulse quickened as she made her way through the narrow hallway to his workshop, the place where he spent most of his time when he wasn’t drinking. The door was slightly ajar. She nudged it open and froze.
The room was in disarray—papers strewn across the floor, shelves tipped over, and equipment shattered. In the center of the room was his old recording console, still flickering with power, its screen displaying an audio waveform.
Evelyn stepped closer, her eyes locking onto the console. It had been recording recently—hours ago, at most. She hit play.
At first, there was nothing but static, but then she heard it: a low, pulsating hum, so faint it was almost imperceptible. It sent a shiver down her spine. The sound wasn’t just a hum; it was layered, as if something was hiding beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. She played it again, pressing her ear closer to the speaker.
A creak from behind her.
She spun around, heart racing, but the hallway was empty. The house seemed to groan with the wind, but something about it felt wrong. The shadows felt alive.
She turned back to the console, adrenaline coursing through her. She had heard something like this before—years ago, during her time as a sound engineer, while working on a documentary about unexplained phenomena. That same hum, barely audible, had appeared in recordings from an abandoned town in Europe. A town where the inhabitants had mysteriously disappeared, leaving only ghostly ruins behind.
Her father’s obsession with sound—his job as a broadcast engineer—was well known. But this was different. This was the sound that had been plaguing the town.
And now, it had taken him.
Evelyn reached for her phone to call the police, but hesitated. What could she say? That her father had been taken by a sound? That something more sinister was going on?
Before she could decide, a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Her heart leaped into her throat. She cautiously approached, peering through the peephole. A man stood on the porch, his face half-hidden by the shadows of the setting sun.
She opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”
The man shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder as if checking to make sure no one was watching. “You’re Evelyn, right? Your father... he told me you’d be coming.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Ethan. I was... working with your father.” He paused, his voice lowering. “You need to come with me. There’s something you need to hear. Something he wanted you to know before it’s too late.”
Evelyn hesitated, her instincts screaming not to trust him. But something in his expression—the urgency, the fear—mirrored her own.
“Alright,” she said finally, grabbing her jacket. “But you better start explaining.”
As they walked out into the darkening streets, the town seemed even more desolate, as though it was holding its breath. The hum, faint and distant, lingered in the air—growing louder with every step they took.
And with it, the disappearances had only just begun.….
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