The night was still. Only the chirping of distant insects and the occasional whisper of wind through the gnarled trees filled the silence.
Noah, Jamie, and Quinn walked slowly around the perimeter of the abandoned church. The overgrown grass crunched underfoot, and strange roots jutted out like fingers trying to reclaim the world above. Half-collapsed gravestones leaned at odd angles behind the churchyard, some of the names too faded to read.
"It's not just the church," Quinn whispered, her eyes scanning every corner. "This whole area is strange. Back in 1978, a lightning bolt hit the steeple, and it never burned. Not even a scorch mark."
Jamie chuckled. "Or maybe the lightning just missed."
"No. I read three separate accounts." Quinn pulled out a small, spiral-bound notebook from her oversized coat. Its pages were stuffed with receipts, post-its, and yellowed photocopies. "There's also the 'vanishing steps'—this crooked trail behind the cemetery that supposedly disappears if you look at it too long."
"That sounds like an excuse someone made up when they got lost," Jamie teased, nudging her with his elbow.
"Yeah, well, maybe if people paid attention to the signs—" she started to retort, but Jamie wiggled his eyebrows playfully, causing her face to flush red.
Quinn scowled. "You're insufferable."
"I know. But I'm lovable," Jamie replied with a grin.
Noah watched them quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips. It reminded him of something distant… warm.
His father.
A man of stories and adventures. Always chasing ghosts, always convinced that the world was more than it seemed. Noah remembered the old treasure hunts in city parks, the makeshift maps, and bedtime tales that blurred into dreamscapes.
Maybe his dad would have liked this place.
Maybe he would have believed it.
"You said someone disappeared here?" Noah asked, glancing back at Quinn.
She nodded, a bit more serious now. "Cassidy Manson. She went missing nine years ago when she was just a kid. People say she wandered off during a church event, maybe a game of hide-and-seek, and never came out."
Jamie muttered, "One whole month. Poof."
"When they found her," Quinn added, "she was at her own doorstep. Clothes torn. No memory of where she'd been. She wouldn't talk for weeks."
"Creepy," Jamie said.
Noah looked up at the old windows above them, where glass once shimmered but now only jagged holes gaped. "And no one ever figured it out?"
"Nope," Quinn said. "The town called it an accident. But her story got buried. Like everything else here."
Jamie called out suddenly from the far side of the building. "Uh—guys? Over here."
They jogged over, and Jamie pointed toward a section of floorboards near the church's back wall. A trapdoor, hidden beneath years of leaves and dust, was slightly ajar.
"There's a staircase. I think it goes under the church."
Noah peered down. The steps descended into darkness, cracked and worn. A cold draft drifted up—stale and bitter.
None of them said a word. But they all knew they were going down.
Flashlights clicked on.
The stairs creaked with every step. At the bottom, they entered a small, rectangular chamber. Stone walls wrapped around them. Bookshelves covered in cobwebs and rusted nails lined the room. The air smelled of old wood and wet ash.
"Who built this?" Noah asked under his breath.
"Priests used to keep records," Quinn said. "And secrets."
She wandered toward one of the shelves, brushing dust from the spines, her eyes wide with wonder. "These are handwritten. Local legends…even banned ones. Some of these mention entities I've never seen before."
Jamie poked around, knocking over an old candleholder. "Some of these books look alive. I swear one just breathed."
Meanwhile, Noah felt drawn to a journal half-tucked beneath a leather-bound bestiary. Its cover was plain, but strange symbols were scratched into the spine—symbols that made his fingertips tingle when he touched them. He picked it up. It was heavier than it looked.
Before he could open the first page, Jamie let out a low whistle. "You guys need to see this."
Quinn carefully placed her book back on the shelf. Noah held onto his.
At the far end of the room, Jamie had pulled a dust-covered sheet off what looked like a mounted frame. Beneath it stood a tall mirror.
But it reflected nothing.
No torchlight. No faces.
Nothing.
"That's not right," Jamie whispered.
Quinn stepped closer. "Is this… glass?"
She pressed her palm against it. There was a soft hum, like distant static.