Black Hollow always went quiet too early.
By eleven at night, the town felt like it had already given up on the next day. The factories along the edge of the highway stood like rib cages against the sky, their broken windows swallowing what little light the moon offered. The old rail line cut through town like a scar that never healed, splitting neighborhoods that pretended not to remember why they stopped speaking to each other.
There was a rule in Black Hollow.
No one admitted who started it. No one claimed to believe it. But everyone knew it.
If you see the girls walking after midnight— Don't look at their faces. And whatever you do, Don't follow.
Mara Elion didn't believe in ghost stories.
She believed in small towns suffocating people slowly. She believed in boredom that turned into cruelty. She believed in secrets rotting under floorboards. Those were real things.
Still, when the clock on her nightstand blinked 11:38 p.m., she found herself staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.
Down the hall, her older sister Lila was laughing quietly into her phone.
Lila's laugh always carried—bright, reckless, like she was daring the world to try and dim it.
"You're going to get caught," Mara called through the wall.
"I'm not twelve," Lila shot back.
"That's what twelve-year-olds say."
Silence. Then softer, closer to the door now, "You worry too much."
Mara rolled onto her side. The hallway light flicked on, then off. A shadow crossed the thin strip of brightness beneath her door.
The front door opened. Closed.
The house settled again.
Mara stared at the dark.
Lila had been sneaking out for months. Everyone did it eventually. There wasn't much else to do in Black Hollow except sit under the old rail bridge, drink cheap liquor, and talk about leaving.
Leaving was the town's favorite hobby.
Actually leaving was rare.
11:57 p.m.
Mara's phone buzzed.
She didn't check it right away. She told herself she wouldn't. That she didn't care.
It buzzed again.
With a sigh, she grabbed it.
Lila: You awake?
Mara smirked.
Mara: No.
Three dots. Gone. Three dots again.
Lila: Come outside.
Mara frowned.
Mara: Why?
There was a long pause this time.
Long enough that Mara's stomach tightened for reasons she couldn't explain.
Then:
Lila: I think I saw them.
The room felt colder.
Mara stared at the message.
Them.
She typed back quickly.
Mara: Very funny.
No response.
She sat up.
Outside her bedroom window, the streetlight flickered.
It always flickered. That didn't mean anything.
Another buzz.
Lila: They're not stories.
Mara's throat went dry.
She stood and crossed to the window.
The neighborhood looked normal.
Small houses. Cracked sidewalks. A rusted swing set two yards down. The air hung thick and unmoving.
Then she saw movement at the end of the street.
At first, she thought it was mist.
Then it shifted.
Figures.
Tall. Thin. Moving slowly in a straight line.
Girls.
There were too many of them.
They wore pale dresses that hung heavy, as if soaked. The fabric clung to their legs though there was no rain. Their bare feet touched the pavement without sound.
They walked in perfect rhythm.
Not marching. Not drifting.
Walking.
Like they had somewhere important to be.
Mara pressed her palm against the glass.
She couldn't see their faces clearly. Their heads were slightly bowed, hair hanging forward like curtains.
One of them lifted her head a fraction.
The streetlight above her flickered violently.
Then went out.
Mara's heart slammed against her ribs.
Her phone slipped in her hand.
Another message.
Lila: They're coming this way.
Mara's breath stuttered.
Mara: Get back inside.
No reply.
The girls were closer now.
Close enough that Mara could see something dark trailing from the hems of their dresses. Not water exactly. Thicker. It didn't drip onto the road.
It vanished before touching the ground.
The line stretched past her house.
One by one.
Silent.
Mara scanned the sidewalk for Lila.
She wasn't there.
"Lila?" she whispered, even though she knew her sister couldn't hear her.
The last girl in the line slowed.
Just slightly.
She turned her head toward Mara's house.
Mara felt it before she saw it.
The wrongness.
She couldn't make out the girl's face. It was blurred, as if someone had smudged it with a thumb.
But she knew.
The girl was looking directly at her.
The clock on her nightstand behind her room clicked over.
12:03 a.m.
The girl's head tilted.
Inviting.
Mara stumbled back from the window.
Her phone buzzed again.
She snatched it up.
No new message.
Just the previous one.
They're coming this way.
Mara dialed Lila.
It rang once.
Then went straight to voicemail.
She didn't remember deciding to move.
She was suddenly running down the hallway, barefoot, the front door swinging open so hard it slammed against the siding.
The night air hit her like cold water.
The street was empty.
Completely empty.
No girls. No movement. No sound.
"Lila!"
Her voice cracked.
She ran down the sidewalk.
Nothing.
Then she saw it.
In the middle of the road.
Lila's jacket.
The denim one she wore everywhere.
It lay flat against the asphalt like it had been placed there carefully.
Mara approached slowly.
Her legs felt detached from her body.
She bent down.
The jacket was ice cold.
And wet.
Not from rain.
From something dark that soaked the sleeves but disappeared when it touched her skin.
She looked up.
The rail line in the distance sat motionless beneath the moon.
For a moment—just a second—she thought she saw pale figures standing near it.
Waiting.
Then they were gone.
Behind her, a porch light flicked on.
A neighbor's curtain shifted.
But no one stepped outside.
No one asked what was wrong.
In Black Hollow, people knew better than to involve themselves in what walked after midnight.
Mara clutched the jacket to her chest.
Her phone vibrated one last time.
Unknown number.
She answered without thinking.
Static.
Then, very faintly—
Footsteps.
Slow.
In unison.
The call cut out.
Mara stood alone in the street.
Above her, the broken streetlight flickered back on.
And for the briefest second, in the reflection of its weak glow against the window of her house—
She saw them behind her.
And there were more than before.