Death of Halloween

Previously

…Sarah’s eyes widened. “A cover for what?” Eleanor felt a prickle of unease, a premonition that was more grounded than any ghostly whisper. The doll. The photograph. The legend. They were all threads, leading to a single, dark point. And the closer she got, the more she felt a familiar, unwelcome sensation – the icy grip of past terror, threatening to resurface. The walls she’d built were crumbling, and she was no longer just an observer. She was becoming a part of the story, a story that was starting to feel terrifyingly familiar. The air in the cottage felt heavier than ever, charged with an unspoken dread, a sense that the true horror was not of the supernatural, but of the human heart.