Ashes of the Soul Keeper

Chapter 7

The Ashen Tragedy.

“Not all fires die out. Some just wait.”

The fluorescent lights in the town archives buzzed overhead, a harsh contrast to the damp, dusty scent of old records. Evelyn brushed her fingertips along the spines of ancient ledgers until her hand stilled on a faded binder marked Ashen Tragedy – 1986. Her pulse quickened.

She flipped it open, pages brittle beneath her touch. Black-and-white newspaper clippings filled the first few pages, photos of scorched rooftops, grieving families, and headlines screaming “FIRE CLAIMS TEN LIVES IN BLACK HOLLOW”. But something gnawed at her. Whispers from townsfolk echoed in her mind, about children who vanished, bodies never found.

Evelyn squinted at the death toll: Ten confirmed dead. But the town had long whispered about more. She shuffled through the pages until a crumpled note slipped out, a faded police report marked Confidential.

Her heart hammered as she read the signature at the bottom: Chief Thomas Calloway, Ethan’s father.

“Cover-up,” she muttered.

The report listed five more missing names, children whose files had been sealed. Her throat tightened. The whispers weren’t rumors. They were truths buried beneath ash.

She snapped photos of the pages with her phone, but a sudden chill prickled the back of her neck. Turning, she found no one there, only the hollow echo of her own breathing. Yet, the sensation of being watched lingered.

Tucking the files under her arm, Evelyn hurried out of the archives, but the feeling followed her into the cold air. It wasn’t just the past clawing its way back.

Someone didn’t want her reading those files.

Evelyn sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of Vivienne’s parlor, the journal sprawled open in front of her. Her hands trembled as she poured a ring of salt around her and placed candles at the five points of the sigil Vivienne had sketched decades ago.

She lit the candles, whispering the incantation from the journal. The flame flickered, dimmed, then surged.

A sharp gust of cold air swept through the room, snuffing out the candles in one violent breath. The sigil glowed faintly on the floorboards, and Evelyn’s breath fogged in the icy air.

“Is anyone here?” Her voice barely cracked the silence.

For a beat, there was nothing. Then, screaming.

A burning figure burst through the sigil’s center, fire licking across its limbs. It staggered toward her, its charred mouth stretched wide. “It wasn’t supposed to happen!” it howled, voice distorted and hollow.

Evelyn scrambled backward, but the figure lunged, only to be yanked violently back by unseen forces. In its place, a shadow lingered, tall and masked, watching her before vanishing into the smoke.

The room fell silent again, the sigil now a scorched outline.

Evelyn’s hands shook as she slammed the journal shut. She had seen the masked figure before, in her visions, in the fire.

Only now, it was watching her for real.

The heavy oak door groaned as Ethan pushed into the estate, his boots dragging through the dust-coated floor. The police report Evelyn had found weighed heavily in his hand, but the real weight sat in his chest, a gnawing unease he couldn’t shake.

He found Evelyn seated at the grand dining table, the journal spread open, her face pale beneath the flickering candlelight. She didn’t look up when he entered, but the tension between them thickened the air.

“I read it,” he said gruffly, tossing the file onto the table.

Evelyn’s eyes darted to the pages. “And?”

His jaw flexed. “My dad… he covered this up.” He ran a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat. “There were witness statements. People heard kids screaming during the fire, kids who were never found.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. “One of them was Caleb Vance.”

Ethan’s shoulders tensed at the name. “I know. And he was in your dream.”

For a moment, silence bloomed between them. Then Ethan’s façade cracked, the stoic mask he’d worn for years now slipping. “I thought my dad was a good man,” he muttered, voice fraying at the edges. “But this—this is bigger than him.”

Evelyn reached for the file, but he stopped her, his hand trembling. “You’re right about this town. It’s rotten. And my dad… he buried more than just evidence.”

He backed away, eyes distant, like the walls were closing in. “If Caleb’s still out there, or……” He hesitated. “....or his spirit is, then we’re running out of time.”

The weight of the truth hung heavy between them.

The house was too quiet.

Evelyn stood in the estate’s library, the dusty air thick with the scent of old paper and burnt wood. Ethan had stormed out hours ago, leaving her alone with the oppressive silence. The journal lay open on the table, its pages fluttering despite the still air.

Then, laughter.

High-pitched, childlike, but hollow, as if echoing from somewhere deep underground.

She froze.

The air grew icy. Her breath curled in ghostly puffs before her face. Shadows stretched along the walls, elongating like twisted fingers. The laughter deepened into whispers, words she couldn’t quite make out.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice brittle.

No answer.

The temperature plummeted. Before Evelyn could move, an invisible force slammed into her chest, throwing her against the wall. Her head cracked against the plaster, stars dancing in her vision. Her arms pinned to her sides by unseen hands, she gasped for breath.

The journal snapped shut on its own, pages flapping like wings before it was yanked across the room. Scratches ignited on her skin, burning hot, as if invisible claws raked down her arms. She bit back a scream, twisting to look.

Red lines formed words on her forearms: LIAR.

“No!” Evelyn thrashed, forcing her body forward. The force snapped, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as the shadows recoiled into the corners of the room.

She sat up, the word still carved deep into her skin, blood seeping through torn sleeves.

Some spirits wanted her gone.

Others? They wanted the truth, at any cost.

The wind howled outside the estate, rattling the windows as Evelyn sat hunched over the ancient journal. Her fingers trembled as she flipped through brittle pages, the scent of smoke still clinging to them. Her eyes darted over scrawled entries, Vivienne’s handwriting, desperate and erratic, hinted at a truth buried deeper than she’d imagined.

Something wasn’t adding up.

She slammed the journal shut, frustration clawing at her chest. The heavy cover hit the desk with a hollow thud, and that’s when she heard it, a faint metallic clink. Evelyn froze. She tapped her fingers along the edges of the cover, then ran them over the spine. There was a seam, barely visible.

With a flick of her nail, she pried it open. A small compartment snapped free, dust puffing into the air. Inside, a folded parchment, aged and fragile, glinted under the lamplight.

Her breath caught.

It was a map of Black Hollow, hand-drawn, with jagged lines marking paths through the woods, forgotten tunnels, and cryptic symbols scattered like breadcrumbs. Several locations were circled, abandoned mills, hollowed-out clearings, but one stood out, marked in red ink: The Crypt of the Forgotten.

“Vivienne… what the hell were you into?” Evelyn whispered.

A chill snaked up her spine.

Then there was a whisper, so near that it seemed to have touched her ear. "You won't return if you go there."

The room was empty, only dust floating in the stuffy air, yet Evelyn whirled, her pulse racing. 

She clutched the map tighter. The house creaked under its own weight, as if the very walls were warning her to stop. But her pulse surged with determination. She had come this far. Turning back wasn’t an option.

Sliding the map into her coat pocket, Evelyn rose. Somewhere beneath the surface of Black Hollow, the truth waited. And it was getting restless.