The Unheard Tale

The holiday mansion was not in good condition at all.
It was old, and even worse, it smelled of dust and rotting wood. Nancy could swear she even saw mold in one of the corners.

She was used to leaving plates of food in her room for days; her mother would scold her endlessly. But this house? This house was seriously too much—even for her.

“That is your room. The best comes last,” the old woman said in a creepily friendly tone. Her smile still seemed fake—forced.

“Thank… you,” Nancy replied quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Her best friend didn’t even look up. Nancy could tell she was scared and just wanted the old woman to leave. Nancy wanted that too.

A shiver crawled up her spine. She usually loved creepy things, but this was different. This felt real, not like the stories in her books. Something was watching her.

Nancy stepped into the room, letting her eyes adjust. It was old, with two wooden beds, and it reminded her of an abandoned cabin she had once stumbled across while wandering through the forest.

The smell was slightly better here, and there was no mold in sight, but she remained skeptical. The room was very dark. Beside the beds stood a large wardrobe and two tiny bedside tables. There was nothing else—not even a lamp.

Nancy moved closer to the window. It was the only one in the room, but it had an amazing view. For a moment, she forgot the smell, the mold, and the cold crawling under her skin. Beyond the glass, a dense, dark forest stretched behind the village. The trees swayed silently, though the air was still, and Nancy could have sworn she glimpsed shadows moving between them.

A loud crack echoed behind her. Nancy spun around. The old woman had her withered hands on the door.

Once again, she wore that fake, disturbing smile. Then she quietly said, “Stay safe, girls,” and shut the wooden door. The sudden silence pressed against Nancy’s ears, and she held her breath, listening… but only the wind whispered through the cracks.

Then Tanja made a long, dramatic whining sound—the exact same noise she’d made when Jack died in Titanic. Nancy froze. She loved Tanja. Truly and deeply.

But in moments like this, when her best friend acted like she’d just escaped a low-budget horror movie, a very specific, very powerful ick crawled up Nancy’s spine—and for once, even her face was completely speechless.

Tanja clutched Nancy’s gray pants as if they were the only thing standing between her and certain doom. She performed the scene like a rejected Hollywood actor who’d taken the role far too seriously—and somehow, impressively, managed to make Nancy cringe even harder.

Nancy inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, granting herself a brief moment of silence. She let out a long, exhausted breath. You can do this, Nancy, she told herself, eyes still shut.

When she finally opened them, Tanja was staring up at her with a sad puppy expression. Nancy gently nudged her away from her leg and said, in a slightly annoyed yet impressively normal tone,
“Calm down. Why would she kidnap us? We pay to live here—or at least the teacher does.”

Nancy crossed her arms and leaned back slightly, letting Tanja stew in her puppy-eyed theatrics.
“Tanja,” she said, voice calm but dripping with patience, “do you honestly think someone’s going to burst in and snatch us? Unless they broke out of the psychiatry beside the mansion.”

The moment Nancy casually dropped the word psychiatry, Tanja’s eyes went wide. She jerked her head from side to side, scanning the room like a cat spotting a vacuum cleaner. Panic flared across her face—a full-blown, terrified cartoon version of herself.

Nancy tried not to grin. One of her favorite little “fun games”—gently nudging Tanja into a state of full-blown panic without actually doing harm. It was terrifying, ridiculous, and somehow strangely adorable all at once.

“Come on, I think there are a few shops nearby. You wanted to go shopping, right?”

Tanja’s eyes practically sparkled. “Really!? Wait—I need at least fifteen minutes just to do my makeup and pick the perfect outfit!”

Before Nancy could even blink, Tanja snatched her clothes and makeup bag with the speed of a caffeinated squirrel and bolted into the bathroom, leaving a faint trail of chaos in her wake.

A small laugh escaped Nancy. She didn’t know why, but she loved this girl—even if she was the complete opposite of her.

Tanja and Nancy finally arrived at the village. It was empty, the air thick and heavy, and the weather wet and gloomy. The sky hung low, a deep, featureless gray—no color, not even in the hours of the day.

“Man, this city looks depressing,” Tanja groaned, dragging out each word as if she were suffering the most excruciating agony imaginable.

But Nancy didn’t see it that way. The forest behind the houses—towering trees stretching like grasping hands—hid countless untold tales deep within. To her, it wasn’t a warning. It was an invitation.

The air filled her lungs, real and calming, as if it completed something deep inside her—a long-held desire.

“Come on, Nancy, that shop right there looks like the only normal place in this creepy horror town!”
Her best friend grabbed her arm, dragging her toward a lighter house painted in soft orange and yellow.

When they stepped into the friendly-looking house, they realized how dark it really was. It was actually a bar, with a few strange-looking men inside—their faces half-lost in the dim light, their clothes worn and old, and smelling sour and strange.

“Uh—” Tanja said in a high-pitched voice. “Sorry, guys, um… I think we just, uh, got lost. That’s all. We’re leaving!”

Tanja, who had dragged Nancy into the “friendly-looking” shop not even a minute ago, was now clutching her wrist again, trying to pull her toward the door.
A shadow fell across them. A big, old man stepped forward—one eye missing, the other sharp and unblinking. His presence made the air feel heavier, almost thick.
“You!” he barked, his gaze snapping to Nancy. “You look like you love horror stories! You do, don’t you?”
Nancy froze, and her heart skipped a beat, but not in fear; fascination crawled over her.
“How… how do you know that?” she whispered, her voice filled with curiosity.
The man leaned closer, the smell of old tobacco and damp wood surrounding him. Nancy could see his one eye glinting like polished stone in the dim light.
“I know a cryptozoologist when I see one,” he said, sinking into the chair behind the bar. He gestured toward two seats across from him, his movements deliberate, slow.
Nancy and Tanja hesitated, the bar suddenly feeling colder, darker, smaller.
“Sit,” the man commanded softly, but there was an edge in his tone that made Nancy’s stomach tighten.
He leaned back, eyes never leaving hers. “How about I tell you two a story about a real cryptid—a creature from the deepest depths of hell… wandering in our very woods?”
Tanja’s grip on Nancy’s arm tightened, but Nancy didn’t move. She wanted to hear more. 

Something in the way he spoke, the weight in his voice, made her pulse quicken—not with fear, exactly, but with a thrilling anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.
The man’s lips curled into a grin—slow, sharp, almost predatory. “Most people run when they hear my stories,” he said. “But you… you’re different. You listen.”
Nancy’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the strange faces of the men lurking in the shadows, half-hidden in the low light. Their eyes seemed to glint, their clothes worn and smelling of damp and rot.

 And yet… she couldn’t tear herself away from him.
Tanja whimpered softly, still holding onto Nancy’s arm, but Nancy shook her head ever so slightly. Not yet. Not until she heard the story.
The man leaned forward. “They say this creature can smell fear from miles away… and it never forgets a face. Once it marks you… it doesn’t let go.”
Nancy swallowed hard, the hairs on her arms standing straight. But somewhere deep inside, a spark of excitement flickered. She wanted to see it, to understand it, to know it.

She didn’t realize it yet, but stepping into this bar had already changed everything.

But not in a good way.