Chapter 2

The letter was simple.

Just a few lines in careful, measured handwriting, folded twice and sealed in a plain brown envelope.

To whom it may concern,

We seek work as advertised. Prepared to travel. Enclosed are our names.

No questions. No pleas.

Mara wrote it by lamplight while Lizzie watched, twisting a lock of hair between restless fingers. When Mara signed their names at the bottom, her hand trembled just enough to smudge the ink.

They left the cottage before dawn to post it. Even then, the road felt too quiet, as if the hollow itself held its breath.

---

At the edge of the village, the post office stood hunched and tired: peeling paint, dusty window, the smell of old paper trapped in warm air.

Behind the counter, Mr. Orley looked up, spectacles sliding down his nose. His gaze flicked from the letter to Mara’s face, then back again.

“You’re not the first to send one of these,” he said after a moment.

Mara held his stare. “We know,” she said.

Lizzie shifted beside her, notebook clutched tight against her chest.

Orley’s voice softened. “You’re young yet, Miss Whitcombe. Both of you. Think twice, eh? Folk don’t come back.”

Mara swallowed. “That’s why we’re going,” she said quietly. “To find out why.”

For a moment, the old man seemed about to say more. But the words died behind his eyes. He took the letter and stamped it, the thud loud in the stillness.

When they stepped outside, the morning sun had risen just enough to burn the mist from the lane, leaving nothing but heat and dust.

---

They walked back slowly. Every familiar stone and hedge felt different now — as if leaving had already begun, though their feet still trod the same path.

In the square, two women stood whispering by the pump. Their words fell quiet when the sisters passed. Further on, Mr. Burleigh, the butcher, looked up from his bench, eyes dark with something like pity — or was it guilt? Mara couldn’t tell anymore.

Lizzie kept her gaze forward, chin lifted, though Mara saw her hand tremble against the notebook’s spine.

At the church gate, a voice called softly.

“Girls.”

It was Nora Penrose again, her black bonnet shading eyes that missed little.

“You posted it, didn’t you?” she asked.

Neither sister answered.

Nora tapped her stick against the ground. “Your father walked that same road. So did others.” Her voice grew low, almost a whisper. “What lives beyond that road isn’t meant for the likes of us.”

Lizzie’s voice broke through the hush. “Then why do they take us?”

Nora’s mouth curved in something that might have been a smile, or a grimace. “Because we go,” she said. “And because the village forgets once we’re gone.”

She turned away, leaving only the creak of her stick on the stone path.

---

At home, Mara packed slowly, hands careful and deliberate. One spare dress, the heavier shawl for cold mornings, and the ribbon their mother had left behind. Lizzie packed her notebook, three pencils worn near to nothing, and a handful of dried heather she refused to leave.

In the quiet, Mara felt the weight of every choice settle into the small room: the empty chair where their mother had sat spinning wool; the hearth still cold, though ashes waited to be stirred.

“Mara,” Lizzie asked at last, voice small. “Do you think he’s alive?”

Mara paused. Outside, a breeze stirred dust across the sill. “I don’t know,” she said. “But we’ll find out.”

Lizzie nodded, but her shoulders curled inward, as if bracing against an answer she already feared.

---

Days passed in uneasy waiting. The letter went, and silence came back. Each morning, they rose before dawn, watching the road, hearts tightening at every distant hoofbeat or cart rattle. Nights fell heavy, bringing only the sigh of the wind against stone walls.

Then, one dusk when the air smelled of turning earth and distant smoke, a single envelope arrived.

Plain paper. No return mark.

Mara slit it open, breath caught in her throat.

Inside, a folded sheet and nothing more:

> Report to the corner of Bramble Lane at dawn. A van will collect you. Do not bring more than you can carry. Tell no one.

Lizzie read over her shoulder, lips parting in silent awe.

Mara felt the ground shift beneath her, as if the world had narrowed to a single thread pulling them forward.

---

That night, neither slept. Lizzie lay wakeful, tracing words into the dark air. Mara sat by the window, braid unravelling, watching for a sign of dawn.

When the first grey light broke over Whitcombe Hollow, they rose.

At the gate, Mara paused, looking back at the cottage: walls cracked, roof sagging, windows that had seen too much. She thought she heard their mother’s voice in the wind, just for a moment — but when she turned, the yard lay empty.

“Ready?” Lizzie asked softly.

Mara nodded. “Ready.”

They stepped onto the road, the paper folded in Mara’s pocket, hearts loud in their chests.

Somewhere beyond the bend, a van waited in the mist.

And beyond that — a place no map marked, where truth hid among shadows, and answers carried a cost neither of them yet understood.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***