Doe floated toward Ethan as soon as Celeste introduced her. Her translucent form hovered just beside him.
Giggling, she turned to Celeste and teased, "He's such a scaredy-cat! I blew a little air on the back of his neck earlier, and he started shivering all over."
Ethan stiffened. No wonder he'd felt a constant chill creeping up his spine, it was this hundred-year-old ghost ssing with him.
Celeste chuckled. "Alright, Doe, tell them about the Shadow Lynx incident. You know that place better than anyone. Even I only learned about it through Ninth Division's reports."
Ethan noticed sothing strange, Celeste, usually so composed and distant, had been smiling ever since Doe showed up. So this was the expert Celeste had invited. Soone who knew the village of Shadow Lynx better than anyone.
Doe sighed and plopped down beside Ethan. The playfulness in her expression faded as she settled into deep thought. Her translucent face turned solemn.
Then, in a slow, steady voice, she began her story.
"Almost fifty years ago, sothing strange happened in a remote village deep in Ravenwood.
For centuries, the village had been completely isolated from the outside world. Even when the Serpent Isle invaded Dragonspire, it remained untouched.
But in 1977, during Dragonspire's rapid industrial expansion, the village received its first visitors, an official governnt drilling team sent to bring fresh water to remote mountain settlents.
When the drillers arrived, the villagers refused to let them in. No matter how many tis they explained their mission, they were t with nothing but rejection.
The team, however, couldn't just leave without completing their task. Failure ant disciplinary action.
So their squad leader ca up with a compromise: if they weren't allowed inside, they'd dig just outside the village, close enough for the villagers to access the well without having to hike down the mountain.
It was a win-win. The villagers got clean water, and the team completed their mission.
After surveying the area, they picked a spot about twenty ters from the village entrance and began drilling.
Normally, digging in a mountainous region was a nightmare. The team had struggled in the past, sotis having to drill multiple tis with no success.
But this ti, they hit water almost instantly.
Within hours, fresh water gushed from the ground.
The villagers, who had been cautiously watching from a distance, were shocked. These outsiders weren't here to harm them—they had actually delivered what they promised.
Suspicion turned into gratitude. Hostility gave way to warmth.
The squad leader, relieved that their mission was going smoothly, ordered his n to seal the well temporarily and start digging around it to reinforce the structure.
Back then, transporting cent to the mountains was impossible, aning they couldn't build a proper concrete well. Instead, they had to do it the old-fashioned way—digging by hand and reinforcing the walls with stone.
They worked nonstop, only pausing when the sun dipped below the horizon. The squad leader had planned to push through the night, but then—
A sudden downpour.
The villagers, now appreciative of the team's efforts, insisted they co inside and offered them shelter from the rain.
As they entered the village, the squad leader pointed at an empty courtyard. "Chief, we'll just take shelter there. It's vacant, right?"
The village chief hesitated. "I've already arranged rooms at my place for you all. That courtyard… it's not clean."
The squad leader waved a hand dismissively. "We don't believe in that stuff. It's close to the entrance, so we'll rest there until the rain stops."
The village chief, unable to convince him otherwise, reluctantly agreed.
The courtyard seed recently renovated, its walls freshly plastered, its roof sturdy with new tiles.
It was spacious, with several rooms, enough to accommodate the entire squad and the drilling team.
Forty-eight people squeezed into the house, setting up their temporary base. So started cooking while others sorted their gear.
It was only after the drilling team's foreman, Old Man Carter, finished securing the drill machinery that he finally stepped inside.
The mont he entered, his face changed.
Without a word, he grabbed his team mbers and tried to drag them out.
"Everyone, move out! Now!" he ordered, his voice urgent.
The soldiers nearby were confused. A few even started arguing with him.
Hearing the commotion, the squad leader rushed over from another room. "What's going on?"
Old Man Carter pointed at the wooden beams above them. His voice, already hoarse with age, whistled slightly as he spoke.
"This house… is cursed."
The n followed his trembling finger, eyes trailing up to the ceiling. Carved into the wooden beam were seven deep slash marks.
None of the soldiers, not even the squad leader, knew what they ant.
Old Man Carter let out a slow, weary sigh.
"Each mark represents a person who hanged themselves here."
The room fell silent.
"In Ravenwood," he continued, "when soone takes their life in a house, tradition says you must carve a mark into the beam. Seven marks… ans seven suicides.
"Now do you understand why this place is abandoned?"
Thunder rumbled. A flash of lightning split the sky, casting eerie shadows across the room. For a brief mont, it felt as if seven bodies were swaying from the rafters.
The soldiers shuddered, but the squad leader wasn't having it.
"Superstitious nonsense," he scoffed. "This is exactly the kind of thinking we're supposed to be moving past. You're trying to scare everyone over so old carvings?"
Back in the late '70s, efforts to stamp out superstition were at their peak. As a ranking officer, he had no patience for talk of ghosts.
Old Man Carter shook his head, knowing there was no convincing him. With a deep sigh, he turned to his son and daughter.
"We're leaving," he said firmly. "And you're not going back in there."
The rest of the drill team hesitated.
At that mont, the food was ready. The warm aroma filled the air, washing away their unease.
One by one, they shrugged off their doubts and sat down to eat.
Old Man Carter and his children, however, refused to step foot inside again. They spent the night huddled in a donkey stable near the village entrance.
Morning ca. The rain finally stopped.
And nothing happened.
No hauntings. No strange occurrences.
As the sun rose, the soldiers and drillers laughed off the old man's fears, had breakfast, and got back to work.
The rain had flooded the well overnight, turning it into a pit of thick mud and stagnant water.
The squad leader ordered a few n to climb down and start clearing it out.
That's when it happened.
A worker in the well let out a piercing, bloodcurdling scream. The kind of scream that raised every hair on the back of your neck.
Everyone froze. Then, as one, they rushed to the well, leaning over the edge to see what was happening.
But just as suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped.
The man stood there, confused.
"What the hell was that?" soone asked.
The worker blinked. "What was what?"
"The screaming! You were screaming like you were being skinned alive!"
The man frowned. "I didn't scream."
Before anyone could react, three more n in the well started howling in unison.
Their voices overlapped, wild and unnatural, sending chills down everyone's spine.
Then—silence.
The three n straightened, looking around blankly.
"What the hell's wrong with you guys?" soone shouted.
They looked up, confused. "Wrong with us? We didn't say anything."
A nervous chuckle spread through the crowd.
"They're ssing with us," soone muttered.
"Yeah," another said, shaking his head. "Bored out of their minds, trying to freak us out."
With an uneasy laugh, they all went back to work—brushing off the incident, as if nothing had happened.
But sothing had.
Sothing had definitely happened.
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