Whisper in the dark

Mia almost turned back twice.

She parked her old hatchback just outside the rusted gate that marked the entrance to Raven's Hollow — if you could even call the tangled mess of crumbling brick and overgrown tracks an entrance. The late afternoon sun sank behind the tree line, draping the abandoned station in shades of dusky grey and soft gold.

The place felt like a secret waiting to be discovered — or a graveyard for secrets best left buried.

Mia stepped out, hugging her jacket closer as the breeze tugged at her hair. She spotted Alex's car — sleek, dark, and just as out of place as she felt. She'd half expected him not to show. Maybe a tiny, self-preserving part of her had hoped he wouldn't.

She checked her phone again. No signal. Figures.

Before she could second-guess herself, she heard footsteps crunching over loose gravel. She turned — and there he was, camera slung around his neck, hands buried in his coat pockets. That same half-smile tugged at his lips when their eyes met, but tonight it looked like it carried a shadow too.

"You came," he said, voice warm against the chill creeping in.

"I wasn't sure you would," she shot back, trying to sound casual.

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "And miss a chance to see you again? Not likely."

Mia let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "So, this is Raven's Hollow?" She turned to take it in — the broken windows of the old station building, the rusted rails stretching into the woods, the walls alive with layers of graffiti.

Alex lifted his camera, adjusting the lens. "It's beautiful in its own way. Decay has its own story, if you know how to read it."

She watched him snap a shot of the setting sun bleeding through the broken roof. He looked different like this — focused, eyes narrowed, moving like the world outside his viewfinder didn't exist.

He lowered the camera and caught her staring. "Want to help?" he asked.

Mia laughed softly. "I don't know anything about photography."

"Perfect. I'll teach you." He lifted the camera again, then paused. "Come here."

She stepped closer. He guided her behind the camera, his hands warm over hers as he positioned her fingers on the shutter. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest behind her, smell the faint trace of soap and old film chemicals that clung to his jacket.

"Look through here," he murmured, voice brushing her ear. "Focus on the tracks. See how the light catches the rails?"

She nodded, breath caught somewhere between her ribs. The world narrowed to the circle of glass in front of her — a slice of light and shadow, abandoned and beautiful, just like he'd said.

She clicked the shutter. The sound echoed in the empty station like a whisper.

Alex's hands lingered a second longer than they needed to before he stepped back. "See? Natural talent."

Mia turned to tease him but stopped short. His eyes were on her — not the rails, not the camera. Her. And for a heartbeat, she wondered if maybe she should run.

But she didn't.

She forced a laugh instead. "So, is this your idea of a second date? Haunted train stations and unpaid photography lessons?"

He smiled, but something flickered in his eyes — gone too fast for her to name. "No ghosts tonight. Just us. You okay with that?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay with that."

They wandered deeper along the tracks, the old rails splitting under her boots. Mia asked him about his photography — when he'd started, what he wanted from it. He answered easily enough, but every so often he'd glance over his shoulder, as if expecting someone else to appear out of the shadows.

She wanted to ask. She wanted to press him. But his fingers brushed hers as they walked, and the question died in her throat.

They stopped when the tracks disappeared into a thicket of trees. Alex lifted his camera again. "Stay there," he said.

Mia turned to face him, standing still while the wind teased her hair. The sky behind her glowed with the last breath of daylight, a halo that made her feel almost untouchable. He lowered the camera, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her.

Then his head snapped up, eyes narrowing at something over her shoulder.

"Alex?" she asked, turning, but all she saw was the tree line and the yawning dark beyond.

He grabbed her hand. "We need to go."

"What? Why? What is it?" Her voice cracked with a panic she hadn't felt since she was a child lost in a supermarket aisle.

Alex didn't answer. He just tightened his grip, pulling her back toward the station ruins, eyes scanning the shadows as if they might come alive and swallow them whole.

Behind them, somewhere deeper in the trees, a branch snapped — loud and deliberate in the stillness.

Mia's heart slammed against her ribs. For the first time that night, she wished she'd listened to that whisper telling her to stay home.