I recently moved into a two-story home. The house was rather tiny, but it didn’t bother me. I lived alone, you see, so it was more than enough.

As I was unpacking my stuff on the second floor, I saw a window. And I swear to you that window was not there when I bought the place. I had never seen it before. Not in a way that it could have gone unnoticed. It. Wasn’t. There. I had looked through every inch of the house and that window… It just wasn’t there. I knew it with such certainty. I didn’t even look through the window before I sought out my blueprints to make sure I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t there either. There was no evidence of its existence at all. That’s when I looked through the window. The first thing I noticed was the red tint. It was subtle, but noticeable. Everything had that strange, reddish colour. It wasn’t like someone had put tainted glass in the window. It was as if the light itself was filled with dread. Apart from that, I didn’t notice anything at first. I thought the feeling of wrongness just came from the red tint, but then I saw it. Or rather: I didn’t. There were no people. No cars, no animals— not even the rustling of leaves. It was so silent... I started talking to myself. I was rambling on about what to have for dinner. Then I froze. I looked at my phone. 19:45. I looked outside again. I could clearly see the sun. It was right in front of my window, looking at me. But the strangest thing was… it didn’t seem to move. It was frozen in place. I could only describe it as: the sun was looking at me. I turned away from the window and ran downstairs. As I sprinted outside, I felt my heartbeat fade away. I could not, for the life of me, see the sun. There was a hint of orange in the sky, but the sun was gone. I looked up at where that window should have been. There was nothing. Just a solid, brick wall.

I knew it was a real window. I knew it wasn’t just a picture sitting behind a window frame. I could feel it. So I don’t know why I did what I did next. I opened the window. A warm, musty air came flying through. It carried the faint smell of a dirty carpet. That should’ve been enough, really. But not for me. I grabbed one of my empty cardboard boxes and threw it through the window. When it landed outside, it didn’t make a sound. It fell slowly and the next thing I knew… it just lay there. Totally silent, staying totally still. I closed the window immediately and ran outside again. The cardboard box wasn’t there. I didn’t sleep in the house that night. I drove to a friend’s house and stayed for two days. I think I hoped that would make the window disappear. It didn’t.

I didn’t tell my friend about the window. In hindsight, that was probably a good idea. Well, good for my friend, not for me. Neither did I tell my poor mother. She kept asking to come over. Obviously, I wouldn’t let her. She shouldn’t have to see this. In the end, I decided to set up my desk next to that window. If it wasn’t going to leave, I’d just… make use of it. The unmoving sun made a good night-light, though the red colour remained unsettling. At first, I kept looking through that window and didn’t get any work done. Two weeks in, I started getting used to it. But every so often I felt a lingering gaze and was reminded that the sun was still looking at me. In silence. After one month it became part of my everyday life. I wasn’t bothered by the sun, the colour or even the silence. It was about two months in that everything changed. I sat at my desk, late in the night. A scream cut through the silence. I jumped up and looked through my window, where the sound had come from. The screaming had already stopped. Did I imagine it? It came again. And it didn’t stop. The scream came from far in the distance. It sounded only from beyond that window. It wasn’t human. It was higher-pitched and… stretched. Like whatever it was, was in pain. I looked out of the window but saw nothing. It was the same stillness that reached beyond the horizon. The screaming stopped. Silence returned. But it wasn’t the same.

After what felt like an eternity, I did something only a fool would do. I opened the window. It was the first time in months. The musty air came flying through and slowly, I poked my head outside. There was a weird dampness, like I was placed in an infinitely big room. I looked around, eyes widened. There was nothing but stillness. Like nothing had ever happened. No sound. No movement. Only that musty smell and that eerie, red tint. I waited for something to happen, but it never did. I closed my window. To this day I’m waiting for something to happen. Anything. With every corner I pass. Something still has to happen.

Not much later, I moved out. I had to leave that thing behind— I just… couldn’t. I even boarded up the window before I left. It might have been unnecessary, but I didn’t want to risk anything. Now, I’m moving my stuff into my new house. The people who bought my old house texted me and asked why I boarded up an empty wall. I didn’t text them back. It’s best to leave things behind as they are. I don’t want to do any more investigating. I’ve finally moved the last box. Time to place these— wait. That window… It wasn’t there before.

I am seeing if this book would be worth writing based on the setting of the fictional town:

Whisper Falls, Pennsylvania, was once one of the state’s most prosperous coal-mining towns. Coal miners, railroad workers, and their families built thriving lives here, believing the town’s future was as endless as the seams of coal beneath their feet.
Everything changed the day twenty-five miners were killed in a disaster officially ruled an accident. The mine was permanently sealed, and with it, Whisper Falls began a slow decline from which it never recovered.
Today, only a fraction of the town remains, frozen in time. Rusted railroad tracks disappear into the surrounding forest, ending at the abandoned Whisper Mine—a place few locals dare visit after dark. Behind the mine, a towering waterfall crashes endlessly into the rocky basin below. On quiet nights, when the wind dies and the town falls silent, many swear the rushing water sounds like whispered voices.
In Whisper Falls, every child grows up hearing the same warning:
“If the falls whisper your name… do not answer.”
Most dismiss it as nothing more than an old mining superstition—until someone disappears.
The oldest section of the cemetery dates back to the town’s founding. Weathered gravestones lean beneath ancient oak trees, their names slowly fading with time. Since the mine disaster, locals claim no flowers survive there for long. The graves bear the scars of decades of neglect, while cracked headstones and broken monuments hint that some of the dead were never meant to rest peacefully.
Along Main Avenue, empty storefronts stand like ghosts of a better era. Their faded signs and boarded windows are reminders of the bustling community Whisper Falls once was. Every year another business closes. Another family leaves. Another home is abandoned. Little by little, hope seems to vanish alongside the people.
Yet despite its decline, Whisper Falls refuses to die.
A small police department, volunteer fire station, gas station, grocery store, schools, and a single bridge connecting the town to the outside world remain as the last signs of everyday life.
But beneath the quiet streets and abandoned buildings lies something far older than the town itself.
Secrets buried deeper than coal.
Secrets hidden for decades.
Secrets waiting for someone brave enough—or foolish enough—to uncover them.

WOMAN IN GREEN

 

 Marla was a worm burrowing through the earth, then a golden leaf drifting from a tree. She was the ripple a bird's song left in the air, completely blended with the wilderness surrounding her.

 

Sitting with eyes closed, arms stretched downward and palms resting on the soil, she waited for nature to answer.

 

Sweat trickled down her forehead. Summer had been long this spin—the Red Mountain seemed to yearn for a missing winter. The outskirts of the Red City were silent and empty. Just a girl in a red leather tunic, a cat, and an old woman.

 

Tingling spread through her fingers and lips. Swiftly she shaped a sentence in her mind and mouthed it in the ancient tongue. Nature flowed through her body, fresh sweat soaked the leather, and her headache deepened.

 

What was summoned grazed one of her palms—cold to the touch. Lifting her arm, she opened her eyes and found a large piece of gold resting in her hand.

 

A smile spread across her face, followed by a surge of pride. It only lasted a second as she caught the raised brow on Ïline's face.

 

Like Marla, the old witch was drenched in sweat. Her usually loose hair was tied in a low bun. Her staff dangled from her back as always, and her feet were bare over the fallen leaves.

 

"Is that what you asked for?" Ïline wore her usual suspicious look.

 

Morning had come and gone since they left. Marla was exhausted, hungry, and moody. Back in the city, Üreng would be waiting to swing through the trees with her on his back. She began to say "yes."

 

But Ïline was staring directly into her eyes, and Marla knew what was coming.

 

"Okay, no. I asked for a diamond." She muttered quickly, before her teacher could breach her thoughts.

 

Cat leapt into her lap, clawing her legs, tail flicking side to side. Amused and exasperated, the witch looked at her.

 

To Marla's surprise, no scolding followed. Instead, Ïline sat on the grass facing her—no stern expression, just an unexpected calm. Cat stopped clawing and curled up on Marla's lap.

 

"Kid, have I ever told you that I, just like you, wasn't born here?" Ïline twirled a twig she had picked up.

 

Marla glanced at her. She had always sensed the old woman stood apart from the people of the city, but the thought had never fully crossed her mind.

 

"Dwarves aren't all from Teggidryl. Like most races, we're scattered across the world. This furry beast on your lap and I are proof of that—we come from the eastern edge of the Väyn Woods. You might know them as the Black Woods."

 

Ïline paused and picked up another branch to toy with.

 

"My mother chose to leave our village when I was a sprout. An enchanted place—purple lagoons, white fires." Her eyes glazed over, lost somewhere in the past. After a moment, she continued.

 

"Don't get me wrong. I love the Red City and its communal spirit. Who wouldn't?"

 

Marla didn't care for the sarcasm.

 

"Where I grew up, magic was viewed very differently. I don't remember much—memory fails with age. But I was taught to let it move around me. To use my emotions as a bridge to it. Discipline came later. In those early years, feeling was the bridge."

 

The witch leaned closer.

 

"Tesing has told you to shut your heart and mind—blah blah blah." She pulled a face in a perfect imitation of Tesing's grim expression.

 

"For the bond to work you need to feel—let nature flow in full. Speak the words like you mean them. Use your heart, not just your mind."

 

Marla lowered her gaze to the lump of gold in her palm. Ïline reached forward and lifted her chin with the twig.

 

Her teacher's floral scent extended through her touch.

 

"I know what frightens you, kid. I've been inside your head, remember?" The dwarf tapped her forehead. "I've watched you grow up within our walls, share meals, swing on the trees. I know you. And let me be absolutely clear: you are not the king."

 

Marla's fists tightened. Ïline had found the nerve. The elder knew exactly what had been haunting her—the fact that the same blood ran through both of them.

 

Her eyes welled as she met Ïline's gaze. The witch leaned in and spoke sharply.

 

"Stop trying so hard not to become someone you're not, and start being who you are."

 

She poked Marla's chest with a bony finger.

 

"Ouch." Marla rubbed the spot.

 

With sudden swiftness, Ïline sprang to her feet, clapped her hands, and sent Cat scrambling from Marla's lap.

 

"Wipe those tears. Let's try again." Another clap.

 

The sound dragged Marla back from a deep drift. She could still feel the sting of the poke.

 

For a brief instant she had been home. She wasn't. Only rock and darkness. No golden or crimson leaves. No summer.

 

Everything was damp and scorching. Her bones cracked as she stood—the tunnel had widened enough for that, at least. Salty sweat mingled with her fresh cuts. The water in her pouch was long gone; she'd been sustaining herself on condensation from the ceiling.

 

Her eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, but there was little to see. She relied on her other senses—as Selinë had trained her. Her nose tracked a faint draft of cool air. Her ears caught the slightest movement.

 

Above all, she followed the mountain's pull.

 

Breathing, stretching, she brought herself back to focus. She pressed on, one hand trailing the rock, listening for whatever the void was hiding.

 

Then her nose met stone.

 

"A dead end? Really?" Her frustration echoed through the cave.

 

She had misread the draft. A soft kick to the wall, then she turned back. Through the irritation she tried to focus her mind, searching for any other hint.

 

A few steps later, the current returned, brushing the back of her neck.

 

Every nerve pulled taut. She spun.

 

Marla ran her hands across the damp rock. Found nothing. She stepped back, breathed slowly, and cleared her head.

 

I didn't imagine it. The draft came from somewhere.

 

She approached the dead end again, reaching across its full width. Rising onto her toes, fingertips stretching—an edge met them.

 

Her pulse surged.

 

"Yes!"

 

Gripping the ledge, she hauled herself up, muscles screaming. A sliver of light appeared at the far end of the tunnel as her head peeked over the new floor.

 

Marla leapt to her feet. Pain exploded at the crown of her head as she struck stone.

 

She collapsed.

 

However, her cheek didn't land on jagged rock. It landed on smooth white marble.

 

Around her stood the Red Mountain, peaks capped with snow. Sorenn, Üreng, and a small crowd—all watched as blood trickled from her lip.

 

It was autumn. The long hall was carpeted in fallen leaves, the sun pale and soft between clouds.

 

"Planning to stay down until winter, little sis?" Selinë offered his thick, hairy hand. "Up."

 

Marla took it, rose, and retrieved her training sword. Her backside throbbed from an afternoon of repeated landings. Selinë had bested her again.

 

"You're using your eyes too much. Use your gut," he nudged her shoulder.

 

"Ready yourself." He dropped into his stance, sword easy in his grip.

 

Marla did the same, calculating her next move. She turned the blade downward and struck toward his chin. Selinë parried without effort and slipped behind her in one motion. Air whistled. She ducked and swept at his legs. He caught her wooden sword mid-swing, lifted her, and flung her sideways.

 

Instead of landing badly, she rolled and came up reaching for his weapon. Selinë spun and tapped the back of her head with the flat of his wooden blade.

 

Tears sprang to her eyes.

 

"That would've hurt loads more with steel," he waved the wooden sword in front of her face.

 

Marla rubbed her skull, close to the edge of giving up. Impotence crawled through her. Yet Selinë tossed her sword back.

 

"Again."

 

Puffing air, she raised her guard.

 

"Hold on." Sorenn's voice rang out. "Come here, love." He gestured her over and took her by the shoulders.

 

"You're faster than him," he whispered. "Wear him down. And if that fails—" he leaned closer, his mustache tickling her ear, "he's got a bad right knee."

 

The king winked.

 

Marla returned to face Selinë. This time she didn't attack—she circled. Every time he swung, she moved away. Repeating it, she watched his stance begin to loosen, sweat appearing on his brow.

 

Pleased, she glanced toward Sorenn.

 

Taking advantage of her distraction, Selinë lunged.

 

Looking over her shoulder, Marla leapt high, landed behind him, and swung. Again, he caught the blade and tossed her on the ground.

 

Selinë gloated.

 

Marla used it. She scrambled forward and plunged into his bad knee, twisting hard.

 

He howled—half pain, half laughter—and went down with her.

 

Sorenn's laugh rang through the hall. Üreng pounded the marble with both fists.

 

"Uh-uhh-uhhh-uhhh!" the gorilla laughed.

 

Selinë grabbed her legs, pinned her, and leaned over with a palm on her head, still laughing.

 

"You dirty little—"

 

The marble darkened. Selinë’s touch vanished. Autumn dissolved. The damp returned.

 

Her cheek rested on rock, not marble. There wasn't a gorilla laughing, just her in the darkness.

 

Warmth spread from the crown of her head. Marla reached up and found a gash beneath her hair.

 

Dizzy, she pushed to all fours and crawled until the tunnel widened enough to stand. She moved carefully now, hands waving ahead of her, protecting herself from further damage.

 

The passage was growing. Her heart raced.

 

Could this be the way out?

 

She quickened her walk.

 

"Marla?"

 

Her mother's voice cut through the silence like the sharpest of rocks.

 

She stopped dead. Chills running in her veins.

 

"Marla, darling—is that really you?"

 

Trembling, mind blank, she turned toward the voice.

 

Standing in the middle of the cave was her mother in her suede green dress. Auburn hair falling over her shoulders, just as she remembered. The same golden eyes glowing at the sight of her.

 

Shadows retreated to the corners. A soft light bloomed where they stood.

 

Tears rose in Marla's eyes. "Mum?" she mouthed, stepping forward.

 

As she moved, the cave transformed—white stone beneath her feet, a fountain rising from nothing, her brother's laughter and tiny steps echoing all around.

 

Over a patch of purple flowers, her mother stood, inviting her to a hug.

 

"Marla, let me look at you. You've grown so much."

 

Short of breath, she kept walking.

 

Her mother was close, gleaming, looking exactly as she remembered.

 

But there wasn't a trace of a peachy perfume.

 

Marla stopped in her tracks.

 

That can't be right. How could she look the same?

 

"What's wrong, honey?" Love poured from her mother's expression.

 

"You're not her," Marla murmured.

 

A voice inside her countered: How can you be sure? So much time has passed. She's right there. Isn't hugging her once more what you most desire?

 

Trembling, Marla took one more step—then shook her head at the absence of her childhood's scent.

 

"No. My mother is dead. I know that."

 

"What are you saying, dear? Nobody is dead—come here. Don't you miss me?"

 

It wasn't love in whatever was calling her. Marla recognized something else.

 

Obsession.

 

Her own.

 

This wasn't her mother. But that didn't mean she couldn't say goodbye.

 

Meeting the illusion's eyes, she stepped back.

 

"Mum—you'll never know how much I've missed you. More than words can express."

 

She looked down at the carved oak on her chest. Faces moved through her mind: Selinë's grin, an old dwarven witch's mischievous look, a tabby cat curled against her in the mornings. And her father, all that he was.

 

"I still carry your last kiss." She touched her own cheek. "But it wasn't the only thing you gave me. You gifted me a life. An extraordinary one."

 

She smiled through the tears.

 

"I love you, Mum. But I have to let you go."

 

Her voice broke as she said it. Memories of that gifted life flashed through her mind and the knot she had been carrying—for so many spins—finally loosened.

 

"MARLA. COME HERE. NOW."

 

The king's voice exploded through the cave.

 

He stood where her mother had been. Face twisted. White tunic and armor soaked in blood, his long blade carrying the dark smear of old slaughter.

 

Nothing remained of the man she had once known. Only madness behind the green eyes.

 

Marla couldn't move.

 

"I—TOLD—YOU—TO—COME."

 

Shaking, she drew her sword and slashed him from shoulder to gut.

 

The king shattered into a cloud of mauve dust.

 

Coughing and gagging, Marla dropped to her knees and vomited.

 

A precipice lay where the visions had been. The darkness returned. No more fountains. No more white.

 

Gathering herself, swatting away the cloud of dust, she backed away from the edge. Above her, purple blooms hung low from the ceiling, spores drifting in the damp air.

 

Breathing hard, mind still reeling, she caught a glimpse of light.

 

To her left, an opening waited in the dark. She walked toward it slowly, careful not to fall, mindful not to strike her head again.

 

She didn't look back.

 

Marla left the cave where, moments before, her mother had stood.

 

Her heart had finally stopped aching.