Chapter One – The Lantern at the Shore
The storm had been brewing all day, low-hanging clouds roiling over Hollow’s Wake like a living, angry thing. Rain smacked against the cliffs, bouncing off jagged rocks that jutted from the water like broken teeth. Maris Rowe had driven through it all, hands tight on the steering wheel, heart tight in her chest. She didn’t remember deciding to come back. Maybe the letter from her uncle—simple, brown, no words, just a key tucked inside—had guided her. Maybe it was something else, some memory she didn’t want to face.
The town had not changed. Narrow streets glistened wet under the storm, the lamps flickering as though unsure whether to stay lit. Hollow’s Wake always had a reputation—quiet, forgotten, lingering in the mist like it was afraid of being left behind. But now, after ten years, it felt as if the town had been waiting for her.
The Rowe House stood at the edge of the cliffs, a dark silhouette against the grey sky. It had been abandoned for years, yet it seemed alive, bracing against the wind, leaning toward the sea like it could feel the pull of the tide. The porch sagged, paint peeling in jagged lines, the steps warped by storms and neglect. And there, on a crooked nail beside the front door, hung the lantern. Rusted, bent, glass smeared with salt and grime—but it looked exactly the same as the night she last held it, ten years ago.
She swallowed, fingers brushing the cold metal. “It’s just a house,” she muttered to herself, though the words tasted hollow.
The key fit with a stubborn click, the door groaning open as though it had been waiting for her touch. Inside, the air smelled of salt, mildew, and something else—something sweet and decayed. She shivered.
Maris dropped her bag near the couch, the canvas thudding into the floor. Her eyes swept the room. The furniture was draped in sheets that billowed with the wind sneaking through cracks in the walls. Shadows pooled in corners like dark water. She lit the lantern. Its flame wavered, casting long, unsteady fingers of light across the room.
The house was not empty.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Maris froze, pulse hammering. She tried to tell herself it was the storm, the old wood settling. But deep down, she knew the sound was deliberate. She climbed the staircase slowly, every step a whispered warning. Her boots pressed against worn planks, and the lantern’s glow trembled with each movement.
At the landing, she paused. Her eyes traced the hallway: damp footprints led from a closed bedroom door and stopped just short of where she stood. Barefoot. Small. Childlike.
Her stomach knotted. Hollow’s Wake had been empty for ten years. No one should be here.
Then the air shifted. A cold brush of fingers grazed her wrist. She jumped, spinning around. The lantern went out. Darkness swallowed her in a heartbeat.
The wind howled through the cracks in the house, and in that hollow moment, she thought she heard a whisper:
“Maris…”
She didn’t remember answering, didn’t remember finding her voice. Only the pounding of her heart, echoing in the empty house. Something had been waiting for her. And now, it was awake.
Chapter Two – Footsteps in the Dark
Maris sat on the staircase, gripping the lantern, heart thundering like a drum. The wind rattled the windows so violently it felt as if the house might tear itself apart. Outside, the storm had worsened, the rain slicing across the cliffs in stinging sheets. She tried lighting the lantern again. The flame sputtered, groaned, and finally held, casting a shaky circle of light that barely touched the corners of the hallway.
Her eyes darted to the footprints. They hadn’t moved, but she swore they seemed closer now, as if the shadows themselves had shifted to form them.
A whisper floated from the darkness. Soft. Almost a sigh.
“Maris…”
Her breath caught in her throat. She scrambled backward, but the staircase was narrow, and her foot slipped on the damp wood. The lantern tipped, throwing light wildly across the hall. That’s when she saw it: the bedroom door at the far end of the hall—half open.
She hadn’t opened it.
The doorknob turned slowly, creaking as if pushed by an invisible hand. Maris froze. Her mind screamed, Run, run, run, but her legs refused to move.
“Who’s there?” she called, voice barely more than a squeak.
No answer. Only the storm, hammering at the house, and a soft, scraping sound coming from inside the room.
Something moved in the corner of the doorway. A small shadow, hunched low, too fast to be a person—or at least, not a normal one. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Maris’s pulse spiked. She swallowed hard, her mind racing. It’s just your imagination… it’s just the wind… right?
The lantern flickered again, and when the light steadied, the footprints were gone. The hallway was empty. Only the faintest wet trail led back toward the staircase.
Shakily, she climbed to her feet and crept toward the bedroom door. Her hand hovered over the knob. The scraping noise stopped. Silence pressed in so hard she thought her ears might burst. She forced herself to push the door open.
The room was empty. The rain pounded on the roof above, and the only movement was the flicker of lightning outside, illuminating a small, round table in the corner. On it, covered with dust, was a faded photograph. She picked it up with trembling hands.
The picture was of her family—her parents and a little girl with a crooked grin. But there was something wrong. Her father’s eyes were black, as if all the light had been drained from them. And the little girl in the corner wasn’t her.
“Who…” she whispered, but the word froze on her lips.
Behind her, the door slammed shut with a force that shook the frame. Maris spun, yanking at the handle—it wouldn’t budge. Panic surged. She slammed her shoulder against it, then the other. No use. She was trapped.
The whisper came again, this time from the shadows behind her.
“Maris… come play…”
The lantern flickered violently, almost dying. In the brief darkness, she saw them: faint shapes forming along the walls, moving closer with a slow, deliberate crawl. Children’s laughter, high and hollow, echoed through the room, but when lightning struck, the room was empty again.
Maris sank to the floor, pressing her back against the door. The air was cold, unnatural, smelling of salt and decay, and every instinct screamed at her to flee. But she couldn’t move. She was frozen, trapped between the creeping shadows and the storm outside.
And then she understood. This was no ordinary haunting. Whatever had been waiting in the Rowe House—it was waiting for her specifically.
And it had begun to remember her.
Chapter Three – The Hidden Room
The storm showed no signs of relenting. Rain lashed against the windows like furious fingers, and the wind screamed through every crack and crevice of the Rowe House. Maris hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even dared move from the staircase landing after the events in the hallway. Every shadow felt alive, every sound a warning. Yet, dawn was breaking—gray and thin, but enough light to guide her.
She needed answers.
Clutching the lantern tightly, she started exploring the lower floor, her boots slick on the wet wooden boards. The living room was the same: sheets over furniture, dust covering every surface, the lingering scent of salt and decay. But then she noticed something odd. Behind a large, moth-eaten tapestry on the far wall, the wallpaper looked newer, oddly pristine compared to the rest of the room.
Maris tugged at the tapestry. Her fingers brushed against a small latch hidden beneath the folds of fabric. Her heart thumped. She pulled it. A section of the wall shifted inward with a low groan. A narrow staircase spiraled downward into blackness.
The hidden room.
She hesitated. The storm outside roared in defiance, rattling the house as though warning her away. But curiosity, stronger than fear, propelled her forward. Lantern raised, she descended the creaking steps, each one groaning under her weight. The air grew colder, damper, smelling faintly of brine and something older, something metallic.
At the bottom, she found a small, circular chamber. The walls were lined with shelves, covered in dust and cobwebs, but the contents made her stomach twist. Old journals, photographs, and trinkets were scattered across tables. Many bore the Rowe family name, but some were unfamiliar.
One journal caught her eye. Bound in cracked leather, the cover had no writing. She opened it. The handwriting was delicate, looping, and undeniably familiar.
“The tide remembers the sins of the past. When the bloodline returns, the sea will demand its due.”
Her hand trembled. “What… what does that mean?”
Another page detailed rituals, strange drawings of symbols entwined with waves and lanterns. Notes in the margins warned of “the children of the tide” and “the ones who walk between worlds.” Maris’s stomach churned. She had read ghost stories before—fiction—but this… this was something different. Something real.
A sudden noise made her whip around. A soft thump, then another. Something—or someone—was upstairs. She could hear it moving carefully, almost deliberately.
Then she noticed the wall across from her—a small, arched doorway she hadn’t seen before. She pushed it open. Inside was a tiny room, nothing but a single wooden crib. And inside the crib… a doll. Not unusual in itself, except the doll had her own face. Its eyes were black, mirroring the photograph from the haunted bedroom upstairs.
Maris stumbled back, nearly dropping the lantern. The room seemed to pulse with cold, as if the walls themselves were breathing. A whisper drifted from the shadows, soft and teasing:
“Maris… come play…”
She spun around, shining the lantern across the chamber. Empty. Just shadows and dust.
Then the crib shifted slightly.
Maris froze, every nerve screaming. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t imagination. The house was alive. It was aware.
And it was hungry.
Chapter Four – The First Visitor
Maris had stayed in the hidden chamber far longer than she should have. The lantern flickered, throwing long, jittering shadows across the walls, yet she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until she understood what was happening in the Rowe House.
She clutched the journal to her chest, stepping back toward the spiral staircase. The storm had lessened slightly, but the house no longer felt merely abandoned—it felt… awake. Watching. Breathing.
Then she heard it.
Soft, deliberate footsteps above her. Slow, careful, as if something was pacing the hallway, waiting for her.
“Hello?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a whisper, low and chilling, slid through the air like smoke:
“Maris…”
She froze. Her heart slammed in her chest. The voice was familiar—childlike, but not human. Her own name, drawn out in a melody that made her stomach twist.
She climbed the stairs two at a time, every creak echoing like a warning. At the top landing, the hallway stretched before her, empty in the dim light of the lantern. The bedroom door—the one she’d opened the day before—was wide open now, black as night.
Maris’s hand went to the knob, trembling, but something compelled her to enter.
The room was empty… until the doll appeared. It sat in the center of the floor, eyes black, glossy, staring up at her. Then it moved. Slowly, unnaturally, toward her.
Maris stumbled back, tripping over the rug. “No… no, this isn’t real. It’s not real!”
The doll’s head tilted, and a voice—not from a mouth, but inside her mind—whispered:
“It is, Maris. It always has been.”
The lantern flickered violently, and in that brief darkness, she saw them—figures at the corners of the room. Small, pale, translucent children. Their eyes were black voids, mouths opening in silent screams. The air around them shimmered, heavy and wet, smelling faintly of the sea.
Maris scrambled backward, hitting the wall. Her mind raced. The journal. The warnings. “The tide remembers the sins of the past. When the bloodline returns, the sea will demand its due.”
Her father. The tide. The children. Suddenly it all made sense—or at least pieces of it. Hollow’s Wake was cursed, bound to the Rowe family for generations. And now, it was claiming her.
A figure stepped closer—a child, maybe eight, hair dark and wet, eyes black as tar. It raised its hand. The room temperature plummeted. Maris’s breath came out in white clouds.
“You belong to us,” it said, voice hollow, like wind through a shell.
Maris’s mind screamed Run!, but her legs refused to obey. The doll was moving toward her, and the children—more now—were circling, their whispers blending into a low, hypnotic chant.
She swung the lantern at the nearest doll, shattering it into pieces. The child-figure recoiled, vanishing with a high-pitched shriek that echoed through the house. But Maris knew she hadn’t defeated it. Not truly.
A deeper voice whispered from the shadows:
“You can’t run from Hollow’s Wake. You’ve always belonged here.”
The room went silent. The wind outside softened, but the air inside was thick, heavy with something ancient, something waiting. Maris sank to the floor, shaking, tears blurring her vision.
She had survived the first visit. But she knew, with a certainty that made her stomach turn, that it wouldn’t be the last.
The house was waking. And she was its prey.
Chapter Five – The Town That Forgot
Maris didn’t sleep that night. Every shadow seemed to move with intention, every floorboard groan was a warning. By morning, the storm had passed, leaving a gray, dripping town in its wake. Hollow’s Wake looked quiet from the outside, deceptively serene, but Maris knew better. The town itself held secrets—secrets that had whispered to her family for generations.
Clutching the journal and the few notes she had managed to take from the hidden room, she forced herself outside. The air smelled of rain and salt, sharp and biting. Her boots squelched on the muddy streets as she made her way to the town library—the oldest building in Hollow’s Wake. If anyone could help her understand the Rowe curse, it would be here.
The library was nearly empty. Dust hung in the air like suspended fog. The librarian, an elderly man with sharp gray eyes, looked up as she entered.
“I’m looking for… information about Hollow’s Wake,” she began, voice wavering. “Specifically, anything about the Rowe family.”
The man’s gaze sharpened. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Few ask about them anymore. Better left forgotten, child.”
Maris felt a chill, unrelated to the storm outside. “I need to know. There’s something… something in the house. It’s—alive. I’ve seen it.”
The librarian’s eyes softened, tinged with fear and pity. “I thought this day would never come. Follow me.”
He led her to a back room, filled with old maps, newspaper clippings, and handwritten diaries. He pulled one from a shelf, its pages brittle. “Your family… your bloodline has been tied to Hollow’s Wake since the beginning. Long before the town even had its name.”
Maris leaned in. The pages detailed disappearances, drownings, children lost to the sea. Every few decades, a Rowe child—or relative—would return to the town, and the tide would claim something in exchange. The entries spoke of lanterns, of rituals, of promises made to something the townspeople could not name.
“It’s the tide,” she whispered. “The sea… it’s… alive?”
The librarian shook his head. “Not alive. Not exactly. But it is patient. And it remembers. The Rowes have always paid their debt, in one way or another.”
Her stomach twisted. “And now it’s me?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “The house, the tide… they’re waiting. They always wait for the bloodline to return. You were never given a choice.”
Fear surged through her. Her mind flashed back to the hidden room, the doll, the children with black eyes. They were calling her. The house wasn’t just haunted—it was hungry, and she was the meal it had been waiting for.
Maris’s hands shook as she clutched the journal tighter. “How do I stop it?” she demanded.
The librarian hesitated, then pointed to a map of the coastline. “There’s a cave near the cliffs, hidden from the town. That is where the Rowes made the first promise. You must… confront it there. But be warned—many have tried. Few returned. And those who do… are not the same.”
She swallowed, fighting the panic clawing at her chest. The tide, the house, the children—it was all real. And she had to face it alone.
The first step, it seemed, was to survive the night.
As she left the library, the streets of Hollow’s Wake were eerily silent. No gulls, no distant voices, only the wet squelch of her boots on the muddy ground. Something moved in the alley ahead—a shadow that wasn’t hers.
“Maris…” it whispered.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The children had found her.
And the tide was coming.
Chapter Six – The Cave Beneath the Cliffs
Night fell quickly, swallowing Hollow’s Wake in darkness as Maris trudged toward the cliffs. The map the librarian had given her was crude but accurate: a narrow path veiled by overgrown brambles led to a hidden cave along the jagged coastline. Every step she took felt heavier, as if the house itself was weighing her down, reminding her that it knew where she was going.
The wind whipped her hair across her face, carrying the scent of salt and decay. Every now and then, a small splash from the waves below sounded almost like a laugh. She tightened her grip on the lantern. Its light trembled, throwing dancing shadows across the rocks and sand.
She reached the brambles and pulled them aside. The path was narrow, treacherous, but the pull of destiny—or whatever force guided her—kept her moving forward.
Then she saw them.
Figures, small and pale, emerging from the mist along the cliffside. The children from the house, their black eyes gleaming in the lantern light. They didn’t speak. They didn’t blink. They just watched her, tilting their heads in unnatural unison.
Maris swallowed hard. “I… I’m not afraid of you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I know what you are. I know why you’re here.”
A shadow detached from the group, moving toward her faster than seemed possible. It stopped a few feet away, and she could see its form clearly now: a small girl, soaked in seawater, hair plastered to her pale face, eyes black and endless.
“You belong to us,” the girl whispered, voice hollow. “The tide remembers.”
Maris’s mind raced. The journal, the cave, the rituals. She had to reach the cave before the tide—or the house—claimed her. She swung the lantern, and the children recoiled slightly, hissing like wet, frightened cats.
She ran.
The path grew steeper, the wind stronger, the waves crashing violently below. Every step seemed to echo in her mind: You cannot escape. You cannot escape.
Finally, she reached the mouth of the cave. The entrance was narrow, hidden behind jagged rocks, but inside, the air was still. Cold, damp, and smelling faintly of iron. She lit a second lantern she had brought from the Rowe House, the flame steady against the darkness.
The cave walls were covered in carvings: symbols of waves, lanterns, and children’s faces. Maris traced them with her fingers, feeling the weight of centuries pressing down on her. And in the center, a shallow pool of seawater reflected the lantern light.
She knew what she had to do.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to the water, journal clutched tightly. “I—” she began, but her words caught in her throat. The tide in the pool began to move, rising unnaturally, forming shapes—figures of children, writhing, reaching for her with wet, skeletal hands.
The first real confrontation had begun. Maris realized she was no longer running. She was standing her ground.
“Leave me,” she demanded, voice trembling but firm. “I am Rowe. I am here. And I will not… be taken.”
The water surged higher, the children screaming in hollow, wet echoes. The walls of the cave shook. And then, silence.
For a moment, nothing moved. The tide in the pool rippled gently, as if testing her. Maris’s lungs burned. She could hear the distant crash of the ocean outside, feel the pull of the curse around her, waiting, calculating.
The battle had only just begun.
Chapter Seven – The Tide’s Demand
The cave seemed to pulse with life. Every drop of water in the shallow pool trembled as though it had a heartbeat, echoing the storm that had now returned above the cliffs. Maris held both lanterns, shaking, but her resolve was solidifying. She had come this far. She would not leave without answers.
“You cannot win,” a voice hissed, carried not by the wind, but from inside her mind. It was soft, cold, and impossibly old. “The tide remembers. The debt is yours to pay.”
The water in the pool began to swirl, forming shapes that were no longer merely childlike shadows. They rose into figures, wet and pale, faces twisted with hunger and sorrow. They reached toward her with hands that glimmered like wet bone.
Maris clenched her fists. She remembered the journal, the warnings, the rituals carved into the walls. Her ancestors had faced this before—but they had failed in ways that had left the curse alive, growing, waiting.
“I am Rowe!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the cavern. “I am here. I know what you are, and I will not be taken!”
The tide surged violently. She was thrown backward, landing hard against the cave wall. The lanterns toppled but didn’t go out. Shadows danced across the walls, and the figures in the water pressed closer, whispers of long-dead children filling the chamber.
Then a memory surfaced—one she had buried deep: her father, holding the lantern on the cliffs when she was a child. He had whispered words she barely remembered, something about remembering the light.
Maris forced herself to her feet. She gripped the journal tightly and remembered the symbols etched into its pages. Lanterns, waves, circles, signs of binding. The tide could take many, but it could not take all who resisted together. Her family had left a key—some part of the ritual she hadn’t yet understood.
Raising the lanterns high, she began tracing the symbols in the air, repeating the phrases from the journal aloud. Her voice wavered at first, then grew stronger, more confident. The water hissed and churned, the figures screaming, but the symbols in the air glowed faintly, responding to her bloodline.
“You belong to the tide!” the voices shrieked.
“No!” Maris cried, her voice cracking. “I am Rowe! I claim my name, my life, my family!”
The lanterns flared brightly, almost blinding her. The tide froze mid-surge. The shadowed children writhed but did not advance. The symbols etched themselves into the water’s surface, glowing like a barrier.
Then, silence.
The pool settled, the figures vanished. The cave was empty, save for Maris and the lanterns, flickering weakly but alive. Her chest heaved. She was not free, not yet, but she had survived the first real test. She had resisted the tide.
And in that moment, she understood a terrifying truth: the Rowe bloodline wasn’t just cursed. It was powerful. The tide could be resisted, contained, even challenged—but only by one who truly embraced it.
Maris sank to the floor, trembling. Exhaustion, fear, and a strange exhilaration mingled together. She had faced the first wave—and lived. But she could feel the pull still, distant but insistent: the tide would return.
And it would demand more.
Chapter Eight – Secrets in the Shadows
The storm had passed again, but the town of Hollow’s Wake remained shrouded in fog, as if the clouds themselves were reluctant to leave. Maris returned to the Rowe House with the journal clutched tightly. The cave confrontation had changed her—the tide had tested her, and she had survived, but not without cost. Her hands still shook, and her dreams were already haunted with the hollow-eyed children.
Inside the house, she moved carefully. Every creak of the floorboards made her flinch. The hidden room was quiet this time, almost respectful. Almost.
She pulled the journal from her bag and reread the entries, trying to decipher the next step. The symbols, the rituals, the warnings—it was all there. But there was one page she hadn’t noticed before, tucked between two brittle leaves.
It was a letter. Not in her family’s handwriting, but in one older, faded, almost carved into the paper:
“The debt must be paid. Only one bloodline can contain it. Beware those who claim to help—they may serve the tide.”
Maris felt a chill run down her spine. The librarian. Could he be…? No. He had warned her. But the thought lingered, gnawing at her mind. She had to be certain.
A sudden knock at the front door made her jump. Heart hammering, she approached cautiously. Through the cracked window, she saw a man—tall, lean, wearing a soaked coat, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Maris Rowe?” His voice was calm, almost too calm. “I can help you. You don’t understand what you’re up against.”
“I don’t know who to trust anymore,” she said, voice shaking. “The tide—it’s real. It tried to take me.”
He smiled faintly. “Then you already know. I’ve been watching the house for years, waiting for someone from your line to return. But not everyone who comes back survives.”
Maris studied him carefully. There was something familiar about his presence, something unsettling. But she had no choice. She needed answers.
“Fine,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “But if you try anything—”
“I won’t,” he interrupted. “I only want to help you stop it.”
He led her to a small room filled with books and artifacts. Candles burned low, throwing dancing shadows on the walls. “The tide isn’t just a curse,” he began. “It’s a force older than the town. It binds, it tests, it claims. And it will not stop until it has what it wants. You were always meant to confront it—but there’s more than one way it can take you.”
Maris felt a surge of anger. “More than one way?”
“Yes,” he said, placing a hand on the journal. “And the Rowes have tried many. Some have failed. Some… survived, but changed. The tide doesn’t just take bodies—it takes pieces of the soul. That’s why you saw the children. That’s why your house remembers. And now, it’s testing you further. You must decide how far you are willing to go to contain it.”
Maris’s stomach twisted. She had fought the tide once and lived. But the realization hit her: surviving wasn’t enough. She had to master it. She had to understand it fully—or it would claim her completely.
A faint sound caught her attention—the scraping of wet footsteps on the floor upstairs. The children. They were back.
“You’ll have to face them again,” the man said calmly. “And this time… it will be different.”
Maris gripped the journal, lanterns raised. She felt the weight of her bloodline pressing down, the legacy of generations waiting for her to act. The tide was patient, but she was learning to be faster. Smarter. Stronger.
And the house, the town, and the shadows within it would remember that.
Chapter Nine – The Rising Tide
The night air was thick with fog as Maris returned to the cliffs. The cave waited, dark and ominous, the shallow pool reflecting nothing but shadows. Her lanterns flickered weakly in the wind, and every instinct screamed that this night would not end as the others had.
The wind carried a whisper across the cliffs: “Maris… come play…”
She shivered, gripping the journal tightly. The symbols she had learned to trace, the rituals she had practiced, all felt like fragile armor against the storm that was coming.
The tide surged against the rocks below, higher than it had ever been. Water sprayed the cliffside, soaking her to the bone. The hollow-eyed children emerged from the mist, dozens now, their black eyes glowing faintly, mouths opening in silent screams. The air itself seemed to bend around them, heavy with the weight of the curse.
“You belong to us!” the chorus of whispers demanded, echoing off the cliff walls.
Maris planted her feet firmly, raising both lanterns high. “I belong to myself!” she shouted. “I am Rowe! You cannot take me!”
The tide in the pool inside the cave began to churn violently, water splashing over the edges. Shapes formed in the waves—human, twisted, drowned figures, reaching for her with open, grasping hands. The children scattered across the cliffside, circling closer, trying to break her concentration.
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and began the ritual aloud, tracing symbols in the air. The lantern light flared, sending arcs of golden light across the rocks and water. The tide surged back, hesitant, and the children recoiled, shrieking.
But the ground beneath her shook. The cliffside trembled. The tide was not merely water—it was a living force, ancient and patient, testing her willpower, her courage, her claim to the bloodline.
A sudden vision struck her: her ancestors, standing at the same cave, performing the same rituals, some failing, some succeeding. Their faces etched in fear, determination, and sorrow. They were reaching out to her, guiding her.
“You must bind it, not fight it,” she whispered, understanding at last. “I do not reject you. I claim you, and I claim myself. I am Rowe, and I will contain you.”
The tide paused. The children stopped their shrieking. The water in the pool glimmered, swirling in intricate patterns as Maris traced her final symbols, reciting the words the journal had hidden in its margins. Her bloodline hummed beneath her skin, connecting her to generations of Rowes who had fought and survived before her.
Then, silence.
The waves retreated. The children’s shadows flickered and vanished, absorbed back into the tide. The water calmed, reflecting the first faint stars in the night sky. Maris sank to her knees, trembling, exhausted but alive. She had done it. She had faced the tide, faced the curse, and survived.
But as she looked out at the calm sea, a chill ran down her spine. Somewhere deep, far below, she felt it—a pulse, patient, steady, waiting for the next return. The tide would remember her.
And one day… it would rise again.
Chapter Ten – The Last Light
The Rowe House was quiet now, almost peaceful, but Maris knew better. The air still hummed with memory, with echoes of what had been—and what could still come. She returned inside, drenched and exhausted, her lanterns flickering softly in the dim light.
The hidden room called to her one last time. The crib was empty. The doll with her face was gone. The journal lay open on the table, as though waiting for her to finish its story.
Maris traced the symbols one final time, her fingers trembling but steady. “I am Rowe. I accept the tide. I claim it—and I claim myself.”
A soft wind swept through the room, carrying whispers not of threat, but of something far older, far wiser. The shadows that had once threatened her seemed to bow, dissolving into the corners, leaving only stillness.
She stepped outside onto the porch. The sky was clearing, faint sunlight glinting off the wet cliffs. For the first time in decades, Hollow’s Wake felt still. The tide had retreated, the children vanished, the curse acknowledged—but restrained.
Maris knew it wasn’t gone. It never would be. But she had survived. She had claimed her place, her power, and her right to live.
And for now, that was enough.
Epilogue – The Tide Waits
Weeks later, Maris walked the cliffs in silence. Hollow’s Wake had returned to its quiet, foggy state, but there was a new awareness in her eyes, a connection to the land, the sea, and the shadows that lingered there.
The townspeople avoided the cliffs, whispering about the Rowe girl who had returned after so many years. None knew the full story. None could.
Maris returned to the hidden cave one last time. The tide shimmered in the shallow pool, calm but patient, the faint echo of children’s laughter rising like a soft wind. She placed her hand on the water, feeling its pulse.
“You wait,” she whispered. “I remember.”
The water rippled, and a voice, distant and ancient, seemed to reply:
“We will see you again, Maris Rowe. The tide remembers.”
She smiled faintly, a mixture of fear, resolve, and understanding. Hollow’s Wake had claimed generations of her family, but she had survived. And when the tide returned—and it would return—she would be ready.
The cliffs were quiet. The wind stirred. And somewhere far below, the tide whispered, patient as always, waiting for the next chapter in its endless story.
Maris turned away, walking back toward the town, the lanterns of her ancestors lighting her path—an unbroken line of courage, defiance, and memory stretching across generations.
Hollow’s Wake had a new guardian now.
The End