In the quiet town of Hollowbrook, where the mist clung to the ground like a living thing and the trees whispered secrets only the wind could understand, there was an old library that no one dared to enter after dusk. The building had stood for over two centuries, its stone walls weathered by time and the weight of forgotten stories. It was said that those who entered the library before midnight would never be seen again. The townsfolk spoke in hushed tones about the disappearances. At first, they were few—just a few travelers who wandered off into the woods or a local farmer who vanished without a trace. But as the years passed, the number grew. Some claimed they heard whispers from inside the library, voices that called out names not their own. Others swore that when they looked through the dusty windows at night, they saw figures moving slowly among the shelves, as if searching for something lost. One autumn evening, a young woman named Elara arrived in Hollowbrook. She was a researcher with a fascination for folklore and the unexplained. She had read about the library and the disappearances, but she dismissed them as superstition. "It's just a building," she told herself. "Nothing more." She found the library tucked behind a row of willow trees, its entrance hidden beneath a heavy oak door. The air around it felt colder than the rest of the town, as though the very atmosphere recoiled from it. She pushed the door open, and the sound of it creaking echoed like a sigh. Inside, the library was vast, its towering shelves stretching into darkness. Dust motes floated in the dim light, and the scent of old paper and decay filled the air. Elara moved cautiously, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that had long since lost its color. She ran her fingers along the spines of books, some of which were bound in cracked leather, others in materials that seemed almost organic. As she explored deeper, she noticed something strange. The books were not arranged in any logical order. Some titles repeated themselves, while others were missing entirely. There were entire sections of the library that appeared untouched, as if no one had walked there in decades. And then she saw the names. They were carved into the wooden beams above the shelves, hundreds of them, written in a language she didn't recognize. Some were faded, others fresh, as if someone had recently added them. She tried to make sense of them, but the symbols twisted and shifted when she looked too closely, as though they refused to be understood. She heard a sound—a soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingers brushing against wood. She turned, but the room was empty. The tapping continued, growing louder, until it stopped abruptly. Then came a whisper, barely audible: "You shouldn't have come." Elara froze. She wasn't sure if it was real or her imagination. She took a step back, but the door had vanished. In its place was a wall of books, stacked so high they reached the ceiling. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. She searched the room, looking for another way out, but every path led back to the same spot. Then she saw it—a small, silver key resting on a pedestal in the center of the room. It pulsed faintly, as if alive. She reached for it, and the moment her fingers touched it, the world around her shifted. The library dissolved into a blur of colors and sounds, and she found herself standing in a field under a blood-red moon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and something else—something metallic, like rust and memory. In the distance, she saw the library again, but it was different now. Its windows glowed with an eerie light, and the shadows moved within, as if they were watching her. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn't obey. The whisper returned, softer this time: "You are part of the story now." When the townspeople finally found her, days later, she was sitting in the middle of the field, eyes wide, muttering to herself. She couldn't remember how she got there, only that she had been inside the library. No one believed her, but they all knew the truth. The library still stood, waiting for the next curious soul to walk through its doors. And somewhere, deep in the silence, the names kept growing.