Every town has its secrets, and in the quiet, fog-draped village of Eldermere, the most whispered tale was about the Hollow House. It stood at the edge of the forest, its crooked roof sagging under the weight of time, its windows dark like the eyes of a sleeping giant. No one had lived there for over a century, yet every year, on the night of the autumn equinox, the door would creak open, as if expecting someone to come in. The locals called it "The Watcher’s Place," though no one could explain why. Some said it was built by a reclusive painter who vanished without a trace, leaving behind only unfinished canvases covered in strange symbols. Others claimed it was once a sanctuary for a forgotten cult that worshipped the moon. But the most common story was the one about the girl. Her name was never recorded, but she was known as "The Girl in the Window." According to legend, she would appear in the second-floor window, her face pale and her hair long and tangled, staring out into the woods with an expression of quiet sorrow. She never moved, never blinked, just watched. The townspeople swore they saw her every year on the equinox, always at the same time—just before midnight. A group of teenagers once tried to investigate the house during the day, armed with flashlights and bravado. They found the front door slightly ajar, as if someone had left it that way. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of old wood. The floorboards groaned beneath their feet as they climbed the creaking stairs. At the top, they found a small room with a single window. There, on the windowsill, was a child’s doll, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. The teens ran out, screaming, and the next morning, none of them could remember what they saw inside. Over the years, more people came to Eldermere, drawn by the mystery. Some were journalists, others tourists, and a few even claimed to be researchers. All of them returned with stories, but none ever stayed long enough to uncover the truth. The Hollow House remained untouched, its secrets locked behind its silent walls. One autumn, a young woman named Clara arrived in Eldermere. She was a writer, seeking inspiration for a book about lost places. She had heard the stories, but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted to see the house with her own eyes. On the night of the equinox, she walked through the forest, the wind carrying whispers that felt too close for comfort. When she reached the house, the door was open, just as it always was. Inside, the silence was almost deafening. The air was still, as if holding its breath. She stepped carefully, her boots crunching on the floorboards. Upstairs, she found the same room with the window. As she approached, she noticed something different—there was no doll this time. Instead, a small journal lay open on the windowsill, its pages filled with neat handwriting. She picked it up and began to read. The entries were dated from the early 1900s, written by a girl named Elara. She spoke of loneliness, of being trapped, of watching the world pass by from her window. She wrote of a secret she had discovered—a hidden path in the forest that led to a place where time didn’t move. She wrote of a man who came to visit her, and how he never left. As Clara turned the pages, a chill ran down her spine. The final entry was dated the night of the equinox. "I don’t know if I’m still here or not. I can hear the wind, but I don’t feel it. I think I’m waiting for someone to find me." Suddenly, the lights flickered. The temperature dropped. Clara looked up and saw a figure in the window. Not the doll, not the ghost—but a real person. A girl, no older than ten, standing perfectly still, her eyes fixed on her. Clara froze. The girl didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t speak. Then, slowly, she raised her hand and pointed toward the door. Clara ran. She didn’t look back. The moment she stepped outside, the door slammed shut behind her. The wind howled, and the forest seemed to stretch longer than it should. She didn’t sleep that night. She didn’t speak of what she saw. But the next morning, the journal was gone, and the house was empty, as if it had never been there at all. No one ever saw the girl again. But every year, on the night of the equinox, the door of the Hollow House opens, and the wind carries a whisper through the trees. Some say it’s the voice of Elara, still waiting. Others say it’s just the wind. But in Eldermere, they know better. They know that some mysteries are meant to be solved—and others are meant to be remembered.