Script
Why does every window in Red Hollow have its curtains ripped just at the corners?
Last night, even the wind wouldn’t move down this street.
Wet footprints, small and barefoot, zigzagged through the fog—right up to that window.
No one saw who left them. Or what.
But if you press your face close, past the cracked glass, you’ll see it:
A shape that isn’t there.
It only appears when you’re afraid.
So—
Are you afraid yet?
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