Nathan Carter had never believed in ghosts. He was a rational man, a historian who specialized in uncovering the truth behind myths. That's what brought him to Black Hollow - a forgotten village deep in the English countryside. The village had been abandoned for nearly a century, its last known residents vanishing overnight without a trace. The only thing left behind was a crumbling church, a few skeletal houses, and the legend of the whispering fog.

Nathan arrived just as the sun dipped below the hills. His car rumbled to a stop near what used to be the town square. Fog coiled around the ruins like a living thing, thick and unnerving. He dismissed the unsettling feeling in his chest as exhaustion. He had a job to do.

His first stop was the old church, its wooden door barely hanging on rusty hinges. Inside, he found rows of rotting pews and a massive iron bell, tarnished with age. The walls bore faded carvings - prayers or warnings, he couldn't tell. He set up his recording equipment and began speaking into his microphone.

"Black Hollow, a village that ceased to exist in 1923. Reports claim that the inhabitants disappeared overnight, leaving no signs of struggle. The only clue? Travelers passing through have reported hearing whispers in the fog?"

A gust of wind howled through the broken windows. Then? something else. A whisper.

Nathan turned sharply.

"Hello?"

No answer. Only silence.

Shaking his head, he packed up and left the church. He had rented a small cabin just outside the village - one of the only intact buildings left. The road back was barely visible through the fog, which seemed to have thickened since he arrived. It felt heavy, suffocating.

Then he heard them. The whispers.

Faint at first. Just a trickle of sound weaving through the mist. Then louder.

Nathan?

His breath hitched. He spun around, shining his flashlight into the fog. Nothing. Just swirling gray.

He ran the rest of the way to the cabin, slammed the door, and locked it. His heart hammered in his chest. The whispers had spoken his name.

Chapter 2: The History of Black Hollow

The next morning, Nathan poured over the records he had gathered. The town had been built in the late 1800s, thriving for a time before the disappearances. A diary entry from the last known priest of Black Hollow caught his eye:

"The fog speaks. It calls to us by name. Those who answer do not return."

Nathan frowned. Superstition, nothing more. He decided to explore deeper into the ruins.

He found a house near the edge of the village, its roof caved in, its walls cracked. Inside, dust and decay had consumed everything - except for a single wooden chair, placed perfectly upright in the center of the room. Strange. He reached out to touch it -

A breath brushed his ear.

"Nathan?"

He recoiled, flashlight trembling in his grip. The air behind him felt occupied, as if something unseen was pressing close. Slowly, he turned -

The house was empty.

Chapter 3: The Faces in the Fog

That night, the fog returned thicker than ever, swirling outside his cabin like a living entity. He kept his recorder running. The whispers returned, a murmur at first. Then, clearly -

"We see you, Nathan."

He rushed to the window. Shapes moved in the fog. Shadowy figures, shifting, their forms stretching and contorting.

A face pressed against the glass. Not human. Not anymore.

Its mouth opened, but instead of speaking, it breathed - a long, rattling exhale that made the window fog up.

Nathan grabbed his car keys. He was done. He had to get out.

But as he opened the door, the fog surged inside like a tidal wave, swallowing him whole.

Chapter 4: Vanished

Days later, a search team arrived in Black Hollow after Nathan failed to return. They found his car, his equipment, his cabin. But no Nathan.

Only his recorder, still running.

The last thing it captured?

A whisper.

"He belongs to us now."