Pushing open the inn's door, Aiden felt a sense of security he hadn't felt all day. Here, at least, Martha was truly human, and she was dedicated to protecting her guests.
"You're back, Mr. Aiden." Martha smiled at him. "How was your exploration today?"
"Productive," Aiden replied, briefly summarizing the information he'd gotten from Jack. "I have a question—how do you tell the actual time here?"
"Listen for the bells," Martha said, gesturing toward the window. "The church marks every hour. It chimes twelve times at noon, once at one o'clock, twice at two, and so on. When you hear six chimes, that means sunset is approaching, and you should think about returning to your room. When you hear ten, that's when my service ends for the night."
"And what if you hear an abnormal chime? Like thirteen?"
Martha's expression grew grim. "Then you cover your ears, recite the prayer from the guide, and pray it was just an accident." She paused. "But the irregular chimes have been happening more often these past few months. It's not a good sign."
Just then, the sound of the church bell rang out.
*Dong... dong... dong...*
Aiden counted carefully: one, two, three... all the way to six. Then silence.
"Six o'clock," Martha said. "Nearly sunset. You can stay in the lobby a while longer or go back to your room. I'd recommend the latter. It's not safe to linger outside after dark."
Aiden returned to his room. The previous night's ordeal had taught him the absolute importance of the rules—in this place, any oversight could be fatal.
He sat at the writing desk and opened the *Newcomer's Guide to Blackpine Town* again, searching for details he might have missed. His conversation with Jack had made him realize that the rules could be contradictory, riddled with loopholes, and that those subtle differences were likely the key to life and death.
On the "Rules for Lodging Safety" page, Aiden spotted a detail he hadn't noticed before. Printed in tiny font along the margin was a supplementary note:
*"Note: Certain rules may change based on circumstances. When rules conflict, prioritize the version that offers more protection."*
The ink of the note was a shade lighter than the main text, clearly added later. Aiden realized the guide wasn't a static document; it was a "living" manual that updated itself as conditions changed.
The light outside began to fade. Though there was no visible sunset, the atmosphere on the street had palpably shifted. Peeking through the window, he saw that the "residents" who had been mechanically repeating their tasks during the day had all vanished. The streets were now completely empty.
Not long after the eight o'clock bells, Aiden heard faint noises from downstairs—like someone moving about in the lobby, their footsteps so light they were almost inaudible.
After the nine o'clock bells, the inn fell deeper into silence. Aiden knew that in one more hour, Martha's service would end, and he would officially enter the most dangerous part of the day.
Just as he was preparing to turn in early, a knock came at his door.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Three soft, rhythmic taps.
Aiden's heart hammered against his ribs. It wasn't ten o'clock yet, but after last night, any visitor was a cause for alarm. More importantly, he had to follow the rule: he could not speak to anyone outside until he had confirmed they had a shadow.
He crept to the door and looked through the peephole. The hallway candles cast a dim, flickering light, but he could see a human-shaped figure standing outside. The man was wearing a familiar tan jacket; he looked like Jack.
But here was the critical problem: in this light, it was impossible to tell if the figure cast a shadow.
The knocking came again, five times now.
*Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Then, a familiar male voice spoke.
"Aiden, it's me, Jack. I have some important information for you, about an anomaly that might happen tonight."
The voice was a perfect match for Jack's, but Aiden remembered the rules' implicit warning—many things here could mimic human sounds. A voice was not proof of identity. Only a shadow was.
Aiden said nothing, continuing to watch through the peephole. The figure was the right height and build, but the shadows on the floor were a murky, indecipherable mess.
"Aiden?" the voice called again, a note of confusion in it. "I know you're in there. I saw you come back to the inn earlier. I really do have something important to tell you."
The explanation sounded plausible, but Aiden held fast to the rules. Without visual confirmation of a shadow, he would not speak. He would not open the door.
The hallway was silent for a few seconds. Then came a soft sigh.
"I understand. You're following the rules. That's smart, Aiden. I'm glad you've learned how to protect yourself."
The voice paused, then continued.
"I'll stand here for a little while to give you time to confirm my identity. If you can see my shadow clearly, open the door. If you can't, I'll leave, and we'll talk tomorrow during the day."
The offer was disarmingly reasonable, a seeming gesture of respect for the rules. But Aiden remained wary. Would the real Jack do this? Or was this an imposter, using his knowledge of the rules to build a false sense of trust?
Aiden watched intently for several minutes. The figure outside remained perfectly still, showing no signs of impatience or anything unusual. But the core problem remained—the light was too poor to be certain about the shadow.
After about ten minutes, the voice spoke one last time.
"That's long enough, Aiden. If you still can't confirm, I'll leave now. Remember, ten o'clock tomorrow morning, we'll meet in the square. The sun will be bright enough then for you to see my shadow clearly."
The sound of footsteps followed, receding down the hall until they vanished completely.
Aiden let out a long, slow breath. He didn't know if that was the real Jack or some kind of imposter, but he had made the right choice: he had followed the rules without taking a single risk.
Half an hour later, the church bells rang out ten times.
Martha's service was over.
The instant the final chime faded, the radio in his room made a soft *click*.
Aiden turned to see its indicator light begin to flash. This time, it wasn't playing music. The light pulsed in a distinct pattern of long and short bursts—some kind of signal.
He watched for a few moments, realizing the pattern was regular: long, short, short... long, long, short...
Morse code.
As a paranormal investigator, Aiden had learned the basics. He scribbled the pattern onto a piece of paper and began to translate.
"W R O N G C H O I C E - H E W A S R E A L"
A deep chill swept through him. If the radio was telling the truth, then he had just turned away the real Jack, rejecting a vital ally and source of information.
But just as quickly, his rational mind took over. The radio itself was part of the town's strangeness; its messages couldn't be trusted. More importantly, even if it *had* been Jack, his decision to follow the rules was still correct. In a situation where confirmation was impossible, safety would always trump information.
The radio's flashing stopped, and the room fell silent once more. But Aiden knew the night was just beginning.
He remembered Jack's mention of an "anomaly" and Martha's warning about the increasingly frequent irregular bell chimes. Perhaps something truly unusual was going to happen tonight.
Aiden resolved to stay vigilant. He checked the salt circle, ensuring the protective barrier around the radio was intact. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the guide, and prepared for another sleepless night.
Outside, the full darkness of Blackpine Town had descended. And in that vast, silent black, it felt as if something ancient and malevolent was stirring.