They were going to his parents house for Thanksgiving when it happened. They came across a tree that blocked the road. Then as they changed directions, they came across a very small town. The people already explained it to them, that they have no way out of this town but people are trying to get out. They had to stay inside, no matter what. They said at night, monster's would come out and ask people to let them inside and the only thing that kept them out was the talismans and we were safe as long as they were outside. They told them that they should ignore them and not open the door when they asked them.

The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against the skin, that hums beneath the walls like something holding its breath. William stood by the window, staring through the cracks in the curtains at a town that had already begun to darken. The sky above From bled purple into black, and somewhere far off, a bell began to toll—slow, mournful, and final.

He had been a man of glass towers and bright screens, a broker of fortunes, power stitched into every thread of his suit. But none of that mattered here. Not in this place where the rules of the world no longer applied, where roads circled back like a cruel joke, and the night itself seemed alive.

They had been told the stories by the townsfolk—the warnings whispered with eyes that never met his. Stay inside. Lock the doors. Don’t answer the voices. They’d shown him the talismans, strange carvings nailed above the doors and windows, their meaning as old as fear itself.

Now, as the last smear of daylight sank below the horizon, William felt it: the shift in the air, the subtle pulse of something waking. His wife moved behind him, her breath unsteady, the candlelight trembling between them.

Outside, the wind began to change. It carried voices. Soft. Patient. Calling.

And William understood, at last, that wealth couldn’t buy him out of this. Night had come to From.