The morning after the scream was filled with heavy fog, thicker than anything they'd ever seen in those woods.

Abby hadn’t slept much. Neither had Melvin.

“Do you think it was an animal?” Melvin asked.

Abby didn’t answer. She stood at the window, staring out. The bushes where they'd seen movement last night looked still now. But something about them felt wrong.

“Come on,” she finally said. “Let’s go to see Mr. Han’s.”

They left without telling their mother. The hallway floor creaked louder than usual. The fog wrapped around their legs as they stepped outside. It clung to the trees, making the world look like it had lost its color. Even the birds weren’t singing.

The woods were quiet again, but not like before.
This wasn’t peace.
It was watching silence.

They noticed how the fog grew thicker the deeper they went. Like the forest didn’t want to reveal anything today.

By the time they reached the cornfield, the stalks were just blurry shapes in the mist.

Mr. Han was outside, watering herbs near his house. He turned slowly when he heard them approach. His expression brightened when he saw who it was.

“Well, good morning,” he said. “Didn’t think I’d see you two so early. The fog is heavy today, isn’t it?”

Melvin stepped forward. He looked nervous but spoke anyway.

“Mr. Han… did you hear anything last night? A scream?”

Mr. Han paused. His hand stopped mid-air with the watering can. “Scream?”

“Yeah,” Melvin said. “Something was howling. But it didn’t sound like a dog. And bushes were moving. Loud. You really didn’t hear it?”

Han looked toward the tree line. His eyes stayed there for a few seconds long. Then he straightened up and gave a slow nod.

“Out here,” he said, “the forest plays tricks on your ears. Echoes bounce. Animals cry. Could’ve been anything. Wild ones hunt at night. Sometimes they make sounds that… don’t sound right.”

He smiled gently. But Abby didn’t look convinced. She didn’t press further. Instead, she followed him onto the house.

Inside, the tension thinned a little. Mr. Han boiled water. Melvin sat cross-legged on the floor. Abby looked through the window. The fog hadn’t cleared.

Han served tea and snacks—biscuits, honey, and fruit. Melvin spilled honey on his chin and laughed. For a moment, everything felt normal.

Then Han pulled out a dusty box of old photos from under the table. Pictures of fields, rain, animals, and faded faces.

“That’s me,” he said, pointing to a photo. “Back when I had more hair and less stomach.”

Melvin laughed. “You look weird.”

Han chuckled. “I once punched a cow by accident,” he said. “Didn’t even moo. Just looked at me like I was an idiot.”

Melvin laughed so hard he almost choked.

Time passed quickly. The sky began to get dark, and the fog outside never left. It just turned gray with the fading light.

Melvin leaned back. “Can you tell us a story?”

Han raised his brow. “What kind of story?”

Melvin grinned. “A scary one. Last night was creepy. So now I want something scarier.”

Han looked at the two of them for a long second, then sipped his tea.

“A scary one, huh?” he said quietly. “Alright…”

He cleared his throat and looked out the window before beginning.

“There was once a quiet village, deep in the hills,” he said. “Small. Peaceful. The kind where everyone knew everyone. And in that village lived a kind family—a mother, father, two sons, and a daughter. Sweet people. Always helping. Always smiling. Everyone trusted them.”

Han’s voice changed—lower. Slower.

“But one day… things changed. Crops began dying overnight. People got sick. Pets and animals disappeared. But their farm—the family’s—stayed perfect. Every time. One night, someone saw them in the woods. Doing something strange. A ritual. Dark. Twisting branches. Shadows that didn’t match the fire.”

“After that, people whispered. They weren’t who they said they were. Those parents. Those polite children. They weren’t good at all.”

“They were witches.”

Melvin was frozen.

“The village was too scared to confront them. So instead, they banished them. Across the mountains. Told them to leave and never come back.”

Melvin whispered, “What happened to them?”

Mr. Han gave a tired smile.

“No one knows. Some say they found another village. Others say the woods swallowed them.”

“Was that a true story?” Melvin asked.

Han shrugged. “It’s just a story parents tell to keep kids from wandering into the forest. And getting lost. ”

There was a pause. The wind pushed gently against the walls.

Then, from outside, came a long, dry rustling sound.

The cornfield swayed.

Something was moving through it.

Quiet.

And slow.