She thought it was nothing more than a delivery. But when the lock clicks, the towel loosens, and the only one standing there is the boy next door - smirking, hiding something - Hillary’s world stumbles for a moment. Suddenly she’s uncovered in more ways than one: her body, her pride, her sense of control. What begins as a clumsy accident turns into a slow, dangerous tension made of silence and half-glances.Outwardly, she looks composed - dressed neatly, trying to read on her garden swing. Yet when Timmy reappears, that faint grin tugging at his mouth, the distance between them dissolves. She doesn’t stop him. She lets the scene unfold, piece by piece, gesture by gesture. Each visit becomes heavier, the air between them charged with something unsaid.This isn’t a love story. It’s a haunting dressed as desire. And Hill’s Hole never lets its ghosts go.

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