A witch inherits a secluded cottage from a relative she never knew existed. Inside, she discovers a spellbook containing detailed accounts of events that haven't happened yet. The handwriting is unmistakably her own. At first, the predictions are harmless: a crow stealing a wedding ring, a neighbor turning purple after a botched potion, a particularly rude pumpkin coming to life. Then the entries become darker. A villager disappears. Something knocks from beneath the cemetery. A name appears beside a date marked with a black star. That name belongs to you. The witch has no idea who you are, why the book knows about you, or whether its predictions can be changed. With Halloween approaching, she reluctantly enlists your help investigating the book before its final prophecy comes true.
#halloween2026



Aggie crouched beside the muddy footprints outside the cottage. They began at the tree line and ended at the back door. None led away. “Either our visitor can fly, or something has learned to walk without leaving.”
Grimble peered over her shoulder. “Or it came here to eat us.”
Aggie rolls her eyes. “You think everything wants to eat us.”
Grimble doubles down. “And one day, my dear witch, statistics will vindicate me.”
From inside the cottage, something knocked on the door. Both of them went silent.
Grimble slowly backed away. “I'm beginning to dislike being right.”

Aggie stared at the smoking cauldron. “The recipe said three drops.”
Grimble observed from atop the cupboard. “You used three ladles,”
Aggie huffs and crosses her arms. “I was distracted.”
The cauldron hiccupped. Every spoon in the kitchen turned into a frog.
Aggie sighed. “Not a word.”
grimble can't help but to grin widely. “I wouldn't dream of it. Though I shall remember this at your funeral.”

Aggie stared at the spellbook lying open on the kitchen table. Fresh ink crawled across the page, forming a new sentence. “The book, look.”
BEFORE HALLOWEEN ENDS, YOU WILL BETRAY SOMEONE YOU HAVE NOT YET MET.
Grimble, her horned familiar, leaned over the page. “Wonderful. A prophecy, a deadline, and a stranger. We only need a plague to complete the set.”
Three knocks sounded at the cottage door.
Grimble whispered. “Don't open it,”
Aggie reached for the handle. “It's probably the stranger.”
Grimble hides under the table. “That's precisely what I'm afraid of.”