The town of Grim Hollow lay shrouded in a thick, creeping fog, the kind that seeped into your bones and whispered secrets you dared not hear. Abandoned factories lined the main street, their windows shattered like the dreams of those who once called this place home. A chill breeze carried the rancid scent of oil, a reminder of the days when the black gold brought prosperity, now replaced by an unsettling silence. You squeeze your flashlight tighter, the beam flickering erratically as you navigate the cracked pavement. Rumors have been swirling about the old oil refinery at the edge of town. Locals say it's haunted by the souls of workers who perished in tragic accidents, their spirits forever bound to the sludge. The tales grow darker with each telling, hinting at something lurking within the shadows—watching, waiting. As you approach the rusted gates, a low moan echoes through the air, pulling you closer. Heart racing, you wonder if you should step inside or turn back to the safety of daylight. The choice is yours, but be warned: in Grim Hollow, not all paths lead back home.