some creative writing after years of burn-out

Hey, i'm just sharing a piece of creative writing I did recently. It's a bit of a psychological horror piece but no gore or anything, literally like a start to something idk lol. Hope you enjoy.

What I listened to when writing this lol

Bitter, harsh rain spat at him as he drew closer to the village, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, looking at the note a final time as the ink started to spread in the downpour.

“If you have followed me James, turn back. I implore you. Cast away all thoughts of finding me and never let your feet cross the threshold of this town I am lost to this wretched place, for the Lord above, I pray deeply that you shall never share what I have experienced.”

How did Thomas know of this place, why did he come here? James found it so peculiar, Cragmuth wasn’t even plotted on a map. How did his brother happen across this place?

Fog was heavy set on the ground, bramble spread everywhere like a disease. James saw the dim lamplight ahead above a sign swinging in the wind. Ram’s Head Inn. James turned the handle and as the door groaned, he went inside. He was met by the solemn faces of the landlord at the bar, an older woman hunched over a table at the door and a small group of youths in the corner.

Placing a threepence on the counter James enquired, “Is this good for the night?”

“Aye” he answered, tucking the threepence into his apron. “What brings a young fella like you ‘ter Cragmuth?”

“My brother, Thomas. This was the last place he told me of in his latest letter to me. I’m sure he would have been here, he is tall of stature, with dark eyes and fair-hair.”

Silence rung across the room as every ounce of colour drained from the landlords face, leaving him ghastly pale. One of the young boys rose from the corner, a visible tremor in him as he crossed the room toward James.

“Sir,” he stated, “He was here the other night but he cross paths with her. And once a man meets that demon, he is never seen again.”

The old woman came to stand beside the boy, then reached out to take James’ hand in her own withered grasp. “Forgive me, my boy, but young William speaks the truth. That woman is a blight upon this village and a curse upon our soil. Your poor brother is gone”.

James recoiled, his mind in disbelief. How could these people have stood by?

“Why did you suffer him to depart?” he demanded, his voice fracturing with rage.

“No living soul has a say sir,” William replied, “When a man’s hour has come, she takes him. There is no altering it.”