The hallway groaned, warped by a force Emily didn't understand. Doors slammed shut behind her one by one, sealing themselves with a heavy thunk as if the forest itself had decided she was too close to the truth.
Only one door remained open.
The one at the end.
The only one without a name.
No carving. No knob. Just a wooden panel wrapped in thorny vines that pulsed like veins. Something behind it breathed—not loudly, but steadily, like the soft inhale and exhale of something colossal, asleep in the dark.
Emily hesitated.
The figure—The Hollow—still stood behind her, unmoving. Its eyes, if they were eyes at all, glowed faintly in the dim corridor, filled with neither hatred nor malice.
Just hunger.
"I have to go in, don't I?" she whispered.
The Hollow didn't answer.
Emily took a step forward, then another, until she stood in front of the nameless door. The vines coiled tighter, resisting her presence. She raised her hand and pressed her palm to the wood.
Warm.
Almost like skin.
The vines loosened, curling back slowly, unwillingly, as if the door recognized her. As if it had been waiting for her. A seam appeared where there had been none, and the door creaked open.
Beyond it was darkness.
Thick, suffocating, absolute.
Emily stepped inside.
And the door shut behind her.
At first, she heard nothing.
No breathing.
No footsteps.
Just the sound of her own heartbeat, echoing in the void.
But then—a whisper.
Not loud, not sharp. Soft. Familiar.
Her own voice.
Repeating a single phrase:
"One… two… three… four…"
She turned in circles, trying to find the source, but the sound came from everywhere. It was the same voice she had used when she started the game.
When she had been the seeker.
"Five… six… seven…"
She remembered now. The way her voice had bounced through the trees. The nervous smile. Her eyes shut tight, hoping they would all still be there when she opened them again.
"Eight… nine… ten…"
The whispers stopped.
A new voice took over.
"You were always it."
A soft light ignited ahead, and Emily saw herself—not the hollow version from the mirror, but her real self—sitting cross-legged in the middle of a massive, circular room. Her eyes were shut. Her lips moved silently.
The air shimmered. Memories flickered around her like projections on invisible walls.
Marcus laughing as he climbed a tree.
Ava's braid bouncing as she ran.
Devon pretending to trip, just to make the others laugh.
And then—Sarah, mouth open in a silent scream as the forest swallowed her whole.
Emily watched, heart breaking.
The visions swirled faster, spinning into a whirlwind of images—dozens of children, all lost. All claimed.
And in the center of them all… the forest.
Older than time.
Alive.
Watching.
Feeding.
Her seated self opened her eyes.
"I didn't mean to start it," she said quietly. "I just wanted to play."
"I know," Emily whispered.
"But the forest doesn't care," her double said. "It hears laughter like a dinner bell."
Emily stepped closer. "Then we make it choke."
A twitch of a smile.
Her double stood, and as they merged, Emily felt a rush of clarity. The memories were hers. The sorrow. The confusion. The connection.
The forest hadn't just trapped her—it had chosen her.
Because she remembered.
Because she saw it.
Suddenly, the darkness split open. Light poured in from above—a beam, narrow and silver, like moonlight cutting through a closed eye.
Voices whispered around her, dozens of them—children's voices.
"Find us…"
"We're still here…"
"Don't forget…"
Emily followed the light.
The space folded and cracked like glass, and she was lifted upward—through dirt, through root, through pain.
She broke the surface with a gasp.
She lay on the forest floor, trembling, the moon overhead now full and heavy.
But the trees had changed.
They no longer leaned in.
They stood silent.
Still.
Empty.
And around her lay the toys of the children who'd disappeared—an old jump rope, a stuffed rabbit, a cracked action figure.
She was alone.
Or so she thought.
A small hand touched hers.
She turned.
Sarah.
Not hollow. Not twisted.
Real.
Blinking.
Breathing.
"I heard your voice," Sarah said softly.
Emily pulled her into a hug.
And from the trees emerged the rest.
Marcus.
Ava.
Devon.
Others—children she didn't know, eyes wide with wonder and confusion.
"I don't know how," Emily whispered, "but I brought them back."
Or maybe… they had followed her.
The forest let them go.
Or perhaps it simply lost its grip.
For now.
Because deep in the distance, a branch creaked.
A whisper stirred the leaves.
And the faintest voice, carried on the wind, began to count again—
"One…"