The morning sun filtered through Emily's window like shards of broken gold, warming her skin but doing nothing to ease the chill buried deep in her bones. She hadn't slept. Couldn't. Her sheets were still wrapped around her like a cocoon she'd never escaped from. Every creak of the house, every sigh of wind outside her window, had kept her frozen in place—waiting.
But the closet never opened again.
The shadow never moved.
And now, the silence felt worse.
She sat up slowly, her muscles aching as though she'd spent the night running. Her throat was dry. Her lips chapped. When she swung her legs out of bed, her feet pressed into the cold hardwood floor with a hollow thud.
Her room was exactly as she'd left it.
Posters on the walls. Stuffed animals lined neatly on the shelves. A few books scattered on her desk—one still open to the last page she'd been reading the day before the game. It was like time had paused the second she'd vanished.
Except she hadn't vanished.
Not really.
She'd gone somewhere.
And come back with something broken.
Downstairs, the smell of breakfast drifted through the air—burnt toast and overcooked eggs. Her mother's stress always translated into food.
Emily hesitated at the top of the stairs.
In the mirror across from the landing, her reflection stared back at her with blank, glassy eyes.
She blinked. The reflection blinked too.
She swallowed hard and descended the stairs.
At the kitchen table, her mother hovered anxiously over a frying pan, flipping eggs with the subtle violence of someone trying to forget they were angry.
"I made your favorite," she said, not turning around. "Eggs and toast."
Emily sat quietly. Her eyes fell on the kitchen window. Outside, the forest loomed in the distance—far enough to feel safe, but never truly gone.
"You were gone for two days," her mother added. "You know that?"
Emily blinked. "Two days?"
Her mother turned now, spatula still in hand. "We thought you ran away. Or got lost. But then you just… showed up. Walked up to the house like nothing happened."
"I don't remember much," Emily lied.
She remembered everything.
Her mother placed the plate in front of her with shaking hands, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Are you sure?"
Emily nodded.
Her mother's face twisted with a mixture of relief and frustration. "The others came home too. Their parents said the same thing. None of you remember a thing. But the police… they want to talk to you again."
Emily's fork hovered over the eggs.
Again?
"I already talked to them yesterday," she said.
"They think maybe someone lured you out there. Maybe some… sick person in the woods."
That was almost laughable.
If only it had been a person.
Emily lowered her fork.
"I'm not hungry."
She wandered outside after her mother left for work.
The town felt strange. Off.
Neighbors waved a little too long. Strangers paused to stare. Even the wind carried a different kind of hum—like it knew her now. Knew what she'd seen. Where she'd gone.
Everywhere she looked, people pretended everything was fine.
But the forest wasn't pretending.
It was waiting.
She passed Ava on the sidewalk outside the library. Ava stood alone, holding a book she didn't seem to be reading. Her lips moved in a slow, steady murmur.
Emily slowed. "Hey."
Ava blinked. Looked up.
Then smiled too quickly. "Emily! You're out."
"Yeah. Just walking."
Ava tilted her head. "Do you remember anything?"
Emily hesitated. "You don't?"
Ava's smile faltered. "I have dreams. But… they feel like someone else's."
Emily stepped closer. Lowered her voice. "Something's wrong, Ava. With all of us. You've noticed, haven't you?"
"I feel different," Ava whispered. "Like… like something inside me got traded for something else."
Emily nodded. "I've seen it in the others. Devon's too quiet. Marcus won't come out of his room. And Sarah… Sarah's eyes aren't right."
Ava's hands clenched the book. "Do you think we left something behind?"
Emily shook her head. "No. I think we brought something back."
They stood in silence, the wind tugging gently at their hair. Somewhere, a dog barked. A car rolled past, its radio humming an old song Emily recognized but couldn't name.
"Do you hear it?" Ava asked suddenly.
"Hear what?"
"The whisper."
Emily froze.
Ava pressed a hand to her temple. "It started yesterday. Just faint. Like it's inside my ear. It says the same thing over and over."
Emily swallowed. "What?"
Ava looked up, eyes wide and shining.
"Come back and finish the game."
That night, Emily dreamed of the forest.
Only this time, it wasn't night. The sun hung in the sky like a bleeding wound, casting everything in a red haze. The trees were taller. Their trunks twisted like snakes. And the air buzzed with something electric and cruel.
She walked a narrow path through the underbrush.
Up ahead, laughter.
Children's laughter.
She recognized the voices—Sarah. Marcus. Devon. Ava. Others too. Dozens.
All calling out.
"You're still it!"
Emily ran toward the voices, but the path shifted beneath her feet, turning into a staircase of roots that led downward, spiraling into the earth.
She descended.
Each step brought her deeper.
Colder.
The air grew thicker.
The laughter turned to weeping.
And at the bottom, a door waited.
The same door with no name.
Emily reached for the handle—this time, there was a handle—but the second she touched it, something behind the door slammed into it with monstrous force.
BOOM.
She jolted awake, soaked in sweat, gasping for air.
Outside her window, the wind had died.
But her closet door was open an inch.
She met Ava again at the library the next morning.
The other kids were there too—Marcus slumped on the front steps, headphones in but no music playing. Devon sat on the bench out front, scratching something into the wood with a broken pen.
Sarah stood in the grass, staring at the trees.
They all looked like dolls left out in the rain.
Empty.
Worn.
"Did you all hear it?" Emily asked.
Sarah turned to her slowly. "Yes."
Marcus nodded. "The game's not over."
Ava stepped forward. "I think… I think we left something behind. Something important. And it wants us to come back and find it."
"Or someone," Devon added. "What if there's another kid down there? One that never came back?"
Emily's breath caught in her throat. "A seeker who never finished?"
Silence.
Then Ava whispered, "What if it's always been the same game, just… passing from group to group? From kid to kid?"
Emily thought about the door. The tunnels. The Hollow.
She thought about the figure in her closet and the reflection that didn't match.
"The forest doesn't just play the game," she said. "It is the game."
The decision wasn't spoken.
It didn't need to be.
That afternoon, as the sun dipped low behind the trees, they gathered again at the edge of the woods.
The stones were still gone.
But the clearing remained.
And something deep in the soil breathed.
Ava held out her hand.
One by one, the others joined.
Emily took Ava's hand last.
The ground beneath their feet shivered.
And the wind spoke a single word.
"Begin."