The snow came early this year.
It wasn't the soft kind either—it was thick and wet and clung to our boots as we walked the trail behind the house. Ryder liked it. Said it made the trees look "clean." I don't know what that meant, but I let it go. He was only seven.
We hadn't been outside together like this in a while.
Mom had another one of her days. The kind where she stays in bed and asks the ceiling why it won't just fall in already. I didn't want Ryder to hear that again, so I took him out. Told him we were going on an adventure. Just a walk. Nothing far. Nothing dangerous.
He smiled so wide I almost forgot how tired I was.
The woods behind our house are old. The kind people stop naming after a while. They aren't trails, really—just places the deer tread so often the brush stays down. I'd been here hundreds of times. Knew where the moss grew thickest, where the creek forked, where the rabbits burrowed in spring.
But Ryder kept staring at the trees like they were new. Like they were people.
"They're watching today," he said.
I laughed. "Who?"
He didn't answer. Just kept walking, arms out like airplane wings, letting his fingertips brush the bark as we passed.
We went deeper than I meant to. The air got colder.
I didn't notice at first, but the sound changed too. No birds. No crunching leaves. Just the snow, and us.
Ryder stopped suddenly.
"Do you smell that?" he asked.
I paused. "Smell what?"
He wrinkled his nose and grinned. "Something cooking."
There was no smoke. No fire. Just the hush of snow falling between branches.
"Probably a dead animal," I said.
He looked up at me with those wide eyes.
"No," he said softly. "It's not dead yet."
We kept walking. I don't know why.
Maybe I was curious. Maybe I didn't want to drag him back and ruin the first good mood I'd seen from him in weeks. He was humming, quietly. A tune I didn't know. Off-key.
"How do you know that song?" I asked.
"My friend taught me."
"What friend?"
He pointed into the trees. Not at anything. Just… into the dark.
"The man who lives here."
My stomach tightened.
"You mean like a ranger or something?"
Ryder giggled. "No. Not that kind of man."
I stopped walking. "Ryder, what kind of man?"
His smile didn't fade.
"He's nice. He talks to me when you're asleep."
It should've clicked then. It should've been obvious. But my brain didn't want it.
Kids have imaginary friends. That's normal. He's just… lonely. That's all.
I didn't say anything. Just kept walking. But slower now. Watching the trees. Listening.
That's when Ryder started picking things up off the ground—sticks, stones, strips of bark. He cradled them in his arms like presents.
"Are you collecting stuff?"
He nodded. "For the altar."
I blinked. "What altar?"
He tilted his head.
"For the man. So he stays asleep."
I should have turned around.
I should have grabbed his hand and run back to the house, even if it meant dragging him through the snow.
But he looked so calm. So happy.
Like this was normal.
The trail curved, and I realized where we were going.
The hut.
Every town has its story. Ours was the hut in the woods. No one built it. It had always been there, half-swallowed by ivy, leaning to one side like it was too tired to keep standing. People said it was cursed. Some said someone was buried beneath it.
Mom told us never to go near it. She said if we did, we wouldn't come back right.
Ryder walked straight toward it.
"Stop!" I snapped. I didn't mean to yell, but it came out like a whip.
He paused at the door.
"But we're almost done," he said.
"Done with what?"
He looked at me. Really looked.
His face was too calm. Too knowing.
And then he said, "You shouldn't have followed me out here."
The snow turned black at my feet.
I don't mean metaphorically—I mean it. The white melted into ash. The trees bent inward, groaning like they hated being seen. My breath caught in my throat.
"Ryder," I whispered.
But it wasn't him anymore. Or maybe it never was.
He stepped aside, and the door to the hut swung open.
Inside, something waited.
It had no shape. No eyes. Just a presence, coiled like smoke. Cold and enormous. I couldn't look away.
Ryder tilted his head and held out his hand.
"He said you'd come. He's been so hungry."
I turned to run—
The vines came first.
They coiled around my ankles, my wrists, my throat. They dragged me toward the doorway. I screamed, but it barely made it past my lips. My ribs cracked. My spine bent backward.
Ryder watched, expressionless.
"This is what friends do," he said.
I was dragged into the hut and then—
Silence.