The forest swallowed them whole.
As soon as Emily and the others crossed the tree line, a dense, unnatural fog began to roll in, thick and clinging like cobwebs on their skin. The sunlight didn't follow. Behind them, the town disappeared as if it had never existed, erased by shadows and silence.
No one spoke.
Each step was heavier than the last, like the forest floor was trying to pull them in. Leaves didn't crunch beneath their shoes—they gave way soundlessly, like falling into ash.
Ava walked ahead, guiding them by instinct more than memory. Her grip on Emily's hand remained tight, as though letting go would mean getting lost forever.
Emily glanced behind her. Marcus, Devon, and Sarah followed close, eyes wide and unblinking. No one dared look too far off the path.
"Where are we going?" Marcus finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Ava didn't stop walking. "Back to the beginning."
Emily swallowed. She already knew where they'd end up: the clearing.
But when they arrived, it wasn't the same.
The circle was there—stones still absent—but the center had changed. Where once there was a patch of dead grass, there was now a gaping hole in the earth, no wider than a manhole, but ringed with black roots that pulsed and twitched like veins.
Sarah stepped forward, mesmerized.
"Was this here before?" she asked.
"No," Ava said softly. "But it was always waiting."
Devon knelt beside it. "It looks like it goes straight down."
Marcus picked up a stick and dropped it in. They waited. Listened.
No sound. No impact.
Emily's stomach tightened. "It's not a tunnel. It's a mouth."
The wind shifted.
A low hum rose from the trees—like a thousand voices humming the same note. The branches above shivered. The ground vibrated beneath them.
Then came the whisper.
"Come play…"
A scream rang out from inside the hole.
A child's scream.
Emily's blood froze. She turned to Ava. "We have to go in."
Marcus shook his head. "Are you insane? You heard that! That wasn't a cry for help. That was bait."
"Maybe," Emily said, "but something's down there. Maybe the thing that's been watching us. Or maybe… one of us that never came back."
Devon nodded grimly. "We finish the game, or we never leave it."
Ava stepped to the edge. Without hesitation, she sat and lowered herself in, gripping the roots like rungs of a ladder.
"Wait—" Emily started, but Ava was already disappearing.
Sarah followed next, climbing in silently.
Devon sighed. "Here goes everything," and slid down after them.
Marcus cursed under his breath. "We're all going to die."
Emily looked into the pit—into the darkness that felt colder than winter—and climbed in last.
The descent was slow.
The roots were slick, but strong. They writhed beneath their hands like things half-alive. As Emily went deeper, the world narrowed to darkness and breath. Her arms trembled. Her legs ached.
No one spoke.
Not until the last sliver of light above disappeared, and the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber.
Emily dropped the final few feet and landed beside the others.
They stood on a ledge overlooking a spiraling path that wound downward, like a staircase carved into the side of a giant sinkhole. The walls glowed faintly, lit by bioluminescent moss that pulsed with a sickly green light.
In the distance, echoing from below, came the sound of children laughing.
But it wasn't right.
The laughter was warped—glitching, skipping like a broken record. It bent at strange frequencies, rising and falling unnaturally.
Marcus grabbed Emily's arm. "We don't have to do this. We could climb back up. We could—"
Ava turned to face him. "We already climbed back once. Look what that did to us."
"We're still changing," Devon said, voice hollow. "Still unraveling."
Sarah stepped forward. "Then we go down."
They followed the spiral path, every step taking them deeper.
Strange things lined the walls—objects from their childhood: a tricycle half-buried in the stone, a cracked Game Boy, a raincoat hung neatly from a hook that jutted from a tree root.
Emily paused in front of a small, wooden dollhouse.
It was her old one.
Her name was still written in crayon on the side. She hadn't seen it in years. Her mother had thrown it out after the divorce.
"How is this even here?" she whispered.
"The forest knows us," Ava said. "It remembers everything."
Emily wanted to look away.
She couldn't.
Inside the dollhouse was a tiny room—her room. With a tiny version of her lying in the bed.
But the doll's eyes were hollow black beads.
Emily turned away quickly and continued down.
As they descended, the air grew thicker. A foul stench clung to them—wet earth, decay, something older than rot.
Devon started coughing. Sarah began muttering to herself. Marcus clenched his fists hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
Only Ava stayed steady, like the path was calling her home.
Then, finally, they reached the bottom.
The spiral path opened into a chamber so vast they couldn't see the ceiling. Tree roots curled around the walls like ribs inside a giant chest. At the center was a stone pedestal, and on it…
A child.
Or what was left of one.
It lay curled up, limbs too long, spine too bent. Its skin was stretched tight over bones. Its face was buried in its arms. Hair long and tangled like vines.
A low whimper escaped it.
Emily stepped closer. "Is that…?"
Ava nodded. "The first seeker."
As if hearing them, the figure stirred. It lifted its head.
Its eyes were gone—replaced by pits that bled shadows.
It opened its mouth.
"I… didn't find them… so they found me…"
Its voice was layered—male and female, young and ancient. Dozens of voices speaking at once.
Sarah gasped.
Devon backed away.
Marcus shook his head in horror. "It's trapped."
Emily felt the truth settle deep in her chest.
Whoever this child had been… they'd played the game. Failed. And became a part of it.
Ava stepped forward. "We found each other. We finished. Let them go."
The child tilted its head. "But I'm still it."
A wave of darkness erupted from the pedestal, knocking them all back.
The chamber shook.
The laughter returned—louder, screaming now. From the walls. From the shadows. From the roots.
And then came the voices.
Whispers clawing at their ears.
"Tag, you're it."
"Your turn."
"RUN."
Emily scrambled to her feet.
The others did the same.
The forest didn't want them to win.
Not really.
It wanted a replacement.
The shadows surged.
Emily screamed, "RUN!"
They bolted for the spiral path, but the steps were gone—collapsed into a wall of slick root and stone.
"We're trapped!" Marcus shouted.
Devon pulled at the wall, but the roots wrapped around his wrists. "It won't let us out."
The child rose from the pedestal.
It floated now.
Its face peeled into a wide, unnatural smile.
"Tag…"
Sarah turned and ran deeper into the chamber.
"Wait!" Emily shouted, but Sarah was gone.
The chamber cracked.
Ava grabbed Emily's hand.
"We need to end it."
"How?"
"By finishing the game."
The shadows coiled around them, whispering.
Emily stared at the floating child. "You never got found."
It nodded.
Ava stepped forward.
"Then we find you."
She walked toward the child.
It screeched, shadows peeling off its body like smoke, but Ava pressed her hand to its chest.
The forest roared.
A light exploded from her touch—searing white, blinding.
Emily shielded her eyes.
When she opened them…
The chamber was empty.
They awoke at the edge of the clearing.
The sun was rising.
Birds chirped like nothing had happened.
Emily sat up, heart pounding. Around her, Ava, Marcus, Devon, and Sarah stirred. Each one looked dazed—but whole.
The clearing was quiet.
The hole was gone.
Only grass remained.
They looked at one another.
Something had changed.
But not in the way it had before.
Emily reached for Ava's hand.
They were still here.
Still together.
And the game, for now, was over.