One of the men near the fire broke the uneasy silence.
"You said 'they' just now. Do you mean there will be more of them?" he asked, voice tight.
"Yes," Nasrul said, trying to keep his voice steady. "If this matches the game, a new ghost shows up each hour. The paper nailed to the tree said as much: if you see one warning, then only one type of ghost will appear; if two warnings appear, two types will show up. It's like the game announces whatever comes next."
A few people laughed nervously. "So basically it's a bunch of kids playing dress-up and we're the volunteers?" someone muttered.
"Not exactly," Nasrul replied. "All the ghosts are kids in the story, yes — but that doesn't make them harmless. When they're 'playing,' they might ignore us. If we interrupt their fun, they get violent. Don't assume any mercy."
"That means we should split up," a woman suggested. "Groups of manageable size, with candle-holders at the center of each."
The idea spread quickly. People moved like a school of fish, shifting and forming clusters. In minutes the twenty of them divided into four groups of five. Nasrul's group ended up with Zakiran and two candle holders: Ani and Kamra. Kalai joined them and they fell into the same small formation — three men, two women — a pragmatic little unit in an absurd world.
Whoever — or whatever — had designed this mission had a sense of cruel balance. The watches' instructions implied the candles would respawn each hour and that old candles could persist, too. It felt almost considerate, like a twisted benevolence; usually, anything that seems "generous" in a trap is a sign the trap is about to close.
A man with a calm voice took a leadership tack. "All right. We split up, search for candles and clues, and meet back here at the hour. Stay in light when you can. Don't go alone too far. Keep your matches."
As people dispersed, a woman down by the embers shrieked and then laughed, the sound laced with adrenaline. "Hey! I picked up this old knife thing and—there was this voice in my head—and then the little knife shape disappeared from my hand!"
Heads turned. Someone else had wandered too close and grabbed a rusted trinket; it vanished in the same way. Murmurs ran through the groups.
Nasrul's breath caught. "That's the clue mechanic," he said, voice edged with both hope and dread. "In the Wick story, you collect clues about the family's deaths. When you grab the right object—if it's the right clue—it disappears, meaning you found something relevant. Keep any object that vanishes. It's how you piece together what happened."
"Does that help us survive?" asked Kamra, fingers tightening on her candle.
"Maybe," Nasrul said. "The clues could reveal safe routes, hiding places, or details about the ghosts. At least it gives us something to do besides panic."
They moved away from the central fire, spreading into the gloom with the small circles of candlelight bobbing like nervous will-o'-the-wisps. The forest around them felt denser now, as if the trees had drawn closer to listen. Every snap of twig made five heads spin in a reflexive arc.
After a few minutes of walking, Ani, who had the steadier hand, suggested, "We should introduce ourselves properly. If we're split up, it'll be easier to call to each other."
"Good idea," Kalai said. "I'm Kalai."
"Kamra." Ani pointed at Kamra.
"Zakiran." Zakiran nodded.
"Nasrul." Nasrul kept his answer short.
"Nice to meet you all," Kamra whispered, not a trace of her earlier hysteria left.
Simple things — names, voices, the cadence of a person — felt like safety anchors. They lent the group a tiny island of normalcy.
"Where to now?" Kamra asked. "Do we try to head out of the forest?"
"No," Nasrul said immediately. "If we try to leave, the ghosts stop 'playing' and they go straight to killing. We need to follow the rules they set. From the original story and its retellings: as long as you follow the rules, you won't be singled out. They abide by their own rules — because the enjoyment of the game depends on it."
"Are you sure they won't cheat?" Kalai asked.
"Kids playing their own game rarely change the rules mid-play," Nasrul said wryly. "They might misinterpret them, but the core is the same. Don't count on adults' logic here."
They walked a little farther and found a low circle of crumbled masonry, a foundation of a house that had long since fallen into ruin. Moss and lichen crept over stone that might once have been a hearth.
"Should we check it?" Zakiran asked.
"It's likely," Nasrul said. "If this is modeled on the Wick tale, the next clue could be here."
At the far end of the ruined foundation sat a fallen fireplace. Dust lay in its mouth like a sleeping animal. On top of the lintel — as if someone had deliberately left it in plain sight — rested a small smiling mask: Tim's mask. The same grin that had flashed in Nasrul's imagination since the first sighting.
Nasrul stepped forward with a hand that shook just enough to make his heart race. When his fingers touched the mask, a small voice slid into his head, thin and childish:
"It's for when the bandages come off."
The words were soft, but the memory of them in the game was sharper. The voice felt the same as the recorded line he'd heard in videos — only colder, and more intimate, like someone whispering secrets into his ear. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple; the hairs on his arms rose.
The mask dissolved from his palm as cleanly as if it had been mist.
"Damn," Kalai breathed. "That's too real."
They all stared at the spot the mask had been. The air felt thinner, the dark heavier.
At the corner of Zakiran's vision, a flicker caught his eye: a candle perched on a low stone at the edge of the ruin. He pointed it out. "There's a candle over there. Should I get it?"
"Grab it," Nasrul said. "We need every light we can find."
Zakiran moved toward the candle, but as he did, a swift white blur zipped past them. It was gone in the same heartbeat it appeared. The girls screamed — high, surprised, animal sounds that ricocheted off the trees. Kamra squealed and stumbled back; Ani clapped a hand to her mouth.
"What the—?!" someone shouted.
The sudden cacophony made Nasrul jump. He lunged instinctively and nearly knocked over the candle in his flailing motion.
"Hey — what are you doing? I almost had a heart attack!" Zakiran hissed, half-laughing, half-panicked.
"There was a boy—Tim—ran right behind you!" Kamra cried.
Nasrul felt the hairs at his neck stand to full attention. He handed the candle to Kamra with hands that trembled slightly. "Keep it steady," he said. "Don't drop it."
"No—no—no—I can't. This is too much," Kamra whispered, breath coming in short gasps.
"Calm down," Ani said, trying to soothe her. "Screaming just makes things worse. We need our ears."
"Yeah, we're more afraid of your screams than the specter," Kalai muttered, but the attempt at humor landed thin.
They gathered themselves. Ani forced a small, shaky smile. "Okay. We stay moving. We head to the well. The map in the game always put the next clue by the well."
"How can you be so sure?" Zakiran asked.
"Memory," Nasrul said. "I've watched the streams and read the posts. Rough map—house, fireplace, well. The clue often appears near the water."
"Fine. Let's go," Zakiran said, and led them toward the direction Nasrul indicated.
The forest seemed to press in as they walked, branches whispering. Lantern light bobbed in three small circles now and made their shadows long and skeletal. For a moment, something new threatened their brittle composure.
A sudden sound — a tiny, human noise — came from behind them: a soft, perfectly ordinary sneeze.
It hung in the air like a dropped coin.
No one moved for a single heartbeat, then every head turned slowly in unison toward the direction of the sound. The forest was quiet again, but the sneeze had the effect of a bell: it rang out the possibility that they were not alone — and whatever else shared the woods might have ordinary, deceptively human habits.
They stood, breath held, watching the dark between the trees.