The library felt colder that afternoon.
Emily sat hunched over the old oak table, journal open, pen poised above the page—but the words wouldn't come. Ava sat across from her, fiddling with a chipped bracelet. Marcus leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Leah quietly sketched in the corner, the scratch of her pencil the only sound breaking the silence.
They had all noticed it—the way the air shifted when Emily walked into a room now, how shadows seemed to stretch longer around her. It wasn't paranoia. It was truth.
Emily was changing.
She could feel it too. Every night since burying the charm, something gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. Not just whispers anymore—but a pull. A sense that something in the forest was counting.
And it was counting for her.
Emily finally broke the silence.
"I think it's me," she said softly. "I think… I'm the reason it's waking up again."
Ava frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Emily turned the journal so they could all see. She'd written one line in the center of the page:
'The seeker is always the last piece.'
Marcus read it aloud, then shook his head. "What does that even mean?"
Emily's voice dropped to a whisper. "I had another vision last night."
Ava stiffened. "Like before?"
Emily nodded. "But this time… it wasn't my childhood. It was something older. Before me. Before Wren."
They all leaned in as she spoke.
She described it in fragments:
A circle of children in a clearing, chanting softly as the sun bled into the horizon. A girl standing in the center, blindfolded, counting against a tree. Shadows twisting at the edge of the field, crawling closer with every number. And then—screams. A single voice begging for mercy as roots dragged her down.
"I thought it was just another scare tactic," Emily said. "But then I saw her face."
"Wren?" Leah asked.
Emily shook her head. "No. Someone else. A girl I didn't know. But her mouth moved, and I understood what she said."
"What was it?" Ava whispered.
Emily swallowed hard.
"She said, 'The seeker always stays.'"
Marcus rubbed his temple. "Okay, so what? The seeker… what? Gets stuck?"
"No," Emily said, her voice trembling. "The seeker becomes the anchor. The forest uses them to reset the game. If the other kids escape—or if the game gets interrupted—the seeker pays the price."
Ava's face went pale. "You were the seeker."
Emily nodded. "And now the forest wants to finish what it started."
Leah's pencil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor.
Marcus muttered a curse under his breath. "So what? We fight it. We burn that damn tree to the ground."
Emily shook her head. "It's not that simple. If I go back, it'll try to claim me. If I don't… it'll find another way. Through me."
Ava reached across the table and gripped Emily's hand. "Then we won't let it take you. We beat it once. We can beat it again."
Emily wanted to believe that.
But deep down, she knew the forest wasn't playing the same game anymore.
That night, Emily couldn't stay home.
She waited until her parents were asleep, then slipped out the back door, journal tucked under her arm. The air was sharp and cool, the moon a sickle of silver above the treeline. Every instinct told her to run the other way.
Instead, she walked toward the woods.
The closer she came, the louder the sound grew—not in her ears, but in her chest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like someone knocking on her ribcage.
Counting.
"One… two… three…"
Her knees buckled when the voice joined in.
It wasn't Wren.
It wasn't a child.
It was herself.
She stumbled to the edge of the clearing where they had first played the game.
The swing was gone. The grass was dead. The air shimmered faintly, as though she'd stepped into a mirage.
And then she saw it.
The Counting Tree.
Only it wasn't as she remembered.
It was taller now. Thicker. Its bark black as pitch, streaked with veins of red light. Faces bulged in its surface—children's faces, their mouths open in silent screams. The hollow in its center glowed faintly, like an open wound.
Emily dropped to her knees.
The whispers rose around her, a dozen voices overlapping.
"Seeker… seeker… seeker…"
Her breath hitched. "What do you want from me?"
The ground split beneath her feet.
Roots slithered out like serpents, curling around her ankles, pulling her toward the hollow.
She clawed at the dirt, fingers bleeding, heart pounding.
Then—a figure stepped out from behind the tree.
It was Wren.
But her eyes were dark now. Her skin cracked like old wood.
"You knew this day would come," Wren said softly. "You ended the game. You broke the rules. And now the forest needs a keeper."
Emily's throat tightened. "I'm not—"
"You are," Wren interrupted. "You were chosen the moment you counted to ten."
"No," Emily whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I'm not staying."
Wren tilted her head, expression almost tender. "You don't have a choice."
The roots yanked harder.
Emily screamed, clawing at the earth as her body slid toward the glowing hollow.
And then—a hand grabbed hers.
Strong. Warm.
Marcus.
Behind him, Ava and Leah struggled against the roots, swinging hatchets and kitchen knives, cutting through the writhing tendrils.
"Emily!" Ava shouted. "Move!"
Emily kicked, twisting with every ounce of strength she had left. The roots loosened just enough for Marcus to pull her free.
They ran.
Branches lashed at their faces. The forest shrieked behind them—a sound like wind and nails and laughter all at once.
They didn't stop until they burst through the treeline, collapsing in a heap on the field.
Emily lay on her back, gasping for air.
The others stared at her, wide-eyed and pale.
Ava finally spoke, voice shaking.
"What the hell was that?"
Emily closed her eyes.
"The curse," she whispered. "It's real. And it's not going to stop until it has me."
Later, as they huddled in the old library, Emily opened her journal again and wrote:
NEW RULE: The seeker never leaves the game.
She stared at the words, heart pounding.
Then added:
Unless the game ends forever.
She didn't know how to do that yet.
But she would.
Because the forest had just made one thing clear:
If she couldn't stop it…
She would become it.