The bell didn't stop.
It kept ringing at intervals—once every minute.
Low. Hollow.
Like something metal was swaying in the trees just far enough to stay out of sight.
The longer it rang, the colder the lodge became.
Lena was already by the window, flashlight pressed against the glass.
> "There's… something out there."
> "What do you mean something?" Tyrell snapped.
> "I mean someone's walking the edge of the forest holding a lantern. They're wearing a bag over their head."
---
We all crowded the window.
And she wasn't wrong.
A figure. Tall. Thin. Hooded in shadow.
Dragging something behind them—a small wooden crate on wheels.
I couldn't see their face.
But I felt their gaze.
They were staring straight at us.
---
Then, the figure stopped.
Knelt.
Left the box at the tree line.
Then disappeared into the darkness like they'd never been there.
---
We didn't speak for a long time.
Then Mason grabbed his coat.
> "No way I'm letting this freak control the night."
> "Don't go out there," Harper warned.
"Not after the bell. Not until we know what it wants."
Mason ignored her.
Stormed out with Tyrell close behind.
I followed because some stupid part of me still believed maybe, just maybe, Riley was watching.
And maybe he needed help.
---
The crate sat just at the edge of the firelight from the porch.
It looked handmade. Nailed unevenly. Painted red.
One word burned across the top:
"PLAY."
---
Mason lifted the lid.
Inside:
Seven black envelopes
A sand timer
And a piece of bone — flat, carved, spiraled.
Tyrell picked it up and turned it over.
There was a symbol scratched into the back.
It looked like the Crooked Tree.
---
Back inside, we laid the items out on the dining table.
Each envelope had a name.
Mine was written in bold white ink across the front: AVA BROOKS
No one wanted to open theirs first.
So I did.
---
Inside mine:
1. A photo.
2. A small note on yellowing paper.
The photo…
It was from the night Riley disappeared.
But it was from an angle none of us could've taken.
I was standing at the edge of the Hollow.
Facing the woods.
Alone.
And in my hands… I was holding a second spiral.
A carved one.
Not Riley's. Mine.
---
The note read:
> "You didn't stay behind."
"You followed him."
"You saw what took him. And you lied."
---
I dropped the photo like it had burned me.
The others stared at their unopened envelopes like they were bombs.
Zane opened his next.
He went pale.
Didn't read his note out loud.
Just crumpled it and walked away.
---
Tyrell opened his.
Said nothing.
Just whispered "shit" under his breath and sat down hard.
Lena stared at hers a long time before opening it.
When she did, she started crying.
> "It's Riley," she said.
"He sent this. I swear it."
---
Mason's envelope sat untouched.
Until the bell rang again.
This time from right outside the window.
We ran to look—
But there was no one there.
Just a new message carved into the fogged glass:
> "The liar who doesn't play… bleeds."
---
Mason opened his envelope.
He read the note. His face twisted.
Then he laughed. Bitter and loud.
> "You think this is going to break me?"
> "You think showing me what I already know matters?"
He held up a torn corner of a newspaper article.
A death notice.
One I recognized instantly.
Riley's mom.
> "I visited her every year," Mason said.
"Until she swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills."
> "So yeah… I know what I did."
---
That's when the sand timer flipped.
On its own.
And the rules appeared—burned into the surface of the table before our eyes.
"ROUND ONE – TRUTH OR CURSE"
Everyone has one minute to speak their truth.
If you lie, the forest will decide your punishment.
If you stay silent, you forfeit your name.
---
Harper whispered, "This isn't a game. This is a ritual."
I stood. My body cold. My mouth dry.
And I finally said it out loud.
> "I followed Riley that night."
The room went still.
Even the fire dimmed, like it was listening.
---
> "He was crying," I said.
"Not from fear. From knowing. He said the game wasn't made-up. That someone else told him to play it."
> "He begged me not to come."
> "But I went anyway."
I paused.
> "And I saw something pull him into the Hollow."
> "Something that wore a face like his."
---
The sand timer stopped.
My envelope burned to ash.
Everyone stared.
Lena spoke next.
Then Harper.
Zane.
Tyrell.
Even Jules, voice shaking.
We all confessed.
And each time—one envelope turned to ash.
---
Then it was Mason's turn.
The timer flipped.
He stood.
Smirked.
And said:
> "The truth is—he deserved it."
> "He was manipulative. He made everything about him. And we were tired of it."
> "So yeah. We pushed him. We dared him. I'm not sorry."
---
The sand ran out.
And nothing happened.
At first.
Then Mason screamed.
Clutched his chest.
Fell to the floor.
Blood seeped through his shirt, blooming like a flower.
We ran to him.
He tore open his collar—there was a spiral carved into his skin.
From the inside.
---
He passed out.
Breathing shallow.
But alive.
Barely.
---
The fireplace flared.
A new message burned into the stone:
> "LIES HAVE ROOTS.
ROOTS GROW."