Mason didn't wake up for hours.
We carried him to the couch and wrapped his chest in whatever clean fabric we had—Jules' sweater, one of Tyrell's old gym shirts.
But the spiral carved into him stayed raw.
Red.
Angry.
Like it wasn't done yet.
Harper sat beside him, whispering prayers I didn't recognize.
Lena asked if she was religious.
> "No," she said.
"But I've seen things like this before."
---
Outside, the bell rang again.
Three times.
Sharp.
Close.
Zane peeked out with his camera.
Then turned pale.
> "There's another box."
---
It sat beneath the swing set.
Right where Riley used to sit, legs dangling, always whittling spirals into sticks and bones and anything he could find.
This box looked newer.
Clean wood.
Lined with metal hinges.
And one word etched across the lid:
"DIG."
---
We stood in a loose circle, flashlights sweeping the forest edge.
The box was filled with dirt.
No envelopes this time.
Just a note scrawled across the underside of the lid:
> "BENEATH THE ROOTS, YOUR SINS AWAIT.
EACH MUST UNCOVER THEIR OWN.
ONE WILL BE MISSING.
THE ONE WITHOUT A TOKEN
MUST ENTER THE HOLLOW
BEFORE DAWN."
---
Tyrell immediately stepped back.
> "Nope. No way. I'm not playing treasure hunt with death."
Harper looked at him.
> "If you refuse, you forfeit your name."
> "Let them take it," he snapped.
"It's just a name."
She shook her head.
> "That's what Riley said, too."
---
There were seven holes pre-dug in the soil beneath the swing.
Shallow graves, really.
One for each of us.
Someone had done this while we were sleeping.
And they knew exactly who we were.
---
One by one, we stepped forward.
Jules went first.
She reached into the dirt and pulled out a small porcelain locket—the one she gave Riley the summer before he vanished.
It was cracked now.
But unmistakable.
> "That's impossible," she whispered.
"I buried this with my dog years ago."
No one said anything.
---
Lena pulled out a melted piece of plastic.
A phone case—Riley's old one.
She stared at it like it had bitten her.
> "I left this on the bus the day he died."
Zane reached in next and drew out a film reel.
One he claimed he lost before that summer ever began.
Harper's token was a glass marble.
Blue. Clouded. Cracked down the middle.
> "This belonged to my sister," she whispered.
"She… didn't make it out of the woods."
---
I reached in with shaking hands.
Pulled out a twig.
Carved with one perfect spiral.
But when I turned it over—my name was etched on the other side.
Burned into it.
> AVA BROOKS
WITNESS
I nearly dropped it.
---
Tyrell refused to go next.
He stepped back, arms crossed.
> "I'm not playing."
> "If I dig it up, it's real," he said.
"If I don't, it's just some sick prank."
Jules hissed through her teeth.
> "You saw Mason. This isn't a prank."
---
Zane stepped forward and grabbed the last flashlight.
Shined it into the last hole.
It was empty.
Nothing buried.
Nothing waiting.
Just clean, dark soil.
---
That's when the final bell rang.
Once.
Loud.
From inside the woods.
---
The swing set creaked.
Even though no one was sitting on it.
Then the note on the box began to smoke.
And the words rewrote themselves in blood-red ink:
> "TYRELL MORGAN.
YOU HOLD NO NAME.
ENTER THE HOLLOW BEFORE THE SUN WARMS THE TREES.
OR BE BURIED BENEATH THEM."
---
Tyrell backed away fast.
> "Nope. Not happening."
But the ground beneath him cracked.
A root shot up.
Snagged his ankle.
Dragged him to the ground.
We all ran forward, pulled him back.
It let go.
For now.
---
Harper pointed into the woods.
Toward the Hollow.
The twisted clearing Riley vanished into seven years ago.
> "It wants you to go alone," she said.
"That's the point. It always has been."
---
Tyrell's eyes filled with rage.
> "And what if I run?"
> "Then it follows," Harper replied, voice flat.
> "And if I fight it?"
> "Then it grows."
---
Eventually, he went.
We gave him a lantern.
A knife.
And Jules' silver necklace for luck.
He walked barefoot into the Hollow as the moon reached its peak.
No words.
No goodbyes.
Only a single whisper before he vanished behind the trees:
> "I didn't mean to hurt him."
---
Back inside, the lodge was too quiet.
Even the fire wouldn't light.
Jules sat with her knees pulled up, eyes glazed.
Harper drew spirals in the fogged window with her finger.
> "Do you hear it?" she asked softly.
> "Hear what?"
> "The breathing."
---
I listened.
And I did.
Not our own.
Deeper. Slower.
Like the lodge itself was alive.
And watching.
---
At 4:11 a.m., Tyrell returned.
He was barefoot.
Covered in dirt and scratches.
His eyes were wide and vacant.
He carried something in his hand.
A new bone spiral.
Freshly carved.
Still dripping.
He dropped it on the floor and said one word:
> "Riley."
Then collapsed.