The field stretched out in brittle silence, frost crunching under every step. Lena kept her grip on my arm, steering us in a line that skirted the tree line but never quite entered it.
The trees stood like an army of black spears, their branches bare and reaching. The pale winter light barely touched the ground here, leaving long shadows that seemed to shift when I wasn't looking.
A single crow called in the distance. Then another. Then silence again.
I didn't ask questions. The cold had worked its way into my lungs, every breath a knife. We moved quickly, but without running—Lena's pace was deliberate.
The wind carried a faint hum. At first, I thought it was in my head. Then it grew.
Behind us, the air shimmered.
Not heat—something else. Like the space itself was warping, bending toward the tunnel we'd just left.
Lena glanced back, jaw tightening. "Keep moving."
The hum deepened, vibrating in my chest. My legs wanted to run, but her hand kept me in check. Too fast and the noise would spike, like it could hear speed.
We reached the edge of the trees. Lena stopped. Her eyes scanned the shadows. She pulled something from her jacket—a small glass vial filled with a dark, swirling liquid.
She uncorked it and poured the contents into the dirt. The soil hissed, steaming in the cold. The steam rose in curling tendrils, drifting into the branches above.
"Go," she said.
The moment we stepped into the tree line, the temperature dropped sharply. The ground was soft here, layers of rotting leaves muffling our steps. The shadows closed in, swallowing the pale sky.
Somewhere deeper in, a branch cracked.
Lena didn't react, but I could feel her speed up. The sound came again, closer this time. The rhythm was wrong for an animal—too even, too intentional.
I looked to the left. Between two trees, something moved.
It wasn't walking. It was unfolding, like a shape peeling itself out of the dark.
The hum returned, quieter now, but closer.
We pushed deeper. The trees thickened until they formed walls around us, a narrow path winding between them. My shoulder brushed bark that felt warm, almost damp.
The path bent sharply. Lena stopped just before the turn. She crouched low, scanning the ground. I followed her gaze—footprints, half-filled with black water, leading around the bend.
She didn't follow them. Instead, she veered off the path entirely, moving between the trunks.
The hum faded again. For a moment, I thought we'd lost it. Then something long and pale slid across the ground behind us, disappearing into the leaves.
The air here was heavy. The branches above creaked without wind. I realized, with a tightening in my chest, that every single tree seemed to lean slightly inward—toward us.
A cold bead of moisture slid down my neck. I looked up.
Dozens of small shapes clung to the branches overhead. Not birds. Not insects. Their eyes reflected what little light there was, perfectly round, perfectly still.
Lena kept moving like she didn't see them. I followed, but the weight of their gaze pressed harder with each step.
Somewhere ahead, the faint glimmer of water appeared—a small river cutting through the woods. Its surface was dark, slow-moving, swallowing the reflection of the sky.
Lena knelt, dipped her fingers in, then motioned for me to cross.
I stepped into the water. It was shockingly cold, the kind that steals your breath. The riverbed was slick with stones, each one threatening to roll under my boots.
Halfway across, something brushed my leg.
Not a fish. Too solid.
Lena's head snapped toward the water downstream, eyes narrowing. "Don't stop."
I didn't. The water dragged at my legs, pulling harder now, like it wanted me under. I stumbled forward, heart hammering, until I reached the far bank.
Lena followed. The moment her boots hit the mud, the hum behind us surged—angrier now.
From the middle of the river, the water swelled upward, taking shape.
It rose in a twisting column, black and glassy, threaded with pale limbs. Eyes bloomed along its surface, opening all at once.
The hum became a scream.
Lena grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the trees again. We didn't look back.