I. The Town That Didn't Want to Be Remembered
Duskwood, Maine, didn't appear on tourist maps. Nor in road guides. Nor in Instagram posts by backpackers seeking "places forgotten by civilization.
"It was a red dot on the edge of a GPS map, a name drivers pronounced as if it were a dirty word. Duskwood. As if saying it aloud could attract something that shouldn't be called. Joshua "Josh" Harker arrived in the town on an autumn day that looked like a photographic error. The trees were ablaze with red and orange, but the sun, when it appeared, was the color of an open wound. The air smelled of burnt pine, damp earth, and something else—something he couldn't name, but which made him press the air conditioning button and close the window, even though it was 12 degrees.
His father, Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Harker, had been transferred to the Fort Holloway military base—a facility that, according to the Army's relocation manual, "served as an emergency training center and storage facility for rescue equipment." Josh knew it was a lie. No one stored rescue equipment in a place where residents closed their curtains at 4 p.m., where cars passed by in silence, where children didn't play in the streets after sunset. They were afraid. Josh wasn't afraid. Yet. He was 14 years old. He had changed schools five times in seven years. He knew the ritual: arrive on the first day, sit at the back of the classroom, avoid eye contact, pretend the silence was comfortable. He had done it at Fort Carson, at Vicenza, at Camp Lejeune. But Duskwood… Duskwood was different.
Duskwood felt it.
When the school bus stopped in front of the entrance to Duskwood High, Josh looked out the window and saw the building—a block of dark red bricks, with tall, narrow windows, like unblinking eyes. A sign hanging above the entrance read:
WELCOME TO DUSKWOOD HIGH — EST. 1897
But the letter "O" in "DUSKWOOD" was broken. And the missing "O"… was a dark stain, as if someone had tried to erase it with a lawnmower.
Josh got off. The wind pushed him back, as if the city didn't want him to go in.
II. The Seven
In the Biology classroom, Josh sat in the last row, as always. The teacher, a woman with gray hair tied in a tight bun, was talking about cycles of life and death, but Josh wasn't listening. He was watching.
In the front row, a girl with jet-black hair, thin-rimmed glasses, and an X-Files t-shirt was taking notes with a pen that looked like it had been used to write on bones. She stared at the ceiling, as if expecting something to fall from there.
Maya Turner. The name was written on the list in cursive. She didn't smile. Ever.
Next to her, a muscular, red-haired boy in a Duskwood Hawks football uniform sat with his legs spread, arms crossed, a disdainful smile on his face.
Jake Holloway. The name was written in capital letters, as if it had been carved with a knife. He glanced at Josh, and for a second, Josh had the feeling that Jake knew he was new. And that he didn't want him to stay.
In the front row, a blonde girl in a cheerleader uniform (even though it was Friday) was tossing her hair around like she was in a shampoo commercial. She laughed with the others, but her eyes... her eyes were always fixed on the window.
Chloe Hartman. She wasn't really smiling. Josh noticed that. She smiled with her lips. Her eyes? They were elsewhere. In another time.
In the corner, a 12-year-old boy, thin as a twig, with a backpack full of books on Norse mythology and a search term on "paranormal phenomena in Maine," raised his hand every two minutes.
Sam Rivera. He wouldn't stop asking.
"Teacher, if death is a cycle, then what happens to those who don't want to die?"
"What if ghosts are just memories that the body can't let go of?"
The teacher sighed. The others laughed. Sam continued.
And then, on the bench next to Sam, sat a 13-year-old girl, with eyes too big for her face, loose brown hair, wearing a wool sweater that looked like it had been sewn by someone who didn't know how to sew. She didn't speak. She didn't take notes. She just stared at Josh.
She didn't blink for almost a minute.
Josh felt a chill down his spine.
Lily Cross.
In the last row, a blond-haired boy in a Metallica t-shirt stared intently at his phone, seemingly trying to decipher a code. He chuckled softly. A dry laugh.
Owen Price. The only one who didn't seem to belong there. Or perhaps the only one who knew he didn't.
And at the back of the room, behind the window, standing with his hands in his pockets, observing everything—as if waiting for something—was a thin, 14-year-old boy, his hair always falling over his eyes, a black notebook always in his hand. He didn't ask questions.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't laugh. He didn't move.
But when Josh looked at him, the boy raised his head.
And smiled.
Just a little. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Ethan Cole.
Josh didn't know any of them. But they knew him.
They already knew who he was.
III. The Message
At lunchtime, Josh sat alone in the courtyard, under a tree that looked like it had been cut down and then stitched back together. The leaves fell, but not like the others. They fell in circles. As if someone had deliberately thrown them in a pattern.
He opened his cell phone. The battery was at 17%. He had no friends. He had no contact with anyone. Only his father, who sent short messages:
"I'm fine. The base is safe. Don't worry."
No questions. No "how was your day?"
Josh was used to it. But today… today he wanted something different.
That's when his cell phone vibrated.
A message. No name. No number.
Just text:
Do you want to hear a story that isn't in the book?
Tomorrow, at 11:47 PM.
Find the stone with the letter "H".
If you go, you will be seen.
If you go, you will be remembered.
If you go... you will never be the same again.
— The Midnight Circle
Josh stood still.
The message hadn't been sent by anyone on his contact list. No history. No apps. No trace.
And the time... 11:47 PM?
He looked at the clock.
11:46.
And then, exactly one second later, the phone turned off.
Without warning. No battery. No signal.
It just... went dead.
Josh shook it. Hit it. Tried to call. Nothing.
And when he looked at the sky... the cloud that had been over the tree had disappeared.
It was as if time had jumped.
IV. The Locker
In English class, the teacher asked the students to put away their books. Josh went to his locker—number 317, in the back hallway, where the musty smell was strongest.
When he opened it, something fell out.
A letter.
It wasn't ordinary paper. It was parchment, aged, yellowed, with burnt edges. The paper looked like it had been torn from an old book. And there was a smell... of wet earth and extinguished candles.
He picked it up.
Joshua Harker,
If you are reading this, then you heard the roll call.
They saw you.
It doesn't matter that you don't know them.
They already know who you are.
You are the only new one.
The only one who wasn't born here.
The only one who still believes that fear is just a word.
But the fear here...
...is an animal.
It lives in the forest.
He lives in stories.
He waits.
To tell you the truth.
The first clue is in the library.
Look for the book:
"Duskwood: The Forgotten Tales of the Hollow"
It's on the back shelf.
The only one that's never cleaned.
Open to page 47.
The key is between the words.
And if you don't go to the Hollow tomorrow at midnight…
…they'll find you anyway.
— The Midnight Circle
Josh looked at the paper.
There was something written on the back.
In pencil.
Very, very faintly.
As if it had been done by someone with a trembling hand.
P.S. — Don't trust Owen. He's already seen what's there.
And he doesn't want you to see it.
Josh swallowed hard.
He didn't know Owen. But the message… the message seemed to know things that nobody should know.
He looked down the hallway.
Owen was standing five meters away, arms crossed, looking at him.
And smiling.
V. The Library of Shadows
The school library was a place that looked like it had been abandoned in 1983.
The shelves were covered in dust.
The windows were boarded up.
The air was hot, heavy, as if the space itself was trying to retain what was inside.
Josh walked slowly, avoiding the creaking floorboards.
He knew someone was watching him.
Not by shadows.
By silence.
On the back shelf—the only one without a label—was a book.
"Duskwood: The Forgotten Tales of the Hollow".
It was bound in aged leather, with no author, no publisher.
The cover had a symbol: a circle of stones, with a flame in the center.
And below, in fine print:
"What is told, lives. What is lived, is told."
Josh opened it.
Page 47 was marked with a red ribbon.
It was an excerpt:
*"In 1943, seven children disappeared in the Duskwood forest. No bodies were found. No clues. But in the following days, the residents began to hear stories—told by voices that didn't exist. Children who hadn't even been born yet, talking about things that never happened.
A boy said he saw a faceless woman walking on the road, carrying a bag full of eyes.
A girl said her house had been inhabited by a man who had no skin—only muscles and shadows.
No one believed her.
Until, in 1944, the same girl was found sitting in a clearing among the rocks, singing a song no one knew.
She was 8 years old.
But her teeth...
...were those of an adult."*
Josh felt his blood stop. He turned the page.
In the margin, handwritten—in the same handwriting as the letter—was
— in the same handwriting as the letter — it read:
**The key is in the church tower clock.
When the minute hand points to 11,
the bell won't be from the church.
It's from the Hollow.
Go there.
And don't look back.**
Josh looked at the library clock.
It was 3:14.
He looked at his cell phone clock.
3:14.
But the cell phone was still off.
VI. The Church Tower
Duskwood Church stood atop the hill.
A Gothic structure, with broken stained glass windows, the bell hanging by a single cable.
The door was locked.
But the tower... the tower had a worn iron ladder that climbed up to the bell.
Josh climbed.
The wind howled as if trying to say something.
When he reached the top, the bell was still.
But the clock... the tower clock was working. It was 11:46.
Josh looked at the minute hand.
It began to move.
Slowly.
As if it had been waiting for him.
When the hand struck 11...
...the bell rang.
Not with a metallic sound.
With a sound of... a whisper.
It was a voice.
Low.
Feminine.
Singing.
"Children, come, sit around the flame...
Tell your stories...
And they will become flesh..."
Josh fell to his knees.
The voice didn't come from the bell.
It came from within him.
He looked down.
At the base of the tower, in the mist that was beginning to form, there were seven silhouettes.
They were looking up.
Josh recognized them all.
Maya.
Jake.
Lily.
Sam.
Chloe.
Owen.
And Ethan.
They didn't move.
They didn't speak.
They just stared.
And then...
Ethan raised his hand.
And pointed.
At Josh.
And whispered, though he didn't open his mouth:
"You've arrived."