Mira didn't remember falling asleep, only waking up with the sensation that someone had been standing above her bed a moment ago. Her breath came sharp, too loud in the darkness of her apartment, and it took her several seconds to realize the faint tapping she heard wasn't coming from a dream—it was happening right now. Three taps. A pause. Three more. They echoed through the small space like knuckles knocking on the inside of her skull.
She pushed the blanket aside and rose slowly, unwilling to make sudden movements. Her apartment was still drenched in early dawn gloom, that point when the world hadn't yet decided if night was over. She walked to the living room, the wooden floor cool under her bare feet. No one stood at the door. Her fingers touched the knob, hesitating, half-expecting the metal to pulse under her skin.
Another set of taps came, but not from the door. Behind her.
She spun.
It came from the kitchen wall.
That didn't make sense. On the other side of that wall was the hallway outside—nobody could knock from this angle. Mira stepped closer, holding her breath, and pressed her fingertips to the surface. The paint felt colder than it should, and beneath it, the faint vibration of movement.
Someone—or something—was on the wrong side.
She backed up fast, hitting the counter behind her. Her heart knocked painfully against her ribs, but the tapping stopped abruptly, as though the thing behind the wall sensed her fear and paused to listen. The silence that followed was worse than the sound—thick, expectant, almost curious.
Her phone buzzed sharply, nearly making her scream. She grabbed it immediately just to stop the noise, and Alex's name lit up the screen.
"Mira?" he said the second she answered. He sounded breathless, unsettled. "Are you awake?"
"That depends on what counts as normal consciousness anymore," she muttered.
"I need you to come outside. Right now. Please."
Something in his tone sliced straight through her panic—urgent but controlled, like he was trying not to frighten her. She grabbed her jacket and slipped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her even though she doubted any lock mattered anymore.
Alex waited downstairs, pacing under the flickering stairwell light. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. The moment he saw her, relief washed through him.
"I heard it again," he said. "The whispering. I thought it was in my head at first, but then—it said your name."
Mira felt the air around her tighten. "What else did it say?"
"That it's almost here."
Her stomach dropped. She glanced back at her apartment, half-worried the tapping would start again even with her outside. But everything was still, too still, like the building was holding its breath.
"Come on," Alex said softly. "You're not staying here alone."
They walked out into the early morning chill, the sky pale and washed out, clouds drifting low enough to feel oppressive. Mira expected the streets to be empty, but something felt wrong with the world around them—people moved slower, their faces blurrier, like shadows clung to their outlines. A man across the street paused mid-step, staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes before shaking his head violently and continuing on.
She tried to ignore it. The breach was spreading, thinning the boundary in ways she didn't yet understand. But she could feel it now, like a low vibration beneath reality itself.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"There's something we need to check," Alex said. "Something I should have mentioned earlier. I didn't think it mattered, but now…"
He trailed off, and Mira's anxiety crawled up her spine.
They walked past the edge of town where houses grew farther apart. Trees pressed in close, leaves whispering with every faint breeze, and the ground became softer, muddier. Alex led her down a narrow path she didn't remember ever seeing before. At first she thought he had taken a wrong turn, but the way he moved—determined, certain—told her otherwise.
"Alex… how do you know this trail?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was quieter. "I've walked it before. With you."
She stopped walking. He turned back, meeting her stunned silence with a guilty expression.
"When?" she whispered.
"When we were teenagers." He swallowed. "You don't remember. You weren't supposed to."
The world seemed to tilt slightly at his words. Mira searched her memory, but there was nothing—nothing that matched this forest, this trail, this hidden path.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because you made me promise not to," he said, eyes dark with something like regret. "You said you needed to forget. That remembering would make things worse."
Her knees felt weak. "Alex… what happened out here?"
"I think we're about to find out," he said softly.
He turned and kept walking, and even though Mira's body screamed for her to run the opposite direction, she followed.
They pushed through a cluster of heavy branches until the trees suddenly broke open into a clearing Mira did not recognize—but her body did. Her breath caught. Her skin prickled with cold memory she couldn't quite grasp.
At the center of the clearing, partly buried under overgrown grass and pine needles, lay a hatch. An old metal door flush with the ground, rusted around the edges but undeniably deliberate.
Her pulse quickened. "Alex… what is that?"
"You tell me," he said, voice trembling. "You're the one who brought me here the first time."
Her heartbeat thundered. She stepped closer, compelled and terrified. The hatch had no handle, no lock. Just the faint outline of the symbol engraved in its center—the twisted, looping shape that haunted her dreams and the archive pages.
Her mother's symbol.
Mira dropped to her knees, brushing grass aside for a clearer view. Her fingertips hovered over the metal but didn't touch.
A sound rose up from below—a faint, distorted thump. Then another. Like something knocking from under the earth.
Her breath froze.
Alex stiffened behind her. "Please tell me that's just echoing roots or something."
"It's not," Mira whispered.
The thumping grew louder, more insistent. Dust trembled off the hatch. The symbol in the center glowed faintly, pulsing with each impact from below.
Memories she didn't have collided with emotions she recognized—fear, sorrow, a child's desperate longing. She felt tears burn her eyes, and she didn't know why.
"I know this place," she whispered. "I don't remember it, but I know it."
Alex knelt beside her. "Do you want to go inside?"
"No." The answer was instant, instinctive. "Yes." The second answer followed just as fast, equally undeniable. She shook her head, hands trembling violently. "I don't know."
"Mira… look at me."
She did, her breath uneven. Alex's eyes held steady concern, fear, and a devotion that felt heavier than the forest around them.
"No matter what's under there," he said softly, "you're not facing it alone."
The thumping suddenly stopped. Silence swept through the clearing so suddenly it rang in her ears. Mira turned back to the hatch, heart pounding.
Slowly, softly, something scraped across the metal from the inside.
A fingertip tracing the symbol.
Then a whisper rose up through the ground—faint, distorted, but unmistakably familiar.
"Mira… open the door."
Her body went cold. She scrambled backward as if burned, shaking her head violently. Alex reached for her, but she barely felt his touch. The whisper came again, clearer, closer.
"Mira. I've been waiting."
She pressed both hands to her ears, but it made no difference. The voice wasn't outside. It was inside her head, curling around her thoughts with terrible familiarity—like a mother calling a child back home.
Alex grabbed her shoulders, grounding her as tears streamed down her face. "Who is it? Mira—who's speaking to you?"
She gasped for breath, staring at the hatch as if it might open any second.
"My mother."
Alex's eyes widened, mouth parting without sound.
The ground beneath them vibrated softly, once again timed like a heartbeat—not theirs, but something deeper. Something older. The symbol pulsed like a living thing. Mira's vision blurred, her thoughts slipping sideways, other memories trying to surface all at once.
Alex's voice sounded distant. "Mira—stay with me. Look at me. Breathe."
She tried. But the pull from the hatch grew stronger, a gravitational tug she felt in her bones. She crawled closer without meaning to, fingers digging into the earth. The metal radiated a warmth that seeped into her skin.
Alex pulled her back. "Mira, stop! You're not thinking clearly."
"I am," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "I think I'm remembering."
"What?"
"The last time we came here."
Alex froze.
"You said I made you promise not to talk about it," she whispered, shaking. "But I think I made you promise because I knew this would happen. Because I knew what was underneath."
He swallowed hard. "What is underneath?"
She lifted her eyes to him, voice barely audible.
"A room I wasn't supposed to escape."
The clearing fell silent again, the air thick and expectant. Mira stared at the hatch—this forgotten door, this buried truth, this impossible weight from her childhood she had locked away.
Alex held her hand tightly, as if anchoring her to the present.
"Mira," he said softly, "we don't have to open it."
Her gaze drifted back to the hatch.
But it was already too late.
A thin line of light appeared around the edges of the metal door.
The latchless hatch… was unlocking itself.
And Mira felt something stir beneath the earth, something that knew her name, something she had once met as a child—and had spent her entire life trying to forget.
She squeezed Alex's hand.
And the hatch began to rise.