The village did not sleep.
It only pretended to.
Lucy felt it the instant she stepped outside the rented house. The air pressed in on her like unseen hands, heavy with unspoken breath, thick with tension that had nowhere to escape. Fog slithered across the dirt roads in low coils, crawling up stone steps and wrapping around doorframes like a living thing. It carried a damp cold that sank through thin cloth and straight into the bones.
Somewhere deep in the dark, a dog barked.
Once.
Twice.
And then the sound cut off too sharply, as if something had closed its mouth around it.
Lucy shivered violently.
Merlin stepped out behind her, fastening his jacket as he surveyed the empty street. His eyes moved in practiced sweeps, measuring blind spots and shadows like a man who learned long ago never to trust silence.
"Bad dreams?" he asked quietly.
Lucy shook her head.
"No."
After a pause, she added, "Worse. I didn't sleep at all."
Her mind replayed the same image again and again like a wound that refused to close.
The little girl.
Her tear-streaked face. The dirt under her fingernails. The desperate strength with which she had clutched Lucy's sleeve, as though even cloth could save her.
"My daddy went into the forest… and didn't come back."
Lucy swallowed, her throat tightening.
"Merlin," she said under her breath, picking up her pace as they walked, "this village… it feels wrong."
Merlin neither dismissed nor softened her fear. He merely scanned the street again.
"It's not the village," he said slowly. "It's what's under it. And what's watching it."
They passed through the market street in silence.
Shutters were closed.
Stalls stood abandoned, cloth coverings collapsed inward as though the merchants had simply wandered off in the middle of their work—and never returned. Wreaths of bones lashed together with twine hung from doorposts. Charms made of feathers, thorns, and rusted nails rattled softly in the breeze, singing a strange music meant to repel what no one dared name.
Symbols were carved into thresholds.
Wolves.
Snakes.
Winged beasts with broken crowns.
Nothing about them felt welcoming.
Everything felt protective.
At the village center, a small group of people gathered around a newspaper stand.
Lucy slowed instinctively.
Her heart shifted its rhythm—like it had tripped over something invisible.
One man shook his head heavily. "Three dead. Fell right off the cliff road last night. No tire tracks. No scream. Vehicle just… gone."
Another leaned closer, voice lowered. "The forest's angry again."
Lucy stepped forward before Merlin could stop her.
"What happened?" she asked.
The villager turned slowly.
They all did.
And one of them lifted a trembling finger.
Lucy followed the gesture.
And the world fell out from under her.
The newspaper lay open.
A black-and-white photograph filled the page.
Three broken bodies.
Twisted metal.
Dark pools soaking into dirt and stone.
And there—
In the corner.
A face she recognized.
The little girl.
The one who had cried in her arms.
The one who had begged.
The one who had been real.
Too real.
Lucy's knees gave out. Merlin caught her just in time.
"No…," she whispered. "No. That's not possible…"
She snatched the paper with shaking fingers.
The headline burned through her eyes:
FAMILY FOUND DEAD IN CLIFF ACCIDENT — NO SURVIVORS
Her hands slid downward.
A line of text stabbed straight into her chest:
Among the deceased was a young child, estimated age six. Cause of death presumed: blunt-force trauma from impact.
Lucy felt cold inch up her spine like an insect crawling beneath skin.
"She was standing in front of me," Lucy whispered hoarsely. "Yesterday. She spoke to me. She held onto me. Merlin… she asked me for help."
Merlin's jaw hardened.
"That's not possible."
Lucy spun toward him, wild-eyed.
"I didn't imagine her! She was warm—she cried—she was real!"
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances.
An elderly woman whispered, crossing herself with trembling fingers, "Dead children don't walk."
Lucy dropped the newspaper like it had burned her.
The voice came echoing back.
Soft.
Helpless.
"You arrived at the right time."
Lucy clutched her head.
Had the girl known she was already dead?
Or—
Had something borrowed her face?
From that moment on, the village changed.
People no longer met Lucy's eyes.
Doors closed more quickly.
Shutters snapped into place with quiet urgency.
Footsteps faded whenever she turned around too quickly.
Merlin kept a hand at her back, guiding her away from the square.
"This village isn't diseased," he murmured. "It's infected."
"With what?" Lucy asked desperately.
"Memory," he said. "Forest memory. And forest memory doesn't rot. It waits."
Lucy looked at him with glassy eyes. "Then why did she come to me?"
Merlin didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
Because something inside him already feared that Lucy had not been chosen by accident.
They were nearly back at the house when Lucy stopped abruptly.
Merlin nearly walked into her.
"Lucy?"
She was staring down a narrow alley between two leaning buildings.
At first, it was empty.
Then—
She saw them.
Small muddy footprints.
Child-sized.
Leading directly into shadow.
Only…
They didn't go forward.
They went up.
Straight into a wall.
Lucy's throat locked.
Merlin grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
"That's enough," he said firmly. "We're not running anymore. Tonight—we watch."
Lucy whispered, "Watch what?"
Merlin looked toward the black outline of the forest surrounding the village.
"Whatever is pretending to be human."
That night, the moon carved white scars across the trees.
The forest whispered louder than before.
Lucy sat wrapped in a blanket near the window, arms locked around her knees. Every sound felt like a footstep. Every shadow breathed.
Once—
She thought she heard her name.
She froze.
Then—
A knock.
Soft.
Hollow.
From outside.
Merlin stood instantly, his hand on his weapon.
Lucy rose as if pulled by invisible strings.
"Lucy—don't."
But her feet carried her forward anyway.
She reached the window.
Outside—
The girl stood.
Same dress.
Same eyes.
Same fear-shaped mouth.
Lucy's breath shattered.
"You're… dead…" she whispered.
The girl smiled.
It was wrong.
Not small.
Not gentle.
Not human.
"Not dead," it said.
The voice was too old.
Too deep.
"I belong to him."
Lucy trembled. "Who?"
The head tilted sharply.
"The one who watches you under the moon."
And then—
The body bent.
Cracked.
Twisted.
The mouth stretched too wide.
The eyes flooded black.
"Tell Volmer," the thing croaked, "she remembers."
And then—
The girl turned to ash.
The wind exploded through the window.
The room filled with howling.
Not outside.
Inside everything.
Merlin dragged Lucy back as shadows crawled across the walls like living things.
And far away—
Deep in the forest—
A pair of blue eyes opened.
Ancient.
Burning.
Aware.
The moon trembled in their reflection.
"She has arrived," a voice whispered into root and bone.
And the forest listened.
"She is no longer protected… by sleep."