Margo stood motionless on the porch, her feet weighed with bewilderment. The wind howled beyond the walls like a widow—long and harsh and cold. Her gaze fell on the worm-eaten walls, the broken windows, the ivy that poured through the gaps like withered veins.
Her home—no, Lindsay's home—was no longer a home. It had been converted into something time had abandoned, a remembrance lost in the attic of the world.
"Gabriel," she panted, her mouth dry. "This is not right. This is not—this isn't real."
He was at her side, as ever, silent. The boy who'd smiled once so gently now was gaunt. Shadows huddled around his features like kept secrets.
"I don't know what went on," he said in a breathy whisper, gazing out at the mossy porch. "But we've been missing for too long."
She whirled at his back, shaking hands. "You promised me I'd get stuck. You promised—"
"I didn't know," he broke in, his tone gentle. "I didn't know this would occur."
Her eyes filled up with tears, burning. Her chest compressed.
"You promised to keep me safe."
"I did my best."
The wind howled more desperately.
They entered into the shattered home, each groan of floorboards a scream stretched too long. There was dust suspended in the air like specters. The photographs hanging on the walls were broken. A photo of herself and Lindsay had dropped to the floor—its glass broken, her smile smeared into a smear. The couch was filthy, its ripped upholstery like infected flesh. The chandelier had fallen years ago and shattered into a funereal bouquet on the rug.
"I don't want to be here," Margo whispered.
"But you are," Gabriel said. "And now… now we have to discover why."
Hours before.
She'd woken to dripping.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She bolted downstairs, racing heart.
And there, in the middle of the living room floor, was Lindsay. Her red hair stuck to her face, sweater soaked in blood, pooling at her feet like a flower curving into floorboards.
"Lindsay!" Margo screamed, falling to her side, hugging her tight.
There was breath—barely, but there.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the phone. "911, please—my mom—I mean, my foster mom—she's bleeding. She's—please, send someone, please!"
She dropped the phone and spun around, and in the window, she saw him.
Gabriel.
Standing still, bathed in moonlight like a sorrow-hewn statue, his eyes shining dimly. One hand raised, offering.
Not waving. Not beckoning.
Inviting.
Margo shook her head, weeping.
"Not now," she whispered.
Sirens. Red and blue filled the walls of the living room.
She remained. She remained with Lindsay, gripping her cold hand, refusing to let go.
Later that evening, after paramedics had hauled Lindsay off and blood had been mopped from the floor, Margo stood alone in the middle of the night.
She glanced back at the house. Windows were vacant. The porch light went on and off.
And then she ran.
She ran into the woods.
Gabriel stood at the border.
"You came," he said, his tone a sigh.
"I can't leave her," she whispered.
"Then don't stay long."
They passed beyond the veil as a unit. A glint of silver amid trees, a rip in air like paper tugged away slowly.
The station welcomed them to silence. Acid, bony silence. Heads a thousand strong on walls, heads bowed, dark cloaks wrapped around them.
"Mind them not," Gabriel breathed. "They learn to be unhuman now."
They went farther, until they stood before the rusty sign.
To The Corpse Games.
What does that mean?" she asked, voice cracking.
Gabriel did not respond.
She squeezed his hand harder.
Down, down, down they fell. A tunnel hacked from bone, lit with teeth in lanterns. Walls that whispered, mouths long since rotted.
And then they were out.
Skeletons occupied benches. Some in gowns. Some in suits. All silent. All looking with empty eyes.
One of them stood. His hat pressed to his chest.
"Help me," he said. His jaw clicked. "My son… he never came back."
Gabriel nodded, solemn. "We'll find him."
Outside the station, the world bloomed black and silver. Stars filled the sky like shattered glass. The trees shimmered under a violet moon.
And there, across the field, stood a boy in a black suit.
The son.
He turned to Margo and smiled. "Thank you."
They led him back. The train hissed, screeched. A sign flickered:
To GreenLand.
The skeletons boarded one by one. No questioning. No talking. Only an infinite line into nothing.
Margo and Gabriel on the bench.
He gazed at her, his eyes gentle now. "I wish you'd stay."
She didn't reply.
His hand closed around hers. She glanced at him.
He leaned in. Her breathing caught up.
But just before they could touch, a jawless skeleton hand dropped between them.
A jawless skeleton sat between them.
Time passed once again.
The stars vanished.
Midnight passed.
She ran.
She ran around the station, by shadows, through the gateway.
And here they were now, standing in a house which should have been warm.
"How long did we go?" she gasped.
Gabriel regarded her, and for the first time there was fear in his eyes.
"I think. we were never meant to return."
Her knees gave out. She collapsed on the dusty floor, sobbing into her hands.
"I don't know what's real anymore," she said.
He knelt beside her. "This is."
She looked up at him. "Then tell me the truth. Who are you?"
He hesitated.
"You're not just some boy from school."
"No."
"Then what are you?"
He looked toward the rotting front door. "I was someone like you. A long time ago. Lost. Forgotten."
She stared at him.
"How did you die?"
He did not respond.
They were enveloped in silence like a pall. And then she too spoke.
"I'm not ready to die."
Gabriel turned to her, his face set in something akin to sorrow, something akin to guilt.
"I don't want you to."
"Then don't take me there," she cried, her voice cracking. "Please. I can't lose everything once more."
The space between them chilled.
She felt it again. The pull. The whisper.
She stood.
"I have to go back," she said.
Gabriel nodded.
"I'll be watching."
She ran back through the woods, her lungs burning.
She reached the street. A car passed.
Lights.
Sounds.
Voices.
The world was alive.
And Lindsay… she was alive.
She rushed into the hospital the next morning.
Lindsay was asleep, bandaged, pale, but breathing.
Margo sat beside her, held her hand, and cried into it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should've stayed."
The monitor beeped, steady.
"I'm scared," she added.
A voice whispered back—her own voice, trembling.
"I don't want to disappear."
Outside, in the parking lot, under a tree, a boy waited.
Watching.
Waiting.