The forest was no longer just a backdrop for childhood games—it had transformed. Each step Emily took seemed swallowed by a silence so complete it throbbed in her ears. She called out again, "Sarah? Marcus? I'm done counting!" Her voice was soft, trembling, as if speaking too loudly might disturb whatever strange force had awakened in the woods.
Branches overhead tangled like gnarled fingers, blotting out the fading sun. Dusk had come quickly. Too quickly. And with it, the warmth and comfort of the afternoon had vanished like mist. Emily glanced behind her, but the clearing where they had started the game was gone, swallowed by endless, identical trees.
Still, she pressed forward.
The first hiding spot wasn't far. A large, hollowed-out tree trunk—Marcus's favorite. He'd boasted earlier that no one could ever find him in there. Emily approached it cautiously, half expecting him to jump out and scare her.
"Marcus?" she whispered.
No answer.
She knelt down and peeked inside. The space was empty. Not just empty, but wrong. The interior of the trunk looked deeper than it should have been, almost like a tunnel that extended underground. Cold air leaked from its depths, and the scent of damp earth and decay curled into her nose. She stumbled back quickly, heart racing.
Maybe he'd changed his mind and hid somewhere else.
Emily stood and brushed the dirt from her knees, willing herself to breathe slower. "It's okay," she muttered to herself. "Just a game. That's all it is."
But even as she said it, doubt gnawed at the edge of her thoughts.
She moved on.
The next spot was behind a thick bush near the creek where Sarah had hidden during their last game. Emily crept to the bush, hoping to find her giggling there, hand over mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. But again, nothing. No Sarah. No flattened grass. No signs anyone had ever crouched there.
Emily's steps became less sure. Her voice rose louder now, tinged with urgency.
"Sarah! Devon! This isn't funny anymore!"
Still, silence.
The rustle of leaves caught her attention and she whirled around, heart in her throat. A shadow darted between trees—a flicker of movement she wasn't fast enough to catch. It could've been a squirrel. Or a fox. Or… or one of the others, finally breaking their silence.
She called out again. "I saw you! Come on, let's just go back!"
But no one answered.
Instead, she heard it: a faint giggle. High-pitched. Childlike. But not… right. It sounded as though it had been dragged through static, a warped imitation of laughter. Emily froze. The sound echoed from all directions, impossible to trace. Then it stopped as abruptly as it began.
Shaking now, Emily turned to head back to the clearing.
Only the clearing wasn't there.
She spun in place, trying to get her bearings. The trees loomed impossibly tall, surrounding her in every direction. Panic bloomed in her chest. She retraced her steps toward where the sun should have set, but the forest had changed. The paths she'd walked twisted, unfamiliar, as though the ground itself had shifted when she wasn't looking.
The woods were alive.
Emily ran.
Branches clawed at her arms and legs. Brambles tore at her dress. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her feet pounded the earth, dodging roots and fallen logs. She didn't know where she was going—only that she had to get away from something. Something unseen, but definitely there. Watching.
At last, she stumbled into another clearing.
In the middle stood a swing set.
It was old, rusted, completely out of place in the middle of the forest. Two swings hung still, unmoving, though no wind stirred the trees. Emily blinked in confusion. She knew this swing set. It was from the playground near her grandmother's house. But it couldn't be. They were miles away.
She stepped forward.
The chains groaned, and one of the swings began to move.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Slow. Rhythmic.
No one sat on it.
Emily felt her mouth go dry.
"Hello?" she whispered, not expecting a reply.
The answer came anyway.
A single word, whispered in a chorus of voices: "Seeker."
She turned to run—but froze.
One by one, children stepped out from behind trees. Shadowy silhouettes. Boys and girls her age, some younger, some older. Their features were indistinct, as if their faces had been smudged by fingers pressed into charcoal. Their eyes—if they had any—glowed faintly, the only source of light in the ever-deepening night.
Emily backed away. "W-who are you?"
The figures said nothing.
They only stared.
Behind her, the swing set creaked again.
And then they spoke in unison.
"We were seekers too."
The air grew colder. Emily could see her breath now, white in the darkness. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably.
"What do you mean?"
But the children didn't answer.
They stepped forward.
Emily turned and fled once more, heart hammering, tears blurring her vision. She didn't care where she went. She only knew she had to get away from the haunted clearing. From the swing set. From them.
And yet, the forest didn't let her go.
Every turn led her deeper into its maze. The same trees. The same roots. The same oppressive canopy overhead. Her cries echoed into nothingness.
Then, through the trees, she saw it—a faint, golden light. Flickering like fire.
Hope flared in her chest.
Maybe someone else was out here. Maybe one of the kids had escaped and started a campfire. Maybe—
She burst into another clearing.
A lantern sat on the ground, casting shadows across a circle of stones. And in the center of the stones, carved into the dirt, was a word:
EMILY
She stared at it in disbelief. The letters were etched deep, clawed into the earth with something sharp.
A gust of wind snuffed out the lantern.
Darkness swallowed her.
She screamed.
From the trees came the voice again—soft, sing-song, and deadly sweet:
"Ready or not…"