The road curved like a blade into the fog.
Mara gripped the wheel tighter, eyes flicking between the broken yellow lines and the shadowed woods pressing in. Durn Hill hadn't let go. Every direction felt wrong. The forest didn't just grow alongside the road—it consumed it, crept closer with every mile like the trees were crawling, inch by inch.
Colby's headlights were behind her.
Then they weren't.
She tapped the brakes. "Colby?"
No answer. Her rearview mirror showed only swirling gray, as if the world behind her had been erased. Her phone still had no signal, of course. It hadn't since she passed the town limit sign that looked older than time itself.
She pulled over and stepped out, gravel crunching under her boots. "Colby!" she called into the trees.
Only the fog answered. Cold, damp, and so thick it blurred the edges of everything.
Then — a loud crack of metal bending. Somewhere ahead.
She sprinted down the road, flashlight jittering. The sound had come from around the bend.
And there it was.
Colby's pickup had hit a pine tree. But something was wrong. The angle was too steep — like it had dropped from the sky. The entire front end folded around the trunk like a rib cage cracked open. Steam hissed. One of the wheels spun slowly, like the truck hadn't been there long.
She ran to the driver's side.
Empty.
No blood. No broken glass. The seatbelt wasn't even fastened. It was like no one had been driving.
But the strangest thing — the inside of the windshield bore a palm print. A dark, sticky smear. The shape looked human, except for the ridged texture, like bark pressed into flesh.
Mara stepped back.
That's when she noticed the silence.
Not quiet — silence. The kind that made your eardrums feel too big. The kind where even your heartbeat felt wrong.
A whisper broke it.
"…wake up…"
Mara spun around.
Nothing.
Then — from the trees — a voice. No, voices. Dozens overlapping.
"…no exit… wake up… it sees you…"
She stumbled backward. The fog thickened, turning the air into milk. Her flashlight flickered, then died.
Something moved through the trees — fast, tall, unnatural.
She ran.
Branches tore at her sleeves. The fog grew brighter and brighter until it became—
Daylight.
She stood on the sidewalk in front of the diner. Birds chirped. A woman watered flowers across the street. A breeze rolled down the hill, rustling leaves. The fog was gone.
She blinked.
What the hell?
Mara looked at her hands. Clean. No dirt. No scratches. Her coat was zipped, spotless. She could feel her heart pounding, but… her body didn't match what she remembered.
A man stepped out of the diner. "You okay, miss?" he asked, holding the door. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Mara didn't answer. Her mouth was dry.
She looked at the sky. The sun was too low. It was nearly evening — when she'd driven out, it had barely been noon.
She checked her phone. No missed calls. No texts. No signal.
She walked briskly back to the motel, trying to hold her thoughts together.
The town felt wrong. Off. The shadows were too long, the corners too dark. Everyone she passed smiled — too wide. Held eye contact too long. The same waitress from the diner the day before walked past and didn't seem to recognize her.
She reached Room 6.
Slid her key in.
It didn't turn.
She tried again. Nothing.
Confused, she looked up at the number.
There was no number.
Just a blank door. No knob. No keyhole. The window beside it had drywall behind the glass.
She stepped back.
This isn't possible.
A knock sounded behind her.
She turned fast — no one.
Then, from inside the wall — three distinct knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Slow, deliberate. Like a heartbeat. Like something waiting for permission.
She stepped back further, adrenaline burning through her veins.
And the door to Room 7 opened on its own.
A man stepped out. He looked her up and down. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked politely.
She pointed at the wall. "Room 6?"
He frowned. "There is no Room 6."
"Yes, there is," she insisted. "That's my room. I checked in two days ago."
"There's never been a Room 6." He smiled apologetically, as if explaining something to a confused child.
She turned away, bile rising in her throat.
She walked until she couldn't anymore — until her legs ached and the streetlights flickered on. They didn't hum like real lights. They ticked. In time.
She ended up at the sheriff's station.
Sheriff Grady was there, behind the glass.
"I need to report something," Mara said, stepping into the lobby.
He didn't speak at first. Just looked at her.
"Colby Mathers," she said. "He tried to leave town. I saw his truck crash — but then it was gone. Then I was back in town, but… not the same. I think time's moving wrong."
Grady stared at her.
Then he stood and stepped out from behind the desk.
"There is no Colby Mathers," he said.
"What?" she whispered. "That's not—he was just—"
"There is no one by that name here. There never was."
Mara backed away slowly. "That's not true. He came to me yesterday. Asked for help. You know him—"
Grady's expression softened.
"That's how it starts," he said quietly. "You see someone. You help someone. Then you forget their face. Then you forget their name. And eventually, you forget they ever existed at all."
She felt dizzy.
"I don't—what is this place?"
He sighed. "A holding ground."
"For what?"
"For things we don't want to remember."
She turned and ran.
Down the street, past the church, past the diner that no longer had a door, past the house where she'd interviewed the old woman whose name was now gone from her notes.
Her boots hit gravel.
She reached the edge of the woods again. The road that had once led out.
Gone.
Only forest now.
She fell to her knees and screamed. A raw, empty scream that echoed and came back wrong.
Then — behind her — a rustle.
She turned.
Samantha.
The girl stood at the edge of the trees. Pale. Hollow-eyed.
"You can't leave," she said. "Not until it's done."
Mara stood. "What's done?"
But the girl was gone.
No trace. No sound.
Only the wind in the pines.
And a distant, repeating knock.