Jack Mercer didn't need coffee to stay awake. The word SOON scratched into his motel floorboards did the job. He spent the morning staring at the three jagged lines on the carpet, like claw marks from a beast too big to exist. The locket he had tossed into the sink the previous night now sat on his pillow, cold and gleaming. Impossible. He watched it disappear.
"Fine," he muttered, stuffing the locket into his jacket pocket. "Let's play."
The library is colder than it was yesterday. Walter sat behind his desk, polishing a brass lamp, its light pooling like liquid gold. He did not look up as Jack slammed Emily's locket on the counter.
"You know what this is."
Walter's hands stilled. "Should've left when I told you."
"Who's next?" Jack leaned in, voice sharp. "Another kid? Another old couple? How do you pick?"
The lamp flickered. Walter's eyes turned hard. "We don't pick. It does. Ten years, like a clockwork. You poke a hornet's nest, boy—don't cry when it stings."
"Emily Carter." Jack tapped the locket. "Her voice was on my recorder last night. Help me. You heard her too, didn't you?"
Walter stood so fast his chair screeched. He lumbered to a locked cabinet behind the desk, the keys jangling. Inside lay a ledger with a cracked leather cover. He tossed it at Jack.
Millhaven Council Minutes, 1923.
A passage screamed in faded ink:
"Resolved: The Offering shall be made October 31st, to appease the Shadow. One soul, freely given, lest the harvest fail and the wells run dry."
Jack's stomach twisted. "Freely given? You volunteer people?"
Walter's laugh was bitter. "First, they drew straws. My great-uncle 'lost.' However, Shadow became greedy. Now it… chooses. Whispers names in the dark. Makes folks see things. Last time, old Mrs. Riley walked into the woods herself, babblin' about her dead husband waitin'."
A chill snaked down Jack's spines. "And you let it happen."
"Ain't about letting." Walter's voice broke. "My boy Tommy vanished in '93. He found his boots by the creek. Nothing else. You think I don't hate this?"
Silence hung thick. Jack flipped the ledger. The last entry was 2013: "Offering accepted." No name.
"Who died ten years ago?"
Walter slammed the ledger shut. "Get out."
The woods swallowed the road a mile outside the town. Jack parked his truck, Emily's locket warm against his chest. The trees bent inward, and the branches were tangled like bony fingers. He followed a dirt path, with a flashlight cutting through the gloom.
Something crunched under her feet.
Children's toys. A cracked doll's head. A rusted bike chain. Further in, a faded ribbon tied to a tree—pink, like the one in Emily's photo.
Static buzzed in his pocket as he walked. His recorder was turned on again.
…Jack…
A girl's voice. Emily.
"Where are you?" he whispered.
…in the dark… help…
The flashlight died.
Jack smacked it. Nothing. Moonlight filtered through the trees, painting the forest with jagged silver. Shadows pooled around his feet and moved. Not his.
He ran.
The branches grabbed his arms. Roots tripped him. The static grew louder, swallowing his breaths.
…it's coming…
A shape flickered ahead: a girl in a flower dress, her hair matted with leaves. Emily.
"Wait!"
She vanished. Where she stood, a hole gaped in the earth. Inside, a radio tower lay toppled, rusted, and strangled by vines. Carved into its base:
THEY LISTEN
Wind howled. The static was sharpened into a screech. Behind Jack, leaves crackled.
Something was coming.
Slow. Heavy. Sniffing.
He didn't look back.
The motel room door was locked, and Jack shoved a chair under the knob. His hands shake while playing the recorder.
His own panicked breath. Then:
…Jack… Emily's voice was soft.
…find the tower… break the circle…
A growl drowned her voice. Low, hungry. The same voice from the town hall:
MINE.
The radio crackled to life. No plug.
…SOON…
Jack hurled his shoe at it. The screen shattered.
Silence.
Then—a knock.
Three slow raps.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Not at the door.
At the window.