Chapter Twelve: The Voice Beneath
Ellie left the bathroom light on now. Always.
She didn't sleep through the night anymore.
Because something watched her from the corners of her dreams. Something that looked like her. And it was learning.
---
Days passed, then a week.
The townsfolk returned to their routines, but a tension hung in the air—like the town was holding its breath.
More strange things followed.
Birds stopped singing near the grove.
Water in sinks and tubs began to swirl counterclockwise.
A child at the elementary school—someone Ellie didn't know—stared at her during recess and whispered, "You're the root now."
She hadn't told anyone about the second mark. The closed circle now inked just above her heart. Not a tattoo. A scar that pulsed faintly when she neared the grove. Like a tether.
---
She turned to the only person left who might understand.
Father Michael.
He looked older than she remembered. As if the earth had whispered its weight into his bones.
They met in the chapel, near dusk, behind closed doors.
"I know about the Hollow Root," she said. "I know what the circle was. And I think it's still connected to me."
He didn't flinch.
"I feared as much," he said. "That's why I left the parish before. I've seen the mark before, Ellie. And I've seen what happens when it closes."
She leaned in. "What does it mean?"
He motioned toward the back of the church, pulling down an ancient book she'd never noticed before—The Canticles of Broken Earth. Pages yellowed. Smelling of smoke and mold.
He opened it to a chapter titled: "The Voice That Walks."
It spoke of ancient gods that weren't worshiped—but fed. Rooted in earth. Given offerings. Whispering not with words, but with memory.
> "The Voice does not want to kill.
It wants to shape.
It speaks through mirrors, skin, names.
Those marked are not consumed.
They become windows."
Father Michael pointed to a sketch—a crude drawing of a woman with a circle above her heart, standing at the center of a grove. Below her: countless eyes.
"You didn't seal it, Ellie," he said gently. "You became its vessel. Its voice."
She stood, backing away. "No. I stopped it. I chose to resist."
"And that choice bought you time," he said. "But not escape. The town built over the circle. It sleeps under our feet. And now it sleeps in you."
---
That night, she walked to the grove again.
Not because she wanted to.
Because her feet carried her there.
The trees greeted her with silence.
The well was gone—filled in, collapsed.
But the center of the grove still throbbed with heat. Like a buried heart.
And in the center of the circle stood a girl.
She turned.
Lila.
Or what wore Lila's shape.
> "You came back. You always do."
Ellie clenched her fists. "You're not her."
Lila's smile was sad. "I'm what's left. Her shadow. The first voice. But now you've taken that role. You're stronger. You're closer."
She stepped forward. Ellie didn't flinch.
> "You think this is a curse. But it's a calling. This town's built on silence. On lies. The Hollow Root just wants truth. Raw. Buried. Remembered."
Ellie's skin burned. Her veins thrummed.
She saw flashes—people she'd never met but somehow knew.
A mother who buried a stillborn child under the church.
A teacher who drowned herself in the lake.
A boy who vanished during a thunderstorm, swallowed by the earth.
She saw all their faces. Felt their pain. Their secrets.
And she realized—
She was remembering for them.
She wasn't just marked.
She was becoming the town's memory.
A living archive.
---
Back at home, she stared into the mirror.
And this time, her reflection blinked before she did.
It smiled. And whispered:
> "We're ready to begin."