A shape. Not a person. Not really. Like melted wax in the vague suggestion of a woman. Her arms were too long, and her face was... wrong. Stretched, warped, like someone remembered her badly. A wedding veil trailed behind her, stained with rot and time.
"Pecola," she said, lips barely moving.
Antic inhaled sharply.
Dolly hissed.
I stood frozen. That word—
"You...know that name?" I asked, voice flat, trying to understand it like a math equation.
The figure didn't move. "You were mine."
Antic stepped forward, pan still raised. "Okay, I don't know who you are, but this one's with us, and she's not anybody's property, so maybe crawl back into your haunted pothole, sweetheart."
The thing didn't flinch.
"Who are you?" I asked, stepping closer. "Why did you say that name?"
"Because..." The voice cracked. "You left me."
The thing lunged.
Dolly moved first—fast as fury, slamming both tiny fists into the creature's chest. It staggered back, a moaning sound like wind through rusted pipes spilling from its throat.
"YOU DO NOT TOUCH HER," Dolly shrieked.
Grin raised a single hand. The shadows behind him swirled like ash in a cyclone.
Antic muttered, "Okay, okay, now it's an exorcism. This is new."
I didn't move.
I was still processing the name.
Pecola.
Why did it sound like it fit?
Why did it make my chest feel full and empty all at once?
The creature tried to speak again, but Grin stepped forward. The shadows gathered at his feet.
"Go...back," he said, voice thick and slow like tar being poured.
The figure trembled—and cracked. Not broke. Just cracked. Like something porcelain.
It turned. And vanished.
Gone, like it had never been.
We all stood still.
Dolly was breathing hard, her hands clenched so tight tiny fractures ran up her wrist.
"I hate this place," she said through gritted teeth. "I hate this forest. Too many damn feelings. I'm gonna crack like a cheap teapot."
Antic exhaled and sat down hard. "Remind me never to flirt with you."
"You won't live long enough," she snapped, collapsing beside the fire.
I sat, too. My knees felt weak.
Pecola.
I mouthed the name once, in silence.
Grin lowered himself beside me, his gaze unreadable.
"Do you...remember?" he asked softly.
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure.
And somehow, that was worse than forgetting.
___________________________________
Hours went by
Everyone had fell
into a deep sleep.
besides me of course.
Something tugged behind my sternum.
Not the old "pull" again. Not that strange hum in the ribs.
No—this was sharp. Specific. Like a line snapping taut.
The fire had died down to nothing but an orange sigh.
I stood. No one stirred.
I stepped barefoot over Dolly's porcelain leg. Antic's chest rose and fell slow and even. Grin sat farther off, still as a stone.
I walked.
Each step into the trees felt heavier. Not in weight, but in knowing. The forest didn't sleep. It watched.
There was no sound except the hush of my breath. Even the wind had gone still.
Then: a flicker.
Not light. Not sound.
A presence.
Not like Antic's, all scattered and warm. Or Dolly's, jagged and sharp. Not Grin's brittle sadness either.
Something else.
Like being watched by the absence of someone.
I stopped.
And something breathed behind me.
"...not...supposed...to be here…"
I turned.
No one.
But the trees had moved.
They leaned in now—subtly warped, branches hung low like spider legs over prey.
I stepped back. My heel touched something wet.
The ground beneath me sank.
The forest groaned.
A voice—whispered directly in my ear, though nothing stood close enough:
"Child of the Sightless. You were not invited."
Then something wrapped around my wrist.
I yanked—too late. The thing was velvet, tight as a leech, alive. Not a rope, not a vine—
A hand.
Pulled.
I didn't scream. I couldn't. My throat closed before air reached it.
The trees opened like a wound and swallowed me whole.