After finishing his brief conversation with Max at the school gate, Alex took a deep breath and headed toward the bustling market to tackle the grocery list Grey had given him. The familiar hum of the market—vendors calling out, people chatting, and the vibrant mix of scents from fresh produce to spices—was a sharp contrast to the heavy thoughts swirling in his mind.
As he navigated through the aisles, stocking his basket with the needed items, Alex's attention was suddenly drawn to a familiar figure. It was Louis, walking calmly alongside his dog, Lily, a sleek German Shepherd with an eager, friendly gaze. Louis was picking up some dog food, a small but clear sign of care and routine.
Recognizing each other, they exchanged greetings and soon fell into an easy conversation. Louis shared bits of his everyday life, confessing with a chuckle that he didn't really know how to cook. He survived mostly on store-bought bento boxes, instant ramen, and peanut butter sandwiches. Alex laughed quietly, surprised at how different their worlds sometimes felt—and yet how much the simple things connected them.
Louise talked fondly about Lily, mentioning she was just two years old and full of energy. The dog's tail wagged energetically as if joining the conversation itself. The ease between Alex and Louis was a welcome respite from the heavier worries circling Alex's thoughts.
As they finished their shopping, Louis offered to give Alex a ride home. At first, Alex politely declined, preferring to walk and think in solitude. But Louis's insistence was gentle yet firm, and Alex eventually agreed, grateful for the company.
During the drive home, their chatter was light but comfortable, a rare moment of normalcy. Upon reaching the cabin, Alex offered Louis dinner as a thank you, but Louis declined, mentioning a duty he had to attend and promising to take Alex up on the offer next time. With a friendly wave, they parted ways.
That night, Alex sat alone in the dimly lit cabin, feeling a strange mixture of dread and curiosity. He was cooking dinner—simple, as usual—when suddenly the lights flickered erratically, casting looming shadows across the room. Before he could react, the entire power cut out, plunging everything into utter darkness. His heart pounded, and instinctively, he fumbled around for his phone, using its flashlight to search for candles.
He found one, flickering weakly in his trembling hand, and lit it, setting the small flame on the table. As the flame steadied, a low, slow lullaby started to echo throughout the cabin. It was faint at first, almost inaudible, but then it grew clearer—intertwined with two voices, whispering and laughing softly, as if singing a sinister lullaby. The voices felt warm but unnervingly off, like a ghostly memory coming alive.
Alex's senses sharpened at the sound. He was moving consciously now, drawn into the melody. Each step toward the source of the voices felt like an act of surrender to something ancient and unknowable. A voice, faint and familiar, called his name—soft and coaxing. A deep, calming warmth wrapped around him as he followed that voice, walking closer and closer toward the sound.
Suddenly, the voices intensified—the laughter, the whispering—until Alex felt himself being enveloped in a strange, comforting darkness. The melody was soothing, almost hypnotic, pulling him deeper. As he moved through this strange sensation, he felt himself being lifted, caught between reality and another realm, until everything vanished.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called his name—it was Grey's. Alex's awareness blurred, and he lost consciousness.
When he regained consciousness, he was outside the cabin, mud covering his hands and feet. The moonlight cast silvery shadows on his face, and he was breathless, disoriented, with the surreal impression that he had just experienced something more than a dream—something tapping into unseen realms tied to his family secrets.
Grey's voice trembled slightly as he asked, "What are you doing outside here?"—but the expression on his face wasn't one of anger or concern. There was something else, something far more complicated that Alex couldn't quite place.
Grey's eyes flickered briefly with a mixture of hesitation and unease, the muscles around his mouth tightening in a way that suggested suppressed fear rather than reprimand. His brow furrowed subtly, then relaxed, but the underlying tension remained, visible only in micro-expressions—fleeting and almost imperceptible movements that conveyed a web of conflicting emotions.
Alex felt the weight of this unspoken struggle as they stepped inside the cabin, where the lights flickered back on. Alex sank down onto the sofa, overwhelmed by fear and shock, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
After a moment, gathering courage, Alex looked at Grey and asked bluntly, "You know everything, don't you?"
Grey remained silent, avoiding eye contact, the quiet stretching unbearably until Alex's frustration boiled over. "You deliberately brought me here, knowing this place isn't safe! Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was sharp, angry.
Grey's only response was a soft, "I'm sorry," spoken with a weary resignation that deepened Alex's annoyance.
Before he could say something he might regret, Alex stormed off to his room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the cabin filled with tension and unspoken fears.
Alex stands alone in his room, the weight of the night pressing down like a heavy curtain. The air feels thick, the quiet almost suffocating, as memories and fears mingle into a single, stubborn ache behind his ribs. He replays Grey's face in his head—the tremor in his voice, the unreadable micro-expressions that flicker for a fraction of a second and vanish, leaving behind only a residue of unease. The memory of the mud on his hands and feet from the night before keeps insisting on coming back, as if trying to prove that what happened wasn't merely a dream or a momentary lapse of judgment.
His mind drifts to the lullaby from the cabin, that strange, almost comforting sound that seemed to pull him toward an unseen current. It wasn't pleasant in the way a bedtime lullaby should be; it carried a resonance that felt ancient, warning, and intimate all at once. He wonders if Grey's silence after the confrontation was a shield, a strategy to protect him from something dangerous his uncle knows but won't reveal. The idea gnaws at him: if Grey knows more than he's willing to say, what would that mean for the fragile trust between them? Would revealing the truth heal or rupture the fragile bond they share?
Sleep remains elusive. He runs through possible explanations for Grey's demeanor: perhaps a lifeline thrown in the form of a quiet alliance, a whispered shelter in the storm, or a guarded admission that some parts of their family history are simply too perilous to disclose. The ache of wanting to understand—wanting to be prepared for what's coming next—rises and settles again, only to surge anew with every unsettled breath.
On one hand, the urge to confront Grey—demand answers, demand honesty—pulls at him with the force of a current. On the other hand, the fear of what those answers might unleash makes him pause. He's aware that seeking the truth could either strengthen their relationship or deepen the rift that now quietly simmers between them. The night has taught him that knowledge is double-edged: it can illuminate a path forward or cast long shadows that darken everything it touches.
He clings to a sliver of resolve: whatever lies ahead, it must be faced with caution and a wary sense of self-preservation. He knows the diary holds dangerous truths, but he also knows that some truths won't wait forever. Tomorrow, perhaps, there will be a moment to test the boundaries—to ask the hard questions, to demand clarity, and to insist on a shared understanding of the danger that seems to cling to their family's past.
For now, he breathes in slowly, counting to ten, trying to settle the jittery meteor of thoughts that keeps crashing inside his skull. He collects himself, preparing to re-enter the world of day and its ordinary demands: breakfast, school, the grocery list, and the looming presence of the forest and its mysteries. If he's going to navigate this labyrinth, he will need patience, resolve, and a careful plan to separate fear from fact while safeguarding his own fragile sense of self.
In the quiet, a fragile decision takes shape: tomorrow, he will seek a discreet moment with Grey, not in accusation but in a calm, direct request for honesty. He will listen, observe, and judge the truth by what is said and what remains unsaid. The journey ahead is uncertain, but it begins with one clear step: choosing to face the questions rather than letting them fester in the dark.