Chapter 304

It was a small village, tucked away far enough from the nearest town that it still felt untouched by the rest of the world. A place where the streets grew quiet after dusk, and the houses were worn from years of standing guard against the elements.

Some said the village was cursed, others just called it strange, but in truth, it was simply forgotten. A place that time had overlooked. It had been decades since anyone from the outside bothered to visit, and even longer since anyone had left.

But then, one cold autumn evening, a child went missing.

Her name was Alma. She was the youngest of three sisters, the apple of her father's eye and the one who often trailed behind, peering into windows and poking through gardens, her curiosity always getting the best of her.

Her mother, worn and tired, often scolded her for wandering too far, but Alma rarely listened. She knew the village like the back of her hand and never feared what she might find in the woods at the edge of town.

That was, until the woman came.

Alma had seen her only once before. She was tall, draped in a heavy cloak that reached the ground, her face mostly obscured by a hood. The first time Alma saw her, the woman had been walking along the edge of the forest, eyes distant as though she were searching for something. Alma had been too scared to approach her, but the woman seemed harmless enough, just a stranger passing through.

The second time was different.

It was evening, the sky already black, and Alma had wandered farther than she realized. She'd passed the familiar patches of birch trees and the old stone wall that marked the village boundary, drawn deeper into the woods by something she couldn't explain.

The leaves crunched beneath her small shoes, the air crisp as it bit at her exposed skin. She had turned around once, a faint sense of unease creeping into her, but she convinced herself it was nothing. After all, there was nothing to fear in the woods. Not at night. Not here.

That's when she heard it. Soft footsteps, dragging behind her, then a soft rustling.

Alma spun around, eyes wide. Her heart beat faster.

The woman stood there, her cloak billowing, her face still hidden. Alma couldn't breathe. It was like she'd been waiting, watching.

"Are you lost, little one?" the woman's voice was soft, but there was something cold behind it. A low, hum of malice just below the surface. Alma took a step back, trying to shake the fear gnawing at her.

"I... I'm not lost. I'm just... just exploring," Alma stammered, her voice a weak attempt at defiance.

The woman's head tilted, her voice drawing closer as if it belonged to the woods themselves. "Exploring, yes... That's what they all say. But exploration comes with a price. You'll see."

Before Alma could react, the woman's gloved hand reached out, and the world went black.

------

The village woke to Alma's absence the next morning. Her sisters searched everywhere, calling her name until their throats were raw. The town's people gathered, some searching the woods, others whispering about the curse that hung over the place. It wasn't the first time a child had gone missing. Not in recent years, but it wasn't unheard of.

They called the police, but no one came.

Days passed, then weeks, but Alma never returned. Her disappearance became just another one of those unsolved mysteries, and as with all things that had haunted the village before, it faded into the background, a half-remembered whisper that was easier to forget than face.

------

But Alma hadn't gone far. She was somewhere else entirely now.

Her eyes opened, but the world around her was dark, twisted, foreign. She was lying on something soft, but the softness had a strange, unnatural texture. Like old fabric, worn thin and frayed. She sat up, her head throbbing, her chest tight. The air smelled of something sweet, sickly sweet, like rotting fruit.

Her body shook as she forced herself to stand, stumbling forward into the darkness. The sound of her breath felt too loud, echoing in the cavernous space. She wasn't sure where she was, only that she was no longer in the woods. She'd been taken somewhere, somewhere where time didn't seem to exist.

Then she heard the voice.

It wasn't the woman's. This voice was sharp, filled with an edge that Alma couldn't describe. It wasn't kind, but neither was it cruel. It was... hungry. Hungry for something Alma couldn't understand.

"You are here now," the voice said, and Alma couldn't place it. "We'll make sure you grow strong. Strong enough to join us."

Before she could speak, something moved in the darkness—something huge, something alive. Alma felt it move around her, surrounding her. Her heart raced.

And then, something else. A sound, distant at first but growing louder. A chorus of voices. Children's voices.

Alma's breath caught in her throat as she spun around, searching. Her eyes began to adjust to the dark, enough to make out shapes. There were children—little girls, some younger than her, some older. They were all there, some huddled together, some alone. They sat on the ground, their hands bound with rough twine, their faces pale and empty, as if drained of any life they once had.

Somewhere in the back of the room, Alma saw the woman. Her face was now visible, though her features were blurred by something unnatural, her skin too smooth, her eyes too wide.

"It's easier this way," the woman said, her voice detached, like she was speaking to no one in particular. "They're all so eager to join us. They just don't know it yet."

Alma tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her legs trembled beneath her, her mind racing to make sense of what was happening. What had happened to her? What were they doing? What were they?

One of the little girls next to her began to cry, the sound sharp, desperate. The woman turned, her eyes narrowing. She moved toward the girl, and Alma saw her fingers twitch.

The girl's scream cut off abruptly. Alma saw her blink once, then twice. Then her face, once full of terror, turned blank. As though all the life had been drained from her.

"Don't worry," the woman said, as though speaking to all of them. "Soon, you'll all feel the same. You'll all understand."

Alma backed away, her heart hammering. She didn't understand, couldn't understand. She didn't want to understand.

But the woman was already moving toward her. Alma's legs shook, and before she could think, she ran.

She ran until her breath burned in her chest, until her legs felt like lead. She kept running, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the silence, until there was nowhere left to go. She was trapped. There was no escape.

The woman's cold hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her around. Alma's heart stopped. The woman's face, now fully clear, was nothing like she remembered. Her eyes were dark, bottomless pits of sorrow and rage.

"I told you," the woman said softly. "You're one of us now."

And Alma screamed.

------

The village moved on, as it always did. Time passed, seasons changed, and the memory of Alma's disappearance faded into the background. But every so often, someone would hear a soft voice on the wind, or see a shadow flicker in the corner of their vision.

They would brush it off, too busy with their lives to remember the old rumors. Too scared to speak of them aloud.

But the children who had gone missing—those who had never returned—were there, always watching from the shadows, always waiting. The witch had made sure of that.