Chapter 616

The biting Finnish wind whipped across Jari's face as he cycled through the pre-dawn darkness. Eighteen years hadn't dulled the sting of these mornings, the way winter clung to the land long after the calendar suggested otherwise.

He was on his way back from a late shift at the small town's only 24-hour store, a place that smelled perpetually of stale coffee and desperation.

Jari wasn't supposed to be working nights. He was meant to be studying, preparing for university, escaping this town and its predictable existence. But escape was expensive, and his mother's health was more pressing than textbooks. So, he worked, stacking shelves and dealing with the occasional drunkard looking for cigarettes at 3 am.

Tonight, however, the routine was broken. Earlier, an old woman, her face a roadmap of wrinkles and her eyes unsettlingly bright, had leaned close as he scanned her groceries. Her breath smelled of mothballs and something faintly metallic. "Have you heard of the In-Between Place, young man?" she'd whispered, her voice raspy like dry leaves skittering across pavement.

Jari had paused, barcode scanner beeping impatiently in his hand. "The what?"

"The In-Between Place," she repeated, ignoring the impatient sighs of the customer behind her. "Between worlds, they say. Only accessible for twenty minutes each day, when the veil thins." She tapped a gnarled finger against the counter. "Four to four-twenty in the morning."

He'd laughed it off, assuming she was just a bit confused. "Sounds like a story, Mummo."

She'd fixed him with that unnerving stare. "Some stories are more real than you imagine. And some places… they call to those who are listening." She paid for her groceries, her eyes never leaving his, and then shuffled out into the night, leaving Jari with a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

Now, cycling in the darkness, the old woman's words echoed in his mind. He dismissed it as nonsense, of course, just local folklore. But the seed was planted. He was naturally inquisitive, always wondering about the edges of things, the parts of the world that didn't quite fit.

He glanced at his wristwatch. 3:50 am. He was almost home. His route took him past the old forest on the outskirts of town, a place most people avoided even in daylight, whispering tales of strange occurrences and disappearances.

He'd always felt a pull towards it, a sense of something ancient and watchful within the trees.

As he neared the forest edge, he felt a peculiar pull, an almost physical tug, drawing him towards the treeline. He stopped, considering it for a moment. Just curiosity, he told himself. No harm in a quick look. It was almost four am anyway, might as well stretch his legs before going home.

He leaned his bicycle against a weathered sign warning against trespassing – a sign he'd ignored countless times as a kid, exploring these woods. The air here felt different, colder, heavier. He stepped into the trees, the darkness instantly deeper, the wind outside silenced by the dense canopy above.

He walked further in, the trees growing taller, their branches gnarled like skeletal fingers. The ground underfoot was soft, damp earth and decaying leaves. There was a silence here unlike any he'd known, a silence that pressed against his ears, amplifying the beat of his own heart.

Then, he noticed it. A faint luminescence filtering through the trees ahead, a soft, unnatural glow. He moved towards it, drawn in by an unseen force. The trees began to thin, and he stepped into a small clearing.

It wasn't like any clearing he'd ever seen in these woods. The ground was not forest floor, but smooth, grey stone. The trees surrounding it were twisted, their bark a sickly green color he'd never witnessed in nature.

And in the center of the clearing, bathed in that eerie light, stood a stone structure, like a small, open-sided gazebo, supported by four intricately carved pillars.

He approached cautiously, his breath catching in his throat. The light seemed to emanate from within the structure itself, a soft, pulsating glow that seemed to resonate with a low, almost inaudible hum. As he stepped closer, he noticed carvings on the pillars, symbols he didn't recognize, strange and unsettling.

He reached the structure, his hand trembling slightly as he touched one of the cold stone pillars. The air around him seemed to vibrate, the humming intensifying. He looked at his wristwatch again. 4:00 am. Exactly.

As if on cue, the light intensified, flooding the clearing. The trees around him seemed to shimmer, their forms distorting slightly. The air crackled with an unseen energy, raising the hairs on his arms. He felt a jolt, a strange sensation of being pulled, not physically, but… shifted.

The clearing solidified again, but it was different. The grey stone was now a darker, almost black obsidian. The sickly green of the trees was more pronounced, their forms more grotesque. The light was no longer soft, but a harsh, cold white, illuminating every detail with unnatural clarity.

He felt a wave of disorientation, a moment of vertigo. He blinked, trying to make sense of the transformation. Then, he saw them.

Carved into the base of one of the pillars, glowing faintly in the unnatural light, were words. Not in Finnish, not in English, but in symbols similar to those on the pillars, yet somehow… readable. His mind translated them, not as words, but as pure meaning.

Rule One: Speak only when spoken to.

He stared at the words, a cold dread settling in his stomach. This was no local legend, no hallucination. This was something… else. He looked around, the clearing silent, the trees motionless. He was alone. For now.

Then, more symbols appeared below the first rule, glowing with the same eerie light.

Rule Two: Do not stray from the light.

He glanced around the clearing. The light was contained within this small space, the trees surrounding it plunged into an almost absolute darkness. A darkness that seemed to press in, to watch.

Another set of symbols materialized.

Rule Three: Offer no metal.

Metal? He touched his belt buckle, the zipper on his jacket. His bicycle outside, made of metal. What did it mean? He felt a growing sense of unease, a primal fear taking root.

The final rule appeared.

Rule Four: Listen to the whispers, but do not answer them.

Whispers? He strained his ears, listening. The silence was still profound, but… beneath it, a faint rustling, a sound like dry leaves being dragged across stone. Whispers.

He looked at his wristwatch again. 4:05 am. Fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes in this… place. He was trapped. Not physically, not yet. But trapped by rules he didn't understand, in a place that felt fundamentally wrong.

He took a tentative step, moving deeper into the clearing, staying within the harsh white light. The obsidian ground was smooth, unnervingly so. He felt watched, scrutinized, by something unseen in the darkness beyond the light.

A rustling sound closer now, just at the edge of the light. He spun around, heart hammering against his ribs. Nothing. Just the twisted trees, their branches reaching like claws into the darkness. He told himself it was just the wind, but there was no wind here, no natural sound at all.

"Hello?" he called out, the word ripping through the oppressive silence. He'd spoken. Rule One. He immediately regretted it, the sound of his own voice alien and jarring in this place.

The air around him seemed to thicken, the white light intensifying, almost blinding. The humming grew louder, resonating in his bones. He felt a pressure building, a weight pressing down on him. Panic began to claw at his throat.

Then, a sound. Not the rustling, but a voice. Faint, distant, yet somehow clear, as if it were inside his own head. "Lost?"

Jari froze, every muscle tensed. He looked around, desperately searching for the source of the voice. No one. Nothing but the trees and the cold white light. He remembered Rule One: Speak only when spoken to. He had spoken first. Had he broken the rule? Or was this… being spoken to?

"Who's there?" he managed to croak out, his voice trembling. Rule One again. He was making it worse.

The voice chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Rules are for your protection, little one. Not for you to question."

Protection? From what? Or from whom? He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He wanted to run, to bolt back into the trees, to escape this place, but he remembered Rule Two: Do not stray from the light. The darkness seemed to promise something far worse than staying here.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He was speaking again, but… he felt compelled to. The voice seemed to demand answers, even as it refused to give any.

"The In-Between Place," the voice replied, the words echoing in his mind. "Between worlds. Between moments. Between realities."

The In-Between Place. The old woman's words. It was real. Horrifyingly real.

He looked at his wristwatch. 4:10 am. Ten minutes left. Ten minutes to figure out how to leave, or what would happen if he couldn't.

"How do I leave?" he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation. "Please, I need to go."

Silence. The humming intensified again, the white light pulsing. The rustling sound grew louder, closer, circling the edge of the light. He felt eyes on him, unseen eyes, watching from the darkness.

Then, another voice. Fainter than the first, higher pitched, almost childlike. "Lost something?"

He spun around again, fear gripping him like ice. Two voices now. And still, nothing visible. Just the oppressive silence and the watching darkness. Rule Four: Listen to the whispers, but do not answer them. He was answering them. He couldn't seem to stop himself.

"No," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm not lost. I just want to leave."

A chorus of voices now, whispering, murmuring, overlapping, swirling around him, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Leave? But you just arrived. Stay. Stay with us. We have stories to tell. Secrets to share."

He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the voices, but they were inside his head now, not external sounds, but thoughts, feelings, emotions, flooding his mind. He staggered back, bumping into one of the stone pillars. His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic embedded in the stone. A small, silver coin.

He looked down. Coins. Hundreds of them, embedded in the obsidian ground around the base of the structure, gleaming faintly in the white light. Coins of all shapes and sizes, ancient and modern, silver and copper and gold. Offer no metal. Rule Three.

He had metal on him. His keys, his phone, the zipper on his jacket, the metal frame of his glasses. He had offered metal just by being here. Had he broken another rule?

The voices grew louder, more insistent, pressing in on him, suffocating him. "Stay. Join us. Become one of us. Forever."

He looked at his wristwatch again. 4:15 am. Five minutes. Five minutes and he was trapped here, forever. He understood now. The rules weren't just warnings, they were binding agreements. He'd broken them, perhaps inadvertently, but broken them nonetheless.

He sank to his knees, the voices swirling, the light intensifying, the darkness pressing in. He was lost. Truly lost. Not just in this place, but lost to himself, to his life, to everything he had ever known or hoped for.

Then, a final voice, deeper, more resonant than the others, spoke, cutting through the chorus of whispers. "Time is fleeting, little one. Choices have consequences."

He looked up, tears blurring his vision. Standing at the edge of the light, just stepping out of the darkness, was a figure. Tall, gaunt, shrouded in shadow, but with eyes that burned with cold, ancient light.

"Please," Jari whispered, his voice broken. "Let me go. I didn't mean to break the rules. I didn't understand."

The figure stepped closer, into the white light. Its face was hidden in shadow, but its voice resonated with a profound sadness. "Understanding comes too late for some. The rules are not broken by intention, but by action."

It raised a hand, long, skeletal fingers reaching towards him. "You sought knowledge, curiosity drove you. Now you shall learn the ultimate lesson."

Jari closed his eyes, bracing for… what? Punishment? Death? Something worse?

But nothing happened. The voices faded slightly, the light dimmed. He opened his eyes. The figure was still there, its hand outstretched. But it wasn't reaching for him. It was pointing. Pointing at the stone structure, at the carvings, at the rules.

"Look closer, little one," the figure whispered, its voice softer now, tinged with a sorrow that resonated deep within Jari's soul. "The rules… they are not just about staying. They are about leaving too."

Jari looked at the carvings again, his mind racing, trying to decipher their true meaning. Speak only when spoken to. Do not stray from the light. Offer no metal. Listen to the whispers, but do not answer them. They were prohibitions, yes, but also… instructions.

He focused on Rule Three: Offer no metal. He had metal. He had offered metal by simply being here, by bringing it into this place. But what if… what if offering metal was not the transgression, but the key?

He reached into his pocket, his hand trembling, and pulled out the only metal he could readily give. Not his keys, not his phone, not his glasses. Something smaller, less valuable, but still metal. A small, Finnish coin, a ten-cent piece he'd found in the street earlier that day and absentmindedly put in his pocket.

He held it out, his hand shaking, towards the figure, towards the stone pillar, towards the ground covered in coins. "I… I offer metal," he stammered, his voice barely audible. "Is this… is this what you want?"

The figure did not move, did not speak. The voices were silent now, the white light steady, the darkness still watchful. He felt a shift, a subtle change in the atmosphere, a lessening of the oppressive weight.

He stepped forward and pressed the coin into the obsidian ground, next to the hundreds of others, a tiny, insignificant offering among so many. As his fingers touched the stone, a jolt of energy, not painful, but… transformative, surged through him.

The white light flared again, brighter than ever, then faded, abruptly. The humming ceased. The clearing shimmered, distorted, and then… vanished.

He was standing in the forest again, the familiar darkness of the pre-dawn woods surrounding him. The trees were normal trees, the ground soft earth and leaves. The cold wind whipped at his face, bringing with it the sounds of the waking world, distant traffic, birds beginning to stir.

He looked at his wristwatch. 4:20 am. Exactly. The In-Between Place was gone. The twenty minutes were over. He was back. He was free.

He sank to his knees again, not in fear, but in exhaustion, in disbelief. He was alive. He was out. He had escaped. He had offered metal. He had followed the rules, in a way he hadn't understood at first.

He looked down at his hand. Empty. The ten-cent coin was gone. Offered, and accepted. But something else was gone too. Something more valuable than a coin.

He felt it then, a hollow ache in his chest, a profound sense of loss, deeper than any fear he had experienced in the In-Between Place. He reached for his phone, to call his mother, to tell her he was okay, to hear her voice.

No phone. He checked his pockets again, frantically. No keys, no wallet, no glasses. All gone. Offered as metal, perhaps? Taken in exchange for his escape?

He was free, yes. But free and utterly alone. Stripped bare, not just of possessions, but of connection, of comfort, of everything that anchored him to his normal life.

He had escaped the In-Between Place, but he had paid a terrible price. He had offered not just a coin, but a part of himself, his life, his future, his identity, sacrificed for a brief glimpse into the unknown, a moment of curiosity that had cost him everything.

The biting wind felt colder than ever, and for the first time in his eighteen years, Jari understood the true, brutal meaning of being utterly, irrevocably alone.