The Unseen Cage

Ethan couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching him, pressing down on his every move. Mrs. Calloway's warning echoed in his mind. You need to leave town. Before it's too late.

But deep down, he knew the truth—leaving Whispering Pines wasn't an option anymore.

Something had already marked him.

And it wasn't going to let him go.

The walk back from Mrs. Calloway's house was silent, tense. The night air was thick, as if the town itself was holding its breath. Streetlights buzzed faintly, their glow barely piercing the dark.

Clara kept close beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Eleanor trailed behind, glancing over her shoulder every few steps.

Ethan clenched his fists, his mind racing. The book. The warnings. The shadow that had been watching him. It all pointed to something much bigger than he had imagined.

Something buried.

Something waiting.

"We should go back to the inn," Clara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Figure out our next move."

Eleanor exhaled sharply. "Our next move should be leaving. Immediately."

Ethan shook his head. "If it was that easy, don't you think I would've done it already?" He turned to face them. "Something is keeping me here. I can feel it. And now that I know about the mark, about the disappearances, I can't just walk away."

Clara rubbed her arms as if trying to fight off a sudden chill. "Then what do we do?"

Ethan hesitated. "We find out what it wants."

Eleanor's face paled. "You want to invite whatever this is closer?"

"No," Ethan said. "I want to understand it."

Because if he didn't… he had the horrible feeling it would destroy him before he ever got the chance to leave.

Back at the inn, the silence was suffocating.

Ethan locked the door behind them, double-checking the latch. The air inside was stale, the dim lamp on the bedside table casting long shadows.

Clara dropped onto the edge of the bed, rubbing her temples. "So, what now?"

Ethan sat across from her, pulling the old book onto his lap. He traced the brittle edges with his fingertips. The Marked are chosen. The Marked are cursed.

"What if this mark isn't just a sign?" he murmured.

Eleanor, pacing near the window, frowned. "What do you mean?"

He met her gaze. "What if it's a doorway?"

Clara's eyes widened. "Like a way for it to get in?"

Ethan swallowed hard. "Or a way for me to get closer to it."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Then—

A scratching sound came from the walls.

Eleanor jolted, spinning toward the noise. "What was that?"

Ethan stood, heart pounding. The sound was faint but deliberate, a slow dragging of something sharp against the wooden panels.

Clara whispered, "Is someone inside the walls?"

The scratching grew louder. Closer.

Ethan grabbed the lamp, the dim glow trembling in his grip. He took a slow step toward the wall. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Then, right next to his ear—

A whisper.

A breathy, unnatural voice.

"Let me in."

Ethan stumbled backward, knocking over the lamp. The room plunged into darkness. Clara gasped. Eleanor cursed under her breath.

The scratching stopped.

And in its place—

A slow, rhythmic knocking.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Ethan's chest tightened. The knocking wasn't coming from the walls.

It was coming from the inside of his closet.

Eleanor grabbed Ethan's arm. "Do not open that door."

But Ethan was already moving. His breath was shallow, his body rigid with fear.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

A pause.

Then—

The knob twisted.

Clara grabbed a flashlight, fumbling with the switch. The beam flickered on just as the closet door creaked open.

Nothing.

Just darkness.

A deep, endless void.

Ethan took a shaky step forward, shining the light inside. Clothes hung neatly on a rod. An old suitcase sat in the corner. The walls were empty. No holes. No hidden doors.

But the air inside… felt wrong.

Heavy. Like something had just been standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Eleanor let out a shaky breath. "There's nothing there."

Clara swallowed. "Then what was knocking?"

Ethan stared into the closet. The shadows seemed to shift, just slightly, as if something had moved deeper into the dark.

He slowly reached forward—

And something cold brushed against his fingertips.

He jerked back, slamming the closet door shut. His breathing was ragged. Clara and Eleanor stood frozen, wide-eyed.

Ethan clenched his fists.

Something was inside the room with them.

And it wasn't leaving.

That night, Ethan barely slept. The closet door remained shut, but the air still felt thick with unseen presence.

At some point, exhaustion won. His body gave in.

And that's when the dream came.

He was standing in the middle of the forest. The trees loomed higher than before, their branches twisted like grasping hands. The air smelled of damp earth and decay.

And ahead of him—

The girl.

The one in white. The one who always disappeared before he could reach her.

Only this time, she was closer.

He could see her eyes now. Hollow. Dark.

"Ethan."

His breath caught.

She knew his name.

She lifted a trembling hand, pointing at his chest. "You don't have much time."

A sharp pain flared over his ribs. He looked down. The mark on his skin was spreading. The black lines twisting like veins, growing, pulsing.

"What is happening to me?" he demanded.

The girl's voice cracked. "It's waking up."

Ethan's pulse pounded in his ears. "What is?"

But the girl only shook her head. "Don't trust the shadows."

The wind howled around them. The trees bent backward as if something enormous was pushing through. A deep, guttural sound echoed in the distance. A sound that didn't belong to any animal.

The girl's expression turned to terror. "Run."

And then—

Ethan woke up.

Gasping. Sweating. His hands trembling.

Clara and Eleanor stirred in their sleep, oblivious to his panic. The room was silent, still.

But Ethan knew better.

Something was coming.

And now, it was no longer waiting in the dark.

It was waking up.