Beneath the Earth

Ethan stumbled backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hand burned where the symbol had appeared, the pain sharp and electric, as if something had seared it into his skin from the inside.

He clenched his fist, trying to steady himself. The night air was cold, but a thin layer of sweat covered his skin.

Eleanor was gone.

No footprints. No trace of her. It was as if she had never been there at all.

But she had.

And so had… something else.

The whispers were gone, but the forest wasn't silent.

Somewhere in the distance, something moved.

Ethan's body tensed. The sound wasn't like the wind shifting the trees. It was deliberate. Slow. A dragging sound.

He turned toward the woods, heart hammering. "Eleanor?"

Nothing.

Just the rustling of leaves. The distant hoot of an owl. The town's dim glow in the distance, promising safety.

He should leave. He should.

But he didn't.

Instead, his feet carried him back toward the place where the earth had shifted.

As he stepped closer, the air grew thicker. Like wading through invisible water. His breath felt heavy in his chest, like he was breathing in something he wasn't meant to.

Then—he saw it.

The ground wasn't the same. It had sunk.

A circular depression in the earth, like something had pushed up from underneath.

The knock.

It had come from here.

Ethan swallowed hard and crouched down. The soil was loose, fresh. Someone—or something—had disturbed it.

And beneath it…

Something was buried.

His fingers twitched, hesitating. Every instinct in him screamed to leave, to walk away, to pretend he hadn't seen this.

But another part of him—the part that had always been drawn to things he shouldn't be—refused.

He started digging.

The earth was damp and cold beneath his fingertips. He worked fast, his heart pounding harder with every handful of dirt he tossed aside. The deeper he dug, the stronger the feeling became—this wasn't the first time he had done this.

Then—his fingers hit something solid.

Ethan froze.

Wood.

His breath caught. A box.

It was old, the wood warped with time, bound with rusted metal clasps. Dirt had seeped into the cracks, but he could still make out faint carvings along the edges.

A symbol.

The same symbol that was now burned into his hand.

Ethan's throat went dry. His fingers trembled as he brushed the last of the dirt away, then reached for the latch.

It crumbled under his touch.

The box creaked as he slowly lifted the lid—

And inside—

A note.

Nothing else. Just a folded piece of paper, yellowed and fragile, resting against the bare wooden bottom.

Ethan stared. After everything—just a note?

He swallowed hard and reached in, unfolding it with careful fingers. The writing was familiar. A hurried scrawl, letters pressed hard into the paper, like they had been written in desperation.

His stomach twisted as he read.

"DO NOT DIG. DO NOT REMEMBER. IF YOU FIND THIS—RUN."

And at the bottom—

His own signature.

Ethan's vision blurred. His own handwriting. His own name.

He had written this.

And he had no memory of doing it.

A sharp sound tore through the silence.

A whisper.

But this time—it came from inside the box.

Ethan's head snapped down. His breath hitched—

The bottom of the box was moving.

A crack formed in the wood, splitting wider and wider—

And then—

A hand shot up from the darkness inside.

Gripping Ethan's wrist.

Pulling him in.