Chapter 6 - One, Two, The Woods want you

The forest hums with secrets, the air thick with damp earth and unseen eyes. The creature watches them—James and his little band—stepping cautiously beyond the trees, their breaths sharp, their movements stiff with unease. Oh, how delightful.

It tilts its head, listening. The wind carries its whispers, teasing James like a feather brushing his skin. "Well done, Daddy," it murmurs, its voice curling through the branches, playful and sweet. He stiffens, his eyes darting wildly. "He hears me... Oh, he hears me," it suppresses a giggle and turns to Lily, who stands beside it, her face frozen in an expressionless mask.

"He truly believes, doesn't he, Lily? That you're waiting for him, just beyond the next shadow, just past the tangled roots. How eager he is to find you... and your dear, sweet mother." Its voice drips with amusement, twining around the trunks like smoke.

Lily does not respond, does not blink. She never does. The thing that wears her face is but a puppet, a vessel for the game. It doesn't mind. The real fun is just beginning.

"I want to play with him more and more. What should I ask him to do, Lily? Hmm… should I make him run around in circles until his feet bleed and his heart stops beating? Or should I make him watch as his friends die, one by one, while I pluck the light from his eyes like petals from a flower? Maybe I should let him reach you… only to find that I've made you mine." It sighs, shuddering with delight. "Oh, there are so many choices! I just can't decide. Should I ask your mother?" It turns to the second figure beside Lily, just as lifeless, just as empty.

But boredom creeps in, slithering beneath its skin. Anticipation is a sweet torment, but the creature craves more—the sharp taste of terror, the frantic dance of prey realizing it has no escape. It shifts its attention to the group marching deeper into the woods. It crouches low, its form blending seamlessly into the undergrowth. They bring many with them—researchers, mercenaries, doctors, all wrapped in their fragile sense of security. How deliciously naïve.

"So many this time," it muses. "So many wonderful little pieces of this delicious pie." It licks its lips. "Of course, they will fight over them. Always do. Should I help them? Should I lead them deeper, deeper into the hollow belly of my home?" A low chuckle bubbles up. "No… That would get angry. That would cause a ruckus. It's not worth it. Not yet."

It turns its gaze back to James, watching the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of uncertainty in his steps. He shudders, glancing toward the others as if seeking reassurance.

"Good. Doubt is delicious. It makes the mind fragile, easy to bend, easy to break."

The others speak, but their words are distant, meaningless noise. They don't hear it like he does. They don't feel its breath against their necks or sense its fingers tracing invisible lines along their spines.

Captain Brooks barks orders, calling for formation as if he has control.

Control.

The thought almost makes it laugh. He doesn't understand—none of them do. The forest is not theirs to command. It never was, and it never will be.

It weaves its voice through the branches, threading it between the crunch of their boots and the restless whisper of leaves. "Come find us, Daddy. We're waiting for you."

James clenches his fists, his breath sharp. The creature can almost taste the war inside him—the desperate need battling against the weight of duty. His fingers twitch toward his weapon, hesitating, his pulse hammering against his throat like a countdown he doesn't understand. He wants to run to Lily. But not yet, not yet.

The shadows stretch, shifting just beyond their sight. The trees grow denser, their ancient limbs knitting together, sealing the path behind them like a mouth snapping shut. The air thickens, pressing against them, the weight of unseen things watching, waiting. The game must begin soon.

The others are impatient. The creature can feel them stirring, restless, eager. They always are. If it does not start the game soon, they will. And it does so hate sharing.

The shadows flicker. The ground shudders. It begins.

The voices come first—thin, reedy laughter drifting through the trees, the giggle of unseen children echoing between the trunks. Then the whispers, curling through the air like fingers brushing the nape of the neck.

"Let's play a game. I love games, you know… What shall we play?"

The humans stiffen, their hearts thudding deliciously in their chests. Fear spreads through them like ink in water.

The scent of damp rot thickens around James, clinging to his throat like fingers. A weight presses against his back, though nothing is there when he whirls around.

The creature licks its lips, its own voice dropping into something deeper, something ancient. "Welcome to the woods. Let the game begin."