chapter 10 - Blindfold

A girl of around six years old, in a worn-out red dress, was digging under a tree in a slightly old but otherwise clean orphanage. The surroundings buzzed with whispers from other children, slightly older than her, and caretakers about someone important visiting.

She heard the sound of a car and looked up to see a boy, around the same age as her—maybe a bit younger—in a wheelchair stepping out and wheeling into the orphanage alongside his parents. She thought that his family might be the ones donating money in the name of charity, as Mrs. Grey had mentioned. But she hadn't cared about any of that. She was too busy digging beneath the gnarled roots of the oldest tree in the orphanage yard.

She felt the shadow before she saw him. When she looked up, the boy she had seen earlier peered down at her from his wheelchair, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

The girl startled and hesitated before whispering, "Mrs. Grey told us a story about a king who once buried a magic lamp under a tree like this. A lamp that grants three wishes."

His eyes widened. "Any wish?"

She nodded solemnly.

He was quiet for a moment before asking, "If I help you look, will you let me make a wish too?"

Without hesitation, she agreed.

For hours, they dug, soil embedding beneath their nails, their small hands growing raw. His face was stained with mud, and since he wasn't strong, his breath came in short gasps, his limbs trembling from the effort. His expensive clothes were drenched in sweat, streaked with dirt.

When he could no longer continue, the girl looked at him and, after a moment of thought, spoke in a confident voice. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Blaint," the boy gasped. "What's yours?"

"Isabella." She puffed her chest slightly before continuing, "You look weak. If you come under my protection, I'll look under other trees too. And if I find it, even if you're not there, I'll give you the lamp so you can make your wish, after I made mine. So, what do you say?"

Blaint smiled at her—a real, warm smile—and said, "Sure. You promised... I'll come back for you." Then his smile faded, and with an urgent voice, he said:

"Isa! You need to wake up… Now!"

A sharp jolt ripped her from unconsciousness.

Isabella's eyes snapped open, only to meet suffocating darkness. A damp, stale smell clung to the air, thick with decay and something far worse. Her head throbbed, a dull ache spreading from where she had struck the ground. Disoriented, she reached out blindly, her fingers skimming over the rough, uneven surface beneath her. It was cold. Damp. Stone?

Her breath quickened.

Memories came in fractured flashes. The police officer vanishing. The panic. The group scattering. She had run, pushing through the chaos, her heartbeat a frantic drum in her chest. Then—Jack. Brianna. They had collided, gasping, terrified. A voice had spoken, explaining the game in a way that made her blood run cold. A game of Tag.

Then a force—something unseen but impossibly strong—had wrenched them apart, throwing her into the darkness. Against the rules, it had said.

Isabella pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. She had hit the ground. Hard.

A shiver crawled down her spine. Where was she?

She extended her trembling hands, searching. Her fingertips brushed something soft. Fabric. Skin.

A body.

Her breath hitched, the air thick in her throat as she dragged herself closer.

The dim, almost nonexistent light did little to reveal details, but as she reached out, her hands met something wet. Something warm.

The coppery scent hit her a second later, and a sob choked her as her fingers pressed into the torn flesh of what had once been a man.

The police officer who had been at the tail end of their group.

Isabella could still recognize his uniform—or what was left of it. His torso was grotesquely mutilated, half of him simply missing, as if something had torn straight through him. His intestines spilled from the jagged wound, slick and glistening in the dimness. His mouth hung open, frozen in a soundless scream, eyes bulging in a way that made her stomach lurch violently.

A strangled cry built in her throat, but no sound came.

Then she felt it.

A presence. Watching.

Terror seized her, and she scrambled backward, bile rising, legs too weak to hold her weight. Her hands slipped in the sticky pool of blood beneath her, and she crashed onto her back—only to collide with something else.

Another body.

She gasped sharply, her throat locking as she twisted, her gaze falling onto another corpse. A researcher. She didn't know his name, but his face—oh God, his face. His eyes were wide, filled with frozen terror, his mouth slightly open as if his final breath had never made it past his lips.

His lower body—

Gone.

No. Not gone.

Chewed.

Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing up her throat as she scrambled away on trembling limbs, her breathing ragged. She couldn't think. Couldn't process. Couldn't breathe.

Her body revolted. She retched, violent heaves emptying her stomach, the acrid taste of vomit burning her throat. But even as she convulsed, the horror didn't fade. It only grew.

She had to move. Had to get away from this graveyard of the slaughtered.

Her legs were useless, her muscles spasming with fear, but she forced herself forward, crawling over the uneven ground. Her hands brushed against more bodies—some cold and stiff, others still leaking warmth.

She sobbed silently, tears streaming down her face, hands clamped over her mouth to suppress the wretched sounds threatening to escape.

If she made noise—

No. She wouldn't think about that.

There was no way out. No walls to feel against, no doors—just the endless darkness pressing against her. Then—

A flicker.

A light.

Weak, distant, but there.

Isabella latched onto it with everything she had, her body trembling as she willed herself upright. Every muscle protested, every nerve screamed, but she pushed forward, limping, dragging herself toward the only thing that wasn't soaked in death.

She didn't dare look back.

Didn't dare wonder if something was looking at her from the darkness she left behind.

Didn't dare acknowledge the feeling that she was no longer alone.