Blogtober 2025, Day 10: Panicked

 

Lucy's Path: Chapter Ten

The sound grew thicker—too many voices, too close. Mark swung his flashlight toward the noise, but the beam flickered, catching only glimpses: faces half-formed between the trees, eyes like candle flames, small hands brushing the bark as they passed.

“Run,” Sarah whispered. “Please, Mark—run.”

But Mark couldn’t move. His legs felt rooted, as if the soil itself clutched him. The humming deepened, warping into a low, rhythmic chant that throbbed in his chest. Tyler grabbed his sleeve and yanked hard, breaking whatever trance had started to take hold. They stumbled down the path, Sarah close behind.

“Emily!” she called, voice panicked, cracking against the night. “Answer me!”

From somewhere ahead came a single, drawn-out note—high and mournful. Then silence.

They stopped, chests heaving, light beams trembling over the forest floor. The ribbons were everywhere now, bright in the dark, twisting around trunks, hanging from branches, even drifting down from above like falling leaves. One brushed Tyler’s cheek; it was damp, warm.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “It’s bleeding.”

A shape emerged between the ribbons—small, pale, swaying slightly. Lucy again, though her smile had stretched too wide, her eyes two hollow pits of moonlight. She lifted her hand and pointed past them, toward the oak.

Mark turned. The symbol there burned red now, pulsing like a heartbeat. The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

“Don’t look,” Sarah breathed. “If you look, it knows your name.”