Part 2: Voices in the Dark
My entire body froze. Hearing the name "Olivia" slip from the lips of a strange, dirty child in the middle of this desolate mountain felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly onto my soul.
"What did you just say?" My voice shook, cracking under the weight of sudden panic. "How… how do you know her name?"
Emma and Ella didn’t answer. They pressed closer together, their frail fingers tightening around the stale crusts of bread. Their pale blue eyes shifted away from me, locking onto the dark, overgrown tree line behind the cottage.
The shadows of twilight were rapidly swallowing the last remnants of daylight. Between the dense, towering pines, a tall silhouette loomed. At first, I tried to convince myself it was just a fallen trunk or a trick of the light, but then the shadow shifted. A primal chill raced down my spine—the instinctual realization of a prey animal recognizing its predator.
Clang… Clang…
Olivia’s old copper wind chime suddenly began to ring violently, even though the mountain air had fallen completely still.
"Olivia told us to wait for you here," Emma repeated, her voice flat and rhythmic, like a child reciting a memorized script. "She said you would come save us. And save her, too."
"Olivia died three years ago!" I nearly shouted, a sudden surge of anger masking my sheer terror. "What kind of game is this? Who told you to say that?!"
Right then, from deep within the woods, a sound cut through the silence. It wasn’t the rustling of an animal or the scraping of branches. It was a whisper. A faint, drawn-out cry traveling through the trees:
"Ethan… help me…"
My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. That voice… no matter how many years had passed, no matter how distorted by distance and darkness, I knew it. It was Olivia.
Without a second thought, I yanked my high-powered flashlight from my jacket pocket, clicked it on, and lunged toward the trail. The beam sliced through the gnarly trees, illuminating thick patches of ground fog that were beginning to roll in.
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"Ethan, don’t go!"
The twins shouted in unison behind me, but my legs refused to listen to reason. For three years, I had lived in a prison of guilt, blaming myself for not being able to save my wife from her illness. Now, a wild, irrational spark of hope—or a deadly trap—was pulling me into the abyss.
