Chapter 11-the Binding Post

They retraced their steps, moving toward the thick woods. The air grew heavier the deeper they went, like the forest itself was closing in. Sunlight barely cut through the branches now, turning the path into a tunnel of shadows.

Melvin held tight to Abby’s sleeve. Every shadow felt alive. Every sound too close.

Mr. Han led the way, rifle in hand, his steps steady but cautious. He stopped now and then, crouching low to inspect the ground.

“Anything?” Melvin whispered.

Han shook his head. “No tracks. No blood. It shouldn’t be possible.”

They moved deeper. The trees grew older here, their roots twisted like claws above the soil. A chill rode the air, colder than the night should’ve been.

Then—
a sound.

Branches snapping.
Laughter.
Faint, drifting between the trees.

Abby gripped Melvin’s arm. “That’s it. That’s what we heard in town.”

Han raised his hand for silence. The three of them stood frozen, listening.

“Don’t answer it,” Mr. Han whispered. “No matter what you hear.”

They pressed on, following the direction it had come from, until the forest opened into a clearing.

At the center stood an old wooden post, half-rotten, wrapped with rope and rusted chains. Something hung from it—long strips of cloth, fluttering in the wind like torn flags.

Abby whispered, “What is this place?”

Mr. Han’s jaw tightened. “A binding post. Old settlers used them. To keep things from crossing out of the woods.”

Melvin’s voice trembled. “You mean… to keep things trapped?”

Before Mr. Han could answer, Abby pointed.
At the base of the post—

Hoofprints.
Deep, pressed into the soil.

But the strange thing was… there were only two.

As if the goat had walked into the clearing… and simply stopped existing.

Abby’s voice shook. “It ends here.”

And then—
from the treeline behind them—

pss-pss.

The three of them trembled, spinning around.
But there was nothing. Only thick fog and shadows that refused to move.

Silence pressed in.

Suddenly, the birds erupted from the binding post behind them, scattering into the sky as if something had startled them.

They turned back again and slowly approached the post, hearts hammering, hoping to see if anything had been left behind.

They got closer, but found only torn cloth, broken chains, and scraps of wood.

Then Abby froze.
Carved deep into the wood—beneath the old ropes—was a fresh mark.

Not old. Not weathered.
Fresh.

Something scratched into the grain with something sharp:

COME CLOSER.

Mr. Han’s face went pale. His grip tightened on the rifle.
“That wasn’t here before.”

Abby grabbed Melvin’s arm. “Mr. Han… we shouldn’t be here.”

Han didn’t argue. He kept his eyes on the post, backing away slowly.
“You’re right. We go home. Now.”

And so they left the clearing, the word carved into the post burning in their minds, the silence of the woods pressing harder with every step back.