The first thing Thomas noticed was the silence.

Not the peaceful kind, with soft breezes and rustling leaves. This silence was wrong—a heavy, unnatural void that swallowed every sound. The hum of his car engine had been the only thing keeping it at bay, but now, even that was gone.

He exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel. His GPS had frozen ten miles back, its screen stuck on a blank, grey map. He was supposed to be on Highway 16, but somewhere along the way, the familiar mile markers had vanished. No signs. No headlights in the distance. Just an unbroken stretch of road, bathed in dim twilight.

His phone had no service.

With a tired sigh, he ran a hand over his face. Exhaustion clung to him—he hadn’t slept well in months. Not since the fire. Not since the funerals. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Up ahead, the road forked. His gut told him to turn around, but the fuel gauge was dipping dangerously close to empty. The right path sloped downward into a wooded valley, barely wide enough for a car. It wasn’t on his map, but at least it led somewhere.

He turned the wheel.

The deeper he drove, the stranger things became. The trees twisted in unnatural ways, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. A damp chill crept through the vents, and the headlights flickered, plunging everything into darkness before sputtering back to life.

Then came the thud.

The car jerked violently to the side. The steering wheel wrenched from his grip as the front right tire blew out. Thomas swore, struggling to keep control as the vehicle skidded onto the dirt shoulder. The world lurched, then settled.

For a long moment, he just sat there, knuckles white against the wheel, heart hammering.

Finally, he exhaled sharply and stepped out.

The air was thick with moisture, heavy with the scent of damp earth. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the front of the car. The tire was shredded—completely useless.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A shrine..

It stood just beyond the road, half-hidden by overgrown weeds. A crude wooden altar, its surface cracked with age. Surrounding it were statues—weathered saints and angels, their features eroded by time.

At the centre of it all, nailed to a rotting plank, hung an inverted cross.

A cold weight settled in his stomach. Something about this place was wrong. The shrine didn’t feel abandoned—it felt watched.

Swallowing hard, he stepped closer. The statues were covered in grime, their hands frozen in eternal prayer. He reached out, brushing dirt away from one of the faces—

A thick, black liquid oozed from the statue’s eyes.

Thomas recoiled, breath catching in his throat. The substance clung to his fingertips, thick and ink-like. He rubbed his fingers together, trying to shake it off, but it wouldn’t come off.

Then, a flicker of light in the distance.

His head snapped up. Through the shifting mist, a faint golden glow pulsed beyond the trees. A house? A streetlamp?

It was the first sign of civilization he’d seen in miles.

His hands trembled.

Get back in the car. Stay put.

But he knew the truth—he was stranded. No service, no passing cars. And something about the shrine made his skin crawl.

He couldn’t stay here.

Steeling himself, he stepped away from the weeping statues and followed the flickering light.

The house loomed before him like a waiting mouth.

It was old—far too old—its wooden frame sagging under years of decay. The windows gaped like empty eye sockets, glass long shattered. A single lantern flickered on the porch, its flame dancing despite the still air.

Thomas hesitated at the base of the steps. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of darkness inside.

This was a mistake.

But the alternative was waiting outside, alone, with that shrine.

He climbed the steps and stepped inside.

The floorboards groaned under his weight, the sound echoing through the hollow space. The house smelled of mildew and something else—something metallic. The dim lantern outside barely lit the room, casting restless shadows along the walls.

His eyes adjusted.

The walls were covered in photographs.

Polaroids. Hundreds of them.

His breath hitched. The images were all of him.

Some showed him beside his car. Others captured him mid-step, walking toward the house. And others—

Others showed him inside.

His body went cold.

A creak above him.

His pulse thundered in his ears. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the second-floor landing.

A figure stood at the top of the stairs.

A little girl.

She wore a white dress, her tangled hair falling over her face. In one small hand, she clutched a stuffed rabbit.

Thomas felt his throat tighten. His knees nearly buckled.

It wasn’t possible.

But it was her.

His daughter.

The child tilted her head, her expression unreadable in the shadows. Then, in a voice that had been gone for years, she spoke.

“Daddy, I’m trapped here. Help me.”

A single tear slipped down Thomas’s cheek.

Then, from somewhere deep in the house, a whisper.

"You finally came back."

And the lantern light flickered out.