Weeks passed.
The forest returned to its quiet self. The whispers were gone. The nightmares faded. David and Lena resumed their routine - quiet dinners, long silences, and the occasional shared smile that said we survived something we'll never explain.
Lena kept the book, though. She didn't know why. It no longer glowed or whispered. Its pages were blank now, as if the spirit had taken its secrets with it.
One rainy afternoon, while David was at work, Lena sat on the porch with Milo curled in her lap. She flipped through the book again, more out of habit than hope.
But this time, something was different.
A single page - near the back - had writing on it.
Not the twisted, ancient script from before.
This was in her handwriting.
She hadn't written it.
It read:
"One must always take the place of the bound."
Lena's breath caught.
She turned the page.
A drawing - charcoal, rough, but unmistakable.
Her face.
Eyes wide. Mouth open. Screaming.
She dropped the book.
Milo hissed and backed away.
The wind picked up, howling through the trees like laughter.
And from deep in the forest, where the house had once stood, a whisper returned.
Not pleading.
Not thankful.
Hungry.