I don't remember how long I stood there in the dark.
Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer.
But the first thing I remember clearly—the moment everything stopped feeling like reality—was the sound.
A breath.
Not mine.
A soft, deliberate inhale, like a child trying to mimic how adults breathe. Slow. Controlled. Practiced.
It came from somewhere behind the gas station.
I didn't turn around. I couldn't. My legs felt like they had been carved from ice, frozen mid-stride. My fingers were still clutching the handle of my truck door even though the truck wasn't there anymore—just a flat, endless dark stretching out where the road should've been. The entire highway had vanished, swallowed by the night.
I whispered to myself, "This isn't real."
But the breath behind me didn't care.
It inhaled again. Sharper this time. Closer.
Then came the second sound—a rhythm I recognized immediately.
Knuckles.
Soft. Repetitive.
Knock…
Knock…
Knock…
But there was no door here.
Just darkness.
And the children in it.
My heartbeat stuttered painfully in my chest as I forced myself to turn—not all the way, just a fraction, like my head was weighted with wet cement. The old gas station building was still there, half-collapsed and eaten by vines. The broken roof sagged like a spine snapped in half. But the glass windows, once shattered, now reflected something that wasn't me.
Small shapes.
Still. Silent.
Watching.
Their silhouettes were wrong. Not because of any monstrous feature—but because nothing about them moved. Not their hair, not their clothes, not their chests. Even the shadows on the ground beneath them stayed unnaturally still, untouched by the faint breeze I could feel against my skin.
I told myself they were mannequins. Or maybe I had finally fallen asleep at the wheel earlier, and this was a dream. A hallucination. A panic attack.
Anything but real.
But then one of them tilted its head.
A slow, grinding angle, like a puppet whose string had been pulled too hard.
The moment its face turned toward me, my stomach tightened.
I could see the eyes.
Black. Completely black. No pupils, no whites, no reflection of the dim moonlight. Just pits—deep, bottomless pits.
My voice cracked as I took a step back. "I—I didn't give permission. You can't… you can't come close. I didn't say yes."
Something moved beside my foot.
I flinched and looked down.
A child's handprint. Fresh. Pressed into the dust next to my shoe.
Only one.
But it hadn't been there a second ago.
I stumbled backward so fast I nearly fell. My hand reached blindly for my phone, but when I pulled it out, the screen glitched with static—white snow flickering violently—then it went black.
A faint whisper rose behind me.
I recognized the voice immediately.
The boy from the gas station window earlier.
"Let us in…"
I spun around.
No one was there.
But the whisper came again—this time from above me.
"We're cold, Ethan…"
My lungs seized.
They knew my name.
I didn't know how long I froze before I managed to run. My legs burned as I sprinted past the collapsed building, my breath slicing through the cold Texas air. My boots hammered the ground, kicking up dust and gravel.
Just run.
Don't look back.
Don't stop.
The night around me felt wrong—as if the darkness had weight and texture, like fabric brushing against my arms as I passed. The world no longer stretched flat like a lonely desert highway. Everything curved inward, folding like a tunnel.
And behind me—
The knocking grew louder.
Not on a door. Not on glass.
On the air itself.
Knock—
Knock—
Knock—
Every strike rattled my ribs from the inside, shaking through my bones. I pushed harder, gasping, praying for any light, any sound, anything that wasn't them.
And then—
I saw it.
A glow.
Warm. Yellow. Flickering.
A house?
A cabin?
A lantern?
My chest tightened with desperate hope. I dashed toward it, stumbling over uneven ground. The light grew brighter, clearer—a small wooden structure with a porch light swaying in the wind. The sight of something normal nearly made me cry with relief.
I reached the steps, collapsed to my knees, and banged on the door.
"Hey! Anyone! Please—open up!"
No answer.
I shook the doorknob. Locked.
Behind me, the knocking stopped.
Silence.
Dead. Absolute. Unnatural.
I pressed my ear against the door, listening for footsteps inside, a voice, anything. But the house was empty.
Or pretending to be.
"Please…" I whispered. "I just need help. I just need somewhere safe."
A soft tapping came from the other side of the door.
From inside the house.
I jerked my hand away like I'd touched fire.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Slow. Precise.
Like someone mirroring my earlier knocking.
I swallowed hard. "Who's in there?"
Silence.
Then—
A child's voice.
Not from behind the door.
From beside me.
"I'm in here."
I froze.
My skin prickled with cold, sharp needles.
I turned.
A kid—maybe eight, maybe younger—stood no more than three feet from me. Pale skin. Dark hoodie. Bare feet coated in dust.
Eyes—
Black.
Fully, utterly black.
"Let us in," he said softly, tilting his head. "We can't enter unless you say yes."
"I—" My throat scraped raw. "I don't… I don't want to. I don't want any of you near me."
He blinked once.
Wrong.
Too slow.
Too deliberate.
Then he smiled gently, like a child reassuring a frightened parent.
"It's okay, Ethan. You already did."
My stomach dropped. "No. I didn't."
"You looked at us," he whispered. "You heard us. That counts."
"That's not—"
"You saw our eyes."
My breath hitched.
He stepped closer.
And closer.
And closer—
I backed up until my spine hit the door. I reached blindly for anything—handle, wood, anything solid—but my hands kept slipping, shaking too violently.
The boy stopped just inches from my shoes.
Then he leaned forward, his voice shifting—not louder, just deeper, layered, like several children were speaking at once through a single throat.
"You let us in the moment you paid attention."
I felt sick.
My knees nearly buckled.
"No," I whispered. "I don't accept. I don't permit anything. I want you to stay away."
He didn't stop smiling.
"It doesn't matter what you say now."
The porch light above us flickered violently—on, off, on, off—rapid flashes like a broken strobe.
Behind the boy, more figures emerged from the darkness.
Five.
Ten.
Twelve.
Small shapes stepping out of the black, surrounding the house in a slow circle. Each face identical in stillness. Each pair of eyes endless and hollow.
My vision blurred from panic.
My pulse thundered through my skull.
The boy in front of me reached for my hand.
His fingers were ice-cold, freezing instantly against my skin.
I tried to pull away.
I couldn't.
His grip tightened—not painfully, but impossibly. Like my hand was caught in stone.
"You don't have to be afraid," he said softly. "Soon you'll understand."
Something moved behind me.
Inside the house.
I didn't turn.
A whisper brushed the back of my neck from the crack in the door.
"He's right…"
I gasped and slammed my shoulder against the door out of reflex. It didn't budge. It felt like something inside was pressing back.
Hard.
The boy tugged my hand gently.
"Come with us."
"No!"
I ripped my arm free with a desperate jerk and stumbled backward off the porch. Gravel scraped my palms as I hit the ground. My vision swam.
The children didn't move.
None of them.
They simply watched.
Like predators calculating distance.
I scrambled to my feet and ran—this time even faster, fueled by pure terror. The darkness shifted around me, warping, stretching, swallowing the house behind me until it vanished completely.
The knocking returned.
This time from every direction.
Knock—
Knock—
Knock—
Faster. Louder. Harder.
My breath tore in and out of my chest as I sprinted toward the only thing I could see—an open field of dead grass glowing faintly under the moonlight. The night air bit into my lungs. The ground felt soft, too soft, almost like earth freshly dug up.
Behind me, dozens of little feet began walking.
Not running.
Not chasing.
Just walking.
Slow.
Certain.
Unhurried.
I didn't look back.
I didn't dare.
I kept running until the ground dropped beneath me.
A ditch. A ravine. I didn't know.
I fell—hard—rolling down a slope of dirt and roots. My shoulder slammed into the ground, pain exploding down my arm. I tried to breathe, but the fall had knocked the air out of me.
The world spun.
I forced my eyes open.
And froze.
I wasn't in a ditch.
I was standing in the middle of the abandoned gas station again.
The same cracked pavement.
The same collapsed roof.
The same distant hum of silence.
My breath trembled. "No… no, no, no… I ran. I swear I ran."
Footsteps gathered behind me.
Dozens.
Then—
A voice.
Right at my ear.
"You can't run from us, Ethan."
I spun violently.
Nothing was there.
But the children had surrounded the perimeter of the station—forming a perfect circle this time. Each one standing exactly the same distance from the next. Uniform. Synchronized.
I stepped backward, unable to breathe.
The boy from before stepped forward slightly.
Just one step.
And the others followed.
Perfectly in sync.
One step.
Then—
He said something I will never forget.
"You're closer to letting us in than you think."
My voice cracked. "What do you want from me?"
The boy blinked slowly.
"We want what everyone eventually gives."
I swallowed. "Permission?"
His black eyes glimmered faintly.
"No."
He smiled.
"Fear."
My knees weakened.
The circle tightened.
And then—
Everything went silent.
Utterly, impossibly silent.
The children stopped.
Every one of them turned their heads to the right—toward the highway that should have been there but wasn't.
I followed their gaze.
The darkness rippled.
Like something massive had moved inside it.
The children all spoke at once.
Whispers overlapping perfectly.
"They're coming."
I didn't know who they were.
I didn't want to know.
But the boy stepped closer and placed a cold hand on my wrist again.
"Ethan," he whispered, "if you don't decide soon… they'll decide for you."
My breath hitched. "Decide what?"
He tilted his head.
"Whether you join us…"
His grip tightened.
"…or you feed them."
Before I could respond—
The ground beneath me split open like rotting wood.
And I fell.
---
I didn't scream when the ground opened.
There was no time.
One moment, the world was solid beneath my feet. The next, everything dropped away—cold air rushing past me, swallowing my breath before it could escape my lungs.
Then—
Impact.
I hit something soft. Damp. Like soil soaked in rainwater even though the night above had been dry. For a second, I couldn't move. My ribs pulsed with pain. My vision blurred.
I pushed myself up slowly, choking on dust.
Where… where the hell was I?
It wasn't a cave.
It wasn't a basement.
It was something worse.
A corridor—long, narrow, carved directly into the earth. The walls weren't smooth; they were clawed, shredded in long parallel streaks as if small hands had dragged their nails through the dirt over and over again.
Thousands of times.
My stomach twisted.
I whispered shakily, "Oh God…"
The dirt above me sealed shut.
Perfectly.
Not a single crack remained.
I was buried alive.
But not alone.
A faint humming vibrated through the corridor. Soft. Childlike. A tune I vaguely recognized—something like a lullaby parents hummed to toddlers. But the melody was wrong. Off-key. Too slow.
Then I heard the footsteps.
Not from in front of me.
Not behind me.
From all directions—like the walls themselves had tiny bodies crawling through them.
The humming stopped abruptly.
A voice whispered from somewhere close to my ear, inside the wall.
"You fell where we fell."
I staggered backward, my spine pressing against the opposite wall.
Another voice whispered from just behind my shoulder.
"You're in the place we were left."
Then another. And another.
Whispers overlapped like a suffocating chorus—hundreds of tiny voices crawling over one another, each soft, each cold, each wrong.
"We waited."
"We waited for someone."
"We waited for you."
My breath fractured.
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop… stop this… please just—stop."
Silence.
Immediate.
Terrifying.
I opened my eyes slowly.
A figure stood at the far end of the corridor.
A child.
The same boy from above.
His head tilted slightly, as if he had been waiting patiently for me to notice him.
"You fell farther than most," he said softly. "That means something."
"What does it mean?" I whispered, gripping the wall for support.
He stepped forward.
Just one step.
"The deeper you fall, the closer you are."
"Closer to what?"
He smiled faintly.
"To the truth."
I didn't like the way he said "truth."
Like it wasn't something meant for humans.
He extended a hand.
"Come. See where we were made."
My pulse hammered in my ears. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You already did," he said, eyes blinking slowly. "You followed our voices."
"No. I fell."
He shook his head gently.
"No one falls unless they're called."
A shiver crawled down my spine.
I took a step back—only for my shoulder to hit something soft behind me.
I turned.
Another child.
Another black-eyed face staring up at me.
I stumbled sideways and found another. And another. Their shapes emerging from the walls themselves—as if they'd been part of the earth all along.
The boy lifted his head.
"We can show you. You're ready."
"I'm not," I whispered.
"You are."
His voice didn't echo, but the corridor seemed to vibrate with it.
Without warning, the children surrounding me stepped back. Slowly. Simultaneously. Until they formed a corridor of their own—guiding me toward a wider chamber beyond.
I hesitated.
The boy tilted his head.
"If you don't walk," he said calmly, "we'll make you."
That wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
I forced myself to move.
Every step felt like I was walking deeper into a grave carved long before I was born. The dirt ceiling lowered slightly, brushing the tips of my hair. The air grew colder, thicker, harder to breathe.
The humming started again.
This time, not from a single direction.
From beneath the floor.
Like something enormous was sleeping under the soil.
I reached the chamber.
It was circular, carved perfectly smooth—too smooth for hands, too precise for tools. And in the center…
My chest tightened.
There was a door.
Not a wooden door. Not metal.
A door carved into the earth itself, outlined in a strange symbol—five intersecting circles scratched crudely into the dirt, like a child had drawn them.
Something pulsed behind it.
A slow, rhythmic thud.
Like a heartbeat.
I whispered, "What is this?"
The boy stepped beside me.
"This is where we changed."
"What do you mean 'changed'?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he pressed his palm against the door.
The symbols glowed faintly—pale, sickly white light leaking through the cracks.
He whispered, "We weren't born like this."
The chamber trembled slightly.
"We were made."
My blood ran cold.
"Made by who?"
A dozen children appeared behind us—silent, watching. The boy lowered his hand, the glow fading.
He turned to me slowly.
"You wouldn't believe us."
"Try me," I said, voice shaking.
A tiny smile tugged at his lips.
"A long time ago… people buried their children here."
My stomach lurched.
"What? Why would—"
"Not because they died," he whispered. "Because they were taken."
I stared at him, speechless.
"Taken by what?"
He blinked once.
Slow.
"They called them visitors."
The chamber went cold.
"Visitors?" I repeated. "Like—people? Creatures? Ghosts?"
He shook his head.
"No. Not ghosts."
Then he leaned closer—so close I could see myself reflected faintly in his eyes, tiny and distorted.
"They came from above."
My heart dropped.
Above.
The sky.
I stepped back instinctively. "Aliens?"
The boy didn't smile.
But the other children did.
Wide.
Slow.
Wrong.
"Is that what you call them?" he asked, his voice almost amused. "Visitors. Watchers. Shapers. They had many names."
My chest tightened painfully.
"And they did this to you?"
"No."
He tilted his head again.
"They did it to your kind."
"What does that mean?"
He reached out—and before I could pull away, he pressed two fingers against my forehead.
Instantly—
I saw it.
Flashes of dirt.
Fire.
Children screaming.
Lights in the sky—bright, white, silent.
Hands—small hands—reaching out from pits.
Mothers crying.
Something descending from the stars like a white spindle of bone.
Whispers.
Experiments.
Black eyes.
Fear.
Fear everywhere.
I ripped myself away with a sob.
The boy watched calmly.
"Now you've seen."
I backed away until my shoulders hit the cold dirt wall.
"Oh my God," I breathed. "You're not… ghosts. You're not demons. You're—"
"Unfinished," the boy whispered.
"What?"
"We were changed… but not completed. Not like the others."
"The others?" My voice cracked.
The ground trembled violently beneath us.
The heartbeat behind the door grew louder.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The children all snapped their heads toward the door.
The boy's voice dropped to a whisper.
"They're waking."
"Who?"
He turned to me, eyes impossibly black.
"The ones who finished the change."
My blood turned to ice.
"You mean—"
He nodded once.
"The predators."
BOOM.
The chamber shook again—dust falling from the ceiling.
The boy grabbed my wrist suddenly.
"Ethan," he said urgently, "you need to choose."
My breath hitched. "Choose what?"
"Whether you stand with us—"
Another BOOM, louder, cracking the chamber.
"—or with them."
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from behind the door.
Every child in the chamber took a step backward.
Even the boy.
He whispered, "We must leave."
"What's coming?" I gasped.
He looked at me—fear, real fear, flickering across his pale face.
"The completed ones."
The door cracked.
A single black claw pushed through.
And the boy screamed—
"RUN!"
---
I didn't think.
I ran.
The chamber exploded with sound—earth splitting, children screaming, the deep, monstrous growl vibrating through the dirt like the whole underground was alive and furious.
The crack in the door widened.
The claw pushed farther through.
Then another.
Then another.
I sprinted down the corridor the moment the boy shouted, his small hand shoving my back with surprising force.
"Go, Ethan!"
My legs nearly buckled as I stumbled forward, lungs already burning. Behind me, the chamber erupted with shrieks—high, piercing cries not from human throats.
I didn't dare look back.
The corridor tightened around me, the ceiling lowering enough to force me to crouch. Dust rained down in thin curtains. The walls trembled violently with each monstrous thud from the chamber.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
A sound followed—wet, dragging, heavy—like a massive body pulling itself free from the earth.
I swallowed a sob.
Another shriek cut through the darkness—this time a child's.
Not one of the monsters.
One of them.
I turned my head, just for a fraction of a second.
I shouldn't have.
Because I saw it.
Something enormous spilling out of the cracked earthen door—a shape that didn't fit inside the room, yet somehow forced itself through, bending the dirt around it like the soil was water.
The creature was wrong.
Angular limbs.
Skin white like chalk dust.
Joints bending the wrong way.
A body too thin, stretched beyond natural proportions.
A mouth where no mouth should exist—long, vertical, splitting down from forehead to chest, lined with teeth like shards of broken glass.
And eyes, not black like the children's—
But white.
Empty.
Glowing faintly.
A completed one.
It turned toward me as if sensing fresh prey.
Then it screamed.
A horrible, layered sound, like a metal gate grinding shut.
"MOVE!"
The boy's voice snapped me back.
I lunged forward again, crawling, scraping my palms on the dirt floor. The corridor twisted sharply left, then right, burying me in darkness so thick it felt physical.
The humming returned.
Not from the children.
From the walls.
A low vibration, pulsing like a warning.
I heard the completed one crawling after me.
Its limbs scraped the dirt like knives cutting through meat.
I scrambled faster.
My breath came in ragged gasps. "Where—where do I go—?"
"This way," a voice whispered ahead of me. A girl. Small. Trembling.
I followed instinctively, the dark shape of her silhouette guiding me as the tunnel widened enough for me to stand and run again.
My chest tightened with fear as I heard the completed one slam into the corridor behind me—too large for the space, but still forcing its grotesque limbs through, bursting the walls outward.
The dirt fell in chunks.
The ground shook.
The children around me screamed.
One grabbed my hand—ice-cold—and yanked me harder. "Faster!"
I ran with everything I had.
The tunnel led upward suddenly, the incline steep and uneven. Roots tore at my shoes. Rocks scraped my knees as I stumbled, catching myself with shaking hands.
Behind us—
The completed one tore through the corridor like a starving animal.
BOOM.
SCRAAAAAPE.
CRACK.
Its claws punctured the floor inches from my foot.
I screamed.
The children pulled me harder.
We reached another chamber—smaller than the first, ceiling lower, air colder. Torches flickered along the walls, but the flames were strange—blue, barely giving off heat.
The children formed a circle around me, panting, terrified.
The boy—my guide—appeared last, crawling through the dirt and collapsing to his knees.
"He broke free," he gasped. "We need to seal the path!"
"How?!" one girl cried.
The boy pointed to the walls. "Push. Now."
Every child placed their palms against the dirt.
I didn't know what they were doing—but the earth started to shift, groaning, as though responding to them. The tunnel behind us quivered.
Then—
The completed one slammed into the chamber entrance.
Its massive face—if it could be called a face—pressed through first. Teeth clattered. The white glow of its eyes washed over the room.
The ground quaked from its weight.
The children screamed in unison and pushed harder, their small hands trembling violently. The dirt shook, tightening, squeezing inward—
But the completed one pushed back.
Hard.
Its claws cut through the earth like paper, ripping open the passage again.
"No!" the boy screamed. "Ethan—RUN!"
But I didn't move.
I couldn't.
I stared at the creature—and something inside me shifted. Deep. Instinctive. Wrong.
A whisper curled in my ear.
You could be like them.
My knees buckled.
I gasped for air, clutching my head. "Stop… get out… get out of my mind…"
The creature pressed forward, its massive jaw cracking open as if in response.
The boy grabbed my shoulders. "Don't listen! You're not changed—you can still fight it!"
"I can't—" My vision blurred.
He slapped me across the face—hard enough to jolt me back into reality.
"LOOK AT ME!" he screamed. "You're NOT one of them!"
The completed one roared.
With a thunderous crash, it slammed both claws into the nearly sealed passage, ripping it open wide enough for its massive body to squeeze through.
Earth exploded outward—
And it lunged.
Straight at me.
I dove sideways, rolling across the dirt floor. Claws slashed the air where my torso had been seconds before, cutting deep trenches into the ground.
The children scattered, shrieking.
The boy grabbed my wrist again. "There's one way out—one! But it's dangerous!"
"Everything is dangerous!" I shouted back.
He pointed to a ladder carved into the wall—worn, fragile wooden slats leading upward into darkness.
"Climb! Don't stop!"
I sprinted toward it.
The completed one lunged after me, slamming its limbs into the earth to propel itself like a monstrous spider. Dirt and dust blasted around us. The ground shuddered with each impact.
I grabbed the ladder, climbing as fast as my shaking legs allowed.
The wood cracked beneath my weight.
The creature roared beneath me, claws shredding the bottom rungs.
"FASTER!" the boy screamed below. "It's right behind you!"
I didn't look down.
I climbed blindly, scraping my knees, ripping skin, lungs burning. The tunnel narrowed, forcing me to climb sideways at one point. The air thinned. My heart pounded.
Then—
A hand grabbed my ankle.
Cold. Small.
I screamed.
"Don't be afraid!" the girl whispered. "I'm helping!"
She pushed my foot upward, giving me leverage to climb higher.
I reached a hatch—metal, old, rusted shut.
I slammed my shoulder into it. "Come on… COME ON!"
The metal groaned.
Below—
The completed one shrieked, its claws tearing into the tunnel walls, trying to reach me.
"ETHAN!" the boy shouted. "OPEN IT!"
"I'm trying!"
I slammed it again—
And the hatch burst open.
Cold night air flooded the tunnel.
I dragged myself out, collapsing face-first onto gravel.
I gasped for breath, coughing violently.
But I didn't dare rest.
I slammed the hatch shut just as a massive claw burst through the opening, scraping inches from my face.
I fell back, panting, trembling uncontrollably.
The claw withdrew.
Then silence.
Slow.
Creeping.
Terrifying.
A whisper rose from beneath the hatch—dozens of children's voices speaking in unison.
"We'll find you again, Ethan."
My blood froze.
"We always find the ones who see."
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three soft taps from underneath the hatch.
I staggered backward.
"No… no, no—stay down there—stay away—"
The whispers faded.
The night fell quiet again.
Too quiet.
I turned slowly.
The gas station was behind me.
Except it wasn't the same gas station.
The lights were on.
The pumps were new.
The signs unbroken.
The windows clean and bright.
Like it had never been abandoned.
Something moved inside.
A silhouette.
Tall.
Still.
Watching me.
I took a step back.
The door creaked open—
And a familiar voice whispered from inside the lit station:
"Ethan… we're not done yet."
---