The village looked unchanged when he stepped out of the forest's shade.
Children chased each other between the houses, the baker's chimney coughed out a thin gray plume, and his sister waved at him from across the square—her hands stained red from picked berries.
Nothing looked wrong.
His shoes met the dirt path with slow, deliberate steps as he crossed the clearing. The body's lifeless expression still hovered behind his eyes.
A death done by hands that were not human.
His mother paused while hanging laundry. Her expression tightened the moment she saw his face.
"Where did you go?" she asked. "You were gone longer than usual."
He hesitated. The words were heavy, but he had no reason to lie.
"There's something you should see."
Her eyes widened, breath catching. "Is it—bad?"
He nodded.
By the time he brought her, his father, and two other villagers to the forest edge, the breeze had weakened to a still, tense quiet. The men stepped ahead, pushing aside the branches.
The corpse lay where he had left it.
The adults exchanged glances of fear, confusion, and a hint of anger rising beneath the surface. One man crouched beside the body, fingers trembling as they traced the carved symbol.
"I've never seen anything like this," he murmured. "Not an animal. This was done by someone."
"Someone?" another repeated. "No one around here would do this."
His father exhaled through his nose, grave. "We need to call the elder."
He simply watched the symbol. The lines were too precise, and far too intentional. Like a mark left by someone who wanted it noticed.
This was a message, not a mistake.
Behind him, leaves rustled without wind.
He turned sharply.
Nothing. Yet the pressure in the air thickened, brushing the back of his neck with a cold prickle.
He had felt this before.
In hallways of damp carpet.
In rooms that shifted and listened.
Before and after death.
"Let's return," his father said. His voice shook despite his attempt to steady it. "We shouldn't stay here."
He nodded once.
As they walked back toward the village, he felt eyes tracking their steps.
***
The elders arrived before dusk. Villagers crowded into the square, murmurs rising like insects in the evening.
He stood at the edge of the gathering with his sister beside him, her face tense and anxious.
The elder knelt over the corpse, his brow furrowing deeply. He brushed dirt away from the carved symbol.
"This…" The man's voice broke into a sigh. "This is not the first time I've seen such a mark."
The murmuring stopped.
His stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?" someone demanded.
"It was long ago," the elder replied quietly. "Another village. A… tragedy." He lifted his head, eyes shadowed. "We must remain cautious. Stay together at night. Lock your doors. Keep children close."
The villagers erupted in anxious whispers.
His sister tugged at him. "Brother… are we in danger?"
He looked down at her.
"…Yes," he answered, because he had never been able to lie to her. Not even once.
But he placed his hand over her head gently. "I'll keep you safe."
She nodded, though fear dimmed her usual brightness.
A gust passed through the square. Everyone shivered. The temperature dropped too quickly for the hour.
***
Night arrived too early.
The sky bled into a deep navy, swallowing the last streaks of sunset. Houses emitted warm candlelight that flickered behind shutters like timid fireflies.
He sat with his family at dinner, the silence thick enough to chew. His mother barely touched her food. His father ate mechanically. His sister kept glancing toward the window.
Halfway through the meal, the distant creak of a floorboard outside made his hand tighten around his spoon.
His father rose. "I'll check—"
"I'll go," he said, standing first.
His tone left no room for argument.
He stepped onto the porch. The night smelled of pine and cold soil. The darkness between homes felt deep, as if shadows had grown roots.
He listened.
A whisper slid across the still air, too soft to be wind.
He turned his head toward the forest. Something shifted there.
A presence.
He steadied his breathing. "Who are you?" he spoke under his breath.
Silence.
But the pressure intensified—like a weight that curled around his spine, familiar and foreign. As though the attention of a beast testing the bars of its cage.
He stood there until it faded.
When he reentered the house, his mother's face softened with relief. His sister ran to him, hugging him around the waist.
"It was nothing," he said calmly. "Eat. Tomorrow will be busy."
None of them asked further.
He was grateful.
The truth would only terrify them.
***
Sleep refused to come.
He lay on the straw mattress, staring at the ceiling as shadows danced across wooden boards. His sister slept peacefully beside him, curled up in a small bundle of blankets.
He envied her innocence.
He sat up.
If something was approaching, waiting blindly would only worsen the danger.
He slipped from the bed, careful not to wake her, and stepped into the cold night.
The village was dim and quiet. Only two torches remained lit, marking the ends of the square where volunteers kept watch.
He walked until he reached the forest's border.
The grass here was pressed flat in strange patterns of loops, arcs, and sweeping curves.
He crouched.
The soil was colder than the night.
He touched it lightly.
A faint tingle ran up his fingers.
An energy carrying the feeling of life itself.
Someone had been here recently.
He followed the chill deeper into the trees.
Moonlight struggled to break through the canopy. The darkness thickened around him, pregnant with intent.
Then he saw it.
Footprints.
A single pair. The impressions were shallow, almost floating.
They started abruptly in the center of a clearing, as though the person appeared from thin air.
He traced the path with his eyes.
The tracks pointed toward the village.
A cold breath escaped him.
They were watching from the inside, not the forest.
He straightened.
As if responding, a stick snapped behind him.
He turned sharply, scanning every branch and shadow.
No one.
But the pressure…
It was here again. Heavy, and this time focused.
He looked toward the deepest part of the forest.
A shape stood there.
A woman's silhouette, long hair resting over her shoulders, posture straight and unnatural like a puppet held upright by unseen strings.
Her face was hidden in shadow.
She didn't move. Not even to breathe.
His eyes narrowed.
The wind shifted.
She dissolved. One moment present, the next gone completely.
A long silence stretched over the forest.
He finally exhaled.
In a rush, he returned to the village without looking back.
The night felt thinner now, as if something enormous had slipped between the trees.