She shivered against me, pressing closer as if trying to bury herself in the safety of my embrace. I wished I could shield her from whatever horror she had witnessed, but the only way forward was through understanding.

“He… he didn’t talk like Grandpa,” she murmured, her voice a fragile thread. “He was… different. He just stared at us, and his eyes… they didn’t look real. Like… like shadows.”

A chill skittered down my spine. Shadows? My rational mind struggled to reconcile her words with reality. Surely, there was an explanation, something that made sense in the realm of hospitals and charts, of the everyday problems I was equipped to handle. But this? This was something else entirely, a nightmare unfolding in our backyard.

“The car,” I said gently, trying to guide her to safer ground. “What happened with the car, Maisie?”

She sniffed, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. Her skin was still smudged with dirt and the memory of tears, but she was here, she was alive, and that was what mattered.

“We waited,” she whispered. “We waited for a long time, but Grandma never came back. Theo was crying, so I got him out. I thought I could bring him to you.”

I closed my eyes briefly, overwhelmed by a rush of gratitude and grief. My brave, resourceful girl. She had done what she thought was best, what was necessary to protect her brother. And in doing so, she had led them through the woods to me.

And the woods… I looked past the tree line, the shadows deepening as dusk settled. The woods had always been a part of our lives, a backdrop to countless childhood games and summer picnics. But now they seemed darker, more ominous, as if hiding secrets of their own.

“We’ll figure this out,” I promised, more to myself than to her. I would call the police, find out what had happened at my parents’ house. I would get them checked, make sure they were safe and healthy. But first, I needed to get them inside, away from the creeping darkness.