Ethan pushed through the thick bushes, his flashlight shaking as it lit up the dark woods. Branches scratched at his arms and legs, leaving stinging marks, but he didn’t care. His face was damp with sweat, even in the cool morning air. His legs ached from days of searching, but he wouldn’t stop. Most of the volunteers had given up, tired and hopeless. Not Ethan. He couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t.
He moved back to the place where June’s earring had been found. He had checked it before, but he went over the ground again. His eyes scanned every inch, his heart sinking as he found nothing. Then something caught his attention—faint tire tracks hidden under the brush. He crouched down, his breath quickening. His pulse raced. Someone had been here.
Ethan stood up and followed the tracks. He stepped carefully, every sound seeming louder in the silent forest. The trees around him grew thicker, and the air felt heavy. Even the birds and insects seemed to have disappeared. The further he walked, the more the woods felt wrong, like they were holding their breath.
The trail ended at an old, broken-down hut. The roof sagged like it was about to cave in, and the windows were coated in thick grime. Vines crawled up the walls, making the place look like it had been swallowed by the forest. The door hung slightly open, creaking softly as the breeze pushed it. Smoke lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the damp smell of the woods. Ethan froze, gripping the hunting knife he’d brought. His hands shook, and his heart pounded in his chest. Slowly, he stepped toward the hut.
The door creaked louder as he nudged it open. Inside, the room was dim and cold. The scene stopped him in his tracks.
June stood by a rusty old stove, her back to him. She wore a clean white dress with lace sleeves, completely out of place in the dirty, rotting room. Her hair was neatly braided, shining under the dim light of a single bulb hanging above her. She was cooking. The faint sound of eggs sizzling in the pan reached his ears. A plate of toast sat next to her, perfectly arranged.
“June?” Ethan whispered, his voice breaking.
She froze. The spatula in her hand clattered to the floor, the noise startling in the quiet room. Slowly, she turned to face him. Her face was pale, her lips trembling. Her eyes were wide with fear and something else—shock, disbelief.
“Ethan?” she whispered. Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear it.
Relief hit him like a wave. He took a step toward her, his words spilling out in a rush. “It’s me,” he said. “I found you. Oh my God, I found you.”
But June shook her head, her movements frantic. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her lips quivered as she tried to speak. When she finally did, her voice broke. “You have to go,” she whispered, her eyes darting past him toward the door. “RUN.”
“What?” Ethan stopped, confusion twisting his face. “June, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m taking you home.”
Her voice cracked into a scream. “RUN!”
Before he could ask why, something slammed into the back of his head. Pain shot through his skull as the world spun violently. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. His knife slipped from his hand, landing uselessly on the ground. Warm blood dripped down the back of his neck, pooling beneath him.
As his vision blurred, the last thing he saw was June’s face. Her eyes were wide and full of despair, her lips moving silently like she was still begging him to run.
Then another figure stepped forward.
The Gardener stood over him, an iron pipe in his hand. The blood on it gleamed in the dim light. His face was calm, almost cheerful. He tilted his head, studying Ethan like he was a new addition to his collection.
“Ah,” The Gardener said, his tone soft and steady. “Another weed in my garden.”