Chapter 20

Silence can be filled with sound. For some, it’s simply the absence of voices. The silence of people. Fires can crackle. Rafters can creak. Buildings can be heard suffering.

And a man can be curled in on himself with his insides coiled into a tight, eager knot.

The landlord was the first to move. He pushed himself upright with a grunt, gripping the poker like a staff. Will followed him, though his legs trembled visibly. Edmund didn’t move. He couldn’t. The knot had retreated to a small, glowing ember that did not move in time with him. He knew it wasn’t diminished. It was conserving its strength.

Malcolm smoothed the uneven circle back into place with his foot, then crouched beside him, keeping one foot outside the ash.

“Edmund. Can you hear me?”

Edmund nodded weakly.

“What was that?” Will whispered hoarsely. “What did it send? I’ve never seen…”

“It wasn’t for you to see,” Edmund murmured, his voice frayed. “It came for me.”

Malcolm shot Will a warning look and helped Edmund sit upright.

“Why? Why send that instead of taking you through the roots?”

Edmund swallowed. The warmth stirred at the question, as if the words roused it, and piqued its interested in the answer.

“Because I wasn’t going to give in. So, it… changed things.”

The wind outside grumbled against the shutters, a low, drawn-out moan that made the tables vibrate. Malcolm frowned.

“It’s retreating. For now.”

“No,” Edmund said softly. “It’s thinking.”

Will shivered.

“Trees don’t think.”

“It’s not the trees,” Edmund whispered. “The forest is… something else. The trees are just the… the mouth.”

A thick silence, where even the flames seemed to pause, followed. Malcolm sat back on his heels, rubbing his hands together in a way reminiscent of polishing a glass.

“Then what is it?”

Edmund closed his eyes. The warmth inside responded with a quiver, the question pleasing it. He opened his eyes again.

“It’s old.”

“That much we knew,” the wiry man snapped. “The forest has been there for centuries.”

“No,” Edmund whispered. “Not old like a… normal… forest. Old like…”

His voice faltered. He felt a pause inside him, attentive, listening.

“Like what?” the landlord pressed.

Edmund exhaled shakily.

“Like memory. Like grief left in the ground so long it… learned how to stand.”

A tremor ran across the pub floor. Not violently, but just enough to ripple the ash. Enough to remind them it was there. Enough to say yes, you understand.

Malcolm steadied Edmund.

“You’re saying it feels pain? Loss?”

Edmund nodded slowly.

“And it feeds on it.”

“We figured that,” Will muttered.

“No,” Edmund said again, firmer this time. “You don’t understand. You’re thinking too… It doesn’t just want it. It wants to carry it. Hold it. Devour it. Grow from it.”

“Grow what?” Malcolm asked, his brow carrying deep creases.

Edmund looked up at the ruined ceiling, and the holes ripped through the rafters.

“People,” he said quietly. “It grows people.”

A gust of wind rushed through the pub, rattling the shutters. Rattling the occupants.

“You mean the missing ones? Jack? Terry?” Will asked, stepping back.

Edmund nodded, his throat tight.

“It doesn’t kill them. Not straight away. It roots in them. Makes them part of itself. And when there’s enough of someone to remember…” His voice trembled. “It grows them again.”

Malcolm’s face hardened. His eyes narrowed.

“That thing in the roof. Was that meant to be someone?”

“No,” said Edmund. “That was something new. Something made just for me.”

“Why?”

Edmund flinched, clutching his chest as a warning throbbed inside.

“What is it?” the landlord asked.

“It’s…” Edmund swallowed. “It’s showing me something.”

“Showing?” Will took another step back. “What, inside your head?”

Edmund nodded.

He closed his eyes.

And he saw…

An unnatural clearing deep in the forest. Uprooted soil, soft and dark. A depthless pit. A cradle.

His eyes snapped open. Malcolm caught him before he fell sideways.

“What did you see?”

“It wants me to come,” Edmund whispered. “Tonight was just the first reach.”

Will swore and began to pace.

“We need help. The police. A doctor. Someone.”

“No,” the landlord said quietly. “No outsiders. They never believe. And they never leave. You know this.”

Edmund forced himself upright, the ash circle trembling beneath him.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

“We’re not trying to keep you here,” the landlord said. “We’re trying to keep you alive.“

Edmund swallowed.

“Then we need a plan.”

The landlord nodded.

“Aye. We will. At first light.”

Edmund didn’t look at him. He looked at the ceiling. At the gap where roots had retreated. At the shadowed beams. Quietly, almost too softly to hear, inside him whispered:

You will come.

Edmund shivered.

Because a part of him – a small, treacherous part – believed it.

And wanted it.