Chapter 27

The Hollow Hour pressed against the cottage walls like a living thing. Edmund felt it before Agnes spoke. It was in the faint tremor running through the floorboards, in the soft rattle of jars on the shelves, in the air itself becoming viscous, all as if the forest were deliberately encroaching on the house.

More than anything, he felt it within himself. What had been driven down earlier stirred fully now. It had awakened.

You’ve come far, it whispered. Too far to turn back.

Edmund clenched his jaw.

We’ll see.

Agnes’s hands settled at his temples, firm and anchoring, and he attempted to concentrate on that.

“Remember what I told you,” she said. “This will not show you what was. It will show you what you ache for most, and turn it into possibility.”

Will braced the door to the outside world. Malcolm stood at Edmund’s side, poker raised. Outside, the world hushed, taking shelter from what was to come.

The rite began.

Agnes’s chant started low, lower than before, the vowels a vibration rather than sound. The dark liquid rippled outwards in slow, widening rings. The chalk circle and symbols glimmered, then sharpened, then burned with sudden intensity.

The pressure inside Edmund became impossible to block against.

His vision cracked. Tilted. Reformed.

###

He stood in his kitchen. He was home.

Sunlight poured through the windows, bright and golden, warming his skin. The smell of toast hung on the air and grumbled in his stomach. A kettle bubbled on the worktop, nearing its boiling point.

Somewhere along the hall, a child laughed.

Edmund shook his head.

“Dad?”

The voice was flawless. Ordinary.

His son appeared in the doorway, wrapped in dinosaur pyjamas that were slightly too big in a ‘he’ll grow into them’ way, his hair mussed from sleep. He blinked at Edmund, grinned, and ran towards him.

“Come on,” the boy laughed. “We’re going to be late.”

Edmund’s knees faltered. He caught hold of the counter, his knuckles whitening as he gripped.

“This isn’t real.”

The boy stopped.

“What?”

Agnes’s voice drifted faintly into the scene, as vague as a stray thought.

“Edmund. Speak nothing. Answer nothing.”

Confusion furrowed the boy’s brow.

“Why are you crying?”

Edmund closed his eyes. He couldn’t help himself.

“Because you’re gone.”

“I’m right here,” the boy said, laughing.

The ache chasing through Edmund was merciless. The forest may have held back previously, but it was now openly feeding.

You could stay, it murmured. Here. With him. No more pain.

The boy reached out, palm open, waiting.

Agnes’s voice cut sharp.

“Edmund. Open your eyes!”

He forced them open. The kitchen wavered. The edges shimmered. Still, the voice pressed on, softer now.

Say his name. That’s all.

“I won’t,” Edmund said.

The lights flickered. The walls shuddered. The pressure intensified. The boy tilted his head.

“Don’t you want me anymore?”

Edmund broke. His tears spilled unchecked.

“More than anything.”

The scene twisted. The boy’s smile stretched too wide. His eyes darkened. His face split cleanly down the centre.

A thing stepped through the opening, tall and root-limbed, the boy’s voice echoing from deep within it.

“Then come.”

Darkness swept in, and Edmund slammed back into Agnes’s grasp.

###

He was in the cottage again, but he was not alone.

Roots burst through the floorboards, clawing towards the circle. The windows bowed inward as something pressed against the glass from outside. The lantern flame snapped sideways, guttering.

“It’s in the walls!” Will shouted.

Malcolm struck with the poker. Sparks flew as a root recoiled.

Agnes raised her voice, strained but unwavering.

“Edmund. The words. Say them now.”

“What words?”

“The third refusal,” Agnes said. “Speak it.”

Edmund shook violently. What wore him like a second skin strained in all directions at once.

“I don’t know how.”

From above, the creature’s voice rolled through the rafters.

You asked. You begged. You wanted this.

A root lashed the chalk line, breaking the circle. Edmund cried out, the tearing inside so much worse than fear.

“Say it,” Agnes shouted.

Say yes.

Edmund dragged the words up from somewhere deep enough to turn pain to agony.

“I DENY YOU.”

Light detonated.

The roots recoiled violently. The cottage screamed, timber cracking as something vast ripped itself away. Inside him, the entity came undone, losing purchase in jagged fragments. Then…

Silence.

Agnes fell backward, her breath shuddering. Will collapsed against the doorframe. Malcolm sank to one knee, drained. Edmund lay at the centre of the shattered circle, shaking, his skin slick with sweat.

“The third thread is cut,” Agnes whispered.

Edmund couldn’t speak. Where the forest had been, there was now a void. It echoed, coldly, empty, but not still.

From far beyond the walls, as faint as a part-remembered dream, something whispered:

We are not done.