Prologue

The rain had been falling for hours, tapping against the windows like restless fingers. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the walls of the small house. Daniel Turner sat alone in his armchair, staring at the old clock hanging on the wall. The sound of its ticking filled the silence. Each second passed slower than the last.

It was past midnight. His children should have been asleep by now.

But something felt wrong.

The air in the house was heavy, thick with an uneasy stillness. He could feel it pressing against his skin, crawling up his spine like cold fingers. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, breathing in slow, shaky breaths.

Then, a whisper.

Soft. Faint. Somewhere in the hallway.

Daniel’s body tensed. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair. It wasn’t the sound of the wind. It wasn’t the rustling of trees outside. It was a voice.

A child’s voice.

His heart pounded as he slowly stood up. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet. The house, which had once been warm and familiar, now felt foreign. Unfamiliar.

The whisper came again.

It was closer this time.

Daniel turned toward the hallway, his breath caught in his throat. The corridor was dark, stretching into blackness. The only light flickered from a dim bulb near the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows against the walls.

His hands were cold. His legs felt weak.

He took a slow step forward. Then another.

The whispers stopped.

The silence was worse.

He reached the open doorway of his children’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. The darkness inside was thick, swallowing the weak light from the hallway.

He pushed it open.

The beds were empty. The blankets were untouched.

His chest tightened. A sickening feeling coiled in his stomach.

Where were they?

A floorboard creaked behind him.

Daniel spun around.

And there, standing in the hallway, was his son.

Jake.

Barefoot. Small. His pajamas were damp from the cold air. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his wide eyes glistened with something unreadable.

"Daddy..." the boy whispered. His voice was barely a sound, just a breath of air.

Daniel swallowed. His throat was dry.

"Jake?" he managed to say. His own voice sounded strange. Weak. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The boy didn’t answer. He just stood there, his small frame barely visible in the dim light. His lips trembled, his little hands hanging stiffly at his sides.

Then, his lips parted.

"Why did you do it?"

Daniel’s blood turned to ice.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His breathing stopped.

The shadows around him deepened. The walls felt like they were closing in.

His son’s eyes were still locked onto his, unblinking.

And then—

Daniel stepped back, his legs suddenly weak beneath him. He gripped the doorframe for support, his fingers digging into the wood.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because Jake—

Jake had died two nights ago.

Daniel had buried him.

Beneath the old oak tree.

But the boy in front of him took another step forward.

His tiny, bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor.

"Daddy..." Jake’s voice was softer now, almost gentle.

Daniel shook his head, his breathing ragged. His mind was racing, screaming at him to run, to turn away, to wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

But he couldn’t move.

Because deep down, a horrible, twisting fear crept through his veins.

What if he wasn’t dreaming?

What if Jake was really standing there?

His son. The boy he had raised. The boy he had loved more than anything.

The boy he had *killed.*

Tears welled in Daniel’s eyes. His chest ached. "Jake," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I—I was trying to save you."

Jake’s head tilted slightly. His lips curled into something that should have been a smile.

"But, Daddy…" The boy’s voice was quiet, almost tender.

*"Save me from what?"*

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The room around him felt smaller now, darker, as if the walls were pressing in. His head swam. The air was thick, suffocating.

He tried to look away, to close his eyes, but he couldn’t.

Because Jake was still there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And behind him, deeper in the hallway, another small figure appeared.

A girl.

Emily.

His daughter.

She was holding something in her hand. A small, worn-out teddy bear. The same bear she had clutched to her chest every night before bed.

The same bear that now smelled of damp earth.

She stepped forward, her eyes locked onto his.

Her voice was a whisper. A ghost of a sound.

*"Daddy, you were wrong."*

Daniel’s stomach twisted. His vision blurred.

And then—

The light flickered.

The house groaned.

And the darkness swallowed him whole.

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