The next morning, sunlight spilled through the cracked blinds, dust motes drifting in its path. Noah lay awake long before the world stirred, the folded map heavy in his pocket like a heartbeat. He hadn’t planned on staying long just long enough to deal with the house, the funeral, the loose ends. But now, the map had changed everything.He pushed himself out of bed, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and padded to the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of mildew and something else something older, buried. He poured himself stale coffee from a tin, grimacing as he sipped, and stared out the window. The town was the same, it seemed, except smaller. Houses crouched close together, paint peeling, driveways overgrown. He’d grown but the town hadn’t.By the time he stepped outside, the sun was climbing. He unfolded the map and traced the inked lines with his thumb. The first red X was near the edge of town Dragon’s Nest. He remembered the name instantly, though he hadn’t thought of i

Night pressed hard against the windows. Noah couldn’t sleep. The cassette sat on the dresser like it was watching him, daring him. He’d turned it over a hundred times, fingers tracing the worn edges, the faint blue letters Elia. But without a player, it was a sealed mouth, a voice trapped in plastic.Every time he closed his eyes, he heard her laugh. Not faint. Not memory. Loud, alive, like she was right there beside him. Come on, Noah. Race you to the top.He jolted awake more than once, heart pounding, sweat chilling his skin.By morning, he couldn’t stay in the house. The silence there was too thick. He unfolded the map again. The next red X burned into his eyes The Wishing Tree.He knew exactly where it was.The walk there took him along the outskirts of the lake, water still and dark, reflecting a sky heavy with clouds. As a boy, the lake had been his escape swimming until his arms ached, floating until the world went quiet. But today it felt different. Halfway down the dirt tra

The old tape player sputtered, its gears whining as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. Dust coated its surface, the kind that clung to your fingers even after you wiped it away. Noah sat on the floor of his father’s shed, knees drawn up, cassette clutched tight.His whole body shook. From the fight. From the bruises. From the truth pressing in from every direction.He slid the cassette into the deck.The buttons stuck before they gave way with a clunk.For a second, nothing. Just static, hissing and swallowing the silence.Then her voice.Elia.Faint, muffled, older tape distortion warping her vowels. But it was her.“Okay, um… if you’re hearing this, it means I was right. Or maybe it means I was wrong. I don’t know.” A nervous laugh. A shaky breath. “I don’t have much time, so listen, okay? Don’t show this to anyone. Especially not… not him.”Noah’s stomach clenched. Not him.Her voice dipped, whispering. “Your dad… Noah, he found out. He knew. He tried to stop me.”Noah froze.

Fog is heavy on the lake. Air cold and wet like breath from something sleeping beneath. Noah stood on the dock, crowbar slick with his blood, sleeve sticking to skin.He thought Casey was gone. Thought the fight in the boathouse had been it. But the woods never emptied. Shadows followed. Always.Now the dock creaked. More boots. Not just Casey. More.Three of them are stepping out of the mist. Casey in front, face half-shaded under that cap. Behind him, Bill and Danner, both older, both bigger, both with that look in their eyes the kind that had watched too many bad things and kept quiet.Casey smiled. Thin. Cruel.“Told you it wasn’t over.”Noah didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was raw from shouting, his chest raw from running.Bill flicked a cigarette to the planks. “Boy don’t even look scared.”“Scared?” Casey said. He tilted his head, mock gentle. “He’s broken. Look at him. Been chasing ghosts too long.”Elia’s voice whispered in Noah’s head: Don’t let them bury me.His grip t

Bodies crash. The dock rattles. Water splashes up like hands grabbing at ankles. Casey’s fist smashes Noah’s jaw. Stars explode in his skull. But Noah doesn’t drop. He grips Casey’s shirt, yanks him forward, and headbutts him hard. Skull to skull. Both reel back, blood dripping down brows, mixing on the planks. Casey snarls, spitting red. “You’re weak. Always were.” Noah laughs, a cracked sound. Broken teeth, broken ribs, but laugh anyway. “Then why are you bleeding?” Casey growls, charges again. They tumble, rolling, fists wild. Every punch is past, every hit is memory. Noah tastes childhood summers in the swing of his arm. He tastes the attic dust, the tape crackle, her voice. Every blow says her name. Elia. Casey grabs Noah’s throat, squeezes. Tight. The world shrinks, black pressing in. Noah claws at the grip. Casey’s eyes were wide, feral, veins bulging. “Say her name again,” he hisses, “and I’ll snap you like your old man should’ve.” And that’s the spark. Old