The House at the Edge of the Woods Chapter One — The Lantern Elias first saw the house because he was lost. The rain had started an hour earlier, turning the forest road into a ribbon of black mud beneath his headlights. His phone had died. The road signs had disappeared. Even the trees seemed unfamiliar. Then, through the rain, he saw a light. One warm yellow window. Elias slowed the car. There was a house standing alone at the edge of the woods. It looked old, but not abandoned. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney. A small lantern burned beside the front door. Elias stared at it. “Okay,” he muttered. “That’s either incredibly lucky or the beginning of a horror movie.” He got out. The rain immediately soaked through his jacket. He walked to the door and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again. Still nothing. Then came three quiet knocks from the other side. Elias froze. The door opened. An old woman stood there. She looked at him for a long moment. Then she smiled. “You’re late.” Elias blinked. “Sorry?” “You’re late,” she repeated. “I’m pretty sure we’ve never met.” “No.” She stepped aside. “But you’ve been here before.” Elias stared at her. The sensible thing would have been to leave. Instead, he looked past her. Warm firelight filled the room. A kettle steamed on the stove. There was an old wooden table covered with books, a brass compass, and several clocks. Every clock showed a different time. Elias pointed at them. “Your clocks are wrong.” The woman glanced over her shoulder. “No.” She looked back at him. “They’re remembering different things.” Elias decided not to ask. She smiled again. “Come inside. You’re freezing.” He stepped through the doorway. The moment he did, the rain stopped. Not gradually. Stopped. Elias turned around. The forest was still there. But there was no sound. No rain. No wind. Nothing. He slowly closed the door. The old woman placed a bowl of stew on the table. “Eat.” “Who are you?” She ignored the question. Elias sat down. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Then he noticed something sitting on the mantel. A small wooden bird. It looked handmade. Old. Its paint had almost completely worn away. Elias reached toward it. The woman’s voice sharpened. “Don’t.” He stopped. “Why?” She stared at the bird. “Because it remembers you.” Elias laughed nervously. “Okay. That’s fucking weird.” The woman didn’t laugh. A clock somewhere upstairs began ticking. One. Two. Three. Elias looked toward the ceiling. “Someone else here?” The old woman shook her head. “No.” The ticking stopped. The wooden bird moved. Just once. A tiny wooden foot lifted from the mantel. Elias stared. The woman closed her eyes. “Oh,” she whispered. “What?” She looked at him. “It knows you’re here.” Then came a sound from upstairs. Three slow knocks. Elias stood. The old woman grabbed his wrist. “Whatever you hear tonight…” Her grip tightened. “Do not answer.” From somewhere above them came a voice. A man’s voice. Soft. Familiar. “Elias?” Elias stopped breathing. The old woman looked terrified. The voice came again. “Elias…” A pause. Then: “It’s me.” Elias stared toward the staircase. He didn’t know the voice. But somehow— somehow— he knew exactly who it was. And from the mantel came three tiny wooden taps. Knock. Knock. Knock. The old woman whispered: “Whatever you do…” The lights went out. “…don’t let him know you’re awake.”
