The cottage was unusually quiet that night.
Too quiet.
Maybe it was the weight of the photograph still resting in my jacket pocket—or maybe it was the realization that everything we thought was "weird but explainable" had now spiraled into something much more sinister.
I sat on the couch with Bobby, Ambrose, and Jacob huddled around the center table. The forest loomed outside, cloaked in its usual mist, as if waiting.
Bobby unrolled a paper map he'd pieced together from the local bookstore. "This is the best approximation of the forest boundary we could get," he said, tapping a hand-drawn circle. "But here's where it gets interesting—this is the clearing where the hut appeared… and disappeared."
Jacob chimed in, arms crossed. "The coordinates don't make sense. Ambrose and I double-checked using the compass app on our phones. Every time we try to trace our steps back, the direction changes."
Ambrose, sipping tea from a chipped mug, added with a grin, "Either we're dealing with magnetic anomalies, or this forest is gaslighting us."
"Or both," Bobby muttered.
I glanced around. "So what's the plan?"
Bobby sat upright, finally excited. "We set a controlled experiment."
Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Like what, exactly? Tie ourselves to trees?"
"Not far off," Bobby replied. "We leave markers. A trail of things we know can't vanish or shift—ropes, sticks, maybe use my ultraviolet chalk to make markings visible only under certain light."
"And what do we test?" I asked.
Bobby looked at me, eyes sharp. "Time."
I tilted my head.
"We split up in pairs. Each pair goes in at a different time. One pair goes at 2:45 AM, the other follows at 3:15. Then we see who comes back—when—and what they experienced. Time perception, memory, maybe even spatial awareness."
Jacob whistled. "That's bold. And risky."
"I'll volunteer," I said.
Ambrose immediately stood up. "Me too. No way I'm missing a chance to mess with interdimensional stuff. Besides, I want to see if I turn into my evil twin."
Bobby sighed. "Fine. Then Jacob and I will go second."
We spent the rest of the evening preparing. Bobby handed me one of the modified watches he'd tinkered with—a basic analog timepiece with a UV sensor strip on the side. "Set your phone timer the moment you enter. If the readings on this don't match up afterward, we'll know time's warped."
"Got it."
Ambrose grinned as he held a small pocket mirror and a torch. "Weapons of mass confusion."
By 2:30 AM, we were outside, geared up and layered against the creeping chill. The mist was already forming low to the ground.
"You ready?" I asked Ambrose.
He shrugged. "I was born ready. Or maybe I was born in a future past timeline where I was ready… Who knows anymore?"
I cracked a smile and led the way toward the edge of the forest.
Every step felt heavier, like the very air pushed back. The UV markers Bobby had sprayed on the trees glowed faintly under our torches. After about ten minutes, we reached the familiar clearing—the one with the weird tree, the half-visible pond, and the ghostly silence that blanketed everything like snowfall.
No hut.
But there was… something else.
A sound. A low hum, not from the siren—but from beneath our feet.
"Do you hear that?" I whispered.
Ambrose nodded, unusually serious now. "It's like… the earth's purring."
We moved toward the center of the clearing, placing markers as we went. I set my phone timer. Ambrose bent to touch the soil, but then—
The siren blared.
Except this time, it wasn't distant.
It was right above us.
We both ducked instinctively as the sky twisted—not literally, but it felt like it—and then the clearing shimmered.
Suddenly, the hut stood before us again, as if reality hit play after buffering.
It looked identical. Same thatched roof. Same crooked chimney. Except the door was open this time.
Wide open.
Ambrose turned to me. "On a scale of one to 'we're gonna die,' how bad of an idea is it to go in there?"
"I'm not even sure we're alive right now."
He nodded. "Cool. Let's go."
Inside the hut, the air was warmer. No, heavier. There were old books stacked high, and something scribbled on the wooden walls. Symbols. Spirals. Names—ours.
"Holy…" I stepped closer. My name was etched into the wood.
Alex.
Bobby.
Jacob.
Ambrose.
Ambrose let out a nervous laugh. "Alright. That's definitely not creepy at all."
The door creaked behind us.
I spun around, but no one was there.
"Time?" Ambrose asked.
I checked my phone. "We've been in ten minutes. Should be 3:05 now."
He checked the watch Bobby gave us.
It read 2:38.
A full 27-minute difference.
"We need to go," I said.
Ambrose didn't argue this time.
We left, quickly marking our trail back, and returned to the edge of the forest by what should've been 3:15.
Bobby and Jacob were waiting—eyes wide.
"You took almost an hour," Bobby said, checking his phone. "What happened?"
I showed him the watch.
Jacob checked it again, frowning. "That's impossible."
"It's not just time," I told them. "The hut appeared again. Our names were there. Etched into the walls. Like it knew we'd come."
Ambrose sat down hard on the bench outside the cottage. "I've been saying it all along, man. This place has Netflix spoilers on us. It knows us too well."
Bobby took the watch, his brain already spinning.
"This proves it," he said. "Time isn't linear inside the forest. It stretches, contracts—like elastic."
Jacob nodded, though still clearly disturbed. "And the names on the wall?"
I looked around at them, my voice quieter. "It's keeping track. Of who enters. Maybe even who stays."
We didn't talk much after that.
But something had changed. The forest wasn't just alive.
It was watching.