The sun had reached its peak, pouring light upon the village like warm honey, but in one quiet patch behind the outer treeline — where the laughter of the town couldn't reach — the air had turned stagnant.
A circle had formed in the underbrush. Flattened grass, cracked branches, and bruised leaves marked the perimeter like a cursed ritual site. In the center, the yellow-haired boy — Theo — lay crumpled like a broken doll. His breathing was uneven, each inhale sharp and wet, laced with the gurgle of pain. Purple veins had begun to creep up his neck, thin lines of poison etching through him like ink in paper.
He'd tried to stand again — he always tried — his legs shaking violently beneath his bruised, bloodied knees. But no sooner had he found balance than a sharp kick landed into his ribcage.
Crack.
Theo coughed violently, a string of red saliva dripping down his chin. Tears streamed from his swollen eyes as he collapsed again, wheezing, dirt caking his mouth and nose.
Elise, the head of the pack, stood above him, her blonde curls bouncing as she tilted her head with mock concern. Her expression then twisted, delight blooming in her azure eyes.
"You're not going to die yet, right?" she asked sweetly, leaning down. Her voice was syrupy, but her hand was not.
With one sudden motion, she jammed a bright red mushroom into his mouth — her fingers clutching his jaw tight.
"Swallow," she whispered. "Now."
Theo choked as she forced his mouth closed.
She smiled, lips stretching unnaturally wide. "They're Alaska mushrooms. Not deadly, not for adults anyway. But for someone your size?"
She leaned in, whispering into his ear.
"They make your brain feel like it's boiling in a pot of needles."
Theo screamed.
His body convulsed, spasming as the toxic pain surged from his throat to the back of his skull. His hands clawed into the dirt, leaving bloody crescent moons in the mud. Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth as he rolled onto his side, limbs flailing in agony.
The other children — four of them — laughed cruelly.
Mika, a freckled girl with pigtails, stomped on his hand.
Rulian, a chubby boy with curly brown hair, snatched another mushroom and offered it like a treat. "Come on, eat more! You're so greedy!"
"Cry harder," whispered Fen, a quiet, pale-faced boy with emotionless eyes. "It's funnier that way."
They kicked and beat him while the air around them felt darker. Each blow splattered more of Theo's blood onto the dirt, onto their shoes, their laughing faces. The mud was streaked with red now, mingling with broken flowers and crushed mushrooms.
Theo, through blurred vision, saw someone — a figure — kneeling in the haze of his pain. A woman. But it wasn't real. It was Grandma, the only warmth he'd ever known, appearing again in his dying thoughts. He sobbed, "Not yet... Grandma... we haven't planted the herbs…"
Suddenly, a shrill snap rang out.
His arm had been crushed beneath a stone by Mika, who laughed, not knowing she'd just fractured his wrist.
Theo's scream was hoarse now, as though his throat were tearing open.
He tried crawling — inching — toward the forest's edge. Every pull of his blood-slick fingers was a miracle. A single step more and—
Elise caught him again.
With the dainty grace of a dancer, she skipped over and pinned his hand down. "Tsk, tsk," she said, lifting a rusted stick — its end sharpened.
And then she stabbed.
Straight through the soft flesh between his fingers.
Theo's shriek echoed through the trees like the wail of a tortured spirit. Blood fountained around the wound, staining Elise's dress and face. She blinked and giggled as if paint had splashed on her in a game.
That was when the voice came.
"Hello, children… Are you playing?"
Everything stopped.
From the shadows, she emerged.
The stranger.
She stepped into the ring of carnage, black eyes like twin voids swirling beneath the hood of her tattered cloak. Her presence twisted the air. The sunlight dimmed unnaturally, casting a haunted gray across the clearing.
Elise's smile faltered.
The other children shrank back instinctively.
The woman's gaze crawled over each of them — a slow, suffocating crawl like a centipede through one's spine. She said nothing at first, letting the silence weigh heavily like iron shackles.
Then, she stopped in front of Elise.
"You are... the daughter of the village head," the woman murmured. Her voice was layered — voices of a thousand women, old and young, all speaking at once, distorting the air like a broken instrument. "Your arrogance... it reeks."
"I–I can do what I want," Elise snapped, her voice cracking. "My father rules this village. Who are you to interfere—"
Before she could finish, the woman bent down, staring deep into Elise's eyes.
Those black eyes reflected no light — only suffering.
Suddenly, Elise's body jerked as blood began pouring from her nose — first a trickle, then a stream. She gasped and clutched her face, but the pain slammed into her like a wave.
Elise collapsed, convulsing, clawing at her head with ragged screams. Her face contorted with agony, veins bulging from her neck and forehead.
The others screamed and fled.
Elise screamed louder.
"Your pain is... a reflection of what you give," the woman said coldly. "Ten times the agony of an Alaska mushroom. Ten times what you fed him."
The woman wiped her fingers in the air — blood disappeared from Elise's face, the evidence of horror cleaned away like it never happened. Elise curled into a trembling heap, gasping like a dying animal.
The woman turned to Theo.
His body was limp, pale, and soaked in blood and vomit.
Without a word, she lifted him gently — princess style — his head lolling against her chest. She looked down at Elise again, who, for the first time in her cruel life, knew true fear.
"I'd like to know where his home is," the woman said flatly.
Elise stammered, "T-the east edge… last house… near the cliff…"
The woman turned and walked away, her steps silent despite the broken twigs beneath her feet. As she disappeared beyond the trees, Elise's voice trembled in her chest.
"She's… not human," she whispered, body shaking violently.
Then, her lips curled into a bitter grimace.
"I have to tell Daddy."