AI Rory slipped through the ancient oaks at the edge of Richmond Park, the silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant cool against her collarbone. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in silver shards, turning the deer paths into pale ribbons that twisted toward the grove. She'd come here on a hunch—Eva's cryptic text about "weird lights in the park" two nights ago, followed by silence . Eva, who never shut up about anything. Rory's delivery shift at Golden Empress had dragged until midnight, but the pendant had warmed faintly in her pocket all evening, not the deep pulse of a Hel portal, but something softer, insistent . Like a whisper she couldn't ignore.
The air thickened as she crossed the boundary. No gradual fade; one step on dew-slick grass, and the world folded inward. The standing stones loomed ahead—gnarled oaks twisted into impossible upright shapes, bark etched with runes that caught the moon like veins of quartz. Wildflowers bloomed riotously between them, petals unfurling in crimson and violet, their scent heavy, cloying, like honey laced with rot. It was November. Flowers shouldn't bloom. Shouldn't glow faintly from within.
She paused, breath steady, scanning the clearing. The Fae Grove, Isolde had called it once, in one of those half-drunk stories at Silas' bar. A pocket between worlds. Rory didn't buy fairy tales, not after Evan, not after scraping by in London with rent due and bruises fading. But the pendant tugged, a subtle heat against her skin. She touched the crimson gemstone, thumbnail-sized, its inner glow muted but alive. Whatever this place was, it mattered.
The center of the grove stretched out, a perfect circle of mossy earth ringed by the oaks. No wind stirred the leaves overhead, yet the wildflowers nodded as if brushed by invisible fingers. Rory stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the turf. Silence pressed in, absolute except for her own heartbeat. Too silent. No distant traffic from Richmond, no owl hoots, no rustle of deer. She glanced at her watch : 12:47 AM. The second hand ticked once, twice—then jumped ahead three minutes. She frowned, shook her wrist. Faulty battery, probably. Focus.
"Eva?" Her voice emerged flat, swallowed by the stillness. No echo . She pulled out her phone—no signal, battery at 89%, unchanged from the park entrance. Text Eva later. First, find whatever lights she'd seen. Rory circled the perimeter, eyes tracing the stones. One bore a fresh scratch, deep and jagged, like claws had raked it from top to bottom. Animal? Deer didn't climb oaks. She crouched, fingers hovering over the mark. Sap oozed, sticky and warm, smelling of iron.
A flicker at the edge of her vision—left, toward the far stone. She snapped her head around. Nothing. Just flowers swaying. Heart quickening, she straightened, forcing a slow breath. Cool-headed, Rory. Out-of-the-box: maybe a fox, or her eyes playing tricks in the low light. But the pendant warmed again, pulsing in time with her pulse . Not Hel, but ... something.
She pressed on, toward the grove's heart. The moss underfoot softened, almost spongy, as if breathing . Flowers brushed her jeans, petals curling toward her ankles like seeking hands. Ridiculous. She kicked one away, and it sprang back, unharmed, glowing brighter. The moon hung bloated overhead, closer now, or was the sky lower? Her watch : 12:53. Six minutes passed in... two? Time slips here, the stories said. Bullshit.
A sound—soft, like silk tearing far away. Rory froze, ears straining. There: again, from the oaks behind her. A whisper of leaves, but no breeze. She turned slowly, scanning the shadows pooling at the stone bases. Darkness clung thicker there, defying the moonlight. Something shifted—a silhouette, tall and elongated, gone when she blinked. Peripheral glitch. Stress. But her scar itched, the crescent on her left wrist from that childhood fall, a phantom burn now.
"Okay," she muttered, voice steadier aloud . "Lights. Where are the lights?" Eva's text: pulsing blue, like stars falling. Rory veered toward the northern arc of stones, where the flowers clustered thickest. The air grew cooler, carrying a faint hum, subsonic, vibrating in her teeth. The pendant throbbed hotter, chain warming her chest. She slipped it out, holding it aloft. The crimson gem pulsed crimson, then flickered —blue? No, trick of the light.
Halfway around the circle, the whisper returned, closer. Not silk —fingers trailing over bark. Rory whipped around. The grove stared back, empty. But the flowers nearest her wilted slightly , petals browning at the edges. Wrong. They shouldn't react. She backed up a step, boots squelching unnaturally loud. Silence rushed back in, heavier.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket—impossible, no signal. She yanked it out: blank screen, then Eva's name flashing. Missed call, timestamp 12:59. But her watch read 12:51. She thumbed accept, heart slamming. Static hissed, then a breath—long, ragged, not Eva's. "Hello?"
Nothing. Click. Dead air.
Rory's mouth dried. Play it smart. Leave now, check on Eva tomorrow. But the pendant burned, gem scorching through her shirt. She hissed, yanking the chain free. It dangled, glowing fiercely, pointing north—like a compass. Toward the densest shadows.
No. Back away. But her feet carried her forward, drawn. The hum intensified, burrowing into her skull. Flowers parted before her, a path unfurling. The stones loomed taller here, branches intertwining overhead into a cage of limbs. A flicker again—right periphery this time. She pivoted. A shape darted between two trunks: slender, too smooth, limbs bending wrong. Humanoid, but elongated, head tilting at an impossible angle before vanishing.
Not alone.
Pulse roaring , Rory gripped the pendant tight. "Who's there?" Voice cracked, betraying her cool. No answer, but the whispers multiplied—dozens now, layered, murmuring in a tongue like wind through thorns. The air thickened, pressing her ribs. Flowers climbed her boots, vines snaking up her calves, thorny but painless. She shook her leg; they recoiled, petals pulsing with that blue light.
Eva's lights.
The northernmost stone gaped open—a crack splitting its base, wide enough for a person. No, not a crack: a maw , edges frilled with root-teeth, exhaling cool mist. The pendant yanked toward it, chain taut. Inside, blue flickers danced, beckoning.
Rory's scar blazed, skin splitting anew? No, illusion. Think. Fae pocket—time warps, realms bleed. Stories of changelings, lures. Eva lured here? Or taken?
A step sounded behind—wet, sucking footfall on moss. She spun. Empty. But the silhouette returned, multiple now: three, four, circling at the grove's edge. Tall, emaciated frames cloaked in shadow, movements fluid, jerking like marionettes on frayed strings. They didn't approach, just watched, heads cocked, eyes—gleaming slits—tracking her.
The whispers coalesced: "Rory... stay..."
Her name. Eva's voice? No—warped, layered with others. Childhood echoes : Mum's Welsh lilt , Dad's brogue, Evan's sneer. "Join us... time bends..."
Watch: 1:12. Twenty minutes gone in five heartbeats. Phone dead, screen spiderwebbed without cause.
Run.
She bolted for the southern stones, the entry point. Vines lashed out, tripping her knee. She sprawled, palms sinking into moss that clutched like fingers. The pendant slipped free, rolling toward the maw . No— She lunged, snatching it as shapes closed in, whispers deafening: "Yours... always yours..."
Faces pressed from the shadows: Eva's, twisted, eyes hollow blue voids. But wrong—skin translucent, veins threading like roots. More faces: her own, Mum's, strangers blooming from bark.
Rory scrambled up, pendant searing her palm. The southern oaks shimmered , boundary wavering . She sprinted, breath fire, scar weeping blood now—real, crescent dripping red. Shapes pursued, footsteps a chorus of cracks and sighs. One hand grazed her shoulder—cold, bark-rough, nails like thorns.
She burst through the stones. Park air hit—crisp, normal. Oaks ordinary, no runes. Flowers dormant, November-brown.
She ran, lungs burning, until the pub lights flickered distant. Phone: 3:17 AM. Two hours lost. Text from Eva: "Sorry, drunk text. Home safe :)"
Rory collapsed against a lamppost, pendant cooling, glow fading. Whispers echoed in her skull, faint: "Return..."
The grove watched from the dark, waiting. Time bent, but she remembered. Something hungered there, patient. And it knew her name.
(Word count: 1247)