AI The moon hung like a bruised plum over Richmond Park, offering just enough light to catch the silver glint of the Heartstone pendant dangling against Rory’s collarbone. She stepped over a rotted log, the damp London air clinging to her skin. The transition happened without a sound. Behind her lay the manicured paths and distant hum of the city; ahead, the ancient oak standing stones loomed , marking the boundary of a place that didn't appear on any local map.
She crossed the threshold. The temperature plummeted. The distant roar of traffic vanished, replaced by a silence so absolute it rang in her ears like a physical weight .
“Right then, Silas. I’m here.”
Rory pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen’s harsh blue glow illuminating her face. No bars. The clock digits flickered, jumping from 11:42 PM to 3:15 AM, then spinning into a blur of nonsensical symbols. She shoved the device away, her thumb tracing the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The Heartstone thrummed. A deep, rhythmic heat seeped through her shirt, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that wasn't hers.
Wildflowers choked the clearing, their petals a vibrant, sickly violet that seemed to phosphoresce in the dark . They shouldn't have been blooming in the bite of autumn. Rory bypassed a cluster of them, her boots sinking into moss that felt unnervingly like velvet -wrapped bone.
“Anyone home? I’ve got the delivery.”
She adjusted the strap of her bag. No one answered, but a branch snapped deep in the thicket. The sound carried a heavy, wet quality, like a leg bone breaking under a boot. Rory froze. She scanned the treeline, where the oaks twisted into shapes that suggested agonized limbs caught in mid-stretch.
Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. Something pale and spindly retracted behind a trunk.
“Silas, if this is a joke, it’s a shit one. The Golden Empress doesn’t pay me enough for ambient horror.”
The pendant burned. It didn't just warm her skin now; it hissed against her chest. Rory reached up, clutching the deep crimson gem. The silver chain bit into her palm. From the darkness ahead, a voice drifted through the trees—thin, reedy, and layered with the echo of a thousand dry leaves.
“Is it still warm?”
Rory’s heart hammered against her ribs. She took a step back, her heel catching on an exposed root that felt suspiciously like a finger.
“Who’s there? Show yourself.”
The shadows between the oaks shifted. They didn't move like natural shadows; they untethered themselves from the ground, stretching upward until they grazed the lower branches.
“The stone. It remembers the heat of the forge. Does it remember you, Aurora?”
“How do you know my name?”
Rory pulled a small, iron-capped torch from her bag. She clicked it on. The beam sliced through the gloom , but the light didn't behave. It bent around the trees, failing to illuminate the space directly in front of her. The violet flowers leaned toward the light, their petals opening to reveal centers lined with fine, needle-like hairs.
“Names have a scent. Yours smells of old Cardiff rain and fresh fear.”
A figure stepped into the periphery of her light. It stood too tall, its proportions stretched as if viewed through a distorted lens. It wore a coat of woven bark and tattered grey silk that trailed on the forest floor, stirring the petals.
“I was told to meet a contact here. I’m leaving the package by the stone. We’re done.”
Rory bent to drop the small, wax-sealed container she’d been carrying.
“Stay a moment. The air hasn't tasted this sweet in decades. Tell me, does the sun still burn the eyes of those in the city?”
The creature leaned forward. Its face remained a smudge of grey, lacking distinct features save for two pits where eyes should have been. It moved with a jerky, stop-motion gait.
“The sun is fine. Now back off.”
Rory turned to retreat toward the standing stones. She walked for three minutes, her pace quickening into a jog, then a sprint. The oak stones remained exactly sixty feet ahead of her. The distance didn't close. She glanced back. The figure in the bark coat stood exactly where she had left it, the wax-sealed box at its feet.
“The Grove doesn’t like departures. It prefers to keep what it catches.”
Rory stopped, her breath hitching in her throat. She looked at the Heartstone. The inner glow had turned from a dull ember to a blinding, angry scarlet.
“I didn't give you permission to catch me.”
“Permission is a human concept. Here, there is only the tether.”
The creature raised a hand. Its fingers were long, multi-jointed, and tipped with obsidian-black nails. It pointed at her wrist, toward the crescent scar.
“That mark. A gift from the one who broke you. We can smell the fracture in your soul, little delivery girl.”
“Leave the scar out of this. What do you want?”
Rory reached into her jacket, her hand closing around a heavy iron key Silas had given her "just in case." The metal felt cold, a sharp contrast to the pendant’s heat.
“I want the stone to stop screaming. It’s very loud, Aurora. It’s calling to things much older than I. Things that haven't eaten since the stones were saplings.”
A low, vibrating growl rumbled through the ground. It didn't come from the figure. It came from beneath the moss. The flowers began to retract into the earth, their violet heads disappearing into tiny, hungry-looking holes.
“Tell them to stay down there then.”
“They don't listen to me. They listen to the pulse .”
The creature drifted closer, its feet making no sound on the shifting earth. The air grew thick with the smell of ozone and wet fur. Rory’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, clicking the green icon without looking at the caller ID.
“Silas? Silas, get me out of here. The stones won't let me pass.”
Static shrieked from the speaker, a grinding sound like metal on teeth. Then, a voice that sounded like her own answered.
“You aren't at the stones anymore, Rory. Look at your feet.”
Rory looked down. The moss wasn't green. It was a deep, bruised purple, and it was slowly beginning to creep over the toes of her boots, fine tendrils winding around the laces. She kicked her feet clear, but the ground felt soft, like lung tissue.
“I’m still at the entrance. I just walked in.”
“Time is a loop in the Grove. You’ve been here for years. You’ve been here for seconds.”
The voice on the phone cut out. The figure in the bark coat was now only five feet away. Rory could see the texture of its skin—it looked like wet parchment stretched over a cage of twigs. It reached out, its hand hovering inches from the Heartstone.
“The crimson heart is heavy. Let me carry it for you.”
“Touch me and you’ll regret it.”
“Threats from a ghost? Look behind you, Aurora. See your path.”
Rory turned. Her footprints in the moss weren't footprints at all. They were small, shallow graves, each one filled with a miniature skeletal remains of birds and small rodents. The path she had taken was a trail of death, winding back toward the standing stones that now looked like giant, rotting teeth .
“What is this place?”
“A pantry. A playground. A pocket in the coat of the world. And you brought the dinner bell.”
The pendant flared, the heat becoming an agonizing sear. Rory gasped, clutching the gem. The crimson light bled outward, illuminating the entire grove. In the sudden brilliance, she saw them. Hunched in the branches, clinging to the backside of the standing stones, and peering from the holes in the earth—dozens of pale, hairless things with wide, needle-toothed grins. They weren't looking at her. They were looking at the stone.
“They’re hungry, Aurora. And the stone is so very bright.”
“How do I close it? How do I stop the light?”
The figure tilted its head, a sickening crack echoing from its neck.
“You don't. You burn until there’s nothing left but the ash. Then we plant the ash to grow more flowers.”
One of the creatures dropped from a branch, landing with a wet thud a few yards away. It skittered closer, its spine arching like a cat’s. Rory backed away, her calf hitting the wax-sealed box she had dropped earlier.
“The delivery. You wanted the box.”
“I wanted the invitation. The box is just a box.”
Rory knelt, her fingers trembling as she grabbed the container. She tore at the wax seal, her nails chipping against the hard substance. Inside sat a single, withered finger bone wrapped in copper wire.
“Is this what you wanted?”
The creature recoiled, its pits for eyes widening.
“Where did you get that?”
“Silas. He said it was a gift.”
Rory held the bone out. The things in the trees hissed, drawing back into the darkness. The figure in the bark coat stepped away, its jerky movements becoming frantic.
“That is a tether to the Deep Hel. You carry the mark of a jailer.”
“Then maybe you should let the jailer leave.”
Rory stood her ground, the pendant burning her chest and the copper-wrapped bone cold in her hand. The silence of the grove grew heavy again, but this time it felt like a predator holding its breath . The tall figure merged back into the shadow of an oak, its voice a fading rattle.
“The gate is open, Aurora. But the stone is still calling. And something has already answered.”
A massive shadow fell across the clearing, blotting out the moon. It didn't come from the trees. It came from the sky. Rory looked up, but there was only an endless, swirling void where the stars should have been. The heat of the Heartstone reached a crescendo, the crimson light pulsating in a frantic, dying rhythm.
She turned and ran toward the stones again. This time, the grass didn't grab at her. The air felt thin, freezing her lungs. She burst through the gap between the two tallest oaks and stumbled onto the gravel path of Richmond Park.
The transition was a physical blow. The sudden noise of a distant plane and the orange glow of streetlights hit her like a wave. Rory collapsed onto the gravel, gasping for air. She looked back. The oak stones stood silent and motionless under the moonlight. No violet flowers. No tall figures.
She reached into her pocket. The bone was gone . Only a smear of grey ash remained in her palm. The Heartstone was cold, its surface dull and dark like a scab.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. One new message.
*Don’t look at your shadow, Rory. It didn't come back with you.*
Rory froze. She slowly turned her head. The streetlight behind her cast a long, narrow shadow on the path. But the shadow wasn't hers. It was too tall, its limbs were too long, and it was holding something that looked like a deep crimson stone toward its chest.
She stood up, her legs shaking. The shadow moved a second after she did, a deliberate, mocking delay.
“Silas, what have you done?”
She whispered the words to the empty park, but her own voice echoed back from the trees, thin and reedy.
“The Grove doesn't like departures.”
Rory gripped her wrist, the crescent scar throbbing with a dull, new pain. She began to walk, but with every step she took under the city lights, the shadow behind her grew longer, stretching toward the heels of her boots like a reaching hand.
The path back to the flat felt miles long. Every rustle of the park’s bushes sounded like the snap of a bone . Every flickering lamp was a reminder of the light that shouldn't have been. She reached the park gates, her breath coming in ragged stabs.
A park ranger’s jeep sat by the exit, its headlights cutting through the mist. Rory waved her arms, desperate for the sight of another human. The ranger didn't move. He sat behind the wheel, his head tilted at an impossible angle against the window.
Rory slowed as she approached the vehicle. The glass was fogged from the inside, a single word traced into the condensation in a small, shaky hand.
*RUN.*
The heater inside the jeep was humming , a low, mechanical growl that mimicked the sound she had heard beneath the moss. Rory didn't wait. She bolted past the gates and onto the main road, the asphalt hard and unforgiving under her feet.
Behind her, the jeep’s horn began to blare—a long, continuous note that sounded like a scream .
She reached the flat above the bar, her hands fumbling with the keys. The metal was slick with sweat. She burst through the door and slammed it shut, throwing every bolt. The bar below was silent. Silas was gone .
Rory leaned against the door, her chest heaving. She looked at the Heartstone pendant. The crimson gem was cracked down the middle. A thin, black liquid seeped from the fissure, staining her shirt.
She didn't dare look in the mirror. She could feel the weight of the shadow standing just behind her shoulder, watching her through the dark.
“You’re still here, aren't you?”
The floorboards creaked. Not in front of her. Directly under her feet.
“We are always here, Aurora. The stone is just the key.”
The voice didn't come from the room. It came from the pendant. Rory ripped the silver chain from her neck and flung it across the room. It hit the far wall with a heavy thud, but it didn't fall. It stuck to the wallpaper like an insect, the black liquid spreading into the shape of a hand.
Rory backed away, toward the window. Outside, London looked the same. The buses were red, the streetlights were amber, and the Thames flowed black and indifferent. But as she watched, the lights across the street began to go out, one by one, in a perfect line leading toward her building.
Something was walking down the street, and it was bringing the Grove’s darkness with it.
Rory grabbed her bag, her fingers finding the small, iron-capped torch. She clicked it on. The beam was weak, flickering like a dying heart. She turned it toward the wall where the pendant hung.
The pendant was gone . In its place, a hole had opened in the plaster. It wasn't a hole into the brickwork. It was a window into a clearing filled with violet flowers.
“Silas! Eva! Someone!”
She screamed into the empty flat, but the sound was swallowed by the wallpaper. The room began to smell of ozone and wet earth. The floorboards shifted, turning soft and spongy.
Rory scrambled onto the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. The darkness from the street had reached her front door. The handle turned slowly , the metal Clicking as the lock disengaged from the inside.
The door creaked open. No one stood in the hallway. But the shadow on the floor was massive, stretching into the room and climbing up the bedsheets.
“The stone is broken, Aurora. Now the heart must follow.”
The shadow reached for her, its fingers long and multi-jointed. Rory squeezed her eyes shut, her thumb digging into the crescent scar on her wrist until it bled. The blood was red, bright and hot against her skin—the only thing in the room that felt real.
She felt a cold breath against her ear, smelling of ancient oak and decay.
“Tell me, Aurora. Does the sun still burn?”
Rory didn't answer. She couldn't. The violet flowers were starting to grow through the mattress, their needle-lined centers brushing against her ankles. She reached for the torch, but her hand passed through it as if the metal were made of smoke.
The world was thinning . The flat was a shell, a fading memory of a place she no longer inhabited. She looked at her hands. They were becoming pale, the skin stretching over her knuckles until it looked like wet parchment .
“I’m still in the Grove,” she whispered.
“You never left,” the shadow replied.
The darkness from the hallway flooded the room, extinguishing the streetlights once and for all. Rory reached out, her fingers catching on something hard and cold. The oak standing stones. She was back in the clearing, the moon hanging overhead like a bruised plum.
The Heartstone sat at her feet, whole and pulsing.
“Again,” the figure in the bark coat said, stepping from the trees. “Let us see how far you run this time.”
Rory picked up the stone. It was hot. It was heavy. It was the only thing she had left.
“Right then,” she said, her voice cracking . “Again.”
The creature grinned, a row of needle-teeth glinting in the crimson light. It gestured toward the path that didn't exist, where the gravity felt wrong and the silence was waiting to feed.
Rory took the first step. The moss felt like bone. The flowers leaned toward her, their violet heads nodding in a wind that didn't blow.
The Grove waited. The stone pulsed . And somewhere far away, a delivery girl’s phone rang in a quiet London park, unanswered.