Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YEQWDTFW8VNWJN3MZ78EZB

Rory found the path by the oak posts, though she had walked past it twice. They stood among the trees like standing stones, their wood black with rain. Beyond them, wildflowers crowded the grass. She had noticed those on her way through the park that afternoon, when there had still been enough daylight to see the mud on her trainers. She lifted her phone and checked the photograph she had taken before leaving the flat. Her keys sat on the kitchen counter beside a paper bag from the Golden Empress. In the photograph, the brass key to the flat pointed towards the bag; the green plastic fob lay beneath it. She had picked them up before her shift. She remembered opening the bar’s back door with them. After that she had crossed the park, cut through the grove, and found her pocket empty when she reached the road. Rory held her phone up to the posts. “Lost keys. Last place I remember putting my hand in my pocket was here.” The recording timer started. She angled the camera down to show the path. “Right-hand pocket. Hole in the lining.” She pushed two fingers through it. The tear had opened along the seam, large enough to swallow the whole bunch. “Brilliant.” She stepped between the posts. The air smelled of wet bark and crushed leaves. A few yards ahead, the path widened into a clearing. White flowers shone among the grass, their petals open despite the cold. Rory had stopped to look at them that afternoon. She remembered crouching to touch one, her coat pulling tight across her hips. She went to the same patch and swept her phone’s light over the ground. “There was a tree on the left.” Three trees stood at the edge of the clearing. She turned, placed the posts behind her and picked the nearest oak. Its roots rose through the grass in thick, dark ridges. She crouched beside them and parted the flowers. A sound came from above her: a brief scrape, followed by two light knocks. Rory looked up. The beam caught the trunk, a fork in the branches, then leaves. Rainwater slipped from one leaf onto her cheek. She waited. Nothing else fell. “Squirrel.” The word went into the recording. She stopped it, slipped the phone into her coat and searched with both hands. Damp soil lodged under her nails. A beetle climbed over her knuckle. She found a crisp packet folded around a stone, a pale feather and a ring of bare earth where something round had rested, but no keys. She stood and moved to the next tree. At its base, the grass leaned away from the trunk. She followed the flattened strip for a few steps, then stopped. Her footprints crossed it, the soles pressed into soft earth. She recognized the worn corner on the left heel. They led from the flowers to the tree and back again. She had not walked there tonight. In the afternoon, though, she had wandered about the clearing before finding the exit. She put her foot beside one print. It fitted, and water rose around the edge of her trainer. Something rustled behind her. She spun, bringing the phone out. Its light jumped across the clearing and landed on the oak posts. Leaves shifted at their feet. No branch moved. “Hello?” Her voice went between the trees. A faint tap answered from somewhere beyond the posts. Rory held still, listening for a second tap. She heard a low hum instead, too steady for wind. It grew louder until she could pick out the rattle of an engine. A car. The road lay beyond the trees, though she could not remember it sounding so close. The engine stopped. A door clicked shut. She raised the phone towards the sound. “Is someone there?” The hum began again, at the same pitch. It stopped at the same point, followed by the same click. Rory lowered the light. A strand of hair had stuck to her wet cheek. She tucked it behind her ear and listened to the car start and stop a third time. Her pendant warmed against her chest. She pulled the silver chain from beneath her collar. The crimson stone held a faint glow. Heat gathered at its centre, then eased. Rory curled her fingers around it until the next pulse pressed into her palm. “Not here for that.” She let the pendant fall and returned to the search. She had brought a small torch in her bag, and she switched to it to save her phone battery. The narrow beam gave her a clearer view of the grass. She worked across the clearing in strips, using the roots and the flower patches to mark where she had looked. At the third pass, she saw the green fob. It lay beneath a cluster of white flowers near the middle of the clearing. Rory moved towards it, keeping the torch trained on the spot. The fob shifted behind a stem. She stopped. The stem settled. Rory reached down. Her fingers closed on a damp leaf. She separated the flowers and searched the earth beneath them. A green beetle crawled out over her thumb, its shell catching the light. “Wrong green.” She brushed it onto a root. When she looked back, the flower stems had closed over the patch she had searched. The car sound stopped. This time the door did not click. Rory straightened. Her knees ached from crouching, and cold had crept through the damp fabric of her jeans. She took out her phone and checked the time. It read 10:14. She had entered the grove at 10:08, though the search had taken longer than six minutes. The battery indicator showed a red sliver. She opened the recording to check the time at its start. As the video played, the sound of her own voice rose from the speaker. “Lost keys. Last place I remember putting my hand in my pocket was here.” The oak posts filled the screen. Behind them, flowers trembled in the breeze from her passing. “Right-hand pocket. Hole in the lining.” Rory watched the camera dip towards her coat. A shape crossed the gap between the posts behind her: low, dark, gone before she could make it out. She dragged the video back and watched again. Her thumb missed the spot twice. On the third attempt, she caught a frame with the shape in it. It looked like a coat sleeve. She enlarged it. The picture broke into squares. The dark shape ran from one edge of the gap to the other, with no hand or shoulder visible. Rory glanced up at the posts. Nothing stood between them. She deleted the video, then pressed the screen before the phone could put it in the bin. “Don’t do that.” She restored it and locked the phone. The pendant pulsed against her skin. A dry rattling came from the far side of the clearing. Rory turned the torch towards it. The beam found flowers, roots and a patch of bare soil beneath a holly bush. The rattling stopped. She took a step towards the bush. The sound resumed, a little farther left. It reminded her of the keys swinging from her hand on the green fob. There had been four keys on the ring and a small metal bottle opener shaped like a fish. The fish struck the others when she walked. Rory shook her empty hand. The sound came again. She moved towards it, placing each foot where the torch showed clear ground. A branch grazed her shoulder. Beyond the holly, a fallen trunk lay across the grass, its bark split and lifted in long strips. The rattling came from beneath it. Rory knelt and shone the torch into the gap. She saw pale fungus, rotting leaves and the edge of something green. She reached in. Her sleeve caught on a splinter. She pulled free, turned her hand and stretched until her fingertips brushed plastic. The keys slid back. Rory snatched her hand out. Her wrist struck the trunk, scraping the small crescent scar on its inner side. She kept the torch on the gap. The green fob rested beyond her reach, with one brass key visible beside it. A worm pushed through the leaves. A woodlouse crawled over the key. Rory watched both, then looked along the trunk. Its far end rested on a root, raising it a little higher. She went round and crouched there. From this angle she could see more of the keys. The fish-shaped opener faced her, its painted eye chipped where she had dropped it on the bar floor. A thin twig lay across the trunk. Rory snapped off its branches, pushed it into the gap and hooked the ring. She drew it towards her. The keys caught on a ridge of bark. She shifted the twig, lifted the ring and pulled again. The fob came within reach. A hand closed around it. Rory jerked back. The torch fell from her grip and rolled, sending its beam across the grass. In the brief sweep of light she saw four fingers beneath the trunk, pale against the green plastic. The beam stopped at the base of a tree. Rory stayed where she was. The twig lay across her knee. She picked up the torch and aimed it under the trunk. The keys sat where she had left them. No hand showed in the gap. She backed away until she could see both ends of the fallen tree. Nothing came out. The car sound had started again, its engine rattling beyond the posts. Rory took her phone from her pocket and opened the camera. The battery warning covered the screen. She dismissed it, switched on the flash and set the phone against a root facing the trunk. “Record.” The timer began. She found a longer branch and stripped it with her thumbnail. Then she lay on her stomach, keeping her face clear of the gap, and pushed the branch towards the key ring. The metal scraped wood. She hooked the ring and pulled. The fob slid towards her. It caught, lifted, then came free. Rory dragged the keys into the open grass and seized them. Mud coated the brass key; the fish opener had lost another flake of paint. Something knocked beneath the trunk. She scrambled to her feet and swept the torch over it. The bark shivered. A strip peeled away and dropped onto the leaves. Beneath it, a dark gap opened in the wood. The knocking came again, from inside. Rory went to the root and picked up her phone. The recording showed the fallen trunk in a square of white light. She stopped the video and opened it, keeping the keys clenched in her other hand. On the screen, her branch entered the gap. The keys moved towards her. A pale hand reached out and caught the green fob. Rory paused the video. The fingers wore a silver ring. At the wrist, just above the bark, a small crescent scar showed against the skin. She turned her own hand over. Fresh scratches crossed the scar. On the screen, the hand released the fob, and the fingers withdrew beneath the trunk. Rory looked up from the phone. The knocking had stopped. Her torch lit the narrow gap under the fallen tree. A twig protruded from it, with three small branches still attached. As she watched, it slid across the leaves and hooked around the root where her phone had stood.