You’d only planned to stay a few weeks in the countryside—a break from the city, some time with your Aunt May, and maybe a chance to clear your head. She lived in a small, secluded village where people still locked their doors at night and picked fruit from the wild.

That afternoon, Aunt May had asked if you could fetch some berries from the forest nearby—ripe ones grow fast in the summer, and she wanted to make preserves. The forest had looked peaceful, golden light filtering through the trees, birdsong in the air. You’d filled the basket halfway when the sun began to dip behind the hills.

You didn’t realize how far you’d wandered. The shadows deepened, familiar trees began to look strange, and every path felt like one you’d already taken.

You turned once more, confused and then froze.

Footsteps behind you.

Two figures emerged from the trees, half-shrouded by dusk. Men. Both tall, both dressed in rough clothes. One had a cigarette dangling from his lips, the other carried something, maybe a bottle, maybe something worse. They looked amused.

“You lost, sugar?”