They walked down the path, expecting the usual bustle of carts and chatter, but instead found it oddly quiet. The air was heavy, as though the village itself was holding its breath. No dogs barked, no children laughed, no hammers rang from the smithy. Shutters hung crooked on their hinges, swaying faintly in the wind, and the cobblestones were littered with dry leaves that whispered underfoot.
Then they saw it, a crowd gathered in the square before a statue. The statue was ugly, its features warped and uncertain, somewhere between a raccoon and a fox. Its muzzle twisted unnaturally, ears bent at odd angles, and cracks ran down its stone body like veins. Moss clung to its sides, and the hollow sockets where eyes should have been seemed to watch them.
In the statue's shadow stood a very small man. His hair blazed fiery red, catching the dim light like embers, and his smile stretched too wide across his face. It was unsettling, sharp at the edges with a grin that seemed to know more than it should.
The moment he spotted the children, his smile widened further, teeth flashing.
And then, slowly, the villagers turned. One by one, their heads pivoted in eerie unison, their eyes locking onto the children. Each face carried the same uncanny grin, wide, fixed, and wrong, as if painted on rather than born of joy.
The silence pressed in tighter, the square suddenly feeling less like a place of safety and more like a trap.
The red‑haired man stepped forward, his voice soft but carrying across the square.
"Hello, Ryan. We've been waiting for your arrival," he said, ignoring the other children as he offered a hand to Ryan. "I am Chief Morwen, and I humbly invite you and your friends to our village."
"H… how do you know my name?" Ryan asked, stepping back, refusing the hand without even thinking about it.
The Chief's smile twitched, a tiny crack in the mask before stretching wider again, almost too wide.
"Your arrival was expected. Please, let us make your stay comfortable," he repeated, as if reading from a script.
Josh, still gripping the map, stepped forward.
"What exactly is this village called? I can't see it on the map, and what's up with that weird sta—"
Sylvie elbowed him sharply.
"—He means… unique statue," she corrected quickly, her voice thin, her eyes flicking nervously toward the villagers.
The crowd didn't react. They didn't blink. Their smiles simply stretched a little wider, as if the word unique had pleased them.
Chief Morwen's gaze lingered on Josh for a moment before sliding back to Ryan.
"As expected, people don't usually leave once they've seen the joy our humble village brings," he said smoothly. "We like to call this place Joy… for it brings joy to all."
The villagers tilted their heads in eerie synchrony, their grins deepening as though the name itself was a secret they had been waiting to share.
Ryan swallowed, his eyes drifting back to the warped statue.
"You still didn't answer the last question," he said quietly. "What's with that thing?"
Chief Morwen's smile twitched again. He glanced at the statue, not with fear, but with something like fondness before returning his gaze to Ryan.
"That statue," he said, voice calm but strangely rehearsed, "is part of our history. A symbol of what keeps this village together. Outsiders rarely understand it… but in time, perhaps you will."
The villagers' grins deepened once more, their heads tilting slightly, as if the Chief's words carried a meaning only they shared.
"What do you mean by 'in time we'll understand it'?" Ryan asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Something about the way the Chief had said it was calm, certain, like the ending of a story Ryan hadn't heard yet, made his stomach twist.
He didn't like it.
He didn't like the statue.
He didn't like the smiles.
And he definitely didn't like whatever the Chief was implying.
Chief Morwen's eyes flicked to him, the smile on his face tightening just a little, as if Ryan had stepped somewhere he wasn't supposed to.
"In time," the Chief repeated gently, almost soothingly, "you'll understand."
Mika walked up beside Ryan and gave his arm a small, nervous nudge.
"Ryan… let's get out of here," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "I don't trust these people."
It wasn't Mika's usual tone there was no mischief, no bravado, none of the sharp confidence he used when teasing Bran or daring Tomas to climb trees. This was quiet. Tight. Real.
Ryan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Mika wasn't the type to scare easily. If he was rattled, something was seriously wrong.
Ryan didn't answer right away. The villagers were still staring at all of them with those stretched, unnatural smiles. Chief Morwen's eyes hadn't left Ryan for a single heartbeat. And the statue… the statue seemed to be watching too.
Ryan's throat felt dry. He didn't dare look at Mika directly not with all those eyes on them but he gave the smallest nod he could manage. Just enough for Mika to know he'd heard him. Just enough to say I feel it too.
But before either of them could move, Chief Morwen took a single step closer.
It wasn't a threatening step. Not loud. Not sudden. Just… close enough to make Ryan's skin crawl.
"Leaving so soon?" the Chief asked lightly, as though Mika had spoken at full volume instead of whispering into Ryan's sleeve. "You've only just arrived."
Mika stiffened beside him.
He hadn't been loud. Ryan knew he hadn't.
So how did the Chief—
Ryan forced himself to swallow.
"We're just… tired," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "It was a long walk."
"A very long walk," Josh added quickly, clutching the map like a shield. "Four days. Maybe five. Hard to tell. Time's weird in forests."
The villagers didn't laugh.
They didn't even blink.
Their smiles just stayed stretched, frozen, wrong.
Chief Morwen's eyes softened in a way that made Ryan's stomach twist even harder.
"All the more reason to stay," the Chief said gently. "Joy welcomes the weary. Joy heals. Joy provides."
Chief Morwen's smile didn't falter, but something behind it shifted. A flicker. A tightening. As though the mask he wore of whatever it truly was strained to hold its shape.
"We insist," the Chief added softly. "Guests are rare. Precious."
The villagers' heads tilted again, a fraction too far this time, like marionettes whose strings had been pulled by an impatient hand. Their smiles stretched until the skin around their mouths looked ready to split.
Sylvie's breath hitched. Josh took a half‑step back, bumping into Bran, who hadn't said a word since they'd entered the square. Bran's eyes were fixed on the statue, not the villagers, not the Chief, but the statue as though something about it had hooked into him and refused to let go.
Ryan followed his gaze.
The statue's cracked muzzle seemed… different.
Not changed, exactly.
Just… different.
A faint sound drifted through the square a soft, rhythmic tapping. At first Ryan thought it was the wind knocking a shutter loose again. But no. It was too steady. Too deliberate.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It was coming from the statue.
Chief Morwen's head snapped toward it, the movement sharp and unnatural, like a puppet jerked by a string. His smile didn't fade, but his eyes for the first time showed something other than that eerie, rehearsed warmth.
Annoyance.
Or fear.
Or both.
The tapping stopped.
The villagers' smiles froze in place, but their bodies stiffened, as if bracing for something Ryan couldn't see.
Mika leaned closer, barely breathing.
"Ryan," he whispered, "we need to run. Now."
Ryan didn't disagree. Every instinct screamed at him to turn, to bolt, to drag the others with him and not look back.
"You misunderstand," he said gently. "No one leaves Joy without… understanding."
His smile widened, impossibly.
"And you are not ready to understand."