It was midnight, and the house groaned like an old storyteller whispering secrets through the beams. Leaves rustled outside like conspirators. Everyone slept.
Everyone should sleep.
Except Piers.
He lay in his parents' bed upstairs—the big one, the one that smelled like his mother's lavender soap and his father's woodsmoke. His parents had claimed Styx's room downstairs for the night. Privacy. Which meant Piers got evicted to sleep beside his sister.
Styx was sprawled across three-quarters of the mattress, one arm flung over his face, snoring softly.
Heavy sleeper. Could probably sleep through an earthquake.
Piers stared at the ceiling where shadows moved. He'd been close to sleep when—
"Master."
This ghost. Again.
Piers closed his eyes immediately, feigning sleep.
"Master, you must listen."
Piers didn't open his eyes. The spectral entity was already present—he could sense it hovering in the corner. Pale luminescent form, approximately humanoid, defying standard physical laws.
Third visit. Or fourth. Hard to keep count when they all blur together.
He could sense it hovering in the corner—pale, see-through, floating about two feet off the ground. Eyes glowing like fog-covered lamps.
It keeps talking. A lot.
Dead people talk more than living ones, apparently.
Piers had ignored it every single time.
So far, that strategy's working great.
"Just how much longer are you planning to grace me with this... deliberate ignorance? You must listen to me."
Piers considered the phrasing. Who talked like that?
Dead people, seemingly.
"I have a proposition, and I insist upon your full attention. For if you choose to disregard my words..."
The ghost drifted through the rocking chair—just passed straight through it like it wasn't there—and pointed one skeletal finger,
At the wall.
The wall that led to the living room. Connected to the stairs. The stairs that went down at Styx room.
Where his parents were currently... occupied.
"I shall be forced to depart directly through this wall. And continue my journey... downwards."
Piers opened his eyes.
Ghost can phase through walls. Wall won't stop it. Destination: parents' bedroom. Current parental activity: extremely private.
That would be bad.
Very bad.
Fine. Talk to the dead guy.
[NULL SYSTEM - PRIORITY ALERT]
[EXTERNAL ENTITY DETECTED: SPECTRAL BEING]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: LOW (PHYSICAL)]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: HIGH (PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE)]
[ENTITY IS LEVERAGING PARENTAL PRIVACY AS BARGAINING CHIP]
[ANALYSIS: EFFECTIVE STRATEGY]
[RECOMMENDATION UPGRADED TO: DIRECTIVE]
[ENGAGE WITH ENTITY]
[REASON: AVOIDANCE WILL RESULT IN UNACCEPTABLE SOCIAL CONSEQUENCES]
Piers sat up. His expression remained neutral but something was there for the first time
A glare.
"What is it you want, undead?"
Not a question. Statement of required information exchange.
The ghost's glow dimmed slightly. It appeared pleased by verbal acknowledgment.
"Ah! Master! At last you acknowledge me!" Foggy eyes brightened. "I must first beg your forgiveness. My recent actions—specifically the regrettable infant-bothering incidents of the past three evenings—were... suboptimal. A moment of desperation. A lapse in judgment. You must understand, one doesn't think clearly without a proper cup of tea in, well... centuries—"
Piers picked up his pacifier from beside the pillow. Threw it at the ghost's face.
Object passed through translucent form. Ghost flinched anyway. Interesting—psychological response despite lack of physical impact.
Piers stared at the ghost for three full seconds.
"Keep it short. Unless you want to disappear."
The ghost jerked back like it'd been slapped.
For a moment, it just floated there—stunned, foggy eyes wide.
Then it made the motion of clearing its throat. The gesture looked wrong on something without a body. Like watching a puppet pretend to cough.
"Apologies. Apologies, master. I shall—brevity. Yes. Short. Very short."
The ghost's expression shifted. The nervous, rambling energy drained away, replaced by something... heavier. Darker.
Its glow dimmed until it was barely visible in the shadows.
"Master," My daughter... is suffering."
Piers blinked once.
Daughter. Ghost has a daughter. Interesting.
"For centuries, she's been trapped. Bound in a vessel deep within this cursed forest. Surrounded by "...nothing but sorrow. Chained to darkness. I can no longer bear to witness her unending pain—her eternal lament."
The spectral form drifted closer, trembling.
"You must free her from this torment. I implore you... I beg you, with what remains of my dignity... help me."
The ghost bowed—full supplication. Grief was visible throughout its translucent form.
Piers stared at the ghost.
The ghost stared back, trembling beneath its formal mask, waiting.
Daughter trapped for centuries. Ghost can't free her. Wants my help.
Why me, specifically?
Piers tilted his head slightly.
"Why me."
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[ANALYZING PROPOSAL...]
[ENTITY REQUEST: RESCUE MISSION - CURSED FOREST]
[RISK ASSESSMENT: MODERATE TO HIGH]
[POTENTIAL BENEFITS:]
New experience (emotional stimulus: HIGH) Altruistic action (compassion development) Unknown variables (growth opportunity)
[PROJECTED CORRUPTION IMPACT: -2% TO -4%]
[RECOMMENDATION: ACCEPT MISSION]
Piers stared at the notification in his vision. His eyes remained flat, expressionless, but something in his gaze sharpened.
Emotional stimulus: HIGH.
Corruption reduction: up to 4%.
Efficient.
The ghost opened its mouth—or the approximation of one—clearly scrambling for an answer. Why him specifically? What could a three-year-old possibly—
"I'll help you," Piers stated.
The ghost froze mid-thought.
"You... you will?" The foggy eyes widened, disbelief flickering across its translucent face. "Truly? Without further inquiry? You require no explanation of the dangers? No assurances of—of compensation, or—"
Piers stared.
The ghost stopped talking.
"Master, I—"
"Conditions first." Piers' voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "If I'm going into a cursed forest, I need information."
He looked down at Styx, still clinging to him like a barnacle. One arm draped across his torso, the other flung over his legs.
Getting out of this without waking her up is going to be annoying.
He moved slowly. Carefully. Lifted her arm by the wrist—gentle pressure, no sudden movements.
Styx mumbled something about frogs and rolled over, taking half the blanket with her.
Her breathing stayed even.
Still asleep.
Good.
Piers slid out of bed and crossed to the corner where his mother had stacked the new clothes from Jenora. Dark tunic—practical. Short pants—better for movement. Shoes with laces.
He dressed methodically, pulling the tunic over his head, stepping into the pants one leg at a time.
The shoes were a problem.
Laces. Too many loops. His three-year-old fingers fumbled with them twice before he gave up and left them loose.
Not ideal. But functional.
He stood. Tested his weight. One foot slipped slightly inside the shoe, but his balance held.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[ELEVATED HEART RATE DETECTED]
[ADRENALINE RESPONSE: ACTIVE]
[PHYSICAL PREPARATION: IN PROGRESS]
[VOID CORRUPTION: 43% - STABLE]
Final items: the milk bottles.
Two of them sat on the small table beside the bed, half-full. His mother's obsession with making sure he drank enough milk.
He stared at them for a moment.
Why am I bringing these?
No logical reason.
But he picked them up anyway and secured them to his belt loops—one on each hip. Tested the weight. They swung slightly but stayed in place.
"Ready."
The ghost watched him with an expression that clearly said it was regretting every decision that had led to this moment.
Too late now.
Piers moved to the window and pushed it open. Night air rushed in—cool, sharp, smelling of pine and damp earth. The barrier shimmered faintly in the darkness outside, a transparent dome separating their home from the forest beyond.
He climbed onto the windowsill.
About a meter drop to the ground below.
Easy enough.
Behind him, Styx shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent.
The ghost hovered at his shoulder, its glow flickering nervously.
"Master, I must warn you—the forest at night is exceedingly dangerous. There are things that dwell within the shadows. Creatures most foul, twisted by corruption, and—"
"I know."
Piers looked out at the dark tree line beyond the barrier.
His heart beat a little faster.
Not fear.
Something else.
Anticipation, maybe.
Or curiosity.
He wasn't sure.
He jumped.