It wasn't until the child returned to that street that he realized things had changed.
The streetlights were still on.
The light wasn't dim—it was even brighter than the patch of greenery he'd just passed. The pavement was clean, the convenience store's glass reflecting white light, its automatic doors occasionally opening as people came and went.
Everything looked perfectly normal.
Yet the child stood at the intersection, unable to move forward.
He knew something was wrong.
It wasn't any specific spot, but the proportions of the entire space felt off.
The street seemed longer than he remembered.
The buildings on either side appeared stretched farther apart. The traffic lights in the distance glowed too low, almost touching the ground. Pedestrians' shadows were flattened thin, dragging along the pavement as if they might snap at any moment.
He moved forward slowly.
Each step was taken with extreme care.
Not to avoid disturbing anyone, but out of fear the ground might respond to his weight.
The first anomaly appeared at the convenience store entrance.
A woman stood there.
Her back to the child, she stared at the merchandise in the window. Ordinary in build, she wore a dark coat, her hair pulled back tightly.
The child hadn't intended to stop.
But just as he passed behind her, she suddenly spoke.
"You're running too fast."
Her voice was low.
Her tone flat.
As if stating a confirmed fact.
The child's steps halted.
The words hadn't explicitly called out to him.
They hadn't even pointed in his direction.
Yet he knew they were meant for him.
He didn't turn around.
Because in that instant, he realized something—
The inflection in those words didn't belong to a stranger.
Too familiar.
So familiar it made his stomach clench.
He kept walking forward.
His pace quickened unconsciously.
A faint sound came from behind.
Not footsteps.
But the intermittent rustling of fabric, like someone mimicking the act of "walking" without quite mastering the rhythm.
The child turned onto another street.
It was darker here.
Two streetlights were out, casting a distinct shadow between them. Faded advertisements plastered the walls, their edges curling as if ready to fall at any moment.
He'd barely paused to catch his breath when a voice spoke behind him.
"What are you doing standing here?"
A man's voice.
The child spun around abruptly.
Three figures stood at the street corner.
A man, a woman, and a figure whose gender was indistinct.
They stood scattered.
Not as if they belonged together.
Yet they maintained some peculiar distance between them.
The man who spoke wore a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his posture casual. Half his face was in light, half in shadow.
"So late," he said. "All alone?"
The child didn't answer.
His gaze shifted to the woman.
Her head was tilted slightly.
The angle was almost identical to the man's earlier tilt.
It wasn't a natural tilt.
More like a gesture practiced repeatedly.
"He's not very talkative," the woman said.
The words weren't directed at the man.
They seemed to explain something to the air.
The third figure shifted.
Only then did the child realize it wasn't a stable human form.
Its outline shifted.
Sometimes it seemed to stand, other times crouch.
It wasn't close, yet remained perpetually in the child's peripheral vision.
The man took a step forward.
The child instinctively backed away.
Just then, he saw the man's hand.
The way it rose sent a chill through him.
It wasn't waving.
Nor was it reaching out.
It hung suspended in midair, as if waiting for something.
Exactly like hers.
"Don't be nervous," the man said. "We just want to confirm something."
"Confirm what?" the child's voice finally emerged.
It was faint.
And trembling.
The man smiled.
The smile seemed hesitant on his face, as if he wasn't sure this was the right place for it.
"Confirm if you remember her."
The child's heart clenched violently.
He wanted to deny it.
To say he didn't remember.
To say they had the wrong person.
But the words formed slowly in his mind.
Too slowly to escape his lips.
The woman took a step forward.
Her footsteps made no sound.
"You've seen her," she said.
Not a question.
The child shook his head.
The moment the motion ended, he regretted it.
The third figure made an almost inaudible sound.
Like some kind of response.
It drew a little closer.
The child finally caught a glimpse of part of it.
It resembled a face.
But without fixed features.
As if someone kept trying to place eyes and a mouth on a blurred surface, never quite managing to steady them.
"He remembers," the thing said.
The voice overlapped.
A blend of several tones.
The man nodded.
As if he'd received confirmation.
"That's enough," he said.
The child began to retreat.
One step.
Then another.
He discovered that no matter which direction he retreated, the positions of those three figures would shift subtly in response.
Not to encircle him.
But to remain perpetually within his sight.
They showed no urgency.
Even appeared patient.
"She was alone before," the woman said. "Too slow."
"Not anymore," the man replied. "She showed us how."
The child's breathing grew ragged.
He recalled her standing in the greenbelt.
He remembered that hand suspended mid-air.
That sensation of being permitted, yet restrained.
"You're not her," the child said.
His voice trembled.
Yet it was clear.
The man looked at him for a moment.
Then shook his head.
"No," he said. "But she wasn't wrong."
The third figure suddenly drew very close.
The child caught a faint scent.
Not decay.
Not blood.
But the smell of old clothes worn repeatedly, never quite cleaned.
"Don't be afraid," it said.
This phrase sounded most like her.
The tone, the pause, even the way the last syllable dipped.
Tears welled up in the child's eyes.
He finally understood something.
She hadn't become something else.
She had merely been recognized first.
And now, these things were following her trail, practicing how to approach him.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Far away.
Yet distinct.
At that moment, all three froze simultaneously.
Their expressions flickered briefly, out of sync.
As if a new variable had been introduced.
The man took a step back.
The woman lowered her head.
The third figure began to waver, its outline shimmering slightly.
"Next time," the man said.
The words didn't sound directed at a child.
More like they were meant for some absent presence.
They retreated slowly into the shadows.
Their movements synchronized.
Yet there was no trace of communication between them.
The child remained standing where she was.
Until the street regained its normal proportions.
The lights returned to their proper places.
The shadows ceased their distortion.
Only then did he notice his hands had been trembling all along.
He didn't look back.
Nor did he ask questions.
Because he had already begun to realize—
From the moment she was recognized, this world had started learning a new way of drawing near.
And this way no longer belonged to her alone.