chapter ten
603 Words
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
The darkness around them felt different from ordinary darkness. It wasn't simply the absence of light. It felt thick, almost alive, as though the room itself had taken a breath and was waiting for them to make the next move.
She could hear her own breathing.
Then the boy whispered,
“Don't move.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
A faint light appeared ahead of them.
She turned toward it.
The light wasn't coming from a lamp.
It was coming from the floor.
A thin line had appeared between the stones, glowing just enough to reveal the outline of another puzzle.
She crouched down.
The second puzzle was larger than the first.
And it was impossible to understand.
There were triangles inside circles. Squares inside triangles. Animals inside the shapes. Numbers beside them. Lines crossing one another. Small symbols that looked almost like letters but weren't.
And right in the center was a blank space.
Again.
She stared at it.
“No.”
The boy looked at her.
“What?”
“The same thing.”
“What same thing?”
“The missing piece.”
He crouched beside her.
“But this one is different.”
She shook her head.
“No. It's the same.”
She pointed toward the surrounding shapes.
“Look.”
He followed her finger.
There was a bird inside a circle.
A fish inside a square.
A rabbit inside a triangle.
A fox inside a strange four-sided shape.
Then there was the pig.
Again.
She frowned.
“Why does my grandmother keep putting that pig everywhere?”
The boy gave a short laugh.
“I don't think your grandmother had anything against pigs.”
She looked at him.
“Now is not the time.”
“I know.”
But he was still smiling.
For some reason, that made her smile too.
Only for a second.
Then she looked back at the puzzle.
Something wasn't right.
She counted the shapes.
Eight.
Then the animals.
Seven.
She counted again.
Eight shapes.
Seven animals.
One was missing.
Her eyes moved to the center.
The empty space.
Her stomach tightened.
“It's not an object,” she whispered.
The boy's smile disappeared.
“What?”
“The missing piece.”
She touched the empty center.
“I think we've been looking for the wrong thing.”
Before he could answer, the puzzle suddenly changed.
One of the symbols disappeared.
Another appeared.
Then another.
The shapes began rearranging themselves.
The boy grabbed her arm.
“Step back.”
They both moved away.
The puzzle stopped.
Silence returned.
Then, slowly, words appeared beneath it.
Not English.
Not anything she recognized.
But underneath the strange writing was something else.
A single sentence.
Written in her grandmother's handwriting.
YOU CANNOT FIND WHAT YOU HAVE NEVER LOOKED FOR.
She stared at it.
Her heart began beating faster.
“What does that mean?”
The boy didn't answer.
She turned toward him.
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You always say that.”
“Because this time, I really don't.”
She looked at the puzzle again.
The missing piece wasn't something they could hold.
It wasn't hidden in a box.
It wasn't beneath the floor.
It wasn't somewhere in Willowmere.
Maybe it had been with them the entire time.
A sudden thought crossed her mind.
She looked at her own hands.
Then at the object.
Then at the puzzle.
And for the first time, she wondered if the puzzle had been waiting for her.
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