THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE CHILDREN

THE PIT

Morning light filtered weakly through the thick canopy of pine needles as Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The air smelled damp and earthy, thick with the scent of moss and decay. The events from last night—the strange whispers, Lucy’s glowing eyes—hung heavy on his mind. He glanced at the clock: 7:15 AM. The others were still asleep, or so he hoped.

Downstairs, the cabin was quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood. He stepped outside onto the porch, where Margaret stood wrapped in a thick sweater, staring toward the forest’s edge with an uneasy expression.

“The kids are awake,” she said softly. “I think they went to explore.”

Ben’s stomach twisted. “We told them not to go near the pit alone.”

Margaret shook her head, her dark hair falling forward. “They didn’t listen. I found Spencer’s jacket by the trail.”

Ben frowned. “I’m going after them.”

Ellie appeared in the doorway, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. “I’ll come with you,” she said firmly, sensing his worry.

Together, they moved through the thick underbrush toward the pit, following a narrow, winding trail lined with twisted roots and broken branches. Somewhere nearby, birds called out, but the forest felt unnaturally still.

They reached the edge of the pit, a jagged hole in the earth some fifteen feet wide, rimmed with stones covered in strange, mossy carvings. The air around it seemed colder, heavier—as if the pit itself breathed.

Ben called out, “Lucy! Spencer! Come on, kids!”

There was no response, only a faint rustling.

Suddenly, Lucy stepped from behind a tree, her expression blank, her eyes locked on the pit. Spencer followed, clutching a handful of dirt, his fingers stained dark. Neither looked at them.

Ben took a step forward. “What were you doing here?”

Lucy’s lips parted, but no words came. Then, in a voice too soft to be clear, she said, “It talks to us.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “What talks to you?”

Spencer pointed into the pit. “The voices.”

Ben crouched, meeting Spencer’s gaze. “Voices? What did they say?”

Spencer’s eyes glazed over. “Secrets. Things that no one should know.”

Margaret arrived, breathless. “We need to leave. Now.”

The children didn’t move.

That night, after a tense dinner filled with silence, Ben set up cameras around the cabin. The kids refused to sleep inside and instead chose to curl up by the fire pit outside.

Margaret sat beside them, trying to soothe their restless energy, but Lucy twitched nervously, whispering words that made no sense. Spencer sat apart, staring intently at an insect crawling on his hand.

Ben reviewed the footage at midnight. His heart pounded when he saw the children get up, walking toward the forest without making a sound. They stopped at the pit’s edge and stared into its depths as if hypnotized. After a few moments, Lucy smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—and whispered, “It’s coming.”

The camera flickered, and the feed cut out.

Ben rushed outside but found the children asleep where he had left them, as if nothing had happened. Was it a trick of the camera? Or was something watching him back?

The forest around the cabin seemed to pulse with unseen life. The pit was no longer just a hole in the ground; it was a doorway.