The Deadly Black Moon

At exactly 12:07 a.m., the dead girl opened her eyes. She was lying beneath the roots of an enormous banyan tree, her body covered in wet mud and dried blood. She couldn't remember how she had reached there. She couldn't remember how long she had been unconscious. But she remembered one thing—the sound of someone breathing directly into her ear. Slowly, she lifted her head. The forest around her was completely motionless. No insects. No wind. No birds. Nothing. Even the leaves above her seemed frozen beneath the strange black moon. Then she heard it again. Breathing. Right beside her. She turned sharply. Nobody was there. Her heart hammered against her chest as she crawled backward. Suddenly, something whispered from inside the tree behind her. "Don't look at the house." She stopped breathing. Because she hadn't told anyone about the house. She forced herself to stand. Her ankle screamed with pain, but fear was stronger. She looked around desperately, searching for the trail. Her flashlight lay several feet away, still flickering weakly. She crawled toward it and picked it up. The moment its beam crossed the trees, she saw dozens of handprints covering the trunks. Small hands. Large hands. Children's hands. Some looked fresh, as if they had been pressed into the bark only seconds ago. She followed the trail with her flashlight until the beam stopped on something hanging from a branch. A red cloth. Her red scarf. She slowly reached for it. It was soaked in blood. Then her phone vibrated inside her pocket. She almost screamed. The screen showed one missed call. FROM ME. She stared at the number. It was her own number. Before she could understand, the phone rang again. She didn't answer. The ringing continued. One ring. Two. Three. Then the call stopped. A message appeared. "WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME HERE?" Her fingers began trembling. She typed, Who are you? The reply came instantly. "YOU." She dropped the phone. A sound came from behind the trees. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Coming toward her. She picked up the flashlight and ran. She had no idea where she was going. She only knew that whatever was following her was getting closer. Branches scratched her face as she pushed through the darkness. Every few seconds she looked behind her. Nothing. Yet the footsteps continued. Then suddenly, she saw a faint yellow light between the trees. A house. An old two-storey house stood alone in the middle of the forest, its windows glowing from within. She stopped. Her entire body became cold. She knew that house. She had seen it before. But that was impossible. The house had been empty when she first found it. And now there was someone standing at the upstairs window. Watching her. The figure slowly raised its hand. She stepped backward. The figure waved. Then it disappeared. Her phone rang again. This time, she answered. For several seconds, there was only static. Then she heard her own voice. "Please..." Her eyes widened. The voice continued, crying. "Please don't come inside." She stared at the house. "Who are you?" A long silence. Then the voice whispered, "You're already inside." The call ended. She looked down at her feet. Her stomach twisted. She was standing on the house's front porch. She hadn't walked there. She hadn't even realized she had moved. The front door was open. Inside was complete darkness. She wanted to run. But behind her came the sound of dozens of people whispering at once. "Come in." She turned. The forest was no longer empty. Figures stood between the trees. Dozens of them. Men. Women. Children. All staring at her. All completely still. All with their heads tilted at exactly the same angle. She stumbled toward the doorway. The figures took one step forward. She entered the house. The door slammed shut. The whispers stopped. The silence inside was worse. The hallway smelled of damp earth and something metallic. Old portraits covered the walls, but every face had been scratched away. She moved slowly, holding her broken flashlight in front of her. Her breathing was the only sound she could hear. Then she noticed something strange. There were photographs on a table. Photographs of people who had disappeared. She picked one up. A family. Another. A young man. Another. A little girl. Every photograph had the same black moon drawn over the face. Then she found one that made her hands go numb. It was a photograph of her. Standing in front of this very house. But the date printed underneath was twenty-seven years ago. She stared at it, unable to breathe. That was impossible. She hadn't even been born twenty-seven years ago. A floorboard creaked behind her. She slowly turned. At the end of the hallway stood a little girl in a white dress. Her face was hidden by wet black hair. "Who are you?" the girl asked. The heroine couldn't answer. The child lifted her head. Her eyes were completely black. "You don't remember me?" The heroine stepped backward. The girl smiled. "You promised you'd come back." A cold hand suddenly grabbed the heroine's wrist. She screamed. There was nobody behind her. Yet something was holding her. The little girl began laughing. Then every door in the hallway opened simultaneously. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Darkness poured from each room like smoke. The heroine pulled herself free and ran toward the nearest window. She smashed it with a chair. The glass shattered. She climbed through— —and fell. But instead of landing outside, she crashed onto the same hallway floor. The window was gone. The house had changed. The hallway was now much longer. And at the far end stood the little girl. Beside her was an elderly man wearing a priest's robe. The priest looked directly at the heroine. Unlike the others, he looked terrified. He raised his trembling hand and made the sign of the cross. Then he whispered, "God help you... she has chosen you." The little girl smiled. "No, Father." She pointed at the heroine. "She didn't choose her." The priest's face turned pale. The girl continued: "She belongs to us." The lights went out. And somewhere inside the darkness... the heroine began screaming. --- Three days later, her family would receive a phone call. A call that would change their lives forever. The caller would be the priest. He would tell them that their daughter was alive. But he would also tell them something far more terrifying. "Whatever comes home wearing her face... don't open the door." Because the real horror had not begun in the forest. It had only begun there.