Emon
The directions were vague, more of a riddle than a map.
“Drive until the road forgets itself,” the mysterious old man at the front of the library had told me, “then walk until the trees remember your name. They will call to you and you will hear.”
Whatever that meant.
But I followed his instructions anyway.
The paved roads gave way to gravel, and then the gravel gave up entirely and even Siri didn't know where this was. By the time I stopped the car, the world had grown quiet. Not peaceful, quiet. Heavy quiet. Like the forest was listening. Like something was watching.
I killed the engine and stepped out. The crunch of my boots on dead leaves was too loud, like I was interrupting something sacred. I grabbed my flashlight, my bag, and locked the car behind me, even though I had
