Jason didn't talk much after he returned to the camp. His friends asked questions, but he gave short answers. "I got lost," he said. "The fog confused me."
He didn't tell them about the house.
Or the book with his name in it.
Or the shadow.
That night, Jason lay awake in his sleeping bag, staring at the roof of the tent. In his hands, he held the music box. He had hidden it in his bag, hoping the others wouldn't see.
He opened it slowly.
No music.
But as soon as he closed his eyes—
Ding... ding... ding...
He sat up.
The music box was still closed.
He opened it again. Silence.
He closed it. Silence.
Jason wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound or not. But something told him the music wasn't just in his head.
---
The next day, the group hiked back to the road and returned to school. Jason tried to go back to normal life—classes, lunch breaks, homework.
But he couldn't stop thinking about the house.
He saw it in his dreams. Sometimes, he stood in front of the painting. Sometimes, the shadow chased him down the hallway. And sometimes, he was back in the study with the book open, his name glowing in red.
Then, things started to happen in the real world.
He heard whispers in the hallways.
His reflection moved on its own.
Lights flickered when he walked into a room.
Once, during math class, his pencil started writing by itself. It wrote one word:
"Return."
Jason dropped the pencil and backed away from the desk.
His teacher asked if he was okay. He nodded, but inside, fear twisted his stomach.
---
One evening, Jason sat in his room with the music box on his desk. He stared at it for a long time, thinking.
He had to go back.
Not because he wanted to.
Because the house wasn't done with him.
He packed a flashlight, a notebook, snacks, and the music box. Then he left a note for his mom: "Sleeping over at Ben's."
He wasn't.
He took his bike, rode out of town, and followed the old forest road.
The stars were out when he reached Blackpine Forest. He locked his bike to a tree and started walking. The forest felt different this time. Quieter. Heavier.
Like it was waiting.
He walked for almost an hour, following no trail. Just instinct.
Then he saw it.
The house.
Right where it had been before.
No fog this time. No confusion.
It stood clear under the moonlight, as if it had always been there.
Jason stepped up to the door.
It opened on its own.
Again.
---
The house smelled the same. Dust. Cold air. Time.
Jason moved through the rooms carefully. The painting was still there. He looked at it.
Now the boy's face was blank.
He felt the cold again, like something watching him.
He took out the music box, set it on the fireplace, and opened it.
Ding... ding... ding...
The song played.
And a door in the hallway opened slowly.
Jason turned.
A girl stood there.
She looked about his age. Pale skin. Dark eyes. Wearing an old-fashioned dress.
She didn't speak.
Jason took a step forward. "Who are you?"
She blinked.
Then she whispered, "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," Jason said. "But I think the house wants me here."
"It remembers you."
"Why?"
She looked sad. "Because you lived here. A long time ago. Before now. Before this life."
Jason felt dizzy. "What do you mean?"
"You were the boy," she said. "The one in the painting. The one the house chose. It brings you back again and again."
Jason stepped back. "That's not possible."
"Time doesn't work here like it does outside. The house keeps pieces of people. And you... it never let go of you."
Jason felt cold inside.
"What do I do?" he asked.
The girl looked behind him.
"It's coming."
Jason turned.
The shadow was there.
---
It moved like smoke, slow and heavy.
Jason ran.
Through the hallway. Up the stairs. Into the study.
He slammed the door and locked it.
The room began to shake.
The book was still on the desk. He opened it.
His name was glowing again.
This time, he picked up the pen beside it.
He crossed out his name.
The moment he did, the music box stopped.
Silence.
The shaking stopped.
Jason waited.
Nothing.
He opened the door.
No shadow.
He walked downstairs. The girl was gone. The house was still.
He picked up the music box and stepped outside.
The house didn't disappear this time.
It just watched.
Jason walked back through the forest as morning light broke through the trees.
He didn't know what had happened.
He didn't know if it was over.
But he had crossed out his name.
He had chosen to leave.
And this time, he hoped the house would let him.