Chapter 3

The Shadows Beneath (Hell's Lullaby)

 The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, each breath Clara took filled with the raw essence of nature's cycle. The forest seemed alive, its whispers carried by the gentle breeze that rustled through the underbrush, creating a symphony of subtle sounds.

Clara's boots sank into the moist ground, the soft squelch accompanying each step as she ventured deeper into the woods. The towering trees stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches intertwining overhead to form a natural cathedral that both sheltered and confined. Shafts of light pierced through the foliage, illuminating particles of dust that floated lazily in the air, giving the scene an otherworldly quality.

As she walked, Clara couldn't shake the feeling of being enveloped by the forest, as if it were drawing her into its ancient embrace. The path ahead was barely discernible, overgrown with tangled roots and creeping vines that seemed to reach out, attempting to ensnare her. The further she ventured, the more the forest seemed to close in around her, the trees pressing closer together, their bark rough and cold against her fingertips.

A sudden rustling in the underbrush caused Clara to pause, her heart pounding in her chest. She scanned the shadows, her breath hitching as she strained to identify the source of the noise. A deer emerged, its eyes wide and alert, before darting away into the thicket, leaving Clara alone once more with the oppressive silence.

The forest seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the hum of insects and distant calls of unseen birds creating a cacophony that set her nerves on edge. Each snap of a twig beneath her feet echoed like a gunshot, the sound swallowed quickly by the dense foliage. The air grew cooler as she descended into a shallow ravine, the sunlight barely reaching the moss-covered rocks that lined the path.

Clara's thoughts drifted to the events of the previous night, the unsettling behavior of her daughter, Ivy. The memory of Ivy's cryptic smile and the whispered "Goodnight, Mommy," sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the forest held secrets that were just beyond her grasp.

As she rounded a bend in the path, Clara came upon a clearing bathed in an eerie light. At its center stood an ancient stone altar, weathered by time and covered in a thick layer of moss. Strange symbols were etched into its surface, their meanings lost to the ages. The air around the altar felt charged, a palpable energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Drawn inexplicably toward the altar, Clara's footsteps faltered as she noticed the remnants of burnt offerings scattered around its base, charred bones, melted wax, and withered flowers. A sense of unease settled over her, the weight of the forest pressing down as if urging her to turn back.

But something compelled her to stay, to uncover the truth hidden within the shadows of the woods. As she reached out to touch the cold stone, a distant whisper echoed through the trees, a haunting melody that sent chills coursing through her veins. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the very air thick with anticipation, as Clara stood at the precipice of a revelation that would forever alter her understanding of the world around her.

Unbeknownst to Clara, the symbols etched into the altar were remnants of ancient occult rituals, long forgotten by the modern world. These markings, once used to commune with dark entities, had been the source of countless legends and whispered tales among the local villagers. The forest had always been a place of mystery and fear, a place where the veil between the living and the dead was said to be thin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched like skeletal fingers across the clearing, Clara felt a chill seep into her bones. The once vibrant colors of the forest faded into shades of gray, the encroaching darkness bringing with it a sense of foreboding. The whispering wind grew louder, carrying with it the faint scent of decay and the distant sound of chanting.

Clara's pulse quickened, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she realized she was not alone. Figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by hooded cloaks, their movements synchronized as if guided by an unseen force. They encircled the altar, their voices rising in a haunting chorus that resonated deep within her soul.

Paralyzed by fear, Clara watched as the ritual unfolded before her eyes. The cloaked figures moved with a deliberate grace, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, drawing symbols that seemed to shimmer and pulse with a dark energy. The chanting grew louder, more fervent, as the air crackled with an unseen power.

In that moment, Clara understood the true nature of the forest and the ancient forces that dwelled within its depths. The legends were not mere stories, but echoes of a dark past that continued to seep into the present. As the ritual reached its climax, a blinding light erupted from the altar, illuminating the forest in an otherworldly glow.

When the light faded, the clearing was empty, the cloaked figures vanished as if they had never been. The forest remained silent, the oppressive weight lifting as the first rays of dawn pierced through the canopy. Clara stood alone, her mind reeling from the revelation, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the shadows of the past were never truly gone, but merely waiting for the right moment to emerge once more.

The clock on Clara’s nightstand read 2:57 AM when she woke.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The darkness of her bedroom pressed in around her, thick, unmoving.

Something had woken her.

Not a sound. Not a nightmare.

A feeling.

Like eyes tracing the shape of her body through the dark.

The baby monitor crackled softly on the nightstand, its green light blinking steady. Through the speaker, she could hear Ivy’s breathing. Slow. Measured.

Too steady.

Clara turned her head slightly, eyes locking onto the monitor. The screen showed Ivy’s crib bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight.

Then, a faint creak.

Not from the monitor.

From inside the house.

Her fingers clenched the sheets, breath catching in her throat. The sound had been deliberate. Slow. Like careful steps on old wood.

Clara sat up, heart pounding.

The baby monitor crackled again. A whisper, thin, warbled, just beneath the static.

No.

Clara’s stomach twisted. She leaned closer, pressing the volume button.

The whispering continued.

Too low to make out.

Too wrong to be Ivy’s.

A metallic taste filled her mouth. She swung her legs over the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. The air in the room felt thick, pressing against her skin, but she forced herself to move. Step by step, she made her way down the hall, pulse hammering in her ears.

Ivy’s door was ajar.

The nightlight inside flickered, a sickly orange glow bleeding into the hallway.

Clara hesitated.

She could hear her daughter breathing. Slow. Too slow.

The whispering had stopped.

She pushed the door open wider.

The closet door stood open.

Her body locked up.

Had it been open before? She tried to remember, tried to force her brain to replay when she had last been in the room.

She stepped inside.

Ivy lay still in her crib, her stuffed rabbit tucked under one tiny arm.

The blankets barely moved with her breathing.

Clara’s gaze flicked back to the closet. The darkness inside it wasn’t just shadow. It was deeper. Darker.

She reached out, hand trembling, and pushed the door shut.

The latch clicked.

Silence.

Then

Ivy stirred.

Not the normal, sleepy shuffle of a child shifting in bed.

Her tiny body moved too precisely, her hands sliding over the blanket in slow, deliberate motions.

Then, very gently, Ivy’s eyes opened.

Clara’s breath stalled.

Ivy blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then,She smiled.

A slow, creeping smile that spread across her lips, stretching too wide, too knowing.

A smile that didn’t belong on a child.

Clara took a step back. Her throat tightened.

Ivy didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then, in the softest, sweetest voice

"Goodnight, Mommy."

Clara’s body jerked backward as though something had shoved her.

She didn’t remember running. Didn’t remember slamming the nursery door shut or stumbling into the hallway. Her fingers shook as she clutched the doorframe, lungs fighting for air.

The house was silent.

The monitor on the nightstand still blinked. Ivy’s breathing still hummed through the speaker.

But Clara knew.

She knew.

She wasn’t losing her mind.

She needed proof.

She grabbed her laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

A few minutes later, she had ordered a hidden camera.

It would arrive in two days.

And then she would know what was in that crib.