Ethan, an anxious twelve-year-old boy with wide, searching eyes, clutches his backpack as he hesitates at the front steps. His mother waves from the car, encouraging him to go inside. The door swings open with a groan, and Grandmother Margaret, stooped yet sharp-eyed, beckons him in.
"Come, Ethan. The woods get hungry at night," she murmurs, her voice low and oddly grave.
Ethan glances nervously at the mantel, where a row of porcelain dolls stares back with glassy eyes. Grandmother Margaret moves quietly, her cane tapping, as she prepares tea at the stove. The silence is thick, broken only when "Grandma, why do you keep all the curtains closed?"
"Some things outside should not be seen by the living," she replies, her gaze never meeting his.
Ethan tries to read, but every creak draws his attention. He thinks he sees movement behind the curtains—a pale hand, a glint of eyes. Grandmother Margaret sits in her rocking chair, knitting silently, the needles clicking with an urgent rhythm.
"Stay away from the windows, Ethan," she warns, her voice suddenly hard. "Is there something out there?" he whispers, but she only shakes her head, lips pressed thin.
Ethan wakes shivering, drawn by the soft sound of his name from somewhere down the hall. He follows, feet silent on the worn floorboards, past doors that seem to open wider as he passes. In the parlor, Grandmother Margaret stands by the window, her back to him, shoulders trembling.
"They're calling for you," she rasps, her voice barely human. "Who is? Grandma, you're scaring me,"
Grandmother Margaret turns, her eyes black as pitch, her smile too wide. "They want to come in. They always want to come in. But they need a child’s name, Ethan. They need you to let them in."
Ethan stumbles back, heart pounding, as the whispers grow into a cacophony, the dolls on the mantel seeming to twist and watch with eager anticipation.
Ethan runs across the dew-soaked grass, the house looming behind him, its windows suddenly dark and empty. He does not look back, not even as Grandmother Margaret's voice echoes in his mind, a lingering whisper. The woods seem to sigh as he disappears down the road, and the house settles back into silence, waiting for the next nightfall.
