Roots Beneath Harry's Skin

The woods were waiting for us. The police called it secured. Cleared.

Contained. They said whatever Billy had been hiding was gone with him. But Harry knew better.

So did I. We went back just before dawn, when the forest was quiet enough

to hear itself breathe. “This is where he never let me stay long,” Harry said, stopping near a

circle of stones half-buried in moss. “He always looked… scared here.” The air felt thick,

pressing against my chest. The trees leaned inward, their branches tangled

like grasping fingers. Harry stepped closer to the stones. The ground shifted. Not violently.

Carefully. Like something listening. “Grandad wasn’t feeding it,” Harry whispered.