The moon wore the nighttime clouds like a cloak, its light ripping through them, casting occasional rays over the small town of Timber’s End. Despite the late hour, the Western Woodlands were alive with sound–distant chirping of crickets, the scuttling of unseen creatures, the echoing snores of a sleeping brambleback and even the far-off laughter of the adults drinking in the village pub. But to Izaak, it all felt muted, as if the world was holding its breath with him.

  “Are you scared of the dark?” Taeron taunted, his voice laced with excitement. As the eldest boy and self-proclaimed leader of their group, he grinned widely, glancing at the others for their approval.

  “Don’t be a coward!” Corthus, the youngest and most impressionable, echoed, his tone eager to please.

  “Of course I'm not scared!” Izaak shot back quickly, his voice quivering slightly.

  “Oh please,we all know cowardice runs in your family,” Taeron sneered, his mocking smile visible in the moonlight.

  “I’m not like my father, I’m not a coward!” Izaak insisted, his words sharper now, though his flushed face revealed the embarrassment within him. Nearby, Izaak’s closest friend, Patrik, stood with his arms crossed, holding a brave facade.

  “You have nothing to fear, Izaak. It’s just a tunnel. Elder Cranton told us it's just stories to scare the little ones. Nothing but dust and darkness in there.”

  “Right. Dust and darkness.” Izaak echoed, his eyes drifting back to the gaping black entrance of the tunnel. He was unsure if he truly believed that, or if he was trying to convince himself.

  Corthus shuffled forward, a nervous look on his face. “Yeah…I mean, you aren’t scared of the dark, are you Izaak?” His eyes quickly darted over to Taeron, nudging him for approval.

  Before Izaak could retort he felt a tugging at his arm. It was Maera, his younger sister, her eyes wide and fearful as she softly pleaded with him, clutching his shirt tightly.

  “You don’t have to do this, Izaak! Let’s just go home!” She begged, her voice small and desperate. She tugged at his arm, her wide eyes filled with worry. Izaak looked down at her, his resolve firmer, despite the fear gnawing at his thoughts.

  “I have to, Maera. For both of us.” His eyes fiercely locked onto hers as he spoke. Maera’s grip loosened as Taeron pushed his way in between them quickly, his voice cold and dismissive.

  “You know, I heard there's more than just darkness down there!” He interjected, clearly trying to unsettle Izaak further. “They say this tunnel was dug long ago, during the Veiled Empress’s reign of terror, to escape her undead hordes. Some say the undead are still down there, unaware that she’s long gone!”

  “Stories and lies! It's just an old escape route that’s seventy-five paces long!” Patrik retorted, still holding firm to his feigned bravery.

  “Tell that to Synuel Paerson’s family! He entered and never came back!” Taeron said as his eyebrows rose in a matter-of-fact way.

  Next to the walkway, Izaak noticed a small, ancient plaque that had the infamous name of the tunnel engraved on it: E.R.75. This tunnel was a relic from an ancient time, dug out long before Izaak or any of his friends were born. But its nickname — Eternal Rest, 75 Paces — had not been forgotten, nor had the stories that surrounded it.

  Izaak’s heart pounded in his chest as he inched forward, sweat pooling on his back as the weight of this dare pressed upon him. This was his chance to prove himself to the group, to clear him, and his family of the cowardly accusations they faced.The group always picked on him and his sister, but he knew that if he could do this, their taunts would surely stop.

  “Listen, you can still back out, Izaak. It’s just a dumb dare! I won’t shame you for it.” Patrik said, finally dropping his act.

  “No.” Izaak replied, his voice cracking and shaky.

  “Right, well, seventy-five paces then,” Taeron said dismissively, placing a firm hand on Izaak’s shoulder as he ushered him closer to the entrance. “In, count to seventy-five, and you’ll emerge on the other side. Easy, right?”

  Easy. Izaak repeated the word over and over in his head, trying to convince himself.

  With one foot in front of the other, Izaak forced himself forward, determined to prove himself once and for all. He turned back to look at the group, a mixture of excitement, fear and disbelief. Maera dropped her head, not wishing to see her brother enter. Patrik gave a silent, but affirming nod, and Taeron, still as pleased with himself as ever, held to his large smile.

  At the precipice of the entrance Izaak paused. The air felt colder here already. He gazed through the doorway, unable to see any light inside it and felt a looming dread beginning to well up in him already. He pushed it aside, not wanting to back out now.

  “Okay. Here I go. Seventy-Five steps, easy,” Izaak muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he placed a single foot into the inky blackness. The darkness swallowed his foot whole the moment it touched the entry. He paused again, the air around him thick and heavy, as if the tunnel was pressing down on him. After a moment, he steeled himself and pressed forward, his form vanishing into the void.

  A biting chill enveloped him immediately. The air was dense and stagnant carrying with it an earthy scent, mingling with something metallic that seemed to cling to everything it touched. The darkness was so oppressive that even the faintest outlines of his hands, held mere inches from his face,were invisible to him.

  “One...” he whispered as he counted his first step. The word seemed to echo off the cold, unseen walls, reverberating around him before being swallowed into the depths of the tunnel before him.

  “Two…” he continued, trying to focus on his steps. The darkness around him seemed to swallow every sound, every breath as he pressed onward.

  “Three…” He took another few steps, the sound of each one echoing down the hall before being consumed by the darkness around him.

  “Seven!” Tareons voice suddenly echoed through the tunnel, loud an mischievous.

  “Shut up!” Izaak quickly bellowed back, almost losing track of his steps as he continued further into the void.

  The silence of the tunnel grew heavier and more oppressive the more he inched forward. Soon, his heartbeat began to be the only thing he heard, thundering in his ears, as if it was ready to burst his eardrums. It was so loud that he almost did not hear the faint shuffle behind him. He whipped his head around, heart racing out of his chest, but saw nothing –only the same suffocating blackness.

  “H-Hello?” Izaak said, slightly above a whisper. Still, no reply was given beyond his own voice echoing back to him, sounding slightly different, as if the tunnel was mocking him.

  “Just your imagination,” he murmured desperately to convince himself. He continued to press on, his pulse quickening as he began to notice the thick air getting heavier, as if it was choking him.

  “Ten,” Another few steps before his foot came splashing down onto something cold and wet. He recoiled instantly, his mind beginning to race at the idea of what this could be. He began to kneel down, his hands trembling as he felt the surrounding walls, eventually coming down to the source of the wetness beneath him. He reached down and touched the liquid, bringing his hand back up toward his face to try to figure out what it was. The liquid was thick and viscous and the cold from it seeped into his skin, sending a chill through his bones. This liquid wasn’t water. That metallic scent from earlier grew much stronger when he brought it to his face. Suddenly, he was hit with a sickening thought.

  Blood.

  He scampered back to his feet, trying to shake away the thought, as he hastily wiped his hands on his clothes. “It’s just in your head! Elder Cranton said it’s just stories!” he told himself, though he knew his words were hollow.

  “Twenty,” He continued forward, the tunnel feeling as if it was closing in around him, the walls unseen yet looming. The air continued to grow thicker with every step, the silence more oppressive. He strained his eyes hoping beyond all hope that he would be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel ahead but was met only with that familiar blackness that engulfed him. His ears honed in on every creak and noise, staying ever vigilant to the most minute sounds. The darkness began to play tricks on his mind, shifting and twisting, a never ending forest of darkness around him. He felt an uneasy feeling, like an unseen presence was upon him, watching, waiting.

  “Twenty-Five,” he whispered to himself, the words barely escaping his lips. Even at their low volume, his words took on a life of their own as they bounced off the walls, growing louder and more overlapping as they repeated until the echoes became thunderous. Izaak dropped to his knees and began to press his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the noise. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, praying for an end to this thunderous roar.

  The echoes seemed to stretch for what seemed to him like an eternity, each one more maddening then the last. And then, just as suddenly as they had begun, they were snuffed out, leaving behind the ominous, oppressive silence once more. Izaak slowly rose to his feet and unclasped his ears, terror filling his heart and fully consuming his thoughts.

  “Maybe it's all in my head,” he tried to convince himself. But doubt still lingered. Or perhaps his friends followed him in, intending to scare him. Izaak could see Taeron doing something like that for a laugh.

  “That's not funny!” he shouted into the darkness, half expecting to hear the familiar sound of his friend's laughter. But his voice only echoed back at him, distorted and mocking as if the tunnel itself was sneering at his fears.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You are alone.” a low, raspy voice whispered from somewhere nearby.

  The words were like ice poured into his veins. Panic surged through him and before he could form a thought, he sprinted ahead,his feet pounding against the floor of the tunnel. The voice echoed in the darkness, repeating its haunting message, never fading away like his own voice had. It followed him, a shadow that clung to him as he ran.

  Suddenly he collided with something solid– a wall. The impact sent him crashing quickly to the ground, stealing the breath from his lungs momentarily. As he laid in the darkness, gasping for the damp air as it slowly returned to his lungs, he realized that the voice was gone and the silence of the tunnel had returned once again.

  “Was the voice real? No, it’s just a joke gone too far.” he couldn't help but wonder as he caught his breath and shakily stood up. He reached out to feel for the walls around him but was left grasping at empty air. Something here was different. He strained his ears listening for any noise but the silence was absolute once more.

  This section felt wider than before, as if the choking tightness of the tunnel had momentarily disappeared. The floor beneath him was now uneven, sloping slightly in opposite directions. Panic tightened its grip on him as he came to an unsettling realization–he had reached a fork in the tunnel. The path was no longer a straight shot. The tunnel had split and he would have to choose a direction.

  He could turn back, he thought to himself. But the memory of that vile voice, the way it seemed to seep from the very walls, filled him with dread. Whatever had spoken those words was still back there, lurking in the darkness, waiting. The thought of turning back, of confronting that unseen horror, was not an option for him.

  Izaak stood in the darkness, frozen by his choices. His breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts as he tried to calm his terrified mind. He knew he had to choose one of the paths, but every bone in his body cried out knowing whichever he picked could prove to be a deadly mistake.

  “Which way? Gods..” he mumbled to himself, hoping for some kind of divine inspiration to choose for him. The words felt heavy, sinking into the void, unanswered.

  He took a deep breath, forcing himself to carefully think about the situation. He decided he would count down from three while spinning, and he would stop on zero. Whichever doorway he was closest to, was the way he would take.

  “One…” he whispered, as he began to spin in the darkness.

  “Two..” He closed his eyes, knowing it made little difference in the blackness that consumed him.

  “Three..”

  He felt a brief wave of dizziness roll over him as he continued forward. Izaak reached out blindly, his hand brushing against the cold stone of the tunnel wall as he felt for the entrance closest to him. His fingers trembled as he entered through the passage and continued his gradual descent.

  “Surely, i'm getting close to the exit now.” he thought to himself as he continued down the seemingly endless corridor. The thought held a small comfort to him, some small glimmer of hope he could cling to in the darkness. Even with his small hope in mind, doubt grew quickly as he continued.

  He moved cautiously, one hand stretched out to sense any obstacles, the other firmly against the wall to guide him forward. The blackness seemed to stretch on forever, swallowing his every step.

  “Wait, how many steps am I at?” he pondered, a sinking feeling spreading within him as the truth began to dawn on him. The panic of the last encounter had shattered his focus, and now the realization hit him—he had lost count.The exit could be near, or it could be far, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.

  “I must be close, there has to be an exit somewhere!” he whispered to himself, clinging to the idea the exit would only be a few more paces ahead, hiding in the darkness. He quickened his pace, every step feeling heavier, more uncertain and hopeless. But the tunnel remained the same–dark, oppressive and endless.

  Then, just as his thoughts were spiraling into a storm of panic, he heard it—a sound that normally he would pay little mind to in the tunnel.

  Footsteps.

  They were faint at first, echoing soft and unassumingly. But there was something wrong with them. The echoes didn't match his own stride. They were slow, deliberate and uneven, as if something was following him—or hunting him, from a distance.

  Izaak’s breathing became hitched as the sound grew louder, closer. He froze in place, the fear consuming him, paralyzing his legs. He desperately tried to convince himself this wasn’t real, that the tunnel was playing a cruel trick on his senses. But the footsteps persisted, even when he didn't.

  A cold sweat began as he turned back to face the source of the footsteps. The darkness felt off, malevolent even, as he stared into it, unsure what lay inside its shadows.

  “H-Hello?” His voice wavered, cracking with fear as he called out into the abyss of shadows. The footsteps stopped the instant he spoke, and like so many other times, he was greeted with only silence.

  Izaak turned back to continue his journey down the tunnel, and the moment he took a step the footsteps returned behind him, faster than before. His heart began to race and he attempted once more to sprint ahead, but his legs felt like lead, weighed down with fear. No matter how fast he went, the footsteps followed closely behind him.

  He continued at a rapid pace, his breathing becoming staggered with exhaustion. The footsteps felt like they were closing in, like he could feel the breath of some unseen being breathing down his neck. Tears began flowing down his cheeks as the brutal nature of the tunnel began to truly wear him down.

  “Seventy-five! This has to be seventy-five! Where is the exit?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking, overcome with emotion. The footsteps had stopped once more, replaced by the ominous stillness of the tunnel.

  And then, in the quiet, he heard it—a voice, low and raspy, almost a whisper, speaking next to his ear.

  “You’ve gone too far, Izaak.”

  The words sent a jolt of pure terror coursing through him. His legs trembled, his voice caught in his throat. The voice was real. He felt its cold breath on his skin as it spoke.

  “No...I…” he whimpered, shaking his head, attempting to deny everything that was happening. But the voice was relentless, it's cold whisper slicing through the darkness like a blade.

  “YOU'VE… GONE… TOO… FAR!”

  Izaak’s mind raced, the walls of the tunnel seeming to close in around him. He was trapped, lost in a place where the darkness itself was alive, and where any hope of an exit was a distant memory.

  The words echoed in his mind, each syllable like a hammer chipping away at his sanity. The darkness was pressing in on him, attempting to suffocate the life from him. He had to escape this place however he could.

  Desperation took hold, fueling his movements as he sprinted forward, his arms outstretched, fingers clawing at the air, searching for something—anything—that might indicate an exit. The voice continued to repeat its message, mocking his attempts as the footsteps continued to follow him once more.

  His heartbeat pounded and his breathing quickened as he continued, drowning out all other sounds. He felt the edges of the stone walls, hoping for anything that could aid him—be it defending himself, or escaping. In his frantic state, his foot caught something and sent him tumbling hard onto the rough ground.

  The voice swelled, its eerie chant echoing through the tunnel. “YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR!” it screamed, each repetition drawing closer, as if the words themselves were closing in on him. No matter how he twisted and turned, the presence seemed to surround him, suffocating in its intensity. Desperate, he lashed out wildly, his arms flailing in a futile attempt to fend off the unseen terror as tears poured down his face.

  “YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR!”

  Suddenly, his hand struck something— an edge, rough and uneven, but unmistakably an edge. He let out a cry of relief as he realized it was the frame of a door, its splintering wood a lifeline in this eternal darkness. Without hesitation, he threw himself through the doorway, tumbling out onto solid ground.

  He landed awkwardly, his knees scraping against the ground. The pain was a welcomed sensation however, proof that he was still alive and capable of feeling. He scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath as he glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings as his vision adjusted to the dim light.

  He was now in a small chamber, dimly lit with candles scattered across the floor. The darkness here was not as absolute as before, and he no longer felt the malevolence as he did previously. One end of the chamber held a long hallway, with a single door at the end, slightly ajar. Faint noises beckoned from beyond the door–familiar noises.

  “I did it! I found the exit!” he exclaimed with a relieved chuckle as he raced toward the door at the end of the hall. The closer he got to it, he saw the golden rays of light cast from the lanterns poking through the doorways cracks, smelled the fresh air as it rolled through the Western Woodlands, and heard the muffled voices of people.

  He pushed the door open and stepped through, blinking rapidly in the sudden brightness. After so long in pure darkness, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He rubbed his eyes and let out a relieved gasp, his heart rate beginning to slow finally.

  When his vision focused fully, he saw that he was back in Timber’s End, right in front of the entrance to E.R. 75. The moon still hung high in the sky, cloaked in clouds, the same as it was when he entered the tunnel. The familiar buildings, the cobblestone paths, the large trees that surrounded the town—everything that gave him comfort was there. Everything except for his friends.

  “Hello? Guys? I'm back! I did it!” Izaak called out.

  A soft voice responded from behind him. “Hello, Izaak.”

  He spun around to see his sister, Maera, standing there, her familiar eyes wide and staring at him, unmoving.

  “Gods! Maera! I am so happy to see you! Where is everyone?” Relief washing over his face, yet she remained frozen, unresponsive to his question.

  “Maera? Where is everybody?” he repeated, his voice trembling as he reached out to her.

  Still, she didn’t answer. Her wide, unblinking eyes bore into him with a sickening intensity. Something was wrong, though Izaak couldn’t understand what. Suddenly, her head began to twitch slightly to the side, a jerky and unnatural movement that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

  “M-Maera?” He repeated, his hand hovering inches from her shoulder, hesitating. The familiar sense of dread he had felt in the tunnel began to creep slowly back into him once again.

  She blinked slowly and unevenly, her mouth opening as if to speak. But as she did, the voice that came forth was not her own.

  “There is no going back now.” it hissed, the words swelling into a chorus of overlapping voices, each one dripping with scorn.

  Izaak's heart sank. This cascade of voices was not the same that had tormented him in the darkness of the tunnel. This was a different entity. One far more twisted, evil intent seething from it as it spoke. He stumbled backward, horror and shock etching across his face. This wasn’t Timber’s End.

  This was a lie. An illusion.

  The familiar surroundings began to warp and twist before his eyes, the buildings contorting into impossible angles, trees withering into skeletal remains, stretching unnaturally. The moon's glow began to dim and fizzle out, as the oppressive darkness crept back to reclaim Izaak.

  His breathing quickened, his eyes darting around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape—a true escape. But deep down, he knew there was none. He had never truly left the tunnel. This was just another layer of its endless labyrinth.

  He turned back to Maera—or whatever had taken her form—clasping onto both shoulders tightly, his head bowing down as tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to scream, to fight, but all that he could muster was a single broken whisper.

  “Please…just let me go…”

  As the world around him slowly faded back into the dark abyss, the last sound he heard was the low mocking voices, hissing with delight, reminding him one last time of his fate.

  “They warned you, Izaak: You’ve gone too far.”