The days following their encounter at the cliffs were strained. Ilmo avoided the woods altogether, something Jaakko had never seen before. Instead, his brother busied himself fixing old bikes in the shed behind their house. Jaakko, on the other hand, found himself returning to his sketches with a newfound intensity. His drawings had changed—gone were the tranquil depictions of lakes and trees, replaced by jagged shapes and shadowy figures.
"What are you doing?" Ilmo asked one evening, leaning over Jaakko's shoulder. The younger twin quickly flipped his notebook shut, but not before Ilmo caught a glimpse of the latest drawing: a figure holding a lantern, surrounded by writhing shadows.
"Nothing," Jaakko mumbled, but the nervous edge in his voice betrayed him.
"Jaakko, we need to talk about what happened."
"What's there to talk about?" Jaakko snapped, standing abruptly. "We saw something we shouldn't have, and that's it. We leave it alone."
Ilmo frowned, crossing his arms. "You really think it's that simple? What if it's not over?"
The question hung in the air like a storm cloud. Jaakko didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
Later that night, Jaakko woke to the sound of scratching. For a moment, he thought it was the wind against the window, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized it was coming from inside the room. His heart pounded as he reached for the flashlight he kept by his bed.
The beam of light cut through the shadows, landing on his notebook, which now lay open on the desk. The pages flipped on their own, settling on a fresh drawing he didn't remember making: the same cliffside, the lantern, and the twisted symbols they'd seen carved into the trees. A chill ran down his spine as he noticed something new—a pair of glowing eyes peering out from the darkness.
The scratching stopped. But in the silence that followed, Jaakko thought he heard it again—the low, guttural whisper from the cliffs.
In the adjoining room, Ilmo sat bolt upright, as if he'd heard it too.