Where the Track Ends
It always starts the same.
A spotlight. A forest. Something just out of sight.
What follows is part panic, part ritual. A ride I never chose to board.
And every time I wake, I swear something followed me back.
The Dissovling Hand
I watched someone lead my son away while I screamed in silence.
No one saw it happen. And worse... I almost recognized the one who took him.
The Slides Beneath the Fog
It begins mid-run... no memory of why, just motion.
Eight playground slides arranged in a perfect square, hovering above a fog-choked ocean. My father is just ahead of me… until the metal gives out.
The Unseen Audience
It begins in silence - not peace, but pressure.
You’re holding something precious, though you can’t remember why.
There are eyes behind the walls, and they’ve been waiting.
Sooner or later, you will offer it… whether you understand it or not.