The Forgotten Game
Tags: #shortstory #horror
I just need to type this out.
The playground was always old. When I was a kid, don’t think I ever saw it in its prime. I’m not even sure if it ever had one. The paint on the old metal equipment was chipped, flaking off in uneven strips that revealed the deep rust beneath. The swings creaked in protest with each sway, and the merry-go-round groaned like an old man trying to stand up, and the aluminum slide was always hot in the summer whether in the sun or not. Yet, as kids, we loved it. It was ours, tucked away at the edge of the woods where no adults ever came unless they were calling us home for dinner. It was the only place where we felt free from the pressures of school and our family life.
Even now, the image of that place sits vividly in my mind. I can see the twisted bars of the jungle gym, the crooked ladder leading up to the slide, and the sandbox that always had more weeds than sand. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. We made do, as kids do. We ruled that tiny corner of the world, oblivious to its decay, its unkempt edges. But there was something about that playground I can’t forget—a game we used to play, though none of us ever really understood it. It wasn’t like tag or hide-and-seek; it felt more... important, like there were rules we just knew, even if no one taught us. To this day, I only remember bits and pieces: a riddle we’d chant, strange steps we’d take, and the way we’d laugh—except, thinking back, it didn’t always sound like us. That laughter... it was off, like it came from somewhere else, sneaking into our game without permission. Only as an adult when I see children play, it feels like a tickle in the back of my mind.
My best friend Leah loved that game more than anyone. She was always the one who seemed to know the rules, even though she never told us how she learned them. She had this grin—a crooked, teasing thing that made you feel like you were part of a secret, even if you didn’t understand it. I’d watch her as she started the game, her voice clear and confident as she called out the rhyme. The words were strange, like a song you hum but don’t really know, yet when Leah said them, they felt like magic.
Leah and I had been together for as long as I could remember. She was the kind of person who made everything fun, who turned the simplest things into adventures. I’d follow her anywhere—through the woods, onto the creaky merry-go-round, or up the jagged jungle gym. I didn’t know why, but I always felt happiest when I was with her. Back then, I didn’t understand the fluttery feeling I’d get when she laughed or looked my way; I just knew I liked being near her. And it wasn’t just me, everyone adored Leah. She was bold in a way that made us believe we could be too, just by keeping up with her.
Until one day, she wasn’t there anymore.
It happened on the playground. I remember that much, but the rest feels like trying to hold water in my hands. One minute, Leah was there, leading the game like she always did. Her ponytail swung back and forth as she laughed, her voice ringing out like it could chase away the shadows under the trees. She was on the merry-go-round, spinning so fast we all screamed at her to slow down. And then... she was gone.
I don’t mean she ran off to hide or went home because her mom called her. She just wasn’t there anymore. One second she was laughing, and the next, the merry-go-round was empty, still spinning, creaking louder than ever. We froze, staring at it like maybe she was just hiding behind the bars or crouched down where we couldn’t see. But she wasn’t.
We called her name over and over, running all over the playground and even into the woods.
“Leah! Leah, come on! Stop messing around!” I had shouted so loud my throat burned. None of us wanted to say it, but it felt like the playground had taken her—like it had sucked her up and hidden her somewhere we couldn’t go.
None of it made sense. It didn’t feel real. I kept expecting her to jump out and yell, “Gotcha!” and the longer we stood there, staring at the merry-go-round, the more it felt like something horrible had happened. We didn’t understand it. How could we? We were just kids. All we knew was Leah was gone, and we couldn’t find her. The neighbor kids that were playing had took off to get their parents but I remember remaining. That meant I was the only one who heard the sound from deep within the woods. A strange groan like steel being bent or a musician dragging their bow across a cello’s lower strings. A harsh, groaning, sound.
I ran.
The police searched the woods for weeks, but they found nothing. Eventually, the town moved on, and so did I—at least, that’s what I told myself. The sound and my friend were always in the back of my mind. I think about Leah more often than I care to admit. The way her laughter echoed through the trees, the flash of her sneakers as she climbed to the top of the jungle gym, the secretive glint in her eye when she spoke the words of that strange rhyme. She’s still there, somewhere, in the corners of my mind and the shadows of my memory. I can’t let go of the feeling that I failed her—that I let her slip through my fingers when I should have held on tighter.
Why am I telling you all this? Why am I writing my personal trauma on this website? I’m thirty-four now and I can’t stop thinking about it. Lately, it has become even harder to put at the back of my mind. It’s like a splinter, a sharp point that keeps poking no matter how much I try to ignore it. I tell myself that I’m letting work get to me or the stress of having to work two jobs just to make things work.
It began to get worse a week ago when I had would the same reoccurring dream. I was back at the playground, standing on the cracked asphalt that had once been a basketball court. The air smelled of rust and damp earth, the kind of smell that clings to old metal and forgotten places. In the dream, I heard the familiar creak of the swings, the groan of the merry-go-round, and faint laughter—high-pitched, echoing as if it were coming from underwater. There was also that strange groan but much louder than I had ever heard it before. It made my chest tighten, that sound. It was too distorted to be comforting and too familiar to be ignored. I woke up drenched in sweat, the laughter still ringing in my ears like a taunt. Ever time I had that dream, it felt as if that sound was getting closer.
I tried to make the dreams stop. Doctor’s prescription, self medicated with weed, anything. Every night, I would wake up to that cursed place. Each time, the details became clearer, sharper, and closer. I started noticing things I hadn’t as a child: the splintered wood of the slide, the warped metal of the monkey bars, the symbols scratched into the peeling paint. They were crude and jagged, shapes that seemed to shift and twist the longer I stared at them, as though the dream itself didn’t want me to understand.
I know I was lying to myself. I think it was two days ago I woke up in a cold sweat realizing the truth. Something was calling me back. I had somehow failed her, and I needed to go back and see what I could do to make it right. To stop that groan from getting her.
It’s not just about the playground anymore. It’s about Leah. About what happened that day, about the pieces of myself I left behind with her. I didn’t know if I’d find answers, but I couldn’t keep pretending. I had to go back.
I told myself it was just a visit to family, an excuse to see familiar faces and reconnect. So, one Friday after work, I gave in. I packed a small bag—just enough to make it look like a regular trip—and got in my car. The drive felt like both a return and a journey into something unfamiliar. The landmarks—old gas stations, crooked signs, and faded shops—passed by like ghostly memories, stirring up feelings I’d buried for years. The town was the same, yet different, as though it had somehow changed without me realizing it.
By the time I arrived, the sun was dipping low, casting the town in soft gold and orange hues. The evening light made everything look still. I spent time with family, catching up on small talk and listening to stories that no longer felt as familiar as they should. But even as I sat there, I could feel the pull. I knew where my thoughts kept wandering, even if I didn’t speak it aloud. The playground wasn’t far, and I could almost feel its presence, waiting patiently for me to come back.
I sat across from my parents at the kitchen table, my fingers drumming nervously against the edge. The house smelled of garlic and rosemary, and the soft hum of my mom chopping vegetables filled the air. Dad was sitting at the window, sipping his iced tea, staring out into the yard. Everything about this moment should’ve felt comforting, like it always had when I was younger.
“Hey, uh, Mom, Dad,” I began, my voice low and hesitant, “Do you remember the old playground, the one by the woods?”
My mom paused mid-chop, glancing at Dad. “Oh, sure,” she said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a towel. “That old place. You used to play there all the time with the other kids. What about it?”
I shifted in my seat, trying to figure out how to bring this up. The words felt awkward, like they didn’t quite belong in the air. “I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking about it lately,” I muttered, unable to keep the unease out of my voice.
Dad chuckled from the window, not looking at me. “That place? Good grief, it was falling apart even when you were a kid. I remember when they took down the slide. It was so rusted, they thought someone might get hurt.”
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes glued to my hands in my lap. “But do you remember how the older kids used to tell stories about it? Weird stories?”
Mom raised an eyebrow, still focused on chopping. “Stories? Well, there were always rumors, especially around Halloween. I think some kids thought it was haunted or something.” She shrugged, as if it were just another silly tale. “We always told you to stay away from that place after dark.”
I couldn’t help myself. “What kind of stories? I don’t remember any.” I pushed, my heart pounding in my chest, hoping they’d say something, anything that might make sense of the creeping dread that had settled over me.
Dad looked over at me with a smile, like he was about to tell me something funny. “Oh, you know how kids are. Ghost stories. Some said the playground was built on cursed land, or that the swings would move on their own. The usual stuff. But honestly, I think it was just a way for the older kids to scare the younger ones so they could smoke and hook up.”
I wanted to argue, to tell them that it wasn’t just a silly story. But as I looked at them, I realized they had no idea. No idea at all. To them, it was all just an old memory, something harmless and forgotten. I was the only one who remembered—really remembered. Did they even remember Leah?
Dad chuckled and took another sip of tea. “They used to say things like that about all sorts of places when we were kids. It’s just a way to make the place seem more exciting, more dangerous. It’s a playground, for crying out loud. There’s nothing to it.”
“Yeah,” I lied. “I guess you’re right.”
But even as they went back to talking about dinner, I could feel the weight of their words pressing on me. It was all so casual to them, like the playground was nothing more than a relic of childhood. As I sat there listening to them, the quiet seemed to press in even harder. I wanted to ask them more, to see if they knew anything else, but I couldn’t bring myself too. They didn’t understand. They hadn’t seen what I had seen. And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if they ever would.
After dinner, I told them I was going to drive around and check out the old places I used to hang out. They happily told me to have fun and suggested a few places like where the Blockbuster used to be or the skating rink. I had only one destination in mind.
The playground was still there, though it looked far worse than I remembered. The swings hung limply from rusted chains, their seats split and sagging. The merry-go-round had tilted to one side, its base half-buried in the ground like the earth had tried to reclaim it. The slide was nothing more than a skeletal frame now, its jagged edges jutting out like broken bones. The sandbox had been almost completely devoured by weeds, their spindly stalks reaching up past my knees. Even the jungle gym, once a centerpiece of our games, was nothing but a twisted ruin of metal.
The air was heavy, thick with a stillness that felt unnatural. It wasn’t just quiet—it was the kind of silence that pressed against your ears, making you hyper-aware of every tiny sound. My own footsteps on the cracked asphalt felt too loud, as if they were intruding on something sacred—or something forbidden. A shiver ran through me, sharp and cold, the kind that crawls down your spine when you know you shouldn’t be somewhere but can’t bring yourself to leave.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the remains of the place that had once been ours. The memories came rushing back—Leah’s laugh, the strange game we used to play, and the way the shadows always seemed to stretch a little too far here, even in the middle of the day. It all felt so wrong now, like the playground had been waiting for me to return. I clenched my fists, willing myself to move, to turn back toward the car and forget this place forever. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Something was here. Something was waiting. And deep down, I knew I wouldn’t leave until I found it.
The wind kicked up, swirling leaves and dust around my feet as I stepped toward the swings, the last day I saw Leah playing through my mind. The cold wind gusted around me and the swings moved in a slow, rhythmic sway, creaking in protest as if they carried invisible riders. The sound grated on my nerves, each groan dragging me deeper into a memory I wished I could forget.
I hesitated before sitting down, the cold metal chains biting into my palms. As soon as I settled, a rush of déjà vu slammed into me, stealing my breath. I gripped the chains tighter, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. The sensation was overwhelming, like being caught in the pull of a tide, dragged into something far older than me. I remembered this: sitting here, the swings rocking gently, the faint sound of laughter—high-pitched, distorted, and wrong—floating on the breeze. It was laughter I didn’t want to hear again.
And then, I did.
“Ethan…”
The voices were faint at first, a lilting whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. My name, spoken in those singsong tones, sent a chill down my spine. “Ethan…” The sound grew louder, closer, yet I saw nothing. The playground was empty, a ruin of rust and decay.
“Leah?” I said hoarsely, my voice sounding as if it had forgotten how to speak. There was no response. The moon had started to crest the trees and it’s silver glow illuminating the cursed place I sat. My eyes began to roam around, senses heightened as if I was getting ready to fight.
On the slide, where faded graffiti had once scrawled vulgarities and crude drawings, new symbols emerged. They weren’t painted—they grew from the metal itself, glowing faintly in the dimming light. Their jagged edges shifted as if alive, forming words that sent my stomach plummeting:
To leave this place, you must win the game. But play it wrong, and here you’ll remain.
The game.
The words blurred as I stared at them, pulsing in rhythm with the rapid thud of my heartbeat. And then, like a door cracking open, the memories came flooding back. The rules. The steps. The twisted ritual we had followed so blindly as children, not understanding its weight. It was as if my adult brain could comprehend what I could not as a child. This was no simple fun thing but something twisted and evil.
The game. How was the game played?
I could hear Leah’s voice clearly in my mind, her excitement practically bubbling over. “Okay, Ethan, listen closely,” she would say, always eager to begin. “We have to say the words, or it doesn’t start. It’s the rules, and the rules are everything.”
I remembered how she’d lead us, the words spilling from her lips like a chant we were all supposed to know by heart. “Round and round, we spin and fall, the shadows call, the game begins.”
The memory hit me like a wave, and suddenly, I was back there, standing before the merry-go-round. The once-vibrant colors had dulled to a sickly rust, the paint chipped away by years of neglect.
I heard the chant again, Leah’s voice in my head, but it wasn’t the words that startled me—it was the way they felt. The words were like a key turning in a lock. As soon as the chant filled my mind, the playground seemed to wake.
The air around the merry-go-round thickened, pressing in on me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. I didn’t have time to think—before I knew it, I was standing on the platform, my feet unsteady, and I could hear the soft echo of children’s laughter in the distance. It was faint, but it wasn’t just any laughter—it was wrong. It sounded too high-pitched, too sharp, like it was coming from underwater, or maybe from somewhere far darker. Even though everything felt foggy, I knew that I had to play the game. If there was any chance of me going home, I had to play.
“Don’t touch it,” Leah’s voice whispered, her excitement building. “Not yet. Just wait for it to start. Hold on tight, and don’t let go.”
I was alone but I knew I wasn’t. In the deepest distance I could hear that groan that haunted me as a child. Terror gripped me as the playground seemed to shift in the moonlight. I wanted to run but then I heard it. The voice was soft, it could have been in my head but it broke through the fog.
“Don’t leave me again, Ethan.”
I stepped forward, placing my foot on the merry-go-round, and instantly, it groaned beneath me, the sound low and ominous, like the groan of something ancient. I wasn’t sure if it was the weight of the chant or the pull of something deeper, but I felt it.
“Round and round, we spin and fall, the shadows call, the game begins,” I chanted as assured as I could.
The merry-go-round started moving—slowly at first, just a hint of motion beneath my feet. How it could even do that was a mystery to me. It should have broken off its pivot but there was a perceptible tug on it. Then, with a lurch, it began to spin.
It began to move, and I leaned forward to keep my balance. I wasn’t supposed to touch it yet. I knew that much. The merry-go-round spun with a force I couldn’t comprehend, pulling me into its dizzying spiral. I should have been thrown off, but the laws of physics failed to work. I felt myself being pulled to the center of the children’s play toy. The ground beneath it seemed to dissolve, replaced by a swirling void that looked like it could swallow everything whole. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew it was time, so I clung to one of the bars, the metal cold and slick in my grip, as the force of the spin tried to pull me into the center. I crouched and hung on for dear life.
The chant echoed in my head again, louder now, weaving its way into my thoughts like an unstoppable force. “Round and round, we spin and fall, the shadows call, the game begins.” The words seemed to reach out, clawing at me, making the air grow colder and heavier. The darkness below me felt endless, like I could fall forever. The laughter—the wrong, shrill laughter—swirled around me, a chorus of voices calling my name, calling me to join them.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to let go, my hands slick with sweat as I held on. The spin continued, faster, until I thought my arms would snap from the strain. And then, just as quickly as it started, it slowed. The world came back into focus, the void beneath me faded away, and the merry-go-round finally came to a stop, leaving me breathless and shaken, heart still pounding in my chest.
But the words—the chant—lingered. It was like they were still hanging in the air around me, waiting for the next step.
I did not realize I had my eyes until I heard her voice. Hearing it again brought tears to my eyes and I opened them.
“Ethan.”
I looked around and could not see her but I knew I heard her voice. The cracked asphalt looked like it had been pulled from the very bowels of the earth, the fissures oozing something dark and thick, like tar or blood, which stained the edges of the playground. The stench was suffocating, a rancid blend of decay and rot that made my stomach twist. I stumbled off, gasping for air, but there was no time to recover. Instinct dragging me toward the sandbox, dragging me deeper into this grotesque nightmare.
The sandbox had long been overtaken, the weeds now thick and gnarly, their twisted stalks curling like blackened fingers, reaching for me. But beneath the weeds, the sand still shifted, though not like it should. It moved unnaturally, as if something beneath it was alive, waiting, pulling the grains toward a hidden abyss. My feet sank into the sand as I stepped forward, the ground giving way like the soft belly of a rotting corpse. My hands trembled as I dropped to my knees and dug, the sand shifting around my fingers in sickening waves. And then I felt them—cold and brittle.
Bones.
Small, fragile bones.
I dug harder, the sound of cracking bone sickening, until I uncovered them fully. They weren’t just bones—they were wrong. Fragile and delicate, but they didn’t feel like they belonged to any living thing. The moment my fingers touched them, they crumbled to dust, blackened ash sticking to my skin like burnt remnants of something long forgotten. My breath caught in my throat as I scrambled back, heart racing, but the sand didn’t stop. It shifted again, curling and writhing, and as if in response, words began to form.
The shadows watch; they’ll take their due. Finish the game, or they’ll take you too.
The words burned into me, the very air around me turning cold, as if the temperature itself had dropped a hundred degrees. I looked up, chest heaving, and froze. The shadows, they stretched unnaturally long, too long, reaching across the ground like claws scraping at the earth. Their edges curled like smoke, flickering in and out of focus. But they weren’t just shadows anymore, they were figures. Children, but not the kind of children I remember. Their eyes were hollow, like empty sockets filled with darkness. Their limbs were twisted, bent at impossible angles, flickering like old film, jerky and uneven. They didn’t move closer, but I could feel them, feel their eyes burning in to me. They were unblinking. They were hungry. The air thickened with their silent watching, the suffocating pressure of their gaze, as if they were waiting for something. That groan. That damn groan echoed so close to me that it caused me to tremble uncontrollably.
I knew, deep down, that they weren’t just shadows, they were them. The children who had been lost. The ones who hadn’t gone home. They had never left.
Leah's form flickered into view, not like how I remembered her—bright and full of life—but hazy, like a dream I could barely grasp. Her voice came to me, soft and uncertain, like a child trying to explain something too big for their small world.
“Ethan,” she whispered, her voice trembling in the air around me. “I didn’t... I didn’t know… I thought we were playing.” She hesitated, her figure twisting in the air, the edges of her fading in and out like she wasn’t sure how to hold herself together. “But it wasn’t just a game, was it” I felt her confusion, her pain, swirling in the air like a cold wind. She sounded like the Leah I knew, but there was something off about the way she spoke now. Like she was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle she didn’t quite understand herself.
“I played the game by myself,” she said, her voice was barely above a whisper, and I could hear the sorrow in her tone.” I wasn’t supposed to. It told me not to, but I did it anyway. I was supposed to play with you, but I wanted to play alone.” Leah’s trailed off, and I could feel her fear, raw and unfiltered, like the first time she realized what was happening. “It took me, Ethan. It took me and I didn’t know..”
I took a step back, trying to process what she was saying, but it didn’t make sense. She sounded so young, so lost, like a child trying to understand a story that was too big for her.
“What now?” I asked her, my voice breaking looking at the little girl I once loved as a child.
“You must play the game, Ethan. You must. The game has to be finished.” Her form flickered again. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back... so we can finish it.” Her words rushed out, a mix of desperation and childlike hope, like she didn’t fully understand what she was asking me to do, but it was all she had left.
I wanted to scream, to tell her it wasn’t possible, that she was gone and trapped in this place. But the words stuck in my throat, and I could feel her eyes on me, wide and pleading, like a child who didn’t realize the full weight of what she was asking.
“Please, Ethan...” Her voice was so small now, barely a whisper. “You have to come back... come back and finish it. We have to finish the game. We have to finish before you also break the rules.”
Her figure trembled and flickered once more, her eyes wide with an innocence that twisted into something darker, something I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just a game. It was something far worse.
“I played it wrong, Ethan. But you can still win.”
The ground beneath me seemed to tremble as her words echoed in my mind. I didn’t want to, didn’t want to play this game with her, not like this. But I could feel her—waiting, wanting, urging me toward something I couldn’t quite understand.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew I had no choice. The game wasn’t over. It was only waiting for me to return.
I felt the weight of Leah’s gaze pressing into me, her flickering form trembling in the air around me. Her voice came again, soft but desperate, as though the words were being forced from her, one by one, like an old, worn riddle she couldn’t shake.
“The rules...” she said slowly, almost like she was piecing them together in her mind. “You have to play hide-and-seek now, Ethan. If you are found. You stay.”
The words hung in the air, sickeningly familiar, but now twisted into something far darker. I didn’t know if she understood what it meant, what it really meant, or if she was just trying to hold on to some vestige of what was once innocent. But the fear in her voice, the fear in the way she trembled, made it clear: this wasn’t the game we used to play.
Before I could respond, a shrill, high-pitched laugh echoed through the air—sharp, wrong, like a child’s laughter stretched too thin and distorted until it became something monstrous. I froze. The sound crawled up my spine and dug deep, making my heart race.
I turned toward the sound, my blood running cold as I saw a small figure emerge from the shadows, barely visible at first. The thing—whatever it was—was hunched over, its limbs twisted in a grotesque parody of a child’s posture. Its eyes were wide, black pits that seemed to stare straight into me. And then the voice came, sweet but sinister, a child's chant that held all the weight of something far older:
“Ready or not, here I come, You can run, but you can’t outrun, If I find you, you’ll be mine, So stay with me—your fate, entwined.”
My blood froze. The countdown had begun, and I had no time to think. I bolted, my heart pounding in my chest, feeling the ground tremble beneath me. I couldn’t go back to the playground, couldn’t risk being caught there. The only place that made sense was the edge of the woods, just beyond the park. It was against the rules. But then, the rules didn’t matter, not really. Not anymore.
We used to cheat in the game, laughing about it, running into the woods where the shadows were thick enough to swallow us whole. Back then, it was just part of the game—part of the fun. But now, I hoped, I prayed that the thing that haunted this place was bound by those old rules too. I needed it to be, for my own sanity.
I reached the trees, my breath ragged, my legs burning from the effort. I glanced over my shoulder, but the twisted children were already moving toward the playground, searching, scanning. I ducked low, crouching behind the thick trunks, cradling Leah—small, fragile Leah—in my arms. She felt too light, too cold in my grasp. Her form was fading, flickering, but her eyes... her eyes were wide and full of fear, still so childlike, so innocent.
“We can’t let them find you...” Leah whispered, her voice barely audible, as she buried her face into my chest.
I held her tighter, my heart hammering in my chest as I listened to the footsteps of the shadow children. The sounds of their search—scratching against the old slide, their whispering voices—sent waves of cold terror through me. They were close.
I spotted the slide just beyond the treeline, the wooden support still in place, as it had been when we played as kids. A perfect hiding spot, one of the best we’d ever found. But I knew the risk. If they saw me moving, if they caught even a glimpse of me, it would be over. I took a shaky breath and, cradling Leah as carefully as I could, moved toward the slide.
We just made it behind the wooden beams in time. I could hear their footsteps getting closer, the scraping of something unnatural skimming the ground, but I didn’t dare look. I held my breath, my pulse thundering in my ears as I pressed Leah close to me. We were so close to being found. The seconds felt like hours. I could feel her heart beating in time with mine, a fragile rhythm that kept us tethered to the world of the living. The shadows were so close. So close. One more step and—
I heard it. The shift in the air, the ripple in reality that made everything seem to falter, to stretch and snap like an old film reel. The ground trembled beneath me, and then, just as quickly as it had begun, everything stopped. Leah’s voice, small but filled with relief, fluttered in the air around me. “You did it, Ethan... You won...” She smiled, though it was a strange, unearthly smile—too wide, too knowing for a child. “You can go home now.” But as she spoke those words, the weight of the moment hung in the air, thick and heavy. I knew the game was over... for now. But something in Leah’s tone, something in the way she smiled, made me realize this was never the end.
I released Leah and she took a few steps back, her form solidying into the unruly child with bright eyes and wild pony tail. Her eyes—those wide, innocent eyes—stared up at me with a mixture of sadness.
“I’ll take you back, Leah,” I whispered, my voice shaking, but resolute. I left her once; I wasn’t going to leave her again. “We’ll leave this place together. I’ll make sure it never hurts you again. I promise. I’m grown up now! And I’ll take care of you just like I promised back then.”
Her small hand—so cold, so light—rested gently in my hand, and she smiled, but it was not the smile I remembered. It was something different, something hollow and sad. Her voice came soft, almost as if she were speaking through a veil of grief.
“You can’t,” she said, her words curling around me like smoke. “I broke the rules a long time ago, Ethan. I told you. I was the one who played alone... and now, I belong to it.”
I felt the air grow colder around me, a pressure building in my chest. A sudden weight seemed to settle on my heart, pulling me down.
“No,” I murmured, shaking my head desperately. “That’s not true. I can still save you. I can get you out of here. We’ll go back. You’ll be safe. We’ll go home.”
But Leah’s expression softened, and she shook her head, her eyes glistening with something that could have been sorrow, or something far darker, something ancient.
“It’s already too late, Ethan,” she said gently, as though explaining something that was far beyond my understanding. “It’s already taken me. It’s been so long, and I’ve been waiting for you. Just seeing you again before I fade completely.”
I felt something twist inside me, an aching knot of grief, of helplessness. She had been waiting for me. She had been alone, all this time, trapped in this place where the game never ended. Where the rules were twisted, perverted by something ancient and hungry. It had aged her in ways I hadn’t expected. I looked up then, instinctively, drawn to the edge of the woods. And that’s when I saw it.
At the edge of the trees, just out of reach of the light, there was something impossibly large, stretching beyond comprehension. It was a shadow, or perhaps many shadows, writhing together, indistinguishable from one another, but each one moving in ways that defied the laws of nature. The shape of it was grotesque, an endless mass of limbs and whispers, groaning, the sound that had haunted my childhood, echoing through the air like a thousand suffering souls.
I staggered back, my chest tightening with terror.
“That...” I whispered, voice trembling. “That’s... what took you. It’s still here. I—I can’t leave you to it, Leah.”
Leah’s form flickered harder as if she was beginning to fade completely. Her voice seemed to come from all around me, like a breeze whispering through the leaves.
“You can’t save me, Ethan. I’m already lost to it. It’s too late... but you...” She trailed off, a warmth spreading across her face, a moment of peace. “I saved you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Every part of me wanted to run, to save her, to drag her away from this nightmare. But as I looked at her—really looked at her—I saw the truth in her eyes.
She was right.
The shadows at the edge of the woods shifted again, and I felt them pull at me, pulling me toward the darkness, like a magnet of dread. My chest tightened, and I knew I couldn’t stay here, not any longer. But I didn’t want to leave her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’ll find a way. I’ll fix this.” Leah’s smile softened, and I could swear I saw a tear shimmer in her eye, though it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Thank you, Ethan,” she murmured, almost too softly to hear. “But it’s... it’s enough. Just knowing you’re here, just knowing you care... I can let go now.” And then, as if she had never been there at all, Leah faded into the air, leaving only the hollow, lingering feeling of loss and sorrow in her place. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she had been. The weight of the shadows pressed on me, and I could hear the groaning grow louder, the monstrous thing waiting just out of sight. I turned, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I couldn’t save her, couldn’t undo what had been done.
But I could still try to escape. I could still try to survive.
The shadows pressed in around me, suffocating in their weight, but something stirred in my mind—like a flicker of light in a dark room. I remembered the rhyme. Leah’s voice echoed in my head, soft and unyielding, despite the horrors surrounding me:
“To escape, you must go down where they once slid, Through the hollow, the dark, where the others hid.”
The slide. It had always been there, towering in the corner of the playground, a darkened tunnel of metal that twisted into the unknown. I had never thought to go down it before, never dared to. But now, the rhyme had given me a path, a way out. At least, that’s what I told myself.
My heart pounded as I turned toward the slide, the one place I had always avoided. The dark hole at the top seemed to leer at me, waiting, promising nothing good. It was different now. The slide wasn’t just an object; it was a doorway. A gateway into something unspeakable. And it was calling me. I took a step toward it, the air around me heavy with the scent of mildew and decay. The slide groaned under the weight of the past, as if it had been waiting for me all this time. Each step felt like it was pulling me deeper into the nightmare, but I couldn’t stop. The rhyme played over and over in my mind, like a chant that forced my legs to move.
I climbed the ladder slowly, my hands slick with sweat, the metal cold under my fingertips. The laughter, distorted and far away echoed in the distance. It wasn’t the children’s laughter anymore. It was something else. Something hungry.
Reaching the top, I hesitated. The opening at the top of the slide was black, as if it led straight into the void. I could feel the darkness pressing against me, just out of sight, like a thousand eyes watching. It took everything in me to push forward, to crouch and lower myself into the dark tunnel. The instant I began to slide, the world changed. The air became thick, like molasses, dragging me downward, the sensation so wrong that I felt my insides twist with panic. The slide was too tight, too narrow, the walls closing in on me. It didn’t feel like metal beneath me; it felt like something alive—slick and writhing, pulling me deeper, faster, until I could barely breathe.
And then, the sounds started. Whispers. Low, guttural murmurs that echoed inside the slide. Voices. Children’s voices. Leah’s voice. They weren’t calling to me, though. They were calling for something else, something far worse, and it was too late for me to stop it now. I couldn’t move. I was trapped in the slide, racing toward whatever waited at the end.
My heart hammered, my chest tight, but I couldn’t scream. My mouth was dry, my breath coming in sharp gasps. The slide jerked suddenly, and I thought for a moment that I would be ripped apart, that I would be crushed in the dark. But then, just as quickly as it began, it stopped.
I hit the ground hard, tumbling forward and landing on my hands and knees, the air around me thick with the smell of rot. I could feel the slide behind me, but it was gone. The playground was gone as if the last of it had collapsed, the vestiges sticking up from the gravel lot like bones of a dead creature. The shadows, the laughter, the thing that had been waiting in the woods, they were all gone.
I slowly pushed myself to my feet, my body trembling from the shock, from the darkness.
The world around me had shifted. It was the same, but different. The air was still heavy, but there was a faint light now, a glow that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. It was as if I had crossed some threshold, some boundary between what was real and what was not.
The light that filtered through the trees was soft at first, a faint glow creeping into the corners of the world. It felt like a new day was beginning, but I knew better. It wasn’t the start of anything. The sun’s rise didn’t erase what had happened. The warmth on my skin felt foreign, like a reminder that the world had moved on without me, while I was still trapped in the echo of that game.
I stood there, staring out into the quiet woods. The shadows had receded, but their presence lingered, like a weight pressing against my chest. Leah’s voice, her laughter, the rhyme—it all felt so distant now, like a fading dream I couldn’t remember clearly.
But I remembered her. I remembered the look in her eyes when she’d told me she couldn’t leave. The moment when she explained that she had broken the rules long ago, that she was it’s now—she belonged to whatever dark thing had claimed this place. That’s what tore at me. The finality of it. Her fate was sealed, and I couldn’t save her. I hadn’t been able to save her when it had mattered, and I wouldn’t be able to save her now. The truth of it was worse than the unanswered questions. The not-knowing had always gnawed at me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch, but to face the truth—that she was lost to that place, bound to something ancient and hungry—was a kind of pain I couldn’t escape.
I thought I might feel relief, as if the horror were behind me, but I didn’t. I felt... empty.
There were no more riddles, no more clues to follow. The game had ended, but it didn’t matter. I’d won, but only in the way a prisoner wins when they’re given an empty cell instead of chains. The victory was hollow. I would go home, sure. But home wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be. The sun continued its slow climb, casting golden light on the twisted trunks of trees, on the damp earth where the shadows had once stretched so long and so dark. The world around me was peaceful now, but I knew it wasn’t real peace. It was a fragile kind of calm, like the stillness after a storm before the next one hits.
I turned away from the woods, my body aching, and I started walking. The air smelled different now—fresher, less oppressive. But the weight of what I had learned pressed down on me like a heavy cloak. I couldn’t unsee it. Leah’s fate, her broken innocence, her voice fading into the void... it was all a part of me now. Something I couldn’t shake off.
And the worst part? I knew, deep down, that I would never be free of it. Not really. There was no going back to the way things were before. The game wasn’t over. It had only moved on, waiting for the next player.
I just hoped it would be a long time before someone else had to take my place.
“Haunted Playground” by Freepik. Used with Permission.
© Jonathan Snyder. All Rights Reserved.
