In the cool, tranquil depths of the forest, a young boy of about nine years wandered along a narrow pathway. His chubby cheeks were flushed with exertion, and a pink backpack clung snugly to his back. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, dappling the ground with flickering shadows. The air carried the rich scent of damp earth and pine needles, while the boy's wide eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—familiar. The forest held its breath, whispering secrets only the trees could understand.

How could a young boy be all alone in a forest? How was that even possible?

A Few Hours Earlier…

"Is everyone set?" a young teacher called out, her voice filled with excitement as she zipped up the backpack of a nine-year-old boy standing before her.

"Yes, ma'am!" the children chorused, their faces lit up with uncontained joy.

Excitement buzzed in the air; it was clear they had been looking forward to this excursion.

"Dave," the teacher called.

"Yes, ma'am!" the little boy chirped in response.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am! One hundred percent!" he beamed, his enthusiasm earning him a fond ruffle of his short curls.

After taking a final headcount, she jotted down their names before ushering them onto the school bus. Their destination? A legendary forest known as *When Night Comes.*

Hours later, the bus pulled up to the edge of the forest, and the children let out gasps of wonder. Before them lay a breathtaking expanse of lush greenery and towering trees, their leaves swaying in a gentle rhythm with the breeze.

As the students stepped off the bus, their giggles and chatter filled the air, their excitement palpable as the teacher led them into the enchanting woodland.

Despite its eerie name, *When Night Comes* was famous for its beauty. A marvel of nature, the forest boasted an array of rare plants and stunning landscapes, its crown jewel being a majestic waterfall. Many schools and families visited for tours and excursions, drawn to its wonders. However, there was one strict rule:

"Do not go past the Pink Tree. You may encounter danger. And leave before 7 p.m."

Few paid serious attention to this warning. No one had ever stayed in the forest past seven, and no one had ever seen this so-called Pink Tree. Most visitors came, enjoyed the scenery, and left long before dusk.

As the teachers guided the children through the forest, they pointed out various plant species and landmarks. The students listened in fascination, their curiosity growing with each discovery.

When they reached the waterfall, the sight left them all spellbound. A towering cascade of crystal-clear water crashed down from rugged cliffs, shimmering under the golden sunlight. The rhythmic roar of the waterfall filled the air, its mist cooling the faces of those who stood close. The scene was nothing short of magical.

Giddy with excitement, the children splashed and played in the shallows while the teachers, absorbed in conversation, momentarily let their guard down.

And in that moment, no one noticed when a single student drifted away from the group.

The young boy had just set down his pink backpack when something unusual caught his eye.

The Pink Tree.

From a distance, it gleamed—a surreal shade of pink, its leaves shimmering with an almost unnatural glow. It was mesmerizing, otherworldly. Without a second thought, he took a step toward it. Then another. And another.

Neither the teachers nor the other children noticed his departure. They had made a grave mistake—they had never warned the students about the Pink Tree.

Drawn in by its brilliance, Dave ventured deeper into the forest. His heart pounded with exhilaration. Pink was his favorite color. This tree—so beautiful, so unreal—felt like something straight out of a fairy tale.

But something was wrong.

The more he walked, the farther the tree seemed. No matter how fast he moved, it remained just out of reach, as if teasing him, leading him astray. Frustrated, he finally stopped and turned back.

Except… he had no idea where he was.

The air around him had changed. Gone was the vibrant, welcoming forest. In its place was something darker, colder. The sunlight no longer filtered through the trees. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, and a deep, unsettling silence swallowed every trace of familiar sound.

"Hello," a voice whispered, its eerie echo slithering through the darkness, sending a shiver down his spine.

Terror gripped his chest as he took in his surroundings. The beautiful Pink Tree had transformed. Its dazzling hues had faded to a withered, lifeless gray. Its bark, once smooth, was now twisted and gnarled, like the grasping fingers of a corpse.

His mother's voice echoed in his mind: **"Not all that glitters is gold."**

Now, he understood.

A chill raced through him as his eyes darted around. Then he saw them.

Four pairs of glowing red eyes materialized in the darkness, watching him.

Low, guttural growls rumbled from the shadows, reverberating through the air. The sound was so unnatural, so *wrong,* that his very bones seemed to quiver.

Then they emerged.

Grotesque figures slinked forward, their movements jerky and unnatural. Their skin, ashen and mottled, clung tightly to skeletal frames, their hollow faces contorted with malice. Their fanged mouths curled into twisted grins, while an unbearable stench filled the air. These creatures had lurked here for centuries, feasting on anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into their domain.

And now, their newest prey stood before them.

Dave took an unsteady step back, then another. Then he ran.

His feet pounded against the earth as he sprinted blindly, lungs burning, heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know where he was going—he just had to get away.

Behind him, the creatures pursued, but leisurely. They had no need to rush. They enjoyed the game.

He was just a child. He had nowhere to go.

Still, he ran.

Fear fueled his every step, but deep down, he knew the truth: he wouldn't make it.

His mind raced with desperate prayers. He thought of his mother. He thought of the ice cream she had promised him. Would he really die here and miss it?

Laughter—inhuman, bone-chilling—rose behind him. It sent waves of panic crashing through him. He had never heard anything like it. He had no idea whatthey were. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed from sheer terror alone.

But then—

A misplaced step. A pebble beneath his shoe made him tripped.