When he didn’t respond or move, Wendy tore her eyes away from the woods to look at him.

Peter was still as a statue. The color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide, staring at something behind her. His hand was limp in hers.

There was buzzing in the air, hanging over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body coiled in a burning sear. She let out a rattling breath. It billowed through her lips in a white cloud.

Peter’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Wendy, get away from it,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on the space behind her shoulder. He said it quietly, but it might as well have been a shout in the silent woods.

Wendy slowly turned.

Behind her stood the tree. Its thick trunk twisted upward and split off into jagged, bare branches. They loomed above, sharp fingers reaching out. The tree’s bark stood out in stark contrast to the others: ghostly pale compared to their rich greens and browns. Gnarled roots knotted and churned through the underbrush. The air smelled of rotting leaves and dirt.

The woods hummed. The hair on her arms stood on end. She could hear the voices growing louder now. A swirl of whispers and gentle weeping. They were coming from the tree. No, from the roots that curled and sank into the earth, making small cages and gaping holes. A wind picked up and rustled the leaves. The voices grew louder, more frightened.

Wendy took a step closer, taking her hand from Peter’s grasp and reaching for the tree. The whispers coaxed and warned her. Was there something there? Hidden under the roots, in the dirt?

The voices grew harsh.

“There’s something there,” Wendy mumbled. She leaned down but suddenly Peter stepped in front of her. His large hands gripped her arms.

“We need to get out of here.” His expression was all taut muscles and hard lines. His eyes pleaded with her to listen.

“He’s right, you know.” The lazy voice floated down to them through the trees.

Wendy and Peter both craned their necks back.

Lounging on a thick branch, with its back against the tree, was the shadow.

She could clearly make out all its features. It was a haunted, distorted version of Peter. Instead of having his warm hair that shone in the sun, its hair was like shiny black oil. Its nose and chin were pointy and severe. Its skin was pale white, its eyes hollow and black. They seemed to suck in all the light from around them. Its thin lips twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnaturally white teeth. It was made of sharp angles, cheekbones and a jawline she could cut herself on.

In every way that Peter was bright and warm, the shadow was dark and twisted.

It looked as solid and real as Peter now. “You should really be more careful—there’s no telling what you’ll find in these woods.” It curled a dead leaf between its pale fingers.