Wendy could feel herself sinking deeper into the tarlike blackness, as if it were pulling her through the floor. Wendy’s entire body trembled, her breaths ragged and tasting of salt. Sticky tendrils snaked across her thighs and up her arms. Tension swelled, pushing against her ribs, expanding like a balloon. It ached and burned. It felt like it would break at any moment.

“Where are the children you took?” Wendy demanded, refusing to give in to the shaking creature in her chest. “Bring them back!” She tried to wrench herself free but only sank deeper into the oozing blackness.

The shadow threw its head back. Screeching laughter filled the room. “They were merely pawns to get to you, Wendy! Haven’t you put it together yet? Haven’t you remembered? Hasn’t he told you?” it asked, peering at her through narrowed eyes. Its face—Peter’s face, but cruel and dark and distorted—held sick glee in every sharp angle.

She heard its words, but they didn’t fit together in her head. She couldn’t make sense of it or of the plummeting sensation in her gut, as if it knew before she did. Wendy wanted to rage and scream. “Bring my brothers back!” Her voice quaked and broke.

“Oh, Wendy.” Its grin was cruel, its chuckle amused. “I don’t have your brothers. I never did.”

Wendy froze. What? She shook her head. The shadow was lying, of course it was lying. It wanted her to be frightened. It was trying to mess with her head. Wendy looked at Peter for answers, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His attention was locked on the shadow. The muscles in his jaw bulged.

The shadow leaned in close. It smiled as if reading her mind. Its breath reeked of decaying leaves and the thick must of wet dirt. “Lost children are the souls of children who have lost their way. Peter is their guide.”

“Guide?” Wendy repeated. Confusion and panic ripped through her body. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t breathe. She shook so violently, she was nearly convulsing. It was like her body knew what was coming but her brain couldn’t keep up.

“It’s his job to ease their suffering, to help them become unafraid so they can pass on.”

Her breath became sharp and frantic. Wendy shook her head. “Peter, what is it talking about?” she asked.

But the look on Peter’s face …

This was just a nightmare. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to wake up in her bed and for this not to be real. She thrashed against the tendrils as they gripped her tighter.

“Wendy—” Peter voice was pleading and weak.