They weren’t afraid. That was the first thing that didn’t make sense.
Two deer stepped out of the woods while I was tossing hay near the barn — calm, deliberate, and far too close. Normally, deer bolt at the first sign of a human, but these two just stood there, watching. The larger one lingered at the tree line, still but alert. The smaller one, hardly past fawn age, stared straight at me — its gaze disturbingly sharp, almost aware.
I laughed, pulling out my phone. “Guess I’ve got some curious visitors today,” I said aloud as I snapped a photo. Just a strange little wildlife encounter, I thought.
Then the smaller deer moved closer.
It stopped a few feet from the fence, close enough that I could hear its breath. It lowered its head, and before I could react, it dropped something at my feet — a small, dark bundle wrapped in old fabric and tied with twine.
The deer didn’t flee. It waited.
Then it turned and walked toward the woods, pausing as if urging me to follow.
I looked down at the bundle. My hands trembled as I picked it up. The fabric was damp and coarse, the knots old but carefully tied. Inside was a wooden box — weathered and smooth — and within it, a tarnished silver locket covered in strange markings. They weren’t letters or numbers, but symbols that felt ancient, unsettling.
When I looked up, the deer were gone.
The woods had fallen utterly silent. No wind, no birds — only the kind of stillness that feels alive.
I should’ve gone inside. But something about the locket wouldn’t let me. Against my better judgment, I pocketed it and climbed the fence, following the trail into the trees.
The light dimmed unnaturally fast. Each step seemed to pull me deeper into something I couldn’t see but could feel — watching, waiting.
Then I found the clearing.
An enormous blackened oak stood at the center, its branches twisting like claws. The ground beneath it looked freshly disturbed, as if something had been buried recently.
And there — at the roots — the small deer appeared once more.
It stared at me, then turned and slipped away into the shadows.
I moved closer, the air colder with every step. Beneath the loose soil, my fingers found a flat stone tablet marked with the same symbols as the locket. Beneath it lay a small piece of parchment sealed with red wax.
When I broke the seal, the message read:
For the one who is chosen: The truth is not safe. The truth is not kind. But if you seek it, follow the signs. This is only the beginning.
The forest pressed in around me. I knew then — this was meant for someone. And somehow, that someone was me.
