Alice sat on the bed, wondering what she was supposed to do now. Was she really going back to school tomorrow? Of course she was. She was still a child, after all, and children went to school. It was a brutally abrupt return to reality. Just yesterday, she’d been the beloved granddaughter on holiday— carefree, untroubled by the future, never imagining she’d return under these circumstances. She didn’t like the thought. In fact, the longer she dwelled on it, the hotter her anger burned. Her mind spun chaotically, fury sapping her energy until it dragged her into another uneasy sleep.

  In the dream, she stood in her old bedroom, her belongings scattered like debris. Before she could wonder who’d done it, thick fog swallowed the room. The rug beneath her vanished——and suddenly, she was standing on damp grass, the roar of rushing water in her ears. Now what? She froze, listening. A car’s headlights speared through the fog. She leapt aside at the last second—

  —and landed on the scratchy upholstery of her aunt’s couch. The air reeked of smoke, but not cigarettes—this was thicker, fouler, saturated with pain and despair. She inhaled, and it clawed down her throat, a suffering that wasn’t physical but something deeper, something she couldn’t name. She was just a child. The world’s weight wasn’t hers to carry. Yet pain was pain, and her lungs convulsed, desperate to expel the poison. She lurched upright—

  —and found herself beside a gaunt, shaven-headed man. His hollow stare fixed on nothing. Her pulse hammered. She knew, with icy certainty, she didn’t want to see what held his gaze—but an invisible force wrenched her head toward it. A mountain of bodies. A furnace’s gaping maw. Her eyes refused to shut. Her legs refused to flee.

  Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught movement—a woman leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, smirking as if death were a private joke. Alicja knew this woman wasn’t real. And yet, she also knew she mattered—that she existed somewhere, meant something. After all, it was she who…

  …had gathered the suitcases. The girl stared at the pile hidden in the bunker, each one stuffed with valuables. Who’d they belonged to? Hers now, yes—but before? "Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered," piped three-year-old Alice beside her. "Focus on learning to be a ghost in this world."

  Alicja woke with a gasp, her second time that day, heart jackhammering, sheets glued to her sweat-slick skin. She dragged in air, slow and deliberate, then sat up, grappling for coherence. What now? What did the world want from her? She was adrift. Until now, she’d never been truly alone—never had to be. Her parents had always hovered close, their love a constant warmth… She’d taken it for granted. Worse, she’d resented it, itching for independence like every child who mistook stubbornness for wisdom. That cold autumn morning, the illusion shattered. She saw the truth: she’d only ever followed scripts written by others. It made her furious. Furious enough to act.

  She launched from the bed, yanking clothes from the cabinet—thick undershirt, hoodie, tights, sweatpants—all while seething at the world. A plan crystallized. This time, she’d prove herself—prove she was special. Why else would the Not-a-Doctor guard her so fiercely?

  She barreled downstairs, a hurricane in sneakers. In the kitchen, she devoured a sandwich, scalded her throat with milk, and brushed kisses onto Helena and Walery’s cheeks before they could protest. Then: the yard. The hidden entrance. Decades of dust. A grin split her face. Defying the Not-a-Doctor outright was too risky—but bending his rules? That, she could do.

  She was too weak to shove the door fully open, but stubborn enough to force a gap and wriggle through. Without hesitation, Alice plunged into the waiting darkness. Her triumph curdled into terror when the blackness swallowed even her outstretched hand.A step forward—her foot snagged. She crashed down, disoriented, into a nest of unseen objects. The air reeked of mold and something worse—something moving. Then: tiny legs skittered over her knuckles. Her scream pierced the dark as she flailed backward, toppling another avalanche of debris. Dirt, dust, and a squirming rain of terrified creatures poured over her—into her hair, her mouth, her gasping throat. She batted wildly at them, only entangling herself further in sticky cobwebs. The Not-a-Doctor’s laughter echoed in her skull. Just as panic threatened to consume her, a cold hand clamped around her wrist. A ghost—pale, young—materialized beside her. Alicja thrashed, but his grip held firm. Around them, the insects stilled, then retreated from the girl’s trembling limbs."Breathe," said the ghost. His voice was quiet but unshakable. "They’re leaving. None remain on you now."

  Alicja felt the last centipede slip from her tights. Tears still streaked her cheeks."Disgusting," she whimpered, scrubbing her sleeve across her face. "I—I swallowed one! What if it—"

  "Your stomach acid would dissolve much wors," the ghost said, almost smiling. "I’ve eaten worse. You’ll live."

  Alicja studied him properly now. His clothes were decades out of date, but his face was young—until you saw his eyes.

  "What’s your name?" he asked, and the smile softened him into a young man again.

  "Alice," she muttered. "You?"

  “Gregory,” the man replied, shaking her hand.

  “Come on—I’ll get you out of here. This isn’t a place for children.”

  “I know, but…” Alicja hesitated. Should she tell him the truth?

  Some part of her—still innocent, still childlike—saw no reason to lie.And once she realized that, the words tumbled out:

  “I just wanted to see what was inside. I didn’t expect it to be so dark. I don’t even know why… really.”

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  She shrugged, eyes dropping to the ground. The child in her heart recoiled in outrage; the newer, darker part—the seed of something grown—nodded in approval.

  “How old are you?” Gregory asked, weighing his next words carefully.

  “Nine.”

  Alice mustered her most innocent smile. The man didn’t bother hiding his shock.

  “Where are your parents? How could they let you wander alone?”

  Tears streaked her grimy cheeks. Gregory went still. He didn’t understand what he’d triggered, but he knew, bone-deep, it was his fault. The girl turned away, a whisper raw as a wound:

  “My parents are dead.”

  “Christ, I’m so sorry,” Gregory rasped, pulling her into a hug.

  "Liar! Manipulator!" screamed the child’s voice in her head.The other—cool, woman-sharp—answered: "One-nil. We win."

  Gregory led her out of the bunker. He couldn’t materialize fully—couldn’t pry the doors wider to let light in— so the tour became the woods instead: the stream, the pond, the dappled shadows of trees. They walked slowly, and he spoke of his childhood, his siblings, the family he’d loved; of happiness, a first crush, a wedding that never was; of war crashing into his boyhood, of the rifle thrust into his hands, of fear like ice in his veins, and finally—of graves holding everyone he’d ever cherished.

  “That’s so sad,” Alice murmured, gripping his ghost-cold hand.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said. “Not when you’re grieving too.”

  “It helps. Like… I’m not just some unwanted orphan.”

  She perched on a fallen trunk and told her own story of parents lost, of relatives who turned her away, of the aunt she’d only begun to understand, of the accident she’d survived andof the orphanage that she feared so much.

  “So why are you here?” Gregory watched her like she might vanish.

  Alice’s heart stuttered. One misstep would undo everything.

  “At the hospital,” she began, “a black-haired man came. He was… wrong. Because of him, my parents died too soon. He made my aunt abandon me here. I don’t know how—she just forgot me. Now I live with Helena and Walery. They’re kind, but… he won’t let them move on either.”

  All warmth drained from Gregory’s face. Alice felt the ice crack underfoot, but she’d crossed the point of no return.

  “I don’t know what he wants from me,” Alice said, kicking at the dirt. “He’s cruel. He says awful things—things I don’t always understand—but I still have to obey.” She paused, then flashed a grin too sharp for a child. “But I’ll outsmart him. He thinks he’s teaching me to be like him, but I’ll use it all to fix this world. So no one suffers like we did.” Her voice wavered just enough. “I might fail… but I’ll try.”

  Silence. Alice’s nails bit into her palms. Had he seen through her after all?

  “What if you fail?” Gregory’s question came after a moment of hesitation.

  “He’ll kill me,” she said simply. “I think he’ll find someone else. But I’m not scared. I’ll be with my parents. It’ll… be okay.”

  The quiet between them grew uncomfortable. Alice’s stomach knotted. One last play. All or nothing.

  “Oh—it’s getting dark!” She jumped up, brushing bark from her skirt. “He’ll be furious if I’m late. But… will you be here tomorrow? After school? You could tell me about your childhood or your favorite games…” A practiced pause. “I’ll study hard. I promise! And maybe one day I can show you the way to the light.

  She ducked her head, hoping her smile looked frail and frightened but Gregory stepped closer, his voice a low rumble:

  “You knew I’d be there. You weren’t surprised.”

  Alice’s breath hitched.

  “He told me. He said I had to make you serve me, or else I wasn’t who he thought I was…” Tears welled up in her eyes. “But I didn’t want to lie to you! I didn’t want to trick you! I just wanted to talk… to be friends with someone. He forbade me from being friends with anyone. I…”

  She spun and ran, leaving Gregory struck silent.

  When she got home, Alicja tried to sneak quietly into her room—or rather, she made sure not to succeed at sneaking, but in a way that looked like she was really trying. Helena swept her into a hug, murmuring comforts. Walery fussed with tea, firing questions.Alice wasn’t stupid. The timing had to be perfect, the execution—swift, the expression—appropriate. Judging by their reactions, it worked. The story about noble self-sacrifice in defiance of the evil Not-a-doctor had been sold, sealed with a skipped dinner. That was necessary, a symbol of sorrow and nerves—or so she thought. She dragged herself to her room, more exhausted than ever, hoping her empty stomach wouldn’t make itself known to the whole world. One thing was certain: she wasn’t going to walk several kilometers every day just to get to some shitty school. As soon as the girl curled up in bed, stomach churning from hunger, there was a knock at the kitchen door.

  Helena opened the door to the unexpected visitor and offered him a cup of hot tea.Gregory declined politely but firmly, then cut straight to the point:

  "Is what Alice told me true?"

  The elderly couple exchanged glances.

  "Yes," Helena admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "That dark-haired man’s been watching her for a long time. Everything was arranged by him."

  "Then why help him?" Gregory eyed them with suspicion.

  Walery fidgeted before answering.

  "He needed us—caretakers who wouldn’t raise suspicion. In return, he promised to send us into the light." His hands shook around his teacup. "We didn’t realize what we were agreeing to back then. We were just… stuck. All we wanted was to move on."

  "He swore he wouldn’t harm her," Helena added quickly. "Even if she refused to follow his path. But now… God, what have we done?"

  Gregory’s jaw tightened.

  "You couldn’t have known. But why send her to me? What does he want with a dead man?"

  "Alice needs a driver."

  The voice came from the window. The man standing there rolled a cigarette between his fingers, his ice-blue eyes locking onto Gregory. No introduction was necessary—the raw power radiating from him filled the room like static before a storm. His smile was all teeth.

  "Here’s the deal," he said. "I’ll give you enough energy to maintain a physical form. There’s a car in the garage, gassed up and ready. Papers in the glovebox, clean enough to pass a cop’s inspection. Do the job, and I’ll send you into the light."

  Gregory opened his mouth—"But how can you—"—then snapped it shut.

  Too late.

  The man exhaled smoke, amused.

  "I’m no demon. Something… older. But you’re better off not knowing." He flicked ash onto the floor. "I keep my word. The rest isn’t your concern."

  Then he was gone—no puff of smoke, no dramatic exit. Just absence, sudden and jarring.

  Gregory turned to Helena and Walery, but their hollow stares offered no guidance. His hands curled into fists.

  Did he even have a choice?

  The thought of refusing slithered through his gut like nausea.