Episode 1 - Flashback
Rain hits the cracked pavement in slow, heavy drops as Christian Delamico steps out of his car and stares at the building he swore he’d never see again.
The Briar Creek Youth Residence.
Not a home. Never a home. Just the last stop in a long chain of places that smelled like bleach, old mattresses, and kids who learned too early not to get attached.
It looks smaller than he remembers, but somehow darker—like it’s been holding its breath for sixteen years.
Christian adjusts the strap of his duffel bag. He doesn’t need to; his hands just won’t stop shaking. He’s thirty-one now, a professional wrestler with a body built to take punishment, but standing here makes him feel like the boy who used to wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
The boy who heard chanting no one else heard.
The boy who sleepwalked into the woods.
The boy the cult whispered about.
He steps inside.
The air is stale. The lights flicker. The hallways are empty—the place shut down years ago after funding dried up and rumors spread about “strange incidents.”
Christian walks toward the old dormitory wing, boots echoing on the tile. He knows exactly what he’s looking for.
His journals.
He hid them everywhere he lived—tucked into walls, vents, crawlspaces—anywhere the staff wouldn’t find them and label him “unstable” again.
At the end of the hall, he stops in front of a rusted vent cover.
He remembers this one.
He kneels, works the screws loose with a coin, and reaches inside. His fingers brush leather. Then another spine. Then another.
He pulls out a stack of dust-coated, water-warped journals. His pulse stutters.
He opens the first.
Age 11 — First Placement Near the Compound
3/22/06
I heard the humming again. The other kids say it’s the wind, but the wind doesn’t say my name. I asked the staff if the compound people ever come into town. They told me not to talk about them. That makes me want to talk about them more.
Age 12 — Second Orphanage
8/11/07
I woke up outside again. Barefoot. Mud on my hands. The counselor says I’m “acting out.” But I’m not acting. I’m following something. I just don’t know where it wants me to go yet.
Age 13 — The Woman in White
6/29/08
She came to the orphanage today. Not staff. Not a social worker. She just stood in the cafeteria doorway and stared at me. She mouthed a word. Chosen. No one else saw her.
Age 14 — Third Orphanage, Closest to the Woods
10/2/09
The chanting is louder here. Sometimes I hear it in my dreams. Sometimes I hear it when I’m awake. I think they’re trying to teach me something. I think I’m supposed to listen.
Age 15 — The Vision
1/12/10
I saw them standing in a circle. I saw the symbol glowing. I saw myself in the center. They were bowing. I wasn’t scared. I felt… right.
Age 15 — Final Entry
2/3/10
I know what I am now. I know why they whisper. I know why the voice follows me from place to place. I’m not lost. I’m not alone. I’m meant to lead. If anything happens tonight, I want someone to understand: I didn’t run. I accepted it.
Christian closes the journal, breath shaking.
The building creaks. The lights flicker. Something shifts in the hallway behind him—soft, deliberate. A footstep.
He doesn’t turn around.
He knows the feeling crawling up his spine. Knows it too well.
The voice he hasn’t heard in sixteen years rises from the dark, low and intimate:
“Welcome back.”