The Cursed Isle of Echoes

The island had fallen eerily silent after the storm. The wind, which had once howled with the fury of the ocean, now seemed to hold its breath, as though it feared what would come next. Haruto stood by the window of his cottage, staring out into the thick fog that surrounded the island. His mind was tangled in a web of thoughts, the memories of Naomi's last moments—her disappearance after the chilling footage she'd captured—still fresh in his mind.

And then, there was the voice. Aiko's voice. The one that had haunted him ever since that first night.

The knock came as a sudden interruption, sharp and deliberate. Three steady raps, too familiar now to ignore.

Haruto turned toward the door, his stomach sinking. He knew what it was. What it always was. But this time, he wasn't sure whether the desire to confront it was curiosity or fear—or both.

Mika, who had been standing by the fire, glanced up sharply. "Haruto," she said, her voice low and strained. "Don't open it."

He hesitated, fingers frozen on the doorframe, the temptation clawing at him. It wasn't just the knock. It was the voice that would follow. The voice of someone he'd once known, someone he could never forget.

"Mika, I—I have to," Haruto whispered, though the words felt hollow in his own ears.

But before he could make a decision, the voice came.

"Haruto... It's me. I— I heard her, I heard my wife. She's here, outside... I swear. Please, let me in."

It was Old Man Sato.

Haruto's chest tightened. He had known Sato's story—his wife, long dead, drowned in a storm years ago. And yet, here she was, calling for him, beckoning from beyond the grave. The same voice that had lured Naomi to the edge of the island, the same voice that had tried to claim him in the past. But it couldn't be real. It was impossible.

But that voice. The desperation. The grief.

"Mika, I... I have to help him," Haruto muttered, more to himself than to her.

Mika's eyes widened with disbelief. "Haruto, don't you see? It's the same thing as Naomi—she heard the voice too. It's not real."

But Haruto was already moving toward the door, his hand trembling as he turned the handle.

The door creaked open, and there stood Sato, his face pale and strained with fear. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and there was something haunting in his expression—something that made Haruto's breath catch in his throat.

"Haruto, please," Sato begged, his voice cracking. "I heard her. She's out there. I have to... I have to find her."

Haruto opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a scream pierced the air—a bone-chilling, agonizing sound that echoed from the woods behind the cottage. It was a long scream, full of pain and terror, a sound that felt wrong in every sense. It was the scream of someone—or something—being torn apart.

"Sato!" Haruto shouted, stepping out onto the porch, but Sato had already moved past him, driven by something he couldn't understand. His face was set in a kind of trance, a desperate look in his eyes as he stumbled forward.

"Sato! Wait!" Haruto called, but it was no use. The old man was already lost to the fog, walking toward the forest.

Mika stepped up beside Haruto, her face pale with fear. "What the hell is happening? That scream… it's like it's coming from the past. We can't just let him—"

But Haruto didn't hear her. His legs moved of their own accord, carrying him after Sato, down the path that led into the dense woods. The scream echoed again, closer this time, and Haruto's heart raced with dread. Whatever had made that sound was close—too close.

They reached the edge of the woods, and that's when they saw it.

Sato's scarf was the first thing they noticed. It was lying on the ground, tangled in the underbrush, stained with dark red splotches. The blood was still fresh, soaking into the earth beneath it.

Haruto's stomach turned. He bent down to pick it up, and his fingers trembled as he touched the fabric. The red that marked the scarf was unmistakable. This wasn't just a struggle. This was a fight.

"Sato!" Haruto shouted again, but there was no response.

They pressed on, moving deeper into the woods, the fog swirling around them like a living thing. The deeper they went, the thicker the mist became, until they could barely see the ground beneath their feet.

Then, they found it.

The camera.

Naomi's camera. Abandoned.

The lens was cracked, the frame twisted, but the footage was still intact—just barely. Haruto held his breath as he turned it on, praying that it would show them something, anything, to explain what had happened to Naomi.

The screen flickered and buzzed, then stabilized long enough for them to see. A blurry, distorted image filled the frame—a figure lying on the forest floor. It was Sato, his arms outstretched, his face a frozen mask of terror, as if reaching for something in the mist. And in the background, there was a shape—a figure standing just out of focus. The mist was thick around it, but there was no mistaking it. A woman's face. Aiko's face.

Haruto's breath caught in his throat. There was no denying it. The island had claimed another soul. And it wasn't just Naomi—now it was Sato, too.

"It's her," Mika whispered, her voice shaking. "She's still out there. Calling to us."

The camera flickered again, then died, plunging them into darkness. But even in the silence, Haruto could hear it—the soft, beckoning voice of Aiko, carried on the wind, as though it had never stopped calling.

"It's time to open the door."

Haruto's chest tightened, the blood draining from his face. This was it. The island was hungry again, and it was no longer playing games. It wanted them all.

As they turned to leave, the voice called once more.

This time, it was directed at them.

"Come... open the door..."