LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 8: The Other Side
Ethan made his choice.
His breath came fast and uneven as he stepped forward. Clara's voice rang out—"Ethan, no!"—but it was already too late.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, a searing force yanked him forward, as if invisible hands had grabbed hold of him. The world collapsed. Colors bled into one another, stretching and warping. His stomach twisted violently, and for a split second, he thought he was falling—then flying—then nothing at all.
And then—
Silence.
Ethan's eyes snapped open. He was standing. His hands trembled as he reached out, touching the air around him. It felt… thicker. Like moving through water.
The golden arch was gone.
The forest was gone.
Instead, he stood in an endless field of gray. The sky above him was dull and motionless—no sun, no clouds, no stars. Just an empty, colorless expanse stretching infinitely in every direction.
A chill ran through him.
He turned around.
Nothing.
No Lillian. No Clara. No way back.
His chest tightened. What had he done?
And then—
A whisper.
Soft. Faint. But unmistakable.
"Ethan…"
His pulse thundered in his ears.
He turned sharply. The landscape had changed.
Before him stood a house—his house.
The one from his childhood. The one he hadn't seen in years.
Ethan's breath caught. It was exactly as he remembered—two stories, chipped white paint, the sagging porch where he used to sit with his mother on warm summer nights.
His mother.
The thought of her sent a bolt of emotion through him. His feet moved before he could stop himself, carrying him toward the front steps. The wooden boards creaked beneath his weight. His fingers trembled as he reached for the door handle.
It turned effortlessly.
Inside, the air was heavy with a scent he hadn't smelled in years—lavender and something else, something he couldn't quite place.
The living room was untouched, like a frozen memory. The old couch, the coffee table littered with books, the painting of the ocean that his mother had loved so much.
He swallowed hard.
Was she here?
A sound drifted from the kitchen.
A soft clatter.
He stepped forward cautiously, heart hammering. As he turned the corner—
He froze.
A woman stood at the stove, her back to him.
His lungs locked.
"Mom?"
The woman stilled. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—she turned her head.
And Ethan's blood turned to ice.
Her face was… wrong.
It was his mother. But not his mother.
Her eyes were hollow, too dark, too deep. Her mouth curved into a smile that didn't belong.
"Ethan," she whispered.
He stumbled back. No. No, no, no.
His mother had been gone for years. This—this wasn't her.
The lights flickered. The shadows stretched.
And then she moved.
Not walked. Glided.
Fast. Too fast.
Ethan turned to run, but the house was changing. The walls warped, the floor stretched. The doorway he had come through twisted away into darkness.
His mother's not-mother voice slithered through the air.
"Stay, Ethan. You've come so far. Don't you want to know the truth?"
He choked on his breath.
A hand reached for him—too long, too thin.
Ethan did the only thing he could.
He ran.
The walls twisted around him, the house unraveling into a maze of impossible hallways. The scent of lavender grew suffocating. Doors slammed open and shut on their own, whispers hissed in his ears.
Then—
A light.
Far ahead, barely visible.
He sprinted toward it, lungs burning, his mother's voice echoing behind him.
"Come back, Ethan. You belong here."
He didn't stop.
Didn't look back.
As he lunged for the light—
The world ripped apart.
Ethan gasped, his body hitting the ground hard. His chest heaved as he blinked against the harsh sunlight. Sunlight.
He was back.
Back in the forest.
But something was wrong.
Lillian was gone. Clara was gone.
And the forest was different.
The trees were taller, twisted. The sky was the same dull gray as the world beyond the threshold.
And the whispers—
The whispers had followed him.
Ethan escaped… or did he?
What happened to Lillian and Clara? And is this truly the same world he left behind?