Chapter 13 - The Fog of Amnesia
"Maya!" Elena screamed, clawing at the thick, unnatural white fog that swirled around her knees like living smoke, completely obscuring her daughter from view.
The sweet, chemical scent of the gas grew overwhelming, making her head spin and her vision blur at the edges as she struggled to stay upright on the muddy ground.
From somewhere deep within the white haze, a muffled giggle echoed—not Maya's voice, but the chilling, tinny laugh of the wooden hand we had left behind in the hallway.
Elena stumbled forward blindly, her hands outstretched, searching for the rough bark of the pine trees, but she encountered only smooth, cold drywall that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere in the middle of the woods.
She pressed her palms against the flat surface, sliding them across the painted plaster in sheer panic as the fog began to clear away with impossible speed.
She wasn't in the backyard anymore; she was standing in the dimly lit hallway of her own home, staring directly at the closed white door.
The framed family photo hung crookedly on the wall beside it, completely restored, showing Mark, Maya, and herself smiling brightly under a summer sun that never set.
"Elena? What are you doing standing in the hall in the middle of the night?" Mark’s voice asked warmly from the top of the stairs, sounding entirely normal, tired, and deeply loving.
Elena slowly turned her head, seeing Mark walking down the steps in a dark green t-shirt and jeans, holding a white plate with food.
"Where is Maya?" Elena whispered, her throat tight as she fought a terrifying wave of vertigo that threatened to wipe her memory completely clean.
Mark stopped on the landing, tilting his head with a confused, gentle expression that made her blood run colder than any ghost ever could.
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"Who is Maya, honey? We don't have a daughter. It's just the two of us in this house," Mark said softly, holding out the plate toward the closed white door.
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