Chapter 4: Beneath The Roots

Isla froze where she knelt, dirt caked under her nails and the tin box cold against her palms. Jonas was so close she could feel the tremor in his breath, though his shoulders blocked her from the shape standing at the garden gate.

The moon slipped behind a cloud, plunging the yard into soft darkness. She heard the latch on the gate rattle once, twice. Whoever was there didn’t push through. They just stood — watching.

Jonas’s voice was low but sharp enough to cut the hush. “Who’s there?”

Silence. Then a voice that scraped along Isla’s bones like a dull knife. “Some things should stay buried, Isla.”

Her stomach lurched. She knew that voice — Mr. Rayburn. Her grandmother’s old neighbor, the one with wild white hair and a stare that made her skin itch when she was small.

She found her voice, thin but steady. “Mr. Rayburn? What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward just enough that the gate’s shadow fell across his lined face. His eyes gleamed like marbles under the faint starlight. “The same thing I’ve always done. Trying to keep the dead from waking up.”

Jonas shifted closer to Isla. His hand hovered near hers, ready. “You know what’s in this box, don’t you?”

Rayburn’s mouth twisted. He spat into the weeds. “Ruth promised she’d take it to her grave. I thought you’d have enough sense to let her.”

Isla’s heart thumped so loud she could barely hear the wind in the apple trees. “What is it, Mr. Rayburn? What did Ruth bury here?”

The old man’s eyes flicked to the lilies by her knees. Their pale petals glowed, eerie lanterns under the restless moon. “Truth,” he rasped. “Rotten truth, dressed up in flowers.”

Before Jonas could push for more, Rayburn stepped back. The latch rattled again — then the garden swallowed his shape. Just like that, he was gone. No crunch of leaves. No goodbye. Just empty shadows where he’d stood.

Jonas exhaled, rough and low. “Well. That’s comforting.”

Isla looked down at the box in her lap. Her fingers itched to open it, but her pulse warned her that once she did, nothing would be the same. She lifted the lid anyway.

Inside, nestled in a scrap of Ruth’s favorite dish towel, lay a small iron key. Old, rusted but heavy in her palm. Next to it, folded so tight it was nearly square, was a note.

Jonas leaned over her shoulder. His breath smelled like coffee and earth. “What does it say?”

Isla unfolded it slowly, the paper soft with age but unbroken. Ruth’s familiar slanted hand curled across the page:

If you’ve found this, you’re ready. The gate by the orchard. Open it. What’s buried needs its roots back.

Isla read it twice. The orchard gate. She knew the one — tucked behind the old apple rows, chained shut since she was small enough to slip through the bars. Ruth’s rule had been iron: Never open that gate. Never ask why.

She could still hear her grandmother’s voice in her mind — soft but final. Some things stay shut to protect you, Isla.

Jonas touched the key in her palm. “Do you want to see what’s there?”

She shook her head before she could stop herself — but her hands told a different truth, curling tight around the iron. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think I have to.”

They didn’t speak again as they rose, Jonas brushing dirt from his jeans, Isla tucking the box under her arm like a talisman. The garden seemed to lean in as they walked — branches creaking, lilies nodding in the breeze as if urging them on.

⸻

The orchard gate was where it had always been — hidden behind a curtain of wild blackberry vines and a broken stone path Ruth had stopped tending years ago. The moon broke free again as they reached it, throwing cold silver across the iron bars tangled with ivy.

Isla remembered pressing her face to this gate as a child, trying to peer through the leaves at what lay beyond. Back then, it had just looked like more trees. Now, it felt like a lock on a door that had always waited for her to find the right key.

Jonas brushed vines aside. “Isla,” he murmured, nodding at the heavy chain looped through the bars. The padlock hung there, rust-bitten but unbroken.

She held out the iron key. Jonas took it, cold metal brushing his knuckles. His hands trembled just enough for her to notice — the only sign that he was as shaken as she was.

He fit the key to the lock. For a moment, nothing happened. Then it turned — stiff but obedient — and the chain clattered free, spilling to the ground with a final, heavy sound.

Isla reached for the gate. Her palm met cold iron, slick with night dew. She hesitated.

Jonas touched her wrist. “Hey.” His voice was soft but pulled her back from the edge. “Whatever’s behind here — we face it together.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d held. “You always did promise me forever.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Maybe we’ll actually get it this time.”

She pushed the gate. It swung inward with a groan like an old man’s sigh.

Beyond it, the orchard lay deeper than she remembered. Trees stood in rows like crooked sentinels, moonlight slipping through twisted branches. A path, faint but real, wound between the trunks, disappearing into shadows that seemed to breathe.

Isla stepped through first. Jonas followed, the gate creaking shut behind them — not locked, but the sound made her shiver all the same.

They moved slowly, boots sinking into damp earth. The orchard smelled of old apples and cold dirt, the air sharp enough to taste.

Halfway down the path, Jonas stopped, pointing. At the base of the largest tree — a gnarled old apple that looked more bone than bark — something pale glowed against the roots. Lilies again, blooming where they shouldn’t, their petals soft as secrets.

Isla knelt, brushing dirt aside. Her fingers hit wood. Another box. Smaller than the tin, but carved with a pattern she knew by heart — the same lilies etched into Ruth’s kitchen table.

Jonas knelt beside her. “Want me to—?”

“No,” she said, voice steady now. “This one’s mine.”

She dug the box free, dirt spilling through her fingers. The lock on it was tiny — a match for the iron key she still held.

Isla slipped the key in. Turned it. Felt the click echo through her ribs.

Jonas leaned close enough she could feel his heartbeat matching hers.

Isla lifted the lid.

Inside, the truth waited — small enough to hold in her hands but big enough to change everything.