The Pact
The old playground at the edge of the town had been closed for years. The swings were rusted, the slide bent, and the roundabout half-buried in weeds. Parents warned their children never to go there, though no one could remember exactly why. One autumn afternoon, three children, Marco, Elena, and little Sofia were seen wandering near the fence. They weren’t laughing or chasing each other like children normally do. They were quiet. Too quiet.
By evening, a man walking his dog heard something strange: the creak of a swing moving in the wind. When he looked through the fence, he saw the three children sitting side by side, staring at him. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes wide and unblinking.
The next morning, news spread fast. A young couple had been found in their car near the playground, their throats cut with something sharp. No valuables were taken. No suspects. Just blood, smeared faintly on the rusted slide. Neighbours began whispering about
“the pact.”
Years ago, a group of children had been killed in an accident on that same playground. The town quietly covered it up, blaming faulty equipment, but the families never truly recovered. Some said the dead kids came back, wearing the faces of new ones.
Over the next few weeks, more accidents followed. A shopkeeper, a bus driver, even a teacher—all found dead, their bodies discovered near places children gathered. Each time, someone swore they’d seen three figures nearby: two older kids and a small one, standing perfectly still, watching.
Now, parents lock their doors earlier. They warn their children not to speak to strangers, not even other kids. Because everyone knows what happens if the playground children take an interest in you. They’ll follow you home. And once they choose you, they don’t stop.
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