Mother has six children. They are beautiful. They are obedient. They are not human. Sent into the world disguised as ordinary teens, they whisper to children who dare to question their parents. They plant doubt. They twist truth. They turn pain into guilt. Respect your mother. Honor your father. You are the problem. The more children fall silent, the stronger Mother becomes. But when two of the six begin to see what their whispers are truly doing - the bruises hidden under sleeves, the fear behind closed doors - obedience begins to crack. And Mother does not tolerate rebellion.

Edmund comes to the remote village of Black Thickett to escape the life grief has carved out of him. He wants silence. Distance. A place where memories can't follow. But Black Thickett is wrong in quiet, unsettling ways. The broken road becomes perfectly smooth the moment he crosses the boundary. The cottages are too neat, too deliberate. And on a noticeboard full of dry flyers, only one poster is wet. A missing boy, smiling as if he doesn't know he's lost. The villagers won't talk about the disappearances. The forest at the edge of the village seems to breathe, and the deeper Edmund goes, the calmer he feels... dangerously calm. The forest can quiet his pain. It can ease his grief. It can make him forget. But not everything that heals you wants you to survive. Welcome to Black Thickett, where you'll find my entry into the ONC 2026.