Forbidden Rules

Night fell upon the island not like a gentle blanket, but like a smothering shroud. The vibrant colors of sunset had bled away, leaving behind a sky of bruised purple and inky black, pricked by cold, distant stars. In the cabin, the great stone fireplace was roaring, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed on the wooden walls. The warmth of the fire pushed back the evening chill, but it did little to dispel the gloom that had settled over the four of them.

Mark's barbecue skills, usually a source of pride and playful banter, were performed in a tense silence. The sizzle of steak on the grill was unnaturally loud in the quiet air. The meal itself was a somber affair. Chloe picked at her food, her earlier effervescence gone, replaced by a sullen pout directed at Anna. Mark tried to force a jovial mood with a couple of bad jokes that fell flat, landing in the silence like stones in a deep well. Frank ate methodically, his mind miles away, replaying the day's events, searching for a logical explanation where he knew, deep down, none existed.

It was Anna who finally broke the unspoken truce. She couldn't let it go.

"Seriously, Mark... that shell," she began, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through the crackle of the fire. "I know you think I'm overreacting, but please... just go and throw it back into the sea. For my sake. For all of us."

"Here we go again," Mark sighed, taking a long swig of beer. The can crumpled slightly in his grip. His patience, already worn thin by the palpable tension, finally snapped. "I told you, it's fine! It's a rock! You want proof? Fine! I'll get it out right now and you can see for yourself that it hasn't turned me into a monster."

He set his beer can down with a clatter and, with an air of theatrical confidence, reached into the zippered pocket of his now-dry swim trunks. His fingers fumbled inside. A moment passed. His confident expression slowly melted into one of confusion.

"That's weird..." he mumbled, pulling the pocket inside out. It was completely empty, save for a few grains of sand and a tiny piece of lint. "I swear I put it in here. I felt the zipper close."

He stood up, a sudden urgency in his movements. He overturned the sofa cushion he'd been sitting on, shaking it vigorously. He got on his hands and knees, patting the floorboards around him, the rough wood scraping his skin. "Chloe, check your bag. Did it fall in there? Maybe when I was changing?"

Chloe, catching his rising panic, dutifully emptied her tote bag onto the floor. A mess of sunscreen, sunglasses, a sketchbook, and a wallet tumbled out. No red shell. The four of them searched the living area for nearly ten minutes, their initial annoyance morphing into a cold, creeping dread. The vibrant, flame-shaped shell, the very object of their dispute, had vanished as if it had never existed at all.

"Maybe... maybe the pocket wasn't zipped all the way, and it fell out while you were swimming back to shore," Frank offered, trying to be the voice of reason. But the explanation sounded hollow even to his own ears. He remembered the deliberate, almost aggressive way Mark had zipped it shut. A secure pocket doesn't just lose something that substantial.

The incident was like a fishbone lodged in everyone's throat, making it impossible to swallow, impossible to ignore. The fragile illusion of a perfect vacation was irrevocably shattered. There were no more jokes, no more attempts at conversation. The unspoken truth hung between them: something was wrong on this island.

Exhausted by fear and friction, they decided to turn in early. Frank and Anna lay stiffly in their bed in the master bedroom, the rhythmic crash of waves on the distant rocks sounding less like a lullaby and more like the slow, deliberate heartbeat of some immense, sleeping creature. Anna was turned away from him, her body a rigid line of tension.

"Frank, I'm really scared," she whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling and fragile. "That shell... it's just gone. It was there, and now it's not. Don't you find that strange? It's not just strange, it's... impossible."

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here." Frank wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, trying to transfer his warmth and whatever remained of his own conviction to her. "It was probably a coincidence. A weird, unlikely coincidence. We'll be careful. Tomorrow, we stay near the cabin. We don't go anywhere. The day after, the boat comes, and we're gone. Okay?" He was talking as much to himself as to her.

It was in that precise moment of stillness, as he held his breath, that the sound began.

A melody, faint and ethereal, drifted through the cracks in the window frame, carried on the cool night breeze.

It was a tune unlike any other, constructed from notes that seemed to defy earthly scales. It was hauntingly beautiful, filled with a profound sorrow, like a woman's soft, mournful humming. It belonged to no known genre, felt ancient and new at the same time, as if born directly from the abyss of the ocean or the lament of the moonlight itself.

"Did... did you hear that?" Anna's body went rigid in his arms. Her fingers dug into his biceps like claws.

Frank nodded slowly, his own breath catching in his throat. He strained his ears, every nerve ending tingling. The song wasn't loud, yet it possessed an incredible clarity, each note piercing the silence and landing precisely on their eardrums, a siren's call that beckoned them to listen, to seek its source.

In the adjacent room, Chloe, who had been tossing and turning, was also captivated. As an art student, her sensitivity to sound and melody was innate. This tune, so achingly beautiful and utterly alien, was an irresistible lure to her creative soul. It was a puzzle, a mystery, a piece of raw, untamed art. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and crept to the window, perching on the sill. She tilted her head, listening, an expression of rapt fascination on her face.

The disembodied singing outside seemed to weave in and out of the wind, as if the singer were wandering through the forest just beyond the cabin. Chloe was completely mesmerized. Without thinking, without conscious decision, she opened her mouth and began to hum along, her voice a near-perfect echo of the phantom melody.

"Laaa... la-di-laaa... eee-yaaa..."

She had a lovely voice, and her mimicry was flawless. But she couldn't know that with the very first note she uttered, a fundamental, irreversible change had been set in motion.

"Babe? What are you singing?" Mark mumbled from the bed, roused from a shallow, uneasy sleep.

"Shhh! Just listen... it's so beautiful..." Chloe whispered back, not taking her eyes off the dark woods, utterly absorbed.

The song from the forest faded and then, at some point, vanished completely, leaving only the sound of the wind. But Chloe's humming didn't stop. She repeated the short, looping melody over and over, like a music box wound too tight. The look of fascination on her face slowly drained away, replaced by a chilling, vacant emptiness.

"Chloe, stop it. It's the middle of the night, you're creeping me out," Mark grumbled, sitting up. A cold dread, sharp and sudden, was rising from the pit of his stomach.

Slowly, mechanically, Chloe turned her head. The pale moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating her face, making her skin look as white and fragile as porcelain. Her eyes were fixed on Mark, but they were utterly without focus, the pupils wide and dark, like staring into two empty tunnels. And still, her lips continued to form the notes of that haunting tune, a mindless, robotic hum.

The sight of her expression, or rather, the lack of it, terrified Mark more than anything he had ever experienced. The blood in his veins turned to ice. All sleepiness vanished, replaced by sheer, heart-stopping terror.

Forbidden to hum or mimic any tune you have never heard before. Some melodies are for summoning, not for enjoying.

The full text of the sixth rule exploded in Frank's mind like a grenade.

He and Anna had heard Chloe's humming clearly through the thin wall. They exchanged a look of pure horror in the dim light, then scrambled out of bed. They didn't even bother to put on shoes, their bare feet pounding on the cold floorboards as they rushed to the next room and banged on the door.

"Mark! Chloe! Are you okay?"

The door creaked open. Mark stood there, his face a mask of ashen terror. He pointed a trembling finger towards the figure sitting by the window. His lips moved, but no words came out.

In that moment, fear ceased to be a vague premonition. It was here, in the room with them, a living, breathing entity with a beautiful, stolen voice. And it had finally shown its teeth.