The room was silent.

The only sound was the faint hum of the clock on the wall, its rhythmic ticking a steady reminder of time slipping away.

A man sat at a desk, the glow of a dim lamp casting long shadows across scattered papers and dust-coated trinkets. His fingers hovered over a white envelope, its pristine surface stark against the worn wood. The red wax seal gleamed under the light, its emblem unmistakable.

Playtime Co.

For ten years, he had tried to forget.

Tried to move on.

But now-

It was calling him back.

His breath was slow, measured, yet his pulse betrayed him-a steady drumbeat of unease beneath his skin.

He had been an employee once. A nameless worker lost among the thousands who had built Playtime Co. into a titan of industry. A crew member stationed at the main entrance, watching people come and go.

Until the day they stopped coming back.

Until the day the factory fell silent.

The explosion had torn through the heart of the facility, killing nearly everyone inside. When the dust settled, the truth was buried beneath the wreckage.

And yet...

Somewhere in that forgotten ruin-something remained.

He exhaled, his fingers curling under the edge of the envelope. It was thick, heavier than ordinary mail. Slowly, he peeled back the wax seal, breaking the emblem in half.

Inside, there were two things.

A letter.

And a VHS tape.

His eyes flicked to the old television in the corner of the room. Dust had settled over the screen, a relic of the past left untouched for years. He swallowed the unease rising in his throat and slid the tape into the player.

Static filled the screen. Then-

A commercial.

Familiar, yet wrong.

The Poppy Playtime doll appeared, her bright blue eyes staring through the glass. The advertisement was cheerful, showcasing the doll's ability to speak, to be a child's perfect companion. But the footage flickered, glitching, warping-

Then, the distortion came.

The audio twisted, voices layering over each other in whispers.

The screen cut to black.

For a moment, nothing.

Then-

He read the letter.

"𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒇𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 10 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒐. 𝑾𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆. 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹."

His breath hitched.

The flower.

He had seen it before. Painted deep within the factory, a vibrant red poppy marking something long forgotten.

A warning.

Or an invitation.

His grip tightened around the letter as he unfolded it, his eyes scanning the message. The same words-those same chilling words-stared back at him in jagged ink.

And for a moment, something else surfaced.

A memory.

Fleeting. Fragile.

A woman-no, a doctor.

Pretty. Sharp-eyed. Unnervingly composed.

Her presence was burned into the back of his mind, a ghost of the past refusing to fade. He didn't know why, but the thought of her lingered, like a thread left untied.

Had she made it out?

Or had she been swallowed by the factory, like the rest?

The unanswered question gnawed at him.

Who sent this?

Who was still there?

And why, after ten years, was he being called back?

His heart pounded against his ribs, but there was no hesitation when he stood.

No second-guessing when he grabbed his coat, the letter still clutched in his hand.

He already knew what he had to do.

The past was waiting.

And Playtime Co. was not finished with him yet.

---

The night air was cold.

The man stepped outside, the letter still clutched in his hand, his breath curling in the frigid wind. The street was quiet, lined with dimly lit houses, each one a pocket of warmth and safety. But none of them felt like home.

Not anymore.

His car sat idle by the curb, its metal frame coated in a thin layer of frost. He hesitated for only a moment before opening the door and sliding inside. The scent of old leather and faded cigarette smoke greeted him-familiar, grounding.

For a long moment, he simply sat there.

The letter lay open on the passenger seat, its words staring back at him.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the steering wheel. His fingers twitched. Why now?

For ten years, he had buried the past beneath layers of empty routine, pretending the factory was just another piece of forgotten history. He had watched from a distance as rumors spread, as urban legends took shape around the abandoned facility.

"People go in, but they never come out."

"The factory isn't dead. It's waiting."

But they were just stories. Warnings spoken in hushed voices, meant to keep fools from wandering too close.

And yet-

Someone wanted him to return.

His grip tightened on the wheel. The factory was never truly abandoned. He had known that deep down. The explosion, the disappearances-it was never the end. Just a temporary silence.

And now, something inside it had woken up again.

He turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, a low rumble that cut through the stillness of the night.

The past had never truly let him go.

And for the first time in a decade-

He was ready to face it.

---

The drive to Playtime Co. was long, the road stretching endlessly beneath the dull glow of streetlights. Each mile felt heavier than the last, the weight of memories pressing against him like an unseen force.

He remembered the halls.

The towering machines.

The laughter of children echoing through the walls, back when the factory still held life.

But then, as if pulled from the depths of his mind, that memory again surfaced.

Beautiful. Unshaken, even in the chaos.

She had always been different. Unaffected by the factory's slow descent into something unnatural. She moved through the halls like she belonged there-like she understood things no one else did.

He hadn't spoken to her. She was important, higher up than him, and their paths never crossed even once. But he saw her. He remembered her.

And now, ten years later, she was the only person from the past he could still picture clearly.

Why?

He shook the thought away as headlights illuminated a familiar sight in the distance.

The factory.

It loomed ahead, its massive structure shrouded in darkness. A hollow, forgotten thing, yet still standing, still waiting. The old Playtime Co. sign was faded, its letters barely visible beneath years of decay. The front gate, once imposing, was rusted and broken-left ajar, as if inviting him in.

Something about that felt wrong.

He parked the car a short distance away, cutting the engine. Silence settled over him once more, thick and suffocating.

The letter in his hand felt heavier now.

"Find the flower."

A slow breath. A final moment of hesitation.

Then-

He stepped out of the car.

And walked toward the place where it all began.

The main entrance loomed before him, its doors slightly ajar, as if waiting. He hesitated only for a moment before pushing them open and stepping inside.

The air was heavy-thick with the scent of dust and something far more unsettling.

And as the doors groaned shut behind him, somewhere deep within the factory-

Something stirred.

The Eyes that had remained dormant for years slowly snapped open. Presences that's long been forgotten shifted in the darkness.