Christmas Eve was supposed to be chill and peaceful.
I'd planned it perfectly. Lily's family would come over,
we'd sit around the fire pit, drink a few beers and call it a
night. No drama, just a quiet evening
at my place, tucked far enough from town to feel like we were
on our own little island. But now, as I sit here writing
this, I can't shake the feeling that my life changed forever
that night. It all started normally enough.
Around 7:30 PMI was Outback, clearing out the fire pit.
The snow crunched under my boots as I tossed out last week's
ashes and stacked fresh logs. It was cold, but the kind of
cold you get used to when you live in the Midwest.
Sharp, but bearable. The air felt heavy though, too.
Still, normally there'd be coyotes yipping in the distance,
maybe some wind stirring the trees to night.
Nothing. Just silence.
Rusty, my German Shepherd, trotted along beside me,
sniffing at the air like he'd caught a strange scent.
I patted his head absent mindedly.
Relax, boy, I said, though I was trying to convince myself more
than him. By the time Lily's parents
pulled up in their truck, I'd managed to push the weird
feeling to the back of my mind. I greeted them, handed Mark a
beer, and helped her mom carry some casserole dish into the
house. For the next 20 minutes, I
forgot about the stillness outside.
We laughed, talked about Christmas plans, and for a
while, everything felt normal. At 8:30, I decided to step out
and light the fire. I grabbed the lighter and Rusty
followed me to the back door, his nails clicking on the floor
like he was on edge. As soon as I opened the door, he
froze. His ears perked up and his body
went rigid. What's wrong, buddy?
I asked, peering into the yard. The fire pit was barely visible
in the dark, just a black silhouette against the snow.
Beyond that, the tree line loomed like a wall.
My breath fogged in front of me as I stepped out, trying to
ignore the way my chest tightened.
Rusty stayed behind, growling softly.
He didn't follow me, and that should have been my first sign
to go back inside. I crouched by the pit, flicking
the lighter and watching the flames catch.
The fire hissed and popped, casting flickering shadows that
danced on the snow. That's when I heard it.
A low whistle, faint but unmistakable.
It wasn't coming from the house or the wind.
It was coming from the woods. I stood up slowly, my eyes fixed
on the tree line. Probably the wind, I muttered,
though even as I said it, I knew that wasn't true.
The whistle came again, longer this time, and Rusty barked
sharply from the porch. My gut twisted.
It wasn't an animal. It sounded off, almost human,
but not quite. OK, time to go, I said, walking
briskly back toward the house. Rusty bolted inside as soon as I
opened the door, his tail tucked between his legs.
I barely had time to lock the door before the scream ripped
through the air. It was like nothing I'd ever
heard, half human, half animal and full of rage.
My body locked up for a split second, every nerve in me
screaming to run. Rusty went berserk, barking and
growling at the back door, his teeth bared.
I didn't even think. I bolted to the window and
yanked the curtains aside. A figure stood at the edge of
the firelight, tall and impossibly thin.
Its limbs were too long, its movements jerky, like a
marionette being controlled by someone who didn't know what
they were doing. Its face, God, its face.
It was too pale, stretched tight over its skull with eyes that
glowed faintly yellow. It twitched, then darted toward
the house. I slammed the curtains shut and
yelled for Lily and Mark. Lock the doors now.
My voice cracked with panic. Rusty barked even louder,
throwing himself at the door. My heart pounded as I grabbed
the rifle from the cabinet and fumble to load it.
Lily ran into the room, her eyes wide.
What's going on? Something's out there.
I said, my voice barely steady. Something's coming.
Before I could explain, a loud thudge shook the back door.
Rusty growled low, his body pressed against my leg.
Whatever was out there wasn't going away.
It wanted in. I don't know how long I stood
there, rifle clutched in my hands, staring at the back door.
Rusty was growling so low it sounded like a vibration more
than a sound. The thud stopped for a moment,
and I let myself hope, just for a second, that maybe it was
gone. Then it hit the door again, hard
enough to rattle the glass. James, what the hell is out
there? Mark asked, his voice tight.
He was standing just behind me, holding the revolver I'd handed
him earlier. I couldn't bring myself to
answer. I didn't know what to say.
I don't know, I finally muttered.
But it's not normal. We stood there, every muscle in
my body tense, waiting for the next sound.
When nothing came, I slowly peeled back the curtain just
enough to see. Outside, the fire pit was still
blazing, casting long, flickering shadows against the
snow. But the thing, it wasn't there
anymore. It's gone, I whispered, though I
didn't believe it. Creatures like that don't just
leave. Mark motioned toward the door.
We can't just stand here waiting for it to come back.
Let's check the yard, make sure it's really gone.
I nodded, my stomach churning. Every instinct told me to stay
inside, but Mark was right. We needed to know what we were
dealing with. I slung the rifle over my
shoulder and ease the door open, the cold air hitting me like a
slap in the face. Rusty stayed behind, whining
softly as I stepped outside. The snow crunched under our
boots as we move toward the fire pit.
The flames cast just enough light to see the ground clearly,
and that's when I saw the tracks.
They were massive, hoof like, but too wide and irregular to
belong to any animal I knew. They circled the fire pit, then
trailed off toward the woods. Do you see this?
I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Mark nodded, his grip tightening on the revolver.
We were about to head back to the house when I heard it again.
That low, haunting whistle. It was closer this time, coming
from the trees just beyond the firelight.
I raised my rifle, my finger hovering over the trigger.
Then they appeared, two of them moving in from the tree line.
My heart nearly stopped. They were tall and gangly, their
limbs too long and their movements wrong, like they
didn't understand how bodies were supposed to work.
Their faces were obscured by the shadows, but I could see enough
to know they weren't human. One of them crouched low, its
head jerking unnaturally as it let out a low growl that made my
stomach turn. Mark.
I started, my voice barely above a whisper.
We need to. One of them lunged.
I fired instinctively, the crack of the rifle shattering the
silence. The recoil hit my shoulder hard,
but I didn't have time to think about it.
The thing recoiled, but it didn't fall.
It stumbled back, then twisted its body in a way that made my
skin crawl, like it was trying to decide whether to attack
again. Mark fired his revolver, and
this time the creatures darted back into the woods, their
movements fast and jerky, like spiders scuttling away back to
the house. I yelled, and we didn't waste a
second. We sprinted across the yard, the
fire light fading behind us. My heart pounded in my ears as I
fumble with the door, slamming it shut as soon as we were
inside. Lily was waiting for us, her
face pale. What happened?
She demanded. There's more than one.
I said, my voice shaking. They're still out there.
We barricaded the doors with furniture, every window locked
and covered. Rusty barked furiously at the
back door, pacing back and forth like he was ready to tear
through it himself. I was about to suggest calling
the sheriff when the sound came again.
Not a whistle this time, but a loud, deliberate thud against
the side of the house. They weren't done with us.
I checked the rifle, my hands trembling.
Mark stood beside me, his revolver still in hand.
If they want in, they'll have to fight for it.
He muttered. The thuds grew louder, coming
from all sides of the house now. Windows rattled, and a faint
scratching sound came from the back door.
Rusty growled low, his body pressed against Lily's leg as if
he was trying to protect her. And then it stopped.
No thuds, no scratches, just silence.
Do you think they're gone? Lily asked, her voice barely a
whisper. I shook my head, the hair on the
back of my neck standing on end. No, I said.
They're still out there, waiting.
A face pressed against the glass of the back door.
Its eyes glowed faintly yellow, and its mouth stretched into an
unnatural grin, revealing jagged, uneven teeth.
It slammed a long, spindly hand against the glass, cracking it.
Get back, I yelled, raising the rifle.
And then the glass shattered. The glass shattered before I
could even pull the trigger. Shard sprayed across the floor,
glittering in the dim light, and Rusty lunged forward, barking
like he'd lost his mind. Lily screamed, and I shoved her
and Mark back toward the living room.
My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Stay behind me. I shouted, raising the rifle.
The thing outside. The thing was halfway through
the door now, its spindly limbs folding awkwardly as it squeezed
through the frame. Its skin looked wet, almost
glossy, and its head cocked sharply as it fixed its glowing
yellow eyes on me. It smiled.
God help me, it smiled. I didn't hesitate.
I fired point blank, the recoil slamming into my shoulder as the
shot rang out like a Thunder clap.
The creature staggered, letting out a scream that sounded like
nails on a chalkboard. It recoiled, black icor spraying
across the walls, but it didn't fall.
Instead, it twisted its body in a way no living thing should be
able to move, its limbs snapping back into place with a sickening
crack. James, Run, Mark yelled, his
revolver firing off in rapid succession.
The creature darted back out into the night, its movements as
jerky and unnatural as before, but the damage was done.
The back door was wide open, snow blowing in, and the house
felt exposed, vulnerable. I slammed the door shut,
dragging the broken remnants of the kitchen table in front of
it. We can't stay here, I said,
panting. They'll be back.
Mark nodded, reloading his revolver.
Lily was clutching her mother, both of them pale and shaking.
Rusty was growling low, his eyes locked on the shattered door.
What the hell are they? Lily whispered, her voice
cracked and tears streaked her face.
What do they want? I don't know, I said, my voice
hoarse. But I'm not waiting around to
find out. We gathered what weapons we had
left, a couple of shotguns, Mark's revolver, and my Glock
from the truck. The fire extinguisher caught my
eye, and something clicked in my brain.
The fire. The moment I'd lit it earlier,
everything had started to go wrong.
And now, with the door wide open, I could see the tracks
circling the pit like a predator stalking prey.
They're drawn to the fire, I said, my voice low.
We need to put it out. Mark frowned.
And if that doesn't stop them, then we fight, I said.
But we don't leave that fire burning.
We barricaded Lily and her mom in the living room with Rusty,
shoving every piece of furniture we could find against the doors.
Mark and I made our way to the fire pit, stepping into the
bitter cold. The snow reflected the faint
moonlight, but the woods were pitch black.
I could feel the weight of the darkness pressing in on me,
every nerve in my body screaming that we were being watched.
Mark was the first to notice them.
Over there. He whispered, pointing toward
the tree line. I followed his gaze and felt my
stomach drop. 3 figures stood just beyond the firelight, their
bodies unnaturally still. One of them tilted its head, and
I swear I saw its grin widen. Hurry up.
Mark hissed. I grabbed the fire extinguisher,
my hands trembling as I aimed it at the flames.
The hiss of the extinguisher cut through the silence, and the
fire sputtered and died, leaving us in near total darkness.
The creatures didn't move, they just stood there watching.
And then they screamed. It wasn't a sound I'll ever
forget, like a mix of static, animal cries, and pure rage.
The noise was so loud it felt like it was drilling into my
skull. Mark fired his revolver and I
emptied my Glock into the nearest figure, but they didn't
scatter like before. They came closer back to the
house. I shouted, grabbing Mark by the
arm. We ran, the snow crunching
beneath our boots, the sound of the creatures crashing through
the underbrush behind us. I didn't dare look back.
My only thought was getting inside, barricading the door and
holding them off. We burst through the front door,
slamming it shut and shoving a bookshelf in front of it.
Rusty barked wildly, throwing himself against the barricade
like he could hold it himself. Lily was crying, her mother
clutching her tightly. We put out the fire.
I said, gasping for air, but it didn't stop them.
Mark reloaded his revolver, his hands shaking.
Then what the hell do we do now? The answer came sooner than I
wanted. The thuds on the walls started
again, louder this time. Windows rattled and the roof
creaked under the weight of something heavy.
I gripped the rifle, sweat dripping down my face despite
the cold. And then, just as suddenly as it
started, the noise stopped. The silence was deafening,
oppressive. Rusty stopped barking.
His ears perked as he stared at the front door.
My heart pounded in the stillness, every second feeling
like an eternity. Finally, Lily spoke, her voice
barely above a whisper. Do you think they're gone?
Before I could answer, there was a single, sharp knock at the
door. The knock echoed through the
house like a death knell, freezing all of us in place.
Rusty started growling again, low and guttural, the hair along
his back standing on end. My fingers tightened around the
rifle until my knuckles ached. I didn't move, didn't breathe,
my mind racing with possibilities.
Knock, knock. This time it was louder, harder,
like it was mocking us. My legs felt like lead, but I
forced myself to step toward the door.
Mark grabbed my arm, his face pale.
Don't. He said through gritted teeth.
You don't want to see what's out there.
I have to. I whispered.
My voice was barely steady, but I had to know.
Whatever was out there wasn't going to stop.
I peered through the peephole and my blood ran cold.
One of the creatures was standing on the porch, its head
tilted at an impossible angle. Its face was barely recognizable
as human skin, stretched thin, eyes sunken but glowing faintly
yellow. Its grin was too wide, its teeth
jagged and uneven. It raised one impossibly long
arm and knocked again, this time dragging its claws down the
door, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.
I stumbled back, shaking my head.
We can't stay here. I said, my voice barely audible.
We have to go now. What are you talking about?
Lily's mom cried, clutching her daughter.
Where would we go? They're everywhere.
I didn't have an answer. All I knew was that staying
meant dying. We'll take the truck.
I said, glancing at Mark. Grab the keys, I'll cover us.
Mark nodded, and for the first time I saw fear in his eyes.
He handed Lily and her mom the revolver.
Stay behind us. Do not stop, no matter what.
We moved fast, barricades scraping across the floor as we
shoved furniture aside. Rusty barked wildly, pacing at
the door as if he knew what was coming.
I grabbed him by the collar, praying he wouldn't bolt.
The moment we stepped outside, I threw the door open and
immediately fired around into the air, hoping to scare them
off. The creature on the porch
screeched and scrambled back into the shadows, its limbs
moving unnaturally fast. We bolted for the truck, Mark
and I firing at anything that moved.
Rusty stayed close, his teeth bared, his body vibrating with
tension. The truck was only 20 feet away,
but it felt like a mile. Shadows darted between the trees
and that God forsaken whistle started up again, rising in
pitch until it felt like my skull was splitting.
Get in. I yelled, yanking the driver's
door open. Lily and her mom piled into the
back seat, Rusty leaping in after them.
Mark climbed into the passenger's seat and I slammed
the door shut, fumbling with the keys.
My hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to get the
engine to turn over. The headlights flicked on,
illuminating the creatures swarming the yard.
There were at least five of them now, their faces twisted into
unnatural grins, their eyes glowing like embers.
One of them crouched low, its limbs contorting as it prepared
to pounce. Hold on.
I shouted, slamming my foot on the gas.
The tires spun on the icy driveway before catching, and
the truck lurched forward. The creature leapt, slamming
into the side of the truck with a sickening thud.
The whole vehicle rocked, and Lily screamed.
I swerved, trying to shake it off, but it clawed at the
window, its face pressed against the glass.
Mark leaned out the passenger window, his revolver in hand,
and fired point blank. The creature let out a horrible
screech and fell away, disappearing under the wheels.
We barreled down the driveway, the truck fishtailing on the icy
gravel. The woods closed in around us,
the headlights barely cutting through the darkness.
I could see them in the rear view mirror, their gangly bodies
moving impossibly fast, keeping pace with the truck faster.
Mark yelled, but the road was too slick.
One wrong move and we'd end up in a ditch, or worse.
As we neared the edge of the property, I saw it, the biggest
of them all. It stood in the middle of the
road, easily 10 feet tall, its limbs stretched unnaturally
long. Its face was almost human, but
the mouth stretched wider than it should, the jaw unhinged like
a snake's. It raised its arms, claws
glinting in the headlights. Brace yourselves.
I shouted, gripping the wheel. I didn't slow down.
The truck hit the creature head on with a sickening crunch, its
body crumpling under the impact. The windshield cracked and the
truck skidded, but I kept it steady, my heart hammering in my
chest. When I looked back, the thing
was already trying to get up, its body twisting grotesquely as
it clawed at the ground. We didn't stop.
We tore down the road, the creatures fading into the
darkness behind us. The whistle followed us for
miles, faint but persistent, like a warning.
When we finally reached the main highway, I pulled over, my hands
shaking so badly I couldn't hold the wheel.
Lily was sobbing in the back seat, her mom holding her
tightly. Mark was silent, staring
straight ahead, his face pale and drawn.
We're not going back, I said, my voice trembling.
Not ever. Mark nodded.
We'll sell the place, burn it if we have to.
We sat there for a long time, the engine idling, none of us
ready to move. The dark woods loomed in the
rearview mirror, but we didn't look back.
Whatever had happened on that property, whatever those things
were, we left them behind that night.
At least I hope we did. I should have known it was going
to be one of those nights. The second we missed the first
turn into Greenville, Matt had the directions, or what passed
for directions in one hand and his phone in the other,
scrolling through his playlist like picking the right song was
somehow more important than telling me where the hell to go.
The GPS had crapped out miles back and all I had to go on was
a screenshot of a text our friend sent, which was barely
legible because of her cracked screen.
Just take the left after the old oak and it's at the end of the
road. You can't miss it.
Spoiler alert, we could and we did.
Dude, we've passed that creepy tree like three Times Now.
I muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.
The gnarled old oak loomed in the glow of the headlights, its
twisted branches clawing at the night sky like it wanted to grab
us. Are you sure this is the right
way? Matt didn't even look up,
swiping to the next song. Relax man, it's got to be around
here somewhere. Besides, this is setting the
vibe right. Creepy woods, spooky
neighborhood, perfect for a Halloween party.
I didn't reply, too focused on navigating the pitch black Rd.
Greenville wasn't just dark, it was suffocating.
The trees crowded close on either side of the car, their
shadows swallowing the narrow Rd.
Every now and then I caught a glimpse of something strange, a
rusted swing set half buried in weeds, a mailbox leaning at an
impossible angle, and once, a dilapidated house with no
windows. I tried not to think about how
long it had been since I'd seen another car.
Finally, Matt perked up. There, That's got to be it.
He pointed to a driveway on the right, just visible between the
trees. It was long and unlit, with no
sign of life at the end. I hesitated.
Are you sure? It doesn't look like there's a
party here. Matt shrugged.
It's Greenville, bro. Nobody leaves their porch lights
on. Let's just check it out.
Worst case, we're at the wrong house.
I wasn't convinced. Something about the driveway
made my skin crawl, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
The air felt heavy, like the woods were pressing in on us.
Still. I turned in, my tires crunching
on gravel as we slowly crept forward.
The house at the end of the driveway was completely dark.
The curtains were drawn tight, and the porch looked like it
hadn't seen a broom in years. No Jack O lanterns, no fairy
lights, no faint thump of base from the backyard.
Just silence. And not the peaceful kind, The
kind that makes you check over your shoulder even when you know
there's nothing there. This doesn't feel right.
I said, my voice low. Maybe we should turn around.
Matt rolled his eyes. Come on, man, we're already
here. I'll just knock on the door and
see if it's the right place. I don't think.
What's the worst that could happen?
He was already out of the car before I could stop him, his
phone flashlight cutting a weak beam through the darkness.
I stayed in the car, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles
ached. My guts screamed at me to leave,
but I didn't want to be that guy, the paranoid one who ruins
the night because he's too chicken to check a stupid house.
Still, my eyes stayed glued to the upstairs window, where I
swore I saw a curtain twitch. A shadow shifted behind the
glass, just for a moment. Matt.
I called, my voice shaking. Maybe we should.
The crack of shattering glass cut me off.
For a split second I thought Matt had broken something, but
then the sound of gunfire ripped through the night and my
windshield exploded in a spray of shards.
Get down. Matt screamed, diving for the
ground as another shot rang out, this one slamming into the hood
of the car. I ducked, my heart pounding so
hard I thought it might burst. The night erupted into chaos,
the echo of gunfire bouncing off the trees.
And then I saw it. In the upstairs window, framed
by the darkness, was the silhouette of a man.
The muzzle flash lit up his face, a wild, hollow eyed
expression twisted with fear or rage or both.
He wasn't yelling, but I could see his lips moving, screaming,
something I couldn't hear over the gunfire.
Matt scrambled back toward the car, his phone flashlight
swinging wildly. Derek, go, go.
But I couldn't move. I was frozen, staring at the man
in the window as he raised the rifle again.
With shaking hands, I threw the car into reverse.
The tires spun uselessly on the gravel for half a second before
catching, jerking us backward. Another shot shattered the rear
window and I ducked lower, barely able to see over the
dashboard. The car skidded wildly as I
backed onto the road, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Go, go, go. Matt shouted, slamming the door
shut as I straightened out and floored it.
The tires squealed as we speed away, the roar of the engine
drowning out the sound of my heartbeat.
The woods blurred past us, the shadows dancing like they were
chasing us. Only when we were halfway down
the road did I realize my hands were covered in blood.
For a moment, I thought it was mine.
Then I glanced at Matt, slumped against the door, clutching his
chest. I think I've been hit.
He whispered, his voice barely audible.
The woods seemed to close in tighter around us, the darkness
pressing against the shattered windows.
I gritted my teeth and pushed the accelerator to the floor,
praying we'd make it out alive. The sound of gunfire was still
ringing in my ears. My brain couldn't process what
had just happened. One second we were pulling into
a driveway, the next we were being hunted.
My hands trembled on the wheel as I floored the gas pedal, the
shattered windshield throwing shards of moonlight into the car
like glittering knives. Every breath felt like it could
be my last. Matt.
I yelled, my voice cracking. Are you OK?
Say something. He groaned, slumping further
into his seat. My stomach dropped as I glanced
at him. Blood was soaking through his
shirt, dark and shiny in the faint light.
His phone, still clutched in his hand, flickered weakly.
The glow from it cast shadows over his face, pale and damp
with sweat. Keep driving, he wheezed.
Just get us out of here. Another shot cracked through the
night. The rear window exploded,
spraying the back seat with shards of glass.
I jerked the wheel instinctively, the car swerving
dangerously close to a ditch. My knuckles were bone white on
the wheel, the steering column shaking as I pushed the car
harder than it was meant to go. Every bump in the road felt like
it might tear the wheels out from under us.
In the rear view mirror, the house disappeared into the
shadows, but I had a feeling that the shooter wasn't done.
The road was so narrow, so dark, and I kept expecting headlights
to appear behind us, or worse, the glint of that rifle barrel.
Again, my mind raced with possibilities.
Was he chasing us? Was he reloading?
Hang on, man, I muttered, mostly to myself.
We're going to make it. Matt coughed, and I heard the
wet, rattling sound that came with it.
My stomach twisted. I stole another glance at him.
His eyes were barely open, and his chest rose and fell in
shallow, uneven gasps. Stay with me, Matt.
I said, panic creeping into my voice.
Just hang in there, OK? We're not far.
He didn't answer. His phone slipped from his hand,
landing on the floor with a dull thud.
I couldn't look down, couldn't reach for it.
My entire focus was on the road ahead.
The trees were blurs of black on either side of us, closing in
like walls. The beams of my headlights
barely cut through the thick darkness.
Every shadow looked like it could hide something, someone.
And then it happened. A figure darted into the road
ahead of us. Just a flash.
Something humanoid, dark and quick.
My instincts screamed, and I yanked the wheel to the side.
The tires skidded, the car lurching violently.
For a second, I thought we were going to flip, but the tires
caught the edge of the pavement, jerking us back onto the road.
What the hell was that? I whispered, but Matt didn't
answer. I glanced at him again, and my
chest tightened. His head had lolled to the side,
and his breathing was weaker than before.
No, no, no, I muttered, Not now. Don't you quit on me, man.
I could see a faint glow up ahead, the first sign of
civilization in what felt like forever.
Street lights. We were close.
I pressed the gas pedal harder, ignoring the rattling protest of
the engine. The wind whipped through the
shattered windows, cold and biting.
My shoulder throbbed where the glass had sliced it, but I
couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop.
As we hit the main road, the glow of the hospital sign came
into view. The sight of it was almost
enough to make me cry. I speed into the parking lot,
the tires screeching as I slammed on the brakes in front
of the emergency entrance. I jumped out of the car, the
cold night air hitting me like a slap.
Help. I screamed, running to Matt's
side. Somebody help us.
The ER doors slid open, and a group of nurses and paramedics
rushed toward us. Their faces were blurred in my
vision, my head swimming with adrenaline and exhaustion.
Hands pulled me back as they opened Matt's door, carefully
pulling him from the car and placing him on a Gurney.
Blood dripped onto the asphalt as they wheeled him inside.
I stood there, frozen, as the doors slid shut behind them.
The parking lot was silent now except for the distant hum of
cars on the highway. My hands were shaking
uncontrollably. My legs felt like they might
give out, and for a second I thought I was going to collapse
right there, but I forced myself to move, stumbling toward the ER
doors. Inside, the fluorescent lights
were harsh, blinding after the darkness of the night.
A nurse tried to talk to me, but her voice was drowned out by the
pounding in my ears. All I could do was mutter.
Is he going to be OK? We'll do everything we can, she
said, guiding me toward a chair. I sank into it, my head in my
hands, as the events of the night replayed over and over in
my mind. The shooter's face, the sound of
the gunfire, the way Matt had looked when I realized he'd been
hit. It all played in a loop, each
detail more vivid than the last. I didn't notice the blood still
dripping from my shoulder, or the way my clothes were sticking
to me, soaked with a mix of sweat and glass dust.
All I could do was sit there, staring at the door Matt had
disappeared through, waiting for news.
Time had lost all meaning. The waiting room was a
fluorescent purgatory, the hum of machinery and muffled voices
filling the void where my thoughts should have been.
I couldn't sit still. Every few minutes I got up and
paced the linoleum floor, my shoes leaving faint red smears
with every step. My shoulder throbbed from the
gash. I hadn't had time to think about
it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was
Matt. I kept replaying it in my head.
The gunfire, the shattering glass, the shadow in the
upstairs window. Each time the details got
sharper. I could see the man's face now,
wild eyed and gaunt, the rifle steady in his hands.
What had he been shouting? I strained to remember, but all
I could hear was the deafening crack of the shots and Matt's
labored breathing. As we raced away, the doors to
the ER opened and my head snapped up.
A nurse walked out, clipboard in hand, but she didn't look at me.
She called another name, ushering a family toward the
back. My heart sank again.
How long had it been? An hour?
2? It felt like days.
Finally, a doctor stepped into the room, his face calm but
unreadable. My chest tightened as he called
my name. I shot up from the chair, nearly
tripping over my own feet as I followed him into a quiet
corner. He spoke slowly, his words
deliberate, but my brain felt like it was wading through
molasses. Mat is stable, he said, and the
weight in my chest eased just a little.
The bullet collapsed his left lung, but we've reinflated it.
It missed his heart and major arteries, which is the good
news. He's in the ICU now.
We're monitoring him closely, but his prognosis is good.
I nodded, my head bobbing like it was on strings.
Can I see him? Not yet.
The doctor said. He needs rest, but I promise
we'll let you know as soon as he's ready for visitors.
The relief was overwhelming, and I had to put my head in my hands
to keep from falling apart right there.
Matt was alive. He was going to make it.
But the doctor kept talking, his voice growing heavier.
The police are here. He said they'd like to speak
with you about what happened tonight.
I nodded again, my movement stiff.
Of course they were here. How could they not be?
The car was probably still sitting outside, riddled with
bullet holes and coated in red. I forced myself to stand a
little straighter as the doctor guided me toward a pair of
officers waiting near the entrance.
Their questions came hard and fast, their faces unreadable as
they scribbled notes into their pads.
I told them everything. The party, the wrong address,
the house at the end of the driveway, the shots, the face in
the window. My hands wouldn't stop shaking,
but I kept going, spilling every detail I could remember.
When I finished, one of the officers exchanged a look with
his partner. That address you described, he
said it belongs to a man named Edward Marks.
He's had issues. Issues.
I repeated, the word catching in my throat.
What kind of issues? Break insurance, the officer
said. Two in the last year, one of the
burglars told Marx that his friends would be back for
revenge. He's been paranoid ever since,
fortified the house, bought that rifle legally and basically
turned the place into a fortress.
He's convinced someone's coming for him.
The pieces clicked together in my head, a horrible puzzle
falling into place. He thought we were there to rob
him. The officer nodded.
That's his claim. He fired because he thought you
were intruders, said he saw movement outside and didn't want
to take any chances. I clenched my fists, my nails
digging into my palms. We didn't even get out of the
car before he started shooting. We know, the officer said.
That's why he's being charged with attempted murder.
This wasn't self-defense, it was reckless.
He's lucky neither of you were killed.
Lucky. The word felt like a slap in the
face. I wanted to scream at him, to
tell him how close we'd come to dying because some paranoid
lunatic couldn't take a second to think, but the rage was
swallowed by exhaustion. I was too drained to fight, too
wrung out to do anything but nod and let the officers leave.
Hours later, I finally got to see Matt.
Walking down the ICU corridor felt like trudging through
quicksand, every step heavier than the last.
When I reached his room, I stopped in the doorway, bracing
myself for what I might see. He looked fragile, lying there
in the hospital bed, tubes snaking out of his chest and
monitors beeping softly beside him.
But when his eyes fluttered open and he saw me, a weak smile
spread across his face. You made it.
He croaked, his voice barely audible.
Damn right I made it. I said, forcing a grin as I
stepped closer. You scared the hell out of me,
man. He chuckled, then winced, his
hand moving to his chest. Don't make me laugh, it hurts.
I wanted to tell him everything, the shooter, the police, the
hospital staff calling him a miracle, but the words stuck in
my throat. Instead, I sat beside him,
silent until he spoke again. You saved my life, He said, his
voice softer this time. No, I replied, shaking my head.
You saved mine. Matt didn't argue.
He didn't have to. We both knew the truth.
If he hadn't been holding his phone, if the light from it
hadn't drawn the shooter's aim, it would have been me who took
that shot, and I wouldn't have made it.
Matt recovered, but the scars of that night never left me.
The sound of gunfire haunted my dreams, and every time I passed
a darkened window, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
I learned later that Edward Marks had pleaded no contest and
been sentenced to five years in prison.
Five years for nearly killing us.
It didn't feel like enough, but at least it was something.
Fear makes people do crazy things, Matt said.
Maybe he was right, But fear wasn't an excuse, and I knew I'd
never step foot in Greenville again.
Some nightmares are better left behind.
Be careful out there. The road out of town seemed
narrower than I remembered. Jason's truck jostled over the
uneven gravel, dust kicking up behind us like a cloud trying to
catch our tailgate. He was in the driver's seat, one
hand loosely gripping the wheel, the other tapping to the beat of
some old country song crackling through the ancient speakers.
I wasn't paying attention to the music.
My eyes were fixed on the dense wall of pine trees crowding the
road on either side, their trunks standing tall.
Relax. Jason said, catching my gaze.
You look like you're expecting Bigfoot to jump out or
something. I snorted, but my grip on the
edge of my seat didn't loosen. It's not Bigfoot I'm worried
about. This place looks off like the
kind of spot people go to disappear.
Jason laughed, the sound sharp in the tight cab of the truck.
That's the point, Caleb. No cell service, no crowds, just
us and nature. You'll love it.
I didn't answer. Instead I squinted at the hand
drawn map sitting on my lap. Jason's Co worker had scribbled
it on the back of a diner napkin, complete with misspelled
landmarks and vague instructions like turn at the big rock and
head past the old fence line. It was the kind of map you'd see
in a bad horror movie, the one the protagonist finds clutched
in a skeleton's hand. Jason veered the truck off the
main road, pulling into what I guessed was the parking lot.
It was nothing more than a patch of dirt surrounded by brush, the
trees leaning in so close it felt like they were
eavesdropping. This is it?
I asked, scanning the area. No sign, no trailhead.
Jason grinned, hopping out of the truck.
That's how you know it's a hidden gem.
Come on, grab your pack. I followed him, reluctantly,
slinging my gear over one shoulder.
The trail, or what I assumed was the trail, was barely visible.
It cut through the underbrush like a fading memory, overgrown
and forgotten. Each step we took felt like we
were trespassing, the forest whispering its disapproval with
the rustle of leaves. We walked in silence for a
while, the air thick with the smell of pine and damp earth.
The only sounds were the crunch of our boots and the occasional
snap of a twig under foot. It should have been peaceful,
but my nerves were on edge. Something about the quiet didn't
sit right. It wasn't just quiet.
It was still. No bird song, no insects, just
nothing. You feel that?
I asked, breaking the silence. Jason glanced over his shoulder.
Feel what? I hesitated.
I don't know, like we're not supposed to be here.
Jason rolled his eyes. You've been watching too many
movies. It's just a trail, man, Lighten
up. But I couldn't.
My eyes kept darting to the shadows between the trees, half
expecting to see movement. I told myself it was just my
imagination, but my gut was telling a different story.
After an hour of hiking, the forest opened up into a clearing
and I stopped dead in my tracks. Jason's so-called mountain
Meadow was a swamp. The water was stagnant and
murky, choked with algae and surrounded by a ring of decaying
trees. The air reeked of rot, and a low
buzzing of flies added to the oppressive atmosphere.
Hidden gem, huh? I said, trying to keep the
sarcasm out of my voice. Jason scratched the back of his
neck, looking sheepish. OK, maybe it's not what I
expected, but hey, it's quiet. Too quiet.
I muttered. That's when I saw it.
Across the swamp, partially obscured by the trees, was a
tent. It was old and sagging, the
fabric stained with streaks of green and brown.
But it wasn't the tent that caught my attention.
It was the figure standing near it.
Jason. I said, my voice barely above a
whisper. What?
I pointed. He followed my gaze, his eyes
narrowing. What the hell?
The figure was motionless, standing just at the edge of the
water. They were too far away to make
out any details, but something about their posture didn't sit
right. It wasn't natural.
It was stiff, like they were frozen in place, watching us.
I raised a hand in 1/2 hearted wave, unsure of what else to do.
The figure didn't move, didn't wave back.
They just stood there. Jason let out a nervous laugh.
Probably some camper or a hunter then.
Where's their gear, their fire? And why are they just staring?
He shrugged, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.
Who knows, maybe they're shy. Let's set up camp.
We climbed a small hill overlooking the swamp and
pitched our tents in the flattest spot we could find.
Jason tried to lighten the mood, cracking jokes as we unpacked,
but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
Every time I glanced back at the swamp, the figure was still
there, unmoving. By the time the sun dipped below
the tree line, the figure had vanished.
Jason claimed not to notice when it happened, but I did. 1 moment
they were there and the next the swamp was empty.
I told myself it didn't matter, that it was just some loner
minding their own business. But as the shadows lengthened
and the air grew colder, I couldn't help but feel like we
weren't alone. Something about this place
wasn't right, and I had a sinking feeling we were about to
find out why. The fire crackled softly, it's
light flickering off the surrounding trees like the
forest itself was alive and breathing.
Jason sat across from me, his face glowing orange in the
firelight, laughing at one of his own jokes.
I tried to laugh with him, but my eyes kept drifting past his
shoulder, scanning the dark woods beyond our camp.
Still thinking about that guy by the swamp?
Jason asked, his voice teasing but low enough to match the
quiet around us. Can you blame me?
I said. Who just stands there like that?
No gear, no fire, nothing. Jason shrugged, poking the fire
with a stick. Sparks floated into the air like
tiny fireflies. Probably just a weirdo.
You know how these backwoods types are.
They like their privacy. That's not privacy, I said,
glancing toward the swamps direction.
That's something else. Jason didn't respond.
He just tossed the stick into the fire, leaned back in his
camp chair, and closed his eyes like he was settling in for a
nap. I envied how easily he brushed
things off. For him, a lone figure standing
in the woods was an oddity to laugh about.
For me, it was a reason to keep one hand near my knife.
The woods around us were impossibly dark.
The fire was the only source of light, and beyond its reach was
a wall of blackness that seemed to press in closer with every
passing minute. The forest was quiet again, too
quiet. No wind, no crickets, no distant
howls. Just silence, thick and heavy.
I shifted in my seat, trying to relax, but my mind kept
replaying the moment at the swamp.
The figure standing there unmoving, the way they vanished
without a sound. It was wrong.
Everything about this place felt wrong.
Jason's eyes snapped open, and for a second I thought he'd
finally felt it too, that creeping unease that had been
clawing at me since we arrived. But his eyes weren't on me.
They were locked on something behind me.
I turned slowly, my stomach tightening like a coiled spring.
There, just beyond the fire light, was a figure, the same
one from the swamp. They were closer now, no more
than 20 feet away, standing just at the edge of the light.
Their silhouette was sharper this time, long matted hair that
hung over their face, clothes that looked tattered and dark.
They weren't watching Jason, they were watching me.
My voice caught in my throat. Hello.
Jason stood up slowly, his hands half raised like he was trying
to calm a spooked animal. Hey man, you OK?
You lost or something? The figure didn't move, didn't
speak. They just stood there, swaying
slightly like the wind was pushing them.
Except there was no wind. My heart hammered in my chest as
Jason took a step forward. Look if you need help.
Before he could finish, the figure turned and bolted into
the woods. The movement was sudden, almost
unnatural. They didn't stumble or hesitate,
just melted into the trees with a speed that made my skin crawl.
Jason lowered his hands, exhaling loudly.
Well, that was weird. Weird.
I snapped, standing up so fast my chair tipped over.
That's all you've got? Weird.
Jason looked at me like I was overreacting.
What do you want me to say? The guy's probably just some
crackhead or a squatter who didn't want us calling the cops.
Does that seem normal to you? I gestured toward the spot where
the figure had stood. Standing there, watching us, not
saying a word, then running like that.
Jason didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked to the edge
of the fire light, squinting into the trees as if he could
spot the figure lurking in the shadows.
I'll admit it's creepy, but I'm not about to pack up and hike
out in the dark because of some weirdo.
I wanted to argue, but he wasn't wrong.
The thought of walking back along that overgrown trail and
pitch black darkness made my skin crawl.
Still, the idea of staying here, knowing that someone or
something was out there watching us, wasn't much better.
We keep the fire going. Jason said firmly, as if he'd
made the decision for both of us.
If they come back, we'll see them.
And if they don't come back? I asked, lowering my voice.
What then? Jason gave me a shrug.
Then we get some sleep and leave first thing in the morning.
Either way, we'll deal with it. His confidence didn't calm me,
but it gave me a plan, and that was better than nothing.
I stoked the fire until it was roaring, then sat with my back
to the tents, scanning the darkness for any sign of
movement. Jason tried to keep the mood
light, cracking jokes and telling stories, but even he was
quieter than usual. Neither of us was laughing much.
At some point I must have dozed off, because the next thing I
knew, Jason was shaking me awake.
His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.
Caleb. He whispered, his voice shaking
their back. I bolted upright, my pulse
pounding in my ears. Jason pointed toward my tent,
and I followed his finger. There, crouched low to the
ground, was the figure. They were close enough that I
could hear their breathing, shallow, raspy, and uneven.
Their head was tilted slightly, like they were studying us.
When they realized I was awake, they bolted again, disappearing
into the woods without a sound. My knife was in my hand before I
even realized I'd grabbed it. We're not sleeping.
Jason said firmly, his voice steadier than I expected.
We keep the fire going until sunrise, and we leave the second
there's enough light to see. I nodded, unable to speak.
My hands were shaking, but I tightened my grip on the knife
and forced myself to stay alert. The woods around us were alive
with shadows, and every crack of a branch made me flinch.
For the rest of the night, we sat in silence, the fire blazing
between us like the only thing keeping the darkness at Bay.
I couldn't shake the feeling that the figure wasn't gone.
They were still out there, watching, waiting, and I was
certain that if Jason hadn't woken me up, I wouldn't have
been alive to see the sunrise. By the time the first Gray light
of dawn began filtering through the trees, I felt like I'd aged
a decade. My hands were cramped from
gripping my knife all night, and my eyes burned from staring into
the dark, trying to spot any hint of movement.
Jason sat across from me, pale and silent, clutching a Long
Branch he'd sharpened into a makeshift spear.
We hadn't said much since the figure disappeared hours ago,
and the silence between us felt as heavy as the night.
Let's go. Jason said finally, his voice
hoarse. We've got enough light now.
I nodded, my body stiff as I stood.
We packed in near silence, rushing to stuff gear into our
bags with jittery hands. Every snap of a twig made me
flinch, my head whipping toward the sound.
The fire had burned low, just embers now, but we didn't bother
stocking it. The thought of staying here one
more second was unbearable. As we hoisted our packs, Jason
gestured toward the trail. Stay close, don't stop for
anything. We descended the hill, the swamp
coming into view. In the daylight, it looked even
worse than before, like a place that had been forgotten by
nature itself. The tent was still there,
slumped and decaying, but there was no sign of the figure.
Still, I felt their presence, like they were just out of
sight, lurking in the shadows of the trees.
The trail was narrow and overgrown, the underbrush
clawing at my legs as we moved quickly through it.
I kept my eyes forward, but my ears were tuned to every sound.
Behind us, the stillness that had unnerved me the day before
was gone, replaced by the occasional snap of a branch or
rustle of leaves that seemed just a little too close.
After about 20 minutes, Jason stopped abruptly, holding up a
hand. Wait, what?
I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He pointed to the ground. There, in the soft dirt of the
trail, were footprints. Fresh ones.
They were larger than mine, uneven like whoever made them
had been dragging 1 foot. They led in the same direction
we were heading, toward the truck.
They were ahead of us. Jason said, his voice tight.
At some point during the night, my stomach dropped.
I wanted to turn around, run back the way we came, but I knew
that wasn't an option. We had to keep going.
Jason started walking again, his movement slower now, his head
constantly swiveling to scan the trees.
We reached the truck faster than I expected, but the sight of it
didn't bring the relief I thought it would.
My breath caught in my throat when I saw the muddy handprints
smeared across the windows. They weren't random.
They were deliberate, placed in the middle of each window like
someone had pressed their hands flat against the glass to peer
inside. Jason cursed under his breath
and reached for the driver's side door.
Let's just get out of here. Wait, I said, grabbing his arm.
What if they're still here? What if he yanked the door open,
cutting me off? The inside of the truck was
empty, but the smell of damp earth wafted out, faint but
unmistakable. Someone had been here.
We threw our packs in the back and climbed in.
Jason turned the key and the engine sputtered to life.
He backed out of the clearing so fast the tires kicked up a spray
of dirt and leaves. I kept my eyes on the woods,
half expecting to see the figure standing at the edge of the
trees, watching us leave. But there was nothing, just the
endless stretch of trees and darkness.
The drive back was silent. Jason kept his eyes on the road,
his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
I didn't even look at the passenger side window.
I didn't want to see if something or someone was pacing
us through the trees. When we finally reached the main
road, the tension in the cab broke like a dam.
Jason exhaled shakily, his hands loosening on the wheel.
Sheriff's Office? He asked, glancing at me.
I nodded. Yeah.
The deputy didn't laugh at our story like I thought he might.
Instead, he listened carefully, his expression growing darker as
we described the figure, the tent, and the handprints on the
truck. When we mentioned the
footprints, he leaned forward, his jaw tightening.
You said this was near the old Green Creek Trail?
He asked. Jason nodded.
Yeah, why? The deputy sighed and leaned
back in his chair. We had a missing hiker reported
in that area a couple of months ago.
Young guy, mid 20s. We found his tent near the
swamp, but no sign of him. Figured he'd wandered off and
got lost in the woods, but now? He shook his head.
You boys are lucky you got out of there.
Lucky. Jason scoffed.
We were one wrong move away from.
He stopped, his jaw clenching. The deputy stood and grabbed his
hat. I'll send a team out to check
the area again. But my advice, stay out of those
woods. We didn't need to be told twice.
Back in the truck, Jason broke the silence first.
I don't care what anyone says, I'm never setting foot in those
woods again. I nodded, gripping the door
handle like it might fly open if I didn't.
Same here. We drove the rest of the way in
silence, leaving the forest and whatever was in it behind us.
But even now, I can't stop thinking about it.
About the figure watching us, About the footprints on the
trail and the handprints on the truck.
About how close we came to being another unsolved mystery.
And about how, no matter how much time passes, I'll never go
back to those woods. Not for anything.
The dirt Rd. stretched out ahead of me, nothing but darkness and
endless Montana trees on either side.
My truck's headlights carved weak tunnels through the thick
shadows, but even then I could barely see 10 feet in front of
me. It had been over a year since
I'd been to the cabin, and I was kicking myself for not coming
back sooner to clear the trail. Overgrowth scraped against the
truck like claws dragging down the sides, the crunch of
branches beneath my tires breaking the otherwise
suffocating silence. I finally got a glimpse, the
faint outline of the cabin emerging from the trees like a
ghost. Relief washed over me.
I threw the truck into park and killed the engine.
For a moment I just sat there, staring at the cabin under the
pale glow of the moon. It looked smaller than I
remembered, almost hunched under the weight of the mountain
behind it. I stepped out, pulling my jacket
tight against the chill. The air up here had a way of
biting right through you, the kind of cold that didn't care
how many layers you had on. The smell of forest and rain was
sharp, almost too sharp, like something had been recently
disturbed. I ignored the weird feeling
creeping up my neck and grabbed my duffel bag from the back
seat. The porch creaked under my boots
as I climbed the steps. It always creaked, but tonight
it was different. Hollow.
As I fumble for the keys, I caught myself glancing over my
shoulder. There was nothing but trees and
darkness, but I still couldn't get rid of the feeling that
something or someone was staring at me.
When I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the cold hit me
like a slap. It wasn't the usual kind of
cold, the kind you expect from a place that's been empty for
months. This was different, sharp,
almost unnatural. I flicked on the light.
The back window was shattered. Glass was everywhere, glinting
like jagged stars across the floor.
My first thought was an animal. A bear, maybe, or a coyote.
But as I walked closer, the broken edges of the glass caught
my eye. It looked like something had
broken in, not out. I did a quick sweep of the
cabin, my heart pounding harder with each step.
Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, It was all exactly as I'd left it.
No overturned furniture, no signs of anyone rifling through
my stuff. Nothing missing, at least not
that I could tell. Just that broken window, cold
air creeping in like an unwelcome guest.
I tried to calm myself down. Bears didn't think twice about
smashing a window if they smelled food.
Hell, I'd heard of them tearing through car doors for a pack of
gum. Still, I couldn't lose the
tension coiling in my chest. Something about the scene felt
odd. I found an old tarp in the shed
and nailed it over the window, muttering to myself about the
hassle of fixing it. By the time I was done, the moon
had risen higher, casting long shadows through the cabin.
The firewood was stacked where I'd left it on the porch, so I
hauled some inside and got a fire going.
The crackle and warmth helped a little.
Sitting in the armchair with a drink in hand, I tried to relax,
but every sound outside made my ears perk up.
The wind moaned through the trees like it was alive,
carrying faint rustles that I told myself were just leaves.
The light from the fire danced across the walls, but the tarp
over the window flapped faintly, just enough to set my teeth on
edge. I checked the time.
Just after 11 PMI added another log to the fire, letting the
heat build. Then I shut off the lights,
locked the doors, and crawled into bed, setting my alarm for
dawn. As I lay there staring at the
ceiling, I couldn't help but replay the image of the
shattered window in my mind. If it wasn't a bear, what was
it? The cabin was so quiet I could
hear my own heartbeat. The fire in the next room popped
occasionally, but that only made the silence between the noises
feel heavier. Just as I was finally starting
to drift off, the wind outside picked up again, rattling the
tarp against the cabin. For a second, I thought I heard
something else beneath it, like footsteps crunching through the
leaves, but that was impossible, right?
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to sleep, trying
to ignore the nagging feeling that I wasn't as alone out here
as I'd hoped. I woke up gasping like I'd just
surfaced from a deep, dark lake. My heart was pounding so hard it
felt like it might breakthrough my ribs.
I reached for my phone on the night stand and the glow from
the screen told me it was 217. AMI didn't know why I was awake.
No nightmare, no sound that I could remember.
Just this awful heavy feeling pressing down on my chest like
something was wrong. The cabin was silent, too
silent. The fire in the next room had
burned down to embers, and the only noise was the faint whistle
of the wind outside. For a minute I sat there, trying
to convince myself that it was just a bad dream, but something
felt off. The air in the room was colder
than before, sharp enough to raise goosebumps on my arms.
I slid out of bed, moving slowly so the creak of the old
floorboards wouldn't echo too loudly.
My flashlight sat on the dresser, and I grabbed it,
gripping it tightly like a weapon.
I told myself I was being ridiculous.
This was my cabin, my space. There was no one here but me,
but that thought didn't stop the hairs on the back of my neck
from standing on end. When I cracked open the bedroom
door, the cold hit me immediately, an icy wave that
sent a chill down my torso. I stepped into the hallway,
aiming the flashlight toward the living room.
The beam cut through the darkness, revealing the usual
the couch, the fireplace, the chair where I'd been sitting
hours earlier. The tarp over the broken window
was loose, flapping gently in the breeze, and on the floor,
glistening faintly in the light, were muddy footprints.
My breath caught in my throat as I took a step closer.
The prints were big, clearly a man's boots, and the mud looked
fresh, still wet and dark. The trail started at the broken
window. My flashlight followed the
footprints as they wound across the living room floor, leading
straight toward the hallway toward me.
I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears.
The Prince continued down the hallway, stopping just outside
my bedroom door, The door I'd just come through.
I turned and looked behind me, the flashlight shaking slightly
in my hand. My stomach dropped when I saw
the rest of the trail. The Prince didn't stop at the
door. They continued into my bedroom,
up to my bed. The blood drained from my face
as my mind raced to piece together what that meant.
Someone had been in my room. Someone had been standing right
next to me while I was sleeping. My flashlight beam flicked to
the floor again, desperately searching for another trail
Prince leading away from the bed, back to the window or even
the front door. But there was nothing.
No exit trail. Whoever it was, they hadn't
left. I wanted to run.
My body screamed at me to turn around and bolt for the door,
but I couldn't move. I felt trapped, like if I made a
sound, whatever or whoever was still here would hear me.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to step back toward the
bedroom. My hands were clammy as I
gripped the flashlight, angling it toward the floor beneath the
bed. I leaned down slowly, every
nerve in my body on fire. The beam of light swept across
the floor, catching shadows, dust, and a hand.
Pale, still and unmistakably human.
I shot upright, the blood roaring in my ears.
My chest felt tight, my breaths shallow and quick.
Without thinking, I spun and bolted down the hall.
The flashlight smacked against the wall as I sprinted for the
front door, my hands fumbling for the lock behind me.
I swore I heard movement, something scraping against the
floor, slow and deliberate. I didn't look back.
I couldn't. My fingers finally found the
lock and I yanked the door open, the icy night air slamming into
me. I sprinted to the truck, my feet
slipping on the gravel as I struggled to pull the keys from
my pocket. My hands were shaking so badly I
dropped them twice before finally getting the door
unlocked. I threw myself inside, locked
the doors, and started the engine.
As the truck roared to life, I glanced up at the cabin.
My headlights washed over the front window, the tarp flapping
in the wind. For a split second, I thought I
saw a shadow move inside just beyond the firelight.
I slammed the truck into reverse and tore down the dirt trail,
branches whipping against the sides as I drove faster than I
ever had before. I didn't stop until I reached
the main road miles away. My mind was racing, replaying
every terrifying detail. The prints, the hand, the noise
behind me. I couldn't make sense of any of
it. I don't know who or what was in
that cabin with me, but I do know one thing.
I'll never set foot there again.