The moment we crossed the gate into the dark valley, Cris was already lost in a place she couldn't name.
The horse carried her deep into the black until the world around her dissolved into emptiness. A faint, unnatural glow hung in the air—just enough to see ahead, yet the ground beneath her was pure void, swallowing her own feet from sight.
A narrow road stretched endlessly forward. To her right, towering trees shed their final, brittle leaves, each falling with the weight of something long dead. To her left, the sea raged—waves breaking against the roadside, each crash like a scream.
She knew this road. It was the path from her home to the school. Only now, every light was gone, and the air was colder than death, and the sea was never here before. She didn't know how it had change.
Sliding off the horse, she stepped forward, eyes catching on a shape to her right—Shawn's house.
*If he's here… he'll know what's happened.*
But this wasn't the Duskhaven she had left. This felt older, and wrong.
She crept to the fence and peered in. The stillness was suffocating. Only the dry hiss of leaves in the wind broke the silence—and even that seemed too deliberate, as though the air itself was watching her.
The small fence gate groaned when she pushed it, a shriek of rust so loud it cut through the quiet. She stepped inside.
The wind shifted, now pouring from the house ahead. It pressed against her like a living thing, heavy, pushing her back. She forced her way forward.
The front door hung ajar. Inside, the darkness waited—thick, unnatural, and hungry.
Cris hesitated at the threshold, fear clawing at her ribs. She drew a breath and called, "Shawn?" Her voice cracked in the still air. No answer. She called again, and again—three times in all—before a low, echoing whisper replied, "Yes?"
It wasn't Shawn.
She stumbled back as something emerged from the doorway—a shadow stretching and thickening until it took the shape of a tall figure. Neither man nor woman, it glided toward her without a sound.
"Please… I mean no harm. Let me be," she begged, her voice shaking. The shadow drifted closer, unheeding.
She spun around—her horse was gone. From the left and the road ahead, more shadows seeped from the darkness, closing in. She turned right, toward the road that led to the school. "Mrs. Leonardo," she murmured. "I need to find the warehouse."
Her feet pounded the ground as she ran. Then came the sound of hooves—loud, fast. For a heartbeat, hope flared. She turned.
It died instantly.
These horses were not her savior. Shadows rode them, their mounts' faces split with jagged, pointed teeth, their eyes nothing but hollow pits. They charged at an inhuman speed, hooves striking like gunfire.
Cris clutched the hem of her frock and fled toward where she'd seen the warehouse—only to find it gone. In its place yawned the mouth of a forest.
Shadows on horseback poured in from every direction.
She filled her lungs with a deep breath once, then plunged into the trees.
Crouched behind the trees, she froze at the sudden silence of hooves. The shadows had stopped. She was hidden well enough, but another thought slithered into her mind—*what if one of these trees held a snake?*
Something about the forest gnawed at her senses. There was no moon, no source of light, yet she could still see. The whisper came again—not speaking this time, but sniffing, groaning, as if searching for her scent.
She glanced at her long frock, cursing its weight. Grabbing the fabric above her knees, she tore it away in jagged strips. The rip was loud—too loud. The shadow heard.
Heart hammering, she bolted deeper into the forest. She found a tree that somehow felt right, clambered up, and perched on a thick branch.
She pressed a hand over her mouth and forced herself to be still as the shadows arrived. One dismounted, lifted the torn piece of skirt, and sniffed it with that wet, guttural groan. Then, slowly, it turned and drifted back the way it had come.
She exhaled, her breath trembling. Exhaustion pressed down, her eyelids growing heavy as time passed. She fought to keep them open, whispering to the darkness, "Shawn? Zinnia? Liam? Where are you?" before getting pulled into deep sleep.
Her eyes fluttered open to a pale, sunless dawn. No warmth, only a dim light that seemed to seep from nowhere. She slid down from the tree, her voice a whisper to herself: "Get out before night comes back." None of it had been a dream—if it had, she wouldn't still be here.
She pushed through the forest until my house came into view. Slipping inside, she found the rocking chair swaying gently, though no one was there. "Zinnia?" Her voice wavered. Silence. The chair kept moving.
In my room, she searched for anything—a phone, a weapon—but found only a folded note on the desk with her name on it. The handwriting was mine. She unfolded it, eyes racing over the words: *I'm sorry. If I hadn't pushed you away, you'd still be alive. The guilt is killing me. I've been fighting for years. I can't anymore. Not without you.*
Her lips trembled. "No…" Tears filled her eyes as she turned—and froze. A body hung from the ceiling fan, dressed like I was that night, face rotted beyond recognition. She screamed, bolting out the door, stumbling into the road, her knee scraping the pavement. "Zinnia!" she cried, but no one answered.
Dark gray clouds rolled in from the left, churning low and fast. *Who knows what this night is bringing.* Terror hollowed her chest. She couldn't bear another night like the last. Part of her wanted it over.
She ran for the river. *If I'm dreaming, maybe dying here will wake me up.* Without slowing, she leapt in, the cold swallowing her whole. She fought, choking, lungs burning—then nothing.
When she opened her eyes again, she was back on the same tree branch as that morning.
Not the real world. She knew that now. But where?
She returned to my house. This time my body lay sprawled on the floor, wrists slit, skin drained to paper-white. When she touched my face, it crumbled into dust.
The note sat waiting, the same as before. She hurled it aside and went door to door. Every house was empty, ransacked—food scattered, clothes flung from closets.
Her stomach growled painfully. In one kitchen, a fridge held a single slice of pizza. It didn't smell spoiled. She bit into it quickly, eyes darting to the shadows, afraid they would come for her at any moment.
She was only two bites from finishing when her teeth hit something hard—like bone. Frowning, she reached into her mouth, pinching it between her fingers.
A tooth.
Her stomach lurched. She spat the rest into the bin beneath the sink, then scooped water into her hands, swishing desperately. Each rinse came out red. When the blood finally thinned, she faced the mirror and pried her mouth open.
One tooth was gone.
Her fingers trembled as she touched the rest. They shifted under her touch, loose, ready to fall with the slightest pressure. She shut her mouth, dread hollowing her gaze—and saw her nails. Splintered. Uneven.
She stumbled outside. The wind had grown vicious, whipping the trees into contorted shapes. The clouds above thickened, swallowing the light.
"Where should I go?" she muttered, breaking into a run in the opposite direction. The road darkened beneath her feet until she couldn't see them at all.
Whispers swelled around her, no longer faint but crowding her ears. The snorts and hooves of unseen horses closed in. Everything repeating all over again. She spun, turning circles, then collapsed to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and clamping her hands over her ears.
There was no escape. Tears spilled hot down her face as the shadows closed in.
Then came the shrill, inhuman squeals of the horses.
She lifted her head to see a wooden torch cutting through the dark, its fire driving the shadows back. When they scattered, the torch swung toward her, and from the gloom stepped an older woman—sharp-eyed, with short, curling white hair. She offered her hand, pulling Cris to her feet.
"Quick. They'll return," the woman urged, leading her through the yard of a nearby house. In one corner stood a heap of wood; in the center, a campfire burned low.
"Stay close to the fire!" She said.
"How did you survive?" Cris asked.
"Only learned their weakness a few months ago," the woman replied, glancing at Cris's hands. "You've eaten meat here." Her mouth curved into a grim smile. "Don't. Only fruit and raw vegetables."
"It happened because of the meat?" Cris stared at her broken nails.
"Yes. Now eat and rest." She passed her a bowl of chopped apples.
Cris devoured them, the cold seeping deeper into her bones. Wrapping her arms around herself, she drifted into sleep.
Somewhere in the night, she woke with a jolt. Something heavy moved over her feet. She kicked hard and saw it—a lizard, easily fourteen inches long.
She screamed. The woman sprang up, snatching a sharpened stick and driving it clean through the creature's belly. It writhed, then vanished as if it had never been.
"Did it lick you?" the woman asked.
Cris checked her feet. "No," she whispered.
"Then you're lucky," the woman said, exhaling sharply.
"What happens if it does?" Cris asked.
The old woman tugged up her trouser leg. A jagged section of flesh was gone above her ankle, the bone stark and exposed. Cris clapped a hand over her mouth, turning away. "Oh my God," she gasped.
The woman gave a dry laugh. "Its poison burns through the body until there's nothing left. I had to cauterize it and cut the meat away."
"Stop!" Cris cried, voice breaking. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but… I'm not like you. I can't hear it."
The woman's smile was faint. "I was the same when I first came here. But to survive in this place? You'll do things you never thought you could." She lay back down. "Sleep. At dawn, we'll gather wood and look for food."
"I don't think I'll ever be as brave as you," Cris murmured. Somewhere in the distance, horses still snorted in the dark, kept at bay only by the fire's light. She curled in on herself. "Zinnia… Shawn… Liam… I wish you were here," she whispered, brushing away her tears.