The sun slipped beneath the horizon, and the woods held their breath. Trees stood tall like ancient statues, their branches reaching out like claws. The last light of day flickered against the thick underbrush where three girls walked—Eliza, Michelle, and Veronica—flashlights in hand.
"This spot is perfect," Eliza said, excitement in her voice.
Michelle swatted at a mosquito. "Perfect for getting eaten alive. Or worse."
Veronica glanced around, a chill crawling up her spine. "I don't know… Something feels really wrong here."
They moved deeper until Michelle's flashlight hit something—a broken-down cabin. Its roof sagged, its frame eaten by mold. Vines and moss clung to it like dead fingers. A flickering, almost living light pulsed from within.
"Whoa…" Eliza whispered, stepping closer.
"It's watching us," Veronica murmured, frozen in place.
"Stop being dramatic." Eliza walked up to the cabin.
The door creaked open, releasing a breath of rot and damp decay. Inside was a silence so deep it seemed to swallow sound. Dust floated through the air like ash.
In the center of the room sat a skeletal man in a broken chair, clutching a glowing thorn-like object. His hollow eyes stared ahead, lifeless.
"Is he… dead?" Eliza asked.
Michelle narrowed her eyes. "And what's that thing?"
"Some kind of weird thorn," Eliza said, curiosity overtaking caution.
Veronica stepped back. "We need to go. Now."
But Eliza reached out. "Let's see what makes it special." She yanked it from the old man's hands.
His body collapsed to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. A snap echoed through the room.
"He was probably already dead," Eliza said, voice shaky.
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Veronica's steps slowed as they reached the edge of the clearing. Her flashlight beam trembled slightly, bouncing off wet bark and dense undergrowth. The closer they got, the worse the feeling in her gut grew. It wasn't just fear — it was pressure, like something unseen was pressing on her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
Michelle's flashlight suddenly landed on the broken-down cabin.
"There," she said, voice sharper than she meant it. "That's what you felt, right?"
Veronica didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the rotting wood, the way the vines seemed to cling to the walls, like they were trying to keep something inside. Something that shouldn't get out. A faint light flickered through the cracks.
Eliza laughed, but even that was thinner than before. "Creepy, but kind of cool, right?"
"No," Veronica said. Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Something's wrong with this place."
They were already halfway to the porch. Veronica stayed back, the darkness at her back feeling deeper now. It wasn't cold, but goosebumps prickled up her arms.
"Eliza, don't go in there," she said again, louder this time.
But Eliza didn't stop. The door creaked open. The smell that poured out made Veronica gag — mould, rot, and something like blood left out too long.
Inside the cabin, it was like the air was thicker. Heavy. Hard to breathe.
When she saw the body in the chair — skin stretched tight, fingers clenched around the glowing thorn — Veronica froze.
"This isn't just a creepy cabin," she whispered. "This is a warning."
But no one listened.
When Eliza reached forward and pulled the thorn free, time seemed to pause. The body hit the ground with a horrible crack.
Veronica stepped back instinctively. "What did you do?"
Then the body jerked.
Once.
Twice.
The sound it made wasn't human. The voice that followed made her legs go numb.
"☽Ɐ𝕯𝕺𝕊 ƛ𝕴…"
Something primal inside her screamed.
"RUN!" Veronica shouted, voice cracking with panic.
The man sprang back up, levitating as foam frothed from his mouth and his eyes rolled back. Struck by fear, the girls turned to flee the cabin. Eliza burst through the door with the thorn in hand, Michelle close behind. Veronica dove through the window, hit the ground, and sprang to her feet, running after them.
The man hovered above the cabin, casting an ominous shadow over it. He spoke in a strange, guttural language, the words spilling from his lips and wrapping around his body like living shadows. As he transformed into a dark, spectral figure, a thick fog poured out of the cabin. From within it, pitch-black creatures emerged—faceless, twisted—and began their pursuit.
Eliza, who had been screaming from the very beginning, was tackled by one of the creatures. She shrieked, but Michelle kept running. Veronica, however, turned back and helped Eliza fight off the thing. Together, they broke free and caught up with Michelle. The horde tailed them—some crawling, some leaping effortlessly from tree to tree like beasts born of nightmare.
One of the creatures, swinging from the branches, lunged ahead and landed on Michelle. She screamed in terror and agony, crying out for help. Veronica reached her in time, yanking the creature off and helping her escape its grasp.
That act marked her.
The creatures turned their attention to Veronica. She ran just behind her friends when two of the things pounced from above. A third, trailing them from the ground, leapt up and slammed into her. They all landed at once.
Eliza and Michelle turned back briefly—but instead of helping, they threw what they carried: their phones, and the strange item from the cabin—onto Veronica. Then, without a word, they ran.
The creatures began to open their faces—if they could be called that. Their mouths spiralled open like some grotesque portal, filled with countless jagged, mismatched teeth. At the heart of that abyssal maw shone a distant, soulless light.
They feasted.
They tore into her flesh, ripping and dragging it like rubber, relentless and unfeeling. Veronica, bloodied and mangled, clawed her way across the forest floor. Her hand brushed against the thorn—the one from the cabin.
Even as the creatures continued devouring her, countless thoughts flooded her mind: panic, betrayal, disbelief. But one question—one wound—cut deeper than the rest.
"Why… why did they leave me?" she whispered, as the world turned to black.
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Veronica awoke with a gasp.
Her eyes flew open to the familiar sight of her bedroom ceiling—only it didn't feel familiar at all. Something was wrong. Her arms ached. She tried to move but couldn't. Her wrists were chained to the bedposts.
Chains?
She blinked rapidly, struggling to sit up, but the restraints cut into her skin with every tug. Panic bloomed in her chest. She turned her head.
And froze.
Standing on either side of her bed were her parents—Edward and Rebecca. But they weren't dressed in their usual sleepwear or office clothes. They wore long, white robes with strange symbols embroidered into the fabric. Their faces were solemn, eyes distant, as they murmured words in a language she didn't recognize.
Veronica's voice cracked with fear.
"What's going on?"
Her father didn't respond with comfort or explanation. Only more of the same guttural language spilled from his lips.
"𝕯𝕺𝕊…" Edward intoned, his eyes unblinking, his voice hollow.
Rebecca mirrored him. ''𝕯𝕊𝕺…"
Veronica stared at them, heart thundering, throat dry.
"What are you saying?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic. "Mom? Dad?"
Rebecca's eyes flicked toward her daughter, softening just for a moment. A tremble entered her voice.
"My child… I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what? What's Dad saying?"
Rebecca glanced at Edward, her lips tightening, then looked back.
"It's for your own good, my dear."
A burning sensation crept up Veronica's spine, sharp and unnatural. She gasped, twisting against the chains.
"It hurts!"
"It's working," Rebecca whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
The magic circle drawn around the bed in dull, crimson chalk flared to life—glowing an eerie blue that pulsed like a heartbeat. Veronica's back arched as pain lanced through her entire body. Her skin felt like it was peeling from the inside, her mind swimming with static and broken images she couldn't understand.
Her parents didn't stop.
They spoke faster, louder—their words not human, not safe. The room darkened. Shadows crept across the walls, not cast by light, but by something else. And then, above Veronica, it appeared.
A shape.
Ghostly. Massive. Draped in mist.
A creature not made of flesh, but of void—like smoke wrapped in hate—hovered above her, tendrils spilling into the air. It gazed down without eyes, without form. It simply was.
Rebecca's chanting faltered. Her voice shook.
"It's… not what we summoned…"
Edward took a step back.
"Keep going!" he barked in that broken tongue, voice cracking under terror.
Veronica screamed once more, then everything went white—
And silent.
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She was running.
No chains. No bed. No parents.
Just darkness. Cold air. The slap of bare feet against concrete.
Veronica had no memory of how she got there, or even where there was. The street stretched endlessly, dimly lit by a flickering row of streetlights, their hum growing louder with every step. Her body moved on its own—panic driving her forward, breath ragged, throat raw.
Help!
The word echoed in her skull, over and over.
"Help. Help. Help."
She screamed it aloud, her voice breaking into the empty night.
No one answered.
She glanced at the houses lining the road—neat, suburban things with crooked smiles. At first glance, they looked normal. But then she noticed: blood leaking from under the doors. It pooled slowly on the sidewalks, thick and red like oil.
One by one, the porch lights flicked on.
In each window, she saw it—an eye. Just one. Staring.
Not blinking.
Every house had one. Every eye watched her.
Bloody hand-prints smeared the glass from the inside, dragged downward like someone had tried—and failed—to escape. The lights above each doorway flickered in perfect rhythm, pulsing with each of her footsteps.
And behind her, something growled.
Low. Wet. Close.
She didn't look back.
The houses became a blur. Her heart felt like it would tear out of her chest.
Then, without warning—calm. Stillness.
At the end of the street, beneath a broken streetlamp, sat a boy.
He looked about her age. Pale skin. Sharp eyes. He wore a dark coat buttoned to the neck and held a steaming porcelain teacup delicately in one hand. He sipped, unbothered by the chaos that tore the world apart around him.
Veronica stumbled toward him, tears streaking down her face.
He looked up. Smiled faintly.
"You finally made it," he said, setting down the cup.
"I was beginning to think they'd keep you."
"Please! Help!"
He lifted his hand, touched her forehead.
"Tonight's going to be a long night… isn't it?"
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Veronica woke again—floating. The couch beneath her drifted mid-air. Books and lights floated around her in a room with no walls.
"Where am I?"
"Between logic and madness," the man said. "Or… my living room."
She looked at him. "Who are you?"
"Alexi. Saviour, nightmare—it depends on the time of day."
"You kidnapped me!"
He smiled gently. "Or maybe I just like collecting strays. Let's see how long you last."
He snapped his fingers. And she faded again.
To be continued...