Sams pov:
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Danny's words wouldn't leave me alone, circling in my head like vultures. How did he escape? Why didn't the monster take him? Why hasn't he hunted it down?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face again—tired, scarred, but sharp in a way that made me think he knew more than anyone else in this town. And then that line.
"Yeah. I wish."
What was that supposed to mean? Was it regret? A confession? A slip of truth he didn't mean to give me?
By morning, my chest felt heavy from carrying those questions. At school, I was useless—staring at my notebook, barely hearing a word the teachers said. Finally, at lunch, I couldn't take it anymore. I told Alex. Not everything, not the whole story—just enough. Enough to test the waters.
Alex blinked at me, then shook his head like I'd grown a second one. "Sam, stay away from Danny. That man has secrets."
"Secrets?" I leaned in. "He told me about Hollow's End. About the history. About how the rules started. Why should I stay away from him?"
"Because he's not normal," Alex whispered, lowering his voice like even saying Danny's name too loud was dangerous. "My parents say he's cursed. Everyone does. He doesn't come into town unless he has to, doesn't talk to anyone. It's like he hates us."
"No," I said quickly, surprising myself with how defensive I sounded. "He doesn't hate us. He lost his friends growing up, Alex. He's been carrying that his whole life. Maybe keeping the truth hidden is just his way of protecting people… or himself."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "You're asking questions that don't have answers. And even if they did, maybe we're not supposed to know. We're kids, Sam. We don't know everything about that thing we can't even talk about. It's better to follow the rules. Forget about Danny. Forget about all of it."
But I couldn't. Not anymore.
Later that day after school I couldn't stop thinking about Danny so I started spying on him getting to know what he does during the day. I had to start planning a plan to break into his house to see what he's up too where does he go? Things like that. I was wondering what is this man not telling me? I wasn't sure that he was telling me the full story, maybe he left some things out.
So I started watching him. At first it was just a glance when I walked past his street. Then it became waiting, lingering in the shadows, scribbling notes in a cheap spiral notebook I hid under my bed.
Danny had a pattern.
Mornings: he left just after sunrise, a heavy duffel bag strapped across his shoulder. He always scanned the tree line before heading off, like he expected something to lunge at him.
Afternoons: the house was dead silent, curtains drawn tight.
Nights: lights flickered inside—sometimes lamps, sometimes just the glow of a candle. I even heard hammering once, faint but steady, like he was building traps.
I built a schedule from it all, neat and careful. If I knew when he was gone, I knew when we could slip inside.
Alex caught me one day after school, hunched over the notebook. "Sam," he said, eyes narrowing, "what the hell is this? You've been stalking him? What are you planning?"
I shut the book too late. His face paled. "Oh my God. You're actually obsessed. Sam, this isn't healthy. He's dangerous. You need to let it go."
"I can't," I snapped, then softened my voice. "Don't you get it? He knows more than he told me. He's hiding something. Maybe even about the Beast. Don't you want answers?"
"No," Alex said flatly. "Not like this. Breaking into his house? That's crazy."
I leaned closer. "If Danny has a way to stop it—if he's been hunting it all these years—don't you think we deserve to know? Don't you think the whole town does?"
Alex groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is the worst idea you've ever had."
But when night fell and Danny's house went dark, Alex was at my side.
We circled the property first, checking the windows and porch for cameras. The place was old, the wood rotting in spots, but no wires or blinking red lights—no obvious signs he was watching for intruders. That made me more nervous, not less. Someone like Danny didn't need cameras.
"Last chance to back out," Alex whispered as I eased open the side window.
I swung a leg inside. "Not a chance."
The air hit me first. Musty. Sharp with gun oil and dust. The house felt less like a home and more like a bunker.
Weapons lined the walls: rifles, knives, even a crossbow. A workbench in the corner held half-finished traps made from steel jaws and coiled wire.
On the table, stacks of yellowed newspapers lay in neat piles. I lifted one—
LOCAL BOY STILL MISSING.
Another: STRANGE DEATHS UNSOLVED.
Each headline had red circles scrawled around it, notes scribbled in the margins.
"Sam…" Alex's voice shook. He held up a leather-bound journal, pages filled with jagged sketches of something tall and twisted, with long arms and black eyes. In the margins, the same words repeated again and again: RULES. REMEMBER THE RULES.
"Why would he keep this?" Alex whispered. "Why keep any of this?"
"Because he's still hunting it," I breathed. "All this time, he never stopped."
We moved through the rooms in silence, the weight of it pressing heavier with every step. Every box, every map, every weapon screamed obsession. Danny hadn't given up on the Beast—he'd been living for it.
That's when I realized I'd made a mistake. My backpack—sitting by the front door where I'd set it down without thinking.
And outside, gravel crunched. Footsteps.
"Sam," Alex hissed. "He's back!"
We bolted, scrambling through the back window, stumbling into the night as quietly as we could. My heart hammered so loud I swore Danny could hear it.
Inside, the front door creaked open. Heavy boots on the floorboards. Silence. Then—
He whispered my name.
"Sam."