Day 9: The Ghosts of the Past
The wind was relentless, howling through the trees as if the
very forest itself was screaming. Snow swirled around them, thick and blinding,
making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Megan’s lungs
burned with every breath, her legs heavy with exhaustion as they trudged deeper
into the woods. Her mind was racing, heart pounding as she fought to keep
moving, but the cold and the terror gnawed at her, slowing her down.
Tom was struggling. His face was pale, his skin ashen where
the creature had touched him. He clutched his arm, where faint dark veins had
begun to creep up from his wrist, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Nate
and Megan flanked him, half-carrying, half-dragging him through the snow, but
his weight was slowing them down.
“We can’t keep going like this,” Nate gasped, his breath
visible in the freezing air. “He’s not going to make it.”
“We have to,” Megan snapped, her voice raw with desperation.
“We have to keep moving. We can’t stop. It’s out there, waiting.”
Tom groaned, his legs buckling beneath him. “I... I can’t
feel my arm,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “It’s... spreading.”
Megan glanced at his arm again, her stomach twisting. The
dark veins were pulsing now, snaking up toward his elbow. She didn’t know what
the creature had done to him, but whatever it was, it was slowly draining the
life from him.
“We need to get him to safety,” she said, her voice shaking.
“We need to figure out what’s happening.”
Nate’s eyes were wide with fear, darting nervously between
Tom and the darkened forest around them. “There’s no safety, Megan. Don’t you
get that? This thing... whatever it is... it’s going to kill us all.”
Megan swallowed hard, trying to fight back the rising panic
in her chest. “We’re not dead yet,” she said, though the words felt hollow. She
glanced around the woods, searching for something—anything—that could give them
a shred of hope. But the forest was a nightmare, a labyrinth of twisted
branches and shadows that seemed to shift and move with every step they took.
“We need to find shelter,” she muttered, more to herself
than to Nate. “Just somewhere to hide until we can figure this out.”
But deep down, she knew they couldn’t hide. Not from this.
The creature would find them, no matter where they went. It was hunting them,
picking them off one by one. And it wouldn’t stop until it had claimed them
all.
They stumbled forward, Tom’s weight dragging them down as
they moved through the snow. The cold bit at Megan’s skin, her fingers numb
inside her gloves. She could barely feel her feet anymore, and every step felt
like wading through quicksand.
After what felt like hours, they reached a small clearing.
The trees parted slightly, revealing the faint outline of an old, dilapidated cabin.
It was barely visible through the snow, its roof sagging under the weight of
years of neglect. The windows were dark, the door hanging off its hinges, but
it was shelter.
“There,” Megan said, nodding toward the cabin. “We can rest
there for a bit.”
Nate hesitated, eyeing the building warily. “What if it’s a
trap?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Megan said, her voice firm. “Tom
can’t keep going. We need to stop. Just for a little while.”
Nate glanced at Tom, who was barely conscious, his head
lolling to one side. The dark veins had reached his shoulder now, spreading
like a poison through his body.
“Fine,” Nate muttered, though his voice was laced with fear.
“But we don’t stay long.”
They made their way to the cabin, the wind howling around
them. The door creaked as Megan pushed it open, revealing the dark interior.
The place was falling apart—cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the floorboards
creaked ominously under their weight. Dust coated every surface, and the smell
of mildew hung heavy in the air.
But it was shelter.
They laid Tom down on an old, sagging couch, his breath
shallow and labored. His skin was cold to the touch, and the dark veins were
creeping toward his neck.
“We need to find something to help him,” Megan whispered,
though she had no idea what that could be. She didn’t even know what they were
dealing with. How could they fight something that didn’t follow any rules of
the natural world?
Nate knelt beside Tom, his face pale. “He’s getting worse,”
he muttered. “We need to figure out what that thing is. Maybe... maybe there’s
something here.”
Megan glanced around the cabin. It was small—just one room,
with a rusted wood stove in the corner and a few pieces of broken furniture.
But there was something else—a bookcase, half-rotten, its shelves lined
with old, dusty tomes.
She moved toward it, her fingers brushing over the worn
spines. Most of the books were falling apart, their covers cracked and faded,
but one in particular caught her eye. It was larger than the others, its black
leather cover worn but intact. There was no title on the spine, but something
about it drew her in.
With trembling hands, Megan pulled the book from the shelf
and opened it. The pages were yellowed with age, the ink faded in places, but
as she scanned the first few pages, her heart began to race.
It was a journal.
The entries were written in neat, cramped handwriting,
detailing the daily life of someone who had once lived in the cabin. But as
Megan flipped through the pages, the entries became darker, more frantic.
"December 12th: The shadows are growing longer. I
can feel them watching me."
"December 16th: The bell rang again tonight. I know
it means death. I can feel it creeping closer."
"December 20th: It’s hunting us. We’ve tried to run,
but there’s no escape. The forest belongs to it. The cabin belongs to it. We
are nothing more than prey."
Megan’s breath caught in her throat as she read the final
entry, written in shaky, uneven handwriting.
"December 24th: It took John last night. The bell
rang, and then he was gone. It will come for me next. I know it. But I won’t
let it take me. Not like this."
The journal ended there, the rest of the pages blank.
Megan’s hands shook as she closed the book, her mind racing.
Whoever had written this had been hunted, just like they were now. And the
mention of the bell—it sent a chill down her spine. The bell that had appeared
in their cabin, the one that had rung by itself. It was connected to this
somehow.
She glanced at Nate, who was sitting beside Tom, his face
pale and drawn. “I found something,” she said softly, holding up the journal.
Nate looked up, his eyes wide. “What is it?”
“It’s a journal,” Megan said, sitting down beside him.
“Whoever lived here before us... they were being hunted too. By the same
thing.”
Nate’s face drained of color. “The same thing?”
Megan nodded, her voice trembling. “It mentioned the bell.
The same bell that appeared in our cabin. It’s connected, Nate. This... this
thing has been hunting people for years.”
Nate swallowed hard, glancing at Tom, who was barely
conscious. “So what do we do? How do we stop it?”
Megan shook her head, her mind racing. “I don’t know. The
journal didn’t say how to stop it. Just that it... it takes people. One by
one.”
Nate’s face contorted in fear. “So we’re just supposed to
wait for it to kill us?”
“No,” Megan said, her voice firm. “We’re going to find a way
out of this. There has to be something we’re missing. Something in the journal,
or in the cabin.”
But deep down, she wasn’t sure. She could feel the
hopelessness creeping in, the overwhelming sense that they were trapped, just
like the person who had written the journal.
Tom groaned, his body shuddering as the dark veins reached
his neck. His skin was pale, his lips turning blue.
“We don’t have much time,” Nate whispered, his voice
trembling. “It’s killing him.”
Megan’s stomach twisted as she watched Tom’s labored
breathing. He didn’t have long. Whatever the creature had done to him, it was
slowly draining the life from him, turning him into something else. She didn’t
know if they could save him, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, though the words felt like
a lie. “We’ll figure out how to stop this.”
But as the wind howled outside and the shadows in the cabin
seemed to grow darker, Megan couldn’t shake the feeling that their time was
running out.
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