When I finally blinked myself back into reality, the moon had shifted. Stars glittered overhead, uncaring and distant. My knees pressed into damp earth. I was crouched over Mark's body—or what was left of it. The forest felt… silent. Oblivious. As if nothing had happened.
My fingers twitched, slick with gore. Every nerve in my body screamed to pull back, to vomit, to run. But my lungs only whispered, and my legs felt like they were buried in mud. I was frozen—half in shock, half in that same void I'd slipped into moments before. The craving still hummed at the back of my skull, whispering, "come closer… you know you want more."
"Fuck."
I shut my eyes and willed the voice away, but it clung to me like a leech. When I opened my eyes again, the knife lay beside me, its tip still glistening with silver moonsilver. My reflection in the blade, someone I barely recognized. My jaw ached, my throat burned with the taste of copper. I wanted to cry, to scream, to do something, anything, but no tears came. Just a hollow ache.
Slowly, I pushed myself upright, stepping back from the scene. My foot slid in a puddle of blood; I stumbled, catching myself on a mossy rock. Below me, the valley's edge yawned dark and empty. I shuddered, recalling how I'd clung to that cliff, hanging on for dear life, only to be dragged headfirst into madness.
Behind me, the thick pines rustled, but there was no sign of Mark's body. Had I dragged it? Did the earth already swallow him whole? My heart jolted. Not even the forest leaves dared to whisper the answer.
I forced my gaze forward. The valley below looked different now—more foreboding, as if the land itself had been tainted by what I'd done. The mist hung low, curling around ancient oaks like ghostly serpents. Somewhere in that black sea was a path, I remembered, glimpsed it before the ground caved in. If I could find it again, I might make it out of this place. Out of myself.
But first… I couldn't move. Each breath was a battle. My mind replayed Mark's last moments: the mockery in his eyes, the sneer as his boot crushed my hand, the way he'd spat those twisted lies. And worse—the part where I had felt nothing but… exhilaration. The power.
God, I'd become the very monster I'd been fighting.
"No," I whispered into the cold night. "No more."
A sudden wind stirred the valley, and I heard it again—that voice. Soft, honeyed poison:
"Why deny it? You're stronger now. They'll come for you, won't they? Those monsters. You need to feed the hunger… to survive."
My skin crawled. I staggered to the cliff's edge and cast one last look at the valley. The path I'd seen before lay faintly across a rocky outcrop, illuminated by moonlight. Choice stared me in the face: drop further into madness, or claw my way out.
I closed my eyes and centered myself. Each breath, inhale… exhale. Feel the blood on my fingers, the cold in my lungs. Focus on staying human. I raised my gaze and saw it—a single flicker of light in the distance, far across the valley. Dim. Maybe just an illusion. But it was something.
My knife felt heavy at my side. I wrapped my hand around the hilt, knuckles white. If I encountered any more horrors down there—ghosts, faceless monsters, or some other nameless terror. I would face them. I had to. Because if I didn't, I'd drown in darkness.
One step. Then another. The ground gave way slightly, loose stone tumbling into the abyss, and my heart seized. But I didn't stop. I climbed down, using every shaky inch of strength to navigate the cliffside. Dirt crumbled underfoot. My leg throbbed where Mark had stomped on my hand, no longer because of pain, but because it reminded me I was still alive.
The descent felt endless. Shadows shifted with every move; I half-expected a pair of pale eyes to burst from the brush and gape at me. But nothing came. Just silence and the crunch of my boots on gravel.
Finally, my feet hit firm earth again. I looked up: the cliff loomed above, a silent, accusing wall. Below me, the valley floor stretched into darkness, mist masking everything. My breath came ragged, but my heartbeat, steady. I was still here.
I took my first real step into the mist. Each footfall vanished into fog, leaving no imprint, no trace. The flicker of light I'd seen was gone, swallowed by the night. For a moment, panic clawed at my chest. But I forced it down.
Keep moving.
As I advanced, the mist thinned. Shapes materialized: gnarled trees, twisted roots, and the occasional ruined stone—like the remnants of an old road or foundation. The scent of damp wood and decaying leaves mingled with a metallic tang, echoes of blood, perhaps, from Mark's… from everything.
I place my hand on my face, finding the spot where my missing eye would be. Hollow. I flexed my jaw. No turning back. If I survived this, I would have to face the person I'd become. But for now, survival was the only thing that mattered.
I squinted ahead and saw a faint glow—amber, like a dying lantern, peeking through the trees. My pulse quickened. Civilization? Or something worse? Either way, I needed answers.
Slowly, I moved toward the light.
As I slowly walked toward the light, each cautious step crunching softly on the damp forest floor, a strange familiarity tugged at the edge of my awareness. The trees parted like old sentinels, and there it was again, the cabin. Somehow, impossibly, I had returned. The same warped timbers. The same crooked chimney leaking mist instead of smoke. It stood in silence, as if it had never moved, as if I had never left. My stomach tightened. Either the forest was playing tricks on me… or something far worse was at work.
"The basement," I muttered to myself, the word sour on my tongue like old metal. I stared at the cabin, its windows dark, its door slightly ajar like it had been waiting for me all along. My feet moved before my brain caught up, crunching over wet leaves as I crossed the threshold. No hesitation this time. No fear.
I was going back inside.
But not to hide.
This time, I was going to the basement, to find whatever truths were buried down there in the dark.
I slowly reached for the basement door, the handle cold and oddly slick beneath my fingers. It creaked open with a long, aching groan, like it hadn't been disturbed in years—though I knew better. The air that spilled out was damp and thick, like the breath of something ancient.
Heart pounding, I stepped inside and began my descent down the old wooden stairs. Each step moaned under my weight, threatening to snap with every creak. The darkness below swallowed the light behind me, and the deeper I went, the more it felt like I was sinking into the throat of something hungry.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I stopped cold.
This wasn't a basement.
Not really.
It looked more like a small bedroom, tucked away underground like some forgotten memory. The air was stale, but not rotten, more like dust and age, like the room had been sealed off from the world for a long time.
A narrow bed sat against the far wall, its blanket neatly folded as if someone still cared. Beside it, a wooden cradle gently rocked, though I hadn't touched it—and there was no breeze down here. A low table stood near the center, with a single chair pulled slightly back, like someone had just been sitting there. And all around the floor… scattered toys. Old, faded, worn from use. A wooden train missing a wheel. A plush rabbit with one button eye. A jack-in-the-box with its lid half-cracked open.
I didn't know what I expected to find down here. But it sure as hell wasn't this.