CHAPTER 1: THE AWAKENING

THE BLOODY DISCOVERY

Evan blinked against the low light coming through broken windows. His heart thumped in his chest, each thud echoing in the stifling barn silence. The chill slid over him, not from the chilly air but from the sticky warmth adhering to his skin. Looking down, he recoiled at the sight of thick, black blood coating his hands and clothing.

"What occurred?" He gasped, his voice almost a whisper, buried in the darkness.

He struggled to his feet, knees wobbly as he battled to find equilibrium. When he noticed the floor beneath him creaking with age, he nearly tripped on a damp patch of ground. Around him, bodies were half-buried in the ground, twisted in horrible shapes. In his stomach, dread sunk like lead.

Evan stumbled back against a wooden post, its rough surface digging into his back as he struggled to comprehend everything. A wave of panic surged through him, threatening to drown him.

What did I do? His breath turned into short gasps as uncertainty ripped at the edges of his consciousness. He tightly closed his eyes, attempting to piece together fragments of memory—faces, joy, and pain—that danced on the edge of his grasp before disappearing like smoke.

The scent reached him next: a rotten odour that caused vomit to rise in his throat. With a shaky inhale, decay thickened in the air. The barn felt oppressively small, with splintered wood encircling him like prison bars. The shadows danced on the walls, and as images began to swirl in his mind, he struggled with feelings of nausea.

Under his breath, he whispered, "Get it together," wiping clammy palms on his jeans as though it might undo what had transpired here.

Blood-slicked tools and ripped clothing mingled with broken bones and black dirt, while the moonlight seeped through the wood's crevices, lighting areas of terror scattered across the barn floor. Every inch screamed of a dreadful event; every detail struck him with a forceful impact.

He knelt next to one body half-exposed by dirt, its face turned away from him, and he sought clarity among anarchy. A flutter of identification pulled at something deep inside him; this man seemed familiar. How, though? His stomach churned with anxiety.

Evan stifled a cry that could have escaped by pressing a hand on his mouth. "I must have... I have to remember," he murmured into the void.

The wind outside whispered secrets meant for no listeners but their own, rustling dried hay. He rose up again, his heart racing as he realised that no one could hear him here; this barn was far away from the town.

"God..." The word from him was like an agonising howl. Sweat trickled down his brow as he quickly scanned the barn, wondering if anyone else was present. He looked into shady areas where darkness seemed large and relentless.

A low moan suddenly emanated from somewhere deep inside; the sound slid over Evan's spine like frozen fingers sketching a pattern only he could feel.

"Who is there?" As he turned slowly towards the source of the disturbance, fear leaked from his voice.

Silence came back with a terrible finality. Heart thumping like thunder in his chest, Evan felt a weight bigger than blood-soaked memories or buried victims pushing down on him.

The awareness struck hard: the present was not only a dream; it was something much worse—a reality distorted beyond recognition by powers beyond his reach.

"Jimmy?" The name came out before Evan could stop himself; terror spun inside at the speech. Had he not long ago buried that part of him?

There was no response, save for another stir outside—a flutter of movement that once again caught Evan's eye.

A cold enveloped him as he slinked towards one corner of the barn where light seldom touched—the gnawing need to flee battled against a deeper fear imprisoning him within these confines loaded with horrors not yet exposed.

Once he saw something glinting near where dirt met shadow—a knife lay half-buried beneath what seemed to be shredded bits of garments drenched in crimson stains that reflected those spread across his skin—his deep breaths accelerated once more.

Not one. Panic surged once more in Evan's chest; quivering fingers sought for it automatically but stopped above its handle—a link ignited through pure terror running through veins too thin for such hefty ideas.

Footsteps echoed behind him, a deliberate shuffle splitting apart shadows clinging fiercely to corners, until something came forward into the moonlight: The solitary light among nightmares, borne alive once more, arose when a figure veiled in darkness emerged slowly but deliberately, displaying recognisable features defined starkly by silvery beams filtering through rotting columns overhead.

Evan's breath froze; astonishment choked off any words locked deep within as reality broke further still—his past laid open before him alongside bodies still cold beneath harsh ground—but much more terrible was what those haunting grey eyes mirrored back at him.

THE FIRST WHISPER OF JIMMY

Evan staggered back, the stifling barn atmosphere sticking to him like second skin. He had to get away from the horrors around him like barbed wire. Turning and running for the exit, the wooden beams creaked above him.

The massive door groaned menacingly, refusing his hurried effort. He crashed into it, pushing it open with such force that splinters shot upward. Light flooded in, sharp and blinding against the darkness behind him.

A chilly shot froze his limbs momentarily as he passed the threshold. He staggered out into a vast expanse of unbroken fields before him; the evening air bit at his flesh. Low in the sky, the moon created eerie shadows on crumbling barns and twisted fences. Rural silence surrounded him; even the insects had stopped.

Then, though, came a voice like ice slithering down his spine—smooth and horrible.

"Who runs?"

Evan remained cool and collected, keeping his voice steady even with everything around in turmoil. It seemed almost personal, like old friends confessing a secret long hidden.

Evan stopped in mid-stride, panic whirling in his chest. "No," he gasped, shaking his head fiercely as though that might silence the sound crawling into his consciousness. It cannot be happening this way.

"Don't deny me," Jimmy said, each syllable encircling Evan's awareness like a vine tightening its hold. "You are part of me, you know. You have always been."

Desperate to silence the voice resonating deep within him, Evan pushed his hands on his temples. He lurched on uneven ground filled with wild grass and spiky weeds, his breath in jagged bursts. Shadows moved just outside his sight; each movement made his heart pound fresh.

"Just breathe," Jimmy said, an uncomfortable calm slinking through the darkness like smoke into every corner of Evan's brain.

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He clenched his jaw enough to hurt, but he was unable to stop a whimper from breaking free as memories of the lonely lad who used to play with an imagined friend constructed from desperation and solitude flooded back. But there was something sinister rising to welcome him, not only a memory awakening.

Evan muttered under his breath, then carefully turned away from the barn that had imprisoned him. "You are not here."

"Oh, truly?" Jimmy's voice slithered closer, gazing at Evan with those frigid blue eyes that he had long tried to ignore but could never truly forget. "What are you without my presence? Are you just a shadow?"

His pulse accelerated as uncertainty swirled inside him—a mix of fear and fury pouring over into rage directed at this sneaky presence chewing at the margins of his sanity.

Jimmy gently said, "You're scared," as if he could read Evan's thoughts like a book. "You ought to be as well."

Evan fell once again, then corrected himself on an adjacent fence post distorted by age and neglect—a mirror of how far he had deviated from anything like normalcy. Like him, this rural scene felt lost by time itself—not only isolated.

Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed what he dreaded: no person surfaced from the barn; nevertheless, shadows danced with memories buried deep within himself—bodies scattered across dark corners.

"No!" he yelled into the night air, defiance infusing every inch of his body even as quaking terror still held him close. "I refuse to pay attention to you!"

Once more, the hush surrounded him until Jimmy's laughter erupted like far-off thunder—an echo resounding off desolate trees along broken roads ahead.

"You believe that confronting me will be beneficial? You are aware it will not." The voice dripped with both laughter and hate, a paradox summed up in one person trying to split Evan's delicate psyche bit by bit.

As he took another step forward, determination mingled uneasily with anxiety, a painful reminder of battles lost before they had even begun.

He started running again along twisted dirt trails away from that terrible barn, driven by breathless urgency despite the tiredness creeping in like shadows closing over the twilight sky above.

With each stride, echoes reverberated inside—a sickening symphony woven together by whispers blurring past memories tinged with horror yet alluring enough to make betrayal seem sweet if only for a fleeting moment shared between two halves irrevocably entwined since childhood innocence slipped through their fingers long ago.

Though darkness remained ever closer behind—the horizon clouded beneath ominous clouds painted darker than any night could hold—there lay no sanctuary beyond reach or refuge waiting ahead either. The wind whipped past him with conviction.

But all that was left was this uncomfortable discourse unraveling deeper than any link should allow—a tug-of-war waged within the heart and mind stuck amidst blurry pieces threatening reality itself, tangible worries flowing through blood as unrelenting voices called out once more:

"Just embrace what you are."

EVAN'S FLIGHT

Evan ran quickly towards the form of his car, his feet pounding against the uneven ground. The car was sitting in the grass like a dark island, and moonlight could be seen shining through its metal frame.

He desperately looked for his keys by putting his hands in his pockets. The shape he knew felt off and hostile against his fingers, even though it was familiar.

Blood.

As he struggled with the lock, dark spots covered his shaking hands. The smell of metal filled his nose and made his stomach heave. He swore, dropped the keys, and then grabbed them from the ground.

"This isn't happening." He spoke in a weak whisper before finally smashing the door open.

When the light inside flickered on, more red spots on his clothes showed up. In the rearview mirror, he saw the face of a stranger: it was pale, wild-eyed, and covered in marks from a fight he couldn't remember.

The key scratched against the ignition as he missed once or again. When the engine finally turned over, it made a noise that made the whole car shake. Then he slammed the gear shift to drive and stomped on the gas.

The headlights cut through the darkness in front of him, making a narrow path that he could see through. It looked like the nothingness was all that was outside that bubble of light. On the way up, trees and fence posts flew by quickly.

"Did I..." He couldn't answer the question.

Those dead bodies in the barn. He recognized the face, but he couldn't pinpoint its location. He had blood on his hands. "Did I do this?"

It hurt because his heart was beating so fast against his ribs. The road in front of him moved back and forth like a live thing. He blinked hard to try to concentrate. It looked like the yellow lines in the middle were moving and dancing.

On either side, there were endless fields with only a few old barns and oak trees to break up the view. There were no other cars in sight. No homes. No lights anywhere. His loneliness seemed to be weighing him down.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his knuckles grew white. Beyond his headlights, the darkness felt alive, like it was watching and waiting. It seemed like everything was wrong and that reality was beginning to fall apart.

The road ahead split in half and then came back together.

Evan closed his eyes for a brief time. The road was smooth again when he opened them. But then he started to doubt himself. Had it truly split, or was his mind deceiving him?

"Focus. Just focus on driving."

In the small room, his voice sounded off. Was it really his voice?

The speedometer needle moved past 80 mph. Trees blurred into a solid wall of shade on both sides. As he pushed the engine harder, it whined in protest. He was desperate to get away from what he had left behind in the barn.

But then came the questions, and each one hit like a punch. What was going on inside? Why did he forget? Whose blood got on his clothes, his hands, and his mind?

The road went on forever, and it got darker and darker as it went. He felt like he was going nowhere, no matter how fast he drove. He was stuck in a loop of rural emptiness and rising nervousness.

When he blinked, the shape, shadow, or person he thought he saw in the road ahead vanished. It looked like the darkness was trying to break through the thin layer of light around his car.

THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

The first signs of civilisation appeared as scattered light penetrated the darkness. Evan's hands cramped from grasping the steering wheel, but he couldn't let go. Not now. The familiar "Welcome to Mill Creek" sign loomed ahead, its bright exterior a parody of the terror raging in his gut.

Blue and red lights pulsed in the distance, casting a warning glow across the buildings. Evan gently depressed the accelerator pedal. Police cruisers blocked the main crossroads, attracting a small crowd despite the late hour.

"No, no, no." His heart pounded against his ribcage.

A news van was parked beside Thompson's Diner, its satellite dish pointing to the sky like an accusatory finger. Through the windscreen, Evan noticed a reporter speaking into a microphone, her face serious in the artificial light.

He turned down Oak Street and took a longer route. The streets he'd driven numerous times before felt like a maze closing in on him. Every shadow was a potential witness, and every window served as a watchful eye.

Mrs. Peterson stood on her doorstep in her pyjamas, a phone held against her ear. She locked eyes with him as he passed. Her lips dropped open with recognition.

"This isn't happening." Evan crouched down in his seat, but the harm had been done.

He saw glimpses of news bulletins through his slightly open window as he sneaked past another gathered crowd.

"...bodies discovered in the old Mackenzie barn..." "...a local resident suspected..." "...considered armed and dangerous..."

His name drifted through the air, accompanied by whispers and frightened murmurs. The town's gossip engine was already in full operation.

A police siren sounded in the distance. Evan's hands shook as he pulled into Cedar Lane. The blood on his garments felt as if it was searing into his skin.

"I didn't do this." The words tasted hollow in his mouth. "I couldn't have..."

But the evidence was there, right? The bloodstream. The bodies. He couldn't identify that familiar face. Gaps in his memory opened wide like gaping graves.

He passed the library, where he had spent many afternoons reading. The grocery store where old Mr. Wilson frequently enquired about his mother. He used to play in the park as a child. Each familiar landmark appeared to criticise him, calling into question everything he believed he knew about himself.

More police lights appeared ahead. Evan turned down one side street, then another. However, in a town of three thousand people, there was nowhere to hide. Everyone knew everyone. They would recognise his car, his face, and the way he bent his shoulders when driving.

He didn't touch the radio, but it began to play. A news bulletin broke through the static:

"...residents should be on the lookout for Evan Marshall, who is wanted for questioning in connection with multiple homicides. Marshall is considered dangerous and should not be approached."

His visage appeared on the screen of someone's phone as he drove past another group of people. The tattered stranger he had glimpsed in his rearview mirror now loomed large before everyone.

Every turn revealed another police car—another group of neighbours whispering in horror. The town was encircling him like a net, and he was the prize of the day.

"I need to think." But thinking meant questioning, and enquiring meant confronting things he was not prepared to face.

A dog barked. Someone shouted. Evan flinched with each sound and movement in his peripheral vision. The familiar streets of Mill Creek had become a maze of accusations and suspicions, trapping him in the middle with no way out.