The forest floor, uneven and littered with debris, tore at Jon’s shoes, his lungs burning with the effort of sucking in air, but he didn’t dare slow down. He could feel the terror, cold and relentless, nipping at his heels, urging him onward, deeper into the unforgiving embrace of the woods.

Chloe stumbled beside him, her breaths ragged gasps that echoed his own ragged panting. He kept a firm grip on her arm, his fingers digging into her jacket, the fear that threatened to consume them both a tangible link between them.

The moonlight, filtering through the dense canopy of leaves, painted the forest floor in an eerie, shifting pattern of light and shadow, revealing glimpses of something grotesque, something deeply unsettling, that sent shivers crawling down Jon's spine.

A dead bird, its wings contorted at an unnatural angle, lay in the path, its eyes vacant black beads staring up at the indifferent moon. Jon swerved to avoid it, his stomach churning at the sight. He'd seen enough death for one night.

But the forest, it seemed, had other plans.

A clearing opened up before them, bathed in an ethereal moonlight that only seemed to intensify the horror that awaited them. Three deer, their bodies still and lifeless, lay scattered across the clearing, their legs splayed at unnatural angles. Their heads, severed from their bodies, were arranged in a macabre tableau: eyes wide and staring, tongues lolling out from between their teeth, their antlers casting grotesque shadows in the pale moonlight.

Jon’s breath hitched in, bile rising in his throat. This wasn’t the work of an animal, not a predator driven by hunger or instinct. This was something else entirely. Something deliberate. Something…ritualistic.

“Oh, God…” Chloe’s voice, choked with horror, mirrored the thought in his own head.

He dared a glance back towards the cabin, towards the darkness that pursued them. He couldn't see it, not through the dense undergrowth and the shadows that danced in the moonlight. But he could feel it, a presence, cold and hungry, closing in, its arrival heralded by the silence, broken only by their ragged breathing, that had settled over the clearing.

The deer, their eyes staring into eternity, seemed to mock their plight, a chilling reminder that they were not the first to stumble into this place of death.

And unless they found a way to escape the darkness that hunted them, they wouldn’t be the last.

Jon dug his fingernails into his palm and ran faster. The image of the mutilated deer, seared onto the backs of his eyelids, spurred him onward. His lungs burned, his legs screamed for respite, but the terror made him keep on going. He had to get them out of there. Had to get Chloe to safety.

He risked a glance at her, his heart clenching at the sight of her pale face, the blood staining her clothes a stark contrast to the silver moonlight filtering through the trees. She stumbled beside him, her steps growing heavier, her breath coming in ragged gasps that did little to ease the fear clawing at his own chest.

"Almost there," he lied, his voice tight with urgency. "Just a bit further."

He wasn't sure if she heard him. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the woods, her grip on his arm tightening whenever the shadows shifted, her breath catching in a choked sob whenever the wind rustled the leaves.

He knew he should keep moving, put as much distance as possible between them and the evil that stalked them, but he couldn’t ignore the bloodstains, growing larger, more vibrant with each passing moment.

“Chloe,” he said, his voice catching a tremor of fear he couldn’t quite suppress lacing the word. “Let me see.”

She shook her head, her hair, plastered with sweat, clinging to her face. “No time,” she gasped, her voice thin, brittle. “Have to…keep…moving.”

But Jon couldn’t ignore the way she leaned against him, her weight a terrifying deadweight against his side. He stopped, ignoring her protests, and gently pulled her hand away from her side.

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The sight that greeted him made him feel like his lungs were hit with a sledgehammer.

The blood, a dark, viscous stain, bloomed across her ripped jeans and top, soaking through the fabric, painting a grotesque flower against her pale skin. The source of the bleeding, a jagged gash along her ribcage, gaped open. He could see white bone underneath the red.

The memory of the killer, their frantic escape, the splintering wood, the feel of Chloe’s body pressed against his as they tumbled through the darkness, slammed into him. He wished someone would tell him what to do. Keep running, call for help, or use the last of his strength to fight the nightmarish creature. He didn’t know and wave of nausea washed over him.

“It’s okay,” he lied, his voice calm despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. “It’s just a scratch. Once we make it to the road we can call a taxi.”

But even as he said the words, he knew how stupid he sounded. This wasn’t a scratch. This was bad. This was life-threateningly bad. And they were running out of time.

He quickly checked his phone. No connection. Fuck!

Panic, a sharp, cold blade, twisted in Jon's gut, but he forced himself to remain calm, his movements measured, deliberate, belied by the frantic pounding of his heart. He shrugged off his jacket and shirt, ignoring the way the night air, felt sharp and biting on his skin.

Chloe was worse off than him. Much worse. Her face was deadly pale and inspecting her wound sent a fresh wave of shivers through her already trembling frame.

"Easy now," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the words meant to comfort her as much as himself. "Let's have a look."

She winced as he gently peeled back her blood-soaked shirt, her breath catching in a pained gasp. He worked quickly, his fingers clumsy with fear, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the wound, a gaping hole against her pale skin that welled with each frantic beat of her heart.

He pressed his shirt against the gash, ignoring the immediate bloom of crimson against the fabric, the way her blood, hot and sticky against his skin, made him wince. He couldn’t imagine how much pain she was in right now. Oddly seeing her in this state made him crush the wave of fear and panic that had welled up inside him. He could be pathetic later. For now he had to do something, anything to keep Chloe alive.

"Hold this," he instructed, his voice firm despite the tremor in his chest.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and unfocused, the fight seeming to drain from her with every passing second. He could see it in her eyes, the pull of unconsciousness that promised respite from the pain, the fear, the chilling reality of their situation.

He couldn’t let her succumb. Not now. Not when every second counted.

He cupped her face in his hand, her skin cold beneath his touch, uncaring about how his bloody hands marked her pretty face. Her eyes were searching his with a desperate plea for answers he didn't have.

“Hey, hey, look at me," he urged, his voice taking on a firmer tone, willing her to hold on, to fight the darkness that threatened to claim her. "Stay with me, Chloe. Focus on me.”

Her gaze, hazy but clinging to his, offered a glimmer of hope in the encroaching darkness.

“What happened back there, Chloe? At the cabin? What did you remember?”

A tremor ran through her, shaking her entire body, and for a moment, he thought she might slip away from him, her consciousness fading like the last embers of a dying fire.

"He's…it's not like us," she whispered, her voice a broken rasp. "It's…something else. Something…evil. Oh god, I should have never listened to Sarah. Never should have joined her little club. Oh god, I’m sorry, Jon. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to."

He pushed aside the chill that skittered down his spine, the irrational fear that her words, her terror, sparked in the pit of his stomach. He needed answers, not riddles.

“What is it after, Chloe? Who else is in danger?”

A flicker of something dark, something akin to deep shame and regret, crossed her face, momentarily chasing away the haze of pain and fear.

"Our friends," she whispered, her voice thin, fading with every breath. "He’s going to…to…”

Her words dissolved into a choked sob, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Chloe!” he urged, his voice raw with panic. “Don't you dare close your eyes. Stay awake! Stay with me!”

The sharp crack of a branch, close enough to be a whisper against the stillness of the night, sliced through Jon's desperate attempts to rouse Chloe. A primal fear, colder and sharper than anything he'd ever known, seized him, paralyzing him for a heartbeat.

He didn't need to look. He could feel it, a presence, malevolent and hungry, closing in on them, drawn by their fear, their scent, their very life force.

But he looked.

Two points of light, unnatural and piercing, cut through the darkness, their glow a sickly yellow that seemed to suck the color from the surrounding trees. They hung suspended in the distance, two baleful eyes peering from the depths of the woods, watching, waiting.