The first rule of survival in unknown territory is simple: stick together.
The group made it ten steps before breaking into at least five different arguments.
“I’m just saying—” Brenda huffed, hands on her hips. “If this was a horror movie, splitting up would be the dumbest thing we could do.”
“But it’s not,” Hassan shot back, adjusting his sunglasses (still on, despite it being night). “And technically, we’re still in one place.”
He gestured at the group.
Which was now an uneven mess of fast-walkers, slow-walkers, and two guys who kept stopping to debate the existence of werewolves.
“The moon isn’t even out,” one of them (Jeremiah) was saying. “So how would they transform?”
“Maybe they’re always werewolves but just furrier during full moons?”
Jeremiah stopped walking. “...That’s just a hairy dude.”
“EXACTLY.”
Brenda groaned.
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This was going to be a long night.
---
They walked for fifteen minutes before realizing something was… wrong.
The town wasn’t getting closer.
That dim glow in the distance? Still the same. The road ahead? Still exactly as long.
“This is some cursed geometry,” muttered Ezekiel.
The driver, Mr. Wachira, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just keep moving. Towns don’t move.”
"Unless it’s ghost architecture,” said the neon-shirt guy.
“What?”
He adjusted his glasses. “Ghosts get attached to structures, right? So, theoretically, a whole town’s ghost energy could make it move.”
“Bro, that’s not how towns work.”
"Maybe not your towns."
"...You know something?" Brenda cut in. "I'm genuinely impressed by how many terrible theories you people have."
Then—
The whistling started.
Soft. Distant.
A tune none of them recognized.
Then—
The shuffling started.
Slow, dragging footsteps on gravel.
Everyone froze.
Then—
They turned.
And immediately regretted it.
---
There, standing on the road behind them, was someone.
No, someones.
Figures—tall, wrong. Their movements stiff, unnatural.
Their faces were... off.
Like mannequins that had been left in the sun too long. Stretched. Warped.
One of them raised a hand.
And waved.
Brenda grabbed Hassan’s wrist, nails digging in.
"...You still wanna pretend this isn't a horror movie?"
Hassan didn’t answer.
Mostly because—
The figures had stopped moving.
The whistling had stopped.
They just… stood there. Watching.
Then—
One took a step forward.
The sound it made wasn’t right. Too heavy. Too slow.
Then another step. And another.
And then—
They all started running.
Not toward the group.
Not away.
But in every possible direction.
Some ran straight into the trees. Others ran sideways. One just ran in a circle.
No pattern. No purpose. Just pure, brain-melting chaos.
The group stared.
"...What the hell is happening?"
The driver took a shaky breath.
"...We’re leaving."
No one argued.
Because whatever was wrong with this place—
It wasn’t just scary.
It was stupid.
And that?
That was somehow so much worse.