After spotting the cabin, Mike rushed toward it, overjoyed by the possibility of finding human life on the island. Three days had passed with nothing but animals, plants, and debris. As he ran, questions flooded his mind: Could whoever is inside know anything about this vast island? How to escape it? Where is it located? His heartbeat quickened with the promise of discovery, each step bringing him closer to the truth.

But with every step, a nagging thought persisted—What if they’re hostile? The tension in his chest tightened as he approached the door, and without hesitation, he shoved It open.

A musty smell hit him like a wall. The air was thick with dust, and the dim light filtering through the cracks barely illuminated the room. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling like a veil, their threads swaying with every small breeze. Mike’s pulse raced as he stepped inside, the floor creaking beneath him. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of his own breathing.

His eyes adjusted, and then—his blood ran cold.

In the corner of the room sat a skeleton, its bony fingers curled around something. Its hollow eye sockets seemed to stare directly at him, an eerie accusation in its vacant gaze. For a moment, panic surged through Mike, urging him to run, to turn and escape. But something held him in place—a sense of responsibility. This was a person once, someone lost to time, and he couldn’t just leave them here.

A tremor ran through him as he stepped closer, each footfall echoing in the stillness. The silence seemed to press in, heavy and expectant. Was the skeleton going to… move? He froze, waiting for the bones to shift, for something to happen. But nothing did.

Mike exhaled shakily, forcing himself to approach the body. He gently pried the items from its skeletal grasp—a pen, and an old, weathered book. The bones creaked in his hands, but they didn’t stir. His heart pounded in his chest as a sense of unease crept over him. He looked at the skeleton one last time, a sense of guilt sweeping over him. With careful reverence, he carried the remains outside and buried it near the cabin.

Back inside, the book weighed heavily in his hands. The leather cover was cracked with age, and the edges of the pages were frayed. He opened it, and on the first page, the words seemed to leap out at him:

“The Memoir of Sailor Max.”

His hands trembled as he began reading.

“My name is Max, a sailor aboard an exploration ship. Our mission was to discover new islands to establish colonies for our nation. But fate had other plans. A fierce storm engulfed us, and the sea turned hostile. The mast broke, the sails shredded, and we were tossed around like leaves in the wind.”

Mike paused. His mind raced. What kind of storm could do this? His gaze flickered around the room, the cabin now feeling more like a tomb than a shelter. How long ago did this happen? What year is it? Could this have been decades ago? Longer?

Shaking off the unsettling thought, he continued reading.

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“We drifted, powerless, waiting for death. Then, through the chaos, a massive shadow emerged—a being of immense size and unimaginable terror. Its form was indistinct, but its presence was suffocating. It swallowed the ship whole, and I believed we had perished. But I woke up here, on this strange island where light exists without a sun, and silence hangs heavy in the air.”

The words made Mike’s skin crawl. He glanced nervously at the walls, the room suddenly feeling smaller, darker. Could the island be hiding something more sinister? Was this the same shadow—the same terrifying force—that had brought him here?

“For weeks, we wandered, thinking the island was deserted. Then we found them—the natives. They were unlike anything we’d encountered. Their language was foreign, their customs peculiar, yet they welcomed us with open arms. They provided food, shelter, and warmth, as if we were long-lost kin.”

Mike’s heart flickered with a sliver of hope. Could these people still be out there? Could they help me escape?

“But their generosity came with unspoken rules. They refused to discuss the island, its secrets, or any means of escape. All they spoke of was their ‘Master,’ the being who saved them from invaders. Mentioning leaving the island made them furious, so we stopped asking and adapted to life among them, pretending to be content.”

The tone of Max’s writing grew darker, and Mike’s stomach tightened with foreboding.

“Months passed, and though we lived as one of them, something always felt… off. One night, while wandering the village, I ventured into the forest to relieve myself. That’s when I heard them—voices whispering in the dark. A group of natives stood in a circle, their faces illuminated by a dim, eerie light.

‘The villagers forget the Master’s blessings.

They must worship him.

The outsiders are ungrateful—they wish to leave.

They must pay the price.’

I stepped back, horrified, and snapped a twig beneath my foot. Their heads whipped toward me. I ran, heart pounding, but it was too late. By morning, I was accused of conspiring against their leader. My crewmates—the very men I trusted—believed their lies. The betrayal in their eyes cut deeper than any blade.”

Mike’s grip on the book tightened. He could almost feel Max’s pain, the betrayal seeping through the pages. A fire of empathy burned in his chest for the sailor, alone and condemned.

“They exiled me, leaving me to rot alone. This cabin became my prison. The years passed, and illness claimed what little strength I had left. My only solace was the hope that someone, anyone, would come looking for me. Now, as death takes me, I leave this warning:

To whoever finds this journal—seek the village, live among the natives, but tread carefully. Do not ask to leave. Do not defy their Master. Learn from my mistakes.

The location of the village is…”

The writing stopped abruptly, the ink trailing off the page, unfinished.

Mike stared at the incomplete sentence. The words burned in his mind. What happened to Max? Why couldn’t he finish his warning? He closed the book slowly, his mind reeling. A sense of responsibility pressed down on him. Max had tried to warn him, and now Mike was the one left to uncover the truth.

With a deep breath, Mike walked toward the broken window. The air outside was heavy, thick with an unsettling stillness. If Max could find them, I can too, he thought, his voice barely a whisper.

The silence of the Island seemed to close in around him, but he refused to let it consume him. He packed the journal into his bag and stepped outside, his heart pounding with determination. Somewhere out there was a village, a tribe, and perhaps, answers. The Master—this mysterious being that had claimed Max and his crew—was still out there, lurking in the shadows. And Mike was determined to find him.

The darkness of the unknown stretched before him, but for the first time since landing on the island, Mike felt a spark of purpose.

He would find the village. He would find the Master.

And he would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

End of chapter three