John moved cautiously through the dark, stale air of the warehouse, each step slow and deliberate. His flashlight's beam swept the floor, revealing nothing but shattered glass and rusted remnants of a long-abandoned space. His instincts were heightened; he could feel something was wrong. Something was here with him, just waiting for him to get close enough.

The calmness that had settled over John was a boon. Now, at least, he knew what he was dealing with. He stepped toward the ominous inky blackness he'd been eyeing before, moving into its murk. His malfunctioning cell phone's light did little to illuminate the space. Between the hulking machines and tangled cables, he made his way toward the far side of the wall. There was nothing but an empty space—bare concrete covered in dust, cobwebs, and rusted steel debris.

Another quick scan confirmed what his gut already told him: nothing here. He turned his eyes back toward the machines. Some of them bore gnarled claw marks, deep gouges in the metal. Then he heard it—a sound that cut through the silence like a whisper in the dark.

Bounce... bounce... bounce.

A soft, almost playful rhythm. The sound echoed across the vast, empty space. John's pulse quickened, his eyes narrowing as he watched a small, bright red ball bounce out of the shadows. It rolled lazily across the floor, coming to rest at his feet. The faded markings on its surface hinted at some old company logo, barely legible now.

This was clearly an attempt to taunt him, but he told himself it wouldn't work. He stared at the ball for a moment, then tapped it away with his foot, letting it roll back into the darkness where it came from.

There weren't many other places something could hide in this room, and he knew it was here. His senses prickled with awareness, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He made a beeline toward the other half of the room, past the looming machines, aiming for the corner by the boiler.

Before he'd made it halfway across, a voice cut through the stillness.

"Mommy... Daddy... help me, please."

The sound was unmistakable. A child's voice, crying out from the darkness. John's steps faltered, and he turned sharply to his left, the voice drawing him like a magnet. He moved quickly in that direction, toward the far end of the room. He could swear it came from the corner.

But as the words registered in his mind, he stopped dead in his tracks. The exact same words. The exact same tone. The exact same plea.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

John slowed to a walk, the sense of urgency bleeding away as his mind worked furiously to process the oddity of it all. And then, again, the voice rang out. No difference in pitch, cadence, or desperation. The same plea, looping endlessly.

He reached the edge of the room, passed the last machine, and swung the light to his left ,

His light cut through the gloom, and then he saw it—huddled in the corner, crouched over a small, lifeless body.

The creature's gaunt, emaciated frame was bent low, limbs unnaturally long, its fingers so grotesquely stretched that they wrapped completely around the body of the child it held. Its skin was pale, sickly, almost translucent in the dim light, veins like twisted black vines visible just beneath the surface. Its face was a horrifying mess of blood and gore, with bits of flesh clinging to its sharp, jagged teeth. It had been feeding, and the sight of it sent a wave of revulsion through John's gut.

Then it moved.

The milky white eyes of the creature slowly lifted from its feast, locking onto John. For a moment, the two stared at each other in the eerie silence of the room. And then, as if it knew something John didn't, the Childersnatch's lipless mouth twisted into a wicked grin, blood still dripping from its teeth. A piece of the child's torn clothing dangled from its maw. The child had been dead for a while—perhaps a small mercy, but it did little to lessen the horror of the scene before him.

John's grip on the gun tightened, his jaw clenched, but he kept his composure. This was no ordinary beast. It was enjoying this—relishing the fear it expected from him. He could see the gleam of malevolent intelligence in its eyes.

It began to rise from its crouched position, standing unnaturally tall, limbs unfolding in grotesque, insect-like movements. It discarded the child's body, letting it slump lifeless to the floor, and started to move toward John. With each step, its mouth continued to move, mimicking the last words of the child it had killed—its voice eerily high-pitched, almost like a child's broken record.

"Mom... Dad... help me..."

John's heart hammered in his chest, but his hands were steady as he raised his pistol, keeping the creature in his sights. He'd seen creatures like this before—things that preyed on fear, that twisted human emotions into weapons.

"John... Help me..." it whispered, in a voice hauntingly similar to someone John knew—someone real.

The way the thing moved was sickening, like an insect—twitchy and erratic—its limbs jerking with unnatural energy. Yet that lipless, twisted grin remained painted on its face as it crept closer to John. It seemed to have decided that John would be its next meal.

John instinctively took several steps back, needing distance, but the creature's stride was unnervingly long—each of its steps tripled his. It was so tall that John's head barely reached its waist, and he was by no means a small man. As it stepped around one of the rusted machines, its massive hand rested on the cold iron, its mere touch eroding the metal instantly, making it splinter and crumble.

There was no way John was letting that thing touch him.

The creature continued advancing, repeating in its mocking, high-pitched voice, "John... Help me..."

John's grip tightened on his Smith & Wesson, the hammer clicking as he pulled it back. He took a few faster steps back, putting more distance between them, his eyes scanning for an opening. His hand quickly darted beneath his coat, brushing against the silver dagger he always kept on him. Once he pulled the trigger, the creature would know he wasn't some frightened civilian, and the fight would truly begin.

The air around him was thick with the smell of copper, and the foul stench of the creature intensified, filling the space like a fog. John's stomach churned, his instincts screaming to act. It took another step, its towering form closing the gap.

A heartbeat later, there was a loud bang as John pulled the trigger. The round slammed into the creature's chest with a sickening thud, the force of the shot sending it sprawling to the left, halting its next step.

The first shot had sent the creature sprawling, but now its grin was gone. The hunger in its milky eyes twisted into pure malice, and it began to close the gap with terrifying speed, scurrying across the concrete floor like a spider. Its long claws dug into the surface, leaving gouges and sending plumes of dust into the air. It was unnaturally fast, a blur of pale limbs and twisted flesh.

John kept it in his sights, determined not to let it get too close.

BANG! BANG!

Two more shots rang out. The first struck the creature in its torso, causing it to momentarily falter. The second hit with a sickening impact, spinning its grotesque, emaciated form. For a brief moment, its movement slowed, but the malice in its eyes only grew more intense.

John's heart pounded as the creature regained its footing, its twitchy, insect-like movements becoming more erratic, more dangerous. He knew he couldn't let up—the thing wasn't going to stop until one of them was dead.

Before John could train his gun back on the creature after the recoil, it darted between some of the machines, vanishing into the inky blackness where he could no longer see it. The rapid, almost frantic pattern of its footsteps echoed, followed by the rattling of metal as if the thing had leapt up into the rafters. John spun around, scanning the area, trying to locate the creature. He raised his gun but didn't fire, unwilling to waste the precious few rounds he had left—three, to be exact. His heart pounded in his ears as he stood on edge, searching the darkness for any sign of movement. Every second dragged on, stretching into what felt like an eternity.

He couldn't see it, but he knew the creature was there, waiting for him to lower his guard. His breathing slowed as he focused, pushing down the adrenaline surging through his veins. The creature fed off fear, that much he understood now. It thrived on terror, taking its time with its kills, reveling in the suffering it caused. There had been more than one victim in this place—he knew that from the initial report. And if there were others still alive, they were trapped somewhere within this twisted lair.

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He had a decision to make: pursue the creature, or try to find anyone who might still be alive. If he could save someone, just one person, then this mission wouldn't be just another grim cleanup of corpses. It had been far too long since he had been able to save anyone.

John made his way forward, moving carefully through the room, eyes flicking back and forth as he swept the light from his phone around the space. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement every now and then—glimpses of that pale, gaunt form lurking in the shadows. The creature was watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike, savoring the anticipation.

But John wasn't about to give it that satisfaction.

His search took him through the remainder of the room, but all he found were more piles of blood-streaked clothes and nothing of value. His frustration grew, but then his eyes landed on a dented steel door at the far end of the room. There had to be something behind it, and if there was any chance of finding survivors, he had to check.

He moved toward the door, cautious, his head constantly on a swivel. The creature only had one way to come at him, and he was determined not to let it take him by surprise. The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, revealing a flight of stairs leading down into a dimly lit corridor. Flickering overhead lights cast an eerie, intermittent glow over the space, making it hard to see what lay at the bottom.

He took a breath and descended, each step of his boots landing sharply on the grated metal stairs. The sound reverberated in the enclosed space, unsettlingly loud. After three flights of stairs, he reached the bottom. The air down here was thick with the stench of decay, and just as he stepped off the last stair, he heard something—a faint, gasping breath, like someone struggling to remain quiet.

John pressed forward, more cautiously now. The hallway was long and empty, leading to a series of doors. It looked like some kind of storage area, perhaps part of the mill's old infrastructure. As he passed by each door, the evidence of the creature's presence became more apparent—deep scratch marks in the brick, articles of torn, bloodstained clothing, even limbs scattered about like discarded refuse. It was a foul, revolting scene, and John's stomach churned at the thought of what this creature had been doing here.

He approached the final two doors at the end of the hallway, both of them shut tight. Left or right? He had no way of knowing which, but his instincts told him the answer lay behind one of them.

He moved the gun low, keeping it at hip height as he pushed open the door on the left. Immediately, the charnel house smell hit him—thick, putrid, like rotting meat. His foot fell into something sticky on the floor—a reddish-black ichor that clung to his boots. He dragged his foot along the concrete and then moved back, raising his light to illuminate the room more fully.

The place was an abattoir—bodies hung from the ceiling like pig carcasses, each one torn apart in the most grotesque fashion. John felt his stomach turn and quickly slammed the door shut.He turned toward the door on the right, pushing it open with far more urgency.

This room seemed empty at first—smashed crates, damaged furniture, scorch marks on the floor and ceiling. The flickering light overhead made it hard to see clearly, but as his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of something—hair sticking up from behind one of the boxes.

For a moment, he thought it was another body. But then it moved, ever so slightly, and he realized it wasn't a corpse. Someone was hiding.

John took a step forward, raising his voice just enough to be heard.

"Are you all right in there?"

John stepped closer to the girl, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound calm despite the hammering in his chest. "I'm getting you out of here," he whispered, glancing at the doorway behind him. He checked the room once more—no sign of the creature, but he knew it was waiting.

She looked like she was a teenager, with disheveled brown hair and a dirty prep school uniform that suggested she came from money. The fabric was stained and torn, but it didn't seem that old; it must have been a recent abduction. As he knelt down to examine her injuries, he noticed her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were wide with fear.

"Can you walk?" he asked, hoping she would say yes.

She shook her head, a defeated look crossing her face.

"Alright," he murmured, feeling the weight of the situation. He glanced toward the stairs, realizing he wouldn't be able to carry her up. They needed another way out. "Is there another way out of here?"

After a moment, she nodded slightly. "There's a sewer... in the other room. I—I think it's still open."

John's heart raced. He had missed that during his initial search, probably because it was hidden under a pile of bloodied clothing and debris. "Can you show me?"

She nodded again, her eyes flickering toward the door at the end of the room. As he lifted her carefully into his arms, he felt the heat of her body against him and the tremors of her fear. He couldn't waste any more time.

He carried her toward the door, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were still safe. He pushed the door open and stepped into the next room, which was filled with remnants of the creature's horrifying activities. The stench of blood and decay was overpowering, but he focused on the girl.

"Where is it?" he asked, scanning the room for anything that looked like a sewer entrance.

"Over there," she whispered, pointing weakly toward a corner where the floor was cracked and uneven. He could see a dark opening partially obscured by a mangled crate.

He gently placed her down on the floor, mindful of her injuries, and moved toward the opening, pushing aside debris to clear the way. "Stay close to me," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

As he knelt by the opening, he took one last look at the room, the horror still fresh in his mind. "It's just a little further," he assured her, trying to mask his own fear. He glanced back at her, noting the brand on her wrist—a marking of a sorcerer, denoting her as a user. Pyromancy, he realized. It must have given her some protection against that creature.

"Can you crawl?" he asked, looking into the darkness of the sewer.

"I—I'll try," she replied, determination flickering in her eyes.

He nodded, taking her hand and helping her to the edge of the opening. "We're going to make it out of here. Just hold on to me." He helped her into the dark, the smell of the charnel house fading as they entered the unknown depths below.

With one last glance back, John followed her into the darkness, ready to confront whatever dangers awaited them, knowing they both had to survive.

Once they were down in the stinking sewer, the smell hit him hard. It was a little better than the charnel house above, but not by much. Most of the filth down here had dried up, and though it looked like an abandoned tunnel, it still reeked of dampness, runoff, and whatever else had trickled down over time. The oppressive air clung to his skin, thick and stagnant.

She clung tightly to his back as he moved through the tunnel, her breath hot against his neck. The silence was unsettling; every sound seemed amplified—the scurrying of mice, the occasional drip of water, and the skittering of roaches in the darkness. The weight of the girl wasn't much, but the tension in the air made each step heavier.

John cleared his throat, deciding that the quiet was too eerie. He needed to focus but wanted to fill the space with something other than his own thoughts, all while listening for any sign of the creature pursuing them.

"Yesterday... when you answered me," he began softly, careful not to break the stillness too much, "I didn't ask. Where do you go to school? Your parents... they must be looking for you."

For a moment, there was only the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls, but then she shifted slightly, her voice weak but steady. "Greymoor Academy. It's in the city."

John recognized the name immediately—exclusive, expensive. That explained the prep school uniform and the air of privilege she carried despite her current state. He nodded to himself, making a mental note. "They'll have people out looking for you," he assured her. "We'll get you back."

He felt her grip tighten as she whispered, "I don't know if they can. Not with that thing out there."

John understood her fear all too well. The creature wasn't like anything her parents or anyone at the academy would have faced. But he didn't let that fear into his voice. "They won't have to. That's my job," he said firmly, stepping over a patch of cracked concrete. "We'll get out of here."

With the tunnel stretching endlessly before them, he kept moving, his senses on high alert, waiting for the next sound in the darkness.

Soon, the tunnel took a steep decline, leading down into some sort of basin, likely where the water was redirected. John figured they'd descend into it, follow another access tunnel, and keep moving until they reached one of the sewer ladders. Simple enough, he thought—at least, as long as the creature didn't make its move. He knew that was wishful thinking. The thing had to know where they were by now.

John's mind had calmed, focused, and ready for what was coming. But he could feel the girl trembling against his back, her heart racing wildly. She was scared out of her wits. He could appreciate her bravery for holding on, but he knew the fear would draw the creature out—it fed on that sort of thing. That was fine by him. He needed to deal with it anyway, and as long as she stayed close, he could keep her safe.

The incline made it harder to keep her situated, and she began to slip as they moved down. John paused to adjust his grip, hoisting her up before continuing. The slope was treacherous, his footing uncertain, but he kept moving steadily, step after step.

In the distance, he heard something—a scraping, the sound of something large moving beyond the edge of his vision. Too slow, too heavy to be a rat. It had to be the creature. It wasn't far off now, likely waiting for the right moment to strike. The basin at the bottom of the incline would be the perfect spot for an ambush.

John gritted his teeth. "Perfect timing," he muttered. He popped open the cylinder on his Smith & Wesson 500, pulled a speed loader from his pocket, and quickly reloaded each chamber with rounds tipped in white ash. It wasn't a cure-all, but a lot of unnatural creatures were vulnerable to it. Some would die instantly, others would just be injured more permanently. Either way, it gave him an edge.

He quickened his pace, adjusting the girl on his back again as they reached the bottom. There, the ground leveled out, and they landed softly in the basin. John's legs absorbed the impact, and he rose swiftly, scanning their surroundings. His eyes darted from one tunnel to another. He needed to find a way out, fast.

Most of the tunnels were barred off, thick iron grates running across their lengths, but one caught his eye—a tunnel with mangled, torn bars. The creature had likely broken through, creating a way to move unseen through the sewers. It all made sense now. This was its hub, its hunting ground, the perfect way for it to travel beneath the city without ever being spotted.

And it was coming.

John moved toward the broken tunnel, his heart steady, the weight of the girl still on his back. He knew the fight was about to come, but he'd be ready