Our pursuit reached a dead end, leaving us with no progress and the lowest morale. Theo, unable to bear the frustration any longer, kicked a rock and exclaimed, "Fuck this! I can't do this anymore."

Leigh, visibly concerned, asked, "What do you mean, Theo?"

"This weird stuff happening, we're just kids. What are we going to do? I want to spend my summer relaxing, not playing detective. We should leave this to the grown-ups."

"You don't mean that, do you?"

"Yes, I do. And that thing you dream of, Adrian, you should seek professional help," Theo declared before turning and heading home.

"Won't you stop him, Adrian?" Leigh asked, her voice shaking.

Feeling a mix of hurt and confusion, I tried to calm Leigh down, but my emotions got the best of me. I ended up inadvertently pushing her away. Alone and overwhelmed, I retreated to my room.

In the quiet of my room, thoughts of the past consumed me. I couldn't escape the memories of the night I killed my father, the Crow. The weight of that haunting event bore down heavily on my soul, and I grappled to come to terms with what I had done.

I questioned the justification of my actions, pondering if there was any other way to stop the madness my father had unleashed upon our town. The guilt and remorse gnawed at me, prompting deep reflection on my own capacity for darkness.

The night I took my father's life, she sat there, tied up, her long brown hair cascading over her right shoulder. Approaching her, I couldn't help but notice her stunning beauty. Unconscious and vulnerable, I wondered how she would react if she were awake. Would she scream, shout, call for help, curse me, or beg for mercy? My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the voice I loathed.

"You like this small present I got for you, son? It's all yours. Go for it."

My father's words, filled with malice and cruelty, fueled a complex mix of emotions within me. Hatred for him, yet a twisted gratitude for the opportunity he unwittingly presented. As I looked at her, a new desire awakened—a desire I hadn't known existed. I saw the art my father had tried to show me for the past year, an art I couldn't comprehend until now. Even though I detested the revelation, a dark yearning emerged—I wanted to consume her essence, to inflict pain and hear her screams, to revel in her pleas for mercy.

"I knew that you'd like it. So many victims, and you didn't like any of them. And now, you're in love with the art. I know it; you can't hide it from me, son. I can see it in your eyes."

When my father touched her hair, something snapped inside me. No one could touch her except me. I seized a metal pipe from the floor and struck him on his head. He fell, unconscious, and I suddenly snapped out of the trance. I untied the girl, replacing her position with my father. Slowly, I moved her out; her unconscious form made it challenging to navigate. A search party was already combing the woods for her, and I left Leigh, the girl I love, by the road before returning for an important confrontation with my father.

I grabbed a knife from the table and stabbed him in his right leg. He screamed.

"UNTIE ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Or what?" I retorted calmly. "I think this stupidity has come to an end."

"Do you know what we sacrificed? Do you know how long we planned this? And you just want to end it? No. No. No. No. No….."

His head bobbed up and down, eyes rolling back into his head.

"….No.NO.NO!NO!NO!NO!!"

The lights flickered, and he trembled in fear. With the knife in my hand, I slit his throat, watching as life drained from his body. The terror finally ended.

But there was one last thing to do. With my hands, I gouged his eyes and devoured them. An inexplicable urge, and it felt gratifying. Soon after, I collapsed, losing consciousness. The next day, I woke up in my bed, somehow back home, not knowing how. But everything was over now. I would live a normal life with my mother and grandmother, just another regular kid in a normal town. Or so I thought.

Theo and Leigh's arrival was a balm to my frazzled nerves. The weight of recent horrors lifted as their familiar faces greeted me. Apologies hung unspoken in the air, yet the unbroken bonds of our friendship needed no words. We moved forward together, a trio forged in the crucible of shared terrors.

The treehouse, our childhood sanctuary, welcomed us with open arms. Its wooden frame, bearing witness to countless escapades and whispered secrets, stood as a silent witness to the resilience of our connection. As we ascended its worn steps, a certain comfort settled upon us, an unspoken agreement to leave the shadows of the past behind.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Perched amidst the branches, our minds found clarity. The rustling leaves and the creaking of aging wood became a backdrop to the symphony of our conversation. Ideas flowed freely, uninhibited by the weight that had burdened us moments before. Laughter, genuine and unbridled, echoed through the wooden haven—a stark contrast to the ominous events that had transpired.

In that elevated space, we were not just friends; we were architects of our fate, conspirators against the mysteries that haunted our town. Plans took shape seamlessly, each suggestion and counterpoint a testament to the synchrony that had defined our friendship. The treehouse became a cocoon where the outside world, with its uncertainties and fears, held no sway.

As we discussed our next steps, a shared determination solidified. Theo's pragmatic approach, Leigh's intuitive insights, and my own hazy glimpses of the inexplicable melded into a strategy. We embraced the unknown with a collective resilience that had weathered storms both real and metaphorical.

The air within the treehouse was charged with a renewed energy, an almost palpable force field against the darkness that sought to encroach upon our town. It wasn't just a planning session; it was a reaffirmation of our unyielding bonds and an acknowledgment that, together, we were more than the sum of our parts.

The serenity of our moment shattered like glass as Isaac emerged from the woods, a dark silhouette painted in blood and wielding a knife. He was the storm intruding upon our peace, his presence sending shivers down our spines and casting shadows darker than the night.

Isaac, the enigma with a volatile temperament, had become a prime suspect in our search for Frank's assailant. Memories of the previous day surged— the tense altercation, the ominous signs pointing towards Isaac's potential involvement in Frank's disappearance. With trepidation, we decided to tail him, seeking answers in the ominous dance of the forest.

Driven by intuition and firsthand knowledge of Isaac's tendencies, I took the lead. My senses attuned to the nuances of the woods, I guided us through the labyrinth of trees, minimizing sounds that could betray our presence. The air thickened with an unspoken understanding—Isaac held the key to unraveling the mysteries that had woven a web around our town.

The woods, though familiar, morphed into an alien terrain, conspiring with the night to play tricks on our minds. Shadows danced, whispering secrets that eluded our grasp. The unease was palpable, mirroring the uncertainty that gripped us. Each step was a careful dance, a delicate balance between pursuit and concealment.

My mind echoed with questions, the relentless pursuit of understanding Isaac's role in Frank's fate consuming my thoughts. How deep did Isaac's involvement go? Was he a mere witness to the horrors or a puppet master orchestrating the sinister events that unfolded in the shadows? The enigma surrounding Isaac had grown, casting a darker pall over our quest for truth.

The tension in the air thickened, accentuated by the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath our feet. Our collective breaths held a cadence of anticipation as we moved silently, shadows clinging to our forms like ephemeral companions. The hunt for Isaac was a relentless journey into the unknown, where the line between predator and prey blurred with each passing moment.

Closing in on Isaac, the metallic scent of blood grew stronger, a grim reminder of the macabre tableau we might encounter. The woods, once a backdrop for childhood adventures, now harbored the secrets of our town's descent into darkness.

The deeper we ventured, the more pronounced the stench of blood became. A foreboding hush enveloped us, heightening the gravity of our pursuit. And then, through the interplay of shadows, we glimpsed Isaac standing before a peculiar tree—an altar, a place of unholy communion.

My heart quickened as the scene unfolded before me. On the makeshift altar lay a lifeless body, a sacrificial offering to an unseen malevolence. The realization struck me like a thunderbolt—Isaac wasn't a bystander; he was an active participant in the grim tapestry that painted our town red.

Dread settled upon us, a heavy cloak that whispered of impending horrors. I grappled with conflicting emotions—was Isaac a victim or a perpetrator? The answers lay ahead, veiled in the secrets of the woods, awaiting revelation in the shadowy folds of the night.

In the concealed embrace of the shadows, I witnessed Isaac's unsettling transformation. His countenance shifted, contorted by torment and desperation, as if entwined in a struggle with unseen forces. It was an eerie dance on the precipice of sanity, his actions veering between reality and delusion like a ghostly waltz in the moonlit darkness.

Fear gripped our small group, tightening its icy fingers around our collective resolve. Isaac's behavior, a manifestation of an unraveling mind, sent shivers down our spines. The line between the tangible and the imagined blurred in his eyes, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty that eclipsed the woods' natural serenity.

In the face of this harrowing spectacle, a shared understanding materialized—we had to distance ourselves from Isaac, retreat into the safety of the night. The retreat was silent, each step calculated to minimize the risk of detection. As we withdrew from the scene, a pervasive sense of vulnerability lingered, a sober acknowledgment that Isaac's descent into darkness made him unpredictable, perhaps even dangerous.

Haunted by the revelations unfolding before me, I harbored a conviction that this retreat was not a sign of weakness but an opportunity. The forest whispered secrets of Isaac's involvement in the unspeakable horrors that had befallen our town. This moment of withdrawal, while maintaining our own safety, held the promise of unraveling the enigma that had consumed Isaac.

With measured breaths, I contemplated the path ahead. The truth, elusive yet tantalizing, awaited discovery in the hidden recesses of the woods. We needed to pierce the veil shrouding Isaac's actions, to expose the darkness that gripped his soul.

As we cautiously regrouped, my eyes fell upon the small house adjacent to the ominous altar—the butcher's house. Isaac, now seemingly cloaked in a veil of isolation, sought refuge within its walls. The wooden structure stood as both witness and accomplice to the mysteries veiled in blood and shadows. My mind raced with thoughts of unlocking the truth, of confronting Isaac and laying bare the threads that connected him to the malevolence that had stained our town. The night, pregnant with secrets, held its breath as we embarked on the next chapter of our relentless pursuit—one that would lead us to the heart of the darkness that gripped our town.