Kate huddled in the snow-covered cabin, her heart racing with fear and anticipation. The thick, icy walls did little to quell the relentless howling of the wind, making her shiver uncontrollably.
She glanced outside, her breath forming a cloud in the frigid air. Her eyes locked on a bright, flickering light on the horizon, emerging from the direction of the mansion. The sight both frightened and relieved her. Could it be that the place was finally ablaze, the result of the inferno she and her friends had set to thwart the twisted plans of the Institute?
The anxious girl's mind raced with a thousand thoughts. Her friends, Chavez, Calian, and the others - what had become of them? Had they managed to escape the clutches of the Wendigo and the mansion's sinister occupants? She clutched her necklace, the cold metal providing a comforting anchor in her time of need.
Inside the locket, two precious photos brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. One was of her little sister, Dakota, and the other, of their mother, Tallulah. Aiyana had left them both behind in the hopes of bringing them to safety, but the path had led her to unimaginable horrors.
Tears stung her eyes as she caressed the images of her family, the promise she had made to them weighing heavily on her heart. She vowed to return to them, no matter the cost. Kate closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and steeled herself for whatever lay ahead. The fire in the distance was a beacon of hope, a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, the nightmare was finally coming to an end.
"Why are they taking so long?" she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. Her nerves were frayed, and the growing sense of unease was almost palpable.
The cabin's main room, where she had taken refuge, was dimly lit by the flickering flames of the fireplace. The radio, a lifeline to the outside world, sat in the corner, its presence a comforting reminder of the rescue team that was supposed to be on its way.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life, the static-filled sound jolting Kate from her anxious thoughts. She lunged for the device, her heart beating wildly in her chest, "Are you- ... there?" a familiar voice came through the speaker.
"Yes, it's me!" relief flooded her, but it was quickly replaced by a newfound sense of urgency, "Where are you? Are you coming?" she replied, her voice trembling with emotion.
The response was a mixture of good news and a new revelation; "We're on our way- ... there's been a change in plans- ... point in the forest?"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you..." she said, her voice laced with worry, "Can you repeat? The radio signal is cutting off!"
There was a moment of silence, then the faint sound of static. The connection seemed to be weakening, and Kate's heart sank.
"Hey, are you there? Hello?" she called out, her voice growing more desperate with each passing second.
But the radio only emitted a low hum, and the connection was gone. She sat in the dim cabin, her mind racing with a thousand questions. Had the rescue team been intercepted by some other menace? Were they in trouble, too?
The fire crackled in the background, the only reassuring sound in the growing silence. Catori clenched her fists, her determination hardening. She had come too far to give up now. She would have to rely on her own wits and strength to survive, and she would find a way to make it back to her sister and mother.
With the radio silent, the cabin fell into a heavy, ominous quiet. The concerned woman sat in the dark, her future uncertain, but her resolve unwavering. She had faced unimaginable horrors, and she would not be defeated. The remaining bit of the night night, and whatever it held, would have to be faced head-on.
***
The first rays of dawn began to peek over the treetops, as shadows slowly receded against the snow-capped mountains that loomed in the distance. The once impenetrable darkness gently dissipated, revealing the crumbling facade of the ancient mansion. Its towering gables and crooked chimneys stood as a testament to time's unrelenting march.
The young man, clad in a thick winter coat, trudged through the mansion's dimly lit hallways. His breath fogged the air before him, the only sound in the oppressive silence. He moved with purpose, his gaze fixed on the ground ahead. The shovel he carried, an improvised weapon he had borrowed from the shed earlier, seemed to be his only companion, its metal head glinting dully in the dim light.
As he approached the end of the hallway, the first hints of dawn's light spilled in through a gaping hole in the roof. The mansion creaked and moaned around him, as if protesting the intrusion of this stranger. Yet, the young man pressed on, seemingly unfazed by the mansion's displeasure.
Calian's footsteps echoed through the dimly lit halls of the Institute mansion, each step resolute and unwavering. The darkness that surrounded him no longer held any power over him; it had been replaced by the fire of revenge and unyielding determination.
As if driven by an unseen force, he headed for the small library on the first floor. His eyes scanned the walls, searching for the secret entrance that led to the underground chamber. The knowledge of its existence was burned into his memory, a secret he and Jalen had uncovered before the fateful moment that claimed his friend's life.
McCarthy, the twisted and cunning old man, had no idea that Young knew of the secret room. A smirk played at the corners of Calian's lips as he imagined the look of surprise and terror that would cross the mad anthropologist's face when he confronted him.
Reaching the library, the Abenaki man's hand traced the familiar pattern in the bookshelf, the one that would reveal the hidden door. He gripped the shovel tightly, a weapon that had been an unexpected lifesaver in the past. He vowed to use it again, to bring justice to Jalen and to put an end to McCarthy's twisted experiments.
"Just you wait, fucking psycho." his thoughts materialized into words.
With a final, resolute nod, he pushed the bookshelf aside, revealing the narrow, winding staircase that led to the underground chamber. The fire in his eyes burned brighter, fueled by the memories of his late friends and the desire for vengeance.
He headed to the descenting stairs, each step taking him closer to the man who had caused him and Jay so much pain. As he reached the trapdoor on the floor, he braced himself for the confrontation, ready to make McCarthy pay for his crimes.
His eyes widened in shock as he beheld the mess that surrounded him. The cabinets and bookshelves, once proudly displaying their collection, now lay in shambles, the scattered books and artifacts a testament to the violent storm that had clearly swept through the library.
"So the old fart was really desperate, huh?"
Despite the chaos, Calian's focus remained unwavering. He was on a mission, and nothing would deter him from his ultimate goal. With a determined nod, he headed towards the secret trapdoor, his gaze fixed on the pulling lever that would grant him access to the underground chamber.
Yet, as he approached the lever, his eyes caught sight of a peculiar, uncovered manuscript book lying on the ground. Intrigued, he knelt down and picked it up, flipping through its pages with growing astonishment. It was a diary, and a diary belonging to none other than Charles McCarthy II.
"What is this...?" the puzzled survivor whispered to himself.
His fingers traced the entries, the handwriting growing more and more frantic as the pages turned. The diary detailed the last year and a half of the mad anthropologist's life, and the horrifying experiments he had conducted. It was a chilling window into the mind of a twisted genius, and Calian could not look away.
In that moment, the fire of revenge that had driven him began to morph into something else. The knowledge that lay within these pages gave him a new purpose, one that went beyond avenging Jalen and his friends. He would put an end to McCarthy's insidious work, and he would do it with the full weight of the truth behind him.
With a newfound determination, Calian knew that his confrontation with McCarthy would be unlike anything he had imagined, and he was more than ready to face the consequences. The time for vengeance had come, and he would not rest until justice was served.
As Calian continued to skim through the diary's contents, his eyes came to rest on the last, most recent entry. In it, McCarthy detailed his recent travels through Japan, recounting his fascination with the local folklore and the mysterious creatures that haunted the land.
It was in this passage that he discovered something that sent a chill down his spine. Old Charles had come into contact with a being, an entity of unfathomable power, and he had managed to forge an alliance with it. The young man's breath hitched as he read further, learning that McCarthy had used this creature's influence to further his twisted experiments.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he realized the true extent of the danger he was about to face. The Irish anthropologist was no longer a mere madman, but a powerful and dangerous threat. With this newfound knowledge, the young man's determination only grew, fueled by the desire to put an end to the anthropologist's evil once and for all.
"There is just no way!" and continued his indignation; "Assuming what's written here is true, then..."
Calian knew that he could no longer delay his confrontation. The fate of many innocent lives hung in the balance, and he was the only one who could save them. With a resolute gaze, he closed the diary, tucking it under his arm as he prepared to face the darkness that lay below.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Young reached for the trapdoor's lever, ready to descend into the depths of the Institute mansion and put an end to McCarthy's reign of terror. As he walked slowly, he recounted everything he had just read in the mad old man's sinister diary. The young man tried to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
***
About a year earlier, in the height of the Japanese spring, cherry blossoms were blooming everywhere and the landscape was colorful and magnificent. Charles, representing the McCarthy Institute of Anthropology, had just arrived in Japan to visit one of the branches of the research group he had created that same year. He met with the local research coordinator and confided in him his passion for youkai legends and his eagerness to begin research as soon as possible.
As the old man and the Japanese anthropologist, Tayuki Miyamoto, delved deeper into their research on the ancient Oni youkai folklore, they found themselves welcomed into the Miyamoto household. The old anthropologist was immediately struck by the warmth and hospitality that enveloped him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment as he beheld the family that shared their home with him.
Tayuki's wife, Kanade, was a vision of elegance and grace, her gentle smile and kind demeanor making McCarthy feel at ease. Their twin children, Hayato and Kimiko, were a joyful, inquisitive pair, their boundless energy and curiosity making them a delight to be around.
For several weeks, the two researchers worked in an atmosphere of harmony and synergy, their passion for their shared goal bringing them closer together. As the days passed, McCarthy found himself growing increasingly fascinated by the family that had welcomed him into their home.
In his diary, he penned his thoughts on the Miyamoto family, describing their daily routines, the laughter that filled their home, and the way that their love seemed to radiate around them. As the weeks went by, McCarthy's fascination with the family only deepened, and he found himself wondering if there was a way to capture and preserve this sense of unity and happiness.
Little did he know, the seeds of his most heinous experiments were being sown in that very moment, as the darkness within him sought to twist and pervert the beauty that he had found in the Miyamoto family. The lines between his research and his own twisted desires were beginning to blur, and the consequences of his actions would reverberate far beyond the peaceful confines of the Japanese countryside.
As the days went by, McCarthy's obsession with the Oni and the traditional Japanese family only intensified. He poured over the ancient scroll that he had deciphered, his eyes fixed on the macabre rites and rituals that would summon the malevolent entity.
Tayuki, growing increasingly concerned, confronted McCarthy, urging him to put an end to their research. He feared for the safety of his family, sensing the dark intentions that lurked beneath the surface of the old anthropologist.
McCarthy, however, was already too far gone. The lure of eternal life, and the twisted desire to capture the happiness he had found in the Miyamoto family, consumed him. With a cunning smile, he assured Tayuki that he had no intention of pursuing the dark path laid out in the scroll.
Unbeknownst to the others, McCarthy set his plan in motion. He began to manipulate the events around him, orchestrating a series of occurrences that would lead him to the family's downfall.
In his diary, he documented the steps he took, detailing the lies and deceptions that he wove to bring about the tragedy that he desired. As the noose of his own making tightened around that peaceful family, McCarthy prepared to unleash the ancient Oni, using the innocent lives of Kanade, Hayato, and Kimiko as a gruesome offering.
In the end, the Miyamoto family, once a symbol of love and happiness, would become the price that McCarthy paid for his twisted desires. The diary's final entry, scrawled in a maniacal hand, spoke of the triumphant success of the ritual, the unholy alliance that Charles had forged with the Oni, and the darkness that would now follow him to the depths of hell.
In the words of the old psychopath himself, the sinister last diary entry concerning his trip to Japan was as follows:
"The night of the ritual arrived, and with a heart full of anticipation, I set out to carry out the final steps of my masterpiece. I concocted a potent sleeping draught, and while the family slept peacefully, I administered it to each of them.
Once they were unconscious, I loaded them into my carriage and set off for the nearby cavern, a place I had scouted earlier and deemed the perfect location for the rite. The air in the cavern was thick with the stench of rot and the whispers of the ancient Oni, and I could feel the excitement coursing through my veins.
I arranged the family on the cold, damp ground, their limbs splayed in a manner that would best serve the ritual. With a knife as sharp as my wits, I began the most heinous task I had ever undertaken. I slit the throat of Kanade, the lifeblood of this family, and watched as her blood flowed into a basin, a crimson offering for the Oni.
Next, I moved to the twins, Hayato and Kimiko, their innocence and purity making them the perfect sacrifices. I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as I watched their blood join their mother's, the sight of it seeping into the earth and pooling around the base of the bonsai trees.
As the final piece of the ritual, I took the blood of the Miyamoto lineage and poured it over the bonsai trees, their roots greedily absorbing the life-giving essence. The trees, once delicate and fragile, began to grow and twist, their branches stretching and bending in a manner that defied their previous form.
Throughout the entire process, Tayuki, the father, watched in horror from the corner where I had bound and gagged him. The look of pure anguish on his face as he witnessed the destruction of his family will forever be etched in my memory.
With the ritual complete, I stood back and admired my handiwork. The bonsai trees, now twisted and corrupted, began to glow with an unholy light, and I could feel the presence of the Oni growing stronger.
The darkness had consumed me as the ritual reached its climax, the cavern's air grew thick with the presence of the ancient spirit. The once-beautiful bonsai trees now twisted and contorted, their branches snapping and cracking as they grew at an unnatural pace. I stood there, overcome with euphoria, as I could barely contain my excitement."
The Oni, sensing the success of the ritual, began to manifest itself, a swirling vortex of darkness and malevolent energy. The cavern walls began to tremble, and the very ground beneath McCarthy's feet shook violently.
In that moment, the ethereal manifestation spoke to him, its voice like the roar of a thousand demons. It promised Charles untold power and knowledge, in exchange for his continued servitude. The old man, blinded by his own ambition, agreed without hesitation.
As the ritual concluded, the Oni vanished, leaving McCarthy alone with the corpse-ridden remains of the Miyamoto family and the now-corrupted bonsai trees. The anthropologist knew that his life had changed forever, and he would forever be bound to the dark forces he had unwittingly unleashed.
In the aftermath of the ritual, the old man felt an overwhelming surge of power course through his veins. He could barely contain the cackle of delight that erupted from his lips, the sound echoing off the walls of the cavern.
When he turned to the corner where Dr. Miyamoto lay, he observed the emptiness in the father's eyes. The man, once filled with life and love, was now just another casualty of McCarthy's ruthless ambition. With a cold, calculated efficiency, McCarthy dug shallow graves in the soft earth, placing each member of the deceased family into their final resting place.
As a final touch, Charles carefully placed the twisted bonsai trees over the graves, each one now a sinister testament to the family's demise. The trees, now imbued with the power of the Oni, would forever be a reminder of the darkness that he had unleashed.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork, a wicked grin spreading across his face. McCarthy's left eye, once hidden behind his eyepatch, now glowed with an infernal red light. The power of the ancient entity, bound to him in their pact, had manifested within him.
The old anthropologist knew that he could never return to his old life. He had made a deal with the devil, and there was no going back. McCarthy left the cavern, and Japan, with a new evil goal. The Miyamoto family, forever lost and still reported as "missing" by local authorities, would remain a tragic footnote in the history of the ancient Oni's resurgence.
***
Calian's mind raced as he pieced together the fragments of evidence. The photo and the newspaper clipping, both related to the Miyamoto family, seemed to point towards McCarthy's involvement in their disappearance. It made sense that the old man would want to stay one step ahead, always aware of the investigations.
The Youngblood descendant, fueled by anger and a burning desire for justice, held the diary tightly in his grasp. He knew this was his chance to confront McCarthy, to bring the truth to light.
As he descended the hidden stairs, the darkness gradually gave way to a brightly lit room. The contrast was stark, a metaphor for the impending confrontation. The basement, once a sanctuary for McCarthy's dark secrets, now served as a stage for a showdown between two generations.
Calian's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline fueling his determination. "This motherfucker has gone too far..." he muttered under his breath, the words a testament to his unyielding fury.
As the young man entered the underground room, his eyes fell upon Charles, who stood on the other side. The old man had his back to Calian, intently focused on a whiteboard adorned with an array of symbols and tribal markings.
Without warning, Young shattered the silence, his voice laced with both anger and resolve; "McCarthy, your delusions will end right here and now!"
The sudden intrusion startled the anthropologist, causing him to spin around swiftly. His face, a mixture of shock and defiance, revealed the depth of his inner turmoil. The confrontation he had been anticipating had finally arrived, and McCarthy knew that the time for secrets and deception was at an end.
"So you've found me... Impressive, young man." The old anthropologist, Charles, spoke with a measured calm, his eyes never leaving his foe, "Your ancestors should be proud of you."
"It's over!" Calian retorted, seething with anger. With a firm grip on his shovel, he readied himself for the impending confrontation; "I came here to put an end to this madness myself!"
The tension in the room grew thick, palpable. McCarthy, however, displayed an air of confidence, seemingly unphased by the young man's determination.
"Oh, Youngblood... You are so naive, aren't you?" His sly grin only served to infuriate Calian further.
"Shut up, old man. You are finished! I bet the authorities are already on their way here." Young's words rang with the conviction of a man who believed he had his enemy cornered.
But McCarthy's response, dripping with condescension, made it clear that he saw things differently.
"Do you really think I would place myself into a position without any possible exit? As if I would walk directly into a check-mate situation? Do you really believe it?!"
The room was heavy with the unspoken threat of a battle to come, one that would ultimately decide the fate of two generations and the secrets that bound them.
"What do you mean?" the young man questioned, readying himself for the impending confrontation.
The old anthropologist, Charles McCarthy II, responded with a psychotic grin, his voice dripping with menace. He removed his eyepatch, revealing a glowing red eye that seemed to radiate an otherworldly, malevolent power.
"You will see for yourself. You will witness the apex of my research!"
Taken aback, Calian struggled to find the words to respond. The room was plunged into darkness as a sinister red aura enveloped McCarthy, causing the lights to flicker and go out. The only illumination came from the eerie glow of the anthropologist's possessed eye.
"Do you understand now, Youngblood? It doesn't matter that your ancestor was the hero who slayed the first Wendigo. I have reached a whole new level of greatness, and I will end your bloodline and every other bloodline that may be a nuisance to my plans! I will become a god!"
In a last-ditch effort, Young charged at McCarthy, swinging his shovel with all his might. The impact was devastating, the shovel burying itself deep into the old man's skull. To the man's horror, however, old Charles merely laughed it off, the shovel falling to the ground as the young man retreated in disbelief.
"See?" McCarthy mocked, his head open and bleeding profusely. "I have consumed the blood of the Wendigo! I AM IMMORTAL!"
The once-proud Abenaki now faced an adversary unlike any he had ever encountered. With the veil of invincibility now lifted, the true scope of McCarthy's diabolical plan was laid bare, leaving Calian with a grim realization: his family's legacy was about to be forever tarnished by the hands of a madman.
"N-No... How can this be true?" the surprised man stammered, his voice tinged with shock and disbelief as he slowly retreated, his mind reeling from the unimaginable revelation.
Charles, basking in his newfound power, cackled maniacally; "Now face the one who has ascended to a godlike status and will take his vengeance upon the Youngbloods!" With each word, the red aura surrounding him grew denser and brighter, its malevolent energy undeniable.
As the madman's head began to mend itself, the scene took on an almost supernatural air. Outside, the sun, on the verge of rising above the horizon between the distant mountains, cast a warm, orange glow on the snow-covered landscape. However, this serene sight was marred by the cacophony of McCarthy's maniacal laughter, which echoed through the forest and beyond.
The peaceful snowy treetops erupted into chaos as frightened birds took flight, their cries joining the macabre symphony of his twisted amusement. The ominous portent of the impending confrontation between the immortal anthropologist and the last heir of the Youngblood lineage now hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the very landscape itself.