Chapter Text
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
As you trudge along a beaten trail, your boots crunch loudly on the brittle, brown leaves scattered underfoot. The chilly air nips at your cheeks and every inhale feels like tiny needles piercing your lungs. You bury your hands deeper into your pockets, trying to shield them from the cold. Claudette walks beside you, her shoulders hitched high to her ears and her breaths coming out in visible puffs of mist. She’s silent, save for the occasional murmur of unease as she glances nervously at the looming, dark trees surrounding you.
Claudette—the shy one. You remember your first day at camp when a man named Ace introduced you to her. She had stood off to the side, her gaze fixed on the ground as if she were trying to blend into it. Her skin was a rich brown, and her soft features seemed to match her quiet demeanor. She wore round blue glasses and her lips were slightly pursed and quivered as she nervously twirled a fuzzy dark loc around her finger. When she finally looked up at you, her eyes were gentle but weary. She stammered her name and you echoed it in your mind: Claudette.
The woven basket dangling from her arm brims with hand-picked plants—sage leaves, knobby ginger roots, and slender stalks of chamomile. You only know their names because she politely informed you. “We’re looking for medicinal plants,” she explained before you left camp together. “And we might find tea leaves, too.”
Tea is a luxury here and, admittedly, the only reason you agreed to leave the warmth of the campfire. You wouldn’t venture this far into the woods otherwise, not into the fog that clings to the trees, wrapping everything in a cold, dark shroud. Time feels different out here, too; minutes blend into hours. You’d guess you’ve been wandering for about an hour now—an hour spent digging up roots in silence. Claudette hasn’t said much since you started. She’s shy, that much you know.
You steal glances at her until she catches your eye. She blinks rapidly and looks away, softly clearing her throat. “Th—Thank you for joining me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I usually come out here alone, but… the company is nice.”
“Don’t mention it,” you tell her.
Claudette hums, letting the conversation fade almost as quickly as it started. You fumble to revive it. “So… how’ve you been?”
Her forehead wrinkles. You mentally kick yourself for asking such a stupid question. The answer’s obvious, isn’t it?
“I’ve been… fine,” she replies slowly, her eyes avoiding yours. “As fine as I can be, given… our circumstances.”
“Right.” You fall silent, sparing both of you the unpleasantness of forced small talk. There’s enough of that at camp…
For a moment, the tension eases. Then the silence deepens, and the unease creeps back in. Suddenly, a chill runs up your spine, and the hairs on your neck stand up. Your mouth goes dry. Something is wrong, though you can’t quite place what.
Your steps falter as you scan the woods around you, searching for anything out of place, but find nothing. Somehow, that makes it worse. The unknown is always more terrifying.
Unsure, you stop abruptly, and Claudette stumbles to a halt beside you, her eyes wide with alarm. “What is it?” she whispers, clutching her basket to her chest. She looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Maybe it’s just paranoia. That’s normal here. Who wouldn’t be on edge, stuck in a place like this? So, “It’s nothing,” you say, trying to stifle the tremor in your voice to sound convincing. “I just thought… I—” Your words die in your throat when you see something through the fog.
You step forward, Claudette trailing closely behind, and the fog parts to reveal a clearing. In the center stands a two-story cabin, its wood darkened and rotting, smothered by vines and moss. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years... The longer you stare, the more out of place it looks.
Claudette stares with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen this place before,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” you reply. “This is… new.”
You take a step toward the cabin and Claudette tenses. “You—You think we should go inside?”
“Why not?” you say. “We might find something worth taking back to camp.”
“But-But what if it’s dangerous?” she counters, moving in front of you. “Maybe we should get the others—”
“It can’t be any more dangerous than the trials, Claudette. Relax.”
You place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She stiffens at your touch, her gaze dropping as a faint blush colors her cheeks. “I-I… I suppose a look couldn’t hurt,” she says quietly, tucking a stray loc behind her ear.
The porch steps creak and groan as you ascend. Claudette jumps when one cracks beneath her. You glance at her, offering a small nod before turning back to the door. It’s covered in cracks and moss, the wood weathered and brittle. The door is slightly ajar.You press your hand against it and push. It swings open with a low groan, coming to a squealing stop. Moonlight spills into the cabin, casting your long shadows across the floor. Claudette peeks over your shoulder.
“It’s empty,” she whispers, surprised.
The parlor is barren. On the far wall, there’s a door and an entryway leading into what looks like a kitchen. To the left, two windows are draped with tattered brown curtains. To your right, just a few steps away, a staircase climbs to the second floor. A thick layer of dust covers each step, and it’s heavy in the air. Whoever lived here before is long gone.
“It’s fine, see?” you say, turning to Claudette. “I’ll go check upstairs.”
Claudette clutches her basket tightly. “Okay,” she replies, shivering. “I’ll look around down here.”
You give her a nod before heading up the stairs, moving carefully. You avoid touching the splintered banister, letting your fingers hover just above it. As you ascend, empty photo frames dot the walls. It makes you wonder whose home this was before it was pulled into this place…
At the top of the stairs, you glance back. You can hear Claudette shuffling around the room below. Turning forward again, you take in the scene. A hallway stretches out before you with three doors. Two on the left, one on the right, and a curtained window at the far end. You don’t expect to find much, but you’ve come this far—might as well take a look. The first door on the right opens into a bedroom, empty except for what appears to be rat droppings scattered in the corner. You move on to the second room, finding it cluttered with sticks and branches as if someone threw together a makeshift bed. You close the door and head for the third.
Pushing the door open, you pause. The room is nearly empty, save for one thing: a hardcover book lying in the center of the floor. The cover is red, coated in dust, and blank. You pick it up, turning it over in your hands. There’s no title, no markings, nothing on the back or spine. Puzzled, you flip it open. The pages are empty, each one as blank as the next.
Except for one.
You stop at the first page, where a single line is scrawled messily in black ink across the center. You run your thumb over the words.
“I know there’s a way out.”
Your breath catches in your throat as the world around you shifts violently. Darkness swallows you, and suddenly, the cabin is gone. You’re outside, the cold biting at your skin, and the sound of crackling flames fills the air.
You whirl around, eyes wide, to find yourself surrounded by strangers. They sit on logs around a campfire, the flickering light casting dark shadows on their unfamiliar faces. You quickly count nearly a dozen, but more figures linger at the edge of the firelight. Their clothes are ragged, their faces gaunt and tired, all wearing the same weary expressions. Turning back, you lock eyes with a man standing just a few paces away.
He looks to be in his early thirties, with a suntanned complexion and olive-green eyes set deep in dark circles. His face is rough and unkempt, with a scruffy jawline and chestnut hair that’s undercut at the sides and swept back on top. He wears a worn brown leather jacket over a faded green shirt and dirty jeans. Despite meeting his gaze, you realize he’s looking straight through you.
“I know there’s a way out,” he repeats, his voice carrying a firm, yet shaky Scottish accent. His tone carries confidence, but it’s betrayed by the uncertainty in his eyes. He clutches a book tightly in his hand—the very same one you just found in the cabin.
“There HAS to be a way out! If something brought us here, it can send us back home!” He raises the book, his grip tightening. “I found writings out there in the fog. Writings from a woman named Nasha. She wrote about an escape —”
“Just some bullshit from a woman who lost her goddamn mind!” A gruff voice cuts him off. You pivot to see a man standing beneath a nearby tree, his face twisted in a sneer. “And you’ll end up just like her if you keep raving .”
“But she found something! She KNEW something! For all we know, she could’ve gotten out!” the man insists, his voice becoming desperate.
A woman speaks next, her tone soft but strained. You glance over to see her sitting on a log, her thin face framed by oily brown hair that falls over her shoulders. Heavy bags drag down her weary eyes, and the sadness in them is contagious. “Or maybe she’s dead. Truly dead.” Her voice wavers as she curls her hands into fists in her lap. “Don’t do this to us, Bryce. Don’t give us hope like this—not again .”
The man—presumably Bryce—grimaces, his grip on the book so strong that his knuckles turn white. “There’s a way out,” he says again, unconvincingly. “I know there’s a way out. We just need to… to… find…”
He trails off, his head bowing as the firelight flickers across his grim face. The others watch him, their expressions a mix of skepticism and hurt. Bryce just stands there, shoulders sagging, gripping the book as if it’s his lifeline.
“There… there has to be a way out.”
You blink, and he’s gone. They’re all gone. You’re back in the cabin, in the cold and dark, still gripping the spine of the book in your hand.
“What—”
It was so vivid, and-and real, like you were actually there! You could feel the heat from the flames, the cold of the surrounding fog pricking your skin… but now it’s vanished.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Staring down at the book’s blank cover, you frown. This… This might be worth keeping.
You turn to leave the room but collide with something solid. It’s not a wall.
You stagger back, heart pounding, and look up to see a towering figure looming over you. It isn’t human. Its skin is pitch black, absorbing the moonlight around it and giving it an almost shadowy silhouette. The figure stands with an imposing stature, easily twice your height, its form rippling with sinewy, corded muscles. Long, pointed claws jut out from its back, ending in blade-like tips. They arch like grotesque skeletal wings, each one lined with jagged edges that look as if they could cleave through solid stone.
Its chest is broad, and black claws jut from its sides, forming a cage around its torso like an outer ribcage. Their sharp tips pierce the sternum, leaving it unclear whether they’re meant to protect what lies beneath or destroy it. Dark fog seeps from the punctures, spilling into the air in thick, curling tendrils. It's clearly masculine, but lacking certain parts, and hardly human enough to warrant seeing it as more than a monstrous shade projecting a guise. Its arms hang low and long, fingers drawn out into ungodly claws that twitch.
You raise your gaze to its head, dread washing over you. Where a face should be, there’s only smooth, featureless darkness, save for the two horn-like protrusions that curl from the sides of its skull, tapering into razor-sharp points. Then, to your disgust: a maw splits open across its black visage, revealing two rows of sharp, glistening white teeth. The mouth stretches unnaturally wide, the grin spreading from where its eyes should be, to the sides of its head.
It grins at you, the teeth gleaming in the light. The air around you grows heavier, reeking with the scent of decay and something ancient. Your breath falters when the man-thing slowly raises one hand. He tilts his head to the side in a gesture that’s both curious and unsettlingly casual. Then, in a smooth, deep voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he speaks.
“Hello.”
You scream and scramble backward, slamming into the wall. Pain shoots through your skull, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them again, it’s gone.
Footsteps storm up the stairs, and Claudette bursts through the door, her face pale with fear. “Are—Are you okay?” She looks as shaken as you feel.
Clutching the book to your fast-beating heart, you scan the room. Whatever that thing was, it’s vanished. You scoff; maybe it was never there… After a moment, you nod. “Yeah. I… I thought I saw something, but it must’ve been the shadows playing tricks on me, or…. or something.” You touch the back of your head, wincing. “Hit my head pretty hard. I’ll probably be seeing things for a while.”
Claudette exhales in relief. She adjusts her glasses and steps closer, her hand brushing against your temple. “Should I look at your head? I might have something for it in my basket.”
You lower your arm and shake your head. “I’m fine, just a bump.”
She hums softly, her eyes falling to the book in your hands. “What’s that?”
“Nothing, just a blank book.” You wave it around, then tuck it under your arm. “Did you find anything downstairs?”
She shakes her head, stepping back. “No. We should head back to camp. This place feels…. weird. It all does.”
“I agree,” you mutter. You glance around the room one last time before nodding. “Let’s go.”
Claudette moves into the hallway, and you hesitate. You flip the book open to that page you read—only to find it missing, torn out at the spine. Your brows knit together, but you shove your concerns aside. Not here. Not now.
You close the book, tuck it under your arm, and follow Claudette down the stairs.
✱ ✱ ✱
The trip back to camp is uneventful. The cabin fades into the fog as soon as you leave the clearing, swallowed up like it was never there. The chances of finding it again are slim to none. Meg, another camper, had warned you about that. It’s always shifting and changing, and if you find something, you won’t find it again. It’s something the others have figured out during their time here, trying to make sense of everything. A labyrinth, they called it. And, “Don’t try to understand,” they said. “We sure don’t.”
As you draw closer, the flickering light of the campfire dances against the dark backdrop of the forest. The warmth of the flames and the smoky aroma of burning wood envelop you as you arrive with Claudette in tow.
The campfire sits in a clearing among dark, looming trees. It glows softly, illuminated by the bonfire, and complemented by the light of the full moon that always hangs above. As you enter the clearing, you briefly grab the attention of a few others gathered around the fire. Jane and Adam sit together on a log, with Bill hunched over at the other end with a cigarette perched between his lips. David paces in front of them like a restless guard dog.
Claudette passes you by in silence, situating herself by the fire as she sets her basket down. You say nothing as you find a seat on a vacant log nearby.
Embers drift into the midnight sky like fireflies. With a solemn expression, you watch the dancing flames. If you were anywhere else, you might find comfort in their glow and warmth, but you know better. You understand that this is only a temporary escape from the cycle and the games: run, hide, die, revive, repeat—the routine never ends. You always make it back to the campfire by the end of the night, only to be whisked away at random once again. What comfort can be had in knowing that?
You hood your eyes and settle in for some sleep. David grunts nearby, and you brace yourself for what’s to come.
“Could’ve ‘ad it done by now,” David mutters, his choppy English accent bitter. He’s an imposing man; muscular and rugged. His nose is crooked, and his hair is chopped up and shaved at the sides into an undercut. A perpetual scowl sits on his face, his knuckles always bloody and scabbed over, like he’s fresh out of a bare-knuckle brawl somewhere.
“If the lot of you weren’t faffing about, always pissin’ and moanin’, we’d have ‘ad it done,” David continues, not directing his words at anyone in particular.
“David,” Jane warns quietly.
“All I’m saying,” he scoffs. “Why’re we settling for those flimsy tents when we could prop up some shanties, aye?” His gaze shifts, locking onto Jake, who you’ve just noticed standing in the shadow of a tree at the edge of camp, with his arms crossed over his chest. His raven hair almost obscures the annoyed glare etched on his face.
You don’t know much, if anything at all, about Jake. You’ve seen him around camp from time to time, often skulking in the shadows and glaring at the fire. But he’s an attractive man with shoulder-length, jet-black hair that falls naturally around his face. He has a well-defined jawline and dark, almond-shaped eyes that always seem to be set in an intense glare.
“You’re a carpenter, aren’t you?” David demands. “Why the hell aren’t you making yourself useful?”
“I’m not a carpenter,” Jake replies, his voice flat.
“Sure you are,” David presses on. “So why haven’t you used all your know-how to build us somethin’, huh? I’m sure you’re tired of sleeping on the ground with all the grubs and shit, too.”
“I’m not a goddamn carpenter,” Jake snaps. “If you want something built, do it yourself.” His gaze shifts to the fire, and he falls silent.
David huffs dismissively. “Some good you are. If we want anything done around ‘ere, we’ve all got to get off our arses and make it happen. The way I see it—”
He’s cut off mid-sentence as his form dissolves in a haze of dark mist and glowing embers. No one flinches at his sudden disappearance; they’ve seen it all before, hundreds of times. The camp falls into silence, the fire crackling quietly in the void he leaves behind.
“Thought he’d never shut up,” Bill grumbles from across the fire, chewing on the butt of his cigarette. He exhales heavily, slumping forward.
The quiet stretches on. As irritating as David’s rants are, they keep the camp alive. Distractions are much-needed here, even if they’re fleeting. But now, with David gone, everyone slips back into the heavy silence, heads hanging, eyes fixed on the ground, the flames, or the fog—anywhere but at each other.
“Maybe… Maybe he has a point,” Jane murmurs. She pulls your attention when she raises her head. “Our time could be better spent doing something more productive. We could build up here,” she suggests. “If we all worked together—”
“What’s stopping you?” Jake challenges, peering through his curtain of hair with a quirked brow. “Get up and do it.”
Jane stares at him with a pointed gaze. “We all need to work together,” she insists. “But nobody wants to stand up and make a change.”
“We can’t, Jane,” Adam says sensibly. “How would we cut down the trees? How would we get them back to camp? How do we saw them apart, or hammer them together? We aren’t physically capable, and those toolboxes of random nuts and bolts won’t help us build homes. I’m all for the idea, but it’s not practical.”
Jane flicks her wrist dismissively, scanning the faces around the campfire. “Bill?” she tries but receives no reply. “Claudette?” she tries again. Claudette doesn’t even glance up, her eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Then Jane turns to you, her sharp eyes searching for some kind of answer. “What do you think? Maybe a fresh perspective might change some minds around here.”
Now, all eyes are on you. Under their scrutiny, you hesitate. “I… I don’t know, Jane. I wish I could say I agree, but… Maybe Adam’s right. Maybe it’s not practical.”
Jane exhales loudly, her shoulders slumping. “Maybe this, maybe that… Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it never will..” She hunches forward, her gaze dropping to her feet. “Would it kill you people to be a little optimistic?”
“Has, and will,” Jake says. Jane scoffs at him.
The following silence stretches on until you feel Adam’s eyes on you. He’s staring at the book resting on your lap. “Where did you find that?” he asks quietly.
“Claudette and I found a cabin out there. Abandoned and empty, but this was just… sitting on the floor.” You lift the book with a sigh. “It’s blank, though. Completely.”
Adam’s expression falls, disappointment riddling his expression. “Ah… I got a little excited. Haven’t had a good read in a… a long time.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice and a shadow that passes over his features as he looks down and fixes his gaze on the fire.
It seems no one’s really in a chatty mood anymore. David might’ve been loud and obnoxious, but he kept the camp from sinking into utter silence. When you can’t stand it any longer, you push yourself to your feet and walk away.
Your tent is a short walk from the campfire, nestled just before the dense barrier of dark mist that encircles the clearing. It’s one of many tents scattered haphazardly in the woods, their origins a mystery to you all. Here, with next to nothing except the clothes on your back and the meager stockpile of items you’ve scavenged from the fog, you take what you’re given without question.
You duck inside your weathered green tent and sit down on your bedroll. The book rests on your lap, and you run your fingers along its spine. What you saw in the cabin felt real. So real that you can still feel the chill of that… thing’s presence. But it couldn’t have been real. No one else has ever mentioned anything like that—at least, not outside of the trials. That’s where the monsters belong. The killers. What are the odds you’d be the first to meet one in the fog?
You sigh, putting your thoughts to rest. After setting the book aside, you flop onto your back. The Entity might pull you into another trial soon. It’s been a while since your last one, and you want to rest as much as you can before that happens. You shut your eyes and drift off to sleep.
✱ ✱ ✱
Your feet are cold and wet. Each breath escapes your parted lips in a puff of mist. When you force your eyes open, a frown creases your brow.
You’re someplace else, standing ankle-deep in freezing water, surrounded by a wall of cold, dense white fog. The sky above is pitch black, speckled with tiny, twinkling stars. An intense shiver crawls up your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“What is this?”
Your voice echoes off unseen walls, reverberating around you before it fades into the void. You take a cautious step forward, the icy water rippling around your legs, and you slowly turn to take in your surroundings. What you see stops you dead in your tracks.
The water ripples ahead as a dark shape breaks the surface. Its head rises slowly, revealing the same blank visage belonging to that mysterious shade. Then, a grin splits across its empty face—the same gnarly, glistening white grin it flashed you before. It’s back, and it’s watching you.
You gasp sharply and recoil, your feet slipping out from under you. You crash into the shallow water, the cold shock freezing you in place. Eyes wide, you can’t tear your gaze away. The figure moves, rising from the water with deliberate, slow strides. Its pitch-black form cuts a stark silhouette against the gray fog like ink spilled across a white canvas.
You struggle to find your voice, choking out a mess of words that dissolve into the fog. It must find your fear amusing because it laughs, a warm, deep sound that echoes from everywhere at once. The laughter surrounds you, closer than it should be and far away at the same time.
The shade closes in, its grin unwavering. Suddenly, with a series of sickening snaps and pops, those same large, spidery claws erupt from its back, unfurling like grotesque limbs. They flex and extend outward, their shape disturbingly resemblant to those of The Entity. As it stalks nearer, panic swells in your chest. You flip over, scrambling to your feet, but it’s too late. One of the claws hooks around your leg and yanks you back down into the freezing water. A startled cry escapes your lips as you’re dragged toward it and flipped over to face your tormentor. It looms above you, its neck craned down to meet your terrified gaze. When it finally speaks, a foul stench wafts from its breath—like ash and death.
“Oh, don’t be afraid,” it whispers, still grinning. But the words terrify you. You tremble, and it chuckles, clearly amused.
You flinch as it drops to one knee, leaning closer, a hand reaching toward you. You scramble to get away, but its talons press against your chest, pinning you down. The water soaks through your clothes, chilling you to the bone while an intense pressure builds up inside you. You kick and squirm, thrashing against his weight. The shadow remains indifferent to your struggle.
“Still warm,” it murmurs. “But the fog will soon change that… We must work quickly.”
Its grin never falters, even as it speaks. You try to scream and protest, but the pressure in your chest tightens, squeezing the breath out of you. You stifle a cry, your voice weak and broken. “Wh—What are you… doing to me?”
It ignores you. The claws begin to move, gliding over your body. They trace your limbs, tugging at your clothes, the spiny barbs scraping against your skin. The discomfort is unbearable. You manage a strained whine. The shadow acknowledges it, if only for a second.
“Forgive me,” it says with a low chuckle. “These twisted things have a mind of their own…”
Desperately, you try to fight back and struggle free, to do anything, but you can’t.
“Don’t fight me,” it murmurs, voice almost soothing to your ears. “I only need to see what I’m working with. It’ll just be a moment.”
The pain in your chest intensifies, a prickling sensation that spreads, squeezing the air from your lungs. You gasp and choke, struggling to draw breath. The pressure becomes unbearable, smothering your heart.
With each gasping cry, breath never comes. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe-
You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, lungs burning as you greedily suck in air. The world rushes back in a blur, and you feel warm hands gripping your shoulders. Jake’s face looms over yours, his usually stoic features twisted with concern.
“Hey, new guy? You alright?”
Your heartbeat gradually steadies, but your body still buzzes with fear. You tremble and catch your breath. “I’m fine,” you croak, your voice raw. Slowly, you sit up, running a shaky hand over your scalp. Your skin is cold and clammy to the touch. A sigh escapes your lips. Just a nightmare. But it felt so real—just like at the cabin. Jake still watches you with concern.
“It was a nightmare,” you say, trying to convince both him and yourself.
Jake pulls back, his expression hardening. “Some nightmare,” he mutters. “I was walking by and heard you choking.”
“I was… in my dream.” The words hang awkwardly in the air. You don’t know how else to explain it. How could you?
Silence settles between you. Jake grunts and moves to leave, but hesitates at the tent flap. He turns back to you. “You haven’t been here long, have you? I’ve only just started seeing you around camp… And I don’t think I got your name.”
“I hardly ever see you,” you reply. “And when I do, you don’t look like you’re in a talking mood…”
Jake nods, his expression softening slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, unease crossing his face. “I… I get like that sometimes, after rough trials. And most of them are rough… You probably know that by now.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Jake.”
You take his hand, noticing him flinch at your icy touch. After shaking his hand and passing him your name, he withdraws quickly, turning away. “I’ll see you around,” he mutters, then slips out of the tent and vanishes into the night.
The moment he’s gone, another chill runs up your spine. Your hand subconsciously finds your heart. The heavy, burning sensation from your dream still lingers there. What does it mean? What did any of it mean?
Maybe there’s no point in trying to make sense of it. The fog is strange. And if there’s one thing it’s good at, that’s getting into your head. But you can’t let it get to you. Things are already bad enough without losing what little sanity and comfort you have left.
You lie back down, releasing a slow, shuddering sigh.
It was just a dream, you tell yourself. Nothing more…
But even as you close your eyes, something cold lingers deep inside you…