I searched for him. Not recklessly, not loudly—I wasn't about to announce myself to every creepy things lurking in the woods. But carefully. Quietly. Step by step. My knife stayed gripped tight in my hand, my ears tuned to every rustle and creak. I moved through the underbrush like a shadow, sticking close to trees, staying low. Mark's name stayed stuck in my throat. I didn't dare call it out. Not after what I saw. Not after that thing in the dress.
He couldn't have gone far… right? Unless she took him somewhere else.
Twice I thought I saw movement—twigs breaking, shadows shifting, but when I turned, nothing. Just the same trees, the same darkness.
Hours, or maybe just minutes, passed. Time was slippery out here, like it didn't care to follow rules anymore.
Then I heard it. Not a voice, not a creature. Water. Soft, steady, like the world's heartbeat.
I pushed through a dense patch of brambles, the thorns grabbing at my clothes like fingers trying to hold me back. But when I emerged on the other side, I froze.
There it was, a river.
Wider than I expected, winding through the woods like a silver snake. The moon hung above it, full and radiant, reflected on the surface so perfectly it looked like a door to another sky. Mist hovered just above the water, curling and dancing like it had secrets of its own. I stared for a moment, breath caught in my chest.
After everything, after monsters, nightmares, and disappearing idiots—the moon was still beautiful. A tiny piece of the world that hadn't gone mad.
It didn't help me find Mark. Didn't tell me where that ghost bride dragged him. But it gave me something I hadn't felt in a while.
Hope, maybe. The fragile, foolish kind.
I knelt by the river's edge, scanned the area for signs, footprints, broken branches, anything, but there was nothing. Just the sound of the current and the soft whisper of wind through the leaves.
No Mark.
But, finally—water. I hadn't realized how dry my throat was until that moment. My mouth felt like sandpaper, tongue heavy and useless.
I crept closer to the river's edge, moving slowly, eyes scanning the dark water. Who knew what might be swimming in it? Monsters? Ghost fish? A cursed eel with teeth?
Probably nothing. But probably isn't good enough out here. Still, I was too thirsty to care. I knelt carefully at the bank, the mud squishing under my knees. The moonlight shimmered on the surface like spilled silver, the current moving lazy and smooth. I leaned in, cupped my hands, and brought the water to my lips. It was cold. So cold it shocked my teeth and made my head hurt. But I didn't stop. I drank eagerly, gulp after gulp, not even pausing to breathe. It was the best thing I'd tasted in days—even if it might be haunted.
Finally, I sat back on my heels, wiped my mouth, and sighed. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't running, hiding, or fighting.
Just… breathing. For a few seconds, the world felt almost normal.
And that terrified me more than anything. After resting for a few minutes, just enough for my legs to stop shaking and my head to stop spinning. I stood up and wiped the damp earth from my hands.
The river flowed beside me like it had somewhere to be. And maybe… I did too. I started walking again, following the trail that ran alongside it, winding upward through the woods. The incline was gradual, but the path grew narrower and more twisted with every step. Roots curled like sleeping snakes underfoot, and branches clawed at my jacket like they didn't want me to pass.
The air got cooler the higher I went, and the sound of the water was always there, whispering, murmuring, like it was trying to tell me something I didn't quite understand. I kept going anyway.
Upward. Because something told me that whatever answers I was looking for... they were waiting upstream.
And then—I saw it. A cabin.
Small. Crooked. Like it had grown out of the woods instead of being built. The roof sagged in the middle, and moss covered most of the shingles like a green, fuzzy blanket. One of the windows was cracked, the glass fogged and smeared from the inside. The chimney leaned slightly, as if it had given up trying to stand straight. It looked abandoned… or maybe just forgotten.
But in this place? Forgotten things had a habit of remembering you.
I crouched low behind a tree, watching it for a minute. No lights. No sound. No obvious signs of murder ghosts or monster tea parties.
So I crept closer.
Step by step, leaves crunching underfoot, breath held tight in my chest. I could smell the damp wood, the faint scent of smoke that clung to the air like a memory. I reached the front of the cabin and placed a hand on the door. It was cold. And slightly open.
I pushed the door open slowly, and it let out a creak loud enough to wake the dead—or at least alert anything still hanging around.
Inside, it was dark and stale. Dust floated in the air like tiny ghosts, disturbed by my steps. The floorboards groaned under my weight, complaining with every move I made.
There wasn't much, just broken furniture, a collapsed bookshelf, and a table with what looked like old candle stubs melted into the wood. But through all the dust and debris, I spotted something, a faint trail. Just barely visible, like something—or someone, had been dragged or walked through here recently.
A path of disturbed dust, leading toward a closed door at the end of the room.
I narrowed my eyes, grip tightening on my knife. Hope that moron's in there, I thought, heart pounding as I stepped toward it. And not chopped up, possessed, or married to a corpse bride.
One way to find out. As I stepped into the room, the door creaked again—quieter this time, like even it was tired of making noise. And there he was.
Mark. Lying on an old bed, fast asleep. Or unconscious. Or cursed. Honestly, at this point, it was hard to tell the difference. The mattress looked like it had been made out of straw and regret, but he seemed oddly peaceful. Arms folded over his chest, boots still on, mouth slightly open like he was mid-snore or mid-snack dream.
I approached slowly, cautiously. The shadows in the room clung to the corners like they were waiting for something. I reached out and gently shook his shoulder.
"Mark," I whispered. No response.
I shook him harder. "Mark, wake up. C'mon, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine."
Still nothing. My stomach dropped just a little.
"Don't be dead, dude," I muttered. "You're not allowed to check out now. Not after all that running and panicking you put me through."
And then finally, he stirred. Mark groaned softly, blinking up at me like I'd just pulled him out of a dream he didn't want to leave.
"Ugh… what happened?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"You tell me," I said, stepping back a little. "Last I saw, you were playing lip-lock with a haunted lady in a wedding dress. Then poof. Gone."
He sat up slowly, grimacing like his whole body hurt. "Yeah… I remember her. Weird dream. Felt real. But I don't remember anything after that."
"Well, congrats. You made out with a ghost and lived to tell about it," I said with a smirk. "Not everyone can put that on their résumé."
He chuckled weakly, but his eyes flickered toward the floor for just a second too long.
"You good to walk?" I asked, glancing toward the doorway.
"Yeah… yeah, I think so," he said, getting to his feet. "Just need a second."
I nodded and gave him space while he stretched and adjusted his clothes. Something about him seemed… off. But I chalked it up to exhaustion. This place did weird things to people.
"Alright," I said, opening the cabin door. The forest outside was still and cold, the moonlight cutting through the trees like silver knives. "Let's get moving. I don't want to wait around for whatever else might call this place home.
"Yeah… good idea," Mark said, stepping past me and into the night.
We walked side by side, our footsteps muffled by the damp forest floor.
"Thanks for coming after me, by the way," he said after a while, voice quiet.
"Eh, don't mention it," I replied. "Next time, maybe don't wander off to flirt with dead women. Just a thought."
He laughed, but it was strained. I didn't notice the way he kept glancing over his shoulder. Or how his hand occasionally twitched at his side, like it wanted to reach for something that wasn't there. I didn't notice the way his eyes seemed just a little too bright. Because I was just glad he was back. And alive. For now.
"Alright," I said, turning to Mark as we stood outside the cabin. "Stay here. I want to check the place out a bit more. See if there's anything useful—or weird—we missed."
Mark hesitated, eyes darting toward the trees. "You sure that's a good idea? This place gives me the creeps."
"Everything gives you the creeps," I said with a half-grin. "Just keep an eye out. I won't be long."
He gave me a stiff nod, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
I stepped back inside, the dusty air swallowing me again. The quiet felt louder without Mark trailing behind me with his paranoid muttering.
I moved room to room, rifling through drawers, kicking aside broken chairs, checking under the decaying rug for hidden trapdoors—because hey, in this place, anything's possible.
In the far corner of the cabin, almost hidden behind a shelf leaning like a drunk skeleton, was a small wooden door. Half-covered in cobwebs. Set low into the floorboards. A basement door. I stepped closer, heart beating a little faster. My hand reached for the rusted latch—
"ETHAN!!"
Mark's voice. Sharp. Panicked. Terrified. I froze.
"ETHAN, HELP!"
I bolted. Didn't even think. I spun around and sprinted out of the cabin, the door slamming against the wall behind me. My boots pounded across the porch and hit the forest floor in a heartbeat.
"MARK!" I yelled, scanning the clearing wildly.
He was out here. Somewhere.
And something was very, very wrong. When I burst out of the cabin, my knife was already in my hand, heart hammering like a war drum.
"Mark!"
He was standing a few feet away, pale as chalk, eyes wide and wild. His arm was outstretched, finger shaking as he pointed toward the woods.
"There!" he gasped. "She was right there! The woman—the one in the dress—she was standing right there!"
I whipped my head toward where he pointed, eyes scanning the dark trees. But… nothing. Just swaying branches, moonlight flickering between the leaves, and the distant rustle of wind.
No ghost bride. No movement. Just silence.
I took a few cautious steps forward, every hair on my body standing on end. "I don't see anyone."
"I swear!" Mark's voice cracked. "She was watching me from the trees—smiling! Like she was waiting for me to be alone!"
I turned to him, lowering my knife a little. "You sure? You weren't… I don't know, imagining it?"
Mark looked at me, almost insulted. "I know what I saw, Ethan. I—she was there. I'm not crazy."
I didn't say anything. Just looked back toward the woods, eyes narrowed.
Maybe he saw something. Maybe he didn't.
But either way… the basement could wait.