The truck rumbled down the narrow, winding road, its engine groaning under the strain. Jack's hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white. The sun was already low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the road like dark fingers reaching for him.
The forest around him closed in tighter with each mile, a thick blanket of trees that seemed to swallow the light. The world felt distant, like he was driving through a memory, a place he didn't belong.
His mind was scattered, and the road seemed to stretch forever. The pull of the cabin had become too strong to ignore, the stories and whispers from the past too heavy. He should have known better. Should have turned back when the road signs began to fade and the trees thickened into something darker, something more alive.
But here he was.
Jack glanced at the rearview mirror. The road behind him was empty, nothing but the relentless stretch of the road and the dark woods that followed him. No car, no sign of life. Only the trees, ancient and unyielding.
His eyes flicked to the gas gauge. Almost empty. He cursed under his breath and pushed the accelerator harder, trying to force the truck to go faster. The dirt path ahead of him was barely visible, but he had memorized the route well enough from the map he'd studied earlier.
It was close. So close. The cabin that had been passed down from his grandfather, the place that had been lost to time and to Jack's own forgetfulness.
The stories about the place had always lingered at the edges of his mind. The tales that were told in whispers, stories about strange happenings, things that had gone wrong over the years. Jack had never put much stock in them.
They were just old people talking about things they couldn't understand. But even so, the feeling he got as he drove closer to the cabin was unsettling. It wasn't a fear he could explain, just a sense of something being off, something waiting for him.
The truck hit a large bump, and Jack jolted forward, his stomach twisting. He slammed his hand against the dashboard in frustration. He hadn't wanted to come back here. Not like this. But the pull was undeniable, a need to confront whatever it was that had been haunting him for years.
The road turned sharply, and Jack's eyes narrowed. Up ahead, he saw the cabin in the distance, half-hidden by the trees. The roof sagged, the windows dark and empty. It looked like it had been abandoned for years, a place frozen in time, lost to the world.
The truck bounced over a patch of rough ground as he pulled into the small clearing in front of the cabin. He cut the engine and stepped out into the cool air. The smell of damp earth and decay filled his nostrils as he stood there, taking in the view. The wind had picked up, rustling the branches above him.
The trees were thick, their trunks twisted and gnarled like old, weathered hands. There was something unnatural about the way the wind moved through the woods, as if it was alive, as if it knew something he didn't.
Jack grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and walked toward the cabin, his boots crunching on the gravel. The front door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open, revealing the dark interior.
Dust floated in the stale air, and the floorboards groaned beneath his weight as he stepped inside. The cabin had once been a warm, welcoming place, but now it felt cold, abandoned. The windows were covered in grime, the furniture coated in a thick layer of dust. It was as if the place hadn't been touched in years.
He set his bag down on the old, creaky table and moved toward the fireplace, his boots scraping across the wooden floor. The hearth was cold, the remnants of old ashes scattered across the stone.
Jack's eyes scanned the room, taking in the old, faded photographs hanging on the walls, the cracked mirrors, the cobwebs in the corners. Everything was in its place, but it felt wrong, as if something had been left behind, something unfinished.
There was a sudden, sharp knock at the door. Jack's heart skipped a beat, and he froze. No one was supposed to be out here, not for miles. He hadn't seen another car on the road for hours. The knock came again, louder this time, and Jack's pulse quickened.
He moved cautiously toward the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, he hesitated, uncertainty flooding him. But then, against his better judgment, he pulled the door open.
The cold air rushed in, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and something else, something metallic. At first, he saw nothing.
The clearing was empty, the shadows of the trees stretching across the ground, the wind rustling the leaves. But then he saw it. A figure stood just beyond the tree line, its shape faint in the dim light.
"Hello?" Jack called, his voice tight.
The figure didn't move.
"Who's out there?" Jack stepped forward, squinting against the dark.
The figure took a step toward him, its face obscured by the shadows, its form tall and hunched. It was covered in dirt, its clothing ragged and torn. Jack felt a chill crawl up his spine as the figure moved closer, its footfalls soft on the earth.
"I didn't mean to startle you," a voice said, low and gravelly.
Jack blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing an old man, his face weathered and scarred, his eyes dark and hollow. His beard was matted and unkempt, his clothes hanging off him like they were too big. He was tall, but there was something wrong about him, something unnatural in the way he moved.
"I wasn't expecting anyone," Jack said, his voice steady but laced with unease.
"I know," the man replied, his gaze sharp as he looked Jack up and down. "You're not supposed to be here."
Jack's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
The old man's lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was something more sinister, something knowing. "The woods don't take kindly to strangers. Especially not to those who are drawn here. And you, boy, are drawn here for a reason."
Jack stepped back, his mind racing. "I'm just here to get away for a while. I didn't mean any harm."
The old man chuckled, the sound low and raspy. "Harm? No, boy. It's not about harm. It's about what's been waiting for you. You can't run from it. You never could."
Jack swallowed hard. The man's words sent a cold shiver down his spine, and he found himself unable to speak, his throat tight. The old man's eyes were unwavering, staring right through him.
"It's here, in the woods," the man continued, his voice low. "It's been here for years, waiting. And now it's awake."
Jack took a step back. "What do you mean?"
The old man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned and gestured toward the trees behind him. Jack's eyes followed the motion, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw something move in the distance—a shadow, something too large to be an animal. But then it was gone, swallowed by the trees.
"Don't stay out there too long, boy," the man warned. "The woods have a way of taking what doesn't belong. And you? You don't belong."
Before Jack could say anything else, the old man turned and melted back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he had come.
Jack stood there, rooted to the spot. His heart raced, the words of the old man echoing in his mind. What had he meant? What was in the woods? And why did it feel like something was watching him, waiting?
He shook his head and slammed the door shut, but the unease didn't go away. It lingered, heavy in the air, filling the room with a sense of dread. Jack's mind raced, but no answers came. Only silence.
He moved toward the window and peeked through the dirty glass, his eyes scanning the tree line. The figure was gone, but something else was out there, something far worse. He could feel it, a presence in the trees, something ancient and hungry.
The wind howled outside, and Jack's hand shook as he pulled the curtain closed. He didn't want to stay here. He didn't want to face whatever it was that had been waiting for him.
But the pull, the reason he had come here in the first place, kept him rooted to the cabin. The stories, the warnings, the old man's cryptic words—they all led to this place.
And now that he was here, there was no turning back.
He heard the sound of something scraping at the door. Slow, deliberate. Jack froze. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. The trees outside creaked, and the sound of something heavy moving through the woods grew louder.
Jack backed away from the door, his breath coming in ragged gasps. There was no escape.
The woods had come alive.
And they were coming for him.