"GASP"
A loud exhale escaped Arthur's lips as his eyes shot open, wincing at the searing pain that coursed through his body. His arm and ribs throbbed in agony, each movement sending shockwaves of pain through his exhausted frame. The darkness seemed to close in around him, the cold air biting into his skin like a thousand needles.
"I made it out, huh?" he muttered, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he gazed back at the town's gate, now a white silhouette in the distance. The brief moment of levity was short-lived, as the weight of his situation crashed back down on him. With a grimace, Arthur struggled to sit up, the devices clutched in his hands clattering against each other.
As he looked around, his gaze swept the dark forest, his eyes straining to penetrate the shadows. The rain had transformed the forest floor into a treacherous expanse of ice, making every step a potential hazard. The snow lay undisturbed, a silent witness to his plight, untouched by the workers who kept the town clear.
Arthur's thoughts were a jumbled mix of fear and determination. He knew he had to move quickly; midnight was looming, and he couldn't afford to be caught out in the open. With a surge of adrenaline, he forced himself to his feet, the icy ground crunching beneath his boots. The forest stretched out before him like a dark, endless abyss, but he steeled himself and began to move, his senses on high alert.
Arthur continued to navigate his way through the forest, the crunch of snow and ice beneath his boots echoing through the silence. The cold winds bit at his face, making his skin sting. His rain-soaked clothes clung to his body, amplifying the chill. Frosty breath left his nostrils with each ragged inhalation. Despite the discomfort, he pressed on.
As the darkness receded, the outline of Mr. Finnley's house came into view.
"Ah, Mr. Finnley's place," he muttered, relief washing over him like a warm wave. The porch light's glow beckoned him forward.
But as he drew closer, his smile faltered. An unsettling stillness enveloped the house. No lights flickered in the windows, no sound of activity drifted through the night air. Mr. Finnley, a self-proclaimed night owl, was always working late into the evening. The silence was oppressive, like a held breath. Without hesitation, Arthur dashed towards the building, his pain forgotten.
Arthur stepped onto the porch, "Mr. Finnley!!!", he yelled. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. The door was slightly open, a shiver ran down his spine as he hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities. The creaking of the old wooden porch beneath his feet seemed to echo through the silence. He grabbed the lantern from the porch, the metal handle cold to the touch, and stepped inside, his footsteps silent as he tried to move undetected.
The house was in shambles, claw marks scarred the walls, and blood stained the floor. The metallic smell hit him like a punch to the gut, making his stomach churn. The light cast eerie shadows on the walls as he examined the ground, the flickering flame casting an otherworldly glow.
"Footprints?" he muttered, his voice barely audible. "But...these aren't human."
Paranoia crept in as he scanned the room, his eyes darting towards the shadows, his heart racing with every creak and groan of the old house.
He took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of blood and decay, and followed the trail of blood, his heart heavy with foreboding. The sight of Mr. Finnley's body made his stomach drop, a wave of nausea washing over him. The left half of his body was missing, his guts spilling out, a gruesome sight that seemed to sear itself into Arthur's mind. The front prints from earlier seemed to match the gruesome scene. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he took in the details, his mind reeling with questions. A butcher's knife remained clutched in Mr. Finnley's right hand, a testament to his desperate struggle.
Arthur's gaze lingered on the body before he closed Mr. Finnley's eyes, a sense of sorrow and loss washing over him. He didn't know the man well, but the sight still shook him. As he stood up, a chilling realization hit him. Whatever killed Mr. Finnley had done so deliberately, knowing the forest's isolation would muffle any screams. It knew people lived here, possibly even his family. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins, his heart racing with fear.
"F**k," Arthur cursed, sprinting out of the house with all his might, the lantern clutched in his hand. "Please be safe."
His heart pounded against his ribcage like a jackhammer as he sprinted through the frozen forest, dodging skeletal trees that seemed to reach out like bony fingers. The branches scratched his face, leaving stinging welts that burned in the cold air, and his eyes watered from the force of the wind. His legs pumped furiously, his feet pounding the snow-covered ground in a frantic rhythm, the crunch of the snow beneath his feet the only sound in a world muffled by the biting wind. Frosty breaths escaped his lips and nostrils, visible in the biting cold air as he gasped for oxygen, his lungs burning from the exertion. The wind howled around him, its icy fingers stinging his skin like a thousand needles, and his vision began to blur, but he refused to give in to the creeping numbness that threatened to consume him.
He continued in that state for an entire hour, the agony of his exertion and the biting cold becoming almost unbearable. But then, the silhouette of his house came into view, and his heart sank.
Instead of relief, a wave of dread washed over him, his worst fears taking shape before his eyes. His legs trembled beneath him, their energy spent, and he crashed to the ground, the lantern slipping from his grasp. Its flame extinguished.
The world around him seemed to fade away, leaving only one thing - the house, standing out in stark contrast to the darkness.
It was ablaze.