Author's Preface
Nestled among rolling hills and ancient forests, Eric’s childhood home was a charming, slightly antiquated house in a quaint slice of suburban isolation.
With Eric being his best friend since their college football days, it was only natural that he was expected to be there for the parents' momentous sixtieth wedding anniversary.
He had brought Sophia along—not as a traditional date, but as a calculated move to informally advance their corporate partnership.
After the terrifying chaos on the highway just days prior, escaping the city wasn't just a reprieve from work; it was a desperate attempt to find somewhere predictable, far away from the thinning veil and the things hiding in the shadows, so he could finally get his life back on track.
They set out together in the late afternoon. As he drove along the winding highway, the sun casting long, dancing shadows through the trees, Sophia sat beside him — calm, composed, occasionally making quiet remarks or asking light questions, her presence steady and easy beside him.
But even with her there, he found the landscape unsettling; secluded and dark due to the massive, towering trees lining the road, their branches interlacing overhead to form a dense, green canopy.
The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
While he was focused on the path ahead, his mind still replayed the bizarre events of the past weeks, when a deer suddenly leapt in front of his car from out of nowhere, a blur of brown and white.
His reaction was instant — instinct taking over entirely, his only thought to keep the impact as far from her side as possible, turning the wheel just enough so the blow would land fully on his side of the vehicle to shield her from harm.
Though he slammed on the brakes immediately, the crunch of tires on asphalt deafening, he felt the heavy thud and knew, with a sickening certainty, he had hit the animal.
He sat in the silence for a few minutes, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, his heart pounding in his chest. Beside him Sophia had gone quiet, her expression shaken but composed, glancing between him and the empty road ahead, clearly unsettled but knowing better than to press him yet.
“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, voice steady but soft with concern.
He only nodded briefly before deciding to step out. “Stay here,” he said simply, and got out.
The silence outside was profound, broken only by the chirping of unseen insects. When he checked his car, he was surprised to find no damage from the impact, not even a dent or a scratch on the gleaming bumper.
Looking down, he saw the deer lying motionless on the asphalt; there was no blood, no visible injury. He crouched down, a strange unease settling over him, and reached out a cautious hand to touch the creature, but it was cold and stiff, not breathing.
He flipped the body over, his fingers brushing against rough fur, but he immediately recoiled and stood up, stepping back in horror, a guttural sound escaping his throat. What lay beneath was a sight to curdle blood.
A loud, ear‑splitting air horn blasted nearby, ripping through the oppressive silence. He spun around to see a massive semi‑truck, its chrome gleaming, bearing down on him, nearly on top of him.
He dove out of the way just in time, rolling onto the grassy shoulder, as the driver yelled, "Eyes on the road, dumbass! You trying to get yourself killed?!" The truck thundered past, its slipstream nearly pulling him back onto the highway.
From the car Sophia watched the whole thing, hand pressed lightly to her mouth, her worry sharp and clear — she had already stepped outside the car shaken.
He looked back at the deer, his heart still racing, his gaze now sharpened by terror. The head was completely severed from its body and appeared as though it had been dead for a long time, with maggots crawling all over the rotting flesh, a grotesque tableau of decay. And yet, moments ago, it had leapt in front of his car alive and strong.
He looked around for the head, but it was nowhere to be seen, as if it had simply dissolved. Disturbed, his mind reeling from the impossible, he returned to the car.
As he slid behind the wheel she looked him over carefully — pale, tense, eyes dark with things he would not speak of, she was so worried and asked, “What happened?”
He gave a short "Nothing." and drove off, leaving the macabre scene behind, the image burned into both their minds though neither of them spoke a word of it.
They arrived at Eric's place just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and deep violet.
The house, warm and inviting, was a stark contrast to the unsettling journey.
As he parked in the driveway, he saw Eric standing there, waiting on the porch with his youngest niece, Alena, a vibrant spark of childhood energy.
Eric’s eyes went between him and Sophia, grinning broadly. “So, how was the trip, you old grump — and I see you didn’t come alone!”
“Long and tiring,” he replied, a faint tremor of residual shock still in his voice, opening the back door of his SUV to grab their bags.
He didn’t elaborate on the deer or the near‑miss. Some things were better left unsaid, especially to Eric, who would likely chalk it up to stress or an overactive imagination.
Sophia smiled politely as Eric turned to greet her. “It was… quite the drive,” she said simply, not offering any details either, respecting his silence completely.
Eric laughed, shaking his head. “I told you to ride with us. You’re always so stubborn — and now I bet you regret it!”
“No, thank you,” he said firmly, a small, genuine smile finally gracing his lips. He looked down at Alena, who was clutching a pink teddy bear. “She’s grown so fast, Eric. It feels like just yesterday she was a tiny thing.”
Eric suddenly grinned, “Why not make your own tonight then. We only have one spare bedroom for you after all."
He looked back at Sophia who was busy chatting with Alena, and told Eric firmly to shut up.
They went inside together, the house filled with the comforting aroma of home cooking and the happy chatter of a large family. Eric’s family greeted him warmly, and Sophia was welcomed just as readily — they were his second family, and anyone he brought was treated as one of their own.
They had known him since his college days when both he and Eric played football together, a time that felt like a lifetime ago. It was a safe harbor in a world that was becoming increasingly unpredictable.
After a hearty dinner filled with laughter and nostalgic stories, everyone began to settle for the night.
He was utterly exhausted, the strange events of the road weighing heavily on his mind, and Sophia could clearly see how drained and tense he remained — but she simply gave him a quiet, knowing look before heading to her own guest room nearby, leaving him to his rest.
While he slept, a towering black shadow, a presence that radiated cold and ancient malevolence, entered the room, moving with an eerie silence straight toward his bed.
He was lying on his chest, shirtless in the warm night air, when he was suddenly jolted awake by a sharp, searing pain tearing across his flesh— hot, vicious, like being flayed with burning metal.
He gasped loud enough to be heard through the walls, hand flying back instinctively, fingers meeting warm, thick, sticky wetness. Pulling his hand back he saw it coated in dark, fresh blood.
Heart hammering wildly, he stumbled quickly toward the full‑length mirror on the closet door to see what had happened. Twisting awkwardly, he caught sight of his reflection — and his blood ran cold. Three deep, ragged gashes stretched from his shoulder blades all the way down toward his waist, raw and gaping, blood running freely down his skin and dripping toward his waistline. The flesh surrounding the wounds was swollen.
Shaken and desperate to know if whatever did this was still near, he grabbed a flashlight and dropped to his knees on the floor — still completely shirtless, his wounded back fully exposed — leaning forward to shine the beam all the way underneath the bed, searching every shadowed inch of darkness. But only find specks of dust swirling across the light beam of the flash light.
Sophia had heard his sharp gasp and the sound of movement, and unable to shake her worry, she came straight over — knocked once quickly then turned the handle and stepped inside before he could call out.
The sight that greeted her stole the breath straight from her lungs: he was kneeling there on the floor, bare from the waist up, broad muscles tense and glistening with sweat and fresh blood, his back turned fully toward her and illuminated clearly in the dim light, those brutal, weeping cuts laid completely open and undeniable.
Her hand flew instantly to clamp tight over her mouth to stifle a cry, her eyes blowing wide with pure shock and naked terror, her face draining of all colour until she was as pale as paper. Nothing about those wounds was normal, nothing human — this was violence of a kind she didn’t think actually existed, and the realisation settled heavy and cold in her chest. Even so, fear was quickly overtaken by fierce, urgent concern for him.
He spun around fast at the sound of the door opening, realising instantly how much she had seen. His face burned hot with frustration and strain, and he instinctively picked up his shirt and put it on but it was already far too late.
He saw Sophia's tears roll down her cheeks, then he panicked.
“S‑Sophia — wait — it’s nothing,” he tried, voice rough and unsteady, stubborn even now despite the pain written clearly across every line of his face.
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she cut him off immediately, her voice trembling but firm, tears already spilling over and running down her cheeks. “Look at you… this is not nothing.”
She didn’t run, didn’t turn away — terrified as she was, she walked right over and knelt down behind him, close enough to feel that strange, burning heat rolling off his skin. Her hands shook visibly as she reached out, hovering just above the wounds, too afraid to hurt him but desperate to help.
“you saw them in the reflection… you checked first didn’t you?” she whispered shakily, voice thick with emotion. “You knew. And you were still going to hide it all by yourself…”
She moved quickly but quietly to the bathroom, fetched warm water, soft clean cloths and everything useful she could find in the small medical kit, returning moments later to kneel right back at his side.
“Sit still,” she said softly — gentle, but leaving absolutely no room for argument. “Let me take care of it. Please.”
She worked with the utmost tenderness, though every time she wiped away blood and saw the full depth and ugliness of the gashes again, her breath caught sharply and her own stomach twisted.
She could feel how wrong they were — the scorching heat, the way the flesh looked almost corrupted — and it terrified her more than anything she’d ever experienced.
But she did not stop, did not pull away, did not judge.
She cleaned thoroughly, dabbed carefully around the swollen edges, applied antiseptic and wound the bandages tight and secure but as gently as possible, her touch reverent, treating him like something precious that had been attacked by something unspeakably cruel. She never asked him to explain, never demanded answers — she just made sure he was tended, protected, and knew he was not alone.
When she finished she sat back on her heels, wiping her hands and blinking back the remaining tears, looking at him steadily.
“I don’t know what is doing this to you,” she said quietly, raw and honest. “I don’t understand any of it. But I know it is evil, I know it is getting worse… and I am so afraid for your life.” She reached forward and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “But I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to tell me a single thing you don’t want to — just let me help you like this when you need it. That’s all I ask.”
He looked back at her — seeing the terror she couldn’t hide, the horror she had witnessed, and yet the loyalty and care that was stronger than all of it — and for once he had no defence, no lies, only a quiet, heavy nod of gratitude.
The next morning at the anniversary party, the house buzzing with well‑wishers and the joyous strains of old love songs, he struggled to remain still; the fresh bandages pulled firm across his back, the wounds stinging with fiery intensity beneath them, and a mounting headache throbbed behind his eyes — a dull, insistent ache that refused to recede.
Sophia kept him in her sight naturally throughout the gathering; she noticed every flinch, every time he pressed a hand briefly to his back, every forced smile — but she never drew attention to it, never asked again, just gave him small, subtle signs that she was there, that she knew, and that she would carry his secrets exactly as he needed.
Charlotte was there too, standing silently in the corner, fidgeting slightly whenever someone came over to speak to her. As usual, she was trying her best to remain composed. She watched him talking to Eric's relatives like he was truly part of the family, chatting with the nieces and nephews and laughing at their jokes.
She wanted to approach him, but remained frozen at her post.
Beside him stood Sophia in a pink, knee-length dress. She looks so elegant and sophisticated, Charlotte thought. She shook her head, trying to fight down the bitter hint of jealousy tightening in her chest.
But Eric’s mother, Bettina, a woman of formidable warmth and keen observation, noticed his discomfort from across the crowded living room and immediately came over, her brow furrowed with concern. “Just a headache, Bettina,” he said, forcing a smile, trying to downplay his misery.
Bettina, ever the maternal figure, reached up — though he towered over her small frame, she still managed to easily place a hand on his forehead, her touch cool and firm. “You’ve got a fever. You're burning up.”
“I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me; it's your day, you should be celebrating,” he insisted, trying to pull away subtly.
Bettina wasn't having it. Her gaze was stern, her voice leaving no room for argument. “When I say you rest, you rest. Do you understand?” She firmly took his arm and, despite his protests, gently but firmly dragged him back to his room, her strength surprising for her small frame.
She retrieved a bottle of medicine from the cabinet in his bathroom, poured a dose, and made sure he swallowed it, watching him with an eagle eye. She didn’t notice the fresh bandages carefully hidden beneath his shirt.
As she left and closed the door, he glanced toward the hallway — Sophia was standing there, waiting, her expression soft and serious. She gave a small, quiet nod, then turned to walk with Eric's mother back to the party.
He lay down, the room spinning slightly. The medicine, combined with his utter exhaustion, quickly pulled him under.
He immediately fell back into a deep, heavy sleep, the silence of the room now a comforting blanket against the relentless demands of his increasingly strange reality.
But even in sleep, the image of the rotting deer, its head inexplicably severed, flickered at the edges of his subconscious — a grim herald of what was to come.