EMMA
The night stretched on, thick and suffocating.
I hadn’t slept. Not really. My eyes were dry and gritty, my nerves buzzing in a constant, low hum. Every creak of the cabin, every sigh of the wind against the roof, had me stiffening, holding my breath, waiting.
Then—the scratching returned.
At first, it was tentative, almost polite. A low tap, then a scrape that made my chest seize. My pulse spiked instantly. I pressed my back against the wall beside the door, trying to listen without making a sound.
And then it escalated.
Heavy, deliberate, the weight behind each step undeniable. The hallway outside my room seemed impossibly long, yet the sound traveled, methodical, pacing. Something was moving, something enormous. Something that wasn’t human.
I wanted to hide. I wanted to flee.
