Archive of Our Own

When consciousness returned to the thin man, the first thing that he was able to focus on was the taste.

Something bitter and sour clung to the back of his tongue. He swallowed, and immediately realized that was a mistake as something in his stomach rolled over.

“Oh, God…”

The words came out as little more than a dry croak. His head throbbed in slow, rhythmic pulses. With each beat seeming to push against the back of his eyes, as the ground beneath him felt damp, cold, and incredibly uncomfortable.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Everything was blurry.

“Great.”

He raised a cold hand, the tips of his fingers slightly numb, and patted through the wet leaves until his fingers found something hard, he picked it up and heard the sloshing sounds of liquid. He sighed and continued his search, eventually finding his glasses. He wiped the lenses against his shirt, accomplishing very little except for smearing dirt across them, and put them on.

The world came into focus, he was surrounded by trees. Slowly, he sat up, staring blankly into a forest he barely recognized. A thin, dark mist crawled along the ground, curling between roots and disappearing into the woods. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned.

“Okay…” His voice sounded remarkably loud in the near silent environment. “Okay, Dwight.” He tried to push himself upright, but his head immediately objected. Dwight squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a palm against his forehead. As fragments of the previous evening struggled into place.

A team-building exercise. Right… His boss had insisted everybody needed to get away from work for the weekend. Something about building trust and improving morale… There had been hiking, a campfire, stories, then his boss had produced an unmarked bottle…

Dwight’s hand twitches, moving slightly to touch against the object he had felt earlier, seeing the same bottle from his memory, almost completely empty now. An old… ‘Whatever his boss’s surname was’ family recipe. Moonshine.

He remembered immediately deciding he wasn’t going to drink it. But his boss insisted… So naturally he drank it. One sip is all he could remember.

“What was in that stuff?”

The mist gave no answer. He looked around again, the campsite was gone. He looked again, seeing no signs of tents, a campfire, not even any other discarded bottles, like the one he now clung onto, like a lifeline.

“Guys?” Dwight called out into the dark, waiting for a response. But he heard none. “Hey!” The word echoed faintly between the trees. His confusion slowly gave way to an unpleasantly familiar feeling.

He’s experienced versions of it in school cafeterias, locker rooms, office Christmas parties, and practically every group project he’d ever participated in. He had been overlooked.

“No.” He pushed himself completely upright, brushing dead leaves from his shirt. “No, no, no! Come on, seriously?”

They’d left him. Of course they’d left him. Somewhere, probably halfway home by now, his coworkers were probably laughing themselves sick about the scrawny guy waking up alone in the woods after getting knocked out by a sip of moonshine. Maybe they’d taken a photo of him passed out? There was definitely a photo…

For a few moments, embarrassment overwhelmed his hangover. Then, another metallic groan rolled through the trees. Dwight turned towards the noise. Now that he was properly awake, there were things about the woods that didn’t feel right. There was wind moving though the branches overhead, but down on the forest floor, the air seemed strangely stagnant. The dark mist clinging to the ground seemed to have gotten thicker than it was a few moments ago, and Dwight’s senses had recovered enough for him to be able to smell something unpleasant permeating through the air.

Oil maybe? Or coal? Adjusting his glasses, Dwight squinted through the trees. Far beyond them, barely visible through the fog, something enormous rose above the forest. A building, with a massive chimney rising tall into the sky. There shouldn’t have been any structures for miles.

“Where the hell am I..?” Something snapped behind him, causing him to spin around, and almost fall over as his hungover head felt like it would soon fall from his shoulders. Fighting through the consequences of his decision, he scanned the treeline… Nothing. Dwight stood completely still, his heart had begun beating noticeably faster which caused his headache to worsen. 

“Guys?” He waited, a minute passed. “Very funny.” His voice breaking slightly as he removed his glasses, redoubling his efforts to clean them.. “Really. Great job. You got me.” But his words were only met with silence. Dwight swallowed, returning his marginally cleaner spectacles to his face. He wasn’t certain who he was pretending to speak to anymore. 

He looked back towards the distant structures. Wherever his coworkers had gone, buildings meant people. People meant phones, roads, directions. Aspirin. Dwight took a cautious step forward, shoving his hands into his pockets to try and warm them up. It didn’t help. His clothes had been soaked through, and a layer of mud slid across his skin with every movement.

He made it about halfway before he almost tripped, his foot had caught the edge of something metallic hiding in the grass. Half-hidden beneath the undergrowth, was a weathered, metal bear trap. Its jagged jaws sat open, the trap primed, and reading to close upon whoever was so unfortunate as to step into it.

Dwight stared into the trap, and carefully moved himself away from it, backing up several steps. His headache suddenly seemed unimportant. “Okay… Bear trap.” Saying it aloud didn’t do much to make him feel better.

Dwight knew practically nothing about hunting. Unless someone could consider scouring a supermarket for something that could be considered dinner without requiring any actual cooking. He looked around, and the woods suddenly felt considerably less empty.

“Obviously. Woods, bears, that’s… That’s a thing.” He gathered his nerve, and carefully stepped forward, giving the trap a wide berth. Then, as he passed by it, he stopped. His eyes drifted back towards the trap. If there were bears here, wouldn’t the trap have bait? Wasn’t that how traps worked? Put something the bear wants in the middle and wait for…

Dwight frowned. There was no bait. Just leaves carefully scattered across its metal teeth. His stomach tightened. Another groan echoed deeper in the woods as he turned to face his destination again.

Buildings, people, phones, aspirin. He repeated the list silently in his head. Then he started walking, much more carefully this time. Every few steps, Dwight found himself staring down at the ground, examining every patch of grass before committing his foot to it. It made progress painfully slow.

The forest gradually changed around him. Trees gave way to dead machinery, and piles of rotting timber. Rusted lengths of rails emerged from the earth before disappearing beneath weeds. An overturned mine cart sat half swallowed by the undergrowth, its metal sides blackened with age.

The smell was stronger here. Definitely coal. Dwight rubbed his nose. “Hello?” His voice carried through the ruins. No answer. He continued. The silhouette he’d seen through the trees became clearer. It wasn’t one building, but several, scattered across what appeared to be some enormous abandoned industrial site. Nothing looked operational, not for decades.

“Great.” He pushed his glasses higher. Something metallic clattered behind him. Dwight froze. It hadn’t been distant this time. He slowly turned, but saw nothing. An empty narrow path, with dark mist drifting lazily across it, and a crow sitting atop a low branch. Dwight stared through the layer of dirt smeared across his glasses. His breathing sounded too loud. He waited, but nothing happened.

He released the breath he’d been holding. “Jesus.” Dwight turned back towards the buildings and began to survey them, trying to find anything that resembled working machinery.

Crunch.

A footstep, loud, heavy. Dwight’s eyes widened, and he turned once again. Something moved between the trees. At first, his brain tried to turn it into one of his coworkers. “Hey?” The figure stopped.

Dwight immediately wished he hadn’t spoken. It was a man. At least, he thought it was. He was enormous. Broad shoulders nearly filled the space between two trees as he stepped into view, dressed in filthy work clothes and an apron stained so dark Dwight couldn’t tell what color it had originally been.

Something heavy hung from one hand. Dwight squinted as moonlight reflected from its surface. A cleaver. Not an industrially manufactured cleaver, it looked homemade. Made of the same weathered metal as the bear trap he had seen earlier. A brutal slab of metal, about the length of Dwight’s arm.

Dwight’s eyes moved upwards. Metal covered the man’s face. Crudely shaped and bolted together. The lower half had been carved into something resembling a large, jagged smile. He couldn’t move. He could barely bring himself to breathe.

The stranger tilted his head as they stared at each other. Before righting himself and taking large, deliberate steps in a straight line towards Dwight. 

Before Dwight knew what was happening, he had already started to run. One moment he was standing there, and the next, branches whipped against his face as he pushed through the underbrush.

“Ohshitohshitohshit…” close behind him something was crashing through the brush with considerably less effort. Dwight didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Looking back was how people fell over in horror movies, and Dwight had watched enough of them to know that. You looked back, there would be nothing there, then you looked back and faced directly against…

His foot caught a root.

Dwight pitched forward, and hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. For a horrifying moment, he simply laid there, before scrambling upright. His head thrummed with a combination of the impact with the ground, and the last remnants of the moonshine. He shoved his glasses back into place and stumbled onward, emerging from the trees beside the remnants of an old wooden structure.

A shack. Half the roof had collapsed, one wall leaned at an angle that suggested the rest wouldn’t be standing for much longer. Dwight ran toward it, then stopped himself. Remembering hiding himself in high school. Don’t pick the first place you see.

He looked around frantically, his eyes resting on a pile of timber next to the shack. Stacked haphazardly against a rusted piece of mining equipment. There was barely enough room between the logs and the machine for a person. Dwight squeezed himself into the gap. A nail caught his sleeve, he nearly yelped. He clamped a hand over his mouth, and pushed himself farther into the narrow space until cold metal pressed against his back.

Then, he waited. He heard footsteps approaching, and then stop. Dwight could hear his heartbeat. It was impossibly loud. He became certain the man could hear it too. Dwight squeezed his eyes shut, and held his hand against his mouth even harder.

Something scraped against wood, and Dwight’s eyes opened as fast as they had shut. Through a narrow gap between the logs, Dwight saw a shape pass on the other side. Huge, filthy boots. The cleaver appeared next, there was something dark along the blade, something dried. The man stood perhaps six feet away, as Dwight pressed himself harder against the machinery, desperately trying to become a part of it.

The stranger didn’t move, neither did Dwight. A second passed, then another… Dwight’s lungs began to burn. The masked head turned slowly. Towards him.

Dwight felt tears forming in his eyes. He could see the mask clearly now, that horrid carved smile. The man reached toward the timber.

Bang!

A tremendous metallic explosion echoed across the grounds. The masked man’s head snapped toward the noise. Slowly, the sound of an engine coughing to life breaks through the silence, followed shortly by a second bang. Then the unmistakable sound of someone shouting. A woman shouting. Dwight couldn’t understand the words from this distance, but the masked stranger could also hear them.

The hand withdrew from the timber, and Dwight watched as the cleaver and dirty boots disappeared toward the noise. He still didn’t breathe. He waited until he couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore. But at this point it was hard to differentiate the sounds of heavy footfalls from the cacophonous drumming of his heart.

His lungs finally forced him to inhale, his breath coming as a trembling gasp. He felt something moving in his stomach, trying to get out. Despite this, Dwight didn’t move, he swallowed down whatever was trying to come up. He wasn’t coming out. Absolutely not. Whatever that thing was, it could have the forest. Dwight would remain wedged behind this machine until morning. How long until morning? Dwight adjusted his position, looking upwards. He couldn’t see the sky.

“Okay.” He whispered. There was a woman. His coworkers? Maybe? Or someone who might know where they were. Someone who had just attracted the attention of the psychopath with the cleaver. Dwight swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed at him to stay exactly where he was. It worked. He had hidden, like he always has. Dwight glanced towards the crack in the logs, he heard a shout in the distance again, much fainter.

Dwight closed his eyes. “Damn it.” He crawled out from his hiding spot. He stared into the woods, towards where the woman was, and glanced back at his hiding spot, then to the shack. Where he noticed something, in front of the entrance, sat a small pile of leaves that wasn’t there when Dwight had first arrived. His heartbeat began to rise once more, and he turned, moving in the opposite direction.

He felt terrible about it, he told himself he wasn’t abandoning whoever had shouted. He was merely creating distance between himself and the masked man before he could figure out what to do next.

The deeper Dwight moved into the mists, the more impossible it became to convince himself this was some elaborate prank. As he rounded a corner, he noticed movement and ducked down. A large pole made of scrap metal, with a large, jagged hook, blackened and crusted with something he refused to examine closely. 

More bear traps appeared along narrow passages and patches of grass. Dwight gave them a wide berth. Eventually, the pounding of his own heart began to settle. Then, he heard rustling and immediately he crouched low, his eyes darting across the vegetation. He saw a slight movement nearby, someone was hiding in the bushes.

He grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a stick. Not even a particularly impressive stick. “I… I know you’re there.” The rustling stopped. “I have a…” He glanced at the stick. “… weapon.”

Silence. Dwight tightened his grip. Slowly, a face appeared between the leaves. A young woman, she wore glasses. For some reason, that was the first thing Dwight noticed.

The two stared at each other for a while, her eyes drifted towards the raised stick. Dwight followed her gaze. “Oh.” He lowered it. “Sorry.” The woman didn’t immediately answer, she looked frightened. Not panicked, exactly, but stressed and tense, with one hand clutching a small bundle of plants to her chest.

Dwight adjusted his glasses, “Are you… With the retreat?” Her head tilted slightly at his question, “Retreat?” Dwight nodded, of course, why would anything be easy? The woman carefully emerged from the vegetation, her eyes moving over Dwight. “Are you hurt?” Dwight was taken aback, “What?” “You’re bleeding.” She gestured towards his forearm, at where the nail had caught him when he hid, Dwight looked down noticing a thin trail of blood dripping onto the forest floor.

“Oh.” He stared at it as if it belonged to someone else. “No, I mean, yes. Technically. But I think I’m okay.” The woman looked at him for another moment, before stepping forward and grabbing onto Dwight’s arm, inspecting the wound and beginning to clean it. While working on his injury, she asked “Did you hear something? Earlier, I mean.” Dwight laughed, it came out much higher pitched than he intended. “Yes.” A long pause followed, before the woman turned slightly to him. “And..?”

Dwight opened his mouth, pausing again. He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. “Theres a man… A very large man… With a mask…” her face stayed neutral throughout his explanation. “And a cleaver.” Her eyes widened, but Dwight continued talking. “Okay, actually saying it out loud somehow makes it worse.” The woman tightens a bandage around Dwight’s arm. “You saw him?” “Very much so.” “Did he see you?” Dwight paused for a moment. “Also very much so.”

The woman’s face went pale, as her eyes moved over in the direction that Dwight had approached from. Dwight hurriedly clarified himself. “But I lost him. I think. There was this noise, and somebody shouted, and he went after them instead.” The woman nodded slowly, still staring into the woods. “Someone else is here?” Dwight nodded, “I think so.”

For several seconds neither spoke, and Dwight became suddenly aware that he had absolutely no idea who this woman was. “I’m Dwight.” She looked back at him, “What?” “My name.” He gestured towards himself. “Dwight Fairfield. Since we’ll be hiding from a masked murderer together…” A tiny, nervous smile grew on the woman’s face. “Claudette Morel.” Dwight smiled back, “Okay, great to meet you.” Another metallic crash echoed through the woods. Both immediately crouched low to the ground. Staring in the direction of the noise.

After a few seconds of silence, Dwight turned back to Claudette, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “So… I’m assuming you don’t know where we are either?” Claudette shook her head, “I’m trying to work it out… I thought I knew where I was at first… But, the plants are wrong.” Dwight’s brow furrowed slightly. “The plants?” 

Claudette pushed her glasses higher with the back of her wrist. “Well, they aren’t wrong exactly.” She starts gesturing around to the various flora in the area. “Douglas fir, western hemlock, sword fern… What I’ve seen is more common along the pacific northwest.” Dwight’s back straightened, “Pacific northwest? Like… Washington?” Claudette nodded, “And British Columbia, Oregon. Parts of the surrounding area.”

Dwight rubbed the side of his face. “Okay, that’s actually a problem.” Claudette frowned, “Why?” “Because I’m not from the pacific northwest.” Claudette made a face like Dwight had said something obvious. “Yeah, neither am I, why does that matter?” “No, I… Where do you think we are right now?” Claudette looked at Dwight with obvious confusion, she could smell the moonshine on him since he had stumbled into her hiding place, but only now did she think he was under the influence of it. “A few hours out of Montreal?”

Dwight felt his entire body grow cold. “Montreal? Like, Canada?” Claudette rolled her eyes, “Yes, like Canada. Did you hit your head on something?” “No, well yes actually, but. Listen. I was in America, in the northeast.” He gestured back where he had come from, but quickly realized the futility of the gesture. “We were on this stupid company retreat. I don’t know exactly where, but definitely nowhere near Washington, or Canada.”

The two stood silently, the sounds of the forest surrounding them, and the distant caw of a crow. Dwight was the first to speak up. “So either I got drugged hard enough to cross an international border… Or something else happened.” Another bout of silence permeated the forest, the dark fog seeming to pool around the feet of both Dwight and Claudette.

Another distant metallic crash echoed through the woods. They both flinched, Dwight away from the noise, but Claudette toward it. Dwight noticed this, “No. No, no no. That sound is where the man with the gigantic cleaver went. We are not going there.” Claudette continued looking out to the forest. “They shouted… They might need our help.”

“Claudette, with all due respect, I have known you for maybe six minutes, but I feel like this is a terrible first group decision.” She tightened her grip around the bundle of plants. “We can’t just leave them.” Dwight opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Taking the opportunity, Claudette continued, “We don’t have to fight him.” This gave Dwight something to say. “Fantastic, because I wasn’t planning on it.”

“We just need to find the other person.” “And then..?” Claudette paused for a moment. “We’ll figure that out when we find them.” Dwight blinked, taking his glasses off for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. “That’s not a plan.” Claudette turns back to face him, “It’s more of a plan than hiding in the bushes until something finds us.” Dwight raises an eyebrow, his gaze moving slowly to the bush that he had found Claudette hiding inside. She followed his eyeline and frowned. “That was temporary.”

Another noise echoed through the trees, this time, sounding like an engine failing to start. Claudette turned immediately. Dwight sighed, “Fine…” Claudette turned back to her new friend, who continued to talk. “We find whoever is making that noise. Quietly. And if we see the guy with the mask, we go the other way.” She nodded, “That sounds reasonable.” Dwight inhaled deeply, psyching himself up. “Good. Because I’d like it formally acknowledged that I contributed something before I die.” They began to move through the forest.

Claudette took the lead, picking her way through the trees while Dwight remained several steps behind. Unlike him, she seemed to know where she was putting her feet. Dwight found himself staring at the ground constantly, searching for the metallic outline of another trap. After walking into a low-hanging branch because of it, he glanced towards his companion. “How are you doing that?” She stopped, “Doing what?” “Walking without looking at your shoes, making sure you don’t step into a trap.” Claudette glanced downward, then back up. “I’m looking ahead, vegetation changes around disturbed ground.” She pointed towards a patch of leaves beside the trail. “See there? The leaves have been moved.” Dwight squinted for several seconds before he could see the metallic edge hiding beneath the leaves and dark fog. “Oh… You know, I’m starting to feel like these glasses are decorative.” Claudette gave the faintest of smiles before they continued onward, a little quicker now.

A dark opening eventually appeared ahead of them. The entrance to a mine. Old support beams framed the passage, several warped with age. Rusted lantern hooks hung from the wood, though whatever lights they once held were long gone. Rails descended into the darkness before abruptly disappearing beneath an enormous collapse of stone and timber about thirty feet inside.

Dwight stopped at the threshold. “No.” Claudette stopped and looked at him, as he continued to speak, “I’m developing a rule for the group. No caves.” Claudette inches forward, “It’s a mine.” Claudette rolled her eyes and peered inside, “The collapse looks old.” Dwight’s eyes clamp shut as he shakes his head, “That isn’t helping.” She stepped through the entrance, and looked back at Dwight. “I’m considering my options.” “You’re standing in the open.” This seemed to snap Dwight out of it, as he quickly looked over his shoulder at the foggy treeline before hurrying inside.

The mine smelled of wet earth, rust, and coal dust. Their footsteps sounded strangely loud against the stone floor. They approached the collapse, Claudette running a hand over the rocks and Dwight crouched beside the rails. “Well, nobody is getting through there. Which means a dead end, great! We can leave.” Then, something shifted behind them. Both spun around, a machine sat tucked against the wall near the entrance. It hadn’t been noticed initially, because it looked just like every other piece of rusted equipment scattered throughout the estate. 

But this one was different on closer inspection, wires spill out from its sides. Several pitons shifted weakly, and a row of lights sat across the front, some cracked, one occasionally flickering. Claudette stepped closer, “This is what we heard.” Dwight stared at it, a section of casing had been removed. Several wires were tied together, and one cylinder looked to be replaced from a part from a different machine entirely. “It looks like someone tried to repair it… Recently.” The machine suddenly coughed, the cylinder slamming up with a loud bang. 

Dwight jumped hard enough to nearly hit the wall. “Oh come on!” Claudette crouched beside the machinery. “Something’s loose.” Dwight stepped closer, “You know how to fix this?” “No… But someone else does.” She gestured towards the exposed components. Someone had been working on it, and judging by the scattered parts around the machine, they’d left in a hurry.

Dwight went to speak, but froze. Claudette noticed, and slowly turned to look at him. He didn’t say anything, but slowly brought one finger to his lips. Only then did she hear it, a loud crunch of boots impacting the ground outside. Dwight grabbed Claudette’s wrist and pulled her toward a recessed section of the mine wall, where several old supply crates had collapsed against one another. They squeezed behind them.

The footsteps reached the entrance, and a shadow stretched across the ground. The masked man stepped into the mine, and Claudette’s eyes widened, Dwight could feel her tense beside him. The man moved slowly towards the generator, his cleaver dragging briefly against the stone. He stood over the machine, his eyes scanning across it, before he raised a foot into the air, and bringing his foot down onto it twice. The machinery shrieked, and one of the repaired components tore loose and bounced across the floor.

Claudette flinched, her body beginning to shift backwards involuntarily. But Dwight noticed this, quickly and silently holding her in place. For some reason, the stress of the situation was allowing him to focus. All those years of being overlooked, of being invisible to others, he would be invisible and overlooked, and he would make sure his new friend would remain unseen too.

The masked man stared down at the damaged machine for a few more seconds. Then he reached behind himself, taking a bear trap from the back of his belt. He crouched, placed it directly beside the generator, and opened the jaws, its metallic teeth locking into place with a sharp click. He patted his hand against the ground, swiping rocks and dust over the trap. Not as concealing as foliage, but it would work against someone who didn’t know what they were looking for.

Then, he rose. For a horrible moment, he turned toward their hiding place. Then, somewhere outside, wood cracked. The mask turned to face the entrance, and a moment later, he disappeared from the mine, searching for the origin of the noise. The two remained behind the crates for at least another minute, before Claudette emerged, moving slowly towards the trap. Dwight grabbed her shoulder. “What are you doing?” “Looking at it.” Dwight gestured back to the crates. “Can’t you look at it from here?” She turned to look at Dwight, putting her hands on her hips.

Then a voice spoke from behind them. “You two done?” Both spun around, seeing a young woman standing at the mine entrance. She was lean, athletic, and breathing heavily. Dirt streaked one cheek, and she had a nasty looking cut along her leg.

“Meg Thomas.” She stepped forward. Claudette stood. “You’re the person we heard, the shouting.” Meg nodded, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah, probably. I’ve been yelling a lot.” She took a quick step towards the machine, causing Dwight to jump forward in front of her. “There’s a, uh… He put something there.” He gestured towards the trap. 

“Figured he would at some point. Been dealing with him for… 30 minutes?” She stared at the trap for a bit. “You’ve been dealing with him?” Dwight said bewildered. Meg smirked, turning back to face him. “Yeah. He’s slow.” Dwight’s eyes drifted back to the entrance. “The seven-foot tall psycho with the cleaver!? He didn’t seem slow to me.” Meg shrugged. “He is if you don’t trip.”

Dwight felt his face turning red, and Meg raised an eyebrow, a slight smile growing on her face. “You tripped?” Dwight didn’t respond, but Claudette and Meg already knew the answer. Meg shook her head, and turned back towards the generator. “I’ve been trying to get this thing running. I’m hoping it powers something.” She points to a collection of cables disappearing into the ground. “They run out towards the buildings. I found another machine like this earlier. Got part of it working and the lights came on farther down the yard.” Claudette looked toward the generator, at Meg’s work. “You know how to repair this?” Meg’s face scrunched up a bit. “Not really, I found some wires inside and connected them.” Dwight stammered, “You just started touching things!?” “It worked.” “It exploded!” Meg shrugged “Only a little.” Meg searched the room for the component that the masked man had kicked out. “If these things power the site, maybe they power a radio. Or lights. Or something else we can use to signal somebody.”

Dwight ran his hands through his hair, looking back and forth between his new companions, the collapsed mine, and the entrance. “You said you’ve been outrunning him?” Meg nodded. “For a while. He can pick up a bit of speed going in a straight line, but if you jump over something he slows right down.” Dwight looked back and forth between Claudette and Meg, waiting for someone to tell him that was a joke. “That’s your entire strategy? And it’s been working!?”

Meg glanced at the cut on her leg. “Mostly.” Claudette seemed to finally notice the injury, crouching down next to Meg. “You’re bleeding. Sit down.” “What?” Meg took a step back, looking up at Dwight, who gestured towards his forearm. “She’s pretty good.” After a few more moments of protest, Meg sat down. 

Dwight watched Claudette clean and wrap Meg’s wound, his thoughts raced inside his head. They were hiding inside of a mine from a masked killer while attempting to repair some random machine in a forest that somehow existed in Canada, the Pacific Northwest, and the Northeast all at once. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog from his thoughts.

“Okay. We fix the machine… We find out what it powers… And if tall, dark, and murder-y comes back… We don’t all run in the same direction…” He gave a nervous smile after his plan, trying to instill a confidence he didn’t have to his new friends.

Claudette finished tying off the strip of fabric around Meg’s leg, and sat back on her heels. “Try not to put too much weight into it.” Meg disregarded Claudette, and moved over towards the generator, but was stopped by Dwight. “We should deal with the trap first.” The three inspected the trap for a while, unsure of how to tackle the problem, before Meg moved over to the stack of crates and picked up a loose piece of timber.

Claudette recognized what was about to happen, “Wait,” the wood was brought down against the pressure plate of the trap. Its jaws snapped shut with enough force to split the end of the wood. The sound cracked through the mine and disappeared into the forest beyond, causing a crow outside to fly away.

Meg tossed the broken piece of timber aside, and began to work on the machine. After another glance towards the entrance, Dwight moved over to help her. For a moment, Claudette considered helping, but she stepped away, crouching by the entrance and watching and listening for the man in the mask.

Meg shoved the damaged cylinder back into place, and the next several minutes were filled with the quiet metallic sounds of improvised repair. Meg seemed to operate primarily through confidence. If something looked loose, she tightened it. Dwight took the opposite approach, he watched and asked questions. When Meg tried connecting two frayed cables together, Dwight stopped her. “That one goes there.” Meg looked offended for a moment, before bringing the cable closer to her face and squinting, she connected it as Dwight instructed, and it worked without any complaint.

“Do… Do you guys think we should come up with a name for the masked man? Might make him less… Scary?” Dwight asked while glancing around under the casing, Meg rolled her eyes, trying to focus on the generator. “Maybe… We could call him Chuckles? Because of his smiling mask.” “Like a clown?” Meg chided, causing Dwight’s neck to grow cold. “Not Chuckles, maybe something unassuming. Like Kyle.” Claudette let out a small laugh. “Maybe just something we know about him. Like The Butcher. Or Trapper.” Meg looked towards Claudette, “That one sounds good, we’ll call him The Trapper.”

“Okay. Try it.” Meg said, with finality. “Try what?” Dwight said, staring at her. She pointed at the large switch on the side of the machine. “Why do I have to be the one who turns it on?” Meg sighed in exasperation. “Coward.” And she reached over and pulled the switch herself. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the generator coughed, sputtering and shaking violently, releasing a cloud of black smoke into the air as all the lights on it brightened. The pistons slowly began to move in a steady, mechanical rhythm.

Through the trees, and the dark fog, several distant lights flickered into existence. Far across the yard, one of the industrial buildings had come alive with a weak yellow glow. Dwight looked back at the generator, feeling a sense of progress as a small smile crept across his face, before quickly disappearing. “We should go.”

Meg frowned at him, “Why?” “Because if I was a masked psycho, and somebody just turned on a giant noisy machine I had just tried to destroy, I would probably come back.” The group quickly hurried out of the mine. They had barely reached the cover of the trees before the loud stomping footprints of the Trapper approached.

The three slipped behind a collection of rusted mine carts and crouched low. The masked man appeared from between the trees, moving directly towards the mine, his footsteps assured as if he could perfectly recall where he laid all of his traps, and had no worries about stepping into them.

The man entered the mine, followed by a tremendous metallic crash. Then another. But the sounds of the generator did not die. A few seconds later, the Trapper emerged, standing at the entrance and looking out towards the woods. The mask slowly turned, scanning for any movement. He disappeared back into the mine again, and when he returned, the bear trap was held in hand. He held it up, inspecting it for a few moments before returning it to the back of his belt. Then, after another scan of the treeline, he walked away.

Meg went to stand, but was pulled back down by Dwight. “Not yet.” “Why? He’s gone, let’s move.” Dwight furrowed his brow, looking in the direction that the Trapper had moved in. “Give it a bit more. He seems like the kind of person who would pretend to leave…” Meg groaned, but remained still, eventually, the group moved on, towards the building that had come alive.

Getting there required crossing what had once been a loading yard, then following an overgrown railway through a section of collapsed warehouses. The complex seemed to stretch impossibly far. Though that just might be the darkness. Every time Dwight thought he understood the layout, another structure appeared through the fog.

The building ahead was a narrow wooden structure with several broken windows and a rusted sign hanging crookedly above the door. The letters had been worn almost completely away. Claudette and Meg entered without giving the sign much thought, but Dwight squinted at the sign. It read; ‘MacMillan Estate”. Dwight headed inside with his companions.

The yellow light came from a collection of bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The building seemed to serve as some kind of administrative office, with dusty filing cabinets lining one wall, and a desk sat beneath the window. An old map of the estate hung crookedly nearby, the paper yellowed beyond usefulness. Finally, against the far wall sat a radio, which Meg immediately moved toward. “Oh thank god.”

She lifted the receiver, “Hello?” 

Static.

Meg began frantically turning knobs. “Hello? Police? Emergency services? The army? Literally anyone?” A voice behind them said "Doesn't work.” Meg spun around, holding the receiver outwards, as if it were a weapon. Claudette took a step backwards. Dwight made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cough. A man was in the darkest corner of the room, he had been there the entire time.

Legs bent, one arm resting across his knee, dressed in worn clothes stained with dirt and mud. He looked at the three of them, as though their reaction was mildly disappointing. Meg was the first to recover. “You could have said something!” “I just did.” Dwight pressed a hand against his chest, trying to slow his heart rate. “How long have you been sitting there?” The man turned to face Dwight, standing up and exiting the shadows. He was slightly taller than Dwight. “A while.” Claudette spoke up next, “Have you seen the man with the mask? The Trapper?”

The stranger nodded. Meg set the receiver back onto the radio. “He chase you?” After a brief pause, the man grunted, with a slight nod. A small smile appeared on Meg’s face. “I like him.” Dwight did not. He moved with a similar quietness that he did. But where Dwight moved carefully, this man seemed to barely disturb the room.

“I’m Meg.” The man nodded. She waited for a few seconds. “Usually you say your name after that.” “Jake.” Another pause, where Meg stared at him again, moving her hand to indicate that he should continue. “…Jake Park.” The name sounded familiar to Dwight, but he disregarded it.

The group shared introductions, but quickly noticed that Jake’s attention had shifted elsewhere. Toward the window, where a crow sat outside on the sill. “They’re wrong.” Dwight’s stomach dropped. Jake moved toward the window, and the crow remained perfectly still. “There are so many of them. They’re diurnal, they should be nesting and sleeping this late…” Claudette looked outside, another crow perched on a broken fence, another sat atop an old water tank, another watched from the roof of the building opposite. Jake continued, “And they don’t behave right.” 

Meg folded her arms. “What’s wrong with them?” “It should’ve flown when you opened the door. And they keep following us.” Dwight looked at the bird, and it stared back. He suddenly hated the crows. Meg picked up the radio receiver again. “Can we please focus on the thing that might actually get us out of here?” She turned another dial, and static screamed through the speaker. “Hello? If anyone can hear this, there are four people trapped at some kind of abandoned mine. There’s a man trying to kill us!” 

Nothing.

She tried another frequency, and another, and another. Then, for half a second, something broke through. A sound like a human voice stretched impossibly thin. All four froze. Meg slowly turned the dial back, and the voice returned. A low, distant moan buried beneath static. Jake reached past Meg and switched the radio off.

 She stared at him, anger rising. “Why did you do that?” “Noise.” “I’m trying to call for help!” She shoved a finger hard against Jake’s chest. “There isn’t anyone listening.” He said matter-of-factly. “You don’t know that.” Dwight said quietly, though part of him knew that Jake was telling the truth.

Jake pointed back out the window. “There are no roads.” Meg frowned, “What?” “There are no aircraft, no distant traffic, no power lines, no animal trails leading out.” He looked between the three of them. “I’ve been trying to leave.” Dwight’s mouth went dry, and for the briefest of moments, he wished he had kept the almost empty bottle of moonshine. “And?” Jake walked toward the door. “Come see.”

The edge of the forest was not far from the building. They followed Jane through thick brush, avoiding open ground whenever possible. Jake pushed through a wall of branches. “Look.” The trees ended, beyond them was fog. Not normal fog, but a wall of it. Black and grey vapour stretched between the trees, thick enough that nothing could be seen beyond a few feet. Jake picked up a stone and threw it, it vanished into the mist and a second later, it landed behind Dwight. All four stared at it.

Meg walked towards the fog. Jake caught her arm. “Don’t.” Meg pulled free. “Why?” Jake looked at the mist, and picked up a fallen branch, pushing it forward, into the darkness. Nothing happened at first. Then the fog moved. Something black shot outwards. Long, jointed, and sharp. It wrapped around the branch. Dwight stumbled backwards. Another limb emerged, then another. They resembled enormous insect legs, or the limbs of a spider stretched impossibly thin. They twisted around the wood, and Jake released it. The branch disappeared into the darkness, followed shortly by a sharp crack.

Claudette stared at the fog, her face had gone pale. “What… Is that?” Jake shook his head, “No idea.” Meg looked right, then left. “So we go around.” “We can’t. I tried. Ended up near the mine.” 

Dwight laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. He pressed both hands against his face. “Okay, okay. So we’re trapped in a forest that doesn’t exist, surrounded by murder fog with giant spider legs, and there’s a masked man setting bear traps for us. So what, we just stay here until morning?” Meg turned away from the fog, scanning the treeline, before her eyes widened slightly. “The gate.” The others looked at her. “What gate?” Claudette asked. Meg pointed back through the trees. “When I was running from him earlier, I passed this huge metal gate. An industrial gate, it had dim lights all over it.”

“Did it lead outside?” Dwight interrupted. “I didn’t exactly have the chance to stop and check.” Claudette spoke up, “The gate had lights, and the generator powers the place, maybe the gate is on now?” Jake looked unconvinced, “Your generator barely had enough power to turn on the lights and radio in one building.” Meg pointed towards the trees, “I saw another one earlier.” The group looked back and forth between the fog and the trees. “We turn on the generators, and open the gate, and hope it leads out of here.” Dwight said quietly.

A sound came from behind them. Metal scraping against bark. Everyone stopped, and turned, Dwight knew before he looked. The Trapper stood between the trees. Closer than he should have been. His cleaver rested against one shoulder. The carved grin on the mask faced directly towards them. 

The Trapper charged, the sudden speed catching Dwight off guard. He had expected the same slow, deliberate walk. Instead, the massive man crossed the distance between them in seconds. Meg darted left, Claudette followed. Jake disappeared almost instantly to the right, slipping into the brush. Dwight tried to follow, but his foot slipped in the mud. He managed to stay upright, barely, but the Trapper was there. The cleaver swept toward him. Dwight threw both arms up, the flat, heavy edge caught him across the shoulder and chest.

Pain exploded through his body. Dwight hit the ground, his glasses fell from his face, and the world became a blur. “Dwight!” Someone shouted his name. Claudette. He tried to push himself upright. A massive boot came down beside his hand. Dwight froze, and through useless vision, he saw the dark shape towering over him. He heard shouting, then, footsteps disappearing.

A strange thought entered Dwight’s mind. ‘Good. They got away.’ The Trapper bent down, and Dwight tried to crawl away. “No, no, no, wait!” He was lifted as if he weighed nothing. Dwight kicked, twisted, swung an elbow, but it accomplished absolutely nothing. The world rotated, and his stomach was pressed against the man’s shoulder. “Oh God!” The Trapper began walking. Dwight pounded both fists against his back. “Put me down!” He grabbed at the man’s clothing, tried pushing himself backwards, tried kicking, tried anything. 

Then, his blurry vision caught something ahead. A vertical shape. A pole. Dwight’s stomach dropped. “No.” The hook he had seen earlier. The Trapper was walking straight toward it. Dwight struggled harder. “No, no, no, no!”

Then, something moved above the hook, the fog thickened, long, spider-like appendages began to curl around the metal post. Dwight stopped fighting for half a second. His terror changed. The man carrying him was horrifying, but whatever was waiting above the hook was worse.

The trapped stepped closer. One of the black limbs stretched downwards. Dwight screamed. Then…

Clang!

The hook dropped. The entire upper section collapsed sideways, and the spider-like limbs faded back into fog. The Trapper stopped, looked down at the hook on the floor. Even without his glasses, Dwight could see the confusion in the man’s posture. The mask turned towards the trees, a figure stood there. Jake. He held a piece of twisted metal in one hand.

The Trapper’s shoulders tightened. Jake took a step backwards, then another. Dwight felt gravity begin to shift, as he was dropped to the ground. Pain shot through his ribs as he bounced against the hard earth. He lay there stunned for a few seconds, hearing the sounds of Jake running while being pursued.

Then, survival returned to him all at once. His glasses. Where were his glasses? He crawled blindly through the dirt. For what seemed like an eternity, Dwight moved through the woods, until his hands finally touched plastic. He grabbed at it, finding his glasses. One lens was cracked. Dwight shoved them onto his face. The world returned in fractured pieces. 

He could see Jake moving between trees, he looked entirely at home moving through the forest. The Trapper behind him. Jake vaulted over a fallen log, and the Trapper slowed to climb around it. Meg had been right, but Dwight didn’t wait to see more. He ran.

Claudette had no idea where she was. She hated that. She had always been able to orient herself through small things. The angle of sunlight, plant growth, slope, wind. But this forest refused to cooperate. The fog distorted distance. She had passed the same dead fern twice. Or perhaps they were just two identical ferns. Her lungs burned. She stopped behind a tree. She went to speak, but stopped herself. Remembering Dwight’s warnings from earlier.

Dwight.

Her hands began trembling, she pressed them against her legs. She needed to think. Why couldn’t she think!? She heard something crashing through the undergrowth, and ducked down in response. A figure emerged. Meg.

“Meg?” She spun towards Claudette. “Where’s Dwight?” Claudette didn’t answer quickly enough. “Oh, damn it.” “We have to go back.” Claudette said, standing up, with a hand against the tree. Meg went to protest, but her face softened, and she turned away. “Fine.” The two started moving back through the woods. They found the fallen hook first. Black fog drifted from the broken metal. 

Meg crouched beside it, inspecting the ground. “Blood.” Claudette’s head turned to look. “Dwight?” “Probably…” A crow cawed above them, both looked up, seeing three birds sitting along the same branch.

Somewhere far away, a generator coughed. Meg and Claudette looked toward the sound. Could that have been Jake? Or Dwight? Someone else? The Trapper trying to lure them in?

“We should find the next machine.” Meg said, adjusting the bandage on her leg. “What about Dwight?” “If he got away, he’ll need somewhere to go. If the generators are the way out, then that’s where we all need to end up anyway.” Claudette hesitated, looking back towards the blood splatter on the ground. Then she nodded. They disappeared into the trees together.

Claudette tried to concentrate on the ground. It was easier when she concentrated on the ground. There were things there she understood. Sword ferns pressed against the bases of trees. Moss climbed over rotting timber. She recognized each one. Could name them, and picture their classifications written nearly across the pages of one of her textbooks. Her breathing slowed as she ran through them in her head as she hurried after Meg. Pointing out a bear trap that Meg had missed.

There was something comforting about Meg’s impatience. It was predictable. Claudette had known her for perhaps an hour, but there were already things she understood about her. Meg didn't like standing still, didn’t like waiting, and she definitely didn't like admitting that her leg hurt. There was considerably more blood showing through Meg’s bandages than earlier. “You’re bleeding again.” “Is this what you’re like normally?” Claudette blinked. “What?” “Do you normally follow people around telling them what’s wrong with them?”

Claudette felt heat rise into her cheeks. “No. I just…” Meg smiled, peering back to Claudette. “I’m kidding.” Claudette’s eyes went back down. She hated that. Not Meg, the joke. Or rather, she hated that she hadn’t realized that it was one. Meg turned back around. “You’re weird.” Claudette’s stomach tightened, then Meg continued. “I like you.” Claudette stopped walking, Meg made it several paces before realising. “You coming?”

They continued through the trees. Claudette thought about Dwight. She kept seeing him on the ground, his glasses falling away, the enormous figure standing over him. Meg’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “There.” Through the trees stood a warehouse. Much larger than the administrative building they’d found earlier. Corrugated metal walls had rusted almost completely through in places. Several enormous loading doors lined one side, two hanging partially open. A railway line disappeared beneath one of the doors.

They stepped past a trap, badly hidden besides the rail tracks, and slipped through the partially opened loading door.There was a faint sweetness beneath the industrial smells. Not strong, not fresh. Rot perhaps. The interior stretched several floors upward. Catwalks crossed between enormous pieces of mining machinery, chains hung from the ceiling, and wooden crates had been stacked along the walls, many collapsed beneath decades of moisture.

Sitting almost directly beneath the center of the warehouse was another generator. Meg smiled. “There you are.” She started towards it, but Claudette caught her arm. Meg looked down at the hand on her, which immediately released her. “Sorry. Just… Wait…” Claudette studied the floor. No displaced dust, no leaves to conceal anything. “I think it’s clear.” Meg nodded, and the two moved to the machine.

This generator appeared to be in considerably worse condition than the first. One of its cylinders was completely jammed. Several wires had been pulled from their connections, and something oily dripped steadily from underneath. For the next several minutes, they worked in near silence. It was difficult. Claudette knew almost nothing about engines, Meg would move something, and Claudette would watch what happened elsewhere.

Then something crashed outside. Claudette’s hands froze, and Meg slowly lowered the casing she had lifted. They listened, but heard nothing. Then another sound, a crow’s caw. Meg exhaled. “Stupid bird.” Claudette looked towards the broken windows and saw two of them watching. They worked faster, but the machine fought them the entire way. A belt slipped loose, but Meg managed to force it back into place.

After they believed they had finished, Claudette pulled the switch, and the generator roared to life. Its pistons began hammering in sequence, lights flickered overhead, flooding sections of the warehouse in a weak yellow glow. Meg threw both hands into the air. “Yes!” Claudette laughed. “We did it!” Then both of them remembered what had happened the last time they’d completed one. “We should go.” They ran.

Jake didn’t run. Not anymore. Running made too much noise. He moved through the undergrowth with one hand pressed tightly against his side. Warm blood seeped between his fingers, the cut wasn’t deep enough to kill him. Probably… He’d had worse. Jake stepped over a fallen branch and immediately regretted it. Pain travelled from his ribs down through his abdomen. He stopped, his jaw tightening. No sound, he wouldn’t give the bastard that.

The masked man had caught him after the hook. Jake had managed to stay ahead for longer than he’d expected. The man was strong, but strength meant weight, and weight made changing direction difficult. Jake used trees, logs, rocks. Anything that forced the larger man to alter his path. He remembered his hunts back home. He used the same tactics when hunting boars. It worked, until it didn’t. Jake had rounded a boulder and found a bear trap waiting on the other side. He’d seen it, barely, enough to avoid stepping directly into it, but not enough to avoid losing his balance. The Trapper’s blade had caught him across the side as he’d stumbled. Jake remembered the impact more than the cut. It felt like being struck by a truck. He’d gone down, rolled, kicked backwards, his boot connecting with the man’s knee, buying him a few seconds, which apparently, was enough.

Jake continued walking. A generator roared somewhere in the distance. His head rose, two now, good. Then he heard movement ahead, Jake immediately crouched. Footsteps… Unsteady… To light… Jake waited, and saw a figure emerge through the trees. Cracked classes, torn shirt, Dwight. Jake relaxed slightly, Dwight did not. He saw Jake and nearly fell backwards. “Jesus!” Then, Dwight yelped out, grabbing onto his shoulder, where his own wound from The Trapper throbbed with pain.

“We need to find something to help patch us up.” Jake said, “There might be something in one of the buildings.” Dwight recovered, breathing hard, inspecting Jake’s wound, and then his seeming unfazed face. “Does that not… Hurt?” Jake nodded. “It does. But it doesn’t help to complain about it.” Dwight’s face fell slightly, pausing for a moment, the slow drip of blood hitting against the floor being the only noise until Dwight broke the silence. “I saw another building over that way, bigger than where we met. I think it was made of brick.” “Show me.” Dwight blinked, “Right, yeah, okay.”

They began to move and Jake noticed almost immediately that Dwight… Wasn’t good in the woods. He tried, but the man seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to find every dry branch available. After the fourth branch, Jake stopped, causing Dwight to almost walk into him. Jake pointed to the ground. “Step where I step.” Then before Dwight could reply, Jake continued. Dwight copied him, after several minutes, Dwight spoke.

“Thanks.” “For what?” “The hook.” Jake shrugged. “You were there.” Dwight waited. “That’s it?” Jake glanced back at him. “What else?” “I don’t know. Usually when someone saves your life, there’s supposed to be some kind of…” Dwight gestured vaguely. “...Moment.” A few seconds passed. “Still, though. Seriously, thank you.” Jake nodded to himself. He wasn’t used to such… Sincerity. He hadn’t spoken to people for a few years, and even before that, his household wasn’t one for the genuine. He could tell that he unnerved Dwight, but he didn’t know what to do about it, or even if he should.

The building emerged through the trees shortly afterward, a large brick building, three storeys tall. Most of the windows were shattered, but compared to the rest of the estate, it looked almost intact. Across the front, faded lettering remained bolted into the masonry. ‘MacMillan Estate - Administration’ Dwight stopped. “MacMillan…” Jake looked at him. “That mean something?” “No, I just saw the name on the other building.” Jake moved toward the entrance, followed by Dwight.

Inside the air was stale and dry, an old reception desk sat in the lobby, behind it were offices, corridors, and a staircase leading upward. Dwight leaned against the wall. “You need to sit down.” Said Jake. “Okay…” Dwight slid down the wall, sitting on the floor. Jake moved towards one of the offices, opening drawers, shifting papers, until he found a small medical box, bringing it back and beginning to patch Dwight up. Most of the contents were useless, old tablets, dried antiseptic, bandages yellowed with age. But the gauze was still wrapped. Good enough. Jake used half of it on Dwight, before handing the rest over to Dwight. 

After the two were patched up, Dwight began to move, Jake noting that his movements were much more graceful now. Perhaps the injury he had sustained was the reason he was so uncoordinated… No… Where Jake was accustomed to moving through a forest, Dwight was used to moving in manmade structures. The spectacled man approached a collection of filing cabinets, pulling open a drawer. Jake raised an eyebrow, and Dwight spoke. “If this place was a mine… There’d be maps, emergency exits, roads, employee records. Something.” Jake let him work, Dwight began sorting through folders, but most disintegrated when touched.

“Payroll… Shipping… Purchases… Accident reports… Jake.” Something in Dwight’s voice made him look over. Dwight was holding a newspaper clipping. “What?” “I think I found our guy.” Dwight laid several papers across the desk. A photograph showed a stern older man in a suit standing in front of the mine, beneath it read, ‘Archibald MacMillan expands industrial holdings.’ Dwight pointed to another section. “Listen to this, labor disputes, accusations of unsafe conditions, workers injured, people disappearing.” He read another. “Strike broken by force… Jesus.” Dwight moved back over to the filing cabinet. “There’s complaints everywhere, safety violations, wage disputes, intimidation…”  Dwight pulled another clipping free, a younger man stood beside Archibald. “Evan MacMillan. Only son, heir to the estate, and there’s something about the mine collapse.” The paper trembled slightly in his hands. “More than a hundred workers… Entrances collapsed after an explosion… Rescue attempts abandoned. Most presumed dead.”

Jake’s expression hardened. “Accident?” Dwight shook his head. “It doesn’t say. But it does say that Evan was seen entering the mines at the same time.” Dwight lowered the paper. “So Evan dies in the collapse… And Archibald…” He returned to the first photograph. A mine owner infamous for violence, workers dead beneath the estate with his only son supposedly killed with them. A man now stalking those same grounds, setting traps and killing anyone he encountered. “Oh.” Jake looked at him. “What?” Dwight placed the photograph beside the clipping about Evan. “I think that’s him. The Trapper. Archibald MacMillan. Think about it. This was his estate. He terrorized everyone who worked here. Then the mine collapses, and his son dies. He snapped. Well, more than he already had. He blamed everyone else, the workers, unions, whoever caused the explosion. His entire company collapses and now he’s…” Dwight gestured towards the walls. “... Here. Killing strangers.”

Jake looked down at the articles as well. “He was a hunter too. There’s something here about a bear. That’d explain the traps.” Dwight looked across the articles, and gathered them all up, clutching them close to his chest. Jake frowned, “Why are you taking those?” “Maybe if he corners us knowing his son’s name will help us?” Jake stared at him. “How?” “I don’t know! Distract him? Confuse him? Appeal to his humanity?” “The man tried to put you on a meat hook.” A heavy metallic sound echoed somewhere outside, and both men went silent, followed by another. Closer.

Jake slowed his breathing, crouching low and moving away from the filing cabinets, peering out into the corridor. Nothing. The sound came again, a short scrape, followed by a soft click. Jake’s eyes dropped to the floor, scanning it for traps. For several seconds, the administration building returned to silence. Jake remained crouched beside the doorway, listening. Somewhere beyond the broken windows wind moved weakly through the trees. The building creaked around them, and a crow gave a single caw from somewhere on the roof.

Jake leaned far enough into the corridor to see the lobby. Empty. The front doors remained open exactly how they left them. The two slipped from the office, crossing the corridor and keeping low, beneath the windows. Jake stopped beside one, slowly raising his head enough to look outside. He saw fog, trees, and an overturned cart, nothing of note. Until he noticed them… On a fence post, perched upon a stack of timber, and from the branch of a dead tree, the crows. All looking towards the building.

“We leave, they know something is here.” Jake said sternly. “The birds?” Dwight said, but Jake was already moving. Dwight looked out the window once more, and saw that one of the crows turned its head and was staring directly at him, he followed Jake. They didn’t use the front entrance, instead Jake led them through a few of the offices, looking for a sufficient window. Eventually finding a window where most of the glass had already fallen out of the frame. He carefully knocked the remaining shards loose. Dwight watched him work.

Jake climbed through the window, his shoes hitting against mud. Dwight followed, and they slipped between the administration building and an old storage shed, disappearing into the trees. Behind them, a massive silhouette from the fog, stopping beside the window. His head tilted, and he looked down at the footprints in the mud. Then followed. Jake heard the follower before Dwight, and grabbed his companion and pulled him off the trail.

They pushed through a dense wall of brush, Dwight’s sleeve caught a thorn, and he almost complained before remembering what was behind them. Everywhere Jake put his foot seemed somehow quieter than wherever Dwight put his. Where Dwight was good at blending in, and staying unseen, Jake had experience in moving through the wilderness silently. They descended down a steep embankment, sliding through wet soil toward an old drainage channel below.

The drainage channel twisted between two hills, its concrete walls cracked apart by roots. They followed it for perhaps fifty yards before Dwight stopped beneath an overhang, grabbing onto the back of Jake’s jacket, and pulling him into a recess. They could see nothing but each other, mud, and the concrete wall inches from their face. Jake had to admit, Dwight was good at finding hiding spots.

Crunch.

The Trapper stopped. Directly above them. A few grains of dirt fell from the embankment, the silence stretching across what felt like forever. Something metallic dragged across the concrete edge above them. Dwight’s eyes slowly moved upward, seeing the end of a cleaver appearing over the ledge, dragging through the dirt.

The cleaver disappeared, and footsteps resumed, slowly, but surely getting fainter. After a few minutes they slipped from beneath the overhang and continued in the opposite direction. “Okay.” Dwight whispered. “We’re getting good at-”

CLANG.

Jake vanished downward, Dwight spun around. Jake was on one knee, a bear trap had closed around his lower leg. Jake’s entire body locked, his mouth opened, but nothing came out, every muscle in his neck tightening at once. The jaws had punched through his trousers and buried their blunt, rusted teeth into the flesh around his calf. Jake inhaled through his nose. Slowly. His entire face had gone pale. The first impulse had been to scream, Jake had felt it rise from somewhere below his stomach, an involuntary animal response to metal crushing flesh and grinding against bone. He swallowed it, his jaw clenching hard enough to hurt. A small, strangled noise escaped his lips. Nothing more.

Dwight looked down at the trap, it was obvious he had no idea how to open it. “Springs. On the side.” Jake’s voice barely existed. Two heavy springs sat on either side of the jaws. Dwight put both hands against one, and pushed, but nothing happened. “Oh come on…” He repositioned himself, putting his weight into the push, watching the spring barely shift, he pushed harder. The spring compressed, one side of the jaws loosened. Jake grabbed it, and through combined effort, the jaws opened and Jake tore his leg free.

Jake sat in the mud, clutching his leg, blood had already soaked through his trousers. Dwight looked toward the forest. “Can you walk?” Jake pushed himself upright, but the instant he put weight on the leg, his expression changed, his knee gave out almost immediately. Dwight caught him. “Nope, no you can’t.” “I can.” Jake said, through gritted teeth. “You’re-” Before Dwight could finish, Jake shoved himself away, and started moving. “We should find Claudette.” Dwight said, realizing that Jake wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Meg was getting very tired of generators. She’d spent enough of her life around people who assumed that because she was athletic she must be stupid, and she’d like to believe that she’d proven them wrong. But right now she was arguing with a machine. They hadn’t gone far from the warehouse. After completing the second generator, they’d found another machine beside an old processing structure. The internal mechanisms had been badly burnt, and they had moved to a nearby truck to try and find some replacement parts.

As Meg had the top half of her body under the hood, she felt a tap on her leg, she turned to see Claudette looking out towards the treeline. Meg quickly extracted herself from the truck, putting herself between Claudette and whoever was nearby. She saw a person. No, two people. One considerably more pathetic-looking than the other. “Dwight!” His head immediately snapped towards her.

Claudette was already running toward them, then she saw Jake, seeing his leg badly injured. “What happened?” She said, closing the distance and immediately crouching down to inspect it. “Trap.” Jake said. Claudette made a face towards Jake, and started carefully pulling the torn fabric away from the injury, she made a face. Meg did too, it was not a pretty sight. The trap had left a pair of ugly puncture patterns along either side of his calf, already swelling, with the leg of his pants soaked with blood.

Claudette took a folded piece of cloth out, and pressed it against the wound, causing Jake to tense, his hands bunching into fists. “Meg, hold this.” Meg’s eyebrows raised, but she did as told, kneeling down and holding it in place. Dwight watched from nearby. “You… You didn’t scream… When the trap got you.” Meg glanced back at Dwight, then up to Jake. “Seriously?” Dwight nodded. “Not even a little. I would’ve screamed. I almost screamed, and it wasn’t even my leg.” All three stared at Jake, who avoided their gaze, like it hurt more than his leg. “He would’ve heard us.”

Claudette continued cleaning the punctures as best as she could before wrapping the leg tightly. “You need to stay off of it.” “No.” Claudette glared at Jake. “We stay here, he finds us.” Unfortunately, Jake had a point. Claudette finished tying off Jake’s leg, and Meg stood, looking over to Dwight. She punched him in the arm, almost knocking him to the ground. “What!?” He yelped, then immediately covered his mouth. “We thought you were dead.” Dwight’s hands came away from his mouth, revealing a small smile. “Oh… Uh… I’m not. Thanks to Jake.”

Dwight explained everything that had happened to them since they split, and brought out a collection of newspaper clippings. “I think I found out who the Trapper is.” He showed the girls a photograph, pointing towards the older man. “This is Archibald MacMillan, he owned the estate. Horrible person apparently, violent, abusive, broke strikes by force, treated his workers like garbage… He was also a hunter.” Dwight’s finger moved over to the younger man. “And his son, Evan, died when a hundred miners were trapped underground after an explosion.

Meg squinted at the photo. “So that’s him?” “I think so.” Dwight said, putting his findings back in his pockets. A crow called overhead, and everyone’s attention shifted. Three birds, then five, more were landing among the branches. “We should move. They keep finding us.” Jake said, Meg gestured for the boys to follow, and led them to the generator. “The insides are bad, I’ve been trying to get something usable out of that truck over there.” Jake and Claudette headed over to the generator, while Meg led Dwight to the truck.

It had probably once been red, but most of the paint had peeled away years ago, leaving broad patches of rust across the hood and doors. One of the front wheels was missing entirely, leaving the vehicle tilted awkwardly toward the ground. Meg reached the driver’s side and pulled at the door. It came away in her hand, the connection having been completely eroded with time. Meg stared at it for a second, a strange feeling of pride in her strength washing over her for the briefest of seconds as she leaned the door against the side of the truck.

Dwight moved towards the front, looking beneath the already-opened hood. Meg heard him muttering to himself from inside. “What?” “Just… Just looking… I think I can see what we need.” Meg nodded, and began opening compartments inside the cab. “Found a screwdriver, and… Half a wrench?” She threw it aside and continued searching. “This looks promising.” Dwight said, holding up a rubber belt that looked almost exactly like the one missing from the generator. 

Meg hopped out, and began circling around the truck, before dropping to the ground to look underneath it. “What are you doing?” Meg ignored him, there was some kind of cylindrical housing connected beneath the truck, held in place by two rusted bolts. She crawled underneath, retrieving the screwdriver she had found, and welding it against the first bolt. Nothing happened, so she pushed harder, and harder again.

She repositioned her grip and put both hands around the screwdriver, pushing once more. The screwdriver slipped, and her knuckles smashed against the chassis. “Ah, son of a-“ she stopped herself, and quickly turned to look at the treeline.

After confirming that her outburst didn’t lead to an unwanted visitor, she returned to the bolt, significantly angrier with it now. Eventually, it shifted, and the second bolt came loose as well. Meg pried the cylindrical part free, and escaped from underneath the truck.

With their haul, Dwight and Meg returned to the generator. Jake and Claudette had done all they could with what they had, but with the replacement parts, they were able to actually begin the process of returning it to function.

After a while, Dwight pulled the switch, and the generator coughed to life. The rhythmic sounds of the pistons filing the air as light bathed over the group. Jake stood from a kneel, flinching at his injured leg. “We move.” They quickly gathered whatever useful supplies remained and disappeared into a nearby processing building.

There were no obvious hiding places on the first floor, so Dwight pointed toward a narrow staircase. They climbed, with Jake holding up the rear, clutching onto the railing to assist his climb. The second floor consisted primarily of a rusted catwalk overlooking the machinery below. Several large containers had been abandoned along one wall.

Dwight ducked behind them, followed by Meg. Claudette helped Jake across the final few steps before squeezing into the space beside the others. Then they waited. From their higher vantage point, the group was able to see the generator from a safe distance, but that didn’t make it any more reassuring when they saw the large form of the Trapper emerge from the woodline.

From above, and illuminated by the generator’s lights, Dwight could see him more clearly than he ever wanted to. He moved directly toward the generator, stopping a few paces away. His head tilted slightly, and he raised his cleaver, striking against the generator. Metal screamed, and Claudette ducked down, averting her gaze entirely.

A crow cawed, and the Trapper turned, staring toward the group’s shelter. He stalked towards them, his footsteps echoing throughout the enclosed space. The Trapper stood directly beneath the catwalk now, his head slowly turning, scanning the building, before suddenly looking upwards, and inspecting the catwalk.

A long moment passed before the Trapper looked away. Checking behind machinery, between crates, and near the loading doors. He was looking for them, but didn’t know where they went. Dwight almost smiled, but then he noticed something about his attacker that he hadn’t before. Hooks. There were several of them embedded into the Trapper’s shoulder, and each eerily similar to the hook that Jake had saved him from.

The man now stood motionless near the center of the warehouse. For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then, one of the hooks changed. Dwight initially thought his damaged glasses had gotten dirty. Something dark was seeping from the metal. Black fog crawled from around the hook in thin tendrils, spilling downward before curling up again. Dwight’s eyes widened as another hook began doing the same, then another.

The metal started to glow, a dull orange emerged from beneath the rust, like iron left inside a furnace. The Trapper reacted immediately, his body jerked, and the cleaver dropped from his hand and struck the floor. He staggered, a massive hand grabbing at his shoulder as the orange glow intensified. The Trapper dropped to one knee, his breathing became ragged as black fog continued pouring from the hooks, before he let out a scream.

Raw, furious pain. The Trapper’s head snapped upward, not toward his prey, but towards the sky itself, and he screamed again. He slammed his fist into the floor, and roared upward again, the sound echoing throughout the building.

Dwight stared at the hooks again. He’d assumed that the spider-like limbs from the fog belonged to the Trapper. That they had been part of whatever sick ritual the man was performing. Dwight’s mind began assembling pieces.

The forest they couldn’t leave. The fog forcing them back. The machines that shouldn’t be operational, but could be repaired without mechanical knowledge. The hooks. The Trapper. The crows…

Him and his friends were trapped here, that much was obvious. But what if… Dwight stared down at the Trapper, what if he is too?

The thought disturbed him more than he expected. Eventually, the glow faded from the hooks, and the black mist stopped pouring from them, pooling on the ground and joining the haze that permanently hugged the ground. The Trapper slowly forced himself upright, his breathing heavy, and angry. He reached down and retrieved his cleaver. His head turning toward the generator, his fist tightening around the weapon. 

He turned and left. Nobody moved, they listened until the footsteps disappeared. Meg was the first to stand. “What was that?” Dwight continued staring at the doorway through which the Trapper had disappeared. “I don’t think he’s in charge.” Jake looked towards him, and Dwight could feel his mouth grow dry. 

“The fog stops us from leaving, those things came out of it when we tried… And when he couldn’t find us, it punished him.” “He’s still trying to kill us.” Jake said. “I know…” Dwight replied. “Then it doesn’t change anything.” Jake rose from the hiding spot, he was still being careful about his leg, but it seemed to hurt less than it had a few minutes ago. Dwight pushed his cracked glasses further up his nose. “I think… Whatever brought us here… I think it brought him here too…”

Jake’s eyes remained on the doorway. “Doesn’t matter. He catches us, we die. Whatever is hurting him doesn’t change that.” “No… But that means there are rules.” Dwight pushed himself upward. “Whatever the thing in the fog is, it hurt him when he couldn’t find us. Whatever brought him here expects him to do something, which means…” “It expects us to do something too…” Claudette said, turning her gaze towards the generator. 

They waited a few more minutes, before leaving the processing building. Jake went first, his limp noticeable, though substantially less pronounced than before. He descended the staircase carefully, with Claudette remaining immediately behind him. After a while of walking through the woods the group found their fourth generator. This one sat in what remained of a logging yard. Huge piles of rotting timber surrounded an open clearing, with rusted machinery abandoned throughout. A crane towered overhead, its cable hanging loosely from the boom.

Meg immediately started forward, stopped quickly by Claudette grabbing the back of her shirt. She turned. “What?” Claudette pointed, revealing a bear trap nestled beneath a thin covering of bark immediately beside the generator. Jake crouched down beside the trap, examining it for several seconds before placing his hands against the springs. Dwight could feel his body tense up as he remembered the last time Jake had gotten close to one of these. 

Jake pressed down. The spring resisted him, but slowly compressed. He carefully eased the jaws shut. Jake stood back up and had already taken a step toward the generator when Claudette spoke up. “Wait. Your bandage.” Jake looked confused, and glanced down at the fabric around his calf, stained almost completely red. “What about it?”

“You’re not bleeding.” Claudette said, still staring. “Good.” “No, I mean, you’re not bleeding.” She knelt down and carefully untied the cloth. The bandage came away, and Claudette froze. The wounds were still there, but they were wrong. Where the bear trap had punctured Jake’s leg, there should have been deep, ragged holes, Claudette had cleaned it herself. Now the wounds were little more than angry red marks, and the swelling had disappeared almost completely. 

Claudette touched the skin, causing Jake to flinch slightly. “That… Shouldn’t be possible. This should take weeks to get to this stage in recovery.”

Dwight instinctively touched his own shoulder. He could feel the bandages covering him, but there was no feeling of pain underneath, like he hadn’t received a blow from a cleaver in the first place. “Mine too.” Dwight said. Claudette moved over to inspect Dwight as well. “This is impossible…” 

Meg looked from Jake’s leg over to Claudette, “Apparently not here.” Claudette opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Claudette began to look around, the vegetation surrounding her no longer bringing her comfort.

Dwight looked around at their surroundings nervously. “Maybe it doesn’t want us dead… The fog. If it wanted us dead it would’ve already done it” Nobody had an answer, and silently, the group began to work on the generator. 

The fourth generator proved easier than the others, they were getting better at this, despite how much the thought disturbed them. When the machine started up, they didn’t wait for the Trapper to show up, they ran. Jake choosing the route, Claudette watching for traps, Meg scouting ahead, and Dwight watching behind them for their pursuer.

They passed the mine, the railway, and the grotesque hook that he had almost been impaled upon. It had been repaired, the hook dangling from the pole once more. Despite all of this, no sight of the Trapper.

“Where is he?” Dwight said quietly. “Don’t complain.” Meg said sharply, Dwight went to respond, but stopped himself as the group passed by another pole, adorned with a hook. 

The fifth generator stood in a clearing dominated by a colossal dead tree. Its branches twisted overhead like skeletal fingers. Scrap metal and broken machinery had been piled around its roots.

And beyond it, lights. Four lights pierced through the black fog. “The gate.” Meg said, pointing out towards it. They could barely see it between the trees. Two immense steel doors set into a wall that seemed to disappear into darkness.

Dwight felt something dangerously close to hope. They rushed to the generator, they barely needed to talk about what they were doing anymore, they knew what to do. Dwight gave a haphazard glance back towards the trees before returning to the generator. “Meg, try it.” She pulled the switch, but the machine didn’t move. Jake peered under the hood. “Fuel line, I’ll fix it.”

While all attention was towards the nearly completed generator, Claudette looked over her shoulder. Something moved.

“Dwight.” He heard the change in her voice. He looked toward her, but she wasn't focused on him, she stared past him. Dwight turned, and saw the massive form of the Trapper standing between the trees. He charged.

The group scattered as his cleaver swung horizontally. Meg was the closest, and the blade caught her across the back. She screamed out as blood sprayed across the generator casing as the force spun her around. She stumbled, catching herself and began to run.

The Trapper immediately followed. “Meg!” Claudette started after her. “Claudette!” Dwight’s voice called out over the chaos. “Finish the generator!” Meg disappeared between the trees, the Trapper behind her.

Dwight ran after them. “Hey!” Dwight shouted, to no response. “HEY!” Dwight ran harder as the Trapper continued after Meg. Dwight’s hand dove into his pocket, pulling the newspaper clipping free. “Archibald!” He screamed out.

The Trapper stopped. Dwight almost ran directly into him. Meg continued forward, disappearing into the fog.

The masked head slowly turned, and Dwight could feel his confidence waning as all attention was on him. The Trapper faced him. “Archibald MacMillan.” Dwight held up the picture. “I know who you are.” The Trapper’s fingers tightened around the cleaver, Dwight’s voice shook as he continued. “This is your estate.” The Trapper took a step toward Dwight. “You owned the mines.” He took another step, and Dwight took one in the opposite direction.

“And your son…” The Trapper stopped, and all moisture in Dwight’s mouth disappeared. “Evan… I know what happened.” The Trapper’s breathing grew louder. “Your son was killed.” The reaction was immediate, the Trapper roared. Not as he had when in pain from the hooks in his back. In pure, unfiltered rage.

Dwight’s face fell. “Oh.” The Trapper charged. “Oh shit!” Dwight ran, branches whipping against his face as he blundered through the forest. Behind him came the heavy rhythm of boots.

Dwight risked a glance backwards, and ducked just in time as the Trapper swung his cleaver, striking into a tree hard enough to bury itself several inches into the trunk. Dwight took this as a window of opportunity to get away, but the weapon was freed just as fast as it went in.

Dwight saw a narrow opening between two piles of timber, and darted through it. He managed to gain several seconds of distance from his pursuer as the Trapper’s large frame forced him to circle around.

Dwight burst into another clearing, seeing a wooden pallet standing upright between two piles of scrap. He surged forward, grabbing it and pulling it down as he passed, causing it to crash down and barricade his path. 

The Trapper reached it, and Dwight expected him to go around. But instead, a sickening crack rang out as the Trapper’s boot smashed through the boards, like someone kicking over a sandcastle.

Dwight ran, finding more obstacles to put between him and the Trapper. But for every five seconds that Dwight gained, the Trapper seemed to take three of them back.

Dwight’s lungs began burning, his legs felt heavy. He wasn’t Meg, he couldn’t do this forever. He turned around the remains of a shack straight into a dead end. “No.” Dwight spun around to try and run elsewhere, but as he turned, the Trapper stepped out from the same corner he had taken moments ago.

“No, no, no.” Dwight backed away as the Trapper approached, looking left and right for any avenue of escape. He raised his hands. “Okay. I clearly got something wrong, maybe Evan didn’t die.” The Trapper’s breathing grew harsher. “Maybe he-“ Dwight’s back hit the wall, and the cleaver swung.

Pain erupted across Dwight’s ribs as he collapsed to the floor. For several seconds he couldn’t breathe. He could hear the Trappers footsteps closing in. Dwight rolled onto his back, seeing the jagged smile of the Trapper’s mask staring down at him. Dwight tried crawling, but his body refused. The Trapper raised his cleaver, and Dwight closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

But nothing came. Dwight opened one eye, and saw that the Trapper was still there, but he wasn’t looking at Dwight. His head had turned toward his shoulder, where black mist had begun pouring from the hooks. The Trapper’s body tensed, with his cleaver still raised as one of the hooks began to glow orange. The Trapper growled as black fog began to wrap around the killer’s arm, guiding it.

Dwight could see the Trapper trying to resist, his entire body shook with the effort. Dwight understood, the Trapper wanted to kill him now, but whatever controlled this place didn’t. Not yet at least. The Trapper lowered his cleaver, as the carved smile of the mask looked back towards Dwight. It had never looked so hateful. A huge hand closed around Dwight’s shirt, lifting him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

Dwight’s eyes widened as he knew what was about to happen, he knew where the Trapper was taking him. Dwight tried to struggle, but his ribs screamed in protest. The hooks in the Trapper’s shoulders were no longer glowing orange, but they still leaked thin trails of darkness.

Dwight saw the sacrificial hook ahead. “No.” His struggle became frantic, as the Trapper stopped before the hook. He grabbed at anything he could reach. Clothing, metal, the Trapper. “Wait, wait!” He was lifted from the Trapper’s shoulder, for a moment, he was weightless. Then…

Agony. The hook punched through him. Dwight screamed. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. His entire body convulsed, his hands grabbing instinctively at the metal above him, desperately trying to pull his own weight away from the wound.

Dwight tried to call out, but at all that could escape his mouth were strangled cries. The Trapper watched him, seemingly relishing in Dwight’s suffering, before he turned and disappeared into the trees. 

Dwight couldn't focus, he tried to think of a plan, of anything that could help, but the pressure of his wound being forced open by gravity overpowered any logic he could muster. Somewhere far away, a generator roared to life. In the distance, a tremendous mechanical siren sounded.

Dwight tried to laugh, but it emerged somewhere between a sigh of relief and a sob. He was glad his friends had done it, then something moved above him and his feelings faded. Black fog gathered around the hook, slowly unfolding impossibly long limbs. 

One leg curled around the hook, then another, and another. Dwight pulled desperately against the metal buried in his body as a mounted limb stretched down toward him. 

The sound was thin and broken, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, carrying through the trees just loudly enough for Claudette to hear. 

Branches caught at her clothes as she pushed through the undergrowth. She no longer cared about keeping quiet. Somewhere behind her, Meg swore, and began to follow. 

Claudette and Meg emerged into the clearing and froze. Dwight hung a few  feet above the ground, both hands wrapped desperately around the metal driven through his body. Black limbs were unfolding above him, with one extended downwards, inches from his head.

She reached Dwight, grabbing him around the waist and pulling upwards. His hands clawed at her shoulders as she lifted his weight from the hook. His body hit the ground clutching his side, curling around the wound. Above them, the spider-like limbs recoiled, returning to the black mists.

Claudette grabbed Dwight beneath his shoulders and dragged him away from the hook, Meg finally caught up, taking his other arm as they pulled him behind the cover of a fallen tree. “He’s coming…” Dwight muttered, seemingly teetering on the verge of unconsciousness.

Meg stood, and looked back towards the hook. “I’ll keep him busy.” Claudette put out a hand and began to protest, but Meg was already moving, disappearing through the treeline, deliberately snapping a branch as she went. 

Claudette looked back down to Dwight. Blood had soaked through his shirt around the puncture. His face had lost most of its color, and his breathing came in short, shallow bursts. She pulled the shirt away from the wound, it was bad, but should have been worse. One of the only blessings of this crazy place they had found themselves in.

There should have been massive internal damage, blood loss, perhaps a punctured lung. Instead, the wound was already contracting. Claudette tore a strip from the already ruined bottom of Dwight’s shirt and pressed it against the wound. “Hold that.” 

She retrieved the leaves she’d collected earlier, crushing the leaves between her fingers. “Yarrow. It can help slow bleeding.” She pressed it around the injury before tightening the improvised dressing. Claudette helped Dwight sit upright, and the two began to move the doors.

They were much larger up close. Two enormous sheets of rusted metal stood between concrete pillars, each disappearing upward into the darkness. Thick cables ran from somewhere beneath the ground into a control panel beside them. Three dull lights sat above a large lever, and holding onto that lever was Jake. He looked relieved to see Claudette and Dwight, or… At least Claudette thought the look was relief.

Jake pulled the lever down, and the door began to groan and shudder. One of the lights above the lever began to slowly illuminate. Followed by another. Metal shrieked against metal as gears that should have rusted solid decades ago began turning. The doors separated by inches, then feet, and beyond them…

Nothing.

Dwight’s expression fell. There was no road, no town, just fog. A seemingly endless field of pale grey stretched beyond the doorway. It rolled across the ground and disappeared into itself. There was no horizon, no sky.

Jake picked up a piece of scrap metal and threw it through. It landed somewhere beyond the threshold. Nothing moving to grab it, Jake approached cautiously, extending a hand. Dwight grabbed his shoulder, but Jake ignored him, pushing his fingers through. Before shortly pulling them back.

“It’s open.” He said, followed shortly by a scream from behind them. All three turned to see Meg burst from the treeline at full sprint. Blood ran down one arm, her hair had come partially loose, and her face was red with exertion. Behind her came the Trapper, who swung out with his cleaver, Meg twisted away, and the weapon missed her back by inches.

She sprinted toward them, followed by the Trapper, who was slowly but surely gaining on her. Meg reached the edge of the doorway, then.

Clang.

Her expression changed, a bear trap had closed around her ankle. She fell, and the Trapper slowed, there was no hurry anymore. Meg clawed at the metal , but the springs refused to move. Claudette ran forward, but Jake caught her. “He’s going to kill her!” The Trapper approached.

For the first time since Dwight had met her, she looked genuinely helpless. She dragged herself backwards as the Trapper’s cleaver raised into the air. Jake moved. He sprinted past Dwight, past Claudette, past the gate. 

The Trapper swung as Jake stepped between them. The cleaver burying itself into his shoulder. Jake’s whole body jolted, making a small sound, his breath leaving him all at once. 

The Trapper ripped the weapon free, causing Jake to collapse to one knee. “Jake!” Dwight ran forward, but the Trapper grabbed Jake before he even cleared the gate. Meg attacked the trap again, finally forcing one spring down as Jake was lifted into the air. Claudette reached Meg, adding her weight to the other. The jaws opened, and Meg freed her leg. 

Dwight stopped several feet from the Trapper, with Jake hanging from his shoulder. The Trapper turned slightly, looking directly at Dwight. A sound that could be described only as a sadistic chuckle escaped from behind the mask, as he turned back away, and trudged towards a hook. 

Dwight ran after him, but was caught from behind by Meg. “We can’t leave him!” Dwight pleaded. “You go over there, he’ll get you too!” Meg shouted, pulling him back.

The Trapper reached the hook. Jake was barely moving, he lifted his head, and for a moment, his eyes met Dwight’s. There was no pleading, just exhaustion, and understanding. The Trapper lifted him, and drove him down upon the hook. 

Dwight didn’t move, but was pulled back towards the gate. His eyes filled with tears. And despite this, and the layers of grime covering Dwight’s cracked glasses, he could clearly make out Jake’s mouth, as he silently mumbled something to himself.

“You were there.”

Meg dragged Dwight to the gate, followed by Claudette. The Trapper turned, leaving Jake impaled as he marched towards the remaining three, quickening his pace as they stepped over the threshold of the door.

Then the fog moved, a black mist exploded from the ground, and laid itself across the Trapper’s chest, forcing him back, away from the door. He roared as another seized his arm. The Trapper swung his cleaver wildly, the weapon passing through the limbs like smoke. More limbs emerged and pulled him backwards, as he dug his boots into the ground. The hooks on his shoulder began glowing, and the Trapper was thrown backwards.

The hooks in the Trapper’s shoulder burned brighter, but he pushed through the pain to stand. Breathing heavily as he stared into the fog towards Dwight, Claudette, and Meg, before turning his attention back to Jake.

Something changed in his posture, as the hooks embedded into him began to glow even brighter, and black fog billowed from him. He reached the hook, reaching upward and grabbing Jake around the torso and lifting, dropping Jake to the ground. 

Jake started to crawl, trying to right himself. The cleaver came down on his back. And again, and again. There was no purpose to it anymore, no ritual, no hook, no strange rules governing what happened next.

The black fog coalesced around the Trapper, but the killer’s rage pushed through. His chest heaved as he finally stopped. Then he reached behind himself. Dwight saw the bear trap.

He tossed it on the ground in front of Jake’s still body, and picked his head up with one hand, using a boot and his free hand to force the jaws open. The smell of burning flesh now filled the air as the hooks continued to burn the rebellious killer.

Then, the Trapper raised one enormous boot, and brought it down on the back of Jake’s head with a sickening crunch,  and another. The Trapper’s mask turned toward them, before he threw his head back and roared.

Dwight stumbled backwards into the mist. Being pulled along by Meg, and followed by a quietly sobbing Claudette. They weren’t sure how long they walked, minutes? Hours? There was nothing with which to measure distance. Nobody spoke.

Eventually, Meg stopped, and Dwight stumbled into her. Something orange flickered through the dark mist. They approached cautiously, the fog around them thinning.

Trees appeared, and a small clearing opened before them, in its center burned a campfire. It somehow felt familiar? There were four logs around the fire. Claudette sat down first, followed by Meg, then Dwight, who stared at the empty seat.

Dwight removed his glasses, wiping the tears from his eyes. When they were placed back upon his face, he noticed that the cracked lens was fixed. His hands trembled slightly, as he touched his shoulder, and felt no bandage, nor wound. 

“Claudette?” She looked at him as he showed her where his wound should have been, revealing unbroken skin. The two girls immediately started checking their own injuries, finding themselves healed as well. 

For a long time, nobody spoke. The fire crackled between them, occasionally throwing sparks into the air. Dwight watched one rise, glowing brightly before disappearing into the darkness overhead. 

Meg sat at attention, her earlier energy had vanished. One foot tapping against the ground, but even that seemed less like impatience and more like she needed some part of herself to keep moving.

Claudette had drawn her knees toward her chest. She stared into the flames, eyes red, occasionally wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt.

“What do we do now?” Dwight broke the silence, still staring into the sky. Silence followed the question, broken once more by the quiet voice of Claudette. “We left him…”

Dwight wanted to reassure her. He wanted to say that they had no choice. That the Trapper was coming, that if they’d gone back, all four of them would probably have died. 

Instead, all he could think of was Jake hanging from that hook while they disappeared into the fog. “We did…” His voice carried into the surrounding darkness.

Meg looked towards the woods. “Maybe there are others. Whoever lit this fire… if they’ve been here longer than us, maybe they might understand this place.”

Dwight nodded, before a noise emanated from far beyond the trees. A bell. Deep and impossibly distant, its toll rolled through the forest and seemed to vibrate through the earth beneath their feet. 

“We should rest.” Dwight said, still staring into the surrounding trees. “Before… Before whatever happens next…”