#Carrie Munro | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 1 month ago

Note

Could we get some headcannons on how X-Men characters would deal with an s/o who struggles with verbal communication? (I was thinking someone who just struggles with words but they could be deaf or mute as well)

Like instead of talking they use notes, or gestures, or even actual sign language to communicate. I was thinking it’s usually done when the reader is struggling to ask for something directly, or just convey what they’re thinking.

(I wasn’t sure if you’d want specific characters to think of or if you’d want free rein, but I’ll list a few of my favourites; Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Gambit, Storm, Morph, Magneto, Beast)

X-Men x Reader

You struggles with verbal communication

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Morph, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Jean Grey, Rogue, Cable & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You’d been living at the mansion for a while, and while most people understood your struggle with verbal communication, Logan didn’t seem to get it at first. He wasn’t rude about it, but his gruff nature often led him to misinterpret your gestures. “What, you can’t just spit it out?” he’d ask, crossing his arms. You’d roll your eyes and scribble something on a notepad, sliding it over to him with a sharp look. He’d grumble but take it, slowly realizing how much effort you were putting into every interaction.

- Logan started paying closer attention over time. He noticed how your hands moved when you gestured, how your eyes flicked to certain objects when you wanted something. He wasn’t the type to ask outright, but he started observing quietly, learning your nonverbal cues like he was piecing together a puzzle. One day, you found him practicing basic ASL signs in the corner of the library. “Figured it might make things easier,” he said when you caught him, scratching the back of his neck.

- He surprised you by using those signs during casual conversations, albeit a bit clumsily at first. When you were struggling to ask for help one day, he simply signed, What do you need? It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Don’t get all weepy on me, kid,” he grumbled, handing you a tissue. Still, the small smile tugging at his lips showed he was proud of himself.

- Logan’s protectiveness shone through in unexpected ways. If someone gave you a hard time about not speaking, he’d step in with a sharp glare that could silence a room. “Got a problem with how they communicate?” he’d growl, leaving no room for argument. You never asked him to defend you, but his unwavering support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- Over time, the two of you grew closer. Logan’s patience, hidden beneath his rough exterior, was a balm to your insecurities. One evening, after a particularly long day, you handed him a note that read, Thank you for understanding me. He read it silently, then looked up at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for,” he said softly. “You’re worth the effort.”

- The shift from friendship to romance was seamless. Logan wasn’t one for grand declarations, but his actions spoke volumes. He started carrying a small notepad for you, just in case you ran out of paper. And when he kissed you for the first time, it was tender, unhurried, as if he was trying to convey all the words he knew you struggled to say. “You don’t need words with me, darlin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I get you just fine.”

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was instantly intrigued by your quiet nature, his curiosity piqued when he saw you using gestures and notes to communicate. “Mon cher, you always this mysterious?” he teased with a charming smirk. At first, you thought he was just flirting like he did with everyone, but his genuine interest shone through when he started trying to decode your gestures without making you uncomfortable.

- He quickly turned your communication struggles into a game, guessing what you were trying to say with an exaggerated flair. “You tryin’ to tell me you hungry? Or you just wanna see ol’ Remy look like a fool?” he’d say, making you laugh silently. His lighthearted approach made it easier for you to relax, even when you struggled to get your point across.

- One evening, when you left a sketchpad on the table with a note reading, I’m not sure how to ask for help, Remy’s teasing demeanor softened. “Cher,” he said quietly, taking a seat beside you, “you don’t gotta be afraid to ask me for nothin’, yeah? I’ll figure it out.” His reassurance, paired with his playful charm, made you feel safe in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Remy’s natural adaptability shone as he started learning little tricks to help you communicate. He began carrying a deck of blank cards, writing quick responses or questions for you to use. “See? Now we both got somethin’ to write on,” he’d say with a wink, making the process feel less daunting. He even started teaching you French phrases, encouraging you to write them down when words failed.

- The moment things shifted between you two was subtle but impactful. One night, you handed him a note that simply read, I like you. His red eyes glimmered with mischief as he read it, but his smile was surprisingly tender. “Well, cher,” he said, leaning in closer, “guess it’s only fair I tell you somethin’, too.” Before you could respond, he pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

- Dating Remy was like navigating a whirlwind of charm and affection. He made it clear that he adored you, using every opportunity to show you how much he cared. From spontaneous gestures to quiet moments where he’d sit beside you, letting your notes and signs speak volumes, Remy proved that your unique way of communicating only made him fall for you harder.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt noticed your struggle with verbal communication almost immediately, his empathetic nature drawing him toward you. “You do not speak much, ja?” he asked one day, his tone gentle and curious. When you nodded, he didn’t press further, instead offering you a warm smile. “I understand. We all have our ways.”

- He quickly adapted to your communication style, finding joy in the way you used gestures and notes. “It is like learning a new language,” he said with excitement, his tail flicking behind him. “And I am always eager to learn.” His enthusiasm made it easier for you to open up, his patience and kindness making every interaction feel effortless.

- One day, you hesitated, struggling to express something important. Kurt noticed your frustration and gently placed a hand on yours. “Take your time,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with understanding. When you finally handed him a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help sometimes, he nodded solemnly. “You never have to worry about that with me,” he assured you. “I am here for you, always.”

- Kurt began incorporating small acts of reassurance into your daily life, like leaving you notes of encouragement or learning more ASL to communicate with you better. His joy when you taught him new signs was infectious. “Did I do it right?” he’d ask, his tail curling nervously as he signed a simple phrase. Your smile was all the confirmation he needed.

- The turning point came one evening when you handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Kurt’s eyes widened, and a faint blush colored his blue cheeks. “Mein Schatz,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.” He pulled you into a gentle hug, his tail wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

- Being with Kurt was like stepping into a world of unwavering kindness and affection. He made it his mission to understand you, to support you in every way possible. “You do not need words to tell me how you feel,” he said one day, his fingers tracing your hand. “I can see it in your eyes. And I will always speak for the both of us, if you need.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott was initially unsure of how to approach you. He respected your quiet nature but didn’t want to overstep. When he saw you using notes and gestures to communicate, he made a conscious effort to pay attention, his leadership instincts kicking in. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier,” he said one day, his tone sincere.

- He started picking up on your cues quickly, his analytical mind piecing together patterns in your gestures. “You don’t have to rush,” he’d say whenever you hesitated, giving you the space to communicate at your own pace. His patience surprised you, his usually stoic demeanor softening in your presence.

- One day, after a training session, you handed Scott a note that read, I feel like I’m slowing everyone down. He frowned, shaking his head firmly. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team, and we support each other. Don’t ever feel like you’re a burden.” His words were firm but full of warmth, his unwavering belief in you shining through.

- Scott began making small adjustments to accommodate your communication style, like keeping a whiteboard in the common areas or encouraging others to be more patient. “It’s not about how you communicate,” he told you one evening. “It’s about making sure you’re heard.” His support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed Scott a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. He read it silently, then looked up at you with a rare, soft smile. “I care about you too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The kiss that followed was tender, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious.

- Being with Scott meant being with someone who valued every part of you. He made sure you always felt included, never letting your struggles define you. “You don’t need to say a word,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “I’ll always understand.” His quiet devotion was a constant reminder that love didn’t need words to thrive.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo was naturally drawn to your quiet strength. She noticed your use of notes and gestures early on, her sharp intuition picking up on how you often hesitated to ask for help. She approached you with her characteristic grace, offering you a kind smile. “You speak in your own way,” she said softly. “And I’d like to listen, if you’ll let me.” Her calm understanding put you at ease immediately.

- Ororo quickly adapted to your style of communication. She never rushed you, instead waiting patiently for you to finish writing or signing. “Take your time,” she’d say whenever she noticed you struggling. Her respect for your pace made you feel valued, and you found yourself opening up more around her.

- One day, you handed her a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for what I need sometimes. Ororo’s serene expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand over yours. “You’ve already asked by sharing this with me,” she said. “Let me help you carry that weight.” Her words felt like a soothing balm, her unwavering support reassuring you in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Over time, Ororo began incorporating subtle gestures to show her understanding. She’d leave small notes of encouragement in places she knew you’d find them, or create gentle winds to carry your written messages to her during training sessions. Her actions spoke louder than words, and they reminded you daily of her care for you.

- The turning point came during a quiet evening in the garden. You handed Ororo a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Her silver hair shimmered in the moonlight as she read your message, a radiant smile spreading across her face. “The feeling is mutual,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. She leaned in to kiss your forehead, her touch as gentle as a summer breeze.

- Being with Ororo was like standing in the eye of a storm—peaceful yet powerful. She made you feel seen and cherished, her understanding and empathy creating a safe space for your love to flourish. “Your voice is beautiful,” she told you one day, tracing your hand with hers. “Even if it’s not always spoken aloud, it still reaches me.”

Kevin Sydney aka. Morph

- Morph immediately took an interest in you, his playful nature making him curious about your quiet demeanor. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked one day, his tone lighthearted. When you handed him a note explaining that you struggled with verbal communication, his face lit up with excitement. “A challenge, huh? I love a good puzzle!”

- He made it his mission to understand your gestures and notes, often turning your interactions into a game. “Okay, charades it is!” he’d say, mimicking your motions in exaggerated ways that made you laugh. His humor took the pressure off, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I’m not good at asking for help. Morph read it aloud, then gave you a dramatic bow. “Lucky for you, I’m great at helping!” he said with a grin. Despite his joking tone, his sincerity was evident in the way he stuck around, always ready to lend a hand.

- Morph’s shape-shifting abilities came in handy when it came to communicating. He’d transform into a giant hand to mimic your gestures or into a cartoonish version of himself to make you laugh when you were feeling down. His creativity knew no bounds, and his efforts to connect with you were as entertaining as they were heartfelt.

- The moment things shifted between you was as spontaneous as Morph himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I like you. He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “I knew it!” he said, pulling you into a spin. When he set you down, his usual joking demeanor softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently. “I like you too,” he said with uncharacteristic tenderness.

- Being with Morph was an adventure in every sense of the word. He made sure you never felt isolated, using his humor and shape-shifting to keep things light and fun. “You don’t have to say a word,” he told you one day, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I can read you loud and clear, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik was initially perplexed by your communication style, his analytical mind trying to make sense of your hesitations. When he realized you relied on notes and gestures, he was intrigued rather than dismissive. “An unconventional approach,” he mused. “But effective, nonetheless.” His curiosity made you nervous at first, but his lack of judgment slowly put you at ease.

- He began studying your gestures with the same intensity he applied to everything else, determined to understand you fully. “Communication is an art,” he said one day, watching as you wrote something down. “And you are a master of it, even without words.” His respect for your efforts made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

- One evening, you handed Erik a note that read, I feel like I’m a burden. He read it silently, his expression darkening. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are resourceful, intelligent, and resilient. Never diminish yourself in my presence again.” His words, though blunt, were filled with an undeniable care that warmed your heart.

- Erik’s efforts to support you were both subtle and grand. He’d manipulate small metal objects to write words in the air for you or create intricate metal sculptures to convey messages when you struggled. His actions showed a thoughtfulness that contrasted sharply with his usual stern demeanor.

- The turning point came during a quiet moment in his study. You slid him a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. Erik’s sharp eyes softened as he read your words. He set the note down carefully, then reached for your hand. “And I care for you,” he said, his voice low and steady. His kiss was deliberate, filled with the kind of intensity that only Erik could bring.

- Being with Erik was like standing beside a force of nature—powerful, unyielding, and deeply protective. He made sure you always felt valued, his actions speaking louder than any words ever could. “You don’t need to speak,” he told you one evening, his hand resting gently on yours. “Your presence is enough.”

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank was fascinated by your unique way of communicating, his scientific mind eager to understand the nuances of your gestures and notes. “A fascinating approach,” he said the first time he saw you write something down. “May I inquire further?” His genuine interest made you feel less self-conscious, and you found yourself opening up to him quickly.

- He started keeping a notebook nearby, jotting down your cues and gestures like he was studying a new language. “It’s remarkable how much you can convey without words,” he said one day, his admiration evident. His encouragement made you feel proud of your communication style, rather than ashamed of it.

- One afternoon, you left a note in his lab that read, I feel like I’m too much work for people. When Hank found it, his brow furrowed, and he immediately sought you out. “You are never too much work,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “If anything, you’ve taught me to see the world in a new way, and I’m grateful for that.”

- Hank’s support manifested in practical ways. He developed small devices to make it easier for you to communicate, like a digital notepad that converted your writing into speech. “A little invention of mine,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I hope it’s helpful.” His thoughtfulness left you speechless, your gratitude clear in the way you hugged him tightly.

- The moment your relationship shifted was as gentle as Hank himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Hank read it carefully, his blue fur bristling slightly as he looked up at you with wide eyes. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, his voice soft. His kiss was tentative but warm, filled with the quiet intensity that defined him.

- Being with Hank was like being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and understanding. He made sure you always felt supported, his kindness and intellect creating a safe space for your love to grow. “Your voice is unique,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “And I consider it an honor to understand it.”

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean noticed your quiet demeanor and alternative way of communicating long before you realized. She often caught glimpses of your emotions through her telepathy, though she never intruded. When you passed her notes or gestured instead of speaking, she responded with patience and understanding, letting you take the lead. “Take your time,” she’d say softly, her gentle smile a constant reassurance.

- Jean quickly adapted to your style, finding ways to bridge the gaps in communication. She subtly enhanced your gestures with her telepathy, sensing what you meant before you could even fully convey it. “It’s like we have our own secret language,” she teased one day, her green eyes sparkling. Her ability to meet you halfway made you feel less alone.

- One day, during a quiet moment in the mansion’s library, you hesitated before passing her a note. It read, Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong here. Jean’s expression softened as she read it, and she reached out to take your hand. “You belong wherever you choose to be,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “And right now, I’m glad you’re here with me.”

- Jean began leaving small notes for you as well, little affirmations that brightened your day. “You’re stronger than you think,” one read, tucked under your door. “You don’t have to say a word for me to know how amazing you are,” said another, left with your breakfast. These gestures reminded you that she was always thinking of you, even in the smallest ways.

- The shift in your relationship came during a walk through the garden. You handed her a note that read, I care about you, more than I probably should. Jean’s face lit up with a radiant smile, and she reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I feel the same way.” Her kiss was gentle and warm, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

- Being with Jean felt like basking in a calm, nurturing presence. She understood you deeply, both through her powers and her heart. “You don’t need words to express yourself,” she told you one day, her hand resting lightly on your cheek. “You’ve already said everything I need to hear.”

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue was drawn to your quiet, introspective nature. She was no stranger to feeling out of place, and when she noticed your reliance on notes and gestures, she connected with you immediately. “Ah reckon we’re both a little unconventional,” she said one day, her Southern drawl soft. “But that’s what makes us unique.”

- She made it her mission to understand your style of communication, often using humor to lighten the mood. “What’s this one mean?” she’d joke, mimicking your gestures dramatically. Her teasing was never mean-spirited, and her playful attitude made it easier for you to relax around her.

- One afternoon, you left her a note that read, I’m afraid people will get tired of me. Rogue’s gloved hand tightened around the paper, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination. “Sugar, if anyone ever makes ya feel that way, they’re not worth your time,” she said firmly. “Ah’ll never get tired of ya, that’s for sure.”

- Rogue’s physical limitations due to her powers didn’t stop her from showing her care. She’d use small gestures like slipping notes into your jacket pocket or brushing her covered hand against yours to reassure you. Her creativity in expressing her feelings mirrored your own, making you feel understood on a deeper level.

- The turning point came during a late-night conversation in the mansion’s common room. You passed her a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Rogue’s green eyes widened, and she bit her lip nervously. “Ah’ve been feelin’ the same way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned in, her gloved hand cupping your cheek as she kissed you carefully, mindful of her powers.

- Being with Rogue was like finding a kindred spirit. She understood the challenges of feeling different and made sure you never felt isolated. “You don’t need to say a thing, darlin’,” she told you one day, her smile soft and warm. “Ah know exactly how ya feel.”

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- Cable’s gruff exterior initially made you hesitant to approach him, but he surprised you with his patience and attentiveness. He noticed your preference for notes and gestures right away, his keen tactical mind quickly adapting to your style. “Communication’s about understanding,” he said once. “Doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as it works.”

- Despite his hardened demeanor, Cable showed surprising softness when it came to you. He’d take your notes seriously, his cybernetic hand carefully holding the paper as he read. “Got it,” he’d say with a small nod, making you feel heard and respected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help. Cable’s steel-blue eyes softened as he read it, and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to ask,” he said simply. “I’ll always have your back.” His words, though straightforward, carried a depth of sincerity that stayed with you.

- Cable’s actions spoke louder than words. He’d leave you supplies he thought you might need or subtly adjust his schedule to be around when he thought you might struggle. His protective nature made you feel safe, even without verbal reassurances.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Cable read it, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a rare smile crossed his face. “Guess I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he said, pulling you into his arms. His kiss was firm yet gentle, a reflection of the man himself.

- Being with Cable was like having a steadfast anchor in a chaotic world. He didn’t need flowery words to show his care; his actions spoke volumes. “You’ve got your way of communicating,” he told you one day, his voice steady. “And I’ve got mine. Together, we make it work.”

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade was immediately fascinated by your unique communication style. “You’re like a mysterious, silent protagonist,” he quipped one day, leaning dramatically against a doorframe. “Do I get to be the comic relief in your story?” His lighthearted approach put you at ease, though his constant chatter sometimes overwhelmed you.

- He took your notes and gestures as a challenge, often exaggerating his responses to make you laugh. “Oh, I see what you mean!” he’d say, even when he clearly didn’t. His antics were equal parts endearing and infuriating, but his genuine effort to connect with you never wavered.

- One day, you passed Wade a note that read, Sometimes I feel like I’m too much. He stared at it for a moment, unusually quiet. Then he grinned and said, “Too much? Sweetheart, have you met me? You’re like the perfect yin to my yang!” His humor was disarming, but the sincerity in his eyes reassured you.

- Wade found creative ways to communicate with you, often using props, drawings, or even sock puppets to convey his thoughts. “See? Communication is an art form,” he said, holding up a poorly drawn cartoon of the two of you. His efforts were chaotic but heartfelt, showing you how much he cared.

- The shift in your relationship came during a quiet moment in his usually loud life. You handed him a note that read, I think I love you. Wade froze, uncharacteristically speechless. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he scooped you into his arms. “I knew it!” he shouted, spinning you around. His kiss was surprisingly tender, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

- Being with Wade was unpredictable but filled with joy. He made you feel understood in his own chaotic way, proving that love didn’t need to follow traditional rules. “You don’t need words,” he told you one day, his voice unusually soft. “I get you. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

505 notes · View notes

lefteagleblizzard · 2 months ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: A year has passed since Hannah and Beth's disappearance after the prank and Josh has invited everyone back to the lodge to relive old memories. But when you and Mike take a detour to the cabin, the night spirals into a nightmare beyond anything you imagined. Now, you're thrust into a desperate fight for survival as a vengeful Wendigo prowls the mountain, hungry for flesh and revenge.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Takes place during the events of the game. Mike and Emily/Jess are not together in this. No use of Y/N. Mike and the reader are now together. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. More plot than porn. Lots of characters deaths, some more explicit but nothing too graphic. Happy ending?

Part 2 of 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔡𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥. The chapters that i focused on are chapter 1-3-4-7-8-10 to anyone interested <3. When you see long spaces it means that we are moving to the next chapter. I hope nothing is too confusing, i tried my best.

Words count: 12000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

The sky is tinged with fading sunlight, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered mountains.

The place is quieter than usual. With just you, Mike and Ashley here so far, it feels almost peaceful.

Josh is nowhere to be seen, likely off searching for a way to enter the lodge, and Mike is beside you, his arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he takes a look at the place.

You're leaning on one of the woody rail nearby, hand playing with the snow there.

"You’re excited to see Chris again?" You asked Ashley quietly, leaning against Mike and feeling a warmth settle in your chest at the sight of her expression.

She looks up from her phone and a slight blush spreads across her cheeks "Well... he's always excited to be here, right? I mean, we're all friends."

"That's why you've checked your phone about a hundred times in the last ten minutes?"

She bites her lip, a flustered laugh escaping her as she glances away. "I was just... you know, checking the time, that's all."

"Of course," you reply, letting your voice carry the full weight of your teasing. "You two would be great together, though. You know that?"

"Thanks," she murmurs, glancing up at you with a look of gratitude before looking down at her phone.

You feel Mike shift beside you, and his hand finds yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a gentle, familiar way that sends a pleasant warmth up your arm.

He leans in close to your ear and whispers something just for you to hear. "What do you say, handsome?" he murmurs. "Think we could sneak off for a bit? Just you, me, and a cozy little spot out back?" His hand drifts lower behind your back to playfully squeeze your butt. "I know a lot of ways to warm you up. Want to experience them yourself?"

You snort, rolling your eyes as a flush creeps up your cheeks. "I'm not doing that out here in the cold. You'll have to wait."

"You're worth waiting for," he grumbles, flashing that grin again to you.

"I'm going to check if Sam and Chris are here yet," you say, glancing up at him and kissing his lips quickly . "Be back soon."

Mike raises a hand in a lazy wave as he watched you walking away. "I'll be here, waiting patiently... or impatiently, whatever comes first."

You've started to run down the path for fun, the snow crunching beneath your boots. Memories of your year with Mike drift through your mind, one after another. The excitement and nervousness of your first date, that late-night drive to a quiet lookout. The countless messages he'd send daily, even when he was busy, letting you know he was thinking about you or the way he looks at you like you're the only person who matters. The cold seems to fade, replaced by a warmth that fills you from head to toe.

The anniversary of those memories is just around the corner, and the thought of spending it with him brings a grin to your face.

Soon enough, you see two familiar faces behind a closed door. You rushed there in time and pressed the button to open it.

Sam's face lights up as she pulls you into a tight hug. "It's been ages! How's it been?” she says, her voice full of genuine happiness.

You chuckle, patting her shoulder as you step back. "Good! Life's good. And you? How's everything been?"

She shrugs, a wry smile on her face. "Nothing that exciting to know. I hope everything will go well this weekend" her face shifted for a second as she glanced back at the lodge far ahead.

Chris steps forward, his smile wide as he gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Hey, man. Glad you could make it. I saw all the stories and posts Mike put on his socials. Someone gave you a little push in the right direction, eh?"

You nod, feeling a smile spread across your face. "Yeah, we are. He's... well, he's pretty amazing. Guess he hasn’t figured out how weird I am yet. Finger crossed for another year of him tolerating me"

Chris laughed loudly together with you. "Damn, look at that! I knew my matchmaking skills were top-notch." He gestures to himself with a mock bow. Sam stifles a laugh, giving you a knowing smile.

"Oh yeah, because you totally did all the work," she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

You can't help the fondness that fills you as you open your arms and pull both of them into a spontaneous group hug. "Missed my besties," you say, squeezing them both.

Chris groans playfully, though he leans in, and Sam laughs, wrapping her arms around you, warmth flooding through the three of you.

Sam pulls back a little, looking up at you with a thoughtful smile. "So, wanna do some hiking trip this weekend? Or are you too busy with... boyfriend things?"

You laugh, nodding eagerly. "Of course, I'll make time for it. Want to add some climbing as well?" You glance over at Chris, adding with a grin, "I think Ashley's been looking forward to seeing you, too”

Chris freezes, his face paling slightly as he stares at you with wide eyes. "Wait, what did you tell her?"

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What do you mean? I just mentioned a few things. Gave her a heads-up that you were excited to see her."

Sam bites back a laugh, watching Chris squirm with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. "Relax, Chris. It's not like she doesn't already know. You're kind of obvious, you know?"

Chris groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is going to be a nightmare," he mutters, but there's a small, almost shy smile on his face, like he's secretly looking forward to it.

The three of you head back up toward the lodge, chatting and catching up as you walk, the snow crunching underfoot as the familiar outline of the building comes into view.

You see Mike leaning against the wall. His eyes light up when he sees you and he pushes off the wall, making his way over.

“You made me wait way too long” he teases, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you close.

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. "Please. You'd have followed me down if I took any longer."

"Damn right I would have," he replies, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. "Can't let my favorite guy get too far out of sight."

All four of you catch up on everything you missed out on each others in this days.

Josh, fighting with the frozen handle, calls Chris over for some help. Chris nods toward him and you went to follow to help and get the chance to talk with Josh after all this time

The decision you made a year ago, involving Hannah, still haunted you. It only grew worse with each passing day after her and Beth’s disappearance. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak with him without the crushing weight of guilt for what had happened to his sisters.

He doesn't look up right away, his shoulders tense, jaw set. For a moment, he's just staring at the door, like he's somewhere far away. Finally, he turns, his face relaxing into a grin.

Chris, concern evident in his voice, asks, "You doing okay?"

Josh nods, though there's a hesitation there, something unspoken. "Yeah. Just past it now, you know? Ready for a weekend with my friends. Let's make it memorable."

Josh then turns to look at you with an unexpected question, almost casually asking, "Let’s say you’re in a life-or-death situation. Who do you save? The person you’ve got a crush on or Chris, your best friend?"

The question catches you off guard. Chris blinks, staring at Josh in confusion while you feel your own stomach twist in discomfort. You laugh it off at first but Josh doesn't drop it, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Answer honestly. It would mean reaffirming the loyalty and depth of your friendship, showing that friendship holds a unique importance to you, separate from romantic affection.

Deflect with humor. Joking about the choice would ease the tension. Chris might laugh it off and Josh's curiosity would go unsatisfied. However it would hint that maybe you're avoiding vulnerability.

Answer honestly

You rest a hand on Chris's shoulder, meeting Josh's gaze with a steady look. "I'd save Chris," you say, your voice calm but sincere. "A crush isn't enough to put a friend's life at risk or, you know, my own life. In that case you would cover me up, right?" You winked at Chris at the last part, hoping to ease the tension that Josh brought. Chris's expression shifts, softening, his eyes reflecting a gratitude that goes unspoken. A flicker of recognition passes through his gaze, something understood as he analyzed your words carefully.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"So that means you'd pick me over Mike?" he teases, his voice light and a grin present on his face.

You laugh, nudging him lightly. "That’s a different story! Especially now that I've been together with him for almost a year. If a psycho for some reason forces me to make a choice between you two, I'll probably just throw myself off a cliff or something"

The snow crunched beneath your feet as you followed Mike, your breaths visible in the chill mountain air. Ahead, the small cabin came into view, a hidden little nook away from the lodge where Mike said he wanted to take you to.

On the way there, you came across a small and old looking building where Mike strode over, walking inside through the missing door. You waited, your curiosity piqued as you heard the sounds of him rummaging around.

A moment later, he reappeared, holding a mask, rusty and all black. He slipped it on, the mask completely covering his face.

"C'mere, gimme a kiss" he teased, his voice muffled behind the mask. He leaned forward, the masked face inching closer, but you recoiled, scrunching your nose in mock disgust.

“Mike, that thing probably had more mouths on it than a barstool"

He pauses, considering your words, then yanks it off, wincing in disgust. "Fair point."

He tosses the mask aside and wrapped his arm around you as you continue walking.

An horrible sound echoed from a distance, followed by a scream of pain from an deer. You soon enough spotted one lying off the path breathing heavily, its body twisted at an unnatural angle. A large gash along its neck. You glance at Mike, who steps forward and tries to think of what to do.

Put an End to Its Suffering. The deer's labored breaths shudder through the cold air. He could end it now, spare the creature further pain, the mercy quick and final.

Comfort the Deer. The creature lies there, its body trembling from pain and fear. He could try to soothe it, offer it a few last moments of peace, a kindness amidst the cruelty of the wilderness.

He takes a slow breath, crouching down, his hand reaching out and he makes his choice.

Put an end to it’s suffering

There's a serious look in his eyes as he kneels beside it, placing a steady hand on the deer to calm it. "You, uh... might want to look away."

But you don't. You watch as he tries to do the humane thing and took a step forward to try and help him out but he moves his hands, trying to get a solid grip and with an unexpected crunch, the wound worsens and the deer's head comes off in his hands.

Mike recoils, eyes wide, dropping the head immediately. "Oh, holy-!" he takes a shaky step back, brushing his hands on his jeans with a horrified expression.

You're just as stunned, your own eyes wide as you take in the surreal sight but something rustles nearby and snatch the deer's body, dragging it off into the woods with surprising speed

“Run!" Mike grabs your hand, the fear and adrenaline sending you both flying back toward the chalet. Snow kicks up in clouds beneath your boots as you sprint, your heart pounding with the thrill and terror of whatever that creature was. The wind cuts cold against your face but you barely feel it as you focus on Mike's hand holding yours pulling you forward.

"Don't let go!" he calls, glancing back every few steps to make sure you're right there beside him.

The cabin looms ahead and as soon as you reach the door, he shoves it open, practically pulling you inside before slamming it shut behind you. Both of you stand there, breathing hard, adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you process what just happened.

“Maybe it was a bear?” Mike tried to make sense of the situation you experienced.

“I didn’t see or hear a bear, though” there is a drop of sweat already present on your forehead.

“Don’t think about it. Whatever animal it was, it can’t come here inside”

You sank into the couch, the air inside the cabin was carrying a faint scent of cedar and something earthy. You glanced over at Mike who plopped down right next to you, his body pressing close.

He leaned back, casually draping an arm over the back of the couch. His hand found its way to your thigh, his fingers settling there naturally, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"You know," he said, his voice low and filled with a familiar warmth, I may have asked Josh if we could stay here tonight. Just us, in this cozy little love shack." He turned to look at you, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint that made your heart skip a beat.

"Didn't expect to be sweating out here with you for saving my life," you replied, a playful tone in your voice.

He let out a soft laugh, his fingers giving a light squeeze on your thigh.“If you think this heat is something, wait until we really turn it up.” he teased back, his voice dropping to a whisper as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Something catches his attention and he gets up from the couch. Mike's eyes narrow playfully as he raises his chin in a mock proud stance, grabbing a old rifle from its spot by the wall and lifting it.

"Look. I'd make an amazing hunter, don’t you think?" he boasts, posing with the rifle as if he were an expert marksman. "Picture it: me coming back every day with something new for you. Deer, elk, maybe even a bear if I'm feeling ambitious."

You snicker, crossing your arms as you lean back. "Right. And we’ll celebrate the collection by starting with the head of that deer with something written on it like: 'Local Hero Mike Munroe terrorized by Bambi’"

"Oh, you're hilarious," he mutters, setting the rifle aside as he strides over to you. "Keep that up and see what it gets you." He tossed his jacket aside as he felt the heat from the run catching up to him, remaining in a simple white tank top despite the weather outside.

"Oh, really?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow as you edge off the couch to toss your jacket on the table.

“If you're gonna make fun of me, you'd better be ready to back it up."

Before you knew it, he was lunging toward you, and you darted off, laughing as you escaped successfully around the other side of the couch, watching as he straightened up.

He raises an eyebrow, moving a few steps closer, his gaze playful but intense. He tilts his head, letting his gaze drift over you in a way that makes you feel hot inside. "Are you ready to lose?"

He lunges forward, his movements quick, almost catching you by surprise again, but you dart around him in time, laughing as you stay just out of reach.

Mike lets out a mock growl, his eyes narrowing as he starts to close the distance between you. "you're only making it worse for yourself." he says, his voice a soft, teasing murmur as he edges closer, arms wide open to catch any possible attempts you could make to slip away.

"How's that?" you challenge, keeping your distance as you hide behind the other side of the couch.

"Because when I catch you, it's going to be twice as sweet." and he lets out a playful growl, quickening his pace as he closes the distance between you and with a sudden burst of speed, he leapt over the couch, landing just in front of you. His hands wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

He leaned forward, one of his arm slipped underneath your knees and you were playfully hitting him on the shoulder to break free.

With a grunt, he managed to lift you up bridal style and dropped you on the couch.

Soon he pulled himself on top of you, hovering over your body completely, his weight keeping you trapped underneath him.

"Caught you," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he looked down at you, his expression both triumphant and adoring.

"Alright, alright, you won," you whispered, feeling the heat rise in your face. But he didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his hold, tilting his head as his gaze softened, his fingers tracing slow, gentle patterns at your waist.

"Couldn't have asked for a better catch," he asked, his voice a low, teasing drawl. He leaned in, his lips brushing just barely against yours. Words got caught in your throat as he closed the distance, his mouth pressing firmly against yours, deep and insistent.

His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, a kind of hunger in the way he holds you close, like he's savoring every second.

You respond, your hands slipping around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Mike's hands slipped under your shirt, his touch firm as he dragged it over your head and tossed it aside.

He wasted no time, his lips returning to yours with fervor, his tongue pressed against yours, demanding and eager to get a taste.

His hands moved lower, undoing the button of your pants with practiced ease, and before you knew it, you were standing half-naked in front of him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

His hands roaming over your skin, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. His body pressing against yours as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

His fingers worked at your waistband, pulling your pants down in one swift motion before he settled between your legs.

"You're so damn perfect," Mike growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. His light beard scraped tantalizingly against your flesh with every heated kiss. His lips moved with a possessive urgency, exploring your neck, trailing down with his hands.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach. Mike's hunger only fueled at the sight of you like this and when he finally reached between your legs, your body arched off the bed, desperate for more

Mike's own breath was unsteady, mingling with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

He wraps his hand around you firmly now, stroking you slowly as he kisses you deep. The vibration of your moans against his mouth made everything ten times better for him.

He kept stroking you and you curl into him.

Mike positioned himself in between your thighs, cock of his own throbbing through his jeans, rubbing his hardening self against your own with no remorse or embarrassment.

His hips buck up just slightly, seeking friction. You buckle his belt to pull him out of his jeans and boxers and he reaches down to help you. His mouth found yours again as his hands wrap around the both of you, rutting his leaking cock against yours, fucking into his palm.

You follow suit, hips rolling forward as you chase your high. He smirks against your lips before pulling away to look at you. "Ready?" he rasped, his voice thick with need.

"Fuck! Yes pleas-" You struggle to find the words, too lost in the pleasure of his dick against yours.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you found yourself drowning in a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of him.

He slid his hand between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your entrance. You could feel the anticipation building as he teased you, his touch deliberate and calculated.

Mike's fingers slid inside you slowly, stretching you open as he worked you with a steady rhythm that had you trembling beneath him.

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out of you with expert precision, curling at the right spot that made you arche your back. You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust of his hand.

"So perfect," Mike murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You could barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure as he continued his relentless pace.

Just as you were on the verge to fall apart, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

The head of his length is now nudging at your entrance. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he pushes forward, sinking into you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body stretching to accommodate him as he fills you completely.

Mike groans softly, his forehead resting against the back of your neck as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him as he stretched you open.

Mike groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself to the hilt, his body trembling with restraint.

"Fuck" his voice a low growl as he began to move, setting a slow, agonizing pace that had you panting for breath.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrust into you, his movements steady and deliberate. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as he pushed you closer to the edge.

The small room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin as Mike drove into you, his pace relentless. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable.

"Mike," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm close."

He groaned in response, his pace quickening as he chased his own release, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing with the effort. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust into you harder, faster.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, your body trembling with the need to let go. And then, with one final thrust, you shattered, pleasure washing over you in waves as you came apart beneath him.

Mike followed soon after, his body tensing as he buried himself inside you one last time, his release spilling into you as he grunted against your lips.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room the ragged gasps of your breath. Mike's body was warm and solid against yours, his hands still gripping your hips as he slowly came down from his high.

Finally, he pulled and collapsed on top of you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Minutes passed and were spent with him relaxing against you. Each quick, playful kiss he placed on your neck ignited a flutter of joy in your heart. With every stroke of your fingers through his hair, he let out a contented sigh, leaning into your touch.

The quiet piece is shattered suddenly by the loud sound of glass breaking. Both you and Mike freeze, your smiles fading as the unexpected noise jolts you back to reality.

"What the hell was that?" Mike mutters, already standing up and moving toward the sound with a look of concern etched on his face.

You pulled your shirt back on and stood up, heart pounding as you followed him a few steps. "Stay here," he says, glancing back at you.

You hesitate, a twinge of anxiety creeping in but nod as he heads toward the other room where the sound came from. You slipped back on your jeans while moving over to the window, pulling aside the curtains to peer out into the night, searching for anything unusual.

Something on the snow caught your attention just outside, right here in front of the stairs.

Lean closer to Investigate. Curiosity gnaws at you, an urge to move and see for yourself. It’s right here outside. One quick look can't hurt... right?

Inform Mike about it. It hopefully won’t disappear soon despite the snow falling rapidly. You can go and inform Mike about it along with also seeing what happened with the window.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. And in a single, decisive moment, you make your choice.

Lean closer to investigate

A faint shimmer appear, the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Curiosity gets the better of you and without a second thought, you lean closer to the window. Your warm breath fog the window but not enough for it to be at the same height of your eyes.

Footsteps oddly spaced stretch from the edge of the woods toward the chalet. There's something... wrong about them, something that makes your skin crawl. The tracks don't look human, they're wider, deeper, and almost clawed. They're fresh, not yet filled in by drifting snow and tinted in red crimson blood. Whatever made these prints is close. Too close.

You turned around when you heard Mike coming back, his voice confused as he told you about something that broke the window.

You barely had time to inform him about what you saw before the glass behind you shatters and claws dig into your shoulders as you're pulled back, helpless against the force dragging you

You soon made contact with the snow as you got dragged further and further away from the cabin and into the woods.

The thing holding you is relentless, hauling you over snow and rock with an unnatural speed that makes your head spin. Fear crashes over you like a wave, cold and consuming. You thrash, trying to free yourself, your hands scraping against hard, rough skin.

You hear from not far the frantic shouts of a voice you know well. Mike. He's chasing after you, calling your name in a voice filled with fear and desperation but you can barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears.

All you can think about is survival.

Desperately, you claw at the ground, fingers scrambling for anything to slow down the creature dragging you deeper into the trees. Your hand brushes against something solid, a branch half-buried in the snow. Without a second thought, you grab it and slam it upward, striking the creature’s arm.

The creature hisses, a guttural, furious sound that shakes your bones, but its grip loosens just enough for you to tear yourself free, stumbling forward and landing face-first in the snow. Cold bites at your skin as you scramble to your feet, legs already aching from the strain, but you can't afford to stop.

Not now.

Your injuries slow you down. Blood seeps from your arms and legs, leaving a trail as you push through the forest. Every breath feels like fire in your chest, your vision blurring around the edges as you force yourself forward, stumbling over rocks and roots.

In the distance, Mike's voice reaches you, a lifeline you cling to even as fear claws at your heart. You risk a glance back, just a fleeting second, and see him from afar, rifle in hand, his eyes wide with terror as he takes in your disheveled form and the blood marking your path.

He shouts your name desperately, his voice is raw, terrified and it propels you forward with renewed urgency.

But before you can reach him, the creature catches your ankle, sending you sprawling to the ground once more. Pain jolts through you as you hit the frozen earth, your vision going dark for a split second as it kept moving forward deep inside the woods and far away from Mike until you could no longer see him.

It stopped abruptly, it’s clawed hand slashes through the air, inches from your face, before a bright flash of light erupts behind it.

A burst of flame cuts through the night, illuminating the creature's twisted form as it recoils with a screech, backing away from the intense heat. You blink, disoriented, your eyes adjusting to the sudden glow. A figure stands a few feet away, wielding a flamethrower with a practiced ease, his face covered by a mask and big glasses for the snow.

"Get up," he barks, the command cold and unyielding. "Follow me, now."

Still dazed and struggling to catch your breath, you hesitate and the stranger's moves closer, the flames licking dangerously close as he gestures again with the flamethrower.

"I said, move."

With no other option, you stagger to your feet, following him as he leads you through the trees. Blood drips down your leg, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but fear propels you onward. You cast one last glance over your shoulder, hoping to see Mike but to not success.

From a distance, Mike watches, heart pounding as he tracks your struggling form, his pulse surging with terror and fury.

He sees you stumbling through the snow, your face pale and stricken, blood streaking your clothes and painting the ground beneath you. His stomach twists painfully. His hands tighten on the old rifle he'd grabbed from the cabin, fingers white with the grip.

His eyes flick to the figure standing near you, holding a flamethrower. Mike can't make out the man's face due to the position but he's close enough to see the way the stranger's hand grips your arm, steering you with a harsh, unyielding authority.

A surge of rage floods Mike's chest into something cold and vengeful.

He shouts, his voice cracking with a desperation he can't hide but you’re too far away for him to hear. He raises the rifle, leveling it with a single, fierce purpose. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him. All he can think about is protecting you, keeping you safe, stopping this man who had the nerve to lay his hands on you.

He pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

Mike stares at the gun, disbelief and frustration crashing over him in a sickening wave. His hands tremble as he frantically checks the rifle, but it's no use. The damn thing's too old, a relic that was never meant for anything more than decoration.

“Jammed up piece of shit” he muttered to himself as he tossed the gun on the ground but not before taking the sight off.

His fists clench, anger and self-loathing simmering just beneath the surface. If he'd only been quicker. If he'd only gotten to you sooner.

You stumble over your own feet as the stranger pulls you forward, his hand gripping your arm with an iron strength that doesn't allow for argument or hesitation. Your head throbs and a nauseating chill seeps into your bones

He's silent, his face obscured by the mask he is wearing. You're not sure whether you should be more afraid of the creature that attacked you or of this stranger.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, your voice rough, scraping against the quiet. Panic flutters in your chest, but you keep it in check, trying to sound braver than you feel.

The stranger’s grip tightens, his voice low and cold as he finally speaks. "To the sanatorium. Only place you'll be safe."

Safe? You can't help the bitter laugh that escapes, but it sounds foreign even to your ears, tinged with the underlying fear that pulses with each beat of your heart. "And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

He doesn't respond, his silence as solid as stone. You're struck by the thought that maybe he doesn't care if you trust him at all. To him, you're just another problem to be dealt with, whether you like it or not.

You feel the blood trickling down your calf, soaking into your jeans, and you know that each step leaves a fresh trail in the snow, a trail that anything or anyone could follow.

The old building looks even more haunting up close, its windows shattered, its walls covered in a thick layer of ice and grime.

Your footsteps falter as you take it in, the realization sinking in that this terrifying ruin is where he intends to take you.

The stranger seems to sense your hesitation, and he stops, turning to you with a hard, assessing gaze. "You don't understand what's out there," he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

You square your shoulders, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "Then tell me," you say, the words steady but quiet, a demand laced with a plea. "Tell me what's going on. What was that thing?"

He hesitates, just for a moment, deciding how much to reveal. Then, with a deep sigh, he gestures toward the sanatorium. "Inside. We're not talking out here."

You follow him through the heavy, rusted doors, wincing as they creak open, the sound echoing through the hollow halls. Inside, the air is thick with dust and stale.

The stranger leads you deeper into the building, down a winding corridor lined with cracked tiles and peeling paint. He finally stops in what might have once been a treatment room, with a few battered chairs and a broken table shoved to the side.

Two wolves appear from the dark. A black one growling at you and a white one tilting his head as he looked at you curiously.

You leaned back against the cold, damp wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you as the adrenaline began to fade.

With a quiet hiss of pain, you tore off a strip of fabric from your shirt, pressing it against a particularly deep scratch along your arm. The fabric was thin and already damp from the cold air, but it was all you had, and the pressure seemed to slow the bleeding. You shifted your weight, your hand shaking as you worked to tie the makeshift bandage in place, gritting your teeth against the sting that flared with each movement.

The stranger knelt down, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached into a pocket, pulling out a small roll of cloth. He hesitated, his masked face turning to you, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slight nod, and he moved closer, crouching down to your level.

His gloved hands were surprisingly gentle as he pressed the cloth over a cut on your leg, inspecting the wound beneath. He muttered something under his breath. "Not too deep. You must be tough one to make it out here in one piece."

You managed a weak smile, though it barely masked the pain etched into your features. "I... I didn't have much of a choice. I just kept running."

"Smart," he murmured, adjusting the bandage on your arm, his fingers surprisingly steady and precise despite the thickness of his gloves. "It was all you could do in that situation. If you ever face them again, don’t move. It’s like toads. Sight is based on changes of movement in their field of vision"

He pulls out a small photograph from his jacket pocket and hands it to you. You take it, fingers trembling as you examine the image. The man in the picture is a horror to behold. His face gaunt, his cheek on the left a gruesome patchwork of scarred, missing flesh, exposing jagged teeth beneath. His eyes are milky, blind and vacant, but there's something hauntingly human about his expression, a remnant of a person buried beneath the monstrous features, a true nightmare made flesh.

You swallow hard, slipping the photo into your pocket as the man turns around to throw a bone at the wolves.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"What you saw out there wasn't just any creature. It was once human, before the curse took it."

You blink, your mind scrambling to process the words. "A... curse?"

He nods, his gaze hardening. "Wendigos. Spirits that inhabit the bodies of those who commit cannibalism. It turns them into monsters, driven by the need to feed. And once it's taken hold, there's no going back."

"So... the thing that attacked me..." you start, your voice barely a whisper, "it used to be human?"

The Stranger's gaze softens, just for a moment, and he sighs. "The Wendigo remembers parts of what it once was. People, faces, moments. Things it hated. Things it wanted. All now mixed with hunger”

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps reaches your ears, distinct and growing louder with each step. You freeze, the pulse of fear quickening in your veins. The man hears it too, his eyes narrow, his body going rigid as he listens. Without a word, he tightens his grip on your arm, helping you stand up and dragging you with him as he pulls you away from the main hallway

"Don't make a sound," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper, harsh and commanding.

You see a silhouette emerging around the corner and he starts to pull you backward, leading you out of the room, away from the figure.

The stranger led you down twisting passages until you reached an area near the entrance to the mines. He turned to you, his grip finally loosening, and gestured to a dark alcove.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice low but firm. "I'll check to make sure the rest of your friends aren't out there. When it's clear, I'll take you back to the lodge."

You nodded, exhaustion overtaking you as you sank down against the wall, your mind spinning with worry for Mike. You touched your cheek again, feeling the sting of the cut, your pulse still racing as you waited, alone, the cold stone walls pressing in around you.

Back inside, Mike watches as your figure disappears around the corner, led away by that dark, looming man and a fury unlike anything he's ever felt boils up inside him. He takes a step forward, desperate to follow, but his path is blocked by a heavy iron door separating him from the main lobby, the missing key preventing him from giving chase. He shakes the door in frustration, feeling the cold metal dig into his palms as he rattles it, cursing under his breath.

"Dammit," he mutters, his voice low and seething. The image of your face twisted in confusion and fear is burned into his mind and that only makes the anger roiling within him burn hotter. He barely notices his surroundings as he slams his fist against the door, once, twice, the sharp pain a poor substitute for the wrath and worry he feels building inside him. That bastard had hurt you, taken you, and he has no idea where or why.

The night air bites at their faces, unforgiving and cold as Mike and Chris drag Josh through the snow. Mike's hand is iron around Josh's collar, yanking him forward with an urgency that leaves no room for argument, while Chris trails close behind.

The desperation in his eyes is like a fire that's threatening to spiral out of control.

"Mike," Chris starts, his voice quiet, hesitant as he watches his friend's clenched jaw, the tightness in his grip on Josh's shirt. "Maybe we should just take a second. Think this through."

"Talk?" Mike spat, his voice a low growl. "We've been talking, Chris. And he's not saying anything because he's lying." He looked back at Josh, his gaze cold, unforgiving. "He did this. He knows where he is and he's just sitting here, laughing in our faces."

All he can see is the image of you being dragged away, hurt and vulnerable, every second stretching like an eternity, his mind racing with fears that sink into his chest like stones.

They reach the shed. Mike throws the door open and shoves Josh inside, not giving him even a moment to catch his breath.

Josh stumbles as he's shoved against a wooden support beam, his wrists still bound. Both Chris and Mike stepped forward to tie down and immobilize Josh completely against the wooden beam.

"Where is he, Josh?" he demands, each word taut with barely contained fury. "He's out there, alone and injured because of your sick little games!" Mike's voice rises, his anger spilling over as he steps even closer, his face inches from Josh's.

Chris stands to the side, a knot of worry tightening in his gut. The thought of you being hurt, or worse, out there because of this was almost too much to process. A wave of guilt rushes over him, crashing against the worry and confusion roiling inside him. He remembers every joke, every moment you'd shared and the thought that Josh might be responsible for taking that away, it's enough to make his stomach turn.

"Josh, please," Chris says, his voice soft, pleading, as he takes a step forward. "If you know anything, just tell us. We're not... we're not doing this for fun, okay? He’s a friend. Just... please."

There's a flicker of something dark in Josh's eyes, something that only Chris seems to understand. A decision, a choice that still lingers in his memory. Josh seems to notice, his smirk growing wider, almost triumphant.

"You let him talk you into thinking you were important, that you mattered, and then you turned on the only one who would've stuck with you." Josh's voice is soft, insidious, as he watches Chris's face pale. "All it took was a few words, and look at the mess you made with her. But sure, keep believing that he's your friend. Keep thinking he's anything more than just... clever with his words."

Chris’s expression stricken, the weight of the accusation settling heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the unresolved guilt he's tried to keep buried.

Josh looks between the two of them, an air of smugness creeping into his expression. "What, Mike, you think he's anything special? Can you realize that he’s not really the angel you think he is?" he mutters, a sneer curling at the edge of his mouth.

Mike feels his hands tremble with the effort to hold himself back, to keep from lunging at Josh right then and there.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that," Mike hisses, his voice rough, a dangerous edge in his tone. "You don't get to say anything about him. Not after what you did."

Josh just laughs, a hollow, bitter sound that echoes through the empty shed. "You've got it bad, don't you? You'd do anything to convince yourself he's worth the risk."

Mike's fist slams into the wood beside Josh's head, sending a shower of splinters scattering to the ground. "You don't know a damn thing about what he means to me," Mike growls, his voice low, laced with a ferocity that makes Chris's breath catch. "Not a damn thing."

For the first time, there's a flicker of confusion in Josh's eyes, a hesitation that betrays the anger, the defiance in his expression.

“No... no... I don-. I’ve got a problem, Mike... I don’t remember hurting him...”

“Christ” Mike mutters to himself, looking around in disbelief at seeing how fucked up Josh’s mental health was.

“I mean, I feel like I would’ve remembered killing him, right?” Josh continued, his tone shifting from confusion to something Mike didn’t quite like. “If you were with him for a year, he must’ve had one hell of a body.” He flashed a smug grin at Mike.

Mike pulled out the gun from his jacket and pointed it at Josh, shouting with a desperation that borders on madness. “If you don't shut your fucking mouth, I swear I'll-"

"Mike!" Chris's voice trembles as he steps forward, reaching for his friend, fear evident in his eyes. "Don't do this. He's just messing with you. It's what he wants."

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the air thick with tension until Mike finally lowered the gun. He never wavered his gaze from Josh as he spoke to Chris.

“Go back to the lodge with the others” Mike told Chris as he glared down at him, his voice barely controlled, barely holding back the rage that's tearing him apart. "You sure you’re okay?" Chris whispers and Mike nods. “they’ll want to know everything’s fine up there”.

“You’re right. See you in the morning” Chris muttered, sparing a last glance at Josh before slowly making his way back to the lodge.

The lodge has grown quieter than ever, the weight of fear and exhaustion hanging heavy in the air. The night presses on, feeling endless. A loud scream echoed inside the woods and Emily soon bursts into the lodge, her face pale, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Snow clings to her hair and jacket and her eyes are wide, glazed over with a fear none of them have seen before. She's shaking, her body visibly trembling as she stands there, looking as though she's barely keeping herself upright.

"Emily?" Sam is the first to speak, her voice soft but filled with worry as her and Ashley carried her to the couch. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Emily takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she nods, though her expression is anything but calm. "A monster- it’s a monster!" she stammers, glancing around, her eyes darting from face to face.

“Em are you okay?” Chris asks, concerned but also curious about what happened to her.

"I’m fine. I just need to calm down. It was moving so damn fast- i just needed to get away!"

“Em, Em. You can relax... Josh was messing with us but we-“

“You’re not listening to me!” Emily swallows again, her hands shaking as she raises one to her mouth, pressing her knuckles to her lips in a nervous gesture.

The group falls silent, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and unease as Emily explains to everyone how she called for help from the tower and she found herself in the mines after it collapsed.

"I found Beth’s dead body" she whispers, her voice barely audible, but her words carry through the room, settling like stones in their chests. "I didn’t find Hannah but I found some of her things there. It seemed she was just there starving to death while we were all searching for her up here"

“Em! You made it” Mike entered the lodge breathless from running.

She got up from the couch and immediately hugged him.

“What about Matt?”

“We’re trying to figure it out...”

“And there is also this “monster” that was chasing her-“

A loud knock at the door made everyone turn. A fresh wave of panic settled over them. Mike's hand instinctively goes to his side, reaching for the gun, but he stops short, his face tense as he glances around.

"I'll check it out," he mutters, glancing at Chris, who nods, his expression equally wary.

They move toward the door cautiously, every step filled with tension. He opens the door slowly, his hand poised on the gun and there, framed in the doorway, stands a stranger, his face full in view this time. He moves with a speed that catches Mike off guard, wrenching the gun from his grip in one smooth motion.

"Easy," the stranger says, his voice a low rumble, as he lowers the gun, his gaze intense but steady. He glances over his shoulder, nodding toward the darkness outside. "It's safe. You can come in."

There's a moment of silence and then, slowly, you step into the doorway. You're limping just slightly, your clothes torn and dirty and covered up by an old jacket similar to Mike’s one, your face bruised but alive.

Mike's heart stops, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he stares at you. He can barely move, his eyes wide, unable to process what he’s seeing. For a split second, he thought that it was a dream until you take that hesitant step forward and reality crashes in. He whispers your name, his voice barely audible, filled with a raw, aching vulnerability he can't hide. And then he's there, crossing the distance in an instant, wrapping you in his arms, holding you tightly.

The warmth of his embrace floods over you, the steady weight of his arms filling you with a sense of safety you haven't felt since the night began. You return the hug, exhaustion seeping into every muscle, and you let yourself sink into his warmth, closing your eyes as you let the moment wash over you.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Mike's voice cracks, and he buries his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky as he struggles to hold back the emotion.

You reach up, brushing your hand against his cheek, and manage a tired smile. "I made it back." you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze scanning every bruise, every cut, his fingers brushing gently over each mark. "Are you hurt? What... what did this do to you?" His voice is laced with worry, a protectiveness that's fierce, almost desperate, as he holds your face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek

You reached up to cover his hand with yours. "I'm okay, don’t worry" you murmur, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Chris steps forward then, his eyes wide, relief flooding his expression as he pulls you into a hug, his grip firm, steady. "Man, you scared the hell out of us," he says, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls back, a grin breaking through the tension as he adds, "Don't ever do that again, okay?"

A small laugh escapes you, and the tension in the room begins to ease. You all follow the stranger and get to where the girls were waiting.

"Thank god you’re okay." Sam says softly, a warm smile on her face as she carefully hugged you to avoid any further pain.

Emily, still recovering from the shock she went through, gave a curt nod in your direction. "You look like you have been through hell" she mutters.

You manage a small smile, grateful for each familiar face.

The man clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him, his gaze steady, a hard look in his eyes. "I don't have time for reunions," he says, his tone firm but not unkind. "There's something you need to understand."

Everyone falls silent, their faces tense as they turn to him. Mike leads you to the couch, pulling you down beside him, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close as you leaned against him.

The stranger begins to speak, his voice low and grave as he explains the truth of the mountain, the curse that turned the ones who commit cannibalism into unrecognizable monsters. His words hang heavy in the air, each one sinking into them like stones.

Mike's hand tightens on your waist, his gaze dark as he listens, his mind racing with the reality of what you must have endured all alone. The knowledge that you survived this and made it back to him fills him with a mixture of pride and fear that he can't shake.

When the stranger finishes, silence falls over the room, the weight of his warning settling into every corner, pressing down on each of them. Chris is the first to break the silence, his face set, determined. "So... what do we do?"

The stranger's gaze sharpens, his expression hard, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You’re going to need to find somewhere safe to hide"

“For how long?”

“Until dawn”

They all nod, a shared understanding passing between them.

“Guys... i ran out and left Josh when i heard screaming” Mike told everyone, guilt spreading on his face at realizing what could happen to Josh.

“Your friend is already dead” the stranger spoke with unwavering certainty.

Chris steps forward. “No, no he can’t be. We were just with him a moment ago”

“A lot can happen quickly on this mountain”

"I'm gonna get him," Chris said with determination. "I’m supposed to be his best friend and i let him down"

“Then i’ll go with you” the man said, offering Chris a rifle to fight if needed.

Chris takes a deep breath, steeling himself and holding the rifle tightly to his chest as he stares at the door, the stranger next to him and ready to leave to rescue Josh. Just as he's about to turn away, he notices you and Mike standing together. Mike's arm is still around you but you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to murmur something to him. His face softens and he reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering for a moment longer.

You walk toward Chris, your movements slow but steady, the worst of your injuries seeming to fade, the pain dulled and it gives you a chance to run again thanks to the man’s help. You hold up a hand for a high five, grinning just a bit. "Be careful out there, alright?"

Chris smirks, the familiar glint of humor in his eyes. "Hey, you know me. Careful my middle name." He claps your hand, his expression softening slightly. "We'll get through this."

Your gaze shifts to the stranger, a silent expression of gratitude in your eyes as you give him a slight nod. He meets your gaze, there's a faint hint of acknowledgment in the way he inclines his head.

Turning back, you move toward Mike. You catch sight of Ashley leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on Chris with a strange, distant expression, something that you never saw on her when together with Chris. You pause, opening your mouth to ask her if she's alright, but she steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder to help you back toward Mike.

You give her a small nod, something unsettled lingering in your mind but you let it go as she guides you back to Mike. You feel his hand slip around your waist again, steady and reassuring, his warmth grounding you as you settle beside him, leaning into his side as he guides you to the basement with the others.

The atmosphere in the basement is heavy with silence, an oppressive weight settling over everyone. You were sitting down on one of the tables there, looking at all the cameras present there together with Sam and Emily. The door creaks open, and Ashley stumbles down, followed closely by Mike. You can see immediately the way his face is drawn, his eyes hollow, a deep sadness etched into every line.

He looks at you, the pain in his gaze made you fear the worst. "Chris... he didn't make it," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath.

You feel the ground shift beneath you, the words sinking in with an ache so sharp it feels physical. Chris, your friend, is gone. Your throat tightens and the reality of the situation claws at you, an emptiness that leaves you hollow.

Ashley stands frozen, her face pale and expressionless. Emily immediately moves to her side, reaching for her hands, while Sam steps forward, her voice soft with sympathy. "Ash... I'm so sorry."

Ashley shakes her head, her jaw clenched as she stares past them, her eyes glassy with shock. "I'm fine," she insists, her voice hollow and distant, "I'm fine."

Sam's voice is soft, cautious as she looks at Mike. "What about the man with the flamethrower? Did... did he make it?"

Mike shakes his head, his voice a low, haunted murmur. "Didn’t see him coming back. He's dead, too."

The walls seem to close in and Mike moves with big steps towards you and hold you tightly, pulling you closer, "I’m so sorry”. His hand moves gently to your back, tracing soothing circles, his fingers trembling slightly.

You find yourself melting into his touch, his hold a balm to the raw pain in your chest.

Mike began searching around the place and on the cameras to look for any possible other escape. Josh had the key for the cable car. The wendigos might have taken him to the sanatorium and he declared he will go there to get them and save him.

All of your friends group around the table to analyze the map left by the man, talking about the mines and the sanatorium.

You’re too deep in thoughts to participate in it. You felt tears ready to spill down from your eyes as you kept thinking about Chris and the man’ deaths.

“Em... Em, what is that?” Ashley's tone of voice was concerning. You looked up in time to see all of your friends slowly backing away from Emily as she kept a hand on her shoulder.

You got down from the table and wiped away the tears on your eyes. Stepping closer but stopping when you noticed blood seeping through her shoulder.

“Ash...” Emily began to talk, her gaze moving towards everyone as she carefully thought about her next words

“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god! Oh, no, oh, no!” Ashely was freaking out as her gaze moved back and forth to Mike and Emily.

“It’s nothing. It just- it bit me and-“ Emily tried to explain but Ashley's loud voice interrupted her again.

“It bit you? What bit you?!”

You took another step closer while Ashley grew increasingly agitated with each word.

“The...ah... the wendigo,” Emily stammered, her voice trembling with fear rather than conviction. “It’s nothing, really. It’s not a big deal—it doesn’t hurt anymore, not really.”

Mike takes a step back "Em... if that thing bit you..."

“I know what you’re thinking and i’m fine” she took a step forwards and expanded her hands towards Mike but he backed away, his arm moving in front of you to shield you from her as he stepped away.

“Emily at least let us check it out,” Sam told her quietly, hoping to calm her down.

“Emily... if the wendigo bit you, you could turn into one of those things” Mike told her as he kept his arm in front of you.

“Oh that’s ridiculous” Sam said, her voice rising in frustration as she stepped forward to intervene. But Ashley sharply spoke again, her expression a mix of desperation and impatience.

“He said it was from EATING each other- remember, he said that! It happens if it bites you, you’re gonna turn into one of those things and you’re gonna turn in on us. Oh my god. Oh, my god! OH MY GOD”

Was it really like that? The man told you that it happened if someone committed cannibalism but he never told you about bites or other things like that. Was it just common knowledge and he didn’t told you because it was oblivious?

You took a step forward and felt pain radiating on your shoulder. A whimper of pain was heard through your closed lips and Mike turned around immediately, his arm outstretched in front of you while slowly moving you behind him as he positions himself between you and the perceived threat.

“You can’t be down here with us. You gotta go. You’re putting us ALL in danger” Mike told Emily firmly, no hesitation on his face or voice.

“Like hell I am!” This was the first time you saw Emily this desperate.

“Mike, just cool your head, okay? We don’t know how it works, maybe it’s just a bite” Sam said, her voice steady but edged with concern, though the unease in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

“What is this? Guys, what are you doing” Emily looked more and more scared the longer she looked around at all of you.

“Door’s right there. I’m letting you doing this voluntarily” Mike spoke firmly at her.

“Oh, no. You’re just doing this to make yourself feel better about sending me to my death because you know there’s a wendigo out there ready to rip me to pieces like it did with-“

“OKAY, OH MY GOD! WILL YOU JUST GO?! GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Ashley screamed at the top of her lungs, voice full of frustration and terror at this point.

Mike move towards the table and took the gun, pointing it at Emily who immediately backed away in shock.

“Whoa,whoa-whoa- Mike! Calm down!” Sam tried to intervene but Mike pushed her away, his arm pulling you behind him protectively as his other hand kept pointing the gun at Emily.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” Emily crawled on top of the table until her back hit the wall, desperately trying to get away from the situation. “Mike...? Me?”

“This is the safe room, Em. And it’s not safe as long as you’re in it. Not for us!”

“Don- don’t do this!” Her voice broke on the last word, her hands reaching out as if she could somehow stop him.

“I’m really sorry” Mike choked out, his voice trembling with regret, the words barely escaping through a veil of anguish. His hands shook as he gripped the weapon, his heart pounding in his chest as he took a step forward. His finger pressed the revolver’s cylinder, rotating it to prepare the next shot.

Tell Mike Not to Shoot Emily. She's still Emily, still herself... isn't she? The fear is there, yes, but a part of you knows this isn't right.

Support Mike no matter what he chooses. The thought of Emily becoming one of those things, of putting Mike in danger, fills you with a dread so deep it nearly leaves you breathless.

Your heart pounded as memories surged through your mind, vivid and relentless of the wendigo’s claws tearing through your body as it dragged you into the unknown. You remembered the helplessness, the horror, the feeling of being trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

Now, the thought of Mike facing anything remotely close to that horror because of a single hesitation sent fear clawing at your chest. You wanted to believe Emily; she was one of you, someone you'd shared memories with. But what if she did turn? What if Mike's hesitation meant losing him?

Support Mike

You lean closer, your voice soft, trembling, barely a whisper. “I trust you, Mike. Whatever you think is best... I'll stand by you."

A subtle shimmer appears, almost like a faint trick of light, the beat of butterfly wings sending ripples into the unknown.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Your words seemed to reach him, settling into something deep inside. The fear in his eyes hardened into something resolute. He was reminded of the bruises on your face, the cuts on your skin, the exhaustion in your frame as you spoke softly at him. You were still recovering, still weak from the encounter. In the state you were in, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself if she turned into one of those things.

He can't let her be a threat.

The shot rings out, sharp and final, echoing through the room. The bullet made contact with her left eye, ending her life on spot and smearing the wall behind her with blood.

“Oh, shit... oh, shit... oh, shit. What the fuck did i just do?” Mike lets the gun fall from his hands, his expression haunted, his eyes flicking to you.

You reach for his hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re safe... you guys are safe. I had to do it” he looked around, searching for reassurance, for some sign that he did the right thing.

Ashley backs away, shocked and terrified to look at him despite being the one ready from the start to make Emily leave the room.

“I’m going to get the keys from Josh. I’ll... I'll come back here.” He began to back away “you guys are safe... it’s over...” he let go of your hand, looking at you desperately one last time before turning away.

You watched him go with a worried expression. Sam came close to you, her hand resting on your shoulder as she looked with you where Mike went to get what was needed to let you escape this nightmare of a place.

From behind, you heard Ashley panicking again as she mumbled under her breath. She was sitting on the opposite side of a table reading what you assumed to be the diary of the stranger

“What? What does it say?” You and Sam stepped forward together until you were right next to her.

“It says... well... if it bites you it’s not infectious. It doesn’t do anything”

Sam took the book in her hands, looking briefly at Emily’s dead body and whispering her name softly. A tear about to spill from her eyes.

You peeked over Sam’s shoulder as she read the last page pf the diary. It talked about all the wendigos trapped inside the sanatorium.

Mike was going to fall right into a trap.

“We need to get to Mike” Sam said firmly, tossing the book aside as you and her made your way to Mike.

The dim, echoing tunnels of the mine stretch before you, the air is thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of rust. Mike is beside you, keeping close, his eyes darting around as if searching for any sign of danger, while Sam moves slightly behind you, her flashlight casting shadows that flicker and dance against the rock.

A small lake was blocking your path. The frigid water sending a chill just from looking at it.

"Guess we don't have much of a choice," Sam murmurs, voice tight.

You nod, sharing a glance with Mike, whose gaze is steady but filled with the same dread. Together, you step into the water, the cold biting instantly as it soaks through your clothes. It seeps up your legs, then higher, numbing everything it touches. By the time the water reaches your waist, your muscles are tense, your breaths sharp and shuddering from the sheer chill.

You could help but mutter something about how you were freezing your ass, teeth chattering as you trudge forward and earning a small chuckle from Sam, suffering as well from the extreme low temperature of the water.

A solid surface came ahead and you all got up from there.

Sam spots something on the ground and in the glow of her flashlight, you see a small, battered notebook, its cover dusty and worn but unmistakably familiar. It's Hannah's diary, you recognized her handwriting.

The three of you huddle close, drawn in by the painful intimacy of her words. The cold, the hunger and the maddening isolation as she struggled to survive in the mines with a broken leg. She stayed here for around a month.

“Oh god... it makes sense. I think... Hannah dug up Beth. It was Hannah. Beth died in the fall- so Hannah must have buried her“ Sam pieced everything together”

“God-dammit” Mike muttered in disbelief.

“She would have been starving... she would have been desperate-“

The implication of what it meant twisted your stomach, bringing back flashes of the memory from that night. You feel the cold seep through your skin, but it's not the chill of the mines.

It's the haunting weight of regret.

Mike's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone gentle. "Hey... you okay?" He's watching you, his gaze filled with concern.

Lie. You could brush it off, tell them it's just the cold getting to you. It would be easy, just a few words to keep the truth hidden, to protect yourself from the shame that threatens to overwhelm you. But the guilt would stay buried, festering, a constant reminder of what you did and chose to keep hidden.

Confess. You could let it out, finally release the burden you've been carrying. Admit that you saw Hannah that night, that you knew about the prank but chose not to warn her. This choice would mean exposing yourself but it might also allow you to find a sense of forgiveness. A chance for honesty and maybe a path toward healing.

The truth gnaws at you, clawing its way to the surface, refusing to stay buried. You can't keep it hidden any longer.

Confess

Taking a shaky breath, you look at Mike and Sam, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you. I saw Hannah that night. Right before... everything. She asked me if I knew where Mike was and I didn't tell her about the prank." Your voice cracks, raw with the pain of holding back the truth. "I could've warned her and stopped it. This is all my fault."

The silence stretches as your confession hangs in the cold air. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your chest tightening as the weight of it crashes over you.

Mike's hand tightens on your shoulder and he looks at you with a softness that you didn't expect. "This isn't all on you. I shouldn't have gone along with the prank in the first place." His voice is laced with regret. "If anyone's to blame, it's me."

Sam's hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "You made a mistake but we all did. I should have found her faster. I should have insisted more on stopping that prank. None of us were perfect that night."

Her words are like a balm, gentle but unwavering, her empathy wrapping around you as she holds your gaze. The three of you share a moment of quiet solidarity, bound together by the shared regret.

You all continue moving through the mines. Mike's hand brushes against yours as you move inside the water.

"So... you were jealous?" His tone is playful, laced with his usual teasing, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You roll your eyes, feeling the corner of your lips curve upward. "It was like a year ago, alright? And yeah, I was jealous."

Mike grins, his eyebrow quivering as he nudges you gently. "And how long were you crushing on me?" He leans a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious murmur.

Sam, walking just behind, groans in mock exasperation and from the cold water. "Could you two get a room already? I really don't need to be the third wheel right now."

"Sorry, Sam." You laugh, feeling the last remnants of tension ease from your shoulders.

Eventually, you could hear Josh mumbling to himself, his eyes wild, his expression a chaotic mix of fear and mania.

"Josh!" Sam calls, her voice gentle but firm. "Josh, it's us."

He doesn't respond, muttering incoherently, his gaze distant, as if lost in a nightmare he can't escape. “He’s tripping or something” Mike muttered to himself before giving him a slap to snap him out of his stupor. "Josh!"

Josh blinks, his gaze slowly refocusing on the three of you, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. "Don’t h-hit me, p-please-"

“You were deep in it, man. Full metal jacket”

“Josh, Hannah was down there for weeks... a month?! She dug Beth up” she was on the verge of crying and you stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

"We need the keys," you said gently, trying to keep him calm. "The keys to the cable car, do you have them?"

Josh's hand trembles as he digs into his pocket, pulling out the keys and handing them to Sam. She pockets them and glances toward the slope leading up to the surface.

"That's our way out," she says, her voice filled with determination.

Mike shakes his head, glancing at Josh. "He's not going to make it up there. We'll have to go back the way we came."

Sam nods, though her face is etched with worry. She looks at you, assessing your condition with a careful gaze. "Think you can handle the climb? I can help you up if you need."

Mike steps in, his hand brushing your arm as he looks at you. "You sure you're up for it?" he asks, his tone soft, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a steady look. "I can handle it. Sam's got my back in case”

He hesitates, his grip tightening on your arm, his gaze flickering with a hint of reluctance. Then, with a soft sigh, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand lingering on your cheek as he pulls back, his voice a whisper only you can hear. "Be careful, alright? I want to see that handsome face of yours back at the lodge."

You smile, brushing a hand over his. "You too, Mike. Don't do anything stupid."

He chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with a bittersweet edge. "Stupid? Me? Never." He winks, a smirk playing on his lips, though his gaze holds a flicker of sadness.

He knelt down to help both you and Sam with the first push to start climbing and with one last look, he turns back to Josh, his hand gesturing to the direction to get out of the mines.

You and Sam exchange a determined nod before turning to the steep climb. Every movement is careful and calculated, each foothold chosen with precision as you make your way up.

The climb back to the surface is grueling, every muscle in your body aching, but the sight of moonlight filtering through the cracks above fills you with a surge of determination. Sam pulls herself up beside you, panting but grinning as she looks over at you with a playful gleam in her eye.

"That was just like a climbing class, right?" she quips, giving you a nudge.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, except with a lot more life-or-death stakes," you reply, matching her tone with a smirk.

She lets her hand fall onto your shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing as she takes a moment to study your face. “You did good,” she says, her voice a soothing contrast to the chaos you’d just survived. “Not a single complaint, even when you looked like you were about to pass out.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her. “Do I really look that bad?” you ask, the question coming out more tired than you’d intended. The last time you saw your reflection was before you were dragged away from Mike, leaving your body feeling like it had been run through a blender. You knew there were cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over your body. The left side of your cheek throbbed painfully whenever you touched it and you could feel the stickiness of dried blood against your lips.

She gives you a small, teasing smile, a spark of humor glinting in her eyes. “Nah,” she says, her voice light but sincere. “It makes you look tough. I can guarantee you, Mike would approve of me without hesitation.”

A tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Despite the exhaustion in your bones and the tremble in your legs, you can’t help but feel a small spark of gratitude for her presence, appreciating her support as the two of you move forward and towards the lodge.

A bone-chilling scream pierces the air from behind you. You can feel the presence of something behind you, its screeches growing louder.

The two of you bolt toward the lodge, every step pounding with adrenaline without looking back until you reach the lodge. You pound on the door with both fists, your heart hammering as you shout for someone inside to let you in. You feel the tremor in your hands, the knowledge that every second spent outside is a second closer to whatever horror is chasing you.

Then, a figure from behind calls for your name.

Mike.

Relief floods through you as he steps forward, grabbing you in a fierce hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breaths shallow and shaky as he presses his face against your shoulder and allows himself to rest for just a second.

Sam picks up a rock, smashing it against the window of the door to unlock it. With a final glance behind, the three of you slip inside.

“And Josh?” Your voice suddenly small, a tremor running through it as you glance at him.

He lowers his gaze. It’s a look that sends an icy chill through you, the kind of look that makes your stomach twist in dread. “It got him”

Your breath catches, you feel sick to your stomach, cold in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature around you.

Sam’s shoulders sag, her face twisting with anguish as she drops her eyes to the ground. ”Ohh, god, what an awful way to go...” she mutters, her voice thick with disbelief and grief.

“What do you think we should do now?”

“We should check the basement, might be someone left down there”

Descending down the stairs to the basement, the only thought passing inside your mind was that there was no time to mourn yet. Help will soon be on the way. You just have to survive just a bit longer.

The door of the basement cracks open and three wendigos are there. Their emaciated bodies twisted and contorted, creeping forward with a surprising speed.

Ashley was no longer there.

Mike takes hold of your hand and with Sam behind, you all backtrack to the main lobby. Mike suddenly halts and tugs harshly at your arm to block you in the track.

"Don't move. Don’t fucking move muscle." His voice a hoarse whisper.

Your heart pounds as you follow his gaze and that's when you see it. A wendigo, tall and twisted, perched on the wooden chandelier above. You caught a glimpse of the butterfly tattoo on its arm. This was Hannah. She was no longer recognizable, skin stretched taut over skeletal limbs, her hollow eyes scanning the room with a terrifying intensity.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

Fear grips you, cold and unrelenting, as you force yourself to stay still. You can feel every tremor in your muscles, the effort it takes to control your breathing, to keep from trembling as the creature shifts, her claws scraping against the wood.

The wendigos from the basement emerge to the main lobby. One of them lunges at Hannah, and in a flash of brutality, she catches it’s leg and throws it first against the wooden stairs and then against the chimney, causing one of the gas pipes to break. Another one attacks her from upstairs but despite the height advantage her claws successfully sink into its neck and decapitate it with little effort.

Your eyes flick to Mike, his face drawn tight with focus as he inches toward the lightbulb switch while keeping an eye on the distracted wendigo.

Then you see the last wendigo from the basement perched on the wooden railing near you, its blind eyes scanning and it's facing Mike. Every step he is making is putting him in danger.

Save Mike. Do anything in your power to distract the monster from him. Anything to protect Mike, even if it means putting yourself in danger.

Run. Save yourself. The path is clear. No wendigos are paying attention to you. Just a quick turn around, a chance to escape. You could save yourse—

Save Mike

You raise your foot and press it down onto the floor, letting it creak just enough to attract the wendigo's attention. The creature snaps its head towards you, the hollow gaze empty and yet focused, its twisted limbs twitching as it crawls toward you, its movements disturbingly animalistic.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

The wendigo creeps closer, its body contorted, moving on all fours with a disturbing grace, each shift of its limbs slow and deliberate, its clawed hands digging into the wooden floor. You can see its sunken eyes, the stretched skin pulled tight over a jaw filled with teeth too sharp, too numerous.

Just as it seems to lose interest, it shifts, turning toward the stairs, drawn by a new sound. Hannah’s form looming over it as her hollow gaze fixes on it, ready to fight.

You see Sam from the corner of your eye, moving silently toward the door, hiding behind the remnants of overturned furniture. Hannah close in on her hiding spot, her bodies coiled with an unnatural tension, ready to strike.

Your heart pounds in your chest, its frantic rhythm deafening in your ears as your body locks in place, paralyzed by terror.

Mike has backed away and reached your position. His hand slips into yours, his grip firm as he starts to pull you toward the door. His gaze remains fixed on the wendigos, unwavering, every muscle in his body tense with vigilance. His attention flickers only briefly to Sam, a silent worry in his eyes matching yours.

Just as you're inches from the door, Sam's scream cuts through the silence. Your blood freezes. Panic surges through you as you turn around.

Hannah’s grotesque hand shoots out, grasping Sam's face and yanking her up in the air as she struggles to break free. In one brutal, swift motion, Hannah's arm pierces Sam's body, tearing through her.

Her scream pierced the air, and then... silence. Sam's body goes slack, her eyes glazing over as the light fades from them. Hannah lets her crumple to the floor, lifeless.

Tears burn in your eyes, blurring your vision as your breath comes in ragged gasps. You clutch Mike's hand harder, your fingers digging into his skin, as the crushing weight of Sam's death settles over you, the weight of loss heavy on your heart. You feel Mike's hand squeezing yours back, his body tensed beside you but his face filled with grief and helplessness.

The two wendigos turn, their hollow eyes finding you and Mike, and they begin to move, their twisted limbs carrying them forward with terrifying speed.

"I'm sorry, Hannah," you whisper as your gaze locks onto Hannah's, the words slipping out, soft but filled with regret at what you did to her.

Mike steps forward as he reaches for the light switch. The moment he flicks it, a spark ignites, and the room erupts in a blinding explosion. The force sends you and Mike flying backward, his arms wrapping around you protectively as the two of you crash to the ground, the shockwave rattling through your bones as the lodge goes up in flames.

You lie there on top of Mike, the world spinning as the roaring fire consumes what remains of the lodge.

In the distance, you hear the faint whir of helicopter blades, the sound growing louder, accompanied by a voice echoing through the smoke. "We've got survivors."

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow in the police station room, making everything feel painfully real.

The officer across from you studies you with a quiet intensity, his face neutral, but his eyes carry a weight that tells you he knows he's about to hear something he won't easily forget.

“I... I was grabbed and dragged through the woods. I thought I wouldn't make it, but then this man showed up. He had a flamethrower... he saved my life and he... he died trying to save a friend of mine” You recount everything, the words spilling out in uneven breaths as you described the twisted nightmare that unfolded in the mountains.

When you finish, the silence stretches out, heavy and unnerving, until the officer leans forward, his gaze intense.

"There's one more thing we need to discuss," he says, his tone carefully measured. "We recovered multiple bodies from the lodge after the explosion. One is severely burned, difficult to identify, but we believe it was one of your friends." He pauses, watching your reaction. "From what we could determine, she was shot."

The words sink in, your stomach twisting as you realize he's talking about Emily.

The officer's gaze sharpens, his voice low but probing. "Your boyfriend already told one of my colleagues what happened, but... I want to hear it from you. Can you tell me why he did it?"

His question hangs in the air, pressing down on you with a weight that's almost suffocating.

Tell the truth. You could tell the officer everything, lay bare the paranoia and fear that drove you all, admit that Mike had acted out of a desperation to protect all of you, even at the cost of a friend. This would leave Mike exposed, vulnerable to judgment and consequences that he might not deserve.

Protect Mike with a half-truth. You could bend the truth just enough to shield him, craft a version that holds the essence of what happened but protects him from the harshest scrutiny. You could tell the officer that Emily was on the verge of turning, and that Mike's decision was one made in self-defense for everyone. After all, Mike had no clue the bite wasn’t infectious. This would keep Mike safe.

You think of Mike, his face as he'd held the gun, the determination and anguish mingling as he made the choice to protect all of you. The quiet nights, the endless texts that bridged the miles between you when life pulls you in different directions. The inside jokes that only the two of you understood, the late-night conversations. You remember the way he’d stood by you through everything. The way he would always try to make you smile when you were having a bad day, the sound of his voice calling your name in a crowd, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. The memory of him chasing after you through the woods risking everything to save you.

Protect Mike

"There were other... things in that lodge, things that weren't human. I don't know if you've recovered them yet, but I'm sure you'll find them."

The officer's brow furrows slightly, as if considering the implications of your words. "We... found some burned bodies in the lodge. They were deformed, impossible to identify." His words trail off, as though he's reluctant to admit what he's seen.

You steady yourself, forcing your voice into a calm, controlled tone as you look back at the officer. "Emily was infected. She was about to turn into one of those things. Mike acted in self-defense for all of us, he was trying to protect us." The officer's face remains impassive, though you see a flicker of skepticism in his eyes.

You lean forward, pulling the crumpled photo from your pocket, the one the stranger had given you of the man twisted by the wendigo curse, the monstrous transformation captured in horrifying detail. You hand it to the officer, your hand trembling as you do.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"These... things aren't human. It wasn't her anymore. Mike did his best at saving us."

The officer studies the photograph, his expression shifting from skepticism to something darker, more troubled. He nods slowly, his gaze flicking back to you, and there's a note of respect in his tone as he speaks. "We'll look into it. Thank you for sharing this. We’ll keep it in mind for the investigation." He slips the photo into his folder, his expression thoughtful as he regards you one last time.

You hesitate, your voice soft but filled with a quiet desperation. "Could I see Mike?"

The officer studies you for a long moment, taking in the bruises on your skin, the exhaustion etched into every line of your face, and the pleading look in your eyes. He sighs, standing up and nodding toward the door. "Come with me."

You follow him through the narrow hallway, your heart pounding with every step as you finally catch sight of Mike, seated outside another interview room, his head bowed, hands clutched together. The exhaustion on his face is evident but the moment he sees you, his face transforms, relief flooding over him like a wave.

You barely have time to process before he's standing, crossing the short distance to you in a few strides and wrapping his arms around you in a fierce embrace. His grip is tight, his body trembling as he pulls you close, his breath hitching as he presses his face into your shoulder.

"It's over now," you whisper, voice barely audible as you press closer. "We're safe. It's finally over."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with fierce determination. He’ll never let anything happen to you ever again.

The two of you sit together in silence, your hands intertwined, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, steady rhythm. You can barely bring yourself to look at him, feeling the guilt gnaw at you. All of your friends died and it was your fault

His arms then pull you in closer and you lean into him, not saying anything because no words seem to make the guilt any lighter. But, in that moment, with his arms around you, there’s a strange sense of relief. No matter what happens next, at least you’re not alone.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

I really love all the characters in this game, and honestly, it was painful to write their deaths. But I wanted to try something different this time. I hope it didn’t make the story less enjoyable to read—it wasn’t my intention at all. If you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

164 notes · View notes