I was supposed to be alone in the house.

It began simple enough. My best friend and I booked a small place in the woods to celebrate our college graduation. We spent the day skipping rocks and picking sweet-smelling wildflowers. Sure, we noticed the locks didn’t work on the cabin door, but we only giggled to one another about bears breaking in and stealing our peanut butter. Yes, we turned to the trees with hair raised after branches cracked, but we didn't linger on the unease. We thought nothing bad could happen to us. 

Our fun halted when Diara got a call from her boyfriend that his mother’s sickness had worsened. I told her to go to him—we could celebrate another time. Because I didn’t feel like driving down in the dark, I decided to stay the night, thinking it would be nice. And at first, it was. I watched a movie and crunched on salty chips. 

In the hall, the door moaned. I stilled underneath the blanket as the TV flashed and played dramatic music. Had Diara returned? However, she didn’t call. Was it the wind? I glanced at the window, squinting at the room’s reflection, oxygen coming short.

The kitchen glowed at me from the archway, light still on from when we had dinner. That was when a dark form crossed, a smiling masked face outlined for a moment before I slammed shut my eyes. 

My heart lurched as though to tear through skin and bone. The ghoulish red mask danced mockingly, slits for eyes glittering with soulless glee, promising horror. At a crash from the kitchen, I flinched, every limb trembling. Shutting off the TV, I slid to the ground, rolling under the couch, barely breathing. In the new void of silence, I heard the specter’s steps creaking into the room. 

I was supposed to be alone in the house. But as the unmistakable sound of footsteps creeps nearer, I know I have to get out of here.

I crawl to the other side of the sofa, the floor rough on my elbows, gaze fixed on the glinting window only a few paces away. Bloodcurdling, serrated, unhinged laughter fills the lurking silence.

I have to move, though I know I am alone in these charnel woods, too far for anyone to come, surrounded by bleak, twisting wilderness. To die here—entombed in stygian shadows, without anyone knowing, to die right now—overwhelms me with freezing dread.

Before I can run, an icy hand falls on my shoulder.

I can’t scream. Terror strangles the sound as clammy hands wrap around my wrist, and I’m forced to look into the smiling mask as it laughs and laughs.

I don’t even feel the knife in my gut, only the sweaty blood running down me, sticky and warm. The bitter taste fills my mouth. My vision tunnels, heart roaring, and lungs writhing. Under the press of empty loneliness, I hear the soft, disquieting cackle until the very end.