Chapter Eighteen
Tunnel Vision
Rachel Williams
The moment the rock slammed down between us, the world changed. The air felt different. Thicker, colder, like the cave had swallowed me whole.
Bishop’s voice was gone. Beth’s. David’s. All of it muffled behind a wall of stone.
I’m alone.
I force myself to breathe quietly, slowly. My hand goes to my weapon automatically, fingers tightening around the grip. The flashlight beam shakes as I lift it, and I hate that. I hate that I’m shaking.
A sound drifts through the tunnel.
Not footsteps. Not breathing. Something like claws dragging lightly across stone, echoing in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to anything human. All the hair on my body stands on end.
It’s just the cold; you are not afraid of the dark. Suck it up.
I swallow hard and move toward it.
The tunnel curves sharply, narrowing until I have to angle my shoulders to fit. Every drip of water sounds like a whisper, putting me more and more on edge.
Every shift of air feels like something brushing past me. My heartbeat is too loud. My breath fogs in front of me.
“Bishop…” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me.
Another sound. Closer this time. A low scrape, followed by a soft thud.
I wish I had a ball. Wolves are just big dogs right? Throw the ball and run. It could work. Fuck I think I need therapy. There is no fucking werewolf Rachel.
I raise my weapon, flashlight cutting through the dark. My boots crunch over loose gravel. The tunnel opens into a small chamber, shadows pooling in the corners like ink.
And then I see it.
A shape. Tall. Broad. Hunched.
What the fuck?
Its silhouette is unmistakable; massive shoulders, elongated limbs, fur hanging in ragged strips. Claws curve like sickles. The head tilts slightly, catching the edge of my light.
I freeze.
My lungs lock. My pulse spikes so hard it hurts. The cave seems to tilt around me.
Then I scream.
“BISHOP!”
My voice ricochets through the chamber, bouncing off stone, desperate and raw. I brace myself to run, to shoot, to do anything.
Do something, run for fucks sake! Don’t just stand there waiting to be its next chew toy Rachel!
But the creature doesn’t move.
Not an inch.
It doesn’t breathe. It doesn’t react. It just stands there, frozen in place.
I edge closer, weapon raised, breath trembling. My light sweeps over the figure. The truth hits me like a punch.
It’s not the creature.
It’s a suit.
What kind of Scooby Doo shit is this? Did I find its lair? Jenkies it’s a clue. Like a fucking big one.
Stitched together from furs and hides, layered with crude carved bone. The claws are carved bone strapped to gloves. The footwear is reinforced, elongated, designed to leave prints that mimic something monstrous.
A way to become the thing everyone fears.
My stomach drops. My skin crawls. The air feels colder now, sharper.
He made this. He wore this. He hunted people in this.
I step back, bile rising in my throat.
“Bishop,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Oh God… Bishop, hurry.”
Because if this is here… If he left it behind…
Then he’s somewhere close.
And he’s not wearing the suit anymore.
I hear him before I see him. His voice cutting through the tunnels furious and determined. The moment it hits my ears; my knees almost give out in relief.
“Rachel!”
I turn toward the sound, flashlight trembling in my hand. My breath is still uneven, my pulse still too fast. The suit looms behind me, a grotesque shadow that feels like it’s watching even though it can’t.
Then Bishop bursts into the chamber.
He looks wild. His eyes are sharp, chest heaving, dirt streaked across his jaw. For a second, he doesn’t even look at me. His gaze snaps straight to the silhouette behind me, weapon already half-raised.
“Get back,” he says, voice low and lethal.
“It’s not him,” I manage, though my throat feels tight. “It’s…. Bishop, it’s a suit.”
His flashlight sweeps over it, and I watch the moment he understands. His jaw locks and shoulders tense. Something dark flickers across his face. Anger and disgust
He steps between me and the suit without hesitation, like he’s shielding me from something that isn’t even alive.
“Rachel,” he says, softer now, “are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No. I just…..I thought it was him. It looked like him. It looked like….” My voice breaks. I hate that it makes me look weak.
He moves closer, grounding me with his presence. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
His lips brush against my temple and it soothes something ragged inside.
I nod, but my eyes drift back to the suit.. All of it designed to terrify. All of it designed to make people believe a monster was hunting them.
“He wore this,” I whisper. “He made himself into something else.”
Bishop’s voice is a low rumble. “He wanted people scared.”
“He succeeded.”
Bishop’s hand brushes my arm. He’s steady, reassuring, protective in a way that makes my chest tighten.
“We’re leaving this room,” he says. “We regroup with the others. Then we find him.”
I nod again, but I can’t stop staring at the suit. It stands there, frozen, empty, and somehow more horrifying than the creature it was meant to imitate.
Because if he left it behind…
“He’s close,” I say quietly.
Bishop’s eyes meet mine. “I know.”
My flashlight shakes in my hand, the beam jittering over the furs, the claws, the grotesque shape he built for himself.