Chapter 1 #2
When he stops the car, when he comes for me, I need to be ready.
Ready for what? Ready to fight? Ready to run? Ready to negotiate my way out of this?
No, I realize.
Ready to survive .
The car takes another turn, this one sharper, and I can hear tree branches scraping against the sides of the vehicle. We're in a forest now, deep enough that branches touch the car as we drive past them. The sound is ominous, like skeletal fingers trying to claw their way inside.
Perfect. A forest. Because that's exactly where every horror movie villain takes their victims.
Despite my terror, or maybe because of it, I find myself trying to memorize every detail I can gather. The softer engine sound tells me we're going slower now, maybe ten or fifteen miles per hour. The terrain is rough and getting worse—this isn’t a maintained road.
The car slows further, and I can hear something new—music? No, not music. It's distant, muffled by the car windows, but it's definitely not natural.
I think we're almost there.
Wherever 'there' is.
My heart starts hammering even faster, if that's even possible. This is it.
The sounds are getting clearer now—Halloween recordings.
Wolves howling, psychotic laughter, ghosts booing, and beneath it all, a low tune that sounds like it’s straight out of a slasher movie.
The car makes one final turn, and I can feel the difference even with my eyes closed—the sense of space around us, the way sound carries differently in a clearing.
We're here.
What kind of psychopath has background music playing at their murder site?
Don’t call it that. You don't know that's what this is.
But you know, don't you? Deep down, you know this isn't going to end with him letting you go.
The car finally, mercifully, comes to a stop. The engine cuts off, and sudden silence rushes in like a wave, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and my own ragged breathing.
This is it.
Whatever happens next, this is where it starts, but it doesn’t have to be where it ends.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to make my body go limp, feigning unconsciousness. Maybe if he thinks I'm still out, I'll have some kind of advantage when he comes for me.
Maybe I'll find a way out of this alive.
I hear the driver's door open with a soft click that sounds impossibly loud in the still air. Heavy boots hit the ground.
He's walking around the car. He’s taking his time.
Probably savoring the fucking moment.
The footsteps circle the vehicle slowly, like a predator stalking wounded prey. I can feel him looking at me through the windows, studying me, planning his next move. This is a game to him.
Please. Please let me wake up from this nightmare.
But the harsh bite of rope around my wrists is too real, too raw. The leather smell of the car, the dry feeling of fear in my mouth, the sound of those boots—all of it is undeniably, terrifyingly real.
The footsteps stop just outside my door.
He's right there.
One thin piece of glass and metal between me and him.
What’s he waiting for?
Finally, the handle above my head clicks, and cool night air rushes in, carrying with it a mixture of scents that make my stomach churn. Earth and decay, smoke and autumn leaves. And something else, something sweet…
Pumpkin?
"It’s time to wake up, my night monster."
His voice is deep, rough around the edges, tainted with barely leashed control and dark amusement. I don't recognize it. It’s definitely not anyone I know.
I keep my eyes closed and try to keep my breathing steady, but I'm trembling now. I can't help it.
"I know you're awake, beautiful."
The endearment should feel menacing, but it doesn't. It sounds almost… familiar. Like he knows me.
But that's impossible.
I've never heard this voice before in my life. I would remember it.
"Your pulse is racing," he continues, and I feel the warm press of skin against my throat—rough fingers checking my heartbeat. "And you've been awake for the last ten minutes. Did you really think I couldn't tell?"
How the fuck would he know that?
The hand moves away, but I can still feel the phantom pressure where he touched me. His touch didn’t feel violent or threatening, but possessive. Like he was checking on something that belonged to him.
"There's no point in pretending anymore," he says, and I can hear the wicked smile in his words. "We have work to do, you and I."
Work .
What kind of work requires kidnapping someone and driving them into the middle of a fucking forest?
Nothing good, and definitely nothing I want any part of.
But I don't have a choice, do I? Whatever game he’s playing, I'm already a piece on his board. The only question now is whether I'm going to be a passive pawn or find a way to become a player and win the game.
Be smart. Assess the situation. Look for opportunities.
Survive .
I open my eyes.
The first thing I see is his massive silhouette looming over me, backlit by moonlight and orange artificial light coming from somewhere behind him.
He's tall, much taller than me, with broad shoulders that block my view.
I can't see his face clearly with the light shining behind him, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze like heat against my skin.
He's been waiting for this moment.
Anticipating it.
This is all part of his plan. To make me feel small. Helpless. Like I’ve got nowhere to run.
"Good girl," he says, and something in his voice makes my stomach flip. "Let's get you out of there."
Good girl.
Why do those two little words send a wave of heat through me?
What is wrong with me?
He reaches into the car, and every instinct I have screams at me to fight, to kick, to do something. But with my hands and feet bound, there's nothing I can do except let him lift me from the car like I weigh nothing at all.
Fuck, he's strong.
So much stronger than me.
Fighting him would be useless. He’d pin me down and break me like a toothpick in seconds.
His arms are solid muscle beneath his black button up shirt, and he handles me with a care that feels too gentle for the situation he’s put us in. Like he doesn't want to hurt me.
But that doesn't make sense.
None of this makes sense.
As he carries me away from the car, I finally catch my first real glimpse of where we are, and breath hitches in the back of my throat.
Oh my God.
We're in a forest clearing, surrounded by tall trees that stretch up into the star-studded sky. But it's what's in the clearing that makes me forget how to breathe, that makes me question my eyes.
This isn't possible.
What did he knock me out with? I have to be hallucinating. This can’t be real.
Dozens upon dozens of carved jack-o'-lanterns are scattered across the ground like fallen stars, their glowing faces casting flickering shadows in a thick mist that curls around their bases.
The fog is so dense I can only see a few feet in any direction, but what I can see looks like something ripped straight from a fever dream or a fairy tale gone wrong.
It's beautiful, yet so terrifying.
It's impossible.
The jack-o'-lanterns are works of art—elaborate, intricate designs that must have taken forever to complete. Some are traditional Halloween faces, triangular eyes and jagged grins that leer at me through the mist. Others are far more complex, with patterns so detailed they can’t be real.
How?
How is any of this possible?
What kind of psychopath creates something this elaborate, this beautiful, this absolutely fucking insane? And the Halloween music playing in the background… It polishes the spooky aesthetic.
The scope of it is overwhelming. This isn't some makeshift setup thrown together for one night. This is months of planning, professional-level work, more money than most people see in a lifetime.
He did all of this.
For me .
But I can’t understand why.
"Welcome to your nightmare, night monster," he murmurs against my ear, his breath warm against the fake blood on my neck. "I hope you're ready to play."
Play .
He called this playing.
What kind of game requires an elaborate field of jack-o'-lanterns in the middle of a forest?
What kind of game starts with kidnapping?
As he carries me deeper into the impossible wonderland he's created, as the fog swirls around us like it’s alive and the jack-o'-lanterns are watching us with their carved eyes, I realize that everything I thought I knew about my life has just been shattered.
This is really happening.
This is actually happening to me.
And I have no idea how it's going to end.