Chapter 24 Ari
Ari
“Our first night in the new house.”
I laugh when he says that, because the word house sounds so ridiculous out here. At the same time, it’s his little form of normalcy, so I get it. I even like it a little bit.
Our new “house” is slightly bigger, with thicker padding on the ceiling canopy and a little more room inside. I can tell Vincent is proud of it, like he just opened the door to our dream home.
“I love it,” I say. “Thank you for building it.”
“You helped,” he says as he tosses the last of the fish carcass in the fire. “Hold up. What you doin’?”
“What?” I look around the shelter. “I’m going to bed.”
“Not before I get my hands on them feet.”
I burst out laughing, watching as he kneels in front of me, bare-chested and fine in the glow of the fire.
He takes my ankle gently, brushing off dirt and sand.
It’s surprisingly tender and affecting, even though I’m the one who suggested—well, demanded it.
I smile down at him because I can’t help it.
He’s disarming me, and I didn’t expect it at all.
When he’s done, he goes to relieve himself and brush his teeth. After, he climbs in beside me, t-shirt and sweatpants on.
“How you feelin’?” he asks softly. “Now that we made the move.”
I stare up through the small gaps in the leaves overhead. It’s where the moonlight filters through. “I don’t know how to feel about anything now that reality’s setting in.”
“I feel you.”
“The routine helps,” I admit. “It’s a little thing that makes this all feel bearable.”
He lays down next to me. “Yeah. Bearable.”
A faint rustle cuts through the silence.
I freeze.
“Did you hear that?”
He listens. “Probably just birds,” he says after a moment. “It’s all good. Go to sleep.”
But I can’t. It didn’t sound like birds to me. It was…heavier. More deliberate.
There it is again.
He sits straight up, his head cocked, his body rigid, before he slides out of the shelter. I watch his shadow bend and reach as he picks up the axe and sets it down just below the platform. Then he tucks his knife into his pocket and says, “I’ll leave the fire going. Should keep the animals away.”
“Okay.” I’m not convinced.
But I lie back down anyway, trying to let the crash of the waves soothe me. It’s like my very own white noise machine.
I close my eyes and breathe slow and deep, waiting patiently as my fear slowly melts into exhaustion. My last thought before drifting off is that I’m still on a tropical vacation. I’m on a balcony at a five-star resort, lying in the hammock. I’m safe. And I’m happy.
I wake up with my heart in my throat. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what woke me, but even the air around me feels off.
“Vincent,” I whisper, shaking him gently. “Wake up. Did you hear that?”
He stirs, groggy when he says, “No. What—“
“Shhh!”
There it is again. Rustling. Slow. Deliberate. Then a sharp noise like a snort. My blood runs cold. I clap my hand over my mouth.
Another sound now, a deep grunt, low and wet, like something large breathing through its constricted nose. Then thumps against the dirt, like heavy footsteps.
Vincent bolts upright, alert now. “Don’t move,” he whispers.
The rustling grows closer. I hear branches snapping, roots tearing. Something’s rooting around beyond the fire, sniffing, grunting.
My chest hurts. “Vincent?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s already sliding forward toward the opening. The fire throws jagged light across his face, but it has us at a disadvantage. Whatever’s out there can see us just fine, but we can’t see beyond the fire. There’s only darkness.
Then I hear it—a snarl.
“Oh my God.” I whimper, tears welling up. This is it. This is how it ends. Not in that plane. This will be more violent. This is where we suffer.
Vincent grips the axe, its metal glinting as he steps out.
For a few seconds, it’s eerily quiet.
His eyes dart around.
More quiet.
Then, all hell breaks loose.
I hear a roar, something between a scream and a growl. The sound splits the night, followed by Vincent’s yell. The terrifying noise is quickly swallowed by the chaos of leaves rustling and bodies thudding against the ground.
I can’t see them, only their shadows thrashing near the fire. The crackle of flames, the grunt of the beast, the sound of metal hitting flesh—each noise tears through me, leaving me frozen in terror.
I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help. I feel like a child who’s afraid of the dark, terrified of the monster lurking under the bed. But this monster is real, and it’s deadly, and it’s here.
And this might be the end.
Then the noise just…stops.
Oddly enough, the silence is more terrifying than the noise was.
I crawl toward the edge of the platform, my hands shaking violently.
“Vincent!” My voice breaks. I poke my head out just a little, scanning the faint light of the fire.
I can’t see him. I can’t see anything except the disturbed dirt and a trail leading into the dark.
“Vincent!”
Still nothing.
The tears come fast and hot.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
I whisper, “Please,” into the darkness just before my throat closes.
Then, something moves, and I hear it. A deep voice, weak with pain.
“Ari…”
He steps into the light, staggering sideways, the axe dangling from his hand. His shirt is torn, his arms slick with blood. He looks dazed, like a zombie after the apocalypse. He’s not entirely here, but thank God, at least he’s alive.
I scramble out of the shelter and run to him. “Oh my God, Vincent!”
He drops the axe and catches me before I run into him. My hands are on his face, his shoulders, his neck, trying desperately to see where’s he’s hurt. He’s covered in blood, but his eyes—his eyes are clear.
I burst into tears. “I thought you were dead.”
He exhales hard, pressing his forehead to mine. “Nah. It takes more than that to kill me.”
I grab his hands and lead him back to the place we call home, praying we make it through the night, and that nothing else emerges from the darkness to steal him away from me.