Walker of the Woods

Chapter 11: The feast

The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the ornate dining room, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread seeping through Anthony's veins. His head spun, a dizzying fog of confusion and fear as he struggled against the chains binding him to the heavy wooden chair. The clink of metal against wood seemed to echo in the cavernous space, punctuated only by the steady ticking of an unseen clock.

Across the table, illuminated by flickering candlelight, sat Frank. His face was a mask of eerie calm, blue eyes reflecting the flames as he regarded his captive with detached curiosity. The table between them was set for an elaborate meal – fine china, polished silver, crystal glasses filled with deep red wine. It was a scene of refined elegance, save for the man chained to his seat.

Anthony's voice was hoarse as he finally broke the suffocating silence. "Why?" The single word held a universe of questions, of betrayal and disbelief.

Frank's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Why, Anthony? That's quite a loaded question, isn't it? Why you? Why here? Why... any of this?" He leaned forward, elbows resting on the pristine tablecloth. "I suppose we have time for the full story while we wait for our... main course."

Anthony tugged at his restraints, wincing as the metal bit into his wrists. "You're insane," he spat. "Whatever this is – whatever sick game you're playing – you won't get away with it."

A low chuckle rumbled from Frank's chest. "Oh, Anthony. Always so sure of yourself, even now. Tell me, in all your years of studying investigative journalism at college, did you ever stumble upon a story so fantastic, so unbelievable, that you dared not publish it?"

"What are you talking about?" Anthony's eyes darted around the room, searching for any means of escape.

Frank's gaze grew distant, lost in memory. "My father, Tom, was a brilliant man. A visionary in the field of genetic engineering. He led a classified project, one that promised to revolutionize agriculture as we know it. Imagine crops that could thrive in any climate, plants resistant to every pest and disease. It was meant to end world hunger, to change the course of human history."

Anthony's brow furrowed. "Your father? I don't understand what this has to do with–"

"Everything," Frank interrupted, his voice sharp. "It has everything to do with why you're here. You see, the experiment went terribly, horribly wrong. What emerged from those labs... it was never meant to exist."

A chill ran down Anthony's spine. "What are you saying?"

Frank leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. "They created something, Anthony. Something that defied classification. A species that hunts in the shadows of the forest, feeding on everything in its path. Insatiable. Unstoppable."

"You can't be serious," Anthony scoffed, but there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

"Oh, but I am," Frank replied, his eyes glinting dangerously. "My father... he was never the same after that day. He dedicated his life to studying these creatures, to understanding what they had unleashed. But who would believe him? A respected scientist, raving about monsters in the woods?"

Anthony shook his head. "This is ridiculous. You expect me to believe–"

"I don't expect you to believe anything," Frank cut him off. "Not yet. But you will, Anthony. By the end of this night, you'll understand everything."

The creak of a door interrupted their conversation. Both men turned to see a figure emerge from the shadows – a tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp white chef's uniform. He pushed a gleaming silver cart, a covered dish resting atop it.