Beneath the Surface [Yandere Creature x Reader]

Chapter 8 - Unease and Oddities

The days blurred together after the incident in the cavern. The team continued our explorations, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the strange voice and the loss of my journal.

What really happened in there?

Am I losing my mind?

Mateo had been kind enough to help me search, but even his reassuring words couldn't completely ease my anxiety. Something about the cavern—and the story he had told—still gnawed at me.

There's more to this place than meets the eye.

I can feel it.

It was early morning, and the camp buzzed with the usual preparations for the day's work. I sat with a cup of coffee, staring at the jungle, my mind still replaying the events of the past few days.

"Ready for another day in the trenches?" Sarah's voice pulled me from my thoughts. She plopped down next to me, her own mug steaming in the cool air.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Just trying to wake up."

If only you knew how little I've slept...

"Coffee helps," she said, taking a long sip and sighing contentedly.

I nodded, but my gaze wandered over to Mateo, who was standing a few feet away, talking to Dr. Sullivan. Something about his demeanor seemed off. His usual lively expression was replaced by a distant, almost vacant look. His gestures were slow and mechanical, a stark contrast to his typical animated self.

"Is it just me, or does Mateo seem a bit... strange today?" I asked, turning to Sarah.

She glanced over at him, then shrugged. "He's probably just tired. We've all been pushing ourselves pretty hard."

But it's more than that.

Can't you see it?

"Maybe," I said, but unease coiled in my stomach. "He just looks... different."

Sarah laughed lightly. "You're overthinking it, Y/N. He's probably just caught a bug or something. We're in the middle of a jungle, after all."

Am I really overthinking, or is everyone else underthinking?

I tried to brush it off, but as the morning wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Mateo's behavior grew increasingly odd. He stumbled over his words during translations, his eyes darting around nervously as if he was searching for something—or avoiding someone.

This isn't just fatigue.

Something's seriously wrong.

When he spoke to me, there was a hollow quality to his voice that hadn't been there before. It was as if the warmth and humor had been drained from him overnight, replaced by a distant, almost robotic demeanor.

I approached Dr. Sullivan during a break, hoping he might have noticed the change too. "Dr. Sullivan, have you talked to Mateo today? He seems a bit... off."

Dr. Sullivan looked up from his notes, a frown creasing his forehead. "Off? How do you mean?"

How can I explain it without sounding crazy?

"I don't know," I said, searching for the right words. "He's just not himself. He's been acting strange—distracted, almost like he's in a daze."

Dr. Sullivan glanced over at Mateo, who was packing equipment with a blank expression. "Maybe he's just tired, Y/N. We've all been working hard. Don't read too much into it."

"Right," I muttered, feeling a little foolish. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Dr. Sullivan gave me a reassuring smile. "We're all a bit on edge. Let's just keep an eye on him and see how he does."

I nodded, but the sense of unease didn't leave me. As the day progressed, Mateo's behavior only grew stranger. He moved through the tasks with a mechanical precision, barely speaking unless spoken to. And when he did, his responses were curt and devoid of the usual warmth.

This isn't Mateo.

It can't be.

But if it's not him, then who—or what—is it?

At lunch, I couldn't hold back any longer. "Mateo, are you okay?" I asked, trying to catch his eye. "You seem a little... different today."

He looked up at me, his eyes momentarily flickering with something I couldn't quite place before his expression flattened again. "I'm fine," he said, his voice monotone. "Just tired."

Mark, who was sitting nearby, looked up from his meal and chuckled. "Yeah, we're all tired, Y/N. Maybe you're just imagining things."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "Seriously, Y/N. You need to relax. We're in a stressful environment. It's easy to get paranoid."

I'm not paranoid.

I know what I'm seeing.

Why won't they believe me?

"But it's more than that," I insisted, frustration creeping into my voice. "He's not just tired. He's... different. I don't know how to explain it."

"Y/N, come on," Mark said, his tone gentle but dismissive. "We've all had a rough couple of days. Let's not start seeing ghosts, okay?"

Ghosts...

If only it were that simple.

I wanted to argue, to make them see what I was seeing, but their dismissive attitudes silenced me. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was overreacting, letting the stress and the strange occurrences get to me.

Am I really losing it?

Or am I the only one seeing clearly?

But as I watched Mateo's mechanical movements and vacant stare, the unease only grew. Something was wrong, even if no one else could see it. And deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with that cavern and the voice that had whispered to me from the darkness.

The cavern...

The voice...

Mateo's change.

They're all connected.

But how?

That night, as I lay in my tent, the jungle noises outside a familiar lullaby, I resolved to keep a closer eye on Mateo. If no one else would take my concerns seriously, I'd have to figure it out on my own. The mysteries of this island were becoming more dangerous, and I couldn't afford to ignore them any longer.