the monsters of the night (Done)

The call and first

Francis leans back in his worn-out office chair, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead barely cutting through the silence. The phone call from Bill had been brief, too brief, and filled with an unspoken urgency that made Francis's skin crawl. He knew Bill well enough to understand that the old man didn’t reach out unless something dire was brewing in the woods.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Francis rubs his temples, trying to stave off the growing headache. He stands up, the weight of what’s to come settling on his shoulders. The room around him is cluttered with papers, old hunting trophies, and tools of the trade—evidence of a life spent preparing for the worst. With a grim resolve, he steps out of his office and into the main room, where his four brothers sit, engaged in various activities.

“We’ve got a problem,” Francis says, his voice cutting through the idle chatter. His brothers look up, their expressions turning serious at once. They know that tone; it’s the one Francis uses when things are about to get dangerous.

“Bill called,” Francis continues, crossing his arms. “Something’s out there. Something bad.”

The brothers exchange glances, the atmosphere in the room shifting from casual to tense. They don’t need to ask questions; they trust Francis’s judgment and Bill’s instincts. Without another word, they begin to gear up, each of them grabbing their weapons and supplies, ready to face whatever lies ahead in the dark woods.

The sun is high in the sky as the group of friends splashes around in the cool waters of the lake. The forest around them is alive with the sounds of summer—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the occasional distant call of wildlife. It’s a perfect afternoon, the kind of day that feels timeless, like it could stretch on forever.

Ethan wades a little further out, the water lapping at his waist as he watches his friends. They’re laughing, joking, and for a moment, it feels like all the darkness he’s ever known has melted away. He’s dressed in a feminine swimsuit that fits his style, and he catches Mark’s eye, who smiles warmly at him. It’s a look that makes Ethan’s heart flutter—a reminder of the safety and comfort he finds in Mark’s presence.

But as Ethan glances toward the treeline, his smile falters. There, just beyond the reach of the sunlight filtering through the trees, something moves. His breath catches in his throat as he squints, trying to make sense of the shape. It’s tall, impossibly thin, and there’s something…wrong about the way it moves. Like it’s not quite human, not quite animal.

The figure steps closer, and for the briefest of moments, Ethan sees it clearly—the Wendigo, its gaunt, skeletal form, and hollow eyes locked onto him. Fear surges through him like ice water, freezing him in place. The world seems to narrow down to just him and the creature, everything else fading into the background.

“Guys…” Ethan’s voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper. He tries again, louder this time. “Guys!”

The others turn to look at him, concern etched on their faces. But when they follow his gaze to the treeline, there’s nothing there. The Wendigo is gone, vanished as if it had never been there at all.

“What is it, Ethan?” Jessica asks, her tone dripping with the usual impatience. “Did you see a deer or something?”

“It wasn’t a deer,” Ethan insists, his voice trembling. “I…I saw something. Something big. It was watching us.”

Jessica rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re just freaking yourself out. There’s nothing out there.”

But Mark, who had been watching Ethan closely, moves to his side. “What did you see?” he asks, his tone gentle but serious.