the monsters of the night (Done)

The beginning of the hunt

The night is thick with shadows as Francis and his brothers move silently through the forest. Their footsteps are almost soundless on the forest floor, their senses honed from years of hunting the creatures that most people believe only exist in myths and legends. Each of them is armed with the advanced weaponry they retrieved from their hidden cache, their faces set in grim determination.

They spread out, maintaining a careful formation as they scan the dark woods around them. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, puts them on high alert, but so far, the forest is eerily quiet. The brothers exchange glances, their unspoken communication a testament to their years of working together.

"This place is too quiet," one of the brothers murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Feels like it’s watching us."

Francis nods, his eyes narrowing as he looks around. "It knows we’re here," he replies. "But it’s smart—smarter than most of the things we’ve hunted. It won’t come out until it’s ready."

They continue moving, their eyes sharp for any sign of the Wendigo or other creatures. The forest seems to stretch on forever, dark and oppressive, but the brothers show no fear. They’ve faced worse than this before, and they’re prepared for whatever comes their way.

As they move deeper into the woods, they come across signs that something is out there—disturbed foliage, claw marks on trees, and the occasional drop of blood on the ground. The evidence is clear: the Wendigo is close, but it’s keeping its distance for now, watching them just as they’re watching for it.

One of the brothers kneels down, inspecting a set of tracks in the dirt. "It’s circling us," he says, his voice grim. "Trying to figure out our pattern."

Francis glances around, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Let it come," he replies. "We’ll be ready."

The brothers press on, their tension mounting as they venture further into the heart of the forest, knowing that the Wendigo could strike at any moment.

The first light of dawn begins to creep through the trees, casting a soft glow over the cabin. Inside, the group is still asleep, the fear of the previous night lingering in the air like a heavy fog. Mark is the first to stir, carefully extricating himself from Ethan’s embrace. He moves quietly, not wanting to wake his boyfriend, and slips out of the bed.

Mark grabs their bags and tiptoes out of the room, heading outside to the wagon. The morning air is crisp, and the forest is silent, but the tension in Mark’s chest hasn’t eased. He places the bags in the wagon, making sure everything is secure for when they decide to leave. His mind races with thoughts of what might be lurking out there, but he pushes them aside, focusing on keeping everyone safe.

As Mark turns to head back inside, something catches his eye. He freezes, his gaze locking onto a figure in the distance, standing just beyond the treeline. It takes a moment for Mark to realize what he’s seeing—or rather, who he’s seeing. It’s himself. The figure looks exactly like him, down to the clothes, the stance, the expression. But something’s off, something in the way it stands, too still, too rigid.

The realization hits Mark like a punch to the gut. The Wendigo. It’s trying to lure him out, to separate him from the others. But Mark isn’t fooled. He knows better than to fall for such a trick. His grip tightens on the double-barrel shotgun at his side, his jaw clenching in determination. He can’t afford to make a mistake now—not with Ethan and the others depending on him.

Mark stares down the doppelgänger for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before turning his back on it. He’s not going to give it the satisfaction of a reaction. Whatever it is, it’s not going to draw him out into the open.