the monsters of the night (Done)

The group escape

Bill’s FJ40 rumbles down the dirt road, leaving the cabin—and the horrors it hides—behind. Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere is thick with tension and fear. Jessica, perched in the backseat, fumbles with her phone, dialing Sarah’s number. The call connects after a few rings, and she breathes a small sigh of relief when she hears her friend’s voice.

"Sarah, it’s Jessica. Are you guys okay? Where are you?"

Sarah’s voice crackles through the speaker, calm but with an underlying hint of concern. "Yeah, we’re fine. We’re back at my apartment. Linda and Nancy are here too. What about you guys? What happened out there?"

Jessica hesitates, glancing around the car at her friends. Mark sits in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the unzipped top of his bag, ready to grab his double-barrel shotgun at a moment’s notice. Ethan is nestled close to him, drawing comfort from Mark’s protective embrace. Tom and Kevin sit tensely in the back, their eyes darting between the woods outside and the abondoned police cars they pass by, illuminated by the FJ40’s headlights.

"It’s… it’s bad, Sarah," Jessica finally says, her voice trembling. "There’s something out here. Something dangerous. We had to leave the cabin. We’re with this guy, Bill, now. He’s helping us get out."

Sarah’s voice grows more urgent. "What do you mean something dangerous? What happened?"

Before Jessica can respond, the FJ40 approaches a grim sight: a line of police cars, their lights still flashing, sitting eerily empty along the side of the road. The group falls silent, the sight unsettling them further. Jessica stares out the window, her breath catching in her throat. "Oh my God… those were the cops my mom hired," she whispers, horror creeping into her voice.

Bill, however, remains calm, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the deserted vehicles. He’s seen worse in these woods, and it shows in the way he maintains his composure. "Don’t worry about them," he says gruffly. "Focus on getting out of here alive."

Mark tightens his grip on Ethan, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his shotgun as he zips his bag halfway open. He’s on high alert, his every instinct screaming to protect Ethan and the others. Ethan notices the tension in Mark’s body and presses closer, wrapping his arms around Mark in a comforting gesture. "We’ll be okay," Ethan murmurs, trying to reassure him. "We’re together, and we’ll get through this."

Mark nods slightly, but his eyes remain locked on the road ahead, wary of any movement in the trees. He’s trying to stay strong, for Ethan’s sake, but the sight of those abandoned police cars and the memory of the Wendigo’s haunting gaze still linger in his mind. He can’t shake the feeling that something terrible is still lurking out there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

As the group continues their tense journey, the scene shifts back to the dark heart of the forest, where the brothers, Francis and his siblings, are in hot pursuit of the Wendigo.

The brothers move through the dense forest with the precision of seasoned hunters, their senses honed by years of experience. They know these woods well, and they know the creature they’re hunting even better. The Wendigo, an ancient and deadly being, has been their quarry for years, and they’ve studied every detail about it—its habits, its weaknesses, and its terrifying strength.

Suddenly, they spot it: the Wendigo, looming in the shadows. Without hesitation, they open fire, their advanced weapons spitting bursts of energy that light up the darkness. The Wendigo lets out a guttural roar as it’s hit, its body writhing in pain. But it doesn’t go down without a fight.

The creature lunges at them with inhuman speed, its claws slashing through the air. One of the brothers, Robert, is caught off guard and takes a deep cut across his chest, but he grits his teeth and keeps firing. The Wendigo, now heavily injured, lets out a bone-chilling screech and makes a desperate escape into the night, leaving a trail of blood behind.