“Don’t pretend you’re not the same,” he said. “Don’t act like any of this is enough for you. He’s not enough. He never will be.”
I bit back the answer that rose like bile. “Go to hell, Caiden.”
Already there flickered in his eyes.
He stepped back, the night swallowing him up, the porch suddenly huge and empty.
My insides went cold. The ache he left behind was bigger than any bruise.
I sagged against the railing, stared at the stars blurred by tears I refused to shed.
Maybe he was right. Maybe all I’d ever want was the darkness. Maybe I’d never be safe, not even from myself.
I hugged my arms tight, listening for his footsteps, hoping he’d turn back, say something—anything—to make it hurt less.
But he was gone.
Only the hunger stayed behind.
Only the ruin.
Sleep eluded me that night.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, memories playing on an endless loop. Caiden's voice in the darkness of our captivity:I'll get you out of here. I promise.
His hands, strong and sure, as he tended my wounds.
A few weeks had passed since our rescue, yet the haunting images of Blake and the dilapidated cabin still plagued my thoughts, the smell of woodsmoke and decay lingering in my memory like a devious phantom.
I pulled Blake’s journal out of my nightstand and continued to read it, enveloped in his horrific writings of death, delusions, and darkness. He had written out detailed entries of murders he’d committed.
Though relieved he was dead, the image of Caiden's brutal attack seared into my memory, and I felt terrible pity for those caught in Blake's murderous rampage, victims of his psychotic fury and fatal blade.
To forget my own turmoil, I sank into his ramblings, hypnotized by the chilling horror.
The woods whisper my name. It’s a symphony of rustling leaves and snapping twigs, a reminder of what I've become. Today, I watched a doe through the window. Its eyes wide, innocent. It doesn’t know the horrors that lurk beyond the meadow. I used to be like it; naïve of the dark. But I have embraced my new self, and now I am the hunter.
I found her today, a lost girl with tangled hair and wide, frightened eyes. She wandered too far, oblivious to the dangers that lurked in my domain. I felt the thrillof the chase course through my veins as I followed her scent, brushing against the memories of my childhood, the screams of others echoing in my mind. This cabin is my kingdom, and I will reign supreme.
I brought her inside, a delicate flower in my hands, and I felt my father's spirit whisper to me. You are doing well, Blake. I can hear him still, guiding me through the twisted corridors of my mind. I can almost see him in the corner of my eye, a specter of my past, urging me to continue the family legacy. I fed her breadcrumbs of hope, little lies of escape and safety. I watched her eyes light up when I spoke of freedom, but soon, I would take it away. The panic, the despair, it fuels me.
I still hear the echoes of my father’s screams when I think of the day I killed him. The blade slipped so easily between his ribs, a sickening release of all the pain he had caused me. You were never meant to be free.
I am the embodiment of his nightmares now. I will not let his memory die; I will feed off it.
Today, I played a little game with the girl. I call it the Maze of Despair. I blindfolded her and led her through the cabin, the air thick with the scent of fear. She stumbled, her breath quickening as I whispered in her ear, recounting tales of the other children, the ones I hadwatched suffer and die. “They thought they could escape too,” I said, relishing the tremor in her voice. “But the woods are unforgiving, just like me.”
I could almost see my father nodding in approval, the way he would when he orchestrated his sick games. The thrill of control is intoxicating. It’s a reminder that I am not the victim here; I am the monster. Each time she screamed, it was like music, a symphony of despair that echoed through the cabin’s walls.
But there’s a twinge of something in me, a flicker of doubt. Am I really my father’s son, or am I merely a reflection of his sins? I see the darkness in her eyes and wonder if I can ever escape my own. But then I remember the taste of flesh, how it nourished me, how it made me feel alive. Each victim is a piece of my past, consumed and absorbed into my being.
My hand was placed over my mouth in silent horror as I read on, picturing the sweet innocence of the little girl, her beauty fading as she became devoured by Blake.
The memories of the cage hit me like a tidal wave, a crushing weight of darkness and despair, blackening my vision.
I continued to read, feeding my own traumatic memories.
I feasted today. The girl was beautiful, delicate, like a porcelain doll. I watched as her spirit broke, piece by piece,until there was nothing left but a shell of the girl who wandered into my woods. She begged for mercy, but there is no mercy in my world. I skinned her like a deer, savoring the moment, feeling my father’s approval wash over me.
