After The Last Light Flickered

The cabin, once a haven of laughter and camaraderie, now echoed with the chilling silence of death. The storm raged outside, mirroring the tempest within the small wooden structure. The tall, gaunt figure, its skeletal frame illuminated by the flashes of lightning, moved with an unnatural, fluid grace. It left no footprints, no trace of its passage, save for the carnage it had wrought.

The wind howled, a mournful dirge, as the figure vanished into the dense, black forest. The rain, a relentless curtain, washed away the blood that had seeped into the porch’s wooden planks from their friend Dan who decided to brave the unknown but instead paid a heavy price with his life instead of seeking shelter with his friends in the cabin even though he still would have met his demise anyway.

Inside, the cabin was a macabre tableau: Karen’s broken body lay sprawled near the fireplace, her eyes wide with terror; Tim and Susan were slumped against the wall, their faces contorted in silent screams. Dan’s severed head, a grotesque relic, stared blankly into the darkness.

The night wore on, the storm showing no signs of abating. The forest, a labyrinth of ancient trees and gnarled roots, held its breath as if waiting for something. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the thunder’s roar and the rain’s incessant drumming.

Hours passed. As the first hint of dawn began to paint the eastern sky, a faint, rhythmic sound emerged from the woods. It was a tapping, a slow, deliberate cadence that resonated through the trees. It grew louder, more insistent, a morbid heartbeat in the stillness.

A young woman, Sarah, stumbled through the undergrowth, her eyes wide with fear. She had been hiking alone, seeking solitude, when the storm had trapped her. She had seen the cabin’s faint light, a beacon of potential safety, and had braved the treacherous terrain to reach it.