Chapter 1
It was a silent night in a small village nestled in the hills near a dense forest. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Amon, a 17-year-old student, sat at his desk under the dim glow of a desk lamp. His brow furrowed as he stared at the paper in front of him. It was covered in French vocabulary and grammar rules he could barely comprehend. "Why am I even doing this?" Amon muttered to himself, tapping his pen against the desk. The frustration bubbled inside him. He had never been one for studying, and French was by far his worst subject. The temptation to procrastinate crept in. "Maybe just a quick break," he thought, reaching for his phone. Before he knew it, two hours had slipped away, lost to scrolling and mindless distractions. Realizing his mistake, Amon groaned and leaned back in his chair. "Great, now I've wasted even more time," he said, rubbing his temples. He glanced out the window at the forest, the moonlight casting a silver sheen over the trees. "Maybe a walk will clear my head," he decided. Grabbing his jacket and a small pouch, he headed out into the night. The cool breeze hit his face as he made his way to his favorite spot near the edge of the forest. He lit a joint, hoping the familiar ritual would calm his nerves and spark some inspiration. As the smoke curled into the air, Amon felt a little more at ease. The stars above twinkled like scattered diamonds, and the quiet of the village wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. But just as he began to relax, a sharp crashing sound echoed from within the forest. "What the hell was that?" he whispered, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he froze, debating whether to investigate or walk away. His curiosity won over his fear. Turning off his music and pocketing his phone, Amon cautiously made his way toward the source of the noise. The forest seemed darker than usual, the trees casting long, eerie shadows. A strange, sweet scent filled the air as he moved deeper into the woods. As he keeps walking toward the scent, his mind starts racing with thoughts. With every step, the crunching of the leaves under his feet echoes. He feels the hair on his back start to stand up. Regret builds up in his mind. He turns around and tries to go back home, but then he hears the crunching of leaves—not his own. Amon starts walking faster, and as he makes his way back, the sound of crunching leaves begins to fade away. He wipes the sweat from his forehead while walking faster. As he sees the streetlights in the distance, a long figure stands still, smiling wide, staring right at him. Without a second thought, Amon runs in the opposite direction, but to his misfortune, he hears the crunching of leaves from behind him, getting closer and closer. His heart is racing. He keeps repeating to himself, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.” He looks over his shoulder. Long, skinny arms are reaching out, just behind him. As he reaches the edge of a hill, he jumps off. The world seems to slow down as Amon leaps off the hill, gravity pulling him toward the unknown below. His breath catches in his throat, and for a brief moment, there is silence—no crunching leaves, no sound of pursuit—only the rush of wind around him. He lands hard on the slope, rolling uncontrollably through the brush, scraping his arms and legs on rocks and thorns. Pain shoots through his body, but adrenaline keeps him moving. As he comes to a halt, lying on his back, he gasps for air, staring up at the night sky. The stars look so peaceful, so distant, mocking the chaos he's caught in. He listens intently, his ears straining for the sound of those haunting crunching leaves. Nothing. For a moment, he dares to hope he's lost it. But then, the scent—the same sweet, strange smell that led him into the forest—returns, stronger than ever. Amon's heart sinks. He scrambles to his feet, ignoring the pain shooting up his side, and stumbles forward into the thick forest. Branches scratch at his face, the ground uneven beneath his feet. "Why me?" he whispers, his voice trembling. "What the hell is going on?" Then he hears it—a low, guttural laugh echoing through the trees. It’s not behind him anymore. It’s ahead. Amon freezes. His chest tightens as he peers through the darkness, his eyes scanning for the source of the sound. The laugh grows louder, as if coming from every direction at once. “I should’ve stayed home. I should’ve stayed home,” he mutters, clutching his chest, trying to steady his breathing. A shadow shifts in the corner of his vision. His head snaps towards it, but nothing is there. Or is it? Something long and thin, impossibly tall, is blending into the trees, its wide grin glinting faintly in the moonlight. “Amon...” The voice is a whisper, soft and cold, slicing through the night like a blade. His name. Amon doesn't wait to find out more. He bolts deeper into the forest, ignoring the branches slapping against his body. The voice calls after him, louder now, almost playful. "Run, little Amon. Run." The forest feels endless, the trees twisting and turning as if mocking his attempt to escape. His legs are burning, his lungs screaming for air, but he doesn’t stop. He can't stop. The scent grows overpowering, making his head spin, and the laughter follows him, relentless. Just as he thinks he can’t run any further, he bursts into a small clearing. Moonlight spills into the open space, illuminating an old, decrepit cabin in the center. The door creaks open slowly, as if inviting him inside. Amon hesitates. The laughter has stopped. The forest behind him is silent, eerily so. His instincts scream to keep running, but something about the cabin feels different—like the only chance he has left. Slowly, cautiously, he steps toward the door.
