Chapter 1
The locomotive shuddered to a halt, its dying breath echoing through the stillness of the forest, and for a moment neither Simon nor I spoke, the silence pressing down heavier than the weight of the rifles slung across our shoulders; then Simon muttered, “Gasoline in a diesel engine… damn it, we’re stranded,” his voice tight with frustration, and I answered quietly, “We’ll figure it out, we always do,” though the words felt hollow in the damp air thick with pine and decay, and as we stepped down onto the soil the woods seemed to swallow us whole, branches clawing at our sleeves, shadows stretching long and unnatural, until Simon broke the silence again, his tone low and uneasy, “You know, they say these woods aren’t just woods… anomalies, things that move when you don’t look, things that listen when you breathe,” and I gave a short laugh, more to steady myself than to mock him, replying, “You’ve been reading too many ghost stories, Simon,” but his eyes kept darting between the trees, his finger resting near the trigger, and I felt the unease crawl into me too, because the silence wasn’t just silence, it was waiting, and then it came — a sharp crack, like bone against stone, freezing us in place, and from the shadows something stirred, tall and skeletal, moving on four jagged limbs, its body a void of jet black speckled faintly with glimmers like stars trapped in its skin, and Simon whispered, barely audible, “Don’t move… it’s listening,” and I held my breath, the world narrowing to the sound of my heartbeat, realizing with a chill that the creature wasn’t looking for us at all, it was hunting for sound, and in that moment the forest became a trap where even silence had teeth.
Simon’s whisper hung in the air like frost, and I dared not answer, only nodding as we began to inch backward, each step deliberate, each breath measured, the forest suddenly alive with the threat of sound; the creature’s head tilted, its limbs scraping the earth in slow arcs, and I felt the weight of its listening press against my chest, so I murmured, barely moving my lips, “We need to get back to the loco, the spare tank’s in the cabinet,” and Simon’s eyes flicked toward me, his jaw tight, replying just as softly, “Then we move like ghosts, no mistakes,” but the woods were treacherous, every branch a trap, every leaf a snare, and as we crept through the undergrowth the silence became unbearable, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, until Simon, perhaps to steady himself, whispered again, “I told you about the anomalies… they’re not stories, they’re warnings,” and I wanted to argue, to tell him fear was making him see patterns in shadows, but then the creature shifted, its limbs stretching unnaturally, and I swallowed the words, because the truth was written in the way the night itself seemed to bend around it, and we kept moving, slower, quieter, until the inevitable betrayal came — a twig snapping beneath my boot, sharp as gunfire, and Simon’s face drained of color as he hissed, “Run.”
The snap of the twig was like a gunshot in the silence, and for a heartbeat the forest itself seemed to recoil, every shadow tightening, every breath of wind vanishing, until the creature’s head jerked toward us with a suddenness that made my stomach lurch; its limbs scraped against the soil, a sound like knives dragged across stone, and Simon’s eyes widened, his lips barely moving as he hissed, “Run, now,” and before the word had even finished I was already moving, boots pounding against the damp earth, the rifle heavy against my shoulder, the trees blurring into streaks of black and green as adrenaline surged through me. Behind us came the sound — not footsteps, not anything human, but a skittering, a tearing, as though the forest itself was being ripped apart by the creatures’ pursuit. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw them, not one but three, their skeletal frames bending and twisting unnaturally, their star‑speckled bodies shimmering faintly with each lunge, and I shouted over the rush of blood in my ears, “Simon, faster!” though I knew he was already running at the edge of his strength.
Branches whipped at our faces, leaves tore against our clothes, and every sound we made seemed to draw them closer, their movements accelerating with each crack of a branch, each rustle of foliage. Simon’s voice came ragged, gasping between strides, “They’re feeding on the noise… every sound we make is fuel,” and I wanted to answer, to tell him we had no choice but to keep running, but my lungs burned too hot, my throat too dry, and all I could do was push forward, the locomotive looming somewhere ahead in the darkness like salvation. The ground dipped suddenly, roots clawing at our boots, and I stumbled, catching myself against a tree, the bark tearing into my palm, and the sound — that awful scrape — grew louder, closer, until Simon grabbed my arm and yanked me forward, his voice sharp with desperation, “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”
The forest seemed endless, every step a battle against exhaustion, but then, through the tangle of branches, I saw it: the silhouette of the locomotive, dark and massive, waiting like a fortress at the edge of the clearing. Hope surged, wild and reckless, and I shouted, unable to hold it back, “There! We’re almost there!” The creatures answered with a shriek — not a cry, not a roar, but a sound like metal twisting, like the earth itself protesting — and they lunged faster, closing the distance with terrifying speed. My legs screamed, my chest heaved, but I forced myself onward, Simon beside me, his face pale and set with grim determination, and together we broke through the last line of trees, the locomotive rising before us as the creatures closed in, their star‑black bodies shimmering like nightmares made flesh.
The locomotive stood before us like a battered fortress, its steel frame streaked with rust and shadow, and for a moment I thought we might actually make it, that salvation was within reach; Simon shoved me toward the ladder, his voice sharp, “Get inside, don’t waste a second,” and I scrambled up, my hands slick with sweat, the rifle clattering against the metal as I pulled myself into the cabin. The air inside was stale, heavy with oil and dust, but it felt safer than the forest, safer than the shrieks that echoed behind us. I tore open the cabinet, the hinges screaming louder than I wanted, and there it was—the spare tank, heavy, blessed, our only chance. My fingers shook as I twisted the cap, pouring the fuel into the engine, the smell sharp and acrid, filling the cabin like a warning.
Outside, Simon fired into the dark, each shot cracking like thunder, each echo dragging the creatures closer, their star‑black bodies shimmering as they lunged from the treeline. “Hurry!” he shouted, his voice ragged, and I slammed the cabinet shut, yelling back, “It’s in, start it!” He vaulted inside, slamming the door, his hands flying to the ignition. For a heartbeat nothing happened, the silence stretching, the monsters closing, and then the engine roared, coughing, sputtering, before catching with a growl that shook the cabin. The train lurched forward, wheels grinding against the rails, and I clung to the frame as the creatures struck, their bodies colliding with the steel, once, twice, five times, each impact rattling the cabin, threatening to tear us apart.
Simon’s knuckles were white on the controls, his jaw clenched, and he shouted over the chaos, “Hold on, they’re not letting go!” The locomotive surged into the curve, the night alive with shrieks and the thunder of pursuit, the monsters relentless, their star‑speckled voids pressing closer, until one slammed harder than the rest, the train lifting, tilting,
The locomotive roared like a beast unleashed, wheels screaming against the rails as Simon pushed the throttle harder, the speed climbing past sixty, then eighty, until the gauge trembled at a hundred miles per hour. The forest blurred into streaks of shadow and light, the bridge ahead looming like a jagged scar across the night. Behind us, the creatures did not relent; their star‑black bodies shimmered as they lunged, colliding with the steel frame, each impact rattling the cabin, each strike more violent than the last.
“Hold it steady!” I shouted over the thunder of the engine, gripping the side rail as the train surged forward, but Simon’s jaw was locked, his knuckles white on the controls. The bridge stretched out before us, narrow, unforgiving, the river below glinting faintly in the moonlight. The creatures shrieked, a sound like tearing metal, and then they struck again, harder, their skeletal limbs slamming into the locomotive with a force that made the steel groan. Once. Twice. The third collision sent sparks flying, the cabin shuddering as though the rails themselves were breaking.
The curve came fast, sharper than either of us expected, and Simon cursed, wrenching the controls, but the creatures slammed again, their combined weight smashing against the side of the train. The fence of the bridge splintered, the side handles tore free, and the locomotive tilted, groaning under the impossible strain. For a heartbeat we hung there, suspended between steel and water, and then gravity claimed us.
The locomotive flipped, crashing sideways into the river below, the sound a deafening roar of steel against stone, water exploding upward as the bridge gave way. I clung to the frame, the cold shock of the river swallowing us whole, the creatures shrieking above as the wreckage tore through the current, dragging us into the dark.
