It was a cloudy afternoon when Matthew, Lucas, John, Peter, and Sam gathered, as usual, in Matthew’s backyard. That place, surrounded by tall trees and an old wooden fence barely holding together, was their usual meeting spot to play and let their imaginations run wild. That day, however, they weren’t playing anything in particular—they were sitting in a circle, singing a song they had invented themselves. The melody, although simple, had something unsettling about it, and their childish voices sang enthusiastically about a local myth: the legend of a strange man who lived in the nearby forest. No one knew if the man was real, but everyone in the neighborhood had heard stories of whispers among the trees and footsteps that didn’t belong to any known animal.
The song they sang had a simple, almost childlike rhythm, but its verses told a disturbing tale. It spoke of a man who lived in the forest, in a place that no one dared to enter. According to legend, this man had the terrifying ability to change the rain. When someone crossed into his territory—an area deeper in the woods that people avoided because of its danger and wildlife—he could make the rain turn into acid. Anyone caught in it would suffer burns on their skin as punishment for trespassing. The zone was already feared for being home to wolves and coyotes, but the stories gave it an extra layer of dread. Some people in the village believed the tale; others thought it was just that—a tale.
The boys had even made the legend into a game, with a short chant that they sang to scare each other. It went like this:
In the woods, where the shadows fall,
He waits for those who dare to call.
If you cross into his name,
He’ll burn your skin and curse your flame... Lucas!
The last line was part of the game—they would shout someone’s name at the end to playfully “curse” them. It was a silly way to scare one another, but the song had an eerie tone that made it stick in their heads.
The boys were in second grade, and one day they went on a field trip with their class—and also with the first graders—to camp overnight. Since they had invented the song just a few weeks before, they decided to test it out on some of the younger kids. That night, while sitting around the campfire, they sang the chant to a few of them, adding random names at the end to frighten them. It worked—some of the younger children got so scared that they stayed inside their tents the following night and refused to come out. This left the older boys with fewer targets for their jokes, so they decided to explore a bit on their own.
That afternoon, they wandered a few meters away from the tents, chasing after some rabbits they’d seen earlier. As they ran, they laughed and sang the song once more, this time adding “Lucas” at the end, just as a joke. But suddenly, something shifted. From the shadows of the woods, a group of coyotes appeared, drawn by the noise and the movement. The animals began to growl and chase the boys, who immediately screamed and ran in different directions, unsure where to go. Driven by panic, they sprinted blindly, heading toward a rocky cliff not far from the camping area.
The adults, alerted by the commotion, rushed to find the children and scare the coyotes away. But by the time they reached the cliff, something terrible had already happened—Lucas had tripped and fallen over the edge. Below, there was a river, but the drop was steep. Everyone feared the worst. Though rescue efforts were immediate, no one saw him resurface. The search lasted until nightfall, but Lucas’s body was never recovered.
His friends were devastated. Lucas had been the soul of the group—the one who made everyone laugh, who had come up with the idea for the song in the first place. Although the rest of them had polished the details, it was his spark that had started it all. After the accident, the remaining boys gathered in silence. With tears and trembling voices, they made a promise to each other: never to sing that song again, never to speak of it to anyone. Not just to honor Lucas’s memory, but because deep down, each of them felt something they couldn’t explain. A chill. A strange guilt. As if, somehow… the song had been real.
Twelve years had passed since that tragic afternoon at camp, and although the memory of Lucas still lived in some quiet corner of his mind, Matthew had moved on with his life. He had become a bright, focused young man, studying architecture at a well-known university, and working part-time at a construction company where he was already beginning to stand out for his creativity. He always had a serene smile and a meticulous way of speaking, which had earned him the respect of his colleagues and professors. However, what occupied his mind most these days were not blueprints or projects, but Violet, his girlfriend of seven months, with whom he shared a deep and genuine connection. For Matthew, she represented more than just love: she represented hope, stability, and the life he had always wanted to build.
Aware of how special Violet was to him, Matthew wanted the proposal to be unique, intimate, and full of meaning. So, he thought about returning to the small town where he had grown up, a place he hadn't visited in years. He didn’t do it out of nostalgia, but because there was a very special spot for him there: a café where he used to meet his childhood friends, known for serving the best pancakes he'd ever had. The café had a peculiar tradition: if a child could eat a tower of pancakes in less than five minutes, they won a whole week of free ice cream. Lucas had been the only one in the group to manage it, and they all remembered it with laughter. Matthew thought that this would be the perfect place to kneel down and ask Violet to spend the rest of her life with him. What he didn't know was that returning to the town also meant opening doors he thought he'd closed forever.
The day arrived with a clear sky and a gentle breeze, seemingly perfect for what Matthew had planned. After a quiet breakfast, he took Violet to the old café, which, to his surprise, still had the same hand-painted sign and the smell of freshly made pancakes. They sat at the same table where he used to laugh with his friends, and while she spoke, he could hardly stop looking at her, nervous but certain. He took a small ring from his jacket, held her hand, and with a trembling smile, said, "When I was a child, the thing that made me happiest was coming here with my friends, winning ice cream, running through the streets, playing without a care. But with you… with you, I feel something bigger than all that. With you, not only did I become happy again, but I discovered what it truly means to love. I have no doubt who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Violet, will you marry me?" The response came quickly, and amid tears of joy, she accepted, sealing the moment with an embrace that seemed eternal.
To celebrate the promise of a future together, Matthew wanted to take Violet somewhere even more special. Just a few kilometers from town, there was an old pier overlooking the sea—a quiet spot where the sound of waves caressed the shore and sunsets looked like paintings. Back in his teenage years, it was where many young couples gathered for small parties, to laugh, and watch the sun go down. He remembered playing beach soccer nearby with his friends, when life was simple. But as they walked along the coast, something inside him tightened. That day—exactly twelve years ago—was when Lucas had fallen from the cliff. It was the first time Matthew had come this close to the place since then.
When they reached the pier and the sky began to glow orange, he took Violet’s hand and told her the whole truth. He spoke of his friends, the camp, the song... and how that day had changed his life forever. "I never brought you here before because, even though there are happy memories, it’s also where we lost Lucas," he confessed, his voice cracking. Violet hugged him in silence, and in that moment, the sea itself seemed to fall quiet in respect for a grief still alive beneath the surface.
As the sun disappeared completely and the sea grew dim, Matthew felt a chill run down his spine. He turned quickly after hearing a rustle in the nearby bushes. Pulling a small flashlight from his backpack, he pointed it toward the sound, bracing for the worst. But what he found was almost comical: two raccoons fighting fiercely over a piece of fish stolen from a trash bin. He smiled faintly, relieved, though his heart still beat fast. They decided to head back quickly to the apartment they were renting in town, as thick clouds had begun to gather and a light rain was starting to fall.
They caught a taxi, and during the ride, the drizzle turned into a steadier shower. Once inside, they left their soaked shoes by the door and sought comfort in the warmth of the apartment. Turning on the TV to unwind, a local news report suddenly left them frozen: the police had found a dead body that very night, on the edge of a forest road. The most disturbing detail was that the forest matched the one from the old legend of the Acid Rain Man. Though the body had been found deeper within, everyone in town knew that if you followed the trail far enough, you'd reach the exact spot the myth spoke of.
Matthew, his brow furrowed, grabbed the remote and turned up the volume while Violet crossed her arms, visibly uncomfortable with what she was hearing. The screen showed the forest road, cordoned off by police tape and lit by flashing red and blue lights flickering in the rain. The reporter spoke in a grave tone, mentioning that the body found that night belonged to an adult male, still unidentified. But what truly made Matthew’s stomach tighten were the few details the police shared about the condition of the body: the man's skin showed severe burns, as if he had been submerged in boiling oil or exposed to some corrosive substance. “It hasn’t been determined whether this was the result of an attack, a chemical accident, or some kind of natural poison,” explained an officer to the cameras. “More sensitive details will be shared directly with the family.” Violet placed a hand on her chest, murmuring that it was all horrifying, while Matthew remained motionless, eyes fixed on the screen. It didn’t feel like a coincidence... it felt like a memory clawing its way back.
As the news segment ended and the soft murmur of rain tapped against the windows, Matthew couldn’t stop thinking about what he had just heard. It wasn’t just the body, or the area of the forest where it was found. It was the burns—so similar to the story they had made up as kids, about the man in the woods. And all of this on the very same day he had broken the pact they made so many years ago: never to mention the song again, or speak of what happened to Lucas. To top it off, he had returned to the town, talked about the past, brought up the legend… and all under the rain. Maybe it was all just coincidence, he told himself. Myths, childhood tales. Stories meant to scare. But there were too many coincidences to ignore. Still, he chose to let it go. He turned to Violet, who was already settling under the sheets, and gently wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her forehead, wished her goodnight, and closed his eyes—hoping that tomorrow would bring answers… or at least, a little peace.
The next morning, Matthew woke up feeling a bit more at ease. Sleeping next to Violet, in a safe place, with the fading sound of rain outside, had brought some calm to his mind. He didn’t tell her about his restless thoughts from the night before; instead, he smiled, they shared breakfast, and decided to take a walk through town like any couple enjoying their vacation. Around noon, they stepped into a cozy little restaurant offering homemade meals. After placing their order, they sat by a window overlooking the street. Everything seemed peaceful—until the TV in the corner of the room caught everyone’s attention with a breaking news alert. The volume was just loud enough to silence the surrounding chatter: another body had been found, this time deeper along the forest trail. According to authorities, the corpse showed unusual signs, but the most disturbing detail was the estimated time of death—between 8 and 10 a.m. that very morning.
Matthew stopped chewing, mid-bite. His mind started racing again. The air, which had felt calm and light just moments ago, now seemed heavy… almost as if something invisible was watching.
What truly made Matthew tense up was what the reporters revealed just a few minutes later: the body found that morning had the same characteristics as the previous one. The skin was severely burned, as if it had been exposed to a corrosive substance or extreme heat. Authorities hadn't made any definitive statements yet, but they confirmed they were investigating whether the two cases were connected. For Matthew, there was no need to wait for confirmation. Deep down, he already knew. The coincidences no longer felt like chance, and the chill running down his spine was enough to convince him. He realized it was time to contact his old friends.
It had been over two years since they last spoke—and even longer since they'd truly been close—but this was something that concerned all of them. He sent a message to each of them, saying he needed to see them urgently, that it was important, and asking them to come to the town as soon as possible. He didn’t give many details; he still wasn’t ready to admit he’d broken the childhood promise. And although he kept trying to convince himself this wasn’t connected to that old story, he couldn’t ignore the fact that ever since he’d mentioned it... everything had started to change.
Luckily, two of Matthew’s friends—John and Peter—lived in the same city. Not exactly next door, but close enough to coordinate the trip together. Still, the town where they’d spent their childhood was far enough that the journey would take a full day. The same was true for Sam, the fourth member of their original group, who now lived in a city even farther north. Matthew knew it was unrealistic to expect them all to arrive immediately, but their replies—promising they would try to be there by the next day—brought a small sense of relief. In the meantime, he tried to stay calm and stop his mind from spiraling into impossible connections. But doing nothing wasn’t an option either. So, after thinking it through for a few minutes, he decided to call his cousin—the one person still living in the town, who just so happened to work as an assistant to the police chief. If anyone could give him more insight about the cases, even unofficially, it was him. Matthew wasn’t sure what he hoped to hear… but he knew he couldn’t stay in the dark any longer.
That same afternoon, Matthew sat out on the small balcony of the rented apartment and called his cousin, Thomas. After a few minutes of small talk, Matthew cut to the chase. Thomas confirmed what had already been reported: both bodies had been found near the old trail that led into the heart of the forest. He also admitted he’d heard the story of the man in the woods as a kid, but never believed it. “Look, Matt,” he said in a firm but friendly tone, “I grew up hearing that story too, but I don’t think a ghost or whatever is behind this. It’s probably just some lunatic running loose, or maybe even some natural chemical that someone triggered unknowingly. The chief thinks the same. There’s no reason to panic.”
Matthew nodded in silence, though his doubts only deepened. Still, he thanked his cousin for his honesty and asked him to let him know if anything else came up. Before hanging up, Matthew mentioned he’d be meeting his friends the next day at the old pancake diner—the one where they’d shared so many laughs. “We want to talk about all this. Maybe together we’ll remember something… or figure out what’s really going on.”
The next morning, around 11 a.m., while Matthew and Violet were having breakfast at the apartment, the news came on once again—and yet another body had been found near the same forest area. The report left no room for doubt: the circumstances matched exactly those of the previous days. Matthew watched in silence, his mind racing, while Violet seemed more concerned about the end of their vacation than the strange events happening around them. She was ready to go back to the city, to return to routine. But Matthew couldn’t shake the dark thoughts clouding his mind. He knew he needed to speak with his friends.
By noon, after a quiet walk through town, he headed to the old pancake diner—their traditional meeting spot since childhood. As always, he sat at the same table where they’d once laughed together so freely. At exactly 1:00 p.m., John and Peter arrived. Fifteen minutes later, Sam showed up too, offering a shy smile and a warm greeting. For the first few minutes, they chatted casually about life, joked around, and caught up as if no time had passed. But Matthew couldn’t keep up the act for long. After a brief silence, he took a deep breath, looked at each of his friends, and said:
“I broke the promise we made…”
The three friends looked at each other, confused by Matthew’s words. Peter frowned and asked bluntly, “What promise?” while John and Sam remained silent for a few seconds before nodding slightly, vaguely remembering the childhood oath. Still, none of them seemed upset. Quite the opposite, actually. They understood that Matthew had spoken to Violet out of deep honesty—as a sign of trust in the relationship he was building. It wasn’t a betrayal of the promise, but rather a gesture of maturity and genuine love. After all, keeping secrets out of fear was no solid foundation for a shared future.
With the tension eased, they began to discuss the recent discoveries. John suggested that maybe the police were right—that it could be some kind of toxic chemical or a disturbed drifter lurking in the area. Peter agreed, though he admitted he couldn’t imagine anyone in their peaceful town being capable of something like that. But then Sam suddenly interrupted, as if he had been chewing on an idea for a while. “What if… it was Charlie?” he blurted. The other three fell silent, exchanging perplexed looks. That name—buried in the far corners of their childhood—stirred something in each of them: discomfort, curiosity… and a faint chill.
Charlie. The name landed on the table like a stone in still water, sending ripples of memory and silence through the group. He wasn’t a stranger—not at all. Charlie had been the camp counselor on the fateful day they lost Lucas. More than just an instructor, he had been a charismatic, cheerful man with a contagious energy the kids had once admired. But everything changed after the accident. Although there were other adults present, the main responsibility had fallen on Charlie, and many were quick to blame him for the tragedy. Lucas’s devastated family accused him of negligence for not watching the kids closely enough. While most people saw it as a terrible accident, there was always the sense that maybe, just maybe, a bit more attention from Charlie could have made the difference.
The aftermath for Charlie was devastating. He was suspended from his job as a local schoolteacher, and although some initially defended him, the damage had already been done. The weight of public judgment, the constant whispers, and his own sense of guilt pushed him into a downward spiral. His marriage fell apart months later, and the warm, outgoing personality he once had began to fade into deeper and deeper silence. Over time, he stopped attending social gatherings, avoided contact with others, and eventually resigned from his teaching position altogether. The last thing anyone heard was that he’d moved to a cabin near a lake on land he had inherited from his uncle. There, he lived in isolation, fishing and selling what he could to get by. Since then, his name had faded into obscurity… until now.
John, who had once worked for a short time as an assistant in the local police department—mostly in administrative tasks rather than active patrol—was the first to voice what they were all beginning to think but didn’t want to say out loud. “He fits as a suspect,” he said seriously, arms crossed. Despite his limited time with the force, John had always been a fan of detective shows, crime novels, and unsolved mysteries, which sharpened the way he looked at facts. He explained that after that tragic day, Charlie hadn’t just been socially ostracized—he had gradually become a withdrawn, distant figure. That isolation, combined with the emotional blow, could have driven him to irrational thoughts or even aggressive behavior.
What’s more, as a former teacher and someone accustomed to outdoor environments, it wasn’t far-fetched to think he might have access to or knowledge of dangerous chemicals—either from his professional experience or from his years leading nature-related activities. And as if that weren’t enough, his cabin, located near the lake, was only about two and a half kilometers from the trail that led into the forest—the same forest where the bodies had been found. It was, on the surface, an uncomfortably convenient location.
Still, even though everything seemed to point in one direction, John was quick to clarify that nothing could be assumed yet. It was just a theory. But it was a theory that needed to be shared with the authorities as soon as possible. Matthew, nodding silently, immediately thought of his cousin. He was his only direct contact within the local police—and he needed to let him know right away.
After the meeting with his friends, Matthew didn’t take long to contact his cousin and tell him everything they had discussed—including their growing suspicion about Charlie. His cousin, calm but firm, said the theory made sense, at least as a starting point, though it was important to remember they couldn’t accuse Charlie without proof. “What we could do,” he added, “is go out to his cabin and talk to him. Ask a few questions, like a routine interview. And maybe also check in with the other fishermen and vendors in the area, see if anyone noticed anything strange about him in the past few weeks.” Still uneasy, Matthew asked if he could come along—just to ease his mind a bit.
His cousin hesitated. That decision would depend on the sergeant. When the sergeant was informed of the situation, he wasn’t entirely convinced. Matthew was a civilian, and though he didn’t seem like a troublesome person, his presence might be a distraction. However, after thinking it over—and considering that in a town like theirs, everyone knew each other—the sergeant agreed, with one condition: Matthew could come, as long as he stayed inside the patrol car and didn’t intervene during the interviews. “Just so you feel a bit more at ease—and because I know you and your friends aren’t the type to cause trouble,” he said. Matthew accepted without hesitation. He felt that being close to the situation might help quiet the thoughts that had been eating away at him for days. Even if it was from the back seat of a police vehicle, it would be one step closer to understanding what was really going on.
The next morning, Matthew got up early and made breakfast for Violet, trying to convey a bit of calm before heading out. At exactly eight-thirty, his cousin arrived in the patrol car, and together they set out toward Charlie’s cabin, and then the lake to speak with the local fishermen and vendors. But as they passed the entrance to the forest trail, they saw something that chilled their blood: several police vehicles were parked at the scene, and an ambulance had just arrived, with paramedics hurrying to collect another body. Their suspicions were confirmed then and there—another victim had been found that very morning, in the same disturbing condition as the previous ones.
What worried investigators the most was the apparent randomness of the victims. There was no clear pattern: men and women, adults and young people—they had all been attacked without distinction. It seemed the perpetrator was choosing victims at random… or simply striking whoever crossed their path.
When they finally reached Charlie’s cabin, they knocked several times, but no one answered. Matthew’s cousin, growing uneasy, announced himself loudly and entered after receiving no response. The inside of the cabin was in disarray—dust had accumulated, dirty dishes were stacked up, and the air felt heavy with neglect. Everything suggested that no one had been there for days.
Later, at the lake, they spoke with a few fishermen and regular buyers in the area. All of them said the same thing: Charlie hadn’t shown up in a week, which was extremely unusual for him—a man who almost never missed his routine. The silence of his absence was beginning to weigh like an unsettling clue.
After seeing the empty cabin and hearing the testimonies at the lake, Matthew couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth was getting closer—and that truth seemed to have a name: Charlie. Everything fit too well. His sudden disappearance, his proximity to the forest, his past steeped in unresolved tragedy... It was hard not to think he was connected to the events. His cousin shared the same unease, though as a police officer, he preferred to remain cautious until there was more solid evidence. Even so, he knew this was the closest thing they had to a real lead, so he decided to inform the sergeant of what they had discovered and the growing suspicions surrounding Charlie.
Matthew, meanwhile, returned to the apartment with Violet. He couldn’t keep hiding everything from her. He told her everything he and his friends had discussed—what they suspected, and how everything seemed to point toward Charlie, the former camp guide, being behind the deaths. Violet listened attentively, understanding that her fiancé wasn’t just haunted by past memories, but also by the fear that those stories, once dismissed as legend, were now dangerously intertwined with reality. Though she didn’t fully share his fears of anything supernatural, she understood his concern—and thought that if the police acted quickly, maybe they could find Charlie soon… and with him, answers.
That same evening, Matthew received a call from his cousin. He told him that despite the police’s efforts and the interviews conducted, there was still no sign of Charlie. He hadn’t returned to his cabin, hadn’t shown up at any of the local vendors, and no one had seen him in days. Matthew thanked him for the update, though he hung up with a growing unease that refused to leave his mind.
Meanwhile, his friends were also trying to unwind in their respective apartments, convincing themselves that all of this had a logical explanation. Maybe it was simply a man broken by the past, acting under emotional or psychological distress. Yet something didn’t sit right in Matthew’s heart. It was the memory of Charlie himself. He didn’t remember him as a violent or dark person. On the contrary—he had been enthusiastic, charismatic, and always encouraged them to do good. He taught them to be responsible, to work as a team, to respect others. He was one of those people who left a positive mark on a child’s life.
What could have happened for someone like that to change so drastically? Or… was it possible that this wasn’t his doing at all? That night, Matthew couldn’t sleep soundly. Something in the air felt different. But it was what happened the next day that truly changed everything.
That morning, Matthew, his friends, and Thomas decided to head together toward the forest trail. The plan was clear: try to find any clues or, with some luck, run into Charlie and speak with him directly. But before venturing onto the path, Thomas was firm with everyone: no one was to separate from the group under any circumstances. If they heard any strange noise or saw anything suspicious, they had to inform him immediately and, if necessary, return to the car. After all, the pattern of the murders was clear— the killer always attacked people who were alone, never a group. Staying together was essential.
Everyone agreed, determined to stay alert. However, they had barely advanced a few steps into the trail when Thomas’s phone suddenly rang. It was the sergeant. His voice sounded surprised, even slightly confused. He told Thomas that he had personally gone to the neighboring town to speak with Charlie’s brother and, to his astonishment, Charlie was there—lying in bed, sick for several days. Apparently, he had been dealing with a bout of fever and stomach issues, likely from eating spoiled fish. His brother had taken him in to care for him and keep him close to a hospital.
That news hit them like a bucket of cold water. If Charlie hadn’t been at the cabin all week… then who—or what—was behind the murders? Suddenly, the sky darkened, and the first raindrops began to fall slowly, as if the forest itself were reacting to the revelation. A chill ran down each of their spines, and in that moment, the same thought formed silently in all their minds: What if the legend of the man in the woods wasn’t just a childhood story?
Thomas was the first to break the heavy silence after the call. He looked at everyone with seriousness, trying to remain calm.
“Alright, listen… this doesn’t mean there isn’t still some lunatic out here,” he said, raising his voice just enough for everyone to hear without attracting unwanted attention. “The important thing now is to head back to the vehicle. We need to return as soon as possible, because if there’s someone else in these woods doing this, they might not be thinking clearly. And if that’s the case, they won’t be reasoned with. So let’s move. I’ll handle the investigation with the police.”
Everyone nodded silently, their faces tense and their pulses quickened. It wasn’t the time to argue. They began walking back, staying close and alert. But just as they turned to leave, a sudden howl of coyotes echoed in the distance—raw, wild, and unnatural. It wasn’t just a normal animal call. It felt like the coyotes were fleeing… or warning… or being hunted.
No one dared to speak, but their eyes said it all. A collective shiver ran through them. Instinctively, they picked up the pace—at first walking quickly, then almost running. No one wanted to find out what had caused that howl. They just wanted to get to the car and leave that place as fast as possible.
They were just a few meters away from the vehicle when the flashing lights of more patrol cars began to illuminate the path behind them. Several police units were approaching fast, and Thomas’s radio crackled with a voice saying:
“We’re arriving at the site where the other body was found.”
Everyone came to an abrupt halt, as if an invisible wall had stopped them. Another body? A new victim? Despite the horror of that announcement, an odd, contradictory feeling washed over them… a brief moment of relief. If the killer had already struck that morning, maybe they wouldn’t strike again—at least not today. Perhaps the coyotes they heard earlier had been running from the killer as he escaped. Or perhaps, even more unsettling, the killer had been watching them from the shadows… and simply chose to let them go.
With that thought looming in their minds, they resumed walking, this time with more cautious steps, never letting their guard down. Thomas picked up his pace and headed straight toward his fellow officers, determined to gather all the information he could about the latest victim. Meanwhile, the rest of the group just wanted to get out of the woods and breathe air far from the reach of that strange, silent shadow that seemed to follow them… always unseen.
While Thomas met with the other officers to learn the location and details of the new body, he turned to Matthew and the others and firmly said, “Stay in the vehicle, please. We don’t yet know if this victim matches the previous ones or if we’re facing something different. We’re going to investigate, but until we have clarity, let’s not jump to conclusions.”
However, in his rush to leave, Thomas forgot something important: he didn’t leave the car keys. Matthew almost called out to him to let him know, but seeing how quickly his cousin walked away and assuming he wouldn’t be long, he just shrugged and thought, "No big deal, we’ll wait out here." So he and his friends stayed just a few steps from the car, talking amongst themselves, exchanging theories about what might truly be happening.
But their brief moment of calm was abruptly shattered by a distant howl. Everyone instinctively turned toward the direction they thought the sound had come from—but then another howl came from the opposite side… and then another, from a third direction. The howls seemed to be getting closer, as if something was stirring the coyotes into motion. A wave of unease swept through them. Why were so many coyotes in this part of the forest? Had they been driven this way because of the approaching officers on the other side? If that were true, then it meant Matthew and his friends were now exposed targets, with no shelter nearby and no way to get into the locked vehicle.
At first, they tried to stand their ground, scanning in every direction. But when the first silhouettes of the animals began to emerge from between the trees, there was no more discussion. They all bolted instinctively toward the only visible route: the forest trail. Survival instinct kicked in. The thought of a murderer suddenly seemed less urgent than the immediate threat of being attacked by a pack of wild coyotes.
As they ran, each one desperately searched for sticks, stones, or thick branches they could use to defend themselves, unaware that in their attempt to escape danger, they were charging straight into the heart of the forest… the very place where all the bodies had been found.
Desperately running down the trail with the coyotes closing in, the group finally reached a clearing surrounded by scattered rocks near the path. They stopped abruptly, panting heavily, and immediately began throwing stones at the animals while shouting with all their might: “Get out of here! Go! Leave!”
Some coyotes hesitated, backing off slightly, pacing and growling with barks that made their skin crawl. But they didn’t leave. They looked as if they were waiting for something, like they had no real intention of attacking—but neither of backing down.
“We need something bigger!” Matthew shouted, his voice ragged. “A big branch, a heavy rock—anything!”
While his friends kept throwing stones and urging him on with cries of “Hurry up! Find something now!”, Matthew scanned the area frantically. That’s when he saw it: a fallen log next to a tree to the left of the trail. Not too heavy, but long enough to swing and scare the animals.
“That log over there! That’ll work!” he shouted, pointing to it.
“Perfect! Grab it, quick!” they all replied almost in unison.
Matthew ran toward the log, determined—but just as he bent down to grab it, a figure emerged rapidly from the underbrush. He didn’t even have time to react. A brutal blow to the head knocked him out cold, his body collapsing soundlessly to the ground.
No one saw him fall.
His friends, still focused on keeping the coyotes at bay, continued shouting: “Come on, Matthew! Hurry with that thing!”
Sam was the first to notice the silence. He looked toward the log and didn’t see Matthew. He turned quickly, thinking maybe he’d found a different branch or had gone around the tree. But there was no sign of him.
“Matthew?” he called out, getting no reply.
Just then, another round of howls echoed in the distance. The coyotes in front of them suddenly paused, ears twitching. In seconds, they turned around and bolted toward the new howls, leaving the group completely baffled.
A heavy dread settled over them. Where was Matthew? Why had the coyotes left so suddenly? And why had Matthew vanished without a trace at that exact moment?
The possibility that they weren’t alone in those woods—and that someone else, someone truly dangerous, was stalking them—suddenly became terrifyingly real.
Tension hung thick in the air as thunder began to rumble in the distance and the first raindrops started tapping against the forest canopy. One by one, Matthew’s friends began calling his phone, hoping to hear it ring and quickly locate him. They moved a bit deeper down the trail in the direction the coyotes had fled, alert to every sound—when suddenly, the familiar ringtone made them freeze. It was coming from the right side of the path.
They ran toward it and, among broken branches and a muddy puddle, found Matthew’s phone—vibrating and getting soaked by the rain.
They all looked at each other with concern. Around them, footprints were clearly visible: some coyote tracks… and others—human. These weren’t random scuffs or bare feet; they were clear sneaker prints. Which meant only one thing: either Matthew had run that way and dropped the phone, or someone had dragged him along and left it there on purpose.
Sam swallowed hard and, staring nervously into the darkness of the trail, whispered with a trembling voice, “What if it really was the man from the woods...? What if he has Matthew? What if he’s gonna, like… pour acid rain on him or something?”
John shot him a sideways glance and smacked him lightly on the head. “Acid rain? Are you serious right now?” he snapped. “What matters is finding Matthew. I don’t care if that story’s real or not. We need to move!”
Everyone nodded, drenched, nerves on edge, as John was already pulling out his phone to call Matthew’s cousin and request reinforcements. The footprints led further into the trail—exactly where the thunder rumbled the loudest.
When John contacted Matthew’s cousin, he wasted no time reacting. He gave quick instructions to the officers with him, assigning some to guard the newly found body and wait for the ambulance, while he and others hurried toward the friends’ location.
In less than ten minutes, the search team had formed and was carefully following the tracks through mud and underbrush, flashlights in hand, weapons ready—just in case the culprit was still nearby.
They walked in tense silence for about fifteen minutes, broken only by the crunch of leaves and distant thunder, until the trail led them to the same lake where, just days before, fishermen and vendors had gone about their business. Now it was completely deserted.
They knew Charlie had been ruled out as a suspect, but that only made a more unsettling truth even clearer: the real killer also had access to the lake—and may have used it as an escape route.
They searched along the shore, among the bushes and rocks, until they found clear signs that a boat had recently been there. The footprints ended right at the water’s edge. No one knew where the boat had gone… or whether it had taken Matthew with it.
They were left with only one bitter certainty: they were close… but not close enough.
Hours later, Matthew awoke in a place he didn’t recognize. His head still throbbed, like time itself had slipped through the shadows. He was lying on the floor of a strangely silent room, with no electricity and barely lit by the faint light filtering through a narrow crack.
Everything around him felt cold and abandoned—except for several candles, placed in strategic corners, unlit. On the opposite wall, an old clock marked five o’clock sharp. His first thought was clear and terrifying:
“I’m in danger. The killer has me.”
He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been killed yet. What did they want from him? What had he done? Or worse—was he being saved for something far more horrifying?
Then he heard a voice behind him. Low. Deep. Almost a whisper—saying his name in an eerily distorted tone:
“Hello, Mateo…”
A chill ran down his spine. Not just because it startled him—but because he knew exactly who used to say it like that.
He hadn’t heard those words in a long time. Only one person ever called him that.
Slowly, the figure stepped into view. A man, his face half-covered in shadow, approached—allowing Matthew to see him more clearly. His body was battered, with visible signs of past beatings… but that crooked smile, those intense eyes… were unmistakably familiar.
His mind resisted, but his heart already knew.
His breathing quickened, his throat tightened, and tears welled up unbidden.
Only one word escaped his lips—shaky, disbelieving, full of confusion and pain:
“…Lucas?”
---
To be continued…