The Thing at the Door
The splintered wood groaned as the fingers curled through the gap—too long, too many joints, blackened at the tips like burned twigs.
Jake scrambled back, his shoulder screaming in protest. Rachel grabbed the rusted fireplace poker, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Liam?" Jake's voice cracked.
The fingers stilled.
Then—
A wet, choking laugh.
Not Liam's. Not even close.
The door exploded inward.
Jake caught a glimpse of something massive filling the doorway—a hunched silhouette with shoulders that brushed both sides of the frame. Then the oil lamp guttered out, plunging them into darkness.
Rachel screamed.
Something grabbed Jake's ankle.
He kicked wildly, his boot connecting with something brittle. A sound like snapping branches echoed through the shack. The grip loosened.
"Run!" Rachel yanked him up.
They crashed through the back window just as the roof caved in behind them, the entire shack collapsing inward with a sound like a great beast sighing.
They didn't look back.
The Holloway House
Dawn found them crouched in the hollow of a dead oak, half a mile from the sheriff's property. Jake's shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the pain radiated down his arm with every heartbeat.
Rachel wiped rain from her face. "We need leverage. Something to force Holloway to talk."
Jake stared at the house through the downpour. "He's not just some lackey. He's feeding it."
A shadow moved past an upstairs window. Holloway. Alone.
Rachel's jaw set. "Then we make him show us how."
The Keeper's Ritual
They caught Holloway in his garage.
The sheriff barely flinched when Jake pressed the hunting knife to his throat. His breath smelled like whiskey and old meat.
"You're dead either way, boy," Holloway murmured. "Might as well make it quick."
Jake dug the blade in. "Why my brother?"
Holloway's laugh was a dry rattle. "Not my pick. The Big Man chooses. Always has." He nodded to a rusted metal box on the workbench. "Open it."
Rachel lifted the lid. Inside lay a yellowed ledger, its pages filled with names in faded ink.
Mercer. Whittaker. Carter.
Holloway wiped his mouth. "My great-granddaddy built the first bridge. Struck something in the bedrock. Next morning, three workers were gone." His fingers traced the ledger. "The Big Man let the bridge stand—so long as we kept feeding it."
Rachel's voice was ice. "You're sacrificing people."
"Survivors," Holloway corrected. "The ones it spits back out? They become part of it. Walk the bridges. Lure others." His eyes met Jake's. "Like your brother will."
Jake's vision went red.
The knife bit deeper.
Holloway gasped. "Wait! There's a way—"
A floorboard creaked above them.
All three froze.
Something heavy was moving through the house.
The Bargain
Holloway's face drained of color. "It's not supposed to come here."
Rachel backed toward the garage door. "You said it chooses. Did it choose you?"
The sheriff's hands trembled. "It's changing. Getting hungrier. Doesn't want just strays anymore."
A crash upstairs. Glass shattering.
Jake grabbed Holloway's collar. "How do we kill it?"
"You don't." Holloway's laugh was hysterical. "But you can take my place. Be its new keeper. Feed it, and it might let your brother go."
Rachel recoiled. "You're insane."
The ceiling bowed. Plaster rained down.
Holloway shoved Jake away, lurching for the ledger. "The names! Read the last one!"
Jake snatched the book. The final entry was fresh ink:
"Holloway, Elias. Offered 2023."
The sheriff's voice broke. "It's my turn."
The garage door burst open.
Not from inside.
From outside.
Liam stood in the rain, his clothes torn, his mouth stretched too wide.
"Jake," he rasped.
Behind him, the trees bent.