9 – The Mark of the Watcher

The Mark of the Watcher

The dawn crept over Raven Hollow, weak and gray, the fog thinning but never lifting. Liam slumped on his couch, the pistol on the coffee table, Carter's badge beside it—Eclipse Protocol, a scar from a past he couldn't touch. His mom slept upstairs, sedated after her breakdown, her words—you're next—a noose around his throat. The others sprawled around the living room: Maya sketching furiously, Sofia clutching her wrench like a talisman, Ethan nursing a bruised arm, Noah poring over the torn journal. The eclipse had passed, the Watcher stalled, but the air buzzed, a storm brewing.

Liam's leg throbbed, clawed in the woods, a makeshift bandage soaked red. He flexed it, wincing, and caught Ethan's glare. "What?" he snapped.

"You," Ethan said, voice low, venomous. "Your mom knew, and we're bleeding for it. How's that fair?"

"She didn't know," Liam shot back, standing, pain be damned. "She was scared—same as us."

"Scared doesn't cut it," Ethan said, rising too, crowbar in hand. "My basement, Sofia's dog—hell, Carter's dead. She sat on this for years."

Sofia looked up, eyes red. "Lay off, Ethan. She's not the enemy."

"Isn't she?" Maya asked, pencil stilling. Her sketch showed the cellar spiral, cracked but glowing. "My aunt's gone because of '98. If she'd talked…"

"She didn't know it was this," Liam said, fists clenching. "Back off, all of you."

Noah cleared his throat, glasses glinting. "Fighting won't help. The journal—Elias says the Watcher marks its prey. If it's stalled, it's still tied to us."

"Marks?" Sofia asked, voice small. She tugged her sleeve, revealing a faint burn on her wrist—the sigil, etched like a brand. "This showed up last night."

Liam yanked his collar down—same mark, red and raw on his chest. Maya checked her palm, Ethan his arm, Noah his neck—all branded, glowing faintly. The room went still, dread pooling.

"It's in us," Maya whispered, dropping her sketchbook. "That's why it's not done."

Ethan laughed, bitter. "Great. We're walking beacons."

A thud hit the front door—sharp, deliberate. They grabbed weapons—bat, wrench, crowbar, knife—Liam snatching the pistol, two shots left. The lullaby hummed outside, soft and sinister. He crept to the window, peeling the curtain. Fog swirled, but a figure stood on the lawn—tall, eyeless, the Watcher, its form flickering like static.

"It's back," he hissed, aiming. The others crowded behind, breaths shallow.

The Watcher didn't move—just stared, limbs shifting, a smile splitting its face. Then it raised a hand, and the sigils flared—hot, searing. Liam grunted, dropping the gun, clutching his chest. Sofia cried out, Maya doubled over, Ethan cursed, Noah staggered. The pain pulsed, a heartbeat not theirs.

"Stop it!" Liam roared, lunging for the door. He flung it open, bat swinging, but the Watcher dissolved into fog, laughter echoing. The pain faded, leaving them gasping.

"It's toying with us," Noah said, adjusting his glasses, journal trembling. "The marks—Elias calls them 'anchors.' It's bound to the manor, but we're its reach now."

"So we're screwed?" Ethan demanded, kicking the couch. "What's the play?"

"We cut the anchors," Maya said, picking up her sketchbook. "The runes—I can redraw them, reverse it maybe."

"Blood again?" Sofia asked, wincing at her wrist.

"Probably," Noah said, grim. "Elias used five lives to bind it. We might need—"

"No," Liam cut in, voice steel. "No one dies. We find another way."

A scream pierced the morning—his mom, upstairs. Liam bolted, the others behind, weapons clattering. He burst into her room—she thrashed on the bed, eyes glowing, the sigil burned into her forehead. "Liam!" she choked, voice hers, then not: "You can't win…"

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking. "Fight it! Mom, come back!"

She convulsed, the glow fading, and slumped, gasping. "It's… in me too," she whispered, tears streaking. "Since '98… I lied. I saw it."

Liam reeled, betrayal cutting deep. "You saw it?"

"After your dad," she sobbed. "In the woods—I ran. It let me go, but it's been waiting."

The group stared, trust splintering. Ethan stepped back, crowbar tight. "She's one of them?"

"No," Sofia said, fierce, wrench up. "She's a victim."

"Victim who lied," Maya said, cold. "How do we trust her now?"

"We don't," Liam said, voice breaking. "But she's my mom. She stays."

A crash downstairs—glass shattering. They ran, finding the living room window smashed, fog seeping in. Claw marks scored the floor, leading outside. The lullaby swelled, and a voice rasped: "Run…"

"Out!" Liam yelled, grabbing the pistol. They piled into Ethan's Civic, his mom in the back, trembling. He floored it, tires screeching, fog swallowing the house. Creatures skittered in the mist—spider-like, faces theirs now, leering. Liam fired out the window, one shot left, ichor splattering.

"Where?" Ethan shouted, swerving.

"Town hall," Noah said, journal open. "Records—Eclipse Protocol. We need answers."

The car roared down Main Street, lights flickering, Raven Hollow a ghost town. The town hall loomed—old brick, windows dark. They piled out, weapons ready, his mom leaning on Liam. The doors were locked, but Ethan bashed a window, glass raining, and they climbed in.

The lobby was silent, dust thick, but a hum pulsed—electric, alive. Noah led to the archives, a basement door creaking open. Stairs descended into shadow, condensation dripping, air cold. Liam's flashlight cut the gloom—file cabinets, a desk, a radio crackling static.

"Spread out," he said, pistol steady. "Find anything—1998, Protocol."

Maya rifled drawers, Sofia scanned shelves, Ethan hacked the radio, Noah pored over files. Liam's mom sank into a chair, whispering, "I'm sorry…"

A folder caught Liam's eye—Eclipse Protocol: Containment Log, 1998. He flipped it open: Subject W… Blackwood anomaly… five agents… blood ritual successful… one survivor, unstable. A photo slipped out—his dad, Carter, three others, standing by the manor, grim-faced.

"Found it," he said, voice hollow. "They locked it. Dad died for it."

The radio sparked, Ethan cursing. A voice broke through: "…breach confirmed… Raven Hollow… operatives en route…" It cut off, static roaring.

"They're coming," Noah said, pale. "Protocol—now."

A growl echoed—upstairs, close. The sigils flared again, pain lancing through them. Liam gritted his teeth, one shot left, and led them back, ready to fight….