Lodge

Holding the paper with his sweaty hands, he took a deep, cold breath.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he thought, heading toward his makeshift tent. Sitting under his grass roof, he pondered his next move, his mind bubbling with ideas.

"Should I dress as a granny?" he mused. "But where will I find any granny clothes? Maybe I can improvise with what I have—a bit of fabric from my pack, or even use these vines to mimic a wig. No, I need to be convincing. If I play this right, maybe I can blend in, at least long enough to slip through unnoticed."

His eyes sparkled with brilliance. "What a genius I am," he thought.

He hastily gathered his belongings. Emerging from the darkness, he looked like a long-tentacled alien—his head was full of dark green vines cascading like a waterfall. His face was hidden behind the thick curtain of foliage, and his back hunched over. Walking in the dark, he almost resembled an old grandma. He began his journey along the gravel path, his left hand clutching a fire torch while his right remained poised as if holding someone's.

"O little child, grandma is here," he said in a haggard, feminine voice.

His face, hidden behind the cascading vines, wore a fanatical, almost cynical expression. Two months in the forest had driven him to the brink of madness. He walked for five minutes, then another twenty—unceasing, still clinging to hope that something, anything, might happen. After thirty-five minutes, his pace began to slow, and five minutes later his face contorted with frustration.

"Why... why? What could be the reason?" he muttered, his fanatical eyes scanning the surroundings for answers.

Slowly, his gaze shifted toward his left hand. Seeing the torch, a wild, desperate idea began to form in his mind.

For a moment, the air went still then his grip slowly loosened from his torch dropping it to the wet ground. Slowly he started walking in darkness one foot at a time. in the Darkness, he didn't know if it was his illusion but the air started to feel chillier. The cold air was like a layer of another skin on his face.

For a moment, the air went still, and his grip slowly loosened on the torch, letting it drop to the wet ground. He began walking in darkness, one cautious step at a time. In the deep gloom, whether by illusion or reality, the air grew chillier—like a second, icy skin clinging to his face. All he could hear were his footsteps echoing, a steady, haunting rhythm that underscored his mounting fear. In a moment of panic, he decided to let go of the torch, and now he regretted it.

Slowly, he whispered, "Child, grandma is here."

Absolute silence followed—an eerie stillness like the surface of a lake. Then, almost as if the silence itself whispered back, he repeated in a trembling voice, "Little girl, grandma is here."

For a moment, he thought he heard something—a faint sound, like a child's giggling. A shiver ran down his spine as sweat trickled down his back; he realized he was in deep trouble. Summoning a shred of courage, he pulled out his right hand from his pocket as if ready to grasp someone's hand.

Then, tiny, rapid footsteps began from behind him—soft, scurrying sounds like those of a small child darting through the darkness. A distinct, chilling giggling voice echoed from the mist. His heart hammered in terror. Suddenly, a small, icy hand seized his own, sending a jolt of frozen fear through his entire arm.

He forced himself to move forward, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"He-he, thank you, Grandma, for walking with me. It's been so long," a little, childlike voice chirped, its warped cheerfulness carrying a sinister edge that made his blood run cold. On his right, the little girl, shrouded in darkness, hummed a happy tune—a tune that numbed his mind and muddled his thoughts.

But Ryan forced himself to move forward, each step echoing in the dark. Fear weighed on him until his eyes grew heavy, and without realizing it, he closed them, walking endlessly. Time blurred—minutes or hours passed as he trailed on in terror. Then, slowly, his closed eyes caught a glimmer of light—a ray of hope piercing the darkness. His freezing body shivered in excitement.

Before he could ponder further, a childlike voice spoke again, "Grandma, why are you shivering? Are you okay? We should head home."

Ryan's throat dried up, and his eyes reflected both fear for the girl and a desperate hope for escape. "Child, it's kind of you to worry about me, but it's fine. Let's complete the walk, then go home," he replied, his voice cracking.

"But... G-R-A-N-D-M-A, it's already late. If we don't start now, we'll be late home—Mother and Father will be angry." The little girl's voice shifted; malice now lurked within it, though Ryan didn't catch the change. Only a few more steps, and freedom awaited.

Then he noticed something odd—why was he not moving forward? Confusion gripped him until he realized it wasn't him who was standing still; it was the little girl.

"Grandma, are you listening to me?" Her voice now had turned masculine, calm yet filled with horror.

Ryan's heart nearly stopped as panic surged through his body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break free from the little girl's grip. 

"Grandma, come with me. Let's go," a manly, demonic voice intoned calmly.

Despair overwhelmed Ryan. He tried to move forward, but the little girl forced him backward into the woods. 

"Just a few more steps—just a few more to freedom," Ryan murmured, desperation heavy in his last wits.

"Fuck you, demon!" In a final act of defiance, Ryan grabbed his hidden flashlight and turned it on, directing the dark blue beam toward the little girl. Suddenly, the pitch-black was split by eerie, dark blue light.

In that light, he saw a small, grey hand clutching his wrist. His arm, from the elbow down, turned a ghostly blue where the little girl touched him. Then he saw the horror: the little girl was not a little girl at all. Her face was that of an old woman in her nineties—one eye swollen and bulging with red-blue veins, the other shriveled and lifeless. Her features were disfigured, her heard swollen at the side, and her jaw broken, dangling on thin muscle tissue. For a few heartbeats, she emitted a ghastly wail. Then, with a burst of intense, blinding light and choking smoke, a gas radiated from her, and from the haze, a body was ejected toward the light.

After being ejected, Ryan swung and slid until he found himself already at the lodge door. At last, he reached what seemed to be the rift's exit—a rough outline against the dark sky. The world was still shrouded in darkness, but in front of him stood a solitary lodge. Its weathered sign, etched with stone, in small letters: " Veil Breaker's rest " Two lanterns, attached to the door and swaying gently in the cold wind, cast a feeble blue glow that barely pushed back the surrounding gloom.

As Ryan steadied himself at the door—the last beacon of hope—he caught sight of the little girl. Without warning, she rushed toward him, her presence unnerving even in his dazed state. But as she neared the lanterns, her expression shifted to terror. Her skin seemed to shimmer as if smoking slowly in the eerie light, and she abruptly backed away into the shadows.

In that chilling moment, with the door before him and the lingering echo of her fearful retreat, Ryan felt the crushing weight of despair and uncertainty, knowing that even refuge in this cursed world came at a steep, haunting price.