It’s Getting Closer

As midday stretched on into early afternoon, the drizzle began to lessen, replaced by sporadic bursts of sunlight that filtered weakly through the heavy clouds. The brief moments of light did little to relieve the gloom; instead, they cast long, shifting shadows among the stone walls and the forest, emphasizing the alien landscape.

It was during one such fleeting moment of light that a loud, sharp crack rang out from deep within the forest. The sound—a branch snapping or perhaps something heavier—was immediately followed by a series of low, resonant rumbles that seemed to emanate from beneath the ground itself. For a moment, the chatter among the prisoners ceased entirely, replaced by a perceptible silence. All eyes turned toward the forest, where the darkness seemed to deepen, and the mysterious sounds grew louder.

Before anyone could speak, a harsh cry split the air—a sound filled with panic and pain. It was not long, but it was enough to send a jolt through the group. One of the younger prisoners, who had been sitting a little further from the stone wall, leaped to his feet and hesitantly walked in the direction of the cry. 

"Help!" the unknown being shouted.

The group immediately tensed. Roderick's eyes narrowed. Tristan, though reluctant to move from the relative safety of the stone, felt a surge of uncertainty as well. The cry echoed through the clearing, its urgency impossible to ignore.

Within moments, a muffled scream and the sound of scuffling reached them. The young prisoner's curious walk had ended abruptly.

 A heartbeat later, another cry, this one harsher and more agonized, reverberated through the clearing. It was a sound that froze the blood in every survivor's veins.

Tristan's gaze darted toward Roderick, who met his eyes with a look that blended determination with dread. The murmur from the forest intensified, the low, almost feral sound growing in volume as if it were drawing nearer to the group. Every face in the clearing turned toward the trees. Something in the forest had made its presence known in a most violent manner.

Yet again for a long, tense moment, no one moved. The survivors huddled even closer together near the stone walls, their whispered speculations mingling with the dying sound of the rain.

 "It's…coming closer." one of them muttered under his breath.

 "What could it be," Another voice, shaky and fearful, replied, "Maybe it's that… thing from earlier."

The "thing" is what it was now known as in fearful murmurs—which hung heavily over them. Though they had no clear idea what it was, its presence was undeniable. It was as if the forest had been waiting patiently for the right moment to reveal its dark secret.

As the final traces of the storm subsided into an uneasy drizzle, the group faced a stark choice. They could remain in the clearing, exposed and vulnerable near the ancient stone walls, or attempt to move toward the source of the unnerving sounds, risking an encounter with whatever lurked in the forest. In the uncertainty, the survivors' whispered debates turned into heated arguments. Some pleaded for caution, while others insisted that staying put would only invite further disaster.

Roderick tried once again to restore order.

"We must remain together," he urged, his tone firm but not forceful. 

"No one is to wander off on their own. We have little to go on, and this… this thing in the forest, whatever it is, won't wait for us to decide. We need to be ready for anything."

Even as Roderick spoke, the group's eyes remained fixed on the dark border of the clearing, where the forest's shadows twisted and writhed. Tristan, who had listened quietly throughout the exchange, noted the rising fear in the voices of those around him—a fear that grew with each passing minute. He felt it in the trembling of hands, the shifting of eyes, and the hesitant glances cast toward the trees. There was no longer any doubt that the forest held dangers beyond mere natural beasts.

For a few agonizing minutes, the only sound was the slow, steady drip of rain off the stone walls and the low murmur that came from the forest.

 Then, as if on cue, another sound… different this time—broke the tension. It was a hard scraping noise, like the sound of claws dragging along the stone, coming from somewhere close to the clearing. At that moment, every survivor's breath caught in their throat.

Tristan's heart hammered in his chest as he stared into the darkness, every instinct alert. The survivors exchanged fearful glances, and even Roderick's steady gaze betrayed a hint of uncertainty. No one knew what form this "thing" might take—a beast, a person, or something entirely different. All they could do was wait, silent and frozen in collective apprehension.

The uncertainty stretched on, and with it, the realization that Gehenna was testing them in more ways than one. The stone walls provided little comfort, and the forest's oppressive presence filled every corner of their small world. As the day wore on, with the storm finally settling into a calm, the survivors found themselves at a crossroad—trapped in the clearing, facing the dark unknown that lurked just beyond the fading light.

There was no grand decision, no heroic proclaims—only a shared, wordless acknowledgment of the terror that lay ahead. The forest was alive, and its dark heart pulsed with secrets that the group could barely comprehend. In that quiet horror, the survivors waited, their eyes fixed on the twisting shadows as if expecting the forest to finally reveal its monstrous truth.

In that silence, Tristan listened to the faint, persistent murmur of the forest and wondered what dark mysteries it concealed. With no clear direction and no sign of the missing prisoner, the small group could do little but huddle together and brace for what might come next.

The midday had turned into a long, oppressive afternoon, and as the light slowly faded behind a veil of gathering clouds, the group's tension deepened further. Every whispered word, every shared glance, carried the weight of an unspoken promise: that something dreadful was approaching, and none of them were truly safe.

Without warning, the low murmur from the forest suddenly rose into a more distinct, guttural sound—a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air around them. It was a chilling reminder that the thing in the forest was not a figment of their imagination, but an ever-present, looming threat. The survivors fell silent once again, their fear obvious as the sound grew nearer and more constant.

Tristan, standing near the crumbling stone wall, couldn't tear his eyes away from the dark boundary where the forest began. Every sense was on high alert. The oppressive presence of the forest was unmistakable, a living force that both confined and threatened them all.

And so with the lingering drizzle, the ancient stone at their backs, and the dark forest closing in around them, the survivors remained locked in a silent vigil. They were stranded, vulnerable, and terrified—caught in a moment where nature and something far more sinister converged into a single, chilling reality.

Dusk approached and the day gave way to an even deeper darkness, the small group of prisoners clung together for safety. The ominous sounds from the forest, the constant, unsettling murmur of that strange presence, and the desperate need for answers all mingled into a single, heavy atmosphere. There were no words left to describe their shared fear—only the overwhelming sense that they were about to confront the unknown.

They all braced for the night ahead.