Chapter 4: The Return

The room was pitch black.

My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear my own breath. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't move.

The Watcher stood in the corner, its hollow eyes locked onto me.

Then—

It *moved*.

Not in a normal way. It *twitched*, jerking forward like a marionette, its limbs snapping into new positions faster than my brain could process.

*"You can't run, Jack."*

The voice slithered inside my head, cold and wrong, curling around my thoughts like a parasite.

I tried to scream—

But my throat locked up.

The room stretched, the walls warping, twisting like something *alive*. The Watcher took another step.

And then—

A flash of light.

My bedroom lamp flickered on, weak and sputtering. The Watcher froze.

And just like that—

It was gone.

The room snapped back to normal. The air felt thinner, the pressure lifting.

I collapsed onto the bed, gasping.

It wasn't just in the field anymore.

It was here.

I didn't sleep.

How could I?

I sat in bed, knees to my chest, watching the corner where it had stood. My door was locked. My window was shut. But I knew that didn't matter.

It could come back anytime it wanted.

When the sun finally rose, I felt like I had aged ten years. My whole body ached from tension, my head pounding. But I had to *move*.

I had to do something before it came again.

Amy was waiting at my locker when I got to school.

One look at me and she knew.

"It happened again," she whispered.

I just nodded.

She grabbed my wrist, pulling me to an empty classroom. "Jack, listen to me. We can't pretend this isn't real anymore."

I leaned against the desk, rubbing my face. "I don't think we ever could."

She hesitated. "I did some more digging last night. After… you know."

I looked up. "And?"

Amy swallowed. "I found something. About the Watcher."

The name sent a chill through me.

She pulled out her phone, showing me a blurry old newspaper scan. It was dated over a *hundred years ago*.

The headline made my stomach drop:

**"The Watcher Claims Another Soul."**

I snatched the phone, reading as fast as I could. The article spoke of strange disappearances, of people vanishing near the fields, of a *curse*.

A curse that *marked its victims before taking them.*

My hands trembled. I looked at my wrist. The mark had spread even further, the veins of darkness now creeping toward my elbow.

This wasn't just a ghost story.

It was real.

And I was running out of time.

We had to end this.

Somehow.

After school, Amy and I met with Mike and Danny. They weren't exactly thrilled.

"You want to do *what*?" Mike asked.

"We need to find the Watcher's source," Amy said. "The curse didn't come from nowhere. There has to be something—an object, a grave, *something*—that ties it here."

Danny laughed nervously. "Yeah? And if we find it?"

Amy's jaw tightened. "We destroy it."

I looked at my wrist again. The mark throbbed, pulsing with an unnatural energy.

If we didn't stop this now… I knew I wouldn't last much longer.

"We do it tonight," I said.

Mike groaned. "I hate this plan."

Danny sighed. "Me too."

But they didn't say no.

We returned to the field at midnight.

The air was *wrong*.

Still. Too still.

Like the world was holding its breath.

The scarecrow was still in the center of the field, its grin frozen in place. But something had changed.

The corn was *rotting*.

The stalks that had been tall and golden were now blackened, curling inward, like something had *drained the life out of them*.

Amy shuddered. "It knows we're here."

No one argued.

I gripped my flashlight tighter. "Let's move."

We searched for an hour.

The deeper we went, the worse it got. The air felt *thick*, like moving through water. The ground was softer, almost… *breathing*.

And then—

Amy stopped.

"Look."

She pointed to a section of dirt near the scarecrow.

It was disturbed.

Something was *buried here*.

Danny swore under his breath. "Oh, hell no."

Mike pulled a small shovel from his backpack. "Let's just get this over with."

We started digging.

The earth was damp, almost *warm*. Every scoop of dirt made my skin crawl.

And then—

My shovel hit something solid.

Amy helped me clear the dirt away, revealing a small, rotting wooden box.

Inside was a bundle of *old, blackened fabric*.

A coat. A hat.

A *mask*.

The Watcher's face.

It was a burial.

No.

A *binding*.

Someone had *tried to trap it here*.

And we had just unearthed it.

The ground trembled.

The corn *screamed*.

The scarecrow *moved*.

Its head snapped toward us, hollow eyes burning with something ancient and hungry.

*"You should not have done that."*

The voice wasn't just in my head anymore.

It was all around us.

Danny dropped the shovel. "Nope. NOPE."

Mike was already sprinting. Amy grabbed my arm. "We have to *burn it*."

I fumbled for the matches, my hands slick with sweat. The mask pulsed, like a heartbeat, like it was *alive*.

I struck the match.

The moment the flame touched the fabric, the air *exploded*.

The fire wasn't normal. It burned *black*. The whispers turned to *screams*. The scarecrow convulsed, its body twisting, its grin *fading*.

And then—

It *collapsed*.

The field went silent.

The Watcher was gone.

Or so we thought.

The next morning, my mark was still there.

Smaller, but still there.

Like a scar.

Amy frowned. "Maybe it'll fade."

I wasn't so sure.

Danny and Mike refused to talk about what happened.

None of us spoke about the field again.

But the nightmares never stopped.

And at night—

Sometimes I *still hear the whispers*.

Last Chapter Next Chapter