Chapter 5: The Haunting Never Ends
Chapter 5: The Haunting Never Ends
1
I wanted to believe it was over.
For a few days, I almost did.
The field was still there, but the scarecrow was gone. The whispers had stopped. The weight pressing down on my chest since the night we first entered that place felt… *lighter*.
Even the mark on my wrist had started to fade.
But deep down, I knew.
It wasn't over.
Not yet.
2
The first sign came three nights later.
I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard it.
A faint *tapping*.
Slow. Rhythmic. Coming from *inside my closet*.
My stomach twisted.
I sat up, holding my breath. The room was dark, but I could still make out the outline of my closet door.
The tapping continued.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
Like someone—or something—was waiting.
I reached for my phone, fumbling for the flashlight. My fingers were shaking.
The moment the light clicked on—
The tapping *stopped*.
The silence stretched.
I exhaled, trying to slow my racing heart. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.
I reached for the door.
Hesitated.
Then, slowly, I pulled it open.
Nothing.
Just my clothes. My shoes. Empty space.
I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. "I'm losing it," I muttered.
I turned—
And froze.
There was something written on my bedroom wall.
Words scratched into the paint.
**"HE NEVER LEFT."**
The air *vanished* from my lungs.
The Watcher was still here.
3
I didn't sleep.
The next morning, I called Amy.
"We were wrong," I told her.
She didn't even ask what I meant. She just said, "I know."
We met at the diner near school. Mike and Danny showed up, too. None of us looked great—dark circles under our eyes, jittery hands.
It wasn't just me.
They were all *seeing things*.
Hearing whispers in the hallways. Finding strange marks on their skin. Catching glimpses of something in the corners of their vision—something *watching*.
"We burned the mask," Mike muttered. "We destroyed it."
Amy shook her head. "No. We just *unleashed it*."
Danny ran a hand through his hair. "So what the hell do we do now?"
None of us had an answer.
4
That night, the dreams came back.
I was in the cornfield again.
The stalks were blackened, twisted. The sky above was *wrong*—too dark, too deep, like it went on forever.
And in the center of the field—
The scarecrow stood.
No, *not a scarecrow*.
*The Watcher.*
It grinned at me, hollow eyes endless pits of darkness.
*"You thought you were free."*
I tried to move. My feet wouldn't budge.
*"You belong to me now, Jack."*
I opened my mouth to scream—
And woke up with a gasp.
The mark on my wrist was burning.
When I turned on the light, my stomach *dropped*.
The mark had *grown back*.
Darker. Deeper.
And this time, there was something *new*.
A word, etched into my skin like a brand.
"MINE."
5
We were running out of time.
I met Amy outside her house the next morning. She didn't speak—just pulled up her sleeve.
The same mark was on her wrist.
Mike and Danny had it, too.
The Watcher wasn't done with us.
It was *claiming us*.
"We have to find the source," Amy said. "The real one."
"But how?" Danny asked. "We already dug up that box—"
"That wasn't it," Amy cut in. "That was just a piece of it. There's something *older*. Something *deeper*."
I swallowed hard. "And if we don't find it?"
Amy met my eyes.
"Then we're already dead."
6
We went back to the field that night.
The moment we stepped past the edge of the corn, I felt it.
The *weight*.
Like the air itself was pressing down on me, thick and heavy.
Amy had a theory.
"The Watcher didn't just *haunt* this place. It was *born* here. Something—someone—*created* it."
She pointed to the ground.
"Help me dig."
We clawed at the dirt with our bare hands. My fingers were numb, raw. The earth was *wrong*—damp and cold, even though it hadn't rained in days.
And then—
Amy gasped. "Oh my God."
We hit *stone*.
A massive, flat slab, buried beneath the field.
A *grave marker*.
Danny brushed away the dirt, revealing old, carved letters.
The name was almost unreadable.
But I could still make it out.
"ISAIAH CROWTHER."
Mike's breath hitched. "Who the hell is that?"
Amy's face had gone pale.
She pulled out her phone, scrolling through old records. Then—
She stopped.
When she looked up, I saw pure terror in her eyes.
"Crowther," she whispered. "He was the *first*."
I didn't understand. "The first what?"
Amy swallowed.
"The first *Watcher*."
7
We needed to destroy it.
Mike ran back to the car to grab a crowbar. Danny found an old rusted shovel.
We pried at the edges of the stone, muscles burning. The whispers grew louder.
*"Stop."*
*"You can't do this."*
*"He's coming."*
The stone shifted.
Amy sucked in a sharp breath. "We're almost there—"
And then—
The sky *split open*.
A deep, gut-wrenching *screech* tore through the air. The wind howled, whipping through the field like a hurricane.
The ground trembled.
And behind us—
*He* stood.
The Watcher.
No longer bound to a scarecrow.
No longer just a whisper in the dark.
He was real.
Tall. Twisted. His face shifting, warping, endless black voids where eyes should be.
His mouth stretched into an impossible grin.
*"You have made a mistake."*
The wind *screamed*.
The field *burned*.
And the Watcher lunged.
8
I never remembered running.
One second, we were digging. The next—*we were fleeing for our lives*.
The Watcher was *everywhere*. No matter how fast we ran, his shadow loomed over us, stretching, *reaching*.
Danny tripped. Mike grabbed him.
Amy yanked me forward.
We didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
Then, suddenly—
We were *out*.
Bursting onto the empty road, gasping for breath.
And just like that—
The field was silent.
The Watcher was gone.
But I knew.
This wasn't over.
The stone was still there.
His grave still unbroken.
And the mark on my wrist—
It was darker than ever.
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