Chapter 11: The Watcher’s Grip

Chapter 11: The Watcher's Grip

1

The cold seeped into my bones.

I was still lying in the dirt, the scent of damp earth thick in my nostrils. My fingers dug into the ground as if I needed to anchor myself to reality—to prove that I was still *here*.

But where was *here*?

I pushed myself up, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The cornfield was silent. No rustling. No wind. Just the weight of an unnatural stillness pressing down on me.

And Amy was gone.

I staggered to my feet. "Amy?" My voice sounded small, swallowed by the vast, watching dark.

No answer.

But something was *there*.

A shadow, just at the edge of my vision. Watching. Waiting.

The Watcher.

2

I took a step back, my heart hammering.

The shadow didn't move, but I could *feel* its presence sinking into my skin, pressing against my skull. It was inside my mind, whispering without words.

*"She is slipping."*

I clenched my fists. "Where is she?"

No response. Just a long, stretching silence.

Then, a sound—soft, broken.

A *sob*.

Amy.

My pulse spiked. I turned toward the sound, but the corn shifted, parting to reveal a path that hadn't been there before.

The Watcher wanted me to follow.

I hesitated.

I wasn't stupid—I knew this was a trap. But I had no choice.

I stepped forward.

The corn swallowed me whole.

3

The path twisted, unnatural and wrong. The stalks leaned in close, their whispering voices crawling under my skin.

Amy's sobs grew louder.

I ran.

The ground felt *too soft* beneath my feet, like I was running across something *alive*.

Then—

The path ended.

A clearing stretched before me, bathed in pale, unnatural light.

Amy was there, kneeling in the dirt, her shoulders shaking.

I took a step forward. "Amy."

She didn't move.

I swallowed hard. "Amy, it's me."

She lifted her head.

And I *froze*.

Her eyes were black voids, hollow and endless. Tears streaked down her face, carving pale lines through the dirt on her skin.

But the worst part?

She was *smiling*.

4

A deep, crawling dread coiled in my gut.

This wasn't *her*.

Not completely.

But there was still something there—something *trying* to break free.

I stepped closer. "You're still in there, Amy. I know you are."

Her expression flickered. A twitch. A moment of hesitation.

Then, she whispered, "Run."

Before I could react, the corn *screamed*.

5

The stalks came *alive*, twisting, writhing, clawing toward me. The ground trembled, splitting open in jagged cracks.

The Watcher's voice slithered through the air.

*"She belongs to me."*

Amy let out a strangled sob, her hands clawing at her own skin. "Jack—"

I lunged forward.

The Watcher moved.

A rush of darkness. A *shadow too big* to be real.

And suddenly—

Everything **collapsed**.

6

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the cornfield anymore.

I was somewhere *worse*.

The air was thick, suffocating. The ground pulsed beneath me, wet and *breathing*.

And Amy…

She hung suspended in the air, her limbs limp, her head tilted at an unnatural angle.

The Watcher loomed behind her, its form shifting and *hungry*.

I took a step forward, but the weight of the air pressed against me, forcing me to my knees.

Amy's voice was barely a whisper. "It hurts."

Rage burned through me.

I forced myself to stand. "Let her go."

The Watcher *laughed*.

*"You do not command me, boy."*

I clenched my fists. "Then I'll take her back myself."

Amy's eyes met mine.

And she *smiled*.

But this time—

It was *her*.

And I knew—

This fight wasn't over.

Not yet.

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