Chapter 18: The Cracks in the Prison

Chapter 18: The Cracks in the Prison

1

The road beneath my feet wasn't solid anymore.

I could feel it—**shifting**, like the ground itself was breathing. The shadows stretched in ways that didn't make sense, curling at the edges of my vision like they were waiting for the right moment to **pull us under**.

Amy squeezed my hand, her grip ice-cold.

"We have to go," she whispered.

I swallowed hard. "Go where?"

She didn't answer.

Because she knew the truth.

There was **nowhere left to run**.

2

The air **thickened**, pressing against my skin like unseen hands. The town around us wasn't a town anymore—it was something **else**.

Something waking up.

The houses stood empty, their doors yawning open like mouths. The streets stretched too long, then too short, shifting in ways I couldn't track. I blinked, and things **moved**.

Amy tugged my arm. "Jack, we have to do something."

I turned to her, my breath shallow.

She was right. Running wouldn't work.

We had to stop it.

**But how do you stop something you can't even see?**

3

A sound split the air.

A low, grinding **groan**, like stone cracking under pressure.

Amy flinched. "What was that?"

I turned in a slow circle.

The ground trembled beneath us.

Then—

A deep, jagged **crack** tore through the road ahead. It was like something **underneath** was pushing up, struggling to break free.

The Watcher had been the gatekeeper.

Now the **prison was breaking open**.

Amy's breathing hitched. "Jack, we have to stop it!"

I clenched my fists.

But **how**?

4

Then I remembered the field.

The **cornfield**.

Where we had first seen the Watcher.

Where everything had **started**.

And maybe—just maybe—where it could **end**.

"Amy," I said, my voice tight. "We have to go back."

Her head snapped toward me. "Back? To the field?"

I nodded. "That's where the Watcher was. Maybe that's where we can—"

I didn't finish.

Because I had no idea what we were supposed to **do** once we got there.

But it was the only thing that made sense.

Amy hesitated—then nodded.

And we ran.

5

The town twisted around us, but we didn't stop.

I could feel it in the air—whatever was **underneath**, whatever the Watcher had been keeping locked away, it was **closer than ever**.

We reached the outskirts. The fields stretched before us, tall stalks of corn swaying **without wind**.

Amy slowed beside me. "Jack… are we sure about this?"

No.

But what choice did we have?

I stepped forward.

And the field **swallowed us whole**.

6

The stalks **closed in**, taller than I remembered, their husks dry and brittle. Every step sent a ripple through them, like something unseen was **moving just beyond sight**.

Amy walked close beside me, her breathing shaky.

The deeper we went, the stronger the feeling **grew**.

We weren't walking through a field.

We were walking into the **heart of the prison**.

And then—

The ground **split open beneath us**.

7

Amy screamed.

I **lunged**, grabbing her wrist before she could fall. The earth yawned open in jagged cracks, revealing **nothing but darkness beneath**.

The air **hummed**. The entire world trembled.

And from below—

Something **stirred**.

Amy's voice was a choked whisper. "Jack… we're too late."

I held her tight, staring down into the abyss.

The Watcher had been the gatekeeper.

And now—

The thing it had been **guarding** was finally waking up.

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