Chapter 1 - First Day
Snow swallowed the mountains in silence.
Wind scraped against the wood of an abandoned shed, rattling loose boards and forcing powder through the cracks. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly and casting restless shadows across the room.
Two men stood inside.
One was tied to a chair. Pale skin, short black hair, rope biting into his wrists hard enough to draw blood.
The other man, taller and red-haired, paced in tight circles, boots grinding against the dusty floorboards.
"Are you sure this will work?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man in the chair lifted his head slowly. His face was pale, but not from fear.
"We won't know unless we try."
The younger man swallowed. "I don't want to die. I haven't even had a girlfriend yet."
A faint, strained breath escaped the tied man, something almost resembling a laugh.
"I have a wife," he said quietly. "And a daughter."
His gaze sharpened. "They're waiting for me."
A beat passed.
"But we don't have a choice."
Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the air felt tight.
Then Mr. Wilfer's head snapped back. His body went limp.
"Sir?" the younger man stepped forward quickly. "Mr. Wilfer?"
No response.
His breathing grew shallow and uneven.
The younger man stepped back slowly, fear crawling up his spine.
"So he finally blacked out…" he muttered under his breath. "Please let this work."
Mr. Wilfer's body jerked violently.
The ropes strained.
A scream tore from his throat, raw, distorted, not entirely human.
Then silence.
His head fell forward. Stillness.
The younger man held his breath.
Suddenly, Mr. Wilfer's eyes shot open.
"Danny," he rasped.
Relief flooded Danny's face. "Did it work?"
Mr. Wilfer tried to speak. Then froze.
"Wait."
Pain overtook his expression.
His muscles tightened unnaturally. Something shifted beneath his skin, something moving.
Danny stumbled back. "No… no…"
Mr. Wilfer began to choke. His throat bulged outward as if something inside him was pressing upward.
A slick, black mass forced its way out of his mouth, stretching his jaw beyond what bone should allow.
Danny gagged, scrambling backward.
The creature slid free and dropped to the floor with a wet sound.
It wasn't solid. It wasn't liquid.
It moved like a shadow that had learned to breathe.
For a moment, it seemed to observe the room.
Then it slithered back into Mr. Wilfer's body.
Mr. Wilfer screamed.
His chest convulsed and then exploded outward.
Bone cracked. Skin tore.
The creature ripped free again, this time clutching something
dark and wet: his heart.
Mr. Wilfer's body collapsed, lifeless.
Danny stared in horror for half a second too long. Then instinct took over.
He raised his gun and fired.
Gunshots shattered the shed's silence. Wood splintered. The creature hissed, a sound like steam escaping metal.
It darted across the floor, impossibly fast.
Danny fired again. Missed.
The creature hurled itself through the wooden wall.
The shed erupted in debris.
And then silence.
Snow drifted inward through the hole in the wall.
Danny stood frozen, staring at the body of the man who had
trusted him.
Outside, something moved through the storm.
—Two Years Later—
The city felt alive in a way the mountains never had.
Glass towers reflected the morning sun. Traffic hummed. People moved with direction.
A car door opened.
Sarah Wilfer stepped out, suitcase in hand, white coat folded
neatly over her arm.
She stared up at the skyline, taking it in slowly.
"So this is where the rich people live," she murmured.
Her eyes landed on the hospital across the street. Massive. Polished. Intimidating.
"They actually hired me," she said under her breath. "From a town nobody can pronounce."
A flicker of pride crossed her face.
Then a sharp wave of nausea twisted her stomach.
She paused, pressing her hand against her abdomen.
"That's new…"
She inhaled slowly. "Not today."
She forced herself forward.
Ten minutes later
she entered the hospital lobby.
Marble floors. Controlled lighting. Quiet efficiency.
Behind the reception desk sat a young woman with attentive brown eyes and a practiced smile.
"Excuse me," Sarah said. "I'm here to meet the manager."
"Your name?"
"Sarah Wilfer."
Recognition flashed across the receptionist's face.
"Oh. The new doctor. We've been expecting you."
Sarah straightened unconsciously at the title.
"Yes. That's me."
"You're assigned Room 7, second floor. The manager said to get you settled first." She handed over a keycard. "Welcome."
"Thank you… Nazee, right?" Noticed her name tag
Nazee smiled. "That's right."
Sarah headed toward the elevators.
The hospital was immaculate, almost too immaculate.
The elevator doors slid open.
She stepped inside.
The doors closed.
The ascent began smoothly.
Halfway up, the lights flickered.
Then darkness swallowed the space.
The elevator jolted to a stop.
Sarah's pulse spiked.
"Seriously?" she muttered.
The nausea returned, stronger.
"Hello?" she called. "Can anyone hear me?"
Silence.
Then the lights snapped back on.
The elevator resumed.
When the doors opened to the second floor, a man stood waiting.
Tall. Composed. Watching.
She stepped out, and the world tilted sideways.
"Are you alright?" he asked, stepping forward.
"I just need… a second…"
Her vision darkened.
She collapsed.
He caught her before she hit the floor.
Her pulse raced beneath his fingers.
He studied her face for a moment longer than necessary.
"Room 7," he murmured, noticing the keycard in her hand. "So you're the one."
He lifted her easily.
"Emily," he called down the hallway. "I need assistance."
A nurse hurried over, efficient and alert.
"Doctor Sanchel?"
"She fainted near the elevator."
They carried Sarah into Room 7 and laid her on the bed.
Emily checked her vitals carefully.
"Low blood sugar," she concluded. "Nothing critical."
Sanchel didn't respond immediately. He was still watching her wrist, her pulse. Something about it lingered a second too long in his thoughts.
"Leave some juice," he said at last. "She'll recover."
They exited the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled.
For a brief moment, a thin dark vein flickered beneath the skin of Sarah's wrist.
Then it vanished, as if it had never been there.