Chicago, Illinois - 9:28 am CST

MIKE

In the midst of the windy city, Mike was trying to find a place of balance with his reoccurring normalcy in the fucked-up universe that was called life. He was in his junior year of college, preparing himself for pre-law—something he was supposedly passionate about, or at least that's what he told himself. His tuition was paid for by his family, but that didn't make life simple. The night shifts he worked at a convenience store weren't about the money—they were a lifeline, a way to force some kind of routine into the chaos. The kind of chaos that had followed him ever since Blackwood Mountain.

And then there was Jessica.

Once the bold, confident girl everyone adored, Jessica was now someone fragile, someone who couldn't bear to be alone. She needed Mike constantly—if he wasn't with her, she was blowing up his phone, desperate for reassurance that he wasn't leaving her. Mike loved her, but her dependency was suffocating. Every moment with her felt like he was on a tight schedule, walking on eggshells. He couldn't go an hour without feeling like he had to be available for her, and as much as he cared for her, it was draining him.

Today, though, was a small break. He had lied, telling her he had a class. He needed the space, just a few hours to himself, to not feel her anxiety press down on him. It wasn't something he was proud of, but he needed it. As Mike sat on a bench, he watched the city move around him, letting his thoughts drift back to everything that had gone wrong—back to Blackwood Mountain, and more specifically, Josh.

When Josh had revealed himself as the mastermind behind their night of terror, it had shattered whatever image Mike had of his old friend. He had never seen Josh like that before—unhinged, broken, like a man who had fallen off the edge of sanity. When Mike and Chris had taken him to the shed to contain him until dawn, Mike saw the full extent of Josh's madness. He hadn't known that side of Josh, the side that could devise such a fucked up plan to 'teach them a lesson.' The instability, the paranoia—it was terrifying to see someone he once called a friend so completely consumed by his own demons.

But as twisted as that night had been, Mike had paid the price for that prank. He knew that better than anyone. The mountain had taken two of his fingers, a reminder of his own recklessness and the horrors they faced. A family of five reduced to a family of three, he'd joke in dark humor. And those little piggies? They weren't going "wee wee wee" back home anytime soon. He'd lost them in the worst possible way, and as the days passed, the loss became something he had to explain over and over again.

Society didn't handle a handsome man missing two fingers the way you'd think. People stared, some asked questions, others gave him looks like he'd survived some epic, tragic event, and others have shunned him due to their discomfort. It was exhausting, really—having to explain it all the time without revealing too much. How do you tell someone that you lost your fingers to a bear trap while running from creatures you didn't even know existed until that night? Most of the time, he just gave them some vague story about a hiking accident or shrugged it off. But no matter how he told it, the looks remained, a constant reminder of how different his life had become.

The sanatorium, though, that was something he didn't even try to talk about. He and Kida had barely made it out alive, blowing the place up just in time to escape the Wendigos chasing them down. In that moment, it had felt like the end was inevitable. They'd been seconds away from death, and Mike was thankful they had survived. But even with the sanatorium buried under the rubble, the trauma of that night still lingered. It was like the mountain never really let go.

Mike's relationships with the others hadn't been the same since. He barely talked to anyone anymore. Chris, maybe, every now and then, but their conversations were strained. They never really addressed the weight between them. Sam reached out occasionally, but like Chris, their conversations stayed on the surface, polite and distant. The real connection they had shared up on that mountain felt too painful to acknowledge. And Emily? She still resented him, and honestly, Mike couldn't blame her for it.

He had almost shot her. That moment, driven by panic and fear, was one he'd never forget. Ashley had pushed him to do it, urging him on, and in that state of hysteria, he'd almost gone through with it. It was Matt who had stopped him, stepping in to shield Emily and earning himself a punch to the face for his trouble. Looking back, Mike was thankful for it, but the guilt still gnawed at him. What if Matt hadn't stopped him? The thought haunted him as much as anything else.

He had tried to make amends with Emily, but she wanted nothing to do with him. He had sent countless apologies—texts, social media messages—but it was like trying to reach out to a ghost. Jessica told him that Emily still talked to her sometimes, but the second Mike's name came up, she disappeared. It was like being shut out of a part of his own life that he could never make right.

The others—Ashley, Kida—they were just shadows now, occasional likes on social media posts, with the kind of forced smiles that only told part of the story. Mike could see through it. He knew they were all still dealing with the trauma, just like him. Two years might have passed, but time hadn't erased the pain. They weren't free from that mountain. None of them were.

As Mike sat on the bench, watching people pass by, he envied them. They moved through their lives, oblivious to the battles he was fighting. He blended in, pretending everything was fine, but the truth was that nothing was okay. Not really. He had become a master at putting on a facade, convincing himself that if he faked it long enough, maybe things would feel normal again. But deep down, he knew better. He was still trapped, just like the others.

His phone buzzed, breaking his brief moment of peace. A text from Jessica. Mike stared at the screen, his hand hovering over the message as frustration crept in. He could already feel the weight of it pulling him back into the world he was trying to escape from—just for a little while.

Portland, Oregon – 10:54 AM PST

CHRIS

Chris navigated through the busy aisles of Walmart, weaving between carts and customers, all with the same goal—finding food to provide for themselves or their families. Normally, Chris wasn't the type to do this kind of thing if he didn't have to. For him, Uber Eats was like a gift from the heavens, sparing him the hassle of in-person grocery shopping. The first miracle was the rescue helicopter that had whisked him and his emotionally scarred friends away from Blackwood Mountain. The second? The convenience of food arriving at his doorstep with just a few taps on his phone.

Chris would much rather tip a delivery driver—though he knew the tip was probably never enough—than deal with the chaos of shopping in person. The store was full of people who took five whole minutes just to stare at a shelf, deciding which loaf of bread to buy. It wasn't rocket science. At the end of the day, no matter what nutritionists claimed, they all had the same calories, right?

But today, Chris had been forced out of his comfort zone. The app wasn't working. No deliveries, no food at his door. Begrudgingly, he had dragged himself out of bed, grumbling as he drove the ten minutes to the nearest superstore. The plan was simple—get in and get out, as quickly as possible. But with each passing minute, that hope seemed to fade. The store was crowded, and the process was already taking far longer than he had intended.

He pushed his cart forward with a sigh, dodging a couple debating over which cereal to buy. The whole ordeal reminded him of how much he hated dealing with crowds and decisions that seemed trivial. This wasn't what he had in mind for the day.

All he wanted to do was surprise his girlfriend.

Girlfriend. It was a word that still felt strange, something Chris never thought he'd get to say two years ago—or ever, if things had gone differently. If he'd never set foot on that land again, the place he'd once loved since he was ten: Washington Lodge. The place he spent time with mostly Josh, but with Hannah and Beth too, then their circle came along after.

There were so many good memories tied to that mountain. His first snowboarding lesson, where he spent more time on his ass than on his board. His first time truly connecting with the mountains, a place where adventure seemed endless and untouchable. And of course, the first time sneaking drinks around a campfire, passing a flask like they were older and cooler than they really were. Those memories used to bring a smile to his face, a sense of carefree youth. But now? Now they were tainted by what came later.

That wry smile of his darkened further as he remembered the return to the mountain. His leg hadn't been busted during one of those childhood snowboarding wipeouts. No, that particular injury came later—when everything had gone to hell. He could still feel the echo of that pain if he let himself think too much about it.

It happened when he and Matt had gone out to find Josh, with the stranger guiding them through the snow. Chris had been hesitant about going back there after being informed about the danger, but Chris was determined to find his best friend no matter how demented he was at the time. The lodge wasn't safe, and they needed to find Josh before the Wendigos found them. The stranger seemed to know the mountain's dark secrets—he was their best shot.

But when they got to the shed, Josh was gone. There was nothing there except more uncertainty, more danger. And then, just like that, the stranger was dead. Chris had seen it with his own eyes—the Wendigo, this mythical creature that had only skepticised him, now right in front of him. For Matt, it was his second encounter with the creature, but for Chris? It was pure terror.

They barely made it out. Running for their lives, hearts pounding, breath freezing in the cold air. Chris had tried to jump a ledge, but the Wendigo was quicker. It swiped at him, claws slashing through the air, and caught him just below the knee. He fell hard into the snow, the pain shooting through his leg. The moment he hit the ground, he knew something was wrong—his leg was twisted, sprained. He could barely stand, let alone run. Matt had pulled him up, practically dragging him as they fled back to the lodge, adrenaline the only thing keeping him moving.

Those months of physical therapy that followed had been brutal. The sprain had healed, but the memory? That never went away. The fear, the helplessness—seeing that creature up close, knowing it could end him at any moment. It still haunted him.

But that was two years ago. Now, here he was, standing in a crowded Walmart, all because he wanted to surprise his girlfriend. Girlfriend. Chris let the word settle in his mind again, the disbelief still there. How unlikely it all seemed back then, on that mountain, when survival was the only thing any of them could think about. And yet, somehow, life had moved on—though, some days, it felt like it was moving without him.

He had spent the last few years doing online school, balancing it with time to work on himself—mainly physically. Chris had never been an athletic guy, at least not the old Chris. Old Chris had been naive, blind to the dangers lurking just beneath the surface of the world. That guy had thought the scariest thing in life was failing a test or screwing up a prank. He didn't know about real danger—not the kind that walked the earth like something out of a nightmare.

But that version of Chris was gone. Now, he wanted to be prepared for anything. He had the academics under control; that part of his life had always come naturally, something he didn't have to stress about. Physically, though, he had a long way to go. Building strength and stamina had become a new focus. He had started hitting the gym regularly, pushing himself to get stronger, faster. If anything like Blackwood Mountain ever happened again, he wasn't going to be the helpless guy standing there, wondering what to do. Mentally? That was a whole different challenge. He told himself he was ready, that he'd dealt with the trauma, but deep down, he wasn't so sure.

Then there was Josh. His best friend, the guy who had torn their world apart without them even seeing it coming.

Chris had spent so much time trying to figure out how he felt about it—about Josh, about what he did, about the friend he used to know. And even now, after all these years, Chris still wasn't sure. But one thing he couldn't shake was the feeling that Josh was still in there somewhere. Despite everything—the mind games, the trauma, the horror that followed—Chris couldn't let go of that sliver of humanity he still saw in his old friend. He had always had this ability to see the best in people, even when they showed him their worst.

That's why he had started writing letters. Every other month, he'd sit down and write to Josh. He figured Josh, sitting alone in some psychiatric facility, might appreciate hearing from him—if only to remind him that he wasn't completely forgotten. The letters were never long, and he wasn't even sure if Josh read them, but Chris sent them anyway. A small connection to the past, even if the past was something he was trying to leave behind. The Josh he knew had always been complicated—funny and creative, but also dark, with something always simmering under the surface. Now, that darkness had taken over completely, but Chris still believed there was some part of the guy he had been that could be reached.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe Chris was just clinging to the hope that things weren't as far gone as they seemed. But he couldn't help it. Despite everything, he couldn't see Josh as a villain. He saw a broken person—someone who had been through hell and tried to drag everyone else down with him. And Chris, being Chris, couldn't let him rot in that isolation without at least trying to remind him that there was someone out there who still cared.

Old Chris would have never done that. The old him would have let Josh's betrayal fester, let the anger take over. But Chris had changed. The world had changed him. He wasn't the naive kid who couldn't see the danger anymore. He had grown stronger, more cautious, but also more compassionate. Maybe that was the hardest part—realizing that even after everything, after all the hurt and fear, he still had room for compassion.

There was one thing he couldn't be ungrateful for when it came to that night. As much as he hated what Josh had done, and as much as the events of Blackwood Mountain still haunted him, Josh had given Chris courage—courage to face more than just the supernatural. It gave him the push to confront the things he had always been too scared to deal with. Most of all, it gave him the strength to fight for the girl who made time stop whenever she was around. His girlfriend.

After that night on the mountain, their relationship had hit the backburner. Ashley loved him, that much was clear, but after what they'd all been through, none of them knew how to cope. They were broken in ways they couldn't even begin to understand. No one talked about it, not in any real way. No one was over it—and if they claimed to be, they were fucking lying to themselves. It was like they had an unspoken pact, an agreement to move on without ever speaking about that night. Whatever happened on Blackwood Mountain stayed there. That was the mantra, and no one dared to break it.

Ashley had struggled more than most. The trauma was too much for her to handle, and she turned to heroin and weed to dull the pain. Chris watched helplessly as she spiraled, losing herself little by little, drowning in addiction while he tried to hold her hand through the storm. He hated seeing her that way, and it tore him apart to watch the woman he loved unravel. He had always been more of a drinker than a smoker, but seeing her turn to those substances—especially the heroin—made his heart sink. It felt like she was killing herself in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But instead of walking away, Chris stayed. He didn't have the answers, and he didn't know how to fix what was happening, but he refused to leave her side. When things got really bad—when Ashley started tearing through their apartment one night like a wild animal, desperate for a hit—Chris made the hardest decision he'd ever made. She needed real help. Not just his support, but professional help. He couldn't save her on his own.

Ashley went to rehab soon after, and while it felt like the longest time apart, Chris never stopped trying to be there for her. He wrote her letters every week, making sure she knew she wasn't alone. He sent her books—her favorite ones—and encouraged her to keep writing. Ashley had always dreamed of being an author, and Chris knew that her passion for storytelling was one of the things that could help bring her back to herself. It wasn't easy, but he had hope.

Now, after two months out of rehab, Ashley was starting to seem like her old self again. There were still moments of doubt—Chris would catch himself wondering if she was really okay, if the Ashley he knew was fully back—but for the first time in a long while, there was light at the end of the tunnel. She was reading again, scribbling notes and ideas for the novel she always talked about. And when she smiled, it felt genuine, like she wasn't carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders anymore.

Chris was proud of her. More than anything, he was proud of her strength, her resilience. He knew it wasn't easy for her to climb out of the darkness, but she was doing it, one step at a time. And he was doing his best to support her in any way he could.

Still, the past lingered in the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to believe that things were getting back to normal, he couldn't forget what they had gone through. He couldn't forget that night on Blackwood Mountain, or the way it had nearly torn them both apart.

As Chris made his way through the store toward the checkout, he took a moment to double-check his cart. Toiletries, peaches—Ashley's favorite fruit, a couple of Nicholas Sparks movies that he found incredibly lame but knew Ashley would appreciate, plus fruits, veggies, bread, and desserts. Everything was accounted for. He felt satisfied with his haul, ready to get out of there and put the plan in motion.

He was hoping to surprise her tonight. Something simple but thoughtful. It wasn't a grand gesture, but it didn't need to be. Chris knew that these little moments—cooking together, laughing over movies he hated—were what brought them closer. He was looking forward to it.

As an associate motioned him toward an open self-checkout lane, Chris gave her a nod of appreciation. There was no way he was waiting in a regular checkout line that stretched into oblivion. Grabbing his card, he began scanning his items, the machine emitting a steady rhythm of beeps as each item passed over the scanner.

Everything was going smoothly until his phone buzzed in his pocket. Chris groaned inwardly. He was in such a hurry to get out of the store that he didn't need the distraction. Probably Ashley reminding him about her butterscotch ice cream—the first thing he'd thrown into the cart. He chuckled to himself, knowing how much she'd panic if he forgot it.

Reluctantly, he pulled his phone from his pocket, already preparing his response. But when he glanced at the screen, his smile faded.

It wasn't Ashley.

It was Sam. He hadn't heard from her in weeks. Usually, when they texted, the conversation stayed light—neutral. Chris would send lame memes or gifs, trying to inject some humor into their disconnected chats. But this message... this was different. His heart skipped a beat.

From Sammy:

Chris, call me as soon as you can.

A simple message, but something about it sent a chill through him. It wasn't her usual tone. It wasn't a meme. It wasn't small talk. Something was wrong.

His mind raced. He hadn't spoken to Sam in weeks, maybe even months. After everything that had happened on Blackwood Mountain, their group had drifted apart, each of them dealing with their trauma in their own way. Sam had always seemed strong, resilient, but Chris knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. If she was reaching out like this, something serious must have happened.

Suddenly, the idea of surprising Ashley tonight seemed distant. His hand hovered over the "reply" button, the machine beeping in the background, waiting for him to finish his transaction.

What had happened? He glanced back at his cart, now forgotten, the reality of whatever was waiting on the other end of that phone call overshadowing his earlier excitement.

Chris quickly paid for his groceries, sliding his card into the reader with shaky hands. He had to call Sam. He needed to know what was going on.

𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒇 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐

Okay. I had fun writing this chapter lowkey. Challenged me to dive into the minds of these two which I didn't know how. I was going to add Sam to this part but she will make her appearance into the next chapter. I am uncertain about how I want to include the characters in each chapter. Maybe a rotation or have it focus on most characters. Probably. There will be some OCs making appearances soon too.