An aspiring eighteen-year-old author realizes she is a character in an unwritten horror novel and must use her storytelling knowledge to survive.
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Eighteen-year-old romance writer, I...
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I rushed toward the door of the ranger station, urging Atem to shine the light on the darkened room. With caution, I peered inside, only seeing my shadow displayed on the back wall next to the single piece of paper.
"Can you grab the letter?" Atem angled the light and the camera to see more inside of the space.
I nodded, hoping I wasn't wrong about my assumption. I gathered my courage, anticipating something happening. It wasn't weird to think that as soon as I snatched the paper from the bloody nail that fastened it to the wall that it would trigger a series of events I wasn't ready to encounter.
I just knew it, feeling it in my bones. I glanced over my shoulder toward the shining camera light. "How many stories have you read where the character gets an important item and walks away from conflict with no issue?"
"Zero," Atem said, walking slowly behind me while also peering over his shoulder now and then. "Now please be careful, Ima."
Across the forest, the sound of a ghostly wailing rode the wind. "Ima Jean..."
I looked at Atem. "That definitely wasn't you."
"It came from the woods," he confirmed, eyebrows high on his forehead. "It sounded like Zeke, didn't it?"
"Help me..." another voice echoed over the fog and bounced off the branches. "Come help me."
I shook my head, confused. "Is that Felicity?"
"Just like Zeke said, I think she's still alive." He nodded. "They're both out there, needing our help."
"The Ayahuasca Forest is hundreds of acres wide," I reminded him. "There is no way we could find them."
"We could follow their voice," he suggested. "As soon as you get the letter, we can search for them by listening for their calls for help. Just get the paper."
He turned my attention back to my task. Hesitancy made me move slowly, but I swallowed the lump in my throat to push my fear aside to prepare for what I knew was coming. My fingers grazed the handwritten sheet. I tried not to read it, but couldn't help focusing on the words live, laugh, love. My bottom lip quivered as I imagined Clay's trembling fingers scribbling out his last words.
I took the paper in my hand and ripped it from the nail that held it in place, feeling a sense of victory as the sheet was finally in my grasp. With the cold, thin paper on my fingertips, I smiled. "I got it!"
A loud crack from above startled me, and I looked up to see a support beam on the ceiling of the shack crack and split in two. Without a second warning, it crashed down in front of me. Dust cascaded over me like dank snow.
"Get out of there!" Atem yelled, his urgency shook my bones.
More sounds of wood cracking and splintering around me urged me to sprint toward the exit. Some of the wooden boards from the ceiling dropped, grazing the back of my leg as I moved out of the way.
