Suffocation || Patrick Hockstetter

Chapter 7 : The Night of Shadows

I decide to quietly descend the stairs, hoping not to wake Billy. Once in the hall, I hesitate for a moment before gently opening the front door. The cool night air greets me, and I find myself face to face with Patrick, who hasn't moved an inch.

"What are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He stares at me, his features hardened by anger and confusion. "I told you not to mess with me and your bullshit," he growls, his fists clenched.

I tense up, trying to stay calm. "Then why are you here?"

He suddenly steps forward, and I instinctively step back. "I wanted to make sure you'd keep your mouth shut," he says, his eyes blazing. "What you saw that night, you forget it. You don't tell anyone."

I look at him, trying to hide my fear. "Why are you so defensive, Patrick? If it was nothing, why are you here, in the middle of the night, threatening me?"

He steps closer again, his face just inches from mine. "Because I don't need you spreading ghost stories and screwing everything up. Do you understand?"

I take a deep breath, refusing to back down. "I know what I saw. And you saw it too. We can't just ignore that."

He bursts out laughing, a joyless laugh. "Do you think anyone's going to believe you? Do you think you're going to come off as anything other than crazy?"

"I don't care if they believe me or not," I say, my voice trembling but determined. "I can't just let this go. Not after what I saw."

He looks at me, his expression shifting from anger to a sort of challenge. "Fine. Do what you want. But if you start talking, you'll regret being born. And believe me, it won't be pretty."

I clench my fists, fear mingling with anger. "I won't stay silent, Patrick. You can't silence me."

Patrick stares at me for a moment, then his eyes narrow, and a strange look crosses his face. Without a word, he grabs my arm roughly. I try to resist, but his grip is like iron. He drags me out of the house, through the overgrown garden, towards the edge of the forest.

The night is dark, and the shadows of the trees dance around us, menacing. My heart is pounding, but I force myself not to panic. Patrick's footsteps echo on the hard ground, while mine stumble over the roots breaking through the earth.

Finally, we arrive at an old, dilapidated shack, half-hidden by the trees. The moonlight barely illuminates the rotting wooden walls, covered in moss and ivy. Patrick shoves me roughly towards the door, which creaks ominously as he opens it.

Inside, the smell of mold and death immediately assaults my nostrils. The cabin is small, but a chaotic mess reigns within. Wooden crates are piled in one corner, filled with old, rusty tools, twisted metal pieces, and objects I'd rather not know the use of. The floor is littered with dirt, feathers, and what appears to be bones.

Patrick pushes me towards the center of the room. My gaze is drawn to a table, or rather an altar, set up in the middle of the cabin. On it, melted candles, their wax pooled into thick puddles, surround the corpses of animals. Birds with dull feathers, a cat with its belly open, rodents with their skin stripped off, all arranged in a macabre display. Dried blood forms circles and incomprehensible symbols.

A shudder of disgust runs through me. I want to look away, but I can't help seeing the horrifying details. The dead animals' eyes seem to fix on me, silently accusing me of being here. A metallic smell hangs in the air, making me gag.

Patrick watches my reaction, a cruel smile on his lips. "Do you see what I do here?" he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction. "Do you see what I'm capable of?"