A cold dread settled over John as he approached his house. He called out, his voice thin and hopeful but only silence answered. The wrought-iron front gates, usually welcoming stood stubbornly locked. Moving to the larger driveway gate, John delivered a furious kick. With a jarring thud, one side ripped free from the wall.
"Whoa! Did that fight give you super strength, or is it just adrenaline?" Alice exclaimed, a flicker of awe and excitement cutting through the tension. John managed a strained chuckle. "Not exactly. This place has been under renovation since I was twelve. The driveway gate was next on the list of things needing to be worked on, so it was functional but not built to last. The bolts pop off easily," he explained as his eyes fixed on the front door as they hurried through the breached opening.
His concern escalated to a gnawing fear when he saw the security gate unlatched and the front door slightly ajar. "Mom? Dad? Max?" he called, his voice echoing eerily through the silent house. Alice followed, her fingers brushing the door frame. When she drew her hand back, it was stained crimson. Her face hardened, her expression grim. In a swift and seemingly practiced motion she somehow concealed her scythe within the folds of her dress and drew her knife, its blade glinting with an unwavering readiness.
They moved deeper into the house, each step a testament to growing dread. The sight that awaited them was a tableau of unspeakable horror. In the living room, where a couple in their later years lay twisted on the floor, their bodies grotesquely contorted, surrounded by a widening pool of blood. Nearby, a chilling arrangement of animals, cats, dogs and even birds were meticulously placed, adding a surreal, almost ritualistic layer to the grim scene.
Alice approached John cautiously, her hand gently finding his shoulder. He was lost, swallowed by a grief so profound it seemed to pull the breath from the room. His sobs were the only sound, sharp punctuations in the suffocating silence. "John? It's going to be okay. I don't know what happened here, but..." Alice began, her voice soft with an unfamiliar tenderness, but he cut her off, his anguish boiling over.
"But what, Alice? That things will somehow be fine? That my parents wouldn't want me to fall apart? That they'd want me to carry on?" His voice cracked, raw with pain. "But what? These were my parents! We had our differences, we got on each other's nerves at times, but they were my parents, my own flesh and blood. They didn't deserve this..." John's tears mingled with the bloodstains on the floor as he brought his fists down, pounding the ground with a desperate guttural cry. Alice stood beside him, a pillar of silent support, her hand resting gently on his trembling back.
"What about your brother?" Alice asked, her voice barely a whisper, finally breaking the heavy silence. John slowly turned, his eyes red and swollen before pushing himself to his feet. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the question. A sudden, violent crashing sound from outside the house ripped through his despair. Hope, raw and desperate, surged through him as he bolted, nearly colliding with Alice in his haste.
"Max! Is that you, Max? Come on out! Don't tell me you're hiding! It's me, John! Please, show yourself!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with a new, terrifying desperation. Around the corner wall of the house, John froze. His younger brother, Max, was crouched there, his gaze unnervingly fixed on John. Max wore a jacket with a furry collar and had a large black sword, gleaming with fresh blood, hung loosely by his side. In his hand, he held a porcelain white mask, blood slowly seeping from its empty eye holes, an image of a black wolf howling etched into its side. It seemed less an object and more a symbol of a profound, disturbing transformation. This was the unsettling tableau Alice stepped into, watching torn as Max narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
"I did what I had to do" Max's voice was tinged with a chilling mix of defiance and detachment. "I don't expect you to understand. You were always too soft, always have been and always will be even in this new hell. Always failing to do what must be done because it hard or a difficult choice. That's where we've always diverged though. I do whatever is necessary regardless of the blood that must be shed or how monstrous It may seem to others. And don't call me Max anymore." He tightened his grip on the mask, then slowly, deliberately, raised it to his face. A sickening squelching sound, followed by a faint sizzle, filled the air. He threw his head back, a guttural scream distorting his voice into something inhuman, before it abruptly ceased. Leaning forward, his gaze fixed on John and Alice, his next words held an unnerving clarity.
"I am Hunter now. Pray that our paths don't cross, for I'll use you as bait or as prey," the newly christened Hunter declared. Then, with a sudden, impossible leap backward, he vanished from sight, leaving only a faint whistle of wind in his wake.
John's fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He stared at the empty space where Max – or rather, Hunter – had stood, his mind a tempest of disbelief, grief and terrifying questions. Did Max orchestrate the slaughter inside? Had the horrific changes driven him to madness? Was the mask somehow complicit in this chaos? A fragile, dying part of him still clung to the hope that Max's true self lingered somewhere beneath that monstrous façade but he knew it was false hope.
"That thing is truly dangerous," Alice's voice, strained and hoarse, broke the silence. Her gaze was fixed on the same spot John had been staring at. He turned to her, noticing the white-knuckled grip on her knife, her legs trembling visibly as she fought to remain upright and her eyes, narrowed and fixed with a bead of sweat running down her temple.
"I mean it, John, it's profoundly and immensely dangerous," she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "My instincts screamed that a single wrong move would have been my last, that it could have killed me in the blink of an eye. While it might have been your brother once, I have serious doubts that remains the case. That mask... when he put it on, my blood seemed to boil and run cold at the same time well a voice practically screamed "Kill" over and over deep inside my head. I have no shame admitting I was nearly paralyzed with fear to the point I almost wet myself. It might sound harsh, but I sincerely hope we never cross paths with that thing again. John, as difficult as it may be, it might be best to just consider your brother dead with the rest of your family instead of coming back in contact with that." Her blunt, brutal honesty was met with a vacant stare.
Slowly, John turned away from Alice, taking a few shaky steps forward, his gaze lifting to the pale sky. "We'll overcome this. I promise you that," Alice urged, stepping closer. "You're not alone in this. I'm right here and you have your phone friend. Channel this anger like I heard you mutter before, use it as fuel to keep pushing forward. Live on for them." She desperately hoped to pull him from the abyss he seemed to be sinking into. He managed a faint nod, a fragile acknowledgment that did little to dispel the profound shadows lurking in his eyes.
"Just, just give me some time," he requested, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'd appreciate being alone for now. Maybe you could explore the area, find something to fight, or... I don't know." He muttered to her and with that he turned and walked back into the house. Alice watched him head toward the back of the yard where he gathered several blocks of firewood before disappearing into what she assumed was his room. The electricity was seemingly still on, shown by a soft glow that emanated from his window and the muffled strains of music began to play. Alice watched from the doorway as he settled on the edge of his bed, beginning to carve into one of the wood blocks. Each delicate shaving seemed to bring forth a fresh wave of tears, yet he carved with a focused intensity, pouring his turbulent emotions into the task, slowly shutting out the world around him.
After a few more moments, Alice quietly left the room. She returned to where John's parents and their pets lay, her eyes passing over each of them slowly. With immense care, she lifted each body, carrying them out to the backyard before arranging them with a profound sense of solemnity. Searching inside, she found some blankets and gently covered them, a final tender gesture of respect done out of what she felt would be for John than anything else. Returning to John's room, she stationed herself silently in the doorway as a watchful sentinel, observing him as he grappled with the crushing weight of his sorrow, her own mind seemingly adrift in its own distant thoughts.