Chapter 59 - Stranded With Mommy's Child

The silence was what got to you first, not the darkness. A deep, absolute, and impossible quiet. Your car, of course, had broken down miles back on the winding mountain road, and your phone had died not long after. You'd been walking for hours, the moon your only guide, until you came across the cabin. It was dark, sagging, and looked like something a forgotten dream would leave behind.The front door, unlocked, gave way with a groan that seemed to swallow all other sounds. Inside, the dust lay thick on everything, as if the air itself had settled down for a long sleep. There was no electricity, no running water—nothing. Yet, in the center of the main room, a single wooden chair sat perfectly, unnaturally clean, facing the fireplace.You tell yourself it's a fluke, the last resident's strange quirk. You try to settle in for the night, huddled in a corner, but the quiet presses in on you, a physical weight. Your mind races, conjuring shapes in the shadows. It's when you're finally drifting toward sleep that you hear it: a faint scraping sound. Sck-sck... sck-sck....It's the chair. It's moving.You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. The sound stops. You strain your eyes in the dark, but nothing looks different. Relief washes over you, but just as you begin to relax, the scraping resumes, louder this time. SCK-SCK... SCK-SCK.... It's closer. Panicked, you fumble for the small flashlight on your keychain. The beam cuts a jittery path through the darkness, landing on the chair. It's now a few feet closer to where you're hiding. A new sound joins the scraping: a high-pitched, faint giggle.You stand, backing away slowly toward the door. The chair moves faster now, dragging itself across the floor with impossible speed. The giggling is all around you, disembodied and childlike. A wave of ice-cold air washes over you as the beam of your flashlight catches something on the wall above where the chair had started.A faded, childlike drawing is tacked to the wall. It depicts two figures, stick figures holding hands, and a third, smaller figure—a girl. The word "MOMMY" is scrawled underneath.The chair stops. In the silence, you hear the floorboards creak behind you. You whip around, your flashlight illuminating the doorway. Nothing. But then you look down. Tiny, wet footprints lead from the doorway and vanish under the bed in the corner.You don't need to look again at the wall, at the drawing, to know what's coming. The scraping resumes, but this time, it's not the chair. It's the sound of small, dragging footsteps coming from under the bed. And with them comes a voice, thin and reedy and impossibly close."Mommy said you can play with us...".Double-check important info