The Cursed Lodge

The trees pressed in, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the bruised sky. Every snap of a twig underfoot sounded like a gunshot in the suffocating silence. We’d been walking for what felt like hours, the fog clinging to us like a shroud, muffling the world and our own desperate whispers. Mark, usually so full of booming laughter and quick jokes, was quiet, his jaw set, his eyes darting nervously into the gloom. Chloe, her face pale beneath her freckles, clutched my arm, her grip a little too tight. Even Robin, who usually found wonder in the smallest things, looked subdued, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the swirling mist.

“Are we sure this is the right way, Alex?” Mark’s voice was rough, lacking its usual playful edge.

I shook my head, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. “I… I don’t know anymore. Everything looks the same. The trees, the rocks… it’s like the forest is playing tricks on us.”