1934: United States, State of Illinois
One full moon night, a man was running through a foggy forest. He was out of breath and kept looking behind him as if he were being chased.
'Damn! Faster! I have to be faster...'
His breathing was labored, which made sense. A month ago, he had released several compromising files about numerous government officials and had threatened to publish more in his future articles, hoping for monetary compensation for his silence. For the past two weeks, he had been chased by a man.
Looking back, what he had done was stupid. Elliot Harper, a young independent journalist of 23 years old, had made plenty of mistakes in his youth, but he wanted to turn his life around. He had received information for free concerning government officials from a mysterious anonymous source. At first, he saw it as an opportunity to easily settle his debts. In the end, Elliot was in deep shit! Now, he was sure of it: the top officials wanted him dead, and it was inevitable... Honestly, what was he thinking going after high-ranking people without support!
'Damn it!'
"Huff! Huff!"
Elliot was out of breath, so he took a short break to catch it and drink some water. The water was refreshing.
This brief respite also allowed him to gather his thoughts. Indeed, he was nervous... Very nervous... He had to run, he didn't know where, but he had to run. The problem was: the fog was thick, visibility was less than 5 meters, it was night, and, to top it all off, the path was rough. He could only imagine the wild animals prowling in the forest.
The journalist looked behind him one last time before continuing.
"Shit..."
In the distance, Elliot could barely make out a faint light through the fog. Footsteps could be heard far off, coming from the direction of the light.
"Crack, stomp!"
...
"Crack, stomp!"
...
"Crack, stomp!"
...
"Crack, stomp!"
...
The crunching of dead leaves and branches underfoot betrayed the presence of another person in the forest. Their steps seemed confident and calm, the unknown figure moving at a steady pace. This showed that he wasn't in a hurry to finish things. In fact, for two weeks now, this man had been toying with Elliot. He was sure that the man could have killed him long ago if he had wanted to. The young journalist had never seen the stranger, but he knew very clearly that he was being followed, and today was the final proof that his suspicions were correct. He was indeed right to be afraid... The assassin had decided to finish the job; today was the inevitable day of Elliot's death.
Sweat dripped from his forehead. He gritted his teeth before turning around, then took one last breath and started running to get away from the light.
In his peripheral vision, the endless scenery of the forest flashed by at high speed. His run was controlled, avoiding the obstacles as best he could—the roots, branches, and rocks scattered on the ground. What couldn't be avoided, he simply jumped over in a fluid move. The ground was still slick from a past downpour, making it very slippery. The dirt and his sweat slowly stained his clothes, but that wasn't a concern. Yet, a single moment of inattention could send him crashing to the ground. That moment came soon enough: inadvertently, his right foot got caught in a U-shaped root sticking out of the ground. Before he realized it, Elliot tumbled forward, his head slamming into a large rock. He was now sprawled face down in the mud.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head, as if his skull were splitting in two. His face contorted from the pain, and he clenched his teeth even harder. He dropped to his knees and, using both hands, rubbed the painful area in a desperate attempt to ease the agony. His hands were now stained with fresh blood.
"Aaaah!"
"That hurts, fuck it!"
Cursing the root, he tried to get up, but the pain only increased. Perhaps his right leg had also hit something during the unexpected fall, because now he had trouble moving it. Blood was flowing down his forehead. Elliot wasn't athletic, and this type of injury could severely impact his endurance. He was starting to feel dizzy, showing signs of a concussion. His pace had slowed considerably. It took him several minutes to get back on his feet, but he eventually did. Looking behind him again, he noticed that the light, probably from an oil lamp the assassin was carrying, was no longer visible—or at least, he could no longer see it.
'Did I manage to shake him off? Did he lost me?'
Elliot used this brief moment of respite to catch his breath and drink some water.
"Huff... Huuff!"
He had long since lost his way. He had no bearings in these woods, and in any case, it wasn't like he was heading somewhere specific. He just wanted to get as far away as possible from the man chasing him. One thing he couldn't understand: how was this guy so effective at always finding him, despite his slow movements? How could he track him under these conditions? After all, the field of vision was obscured by the night and the thick fog, and the repetitive forest landscape wasn't helping either. It should have made tracking him impossible...
'Does the assassin have a tracker on me? Should I strip off to be sure? I'd freeze.'
Shaking that absurd thought from his mind, he saw a faint light reappear in the distance and the shadow of what seemed to be a man at the same spot. The shadow was unsettling, sending a shiver down Elliot's spine, his teeth chattering in fear. Distant footsteps could be heard. Realizing this, Elliot resumed his escape, ignoring the electrifying pain.
'Shit, that bastard is closer than I thought! DAMN IT!'
"Leave me alone, bastard!" His voice trembled despite himself, almost pleading, but the echo quickly faded into the forest.
'What's the point of yelling? That asshole already knows where I am.'
After five minutes, which felt like an eternity, he reached what seemed to be a clearing. He now had numerous injuries. He stopped for a brief moment to gather his bearings. With the area open, the fog was less thick, and the soft light of the moon barely shone through. Moving a bit farther, he lit his lighter to see better. There was definitely something in front of him.
'I hope it's something that can help me,' Elliot thought silently.
Elliot approached cautiously, getting closer and closer to see what was in front of him. What he saw was a wooden house, barely discernible through the mist. Weather-beaten, its walls were covered in rot. The windows were shattered into countless pieces, revealing nothing but darkness inside. The roof, collapsed in places, was covered with ivy and mold, exposing the fragile framework.
The broken boards creaked under the wind. The faint moonlight barely illuminated the scene, casting ominous shadows over the house, which had clearly been abandoned for many years.
The young journalist had a difficult decision to make, and quickly. In the end, he chose the option: high risk, high reward. His plan was to hide in this house and ambush the assassin chasing him. With a bit of luck, he might win the fight. He definitely believed he had a chance.
Elliot was about to grasp the door handle but hesitated. This would be his first time fighting, and it would be a fight to the death! Fatigue had long since consumed him, and his body was covered in injuries. His adversary, on the other hand, was likely well-rested and uninjured, as he hadn't been running. This was going to be such an unfair fight... Elliot was wounded, but he had no other choice: it was either this or die without a word.
'Well, screw it, let's do this!' Elliot thought.
The door creaked with a sharp sound.
"Ssshhhiiiiiinn!"
Once inside the house, he was greeted by the smell of mold and decay. Every breath was difficult here, the air was humid. A mixture of rotten wood, broken glass bottles, and yellowed papers littered the floor, giving the entrance hall an eerie feeling. Despite the beaten walls, the fresh air from outside barely penetrated inside, leaving the atmosphere confined and oppressive.
The silence inside was deafening; only the distant creak of the floorboards under his feet broke the eternal stillness of the house. Entering a room that could have been a bedroom in the past, he heard a loud noise of movement and then the sound of glass shattering.
"Crash!"
'What? An animal?'