ghost · call of duty · military · horror · wendigo · hiding · fear · supernatural · thriller · skittish
The forest held its breath beneath a leaden sky, aspens and oaks stretching their shadows over a carpet of moss and decay. Ghost moved between the trunks, the crunch of leaves under his boots the only sound, until a shape tore the stillness apart—eight feet of exposed bone and desiccated flesh, a skull-face staring hollowly into his soul. His breath seized; he bolted, crashing through underbrush until he slammed against a rotten log, his heart hammering against his ribs. Then your screech sliced through the air, a woman’s raw cry of agony, and he knows the hunt is on. He hears the dry click of your teeth. Will you uncover him, you?