Ghostbane

The night air grew colder as Jackson continued to run, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. He couldn't tell where he was going, couldn't remember the last time he had seen the city skyline. The hill had always been small. He had climbed it countless times before. But now, something was horribly wrong. The trees were unnaturally large, their branches twisted and gnarled like ancient fingers reaching out to grab him. And the hill... the hill didn't end. It stretched on forever.

"Where the hell is the exit?"Jackson muttered to himself, his heart pounding as he pushed his legs faster, faster—just to escape. But the more he ran, the darker and more oppressive the atmosphere became. The sun had long since set, but Jackson couldn't even see the stars. The sky was an inky black void, as though the very heavens had turned their backs on him.

With each step, he felt like he was sinking deeper into the earth itself. The ground beneath his feet felt soft and spongy, as if the hill was alive, shifting with every movement he made. His foot slipped, and for a moment, his body lurched sideways, but he regained his balance. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"Get it together, Jackson. It's just a hill. Just a hill..." he whispered to himself, but the words did nothing to calm his nerves.

Suddenly, through the trees, he saw it—a familiar sight that made his heart leap in his chest. It was the spot where they had found the pile of dead birds earlier. Jackson's breath hitched in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he staggered toward it. But something was horribly different.

There were no birds.

Instead, a pile of human corpses lay in the clearing, stacked in twisted heaps, their bodies decaying beyond recognition. The stench was unbearable, the foul odor of rot and decay wafting through the air like a sickening perfume. Jackson stumbled back, his legs weak, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrifying sight.

But then he saw her.

Hannah.

Atop the pile of twisted, decomposing bodies, Hannah's corpse lay in an agonizing position. She was different from the others. Unlike the lifeless, decayed forms beneath her, she was fresh, as if she had died just moments ago. Her body was mutilated, her skin stretched tight over the bone, her eyeballs hanging out of their sockets like two grotesque marbles, her mouth open in a silent scream. The grotesque vision made Jackson's stomach churn. Her teeth had been broken, her fingers crushed as if some invisible force had crumpled them like brittle twigs.

Her scalp was bare—there was not a single strand of hair left on her head, as if it had been violently ripped away with savage force. Her expression was one of sheer terror, a reflection of the unimaginable suffering she had endured before her life had been taken.

The horror of it hit Jackson like a freight train. His chest tightened, and bile rose up his throat. But then, with a sickening lurch, he felt the contents of his stomach rush to his mouth.

He vomited—but it wasn't just vomit.

Blood.

It poured from his mouth, splattering onto the ground in front of him. The metallic taste of it filled his mouth, and he could feel it dripping down his chin, yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't control it. More blood spewed from his mouth, pooling around him in a grotesque puddle, staining the earth beneath him.

"No... no... no..."Jackson whispered, his voice trembling. His vision swirled as the blood continued to pour from his throat, an endless stream, as though his very life force was being drained. The ground beneath him seemed to tilt, the world spinning faster and faster, until he could no longer distinguish what was real and what was a nightmare.

With a final, desperate gasp, Jackson collapsed. His body hit the cold, damp earth with a sickening thud, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. The darkness overtook him, and the last thing he heard was the sound of something in the distance—something moving, something that wasn't human, creeping ever closer

---

A sharp beeping.

Rhythmic. Repetitive. Unfamiliar.

Jackson's world was heavy. His body felt as though it had been submerged in thick tar, his limbs distant and numb. His eyelids twitched, the weight of consciousness pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The darkness that had swallowed him whole on that cursed hill was fading, replaced by sterile white light pressing against the back of his eyelids.

Then—voices.

Muffled at first, like whispers through water, but they grew louder. Some familiar. Some not.

"Jackson?"

A soft, trembling voice. His mother.

Jackson's eyelids fluttered open, his vision blurred by a hazy film. The ceiling above him was white—blindingly white. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing.

A hospital.

The scent of antiseptic burned his nostrils, sharp and clean, the complete opposite of the decaying stench of rotting corpses he had last smelled. His entire body shuddered involuntarily at the memory, and for a moment, panic swelled in his chest.

Was he still there? Was he still on that hill?

Then—warmth.

His mother's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, her body trembling against his. Her heartbeat pounded against his chest, frantic and desperate. Jackson felt himself relax—just a little.

He was safe. He was back.

He slowly raised his arms and hugged her back.

"Are you okay, honey?" His mother's voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Jackson nodded weakly. His throat was dry, and the coppery aftertaste of blood still clung to the back of his tongue. He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the memory, but it stuck to him like a curse.

His mother pulled away, eyes red and swollen. He turned his head and saw them—Richard, Owen, Emma, and Pinky—standing near the hospital bed, their faces twisted with concern and guilt.

Jackson blinked, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar hospital room. His head throbbed, but the pounding headache was nothing compared to the lingering terror clawing at his mind.

"What... what happened?" Jackson's voice was hoarse, strained as though he hadn't spoken in days.

Richard was the first to speak. His voice was quiet, weighed down by guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson... We should have left when you told us to."

Owen stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll never do something that stupid again, man... I swear."

Their words didn't register. Not fully. Jackson felt disconnected, his mind still trapped somewhere else. He tried to sit up, but his body ached all over, as if he had been crushed under an invisible force.

Then—the doctor.

A tall man in a white coat, standing near the door with a clipboard in hand. His expression was calm, professional, yet unreadable.

"They found you unconscious on the hill," the doctor said. "You suffered a severe concussion. What exactly happened out there? Can you remember?"

Jackson hesitated.

He remembered everything.

The hill that wouldn't end. The endless darkness. The thing chasing him. The pile of rotting corpses. Hannah's mangled body.

His stomach churned violently, but he swallowed the nausea down.

His lips parted—he almost told them. Almost.

But then, something stopped him.

The memory of that place, that moment, was not something he could put into words. Not something anyone would believe. And something deep inside him told him not to speak of it.

So he forced a small, weak smile.

"I tripped... and fell."

A lie.

A thin, fragile lie.

The doctor eyed him for a long moment before jotting something down on his clipboard. Jackson felt Richard's stare on him, suspicious.

Then—that feeling.

Something was missing.

Jackson's eyes darted around the room, scanning the faces of his friends. His heart dropped.

Someone wasn't here.

Someone was missing.

His voice came out shaky, uncertain. "Where... ugh... where's Hannah?"

Silence.

A suffocating, unnatural silence.

Richard blinked at him, his brows furrowing. "Hannah? Who's Hannah?"

The words rang through Jackson's skull like a siren.

His body stiffened.

His breathing hitched.

"What...?" Jackson whispered, his chest tightening.

He turned to Emma. His voice came out in a weak chuckle. "Haha... nice joke. But where is she?"

Emma's expression was blank. "What are you talking about?"

The room suddenly felt smaller. Tighter.

Jackson's breath quickened, his fingers curling into the hospital sheets.

"You're messing with me." His voice wavered. "You guys are pranking me, right? Right?"

Owen exchanged a glance with the others before stepping forward cautiously. "Dude... calm down. You've had a stage 3 concussion. You're probably just confused—"

Jackson's blood ran cold.

Confused?

No.

No, this wasn't confusion. This wasn't some head injury messing with his memory.

He saw her die.

He saw her body.

He saw Hannah.

She was real.

She was real.

Jackson's hands started shaking, his breathing growing heavier, erratic. The sterile white walls of the hospital seemed to warp, stretching and twisting like they weren't real anymore. Like they were part of something else.

Something that wanted to consume him.

Owen's voice softened, trying to soothe him. "There's no one named Hannah here, Jackson. Just calm down—"

But Jackson didn't calm down.

Something inside him snapped.

His breath hitched, his chest heaving. His pulse thundered in his ears.

And then—

"WHERE IS HANNAH?!"

The words boomed from his throat, but it wasn't his voice.

The sound was deeper, distorted, inhuman.

A voice that did not belong to him.

Everyone in the room froze. Their expressions twisted into something horrified.

Jackson didn't understand what was happening—his throat burned, his body felt hot, his vision was shaking. His arms lashed out uncontrollably, and before he even realized it—

CRACK!

He had punched the doctor.

A sickening sound echoed through the room as the man staggered backward, clutching his face in shock.

Jackson's mother rushed toward him, desperate, trying to grab him—"Jackson, honey, please—"

But he shoved her away.

The nurses rushed in, pinning him down. Jackson thrashed, his body burning, his mind in chaos. He didn't feel in control. It was like something else was moving his limbs.

As he was restrained, he could hear his mother crying, his friends backing away in fear.

Then the doctors' voices—muffled, hurried.

"Get him sedated. Now."

A sharp prick in his arm.

Jackson's vision blurred. His body grew heavy. The chaos around him melted into a distant hum.

The last thing he saw before the world went dark—

The corner of the hospital room.

Where the shadows moved.

And something watched him.