The first light of dawn broke across the ridges, staining the granite peaks in pale orange. Trevor adjusted the straps of the special harness across his shoulders, every muscle tightening as if bracing for a battle only he could sense. Behind him, Melanie shifted inside the pack, her arms tightening instinctively around his chest. She could feel his breath against her fingers—steady but heavy, like a drum preparing for war.

“This trail is narrow,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the uneven earth ahead. “Keep left after ten steps. There’s a root sticking out.”

Her voice was calm, but inside her chest, something unsettled. Normally, dawn was filled with sound—birdsong, the chatter of unseen creatures, the hum of wind threading the trees. Today, silence pressed against them like an invisible wall.

Trevor noticed too. “It’s too quiet,” he muttered, the words almost swallowed by the stillness.

They pressed forward, every step deliberate. Melanie described each shift in the path, each rock waiting to trip them, each hidden drop that would mean disaster. Yet her attention kept straying, her eyes scanning the forest. That’s when she saw it—a fallen tree across the trail, but not like any she had seen before. Its trunk was blackened, not by fire but by something stranger. The bark appeared melted, warped, as though acid had chewed it alive.

She hesitated, pulse quickening. Should she describe it, risk him hearing the fear in her voice? Or stay silent and let him stumble blindly into danger?

“Obstacle ahead,” she finally said, trying to sound neutral. “We’ll climb over.”

Trevor’s hand brushed the bark as he searched for footing. He flinched. The texture was wrong—soft, rubbery, almost breathing. “What happened here?” he asked, but she gave no answer. Before she could invent one, a faint sound cracked through the stillness. A branch snapping under weight.

It wasn’t from the trail. It came from the trees above.

Melanie’s grip on his shoulders tightened. Trevor tilted his head, listening. At first only one snap, then another, then a rustle. Too heavy to be deer. Too deliberate to be accident.

“Could be an animal,” she whispered, though her tone betrayed her doubt.

Trevor shook his head. He had spent years in silence after losing his sight. He knew the language of forests—the breath of wind, the rhythm of paws. This wasn’t it.

Then, breaking the hush, came a voice. Low. Distant. Almost playful.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Trevor stiffened, heart hammering. “Did you hear—?”

“Yes,” Melanie whispered, her mouth dry.

“How does it know we’re here?” Trevor muttered, but the question was already too late. The voice had sunk into them, carving itself into their nerves.

They quickened their pace, Melanie’s commands sharper now. Left. Step higher. Careful—drop. Trevor obeyed without question, every muscle taut, the poles in his hands trembling like antennae searching for unseen vibrations. Yet no matter how fast they moved, the presence kept pace.

By the time the trail thinned into a ledge, both were gasping for air. Below them, the valley dropped into a roaring river.

“Describe it,” Trevor said, his voice steadier than hers.

“We’re on a ledge,” she replied, eyes darting between cliff and forest. “Six feet wide. Straight drop to the right. The trail curves hard ahead.”

They inched forward, but then the voice came again, closer now.

“Do you think she’ll let go, Trevor?”

Trevor stumbled, his blind eyes wide. “What did it say?”

Melanie couldn’t breathe. “You heard it too?”

“Yes,” he hissed. His grip whitened on the poles. “How does it know my name?”

Laughter, echoing across the canyon, long and cruel. Trevor clenched his jaw, rage flickering. “Keep talking, Melanie. Don’t let it in.”

Her voice rose, louder, a stream of urgent commands—left foot higher, one more step, steady, steady—but her throat was raw, and still the laughter poured over her words. The ledge narrowed, the rocks slick. One mistake and both would fall.

Hours blurred into one another until the sky turned darker, bruised with storm. Clouds rolled in, swallowing what little light remained. Thunder cracked across the ridges. Rain began to fall in sheets, soaking their clothes, making every rock a trap.

They found shelter beneath an overhang for a moment, shivering. Trevor let the harness slacken so Melanie could stretch her legs. She scanned the trees, lips trembling.

“Who’s following us?” she whispered.

Trevor shook his head slowly. “Not who. What.”

She swallowed hard. The melted tree, the voice, the silence—it wasn’t human. Yet it knew their names.

Rain forced them back onto the trail. Mud sucked at Trevor’s boots, and every command Melanie shouted was almost lost in the storm. But then another sound came. Not words this time. Breathing. Heavy, ragged, close behind.

Trevor spun toward it, blind eyes wide. “Where?”

Melanie’s blood turned cold. Between the trees, she saw something—a shadow, taller than any man, wrong in its shape, watching. Lightning lit it for a second, a smear of form and limb, then swallowed it back into dark.

Her mouth opened but no words came.

The trail ended at a gorge, where the only way forward was a bridge—half-rotted, wood dangling above the torrent below.

“We can’t cross this,” Melanie gasped.

“We have to.” Trevor’s voice was iron.

Before she could protest, the voice returned, so close now it felt whispered into their skin.

“You carry her, but she carries you. How long before you both fall?”

Trevor roared into the storm, “Show yourself!”

Lightning split the sky again. For an instant, Melanie saw it clearly across the gorge—something standing on the far bank. Not man. Not beast. Its arms too long, its head tilted unnaturally, its eyes glowing faintly like embers smoldering in a skull.

Then darkness swallowed it.

Trevor sensed her silence. “What did you see?”

She couldn’t answer. Her throat locked.

Behind them, footsteps shook the ground. Ahead, the creature. The bridge between them swayed, moaning with the weight of rain. No safe path, only doom waiting on either side.

Trevor pulled the straps tight, hoisting Melanie against his back. “Guide me.”

Her tears stung. “Trevor, no—”

“Guide me!” he barked, louder than the storm.

She swallowed the scream in her throat. “Straight ahead. One plank at a time. Don’t look down.”

The first step groaned beneath their weight. Then another. The river shrieked below. Halfway across, the footsteps behind quickened. Too heavy, too fast. The bridge shuddered violently.

“Faster!” Melanie cried.

Trevor obeyed, each step a gamble with death. Rain blinded her eyes. His poles slipped from his grasp, clattering into the abyss. The boards beneath them splintered.

Then the voice shrieked—not words but something worse, a metallic tearing, as if the mountain itself screamed. Trevor’s foot crashed through a plank. He staggered. Melanie shrieked, clinging tighter.

The storm devoured her final words. The bridge lurched sideways, dangling them between sky and abyss.

Trevor couldn’t tell if the weight on his back was still Melanie—or if the presence had finally taken her place.

The mountain swallowed every sound. Silence returned.