Peter's mind raced. He grabbed the phone and dialed his father's office, but the line was dead. He tried again, but there was no answer. The silence on the other end of the line was suffocating, as if the world beyond the forest had ceased to exist.
As he put the phone down, it suddenly rang, the shrill sound slicing through the heavy silence like a knife. Peter snatched up the receiver, his voice trembling as he whispered, "Dad, when are you coming back?"
But the line was eerily silent. Then, just as he was about to hang up, he heard it—a girl's scream, piercing and filled with unimaginable terror. It was the same scream he had heard in the forest, but now it was right in his ear, as if she was standing right behind him. Peter's blood turned to ice. The phone slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a dull thud.
He stumbled back, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest. Suddenly, there was another knock at the door, this time more frantic, more insistent. Peter's fear exploded into full-blown panic. He ran, not thinking, just reacting, diving under the bed and curling up into a tight ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.
The knocking grew louder, more violent, shaking the very walls of the house. And then he heard it again—the scream, closer this time, coming from right outside the door. The sound was filled with such raw, primal terror that it nearly drove Peter mad.
Through his tears, Peter glanced toward the window and froze. There, pressed against the glass, was a figure—vaguely human, but twisted, with glowing red eyes that burned with an unnatural light. It was watching him, its breath fogging up the glass as it stared directly at him, as if it could see right through the walls, right into his soul.
Peter bit down on his hand to keep from screaming, his body trembling violently. The figure at the window didn't move, didn't blink, just stared, its eyes glowing like embers in the darkness.