The cabin looked like it had grown from the earth itself — a crooked silhouette half-swallowed by towering pines and creeping moss.
Isla shivered as Damien killed the engine.
The setting sun bled over the horizon, turning the sky a violent red.
"Picturesque, huh?" Damien grinned, trying — and failing — to make it sound convincing.
Isla laughed softly, threading her fingers through his. "Rustic. Very... horror-movie chic."
He squeezed her hand. "Hey, it'll be fine. No cell service, no boss calls, no drama. Just us."
The thought warmed her, despite the chill in the air.
They unloaded their bags and headed inside.
The cabin creaked and groaned under their footsteps like an old beast stirring from slumber.
Inside, it was simple — fireplace, battered furniture, dusty kitchen.
A strange, cold draft seemed to slip through unseen cracks.
"Cozy," Isla said, spinning around with a teasing smile.
Damien tackled her onto the moth-eaten couch, kissing her until she giggled breathlessly.
For a little while, it was exactly what they'd promised each other:
a break from the world, a chance to reconnect.
But outside, the blood moon climbed higher, and something ancient stirred in the woods.
---
Later, while Damien rummaged in the kitchen, Isla explored the living room.
A strange wooden chest caught her eye — wedged under the hearth.
Curious, she tugged it free.
It was carved with strange, twisting symbols that seemed to ripple if she looked too long.
"Hey, Damien, check this out!"
He ambled over, wiping his hands on a towel.
The second he saw the chest, his smile faltered.
"Where did you find that?"
"Under the fireplace," she said. "Think it's, like, some creepy old family heirloom?"
Damien knelt beside her, frowning. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
But Isla, impulsive and stubborn, had already flicked the latch open.
A rush of icy air slammed into them.
Inside the chest lay a shard of black stone — jagged, pulsing faintly, almost breathing.
The room dimmed, shadows thickening at the corners of their vision.
"Isla, don't touch—"
Too late. Her fingers brushed the stone.
A low, thrumming sound filled the cabin, vibrating the very walls.
Outside, the forest seemed to exhale — a long, shuddering breath of things waking up.
And from the depths of the woods, something answered.
---
By the time they barricaded the chest back under the fireplace, the sky outside had gone utterly black.
Not normal night-black.
Dead black.
Isla huddled by the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself.
"What the hell was that thing?" she whispered.
Damien shoved a heavy dresser against the front door, panting. "I don't know. But we need to get out of here."
They grabbed their keys, jackets, bolted for the door.
A thud shook the cabin.
Then another.
And another.
Something — some things — were moving through the trees.
Slow. Relentless.
Damien yanked open the door—
And froze.
Standing at the edge of the clearing were figures.
Twisted, half-human shapes, their eyes hollow and bleeding black tears.
Their mouths hung open in soundless wails.
The blood moon cast them in an eerie, sickly glow.
Isla screamed. Damien slammed the door shut.
"We're trapped," he said grimly.
---
They spent hours reinforcing the windows and doors.
The creatures circled the cabin, scraping claws across wood, whispering in broken, wet voices.
Occasionally, one would lunge against a window, splintering the frame.
Isla sobbed quietly, curled against Damien.
"I don't want to die here," she whispered.
"You won't," he said fiercely, cradling her face in his hands.
"I'll get you out. I swear it."
The resolve in his voice terrified her even more than the monsters.
Because she knew Damien.
And when he made a promise, he meant it — no matter the cost.
---
In a frantic search for answers, Damien tore through the old books scattered around the cabin.
He found it in a brittle, crumbling journal:
A prophecy about the Blood Moon.
About a "marked soul" who would awaken the darkness —
and another who would seal it away.
"But the cost," the journal warned, "is the life of the one who carries the light."
Isla stared at him, realization dawning.
"You knew," she whispered.
Damien didn't meet her eyes. "I had a feeling. That's why I picked this place."
"Damien—"
"I had to protect you," he said roughly. "Even if it meant—"
"Don't you dare," she snapped, voice breaking.
"Don't you dare talk like you're some sacrifice!"
He smiled sadly.
A man already halfway to goodbye.
---
The creatures broke through just before dawn.
Damien shoved Isla into the back room, barricading the door.
"Stay here," he ordered.
"No matter what."
"Damien, please!" she sobbed, pounding on the door.
But he was already gone.
Through the crack, she saw him face the monsters —
no fear, no hesitation.
He drew the shard from the chest, holding it high.
The creatures recoiled, shrieking.
Damien's voice rang out, clear and strong, speaking words Isla didn't understand — ancient, powerful.
The blood moon pulsed once — twice —
And then shattered like glass across the sky.
The creatures screamed and evaporated into ash.
And Damien...
Damien crumpled to the ground.
---
Morning light trickled weakly through the broken windows.
Isla stumbled outside, sobbing Damien's name.
She found him at the edge of the clearing, the stone in his hand crumbling to dust.
He smiled up at her — the same stupid, beautiful smile he'd worn the first day they'd met.
"I told you," he whispered.
"I'd get you out."
And then he was gone.
Isla collapsed beside him, screaming her grief into the silent, empty woods.
---
They buried him under the pines.
Isla carved his name into the stone with her own bloodied hands.
She stayed by the grave for days, refusing to leave, refusing to believe.
One night, under the sliver of a new moon, she felt it:
Warmth.
A hand brushing her cheek.
She closed her eyes.
And in the quiet between heartbeats, she heard Damien's voice:
"Love doesn't die, Isla."
"It just changes shape."
---
"In the name of love, even death must bow."