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The Bite of Wintersteel

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Journal Entry #1: Stalking


I can't be alone anymore. After 25 days, I just can't bear to hear nothing but the blood-heavy breaths of the beasts outside my door. The last one nearly had me; I was a fool. And I paid the price in blood.

I just can't be alone anymore. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Maybe, with this journal, I can convince myself that I have some sort of reason to keep fighting. Fool myself into believing that one day, I will crush these mountains under my feet and climb out of this nightmare.

I'm stuck now in a house by the water. The Quonset garage, my oasis, lies just on the other side of the road. But I have tried three times, and I cannot reach it. The wolves hound my heels with every step; it's as if they know I'm fairly dying to reach the garage, so they throw themselves at me every chance they can to keep it just out of my grasp. There is a reason I didn't touch this town for 17 days. I stayed on the old house on Jackrabbit Island. I ate, slept, fished, hunted, survived . . . lived, even. All within reach of that island. But now I'm here. In this desolate town that smells of blood and betrayal, and I can hear them outside my door. Clawing, panting, snarling. Watching me. Even when they cannot see me, still they are watching me. I feel their heartbeats through the frozen earth, and they feel mine. I cannot recall how many of theirs I have slain, but every one of them haunts me in the eyes of their brethren. I have to fight for my place here, for they know I do not belong. They all seem to act as one. I may not remember how much of their blood I have spilled, but they do. They remember every single one of theirs that fell by my blade. And the more that fall, the more they kill me in their minds.

I can't stay here. Even now I cannot decide if I will press on to the garage. I may try one more time. But if it fails, and I live . . . I will leave this cursed place behind.

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its a good start to your story. Keep it up. Don't worry about few comments. If you read the other stories, you will see that many follow but do not comment much

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Chapter 2: A Small Victory

I did it. I finally did it. I made it to the garage. My only shame in it is that it took . . . several days.

I never even made it to the road in my first attempt. I felt broken and small, and the blood-hungry beasts outside the cabin door cackled at my cowardice. I retreated to Jackrabbit Island, my body unharmed but my resolve desolate.

The second attempt was a similar failure, but my lack of success brought something shocking out of me, something I almost wish I did not have.

When I left the cabin by the road for the second time, leaving behind the Holy Grail of the garage, I felt something unfamiliar and blinding burning inside me; the desire to kill. The desire to prove that I AM HERE, AND I WILL NOT BE DESTROYED. My eyes landed on a wolf far away on the edge of the south coast, and I made a beeline for him. I did not pull out my gun. I did not pull out a flare. I did not hide. My eyes never left him. When he finally caught sight of me, I never faltered. I may have even run to meet him.

The struggle was shockingly short, and by the end of it, not a single drop of my blood lay on the ice beneath us. I had spilled his, but mine burned too hot for him to touch. He retreated quickly, and I followed him mercilessly.

He met his end soon enough.

But when the deed was done . . . I felt incredibly afraid of what I had just become, and at the same time safer than I had ever dared to think. It was then that I had the first real glimmer of hope that maybe . . . maybe I could learn to conquer this hostile world.

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