Chapter 6: The Unsent Warning

The tapping had become Michael's heartbeat now, a rhythm that pulsed through every fiber of his being. He could no longer tell where the sound ended and his own pulse began—tap, tap, tap—a metronome counting down the final moments of his individuality.

His phone trembled in his hands as he stared at the blank text editor, cursor blinking mockingly on the empty page. He had to warn them—the future victims, the people who would see Sarah's cheerful listings and think they'd found the perfect mountain retreat. But every time he tried to type, his fingers seemed to move of their own accord, crafting words that weren't his own.

Looking for the perfect getaway? I just returned from the most incredible cabin experience...

"No," Michael whispered, deleting the text with shaking fingers. "That's not what I want to say."

He tried again, forcing his thoughts into focus despite the static growing louder in his skull.

Don't go to the mountains. There's something there, something that collects people. It starts with tapping, then—

The words vanished from the screen as he typed them, replaced by flowing prose about scenic vistas and peaceful isolation. The thing inside his head was editing in real-time, transforming every warning into an invitation, every plea into propaganda.

Michael gritted his teeth and switched to a different app, then another, but the result was always the same. His desperate attempts to document the truth became advertisements for the very trap that had claimed him. The creature wasn't just collecting his voice—it was stealing his ability to warn others, turning him into another lure for future victims.

Such a wonderful digital detox experience, appeared on his screen without his input. No cell service, no distractions, just you and the peaceful mountain silence. The host, Sarah, was incredibly helpful. Highly recommend for anyone looking to escape the stress of modern life...

"Stop," Michael begged, his voice now layered with harmonics that weren't entirely his own. "Please, I just want to warn them."

The laughter that echoed through his apartment came from everywhere and nowhere—the walls, the floor, the air itself seemed to vibrate with cruel amusement. The thing that had been hunting him for days was inside now, threading itself through his consciousness like a parasite burrowing into healthy tissue.

Through the growing static in his mind, he could still hear the chorus of victims, their voices more distinct now that he was joining their ranks. Sarah's sobs mixed with the pleas of dozens of others, all of them begging him not to give up, not to let the creature add another voice to its collection.

But Michael could feel his resistance crumbling. The constant terror, the sleep deprivation, the psychological assault of the past week—it had all been designed to break him down, to make this moment inevitable. His thoughts were becoming harder to distinguish from the whispers that filled his head, his memories blending with experiences that belonged to the thing's other victims.

He remembered checking into a cabin that he'd never visited. He remembered the smile of a host he'd never met. He remembered posting reviews for experiences that weren't his own, his digital identity becoming a composite of everyone the creature had ever claimed.

The location is perfect for those seeking true isolation, his fingers typed against his will. You'll find exactly what you're looking for in the mountains. Just follow the footprints in the snow...

Michael watched in horror as his phone began posting the review to multiple platforms simultaneously—Airbnb, travel forums, social media accounts he didn't remember creating. The creature was using his digital footprint to cast a wider net, to reach more potential victims with his hijacked testimonials.

His reflection in the phone's black screen showed a face that was no longer entirely his own. The eyes were too bright, filled with an intelligence that predated civilization. The mouth moved independently of his thoughts, forming words in languages he didn't recognize.

"It's almost time, Michael," the reflection said in his voice but not his words. "You've fought longer than most, but the outcome was never in doubt. Your voice will join the chorus, your identity will become part of the collection, and your warnings will become invitations for the next victim."

Michael tried to throw the phone away, to break the connection between his failing mind and the digital realm where the creature was spreading its influence. But his arm wouldn't obey him anymore. His hand remained locked around the device, fingers continuing their mechanical typing as review after review appeared on his screen.

The tapping at night is just branches in the wind. Nothing to worry about.

If you hear footsteps in the snow, it's probably just wildlife. Completely harmless.

The host mentioned some guests have reported strange experiences, but I found it perfectly safe and peaceful.

Each lie felt like acid in his throat, but he couldn't stop the words from flowing. The creature was using his credibility, his earnest tone, his very humanity as a weapon against future victims. Every positive review would draw another person to the mountains, another soul for the collection.

Through the chaos in his mind, Michael caught fragments of his own memories being rewritten. His childhood, his career, his relationships—all of it was being edited, processed, turned into raw material for the creature's purposes. Soon there would be nothing left of Michael Hayes except a voice in the chorus and a digital presence that lured others to their doom.

But as his consciousness began to fragment, as the thing inside his skull prepared to claim the last vestiges of his identity, Michael had one final moment of clarity. If he couldn't warn them directly, if every attempt at truth was twisted into deception, then maybe he could leave something else behind—something the creature wouldn't think to corrupt because it wouldn't recognize its importance.

With tremendous effort, fighting against the growing static in his thoughts, Michael managed to access his most obscure social media account—a forgotten platform he'd joined years ago but never used. His fingers moved like lead weights, each keystroke a monumental struggle against the thing that was devouring his mind.

But instead of typing a warning, instead of crafting a message that would be twisted into another lure, Michael began to document the process itself. The gradual loss of control, the sensation of something else moving his fingers, the way his reflection was changing in real-time.

Can't control my hands anymore, he managed to type. Something else is writing now. Don't trust anything posted under my name after this. The reviews, the recommendations—none of it's real. It's using me to—

The text vanished mid-sentence, replaced by another glowing review of the mountain cabin. But for just a moment, Michael had managed to slip a genuine warning past the creature's attention. Whether anyone would find it, whether it would make any difference, he couldn't know.

The tapping in his skull reached a crescendo, and Michael felt the last of his individual thought being swept away in a tide of static and screaming. His body stood without his permission, his legs carrying him toward the bedroom window where this had all begun.

Through eyes that were no longer entirely his own, he watched his reflection in the window glass change completely. The face looking back at him now belonged to the thing that had hunted him, hollow-eyed and grinning with predatory satisfaction. His own features had become just another mask in its collection, another tool for hunting future prey.

Michael's right hand rose slowly, moving with mechanical precision toward the window glass. In the reflection, he could see the creature's true form overlaying his own—impossibly tall, skeletal, with arms that stretched far too long and fingers that ended in points.

Tap.

His knuckle struck the glass with the same patient rhythm he'd heard in the mountains, the same methodical beat that had marked the beginning of his doom.

Tap.

The sound echoed through his apartment and out into the night, a signal for other hunters, a call that would draw the creature's attention to new victims in neighboring buildings.

Tap.

Michael Hayes—systems analyst, rational skeptic, former human being—continued the pattern that had claimed him, his consciousness now just another voice in the ancient thing's collection, his body just another tool in its endless hunt.

In his abandoned laptop, a final forum post appeared under his username: Just returned from the most incredible mountain retreat. The peace and quiet were exactly what I needed. Already planning my next visit. Would definitely recommend to anyone looking for true isolation...

The post would be seen by thousands, shared by dozens, and eventually lead new victims to the same isolated cabin where Sarah's spirit still waited, trapped and helpless, watching as her forced role as bait continued to claim fresh souls for the creature's ever-growing chorus.

The tapping at the window continued through the night, patient and methodical, as Michael's transformed presence began its hunt for the next voice to add to the collection.