Chapter 4: The Cave of Echoes

Chapter 4: The Cave of Echoes

Chloe scrambled into the blackness of the cave, the stone floor cold and sharp against her scraped hands and knees. She crab-walked backward, deeper into the maw, until her back hit the damp rock wall. Outside, the chittering chorus of the Glimmermen reached a frenzied crescendo right at the entrance, a symphony of clicking horrors. Silhouettes, gaunt and impossibly tall, flickered past the opening, blotting out the faint starlight for a terrifying instant before moving on. They were prowling, searching.

She pressed herself into the rock, making herself as small as possible, every muscle screaming. Her breath came in ragged, silent sobs. The damp cold of the cave floor seeped into her jeans, into the thin, soaked sock on her shoeless foot. The relief of being hidden was a fragile, momentary thing, immediately replaced by the suffocating certainty of being cornered. This wasn't a refuge; it was a tomb. They knew she was in here. They were just waiting.

With a trembling thumb, she killed her phone's flashlight. The screen, now her only light source, was perilously dim, the battery icon a single, angry sliver of red. 7%. The absolute darkness that enveloped her was a physical blow, disorienting and complete. She was blind. All she had were her ears, which were filled with the sound of the hunting pack outside and the frantic, riotous drumming of her own heart.

She held her breath, trying to control the sound, straining to hear their movements over her own internal chaos. The clicking outside seemed to recede slightly, becoming more sporadic. Maybe they were widening their search pattern. Maybe they thought she'd kept running. A tiny, foolish seed of hope began to sprout in the darkness of her mind.

And then she heard it.

It wasn't the chittering from outside. This sound was close. Inside the cave with her.

It was a slow, rhythmic, wheezing sound. A soft, wet inhalation… followed by a long, rattling exhalation.

Breathing.

The seed of hope withered and died in an instant, replaced by a cold dread that was sharper and more profound than any fear she had felt before. She was not alone. The realization hit her with the force of a physical impact, stealing the air from her lungs. She had thrown herself into a lion’s den to escape the wolves.

Slowly, her mind replayed the moment she’d tumbled into the cave. The phone had flown from her hand, its dying light pointing into the dark slash in the rock. Had she seen something then? A shape? A lump in the deeper shadows? She’d been too panicked to register anything but the promise of shelter.

Now, that shelter was a cage she shared with a monster.

The breathing continued, deep and steady. It sounded… asleep. A sleeping Glimmerman. Was it possible? Had she stumbled into a lair? The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. She was trapped between a sleeping dragon and a horde of its kin.

Her phone, still clutched in a white-knuckled grip, buzzed faintly. The vibration felt like an electric shock in the charged silence. Her heart leaped into her throat. She fumbled to silence it, her panicked fingers swiping at the screen. But in that brief moment, she saw the notification that had caused the buzz.

It was from a local news app she’d downloaded ages ago and forgotten about. The headline, stark white against the dim background, seemed to mock her.

NORTHWOOD COUNTY ALERTS: Police Urge Caution as Search for Missing Hiker, Ben Carter (19), Enters Third Day Near Whisperwood Forest.

Ben Carter. A senior from the neighboring high school. He’d vanished a few nights ago. Everyone assumed he’d gotten lost, a tragic but mundane accident. Now, Chloe knew better. He wasn't lost. He was taken. Or he was still running.

A morbid, desperate curiosity seized her. With the creature’s sleeping breaths a constant, terrifying metronome in the dark, she shielded the phone’s dim light with her body and tapped the notification. 5% battery. The article was short on details: last seen near the Whisperwood trail entrance, car found abandoned, extensive search underway. Standard stuff. But it was the comments section at the bottom where the world truly fell out from under her.

Among the usual prayers and speculations, one comment, posted by a user named ‘WhisperwoodWatcher87’, stood out. It was a long, rambling post, the kind she would normally dismiss as local crank folklore.

This isn't a missing person case. You all know what it is. You just don't want to say it. It’s the Echoes. The Glimmermen. My grandad told me the stories. They don't just hunt. They're a curse. A signal gets passed, and they fix on you. They echo your voice, your habits, to lure you in. They hunt you until you're too tired to run, and then they…

Chloe’s breath hitched. They echo your voice. The texts. The messages from ‘Ava’ that didn’t sound like Ava. The emoji-filled invitation that turned into a cold command. It wasn't Ava. It was them. Or… it was something else. She read on, her eyes flying across the screen.

…You can’t outrun them. You can’t hide forever. There’s only one way out. The hunt is a chain. It has to have a link. To save yourself, you have to break your link and forge a new one. You have to pass the signal on. You have to tell someone your story. Make them feel your fear. Lure them to the woods. And when they’re on their way, you write the invitation. You name them. You tell the Echoes, ‘Not me. Her.’ It’s the only way. The curse needs a home. You just have to make sure it isn’t yours. Ben Carter was probably reading a story just like this three days ago…

The phone slipped from Chloe’s numb fingers, clattering softly on the rock. The screen didn’t break. It just lay there, face up, the commenter’s words a glowing epitaph for her innocence.

It wasn't a prank. It wasn't a monster mimicking her friend.

It was Ben Carter.

Ben Carter, terrified and hunted, had typed those messages to Ava’s number, which he must have somehow gotten. He’d crafted the perfect lure for a teenage girl: a sleepover, movies, ice cream. He had passed the signal. He had pointed at her, a complete stranger, and told the Glimmermen, Not me. Her. And somewhere out there, right now, he was walking free, while she was trapped in a cave, waiting to die.

The thought was so monstrous, so profoundly selfish, that it took her breath away. But as the horror receded, it was replaced by a cold, sharp, and terrifying understanding. He did what he had to do to survive. He chose his life over hers.

A soft, scraping sound from the back of the cave cut through her thoughts. It was the sound of stone on stone.

The slow, rhythmic breathing had stopped.

Chloe’s head snapped up. She stared into the absolute blackness at the back of the cave, her heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm against her ribs.

From the darkness, a low, wet chittering sound echoed, soft and questioning. The creature in the cave was waking up.

Her phone’s screen flickered once, then twice. The battery icon vanished. 1%. The crucible was no longer a choice in the abstract. Time had run out.