I met Atem's gaze, wondering if he was indeed my friend or someone else they had let loose on me. The Atem I knew wouldn't suggest getting rid of my notebook. He knew me like the back of his hand. Why would he do that? Unless he had a point.

No. This notebook meant too much to me. That letter from Clay meant everything. I could never.

Atem's words were void of the personality I mostly knew him for when he mumbled. "I don't think I'm gonna make it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I tuned into his ashen grey pigment and sweat on his skin.

"I think I'm dying." He blinked slowly. His once large, bright brown eyes now looked dim and hollow. "My parents are standing over there, watching and waiting. They're waving me over, wanting me to go to them. You see them?"

I looked over my shoulder at nothing but darkness and fog amongst the trees. "You're not gonna die. I won't let you." As the words left my lips, I realized although my intentions were good, I had no ability to keep that promise. I didn't know what to do to prevent him from slipping further away from me and closer to death, but his appearance confirmed death was slowly approaching.

His leg looked worse, swollen, black and blue. I couldn't look at it for long, wincing from the pain myself.

"Zeke and Felicity are still alive." He closed his eyes. "I saw them in the trees, too. They're hanging there. They looked lifeless, but were still breathing. Moaning."

"Were they together?"

He slowly nodded. "You gotta go get them, Ima." His breathing became labored. "I won't be here much longer. I can feel it."

"Atem, you can't leave me," I begged. "I need you. You gotta fight this, okay?" I needed to hear that he wouldn't give up.

"Only if you do."

"If I do what?" Confused, I cocked my head, resting my palm on his clammy shoulder.

"I'll fight if you fight." He opened his eyes to fix them on something behind me. "Take the camera and go find them. You don't have a lot of time. My parents are waiting to take me. They want me and I believe Clay wants you, too."

I glanced over my shoulder out of instinct. "You're scaring me."

"You gotta fight it. Don't let the darkness call you in."

I nodded. "Will you be okay?" I knew the answer, but needed some encouragement from his mouth.

"I'll be here waiting," he said.

"You promise?" Hot tears ran down my cheeks.

He nodded, gulping down what look like fear and pain. "I promise on my grandma."

"Don't do that." I shook my head, gently gripping his shoulder at his dire vow.

He grabbed my hand until I focused on his eyes. "Now you know I'm telling the truth. So, go."

I squeezed his hand, and before I backed away from the car, I tucked the notebook safely under the backseat. Making sure it wasn't easily accessible to the wind, creatures of the wood, or any other danger. I couldn't tear my eyes from his, even as I took the camera from the ground along with the light it cast and made my way toward the ranger station.

Was I ready for this feat? I had a choice. I could stay in the car with Atem and watch him die, and wait around until I died or the creatures of the darkness kills me, or I could do something.

I needed to find Zeke and Felicity. If no one else believed in them enough to have their backs when they needed it the most, I would be that for them. My conscience wouldn't allow me to leave this nightmare without them. Like Atem said, I needed to fight.

Besides, in most horror stories, the characters are stronger together. It's no wonder splitting up a group of friends always ended in tragedy. Maybe getting us back together was key, especially since the forest relentlessly wanted to rip us apart.

As I continued the walk, I thought of the author of the outline. Like so many stories, was it possible I wrote those words? Did it have to do with what lived in my consciousness, my subconscious? If so, was it possible to reach that author to persuade her to change the events of the story?

How would I want the story to end?

First, I want my friends and me to make it out of the woods alive and well. Sure, we would leave beat-up and bruised, but weren't we before we came to this forest? Haven't we already proven we could survive Hell? I'd like to see daylight on the highway as we headed home. I would like to leave this nightmare place behind me for good.

Now how would I convey that to the author? What would I need to do to make that ending happen?

As I thought about the possibilities, warm wetness ran down my face, but not from my eyes as hot tears but from my nose as blood.

"What?!" I swiped my knuckles across my nose. Sure enough, moist, sticky redness coated the back of my hand. "Atem? Was he reading the notebook?"

I spun to glance behind me, and suddenly an unrecognizable feeling rushed through me as if something had pulled and torn the muscles in my gut. I grunted in pain. "What's happening?"

Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my stomach and hunched forward to relieve the pain, holding onto the camera to keep from losing my light. My insides twisted and seared worse than any stomachache I've ever experienced.

I could barely stand, but I knew my next move was to go back to the notebook and make sure no one read its pages. The pain nearly paralyzed me as I cried out in agony, like someone plucking at my organs.

"Atem?" I called from about twenty feet from the car. "Help." I knew he couldn't do much with a severely broken leg, but just knowing he was aware of my pain might somehow help ease it.

The car jostled in the darkness. I could only make out the silhouette of the four-door car within the moonlit fog. Something was wrong. I had left Atem without a light source so he couldn't read the notebook even if he tried.

Even now, darkness swamped the inside of the car. No one could read anything, let alone a notebook of scribbled words.

My limp evolved into something worse than Atem's as I made my way to the car, damn near fighting the agony of the betrayal of my insides. It was when I stood ten feet from the car that I lifted the camera to shine the light on the scene.

Atem was still in the car, head down, eyes focused on something in his hands.

Instinctively, I looked through the viewfinder and zoomed in on whatever grabbed his attention inside the car. In Atem's lap sat my notebook, but he ripped the loose pages I had found to shreds in his hands.

"Atem!" I screamed, making my way to the driver's side. "What did you do?"

"I could've sworn we just had to get rid of those papers." He didn't look up, only stared at the torn shreds as if they were pieces of a mythical creature. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but then I heard you scream after I did it. I didn't mean to hurt you." He finally looked up. "I didn't know it would hurt you."

His face was pale and wet with sweat. He looked deathly ill, and it brought tears to my eyes. He no longer resembled the Atem I knew and loved. "Oh, Atem." I placed the camera down to illuminate our immediate surroundings.

The pain in my gut slowly subsided, feeling more like the throbbing of once injured organs that were on the mend. Tender and wounded.

Atem stared into my eyes. His bottom lip quivered, and he had difficulty keeping his head up. "Can we go home, Ima? Grandma's waiting for me at home and I miss her and my bed. I just wanna go back home. I'm so sorry." He sobbed, and I pulled him forward gently to cradle him in my arms.

"I understand, Atem." He had to do something to get us back to our normal lives. I probably would have done the same. He rested his warm, damp head on my blood-stained shirt. "You'll get home, I swear. I just need you to believe in me. Like Clay would have if he was still alive."

A few minutes passed before I took the notebook and went around to the passenger's side to place it in the glove compartment for safe keeping. Upon opening the glove box, a silver Zippo lighter slid forward over the stack of napkins and junk. It could prove useful, so I slipped it into my pocket, and since I couldn't access the outline, I needed to know my next move. "Help me figure out what the protagonist would do at this point in the story?"

His words came out softly and nearly mumbled. "Fight back."

"I know, but where do I start?" Being careful with my insides, I shrugged. "I don't know how to begin."

"Use horror logic."

"I only know so much, Atem. You're the horror expert."

"In every horror story, there's a moment where the main character finds something that helps her fight back the evil."

"I found you." My eyes widened.

He shook his head. "You need to find Zeke and Felicity. They're just as important to this story as me and you. The story can't end without them."

"What if they're... dead?" I gulped down the sorrow that had risen to the surface.

"They're not," Atem sounded so sure. "I know that because I saw them with my own two eyes."

"You also saw your parents who had passed," I added. "Our own two eyes aren't that reliable right now."

He nodded, agreeing. "But because we didn't witness a death, it's safe to say it didn't happen. The thing about the off-screen deaths in movies, or implied deaths in stories, is that they're talked about but not witnessed. In how many of those stories did the supposed dead character show up alive and well by the end of the story?"

I scratched my temple. "That makes sense. So, I was on the right track."

"You're... still on the right..." He slumped over in the seat.

"Atem?" I rushed forward, grabbing his wrist.

"I'm okay." He closed his eyes. "But you gotta hurry."

"No more surprises, okay?" When he nodded, I pointed to the glove box. "Protect that. Alright? I'll be back before you know it."

"Wait," he groaned just as I picked up the camera to leave. "This is the perfect setup for a psychological horror. That means the key to defeating the evil is found somewhere in your psyche."

I nodded and took the camera, but before leaving Atem and the car entirely, the lighter in my pocket reminded me of the gallon sized gas-filled can we topped off in case of emergencies. Carefully, I popped the trunk to grab the canister before I made my way back toward the ranger station.

I found it eerie that the creatures hadn't appeared in a while. It unsettled me, to say the least. Had the narrative changed? Maybe the hidden creatures were the sign that it was now my turn to hunt the hunter. And if Atem's life depended on it, there was no other choice.

When he said I had to fight, I knew he was right. I couldn't afford to be afraid anymore. I had to face the demons head-on. We would only continue running from dark creatures for who knew how long if I didn't make a move.

The light of the camera shined brightly, and I sat it down to illuminate the fallen shack. The broken wooden beams and splintered fragments lay in a large, loose pile on the edge of the dirt parking area.

Only the welcome sign and the Ayahuasca plaque stay standing, but not for long.

I hoisted the hefty red can onto my shoulder, hearing the gallon of gasoline slosh around inside. After unscrewing the top, I drizzled the liquid over what remained of the fallen building within reach. The lighter in my pocket pressed into my hip as I completed my task.

The powerful smell of fuel lingered in the air, and I swore the leaves rustled from the nearby trees in response. Wind hadn't shaken the branches, but a presence. The sense of eyes on the back of my neck and the smell of decay overpowered the potent stench of gasoline.

Without pausing or glancing behind me, I kneeled and strike the lighter, tossing the lit metal to the muddy puddle forming a few feet away.

Immediately, the flame caught and quickly ignited the wood. The orange-yellow flames lit up the space better than the camera light, and the heat of the flame washed over me. I wanted to stand in the warmth and take it in, but I knew I had no time.

A presence was near, creeping, getting closer, readying to attack as if the flames summoned it.

I finally turned to see the rotting corpse of Death. Its dark and mangled flesh hung from its exposed bones, and its head slung upside down below its shoulder only attached by a thick piece of sinew. Moldy, moist, deep red flesh clung to its body and the dirt and debris that had collected on its part grew visible as it approached.

It hobbled on a twisted ankle that somehow supported its weight. And it moved like an elderly person with no support from a walker.

As a whole, it embodied all things lost that could not return. That's where my fear truly stemmed from, knowing this creature will destroy anything and everything that stood in its way, and nothing could stop it. No matter how old, deteriorated, or slow it became, its one and only goal was to turn living things into dirt.

The light from the flames brightened the area, highlighting the infected tissue. Its black, stringy hair fell from its scalp in large clumps, but didn't stop it from hobbling forward.

Adrenaline triggered the flight in me, urging me to run and hide, but the fight in me picked up a flaming wooden stick from the burning pile.

"Back!" I yelled, testing my warning, but knowing it fell on deaf ears. I second guessed my theory when the creature's lips stretched, showcasing black and rotten gums and missing teeth. Was he smiling at me? Could he hear me and instead mocked my attempts to stop him?

I readied the wooden rod in my hand like a baseball bat and swung it inches from the creature's face. The flame flickered and danced at the end of the wood. "Get back!" I tried again.

"Get... back," gurgled from the grinning creature's lips and black liquid bubbled from its mouth as it verbally ridiculed my efforts. The putrid liquid spilled over the upside-down head and seeped into its eyes.

Confused at what I witnessed, I backed up, obeying its order, and put a significant space between us. My arms could barely hold the board as its heft tired me out quickly. My body wanted to rest. It ached inside and out, and needed to recover from whatever happened when Atem tore the pages.

"Back," the creature gurgled again. And when I lowered the plank, it doubled in speed, rushing to me like a chicken with its head cut off. Arms outstretch, fingernails long and jagged as shards of glass. "Back, back, back," it repeated, lurching at me.

I swung the fiery slat, and it met the creature's head, snapping the piece of flesh and knocking the head to the ground. It did not faze the body, and its hands grabbed me, nails dug into my arm flesh and pulled me down.

I landed on my back with the rotting corpse above me, pinning me down. I fought against the pain in my arms and twisted and kicked until the headless body rolled off me. As I backed away, its head lay near the blazing fire, watching, grinning, leaking a thick black liquid from every orifice.

My arms stung where its ragged nails sunk into my flesh, but as I attempted to get to my feet, its body crawled along the soil after me, much faster than I expected. This time it grabbed my ankles, keeping grounded. I kicked, breaking some of its fingers.

A dust cloud gathered at my feet as I fought back. In utter amazement, it somehow gripped my ankles and dragged me back toward its head inch by inch. I clawed at the ground, stunned by the strength of the creature.

As the creature pulled me close to its grinning, leaking head, its head wobbled in glee before rolling to my thigh to sink its teeth in.

Do you think Ima, Atem, Felicity and Zeke could make it out alive?