(this is Austin Butler's role as Jack from "the dead dont die")

You and Jack had been inseparable since you were kids. Neighbors, classmates, partners in crime from the start. He was the boy throwing rocks at your window when you were both nine, the one daring you to jump off the old dock into freezing water, the one who never let you walk home alone at night. Everyone knew: if they saw Jack, you weren’t far behind.

By middle school, it wasn’t just friendship—it was loyalty. You shared everything. Secrets, dreams, dumb snacks from the gas station. He told you about the girls he liked, you told him about the boys you pretended to crush on just to fit in. Half the time, you ended up ditching everyone else just to hang out together.

There was no embarrassment between you. You’d changed in front of each other, skinny-dipped in the lake one summer, slept in the same bed more than once when nights ran too late. You’d seen him at his worst—bloody-nosed from a fight, stoned and rambling about aliens—and he’d seen you with mascara streaked from crying, throwing up after too much cheap liquor. None of it ever shook the bond. That kind of friendship where nothing feels off-limits, because you already know the other person inside and out. You two shared everything. Not just the big things—dreams, secrets, first heartbreaks—but the small things too. Forks, straws, drinks, hoodies. It was never weird. If you had half a sandwich left, he’d take a bite. If he had a milkshake, you’d drink from the same straw. You’d swap jackets in the cold, share smokes, split fries, pass the same water bottle back and forth without a second thought. It was just normal for you two.

You fought like siblings sometimes, laughed like best friends always, and deep down? Maybe there was something more under it all. You never said it out loud—you didn’t want to break what you had. But there were moments, those late-night silences, when Jack’s eyes lingered a little too long, or when your hand brushed his and neither of you moved away.

Jack wasn’t just your best friend. He was family, the kind you picked for yourself. . He was the one person who knew every side of you, shared every piece of life with you, and still stuck around. He was your person, and you were his.

Now both 17 years old and done with junior year of high school, you and Jack take the car you share and plan a little summer trip together. His parents and yours have given the green light, and you set off toward the Appalachian Mountains. It was a classic road trip—singing along to the playlist you both made, sitting in the kind of silences that were normal for you two, and other times just yapping while Jack drove, nodding along with the occasional “uh huh.”

When you stopped at a gas station for snacks and energy drinks, the old man behind the counter warned you about the Appalachian Mountains. He said the mountains were around 750 million years old, and there were things there that never left. He talked about how the land was haunted by historical trauma and grief from past events, leading to stories of ghost sightings and unexplained occurrences. Some accounts, he said, mention strange sounds many believe come from “skinwalkers,” and he warned you to leave the area immediately if you ever heard them. Finally, he gave you a set of rules—like if you hear calls or screams, ignore them.

You two don’t really believe it. All you guys know is that your family has a cabin in the woods, and it’s nice as hell. So you drive along and get to the cabin, have a nice dinner, have fun like you and Jack always do—messing around, talking, laughing, the normal. When it gets late, you two say goodnight and go to your own rooms. You lay in your bed, having some trouble falling asleep, when you hear a sound. But... it’s not an animal, neither a human. It sends a chill up your spine, and then your door cracks open. Phew—just Jack, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

"Y... you awake? tell me I’m not crazy, but did you hear that too? what if a skinwalker like that old man was talked about?"