Four missing children, a wild cult worshipping an eldridge horror and ninety-nine nights to piece it all together. That was this one poor man’s goal, whether it be out of the goodness of his heart or some sort of traumatic experience that led him to this dangerous forest. He’ll do whatever it takes to survive and save those children or die trying.

By now, a few days have passed. He was doing quite well for himself. The man, whose name is Willson, looked no older than twenty-five or so. Using scrap found from abandoned houses and other debris, along with tons of wood and a single crafting bench; he had set up quite the base of sorts. Armed with nothing but an axe, a flashlight and a revolver with only a few rounds, he still had all the essentials. A crockpot for food, a bit of defense, a few farms, hell even a lightning rod.

Even with all the preparations, he couldn’t shake of the feeling that he wasn’t alone. Sure, he’s fought off many wolves in the past, yet something about this unknown threat screamed inhumane. From the claw marks on trees to the rustle of leaves, the light from the fire was the only thing keeping him safe.

The man sat down with a sigh, enjoying a nice stew by the warm fire. Another fruitless day of searching for clues, only to be led with little to nothing but the posters that documented each kid. It was dangerous work but he was still determined, already laying out new routes in his head to search the moment the sun rose once again.