Wipe Head – Chapter 12: The Calm Before the Storm
The night had settled deep into the mountains, wrapping Kruger Town in a thick, snowy silence. Above the clearing, the sky stretched endlessly—dark, starless, heavy—like it was pressing down on the earth itself. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, catching the faint glow of the fire before vanishing into the shadows. The clearing around the cabin was still alive, still warm, but the forest beyond had grown unnervingly quiet.
The fire pit glowed softly now, its flames lower than before, embers pulsing red and orange like a dying heartbeat. Shadows flickered across the snow and the wooden walls of the cabin, stretching and shrinking with every crackle of firewood. The smell of smoke, charred meat, and pine hung thick in the air, comforting yet strangely suffocating.
The six friends moved around the clearing with easy familiarity. Boots crunched softly against snow as they wandered between folding chairs, empty plates, and scattered cups. Laughter still filled the air, but it was quieter now—less explosive, more relaxed—as if the night itself was slowly draining their energy.
Marty sat near the fire, guitar resting against his knee, fingers plucking out a slow, melodic tune. The notes drifted gently through the clearing, soft and comforting, dissolving into the vast silence of the mountains. Luna and Michelle danced lightly nearby, spinning clumsily in the snow, scarves fluttering in the cold breeze. Their laughter rang out whenever one of them nearly slipped, echoing faintly between the trees.
Sam hovered near the grill, unable to fully abandon his self-appointed role. He rearranged leftover food, wrapped half-eaten skewers in foil, and refilled cups even when no one asked. His movements were automatic, habitual—something to keep his hands busy, his mind distracted.
Hana leaned against the cabin wall, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate between her gloved hands. The warmth seeped into her fingers as she watched the others, smiling softly. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her breath forming small clouds that drifted away into the night. Laura sat nearby, rolling a snowball slowly between her palms, packing it tighter and tighter, pretending to aim at Marty whenever he missed a note.
"This is perfect," Hana said quietly, almost to herself. Her eyes scanned the snow-covered trees surrounding the clearing. Tall. Endless. Silent. "I can't remember the last time we had a night like this."
Marty glanced up, smiling, flipping the guitar strap more comfortably over his shoulder. "Every year we say we'll do something like this," he said. "And every year, something gets in the way. But look at us now. Mountains, snow, no responsibilities."
"Freedom," Luna added, grinning.
"Freedom from what?" Michelle asked, brushing snow off her boots.
Marty laughed. "From life. From stress. From the absolute horror of Sam's cooking back in the dorms."
"Hey!" Sam protested immediately. "My cooking kept you alive."
"Barely," Laura teased.
Laughter erupted again, bright and warm, cutting through the cold night. For a moment—just a moment—the mountains felt protective. Like walls. Like nothing bad could reach them here.
---
But the mountains were older than their laughter.
And far less forgiving.
A sharp snap echoed from the treeline.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… wrong.
Laura's hands froze mid-roll, the snowball slipping slightly between her fingers. She frowned, eyes flicking toward the darkness beyond the firelight. "Did anyone else hear that?"
The laughter faded, just enough.
Hana tilted her head, listening. The forest stood still. Too still. "Probably a deer," she said calmly, though something in her tone wavered. "Or the wind."
"Yeah," Marty said, strumming another chord to fill the silence. "Deer. With branches in their hooves."
A few chuckles followed, but they were thinner now. Forced. The shadows among the trees seemed to stretch farther, bending toward the clearing like reaching fingers. Snow continued to fall, but the forest itself felt frozen—holding its breath.
The friends tried to shake it off.
They played small games, tossing snowballs back and forth, daring each other to step closer to the dark edge of the clearing. Luna attempted a dramatic spin and nearly slipped, squealing as Michelle grabbed her arm just in time. Sam tossed a hot dog toward Marty like a football.
"Catch!"
Marty laughed, leaping up and barely grabbing it before landing hard on the snow. Hana and Laura gasped in perfect sync, then burst out laughing when he struck a ridiculous pose.
"Okay, okay," Marty said, brushing snow off his jacket. "This night? Officially epic."
"Epic until we remember the guide's warning," Laura said lightly. "You know… ghosts, monsters, people going missing after dark."
Marty rolled his eyes, retuning his guitar. "Come on. He was just trying to scare us. Kruger Town myths. Every place has them."
Still, the words lingered.
---
As the night grew heavier, darker, Marty stood again. "I'm heading to the roof," he said casually. "Better acoustics."
"Again?" Sam asked.
"Don't fall this time," Luna added.
Marty grinned. "Relax. I've got this."
He climbed carefully, boots crunching against the snow-dusted shingles. The higher he went, the colder the wind became, biting through his jacket. From the roof, the clearing looked smaller. The fire. The people. The laughter. All of it felt strangely fragile.
He strummed a soft tune, humming under his breath. The mountains loomed behind him, massive and dark, their peaks barely visible against the night sky. Snow glinted faintly in the starlight.
Below, the friends continued their chatter.
They didn't see the shadows shift.
---
In the forest beyond the firelight, something moved.
William had waited for this night.
For this silence.
For this exact moment.
The snow muted his footsteps, swallowing the sound beneath its soft blanket. His towering frame blended with the darkness between the trees. The mask reflected nothing—no emotion, no humanity—only blackness. The axe across his back felt heavier now, like it was eager. The chainsaw strap cut across his chest, cold metal pressing against him.
He watched them.
Six people.
Alive.
Laughing.
Their happiness burned in his chest like acid. Every careless smile reminded him of what had been taken. Patience had shaped him. Hardened him. And now, patience had brought them here.
He stepped forward.
Closer.
---
Back in the clearing, everything seemed normal.
Too normal.
Marty played softly. Laura laughed, tossing another snowball. Sam handed Hana a warm plate of food. Luna danced closer to the fire. Michelle tried to roast marshmallows without setting them on fire.
They were together.
Unbroken.
Unaware.
Then—
Crunch.
The sound was heavier this time.
Marty's fingers froze mid-strum. "Did anyone—"
Another step.
The fire flickered violently, shadows leaping across the clearing like living things.
Everyone went still.
The wind whispered through the pines, carrying something unnatural with it. Heavy. Deliberate. Too slow to be an animal. Too controlled.
"Probably just snow shifting," Hana said, forcing calm into her voice.
"Yeah," Marty echoed, laughing nervously. "Snow."
But his grip tightened on the guitar.
---
William reached the edge of the clearing.
The firelight washed over him now, revealing the full shape of the nightmare. Seven feet tall. Broad. Still. The axe gleamed faintly. The chainsaw rested against his back like a promise. His mask hid everything—but his eyes burned.
They locked onto Marty.
Time slowed.
The fire crackled.
Snow fell.
Music drifted weakly into the silence.
William took one step closer.
Then—
Marty looked down.
His breath caught.
His eyes widened.
"Oh my God."
---