Wipe Head – Chapter 15: When Fear Turns on Itself
The cabin no longer felt like shelter.
It felt like a cage.
Every breath they took seemed trapped between the walls, caught in the stale air, heavy with the weight of absence. Marty's presence—or rather, the lack of it—pressed into the very fabric of the room. It was everywhere: in the silence after laughter, in the corners that once held warmth, in the faint, useless echo of his guitar leaning silently in the corner, strings stiff and lifeless. Snow tapped against the windows like pale, accusing fingers, and beyond the glass, the mountains loomed, immovable and indifferent, ancient witnesses to their fear, their grief, their mistakes.
Luna stood near the doorway, her bag half-zipped, shoulders tense, hands trembling as if the act of holding onto anything, even fabric, was a monumental struggle. Her eyes flicked to each of them briefly, then back toward the door, calculating, hesitating, pulling herself toward a decision her heart screamed she needed to make. Every muscle in her body was taut, ready to flee, yet every instinct screamed that leaving could be worse than staying.
Sam noticed first.
"Luna," he said quietly, voice low, rasping, raw with the tension that had built in the past hours. "What are you doing?"
All heads turned instantly.
Michelle's eyes widened, pupils stretched like black holes, scanning her for any hint of what she might do next. Hana froze mid-step, chest tightening so sharply it hurt, the room narrowing to a thin slice of space around the doorway. Laura's breath hitched, caught in her throat, small, frantic, shallow gasps that made it impossible to think beyond them. The cabin itself seemed to lean in, listening, holding its breath along with them.
"I'm leaving," Luna said. Her voice cut sharply, piercing through the tense air like a knife. Strained, unsteady, yet impossibly loud for the room. "I'm not staying here."
"No," Sam said immediately, stepping forward, boots scraping the wooden floor, heart hammering so violently it seemed to shake his entire body. "You're not."
Luna laughed—a broken, hysterical sound that clanged against the walls, bouncing back in distorted echoes. It didn't match her face, didn't match her eyes. Her voice trembled with a mixture of fear, rage, and grief. "You think this is a choice?" she spat, stepping slightly forward, back straight. "Marty is dead. DEAD. And you want me to stay in this place?"
Sam's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles ached. "We all lost him," he snapped, voice tight and brittle with anger and despair. "You don't just walk out!"
Luna spun to face him fully. Eyes blazing red, pupils wide and dark, her face illuminated by the dim cabin light, a mask of grief and fury. "Don't you dare tell me what I can do! Don't you dare act like you're the only one hurting!"
Michelle edged closer, hands raised in a fragile gesture of peace. "Luna, please. We're scared too. But leaving alone—"
"Shut up!" Luna screamed.
The word cracked through the room like a gunshot, reverberating violently off the walls. It shook the very air around them, raising the hairs on the back of their necks. For a moment, the room itself seemed to shiver in response.
Her hands shot toward the nearest object—a heavy ceramic vase with faded mountain flowers painted on its surface. With a swing that seemed fueled by panic as much as anger, she hurled it across the room.
Time slowed.
The vase collided with the wall, exploding into fragments. Sharp shards flew unpredictably in every direction. One piece struck Laura's forehead, warm blood immediately seeping from a thin line that turned thicker in seconds. Another slashed across Hana's arm, cutting through fabric and skin alike. A shard grazed Michelle's cheek, scratching it shallowly but painfully. Sam stumbled back, a sliver biting into his shoulder.
Blood appeared slowly at first, dark and stark against pale skin, then heavier, spreading, marking the room with the consequence of one uncontrolled act. Silence followed—the kind of silence that pressed down on them, making it hard to breathe, heavier than snow, heavier than guilt.
Luna froze, realizing instantly what she had done. The anger that had propelled her, that had felt like survival, drained from her, replaced by a hollow, suffocating guilt that made her knees buckle. She sank to the floor, shaking, hands pressed to her face, unable to look at the injuries she'd caused.
"I—I didn't mean—" she whispered, voice trembling, cracking under the weight of her fear and shame.
Sam's patience snapped.
"You've lost it," he shouted, voice booming, echoing violently off walls, ricocheting through the cabin like shrapnel. "You're not a friend anymore! Friends don't do this. Friends don't run. Friends don't turn into monsters when things get hard!"
The word monster hung over the room like a physical weight.
Luna flinched, as if the sound had struck her across the face. Her shoulders slumped further, chest rising and falling rapidly, tremors shaking her entire frame.
"You think I don't feel guilty?" she cried, tears flowing freely now, cheeks wet. "You think I don't see his face every time I close my eyes? I hear him screaming. I hear him—"
Her words faltered, broken, dissolving into gasps. She collapsed further, curling inward, hands pressed to her face, shoulders shaking violently. "I'm scared," she whispered, trembling. "I don't want to die here."
No one answered.
Because each of them was silently thinking the same terrifying truth: What if she was right? What if none of them survived the night?
The hours stretched, heavy and suffocating. Time moved slowly, dragging, thick and unyielding. Sam cleaned the cuts silently, hands shaking violently as he wrapped bandages around raw skin, blood mixing with the cold, frozen sweat on their bodies. The room smelled faintly metallic, tinged with fear. No one spoke; no one moved more than necessary. Tears slid quietly down cheeks—Laura averted her gaze, shoulders trembling with silent sobs, Michelle wiped his face repeatedly, hands shaking as he tried to regain control. Hana sat on the floor, staring at the ground as if the cracks in the wood might provide answers.
Eventually, Sam forced himself to cook. Every movement was robotic, deliberate, a battle against exhaustion and panic. The smell of food filled the cabin, but none of them could summon hunger. They ate mechanically, chewing slowly, swallowing without tasting. Each bite felt hollow, like swallowing their own fear.
"This isn't real," Michelle whispered, voice low, barely audible. "Marty was laughing yesterday."
Sam clenched his jaw, trying to block the memory. "We'll tell our families tomorrow," he said, voice brittle, tense, but controlled.
Hana shook her head slowly. "There's no signal. No internet. Nothing."
The truth settled over them like ice in their veins. They were utterly, completely alone.
Exhaustion finally claimed them one by one. They lay down, lights dimmed but not fully off. Darkness felt like a predator circling, yet they couldn't let it consume them entirely. Luna curled in the corner, silent, eyes wide open, watching shadows crawl across the walls, long and grotesque under the faint light.
Hours passed.
The cabin seemed to breathe with them, or perhaps against them. Floorboards groaned with every shift. The wind outside rattled the windows like a chorus of whispers. Every shadow twisted into a potential threat.
The cabin slept—but Luna did not.
She rose slowly, each movement deliberate, measured. Every step was calculated, quiet. Her bag was already packed. She slipped her shoes on, her fingers trembling as they tied the laces, heart hammering so violently she was certain it would wake them all.
She paused once, glancing back at the sleeping forms of her friends, at the corner where Marty should have been. She swallowed hard, body tense, tears welling in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Then, with slow, careful determination, she opened the door.
Cold air rushed in like a living thing, seizing her lungs, clawing at her skin, biting and relentless. The forest waited beyond, dark and silent, yet alive. Each step into the snow sent small clouds of white into the air, each crunch underfoot like a warning.
And Luna stepped into the night.
The door closed softly behind her.
Unnoticed.
Untouched not even a single voice came into the ears of all unnoticed all were sleeping not awared that Luna has already gone ...