I slid the note into my little notebook and stuffed it into the inside pocket of my jacket. Might as well keep a record, in case I end up as a missing person on some late-night news segment. With a sigh, I stepped out of the car, the door creaking behind me like it was warning me not to go. Too late for that.
The night was thick, the kind of darkness that eats up the light from your flashlight and spits it back out as shadows. I pulled out my camera and switched on the night vision. The green glow made everything look like a cheap horror movie, which, honestly, felt about right for my life.
"Brilliant, Itsumi," I muttered to myself. "You could've checked this place on Google Maps, maybe even called someone to see if it was safe. But no, you had to come out here in person. Genius move."
I kept walking, boots crunching on dead leaves and twigs. Every step felt like I was marching deeper into my own stupidity. If someone wanted to make me disappear, they had the perfect setup. I was alone, in the middle of nowhere, and nobody would hear me scream. Not that anyone would care.
I sighed again, louder this time. "Maybe it's finally time for someone to put me out of my misery," I grumbled, half-joking, half-hoping. "Wouldn't that be poetic?"
The forest was just a forest at first—trees, more trees, the occasional bush. Nothing special. But the deeper I went, the thicker the fog became. At first, it was just a light mist, but soon it was so dense I could barely see my own hand in front of my face. That didn't make any sense. It wasn't cold enough for fog, and the weather app on my phone had promised clear skies. Lying piece of junk.
I tried turning back, retracing my steps, but every direction looked the same. Trees, fog, darkness. No sign of my car, no sign of the road. Just endless woods. I stopped and laughed, a bitter, hollow sound.
"Of course. Of course this would happen. Walk into a forest for a quick fifty grand, end up in a damn fairy tale. Next thing you know, a witch is going to offer me a poisoned apple."
Resigned, I kept moving forward. What else was I supposed to do? Sit down and wait for the fog to eat me? After a few minutes of stumbling around, cursing under my breath, my foot caught on something and I tumbled down a steep slope. The world spun, branches slapped my face, and I landed hard on the ground below.
"Son of a—!" I yelled, unleashing a string of curses in Japanese, Spanish, and English for good measure. My whole body ached, but nothing felt broken. Just bruised. Great. Add that to the list of things going wrong tonight.
I dragged myself to my feet, dusted off my jacket, and limped forward. After a few more minutes of walking, I saw it—a small house, or maybe a cabin, sitting in a clearing. But it wasn't like any cabin I'd seen before. The architecture was all wrong. Stone walls, wooden beams, a steep roof—straight out of medieval Europe. What the hell was a European-style house doing in the middle of the godforsaken American woods?
I approached slowly, every instinct screaming at me to turn back. But curiosity—or maybe just stupidity—won out. The door creaked open with a gentle push. Inside, the place was spotless. No mold, no dust, no signs of decay. Someone had been taking care of it. That was the strangest part. Old houses are supposed to smell like rot and regret. This one smelled like… nothing.
I walked down the hallway, peeking into the rooms. Each one was the same: a bed, a desk with an open Bible, a bookshelf, a nightstand, and a window. Over and over, the same setup, like someone had copied and pasted the same room a dozen times.
"This is too weird," I whispered, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "Way too weird."
But I kept going, because what else could I do? I was already in the rabbit hole. Might as well see how deep it went.