The Hoodie Man by the Mountain

I swallowed hard, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise in my throat. The stench of burnt flesh mingled with the nauseating smell of the chemical-tainted air, and I was forced to breathe shallowly through my mouth. The charred bones beneath my feet seemed to crackle and snap as I moved deeper into the clearing, each step bringing me closer to the legend—The Hoodie Man by the Mountain.

Growing up, I’d heard the tales, like everyone else in town. They said The Hoodie Man wore a tattered, black hoodie that seemed to blend into the shadows. He was a ghost, some said, the restless spirit of a hiker who’d been murdered by his friends and left to die in the forest. Others claimed he was a monster, a beast that lurked in the darkest corners of the park, preying on anyone foolish enough to wander too close to the mountain. I never believed any of it. But now, with Liz missing, and this hellish scene before me, I wasn’t so sure.

I pressed on, my eyes darting nervously from side to side. The wind picked up, swirling around me, carrying with it the faintest whisper of what sounded like laughter. I froze, straining to listen, but the sound was gone as quickly as it came. My heart pounded in my chest, and I took a deep breath to steady myself.

“Liz!” I called out, my voice breaking the eerie silence. “Liz, are you here?”

No answer. Only the rustling of dead leaves and the distant caw of a crow. My desperation grew. I had to find her. I couldn’t leave this place without knowing what had happened.

As I moved farther into the clearing, I noticed something strange in the distance. At the base of the mountain, partially obscured by a thick tangle of underbrush, stood a small, dilapidated cabin. Its wooden walls were blackened and charred, the roof half-collapsed. A plume of acrid smoke wafted from what remained of the chimney, curling into the darkening sky.

Could Liz be inside? I had to check.

I hurried toward the cabin, pushing through the dense undergrowth. Thorns clawed at my arms and legs, but I didn’t care. I had to get to her. As I reached the cabin’s front door, I hesitated. The air here was even worse—thicker, more toxic. I could feel it burning my throat, stinging my eyes. But I couldn’t turn back now. I had to know.

I grabbed the rusted handle and pulled. The door creaked open, revealing a dark, musty interior. I stepped inside, my footfalls echoing on the rotting wooden floorboards. The smell was overpowering—mildew, smoke, and something else, something metallic and foul.

“Liz?” I called out again, my voice trembling.

Suddenly, I heard a noise—a soft, shuffling sound, coming from the corner of the room. I squinted into the darkness, trying to make out what it was. My heart stopped. There, crouched in the shadows, was a figure. It was hunched over, its back to me, wearing a tattered, black hoodie.

The Hoodie Man.

I stumbled backward, my breath catching in my throat. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by sheer terror. The figure slowly turned to face me, and I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me.

His face—if you could call it that—was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but I could see the faint outline of a grotesquely twisted mouth. He grinned at me, a sickening, malicious smile, and I knew in that moment that all the stories were true. The Hoodie Man was real, and I was trapped here with him.

“Looking for your sister?” he hissed, his voice a low, guttural rasp that sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. All I could do was nod, my eyes wide with fear.

The Hoodie Man chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that echoed through the cabin like nails on a chalkboard. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “Now, you’ll never leave.”

Before I could react, he lunged at me. I tried to dodge, but he was too fast. He grabbed me by the shoulders, his grip like iron, and threw me to the floor. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. Pain shot through my ribs, and I gasped for breath, struggling to get up.

But The Hoodie Man was already on me. He straddled my chest, pinning me down, his hooded face inches from mine. I could feel his hot, rancid breath on my skin, smell the rot and decay that clung to him like a second skin.

“Please,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper. “I just want to find my sister.”

He laughed again, louder this time, and I felt a surge of anger boil up inside me. I wasn’t going to die here. Not like this. Not without a fight.

With all the strength I could muster, I swung my fist, catching him square in the jaw. His head snapped back, and he howled in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to wriggle free. I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I bolted for the door, but before I could reach it, something heavy and solid hit me from behind. I fell forward, my vision blurring as I crashed to the floor. I tried to get up, but my limbs felt like lead, and my head was spinning.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was The Hoodie Man, standing over me, his twisted smile the only thing visible beneath his hood.

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