Nightmare Adventures

1. The Guardian

Summer came, I rose from bed,
A trip with friends lay just ahead.
Three of us walked into the woods,
Far from home, no chaperones.

We climbed for miles beneath the heat,
The sun burned harsh on tired feet.
I slowed my pace, the air too thick,
My chest grew tight, my breath grew quick.

I stopped to rest—we weren't far,
I slipped my jacket, left a scar
Of heat against my velvet skin,
My tank top light against the wind.

My hair pulled back, my shoulders bare—
I felt his gaze. I knew it there.
Jack looked quick, then looked away,
Like he always does—but not for long.

Zeal called out from up ahead,
"You two are slow!" was what she said.
We laughed it off, began to move—
Until the silence shifted... smooth.

A cabin stood where none should be,
Still as death, too quietly.
Then three men dressed in black stepped out,
No words, no sound—just silent doubt.

Something in me snapped to life—
Not fear alone... but trained insight.

"Run," I said—my voice cut clean.

Zeal turned back—she'd seen what I'd seen.

She ran to us—we didn't wait,
Instinct screamed: evacuate.

We fled as one, then split by fear,
Their footsteps hunting far too near.

We stopped at last to breathe again,
Zeal broke down, undone within.
Jack held her close, soft and tight,
Trying to steady her from fright.

Then one caught up.

Too fast. Too close.

He grabbed me hard—no time to pose.

I didn't think. I didn't freeze.
My body moved with practiced ease.

"RUN!" I shouted—sharp, command—
They listened fast. They understand.

My elbow drove into his ribs,
A clean, precise and trained reflex.
I turned, I struck—his jaw gave way,
The way I've trained, the way I stay.

No wasted motion. No delay.

This wasn't panic.

This was training.

Years of drills beneath my skin,
Muscle memory locked within.
MMA—not for the crowd,
But for survival, silent, proud.

I don't compete. I never did.
But what I learned... is what I lived.

He staggered back—I closed the space,
A strike, a shift, a pivoted base.
I felt the moment—thin as thread—

The line between the living and dead.

I moved behind—no second thought,
My hands did what my mind had not.

A twist—

A crack—

Then silence dropped.

My breath came late. My body stopped.

That was the first.

And I knew it.

Something inside me... shifted with it.

Not pride. Not strength. Not even fear.

Just something cold... settling in here.

The others came—I didn't stay,
I turned and ran the other way.

Through roots and dirt, through branches low,
Toward the only path I know.

I saw them far—my friends below,
Still alive... still moving slow.

They turned—I waved them forward fast,
"I'll meet you there—just go! Don't ask!"

We reached the train, we didn't speak,
Only tears and bodies weak.

Zeal cried hard, I held her tight,
Jack stayed quiet, lost in thought.

They asked me how—I looked away,
Some truths are better left to stay.

They pushed—I made them swear it through,
No one hears what I now tell you.

Their faces changed when I was done,
Like they no longer saw the same one.

Jack looked down, his voice was low,
"I should've stayed... I should've—"

"No."

I smiled soft, though something broke,
"You did exactly what you're told."

We were just students, young and free,
Chasing thrill and energy.
Zeal had planned that reckless place,
An "abandoned game"... a harmless chase.

But some places aren't meant for play.

Some things don't let you walk away.

⸻

We left the woods, returned to light,
A city safe, a calmer night.
A hotel stood—secure, pristine,
A fragile break from what had been.

We laughed again... or tried to, at least,
But something lingered underneath.

Something quiet.

Something waiting.

⸻

The next day came—I went to school,
The air felt wrong, the breeze too cool.
Too few were there, the halls too bare,
A hollow silence filled the air.

"People missing..." whispers grew,
A quiet panic no one knew.

I turned to leave—I'd lost my phone,
Went back the path I'd walked alone.

Then came a scream—"Zombies!"—loud,
Dismissed at first by passing crowd.

I almost laughed.

Until I fell.

A body slammed me—rank and foul.

Its grip was wrong—its skin undone,
Its eyes were empty—void of sun.

I didn't think—again, I moved,
My training sharp, my instincts proved.

A strike. A snap. It dropped too fast.

But more were coming.

Just like last.

One by one, I fought them down,
Each one falling to the ground.
My body moved before I knew,
Each motion clean, each action true.

This wasn't thought.

This was reflex.

A living weapon—sharp, complex.

But even steel begins to break,
My arms grew numb with every take.

I ran to school to warn them all,
But laughter echoed through the hall.

They didn't see.

Not yet.

Not until the screaming spread.

⸻

I led them up, I led them fast,
To any room that locked at last.
We hid inside, the fear too real,
The scratching loud against the steel.

Some were taken.

Some were not.

Some were things I can't forgot.

Gunshots came, then silence fell,
A sudden end to living hell.

⸻

They said it wasn't real. A lie.
A test. A staged alibi.

But I remember every crack,
Every fight that took me back—

To that moment in the woods,
Where I first understood:

I am not just someone who survives.

⸻

I am someone who fights...
before I even realize.

⸻