Chapter 3

"So, what's the plan?" Alex asked, his voice cracking. "We can't just stand here all night."

"He's right," Chloe agreed, back in problem-solving mode. "The gate is a bust. Ethan said the fence is ten feet high, but he didn't say it was impossible. He just said we're not climbing it. Maybe he's wrong."

Ethan shot her a dark look. "It's wrought iron. The spikes at the top are a foot long. You want to try it, be my guest. I'll watch."

"We have to try something," I insisted. "Standing here is admitting defeat. Let's at least get a closer look. All of us. Maybe there's a weak spot."

No one had a better idea. Reluctantly, the group moved towards the section of fence Ethan had indicated. It was as formidable as he'd described. The black bars were thick and cold to the touch, spaced just far enough apart that you couldn't squeeze through.

"Okay," Chloe said, taking charge. "Alex, you're the lightest. Give me a boost. I'll see how high I can get."

Alex looked terrified but nodded. He cupped his hands, and Chloe, surprisingly agile in her business attire, placed a polished shoe into his palms and hoisted herself up. She gripped the cold iron bars, her knuckles white.

She grunted with effort, pulling herself a few feet off the ground. "The bars... they're slick," she said through gritted teeth. "Like they're coated in something."

She tried to find a higher foothold, her other shoe scraping against the metal. That's when it happened.

"What the hell?" she swore, her voice tight with confusion. "The bars... are they moving?"

From the ground, it was impossible to see. "What do you mean, moving?" I asked.

"They're getting closer together," she said, her voice rising in panic. "I can't... I can't get my foot in between them anymore."

It sounded insane. I squinted, trying to see what she was seeing. It looked like a normal fence.

And then, a sound.

A soft, wet whisper, right next to my ear.

It felt like cold breath on my neck. I flinched, spinning around.

There was nothing there. Just empty air.

"Did you guys hear that?" I asked, my heart starting to pound.

"Hear what?" Ethan said, looking at me strangely.

Suddenly, a faint, chilling giggle echoed from somewhere above us. It was a child's laugh, but it was distorted, warped. At the same time, I felt something brush against the back of my hand. It was delicate, like a spider's web, but freezing cold.

I wasn't the only one. Britney shrieked.

"Something touched me!" she screamed, stumbling backward and tripping over a loose rock. She landed hard, her arm scraping against the gravel.

Chloe lost her grip.

She cried out as she slid down the bars, landing in a heap on the ground. "My hand!" she yelled, cradling it to her chest.

We all rushed over to her. A deep, angry red scratch ran across the back of her right hand. It was bleeding.

"The fence," she gasped, her face pale with shock and pain. "It felt like a razor blade just then."

But the strangest thing was what was on my own hand.

Where the cold touch had been, there was now a single, perfect, black feather. It wasn't from a crow or any bird I recognized. It was impossibly dark, and it seemed to absorb the light around it. It hadn't been there a second ago.

"Look," I said, my voice trembling as I held out my hand.

The others stared at the feather. Alex's eyes were wide with terror. Ethan's cynical mask had finally cracked, replaced by a look of dawning horror. Even Mark, who had been silent this whole time, looked like he was about to be sick.

"This is real," I whispered, more to myself than to them. The feather was physical proof. The scratch on Chloe's hand was real. The disembodied laugh, the cold touch... it wasn't our imaginations.

The supernatural wasn't just a story for my podcast anymore.

It was here.

And it was already drawing blood.