Humanities weakness.

You decide that rest is your best option. Whatever is out there, you’re in no shape to face it right now. Your body is exhausted, your muscles ache from the cold, and the weight of everything you’ve been through is pressing down on you like a boulder. You need sleep—just a few hours, just enough to regain some strength.

You take one last look at the broken door, debating whether to try and block it. There’s no real way to barricade it properly, and if something wants to get in, a few stacked chairs won’t stop it. Instead, you grab the rifle and move to the bedroom, pushing a dresser against the door as a weak deterrent. It’s not much, but at least it might buy you a few seconds if something comes in.

You settle onto the bed, still fully clothed, the rifle clutched tightly against your chest. The cabin is eerily silent now, aside from the wind howling outside. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to ignore the anxiety gnawing at the back of your mind.

Then—just as sleep begins to take you—there’s a noise.

Creak.

Your eyes snap open.

It came from inside the cabin.

You hold your breath, ears straining for any sound. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then—

Creak.

This time, it’s closer.

Your grip tightens around the rifle, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Something is in here with you.

Do you attempt to fight it or try to hide?