Still Six in the Lodge

The storm erased the road, trapping six of us in a mountain lodge we’d never

planned to find. We agreed on rules: stay together, lock the doors, count heads.

At night, something moved outside—slow, deliberate, scratching once…

then stopping, like it was listening. We counted again. Six. In the morning,

a woman was missing. No tracks. No blood. Her bag still by the door.

We were afraid to count. When we finally did, there were still

six of us. One man smiled and said, “Relax. It hasn’t finished

choosing yet.” None of us remembered inviting him inside.