Within the next five minutes, the wolf arrived arrived.

  It stepped into the clearing, massive, dark, shoulders rolling under thick fur. Its eyes locked on Collins. Intelligent. Amused. A grin spread across its muzzle, teeth catching the light.

  “They left you here to die,” he mocked. The voice crawled through the trees, not coming from one place, but everywhere at once.

  The wolf’s body shuddered. Bones cracked. Fur folded inward. Flesh shifted like wet clay. In moments, a man stood beneath Collins, naked, pale, smiling up at him.

  Collins shook so violently the rope creaked. “Please,” he begged, his voice thin, breaking. “Please stay away. Do not come close to me. Do not touch me.”

  The man reached up and dragged the rope down with one hand. The strength was effortless. Collins dropped, the air punched from his chest. Pain flared white behind his eyes.

  The man struck Collins’ chest and he became unconcious. Darkness swallowed everything, and remained still.

  Cold seeped into Collins before sound did. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. He tried to move and pain answered immediately, sharp and unforgiving. His breath hit resistance. Panic surged.

  His eyes snapped open. Stone loomed above him. Rough. Close. Flickering light danced across the cave ceiling, stretching shadows into long, twisting shapes. The smell hit next. Smoke. Damp earth. Something sour and metallic that made his stomach knot.

  He tried to scream. Nothing came out. His mouth was sealed with a cloth.

  He thrashed, and the world swayed. Rope cut into his sides, his arms pinned tight. He was trapped inside a basket made of thick cords, woven in a tight circle around his body. The basket hung in the air.

  He sucked in a breath through his nose and looked down. The floor was far away. Too far. His vision blurred as he tried to focus. Below him, a massive pot sat over a fire. Water inside it rolled violently, bubbles bursting at the surface. Steam climbed upward, heavy and wet, licking at his skin.

  Bones lay scattered around the ground. Not clean. Not whole. Split. Crushed. Some dark with old stains. Some pale and cracked. Collins’ stomach twisted hard. “He ate them all,” he said.

  He turned his head. Frank hung nearby. Tied in the same woven prison. His face was streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen. His leg was bent wrong, swollen grotesquely, the fabric dark with dried blood. He whimpered through the seal on his mouth, a sound small and broken.

  Max was there too. Rigid. Silent. His chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes were wide, fixed on the pot below, as if afraid that looking away would make it rise up to meet him.

  “He eats their flesh!” Collins said to himself. The thought landed like a blow. His pulse roared in his ears. He tried to breathe slower. Failed. “And he is about to find on us now.”

  He wasn’t done processing the thoughts whe he heard footsteps echoed from the cave entrance.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Slow. Measured.

  The man walked in. Firelight painted his skin in shifting gold and shadow. His eyes swept over the cave, over the pot, over the bones, then lifted to the hanging baskets.

  Fear gripped the boys. Frank began to sob, his whole body shaking so hard the ropes rattled. His injured leg twitched, and he cried louder, pain and terror tangled together.

  Max trembled. His teeth chattered softly, the sound barely audible over the bubbling pot.

  The man smiled.

  He moved beneath them, circling slowly, head tilted back, studying them like choices laid out for him. His fingers brushed the ropes as he passed. Each touch sent a vibration through the baskets, making them sway.

  Collins’ heart echoed so loud it felt like the cave itself could hear it. His vision narrowed. Sweat ran into his eyes. “Help me, God!” He prayed. The words slammed inside his skull. “Do not let me die. Do not allow this man to feed on my skin.”

  The man stopped beneath Frank. He reached up and pressed two fingers into Frank’s injured leg.

  Frank screamed into his gag. The sound ripped through the cave, raw and desperate. His basket swung wildly. Tears streamed down his face.

  The man laughed softly. He pressed harder. Frank’s scream broke off as his eyes rolled back. His body went slack. Max let out a muffled cry and thrashed, the ropes biting into his skin. Blood welled where the cords cut. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

  The man stepped back, watching. His eyes gleamed. He lifted a long stick, blackened at one end, and stirred the pot. Water sloshed. Steam surged upward, wrapping around the baskets. Heat kissed Collins’ legs. He couldn’t help it. Tears streamed down his eyes.

  His breath hitched. His feet curled instinctively, pulling away from the rising warmth.

  The man reached for a rope hanging from the ceiling. He pulled. The baskets lowered an inch.

  Just an inch.

  The pot roared louder. The heat intensified. Collins felt it now, a sharp, stinging warmth against his calves. His body shook violently.

  The man released the rope. The baskets stopped. Frank moaned weakly, still unconscious. Max’s breathing came in short, panicked bursts.

  The man crouched by the bones. He picked one up. Cracked it between his fingers. The sound was dry and final. He sucked at it, eyes never leaving the boys.

  Collins gagged against the seal on his mouth. His stomach clenched painfully. His wrists burned where the ropes bit deeper with every small movement.

  The man stood and wiped his fingers on his thigh. He looked up at Collins. Their eyes met. Collins shook his head, tears spilling freely now. His chest heaved. His prayer repeated itself, frantic, broken, over and over.

  The man lifted the stick and pointed it at Collins’ basket. The blackened tip hovered inches from the rope. Smoke curled faintly. The pot below bubbled violently. Steam rose thicker, swallowing the lower half of the cave.

  The man smiled. “I do not even know the know to eat first. They all looked beautiful and delicious.”

  He paused and studied all tree boys. Then bent and added more woods to the fire.

  The flames jumped instantly, licking higher, spitting sparks that snapped through the cave. The heat swelled. Smoke rolled upward, thick and choking, curling around the hanging ropes. The boiling pot answered with a violent surge, water sloshing against its rim, steam hissing like something alive.

  He stood up and looked up once again, tension rose within the boys heart. Collins’ chest heaved against the tight weave of the rope basket. His vision blurred at the edges. Frank’s muffled whimpers scraped against his ears. Max’s basket creaked softly as it swayed, a slow, helpless pendulum above the fire.

  The man smiled, enjoying the fear. He turned toward the pot. Lifted the long stick. Stirred. The water churned. A pale cream rose to the surface, thick and oily, spreading like skin. Steam rushed upward, burning Collins’ legs. He jerked instinctively, the ropes biting deeper into his sides.

  Then he drew a sword. The metal whispered as it slid free. The sound cut through the cave, sharp and final. He raised the blade and looked up. His eyes moved slowly from Frank, to Max, and to Collins. The sword followed his gaze, stopping on each of them, lingering, as though tasting, and deciding which to eat first.

  Collins’ pulse thundered so hard his ears rang. His legs trembled uncontrollably. Frank shook violently, tears soaking into the seal on his mouth. Max stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, breath coming in short, broken gasps.

  The man stepped closer to Collins’ rope. The blade flashed. The ropes snapped.

  Collins dropped. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Pain exploded through his shoulder and back as he slammed into the cave floor. He rolled once, gasping, coughing, his body screaming in protest.

  “I will feed on you, first,” he declared. Collins trembled. His hands clawed uselessly at the seal on his mouth. His eyes darted wildly, searching for anything. A stone. A crack. Somewhere to run. Somewhere to hide.

  The man turned back to the fire and stirred the pot again. The bubbling grew louder, angrier. Then he walked toward Collins. Each step was slow. Deliberate. His shadow swallowed the boy completely.

  He grabbed Collins by the ankle and dragged him across the rough stone. Collins’ skin scraped, tore. He kicked weakly, nails scratching uselessly at the ground. The heat from the fire pressed against his face, blistering.

  The man cut the ropes. Collins sagged, collapsing forward, barely able to stay upright. Strong hands seized him under the arms and lifted him. The world tilted. Steam rushed up, thick and wet. The pot loomed beneath him, its surface rolling violently.

  Collins eyes fell on the bubbling water. His imagination flared. Entering the pot isn't just death. It is a cruel fate. His voice broke

  “Please!” Collins breathed. The word tore out of him, raw and broken.