PROLOGUE

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"I am not alone. If you set aside the killers. I have found others. Survivors that are just like me. Or at least I believe so, I want to believe so."

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You have been chosen.

She opened her eyes, noting at first how cold the ground was against her back. It was wet too, only further soaking her clothes and pressing the chill deep into her skin. Shivering,the young woman sat up and rubbed her arms,  trying to recall how this happened whilst she looked around.

Fog coated the landscape, winding through trees and slipping across bushes. Everything was eerily quiet, not even frogs - who enjoyed this moist environment - croaking in this deep, unrelenting darkness. It was unnerving, her fingers beginning to numb with fear and cold. She could not even remember how she got here, as this looked nothing like the forests back home. Sure, trees were trees, yet Colorado was a lot prettier than this. There was something . . . ugly in these woods.

Meg stood carefully, shifting her gaze from one side to another. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a brick wall, turning fully to face it in confused awe. It was tall, far too much for her to even jump and grip the twisted metal bars which stuck out above them. She was a runner; her upper body strength was not exactly the best. She had the power in her legs - the power to go.

Realizing the wall extended far in both directions, she elected to stay close, unsure if she was willing to call out into the darkness. It occurred to her that a wall in the middle of woods was quite strange, though perhaps that meant it led to an establishment; one, however, would probably be just as odd and creepy as the surrounding forest. She was not in the mood to get murdered in a place where no one would ever find her body.

Aware she would not be found by anyone unless she got a move-on, the young woman set off in one of the two directions, hoping she did not pick wrong and come to a dead end. She kept her eyes peeled, hoping to come to a road, her footsteps producing the only sound for miles as they squished across the moss and crunched on the dead leaves. Braids brushing against her shoulders, she tried to remember what had happened before she found herself here.

She had been listening to the radio, falling asleep to the sounds of sports commentators as they discussed the Olympics well into the night. Looking down, she touched her jacket, nodding slowly to herself. Yes, she had gone to bed wearing the outfit she had worn that day, having not even bothered to change into pajamas. Even her cap remained on her head, keeping her wild hair pressed down where the braids could not control it.

So, that begged the question: how did she end up here?

Kidnapping seemed like a reasonable explanation, a lump forming in her throat at the mere idea she had been drugged, taken away, and now could not even recall the events of what happened. She did not feel drugged, her mind as clear as ever, if not confused as to what could possibly be going on.

Metal caught her attention, a strange twinkle for an organic place such as the woods to possess. Still, things were silent, the young woman cautiously approaching, brushing aside some foliage which stood in her way.

Though not much of a car person, or a machinery gal in general, Meg knew a generator when she saw one. The eight cylinders were still, broken wires hanging loose with occasional sparks leaping from them. Looking up she saw two bulbs high above her, occasionally flickering weakly.

Well, if something here is broken, maybe somebody is going to come and fix it.

Her rescue could possibly not be far off. Surely it would be a few hours, though if it did extend into days she would be willing to eat some moss or berries to keep herself alive. Curiosity still got the best of her, looking around to see if there were other generators sitting about, perhaps those with lights which worked and could ignite her path. She ensured she always knew where the first generator was,  walking with one foot carefully placed in front of the other. She was glad she did, because within ten to fifteen feet from the generator she stumbled upon her first concerning sight.

A bear trap, its jaws wide open, rested where several game paths appeared to intersect. A chill, far more superficial than the one which pierced her back but perhap more violent, wracked her body. Looking around she found a stick, taking it and ensuring it was plenty long enough before carefully pushing it against the center of the trap.

Metallic, rusty teeth clanged against each other with deadly violence, snapping the stick in the process and eliciting a flinch from Meg. She took  a deep breath, straightening back up. It did not appear to attract any attention, however she was still concerned about the lack of any birds, or animals in general. What was the trap attempting to capture?

Continuing along she became more and more worried, wondering if she was truly the only one here - or if there was something else malevolent here with her.

Wherever here was.

Here only became more bizarre when she saw stone ruins erupt from the fog, the white and moss-covered structures appearing to be hundreds of years old. It seemed that, wherever she was, it was looking more like an abandoned estate rather than any occupied territory. A pro and a con, she supposed; no worries about stranger-danger, but also less likely she was going to find a working phone out here.

As she kept walking to investigate the ruins her heart began beating in her ears, a soft thrum which slowly increased with every step. She stopped, placing her hands against the sides of her head, wondering if she was beginning to develop a headache. It was not painful, per se, just uncomfortable, a sensation which only seemed to be getting worse. It took a couple seconds for her to realize it was not really in her ears, but her own head, her assessment of the situation interrupted by the sound of a disturbance within the ruins, then a startled cry of pain.

Meg jerked up fully, her spine straightening as a woman burst around a corner, holding her side as she limped desperately away. The roar in her ears was almost deafening, now new energy filling her veins when she realized there was so much blood from the wound.

"Run!" She barely heard her scream over the pounding of her heart, her free hand frantically waving at Meg to go. The younger girl stumbled back a couple of steps, a looming figure not far behind the terrified blonde.

The man - Meg could only describe such a shape as a man - stomped towards them with supernatural speeds, his gruesome bone-white mask stretched into a smile. Bones, those which could not possibly be human, stuck out of his shoulders. In one hand he possessed a trap; and in the other, he wielded a blood-covered, crude cleaver.

Meg turned before she could see any more, sprinting off in a different direction from the woman, not even daring to look back as her heart raged through her ears, blind panic forcing her legs to work so fast she was going to trip if she was not careful.

She dared to glance over her shoulder, watching as the man continued in pursuit of the injured woman, having apparently ignored her entirely. Not brave enough to stop, to watch, she pressed onwards, even long after her lungs had numbed from the cold air. She only stopped to rest against a tree when the heartbeat in her head had subsided, a steady thrumming which remained, but was no longer overwhelming.

Tears gathered in her eyes as another scream pierced the air, looking in the direction and nearly jumping in shock. A red stain in her vision, the same shape and size of the woman, was off in the distance, showing her exactly where she was. Her form moved as something - the man - picked her up, carrying her . . . somewhere.

Meg turned and rubbed her eyes, swearing she was just seeing things. This kind of thing was not real; normal people did not experience this-

Hands grabbed her, the girl unable to scream as one wrapped around her mouth and the other around her waist, hoisting her up and throwing her around a tree. She briefly struggled, a violent hush whispered in her ear as her captor held her tighter.

The woman let out a third, far more painful scream, Meg flinching as it echoed across the estate. A beat, two, then the hand at her mouth loosened up, moving to grab her wrist as the owner whispered with as much harshness as her hush:

"Stay close, and don't run."

The woman who spoke was certainly middle-aged, crouched low to the ground to slink through the trees. Meg followed, arms trembling, careful with every step she took as she was led to another set of ruins. The woman's frazzled brown hair was messily brushed back, though her bangs constantly fell in front of her face. Her blue button-up was covered in a mixture of dirt and blood, her hands smeared in grease. Meg felt her panic rise as the heart beat within her began to get louder, the woman still forging ahead and ducking behind a corner of the broken walls.
She tugged Meg alongside her, hushing her again as the beating grew stronger, now nearly unbearable. Her fight or flight responses began to bubble to the surface, however her ally merely pressed her hand to her mouth again, both of them shoved deep into their hiding place.

Labored breathing soon followed, heavy footsteps encouraging Meg to cry out in fear, to scream, to flee. Yet the woman held fast, her own breaths carefully controlled as they waited. Meg squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she would just wake up, be free of this, tears falling down her face and pooling against the woman's fingers.

It felt like an eternity, convinced she was going to die in this awful place, when the breathing moved on as her heart slowly, but surely, faded away to nothing.

"You can talk," the woman finally said, "but keep your voice down. And don't scream."
Meg did not know what to say first, her shock paralyzing her vocal cords as she struggled to come to terms with what just happened. Thousands of questions swirled through her head, but she didn't know where to begin for the longest time.

"Wh-who are you?" She finally stuttered out, struggling to keep her voice low. "What is happening to us?"

The woman brushed back her brown hair, revealing startling green eyes.

"My name is Laurie Strode," she said firmly, "and if you want to survive, you need to listen hard, and do what I say."