Chapter 1: Back with the Horror Community
North America.
A college campus in Salem, Massachusetts.
"What's up horror fans, back again for another deep dive. Today we're continuing our analysis of classic American horror franchises..."
A few days ago, Danny was in his dorm room, phone charging, watching horror movie analysis videos. That same night, something impossible happened—he was pulled into the very world he'd been studying. And that laptop? Still sitting on his desk in a universe he could no longer reach.
Even winning the lottery wouldn't have prepared him for this.
Danny had a set of mysterious cards that appeared in his mind. He didn't need to think twice to know they were responsible for bringing him here. A message would constantly flash across one of the cards:
[No containment detected.]
Initially, he didn't understand what 'containment' meant. But one day, after encountering a priest investigating paranormal activity in Connecticut, a new prompt appeared on the card:
[Traces of containable entity detected: Valak the Demon.]
Valak. Danny had only heard of it from The Conjuring series—the demonic nun that terrorized a Romanian abbey before crossing the Atlantic.
That's when Danny realized Americans were dealing with far more than he'd ever imagined from behind a screen.
Gun violence was the least of their worries. Evil spirits, vengeful ghosts, serial killers, and mutated cannibals were the real threats.
The worst part? These entities didn't follow any moral code. They didn't seek justice or revenge—they just killed indiscriminately. If he'd known this world was real, he'd have stuck to rom-coms and mindless action flicks.
As for containing Valak?
Was he insane? That was a demon sealed behind Hell's Gate in an ancient monastery. How was an ordinary college student supposed to contain something like that?
Still, at least this existence was survivable.
He just prayed this world didn't include SCP Foundation-level threats, Lovecraftian horrors, or anything from The Mist. That wouldn't be horror anymore—that would be apocalyptic.
Danny now possessed 54 black cards. The deck had four suits: Diamonds, Hearts, Spades, and Clubs.
Simple enough—like a standard poker deck.
[Note: The 54 cards can contain more than 54 entities through fusion and hierarchy.]
The highest-value cards were the Kings, Queens, and Jacks, plus the Big Joker and Little Joker—sometimes called the Major and Minor Arcana.
Aces were special wildcards.
The rest were number cards, two through ten.
Kings and Queens could establish their own domains and pocket dimensions.
Each card's face was currently blank.
Any successfully contained horror would become his loyal servant or could be fused with others. Those were the basic rules of the deck.
He currently had access only to the Two cards—the lowest tier. Even combining all four Twos wouldn't be enough to contain Valak.
Her true form was a demonic entity from Hell itself. Using a Two to contain a demon prince? The card would shatter from the strain.
The moment he'd made contact with that priest, Danny had likely been marked by Valak. The probability was extremely high.
For an entity of Valak's caliber, killing Danny would be effortless.
Danny had no intention of waiting for the demon nun to show up at his door. That meant containing other entities through the cards was essential for survival.
After all, he didn't believe in God anymore—he only believed that horror could fight horror.
The problem was taking that first step.
His thoughts didn't wander long, because today was the day Danny had planned a road trip with some friends through the backwoods of West Virginia.
Something about that state nagged at him—like it had a reputation for certain... incidents. He couldn't quite remember what.
Noon.
On a winding highway through West Virginia, a Jeep cruised down the road, dense forest pressing in from both sides.
Six people packed the vehicle: three guys, three girls. All white except Danny.
Among them were two couples—Scott and Carly, plus Evan and Francine.
The remaining girl was named Jessie. She wore a cropped tank top and worn jeans, a blonde with an athletic build and a deep tan.
Lots of Americans loved tanning—even when it aged their skin prematurely.
Jessie had invited Danny on this trip, but even for a casual getaway, he'd brought a handgun. It provided some comfort, at least.
Blue skies, white clouds, and scenic views made the detour due to construction seem almost pleasant.
Everything looked perfect.
Until they got a flat tire. Then another car rear-ended them.
Scott climbed out to confront the other driver. Meanwhile, Jessie checked her phone and groaned, turning to Danny.
"This backwoods hellhole has zero signal. Danny, you got anything?"
The phrase "no signal" hit Danny like a trigger, putting him instantly on edge.
Classic American horror trope: no cell service.
When the other driver introduced himself as Chris and explained he was heading to a hiking trail nearby, Danny's suspicions crystallized.
A classic American backwoods horror film: Wrong Turn. The story of inbred, mutated cannibals born from chemical waste contamination, hunting unsuspecting travelers through the Appalachian wilderness.
At that moment, the cards he'd been absently shuffling provided a timely notification:
[Traces of containable entities detected: The Hillicker Brothers.]
Danny glanced at the surrounding forest.
The Hillickers—Three Finger, Saw Tooth, and One Eye—weren't just cannibals. They possessed superhuman strength, pain tolerance, and durability. Regular people couldn't hurt them with fists or improvised weapons. They were also proficient with bows, axes, and barbed wire traps.
Most importantly, there weren't just one or two of them. All three brothers worked as a coordinated pack.
Dangerous. But this might also be an opportunity.
Jessie got out to assess the situation, then turned back to Danny.
"Danny, you want to come with us to find a signal and call for a tow, or wait here with Evan and Francine?"
Danny heard Chris's suggestion and interjected:
"We shouldn't split up. And staying here isn't safe. I've heard there are... dangerous people in these woods."
Originally, Danny hadn't wanted to get involved. But more people meant better odds of survival. And when things went south, he'd only need to outrun the slowest person...
"Dangerous people? Dude, you trying to freak us out?" Evan laughed.
Naturally, none of them believed him.
Classic disbelief.
Danny had no choice but to follow Jessie, Chris, Scott, and Carly as they headed down the road on foot, hoping to find cell reception to call for help.
Though Danny knew the basic premise of Wrong Turn, he'd clearly forgotten most of the plot details—only vague impressions remained.
And there were multiple sequels.
Too many victims to count.
Chris noticed Danny's tension and chuckled. "Relax, man. This is America. We've got state troopers, not backwoods cannibals."
Danny's vigilance wasn't paranoia—he just didn't want to end up like the deputy at the film's end, taking an arrow through the skull from a hidden position. That would be a stupid way to die.
The group searched along the roadway.
At a narrow turnoff, they spotted a decrepit shack with white smoke rising from its chimney.
Several rusted, long-abandoned vehicles sat scattered around the property.
Chris suggested checking it out, and the group approached the ramshackle cabin at the end of the dirt path.
Danny observed the surroundings. Those vehicles had to belong to tourists who'd had the misfortune of encountering the Hillickers and becoming their next meal.
Sometimes he wanted to scream—where the hell were the state police?
And his phone still had no signal.
"Hey, maybe we should get out of here." Jessie stopped at the entrance, surveying the scene nervously.
Chris, however, felt safety in numbers. Besides, they didn't know how far the next town was, and it might be dark before they found help.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Chris knocked and called out, while Francine picked up a rusted pipe and curiously tapped a barbed wire fence, producing metallic clinks.
Danny silently watched this suicidal behavior.
Seeing no response, Chris pushed the door open and entered directly. Jessie initially thought this was incredibly rude, but seeing Danny follow closely behind, she said nothing more.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, everyone smelled something foul.
On the table sat partially eaten "meat" and recently dried, blackened blood. Various cluttered items filled every corner, and a pot of questionable stew simmered on an old wood stove.
It didn't look like a home—more like a hoarder's nightmare storage unit mixed with a slaughterhouse.
Ignoring the others' shocked reactions, Danny began searching for a proper weapon.
Unfortunately, there were no firearms in the cabin.
Only bladed weapons.
Danny grabbed a rusty machete—better than nothing.
Chris, Scott, and Carly refused to touch anything, thinking Danny was overreacting.
Jessie noticed Danny with the machete and advised, "Danny, these belong to someone. We shouldn't just take them."
"For self-defense."
Jessie met Danny's serious gaze, shrugged, and said helplessly, "Alright."
Jessie's attitude toward Danny differed from the others. Though he'd transferred from overseas, he wasn't like the stereotypical exchange students she'd encountered. He was tall, good-looking, and most importantly—came from money.
Just as they finished searching the main room, a woman's scream echoed from deeper inside.
Rushing to the back room, they discovered a dismembered female corpse soaking in a filthy bathtub...
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