The cottage wasn't old, it was ancient. It was covered with a thick layer of moss and undergrowth, plants sprouting from the moss. The roof of the cottage was rusted, a tinge of golden orange on the once silver tin shed. The cottage seemed like it was out of a horror movie; vacant, silent and terrifying. The grass around it was withered and dead, just like the house itself. The house looked like it had been carefully built, time after time spent in perfecting each of its features. And the maker did an amazing job; A cottage in the woods, tucked behind trees, concealed from the eyes of all, withstanding storms and the utter loneliness it dwelled amidst.
        The work of the builder was flawless. The door was rusted, locked maybe but Marcello didn't touch it, not yet. He tiptoed towards the door, as if someone would hear him. He did not dare breathe or walk in fear of making a wrong move.
         He reaches the cottage, an odd odour filling his nostrils. He admires the way the door has been set and touches it. His fingers rub the surface of the door, cleaning the dust and revealing a few letters, hazy yet there. R.S . Under it, in tiny letters was the name of maybe the owner, engraved. He couldn't see it because it was too small, too dirty and too dull. With a breathe, he pushed the door open.
       A screeching sound followed. Marcello's breathe caught in his throat, his stomach clenched and his heart leapt. A huge black figure rushed to him. Marcello jumped back in fear,stumbling,falling on the littered leaves. For a second, he thought it was the woman from his, dressed all in black, her hair wild, her eyes pure black, giving off fear and smelling of death.
        He was wrong of course. As soon as he realized that he had let a big raven scare him, he blushed, ashamed. Even though no one could see him, a sense of utter stupidity overwhelmed him. The feeling angered him, yet he had nothing to vent his anger on,nothing to lessen his frustration. Marcello had been bottling this frustration for a long time because he knew he had to know how to control his anger as it was the very element that got him exiled. He no longer wanted to make any mistakes.
       He felt the anger surging through his body. It was extreamely hard for him to only talk to himself. He knew he had messed up but he didn't deserve so less as to not get a single soul to understand or calm him down. He could feel the anger taking control. He didn't want to but this time, he chose to let it take him. No one would know of his weakness and desperation in this island and that is why he couldn't hurt anyone. The world was safe from his wrath. And holding this anger captive inside him would get him nowhere. He closed his eyes and let all the caged rage take him. He could hear the blood pounding in his veins,his brain roaring.
         With all the strength he could muster up, he kicked hard. The stone went flying and landed on the raven's forehead. With a blood clotting caw, it flew away, it's forehead now having a bleeding wound, swollen and visible. Marcello crouched down in pain, either because of his swollen and bruised toes or because of his aching chest. He thought how much of a horrible person he has become that even in an isolated island, he had managed to hurt a being.
       Limping, he approached the cottage, tucked amidst the trees. The door was ajar, darkness reigning inside. A disgusting stench overwhelmed him, the bile rushing up his throat. He held his breath and peeked inside. What he saw made the color drain out of his face.
         At the centre of the cabin was a wooden table, now covered with moss. The soil beneath was damp, covered with a substance like algae,green and slimy. The walls are wooden as well, creaking and rotting with the water in between. Maybe that was where the smell of rotten boards came from. All the furniture were  covered in dust layers. A shelf stood at the far corner of the room, a few books piled up. On top of the shelf rested a flower, withered, dead.
         There was a rug on the floor, a few books stacked rested on the rug. On the table sat a few bowls, most empty but two with grinders on them. He removed the dust covered chair and looked into the wooden bowl. A sticky green substance consisting of brown crystalline stuff is what Marcello saw. A layer of mouldy fungus had formed,the mixture now turning grey and stinky trapping bees on the spider web. On the bowl, the grinder was kept, as though the owner had left to get some other things to add to the mixture but never returned.
        Marcello touched the table top, rubbing off the layer of dust covering it. He wondered why all these weird and eccentric things covered the table top. From wild mushrooms, to three leafed herbs, toadstools and wild flowers. He opens the drawers only to be surprised beyond his wits. In the left drawer were a few dried crickets, looks dead. And there was a single rat, sliced through its centre, it's fur rough with dried blood.
      He closes the drawer with a slam,the ancient knob falling off. He looks at the right drawer, hesitating to open it. But the burning curiosity igniting his heart drives him to open it. He steadily traces the knob before pulling the drawer open with a jerk. There in the midst of some brown papers, was a dagger. And that wasn't all. The scarier thing was, that it had blood, dried and smelling of iron. Marcello slowly raised the dagger, gripped in his hands.
           The blade was stained with blood, dry and rough. The blade stenched of rotten blood, tinged with a vague scent of iron. It looked very disturbing and sent shivers down his back. Marcello dropped the dagger and stumbled back, two black dots dancing in front of his eyes. His stomach lurched  and he steadied himself against the table. He slowly stepped forward, carefully taking the brown papers and then tiptoed to the rug, picked up a few books and headed out. He glanced back, tracing the way to someone's seclusion in his mind. This definitely wasn't the last time he would be inside this cottage.
      As Marcello advanced through the dense forest to the coast, he could feel the weight of the books and the even greater weight of his wrong doings. It was wrong. It was unacceptable to touch all these parchments and things without the owner's permission. But he had to,otherwise he would end up just like the owner, wiped out of memory.
        He didn't know which was scarier, the fact that someone had lived on the island or maybe is living now as well or the fact that the owner of the cottage had vanished without a trace. He was afraid of being alone but he no longer wanted to be in the presence of someone. There had to be a way out of this cursed island, he had to get out of here alive. Either starvation or the monster terrorising this island would kill him but until then he wasn't going to give in to death so easily. If the grim reaper ever came to take his soul, he wouldn't give in without a few punches.
      We all are scared of what we don't know. What Marcello knew scared him but what he didn't know scared him much more. He wanted to run, only there was a stretch of water between him and his dear Evelyn. He wanted to fly, only his wings were clipped. He wanted to drown and die in his misery, but he had made a promise and he intended to keep it.
          Darkness scares us but the endless darkness stretching infront of Marcello was different. He needed to know but he didn't want to know. Ignorance was driving him insane in this lonely island which veiled gruesome secrets and endless deaths and one very unsatisfied soul lurking in the shadows, seeking revenge on the entire mankind.

(Ps. Taaaadaaaa! I am back. It has been a stressful and absolutely horrid few weeks. I am so glad to be back on wattpad cause gawd I have missed this place. I have found my lost inspiration and returned to my writings. Anyways tell me how you guys like it and HAPPY HOLIDAYS.
This chapter is a shoutout to vshln4, the reader who never gave up on me. )