The man had been wandering for hours before he realized he was no longer alone.
At first it was only the rhythm of his own footsteps crunching through the frost-bitten leaves, the kind of slow, deliberate sound that suggested caution rather than aimlessness. The forest around him—dense, breathless, and older than any map that claimed it—seemed to press inward with every step. He was trying to remember how he had even entered this particular stretch of Pennsylvania woods. He’d grown up around forests. He knew their moods, their silences, their animals. But this place, this evening, felt different. As if the air itself was watching.
The stranger—his name was Elias Pryce, though no one outside a handful of people in Philadelphia would remember that—stopped walking when he saw the shape.
It wasn’t hiding.
It wasn’t stalking.
It simply stood there in the blue-grey haze between two leaning pines, tall enough that its silhouette touched the lower branches, still enough that Elias wondered if it might be carved from shadow itself.
Then he heard it breathe.
A slow, deliberate inhale, like the forest itself was filling its lungs.
“Hello?” Elias whispered, his voice wobbling in the cold air.
The creature didn’t speak. But its head tilted just slightly, as if it understood him—or recognized him.
Elias had come to these woods because he needed quiet. Because earlier that morning, the greatest controversy of the NFL season had exploded with his name at the center of it. Because he had been accused of something monstrous—something that could ruin careers, twist family loyalties, ignite fans, and shake the entire league.
But as the creature shifted its weight, its eyes reflecting a dull amber glow, Elias Pryce realized something unsettling:
Whatever had been waiting for him in the forest tonight…
Knew exactly who he was.
And why he had come.
II. BEFORE THE WORLD KNEW
Twelve hours earlier, Jason Kelce had been laughing.
He sat in the studio chair like a man built to be comfortable anywhere—helmet, barstool, radio booth, didn’t matter. The “New Heights” set buzzed with the familiar pre-show energy: technicians adjusting levels, cameras warming up, the faint echo of producers calling times.
Travis walked in late, as usual, tossing a protein bar across the room toward his brother.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” Jason grinned.
“I haven’t,” Travis replied, ripping open the wrapper.
It should have been a normal recording day. Another episode. Another pair of brothers bantering their way through NFL chaos.
But their producer, Marcella Vega, hovered nearby in a way that made Jason pause.
“You guys should see something before we roll,” she said. Her tone tried to be casual. Failed.
Jason shot Travis a look.
Travis raised an eyebrow.
They followed Marcella to the editing booth.
On the monitor was a screenshot—a social media post from a verified account belonging to Elias Pryce, a mid-tier assistant equipment manager who had spent the last season with the Kansas City organization.
The caption read:
“I won’t be silent anymore. I’ve received death threats from inside the league, and one came from someone connected to Travis Kelce. If anything happens to me, you’ll know why.”
Travis froze.
Jason’s jaw tightened.
Marcella exhaled through her teeth.
“It’s going viral,” she said. “Reporters are looking for a response. Your PR teams are already on this, but… they think you should address it at the top of the show.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Travis muttered.
Jason crossed his arms. “Do you know him?”
“I mean—yeah, sort of. Not well. The guy was quiet. Kept to himself. But I’ve never threatened anyone. Why would anyone from my circle—?”
He stopped.
His voice cracked.
Something bruised flickered across his face.
Jason placed a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “We’ll clear it up. Just be honest.”
“Yeah,” Travis said.
But his face had gone pale.
III. THE POST THAT SET EVERYTHING ON FIRE
By noon, the sports world had detonated.
Talk shows argued. Commentators speculated. Fans swarmed every platform demanding answers, picking sides, spinning conspiracy threads like spiderwebs in the sun.
Some insisted Elias was desperate for attention.
Others insisted he must have proof.
Others swore the NFL had a history of burying uncomfortable truths.
Jason and Travis had weathered controversies before, but this was different—because it wasn’t just a rumor about a play call or a locker room spat.
A death threat.
Accusations of intimidation.
Connections to a beloved superstar.
A story that scratched the edges of scandal, fear, and violence.
By the time they sat in front of the cameras for their live-streamed episode, both men carried a tension the audience could sense instantly.
Jason opened the show.
“We want to address what’s going on,” he said, voice steady, jaw rigid. “This is serious. And personal.”
Travis inhaled deeply, forcing himself to speak clearly.
“I never threatened Elias. No one close to me threatened Elias. I’m trying to understand why he would say this.”
Before they could continue, Marcella gestured wildly off-camera, pointing to her headset. She mouthed:
“He’s on the phone. Right now. He wants to speak.”
Travis blinked.
Jason uttered, “You’re kidding.”
But she wasn’t.
Elias Pryce—vanished from his workplace since dawn, unreachable by team officials, cops, or coworkers—had suddenly called the show’s hotline.
And he said he wanted to talk live.
IV. THE CALL THAT BROKE THE ROOM
The feed didn’t cut to commercial.
Jason refused.
Travis demanded answers.
So Marcella patched the call through.
At first, nothing but static.
Then a breath—shaky, uneven, frantic.
“Elias?” Jason said. “Are you safe?”
The voice on the line cracked like brittle wood.
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?” Travis asked.
A rustle. Twigs snapping. Wind moving through branches.
He was outside. Somewhere remote.
“I didn’t want this to happen,” Elias whispered. “I didn’t want to drag you into it. But I can’t protect myself anymore. And the thing in the woods—”
Jason blinked. “The what?”
Travis leaned closer to the microphone. “Elias, what are you talking about? Start from the beginning.”
But Elias didn’t answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own:
“Travis… did you ever overhear something? Last season. Someone in the organization who might want to scare me off?”
“What? No. That’s not—who would—?”
“Someone did,” Elias whispered. “And it wasn’t just words. They sent something to my house. Something dead.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “Did you call the police?”
“They… didn’t believe me.”
More static.
A faint grinding sound.
Like bark peeling.
“Elias,” Travis said, voice tight. “Did someone tell you I had anything to do with this? Someone feeding you lies?”
“It wasn’t… a person,” Elias murmured.
The room fell silent.
“What do you mean?” Jason asked.
“I mean,” Elias whispered, “I saw it. I saw the thing that left the threat on my doorstep. And I don’t think it’s human.”
The producer signaled frantically to cut the call.
But Travis made a sharp gesture—no.
“What thing?” he demanded. “What did you see?”
But the line dissolved into a sound none of them could place—a deep, guttural rumble that didn’t belong to static, wind, or any animal they recognized.
Elias screamed.
The call dropped.
The studio erupted in chaos.
And the chat exploded across the screen—tens of thousands of viewers watching live, flooding the feed with disbelief, hysteria, fear, mockery, concern.
But none of them saw what Jason saw in his brother’s face.
Pure, unfiltered dread.
