The Weekend Thriller Story – Scariest Story Ever

The Weekend thriller story might just be the scariest story ever.

The invitation came in a black envelope with no sender or no return address. All it had was just Silverlyn’s name written in sharp silver ink. She found the envelop slipped under her apartment door on a Thursday night. Inside it was just a chilling single line:

“Come spend the weekend with us. Everything will make sense soon.”

It had no signature.

Silverlyn almost tossed it. Infact, she should have tossed it.

Instead, a type of stupid, relentless curiosity made her pack a small overnight bag and follow the address printed at the bottom of the card: Blackwood Lodge, a secluded cabin district two hours outside town.

By Friday evening, she was there.

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The woods were too quiet with no insects, no birds, and no breeze. It was just stillness so thick she felt watched. The cabins looked abandoned, except for one with lights on.

She knocked.

The door creaked open.

Standing inside was Jonas, her ex-boyfriend. The one who disappeared without warning six months ago.

“Silverlyn,” he breathed as if he’d been waiting. “You came. Good.”

Her stomach tightened. “What is this? Why are you here?”

Before he could answer, a shadow moved behind him. Three other people stepped into view. All familiar faces, childhood classmates she hadn’t seen in years. Each one looked pale, nervous.

“What’s going on?” She demanded.

Jonas shut the door. “We don’t have much time. They’re coming.”

“Who’s coming?”

“The collectors.”

That word settled in her bones like ice.

One of the others, Zara who was usually talkative, whispered, “It started two nights ago. We all got the same invitation. We all came here. And now we’re trapped.”

Silverlyn’s pulse hammered. “Trapped how?”

Jonas pointed to a boarded window. “Try leaving. You’ll see.”

Silverlyn stormed to the door and yanked it open.

The woods were now pitch-black even though moments ago, it had been sunset. A thick fog rolled between the trees, swallowing the ground, shifting and breathing.

Shapes moved inside the mist.

Not animals. Too tall.

Silverlyn slammed the door shut. “What did you get us into?”

Jonas swallowed hard. “They’re after a promise… something we made years ago.”

Zara nodded. “At graduation. Do you remember that stupid pact we swore on? ‘No matter where life takes us, we’ll meet again in ten years.’” She shivered. “Well… today makes exactly ten years.”

Silverlyn frowned. “That was a joke. A drunken oath!”

“That wasn’t just a pact,” Jonas said quietly. “Remember we sealed it by cutting our palms and letting our blood drip into that old wooden bowl we found behind the school.” His voice grew hollow. “That wasn’t just any bowl.”

Silverlyn remembered it too clearly, the ancient bowl engraved with swirling symbols. They’d treated it like a game. Teenagers trying to feel immortal.

Jonas continued, “Turns out it belonged to a cult. The Blackwood Circle. It was used for binding rituals. Blood oaths. Contracts you can’t break.”

Silverlyn felt her limbs weaken. “So what—these collectors want to enforce the pact?”

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Zara shook her head violently. “No. They want more. Ten years was the length of the contract. We owe them one.”

Silverlyn stared. “One?”

Jonas nodded. “One of us must be taken tonight. Or they’ll take us all.”

The floor vibrated beneath their feet—a slow, heavy thrum, like footsteps outside the cabin.

Huge footsteps.

The lights flickered.

Someone outside dragged something sharp across the wooden wall, carving long, splintering scratches.

A voice echoed through the trees, deep, distorted, not human:

“The promised weekend… begins.”

Her breath hitched. “We need a plan.”

Jonas locked eyes with her. “I have one. There’s a way out—but only if we break the pact. And to break it… we need the original bowl.”

“It’s here?” Silverlyn whispered.

Jonas nodded. “In the old lodge basement.”

Thunder cracked overhead. The collectors were getting closer.

“We split up,” Jonas said.

“No!” Zara screamed. “Splitting up is what gets people killed!”

But the cabin door shuddered like something enormous rammed it from outside. Dust fell from the ceiling.

“We don’t have a choice,” Jonas said. “Silverlyn comes with me. The rest of you stay here and distract them.”

Silverlyn hesitated. “I’m not leaving them.”

But Zara grabbed her hands. “Go. If you break the pact, we all survive.”

Silverlyn nodded reluctantly.

Jonas pulled her out the back exit. The woods were colder now. The fog pressed against them like fingers. They raced toward the larger lodge at the center of the camp.

Behind them, the screams started.

High. Piercing. Terrifying.

Silverlyn slowed, tears burning her eyes. “Jonas—they’re—”

He didn’t look back. “Keep moving.”

The main lodge loomed ahead—dark, decayed, its windows shattered. They went inside.

The basement door groaned open.

The air below was damp and metallic. Silverlyn gagged at the smell. The basement was filled with old otherworldly items like totems, symbols, bone-like stuff arranged in circles.

In the center sat the bowl.

The same one. The same markings. A faint red stain still clung to its grooves.

Jonas grabbed it. “We destroy it, and the pact scatters.”

She reached for a rusted iron rod. “Then let’s spoil it—now.”

Before she swung, Jonas grabbed her wrist.

His eyes glowed faintly red.

“Silverlyn,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

She froze. “Jonas… what’s happening to you?”

He took a step back. “I didn’t invite you here to save you. I invited you here because they want your soul. Not mine.”

Silverlyn’s expression ran cold.

Jonas raised his hands. “They gave me a deal. Bring you here, deliver the bowl, complete the offering… and I go free.”

Silverlyn’s voice broke. “You sold me out?”

Something heavy landed upstairs. Then another. The collectors were entering the lodge.

Silverlyn backed away. “Jonas, please—”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to x.”

Suddenly the basement lights snapped off.

Silverlyn screamed.

The room filled with deep breathing. Not Jonas’s.

Something massive brushed past her. The collectors.

A voice rumbled:

“The offering… or all.”

Silverlyn stumbled backward until her hand brushed the iron rod again. Without thinking, she swung blindly.

Metal cracked.

Not on a creature—but on the bowl.

The ground shook violently.

A roar split the room—the collectors screaming, shrieking, dissolving into the fog that burst from the shattered bowl.

Jonas howled in agony as dark tendrils wrapped around him.

“No! This wasn’t the deal! This wasn’t—”

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His words cut off. He vanished into the mist, dragged away by unseen hands.

The fog dissolved.

The basement fell silent.

Silverlyn collapsed to her knees, sobbing.

By morning, the woods were normal again. No fog. No screams. The other three survivors staggered out of the ruined cabin—alive, shaken, traumatized.

Silverlyn never found him again.

But sometimes… late at night…

She hears him whisper from the shadows:

“Save me, Silverlyn… the pact isn’t finished…”

Click to read part 2