Resolution’s price Ethan Campbell Resolution's pRice Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book Resolution’s price Resolution’s price Ethan Campbell Ethan Campbell An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Resolution’s price T he night had the kind of stillness that seemed unnatural. The air hung thick with cold, the kind of cold that slithered beneath your skin, making your joints ache and your breath turn to fog before it even escaped your lips. A heavy weight of frost had settled over the town, turning the streets into icy veins beneath the tired, gray sky. Not a soul had been brave enough to leave the warmth of their homes for hours. The wind, though, seemed to have a life of its own. It howled, sharp and unforgiving, scraping against the trees that lined the road like skeletal fingers reaching up, clawing at the heavens. It was a night that felt like something was wrong. Like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. In a small, creaky house on the outskirts of town, Gregory Dunne sat alone in front of his fire, its orange glow dancing across the walls, casting long, crooked shadows. The house was too quiet—too empty—but Ethan Campbell he didn’t mind. It was better that way. Better to be alone than surrounded by people who reminded him of the man he used to be before he turned into some- one he didn’t recognize anymore. He was staring into the fire now, its warmth not enough to push back the chill that had taken root in his bones. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the calendar hanging on the wall. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the first day of the New Year. The first day of his new life. At least, that’s what he told himself. He had made a promise, a resolution. Some- thing he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do in years, something he thought he’d never be able to break free from the bottle. No more alcohol. No more excuses. No more hiding behind the haze of drunken stupor. He’d told himself that this time would be different. This time, he would stop. He would stop drinking and start living again. He would reclaim the life he had lost. Or at least try to. Gregory looked at the calendar, his fingers brush- ing over the date, January 1st, his new beginning. But the words didn’t feel as solid as they once had. They Resolution’s price felt... hollow. As if the resolution was not entirely his. As if something else had decided it for him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. It was just nerves. That’s all. Tomorrow was the day. To- morrow would change everything. But as he stared at the calendar, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone. He could feel something in the room, a presence. Something that wasn’t the wind outside or the crackling of the fire. It was the way the shadows seemed to stretch just a lit- tle too far, the way the air around him felt... wrong. He stood up, feeling his joints creak in protest, his body old before its time. But he ignored it. He had made his decision. The resolution was made. A whisper of wind rattled the windowpanes, send- ing a shiver down his spine. Gregory turned, but there was nothing there. Just the flickering of the fire and the silence of the house. Still, that feeling, the sense that something was watching ...lingered. It crawled along his skin, settled into the pit of his stomach. It had always been there, he realized. There had been times when he’d felt it Ethan Campbell before, out of the corner of his eye, or in the back of his mind when he’d stare too long at the walls, trying to remember when he had stopped caring about any- thing. But now, tonight, it was stronger. Closer. He took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. To- morrow, he would stop drinking. Tomorrow, every- thing would change. Gregory looked down at the calendar one last time. He reached for the paper, his fingers brushing the surface of it. And that’s when the cold hit him. It wasn’t the cold of the winter air that had bled in through the cracks in the walls. No, this was different. This was colder, colder than anything he had ever felt in his life. It crawled up his spine, froze the blood in his veins. His breath hitched as the temperature dropped, the flames in the fireplace flickering out of sync with the rhythm of the wind outside. Suddenly, the fire didn’t seem so warm anymore. And that’s when he heard it. A faint whisper. Resolution’s price At first, it was just a breath. A soft, almost inaudible sound, like wind rustling through the trees outside. But as it grew louder, it became something more. Something deliberate. “Keep your resolution, Gregory.” Gregory’s heart thudded in his chest. His skin broke out in goosebumps, his hands trembling as he looked around the room. The whisper wasn’t coming from the fire, or the wind. It was... inside the room. Inside his very mind. His breath came faster now, his pulse racing. He turned toward the doorway, expecting someone to be standing there. Someone playing a cruel trick on him. But there was no one. No one but the empty house and the flickering shadows. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something that could explain the voice, but there was nothing. Nothing except the presence. The suffocating, in- visible presence that pressed in on him from every angle, closing in like a noose. Gregory took a step back, his feet catching on the rug as he stumbled toward the window. The curtains Ethan Campbell swayed in the wind, but there was something else moving outside. Something he couldn’t see but felt all around him. Something dark. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout, to de- mand answers, but before the words could form, the air grew colder still. His breath came out in clouds, his hands shaking so violently that the glass of the window rattled in its frame. He could feel it now, right behind him. That thing. That thing that had been watching him for so long. Waiting. “You made a promise,” the voice whispered again, closer this time. “You will keep it, Gregory.” He spun around, his breath catching in his throat. Nothing. But there, in the corner of the room, where the shadows bled into the darkness, he saw it. A shape, barely visible in the flickering light. It was like a shadow given form, an outline that didn’t belong to anything he could recognize. It was tall. Too tall. And it had eyes. Resolution’s price Eyes that glowed with an unnatural, sickly light. Eyes that pierced through the darkness like burning coals, watching him, waiting. The whisper came again, louder now, filling the room, echoing off the walls. “You made a promise, Gregory. And promises are forever. You cannot break it. Not now. Not ever.” The shadows stretched and moved, slithering clos- er, wrapping around him, choking the air from his lungs. The fire in the hearth seemed to flicker one last time, its light dimming as the temperature continued to plummet. The room was freezing now, colder than any winter night. Gregory opened his mouth to scream, to beg, to run. But the words never came. The shadows took him. And everything went dark. Tomorrow was supposed to be his new begin- ning. But tomorrow, Gregory would learn that some promises are not made by men but by something far older, far darker. And once made, they could never be broken. Ethan Campbell I. Gregory Dunne stood before the bathroom mirror, the weak light of dawn creeping through the curtains. It was too early. The world outside hadn’t fully wo- ken up yet, but Gregory was already here, eyes locked onto the man staring back at him. He looked... older than his thirty-two years. His face was pale, hollowed out. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin had a sickly, ashen hue to it, as if it had been drained of its life by years of bad decisions. Years of numbness, of turning to whiskey instead of facing the world. He hadn’t looked this way when he was younger. He hadn’t always been this broken. Back then, he’d been full of hope. Dreams about the future. Laughter, even. He had felt alive. Now, staring at his reflection, Gregory didn’t rec- ognize himself anymore. The man he used to be— Resolution’s price the ambitious, driven guy—was buried beneath lay- ers of regret, shame, and the thick fog of alcohol. He clenched his fists at his sides, eyes locked onto the reflection of himself. The promise he had made the night before the one that felt so solid, so absolute, came flooding back. “I’m done,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “No more. I will fight this. I’ll win.” The words barely felt like his own, yet they echoed in the hollow room. He repeated them, louder this time. “I will fight this.” For a moment, he believed it. The promise had been made. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the room felt too small, too suffocating. The air was stale with the remnants of last night’s loneliness and regret. He needed something. Something to anchor him. Something to remind him that this wasn’t just some foolish, fleeting thought. A resolution. That’s what it was. A declaration. A promise to himself that he would change. Ethan Campbell The wind outside, however, seemed to mock him. It howled through the cracked windows, a piercing, mournful cry that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Gregory winced. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts over the sound of it. The wind pushed against the house like an angry force, making the walls creak, whispering warnings he couldn’t under- stand. He couldn’t ignore the cold creeping into his bones. The chill that hadn’t been there moments before. He shut the bathroom door behind him, escaping the mirror that had shown him a man he no longer recognized. As he made his way to the kitchen, his legs felt heavier than they should have, like he was carrying a burden no one could see. Each step was a reminder of the life he had been living, the life he was trying to leave behind. But the kitchen was silent. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, almost too steadily, as if time itself was watching him. The coffee pot was still on the counter, though he couldn’t remember making it. The smell of stale cof- fee lingered in the air, but there was no warmth in it. No comfort. His hands shook as he reached for the Resolution’s price coffee, trying to ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of his stomach. But it was then, as his fingers grazed the counter, that he saw it. The bottle. It sat there, like an unwanted guest. The last bottle of whiskey. The one he had promised himself would be his final drink. The one he had sworn, sworn, would be the last. He had left it there last night, hadn’t he? He had poured the last of it out. He had made the vow. But now, it was gone. The sudden absence of it twisted something deep inside him. He froze, staring at the empty spot on the counter, as if expecting the bottle to reappear, like some cruel trick. But there was nothing. No trace of it. No sign that it had ever been there. His pulse quickened, and his stomach lurched. He looked around the kitchen, his eyes darting from one corner to the next. But the room seemed frozen, still. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath. “Where the hell is it?” Gregory muttered under his breath. His voice cracked, betraying his fear. Ethan Campbell He moved toward the living room, his feet drag- ging across the floor. He checked under the couch, behind the old armchair, in the empty cabinets. He even checked the trash can, though he knew it hadn’t been thrown away. He found nothing. His heart was pounding now. Sweat beaded on his forehead, though the air in the house was cool. His hands trembled, the familiar shakes of withdrawal beginning to creep up on him. The fear—the panic— had set in. It was too much. He had been too eager to rid himself of his old life, too eager to leave behind his vices. But now... now he was empty. He had noth- ing. Nothing but the terrifying silence and the feeling that something was wrong. Something was wrong. As he stood in the middle of the kitchen, he felt it. The air in the room had shifted. The temperature dropped—no, it was more than that. It felt as if some- thing cold had entered, a presence that wrapped around him like a vice, tightening with each passing second. Resolution’s price Then, like a whisper through a storm, it came. “Keep your resolution, Gregory.” His breath hitched in his throat. He spun around, his heart hammering in his chest, but the kitchen was empty. His eyes darted to the doorway, to the dark- ened hallway leading to the other rooms of the house. There was no one there. Nothing. Nothing but the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, the sound of his own pulse pound- ing in his ears. And then the whisper came again. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a voice he could place, but it was there, claw- ing at his thoughts. The words were impossibly clear. A command. An order. “Keep your resolution, Gregory.” His skin crawled, his blood turning to ice. His mind raced. He hadn’t imagined it. He hadn’t. It was real. There was something here. Something watching him. Something waiting. Gregory took a step back, a chill racing down his spine. His eyes swept across the kitchen again. The Ethan Campbell room seemed to close in on him. The shadows in the corners grew darker, more pronounced, like they were moving toward him, inch by inch. He could al- most feel them, those dark shapes, stretching toward him with an unnatural hunger. The air felt thick. He felt as if he was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to shout, to call out, but his voice was strangled, caught somewhere in his throat. His legs wobbled, and he stumbled backward, his back press- ing against the cool wall. “You made a promise,” the voice echoed again, this time closer, louder, like it was standing right behind him. “Promises are forever. You cannot break it. Not now. Not ever.” Gregory’s breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes darted to the door, to the outside world beyond. If he could just make it out of the house. If he could just run... But he didn’t move. Because he knew. He knew what was happening. Resolution’s price The resolution wasn’t his anymore. And he couldn’t escape it. The shadows shifted again, and the cold wrapped around him like chains, pulling him down, down into the darkness. Ethan Campbell II. The days that followed felt like a slow descent into madness, each one worse than the last. Gregory tried to go through the motions of normal life, as if he could outrun what had happened that morning, the voice, the whisper, the eerie cold that had crept into every corner of his house. But with each passing day, the normalcy he clung to began to fray at the edg- es. The promise he had made to himself ...his New Year’s resolution, should have been the easy part. He should have been proud of it. But the strange events that followed made him feel like he was living in the wrong version of his life. Like something was watch- ing, always watching. It started small. Little things that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. The closet door that had been wide open when he’d sworn he’d left it shut. The smell of cigarette smoke—faint, but undeniable, lingering in the air at odd hours of the day, even though Greg- ory didn’t smoke. The lamp in the living room that