The gravel road had stopped pretending to be a road five miles ago. Now it was more of a scar - narrow, rutted, barely navigable - etched into the land by old tires and the ambition of hikers with something to prove. Each pothole sent the SUV's frame into a rattle, the loose change in the cup holder jumping with metallic clinks. On either side, the forest had gone feral. Pine limbs reached inward like claws, scraping faint lines along the doors, while the canopy above curved like ribs over a hollowed chest. The smell of warm dust and pine sap bled through the cracked windows. Inside, the air grew tense, heavy with the kind of silence that makes your stomach coil, like even the forest was holding its breath.

Inside the beat-up SUV, the suspension moaned with every dip and jolt, making the whole frame shudder like it was protesting the climb. Loose gear rattled in the back. Brooke bounced with a soft curse, bracing her elbow against the window while Charlie cursed the playlist for skipping again. Dust swirled behind them like a second storm cloud, choking the fading light. The air inside felt cooler now, edged with the sharp bite of descending mountain air. Morgan pulled her hoodie tighter, unfolding a crinkled paper map across her lap like it was treasure. The last bars of cell signal had disappeared two turns back. A single notification pinged - and then, silence. Jordan adjusted the vents.

"Cold came out of nowhere," he muttered, but no one answered.

"This place better be worth it," Brooke blurted out, squinting through the dusty windshield like it had personally betrayed her. Her fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against her knee, more annoyed than scared.

"It is," Morgan replied, not missing a beat.

She smoothed the map across her lap, the creases crackling like brittle leaves. Her voice carried that I-know-something-you-don't lilt, laced with a smirk she didn't quite let reach her eyes.

"Guy at the outfitter said it's the best spot out here. Remote. Secluded. No other campers for miles." She said it like a promise. Or maybe a challenge.

Brooke raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. "Always a great sign when no one comes back a second time."

She shifted in her seat, lips tight. In the back, Charlie smirked and shook out a trail mix bag with one hand.

"Classic horror setup. Four dumb friends go for a hike into the woods, never to be seen again." he snickered.

Jordan's grip tightened on the wheel, like he was holding it still on instinct, like the car might veer off on its own if he let go. "You're the one who said no guns, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Charlie mumbled, then perked up, flashing a crooked grin. "I've accepted my fate. First to die, comic relief. It's fine." He leaned back, shaking the trail mix bag again.

"I'm joking. I also brought snacks, so we don't die on an empty stomach." he joked.

The SUV rumbled to a stop in a clearing that looked like it hadn't been touched in years - or like something had just cleared it. Barely wide enough for the vehicle, the ground was flattened in a way that didn't feel natural. A jagged mountain ridge loomed beyond the trees, its edge pale and sharp like bone under skin. Pines stood at attention around them, tall and unmoving, as if they'd grown that way on purpose. They climbed out slowly, stretching legs, rubbing sore shoulders. Flat ground. Dense tree cover. The faint scent of moss and cold stone clung to the air. The silence felt almost thick, like a blanket too heavy to shake off. Brooke stepped away from the car, her boots crunching over the dirt with a sound that felt too loud. Her stomach clenched, sudden and sharp. There was no wind, but a chill traced the back of her neck like a fingertip.

"Where are the bugs?" she said, brow furrowing.

Morgan blinked. "What?"

Brooke scanned the treetops and replied, "No bugs. No birds. And the wind stopped. You feel that?"

A pulse thudded behind her ribs. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her sleeves, trying to pass it off as cold.

It's just nerves, she told herself. Too much caffeine. Too many late-night creepypastas.

But the stillness pressed against her skin like humidity without heat. They all went still, it was quiet, maybe even too quiet. It sounded like the whole forest was empty.

Jordan crossed his arms, rubbing at the goosebumps starting to form. "Maybe it's the altitude."

Brooke didn't look at him. "We're not in the damn Rockies, genius."

Her voice came out drier than she expected, thinner. They reached the clearing and began setting up camp. Tents pitched in a tight square around the fire ring, closer than necessary. No one said it aloud, but they all kept looking at the trees like something might lean out and wave. Morgan was the first to strike a match. The fire caught slow, stubborn, like the wood didn't want to burn. When the blaze finally crackled to life, the warmth felt earned.

By nightfall, they sat cross-legged on camp chairs and logs, passing around warm cans of beer and marshmallows that browned too fast over the uneven flame. The sugar stuck to their teeth, turned to ash in their mouths. Conversation drifted the way it always did on nights like this - pulled by flame and shadows toward stories they only half-believed.

"You ever hear those stories about strange voices in the woods?" Jordan asked, nudging a glowing log with a stick. Sparks hissed up into the night like nervous fireflies.

Brooke groaned. "God. Here we go."

She pulled her hoodie tighter around her shoulders, glancing at the darkness just beyond the firelight.

"No, not Skinwalkers or ghosts," Jordan said. "I mean mimics. Things that sound like people, but aren't."

Brooke rolled her eyes, but her voice lacked bite. "Reddit bait."

Morgan leaned in, her face half-lit, half-shadowed. "No. I've heard that too. People saying they hear their name called in the woods. But the voice isn't quite right. Like it's wearing someone's tone like a costume."

Jordan nodded. "Yeah. And it always makes you freeze. Because it's familiar. But not safe."

Charlie grinned, eyes glinting in the firelight. "Next thing you know there's a deer standing on two legs going, 'Hey, it's me, your mom. Come give me a hug.'"

Laughter broke out - too loud, too sharp.

Then it died just as fast.

The fire popped. The wind sighed through the trees like a breath too close.

The woods beyond the glow didn't feel empty. They felt? aware.

Jordan jolted awake suddenly.

Still groggy and confused, he looked around the dark tent. He couldn't remember if he'd been dreaming - just that strange sense of panic. Like when you're almost asleep and your body suddenly jerks, convinced you're falling off a cliff.

That kind of wake-up where your skin feels tight and your heart's already pounding harder than it should be.

The tent was silent.

Not just silent - hollow.

Like something had sucked all the life out of the woods.

No wind brushing the nylon.

No last embers cracking in the fire ring.

Not even the faint, comforting chirp of bugs.

Just stillness. Dense. Padded.

Like the trees had sealed them inside a soundproof box.

He blinked slowly. Sat halfway up.

Then he heard it.

"Jordan?"

A whisper. It sounded like it was coming from just outside.

He paused. Eyes scanning the dark curve of the tent wall again, like this time he might actually see something through all that thick darkness pressing in on him.

He listened. Nothing. No footsteps. No tent zippers.

Just the whisper. Just his name.

Frowning, he grabbed his phone.

No service.

2:47 a.m.

Probably Charlie. Or Brooke. Or maybe Morgan talking in her sleep.

He couldn't really tell whose voice it had been - but realistically, who else would be calling him by name at almost 3 a.m., in the middle of nowhere?

Thinking he must have imagined it, he slid his phone back under the pillow and started to lie down again, tugging the sleeping bag up over his chest.

Then, just as his head touched the pillow, he heard it again.

"Jordan? are you awake?"

Same voice. Same calm tone.

But this time, something about it curled deep in his gut. The voice was just slightly off - like someone trying to sound human with a mouth that didn't quite work right.

Jordan sat up slowly.

His fingers drifted toward the tent zipper without even thinking - like if he checked, it would prove everything was fine.

Just one peek.

Just to be sure.

Then he stopped.

His hand hovered above the pull tab.

And he didn't move.

Every instinct screamed: don't open the tent.

He could feel his heart pulsing through every limb, cold sweat gathering at his forehead and trailing slowly down the sides of his face, following the line of his hair.

Jordan woke to the pale blue haze of early morning light bouncing off the tent walls.

His sleeping bag was damp with sweat, despite the mountain's morning chill, and his limbs felt heavy. It felt like he'd barely slept at all.

Outside, the others were stirring. A zipper opened, followed by the soft flap of tent fabric shifting in the light breeze.

He could hear them chatting as they started prepping breakfast - voices low, casual, normal.

The soft hiss of the camp stove flickered to life.

His mind flashed back to the night before - the whisper, and the eerie silence that followed. He remembered the way anxiety had bloomed sharp and sudden in his chest.

He shuddered and shook the thought off, unzipping his tent to join the others around the fire.

Jordan stepped out into the cool morning air. The sky was pale and cloudless, and drops of dew glistened across the tree leaves like glass.

The others were gathered loosely around the fire ring, where a fresh flame crackled beneath a dented camping pan. Brooke was poking scrambled eggs with a plastic spatula while Charlie sipped something steaming from his favorite mug.

It was an old, chipped enamel coffee mug - one he brought on every trip.

"I can't start my morning right with the wrong mug," was always Charlie's excuse for packing it.

Thinking of that, Jordan chuckled to himself and settled into a seat near the fire, next to Brooke.

No one said anything about the night.

No "Did you hear that?"

No "Was someone walking around?"

So neither did he.

He told himself he must have imagined it - just a dream, a trick of sleep and silence. The thought brought a flicker of relief.

But it didn't last.

That unsettled feeling stayed with him all morning, quiet but constant.

In the back of his mind, a question lingered:

How could I have imagined it so clearly?

And if it wasn't real...

Why didn't anyone else hear it?

They were all laughing - sleepy jokes and bad impressions. Someone complained about a rock in their sleeping pad. Morgan dropped a spoon and cursed.

For a moment, it felt like any other morning.

Any other camping trip.

The forest, just a forest again.

Jordan sat cross-legged near the fire and took the plate offered to him - eggs, toast, a strip of bacon gone cold. The heat from the flames warmed his face, and the laughter hummed gently in the air.

He almost let himself believe it had all been in his head.

Almost.

They were finishing breakfast when Morgan stood up, brushing crumbs from her hoodie. She wandered toward the far edge of the clearing, her half-empty plate still in one hand.

The others stayed by the fire, lost in easy conversation and warm food. Charlie was mid-joke when Morgan's voice cut through.

"Hey."

It wasn't so much a shout, but more like a raised breath. Alert. Focused.

"Come check this out."

Jordan looked up.

She was crouched near the treeline, where sunlight filtered through the branches in shifting beams. The ground there was darker, softer - carpeted in pine needles and damp soil.

They all slowly got up and walked toward her, curious about what she could have found out here.

Jordan lingered behind the others, that feeling of dread from the night before creeping back to the front of his mind.

Was this the direction he'd heard the whisper from? Or was it the other side? He couldn't remember now - and that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He trailed after them warily, getting lost deep in thought. He was mentally replaying last night over and over. The voice, the silence and the eerie stillness that felt unnatural.

He was still trailing behind when he realized the laughter had faded; glancing up, he saw the others standing motionless now, gathered near the treeline completely speechless.

They were huddled close around something in the dirt. No one spoke and the light mood had suddenly vanished, replaced by a heaviness he couldn't quite explain. Something tense and expectant, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

He quickened his pace, gravel crunching under his boots as he reached them. Morgan stepped back slightly, giving him room to see.

A footprint.

Bare. Almost human, but not?

It was too long. Just enough to make you stare - and the toes were angled strangely, as if the foot had turned too far inward. Past what should be possible without breaking something.

Another print overlapped it, twisted mid-step, like the thing had moved in a way that defied how a person walks.

Brooke crouched beside it, the pine needles crunching faintly under her shoes.

"That's barefoot," she said quietly.

Charlie looked around "it was freezing last night, no way anyone was walking around outside barefoot." He nervously tried to reason

The scent of disturbed earth and warm pine filled the air as they stood there, silently staring at the dirt.

Brooke was the first to speak again. Her voice came out flat, barely above a whisper.

"I vote we leave today."

Charlie frowned. "We just got here," he protested, glancing at her, then Morgan, and finally back at the footprint.

Morgan didn't answer right away. She stayed crouched, her eyes locked on the overlapping impressions like she was trying to read a message buried in the soil.

When she finally spoke, her voice was even.

"One more night," she said. "Then we're gone."

Her tone made it sound like a plan. But her posture said otherwise. Shoulders tense, one hand gripping the rim of her plate like it was anchoring her to the ground.

No one argued.

But no one agreed, either.

They drifted back toward the fire slowly, quieter now. The warmth wasn't enough anymore. Not to chase off the chills that had crept into their skin.

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. "Could someone have been out here last night? Like another camper or something."

"No other cars at the trailhead," Morgan said, not looking up.

Brooke added, "And why barefoot? Why? twisted like that?"

No one had an answer.

The group drifted back toward the fire, quieter now, the warmth no longer enough to chase off the chill creeping under their skin.

But Jordan didn't move right away.

He glanced up, following the direction the footprints pointed. Straight into the treeline, but there was no path. No trail. Just dense brush and thick trees packed so tightly it would be impossible to move through them without snapping branches, crunching leaves, or waking everyone.

And yet? something had.

Something that large had moved through all of it in complete silence.

His stomach dropped.

Was this where the whisper had come from?

Had it been standing this close? Just beyond the trees?

But through the pounding sound of his heart trying to escape his chest, one question lurked. A question he hadn't let himself ask until now.

How did it know his name?

Who - or what - had tried to lure him out of his tent last night?

He pictured it. The tent zipper half-down. The cold air. His head poked out into the dark.

What would he have seen?

His stomach turned, the realization hitting hard and cold.

If he'd opened the tent? he might have come face to face with it.

His chest tightened. The anxiety pushed high into his throat.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry from the sudden panic.

He stepped back.

Jordan then turned, and hurried toward his tent - away from the others, away from the treeline - his heart hammering.

Behind him, the group murmured softly, the morning resuming as if the world hadn't shifted.

He hesitated wondering if he should say anything to his friends, before deciding he needed to figure out what he could even tell them. Shaking his head with a mix of both disappointment and anxiety, he stepped forward disappearing into his tent

Inside the tent, Jordan sat still for a long moment, breathing through the tightness in his chest.

Then he reached for his phone.

Still no signal. Just as dead as it had been the night before.

But that wasn't what he needed right now.

He remembered watching his mom's favorite crime shows, seeing the detectives jot down scraps of clues, and piecing them together like a puzzle, and maybe, just maybe, if he wrote everything down, he could do the same. Or at the very least prove he wasn't losing it.

He opened the Notes app and started typing. Awkwardly at first, his thumbs slow and uncertain. Still slightly doubting his own gut feelings, he began logging everything he could remember.

-2:47 a.m.

-Whisper called my name

-Voice sounded close.(Too close?)

-Almost unzipped the tent

-Something in me said not to (I just froze instead.)

-I waited

-It was way too silent (Almost felt like the forest was scared too...)

-Heard another whisper.. "Jordan, are you awake?" (My name... again.)

-Sounded off this time? (Like a voice trying too hard to be a voice.)

It felt strange, typing it all out. But oddly calming too even if just for a moment. He paused, thumb hovering above the blinking cursor.

He'd read stories like this before. Creepy Reddit threads. Campfire horror posts. The ones that always started with, "I know this sounds fake, but this really happened."

Titles like

"It sounded like my brother, but he was still asleep"

or

"I saw something wearing my mom's face"

They always made his skin crawl. But they weren't real.

They couldn't be. Right?

But then again? something had walked barefoot through the woods last night. Something that knew his name.

Jordan set his phone down and rubbed his temples trying to think.

Was it stalking them?

And if so why?

Then another question arose, colder than the rest: Was it stalking... him..?

The rest of the day passed in fragments.

Conversations were lighter on the surface, but no one really laughed the same way. The jokes didn't land. Every time the wind shifted or a branch snapped in the distance, someone glanced toward the trees.

But it was Jordan who watched the most.

He didn't say much after that.

While the others cleaned up breakfast or wandered toward the stream with water bottles and trail mix, Jordan stayed close to camp - eyes scanning the trees, ears straining for anything that didn't belong.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for.

Another footprint?

A whisper?

The shape of something just beyond the tree line?

Maybe nothing.

But every time a shadow stretched too far across the dirt, his pulse ticked up.

By late afternoon, the light was already shifting - softer, gold-tinted, long and low.

Jordan sat near the fire ring, phone in hand. Still no signal. He checked anyway. Again. And again.

His notes app was still open, the last words blinking back at him.

It knew my name.

Was it stalking them?

Or was it stalking... me?

He locked the screen.

And waited for the dark to come.

Dinner was quiet.

The fire crackled steadily, but the conversation came in fragments. Morgan stirred the pan without saying much. Brooke picked at her food. Charlie tried for a joke about haunted forest reviews - "two out of five stars, weird vibes, got mimicked" - but it barely landed.

No one was laughing the same way anymore.

The light was different, too.

Less gold, more gray.

Like the sun wasn't so much setting as withdrawing.

When they finally finished eating, Morgan wiped her hands on her jeans and stood.

"We should turn in early," she said, not quite looking at anyone.

Brooke nodded a little too quickly. "Yeah. Good idea."

Charlie hesitated, then sighed. "Guess I'll be the brave one who stays up and guards the marshmallows."

Morgan rolled her eyes, but no one argued. The fire popped once, loud in the quiet.

They doused it carefully. Coals hissed. Shadows swallowed the clearing.

One by one, they retreated to their tents. Brooke zipped hers shut without a word. Charlie muttered something about nightmares and bug spray.

Jordan was the last one outside.

He stared into the darkness for a long time before finally ducking into his tent.

He didn't expect to sleep.

Not really.

Inside the tent, Jordan lay still.

The nylon walls shifted with the breeze, brushing softly against themselves, like the forest breathing slow and deep around him.

He kept his phone beside him - screen dimmed, Notes app still open.

He hadn't added anything new yet.

But he would.

He wasn't sure if he felt paranoid or prepared.

Maybe both.

He listened. Every creak. Every shift of weight from the other tents.

Nothing unusual. Not yet.

His sleeping bag felt too tight around his chest, like it knew what was coming.

Outside, the forest held its silence again.

That too-clean silence.

Not peaceful. Not natural.

Just an uncomfortable silence.

He stared at the screen. The last words still blinking:

Was it stalking them?

Or was it stalking... me?

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He didn't type.

He just waited.

It started with footsteps.

Soft. Slow. Careful.

Not near his tent -

Near Brooke's.

Jordan held his breath, straining to hear.

One step.

Pause.

Another.

Then, a whisper.

"Hey, Brooke? you up?"

Jordan froze.

It was Morgan's voice.

Same rhythm. Same tone. Just quiet, like she didn't want to wake anyone else.

Only - Morgan had zipped into her tent over an hour ago. She hadn't moved since.

Jordan turned his phone toward him, screen light flaring for a second, then dimming.

New Note:

-Footsteps. Close. Not mine.

-Sounded like Morgan.

-Whispered to Brooke.

-No tent zippers. Morgan hasn't moved.

Outside, silence returned for a moment.

Then the voice again - closer now.

"Brooke? c'mon. Can you help me real quick?"

It was too casual. Too normal.

That was the worst part.

Jordan's pulse kicked up. He reached for the tent flap - slow, barely breathing - and pressed his eye to the mesh.

Just outside Brooke's tent, something was standing there.

Still.

Too still.

Shoulders hunched. Head tilted - just slightly too far. Like the weight of it had slipped off center but hadn't fallen. Its arms hung loose at its sides. No flashlight. No movement.

Not calling anymore.

Just waiting.

He blinked, and it turned.

Not fast.

Too slow.

The kind of movement that looked studied. Practiced. Like it was remembering how.

Then it stepped behind a tree.

Gone.

Jordan sat back slowly, heart hammering.

Jordan grabbed his phone with trembling fingers.

New Note:

- Saw it.

-Standing by Brooke's tent.

-Still. Head tilted.

-Too still. Too quiet.

-Didn't move like a person.

-Disappeared behind a tree.

His mouth was dry again. He kept swallowing, but it didn't help.

He sat in the dark, phone still glowing in his hand. Waiting.

Listening.

And then -

"Hey?" The voice came again.

But it wasn't near Brooke's tent anymore.

It was farther away.

Deeper in the trees.

"Brooke? where are you going?"

Jordan's skin went cold. She hadn't left her tent. He knew she hadn't. At some point he must have fallen asleep but didn't remember doing so.

A scream tore through the clearing.

Jordan shot upright, heart already racing, and yanked open his tent. Brooke was outside, barefoot, hair wild, and panic written across her face. Her voice shook as she pointed behind her.

Footprints.

Bare. Long. Pressed deep into the earth.

They circled Brooke's tent - once, then twice - before trailing off toward the trees.

Not a shuffle. Not a run.

Deliberate.

Jordan's blood went cold.

Charlie stared at the prints. "Okay, no. No. Someone's screwing with us."

Brooke shook her head. "Then why didn't they take anything? Why just? stand there?"

No one had an answer.

Jordan did, but didn't say it out loud.

Jordan looked at the footprints. The open tent. Brooke's shaking hands.

He couldn't stay quiet anymore.

"I heard it last night," he said softly.

The others turned.

"I heard - footsteps. Near Brooke's tent. And a voice."

Brooke's face shifted. "A voice?"

He nodded. "It sounded like Morgan."

Morgan blinked. "I didn't - "

"I know," he said quickly. "I know you didn't. You were asleep. But I heard your voice. It said Brooke's name. It asked her to come help with something."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "You're saying someone was - what - copying her?"

Jordan hesitated. Then nodded.

"I wrote it all down," he added, holding up his phone like it might make him sound less insane. "Every weird thing that's happened so far. The whisper outside my tent the first night. The silence. The... feeling."

For a second, no one said anything.

Then Morgan exhaled slowly. "Why didn't you say anything yesterday?"

"I wasn't sure anyone would believe me."

He looked at the footprints again.

Then at Brooke.

"I think it's been testing us."

Jordan's words hung in the air.

Charlie laughed - too loud, too sharp. "Come on, man. Testing us? That sounds like something from a creepypasta."

"No," Morgan said quietly. "It doesn't."

Everyone turned to look at her.

She still hadn't moved from where she stood near the prints.

"I mean... think about it," she said. "Whatever it was didn't just appear. It mimicked our voices. It got close - really close. And we didn't hear a thing. That's not someone messing around."

Brooke shivered and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "So what? We stay and wait to see what it does next?"

"We leave," Charlie snapped. "Today. Right now."

"But it's already followed us here," Morgan said. "Who's to say it doesn't follow us out?"

"Then we don't go alone," Brooke muttered. "We don't do anything alone anymore."

Silence fell again.

Jordan opened his phone and added two words to his note:

It's escalating.

No one wanted to say it, but the truth pressed in from all sides:

They weren't safe here anymore, or maybe they never were to begin with.

"We leave today," Brooke said firmly. "I don't care what it is - I'm not sleeping here again."

"For once, I agree," Charlie muttered, already bending to grab his pack.

Morgan gave a slow nod. "Yeah. We'll be faster if we split the cleanup."

Jordan didn't argue.

No one did.

It felt good - almost empowering - to have a plan. To do something. They moved quickly, not because they were panicking but because they were trying not to. Charlie doused the fire pit. Brooke hauled the last trash bag toward their other belongings while Jordan stuffed sleeping bags into their sacks with numb fingers. Everyone moved with purpose. And that's why they didn't notice.

No one saw when Morgan stepped away.

Not far. Just beyond the tents. Maybe to check for more stuff to pack up, or maybe just to breathe. But either way, she didn't come back. They didn't notice right away. Too much noise. Zippers zipping. Bags being thrown into the backseat. Jordan was double-checking his phone's battery - still no service - when Brooke suddenly straightened.

"Where's Morgan?"

Charlie looked up. "What?"

"She was just here."

They scanned the campsite. No sign of her. Just her plate still sitting on the cooler. Her pack half-zipped.

"Morgan?" Brooke called out, a little louder now. "You almost ready?"

No answer.

Jordan's stomach dropped.

He circled the tents, then walked to the edge of the clearing.

"Morgan?" he called. "Hey, we're almost done here!"

Still nothing.

Then Charlie added, "Check the trail. Maybe she went to look ahead."

Brooke was already moving that way, but Jordan paused.

There were no prints. No scuffs. The pine needles lay still and undisturbed with no sign of anyone walking through them.

He felt that weight drop into his chest again, as he started breaking into a cold sweat again. Something wasn't right.

New Note:

-Morgan is gone.

-No sound.

-No warning.

-No prints.

Only her boots, still by the tent.

They searched for fifteen minutes. Calling her name while scanning the treeline. They even circled the clearing three times, but nothing. No footprints. No sounds of snapping branches, or flutter of movement in the underbrush. Just gone. Jordan stood near the fire ring, fists clenched at his sides. Brooke was pacing. Charlie kept checking his watch, like time could explain it.Then the forest went quiet. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate. And a moment later, it came:

"Hey... I'm okay."

Morgan's voice.

Everyone stopped.

"Just come get me. I can't find the trail."

It sounded like her. The exact tone. The same shaky exhale she used when she was trying not to panic.

Brooke turned toward the sound. "Morgan?"

But Jordan grabbed her arm.

"No." He looked down and shook his head. "I don't think that's her."

The clearing fell still. Even the air seemed to tighten. Then the voice came again, closer this time and almost cheerful.

"Guys?? I'm okay really. Just come get me."

Jordan didn't wait.

"Run," he said. "Now."

Charlie grabbed his half-zipped pack, while Brooke moved as quickly as she could to grab her bags before they both ran after Jordan, too scared to be left behind. They tore through the trees as quickly as they could. Daylight strobing between branches, yet the air felt thick, like the forest was closing in on them from all sides. Somewhere behind them, that voice called again.

"Wait? where are you going?" It echoed strangely, like it didn't belong in the air.

Jordan's boots hit gravel. He reached the truck, yanked the tailgate open, and threw his stuff inside. Charlie was right behind him. Brooke's bag hit the metal with a thud. The woods behind them were too quiet. Jordan slammed the trunk shut and rushed for the driver's door and yanked the door handle so hard he thought he might have broken it. He didn't care though, he just needed to get the hell out of there and fast. He was halfway into the driver's seat when Brooke screamed.

"SHE MADE IT!!"

He whipped around and saw Brooke standing outside the car, her door wide open. Her body turned toward the direction we came from, one hand lifted toward the trees.

And there, just beyond the gravel, in the dappled morning light, stood Morgan. Or something wearing Morgan's face. He shuddered at the thought before looking back at her again. Standing beneath a pine tree. Still. Watching. Her arms hung limp. Her shoulders were too relaxed. Her face was pale and calm - too calm. Jordan stared, unable to breathe.

Then she moved.

Slowly. Silently. One step back, and then another until she disappeared into the shadows.

At the same time, from the side of his eye he saw Brooke start walking quickly then jogging, towards the trees she had seen her go.

Jordan shouted, "Brooke - NO!"

But she was already running. She disappeared behind the same pine Morgan had just stepped behind. Jordan stood frozen, one hand still gripping the door. Even the forest held its breath waiting. And then -

Another scream.

Not a call for help. Not panic, but pain. It ripped through the trees - raw and animal like. A sound pulled from deep in her lungs, not throat.

Then -

Silence.

Charlie's voice cracked from the backseat.

"Drive, man. Drive. I don't wanna be next."

Jordan slammed the door harder than he had opened it, and the engine roared to life under his shaking hands. He didn't look back, or he couldn't. Charlie was in the backseat, rocking slightly, whispering to himself. His fingers clutched the edge of the seat so hard they'd turned white. Jordan gripped the wheel and hit the gas. Gravel sprayed behind them as the truck jolted forward, tires skidding slightly before gripping the trail. Branches whipped against the sides. Pine needles flared in the rear view like a wave goodbye. He didn't dare glance at the mirrors. He didn't want to see what might be standing at the edge of the trees.

They didn't speak. Not for miles. Just the hum of the engine, mixed with the crunch of gravel. They both took a deep breath as the adrenaline started to wear off, and the shock settled in. They had left everything behind. The tents. The food. The packs. Morgan and Brooke, Both gone. The road curved away from the woods, and sunlight finally broke clean across the windshield. It didn't feel like morning anymore. It felt like something unfinished.

That night, after dropping Charlie off and driving the rest of the way home in silence, Jordan parked on the street outside his apartment. The headlights cut across the bushes lining the sidewalk. Just for a second - he thought he saw something move. A rustle. A shift in the leaves.

He froze for a second, before he shook his head, muttering to himself "It's nothing. Probably just a raccoon. Or a stray cat hunting mice."

The key felt heavy in his hand as he crossed the walkway. Every sound seemed too loud, his boots on the concrete, the creak of the gate. When he reached the door, he exhaled without realizing he'd been holding his breath.

Click.

The key turned. The door opened and he flicked on the lights as he stepped inside, but the silence felt unsettling. He dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes. His heart was still racing, but slower now. He let himself breathe. Before he could turn to close his front door he hear a voice break the silence from somewhere behind him, low and soft:

"Hey? you forgot something."

That voice. It was Brooke's. His stomach dropped. No, It couldn't be. He'd left her behind. She was gone. It wasn't possible. But the voice came again. This time, closer. Right behind him.

"Jordan?"