The Last Girl at Camp Pinewood

• Chapter 1 Ghost of the Pines
• Chapter 2 The Cabin on the Hill
• Chapter 3 Bunk Fourteen
• Chapter 4 Familiar Faces
• Chapter 5 Echoes by the Lake
• Chapter 6 The Script Begins
• Chapter 7 Midnight Whispers
• Chapter 8 Missing Artifacts
• Chapter 9 The Flashlight Trail
• Chapter 10 Rehearsal in the Dark
• Chapter 11 The Red Ribbon
• Chapter 12 Uncanny Reflections
• Chapter 13 The Watchtower's Secret
• Chapter 14 Campfire Stories
• Chapter 15 Step for Step
• Chapter 16 The Director's Note
• Chapter 17 Fading Boundaries
• Chapter 18 The Storm Approaches
• Chapter 19 Panic at Docks
• Chapter 20 Behind the Treeline
• Chapter 21 The Exact Hour
• Chapter 22 Role Play
• Chapter 23 The Trapped Counselor
• Chapter 24 The Scene Unfolds
• Chapter 25 Breaking the Cycle
• Chapter 26 The Dawn of Pinewood

The tires of the old station wagon groaned as they rolled off the asphalt and onto the gravel of Pinewood Road. It was a sound that Lauren had replayed in her mind a thousand times over the last ten years, but hearing it again in the physical world sent a cold, electric shiver straight down her spine. The dust kicked up behind her, a thick grey veil that seemed to cut off the rest of the civilized world, sealing her back into the valley of her nightmares. Above her, the white pines towered like ancient, silent sentinels, their long branches weaving together to block out the midday July sun. It was darker here under the canopy, cooler, and heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying needles.

Ten years. Ten years since the police cruisers had lined this same gravel road, their red and blue lights painting the tree trunks in frantic, pulsing patterns. Ten years since her younger sister, Lily, had walked out of Bunk Fourteen in the middle of the night and simply ceased to exist.

Lauren gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned the color of chalk. Her knuckles ached, but she didn’t let go. She couldn't. If she relaxed her grip, she might put the car in reverse, speed back down the state highway, and never look back. But she had spent a decade drowning in unanswered questions, watching her family fracture and dissolve under the weight of unresolved grief. When the flyer had appeared online—Camp Pinewood Reopening Under New Management, Camp Counselors Needed—it felt less like an advertisement and more like a summons. She didn’t come back for the fresh air, the canoeing, or the meager stipend. She came back because the forest had taken her sister, and she was foolish enough to believe she could tear the truth out of its roots.

As the road curved sharply to the left, the trees parted to reveal the main entrance. A massive wooden archway spanned the path, its timber weathered to a ghostly silver. Carved into the crossbeam were the words CAMP PINEWOOD, the letters filled with peeling green paint. It looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. The old archery range to her right was overgrown with high weeds, the straw targets rotting on their tripods like discarded carcasses. The lake, visible through a break in the brush, was a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the brooding sky above.

Lauren parked the station wagon in the dirt lot beside a handful of other vehicles. The silence that greeted her when she killed the engine was absolute, save for the dry, rhythmic clicking of cicadas in the high branches. It was a suffocating kind of quiet, the kind that makes you hold your breath without realizing it.

She stepped out of the car, her sneakers sinking slightly into the soft pine needles. The air was thick, carrying the familiar, nostalgic undertone of woodsmoke and lake water. For a moment, she was fourteen again, running down to the docks with Lily trailing a few steps behind, her oversized life vest slipping off her shoulders, laughing that high-pitched, breathless laugh that Lauren would give anything to hear just once more.

"Lauren? Lauren Vance?"

The voice shattered the memory like a stone thrown through a window. Lauren blinked, turning toward the sound. Walking down the path from the main lodge was a man in his late fifties, wearing a crisp khaki uniform that looked far too formal for a summer camp. His hair was a buzzcut of silver-grey, and his posture was rigidly military. This was Donald Vance—no relation, though the shared surname had been a source of brief amusement when she applied. He was the new director, a man determined to restore Pinewood to its former glory and scrub away the stain of its dark history.

"Yes, Mr. Vance," Lauren said, forcing a polite, professional smile as she stepped forward to shake his hand. His grip was dry and incredibly firm.

"Glad you made it in one piece," he said, his voice a gravelly baritone. "The road in from the highway is a mess, but the county refuses to pave it. Welcome back to Pinewood. Or, I suppose, welcome back in an official capacity. I read your application. You were a camper here back in the day."

"I was," Lauren replied, keeping her voice even. She had deliberately omitted the details of Lily’s disappearance from her resume, using her maiden name and relying on the passage of a decade to shield her true identity. In the digital age, a determined search would have linked her to the tragedy instantly, but Donald Vance seemed more interested in logistics than ancient history. Or perhaps, she thought, he simply chose not to look too closely.

"Good. We need people who know the layout," Donald said, turning to walk back toward the main lodge, gesturing for her to follow. "The layout hasn't changed, but we've modernized the facilities. Upgraded plumbing in the main cabins, new kitchen equipment, and a proper first-aid station. We’re running a tight ship this summer. Fifty kids arriving tomorrow morning. We have to be ready."

"Fifty?" Lauren asked, keeping pace with his brisk stride. "That's a lot for a reopening season."

"We offered heavily discounted rates to local districts," Donald explained, waving a hand dismissively. "First year is about building trust. Showing the parents that this place is safe, structured, and beneficial for the children. I don't tolerate slacking, Lauren. The counselors are the spine of this operation. If you bend, the whole thing collapses."

"I understand," she said.

They reached the main lodge, a grand, rustic building with a wrap-around porch. The wood had been freshly stained a deep chocolate brown, but if Lauren looked closely, she could still see the faint outlines of the old graffiti carved into the railings by decades of bored teenagers. They climbed the steps, and Donald pushed open the heavy double doors, leading her into the cool, cavernous interior of the mess hall.

Rows of long wooden trestle tables filled the space, smelling strongly of lemon pledge and fresh paint. At the far end of the hall, a group of young people—the other counselors—were gathered around a large bulletin board. They turned as Donald and Lauren entered, their conversations dying down to a murmur.

"Everyone, listen up," Donald announced, his voice echoing off the rafters. "This is Lauren Vance. She’s our final senior counselor. She’ll be heading up Cabin Fourteen."

The mention of the cabin number struck Lauren like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat. Cabin Fourteen. The very bunk where Lily had slept. The bunk where Lauren had lain awake that night, listening to the wind howl through the pines, unaware that her sister was slipping out into the darkness, never to return. She had assumed, she had prayed, that they would keep that cabin locked, or perhaps tear it down entirely. To reopen it, to put children back inside those walls—it felt like a sacrilege.

"Is there a problem, Lauren?" Donald asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed her hesitation.

"No," Lauren lied quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. "No problem at all. Just... looking forward to getting started."

"Excellent. Go ahead and introduce yourself. I’ll be in my office setting up the master roster. We have a staff meeting at five sharp." With that, Donald turned on his heel and marched down the hallway toward the administrative wing.

Lauren stood there for a moment, trying to steady her racing pulse. She looked toward the group of counselors. There were six of them, all in their late teens or early twenties, radiating the kind of effortless, sun-drenched energy that only college students on summer break seemed to possess.

A tall, athletic guy with floppy blond hair stepped forward first, offering a friendly, easygoing smile. "Hey, I'm Ben. Waterfront director. Don't mind Donald, he thinks he's running a boot camp, but he’s harmless once you get used to the shouting."

"Lauren," she said, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ben."

"I'm Chloe," a girl with bright red hair and a spray of freckles across her nose piped up, waving from the back. "I'm doing arts and crafts. Which mostly means untangling lanyard string and making sure the kids don't eat the paste."

The others introduced themselves in quick succession—Marcus, who was running the sports fields; Sarah, the nature trail guide; and Toby, a quiet guy with thick glasses who handled the camp's technical and utility needs. They were all perfectly normal, perfectly pleasant young people who had no idea of the weight Lauren was carrying. To them, Camp Pinewood was just a summer job, a fun story to tell when they went back to school in the fall. To Lauren, it was a graveyard.

As the counselors drifted back to their pre-season prep work, Lauren slipped out the back door of the lodge. She needed air, and more than that, she needed to see the cabins before the campers arrived. She needed to face the ghost that had brought her back.

The path to the residential loops wound through a dense grove of birch trees. The white bark looked like bones against the dark green of the underbrush. As she walked deeper into the woods, the cheerful sounds of the lodge faded, replaced once again by the solemn whisper of the pines.

The camp was laid out in three distinct loops: the Junior Loop, the Intermediate Loop, and the Senior Loop. Cabin Fourteen sat at the very edge of the Senior Loop, perched on a slight rise that overlooked the deep woods bordering the state park. It was isolated, separated from the other cabins by a thick screen of hemlocks.

When Lauren reached the clearing, she stopped.

There it was. Bunk Fourteen.

The cabin was a simple timber structure, raised off the ground on concrete blocks. The green asphalt shingles on the roof were mossy, and the screen door hung slightly askew on its hinges. It looked small. Far smaller than she remembered. She walked up the three wooden steps, her boots creaking on the pine boards, and pushed the door open.

The interior was dim and cool. The air was stagnant, carrying the sharp, chemical scent of mothballs and dust. Ten twin-sized cot frames, painted a chipped hospital green, were lined up against the walls, five on each side. The mattresses were bare, blue-striped ticking.

Lauren walked slowly down the center aisle, her eyes tracking over the wooden floorboards. She stopped at the bunk in the far corner, next to the rear window.

This was Lily’s bed.

She closed her eyes, and the memories rushed back with terrifying clarity. It was a stormy night in August. The rain had been drumming a relentless, deafening beat against the metal roof. Lauren had been asleep in the counselor's alcove at the front of the cabin, exhausted from a long day of hiking. She had woken up around three in the morning to the sound of the wind, a strange, hollow whistling sound. When she looked over at Lily’s bunk, the sheets were thrown back. The bed was empty.

At first, she hadn’t panicked. She assumed Lily had gone to the bathhouse. But minutes turned into an hour, and Lily didn’t return. When Lauren went outside to look, she found nothing but mud, rain, and the vast, uncaring forest. The police dog handlers would later tell her parents that the heavy rain had washed away any scent trail, leaving them with absolutely nothing to go on. No signs of struggle. No footprints. No clues. Just an empty bed and a sister who was gone.

Lauren opened her eyes and reached out, touching the cold metal of the bed frame. Her fingers came away coated in a fine layer of grey dust.

"I'm going to find out what happened to you, Lily," she whispered into the empty cabin. "I promise."

A sudden sound outside made her jump. It was a sharp, metallic clatter, followed by the dry rustle of leaves.

Lauren spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. She moved quickly to the door and peered through the rusted screen. The clearing was empty. The sun was beginning to dip below the tree line, casting long, skeletal shadows across the dirt path.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice sounding small and fragile in the vastness of the woods.

No one answered.

She stepped out onto the porch, her eyes scanning the tree line. At the edge of the clearing, where the thick brush of the state park began, she noticed something bright. It was a flash of color against the drab greens and browns of the forest.

Lauren walked down the steps and crossed the clearing, her eyes locked on the spot. As she drew closer, she saw what it was.

Tied to the branch of a low-hanging pine was a strip of bright red ribbon.

Lauren froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt a wave of icy dread wash over her.

A red ribbon.

The night Lily disappeared, she had been wearing a red ribbon in her hair. It was a silly, cheap thing she’d won at the county fair, but she wore it constantly, proud of her little prize. The police had searched the woods for miles, but they had never found it. They had never found anything.

Now, ten years later, a pristine red ribbon was tied to a branch right at the edge of Cabin Fourteen's clearing. It wasn't weathered or faded. It looked brand new, its satin surface catching the last rays of the dying sun.

Lauren reached out, her hand trembling as she touched the smooth fabric. The knot was tight, professionally tied. This wasn't an accident. It wasn't a relic from the past that had somehow survived a decade of winters. It had been placed here recently. Very recently.

She pulled the ribbon free from the branch, holding it in her palm. It felt impossibly light, yet it weighed on her like a lead anchor.

Was someone playing a sick joke? Had someone in the town remembered the Vance family, recognized her despite her name change, and decided to taunt her? Or was it something else? Something far more sinister?

The wind picked up, rustling the high pine needles above her with a sound like whispering voices. Lauren looked deep into the dark woods, where the shadows were thickening into blackness. The forest felt alive, watching her, waiting for her to make a move.

She pocketed the ribbon, her fingers curling around it inside her jacket, and turned back toward the main camp. The first chapter of her return had begun, and as she walked away from Cabin Fourteen, she knew there was no turning back. The ghost of the pines was awake, and it was watching her every move.

The red ribbon lay in Lauren’s pocket like a hot coal, burning against her thigh as she walked back down the dirt path toward the main lodge. The orange and violet hues of the dusk were rapidly bleeding out of the sky, leaving the canopy above in deep, bruised shades of purple. With every step she took away from Cabin Fourteen, the silence of the woods seemed to thicken, pressing against her ears. She kept her right hand buried in her pocket, her thumb repeatedly tracing the smooth, artificial satin of the ribbon. It was dry. If it had been tied to that branch for days, or even hours, the damp humidity of the lake basin would have softened it, or the pine sap would have stained its edges. But it was pristine. It had been placed there minutes before she arrived.

She reached the perimeter of the main camp just as the outdoor floodlights flickered to life with a series of dull, metallic buzzes. The harsh white light cast long, exaggerated shadows of the swing sets and the volleyball net across the central lawn. The contrast between the dark, ancient forest and the aggressively bright, modernized camp layout felt jarring. It was as if Donald Vance had tried to paint over a crumbling, haunted foundation with a single coat of cheap, shiny latex.

"There you are!"

Lauren flinched, pulling her hand out of her pocket as Chloe jogged down the steps of the dining hall. The arts and crafts counselor had replaced her sneakers with a pair of bright yellow rain boots, despite the dry weather, and was carrying a stack of plastic storage bins labeled TIE-DYE - SESSION 1.

"Donald’s looking for you," Chloe said, pausing to shift the heavy bins in her arms. Her face was flushed, her red hair falling out of a messy bun. "He’s doing that thing where he paces in front of the chalkboard and checks his watch every twelve seconds. If you aren't in the staff room by five, I think he might actually court-martial someone."

"I was just looking at the cabins," Lauren said, trying to keep her voice light and casual. She forced a small, apologetic smile. "I lost track of time. The woods are... larger than I remembered."

"Tell me about it," Chloe agreed, rolling her eyes as she began walking toward the recreation shed. "I tried to find the old pottery shed earlier and ended up nearly falling into some kind of abandoned well. This place is huge. And honestly? A little creepy after dark. If I see one more oversized spider, I’m booking a flight back to Boston."

"Did you see anyone else out by the residential loops?" Lauren asked, stepping alongside her to help hold one of the sliding bins. "Near the Senior Loop?"

Chloe shook her head, her brow furrowing slightly under her bangs. "No, just the maintenance guy, Toby, dragging some old metal bed frames out of Cabin Nine. Why? Did you see someone?"

"No," Lauren lied, her fingers tightening around the edge of the plastic bin. "Just thought I heard a noise. Probably a deer."

"Or a bear," Chloe said with a dramatic shudder. "Don't say deer. If I think about bears, I won’t sleep tonight, and my cabin is right next to yours in the Senior Loop. Cabin Twelve. We’re practically neighbors in the wilderness. If anything grows, screams, or tries to eat you, make sure you scream loud enough to wake me up so I can use you as a distraction while I run away."

The easy, self-deprecating humor was comforting, but it did little to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in Lauren’s stomach. She helped Chloe stack the bins inside the padlocked recreation shed, then hurried toward the administrative wing of the main lodge.

The staff room was a narrow, wood-paneled office tucked behind the kitchen. It smelled of stale coffee, photocopy toner, and the damp wool of old life jackets. A large white dry-erase board covered the back wall, divided into a neat grid of cabin assignments, daily schedules, and emergency protocols. Donald Vance was already standing in front of it, a black marker held precisely between his index and middle fingers like a pointer.

The other counselors—Ben, Marcus, Sarah, and Toby—were seated around a long laminate conference table, their faces illuminated by the harsh glare of a fluorescent light fixture that hummed with a low, irritating vibration. Lauren slipped into an empty chair at the end of the table, nodding apologetically to Donald as she sat.

Donald didn't scold her, but his eyes lingered on her for a long, assessing second before he tapped the marker against the board.

"Now that we are all present," Donald began, his voice clipping each syllable with military precision, "let’s review the final logistics for tomorrow morning. The buses from the regional districts are scheduled to arrive at nine-thirty. That gives us exactly two hours from breakfast to ensure the greeting stations are fully operational. I want no confusion, no loitering, and absolutely no administrative delays."

He began sketching out a map of the parking lot, drawing arrow-straight lines to indicate the flow of arriving campers. Lauren tried to focus on his instructions, but her eyes kept drifting to the grid on the left side of the board.

CABIN 14: SENIOR GIRLS. COUNSELOR: L. VANCE.

Underneath her name, ten lines had been drawn, each filled in with a camper’s name in neat, black print. She leaned forward slightly, squinting to read the names in the dim light.

1. Abigail Carter 2. Mackenzie Holt 3. Maya Lin 4. Chloe Henderson (A different Chloe, she noted) 5. Brooke Vance

Lauren’s heart stopped. She stared at the fifth name on the list, her eyes widening as the letters seemed to warp and dance on the whiteboard. Brooke Vance. No. It was a coincidence. Vance was a common enough name—Donald had it, she had it. But Brooke?

"Lauren," Donald’s voice cracked through her panic like a whip. "Are you paying attention?"

She jerked her head up, her face pale. "Yes. Sorry, Mr. Vance. I was just looking at the roster for Cabin Fourteen."

Donald lowered his marker, his expression hardening slightly. "Is there an issue with your assignment? I placed the oldest girls in your cabin because of your prior experience here. They require a firmer hand and a counselor who won't be easily manipulated by teenage theatrics."

"No, the assignment is fine," Lauren said, her voice trembling slightly before she caught herself and forced it back into an even register. "I was just... looking at the names. Brooke Vance. Is she related to you?"

Donald frowned, looking at the board as if seeing the name for the first time. "No. No relation. I believe her family is from the western part of the state. Her father is a local magistrate, if I recall the registration files correctly. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Lauren said quickly, looking down at her hands. "Just curious."

"We don't have time for curiosity regarding the roster, Lauren," Donald said, turning back to the board. "What we have time for is execution. Marcus, you will be stationed at the main gate to direct traffic. Sarah, you are on baggage duty. Ben, I want you at the docks by ten to ensure the safety barriers are locked down before the kids even think about getting close to the water."

As Donald continued his briefing, Lauren reached into her pocket again, her fingers finding the red ribbon. The presence of the ribbon, combined with the name on the roster, felt like a series of cold fingers tightening around her throat. She had come back to Pinewood to find answers about Lily, but she hadn’t expected the past to rise up and meet her so aggressively, before the first camper had even set foot on the property.

The meeting dragged on for another forty minutes, detailing everything from the specific ratio of bleach to water required for cleaning the bathhouses to the exact curfew hours for the staff. By the time Donald dismissed them, the air in the room was thick and suffocating.

"Hey, you okay?"

Lauren looked up to find Ben standing over her, a sympathetic expression on his handsome, sunburned face. He had a sweatshirt slung over his shoulders, his athletic frame relaxed against the edge of the table.

"Yeah," Lauren said, forcing a small smile as she stood up and pushed her chair in. "Just a lot of information to take in. And I’m a little tired from the drive."

"Donald tends to have that effect on people," Ben said, walking with her out of the staff room and into the main recreation hall. "He acts like we’re preparing for a land invasion instead of a bunch of ten-year-olds making lanyards. Don't let him get under your skin. The key to surviving Pinewood is to nod, say 'yes, sir,' and then do whatever you want once he goes to bed."

"Is he always this... intense?" Lauren asked as they stepped out onto the wide porch of the lodge. The cool night air was a welcome relief against her face.

"From what I gather, he’s got a lot riding on this summer," Ben replied, leaning against the wooden railing and looking out over the dark lake. "The township didn't want this place reopened. Apparently, there was a lot of pushback from the local council. Some old history they wanted to keep buried. Donald spent a fortune buying the land and renovating the facilities. If this season fails, he’s ruined."

Lauren looked out at the dark water, where the reflection of the stars distorted and shattered in the gentle ripples. "What kind of history?" she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

Ben shrugged, though his easygoing demeanor faltered for a brief second. "The usual camp stuff, I guess. Rumors of accidents, bad management. Kids getting lost in the woods. You know how these old places are. Every camp in New England has some ghost story to keep the kids from wandering off after dark."

"Some of those stories are real," Lauren said.

Ben looked at her, his eyes searching her face in the dim light of the porch lantern. For a moment, the silence between them was heavy, filled only by the distant, rhythmic creaking of the wooden docks down by the water.

"Yeah," Ben said, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. "I suppose they are. But we’re here to make sure nothing like that happens again. Right?"

"Right," Lauren agreed, though the word felt hollow in her mouth.

They parted ways shortly after, Ben heading toward the male counselors' cabin near the athletic fields, while Lauren began the long, dark walk back to the Senior Loop. She didn't use her flashlight, preferring to let her eyes adjust to the deep shadows. She had walked these paths so many times as a child that her feet seemed to remember the dips and rises in the dirt almost instinctively.

As she approached the clearing of the Senior Loop, the three cabins loomed out of the darkness like large, sleeping beasts. Cabin Ten was dark and silent. Cabin Twelve had a single warm light shining through the front screen door, where she could see the silhouette of Chloe moving around inside, unpacking her gear.

And then there was Cabin Fourteen.

It stood at the highest point of the hill, darker and more isolated than the others. The surrounding hemlocks seemed to lean inward, their branches brushing against the rusted screen of the porch with a sound like dry fingernails scratching at a window.

Lauren walked up the steps, her boots making a dull, hollow sound on the wooden planks. She pushed the screen door open and stepped into the small vestibule. She switched on her flashlight, the beam cutting through the stagnant air and illuminating the rows of bare mattresses.

She walked to the counselor's alcove at the front of the room—a tiny, semi-private space separated from the main bunk area by a thin plywood partition and a faded green curtain. A single twin bed sat against the wall, next to a small wooden dresser with three drawers.

She set her duffel bag on the mattress and sat down, the old springs groaning under her weight. The room was incredibly cold, the damp chill of the night air seeping through the floorboards. She pulled her knees up to her chest, shivering as she looked out through the gap in the green curtain into the main cabin.

In the dark, the empty bunks looked like rows of silent tombstones.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the red ribbon, laying it flat on the wooden dresser. Under the yellow light of her flashlight, the satin gleamed with an almost artificial intensity.

Who had put it there?

It couldn't have been Donald. He was too obsessed with administrative perfection to waste time playing psychological games with his staff. And the other counselors seemed too young, too disconnected from the camp’s past to even know about Lily, let alone the specific detail of the red ribbon. The police reports from ten years ago had mentioned the ribbon, but it had been a minor detail, buried in local newspaper archives that had long since faded from public consciousness.

Unless someone else was out there in the woods. Someone who had been waiting for her to return.

Lauren lay back on the mattress, not bothering to undress. She pulled her heavy winter jacket over her shoulders like a blanket, staring up at the dark wooden rafters of the ceiling. The wind outside began to rise, a low, mournful whistling sound that she remembered all too well. It was the same wind that had played through the pines on the night Lily disappeared, a sound that had always made her feel as if the forest itself were breathing, exhaling its cold, ancient breath over the camp.

She closed her eyes, but sleep was a distant, impossible thing. Every creak of the cabin's timbers, every rustle of the leaves outside, made her flinch, her muscles tense and ready for a threat she couldn't see.

Somewhere in the deep hours of the night, when the moon had climbed high enough to cast long, silver slats of light through the cabin windows, Lauren heard it.

It was a faint, scraping sound.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she listened. It wasn't the wind. The wind was a steady, rushing sound, but this was rhythmic, deliberate. It sounded like metal sliding against stone.

Scrape. Pause. Scrape.

It was coming from beneath the cabin.

Lauren slowly lowered her feet to the floor, her movements silent and practiced. She didn't turn on her flashlight. The silver moonlight streaming through the windows was enough to guide her steps as she crept out of the counselor's alcove and into the main bunk room.

The sound was louder here, vibrating slightly through the old floorboards beneath her socks.

Scrape. Drag. Scrape.

She stopped in the center aisle, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The sound was coming from the far corner of the room.

Directly beneath Lily’s bunk.

Lauren crept toward the corner, her hands trembling as she held them out for balance. The air in this part of the cabin felt noticeably colder, smelling strongly of wet earth and rotting wood. She reached the edge of the frame, kneeling down on the dusty floorboards to press her ear against the wood.

The scraping sound stopped instantly.

The sudden silence was deafening, filling the small cabin with a heavy, suffocating tension. Lauren held her breath, her ear pressed so hard against the floor that she could hear the rapid, frantic beat of her own pulse.

For nearly a minute, nothing happened. The forest outside was dead silent, the wind having died down to a whisper.

Then, right beneath her head, there was a sharp, distinct tap.

Knock. Knock.

Lauren scrambled backward, her hands slipping on the dusty floor as she let out a short, choked gasp. She grabbed her flashlight from her pocket and clicked it on, the bright beam stabbing down at the floorboards in the corner.

There was nothing there. Just the old, grey wood, the seams between the planks filled with years of dirt and lint.

She stood up, her legs shaking so violently she had to hold onto the metal bed frame of Lily’s bunk to keep from falling. Her flashlight beam darted around the empty room, reflecting off the bare metal frames and the dust motes dancing in the air.

"Is someone there?" she whispered, her voice cracking with fear.

No one answered.

She stood in the center of the dark cabin for a long time, the flashlight beam locked on the corner floorboards, waiting for the sound to start again. But the silence remained absolute, stretching out into the early hours of the morning until the first, pale grey light of dawn began to bleed through the eastern windows.