Jason

Come see what I found.

Stop, I whispered.

But it wasn't listening to me.

Why would it?

Come on, Aaron.

It cooed now, in this fake-friendly version of my voice.

You're tough, right?

You're not scared.

Then, in Dylan's voice, Beck, come on, just around the corner.

You gotta see this.

The worst part was the way it mixed us.

One sentence in my voice, the next in Dylan's, the next in my mother's, who was hundreds of miles away, nowhere near this canyon.

It jumped from person to person like it was flipping stations on a radio, testing out which one would get a reaction.

At some point, while it shifted and borrowed and whispered, I realized it was doing something very specific.

It was trying to get us to use each other's names.

Every voice that called from the dark used a name.

Every fake plea for help, every, hey Jason, check this out, every Aaron, I need you, was bait.

We sat there in a tight knot and didn't say a word.

I dug my nails into my palms so hard I left little half-moon cuts.

I fixed my eyes on one point in the middle of our circle, a small pebble, and told myself that if I just kept looking at that pebble, dawn would come.