Micah

I didn't want to look like a flake, so I agreed to go.

One night outside, I told myself, just a little adventure, it couldn't be that bad.

We set out that Friday afternoon, both of us acting more confident than we probably felt.

The trail twisted upward inland, switched back through a wall of pines.

The climb wasn't deadly, but it was steep enough that sweat soaked through my shirt in no time.

By the time we reached the ridge, my legs burned and I was grateful for

For any excuse to stop, we picked a spot where the trees opened up and gave us a view of endless forest rolling out below us.

That was when Daniel decided to share something he'd clearly been saving.

Ever heard of the switchback man?

He asked, smirking.

I hadn't, obviously.

He told me about a local legend.

The story went like this.

If you found yourself walking the same switchback more than once in a single night, he would show up not behind you, not next to you, not next to you, always just ahead, standing at the next bend where the trail curved out of sight, no matter how fast you went.

You'd never catch him.

If you ignored him, he'd keep waiting at each bend, leading you forward until the trail changed into something you didn't recognize.

People who tried to follow him, Daniel said, never came back.

I laughed it off, called it a campfire ghost story.

Daniel shrugged, but I noticed him sneaking glances at the next curve in the trail more than once after that.

We reached our campsite as the light rained from the sky.