Micah

The fire had been low, just a few stubborn flames licking at the wood.

That's when I noticed something strange.

The little dirt path that curved past our camp looked longer than I remembered.

During daylight, it had been just a short strip.

Barely worth noting, now it seemed to stretch farther, dipping downhill into the dark.

I stood there longer than I should have.

One hand on the cooler, staring at the bend like it was daring me to test it.

The woods were dead quiet, no insect, no wind through the trees, just silence.

I almost convinced myself to walk a few steps, just to see if I was imagining it, but something in my stomach twisted at the thought.

Instead, I snapped the cooler shut, hurried back into the tent, unzipped it tight, lying there on my sleeping bag.

I could feel my pulse in my throat.

loud and distracting, until exhaustion finally knocked me out.

The next morning, I brought it up while we were making coffee.

Marcus smirked and told me I was seeing things.

You were tired, he said, and the fire makes everything look different at night.

I wanted to argue, but it sounded reasonable enough.

Still, I caught the side glance he gave me, like maybe he didn't fully believe his own explanation.

That evening, Marcus and I stepped out together, mostly because I wanted him to see it for himself.

At first, everything looked normal, but when we both turned toward the clearing, he went silent.

The trees were closer.