Kye's feet crunched over damp leaves as he followed the group, the low hum of casual chatter surrounding him like fog. He didn't really listen. His eyes swept the towering pines, noting the slant of the sun and the odd, rhythmic sway of the treetops—as if stirred by something other than the wind. Behind him, Luca was laughing at one of Arun's dumb jokes, their voices too loud, too normal.
Everything looked normal.
That was the strangest part.
He couldn't remember falling asleep. Not on the bus. Not even a moment of drifting. But here he was. The gear in his duffel was packed exactly how he would've done it. His shoes laced in that loop-tuck pattern he always used. Even the small tear on the strap of his backpack—it was all right. Real. Down to the fraying thread.
But something inside him remained unsettled.
A dull friction scraping at the back of his thoughts, like a warning too quiet to hear.
He let the others move ahead and paused beside a cluster of cabins, their walls worn with time. Weathered wood curled at the edges like old paper, paint flaked and faded. Doors hung slightly ajar—not abandoned, but left to rot just enough to be eerie. Kye glanced around. The teachers were there, doing roll calls and organizing cabin assignments. Mr. Dlamini was chewing on a toothpick, clipboard in hand, while Ms. Raksha ushered stragglers into lines.
But none of them looked at him. Not really.
Their gazes swept over him like he was background noise.
Just for a second, he caught Ms. Raksha's smile. It flickered too wide, like it had been stretched over something underneath—before it snapped back into place.
Kye blinked, and it was gone.
Jet lag, maybe. Or just exhaustion. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. Not since...
He stopped the thought before it formed.
"Yo! Kye!" Arun called, waving from one of the porches. "You sharing with us or are you too good for peasant living?"
Kye forced a smirk and jogged over. "Depends. You still snore like a chainsaw?"
"Worse," Luca grinned, tossing a pillow at him. "I upgraded to industrial grade."
The banter helped. A little.
The cabin smelled like damp wood and old dust, but there was comfort in the routine: unzipping bags, claiming bunks, teasing over snacks. All painfully normal.
Dinner was served in a central mess hall—boiled rice and something that resembled chicken stew. It filled their stomachs, but the flavor was...nothing. Not bad. Not good. Just flat. Like chewing on warm, boiled cardboard. Kye glanced around, waiting for someone to complain. No one did. Everyone chewed and swallowed like it was fine.
'Figures,' he thought. 'Food at these camps never tastes good.'
Still, it gnawed at him. The taste—or lack of it—wasn't just bland. It was hollow.
Like eating had no point.
Later that night, lying in his bunk, Kye stared at the wooden ceiling. The way the shadows shifted above him—it was slow. Too slow, like time was syrup instead of water. He rolled to the side and peeked down at Luca on the bunk below. He was already asleep. Breathing in deep, steady rhythms. Too steady. Like a metronome.
Kye whispered to himself, voice barely a breath, "This isn't real."
No answer.
Just the creak of wood... and the distant hoot of an owl.
Only the owl hooted twice in the same exact rhythm.
Like it was mimicking itself.
The next morning, Kye tried to blend in better. He joined the hike, kept pace, laughed when everyone else laughed. But he started asking small questions.
"Hey, what's the name of this place again?"
Arun blinked. "You've got the itinerary, man."
"No, seriously. What's the nearest town?"
Luca hesitated. "It's uh... we passed it. Didn't we?"
Others gave vague nods, half-listening, half-dismissing.
But no one could say. Not exactly.
The trail curved deeper into the forest, sunlight falling in strange, stretched-out streaks between the trees. Like the light itself was being pulled thin.
Twice, maybe three times, Kye jerked his head, convinced something had moved at the edge of his vision.
Nothing.
At a river crossing, he knelt and dipped his fingers into the current.
Ice cold.
Too cold for a spring morning.
He leaned closer, peering into the rippling water—and for a breathless second, he saw himself staring back. But his reflection didn't blink. It didn't move with the water.
He stumbled back.
That night, sleep didn't come. Every creak of the cabin felt amplified. Every insect outside sounded like it was crawling under his skin. And then came the silence. Dense and choking.
Unable to bear it, he slipped out and sat alone by the firepit, arms wrapped tight around his knees. The camp was still. Motionless. Even the trees stood too straight.
From the corner of his eye, a light flickered in the admin building.
He stood. Slowly. Carefully. Like the quiet might shatter.
The building was unlocked.
Inside, rows of cabinets stood too neat. Folders arranged by year, date, category.
He opened one.
Blank paper. Dozens of sheets. No names. No ink. Nothing.
He flipped through them with shaking hands. Not even a smudge.
Like records had never been kept.
Behind him, a voice.
"Looking for something?"
Kye turned sharply. Mr. Dlamini stood in the doorway. Still. Unblinking.
"I couldn't sleep," Kye said quickly. "Thought I'd get some air."
"Be careful," the teacher said, with a slow blink. "Night isn't as kind as the day."
Then he was gone.
No footsteps. No door.
Kye didn't go back to the cabin. Couldn't.
He sat by the cold firepit, heart pounding like it wanted to claw out of his chest. Trying to make sense of the cracks forming around him.
The tasteless food.
The memory gaps.
The unnatural light.
The reflection.
The silence.
The shadows around the pit twitched, pulling toward him like fingers stretching in the dark.
The owl hooted again.
Backward.
Kye stood.
The firepit's dead embers flared—sudden, bright, and blue. Cold fire.
And then he heard it.
His name.
Whispered by the wind—not as a call, but a verdict.
"Kye."
His legs moved on instinct.
He ran.
And behind him, in the dark, something followed.