At first, it was just a sound.
A scrape.
It came from somewhere near the well.
Cynthia stirred in her sleeping bag, her body already tense before her mind fully woke. The night air was cold, pressing through the thin fabric of the tent, settling into her bones. The forest around them had gone unnaturally quiet hours ago—no insects, no night birds, no rustling leaves. Silence like that wasn't peaceful. It was alert. Listening.
The scrape came again.
Metal against stone.
Slow.
Intentional.
Her breath caught.
She sat up slowly, heart pounding hard enough to make her dizzy. Around the clearing, faint shapes shifted as others began to wake, drawn out of sleep by the same sound.
"Did… did anyone hear that?" someone whispered.
Cynthia didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the shape of the well barely visible through the darkness. Even in the low light, it looked wrong—too black, as though the darkness around it was thicker than the rest of the night.
Another scrape echoed.
Then stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Alex unzipped his tent and stepped out, flashlight in hand. The beam trembled slightly as he swept it across the clearing.
"Probably the wind," Violet said, climbing out of her tent with forced confidence. "Or some animal."
"Animals don't use tools," Ethan replied calmly.
His voice carried too easily in the quiet.
Cynthia swallowed.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
She froze.
She hadn't realized she was holding it.
Slowly, dread crawling up her spine, she looked down at the screen.
Unknown Number
A message preview glowed faintly.
She didn't open it.
She didn't need to.
Her hands began to shake anyway.
They gathered closer together after that.
No one suggested going back to sleep.
Someone lit a small fire, its flames weak and struggling, casting long shadows that stretched unnaturally across the clearing. The well sat just beyond the firelight, half-hidden, like something deliberately avoiding attention.
Cynthia tried not to look at it.
Tried—and failed.
The scrape returned.
Closer.
Something slid across stone.
Then there was a sound like breath.
Not wind.
Breath.
"Okay," Violet said sharply, clapping her hands together once, the sound too loud. "That's it. This is officially not funny anymore."
No one laughed.
Alex moved closer to Cynthia, his hand brushing hers. She clutched it without thinking.
"This place is messing with us," he murmured. "Fear does that. Makes you imagine things."
But his voice lacked conviction.
The scrape came again.
This time, it was followed by a soft laugh.
Dry.
Cracked.
Human.
Every muscle in Cynthia's body locked.
"That's someone," Violet snapped. "Someone is messing with us."
The laughter came again.
Closer.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Crunching softly against dry leaves.
A figure emerged from between the trees at the edge of the clearing.
A woman.
Thin.
Pale.
Her clothes hung loosely on her frame—an old school uniform, faded, torn at the hem, stained dark in places that looked too deliberate to be dirt. Her hair fell around her face in tangled strands, hiding her eyes.
For a moment, no one spoke.
No one breathed.
Then Violet laughed again, high and brittle. "Very funny. Whoever you are, you can stop now."
The woman tilted her head.
Slowly.
Unnaturally.
She raised one hand and waved.
Cynthia's stomach dropped.
Her heart slammed so hard she thought she might faint.
"No," she whispered.
Her voice barely existed.
Alex turned sharply toward her. "What?"
Cynthia couldn't look away from the figure. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to obey.
"It's Janet," she said.
The name sucked the air out of the clearing.
"That's impossible," Violet snapped immediately. "Janet is dead."
The woman stepped forward into the firelight.
Her face came into view.
It wasn't decomposed.
It wasn't monstrous.
It was worse.
It was almost right.
Her eyes were too still. Her smile too careful. Her skin too smooth, like something copied rather than grown.
"I didn't mean to leave," the woman said softly.
Her voice.
Janet's voice.
Cynthia felt her knees give way. Alex caught her just in time, his arms tight around her.
"This isn't real," he said firmly, though his grip betrayed him. "This is a trick. A hallucination."
The woman's eyes locked onto Cynthia.
"You said you'd wait for me," she said.
Cynthia shook her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't—I didn't know—"
The woman smiled wider.
Her face twitched.
Just once.
Like something adjusting itself.
And suddenly she was closer.
Too close.
No footsteps.
No warning.
She was just there.
Alex pulled Cynthia backward. "Don't touch her!"
The woman laughed again, her head tilting backward at an angle that made Cynthia's stomach churn.
"I'm not finished yet," she said.
Every flashlight flickered.
Then went out.
Darkness swallowed the clearing.
Someone screamed.
Something brushed against Cynthia's arm—cold, damp, breathing.
She screamed too.
Then the lights snapped back on.
The clearing was empty.
No woman.
No footprints.
Only something lying on the ground near the well.
A necklace.
Cynthia knew it instantly.
Janet's necklace.
The real one.
The one she had watched Janet fasten around her neck on the day they fought.
"No," Cynthia whispered. "No, no, no…"
Ethan crouched slowly, examining the necklace without touching it. His expression was unreadable.
"That wasn't a ghost," he said quietly.
Violet hugged herself, her bravado gone. "Then what was it?"
Ethan looked toward the well.
"It was something wearing a memory."
From deep within the forest came a low sound.
Satisfied.
Waiting.
And far beneath them, something shifted.