Jayson trudges through the forest, his cosmic wood sword serving as both a crutch as the remnants of the storm and droplets from the leaves above patter down. Nearby, nature a melted tank has its rusted and mangled metal shell entwined with creeping vines. Thunder rumbles through the fractured sky, and time seems to disappear as Jayson makes his way from Derrick’s tree house to his hole.

  Inside the decaying burrow Jayson calls home, the dampness seeps through the walls and ceiling, yet the area around the burn pit, and the spot where his Ouija board resides, are dry.

  Jayson arranges dried logs and kindling with meticulous care. Using wooden fragments and a worn shoelace, he expertly crafts a hand-drill, coaxing sparks to life until flames dance in the darkness.

  The dancing fire creates flickers of lights and shadows in the burrow, and Jayson retrieves his old yearbook from its cubby made from an old crate. The cover is damp, and the pages are moist, so Jayson treads carefully in handling the book. As Jayson explores its pages, weariness and misery weighs down on him like blankets filled with stones. Even his eyelids feel like they are being pulled down by weighted hooks.

  Page after page. Picture after picture. Words are blurs. Blurs are meaningless streaks. Darkness bleeds in. Creeping. Crawling. Fingers and hands stretch from the darkness bordering Jayson’s sight, and a coldness takes him as his eyes shut and his body collapses into the damp dirt.

  (((((O)))))

  The Bliss Town Reservoir Campground was a place of beauty. The walled off paradise sprawled out like something from a summer paradise brochure. Pristine cabins with polished cedar siding formed a horseshoe around a central fire pit holding an inferno. The lake sparkled under the moonlight and cracked sky, its surface rippled with gentle waves that lapped against a white sandy beach. And lining the beach are tiki torch shaped lights, providing illumination for the dark waters.

  Tall pines swayed in the breeze, their needles releasing that sharp, clean scent that made breathing feel like medicine.

  And off in the distance, where the mountains blocked the views from the other side, flashes of bright lights highlighted the clouds. The faint rumbles that came from the light.

  Seventeen-year-old Jayson Hopper sat on the edge of the dock, his white rabbit feet dangling just above the water. His reflection stared back at him, his brown hair messy and blue eyes bright. The waves warped and broke his reflection, but he never looked away.

  “Raptor strike!” shouted a teenage male behind Jayson.

  Before he could fully turn his head, a mass tackled him, and they both fell in the water. Jayson twisted and turned into the water, bubbles surged all around him in the darkness.

  Jayson finally popped up, gasping for air, and he paddled to shore while Rolland, Dacre, Shae, and Cyrus laughed. Rolland was dripping wet, but he didn’t care.

  “That’s what you get for being an unobservant scrub, loser!” said Rolland.

  “Really, Rolland?” said Jayson, his hands and knees on the wet sand, glaring past the wet locks of dark hair.

  “Yeah. Really. And we peed on your mattress. All of us. One at a time,” said Rolland.

  “I peed the longest,” said Cyrus proudly, chest puffed out and arms flexed downward.

  Jayson sneered. “Why?”

  “Because. That’s why!” said Rolland.

  “Hey!” shouted Lexanne Haunt.

  The group looked towards her, watching as she emerged from the dark, her brown eyes glowing with the fires of scorn, fists clenched and her heavy boots digging in the sand. When she reached them, she pointed at Rolland’s nose.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “If you’re going to pick on someone, pick on someone who isn’t afraid to fight back!” said Lexanne Haunt.

  Jayson frowned. “Thanks, Lexanne.”

  “Oh. Okay,” said Rolland.

  And then he decked her in the schnoz.

  Lexanne Haunt fell flat on her back, her nose bloody, and like an explosive force unleashed beneath his feet, Jayson torpedoed himself into Rolland’s side, leading to both crashing in the dirt.

  Cyrus, Dacre, and Shay converged on Jayson, and Lexanne Haunt tackled Shae off, and a rolling mess of fur, hair, clothes, and kicked up sand made a messy ball on the beach, their screams and curses echoing in the night.

  As quickly as the fight happened, it ended with the group sitting on opposite benches of the camp counselor’s cabin. Both fuming with bloody noses and bruises. As they waited, Lexanne Haunt looked at Jayson and smiled.

  “Totally worth it,” said Lexanne Haunt.

  “You think I can fight now?” said Jayson sourly.

  “I was joking about that. I’ve just never seen you fight, so I didn’t think you did.”

  Jayson grunted, and Rolland whistled to him, drawing his attention.

  “For what it’s worth, you fought good,” said Rolland.

  Jayson grunted again and looked ahead, but instead of the lake and distant mountains, it was an endless expanse of dark water. The cracks in the sky above were shaped into a clock, each crack fading and reappearing like a clock hand traveling its path. And in the distance was a black silhouette with broken fabric and strands of hair floating in the air as if submerged.

  Low, feminine hums flowed into Jayson’s ears.

  His blue eyes widened, and his breathing quickened. He tried to move. Tried to stand up. The figure swayed their way forward, their humming getting louder, and their steps making no disturbance in the dark water.

  The figure’s head split open with three white voids forming a smile, and they extended bloody hands to Jayson.

  “Come see with me,” said Lexanne.

  (((((O)))))

  Jayson jolts awake, his hand clutching the yearbook tight. His eyes frantically dart around the room, searching for Lexanne, but she is nowhere to be seen. His eyes fall on the Ouija board, and he scrambles to his feet, stomps towards it, and throws it in the fire. The fire curls around it, but nothing burns. The faded colors remain the same and steam rises as the moisture is heated off.

  Jayson scoffs and flops to the ground, hard, clutching the yearbook and his weapon tight. “Of course.”

  ******

  Back at Derrick’s tree house, Lexia’s eyes flutter open. Her head pulses, her mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton, and her eyeballs feel like they’re about to burst. The worst feeling is in her arm, though. The area Claribel bit is still pulsing and feels like two curved knives are still lodged in there.

  Lexia winces and quietly sits up, looking at the bandage on her arm. Then she looks around and sees Dixie sitting nearby, staring at a clock hanging on the ceiling above an area where pictures used to hang, her ears twitching in tune with its ticking.

  Lexia looks around again, but doesn’t see anyone else, and she groggily rubs her face.

  “Where’s Derrick and Jayson?” asks Lexia.

  Dixie snaps around, eyes wide and a bright smile on her face.

  “Lexia!” calls Dixie.

  She pounces on Lexia, knocking her daughter backwards onto the nest as she hugs her tightly. Lexia winces but manages to smile and pats her mom’s shoulder.

  “I'm glad you're awake! You had me so worried!” says Dixie.

  The glass patio door slides open and shut, and Derrick walks in, sporting a rare smile.

  “How are you feeling?” asks Derrick.

  Lexia gently pries Dixie off and sits up, rubbing her bandaged area. “Sore. Where's Jayson?”

  “He went home.”

  “Do you know where Jayson lives?”

  “Yep. He don’t know that I know, though.”

  “I need you to take me to him.”

  Dixie gently grabs Lexia’s hand. “You can’t leave. You need to rest.”

  “I’m fine. But I need to speak to Jayson,” says Lexia firmly.

  “Your mom is right. You need to rest,” says Derrick.

  Lexia stands up on wobbly legs and glares at Derrick. “I already rested! Take me to Jayson, now!”

  Derrick narrows his eyes, and the world goes darker around him. Dixie cowers, and Lexia smiles nervously with drooped ears, tapping her fingers together.

  “Please. Pretty please?” adds Lexia meekly.

  Derrick's shadows retract, and he exhales heavily. “Fine. But you're not going to be there long. And you're wearing a raincoat from my closet. I don't want you getting sick.” He looks at Dixie while Lexia goes to his closet, muttering to herself. “Lock the door and close the blinds, and don't open the door for anybody. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Dixie nods, and Lexia returns, wearing a bulky brown raincoat with a large hat strapped to her head, her lips tight from a frown and her eyes heavy.

  “I hate this thing. It’s uncomfortable and smells weird,” says Lexia.

  “Well, I hadn’t worn it since my son puked all over its inside after he hate an anchovy and onion smoothy,” says Derrick.

  Lexia’s eye twitches, and Derrick does an about face to the door.

  “But enough about that. Let’s talk to Jayson,” says Derrick.

  Lexia sighs and sulks after him while pulling out a notebook and pen from thin air. “Note to self, ruin Derrick’s dinner.”