Entering Cedar Hollow
The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the town of Cedar Hollow as the group’s SUV rolled down the narrow road leading into the heart of the town. The trees that lined the road swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets as the vehicle passed by. As they drove closer to the town center, the thick forest opened up, revealing a picturesque scene straight out of a travel brochure.
Cedar Hollow’s charm was undeniable. Quaint, well-kept cabins with flower boxes under the windows lined the streets, their rustic wooden façades painted in soft earth tones that blended seamlessly with the surrounding nature. The main street was cobblestone, flanked by shops and cafés with hand-painted signs and outdoor seating, where locals and tourists alike enjoyed the late afternoon sun. A large, crystal-clear lake sparkled at the edge of the town, its waters reflecting the orange and pink hues of the sky.
As the group drove into the town square, the hum of motorcycles grew louder, causing Emmaline to slow the SUV. They rounded a corner and spotted a group of bikers congregating outside a bar with a neon sign reading “Our Hollow’s End.” The bikers were clad in leather jackets emblazoned with a logo of a coiled rattlesnake wrapped around a Confederate flag, the words “Southern Saviors Society” stitched above it.
“Whoa, check it out,” Jeremy said, his eyes narrowing as he watched the bikers rev their engines. “That’s a serious crew.”
“Southern Saviors Society,” Calvin read aloud, glancing at the logo on one of the jackets. “Looks like they’re a local gang.”
“More like a local problem,” Emmaline murmured, her tone cautious. “I’ve heard of them. They’re notorious around these parts. We should steer clear.”
Felicia, who was sitting behind Jeremy, leaned forward to get a better look. “They’re pretty intense. Think they’re dangerous?”
Turner, a quiet observer, chimed in softly, “They’ve got a reputation. Mostly they keep to themselves, but if you cross them, things can get ugly. They run a lot of the town’s underbelly—drugs, weapons, you name it. But they also are a large help with the economy in the area.”
“Thought this was a tourist town?” Jeremy questioned, genuinely curious.
“Tourism hasn’t been around forever, just the last decade, but before that, the triple S gang helped build up the Confederate States post-war. They were actually one of the larger reasons the CNC were founded back in ‘27.”
Zack kept his gaze on the bikers as they passed by, noting the hard looks on their faces and the way they seemed to eye the SUV with suspicion. The group in the car fell into a tense silence as they drove past, the carefree atmosphere from earlier now tinged with unease.
As they pulled into a small parking lot near the town square, Emmaline turned off the engine. “Alright, everyone, stretch your legs,” she called out. “We’ve got a little time before we head up to the cabins. Might as well look around and take a break.”
The group piled out of the vehicle, groaning and stretching after the long drive. The air in Cedar Hollow was fresh and crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wildflowers. The tranquility of the place was almost surreal after hours on the road, but the recent encounter with the bikers left a lingering tension in the air.
“Man, this place looks like something out of a movie,” Jeremy remarked, glancing around as he stretched his arms overhead. “Almost too perfect, if you ask me.”
“Y’all can say that again,” a passerby commented as he walked by, his voice thick with a Southern drawl. “We like to keep things nice ‘round here. Welcome to Cedar Hollow.”
The group nodded in thanks, a few of them exchanging amused glances at the man’s heavy accent. As they wandered toward the town square, they noticed the locals moving at a leisurely pace, their conversations punctuated by the occasional burst of hearty laughter. The sense of community was palpable, as was the pride they took in their town.
A few minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a small café with a porch shaded by a large, sprawling oak tree. The sign above the door read “Maggie’s Place,” and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out every time the door opened.
“Might be worth stoppin’ here for a bite later,” Calvin suggested, nodding toward the café. “Looks like a popular spot.”
“Definitely,” Felicia agreed, peering through the windows at the packed tables inside. “But first, I need to walk off this car ride. My legs feel like jelly.”
As they continued their walk, they passed by several shops, each more charming than the last. One was a general store with jars of homemade preserves displayed in the window, another a small bookstore with shelves packed to the brim with old, leather-bound volumes. Turner, still buzzing with energy, seemed particularly fascinated by everything, pointing out little details like the intricate carvings on a bench or the way the light reflected off the lake.
“Y’all new here?” An older woman with a thick accent called out to them from where she was seated on a bench outside the general store. She was knitting something that looked like it could be a scarf, her needles clicking together with a rhythmic, soothing sound.
“Yes, ma’am,” Emmaline replied with a polite smile. “We’re here for a week, renting some cabins up in the mountains.”
“Well, y’all picked a fine time to visit,” the woman said with a nod of approval. “Weather’s just right this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold. Y’all make sure to stop by Maggie’s for supper. Best fried okra in the whole Ozarks.”
“We’ll definitely do that,” Emmaline assured her. “Thank you.”
As they continued their stroll, they reached the town square, where a few children were playing near the fountain. The square was dominated by a tall, white clock tower, its face gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The sound of the clock’s chimes echoed softly through the square, adding to the serene atmosphere.
Zack, who had been quietly taking in the sights, finally spoke up. “This place feels… different. Like it’s been here forever, untouched by everything else.”
“That’s ‘cause it has, mostly,” an old man seated nearby chimed in, his voice raspy with age but clear as a bell. “Cedar Hollow’s got a long history. We’ve seen it all—good times and bad. But we always bounce back. Just the way of things ‘round here.”
Calvin couldn’t resist engaging with the man. “I’ve read about the town’s past. Founded in the early 1800s, right? I heard there were pioneers who settled here, and that the town grew because of its abundant natural resources.”
The old man nodded slowly, a knowing look in his eyes. “That’s right. And it’s more than just resources. This place has got somethin’ special ‘bout it. Can’t quite put it into words, but you can feel it, can’t ya? Like there’s somethin’ watchin’ over us. Somethin’ that’s been here long before we ever showed up.”
Zack felt a chill run down his spine at the man’s words, though the tone was more comforting than ominous. The group fell silent for a moment, each of them lost in thought, absorbing the weight of the town’s history.
They were about to move on when Calvin spotted a small souvenir shop at the corner of the square. The sign above the door read “Ozark Treasures,” and the display window was filled with an assortment of trinkets—hand-carved wooden figures, postcards, and various items celebrating the local wildlife.
“Let’s check that out,” Calvin suggested, nodding toward the shop. “Might find something interesting.”
The group agreed, and they made their way inside. The shop was cozy, with shelves packed tightly with all manner of keepsakes. The scent of cedar wood mingled with the faint aroma of burning candles, creating an inviting atmosphere. A few other customers, mostly tourists, wandered the aisles, browsing through the selections.
Calvin was immediately drawn to a corner of the shop where a small display showcased historical memorabilia. There were old maps, replicas of Confederate flags, and books about the history of the Ozarks and the Confederate States. As he leafed through one of the books, he couldn’t help but strike up a conversation with the shopkeep, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and a cap that read “Proud of the South.”
“Hey there, son,” the man greeted, his thick accent making the words drawl out. “Y’all lookin’ for somethin’ specific, or just browsin’?”
“Just browsing for now,” Calvin replied with a polite smile, his fingers tracing the spine of an old book about the Confederate States War. “This is a pretty interesting collection you’ve got here.”
“Yep, got a lotta history in these parts,” the man said with a nod. “Name’s Lenny, by the way.”
“Calvin,” he introduced himself, offering a handshake, which Lenny took with a firm grip. “I’ve been reading up on the Second American Civil War—the one back in 2025. The Ozark Union was a prime war zone, right?”
Lenny nodded, a somber expression crossing his face. “That they were. Lotta blood spilled in these hills. The Ozarks were caught right in the middle of it all—between the New Confederacy, the Great Plains Union, and the Lone Star Republic. All sides thought they were fightin’ for what’s right, but it was a damn mess, I tell ya. Hard to believe it’s been almost twenty years since those three months that washed these hills red.”
Calvin continued, his interest clearly piqued. “And before that, in 2023, when the South broke away to form the New Confederate States—it’s fascinating how it led not only to other parts of our country to split, but there were revolts all across the world. Almost like history repeating itself. Though I have to say, I’m not exactly a fan of how things turned out.”
Lenny raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in Calvin’s tone. “Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Calvin hesitated for a moment, but then pressed on. “I’m with the Progressive Democratic Party of the Atlantic Republic, up north. We stand for principles of democracy, the rule of law, and national unity. I just think it’s a shame how the South chose to break away again, clinging to this idea of states’ rights over the unity of the nation.”
Lenny’s eyes narrowed, his friendly demeanor taking on a harder edge. “You talk like you know what’s best for everyone, son. But what y’all don’t get up there is that the New Confederacy ain’t just about ‘clingin’ to old ideas.’ We’ve got our traditions, our values, and we believe in the power of local governance. We ain’t interested in being told how to live by folks who don’t understand us.”
Calvin folded his arms, the tension in his posture clear. “But look where it led—a bloody war that tore apart what was left of the United States. It just seems to me like the South was more interested in holding onto the past than moving forward.”
Lenny bristled at the comment, his voice growing sharper. “You think we’re backward just ‘cause we value our own way of life? The South’s got every right to determine its own future. We ain’t got to answer to some centralized government that don’t care ‘bout our people. Maybe y’all up there could learn a thing or two ‘bout respectin’ folks’ choices.”
Calvin’s jaw tightened. “I’m all for respecting people’s choices, but not when those choices lead to widespread suffering. The South’s decision to secede and fight for states’ rights cost thousands of lives and nearly destroyed the region, not to mention the impact it had on the rest of the continent. How can you defend that?”
Lenny leaned in closer, his voice lowering but still laced with intensity. “You ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, some things are worth fightin’ for? You talk ‘bout sufferin’, but what ‘bout the sufferin’ we’d have faced if we just rolled over and let the Feds control every aspect of our lives? We’d have lost our identity, our way of life, and everything our ancestors fought to protect.”
Calvin shot back, “And what about the suffering your ancestors caused? The South has a long history of resisting progress in the name of tradition. Slavery, segregation—those were defended as ‘states’ rights’ too. How is this any different?”
Lenny’s face hardened, his eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t you dare compare this to that,” he growled. “What we fought for in 2023 was about preserving our autonomy, not oppressin’ people. We’ve moved past those dark times, but y’all up north keep dredgin’ it up like it’s the only thing that defines us. And let me remind ya, it was the Confederates who fought for independence, while the Atlantic Republic ended up in bed with the very same corporates who wanted to strip us of our rights. And aside from the present, since you wanna talk history, it was the Republican Party, which y’all falsely claim are inherently southern, that freed the slaves. Meanwhile, the Democrats who ended up running the show in your Atlantic Republic wanted to expand the trade.
Calvin’s response was immediate. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the South chose to secede again. It doesn’t erase the damage done by constantly resisting progress.”
Lenny’s voice took on a hardened edge. “And you think the North’s any better? Y’all claim to be progressive, but what good is that when your cities are riddled with crime, and folks are left to fend for themselves in a corrupt system? At least down here, we look out for our own.”
Calvin didn’t back down. “But at what cost, Lenny? The war nearly destroyed the South. How can you still defend a system that led to so much suffering?”
Lenny leaned in, his voice low and intense. “And what ‘bout the Atlantic Republic, huh? Y’all got your own problems—ain’t exactly a paradise up there, is it? High unemployment, cities overrun with crime, and don’t even get me started on the corruption. But I betcha didn’t think ‘bout that when you came down here, did ya? We’ve got our troubles, sure, but at least we’re tryin’ to fix ‘em ourselves, not waitin’ for some government that don’t give a damn to do it for us.”
Calvin opened his mouth to respond, but Lenny wasn’t finished. “And let me ask ya this, Mr.’Federal States,’—how’s that unity workin’ out for ya? Y’all got folks up there who don’t trust each other, who don’t feel like they belong. Meanwhile, we might be divided, you might call it old-fashioned, but we call it loyalty. Loyalty to family, to neighbors. Y’all can keep your ‘progress,’ but don’t you dare say we don’t care about movin’ forward. We just do it our way.”
The atmosphere in the shop had grown tense, with a few of the other customers glancing over at the raised voices. Zack, standing nearby, shifted uncomfortably, sensing the argument was teetering on the edge of something more heated.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. Calvin felt the weight of Lenny’s words, his own arguments suddenly feeling less certain. He couldn’t deny that there were issues in the Atlantic Republic—problems that he’d seen firsthand but often chose to overlook in favor of defending the principles he believed in.
Finally, Calvin nodded, though his expression was still tight with frustration. “You’ve got a point,” he admitted grudgingly. “I didn’t think about it like that.”
Lenny straightened up, his demeanor softening just a touch. “Ain’t sayin’ y’all are wrong ‘bout everything, kid. Just that there’s more to it than what you read in books. But I appreciate ya listenin’. Takes guts to admit when you ain’t thought of somethin’.”
The two stood there for a moment, the heat of the argument simmering down as mutual respect replaced the earlier hostility. Calvin didn’t feel entirely convinced by Lenny’s perspective, but he had to acknowledge that there were truths to the man’s words—truths he hadn’t considered before.
Felicia, sensing the tension had passed, let out a low whistle. “Well, that got intense. Think we should get back on the road before you two start debating the meaning of life?”
Zack chuckled nervously, relieved the confrontation hadn’t escalated further. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”
Emmaline, who had been quietly watching the exchange, gave Lenny a polite nod. “Thanks for the chat, sir. We should be heading out.”
Lenny tipped his hat to the group, his expression now more neutral. “Y’all have a good stay in Cedar Hollow. And remember—this place has seen a lot, but it’s still standin’. Might be somethin’ to think ‘bout.”
As they left the shop and stepped back into the bright afternoon sunlight, the group was quieter than before, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The beauty of Cedar Hollow was still there, but the weight of its history—and the present-day complexities—hung over them like a shadow.
Calvin, for his part, remained silent as they walked back to the SUV. It wasn’t until the group got back to the comfort of their vehicle that Jeremy spoke up, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Cal, what the fuck?”
Calvin, who had been deep in thought, looked up, surprised by the harshness in Jeremy’s tone. “What? I was just having a conversation. He brought up history, so I thought it was fair game to discuss it.”
Jeremy shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Fair game? Cal, you’re visiting his country. You don’t just go around telling people that their country is wrong, especially when tensions are still high.”
Calvin frowned, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “I wasn’t telling him he was wrong, I was just pointing out that—”
“That the South was on the wrong side of history?” Jeremy cut him off, his voice rising. “You don’t think that’s a little condescending? You’re up here, in a place where people still feel the weight of those wars, and you’re acting like you know better.”
Calvin’s expression hardened. “I wasn’t trying to condescend, Jeremy. I was trying to have a discussion. History is history. We can’t ignore the facts just because they’re uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, but there’s a way to do it,” Jeremy shot back. “And what you did back there wasn’t it. You can’t just walk into someone’s home and start picking apart everything they believe in. It’s disrespectful.”
Calvin opened his mouth to respond, but Jeremy wasn’t finished. “You think tensions are gone just because the war ended twenty years ago? They’re not. People here still feel it every day. You heard Lenny—he’s proud of where he’s from. And you just walked all over that, like your perspective is the only one that matters. You see that lake behind us? It was a whole lot smaller before the bombs, Cal.”
Calvin’s face flushed with anger, but beneath it, he felt a twinge of guilt. “I wasn’t trying to offend him, Jeremy. I was just—”
“Trying to be right,” Jeremy interrupted, his voice softer now but still firm. “You always do this, Cal. You get so caught up in being right that you forget there’s more at stake than just winning an argument. You’re not in the Federal States anymore. You’re in the South, where people’s pride in their identity runs deep. You’ve got to respect that, even if you don’t agree with it. I mean, what if those fuckin’ bikers heard you? Now you’re not talking history with a retail worker, but the present with a bunch of killers.”
There was a heavy silence in the SUV as Calvin stared at the floor, his mind racing. He knew Jeremy had a point, even if it stung to admit it. The tension from the shop had followed them out into the street, and now it clung to the group like a heavy fog.
Emmaline, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. “Cal, Jeremy’s right. We’re guests here. We need to be mindful of how we talk about these things. It’s not about who’s right or wrong—it’s about showing respect.”
Calvin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to disrespect him. I just… I guess I didn’t think about how it would come across.”
Jeremy nodded, his anger cooling as he saw the frustration in Calvin’s expression. “Look, man, I get it. You’re passionate about this stuff. But sometimes, it’s better to just listen. People here have their reasons for feeling the way they do, just like you have yours. And if we’re gonna make it through this trip without pissing off half the South, we’ve got to remember that.”
Calvin nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah… I get it. I’ll be more careful.”
“Good,” Jeremy said, his tone softening. “Because the last thing we need is to end up in a fight with a bunch of locals. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the trip, alright?”
Calvin managed a small, rueful smile. “Yeah, alright. I’ll try to keep my opinions to myself.”
The group settled back into a more comfortable silence as they prepared to hit the road again. Just as Jeremy started the engine, his gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the Southern Saviors Society bikers across the square. He frowned, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly.
Before he could dwell on it, Zack broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. “You think those bikers are connected to that Lenny guy?”
Jeremy shrugged, his eyes still on the bikers. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Small town like this, everyone’s probably connected somehow. Just another reason to keep our heads down and not start shit.”
Rosie, sensing the need to diffuse the tension, forced a smile and leaned forward. “Hey, let’s focus on the fun stuff, yeah? We’ve got a whole week ahead of us to relax, explore, and make some great memories. No more arguments, okay?”
The group nodded in agreement, the mood lifting slightly as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the winding road that would take them up to the cabins. Just as they left Cedar Hollow’s main square behind, Emmaline glanced at the fuel gauge and frowned.
“We’re running low on gas,” she noted, her voice cutting through the remnants of the previous conversation. “We should fill up before we head into the mountains. Last thing we need is to get stranded out there.”
Jeremy nodded in agreement, steering the SUV toward a small gas station they’d spotted earlier on their way into town. The sign outside read “Humphry’s Gear & More,” a place that seemed to cater to the outdoor enthusiasts and survivalists that frequented the area.
As they pulled up to the pump, the sun was just beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the lot. The station itself was an old, weathered building with a large porch out front, complete with wooden rocking chairs and a collection of rustic decorations that gave it a cozy, if slightly eerie, charm. Attached to the station was the gear store, a large structure that seemed to house everything one might need for a week in the wilderness.
“Alright, I’ll pump the gas,” Jeremy said as he hopped out of the SUV, still trying to shake off the tension from earlier. “You guys go ahead and check out the store if you want. Maybe grab some last-minute supplies.”
The group agreed, and as Jeremy began filling the tank, the rest of them made their way toward the entrance of the store. The wooden door creaked as they pushed it open, and the smell of cedar wood and campfire hit them immediately. Inside, the store was packed with everything from camping gear and hunting equipment to maps and survival guides.
The shopkeeper, an older man with a bushy white beard and a flannel shirt, looked up from behind the counter as they entered. His sharp eyes, a contrast to his grizzled appearance, took in the group with a nod. “Afternoon, folks. Lookin’ for anything in particular?”
“Just grabbing a few last-minute things,” Emmaline replied with a friendly smile. “We’re heading up to Pine Ridge Cabins for the week.”
“M. Mumphry,” as his name tag read, let out a low chuckle. “Ah, Pine Ridge, eh? Beautiful spot, but y’all best be prepared. Weather can change fast up there, and the nights get real cold. Cold enough to make ya question yer life choices. And don’t forget ‘bout the wildlife. Bears and cougars tend to wander ‘round those parts, especially this time of year.”
Zack wandered over to a display of survival knives, his fingers brushing over the handles. “Do we really need all this stuff?” he asked, half-jokingly, but with a hint of genuine curiosity.
Calvin, who was examining a rack of emergency blankets, glanced over. “Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. Besides, you never know what could happen out there. Nature’s unpredictable.”
Felicia picked up a canister of bear spray, reading the label with a raised eyebrow. “Are there really bears up here?”
Mumphry’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned forward on the counter. “Oh, we’ve got bears, alright. Big ones. They don’t usually bother folks, long as you don’t bother them, but it’s always good to be prepared. Better safe than sorry, like the sayin’ goes.”
Before anyone could respond, the door to the back storage room swung open with a loud bang, startling everyone. A middle-aged man, balding on the top but with fluffy hair cascading down to his shoulders, stomped through the doorway carrying a large box of supplies. His entrance was accompanied by the muffled sound of classic rock music from the 1970s and 1980s blaring from a small radio in the back, specifically Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers. He was heavyset, with a friendly but slightly eerie grin on his face as he noticed the group.
“Wyatt!” Mumphry barked, his voice sharp. “Mind yer noise and get back to work.”
Wyatt nodded quickly, muttering an apology as he shuffled to the shelves to restock supplies, sneaking a glance at the group as he passed. His eyes widened when they landed on Felicia’s rainbow-colored hair, but as she peered back at him, noticing his gaze, he hurried on his way.
“Don’t mind him,” Mumphry said gruffly. “He’s harmless, just a bit too curious for his own good sometimes. Likes to think he knows everything ‘bout these mountains.”
Turner, not missing the chance for a callback, grinned and said, “So, any tips on dealing with the Ozark Black Howler, or is it just the usual bears and cougars we should watch out for?”
Wyatt, who was within earshot, perked up at the mention of the legends. “Y’all headin’ up into the hills, huh? Adventure, huh? Well, y’all picked the right place. The Ozarks got plenty of that. But lemme tell ya, it ain’t just the pretty scenery you gotta watch out for.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s critters out there that’ll give ya more than just a scare. Bears, pant’ers, hawgs, them’s the usual suspects. But then there’s the Black Howler and the Goatmen.”
Felicia rolled her eyes playfully, but Wyatt’s intensity seemed to catch the group off guard. He continued, undeterred. “Well, seems like yer friend here knows a thing or two. The Black Howler’s been spookin’ folks ‘round these parts for generations. Big ol’ creature, bigger than any bear, with eyes that burn like coals. Some folks thinks it’s a spirit, others reckon it’s somethin’ else entirely.”
“I guess Jeremy was right, Cal, there is goatmen in these woods.” Turner joked with a mock southern accent.
Jeremy walking in, as if on cue and hearing his name turned towards the group to question what they were talking about only to see Wyatt’s lingering gaze on Felicia, causing a heat to rise in him as he stepped forward, his tone cold. “Something catch your eye, buddy?”
Wyatt, startled by the sudden demeanor, stammered, “Uh, no, sir. Just… was admirin’ her hair, is all. Ain’t meanin’ no disrespect.”
Jeremy continued to step towards Wyatt, his eyes narrowing. “You sure about that? ‘Cause it seems like you’re more interested in watching my girl than talking.”
Wyatt, sensing the tension, quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. “No harm meant, I swear. Just sharin’ a bit of local lore, tryin’ to be helpful, y’know?”
Before the situation could escalate further, Calvin cut in with a sharp tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, Jeremy, let’s all calm down. I’m sure Wyatt here is just trying to make sure we’re properly spooked before we head into the great unknown. Isn’t that right, Wyatt?”
Wyatt nodded quickly, eager to defuse the tension. “That’s right, just sharin’ what I know. These parts got their stories, and I reckon it don’t hurt to be aware. And ‘bout them Goatmen—old Mathew here, he’s been known to have killed one back in his day.”
Mumphry scoffed, waving off Wyatt’s comment with a dismissive hand. “Don’t be fillin’ their heads with nonsense, Wyatt. Ain’t nobody killin’ no Goatman. It’s just stories folks tell ‘round the campfire to keep the kids from wanderin’ off into the woods.”
But Jeremy wasn’t satisfied, his posture still tense as he stared down Wyatt. “Yeah? Well, maybe you should keep your stories to yourself.”
Wyatt took a cautious step back, clearly unnerved by Jeremy’s intensity. “Sure thing, no problem,” he mumbled, his eyes flicking to Mumphry for support.
But instead of calming the situation, Mumphry’s expression hardened. He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Jeremy with the kind of piercing gaze that only a seasoned drill sergeant could muster. “You listen here, boy,” he began, his voice low and gravelly but filled with authority. “I don’t know what kind of macho nonsense you’re tryin’ to pull, but I suggest you drop it. Wyatt here ain’t done nothin’ but try to be friendly, and you’re actin’ like a damn fool.”
Jeremy stiffened, not used to being spoken to like that. “I don’t need some old man telling me how to act,” he shot back, his voice laced with defiance.
Mumphry’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning icy. “Old man, huh? Let me tell you somethin’, son—this ‘old man’ has seen more, done more, and forgotten more than you’ll ever know. You think puffin’ up your chest and throwin’ around attitude makes you tough? I’ve dealt with tougher than you in my sleep.”
Calvin, sensing the situation spiraling, tried to step in. “Look, there’s no need for this to escalate. We’re just trying to buy some supplies and be on our way.”
Mumphry’s gaze shifted to Calvin, and his voice didn’t soften. “You think I’m lookin’ for a fight, kid? I’m just callin’ out bullshit when I see it. And right now, I see a couple of young punks who think they can walk into my shop and start somethin’ over nothin’. You best check your ego at the door next time.”
Jeremy, his frustration boiling over, took a step closer, but Mumphry didn’t budge, his stance as solid as a rock. “You really think you’re intimidatin’ anyone with that tough guy act? I’ve stared down men twice your size with a lot more guts and brains. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and shut your mouth before you say somethin’ you’ll regret?”
The shop was quiet and tense, like someone was holding a knife. Zack and Felicia exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to defuse the situation, while Turner shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
Jeremy’s hands balled into fists, but he hesitated, clearly torn between backing down and standing his ground. Calvin, sensing that Jeremy was close to doing something stupid, put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Jeremy, let it go. Remember what you just told me in the car.”
Mumphry, seeing that his words had finally hit home, straightened up, his expression less severe but still unyielding. “That’s right. Let it go. Y’all came here to get supplies for your little trip, so why don’t you do that and leave the tough talk for someone who cares.”
Jeremy’s face was flushed with anger, but he took a step back, glaring at Mumphry before turning away. Calvin, his own frustration simmering, nodded curtly at the older man. “We’ll take our stuff and go.”
Mumphry watched them with a critical eye as Turner quickly moved to the counter to pay for the items. His tone was still firm as he addressed the group. “Y’all best remember that the mountains don’t care ‘bout your pride or your attitude. They’ll humble you real quick if you’re not careful. So watch yourselves up there.”
As Turner handed over the money, he hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “So, uh… if your name’s Mumphry with an M, why’s it spelled Humphry with an H on the sign out front?”
Mumphry’s stern expression softened for just a second, a hint of a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a bad joke,” he said gruffly, his voice still holding that drill sergeant edge. “One of them ‘humble pie’ lessons. Figured it’d keep folks wonderin’. Now, if y’all are done, get on outta here.”
As they reached the SUV, Emmaline let out a long breath, clearly relieved to be out of the shop. “Let’s just get going. The sooner we get to the cabins, the better.”
Rosie, trying to lighten the mood, forced a laugh. “Yeah, no more run-ins with grumpy old men, okay?”
Jeremy, still fuming, muttered under his breath as he climbed into the SUV. “Grumpy old man, my ass.”
Turner, eager to move past the incident, chimed in with forced enthusiasm. “So, ghost hunting, huh? Maybe we’ll find our own Goatman up here.”
Jeremy gave a half-hearted chuckle, his aggression slowly decaying into frustration. “Yeah, well, if we do, at least we know who to ask for advice.”
Rosie laughed, though there was an edge to it. “Let’s just hope it’s all stories and not actual monsters. I’m not ready to star in a horror movie just yet.”
Felicia leaned back in her seat. “I mean, if we do see a Goatman, I’m definitely getting a selfie with it.”
As the SUV pulled away from the shop, the group settled into an uneasy silence, the confrontation still fresh in their minds. The mountains loomed closer in the distance, their peaks shrouded in mist, a reminder of the unpredictable adventure that lay ahead.
Zack stared out the window, his mind replaying the events at the shop. The landscape outside had grown wilder, the trees thicker and darker as they climbed higher into the mountains. The dense forest seemed to press in on them from all sides, the tall pines casting long shadows across the road.
His gaze drifted to the side of the road, where something caught his eye—a brief movement in the underbrush, a dark shape slipping between the trees. Zack squinted, trying to make out what it was, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. A chill ran down his spine, a strange, inexplicable feeling that they were being watched.
He shook his head, telling himself it was just his imagination, a trick of the light or maybe a deer. But the unease lingered, gnawing at the back of his mind.
Emmaline, who had taken the wheel again, broke the silence. “We’re almost there,” she announced, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of anticipation. The others seemed relieved, eager to put the day’s tension behind them.
As the SUV rounded a final bend, the cabins came into view, nestled in a clearing surrounded by towering trees. The sight should have been a welcome one, but for Zack, the eerie feeling from earlier still clung to him, a nagging sense of unease that he couldn’t shake.
They pulled up to the cabins, the vehicle coming to a stop on the gravel driveway. The group began to stir, the tension easing slightly as they prepared to unpack and settle in. But as Zack stepped out of the SUV, he couldn’t help but glance back at the darkened woods, half-expecting to see that shadowy figure again.
The forest remained still and silent, but the feeling that something—or someone—was watching them stayed with him, a quiet, unsettling presence in the back of his mind as they finally arrived at their destination.