Harthorn’s Reverie – Page 6 – A Collection for the Reverie

Beneath the Forgotten Steel – Pilot

The Maw of The Pall

Blood splattered across the corroded metal walls, thick and dark, apparent that it wasn’t fresh, mixing with the grime of centuries past. Beneath the dim luminescence of fungi that tainted most of the world, a man knelt over a twitching body, his breath ragged as blood and sweat dripped from his face, his muscles burning from the fight. Questions of the necessity or the reason for what he’d just done didn’t enter his mind, as it was the way of the Iron Bastion.

Varik. It wasn’t a name that carried any meaning or fame, but it was his, or at least what he’d taken to over the years. Without a history, who his people were, or the causes of the various scars on his back, he stared down at the man who he was sure was finally dead. None of this mattered within the Iron Bastion, merely the endless grind of survival, such information was trivial unless you were with one of the various gangs or tribes, but Varik was not.

He was one of the few who preferred staying outside the groups, instead taking to being one of the isolationists, drifters who wondered from camp to camp, not worrying about a future but instead his next breath. Not interested in looking after others, simply looking after his next meal, or in most cases like the one just a moment ago, his next kill.

Wiping his shiv on the tattered remains of the corpse, he stood and glanced around the corridor, following the dim glow of the fungi that seemed to mark a path down either side of him. A foul stench, mix of rot and the pheromones of insect scavengers, became thick in the air, a miasma clinging to everything, seeping into the clothing, into the skin, into the bones of the living. The distant clanging of metal echoed through the tunnels—a reminder that he was never truly alone. There were others like him, scavengers, predators, isolationists, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to take what little he has.

His stomach growling at the hunger that gnawed in his gut, Varik grabbed one of the bugs that were already crawling from the seams of the metalic walls and quickly threw it in his mouth before taking off into a small jog, his steps silent against the rusted grating, no show or boot covering his feet, simple clothe that he had scavenged and tied around them. The body was already drawing attention, and he knew he needed to be far from it when the larger beings came to investigate.

The spores that dot the air occasionally gave off a faint light as he ran through, their erratic dance suggesting a life of their own, as if the very air was alive, watching him. Waiting to consume him

The corridors of the Iron Bastion meandered like a labyrinth, a tangled warren of corroded metal and abandoned technology. Once a bustling world, now reduced to a tomb, a drifting carcass in the void that the Bastion kept at bay, where only the forsaken, the twisted, and the damned clung to life.

Varik didn’t think about the past, though. The stories whispered among the scavengers and gangs meant nothing to him. Stories of a world long forgotten outside the safety of the Bastion, a world with a sky, and air not plagued by the very fungi that seems to keep the people alive. It was all fairy tales. Varik knew his world. He knew that everyone he had met came from the very same rust as him. All that mattered was the present and the real. What was before him—the constant fight to stay alive just one more day, to scrap together enough to keep going, to avoid the fate that awaited the weak and the careless. To think of a future beyond that was unheard of within the Bastion. To think of a past before that was delusional to him.

Rounding a corner, the air grew colder, the shadows thicker. The weight of the darkness pressing in, a living thing that hungered for his warmth, his life. Pushing forward, ignoring the fear that gnawed at him, threatening to crawl up his spine. Fear was a luxury, and in the Bastion, only leaders could afford such.

Finally, the corridor opened into a larger chamber, the skeletal remains of ancient machines lined the walls. This was a place many scavengers knew, a place where they could find something useful—if they were lucky. But Varik knew that luck was a rare commodity within the Iron Bastion, and he knew to not rely on it.

Moving cautiously, his eyes scanned the darkness for any signs of movement—not just the spores that occasionally glew with brownian movement, but for shadows that shifted among the ruble. Other scavs weren’t the only villain he had to be aware of, as there were none Anthralian beings that called the Bastion home as well. More than the spores and the bugs that lived within the gross fungi which lined the panels and cracks. He wasn’t sure of the science behind it, but the Bastion had a way of twisting it’s inhabitants, turning them into something else—something less.

He’d seen it before, the way the shadows could creep into a person’s mind, hollowing them out, leaving only a shell behind. That was simply the beginning, some went into attempting to become one with the Bastion, seeing it as their true mothers, and wish to return. Some, scared beyond recognition, would further harm their own flesh, searing it, peeling it from their bodies, seeking what they referred to as atonement and enlightenment.

But Varik wasn’t afraid of losing his mind. He was stronger than most, smarter. He had to be.

His eyes caught the glint of metal among the debris—a small, rusted box, half-buried beneath a pile of scrap. Reaching for it as he knelt down, his fingers brushing against the cold surface. A surge of triumph flickered in his chest as he jabbed the barnacle-like creature with his shiv, shoving its juicy meat and crunchy shell into his mouth and freeing the latch it had been attached to. Inside, nestled among the dust and grime, was a strange object, retangular and thick with a hard surface. A data sleeve—still intact though unlikely to still be functional.

A rare find, and one that could finally buy him access into the higher world of Alar, known by the isolationists as the Singing City as the sounds of the machines and the hisses of the engines caused an eternal symphony that blended with the High Reverberator’s surmons within its borders that seemed to not carry far into the rest of the halls like most noise.

Slipping the sleeve into his pack, his mind already raced with possibilities. Even if it was broken as most would suspect, it’d still buy him a few more days of good and proper food, maybe even a new weapon and some fresh clothes. But he didn’t allow himself to linger on the thought for too long, and didn’t dare think of the possibility of the sleeve working. Planning ahead was a dangerous game when the next hour was as uncertain as the next breath.

Getting back to his feet, a faint sound reached his ears—a soft, shuffling noise, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable to someone who had spent their life outside the communities. Freezing and grabbing his shiv instinctively, he listened intently. The darkness seemed to close in around him, the shadows thickening, growing denser.

Someone—or something—was here.

Varik backed away slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the chamber. The noise grew louder, a wet, scraping sound that echoed off the metal interior. His grip tightened as the tension in the air grew. His heart pounding as he tried to pinpoint the source, knowing that what he had just found was likely left there by someone with the same hopes and thought as him, and likely wouldn’t be far.

It wasn’t until now that the possibility of the sleeve being left on purpose, not to hide, but as a trap, entered his mind.

A figure emerged from the shadows, its form twisted and hunched, its eyes gleaming with a sickly, unnatural light. It was Anthral, or at least it had been once. But now, its skin was pallid, stretched tightly over bone exposed from chunks of missing or atrophied muscle. Its movement jerky, unnatural of the living. A low, guttural growl escaped a hole at the top of its throat as it lurched towards him, its fingers curling into claws.

Without hesitation, Varik lunged in a swift—fluid motion, driving the sharp point of his shiv into the creature’s chest. The thing let out a choked gasp, its body convulsing as the life drained from it. Raising his hand and proceeding to stab a few more, uncounted times, feeling its resistance give way, and then yanked it free, letting the creature collapse to the floor in a heap.

Standing over the body for a moment, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still coursing. He quickly scanned his surroundings again, not thinking about the undead he had just dropped, as the Bastion was unforgiving. This was the life he was born in. The life he lived. It demanded everything from those who lived within its decaying walls, and Varik had nothing left to give but his will to survive—and he wasn’t ready to give that up. He felt nothing past the grim satisfaction of having survived another encounter.

Turning away from the corpse, not bothering to check if it was truly dead, after all in this world, nothing ever really died—it just stopped moving for a while.

Disappearing back into the darkness, Varik knew he would do whatever it took to keep going. He wasn’t fighting for a future, or for some grand purpose. Fighting was all he ever knew, all he had ever known. Survival was the only truth in this cold, dead world, and Varik embraced it until his final breath.

And in the silence that followed, as the echoes of his footsteps faded into the void, the Iron Bastion continued its endless drift, a monument to the remnants of Anthral’s desperation—a place where their hopes and dreams had long decayed along with the walls. In the Iron Bastion, there were no heroes, no villains—only survivors. The world outside might have been forgotten, but within these corroded halls, life persisted in its most brutal and raw form. Varik wasn’t seeking redemption or salvation; he was simply enduring, like a lone ember refusing to be snuffed out. And as he vanished into the labyrinthine corridors, leaving behind the twisted remains of his foe, the Bastion hummed softly, almost in acknowledgment of the unending cycle of violence that kept its heart beating. Varik’s story, like so many others, would be lost to the rust and shadows, a fleeting moment in the eternal night of the Iron Bastion—a place where survival was its own kind of victory, and death was just another step in the dance.

No Glory Left to Find

The feature song that sent ‘Riot’s Last Stand‘ to prominence within the Grunge/Post-Punk underground in the late 2020s.

Verse 1:
We watched the South break away,
With flags of hate and cries of blame,
They said they’d rise, but all I see,
Are broken lives and twisted dreams.
In the streets, they’re burning down,
While leaders lie and sell the crown,
The Dixie blood, it stains the ground,
But ain’t no heroes to be found.

Chorus:
No glory left to find,
We’re all just lost in time,
The world’s on fire, we’re burning down,
But we won’t wear your crooked crown.
No justice in your land,
Just blood upon your hands,
The walls are falling, can’t you see?
Ain’t no freedom, ain’t no peace.

Verse 2:
From Moscow’s frozen, dying streets,
To Shanghai’s fallen, empty seats,
The world’s a stage of endless wars,
With empty promises and shattered doors.
In the west, the dollar’s burned,
While riots scream, and cities churn,
The earth is shaking, skies turn black,
Ain’t no leaders bringing us back.

Bridge:
You talk of honor, you talk of pride,
But all I see is genocide,
The South will fall, and so will we,
But we’ll take you down in our misery.
The borders blur, the states divide,
No truth to hear, no place to hide,
The world’s collapsing, the end is near,
And all that’s left is endless fear.

Outro:
So raise your fist, but know this truth,
We’re all the damned, the lost, the youth,
The future’s gone, the past is dead,
In this wasteland, we paint it red.

A Camping Trip – Chapter Three

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.

A Camping Trip – Chapter Two

Willow’s Rest

The group stood outside Willow’s Rest Bed & Breakfast, a charming, ivy-covered building that looked as though it had been plucked straight from a postcard. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone path leading up to the entrance, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak trees that dotted the property. With their flights arriving so late, they had decided to stay the night in one of the local hotels to avoid the nearly three-hour drive to their resort on unfamiliar roads at night.

Calvin was in the middle of recounting the local lore as they gathered around, waiting for Emmaline to finish checking in with the proprietor. Zack leaned against the old wooden fence that lined the property, listening with a mix of interest and amusement as Calvin launched into yet another of his impromptu history lessons.

“So, Zack,” Calvin began, his tone a blend of excitement and earnestness, “did you know that Cedar Hollow, the town we’re heading to, has a pretty rich and somewhat eerie history?”

Zack raised an eyebrow, curious despite himself, recognizing Calvin’s tone–trying to distract himself, to channel his anxiety into something that felt productive. “Eerie how?”

“Well,” Calvin said, adjusting his glasses with a slight twitch, “back in the late 1800s, there was this hermit named Grimsby—Old Man Grimsby, they called him. He lived way up in the mountains, away from everyone else, and folks said he was a bit… strange. He claimed to have visions, prophecies, about the town’s future. Specifically, he said that Cedar Hollow would one day play a crucial role in the battle between good and evil.”

Felicia, who had been idly picking at the leaves of a nearby shrub, smirked. “Sounds like someone spent too much time alone in the woods.”

Calvin chuckled, unfazed. “Maybe, but here’s the interesting part. Fast forward to the Confederate States War in 2025, Cedar Hollow actually did become pretty important—it served as a major hospital location for the troops. It was one of the few places that remained standing after the initial bombings, and they used it to treat a lot of the wounded.”

Zack tilted his head, intrigued. “So you’re saying the hermit was onto something?”

“Exactly,” Calvin replied, his eyes lighting up, though his smile was tight. “It’s just… interesting, you know? How this obscure little town ended up playing such a significant role in recent history. It’s like there’s something about Cedar Hollow that draws these big events to it, something almost… predestined.”

Jeremy, who had been leaning against the side of the bed and breakfast, rolled his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, yeah, sure. And I bet you think there are Goatmen roaming the woods too, huh, Calvin?”

Rosie laughed, nudging Calvin playfully. “Careful, he might start quoting more local legends at you.” Her voice was bright, but Zack could see the tension in her eyes, the way she glanced at the others as if making sure everyone was still on the same page. Rosie was the glue that held them together, always smoothing over conflicts, always making sure everyone was okay.

Calvin shook his head, grinning back with a small bit of flush appearing. “I’m just saying, the place has a history. And for the record, the Goatmen are just folklore. AND that’s Maryland, not Arkansas. But the Ozark Black Howler, on the other hand…”

“Oh no,” Felicia groaned, “here we go.” She glanced towards Jeremy, almost as if seeking his approval.

His joke landing exactly how he wanted, filling him with joy, but also led his mind to another piece of folklore, causing Calvin to continue despite the group’s groans, his enthusiasm was palpable as he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “There’s also the Fouke—big Sasquatch-like critter in the southern regions. And the Gowrow.”

Felicia rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “The Gow-what now?”

“The Gowrow!” Calvin replied, as if the name itself held some kind of magical significance. “It’s a legendary creature said to live in the caves around here. Kind of like a dragon, but without the wings. It’s supposed to be massive, with tusks and a long, spiked tail. They say it can tunnel through the ground like a mole and tear through solid rock.”

Jeremy, ever the skeptic, scoffed. “And I suppose it breathes fire too? Come on, Cal, you don’t actually believe any of this crap, do you?”

Calvin shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. “Believe? No. But it’s fun to think about, right? The idea that there could be something out there, something we can’t explain. Besides, whether it’s true or not. There’s always some truth buried in legends, even if it’s just about the fears or beliefs of the people who tell them.”

Zack, sensing the tension rising between Calvin and Jeremy, decided to jump in. “It’s like the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot—people love these stories because they add a bit of mystery to the world.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll stick to things that are actually real,” Jeremy shot back, his tone a bit sharper than before. “Like bears. Or getting lost in the woods because someone’s too busy chasing fairy tales.”

Rosie, always quick to defuse a brewing argument, chuckled softly. “Come on, guys. It’s all just harmless fun. We’re on vacation, right? No need to get worked up over some old legends.”

Before Calvin could respond, a local man, maybe in his late forties with a weathered face and a scruffy beard, walked by their table. He wore a trucker hat and a faded flannel shirt, his jeans stained with dirt. As he passed, he let out a loud, amused laugh, clearly having overheard their conversation.

“Y’all city folks really buyin’ into that Gowrow nonsense?” he drawled, his voice thick with an accent. He gave Felicia a wink, his smile wide and toothy. “Ain’t nothin’ out there but rocks and trees, darlin’. But if yer lookin’ for a good time, I could show ya ‘round these parts. There’s more to this place than made-up monsters.”

Felicia’s smile faltered, and she glanced nervously at Jeremy, who immediately tensed up, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the man.

Jeremy’s voice was cold, cutting through the awkward silence like a knife. “Why don’t you keep walkin’, old man? We’re not interested in your bullshit.”

The man’s smile faded, replaced by a hard glare. “Just tryin’ to be friendly, son.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t need your kind of friendly,” Jeremy snapped back, his voice rising with each word. “So why don’t you take your winks and your stories and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine?”

The local man’s face twisted in anger, but something in Jeremy’s tone, or maybe the way his shoulders squared, made him think twice about pushing further. With a grunt, he turned and walked off, muttering something under his breath as he went.

The group sat in tense silence for a moment, the air heavy with the remnants of the confrontation, before Rosie forced a laugh, though it sounded strained. “Well, that was…something.”

Felicia reached out to touch Jeremy’s arm, her voice soft. “You didn’t have to go that hard on him, Jer. He was just being a jerk.”

Jeremy shrugged off her touch, his jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood for assholes today.”

Calvin glanced between them, the earlier enthusiasm drained from his face. “Maybe we should just focus on the trip,” he suggested, his voice quieter now. “Leave the legends and the locals alone.”

Zack, picking up on the tension, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got enough on our plate with the trip. No need to get into it with the locals.”

“We’re all just tired.” Rosie said as she gave everyone a small, tight smile. Shortly after, Emmaline emerged from the bed and breakfast, her expression a mix of excitement and determination.

“Alright, I’ve got everything sorted,” she announced, catching everyone’s attention. “I booked us a couple of rooms for the night so we can rest up before heading out tomorrow. And I rented us a 2028 Narglatch SUV to take us up to the cabins.”

Jeremy’s face twisted into a look of disbelief. “A Narglatch? Seriously? That thing’s almost 30 years old! Couldn’t we have gotten something a little more… I don’t know, modern?”

Emmaline sighed, clearly anticipating his reaction. “It was the only vehicle with four-wheel drive that could fit all of us and didn’t cost a fortune. Besides, it’s sturdy and reliable—just what we need for the mountain roads.”

“Sturdy, sure,” Jeremy muttered, crossing his arms. “As long as it doesn’t break down halfway up the mountain.”

The others seemed to take Emmaline’s words to heart, and the grumbling subsided as they began gathering their bags and preparing to settle in for the night. The prospect of a good night’s sleep and a sturdy vehicle for the journey ahead helped to ease any lingering doubts.

Zack stretched lazily, the warmth of the cozy room making it difficult to leave the comfort of the bed. The early morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. With a sigh, he pushed himself upright, running a hand through his blue-dyed hair, which stuck up in every direction. The room still held the faint smell of cedar and fresh linens, a comforting reminder of where he was.

He dressed quickly and slipped out of the room, leaving the soft sound of Emmaline’s breathing behind him, with whom he shared a room to cut costs. The hallways of Willow’s Rest Bed & Breakfast were quiet, the floorboards creaking softly under his feet as he made his way toward the dining area. As he descended the stairs, the sounds of clinking dishes and muffled conversation grew louder, the warm scent of breakfast greeting him like an old friend.

The dining area was already bustling with activity. Several families, clearly tourists like themselves, were seated at the rustic wooden tables, enjoying plates of eggs, bacon, and fresh biscuits. The atmosphere was cheerful, filled with the hum of contented conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Zack spotted Jeremy at a table near the window, already halfway through his breakfast. When Jeremy saw Zack, he raised his glass of orange juice in a mock toast, grinning widely.

“Happy you made it,” Jeremy called out, his tone light and teasing.

Zack couldn’t help but smile as he walked over and took a seat across from Jeremy. “Yeah, barely,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “Felicia still asleep?”

“Out cold,” Jeremy said with a smirk. “She’s not exactly a morning person. But that means more bacon for me.”

Zack observed them for a moment, trying to reconcile this Turner with the quiet, awkward one he had known yesterday. It was as if a switch had flipped overnight, and Turner was now radiating a warmth and energy that Zack hadn’t seen before. The contrast between the two of them—Turner’s upbeat demeanor and Calvin’s groggy grumpiness—was almost comical.

After a few moments of listening to Turner’s chatter about the day’s plans, Zack excused himself and made his way to the buffet line. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm syrup filled the air as he approached the spread of breakfast options. He grabbed a plate and started loading it with scrambled eggs, toast, and a few slices of freshly made waffles.

As he reached for a biscuit, a warm, drawling voice interrupted his thoughts. “Howdy, honey, welcome to the South.”

Zack looked up, surprised, and found himself face to face with an older woman who seemed to be staring him up and down. She had a friendly, almost flirtatious smile on her lips, and her thick Southern accent added a layer of charm to her words. Despite her age, she was still striking, with sharp features softened by a light touch of makeup and auburn hair styled in loose waves.

“Uh, hi,” Zack replied, a bit taken aback. “How did you know I wasn’t from around here?”

The woman’s smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh, honey, it’s not that hard to tell. Most Southern boys don’t dye their hair blue.” She reached out and gently tugged at a lock of Zack’s hair, her touch light and teasing.

Zack felt his cheeks warm slightly. “Yeah, I guess that’s a bit of a giveaway.”

“Just a bit,” she drawled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “And let’s not forget that build of yours—slim, runner-like. Most boys your age down here are cornfed, got a little more meat on their bones. Stalkier, you know? Makes ‘em good for hauling hay and fixing up trucks.”

Zack laughed nervously, not entirely sure how to respond. “I guess I’m not cut out for farm work, then.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, sugar,” she said with a wink. “You’d do just fine down here. We might even make a Southern boy outta you yet.”

Zack grinned, relaxing a bit as he realized the woman’s teasing was all in good fun. “Maybe,” he replied, glancing at the food options. “So, what’s good here?”

“Oh, everything’s good,” she assured him. “But if you want a true taste of the South, don’t skip out on the grits. They’re creamy, buttery, and just right. And those biscuits? They’ll melt in your mouth.”

Taking her advice, Zack added a helping of grits and another biscuit to his plate. “Thanks,” he said, genuinely appreciating the tip.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she replied, giving him another wink. “You enjoy your breakfast now, and if you need anything else, just holler. We’re all family down here.”

Zack nodded, smiling as he made his way back to the table. As he sat down, Jeremy immediately shot him a knowing look, his grin wide and mischievous.

“So, how was your chat with the local cougar?” Jeremy teased, nudging Zack’s arm. “She looked like she was ready to eat you up—more than just breakfast.”

Zack felt his face flush as he ducked his head slightly. “She was just being friendly,” he mumbled, trying to downplay the encounter.

“Friendly?” Jeremy snorted. “Friendly like a cat with a mouse. She was all over you, man. I was half-expecting her to ask you to stay for another night.”

Turner, catching on to the conversation, chuckled softly. “Hey, at least you got some good advice on the food. Could’ve been worse.”

Calvin, still drowsy but managing to join in, muttered, “You could’ve ended up with her phone number instead of grits.”

The table erupted in laughter, with Zack trying to hide his embarrassment behind a sip of coffee. He knew they were just messing with him, but the attention was still a bit overwhelming. Despite that, the teasing helped ease the tension he’d felt about the trip, and he found himself smiling along with the rest of them.

“Alright, alright,” Zack conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Maybe she was a little… interested. But can we please focus on breakfast now?”

Jeremy laughed, giving him a playful shove. “Sure thing, man. But don’t be surprised if she adds ten extra little digits to your bill.”

The sun had risen higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over Willow’s Rest as the group gathered outside, preparing to load up the Narglatch. The crisp morning air was filled with the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional thud of bags being tossed into the back of the vehicle. Despite the early hour, the group was in good spirits, eager to get on the road and begin their adventure.

Emmaline stood by the SUV, checking off a mental list as she watched everyone bring their bags out. Felicia, now fully awake and her usual lively self, handed Jeremy a cooler packed with snacks, while Calvin and Rosie worked on securing the luggage. Turner was meticulously arranging the bags in the trunk, making sure everything fit just right.

As the last of the bags were loaded, Jeremy stepped back, hands on his hips, and eyed the vehicle with a skeptical look. “You know, I’m still not over the fact that we’re driving a fuckin’ relic,” he quipped, glancing at Emmaline with a teasing grin. “I mean, we’re just one breakdown away from making this a hiking trip.”

Emmaline rolled her eyes, clearly used to Jeremy’s jabs. “It’s not a relic, it’s a classic. And besides, it’s reliable, and it’ll get us where we need to go. You’ll thank me when we’re cruising up those mountain trails.”

“Yeah, if it doesn’t turn into a museum piece on the way there,” Jeremy shot back, earning a few chuckles from the others.

“Or fall apart like a puzzle,” Calvin added dryly, still clearly not a morning person but unable to resist piling on.

Zack laughed as he slung his backpack into the back seat, shutting the door with a satisfying click. “If it gets us to the cabins, I’m good with it. Besides, it’s got character, right?”

“Character’s one way to put it,” Jeremy muttered, but there was a good-natured grin on his face as he climbed into the front passenger seat.

Once everyone was settled inside, Emmaline took the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and checking the GPS for their route. The SUV rumbled to life, its engine purring with a surprising smoothness that silenced some of Jeremy’s earlier doubts.

“Alright, everyone ready?” Emmaline asked, glancing back at the group.

A chorus of affirmations filled the car, and with that, Emmaline pulled out of the parking lot and onto the open road. The SUV rolled smoothly along the highway, its sturdy frame handling the gentle curves and occasional bumps with ease. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the interior as the group settled in for the long drive ahead.

The scenery outside shifted from the quaint charm of the bed and breakfast to the rolling hills and dense forests of the Ozarks. The first leg of the journey was filled with the usual road trip chatter—reminiscing about old memories, joking about the questionable reliability of their vehicle, and speculating about what awaited them in Cedar Hollow.

As the miles passed, the conversation waxed and waned, with periods of quiet comfort as the group relaxed into the drive. Turner, sitting beside Zack in the back seat, was surprisingly talkative, sharing anecdotes about past trips and pointing out interesting landmarks as they sped by. Zack found himself more at ease in Turner’s presence now, the earlier awkwardness from the airport replaced by a growing sense of sociability.

“Remember that time we got lost in the middle of nowhere?” Turner said, grinning as he sat forward and placed his arms around Felicia. “We ended up camping out under the stars because we couldn’t find the trail.”

Felicia smiled and looked back, but Zack could see the tension in her shoulders. “Yeah, that was fun. But I’m glad we’re a bit more prepared this time.”

Zack noticed Jeremy shoot back a brief scowl. “We won’t be getting lost this time,” as he said this, his hand which rested on Felicia’s extended legs into his lap in the front seat tightened. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“Good to know, man.” Turner nodded agreeably, oblivious to the shift in tone that gave the rest an uneasy feeling. “I trust ya.”

“When was this?” Emmaline questioned, not seeing Jeremy’s sudden expression.

“A few years ago, before you started hanging out with us,” Turner explained, his tone light as he continued reminiscing. “We decided to go on this spontaneous trip just south of Jeremy’s home by Danville. It was supposed to be just a quick day hike, but we ended up wandering off the main trail. We were so deep into the woods, with no cell service, and it started getting dark.”

Felicia chuckled softly, though the sound was a bit forced. “Yeah, and we didn’t have any gear with us. Just a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water between us. We ended up making a fire with some dry sticks and huddled together for warmth.”

“Calvin kept our spirits up the whole time,” Rosie added, trying to lighten the mood again. “He told us stories about constellations and kept saying that getting lost was part of the adventure.”

Emmaline smiled, clearly picturing the scene. “Sounds like an interesting night. I’m glad you all made it back safely.”

“Yeah, it was… memorable,” Turner said, his grin faltering slightly as he seemed to recall the anxiety of that night. He leaned back into his seat. “But, like I said, we’re much better prepared this time. And with Jeremy navigating, we’ll be fine.”

Jeremy’s grip on the Felicia’s legs tightened, his knuckles turning white as he forced a smile. “Yep. No more getting lost. I’ve got it all mapped out.”

Zack observed the exchange in silence, noting the subtle undercurrents of tension that hadn’t been there before. Turner’s easygoing nature contrasted sharply with Jeremy’s increasing possessiveness, and it was clear to Zack that there was more to the dynamic between Felicia and Jeremy than met the eye.

As the conversation tapered off, the SUV continued its ascent into the mountains, the sun dipping lower in the sky and casting long shadows across the winding road. The sense of unease lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable, as the group fell into a contemplative silence.

Zack turned his attention to the passing landscape, trying to shake off the growing discomfort. The trees thickened, the road narrowing as they ventured deeper into the wilderness. Despite the beauty of the surroundings, a quiet tension hung over them, as if the mountains themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to unfold.

A Camping Trip – Chapter One

Landing at the Regional

The plane descended through a thick blanket of clouds, the world below gradually coming into focus as the aircraft prepared for landing. Zack’s head rested against the window, his eyes half-open as he watched the landscape appear beneath them—rolling hills, dense forests, and winding rivers, all bathed in the warm glow of the early evening sun.

The familiar hum of the engines provided a steady backdrop to his thoughts, but the sudden, bone-rattling thud of the plane’s wheels hitting the tarmac at Batesville Regional Airport jolted Zack fully awake. His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively gripped the armrest as the plane bounced once, twice, before finally settling into a smooth roll along the runway.

“Welcome to Batesville, Arkansas,” the flight attendant announced over the intercom, her cheerful tone at odds with the groggy passengers who were slowly coming to life. “The local time is 5:42 p.m., and the temperature is a warm 82 degrees.”

Zack blinked, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep as the plane taxied toward the gate. The overhead lights flickered on, and passengers began to stir, unbuckling seatbelts and reaching for their belongings. Zack remained seated for a moment, his eyes drawn to the small screen on the back of the seat in front of him, which displayed the date in bright letters: August 2nd, 2048.

It felt strange to Zack—so far removed from the world he had known growing up, yet here he was, living in it. He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing his backpack from under the seat in front of him. The air inside the cabin was thick and warm, a far cry from the cool, crisp atmosphere of his home back in Rockford, Illinois.

As Zack stepped off the plane and into the jet bridge, he was immediately hit by a wave of humidity that clung to his skin like a damp blanket. He shuffled forward with the slow tide of passengers, feeling somewhat disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings. The terminal was bustling with activity, a mix of tourists and locals moving about with varying degrees of purpose. Zack scanned the area, searching for a familiar face, but all he saw were strangers—faces that only served to remind him how far he was from home.

He pulled out his phone, checking for any messages from his sister, Emmaline, or the rest of the group. The screen was blank, save for the time and a few notifications he ignored. With a sigh, Zack slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued toward the baggage claim area.

Zack’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure standing nearby. Turner, his sister’s friend, and someone Zack had met only a few times, was leaning casually against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. His posture was relaxed, but there was an air of melancholy about him as his fingers tapped nervously against the screen, his expression betraying a hint of insecurity–something that made Zack hesitate for a moment before approaching.

“Turner?” Zack called out, his voice hesitant, almost swallowed by the noise of the terminal.

Turner looked up slowly, his eyes taking a moment to focus on Zack. Recognition flickered across his face, but instead of a smile, there was just a small, almost imperceptible nod. He stuffed his phone into his pocket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as Zack approached.

“Uh, hey, Zack,” Turner mumbled, his gaze flickering around the terminal before landing back on Zack. “Didn’t… uh, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, um… yeah,” Zack replied, awkwardly adjusting the strap of his backpack. “The flight… it was, uh, it was alright, I guess. Woke up… kinda scared when we landed. Didn’t, um… didn’t sleep much.”

Turner nodded again, the silence between them growing thick. “Yeah, I, um… yeah, that happens. Sometimes.”

Zack shuffled his feet, unsure of what to say next. He glanced at Turner, who was staring off to the side, his mouth slightly open as if trying to find the right words. The pause stretched on, both of them caught in the uncomfortable quiet.

Finally, Turner cleared his throat. “The, uh… the others are in the food court,” he said, almost too softly. “Emmaline… she’s, um, really excited. About the trip. I think.”

Zack nodded, managing a small, tight-lipped smile. “Yeah… she’s been… she’s been talking about it a lot. She… uh, she can’t wait to get to the cabins. Surprised… she hasn’t already dragged us all there!” he said, his voice growing with his word as his joke came out louder than he meant.

Turner’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Yeah. She’s… excited.” He hesitated, then added, “Do… do you want to… get some food? Before we go?”

“Uh, sure,” Zack said, nodding a bit too quickly. “Yeah, that… that sounds good. I’m… kinda hungry.”

“Okay,” Turner replied, his voice barely above a murmur. “Let’s… go, then,” he said, pointing a pair of finger guns to his left, towards the food court.

They started walking side by side, the space between them filled with the hum of the terminal and the quiet shuffle of their footsteps. Neither spoke, both too wrapped up in their own thoughts, unsure of how to bridge the silence. Turner’s hands fidgeted in his pockets, while Zack kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, occasionally stealing glances at the people passing by, as if searching for something to say.

As they neared the food court, the sound of laughter and conversation grew louder, offering a welcome distraction from the awkwardness hanging between them. Zack spotted the rest of the group sitting at a large table, their animated chatter a stark contrast to the quiet tension he and Turner shared.

Emmaline noticed them first, waving them over with a bright smile. “There you guys are! We were starting to wonder when you’d show up.”

Turner and Zack exchanged a quick glance, both of them relieved to be in the presence of others. The awkwardness between them began to dissolve as they joined the group, the noise and energy of the food court offering a much-needed escape from their stilted conversation.

The smell of fast food, coffee, and fried snacks filled the air as they approached, and Zack’s stomach growled in response. The food court was a bustling hub of activity, with travelers seated at small tables, chatting and eating as they waited for their next flight or journey.

As Zack and Turner approached the table, the conversation between the group grew clearer. Calvin, as usual, was in the middle of an animated explanation, his voice carrying over the general din of the food court, in it was a noticeable edge, a hint of frustration that colored his words.

“—and you see, lobsters used to be so plentiful that they were considered the poor man’s food. They’d feed them to prisoners, slaves, even use them as fertilizer for crops. It was only when they started marketing them as a delicacy in the 19th century that the price skyrocketed.”

The waiter, a young man with a thick Southern drawl, stood beside the table, clearly less than interested in Calvin’s history lesson. He glanced at his notepad, then back at Calvin with a polite but strained smile.

“Uh-huh, that’s real interesting, sir. But I was just lettin’ y’all know that the seafood soup is the special this week,” the waiter said, his voice flat with barely disguised impatience.

Rosie, sitting beside Calvin, covered a smile with her hand but there was a tightness to it, as if she were holding something back, while Felicia and Jeremy exchanged a look, the corners of their mouths twitching with amusement. Jeremy leaned over to Felicia, his voice just loud enough for the others to hear.

“You think he’d order a history lesson if it was on the menu?” Jeremy whispered, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Felicia snorted, nudging him with her elbow. “Only if it came with a side of useless trivia,” she teased, her tone affectionate but edging on biting. Her laugh was light, but her eyes darted toward Jeremy, gauging his reaction. Careful not to push too far, the dynamic between them fraught with an unspoken tension, as if she was on eggshells.

“Better than ordering more burnt jokes,” Calvin shot back, rolling his eyes as he noticed Zack and Turner approaching. “Hey, you guys made it. We were just getting started on some dinner before heading out.” Calvin was the only one Zack had really gotten to know before the trip, having been in and out of Emmaline’s life for nearly a decade in various ways and for various reasons. He was typically quick witted but often had trouble in knowing exactly when he had went too far or how to properly respond to even the most basic of expressed emotions.

Emmaline waved them over to the empty seats, her smile as warm as ever but with it slight tension in her eyes, a worry that seemed to linger just beneath the surface. “Come on, sit down. We’re just about to order. Turner, Zack, what do you guys want?”

Zack and Turner exchanged another glance, both relieved to be out of their awkward bubble. Zack was the first to speak up, his voice a bit tentative. “Uh, just… I’ll have whatever’s easy. Maybe a burger?”

“I’ll do the same,” Turner added quietly, still looking slightly out of place among the more boisterous group, still a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, as if he was trying to blend in, to find his place in the group dynamic without drawing too much attention to himself.

The waiter nodded, jotting down their orders before heading off, leaving the group to resume their conversation. Calvin, now diverted from his history tangent, turned his attention to Emmaline.

“So, what’s the plan once we get to the cabins? You’ve got us doing a whole itinerary, right?”

Felicia leaned back in her chair, her arm casually draped over Jeremy’s shoulders. “Sounds good to me. As long as there’s a hot tub somewhere, I’m in.”

“Or a cold lake,” Jeremy added with a grin, tightening his hand around Felicia’s. “Nothing like a swim to wake you up after a long drive.”

Rosie, chimed in, her words laced with an almost desperate optimism, “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to do. It’s all about enjoying the time together, right?”

Zack nodded, listening to the easy banter between his sister’s friends. He felt the tension from earlier slowly slipping away, replaced by the anticipation of the days ahead. Turner, beside him, seemed more at ease too, though he remained mostly silent, content to listen rather than contribute.

As they waited for their food, the conversation ebbed and flowed, with Calvin and Jeremy trading barbs while Felicia and Rosie tried to keep the peace. Emmaline, ever the organizer, made a few more notes on her phone, her mind clearly working a mile a minute to ensure that everything went according to plan, her usual authoritative mind typically helped her in her naturalistic leadership role among the group.

Zack, meanwhile, found himself caught between wanting to engage and the gnawing anxiety that made him second-guess every word. He glanced at Calvin, who seemed to be handling the conversation with ease, but Zack knew better. He could see the way Calvin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way his laughter had a slightly forced quality to it. It was the same kind of mask Zack had learned to wear when the world felt too overwhelming.

Glancing over to Turner, who’s eyes flitted nervously between the others, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the table as he tried to read the room. Zack read Turner quicker than he could most, he often felt like an outsider, someone who had to work twice as hard to fit in, and the pressure was beginning to weigh on him. He wanted to contribute, to feel like he belonged, but the fear of saying the wrong thing kept him quiet. While this was all assumption, Zack was confident in his reading, as it was eerily similar to his own mannerisms and thoughts. Every now and then, Turner took a quick peak at his phone, a flicker of something–worry, perhaps–crossing his face before he quickly hit it behind a neutral expression.

When the waiter returned with their drinks, Turner’s phone buzzed on the table, drawing everyone’s attention for a brief moment. He picked it up quickly, his eyes scanning the screen before his shoulders slumped slightly.

Taking a sip of his drink, Zack looked over to his sister as Calvin made another quip at Jeremy’s expense. Emmaline’s brow furrowing slightly as she read a message she had gotten just moments prior. Whatever it was, it seemed to add to the weight he knew she was already carrying, though she quickly plastered a smile back on her face when she noticed her brother watching her.

“Everything okay?” Rosie asked, her tone gentle.

“Yeah, just… a work thing,” Emmaline replied, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Nothing to worry about. Let’s just focus on the trip, okay?”

“Alright, folks, I’ve been doing some reading online, and I’ve found that Arkansas, back before the Confederate’s War, was known as the Natural State due to its beauty and lush scenery,” Calvin brought up with a pause to take a drink from his water. “Now we all know about the Siege of Fayetteville and how it’s three-month period was one of the bloodier conflicts during the war, but, did you know that due to the bloodshed that the Ozark’s witnessed through the war that it’s said to have developed its prior Ozark Howler myth into a possible demon?”

“Full of shit,” Jeremy hurled, with a wave. “Like a Howler monkey?”

“No, no,” Calvin chuckled, “The Ozark Black Howler, also known as the Nightshade Bear and as the Hoo-Hoo by some of the Indigenous tribes from around the area,” Calvin said matter of fact, repositioning his glasses. “It was this big furry creature with horns and glowing red eyes. Simply a folklore entity pre-war, but there were hundreds of accounts of sighting of this creature roaming the Ozarks during the war, often just before a massive attack. Due to this, it’s become known as a harbinger of doom. Even now, just a few weeks ago, there was some posts about new sightings of the Howler lurking near some of the hold battlefields.”

“Just a bunch of southern gibberish.” Jeremy replied as he took a big gulp from his soda.

At that moment, the waiter returned, carefully balancing trays of food. He began placing the plates in front of each person with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done it a thousand times. The group paused their conversation as the food was served, the smell of the dishes filling the air.

Jeremy, his tone dripping with sarcasm, glanced up at the waiter. “Hey, you ever heard of this Ozark Black Howler Calvin’s going on about? Big, furry thing with horns—supposedly a harbinger of doom?”

The waiter, his expression remaining neutral, nodded as he set down the last plate. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. My granddaddy used to tell stories about it. He fought in the war, saw a lot of things most folks wouldn’t believe. He swore he saw the Black Howler up close once—said it was the size of a bear, with horns like an ibex, and eyes that glowed red in the dark.”

The group exchanged glances, some skeptical, others intrigued. Calvin leaned in, clearly interested. “Did he ever say what happened?”

The waiter shrugged, his disinterest clear as he collected the empty tray. “Not much to tell. He said it watched him for a while, just standing there in the shadows, then it turned and walked off into the woods. Figured it was a sign or somethin’—he didn’t like talkin’ about it much after that.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “Sounds like a tall tale to me.”

The waiter gave a noncommittal grunt. “Maybe. Or maybe some things out there just don’t have a good explanation.” He turned to leave, his tone flat as he added, “Enjoy your meal.”

As the waiter walked away, the group sat in a brief silence, the mood slightly more subdued. Calvin, however, seemed more energized by the story, while Jeremy just shook his head, still unconvinced.

“Tall tales or not,” Calvin said, picking up his fork, “It’s interesting how much folklore and war stories get mixed up. Makes you wonder where the truth ends and the legend begins.”

Rosie gave him a small smile. “Or if it even matters. Sometimes, stories are just stories.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye out, right?” Felicia added with a playful wink.

“Just in case,” Zack chimed in, grinning as he dug into his food.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they started eating, but the shadow of the Black Howler seemed to linger in the back of their minds, a curious thought that refused to be fully dismissed.

A Camping Trip – Prologue

M’s Exposure

Several years have elapsed since the Last-Light event, a catastrophic occurrence that wiped out the sun and plunged the world into an inexorable twilight. The world is now overrun by monstrous creatures, and humanity is scattered, constantly on the move, and teetering on the brink of extinction. With no place safe from the relentless attacks of the Arcana, humans have reverted to a nomadic existence, perpetually fleeing and fighting for survival.

Mathew M. Mumphry, once a soldier, now a weary survivor, finds himself in the ruins of a fallen high-rise. The building, once a symbol of human achievement, is now overgrown with invasive flesh-like plant life, and the sounds of scuttling rats and roaches fill the air. He has no memory of how he ended up buried under rubble, waking recently to confusion and pain. His only thought is a primal urge to escape.

“Son of a… fuck,” Mathew mutters as he stumbles around, groaning and rubbing his aching head. The environment evokes memories of Mogadishu, with debris and decay everywhere. His vision, already poor, is further strained in the dim, flickering light of the ruined building, knowing that it signified the presence of an Arcana nearby.

Mathew’s glasses, long broken, are a constant hindrance as he navigates the treacherous terrain. “Shit, just like Gothic Serpent,” he mutters, trying to steady himself. Each step is a struggle, as his feet trip over scattered office supplies and debris, leading him to fall against a cracked window set at a precarious 30-degree angle.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to make his way out, but his body rebels. “Shit… son of… aaah,” he groans, clutching his side. For a moment, he lies there, contemplating if he should have died years ago. But survival instinct kicks in, and he slowly gets back up.

Thunder roars outside, a constant reminder of the unending storm that has plagued the world since the Last-Light event. The rain and lightning are relentless, though the building shields him from the worst of it. As he stands, Mathew finally finds his balance, his head throbbing but not bleeding.

In the dim light, he notices a door across the room, illuminated by a faintly glowing exit sign. To the left, he spots a figure, humanoid but shrouded in shadows. “Damn it,” he curses, assessing the distance to the exit and the potential threat.

“Alright. That’s it, cut it out,” Mathew demands, his voice steady despite his fear. The figure pauses, seemingly as confused as he is.

“Yea, that’s right, I’m talking to you. You can cut that shit out,” he taunts. Suddenly, the figure snaps its head towards him, revealing a grotesque visage. It’s an undead, bile dripping from its half-eaten face, parts of its body bloated and rotten. It croaks in response, and Mathew scrunches his face in disgust. “Jesus… little shit. Carry on then, fuck it,” he mutters, trying to slip away.

The zombie spasms and scrambles over a desk, rushing towards Mathew. He attempts to duck under a fallen air duct, but trips over more rubble, crashing onto the glass of another window. The creature groans and lets out a light huffing sound however seems to have vanished as Mathew looks back, panic setting in.

“Agh!…” Mathew lets out, his eyes rolling back in pain. He attempts to get back to his feet and keep crawling towards the door he saw before, however as he moves, the glass beneath him cracks causing him to pause. However before he can breathe, the zombie jumps from behinds a tilted desk, falling onto him and shattering the glass.

“Shit! Gah!” He screams, instinctively extending his hand to stop himself on the edge of the window, however he isn’t strong enough as he and the zombie plummet nearly two stories. Slamming against the corroded wing of a commercial airplane that was sticking out of the building. Giving way under his impact, it slumps to an angle that slides Mumphry onto the top of another nearby building.

Pain courses through his body. His arm is snapped in half at the elbow, his right side covered in cuts and scrapes from the glass shattering. His wrist bleeds profusely, and he lies there, contemplating his fate. “Son of a bitch… this is it,” he murmurs, memories flashing before his eyes.

After what felt like hours, he rolls over and props himself up, watching the zombie flail in the air, having hit the plane’s wing at an angle that ripped it in half, with its top half getting caught in some wires, leaving it dangling just a few meters away. In the sky, beyond the skyscrapers and amidst the lightning, he sees shadows in the red clouds—giants with wings and horns, locked in battle.

He hears banging at a nearby door. “Can’t ever go in peace,” he says, grabbing his nine and preparing for the worst. As the door breaks open, Mumphry is left in disbelief as familiar faces appear. The second group, who had split away from his just a few hours prior. As they stop and stare at him in minor shock, among them, a woman runs towards him.

“Dad!” Anna cries, her voice filled with relief and despair.

Mathew just stares, his wits failing him. His pistol hand drops by his side as he realizes he’s been found.

Short story: Second Chance

Why is this written like this?

Doing some playful experimenting, wanted to try my hand at a greentext. Probably won’t do this again, it’s just not my style, but it was fun giving it a shot.

>be me
>driving home late at night
>radio playing “Knights of Cydonia” by Muse
>love that song, cranking the volume up, feeling like a badass
>suddenly see headlights coming right at me
>try to swerve, too late
>impact hits like a freight train, everything goes black
>floating in darkness, no pain, just… nothing
>then, a soft light appears in the distance
>start moving towards it, like being pulled by an invisible force
>the light gets brighter, and I find myself in a white room
>no walls, no ceiling, just endless white
>it’s quiet, like the calm after a storm
>feel a presence, turn around, and there she is
>an angel, standing there with a serene smile
>she’s glowing softly, almost like she’s made of light herself
>golden hair flowing like it’s underwater, eyes the color of the sky at sunrise
>”You’re not supposed to be here yet,” she says, voice like a melody
>heart starts racing
>”Am I… dead?”
>she nods, but there’s no sadness, just understanding
>”Yes, but it’s not your time. You have things left to do.”
>everything feels surreal, like a dream, but too vivid to be one
>look around, trying to make sense of it all
>”What things?” I ask, voice trembling
>she steps closer, reaching out her hand
>the touch of her fingers on my forehead is warm, comforting
>”You’ll understand when it’s time,” she whispers
>a strange warmth spreads through me, like a hug from the inside
>the white room starts to fade, her figure dissolving into the light
>hear a faint beeping, growing louder
>the light fades completely, replaced by darkness
>wake up in a hospital bed
>fluorescent lights overhead, their buzz cutting through the silence
>smell of antiseptic in the air
>body feels heavy, like I’ve been asleep for years
>blink a few times, trying to focus
>realize there’s a nurse beside me, adjusting the machines
>”Welcome back,” she says with a relieved smile
>try to speak, but throat is dry, voice comes out raspy
>”What happened?”
>she tells me I was in a car accident, barely made it
>as she talks, I glance around the room
>see the IV in my arm, the heart monitor beeping steadily
>a TV in the corner playing the news on mute
>but all I can think about is the angel
>doctors say it’s a miracle I survived
>head’s still spinning, replaying everything that happened
>can’t shake the feeling that the angel was real
>days pass, recover slowly, but that memory stays with me
>her words echo in my mind
>”You’ll understand when it’s time.”
>life feels different now, like there’s something more to it
>like I’ve been given a second chance
>maybe it was just a dream
>but deep down, I know it wasn’t
>there’s something out there, something bigger
>and now, I’ve got to figure out what that means

Drafts: Last-Light: A Camping Trip

1st Draft

Prologue

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the winding road that led to the Ozark Mountains. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a promise of the wilderness that lay ahead. Emmaline Cleo’s 2028 Subaru Outback, a reliable if somewhat worn vehicle, rumbled steadily along the asphalt. The car was packed to the brim with camping gear, snacks, and the excitement of a group of friends on the brink of a grand adventure.

Zack Cleo sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the rolling landscape outside. At seventeen, he was reluctantly tagging along on this trip, dragged by his older sister, Emmaline. In the backseat, her friends filled the car with a lively chatter that contrasted sharply with Zack’s brooding silence.

Emmaline, at twenty, was the de facto leader of the group. Her long auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. Next to her, Felicia, always impulsive and seeking thrills, leaned forward from the middle seat, her laughter ringing out as she recounted a particularly embarrassing story from their high school days.

“Remember when Jeremy tried to ask out Missy at the dance, and he tripped over the punch bowl?” Felicia’s eyes glinted with mischief. “He was soaked head to toe!”

Jeremy, who sat beside Felicia, chuckled but rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I still think it was sabotage.” Despite his protective nature, Jeremy could take a joke, even if it meant being the butt of it sometimes.

Turner, sitting quietly in the back corner, offered a rare smile. He was the quietest of the group, often composed and reserved, but there was an air of mystery about him that none of his friends could quite figure out.

Rosie, nurturing and optimistic, had her arm draped over Turner’s shoulder, her voice a calming counterpoint to the raucous laughter. “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this. One last hurrah before we all go our separate ways,” she said, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Well, except for Jeremy and Zack.”

Calvin, ever the pragmatist, adjusted his glasses and chimed in, “It’s going to be great. A week away from everything—no school, no responsibilities. Just us, nature, and a whole lot of relaxation.”

Zack glanced at his sister, a silent question in his eyes. She caught his look and smiled reassuringly. “Come on, Zack, it’ll be fun. You might even like it. Besides, you need to get out of that room of yours every once in a while.”

Zack sighed, leaning back into his seat. He wasn’t thrilled about the trip, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him was curious. The prospect of spending a week in a cabin, away from his computer and the familiar confines of his room, was both daunting and strangely appealing.

The car continued its journey, winding through the lush, green expanse of the Ozarks. The friends settled into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation ebbing and flowing like the gentle currents of a river. They spoke of their hopes and fears, their excitement for the future, and the bittersweet reality of leaving their carefree days behind.

As the Subaru climbed higher into the mountains, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. The anticipation in the car was palpable, each of them envisioning the week ahead—a week of freedom, laughter, and unforgettable memories.

None of them could have known that this trip would mark the beginning of an unimaginable nightmare. For now, though, they were just a group of friends, eager to escape the pressures of life and savor the fleeting moments of their youth. And in that car, amidst the laughter and stories, they felt invincible, ready to face whatever the future might hold.

For Zack, this was more than just a camping trip. It was a step into the unknown, a break from the monotony of his everyday life, and perhaps a chance to discover something new about himself. He watched the landscape change outside the window, the dense forest rising up to meet the horizon, and allowed himself a flicker of hope that this week might be different.

The Journey to the Ozarks

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the winding roads that led into the heart of the Ozarks. Emmaline’s trusty old Subaru Outback, packed to the brim with camping gear, hummed along the highway as the group settled into the rhythm of the drive. Zack, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced back at the animated chatter filling the car.

Felicia, with her ever-present mischievous grin, leaned forward from the middle seat. “Alright, guys, let’s hear it. What’s everyone most excited about for this trip?”

Turner, who had been staring out the window lost in thought, turned his head slightly. “Honestly? Just the peace and quiet. Feels like we haven’t had a moment to breathe since senior year started.”

Rosie, sitting next to Turner, nodded enthusiastically. “Same here. Plus, I brought supplies for s’mores. We’re definitely making those every night.”

Jeremy, sprawled in the backseat, scoffed playfully. “Rosie, you and your s’mores. I’m here to prove that I can actually catch a fish. No more canned beans for this guy.”

Calvin chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “Fishing, huh? I bet you’ll be wrestling with a boot before you catch anything else.”

Felicia leaned over from the back seat, a mischievous grin on her face. “Or maybe Jeremy will finally catch that mythical ‘big one’ he’s always bragging about.”

Jeremy shot her a playful glare. “Hey, I’ve caught plenty of big ones! Just wait, this time I’ll bring back proof.”

Turner, who had been quietly listening to the banter, spoke up. “As long as you don’t catch something that catches you back. I’ve heard some of those lake creatures can be pretty feisty.”

Rosie laughed, her voice light and musical. “Turner, you’re such a buzzkill. We’re here to have fun, remember?”

Calvin glanced back at Rosie, his expression softening. “Yeah, we’re all here to unwind and have a good time. Just think about the campfires, s’mores, and late-night stories.”

Zack, who had been gazing out the window, finally chimed in. “Speaking of stories, does anyone actually know any good ghost stories? I mean, we’re going to be in the middle of nowhere, might as well make it interesting.”

Emmaline shot him a teasing look. “Oh, so now you’re interested in making this trip fun? What happened to Mr. ‘I don’t want to go’?”

Zack shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I can change my mind, can’t I? Besides, it might be cool to hear some creepy tales under the stars.”

Felicia leaned back in her seat, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve got a few, but they’re more funny than scary. What about you, Jeremy?”

Jeremy smirked. “Oh, I’ve got a real doozy. Ever heard about the Ozark Howler?”

Turner’s eyes widened slightly. “The Ozark Howler? Isn’t that just a legend?”

Jeremy’s voice dropped to a low, ominous tone. “Legend or not, people swear they’ve heard its eerie howls echoing through the forest at night. They say it’s a massive beast with glowing red eyes and a chilling cry that can freeze your blood.”

Rosie shivered theatrically. “Okay, that’s definitely going to keep me up at night. Thanks, Jeremy.”

Calvin laughed. “Don’t worry, Rosie. I’m sure the only thing howling out there will be Jeremy’s snoring.”

The car erupted in laughter, the camaraderie lifting everyone’s spirits. Even Zack found himself chuckling, feeling a sense of ease settle over him.

Emmaline turned up the volume on the radio, and soon they were all singing along to a nostalgic mix of 90s hits and classic rock. The miles melted away as they joked and reminisced, the anticipation of their adventure growing with each passing moment.

As they cruised down the highway, the landscape around them transformed from sprawling cityscapes to the undulating hills and dense forests of the Ozarks.

The change was almost hypnotic, the serene beauty of nature a stark contrast to the urban chaos they were used to.

After a few hours, Emmaline’s voice cut through the chatter. “Alright, guys, we’re low on gas and snacks. There’s a station up ahead. Quick pit stop?”

The chorus of agreement was unanimous. She pulled into a small, rustic gas station, the kind that seemed frozen in time. The sign above read “Wyatt’s Stop ‘n’ Go,” and an old bell jingled as they entered.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of pine. Behind the counter stood an older man with a scruffy beard and twinkling eyes, engrossed in a weathered paperback book. He barely looked up as the group entered, the door’s bell jingling above them. The shelves were lined with dusty cans, old-fashioned candy jars, and various camping supplies.

Felicia, never one to shy away from a conversation, sauntered over to the counter. “Hey there,” she greeted with a grin. “We’re just stocking up for a camping trip. Anything we should know about the area?”

The man glanced up from his book, eyes scanning the group before settling on Felicia. “Well, howdy there,” he drawled, his accent thick and syrupy. “Name’s Wyatt Lumix. Y’all headin’ up into the hills, huh?”

“Yeah,” Felicia replied. “Just looking for a little adventure.”

Wyatt chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. “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.”

Jeremy, leaning against a shelf, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Wyatt leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “There’s critters out there that’ll give ya more than just a scare. Bears, cougars, them’s the usual suspects. But then there’s the Ozark Black Howler and the Goatmen.”

Rosie’s eyes widened with a mix of excitement and fear. “Jeremy was just telling us about the Ozark Howler! He said it’s this massive beast with glowing red eyes. Is that what you mean?”

Wyatt’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Well, seems like yer friend here knows a thing or two. The Ozark 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 think it’s a spirit, others reckon it’s somethin’ else entirely.”

Jeremy, leaning against a shelf, looked intrigued. “I didn’t know people still believed in those stories. I thought it was just a legend to scare kids.”

Wyatt chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. “Legends don’t come from nowhere, son. There’s usually some truth buried in there. People ‘round here, they’ve seen things. Heard things. And it ain’t just the Howler you gotta worry about. There’s Goatmen, too.”

Turner, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Goatmen? Like, half-man, half-goat? You’re kidding, right?”

Wyatt shook his head slowly. “Wish I was. They say these Goatmen roam the woods, lookin’ for souls to snatch. Nasty buggers, part human, part beast. Folks around here have seen ‘em, swear by it. And don’t forget the usual wildlife – bears, cougars, and whatnot.”

Rosie looked around at her friends, her excitement tempered by a hint of apprehension. “Okay, so maybe we’ll keep a closer eye on each other. Thanks for the warning, Mr. Lumix.”

Wyatt nodded, his expression serious. “Y’all stick together out there. Forest can be an unforgiving place if you ain’t careful.”

Calvin, ever the rational one, smirked and gave a sarcastic nod. “Thanks for the heads-up, White. We’ll be sure to watch out for any Goatmen.”

Wyatt straightened up and returned to his book. “Y’all have a good time now. And remember, stick together. Ain’t no place for lone wanderin’ in them woods.”

Outside, Zack stood by the side of the building, taking a piss and staring off into the not-so-distant forest. As he zipped up, something caught his eye. He squinted, trying to make out the shape moving among the trees. It was large, lumbering, and seemed to vanish as quickly as it appeared.

A shiver ran down his spine. He quickly finished up and headed back inside, shaking off the unease that had settled over him. As he rejoined the group, they were gathering their supplies and preparing to leave.

“You alright, Zack?” Emmaline asked, noticing his pale face.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing back at the forest. “Just thought I saw something out there.”

Felicia laughed, slapping him on the back. “Probably just your imagination, Zack. Come on, let’s get to that cabin and start this adventure.”

Zack forced a smile and nodded, but as they piled back into the car, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them.

Back on the road, the banter continued, but there was a new edge to it, a sense of adventure tinged with the unknown. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the forest as they neared their destination.

Zack glanced at his sister, who seemed more relaxed than he’d seen her in a long time. He felt a pang of guilt for being so resistant about the trip. Maybe this was exactly what they all needed—a break from reality, a chance to reconnect and create new memories.

As they drove deeper into the heart of the Ozarks, the shadows grew longer, and the forest seemed to close in around them. The road became narrower, winding through dense trees and rocky outcrops.

Inside the car, the group’s conversation had shifted to music gossip.

“Did you guys hear about that feud within NoodleHead4Lyfe?” Felicia asked, leaning forward from the back seat with excitement.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, apparently Declan called Harper’s last album ‘a dumpster fire,’ and now they’re throwing shade at each other on social media.”

Rosie laughed. “Typical. Musicians always have the best drama. Personally, I’m Team Harper. Her lyrics actually mean something.”

Calvin nodded. “Agreed. Declan’s just trying to stay relevant. His music’s been going downhill for a while now.”

Zack, half-listening to the banter, glanced back towards Turner. The quietest member of the group was staring intently out the window on the opposite side. There was something in Turner’s expression that caught Zack’s attention – a mix of curiosity and unease.

“Hey, Turner,” Zack called, his voice cutting through the chatter. “What’s up? You’ve been pretty quiet back there.”

The rest of the group turned their attention to Turner, who blinked and tore his gaze away from the window.

“What were you looking at?” Felicia asked, leaning closer.

Turner hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just… thought I saw something moving in the trees.”

Jeremy scoffed. “You’re not getting spooked by Wyatt’s stories, are you?”

Turner managed a small smile. “Nah, it’s probably just my imagination. These woods are just… different, you know?”

Rosie reached over and squeezed Turner’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’re all in this together. Whatever’s out there, we’ll face it as a team.”

As the conversation resumed, the group continued to tease each other about their music preferences and gossip, but Zack couldn’t help but glance back at Turner every so often. There was something about his friend’s quiet demeanor that left a lingering sense of unease in the pit of Zack’s stomach.

“We’re almost there,” Emmaline announced, her voice breaking the spell of the twilight that had overtaken the car over the last hour. “Just a few more miles.”

The group fell silent, each lost in their thoughts as the car climbed the final stretch of road. The conversation about music and Turner’s eerie observation faded into the background as the dense forest seemed to swallow them whole. The trees grew taller and closer together, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy that blocked out much of the remaining light. Shadows danced across the car’s windows, creating an almost hypnotic effect.

As the car rounded a bend, the road became even narrower, winding through rocky outcrops and thick underbrush. The forest, now an impenetrable wall of darkness, seemed to close in around them. The tension in the car was palpable, each person lost in their own thoughts, contemplating the stories they had heard and the mysteries that lay ahead.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the forest parted, revealing a small clearing. The cabin stood at the center, an imposing figure in the encroaching darkness. Emmaline brought the car to a stop, and the group began to step out, stretching their legs and taking in their surroundings.

The cabin was a rustic structure, built from weathered logs that had turned a silvery gray with age. It stood on a foundation of large, moss-covered stones, giving it an elevated, almost imposing presence. The roof was steeply pitched, covered in wooden shingles that had seen better days, some of them missing or askew. A stone chimney jutted out from one side, and wisps of smoke curled lazily into the twilight sky, suggesting a recent fire.

The front porch stretched the width of the cabin, supported by sturdy wooden columns. An old rocking chair sat in one corner, its paint peeling and seat worn from years of use. The porch floor creaked under the weight of the group as they stepped up, adding to the sense of aged charm and mystery.

Large, shuttered windows flanked the heavy wooden door, their glass panes reflecting the fading light of day. The shutters, though closed, were ornately carved with patterns that hinted at a bygone era. A rusty lantern hung beside the door, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

The clearing around the cabin was a mix of wild grass and scattered wildflowers, bordered by the dense forest that seemed to press in from all sides. The sounds of the forest – the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, and the chirping of crickets – created a symphony of nature that both calmed and unnerved the group.

“Wow,” Felicia whispered, her voice barely audible. “This place is… something else.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, looking around. “It’s like stepping back in time.”

Calvin, ever the practical one, began unloading their bags from the trunk. “Let’s get settled in before it gets too dark. We can explore more in the morning.”

“Cal’s right,” Emmaline said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get unpacked and settled in. We’ve got a whole week to enjoy this palace.”

As they unloaded their gear and explored the cabin, the excitement of their arrival mingled with the eerie tales Wyatt had shared. The forest around them felt alive, the rustling leaves and distant animal calls adding to the sense of being far from the familiar.

2nd Draft

Chapter 1: Landing at the Regional

The plane descended through a blanket of low-hanging clouds, the landscape below gradually coming into focus as the aircraft prepared for landing. Zack’s head rested against the window, his eyes closed in a restless nap, while the distant hum of the engines provided a steady, soothing background noise.

Suddenly, the plane’s wheels made contact with the tarmac at Batesville Regional Airport with a sharp, bone-rattling thud. The impact jolting him violently awake, Zack’s heart skipping a beat as his body lurched forward in his seat. The cabin around him seemed to shudder as the plane bounced once, twice, before finally settling into a smooth roll along the runway.

The engines roared briefly in reverse, the entire cabin vibrating as the aircraft slowed down, the lights overhead flickering to life. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, Zack straightened in his seat, the adrenaline from the abrupt awakening still coursing through his veins. The familiar smell of recycled air filled his lungs, and the voices of passengers, previously hushed in the quiet of the flight, now rose in a chorus of muted conversations and the rustling of belongings.

As the plane taxied to the gate, the realization that they had arrived brought a mix of relief and anticipation, the finality of the journey settling over him like a heavy blanket. Zack remained seated for a moment as the other passengers began to rise, stretching and retrieving their carry-on luggage from the overhead bins. He stared out the small window, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the Confederate States of America. The landscape, though still largely unseen in the early evening light, felt different—foreign, even though it was just a neighboring country. The thought of being so far from the familiar confines of his room in Rockford sent a small pang of unease through him.

With a sigh, Zack unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his backpack from under the seat in front of him. The last traces of sleep clung to him like a stubborn fog as he shuffled into the aisle, moving with the slow tide of passengers toward the exit. The air was thicker here, warmer than he was used to, and it wrapped around him like a damp blanket as he stepped off the plane and into the jet bridge.

The terminal was bustling with activity, a mix of tourists and locals moving about with varying degrees of purpose. Zack scanned the area, searching for a familiar face, but all he saw were strangers—faces that only served to remind him how far he was from home.

He moved through the crowd, feeling somewhat disoriented in the sea of people. The voices around him blended into a dull roar, punctuated by the occasional announcement over the loudspeakers. He pulled out his phone, checking for any messages from his sister, Emmaline, or the rest of the group. The screen was blank, save for the time and a few notifications he ignored.

As he navigated through the terminal, Zack’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure standing near the baggage claim area. Turner, his sister’s friend, and someone Zack had met only a few times, was leaning casually against a pillar, scrolling through his phone.