Chapter 1: Chapter 1: The Price of a Joyride

The worn tires of the ‘98 Civic screamed in protest as Mary Beth wrenched the wheel, sending them fishtailing down another nameless back road. Moonlight, slivered and sharp, flashed between the skeletal fingers of pine trees, painting the dashboard in strobing bursts of silver and black.

“Hundred and ten!” Mary Beth shrieked, her voice a cocktail of glee and adrenaline. Streaks of neon pink and electric blue in her hair caught the light, a vibrant slash of defiance against the oppressive dark of the forest. “This rust bucket’s got more life in her than my dad’s last three marriages!”

Ashley ‘Ash’ gripped the door handle, her knuckles white. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a drumbeat for their reckless symphony. This was supposed to be it—the grand finale to their high school career. One last, stupid, glorious joyride before the crushing weight of college applications and part-time jobs pinned them to the earth. It was Mary Beth’s idea, of course. It always was. And Ash, tethered by a loyalty that often felt more like a curse, was always along for the ride.

“Maybe ease up a little?” Ash suggested, her voice tight. “If we wrap your car around a tree, our memorable summer ends with us becoming squirrel food.”

Mary Beth just laughed, a wild, infectious sound that almost made Ash forget the dizzying speed. “Relax, Ash! Live a little. What’s the worst that could happen? A speeding ticket?”

As if summoned by her words, a piercing red and blue light erupted behind them, swallowing the darkness whole. The wail of a siren ripped through the night, merciless and final.

Mary Beth’s grin didn’t falter, but it tightened at the edges. “Well, shit.”

The town they were escorted to wasn’t on any map Ash had ever seen. The sign, half-swallowed by ivy, read: Welcome to Sleepy Falls. We’re Glad You’re Here. The sentiment felt less like a welcome and more like a threat. The streets were unnervingly clean, the houses quaint and identical, their windows like vacant eyes. People on the sidewalks stopped to stare as the police cruiser rolled past. They smiled, wide and placid, but their eyes were cold, flat pools of shadow. An involuntary shiver traced its way down Ash’s spine.

Their trial was a farce. It wasn’t held in a courthouse, but in the sheriff’s wood-paneled office, which smelled of stale coffee and Pine-Sol. The sheriff, a portly man named Gable with a mustache that seemed to absorb all light, didn’t even look at their licenses.

“Reckless driving. Endangerment,” he droned, his voice monotone. “Strangers making trouble. We don’t like that here in Sleepy Falls.”

“Look, we can pay the fine,” Ash said, trying to keep her voice steady. “My parents can wire the—”

“No fines,” Sheriff Gable interrupted, folding his hands on his desk. “We have our own way of dealing with things. A way to build character. You two look like you could use some.” He gave them a slow, deliberate smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Four months. Community service.”

Mary Beth snorted. “Four months? For a joyride? Doing what, picking up litter?”

The sheriff’s smile widened. “Oh, something much more enriching. You’ll be assisting at Camp Blackwood. It’s just up the ridge. Helping get it ready for the season. Room and board provided.”

The sentence was so absurd it felt like a dream. Four months. An entire summer, stolen. Ash’s plans to work and save for a car evaporated. Mary Beth’s dreams of a cross-country trip turned to dust. They were prisoners.

A man was waiting for them outside the station. He was stout, dressed in the crisp, khaki uniform of a camp counselor, complete with a neckerchief. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and he wore a smile so wide and enthusiastic it seemed to physically stretch his face.

“Hi girls! Welcome!” he boomed, his voice aggressively cheerful. “The name’s Peter! And it’s Peter, not Pete. Ready for an unforgettable summer experience?” His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over them, a stark contrast to his jovial tone. Behind his back, he held a small, pristine axe, its polished head gleaming in the pale afternoon light. He gestured with it towards a beat-up pickup truck. “Just tossing out some deadwood before I came to get ya. Hop in!”

The drive to Camp Blackwood was a silent, tense journey deeper into the oppressive woods. The paved road gave way to dirt, and the trees pressed in, their branches clawing at the sky. Finally, they pulled up to a large, creaking wooden sign: Camp Blackwood - Building Better Futures. The paint was peeling, and the smiling cartoon raccoon on it looked more like it was screaming.

Peter led them to a rustic bunkhouse at the edge of a clearing. “Bunkhouse Beta! Your new home away from home!” he sang. “You’ll have a bunkmate. She’s a local girl, volunteering her time. Be nice to her!”

He pushed open the door, revealing a dim, dusty room that smelled of mildew and old secrets. Huddled in the far corner, as if trying to merge with the shadows, was a young woman. She had mousy brown hair and wide, terrified eyes that darted from Ash to Mary Beth and back again. She was clutching a thick, dark, leather-bound book to her chest like a shield.

“This is Nicole!” Peter announced. “Nicole, say hi to… what were your names again?”

“Ash. And she’s Mary Beth,” Ash said quietly.

Nicole just offered a pathetic little wave, her knuckles white where she gripped her book.

“Alrighty!” Peter clapped his hands together, a sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. He handed Ash a thin, brightly colored pamphlet. “Here’s your official Camp Blackwood Guidebook. All the fun activities, camp songs, and basic rules are in there. Learn ‘em, live ‘em, love ‘em! Dinner’s at seven. Don’t be late!”

With a final, unnerving grin, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him and plunging the room into gloom.

“Well, he’s a bucket of sunshine,” Mary Beth muttered, throwing her duffel bag onto a dusty top bunk. “And this place is a dump. At least the entertainment is here.” She nodded towards Nicole, who flinched.

Ash ignored her, flipping through the guidebook Peter had given her. It was flimsy, filled with cheap illustrations of kids kayaking and singing around a campfire. She turned a page detailing ‘Nature Hike Safety’ and frowned. The next page had been clumsily torn out. And the one after that. In fact, a whole section in the middle was missing, leaving behind jagged, papery stumps.

“Cheap bastards can’t even give us a whole book,” Ash mumbled, mostly to herself.

Her eyes drifted back to Nicole, who was still frozen in the corner. The book she held was nothing like the pamphlet in Ash’s hand. It was old, the black leather cracked and worn. As Nicole shifted, nervously adjusting her grip, the book fell open for a split second.

Ash’s breath caught in her throat.

On the page she glimpsed, she didn’t see cartoon illustrations. She saw stark, hand-drawn diagrams and dense, spidery handwriting. And at the top of the page, in bold, block letters, was a heading she recognized instantly from her own torn pamphlet: RULE 7: WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU HEAR A KNOCK.

But where her own guidebook’s page was gone, Nicole’s was filled with grim, detailed instructions. Ash could only make out a few words—salt, window, never a voice you know—before Nicole snapped the book shut, her eyes wide with panic, realizing she’d been seen.

A cold dread, heavier and more real than the fear of any speeding ticket, settled in Ash’s stomach. The smiles of the townsfolk. The bizarre sentence. The missing pages. This wasn't a punishment. It was something else.

This wasn’t a camp. It was a hunting ground. And they had just been handed a rulebook with all the survival guides torn out.