Chapter 1: The First Whisper

The campfire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows across four young faces that should have been carefree. Alex stared into the flames, their hypnotic movement doing little to ease the persistent ache behind his eyes—another sleepless night catching up with him. Around the fire, his three best friends were exactly as they should be: Blake animated and loud, gesticulating wildly as he recounted some ridiculous story from his latest rugby match; Sam listening with that patient smile of his, occasionally throwing in a well-timed joke to keep everyone laughing; and Callie, their trip's meticulous architect, reviewing her carefully annotated map one final time in the firelight.

"I'm telling you, the guy was huge!" Blake was saying, spreading his arms wide. "Like, linebacker huge. And there I was, all one-hundred-sixty pounds of pure academic weakness, trying to tackle this mountain of muscle—"

"You're one-seventy-five, minimum," Sam interrupted with a grin. "Don't sell yourself short, superman."

"Details, details." Blake waved dismissively, but Alex caught the pleased flush on his friend's face. Even after four years of friendship, Blake still lit up whenever anyone acknowledged his athletic prowess.

Alex found himself half-listening, his attention drifting to the sound that had been bothering him since they'd set up camp three hours ago. It was subtle—so subtle he wondered if he was imagining it—but there seemed to be something underneath the familiar symphony of evening wilderness sounds. A low murmur, almost like distant conversation, coming from the direction of the river.

"Earth to Alex," Callie's voice cut through his wandering thoughts. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That brooding writer thing where you stare into space and look like you're composing tragic poetry about the meaninglessness of existence."

Blake snorted. "He's probably planning his next essay about the symbolism of marshmallows in American culture."

"Marshmallows don't have symbolism," Alex protested, but he was smiling despite himself. This was comfortable, familiar—the gentle ribbing that came with four years of friendship. "And I wasn't brooding. I was just... listening."

"Listening to what?" Sam leaned forward, always the first to take Alex seriously when the others might dismiss him.

Alex hesitated. How could he explain the odd quality to the sound without seeming paranoid? "Just... the river, I guess. It's louder than I expected."

Callie glanced toward the tree line where the Whitewater River cut its path twenty yards from their campsite. Even in the growing darkness, they could see the pale gleam of moonlight on moving water through the gaps in the trees.

"Rivers are always louder at night," she said, but her voice carried a strange note—not quite dismissive, but not entirely convinced either. "Sound travels differently when it's quiet."

"Besides," Blake added, "you picked the spot, Cal. If it's too noisy, that's on you."

"I picked it because it has the best access to fresh water and the flattest ground for the tents," Callie replied with the patience of someone who had explained the same thing three times already. "The noise is just... part of camping."

Alex nodded and tried to shake off his unease. Callie was right, of course. She had spent weeks planning this trip, researching campsites, checking weather patterns, even calculating optimal hiking times to account for their varying fitness levels. If anyone would know about riverside camping logistics, it would be her.

"Speaking of which," she continued, "we should probably think about calling it a night soon. I want to get an early start tomorrow if we're going to make the summit and still have time to set up camp before dark."

"Aw, come on," Blake protested. "It's our first night out here! Can't we stay up a little longer? Tell ghost stories or something?"

"Ghost stories?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really? We're twenty-two, not twelve."

"Hey, ghost stories are timeless. They're like... like classic literature, but fun."

Alex couldn't help but laugh at that. "I don't think Chaucer would appreciate the comparison."

"Chaucer's been dead for six hundred years. I think he's past caring about my literary opinions."

They fell into comfortable conversation again, the kind that meandered between topics without direction or purpose. Blake regaled them with increasingly embellished tales from his summer job as a camp counselor. Sam shared updates about his family's ongoing drama—his sister's wedding planning was apparently reaching apocalyptic levels of stress. Alex found himself talking about his latest short story, a piece about urban isolation that his professor had called "promising but unfocused."

But it was Callie who seemed different tonight. Usually, she would have steered the conversation back to practical matters by now—reminding them about the hiking schedule, double-checking that someone had properly secured the food against animals, reviewing the emergency contact protocol she'd established with her parents. Instead, she sat quietly, occasionally glancing toward the river with an expression Alex couldn't quite read.

"You okay, Cal?" he asked during a lull in Blake's animated description of a ten-year-old's failed attempt to catch a frog.

She startled slightly, as if pulled from deep thought. "What? Oh, yes. Fine. Just... tired, I guess. It's been a long day."

It had been a long day. They'd driven four hours to reach the trailhead, then hiked another three hours to reach this campsite. But Callie rarely admitted to being tired. She was the one who organized study groups during finals week, who somehow managed a full course load while working part-time at the university bookstore and volunteering with the campus environmental club. Exhaustion was something that happened to other people.

"We should definitely get some sleep then," Sam said gently. "Big day tomorrow."

"Right." Callie stood abruptly, brushing dirt from her jeans. "I'll just... I want to check something by the river first."

The words seemed to surprise even her. Alex saw the flicker of confusion cross her face, as if she hadn't planned to say them.

"Check what?" Blake asked.

"Just... the water level. For tomorrow. I want to make sure it hasn't risen since we got here."

Alex frowned. "Why would it have risen? There hasn't been any rain."

"Snowmelt," Callie said quickly. "From higher up the mountain. It can cause fluctuations."

It was plausible enough, Alex supposed, though something about her explanation felt rehearsed. More troubling was the way she was already moving toward the tree line, not waiting for a response.

"Cal, wait," he called after her. "Do you want someone to come with you?"

She paused, one hand resting on the rough bark of a pine tree. In the firelight, her face looked pale and drawn, her usually sharp eyes unfocused.

"No," she said, her voice oddly distant. "I'll just be a minute."

And then she was gone, disappearing between the trees with surprising speed for someone who claimed to be tired. The three young men sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of her footsteps retreating through the underbrush.

"That was weird, right?" Blake said finally. "Even for Callie?"

"She's probably just being thorough," Sam replied, but his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "You know how she gets about planning."

Alex did know how Callie got about planning. He also knew that checking water levels at night, by flashlight, was not the kind of thorough preparation she usually engaged in. Her thoroughness was about researching gear, studying maps, creating contingency plans. It wasn't about wandering off to inspect geographical features in the dark.

Minutes passed. Five, then ten. The fire began to die down, and the sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder around them. Or maybe it was just Alex's imagination, his writer's mind conjuring threats in the darkness. But that underlying murmur he'd noticed earlier seemed more distinct now, almost like voices carried on the night air.

"She's been gone a while," Sam said, echoing Alex's growing concern.

Blake stood and called toward the trees. "Callie! You good out there?"

No response.

Alex felt the familiar flutter of anxiety in his chest, the same feeling he got during his worst insomniac episodes when his mind would spiral through increasingly catastrophic scenarios. What if she'd slipped on wet rocks? What if there was some kind of animal by the water? What if—

"There she is," Sam said with obvious relief.

Callie emerged from the tree line, but something was wrong with the way she moved. Her usual purposeful stride had been replaced by something slower, more deliberate. In the dying firelight, her face looked strange—not quite blank, but somehow empty of the sharp intelligence that usually animated her features.

"Everything okay?" Blake asked. "You were gone for a while."

She nodded slowly, settling back down by the fire as if nothing had happened. "Fine. Everything's fine. The water level is... it's perfect."

The way she said the last word sent an inexplicable chill down Alex's spine. There was something almost dreamy about her tone, as if she were describing something beautiful rather than mundane river measurements.

"Perfect for what?" he asked.

Callie looked at him with an expression he'd never seen before—serene but somehow hollow. "For everything," she said simply.

The fire popped, sending up a shower of sparks that made them all jump. In the brief flare of light, Alex caught a glimpse of Callie's eyes and felt his breath catch. For just a moment, they looked different—not quite focused on anything in particular, as if she were seeing something the rest of them couldn't.

"Well," Sam said into the uncomfortable silence, "I think that's enough excitement for one night. Who's got first watch?"

They'd planned to take turns staying awake, a precaution Callie had insisted on despite Blake's protests that it was unnecessary. Now, looking at her distant expression and thinking about that strange murmur from the river, Alex was grateful for her foresight.

"I'll take it," he volunteered. His insomnia made him the logical choice anyway.

They made quick work of banking the fire and settling into their sleeping bags. Blake fell asleep almost immediately, his soft snores joining the night's chorus of sounds. Sam took a little longer, but eventually his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Callie lay still and quiet, but Alex could tell she wasn't sleeping. Every few minutes, she would shift position, always angling herself slightly more toward the river. Once, he thought he heard her whisper something, but when he strained to listen, there was only the sound of moving water and wind through the trees.

Hours passed. Alex fed the fire periodically and tried to shake off his growing unease. This was supposed to be a fun weekend, a break from the stress of senior year and job applications and the looming uncertainty of post-graduation life. Instead, he found himself cataloging every unusual sound, every shift in the wind, every flicker of movement at the edge of his vision.

It was well past midnight when he heard Callie sit up in her sleeping bag. He turned to look at her, expecting to offer to switch watch duties, but the words died in his throat. She was staring toward the river with an expression of such intense longing that it made his skin crawl.

"Callie?" he whispered.

She didn't respond. Instead, she began to unzip her sleeping bag with slow, deliberate movements.

"What are you doing?"

Finally, she looked at him, and Alex felt his heart skip a beat. Her eyes were completely vacant, as if she were sleepwalking with her eyes open.

"I need to go back," she said in a voice that didn't sound quite like hers. "It's calling me."

Before Alex could respond, before he could wake the others or grab her arm or do anything at all, Callie stood and began walking toward the trees.

This time, she didn't come back.