Jamie
It's been three days since the camping trip, and things are even worse.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the sound. It's too loud. Birds outside, the hum of the ceiling fan in my room, even the scrape of my sheets when I move. Everything is turned up, sharp enough to make my head pound.
I sit up, blinking against the morning light. My throat is dry. My skin burns, like I slept too close to a furnace. My phone's on the nightstand, buzzing nonstop. Ten missed calls from Matt. Two from my mom. I haven't spoken to her in a couple of days, and I'm sure she's worried. The relationship I have with my mom is kind of tricky. After my Dad died, she remarried Seth, my stepfather, and he's rather prove that I'm a failure for a son than actually let me just exist. Mom, on the other hand, is blind to it all, and the only way she loves me is by spoiling me with whatever I need financially.
Checking my messages. I see one from an unknown number.
You okay?
I frown, unsure of who could be sending me this. No name, no context. Just those two words. This isn't the strangest thing that has happened to me this week.
The memory from the night in the woods hits me in flashes. The woods, the drizzle of rainfall, the smell of earth and something metallic. Those glowing eyes that couldn't have been real.
And then... nothing.
I press my fingers against my arm, where the bruise used to be. It's gone now. So there's no evidence of that night. The skin looks too normal for all the blood that was on my skin.
"What the hell is going on?" I whisper.
The mirror on my desk catches my reflection. Pale, sweaty, eyes darker than usual. I look so... off. Like, I haven't slept in days. When I open the windows, the morning air rushes in, cold and full of pine. For a second, it feels like nature is breathing with me, like something out there just let out a breath.
It makes my pulse stutter.
I shake it off, grab my hoodie and head out. Maybe I just need a lot of caffeine and sunlight. Maybe I'm still shaken from the camping trip from hell.
Campus looks as normal as it's ever going to be. Students laughing, the sound of a soccer ball hitting the pavement, and birds overhead chirping happily. But every time someone brushes past me, my skin prickles like static. I can smell their shampoo, their perfume, even the sugar in their coffee. It doesn't make sense, but it's all too much.
By the time I make it to class, my hands won't stop shaking. Matt glances at me the second i sit down. "Jesus, Jamie. You look like death."
"Thanks," I mutter.
"I mean it. What's going on with you?"
I hesitate, words catching in my throat. Because what do I even say? Hey, I think I got bitten by something in the woods, but the wound healed overnight, and now I can smell people's breakfast from twenty feet away?
Would he even believe me?
"Didn't sleep," I lie instead.
Matt narrows his eyes. "You sure that's all?"
"Yeah."
But as the lecture starts, my mind drifts. The professor's voice fades into the background as a sound fills my ears. At first, I don't know where it's coming from until I look out the window and realise my eyes are locked on the direction of the woods beyond the campus.
I swear, I see movement there. A flicker of some form of shadow between the trees. Watching.
And when my name is called, I flinch like I've been caught doing something wrong.
"Jamie?" Professor Williams repeats.
And when my name is called, I flinch like I've been caught doing something wrong.
"Jamie?" the professor repeats.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Just… thought I saw something."
Lex follows my gaze. "There's nothing there."
Maybe he's right. But as I stare into the treeline, the hair on my arms rises.
Because somewhere out there, beyond the normal and the sane, something is watching me back.
And deep down, beneath the fear, something inside me is watching it.
By noon, I've convinced myself that I'm fine. I mean, what's the point in dwelling on all this shit when there's actually nothing I can do about it? I have no fucking answers, and I'm just driving myself insane with all this.
I mean, sure, my hearing is too sharp, food tastes like cardboard, and I can tell what brand of shampoo people use just by walking past them. But fine is a state of mind, right?
I keep repeating that while standing on the line in the cafeteria, staring at a tray of overcooked pasta like it's going to answer for my life choices. I'm fucking hungry all the time, and when I eat, there's no satisfaction.
None at all.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," the guy behind me says.
"Worst," I mutter. "I saw cafeteria meatballs."
He laughs. Easy and warm. "Fair. They've been the same since freshman year. Tragic consistency."
I turn slightly, expecting another stressed-out sophomore, but the guy's older. Tall, good posture, that kind of calm confidence people either fake really well or are born with.
"Miles," he says, offering a hand. "You're Jamie, right? You're in Professor Keene's class?"
"Yeah. Wait, how—?"
"I'm his TA," Miles explains with a grin. "You sent in that essay on modern myth parallels. Good stuff."
"Oh." My brain takes a second to reboot. Compliments from hot people always do that. Maybe this is the distraction I need. He's hot, and I haven't had a good fuck in a while. He just might be into sweaty, confused freshmen.
"Thanks. I kind of wrote it at 2 a.m. while high on caffeine and existential dread."
"Best combo," he says, grabbing a tray. "Mind if I sit with you?"
Normally, I'd say no, strangers are exhausting, but something about him feels… grounding. Like he's comfortable in his own skin in a way that makes me want to borrow some of it. I really need this right now.
We sit near the window, where the afternoon sun hits the trees beyond the field. I can't stop looking that way, even while Miles talks. The woods seem closer than they should be, like the shadows have shifted since morning.
"So," he says, breaking into my thoughts, "you from around here?"
"Out of state. Transfer student."
"That explains it. You've got that wide-eyed Why is everyone pretending this place isn't weird look."
I laugh, mostly because it's too accurate. "Is it that obvious?"
"A little." He leans back, studying me for a second longer than feels casual. "You settling in okay?"
"Trying to," I say, stabbing my pasta. "Though the woods behind campus give major serial-killer energy."
He smirks. "You should probably stay out of them."
Something in his tone makes me pause, not joking, not warning exactly, but knowing.
"You sound like you've been there."
"Maybe once or twice," he says. Then, quieter, "It's easy to get lost. And the craze for camping has become intense in Crossville."
Before I can ask what he means, a group of students calls him over. He stands, picking up his tray.
"See you around, Jamie," he says with a small smile.
And as he walks away, that faint, wild scent, pine and rain and something else, brushes past me.
The same one I've been dreaming about.
I turn around, in search of whatever that is, but there's nothing significant but students around. The fear hits me because the only thing weirder than what happened in the woods is the fact that whatever or whoever tried to hurt me might just be following me.