Is this when the real nightmare starts?
No one comes, and the noises continue. Eventually, they all fade together: coyote howls and frog songs and the occasional repositioning of whoever is on watch—Lucas now because Jude just finished.
Is that why I didn’t sleep? Because it was Jude guarding us, and I don’t trust him? Maybe. But I’m not sleeping now either, and it’s Lucas outside. I don’t think he’d hurt me.
My cheeks warm because it’s not something I think. I know Lucas wouldn’t hurt me. I at least owe myself that much honesty after everything. After the party…
Outside, Lucas clears his throat, and with absolutely no warning, the memory I pushed so hard to hold back rolls me under. It was hotter that night, and the cicadas were much louder in Sophie’s yard than the crickets are here. I let my gaze drift to Lucas’s faint shadow through the tent wall. But even with my eyes wide open, I remember.
My heart is pounding in my ears, in my fingertips. My hands tremble when I try to push my hair away from my face. Lucas is no stranger to this back deck dance of waiting, but I am.
He cocks his head. “Are you afraid of me, Sera?”
“Yes.”
“After all this time?” His smile makes me shiver. “You don’t need to be.”
I give a half laugh that ends on a shuddery breath. He moves closer, and I look up, finally less nervous, finally feeling a real smile curve my lips. “You’re so tall. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’ve heard that once or twice.” He bites his bottom lip, looking younger than usual. “I’ve got an idea. Ready?”
“OK—whoa!”
His hands are on my hips, gripping tight, and then the decking beneath my feet is gone. He lifts me up, up, up—sets me on the wide wooden plank on top of the deck railing. He waits for me to wrap an arm around the post beside me. My head swims at the change in height.
Maybe I should be afraid of falling, but I’m not. I’m afraid of myself because I don’t do things like this. I don’t, but my mother does.
A crack jerks me back to the forest. The sound is different. It’s less of a snapping and more of a ruckus of branches and sticks. There’s a soft, low noise that goes with the shuffle-crunch. My eyes pop open, ears straining. Outside, Lucas isn’t moving.
Was it him? Or did I drift off? Dream it?
It comes again, a strange whirring—almost like a far-off engine—humming and whining until it dips into a grumble. No, not a grumble. A growl. My breath freezes into a solid mass in my chest.
That’s not far away. It’s close. And it might be a bear.
That stupid story of Madison’s flashes through my head. The bear dragging that girl’s arm to the edge of the woods. Oh God. I scan the dark tent, finding Emily and nothing else. My heart thuds painfully, every beat tapping at my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. I’m panicking. I’m definitely—
OK, stop. Think of Mr. Walker. What were the bear safety rules?
We don’t have any food. We haven’t cooked. I haven’t seen any poop or scat or whatever Mr. Walker called it.
We’re supposed to make noise if they attack. Is this an attack? I crawl out of my sleeping bag and cross the tent on my knees. Emily snores softly, and the growling comes again. Goose bumps erupt on my arms. My ears strain by the door, and my eyes follow the dark shapes moving somewhere beyond the front wall of our tent.
There’s no noise. Nothing.
Nothing.
Grunt, grunt, huff, huff, huff.
Something scrapes along the ground like it’s being dragged. My throat goes dry. Tight. Where’s Lucas? I can’t see anything. Everything is lost in dark smudges beyond the canvas. I push my palm into my chin, trying to hold my chattering teeth still.
I won’t be able to see unless I unzip the tent. Lucas is still out there. If he fell asleep out in the open, I don’t know what the bear will do. I shiver. I can’t think about what the bear will do. I just have to stop it. We’re supposed to make a racket, right?
I don’t want to though. It sounded good then, but now I don’t know what else is in these woods. If the bears are real, are the ghosts real too? I shake my head, trying to rattle some sense back into myself. I can’t dwell on stories; I need to focus. I hold my breath and listen again, catching no sound beyond my own heart, a bass drum trapped in the closet of my ribs.
Another grunt, huff, grunt. Farther away now. Past Jude’s tent, I think.
This is my chance. I pinch the zipper between my thumb and forefinger and hold my breath for one beat. Another. I hear nothing. Unzipping the tent is the loudest thing I’ve done in my life.
No way did that go unnoticed. Bears in other counties probably heard that zipper.