Page 1 of The Girl in the Mist

1964

Camp Hollow

Sparks flashed vibrantly against the night sky above smoke that smelled like seasoned wood and the lingering tendrils of caramelized marshmallow and burned chocolate. Cold breath from the lake rolled along a dark shore close enough to be seen, but too far to cool the glowing logs. The faint echo of laughter rose from the thick shadows of the trees, though no one was supposed to be beyond the light of the campfire.

No one else heard it. The sound was covered by the voices of campers, dressed in matching uniforms and veils of late-summer sweat, singing to fill the evening. Sometimes it seemed like their words were controlling the hypnotic flames so they swayed and stretched, then spread like water into the crevices of the rocks surrounding them.

It shouldn’t have mattered. The laughter should have been just another part of the summer night. It came with the smell of the fire and the songs, with the soft lapping of the lake and the breeze over the playing fields, with the sting of the infirmary and the heaviness of the director’s office with its green leather chairs, stern lectures, and threats of calls home. It was a part of nights atcamp.

If any of the campers or counselors sitting around the fire had heard that laughter, it might have changed something. They might not have gotten so deep into the trees. They might have been lured back and kept within the light of the fire. They wouldn’t have been the first to hear the footsteps that shouldn’t have been there or see the bloodshot gray eyes. That laughter might not have turned intoscreams.

Mary Ellen didn’t have a chance to say anything when she saw the masked man step up behind Brad. Sweet, funny Brad. He was her camp boyfriend, the one she returned to every summer and pined for all winter. Brad was the one who’d brought her into the trees. He was the one who was making her laugh. He’d just reached into his pocket and taken out something that sparkled in the moonlight. The man who stepped up behind him also carried something that sparkled. She didn’t even have the chance toscream.

The class ring fell from Brad’s hand, tumbling into the leaves as he hit the ground. Her scream came when the hatchet came out of his head and hung in the air so the blood dripping from it reflected the moon the way the ring had.

She forced her feet to move, to turn so she could run.

It did little good. The man with the hatchet pursued her without difficulty. His legs were longer. His lungs were stronger. He had no fear.

Mary Ellen’s scream had silenced the singing around the campfire the way her laughter hadn’t.

Even if someone had seen Mary Ellen and Brad creeping away into the trees when they should have been at the campfire, it wouldn’t have changedanything.

If someone had stopped them and drawn them back into the circle where they were supposed to be, if they had been singing with everyone rather than laughing alone together, it would have only kept the screams at bay for a few more minutes.

But only a few minutes.

He was coming.

When the sun rose the next morning, it illuminated the lake, still serene, the embers in the abandoned fire still glowing red, and bodies littering the ground, covered in sheets as police scoured every bit of the camp, trying to make sense of what happened.

But when they ventured into the woods, they found only one body to cover and bringhome.

There was no trace of a masked man, of Mary Ellen, or the class ring spattered with blood.

Now

Sherwood, Virginia

“Anybody want anything else before I come back in there?” I call from thekitchen.

“Does the popcorn have butter on it?” Xavier shoutsback.

“Of course, it does,” Ireply.

“Can it have extra butter on it?” heasks.

I reach into the refrigerator and flip up the clear plastic cover on the shelf built into the door so I can grab a stick of butter.

“How much extra?” Iask.

“Just bring a bowl. I’ll take it fromthere.”

I chuckle and shake my head as I unwrap the stick and put it in a bowl so I can microwave it.

“How about you, Dean? Have everything you want?” I ask. “Remember, this could take a while and we don’t have a set meal break before the pizza is set to be delivered in twohours.”

“Just my mix-ins,” he says.

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