Page 59 of Lost to the Woods

We follow the trail in a loose formation—Ghost and Dev leading the way with their chunky cameras, Nate trudging behind with a GoPro clipped to the strap of his backpack like a true try-hard, and Kendra trailing next to me, recording on her phone “for authenticity,” as she dramatically put it.

Honestly? It’s boring as hell.

The first fifteen minutes are just dirt, trees, and the occasional polite nod to spandex-clad hikers with golden retrievers and trekking poles. Not exactly the Blair Witch vibes we were promised. No paranormal activity, no haunted groans, no ghostly cold spots. Just a lot of sweat, tangled roots, and me regretting every layer of fishnet on my thighs.

Eventually, we start faking it.

Dev tries to zoom in on a “shadow figure” that’s clearly just a stump. Nate whispers into the GoPro like he’s hunting some cryptid. Kendra screams at nothing and insists it was “a vibe shift.”

And then—becauseof course—we decide to split up to cover more ground and get more footage.

Kendra, Nate, and Dev veer off to the left, cutting through some overgrowth like they’re heading straight into a low-budget horror film.

Ghost turns to me and jerks his head to the right. “C’mon, Bun-bun. We’ll check that ridge.”

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something. “Because this always goes well in scary movies.”

He smirks behind the mask. “Relax. Worst case, we get eaten by a monster… Or each other.”

Charming.

Still, I follow him, my heart thudding as we leave the marked trail and disappear into the thicker trees. The farther we go, the more it smells like damp moss and rot. Sunlight barely filters through the lush crowns, and fog snakes through the lower gnarled branches like it's hunting something. Or someone.

And this godawful quiet is killing me. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how far from civilization you are. No distant hum of cars. No buzz of streetlights. Just my sneakers scuffing against the uneven forest floor as I walk ahead, crunching over brittle leaves. Ghost’s footsteps are heavier than mine, his Martens thudding against the ground as he sticks close behind me. The camera in his hands hums softly as it records, his gaze—hidden behind that expressionless mask—never leaving me.

“Stop being a creep,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.

All I see are those dark eye slits, empty voids staring back at me. His blank mask has always been unsettling in its simplicity, but here in the woods, under the dense canopy of twisted trees, it’s downright sinister. Inhuman. Paired with his somewhat lanky, yet lean and powerful frame wrapped in a black hoodie, he looks more like the creature in our horror documentary than the guy filming it.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave lower into that delicious rasp.

I feel the camera slowly panning over my body like a caress, and I know exactly where his thoughts are heading. If he turns it sexual now, I’m done for. I’ll never be strong enough to resist him.

“Don’t get excited, it was a one-time thing,” I snark, too sharp, too fast, without thinking.

His head tilts slightly, his fingers tapping the side of the lens. “You don’t mean that.”

My stomach drops, and a wave of panic rises through me. “Umm, it doesn’t change anything,” I ramble quickly. “All these things we talked about on the porch are still the same.” Or rather, they’re just excuses, the armor I wear because I don’t know how to let anyone in without bracing for the moment they leave.

The last man I truly loved—my father—zipped up a suitcase and vanished while I was coloring in the next room. No note. No goodbye. Just gone. I was barely six when my world cracked open, and I watched my mother spiral, raising me alone through the haze of depression and barely disguised resentment.

Now I flinch from anything that feels real… because real always means ruin.

Ghost stands too still behind me. I feel the heat of him, the sharp chill of his silence. The camera is still rolling in his gloved hand, red light blinking, capturing every heartbeat of this screwed-up moment of me rejecting him—again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. My voice is too thin, too unsure. “We can stay frie—”

He moves fast. Too fast for me to even properly register what’s happening.

In one second, his gloved hand snaps around my throat like it’s always belonged there.

And in the next, my back slams into the tree, bark biting into my spine. I gasp, but no air gets in, and I look at him with wide eyes.

His body presses into mine, towering over me. I can't even guess what expression lies beneath the white of the mask, but I feel the heat of his rage. It rolls off him like a second skin.

“Youalmosthad me fooled again,” the edge in his voice slices through the haze in my mind, vibrating against my skull.

16. Bunny

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