The Red Jerrycan

The wood of the shed door didn't just break; it shrieked. It was a dry, splintering sound that went straight to my back teeth. I gripped the handle of the red jerrycan. The plastic was warm and greasy. My palms were sweating so much I thought the thing might just slide right out of my hands. Marvin was next to me. His face was a mask of grey sweat and soot. He looked like he’d been pulled through a meat grinder. His jaw was locked. I could see the muscle jumping in his cheek, a rhythmic twitch that timed out with the scratching on the door.

"Ready?" I asked. My voice was a wreck. It sounded like someone dragging a rake over gravel.

Marvin didn't look at me. He just nodded once. He had the heavy iron bolt in his hand. The metal was pitted and rusted. Outside, the shivering sound was getting louder. It wasn't just one of them anymore. It was a chorus. It sounded like a million dry cicadas all dying at the same time. The vibration was coming through the floorboards. I could feel it in my boots. My toes were curling tight, my feet tapping against the dirt floor. I couldn't stop the movement. It was like my body was trying to run even while I was standing still.

"When I slide it, you throw the first can," Marvin said. He didn't waste words. He didn't have any to spare. He was breathing in shallow, jagged bursts. I could see the mark on his neck pulsing. It looked angry now. The skin around the brand was red and swollen. It looked like the forest was trying to reclaim the ink.

I shifted my weight. The floor groaned. I looked at the ledger tucked into the waistband of my trousers. The leather was cold against my skin. It felt heavier than it should. It felt like it was full of lead instead of paper. I thought about Leo Victor. I thought about the way his red hoodie had looked in the firelight. Now, he was just a name in a book. A name that Pete and the others had already scrubbed from their brains. The unfairness of it hit me in the gut. It was a sharp, physical pain.

"Now," Marvin hissed.

He threw the bolt. The door flew open as if something had been leaning its entire weight against it. A Shiver-man was there. It was tall, too tall for the doorway, its head bent at an impossible angle. Its skin was the color of a dead fish. It didn't have eyes. It just had those vertical slits, vibrating with a high-pitched hum. I didn't think. I just swung the jerrycan. The gas splashed out in a golden arc, soaking the entity’s chest. It didn't flinch. It didn't seem to understand what the liquid was.

Marvin struck the match. He didn't use a box; he scraped it against the rough stone of the shed’s foundation. The flare of light was blinding. He tossed it. The Shiver-man didn't scream. It couldn't. But the sound it made—that steam-pipe hiss—tripled in volume. It became a pillar of orange flame. The heat was instantaneous. It rolled over us, smelling of chemicals and burnt paper. The entity backed away, its long, needle-thin fingers clawing at the air as the fire took hold.

"Go!" Marvin yelled. He shoved me toward the opening.

We scrambled out into the night. The air outside was thick and humid, but compared to the shed, it felt like ice water. We ran. My boots hit the pine needles with a soft thud-thud-thud. I didn't look back. I didn't want to see the burning thing behind us. I just focused on the back of Marvin’s work shirt. He was fast. He moved through the brush like he knew every root and stone by heart. We were heading back to the ravine. Back to the gate.

The forest was different now. The trees were leaning in so far that the branches were scraping against my shoulders. It felt like the woods were a giant lung, and we were being inhaled. The blue phosphorus smears were everywhere. They were glowing brighter than before, casting a sickly, electric light over the ferns. I tripped over a root, my knee slamming into the dirt. The pain was sharp, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. The shivering sound was coming from all directions now. They were in the trees. They were in the shadows.

"Almost there," Marvin panted. He slowed down as we reached the edge of the ravine.

I stood beside him, gasping for air. My lungs felt like they were full of hot sand. I looked down into the hollow. The iron gate stood there, silent and imposing. The space inside the frame was shimmering. It looked like a puddle of oil on a wet road. It was beautiful and terrifying. And around it, the Shiver-men were gathered. There were dozens of them. They weren't moving. They were just standing there, their long limbs dangling, their faces turned toward the gate. They were waiting for something.

"They’re waiting for the solstice peak," Marvin whispered. "That’s when the gate fully opens. That’s when the exchange happens."

"What exchange?" I asked. My jaw was aching. I rubbed the side of my face, trying to get the muscles to relax.

"The kids for the camp," Marvin said. He looked at me, and his eyes were hollow. "The forest takes the memories and the people, and in return, it lets the camp exist for another year. It’s a parasite, Toby. And the gate is the mouth."

I looked at the red jerrycan in my hand. I had one left. Marvin had two. It didn't seem like enough. It didn't seem like anything would be enough to stop this. But I thought about the ledger. I thought about the hundreds of names. Each one was a life. Each one was a story that had been cut short. I felt a surge of something hot and angry in my chest. It was the snap point. I was done being scared. I was done tapping my foot and waiting for the world to end.

"Let's burn it," I said.

Marvin looked at the gate, then back at me. He gave a grim, lopsided smile. "Yeah. Let's burn it to the ground."

The Ravine Breach

We started down the slope. It was steep and slick with dead leaves. I kept my center of gravity low, the jerrycan swinging at my side. Every time the plastic hit my leg, it made a hollow thumping sound. The Shiver-men didn't move as we approached. They just stood like grey statues in the blue light. It was unnerving. They were so still they didn't even seem like living things. They were just glitches in the world.

"Stay behind me," Marvin whispered. He had his shovel in one hand and a jerrycan in the other. He looked like some kind of deranged knight.

We reached the floor of the ravine. The air here was twenty degrees colder than it had been at the top. I could see my breath in the moonlight. The ground was soft, almost spongy. It felt like walking on a giant tongue. I tried not to think about that. I focused on the gate. It was closer now. I could see the detail in the ironwork. There were faces carved into the metal. Faces that looked like they were screaming.

One of the Shiver-men turned its head. It was a slow, mechanical movement. It looked at us. Then another one turned. And another. The shivering sound started to ramp up. It was a physical force. I could feel it in my sinuses. It made my vision blur.

"Gas the base!" Marvin shouted.

He didn't wait for me. He ran forward and started dousing the ground in front of the gate. I followed him, my boots sinking into the muck. I unscrewed the cap of my can and started pouring. The smell of gasoline was overwhelming. It cut through the scent of pine and rot like a knife. I splashed the liquid over the iron bars, over the screaming faces, over the shimmering space inside the frame.

"More!" Marvin yelled. He was dumping his second can now.

A Shiver-man lunged. It didn't run; it just seemed to be in one place and then another, like a skipping frame in a movie. It grabbed Marvin’s shoulder. He roared and swung the shovel. The flat of the blade hit the entity’s head with a sickening crack. The Shiver-man didn't fall. It just vibrated harder. Marvin kicked it in the chest, sending it stumbling back into the shadows.

"Toby, the ledger!" Marvin screamed.

I pulled the book from my waistband. My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped it. "What do I do with it?"

"It’s the anchor!" Marvin was fighting off another entity now, his movements jagged and desperate. "It’s the record of everything they’ve taken. The gate stays open because the debt is recorded. Burn the debt!"

I looked at the ledger. It was just a book. Old leather and stained paper. But as I held it, I felt a pulse coming from it. It was synchronized with the gate. It was a heartbeat. I realized then that Marvin was right. This wasn't just a list of names. It was the legal document of the forest’s ownership. It was the contract.

I reached into my pocket for the matches. They weren't there. I checked the other pocket. Empty. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at the ground, searching the dirt in the dim blue light.

"Marvin! I don't have matches!"

He didn't answer. He was surrounded. Three of the grey things were closing in on him. He was swinging the shovel in wide, frantic arcs, but they were too fast. They were touching him, their long fingers leaving frost-white marks on his clothes. He looked at me, and for a second, I saw the old Marvin—the scared camper who had never left.

"In my pocket!" he yelled. "Left side!"

I ran toward him. A Shiver-man stepped into my path. It was the one from the shed, its chest still blackened and smoking. It reached for me. I didn't have a weapon. I just had the jerrycan. I swung it with everything I had. The heavy plastic hit the entity’s arm, and I heard the bone snap. It didn't care. It kept coming. I ducked under its grasp and dove for Marvin.

I collided with him, and we both went down in the gasoline-soaked mud. The smell was dizzying. I fumbled for his pocket. My fingers found the small cardboard box. I pulled it out.

"Got them!"

Marvin pushed me away. "Do it! Now!"

I scrambled back toward the gate. The Shiver-men were everywhere now. They were a sea of grey paper skin and vibrating slits. They weren't attacking me yet. They were focused on the gate. They knew what I was about to do. They were trying to reach the iron before I could.

I struck the match. The first one broke. The second one wouldn't light. My breath was coming in short, panicked gasps. I could feel the heat of the entities behind me. I could feel their coldness. It was a paradox of temperature that made my head spin.

"Come on," I whispered. "Come on, you piece of junk."

I struck the third match. It flared to life. The flame was tiny, a flicker of orange in the blue-grey dark. I looked at the ledger. I looked at the names. Leo Victor. Sarah Miller. James Chen. All of them waiting for someone to remember.

I touched the match to the corner of the leather. The fire took hold instantly. It didn't burn like normal paper. It flared white, a brilliant, blinding light that made the Shiver-men hiss and recoil. I threw the burning book into the center of the gate.

The gasoline caught.

A wall of fire erupted. It wasn't just a campfire. It was an explosion. The heat was so intense it knocked me backward. I fell into the mud, covering my face with my arms. The sound was incredible—a roar like a jet engine. The gate was a square of pure, white-hot destruction. The iron started to glow red, then white. The screaming faces on the metal seemed to be actually screaming now, their mouths opening wide as the metal melted and ran like wax.

I looked around for Marvin. I couldn't see him through the wall of flame.

"Marvin!" I screamed.

No answer. Just the roar of the fire and the dying hisses of the Shiver-men as they were consumed by the heat. The blue light was fading, replaced by the honest, violent orange of the gasoline fire. The forest was waking up. I could hear birds starting to chirp, a confused, pre-dawn sound. The air was starting to move. A real wind, not the heavy, manufactured stillness of the forest.

I stood up, my legs shaking. I felt like I had been hollowed out. My jaw was still tight, but the tapping in my foot had stopped. I watched the gate. The shimmering space inside was flickering. It was shrinking. It looked like a television screen losing its signal.

Then, I saw him.

Marvin was standing on the other side of the fire. He wasn't moving. He was just watching the gate melt. His shirt was torn, and his face was smeared with blood, but he looked... peaceful. He looked like he was finally seeing the sun.

"Marvin! Come on! We have to go!"

He looked at me. He didn't move. He pointed to his neck. The mark was gone. In its place was a clean, red scar. But he was fading. His body was becoming translucent, like a ghost in an old photograph.

"I can't, Toby," he said. His voice was faint, barely audible over the crackle of the flames. "I’m part of the record. When the book goes, I go with it."

"No!" I ran toward the fire, but the heat was too much. It singed my eyebrows. "That’s not how it works! You’re real!"

"I haven't been real since 2012," Marvin said. He smiled. It was a real smile this time. "Thanks for remembering me, kid."

He stepped back. Not away from the fire, but into it. He didn't burn. He just dissolved. He became a cloud of silver sparks that rose into the summer sky, joining the smoke from the burning gate.

I fell to my knees. I was alone in the ravine. The gate was a pile of slag. The Shiver-men were gone. The forest felt like... just a forest. The trees were just trees. The shadows were just shadows.

I stayed there until the sun came up. The light was golden and warm. It didn't feel like a trap anymore. It felt like morning. I looked at my hands. They were covered in soot and grease. I looked at the spot where the gate had been. There was nothing left but a scorched patch of earth.

I stood up and started the long walk back to camp. I didn't know what I would find there. I didn't know if Pete would remember me, or if the other kids would still have those glassy eyes. But I knew one thing.

I wouldn't forget.

I reached the maintenance area just as the first breakfast bell rang. The sound was clear and sharp in the morning air. I saw Counselor Pete standing on the porch of the mess hall. He was wearing his 'World's Best Counselor' t-shirt. He looked at me as I walked up the path.

"Toby!" he called out. His voice was normal. It wasn't that creepy, programmed cheer. It was just a guy's voice. "Where have you been, man? You look like you fell into a coal mine."

I stopped in front of him. I looked him in the eye. "I was in the woods."

Pete frowned. "The woods? You shouldn't be out there alone at night. It’s easy to get lost. Say, have you seen the groundskeeper? Marvin? I haven't seen him all morning."

My heart did a slow, heavy roll. "Marvin?"

"Yeah," Pete said. "He’s a bit of a weirdo, but he’s been here forever. I need him to fix the pump in the pool."

I looked past Pete, toward the cabins. I saw a kid coming out of Bunk Four. He was wearing a red hoodie. He had glasses. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept well, but he was there.

"Leo?" I whispered.

The kid looked up. "Hey, Toby. You okay? You look wrecked."

I started to laugh. It was a shaky, hysterical sound. I sat down on the steps of the mess hall and put my head in my hands. The world was back. The memory was back. The price had been paid.

"Toby?" Leo asked, walking over. "You good?"

I looked up at him. I reached out and touched his arm. He was solid. He was warm. He was real.

"Yeah," I said. "I’m good. I’m just... I’m really hungry."

We went into the mess hall together. The smell of bacon and coffee was the best thing I’d ever smelled. I sat at our table, and for the first time since I’d arrived at Camp Blackwood, my foot was still. My jaw was relaxed. I felt like I could finally breathe.

But as I reached for a glass of orange juice, I saw something on the table.

It was a small, leather-bound book.

It was charred around the edges, the leather cracked and blackened. It looked like it had been through a war. I reached out and touched the cover. It was cold.

I opened it. The pages were blank. Every single one of them. The names were gone. The debt was erased.

But on the very last page, in a handwriting I didn't recognize, were four words.

DON'T LOOK OUT WINDOWS.

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. I looked up. Pete was watching me from across the room. He wasn't smiling. He was just staring. And behind him, through the large mesh-screen windows that looked out toward the woods, I saw a movement.

It wasn't a Shiver-man.

It was something else. Something larger. Something that had been waiting for the gate to close so it could finally be on this side.

I looked back at the book. The words were starting to fade, the ink disappearing into the paper until the page was as white as a bone.

I looked at Leo. He was eating his eggs, oblivious. I looked at the window again.

There was a hand pressed against the screen. A large, human-looking hand. But the fingers were too long. And they had too many knuckles.

I gripped the edge of the table. The snap point wasn't over. It was just beginning.

The Phosphorus Clearing

The heat of the morning was already beginning to shimmer over the gravel paths of Camp Blackwood. I sat in the mess hall, the sounds of clattering trays and teenage chatter felt like a dull roar in my ears. Leo was talking about the archery schedule, his voice a steady drone that I could barely process. My eyes were fixed on that window. The hand was gone, but the impression remained in my mind like a burn. I could still see the way the mesh had bowed under the weight of those too-long fingers.

"Toby? You're doing it again," Leo said. He poked me with his fork. "The thousand-yard stare. You look like my grandpa after he watches the news."

I blinked, forcing my gaze away from the screen. "Sorry. Just didn't sleep well. The humidity, I guess."

"Tell me about it. Bunk Four is like a sauna," Leo agreed. He seemed perfectly normal. There was no sign of the terror I’d seen in his eyes—or rather, the terror I’d felt when he’d disappeared. It was as if the fire had reset the world, but the reset was glitchy. The ledger was on the table between us, a silent, charred witness. Leo didn't seem to notice it. His eyes slid right over the blackened leather as if it were invisible.

I reached out and pulled the book into my lap. It felt strangely light now, as if the weight of all those names had been the only thing giving it mass. I needed to get out of here. I needed to find where Marvin went—if he went anywhere. The silver sparks hadn't felt like death; they’d felt like a dispersal.

"I'm gonna head to the lake," I said, standing up so fast my chair screeched against the floor. A few kids at the next table looked over. I saw Pete among them. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that was entirely too neutral.

"The lake? Archery starts in ten," Leo said, frowning.

"I'll catch up," I lied.

I walked out of the mess hall, my heart hammering. I didn't go to the lake. I went back toward the maintenance area. I needed to see the shed. I needed to see if any of it was real. The sun was punishingly bright, the kind of summer light that makes everything look flat and overexposed. I felt exposed. Like I was a bug under a magnifying glass.

When I reached the tool shed, I stopped. The door was hanging off its hinges, just as it had been when the Shiver-man broke in. But the wood wasn't charred. There was no smell of gasoline. I stepped inside. The jerrycans were lined up on the shelf, full and dusty. The matches were in the box on the workbench. Everything was exactly as it had been before I’d met Marvin.

My stomach turned over. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. If the shed was fine, was the gate fine? Was Marvin just a hallucination brought on by heatstroke and anxiety? I looked down at the ledger in my hand. The charred edges were real. The smell of smoke on the leather was real.

I turned and ran toward the ravine.

The path was overgrown, more so than it had been last night. The mountain laurel was thick, the leaves waxy and sharp. I pushed through them, the branches scratching my arms. I didn't care. I needed to know. I reached the edge of the hollow and looked down.

The gate was gone.

There was no pile of slag. There was no scorched earth. There was just a clearing filled with vibrant, green ferns and a massive white pine that looked centuries old. The air wasn't cold. It was warm and smelled of sweet resin. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot.

I scrambled down the slope, my boots kicking up dust. I stood in the center of the clearing, right where the gate had been. I looked for any sign of the fire. Nothing. I looked for the shovel Marvin had used. Nothing.

"Marvin?" I called out. My voice was small in the vast silence of the woods.

No one answered. A blue jay screamed in the distance, a sharp, ugly sound that made me jump. I felt a profound sense of loss. Marvin had spent ten years—maybe more—guarding this place. He had sacrificed his life, his memory, to close that gate. And now, it was like he’d never existed. The camp had moved on. The world had moved on.

I sat down at the base of the white pine. My jaw was tight again. I started tapping my foot against a exposed root. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I looked at the ledger. If the gate was gone and the names were gone, why was the book still here? Why was I the only one who could see it?

I flipped through the blank pages. They were cream-colored, slightly rough to the touch. I got to the last page. The words were gone. The warning was gone.

Then, as I watched, a drop of liquid fell onto the paper. It wasn't water. It was blue. A bright, electric blue that pulsed with a low light.

I looked up.

The branches of the white pine were dripping. Not with sap, but with the phosphorus. It was leaking from the bark in thick, slow beads. And as I watched, the blue smears began to form on the trunk. They were forming a shape.

A circle. With three lines radiating from the center.

The mark.

I scrambled backward, my heart racing. The forest wasn't reset. It was adapting. The gate hadn't been the only way in. It was just the one Marvin knew about.

"Toby?"

I spun around. Counselor Pete was standing at the top of the ravine. He wasn't wearing his counselor shirt anymore. He was wearing a heavy canvas jacket, despite the heat. He was holding a shovel.

"Pete," I breathed. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer. He started walking down the slope. His movements were slow, deliberate. He didn't look like the cheerful guy from the bonfire. He looked weary. He looked fifty instead of thirty.

"The woods need a keeper, Toby," Pete said. His voice was a low rasp. It sounded exactly like Marvin’s. "They always need a keeper. Someone to watch the boundaries. Someone to make sure the campers don't wander too far."

"Where's Marvin?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Who?" Pete asked. He reached the bottom of the ravine and stood in front of me. He looked at the mark forming on the tree. He looked at the ledger in my hand. "That’s a nice book you have there. It looks like it’s been through a lot."

He reached out his hand. Not to take the book, but to touch my face. I flinched away.

"You're the one who remembers, aren't you?" Pete whispered. "That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you didn't go back with the others."

"What others?"

"The ones who forget. The ones who make the camp possible." Pete looked up at the sky. The sun was directly overhead. High noon. The solstice. "But you... you have the ledger. You have the record. That means you're the one who has to decide."

"Decide what?"

"If the camp stays open," Pete said. He looked back at me, and his eyes were full of a desperate, pleading light. It was the same look Marvin had given me in the shed. "If we stop the forgetting, the forest takes everything. Not just the kids. It takes the history. It takes the town. It takes the memories of everyone who ever lived in this valley."

I looked at the ledger. I looked at the blue mark on the tree. The shivering sound was starting again. Low. Distant. But it was coming.

"Is that what happened to Marvin?" I asked. "He chose to remember?"

"He chose to stay," Pete said. "He thought he could close the gate. He thought he could win. But the forest doesn't lose, Toby. It just changes the rules."

I felt the snap point again. The heat, the humidity, the impossible weight of the choice. My jaw was so tight it felt like it would shatter. I looked at the ledger. I looked at the blank pages.

I realized then that the pages weren't blank because the names were gone. They were blank because they were waiting for new ones.

I looked at Pete. "You're the groundskeeper now."

"I've always been the groundskeeper," Pete said. He looked confused for a second, his eyes glazing over. Then he shook his head. "No. I'm the counselor. I'm Pete. I lead the songs."

He was losing it. The forest was rewriting him right in front of me.

I grabbed the shovel from his hand. He didn't resist. He just stood there, staring at the tree.

"Go back to the camp, Pete," I said. "Go lead the songs."

He nodded slowly. "The songs. Right. Friendship. S'mores."

He turned and started walking back up the slope. He moved like a zombie. A programmed shell.

I stood in the clearing, the shovel in one hand, the ledger in the other. The phosphorus was dripping faster now. The blue light was becoming blinding. The shivering was getting louder.

I knew what I had to do.

I sat down at the base of the tree. I opened the ledger to the first blank page. I pulled a pen from my pocket.

I wrote a name.

Marvin.

Then I wrote another.

Toby.

If the forest wanted a record, I would give it one. But I wouldn't be its keeper. I would be its witness.

I looked up. The Shiver-men were emerging from the ferns. They weren't attacking. They were just watching. They looked curious.

I stood up and faced them.

"Come on then," I whispered. "Let's see what else you've got."

The Final Erasure

The Shiver-men didn't move. They just stood there, their grey, papery bodies vibrating in the heat. It was a standoff. I had the book, and they had the woods. The blue light from the tree was so bright it felt like it was burning my retinas. I could feel the hum of it in my teeth. It was a physical weight, pushing down on my shoulders, trying to make me kneel.

I didn't kneel. I gripped the shovel until my knuckles were white.

"You want the book?" I yelled. My voice echoed through the ravine, sounding strange and hollow. "Come and get it!"

One of the entities stepped forward. It was smaller than the others, its limbs a little more proportional. It reached out a hand. It wasn't a claw; it was a hand. A human hand.

I froze. My heart stopped.

"Marvin?" I whispered.

The entity didn't answer. It just stood there, its faceless head tilted to the side. It was vibrating, but the sound was different. It wasn't a hiss. It was a soft, rhythmic clicking.

I looked at the hand. On the palm, there was a scar. A small, jagged line from a childhood accident with a pocketknife. Marvin had told me about it while we were in the shed.

"It is you," I said. My eyes filled with tears. "You didn't dissolve. They took you."

The entity—the Marvin-thing—clicked again. It reached for the ledger.

I backed away. "No. I'm not giving it back. I'm not letting them forget you again."

The other Shiver-men began to move then. They didn't lunge; they just closed the circle. They were a wall of grey, vibrating static. The air was getting colder again. My breath was white in the midday sun. It was a violation of the laws of nature. It was the forest asserting its dominance.

I looked at the ledger. I looked at the names I’d just written. They were glowing. The ink was turning the same electric blue as the phosphorus. The book was becoming part of the forest. It was happening again. The exchange.

I realized then that Marvin hadn't failed. He had just been the previous version of me. And Pete would be the next. It was a cycle. A loop of memory and erasure that had been going on for decades, maybe centuries. The camp was just the current skin the forest was wearing.

I looked at the Marvin-thing. It was so close I could smell it. It didn't smell like rot. It smelled like cedar and fresh dirt. It smelled like the woods after a rain. It was beautiful, in a horrifying way.

I felt the snap point. The final one. The one where you realize there is no way out. There is only through.

I didn't throw the book. I didn't burn it.

I hugged it to my chest.

"I remember," I whispered. "I remember all of you."

The shivering sound reached a crescendo. It was a roar now, a wall of sound that felt like it was tearing my molecules apart. The blue light exploded. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I could only feel the cold, damp hands of the forest reaching for me.

I felt myself being pulled. Not down, but in. Like I was being folded into the pages of the book.

I didn't fight it. I let go of the shovel. I let go of the ravine. I let go of the summer.

I was a name in a book.

I was a memory in the dark.

I was the keeper of the gate.

When I opened my eyes, the sun was setting. The sky was a brilliant, mocking orange. I was sitting on a milk crate behind the industrial kitchen. I had a cigarette in my hand. It smelled like cloves.

I looked at my hands. They were old. The skin was cracked and stained with mulch. I had a heavy iron shovel leaning against the dumpster next to me.

I felt a tight ache in my jaw. My foot started tapping against the gravel. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. It was charred around the edges. I flipped it open.

The pages were full of names. Hundreds of them. Written in different inks, different handwritings.

I looked at the last entry.

Toby.

I heard the sound of a bus pulling up in the gravel lot. I heard the voices of teenagers, loud and full of a life they didn't know was temporary.

I stood up. My knees popped. I felt a profound, weary sadness that made me feel fifty instead of... whatever age I was supposed to be.

I walked toward the gate. The rusted chain-link fence with the faded yellow tape.

I saw a kid get off the bus. He was wearing a linen vest and glasses. He looked like a coastal grandmother’s gardener. He looked terrified.

He saw the frisbee. The neon orange disc that had sailed over the fence.

"I’ll get it," the kid said. His voice was thin, like paper.

I watched him duck under the tape. I watched him walk into the restricted area.

I gripped the handle of my shovel. My knuckles were white.

"You shouldn't be here," I said as he approached.

The kid stopped. He looked at me with wide, anxious eyes. He started tapping his foot against a root.

I looked at his neck. It was clean. No mark. Not yet.

I looked at the woods behind him. The shadows were moving. The shivering was starting.

I felt a tear trail down my cheek, leaving a clean track through the soot.

"Just getting the disc," the kid said.

I looked at him, and for a second, I remembered a name. A name that wasn't mine.

Leo.

No. That wasn't right.

Marvin.

No.

I shook my head. The memory was slipping away, like water through a sieve.

I looked at the kid. He was just another camper. Another soul for the summer.

"The woods don't like visitors," I whispered.

I leaned in, and I could see the fine tremor in his hands. He was at the snap point. He was ready.

I looked at the ledger in my pocket. I knew what I had to do. I had to keep the gate. I had to make sure no one forgot.

But as the kid reached for the frisbee, I saw something else.

Behind him, standing in the shadows of the mess hall, was a man in a 'World's Best Counselor' t-shirt.

He wasn't smiling. He was holding a red jerrycan.

And he was looking directly at me.