sleep, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t seen Jimmy Foster’s throat cut. He had told the police what he had seen, but they hadn’t taken him seriously. His mother and father told him time and again that he had been so frightened he had seen something that wasn’t really there. Regardless, that was the last he ever heard about it and, over the years, he had never dug any deeper into what had happened to Jimmy.
But Evan obviously had.
His memories of summer camp seemed to be a lot sharper than Jeff’s. Why else would he have taken the time to track down everyone from Tent 12?
Jeff felt bad about Ralph Curran, dying the way he had. It would have been great to see him again, too, to find out what kind of adult he had become. But all in all, it was … maybe not great, but certainly interesting to see how his childhood friends had turned out. He had to leave it at that and try to forget about the horrible thing he had witnessed.
But as he stared at the sandy beach and the churning, dark water beyond, Jeff was filled with an indescribable sadness. He couldn’t help but feel how tragic it was that Jimmy never had a chance to grow up, never got to live his life … never even got laid.
And no matter how hard he tried, Jeff just couldn’t help but feel as though there were still unresolved issues about his friend’s death. He wished he could push such dour thoughts aside and go back to the dining hall and have a merry old time with his friends, but he told him that feeling sad for Jimmy Foster was just as necessary a part of being back at Camp Tapiola as goofing around with his friends.
“I miss yah, man,” he whispered as he picked up a stone from the beach and threw it out into the lake. He waited to hear the distant plunk and then turned to go back to the dining hall. If nothing else, his friends might be starting to worry about how long it was taking to go to the bathroom.
As he turned to leave, though, off to his left he caught a hint of motion in the darkness.
It wasn’t much.
Just a quick hint of … something darker than the night moving—fast—between him and the dining hall. But it was enough to make Jeff freeze. It was gone in an instant, lost in the deep darkness of the woods, but he was convinced he had seen something.
It looked big enough to be a bear, but Jeff wasn’t sure if bears were nocturnal or not. Skunks and raccoons definitely were. They’d knocked over his trash cans enough times for him to know that. But what he had seen was a lot bigger than any skunk or raccoon.
Jeff resisted the impulse to run as fast as he could back to the dining hall. Suddenly, all of those fears of the dark he’d had when he was a kid came rushing back. He thought again about the ghost stories Mark had told him and the other guys in the tent and how afraid he had been—like Fred—after lights out.
Don’t be fucking ridiculous, he told himself, but that didn’t stop a ripple of goose bumps from running up his arms and neck. His scalp tightened as he cocked his head to one side and listened for a sound—any sound—above the rushing sound of waves and the hiss of wind in the pines overhead.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re acting like a goddamned baby.”
His shoulders hunched and his hands clenched into fists as he started toward the dining hall. The surrounding shadows looked much darker and deeper than before. Every time he shifted his eyes to one side or the other, he was positive he saw more figures, moving silently beside and behind him, tracking him as they slowly closed the distance between him and them.
Jeff fought back the sudden urge to run. It’d be just his luck to slam into a tree or something, and knock himself silly.
“Christ on a cross,” he whispered as his fear steadily mounted.
His feet scuffed the hard-packed ground. The harsh, grating sound set his teeth on edge. Up ahead, the dark bulk of the dining hall—a huge, black rectangle—loomed against the night sky. Faintly, he saw the orange glow of firelight inside the building. When he inhaled, the smell of wood smoke filled his nose, reassuring him that friendship was close