The trail is small and slightly overgrown, barely visible even with all their flashlights on. It’s sketchy as hell and Jaslene wonders why it had to be here that Jake wanted to go cryptid or ghost hunting or doing whatever he wants to do in the forest at night.

“Jake!” Tomàs calls, and when Jake stops and turns to listen, asks, “Why are we here?”

“Back in like, the 30s, this forest was known for murders. Bodies of victims would be dumped here every week or so. If any place is haunted, it’s here. And any place that’s filled with ghosts and supernatural energy has to attract cryptids.”

“We’re going to die here and it’s gonna be your fault,” Deija informs him flatly, sweeping the light of her flashlight around them. The white light looks ghostly, and if it wasn’t from Deija, she would have been spooked.

In all honesty, Jaslene has never believed in ghosts. But being a zombie has really changed her perspective and maybe the forest is filled with hundreds of murder victims, floating around being sad. At least she can’t die if a ghost gets pissed off and tries to kill them.

“Why do you know this.” It’s not a question, more an accusation from Aya.

Jake shrugs. “Did a research project on the history of Clotter, Oregon in Ms. Karlo’s class.”

Tomàs squints. “Wasn’t that fourth grade?”

“The point is that I’ve been curious about this place for a while, and now we get to investigate it!”

Deija sighs and steps past them, following the trail and the others scramble to follow. “You know,” she starts conversationally, “You can’t really make ghost hunting a profession. You can use your reporter skills for better things.”

“Of course I’m not going to do this professionally,” Jake scoffs, “I have plans for the future of journalism. This is more a hobby and retirement plan.”

“Retirement plan?” Aya asks, and though the mask hides it, Jaslene is sure she’s frowning despite the laughter in her voice.

Jake beams. “Yeah! I do this for fun, tell stories about it when I’m old, and when I die, I’ll become a ghost that future ghost hunters will look for!”

“You’re unbelievable.” Tomàs rolls his eyes and bumps his shoulder against Jake’s, who winks back at him in a way that seems to say You know it babe.

They jostle and bump each other as they walk the trail, tripping over roots and sweeping their flashlights over the trees. Jaslene tunes them out, smiling at their jokes, and looks out to the forest. It’s dark and feels quiet despite all the noise in it. There’s a heavy sort of atmosphere cloaking the place that makes her heart race and makes her want to jump out of her own skin. Maybe it’s nothing, just Jake’s quick history lesson lingering in her mind. Maybe it’s something watching them from a distance for reasons no one knows.

The trail splits into three next to a river. Left, right, and over a bridge straight ahead.

“Alright team, let’s split up,” Jake says, grabbing Tomàs’s arm.

“This is a terrible idea,” Aya says, “There are five of us. If we want to go down each trail, someone has to go alone.”

The idea of anyone going alone is terrifying, and Jaslene doesn’t want any of her friends facing mortal peril.

“I’ll go,” she says, “You know I don’t believe in ghosts. Nothing will happen to me. I’ll keep my phone on the whole time, too.” She’s dead. A ghost isn’t going to do much to her. Scare her, maybe, but nothing more than that.

Aya eyes her carefully. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Deija turns off her flashlight and pulls up the group chat. “I’ll text you every fifteen minutes to make sure you’re okay. And if anything happens, tell us and I’ll see it. Be careful, alright?” Her voice is hard, but her eyes are soft with worry and Jaslene smiles at her mother-henning. She nods and offers her pinky to promise, which both Aya and Deija take.

“I’ll go left,” Jake says, “Be ready to get evidence of ghosts!”

They’re gone the next second, walking down the trail with the path illuminated. They didn’t make any plans for a time to meet back up, but that’s just Jake forgetting details again.

Jaslene looks over the remaining two paths. Both are equally dark and unfriendly, but Aya has less a chance of getting lost with Deija, and Jaslene can get lost in a store. So.

“I’ll go right,” she says, then waves them goodbye as she walks alongside the river.

“Good luck!” Aya calls after her, and then they’re gone.

The forest is darker once they’ve all split up, and Jaslene can feel her stomach knotting up with nerves. The farther she walks, the quieter it gets. All around her are identical trees stretching up from the ground in thin, twisting silhouettes that make her feel alone in the woods. The forest was a dumping ground for murderers, leaving their victims to rot until someone found them; that was the 30s, but did it ever stop? Do bodies still get hidden out there until an unlucky someone stumbles upon it?

Could her body be somewhere out here, beaten and bloody and hastily covered in dirt and dead leaves? The thought makes her feel sick.

The trail is short. Jaslene sticks to it until it reaches a lake, large and full of black water. On the shore, there’s a small boat house and a dock. There are no boats. It’s all just rotting wood and she wonders if anyone comes out here at all.

It’s silent. No ghosts pop up, no cryptids follow her and step on branches that would snap under their weight, nothing. Jaslene is completely alone. The moon is bright, now that the trees weren’t blocking the light. She turns off her flashlight and pockets her phone. The shore is made up of small black stones, worn smooth over the years. Distantly, she recalls her father teaching her how to skip stones one summer in Sallapadan, when her cousins went swimming but she was too scared of the deep waters to try.

She reaches down and grabs a handful of smooth stones. Carefully, she runs her fingers over them and drops the ones that wouldn’t skip well. There are only four flat stones left in her hand when she’s done.

Throwing stones has always been therapeutic to her. Even now, in the middle of a probably haunted forest with no one else around, her thoughts quiet down into nothing as she steps to the edge of the water and draws her arm back.

Four skips. She’s out of practice.

Seven. Six. And then eight. Jaslene lets out a breath and crouches to shift through the stones. The feeling of smooth stones against her palms is relaxing. It’s almost as though she didn’t have a breakdown in a park during the middle of the day.

When she straightens up to throw the first stone, she freezes.

Because standing in front of her, water up to his knees, is Matthew Wilson, missing for three months. He’s pale and his lips are blue. His throat has a long red line in it, and his shirt is covered in blood that drips into the lake.

Stones fall from Jaslene’s numb fingers.

Matthew raises a hand.

“Hey.”