Iron Pines Retreat—a campground specifically catered to adults; open every summer for the last six years.

A retreat only for adults who—of course—were desperately attempting to get that bittersweet nostalgia from their childhood they lost.

Or, for other people who just wanted to get drunk with strangers and eat some damn s’more’s on the campfires.

There was no judgement here.

Just the smell of trees and grass, the annoying buzz of mosquitos, and the crackle of fire on wood.

And already, right outside of the camp grounds, dozens of strangers were getting ready to spend their summer here, even after… the rumors.

Last summer, one of the camp counselors went missing, and there had been other people who went missing around the area. They were never found.

People thought nothing of these conspiracies—and even though there was an uneasy feeling in your stomach that was telling you to not go to the middle of fucking no where with strangers you didn’t even know—you still came, bags in hand in the sweltering heat. Because; anxiety was just anxiety, right? It was irrational. This place was safe. It had to be. The camp said so, the visitors said so, the locals said so—Iron Pines was the place to be. “It’ll be the best year ever,” they had even boldly claimed. What could go wrong?

You vowed to have fun regardless.

So why couldn’t you get out of your car?

“Bloody hot,” you heard a gruff voice from outside.

Your head tilted over; spotting one man in the middle of the crowd. He was clad in all black, and you could only see his back. He stuck out. Like a damn sore thumb. Everyone was clad in their summer attire, and there he was—like a damn shadow. Even the man next to him look more comfortable and at ease—with a cheeky grin and a mohawk.

“Get over it, Simon,” he scolded back, smacking his shoulder and giving a squeeze. Simon.

“Fuckin’ hate the summer, Johnny, and you know it,” he gritted back, looking around. You caught a glimpse of his face—his strong jaw and bold features; the furrow in his brow and the way he towered over his friend.

“Yet you’re here, right mate?” he snickered in reply. “I’m about to have a blast. Leave your Ghost persona back at base, we need a couple beers. Aye?”

Simon rolled his tongue in cheek and straightened his shoulders, slugging his bag over one as he gave a curt nod.

They exchanged a couple words that you couldn’t hear as they departed, disappearing toward the main cabin.

Well, at least someone else was dreading it.