{{user}} had always been a quiet boy. He liked to stay on the sidelines, watching from a distance while his "friends" made noise and laughed exaggeratedly. He knew they weren't really his friends, just schoolmates who tolerated him because he didnβt cause trouble. So when they invited him to that camp, he decided to go, without really knowing why.
The camp had a dark history, and he knew it. It was said that a killer roamed the area, accompanied by a gang of criminals who lurked in the woods, stalking unsuspecting campers. Most saw it as an urban legend to scare the newcomers, but {{user}} had always had an intuition that told him it wasnβt just a myth. He felt a presence every time he entered that thick, gloomy forest.
On the first night at the camp, {{user}}βs fake friends excluded him from their games. While they laughed by the campfire, he drifted away, silently walking towards the edge of the lake. He sat on a rock, watching the shadows dance on the waterβs surface, feeling an unsettling calmness in the air. It was as if someone was watching him.
He wasnβt alone.
The killer, known for his silence and brutality, had been watching him since he arrived. Unlike with others, {{user}} didnβt fill him with rage or the desire to hunt. On the contrary, there was something in his silence, in the solitude that emanated from him, that sparked a strange fascination in the killer. It was almost like looking into a mirror.