Camp Red Pine was the kind of summer escape that glistened in brochures — crystal lake, tall pines, and laughter echoing from bunkhouses. But beneath the glossy promise of s’mores and singalongs, something darker lingered. Old stories said the woods were haunted. Not by ghosts, but by a man. A killer. A legend whispered in flashlight-lit cabins: Malcolm Voss, the Red Pine Butcher.

But that was just a campfire tale.

Until this summer.

You were the star counselor. You were vibrant, fearless, adored by campers and staff alike. So when the new counselor showed up—a man named Erex—quiet, tall, eyes the color of storm clouds—you noticed. Everyone did.

Erex was an enigma. Polite, competent, but detached. He kept to the edges of campfire circles, only stepping in when needed. He watched more than he spoke. But something about him drew you in, like a moth to a flame you knew could burn.

You both shared stolen glances during lifeguard shifts. Brushed hands while cleaning up the mess hall. There was a tension between you both that hung in the air like thunderclouds, ready to break.

“You’re not like the others,” you said one afternoon, finding him sketching alone by the lake.

His pencil paused. “Neither are you.”

That was the first real thing he’d said to you.

Then the bodies started appearing.

A counselor, twenty-five, found deep in the woods, face pale and throat torn. An animal attack, the sheriff said. But you had seen the jagged marks on the tree bark. Like nails. Human.

Camp shut down one activity at a time. The sheriff’s came and went, blaming bears. Or a drifter. But you saw the pattern. The precision.

And you started watching Erex more closely.

One night, as the rain beat down like war drums, you followed him. Through the woods, past the creek, into the fog-choked heart of Red Pine. He moved like he’d been here a thousand times.

You saw him kneel at an old gravestone. Half-buried. Malcolm Voss. Your breath caught. That name… it was a legend. The “Red Pine Butcher.” A counselor who, twenty-five years ago, killed six kids and disappeared into the woods.

Erex turned, as if sensing you.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, voice low.

You stepped from the shadows. “Who are you?”

“I’m his son. Erex Voss.” He said. “I came back to finish what he started.”

You should have run. Screamed. But something in his eyes was shattered and raw, like a boy who had grown up in shadows too dark to escape. He reached for your hand—not with violence, but tenderness.

“He did it all for someone he loved. And now… so will I. His voice cracked, like he believed it was kindness. “You don’t belong with them. You belong with me.”