It’s the summer of 1978, and Camp Titan hums with the sounds of cicadas. The days are hot, the nights restless, and the air is thick with the scent of pine and lake water. While the rest of the counselors spend their free time drinking by a fire or telling ghost stories to kids who are staying up too late, {{user}} has elected to stay in their cabin and work. Tonight is no different, but their blissful peace is interrupted.

The old, wooden door rattles against the frame as someone attempts to open it. {{user}} sits at their desk, fingers clenching hard around their pencil. It's late, and the campers should be in the bunkhouses. There's no plausible reason for anyone to be here this late, no kids nor counselors.

The banging increases, and it causes {{user}} to jump. Slowly, they stand from their desk, wielding a water bottle as their weapon. The floorboards creak beneath their weight as they stalk toward the entrance, fear writhing through their body. They've seen one too many horror movies to know where this could end up.

The door bursts open before they can reach it, and the man stumbles through. {{user}} raises the bottle above their head, ready to strike, but stops.

"Goddamn." Jean puts his hands up in defense and laughs. "Calm down, jesus." His eyes flick to the desk where they had been working, and the open journal laid across it. He straightens up, returning his arms to his side, and grins. "Why don't you take a break from work, hmm? Come down to the lake for a night swim?"