An aspiring eighteen-year-old author realizes she is a character in an unwritten horror novel and must use her storytelling knowledge to survive.
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Eighteen-year-old romance writer, I...
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The only sounds in the forest were those of the wind, making the branches of spruce trees creak and crack. I refused to look at the camera display screen any longer. As each second ticked on, the more the swaying bodies made my skin crawl. It wasn't easy to function with swinging phantom figures occupying the surrounding forests.
Zeke pointed. "We're close to that ranger station." Excitement lit up his face. Even his lips curled slightly in the corners. "Let's go get some help asap."
"Okay," I agreed, trying to focus on anything other than the unseen entities of the forest. "But what about Felicity's dad's car? Shouldn't we use it?"
"Good idea." Zeke nodded. "The keys are in one of my packs I left by the camp. Let's get the car, then drive to the station. This way we could get back to Felicity and Atem faster. And try to get the hell out of here."
"Why didn't you guys just drive the car to our campsite and park it here?" I scratched my temple. "I mean, you walked all the way over there for your tent and stuff and then walked back instead of driving."
"Oh." He swiped the air dismissively. "Felicity didn't want to. She thought she might need to ditch us and go to the other camp if it got too boring or something. I think she was setting up an excuse ahead of time."
"Really?" I didn't understand her unwillingness to get along, but trying to figure that out was more welcoming than thinking of the horror that awaited us in the forest. "Does she have a problem with me or something? Is it Atem? Both of us? I don't get it."
He only shrugged, and I followed as he headed toward the second campsite. Before we got too far, the fire in our camp seemed to burn just as brightly as it had when we first started it. Odd how the wood hadn't burned to coals as it should have. "It's been hours, and that fire is still going strong."
"Yeah, I noticed that too." Zeke continued toward the camp, not even slowing down to look back at the flames. I had to jog to keep up with him, but we made it to the camp within minutes with the help of our phone lights. Much less than the ten minutes it would have taken with a leisurely stroll.
I aimed the flashlight as he dug through his pack. "This has something to do with the notebook. I know it. I just can't put my finger on it."
"Does it matter?" He didn't even look up, keeping his eyes fixed on the contents of the large bag.
"It matters if it helps us get out of here," I added. "The one and only thing I'm worried about is the unpredictability. No author wants to be predictable. I mean, there's certain things readers expect, like tropes."
"Okay?" Zeke overturned the pack, emptying the contents onto the ground, and plucked through the clothes, gadgets, and items.
"In romance, the heroine and the hero come together, then something pulls them apart, but they always come back together by the end for their happily ever after. That's expected, right?" I waited for him to answer.
