The Unexpected Encounter

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The road stretched endlessly ahead, the headlights carving a narrow tunnel through the night. My hands rested firmly on the steering wheel, my thumbs tapping absentmindedly to the soft hum of the radio. The world outside was quiet — too quiet — with only the occasional flicker of trees rushing past. I hadn’t seen another car for miles.

This was supposed to be good for us. A weekend away from everything — the noise, the routines, the lingering weight of Sarah’s absence. She wasn’t gone, of course. Just away for the weekend, out with friends, laughing, unwinding. She deserved that. I told her to go, to enjoy herself. I could handle things. A camping trip with the kids sounded perfect. Fresh air, s’mores, a crackling fire under the stars. Yeah. We needed this.

Emily was excited, bouncing in her seat even before we left the driveway, her tiny legs swinging. Ryan… well, Ryan didn’t complain. That was something. He missed his mom, even if he wouldn’t say it. I felt it in the way he stared out the window, quiet and distant. Maybe this trip would bring us together again — a chance to feel like a family.

The clock on the dash glowed 9:42 PM. The highway had long since faded into winding backroads, the kind where the trees leaned in too close, branches clawing at the edges of the light. The stars barely peeked through the dense canopy above.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Emily’s head bobbing as she fought off sleep. Ryan sat on the opposite side, his hoodie pulled up, eyes lost somewhere in the dark woods outside.

Yeah. This was going to be good. We just needed to get there.

“Alright, who’s ready for an adventure?” I said, forcing my voice to sound lighter than I felt.

Emily stirred, mumbling something too soft to hear. Ryan didn’t answer. He hadn’t said much the whole trip.

I sighed, shifting in my seat — and that’s when I saw it.

A flicker of light appeared between the trees, too bright, too steady to be a firefly. It hovered, unnaturally still, just beyond the treeline.

I blinked, narrowing my eyes. A lantern? Headlights from another car? No… we were in the middle of nowhere. No houses for miles.

The light moved. Not flickering, not swaying — but gliding smoothly alongside the car, keeping pace.

My stomach tightened. My fingers curled tighter around the wheel. It wasn’t a light. Not really.

It stretched, curving into something thin and sharp — something that looked like teeth.

A smile.

And it was watching us.

I kept my eyes on the road, trying to shake off that feeling in my gut. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t right. But I couldn’t dwell on it. We had made it this far, and the kids needed this trip. It was a fresh start for all of us, even if it was just for the weekend.

Eventually, the winding road opened up to a wider stretch of land, and I could see the wooden sign up ahead.

"Cedarwood Forest Campground" it read, the letters weathered but still visible. A familiar relief washed over me. We’d made it.