The engine rattled as the van pulled off the gravel road and onto the dirt. Trees swallowed the path ahead—thick pine and crooked birch twisting into each other like bones under skin. Fog clung to the trunks. Low. Silent. Too early for morning mist.
"We're really doing this?" Jess asked from the back seat, clutching her jacket tighter. "I thought this place was, like, closed?"
"Nah," said Danny from behind the wheel, chewing sunflower seeds like it calmed him. "This is the only one still open. State park system shut the others down 'cause of wildfire risk. This one's clear."
"Probably 'cause it's cursed," muttered Maya, watching the treeline.
The others laughed, but not too hard. The fog had that effect.
There were six of them crammed into the old forest service van. Jess, Maya, Danny, Tyler, Lanie, and Rob. College kids, mostly. A long weekend and nowhere else to go. Tyler brought rifles. Said the forest had bears. Lanie said that made them more badass.
The ranger station at the entrance had been empty. A hand-scrawled sign on the door read:
"Enter at your own risk.
Wildlife active. Fog advisory in effect."
Below it, someone had scratched a symbol into the wood: a crude mouth with jagged teeth, gaping wide.
By the time they reached the clearing, the fog was thicker, hugging the earth like a low tide. Tyler set up the tents. Lanie opened the cooler. Jess took photos with her phone — but each one came out…off. Blurry. Shapes in the background that hadn't been there a second ago.
"Hey," Rob said, standing near the edge of the trees. "You guys see that?"
Everyone turned. There, just beyond the first ring of trees, something moved. Not an animal. Not a person.
Something tall. Antlers. And standing still.
It didn't move when they looked.
"Probably a deer," Danny muttered.
But it hadn't been a deer.
That night, the wind didn't move. The fire barely crackled. The fog never lifted.
And Jess woke to the sound of whispering outside the tent.
Not voices. Not quite.
More like chewing. Wet, slow chewing.
She crawled out with a flashlight, heart pounding. The beam of light cut through the mist. Trees. Branches. Then—
A figure.
Not five feet from her. Standing still.
Its arms were too long. Its chest too thin. And its mouth…
Its mouth was still moving.
Behind it, farther into the woods, stood five other figures. Human silhouettes. Cloaked in rags. Watching.
One of them whispered, louder than the rest:
"The Children of Gluttony welcome you."