I hate forests.
They pretend to be peaceful—calm, maybe—but they're not. They're just crowded in ways cities could never be. Too many insects. Too many things that crawl, bite, or worse—fly. And no internet. Which—frankly—should be considered a crime of the first degree, or whatever tops that in the modern age.
And did I mention the bugs?
So of course, it was no surprise I found myself cramped in the back of an SUV that smelled faintly of old leather and gasoline, driving straight through what I considered my biggest inconvenience in nature. Some Elvis Presley song I'd never heard leaked out of the speakers, like the car itself was stuck in a different decade. Not that I'd ever be caught dead listening to Elvis on a normal day.
Trees flanked both sides of the road—tall, unbroken. Their branches knitted together overhead. No billboards. No streetlights. Just green. Endless, suffocating green.
We'd been on the road for fourteen hours. Fourteen. I knew that because I'd been counting since the moment my signal died.
Hour two.
That's when it happened.
One second I was mid-match—finally winning for once—and the next, nothing. No lag. No warning. Just gone. I kept checking out of habit, refreshing like it might come back if I stared hard enough.
It didn't.
Margaret didn't seem bothered. She was hunched over her phone, earbuds in, replaying the same section of some ridiculously long YouTube video. Something about quantum physics. She muttered words under her breath, pausing, rewinding, nodding like it made sense to her little mind.
It didn't. She just liked pretending it did.
Martha, on the other hand, had somehow achieved sleep. Real sleep. Curled against the door, jacket bunched under her neck, breathing slow and even. I didn't understand how she managed it. Eldest-child magic, probably—the kind that lets you check out because you're convinced everything will sort itself out eventually.
Aunt Serene drove.
Both hands on the wheel. Eyes forward. Humming along to Elvis like this was the most natural place in the world to be. No GPS mounted on the dashboard. No phone in sight. Just that faint, annoying smile she got when she knew something you didn't and had no intention of explaining it.
I decided she was enjoying this.
My misery, I mean.
The forest didn't change. That was the weird part. Mile after mile, it stayed the same—same trees, same bends in the road, same shadows stretching just a little too far across the asphalt.
I checked my phone again.
Nothing.
Not even No Service.
"We're close," Aunt Serene said casually.
She'd said that three hours back. I wasn't convinced then and still am not now.
I leaned against the window, watching the trees slide past, my frown reflected faintly in the glass.
I really hated forests.
=========
The road narrowed without warning.
Not sharply—just enough that I noticed. The trees leaned inward, their branches curving overhead until they formed a sort of arch, like someone had trained them that way on purpose. The air changed too. Thicker. Warmer. It pressed against my skin the second we passed beneath it.
I frowned.
For half a second—half—it felt like driving through something soft. Not solid. Not liquid. Just… resistance. Like pushing your hand through gelatin and pretending you didn't.
My stomach dipped.
Martha jerked awake. "What was that?"
"I didn't feel anything," I said automatically, even though my hands had clenched around my phone.
Margaret didn't look up. She was still watching her video, lips moving silently, completely absorbed.
The car rolled on like nothing had happened.
Aunt Serene smiled.
Not the small, annoying one. This was brighter. Wider.
"We're here," she said, gesturing toward the windshield.
I leaned forward despite myself.
The road crested a hill, and suddenly the trees fell away.
Below us, tucked neatly into the valley like it had been placed there rather than built, was a town. Old roofs. Sloped streets. Smoke curling lazily from chimneys. A river cut cleanly through the center, reflecting the sky like glass. Farther out, a waterfall spilled down the mountainside—large, slow, almost unreal.
At the edge of the overlook stood a massive wooden sign, weathered but proud.
WELCOME TO MYSTIC FALLS.
I read it out loud before I realized I was doing it.
Martha gasped. "Oh my God. It's beautiful."
Of course she'd say that. She leaned closer to the window, eyes shining, already in love. Nature people always were. Give them trees and silence and they forgot the rest of the world existed.
"You'll love it here," Aunt Serene said. "You especially, Bobby."
She turned to me with a smile that should've been comforting—if not for her hands.
They tightened around the steering wheel. Not enough to make a sound. But I saw it. Her knuckles went pale. Her lips moved too, barely.
A prayer, maybe.
I snorted and leaned back. This whole thing was ridiculous. The drive. The forest. The dramatic pause, like we'd crossed into another dimension.
My summer was already shaping up to be hell.
I stared out at the town and silently hoped it couldn't get worse.
=========
The next thing I knew, I was standing at the base of a massive house that looked less like a home and more like something you inherited by accident.
Two kids stood near the front steps.
Not related to us. Not guests either.
Foster kids probably. Aunt Serene had told us about them.
I took it all in—the size of the place, the unfamiliar faces, the way the air felt heavier here—and sighed.
Long. Deep.
It already got worse.