u/Itchy-Celebration-70

My entire body went numb.

“Mom?”

The face deep inside the Mouth stared up at me through layers of shifting teeth and darkness. She looked older than I remembered from that summer night. Exhausted. Starving.

But alive.

Buck looked between me and the pit in horror. “Jerry… that’s impossible.”

“It lies,” Pastor Florence said immediately, though his voice lacked confidence.

My mother shook her head weakly from deep below.

“No,” she whispered. “He has to know.”

More faces turned upward inside the pit.

Men.

Women.

Children.

All trapped between endless rows of teeth stretching down into the earth.

Some cried.

Some begged.

Others simply stared blankly like they’d forgotten how long they’d been there.

I saw Abby.

The missing counselor’s brother.

And dozens of names from the memorial wall.

The First Mouth wasn’t eating people.

It was keeping them.

My mother’s eyes filled with tears.

“Your father tried to stop them,” she said. “That’s why we never came back for you.”

Florence looked sick.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

Mom ignored him.

“The camp feeds this thing every generation. The pastors protect the secret. They call it salvation.”

Sidney turned toward Florence furiously. “You said you were protecting kids!”

“We ARE!” Florence shouted back, sounding broken. “You think I wanted this?!”

The chamber shook violently again.

The Mouth began opening wider beneath us, teeth grinding together loud enough to shake the walls.

“Hungry,” it growled.

Florence looked at me desperately.

“Jerry… if it fully wakes, it won’t stop at this camp. It’ll spread.”

Buck grabbed my arm tightly. “Don’t listen to him.”

But I already understood the choice.

Feed one kid to the Mouth…

or let the thing beneath Hallowed Grounds wake completely.

Then Sidney suddenly spoke.

“What if it’s never actually been full?”

Everyone looked at her.

She pointed at the trapped people inside the pit.

“It keeps everyone alive down there. That means it’s still hungry afterward.” Her eyes narrowed. “So maybe feeding it isn’t the answer.”

The First Mouth became still.

Listening.

Sidney slowly turned toward Florence.

“You’ve been doing the same ritual forever because you’re too scared to try killing it.”

Florence laughed bitterly. “You cannot kill this thing.”

“Maybe not,” Sidney replied. “But I bet we can bury it.”

The room went silent.

Then Buck caught on immediately.

“The lake.”

Everyone looked at him now.

Buck pointed upward excitedly. “The camp sits right next to the lake!”

Sidney nodded quickly. “If we collapse the tunnels underneath—”

“We drown it,” I finished.

For the first time all night, the First Mouth sounded angry.

The chamber trembled violently.

“NO.”

The walls cracked wider.

The trapped faces below began screaming.

Florence looked torn apart inside. “Even if that worked… the explosion would destroy the chapel.”

Buck grabbed a lantern from the floor. “Then let’s blow this place to Hell.”

One of the counselors suddenly spoke up.

“There’s propane tanks in the maintenance shed beside the kitchen.”

Sidney smiled grimly. “Perfect.”

The Mouth roared.

Not words anymore.

Pure rage.

The claw burst upward again, smashing through more stone. Teeth snapped inches from Florence as he fired the shotgun directly into the pit.

“GO!” he screamed at us. “NOW!”

We ran.

The prayer room erupted behind us as more claws tore free from the well. The remaining counselors stayed behind with Florence, firing rifles and shouting prayers while we sprinted through the basement tunnels.

The entire camp shook around us.

Dust filled the air.

Somewhere above, Skinwalkers shrieked through the woods in panic as the thing beneath the camp fully woke up.

We burst upstairs into the ruined chapel.

Moonlight poured through shattered stained-glass windows. Blood covered the pews. Bodies lay everywhere.

And outside—

the forest was moving.

Dozens of pale figures ran between the trees surrounding the lake, fleeing from the chapel instead of attacking it.

Something far worse had become the predator now.

Buck grabbed my shoulder. “Maintenance shed!”

We sprinted through the camp while the ground trembled beneath us.

Behind us, the chapel bell began ringing wildly on its own.

Not three chimes anymore.

Continuous.

Desperate.

Like a warning.

more 

We ran across the camp as the bell screamed overhead.

The entire ground shook beneath our feet now. Cabins tilted sideways. Tree branches snapped in the woods around the lake. Somewhere behind us, part of the chapel roof collapsed with a thunderous crash.

And underneath all of it—

we could hear the First Mouth climbing upward.

Not walking.

Climbing.

Like something enormous dragging itself through tunnels beneath the earth.

Buck nearly slipped in the mud. “WHY IS THIS PLACE SO BIG?!”

“Because evil people love retreats!” Sidney shouted back.

Even terrified, I almost laughed.

We rounded the dining hall and spotted the maintenance shed near the edge of camp. Two massive propane tanks sat beside it chained to the wall.

Buck grabbed one immediately. “Help me!”

The tank barely budged.

Before we could move it farther, a shape dropped from the roof above us.

One of the Skinwalkers.

It landed hard in front of the shed on all fours, twitching violently. Its body shifted constantly between forms—human arms stretching into deer legs, antlers tearing through flesh before sinking back inside.

But it wasn’t attacking.

It looked terrified.

Its white eyes locked onto the chapel behind us.

Then it spoke in dozens of overlapping voices.

“Too late.”

A massive roar exploded from beneath the camp.

The ground split open near the chapel steps.

And something began rising out of it.

At first, I thought it was a hill lifting from the earth.

Then it moved.

The First Mouth emerged slowly from below the chapel like a nightmare being born. Its body didn’t have a real shape. It was layers upon layers of flesh, eyes, teeth, and grasping limbs all twisting together endlessly.

And mouths.

Thousands of mouths.

Human mouths opening and closing across its skin whispering prayers, screams, and names all at once.

The Skinwalker in front of us whimpered like a scared dog.

Then one of the mouths on the creature turned toward it.

“COME HOME.”

The Skinwalker screamed.

Its body collapsed inward violently, bones crunching as invisible force dragged it backward across the ground toward the First Mouth. It clawed at the dirt desperately before disappearing into the creature’s mass.

Absorbed instantly.

Buck stared in horror. “It’s eating THEM.”

The First Mouth wasn’t just older than the Skinwalkers.

It made them.

Pastor Florence stumbled from the collapsing chapel carrying a burning lantern in one hand and the shotgun in the other. Blood covered half his face.

“NOW!” he screamed.

The three of us finally managed to shove one propane tank loose from the wall. It rolled heavily through the mud toward the shattered chapel.

The First Mouth turned toward us slowly.

Hundreds of eyes opened across its body.

All staring directly at me.

“Jerry.”

The voice hit inside my skull hard enough to make me stumble.

“You belong below.”

Faces shifted across the creature’s flesh.

My mother appeared again.

Crying.

Then my father.

Then Steve.

Then Peaches.

All trapped inside it.

Buck lit a flare gun with shaking hands. “Jerry!”

The propane tank rolled to a stop near the cracked foundation of the chapel where gas hissed loudly from a broken valve.

Pastor Florence looked at me one last time.

And smiled sadly.

“Tell them we tried.”

Then he charged the First Mouth.

The creature roared as Florence fired the shotgun directly into its mass while shoving the burning lantern forward.

“SHOOT IT!” Sidney screamed.

Buck fired the flare gun.

The flare streaked across the night.

For one impossible second, everything became silent.

Then the world exploded.

The propane tank detonated in a blinding fireball that swallowed the chapel whole. The blast knocked us backward into the mud as flames erupted skyward.

The ground collapsed instantly beneath the church.

Cracks tore across the camp toward the lake.

And then the water came.

The lakeshore burst apart as thousands of gallons of water flooded into the collapsing tunnels beneath Hallowed Grounds. Trees tilted sideways into the earth while cabins cracked apart around us.

The First Mouth screamed.

Not angry anymore.

Afraid.

Its massive body sank slowly into the collapsing ground as water poured over it in violent waves. Hundreds of trapped voices screamed from inside it all at once.

Including my mother’s.

Then the earth swallowed everything.

The chapel.

The tunnels.

Pastor Florence.

The First Mouth.

Gone beneath the lake in seconds.

The bell finally stopped ringing.

Silence settled over camp.

Buck, Sidney, and I lay in the mud gasping while flames reflected across the water where Hallowed Grounds used to stand.

Then, from somewhere deep below the lake—

I heard one last whisper inside my head.

“Still hungry.”

The official report said the destruction of Hallowed Grounds was caused by a propane explosion that triggered a sinkhole beneath the chapel. Most people believed it.

Why wouldn’t they?

The camp was old.

The ground was unstable.

And churches have always been good at burying ugly things.

Buck never talked about that night again after we were rescued. Neither did Sidney. The police questioned us separately for hours, but every time we tried explaining what really happened, the adults looked at us with the same expression.

Pity.

Like we were traumatized kids making up monsters to cope with tragedy.

Pastor Florence’s body was never found.

Neither were the counselors.

Officially, seventeen people died in the collapse.

Unofficially?

A lot more voices screamed from beneath that lake than seventeen.

For years, I convinced myself it was over.

I grew up.

Went to college.

Stopped going to church for a while.

Tried very hard not to think about the things I saw beneath that chapel.

But sometimes, late at night, I would still hear it.

Hungry.

Not with my ears.

Inside my head.

Always distant.

Always underwater.

Then, fifteen years later, Buck called me at 2:13 in the morning.

I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a decade.

The second I answered, I knew something was wrong because Buck—the loudest, funniest guy I knew—was whispering.

“Jerry,” he said shakily, “they drained the lake.”

I sat upright immediately.

“What?”

“There’s a drought up north. The county started clearing out part of the old campgrounds.” His breathing hitched. “They found something.”

Every hair on my body stood up.

Buck continued before I could answer.

“They found the chapel.”

Silence filled the phone.

I stared into the darkness of my apartment, feeling eight years old again.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered.

“No,” Buck replied. “What’s impossible is what they found inside it.”

My mouth went dry.

Buck sounded like he was about to cry.

“The bell is still ringing, Jerry.”

From the other end of the phone, faint and distorted—

I heard it.

Three slow chimes.

Then a voice whispered through the speaker.

A voice I hadn’t heard since that night beneath the chapel.

“Still hungry.”

 

 

 

Hello, my name is Jerry. I’ve been a devout Christian all my life, which means I spent most summers at church camp. Looking back now, there was always something wrong with that place. Not obvious when you’re a kid, of course. Kids ignore things adults would run from. But sometimes I think the camp counted on that.

The place was called Hallowed Grounds.

The first strange thing I remember happened when I was in third grade.

My parents dropped me off the same way they always did. Mom leaned out the driver-side window and smiled while Dad unloaded my duffel bag from the trunk.

“We love you,” Mom said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

I rolled my eyes because I was eight and thought I was way cooler than I actually was. Instead of saying I loved them back, I grabbed my stuff and sprinted toward the camp entrance before they could embarrass me anymore.

That’s when I spotted Buck standing near the registration table.

“Buck!” I yelled. “Did you play Halo 3 yet?”

His eyes lit up instantly. “Yeah! Wish you’d get Xbox Live so we could play together though.”

I shrugged. “Never gonna happen.”

My parents hated online gaming ever since my older cousin Steve made somebody so angry in a match that they somehow found our house and egged it. After that, my parents treated the internet like it was a portal straight to Hell.

“Yeah,” Buck said, grabbing his backpack. “It also sucks we live so far away. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

We carried our bags into the main cabin, and even now I can still picture it perfectly. The building was massive, two stories tall with dark wooden beams and huge stained-glass windows that made the sunlight look red and gold across the floor. The first floor had the dining hall and chapel, while the second floor had games, bunk rooms, and an old rec area with broken arcade machines and a pool table missing half its balls.

But the outside was what everyone loved most.

Behind the cabin sat a huge lake wrapped in thick forest. There were trails everywhere, winding between trees so tall they blocked out the sky in some places. Off to the side were the animal pens: goats, chickens, horses, rabbits, and pigs, the camp let us feed and take care of as part of their “responsibility lessons.”

Buck nudged me with a grin.

“I can’t wait to see the animals. I love the pigs, especially Peaches.”

Everybody loved Peaches.

She was this fat little potbellied pig with muddy pink skin and floppy ears that twitched whenever you scratched her head. The counselors treated her more like a dog than a farm animal. She followed people around, rolled over for belly rubs, and would sometimes wander into the chapel if someone forgot to latch the gate.

We went to the main area to be oriented in the camp, led by the main man himself, Pastor Florence, 6 ft tall with brown hair and a handlebar mustache. He was the coolest guy (other than my dad) that I have ever met. 

“Everyone, settle down!”

We all sit down immediately, all waiting in anticipation for what the plans will be for the day. There couldn’t have been more than 30 of us, but when Florence talks, our asses listened. 

“Important announcement: the animal pens are off limits today since our local vet is visiting today to check on them. We don’t want anyone to bother her.”

We all groaned in unison. The animals were the best part about camp, and I have to wait till tomorrow to see them. A girl stood up from her table. She had red hair and freckles and was honestly super cute.

“This place is a prison!!” 

“Oh, be quiet, Sidney, we have plenty to do around here besides animals.”

She sat back in her chair, clearly upset 

As Buck and I headed toward the pens, I remember hearing the chapel bell ring somewhere behind us.

Three slow chimes.

The woods around the lake suddenly went quiet.

No birds.

No wind.

Nothing.

Buck stopped walking. “Did you hear that?”

I nodded.

At the edge of the tree line, just past the fence behind the pig pen, something moved between the trees.

At first, I thought it was a deer.

Then it stood up.

We froze, we didn’t know what to do 

The thing standing in the trees was tall. Too tall.

Its body looked wrong somehow, like its arms and legs bent in places they shouldn’t. Through the gaps between the trees, I could see pale skin stretched tight over something unnaturally thin. It stood perfectly still, half-hidden in the shadows, staring directly at us.

Buck whispered, “What the hell is that?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Even at eight years old, every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run.

Then Peaches squealed.

The sound exploded from somewhere behind the pig pen, sharp and terrified. The creature’s head snapped toward the noise so fast it looked unnatural, like a bird spotting prey.

And then it dropped back onto all fours.

I still remember the sound it made when it moved.

Not footsteps.

Cracking.

Like tree branches snapping one after another.

Buck grabbed my arm. “Jerry, RUN!”

We bolted.

I nearly dropped my bag as we sprinted away from the fence line. Behind us, something heavy tore through the brush. Leaves shook violently. Branches whipped back and forth. Whatever was chasing us moved fast—way too fast.

Kids near the cabin started yelling as Buck and I burst from the trail.

Pastor Florence stepped off the chapel porch. “What’s going on?”

“There’s something in the woods!” Buck shouted.

Before Florence could answer, the screaming started near the animal pens.

Not playful screaming.

Real screaming.

Adults started running toward the noise while the campers crowded together in confusion. One of the counselors grabbed my shoulders hard enough to hurt.

“What did you boys see?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “It stood up like a person—”

A horrible squealing cut through the camp.

Peaches.

Then suddenly silence again.

Pastor Florence’s expression changed instantly. The calm smile he always wore vanished like somebody flipped a switch.

“All campers inside,” he barked. “NOW.”

Nobody argued.

The counselors rushed us into the main cabin while Florence and three other adults sprinted toward the pens carrying flashlights and something long wrapped in cloth. At the time, I thought maybe it was farm equipment.

Now I know they were rifles.

Inside the chapel, every kid was talking at once. Some were crying. Sidney sat beside me, clutching her knees to her chest.

“You really saw something?” she asked quietly.

Buck nodded immediately. “It was huge.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

I looked toward the stained-glass windows facing the woods.

Outside, the sun was starting to set, turning the lake orange red.

And for just a second, I saw a shape standing between the trees near the shoreline.

Watching the chapel.

Watching us.

Then one of the counselors pulled the curtains shut.

An hour later, Pastor Florence returned alone.

Mud covered his boots up to his knees.

One side of his shirt was torn.

He stood at the front of the chapel silently for a moment before smiling at all of us again, though now the smile looked forced.

“Good news, everybody,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about. A black bear wandered close to the animal pens, but we scared it off.”

A few nervous laughs spread through the room.

Buck leaned close to me. “That was not a bear.”

I nodded slowly.

Because I noticed something nobody else did.

Pastor Florence’s hands were shaking.

And behind him, through the tiny window in the chapel door, I could see two counselors dragging a large tarp toward the barn.

Something underneath it was still moving.

The rest of the morning felt wrong after that.

Even though Pastor Florence acted calm again, nobody really believed the whole “bear” story. Not after the screams. Not after the way the counselors kept whispering to each other whenever they thought we weren’t paying attention.

Lunch was worse.

Usually the dining hall was loud—kids throwing crackers, arguing about video games, counselors yelling for people to stop standing on benches—but that day everyone talked quieter than normal. Like we were all waiting for something.

Buck stabbed at his mashed potatoes. “You think Peaches is okay?”

I shrugged even though I’d been wondering the same thing all day.

Across from us, Sidney leaned closer.

“You two really saw something in the woods, didn’t you?”

Buck answered immediately. “Yes.”

“It looked at us,” I added quietly.

Sidney glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. “I heard one of the counselors crying outside the girls’ cabin earlier.”

Buck frowned. “Why?”

“She said something got into the pens.”

That made my stomach drop.

Before either of us could answer, Pastor Florence stood from the staff table.

“Alright, everyone,” he announced, clapping his hands together. “Free time until evening service. Stay away from the forest trails and remember the animal area is still closed.”

A chorus of groans filled the dining hall.

The second Florence sat back down; Sidney smirked at us.

“We should go anyway.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“To the pens,” she whispered. “Obviously.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Are you insane?”

“You want to know what happened to Peaches or not?”

Buck looked at me.

I looked at Buck.

And honestly? We were already thinking it.

Sidney grinned when she saw our expressions. “Thought so.”

Ten minutes later, the three of us slipped away from the main cabin while everyone else headed toward the lake or basketball court. We cut behind the chapel and followed the fence line toward the barns.

The deeper we went, the quieter it got.

Even the cicadas had stopped buzzing.

Buck kept glancing toward the woods. “I hate this.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come,” I whispered back.

“No, Sidney wanted to come. I’m just dumb enough to follow.”

Sidney rolled her eyes. “You boys are dramatic.”

The animal pens came into view through the trees.

At first glance, everything looked normal.

The goats wandered around chewing grass. Chickens pecked at the dirt. A horse shifted nervously inside its stable.

But then I noticed the pig pen.

The gate hung crooked.

One of the wooden boards had been completely shattered inward.

Buck stopped walking. “Oh no.”

We hurried closer.

Mud covered the ground inside the pen like something had churned the earth up during a fight. Deep marks carved through the dirt, too big to be footprints but too narrow to be tire tracks.

And Peaches was gone.

Sidney frowned. “Maybe they moved her.”

Then Buck pointed silently toward the far end of the enclosure.

There were dark stains splattered across the fence.

Even at eight years old, I knew what blood looked like.

Nobody spoke for a second.

Then we heard movement coming from the barn.

Slow scraping.

Like something heavy dragging across wood.

Buck grabbed my sleeve hard enough to hurt. “Jerry…”

The barn door was slightly open.

And from the darkness inside, something breathed back at us.

None of us moved.

The breathing from inside the barn was wet and uneven, like whatever was in there had something stuck in its throat.

Buck whispered, “Tell me that’s a cow.”

“There are no cows here,” Sidney muttered.

Another scraping sound echoed from inside.

Then came a soft snort.

For one brief second, relief washed over me.

“Peaches?” I called quietly.

The breathing stopped.

Buck immediately looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Jerry, shut up!”

The barn door creaked wider open on its own.

Inside, sunlight barely reached past the entrance. Dust floated through thin beams of light cutting through holes in the wooden walls. I could smell hay, dirt…

…and something rotten underneath it.

Sidney stepped forward first.

“Why are you going IN?” Buck hissed.

She grabbed a nearby rake from the wall like it was a weapon. “Because if Peaches is hurt, we can’t just leave her.”

I hated admitting it, but Sidney was braver than both of us combined.

Buck grabbed a shovel with shaking hands. I picked up an old rusted lantern even though it wasn’t lit.

Together, we stepped inside.

The barn felt colder immediately.

Not normal cold.

The kind that sinks into your skin.

Our footsteps creaked against the wooden floor as we moved deeper into the darkness. Animal stalls lined the walls, most of them empty except for scattered hay and overturned buckets.

Then Buck suddenly stopped.

“Oh my God.”

I looked where he was pointing.

A massive gouge ran across the wooden wall beside one of the stalls. Four deep claw marks had shredded through the boards like they were cardboard.

Sidney crouched near the floor.

“These aren’t bear claws.”

She was right.

The marks were too long.

Too thin.

Almost human.

A low squeal suddenly echoed from somewhere deeper in the barn.

Peaches.

Alive.

We rushed toward the sound.

At the far end of the barn sat a small storage room with its door hanging halfway open. The squealing came from inside.

Buck pushed the door wider.

Peaches was there.

Tied to a support beam with thick rope.

The little pig shook violently the second she saw us, squealing harder while pulling against the ropes around her stomach.

“Oh thank God,” Sidney breathed.

I hurried forward to untie her—

—and froze.

Symbols had been carved into the floor around her.

Circles.

Crosses.

Words scratched deep into the wood.

Some looked like Bible verses.

Others looked… wrong.

Like somebody trying to copy scripture from memory and getting it horribly twisted.

Buck stared at the walls. “Who did this?”

That’s when we noticed the photographs.

Dozens of them.

Nailed all over the room.

Pictures of campers.

Counselors.

Families during drop-off.

Every single photo had the eyes scratched out.

A cold knot twisted in my stomach.

Then Sidney pointed upward slowly.

“Guys…”

We looked up.

Something was on the ceiling.

At first my brain couldn’t understand what I was seeing.

A long pale body clung upside down between the wooden rafters like a spider. Its limbs bent backward unnaturally; fingers dug deep into the beams above. Matted black hair hung over a face that looked almost human except for the mouth—too wide, filled with jagged animal teeth slick with fresh blood.

And its eyes.

Milky white.

Unblinking.

The creature smiled at us.

Then, in a perfect imitation of Pastor Florence’s voice, it whispered:

“Children shouldn’t wander after curfew.”

Buck screamed first.

Not yelled.

Screamed.

The creature dropped from the ceiling before any of us could move. It hit the wooden floor with a horrible cracking sound, limbs twisting sideways as it landed on all fours.

Peaches shrieked and thrashed against the ropes.

“RUN!” Sidney shouted.

We bolted for the barn entrance.

Behind us, claws slammed against the wood as the thing charged after us impossibly fast. I heard Buck crying while we ran, panicked sobs mixing with the sound of splintering wood.

The creature laughed.

Not its own laugh.

Mine.

Perfectly copying my voice.

“WAIT FOR ME GUYS!”

I nearly tripped hearing myself behind me.

Sidney grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. “DON’T LOOK BACK!”

We burst out of the barn into blinding sunlight.

For a second I thought we’d made it.

Then Buck slammed into something hard and fell backward into the mud.

Pastor Florence stood in front of us.

Three counselors stood beside him holding rifles.

Nobody spoke.

Buck scrambled backward on the ground, shaking violently. “IT’S IN THERE!”

Florence looked past us toward the barn doors hanging open in the wind.

His face went pale.

Then something inside the barn slammed against the walls hard enough to shake the whole building.

The counselors immediately raised their rifles.

Florence looked down at us slowly.

“You children,” he whispered, sounding genuinely terrified, “were told to stay away from this place.”

Sidney stepped in front of us. “What IS that thing?”

Another crash exploded inside the barn.

Something shrieked.

The sound almost didn’t sound human anymore.

One counselor muttered, “It’s awake again.”

Florence snapped his head toward him. “Quiet.”

I stared at Florence. “Again?”

He ignored me.

“Take the children back to the main cabin,” he ordered the counselors.

“No!” Buck shouted. “Peaches is still in there!”

At the mention of the pig’s name, Florence’s expression darkened.

“She’s gone, son.”

“But she was alive!”

“She won’t be for long.”

The barn suddenly went silent.

Completely silent.

Even the wind stopped.

Every adult there tensed instantly.

Florence slowly raised one hand toward us without taking his eyes off the barn.

“Back away,” he whispered.

A low voice drifted from inside the darkness.

“Pastor…”

It sounded exactly like a little girl.

One of the counselors began quietly praying under his breath.

The voice came again.

“Pastor Florence… please help me…”

Sidney frowned. “That sounds like Abby.”

I recognized the name immediately. Abby was one of the younger campers staying in the girls’ cabin.

Buck looked confused. “Why would she be in there?”

Florence’s voice became sharp. “Because that is NOT Abby.”

Something moved inside the doorway.

A small figure stepped into the sunlight.

At first glance, it really did look like Abby.

Same blonde hair.

Same church-camp T-shirt.

Same tiny glasses.

But her smile stretched far too wide across her face.

And her arms hung almost to her knees.

The fake Abby tilted her head.

“Why are you scared of me?” she asked sweetly.

Then every bone in her body cracked at once.

Her jaw unhinged downward impossibly far as the skin around her face split open.

Buck threw up immediately.

The counselors opened fire.

The sound of rifles exploded across the camp.

The creature shrieked and sprinted sideways so fast it blurred, climbing the side of the barn like an insect before vanishing across the roof into the trees beyond the lake.

Then silence returned.

Smoke drifted from the rifle barrels.

Nobody moved.

Finally, Pastor Florence looked at us with exhausted eyes.

“You three,” he said quietly, “have now seen something you were never supposed to see.”

Then the chapel bell rang again.

Three slow chimes.

And somewhere deep in the woods beyond the lake, dozens of voices rang back in response.

The voices in the woods sounded almost like singing.

Soft.

Distant.

Wrong.

Every counselor immediately looked toward the tree line. One of them whispered, “There’s too many this time.”

Too many.

That sentence has stuck with me for years.

Pastor Florence grabbed Buck by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

“Get every camper inside the chapel,” he ordered. “Lock the doors. Nobody leaves until sunrise.”

Sunrise?

At eight years old, hearing that terrified me more than the monster did.

Sidney crossed her arms. “You’re seriously not going to explain anything?”

Florence stared at her for a moment. Sweat rolled down the side of his face despite the cold air.

“You think you want answers,” he said quietly. “You don’t.”

Then he turned toward the counselors.

“Bring the lanterns out. Salt the entrances. Move the younger kids downstairs.”

One counselor hesitated. “Should we call the county sheriff?”

Florence looked genuinely offended.

“And tell them what? That scripture-eating skinwalkers are surrounding a church camp?”

Nobody answered.

That was the first time I ever heard the word skinwalker.

At the time, it meant nothing to me.

Now I wish it still didn’t.

The counselors rushed off in different directions while Florence marched us toward the chapel. The entire camp had descended into chaos. Kids were crying. Counselors were dragging boxes from storage rooms. Older campers carried candles and bags of something white I later realized was salt.

The sun was sinking fast now.

And the woods around the lake were getting darker than they should have been.

As we climbed the chapel steps, Buck suddenly stopped.

“Wait,” he whispered.

I followed his stare toward the forest.

Shapes stood between the trees.

Dozens of them.

Tall.

Motionless.

Watching us.

Some looked human.

Others absolutely did not.

One appeared to have antlers stretching through the branches overhead.

Another looked too thin, with arms dangling almost to the ground.

And all of them were smiling.

Sidney grabbed my sleeve tightly. “Jerry…”

One of the creatures stepped forward just enough for the fading sunlight to hit its face.

It looked exactly like Pastor Florence.

Same mustache.

Same brown hair.

Same smile.

Except its eyes were completely white.

Buck let out a terrified noise.

The fake Florence slowly lifted one finger to its lips.

Then all the figures vanished back into the woods at once.

The chapel doors slammed shut behind us.

Inside, the atmosphere was even worse.

Every window had been covered with blankets.

Candles flickered across the room.

Counselors pushed pews against the entrances while younger kids sobbed into their sleeping bags.

It no longer felt like church camp.

It felt like a bunker.

Pastor Florence walked to the altar and removed something from underneath it wrapped in black cloth.

When he pulled the cloth away, I saw an old shotgun covered in carved crosses.

Sidney blinked. “There is NO way that’s legal.”

For the first time all day, Florence actually laughed a little.

“You’d be amazed what becomes legal when monsters are real.”

Then the lights went out.

Every candle flickered violently.

And from somewhere above us—

on the chapel roof—

came the sound of footsteps.

Slow.

Heavy.

Circling.

The footsteps continued above us.

THUMP.

…THUMP.

…THUMP.

Every sound made dust drift from the ceiling beams overhead.

Nobody in the chapel dared speak.

I sat between Buck and Sidney in the front pew while Pastor Florence and the counselors stood guard near the doors and windows. Some held rifles. Others clutched crosses so tightly their knuckles turned white.

One of the younger kids started crying loudly.

Immediately, every adult in the room looked terrified.

Florence hurried toward the child’s mother and knelt beside her.

“You need to quiet him down,” he whispered urgently.

“He’s scared!”

“I know, but they listen for distress.”

The footsteps above us suddenly stopped.

Silence swallowed the chapel whole.

Then came scratching.

Long claws dragged slowly across the roof.

Buck buried his face in his hands. “I wanna go home.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

Sidney stared upward without blinking. “How many of them are out there?”

Nobody answered her.

A counselor near the window slowly pulled back the blanket covering the glass just enough to peek outside.

The color drained from his face instantly.

“Pastor…”

Florence walked over carefully. “What is it?”

The counselor swallowed hard. “They’re standing at the edge of the lake.”

Florence looked through the gap in the blanket.

For the first time since I’d met him, he looked truly afraid.

Then something tapped on the chapel door.

Three slow knocks.

Every adult froze.

Another knock came.

Then a voice.

“Pastor Florence?”

Buck’s eyes widened. “That’s Abby again.”

“No,” Sidney whispered. “That’s not Abby.”

The voice came again, sweeter this time.

“Please let me inside. I’m cold.”

A younger camper stood from the pews. “Abby!”

Before he could move, Florence grabbed him hard.

“DO NOT open that door.”

The thing outside began softly crying.

“I don’t understand why you’re being mean to me…”

The crying sounded painfully real.

Too real.

I could hear some of the younger kids starting to sob with it.

Then the voice changed.

Not suddenly.

Slowly.

Like a radio station drifting out of signal.

Abby’s voice deepened into something wet and monstrous underneath.

“Let…me…in…”

The chapel doors shook violently.

BANG.

Kids screamed.

Another slam hit the doors hard enough to splinter the wood.

BANG.

Dust fell from the ceiling beams.

One counselor raised his rifle. “It’s trying to break through!”

Florence shook his head immediately. “No. It’s testing us.”

Another voice suddenly called from outside.

Then another.

And another.

Within seconds, dozens of voices surrounded the chapel.

Some sounded like campers.

Some sounded like parents.

One sounded exactly like my dad.

“Jerry!” the voice shouted from outside. “Open the door, buddy!”

Every hair on my body stood up.

Buck looked at me. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“I know.”

Then my mother’s voice joined in.

“We came to pick you up, sweetheart!”

I almost stood up automatically before Sidney grabbed my wrist.

“That’s not your parents.”

Outside, the fake voices kept talking over each other.

“Please let us in!”

“We’re hurt!”

“They’re attacking us!”

“Jerry!”

“Buck!”

“Sidney!”

The creatures knew our names.

The realization hit all three of us at once.

Buck started crying again.

Florence stepped into the center aisle holding the shotgun tightly.

“Everyone listen to me,” he said loudly. “No matter what you hear tonight, no matter whose voice calls for you… DO NOT answer them.”

Another violent slam hit the doors.

This time the lights overhead flickered back on for half a second.

And in that tiny flash of light—

I saw something hanging upside down from the stained-glass window above the altar.

A pale face pressed against the glass from the outside.

Smiling directly at me.

I couldn’t breathe.

The thing outside the stained-glass window looked human at first glance, but the longer I stared, the more wrong it became. Its neck was too long. Its smile stretched too far back across its face. Thin black veins pulsed beneath pale skin like worms moving under paper.

And its eyes—

completely white.

The lights died again.

Darkness swallowed the chapel.

Kids screamed as the room erupted into panic. Counselors shouted over each other while flashlights flickered on one by one.

Then came the sound of breaking glass.

Everyone looked up.

A crack spread across the stained-glass window above the altar.

Another crack followed.

Then another.

The creature outside slowly pressed one clawed hand against the glass from the other side.

Pastor Florence raised the shotgun immediately.

“GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!”

Too late.

The stained glass exploded inward.

The thing dropped into the chapel in a shower of colored glass and twisted limbs. It landed directly on top of the altar with a wet crack, crouched like a spider.

People screamed.

The creature’s head jerked around violently as it sniffed the air.

Then it smiled.

“Found you,” it whispered in my mother’s voice.

Florence fired instantly.

The shotgun blast deafened me.

The creature flew backward off the altar, slamming into the pews hard enough to splinter wood. Black blood sprayed across the floor.

For one second, I thought it was dead.

Then every broken bone in its body snapped back into place.

Buck stared in horror. “Oh my God…”

The thing lunged.

One counselor didn’t react fast enough.

The creature hit him with enough force to send both of them crashing through the pews. Screaming erupted as kids scattered everywhere.

I’ll never forget the sound that came next.

Not roaring.

Not growling.

Eating.

Florence grabbed the nearest child and shoved them toward the basement stairs beneath the chapel.

“MOVE! EVERYONE MOVE!”

Sidney grabbed my arm while Buck stumbled beside us crying.

The creature screamed behind us as more gunshots exploded through the room.

We sprinted for the basement entrance while adults fought the thing near the altar.

I glanced back once.

Big mistake.

The creature stood upright now, nearly touching the ceiling. Its jaw hung open unnaturally wide around the counselor’s head while blood poured down its chest.

And surrounding it—

more shapes crawled through the shattered stained-glass window.

At least four.

Maybe five.

One moved like a deer walking on human arms.

Another wore the stretched skin of a person like badly fitted clothing.

The basement door slammed shut behind us.

Darkness.

Heavy breathing.

Children sobbing.

Someone locked the door above us with shaking hands.

The chapel basement looked ancient, older than the rest of camp. Stone walls dripped with moisture. Shelves lined the room filled with candles, canned food, medical kits, and boxes stamped with Bible verses.

Like they had prepared for this before.

Sidney noticed it too.

“This has happened already,” she whispered.

Nobody answered her directly, but the silence told us enough.

Pastor Florence stumbled down the stairs moments later covered in blood that definitely wasn’t all his.

He slammed another lock into place before turning toward us.

“How long will the door hold?” a counselor asked.

Florence didn’t answer immediately.

That alone terrified me.

Then—

SCRAAAAAPE.

Something dragged its claws slowly across the floor above us.

More footsteps joined it.

Then more.

The ceiling creaked under the weight.

Buck stared upward, pale as paper. “There’s a lot of them…”

Florence finally looked at us kids.

And for the first time, the tough camp-pastor act completely disappeared.

“They usually only send one,” he whispered. “I don’t know why the whole forest came tonight.”

Nobody spoke after that.

The only sounds in the basement were children crying and the creatures moving above us.

Scratch.

Thump.

Scratch.

Every noise made the old ceiling groan.

Pastor Florence paced near the stairs while the counselors checked weapons and lit more candles. In the flickering light, the basement looked less like a storage room and more like some kind of underground chapel.

Crosses hung on the walls.

Salt lines circled every doorway.

Bible verses had been carved directly into the stone.

Sidney noticed something near the back wall first.

“Jerry,” she whispered. “Look.”

There were names carved into the stone.

Dozens of them.

Dates beside each one.

Some went back years.

1987. 

1988. 

1989. 

1990. 

Most of the names had crosses carved beside them.

Some didn’t.

Buck stared at the wall. “What is this?”

Pastor Florence’s expression darkened when he saw where we were looking.

“Memorials,” he said quietly.

“For who?” Sidney asked.

Florence hesitated too long.

Then a little girl nearby answered for him.

“My brother’s name is up there.”

We turned toward her.

She couldn’t have been older than six.

“He disappeared here last summer,” she continued softly. “Mom says the camp helps keep him close to God.”

The entire room went silent.

Buck looked horrified. “What does THAT mean?”

Before anyone could answer, a massive crash shook the ceiling overhead.

Dust rained down.

One of the younger counselors panicked. “They’re breaking through!”

Another crash hit.

Closer this time.

The creatures above us shrieked and scraped across the floor like animals fighting over food.

Then—

silence.

Complete silence.

Pastor Florence suddenly looked even more afraid.

“That’s worse,” he whispered.

A soft voice drifted down the stairwell above us.

“Pastor…”

Not Abby this time.

A man’s voice.

One of the counselors froze.

“David?” he whispered.

Florence grabbed him immediately. “Don’t listen to it.”

“But that’s my brother—”

“YOUR BROTHER DIED THREE YEARS AGO.”

The counselor’s face went pale.

The voice upstairs laughed softly.

Then another voice joined it.

Then another.

The creatures were talking to each other now.

Using stolen voices.

I heard my dad laughing somewhere above us.

Buck heard his mom crying.

Sidney heard somebody calling her name over and over in a gentle voice.

And somehow, they sounded more real than ever before.

One of the younger kids suddenly stood up.

“I hear my mommy.”

Before anyone could stop him, he bolted for the stairs.

His mother screamed.

The kid unlocked the first latch before Florence tackled him to the ground.

At that exact moment—

BANG.

Something slammed against the basement door from the other side.

The entire frame bent inward.

Kids screamed.

Another slam followed immediately.

BANG.

Wood splintered.

The creatures upstairs began laughing all at once.

Not human laughter.

Something deeper.

Hungrier.

Florence stood slowly, gripping the shotgun so tightly his hands shook.

“Everyone move to the prayer room,” he ordered.

A counselor stared at him. “You really think that’ll work?”

Florence looked toward the shaking basement door.

“No,” he admitted.

Then the lights overhead flickered once.

Twice.

And went black.

In the darkness, something whispered directly beside me.

“Jerry…”

I turned instinctively.

And saw Peaches standing in the corner of the basement.

Only it wasn’t Peaches anymore.

The little pig’s body looked twisted and stretched, ribs bulging beneath torn skin. Her eyes were milky white just like the others.

And when she opened her mouth—

she spoke in a human voice.

“Why did you leave me in the barn?”