The chain of people passed in and out of my sight, following the meandering path adjacent to the lake that often took them deeper back into the lines of trees, where I couldn’t spot them for minutes at a time. It was hard for me to place their exact age, having so rarely seen them up close, but the way they grouped into pairs of the opposite sex and giggled as they walked made me suspect they were in their late adolescent years. The sun was at the point of warm, perfect brilliance before it would begin its descent into dusk, glistening off the surface of the lake and disguising the thick silt stirring beneath the waterline.
I didn’t intend to follow them. At first, I only traced their route from a safe distance to ensure we wouldn’t bump into each other, at least not before dark, until I got a whiff of one of the girls’ perfume in a light breeze that passed over the lake towards where I sat. Something primal switched on inside me, and I began to move towards them. Before long, between us we had passed nearly the entire circumference of the lake, and we were in danger of crossing paths.
I considered turning around and hiking back the exact way I had come, travelling the whole distance around the lake so that I could approach them from behind and try to gauge more information about them. I contemplated giving up entirely, turning my back on them and walking deeper into the trees to search for tonight’s dinner.
Finally, I noticed they had stopped moving. I knew these paths better than I knew the sound of my own voice; they were my home, and the group should have already passed the crooked oak tree and started heading back up the hill by now. I began to worry that I’d lost them somehow, until I noticed the flicker of flames in a clearing between the dense thicket of the forest, just around the short curve of the lake.
I took this as my sign to mirror the movements of the young people, and settled down to watch them. It was an opportunity to watch and wait, and decide which version of myself to be that night. No need to make any quick decisions.
I didn’t often get cold out in the woods, certainly not in the warmer months. Yet, as my sharp eyes focused on the warm glow of the small fire they had built, a shiver danced across my shoulders. I assured myself it was the illusion of seeing the heat but not being able to feel it that chilled me, and ignored the nagging thought in the back of my mind that wondered if it wasn’t the sight of so many warm bodies, shoulder to shoulder and laughing together, that made me feel icy down to the bone.
My hunger started to prickle at me, a burning sensation beginning deep within my stomach as I watched them produce some kind of prepackaged food from a backpack, passed the bags around and took turns to grab a handful of something. If I slowed my breath and listened carefully, I could hear each lip smack and grind of their molars. I was startled by the first few sharp cracks of cans of beer being opened, cans which I often found strewn across the forest floor, and my throat felt drier by the second as I wondered what any liquid other than silty lake water might taste like.
My stomach growled and I dug my hands into the loose earth beneath me, concentrating on the sensation of dirt forcing underneath my fingernails. I tried to piece together their conversations by looking at the gestures they made, but I realised I had no idea what they might talk about. Minutes turned into hours, and eventually I noticed that the sun had set and, other than the subtle glow of a scattering of stars in the clear sky, their fire was the only point of light I could see.
Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, I felt that I could piece together some of the puzzle of their relationships to one another. Two of the boys seemed interested in the same girl, each cosying up to her in brief moments and vying for her attention. Two of the girls were always touching in some way, at this moment their legs intertwined, their attention towards the other difficult to break. One of the boys seemed desperate to dominate the group, his cries for attention some of the only words I could recognise.
I cosied myself into the crook of the gnarly roots of an old tree, wrapping my arms around myself in an attempt to feel some kind of warmth or comfort, and watched them, letting my eyelids drift open and shut.
I don’t know exactly how long it took me to fall asleep, but I was awoken by the sound of twigs cracking to my left.
I should have remained still; she might not have noticed me if I’d just kept quiet. It was the girl who had two boys competing for her attention, here alone now. But she startled me, and as I sprung to my feet she jumped at the sight of me, gasped, and dropped her can of drink on the floor. The sweet, sticky liquid poured out and fizzed on the ground before seeping into the bed of my forest.
I felt terrible for how scared she looked. She shook, her hand twitching and her lips moving, although no discernible words were coming out.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want to have to hurt you.’
I hoped my words provided some sense of comfort in her final moments, although I knew she would struggle to understand what I said underneath the deep growl of my voice, with drool already dripping down my chin.
Eden Angus is a British writer of dark speculative fiction, often exploring the darker sides of the natural world.
Published 10/30/25