The town of Fern, nestled snugly in the heart of upstate Vermont, exuded an undeniable charm that captivated the senses. A tapestry of magnificent oaks stretched out in unbroken lines, their branches reaching for the heavens, while the nearby streams and rivers cascaded in wild abandon, their swirling rapids breathing life into the very essence of the town. Nature's pristine touch imbued the air with an intoxicating purity, a siren's call that beckoned weary souls to seek refuge within its embrace. Yet, for all its natural beauty, Fern held no allure for Oliver. In truth, he despised every inch of this place.
After the haunting incident that shattered his world, Oliver and his family had been uprooted, transplanted to this remote corner of the world in a desperate bid to find solace with his grandparents. But the town's age-old customs and stagnant ways grated on his nerves like sandpaper on raw flesh. The suffocating smallness of the school, where familiar faces loomed large day after monotonous day until escape to college became a lifeline, only intensified his loathing.
And there he stood, trapped within the walls of that archaic institution, as if time itself had cast a permanent shadow over its crimson bricks and weathered white roof. Oliver's eyes scanned the grounds, his shoes dragging heavily across the synthetic turf, every step punctuating his discontent. A whirlwind of balls, frisbees, and various sporting paraphernalia hurtled toward him, a cacophony of activity that mirrored the approaching summer. The scent of blooming wildflowers infused the air, while the sun's warm glow breathed vibrant life into the colors around him. The school's administration, beset by the languid spell of impending summer, had grown lax, relinquishing their grip on structured activities. And in the absence of guidance, idle minds devised their own entertainment.
Suddenly, a gust of wind whistled past him, snapping Oliver to attention. He leapt to his feet, his instincts honed by countless evasive maneuvers. Like a coiled spring, he dodged a frisbee launched his way by Hunter and his band of miscreants. Their game had turned into a battlefield, with Oliver and his friend Aidan caught in the crossfire. Though their intentions were innocent enough—just a simple game of tag between the two of them—the fickle nature of Aidan's desire to be liked had incited this chaos.
Oliver shook his head vigorously, beads of sweat tracing winding paths down his face, a futile plea for respite. But Aidan, consumed by his insatiable craving for popularity, summoned Hunter and his lackeys with an ear-splitting cry, beckoning them to join their game. Oliver couldn't help but see a glimmer of goodness in Aidan, buried deep within his troubled soul. Yet, it was his unquenchable thirst for acceptance that drove him to arm himself with a barrage of sporting weapons, joining Hunter's relentless assault. Oliver clenched his teeth, his body instinctively moving with agility and precision, evading each attack.
He had always been an athlete, honed by the relentless dedication instilled in him by his father. From minor leagues to football, he had excelled in every sport his father deemed worthy, a vessel for his hopes and dreams. "He has a gift, Marina," his father had once said, pride coursing through his voice. The memory stirred within Oliver, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips.
Ex-Army, just like his grandfather, Oliver had been molded by the old man's expertise, learning a multitude of tricks and cultivating a deep-rooted love for athleticism and the wilderness. Sports, camping, hunting, climbing—his grandfather had imparted all of it. A cherished photograph still adorned his mother's nightstand, a testament to their shared triumph, capturing the moment they hoisted a deer he had felled, his father brimming with pride.
But that was all in the time before, before the cataclysmic event that shattered their family. Memories of those bygone days now lay distorted, twisted by the surging waves of fire and the acrid plume of smoke. The fingers of death had clenched, seeking to extinguish Oliver's very existence, freezing him in his tracks. His feet tangled in a clumsy dance, heart pounding in his chest, and in that split-second lapse of concentration, it happened.
The frisbee, propelled by Hunter himself, arched through the air, its trajectory aimed directly at its intended target. Striking Oliver on the side of his head, it sent him sprawling across the turf, collapsing onto his side. Pain mingled with the haunting memories of yesteryears, a double assault that left him reeling.
Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his back, the dull ache of the frisbee's impact lingering, but the loss of his father... it was a wound far deeper. Amidst the triumphant cries of Hunter and Aidan, he discerned a pair of approaching footsteps. Aidan's sun-kissed hand extended toward him, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as their fingers interlocked, lifting Oliver to his feet. Dark hazel eyes gleamed with genuine concern, a glistening smile adorning Aidan's sweat-drenched face.
"You really got us good, Oliver. For a moment there, I thought you had it in the bag!" Aidan exclaimed, clapping him on the back with a tad too much force, causing Oliver to squirm uncomfortably.
This wasn't the usual Aidan. Reserved and introspective, he would transform into a bundle of exuberance and noise whenever Hunter and his gang were involved. Oliver despised that aspect of his friend, but he lacked the confidence to voice his discomfort.
Dusting off the tufts of broken turf clinging to his pants, Oliver swiped at the beads of sweat trailing down his face with his shirt. Hunter, ever the antagonist, remained silent, casting a sidelong glance as he retrieved his frisbee.
Oliver paid him no mind. Seeking Hunter's attention was the last thing on his agenda. In fact, he loathed the guy and his lackeys. He couldn't fathom what Hunter's problem was, but from the moment he had set foot in the classroom, there had been an unmistakable chip on his shoulder.
They occupied seats on opposite ends of the classroom, never sharing meals or spending time together. Their only common denominator was Aidan, either as a genuine friend or simply as a tolerated presence, while his other acquaintances reveled in mockery.
Oliver's gaze roamed the surroundings, observing more and more students converging on the school building, seeking solace or respite. Some of the studious types lounged in the shade, engrossed in books or clandestine video games, carefully concealed from prying teacherly eyes.
The irony wasn't lost on Oliver. A phone or portable gaming console would elicit a grand commotion from the teachers, but when it came to Hunter and his ilk, it was all boys being boys—or rather, the faculty not caring enough to do anything about it.
Oliver exhaled heavily, deciding to retreat from the ongoing torment. He planned to seek refuge in a bathroom stall and wait out the remainder of the period. His phone sat inside his bag, but if he was fortunate, he could...
Abruptly, a gust of wind swept toward him, jolting his body into a defensive maneuver, evading yet another frisbee hurled by Hunter. His vision reconnected, capturing the fleeting sight of the yellow disc whizzing past.
Hunter, with his dark blond hair and athletic physique, stood before him, matching Oliver's height, his icy blue eyes boring into his own. "Where do you think you're going?" he sneered, his breath ragged, still recovering from the previous round. "The game isn't over yet."
Oliver sighed inwardly, hoping that Hunter would simply let it go. Typically, it involved insults, beatings, or a game like this. After a few minutes, Hunter would grow bored or irritated and eventually walk away. But something was different this time. Anger flickered in Oliver's eyes, aimed at Hunter like sharp arrows.
"No, I'm fine," Oliver dismissed, attempting to extricate himself from the situation.
Right now, he didn't want to deal with this. He despised fighting. Sure, he was an athlete, accustomed to bruises and scrapes, but causing harm to others... He shook his head, repulsed by the notion. True, he had been in fights before, but he didn't relish it.
The reverberation in his skull after receiving a punch, the pounding of his heart, and the draining sensation of adrenaline seeping from his body once the fight was over—none of it appealed to him. He disliked the sensation of a split lip, the stinging knuckles stained with blood from pummeling another person's face.
Stolen story; please report.
It was hard to put into words... After a fight, he had yearned to confide in his father. His father had inquired about the details, elated even though Oliver had lost. "All that matters is that you fought, son... no matter the outcome," he had rambled, driving Oliver back home. They had even shared a pizza that night, using the suspension as an opportunity to unwind.
But now, he didn't know whom to confide in. His friends would deride him for being weak, and he feared what his father might say or do if he revealed his aversion to hurting others and the discomfort it caused him.
However, none of that deterred Hunter. Observing the distant expression on Oliver's face, he took it as a signal to press forward.
Their boots scuffled against the artificial grass, propelling both boys into a grappling match. Reluctant as he was, Oliver's muscles moved of their own accord. With both hands, he seized Hunter's face, while Hunter pounded on him, striking his own nose and causing blood to trickle from Oliver's lip.
Responding instinctively, Oliver slammed his other fist into Hunter's cheek, his head throbbing from the impact. Yet, he continued to act on instinct. Bracing his legs together, he propelled them upward, launching Hunter onto his back as he gasped for air.
Oliver rose to his feet, wiping away the streaks of crimson, consumed by a surge of fury and adrenaline. His heart raced a mile a minute, thoughts spinning in his mind. He detested Hunter. Nearly everything about him. He loathed the bullying, the taunting, the relentless targeting. But lurking in the recesses of his mind, a question emerged, one that he had pushed aside for far too long: Why did Hunter hate Oliver?
Just as both boys were poised to hurl themselves back into the escalating fight, one of Hunter's friends intervened with a resounding shout. "Enough!" his voice boomed.
With two forceful shoves, the already weary boys were forcibly thrust onto their backs. Markus, a tall and athletically robust thirteen-year-old, towered over them. He was the oldest in their grade, having recently relocated from the city.
The harsh sun cast a luminous glow on his dark skin as he turned towards both boys. "That's enough, Hunter. Leave Oliver alone," he snapped, his tone firm.
Oliver couldn't fathom why Markus was coming to his defense. Their interactions had been few and far between, and even now, Markus had been participating in the game. Hunter wiped his face, rising to his feet and motioning for his friends to follow suit.
Aidan glanced at Oliver, witnessing the blood trickling from his mouth. Oliver observed his one and only friend, following behind Hunter, calling for him to wait up.
Oliver sneered in response. Markus watched their departure as the period drew to a close. The stream of students hurrying to their next class distracted the gym coaches, affording Markus the opportunity to extend a hand.
"Sorry, Oliver," he said, his voice laden with remorse.
Oliver, regaining his footing, retorted sharply, "For what? Throwing whatever you had from the sports closet at me, or for what Hunter did?"
Markus rubbed his neck, his shaved head glistening in plain sight as he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I thought we were just playing. Besides, you went along with it too..."
"What else was I supposed to do?" Oliver replied, a forced chuckle escaping him. "Just stand there while you guys pelted me with junk? Markus, thanks for breaking up the fight, but leave me alone."
Markus slowly recoiled, his gaze dropping to the floor, almost as if he were ashamed of his actions—or rather, ashamed that he had allowed Hunter to bully Oliver.
"I'm sorry, truly..." he mumbled.
But Oliver didn't care. Wiping away the blood that trailed from his lips, he headed towards his class, hoping to endure the rest of this wretched day, silently yearning for summer to arrive with haste.
Hours had passed now. Oliver awoke with a jolt, his eyes widening as he bolted upright from his mattress. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead as he tentatively brushed aside the damp strands of hair obstructing his vision. He had been deep in slumber, but something had stirred him from his rest...
And then he heard it again—a soft thump reverberating against the glass of his window. He glanced wearily at the glowing digits of his alarm clock, groaning at the unwelcome sight of the numbers proclaiming it to be two in the morning. With unsteady steps, his feet still feeling the remnants of sleep's grip, he shuffled towards the source of the disturbance.
The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he neared the window, a sliver of trepidation weaving through his bones. Shadows danced outside, cast by the flickering glow of the streetlights. Oliver's breath hitched as he hesitated, his hand hovering inches away from the curtains.
What was out there? What unseen force had disturbed the stillness of the night? Every fiber of his being urged him to retreat, to crawl back beneath the safety of his covers and ignore the enigma that awaited him beyond the glass. But curiosity, that insatiable human trait, tugged at his core.
Summoning his courage, Oliver slowly pulled the curtain aside.
The darkness cloaked the world outside, but the feeble glow of the streetlights cast an eerie, orange hue along the road. Oliver parted the window, the rain whispering its presence on the hoodless jacket he wore. Aidan stood there, drenched by the downpour, yet his grin illuminated the night as he waved in hushed excitement. "Oliver," he called out, his voice a mere whisper, careful not to rouse the slumbering grandparents.
In Aidan's hand, tightly clenched, were pebbles, a makeshift signal to avoid making noise. Oliver, conscious of the need for stealth, had dressed accordingly in sports shoes, sweatpants, and a heavy hoodie. He navigated his family home, silencing the alarm and unlatching the main door, joining Aidan outside. "What's happening?" Oliver inquired, his curiosity piqued by Aidan's infectious enthusiasm.
Aidan's smile broadened, almost conspiratorial. "You won't believe it. Hunter and Markus have invited us to partake in the scavenger hunt!"
"The scavenger hunt?" Oliver echoed, his surprise tinged with a touch of disbelief. The tradition of the scavenger hunt was well-known among the townsfolk, a rite of passage before embarking on the next stage of life. The older kids would orchestrate the game, hiding a coveted object in eerie locations—a test of courage that often led participants to abandoned houses or the depths of the surrounding forest.
Oliver's mind raced, trying to fathom the unexpected twist. "Where will it be held? Near old man Dan's house like last year, or perhaps one of the dilapidated shops outside town?"
Aidan shook his head, injecting further bewilderment into Oliver's mind. If not those usual haunts, then where else? Those were the expected locales for such an event. "Remember when they sealed off the old mining tunnels a few years ago?"
Oliver's memory stirred, recalling the closure of the mining tunnels that had been an integral part of the town's history. They had been carved out long ago, in the early days of the town's establishment, a means of extracting valuable ore and bolstering the local economy. But eventually, the riches dwindled, and the tunnels were abandoned.
A knot tightened in Oliver's stomach as he processed Aidan's words. "Wait, Aidan. You can't be serious. That place is dangerous."
Aidan's eyes gleamed with a mix of adventure and mischief. "Exactly. That's the whole point, Oliver. Hunter wants as many people as possible to scatter and search for the scavenger hunt items."
Pieces began to fall into place within Oliver's mind. Aidan and Hunter had devised a scheme, a ploy to entice more participants, spreading them thin within the treacherous depths of the old mining tunnels. Hunter sought the glory, the accolades, and the chance to impress others. And Oliver, with his limited circle of friends and the impending dread of high school, felt the tug of temptation.
With a single year left before the unknown perils of high school awaited him, Oliver grappled with the decision. He yearned to do something memorable, something that would etch his name into the town's lore. The allure of the scavenger hunt and the possibility of a grand adventure danced before his eyes, tempting him to seize this fleeting chance for significance.
The danger lurking within the depths of the mines and tunnels was undeniable, an ominous specter that cast a foreboding shadow upon their minds. While the exploration had long been completed, venturing into the underground labyrinth still posed a significant risk—an enigmatic and treacherous domain. Perhaps it would be wise to reconsider, to abandon this ill-conceived plan.
As fear and unease seeped through his veins, Oliver realized the gravity of the situation. This was a terrible idea, fraught with perils that outweighed any potential rewards. Yet, an unsettling inkling gnawed at him, a sense of impending doom. Aidan would inform Hunter of his refusal, and tomorrow, Hunter would exploit it to his advantage. Oliver could already envision the scene—Hunter publicly denouncing him as a coward, broadcasting his vulnerability to the entire community.
But what about Aidan? Despite his flaws, he remained a friend—a twisted alliance bound by shared experiences. Didn't his grandfather's teachings advocate for supporting and aiding one's friends? Aidan was about to embark on a dangerous endeavor, so would it be morally wrong for Oliver to lend him a hand?
The prospect of losing Aidan, one of the few allies he had in this desolate town, sent shivers of loneliness down Oliver's spine. Moreover, the specter of escalating torment and bullying loomed if he failed to accompany Hunter. The stakes were high, and the fear of isolation pushed Oliver towards a reluctant resolution.
"Fine, I'll go," Oliver relented, his voice tinged with resignation.
"Atta boy!" Hunter's cheer pierced the air, a tad too boisterous for the stillness of the night. He quickly toned it down, realizing the need for discretion with Oliver's slumbering grandparents. "We're embarking on an adventure," he hummed, his words carrying an unsettling undertone.
With those parting words, the two boys set foot on the streets, their journey unfolding under the watchful gaze of the moon and the ink-black canvas of the sky. Aidan playfully nudged Oliver's elbow, a gesture of camaraderie that earned a smile. Oliver winced, rubbing his shoulder, the ache serving as a painful reminder of the path they had chosen.
Unbeknownst to both boys, this nocturnal escapade would mark the final time they would lay eyes upon their homes, the moon, and the stars—a fate hidden in the veil of night, patiently awaiting their arrival.