I trudged over the uneven ground, my boots scraping against jagged rocks and thorny brush as I pressed forward through the last two miles. Every step felt like it could twist an ankle or send me sprawling over the harsh terrain. I’d encountered rough trails before, but somehow, this stretch seemed relentless—unforgiving. Each craggy surface, each thorn-laden branch seemed like it had been deliberately arranged to slow us down, almost as if Blackthorn Hollow itself was putting up a fight.

The hollow was notorious for its mineral wealth: veins of gold and rare stones lay everywhere, hidden beneath layers of stubborn canyon. Yet, despite these riches, very few dared to explore it. Blackthorn Hollow was wild and untamed, its intimidating landscape enough to deter the faint-hearted and the brave alike. Travelers who ventured through these four miles of narrow, twisting canyon often reported an oppressive silence, the kind that played tricks on your mind, made you second-guess each step. That eerie quiet surrounded us now, pressing down, amplifying each crunch of gravel, each snap of a dry twig underfoot. Jay lifted his arm, pointing ahead, “There’s the opening, the entrance to Blackthorn.” His voice seemed a little too loud in the empty silence.

I exhaled with relief. “Thank Christ.” I muttered, adjusting the weight of my gear. The straps bit into my shoulders, the heavy load feeling as if I were carrying a whole child on my back. Each step made the pack feel heavier, a constant reminder of just how remote and isolated we were out here. Jay stumbled, his foot catching on a half-buried stick that nearly sent him sprawling. He managed to untangle himself, grumbling, “Man, when God created this place, he didn’t want anyone entering it.” I let out a short laugh, the sound an attempt to lighten the oppressive air. “That sounds scary, haha. Let’s keep moving.” I tried to sound positive, but a flicker of unease lingered beneath my words. Blackthorn Hollow had that effect—a creeping sense that something unseen was watching.

The canyon walls, jagged and towering, blocked the descending sun, casting shadows that stretched across the ground as the narrow trail began to widen. Just as Jay had said, the path opened up ahead, revealing the edge of Blackthorn Hollow. I slipped my hand into my pocket, fishing out a worn, creased map. The lines and markings were faded, barely visible in places, although familiar enough to guide us. I studied it carefully—there was the cabin marked at the far end, surrounded by thick forest, and then... I looked up, mesmerized for a moment. There, just ahead, lay a crystal-blue river winding through the rugged landscape. The river sparkled in the waning light, flowing down from the distant peaks of the New Sierra Mountains, cutting a glimmering line through the valley.

I nudged Jay, my eyes still on the river. “Hey, we should set up camp here. It’s far enough from the cabin, and right near the water.” Jay scratched his beard, nodding in agreement. “Sounds good. We’ll make it before nightfall.” With a grunt, he swung his backpack off his shoulder, unhooking the lantern strapped to the side. Twisting the cap, he ignited the gas. The lantern flickered to life, casting a warm, steady glow that expanded our view. We’d invested a few precious dollars in this lantern, confident it would last us a good while out here.

We pushed on, stepping off the rough trail into a grassy forest clearing where the ground finally softened underfoot. For the first time all day, walking felt almost pleasant—the grass cushioning each step, the smell of pine thick in the cool evening air. The trail had smoothed out, making it easier to navigate. Jay stepped down into the river, his boots sinking slightly into the pebbled bed as the cold water splashed around his knees. “Still no bridge over this thing.” he muttered, glancing around. “Guess we’re lucky it’s only knee-deep.” I followed him in, shivering as the icy water seeped through my boots, enveloping my legs. “Get used to it.” I said with a grin. “This is where we’ll be panning tomorrow. Might as well get comfortable with the temperature.”

Jay shook his head, glancing up at the dimming sky. “It’s almost night. When we pan tomorrow, it’ll be a lot warmer than this.” I shrugged, half-immersed in the chilly water. “If you say so, Jay.” He was already making his way out of the river, his feet sinking slightly into the sand at the edge, while I remained in the deepest part. Jay shot me an impatient look. “Hurry up! You were on the track team in high school, I wasn’t!” I rolled my eyes, dipping a hand into the cold water, then flinging a splash toward him. “Show some respect to your older brother.” I teased, watching as he squealed and flinched at the icy surprise, his hands tensing up against the cold. Jay shook off some of the water, mumbling in protest.

Oh, don’t even think about fighting back. You know I’ve always been better at water fights. He gave me a smirk, though, and quickly glanced at the sky again. “By my estimate, we’ve got twenty minutes till nightfall. We’re going to need to jog.” I groaned, feeling the water seeping into my boots, making each step heavier and squishier. A jog in wet boots was hardly ideal, but I could see his point—the light was fading fast. I sloshed my way out of the river and stood beside Jay, our clothes damp and clinging. I grinned, setting my left leg forward to give myself a quick head start. “C’mon, slowpoke!” Without waiting for his reply, I took off down the narrow trail.

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We sped past the towering trees, their shadows stretching out as nightfall approached, dodging roots and uneven patches of earth with practiced ease. For us, this kind of sprinting through the wilderness was second nature—child’s play, even. Jay surged ahead, darting nimbly through the tangle of branches as if they weren’t even there. I pushed myself harder, but he was already gaining distance. I called out between breaths, “You’re only winning because you’re younger!” Jay laughed, leaping over a large rock and landing gracefully in a small clearing up ahead. The new boots I’d bought him just two days ago were already scuffed and worn, looking like they’d seen years of use. He caught his breath, bending over with his hands on his knees. “You’re not an old man, Jack. You’re only thirty-six! You should still be able to beat me at running.” I joined him in the clearing, taking a moment to catch my breath and gaze at the quiet space around us. “I let you win, little brother.” I replied. I leaned back, trying to hide my exhaustion.

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. The clearing was quiet. I grabbed the tent pole from my pack and raised it over my head. “Let’s set up camp. I want to turn in early tonight so we can get a head start tomorrow.” Jay nodded, rolling his shoulders and straightening up. “Sounds like a plan.” I set down my pack, scanning the edges of the clearing for dry branches and kindling. “I’ll get the firewood.”

The clearing stretched about twenty feet wide, a small haven amid the thick forest, with enough space to settle in comfortably. We split up the tasks like we usually did. Jay stayed back to set up our tent, unrolling the sleeping bags and unpacking dinner supplies, while I grabbed my axe and headed off into the trees to gather firewood. I found a decent branch, thick enough to fuel the fire but not so dense it’d take all night to split. With a swing of my axe, the branch snapped clean through, hitting the forest floor. I paused for a moment, glancing around at the silent woods. There was an eerie quality to this place, a feeling that lingered, heavy and quiet.

Fifteen people had entered Blackthorn Hollow over the past three years. Nine of them never made it back. The six who returned had told their stories repeatedly, claiming nothing unusual had happened—no strange sights, no uncanny sounds. Their stories stayed consistent, right down to the details. I cut through a few more branches, snapping smaller pieces over my knee to fit into the pack. It could be that those nine had just gone crazy, nothing more. After gathering sixteen solid branches, I shoved them into my bag and swung it over my shoulder, glancing back toward the clearing.

Jay struggled to push the tent pole deeper into the ground, muttering under his breath. “Damn it, I should’ve volunteered to get the wood. This is boring as hell.” I snuck up behind him and dropped the heavy bag of firewood with a thud, making him jump. I set the axe beside it, grinning. “Still need your big brother to help out, huh? I’ll finish up here—go ahead and get the fire started.” Jay rolled his eyes, dropping the hammer onto the grass with a relieved sigh. “Be my guest.” he said, moving to unpack the firewood and kindling.

I knew he was grateful, though he’d never admit it. Besides, I owed him one. I got to work, straightening out the tent’s base and double-checking the stakes. Out here, with the wind picking up and night setting in, a loose setup could mean the tent blowing clear across the clearing. I knelt down, lining up the first ground stake with the tent hole, and drove the hammer down hard. The stake sank into the ground, solid and unmoving. We’d always made a good team, Jay and I. I had the strength to tackle the tough jobs, while he was quick on his feet and sharp as a tack. Together, we managed to cover each other’s weaknesses.

Within five minutes, our camp was set up and the fire crackled, small sparks dancing into the air as it caught hold of the larger branches. At least Jay could handle the fire on his own. The smell of chicken wafted over to me, its familiar aroma unmistakable, and my stomach rumbled in response. Jay carried over two fold-up chairs, setting them down beside the fire. He shifted his chair slightly, angling it to catch more of the warmth, then dropped a fire poker beside his seat before sinking into the chair with a sigh.

I followed suit, easing myself into the fold-up chair. It wasn’t much to look at—a cheap piece of gear we’d picked up from the bargain bin—but right now, with my muscles aching and the fire warming my skin, it felt like heaven. The soreness from a day’s hard work finally began to melt away. Jay reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out two beers, holding one out to me. “Take it.” I grinned, reaching over. “Don’t need to tell me twice.” I cracked it open, and took a long, satisfying swig. The coolness of the beer was the perfect contrast to the fire’s heat, and I let myself relax, gazing out into the darkness surrounding our little circle of light. Jay’s gaze drifted up to the starry night sky, his face softened by the firelight. “This forest feels so peaceful.” he said, almost to himself. “Those stories must be made up.”

That caught my attention. “Stories?” I asked, looking over at him.

Jay hesitated, biting his lip before glancing my way. “Yeah. You know, stories about the people who came out here and… never made it back.” I felt a chill, though the fire’s warmth should have made that impossible.

Jay leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the flames as they flickered and danced. “Let me tell you about them.”