Dad wasted no time. He started the camper’s engine, the low rumble momentarily breaking the silence. “Everyone, buckle up,” he said, his voice steady but tight. “We’re getting out of here.”

The fog pressed against the windows, thicker than ever, swallowing the faint light of dawn. As I scrambled into my seat, I glanced out the small side window, half-expecting to see that strange shape again. But there was only white—endless, suffocating white.

“Do you think it’s safe to drive in this?” Mom asked, her voice strained. She was sitting in the passenger seat, twisting her hands in her lap.

“We don’t have a choice,” Dad replied, gripping the wheel tightly. “I’ll take it slow.”

Bailey and I huddled together in the back seat, their leg bouncing nervously. I could tell they were trying to be calm for me, but the way they kept glancing out the window told me they were just as scared as I was.

The camper lurched forward, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of relief. We were moving. We were getting out.

But the fog didn’t make it easy. The headlights barely cut through the haze, illuminating only a few feet ahead. It was like driving through a cloud, the road disappearing into the mist as soon as it came into view. Every so often, Dad would slow down even more, squinting at the faint outlines of trees or rocks that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“I can’t see the road markers,” Dad muttered, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. “We should’ve hit the main road by now.”

“It’s just the fog,” Mom said, though her voice wavered. “It’s probably making everything look different.”

But I wasn’t so sure. The road didn’t feel right. The turns were sharper, the dips steeper. It was like we were driving in circles, the landscape folding in on itself.

Bailey leaned closer to me, their voice low. “This doesn’t feel normal, does it?”

I shook my head. “It’s like the road’s… changing.”

They didn’t answer, but their hand brushed against mine, a silent reassurance—or maybe they needed reassurance too.

We kept driving, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. The fog only grew thicker, swirling around the camper like it had a mind of its own. The strange, low sound we’d heard earlier came again, louder this time, vibrating through the walls.

“What is that?” I whispered, clutching the edge of my seat.

Dad didn’t answer. He just pressed his foot down on the gas, the camper picking up speed. But the faster we went, the stranger the road became. The curves were sharper now, the trees pressing closer, their dark silhouettes barely visible through the fog. It felt like the forest was closing in on us.

Then, the engine sputtered.

“Come on,” Dad muttered, twisting the key. The camper jerked forward, but the engine stuttered again, coughing like it was choking on the fog. Finally, it gave out, the vehicle rolling to a stop in the middle of the road.

“No, no, no,” Dad said, slamming his hands against the wheel.

“What happened?” Mom asked, her voice rising with panic.

“I don’t know,” Dad said. “The engine just—”

Before he could finish, the fog shifted. It wasn’t just swirling anymore—it was moving, curling around the camper in thick, tendril-like shapes. The windows fogged up completely, the pale white glow disappearing. For a moment, it felt like we were floating in nothingness.

Then came the sound.

It started low, a deep rumbling that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It wasn’t just one sound—it was many, overlapping and echoing, like whispers and growls all tangled together. The camper trembled, the floor vibrating beneath my feet.

“Dad?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Stay calm,” he said, though his voice wasn’t as steady as before. “We’re going to be fine.”

Bailey grabbed my hand, their grip tight. “What’s out there?” they asked, their voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” I said, my eyes locked on the window.

Dad tried the ignition again, but the camper didn’t budge. “I’m going to check the engine,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

“No way!” Mom snapped, grabbing his arm. “You are not going out there.”

“We can’t stay here,” Dad said. “I’ll be quick. I just need to see what’s wrong.”

Mom shook her head, her grip tightening. “We don’t even know what’s in that fog!”

But before they could argue further, there was a loud thud—a heavy, deliberate sound, like something hitting the camper from the outside. All of us froze.

Another thud. Closer this time.

“What was that?” I whispered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Dad didn’t answer. He was staring at the door, his face pale. The flashlight in his hand shook slightly.

“Dad,” Bailey said, their voice trembling. “Don’t go out there.”

Another thud. This time, it was right by the door.

We all held our breath, the silence stretching unbearably.

The sound outside grew louder, rumbling and deep, each vibration shaking the camper like we were sitting on a fault line. My breath caught in my throat as I gripped Bailey’s hand. None of us dared to speak or even move. It was as though the smallest sound might attract… whatever it was.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the camper settling and the uneven breaths we were all trying to control. The fog outside swirled like it was alive, retreating in slow, deliberate movements. I didn’t know if I should feel relieved or terrified.

“Is it gone?” Bailey whispered, their voice barely audible.

Dad stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the window. Slowly, he leaned forward, peering through the condensation on the glass. He wiped it away with his sleeve, just enough to make a small, clear patch to look through.

“I think so,” he said, his voice low. “But don’t let your guard down.”

The air inside the camper felt heavy, like it had been sucked out of us in the panic. A few minutes passed in silence, none of us daring to move. Outside, the fog started to thin, pulling back like a tide going out. It revealed something that made my stomach drop.

We weren’t in the campground anymore.

The Grand Canyon’s wide-open vistas were gone, replaced by towering trees that stretched into a sky so dense with branches and leaves it blocked out most of the light. Shadows danced across the ground as the fog slithered away, revealing a landscape that felt impossibly alien. The trees were massive, their bark gnarled and dark, and the underbrush was thick with plants I didn’t recognize—plants that seemed too large, too vibrant, like something out of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

“Where are we?” Mom asked, her voice trembling. She was staring out the window, her hand pressed against her mouth like she was trying to hold back a scream.

Dad didn’t answer. He opened the camper door cautiously, stepping outside with his flashlight in hand. The beam cut through the darkness, but it only illuminated more of the strange forest.

Bailey and I followed, staying close to him. The ground beneath us was soft and spongy, covered in moss that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something sweet, like overripe fruit.

“This isn’t possible,” Dad muttered, shaking his head. “We didn’t drive into a forest. We were in the desert.”

“So how did we get here?” Bailey asked, their voice sharp with fear. They clung to my arm, their usual calmness completely gone.

“I don’t know,” Dad admitted, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. “But we need to figure it out fast.”

We wandered a little way from the camper, staying within sight of it. The trees seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, their trunks so wide that it would’ve taken three or four of us holding hands to circle one. Strange calls echoed in the distance—low, guttural sounds that sent shivers down my spine.

“Do you think it’s still out there?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“The creature?” Mom said, glancing around nervously. “I don’t know. But if it is, we need to stay quiet and stick together.”

“What creature?” Bailey asked, looking between us. “What did you see?”

Dad hesitated before answering. “I didn’t get a good look,” he admitted. “But it was big. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

I swallowed hard. If Dad was scared, then we had every reason to be.

As we moved, we came across footprints—massive, three-toed impressions in the mossy ground. Each one was nearly as big as the camper door, with deep grooves where claws had sunk into the earth.

“Those are… dinosaur tracks,” Bailey said, their voice filled with disbelief. “Like, actual dinosaur tracks.”

“That’s impossible,” Mom said, though her voice wavered. “Dinosaurs don’t exist anymore.”

“Neither do forests like this,” I pointed out, gesturing to the massive trees around us.

We all fell silent, staring at the tracks. They led deeper into the forest, disappearing into the shadows. I shuddered at the thought of whatever creature had made them.

“We’re not following those,” Dad said firmly, turning us back toward the camper. “We’re staying close to the vehicle until we figure out what’s going on.”

Bailey hesitated, glancing at the tracks again. “What if we’re not in the same place anymore?” they asked. “What if the fog didn’t just move us? What if it moved… everything?”

Back at the camper, the atmosphere felt even heavier than before. The air was cool and damp, and the faint light filtering through the trees seemed to dim by the minute. Dad started tinkering with the engine, trying to get it running again.

“We need to get moving,” he said, his voice tense. “We can’t stay here.”

I watched as he worked, my mind racing with questions I didn’t know how to ask. Were we in some kind of alternate world? A prehistoric time? Or was this all just some strange, elaborate dream?

Bailey sat beside me, their knees pulled to their chest. “What if we can’t leave?” they whispered, their voice barely audible. “What if this is where we’re supposed to stay?”

“Don’t say that,” I said quickly, my stomach twisting at the thought. “Dad will fix the camper. We’ll get out of here.”

Bailey didn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither was I.

As the forest grew darker around us, I couldn’t help but feel like we were being watched.

And somewhere, far off in the distance, I thought I heard the faint rumble of that creature’s growl.

Dad wiped his hands on a rag, his face a mask of concentration as he leaned over the camper’s engine. The rest of us stayed huddled nearby, scanning the dark forest for any movement. Every shadow looked like it was about to spring to life, and every sound made my heart skip a beat.

“I think I’ve got it,” Dad said finally, stepping back and slamming the hood shut. The engine sputtered to life a moment later, the low rumble breaking the oppressive silence of the forest. “We’re moving. Get in, now.”

Mom, Bailey, and I didn’t need to be told twice. We scrambled inside, locking the doors behind us. The camper lurched forward, the headlights cutting through the darkness as we rolled over the mossy ground.

“We need to get out of this forest,” Dad said, his eyes fixed on the narrow path ahead. “I don’t know how long we can keep the camper running, and we’re at half a tank.”

“Half a tank?” Mom echoed, her voice rising. “That’s not enough to get us anywhere!”

“It’s all we’ve got,” Dad replied. “So we need to find somewhere safe. Fast.”

We hadn’t gone far when the first creature appeared.

It darted across the road in front of us, so quickly that at first, I thought I imagined it. But then it stopped, just at the edge of the headlights’ beam. It was small, no bigger than a dog, but its body was covered in sleek, iridescent scales that shimmered in the light. Its long tail flicked back and forth, and its sharp, bird-like claws scratched at the ground.

“What is that?” Bailey whispered, leaning closer to the window.

“Don’t get out,” Dad warned, gripping the wheel tightly. He inched the camper forward, trying to scare it off, but the creature didn’t budge. Instead, it let out a high-pitched chirp that echoed through the forest.

As if answering its call, more creatures emerged from the shadows. They were the same size, but their movements were quicker, more coordinated. They circled the camper, their glowing eyes reflecting in the headlights like tiny beacons.

“They’re hunting us,” Mom said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dad didn’t respond. He just hit the gas, the camper lurching forward. The creatures scattered, their chirps turning into shrill screeches as they disappeared into the underbrush. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else.

The next creature was much larger.

We were driving along what felt like an endless stretch of forest when a deafening roar split the air. It wasn’t like the high-pitched cries of the smaller creatures—it was deep and guttural, vibrating through the camper like a thunderclap.

“Turn off the lights,” Mom said suddenly, her voice sharp. “Whatever it is, it might not see us if we’re in the dark.”

Dad hesitated but then flipped the switch, plunging us into near-total darkness. The only light came from the faint glow of the dashboard and the eerie luminescence of the moss outside. The roar came again, closer this time, followed by a loud crashing sound.

Through the windshield, I saw it—a massive, lumbering creature, easily twice the size of our camper. It moved between the trees with surprising agility, its enormous tail swiping through the underbrush like a battering ram. Its skin was rough and mottled, blending into the shadows of the forest.

“That’s a tyrannosaurus,” Bailey whispered, their voice trembling. “An actual T. rex.”

We all froze, holding our breath as the creature passed, its footsteps shaking the ground beneath us. It sniffed the air, its massive head swiveling from side to side. For a terrifying moment, it seemed to look right at us.

Then it moved on, disappearing into the trees with a low growl.

“We need to move,” Dad said, turning the lights back on and revving the engine. “Before it comes back.”

As we drove, the forest began to change. The trees grew thinner, their trunks more widely spaced, and the ground became rocky and uneven. The camper jolted and bounced, and I could feel the strain in the engine as it struggled to climb a steep incline.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Dad said, his voice tight. “We’re burning through fuel too fast.”

“Look!” Bailey said, pointing through the windshield. “There’s a cave up ahead!”

In the distance, a dark opening loomed in the side of a rocky hill. It wasn’t much, but it was big enough to fit the camper, and it looked like the only shelter for miles.

“Let’s check it out,” Mom said. “We don’t have a choice.”

The cave was larger than it looked from the outside, its entrance framed by jagged rocks and overgrown vines. Dad eased the camper inside, the tires crunching over loose gravel. The engine echoed loudly in the confined space, but it was better than being out in the open.

Once we were inside, Dad killed the engine, and the silence was deafening. The air was cool and damp, and the faint smell of earth and moss filled the space. The cave walls were rough and uneven, but they felt solid—safe.

“We’ll rest here for now,” Dad said, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “We’ll figure out our next move in the morning.”

Bailey and I stepped out of the camper, our flashlights cutting through the darkness. The cave was deeper than I’d expected, its shadows stretching into the unknown. Strange markings covered the walls, patterns and symbols that looked too deliberate to be natural.

“What do you think made these?” I asked, running my fingers over the grooves.

“I don’t know,” Bailey said, their voice filled with awe. “But I don’t think we’re the first ones to hide here.”

Their words sent a chill down my spine. As I stared at the markings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched—not by something outside the cave, but by something deep within it.