My name is Riley Johnson, and I'm a nine-year-old living in the small town of Summer Springs, Minnesota. I have an older sibling named Bailey, who is just two years older than me. Being the youngest child in the family, I often rely on Bailey's help and guidance.
Today is an exciting day for us because we're getting ready for our long-awaited trip to the Grand Canyon. We've been planning this adventure for weeks, and now the day has finally arrived. The anticipation is almost too much to bear!
As I struggled to pack my bag, feeling overwhelmed by the task, Bailey came to my rescue, just like they always do. They have a knack for helping me out when I need it most. Whether it's tying my shoelaces or reminding me to grab my toothbrush, Bailey is always there to lend a hand.
With Bailey's assistance, packing became a little less daunting. They patiently guided me through the process, making sure I had everything I needed for our exciting journey. Their calm and reassuring presence eased my worries and made me feel more confident about the trip.
As we almost finished packing our bags and double-checked our list, excitement bubbled within us. The thought of exploring the majestic beauty of the Grand Canyon filled our hearts with joy and wonder. We couldn't wait to embark on this adventure together as a family.
"Dad, Bailey and I are almost done packing!" I shouted to him down the stairs.
"Great! When you're finished, bring your bags down to the camper," he replied. "Oh, and your mother wants to know if you prefer egg salad or tuna for sandwiches."
"For the sandwich? I think I'll go with egg salad," I replied, zipping up my bag after adding the last shirt.
"Sounds good to me too," Bailey chimed in.
With our bags in hand, we made our way down the stairs.
The camper was already loaded up with all the camping gear and supplies.
"So, are you two excited about the upcoming camping trip?" Dad asked us as we placed our bags inside.
"Yes, absolutely!" we both exclaimed simultaneously.
Mom came outside, holding a paper plate with the egg salad sandwiches.
"Here you go," she said, handing us the plates. "If you want more while we're on the road, I packed some extra in the fridge in the camper, along with a few tuna sandwiches."
Dad turned to us and asked, "Do we have everything?"
"We sure do," Mom replied. "I also made sure all the doors and windows are locked." She glanced at her phone. "And I set timers on all the devices, so it looks like we're still home."
"Well, I guess we're all set," Dad said with a smile. "Hop in, kids."
The road trip was an adventure. Bailey and I were in the back, chattering excitedly about what the Grand Canyon would be like and what we would see.
The drive was long but it flew by. Dad pointed out different landmarks along the way and shared stories about his previous camping trips as a kid. He was in good spirits and told many jokes about it as well. Of course, we both groaned at his dad's jokes. But besides all that, we all had a good laugh.
As we continued on our journey, the scenery changed from bustling city streets to serene countryside. Dad's enthusiasm was infectious, and his stories made the drive feel shorter than it actually was. He would excitedly point out mountains, lakes, and forests, recounting memories of his adventures in each location.
His jokes, although cheesy, never failed to bring a smile to our faces. We would roll our eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but deep down, we appreciated his lightheartedness and ability to make even the most mundane moments entertaining.
The hours passed by in a blur of laughter and shared experiences. Dad's storytelling skills were unmatched, and he had a way of making even the simplest anecdotes sound captivating. We found ourselves engrossed in his tales, eagerly awaiting the punchlines of his jokes.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, we couldn't help but feel grateful for this time together. Dad's joyous spirit had turned what could have been a monotonous drive into a memorable adventure filled with laughter and connection.
Eventually, we arrived at our first camping destination along the trip, tired but content. The drive had indeed flown by.
We stepped out of the car, stretching our legs and taking in the fresh air. The campground was nestled amidst towering trees, with patches of sunlight filtering through the leaves. The sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling added to the tranquil atmosphere.
The next morning, we woke up feeling refreshed and ready for another day of adventure. Mom didn’t want to make breakfast. So we decided to treat ourselves to a delicious breakfast at a local café. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the tantalizing scent of pastries welcomed us as we stepped inside.
The café had a cozy and inviting atmosphere, with soft music playing in the background and friendly chatter filling the air. We found a table near the window, allowing us to soak in the morning sunlight while enjoying our meal.
As we perused the menu, our stomachs growled in anticipation. The café offered a wide variety of options, from classic breakfast staples to unique and creative dishes. Dad ordered his favorite eggs benedict, while Bailey and I opted for a fluffy stack of pancakes topped with fresh berries. Mom chose a hearty breakfast burrito and a plate of avocado toast.
As we waited for our food to arrive, mom and dad sipped on steaming cups of coffee while Bailey and I drank some orange juice and engaged in light-hearted conversation. The café buzzed with activity, with locals stopping by for their morning caffeine fix or grabbing a quick bite before starting their day.
When our plates arrived, they were a feast for both the eyes and the taste buds. The eggs benedict came perfectly poached, with hollandaise sauce drizzled over a bed of English muffins and Canadian bacon. The pancakes were golden brown and fluffy, accompanied by a dollop of whipped cream and a generous pour of maple syrup. The breakfast burrito was packed with savory fillings, while the avocado toast boasted creamy avocado slices on top of crusty bread.
We savored each bite, relishing in the flavors that danced on our tongues. The food was not only delicious but also served as fuel for the day ahead. We shared bites with one another, exchanging smiles and approving nods as we indulged in this morning treat.
As we finished our meal, we felt a sense of satisfaction and contentment wash over us. The café had provided us with a warm and welcoming start to the day, fueling our bodies and spirits for the adventures that awaited us.
With full bellies and smiles on our faces, we bid farewell to the café, grateful for the nourishment and the memories created within its walls. The day was still young, and we were eager to continue our journey, knowing that more incredible experiences awaited us along the way.
After a few days on the road, we finally, pulled up to a small town at the beginning of the Grand Canyon. We were both extremely excited.
The line into the park took a while. Backed up for miles. Cars inched forward as eager visitors waited their turn to enter the Grand Canyon National Park. The anticipation in the air was palpable, with families and friends chatting excitedly and snapping photos of the iconic entrance sign.
“Look at those people,” I laughed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the entrance gate. Dad paid to get in, but eventually, we were moving along.
We made it to the camping site. Bailey and I jumped out of the camper, we were both eager to explore the Canyon.
“Don’t wander off too far,” Mom said. “It’s getting late, we can see the canyon in the morning.
“Yeah, you don’t want to miss out on my famous burgers,” Dad chuckled as he was getting ready to start up the campfire.
“Mom,” I complain. “The best part of the canyon is at night when the sun hits it.”
“Don’t worry, we’re here for a few days, you won't miss it.”
I sighed, reluctantly accepting my mom's words. I knew she was just looking out for us, but the anticipation of seeing the Grand Canyon in all its glory was almost too much to bear. Bailey and I decided to take a short walk around the campsite to satisfy our curiosity.
As we strolled along the dusty path, we marveled at the towering pine trees that surrounded us. The air was filled with the sweet scent of nature, and the sound of birds chirping added a melodic soundtrack to our adventure. We couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and tranquility wash over us.
After a while, we stumbled upon a small clearing that offered a glimpse of the canyon in the distance. The fading light of the setting sun cast a golden glow on the rugged landscape, creating a breathtaking sight. Bailey and I stood there in awe, taking in the beauty before us.
As we watched, the colors of some of the canyon transformed from warm oranges and reds to deep purples and blues. The shadows danced across the cliffs, creating an ever-changing masterpiece that seemed to come alive before our eyes. It was a magical moment that we were grateful to witness.
Bailey nudged me, breaking me out of my trance. "We should head back," they whispered. "Mom and Dad will be worried."
Reluctantly, we turned away from the mesmerizing view and made our way back to the campsite. As we approached, we could see the flickering flames of the campfire and hear the laughter of our parents. The scent of Dad's burgers filled the air, making our stomachs growl with anticipation.
As we joined our parents around the campfire, I couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment. Even though we hadn't seen the Grand Canyon in its full glory yet, I knew that this experience was just as special.
The night air was cold and fog was beginning to form.
“Kinda eerie isn’t it,” Bailey asked me.
“This is a good time for a scary story.” Dad chimed in.
We all agreed as Dad started the story.
"Once upon a time," Dad began, a smile spreading across his face. "There was a brave man named Park Ranger Rick Marshall. He was a widower and the loving father of two adventurous children, Will and Holly."
Excitement filled the air as we leaned in closer, eager to hear the details of the story.
"One fateful day, the three of them embarked on a routine expedition on a raft, exploring a mysterious cave," Dad continued. "Little did they know that this adventure would take an unexpected turn."
Suddenly, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer. “What happened?”
“All of a sudden, there was a huge earthquake.”
"Dad, how big was the earthquake?” I asked. “Was it like a 10.0 on the Richter scale or even bigger?"
Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not quite sure about the magnitude, but let's just say it was the greatest earthquake ever known."
As Dad continued his tale, he described how the earthquake struck while they were navigating through treacherous rapids. The force of nature caused their tiny raft to be flung down into the depths below.
Wide-eyed, Bailey gasped and asked, "Where did they end up?"
"To a place called the Land of the Lost," Dad replied with a mischievous grin.
Bailey's excitement quickly turned to disappointment. "Dad, that doesn't sound scary at all."
Dad chuckled again. "Well, I tried my best to make it thrilling. But don't worry, there's more to the story."
I glanced at Bailey and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, and despite our anticipation for an exciting tale, fatigue was starting to catch up with me.
Mom noticed my tiredness, she smiled understandingly. "Alright, kiddos, I think it's time for bed. We can continue the story tomorrow."
Bailey and I nodded, knowing that there would be plenty of time to hear the rest of the thrilling adventure. As we settled down for the night, our imaginations were already running wild with the possibilities of what awaited us in the Land of the Lost.
We headed back to the camper, but it was really foggy out. “I can’t see anything in this fog!” I complained.
“Just get inside,” Mom said. “It will be gone in the morning.”
“I sure hope so, because it would be a lousy view of the Grand Canyon,” I joked.
Startled awake by an unfamiliar sound outside the camper, I glanced around the dimly lit space and noticed that my family was still fast asleep. Curiosity tugged at me, compelling me to investigate. I rose from my bed and approached the window, only to find the thick fog still obscuring my view. It was impossible to discern anything beyond its hazy veil.
Hopeful that the fog would dissipate by morning, I returned to my pillow, attempting to convince myself that it had all been a mere nightmare. However, sleep eluded me as I stared up at the ceiling, my mind plagued by unanswered questions.
Seeking solace in distraction, I reached for my phone to check the time. To my bewilderment, there was no clock displayed on its screen. Frustration welled up within me, and I lightly tapped the device in a futile attempt to rectify the issue. Realizing that it was futile and inconsequential in that moment, I resigned myself to sleep and resolved to address the matter come morning.
Just as drowsiness began to reclaim me, the enigmatic noise reverberated through the air once more. Startled and filled with a sense of urgency, I leapt from my bed and hurried over to my parents' sleeping forms. Desperate for answers, I urgently whispered, "Mom, Dad, there's a strange noise outside our camper."
My father's voice growled with irritation as he responded, "Riley, go back to bed! It's probably just an animal."
Reluctantly obeying his command, I turned to retreat to my bed when the unsettling sound echoed through the night once again. This time, both my mother and father roused from their slumber.
Wide-eyed with concern, my mother inquired with a tremor in her voice, "What kind of animal makes that noise?"
Dad's uncertainty was palpable as he replied, "I'm not sure, but I don't want to find out. Let's wait until morning to investigate." He glanced at his phone, only to discover an unexpected anomaly. "What the..." he trailed off, his expression mirroring his confusion.
Alarmed by his reaction, my mother pressed for an explanation. "What's wrong, honey?"
His voice tinged with disbelief, Dad replied, "There's no time displayed on this phone."
A mixture of shock and disbelief washed over my mother's face. "You're joking!" she exclaimed.
"My phone is the same," I chimed in, my worry mounting.
Bailey, stirred from their sleep, their voice filled with grogginess and curiosity. "What's going on?"
As we exchanged concerned glances, it became increasingly clear that something inexplicable and unsettling was unfolding around us. Determined to uncover the truth and ensure our safety, we braced ourselves for the challenges that lay ahead.
The air felt heavier than usual, like the whole world was holding its breath. Every breath I took felt damp and thick, the fog seeping in through every crack and seam of the camper. Even though Dad had said it was probably just an animal, I knew it wasn't. Not because I thought Dad was wrong-he's usually pretty smart about these things-but because the sound didn't feel right. It wasn't the kind of noise you could explain away with raccoons or coyotes or anything like that. It was deeper, more deliberate, like something was calling out from the fog itself, low and guttural, resonating in my chest.
I turned to Bailey, my voice a whisper. "You heard it too, right?"
Bailey rubbed their eyes, sitting up slowly. The dim lantern light cast long shadows across their face, making their unease more visible. "Yeah, but it's probably nothing, Riley. Maybe a big bird or something," they muttered, though their voice didn't have its usual confident edge.
"Since when do big birds sound like... like that?" I whispered back, clutching the blanket tighter around me as if it could shield me from whatever was out there.
Bailey didn't answer right away. They leaned toward the window, squinting into the swirling white mist outside. Their breath fogged up the glass, but it didn't matter-you couldn't see anything through the thick, milky haze. "It's so dense out there," Bailey murmured, their voice barely audible over the faint creaking of the camper as it settled. "You can't see anything. Not even the trees."
"What if something's in the fog?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound calm. My hands gripped the edge of the blanket so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Bailey turned back to me, their expression more serious now, their dark eyes meeting mine. "We don't know that. Let's not freak out, okay?" Their voice was steady, but I could see the tension in the way their hands fidgeted with the hem of their pajama sleeve.
But I could tell they were just as uneasy as I was.
We decided to move closer to our parents, who were already awake and quietly arguing near the camper's small kitchenette. Mom's worried face was lined with shadows, her lips pressed into a thin, nervous line. She had the same expression she always got when something was beyond her control-like when the car wouldn't start last winter, or when Bailey broke their arm falling off the jungle gym. Dad, on the other hand, was pacing, running his hands through his hair and muttering under his breath like he was trying to piece together a puzzle without all the pieces.
"Phones don't just stop showing the time," Dad said, his voice low but tense, almost like he didn't want us to hear. "Even if there's no signal, the clock should still work."
"It's got to be the fog," Mom suggested, though her tone didn't sound convinced. She glanced at her phone again, as if the display might miraculously fix itself. "Maybe it's interfering with... I don't know, satellites or something."
Bailey, leaning against the back of the kitchenette booth, snorted. "Satellites don't control clocks, Mom," they said flatly, though I could hear the quiver in their voice.
"Well, then what do you think it is?" Mom snapped, a sharpness in her tone that made all of us flinch. She wasn't usually like that, but the fog was starting to gnaw at all of us, and I couldn't blame her.
Bailey shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I don't know," they muttered, folding their arms across their chest.
The camper fell silent after that, except for the strange noise outside. It came again, low and rumbling, like a growl mixed with a groan. The sound was so deep it seemed to vibrate through the walls, making the pans on the small kitchenette rack rattle softly. It wasn't constant-it faded in and out, like the fog itself was breathing.
I pressed myself closer to Bailey, clutching their sleeve. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, and I barely registered that I was holding my breath until Bailey gently shook my hand free and squeezed it for reassurance. They didn't pull away, and that told me more than anything else that they were probably just as scared as I was.
"It's getting louder," I whispered, staring at the thin metal door of the camper as if it might burst open at any moment.
"I know," Bailey whispered back, their voice tight.
The fog swirled outside the windows, a ghostly white wall that seemed alive, pressing closer with every heartbeat. In the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the thought that it wasn't just a fog bank. It felt like the mist itself was watching us, waiting.
Finally, Dad stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping like he'd been carrying the weight of the entire camper on his back. His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. "Okay. Here's what we'll do. We'll wait until sunrise, then we'll pack up and head out. Whatever's going on, we're not staying here another night."
Mom looked up from her spot near the kitchenette, clutching her phone tightly as though it might suddenly spring to life and offer her some clarity. "Do you think it's safe to wait?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was something in her tone I didn't hear often-fear.
"It'll have to be," Dad replied, crossing his arms and glancing out the small window near the door. His face was lit by the pale glow of the fog outside, and for a moment, he looked older, more tired than I'd ever seen him. "I'm not risking us stumbling around in that fog. We'd get lost-or worse."
The plan made sense, and part of me wanted to believe Dad had it all figured out. But there was another part, a louder, jittery part, that couldn't shake the feeling the fog wasn't going to let us leave so easily. It wasn't just the strange noise-it was the fog itself. The way it curled and twisted, pressing up against the windows like it was trying to get in. The way it seemed to move with purpose, like it was alive. Like it was watching us.
I glanced at Bailey, who was sitting cross-legged on the lower bunk, their head tilted as they stared at the window nearest them. They must've been thinking the same thing because, after a moment, they leaned over and whispered, "Do you think the fog is... like, weird?"
Their voice was soft, careful, like they didn't want anyone else to hear. Or maybe they didn't want the fog to hear.
I nodded, pulling my knees to my chest. "It's like it's... hiding something," I murmured, stealing a glance at the swirling mist outside. Every time I looked at it, I felt like I was going to catch something moving just out of the corner of my eye-but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. Just the endless white.
Bailey didn't laugh at me, which made my stomach twist. They usually teased me about stuff like this, told me I was imagining things or being dramatic. But now, they just stared at the window, their brows furrowed. It made me feel even more nervous. If Bailey wasn't making a joke, then maybe they thought I was right. And if I was right...
"What do you think it's hiding?" Bailey asked, their voice so low it was almost drowned out by the faint creak of the camper as the wind shifted outside.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Something big."
Bailey's eyes flicked to the window, then back to me. They didn't say anything, but the look on their face told me they were imagining the same thing I was: shadows moving in the fog, shapes too big to be animals. The kind of shapes you don't want to see up close.
The night stretched on, a long, unbroken stretch of silence and tension. None of us could sleep, even though we were all exhausted. Dad stayed by the door, gripping his flashlight like it was a weapon, his jaw set and his shoulders squared. Every so often, he'd glance out the small window near the door, his face unreadable in the dim light. It was like he was guarding us against something-something he couldn't quite see but knew was out there.
Mom sat on the edge of her bed, her posture rigid. She was staring out the opposite window, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her phone clutched in one hand. Her reflection in the glass looked ghostly, distorted by the fog that pressed up against the windows. It was so thick now that it looked almost solid, like a wall that had formed around us, cutting us off from the rest of the world.
Bailey and I stayed close, our voices hushed as we whispered to each other, trying to fill the unbearable silence. We didn't talk about the fog or the sound or the way the camper creaked every so often, like something was brushing against it. Instead, we talked about home, about our vacation, about the things we'd do when we got back. It felt like a lifetime ago, and the more we talked, the more it felt like we were trying to convince ourselves that we'd actually make it back.
It was almost dawn when the sound came again. This time, it was louder-so loud that it wasn't just something you heard. It was something you felt. It started low, a deep rumbling that seemed to rise up from the ground itself. The whole camper vibrated, the pans hanging in the kitchenette clinking softly together. The sound wasn't natural. It was too deep, too steady, like something massive was stirring in the fog, trying to break free.
Bailey grabbed my arm, their fingers digging into my sleeve. Their wide eyes met mine, and for the first time that night, I could see raw fear there. Not just unease or worry-fear. The kind that made your stomach drop and your chest tighten.
"What is that?" I asked, though my voice was barely audible over the noise. My words felt small, useless, like they'd dissolve into the air before anyone could hear them.
Dad stood abruptly, his flashlight cutting through the dim interior of the camper. Without a word, he shone it out the window, sweeping the beam back and forth through the swirling mist. But the light didn't reveal anything. It just bounced off the fog, illuminating the endless white that surrounded us. Whatever was out there, it was staying hidden.
"Stay here," Dad said finally, his voice steady but low. He didn't sound scared, but he didn't sound confident either. He sounded like someone trying very hard to keep it together. "I'm going to take a look."
"No way!" Mom snapped, springing to her feet and grabbing his arm. Her voice was sharp, but there was a tremor in it that gave her away. "You are not going out there alone."
Dad hesitated, glancing between her and the door. His grip on the flashlight tightened. "Someone needs to figure out what's going on," he said, his tone softening, but Mom wasn't having it.
"Not alone," she said firmly. "If you go, we all go. We stay together."
For a moment, Dad looked like he was going to argue, but then he sighed, his shoulders sagging just a little. "Okay, fine. We'll all go. But stay close to me, and don't wander off. Got it?"
Bailey and I nodded, though I wasn't sure my legs would even work if I tried to wander. My hands felt cold and clammy, and my heart was thudding so hard I was afraid it might give me away. Bailey squeezed my arm lightly, a silent reassurance-or maybe they needed the reassurance too.
Dad opened the door slowly, and the sound of the fog hit us immediately. It wasn't just quiet out there-it was too quiet, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring and your skin crawl. The fog spilled into the camper like smoke, curling around our feet as we stepped outside. It was colder than I expected, the dampness clinging to my clothes and skin.
"Stay close," Dad whispered, his voice barely louder than a breath. He led the way, flashlight sweeping the ground in front of us. The beam barely cut through the fog, illuminating only a few feet ahead. Mom followed him, her hand gripping the back of his shirt like she was afraid to let go. Bailey and I brought up the rear, huddling so close our shoulders touched.
The sound had stopped again, but the silence was worse. Every step we took seemed too loud, our feet crunching on the gravel path like thunder. My heart pounded in my ears, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see something moving in the mist. But there was nothing-just the fog, stretching endlessly in every direction.
We hadn't gone far when Dad stopped abruptly, holding up a hand to signal us to stop. "Wait," he said, his voice barely audible. His flashlight beam was fixed on something up ahead-a shape, dark and blurry, standing motionless in the fog.
"What is it?" Mom whispered, her voice trembling.
Dad didn't answer right away. He just stared, the flashlight shaking slightly in his hand. "I don't know," he said finally. "It's... it's not moving."
We all stared at the shape, frozen in place. It was tall-taller than a person-and its edges seemed to ripple and blur, like the fog was wrapped around it, hiding its true form.
"Back to the camper. Now," Dad said, his voice sharp and urgent.
We didn't argue. We turned and hurried back, our steps quick and uneven. The fog seemed thicker now, pressing in closer, and I swore I could hear the faintest whisper of movement behind us. I didn't dare look back.
By the time we reached the camper, my chest was heaving, and my legs felt like jelly. Dad slammed the door shut behind us, locking it and pulling the curtains tight. For a long moment, none of us said anything. We just stood there, the sound of our breathing filling the small space.
"What was that?" Bailey asked finally, their voice trembling.
"I don't know," Dad said, sinking into the seat by the table. He looked at Mom, then at us, his face pale. "But we're not waiting until sunrise. We're leaving. Now."
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.