Four friends sat around a dying campfire deep in the woods.
The flames hissed, shadows danced, and somewhere far off, something cracked a branch.
They laughed too loud, trying not to notice.
A fifth figure sat just beyond the light — face hidden, shoulders still. No one remembered him arriving, but no one wanted to ask.
When the last log collapsed into embers, the quiet felt heavy.
“Guess we should go,” someone said.
They turned to grab their bags.
There were only four.
And when they looked back at the fire…
the hooded figure was gone.
But something still breathed there — slow and wet, like lungs filling with smoke.
In the morning, rangers found the ashes scattered, four pairs of shoes, and five long drag marks leading into the trees.
They say if you tell this story near an open flame,
the fire will flicker once —
because he’s there again,
warming his hands.
id:Slalloy