The Ninth Camper

Every night before lights out, our cabin leader stands at the door and reads the roster out into the pitch-black woods. Eight names. One by one, we answer. But this week, a ninth name appeared on the clipboard. No one questions it. The leader reads it, and we wait in the silent dark. Tonight, when the ninth name was called, a faint "Here" whispered back from the trees. At that exact moment, the abandoned crafts shed behind us erupted in a blinding orange glow. My blood ran cold. Staring into the light, I finally understood: the dead ones were us all along.