Chapter 19 Noelle
Noelle
I did not like the woods—and Shane knew that.
Which was why I was a little pissed that he’d shown up only to haul me out on a camping trip.
It was early in the morning when we climbed into Beau’s truck with Shane and Milo, Delilah’s Jeep waiting in the driveway to carry Whit and Holden out to the campground with us.
Everyone gathered in Beau’s kitchen to check over our gear—the guys in jeans and t-shirts, Delilah in an unreasonably fashionable ensemble that somehow also managed to be outdoorsy.
Even Milo had a bandana on, sitting at the door like he knew that was his camping bandana and couldn’t wait to get a taste of the wilderness.
“You packed the mics?” Shane asked, rooting around in his duffel.
“Got ‘em,” I said, flipping open my backpack to show him the portable recorder, headphones, and two clip mics safely nestled between rolls of socks and bug spray.
“You bring the spare batteries?”
“Shane.”
He held up his hands. “Just checking. You’re not exactly in your element out there.”
I gave him a withering look. “You mean in the wilderness where I could be eaten by bugs, bears, or terrifying antler monsters? No. I am not.”
Beau kissed the top of my head as he brushed past, heading toward the door. “You’ll be fine. We’ll stick close.”
Delilah snorted as she tossed a bag of trail mix into her backpack. “You two are disgusting. It’s six in the morning and I haven’t even had coffee and you’re already married.”
“We’re not—” I started.
“Yet,” Shane muttered.
I stared daggers at both of them, but they were already moving on—Shane zipping up his bag, Delilah checking her lip balm like it was survival gear. Beau gave me a wink as he held the door open and Milo trotted out first like a soldier on patrol.
“Alright,” Whit said, clapping his hands together as we filed out. “Let’s go hunt a monster.”
Holden, who’d been sipping from a travel mug, muttered, “We’re not hunting a monster. We’re looking for a misidentified—and very likely sick—deer.”
Whit grinned. “That’s just nerd for ‘he’s scared too.’”
“I’m not scared,” Holden said flatly. “I just believe if something’s out there, it’s probably got a scientific explanation. Escaped exotic pet, migratory anomaly, heightened mass suggestion due to environmental pressure—take your pick. When I was in Guatemala, we—”
“Okay, no offense,” Shane cut in, “but you do realize starting half your sentences with ‘when I was in Guatemala’ starts to rub people the wrong way after a while, right?”
Holden gave him a look like he was deciding whether or not to respond.
“He does that a lot,” Whit offered helpfully. “Talks about Guatemala. You just learn to nod.”
“Maybe because it’s relevant,” Holden said, voice dry. “You know—different ecosystems, local folklore, tangible overlap between myth and animal behavior?”
Delilah breezed past them with her duffel slung over one shoulder. “And there he goes again. Now—are we going or not? It’s an hour drive and I don’t want to miss out on all the good camping spots before someone else takes them.”
Everyone filed into the cars—me, Beau, Shane, and Milo in the truck; Delilah, Whit, and Holden in the Jeep. We had a vague caravan strategy worked out over text the night before, but given who was involved, I fully expected it to dissolve within fifteen minutes of hitting the road.
Shane was already rummaging through his bag again. “You wanna test the mics on the drive?”
“No,” I said.
“Too bad,” he replied, and before I could protest, he’d clipped his onto his hoodie and held mine out expectantly. “We’re doing intro audio. Might as well take advantage of the ambiance.”
I groaned and took it from him, clipping it to my collar. “Fine. But if you get forest static or the sound of me panic vomiting into a patch of poison ivy later, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Milo let out a yawn and rested his head on Shane’s knee, bandana askew.
Beau gave my thigh a squeeze. “You know you don’t have to go if it’s too much.”
“I know,” I said. “But Shane wants me there, and I owe him for missing that panel and making him think I was dead, so…I think I’m locked in.”
Shane adjusted the gain dial on the recorder, then held up one hand like a director about to call action.
“Alright,” he said, lowering his voice into that rich, polished tone he used when we were recording. “This is Shane Maddox, and you’re listening to Whispers in the Dark, the show where we investigate the strange, the unsolved, and the stories that keep you up at night.”
He gave me a look. My cue.
I sighed, leaned a little closer to the mic clipped to my hoodie. “And I’m Noelle Kinney, professional skeptic, folklorist, and woman being dragged against her will into the Gloam.”
Beau laughed softly, shaking his head.
Shane grinned. “Today’s episode marks the beginning of a brand-new series we’re calling Into the Gloaming. We’re headed to Foggy Creek, just outside Willow Grove, Georgia, a place locals say is home to strange lights, missing time, and a creature they call the Gloamstrider.”
He paused for effect.
He always paused for effect.
I picked up the thread. “The Gloamstrider is said to be tall, antlered, and shrouded in mist. Some say it walks like a man. Others say it doesn’t walk at all—just glides between trees without ever touching the ground.”
“Sounds hot,” Shane teased.
Beau snorted.
“You’re insufferable,” I laughed.
“We’ve got eyewitnesses, camera traps, audio gear, and six people with varying degrees of courage and common sense,” Shane said. “Beau—you wanna give us some local flavor?”
Beau winced, keeping his eyes on the road. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“With us is local underwear model and cryptid wrangler, Beau Ward,” Shane said. “He’s going to tell us all about the local legends surrounding the Gloamstrider.”
Beau huffed a breath but played along, adjusting his grip on the wheel.
“Alright, fine. The Gloam’s the part of the woods most people stay out of.
Real dense stretch of forest, lot of fog, lot of stories.
Time gets funny in there. Paths disappear.
Some people swear they’ve seen figures, or lights, or heard voices that weren’t supposed to be there. ”
“Has anyone ever gone missing?” Shane asked, eyes lighting up.
Beau shrugged. “Not officially. Few hunters got turned around, came back rattled…they say some folks have gone missing, but it’s more story than anything else.”
I turned around in my seat. “You know this is how a ton of horror movies start,” I said. “Somebody’s gonna find this in ten years and sell the script to A24, while we rot in some monster’s den.”
“Noelle, if anyone is in danger here, it’s me,” Shane said. “I mean—you’re the final girl, obviously. I’m the instantly lovable gay best friend who dies first.”
I snorted. “You’re not instantly lovable.”
“Wow,” Shane said, clutching his chest like I’d stabbed him. “I’m wounded…but you’re not wrong.”
Beau reached over to turn down the radio, the sound of an old country song fading beneath his fingers. “If anyone dies first, it’s the guy who says he doesn’t believe in any of it,” he said, glancing at me with a grin. “So maybe Holden should watch his back.”
“Great,” I muttered. “That means I have to babysit both of you now.”
Shane was already leaning toward the mic again. “For the record, we are not actually expecting to die. This is a controlled environment. We have water, flashlights, a GPS beacon, and at least three people with basic survival knowledge.”
“Including Beau,” I added. “Who could probably wrestle a bear if he had to.”
“I’m not wrestling a bear,” Beau said calmly.
“You could, though.”
He just shrugged, which I took as confirmation.
Shane’s voice dropped again, going full spooky narrator. “Stay tuned, listeners. In the next segment, we’ll head into the Gloam, set up camp, and see if we can’t find evidence of the Gloamstrider itself. Audio will resume after we reach the trailhead and get settled.”
He clicked off the recorder and immediately went back to riffling through his bag, muttering something about batteries again.
I stared out the window, watching the forest grow darker and denser as the road narrowed. We weren’t far now. Just a few miles of winding gravel road left.
Beau glanced at me. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just…”
I trailed off, my gaze catching on the dark spaces between the trees. Everywhere I looked, I could have sworn I saw eyes like twin moonstones in the shadows…
Beau’s hand found mine again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be fine,” he said, like he could tell exactly where my thoughts had gone. “Whatever’s out there, it’s just woods.”
I nodded, but I didn’t believe it.
Because something had been following me for years…and I had the sinking feeling I was about to come face to face with it.