He shrugged, but didn't move closer. Just stood there at the tree line like he was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. After a moment, he scribbled something else.
You're the new kid.
“Nate.” I waited for him to offer his own name, but he just nodded and kept the notebook closed. “And you are?”
He hesitated, pen hovering over the page, then seemed to decide against writing anything.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” I tried to keep my tone light, teasing instead of accusatory.
That earned me another long stare. Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe?—and he wrote a single word:No.
“Fair enough.” I lowered my camera, sensing that pointing it at him would be a mistake. “So what's the story with this place? Local make-out spot? Haunted? Built on an ancient burial ground?”
He wrote for a longer moment, then showed me:
Something like that.
Getting information out of this guy was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. But there was something about the way he'dhesitated before writing, the careful neutrality in his expression, that made me think he knew more than he was willing to share.
Which, of course, only made me more curious.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You're not supposed to be here either.”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. He wrote:
Depends who's asking.
“Just me.” I spread my hands, showing I wasn't a threat. “City boy with a camera and too much curiosity for my own good.”
This time he definitely almost smiled. Progress. He wrote something, crossed it out, then wrote again:You should be careful. Easy to get lost in these woods.
“Is that a threat or advice?”
Advice.
“From someone who definitely isn't wandering around alone in these same woods.”
Now he did smile, and the transformation was devastating. It lit up his whole face, made him look younger and infinitely more approachable. Made my chest do stupid things. He wrote:
Point taken.
We stood there in comfortable silence, the mill looming behind us like a gothic monument. I wanted to ask him a dozen questions—his name, why he'd been sitting alone at lunch, what he knew about this place that everyone else seemed determined to keep secret. But something about his body language warned me off pushing too hard.
Some people were like wild animals. Approach too fast and they'd disappear into the trees.
Instead, I lifted my camera and gestured toward the mill. “Mind if I take a few more shots? I promise not to wander too deep into the scary woods.”
He glanced back the way he'd come, like he was calculating something, then wrote quickly:
Five minutes. Then you should head back.
“Why? What happens in five minutes?”
But he was already tucking the notebook away, walking back toward the trees.
“Hey!” I called after him. “I didn't get your name!”
Then he was gone, melting into the trees like he'd never been there at all.
