Even just a few meters ahead of us, the motorcycle becomes nearly invisible under the heavy rain. We watch its every move carefully, especially after its sudden detour on what had seemed like a perfectly normal road. The treacherous ground caught us off guard when loose rocks rolled under our tires, nearly making us lose control. Now, every step feels like a potential risk.

  Suddenly, he veers into the forest, taking a narrow track almost imperceptible to anyone unfamiliar with the area — especially in this storm.

  “Wait… He never actually told us where he’s taking us,” I mutter to Wally, hesitant about following him into the woods.

  “Obviously, to the campsite,” Ella defends him.

  “I didn’t see any signs.”

  “Our car got stuck, then broke down, we were almost in a car accident, and following him got us out of more trouble. If you’re so suspicious, we can deal with it later,” Ella whispers, careful not to wake Zoe. “But whatever nightmare scenario your imagination is coming up with, it’s still safer to follow him than to crash on this road.” Then, she smiles calmly. “A trap? If he wanted to attack us, he would've done it by now.”

  My grip tightens on the damp fabric of my jeans. Maybe he just wants to get us off the road, let the rain wash away any tracks, and make us disappear. My throat goes dry.

  I glance at him through the rain-speckled windshield. He moves with calculated ease, as if he’s done this a thousand times. My chest tightens. Or worse — he’ll take us to his lair, pretend to be kind with so-called hospitality, only to tie us up in some dark attic.

  A shiver runs down my spine. My fingers twitch against my knee. I don’t trust this guy. I can feel it, the hostility in his gaze, the way his jaw tightens every time he looks at me.

  I’m sure he wanted to hit me with that iron plate. Then, when I fell in front of the chainsaw. And each time he looks straight at me when he fails to ignore me. His hatred toward me is tangible. He’s a lunatic, a prejudiced sadist. I don’t even know him, yet he hates me so much. I just know it.

  What would he do to me, isolated, with no witnesses?

  “You clearly don’t trust him, but can you give us a safer option than following him down this treacherous road?” Wally asks.

  “No. But we’ll stay alert.”

  We follow the motorcycle for a few kilometers along a muddy trail, surrounded by dense forest, until the path opens into a clearing. The rain and darkness make it hard to see the details, but the glow of other camps helps us gauge the size of the area.

  We’re not alone. Two other groups are scattered, with two cars and tents, set far apart. I don’t see anyone's movement, but I imagine they’re watching us from the safety of their shelters.

  At least there are other people here. Even if I can’t see them now, they must see us. Killing us here would be difficult — too many witnesses. Unless they’re in on it. And there’s definitely no attic. But maybe… a hidden tunnel?

  The motorcycle heads straight for a truck parked on a small elevated area, further away from the other campers.

  “Why don’t we set up a little closer to him? There’s space up front,” Ella suggests.

  As we approach, the gentle sound of running water reaches us. The side of the campsite with less vegetation must be near a river.

  Sleeping to the sound of nature might be nice. I always sleep well with nature sound playlists — rain, crackling fire, wind rustling through leaves — but nothing beats the real thing.

  Knowing how that river in the middle of the road was rising, growing more turbulent and swollen, this one must be fuller too after this downpour.

  But judging by the sound and the darkness, we’re still at a safe distance. None of the other campers seem worried about the rising water; they’re even closer to it than we are.

  The moment we park, Wally starts unloading the gear, and Ella and I rush to help. Until the work is interrupted by the sound of quick little footsteps.

  Zoe, who was supposed to be asleep, bursts out of the car.

  “I got her!” Ella calls out, dashing after the child, oblivious to the danger. Wally holds himself back from dropping everything and running after her as well.

  Zoe stops near the stranger at the back of the truck, where a transparent plastic sheet shields a small lit-up area. The man is washing the mud off his waterproof jumpsuit with a handheld shower.

  Wally abandons his work entirely to focus on the scene. I’m not the only one who does not trust this guy. Wally only followed because we had no better option. He doesn't seem as cautious as I am about the darkness lurking in this man's personality.

  The man notices Zoe, flashes a subtle smile, and returns to his task, resuming the washing of his dog, now soaked and free of mud. The animal, now clean, shakes itself dry, making Zoe laugh as she shields herself from the splashes.

  Once the man finishes, Zoe looks down at her mud-covered shoes. He understands. Without a word, he rinses her sneakers while Ella hurries to join her.

  The stranger seems understanding, recognizing the mother’s concern as he wipes the large lenses of his round glasses.

  “Cold? Warm shower?” he asks, stretching to open the truck’s metal door.

  Both their faces light up. I see Ella noticing Zoe’s shivering and looking at Wally, who nods.

  This could just be the start of his twisted plan. There’s no attic, but there are other ways to subdue us.

  “Yes, thank you,” Ella replies, willingly accepting to enter the man’s lair. He places his hand near the door, and only then do I notice they’re on a platform, lifting all three of them, the motorcycle, and the tiny trailer. “Wait, I need to grab clothes.”

  A resistant platform with its… interesting mechanisms and equipped with several tools he used to help us get unstuck. He’s well-prepared and well-equipped, out here in the middle of nowhere. It’s not hard to imagine he has many resources to carry out an elaborate plan to kidnap us and put us and put us entirely at his mercy.

  We’re unloading the last boxes when, shortly after, Ella returns under an umbrella, wearing rubber boots and clean clothes, her cheeks rosy from the warm shower. Jealousy gnaws at me. I’m exhausted, wet, and dirty after hours. I’d give anything for a bath… almost anything. Maybe even risk entering the lair.

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  She takes in our filth, our muddy footprints marking the path, irritated enough by the endless rain to not care about the dirt at the entrance of the tent. Then she looks back toward the warm, welcoming glow coming from the truck. Clearly, the grass is always greener on the other side.

  “Where’s our daughter?” Wally asks, setting down a crate.

  “Watching ‘Moana’, while he’s preparing a platter of cheeses, waiting for the lasagna to finish baking,” Ella says, still stunned.

  Instead of looking amazed, she should be watching to make sure he’s not drugging the food. I think about saying it, but she’d just suspect I’ve become paranoid. But not fully trusting a stranger isn’t paranoia — it’s self-preservation. Especially one I know tried to hit me for no reason.

  “This guy’s an angel,” Wally muses.

  Angel of death, more like. Thunder rumbles in the distance, as if agreeing with me. A gust of wind makes the trees groan, branches swaying like skeletal fingers reaching for us.

  I scoff, shaking my head. “Strangely generous, considering his… radiant… personality.” My lips curl in a humorless smirk as I cross my arms.

  Ella ignores my sarcasm, still fixated on the truck. “You won’t believe it. He has a fully stocked kitchen and a small bathroom — but with a bathtub. Even a box to dry the dog. And a clothes dryer cabinet! He's drying my shoes right now,” Ella says, fascinated. “Yeah... and in the back, there's a door with a code,” she adds.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Suspicious. We can’t trust him.”

  Wally folds his arms, tilting his head slightly. “Not weirder than having a bathtub. It’s probably just for security. Who knows what kind of people you meet on the road?”

  I inhale sharply, rubbing the back of my neck. My gaze flickers to the truck’s back door. How about finding a guy with the profile of a psychopathic, antisocial creep who likes to hunt human prey in the forest? Because that’s exactly what this guy looks like.

  “It could be a room to feel safe while sleeping,” Ella follows her husband’s line of thought.

  Or it could be a room to lock up his prisoners.

  Wally tilts his head, intrigued. “You didn’t mention the toilet.”

  “I didn’t see a toilet.”

  “It’d be strange if he didn’t have one, that’s a must-have, right after the kitchen.”

  “You’re not going to use his toilet. He’s already done so much for us, he doesn’t need to deal with your…”

  “Yeah, it’s just that I’m jealous after all the struggle to stay upright in this mud and still in the rain,” Wally laments. Ella looks at me, and we laugh at our misery. “I can’t wait to see what happens when you guys need to go.”

  “Do you think asking for a shower is too much?” I ask, looking at Wally.

  “I had to use the bushes, and you’re thinking about asking for a shower?” Wally quickly dismisses it. “This type of trailer doesn’t have much water, and he’s already done more than enough.” It’s impossible that he’s comfortable with all this dirt and being soaked. Is this some form of penance for us? “What’s it like inside? I can’t imagine such a small truck having so much inside, plus, from the outside, it looks like a…”

  “An ordinary white moving truck that hasn’t even had the logo put on yet,” I finish, frustrated with my state.

  “Inside is pretty austere, no decorations, but it’s lit up. What isn’t metal is made of dark mirrors. Very masculine, but organized and very clean. It also seems pretty high-tech.”

  “Must be like a Batmobile,” Wally guesses, going back to work.

  “Well, I came here to see if you need any help.”

  “We’re almost done,” Wally spreads out the sleeping bags in the only part of the tent that doesn’t have the marks of our muddy footprints. “You can go back to keep an eye on Zoe.”

  As soon as Ella steps up onto the platform, we hear it activate again. We walk to the tent door and see the man coming down.

  Then he walks to the side of the truck, opens a box near the wheel, and extends a hose to the campsite faucet.

  “I think we’ll be able to take a shower,” I comment, excited.

  What could he do while I take a shower? The most dangerous thing would be putting sleeping pills in the food or having a weapon.

  If it weren’t dangerous, I’d be completely grateful, relishing a relaxing shower, hot food, and a good nap after such an exhausting day. It would be a dream if I didn’t have to stay on high alert.

  “We need to finish setting up here,” Wally replies, holding back the hope.

  “We’ll wait for him to offer.”

  “Alright,” he doesn’t hide his smile, just as relieved as mine.

  We hear footsteps approaching as we unpack the last boxes.

  “Shower before dinner?” he suggests with an impassive face, a faint trace of kindness attempting to mask his likely terrible plan.

  However, I notice irritation rising when I smile at him. And I can’t help but wipe my hand on my pants, my discomfort growing, just like his bombastic side-eye, full of disdain and contempt.

  “Thanks a lot for the help and all your kindness,” Wally replies, ignoring the murderous glare aimed at me.

  Then, my friend seems to freeze in thought. He's not going to comment on that look, is he? If he does, he should talk about it after we shower.

  “Sorry about that. I'm Djanga Wali Koori, but you can call me Wally. This is James Jones, JJ. What's your name? After all that, we never even introduced ourselves.”

  The man extends his hand, not really bothered by the oversight. “Sam. So, shower before dinner?”

  He responds so curtly that I can’t tell if it’s out of petulance, impatience, or simply because he doesn’t like to talk.

  Given his actions so far, I wouldn't consider it absurd if his rudeness is just the laziness of putting words together and letting them out of his mouth.

  “Yes, thank you very much. I'll finish setting up here, and then he can go first,” Wally says.

  After that hateful look, he's going to leave me alone with this man? And still consider himself my friend?

  “Once again, thank you for your kindness,” Wally smiles politely at the man, who nods in silent courtesy back at Wally.

  He just hates me. I don’t like him either. I don't care. As if I wanted him to like me. Antisocial, arrogant, and unfriendly guy.

  Sam nods with a sharp movement and turns on his heel, adopting a military stride. I scratch the back of my neck, the discomfort palpable with every step I follow.

  The platform slowly rises, and the silence between us becomes unbearable. Finally, I can't resist. “So, do you come here often?”

  “No.”

  “It's my first time here, even though I've lived in Melbourne for years, and it's not that far from here…” The last word comes out almost like a sigh. He just presses the button harder, as if hoping it'll rise faster. “So, Sam, is it Sam or is that short for something? Samuel, maybe? What's your last name? Where are you from?”

  The platform stops abruptly. He releases the button with a dangerously calm air. The atmosphere seems to close in around us. “Why?” The question barely leaves my mouth, and I swallow hard, feeling the tension build. When he opens his mouth to respond, I see the intrigue in his eyes, but no words come out.

  He watches me warily. His eyes fixed, studying every line of my face, every microexpression. I look away, trying to force myself to maintain a neutral expression, but my body betrays my mind. My hands sweat, giving away my nervousness, like an exposed weakness.

  I have nothing to hide. I’m not afraid of him. But what did I do now? Is he condemning me for trying to make conversation? Does he not even want to answer that? Why this need for silence? The less I know about him, the better, right? Or is he trying to destabilize me? He’s dangerous, like someone from the mafia… I can’t risk knowing too much.

  With visible effort, I keep my gaze fixed on his, defiant. But his response is a devilish, growing smile. A shiver runs down my spine. The tension is almost unbearable.

  Then, he relaxes, shrugs as if he’s decided it’s not worth responding to me. With a quick movement, he presses the button again, completely ignoring my questions. What did he think? What’s going on in the mind of this villain who just came up with a plan?

  I can barely breathe. My hands start drumming on my leg, uncontrollably. What happened? Why didn’t he answer? Maybe he expected me to fall completely silent, never needing to speak again, or maybe he couldn’t even respond to me?

  It’s much more likely he did it simply to avoid having to talk to me.

  Hey, my awesome bookworms! ??

  Avery ??