Everroot forest

Mom reached back and squeezed his hand. “Samuel, you need to try it for me and for your father. We believe you are ready.”

Dad parked beside the gate. The engine hummed for a moment, then stopped. Without the car’s sound, the forest seemed much bigger. Samuel heard leaves brushing together and a bird calling far away.

He took a slow breath.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Mom opened her door. “That’s my brave boy.”

Samuel stepped out and pulled on his backpack. Dad opened the trunk and handed him a rolled sleeping mat and a small metal pot.

“Keep these dry,” Dad said. “And stay near the campsite.”

“I will.”

Mom hugged him tightly. Her jacket smelled like laundry soap and peppermint. Samuel held on for an extra second before letting go.

“When will you come back?” he asked.

“Next Saturday,” Mom said. “We will be here in the morning.”

Dad pointed toward the gate. “The campsite should be just beyond it. Follow the marked path.”

Samuel nodded, though his stomach still felt twisty.

He watched as Mom and Dad climbed back into the car. The doors shut. The engine started. Samuel lifted one hand and waved as the car rolled away.

The sound faded between the trees.

For a little while, Samuel stood beside the road with his backpack, sleeping mat, and pot. He could still see a small patch of the car’s dusty trail. Then even that disappeared.

He was alone.

Samuel turned toward the gate.

It was taller than he had expected, with two wooden sides joined by a metal bar. One side leaned toward the other. The metal was bent into a strange curve, as if someone had tried to twist it by hand.

“Whoa,” Samuel whispered. “Why is that gate so twisted?”

He touched one of the wooden posts. The wood felt rough and cold. A rusty chain hung from the middle, but it was not locked. When Samuel pushed the gate, it squeaked and swung open.

The sound traveled through the trees.

Samuel waited.

Nothing answered.

He adjusted his backpack and stepped through. The path on the other side was narrow and covered with brown leaves. Small signs pointed toward the campsite, but some leaned sideways, and one had fallen into the grass.

Samuel checked his phone.

7:24.

“It’s late,” he said.

The sky was already turning orange between the branches. He had planned to arrive earlier, set up his sleeping spot, and make a fire while there was still plenty of light. Now the forest looked darker with every step.

He hurried along the path. His shoes slipped on the leaves, and his sleeping mat bumped against his leg.

“Slow down,” he told himself. “Falling would not help.”

He slowed just enough to look at the signs. One pointed left. Another pointed straight ahead. Samuel chose the straight path because it had a small blue mark painted on a tree.

Soon, the trees opened into a clearing.

The campsite was not much more than a flat patch of dirt surrounded by bushes. A stone ring sat in the middle. Beside it was a wooden bench with one leg sunk into the ground.

Samuel placed his backpack on the bench.

“This will work,” he said, trying to sound certain.

He unrolled the sleeping mat near the edge of the clearing. The ground beneath it was bumpy, but the mat made it softer. He set his pot beside the stone ring and looked around for dry sticks.

The forest floor was full of fallen branches. Samuel gathered thin twigs first, then thicker pieces. He carried them back in two armfuls. The branches scratched his sleeves, and bits of bark stuck to his hands.

When he returned, he arranged the twigs in the stone ring the way Mom had shown him. He left space for air to move through the pile. Then he added the thicker sticks around the sides.

Samuel pulled out the matches from his backpack.

His first match went out in the breeze.

The second burned too close to his fingers, and he dropped it into the dirt.

“Okay,” he said. “Try again.”

He crouched lower and used his body to block the wind. The third match caught the dry twigs. A tiny flame curled upward, bright and yellow.

Samuel leaned closer, careful not to touch it. He placed a few thin sticks over the flame. The fire crackled, then shrank.

“No, no, stay with me.”

He moved one stick aside and added two smaller pieces. The flame grew again. Warm air brushed his face, and the smell of smoke filled his nose.

Samuel smiled.

He added another stick, then another. Soon the fire was burning steadily inside the stone ring.

“That’s it,” he said. “I did it.”

The clearing looked different with the fire shining in it. The bench glowed orange. The trees beyond the campsite stayed dark, but Samuel could see their trunks now.

He sat on the sleeping mat and opened COCO’s CHIPS. He ate one chip, then another. The salty crunch made him feel a little better. After that, he ate a handful of jelly beans and drank some water.

For a few minutes, everything seemed fine.

Then a branch cracked somewhere beyond the clearing.

Samuel stopped chewing.

He looked toward the sound. Nothing moved.

“Probably a falling branch,” he said.

A soft rustle passed through the bushes. Samuel picked up his flashlight, though he did not turn it on. He remembered Mom’s words: stay near camp, keep the fire small, and do not wander in the dark.

He looked at the twisted gate, though it was far down the path and hidden by trees.

Why had it been bent like that?

Samuel took out his phone and tried to call Mom. The screen showed one tiny bar, then none. The call rang once.

“Come on,” Samuel whispered.

The call ended.

He tried again. This time, there was no ringing at all.

Samuel opened the internet. A message appeared: No Wi-Fi.

He lowered the phone.

“It’s okay,” he told himself. “Mom knows where I am. She’ll come next Saturday.”

The fire popped. A bright spark rose and vanished.

Samuel pulled his knees close and listened. The woods made many small sounds: leaves rubbing together, insects clicking, and wind moving through the high branches. None of the sounds were loud, but together they made the forest feel busy.

He checked the time again.

8:03.

The sky above the clearing was dark blue now. Samuel put the rest of the sticks beside the fire so he would not have to search for them later. He placed his backpack near his head and kept his phone inside the front pocket.

He wanted to be ready for sleep.

But the campsite did not feel like home.

The bench creaked when the wind touched it. The path seemed longer than before. Beyond the firelight, the trees stood close together, hiding everything past their trunks.

Samuel pulled the sleeping mat nearer to the fire, but not too near.

“I’m safe,” he said. “I have a fire, food, water, and my phone.”

He repeated the words more quietly.

“I’m safe.”

A cool breeze moved across the clearing. The flames leaned to one side, then straightened. Samuel added one more stick and watched the fire catch.

He had wanted to prove that he could spend a week in the wild. Now he understood that knowing what to do was not the same as feeling ready to do it alone.

Still, the fire was burning. His camp was set. His parents were coming back.

Samuel wrapped himself in his blanket and looked once more toward the dark path.

The twisted gate could not be seen from the clearing, but he could picture it clearly: bent, crooked, and waiting at the edge of the woods.

The fire gave him warmth, but the forest kept its distance.

Samuel held his phone close and listened until the crackling flames became the loudest sound around him. He had made it through his first evening, but the strange woods had already taught him one important lesson: being prepared could help him feel safe, but he still had to pay attention to the place around him.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 9,484 words in the full book.