Posted: August 31, 2025 – 8:00 PM CDT

🔥 The campfire crackled like a living thing, throwing sparks into the indigo sky where a dying summer moon hung low and soft. Fireflies blinked neon green in the cattails edging the lake, their lights steady and unnatural, like tiny watching eyes. The air smelled of burnt marshmallow, sweat, lake water—and something else. Something damp and earthy, like the dark under a bed you don’t look beneath after midnight.

Camp Whippoorwill sat at the edge of a town that could’ve come from a Ray Bradbury story—just a few blocks wide, with a single blinking traffic light, a soda fountain, and kids who still rode bikes after dark. Tomorrow, they’d all return to school. But tonight was The Last Fire, a tradition going back to when their parents were campers themselves.

“Tell us the story,” Claire whispered, hugging her knees. Her braid was frizzed from the lake. “The one about the boy in the woods.”

The others leaned closer. The air stilled. Even the bullfrogs seemed to hush.

Colby, oldest by one summer, cleared his throat. “Okay. But you’ve gotta promise not to scream. He doesn’t like that.”

Everyone nodded.

“They say it happened here, right where we’re sitting. Years ago, a boy named Milo got left behind on the last day of camp. The buses rolled out, the cabins were empty, and Milo… well, no one noticed he was missing. He wasn’t the kind of kid people noticed. Kind of quiet. Wore long sleeves even when it was hot. Always drawing monsters on the back of his worksheets.”

Claire shivered.

“Anyway,” Colby continued, “the counselors thought he went home with his mom. His mom thought the camp had him. By the time they realized the mistake, a storm had rolled in. Real bad one. Tornado sirens and all. They say Milo tried to hike out himself, but he got turned around. The storm knocked a tree down over the only trail out. They didn’t find his body for two weeks.”

“Stop,” Benny whispered. “You’re making it up.”

Colby shook his head slowly. “The camp closed that summer. Reopened the next year under a new name. Same cabins. Same lake. But they say every August 31st, he comes back. Still trying to find his way home. And if he thinks you’re the one who left him—he follows you.”

A spark popped in the fire. Someone yelped.

“Sometimes,” Colby added with a grin, “he leaves something behind. A wet footprint outside your tent. A drawing of your face under your pillow. A piece of your bracelet in your shoes.”

Benny glanced at his feet. Claire gasped.

She held something up. A torn drawing. Done in pencil. Stick figures around a campfire. One of them had no face.

Colby went pale. “That wasn’t me. I swear.”

Then they heard it. Not the hoot of an owl, not the call of a whippoorwill. But something like a low sob, out in the woods. Followed by a single snap—a twig, breaking.

Claire screamed. The fire dimmed. The cattails stopped swaying.

They all turned, slowly, toward the lake.

A boy stood on the far bank. Soaking wet. Hair matted. Staring.

They ran.

They didn’t stop until they reached their cabins, slammed the doors, and piled chairs against them. None of them slept. Not really.

And when the buses came in the morning, no one spoke a word.

Except Benny.

He handed the camp director a damp drawing he’d found under his sleeping bag.

The caption at the bottom read:
“You forgot me again.”

Vacation Tip: Don’t be last to leave. And always check under your bed.

🎒 Tomorrow Night: Class is in Session

Think summer vacation was scary? Wait until the bell rings. Starting September 1 at 11:00 PM CDT, follow us back to school—where every classroom holds a secret, every hallway whispers, and surviving the semester might just take more than good grades.

Join us nightly for Haunted School Stories all through September.
Pack your lunch. Sharpen your pencils. And whatever you do… don’t stay after class.