"Boys' trip, baby!"
Ambrose leaned halfway out of the SUV window, arms flailing, mouth wide open like a golden retriever living its best life. His voice echoed through the hilly terrain as the vehicle snaked its way up the winding road.
Alex shook his head, half amused, half exhausted. "You fall out, we're not turning back."
"Noted," Ambrose grinned, pulling himself back in with wind-tossed hair and a face full of excitement. "If I die, put 'He died doing what he loved—being a drama queen' on my tombstone."
In the back seat, Jacob rolled his eyes. "You've got issues."
"Only the interesting kind."
The car carried four friends—Alex, the calm and composed leader of the group; Bobby, the science nerd with a sharp brain and dry humor; Jacob, the grounded skeptic with a permanent frown; and Ambrose, the loud, chaotic energy that made even silence feel crowded.
It had been months since they'd all hung out properly. Jobs, families, and life had kept them apart. This trip—three nights at a remote hill station—was their way of reconnecting. No deadlines. No distractions. Just fog, forests, and friendship.
The driver, an older man with a face that looked carved out of weathered bark, finally broke his silence.
"So... where are we headed exactly?"
Alex, still glued to his phone, pulled up the reservation email. "Mistwood Hillside Retreat. Just outside the town."
The driver's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Are you sure?"
Jacob leaned forward. "Why? What's wrong with it?"
The driver hesitated. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. "Nothing. It's just... that place has a reputation."
Ambrose perked up. "What kind of reputation? Spooky? Cursed? Secret vampire cult?"
"No, no." The driver laughed, but the sound was thin, like a cracked bell. "Just... don't wander out between 3 and 5 AM. Especially near the forest."
"Ghost hour?" Ambrose wiggled his eyebrows. "Do shadow people come out and ask for tea?"
The driver gave a tight-lipped smile. "Not ghosts. Just... the cold. That time of night, it's easy to lose your way."
Alex caught Bobby's eye. Neither said anything, but the tension hung between them like fog.
---
The resort wasn't what they expected.
Tucked between thick trees and shrouded in constant mist, Mistwood had an eerie kind of charm. The buildings were rustic, the paint was fading, and there was a strange stillness about the air, like the whole forest was holding its breath.
The bellboy—young, pale, and avoiding eye contact—led them to their rooms.
"Anything we should know?" Bobby asked casually.
The boy stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder.
"Just… don't go outside between 4 and 5 AM." His voice was a whisper, like he was afraid the walls might hear.
Alex frowned. "Okay, we've heard this before. What's the deal?"
The boy shook his head. "I don't know. It's just what we're told to say. Most of us don't ask questions."
Jacob scoffed. "Of course you don't."
"Sleep well," the boy said, unlocking the room and vanishing down the hallway.
---
That night, after a round of snacks and games, Jacob and Ambrose called it early and collapsed onto their beds. Alex and Bobby stayed up, lounging on opposite ends of the room.
"You ever wonder," Bobby began, staring at the ceiling, "if this is what a simulation feels like?"
Alex turned his head. "The trip?"
"No. Life. Work. Relationships. We play roles, follow routines, then escape once in a while to feel alive."
Alex nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes, I think I'm just on autopilot."
"I miss this, man," Bobby said quietly. "Being disconnected. With people who actually get me."
"Same."
They drifted into silence.
Until it came.
A low, whining siren.
It wasn't loud. But it pierced the air like a blade, rising and falling in strange, rhythmic waves.
Alex shot up. "You hear that?"
Bobby didn't move.
"Bobby!" he whispered harshly, shaking him. "Wake up!"
Nothing.
Bobby's breathing was slow. Heavy. He was out cold.
Alex grabbed the landline phone near the bed and dialed reception.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Annoyed and unsettled, he muttered, "Why is no one ever available when something actually happens?"
He stood at the door, one hand on the handle. His mind flashed back to what the driver and bellboy had said.
3 to 5 AM. Don't go out.
He cracked the door open.
The corridor was dim, bathed in soft yellow light. Silent. Still. Except...
The phone at the front desk was ringing.
Who was calling them?
Heart pounding, Alex crept forward. Every step felt louder than it should have. The siren outside seemed to fade, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
He reached the reception, leaned over, and answered the call.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was faint, crackling.
"You shouldn't be here."
It was his own voice.
Identical. Calm. Deadpan.
Alex's blood ran cold. The receiver slipped from his hand and clattered against the counter.
The line went dead.