SO

Blackwood Lake, Summer 1973 The music echoed across the lake, drifting through the warm night air as counselors laughed around the bonfire. Fireflies blinked between the trees, and the water shimmered beneath the moonlight. It was the kind of summer night people spent their whole lives trying to remember. Then the screaming started. At first, everyone thought it was another prank. By the time they realized it wasn't, the lights had gone out. One by one, terrified campers fled into the woods, their flashlights cutting through the darkness as footsteps thundered behind them. Someone was out there. Someone watching. Someone hunting. The next morning, the camp was silent. Five bodies were recovered. One was never found. The camp closed before the week was over. Officials called it a tragic accident. The newspapers stopped asking questions. Parents tried to forget. The town buried the truth. Fifteen years later... The gates to Blackwood Lake have rusted shut. The cabins stand empty, swallowed by vines and silence. Most people refuse to drive past after sunset. They say the woods are cursed. They say if you listen closely, you can still hear screams echoing across the water. No one believes the stories anymore. Until the summer of 1988. Because some nightmares don't stay buried. And this one has been waiting...