A crescent moon hangs in the sky overhead. Its silvery glow is veiled by a misty shroud, making the darkness of the surrounding woods feel more marked.

Gravel crunches under the rotating tires of Ramón's bike; his breath frosts in front of his face each time he exhales. The lights of the town and the university vanished a ways back. Even the sound of the crows seems like a distant memory.

For the first time since setting out, a cold feeling that can only be described as dread is seeping into Ramón's veins. He stops in the middle of the lonely road to check his phone.

It's five minutes away.

But there's a rift in his mind. One half is screaming: turn around! While the other is compelling him to ride on. The road ahead is pitch black, and so is the way back.

I made it this far—might as well keep going.

Ramón's head jerks forward; he heard his name again. A pit starts forming in his stomach; his hands are slowly turning to ice. Once again, he's struck by a strong urge to turn around. But he closes his eyes and breathes in the crisp air that smells of soil and decaying leaves.

I have to find her.

He remounts his bike and pedals forward with renewed determination.

Soon the woods on either side of the road melt away, and a meadow appears, illuminated by the ghostly light of the moon. On the left, across a creeping brook, a narrow path leads into a thick cluster of trees. Off to the right side of the clearing is a bench. Ramón's heart leaps into his throat as he hits the brakes.

A figure is sitting on the bench.

From this distance, all he can see is a shadowy silhouette.

It's her.

Slowly, Ramón begins pedalling his bike towards the figure. He stops a few feet from the bench as moonlight washes over her face. The woman is dressed in a black dress with see-through lace sleeves. Her skin is bone-pale, and her long hair bleeds into the night; Ramón feels drawn to her by an invisible force.

He climbs off the bike in a trance-like state, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the woman. Ramón's feet carry him forwards until he finds himself sitting beside her. A cloud passes over the moon, making it almost impossible to see the colour of her eyes. But somehow Ramón knows they're blue; as if she told him in an unspoken way.

Ramón's eyes have been fixed on her face the whole time. He surely would have seen if those blood-red lips had opened to speak, but they did not move. The woman's delicate hand finds its way to Ramón's; it feels corpse cold against his skin.

"You came, Ramón," she says as if whispering to a long lost lover.

A chill slithers down his spine. His mind feels clouded save for the vision in front of him.

"Name," he mutters. "What's...your...name?"

Her soft-looking lips barely part as she says, "Laurel."

The sound of the name kissing Ramón's ear leaves his heart feeling feather-light.

Laurel. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

A small smile graces her face as if she heard his thoughts.

"Thank you," she says softly. "I know you've come a long way, but would you like to walk with me?"

Name any place.

"Where?" he asks.

"There," she motions to the shaded woods behind the bench.

Ramón manages a nod, and Laurel rises to her feet, holding out her hand to him. He stands up and gently grasps her cold, soft fingers, and Laurel leads Ramón into the night.

***

As they walk through the old woods, Ramón offers his hoodie and gloves to Laurel.

"How gentlemanly," she says, "but I'll have to turn you down for now."

Ramón strikes up a conversation about travelling and is delighted to find that it's a subject Laurel is well versed in. He can't help smiling as he listens to her lovely voice describing cities like Paris, Kyoto, Cape Town and Buenos Aires in such vivid details. Talking with her seems so easy.

She talks like she's seen the world a thousand times, but she can't be much older than me. I have to find out where she lives; I'll have to see her again.

"Do you live around here?" Ramón asks.

"Did you notice the path near the meadow?"

"The one back by the stream?"

Laurel nods. "My home is at the end of that path."

"What program are you in? I don't think I've seen you around campus."

"I don't leave this area," she replies calmly.

He furrows his brow. "Why?"

"My father is incredibly strict; he only works nights, and that is the only time I can leave the house. I'm afraid to go further than these woods and the meadow because he'd be very angry to find me gone."

"I'm sorry," Ramón says. "He shouldn't treat you like that."

"Thank you," Laurel smiles.

"It's true. You should be able to—"

"Do what I want?" she interrupts. "And go where I please?"

"Well, yes," Ramón gently squeezes her hand.

She sighs softly.

"Isn't that what you want?" he asks.

Laurel nods. "It is. But it's not something I can achieve on my own."

Before he can ask her to clarify what she means, the trees looming over them break into another clearing. The blood starts draining from Ramón's face as the moon shines its pale light on a misty sea of tilted gravestones protruding from the earth in front of them.