Since the death of my brother, I have believed in two types of existence: the world we currently live in and the place we go after. They say we believe in life after life to ease our misery, to ensure our suffering has purpose. We endure hardships with the belief that good blossoms from it.

They say pain is part of the plan.

I want to believe a higher power pulls the strings for the greater good, knowing our misery and aiming to adjust it for our personal growth. Because what a cruel existence life would be if our creator allowed us to suffer for no other reason than pure entertainment.

- Excerpt of Untitled Novel by Ima Jean Paige

A bright red drop of blood spattered beautifully onto the scribbles on my notebook. Mesmerized by the crimson snowflake pattern, I watched how the paper absorbed and pulled at the edges of the droplet.

I pressed my fingers to my nose and drew them back, confirming the source of the liquid with a rosy smear on the tips.

Before I could fetch a napkin, my notebook snapped shut in my palm, causing my pencil to hop from the pages. Startled, I yelped, and Atem folded over in uncontrollable laughter. I tried to glare into prominent brown eyes, but only read his body language that begged, "pay attention to me."

"Can't let a girl use her imagination for nothing in the world, huh?" I sighed and retrieved a paper towel from the glove box, pushing our cell phones further toward the back. After wiping the blood from my nose, I gathered my notebook from the Cheetos dusted floor.

"Your novels are definitely your babies, Ima," he complained. "I gotta get you to remember I exist. Anyway, I hope we make it there before nightfall."

I finally looked out of the passenger window to peek at my surroundings. The sporadic pine trees that lined the road had seemed like a good place for Atem to stop and relieve his weak bladder, although his rancid fluids would taint the pine scented air. Thank goodness he didn't subject me to the sight of him collecting his putrid, energy-drink-infused urine in another water bottle along the drive.

Highway eighty-five was a straight one, no rest stops or gas stations for hundreds of miles, but the scenery was more than creative fuel. The pine trees along the stretch of road lined the highway and were dense in some places. As we passed the trees at ninety miles per hour, I spotted patches of meadow amongst the pine.

The trees whipped by in a blur and the spaces with grassy scenery gave my eyes a reprieve and something to look to as we zoomed by. I blinked and rubbed my lids as a dark, hefty mound swung from a tree as we went by.

We passed too fast for me to get a good look at it, but it caused a bolt of nervous anxiety to prickle my skin. I searched my memory to analyze the suspended form that swayed ominously from a branch, like a black bag filled with large and heavy items. I shook the image and the unease from my mind and focused on my notebook.

Atem expertly guided the wheel, and I did what I did best, jot down ideas and plot points I wanted to add to my story as the sloshing sound of half-filled plastic bottles rolled around under the backseat. I swear, I smelled the urine even though the caps were tightly closed.

"So, your novel." He took his eyes from the road for a split second to glance at my two-hundred-page lined notebook. "What's it about?"

"It's a love story about a lonely girl who recently lost her brother and is seeking answers about the afterlife by going on a spiritual retreat and falling in love with a wild and handsome shaman."

"A little on the nose, ain't it?" The way his prominent nose turned up was a sign that he didn't know whether to be serious or make a joke out of it. "Well, besides the shaman part."

"Authors pull from real life for inspiration all the time," I said in defense. "Sometimes it's the best writing. Sometimes it's therapeutic."

"Oh, come on," he whined. "Don't act like I don't know storytelling."

"You do film, not fiction." I smacked my lips. "Speaking of, I need you to take this seriously. Okay?"

He shrugged, nearly stuttering as he spoke. "What? Why'd you think I'm not taking this seriously? I'm here, aren't I? I understand the importance of documenting this spiritual journey for you. Somuch so, I even brought my camera that's good with long shots and low light, justfor you. All for you."

"Yay." I flipped through pages of the notes I had taken. "It's okay to say you have no interest in spiritual subjects and that you agreed to this because you want more filming experience."

"This is my chance to film a documentary." His eyes widened with excitement. "Forget short horror films. You can only do so much with horror, but documentaries can say so much. And by the way, my films require the craft and skill of fiction too. Someone had to write all those amazing scares."

"I still don't know why you gravitate towards horror." I shuddered at the thought of all the pain and gore. "How can anyone subject themselves to torment for hours, or even minutes, in your case? Not my kind of fun."

"I can say the same about the sappy fairytale love stories you call novels." He huffed. "By the way, who writes in notebooks anymore?"

"Genuine artists." I stuck my tongue out at him and we both chuckled at the infantile gesture.

The rest of the ride we listened to a playlist of mid to late 2000s pop music to take us back to our childhood until we turned off the highway and down a deserted dirt road littered with pinecones from the surrounding trees.

It was easy to see no car had travelled the road recently, as large potholes collected the dried and dead pine needles, pinecones, and leaves that blew from the abundant trees and brush. Maybe mid-autumn wasn't the ideal season for camping in the Ayahuasca forests, for most folks.

"This place is definitely nightmare fuel." I shuddered, realizing the deeper we went into the forest, the darker it became because of the large trees that blocked the light of the late day sun.

"Nightmare fuel?" Atem scoffed. His short curly hair lay stiff on his head, no matter how much he shook it. "This is awesome! This is the perfect Blair Witch vibe we got going on."

"No, I don't do Blair witches, okay?" I sighed. "It's more of a Wizard of Oz type vibe."

"Oh, really?" Atem chuckled. "Even Oz had witches."

"Not creepy ass, murderous Blair Witches," I added, confused at how anyone would want to be scared by pretend horrors while so much genuine horror existed in the world. A few of those traumas I had neatly folded and tucked into my personal baggage. "And that's all that matters."

We continued down the road. The trees seemed to bend and curve at the tops as if attempting to cradle the road and its inhabitants in a cozy hug.

I opened my notebook to jot that down. Curving, hugging pine trees. As I placed my period at the end of the sentence, we hit a pothole and again the pen flew from my hand. I looked up in time to see the ranger's station and the sign announcing our arrival to the Ayahuasca National Forest.

I put the notebook aside and allowed my excitement to rush through me. Anticipating the serene, secluded, meditative state of the sacred place.

"We're here!" Atem sang. "Ooh, that building, and those trees look so old and creepy, doesn't it?"

"Stop it!" I smacked his arm and he hissed. His light brown skin blushed at the spot. "This is supposed to be relaxing and beautiful. Stop trying to make it Camp Crystal Lake or something."

"I'll give you a point for the reference. However, I take it away for your lack of enthusiasm in that artful medium."

"Of course, I'm aware of Jason Voorhees." I smacked my lips. "Not stupid. I know him. Just don't like him."

"And I take away another point for knowing the killer, but not knowing the name of the movie you referenced." He shook his head pathetically, his short curls stealing my attention.

He parked in the open space in front of the small, wooden ranger station that looked more like an oversized outhouse than a building for formal business. The red and white sign dangled from a metal hook on the door and announced its closure.

"Aw, look how the sign's swinging in the breeze. That would make a good opening shot or B-roll footage. I'm gonna grab my camera." He got out of the driver's seat and went into the trunk.

I used the moment to take in the sights and pine smell and stroll toward the large ornamental tablet next to the swaying sign. The wooden plaque displayed a stencil of a dead tree with coiled branches near the top and a paragraph written beneath it. There were paragraphs about the Ayahuasca plants not growing in the forest and details about the spiritual aspects of the sacred land that gave the forest its name, but I skimmed them to read the last few lines.

Healing with Ayahuasca, the sacred vine. It is important to set your intentions while seeking the powerful effects and spiritual enlightenment of Ayahuasca. As this plant-based medicine awakens you spiritually, but requires you to purge before receiving your intended gift.

As soon as I finished the last line, the crunch of pine beneath Atem's feet got my attention just as he shoved the massive camera in my face.

"Say hi to the people," he prompted. I lifted my hand and my middle finger to the lens. "That'll do."

"Well, this plaque wasn't helpful at all, as I already set my intention." The part about purging was interesting, suggesting I had to give to the forest before I could receive. It made sense.

"Is that so?" He hoisted the hefty handheld camera to get a better position and kept his eyes on the external monitor attached to its side. "Tell the people."

"Uh, well." I took a soothing deep breath to prepare myself for the flood of emotions that threatened to burst out. "My intention is to know if Clay's soul exists somewhere out there. Maybe not the classic afterlife, but something similar. Is he really looking over me? Does he have some sort of message for me? Or is it really, really over?"

"Oh," Atem frowned. "I didn't know this documentary was about your brother."

"It isn't," I shrugged. "I mean, I just want answers. You know?" I turned toward the ranger's station again to get my emotions in control. The last thing I wanted was to purge prematurely by opening a floodgate of tears. How embarrassing. "Anyway, looks like we're all alone out here, huh?"

"Yup," Atem adjusted the camera again. "I even know the perfect spot to do the ceremony. You got the special brew?"

"Of course, I got the brew. This wouldn't be a spiritual experience without it." I went to the trunk to unload the tents, sleeping bags, food chest, and equipment we would need for the weekend stay. "And what do you mean, the perfect spot? How would you know? You've never been here."

"I know how to research, Ima Jean Paige." He grabbed some of the stuff from the car. "There are a few campgrounds around here. There's actually a spot a few feet ahead that has a really cool campground. We can put up a campfire and stuff. It'll be awesome. Speaking of awesome, why isn't Zeke joining us?"

"Really?" I gave him the side-eye. "Awesome brought you to Zeke?"

"What? Zeke's alright. Right?"

Zeke may have been alright in Atem's eyes, but he technically wasn't very good boyfriend material. His attention always seemed to be on his friends, his hobbies, his rock band The Garbles and their music.

I shrugged. "This is more of a personal journey. Something I gotta do on my own. You know?"

"Oh—" His shoulders slumped as he appeared a bit deflated. "I thought you'd want him here with you before me." He paused, judging, watching me out of the corner of his eyes.

I imagined him mocking the dry patches on my elbows that made my complexion ashy grey instead of the chestnut brown I preferred and pulled the sleeves of my sweater down. Even though I was a quarter Caucasian on Dad's side, and three-quarters African American thanks to Mom, that combination made me no stranger to dry, sensitive skin.

I huffed, choosing to be honest. "You have filmmaking knowledge. He has rock music knowledge. Which seems more helpful in my situation?"

"Oh, so you're just using me for my knowledge. I see." He shook his head.

"Let's call it a collaboration. You get your film and I get my answers." I nodded reassuringly. "Besides, having it be just us two will ensure nothing interferes with the process, which is why phones stay in the glove box. Alright?"

"If you say so." He continued down the trail beyond the ranger's station and I followed.

The forest was compact with plant life. Every inch of the scene contained greenery and produced shadows in every nook and cranny. It was easy to look at the forest and imagine the big bad wolf emerging from one of the darkened recesses, but I was determined to keep my sights set on my spiritual intentions and not allow Atem and his evil imagination to influence me.

The spacious campsite was nothing more than a large round clearing with a huge, bricked off fire pit in the center. Perfect for novice campers like me. We dropped off the items near the edge of the space where the trees lined the threshold.

Setting up camp was quick and easy, as the only thing we would have to worry about was gathering firewood. And lucky me, I had brought some pre-cut from the convenience store a few hours ago when we stopped to fill up on fuel, top off a gas can for assurance, and make sure the spare tire was a go if needed. So, naturally I prepared the fire while Atem set up his cameras.

Night fell fast. As the fire sparked and grew, I sat crossed legged on the ground before it, taking in its growing warmth and light. The leaves crunched beneath me as I pulled my notebook from the pack filled with warm changes of clothes for the two nights. I flipped through the pages, looking for a blank sheet to jot down my intentions and ideas.

Something stood out amongst the handwritten text. Words I recognized but were simultaneously unfamiliar.

She peers into the forest and imagines the big bad wolf emerging from one of the darkened recesses.

"What?" I scratched my temple. I had just been thinking about a wolf emerging, but I didn't have a moment to jot those words down. Have I previously written them and forgotten? "This is strange."

"What's going on?" Atem asked but didn't look up from adjusting his camera settings.

"This outline." I scanned the subsequent text.

Her eyes lock onto the abhorrent creature as it creeps through the gangly trees of the wood. Her bloodcurdling scream pierces the stillness surrounding her just as the monstrous beast attacks.

An uneasiness crept under my skin like a million tiny insects. I suddenly knew I was being watched. I looked up from the notebook and stared straight ahead into the darkened forest. There, between the thick and dark trunk of the trees, a glowing pair of eyes stared back.

Maybe it's a monster. Maybe it's not. Turn to the next page to find out what's really going on.

Don't forget to add Tattered Paige to your libraries and reading list.

Thanks for your support!