The bottle was nearly empty when the conversation turned, as it always did on nights like this, to murder.

  "Remember the Maple Hollow Reaper?" Trey asked, grinning wide and dumb, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.

  Kayla turned the camcorder on him. "Of course. Who doesn’t love a good hometown serial killer?"

  Denny leaned against a mossy headstone, flicking his switchblade open and shut with a lazy rhythm. "Urban legend crap," he said, but his eyes were sharp. "You know, like Hookman or Bloody Mary."

  "No way," Cassie said. Her voice had that teasing edge, the one she used when she wanted to stir up trouble. "The Reaper's real. You know the stories. Killings every twenty years, like clockwork. 1945. 1965. 1985."

  "Spooky math," Kayla said, zooming in on her own face, giving her best fake-scream queen expression.

  Trey rolled his eyes. "So that means we're due again. But he had been killing in 1945, that was 60 years ago, maybe the Reaper got old and died of diabetes."

  Cassie sat down beside Beau and stretched out her legs. Her boot bumped his knee, and she didn't move it. "My grandma said it started with a mental patient. Escaped from an asylum outside town. They never caught him. Wore a black cloak. Used a sickle."

  "Classic," Denny muttered.

  "No," Kayla said, grinning. "It was an inbred hillbilly. Lived out in the woods, ate possums and people. Real Deliverance vibes."

  Trey laughed. "I heard he was some negro who got lynched after some white girl cried rape. Whole town did it. Then he came back from the grave with a scythe and a hard-on for revenge. And this time, actually raping the white girls he saw."

  "Y’all are all wrong," Denny said. The blade clicked open again. "It’s a demon. Not even human. A devil that comes up from Hell every twenty years to harvest sin. That’s why it’s always teenagers. Sex, drugs, lies, all the good stuff."

  "Or," Cassie said, leaning closer to the fire, "maybe it’s all of that. Maybe it’s something that wears different faces. Like it changes. But the one thing that stays the same is the cycle."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Her voice dropped. The wind stirred the trees behind the church.

  "We’re next."

  The fire popped. Somewhere in the woods, something snapped. A branch maybe. Or a footstep.

  Kayla grinned wide. "Only one thing to do then. We go up to Devil’s Gate."

  Beau blinked. "What?"

  "You heard me," Kayla said. "Devil’s Gate. Creepy ravine in the woods. Where the last bodies were found in eighty-five. My cousin said there’s still blood on the rocks."

  "You have a weird cousin," Trey said.

  Kayla shrugged. "She lives in Florida now. Probably does meth. And probably sucks dick for meth."

  Cassie turned to Beau. Her eyes gleamed. "Come on, college boy. You scared?"

  He shifted. "It’s late. It’s pitch black out there. There are wild dogs. Coyotes. God knows what else. What if we get lost?"

  "What’s the worst that could happen?" Denny asked, smiling as the blade clicked open again.

  Trey clapped a heavy hand on Beau’s back. "Live a little. Last chance to be dumb before we all grow up and get boring."

  Beau hesitated. Every instinct told him this was a bad idea. The kind of thing you read about in newspaper clippings. The start of every horror story. But Cassie was watching him, daring him. He didn't want to come off as a wimp in front of the girl he had a crush on. The others were already getting up, laughing, heading for the trees.

  He stood.

  "Fine," he said. "But if I get eaten by a coyote, I’m haunting all of you."

  Cassie grinned. "Deal."

  They grabbed flashlights from Trey’s truck and set off through the woods, past the rusted fence that marked the edge of the church grounds. The air turned colder. The fire behind them faded to a faint flicker. Trees closed in around them like tall, silent judges.

  No one spoke at first.

  Then Kayla started humming the Halloween theme. Trey added his own spooky noises. Cassie walked next to Beau, close enough he could smell her strawberry perfume again. It was comforting and terrifying all at once.

  "You know," she whispered, "some say the Reaper never really leaves. Just sleeps between harvests."

  "That’s comforting," Beau said.

  "Maybe he’s watching us right now."

  "Maybe he’s disappointed."

  She laughed and bumped his arm. "Don’t be boring. We’re making history."

  Denny led the way, his blade catching little sparks of moonlight as he flicked it in and out. Kayla filmed it all, whispering commentary like she was making a found-footage masterpiece. Trey trailed behind, singing off-key.

  The woods got thicker. The path narrowed. A cold breeze snaked through the trees.

  Then the earth dropped out in front of them.

  They stood at the edge of the ravine. Devil’s Gate.

  A long, dark gash in the ground, choked with thorns and shadow. Trees leaned in overhead like they were trying to hide it from the sky.

  "Well," Trey said. "Looks like we found it."

  Beau stared down into the black. The wind shifted. He thought he heard something breathing down there. Not wind. Not animal.

  Something deeper.

  "Let’s go," Kayla said, raising her camera.

  And they did.

  One by one, they stepped into the dark.