Gemotions

The air in the office was thick with the scent of cheap cologne and microwaved leftovers. As she ate her bland salad, Kevin, from marketing, walked over and grinned. "Camp Greenleaf, right? I can't believe it! I totally remember you!"

Her jaw clenched. The memory of the camp—the bug bites, the poorly-cooked meals, the constant feeling of being watched—unfolded in her mind like a nightmare. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Yes," she mumbled, pushing the salad away.

"You were always so… enthusiastic," he said, recalling the summer's events with a disturbing glee. He recounted the talent show, the camp counselor’s questionable dance moves, the late-night ghost stories. She had to leave.