Chapter XVI: Time's Captive

Sitting cross-legged on the cabin floor, I flipped through the aged pages of the journal I'd found in the shed. It was a portal to the past, the faded ink telling the story of the girl who had vanished, much like the eerie tales Miss Dawson had recounted around the campfire. Penny sat beside me, her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm, her eyes wide with curiosity.

I read aloud, sharing snippets of the girl's journey. "June 14, 1850 – My first day at Camp Willoughby. The sun shone brightly, and the lake sparkled like a thousand diamonds. I made friends with a girl named Lily, and we spent the afternoon laughing by the shore."

Penny listened with rapt attention, her innocent gaze fixed on the journal. "That sounds nice."

I smiled and continued, the words of the past weaving a tapestry of simpler times. "August 2, 1850 – Lily and I pulled off the best prank ever. We snuck into Miss Dawson's office and scared her half to death. Can't wait to see the look on her face when she finds out!"

Penny pointed at the accompanying photo, a black and white photo of an angry counsellor at the door. "They took a picture,"

My heart warmed at her excitement, but something about the entry tugged at my thoughts. Then Penny's voice cut through the silence with an observation that made my blood run cold. "Um, Jordan,"

I frowned, looking at the dates again. "What's up? What're you pointing at?"

She pointed at the photo. "This picture,"

I nodded, unsure of where she was going with this. "Yeah it was taken, in the 1800s."

Penny's eyes widened as she looked at Miss Dawson, her face eternally frozen in time on the page. "But Miss Dawson, she looks the same."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as the implications sank in. Penny was right – the journal entries were dated centuries ago, but Miss Dawson's appearance remained unchanged.

A figure both familiar and eerie, her stern gaze fixed on the camera, her annoyance palpable even through the faded ink. Her ageless face was unsettling, a stark contrast to the aged pages of the journal. Her hair was swept up in a style of the past, her clothing a reflection of a time long gone.

But it was the eyes that truly sent a chill down my spine. They held a depth that seemed to pierce through the photo, as if she was staring straight into the present, right at me.

Dwight and Anabelle's sudden appearance at the cabin door caught me off guard, but their packed bags spoke volumes. "Miss Dawson's calling the drivers to pick us up tomorrow," Dwight announced, his voice a mix of resignation and disappointment.

Anabelle's stoic face held a hint of skepticism. "Seems like our adventure is coming to an end sooner than we thought."

But as they entered the cabin, their expressions faltered at my words. "I don't think she wants anyone to leave," I said, a twinge of doubt in my voice. "I bet she'll find a way to make us stay."

At first, their eyebrows arched in disbelief. Anabelle leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What're you talking about J?"

Dwight chuckled, looking around as if he half-expected Miss Dawson to materialize out of thin air. "Come on, Jordan. That's a bit far-fetched, I mean I know you feel like she hates you but that's a bit much don't you think?"

"Candy's gone, Dwight!" I snapped, frustration lacing my words. "And somehow, I've become the prime suspect. So spare me the 'far-fetched' judgments! This entire situation is a mess! The how and why I ended up here, the sense of déjà vu that won't let up – it's all a jumbled puzzle! None of this adds up!"

Anabelle's usually composed expression softened for a moment, a glimmer of empathy in her eyes. She exchanged a fleeting look with Dwight, their unspoken understanding hanging heavy in the air.

The evening sky painted the campfire in a warm, flickering glow as we all gathered, the atmosphere a mix of camaraderie and uncertainty. Miss Dawson stood before us, her presence commanding attention as she addressed the group. I exchanged knowing glances with Dwight and Anabelle, their raised eyebrows now reflecting a sense of curiosity.

"Campers," Miss Dawson began, her tone measured, "I know the buses were supposed to arrive tomorrow to take you back. However, there seems to be a minor issue, and the drivers might be delayed by a few days."

The campfire crowd stirred, a mix of groans and grumbles cascading through the air. As Miss Dawson continued her explanation, Dwight and Anabelle exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from doubt to realization. My lips curled into a knowing smile as the truth dawned on them – Miss Dawson had found a way to keep us here a bit longer, just as I had suspected.

The flickering flames of the campfire danced in the background, casting elongated shadows on the ground. Penny, her usually bright eyes wide with a mix of wonder and fear, clung to Dwight's neck, her grip on her stuffed bunny unyielding. The campfire, once a symbol of unity, was now a focal point of uncertainty. The world around us seemed to waver, the boundary between reality and the mysteries that shrouded Camp Willoughby growing ever thinner.