Chapter Text
The Arklay Forest breathed like something ancient and half asleep. Mist clung to the treetops, thin fingers trailing between the branches, and the scent of pine and damp earth pressed close against the windows of Leon’s beat-up firebird. It was early morning, but the sun hadn’t quite managed to break through the thick canopy overhead. The gravel road twisted endlessly, as if it weren’t so much leading him to Camp Raccoon Ridge as luring him deeper into something.
The welcome sign, a cartoon raccoon wearing sunglasses, mid-thumbs up, greeted him with a smug grin just before the final bend. Leon slowed as he passed it, lips pressed in a line. Something about it unsettled him. Maybe it was the way the paint flaked around the eyes, giving the mascot a mean little squint. Or maybe it was just that it felt too cheerful for a place like this.
He parked near the main lodge, a formidable heavy timber structure with a roof that sagged slightly in the center, like it had seen one too many harsh winters. Ivy clawed up one side of the building, and the screen door hung crooked on its hinges. It was quiet. No laughter, no splashing in the lake, no shrieking kids. Yet. Just the hush of wind moving through the trees, low and steady like it was whispering something.
Leon stepped out of the car, duffel slung over one shoulder, and made his way up the creaking steps.
Inside, the air was cooler, touched with mildew and old campfires. The reception desk sat empty except for a logbook, a chipped coffee mug, and a dusty raccoon bobblehead missing one ear. A door creaked open down the hall, and the sound of boots, measured and deliberate, approached.
Albert Wesker didn’t look like any camp director Leon had expected. Tall, lean, and dressed in all black like he was headed for a funeral or a very aggressive hiking trip. His mirrored sunglasses made it impossible to read his expression, though the tight line of his jaw said enough.
“You’re late,” Wesker said, though Leon wasn’t.
“Uh, Leon Kennedy. First day. I’m—”
“I know who you are.” Wesker didn’t offer a handshake. He looked him over once, eyes hidden but posture sharp with judgment. “You’ll report to Redfield. He handles new blood.”
Leon blinked. “Right. Is he...?”
Wesker was already walking away. “Down by the docks. Don’t waste his time.”
And that was it. No welcome packet. No safety briefing. No campfire kumbayas.
Leon found Chris Redfield exactly where Wesker had said; down by the lake, sleeves rolled up, hammering a loose board back into place near the slip. The lake was still, slick and dark like glass, and the dock creaked under Leon’s weight as he approached.
Chris looked up. His forearms were dusted with sawdust and sweat, dark hair tousled like he’d already been working for hours. His expression softened just a little when he saw Leon.
“You must be the rookie,” he said, straightening. His voice was rough, but not unkind. “Leon, right?”
Leon nodded. “That obvious?”
Chris smiled. A small, crooked thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wesker never shows up unless it’s a new counselor or someone died. I figured you weren’t a corpse.”
“Not yet,” Leon said, an uneasy smirk tugging his features.
Chris’ grin deepened. “Good. Keep it that way. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
They walked the campgrounds in silence for a bit, sun inching higher into the sky, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. Camp Raccoon Ridge was sprawling. Half ruined cabins, an old mess hall, a faded archery range with splintering targets. Everything felt a little too quiet. Like the place was waiting for something. Or holding its breath.
“You worked here long?” Leon asked finally.
“Six summers,” Chris replied. “Four as counselor, two running the activities. Not a lot of people last that long.”
“Why’s that?”
Chris didn’t answer right away. He stopped by the edge of the woods, staring into the tree line like he saw something Leon didn’t.
“Place gets under your skin,” Chris said finally. “Some people can't shake it off.”
The wind picked up. A flock of birds scattered in the distance.
Leon looked back toward the crooked cabins, the rustling woods, the dark lake. He felt it too. Like a a prickle at the base of his neck. Not fear exactly. Just something cold. Ancient.
Like something watching.
"Well, let's get going."
They moved from the lake toward the cabins, the trail worn and soft underfoot, mulch and pine needles muffling each step. A crow called out from a branch above, loud and hoarse. Leon flinched. Chris didn’t seem to notice.
“These are the bunks,” Chris said, gesturing toward a row of cabins stretched along the tree line. “We separate them by age group; Acorns, Maples, and Pines. You’ll probably be saddled with the older kids, Pines, unless Wesker decides otherwise.”
Leon eyed the buildings. They weren’t exactly falling apart, but time had definitely gnawed on them. Peeling paint, warped wood, doors bowed a little from the frames. The closest one had a crooked number nailed to the frame, hanging at an angle like it’d given up trying to be straight.
“Is a tetanus shot part of the welcome kit?” Leon asked, smirking.
That earned a short laugh from Chris, though it sounded more out of habit than amusement. “Should be. Though, we haven’t lost anyone to rust poisoning. Yet.”
They stepped onto the porch of one of the cabins, the boards creaking beneath their weight. Chris opened the door, and the smell hit immediately. Old lumber, stale air, and something metallic just beneath it all. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it curled around the senses in a way that lingered.
Inside, the cabin was bare bones. Two rows of bunks, thin mattresses, a couple of overhead lights, and one heavy trunk at the back marked 'EMERGENCY SUPPLIES'. The windows were open, but the air felt heavy. Leon ran his fingers along one of dressers, then wiped the dust on his jeans.
“Cozy.” Chris shrugged. “It’s not the Ritz. But the kids don’t notice once they’re too tired to care.”
Leon looked around. “You ever hear them complain?”
Chris hesitated. “Kids always complain. Ghost stories, creaky floors, someone saw a shadow in the woods. Nothing serious.”
“Let me guess,” Leon said quietly, “Camp’s not haunted, but people talk.”
Chris leaned in the doorway. “It’s not haunted.” Leon turned to him. “But yeah, people talk,” Chris admitted, voice lower now. “Kids hear things. See things. Counselors too, sometimes. Usually after too many late nights.”
“That meant to be comforting?”
Chris looked at him, really looked at him, and for a flicker of a second, Leon saw something unsettled behind his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced with another version of that same offsmile. “You’ll be fine, Kennedy,” Chris said. “Camp’s weird, sure. But it grows on you.”
“Like moss?” Leon muttered. Chris didn’t laugh this time.
He looked back at the bunks, the chipped wood and fading initials carved into the walls. Some were old. Like decades old. One was just a date. 7-14-66. They moved on.
The mess hall sat at the top of a hill, its wide windows fogged from the inside even though the day was warm. Chris explained the meal schedule, the counselor duties, the location of the pantry; “Don’t touch Wesker’s coffee stash if you want to keep your job.”, and pointed out the staff fridge that Leon could use; half covered in duct tape, humming loudly like it was struggling to breathe.
The archery range, the nurse's office, the fire pit ringed in scorched stones, with a crooked row of stumps for seats. The arts-and-crafts shed that smelled like chalk paint, play-doh, and old glue. Each place was… functional. Nothing was broken exactly, but everything seemed too still. The whole place reeked of nostalgia that didn’t belong to Leon. Like stepping into someone else's half-forgotten dream.
Chris paused outside the rec hall last, pushing open the double doors and let Leon take a look inside. “This is where we do movie nights, indoor activities if it rains. Storms hit hard out here sometimes, so always check the weather radio before taking your cabin out.”
Leon nodded absently. His eyes roamed over the peeling posters still hanging on the walls. Back to the Future, The Goonies, a cartoonish safety flyer about poison ivy with that same grinning raccoon giving a thumbs up.
“You guys ever consider remodeling?” Leon asked, stepping back out. “Y'know, a fresh coat of paint. Some lighting that doesn’t flicker like a horror movie set.”
Chris shrugged. “It’s got its own kind of charm. You’ll see. It won’t feel so much like a graveyard once the kids get here.”
He said it casually, but his smile didn’t quite make it all the way up.
Leon watched him for a second. There was something in Chris’s posture—too relaxed, like he was performing ease instead of feeling it. His arms crossed over his chest, knuckles tense. His eyes didn’t linger on the buildings they passed. Like he already knew what was inside. Like he didn’t want to look.
“You alright?” Leon asked, before he could stop himself.
Chris looked at him, surprised. Then his smile returned, softer this time. But no warmer.
“Just tired,” he said. “This place runs you down if you let it.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Somewhere in the trees, something rustled, low and deliberate.
Chris turned toward the sound immediately. Alert, but not alarmed.
“Squirrels,” he said. “Or a raccoon. The real kind, not the mascot.”
Leon glanced toward the trees again, but whatever it was had already vanished. The forest was still.
Chris led him on, talking about counselor schedules, buddy systems, lake safety, whistle protocols. But Leon only half listened. His eyes kept drifting to the woods. The fog there didn’t seem to move like the rest of the air. And something about the way the trees stood, all leaning just slightly to one side, felt wrong. Like they were bending toward something.
Something deeper in. Something waiting.
By the time the sun began to bleed behind the trees, Camp Raccoon Ridge looked almost peaceful. The lake caught the dying light like an open eye, dull gold rippling across its surface, and the air smelled faintly of sawdust and smoke. Crickets had started their chorus early, long and shrill between the trees.
Leon wiped a streak of sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. He and Chris had spent the better part of the afternoon restocking the archery shed, setting out life jackets near the docks, and clearing debris from the fire pit trail. His arms ached pleasantly. It felt good to work. Something physical, something with weight. Something normal.
But the silence still pressed in around them. The kind of silence that didn’t feel natural. Not the hush of tired woods or resting animals, but something held. Something heavy.
They were walking back along the main trail when Leon finally asked, “So… why do I get my own cabin? Not that I’m complaining. Just feels like a weird perk for the new guy.”
Chris glanced sideways at him, wiping his hands on a rag. “There are four counselor cabins. Four beds each. You’re number thirteen.”
Leon blinked. “Lucky me.”
Chris half smiled. “Used to be a waiting list to work here. Camp was huge in the eighties. All four cabins packed, tents set up for overflow. Now we barely get a full roster. And some of the kids? They don’t even stay the full session.”
Leon caught the tone. Flat, almost offhand, but didn’t push. “So what, one of the cabins just sat empty all these years?”
Chris nodded. “Yours. Echo Cabin. It’s been empty since before I started. Maintenance goes in to dust every year. Make sure it doesn’t rot. But no one’s stayed in it in a while.”
Leon slowed as they reached the fork in the path. Three cabins clustered near each other to the left, paint worn but still inhabited, judging by the laundry strung from one porch and the dull thump of music leaking from another window. Chris pointed Leon to the right, down a narrower trail, swallowed quickly by trees.
Yup. Of course.
Leon raised an eyebrow. “Secluded much?”
Chris grinned, something wolfish in it. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
Leon squinted down the path. The woods seemed thicker there. Close. “I’m just saying if I start hearing voices at 3 AM, I’m coming back here and stealing your bed.”
Chris chuckled. “Fair deal. You’ll find Echo about a hundred yards down. Got a better view of the lake than any of ours, so at least enjoy that.”
They walked the trail together until the others were out of sight. Leon’s cabin stood where the forest thinned again, its silhouette framed by crooked trees and the last streaks of sunset.
It was set back a little from the edge of the lake, tucked into a nook of pines. The porch sagged but looked stable. The front window was slightly fogged, the screen door just about hanging on by one top hinge. A rusty raccoon windchime twitched in the breeze, its little tin eyes glinting.
Leon stared up at it.
“This looks haunted,” he said.
Chris laughed under his breath. “Yeah. You should see it at night.”
The screen door creaked when Leon touched it. It sounded like a breath being dragged through teeth.
Chris leaned against the porch railing, watching him with a smirk. “Want me to bunk with you? Hold your hand if it creaks too loud?”
Leon snorted. “Tempting. But I think I’ll manage.”
Chris tilted his head, clearly amused. “Brave of you.”
Leon opened the main door and stepped inside. The air was musty but dry, with a faint, chalky scent like old plaster. Four bunks. Dust sheets still folded neatly at the foot of each. One of the overhead lights flickered when he found the switch.
“Electricity still works,” he said.
Chris lingered in the doorway, arms crossed. “Water, too. Pipes moan like hell though. And if you hear scratching? It’s probably just raccoons.”
Leon turned to look at him.
Chris grinned. “Probably.”
Leon shook his head, but his mouth quirked. “I’ll let you know if I get eaten in my sleep.”
“I’ll send flowers.” Chris pushed off from the railing, giving him one last look. “You’ll get used to it. Camp’s quiet now, but once the kids get here, it’ll feel different. Alive.”
Chris didn’t sound entirely convinced. Like he was reciting it from memory. A thing he had to believe or else.
Leon watched him go, footsteps fading back toward the others. He was alone now, in the woods, in a cabin that hadn’t seen a warm body in years. Outside, the crickets had gone quiet.
He closed the door behind him and locked it. Just in case.