The End of Summer

The call of the wild is answered by Jake Deschanel. Winner!

Jake Deschanel had always felt the pull of the wild. From the first time his father pitched a tent beneath the pines of Olympic National Park, Jake knew the outdoors was where he belonged. He had been eleven then, small but wide-eyed, clutching a fishing pole too big for his hands. His dad had shown him how to bait a hook, how to listen for the wind in the trees, how to find comfort in silence. That trip had sparked something in him, a fire that no amount of city life could dim.

Now, at twenty, Jake was preparing for one last summer trip before returning to college. Only this time, he was going alone. His father’s work kept him in Seattle, and though it felt strange not to have him there, Jake wanted to prove he could manage the wilderness on his own.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” his mother said, standing in the driveway, wringing her hands as Jake stuffed the last of his gear into his old hiking pack.

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Jake said with a reassuring smile. “It’s just a week. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her eyes searched his, worried and reluctant, but she pulled him into a hug anyway. “You remind me too much of your father,” she whispered.

Jake laughed, kissed her cheek, and waved goodbye to his friends, who called out half-serious jokes about him being eaten by a bear. Then he got into his truck and drove toward the mountains, excitement buzzing in his chest.

The first days went exactly as he’d hoped. He hiked long trails that twisted through towering evergreens, fished in cold, rushing streams, and cooked his catch over an open fire. At night, he leaned back against his sleeping bag and listened to the wilderness breathe; the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the steady hum of insects. It felt like coming home.

On the third night, though, things shifted.

He had been dozing by the fire when he heard it: faint, lilting, almost like singing. At first, he thought it was the wind threading through the trees, but the notes were too clear, too deliberate. A melody, haunting and strange, drifting through the dark.

Jake rose, frowning, his flashlight in hand. “Hello?” he called, though his voice sounded too loud in the stillness.

No answer...just the singing, weaving between the trunks, pulling him deeper into the woods.

Against his better judgment, Jake followed. He stepped carefully over roots and rocks, drawn by the sound. It grew stronger, stranger, until he swore he could hear words in a language he didn’t understand. His pulse quickened. He knew he should turn back, yet something inside urged him forward.

And then, nothing.

The singing stopped. The woods went quiet, suffocatingly so, as though every living thing had paused to listen. His flashlight flickered once, twice, and then went dark.

Jake stumbled, the darkness swallowing him whole.

~ ~ ~

A week later, Jake’s parents waited by the phone. He had promised to call, to let them know he was safe. The day passed, then another, and the silence grew unbearable. His mother wept, her worst fears spilling into reality, while his father refused to believe it. He packed his own gear, drove out to the mountains, and hiked until his legs gave way.

He found Jake’s campsite abandoned. The tent still staked, fishing pole leaning against a rock, fire pit cold. But no sign of his son. No footprints beyond a few leading into the trees and vanishing as if the earth had swallowed them.

Search parties combed the wilderness. Dogs sniffed, helicopters circled, and volunteers called Jake’s name into the forest. Nothing. It was as if he had stepped off the face of the earth.

~ ~ ~

As the years slipped by, his mother never stopped waiting. Every evening she set a plate at the dinner table, whispering silent prayers that her son would walk through the door. His father returned often to the campsite, sometimes with Jake’s old friends, more often alone, combing the same trails, searching for signs no one else believed were there.

Hope was all that remained, thin as smoke yet impossible to extinguish.

Jake Deschanel
Missing since August 15, 2025.

Written for:"The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: Write a story or poem that has the title:
"The End of Summer"
Also, please select "Nature" as one of your genres.
Word count: 708