The annual camping trip had become a tradition for the group of friends, a way to reconnect and escape the pressures of their daily lives. But this year, something felt different from the moment they arrived at their usual spot in Willow Creek.

Emily, always the most sensitive of the group, had felt a chill run down her spine as they set up camp. "Guys, I don't know about this," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "Something feels off."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, her practical nature asserting itself. "Em, you say that every year. It's just the woods playing tricks on your mind."

But even Elizabeth couldn't shake the feeling that Emily might be right this time. The air felt heavy, charged with an energy that set her teeth on edge. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on setting up her tent with practiced efficiency.

Mark, ever the protector of the group, glanced around the clearing with a wary eye. He'd served two tours overseas and prided himself on his ability to sense danger. Right now, every instinct was screaming at him that something wasn't right. But he kept his concerns to himself, not wanting to alarm the others.

As night fell and the group gathered around the campfire, the tension in the air grew thicker. The flames cast flickering shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own, and the wind carried whispers that sounded almost like words.

"So," Mark said, trying to lighten the mood, "who wants to hear a ghost story?"

Emily shuddered. "Not me. I think it's creepy enough out here without adding to it."

Elizabeth leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Oh come on, Em. It's tradition. Besides, it's just a story. What's the harm?"

Mark cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice low and ominous. "There's an old legend in these parts about a creature that stalks the woods. They say it can take on any form it chooses – man, beast, or something in between. It's called the Shapeshifter."

Emily pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Mark, please. I really don't want to hear this."

But Mark continued, caught up in the tale. "The Shapeshifter is as old as the forest itself. It feeds on fear, drawing strength from the terror of its victims. Some say it was once human, cursed by ancient magic to wander the woods for eternity, always hungry, always hunting."

A twig snapped in the darkness beyond the fire's light, causing Emily to jump. "What was that?" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

Elizabeth put a comforting arm around her friend's shoulders. "It's nothing, Em. Probably just a rabbit or something."

But Mark's eyes narrowed as he scanned the treeline. He'd heard something too, and it hadn't sounded like any rabbit he'd ever encountered. "Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested, his tone casual but his posture tense.

As the group prepared for bed, the strange noises continued, growing louder and more frequent. Emily tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. In the tent next to hers, Elizabeth lay awake, her skepticism warring with a growing sense of unease.

Mark took first watch, sitting by the dying embers of the fire with a flashlight in hand. He told himself he was being paranoid, that there was nothing out there but normal forest creatures. But as the hours crept by, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was circling their camp, waiting for the right moment to strike.