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Rated: E · Short Story · Mystery · #2123843
A man camping in the winter meets a stranger in the night.
I can still remember it like it was yesterday. February 7th, 2005. The snow on the ground was ankle high. But it was cold. The river was almost frozen over, just a few spots left open. You could see the red water rushing underneath the ice. I remember thinking it odd for winter but just kept gathering firewood. My yellow tent was a bright distraction from the snow and dead vegetation. Dusk was coming fast. I was starting the fire with the dry pieces of wood I was able to find. I came to the river a lot. More so in the winter because people didn't like the cold. The animals were all in their dens. Or wherever they went during the winter. The moon was bright that night. Because of the snow, you could see for miles. That's the reason I noticed him. I saw him walking the river's edge. Heading straight to my camp site. I watched as I continued eating my beans. He finally made it to the edge of the firelight and stopped. I waited. After a few moments that felt like hours he spoke. "Was wondering if you mind me warming up by you fire a bit," I asked him why he was out this far at night in the winter. "Just trying to find me. I like the quiet." I told him I didn't mind and asked if he wanted something to eat. "No. Thank you. Just the fire." As he stepped into the camp light I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I watched as he crossed the veil of night. I jumped, dropping my paper plate on the ground. My buck knife was already in my hand. He came to the fire and sat down. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. I began to back up. "You should stay by the fire. It's cold out there." I asked in a shaking voice. "Who are you?" "We'll get to that. Have a seat." There was no threat in his voice but I still felt the urge to sit. So I sat there. Sat across from this stranger who showed up in my campsite. No not a stranger. The man sitting across from me was me.
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