Untitled

“Tell us the story!”

“No way, you’ll be too scared.”

“No we won’t! We promise”

So, here I was again. Being pestered by my friends for a story at one of our campouts. They always said that I told the best stories to make it hard to sleep. That’s one thing I can never understand about people, they love to be scared. I guess because of my creative mind, I fall victim to it far more often than not.

“Ok, fine!”

Everyone settles in around the fire, preparing for one of my “bone-chilling” stories. I pour some dirt on the fire, leaving just a few small flames burning, causing the faces of my friends to flicker in and out of sight like a ghost of a memory fleeing through one’s mind in the dark. Every time a face was seen, it quivered with anticipation of what was to come. I decided to start with the classic opener…

“It all happened on a night quite like this. There were six friends out camping in these very woods, 3 years ago.”

“Is it something from the news?”

“No, they had to keep this story quiet, so this wouldn’t become a ghost town.”

This was when my imagination kicked in. Even though I was making it up moment by moment, it felt as if I was watching it unravel before my eyes. I was no longer telling a story to my friends. No, I was one of the friends from that night 3 years ago, retelling the tale so it wouldn’t be forgotten.







We were talking about cooking s’mores. There was Ashliegh, Kayla, Rory, Brittany, Adam, and I. We had decided it would be fun to leave for the weekend and go camping. We had brought supplies, flashlights, lighter fluid, sleeping bags, and enough food (maybe not for Adam). We knew it would be one of those weekends that you never forget. However, we did not know what that could mean.

“We’ll collect wood, you can prepare camp.” Rory, Adam and I said almost in unison.

“Why are all the guys going out, while we stay and do domestic work?” exclaimed Ashleigh, jumping on the excuse to fight.

“Because I am man! You do what I say!” I yelled, pounding my chest in a very Tarzan way.

With that, we left before Kayla, Brittany, or Ashleigh could fit another word in. It was getting dark, what was the point of fighting? As we were walking, doing our work, still joking about my “I am Man!” statement, I got a very odd feeling. I felt as if there was someone else there. Some presence, bearing down, apart from my happily laughing comrades. Some malevolent entity, unseen, but as surely there as the light mist, promising more oddities, that was collecting around our feet. After a moment, I shook my head and continued laughing and making jokes we would not dare tell around the girls. I had several more of those moments during our collection. By the time we finished, I was very quiet, thinking, trying to delve deeper into this mysterious, omniscient force that inhabited these woods.

When we return, I am still thinking. I have delved so deep into the unknown that I see Kayla’s mouth move, (as it so often does) but do not hear her.

“What?” said I, stupidly.

“I do what you say?” said she very angrily.

She had her arms crossed and was tapping her left foot. That told me I was in trouble.

“Can I talk to you for a moment, honey?” she put particular emphasis on the word.

Without waiting for an answer she grabs my ear. She drags me over to the side, to the many “uh ohs” of my friends.

“Ow! What did I do?”

“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are. But, just because your friends are here, does not, absolutely Does Not mean that you get to show off by being tough.” With that, she kisses me rather brusquely, telling me that the conversation was over.

That’s the problem, having been with someone so long. They start to think they know you, and know your reasons for doing things. No one knows what I think, and no one can tell me what I was thinking. I could tell, by looking at her, that I was not alone in having felt something a little off about this place.



“This is the best time for stories.” Said Ashleigh, commenting on the dark.

She had no idea. It was perfect. There was a low thick mist on the ground, shielding small animals, and thus the source of the many noises. The wind cut through the branches, creating a whistle that, when you listened just right, sounded exactly like a small child’s scream. The moon had risen just slightly, seeming just inches above the hills in the distance, causing dramatic shadows through the trees, and if a bird or bat were to pass, it cast it’s shade, amplified a hundredfold like a winged demon, circling, perhaps listening in on our stories.

I often think like that. There’s no need to worry.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the murder here, about 50 years ago?” said I, beginning to weave my tale.

“No! What happened?” Whined Brittany, sounding terrified already. She had no idea what was coming.

“There was a girl about our age who had run away from home. She had had a fight with her parents, and needed to get away.”

“I know how that is.” intoned Adam knowingly.

I continued, unbothered by the interruption. “Well, she was out here for some hours. You all know that little house out that way?” pointing off in the trees, to collective nods. “It was inhabited back then. Two parents, and their son built it. But their son, he was a little screwy. They would always find him wandering around blank-eyed, staring at nothing. Rumor had it, they would find him eating bugs and small animals. “

“Ew!” said Kayla, mortified.

“One day, he got into town. By the time they found him, he was in custody, having bitten another boy. They were then very scared of being driven out. So, they made a deal with the town. If no one entered the woods, they wood keep him on their property. The girl, being new, didn’t know this. She was deep into their property, having not seen the warning signs. It was very dark, and the mist was very thick.”



Kayla starts to squeeze my hand very tight. Everyone’s heads whip around , hearing that screaming wind. I was ecstatic, my masterpiece coming together so perfectly, so fluently. This would truly be a work of horror art.

“The girl seemed to be keeping a journal of her time away. She mentioned her fear of the dark, her want to go home, she also mentioned having heard a heavy breathing echoing through the trees. The way these trees are, someone could be miles away, or right behind you. From checking city records, we can see that the son had gotten out of the house for a walk that day. The city had them keep records, in case anyone went missing or anything like that. We will never know why he chose that particular day to go out. Maybe it was luck. I don’t think so, I think he could sense that that little girl was in these woods, and he had hungered for so long.”

At that, Brittany let out a small scream. Rory and Ashleigh were cuddled, Rory looking more scared than her. I was building to what would be the ultimate scare.

“The last entry in her book says that she saw a figure moving through the mist. She had curled up to a tree to wait out till morning. This is where police records take over, in the morning a search went out. After many hours they found a pile of clothes. It wouldn’t have been that much of a clue, had there not been a book with it…and had the clothes not been drenched through with blood.”

There was a collective gasp.


“Upon searching the house, they discovered not only the girls body, with many parts gnawed clean, but many bodies. These were not written in the family’s records. One thing they didn’t discover was the son. Mind you, this was only 50 years ago, he was only about 15 at the time.” It was close now “Upon doing a last check on the body, they took in her face, which was untouched. On the face, was fixed the most horrid and pained look of what could only be described as utmost terror. Frozen in fear it was said that one could hear her cries.”



Now.



I hit the play on the tape recorder behind my back.



“HELP ME!!!!” shrieked a voice.

I spin around in horror. Not mock horror, for my recording had been of a normal woman with an unintelligible scream taken from a movie. This was not my recording.

Everyone is in a panic. In the midst of it all, Kayla taps my shoulder. We all turn, and there, in the trees was the distinct image, cast surely by shadows, of a small girl staring directly at us.







“Holy shit, you were right.” Said my friend.

“Hey, that was a hell of a story.”

“I always said you were the best story-teller.”

“I think you were right, that was too scary.”

I look on surveying the fear. Then, there is a quiet sound. It builds until it is, quite distinctly, a heavy breathing.

“Very funny” they said, irritated.

“No…that’s not me.” Staring off around the trees.

“Right, where’s the recorder?”
But I look out and, swear to my dying day, I see, in the mist and trees, a stocky man dragging, what seemed to be, the figure of a small child.







“Wow, Grampa, that was a scary story!” say my small grandson and his friends.

But, I don’t hear them talking about my story, as I stare off into the trees, never forgetting the sound that they never believed, or the night when they all disappeared.