I was drinking too fast, it went to my head right away, making me sway. I flopped in the camping chair and let out a breath, a smile curling up my face as I felt my concern ebbed away by the alcohol.
“You sure?” Caspian asked, looking concerned as he began nursing the fire back to life. A snorted laugh came from me but I didn’t answer him.
My mother's words from the haunted house replayed in my mind:You can't run from it.
That night, I went to bed scared.
During the day I could pretend I didn’t believe in any of this stuff. I could push away strange feelings and weird experiences. I could roll my eyes and scoff.
But when all was dark and quiet, all I could feel was bone-deep belief and fear. The campfire story had bothered me. The missing campers were enough to worry anyone. The monster was what made my gut squirm though.
Before I’d scrambled into my tent, it felt like someone was watching me. No matter how many beers I chugged I couldn’t shake the sensation.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw two round, glowing red eyes and heard a faint buzzing in my head. The burning image that felt forced into my mind left me feeling jumpy. It was as if something ancient really did live in these woods and had opened its eyes andsawme.Me, who couldn’t escape the strange and unusual. Who ghosts called out to and wanted to touch.
I was a beacon for some reason, drawing out things that shouldn’t exist.
“Stupid family curse,” I grumbled into my pillow. My head felt like it was bobbing out on the river nearby, swaying with the current. My thoughts were like melted watercolors, blurring. I drank too many beers and now my mind was getting carried away with stories.
Right now in these woods, it felt as if all things occult could suddenly come to life from the whispering shadows and clutch at my mind, demanding a taste of my acrid fear. I squirmed deeper into my sleeping bag, clutching my bat squishmallow to my chest. I brushed its cashmere texture as if it were a pet cat. I didn’t care at all if someone thought a stuffed animal was a childish tactic for comfort. It was better than climbing in other people’s beds and demanding they let me disturb their sleep.
Except, I was starting to wish Caspian was in the tent with me. Old habits die hard apparently. Even five years of going without him hadn't quenched my thirst for his comfort in the night.
I hadn’t really considered camping as an activity likely to freak me out or trigger my strange ‘ability’. My family was allghosts ghosts ghostsand those lived in creepy old houses, not dark, creepy woods.
“I’m being so ridiculous,” I mumbled, pretending as if I could just shake off the fear. This was ridiculous. I was letting my family’s mindset taint my logic. My tongue rolled over my dry lips and I pushed a finger into my splinter slightly, giving myself an endorphin rush with a side order of pain to help clear my mind. Even with several beers drowning in my system the wound gave such a sharp spasm of ache that I sucked in a breath and shuddered.
My bladder felt over-filled from all the beer I’d chugged. I’d been holding it for what felt like forever and felt ready to burst. I bundled up my courage like a shield and wiggled from the sleeping bag. I very slowly unzipped the door. The sound of the zipper was loud enough to briefly silence the cacophony of crickets and other night time creepy crawlies.
When the door flap hung loose, I sat still and listened but the only thing to hear was the ambiance of a summer night in nature. I peeled the flap back slowly and swept my eyes across the dark scene in front of me. The fire was out but the moon was big in the sky. It cast the faintest white glow from above. Just enough to see dark shapes and darker shadows.
I grabbed my flashlight, flicked it on, and swept it around quickly.
Nothing was out of place but the flashlight made long, stretched-out shadows. They felt nefarious. I grumbled while slipping from the tent, shoving my feet in sandals, and quickly moving to the street. My eyes slid to the campsite across from us but it was quiet except for the rattling sound of snores coming from their shared tent.
Once around the bend in the street, the bathroom building’s bright yellow light lit up the area. I didn’t dare move my flashlight towards the trees. If I didn’tseeanything scary in the woods, it didn’t exist. Everyone knew that.
A high-pitched chittering noise started deep in the trees and my feet glued to the spot. My eyes watered as I stared into the darkness without blinking. The noise grew and I tried to place it.
It was an animal. Iknewthat. My heart thumped hard in my chest though.
The trees started to shake as if a strong wind had suddenly grabbed them.
There was no wind though.
The chittering was coming closer and getting louder. Multiple animals were coming towards me, I realized. Which felt unnatural. Animals were supposed to avoid humans. These were not. They were almostrunningtowards me like animals fleeing before a raging forest fire.
I felt weak and alone standing in the middle of the street with no cover. My instincts finally clicked on and a single thought burst into my mind:run.
I ran as fast as I could, the noises only growing until they were right to the edge of the forest. I’d disturbed whatever it was, a whole herd of them loudly calling out. The trees shook and a hundred chitters called out around me. I ran sloppy, my body still burning off the alcohol. One sandal tangled with the edge of the concrete sidewalk surrounding the bathroom and I tripped, barely catching myself.
I dove into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Yellow light saturated painted cinder block walls, washing out all the color the bathroom had to offer. My fingers fumbled with the deadbolt then I backed away from the door. My eyes jerked up to the window high on the wall. There was no screen, just an open hole. My mind provided images of faces lurching into view, smiles too wide and cutting, eyes large and pupils blown out in unnatural excitement.
The noise retreated outside until it was all quiet. Then slowly the sounds of bugs and owls returned, everything returning to normal.
I took deep breaths as I went to relieve myself. Then I washed my hands in the sink, trying to avoid the freshly bandaged splinter on my ring finger. Caspian had insisted on examining it. He had tried to push the splinter out himself but my vision had gone black when he bore down on it. He was concerned, even tried to convince me that we should leave tonight to find a local hospital. Finally, we agreed if it got worse in a couple days we would find a clinic.
The strange thing was, it didn’t appear infected at all. Even the red, irritated skin had gone away after I stopped messing with it. My finger looked perfectly fine except just under the surface you could see the tip of the splinter. It looked so close, so grabbable but no matter what I did, it refused to be removed.
