A Week at the Camp

I’d always been quite the hobbyist when it came to exploration and nature. It had made quite a major part of my childhood. For the majority of the day, I would always explore our area, observing the wildlife and recording it, only returning to the confines of my home when the sky went purple as the sun descended under the horizon. 
This passion remains to this day. Now, I was a 17-year old young man who still held on to these hobbies dearly. I had found a friend who shared these hobbies, his name was Dylan and he was two years my junior. We’d known each other for about eight years. A month ago, he’d moved to our home after his family disowned him for reasons I do not see as necessary to discuss. Dad allowed us to use the basement where we identified species, documented wildlife, shared our observations, among other things.
Our hobbies came under quite a lot of scrutiny, and as a result people avoided me a lot at school. Me and Dylan really didn’t have anybody except each other. A small forest stood a short walk from home, and being people who loved the outdoors frequented it. Eventually, dad began to discourage us, reminding me of the ever-increasing intensity of my studies. Sure, I loved my hobby but at the same time, I knew grades were important. Fortunately, the winter break had begun, I had at least a fortnight to myself. 
A few years ago, I’d gradually built a campsite in a large flatter area consisting of a few tents, and it was my first consideration. I’d built it before I even met Dylan. I was in the basement with him, discussing where should we go. 
“Shall we go to the lake? We haven’t had a salmon fishing challenge in ages!” he began. I felt a smile creeping onto my face. 
“The salmon can wait,” I replied. “I’ve got a better idea for you. We’ll be going to the wild.”
On the third day, we left. Aside from the general resources you’d bring to a camping trip, I brought a compass and a handmade map. Dad dropped us off at the desired location. As we got off the car, he sent us a message.
“Let’s see what knowledge will these young naturalists come back with!” I waved with my hiking phone at him, it being the only source of contact between us the second he drove off. These were primitive in the world of electronics, but were tough as bricks and a fully-charged phone lasting up to a month. 
“The camp’s directly east of where we are,” I noted to Dylan, my eyes fixated on the compass. From my peripheral vision, I could see he was skeptical.
“You sure the compass still works?” he asked. 
“I’ve been on at least a hundred adventures with it to guide,” I replied to him. “This compass has never betrayed me.” This offered Dylan reassurance, who didn’t pursue any further conversations regarding it. After about an hour of searching, I found the camps, the tents remaining intact through all these years. The shed has seen better days, the screws holding each plank of wood had begun to rust, weakening and leaving the shelve’s walls flimsy. 
“That’s quite the shed!” he remarked.
“It really is! I should definitely work on the walls though, some things go missing from it every now and then,” I replied to him. We soon began to plan out what we would do in the camp.
The day was particularly warm, I agreed with Dylan to spend the day fishing. We spent hours at the nearby lake, capturing various species which I documented and subsequently released. We kept buckets in case we wanted to keep and recover fish. They weren’t really food fish, not something fulfilling and sometimes downright dangerous. After a while, Dylan captured a fish. 
“Hey look at this, I’ve never seen anything like it!” I heard his voice echo. I sprinted towards him to observe the creature. He had spent about half an hour trying to reel it in. It was very long, about the length of my entire arm. The body was tan, with large blotches of darker brown, and a long fin ran the length of the second half of its back. Its head was large and slightly flat. Without saying a word, I placed my bucket next to it. 
“Do you know what it is?” he asked again. 
I gestured at him to back a little as I brandished my hunting knife. I drove it into the head of the fish, and moved it side to side, making sure I destroyed the brain. I then pulled back each plate, slitting its gills before dumping it into the bucket head first. Dylan watched in horror as the bucket’s water became opaque and clouded with blood.
“Why’d you do that?” he yelled. I looked him in the eyes, unfazed up but understanding.
“It’s a Northern Snakehead. These fish live in China and Russia. They got here somehow, and are eating all our fish. With no predators to kill them, they dominate an ecosystem.” 
The shock on Dylan’s face began to wear off.
“Keep fishing,” I continued, “while he becomes dinner for us.” 
This was where I assume it began, I believe the commotion caused us to be tracked down. As I gutted the huge fish, I looked the forest ahead of us. I noticed they moved. Not in the wind, but as if someone was walking through them. They moved in a line, something large and powerful pushing through them. My line of sight was directed towards them as my hands worked. As the movement of the trees became more distant, so did my suspicions. Dylan had made a campfire, and as we watched the sun, which had become a bare sliver across the horizon, I began to talk.
“I’ve got to apologise for what I did earlier today, sorry if that shocked you. I know it feels wrong, but sometimes, it just has to be done.”
“Sorry that I overreacted, I just wasn’t expecting it,” he said. 
“We’re all good inside.” I thought out loud, not really thinking much while I said it. My brain was still thinking about the trees. I still couldn’t decide what creature was large or strong enough to push through them. The next day was less eventful, I spent the day observing ciliates and amoebas. I filled jars with water from the lake, then placing them under the microscope as I sketched the creatures I saw. Dylan was out, recording the various species of plants, he had a book where he press-dried their leaves before sticking them into its pages. It was a busy day, but when looking at its value to the story, unimportant. 
On the third day, it had begun to snow. This was when it began again. The beginning of the day was actually wondrous. Dylan came in yelling,
“Look what I found!” He cried out repeatedly in excitement, catching his breath. As he led me towards the lake, I saw it from a great distance. It was a white sturgeon. This was the largest fish in our area, and this was the first time I’ve ever seen the beast.
It was massive, the length of a small room at least. I took few photographs of the fish as it calmly cruised near the clear coast of our campsite. I looked over at Dylan, an innocent smile onto his face, as the snowflakes fell on his light brown hair. We returned home, subsequently resuming our activities. When we were finished, I came outside to repair some of the shed’s failing walls and collect twigs to start a fire. 
All this time, something was watching us.
Dylan walked in on me holding the camera, his concern clearly visible. 
“I know we’ve got weird animals here, things we don’t see where we live.”
I raised an eyebrow. He continued:
“I don’t think this is something we’re meant to see,” he said, his finger at the corner of one of the photos I took of the white sturgeon. As my eyes fixated onto the photograph, I felt a strong chill starting in the back of my neck, before a chatter running down the length of my spine. I couldn’t describe it properly. I don’t want it to be like the Lovecraftian description, “too scary to describe” but I genuinely couldn’t find the correct adjectives. 
If I could say what its body was like, I’d say a combination between an ape and a stick insect, its colour uncertain as nothing but its silhouette remained shrouded in darkness. Its head was not visible, hidden outside of the photograph’s borders. Not that I wanted to see what the thing’s face looked like. It was frighteningly lean, and at least the size of an elk. 
We both slept in the shed that night. What little protection the shed’s planks offered was far more comforting than the cloth that made up our tents. In the morning, Dylan confronted me. His eyes light pink and voice shaking, I assumed he didn’t enjoy a full sleep like I did. 
“I couldn’t sleep at night,” he complained. “I’ve heard noises outside, I heard banging on our door. I could hear the screams of various distant creatures in distress. Whatever it is, it’s found us, or wants us to find it.”
I kicked the door open and prepared to sprint to my tent before something stopped me in my tracks. It was pouring buckets, however I wish the weather’s inconsistency would have been the worst part. Creating various lines across the wet soil stood unimaginably large footsteps. So deep that rainwater had already begun to pool in them. What I assume were palms sunk into the dirt, almost elliptical in shape. Like a trapezoid with its edges rounded out. The fingertips surrounded the center with vast spaces between them. I relied on my relatively accurate mental measurements. 
“At least fifty centimetres…” I said to myself. We weren’t dealing with a mere varmint or small predator. This was something else entirely. I went to my tent, wearing my Képi. By the evening, we were fully ready and set off to discover what was behind these occurrences. I scoured the footprints, locating a possible origin and a possible trail. Dylan stood behind me, awaiting my words. However, after a moment of silence that loomed around us, Dylan decided he’d be the person to break it.
“I believe the footsteps lead there,” he finally said. I turned my upper body to face him, seeing him point at a particular line of footprints that led to an abandoned pathway. In hindsight, had I known the outcome I would’ve called my dad to pick us up here, then, and there. Soon, we were faced by the entrance of a forest, the trees ominously standing high and proud and it led deep into the forest. I felt a sort of magnetism, an urge perhaps. It was as if this it tried to convince us to step on its fresh dirt, as if the trees promised shelter from the drenched rain. Soon, I began to notice my feet had begun to take steps towards it. 
As we advanced further, the air around us grew heavy and thick. I was soon submerged in discomfort, my mind gradually fading. The sound of rain falling agains the leaves several metres above us had begun to be less conspicuous. It soon became dark, greatly limiting our vision. I had luckily brought a flashlight, which I kept in a satchel I always carried with me. I fumbled with it until I found the “on” button. I continued to follow the path, until it abruptly ended. I raised my flashlight, its luminosity pouring into the confines of what awaited us.
“Is that..” I heard Dylan mumble behind me.
Fear. Fear, as we all know it, is a feeling. However fear, when harnessed properly can be a powerful weapon, capable of putting people in their tracks. Upon reaching the end of the trail, it was what brought us to a stop. It was what turned our short expedition to the other way. The grim sight that stood before us was the embodiment of what fear can be turned into. I felt the colour drain from my face, my vocal cords constricting, preventing me from uttering what my mind wanted me to say. 
On the right, there were the remains of some carnivorous animal. Its bones were scattered and fur so old its defining colours had faded to a grey. Next to it was a straw wall, and its contents was what invoked that reaction. I saw all of my lost tools on the ground before it, and on the wall were various photographs of me that I’d kept in the shed. 
They were nailed to the wall by snapped twigs driven through them. I felt a knot in my gut as I inspected them closely. In every photograph, even family photographs, the twigs had been driven through my head. Whatever lived in this place, it knew exactly how to play with that emotion and without a word told us we had breached our limits.
“We’ve got to leave,” Dylan instructed, his voice stern but audibly shaky. I couldn’t disagree with him. We began to withdraw from the pathway, holding my flashlight to guide us through the pathway. I began to hear the trees rustle behind us, and consequently begun to pick up my pace. We safely exited the path, finding ourselves at the mouth of the forest. The flat plain ahead of us stood under the light of the full moon. My heartbeat was rapid, and I looked back to see Dylan sitting atop a large boulder. 
“Sorry, I’m just quite thirsty,” he told me as he unscrewed the cap of a bottle to rehydrate himself. 
“Take your time, we’re almost out anyways and I can track our campsite anyways,” I said to him. I turned around, pointing my flashlight at the vast plain. I recoiled after Dylan’s screams unexpectedly filled my ears.
“What are you?” he cried out. I held out my flashlight towards him. As the blast of light reach him, I saw a pair of hands let go of Dylan. He leapt off the rock as whatever tried to get ahold of him began to back off. We stood in the silence for a moment, as I waved my flashlight around. 
“It’s behind you!” he exclaimed. I swivelled my arm directing the light at it, and as if it was some sort of repellent, the thing retreated once more. I began to realise that as I flashed my light at the thing, it would always seek cover.
“Come close!” I commanded. Dylan stood by my side, and I raised the flashlight upwards, creating a radius of brightness. As we evacuated the forest’s path, I realised the thing hadn’t given up its pursuit. It leapt out of the comforts of the trees, it’s silhouette defined by the little light that came from the moon. I shuddered as I came to the realisation. It looked exactly like the thing I’d seen in that god forsaken photograph. It had a gait like that of a hyena, hopping across the soaked soil towards us. The light of the torch was the only thing that prevented me or Dylan from being torn to shreds. The thing paced around in the darkness, like an agitated tiger in a cage, awaiting its feeder to provide it with the meat it desires.
“We’ve got about a kilometre to go,” I heard Dylan say to himself. “I hope he’s worked on that shed well.” 
I tried to suppress the panic that bubbled inside of me. In an attempt to comfort myself, I kept a reminder that as long as we were in the light, we’d be alright. We spent about an hour, trying to return to the location, with the thing still following us awaiting a moment to favour its wishes. As it trotted though the dirt, it didn’t emit any noises. I came to the conclusion that whatever I that thing is, it was an ambush predator. As I began to think of the best escape plan, I felt the light begin to fade.
The battery of my flashlight had died.
Within seconds, the blanket of darkness had been draped on top of us. Before I had the chance to react, I was knocked off my feet and I was pinned against the wet ground. I felt an iron grip constricting my neck and with my head immersed into the dirt, I began to suffocate.
“Get off him!” I could hear Dylan yell. I didn’t know what he’d done but with the passing of about thirty seconds, I felt the hand on my neck loosen. I got onto my back, gasping for air. I got onto my feet, and stood, between me and Dylan. The danger had become imminent, and we both knew where the shed was. The only option we had was to flee. 
We ran in the same line. The thing began to accelerate, its large strides covering great distances. As the chase wore on, I could feel the strength in my legs begin to drain. On many occasions, I could feel a slight tug at my shirt as the thing reach out its arms time after time. I was rapidly losing speed, only buying ourselves time by temporarily hiding behind a tree, forcing the large creature to turn around, which was a struggle for it. It may have slowed us down, but it slowed the thing even more. Within many minutes, I could finally see the shed, its planks visible under the moonlight. 
“We go!” he yelled out. I used the last bit of energy I had to run to the shed. We slightly diverted, and I kept pushing. The thing had picked me first. My feet slightly adhered to the dirt, slowing me down significantly. As the creature neared me, I tried to juke it. I’d discovered by pushing one foot to the side, instead of forwards when I run, it would make me change directions much faster. Employing this strategy, I was able to disorient the thing, which eventually gave up the chase. 
My legs began to experience an agony, my muscles had stung me and I felt my calves’ bones had been frozen, an excruciating icy pain running up and down each bone. My vision became off, and I felt things around me slowing down. I threw myself at the ground right before the shed, with my arms outstretched to soften the fall. I spent a few seconds prone before I lifted myself up against it. I took my time, catching my breath. I felt immense relief that the thing had finally abandoned us, and there were spare batteries in the shed. After a few minutes, I began to talk.
“We did it Dylan! We’ve done the difficult part, now all we have to do is to go to the-“
I looked up, but Dylan was nowhere to be seen. I stood wide-eyed for a moment, before I heard his screams echoing through the plain. I ran into the shed, tearing tools off the shelves looking for the batteries. It soon became a difficult task, my vision began to blur and my eyes began to sting as tears filled them up. I had wasted too much time already. Dylan was still screaming, filling me with another rush. Eventually, after stuffing my hands into a shelf, I felt the smooth cylindrical texture of batteries. I hastily stuffed them into the torch, my shaking hands wasting precious time. After I put them in, I switched it on, but no light came. 
I had put them in, but during the stressful moments I’d placed them in the opposite directions. 
“I’ve got to save him,” I kept mumbling to myself, struggling to remain composed as I took out the batteries, and tried to flip them to fit the slots correctly. I had realised Dylan’s cries had ceased. This prompted me to ignore all the pain, as I hopped out, tracking it down. The creature was a significant distance from the site, I could see it had pushed Dylan face down into the dirt like it had done to me, with its hands gripped around his neck. I could feel a weight in my stomach, shuddering at the amount of time left for Dylan. I approached the thing, unfortunately no amount of noise persuaded it to get off him. Eventually, I turned on my flashlight.
The bright beam flushed the darkness that stood into its place, directing its brightness at the thing that had been strangling Dylan. I prayed it would let go of him before it was deterred. I caught a glimpse of the creature’s arm. It was coated in a layer of hay like, reflective white hair. The glimpse was brief, as the thing retreated again. It ran around in circles, as if it was injured. I pointed the flashlight towards it one last time,  and as a result it turned and trotted away, being gone within seconds.
I looked at Dylan, still face-down on the ground. His ankle was horribly swollen, he’d probably sprained or even broke it which was why he couldn’t catch up to me. I turned him onto his back, and soon I was able to hear his inhales and exhales. Luckily, the grip around his neck blocked his windpipe and prevented dirt being ingested and possibly falling into his lungs. I was still not relieved, worried that it was agonal breathing. In case you don’t know what agonal breathing is, it’s basically your brain stem’s final attempt to save your body, trying to take in air after various circumstances. These include fatal forms of brain damage like strokes, as well as cardiac arrest, and oxygen deprivation. Unfortunately, it is an ineffective attempt and if there’s nobody else to notice this subconscious behaviour and provide necessary aid, then the body will soon die. 
I pressed my index and middle fingers against the left side of his neck, feeling comfort as I felt his arteries thump with heartbeats. I laid him onto his side, raising his chin up and pointing his head downwards just in case some soil had been accidentally swept in. With the passing of a few minutes, I brought him inside the shed. He was unconscious for a few hours, I’d repeatedly check his pulse and if he was still breathing. I began to pack up our things, and called my dad informing him we had ended the trip early.
Dylan woke up crying. He was telling something to stop as he tried to pry something off his neck. He’d probably passed out during trying to get the creature’s grip off his neck, and was under the impression that he was still in the moment. 
“It’s gone,” I kept telling him. I tried everything I could to make him relax, which took a painfully long time. He struck me multiple times, his eyes shut and his breath held as if his face was sunk into the dirt. He eventually began to relax. He was hyperventilating, a look of sheer exhaustion drawn on his eyes.
“This is all over,” I told him. “Dad’s going to pick us up tomorrow.”
“It’s not here, isn’t it?” he finally managed to ask, whilst wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket. 
“It’s not, it went back into the trees,” I replied. He wrapped his arm on my shoulder as I lifted him onto his unharmed foot. I eventually helped him sit on a stool, as I knelt to examine his injury. 
“I rolled it or something,” he told me, wincing as I observed its shape. “I think I broke it honestly. I fell and then I couldn’t get up, and soon it was on top of me.”
It certainly was broken, extremely swollen, and pointing outwards. 
“So why’d you terminate the scouting trip?” Dad asked us as he picked us up. Though I had notified dad that Dylan had injured his foot, I wasn’t aware of the extent of the damage. He couldn’t move a step without support. 
“I broke my ankle, or so I think,” Dylan answered.
“Oh dear! You’re going to have to get it checked!” Dad said back. He always has had a soft spot for Dylan, knowing how he was a very well-mannered kid, with the same hobbies as myself, and knowing his backstory, even more so than I did myself. Probably was the reason he accepted to foster Dylan without any hesitation. 
Despite not seeing the thing anymore, its effect was nowhere near gone. I still had some thoughts and the occasional nightmare. Unfortunately, this was nothing compared to what Dylan endured. 
His motor functions had been greatly reduced, he would spend various minutes in a reverie, and was unable to concentrate anymore. Sometimes I would catch him trying to pull something off his neck, before he realised nothing was there. It was the worst in the night as he struggled so sleep, sometimes I would be awakened by him screaming and begging. He wasn’t awake, and when I tried to get him up it wouldn’t work. Dad eventually confronted him, and Dylan told him that he’d “slept wrong or fell too hard”. It didn’t convince dad too much, but it was certainly plausible compared to what happened to Dylan.
I’m worried that the thing might have strangled him for far longer than I thought, or had done something even worse that I haven’t got to see. His body may have recovered, but the damage it had done to what goes on inside his head was still prevalent, tormenting him in both day and night. 
Every day, I think to myself if I had done something different. If I had ignored the noises and stayed in the safety of our illuminated campsite, if I had passed off the footsteps as some animal, or even if I had listened to Dylan in the first place when he suggested we fish some salmon. Though when the encounter became inevitable, I always remember that I could have dome something to prevent it from the very beginning and that there were many opportunities. Instead, I decided to fulfil my curiosity which cost the poor kid’s mind and body.
Category:Monsters