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Campfire Stories

By J. Campbell

By Joshua CampbellPublished 2 years ago 32 min read
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It was a night just like this.

Six campers were out with their Scoutmaster on an overnight camping trip. They were just settling in after a long day of hiking when suddenly they heard it, a wailing coming from the forest that chilling them to the bone. They had all heard of the Woods Witch, of course, everyone around here had, and they all knew how she lured all those children into the forest so long ago. They knew about how the search party had heard screams echoing through the woods that night as they searched in vain. And, of course, they all knew about how they found Chimney Cave full of the bones and half-eaten bodies of the missing children she'd taken.

They also knew how the townspeople buried her alive in there after they set fire to the inside.

They didn't believe the legends about the witch's ghost. How she still haunts the woods and killed anyone foolish enough to stay there after dark. They unwisely went to sleep, huddled down in their sleeping bags, and tried to ignore the eerie moaning that came echoing from the woods.

Then they heard it, deep in the night, the wailing getting closer and closer to their campsite. The scouts couldn't sleep. They huddled in their sleeping bags as the wailing grew closer and closer. They heard the trees shake and the leaves crackle as the wailing came closer and closer. They added their fearful cries to the wailing as it grew closer and closer.

And then finally…

BOOOO!

We all jumped, but none of us jumped higher than Reggie. Bobby, grinning like an idiot as he stood at the edge of the firelight and laughed as he pointed at the wet spot on the front of Reggie's shorts.

"Look guys, Wedgie had a widdle accident!" he said and cawed laughter as his other two meathead friends laughed along with him. Mark and Kyle weren't much higher in the brains department than Bobby, but they knew enough to laugh when he laughed, or they might find themselves on the end of a beating.

I looked over at Reggie and shook my head; how did a kid like Reggie get roped into Boy Scouts?

I had been with the scouts for about three years now, and I think if my dad hadn't been so serious about me staying, I would have left after the first week. "I know it doesn't mean much to you now, kiddo, but if you can climb the ranks, maybe even stay until middle school, it'll look good on a college transcript one day. You've gotta think about those extracurriculars while you're young!" he'd said with all the weight of a man handing down a cosmic truth. Yeah, thanks, dad, three years of being in a four-man scout troop with Bobby Terry and his idiot friends, and all I had to show for it was some knot-tying knowledge and the ability to identify poison oak. The last three years had also been filled with Bobby and his friends trying to tease and bully me, and me just ignoring them until they stopped, only to start up again a little while later.

In a way, it had been a blessing when Reggie joined.

Reggie, this overweight kid with glasses and a fear of everything, had transferred into my troop about a month ago. Reggie and his mom had just moved into town, and even though he'd been in the scouts before, he seemed pretty pathetic at most everything. The only thing he seemed to excel at, and even I felt a little bad about thinking it, was being a big target for Bobby and his friends. I felt bad for him, of course, sitting out here in his chocolate stained uniform and his discolored shorts that had been peed in one too many times, but it was also kind of nice to get a break from Bobby and his constant need to torment someone.

Scoutmaster Mike, our designated "grownup" for this trip, sighed and glared at Bobby. "Bobby Terry, if you don't calm down, I'm going to call your father and tell him to come pick you up; is that what you want?"

Bobby stopped laughing. Bobby's father was the only thing that seemed to take the wind out of his sales. Mr. Terry was a beefy car mechanic with no neck and big scarred hands that made me think he beat the cars into submission before he fixed them. He always showed up to get Bobby at the end of meetings in his ratty old blue ford, wearing his faded blue jumpsuit with "Terry" stitched on, and a slim cigar poking out of his mouth which he growled around to tell Bobby to "Get the hell in the truck; I'm missin my dinner."

It had been unanimously decided, my dad told me once, that Bobby's dad didn't have to chaperone scout outings, and this seemed to be just fine with Mr. Terry.

Reggie sniffed and sat up off the ground quickly, "Mr. Mike, I think I….need to go change my pants."

Scoutmaster Mike just sighed, "Go ahead Reggie, the rest of you go get ready for bed. We have a long hike to Chimney Caves tomorrow, and I don't want to hear about anybody being tired tomorrow morning. Lights out in twenty." and with that, he set about getting the campsite ready for bedtime as we four shuffled into the big six-man tent we were all sharing.

It wouldn't do any good to argue Scoutmaster Mike. He wasn't an ideal scoutmaster, and arguing usually just got you a locked tent flap as he sat behind it and ignored you. He wasn't supposed to lock his tent, but my dad told me Mr. Mike had this weird fear of bugs crawling into his tent at night, so he always made sure his tent was secured with a lock.

I flopped down onto my sleeping bag as Mark, Kyle, and Bobby arranged their bags close enough that they could see what Bobby had brought. I took out my lamp and a copy of Lord of the Rings and settled in for a little reading before bed. Reggie came into the tent a few minutes later wearing a pair of pajama bottoms with cartoon characters on them. He smelled slightly of pee still, and when he pitched his bag towards the other end of the tent, I was silently glad. The other three boys that were gathered around Bobby's sleeping bag, ignoring Reggy for once. Bobby had taken some of his father's dirty magazines; it seemed. Now that their tired game of "pick on the fat boy" had ended, they were content to ogle the glossy pictures. Reggie crawled into his sleeping bag, looking for all the world like a big green caterpillar with the shakes, and I went back to my book. When it became apparent that Scoutmaster Mike wasn't going to yell at us to turn the lights off and no one was going to opt for an early bedtime, I rolled over and went to sleep.

The next morning Scoutmaster Mike didn't come out for breakfast. We banged on his tent and tried to get his attention, but he wouldn't come out. The cooler with the food was in his tent, so we started getting restless after a breakfast of granola bars, water, and trail mix. We were supposed to go on our hike to Howling Caves today, and as the morning crept closer to midday, we all began to get pissy as small children are want to do. Bobby said loudly that he'd just cut the tent open and see what was taking Scoutmaster Mike so long, but after he failed to find his pocket knife three or four times, the threat stopped being so threatening. I, for one, was pretty glad he had lost it; nothing in these woods frightened me as much as Bobby Terry with a knife.

Finally, around ten-thirty, Bobby announced that we should all just pack up and go to Howling Cave ourselves.

"Without Mr. Mike?" Reggie asked, a stutter creeping into his voice.

"Oh no, Wedgy! I guess we can't go without him. Maybe we'll just roll his tent along behind us so he can sleep and chaperone us. Yes, without him stupid; it's not like all of US haven't been before."

This was true. When we were first-year scouts, we had all camped here, and Scoutmaster Eddy had taken us up to Howling Cave and let us explore it a little. I remember being disappointed because not only had none of us found out why it was called Howling Cave, at the age of six, I thought it was because wolves lived there, and I wanted to find one, so I could keep it as a pet. Bobby had also pushed Kyle off a rock shelf while they were horsing around, so we had to leave before exploring all the tunnels. If we went by ourselves though…

I put a few things in my pack, and as Bobby and his friends headed out, I tagged along behind them.

Bobby noticed me, of course, "You comin too, Squints?" he asked, bringing his old nickname out of mothballs for the occasion.

"As long as you don't get us too lost, I guess I am," I said.

We hadn't gone far when a loud, running, huffing figure came up the trail to join us. Reggie had thrown on his bulging knapsack, his mother had packed half a pharmacy and two-thirds of a Sear camping department into it, and was now running after us like the devil himself was in pursuit. Bobby sneered at him but replaced the sneer with a big cheesy grin when he came blustering up to join us.

"Oh good, you made it, Wedgy. This hike just wouldn't be the same without you," he said in a saccharine sweet voice, and the rest of the hike was spent with Bobby and his friends having a whispered conversation.

Despite what I'd said earlier, there was no chance of us getting lost. We may not have been in a state park or anything, but Howling Cave doubled as the trailhead for a branch of the Appalachian Trail, and there were markers all along the way. The hike was an easy one, half a mile up to the cave and half a mile back on fairly level terrain through the cool shadows of the woods. Bobby and his friends led the way, and Reggie and I were relegated to picking up the rear as we went along. I had expected Reggie to slow us down or start whining like he usually did, but he kept pace somehow and seemed pretty comfortable as we rolled along.

Even so, there was sweat standing out on all of us by the time we got to Howling Cave. The entrance yawned open like a hungry mouth, and as we descended into the coolness of the cave, we were plunged into near darkness in no time. Flashlights winked on then, and we swept them around the big entrance cave, its ceiling hanging above us like a waiting predator.

The beams fell on a series of tunnels. The tunnels were called the roots, and the cave we were in was the trunk. Many of the trails met up and cut back to the trunk, with only a few of them ending in dead ends. A ranger or whoever was in charge of keeping bears and things out of this popular tourist destination had nailed a plaque up on the wall that showed the tunnels' various routes and intersections.

We were all looking at the map when we heard the scream.

It was otherworldly, like a banshee's cry, and it seemed to slice through the trunk like a knife through butter. We all looked up at the sound, and Reggie wasn't the only one who looked scared. We all stood perfectly still for a count of five before Reggie voiced what we were all thinking.

"What was that?"

"Maybe," Bobby said, a sly grin stretching his face, "it was the Woods Witch who lives in this cave. She smelled your dinner rolls and got hungry, Wedgy", he said, turning suddenly and grabbing a double handful of the boys large and overflowing gut. Reggie screamed and tried to pull away, but Bobby had him in a firm grip and cackled madly as he pinched and pulled at the fat.

Reggie finally pulled away, and as he stumbled, sobbing, to the stone floor, I found myself reaching to help him up, "Knock it off Bobby, can't you stop being a jerk for five seconds?"

Bobby Oooed comically, "Look here guys, I think Squints found himself a boyfriend." they laughed, but I ignored them and started down the closest tunnel, anything to get away from Bobby and his asshole brigade.

I wasn't surprised when Reggie tagged along. The fat boy kept pace behind me easily, but I ignored him as we walked, taking paths at random. We walked in silence for a while, the tunnels becoming slightly claustrophobic before he thanked me for standing up for him. I guess no one had ever really stood up for Reggie before because he seemed unsure of himself as he tripped over his hastily constructed thank you.

"That Bobby is a real...a real asshole." he finished and then covered his mouth like he'd committed blasphemy.

I laughed a little, I couldn't help it, "He can be. Just stand up to him, and maybe he'll stop."

Reggie chuckled, "Maybe he'll rip my head off." he said in a low voice.

We came to a fork in the paths, and Reggie looked sheepishly at me, "I've got to pee, will you wait here for me?" he asked, and after I nodded, he went down the left-hand path a ways until I couldn't see him anymore.

As I stood there waiting, that stupid noise howled through the cave again, and it spiked every hair on my head in a shiver. "What the hell is that?" I thought to myself. Far from being scared, it made me curious. Caves don't just naturally scream, Woods Witch or not, and while I was sure the howling was how the cave had gotten its name, I found myself wondering how it made the noise that gave it its…

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a tall, humanoid shape lumbered from the darkness ahead and screamed at me. A beam of light lit its face, some five feet in the air, and I stumbled and fell backward to the stone floor. I scrambled back on my hands and butt and felt my palms open up as the creature walked towards me and let out another ear-splitting howl. It towered over me as I sat on the cave floor, and all I could think to do was turn my flashlight on it and see what was going to kill me before it devoured me.

That's when the creature started laughing, and I realized that it was just Bobby sitting on Mark's shoulders. I got up, spitting curses as the two boys separated, and I was getting ready to give them a piece of my mind when a new scream split the air. It wasn't the usual deep throated-howl of the cave, and it certainly wasn't the cry of some animal. It was a child's scream, and in it was held all the fear and hopelessness of a child's life before he comes to learn that the real monsters are the ones sitting next to you in class.

It was Reggie's scream, and without thinking, the three of us began to run towards it.

We found Reggie sitting on the cave floor in much the same way I had been a minute ago. He was crab walking backward, his sneakers making little rubbery scuffing noises on the ground as he tried to climb the far wall. As I ran up, I caught a whiff of a weird smell. Some metallic odor that became known to us when we finally came up even with the scared Reggie.

Kyle's body hung limply from the cave wall. Someone had cut his throat for him and then opened his stomach down to the groin and let his entrails fall out in long ropes. Someone had pushed him against the wall, the red drag marks as he'd slumped proved that, and his clothes were soaked with red sticky blood. The three of us took a few slow steps away from the body and then did what any boys our age would have done when presented with the scene before us.

We ran.

The earlier trip from camp to the cave took about thirty minutes, but I'm sure we ran back to the campsite in just under ten minutes. I'm still a little hazy on how we got out of the caves so fast. As we reached the familiar tents and fire pit, though, we collapsed into huffing piles of winded flesh. Reggie threw up noisily into the fire pit, and none of us said two words about it. I, for one, felt like heaving myself and Bobby looked like he might start heaving and crying at the same time. I guess seeing your friend gutted like a trout was a little different from drowning kittens in a sack, eh Bobby?

"We...need to...tell...someone." Reggie huffed out as he wiped the vomit from his shiny lips.

Bobby sat up and moved towards the tent that Scoutmaster Mike still hadn't emerged from. It was getting on about midday, and the fact that he hadn't gotten up yet was starting to scare us. Bobby pushed on the tent flap, but it was still locked from the inside. We all started pushing on the tent and yelling for Scoutmaster Mike to get up and help us, but he never even stirred inside his fortress of canvas. Bobby became angry as his shoves and screams failed to rouse the Scoutmaster and went off to our tent to "get something to cut it open with."

Five minutes later, he came out even angrier.

"Alright, which one of you assholes stole my knife?" he asked, his face red and starting to darken as he rounded on all of us in turn.

"I bet it was YOU Wedgy!" he said, pushing the fat boy down so he could tower over him, "I bet you were the one who killed Kyle too, didn't you? You were the one who screamed, you were the one who found the body, and I bet you stole my knife so you could pin it all on me, didn't you?" Bobby was screaming at him now, and Reggie's sobs had a distinctly scared sound to them.

I stepped between them before this escalated any further, "This isn't helping Bobby, we need to get Scoutmaster Mike up so he can call the police and get some help out here."

"And how would you suggest we do that, Gaylord? He's probably got his earplugs in again, so the creepies don't crawl in his brain while he's asleep. You remember last year, right? He slept through the whole Jamboree because he got drunk the night before and put his plugs in?"

I did, Scoutmaster Mike was pretty well-known for getting drunk and sleeping through his duties, but we still needed him despite his shortcomings.

We tried to cut the canvas with our scout knives, but it was a slow process. While Bobby had brought his father's old buck knife, probably a piece of steel sharp enough to shave with, our scout knives were dull little things that were barely fit for arts and crafts. Finally, after ten minutes of hacking and digging, we worried a hole in the side of the canvas and let out an odor we'd smelled back in the cave.

He'd been done the same way Kyle had. His throat cut, entrails spilled out, his face a mask of terror and disbelief, and we all flinched away from the tent in unison as the hole exposed the grizzly scene within. With nowhere else to run from the awful scene, we went back to our tent and zipped the door shut. We sat huddled in the corner as far from the zippered opening as we could get, and at that moment, all past feuds were forgotten, all past crimes forgiven, and for just an instant, we were one united front. I'm not sure how long we sat there shivering, but it was creeping towards evening when Reggie moved towards the cooler to get something to drink.

His moving seemed to break the spell over us, and suddenly we were preparing a dinner or water bottles and granola bars.

I pulled out my map as we ate and sat it between us, "Okay, so here's where we are, the road is a mile from our campsite, the cave is a half a mile back the way we came, and there's a ranger station a half mile past that at the Appalachian Trail mark. Someone should go to the road and see if they can flag down a car while someone else goes to the ranger station to see if they can get help. The others will stay here at the campsite, so we have a safe place to come back to. Whoever stays here should stoke the fire and be on the lookout for whoever's doing this."

"Two kids against a murderer? That sounds like a death sentence to me." Said Bobby.

"Have you got a better idea?" I asked, and he shook his head grudgingly and said he didn't.

"We could check Mr. Mike's tent." Reggie said, his voice becoming less sure as we all turned to look at him, "I just mean...he has that old bag phone, and he has the key to the truck so he might...I don't know...have something that can help us?"

"That's not a bad idea." I conceded and decided to make my first stop the abattoir of Scoutmaster Mike.

It was becoming shadowy as we ripped the tent open and stepped in. The smell of blood was everywhere, and Scoutmaster Mike lay in his sleeping bag like an overripe pea that had burst its pod. We tried our best to ignore him as we went about taking his stuff, but it's hard to ignore a dead body that's less than five feet from you. Flies had gotten into our hole from earlier, and they crawled like tiny mourners all across his gaping neck and chest.

If Scoutmaster Mike believed in hell, I could assume that this was IT for him; his body flush with crawling insects while he lay powerless to stop them.

We took his things out into the fresh air of the campsite. Scoutmaster Mike had an odd assortment of gear. A compass, a fire starter, a swiss army knife which Bobby took, a flask of something alcoholic that was half empty, a cooler that was equal parts lunch meat, deli cheese, beer, and melted ice, some rope, and a faded magazine called Boozoons with a busty topless girl on the cover. His car keys, hunting knife, and bag phone were nowhere to be found, though. Had the killed taken them so we couldn't call for help? Why kill Scoutmaster Mike and not kill us immediately?

As we sat around in the dying light of the day, the howling started again. It was loud and mournful, cutting across our nerves like a knife, and in our current state, it was enough to leave us shaking and unsure. It stopped after a few minutes, but a low grumble of it could be heard afterward if you listened hard. As the sun went down and the howling grumbled at the edge of hearing, I could almost believe that the Woods Witch and not some murderous psycho was responsible for all of this.

Almost.

"I'll go to the rangers station." I said, getting up before I could think better of it, "Bobby, why don't you go to the road and try to flag down a car and see if you can find someone to help us. Mark and Reggie can stay at camp and keep the fire stoked. I should be back in two hours tops with help. Sound like a plan?"

I had expected a token argument from Bobby, but it never came. He just nodded and, slipping the knife out of his pocket, strode off towards the parking lot where Scoutmaster Mike's old truck sat waiting for us to return. Reggie begged to go with me, but I told him to stay here with Mark and help keep watch. He didn't fight me on it, but he slumped off dejectedly to sit on a log by the fire. With a nod to Mark, I set off for the ranger station.

Like I said before, the trail to the cave is clear enough for a blind man to follow, but I didn't want to get anywhere close to the cave if I could help it. I took the trail until I could see the heading for the cave and then broke off into the woods. I was trying to link up with another trail that went to the rangers station, but I must have gotten turned around because I found myself back at my original entry point after several minutes of scrambling through the woods.

Then the howling started again. I don't know if it was the proximity to the cave or what, but for just a second, I remember being unable to hear much besides the wailing that cut through the quiet night. It drove me to my knees as its pitch became higher, and as I glanced around, it seemed like that wail was moving the trees itself. Thunder rumbled overhead and lit up the night for momentary bursts in time. I found my feet as the howling ebbed a little and realized that it wasn't the howling moving the trees but the wind. A storm seemed to be brewing, and as I tried to find my bearings in the deepening dark, another fork of lightning split the sky.

The flash was bright enough to illuminate a figure not five feet ahead of me.

I added my scream to the howling as the hunched and twisted creature was once again hidden by the tangle of forest. In the ebb of the howling, I could hear it creeping noisily towards me. As the lightning pealed again, I got a brief glimpse of a steely blade in its bunched hand and trembled. It had a knife, the knife that had likely killed Kyle and Scoutmaster Mike, and if I didn't get out of here, it was going to kill me too. I ran then. Turned tail and ran, and when I hit the trail I had left, I kept right on running, losing myself in the woods. I have no idea how far I ran, limbs wiping my face and brambles cutting my legs, but it was well and truly dark by the time I found the stream. I crashed into it like a herd of buffalo, and my foot snagged on a rock three steps in. I fell, tumbling into the cold water of the shallow stream, and cut my forehead on a jagged bit of rock. I came up sputtering, hand going to my forehead to staunch the blood, and as the lightning flashed again, I saw something in the water.

A neat little package was submerged in the sluggish current of the stream. It was wrapped in fabric of some kind, and I realized that it was a pair of scout shorts as I unwrapped it. They smelled awful, but the river had washed them somewhat and left them soggy. Inside the shorts was the Motorola bag phone Scoutmaster Mike had brought and the keys to his truck. Both had been drenched by the river, but the keys had been banged around and bent up. I doubt they would even fit in the ignition of the truck again. I stared at the things for a second, puzzled as to why someone would do this when I realized the shorts were too big to belong to anyone but Reggie. Why steal Reggie's shorts just for this?

That's when I heard someone screaming close to the river and realized how close to the campsite I was.

I could see the shadowed hulks of our tents, and though the camp should have stood out like a beacon with its roaring fire, the flames had guttered, and the camp was bathed in shadows. A drop of rain hit my forehead as I stepped into camp and a lightning flash lit up another body sitting next to the fire. In the brief spark of light, I was certain it would be Reggie, his protruding guts opened up and his guts overflowing. As I came up beside the dying fire, though, I could see that it was Mark.

He'd been done like the others. I felt tears on my face as I knelt beside him. Mark was a shit like Kyle had been a shit, but they were still kids. Kids aren't supposed to die like this. Children are supposed to languish in the idea of immortality until the tragedies of the teenage years bring reason before the death of youth and the birth of adulthood. No child out on a campout should have to face the idea that his life might be bled out next to his cook fire, and Mark was certainly no exception. Mark had wanted to be a baseball player, a dream a lot of little boys have. Though I didn't know him very well, I felt like he deserved better than this.

When someone grabbed my hand, I felt my bladder let go as I pissed my pants. Mark's hand was slick with his blood, but he clung to life even as it leaked out of him. His breathing was jagged and watery, but he seemed determined to impart some wisdom before he died. He put his other hand to his torn open throat and croaked out a single word.

"Bobby."

"Bobby? Bobby did this to you?" I asked, but Mark shook his head in a small, jerking way.

"Bobby...gone...Reggie...cave….howling….went….help him." he sputtered out the last with a gout of blood as he flopped back like a landed fish.

I sat with him until he died. Then I made my way towards Howling Cave. I didn't want to, Howling Cave was the last place I wanted to go, but if the murderer had Reggie or Bobby, I felt like I needed to help them. That's what you do when someone's in trouble, after all. I didn't feel like a little kid at that moment. I didn't feel like I sometimes did when I pretended to be a superhero or some other thing for a game, either. I felt like the kids in the adventure books I read. I felt like I had to do the last thing I wanted to do and that if the monster was to be killed, then it was me who had to do it.

The rain fell on me in sheets as I got close to the cave's mouth. The wind picked up, and as the trees shook and danced as the howling screamed across the forest in high, crystalline notes. I wondered as I went if maybe there was a Woods Witch waiting for me there. Some boogeyman that I could blame all this on instead of some hardened psychopath with a taste for murder. I doubted it, but I almost hoped for a witch as I came to the mouth of the cave. Kids in stories tend to fare pretty well against witches in the end.

It was pitch black inside, but I had my flashlight. My beam found an easy trail to follow almost immediately. Someone had left bloody sneaker prints on the cavern floor, and I could only hope that they weren't left on purpose. I crept along through the tunnels. As I went, I began to see signs of fire up ahead. All of a sudden, the howling raced across me again, and I covered my ears to block it out. It was louder than I'd ever heard it, and the otherworldly wail made me want to fall down and cry. I moved towards the fire, always towards the fire, and it led me to a small chamber near the very back of the cavern.

A placard on the wall declared that this was "The Witch's Hovel". I suspected that it had been set up after the legend got popular, though. There was a cauldron and some shelves along with some old books and a cane broom and…

"Bobby?"

My flashlight had found the back of a scout shirt, and as I moved closer, I could see Bobby Terry leaning against a corner like a naughty child. There was a spreading pool of red around him, and I didn't even need to flip him over to know that he was too far gone to help. He was on his knees, face pressed against the stones, and I pulled my hand away from him before it could turn him around and put another death into my mind.

I heard footsteps behind me then and flipped around to find the last person I expected to find.

"Reggie?"

He smiled at me, and my flashlight glinted off the knife in his hand. He was none the worse for wear though the bloodstains on his uniform looked fresh enough to make me think he'd been wounded. When the howling started again, I looked up towards the ceiling and felt stupid for being afraid earlier. The placement of the hovel in this chamber was pretty smart on someone's part because the chimney-like opening at the top of the cave made the howling sound that I'd heard when the wind blew across it. The howling and wailing had been nothing but a big bottle for the wind to blow across.

The revelation distracted me from Reggie, and it almost cost me my life.

"I was honestly hoping you'd make it out. You're the first person in this situation that has been genuinely nice to me, and I appreciate that I do," he said before snaking forward and trying to slice me with the knife.

I stepped back from him. The blade cut a long gash in the front of my uniform but never hit the skin. I took another step back and analyzed this new Reggie. This wasn't the soft-spoken, scared little boy from the camp who pissed his pants and shrunk from bullies. This Reggie was a competent, crafty, creature who waddled less and stalked more. He looked at me like an artist whose sizing up marble for his next sculpture, like a painter who's trying to winkle the next masterpiece from the canvas, a writer weedling his next bestseller from the aether.

A predator contemplating his next meal.

I thought about running, but he was blocking the only exit. I could juke around him, maybe, but he'd proven himself to be a very quick already. I found myself backing up, Reggie walking forward with all the ease of a B movie slasher. Suddenly my heels struck something on the floor, and I tripped. I cursed myself mentally as I fell, and Reggie stalked in, easy as you please, as I crab-walked backward.

"Why, Reggie?" I asked, unable to help myself, "Why would you do this?"

Reggie seemed to think for a minute before shrugging, "Because I can."

The knife opened up my stomach in a single slash and…

"And as his entrails spilled out, the witch laughed and laughed, having claimed yet another victim. The police would later find the bodies of the scouts and their Scoutmaster, but no sign of weapon or killer would ever be discovered. To this day, they say you can hear the witches unearthly howl on quiet nights, and those who sleep within her woods may find themselves to be her next victims."

The campers sat around the fire with big moony eyes as I finished the story, and they all glanced around as the fire crackled, trying to get a glimpse of the Woods Witch before she got them. The wood suddenly caught a pine knot, and the loud crack made all of them jump before laughing at their own jitters. The seven scouts, none older than I had been when I first stepped into the woods, discussed the story in low whispers amongst themselves. A pudgy, freckle-faced scout with the unfortunate name of Davey spoke up just as I'd thought they were about to settle in for the night and drift to their tents.

"Scoutmaster Lawson, is there really a Woods Witch?"

One of them, a toe-headed kid named Ken, who reminded me a lot of Bobby Terry, guffawed loudly and made a rude noise, "Awwww, Lil Daveys scared of the Wood Witch! It's just a story, nimrod."

"Actually, my own Scoutmaster told us about the Woods Witch when I camped in these woods. It's a local legend that's supposed to have some historical fact, though I doubt she still lives around here anymore." I said, tousling Davey's hair as he started to look worried.

"Thanks, Scoutmaster Lawson," Davey said, putting another marshmallow on his stick and holding it over the fire.

I smiled at him, "Call me, Reggie. My friends used to anyway."

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About the Creator

Joshua Campbell

Writer, reader, game crafter, screen writer, comedian, playwright, aging hipster, and writer of fine horror.

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