Campfire Horror 5

He wasn't much of a talker. Usually, he would only mumble a simple

"Hi Ashley"

His voice was barely audible above a whisper. However, his gaze would linger on Ashley for too long, almost like a moth drawn to the light. He never gave her a malicious look but a shy admiration.

He always ordered a whiskey sour, and sipped it slowly, his gaze glued to a worn paperback he kept propped open. Ashley would steal glances at him over the rim of the Coffee Maker, a strange mix of curiosity and unease churning in her stomach. He seemed harmless enough, a lonely soul seeking refuge in the warm glow of the bar.

Yet, the intensity in his quiet focus, the way his eyes seemed to memorize every detail of her movements, made her feel like a character in his well-worn book, a story she was sure she didn't want to be a part of.

The campfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the tall pines that encircled the secluded clearing.

Arthur hummed a jaunty tune, completely oblivious to the silent terror beside him. Ashley, her wrists raw and chafed from the rope that had bound them mere moments ago, nursed the throbbing ache in her shoulder where the knife had struck home.

It had all started innocently enough. Ashley, a bartender at Tall Shots, knew Arthur as a quirky regular – a man with a penchant for leaving overly generous tips and lingering a little too long over his beers. But tonight, something snapped. As she finished his usual whiskey sour, he grabbed her arm, his usually shy demeanor replaced with a manic glint in his eyes.

“Ashley,” he’d slurred, his voice thick with forced cheer, “tonight’s the night! We’re finally going camping, just like we’ve always talked about.”

Ashley's stomach had lurched. They’d never exchanged a word beyond pleasantries about the weather. But his grip was ironclad, and before she could protest, he’d bundled her into his truck, her pleas for help dissolving into the roar of the engine.

The drive was a harrowing blur of nonsensical ramblings about their “future together.” Here, in this deserted clearing, Arthur had finally released her, launching into a monologue about building their “love nest” as he unpacked their supplies.

Opportunity struck with the swiftness of a striking viper. As Arthur knelt, his back momentarily turned, Ashley lunged for the hunting knife strapped to his backpack. A primal scream tore from her throat as she plunged the blade into the base of his neck. Hot blood slicked her hand, the metallic tang thick in the air.

Arthur spun, a surprised gurgle escaping his lips. Before he could react, Ashley struck again, the knife finding its mark a second time. He crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with betrayal.

Silence slammed down, broken only by the crackling fire and Ashley’s ragged gasps for breath. Tears streamed down her soot-stained face, a horrifying mixture of relief and primal fear. She was alone, miles from civilization, with a madman for company. But for now, at least, he was quiet.

Ashley's hands, slick with blood, clutched her phone. Tears stung her eyes, but she forced herself forward. Arthur laid still, swallowed by the growing darkness. With each step she took, the forest loomed larger, but freedom tasted sweeter than fear.

Ashley wasn’t sure what awaited her in the vast darkness beyond the firelight, but she knew one thing for certain. The woods held a different kind of terror now – the chilling realization that sometimes, the monsters we fear most wear the faces of people we think we know.