Campfire Horror Stories 2

As Sean leaned back against a log, with the fire, casting shadows on his face. He told the story of a deranged man that lived in the woods and killed anyone who camped, on or near his camping site. In that moment Brenda lets out a loud scream of fear, Peep jumps up “ Ok chill it's just a story it's not real” Everyone stood quiet for a second, with a friendly smerk Sean continued. "Alright, alright," he chuckled, poking the fire with a stick, "so where were we? Ah yes, Rusty Rick."

Peep, the shortest guy amongst them but guaranteed to make you snort milk with his jokes, piped up, "Rusty Rick? Sounds more like a discount hardware store than a killer." Clare followed up with “ Almost sounds like a rusty nail”. They all made a few jokes to make Brenda feel less scared of being out camping in the wild.

"Trust me, "Sean said to Peep, "if you see this dude you will shit your pants, "this dude wasn't selling screwdrivers my guy. Rusty Rick lived out in the woods, snapped one night. Now he wanders around with a rusty cleaver, offing any unfortunate camper."

As Sean is telling the story, Peep nudged Brenda, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Got to use the little camper's room, guys. Be right back." He said as he disappeared into the darkness, and everyone chuckled.

Silence stretched as they waited. Minutes bled into an agonizing eternity. A twig snapped. they all whipped their heads around, hearts hammering against their ribs and their eyes scanning the woods. It's nothing, said Clare.

"Peep?" Brenda called, her voice trembling slightly. A cold dread settled in her stomach.

"Yeah, give him a sec," Sean forced a laugh that sounded strained even to anyone. But the longer Peep was gone, the less funny it got.

"Maybe we should go look for him," Clare suggested, her voice barely a whisper.

Just then, a piercing scream tore through the night. It wasn't Brenda's, thank God, but it was high-pitched and raw with terror. We were on our feet in an instant, grabbing burning sticks for makeshift weapons.

We didn't have to go far. Before a dark figure emerged from behind a towering oak tree, a rusted cleaver Swung in the firelight. It hit Brenda in the back and she crumpled to the ground with a choked sob.

The next moments were a blur. Pure, Panic, adrenaline and primal terror that clawed its way up everyone's throat.. Clare, a fireball of fury despite her diminutive size, charged the figure, only to be met with a sickening thud. Sean watched in horrified fascination as the cleaver rose and fell again. Frozen, as he watched her fall with it.

Adrenaline surged in Sean. He lunged, shoving the figure back. Panic sent him scrambling to the floor then a blow to the back of his head made blackness rush in.

He woke to a scene of utter carnage. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air. His friends, faces contorted in eternal screams, lay scattered around the dying embers. Then he saw it, the rusty cleaver gripped tightly in his hand covered in his friend's blood.

Cold sweat slicked down the skin of his face. Sirens wailed in the distance. He thought to himself “ have I become the very monster I'd spun a tale of, what did I do? Tears blurred his vision as he stood up, cold and heavy as the weight of their deaths crushed him.

The last thing Sean saw before the flashing blue lights swallowed everything was the look of pure horror on the faces of the approaching search party.

I guess, It wasn't just a story after all.

As Sean sat in his padded cell, years later, the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal echoed through the sterile halls. It was a familiar sound now, a twisted lullaby that haunted his sleep. He stared at the chipped white wall, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. It wasn't the sirens that sent shivers down his spine anymore, but the occasional, off-key humming that came from the cell next door.