Chapter 14- The Hill

This is a true story. Not engineered, elaborated or enhanced in any way. Just as it happened.

I grew up in the middle of nowhere, just a few miles from my best friend (who lived just on the other side of nowhere). The land between us was rocky hills, farmers fields; and dense, overgrown woodland. We loved it and lived in it every chance we had. We camped, hunted and climbed over every nook and cranny, this was our countryside, our realm, and we ruled it with an affection I've never felt for a piece of land again. That makes this story an oddity as it left us with one black spot we would never revisit after one dark night.

Just north of Jason's home (the best friend from the previous paragraph) there was a steep hill that rose sharply from the fields below. Like all such hills, it was wooded and full of adventure for those who wished to find it. This hill was different however, as the top was broad and level, and showed several signs of ancient dwelling: the remains of a stone wall, rotting beams and clay pot could easily be found scattered around. As it was so close to one of our homes, we had never actually camped there: preferring to explore further afield. One night, in a warm August, we planned to remedy that and prepared our gear.

As always Jason took charge. He was older and I've always been more of a Sergeant than a Lieutenant so than was just fine for me. We set off early, for although it wasn't far, we could always fill a day with activities taken from a book or our imaginations. Also, if you had a camp and a knife, there was always soemthing to do. The day was scorching hot and dry and soon we were exhausted and sweaty, but nothing stops a determined teenager so we laboured on. Climbing the hill to the chosen campsite seemed harder than ever: stones turned under our feet, thorns scratched our legs and insects seemed to suck the moisture out of us faster than we could put it back, but finally we arrived. The spot looked perfect; a nice fire pit there, the tent over there, stow the food in those rocks and camp heaven would be ready to go. I remember how much we both looked forward to the night. It was always the best time to explore and see the woodland come alive. We felt very different in the future.

The evening went exactly as all our eveinings did when camping. We ate from cans and sat by the fire talking for a while; we swapped the latest rude jokes we had heard at school; we carved wood into spears or spoons and eventually wandered around the trees, trying to spot a rabbit or fox. Exhausted, we headed back to the tent and wearily climbed into our sleeping bags.

At some point during the night, I was nudged awake.

"Wake up. Rich, wake up." Hissed Jason in my ear. "There's something outside the tent.".

Biting back my intial response (stupid jokes are not unknown between teenage friends) I took in Jason's expression which was a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. Jason is never nervous, frankly he is more than a little unhinged so this really got my attention. Then I heard it, a snorting, snuffling sound. And it was big, big animals sound different. The breathing and snuffling seemed to be circling the tent, round and round, over and over again. Then it stopped. It moved towards the tent and we saw the impression of a huge snout pressed into the fabric. We did the only sensible thing and screamed.

This scream did not have the intended effect however. Unfazed, the beast (whatever it was) made a noise that was somewhere betwen a whinny, a deer call and who knows what returned to circling the tent. Only this time it was angry, really angry. It ran around and around. We heard the pans being smashed over, the food store being broken open and thud after thud after thud as its thunderous hooves hammered into the ground around us. We sat huddled together in the very centre of our tiny home, clutching our knives and wishing that we could be anywhere else right then. This went on for what seemed like hours.

The next thing I remember is waking up, still in the tent but now bright sunshine is streaming though the trees and the sun is high in the sky. I prodded Jason awake and we left the tent into a silent clearing. Sure enough, our pans and plates from last nights meal looked like someone had taken a lumphammer to them. The food store had been smashed open and cans treated to the same punishment as our plates. The we looked at the ground.

In the clear, soft ground all around out tent there was nothing. Not a single hoof or foot print of any kind. The earth was not churned up at all, as it would have to be after so large an animal ran over it so many times. There was not trace of our visitor at all. I looked silently at my best friend, we packed up out gear and left.

That is why we don't go there any more.