Campfire Stories 4 #OurAuthorGang

 A campfire story by David W. Thompson

Henry walks the night

It was a warm spring day in my youth. The fish were eager to throw off the winter doldrums, invigorated by the lukewarm waters surrounding them. But as the shadows grew long, the chill of the evening settled in our bones. We huddled near the fire to embrace its warmth—except for Henry.

Henry was our token “old guy.” None of us knew his last name or where he came from. He appeared like a mist from the shadows whenever we camped here. He was a mysterious, good-natured sort who knew every hole that held trout, and we welcomed his arrival. He’d sit beyond the heat of our flickering campfire and listen to our morbid ghost stories with an odd smile on his pale lips, but he never volunteered a tale. We'd decided it was time to change that.

“Ah, you lads humor an old man,” Henry said, “but my tales are too dark for innocent ears.”

“Unfair, Henry. You’ve listened to our stories for years…”

“Is it fairness you want? If that’s the price of admission, I’ll pay my share. I know such a story of justice, though I doubt it will seem so through youthful eyes. And it’s a love story. Will that do?”

We nodded our approval.

“Before you lads were a twinkle in your father’s eyes, we lived in a lovely home. It was beautiful in the light of day when the sun cast off the shadows of my torment. Merriam was my betrothed and was stunning in any light. She owned my heart.

“But when he came, I feared my concern for her was misconstrued—made into something it was not. But the change in her was too noticeable to ignore. Had I wronged her? Was there a special event or anniversary I'd forgotten?

“We welcomed him into our home as if he was a long-lost friend. Embraced him like a brother as he crossed our threshold from the cold. Lost in the wilderness, he’d said. Starving and covered in ice, we drew him to our hearth, and oh, how he repaid us—repaid me.

“Overnight, she and William became best friends, sharing things that should remain unsaid. Things she liked and didn’t, but it wasn’t about her favorite meals or reading preferences, but things only a husband should hear.

“She grew colder toward me, my Merriam, my heart. William spurned me in my home as if I was the unwanted guest. What was I to do? I wished for someone to talk to, but since we met, only Merriam existed. My love was true, and my trust was absolute. Was I a fool?

Their laughter floated through the mansion. Hers was light and flirtatious like a schoolgirl, his dark and ominous. But silence greeted me when I entered the room. I was well-read in literature but illiterate in the writings of the heart. Wealth breeds isolation, I’m told, and I’d known both in quantity.

I’d trade that wealth to see love reflected in her eyes again, but the two of them laughed all night & slept all day. No longer in my bed, nor William's—but had she fallen for him? Could a love such as ours be so casually discarded?

“I woke to the full moon shining through my window and sensed the change in the air. I felt her calling to me in my mind, as clear as a shout. She beckoned me to her bed, and I flew to her. Merriam’s arms were thrown wide, her flesh pale, and her lips crimson. ‘I’m cold. Kiss me,’ she said.

“At the kiss, she turned and slid her teeth into my neck. Oh, the bliss I knew at her touch renewed! She drew on my essence, and we were one again and forevermore. My vision blurred as her words caressed me... and saved me.

“‘I love you,’ she said. ‘This is William’s gift; now, he must die.’

Henry stood, his eyes glowing unnaturally.

“William paid for his disrespect and knowledge of us.”

He smiled a toothsome smile. “Now I’ve shared my secret, lads, and you will share William’s fate.”

His eyes, burning with hellfire, terrified me, but Jim and Ricky didn’t notice. They smiled and, in their mirth, paused a moment too long. I dashed into the darkness, and their screams followed me. I spent the night cowering in the shadow of a cross some long-forgotten penitent soul erected years before.

I never saw Ricky or Jim again, but their spirits haunt me. They torment my dreams and call me a coward. Are they the source of the knocks at my window late at night? Those with no visible source? Has Henry returned to reclaim his prey?

I cannot say, but now you, too, know the tale! Beware the darkness, the mysteries in the fog, and the whispers of the wind. Henry walks the night.

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.

Campfire Stories 1 #OurAuthorGang

 A campfire story by Erika M Szabo

When A Camping Trip Goes Wrong

Paul, a successful lawyer in his mid-thirties, planned a weekend kayaking trip with his best friends, Steve and Jack. He wanted a chance for old buddies to reconnect in nature because he hated the underlying tensions between them. Lately, small arguments erupted into heated debates, hidden resentments came to light, and once solid friendships now felt fragile and uncertain.

But things didn't go as expected. The weather was comfortably warm and sunny when they left the city but unexpectedly turned. By the time they arrived at the campsite in the mountains, the heavy rain had turned the calm river into a muddy, raging force.

They were soaked to the bones when finally, the tents were up, but the flood threatened to wash the tents away because they pitched them too close to the water's edge. And it wasn't just the weather that had turned against them. The stress of the long journey to the mountains and the unexpected storm exposed underlying tensions within the group. Small arguments erupted into heated debates, hidden resentments came to light, and once solid friendships now felt fragile and uncertain.

The team huddled inside a flimsy tent while the rain hammered down and the wind howled outside. They were tired and anxious, listening to the frightening sounds of nature's wrath, debating whether they should tough it out or pack up their cars and return to the city.

However, as the sun set and the storm subsided, they regrouped around a crackling fire. The tension from earlier still lingered, but they were determined to salvage their trip and make the most of the remaining weekend together. They prepared dinner in silence, and to lift the mood, Paul proposed telling stories as they always did on high school trips.

Stomachs full and warmed by the cozy fire, the group eagerly anticipated the stories as each friend took turns sharing tales of ghosts, demons, and urban legends. As their voices lowered to a whisper and they leaned in closer, it was clear that they were all drawn into the spell of storytelling. The flickering shadows cast by the trees, the haunting calls of creatures in the distance, and the cold night air only added to the chilling atmosphere.

As the evening went on, the tales became darker and more twisted, each one trying to top the last. But no one minded – in fact, they reveled in it.

They shivered with excitement as Steve, the best storyteller among them, started his frightening story of an old mountain legend. “Long ago, a group of hunters had been savagely murdered by a mysterious Shapeshifter. Ever since every spring, campers and hunters had been mauled by this creature who was said to be living in the mountains for centuries. The legend says, the Shapeshifter showed up in different forms drawn by the campfire and takes an item from everyone. Late at night when people are settled and were asleep in their tents, the Shapeshifter drank their blood and tore them to pieces one by one. There were never any survivors.”

The fire crackled and popped, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the listeners. Their imagination triggered and imagined being trapped in nature with a mysterious, ancient monster lurking in the shadows.

Paul spoke up, trying to break through the tension that hung in the air. “Come on Steve, you just made it up. There’s no such thing as a ‘Shapeshifter’.”

Suddenly, they all jumped at the sound of rustling bushes nearby. Steve let out a nervous laugh and got up from his seat by the fire. “Relax guys, I’ll go check it out.”

He walked toward where he thought he had heard the noise coming from, while everyone else held their breath, unsure if they should follow or stay put.

After what felt like an eternity, Steve returned with a cheerful grin on his face.

“Cool it, guys,” he laughed. “It was just a raccoon.”

A wave of relief washed over them all and they laughed at their own paranoia. But deep down, the thought of the Shapeshifter lurking in the shadows still lingered.

“You just made up that legend, didn’t you?” grumbled Paul.

“Yeah, I thought it was when I first heard it!” Steve shouted. “Until last summer when I saw on the news that two hunters were killed not far from here by wild animals. They said they were attacked by mountain lions, but when I thought about this legend I heard when I was a kid…”

“Yeah, I saw that on the news too!” Jack exclaimed, shivering.

The group's fear intensified as they heard rustling sounds coming from the woods, and a creeping sense of being watched overcame them. Every conversation and movement were now tinged with paranoia and suspicion.

And then they heard it - slow footsteps approaching their campsite. The friends were frozen in terror, certain that their worst nightmares were about to come true. But instead of scattering in panic, their shared fear united them. Bravely, they stood their ground and confronted whatever or whoever lurked beyond the safety of their circle of light.

Paul's voice trembled as he shouted into the darkness, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

A calm yet authoritative voice responded from within the dense bushes, followed by a bright beam of light piercing through the blackness. "Calm down, young man," the deep, masculine voice said. "I’m a park ranger conducting routine checks on campers and warning kayakers not to venture onto the river. The heavy rain has raised the water level to dangerous heights, and the current is too strong for safe navigation."

After the ranger disappeared in the thick bushes continuing his rounds, the friends tried to brush off their fear and continue with their stories. But the unease remained as an added layer, and their anxiety was palpable.

The temperature dropped and Paul shivered and went into his tent to grab his warmer jacket. “Did you guys see my jacket?” he shouted.

“Nope,” Steve said standing up. “I better get mine too, it’s getting chilly.” Opening his tent, he stood frozen. “That’s odd,” he murmured. “My jacket is not here, either.”

Jack rushed to his tent and looked inside. “Who’s doing this?” he yelled. “My blanket is missing.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. As much as they wanted to brush it off as just another of Steve’s scary stories, there were too many coincidences for comfort. The missing items, the ranger’s visit…

A thought crossed Paul's mind, "What if… what if the ranger is the Shapeshifter and…?"

The others were quick to dismiss this idea, but a seed of doubt had been planted. None of them could sleep now, fear keeping them awake and alert. They kept the fire going all night, jumping at every rustle in the bushes. As soon as the sun appeared on the horizon, they let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Let’s get out of here!” Paul suggested. “We can’t go kayaking, anyway.”

The others just nodded in agreement and packed up their things in silence, they felt relief. They jumped into their cars and drove on the muddy dirt road toward the highway as fast as they could.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative and educational and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.