3 Very Scary TRUE Stormy Night Camping Horror Stories

 

“Terror in the Storm: A True Camping Nightmare”:

I went camping with my friend Emily in a dense forest a few hours from the city, a spot we’d found online for its solitude. We loved getting away from noise and screens, just the two of us with nature. We arrived at the campsite in the late afternoon, a small clearing surrounded by towering pines and thick underbrush. The air felt heavy, and the trees swayed more than usual, but we were too excited to care. We set up our tent—a sturdy, four-season model we’d used for years—driving the stakes deep into the soft earth and double-checking the rainfly. We gathered firewood, stacking it under a tarp, and cooked a quick dinner of hot dogs over a small fire. As dusk settled, we crawled into our sleeping bags, planning an early hike to a nearby lake. The forest was quiet except for the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl.

Sometime after midnight, I jolted awake. The tent was shaking, the nylon walls flapping like they might tear. Rain hammered down, loud and relentless, and the wind howled through the trees, making them creak ominously. My sleeping bag felt damp from condensation, and the air inside the tent was cold. Emily was already up, sitting cross-legged with her flashlight pointed at the ceiling, casting eerie shadows. “This is bad,” she whispered, her voice tight. “I’ve never heard wind like this.”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Should we check the tent? Make sure it’s holding?”

She nodded, and we unzipped the tent flap just enough to peek out. The rain stung my face, and the flashlight beam barely pierced the darkness. Our stakes were still in place, but the ground was turning to mud, water pooling around the tent’s edges. I was about to zip the flap shut when we heard it—a low, guttural sound, like someone coughing or groaning, coming from the trees beyond our campsite. We froze, the flashlight trembling in my hand. This place was remote, far from any trailhead or road. We’d chosen it because the park ranger said it was rarely used. No one else was supposed to be out here.

“Did you hear that?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the storm.

Emily’s eyes were wide, her face pale in the flashlight’s glow. “Yeah. Maybe it’s a bear or something?”

But it didn’t sound like a bear. It came again, closer, a raspy voice saying, “Help… please…” The words were faint, almost swallowed by the wind, but unmistakable. My stomach twisted, a cold knot of fear forming. Emily grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “What do we do?” she hissed. “That’s a person.”

I didn’t want to go out there. The storm was bad enough, but a stranger in the middle of nowhere? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios—lost hiker, drunk wanderer, or something worse. But the voice sounded desperate, in pain. “Maybe they’re hurt,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her. “We can’t just ignore it. We’ll look, but we stay together.”

Emily hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, but we’re careful. Really careful.”

We pulled on our rain jackets, the hoods flapping in the wind, and grabbed our flashlights. I tucked a small pocketknife into my pocket—just in case. Stepping outside, the rain soaked us instantly, cold and heavy, like needles against my skin. The wind pushed us back, and the trees swayed so hard I worried one might snap. We moved slowly, our flashlights cutting narrow beams through the downpour. “Hello?” I called, my voice shaking. “Where are you?”

The voice answered, weaker now, “Over here… by the trees…” It came from the edge of the clearing, where the forest thickened into a wall of pines.

We crept forward, mud sucking at our boots. About twenty feet from the tent, our flashlights caught him—a man slumped against a tree, one arm clutching his side. His clothes were torn, a flannel shirt and jeans soaked through, and his face was pale, almost gray, with dark circles under his eyes. Blood stained his shirt, spreading from where his hand pressed against his ribs. He looked like he’d been out here for hours, maybe longer.

“Are you okay?” I asked, kneeling beside him. The rain made it hard to see, but his breathing was shallow, ragged. Emily stayed a few steps back, her flashlight trained on him, her face tight with fear.

“Got… attacked,” he gasped, wincing as he spoke. “Two guys… took my stuff… stabbed me.”

I saw the blood seeping through his fingers, dark and slick. My heart pounded. “We need to help him,” I said to Emily. “Grab the first-aid kit and a towel.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the dark trees. “What if those guys are still out there?”

“Just hurry,” I said, trying to sound calm. She ran back to the tent, her flashlight bobbing in the rain. I turned to the man. “What’s your name? What happened?”

“Tom,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Was hiking… late. They came out of nowhere… took my pack, my phone… stabbed me and ran.”

I nodded, my hands shaking as I tried to assess his wound without moving him. The cut looked deep, but I wasn’t a doctor. Emily returned, panting, with the first-aid kit and a clean towel. We pressed the towel against his side, then wrapped gauze over it, securing it with medical tape. The bandages soaked through quickly, but it was all we could do. He needed a hospital, and soon. I checked my phone—dead, despite being fully charged that morning. Emily’s had no signal, just like we’d expected in this remote area.

“We can’t stay out here,” I said. “Let’s get him to the tent. It’s dry, and we can figure out what to do.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? We don’t know him. What if he’s… I don’t know, lying?”

“He’s bleeding out,” I snapped, louder than I meant. “We can’t leave him in the rain.”

She bit her lip but helped me lift him. Tom groaned as we half-carried, half-dragged him to the tent. The mud made every step a struggle, and the wind nearly knocked us over. Inside, we laid him on my sleeping bag, the tent floor already damp from our soaked clothes. He was shivering, his teeth chattering, so I draped a dry jacket over him. Emily lit our small camping lantern, its soft glow filling the tent with shadows. “Thank you,” Tom mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Didn’t think… anyone would find me.”

“We’re just campers,” I said, avoiding our names. Something about this felt wrong, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe it was the storm, or the way Tom’s eyes kept darting to the tent flap, like he was expecting something. “How long were you out there?” I asked.

“Couple hours,” he said. “Lost track. Kept walking… till I saw your light.”

Emily sat close to me, her knees pulled up, the first-aid kit still in her lap. “What did those guys look like?” she asked, her voice low. “The ones who attacked you.”

Tom hesitated, then shrugged. “Didn’t see much. Dark clothes… hoods. One had a knife. Didn’t talk much, just… hit me, took my stuff.”

I exchanged a look with Emily. His story made sense, but it was vague, and the fear in his eyes seemed deeper than just pain. The tent shook harder, a gust of wind making the poles creak. Every sound outside—the rain, the branches, the wind—felt like a threat. I tried to focus. “We’ll wait till the storm eases,” I said. “Then we’ll drive you to a ranger station. It’s about an hour from here.”

Tom nodded, but his hands fidgeted, picking at the edge of the sleeping bag. “They’re not gone,” he said suddenly, his voice barely a whisper. “Those guys… I heard them. Before you found me. They’re still out there.”

Emily’s grip tightened on my arm. “What do they want?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Don’t know,” Tom said, his eyes fixed on the tent flap. “Money, maybe. Or… they just like hurting people. I heard them laughing after they stabbed me.”

My chest tightened, the air in the tent feeling thin. The idea of two men out there, hunting in the storm, made my skin crawl. “We need to stay quiet,” I said. “Keep the light low. Maybe they’ll move on.”

Emily dimmed the lantern, leaving just enough light to see each other’s faces. We sat in silence, listening to the rain and wind. Every creak of a tree or snap of a twig made my heart jump. I kept my pocketknife in my hand, hidden under the edge of my jacket. Tom’s breathing was uneven, and he kept shifting, like he was trying to sit up but couldn’t.

Then we heard it—a crunch outside, like boots on wet leaves, slow and deliberate. Then another. Someone was circling the tent. Emily’s eyes went wide, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Tom sat up, wincing, his face pale. “They’re here,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“Who’s there?” I called, gripping the knife so hard my knuckles ached.

No answer. Just more footsteps, closer now, squelching in the mud. Then a voice—deep, rough, cutting through the storm. “Come on out, Tommy. We know you’re in there.”

Tom’s hands trembled, and he pressed himself against the tent wall. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

Emily mouthed, “What do we do?” Her eyes were wet with tears, her hands shaking.

I didn’t know. My mind was racing, but every option felt wrong. Run? We’d never make it to the car in this storm, not with Tom slowing us down. Fight? With a pocketknife against two men, one with a blade? I swallowed hard and shouted, “Leave us alone! We’ve got nothing for you!”

The man outside laughed, a cold, guttural sound that made my blood run cold. “Oh, we’ll see about that. Hand over Tommy, and we might let you two walk away.”

“There’s two of them,” Tom whispered, his voice barely audible. “The other one’s out there, watching.”

My stomach churned. I pictured the second man lurking in the trees, waiting for us to make a move. Emily was shaking so hard the lantern flickered in her hands. “We need to do something,” she whispered. “They’re not leaving.”

Before I could answer, the tent flap unzipped slowly, the sound deafening in the small space. A face appeared—grimy, with a crooked grin and eyes that gleamed in the dim light. He was big, his shoulders filling the entrance, and he held a hunting knife, the blade long and sharp. “Time’s up,” he said, his voice calm but menacing. “Hand him over.”

Tom shrank back, clutching his side. “Please,” he gasped. “Don’t let them take me.”

I held up my hands, the pocketknife hidden in my sleeve. “We don’t want trouble,” I said, my voice shaking. “Just go. We’re just campers.”

The man crouched, stepping into the tent. The air felt thick, suffocating. “Not how this works,” he said, his grin widening. “Tommy owes us. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“I don’t owe you anything!” Tom shouted, his voice cracking. “You already took everything!”

The man lunged, faster than I expected, grabbing Tom’s arm. Emily screamed, and I swung my knife, aiming for his hand. It grazed his knuckles, and he cursed, dropping the hunting knife. It clattered to the tent floor, and Emily dove for it, snatching it up with trembling hands. “Get out!” she yelled, holding the blade out, her voice raw with fear.

The man stumbled back, blood dripping from his hand. “You’ll regret that,” he snarled, but he backed out of the tent, disappearing into the storm. We heard shouting—another voice, sharp and angry. “Let’s go!” it called, and the footsteps faded, swallowed by the rain.

Tom was gasping, his bandage soaked through again. “They’ll come back,” he said, his eyes wild. “You need to leave. Now.”

“We’re not leaving you,” I said, but my hands were shaking as I grabbed the first-aid kit. We rewrapped his wound, the gauze turning red almost instantly. Emily clutched the hunting knife, her knuckles white. “What if they’re waiting out there?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“We stay here till dawn,” I said. “It’s too dangerous to move now.”

We turned off the lantern, sitting in total darkness, the only sounds our breathing and the storm outside. Every creak, every gust, felt like the men coming back. I kept the pocketknife in one hand, the flashlight in the other, ready to swing. Emily sat close, her shoulder pressed against mine, the hunting knife across her lap. Tom was quiet, his breathing shallow, and I worried he wouldn’t make it through the night.

Hours crawled by. The storm didn’t let up, but as the sky lightened to a dull gray, the rain eased slightly. We packed up fast, stuffing our gear into backpacks. Tom could barely walk, so we supported him, one on each side, his arms over our shoulders. The mud was ankle-deep, and every step was a fight against the wind. The forest felt alive, watching us, the trees looming like silent witnesses.

We reached our car, a beat-up SUV parked a quarter-mile away. I half-expected the tires to be slashed, but it was untouched. We laid Tom in the back seat, covering him with a blanket. Emily drove, her hands gripping the wheel, while I watched the road behind us, expecting headlights to appear in the dawn gloom. The ranger station was an hour away, a small wooden building at the park’s edge. We burst in, shouting for help, and the ranger—a gruff older man—called an ambulance and the police.

Tom was taken to a hospital, his condition critical but stable. We told the police everything—the attack, the men, the knife. They searched the area but found only Tom’s stolen pack, abandoned a mile from our campsite, with his wallet and phone inside. The men were gone, no trace, like they’d vanished into the storm. The police said they might’ve been drifters, targeting campers for quick robberies, maybe worse. They mentioned a similar incident a year earlier, where a hiker was robbed and left for dead, but no arrests were ever made.

Emily and I drove home in silence, the memory of that night heavy between us. We haven’t camped since, and I doubt we ever will. I still see that man’s face in my mind—the crooked grin, the glint of his knife. I hear the crunch of boots outside the tent, the way the storm seemed to hide them until it was too late. We were lucky, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like we barely escaped something dark, something that’s still out there, waiting in the rain.

"Night of the Coyotes: A Stormy Camping Terror":

I’ll never forget that camping trip with my friends Jake, Lisa, and Tom. We were desperate for a break from the city—work, noise, all of it—so we decided to camp on Jake’s family farm, way out past the cornfields, deep in the woods. It was our chance to unplug, breathe fresh air, and just be together. When we arrived Friday afternoon, the place felt like paradise. The clearing was surrounded by tall pines, and a little creek bubbled nearby. We set up our tents, joking about who could hammer pegs faster. Jake won, grinning like he’d conquered the world. By evening, we had a campfire going, the crackle of wood mixing with our laughter as we roasted marshmallows and swapped old stories. The stars were bright, and it felt like we were the only people for miles.

Around midnight, I jolted awake. Thunder rumbled, deep and angry, and the wind was shaking the trees so hard I thought they might snap. Rain started, first a soft patter on my tent, then a heavy downpour, like someone dumping buckets from the sky. I was fumbling for my flashlight when I heard it—tornado sirens, sharp and eerie, slicing through the noise. My heart slammed in my chest. Tornado sirens? Out here? We were miles from any town. I unzipped my tent and yelled, “Guys, wake up! Something’s wrong!” One by one, they stumbled out, hair plastered to their faces, eyes wide. Lisa’s voice was high, panicked. “What’s happening? Why are there sirens?” I swallowed, trying to sound calm. “I think it’s a tornado warning. We need shelter.” Jake, squinting through the rain, said, “The farm’s too far, at least a mile. We’d never make it.” Tom nodded, wiping water from his eyes. “Tents are our best shot. Get back inside, stay low.” So we did, crawling into our separate tents, zipping them tight, praying the flimsy nylon would hold.

Inside, I huddled in my sleeping bag, the rain pounding so loud I could barely think. The wind howled, tugging at the tent like it wanted to rip it from the ground. I kept my flashlight on, clutching it like a lifeline, watching shadows dance on the tent walls. Then I heard something else—howls, sharp and wild, cutting through the storm. Coyotes. My stomach twisted. They weren’t far, maybe just beyond the clearing. I tried to tell myself they’d stay away, that they were just passing through. But then something pressed against my tent, right near my head. A low growl followed, and I felt the fabric shift under the weight. I froze, breath caught in my throat. Lisa screamed from her tent, her voice piercing. “Something’s out there! It’s pushing on my tent! Help!” Tom shouted back, “Lisa, stay calm! It’s probably the wind!” But I knew it wasn’t. “It’s coyotes!” I yelled. “Bang on the poles, make noise!” I grabbed my metal water bottle and started smacking it against the tent frame, shouting, “Go away!” The others joined in, banging and yelling, but the growling didn’t stop. I heard paws squishing in the mud, circling, sniffing. There were at least two, maybe more, testing the tents, looking for a way in.

The next few hours were a blur of fear. The storm didn’t let up, and neither did the coyotes. Every time we thought they’d gone, another growl would come, closer than before. Lisa was sobbing now, her voice muffled but desperate. “What if they get in? What if they’re hungry?” I wanted to reassure her, but my own hands were shaking. I kept picturing sharp teeth tearing through the tent, those yellow eyes I’d seen in wildlife shows. Jake called out, “Keep making noise! They’ll back off!” But they didn’t. I could hear them pacing, their claws scraping the wet ground. Once, I swear one bumped my tent so hard it shifted an inch. I yelled louder, banging until my hands hurt, but my voice was hoarse, and the fear was choking me.

Around three in the morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were too spread out, too vulnerable. I unzipped my tent just enough to shout, “Guys, this isn’t working! Let’s all get in Jake’s tent. We’ll be stronger together!” Jake yelled back, “Yeah, come now! Mine’s biggest!” I grabbed my sleeping bag and flashlight, unzipped my tent, and ran through the rain, slipping in the mud. The others did the same, scrambling to Jake’s tent, dragging whatever they could carry. We piled inside, soaked and shivering, squeezing shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. The tent smelled of wet nylon and fear. Lisa was shaking, her teeth chattering. “What if they tear through? What if they attack us?” I forced myself to sound steady. “Coyotes don’t usually go after people. We’re loud, we’re together. We’ll scare them off.” But I wasn’t sure I believed it. Tom, clutching a pocketknife, said, “If one gets in, I’ll handle it.” Jake shot him a look. “Don’t be stupid, man. Just keep yelling.”

We sat there, listening to the rain and the wind, jumping at every rustle. Then a deep growl came, so close it felt like the coyote was right against the tent. Lisa whimpered, pulling her knees to her chest. I grabbed the water bottle again and banged it hard, yelling, “Get out of here! Go!” The others joined in, shouting, banging on anything they could—tent poles, a cooking pot, even the ground. The growling stopped, but only for a minute. They were still out there, waiting. We kept up the noise, taking turns, our voices raw. I don’t know how long it went on—maybe an hour, maybe two. My arms ached, and my throat burned, but stopping wasn’t an option.

Finally, around dawn, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and the wind quieted. The coyotes stopped growling. We waited, holding our breath, listening for any sign of them. Nothing. Jake unzipped the tent a crack and peeked out. “I think they’re gone,” he whispered. We crawled out, exhausted, our clothes heavy with water. The campsite was a wreck—tents sagging, stakes pulled loose, mud everywhere. My tent had a small tear where something had pressed too hard. Lisa looked at it and started crying again. “That was the worst night of my life,” she said, her voice breaking. Jake kicked at a muddy tent peg, his face pale. “Never again. Not out here, not like this.” Tom, still gripping his knife, just nodded.

We packed up as fast as we could, not bothering to clean anything. The campfire was a soggy mess, our gear was ruined, but we didn’t care. We just wanted to get out. The walk back to the car felt endless, our shoes sinking in the mud, every rustle in the trees making us jump. When we finally reached the farm, Jake’s dad was there, worried. He’d heard the sirens and tried to call, but we had no signal. “You kids okay?” he asked. I nodded, too tired to explain. We threw our stuff in the car and drove back to the city in silence, the weight of the night sitting heavy between us.

That trip changed us. We used to love camping, planning adventures every summer. Now, when we talk about it, we stick to campgrounds with cabins, close to town, with lights and people nearby. I still see those woods in my dreams sometimes—the rain, the growls, the feeling of being hunted. Nature’s beautiful, but it’s wild, unpredictable. That night, it showed us how small we really are, and I’ll never forget the terror of those coyotes in the dark, waiting just outside, ready to pounce.

"Nowhere to Hide":

I decided to take a camping trip with my friend Taylor to a remote spot in the mountains. We’d been planning it for weeks, excited to get away from the city and enjoy some peace and quiet. The weather forecast mentioned a chance of storms, but we figured we could handle it—we were experienced campers, after all. We packed our sturdy tent, plenty of food, and all the essentials, including a first-aid kit and a flashlight. Little did we know, this trip would turn into something we’d never forget.
We arrived at the campsite late in the afternoon. The sky was already darkening, and the wind was picking up, but we managed to set up our tent before the rain started. We secured it tightly, making sure the stakes were deep in the ground and the rainfly was properly fastened. Inside, we spread out our sleeping bags and settled in, listening to the wind howl outside. It was loud, but we felt safe. We’d camped in worse weather before.

As night fell, the storm intensified. The rain pounded against the tent, and the wind shook the fabric so hard it felt like it might rip apart. We tried to talk over the noise, but it was difficult. Taylor suggested we play a game of cards to pass the time, but even that was hard to focus on with the storm raging outside. Around midnight, we decided to try to get some sleep, hoping the storm would let up by morning.
I must have dozed off for a while, but I was jolted awake by a loud banging sound. It was like someone was hitting the side of our tent. Taylor sat up, wide-eyed, and we both froze, listening. The wind was still howling, but this sound was different—deliberate, almost like someone was trying to get our attention.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” a voice called out, faint but desperate, over the noise of the storm. “Please, I need help!”
Taylor and I exchanged a look. We were in the middle of nowhere, and the campsite was supposed to be empty except for us. Who could be out there in this weather?
“Maybe it’s a hiker who got caught in the storm,” I whispered. “We should check.”
“Are you crazy?” Taylor hissed. “It’s pitch black, and there’s a storm raging. What if it’s someone dangerous?”
But the voice called again, more urgently this time. “Please! My car broke down, and I’ve been walking for hours. I’m lost!”
I hesitated, then grabbed the flashlight. “We can’t just leave someone out there. Let’s at least see who it is.”
Taylor reluctantly agreed, and we unzipped the tent flap just enough to peek out. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was so strong it was hard to see. But there, standing a few feet away, was a man. He was soaking wet, his clothes clinging to his body, and he looked exhausted. He was holding a small backpack, and his face was pale, almost ghostly in the dim light of our flashlight.

“Thank God,” he said, his voice shaky. “I thought I was going to die out here. Can I come in? Just for a little while, until the storm lets up?”
I glanced at Taylor, who looked unsure. But the man seemed harmless—scared, even. And it was freezing out there. “Okay,” I said finally. “But just for a bit. We don’t have much room.”
He nodded gratefully and crawled into the tent. We moved our sleeping bags aside to make space, and he sat down, shivering. We offered him a dry jacket and some water, which he accepted with trembling hands. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m Dave. My car broke down about five miles back, and I’ve been trying to find help ever since. I didn’t think anyone would be out here in this weather.”
“We’re just here for the weekend,” I said, trying to sound friendly but cautious. “What happened to your car?”
“Engine trouble, I think,” he replied, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I don’t know much about cars. I just kept walking, hoping to find someone.”
Taylor was quiet, watching him closely. I could tell she was still uneasy, but Dave seemed genuinely grateful. We made small talk for a while, trying to ease the tension. He told us he was from a nearby town and had been driving through when his car died. But as we talked, I noticed something odd. Every few minutes, Dave would glance toward the tent flap, as if he was listening for something. His eyes darted nervously, and his hands fidgeted with the zipper of his backpack.

“Are you okay?” I asked finally. “You seem… jumpy.”
He hesitated, then let out a sigh. “I guess I should tell you. I’m not just lost. I’m… running from someone.”
Taylor’s eyes widened, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. “Running from who?” I asked.
“My ex,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We had a fight, and she got violent. I left, but she followed me. I think she might be looking for me.”
I exchanged another look with Taylor. This was getting complicated. “Did you call the police?” I asked.
“I don’t have a phone,” he said, shaking his head. “And I didn’t want to involve them. I just need to get away.”
The wind outside howled louder, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm showed no signs of letting up. I wanted to believe Dave, but something about his story didn’t sit right with me. Why would someone be out driving in this weather? And why didn’t he have a phone?
Before I could ask more questions, there was another sound—a sharp crack, like a branch snapping. Then, a voice, faint but clear, carried by the wind: “Dave! I know you’re out here! Come out, or I’ll find you!”
Dave’s face went white, and he scrambled toward the tent flap, peering out. “She’s here,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She found me.”
Taylor grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “What do we do?” she mouthed.
I didn’t know. We were trapped in a small tent with a stranger who might be telling the truth—or might be lying. And now, there was someone else out there, possibly armed or dangerous.
“Dave, who is that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“It’s her,” he said, his eyes wild with fear. “She’s crazy. She’ll hurt you if she finds me here.”
The voice outside called again, closer this time. “Dave, don’t make this harder than it has to be. I just want to talk.”
“Liar!” Dave shouted back, his voice breaking. “Stay away!”
Taylor and I froze. This was escalating fast. I reached for my phone, but the battery was dead—I hadn’t charged it properly before the trip. Taylor’s phone was in her backpack, but she didn’t have service out here. We were on our own.

Suddenly, the tent flap was yanked open, and a figure stood there, silhouetted against the stormy night. It was a woman, her hair plastered to her face, her clothes drenched. She held a flashlight in one hand and something else in the other—something that glinted in the light. A knife.
“Dave,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “You’re coming with me.”
Dave scrambled back, pressing himself against the far wall of the tent. “No! Stay away from me!”
The woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she saw us. “Who are they?” she demanded, pointing the knife at us. “Are they helping you?”
“We’re just campers,” I said quickly, holding up my hands. “We don’t want any trouble. Please, just leave.”
She ignored me, her focus on Dave. “You think you can run from me? After what you did?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Dave shouted. “You’re the one who’s crazy!”
The woman laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Oh, Dave. Always the victim. But not this time.”
Taylor was shaking beside me, her eyes fixed on the knife. I had to do something. “Look,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it doesn’t involve us. Just take it outside.”
The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking between us and Dave. For a moment, I thought she might listen. But then Dave made a sudden move, lunging for his backpack. The woman reacted instantly, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. The knife flashed in the dim light, and Dave cried out in pain.
“Stop!” I shouted, grabbing Taylor’s arm and pulling her back. But it was too late. The woman had Dave pinned, the knife pressed against his throat.
“You’re coming with me,” she hissed. “And if these two get in the way, I’ll deal with them too.”
That’s when I saw it—Dave’s backpack was open, and inside, there was a gun. He must have been reaching for it. My heart raced. This was spiraling out of control.
“Drop the knife,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Or I’ll call the police.”
The woman laughed again. “With what? Your dead phone? Nice try.”
But then, something changed. Dave twisted suddenly, knocking the knife from her hand. It clattered to the ground, and in the chaos, Taylor grabbed it, holding it out defensively. The woman stumbled back, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Get out!” Taylor shouted, her voice trembling but determined. “Leave us alone!”
For a moment, no one moved. Then, the woman turned and ran into the storm, disappearing into the darkness. Dave collapsed, clutching his arm where she’d cut him. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding.

“Are you okay?” I asked, grabbing the first-aid kit.
He nodded, still shaken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this to you.”
We bandaged his arm in silence, the storm still raging outside. When the sun finally rose, we packed up quickly and left, driving straight to the nearest town to report what happened. We never saw Dave or the woman again, but I’ll never forget that night—the fear, the uncertainty, and the realization that even in the middle of nowhere, danger can find you.