"The Shadow at Camp Evergreen":
I couldn’t wait for summer camp. It was my first time away from home, and I was buzzing with excitement. The camp was deep in the woods, with rows of old wooden cabins that smelled like pine and creaked when you walked. The lake nearby was perfect for swimming, its surface catching the light during the day. We spent our days canoeing, playing capture the flag, and roasting marshmallows around a crackling fire. I was making friends fast—kids my age, all around twelve, full of energy and stories. Everything felt like an adventure until that one night when fear took over.
It was after dinner, and we were all crammed into the common area, a big log building with long tables and benches. Some kids were playing cards, others were trading candy from care packages. The room was loud with chatter and laughter until Jake, one of the counselors, stood up and clapped his hands. He was usually laid-back, always joking with us, but tonight his face was tight, his eyes serious. The room went quiet.
“Everyone, listen up,” Jake said, his voice low but firm. “There’s been a report of a drunk man wandering near the camp. The police are looking for him, but until they find him, you need to stay in your cabins tonight. No wandering, no sneaking out. Understood?”
We all nodded, but a heavy silence fell over us. My stomach twisted, and I could see other kids shifting uncomfortably. Whispers started almost immediately. Tommy, an older kid with a mop of curly hair and a knack for dramatic stories, leaned across the table toward me and a few others. “I heard he’s got an ax,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes wide like he was telling a secret.
“Cut it out, Tommy,” Lisa snapped from across the table. She was practical, always quick to call out nonsense. “You’re just making stuff up to scare the younger kids.”
“I’m not!” Tommy shot back, crossing his arms. “My cousin’s friend was at a camp last year, and he said a guy like that broke into a cabin with an ax!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lisa said, but her voice wasn’t as steady as usual. The word “ax” hung in the air, and I could feel it sinking into everyone’s minds. Some kids started murmuring about the man being an escaped prisoner. Others said he was just a lost hiker, drunk and confused. But the idea of an ax-wielding stranger out there in the dark was enough to make my heart beat faster.
That night, our cabin was a mess of nerves. There were six of us: me, Anna, Ben, Tommy, Lisa, and Chris. Our cabin was small, with three bunk beds shoved against the walls, their metal frames squeaking every time someone moved. The walls were so thin you could hear every sound from outside—rustling leaves, snapping twigs, even the faint hum of crickets. We tried to keep things light, telling dumb jokes and talking about the next day’s activities, but the mood kept slipping back to fear.
“What if he’s out there right now, just watching us?” Ben whispered, his voice trembling. He was clutching his blanket, his knuckles pale.
“He’s not,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Jake and the other counselors are patrolling. They’d see him.”
But I wasn’t sure I believed it. The darkness outside felt alive, pressing against the windows like it wanted to get in. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling cast long shadows that danced every time someone shifted. I kept imagining a man out there, hiding in the trees, his ax gleaming.
Hours dragged by, and I was lying in my bunk, trying to ignore the growing pressure in my bladder. The bathroom was just across the path, a small building maybe twenty steps away, but the thought of going out there made my chest tight. I tried to wait it out, hoping the urge would pass, but it only got worse.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I finally whispered to Anna, who was in the bunk below me. Her eyes flicked up, wide and scared.
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing my arm. Her fingers were cold. “What if he’s out there? You heard Tommy.”
“I’ll be quick,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound brave. “I can’t hold it anymore.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Tommy hissed from across the room. “You’re gonna get us all in trouble.”
“Or worse,” Ben added, his voice barely audible.
Lisa sat up, her braid swinging over her shoulder. “If you’re going, just hurry up,” she said. “But if you see anything weird, run back.”
I nodded, my mouth dry. I slipped on my sneakers, fumbling with the laces as my hands trembled. The cabin door creaked loudly when I opened it, the sound echoing in the quiet night. I froze, waiting for something to happen, but there was only silence. I stepped outside, easing the door shut behind me. The air was cool, and the darkness was thicker than I’d expected. The moonlight barely reached the ground, filtered through the tall trees that loomed around the camp. Every shadow looked like it could move.
I took a few steps, my sneakers crunching on the gravel path. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. The bathroom was straight ahead, its outline just visible in the dim light. I told myself to focus, to move fast. Then I heard it—a rustling in the bushes to my left, sharp and sudden. I stopped dead, my breath catching. I stared into the darkness, trying to make out shapes. The rustling came again, louder, like something heavy moving through the underbrush.
My eyes strained, and then I saw it: a shadow near the trees, tall and hunched, shifting slowly. My pulse spiked. The figure moved, and something in its hand caught the moonlight, glinting sharp and metallic. An ax? My mind screamed the word, and panic flooded me. I didn’t think—I just ran, my feet slamming against the gravel, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I reached the cabin and burst through the door, slamming it shut behind me.
Everyone sat up, their faces pale in the dim light. “What happened?” Chris asked, his voice high and tight.
“I saw him,” I panted, my chest heaving. “By the trees. He was holding something—shiny, like an ax!”
Anna gasped, pulling her blanket tighter. Ben whimpered, “I knew it!” Tommy’s eyes were huge, but he didn’t say anything this time. Lisa tried to stay calm, but her hands were shaking as she pushed her braid behind her ear.
“We need to do something,” Chris said, jumping off his bunk. “Barricade the door!”
“With what?” Lisa asked, looking around. The only furniture was the bunks and a small wooden chair in the corner.
“Or we could go get Jake,” Tommy said, but his voice cracked. “The counselors’ cabin isn’t far.”
“No way,” Anna said, her voice sharp. “Nobody’s going out there!”
Before we could decide, there was a loud knock on the door. We all froze, not even breathing. My heart felt like it was going to explode. Another knock, harder this time.
“It’s Jake,” a voice called from outside. “You guys okay in there?”
I crept to the door, my legs like jelly, and opened it just a crack. It was Jake, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark. His face was worried but calm, his baseball cap tilted slightly. I spilled out everything— the rustling, the shadow, the glint of metal. The words tumbled over each other as I tried to explain.
Jake nodded, his expression serious. “Stay here,” he said. “Lock the door. I’ll check it out with the other counselors.”
He left, and we pushed the chair against the door, even though we knew it wouldn’t hold much. We huddled together, whispering about what I’d seen. Anna kept saying it was probably nothing, but her voice was too high to be convincing. Ben was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Even Tommy was quiet, his usual bravado gone.
It felt like hours before Jake came back. His flashlight beam flashed through the window before he knocked again. “It’s me,” he called. I moved the chair and let him in. He was smiling now, but it looked forced.
“It was just a raccoon,” he said. “It was digging in the bushes, probably looking for food. No man, no ax. You’re all safe.”
“A raccoon?” Lisa asked, her eyebrows raised. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Jake said. “We checked the whole area. Nothing out there but some curious critters.”
I wanted to believe him, but the image of that shadow, that glint, was burned into my mind. It had looked so real, so human. I didn’t sleep that night, and neither did most of the others. We kept the light on, jumping at every sound.
The next morning, over stacks of pancakes in the dining hall, Jake gathered us all together. “Good news,” he said, his voice back to its usual cheer. “The police found that guy a few miles away. He was just a drunk hiker, lost and confused. He had a bottle with him, nothing else. No ax, no danger.”
A few kids laughed, the tension breaking like a wave. Tommy started joking about how he’d known it was nothing all along, but I saw him glance at the windows, like he wasn’t so sure. Lisa rolled her eyes, but she smiled for the first time since the night before.
Later, as we packed up for a hike, I kept thinking about what I’d seen. Jake said the glint was probably the bottle catching the moonlight, and maybe he was right. But the fear had felt so real, so sharp. It made me realize how quickly our imaginations could turn a shadow into a monster, a rustle into a threat. That night changed camp for me. The lake still sparkled, the cabins still creaked, but I never felt as safe again. Even now, years later, I can’t shake the image of that shadow in the trees, and I wonder if I’ll ever know what I really saw.
"Off the Map":
I was 12, my first summer at Greenwood Summer Camp, a sprawling place deep in the woods with wooden cabins, a shimmering lake, and trails that twisted through towering pines. The air smelled of sap and sunscreen, and every day felt like an adventure. I’d made fast friends with Jamie and Taylor, two kids from my cabin who loved joking around. We’d spend mornings swimming, splashing each other until our fingers wrinkled, and evenings by the campfire, roasting marshmallows that dripped sticky sugar onto our hands. Jamie would tell dumb jokes, like why the scarecrow became a counselor, and Taylor would roll her eyes but laugh anyway. It felt like the perfect summer, safe and carefree. Until that one day when everything turned upside down.
It was after lunch in the mess hall, a big log building with long tables and a buzz of kids’ voices. Mr. Thompson, our head counselor with his faded camp T-shirt and clipboard, stood up and clapped his hands. The room went quiet, but not the usual kind of quiet. His face looked wrong—tight, like he was forcing a smile. “Listen up, everyone,” he said, his voice sharper than usual. “We’re going on a hike this afternoon. Grab your sneakers, water bottles, and a hat. We leave in 20 minutes.” Ms. Carter, another counselor with a short ponytail and a whistle around her neck, stood beside him, nodding. But her hands were fidgeting, twisting the whistle cord, and her eyes kept darting to the windows. I glanced at Jamie, who was picking at his sandwich. “A hike? We just did one yesterday,” he whispered, frowning. “And why’s Mr. Thompson acting so weird?” I shrugged, but my stomach twisted. Something wasn’t right.
Taylor leaned over, her braid swinging. “Did you see Ms. Carter? She looks nervous. Like, really nervous.” I nodded, watching Ms. Carter whisper something to another counselor, her face pale. The other counselor, Emily’s uncle, a quiet guy with glasses, kept glancing at the door like he expected someone to burst in. Emily was a girl in our group, small and quiet, always sticking close to her uncle or the other counselors. I’d seen her drawing in a notebook by the lake, never joining in on the loud games. Today, she sat alone at the end of the table, her eyes down, picking at her food.
We gathered at the trailhead by the edge of camp, about 20 of us kids, backpacks bouncing as we milled around. Mr. Thompson and Ms. Carter were at the front, with Emily’s uncle and another counselor, Ms. Lee, at the back. Emily stood near her uncle, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her face pale as chalk. I caught her eye and tried to smile. “You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low. She nodded quick, too quick, and mumbled, “Yeah, just… tired.” But her hands gripped her backpack straps so tight I thought they’d snap, and her eyes kept flicking to the trees. I wanted to ask more, but Mr. Thompson shouted, “Let’s move, everyone! Stay in line, no straggling!”
The trail started easy, a dirt path winding through the forest, pine needles crunching under our sneakers. The trees were tall, their branches knitting together overhead, making the light dim and spotty. We walked single file, the counselors’ voices sharp as they told us to stay close. “No wandering off,” Ms. Carter called, her whistle bouncing against her chest. She kept turning to look behind us, her eyes scanning the woods. Mr. Thompson was worse, checking his watch every few minutes, his jaw tight. I nudged Jamie. “This is so weird. They’re acting like we’re being chased or something.” He nodded, his usual grin gone. “Yeah, I don’t like it. Why’d they pick this trail? It’s not even on the camp map.”
Taylor, walking behind us, piped up. “Maybe it’s a surprise activity? Like a scavenger hunt?” But her voice wavered, and I could tell she didn’t believe it. My heart was beating faster now, a steady thump in my chest. The forest felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. About 20 minutes in, the trail got steeper, rocks jutting out, roots snaking across the path. The trees pressed closer, their trunks thick and dark, blocking out more light. I kept my eyes on the ground, trying not to trip, when I heard it—a rustling in the bushes to our left, sharp and loud, like something big moving fast.
I froze, grabbing Jamie’s arm. “Did you hear that?” I whispered, my voice barely there. He nodded, his eyes wide as saucers. “Yeah, what was that?” Ms. Carter was close by, herding us along. She heard us and turned, her face tight. “It’s probably just a squirrel or a deer,” she said, but her smile was fake, and her hand went to her whistle like she needed something to hold onto. I wasn’t buying it. Squirrels don’t crash through bushes like that. My skin prickled, and I kept glancing at the trees, expecting to see something—someone—watching us.
A few minutes later, it happened again. A snap of twigs, then a flash of movement through the trees, like a shadow darting behind a trunk. My breath caught in my throat. “Taylor, did you see that?” I hissed, pointing to where I’d seen it. She squinted, her face pale. “I… maybe? It could’ve been a deer, right?” But her voice shook, and she grabbed my sleeve. Jamie leaned in, whispering, “That wasn’t a deer. Deers don’t hide like that.” My heart was pounding now, my hands sweaty. Someone was out there, following us. I could feel it, like eyes boring into my back.
We kept moving, the counselors pushing us faster now. “Come on, keep up!” Mr. Thompson called, his voice sharp. Emily was just ahead of me, her head down, walking close to her uncle. I noticed he kept a hand on her shoulder, like he was shielding her. My mind raced. Was this about her? Was something happening we didn’t know about? The trail twisted deeper into the woods, the air cooler, the shadows longer. Every rustle, every snap of a branch, made my stomach lurch. I kept looking back, but the trees were too thick, hiding whatever—or whoever—was out there.
We finally stopped in a small clearing, a patch of grass surrounded by dense forest. Mr. Thompson told us to sit and drink water, his voice clipped. “Rest here for 10 minutes, then we’re heading back.” The counselors huddled together, their voices low but urgent. I strained to hear, catching fragments that made my blood run cold. “…make sure he doesn’t find us…” Ms. Carter whispered. “…keep her safe, no matter what…” Mr. Thompson said, glancing at Emily. Her uncle nodded, his face grim. My mouth went dry. Who was “he”? Why were they hiding someone?
I looked at Jamie and Taylor, who were sitting close, their faces as scared as I felt. “They’re talking about hiding from someone,” I whispered. Jamie’s eyes widened. “I heard Mr. Thompson say ‘he’ earlier. Like a guy’s after us.” Taylor hugged her knees. “Do you think there’s someone dangerous out here? Like, really dangerous?” Her voice was so quiet I barely heard it. I didn’t answer, but my mind was spinning. The woods, the hike, the counselors’ fear—it all felt wrong, like we were caught in something bigger than us.
The hike back was faster, almost a march. The counselors kept us tight together, their eyes scanning the trees like hawks. My legs ached, but I didn’t care—I just wanted to be back at camp, where there were cabins and people, not these endless, shadowy woods. When we finally saw the camp’s flagpole through the trees, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. But the uneasy feeling didn’t go away.
That night, after dinner, I saw Emily by the lake, alone, tossing pebbles into the water. The other kids were playing cards in the mess hall, but I couldn’t shake what I’d heard. I needed answers. I walked over, my sneakers crunching on the gravel. “Emily, what’s going on?” I asked, sitting on a rock beside her. “Why were the counselors so scared today? Why the hike?”
She didn’t look at me, just kept throwing pebbles, each one making a soft plop in the dark water. For a minute, I thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she spoke, her voice so small I had to lean in. “It’s my dad,” she said. “He’s not supposed to be here. My mom has custody, and he’s… he’s mad about it. He’s been trying to find me. This morning, he showed up at the camp gate, yelling, demanding to see me. The counselors took us on the hike to hide, to make sure he couldn’t get to me.” Her hands shook, and a pebble slipped from her fingers, rolling into the dirt.
I stared at her, my heart thudding. “Your dad? Is he… dangerous?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. She shrugged, her eyes shiny with tears. “I don’t know. He’s just… angry. He and my mom fight all the time. He’s not supposed to come near me, but he keeps trying. My uncle said they saw his car near the camp road yesterday.” She looked at me then, her face so scared it made my chest hurt. “I just want to stay here, where it’s safe.”
I didn’t know what to say. A dad chasing his kid? It was scarier than any ghost story we’d told around the campfire. I thought of my own parents, waiting to pick me up in a few days, and how I’d never worried about them doing something like this. “Are you okay?” I asked, feeling helpless. She nodded, but her hands kept shaking. “I think so. The counselors are watching out for me. But I’m scared he’ll come back.”
The rest of camp went on like nothing had happened. We swam, played capture the flag, sang songs by the fire. But I couldn’t shake the feeling from that hike. Every rustle in the bushes, every shadow by the cabins, made me jump. I kept an eye on Emily, noticing how she never strayed far from her uncle or Ms. Carter. The counselors were always watching, always checking the edges of camp. I wondered if her dad was still out there, somewhere, waiting.
When my parents picked me up at the end of the week, I hugged them a little tighter than usual. Driving away, I looked back at the camp, the lake glinting, the cabins nestled in the trees. It looked so peaceful, like the perfect summer place. But I knew better now. Even a place full of laughter and games could hide something dark—not monsters or ghosts, but real people, with real problems, who could turn a sunny day into something you’d never forget.
"The Man with the Flashlight":
I was twelve when my parents decided I needed to get out of the city for a week, so they signed me up for a summer camp deep in the woods. I wasn’t excited. The idea of sleeping in a tent with kids I’d never met, surrounded by trees and who-knows-what else, made my stomach churn. But they thought it would be good for me, so off I went, clutching my backpack like it was a lifeline.
The camp was tucked away in a thick forest, where the trees seemed to crowd together, blocking out most of the sky. Rows of canvas tents were pitched in a clearing, each one sagging slightly, with faded green fabric that looked like it had seen better days. The ground was a mix of dirt and pine needles, soft underfoot but always sticking to my shoes. A main building sat at the edge of the clearing, housing a noisy dining hall and a shared bathroom with flickering fluorescent lights and cold concrete floors. At night, the only light came from small solar-powered lamps along the paths, their faint glow barely cutting through the darkness. The air carried the sharp scent of pine, mixed with damp earth, and the constant chirping of crickets filled the silence, occasionally broken by a rustle in the bushes that made my heart skip.
My tentmates were Jake, Tommy, and Ben, all about my age. Jake and Tommy had been coming to this camp for years, acting like they owned the place, cracking jokes and tossing a football between them. Ben was quieter, new like me, but he seemed thrilled to be there, his eyes wide as he unpacked his sleeping bag. I felt out of place, like I was the only one who didn’t get the memo about how fun this was supposed to be.
That first night, after a chaotic dinner of spaghetti and overly sweet fruit punch, we had campfire games—singing songs and roasting marshmallows that always seemed to catch fire. The counselors, all college kids in bright camp T-shirts, told us to settle down for bed. Jake and Tommy were still whispering about some prank they wanted to pull, but they eventually crashed, their snores filling the tent. Ben was out cold, curled up like a puppy. I lay there, staring at the tent’s ceiling, the canvas rippling slightly with every breeze. The sounds outside—crickets, leaves rustling, the occasional hoot of an owl—kept me on edge. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just nature, but my mind kept conjuring up stories of bears or worse.
Around midnight, I woke up needing to pee. The thought of walking to the bathroom in the dark made my chest tight, but I couldn’t ignore it. I fumbled for my flashlight, its weak beam shaking in my hand, and slipped on my sneakers, careful not to step on anyone. Unzipping the tent felt like it took forever, the sound loud enough to wake the whole camp, but no one stirred. I stepped outside, the air cool against my skin, and started down the path. The solar lamps cast long, twisted shadows that seemed to move when I wasn’t looking. I kept my flashlight trained on the ground, watching for roots or rocks, my breath loud in my ears.
Halfway to the bathroom, I heard a sharp crack, like a branch snapping underfoot. I froze, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I swung my flashlight around, the beam cutting through the darkness, but all I saw were trees, their branches swaying slightly. “Just an animal,” I muttered, but my voice sounded small, swallowed by the woods. I hurried to the bathroom, the concrete floor cold under my feet, and finished as fast as I could. On my way back, I kept my flashlight moving, scanning the shadows, my pulse still racing.
That’s when I saw him.
A man was standing near our row of tents, holding a flashlight of his own. He wasn’t a counselor. They all wore camp T-shirts with the logo—a goofy pine tree with a smiley face—and were young, with loud voices and easy grins. This guy was different. He looked older, maybe in his forties, with a dark, worn jacket that hung loosely on his frame. His hair was messy, sticking out in clumps, and a scruffy beard covered his chin. He moved slowly, deliberately, shining his light into each tent, pausing to peer inside. His flashlight beam lingered, sweeping over the sleeping kids like he was studying them.
When he reached our tent, he stopped longer than he had at the others. The light danced across the canvas, illuminating Jake’s sprawled-out sleeping bag, Tommy’s messy hair, Ben’s curled-up form. My stomach twisted as the man tilted his head, and then he smiled—a slow, creepy smile that showed too many teeth. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the kind that made you want to run and hide.
I ducked behind a tree, my hands shaking so bad I nearly dropped my flashlight. My mind raced. Who was he? A camper’s dad? A worker? But why would he be out here, sneaking around, looking into tents? The way he moved, so quiet and careful, felt wrong, like he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. I thought about yelling for help, but what if he heard me? What if he had a knife or something worse? I was just a kid, small for my age, no match for a grown man. I stayed hidden, my breath shallow, watching as he moved to the next tent, then the next, his light probing each one.
Finally, he reached the last tent in the row. He stood there for a moment, his head turning like he was listening, then walked into the woods, his flashlight beam bobbing until it vanished. I waited, counting to ten in my head, making sure he was gone. Then I bolted back to the tent, my sneakers slipping on the damp ground.
I burst inside and shook Jake awake, my voice a harsh whisper. “Jake! Wake up! There’s a guy out there!”
He groaned, rolling over. “What? Go back to sleep, man.”
“No, listen!” I said, shaking him harder. “There’s a man outside, shining a flashlight into the tents! He’s not a counselor. He’s creepy!”
Jake sat up, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up. “What are you talking about? It’s probably just Mr. Peterson, the night watchman. He checks the camp at night.”
“No, it wasn’t him,” I said, my voice trembling. “This guy had a dark jacket, messy hair, a beard. He was smiling all weird when he looked in our tent!”
Tommy stirred, sitting up with a yawn. “What’s all the racket?”
“He says some guy was looking in the tents,” Jake said, sounding annoyed. “Thinks it’s a big deal.”
“It is a big deal!” I said. “He didn’t look like he belonged here. What if he’s, like, a kidnapper or something?”
Tommy laughed, but it sounded forced. “A kidnapper? Come on, you’re just scared ‘cause it’s your first night. It’s probably a parent checking on their kid or something.”
“But he was looking at all the tents,” I insisted. “And that smile… it was wrong.”
“Relax,” Jake said, lying back down. “You’re freaking yourself out. Go to sleep.”
Ben mumbled something in his sleep but didn’t wake up. I climbed into my sleeping bag, my heart still racing. They weren’t listening, but I knew what I’d seen. I lay there, eyes wide open, listening to every sound. The crickets seemed louder now, and every rustle made me flinch. At one point, I thought I heard footsteps, soft and deliberate, circling our tent. A faint beam of light flashed across the canvas, and I held my breath, waiting for the tent flap to unzip. It didn’t, but I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, my mind replaying that man’s smile over and over.
The next morning, I dragged myself to breakfast, my eyes gritty from lack of sleep. The dining hall was loud, kids shouting and trays clattering, but I kept scanning the room, half-expecting to see that man among the counselors or parents dropping off supplies. Everyone seemed normal, though—counselors joking, kids shoving each other playfully. I tried to act like everything was fine, but my stomach was in knots.
After breakfast, we had free time, so I wandered down to the lake. It was a peaceful spot, with clear water lapping at a rickety wooden dock. Kids were fishing or skipping rocks, their laughter echoing. I sat on the edge of the dock, trying to calm down, watching the water ripple. For a moment, I almost forgot about last night.
Then I saw him again.
He was standing near the tree line, maybe a hundred yards away, half-hidden by the pines. Same dark jacket, same messy hair. He wasn’t doing anything, just watching the campers, his hands in his pockets. My heart started pounding again. I stood up, my legs shaky, trying to decide what to do. Should I run to a counselor? Shout for help? But before I could move, he turned and slipped into the woods, moving so fast it was like he’d never been there.
I ran to find Ms. Johnson, one of the counselors, who was setting up a volleyball net nearby. “Ms. Johnson,” I said, my voice low and urgent, “I saw a weird guy last night by the tents, and I just saw him again by the lake.”
She looked up, her brow furrowing. “A guy? What did he look like?”
“Older, with a beard and a dark jacket. Last night, he was shining a flashlight into the tents, and just now he was watching us by the woods. He didn’t look like he belonged here.”
She nodded, but her expression was calm, almost dismissive. “Okay, I’ll pass it along to the directors. But it’s probably just a local wandering too close to camp. It happens sometimes. Don’t worry, we’ve got security handled.”
Her words didn’t help. She didn’t seem to take it seriously, like I was just a kid making things up. I went back to my group, but the rest of the day, I couldn’t focus. During archery, I kept glancing at the trees, expecting to see him again. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every rustle made me jump.
That evening, during dinner, the camp director stood up, his face serious. The dining hall went quiet, forks pausing midair. “Everyone, listen up,” he said. “We’ve received information about a registered sex offender living in the area near the camp. As a precaution, we’re increasing security measures. No one is allowed to wander off alone, especially at night. Stick with your groups, and if you see anything unusual, tell a counselor immediately.”
A wave of whispers swept through the room. Jake leaned over to me, his eyes wide. “Was that the guy you saw?”
I nodded, my throat tight. “I’m pretty sure.”
Tommy, who’d been so quick to laugh it off, looked pale. “Man, that’s creepy. You were right to be freaked out.”
Knowing I was right didn’t make me feel better. It made everything worse. That man had been right there, creeping around our tents, maybe looking for a chance to do something awful. The rest of the week, I stuck close to my group, always checking over my shoulder. The counselors added more patrols, and they started locking the main gate at night, but I still felt exposed in that flimsy tent, the canvas walls too thin to keep anything out.
When camp ended, I went home, but the fear didn’t leave me. I kept thinking about how close we’d been to something terrible, how one wrong move—a kid wandering off, a tent left unzipped—could’ve changed everything. The woods, the tents, that man’s smile—they stayed with me, a reminder that danger isn’t just in scary stories. Sometimes, it’s out there, watching, waiting, closer than you ever want to know.
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