"THE CROSSING":
We set out from our home in the east with large aspirations of a better life in the west. My father was in charge of our wagon with my mother, brother, and myself inside. We traveled alongside other families, such as the ones with the elderly gentleman Samuel and his wife Rebecca, along with their children. We all heard of how rich we would become in California. However, the journey was difficult from the very beginning.
Initially, it was minor issues. Our oxen got exhausted traveling long distances on rough terrain. One day, there was a man named John who was annoyed because our cart was moving too slowly. He began swearing at our driver, saying, "Hurry up you fool! We're lagging behind!" The driver replied angrily, "But the animals cannot go faster than this!" The problem started when John decided to hit him with a stick. My father intervened to stop the argument. He said, "That's enough of it!" But John attacked him as well. During the scuffle, my father had to pull out a knife for defense. John got injured badly. He died.
The group was angry. They held a meeting around the fire that night. A tall man named Louis said, "He killed John! We can't have that here." Rebecca stood up in the meeting and said, "It was self-defense. Let's not make it worse." However, they chose that my father had to leave us behind. My father hugged me tightly and rode away alone. "I'll find help and come back for you," my father whispered to me. My mother was crying, but we continued.
We went through dry land where water was scarce, and animals died from thirst. We had wagons stuck in salt flats. Some kids got sick. There was an old man who couldn't walk, so we left him with some food and water near a stream and told him we'd send someone back for him. When we went back, he was gone, and we assume he died. Nobody wanted to mention him, though.
Snow started to fall as we reached the mountains. It had fallen deep, burying our wagons by a lake. We made primitive shelters out of logs and animal hides. We shared a shelter with others in my family. Food supplies were scarce. We finished our dried meat, then boiled animal hides into a messy paste. My young brother complained, "I'm starving, sister." I gave my portion to my brother, but it was not sufficient.
Days turned into weeks. People got weak. One night, a baby from another family stopped crying. The mother cried out, "She's gone. Poor girl." We buried her in the cold ground, but it was hard to dig in the cold ground. Samuel's brother died in his tent down the creek. His wife sat with her husband, but said nothing.
We tried to escape. A small group, myself, my mother, and our driver, decided on our own to escape. We tried going on our feet. The snow was as deep as our waists, and we had to tie hides on our feet to make the movement easier. After a few days, our feet hurt due to the cold. "We have to turn back," my mother said, her voice trembling. "We'll die out here." We managed to return, though one man didn't make it.
When I arrived back at camp meanwhile, things were only getting worse. Some people were talking about eating the dead animals first, and then—well. One evening, I overheard a conversation that took place near the fire between Louis and Samuel. "No use waiting any longer. The bodies are frozen, but they'll keep us alive," said Louis to Samuel, who shook his head. "That's wrong. We must hold on until rescue comes." People went crazy with hunger.
A larger group decided to make another attempt to cross. They called it the hope group. Seventeen people, men, women, and kids. I didn't join, but I witnessed as they departed. They had small amounts of food, like meat and hides. Weeks later, we were told that some had made it, but most had died while attempting to escape.
In our refugee camp, an elderly woman named Levinah went insane. She talked to herself, complaining that, "Eat the rug, children. It's all we have." The children were chewing on some floor hide rug. On one particular morning, I woke up to find our driver dead outside. His body looked skeletal, like bones covered in skin. My mother then pulled me away, saying, "Don't look, dear."
The rescuers came slowly. First, a few came, looking tired and skinny. Among them was the man who left before me. He said, "We have come to help you, but we can only save a few." They carried the weakest children first. I went with them, leaving my mother behind with my brother. She said, "I will come soon." She hugged me and I went, and the people carried the weakest children first. The path was long, and we could hardly see because of the snow. One girl fell and could not get up, and we carried her, but she could not last.
At a farm far away, good people provided us with bread and milk. It hurt to eat. My father found me there. He had made his way west and sent the rescuers. "You're safe now," he said, holding me.
However, at the camp site, horror continued. Rescuers later extracted some lifeless bodies. Some had to eat parts of the bodies to stay alive. The last person to come out was a man named Louis. He looked like a ghost; his stories were too horrific to be told. According to Louis, Rebecca stayed with Samuel until both died; however, Rebecca did not make it.
We survived, and yet, the memories remain around us. "The silent nights when hunger sounded louder than words, and the faces of friends grew hollow," and I ponder the memories of mountains and shiver at the thought.
"EMPTY TRAIL":
I still remember this winter trip as if it had happened only last week. Me and my friend Tom had planned our winter trip for quite some time. We were both nature lovers, and we felt that if we went for a trip into the woods, surrounded by snow, we could burn off all the work of the week. We had selected our destination as a place within the national forest way up north, which was thickly wooded, and the trails had not been often explored. It was our first winter camping trip, but we were pretty well outfitted with good sleeping bags, good tents, and plenty of other supplies. We set out on our trip Friday afternoon.
We found a nice spot with a frozen stream running through it. I decided to go off and look for some wood to burn, while Tom decided to set up the tent. "This is a perfect spot," said Tom with a grin in his voice as he pounded in the stakes with his hammer. "Nobody in residence for miles around." I could only agree with this observation, feeling the same about the spot. We spent a nice evening cooking hot dogs over the fire and recalling the old days. The air was cool, and the stars twinkle in the sky.
The following day, we chose to wake early and go hiking along a trail that went around a ravine. We chose to go hiking light; hence, we went with only the essentials like water, food, and our coats. Additionally, Tom chose to carry his binoculars with him in order to assist us in spotting some birds. I chose to carry a knife which I tied around my waist because I found it handy at times. In fact, the trail was narrow with a lot of fresh powder covering it. As we walked while discussing nothing of great importance, we ended up at the ravine. The ravine was steep with rocks and trees at the bottom.
That was when I saw him. In the gully, about fifty feet away, was a man. He was pale, dressed in tattered clothing not yet washed for weeks, and his eyes locked in directly on us. In his hand, his long rifle rested on the ground, though always at the ready. I stopped breathing, and I grabbed Tom's arm. "Look," I whispered. Tom quickly stopped, his eyes scanning where my eyes fell.
The man wasn't doing anything; he was just looking at us as if trying to place us. He moved his position slightly, so the rifle moved slightly higher. Not even close to us, but close enough to make me shudder. "Hey there," Tom said, trying to sound friendly. "You hunting?" However, the man did not respond to the question. He inclined his head slightly and kept looking at us. He breathed slowly due to the cold.
We stood there, freezing. I was thinking about turning back, but it was a narrow trail, and running might make things worse. "We should go," I said to Tom. Still, before we were able to proceed, he spoke up. His voice was rough, like gravel. "What are you doing here?" I looked over at Tom, and then back at him. Tom replied, "Just hiking, yeah. Enjoying the day." He nodded, but he wasn't smiling. "It's my spot. I don't like people around me."
My mind was racing, was he on his own? Did he live out there? And then I saw the rifle reflect the sunlight, and I was immediately thinking that maybe we were meeting some sort of drifter, or something even more sinister. But Tom seemed calm and unruffled: "No problem, man. We'll go back the way we came." The fellow was taking his time looking at us, and then slightly lowering his rifle, said, "You do that. And don't come back."
We slowly backed away from him, keeping an eye on him until the trail went around the bend out of sight, then he was gone. I felt weak in my legs, but I did not run; instead, I walked away like everything was all right and okay. "What’s the matter with this fellow?" Tom whispered as we walked away a little deeper. "He looked like he wanted to use his gun." I just shook my head. "Don’t know. Let’s go back to camp."
The hike back seemed twice as long. I would jump at every breaking twig, wondering if the man was behind us. Once we reached our tent, everything was as we had left it. We stayed by the fire, and the evening didn't seem as fun as it had been earlier. "Should we pack up and get out of here?" I asked. Tom thought for a moment and then said, "It is getting quite late, don't you think we should stay tonight and get out at first light?" I had no problem agreeing, but sleep did not come easily for me, as I was awake listening to the wind, wondering if the man was outside looking at us.
Around midnight, I heard it—footsteps. Soft at first, crunching through the snow outside our tent. Tom heard them, too. "Shh." he said, his eyes snapping to awareness, even as he lay there. The footsteps circulated around us, sounding very slow, very conscious. My heartbeat quickened. Animal, or him? I gripped my knife. "Who is there?" Tom yelled into the darkness. Silence. And then, the footsteps stopped right outside our tent. One minute passed, and then, almost as slowly, the footsteps started moving, moving away into the trees.
We did not sleep after that. With the break of dawn, we quickly dismantled our camp and shoveled everything into the truck as we drove away. I did not see any signs of the person as I gazed back into the woods, but I knew the person was still there somewhere. I told the authorities at the local ranger station our experience as we drove home. The ranger was thoughtfully engaged as he nodded his head while speaking.
"We have had reports of squatters out there," he said. "People living in the woods, not always friendly." We never went camping since then with Tom. Every time I think about it, I think about the eyes of that man, cold and empty, and a rifle in his hands. What if we hadn’t backed away from that guy? What if he had followed us the whole way? Just thinking about this is giving me chills.
"SNOWBOUND":
I recall loading up the old truck with tents and sleeping bags, imagining how much fun we’d have tenting in the woods, away from all the hustle and bustle with my best friends. It was actually Tom’s idea, as he was an outdoor kind of guy who always spoke enthusiastically about trying to go winter camping. Ben was quickly onboard with the idea, suggesting what a break from city living this would be. Lisa and Anna also joined in because they’d heard of hot chocolate by a campfire and storytelling into the stars. We all worked at a small shop together in our hometown.
We went up the mountain, driving through a winding road into the forest, which the truck handled well until suddenly we hit a number of bumps. Tom, who was driving, made a number of jokes as he went along, especially about them being able to build the largest snow fort ever built. "Come on, guys," Tom joked, "this is going to be epic. No phones, no bosses, just us and nature." Ben nodded in the back seat, having a sandwich. "Yeah, but if it gets too cold, I'm stealing all your blankets." Lisa rolled her eyes playfully. "You boys are such babies. Anna and I will show you how it's done."
We managed to find a spot off the track, an area that was relatively flat with some tall trees at the side. It was a tranquil atmosphere, and there was adequate space for both our tents. We took all our gear and started setting up the tents. Anna helped me put up my tent, and Lisa and the guys started searching for firewood. "It’s a nice spot," Anna said as she pounded a stake into the ground. "Peaceful, but in a nice way." I nodded in agreement as I felt a sense of happiness at being there with everyone.
As the sun started to set a little lower in the sky, we got the fire going and sat around it, roasting marshmallows. Tom was telling an amusing tale about a time when he got lost while hiking as a kid. "I walked in circles for hours," he said while waving his stick around. "My mom was so mad when I finally made my way back." Everyone was chuckling, and Ben continued with, "Well, my story was better than that—once I fell in a creek bed and had to go home soaking wet." Lisa leaned in a little closer to the fire. "But okay, so have any of you people out here heard anything strange, like animals or human beings?" Anna said back, "No, we are alone out here—that's the idea."
That night, we zipped up the tents: me and Anna in one, and Tom, Ben, and Lisa in another. I soon went to sleep, exhausted from the car ride. But in the middle of the night, a noise suddenly woke me up. It sounded like a low whistle, but from a distance and very audible. I sat up and listened intently. Anna, my partner, woke up from my movements against her. "What is that?" she asked in a low tone. "Sounds like someone calling," I replied as I listened intently, my heart racing a little.
I zipped my jacket tight and lay quietly, and after a while, the whistle stopped altogether.
Everything looked okay the next morning. We had coffee and planned a little hike. But as we went down to the truck, everything was stuck in the snow that had fallen the night before. Tom made an attempt to start it, but all he got was a whine. "Stuck good," Tom said, scowling. "We may have to dig it out." Ben picked up a shovel from the back of the truck. "No problem. We'll get it going." Lisa looked around the trees. "How far is it to the road? If it won't come out, I suppose it's not so far back." Anna nodded. "Yeah, but let's try."
We spent hours digging and pushing, but it didn't budge. As our quest continued, the group fell silent. According to Tom, "There's a ranger station somewhere up here, I think. Or maybe a cabin." Ben also had a point of view on this. "Can't stay here forever. Food won't last." Lisa had a troublesome look on her face. "I don't like this. It feels off." I felt that way too, but said, "Let's stick together. We'll find something."
We lugged some of our stuff and began walking along the road. As we walked, the trail got smaller, and the trees grew closer together. After an hour, we saw it—a small trailer parked off to the side, partially hidden behind a bunch of trees. It looked like an old forest service building, complete with a metal door and tiny windows.
"Hello?" Tom yelled out.
Nothing.
Ben tried the door, and it swung open.
Inside, it was dark, but there were shelves with cans of food, blankets, and even a heater.
"Well, would you look at that," Ben said, and for the first time that day, a smile crossed his face. "We can wait until morning, then leave again."
We made ourselves settled, lighting the heater and opening some of our cans. Anna saw a map on the wall and said, "Looks like we're miles from anywhere." Lisa paced around a bit. "Why is it so empty? Feels like someone just left." Tom just shrugged. "Likely rangers. We're lucky we found it."
We snuggled up in our blankets and tried to go to sleep. But then, not long after, the noises began again, the whistle, this time sounding closer. "Did you hear that?" Anna asked, turning to me. I nodded, feeling a rapid beat in my chest. Ben was instantly upright in bed. "What's that?" "Tom went to the window and peered out. "It's nothing," he said. "It's just dark outside." But the whistle began again.
Then, a knock at the door. We all froze. "Who's there?" Tom said. There was no answer. We heard the knock again, rather more insistent. Ben stood up. "Maybe someone needs help." But Lisa touched his arm. "Don't open it." There was no more knocking, but we heard the footsteps crunching away. Anna stared at me. "We should bar the door." We pushed a table up against it, and sat quiet.
Hours seemed to go by, or perhaps minutes—in any case, time was difficult to measure. Then there was a voice from outside, slurred and mumbling. "Help. cold." Tom listened intently. "Sounds like a man," he said. Ben adjusted the table slightly. "Yeah, we can't leave him out there hanging." Lisa shook her head. "No, it's a trick. Why didn't he knock?" Anna supported this view. "Something's funny."
Peering through the crack, I saw a figure, a man, but his face was hidden behind a hood. His clothes were in tatters. "Let me in," he growled. I looked at Ben. "Who is that?" I called out. The man took another step forward, and I caught sight of something shiny in his hand, something sharp. "Ben, close it!" I shouted. I don't know why, but he didn't. The man pressed against the door, opening it wide, and Ben took a step back, but the man stepped into him.
Chaos ensued. Tom grabbed a chair and waved it around, hitting the man's arm with it. The man let the knife fall but continued his advance, grabbing at Lisa. She shrieked and kicked at the man. Anna and I pulled her away from him. "Run!" Tom yelled. We ran out the door into the darkness with the man behind us, grunting.
We scattered into the trees, feet slipping into the snow. I heard shouts, Tom calling to Ben, Lisa crying out. I ran with Anna, hand in hand, but she tripped and fell over. "Go!" she said. I helped her up, but he was close, I heard his heavy breathing. We stood and hid behind a bush. We stood stock-still, holding our breath. The footsteps passed, then circled back.
I'm not sure for how long we hid. The shouting stopped. There was silence, pierced by distant shouting. "Tom? Ben?" I asked one time, but Anna quieted me. "He's still out there."
When dawn arrived, we crept our way back to the trailer. The door was open; it was a mess inside. Blood was on the floor, small drops. No people to be found. "Where are they?" Anna said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. We looked around and called out names. Ben's jacket was torn on a tree. Lisa's scarf was in the snow. Tom's hat was even farther.
We walked along the road, hoping to find some assistance. We also realized that the man was missing, and our friends were nowhere to be seen. The authorities believed it was possible that the perpetrator was a drifter, someone who lived in the woods and was known to attack hikers. After some time, they found their bodies scattered, as though they had been chased by the perpetrator.
We managed to escape, and that whistle still occurs in some of my dreams. We never went on any other camping trip together.