Camping was supposed to be a fun time amongst friends. To roast food over a camp fire and tell jokes. And telling horror stories just before drifting off to sleep, in hopes that you scare someone so bad they wake up with a wet spot surrounding their sleeping bag. If the sleeping bag isn't in a tent surrounded by others, of course. Tonight would be yet another night where a terrifying tale keeps our campers up. Only this time they'll be too afraid to drift to sleep.
"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into coming out here," said Jeff as he carried his sleeping bag over to the campsite. "What if there's bears in these woods? We could have our campsite raided by a pack of wild animals!"
"Calm down, dude." My best friend, Sam, told him as he unwrapped a piece of beef jerk. "We looked into it, there aren't any bears out here."
"I hope you're right." Jeff crawled inside the tent before dropping off his sleeping bag and finding a good place for it.
Sam turned to me. "I don't think he's going to be to happy with the story we have planned tonight, he might sh*t himself." He and I laughed before I made the joke of, "If he does, he's gonna have to do it outside. My parents will kill me if I come home with sh*t in the tent." He laughed at that again before looking up at my face, finding I was very serious.
"What are you guys laughing about?" Jeff peaked his head out of the tent opening.
"Nothing," I replied, "Nothing at all."
As night came, Sam and Jeff had finally gotten the campfire started. We grabbed our chairs and gathered around. We cooked up some hotdogs off of long metal sticks I'd brought. After having our delicious, fire cooked meal, we decided to start taking turns telling scary stories.
The first one to start was Jeff. He had difficulty starting, as he didn't know horror that well. In fact, I'd say he was too afraid to attempt to try. He told the story of a killer clown that would go around kidnapping dogs and sell them to other killer clowns. Somehow, it turned into the dogs going out and putting every one of the dogs up for adoption. He described the clowns as rescuing the dogs from bad owners. I was appalled at how he could take a good scary story concept and make it as wholesome as possible.
Next up was Sam. He was the master of terror in the group. He started off telling of a post-apocalyptic world full of zombies. There was one survivor left, one living person whom alone had the courage to attempt to reverse what had happened to humanity, to find a cure. And eventually he found it. He had strategically planned and captured a zombie to test the cure on. He was about to test it on the zombie but it was making too much noise, attracting the others to them, eventually killing him completely.
That story was more depressing than it was scary, but well told all the same. I then began my story.
"Have you heard the story about these woods? Why we were able to rent this spot out for so cheap? It's because on every seventh full moon cycle, like the one tonight, there is a demon lurking through these very woods, seeking out the angriest soul. When they are spotted, it forces that person to, by their own hand, bring about their own demise."
"You really expect me to believe that?" Jeff laughed.
"Absolutely, fat man." I said. I said it because I knew it was something he didn't like to be called. He had worked his entire life to get the weight down but was unsuccessful every time.
I saw him ball his hands into fists. "You didn't just call me that."
"What's wrong Chubster? Can't handle a little name calling?"
"SHUT UP!" his voice boomed across the woods.
Shortly after, we felt the swirling wind blowing leaves around, threatening to blow out our fire, with little success.
"If vengeance is what you seek, then your angered soul I must keep." said a low raspy voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.
We looked over to Jeff, who was punching himself in the face and in the ribs over and over, with hard hits that landed with heavy thuds. We hurried over and tried to help him, but his arms would not pull away. He threw one hit hard enough that he fell backwards and onto the campfire below. Even though he was screaming in pain from the fire, it still wasn't enough to stop him from punching himself. Eventually, he died from it all.
"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into coming out here," said Jeff as he carried his sleeping bag over to the campsite. "What if there's bears in these woods? We could have our campsite raided by a pack of wild animals!"
"Calm down, dude." My best friend, Sam, told him as he unwrapped a piece of beef jerk. "We looked into it, there aren't any bears out here."
"I hope you're right." Jeff crawled inside the tent before dropping off his sleeping bag and finding a good place for it.
Sam turned to me. "I don't think he's going to be to happy with the story we have planned tonight, he might sh*t himself." He and I laughed before I made the joke of, "If he does, he's gonna have to do it outside. My parents will kill me if I come home with sh*t in the tent." He laughed at that again before looking up at my face, finding I was very serious.
"What are you guys laughing about?" Jeff peaked his head out of the tent opening.
"Nothing," I replied, "Nothing at all."
As night came, Sam and Jeff had finally gotten the campfire started. We grabbed our chairs and gathered around. We cooked up some hotdogs off of long metal sticks I'd brought. After having our delicious, fire cooked meal, we decided to start taking turns telling scary stories.
The first one to start was Jeff. He had difficulty starting, as he didn't know horror that well. In fact, I'd say he was too afraid to attempt to try. He told the story of a killer clown that would go around kidnapping dogs and sell them to other killer clowns. Somehow, it turned into the dogs going out and putting every one of the dogs up for adoption. He described the clowns as rescuing the dogs from bad owners. I was appalled at how he could take a good scary story concept and make it as wholesome as possible.
Next up was Sam. He was the master of terror in the group. He started off telling of a post-apocalyptic world full of zombies. There was one survivor left, one living person whom alone had the courage to attempt to reverse what had happened to humanity, to find a cure. And eventually he found it. He had strategically planned and captured a zombie to test the cure on. He was about to test it on the zombie but it was making too much noise, attracting the others to them, eventually killing him completely.
That story was more depressing than it was scary, but well told all the same. I then began my story.
"Have you heard the story about these woods? Why we were able to rent this spot out for so cheap? It's because on every seventh full moon cycle, like the one tonight, there is a demon lurking through these very woods, seeking out the angriest soul. When they are spotted, it forces that person to, by their own hand, bring about their own demise."
"You really expect me to believe that?" Jeff laughed.
"Absolutely, fat man." I said. I said it because I knew it was something he didn't like to be called. He had worked his entire life to get the weight down but was unsuccessful every time.
I saw him ball his hands into fists. "You didn't just call me that."
"What's wrong Chubster? Can't handle a little name calling?"
"SHUT UP!" his voice boomed across the woods.
Shortly after, we felt the swirling wind blowing leaves around, threatening to blow out our fire, with little success.
"If vengeance is what you seek, then your angered soul I must keep." said a low raspy voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.
We looked over to Jeff, who was punching himself in the face and in the ribs over and over, with hard hits that landed with heavy thuds. We hurried over and tried to help him, but his arms would not pull away. He threw one hit hard enough that he fell backwards and onto the campfire below. Even though he was screaming in pain from the fire, it still wasn't enough to stop him from punching himself. Eventually, he died from it all.
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