Have you ever been in bed at night trying to sleep, when the soft humming white noise gives way to silence--a quiet still that is transformed by a shift in sensation? It does not necessarily make a sound, but the empty void of being alone is replaced with the unmistakable presence of...something? You lay in bed motionless, petrified to look, until the fear of not knowing what sight awaits you overtakes the fear of knowing. Turning to look, and of course finding nothing, you gather yourself and close your eyes, but the feeling of being watched remains intact. I used to think that the intimate setting of your bedroom, nestled safely in its refuge from the world, would be the most frightening place imaginable to endure such an experience. Boy was I ever wrong...

     It all started a few weeks ago, as we made the long drive up to Camp Superior, a camping ground designed for scouts, located far to the north in the Upper Peninsula and out in the middle of nowhere. We were a group of trolls--that is our troop hailed from the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, “under” the Mackinaw Bridge. I had assumed that cheesy characterizations would be the only thing up there that I was not accustomed to, but that was not quite the case. The forests were thick and green, the mountains soared high in the distance, and the cities alongside the highway became less numerous the further we traveled, quite the interesting dichotomy for our troop full of city dwellers.

This was no a summer vacation, instead the calendar read the middle of October, as the advent of year round schooling had allowed us to take a break and get away for a week. I for one happened to be very much in favor of this seasonal switch considering my preference to camping in the cool crispness of early autumn as opposed to the rigid heat and humidity of summer, not to mention the occasional thunderstorm and downpour of rain, fun to watch from the confines of a bedroom window, something different altogether when trapped in a leaking tent. Another perk of the trip was that this campground was supposedly haunted, which was interesting and fun more than anything, given that our troop had long made a hobby of sharing ghost stories by firelight, and in our quest for wisdom and curiosity brought about by our advancing age, dabbling in the unknown and mysterious was a fantastic way to push the boundaries of the imagination. Okay, perhaps I should have abstained from labeling the “Yoopers” as the cheesy ones.        Looming tall above and all around us were the trees as we reached our destination, an impressive yet imposing sight resulting in a subsiding of the jokes discussed in the car ride immediately about the haunted forests. We were in the wilderness, seemingly miles from what we previously would have deemed civilization, and as the sounds and aromas of nature flooded our senses, those rumors of hauntings no longer felt all that far-fetched...

2: Prologue

This land is your land, this land is my land, and this land is also home to the trees and wildlife that inhabited it before humans. The characters in our story are going camping in the woods, the final frontier of untouched land on this continent, a fascinating place to enjoy nature in all of its beauty and in its most pure state.

     It comes as no surprise that these mysterious regions come accompanied with legends, myths and folklore nearly as old as the forests themselves. What secrets are hidden among these roots and branches, and contained within the canopy? If only trees could talk, the stories they would tell—-but perhaps they can, in a sense. We welcome you to pack some gear and join us along our trek into the woods. We have saved a seat just for you at our campfire. Do stay on the path though as we tread into the dark side of nature. Please be advised, that poison ivy and insect repellent may be the least of your worries considering where we are going...

3: Chapter 2

Arriving at the campground with only a few hours remaining of daylight, following registration we abruptly set off to pitch our tents, perusing through the metal poles and stakes rather quickly and establishing our area in one of the designated cleared spots. Heading to the mess hall for a late supper that evening proved to be a disappointment, as the kitchen was closed, reducing us to filling up on marshmallows and chocolate, which was as shiny a silver lining as I had ever experienced. Despite the youthfulness of my teenage body, between the long car ride and the construction of our camp I felt drained of energy, and was happy to sit down and relax at the roasting, glowing orange and yellow campfire with my campground comrades.

Greeted by a man named Fred Boldin, the founder of the camp, we listened to his introductory welcoming message, and after he learned a little bit about our troop, I worked up the courage to ask a question that I desired to be answered: “Mr. Boldin, are the legends of this campground being haunted actually true?”

     “Well...” he began to answer. “We try to restrict our camp to veteran campers, older scouts, troops that are familiar with the woods. Long story short, yes, there is something mysterious about these woods that are all around us. Employees and guests of our camp have witnessed unusual sights and sounds, and have experienced an uncanny feeling of being watched out there.”

Sure enough, Mr. Boldin appeared very eager to explain to us the haunted history of the nearby woods. The surprising aspect was that he was an elderly gentleman that appeared very grounded, exhibiting an approachable, down to earth vibe, which was a stark contrast from the usual parade of camp officials that displayed behavior more reminiscent of circus performers. This was a man speaking the truth, as opposed to a man spinning a yard or turning a trick for a cheesy gag or a laugh.

     “Have you ever seen anything yourself?” asked my friend Mark.

     “I have experienced some strange things here, yes. The strangest involved a camper who was a guest here about thirty years ago or so. A scout went into the woods and returned minutes later. Only he claimed he had been gone for days. His temperament was alarming, and he was showing symptoms of shock. We had assumed that he had been stung by a bee or what not and had suffered an allergic reaction. He was treated in the hospital for dehydration and exhaustion, and the doctors said that he had not eaten in days. Funny thing was, this was despite a meal that the troop ate directly before he ventured into the woods,” explained Mr. Boldin.

     “What do you think is in there?” asked my friend Chris.

“Well, I can assure you that there is no maniac, or monster, or group of Martians or witch flying around in there, you kids watch too many movies! That being said, does anyone here scare easily?” he asks, a question that of course received a concerted shaking of heads, although I could certainly tell that lies were being spewed forth in order for my friends to put forth an illusion of fearlessness, as I could sense the pause and trepidation swelling around the campfire and burning as hotly in the stomach of each camper as the mercury in the sweltering fire.

“Very well. There have been incidents throughout history, both here in America, over in Europe and elsewhere, of unexplained happenings in the forest, frightening ordeals of sheer panic and terror. As brave and warrior-like as the Indians were, there were places in the woods where even they feared to tread. The thing to remember is that the Indians respected nature. They believed that nature has a memory, and that the woods possessed a collective spirit, its own conscience if you will. I suppose this makes sense, as the trees, shrubs, grass, and animals are living things that do breathe oxygen, just as each of you do. So be careful, enjoy your stay, and remember to utilize the buddy system at all times. You should never venture into the woods alone, anywhere, but especially, in there...” he explained, his voice trailing off as he ominously pointed into the rows of trees, which in this darkness appeared as nothing more than a black mass.

     Sitting in our tents that night, curled up tightly and snuggly in our sleeping bags to keep warm, you could imagine that the majority of youthful dialogue spewed back and forth would be indecipherable and unintelligible to members of the older generation. As the joking and laughter subsided and all fell quiet with the exception of crickets chirping about, I thought about what the camp founder had said, wondering how much of it was fabricated, and how much of it was indeed authentic. After all, he had seemed so genuine, this wasn’t some dorky loon wearing a mask and gushing tall tales of Bigfoot and maniacs with hooks for hands. Just to be safe, I went to the bathroom about three times before bed, in order to avoid waking up in the dead of night and leaving the comfort of companionship and the protection of the paper thin walls of the tent.

     Finding that the activities of the camp were, well, to put it mildly, lame, over the ensuing days my friends and I began to disassociate from the strict and rigorous rules enforced by the camp. The problem with being a teenager is that adults saddle you with the responsibilities of adulthood, while increasingly stripping you of the benefits of childhood. We weren’t toddlers, and although we may have been minors, children in the eyes of the law, we sure were not minors in terms of feel. We were on the cusp of drugs, sex, alcohol, and rock and roll-—not gospel or Christian contemporary.

     Granted, you had a few members of the troop that were utter and insatiable nerds, although for the most part we were a very down to Earth troop, as far as scouts were concerned. We came from a small town, but we were your standard collection of teenagers, the type that played sports, dated girls, and were always looking to have a good time. Don’t get me wrong, scouting was not considered to be the essence of cool here in modern day 2001. Like most stereotypes, when it came to scouting, there was an ample amount of them that rung true, although some of them were rather tone-deaf in comparison.

An old-fashioned type myself, getting outside to enjoy the simplicity yet complexity of nature was one of the main draws for me, along with learning useful hands-on activities. It was almost perfect, considering that our troop embraced tradition and had a bit of an old-school flavor to it, having enforced a ban on cellular phones, portable video games and electronic gadgets while camping, a policy easy to admire. Taking a break from the daily routine was becoming increasingly special, as it was great to get away from the modern gadgets and electronics and growing fascination with computers that seemed to be coming on around the world at a most torrid pace.

     By the time Tuesday rolled around that week, we had a fairly solid feel for the operation of the camp. Waking up far too early each day was difficult and among the more agonizing aspects of the camp, made slightly easier, albeit significantly more startling with the thundering ear-splitting blast of a cannon. Next came the pseudo-patriotic flag salute and breakfast in the mess hall, where we made sure to fill up on eggs, bacon and flapjacks, seeing as how lunch and dinner had a limited amount of options and they were generally awful. For each meal, one troop was placed in charge of doing the dishes of everyone else. I suppose they thought it was some sort of instillation of discipline or team building, but we all rolled our eyes in frustration over the policy.

     Swimming in the lake was quite limited, and the power-hungry counselors quickly blew the whistle for any minor splashing or insubordination whatsoever, apparently we were there to swim laps and not have fun. The lifeguards were composed of college kids we figured to be former hall monitors, and we joked that they had more virgins in their lot than we had in ours. The entire ordeal felt more like a military boot camp of discipline as opposed to a laid back adventure in the woods. Even the “activity” areas, three-hour blocks of time from two to five each afternoon where scouts worked on merit badges were a bummer. Our leader had not registered with the camp until late September, and by then all of the cool things like archery, astronomy, and wilderness survival had all been booked months in advance. As a result the options left at the disposal of our troop were the dregs, citizenship and government themed activities that felt more like school than scouting.

     The next morning, my three closest friends in the troop, Brad, Chris, Mark and I made a plan of action.

“It’s obvious to everyone that this place sucks, am I right?” asked Chris very bluntly.

     “The activities here are lame, for this place being haunted or built on an Indian burial ground or whatever that guy said. Let’s go on a hike today deep into the woods, we’ll follow that path and see just what is out there for ourselves. We’ll take off at two and be back in time for dinner at six, no one will know, and if they find out, who cares? We’re leaving in three days. What are they going to do, make us wash dishes?”

     “He’s right, this has been a bust. We’re way up here in the woods, and it feels like we’ve been inside the entire time. Something needs to be done to salvage this trip, I can’t take another day of being stuck in loser-ville,” replied Mark.

     “What do you think Ryan?” asked Brad.                        

“I tend to agree with all of you. Not to mention I tend to believe what the founder said. He’s been out here for years, and he’s convinced that something is in there. Either way, we haven’t heard a damn thing about any ghost or haunt since that opening campfire introduction. Maybe he’s just an old kook, but ten years from now, I guarantee that we’ll remember this hike more than learning about how to be a good citizen in some cabin,” I declared.

     It was settled, our scheme had been hatched, and we felt like inmates planning to break out of the asylum. Two o’clock came, and as everyone else left the mess hall and headed to their various activities, we headed back to base camp. I sort of relaxed a little bit, after all, we were scouts, and had camped in the woods before. It’s not as if we were city slickers or a group of college film students, burnouts, or dropouts using the woods as a copout to engage in reckless debauchery, we knew what to expect, we had done it before and were old enough to take care of ourselves, we didn’t need any leaders or counselors there to hold our hands.          

This may have just been a day hike, but nonetheless we took precautions anyways, bringing along a helping of food and a tent in the event the need arose for a makeshift structure. A good scout is always prepared after all, and we had no idea of whether or not inclement weather might present itself. Above all we weren’t alone, as there were four of us, giving us confidence and strength in numbers against whatever might be out there. Glancing one last time at the campground, we ventured out, sneaking into the woods to see what we could find. As we would soon learn, the woods would not disappoint...

4: Chapter 3 (Night #1)

The plan was rather basic and simple, head into the woods for an hour, far enough to get away from camp and enjoy a good taste of the wilderness, but not so far as to get lost. After an hour in we would turn around to return, with no one back at camp being any none the wiser. It was a picture perfect, beautiful day for a hike, not a single cloud in the clear blue sky, the leaves an array of green, red, orange and yellow. It looked and felt as if we were stepping into a poem as we ditched civilization and crossed the threshold into nature. Along the way there were a few animals, but nothing very remarkable or camera worthy. Eventually, after forty-five minutes we grew weary of walking and decided to head in, disappointed with the lack of ghosts and ghouls in the allegedly haunted tract of woods.

     Greeted with the unpleasant sight of three gray wolves watching us as we turned around, they stood motionless, just leering at us like an animal playing with its victim before the kill. My heart felt as if it came to an abrupt halt-—until all three of the wolves began grunting in unison, their response traversing into a menacing growl that cranked my heart up to full power.    

“Guys, stand completely still, and avoid eye contact,” I whispered.

     The small pack began pressing towards us, tongues dangling out of their jaws, coating the dirt in saliva as they gnashed their teeth in an exhibition of prowess and power, as we were on their turf and wolf and scout alike, all seven of us knew it.

     “We just can’t run. Remember what we’ve learned, act menacing, we need to scare them,” Brad whispered.

     I’ll forever wonder what we looked like with our fear caps firmly entrenched atop our heads, but our defense could not have been textbook as we began shouting, stomping around and clanging our equipment, desperately hoping to spook these wild beasts standing before us. Wasting no time to frolic, stand idle and confused, or scurry away, the wolves put aside their stroll and took at us with a full charge.

     “So much for plan B, run!” shouted Chris, as we all began to rumble away from the pack, darting through the trees and branches strewn across the ground like we were rummaging through an obstacle course. Escape by climbing proved futile, as every tree in sight was either too tall or too small. Breathing is usually a primary objective in life, but it became secondary pretty quickly at that moment, well enough since I wasn’t doing any of it as the heart in my chest pulsated around like a jackhammer on atropine.

     Eventually I could no longer run or breathe, collapsing to the ground expecting to black out as I accepted my fate. Closing my eyes because I did not want my last vision to be of a pack of wolves devouring me, I opened them at long last, only to not find any trace of any ferocious canine. The four of us had inadvertently split up during the panic and no footsteps could be heard as I softly pressed my ear to the crisp autumn air. Although my body at that moment was not aligned in perfect harmony with itself, I was certain that I would have heard the piercing shrieks of screaming, had one of my friends been bit or torn to shreds.

     After settling down for a few minutes, and I needed every last one of them to regain my composure, a different feeling came over me, but one that I had been familiar with. Despite being lonely with nature, this newfound companionship contained a most regrettable vibe. That nighttime presence felt as if it were there with me, only I was not at home in the comfortable setting of my bedroom. No animals could be heard anywhere, on the ground, in the trees, or overhead, yet someone or something was in the vicinity, for I was no doubt being watched, a harrowing feeling that lingered onwards as my legs began trembling as I fought back the buckle in my knees. “Guys? Chris? Brad? Mark? Anybody?” I called out, hearing not one response, and feeling as if more invisible eyes were casting their gaze upon me with each word I cried out into oblivion.  

     As I would soon learn, I was not the only member of our quartet to feel this way, as Chris would have a similar experience following the chase. Feeling alone, stranded, and being watched just as I had, a unique sensation devoured his senses. Hearing what sounded like a dull, persistent humming buzzing in the distance, he listened intently as the sound grew stronger, as he believed it to be the source of human activity. Intensifying in power, the noise of the dull roar became a ground-rumbling tremble, shaking trees and causing Chris to drop to the ground and cover his ears, as he imagined a low flying plane was soaring immediately over head. Then all of a sudden, the sound stopped, as did the shaking of the trees. Whatever it was, it had vanished.

     “Chris! Are you hurt, you okay man?” I asked, as I could see him lying in the leaves, arriving moments after the event unfolded.

     “Nah, I’m cool. What in the hell was that?” he asked me.

     “Those wolves just came out of no where, but I’m pretty sure they’re gone,” I responded.                        

“No, I meant that noise,” he explained, slowly regaining his breath. “The buzzing, didn’t you hear it? It felt like something was about to explode.”

     “Must have been an animal in a tree, I don’t know, where are the others?” I asked.

     He leered at me with a disgusted look on his face, like I didn’t know what in the hell I was talking about. He was right, although then again, he was at a loss for words as to what had just transpired.

     The path we had been on had turned back around about fifteen minutes in, resulting in us laying down our own tracks from that point forward. Stretching as far in each direction as the eyes could see were untouched woods, but our first objective was finding our friends. Fortunately, about ten minutes later we found Brad, who startled us in claiming that the woods were indeed haunted.

     “God am I glad to see you guys, look, they were right, that camp founder was right, this place is damned, it’s haunted, it’s all legitimate,” he proclaimed.

     “What happened?” I asked.

“What did you see?” asked Chris.

     “While running from those wolves I heard laughing. It wasn’t any of you guys, because I lost sight of you. Next thing I knew the wolves were gone, and I began to cry out for help. My voice didn’t echo, I am certain of that, but everything I said was repeated back to me. The voice was strange, and there were about three of them, but they didn’t sound like people, they sounded almost robotic or something. I cried ‘hello?’ and it repeated the word three times, as if it didn’t understand what it meant. Then the other voices started, they were murmuring something, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were all around me, like within twenty feet—-yet there was no one around as far as I could see,” he said. “I don’t know what to say, either the counselor that is the diehard Pink Floyd fan slipped something in my cheerios this morning, or these woods are full of spooks.”

     Three of us were alert and relatively unscathed, yet Mark was nowhere to be found. The one thing we pledged not to do at the outset of our trip was to split up, but desperate times call for desperate measures. After roaming around and calling out his name, we figured that he had probably run all the way back to camp. Not a bad idea, only we were exhausted and had no idea what direction camp was in, thanks to the terrifying presence of the wolves leaving us scattered to the wind.                                          “To think, I was keeping track of every natural landmark along the way,” declared Brad. “Damn wolves.”

     “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chris announced to us. “The compass was in my pocket, and it must have fallen out when the wolves were after us. You each took one, right?”

     “Mine is at camp, I’m carrying the tent equipment,” declared Brad.

     “Me neither, it’s in my main bag, back in my tent. Thought about grabbing it, but I knew Mark had one too,” I replied, feeling like a novice.

Finding a partial clearing, amidst the heavy brush we decided to set up shop, propping up the tent and building a fire for both light and warmth. It is best to stay together and in one place when you’re lost—-a term that none of us had used up to that point, and if any of us were to use it in a sentence, it would have been attached to the hip of “never been.” Mark was fine, we would have heard screaming if the wolves had nabbed him, we reasoned. He’s either around here looking for us, and he’ll see the tent, the fire or the smoke, or he made it back to the camp sight and they’ll come in here, chew us out and drag us out by our ears. Honestly, that did not sound like a bad option at all at the moment, and would seem like a cakewalk in due time.

     Once the fire was roaring proudly in the Upper Peninsula sky, the three of us calmed down and were laughing again in no time at all, for it was as if each of our previous little incidents had not occurred. Maybe they were just a part of the shock and panic of being chased by a pack of hungry wolves? You could tell that nobody wanted to discuss what happened seeing as though everyone was flashing a wide smile and speaking of anything and everything else, but after a little while the renewed joy began to feel slightly manufactured. The sun began to slowly slide down from its perch in the sky as we ate dinner, an assortment of candy bars and other delectable items stored in a backpack hanging on a low hanging tree branch to avoid being ransacked by hungry creatures and to spare us the risk of confrontation with any more of said creatures, thank you very much.

     Normally you are expected to put out your campfire before turning in for the night, but it was dying down and it was so dark out you couldn’t see beyond the first row of trees, leaving the three of us desperate to avoid extinguishing our only source of light.

Zipping up the tent and sleeping as close as three heterosexual teenagers possibly could that were not yet fighting hypothermia, all three of us secretly hoped to be the first, or at least the second one to fall asleep. Very little was spoken at this point as we listened to the sounds of nature, as branches split and cracked in the distance, birds chirped, owls hooted, and raccoons fought. The noises grew louder as we departed the daytime and now evening hours venturing later into the dead of night.

This was the real deal. If the woods were like the ocean, than our campground was simply the beach, and on this night, we were floating in the middle of the North Pacific. For the first time on this camping trip since our arrival, it felt as though we were truly in the wilderness, the first time that did not involve being the prey of wild animals on the hunt that is. The thought of being out in the wilderness would have been much more empowering and enjoyable had the day not been dotted with the aforementioned wolf chase, the subsequent strange happenings, and above all the elephant in the room, our status as lost campers. The various sounds rustling about and the animal fights gave me an unexpected comfort, as it proved to me that the three of us were not truly alone out there. That comfort would not last...

5: Chapter 4 (Night #2)

Awaking the next morning as starving as could be, we were left to the depressing reality that the majority of food had been consumed the previous night, since we knew we would be heading back to camp early on this day. Gathering the equipment and supplies we marched back-—after debating and voting upon which direction camp was in, the results were torn not down the middle, but sliced diagonally down the compass between east, north, and south, with the lack of a mandate being a grave concern to me as the three of us walked back, never straying too far from one another along the way.                     

An hour or so later our nerves began tensing as the realization dawned upon us that we should have reached camp by this point in time. We were lost. Granted, we probably should have remained stationary, but none of us could sit still. Even if we drifted an hours worth of walking deeper into the woods, was there really a difference between a four-hour distance and where we were? Besides, we were young, healthy, mobile, and they were surely looking for us by now. The reward of an exit was worth the gamble.

     Three hours and no trace of civilization later we set up camp once again, a little more distraught this time around, as morale was beginning to slump amongst us.

Gathering the remnants of a dead tree to use for firewood was Chris, as Brad and I removed the rods and poles to establish the tent once again, an activity that I was rapidly growing tired of, yet in our haste of leaving without a bevy of compasses, it was hard not to thank the camping Gods that we were blessed with the vision to bring along a tent.

While pulling some branches apart, Brad slipped down a small yet extremely steep hill, sliding into a shallow pond below. What began as our initial amusement turned to concern as Brad began shouting in anguish that he couldn’t move and was stuck. That anguish turned into horror as his legs began to sink a bit into the marshy swamp below, an oozing green and yellow muck that looked mysterious and cool from afar, but was hardly anything to write home about when confronted with it in person.

“It’s quicksand! Help me!” he shouted, as we each grabbed an arm and pulled with all of our might.

     “Relax a bit, quicksand doesn’t just suck you down,” I yelled to him.

     “Forget the quicksand, something has got a hold of me, it’s pulling!” he shouted back, with an expletive or two thrown in there for good measure.

     Lifting him out, he scurried up the hill and looked very white to the sight, breathing heavily from the incident.

     “That water must be no deeper than a foot, your leg must have been caught in something,” Chris explained.

     “No,” Brad replied, shaking his head and lifting up his pant leg, revealing a red band of pressure applied to his ankle. Didn’t you guys see it? There was a vine or something, wrapped around my leg and squeezing, pulling me in. That couldn’t have just been me fighting back. It was just like playing tug of war, something was down there and trying to pull me down.”

     An hour would pass before Chris would have a terror-inducing moment of his own. Out of nowhere, he rose up from the ground shouting Mark’s name. “His red jacket! Mark! Where are you going?” Chris shouted, chasing into the woods after him, as the two of us followed closely behind.

     “Where’d he go?” asked Chris, as we could only look at him in a deeply concerned sort of way. “He jumped down from a tree, and began running. He curved in around this tree, and hunched down into his jacket. I opened up the jacket and--the jacket fell to the ground, he was nowhere to be seen!”

     “I’m sure he’s back at the campsite, right Brad?” I said aloud. It was bad enough that we were lost in the woods, but this was becoming terrifying. One friend had disappeared, and another was experiencing a full-blown delusion, and another had slipped in a pond and believed that a vine had been pulling him into quicksand. Was I the only sane one left? Far from a comforting thought, and I would learn that answer in a matter of hours.

Calming down, Chris was no longer in shock, but had grown quite angry about what had transpired.

“I am not losing it, something is here. Remember how we agreed that the woods are haunted? It’s the ghosts or whatever it is,” he rationalized. “The hell with this, nobody has seen our campfire. Maybe someone will spot some smoke if we burn down a tree.”

It was as good a guess as any at that point, as desperation continued setting in, like the rising waters of an advancing flood from a category five hurricane. After setting the campfire, Chris dipped a branch into the flames, igniting it like a torch, setting it on a tree drenched in moss, which slowly began to burn.

“There is no poison ivy on that tree is there?” asked Brad. “I could not care less if there was,” replied Chris, unfazed with the risk of a fatal lung infection.

Feeling something touching the back of my neck, I turned around out of instinct, expecting to find something horrible, but finding nothing. I began to feel it again, and again, it was all over my neck, scalp, and arms, causing the little hairs to rise on end and establish a scattering of Goosebumps running throughout my skin. Drizzle, giving way to rain, giving way to a downpour, all in the span of what felt like a mere fifteen seconds. The three of us raced into the tent as the campfire and the tree were extinguished in no time at all as a late season thunderstorm roared through. Lasting about an hour was the severe weather, but with the sheer magnitude and intensity of the descending storm dropping the volume of what felt like Lake Superior all around us, I imagined that it would take days for us to be able to burn anything again, a thought that made me shiver as I wiped away at the cold dampness caking my clothes, skin and hair.

Freezing cold, we used whatever candy bar wrappers remained and lit them up, huddling around whatever toxic fumes they discharged forth.

“Somehow I forgot, but I brought this,” declared Chris, pulling a flask out from one of the tent compartments. The three of us split about a half-pint’s worth of whisky in no time. I had a weak stomach for alcohol, but I was so thirsty that I guzzled my allotment of it down like water. Health teachers be damned, intoxication was truly a blessing on this night.

“Guys? I’m not sure if this is the alcohol burning away at my empty bloodstream and stomach, but I think I see Mark again?” asked Chris, pointing twenty-five feet from the tent.

“You’re not crazy,” whispered Brad, as I slowly glanced up, where standing there cloaked in red was Mark, a bright smile on his face as he looked at us.

“Mark?” I called out, as our fourth friend turned around and took off into the woods.

Jumping up and out of the tent instinctively, we followed him into the thick of the woods for a span of about fifty yards or so, before a new thought overtook me, making me shudder and stop dead in my tracks. “Guys stop, stop! This isn’t right!” I declared as Chris and Brad followed my lead, as the red jacket of Mark disappeared from view behind a tree.

“What, where did he go? That tree is like a foot thick, he just disappeared?” asked Chris.

“That’s not Mark. It was...” I declared, my voice trailing off.

“It was what? Or who?” asked Brad.

“No, right the first time. It was what? Let’s get back to our tent,” I exclaimed, grabbing each friend as we turned back and sprinted through the brush and around the trees, utilizing each and every ounce of our natural fight or flight response. To this day I cannot explain what we saw, or just what the hell that was that mimicked our friend, but it scared me half to death, leaving me shaking and terrified amidst the woods that were far from petrified.

With darkness falling over the forests, painting the landscape in a familiar coating of black as the flames faded away, the warmth of a damp sleeping bag was the only place to retreat towards. Having to relieve myself, and still too self-conscious to ask one of my friends to come outside and stand guard, to this day I wish I had, as the question of who is sane and who was not sane was answered.     Walking only about five feet out into the dark and doing my business as quickly as possible, turning back around I was dumbfounded at the sight staring back at me. Only finding an all-encompassing darkness, the tent, the clearing, my friends and the dying embers of the fire were not visible anywhere, it were as if the forests had taken me and scattered my collection of atoms a thousand yards distant.

Calling out to my friends for help and hearing nothing in response, loneliness abruptly set in upon blowing into the whistle around my neck, a whistle that refused to carry or emit a sound. There I was, trapped in the dark, feeling nauseous and claustrophobic as a loud buzzing began to screech in my ears. Growing louder as I fell to the ground, my legs locking into the fetal position, my hands covering my ears as the unknown entity descended upon me as I let out a scream, a primal one of terror and agony. Unable to breathe, I slowly slipped away, passing out as my vision was stained in blackness, the fade to black was indistinguishable from my vantage point.     

Moments later the voices began ringing in my ears, opening my eyes to see what unexpected and unwanted horrors were all around me, I anticipated finding a dozen monstrosities circling around me, readying a sacrifice or a feasting. Looking upwards towards the sky, Brad and Chris were standing around me and looking down upon my shaking bones, asking what had happened. Searching for clues in the dark and finding none, all that I saw was the outline of the tent and the dying embers, now but a couple of orange dots dancing around in the dark.

     Crawling through the muddy terrain and scrambling back into the tent, the five foot tall triangle of nylon fabric and slim metal beams felt like a safe haven, casting an illusion of offering real protection that was obviously no match up against the natural powers that be.

“You weren’t hallucinating about Mark the first time, nor were any of us with the second sighting, and neither were you about the quicksand pulling you in. I went just a few feet outside of the tent, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t see the tent or the fire, I couldn’t see a thing, but I could hear a loud buzzing sound that made me feel as though my head were primed to explode,” I explained as I began to tell my friends about what had happened. “Something is out here, and it’s not because we’re paranoid or because we’re hungry, or because we were in the aftermath of a wild animal attack,” I announced, my statement drawing very little opposition.

     Leaving that tent was not an option in the dark of those woods, regardless of how loudly nature called. The floor of the tent was damp anyway, hygiene and basic sanitation were two concepts dirtied and thrown out the window. Whereas on the first night we heard every sound imaginable in the woods, the crackling of branches and animals near and far, on the second night all we heard was silence...nothing, and it was painstakingly frightening.    Seated and huddled together, our thoughts centered on the various supernatural events highlighting the day, they were simply inescapable, and they were bad enough without the stark reality that we were lost in the wilderness without any food left. Adding to the great mysteries of the day was, of course, the fact that Brad and Chris fell asleep somehow in no time at all, leaving me the last of our lost trio to remain awake, amounting to just another fearful arrow in the quiver.

Closing my eyes tightly and my ears the best I could for that matter, my mind kept expecting to hear something, or see something, maybe feel something, some hallucination or delusion anyways, either courtesy of the woods or born of my own mind. I no longer knew which source would have provided a more frightening vision or experience, and I suppose it hardly mattered anyways, for I had grown convinced that both the woods and my mind would arrange a medieval jousting battle of my inner-most fears.

All three of us were about a day away from playing such a game of figuring out the source of our paranoia. Something was going to happen at any moment--but nothing did. Failing to earn let alone enjoy one minute of sleep that entire night, and reduced to feeling alone in the darkness, all I could do was wish I could bend time, and fast-forward the night like it like a VHS tape, a night which coincidentally enough was undoubtedly the most terrifying night of my life...

6: Chapter 5 (Day #3)

Day three began and the three of us were quick to rise, while the same could not be said for the sun, at least that was the way it seemed given how dark it remained in the shadowy morning forest. This was the day that I remember very little about, the sequences tied together in a blurry haze, scenes from my memory missing like a man attempting to piece together a drunken night. Arguing for a brief while whether to stay or go, as if it would equate to the difference between living and dying, ultimately the three of us settled on the option of walking. Too weak and tired to carry the equipment, we left it strewn about on the ground, as a sign of our presence in case anyone were looking for us.

     Hungry as all get out yet somewhere south of starving to death, we knew that they must have been searching for us, but that once hopeful knowledge residing in our minds had grown painful, leaving our brains stained with a stark madness whenever we dared examine the possibilities at play. How could they not have found us by now? Could we really have ventured that far off into the woods? Fear began setting in regarding the possibility that they were not allowed to find us, it were as if we were kept hidden by the hand of something, that being whatever it was that had caused the unexplained events and delusions. Fred Boldin had explained that the woods possessed a spirit all its own, and it was safe to say that he made believers of the three of us after our dealing with the wrath of nature. That may sound ridiculous, but when you are lost in the woods for three days and experience what we had dealt with, logic and reasoning, along with protocol and guidelines, no longer mean the same thing.

     The mood had changed, doing so altogether at one point, when the three of us stopped and felt sick to our stomachs. It was not an illness or hunger, it was as if our bodies were ruptured, punctured with a sinking sensation of disdain. Something was indeed watching us, for the presence was loud, although it was silent. The three of us may not have been able to listen to anything, but we could certainly hear it, if that made any sense. Nothing really did anymore by this stage. It was easy to detect that whatever it was, we were not welcome in the least, as it did not want us there. The three of us did not belong, it were as if the woods had painted us with the conscious perception of just how loathed and despised we were, doing everything imaginable to ensure that we were made aware of that sullen fact.                

Kneeling into the muddy ground below was Brad, in an ill-fated attempt to block out the expanse of nature, shaking and crying like a child learning the fate of the existence of Santa Claus. Trying to climb a tree as if he could escape from it all was Chris, covering his ears and shrieking about the buzzing ringing in his head. Remaining steeped and steadfast at the location for three days hoping they would find us if we could not make our way out, we were certain that they were going to find us. They never did. Not our fellow friends, leaders, Fred Boldin, some governmental search and rescue team, or legion of wilderness residing shanties.

The sense of dread had not merely invaded my brain and central nervous system, but it had injected itself into what felt like my organs, most notably piercing my heart. Something was indeed going to happen--we were going to die, and I was certain of it, there were no more excuses, or spin, or hope left, and after experiencing a mass of delusions, the three of us no longer felt comfortable wallowing away in yet another one, even if it did consist of being rescued.

Panic had consumed my entire soul, devouring what remained of it at least as the fight or flight response had kicked in yet again. Hardly certain if something was behind me or in front of me, at my side or all around me, I just took off running, closing my eyes between my dodging of trees when I could manage, scraping myself against branches that were everywhere, branches that felt like they were reaching down to impale my sternum or drag me away into the canopy where I would be eaten by some unknown yet superior life force. Whether something was going to catch me from behind, swoop down from the trees or cause me to sink into the Earth, my time was limited, the chase was on and I had hardly the strength, aptitude or willpower to stave off my fate of being on the dinner menu of my supreme opponent. Just as before with the wolves, the three of us were no longer at the top of the food chain, not in this ecosystem, and despite what they had taught us in school, the last thought that I remember having consisted of how maybe humankind is not the top dog of any food chain or the ruler of any ecosystem...

     No more than five minutes later, at least that was what it felt like given my waning and failing perception of time and space, I reached the clearing, our clearing! Talk about a sight for sore eyes, as this was the location where my memory regained its traction, the batteries of my mental health fully charged again in an instant as if everything I had lost in the woods were flipped on again like a light switch. Only our campground was not there, the tents were gone, as were the cars, and no one was in sight. It was empty, and after enjoying emotions of joy and relief, soon other emotions surrounded me, as the harrowing feeling and recollection of what we had just experienced in the past three days was instantly recalled in my mind, most profoundly of which was the sudden sting of loneliness. Fortunately for my luck, Brad was right behind me the entire time, gasping for breath as he looked behind him at the woods, expecting something to pounce on him just as I had felt. All we saw looking back were the tall and countless rows of trees, sunless darkness and silence, along with that creepy suspicion that the woods were hiding any and all noise and clues pertaining to what had transpired.

“Where is Chris?” I asked. Calling out to him and hearing nothing in response, we knew that the best thing to do was to seek help. Were we really this close to the campsite the entire time? It felt as though we were miles away in the wilderness, even at the end when I had taken off running. How could they not have heard us shouting for help? We didn’t ask questions ourselves because such would be a fruitless ordeal seeing as how we couldn’t unlock any answers.

     Traveling to the main cabin, the two of us searched for the camp founder but were only able to find his assistant.

“Where in the hell is everyone, our campsite is empty!” shouted Brad.

     Just relieved to be back into civilization, I let him do all the talking.

     “What troop are you boys in?” he asked.

“132, Huron Heights” Brad replied.

     “I don’t see anything here in the system, has your scoutmaster checked in yet?” he said.

     “Yeah, over a week ago, today is Sunday, right? We checked in a week ago Saturday,” replied Brad.

     “Huron Heights?” the assistant said in confusion, before an exasperated look appeared in his eyes. “Why that was the troop with...oh my God, the missing campers!”

     “Yes, nice of you guys to come find us,” quipped Brad.

“Where is the camp founder, Fred?”

     “Mr. Boldin passed away three years ago. He was a good man. Retired months after you four disappeared, what happened to you really rankled him to the core. Where are the others, are they all right?” asked the assistant.

     “Chris is still in the woods, but he’s not very far in there, he needs your help!” I shouted, as the man began phoning the authorities.

     “Mark is...well he made it out of the woods and back to camp, right?” I asked the assistant, as if he had the answers.

     “Four were missing, and until just now, four remained missing,” the man said.

Locking eyes were Brad and I, sharing a tumultuous sense of sorrow, after having been convinced that our friend had made it back alive.

     “Timeout, how could Boldin have died three years ago, we saw him three days ago?” I asked, the explanations providing me little comfort.

     “Wait a minute, how long did you search for us?” I asked.

     “Several weeks, we were certain that we would find you four, but we need did,” he replied, as Brad and I looked at each other again, this time we were the ones in the office that were confused and exasperated.

     “Weeks?” shouted Brad. “How long ago do you think we were lost?” he demanded.

     “Listen, I understand that you guys are in need of medical care and what not, and I can appreciate your frustration, given that you two were gone for five years,” he replied.

     “No, no, you must have us confused for some other campers. After what we’ve been through if this is a joke I’m going to kick you in the teeth. What is todays date?” I demanded, my engine running empty on patience.

     “Sunday, October twentieth,” he replied.

“Okay good, Sunday, October twentieth, two thousand one,” I exclaimed, emitting a nice long and heavy sigh of relief.

     “Two thousand Six,” he replied.

There are some things in life that you do not easily forget, and neither Brad nor myself will ever forget hearing those chilling words. Sitting down and soaking it all in, we each called our parents, whom we hadn’t spoken to in a week, only for them it felt like, and quite frankly consisted of, a period of years. It was very difficult speaking to them as they had left us for dead. The thing was, we had done the same thing regarding our likelihood of making it out of the woods alive.

“Now what should we do?” asked Brad after all of the requisite phone calls were made and it became a waiting game.

     “Might as well grab a drink, I mean we are of age now I suppose,” I joked, trying to provide some semblance of comedy into a horror, our own living nightmare.

     To this day I often wonder about Mark and Chris, and whether they made it out alive. Who knows, maybe they came out on the other side of some different year, time slip, reality, or parallel universe. Anything is possible, which is about the only truth I still completely adhere to believing in after being lost in the woods.

A further search was conducted and they were never found, and we would never see them again. I still could not help but feel like my passion for nature may have saved me in the end. Although, that was most likely a fraudulent line of thinking as I had wanted to burn down the entire Goddamn forest myself by the third day. It was hard to even look at the trees out the window as we made our way home. I half expected to see Mark, Chris—-or whatever had tormented us to be there staring back at me, taunting us as we left the forest.

As for the time lapse, well, there was no one that could possibly explain it, and that included the two of us. Not every question has a teacher waiting rapid fire to provide an answer to, and this one would remain hidden for the rest of my life. Obviously the authorities and our parents inquired about how we stayed alive in the wilderness for five years, with our only reply correcting that assertion and stating that we were in there for three days, although it did feel like it dragged on for half of a decade. Never camped again, and from that point forward Halloween meant a whole lot less, while Thanksgiving meant a whole lot more... 

7: Epilogue

Various texts from various cultures have painted the deep woods and forests as possessing a memory and spirit. These ecosystems live and breathe and are immersed in life, and it may not be that far fetched to wonder whether the fanciful and mystical legends from yesteryear, pertaining to a collective conscience or intelligence in the woods have some merit to them. Possibly serving to protect the woods from the hands of man, keeping some virgin forest free from our footprints. Mother nature is indeed a force to behold, in all its beauty, glory, power, and sometimes horror. Whether it be the onslaught of being watched or a fully formed traumatic onset of a “panic in the woods,” whatever the cause or the source, such unexplained experiences of the unknown remind us that some places may not wish to be disturbed.

     This is not a warning, just an issuance of caution, guidelines to keep in mind if you ever happen to find yourself in a remote region of forest off of the beaten track. Advances and evolution of man aside, there remains no substitute for the awesome power of nature, regardless of whether it has a mind of its own or possesses the ability to alter time, space, and consciousness. Mankind may be able to understand and even embrace the above concepts, but our scientific intelligence still pales dramatically to the infinite wisdom possessed by nature. Above all else, nature is not a force to be feared, it is a force to be respected. Keeping these items in mind, you will be able to see the forest for the trees.

 

END