Campfire Stories

Last summer, I went to sleepaway camp. One time they took us on a hike into the woods and we set up tents and built a fire. We cooked hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks, and we told ghost stories.

One of the counselors told us a story about a lady who was thrown into a well on a nearby farm, a hundred years ago. It was really scary, the way he held the flashlight under his chin while he was telling it. Her husband didn't like her, so he threw her in the well and she died down there. When they found her, she had no meat on the ends of her fingers and the bones were poking through.

I remember how the counselor leaned forward, his face a mask of shadows and light in the flashlight beam. "They thought maybe she'd worn the ends of her fingers off, trying to climb out of the well," he said. "But there was no blood on the walls. Maybe the rain washed the blood away. Or maybe... Maybe she got hungry, down there in the dark, all alone. So hungry she started to eat herself."

He paused, and the only sound was the crackling of the campfire. "They say there's a thing that lives in the woods now. It's quiet, and hard to see. But it has gleaming white fingers, like wet bones. It tries to sneak up on you, but don't let it. Because when it finds you..."

I was already wound up tight as a spring, so when the counselor suddenly pointed behind us and screamed "Look out!!" I almost peed. I don't think I was the only one. Then all the counselors were laughing, and I felt kind of dumb, but I couldn't stop being scared. A couple of the other kids were crying. The counselors told us to stop being such babies, and they put out the fire and we got in our tents.

The next thing I knew, it was morning, and something was happening. I unzipped my tent and crawled outside. One of the counselors was on her phone, saying something about needing emergency aid. The others were standing in front of Nathan's tent, nervous and white faced. Everybody was getting out of their tents by now, and the counselors told us to break down the camp and pack up, so we did. Except for Nathan's tent. We were almost done when the grown-ups from the camp showed up. They started unzipping the tent as the counselors tried to herd us back down the trail to the cabins. I couldn't help but look back.

Our parents came and got us the next day. They said a wild animal got into Nathan's tent, in the night. But if that's true, why didn't anybody hear it? Why wasn't his tent messed up? And why did it only eat his fingers, leaving the wet bones to shine in the morning sun?

Is it coming for me?