When we finally crawled into the tent, the forest felt alive around us. I could hear the wind moving through the trees and leaves rustling against each other. There were also some eerie, distant sounds that I couldn’t identify, but I assumed they were normal.
I lay there between my children in our sleeping bags, listening to their breathing slow and even out as they drifted off to sleep.
I remember thinking that this was a good idea after all.
Sometime later in the night, the forest went completely quiet.
At first, I tried telling myself that forests were supposed to be quiet at night. But, I got this weird feeling in my chest like something bad was about to happen.
And then… I heard something.
It was a crunch outside the tent. The sound of footsteps on dry leaves.
I felt my heart skip a beat as the sound of the footsteps grew louder. The person was walking toward our tent.
I felt the footsteps circle our tent slowly.
I stared into the pitch-black darkness inside the tent, my mind racing through every terrible possibility I’d ever heard about. We were completely alone out here, and there was no cell signal to call for help.
I told myself to stay calm and think rationally.
But fear doesn’t really listen to reason.
The footsteps stopped right outside the tent entrance.
I felt Patrick shift beside me in his sleep. Clara pressed closer to me, and I realized she was awake too.
Then came the sound that I know I’ll never forget for as long as I live.
The zipper on our tent started moving slowly.
It moved a few inches, paused like whoever was doing it wanted to be careful, then moved again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled my kids as tight against me as I possibly could. My entire body went completely rigid. I didn’t scream even though every instinct told me to. I couldn’t seem to make any sound come out.
All I could think was, please don’t open it all the way, please don’t open it, please just go away.
I wasn’t ready for what happened next.
“Please,” a man whispered from just outside. “I’m sorry. I thought this tent was empty. I didn’t think anyone was in here.”
I opened my eyes slowly as my heart pounded against my chest.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he said quickly, and I could hear panic threading through his words now. “I swear to God. I’m just lost, and I’m freezing out here.”
At that point, I couldn’t speak.
My hand shook violently as I reached for the flashlight I’d left near the tent entrance, and I flicked it on with trembling fingers. I aimed it toward the tent door without fully unzipping it, keeping my children behind me.
The beam of light landed on a man standing a few feet back from our tent.
He looked absolutely terrible.
He was shaking from head to toe, his jacket torn in several places. His face was pale beneath a scruffy, unkempt beard. His hands were red and raw-looking, with knuckles scraped bloody like he’d been grabbing onto rocks or tree bark.
When the light hit him, and he saw me with the kids, his eyes went wide.
“Oh my God,” he said. “There are kids in there. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
He immediately stepped backward and raised his hands.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ll leave right now. I didn’t mean to scare you or your kids.”
Something in his voice stopped me from screaming.
“Don’t come any closer to this tent,” I said.
“I won’t,” he promised quickly. “I swear I won’t.”
He told me his name was Jeff and that he’d gone hiking earlier that day with some friends. He had taken a wrong turn somewhere before sunset, trying to find what he thought was a shortcut.
