2021 Results: Beartooth Anthony’s Halloween Campfire Story Contest

Thank you all so much for participating in Beartooth Anthony’s Halloween Campfire Short Story Contest.

We received an overwhelming number of excellent stories. We had entries from Japan, The Netherlands, Demark, Greece, and even Kenya! There were so many entertaining stories. Our sincerest thanks for the entertainment!

This year, the judges selected Big Freak, by Leanne Edelen from Louisville Kentucky, as the winning story.  Congratulations Leanne, enjoy the Eno DoubleNest® Hammock, and bragging rights.

You’ll find the winning story, and a few others, below.  Happy Halloween!

Short and Sweet (Honorable Mention)

Brenna made us feel as though we were sitting around the campfire with her. It was short and sweet, and felt like a classic campfire story.

“The Old Man”

by Brenna Enos

A young couple, recently married, had decided to honeymoon at the campground where they had first met three years before. It was a place filled with happy memories of forest picnics and shy declarations of love.

Though the campground was large, only two other spaces were occupied. One housed a family of five, and the mother had eagerly introduced herself to the newlyweds as soon as their tent had been set up. The other space was being used by an old man, who ignored the other campers completely and stayed in his tent all day. He made the young wife nervous, but her husband assured her that they would be safe. Still, her mind wasn’t eased until her doting husband offered to stand guard outside of the tent.

It was a brisk October evening, the bright light of the moon bathing everything in its cool glow. Every so often, a cloud would briefly cover the moon, and the woods would be thrust into darkness. It was an eerie effect. The man sat on a folding chair and held a large stick, ready to swing it at any suspicious movement in the bushes. After several hours of nothing happening, he began to feel quite ridiculous. The old man wasn’t going to bother them, he decided, so he crawled into the tent and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, his wife was upset with him for not staying out all night to guard, but forgave him when she saw that nothing bad had happened to them. After leaving the tent, they noticed the old man had apparently left early in the morning. Strangely, he had left his tent behind.

They spent the afternoon with the family, playing with the three small children and chatting with the parents. The couple mentioned their confusion about old man’s sudden departure, but the family brushed off their concerns. At campgrounds, they explained, there were always strange sorts of people like that. When evening came, the mother invited the couple to stay for dinner. They happily accepted the invitation and sat down at a picnic table to eat.

The father brought two delicious smelling burgers out from the grill and right onto the plates. They didn’t stop to think it was strange that they were the only ones eating, and they were soon finished.

The children were giggling to themselves as they watched the couple eat. “What’s so funny?” the man asked, smiling. “We know where the old man went!” they answered excitedly, collapsing in fits of laughter. “Well, where did he go?” the woman asked.

“You ate him!”

 

We Won’t be Sleeping Tonight (Honorable Mention)

Another good campfire style scary story. The ending made us smile.

“Night Terrors”

by Autumn Baker

The girls giggled and rocked back and forth on the log, their bodies a mass of fidgeting limbs.

“Tell us a story, Maddie, tell us a story!”

Madeline gazed into the fire. She was transfixed at how the flames seemed to caress some
pieces of wood but engulf others.

“You want a story?” She asked.

The girls giggled again and all nodded, shushing one another as they prepared.

“All right. I’ll give you a story.”

“It was a night like this one, dark and clear. The air was a little crisper, but the leaves were still
on the trees, and the moon was a little duller, but the stars shone like they do tonight. It was
later, much later, than it is now. It was so late that the campfire no longer even smoldered, and
you could reach through the ashes without so much as singing a finger.

“The night was quiet and calm, almost too calm. Other counselors would tell you that this was
the type of night that ghosts come out to haunt or fairies come out to dance, but they’d be
wrong. Ghosts don’t haunt on clear nights, and fairies love the fire. Something comes out,
though. Someone comes out.

“It was last summer that I saw it. I was doing the last shift of rounds before bed, making sure all
the shutters were locked and all the lights were out. It was just me and the crunch of sticks
under my feet. I decided to make one last stop at the outhouse before bed. It’s the same one we
have now, down the winding path into the woods. But it wasn’t the same one I found.

“I didn’t notice at first that the path was longer than I remembered. It wasn’t until I came to the
fork in the road that I realized that something was wrong. The outhouse path didn’t fork, even
though I was positive that I had gone down the right trail. Yet my flashlight showed me two
identical paths, each stretching into blackness, each menacing in their own way.

“Confused, I turned around, thinking I would just go back to the camp and find the right trail. But
when I turned around, there were two paths there too, even though I had only been walking one.
I stood at the center of a large X, trails extending in four directions like limbs to be quartered. In
a moment of clarity, I was overwhelmed with the sense that I hadn’t found this place in the
woods, but that it had found me.

“I chose the path I thought I had come down and started walking. It curved in ways I didn’t
remember, but I was scared to turn around and be faced with another split in the road. The
darkness was doing something to my mind and moving creatures filled the sides of my vision,
transforming into leaves and rocks under the beam of my flashlight. I couldn’t shake the feeling
that every step I took, every nursery rhyme I whispered under my breath to keep me safe, was
being watched. Soon, I was convinced that I wasn’t being watched at all, but that I was being
hunted.

“I don’t know how long I walked before I came to the second fork. I was nearing panic now,
since I was certain that I should have at least run into the lake or the cabins, but I forced myself
to stay calm. I studied these two much closer, but they didn’t seem to be any more suspicious
than the ones before. I decided that I must be imagining things and had simply taken the wrong
path, but when I turned around the trail I was walking was gone. It had vanished into thin air, a
thick grove of trees taking its place.

“Having no choice, I had to go on. I went left, deciding that if I went left at enough forks I would
eventually emerge from this maze. On and on I went, slowly curling towards the inside of this
puzzle, and the night steadily got so cold I could see my breath. The leaves underfoot began to
get crackly with frost, and the silence grew more eerie as even the wind seemed to hold its
breath.

“Finally, I saw a light at the end of the path, orange like a candle. I gave a sigh of relief, certain
that I was finally back at the campsite. My relief was short-lived as I grew closer, however. The
trail curved away from the light up ahead, leading back into the inky abyss of the woods and
away from my last flicker of hope. As I drew perpendicular to the light, I paused, gazing at its
steady shape through the trees. It was a beacon calling me home. I was sure of it. It was a
lifeline to save me from this endless nightmare of twists and turns.

“I knew it was wrong, everything in me told me not to do it, but in one way it was just another
fork in the road. I thought of a hundred hikers who had been mauled by bears like this, or had
fallen off of cliffs and disappeared forever, but the light was right there. I wouldn’t even lose sight
of it as long as I focused. I took a deep breath and stepped off the trail.

“Nothing happened. No monsters jumped out at me, no bears came lumbering by. I took another
step, then another, and risked a glance behind me. The trail was still there, now three steps
away, as simple as it should have been all along. Confident now, I continued my journey toward
the light, allowing myself to relax a bit.

“The light didn’t change as I got closer. Then, between one blink and the next, there were two
lights. It was like it had spawned another from nothing. I got closer, and the two lights morphed
into three, and then four, and then five. I was nearly at them now, but I had lost count of how
many there were.

“They were candles, like I had initially thought, but it wasn’t the campsite. There was a vast ring
of them, melted into tree stumps and leaning on rocks. They encircled a small ditch, the beams
of their light never quite reaching the bottom, and shone so brightly it was like a stadium. Tree
roots snaked their way inside the shadow like veins. Everything was as still as the night around
me, but I thought I could sense another heartbeat nearby, like how you know the person next to
you is awake but can’t tell how. I just knew that whatever had been watching me before was
waiting for me here, inside this pit.

“The candles went out like someone had flicked off a switch. The suddenness of it froze me, so
much so that I dropped my flashlight. The soft thud of it hitting the forest floor sounded like
cymbals crashing and the resulting silence was deafening.

“Slowly, almost luxuriously, I began to hear something over the pounding of my own heart. It
was a soft sucking sound, like a corner of a stream being caught by a rock. It slurped in deep,
unhurried beats. If I had been at home, it would have almost sounded like someone breathing,
but wet.

“It took two excruciatingly long minutes for my eyes to start to adjust to the dim light of the
moon. I saw it reflect off the antlers first, catching their smooth edges like blades of knives. They
bobbed up and down in time with the sound, like it was the thing that was drinking. My eyes
adjusted a bit more, and I began to see the head, the body, the tucked hind legs, and the tail.

“It was a deer. I could see its thick neck moving as it drank deeply. It didn’t seem to notice that I
was there, since I had been frozen with fear, and not even its ears flicked with insecurity.

“It was the hands that I noticed next. The deer reached its arms forward, each disturbingly
human in proportion, and cupped liquid out of a mass at the center of the ditch. Thick liquid and
viscera dripped in globs down its wrists, but enough was cupped in its wide palms to bring to its
lips and drink. My eyes began to water with terror as I watched the liquid slide down the
exposed jawline, the white bone stained dark.

“It didn’t have the jaw of a deer. It didn’t have the teeth of a deer either. The creature dipped
their hands again and drank, its face splitting into a horrific grimace after every swallow. Its head
turned to me and it didn’t smile, but it didn’t have to. It had no skin left on the bottom part of its
head, nothing to conceal itself with. Its eyes were unmistakably a deer’s, but that was where the
similarity ended.

“It wasn’t a deer anymore.

“All I can remember after that was running. I ran back the way that I had come, not daring to
stop long enough to see if it was following. I ran past the mossy trees, past the cursed footpath,
and past the ivy on the other side. I ran even though the undergrowth ripped my jeans and
spider webs caught my face. I ran until I couldn’t see and couldn’t breathe, then I kept running.
“I didn’t see the wall of the cabin until I ran into it. The sound of my impact alerted the
counselors inside and after a few minutes of confusion I was back in my cabin, hands shaking
over a cup of tea. I tried to explain what had happened, but I could see that they didn’t believe
me. After all, I was saying that I had been gone for hours, and when I checked the clock I had
only been gone five minutes.

“It wasn’t until the next morning that we realized the camp host’s dog had disappeared in the
night as well. We searched all day, but as soon as the sun set I made everyone come back to
the camp and we never saw the dog again.”

The girls were silent, gripping each other now like they might melt away if they didn’t. Maddie
was looking at the campfire again, face neutral.

“That’s not really a real story, is it?” One of the girls said after a moment, her voice small. The
other girls watched Maddie closely, hoping for any hint of humor.

Maddie looked each of them in the face, almost as if testing them in her mind for if they could
handle the truth. Then her gaze drifted up to something that seemed hidden in the dark in the
trees past their heads.

“It’s time to go to bed.”

 

I’ve Had Enough! (Runner-Up)

A story of vengeance.

“Molly’s Haunted Pumpkins”

by Madeline Murphy

It was the day before Halloween.  A tractor chugged slowly onto the town square. The tattered weather-worn farmer dressed in old overalls, a red flannel shirt, and a scrappy straw hat, jumped down. The pumpkin in her cart was white as a graveyard ghost.  It stood about six feet tall and looked to weigh about 3000 pounds.

Farmers from around the county had gathered to enter their prize pumpkins in the Humongous Halloween Pumpkin Competition. Farmer Henry was more than a little worried about the size of that ghost pumpkin. His pumpkins had won first prize at the competition five years in a row. He was curious to know who this farmer was.

“Nice pumpkin you’ve got here. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Henry”, said the farmer as he helped strap and lift the pumpkin off the cart.

“Name’s Molly,” she answered.

“Haven’t seen you around,” said Farmer Hazel, “Where’s your farm?”

“Over near the creek,” murmured  Farmer Molly, who did not seem to like small talk.

Farmer Hazel knew of no farm near the creek, although she had seen the remains of an old cottage there. And, someone had put up a scarecrow for fun.

“That place is so overgrown with weeds, and the thicket is so dense. How do you grow anything?” Farmer Hazel asked.

Molly stared at Hazel, her eyes red-rimmed and piercing, set in a round crinkled face.  She chuckled, baring a mouth full of decaying, yellow teeth. Then she shuffled away.

Without even a “thank you” or “goodbye,” she climbed back on her tractor and left the way she came. Farmer Molly was a bit weird and oddly familiar. The townsfolk did not know what to make of her.

On Halloween Day, the judges went about their business of measuring the pumpkins to see which farmer had grown the largest one.  The townsfolk enjoyed the day, admiring the pumpkins and anxiously awaiting the winner. Several hours later, the judges made their decision.   Farmer Molly’s Ghost pumpkin won first prize. Farmer Henry was not very happy that his pumpkin was the first runner-up.

Farmer Molly had missed the judging and was nowhere to be found. Farmer Henry grumbled, “How rude of her. Coming from nowhere to steal my ribbon and not even showing up.” The townsfolk were secretly happy that someone other than Farmer Henry had won first prize. But, they agreed that it was bizarre of Farmer Molly to enter her pumpkin and not be there for the judging.

They placed the monstrous pumpkin in the middle of the town square.  Its blue ribbon was prominently displayed for all to see.  The giant pumpkins added to the town’s Halloween spirit.  The townsfolk decorated with green witches, hairy spiders, boney skeletons, and flapping bats, making the place look haunting.

Children came from all over to trick-or-treat. Unfortunately, there were troublesome kids from the next town who enjoyed Halloween mischief a bit too much. “I saw some pumpkins over by the creek’, said Hugo, who was the youngest and the leader of the group. “Let’s go have some fun!”

“Yeah!” said the gang, picking up sticks along the way. When they got to the creek, they were surprised to see how expansive the pumpkin patch was. It had grown among the shrubs and spindly trees and deep into the nearby woods. At the farthest end stood the weather-worn Scarecrow with its old overalls, red flannel shirt, and its scrappy hat.

“Smash ’em!” Hugo yelled as they ran through the field, stomping on the pumpkins and bashing them with their sticks.

All of a sudden, swirling hurricane winds blew through the pumpkin patch, bearing down on the children. Pushing, shoving them out of the field as they struggled to stay on their feet. “STOP KILLING MY PUMPKINS!” bellowed a ghastly gravelly voice. Some fell and tried to crawl away through the gooey pumpkin guts, while the others raced as fast as they could back to town.

Once out of the haunted field, the gang stopped to catch their breath. Despite the hair-raising ordeal, they were ready to continue the business of Halloween.  They watched as the younger children went door-to-door, making their bags fat with treats. Then they’d snatch them and run, leaving the little kids crying.

By nightfall, the little ones were safe at home. The hoodlums sat on the fence behind an old abandoned barn and dug into their stolen loot. Suddenly they heard a rumbling from over the hill—Booming, thundering, rumbling louder, louder, closer. The gang scrambled off the fence and ran stumbling into the barn. But then, just as suddenly, the rumbling stopped. There was dead silence. “What a w-weird n-night!” a rattled Hugo exclaimed. The rest of the gang agreed.

Finally, when the night seemed settled, Hugo whispered, “All’s clear. Let’s go.” The gang sprinted out of the barn. Wary of what could happen next, they were nonetheless ready for more mischief.

Halo, one of the girls in the gang, crept silently up to Farmer Henry’s porch. Just as she was about to grab one of the pumpkins, the pumpkin grabbed her! Its tentacle-like vine whipped out, wrapping itself around her ankles. ‘Ahhhhhhhhh!” she shrieked,  falling with a thump!  She tried to scream again, but the pumpkin crammed scratchy vine leaves into her mouth, then dragged her to the center of town.

It happened at every house where the gang went to smash pumpkins. The pumpkins attacked the kids and dragged them to the center of town.  Vine leaves muffled their screams.

Now, there were two phases to the pumpkin competition. The first one was finding the largest pumpkin in the county. The second one was making pumpkin pies from the winning pumpkin. Traditionally, the winning pumpkin would be sledgehammered the day after Halloween.  Anyone wanting to compete in the contest would take a piece home and make it into pumpkin pie.

The next day, the townsfolk once again gathered at the square. This year the judging panel decided that the person to wield the sledgehammer would be the runner-up.   Farmer Henry, being the runner-up, clutched the sledgehammer. “Ready and happy to do it,” he smirked.

Again, Farmer Molly was nowhere to be seen. Everyone agreed that maybe she did not want to watch her prize pumpkin destroyed.

Farmer Henry swung the hammer high over his head and came down hard on the Ghost pumpkin. He did this again and again. The pumpkin rocked back and forth. “Stop!” hollered Farmer Hazel running to the pumpkin.

Then the townsfolk could hear what she had heard, frantic thumping coming from inside. They were horrified!  The braver ones surrounded the massive pumpkin, pulling on its flesh to expose the source of the noise.

Arms, legs, heads began to spill out, still attached to human bodies. In total, they rescued six children from inside the ghost pumpkin. The same children who had been running amuck on Halloween, causing havoc.

“How could this have happened?” the townspeople asked, but the hoodlums were too afraid even to speak. “I know,” said Mrs. Hawkins, who owned the general store in town. “Let’s look at my surveillance  video from last night.” Everyone gathered in the store as Mrs. Hawkins ran the video. They gasped in disbelief.

The townsfolk watched demon pumpkins rolling into town and settling on everyone’s property. They saw how the pumpkins attacked the children who had tried to smash them. The pumpkins then dragged them to the monster pumpkin.  Finally, they saw how the giant Ghost pumpkin opened a cavernous mouth and swallowed the children whole.

The townsfolk gathered their pitchforks and torches and headed for the creek. Farmer Molly had to explain what was going on with her possessed pumpkins!

They reached Farmer Molly’s pumpkin patch and noted the devastation the children had left behind. They walked through the mushy pumpkin guts and up to the figure standing in the center of the field who they thought was Farmer Molly.

“Farmer Molly!” Farmer Henry shouted. He was the brave one of the bunch. “Explain yourself. What is happening here?!”

The figure lifted its head, stared at the crowd, and let out a deep, loud moan. The people were terrified by this apparition. It was the Scarecrow come to life.

The children ran screaming in terror and hid. The Scarecrow dropped from her perch and took a step forward as the crowd took a step back. They were so frightened they forgot they had their pitchforks and torches at the ready.

“Molly! Molly, come out right now!” demanded Farmer Hazel, encouraged by Henry’s bravado.

“I stand in front of you,” answered the Scarecrow. “Do you not recognize me?”

The townsfolk cringed at the idea that Farmer Molly and the Scarecrow were one and the same.

“I am here to avenge all the pumpkins that have suffered because of these bratty children!” roared the Scarecrow. “THEY HAVE HAD ENOUGH!” “Arise my beauties and ATTACK!!”

The pumpkins lifted themselves high on their vines. Scooping up the guts of their fallen comrades, they launched them at the townsfolk.

“GET OUT OF MY PUMPKIN PATCH!” screeched the Scarecrow.  With pumpkin mush hitting their backs and tangling in their hair, the townsfolk ran for their lives.

“NEVER RETURN HERE!” The Scarecrow howled, “OR I WILL HAUNT YOU FOREVER!” She grabbed the broom she had been perched on and flew after the fleeing townsfolk.

Back at the square, the townsfolk caught their breath, relieved that Molly and her possessed pumpkins did not leave the field to follow them. They made the children promise never to go back there again and also to be respectful of the beautiful pumpkins that grew every year.

Everyone was cleaning the remains of the ghost pumpkin from the town square when Farmer Hazel noticed an ancient copy of the town’s newspaper amongst the mush. The headline read, “Old Farmer Molly Scrow, a known witch, found lifeless in her pumpkin patch near the creek.” The story explained that Farmer Molly had slipped in some smashed pumpkins and hit her head on her prize giant pumpkin. The incident happened 100 years ago on Halloween night.

Now the townsfolk understood why Farmer Molly had come back to exact her revenge on the town. They hoped that Farmer Molly knew they had learned their lesson.

And as for the pumpkin pie contest, Farmer Hazel had the honor of putting the sledgehammer to Farmer Henry’s prize pumpkin. After all the shenanigans surrounding the Ghost pumpkin, it was disqualified. Farmer Henry received his sixth first prize. Everyone was okay with that and happy to make their pumpkin pies.

 

Things are not as They Appear (2021 Winning Campfire Story)

An truly entertaining story with an unexpected twist.

“Big Freak”

by Leanne Edelen

Charlie’s stomach lurched along with the bus, but he was unsure if the reaction stemmed from the motion or from what he just read on his iPhone.

The blog still glowed on his screen followed by a picture of a man’s hand holding a tuft of wiry hair, the color of dark burning embers, with the words BEHOLD THE PROOF written under it.

Charlie leaned against the seat and shook his head before swiping the screen back to his music app.  Seconds later, tinny chimes echoed in his ears alerting to a new text message.

You seen Big Freak’s blog yet?  glowed on the screen next to the name of his stepbrother, Will.

Yup.  Just read it.  Geez!  Charlie answered him.

Are you there yet?  Will asked.

No,  I’m still on the bus. Charlie replied.

Stinks to be you man, going from Big Jerk to Big Freak. It’s only for Spring Break, though.  You got this. Will replied.

Charlie swallowed hard and focused on his music app again. A country music song was playing.   The singer told the story of a bar fight caused by one man disrespecting another and instantly Charlie’s mind flashed back to last Saturday night with Keith (aka Big Jerk).  Charlie saw himself almost as if he were starring in a movie.   He watched as he braced his back against the locked door of his bedroom, saw his eyes clenched, one hand clinging to his iPhone and the other flat against the door helping keep it shut.   Charlie’s head bounced against the door with every punch and kick launched at it from the other side.

He could hear Keith’s booming voice through the door, “That’s the last time I tell you to not leave your skateboard in the driveway.  The next time I’m gonna send you packing to live with your clown of a father.  Your mom isn’t worth all I have to put up with you!”

“My mom was better off with a clown than a fool like you!” Charlie squeaked barely loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door.

“What did you just say?”  Keith bellowed as he beat the door even harder.

Charlie wanted to call his mom but couldn’t both brace the door and dial her number.  So, he leaned into the door with all his might until Keith got tired and stomped away, muttering “You’re not even worth it.”

After a few minutes, when Charlie was certain that Keith was gone, he slid down the door, sat with his back still pressing against it and texted Will.  His fingers, which had finally stopped shaking from fear, now tingled with the rage that was pulsing through his body.

Big Jerk just went berzerk over a stupid skateboard.  His message read.

Yeah, dude.  That’s why I had to get out of there.  Plus, he wasn’t gonna keep letting me live there after I bloodied his nose.  LOL.  Will replied a few minutes later.

I wish you didn’t leave.  Charlie texted, tears running down his face.

Don’t worry man.  I’m not like your dad.  I didn’t leave you.  I just got a new address. 🙂  I’m still around for you.  Plus, I’m not a complete dork like him.  LOL.  Will texted back.

Charlie felt a little better but could still feel the rage inside of him.  He walked over to his dresser mirror and wiped his tears from his face, scoffing at the three newly grown chest hairs peeking out of his v-neck t-shirt and willed himself to calm down.  It took him all evening to find that calm.  A calm that only came after carrying out a little vengeance by brushing the dog’s teeth with Keith’s toothbrush.

Halfway through the canine dentistry, he heard someone clear their throat behind him.  The blood drained from his face as he turned to find, luckily, his mother looking down on him.

“Charlie!”  she said in an emphatic but whispered voice.  “You are out of control!  Keith called me and told me what happened.   We talked about it, and we think it’s best if you go spend some time with your father for a while.”

Charlie didn’t believe she meant it until the car stopped at the Greyhound bus station, she got out, gave him his ticket and got back in the car.

Before they drove off, Keith leaned over her from the driver’s seat and said, “Maybe after being with the Big Foot Fanatic, you’ll appreciate me a little more.”

Charlie’s mind snapped out of the memory as the bus plowed through an asphalt field of potholes.  His knuckles turned white on the hand holding his iPhone.  Finally, the bus turned into a gravel lot and slid into a stop.  He grabbed his bag, shoved his phone in his pocket, stood up, swallowed hard and walked off with his shoulders and head down.

A group of people stood in a gravel opening in front of the main parking lot awaiting the arrivals.  Charlie’s eyes darted through the small crowd but were unable to see his father.  With his dad standing six feet seven inches tall and weighing only about one hundred sixty pounds, he stood out like a lamp post.   He could not be overlooked.   Hope sprang in Charlie’s chest.   Maybe his father wasn’t coming to get him.  Maybe he would call his mom and say that he was stood up.   She would have to buy him a ticket home and Keith would just have to deal with it.

Charlie walked to the ticket window and started to ask when the next bus back home was leaving when he saw the reflection of the 1963 Volkswagen Bus in the glass.  It announced itself with the simultaneous sounds of the antique stereo blaring George Thorogood’s Bad to the Bone and the hard crunch of gravel heralding its sudden stop.

A lump formed in Charlie’s throat as he and everyone else turned around to find his father unfolding his large, lanky frame from the driver’s seat.   The Volkswagen was worse than he remembered.  Since last summer, his dad had added a large graphic covering the side of the antique minibus.  The graphic featured a shadowy, large, ape-like figure lurking in a wooded area and the words Myth Hunter scrawled in huge, lightning-bolted text.

A long thin arm waving high up in the air brought his attention back to his father.

“Charlie.  Over here!  Charlie!” his dad yelled.

Charlie wiggled a couple fingers in his dad’s direction and shuffled over to the waiting man.

“I’m so glad to see you, son.  We are going to have an incredible week together.  I’ve got lots planned for us.”  his dad said, embracing a very stiff Charlie.  “Come on.  Get in, so we can start the fun.”

Charlie went around to the passenger side of the mini-bus and was mortified to find another graphic.  The passenger side door was adorned with a life-sized image of a bigfoot monster in a sit-down position.  As an added bonus, the graphic only included the shoulders down of the bigfoot.  Once a lucky passenger was seated in the car, their head would complete the picture.  Charlie put his chin to his chest, opened the door and sat down.

The drive to his dad’s remote cabin was about fifteen minutes from the bus station.  Most of the trip was spent in silence.  When the minibus drove off onto the last road, a dirt road, his dad cleared his throat and gave Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze before saying, “So your mom says you’ve been angry lately, expressing yourself loudly, having a bit of a smart mouth.  I know you are not getting along too well with the guy she married.  Now is this fellow being a schmuck or something?”

“His name is Keith, Dad.  Keith.  And he is a complete dirtbag.”  Charlie blurted.  “But there’s nothing you can do about it.  He’s a really big guy.”

“Ouch!”  His dad said playfully, “I might not be able to change who your mom married, but I can certainly help you with how you choose to handle it.  You know I’ve dealt with anger problems a little myself and I have a pretty good system of how to calm down.  It’s all about breathing and counting, son.”  His father followed this by inhaling deeply through his nose which whistled halfway through and then exhaling with a strong, meditative ‘Ha’ sound.

“One.” his dad announced when his breath had been fully evacuated.  “Now then, try it with me.”  His nose whistled immediately, but Charlie could only look at him with unblinking, wide-open eyes.

“Well, we are going to work on that this week in between having the best time ever!!  It starts tonight.  We are going on a bigfoot hunt together!”  He accelerated the minibus through a shallow creek creating arching waterfalls on each side.  Charlie couldn’t help but smile a little.

They pulled in front of his dad’s cabin.  A large banner draped over the covered porch, reading:

Are you Yeti for Sasquatch? – Myth Hunter Tours

“Oh, yeah.  I forgot to tell you.  I turned the great room into a lobby/museum for the tour company.  Can’t wait till you see it.”  His dad said.

Sure enough, just as he said, the great room that had once featured wicker couches with jungle print cushions, contrasting bean bag chairs and animal print rugs, now exhibited glass cases filled with trivial found items.   Dozens of blurry photographs of ape-like creatures in the woods decorated the wooden beamed walls where Def Leppard hair-band posters once hung.  Charlie peered into one of the cases, his eyes widening with the number of items displayed.  There were plaster-cast impressions of footprints, the tuft of amber hair from last night’s blog, tree bark with strange bite marks, and -he looked closer to make sure- a pile of scat.

He rubbed his forehead and couldn’t help but say, “Dad, do you think you are taking this bigfoot thing a little too far.  I mean, you got rid of your living room and you have poop in a glass box over here.”

His father turned quickly in his direction, his crystal-blue eyes losing their playful glint, “Too far?  Charlie, you need to appreciate this whole experience a little more.  Bigfoot is your heritage.  The business, the advertising, even this cabin will all be yours someday.  Show a little respect, son.”  he paused, then added “I’m starting to really see what your mom is talking about now.”

Charlie opened his mouth to say, “Oh yeah, I’m really the one out of control here.” but decided against it.  Instead, he shut his mouth and pushed the anger down inside him.

“I’ve packed us for the night.”  His dad said a minute later, turning to a day pack on the kitchen floor near the back door.    He picked it up and handed it to Charlie.  “Take a look.  Make sure I’ve thought of everything.”  he instructed.

Charlie unzipped the pack.  He reached his hand in and pulled out military surplus style night-vision binoculars, a flashlight, several plastic bags of varying sizes, bear spray, a two-way radio and goldfish shaped crackers.

Charlie held up the bear spray and crackers to his dad, one in each hand.  “Why these?”

“You use the bear spray for protection if the beast comes your way.  One can of that will admit enough toxic fumes to stop him in his tracks while you get away.   The crackers are your favorite.  Don’t think your dear old dad forgot.”   his dad replied.

“They were my favorite when I was like five, Dad.  I’m fifteen now.”  Charlie said, moving his arms wider apart.

“Ok, I’ll eat them then.  We may be out there all night.”  his dad said moving closer to the food.

“No, no.  I’ll keep them.”  Charlie said putting them back in the bag while ignoring his father’s smirk.

Charlie placed the refilled pack on his back and watched his father slip on his own pack.  The two double-checked their water supplies and headed out the back door.  They hiked through the wooded area behind the cabin for about twenty minutes before coming to a small clearing among the thick trees.

“Let’s build a fire here and cook some dinner before our hunt.”  his father said, taking off his pack and pulling out a bag with hotdogs, chips and marshmallows in it.  “Go see if you can find some firewood.”

Charlie walked around the perimeter of the clearing looking on the ground for fallen wood.  Light was already getting scarce with the evening coming and the trees blocked what little light there was left.  With no luck, he had to venture into the woods.  Flashlight ready and daypack on, he swept the ground with light finding several good fallen branches and pinecones.  Footsteps behind him caused him to freeze in place.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  A low, staticky growl behind him made him drop the wood and whirl around, only to find his father at the edge of the woods watching him with his two-way radio up to his mouth.

“Nice, Dad.”  Charlie spat.  “Real funny.  You are hilarious.”

He picked back up the wood and headed back to the clearing.  His father was smirking again when he arrived.

Charlie slammed the wood on the ground next to the area his father had cleared for the fire.  Some of the branches embedded into the smooth soft ground, but Charlie didn’t care.  His face was red, growing warmer by the minute.

Charlie pulled out his phone and texted Will, Bout to make Big Freak big mad.  He seriously does not know when to stop!

 “I can see you are not too pleased with your dear old dad right now.  Let’s talk about it.”  His dad said.

“Let’s not.”  Charlie replied quickly.

“We really need to, Charlie.”  His dad said as he put the logs in a pyramid shape filling the center with pinecones.  He struck a match and touched it to the cones.  A small flame caught, growing bigger every second. “According to your mom, your anger and behavior are getting out of control.  You are getting out of control. I want you to learn how to control that anger, just like I had to.  I know it sounds silly but breathing exercises are a good tool.  Trust me, anger can really change a person.”

The iPhone buzzed in Charlie’s hand.  Relief washed all the anger away.  Will made everything seem better.  Charlie brought the device immediately to his face to read Will’s reply but was met with only the word – undeliverable.  He shook his head back and forth.

“Can we just eat, Dad?”  Charlie said, gritting his teeth.

“Sure, but we are going to work on this some…” his dad started to say before being interrupted by a high-pitched guttural scream in the distance.  Branches began to snap in the woods.  All other woodland sounds quieted.   Charlie could feel his heartbeat in his throat.  Scream.  Snap, Snap.  It was getting closer.

 Scream.

 Snap, Snap. 

 Scream.

“Wh-what is that?”  Charlie stammered.

“It could be the beast.  Be ready.  It’s coming this way.”  His dad said, not moving a muscle.

Charlie didn’t know how to be ready for the beast.  He grabbed the binoculars and the bear spray from his bag.  He held the binoculars up to his face and saw the branches shaking near where he found the firewood.

The scream was so close now Charlie could feel its vibration in his teeth.  He held up his can of bear spray.   The beast broke through the tree line.  He closed his eyes and depressed the trigger.   A fine mist panned the area.

His father gasped next to him.  Charlie forced himself to open his eyes and look at the tree line.  The giant head of a bull elk looked at both of them as it bent down as if to charge but began sneezing and shaking his head.   It retreated into the woods.

Charlie braced for the painful irritant to invade his nose as well but was instead inundated with the smell of flowery fruit.

“What is that?”  Charlie said.  His eyes narrowed “Dad, was that air freshener in that can?  Did I just give a bull elk a shot of hay fever instead of pepper spray?”

His father looked like a cat with a canary in his mouth, “Um, well, um.  I didn’t really think you would use it.  It was more like a security blanket.  I mean, you can’t really give a weapon like that to your kid.  It would be irresponsible.”

“Irresponsible?  You knew that was an elk call the whole time, didn’t you?”  Charlie interrogated.  His father looked away. “You did.  You let me believe that was a real bigfoot.  Is that your idea of a joke?”

“A joke, no.  It was about you learning control.  Like now, you seem to be getting a little angry.  Now is the time to practice that control.   Let’s breathe together.” replied his dad.

“You talk about getting angry, how could you speak about getting angry when you are never serious?” Charlie yelled.  “You’ve been joking this whole visit.  When aren’t you joking?  I mean, come on, you moved out here to chase imaginary creatures for a living.  You left me for something that doesn’t even exist!  That’s something to get angry about!  You are nothing but a big freak!”

Charlie’s arms and legs began to tingle.  His face was getting warmer by the second.  He looked at the opening in the trees left by the elk and ran into it, escaping to the dark woods.   He could hear his father, finally enraged, screaming, “Charlie, get your behind back here.  I had to leave.  My anger was getting out of control!”

Charlie didn’t care.  His hand was still clutching his phone, using it as a flashlight while simultaneously trying to dial Will’s phone number as he ran.   It connected on the third try, but his call went straight to voicemail.

“Will, things are not good here with my dad.   I need your help.”  he panted into the phone.

He ran for maybe five more minutes and stopped in a small clearing by a fallen tree to catch his breath.  Other than Charlie’s labored gasps, it was eerily silent in the woods, not a leaf blowing or owl hooting.  He scanned his flashlight around and found nothing alarming.  So, he bowed his head, trying to decide what to do next.  His flashlight panned the ground.  It wasn’t smooth like their campsite, instead it was cratered with what looked like footprints, but unlike any man would make.

Charlie let out a loud shriek.  The woods took the cue and began to make noise again.  Branches breaking and large, heavy breaths sounded all around him.  Charlie wanted to run but stood frozen.  No direction seems safe.  He just stood there with his phone in hand, the flashlight still activated, shining on the trees in front of him.  The trees that were now shuddering as hard as he was, as the large hairy hand parted them.

A scream that would have given that elk a run for its money escaped Charlie’s mouth as the humongous ape-like creature emerged into the little clearing.  It turned its head left then right, searching for something.  Charlie closed his eyes, praying for invisibility.   He could taste the beads of sweat from his upper lip.  The heavy thud of each footstep rattled inside his eardrum.  He forced his eyes back open.  It was walking towards him.

Charlie’s flashlight illuminated its massive barrel chest, wide strong shoulders and crystal-blue eyes.  Stopping within two feet of him, the beast lowered its head bringing itself face-to-face with the boy.

It opened its mouth, revealing large canine teeth big enough to split wood.  Charlie could feel the heat of its breath.  He cringed, preparing for the attack.  However, instead of biting him, the beast said, “Son, we really need to talk about your anger, at your age now it can really affect you.  It can totally change how you appear to people.”

“Wh-what?” Charlie stammered as the phone in his hand vibrated with a call back from Will.  He looked down but didn’t answer it.  He was too distracted by tufts of wiry hair, the color of burnt embers, beginning to emerge out of his own hand.

Until Next Year

Thank you all, again, for participating.

As an outdoor blog, a writing contest is a little outside of our scope, and we really have a lot of fun reading your creative stories.

We hope writing these stories gets you into the Halloween spirit, and motivates you to continue to enjoy the great outdoors!

Until next year, happy trails.