I loved camping as a kid, and nature in general, but especially camping. The woods, the sounds of birds, sleeping in tents, campfires, a lot of people in my family hated it but I could never get enough.
So I was six when this happened, my parents were going through a messy divorce - my dad had cheated on my mom - and my older sister had decided to take me camping. She knew how much I loved it and wanted to make me feel better.
She had apparently settled on a spot deep in the woods - I always loved it deep in the forest as a child, the deeper the better. It was late when we got there so we immediately set up a tent. After doing this we started a campfire and, like a cartoon, it almost immediately started pouring with rain. we scurried into our tent like a mouse into a hole after seeing a bird of prey. I tried to fall asleep and eventually did.
I awoke with a start at the sound of animalistic grunting. I thought it was a bear and tried to wake my sister.
‘Psst. Hey, Sarah, I think Yogi is outside.’ I whispered. I had been raised on Yogi Bear cartoons, my parents normally put them on to cover up the sound of their fighting.
‘Shut up Dennis.’ she groaned and fell back asleep.
I wanted to see the bear, so I tentatively snuck outside. Still in my green pajamas. That’s when I saw this creature. It was a man, but with the head of a horse. Its eyes glowed a dull yellow.
‘Y-yogi?’ I asked tentatively.
It faced me, made another animalistic yelp, and then everything went black.
I awoke to the sound of birds, but they didn’t have the familiar calls of the birds in the forest. They sounded strange. I remember thinking that they sounded kinda like the parrots in the zoo when I was quickly dragged to my feet and the bullets started.
‘JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KID WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?’ A foul-mouthed man wearing green clothing yelled in my face, his spittle flying into my gaping mouth.
‘Wh-Wheres Yogi?’ I blubbered.
‘WHO? FUCKING HELL KID COME WITH ME!’ he cried and clutched my hand.
We ran through the jungle, bullets whizzing past and slamming into trees, until we fell into a trench. There were other men there, one was screaming and clutching his stomach. The man who grabbed me yelled:
‘NEED A MEDIC HERE! THIS GUY’S FUCKED! GODDAMNED CHARLIE GOT THE DROP ON US! GOT SOME WEIRD KID HERE!’
I peeked over the trench and saw a bullet slam into a man’s face, his head exploded. The man who grabbed me forced me back down, screaming something about ‘wanting to get my head blown off.’
I’m sixty-three now, and no one believes me. I can barely remember that encounter all those years ago, so I maybe have a few details wrong. I was born in 2019, and I’m apparently about to celebrate my third and sixty-fourth birthdays simultaneously. Command sent me back from Vietnam nearly as quickly as that weird creature sent me in. When I got back to America I was placed in foster care, they assumed that all my blabbering about Yogi bear was from shock. Before you ask, no I haven’t met myself. I thought about it and eventually decided against it.
If you’re reading this Sarah, please know that your brother loves you.