I’m a big fan of the euphemism game. Seems like everything I do has some kind of euphemism attached to it. If I talk to someone, I’m soliciting. If I sit down, well, I’m loitering. If I have to take a leak somewhere and I don’t buy something, well, that’s trespassing. I think the only thing I do that doesn’t have a euphemism attached to it is living in the forest, but even on a long enough time frame, that too becomes illegal.
I’m the ghost that this world forgot, the specter of a man content to hide from the scrutiny of the public eye, the metropolitan refugee without a welcoming camp towards which to run. That’s all just a fancy way to say that I have no home, of course, but unlike many of the downtrodden and impoverished, I have something most don’t, and that’s my truck. It’s a lifeline and a blessing, both a means of conveyance and shelter from the world around me, and I put it to good use. When I’m not going to food banks or dumpster diving within the city limits, I’m out in the woods alone, finding the deepest and loneliest corners in which I can hide away and be left to my own devices.
It’s a lonely life, just me and the dog and the endless expanses of tree, canyon, and stream, and only when my rugged truck begins to struggle in spite of the four wheel drive do I even think of beginning to look for a place to strike up residence for the month. You see, I’ve been here in these woods far past the welcome limit for a casual weekend camper, but I have nowhere else to go, so deeper into the lonely vales where nobody treads do I push, seeking my refuge from a civilized world that turned me out years ago.
Now, usually, the further out you go, the more pristine it gets. The places untouched by man stand in stark contrast to the woodlands everyone visits. Pulling in from the highway, you’ll see the trash and detritus of people who don’t care for the wilds. Beer cans and cigarette butts are some of the largest offenders, to be sure, but even then, there’s no shortage of toilet paper streaking in the breeze or plastic bags picked up by a wayward wind that their former owners were too lazy to secure, let alone chase. Never mind the detritus of ruined campsites. I don’t quite understand what it is, but when camping gear fails, I’ve seen all too many people leave it behind for the woodlands to claim. Broken tents and torn tarps and waterlogged sleeping bags and all sorts of things. I can’t complain too much, of course. I’ve scavenged some decent gear from the abandoned detritus and cobbled together a halfway decent kit for myself. Picking up the trash has probably won me some brownie points with the rangers who do see me coming and going from time to time. Of course, once you pass that near-civilized threshold into wilderness, all the careless litter rapidly disappears, and you are met instead with only pristine woodland. Still, it’s not far enough, so even deeper I delve til the transmission screams and the engine groans with the strain and the cell signal has long since cut out hours ago.
I was well beyond a series of roads and switchbacks which would give even an avid ATV driver pause. You can imagine my surprise then when I roared around the corner of a stony outcropping and found myself pulling up to a campsite at the mouth of an ancient ravine carved into the mountainside. This was new territory to me. I always chose a different place to strike camp whenever I came back from town, not wanting to linger in the same place too long and draw unwanted attention from the rangers to myself. Well, slowly, I rolled by that camp, thinking that this was somebody’s stuff, maybe a hunter or a hiker or someone who was actually rough and tumble enough to make it this far back on foot, and that I shouldn’t interfere with it. I couldn’t keep driving and forget about it however. I tapped my brakes and rolled to a stop. A tell-tale column of smoke was coming up from the fire pit, the air above it rippling with the rising heat. It was a sign of live coals still glowing, an unattended hazard both to the health of the forest, and by extension, me, who would be living there for the next month. It had to be extinguished before I could justify going any further.
The creaking hinges of my old truck door were the only human sounds to be heard, the ambiance of the highway lost so many miles ago, and as I stepped out into the dirt and gravel and stone that mixed together to form this old forgotten road beneath my feet, I examined just what was set out before me. A great fire ring made of slate sat in the center of the camp, an ample pile of wood lovingly stacked on one side and kindling gathered upon the other. Maybe 10 feet from the ring, a small bench had been erected out of two tree stumps and some long pieces of pine, a couple of water jugs resting atop it, and a folding shovel balanced on its side. From the nearest tree to the ravine swung a lantern, tethered to one of its lower overhead branches, and higher up swung a bear bag, presumably full of food. A cheap tent sat facing the fire pit, its entrance yawning wide, revealing the contents within. A sleeping bag, soft and decadent lay neatly inside atop a camping pad, its zipper invitingly undone in its corner to reveal the plush interior, its head garnished judiciously with a couple of soft white pillows. Beside it, I could see a hiking backpack, loaded to the gills with the owner’s supplies. A flashlight, a canteen, a map and a compass and a couple granola bars all poked out of the side pockets. The place was immaculate, picture perfect, the ideal conception of a backwoods campsite lovingly staked, waiting for its owner to return.
I called out as I stepped forward into the camp, a long “hello?” deep down from the diaphragm, projecting out over the miles of empty country. I could hear my voice echo back to me multiple times as it disappeared down the mountainside and over the hills, and swarms of birds took to flight as I disturbed the serene and natural peace that they otherwise had uninterrupted to themselves. I turned about and called again, and my voice was swallowed by the open gap of that dark ravine carved into the mountain side, bouncing back to me only once before rounding the corner, never to be heard again. I waited for a moment. There was no reply. Cautiously, I walked to the pit. Inside, glowing embers winked and smoldered, covering the entirety of the ring, deep crimson seeds of flame illuminating the darkness of the shade cast over them. Whatever had been burning in this pit had only burned down recently. The owner of this fire ought to have been in earshot, I mused to myself, unless they stoked it and then left it burning without supervision, but that would have been out of place for someone who seemed both meticulous and experienced, this being evidenced by the construction of their camp.
I resolved to extinguish the coals and get back on the road, and whoever it was that had set up shop here could rekindle their fire whenever they returned. My only job at the moment was to make sure that the forest didn’t burn down with me in it. I walked over to the bench, grabbed one of the water jugs and headed back to the campfire. It took all my resolve not to drop the container, jump into my truck, and keep driving. I cast my eyes over the ground, looking at the footsteps that I had made in the dirt, and it dawned on me that besides the small trail of steps from the truck to the bench, the ground was otherwise undisturbed, both smooth and flat, devoid of indentation from bare foot or boot. There was no conceivable way by which someone could set up this entire place and not leave some mark. I shut my eyes, telling myself that my senses were playing tricks on me, and that if I just looked a little closer when I opened them, I would find the steps of this place’s occupant meandering about the grounds. I took a deep breath and released it steady and slow, telling myself I was getting worked up over nothing, and when at last I had expelled its great length, I opened my eyes and examined the ground before taking even another step. Virgin soil heretofore untrod was all about me, and my stomach wrenched.
I didn’t want to linger there any longer. I shuffled up to the fire pit, opened the water jug, and doused the flames. I headed back to the bench, exchanging the container for the spade. With shovel in hand I returned to work on the coals, stirring them until they no longer sizzled, my head pivoting to scan my surroundings the whole time. Part of me hoped that whoever had set all this up would materialize and put my fears at ease. They’d be an eccentric mountaineer I mused, or a hiker gone deep down the trail, maybe a bit superstitious or even neurotic, and that same neuroticism gave them a point to only flit from protruding rock to protruding rock so as never to leave a trace when they set it all up and went about their business. Something more primal told me that whatever built this place was something best avoided altogether, that the place itself was a lure, an inviting piece of bait upon a deadly trap with all the bells and whistles that one could desire, something which one couldn’t help but investigate or even occupy while they waited for its architect to return and ensnare them. With my work done, I leaned the shovel against the fire ring and walked backwards towards my truck, never once shifting my gaze from the strange camp at the mouth of the ravine until both my dog and I were inside.
With shaking hands I fumbled for the keys in my pockets, but quickly got distracted by the lilting song of my ring tone. I was surprised that in a place this remote I would have any service at all, let alone that anyone would care to call a guy like me. Outside of my dad who I had spoke to just yesterday and maybe a few friends who I called from time to time, I mostly lived a very solitary life devoid of communication with others. I grabbed my phone from the console and the screen came to life. Nobody was calling me. In fact, I didn’t have a single bar of reception, but the song persisted from somewhere outside the truck. Cautiously I glanced back towards the camp to the side of my truck. From inside the tent, a familiar melody came drifting on the breeze. My favorite sang itself back at me.
I had enough. I ripped out my keys and slammed them in the ignition. The engine came to life, drowning out the soulless jingle, and I popped the parking brake and shifted into gear. Slowly I started down the road again, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between me and that strange little camp in the hillside crevasse, resolving that I would not pull over again until at least a few miles had passed.
I know, I probably should have left that area entirely or gone to a completely different forest, something like that, but when you’re a man living on the edge, working with a shoestring budget, even a tank of gas can be a crippling surprise expense. While that place had certainly unnerved me, it hadn’t proven itself terrifying. I had a whole month to whittle away before I would be paid again, and so I resolved that if I put in a little bit of distance between myself and the camp, everything would be fine. Augmented by the fact that the sun would be setting all too soon and that finding a place to pull over can be difficult in the dark, I opted with an out of sight, out of mind policy for the evening. Fortunately, maybe four or five miles down the road, an opportunity presented itself. I pulled over to the side of the road, and there, nestled between two hills was a little pullout large enough to stake a camp. A winding trail worked its way down between the two mountains, and for a moment, I had a flashback to the campsite so many miles ago, but I pushed it out of my mind. What were the odds that every canyon in this stretch of wilderness was connected? Highly unlikely, and at the moment, I had no desire to humor the possibility that this campsite, which would have to serve as my home for the next month, was somehow linked to the peculiar one I had just passed.
The sun was beginning to set. Having been driving all day and nowhere in the mood to fumble around with camping equipment in the dark, I decided instead to sleep in my truck that night. It’s not too bad in there. I have a bench seat, and the dog occupies the floor on the passenger side. The idea of having locked doors also put me at ease, knowing that whoever had struck that camp down the road was still out there. I got to wondering about them again as I got comfortable under my sleeping bag, and from the floor I could hear the soft snoring of my dog. Sleep sounded amazing after the day I had, and so I shut my eyes and rolled over on my side, listening to the sound of my breathing, to the soft rustling of the wind in the trees and the distant, lonely howling of the coyotes somewhere in the hills. Oblivion soon followed, and with it, a fitful rest.
I sat in my tent, wrapped snugly in my sleeping bag, when a vicious crackling caused me to stir. I tried to sit up, but I was paralyzed, as if a great weight had been placed upon my chest and my arms had been bound to the earth. My struggle was as violent as it was futile, elevating my panic and unease. From out the open mouth of the tent, I could see smoke, glowing orange with the tint of the flames that produced it, growing brighter as it drew in close and consumed the woods about me. With a defiant shout, I pulled myself upright, into a sitting position and stared into the night. The fire had been kindled high, and from its glow it illuminated the first few paces of the looming canyon behind it. There in the darkness, two eyes reflected the blaze back at me before beginning their advance.
I woke with a start, struggling to sit upright against the weight now firmly upon my chest, choking out my breath, releasing low growls into the darkness. I cried out as I kicked and wormed in my sleeping bag, banging my feet and head against the respective car doors, and struggled to sit up and free my arms. Whatever it was rolled back into my lap as I managed to get upright, and I reached out my hands to determine the nature of my attacker and subdue them, only to breathe a sigh of relief when I laid my hands upon the warm fur and friendly face of my dog. In the night, he must have wormed his way up off the floor and onto my chest, and I relaxed momentarily. My faculties returned to me however when he cast me an anxious look. I could see in the darkness his hackles were raised all along his back. Then he turned his gaze back out the windshield and stared into the darkness, letting out another low, long growl.
“What is it, Bubs,” I said quietly, and I freed my legs from underneath him and opened up my sleeping bag. It was cold outside, that same miserable chill creeping into the vehicle, and the wind had picked up to a howl. I could hear it whipping through the trees, the long, protracted moan as it came through the ravine just outside of the truck. The dog didn’t relent. Whatever was out there had him on edge, and he stared towards the mouth of the canyon, growling all the louder now that I was awake. I let out a sigh and told him, “easy, big guy, it’s just the wind,” as I ran my hands across his back, staring out the windshield and listening for anything that might be moving around out there. The wind came in gales, cold and unwelcoming, rocking the cab, and a particularly powerful blast came tearing through the vale before subsiding, its moan disappearing into silence, its languid funerary dirge replaced with an inhuman harmony that swelled into a desperate wail from the depths of the canyon. Bubs stopped growling as the somber cry grew louder. He let out a whimper, diving headlong for the floor boards, reduced to a shaking mess beside feet. My blood ran cold as I reached to turn on the headlights, terrified of what strange things lurked out there in the night.
Light flooded the small pullout, pushing beyond it and into the narrow granite corridor, dispelling old shadows and casting new ones that twisted menacingly upon the rocky face of the mountain side. I glared down the abyss. Two bright pinpricks were sheathed in the shadow of a boulder, staring out from the visage of a predatory silhouette. They burned like the smoldering embers of yesterday, a contemplative and devouring hatred, desiring little more than to commune with me through consumption. I tugged the lever to put on the high beams, but between the flashing of the headlight bulbs, those flickering eyes had retreated deeper into the chasm. Its lonesome wail echoed from the austere cliffs before the howling of the wind camouflaged its solemn cry into oblivion.
“It’s just a bobcat,” I said to nobody in particular, trying to convince myself of this truth more-so than actually believing it. As I murmured to myself about wild animals creeping around my truck, I reached under my seat. I kept a pistol handy just in case. Though it was a small caliber and probably would prove relatively ineffective against larger predators, I always believed that it was better than having nothing with which I could defend myself. I examined the chamber before pulling back the slide completely. With my weapon readied, I set it on the dash, and then got comfortable once more under my covers. I reached a hand down to where my dog lay in terror and ran it through his fur, whispering to him to relax and that everything would be okay. I didn’t get back to sleep until the first rays of daylight began to illuminate the sky. I laid there instead, listening to the howling wind, straining my ears over the swirling cacophony that pressed down about me, listening for the telltale moan of whatever lurked in the chasm.
I woke up mid-afternoon. Last night had been long and restless, even for Bubs, and it was easily almost 4pm by the time we woke up, with him pawing at the door to go outside and pee. I sat up, opened it and let him run outside while I took my time crawling out of bed. When I finally kicked off the covers, I stepped out into the clearing. The sun shined brightly without a cloud in the sky, and while the weather was fine I set to work getting camp in order. I started with a fire ring, digging a hole and piling rocks up around it. My next order of business was wood, of which there was plenty on the mountain slope. When at last I was satisfied with that, I strung up a tarp between the trees and the truck so that I had both shade and rain cover. Then, I looked in the back of the truck and debated. I saw my tent sitting in there, but with memories of things creeping in the chasm still fresh in my mind, I decided that I would be sleeping inside the truck with Bubs until further notice. I passed up on the tent and instead started cooking something to eat.
It took me a couple of hours to get it all done, and by that time, the sun was already starting to drift towards the western horizon. With the smell of food came the return of my dog who had taken the opportunity of me staking camp to go and explore the surrounding area to his heart’s content. He came trotting along happily from out of the ravine, a massive bone in his jaws, and I greeted him cheerily. “What you got there, big guy? You find yourself a bonesy, huh?… Aw, crap.” My excitement to see him abated as I examined him. His fur was sticky and matted, reddish-brown streaks emblazoned down his neck and back. He had rolled in something. It didn’t take me long to put two and two together. He had found something dead, covered himself in it, and took a limb for later. I sighed. It was gonna be a dog bath day, but I knew the notion of cleaning him up was vain until I disposed of whatever he had found. I looked at the sun. We still had a little daylight left. Whatever I had to bury, it was very likely that it wouldn’t be done until after dark.
Sleeping at sundown was a foregone conclusion as it was, and at that point, I still very much intended to weather the month on that hillside. Dealing with a carrion-covered dog every day did not rank high on my to-do list. The events of yesterday had become a faint memory, and I, emboldened by rest and daylight, had convinced myself that what I saw must have been a bear or a cougar. Between me and a big dog and a gun I told myself that whatever came our way was already handled. I went back to the truck and loaded up a small pack. A collapsing shovel and some gloves, a bottle of water, a little snack, and a flashlight. I grabbed my pistol from off the dash and put it on my belt, and then, when at last I had made all my preparations, I walked over to my dog and took his bone away. He looked up at me and instantly sat on his butt, expecting me to give him some command so that he could do tricks and get it back. Instead, I threw it in the back of the truck, and then turned to him. I started to get him excited, saying in a cheery voice, “do you want a bone, bud? Huh, well, do ya?” He did a play bow and I said, “alright, let’s go get you a bone Bubs!” I took off towards the chasm with him leading the way, guiding me towards the delicious corpse he had found fit to gnaw on.
I hadn’t realized just how far back that ravine went. After the first couple of twists and turns, it quickly became a box canyon, winding through the mountains. Oppressive walls climbed forth from a gravelly basin, towering to the heavens, their surfaces jagged and sharp. Every so often, a junction would appear where the rains that had carved it out over centuries would split in different directions and continue their eternal flow to lower ground. At these junctions I would pause and judiciously mark the way I came with a small cairn of stones. Bubs would stop and watch me as I did so before merrily leading the way further down the winding maze, believing us to be out for nothing more than an evening walk. I glanced at the sky as we advanced, a jagged blue streak barely visible between the canyon walls, turning a deep violet as the first stars of the evening blinked into existence overhead. I cursed under my breath. Just my luck that I would be navigating this canyon after nightfall, but still, I pushed on, knowing that I had a job to do and I might as well just get it done. I turned on my flashlight and continued to follow Bubs. I was surprised at how far that dog had wandered. We must have gone maybe 2 or 3 miles through the canyon by the time he rounded a sharp corner. I dutifully followed.
The ravine opened up before me, and I paused at the edge of the clearing. A red glow greeted me from a yawning fire pit made of slate. Tongues of flame crept up from the stone ring, illuminating the all too familiar surroundings, and my guts wrenched into knots. An ample pile of wood was lovingly stacked on one side of the fire and kindling gathered upon the other. Maybe 10 feet from the ring, a small bench had been erected out of two tree stumps and some long pieces of pine, a couple of water jugs resting atop it, and a folding shovel balanced on its side. From the nearest tree to the ravine swung a lantern, tethered to one of its lower overhead branches, and higher up swung a bear bag, presumably full of food. A cheap tent sat facing the fire pit, its entrance yawning wide, revealing the contents within. A sleeping bag, soft and inviting lay neatly inside atop a camping pad, but where before the tent had been devoid of an occupant, now out stretched a pair of legs, clad in stained and soiled denim and boots. Bubs walked happily up to the tent and came out, a bone in his mouth, and I struggled to suppress my sickness. Cautiously, I beamed my flashlight towards the tent to take a closer look.
By the looks of him, he had been laying there for some time on the floor of the tent, nestled beside the neatly laid sleeping bag and the pack. Insects swarmed about his face, feasting on rotting flesh. Writhing maggots burrowed deep into an empty socket, contrasting sharply with a glass eye in the other that seemed to stare deep into the now voided pits of my soul. His shirt was in tatters, as if something had attacked him here, opening the cavity of his stomach, his vermicular entrails instead replaced with vermin. His dry and cracked skin was rupturing along the outline of his skeletal structure, and it was from his left arm that Bubs took a bone and came happily trotting out.
He stood in such contrast to the immaculate campsite, that for a moment I had to tell myself that perhaps this was brought in by some outside predator and deposited here, but my theory died with my hope as I observed that the ground was pristine as ever save for the tracks that Bubs and I had made coming in, first yesterday from the road, and now, tonight from the ravine. Not a drag mark or a cougar print was to be seen. It was as if he had always been here, and I, in my haste to investigate the campsite yesterday, had somehow failed to notice the most conspicuous of campground hosts that occupied it. But yet, despite the smooth ground evidencing all lack of motion and the advanced decay of his body, something which would have taken years, everything before me appeared as if it had been bought and set up just yesterday. Last night’s wind storm hadn’t even disturbed it.
I shuddered as I called Bubs back to me and made him drop the bone. Slowly I started to back away towards the box canyon, transfixed on the tent before me, fighting back overwhelming disgust and fear in equal measure. I dared not wrench my eyes from the scene before me until something broke the tense silence that had settled over that small glade. A lilting melody of a familiar ringtone echoed gently off the stone facades, and hearing it again congealed the blood in my veins. What broke my resolve to linger any longer, however, was the sound of a zipper coming undone in the tent.
I turned on my heels, yelling, “Bubs! Truck! Now!” and took off down the box canyon, my light bouncing off the menacing black walls in the night as I ran. From behind me, echoing off those imposing, claustrophobic slabs came a familiar wail, a long and lonesome howl that had just the night before graced the perimeter of my camp and I quickened my pace. Bubs let out a yelp of terror all his own and tore through the canyon ahead of me, dashing out of sight until even his whimpering faded, leaving me behind and alone, tearing through the winding chasm, cutting myself on the jagged edges of rocks as I crashed desperately into the walls on every sharp turn. Behind, I could hear the cumbersome advance of something lumbering in the dark through the sand and the gravel and the rock, the steady crunch of footsteps hot on my heels, closing the distance, gaining in volume, every step carrying that tormented moan closer to its quarry. My lungs burned and my sides split as I pushed onward, bemoaning the thick gravelly sand beneath my feet that impeded my step, adrenal resolve my sole driving force. I had to reach my truck before my pursuer reached me. I tore across another corner, a sharp stone beneath my feet bringing me to the ground. As I staggered back up, I scraped against the wall, and found myself held fast in place. My pack had snagged on the rock beside me, and on pure reflex, I freed my shoulders from the straps and continued to run.
By the time I burst forth from the box canyon into the clearing by the truck, Bubs was waiting for me, cowering in the bed. In a panic I flung open the driver’s door and clambered inside, slamming it behind me and locking it. I jammed my keys into the ignition and put on the headlights. When my gaze turned up out the windshield, I could see two eyes staring back into my soul, two hot pinpricks full of predatory lust, its owner howling with rage in the abyss. They began to lurch towards the clearing. I didn’t wait to discover the nature of its owner. I punched the truck into gear, tearing up the ground and starting down the hill towards civilization.
I took those roads much faster than I should have, barreling past the pristine campsite. As I rolled past, I turned my head to catch a glance of it. The fire had been extinguished, but my headlights illuminated a dilapidated wreck in its place. The tent had collapsed. Rotten food spilled out of the bear bag that had slipped from the tree. The lantern was shattered on the ground, and the decrepit occupant was nowhere to be seen, save for two burning eyes that glared out at me from the mouth of the canyon.
I didn’t stop. I kept driving. I kept driving until I could hear the drone of the highway and see the trash of the masses littering the forest floor. In the distance, the flickering glow of town soothed my nerves. Only then did I finally relax and looked about me. Trailers and campers and tents were everywhere. I had made it out in one piece. I pulled over, stepped outside, and called Bubs back into the cab. When he loaded up, I pulled out my sleeping bag, doing my best to get some much needed but feverish rest. When we finally awoke, it was pushing mid-day.
With the weekend arriving, every site was occupied, and now, torn between going elsewhere or heading deeper into the woods with whatever waited for me back there, I opted to head towards the highway and find new horizons. The truck rumbled along the forest service road until I came upon a stop sign at the edge of the pavement. Beneath it sat an old man, his thumb out expectantly for a ride. I mulled over the proposition. An extra person would be nice. The morale boost of camaraderie was needed and perhaps they might be able help me make sense of the night prior. I decided I would take my chances – It was broad daylight after all and I was miles away from the canyon by now. Slowly the truck rolled to a stop and I pushed the passenger door open, ordering Bubs into the back seat. I watched my guest walk around to the bed and throw his pack in, and then clamber in without so much as a word beyond “next gas station.”
Outside of the first few words that he offered me upon his entry into my vehicle, nothing passed his lips. Despite my best efforts to initiate conversation, we drove in visceral silence, obstinate, unyielding, and complete. He didn’t even cast so much as a glance in my direction whenever I spoke. After awhile, I gave up entirely, resigning myself to the futility of dialogue with this eccentric old man. Eventually, I saw a gas station in the distance and I mused that it couldn’t have come soon enough. Over the curb we went and into the parking lot, and without so much as a thanks, he opened the passenger door and walked towards the back of the truck to grab his things. I shouted, “hey, you left it open, dude!” and he came lumbering towards the front once more with his backpack in his hands. He leaned down into the cab with a wry grin and my heart froze. A glass eye rolled about in one of his sockets, while the other locked upon me, a distant smoldering ember of hunger and rage burning somewhere deep in those abyssal pupils.
“You know,” he said, “I’m pretty familiar with the area. If you’re headed back to the woods later, you should pick me up again. I know all the best camping spots out there.” In response I stammered my thanks, and added an addendum: “but no, I’m not headed back that way.” “Shame,” he muttered, before turning away and slinging my backpack over his shoulders.
Thank you for listening.