We didn’t listen to any of the warnings – please learn from our mistakes.
I’m sharing my story in a plea to you all to carefully check reviews for any campsites you’re considering before you pitch up somewhere unprepared, and end up reaping the consequences.
We chose the Mystic Fields Campsite for its beauty and back-to-basics facilities, despite the DIY-from-2006 feel of the website. We never realised that was supposed to deter us.
The strange owner did give me pause from the off, an uncomfortable tug in the pit of my stomach. My husband said the locals probably didn’t like townies, and we’d driven a long way, so I shook it off.
We had trouble pitching our borrowed tent. Thankfully another couple took pity and came to our rescue.
They were friendly, though distracted by the rapidly setting sun. Their surprise to hear we were first timers was palpable.
Tent pitched, they hurried off after cryptic warnings about never letting the fire die out, or straying from our tent after sundown.
Panicking, I suggested we left. With a solemn glance at the dimming sky the man murmured –
“It’s too late.”
~
Later, we sat numbly around our pathetic campfire.
Mist crept across the campsite, gathering in the hollows, seemingly seeping into my very bones.
A high-pitched shriek carried through the dark. As we listened the screeches worked their way around the field, the unseen creature above encircling us. I shivered.
My heart seized when I heard a branch snap, then a voice boomed out.
“Don’t you look thoroughly miserable!”
“Who are you?” I yelled, brandishing my torch accusingly.
“Didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man chortled. “You look you’ve seen a ghost!” He faltered. “You haven’t, have you?”
“No, we’re just on edge,” I mumbled. “First time.” His eyes widened.
“Well, no wonder you look ill. Why don’t you come warm up by my fire? I’m across the field. I know those hippies will’ve told you to stay put. They’d be right too, except I’m an old hand. Come on.”
~
All too easily seduced by the promise of a real fire, we followed.
So happy in fact, we didn’t even notice he had no tent.
Soon we were seated on tree stumps beside a roaring fire, and plied with woollen blankets and mugs of steaming cocoa.
We chatted comfortably, regaling our host with our sorry tale.
~
My toes were still cold, but not so numb that I could miss the pressure of my husband’s boot. I glanced at him, ready to snark at him for his clumsiness.
My eyes met his, bulging with fear. They flicked to the right, and I followed his gaze. An icy finger ran down my spine.
The kindly man sat, as before, warming his hands by the fire.
No. In the fire.
His cocoa steamed and spat onto his hand, but he paid it no mind, face fixed in a grin.
“My mistake,” he laughed. “Humans are so difficult to mimic.”
I tried moving my legs, but they were frozen by some invisible force.
“Drink up,” the man who was not a man commanded. To my horror, my hand moved the cup to my lips and I drank.
I could only stare as his pupils morphed and his teeth elongated to cruel points. His wrinkled skin dripped and oozed into the crackling fire.
“It’s a long time until daybreak.”