A 'Short and Shivery' story composed by myself

A WEEK IN THE WOODS

By Meagan Quirk

Dedicated to Uncle Patrick for his legendary scary camping stories, and to Lee and Jace, my wranglers on the Teen Overnight where this story was born.

It was the last week of summer, and the air was still hot, though the wind had grown cold.  Brothers Kenneth and Alex were anxious to fit one last campout into their school vacation. After some deliberation, they decided to take the week up at Wolf Creek, since it was one of the few locations they hadn’t yet conquered. It would be the perfect end to the summer, and they invited their cousins Ian and Forrest to come with them.

“Wolf Creek!?” said Ian, “Sure we’ll go. Hardly anyone hikes there, let alone camps. We’ll be dang famous.”

“There’s a reason that no one does there, guys,” said Meagan, older sister to Kenneth and Alex, “They’re not sure that they caught that rogue predator from a few years back.”

“Sure they did, you baby. Hasn’t been a hiker attacked in three years now!” Alex pulled Meagan’s ponytail.

“Still, too bad Truman can’t come with us,” said Forrest, “Isn’t hardly a campout without Truman.”

Truman had been the boy’s Scoutmaster since they were just Cub Scouts, and was moving away that very week.

The four boys packed their gear and drove Kenneth’s white Silverado out to the base of Grizzly Mountain, where they could start their hike up to Wolf Creek. They had heard that the bears were pretty bad that year from the Park Ranger, and to they packed an extra canister of bear spray.  As they turned to start up the trail, they heard the crunch of tires behind them.

“Truman!” they all yelled as his smiling face appeared from his truck.

“Couldn’t miss our last campout!” he said with a smile, swinging his pack onto his back.

They all laughed and slapped each other’s backs as they started up the mountain.

If only they had known…

An unforecasted storm rolled in about 4pm, turning the hike into a muddy, wet affair. They had counted on sleeping out under the stars, but with the downpour they decided to quickly erect a makeshift A-frame teepee. The rain couldn’t dampen their spirits, however, and the twilight was spent cooking hot dogs and s’mores. Sleepiness didn’t overcome the boys until midnight, when they retreated to their mostly dry sleeping bags and quickly fell asleep.

Somewhere around 3am, Forrest woke up with a powerful urge to pee. Grumbling, he crawled out of the teepee.

“Go pee in the trees, not on the teepee,” came Truman’s mumbling, muffled voice from his sleeping bag.

Growling curses under his breath, Forrest walked further into the trees. He didn’t come back.

Kenneth was the first to notice his cousin was missing the next morning. Truman remembered that Forrest had gone to answer the call of nature in the night, so they spread out, calling Forrest’s name. They never found Forrest, but they found pints of blood on the trees and ground about fifteen yards off.

Devastated and terrified, they decided to break camp and head for the police immediately. But the storm from the night before had raised Wolf Creek to a flooding torrent. The footbridge they had crossed it on just yesterday was swept totally away, and trying to ford it was suicide.

The best they could do was move camp as far away from the attack site as they could carry it in one day.

“It was the rogue. It had to be,” said Ian that evening as they built the fire as tall as they could manage, “They never knew for sure if they killed it. They didn’t even know for sure if it was a wolf, a bear, a cougar… hell it could have been a wolverine.”

“It was quiet. None of us heard a thing. And it was fast, because he never hollered. And there weren’t a load of tracks around, so it wasn’t a pack. Sounds like a cat. Cougar,” reasoned Alex.

“But the rangers said that bears were bad this year. Could have been a Grizzly,” said Kenneth.

“Rangers said that the rogue was most likely a wolf,” said Truman, “Rabies, or just not afraid anymore. Lone wolf. But we’ll never know, maybe. This rain is washing away any tracks.”

They agreed to take turns keeping watch that night. Kenneth first, then Alex, then Truman, then Ian, just before dawn.

Ian had heard that the darkest hour is just before dawn, but now he was sure of it. The rain picked up again, and the wind came with it. Were those bushes ahead moving in the wind? He shifted the ax and the bear spray, the only weapons they had, in his hands. He heard a twig in the  forest snap to his right, and his head instinctively looked in that direction.  The powerful blow came from behind, and before he could shout in alarm, powerful teeth were sunk into his throat. Just before he died, Ian saw with horror what the rogue was, but he never got to tell.

They found Ian’s body in the river the next day, caught up in some tangled branches and brush. His throat had been torn out, as if by the fangs of some wild animal.

The three remaining campers moved quickly, trying day by day to get across the river, each effort proving as futile as the last. For three days they didn’t sleep at night, and moved camp during the day. The fourth evening set, and rain again flooded the ground, forcing the campers to set up another A-frame. 72 hours without sleep, hiking thru rugged terrain on little food and pounding adrenaline proved too much for the men, who, despite their best efforts, fell into exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Alex jerked awake suddenly to a yell from beside him; and turned just in time to see Kenneth jerked out from under the teepee wall.

“NO!” Alex shouted, following Kenneth quickly out into the dark woods. Whatever had Kenneth traveled quickly, though Alex could hear a fierce struggle going on; Kenneth was putting up a good fight. Alex followed the sounds of the struggle, until it suddenly fell silent. A moment later he found Kenneth, just as they had found Ian.

“No!” He howled, hurtling into the woods, in the general direction he suspected the rogue had run. He tore thru the darkness, not knowing where he went. Soon he came to the swollen river, and stopped a moment. A few minutes later, Truman came thundering through the forest.

“Where is Kenneth?” He asked, desperately, soaking wet and looking disheveled. “I couldn’t see anything, and fell into the river as I ran after you! I nearly drown!”

Alex told him what happened, and the frightened pair decided to go back to the teepee, but stay awake, keep watch for the rest of the night, and come daylight, chance the river, no matter how swollen.

In the teepee they didn’t talk much, but Alex’s thoughts ran a hundred miles an hour.

“Do you think they’ll find all us eventually? Our throats all torn out?”  

“Probably,” said Truman as he turned to Alex, and ripped out his throat.