The Dimensional Camper

The storm over Budapest had been raging for hours. Thunder cracked like a whip across the Danube River, and most tourists had taken shelter in their hotels. But not Theo.

Theo Martens, a 28-year-old Dutch backpacker with sun-faded tattoos and boots worn by a thousand trails, was crouched beneath the Liberty Bridge, pulling a tarp over his tiny green tent. It was just another night in a long, strange journey. Or at least, it should have been.

He zipped the tent closed, wiped rain from his face, and reached for his pack. It was a heavy, canvas thing—olive green, patched in several places, with a hand-stitched fox emblem on the side. He’d bought it at a flea market in Marrakesh two years ago. The old man who sold it to him had winked and said, “Be careful with the middle zipper.”

At the time, he thought it was just one of those cryptic things old men in markets say to sound mysterious.

Tonight, bored and slightly buzzed from a bottle of plum pálinka, he remembered the warning. For the first time, he noticed the third zipper. It wasn’t on the main compartment, or the side pockets, but hidden under a fold of fabric near the back padding.

He tugged it.

The zipper made no sound.

Behind it was... a hole. Not a pocket, not a hidden pouch—but a black, perfectly round void that pulsed gently, like the surface of water under moonlight. It smelled faintly like ozone and old pine needles.

Theo blinked. Then—because curiosity had always been his curse—he stuck his hand in.

And vanished.

He didn’t fall. He drifted.

Through light and color and silence and sound. Through sensations he didn’t have words for—like remembering a dream you’ve never had, or tasting a story someone whispered to you in another life.

And then, suddenly, grass. Real, solid grass beneath him. He was lying in a clearing surrounded by trees the color of deep blue ink, under a sky that shimmered with three moons—each a different size and shade. The air was crisp and smelled like citrus and woodsmoke.

His backpack lay beside him.

“Okay,” he muttered, standing slowly. “That’s new.”

A distant howl echoed through the alien forest, but it didn’t sound threatening. It sounded like... a song. Melancholy. Beautiful.

Theo smiled, unrolled his sleeping bag, and started building a fire. It wasn’t the strangest place he’d ever camped. But it was definitely the first one not on any map.

He didn’t know where—or when—he was.

But he knew one thing.

He’d be back.

...

The fire crackled with a soft, greenish flame—whatever kindling he’d gathered from the nearby forest burned differently here. The wood was spongy, and it hissed as if alive. Theo squatted beside the flames, warming his hands, his eyes dancing between the stars and the shadows that slinked just beyond the trees.

His first instinct was to panic, to freak out, maybe cry a little.

But that wasn’t him. Theo had slept through sandstorms in the Gobi, bartered meals with shamans in the Andes, and once accidentally hitchhiked with a smuggler in southern Italy. This? This was just... a weirder kind of camping trip.

He pulled out his travel journal—a beat-up notebook with a waterproof cover, stuffed with sketches, dried flowers, and scraps of foreign maps. With the firelight as his guide, he scribbled:

Date unknown. Location: Beyond logic. Zipper portal in Budapest led to a moonlit forest with three celestial bodies overhead. Trees hum slightly. Fire burns green. I don’t think I’m alone here. But I don’t feel afraid. Just... watched.

Just then, he heard a rustle.

Not far—maybe fifteen paces away—something shifted behind a bush. Theo froze. His breath clouded in the air.

“Hello?” he called out, voice steady.

No reply.

He reached for his walking stick, which had a hidden blade built into the base—a souvenir from a monk in Bhutan who swore it would one day “cut through more than wood.” Theo had thought he meant metaphorically.

He stood slowly. “I’m not here to fight. Just camping.”

More rustling. This time, deliberate.

From behind the brush, a creature stepped out. Tall, maybe seven feet. Slender. Cloaked in layered bark and moss, with antlers that twisted like driftwood. Its eyes glowed softly—not with menace, but curiosity.

Theo didn’t move.

The creature tilted its head. Then it pointed at the fire.

“You... speak?” Theo asked, uncertain if sound even worked the same here.

The being tapped its chest, then pointed at him.

“Okay. Communication 101. You’re you. I’m me. Got it.”

It stepped forward and squatted near the flames, its weight barely making a sound. It extended a branch-like hand and placed a small, violet crystal beside the fire. The flames changed color instantly, shifting to a soft violet hue.

“Thanks... I guess?”

The creature nodded once, then rose. It walked away slowly, fading into the tree line as if it had never been there.

Theo exhaled, letting out a laugh—a short, breathy one that almost turned into disbelief.

What the hell had he just met?

He looked down at the violet crystal, now softly pulsing beside the fire. It felt warm, comforting, like it was meant to be with him.

He placed it in his backpack’s side pocket.

“Alright,” he said, stretching his arms. “Guess I’m not sleeping early tonight.”

Above him, the three moons continued their quiet orbit, and in the distance, a tree-shaped mountain lit up with veins of silver light—like a beacon calling him further into this new realm.

But Theo wasn’t in a rush. He’d traveled his whole life to escape the predictable. Now, the unpredictable had answered.

And it had antlers.

He grinned.

This was just the beginning.