a campfire story

“There was only one rule: don’t open the door—”

Mark lets out a loud groan. “Come on Pete, no more stories.”

Peter’s grin flickers in the firelight. “You scared, pussy?”

From the other side of the fire, Brian chuckles. His eyes glimmer like torches and and his clean cut face is ghostlike, and pale as he watches the twin brothers with a sideways gaze.

Mark pokes the embers, “No, I’m not scared— just bored. If you came up with anything original, that would be a different story. But you’re just retelling creepypastas we’ve all read before.”

Pete glowers. “Oh? Then how does the one about the door end?”

Mark shrugs, looks up at the moon. “I bet you were gonna steal that top post from the two sentence horror subreddit, weren’t you? About the kid locked in a dark basement all his life—who finally leaves and sees the sky but has no idea what he’s looking at.”

Crickets and crackling coals fill a silence between them. Then Pete says “you’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?”

Brian clears his throat: “If I knew you two were gonna piss and moan the whole trip I’d have brought ear plugs.”

They both laugh, Mark says: “Well hey, that’s what twins are for, we like making each other moan.”

Brian chuckles.

Pete recoils, pretends to dry heave.

Mark looks at him then to Brian, his expression remains utterly flat. “Oh you dipshits know what I meant… we’re twin brothers we have to make fun of each other. The pissing and moaning doesn’t mean hard feelings.”

Brian leans in and nods: “Yeah, I know. Just messing with ya. I know you guys love each other.”

Mark cuts the air with a sideways chop of his hand— “yeah sure, but only platonically.”

The twins laugh.

Brian sighs.

After a moment, Mark speaks again: “Seriously though, being a twin, that’s an unbreakable bond. Pete is my best friend. always has been.”

Pete inches away from him, and says “well this is kinda awkward. Sorry Mark, but I’ve always thought of you as more of a casual acquaintance.”

“And I’ve always thought of you as a shit stain.”

Brian's face catches the fire light, his eyes pierce the smoke, “but honestly, being twins, you guys would do anything for each other, right?”

The brothers, furrow their brows at Brian’s odd intensity. Some unspoken communication passes between them.

They look at each other, then they both nod.

Pete says: “Anything.”

Mark ads: “As long as it’s platonic.”

Brian nods too. He leans back, his face is now relaxed.

He speaks low, “Listen, if you want a campfire story that you haven’t read online, why not go local? Wanna hear about the Werewolf of Warren County? Real shit. Actually happened.”

Mark sighs. “Don’t try to tell us it’s a true story you dumbfuck. Werewolves aren’t real.”

Brian nods. “Obviously, but the Werewolf of Warren county doesn’t know that. He thinks he is one. It’s called clinical lycanthropy. Google it and then go fuck yourself.”

Mark and Pete both laugh.

Mark asks, “how could someone believe they’re a werewolf. This guy some kinda retard?”

Brian looks down at the embers then shrugs.

Pete watches him, then turns to his brother and says, “Mark, haven’t you heard— you can’t say that anymore. It’s not PC. Though maybe you get pass.”

Mark scowls. “A pass for what?”

“Saying the R word. It’s okay for you to say “retard” because you happen to be tard.”

“Hey Pete, ever thought about eating shit and dying?”

“Yeah, I think about it all the time. Anyway, shut up. I for one believe Brian. I’ve actually heard of clinical lycanthropy before. Doctor Rogers mentioned it in abnormal psych. Bri, tell us your story.”

Mark raises his hand.

At that, Brian raises an eyebrow. “We’re not at school and this isn’t stupid questions 101. What the fuck do you want Mark?”

“Why the hell didn’t you warn us Warren County had a wolfman before we agreed to this little sausage fest of a spring break?”

Brian squints his eyes against the shifting smoke, but they still glitter in the orange firelight.

“Because then you might not have agreed to this camping trip. Anyway, if Mark is willing to shut the fuck up for a minute I’ll tell the story:

Now, the Werewolf was a real guy named Jim Hakel.

I actually knew him.

Mark raises his hand again, but doesn’t wait to be called on: “how d’you know him, Bri-guy?”

Christ in a basket!

This is a small town, everybody knows everybody. Now shut the fuck up and let me tell the story, Mark.

Anyway, Jim was always kinda weird. A loner. Big into foraging and living off the land.

He bought into all these dumb conspiracy theories. Once he told me some driveling bullshit about how humans are obligate herbivores and that the FDA was pushing meat consumption to make the masses more susceptible to disease. Tried to get me to switch to a vegetarian diet like him, said it would boost my energy levels and immune performance.

He was annoying like that, constantly trying to convert everybody to whatever conspiracy or health fad he was buying into at the time.

But he really was harmless.

Well one day he stumbles into the corner store on main, bleeding like crazy from a gash on his leg. Wanting to buy bandages. Claims an actual fucking wolf bit him— get this— while he was out harvesting mushrooms in the moonlight. Weird, to be out, foraging in the moonlight. But that’s important. The moonlight. I think it might be part of what broke him, mentally.

Probably wasn’t even a full moon that night, but after the fact I'm sure he remembered it that way.

Now, there aren’t any wolves in the Adirondacks. It was probably just a coyote. Even coulda been a big Fox or a feral dog. But remember: Jim was the type of guy who took to fanciful ideas.

He truly believed he’d been bitten by a wolf— though he knew there weren’t supposed to be any in NY.

It all starts to go to his head.

Now, everybody was telling him to go to a clinic. Get his rabies vaccine. Just in case. He started spouting some shit about the healthcare industry being a scam. He says, he’s not gonna let them poke and prod him.

He pays for his bandages and storms off.

The next night I personally heard howling up in the hills, came from near where we’re camping right now.

But the howls, they didn’t sound like an animal. The voice was laughably human. I remember texting a few friends and they’d heard it too. At this point, we figured it had to be Jim, just kinda being weird. They made fun of him a bit.

Do you guys want to hear what those howls sounded like?”

Mark asks: “do you have a recording?”

Brian shakes his head. “No but I can duplicate it almost exactly.”

“Like how.”

“With my own voice.”

Mark and Pete look at each other and after another unspoken moment they both laugh. Pete says: “Yeah Brian, show us how the howls sounded, you utter fucknut.”

Brian does not return the laugh. He fixes Pete with a sad gaze then lifts his face to the sky and lets out a long mournful howl.

The twins flinch. It is much louder than either had anticipated, Brian seems to be... really giving it his all.

Before they can respond he launches back into his story:

“That’s what it sounded like. Like a wild sob, rolling down from the hills.

I actually suggested letting the sheriff know, but my friends said not to worry. Jim was probably just larping his most recent conspiracy fling. Or trying to make friends with the wolf that bit him. They said he’d be fine tomorrow.

But next morning people discovered some really weird, fucked up shit.

Sarah Marley is an old lady who used to keep chickens, and sell the eggs. She came storming through town, asking who’s fucking dog got into her chicken coop. Screaming about how whoever it was had better pay up, because their mutt had ruined her— gotten every single chicken. But a couple neighborhood cats and dogs showed up dead too, gored and messy. And the dogs were big ones. Shepards. So coyotes would have had a hard time.

People started wondering if Jim really was bitten by a wolf. Maybe a pack wandered into the area somehow.

That would explain the dead chickens and the mangled dogs.

Mark raised his hand yet again. "What about the cats Bri Guy. Would it explain the dead cats too?"

"Holy actual fuck. Yes, sure. I didn't mention them because shut the hell up.

So a group of us decide if there are wolves around we need to trap them. NY Departmemt of Conservation probably would have preferred to have been informed and involved.

But, we were excited and took things into our own hands.

Justified the idea by saying it was to protect our community.

A bunch of us, concerned citizens, we hiked up to Jim’s cabin. If you can call it that. It’s more like a hut. Or hermitage.

A shack in the woods.

We wanted to ask him exactly where he was bitten so we could bait the area.

We called out for him as we approached.

No answer.

We knocked on his thin pine board door. No answer.

Normally that would mean he was just out wandering or foraging, but after his injury I think we all kinda worried what if? you know?”

As Brian is peaking, a sound rises up behind the campers, off in the distance: a long, low, despairing howl.

The twins eyes flare open, and they spin around. Pete: “Holy fuck! Brian, what the shit!”

And Mark, does a better job of keeping his head: “Wait, that sounded. That sounded exactly like the one you just did. I know what this is. A prank. You’ve got a friend hiding out in the woods to try and scare us. Probably hidden cameras somewhere too. You slippery and slick little prankster bitch, you!”

But Brian’s smile never touches his eyes. “Ah. Maybe so. Well, there’s more to the story if you still wanna hear it.”

Pete begins, “I dunno, maybe we—”

“Oh, now look who’s the gaping wet pussy! Of course we wanna hear the rest. Pete may cry like a scared little puppy, but I happen to not be a coward. Actually your story is more sad than scary anyway. Not really doing much for me. But carry on."

Pete frowns deeply. Looks over his shoulder. Whispers: “Mark, I actually have a bad feeling.”

Mark laughs. “Yeah, where’s the bad feeling Pete? Is it in your vagina? Do you want to talk about it?”

Pete bristles. “Nevermind.”

Brian launches back into his story:

“Well we opened the door, and we didn’t see Jim, but what we did see was terrible. Several carcasses, all missing some meat. A couple cats.

One of the cats had a little purple collar, with the owner's phone number. I remember that distinctly.

And there's what would probably add up to two chickens, we assumed from Miss Marley’s raided coop.

There was blood all over the place and wounds look like they’ve been chewed. There aren’t any clean cuts. Just jagged holes and tears in their guts and necks.

Feathers all over the place, matted and stuck in the tacky blood.

We all kind of assume a wolf got into Jim’s hut.

The group starts getting really frantic. One of them says, ‘I think the wolf got in. Poor Jim.’

The shopkeeper takes his hat off and sighs.

But I see the smudges in the blood. No paw marks as far as I could tell. Just smeared boot prints, and bloody hand prints.

If Jim was here, maybe he got attacked. Crawled away. He could be out in the brush, pale and gone from bloodloss by now.

But then...

I remember the weird howls, and I got a chill.

I say: ‘Take it outside guys. guys we need to find Jim, he may still be alive!’

But when we turn to leave I see the note on the door, we all see it.

I read it aloud. Then I took it.

Still have it actually.

Take a look:”

Brian unzips his jacket pocket and takes out a plastic baggie, with a folded, and heavily worn paper inside. He passes it to the twins.

Tell everyone I’m so sorry. Especially Miss Marley for her chickens. And to the Chalmers family for their German Shepard’s and for all the poor cats, I didn’t mean to hurt any animals, I hated to do it.... but I couldn’t stop myself.

I tried.

God help me, I did.

But the hunger! It took control and the moonlight burned my mind away and the wolf took over.

Please do not come looking for me. It’s not safe. I’m not safe.

Though I’m breaking down over the pain I’ve already caused, I am relieved that no humans crossed my path last night. Even in the midst of this heartache and madness, God may still be looking out.

But who knows how long he’ll pay attention.

I’m going to move deeper into the wilderness, this shack is no place for a werewolf, far too close to human society and I can’t bear to put anyone at risk.

I’m sorry. To everybody.

I don’t have much to offer them. But my entire savings is under my bed frame. Please take it and use it to help our neighbors replace their livestock and as apology for the harm done to their irreplaceable, much loved pets.

You will not be hearing from me again, I’ll retreat far enough away that I won’t be a threat to anyone any more.

And please dont worry about me. I’ll be living off the land just like I was before. I just won’t be a vegetarian anymore, at least not when the moon shines.

Goodbye

- your brother,

Jim Hakel

Brian sighs. "That's pretty much the whole story."

"What the fuck do you mean that's the whole story."

"Well there's not much to say after that. Obviously, Jim had lost his mind. But the small group of us that found his letter voted on what we should do.

We decided not to turn him in. We didn't want the authorities involved, they'd arrest him, put him to trial... but....

He hadn't really hurt anybody. Worst he'd done was destroy a chicken coop and some family pets.

And yeah, that was bad. But was it bad enough to get him locked up?

Us guys who went looking, well we didn't think so. I mean, he left his entire savings as apology. So...

We figured all he needed was some help. Like mental help.

But not from the shrinks— from us.

You know how it is, small communities. We take care of our own.

So we started hollering trying to find Jim. And one of us notices tracks. In the mud.

We follow them, and find him there, alive, but well the fuck out of it.

There’s blood all over his chest, smeared in his beard and down his neck. Feathers stuck here and there too, and hairs from the cats.

He’s got that thousand yard stare that you imagine on the face of someone with severe PTSD.

Somebody says, ‘Jim, you alright?’

And he looks up at us, like it’s the first time he’s ever seen us.

Then he says, ‘guys?’ Just like that. Like a question. Like he’s not sure what to believe, or what’s real.

That’s all he says. Doesn’t say another word.

Well, we helped him get cleaned up. Toweled him off. Scrubbed the blood out of his floor.

Offered to make him some breakfast, and he actually laughed. Almost like his normal self. Says, ‘no thanks I already ate.’

That earned a laugh out of the rest of us too.”

And the howl sounds again, still behind them.

But closer now.

Close enough that they can hear the tremulous human quality in that voice, clear as day.

Pete, inches closer to Mark.

Mark keeps his eyes trained in the direction the last howl came from: "Some friend you've got out there Brian. He's really selling the joke. Gotta warn you, I never tolerate jump scares. I’m not to let these hands fly.”

He raises his voice to project out into the pines: "If your friend startles me me at a bad moment, I may just kick his ass. On pure instinct. Be a real shame to receieve a beat down over a joke!"

The trees beyond the fire light are gray pillars, rising and fading into the dark.

Nothing moves on the pine littered forest floor.

Brian shakes his head. "What if it's not a joke Mark. What if I lured you out here as food for… the Werewolf?"

Pete laughs.

But Mark only glares. "Your sense of humor is kinda... batshit. Who the fuck jokes about feeding his friends to a werewolf? Batshit Brian does, that’s who."

Pete adds, with a good humored grin: "Wait a minute your story doesn’t add up Brian. You said you were gonna feed us to the Werewolf of Warren County, but you admitted werewolves aren’t real. Curious.”

Mark’s scowl melts away and he joins the chuckles. “Yeah, checkmate Bri Guy. Now let’s upload this conversation to YouTube and title it, ‘Capaldi twins absolutely DESTROY backwoods snowflake CUCK in debate about…” and end it with a dot dot dot. To really bait those clicks.”

Brian laughs too. “Well in my defense, I couldn’t say I was gonna feed you to Clinical Lycanthrope of Warren County. Doesn't have the same ring to it.”

Pete concedes, “still, not a bad story, all in all. Kuddos for coming up with something original.”

Mark shakes his head. “I disagree. I think it was dumb and stinky. No offense Brian.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “No offense taken, because it’s not something I came up with. Told you, it really happened.”

Mark kicks a smoldering log twig back into the fire. “Still clinging to that true story bullshit. Okie dokie. But honestly, cool story it wasn’t actually dumb or stinky. Clever touch to have your friend hide somewhere out there howling. Tell him to come on out and introduce himself. Just warn him not to say boo, you know why.” Mark flexes his fist at that last bit.

Brian shrugs. He cups his hands to project his voice and yells, “bro, the jig is up. Come on out.”

Then he turns to the twins. “Well it will take him a few minutes to all the way up. And we kinda got derailed here. You guys never actually heard the ending.”

“Well what the fuck are you waiting for. Spill.”

Brian crosses his legs in front of him.

“Well, there we were cleaning Jim up, he didn’t have running water. So that meant a towel bath on his face, and a fresh shirt from his closet. Well, fresher than the blood soaked one. And when he said he’d already eaten, it was like a switch went off and his vocal cords kicked back into gear. He was almost back to his old self— seemed to know where he was. Who we were.

And he told us about the change. Said it’s the moonlight that does it— makes a wolf tear it’s way out of his own soul, take over his body.

Said it makes him a passenger on a ride of gluttony and rage— and that his body actually transforms.

We knew that was bullshit, but we listened, transfixed, by the intensity of his belief.

He said his hand stretch into claws, and his body courses with muscle. He said he feels his mouth stretch into a muzzle, and sharper teeth crowd out his bite.

Jim said he tried to stop but he couldn’t control himself when he’s under the wolf, though he’s still wide awake.

Aware of each bite, each tear. Even aware of the sinew and gristle getting stuck between his teeth as he chews into a frantic, dying victim. He said he ate so much his stomach distended and bits of still warm flesh started rising from his gut, up his esphagus.

Killing any of these animals hurt his soul, he said, but the dogs were the worst, because of the way they tried to survive. The chickens, and even the cats were just driven by fear.

But they knew they were prey— hopeless, doomed, as good as dead once he got a hold of them.

They kicked and clawed but they didn’t seem to be much more than fleshy robots, trying to run subroutines even as they powered down.

The dogs on the other hand… The dogs were driven by fear too, but they also had hope.

They seemed to know they were large enough to actually stand a chance. They tried to fight, they tried to escape, and it all seemed so much more desperate and willful.

And towards the end when they finally understood they were helpless, the whimpers were all the more pitiful for having lost a game that they knew perhaps, if they’d been a bit luckier, they mount have won.

Well we listened for a long time, then we talked.

But we couldn’t convince him that he wasn’t actually transforming, so there was no way to convince him to stop. He 100% believed he was truly an actual werewolf, and we had to decide, where do we go from here?”

In other words, we couldn’t turn him in to the authorities, but he was beyond our help to cure.

We couldn’t fix him, maybe nobody could.

So we figured, we’d give him as much freedom as we could. We’d let him live, troubled man by day. Bit of an animal role player by night. We’d lock up our pets and livestock, and stay indoors after dark.

What could harm could he do, chasing whatever rabbits snd squirrels he could find out in the woods?”

Brian offers them a sad look.

A few steps past a frown really, like his soul is in mourning.

He points at Pete.

A throaty growl erupts behind the twins, and a flash of movement—

Someone tackles Pete to the ground.

Every fiber in marks body coils tight enough to hurt.

He really did hate jump scares.

He flinches away from that movement, the he sees his brother on the ground— this was taking the prank too far!

He shoots to his feet. “Pete, you okay?”

What if he got hurt? All for Brian’s stupid story prank.

That had actually looked like a hard hit.

But Pete is laughing, from the rush of it all.

He never seemed to mind jump scares himself.

but

Then his laughter stops as though it has gotten caught in his throat like a piece of meat.

“Pete? Peter?!”

Brian is standing now, stepping over the fire, moving between the twins.

Then pete screams but it is a garbled sound, almost a gurgling:

Wild, inarticulate, and frothing with pain.

Mark frantically tries to push Brian out of the way, but Brian’s his hand flashes forward and back, forward and back, each punch lands Mark right in the gut.

“Brian! what the fuck are you….”

Those punches didn’t even seem hard, just fast. But they hurt a lot more than they should.

He looks down, can’t see much of himself, on account of the flickering dark.

But he can see a glint of reflected orange light, tapered to a point in Brian’s hand.

Is that a fucking knife?

Mark frowns. Tries to make sense of it.

He looks at Brian, his eyes beg the question: why?

Brian grimaces. Then he shoves Mark with both handsand Mark tries to keep his feet but stumbles to the ground, hard.

He strains to get back up, but his abs feel sloppy and weak.

“Pete?”

Mark can’t get a clear line of sight. And he can’t sit up. His own body is in the way and it’s not doing what it is supposed to do.

He cannot sit up.

Pete is not screaming anymore.

All Mark can hear is wet squelching. “Pete!!”

It hurts to scream. He tries to get up— a boot presses him back to the Earth.

“Relax.”

Brian’s voice. His face looms into view.

He’s cleaning the knife on his own jacket.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I wish this had all been the prank you and Pete thought it was. I’m sorry for both of you, but especially you Mark. I liked Pete better even from the start, so I pointed him out first. And that was a mercy. Nothing hurts more than losing your brother, and knowing there’s nothing you can do to help him. I hope you didn’t see much. I tried to block your view.”

His face recedes into the dark.

“You know the bond between twins is unbreakable. You’d have done anything for Pete, and he you.

And it’s not fair that you should have to lose him so violently. For that I really am sorry.

I hope you can understand. When I went to check on Jim, last month he said he hated his life.

His curse.

Said he wanted to die. Begged me to kill him.

But I begged him to keep going. There had to be a cure. He said he thought maybe taking human prey would… satisfy the wolf’s hunger and thereby cure him. Well… I hope you understand. Even if that sounds like a long shot I had to try.”

The squelching sounds stopped and a howl split the night.

Brian’s voice again:

“It’s all in his head, I know. But since this was his idea, maybe it will work. Put him back to normal.

… Some of my story was a lie, you probably know that now. There wasn’t a vote. Wasn’t even a group, who found him that first day. It was just me who found him and made the decision to let Jim be.

Please understand.

I’m sorry Mark.”

Out of the darkness, Brian’s face looms back into view but his hair now dangles in greasy, wet strands. And this Brian, he’s got a beard and it’s red and wet and so are his teeth, which he bares in a snarl.

And Mark screams one last word: “Pete!!!”

***

Authors note:

If you made it this far; thanks for reading!

Please let me know how it landed, what worked and what didn’t :)

IF you're in the mood for some tunes, this is what I had playing while I was writing. (Even as a kid I always thought this was about werewolves, lol)

If you have advice, or suggestions I am open to any and all feedback! Looking to improve so I love hearing useful criticism.

I love werewolf horror, and monster horror in general. But I find it kind of difficult to get immersed in writing that kind of story because I can’t suspend my own disbelief.

Oddly enough suspension of disbelief around monsters and the supernatural doesn’t seem to be an issue when I’m reading, but writing is another story.

Obviously this story has a lot of improbable content, as well as some offensive content but I find when the monsters are human, they’re atleast easier for me to believe while I’m writing them. So this is the easiest way for me to sidestep that blockade and write what I love, a werewolf story with where everyone is kind of repugnant in their own human ways.

Liars and delusional murderers on one team and somewhat tedious, slur-hurling dude bros on the other.