Warning in the Woods

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

Suddenly, I tune back into the end of the most incredibly boring campfire story I've ever heard. At this moment, I decide I cannot stand another second of the “Camping Trip” with his friends. I turn to my husband and say, “I’m feeling a little dizzy; I think we should leave.” His disappointment is palpable as he growls, “The cars are a half-mile walk away; it’s dark, and if you're feeling dizzy, you should just go to sleep.”

His friend James, the storyteller, interrupts us, asking, “You guys wanna fire up some more s’mores or what?” My husband brushes off my concerns and says, “I’d love more.” He shoves another s'more in my mouth before sending me off to sleep in our blow-up bed in the tent. I wasn’t lying about feeling dizzy, and I fell right asleep.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but when I wake up, I can still smell the campfire and hear voices. As I become more aware, I notice a foul, animalistic scent in the air. The voices transform into whimpers, howls, and screams. Wolves? I think. As I listen more closely, I can almost guarantee it’s wolves. I hear them moving from tent to tent, devouring couples as they draw closer.

I turn to my husband, only to see his sleeping bag empty. Panic surges as I rush to unzip the tent when I suddenly hear a wolf right outside and my husband's voice: “There’s only one rule: don’t open the door.”