Camping, Stories to tell by the Campfire, Campfire Stories, Campfire Tales

Camp Fire God

OR

Choked to Death by the Fallen & Hacked Up Hackberry

You made lousy time on the road, but with a bit of luck you managed to wheel into the campground just before the State Park closed its gates for the evening. Joy! Your campsite is #666 but you brush those eerie thoughts of doom out of focus. You've already had more than your fair share of headaches for the day. Besides, #666 was the only campsite available.

Meandering your rugged jeep through the dusk-laden trail, you squint your eyes as you pass each campsite, checking the florescent number before traveling onward. Luckily, your partner accompanied you on this trip and has made use of the flashlight that you carry along for those 'just in case we need it' situations…as in, this situation.

Thirty minutes later, and you've yet to locate your campsite. The moon suddenly drifts behind a large bank of black clouds and complete darkness settles in around you. Perhaps you should have passed up the #666 campsite and listened to your inner warnings! But wait! Over the small hill and to the left, a bright redeeming flame lights your path! Through the headlights and the hum of the jeep, realization and terror grip you as you frantically digest the scene before you.

A large man is standing in the helm of the light clothed in a red-plaid shirt, a well-worn pair of jeans, a Dodger's baseball hat, hiking boots and an ax. There are four kids running around his campsite but he looks unfazed. It's so easy to make things out through the glow of a bright light. Directly behind him rests the fallen and hacked-up hackberry.

You turn to Linda and ease out in a shaky voice through clenched teeth, "Fire God."

You think it can get no worse when Linda eases out, "Site #666, there it is."

You hear that "WHEEN-WHEEN-WHEEN" chant from a generic late night horror movie gyrate through your brain, yet you dare not share your concerns - much less your fears. Linda's been on one since the hour-long wait at the diner. And it was your fault for the delay. Wanting to make good time on the road, you kept passing 'food for miles' until you were down to one possible choice for dinner, that being the slow diner. Linda never could function well on an empty stomach and the long wait had fueled her to a full trot. To add injury to insult, by the time the waitress finally got around to taking your order, the only thing left on the menu was liver and onions. And you know how much Linda hates onions. One word from you and she'd give it to you, those words that she's been dying to say since you left the diner. "Well, this is all YOUR fault. It was YOUR idea to go camping, not MINE." Then, "I don't ever want to look at an onion again!"

Fire God grabs your attention as you catch him swinging the ax out of your peripheral vision; he sounds like an amplified woodpecker in fast drive. The fallen and hacked up hackberry looks completely obliterated, but from experience you know Fire God won't stop hacking until he hits hackberry dust.

You tense as Linda mocks in a 'sweet' tone, "Looks like we'll be inhaling hackberry all night. And YOU know how it makes ME cough. Don't YOU?"

Through the dense fog you are shaken to life, your surroundings slowly materializing as you recognize your bedroom. Linda asks, "Hon, could you please pass me another tissue? This cold is killing me."

The terror is over. You pass Linda a tissue, turn over and escape into the sweet embers of sleep…

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