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Campfire Stories

a topic in The Writer's Lounge, a part of the RPG forum.

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A place for original short stories, fanfiction, essays, and the like.

Campfire Stories

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby The Cherry Cow on Tue Jan 16, 2018 8:00 pm

When friends are telling campfire stories, there seems to be an unspoken rule for each camper to make their story even scarier than the last. So there’s no surprise when we take a look at a circle of four friends sitting at a campfire in the middle of the desert you’d pass through on a cross-America trip doing just that, just like the four this story focuses on. They that sat on rocks around the fire they’d made, laughing.
“Alright, alright,” the youngest one, Mike, said. He was the newest to this group, but the others were still quick to refer to him as one of their best friends. “That one was fine, but I think I’ve got one. A good one. I tell this one to everyone I meet at one point or another. It’s called ‘The Walkin’ Man.’” The man on his right, Ian, put his hands up in a fake “Oh, have mercy” gesture. “Oh, sounds real scary,” he said, and they all laughed. Mike just grinned. Ian has always been the first to take the piss out of them, so he wasn’t remotely offended. “Ok, let’s hear it Mike,” the man sitting across from him, Alan, said. When he spoke the other three men quieted down. Alan was at least two years older than all of them, and he’d sort of been appointed leader of the pack. When he spoke, they listened. He seemed to know what was what usually, and so he was the beacon of advice for relationships, jobs, and everything like that. The one that came to him the most sat on Mike’s left, Jess. Jess was timid and had a very active imagination, and stuck with Alan often. He was terrified of the stories they’d been telling, but he didn’t want to show it. Mike waited until there was complete silence except for the snapping and crackling of the fire, then began his tale.
“For hundreds of years, there are stories of a man who does nothing but travel around America. Many believe he’s an immortal being, as everyone who’s seen him describe him the same way. Never aging. They’ll see a man as normal as anyone else, standing alone in some place in the wilderness. He’ll wait until he’s all alone with a group of campers after making his way into their circle of trust, and then he attacks. No one’s ever had an actual experience with the Walkin’ Man and survived. They say he died on an exploration of the West in the early eighteen hundreds after eating his dead crew to survive, and his ghost has been haunting ever since, murdering the unfortunate campers to walk near his trail. And the thing is he could be anyone. They say he pretends to not know the story of the Walkin’ Man, and if someone brings it up at a camp he’s at... they’re the first to go. Yet others say he always tells it the night before a kill. Again, no one really knows. Another way to spot him is that he doesn’t sleep in a tent. People say he always pretends to sleep under the stars, so he can always see the heaven where the souls of the other members of his exploration party are to remind himself of what he did. And when the Walkin’ Man sets his sights on someone, they’re as good as done. He’ll wait days, weeks, months to strike. You can’t outrun the Walkin’ Man.” as he finished his story a twig in the fire snapped, and everyone jumped. Alan got to his feet and began to put out the fire, saying “Wow! Good story, Mike! Now, I think it’s time for bed. We’ll continue our trail in the morning,” everyone murmured agreement. Ian went to his tent and dragged out his sleeping bag, saying “I don’t know about all of you, but the sky is too beautiful to sleep in a tent tonight.” When everyone had their bags outside, Jess soon heard Mike’s snoring and Ian, dead silent. Alan lay next to Jess in his own bag, waiting to fall asleep until he heard Jess’ quiet voice.
“You... you don’t think that’s real, do you? A man hunting and murdering campers?” Jess couldn’t see Alan smile.
“Of course not. You know, I’ve never even heard of that ‘Walking Man’ before. Go to sleep,” he said, and before long Jess could hear Alan’s steady breathing. “That’s all it is,” he thought. “Just a campfire story.” He heard Mike roll over in his bag. Just a campfire story.

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The Cherry Cow
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Re: Campfire Stories

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby jamie225 on Mon Jul 23, 2018 1:28 am

good one i like it

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Member for 6 years

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