Camp Out
Sharon Bastiuk hated camping.
It wasn't just the bugs and the rain; it was the smell on her clothes and the constant fear that overwhelmed her in the dark. Her husband, Dave, had finally given in and bought them a hard-sided trailer instead of demanding they sleep on the group like “real campers”, but it had taken a great deal of pleading on Sharon's part for that to happen.
Dave wasn't a bad guy, just set in his ways. When the pair had first started dating, she had lied and said that she loved camping so they could spend more time together, and Dave had told her that he wanted to come with her on all of the training runs she did for her biannual half marathons. Neither of them really meant it, but love being what it was meant that they both ended up doing things they would have preferred not to.
Now, struggling out of the small bed after another night of poor sleep, Sharon cursed herself for missing the last two marathons. If nothing else, it would have forced Dave to come run with her, or given her an excuse not to come camping.
A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her hair was matted and her face was worn and lined. She was pretty, but three nights in the trailer had taken their toll. With no showers and no access to running water in the government-run campground, there was nothing she could do but take a daily dip in the lake to wash herself, and that left her feeling greasy.
She knew they only had two days left before Dave's parents had to take their own trailer back into town, and that Dave might stay one more day if he was feeling stubborn, but right now that seemed like an eternity. Pausing by the small sink the middle of the trailer, she let herself break for a moment, and indulged in the glorious feeling of being sorry for herself.
Sounds outside caught her attention and she pulled herself together, then slipped on her sandals and opened the door to face the day. Both of Dave's parents were up, Cheryl making coffee on a small stove they had attached to their large trailer and Rob stoking the small fire he'd already started burning. Both Rob and Dave were obsessed with fire when it came to camping, and made sure that one was burning anytime anyone was around to take care of it. They found it comforting, but Sharon found that the smoke from it followed her no matter where she went. Sitting on the opposite side from the stinging white mist seemed to bring it to her, and while she did her best to laugh it off, her patience was running thin.
“Good morning, Sharon,” Rob said, and she mumbled something in return.
“Morning!” Cheryl said brightly, and Sharon made sure to respond in kind. Robert didn't care what she said to him - despite being her father-in-law he was a sucker for a pretty face – but Cheryl demanded a certain amount of respect. Not so much that Sharon would call her unreasonable, thankfully, though she and the older woman had endured their share of stand-offs.
The latest one was about children. Specifically, why she and Dave didn't have any. Despite her repeated requests that Cheryl should speak Dave about it, not her, the older woman insisted on giving her advice about conception and reproductive health, even going so far as describing various positions that were said to be aids to conception.
Sharon had halted the conversation at that moment, and pointedly told Cheryl that she was not interested in listening to any more. Her mother-in-law had been unhappy, but stopped talking. From what Dave told her, Cheryl had now started in on him, which was unfortunate but a better option than having to deal with the woman herself.
Movement from the forest surrounding the campsite caught her eye, but she did her best to ignore it. Since their very first camping trip, she'd been having a waking dream almost every morning, one that involved a thin man in a gray suit and sunglasses. He'd stand at the edge of the trees and stare at her, hands dug deeply into his pockets, lips pursed and body rigid. He made no attempt to hide, but was such a contrast with the surroundings that Cheryl knew he could not possibly be real.
Her dreams in the great outdoors were so scattered that assumed he was generated from there, and by the time breakfast was over, he'd be gone.
A large puff of smoke came from the wet-wood campfire Rob was making, one that was carried on the wind directly toward the man in the suit. Cheryl watched as it wafted over him, and distinctly saw his lips twist. His hand came up to cover his mouth, and he coughed.
Cheryl charged at him.
The man saw her coming and started to move, but it was far too late. She crashed into him at next to a large oak tree, slamming his thin form into its trunk. Years of cardiovascular and weight training had made her strong and flexible, and the man she held seemed as though he would break if she pressed to hard. He struggled, but to no effect.
“Who the hell are you?” It felt strange to be talking to a dream, but his reaction to the smoke told the tale; this was something more.
“I...” he hesitated, and she slammed him against the tree several more times for good measure. Behind her, she could hear Rob and Cheryl approaching, likely wondering why she had gone off the deep end.
“Dave!” Rob called. “Get out here! There's something wrong with Sharon!”
The man she held pulled a metal device from his pocket and jammed home a large red button. A small black hole appeared above his head, one that began to move slowly downward to cover his body. Sharon hesitated for only a moment and then crushed the man to her chest, slipping into the hole with him.
Sharon hated camping.
- D
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