It’s strange what happened that night, it was almost sickening.
I did what all normal teenagers did in the nineties. Went camping. My boyfriend, best friend, and her boyfriend, thought a drained, rainy, day would be perfect.
We were taking a risk though, for there was a deranged axe murderer running loose.
The state called him Sicko Sam, and I thought it was quite original.
But in other words, why would the government be busy naming him instead of capturing and locking him up? That wasn’t even logic.
At the campsite, two of my invited guests had their tent up-- unlike me and my relentless boyfriend, who wouldn't even help. Eventually I got it to stay-- Stay.
I pulled the sleeves of my plaid sweater over my hands and went to stand by the lake. The drained day was getting darker and the lake was getting saltier. I felt arms wrap around me, and of course it was Paul, my boyfriend.
“Wanna fish?” he murmured, placing his chin on my shoulder, causing piercing tingles to turn my flesh to ash.
I had no other answer but whatever; so we got to it. I rolled up my blue jeans and settled in the closest row boat. I smiled at Paul when he reached his limit as he was twenty feet away from me. When I looked down, I heard a slow rustling. I glanced into the forest, but no one was there. I was achingly confused.
“Ella . . . Ella!” Paul wailed.
I blinked, and he was waving his hand in front of my face.
“What is up with you?”
“I-I,” I bit my lip embarrassed, “I just got distracted, that’s all.”
He didn’t seem to believe it, but we carried on.
Some time later, we had just finished eating dinner. And the stars were coming out. I liked the stars, they reminded me of death. And yes, death isn’t a good thing, but it got me by.
Paul gave me a sloppy kiss, then whispered, “I want you, babe . . .”
“Paul, not while we’re with Kat and Michael.” I strictly vowed, trying to fight the urge of wanting him too.
“Babe-”
“Paul!”
“Please . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “Desperate much?”
“Very.” he took my hand and took me into the tent. We zipped it up. I can barely remember, but we heard loud noises coming from the woods. I cringed, and Paul agreed to go search.
And the worst thing of all was, is that I never, ever, saw Paul again. An hour had passed, and I was frantic. I went to Kat and Michael’s tent and caught them screwing. I almost gagged, but then realized that would’ve been them if they caught me and Paul.
I squeezed my eyes shut and spoke, “Paul’s been gone forever, I’m worried about him.”
“Ugh, let’s go look for him. Give us a few.”
I nodded and left their tent. I went back to my tent and slipped on my black hoodie.
“Paul!”
“Paul!”
“Paul?!”
No response to any of us. I walked under a tree branch, and felt something trickle onto my fingers. It was too dark, so I had Kat shine her flashlight onto my hand. It was red and fresh . . .
“I-Is that blood?” Michael questioned, hovering over me.
I nodded in disbelief.
We shined the flashlight towards the tree branch-- only to find: Paul’s mauled and discarded body.
I screamed, and realized we were in grave danger. Kat’s hand covered my mouth, and she whispered.
“Be quiet! W-We could be next . . .”
Then the forest grew darker than darkness itself, in other words, it was just my panic settling in. It became a maze. We couldn’t find our van, tents, nothing. We all climbed up into a big oak tree, and sat on the branches. We waited, waited for morning to come. But when Michael checked his watch it was only two. Two in the morning!
All of the sudden, breaking our panic, there was a loud, sharp, roar of a chainsaw. And I knew it absolutely couldn’t be Sicko Sam. He was an axe murder. Unless he was having an affair with a chainsaw. I didn’t want this to end up like the Texas Massacres.
We stayed quiet.
Then he walked beneath our tree, like there was no problem. And I certainly knew it wasn’t Sam, because his picture was leaked onto the news.
This man was frail, sad, grey.
He happened to know we were in the tree, because he waited. He waited.
“Guys,” Michael whispered, “I’ll go down there and distract him. You have more of a chance of surviving than me. If I get free, I’ll find you, okay?”
“Michael, no . . .” Kat whimpered.
“Please, go.”
Kat kissed him once more, and then we jumped down and ran for the hills. We could hear Michael’s screams. He yelled, sad, sad, yells. He never came back for us.
We eventually found our camp, and started the up the van. But of course it couldn’t have been that easy whatsoever. I was getting into the passenger seat-- and I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. And sooner or later, I couldn’t feel my right arm. I fell onto the mush ground, my eyes blurred with tears.
He was there, he had caught up with us. I saw Kat’s frightened eyes. She drove off away from the wild man, and he chased after her, with the chainsaw in air.
He left me there to die. Kat left me there to die, bleeding out from a severed arm. I felt nothing, sooner or later.
And in a blink of an eye, everything changed.
I heard cries, saw little children, Michael, Paul, and so many people. They all seemed happy except for the mourning ones.
And I realized-- I’m a ghost. I’m dead.
An hour later Kat came back with the police, but the man was nowhere to be found. I looked at my limp body, and whimpered. Kat shut my eyes meaning peace. She kissed my cheek and I was gone.
Kat deserved to be happy and have a chance in life. She deserved to live. I did not.
It took me some years of roaming that campsite to figure out that the man brought people there to victimize them. Hurt them. Kill them. Clearly he’s done it too long without getting caught, because there were dozens of lost souls.
I wanted to know why I was stuck. Alone.
I still had Paul’s soul. Michael disappeared sometime ago.
It was relinquishing to know I had been freed, and when I looked at the stars every night: I liked the stars, they reminded me of death. And yes, death isn’t a good thing, but it got me by.
