Happy Halloween. A micro-fiction story I threw together 15 years ago

Campouts are always fun

The campfire crackled at the feet of the human circle; a fading yellow and orange flame flickered and popped as smoke and embers floated skyward into an unusually dark night.  Even the full moon seemed engulfed by the darkness. The teen aged couples, sprawled on blankets and sleeping bags, bathed in the warmth. They were too involved, their hands and mouths intertwined, searching for youthful pleasure, to notice the encroaching darkness.

Gliding like a ghost, he circled the scene staying just outside the perimeter of the firelight.  He eyed the group of campers intently.  He surveyed the scene with a purpose.  His eyes quickly darted from object to object, cataloging and estimating the threat severity of each individual, identifying the weakest of the pack. 

He stepped forward.  The twig snap reverberated like a gun shot.  Freezing motionless, holding his breath, he hoped the sound would be lost with the forest clamor.

“What was that?” a soft voice whispered in a hushed panic.

Another voice grunted, annoyed by the interruption, “It was nothin’, c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

He stood motionless, watching the eyes of the youth peering wide with panic into the dark. The soft voice spoke again, this time much louder.  “I heard something out there beyond the light, I swear”.  The other couples stirred from their kissing and groping.

“Now look what you done Judy, everyone’s stopped makin’ out.  You’re ruinin’ this camp out.  Ya know that?  This’s the only way our parents would let us get together.  C’mon it’s nothin’.”

“I heard it too, John.  What’d you think it was?” a third voice added.

“I didn’t hear nuthin’ Billy, shut up and get back ta makin’ out.”  

The couples hesitantly returned to their groping and squeezing and within minutes were again oblivious to their surroundings.  A wide, tooth filled grin creased his face.  It wouldn’t be long now, he thought.  He watched, as the fire grew softer, it’s glow retreating.

So engrossed was the group in their sexual endeavor that they ignored the collapsing warmth and security of the campfire.  The flickering flame was now a smoldering ember.  The chilling air swirled through the trees and the dark night quietly embraced them.

He slinked closer, this time wary of his steps.  Circling, he made no sound to cause alarm.  He wanted this to be a surprise they would remember for a long time.  He drew a deep breath and the aroma of human secretions filled his nostrils.  He savored the moment’s sights, sounds and smells until the hunger pain kicked his ribs, interrupting his meditation.  It was time!

Moving from a slow prowl to a full running stride, he sprang through the brush and attacked the weakest of the pack, the boy called John.  A snarl was his only warning before jaws full of sharp teeth clamped down on the boy’s soft neck.  Blocking out the cries of agony, he savored the thick, warm, flowing liquid filling his mouth.  He cherished these initial moments of reveal.  The sense of power fed by fear.  He lived for these moments. 

Ignoring the scattering of bodies within his peripheral vision, his jaws clamped harder insuring there was no escape for his victim.  He violently shook his head and felt the carcass go limp in his mouth.  He set to draggin his prize toward the bush.  Campouts are always fun, he thought, and he dropped the lifeless body and let out a long howl of joy.

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