The autumn leaves were crisp under his feet; strange trees seemed to surround him. As he looked around more, Cal wasn’t sure if it was a safe feeling or isolating. Was it a friendly forest creature peering down at him inquisitively? Or was it a predator salivating at the prospect of the dinner they would make out of him?

“Come on over here and help me with the tent!” Cal's father bellowed. “I need you to grab the tent poles and hand them to me.”  

“I will be there in a sec!” Cal yelled back. He had never gone camping before. As a 15 year-old boy in 2000, it was kind of unheard of for a kid his age to have never been camping. It’s not like he had never had the opportunity to in the past, but camping exposed a weakness in Cal that he didn’t want to admit to himself… he was absolutely terrified of the dark.

 It might have been all of the horror books that he hid from his parents and read at a young age. Or maybe his fascination with true crime. At the end of the day it didn’t really matter why,  because he was, and it seemed that all of the books he read happened in the forest. Sleeping in a shabby tent with no protection from the outdoors seemed like a death sentence to him. 

Still deep in thought, he walked over to his dad to help set up the tent. It was small, but somehow had so many stupid little parts. The instruction manual that his dad had grabbed out of the tent bag was crumpled and sporting some pretty interesting food stains. He was able to look over them and figure out the general concept of how to construct the mess of poles and the blob of canvas.

“I’m pretty sure that those poles need to go through the main structure of the tent, and the shorter ones connect on the sides.” Cal told his dad. In return his dad grunted as he began to correctly assemble the tent. 

By the time the sun began to set, they had set up camp. The tent looked decent; it was quite small, but it would do for the night. The real problem was the lighter situation. His dad could be quite forgetful and it was especially bad when he got excited about something. 

One of Cal’s first memories in fact was his dad forgetting something. It was his first trip to the state fair. In Washington you had to bring proof of identification to get in. Somehow he managed to forget his ID, but had his wallet. Luckily Cal’s mother was there and she was able to get the tickets with her ID. That day at the fair was a vivid memory for him. Strapped into the Tilt-a-whirl with his parents, he had the best day of his life. He had never thought about how much his mother really did for him, but she really was the backbone of their family.

Cal’s deep thought was interrupted with a loud yell from behind him.

“Daggonit!”

His dad was upset about the lighter. It was going to be fine though. Cal’s dad had been a boy scout in his younger days and liked to brag about how he could start a fire; maybe he could still make one. That knowledge soothed Cal’s inner panic. 

Without a fire he was left with the weak beam of light that his headlamp produced. It was getting dark fast now and Cal had been sent out to try and find some rocks that could possibly act as flint. His dad was beside him as they entered the outer rim of the forest, but he was quickly only surrounded by trees. It was dark. Everything was wet and it smelled damp, he wasn’t sure the last time it had rained in Washington as it was the summer time, but it was weirdly cold and wet in that part of the woods. 

Fear crept up from his stomach into his throat, almost suffocating him. Cal was terrified; his dad had gone off to use the bathroom in a nearby bush, but he couldn’t see or hear him. His headlamp began to flicker, and shut off completely after a few more seconds of flickering; he had to resort to the measly travel flashlight that he took to sleepovers as a kid. It was no bigger than the width of his palm and had a pattern with Spiderman shooting webs all over it. With only the little bit of light he had, the darkness clung to him like an unwelcome hug. It was a visitor that he had dreaded the arrival of his entire life. Nothing good happened when the sun went down. 

He heard a rustle from far away, “Hey dad is that you?”. No response followed. He heard it again but closer this time. “Dad!” he yelled out again, louder this time, no response. Cal began to panic. He couldn’t see anything past the halo of his flashlight; which couldn’t have been more than ten feet in front of him. His palms began to sweat. All of a sudden he saw a pair of yellow eyes glowing from a bush to the side of him. They stared deep into his eyes. Sharp teeth appeared below the eyes that refused to drop their gaze. 

“Well, hello Calvin” a voice whispered. All Calvin could smell was decaying flesh.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Cal recognized this scene a little too well; so many victims had been in this place in his books. He couldn’t see his attacker and he didn’t know where the voice was coming from, but he could hear the grumble of his voice. Sweat dripped down his face. Pure panic had fully enveloped him.

“Calvin! Cal! Wake up, it's time for school.” His mother said as she shook him awake.

Calvin’s head began to swirl; it seemed that reality was slipping from his fingers. The teeth and the eyes evaporated into a fine mist. The forest was gone, so was the  monster; he was back in his room. His mother was peering over him looking worried. The family pug was on his chest grunting at him. Suddenly the smell hit him. It wasn’t decaying flesh he smelled in the forest; but instead his dog’s unbrushed teeth. His dad wasn’t here. He was dead. He had died on a climbing expedition when Cal was five years-old. With his mom still looking at him concerned he began to cry. It was partly due to the sheer overwhelmingness of his dream, but also because the beginning of it wasn’t real. None of it was real. 

“It’s okay sweetie.” His mom had now sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Was it another dream?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Cal sniffled. 

This had been happening on a monthly basis since his dad had passed away. Cal had refused to see a therapist because he was scared to face the death of his dad with a stranger. This dream had been more vivid than the others; it had hit him differently and genuinely scared him.

“Mom, I think I need to talk to someone about what happened to dad.” He said, fearful of what that might entail.