When I was 12 years old, my parents decided to take my siblings and me camping as an end-of-summer trip. While my siblings were excited about the adventure, I was less than thrilled. I threw a huge fit, trying everything I could to avoid going, but my parents were determined to make it happen.
Upon arriving at the campsite, I felt a bit silly for my earlier protests. It was a nice place, and my parents had made sure to bring plenty of snacks and pillows for comfort. They even bought me my very own pink tent since I was a "big girl." My parents had also thoughtfully provided a bucket for me to use instead of squatting behind a tree, which made me feel guilty about my previous behavior.
I quickly got distracted by the beauty of the surroundings—animals, flowers, and the serene atmosphere. It made me miss my TV a little less. When bedtime came, I climbed into my pink tent with a smile, turning on my small lamp to keep the darkness at bay.
In the middle of the night, a strange sound woke me up. I opened my eyes, confused by the clicking noise, but it didn't repeat. Just as I was about to go back to sleep, I saw a flash of light outside my tent, accompanied by another click. Fear gripped my heart as I noticed a dark shadow just beyond the tent. I strained my eyes to see, but it was too dark, and my lamp was not very bright. However, when the light flashed again, I caught a glimpse of an older man, around my dad's age, holding something in his hands pointed at me.
I screamed as loudly as I could for my dad, and the man quickly fled. Terrified, I continued screaming until my parents rushed to my tent, asking what was wrong. I told them about the man and the flash of light, but initially, they didn't believe me. They thought I was making up stories to cut the trip short. However, my sobbing and consistent account of events eventually convinced my dad not to leave me alone.
That night, I slept between my parents in their tent, but fear kept me awake. I was afraid the man would return. The following day, my parents decided to cut the trip short. My siblings were upset with me, but they didn't say much as they helped my dad pack up.
As I headed towards my tent to gather my things, something behind it caught my eye. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stood frozen, unable to move. My father eventually found me and noticed what had captivated my attention. He picked me up, carrying me away from the item on the ground, and into the car where my mother was waiting, organizing our supplies.
Whispering something to my mother, my dad's demeanor changed. She held me tightly, her body shaking, as my dad left again, instructing my brothers to stay with us. Eventually, my father returned with my personal belongings but left my tent and some small items behind. We left shortly after, and we never went camping again. We never spoke about what happened.
The item that had startled my father was a photo—a photo of me sleeping in my tent, taken by an unknown person. Its presence haunted us, a chilling reminder of a sinister presence that had invaded our peaceful camping trip.