The fire crackled loudly as my friend Jacobi threw more logs in it. The warmth grew, but it still was not enough to make us comfortable.
We were a group of four- Jacobi, Britney, Marcus and me. We had come here for camping, trusting the weather forecast, but it turned out to be wrong; cold wind had been heavily blowing, bending trees, ruining our tents and blowing out the fire. It had calmed down for the night, though still cold, but we did have fun.
Britney rubbed her palms. “We should’ve come in the morning.”
“What fun would that be?” Marcus flashed a picture of her. “Besides, I’ve got enough pictures with you all having terrible hairstyles due to this wind, especially Angelina.”
Jacobi sat down, his usual smile wiped off his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, hugging my mustard sweater.
Jacobi pursed his lips. “I keep hearing these screeches. Like an animal. Must be my ears ringing.”
They went to sleep, leaving me outside for look-out. I didn’t use my torch because the fire was still alive, so I sat down and warmed my hands.
“Hi,” someone said behind me.
My heart almost leaped out of my rib cage as I jumped to my feet and turned back. There stood a scrawny boy, with curly black hair and dark freckles. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Can I join? I’m cold.”
This wasn’t the safest idea, but he looked harmless to me. So I let him join and sat a bit far from him.
Hugging his knees, he closed his eyes, trembling as he inhaled deeply. He was still cold. So without thinking, I offered him my mustard sweater. “Here.”
He glanced at it and then at me. “I’m not that cold.”
He wore it after a little insisting, looking immediately better.
We talked. His name was Kellan, and he was my age. He let me talk most of the time, listening as I rambled on. Sometimes he laughed.
Suddenly, we heard a loud shout come from the distance. I stood up and flashed my torchlight to the right. A bunch of villagers, holding hurricanes, pushed their way out and into our camping spot.
I looked next to me, but Kellan was gone.
“You,” a man yelled. “We told you, you cannot camp here.”
I frowned. “I don’t remember meeting you.”
“Not her,” someone else told that man, “it was that blonde boy.” He was talking about Marcus.
I cursed. Why hadn’t Marcus told us? “Listen, it’s- STOP!”
One of them shook Jacobi’s tent, while the others began to shout. Another man grabbed my arm and pulled me. I kicked him in the stomach and he doubled over, releasing my arm. Everyone gasped, glaring at me as they approached ominously, when all of a sudden our fire blew out. The hurricanes provided little light, but even they could not help identify where the source of the screeches were coming from. Maybe this was what Jacobi was talking about.
Someone grabbed my arm again and pulled me to a tree. It was Kellan. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, “don’t open them until I say so.”
I did, my heart racing as shrieks of the villagers pierced through my ears, along with the same animals’ screeches, much nearer. The noises continued, and I soon smelt blood, but I didn’t open my eyes.
After two minutes, it grew quiet. Kellan whispered to open my eyes.
No villagers were there, but, due to moonlight, I could see blood stained on our tents and on some trees. Broken hurricanes, along with black feathers, were scattered across the ground.
My friends came out of their tents, all screaming at once.
“I TOLD YOU.”
“Angelina, are you okay?”
“THAT WAS SO COOL!”
Jacobi stared at Marcus. “We almost died. Pack up, we’re leaving.”
Marcus, for once, didn’t complain. We quickly packed our stuff and headed out of our camping spot. As I got in the car, I saw Kellan standing behind our car. I waved him good-bye, but he did not respond.
When we left, I poked Marcus’ arm. “Why didn’t you tell us about the villagers?”
“It was a good camping spot!”
“You almost got us killed!”
Jacobi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I should’ve researched about Kellan’s myth. It-”
“Wait,” I whispered, confused. “Elaborate, please.”
“You don’t know? Long back, a boy named Kellan used to face trouble in his house and school, so he would go to that forest for shelter. Myth says that if anyone made him angry, the forest will torture them. Again, it’s only a myth.”
Marcus whistled. “Cool. Um, Angelina? You good?”
My face paled as I recalled my memories. “For all I know,” I said to no one in particular, “my sweater probably saved our lives.”
