1 Hour of Camping at Night Horror Stories | 9 TRUE SCARY STORIES

My husband and I went camping for the first time ever in Arizona as part of our long trip out west. I had picked out this really cool place that was on a mountain overlooking a beautiful landscape. It's next to a cliff and in a really isolated location. I'm talking at least 20 miles out on gravel roads in the middle of a national forest. So, we get there, we set up our tent, hike a little bit, and take pictures of the surrounding area. We see a few cars parked around site 210, and we decide to

stop and talk to other campers that were nearby because we had heard that there was going to be a bad storm that night. These were four guys who were from Arizona, and they told us not to worry and that the storm didn't get that terrible around this area. That was all the persuading that we needed to stay. Later on, while walking a bit further down the campsite, we see a woman there with her dog and another lady. We smile and wave and continue to hike down a bit further into the forest. Let me elaborate that

because of the storm, we are one among a total of seven campers that decided to stay. We watched the sunset when we got back to our site and made sure our car was only a few yards away, and we went into our tent when it got too dark to see. There were no stars tonight due to the storm clouds, and it hadn't begun to rain yet, so we decided to try to sleep right away so that we could possibly sleep through the storm when it does hit. It was an insanely windy night, though, so it

was hard to sleep, but eventually, we got a bit of shut-eye. I woke up at 10:30 p.m. to the sound of some crazy thunder rolling through the mountains and rain hitting down on our tent. I'm a little freaked out because they get a lot of flash floods out here, and I didn't want to fall off the side of the cliff. But I told myself to try to sleep, and eventually, I dozed off again. It's now around 12:00 a.m., and I'm awake again, this time because I hear something heavy hitting the side of our tent. It

full-on sounded like someone could have been punching our tent and sliding something down the side of it. I opened my eyes, and I couldn't see anything; it was completely dark. The sound continued every couple of minutes, and at this point, I'm scared stiff. Suddenly, I hear footsteps right next to the side of my tent. They are slow but steady. I feel my entire body freeze up. I seriously start thinking about how this is probably it, and that I'm going to die. My heart was beating so fast that I am certain whatever is out there can

hear it. Then whatever it is lets out a deep sigh right on the opposite side of the tent. I'm thinking it's a bear and realizing that I might actually have to face this thing. In a desperate call from my husband's mind-reading powers, I squeeze his hand really hard repeatedly, and he wakes up. But instead of reading my mind, he blurts out, "What's wrong? Why are you squeezing my hand?" Right as he says this, the footsteps stop. After a while, I break out of my frozen state and I tell him what I heard. We decide that

it may have been an animal passing by, but whatever is hitting our tent continues every so often. I'm starting to go a little bit insane, wondering what's going on. We convince ourselves that it's just pines falling from the trees above us, and we try to sleep again. We just need to make it through one night; then we can laugh about all of this in the morning. A couple of minutes go by and suddenly the tent caves in on my husband's side, right on his head. He whispers that it feels like something is pushing the tent

down. I feel my heart instantly sink. I'm freaking out, thinking it's a bear that just sat on his head, but he decides to push back, and we hear the familiar noise of something sliding off our tent that we've been hearing for the past few hours. We then realize that it's been snowing outside and that the noise we heard hitting our tent was heavy ice falling from the trees onto our tent. Our tent is covered in thick ice, and my husband pushes the tent from the inside until all the ice slides off. Still determined to make

it through the night and a little relieved that it was just ice and not a bear, we tried to sleep and made it to sunrise. We kept on a small light that my husband had luckily brought with him just to calm us down a little bit. Things are starting to seem normal again. We both close our eyes; it's 3:00 a.m. At this point, not even 30 minutes after we are settling down, my little worst nightmare happens. Out of the pitch black, we hear a woman screaming. We distinctly hear her say, "What the hell? Oh my

God, what the hell?" followed by some other non-tangible words that sounded something like, "Help!" The way that she screamed doesn't sound like anger; it sounds like pure terror and a sense of panic. My husband and I are both frozen, looking at each other. I quickly shut off our light, and I started panicking, asking what we should do because how the hell is this really happening right now? While we are trying to decide what to do for the next few minutes, we hear her... Again, but this time she is screaming, "No, no, no, no, no, no,"

as we hear a car speed off into the night. I was legit in tears at this point; we had no idea what was happening. It's dead silent now, except for the icy rain hitting our tent. It definitely sounded like she wasn't in the car, but more like she was desperately yelling after it or begging not to be hurt. And this, this was the breaking point. Because I could take the bad weather, I could take the possible bear outside of my tent, I could even take the ice falling on our heads in one of the warmest

states in America. But one thing I can and will not ever be able to handle is a screaming person in the middle of the pitch-black woods at 3:00 a.m. We decide to book it out of there, and we contemplate leaving our tent and just going straight to our car. But instead, we try to stay level-headed and grab our valuables and put them in the car. First, we frantically gather our things and stay close as we shuffle to the car. I close the door and keep the lights off for a while, scared to attract any unwelcome

visitors. While my husband goes back to grab the tent, I start the car, and I call 911. I tell them what I heard and where we are, and they say that they're sending someone to the campsite to make sure everything is okay. The only thing is, we are literally in the middle of nowhere, and it will definitely take them more than an hour to arrive— not to mention the storm left those gravel roads in some pretty terrible conditions. So my husband and I decide to start driving, and it's like 3:30 now. As we drive out

of the campsite, my husband notices one last eerie detail that stuck with me: the four guys that we had talked to earlier had left; all three of their cars were gone while their tents remained. Whatever scared them off, they sure left in a hurry. It was only after we started driving that the thought occurred to me: whatever was walking next to my tent may not have been an animal. It very well could have been someone lurking around in the dark who decided to go after the girl that we had previously seen on her hike. I'm

not quite sure what went down on the Lone Mountain that night, and I hope that everyone got out okay. [Music] To understand my story, you sort of have to know a tiny bit about trespassing laws in our country. Meaning that we don't really have any; so long as you're respectful and nondestructive, you can walk over any hills you like. In my case, you can camp on any beach of your choosing, so long as once you leave, the area is how you found it. I used to love camping when I was little. Our family would go

multiple times a year with a large group of my parents' friends and their kids. On average, there were maybe 10 of us at a time, which was a bit of a logistical challenge since we always headed out to this one really remote beach on the coast. Actually, we weren't the only ones; there were always yachts bobbing just off the shore with people in them and other campers lining up and down the beach. Most of them also had children or teenagers, so it wasn't really a wild party scene. It was very much an informal family holiday

spot. There was even a small building with toilets and showers installed nearby, even though this was the middle of nowhere. I guess the local council must have figured it out and got sick of people peeing behind bushes. We took a trip up in spring 2011. I'm really bad with time, but I know this because I got my dog in winter of 2010 after picking her out that November from the shelter as a birthday gift to myself, as I paid for her adoption fee. Let me tell you a little bit about her: Parmesan came to me

as a 6-month-old puppy who had been rescued from a dog-fighting situation. I'm not entirely sure what breed she is, but my best guess is a lurcher-staffy mix. She is a wonderfully well-tempered dog with people and most dogs, but you absolutely do not threaten her; she'll have you. So by the time of this camping trip, I'd had Parmesan for a few months. She'd never come camping with us before, but as far as my family is concerned, dogs go on camping trips. So when we all piled into the car, she came too. Unusually though, none of the

family friends could make it, so it was only me, my sister, my dad, and my mom. But I didn't mind; I wasn't that attached to the other kids. I'd rather play with my dog, and I'd still have my sister. The drive took the best part of 6 hours, and because we left a bit later—although I don't remember why—we arrived at sunset. Not a good time to be building a tent, but we'd expected to arrive to other campers already set up on the beach, illuminated by campfires. But the beach was empty. In spite of this, my

parents started taking stuff out and trying to build the tent. They asked us to fetch some of the lighter bags from the boot of the car. I rolled down the window of the car for Parmesan before getting out because it was pretty hot for that time of year. As we were fumbling about in the dark on a beach in the middle of nowhere, it felt pretty spooky. That led to this beach, which was circular and had a bridge over the water, meaning you could basically circle around the beach in a big oval shape if you

really felt like it. After maybe 15 minutes of my dad trying to nail the tent into the sand, my mom asked him, "Have you seen that car drive around? It's been a few times." My dad kind of shrugged her off. He sort of liked that. I don't know if he said anything back to her, but after a few more minutes, a car pulled up next to ours on the road, and someone got out. It was maybe 15 or 20 feet from the cars to where we were, and the light was pretty low except for the

torches. We weren't expecting to see anyone else out here at this point, and I think my mom said, "It must be security." I don't know why a random beach would have security; I think what she meant was the wildlife trust or something, as they do occasionally come down to do their checks. The guy was walking pretty unevenly, though; he must have been drunk or high because he had that stagger to him. There was absolutely no way this guy was sober—cool, a junkie—not an unusual find, but it's rare to see them in the wild. As he

walked into flashlight range, we realized he was carrying a large knife, at least 15 inches long, although I was small at the time, so maybe my sense of scale was off. I didn't like my dad much, but credit to him: once he saw this, he got up immediately, holding on to the camping mallet, and put us all behind him. The man began to shout wildly at us that we couldn't camp here and that he was just letting us know. My dad tried to initially be a bit low-key with the guy and told him that was

fine and that we'd leave, but this didn't work; he kept coming closer to us. So my dad started shouting, and the man kept shouting back. My sister and I were crying; I remember shaking. I was utterly terrified, as I'm sure anyone would be in that situation. It really did seem like this guy and my dad were going to fight, and I'm going to be honest: I didn't fancy my dad's chances. While it’s grim to consider, I’m absolutely convinced that he would have killed my dad and possibly us as well, once he was done, as I

don't think my mother had the common sense to run with us. I love her, but she's always put dad in relation to him above us. This isn’t how it went down. Almost like a wolf, Parmesan was the apex predator; she got him good by the arm and clamped down hard, ripping his jacket and shredding the skin underneath. He dropped the knife, as it had been in the arm that she had got him by. He kicked her, he punched her, and eventually got her off. He grabbed the knife from the sand and ran back to his

car and drove off. Parmesan didn't follow him. Quickly as we could, we gathered our things and all got back in the car, all pretty shook up by the incident. I looked at Parmesan; she was okay, but the car's window was much more open than I left it. We think what happened was when the shouting started, she must have put her paws up on the gap I had left for her, as it was an old car and had the roll-down windows and not an electric button. We think she must have been able to hit it with

her paws to force it down enough to squeeze out. But this is not the end of the story. We were all pretty scared, and since we had the dog with us, we couldn't book a hotel for the night. My parents decided to just drive home so we could all feel safe, but first, I had to drive into the nearest town for gas, as we were kind of low. I spent the time trying to clean Parmesan up a little bit. I'd always loved dogs, but what she just done for me blew my mind. As we drove

into town, we came across a gas station, but it looked closed. My dad drove up closer to get a better look and stuck his head out of the window to get a better look at the sign. My mom asked him what on Earth he was doing, and he told her he was trying to see when it opens. My heart sank. Parked in the corner behind a van, so we hadn't seen him at first, was the man with the knife. He was sitting on his car, using some tissue paper to clean up his arm. It looked

really bad. Without stopping to refuel or look anywhere else in town, my dad drove right out of there. He decided to go to the next town over, but this situation soon changed. The next town was 60 miles away, and we didn’t have enough gas for that, we realized, as we began driving. We were going to break down. "That's fine," Dad said, "we have AAA coverage. They’ll come to us or at least somewhere acceptable for the night, better than staying in the last town." After driving for maybe 5 minutes, lights flashed up from behind another car.

It was the same car that the man had been driving, and he was following us. He must have realized that we were low on gas. The next half-hour was one of the worst half-hours of my life. I had a complete and utter breakdown, as did everyone really. I could tell my parents were trying to keep it under wraps so it wouldn't upset us. Us, but we weren't really little kids; we were both in double digits at least, and we knew how dangerous the situation was. My dad turned off the radio, and the man followed us

for 50 miles before he peeled away onto another road. Our fuel meter had been on the big red "E" for empty for the last 10 miles; we were driving on fumes practically. I don't really believe in God, but if he does exist, that was definitely one of his miracles. We managed to find a gas station and refilled to a full tank before driving the rest of the way home. My sister and I slept in the car. After that, I only woke up once, and we made it all the way home just grateful nothing worse had

happened than that. After getting some sleep, my mom found a non-emergency line for the police and reported what happened. They never got back to her after that, but apparently the woman she spoke to said they may wish to in the future as he matched the description given of a suspect wanted in relation to a murder charge. I have no idea if he was actually that guy or just a random psycho; as I said, they never got back to her. So what's the takeaway then? For me, it's that I love my dog. She's still with us

now. I don't know why she did what she did that day; I couldn't tell you what her thought process was. This is an experience that I had a couple of years ago. It started with my best friend and me mentioning that we needed to go camping again soon. We spend a lot of time outdoors and try our best to camp at least a couple of times a month. It was late November in Virginia, which can either be unseasonably warm or very cold. It was very cold this season. Our girlfriends had been recently picking at us

about never taking them camping because, frankly, we do a lot of primitive camping in cold, wet conditions, and we were surprised that they even wanted to join us at all. As far as we were concerned, the harsher the conditions, the better the trip—just your average manly ego. Honestly, I was stoked they wanted to come, so we made plans to go camping that weekend. Well, Saturday rolls around, and we are all packed up and ready to get back to the great outdoors. We headed onto the highway, driving about 2 and 1/2 hours west into the mountains.

As we approached our secret camping spot, it was getting colder, and it began raining. I could tell my girlfriend was getting nervous about the dwindling light and setting up camp in those conditions. My best friend and I do this frequently, so we reassured her that it would be fine. We arrived at the secret spot, which is essentially a scenic overlook that you can park beside to admire the beautiful mountains. However, by this point, night had fallen, so all you could see was the flickering city skyline miles into the distance. Anyone who spends time in the

mountains knows that it gets very dark very quickly once the sun drops behind the peaks. It is still raining and cold. Now, if I had to guess, I'd suspect that it was about 34°. The wind was violently whipping as we unpacked the car, and I could quickly see our girlfriends’ demeanors deteriorating from once excited to questioning why we wanted to come to this place. To try to explain this camping spot, there is a small trail that leads off the scenic overlook that then drops vertically down a huge rock scramble, which, if I had to guess,

is about 75 feet to the bottom of the cliff which the scenic overlook sits on top of. This is not an officially marked trail, and you can sort of visualize it as somewhere that teens would park and walk down to smoke weed or something. You are not allowed to camp there legally, but we were young and arrogant; we had a secret spot, so to speak, and it is relatively difficult to navigate your way to the bottom. We always traveled down very slowly to avoid broken ankles, falls, etc. I had all of my gear out of

the car and was ready to start making our way down this trail. My girlfriend and I made our way about 50 yards away from the car to the beginning of the trail. We sat down our backpacks and waited for my friend and his girlfriend. Two to three minutes passed by, and we were wondering what was taking them so long to get their gear out of the car. Remembering it was raining and cold, we were feeling slightly impatient. After about 5 to 10 minutes, I was like, "Alright, what the hell? Let me see what's going on."

I left my girlfriend standing there and walked back over to the car. I could hear my friend and his girlfriend arguing. "What's wrong? What are you all doing?" I asked. "He locked the effing keys in the car," she said. Well, it's now almost 10:00 at night, freezing, raining, and we have no cell service. The nearest town is 20 miles away. Immediately, I'm annoyed because if there is one thing to not do right now, it's what he just did. I walked back over to my girlfriend to let her know what's up. She unfortunately suffers from a

joint disorder which makes her very sore when it's cold or humid, and I can tell she's starting to wince in pain. I yelled to my friend that we were going down to get the fire set up because she's obviously uncomfortable. My main concern is getting her warm right now, and I'll be back up in a while. To help him figure out this car situation, we turned on our headlamps and started slowly inching down this steep, rocky decline. Remember, it's raining; but the worst part was the mist. It virtually renders your headlamp unusable; it illuminates all

the fog around you, which makes it difficult to see. I'm helping hold her gear; she'd go down and grab my gear, I'd go down, and we slowly repeated this process for about 20 minutes, trying to make our way to the bottom. Even though this is a pain in the ass system, we're slowly making our way down. Again, she hands me the gear, then she comes down, takes my gear, and I go further down. We're probably another 10 minutes from the bottom, where we typically set up camp. "What is that?" she says. I could hear fear

in her voice. I looked down the rocky decline, squinting through the fog. I see a tarp. "Oh hell yeah, free tarp!" I figured someone at the top of the cliff had their tarp blown off and they never tried to retrieve it, so I was excited. I started inching my way over to grab the tarp. As I was about 5 feet from it, I see something that catches my eye—it's a handheld shopping basket from a grocery store, you know, the ones. I can't make out what's in it, but it looks to be snack wrappers. I turned

around, and my girlfriend looked like she was going to cry. "Is that a person under the tarp?" I reassured her, "There is no way in hell! I mean, we are in the middle of nowhere. We are the only car parked up there, and it's freezing, raining, and this person has no fire, no gear, tent, or anything. We are not near any major roads or trails, so there is no way it's a through-hiker or homeless person out here. There are no stores, restaurants—I mean nothing! On top of that, who could sleep on a 35-degree incline on

slate stones?" I inched closer to grab the tarp to snarkily prove to her she's being dramatic. My light is shining on the tarp; it moves. We both freeze like statues, and I silently stared because again, my mind would not allow me to believe there could be a person sleeping on the side of this hidden cliff with no gear in these conditions. It just had to be the wind. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. I look back at my girlfriend, and she's slowly backing up the incline. I look back at the tarp; it starts

moving. Moving! That's not the wind! Someone is waking up under that tarp. My heart is now pounding. I turn to my girlfriend and shakily whisper, "Run!" Before I could even say that, she is hauling ass, scrambling up those loose, falling rocks. I heard a half-awoken, gravel-voiced moan and started busting ass up behind my girlfriend. I stopped as she went ahead and turned my light off and listened. I could hear that person down there shifting stones around. They were up and walking around; we woke them up. Are they going to follow us now? I tried to

stay reasonable despite my fear and wondered if someone is lost or hurt. I called out, "Are you okay? We can help if you need!" But dead silence. "Hello?" They were choosing not to respond. At that point, I said, "Screw this!" and continued up. We frantically made it up to the car, and my girlfriend is in tears, freaked the hell out for good reason. I'm pacing, my mind trying to figure out what the hell this person is doing—no gear, no shelter, no car, no fire. Once we inform our friends what happened, they’re now freaking out because

we can't even get into our vehicle to leave thanks to Captain [__] locking his keys in it. Love you, by the way! The rain has since picked up, and we are sitting under a tarp, huddling for warmth while my friend walks around trying to get cell service. I am sitting there, dead staring at the trailhead in case that person comes up. Finally, my friend gets through to a locksmith; you don't even want to know what he paid for after-hours recovery, but someone finally showed up. We told the locksmith what happened, and he told us to

get the hell out of here and find somewhere else to camp. He lived in the area for a long time and then went on to tell us about the various mysterious murders that have happened over the years—hikers missing, hikers found murdered. He said something along the lines of, "Some people hide away out here for a reason." We didn't even camp that night. Everybody was so freaked out that we just drove back home. The whole car ride back was silent. I still lay awake some nights wondering what that person was doing. Were they on the run

from the police? Were they just a highly hardened yet unprepared camper? How did they get there with no car? Why didn't they have a fire going if they were just camping? They were just laying on the side of a cliff in the pitch-black, freezing rain. I wish I could truly convey the type of area that we were in. This is not a place a homeless person could survive. Any person that frequents the outdoors knows that humans are a bigger threat out there than most animals. I'd always heard that, but this was the first time I

felt it. It made me reflect on how many things I did wrong. I never should have taken my girlfriend there at night—illegally camping in an unmarked area. The dark, the rain, the lack of cell service—I was confident in my own. Camping ability to the point I never considered any external threat like that had something happen. Happened, no one would have found us. I was selfish, arrogant, and naive. So much could have gone terribly wrong had that person wanted to hurt us. I don't set up camp at night anymore, and our girlfriends no longer nag us

for not inviting them. We have never gone back to that spot. In May 2009, I had just broken up with my girlfriend of almost three years. We had moved from Calgary to Toronto, and we were still stuck living together after the breakup, as we didn't know many people in the city yet. Needless to say, the situation was pretty stressful and upsetting. A buddy I was going to school with at the time suggested a weekend camping and fishing trip. I jumped at the chance. He grew up in an area about an hour outside of Toronto called

Flamboro. It's really beautiful—loads of lush forests, farmer's fields, and small rivers and creeks. We decided to camp and fish along a creek called Grindstone Creek; it's close to some wetlands, and the fishing is supposed to be great. We ended up setting up our camp in what was probably a farmer's field. I'm guessing it was trespassing on our part, bordered by a gorgeous forest. We spent the evening fishing and shooting the [ __ ], and even drinking some quality craft beers. As it got darker, we made a little fire, roasted potatoes, and hot dogs. All in

all, it was a really good night. We turned in just after midnight. We shared a tent; my buddy fell asleep before me, and I stayed up playing on my phone until probably about 1:30. I must have drifted off because the next thing I remember was being woken up by a high-pitched yipping-type noise. I was kind of groggy, and it took me a moment to fully wake up. The yipping was incessant, and it sounded like a weird coyote. I laid there for a minute listening and then started playing on my phone again. The noise was annoying

as hell. I tried ignoring it, but it sounded like it was getting closer. Finally, it sounded like it had to be no more than 10 feet from the tent. At this point, I was getting a little unsettled. I had seen coyotes in Calgary before, and I had thought of them as pretty harmless. They never looked much bigger to me than a small dog. But what if this one was rabid or something? What if it could smell our food? I have a pretty bad anxiety disorder, so I'm prone to worrying about these types of things. I

nudged my buddy to see if he was awake, and he was. The noise woke him up too. We discussed what to do about the coyote, as we hadn't brought anything to scare off critters—not a BB gun, literally nothing. Finally, he decided he would shine the flashlight on it and holler a lot—hopefully scaring it off. He unzipped the tent, and I watched him aim the flashlight out into the darkness. But I'll never forget what happened next. His leg suddenly went all wobbly, and he sort of stumbled backwards into the tent. He had a really dumbfounded look

on his face when he looked at me and babbled, "It's not a coyote; it's a dude! It's some weird dude!" Normally, I would have thought he was messing with me. I'm a huge wimp and scare easily; I won't even watch horror movies. But I've never seen someone look that scared, and I never want to see that expression on someone's face again. So I knew he wasn't pulling my leg. The weird yipping and howling-type noises were still going on, and in retrospect, it didn't really sound like a coyote, but I guess in our groggy states, it

was a way for our brains to make sense of it. Anyways, he kept telling me to just look out the tent flap to make sure he’s not crazy. At this point, I was having a full-blown anxiety attack, and my heart was racing. I felt like [ __ ], but I had to look. So I slowly peeked out the flap and waited for my eyes to adjust, and that's when I saw him. He was standing only a few arm's lengths away from the tent. He was swaying a little and wearing a baseball cap. What made it

more awful, though, what was really, really creepy, was that he was wearing women's lingerie. That's when I knew there was most likely something very wrong with this guy. If making high-pitched noises at a stranger's tent in the middle of the night didn't give it away. After I pulled my head back inside the tent, my buddy and I discussed what to do. Finally, we decided to yell at the guy to [ __ ] off. My buddy started yelling, "Excuse me! Get out of here! We're trying to sleep here!" The noise stopped. It was dead silent, and

that's when we heard footsteps running towards the tent. They stopped right outside the tent, but we didn't waste any time. We started yelling again, "Seriously, get out of here! We have cell phones! We want to call the police!" With that, we heard him walk by the tent and head off, sounding like he was moving towards the road. Needless to say, we lay awake, petrified, until the first sign of sunlight. Then we hightailed it the hell out of there. We discussed our experience on the way home, and we're both pretty embarrassed about how scared we got.

I guess it's definitely not mainly on either of our parts. I think because we were both ashamed of how we let some weirdo freak us out so much, we really haven't ever talked about it since that day. There you go! That's my weird story. But I always wonder what the hell that guy was doing out there or what was wrong with him. Sometimes, I wonder if things would have turned out differently if we were a couple of girls. I'm not saying he was some serial killer, but it seemed like he was testing who was in

that tent. Guess I'll never know, and for that, I'm actually kind of glad. I was somewhat popular in school at the time, but I had around four very, very close friends: Rose, Lynn, Noah, and Zach were the main ones. We went on many adventures around that time—camping, road trips, the beach, the whole thing. Noah's family was pretty wealthy, and all of our families were pretty lenient with rules. One day, the summer before 8th grade, we went on a camping trip with Flynn's older sister, Marco, and Zach's older brother, Todd. So there were seven of us:

Lynn, Zach, and I were 13; Noah and Rose were 14; and Marco and Todd were both 17. We decided to go camping in a nearby forest, around 20 miles from Noah's house. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere; Noah's house and his neighborhood were the closest homes, and there were no signals for phones or any electronics at all. We got to this spot easily and without problems, and we set up camp—the girls in one tent, the boys in the other. Maybe it was a bad idea to have several teens, ages 13 to 17,

with no phones in the woods, but our parents were lenient, like I said, and confident that we would be fine since the woods were not known for anything bad or dangerous. So, we set up the tents, went swimming in a nearby lake, and then came back and made dinner over a fire, which was about 20 feet away from the tents, which were 40 feet away from each other, by the way. We had s'mores and did all those stupid camping things before Lynn and Marco announced that they were going to sleep. That left Todd, Rose, Zach,

Noah, and me. We joked around, told scary stories, and just overall had a good time. Then, Marco walked up, annoyed, and told us that whoever was messing with the side of the tent needed to stop. Keep in mind, no one left the group, and the tents were far enough away to not bother anyone inside them. She explained that someone kept touching the side of it, running something on it, and we dismissed her. Todd stated that it was probably just a tree branch, and Rose and I decided to go sleep as well. So, we headed back

to our tent. Lynn was sleeping, and we settled in—me closest to the opening, Marco next to Lynn, who was at the opposite side of the tent, and Rose in between Marco and me. I managed to fall asleep easily within five minutes until I woke up suddenly for what seemed like no reason. I checked my phone; I still brought it with a portable charger just to take pictures, and it was literally the middle of the night—like 2:15. I looked around, my eyes getting used to the darkness, trying to figure out why I woke up. The tapping

sound on the tent was what I first noticed, along with a soft giggling. It sounded somewhat deep, like a male voice, but I couldn't be sure. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only a minute or two, the tapping and giggling stopped. I was convinced that it was my imagination or maybe one of the boys trying to prank us or even a tree branch, like Todd suggested earlier. Telling myself it was a tree branch and lack of sleep, I fell back asleep until Rose woke me up around dawn. Everybody was awake, and we

decided to hike a little bit. We decided to go in two groups because we planned on spending the night again, and we didn't want anyone messing with our stuff. Even though these woods weren't popular for camping, we didn't want to risk it. Marco, Lynn, Rose, and I left to go hiking for a couple of hours while the boys opted to stay behind and fish or swim and cook food. About two hours later, we came back to find the boys not at the campsite. A little bit annoyed, Marco went down to the lake with Flynn to

find them. Rose and I made our way back to the tents, and I'll be honest and say I screamed and almost wet my pants. The tents were slashed! I inspected it closer after regaining my composure because I was usually the more collected one of the two of us. It seemed the cuts were made with a small knife, as the cuts were small. Our tents were made of material that was pretty hard to cut into, and it seemed like the person had a pocket knife. I guessed the boys. Marco and Lynn came running into our screams

and were obviously startled too. We decided to pack up and head home early because, for one, the tents were ripped too much to use again comfortably, and two, we were all creeped out, even more so when Todd announced that his tires were slashed. We were all freaking out. Obviously, there was no cell service, Todd's tires were slashed, and there was no way any of us wanted to stay any longer. Luckily, Todd reported that Marco's tires looked fine, and Marco stated that she would take Noah and Lynn, drop them off to call 911 and their parents,

and come back for us. She drove a car, and there wasn't enough room for more than three people, as the back was filled up with camping stuff. Zach, Todd, Rose, and I were left at the campground, so we decided to begin. To hike back towards the main road so Margo wouldn't have to drive so far, also, Rose and I refused to stay anywhere near the camp area. We began hiking; my phone died. The last time I looked at it, it was 1:00 in the afternoon. Zach and Rose both had working phones and constantly updated us

on how far we had been walking. I began to hear branches snapping from behind us, and I got more and more paranoid as time went on. I told Todd, and he seemed to get more wary of our surroundings, constantly looking over his shoulder. We had been walking for about 30 minutes, and Marco was probably at Noah's house or at least almost there when Todd screamed, "Run!" Naturally, I looked over my shoulder before I began running. Three hooded figures were running towards us; two had knives that we could see, and they all looked around 6'3" or

taller. Todd was 6'1", but I doubted he could defend all of us against them. Even though it was broad daylight, I couldn't make out any facial features. They all appeared to be over 200 lbs. The shortest one was maybe 6'2", but they all wore hoods and masks like ski masks. It sounds totally fake, and I don't care if you don't believe me, but I was scared shitless. We began running, and the three guys finally gave up or decided that we weren't worth terrorizing because we lost them. We made it to the main road, where we

waited, walking quickly and constantly looking over our shoulders in fear until Margo arrived. We told the police everything, and they searched the woods nearby. They never found any evidence that we had been there, the guys at all, or that anything happened besides the pictures of the lake around the area and the shredded tents. I don't know what would have happened if they had caught up to us. I'm fairly tall; I was around 5'10" during this time, only 125 lbs, though. Rose was around 5'1" and 100 lbs, and Zach was barely 5'9" at the time—he probably

outweighed me by 10 lbs maximum. I'm so thankful that I told Todd about them. I have no doubt that they would have been able to catch us if he hadn't been looking over his shoulder constantly, and I'm just so thankful that we all got physical activity regularly and that we were fast enough to outrun them. Not that they gave up. I live in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Northeast Georgia. It's a beautiful area with hundreds of miles of national forest, some great state parks, and a ton of fantastic camping places. Unfortunately, my hometown

is also relatively poor. While there are some out-of-town residents from Atlanta and other places, a lot of people where I live are really poor. I do freelance work as a technical writer, so I can do most of my work online. If I didn't have that going for me, I'd have to move somewhere else. It's just one of those small towns that will rob you of your ability to accomplish anything in life if you stay there too long without anything else going for you—at least, excluding a handful of doctors, lawyers, and GE Power Company employees. The

only employment in the area is at Walmart, fast food, and a couple of grocery stores. To the east of my town, there's a massive national forest; it's loaded with great camping sites and lots of relatively unused hiking trails. I really enjoy hiking on them with my dog, but it can be a bit of an unnerving experience sometimes. It's about a 10-minute drive from town, and there's no cell phone service or homes for miles. In the past, there have been a lot of vehicle break-ins at the trailheads. The gravel parking lots at some of them glitter

with bits of broken glass from what I'm guessing were car windows. Sometimes there are really shifty people hanging around these trailheads or just driving around on the forest service roads. These are really rough roads, and you'll see these beat-up $500 cars just barreling along roads meant for a 4x4. Some of the people you see in the cars look like the guy that was crushed by an ATM in Breaking Bad. All that being said, it's still a great place to camp; however, you just have to be careful. A few years ago, two of my friends and

I decided to go play paintball in the national forest—probably not legal, I know. We decided to turn the paintball expedition into a camping trip so we could play the next morning, too. After a pretty uneventful day of shooting paintballs at each other, we drove a couple of miles to one of the more popular camping spots. Unfortunately, a church group or something had taken up all the spots in the area. This was really the only camping spot that we were familiar with, and it was getting pretty late. We decided to keep on looking, so we drove

for about an hour further and further into the woods. By this time, it was getting a bit dark, and we were getting a bit worried about finding a spot. We all had GPS on our smartphones, but none of us had any service. We turned off onto an unfamiliar road that wasn't in very good shape. In fact, it looked like the forest service rangers used a backhoe to block off the road with a mound of dirt. A broken metal barrier lay in the woods nearby that said it looked like 4x4 vehicles had been going over the

mound, so it was pretty worn down. Our F-150 had pretty high clearance, so we decided to go over the mound. There was an old gravel road on the other side, and the run... was pretty much clear of debris. We drove a few miles down this road and came across an opening next to a small creek. There were some blue tarps hanging over a plywood table nailed to a tree, which kind of seemed odd. That said, it was pretty much dark at this point, and we didn't want to keep driving around all night looking for a

camping spot. We left the truck light running and set up the tent. As we were setting it up, I started to notice that there was a lot of trash in the woods surrounding the site. I saw a green bottle laying on the ground. I took a look at the label and saw that it was a bottle of Hman Garden insecticide. I was really tired at the time, and I just thought that someone had been dumping their home garbage out here. None of us thought it was weird that someone would be dumping garbage in an area

that is more than an hour from the nearest home. We set up camp, had some beers, and made chili from scratch. By this time, it was probably around 11:00 p.m. As we were eating, we noticed a faint glow from the other side of a nearby hill. At first, we thought it was moonlight filtering its way through the trees; however, the angles didn't make sense. It didn't seem to be a bright light, and it wasn't moving. It was kind of like that glow you see over a bright city. We couldn't see the light source itself, though,

and since there were no other access roads in the area, we decided it wasn't other campers. The hill was about a quarter-mile from our campsite, so we decided to go investigate. Under normal circumstances, I know I wouldn't have done so; however, we all had a few rum and cokes in our stomachs, and two of us, Jacob and I, decided to take a look. My other friend Isaac decided to stay behind to pop some popcorn over the fire. We started walking towards the light source, and the situation got even stranger. All the trees in the area

had their bark knocked off in a circle around their trunks. We thought it could have been the work of a beaver that lived in the creek, but it seemed strange that a beaver would go around all these trees and just knock the bark off in a circle. Jacob and I started talking about the "ghost beaver" in pretty loud voices, probably due to our drunkenness. As we were almost at the top of the hill, Jacob tripped and yelled, "Oh [__]!" A few seconds after he yelled, the light—whatever it was—went out. We looked at each other and

decided that maybe we didn't need to see what that light was after all. We walked back in silence, keeping an eye over our shoulders every few seconds. We decided to turn off our flashlight and just use the moonlight to get back to the campsite. When we got a couple of hundred feet from the campsite, I saw my other friend Isaac walking around the camp. He was wearing a hooded coat that I hadn't seen him wearing before. For some reason, he was carrying his paintball gun around in his hand. That seemed a little odd to me.

The fire had started to die down, so we couldn't see our campsite very well at this point. We had probably been gone for almost an hour. From a distance, it looked like Isaac was looking for something. He kept walking around the site and peering into the tent. When we were almost back to the campsite, we saw Isaac walk up the road we came in on. We figured that he was going to use the bathroom and didn't want to wander through the woods like us. When we got back, we sat next to the fire and waited

for him to come. All of a sudden, we saw him lurch out of the tent. He stumbled a few feet and vomited. "After we left, I had a few more rum and cokes," he mumbled. Then we asked him why he kept wandering around the campsite with a paintball gun, and he gave us a strange look. "They are locked up in the cab of the truck. Did you unlock it?" We went and checked the truck, entered the door code, and saw all of our paintball equipment just as we left it. The keys to the truck were

still hidden in a magnetic fob underneath. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Isaac, what were you doing after we left?" I asked. "Um, I was watching it moving on my phone, then I fell asleep, I guess." "But you were walking around with your paintball gun, right? Did you just change jackets?" Isaac said he had been in the tent since we left and that he had been wearing the same unhooded fleece all night. Someone had been walking around our campsite, and it wasn't Isaac. At this point, all of us were way

too drunk to drive, but we decided to go ahead and pack up and go back to my house for the night. We didn't bother packing up the tent; we just folded it down with the sleeping bags and everything in it. We jumped in the Ford, and I started to drive out. When we got to the dirt hump, we saw something gray blocking our path. The metal barrier that had been lying in the woods earlier was now back on its stand, right on top of the hump. By this point, all of us had sobered up to

the situation. No one wanted to get out of the truck to try to move the barrier. I had a metal guard in the front of the F-150, so... I drive forward slowly, tapping the metal barrier with the front of my truck. It falls right off; it must have just been balanced on top. We drive over it slowly, terrified that it would pop one of the truck's tires as we drove over it, but thankfully, it didn't. As we drove down the road, we see a vehicle following us with its lights off—it's probably about a thousand feet

behind us. We kept catching glimpses of it as the moon reflects light off of it. I start to drive as fast as I can on the forest service road, and the other vehicle keeps pace. It doesn't get any closer, though; it just stays one or two turns behind us. We can only see it when the road straightens out. After about 45 minutes of speeding along gravel roads, we make it back to the main paved road. I start to drive everyone back to my house, but I decide to go a different way just to be safe.

I didn't get pulled over for a DUI. Locally, camping can be fun, but very rural camping can be dangerous. I've driven past that metal barrier since that time, but it's always been in place. I would never go down that road again, though. When I was 19, I was a Venture Scout—sort of like Boy Scouts, only for older kids and it's gender mixed. I decided to go to this week-long mixed scouting crew camping trip with a friend of mine, but a few days before going, my friend from Venture Scouts bailed. So, I'd be going up into

the mountains alone with a bunch of strangers, which was no big deal for me, really. I can handle myself. When I got there, I was the only Venture Scout and the only girl. It was a little awkward, but most of the Boy Scouts were pretty nice and easy to get along with, although they weren't used to camping with a girl. They happily accepted me as just one of the guys. But there was this one guy, Danny. On the first day of camp, he wouldn't take his eyes off me; he just stared at me. It was

a little uncomfortable, but I figured he was just socially inept with girls or something, and I tried to pay him no mind. The next day, while we were hiking, we split off into pairs, and it turned out that I was paired with Danny. He looked a little too excited about the idea of hiking with me alone; his eyes always seemed a little too wide—a bit crazy looking—but he was a really small guy, spindly with unkempt hair and a little shorter than I was at 5'7". I figured I'd be able to take him on in a

fight if he tried anything, so I didn't raise a fuss about it. Before setting out on the hike, he kept asking me if I needed help putting on my sunscreen, even though I kept declining. He kept pushing the question, trying to put sunscreen on me until one of the guys told him to cut it out. While we were hiking together, he kept probing me. "How old are you?" he asked. "19, almost 20," I replied. "Oh, don't lie! You must be 14 or something; you're so innocent," he said. He kept asking innocent enough questions like where

I lived, if I had siblings, and what my favorite color was. But then he started asking me if I'd ever heard of BDSM. I was taken aback by this and was more than a little uncomfortable, so I pretended to not know what he was talking about, all while trying to give as many cues as possible for him to drop the subject. But then he started going on about what BDSM was. At this point, I was kind of freaking out a little bit, but I kept my cool. I didn't want to show any distress—any chink in

my armor—as I knew he'd probably get off on making me squirm. The only thought I could think of was, what the hell was wrong with this guy? As I kept my eyes fixed on the path ahead of me, he started complimenting my skin. "You don't see a lot of girls with pale skin, do you? Do you use moisturizer?" he asked, attempting to touch my hand, but I kept my arms close to me, held fast to my backpack. I was incredibly tense, and every muscle in my body was screaming. I sorely regretted wearing a tank top,

as I could feel his eyes on me at all times. He started telling me how beautiful my pale skin is, since you can see the rope burns and the bruises better. The way he said it sent chills down my spine, and the anxious knots forming in my stomach grew tighter. He asked me if I was a virgin, then he asked me if I fantasized about things I'd rather not go into detail about. Wide-eyed in disbelief, I turned my gaze away from the dirt path and looked at him. He was smiling a creepy, childish sort of

smile that was just chilling. I kept silent and quickened my pace. He felt too close—far too close—but I wanted to run. He could probably see the fear in me at this point, and there was no hiding it. But then I saw that another pair of scouts were ahead of us. I ran to them, telling them that the four of us should group up and go together. At first, they declined, saying that we were supposed to be going in groups of two. But upon seeing how panicked and distressed I was, two guys changed their minds, looking

confusedly at Danny, who was silently glaring at them. I was just glad someone else other than Danny was there. The four of us went up to the mountain, and I tried to keep close to the other two boys and as far from Danny as possible. Upon reaching the end of the trail and regrouping with the others, the two Boy Scouts offered to switch partners to descend the mountain path. Danny looked downright upset—angry even. He was looking at me as if he were betrayed, but I didn't care if it pissed him off; I accepted the offer

of switching partners and was able to get back to camp in relative peace. On the way down, the Boy Scout I was with asked me if Danny was bothering me or something, but I lied and said he wasn't bothering me too much. After all, I was 19; I thought it would be pathetic to get so distressed about some weird 15-year-old kid. I figured that so long as I got stuck with other guys, I'd be fine. But then that night, I was alone in my tent. Everyone else got to sleep in pairs of two or three,

but since I was the only girl, I had to be alone in my tent. It was always a little creepy being alone and isolated in the forest, away from everyone else. The Scout Masters insisted my tent be far away from the boys' tents so that they wouldn't bother me, but it only put me in a more vulnerable, isolated position. I sorely wished I'd been closer to the protection of the rest of the group. Late at night, I heard rustling outside. I figured it was just a deer or elk or something, as it usually was, and

went back to sleep. But then I heard my tent opening. Opening my eyes, I peeked through the crack in my sleeping bag to see what it was, and there I saw the white of an eye looking back at me, looking through the opening of my small tent. It was Danny, just staring at me. I froze, holding my breath. I held my dad's hunting knife close to me, hiding in my sleeping bag, not moving a muscle, staring Danny down, pretending to be asleep, ready to fight at any moment should he take one step into my tent.

But he actually didn't do anything; he just stared, watching me, breathing heavily and muttering incoherently to himself. "Are you there?" I thought I could hear him say. Eventually, after what felt like an hour, he left. The next morning, exhausted, I caught naps when and if I could and kept close to the other Scouts in my group. It was difficult to maintain my calm and cool composure. The Scout leaders were a little frustrated with me since it seemed like I wasn't paying much attention to their instructions, but at this point, I didn't much care for it.

I was always on some level of alert, as Danny would sometimes creep up behind me and crush my neck or play with and try to smell my hair. Every night, Danny was there watching. One night, he went digging through my backpack looking for something, but unfortunately for him, I kept all my clothes and personals tucked away with me in my sleeping bag. He left with nothing. I grew up in rough situations and circumstances, so I always felt I could only really rely on myself. Asking for help was never an option for me as a kid;

asking for help meant you were weak, so it hardly even occurred to me. I was prepared to tough out the rest of the week, but a little over halfway through the week, Danny was called away by the Scout Masters and sent home. I got the feeling that the Boy Scout who helped me before saw what he was doing and sent in a complaint, as while everyone else was confused and happily saying bye, he just crossed his arms firmly. Danny looked so bewildered and confused by everything, like he didn't understand what he did to deserve being

kicked out of camp. It was really strange. I tried my best to forget about it, and the rest of the week went off without a hitch. But the more I think back on it, the more I realize how damn freaking bizarre that kid really was. I fear he may end up being some kind of serial killer or something when he grows up, but all I know for certain is that he was very disturbing. I'm just glad my dad told me, although knives weren't allowed at this camp, to at least take his hunting knife with me.

My father insisted I keep it for protection, and I didn't regret it. This event happened to me last summer; it was probably the scariest story of my life, and I wanted to share it so hopefully someone learns from it. Something I've realized growing up year by year is that this world can be an amazing place, but it's also filled with some super sick people, and unfortunately, I've seen that side of our world firsthand. I'm a very social person, and I love the opportunity to hang with friends whenever. I'm also the type of person who's always

looking for the next big thing. I guess I should tell you I was a 17-year-old male at the time of this story and have a decent-sized friend group of both boys and girls. Throughout high school, we had done a lot of crazy things together. Being just out of high school, we wanted to do something insane together before departing for college, and we all decided to go camping in the middle of nowhere for three days. After some miracle, all of our parents thought it would be fine, so we had six people going: me and my girlfriend,

Stephanie; my friend Brandon and his girlfriend, Kaylee; and Steve and his girlfriend, Sarah. We decided to... I have three tents so that way each couple could have their own, for reasons you could probably guess. Being a former Boy Scout, I was aware of everything we needed to survive for the three days: food, water, and other essential supplies. Being rebellious teenagers, we also stocked up on plenty of booze and weed for our fun getaway. So, in mid-July, we departed for our camping vacation. After hours of driving down back roads, we eventually found a place that looked

secluded but not sketchy, like some horror stories. There were houses nearby but not too close. Again, we weren't looking for a sketchy woods to camp in. Unfortunately, we had no service. It took us at least an hour to get everything set up. Brandon and I took a look around while fetching firewood. We eventually came across a cool-looking trail, and because there were houses within a mile radius, we assumed that those people had used this trail to hunt, which was big in this area, or that animals used it. If you're wondering about our car, we drove

a Honda Pilot, which was Steve’s, that had plenty of room for us and our supplies. We parked the car rather close to the site so we had eyes on it at all times. The first night, nothing much happened. We rolled a blunt, drank a bit, and called it a night. The next day, we decided to explore the woods a bit, but Brandon and Kaye stayed behind to watch the site and spend time together. We decided to go down the path we had found earlier. About 20 minutes down the path, Steve spotted a metal fence. We

approached it to find a cemetery. The cemetery looked old, but there were signs of activity there—no, not some voodoo cult; like flowers and notes were left. Beyond the cemetery, we saw a bigger trail that had tire tracks and a half-assed parking lot for the cemetery. We ventured down the path a bit more to spot some deer, then we headed back because it was getting late. That night, we really partied hard because we were to leave the next day and didn't want to return with extra beer or weed. Now, this night was the polar opposite of

the other night. The other night was peaceful, and we assumed the same about this night as we began to turn in. But boy, were we wrong. Now you would assume there would have been warning signs earlier in our trip, like a rusty knife on the path or footprints around our site, but nothing. All of us woke to a blood-curdling scream coming from Steve and Sarah's tent as we heard the fabric being ripped by what we assumed to be something sharp. I guess Steve hit the guy really hard with his flashlight and was able to get

both himself and Sarah into his car. Now, here's the issue: Steve's tent is closest to the car, while the other two tents are closer to the trail. So, to get to Steve's car, we had to get past whatever attacked Steve and Sarah. Luckily, all of our drunken selves were gone because before getting into his car, he yelled "cemetery," and it clicked into my head—the trail on the other side of the cemetery. So, I quickly grabbed Brandon, Kaye, and Stephanie and started running toward the trail. I used my phone flashlight to help see. You might think,

“Why would you turn your flashlight on?” Well, the last thing I wanted to do was miss the cemetery and be lost in the woods with the guy who attacked us. By the time we got to the trail, Steve and Sarah had gotten the hell out from the site, and we could hear the guy chasing us from several yards behind. We were able to find the cemetery rather easily, and I hopped over the fence first. When we all got over the fence, we noticed Steve had not arrived yet, so we all headed into the cemetery. Luckily,

to our advantage, it was pitch black. By the time I turned my flashlight off, we all hid in complete silence. My heart dropped when I heard the metallic shaking as if someone was climbing over the fence. The guy had tracked us down, probably due to the fact that Steve yelled "cemetery." We all stayed still as we heard the ground crunch with the guy taking slow steps. In fight or flight moments, you are capable of a lot more than you would think, and your brain has put on some sort of super high alert mode. As the

guy approached, I realized I had my small Swiss army pocket knife in my pocket. As the guy's steps grew closer to me, when he was right about on top of me, I grabbed my knife and lodged it into the back of his knee. The guy tumbled to the ground with a shriek of pain as he dropped his weapon. Soon, a pair of headlights came around the corner—Steve had made it! We all got up and ran toward the car. While I got up, the light gave me a glimpse of the guy. He was tall, bulky, and

had the look of pure hatred in his eyes, and he clutched the back of his knee beside a huge machete. I was the last one to get in the car, and even before I fully closed the door, Steve floored it out of there. The girls were bawling their eyes out. We drove to the first house where we politely knocked and asked for directions to a motel. It was a friendly old couple. They told us there was not one for miles, but they took us in and gave us warm food and a place to rest for

the remainder of the night. In the morning, the man brought his hunting rifle with us to retrieve our stuff from the campsite. When we got there, there was nothing stolen, but all of our tents were slashed up. The elderly woman called and made a report while we were gone, and when we got back, the officers were at their home. We gave our statements, and the officer said there wasn't enough evidence to find the guy, but they promised to search. We headed home later that day; not one said a word on the way home. We were

all processing what really happened. The police, unfortunately, never found the guy. Yeah, college split us up a little bit, but we barely talk about it as a group, and it's been a year. My advice to all of you is to please find a populated place to camp. I don't care if it's some Yogi Bear camp; be in reach of help and the police. Stay safe, guys. Please, back in 2011, I was within a circle of friends that made it a tradition to go camping at a certain spot for a long weekend. The spot we chose

was in a beautiful area right on the edge of a large lake and was located on government land. The lake itself had a dam on it, so during May, the water levels were always low, if not completely empty, making it possible to walk across it. People were allowed to camp there as long as they weren't outside causing trouble and making a mess, and it was generally a good time for everyone. The spots themselves were spaced far enough apart that you had your own privacy, but not far enough that you couldn't meet other people. In this

particular year, our spot was in the middle of a small hill, with one campsite below us and one above us. The first night of our trip happened without incident. During the second day, the people staying at the site below us had moved in. We didn't think much of it and continued drinking throughout the day and into the night. At about around midnight, the people at the campsite below us were really out of control; they were yelling and screaming, and their music had gotten even louder. So, our friend Ben went down to ask them to turn

it down. He was promptly punched in the face, and he came back to inform us that he was 90% sure that they were on drugs. After that, the vibe wasn't as relaxed, and we were all somewhat on edge. I was feeling very tired, so I just decided to go to bed. Some of my friends were still awake, including Ben and one couple, Lily and Derek, that were visiting another campsite we had made friends with that day. I could hear that the campsite below was still blasting their music and partying pretty hard, but I just tried

to ignore it and go to sleep. I don't know what time it was when I jolted awake; parts of this are somewhat of a blur. All I know is that I sat straight up as soon as I heard the screaming and yelling coming from outside my tent. I quickly ran outside to find our campsite in chaos. One of my friends was clutching their chest, and people were running around and screaming to call 911. I was quickly informed of what happened. Apparently, not long after I had gone to bed, the people camping at the site below

us decided that they weren't finished talking to Ben, and on their way up, they had encountered Lily and Derek walking back. Now, Derek and Ben are about the same height and have the same color of hair, so they assumed that Derek was Ben, and they hit both him and Lily over the head with a glass bottle. I don't know if it was the same guys that showed up at our campsite, but I was told that everyone else was sitting around the fire when two or three huge guys appeared from the darkness and walked over to

them. One had a knife, and the other had a butcher's knife in their hands. Ben saw the knives and had gotten up to talk to them and had barely spoken a word when one of the guys stabbed him once in the chest. At the same time, some people from the campsite above had seen the guys coming and came down to help. One of the guys, Tim, was coming down the hill when the guy with the butcher's knife ran up to him and also stabbed him in the stomach. From there, sheer panic ensued. People called 911,

but the ambulance was over a half an hour away. This is where I came out of the tent. Tim's wound was bleeding profusely, and he was losing blood way too quickly. His friends ended up putting him in the back of his car and speeding off to meet the ambulance halfway. Ben was also bleeding, but his wound wasn't as deep, and we were able to keep him calm until an ambulance arrived. The guys with the knives ran off into the darkness back to their campsites and took off in their Land Rover. My boyfriend at the time

and I got to his car and drove to the entrance to try and flag down the policemen on their way to the scene. Once they arrived, we were informed to stay in the car as they had released a K9 search unit to hunt down the people who stabbed our friends. By the end of the night, they had arrested the men; they had tried to flee by driving their vehicle across the lake bed, where they got stuck in a muddy section of the lake. They were on a concoction of several drugs, as suspected. Luckily, both Tim

and Ben survived. Although Tim had lost a lot of blood and took a few weeks to recover from his wounds, Derrick and Lily had huge goose eggs on their heads, and possibly one person had a concussion, but I can't recall. It was definitely one of the scariest things I've ever experienced, and a few of us had to testify against him in court.