by Graham Averill

It’s a silly thing to be scared of the dark at my age. I’m a rational person, and I know there’s nothing in the woods that’s going to attack me in the middle of the night…no rabid leprechauns or witches or werewolves or even drunk rednecks looking to score some yuppie meat. So why am I still afraid to go camping by myself? I guess it’s the “what if” factor. Every legend has a nugget of truth, right? What if there really is a half man/half beast that feeds off of human flesh? And what if said beast patrols the same woods I’m camping in? I’d be foolish to rule out the possibility entirely.

Here’s the problem: It’s October. And October means Halloween, which means the Starz! Channel (the only movie channel I can afford) is running a month of horror movies-like “The Blair Witch Project” and “The Leprechaun” and “An American Werewolf in London.” These movies are completely harmless on their own, but when mixed with a solo camping trip into a dark and possibly haunted forest, they become troublesome. It’s like blending Pop Rocks with Coke. However, there’s no denying that the weather in October is perfect for camping. It’s cold enough to use that -30 degree bag but not cold enough to lose any toes to frostbite.

So this month, after watching a steady diet of horror movies, I decided to face my fears and take my first camping trip by myself. What follows are my journal entries from one night alone in the woods:

9:15pm. I can’t see anything beyond the range of the fire. I never realized how dark it gets in the woods. It’s quiet too…except for the occasional twig snapping. I wonder what’s out there. Probably a squirrel or a deer. I like squirrels.

9:45pm. Whatever is making the noise is too big to be a squirrel. And deer aren’t nocturnal, are they? I wonder what it is. I keep thinking about that scene in “An American Werewolf in London” where the hikers veer off the road and get attacked by a mythological beast. I’m replaying that scene over and over in my head like a bad Divo song. Ridiculous, huh? I’ll try to distract myself.

9:49pm. Tried thumb wrestling, but it didn’t work out too well. It’s definitely a two-person game. The twig snapping is getting closer to my camp. I think I hear heavy breathing too. I’m pretty sure it’s not a werewolf. It’s not even a full moon. Damn the Starz! Channel. There are plenty of other things to be scared of…like inbred rednecks that gut and boil campers.

10:29pm. Decided not to sleep in my tent. Instead, I stuffed my sleeping bag with some logs so it looks like someone is sleeping in there. I’ll curl up a few yards away and the werewolf (I’m not saying it’s definitely a werewolf, but what if?) will attack the dummy first, allowing me to strike at the beast with the sharp end of a stick.

10:37pm. If there really is a werewolf in the woods, it doesn’t matter if I’m camping alone or with seven friends. Bad things happen to camping groups too. Look at the Donner Party. But your chances of being brutally mutilated rise drastically if you camp alone. I’ve done the math. Going camping alone was a stupid idea.

10:46pm. I swear the noises in the woods are getting louder. I feel like I’m in a bad horror flick. I’m resigned to the fact that I will die tonight…or worse, become a werewolf myself, damned to prowl the woods searching for human prey forever. Wait, are werewolves immortal or is that just vampires? Either way, I’ll pay for this night for an eternity…or the next 40 years or so, depending on that whole immortality thing.

Graham Averill has unusually thick body hair. He can be reached at graham@blueridgeoutdoors.com.