“What was that?”
No one answered. No one dared to. For an hour—well, perhaps minutes—not a word, not a murmur passed our lips. Instead, at three in the morning, we huddled together in quaking fear, drew close to the campfire, and listened.
It was out there.
What it was, though, no one knew, except for the fact we could hear it—in the bushes, thrashing around, prowling through the impenetrable darkness.
Our heads filled with fearful thoughts we dared not utter, and raced with beastly images we struggled not to imagine. Little was certain in my mind, save this one insight, crystal clear in its import: We were being stalked.
But as the group’s leader, I couldn’t share that horrendous fact with the others. Instead, I bravely motioned we move nearer…