Yesterday I decided that I wanted to go camping in the forest. I had to prepare my stuff like my camping bag, canned foods, marshmallows and more.
The next day it was a bright early morning. I got up, got dressed and walked out and headed to the forest. I arrived it was humid and sunny but that didn't stop me from camping!
I found the perfect spot for camping, not too hot nor cold. The environment was spectacular. Eyes glimmered from tree hollows. The wind wailed between distorted trunks, carrying the sickly stink of wood rot. The grass was greener than I expected.
The sun was setting into a nightfall, I began to assemble my tent and lit my campfire to get started. I opened a pack full of marshmallows to make smores. Suddenly I heard leaves
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The windows were shattered into pieces on the wood floor. I kept investigating the room and I saw this old bedside table in the corner of the room, so I went to opened the table and found this book about Wendigos.
The Wendigo is a creature that can be found in the legends of the Native Americans, most notably amongst the Algonquian peoples. The book was about how wendigos were dangerous to humans, how to kill a windigo and more information about the wendigos.
At first, I didn't believe that there were wendigos, I didn't believe at bizarre creatures. But suddenly I heard footsteps outside the bedroom, I got anxious because I thought I was the only one in the house. So I hid inside the closet.
The bedroom door slammed open, the mysterious guy started walking and breathing heavily. I slightly opened the closet door. Its desiccated skin pulled tightly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, its complexion the ash grey of death, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the creature looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. It was a perfect description of a
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
On the Run Run. The only word repeats in my head: Run. I cannot stop, I am not allowed. No matter how much I am gasping for oxygen to reach my lungs, I cannot. No matter how much my legs burn and ache, I cannot.
I awoke before the first rays of sunlight had passed through the dew-covered trees to the west today. It had rained the evening before, and the smell of wet leaves and grass was still lingering in the air.
I made my will and eggshell encasing the monster’s fur so that the hollow hairs could not draw. I never let up willing its size smaller, its hair to retract, until by dawn the Sitting Ghost temporarily disappeared…. The sitting ghost has many wide black mouths. It is dangerous. It is real. Most ghost make sure brief and gauzy appearances that eyewitnesses doubt their own sightings. This one conjure up enough substance to sit solidly throughout a night. It is a serious ghost, not at all playful… It does not bother with tricks. It wants lives”
The forest knew I meant it no harm and welcomed me as her impermanent guest.
Pots and pans flew around the kitchen with several clangs. The air was filled with the fragrant smell of sugar and pandan. Just over in the living room, the news was flashing on the T.V. screen. “And the weather today will be…” the weatherman commentated as arrows and clouds danced around on the green-screened map behind him.
“The grass was green that day. Not like the chlorophyll filled trees of summer, but rather one shade lighter than fall olive. You could smell the fresh crispness in the air of summer coming to an end. Halloween decorations were starting to be put up, and you couldn't leave the house without a jacket. I was lying on my stomach, on a flowered outdoor blanket.
When is lying okay? According to the article, “Honestly, Tell the Truth,” by Barbara Billinger argues that lying is not okay and that you should tell the truth, no matter what situation you’re in. I agree with the author Barbara explains to us that we should always tell the truth and not lie in anyway, and to always be honest.
There are many different interpretations of the creature but all of them describe it as malevolent, ravenous, and cannibalistic with the sole intent to kill and consume. Some say that when the wendigo eats, it
The temperature averages about 50 degrees fahrenheit. There are many valley/low areas in the wilderness. There also is rock crevices, muddy and damp ground, there is also a lot of green vegetation. The area will
Lightning hit the tree, filling the air with the scent of scorched sap. I dashed onto the porch and pounded on the door. It was open. What was that? I thought my hearth in my mouth.
We all grabbed our lawn chairs and cozied up next to the roaring red fire. I always sat a little too close, enough to where the fire burnt a hole straight through my favorite pair of flip-flops, assuring me to never make that mistake again. S’mores was all of our favorite bed time snack time and a perfect way to end the night. Every time I would roast my marshmallow until it became slightly brown, mushy, and not too hot in the center; then I 'd put it between two graham crackers and extra pieces of chocolate. One too many s’mores and a belly like later I laid back in my chair and listened as Nancy told us stories. Before going to bed Nancy told us about her favorite past times here as a child and how just like the little girl we saw fishing, she was also afraid of fishing. She told us stories about how much the campground has evolved since she was a child and how every year she promises to take us here and to keep it a tradition. At bedtime Alicia and I crawl into our tents and snuggle up in our warm sleeping bags. We talked to each other about how sad we felt that it was almost the end of summer, and how nervous we felt to start our freshman year of high school. However, our conversations ended when Nancy yelled at as from the other tent to keep quiet and go to bed. I’d fallen asleep that night to the sound of the fire crackling out and the crickets chirping
Then, slowly at first, but with ever increasing intensity, a small glimmer appeared on the glossy leaves. Through the whispering blades of grass, a brilliant fire arose from the depths turning the lingering water droplets into liquid silver that dripped from expectant leaves and flowed gurgling into shallow puddles, bathing the young trees with the succulent taste of a new day.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.