At first it all seemed good. I set up my tent and ate a protein bar. I liked the nice chill in the air and watching the sunset. But things change at night, especially when you are by yourself. And the change is not always good kind of change, either. I could hear the water in the river just running along normally, but then, especially when the wind blew, it almost sounded like someone crying or moaning. And I kept thinking about that stupid Darmo story. Even if Darmo wasn’t real, maybe there were other ghosts, ghosts of people who came to this place and never made it out again. What if all the voices of people drowned in the river somehow spoke or cried out? What if that was what I was hearing? What if Darmo wasn’t true, but was sort of true? The trees made these long-limbed shadows everywhere. Limbs and fingers reached out, grabbing in the night. I was pretty spooked out.

Then I thought I saw a light, a glowing greenish-yellow light. The wind picked up and the whistling of the wind through the canyons got louder and louder. I’d like to say I was brave, but I wasn’t. I don’t know where I thought I was going, but I started running fast. Suddenly, something reached out and grabbed my ankle, and I went down screaming, waiting for whatever it was that had come for me. And then I waited some more. And then I sat up. There was nothing there. My foot was caught in old tree root. That weird light was gone… totally gone.

My face was covered in dirt, but I sort of liked it. I found the smell of it comforting. It was dirt, but it smelled clean—a lot cleaner than the way the bunkhouse smelled, or sharing a tent with someone else.

I sat outside my tent, radio in my hand, ready to call for help at the first sign of that weird light. But it never came back. Eventually, I crawled into my tent and zipped it shut. I tried to just concentrate on the earthy scent, and how it reminded me of being a kid. At some point, just breathing in and out, I fell asleep.