An empty beach stretching endlessly. A clear, star-lit sky. Soft white sand that one could sink their feet into. On one side, the beach was greeted by a small wood thickened with twilight. On the other side, one could hear the waves softly meeting the shore like the comforting, peaceful chatter of old friends content in each others’ company. It was the perfect night for a campfire and a group of kids that had wandered there seemed to agree.
The breeze, however, was determined to be too strong for a campfire on the shore so the group moved inward. The woods seemed to envelope the group into its inky darkness. Black shadows lengthened and twisted around them. The watchful eyes of the wood followed their every movement. Its silence seemed to mock them. If one was quiet enough, one could almost hear soft footsteps being carried by the breeze. The faint snap of a twig brought on by either man or animal with only the crickets sounding a warning.
This was the stuff movies were made from. This was where urban legends began. The scene was set. The actors were in place.
The group quickly got to work setting up camp. The breeze blew all around them, frustrating their efforts. The trees looked down upon them as they toiled. Finally, a spark could be seen. Steadily, the flames grew higher. The group huddled around the fire. The bonfire bathed the group in its warm, fiery glow. It kept the shadows at bay. At last, they could relax and enjoy. Their murmurs and laughter filled the night. The food disappeared faster than it had appeared.
Towards the end of the night, supplies ran low and energies were drained. The site was quickly cleared; trash collected and the fire put out. The group got into their cars and left, their headlights shining like a candle in the dark. The trees watched them vanish into the night and they kept their secrets. It was as though they were never there.