27 Jun Join Me by the Fire
“Join Me by the Fire”
Written by Blake Blizzard Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 6 minutes
I’m glad you are here. Beside this fire. Isn’t this nice? How often do we, as humans, have a chance to take a moment? Just a moment to pause and look around. Especially beside the fire. As a child, I loved sitting by a campfire. Staring hypnotically into it, seeing the licking flames. If you stare long enough, you can see life, you can see love, you can see hope.
Every human has primitive ties to the fire, whether it’s a bonfire or a campfire. Or any other for that matter. It’s a key to our survival. It keeps us warm; it keeps us safe. It cooks our food to keep us healthy. It provided light when electricity was not possible yet. As a quick aside, did you know that the term “bonfire” actually traces back to the literal term “bone-fire?” Yep. Many cultures throughout the world would throw giant feasts and cook the bones of their kills…and enemies. Celebration time. The human race revolved around the fire.
I’ve droned on for too long. Thank you for joining me here. I know it’s not your thing. You people are so used to comfort and convenience. I see you now, looking at the ground, trying not to get dirt on your shoes, your skin. Relax. Please, enjoy the fire. Enjoy the outside for a moment. We won’t be here forever. You will not be here forever.
I mean that in a metaphorical sense. You never know when your last day on earth will be. Tragic when you think of life like that. So, let’s not think like that. Let’s enjoy the present, while we’re all breathing air and enjoying life. That’s why we call it the present, you know. Because the “present” is a “gift.” Enjoy the fire. Enjoy the smells of nature. Enjoy the sounds. Please be quiet, though. I can’t have you interrupting my tale by the bonfire. It’s such a lovely night and a lovely fire. Raging. Have you ever seen a fire of this stature? I’m a professional…I guarantee you’ll never forget this story or this night. I guarantee it.
Stop crying and listen.
Have you heard of spooky camping tales where unknowing recreation-loving folks meet an unfortunate end at the end of a knife or a rope? A common urban legend, but still an entertaining one. The story goes that a masked maniac has been on the loose in various campgrounds in the Midwest in the late 1990s until the current day. He would torment younger camp-goers by knocking on their campers and whisper outside of their tents. There was a period of time when no one was camping. Somewhat similar to no one wanting to swim after seeing “Jaws” or wanting to take a shower after seeing “Psycho.”
The National Parks association vehemently denied these rumors and declared their campgrounds safe. No one has disputed that unfortunate circumstances happen in parks and campgrounds. Hell, bad things happen everywhere. But these are isolated incidents, they say. The parks are safe. It took time, as everything does, but people came back. City dwellers and outdoorsmen alike couldn’t help themselves. They wanted to get back to “nature.” Good on them. Camping experienced a boom in the early 2000s. An unintended subset of campers emerged here, the “glampers.” Insanely comfortably camping folk took over, bringing every modern convenience with them. Full bathrooms, full catering, RV’s outfitted like home. Modern man was living “Outside,” as they were in their own residences. It was a glorious time. I would have loved that as a child.
Hey…hey…HEY! I don’t think so. Don’t move another muscle. Do you feel that? Your breathing has been cut off in an instant. It’s hard enough just to breathe through your nose with your mouth restricted. My expert grip has both of the major arteries in your throat begging to re-circulate blood. Almost like I’ve done this before…
Look at me. Stop. I’m going to sit you back down on this log, and you’re going to listen…ok? Ok.
I can forgive the dash. You don’t fully know what’s going on. I have told you over and over again that you are safe. But I’ve seen this before. You’ll settle down. You…will…settle down.
Good. I think we have an understanding. Hot dog? Ok, suit yourself. As serious as my little monologue was about the necessity of fire, it’s also great for grilling weenies! Seriously, these are Nathans, the best hot dog you can buy over the counter. Are you sure you don’t want one? I’ll save my disappointment, but I do understand. I’ll say that you’re just not hungry right now.
Where was I? Lot of excitement in the last few moments. Ah, yes, the spooky camping tales of murder and mystery. Every one of these urban legend campfire tales usually has a hidden story directed at younger children. “Stranger danger” probably puts it best.
Kind of like the tried and true “razorblade in the apple” story about trick-or-treat candy. That never really happened. Not that I’ve heard of. It’s a tale to make parents extra-aware of their children as they go out dressed in costumes to take candy from strangers.
I wish you would stop making so much noise. My goodness, that muffled crying is so damn annoying. Alright, look, if I remove the tape, you must promise to remain quiet. If you make so much as a puff out of that pretty mouth, I will end this whole ordeal so violently I…well, I don’t want that to happen. I haven’t even started the story. I want to tell you a scary story. Agreed? Ok…there. Good. Shh. Shhhh. Good.
One more chance…would you like a fire-grilled hotdog? Ok, your loss.
Just look into this blaze. So hypnotic, no? Ancient man would stare into fires for many reasons. If you look long enough, you can see faces, screaming, the possible meaning of life. I see doom inside this fire. Maybe not for you, maybe not for me, but it’s there.
Have you heard of the legend of the hook-man? It’s a basic amalgamation of scary stories. A young couple drive to a secluded lookout. They shut the vehicle off, keeping the radio on, enjoying the dark sky full of amazingly vibrant white stars, every so often seeing one shoot across the sky above.
A breaking news story interrupts the lazily written love song playing. “From the WNEW news desk, the Ridgewood Ripper has reportedly escaped from the state prison nearby. He was convicted of murdering several couples making out at lookout point just months prior. He is reported to still be wearing his blue prison jumpsuit and has a hook fastened to where his left hand used to be. It is believed he was born with one hand missing, utilizing a hook to replace said hand. Consider him dangerous and, of course, armed with at least the hook. Lock your doors and do not engage. Notify local authorities if you witness any suspicious activity.”
Scary, right? The couple were bombarded with knocking and tapping on their vehicle. It was so dark out that they could not see the intruder. As they sped off, they regained their senses. Happy and fortunate that they escaped from what appeared to be an attack. When they parked, they saw…hanging from the driver side door handle…a hook. HA! Hahahaha…scared you, didn’t I?
Oh, relax. It’s just a story. But I see your wandering eyes. I’m going to secure your legs together; I know that look. You’re going to try to run on me again. That’s just something I cannot have right now.
That’s better. And it’s not too tight, right? You’re fine. I’m just trying to tell you a story. Stop being so dramatic.
Did you ever wonder why there was a mention of “scary ghost stories” in the Andy Williams song “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year?” It’s one of the most iconic Christmas songs of all time. And in one of the verses of this insanely upbeat song, he sings they tell scary ghost stories by the campfire. Seem a little out of place to me. I guess ghost stories are always popular, even during the most wonderful time of the year.
Now…I’m going to need you to stop. Someone is going to hear you. I told you I would return you to your parents, but you have to play by my rules. I said it would all be ok. I don’t want to hear you crying. How many times do I have to repeat myself? I’m becoming a bit flustered. I don’t like feeling this way. I told you this. I made myself clear about my intentions. I just want to tell you a story, and I haven’t even started it yet. I thought you would appreciate my little preamble but…it looks like you just don’t want to hear it. Should I give you one more chance?
Everyone else I’ve told this story to loved it, ok? They LOVED it. They were all returned to the earth; I mean, their parents. They were all returned. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not thinking clearly. Because of you. You just won’t play by the rules, will you? Hmm…I wish this didn’t end like this.
Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell you the story, and you are going to listen. It’s as easy as that. I told you I didn’t want to do it like this, but I need you to give me your full attention. There…there, that’s better.
So…what did you think of my story? Uh huh…sure…yes, I get that. Ha, very good. You are very insightful. I’m glad you turned out to be such a great listener. Oh, you’d love to sit by the fire for a while longer? Well, I do appreciate that, but it’s getting late. Much later than I anticipated. We’ve got to find a place for you to hide. We can’t get you back to your parents right now. Not in your condition, you understand. You will see them again, one day. That I can promise.
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Blake Blizzard Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/A🔔 More stories from author: Blake Blizzard
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Blake Blizzard:
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).