In “Just Another Scary Campfire Story?“, a group of campers gathers around a crackling fire, enthralled by their counselor, Rick’s, scary tale of the Shifter—a creature that mimics humans. His strange story pulls everyone into a gripping mystery that begs the question: Is it just another scary campfire story, or is the Shifter already among them?
The campfire crackled and hissed, casting a wavering orange glow over the circle of campers huddled on rough logs. The night air was heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, the forest looming around them like a living thing.
Their counselor, Rick, leaned forward, his face half-hidden in shadow, his voice low and deliberate.
“Want to hear something true?” he asked, his eyes scanning the group. A few kids nodded eagerly, their faces lit with nervous excitement, while others pulled their blankets tighter around their shoulders.
Rick’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. He was about to tell them a scary campfire story—one they wouldn’t forget.
“There are things in these woods that don’t belong,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not wolves. Not bears. Something… different. They call it the Shifter.” He paused, letting the words sink in, drawing the campers closer. “It looks human. Moves like us. Speaks like us. But sometimes…”
The wind stirred the trees, their branches creaking like soft murmurs. “…its eyes glint. Just a flash, like a spark igniting in the night.”
A boy named Ethan let out a nervous chuckle, his braces glinting in the firelight. “Like, glowing blue?”
Rick shrugged, his gaze lingering on Ethan a moment too long. “Maybe. Or red. Or gold. No one lives to tell it twice.”
The group fell silent, the weight of his words pressing against the crackle of the fire. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its call sharp and hollow.
Rick’s voice sank deeper, almost hypnotic. “The Shifter steals faces. It could be your best friend, your parent, or the kid in the bunk next to you. It studies you. Learns your habits, your voice, your laugh. It waits until you’re at ease, until you trust it completely. Then, when the fire’s gone dark and the camp is quiet, it creeps near. Its mouth opens wide—too wide—bristling with teeth it didn’t have before.”
A camper named Lily let out a small whimper, clutching her friend’s arm.
Rick leaned closer to the flames, shadows dancing across his grin. “The worst part? If it bites you, you don’t die right away. You transform. Slowly. Your bones ache, your skin feels wrong, like it’s too tight. You start smiling too much. You stop blinking. Then your eyes… they glow too.”
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath. The fire’s crackle was the only sound, sharp and insistent. A girl named Mia, her braid fraying from nervous tugging, whispered, “That’s not real, is it? That’s just another scary campfire story.
Rick tilted his head. “It’s real. I knew a guy who told this tale once. The campers thought it was just a story. But by morning, half the cabins were empty. Doors still locked. No footprints in the dirt. Just… gone.”
The flames hissed. A log collapsed with a sharp snap, making several kids flinch. Rick gave a soft laugh.
“You’ll be fine,” he said at last, leaning back. “Just keep watch. If someone stares at you too long… or if you catch that glow…” He let the words hang in the air.
The campers shifted uneasily, glancing at each other with wide, wary eyes.
Then Rick smiled. A slow, deliberate flash of teeth. Too sharp. Too many. The firelight caught his eyes, and for a moment, they gleamed—unnatural, ravenous.
“Because if you see it,” he whispered, his voice slicing through the darkness like a blade, “it’s already too late.”
The fire flickered. Someone screamed.
And Rick kept smiling.
