I spent a lot of time with one set of grandparents during my youth. They watched me while my parents

worked all week and kept me all summer at a campground. I had been coming there and staying every

summer from the ages of two to thirteen and have many fond memories. However, there is one memory that has stuck with me over the years.

On this particular occasion, I was six years old, and my best friend, who was eight at the time,

was spending a few days with us at the campground. We only stayed there on weekdays since my grandmother

worked double shifts all weekend.

Therefore, the campground was sparsely populated from Monday through Friday, as many people

only had time off work for weekends or holidays, so there were already eerie vibes there, especially

in the darkness.

Not to mention the ghost stories my dad had told us about the place. Our neighbors

in the immediate area were perfect, despite barely seeing them. They had a complete outdoor

kitchen that I loved playing pretend chef in, and they left it open whenever I wanted, and allowed

me to play in it. My grandparents were always lovely and easygoing, and my nan was mainly

incredibly nurturing to your needs, no matter who you were. But they also had their moments.

Have you ever seen that movie The Visit? It's kind of reminiscent of that, where there would be

a creepy moment and then it would go back to normal. My best friend's first day at the

campground was when my pop told us to watch out for bears because he had seen one earlier that day.

We brushed that off since we had heard things like this all the time, and we were having

too much fun riding bikes and going into the creek to really care. Night soon came, and it got

really dark, really fast. My best friend and I were playing in

the outdoor kitchen I mentioned before when, out of nowhere, we heard this low, growling,

and moaning sound, which got much louder as something began tearing at the tarp cover,

...