Terror In The Forest
The midnight darkness of the forest was absolute, broken only by the thin, silver slice of the moon filtering through the pine woods canopy. The air was crisp with the scent of damp earth, and a sense of profound solitude settled over our tent. I was awoken by the sounds of a long-traveled day still echoing in my mind when nature called.
I fumbled for the tent zipper, my movements deliberately slow to avoid disturbing my wife. Oh, but wait, I never tinkle the tree without taking bear spray to ward off sneaky bears that might be lurking near the campsite. I found the canister by feel, my fingers tracing the cold metal. Stuffing it into my pocket with a hurried push, I fumbled with the safety clip, my hands slick with nervous sweat. I had to pee badly! But as my thumb found the trigger, it slipped. A sudden violent hiss, a burst of acrid mist that instantly filled the small, enclosed space of the tent. My eyes slammed shut, a blinding, searing pain shooting through them. My nose burned, my throat constricted, and a violent cough ripped through me. I stumbled backward, a disoriented mess, lost in the pepper-laced fog.
My wife woke and deeply inhaled the toxic mixture and quickly became overwhelmed. We both grabbed for each other blindly to exit the doomed dome where we slumbered. The only sounds in the woods were our ragged gasps and the distant hoot of an owl.
I had armed myself against the unknown, only to inflict harm on my wife and myself. The irony was so potent it was almost comical. Still, the burning in my lungs was far from a joke, and my wife's agony was enough to try the patience of Job.
The moment of genuine terror wasn't the potential bear, but the sudden, self-inflicted chaos inside my tent, a painful lesson that sometimes the most dangerous thing in the wilderness is yourself.
How about you? Ever had a moment of terror in the woods?
