By Mackenzie Morong
The campground at night was Timmy’s least favorite place. The gravel path crunched under his feet. Owls hooted in the trees. Loons shrieked from the lake. The sky was dark, so dark that Timmy could barely see his hands in front of him. There were always tree roots and fallen branches across the path, and he hoped he wouldn’t fall. The skinned knee would be bad enough, being caught would be worse. He had to just keep going. His breath came faster and faster as his feet in their flimsy sandals pounded the dirt, and he tried his best to keep quiet. As he ran deeper and deeper into the trees, he knew he had to find somewhere to hide.
Bushes lined the edge of the small clearing where boys played kickball and tag during the day, and Timmy ducked into one of them, curling himself back into the branches. He sat as still as he could, hand over his chest, feeling the fluttering of his small heart. Calm down, he ordered himself, knowing even a short breath could give him away. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly. His heart still pounded under his hand. He peeked through the branches into the clearing, desperately praying it would still be empty. It was. He allowed himself a sigh of relief, and immediately froze at the noise it made.
The clearing looked different at night than it did during the day. Timmy had never been out here at night before, he didn’t think any of the other boys had, either. They’d all been caught before they got this far. He shivered to himself, hoping he would avoid their fate. Shadows stretched long across the grass. They could be people shadows, if he looked hard enough.
Suddenly, a noise. The soft shuffle of feet on grass. Stifled laughter on the wind. Timmy’s muscles tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut as the footsteps crept closer. Multiple sets of footsteps, he realized. How many of them were there? His heart sped up once again, beating please, please, please. It seemed to him they’d hear it outside of the bush.
“What have we here?” one of the voices said. Timmy could almost hear it smiling menacingly. He cracked an eye open to see a hand stretching out to the branches. Timmy tucked himself down, smaller, smaller, please don’t see me.
The shadowy arm seemed to be moving in slow motion toward the branches.
Timmy’s breath stalled.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even seem to think.
The branches rustled around him.
Then burst open.
“Timmy!” the boys yelled, pulling branches apart. “We found you, we found you!” they cheered.
Timmy sighed as he got to his feet, untangling himself from the bush. They’d been playing hide and seek almost every night, it seemed, and he still had yet to win. A rush of relief and disappointment flooded through him, calming his breath and slowing his heartbeat. Disappointment at the loss, relief that it was over. The boys told him every time that he got too nervous. He took in the scene, shaking leaves from his hair. Tonight he’d come close, he could see from the crowd that greeted him.
“Man,” one of them said. In the dark it was hard to tell who. “That was a good spot.”
“Yeah,” the others agreed, “you’ll win for sure next time!” And, clapping him on the back and hooting back at the owls, they thundered into the trees after the remaining hiders.