It's not my fault. I just wanted to go camping. So I gathered up some friends, and we packed our gear and headed out. It was supposed to be a bit of simple fun: two nights out, then back in time for work on Monday. Just a calm, relaxing weekend in the woods.
It was... horrible. Do you have any idea how it was? First it was the bird - it got Joe. And then that frumious thing found us, and there went Rex and Carol. When they left, we thought we were safe. We thought we could finally hike back out. But they... they weren't full. They were fleeing. They'd seen the eyes of flame. They knew what was coming - the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. And that horrid, unearthly burbling.
I was the only one who made it out. When it got Alastair, I just... I just ran. I kept running.
It was Joe's fault. He was the one who said we should turn in there, camp in those woods - said it would save us some time on the road. He didn't know they were tulgey woods. None of us did.
If only... if only one of us had thought to pack a vorpal sword.