Ominous Stories

Willow Lake

So, three friends and I decided we were going to camp out in this 30 acre sanctuary down the street from my neighborhood. It's paralleled by railroad tracks and a road on one side, and then a small road on the other said. There's a lot of forest and trails, but also these big sand dunes and a huge lake that is pretty deep. So deep we can't see the bottom. And in Florida there's always shit to worry about like mosquitoes at night and spider webs along the wooded paths. Snakes thankfully left us alone.

Now understand when I say three friends I mean two friends and sort of my friend's Uncle. So that's Brandon, Dalton, and Mike. Brandon is cool when it comes to nature and a survivalist guy. Dalton's my best friend and he's funny but can get freaked out as easily as me. Then there's Mike, the horrible uncle with the shit-eating grin that you'd never let your kids hang out with. He's awesome.

We settled on three nights, so we got ourselves a big tent and brought two coolers worth of shit out there. The sun's high up in the sky and there's no clouds anywhere to be seen. It was a lovely day in autumn which meant it wasn't nearly as hot as Florida sounds like. As we unload our truck at the front of the trail (we kinda had to hide the truck because there are no trespassing signs in a few places, but I see people out here occasionally so I think it more or less was a dumping warning) we notice that there are absolutely no foot prints this time. I thought that was odd but Mike just drew a dick in the sand.

So as we're walking out there, Brandon is explaining that this area used to be home to the Ais tribe that was fond of east Florida. It was interesting to listen to because apparently they built both mounds and thatched huts and stuff like that. Mike asked us if we'd ever heard of a Banshee. To this I sort of facepalmed and Dalton laughed. Mike even chuckled and said he'd keep it for the night.

We lugged our shit some ways, passing a few retention ponds and an open area towards the railroad crossing and had a drainage ditch on the other side. The trail ran down pretty far until it turned into a huge scrublands area that then turned into another scrubland cut off by huge trees. You know, the kind of huge tree that's so thick you can't tell if it's just now popping out of the ground or not. I always thought the place was cool but I wasn't sure how I'd feel being here overnight.

We passed the big trees and it opened up into a shaded place with pine leaves forming their own little hills and then the huge sand dunes hugged by the Floridian forest. Then just touching the right tip of the place was this body of water we nicknamed Willow Lake. Most of the place was either sand, or little scrubbery pushing up out of it and right along the banks of the lake was a downed telephone line god knows how old.

We decided to lug our shit up the side of the dunes, because they turned into some secluded trails. We found the opportune location, too. It was a huge open area of sand with a patch of tree jutting up on the outskirts from the left side of the entrance, and then all wood on the right side spare for a small path that seemed barely beaten. This is where we would set up shop.

Within the hour we had the huge tent up and Brandon went off with Dalton to collect some firewood. Florida's really bad on that part, so we'd use palm fronds to get the fire going and use actual wood to keep it burning. Good thing to know in Florida, because the skeeters hate thick smoke.

Since I was at the camp site with just Uncle Mike, he'd brought some Gin and popped it open. I'd never had alcohol in my life and I was just now eighteen, so I knew he'd try to have me drink some. Sure enough, "here ya go Rob!"

I told him no naturally, but my own curiosity was getting to me. I knew Dalton would jump at the chance to drink some Gin or Mountain Busch, and I knew Brandon would side with me. I told him to wait until the others returned, that way I'd at least have someone to agree with.