Things that go slosh in the night

The guy pulled in mid-afternoon. Just parked his car in the space, rolled a sleeping bag out on the picnic table, sat on top of it and started drinking. He sat there, drinking, at least until dark. Kinda weird, but you see all kinds when you camp.

Before we went to bed, we tidied up the camp supplies and secured the food (a lesson well-learned earlier in the week, which is a whole 'nother story). Then we took the dog and retired to our ancient cabin tent, hoping to get a full night's sleep - local wildlife allowing.

The wildlife we expected was a mixed herd of javalinas. Having been forewarned by the state park service that these characters were in the area, we were forearmed with a 9mm semiautomatic handgun (the dog had occasionally issued challenges she wasn't prepared to follow through on, and we didn't want one of these grunters charging through the tent to get to her). We usually took it on trips where we were going to be away from "civilization," and although we had never needed it, it was comforting the way an umbrella is - you hope you don't need it, but are glad to have it just in case.

After a long day of hiking in the bracing air of the West Texas mountains, it didn't take any of us long to drift off. However, I'm a light sleeper and an out-of-place sound had me bolting out of the sleeping bag. My husband, while not a light sleeper, is usually at least half-woken when I make sudden moves like that.

"Huh? Whazzut?"

"Shh. I think someone's out there. It's like they kicked the tent or tripped over the peg and it woke me up." I barely breathed the words, I was so scared of who might be waiting to pounce on us.

Well, this got him a little more alert, so we were silent a minute, listening for Bigfoot or similar. He was listening for something to disprove my theory; mainly animal-type sounds that would tell us the javalina pack was back. I was listening for footsteps or breathing that would indicate Jack the Ripper was outside our (suddenly very thin, very vulnerable) tent. Just as my husband started to speak, I heard it - that distinctive, hard-to-describe sound of someone taking a drink from a bottle, and the liquid sloshing in the bottom as the bottle is lowered. I squeezed his arm and listened another minute.

"I'm telling you, there's someone out there. I just heard a sloshy sound, like someone drinking from a bottle." I was still whispering, but since I was agitated, it was a lot harsher.

That got his attention.

"That guy down the road - the one with no tent - he had a bottle." I was still processing whether this was a relief (someone we had seen, who maybe lost his way in the dark) or even scarier (weird drunk guy who could jump in his car after murdering us and be gone hours before anyone knew we were dead), when suddenly my husband was moving, pulling out that rainy day friend. He said, in a completely different tone, at a normal volume, "Well, if there is someone out there, they won't be for long!" And with that, he cocked the gun - a very distinctive sound, and in these circumstances, very reassuring to me (and hopefully terrifying to anyone who might be prowling around outside).

My hero!

We listened another minute, but didn't hear anyone bolting wildly away. We didn't hear anything else, either, so Hero saftied the gun (unchambered the bullet? Made it not-imminently-fire-able? I don't know this gun lingo), and we went back to sleep. You might be wondering where our bold canine companion was all this time, and why she wasn't barking her head off if there was really someone out there? She was sitting on our bed, alert but unconcerned. Some watchdog! (Or, if you're My Hero, proof that I was probably dreaming.)

Next morning: I got up to feed the dog and start breakfast. At that time, we had the older Coleman campstove - the kind that used liquid fuel and you had to pump it up. I knew that after supper the night before, it needed to be refilled so that it wouldn't die halfway through heating the water and cooking the eggs, so I reached down under the table to grab the can. As I did that, I thought "I know I put that up on the table last night to keep it from the javalinas." I turned to my husband, who was just coming out of the tent, and said, "Why did you put the fuel back on the ground last night?"

He was barely awake, so he just looked at me. I was like, "Yeah, I put it up on the tab-" I stopped. When I turned to point to where I had put the can of fuel, I noticed that it was still there, right where I put it the night before. I looked at the can of fuel in my hand.

"Where did that come from?" My husband was starting to realize something wasn't right.

"It was just...right here. Under the table. It's almost full."

We looked at each other, realizing that at some point in the night, there HAD been someone in our camp. Someone with almost a full can of kerosene near our very-flammable canvas tent. But whether they had been scared off by the gun, or were just being friendly and leaving an extra supply, we had no idea.

Oh, and the guy with the sleeping bag? Gone. Sometime before dawn.

So that's how we almost shot the camp fairy. I think the story is better told sitting around a fire, just before going to bed in a tent, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.