The Midnight Tent Inspector | Lost Cabin Mine

I promise I’m usually not scared of the dark… but trip number two did everything it could to change my mind.

Sometime after midnight, the snuffling began. Then the thumping. Then the kind of slow, deliberate rustling that convinces you a forest giant is outside your tent reviewing its dinner options. My search partner was a glamorous ten feet away in his own tent, sleeping like he was filming a mattress commercial. Meanwhile, I was practicing how still a human can physically become.
Every sound escalated:
A twig snapped? Footstep.
Wind shifted? Stalking breath.
My own sleeping bag crinkled? Probably the creature poking me with a claw to check for freshness.
I survived the world’s longest night of imaginary danger. Then dawn arrived, and I unzipped the tent to face whatever had haunted me…
And there it was.
The soggy raccoon from my last trip.
Staring at me like it absolutely remembered me.
Like it had a personal vendetta against my sanity.
Like it came back specifically to make sure I didn’t sleep again.

My search partner finally emerges, stretches like he’s greeting a day made entirely of sunshine and scented candles, and asks, “How’d you sleep?”
I held up my coffee and said, “I don’t want to talk about it."

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