Narrator: Mason R. | Arizona, USA
We saw him when we lit the campfire. A man on the edge of the light, standing with his arms hanging straight down. No pack, no bottle of water. He looked dressed for a bus journey, not a night outside.
My friend offered him a drink. He didn’t respond. We asked whether he was lost. Nothing.
After a while he stepped backwards into the dark. We waited until we’d heard no movement for several minutes, then put out the fire and packed. Neither of us wanted to suggest sleeping there.
As the last glow went out, something bright appeared where he’d been standing. I thought it was a cigarette. Then another appeared, lower down. And another. Six orange points, arranged in a rough vertical line.
My friend shone his torch. The man was there, much closer than before. The orange points had gone. There was gray ash caught in the folds of his shirt, although he hadn’t come near our fire.
He took one step towards us. We ran for the car.
Perhaps he was ill. Perhaps we behaved badly. I turn that over in my head a lot. I also remember that we had both offered to help him, and he waited until we could no longer see him to come closer.
