Campfire Stories
Fawn and Spot were sitting by the campfire one hot July evening. They had just come back from taking a nice cool dip in the lake and were quite relaxed. Mr. Hansen came up from behind and startled them.
“It is okay,” said Mr. Hansen. “It is just me.”
“Thank goodness,” said Fawn. “You had us scared there for a minute.”
Mr. Hansen sat down on a camp chair beside Fawn and Spot. He stared into the campfire.
“Sure is a nice evening,” said Mr. Hansen.
“Yes,” said Spot. “It is.”
Mr. Hansen looked up into the sky. The stars were so bright and there were millions of them shining and twinkling.
“Mind if I tell you a story about when I went camping when I was younger?” asked Mr. Hansen and without waiting for a reply he continued, telling his story. “I think I may have been about 10 years old. It was my very first camping trip and we were sitting by the campfire, just like we are now.”
“Tell us more,” said Fawn, always wanting to hear whatever Mr. Hansen had to say.
“Yes please,” said Spot. “Tell us more.”
“We were sitting there in front of the campfire and we could hear the howls of coyotes in the distance,” said Mr. Hansen.
The hair on the back of both Fawn and Spot’s neck stood straight up when they heard the word coyote. See, Fawn and Spot are cows and cows and coyotes don’t really mix.
“Sorry,” said Mr. Hansen, who noticed the hair stand up straight on their necks. “All of a sudden, we heard the screams of a woman in the campsite beside us. My dad and I got up and went over to her. She was hysterical, yelling and screaming.”
“A coyote took my baby!” she screamed and hollered. “My baby is missing.”
“Calm down,” said my father. “Tell us exactly what happened.”
“I had Carolyn sitting on the ground in her baby chair and I went into the tent to grab a change of clothes for her and when I came out she was gone,” the woman cried.
“Okay, okay,” said my father. “Was she strapped into the chair?”
“Yes,” said the woman, starting to calm down a little. “Yes, she was definitely strapped in.”
“Okay,” said Father. “I don’t think a coyote took her.”
“Just then,” said Mr. Hansen, continuing on with his story. “We heard some rustling in the bushes. We looked behind us and saw a man carrying a baby chair and inside the chair was Carolyn. That woman cried her eyes out at the sight of her baby and her husband, who had just taken the baby for a little walk, didn’t know what was going on.”
“I thought a coyote had taken Carolyn,” cried the woman.
“Oh dear,” said the husband. “I’m so sorry dear. I just took Carolyn down to the creek.”
“My father and I went back to the campsite and we were very relieved that no harm had come to Carolyn,” said Mr. Hansen.
Both Fawn and Spot sat with their mouths wide open, getting ready to burst into tears over Mr. Hansen’s story.
“Now dear,” said Mrs. Hansen, coming out of the tent. “Are you telling poor Fawn and Spot that story about the baby being stolen by a coyote? How dare you? You will scare the wits out of them. Besides, it isn’t a true story.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Hansen. “I was only trying to have some fun.”
“Telling scary stories around a campfire is not my idea of fun,” said Mrs. Hansen.
“Tell us another one,” said Fawn, when Mrs. Hansen had gone back into the tent. “We want to hear more.”
“Yes,” said Spot. “Please, we love your stories.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Hansen. “One time when I was 5 years old…”
Moral of this Story:
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