The Bog (part two)

Pastel drawing of man giving challenging look

Short Stories

The Bog







Amanda laid the tent on top of the table. They heard the clacking of its fiberglass exoskeleton. Her radio squawked two messages that Laurel heard only as static, and that Amanda ignored.

“You heard the weather report?” she asked.

“Um.” Rachel answered.

“There’s a twenty percent chance of a thunderstorm tonight. So you wanna go back to your car. You don’t wanna be out here in your tent. Out in the open.”


“If you get stuck, get away from your tent, and get rid of your pack. Look for lower ground, but stay away from water.”

A chime sounded from Laurel’s windbreaker. She pulled the phone from her pocket, tapped the screen. She had a new Twitter follower: @lesdack69.

“It’s my stalker,” she told Rachel.

Rachel’s eyes shifted to Amanda, and her cheeks seemed to puff, a volume of words she would rather not say before a stranger gathering inside her mouth.

“You good?” Amanda asked.

“Night,” Laurel said.

“See you later,” Rachel said.

“Oh!” Amanda said. “By the way. Does that thing lock? We don’t have bears. But we could have a bear…you know, there are bears in the state…”

“It sort of snaps.” Laurel showed Amanda how the cooler fastened. Amanda said, “Okay, good luck.” She had been trying, since the first stars began to show above the sunset’s dying rim, to leave them. The sisters wanted her to go.

“Anyway,” Amanda said, “if you did see a bear, you shouldn’t try to scare it off. Just leave the cooler alone. Black bears almost never would bother anyone, though.”

“So…thanks for helping. See you tomorrow!”

Laurel, cheery enough to release, as she hoped, Amanda’s conscience…stop her searching her mind for the next warning, and the one after…cut in with this.

They’d signed their names to the terms of the permit. They had assumed all risk. And would not be hit by lightning, mauled by a bear, assaulted by a Free Lander…these possible threats no likelier, during this window of exposure, than being killed by a meteor, or abducted by Bigfoot.


“No! Don’t put your end down ’til I say!”

“What difference does it make? It’s a tent.”

Rachel stood angling her phone, right, left, moving it closer, farther. She was using a leveling app. “It’s raining, Laurel. You want your sleeping bag where the tent’s not sitting even?”




Short Stories

Virtual cover for Short Story collection

More of this piece on Short Stories page
The Bog (part three)














(2017, Stephanie Foster)



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