Now that my feet are warm, and the stars above seem to come from the sparks of our fire, I'll tell you a true campfire ghost story -- like all true ghost stories, it is only mildy scary.
Many years ago, when I was a boy, and was a Boy Scout, I went to camp out in the Ozarks in Missouri. There was a large summer camp for scouts, and it was saturated with old Indian, well pseudo-Indian practices, from the Osceola Indians. I am sure this is all banned now as hopelessly incorrect. We learned sign language, and indian dances, and the senior scouts were invited to become part of the spiritual tradition of the Indian peoples. It was organised so that the day before the great final pageant, when we would do Indian dancing in full regalia, paint and feathers, the senior scouts would take a vow of silence, except for the sign language. Individually (and weather permitting), they would go off into the woods alone, naked except for a loincloth, and would find a spot, get a bunch of rocks and make a large circle, and build a campfire (we had two matches) in the middle. We would then spend the night alone, awake if possible, meditating or whatever.
Late in the afternoon, I set out on this voyage. It was a pretty hot day. We were covered in paint slashes, and were watched out of the camp by everyone else. There were about 12 of us. We were supposed to camp within about a mile radius of the headquarters. After I had gone about a mile, I suddenly saw off in the distance a beautiful spot, about 3 miles further on, which was a hill with a bluff overlooking the river. I moved on, reaching the site just before dark. I gathered a ring of stones, placed them around me, got lots of wood for a fire, and then walked three times around the circle, chanting a chant that we had learned, to the gods to protect me in my circle (I forget the chant now). Then I settled down to look at the beautiful view.
Meanwhile, uunknown to me, the scout camp had been informed that all scouts were to be rounded up, because there were reports that a large rabid wolf or wild dog had been seen in the area. The scout leaders had combed the area, and by about 11 o'clock had found everyone but me.
I remember sitting by the crackling fire, slowly going off to sleep, waking, sleeping. Missouri everywhere in all directions, sky everywhere too.
Then I was asleep. I woke about 3 a.m., and found that the fire was almost out, and clouds had come in, so it was almost pitch black. It wasn't cold, but I started shivering for no reason. I decided to put some more wood on the fire, and then I realized that I had undercalculated the amount of wood I would need, and the rest of the pile was outside the circle. I walked to the edge of the circle, and was just stepping over it, when I was hit by this blow againt my chest. It was like a big invisble hand coming out of nowhere, and it pushed me back into the circle. I was physically shocked, and disoriented, so I went back and sat down. I didn't know what to think. Awhile later, I fell asleep again.
In the morning, I went back to camp, and everyone was in a state, they had been out looking all night, the celebrations were all screwed up. I was called up to the Senior Scoutmaster's office, and he told me what had been going on. I was 14, and was sort of embarrassed (I was still in my paint, though I had some pants on). He was a nice old guy -- Air Force sergeant in real life -- and he said, "Did you see anything?" and I very slowly and shyly told him about what had happened. He picked up the phone while I was sitting there, and phoned the state troopers.
I was getting on the bus to go home about 7 hours later when the Senior Scoutmaster called me down. He said to me, "I shouldn't be telling you this, no one should know about this, and you have to promise you won't tell anyone." I gave him my Scout's Honor. He said: "They found that animal at the foot of your hill this afternoon. Its throat had been ripped apart by something or someone. You are a lucky boy." I got back on the bus, and I was. I was a lucky boy who has always felt since that there just possibly may be something in native spirituality. I wonder why?
Now, where are those marshmallows.
yours, Peter T.