The hand was gone, but the face remained. The eyes were bigger, angrier, the circular mouths opening and closing.

Go. Leave the woods now, he thought.

The woods are not your friend this year, Matthew Kearns, a little voice told him.

Matt blinked, his mouth hanging slack. He knew the voice. Knew it all too well. He’d even seen doctors for it. The doctors had said the voice was triggered by bad anxiety. At first he and his parents doubted them all, but they were right in the end. It was there when he was a boy, it was there when his father died, when Elmo died, and when Stacey died. And here it was now. He’d been spooked by the face in the fire and it triggered the anxiety. Not uncommon when camping alone. You’ve done this plenty of times, big boy, he thought.

Matt straightened his posture and peered beyond the fire into the dark orchard and apple trees.

Skeet’s comments at the Black River floated into his mind. Davey was up near the wilderness. Something big scared him off, something real big. These woods are sick. Nonsense, Matt thought, gazing into the fire.

The face had grown larger.

The center mouth opened, revealing two forked tongues intertwined like mating snakes. The tips of the tongues hung limp between sharp rows of teeth. Beyond the tongues bleak darkness. As he stared, the face swelled like an inflating balloon. Next to the face, several smaller shapes formed. They appeared to be tribal humans, some held bows, arrows ready to launch. Some rode massive horse-like animals. Their hair cascaded past their buttocks. Matt blinked and the tribal army surrounded the face. The eyes on the swelling face looked to the side in horror.

Never should’ve taken those mushrooms last year at Trent’s party,he thought. I’m having some sort of flashback, that’s all. His forehead warmed and moistened from sitting close to the fire. Or was it his nerves?

Just when he was about it lose it, the meanest, lowest growl he’d ever heard rattled from behind him.

Matt stood at once, flicked the switch on his headlamp, and pivoted downhill towards Ernie. The great bear was halfway up the hill, staring in the direction of the campfire.

Matt swallowed and backed away, almost tripping over the stump seat. His legs were rubbery, feeble.

Whoa boy, take it easy there, okay? he said.

He’d learned in Yellowstone that running from a bear was the worst thing you could do, as it triggered a chase instinct. You were better off playing dead with grizzly bears. This wasn’t a grizzly bear, though. Ernie was a full-fledged black bear. The experts said that when a black bear attacks, you need to fight back. Black bears stalk and attack humans because they are hungry, unlike grizzly bears who are territorial.