FICTION, PROMPT RESPONSE

Therapy Needed; Camping It Is

Every year he hiked up the mountain to find them…

Warning: Harsh, violent… proceed with caution

Alvin struggled uphill, the tall trees and dense underbrush shielding his troublesome walk from the camping site below.

It seemed to get more difficult every year.

Twenty years he had been doing this — booked a two-week holiday at the camping for the last two weeks of August, set up his tent on the edge of the camping site, the barbecue in front of the tent and a chair next to it.

Alvin was a loner.

He barely ever talked to the other guests, but they saw him swimming laps every morning, then leave the camping site for a hike. When he came back, he showered, got back in the pool for a leisurely swim, showered again, and disappeared into his tent for an afternoon nap.

Anyone who watched him intently would witness this routine.

What they didn’t see was him lifting the back flap of the tent and crawling through the bushes until he reached the trees.

That first year, he found a spot from where he could watch the camping site through his binoculars.

That year, he only observed.

Watched the ways of the other camping guests.

He noticed the patterns. People who followed the same routine every day, the same as him. He saw who interacted with others, and who kept to themselves.

The loners.

Just like him.

It served him well, the things he learned that first year.

Alvin still enjoyed what he did. That was why he continued booking his spot on the camping.

But, it was getting harder.

His knees were playing up, making the crawling out of his tent and the off-trial hiking up the mountain more laborious every year.

His age might force him to stop.

But not yet, he thought when he reached the observation post, as he thought of the spot from where he watched the people on the camping site.

Tonight was the night.

His last night at the camping.

The night he would expand his collection.

Through the binoculars, his eyes locked on a bright blue tent. She was there, sitting in the camping chair, sunglasses covering her eyes, her hair caught in a ponytail and a book resting in her lap.

Alvin wondered how many books she had brought with her. Or maybe she was just a slow reader?

She had kept to herself since she arrived. None of the other guests paid her any attention, and she didn’t talk to anyone.

The perfect candidate.

When she lit a disposable barbecue — she bought one at the camping store every day — at the end of the afternoon, Alvin dropped the binoculars and started his way down the mountain again. His knees hurt, but he pushed through.

He opened the tent at the front, stretched out and walked towards the shower building. Refreshed after the shower, he returned to his tent and lit the barbecue. While the flames burned the wood to coals, he drank two beers.

Never more than two.

It took him three hours to complete his routine of barbecuing his meat, tossing a small salad, buttering his bread and eating his meal.

He returned to the pool after that, swimming lap after lap for an hour. After yet another shower, he returned to his tent, made himself some coffee and then sat in the camping chair, waiting for the silence to dawn on the site, before he too crawled into his tent for the night.

But tonight he wouldn’t sleep.

He grabbed his gear, crawled out of the tent at the back and made his way around the campsite, stopping at the back of a blue tent.

He listened, making sure everything was still quiet.

It was.

Chloroform made sure she never woke up.

Not before he wanted her to, that was.

He carried her body for the first fifty meters, then dropped her to the ground, grabbed her arms and pulled.

He only stopped when he got to the clearing where the others waited.

Eighteen pairs of eyes stared at him in the moonlight as he positioned her limp body against one of the tree stumps he had dragged there over the past years.

Tie rip ties secured her hands behind her back. He tied rope around her ankles, spread her legs, then secured the ends of the rope to a tree in the middle of the circle of people.

“I brought you a new friend,” he said, expecting no answer.

Looking around the circle, and finally resting his eyes back on the fresh mouth of blue-tent-girl, he felt a welcome tingle in his groin.

Before the chloroform wore off, and before he stuffed her mouth full with cloth and gagged her, he used her mouth for what he believed it was made for.

His cum.

He never knew how long they lasted without water and food, but always found them with staring eyes when he returned the next year.

The next morning, he followed his usual routine.

That afternoon he didn’t go for a nap, as it was his last day there, and he needed to check out mid-afternoon. No one noticed he had more stuff with him when he left than when he came to the camping.

As he packed the stuff in his car, he already wondered for how much he could sell his victim’s stuff. The tent, the camping chair, her sleeping bag.

Those first two years he had waited to sell things, monitoring several newspapers for mentions of any investigations of missing persons. Those never came.

No one missed them, just like no one would miss him if he disappeared.

With a last glance at the spot where the blue tent stood until he had removed it in the early hours of the morning, he got in his car and drove off.

“Until next time, my lovelies,” he murmured as he watched the mountain get smaller in his rearview mirror.

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Written to this writing prompt: Camping