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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/lnr-phoenix on 2025-09-15 21:28:51+00:00.
When my husband and I got married, we made a deal.
The problem was, we had entirely different visions of where we wanted to spend our lives.
I loved the city. I grew up in a boring, cookie-cutter suburb where there was never anything to do except get drunk or high in each others' basements. When high school ended and I escaped to the city, I felt like I'd awoken from the longest, dullest dream imaginable into a world that was vibrant and alive.
My husband, Aiden, hates it. It's too loud, too bright, too polluted--and you can't even see the stars at night. "I can't breathe here," is what he told me. He'd much rather be deep in the wilderness, no other people for miles, nothing resembling civilization in sight.
To me, that sounds even worse than the suburbs. Just as boring, but without a bed or indoor plumbing. Plus, all the bugs. Ew.
So, our deal. After a lot of arguing, he agreed that we could live in the city as long as it was in one of the quieter neighborhoods. Sure, fine. But to get him to sign on for this, I had to promise to go on two camping trips with him every year--one in the spring and one in the fall, each no fewer than two nights and no more than five. He could take as many trips as he wanted alone or with friends, and he did so--a lot.
I was less than thrilled about this, but I figured I could live with it given that I got my way 99% of the time. So every spring and every fall for the past four years, I have stuffed a backpack full of DEET and wet wipes and sucked it up for the sake of my marriage. It had been working just fine.
I had high hopes that I'd get a reprieve this year, now that I’m pregnant. And in the spring, it really seemed like Aiden was going to let me off the hook. Probably he saw me puking my guts up every day and knew better than to even ask. He was really sweet about it too, insisting that he should take on all the household chores, bringing me ginger tea and crackers while I recovered on the couch. He even skipped his usual solo trips. It was nice. Aside from the puking.
By July, though, my morning sickness abated and I was back to my usual self, and Aiden revealed that he'd been planning something "special." I groaned--I knew it couldn't be good.
It turned out he had discovered this isolated lake way out into the Great Smoky Mountains called Lake Latimer, and he desperately wanted to go.
I raised every problem I could think of with this place. It wasn't an official campsite. There was no marked trail to get there. If we got lost or hurt, there would be no park rangers to help us. What if something went wrong with the baby and I needed to be rushed to a hospital?
He had thought of all this, and had an answer for everything. He'd already scouted this place out, and it was perfectly safe. Yes, there were bears, but there’d never been a reported attack in this area. No, there wasn't an official trail, but the hike was easy and straightforward--it would be no problem, even for me. And we could bring the car much closer to the site than we usually did, so it wouldn't be as long of a trek as I thought.
I could see the hunger in his eyes. He really wanted this. He'd researched a ton, knew absolutely everything there was to know about the area. Apparently, some of his ancestors had settled around Lake Latimer, and he couldn't get the idea of bringing me there out of his head.
"I want to rediscover my roots. Especially now that we've got a new branch on the way," he said, placing a gentle hand on the swell of my belly.
I rolled my eyes at the overwrought metaphor, but still, I kind of liked the sentiment. Aiden had never really had family around, so it would be good for him to have this connection. Reluctantly, I agreed.
Almost immediately after we left, I regretted it. My phone signal cut out pretty much as soon as we got on the long, winding backwoods highway. No music or audiobooks for me.
But it wasn't just the phone. As we left the last major road behind, it was like the forest closed in around us, cutting us off from civilization altogether. It was dark, way darker than it should have been on a clear summer morning. Sound was muffled in there, and everything felt eerily still.
Now that I'm thinking back on it, I don't think we saw a single other car on the road. No cyclists or pedestrians either. Not even an empty chip bag or cigarette butt on the pavement.
"It's like we've gone back in time," I said to Aiden, trying to suppress the nerves in my voice. "Way back--like, before humans ever came here."
Aiden just laughed. "You've spent too much of your life in the city. You forgot what it's like to be in nature. Just wait until we get to the spot. It's incredible."
"No, it's more than that," I said. "I go on these trips with you twice a year, but it's never felt like this. I've never been this creeped out."
He reached over to rest a comforting hand on my knee. "Babe, don't worry. I've got this. Just relax."
I didn't like the way he dismissed me, but there was no point in arguing. His mind was made up. And besides, I was too exhausted to talk about it anymore. I leaned my head against the window and dropped off to sleep.
I don't know how long I was asleep, but when I woke, it was to my head cracking painfully against the glass.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"Sorry, Bri. We just turned off the highway, and it was a sharp dip onto the dirt road. It'll be a bit bumpy from here on out."
I brought my fingertips to my scalp and winced as they brushed against the lump forming there.
It was only then that I noticed how much darker it was. According to the clock on the dashboard, it wasn't quite 11 AM yet. The canopy of leaves overhead was thick and unmoving.
"Are you sure this is right?" I asked. "I can't even see a dirt road. It's just moss and stuff. How do you know where we're going?"
"I've done this a bunch of times, Bri. I've got it." He was starting to sound annoyed, so I dropped it. He'd never steered me wrong on one of these trips before, so I had no reason not to trust him on this one.
I had a strong, sudden urge to leap from the car and make a break for it, but I pushed it away.
It was probably too late by then, anyway.
Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to think about how violently the car was rattling around. A familiar swell of nausea rose in my throat. I fought to control it.
We drove until the trees were too close together for our car to squeeze through. Aiden parked and unloaded the car, and we began the hike to the campsite.
Aiden had been telling the truth--the hike wasn't too bad, even with my big belly and achy joints. But there was no marked trail and no major landmarks that I could see. Rather than bother Aiden with more questions, I started mentally noting the little things I noticed around us in case we needed to get back to the car in a hurry. I struggled in the dark, but I still managed to find things: a tree with a knot that looked like a grimacing face, moss growing in the shape of a heart, a pale rock with a dark line circling its middle.
Suddenly, we emerged into a light so bright it burned my eyes. I flung an arm over my face to make it stop.
I heard Aiden walk out ahead of me and drop our gear onto the ground. Apparently, we had arrived.
When I'd adjusted to the light a bit, I lowered my arm and looked around.
What I saw took my breath away.
We'd been to so many different campsites together, but none could compare to this. We stood in a clearing at the top of a hill, surrounded by trees that were an unearthly, almost glowing green. Ahead of me, the hill dropped away into a valley and an incredible landscape unfolded below. Lake Latimer blanketed the valley floor, crystal blue and sparkling. Waterfalls tumbled down from the mountains across from us. The sky was clear and bright, unblemished by clouds. I had never seen anything like it. It was as though the rest of the world had left this place behind, untouched.
All my worries about this trip melted away.
"You should've shown me pictures of this place. You wouldn't have had to talk me into it," I told Aiden.
He mumbled something I couldn't hear, so I asked him to repeat it.
"Can't take pictures up here," he said.
I laughed. "What do you mean you can't? Who would stop you?"
He shook his head slowly. "It's not about that."
"Then what's it about?"
He didn't answer, just knelt down on the ground and started setting up the tent.
Okay, that was weird. But I wasn't going to let him spoil the amazing view, which was probably the only part of this trip I would actually enjoy. When his back was turned, I snuck a couple pictures of the lake with my phone.
Later, when dark was setting in, we built a fire and cooked our dinner. As I unwrapped an ear of corn from its foil pouch, something occurred to me: Aside from the crackling and spitting of the fire, I couldn't hear a sound.
"Hey, where are all the bugs?" I asked Aiden. "Normally I can't even hear myself think over the sound of the cicadas this time of year."
"Shouldn't you be happy about that? You hate bugs."
"I'm not complaining. Just wondering."
Aiden shrugged. "Probably the birds ate a lot of them."
I thought about it. "I haven't heard any birds either, I don't think. What's eating them?"
Aiden laughed, like I was a toddler who'd just asked him a nonsensical question. He never actually answered.
The bad feelings were creeping back in, now that I no longer had that mesmerizing view to distract me. I focused...
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