Beneath the tent

It was a weekday during the middle of winter. It was the off season, so I reserved some space at the campgrounds. I put my tent up between the pine trees as a light rain fell on the beach.

I sat down inside and started cooking some rice in the front half of the tent when I heard something behind me.


It was between the ground and the bottom of the tent. I thought it had to be a mouse, so I threw something and the sound stopped.

Even so, ten minutes later it started again.


Something that brave couldn’t be a mouse. I started to feel uneasy.

I was drinking, and every time I started to feel good it appeared again, pissing me off. As the night went on and my bottles were drained, I hit upon an idea. Come to think of it, weren’t there red crabs nearby? Judging by the size of it, it had to be that.

With the help of alcohol I decided I would catch it. The moment it started again I would grab it through the bottom sheet of the tent.


What I grabbed wasn’t a crab. It was a child’s hand.

It was warm.

And then it withdrew.


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