Ensnared by a Dryad

Ugh, camping. Why did I ever agree to this? I steal a glance at my best friend Jen, who’s comfortably perched across the fire on a log, lost in laughter over something her guy just said. And that’s when I remember why I’m here - I did it for her.

When Jen excitedly pitched the idea of joining a “30+ Singles Camping Retreat Adventure,” my initial response was a firm no. After all, we’re both city girls through and through, with a shared love for our takeaway lattes and the reassuring feel of concrete under our heels. The wilderness? Hardly our scene. Yet, she pleaded, reminding me that it’s been ages since either of us were in a relationship. “It’s time to jump back into the dating pool,” she argued. Her sudden fascination with cottagecore aesthetics made her choice of a camping retreat slightly less mystifying. Apparently, there’s only a thin line between crafting homemade raspberry jam in a quaint cottage and braving the great outdoors, mosquitoes and all. But ultimately, I caved. That’s what best friends do, right? Stand by each other’s side, even when faced with the most bizarre and unexpected decisions.

But she has a point about us being single a tad too long for our liking. For me, that includes a drought in the casual hookup department as well, so it’s been quite some time since I’ve had any action. I pin the blame on the monsters. Ever since they began appearing in our world, everything was thrown into chaos and confusion. Who’s going to worry about finding ‘the one’ or even ‘a one-night stand’ when it seemed like the world might be ending? But the world didn’t end, and things gradually returned to a semblance of normality, aside from the occasional monster sighting or a person vanishing into the monster realm. But hey, you’re less likely to encounter a monster than to die in a plane crash, and we all still fly, so life goes on.

The singles events picked up again, too, and here I am, seated on a log with my guy for the night - Jerry. The organizers have this system where they rotate these nightly dates, making it sort of like speed dating, but slower, surrounded by nature, and leaving your hair to smell like campfire smoke till morning.

“So, you’re into Thoreau?” I ask. It’s pretty clear given his t-shirt loudly declares “Walden,” but then again, small talk thrives on stating the obvious. Like mentioning ‘the weather is so chilly today’ or observing ‘the mosquitoes are particularly aggressive tonight.’

“Oh, yes. He’s like my spiritual guide. I think everyone should try living in the wild, at least for a bit,” he responds, his gaze turning reflective.

“I’ve never actually read the book,” I confess. “What’s it like?”

“Well, to be honest, I haven’t read it either. But I’ve watched plenty of short videos about it, you know, people discussing its core messages. Reading’s not really my thing,” he admits.

I manage to keep my expression neutral, though inside, I’m marveling at the irony. There are moments I wish I had opted for botox, just to mask my incredulity during conversations like this.

“I see. The videos must capture the essence well enough,” I say, forcing a smile. Internally, I find it odd to wear a book’s title like a badge of honor and claim it as your guiding philosophy without ever having flipped through its pages. I try not to judge… too much, as our conversation meanders on.

“And what part of his philosophy do you find most compelling?” I ask, directing the conversation since he shows little interest in my world. It appears he’s quite satisfied soaking in his own mysterious allure.

“Well,” Jerry leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s about to disclose top-secret information, “it’s the essence of living simply. You know, less technology, more nature walks.” He makes a broad gesture towards the trees, now just shadows under the evening sky.

He then rambles about how bad it is to stare at a screen all the time and the benefits of looking at green grass and leaves. I stop myself from pointing out the obvious bulge of a smartphone in his pocket, maintaining my poise by frequently sipping my tea. My question seems to have opened the floodgates to a monologue, leading me to drink an exhorbant amount and I find myself in urgent need to pee.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I interject at the first opportunity. “I need to visit the ladies’.”

He nods, and then, almost on cue, pulls out his smartphone. So much for his rhethoric of wilderness exploration and a technology-free existence - it seems these ideals quickly fall away at the prospect of a five-minute wait.

I navigate towards the restrooms in the wooden houses, my path illuminated by the flashlight on my ‘evil’ smartphone. Yet, from afar, I’m greeted by a sight that sets off alarms - the restrooms are cordoned off with yellow tape, reminiscent of a crime scene. Memories of every camping horror movie flash through my mind as I approach, a tad apprehensive. Josh, one of the organizers, is there, waving me over.

“What’s going on, Josh?” I ask, silently vowing to grab Jen and leave if there’s a loose killer.

“Ah, the toilets are clogged and out of order,” he admits with an embarrassed grin. “My apologies.”

“All of them?” I inquire, taken aback. It’s not quite the horror of a rampaging axeman, but it’s a crisis nonetheless.

“Yes, unfortunately, the plumbing system is all interconnected. We’ve called someone, and it should be fixed by tomorrow morning.”

“And what do we do until then?” I press, my concern growing as my bladder protests.

“Well,” he suggests, gesturing towards the forest, “nature’s your restroom now.”

“Charming,” I respond, though I pivot towards the woods regardless. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I then glance back at Josh and suggest, “Maybe next time, consider organizing a singles spa retreat adventure, how’s that?”

“Maybe,” he says, flashing a friendly smile. He doesn’t seem too troubled by the situation, and since it’s not his fault, I decide not to add any more complaints and head off into the woods.

The sounds of branches and leaves crunching under my boots accompany me as I search for the perfect spot. Eventually, I find a large rock and, leaning against it, do what needs to be done, thankful for the sanitary wipes I always carry with me.

After standing up and cleaning my hands, I make a silent promise to myself to persuade Jen to leave if the toilets aren’t fixed by tomorrow. I definitely didn’t sign up for this much wilderness adventure.

As I head back towards the welcoming glow of the camp, I freeze. A pair of moss green eyes, glowing eerily, lock onto mine. At first, they seem to belong to a tree, surrounded by leaves and branches. I blink, hoping the vision will disappear, but it remains. And then, it blinks back. In an instant, what I had mistaken for a tree materializes beside me. Before I can scream, vines wrap around my body, neck, and mouth, rendering me immobile and silent.

“Don’t scream,” the creature’s voice whispers, sounding eerily like leaves rustling in the wind. “I’m not here to harm you.”

My mind races, trying to piece together what’s happening. Is this some kind of prank? Nothing else seems to make sense.

“I’ve been watching you,” it rustles again. “I shouldn’t reveal myself, but… I couldn’t resist. Your beauty. Your essence. It’s so tempting.”

The words are a mix of creepy and somewhat flattering. Shocked, I try to wriggle free from the binds, but they hold firm.

“I understand if you find me undesirable. I am not of your world, not of your kind. But I promise you pleasures beyond your imagination. Yield to me, and I will show you ecstasy.”

Suddenly, the vines loosen, setting me free. I hear a soft whoosh behind me, and when I look back, there’s nothing and no one there. Heart racing, I hasten out of the woods, the encounter leaving me bewildered yet strangely intrigued.