It was cold and impromptu. We had discovered a tent in the garage at my mom's house and the rest elsewhere. The day itself long and physical. My Fiance and I had spent the day moving boxes from one house to the other and we dreamt doing something spontaneous.

The campground itself was built like an oval. Our spot was towards the back yet, if we turned left or right we could see the other camp spots about a 100 feet away. Not a soul in sight. The tent itself, was made in fading daylight and laughs rose with the stars.

It was easy to lower your guard when you were a few drinks in, and even more so in a small tent. The atmosphere itself gave way to lose inhibitions. We were two young adults in the dark and alone. It was an obvious choice and like any 80s horror movie start we made out.

The cold and sore muscles chased away any other ideas and we settled into our respective sleeping bags. As our phones and flashlights began to whimper at the cold and batteries were drained we laid our heads down.

As the snores of my Fiance filled the air. I stared up at the tent top. Chills ran up my arms and my feet cried for warmth. I began to dream of the warmth of a house not but thirty minutes away. My dreams, however, were cut short when the faint noise of an old country song began to play in the distance. Faded rhythm dancing in the dark between trees and leaves. Between the snores, a foot away, and the chirping of crickets it sounded alluring. As if Fairies echoed around.

However, the longer I imagined the fantasy; the more I woke. In a breath between snores my tent-mate woke. With bated breath I whispered "Can you hear the music?" my own words fell on uncertain ears. As we listened, for minutes, only I could still hear the faint calls of country my fiance saying nothing.

He drifted off again and I listened. My own mind began to travel to the edges of darkness. The alluring music twisting and turning into something darker. The sweet music even more alluring and whimsical. As I began entertaining thoughts of being killed by sadistic clowns or campers. A soft scratching noise began right above my head.

I ignored it fighting the instinct to give whatever it was thought and attention. As I fought sleep began to take over. My eyelids grew heavy and my body weary from moving boxes back and forth. I should have fallen asleep, yet, I was wide awake my mind running.

The longer I stared at the tent's ceiling, the more my mind and body fought and a pounding headache began to form. The scratching continued. Soft and subtle and around each corner. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. Each nail grated against my skin, my own head getting worse.

WAKE UP, a female voice screamed above me and I jolted up. Looking around I could feel nothing except the creeping dread of not being alone. With quiet whimpers I laid back down. More scratching noises began around the edges of the tent. I closed my eyes.

It was morning when I opened my eyes again. As we packed the edges of the tent long dirt lines in the form of five fingers were everywhere.