“No, no tell the story of the Jersey Devil!” Catherine squealed at the mention of the most famous cryptic legend in New Jersey. It was said to prowl the very woods they were camping in! “Not that one!”

“No. No don’t tell scary stories!” A little girl with long brown pigtails shook her head with a worried pout. She was enjoying the camp fire with the other kids at summer camp, toasting marshmallows and giggling about the fun they’ve been having. Scary ghost stories in the dark by a campfire fire was not little Catherine’s idea of fun.

“Go on! I want to hear one!”

“What about a ghost story!”

“Or a zombie story!”

“No, no tell the story of the Jersey Devil!” Catherine squealed at the mention of the most famous cryptic legend in New Jersey. It was said to prowl the very woods they were camping in! “Not that one!”

“It all started in 1735.” The camp leader was eagerly giving what ever single child around the fire was begging for, bar Catherine. She gripped her pigtails with worry and wished she was brave enough to just run into her tent, alone, and go to sleep. She wasn’t, so she was stuck by the fire to listen to this scary story. “There was a woman who is commonly referred to as Mother Leeds. She lived in Leeds point, now known as Atlantic County in New Jersey. She had 12 children, and upon falling pregnant with the 13th? She cursed it’s existence.” Catherine flinched as the campfire chose that moment to flicker ominously. “Some say she was a human woman who declared that this child would be a devil. Others say she was a witch, and the child was in fact, the devil’s spawn. One stormy night she went into labour, long and arduous, until the 13th child was finally born.” The dramatic pause was not appreciated. “It seemed to be perfectly normal...until it transformed into a hideous beast!” The camp leader jumped up, taking to the stage to entertain the other kids. Not Catherine. She whined in her throat. “The baby boy’s feet became wide grey hooves. His face became that of a goat. Bat wings and a forked tail burst through the screaming infant’s back. Thick fur covered his body and his eyes became pools of fire! Snarling and screeching, the hideous monster flew up the chimney and into the surrounding woods.” A bird cawed through the canopy and Catherine clenched her eyes shut. “Rumour has it that the Leeds Devil, now known as the Jersey Devil, terrorised the Leeds family to their graves. That it picked off life stock and deer’s to feet it’s insatiable hunger, and that if a 13th child is ever born, it takes it into the woods. Some say to feast upon, others say to corrupt and raise as the next Jersey Devil.” The camp leader walked around the camp fire, and Catherine was more anxious than anyone else around the camp fire for a very specific reason. “Are any of you, a 13th child?”

“Catherine is!”

“No I’m not!” She lied. “I-I don’t like this story. A-and you know I don’t!”

“That’s because you’re a 13th child! The Jersey Devil will come for you!”

“No! No no no!” Catherine held her pigtails and sobbed. The camp leader had no idea there would be a child who was a 13th child, and in a panic he hurried over to console her.

“I’m so sorry Catherine. I didn’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t have told that story. I’m so sorry.”

Catherine was ushered to her tent and that night, and many nights afterwards, she had a fitful night’s sleep.

Fifteen years later.

Catherine Devereaux loved it out here. She loved her life. She was a jigsaw that was only one piece missing from having the fill image of her life laid out before her. She was a crime thriller author who went under a penname, so no one knew who she really was apart from her editor. She very rarely missed her deadlines, and made enough money to buy and maintain the perfect home for an Author. It was out in the middle of the woods, devoid of any distractions, but had all the luxuries she would ever need. There was a time when Catherine hated the woods, but life happened, and now the idea of being in a bustling town or city was off putting to her.

Catherine had a pick up truck to get her to town when she did need to restock, and the dirt road that took her there would get you lost in a hurry, with how often trees fell, deer ran into the road, and the minor roads that were partially reclaimed by the forest anyway. If Catherine wanted her mail? She had to drive to her PO box in town to get it. Just how she liked it. Her home was originally a hunting lodge once upon a time, but she’d had it converted to be a very large home, which was her perfect retreat from society.

Catherine had…well…baggage that made her very distrustful of…everyone.

She had a big rottweiler called Tigger, because he would bounce happily when he got excited, and together they would take walks in the forest when she needed to clear her mind. See? She wasn’t alone. Tigger was a big cuddly companion that would give any potential thief or attacker pause. He looked like a guard dog, and barked like one, even if he was at heart a teddy bear. Going for walks with her beloved dog helped to work out writer’s blocks. Or simply to get some fresh air and space from her computer. Even with her imagination, she couldn’t have imagined she’d find herself in the middle of her own story. One as fantastic as it was terrifying. One that had taken root in her heart as a child, and blossomed today into something as fantastical as it was fearsome.

It all started late one Saturday evening as she took Tigger for his last walk of the day…