It was July, approaching the heat of the summer, and I was camped out with a group of kids. Not just any kids: these were troubled youth... the "rebels" of society. We were out there basically to help them learn new coping skills so that they could function better at home. It was called "wilderness therapy", but sometimes it seemed more like barely managed insanity. For whatever reason, the kids thrived on it.

Oh, most of them hated it at first, but that changed after a few weeks. It became one of the most fulfilling aspects of the job watching that gradual transformation. Many of them genuinely hated leaving when it was time for them to move on.

It was just such a group that I was with that evening. Most of the kids there had been in the program for a while and were soon due to graduate. I wanted to leave them with some fun memories before they left and deliberately chose to camp in an area with a little local history. It was an old ghost town, a former mining community now vacant, with very few buildings still standing.

The ghost town was situated in a beautiful rocky canyon, with the remains of hundred year old mine shafts along the walls, and tall stately ponderosa trees with trunks bigger than three men could reach around. One of the old buildings was a jumble of old cut stone and caved in timbers.  A lot of work had gone into building the house, for house it had been. It was far and above the most important structure in the own, and may have belonged to the mine owner at one time. Now though, it was just a ruin, and the memory of its owner was long forgotten. The ruined house like the rest of the ghost town was just a distant memory, known about only by the few who ventured there so far away from town.

That evening, with the scenic backdrop of the ghost town surrounding us and the old mine works nearby, we decided to tell ghost stories. One after the other, the ghost stories kept us awake until late in the night. The stars sparkled overhead in a moonless void unbroken by the shadow of clouds. Finally when everyone was thoroughly satisfied and slightly paranoid we went to the tarp shelter we had erected and crawled into our sleeping bags for a restful night of sleep.

It was not to be. We lay there for perhaps a half hour when one of the students began moaning. I thought perhaps he was having a nightmare, and asked what was wrong.

"Sam, what is it? Are you hurt?"

"No. I've got to pee."

"Well, get up and go!"

"I can't. I'm scared of the dark."

"Well, you can't just lay there. There's nothing out there. You are just going to have to get up and go."

Sam lay there for a while longer. He quieted down for a bit, trying to hold off the inevitable for as long as possible. I could just picture him crossing his legs squirming in his sleeping bag, doing everything possible to to postpone that short walk to the bushes in the dark.

The moaning began again in earnest, and this time I was not to be ignored.

"Sam, get up and go. Now!"

His sleeping bag rustled and I could hear him moving around trying to find the opening of the shelter. He made it to the end and put on a pair of oversized shoes that were sitting there. They belonged to another kid, but since oversize size fits all, we kept them there for convenience. It was easier than trying to identify your own shoes in the dark.

I could hear him clomping off into the darkness heading for the bushes. He was in a hurry. The other students were awake by this time, some of them giggling at Sam, and whispering to each other. Sam had a reputation for being afraid of the dark. I hadn't known it before. This was my first night with these particular kids and I was still getting to know them. I  quieted them down and let them know it wasn't fair to pick on him. Some fears just take time to overcome.

About that time, I could hear Sam again out in the bushes. He sounded like he was working up to a mighty sneeze... or something.

"Ohh... oohh....... OHHH..." getting progressively louder and more desperate sounding each moment. Sam was clearly agitated. He suddenly shrieked, a noise of pure mortal terror, and we could hear him crashing through the bushes. He came flying through the front of the shelter, nearly tearing it down in his haste to find the illusion of safety of his sleeping bag. He crawled in so fast we hardly heard it rustle. Perhaps that is because we were all laughing too hard to hear it. It started with a snicker. Everyone was trying to hold back so as not to embarrass the poor kid. The harder we tried the worse it got. The first snicker was like the fatal leak which broke the dam. It burst in a flood of uncontrollable laughter, and for a while we all had to hold our sides and wipe the tears. Finally though it settled down and we could breathe again. Not so for Sam. I heard him moaning again.

"Sam, what is it this time?"

"I still have to pee."

"You mean you didn't go? You had plenty of time."

"I heard something. It was going to get me."

"Well, you can't lie there and go in your bag. You need to get up, go out there and finish it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I lost the shoes."

"Where are they?"

"Out there somewhere. They came off my feet." The snickering started again.

"Well, you are just going to have to go barefoot. Stay close."

He got up, and made his way through the sleeping area and did his business about 10 feet from the entrance and came back inside, diving into his bag like here was a horde of demons on his tail. This of course provoked another round of laughter. We finally got to sleep, though it took a while for everyone to settle down.

I got up early in the morning, or at least earlier than the kids, and went out looking for the shoes. Daylight revealed the picture of a frantic flight from the monster of his nightmares. He had chosen a bush near a cow path. Fresh tracks were all around, including the trail of his oversized boots leading to the bush he had chosen to stand in front of. Sitting there in front of the bush were a pair of boots, side by side. The bush was parted in the middle, as though someone had blasted through it, which indeed had happened. Bare footprints on the other side led me back to the shelter. Sam had stood there terrified, literally jumped out of his boots, through the bush and dived back into his sleeping bag. The monster he ran from: as best I could tell it was a yearling calf separated from the rest of the herd.