Horror Holiday (short fiction story for a competition)

Holiday Horror

John and I didn’t realize what we were in for in our 60th year; didn’t realize we’d be lucky to survive it.  Turning sixty gives you a bit of a jolt, ‘Heck,’ you think, We’re getting old!’

    Just to prove that we weren’t getting old, we decided we’d go on a camping holiday.  Our daughter and her family do it all the time, and they had nagged us for ages to give it a try.

     “You’ll love it,“ the whole family promised. 

    John is a perfectionist, and by the time we set out, we were equipped to the nth degree. Because of my ‘Woolworth’s bladder,’ we even had a portable chemical toilet to use in the tent! Instead of taking a short trip one weekend for practice, we decided, ‘Why not make the most of this and go on a decent trip?‘ Consequently, we set off from Brisbane on a 1000 mile trip to far North Queensland.

    “We’re definitely going to see places we’ve never seen before, before we die of old age!” John declared.

    Staying in regular caravan parks presented no problems on the first two nights. But on the third night we found ourselves on a long stretch of lonely road between towns. When five o’clock in the afternoon came and dusk was only an hour away, John yawned and suggested, “Why don’t we pull in at the next suitable spot?”

    We found an ideal grassy riverbank, well off the road, with a concealed grotto to set up. John backed the trailer in behind the tent and we sat down on the grass to recover and sip a rare nightcap. The further north we’d travelled, the hotter the temperature became, and after a cold chicken and salad sandwich, we settled early atop our sleeping bags, ‘securely’ zipped up inside the tent. 

     “Oh, I could take this peace and quiet permanently,” I murmured into John’s ear. We soon slept.

    “Did you hear that?” whispered John.

    “What? What time is it?” I whispered back in the pitch dark.

    “Sshh! I thought I heard a shot,”

    “What!”

    I was suddenly wide-awake and bolt upright. I started groping around.“Where’s the torch?”

    “Don’t show a light! I heard voices too.” John’s voice was urgent and I could hear something I’d not heard often.

     With terror, I realized, ‘My God. John is scared stiff!’

     I clutched his arm. My throat suddenly felt constricted and my mouth went dry. Three more shots rang out in quick succession. This time they were close and there was no mistaking them.

    “Yooo-hooo,’’ A slurred singsong voice called. The sort of manic voice that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. In answer to the call, a guttural voice near the front of the tent chuckled.

    John crawled on his hands and knees towards the plastic tent window. I desperately wanted him back beside me, Then at the back of the tent someone tripped over a guy rope!. The tent shivered, as a blasphemous oath was uttered from that angry throat.

    I leapt off my sleeping bag onto my hands and knees and crawled, bumping into John in the dark.

    Suddenly, I heard John’s voice, sounding loud in the darkness. He had found his mobile phone and dialed 000. Thank God. I heard him say,  “Police!” He almost shouted.

    That evil laugh mocked him, this time from the direction of our car. They were moving around us.

    We huddled together, instinctively clutching at each other, when a loud tearing sound opened a huge rip in the tent wall. A patch of moonlight showed the damage.. They had  knives as well as guns! John gasped and I screamed.

    “Sshh,” John hugged me tighter. Tears of pure fear were trickling down my face. Then another rip opened in the other side. We could see around the inside of the tent now. We knew we would die. This must have been it! I suddenly had a mental picture of that reluctant policeman nudging our bodies with the toe of his boot.

    Without warning, the wrecked steering lock from our car was thrown through one of the rips. Although John had locked the car and brought the keys inside the tent, he had also  applied the lock to the steering wheel. This meant they had broken into the car. The fact that they had so silently removed the steering lock terrified us. Neither of us moved. Then just as unexpectedly, other tools started hurtling through the ripped wall of the tent. A screwdriver, a spare trailer ball joint, and other miscellaneous tools that could easily strike a person dead, landed on the sleeping bags and floor of the tent. We cowered down close to the ground In a corner.

    When a ghastly thought entered my head, I whispered, “John, they can’t drive the car without the keys.” He knew what I was thinking… they would take them from us.

    “They’ll hot-wire it,” I heard. I assumed that meant they could get it going without the keys. No sooner had John spoken those words and we heard the car drive away. But we had no way of knowing if they’d all gone.

    We must’ve sat cramped and still for thirty minutes in silence when John spoke, “I think they’ve gone.”

    “No no, don’t move.” I thought it was too soon to relax.

    As we sat staring around at the devastation inside the tent, we were suddenly plunged into shadow.

    I screamed, “They’re back!” I didn’t care how loud I sounded. My nerves were stretched to breaking and I couldn’t control myself any longer.

    “Sshh,” John tried to console me, “It’s a cloud.passing over the moon.” I was hurt and angry, and I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder, until suddenly, once again, slivers of light danced around the inside of the tent.

    “They’re back! They’re back1” I screamed hysterically. We could both hear approaching cars.

    But when John spoke again, I could already see... The slivers of light showing through the slashes in the tent walls were flashes of blue.  The police had  arrived.