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Two hours later, Phil and I were lined up shoulder to shoulder, dripping with ordnance, just like that iconic chopper scene in Predator. For some reason, we were all about Dutch lately. True, we were only an elite squadron of two commandos, and we were lacking any chewing tobacco, but we were ready for battle. Shame we didn’t have a way to play “Long Tall Sally,” but access to music sites was not happening.

We’d done our best to follow Elspeth’s directions. We had sticky bombs up the butthole as well as dust bombs. Plastic water bottles filled with what remained of the baijiu we’d brought from home were tied around our middles. The trick was to keep the monster away while we worked on the circle, lure it into the middle, and set the perimeter aflame. Cake.

Even though I’d been the one to suggest incinerating the hidebehind, I could hear the voice of my grandfather chastising me softly for resorting to violence to cure this problem. Maybe I was just too young for this gift. Maybe the spiritual eye should reside in a more mature person who could think themselves out of this predicament. Perhaps I was simply too tired to recall how to lace my sneakers properly. We’d deal with the heavenly fallout later. Phil was right. This creature wasn’t a specter who I could speak to or help over the boundary to the other side. This aberration was not going to listen to me asking it to stop and think about what it was doing any more than a rabid dog would stop chewing on your leg if you requested it to cease and consider its actions.

“You drifting?” Phil asked.

“Sort of.” I plastered on a sappy smile.

“Cool. We both need to be on track. Our little bombs and shit will deter it, but not for long. We’re going to need to work fast around the fire pit. Henry has brought us tons of pinecones and tinder. It’s damp, but hopefully with a sprinkle of baijiu it will light.”

Phil seemed uncertain. I felt that to my bones. Still, it was our only hope. There was no plan B other than running if we couldn’t trap it in the ceremonial circle, and we all knew how well I did at the running thing.

“Then we are ready.” I said it majestically as if I were about to lead an army of elves, dwarves, and humans into battle against the wrath of Sauron’s minions. “Throw open the door and let the battle of good versus evil begin!”

Phil snickered nervously before tossing the door to our cabin wide open. A small beam of sunlight, no wider than a running shoe, fell on the porch. A sign of support from the Kees who had gone before me into battle. I’d take it as such. Then the clouds that had hung thickly over the area all day overtook the sunlight.

We darted outside, grabbed the duffel we’d emptied inside, and passed it off to Henry to fill with tinder. Phil had the bag of fire starter under his arm. He quickly set up his camera on a rotted rail, the lens pointing at the fire pit.

With a brisk nod at me, he turned it on and took off. Phil vaulted over a log like an Olympic athlete racing through a steeplechase. I took a moment to simply admire him, waiting on the porch, ready and anxious as a mouse in a cattery, for him to start the ritual. Not that it was much of a ritual. He would set up the ring as I scanned for any signs of movement in the woods. The camera beeped just as I was lifting a foot to join him. The low-battery warning. Well shit. How was that even possible? Oh, yeah, it had been running steadily for hours overnight. And with no power, there was no way to recharge it. Shit. I jogged back inside, grabbed the backup from the neat pile of tech goodies on one of the dusty mattresses, and darted back outside. Glancing up, I saw Phil was halfway around the circle, leaving a thick line of tinder in his wake.

“This is going to work,” I whispered with pride at our cleverness as I popped the old battery out. A slow dripping sound began off to my left. I snapped the new battery in and peeked over the top of my glasses outward. If it was raining, that would suck royally. Seeing no rain falling, I glanced to the left. A slow drip-drip-drip of something dark was dribbling from the rickety porch roof. Squinting through the fog that was creeping in off the lake, I leaned forward an inch or two. Rusty water from condensation on the roof? No, the roof had shingles, not tin sheets. The drip-drip-drip continued, the puddle on the rail now oozing onto the floorboards. “What is this?”

Dark, thick, almost black liquid. The winds were picking up, shaking the earlier rain from the bare boughs and needled branches all around. I took two steps. The porch was quite small. Reaching the end, I leaned out to look up, expecting to see a rotted gutter. Burning red eyes stared down at me. A yelp broke free from me as I flung myself back, arms pinwheeling, sneakers seeking purchase on damp wooden boards. The hidebehind swung down over the roof with all the grace and speed of a gymnast working the parallel bars.

“Phil!” I shouted while slipping and sliding out of reach of those deadly claws.

The creature seemed slower, probably due to the injury I’d inflicted on it, but slower was not sloth. It moved with speed still, long arms and legs propelling it at me. I stumbled down the stairs, fell down on one knee and rolled out of the way of a leaping attack. The rearview in my pocket cracked under my weight. The cryptid hit the wet ground, slipping slightly. Phil was bellowing something I couldn’t hear over the thundering of my blood in my ears as I pawed at the tiny pouches on my belt. The monster looked over at me. I pulled a pouch free and flung it at his face. Moldy jam exploded out of the rotted sheeting, coating its left shoulder and neck. I’d never seen a pissed-off hidebehind before and, to be honest, I never wanted to again. It rolled a lip like an angry dog.

“Shit,” I huffed as I scuttled like a crab in reverse. It turned to face me, scarlet gaze locked tight on its intended prey. The prey who had just coated it with rancid jam.

It made a sound unlike any animal I had ever heard as it was tackled from behind. Phil and the hidebehind rolled over the muddy ground as I rushed to get to my feet.

The beast howled in pain when Phil slapped a pepper bomb in its face. Swiping madly at its horrid face, it fell onto its side, then, as if by magic, slipped into the shadows that now enveloped Camp Minnow Mingle. The camouflage was marred by some nasty jam on its shoulder, so now we could see it when it emerged. Elspeth had been one smart cookie.

Phil lay on his back, panting. I hurried over to him.

“Did it get you?” I asked, falling down beside him, my gaze darting over him, searching for blood.

“No, no, just winded…it’s stupid strong. Go finish the circle before…it comes back. I need…to catch my breath a second.”

I hated leaving him, but the circle had to be made. Nodding, I tore off, slewing around in murky mud puddles, tripping over my own feet, until I drifted into the fire pit, ala Sean Boswell in The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Only I had no expensive race car under me, just some sloppy high-tops. Pulling out my now-cracked side-view mirror, I hurried around the circle as Phil slowly limped over to join me. My eyes flared at the dark red streak on his bicep.

“You’re hurt!” I shouted, jumping to my sneaks. He waved me off. “It did get you, oh, Phil, shit, shit!”

“I’m fine. He just tore the old wound open.” He didn’t look fine. He looked pale as cream cheese. I linked an arm around him, trying to hold him up and failing miserably. He dropped to his knees, groaning slightly, as I fussed around him like a worried hen. It was a lot of fresh blood. “Finish it. It’ll be back.”

I flung the remaining tinder to the ground, not even caring if it completed a damn circle.

“I’m done. We need to get you—”

With a shake of his head, he gave me a shove that sent me to my ass about five feet from the circle. I opened my mouth to protest when Henry appeared above Phil just as the hidebehind vaulted from behind a rotted log that I pictured holding tiny butts around a fire. The kids perhaps roasting marshmallows while singing scary songs. I could think of no song scary enough to describe what the hell was happening at this damn camp right now. Then Henry flew toward the monster, dove into it, and possessed it.

“Henry!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs just as Phil gathered a small pile of tinder into a mound and crawled out of the ring before flopping down beside a mound of pinecones, breathing like a plow horse, to yank out our handy-dandy grill lighter. A small flame clicked to life and went out. Phil clicked once more, blood seeping from his arm. A small flame erupted, dangerously weak, so I scrambled over. With a prayer to all my ancestors and all of Phil’s as well, I took a mouthful of baijiu and sprayed it over the little flame. The fine mist hit the fire and exploded into life. I grabbed Phil by his uninjured arm and jerked him back as the flames spread out, leaping from one mound to the other.

Phil weighed a lot. Like a whole lot, but adrenaline was coursing through me. After several hearty tugs, I fell down next to him, utterly spent, and watched in sorrow as Henry controlled the creature, keeping it in the flames long enough for it to catch fire. A howl that made my blood curdle rolled through the camp, echoing off the damp trees, and then outward. The cryptid erupted into a dark blue flaming monstrosity that danced about the ring for a moment before exploding into fine, gray ash. Gone in the blink of an eye. No body, no bones, no evidence to present to any kind of scientific board. This explained why cryptids had never been verified in any way.