The Man Beyond the Firelight

I pulled into the gravel-surfaced forestry car park where Erin and Fraser's cars were already waiting. My stomach gave a little flip when I switched off the engine, partly from nerves about the camping trip and partly because I was going to spend the weekend with Erin Shaw. I had quietly fancied her for several months, which was the only reason I had agreed to this whole outdoors business in the first place.

"There he is."

Erin waved from beside her open car boot. Her dark, tightly curled hair was tied back, and I had to remind myself not to stare. I picked up my mobile to check for messages before remembering what Fraser had said about there being no signal where we were going.

Brilliant. Cut off from civilisation, with my complete lack of outdoor skills on full display.

"About time you showed up," Fraser called, swinging a massive rucksack on to his shoulders as though it weighed nothing. "Thought you might have bottled it."

"Traffic," I lied, adjusting my glasses.

In reality, I had spent an extra hour checking my packing list for the third time and watching last-minute camping videos. I opened the boot and stared at my heap of brand-new equipment. Nearly everything still had a tag on it from yesterday's panicked shopping spree at Cotswold Outdoor.

The assistant had assured me it was all essential. Now I had no idea how I was supposed to carry it.

"Need a hand with that?" Fraser appeared beside me and surveyed the mess in the boot.

"No, I've got it."

I picked up my new tent, still strapped into its shop sleeve, and tried to look as though I knew what I was doing.

Fraser snorted. "Planning to take that out before we head up?"

"I thought I'd save time and do it at the campsite," I said, attempting confidence.

"Whatever you say, city boy." He turned away and tightened his shoulder straps. "About ninety minutes uphill. Hope those new boots are broken in."

They were not. I had worn them once, walking around my fifth-floor tenement flat the previous evening.

Erin helped me sort through my things, choosing what I actually needed and showing me how to fit it into the rucksack she had lent me.

"The first time is always rough," she said quietly. "Don't let Fraser get to you. He forgets that not everyone grew up in the woods."

Twenty minutes later, we reached the start of the footpath. Within the first half-hour, I regretted every decision that had brought me there.

The rucksack straps dug into my shoulders. My new boots were rubbing blisters into both heels, and I was sweating through my expensive technical base layer, which appeared to possess no useful technical qualities whatsoever. Fraser led the way, moving like a mountain goat up the increasingly steep path. Erin stayed behind with me, pointing out loose stones and exposed roots that I would otherwise have tripped over.

"Are you doing all right?" she asked after my third stumble.

"Yeah. Great," I wheezed, trying not to sound as pathetic as I felt. "Just finding my hill legs."

She smiled. "That's the spirit. We're about halfway there."

Only halfway. I was going to die on a Cairngorm hillside, and Mountain Rescue would have to carry me down or request a rescue helicopter.

Desperate to distract myself from my burning legs, I asked, "Have you two done this a lot since university?"

"Fraser knows all the best places," Erin said. "This one's pretty special. Not many people know about it."

Excellent. When I required emergency evacuation, nobody would know where to look.

The path grew steeper, and conversation became impossible while I concentrated on breathing. Fraser disappeared around bends, then waited impatiently for us to catch up. Whenever we stopped, I pretended to admire the view while privately wondering whether it was possible to order a taxi from the middle of the Cairngorms.

"Nearly there," Erin said after what felt like several days. "Just over this last rocky ridge."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without whimpering.

When we finally reached the campsite, I dropped my rucksack and collapsed on top of it, doing my best to make the movement look intentional. I had to admit the place was beautiful: a level patch of ground surrounded by tall Scots pines, with the Cairngorm hills visible between their trunks. An old stone fire ring sat at the centre, evidence that other responsible campers had used the spot before us.

"Home sweet home," Fraser announced, already shrugging off his rucksack. "Let's get the camp sorted before dark."

I watched in awe as Fraser and Erin unpacked with practised efficiency. Within minutes, their tents were spread out and they were joining poles as though they had done it a thousand times, which they probably had.

I was still wrestling my tent out of its sleeve. The fastening refused to give, and I ended up tugging at it with my teeth until it finally came loose.

"Need a knife?" Fraser asked, enjoying the spectacle.

"I've got it," I muttered, tipping the contents on to the ground.

A tangle of fabric, poles and tent pegs spilled out. The pitching diagram fluttered free, landed once on the heather and blew beneath it before I could grab it.

"Shit."

I scrambled after it, but it had vanished among the stems.

"Don't worry," Erin called. "I'll help when I've finished mine."

I spread out what I assumed was the tent body and tried to interpret the heap of poles. The video tutorial had made it look absurdly simple. Join the poles. Feed them through the sleeves. Peg the corners down. Easy.

Except nothing was labelled. The pole sections kept separating, and every time I thought I had worked it out, the whole structure folded in on itself. On my third attempt, a pole sprang backwards and struck me in the face.

Fraser laughed. "City boy against the wilderness. Wilderness is winning."

My face burned. Erin shot him a look and came over.

"Here, hold this end," she said, taking the pole. "These things can be awkward even when you know what you're doing."

With her help, I eventually got the tent upright, although it looked miserable and crooked beside their tidy pitches.

"Will it stay up?" I asked, studying its pronounced lean.

"Probably," Erin said, without much conviction. "Put a few more pegs along this side."

I drove them in, each at a different angle despite my best efforts. The completed tent looked as though a hard breath might flatten it, but at least it was standing.

"Not bad for your first go," Erin said, squeezing my shoulder.

My pulse immediately leapt again.

Fraser had already moved on to collecting firewood.

"If you two have finished playing house, we could use some kindling."

"What's kindling?" I asked, and regretted it as soon as Fraser rolled his eyes.

"Small, dry twigs," Erin explained patiently. "They help get the fire started. I'll show you."

We spent the next hour gathering wood while Fraser checked and tidied the stones around the old fire ring. I tried to be helpful, copying whatever Erin picked up and steering clear of nettles and brambles, which seemed to be every plant in the forest to my untrained eye.

As the sun sank behind the hills, Fraser lit the fire with what appeared to be effortless magic. The flames cast a warm glow across our little camp, and for the first time since arriving, I felt something close to relaxed.

"Not so bad, is it?" Erin asked, sitting beside me on a fallen log Fraser had dragged nearer the fire.

"It's actually quite nice," I admitted, watching the flames.

"When you're not climbing hills or fighting a tent."

She laughed, and the sound made every blister and backache seem worthwhile.

Fraser brought out a bottle of Scotch whisky and passed it around with three enamel mugs.

"Camp tradition."

I poured a small measure and took a sip, trying not to grimace at the burn.

"Thanks for letting me come. I know I slowed you both down."

"Everyone starts somewhere," Erin said. "Fraser couldn't even light a match when I first met him."

"Lies and slander," Fraser protested, although he was smiling. "But seriously, Callum, you did all right for a first-timer. Your tent is still standing, which is more than I can say for my first effort."

I was not sure whether he was merely being kind, but I appreciated it anyway.

As darkness settled and the fire crackled, I began to understand why people did this. There was something peaceful about leaving Glasgow's noise behind and sitting with nothing but trees and stars around us.

Then a long, ragged cry rose somewhere in the distance, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Probably a feral dog," Fraser said when he noticed my reaction. "A long way off, whatever it is."

"Right," I said, trying to sound casual while my heart pounded. "Obviously."

Erin nudged my shoulder. "Don't worry. The only thing you need to fear out here is Fraser's campfire cooking."

"Oi," Fraser said. "My campfire stovies are legendary."

While they bickered good-naturedly, I looked into the darkening forest.

The trees that had appeared picturesque by daylight now loomed like silent watchers, their branches throwing strange shapes in the firelight. Beyond our small circle of warmth, the darkness seemed absolute, swallowing every trace of light that passed the flames.

I drank more whisky and tried to ignore the unease prickling along my spine. It was ordinary city-person anxiety about sleeping in the wild. That was all. There was nothing to worry about.

But as the night deepened and the sounds of the forest grew louder, I could not rid myself of the feeling that something beyond the firelight was watching us.

I took another swallow and felt it burn down my throat. It was my third mug, or perhaps my fourth. I had stopped counting. The fire snapped in front of us and sent sparks spinning into the night sky.

I would never have admitted it aloud, but I needed the alcohol to quiet the voice listing all the ways a person could die out there.

"So there I was," Fraser said, gesturing with his mug, "clinging to the Old Man of Hoy with a frayed rope and about sixty metres of open air below me."

"Oh, here we go." Erin rolled her eyes, although she was smiling. "The famous Old Man story."

"Callum hasn't heard it," Fraser objected. "Anyway, my anchor is coming loose, my hands are bleeding, and a storm blows in from nowhere."

I nodded, attempting to look impressed rather than appalled by the thought of dangling from a sea cliff during a storm. These people were unhinged. Their fireside stories made my most adventurous experience - being lost in Kelvingrove Park for twenty minutes - sound like a toddler's day out.

"What about you, Callum?" Erin asked, nudging my shoulder. "Any outdoor adventures?"

"I was once chased by an angry grey squirrel on Glasgow Green," I offered. "It wanted my breakfast roll."

They both laughed, and heat crept into my face.

"City squirrels are no joke," Erin said. "They're like tiny gangsters."

"Exactly. Thank you."

I took another drink, grateful for the rescue. A pocket of sap burst loudly in the fire, showering sparks into the air. I flinched and nearly spilt my whisky.

"Just sap in the wood," Fraser said, prodding the logs with a stick. "Nothing to worry about."

Easy for him to say. Everything in the Cairngorms seemed designed to make me jump. The darkness beyond our little patch of firelight was like a wall of black ink. Whenever I looked into it, I felt something looking back.

Erin began telling us about getting lost on a walking route on Skye, and I found myself watching the firelight move across her face. The whisky had begun to soften the edges of everything. Her laugh cut through the night sounds like music.

"You should have seen the station staff's faces when we finally got back," she said at the end. "They thought we'd died out there."

"I bet," I replied, although I had missed half the story while staring at her like an idiot.

Fraser yawned and stretched. "We should probably turn in. We've got a full day tomorrow."

"What's the plan?" I asked, trying to sound enthusiastic rather than alarmed.

"Fishing in the morning," he said. "Then perhaps a walk up to the ridge. There's a view from there that'll make you forget the Glasgow skyline."

I doubted that, but nodded anyway.

We extinguished the fire carefully, with Fraser showing me how to make certain every ember was out.

"Wildfires are no joke," he said, pouring water over the hissing ashes. "Always check twice."

The darkness closed around us the moment the flames died. I switched on my torch, but its narrow beam looked pitiful against the vast blackness.

"Night, both," Erin said, making for her tent.

"Night," I answered, my voice too loud in the sudden quiet.

I stumbled over to my sad, crooked tent and opened the zip as softly as I could. Inside, I arranged my borrowed foam mat and brand-new sleeping bag, which still smelt of the shop. I considered changing into proper pyjamas, then decided against it. What if something happened and I had to run?

It seemed wiser to sleep in my clothes. I removed my walking boots and jacket but kept everything else on, including my socks. The ground was hard even through the mat, and whenever I shifted, the taut flysheet made a horrible crinkling noise, as if someone were crushing plastic beside my ear.

I lay staring at the dark roof of the tent and listening to the forest. There were so many sounds: leaves stirring, distant owl calls, the occasional crack of a branch. How did anyone sleep through it? It was like trying to doze in the middle of a nature documentary.

My mobile showed a little after midnight when I finally began to drift. The whisky had done its work, making my limbs heavy and my thoughts indistinct. Perhaps camping was not so dreadful after all. Perhaps I could manage it.

The sound that woke me was not loud, but it was wrong.

I opened my eyes in the darkness, instantly alert. My mobile showed 2.17 am. What had I heard?

There it was again.

A dragging sound, followed by the sharp crack of breaking wood. It was not like the random forest noises I had heard earlier. This sounded deliberate.

I held my breath and listened. The dragging continued, moving slowly through the undergrowth. It stopped, then began again, closer now. Another crack came as something heavy broke a branch underfoot.

My heart struck my ribs so hard that I was certain whatever stood outside could hear it. I reached for my torch, then stopped.

Did I truly want to see what was making the noise?

It moved around the camp, passing from one side to the other. It was not wandering at random. There was a pattern to it, as if something were examining us and studying the perimeter.

A deer, I told myself. That was what Fraser would say. A red deer moving through the trees, or perhaps a fox scavenging for food.

But neither explanation fitted the sound. An animal would nose about or blunder through and move on. It would not circle us with that slow, considered purpose.

I lay rigid inside my sleeping bag, afraid to move or breathe. The crinkling tent fabric would betray me if I so much as twitched. My mouth went dry, and sweat gathered on my forehead despite the cold night air.

The dragging stopped directly behind my tent.

I squeezed my eyes shut, as though that might protect me. Every instinct I had brought from Glasgow told me this was bad. In the city, strange noises at night meant trouble: someone trying a door, someone following, danger close at hand. Out here, I had no useful frame of reference.

Something brushed the outside of my tent.

It was the lightest contact, but I felt the fabric shift. I bit my lip to stop myself making a sound. Should I shout and wake the others? What if it was nothing and I made a fool of myself again?

The touch came a second time. It travelled along the tent wall, as though something were running a hand, paw or muzzle across the material.

Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

I waited, counting my heartbeats. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing.

One minute passed, then two, then five. Gradually, the ordinary sounds returned: the distant call of an owl, leaves moving in the breeze. Whatever had been there had gone.

Or it had stopped moving.

I did not sleep again. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined something waiting just beyond the thin fabric, something that had studied our tents and learnt the layout of the camp.

I remained awake until the first grey light filtered through the Scots pines, listening as the forest returned to its daytime rhythm and trying to persuade myself that I had heard a deer or a scavenging fox.

Deep down, I knew better. Animals did not move with that kind of purpose. They did not circle a camp and inspect it from every side.

Whatever had been out there was not passing through.

It had been watching us.

Fraser woke me from a brief, miserable doze by banging a metal spoon against his cooking pot. My eyes felt as though someone had scrubbed them with sandpaper.

"Rise and shine, campers," he called with offensive cheerfulness. "The fish won't catch themselves."

I crawled out of my tent in yesterday's clothes. Erin was already awake, her curls tied back untidily as she stirred a pan over the small morning fire.

"You look awful," she said when she saw me.

"Thanks."

I rubbed my face. "I didn't sleep well."

"Strange noises?"

She passed me an enamel mug containing something that resembled grey paste.

"Breakfast of champions. Add hot water and pretend it's food."

I stared at the instant porridge. It smelt faintly of cinnamon and cardboard. As I stirred it, I asked, "Did either of you hear anything last night? At about two?"

Fraser snorted. "You mean the forest? It does tend to make noise."

"No, I mean..." I hesitated, reluctant to reinforce his opinion of me as a frightened city boy. "There was a dragging sound. It went all the way round the camp."

"Oh, that." Fraser waved a dismissive hand. "Probably a deer checking us out. Maybe a fox after the food."

"It touched my tent. Shouldn't we be worried?"

"Wild animals are curious, but they don't want trouble. We hung the food high enough." He shovelled porridge into his mouth. "Your first night in the woods makes every twig sound like a serial killer."

Erin frowned. "I heard it as well. It didn't sound like an animal I recognised."

"Could have been a badger," Fraser said through his mouthful. "Or an implausibly bold feral dog. Sound carries strangely among the trees."

"A feral dog?" My voice cracked.

"Relax, city boy. If it wanted to bite you, it would have done it."

That was not comforting.

Erin gave him a sharp look. "Stop winding him up." She turned to me. "Whatever it was, it's gone now. Wildlife is part of camping."

I nodded, suddenly ashamed of how frightened I had been. I wanted to explain how methodically the sound had circled us, but I could already imagine Fraser rolling his eyes. I said nothing and forced down another spoonful of porridge that tasted like sugared wallpaper paste.

"Finish up," Fraser said as he packed away his breakfast things. "The burn is about ten minutes from here. Morning is best for fishing."

I had never fished in my life, another useful fact I had neglected to mention before agreeing to the trip.

We walked to the burn with our gear, Fraser leading with his fishing rod balanced over one shoulder. The morning air was cool and damp, and everything smelt of wet earth and pine. Under different circumstances - if I had not spent the night convinced that something was stalking us - I might have appreciated how beautiful it was.

The burn was wider than I had expected, perhaps five metres across, its clear water rushing over smooth stones. Fraser immediately waded in to his knees, protected by his waterproof trousers.

"Have you ever fished?" Erin asked, offering me a spare rod.

"Does the fairground game with the plastic fish count?"

She laughed. "Not even slightly. Here, I'll show you."

For the next twenty minutes, Erin patiently taught me how to bait a hook, which was revolting, cast a line, which was harder than it looked, and reel it in properly, which was also harder than it looked. My first few casts caught in branches behind me or landed barely beyond the bank.

"You're moving your wrist too early," she said, standing close behind me. "It's all in the timing."

She placed her hands over mine on the rod, and I tried not to think about how close she was.

"Back, pause... now forwards and release. There."

The line sailed over the water and landed with a satisfying plop near the middle of the burn.

"I did it," I said, then felt ridiculous for being so pleased by something basic.

"Good cast," Erin said, stepping away. "Now let it drift with the current."

Fraser was already landing his second fish, a respectable brown trout thrashing at the end of his line.

"That's lunch," he called, unhooking it and placing it in a mesh keepnet in the water.

I stood in the shallows and attempted to look competent. Sunlight filtered through the pines and patterned the surface. It was unexpectedly peaceful. Perhaps the outdoor life was not so...

My rod bent sharply.

"Bloody hell, I've got something!" I shouted, nearly dropping it.

"Reel it in," Erin called.

I wound the reel as quickly as I could.

"Not like that." She hurried over. "You'll snap the line. Slow and steady."

She caught my hand and slowed me down. "Let it run if it wants to. Reel when it stops. It's a conversation, not a fight."

The fish darted from side to side, making the rod tip dance. My heart raced as though I were battling a shark rather than what was probably a tiny trout.

"That's it," Erin encouraged. "Bring it towards the bank."

After what felt like an epic struggle, but could not have lasted more than a minute, I brought the fish close enough for her to scoop it into a small net.

"Look at that," she said, lifting a brown trout about twenty centimetres long. "Not bad for your first catch."

It was tiny beside Fraser's fish, but Erin's smile made me feel as though I had landed a whale.

"Beginner's luck," Fraser called from upstream, although he was smiling too.

"Should I throw it back?" I asked. "Is it large enough to keep?"

"It's fine," Erin said. "We'll keep it."

She showed me how to put it into the keepnet. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I had just killed something.

We fished for another hour. I caught one more, so small that even Erin agreed it should go back, while she and Fraser each landed several decent brown trout.

"That'll be plenty for lunch," Fraser said at last, wading back towards the bank with the catch.

He took out a folding knife and began cleaning the fish on a flat stone beside the burn. I tried not to watch as he opened them with quick, expert cuts, removing the innards and heads with practised efficiency.

"Want to learn how to clean one?" he asked when he noticed my expression.

"I'm all right, thanks," I said, turning away as he removed another head.

Erin laughed. "The city boy is looking a little green."

"I'm fine," I insisted, although my stomach turned when Fraser tossed the fish guts well away from the water.

"Circle of life," he said. "The fish feed us, and the remains feed something else."

I nodded and pretended this was entirely normal.

We returned to camp carrying the cleaned fish. Despite my squeamishness about that part, I felt strangely proud of my small contribution to lunch.

"What's the plan for the rest of the day?" I asked, doing my best to sound keen.

"I thought we'd walk up to the ridge after lunch," Fraser said. "There's a view you won't believe."

"How far?" I asked, already dreading another hike in boots that were still nowhere near broken in.

"A few kilometres, mostly uphill."

It sounded like torture.

"Worth it, though," he added.

Back at camp, Fraser lit the fire while Erin showed me how to wrap the fish in foil with lemon slices and herbs she had brought.

"Your first catch," she said, wrapping my little trout separately. "You should eat it."

The foil parcels cooked directly on the coals, and I had to admit that they smelt wonderful. When Erin handed me the packet containing my trout, I felt an odd mixture of pride and guilt.

"Thanks for teaching me," I said as we ate around the fire.

"You're a natural."

That was plainly a lie, but it made me feel good.

"Next time we'll have you cleaning them too," Fraser said with a wink.

"Let's not get carried away." I picked a tiny bone from between my teeth.

While we ate, I kept looking towards the trees. In daylight, with food in my stomach and friends beside me, it was easy to dismiss the previous night's terror. Still, I could not escape the sense that something about those sounds had been wrong. Whatever circled our camp had not been an inquisitive deer or a fox looking for scraps.

"Earth to Callum." Erin waved a hand in front of my face. "Are you with us?"

"Yeah, sorry." I forced a smile. "I was thinking about the walk. Sounds great."

Fraser rose and stretched. "We'd better get started, then. We've plenty of ground to cover."

I looked down at my blistered feet inside my boots. At least in daylight, with the sun high and my friends nearby, the forest did not seem so threatening. It was only trees, earth and insects.

A small voice at the back of my mind whispered, Wait until dark.

I had been dreading the walk all morning. My feet already hurt, and Fraser's idea of a few kilometres probably meant twice that. I kept quiet while we cleared up after lunch. I was not giving him more material for his city-boy jokes.

"Are you all right with that rucksack?" Erin asked as I adjusted the straps for the tenth time.

"Perfectly fine," I lied, feeling the weight bite into my shoulders.

The footpath began gently, winding through the Scots pines across mostly level ground. I relaxed a little, breathing in the scent of resin and watching the dappled sunlight move across the earth.

Then we reached the slope.

"This is where it gets interesting," Fraser called back, not even breathing hard as the path turned sharply uphill.

My legs were burning within ten minutes. After twenty, I was stopping every few metres to admire the view while trying not to sound as though I were dying. Erin stayed with me while Fraser disappeared ahead, occasionally whistling so we knew where he was.

"We can take it slowly," she said. "There's no rush."

"I'm fine," I panted, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Just breaking in the boots."

She smiled. "Your blisters have blisters, don't they?"

"Only a few."

The path steepened, loose stones sliding beneath my boots. Twice I nearly landed on my backside. The third time, Erin caught my arm.

"Thanks," I muttered, embarrassed.

"No problem. Fraser forgets that not everyone grew up climbing hills."

We climbed for what felt like hours but was probably forty-five minutes. Just as I thought my legs might give way, the trees opened and revealed Fraser sitting on a rocky ledge above the forest.

"Told you it was worth it," he said with a grin.

I had to admit that he was right.

The view was extraordinary. The forest stretched towards rolling green hills that faded into blue with distance. Cairngorm peaks rose against the horizon, their upper slopes catching the afternoon sun. The sky seemed so vast that it made me dizzy.

"Wow," was all I managed as I dropped on to the rock beside Fraser.

"Better than your concrete jungle?"

I nodded, too occupied with recovering my breath to argue. Glasgow possessed its own beauty, but this was different. It made me feel small without making me feel insignificant.

Erin sat beside me, her shoulder touching mine.

"This is why we do it," she said softly. "Worth the blisters?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Worth the blisters."

We stayed there for a while, drinking water and sharing the trail mix Erin took from her rucksack. I could not stop looking at the landscape, trying to fix it in my memory.

"We should head back," Fraser said eventually, checking his watch. "We don't want to be caught out after dark."

The descent was easier on my lungs and harder on my knees. Every step jarred through my legs, and I had to concentrate to avoid tumbling down the path.

"We need to collect firewood on the way," Fraser said. "Last night's pile won't see us through tonight."

"I'll help," I offered, wanting to be useful for once.

"Good. Look for dead wood on the ground. Nothing green or growing."

"How can you tell?"

"Green wood is still alive. It won't burn properly and will mostly produce smoke." He picked up a fallen branch and snapped it cleanly. "See that? Dry. Good for the fire."

He gave me another branch, which bent instead of breaking.

"This one still has moisture in it. Useless."

For the rest of the descent, I searched the forest floor and tested branches as Fraser had shown me. It felt good to know something useful, even if it amounted to no more than dry wood burning better than damp wood. Erin helped me identify the best pieces, and by the time we reached camp, my arms were full of sticks and branches.

"Not bad," Fraser said, examining my pile. "We'll need more if we want it to last the night."

I put my load beside the stone ring. "I can fetch another lot."

"I'll come with you," Erin said.

We went back among the trees, and I noticed how quickly the light was changing. The sun had not yet set, but beneath the dense canopy the shadows were already long and dark. Routes that had seemed familiar only minutes earlier looked altered and enclosed.

"Keep the camp in sight," Erin warned. "It's easy to get turned round here."

I nodded, suddenly conscious that every tree looked much like the next. Without the footpath, I would be lost within minutes.

We worked in a rough circle around the campsite, gathering more dead wood. Each time I glanced up, the forest seemed darker. The sun was falling quickly.

"That should be enough," Erin said at last. "Let's get back before the light goes."

Fraser had already started the fire, though it was smaller than the previous evening's. We added our bundles to the pile.

"Will that do?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It should, if we're careful. We didn't gather as much as yesterday."

Darkness settled fully while we sat around the flames. Without the whisky, conversation came less easily, and I found myself repeatedly glancing at the surrounding pines as their shadows shifted in the firelight.

After a while, Fraser said, "What do you reckon made that noise last night?"

I stiffened, surprised that he had raised the subject.

"It could have been anything," he continued. "Perhaps several animals that sounded like one because of the way noise carries out here."

"Perhaps," Erin said, poking the fire with a stick. She did not sound convinced.

I wanted to tell them how intentional the movement had seemed, how it had circled the camp and inspected us. It had not sounded like the random passage of an animal. But I kept quiet. They already thought I was nervous.

"Foxes can make some extraordinary noises," Fraser said. "And a red deer moving through brush sounds heavier than you'd expect."

"It didn't sound like a deer," I said before I could stop myself.

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "And you're an expert on deer now?"

"No. I just..." I shook my head. "Never mind."

Erin gave me an unreadable look. She opened her mouth as though she meant to say something, then seemed to reconsider.

The fire crackled between us. It was already lower than the previous night's, and we would have to ration the wood.

"Whatever it was, it's probably kilometres away by now," Fraser said, stretching his arms. "Animals don't linger near people if they can avoid it."

I nodded as though I believed him.

The conversation died. We sat in silence and watched the flames shrink. Without whisky warming us from within, the night felt much colder.

"We should turn in," Fraser said at last. "The fire is dying anyway, and we've another full day tomorrow."

I studied the woodpile. We had already used half of it, and the night had barely begun.

"Good idea," Erin said, getting to her feet. "I'm exhausted after that climb."

They headed for their tents, leaving me alone beside the fading fire. The idea of crawling into my own, with only a thin layer of fabric between me and whatever might be outside, made my skin crawl.

"Are you coming?" Erin asked, pausing beside her tent.

"In a minute. I'm enjoying the stars."

She nodded and disappeared inside. Fraser had already zipped up his tent.

I remained by the old fire ring, watching the embers glow orange and red. As the light faded, the forest seemed to press closer. Every minor noise made me twitch: a branch creaking, leaves stirring, something small scuttling through the undergrowth.

At last, unable to delay any longer, I went to my tent.

I did not even attempt to get comfortable. I lay on top of my sleeping bag fully dressed, with my boots still on and my torch clenched in one hand. Sleep was impossible after what I had heard the night before and with the forest seeming to watch us from every side.

I listened as Erin and Fraser's breathing slowed and they fell asleep. The sounds outside grew more distinct: insects chirping, an owl calling somewhere close, wind passing through pine needles.

Normal sounds. Natural sounds.

I repeated that to myself while staring at the tent roof, my torch ready, waiting for the dragging noise to return.

Every muscle remained taut. My ears strained for anything that did not belong.

Then it came.

The dragging noise.

It was not the careful, deliberate movement of the previous night. This was louder and closer, as though whatever made it no longer cared whether we heard.

Snap.

Crack.

The sound of breaking wood echoed through the darkness, followed by something I could not place. A wet tearing noise. It reminded me of my mother pulling apart a roast chicken after Sunday lunch, only worse. Much worse.

My stomach rolled. I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound. The tearing continued, punctuated by heavy thuds and the sharp snapping of branches. Whatever was out there was no longer trying to hide.

I should have woken Fraser and Erin. That was what a normal person would have done. But what if it was nothing? Fraser already thought I was a paranoid city boy who could not cope with a few nights on the hill. If I dragged them out of their tents because of a deer or a scavenging fox, I would never hear the end of it.

The noise stopped.

The silence that followed was somehow worse.

My hand shook as I reached for the zip of my tent. Its rasp sounded impossibly loud in the stillness. I froze with it halfway open and listened.

Nothing.

I eased it down the rest of the way and put my head outside. The fire had sunk to a bed of faintly glowing embers, casting just enough light to deepen the shadows around the campsite. Fraser's and Erin's tents were dark and silent.

I stepped out, my walking boots crunching softly on the dry earth. The air felt different, heavier somehow. I switched on my torch and swept its beam across the camp.

Everything looked normal. The Scots pines stood around us like silent sentries, their upper branches stirring in the breeze.

Then the smell hit me.

It was coppery and rotten, so powerful that I gagged and clamped my hand over my mouth again. My eyes watered as I fought not to be sick.

What the hell was that?

I turned slowly, following the stench. The torch beam jumped with every tremor of my hand. The smell seemed to be coming from beyond the old stone fire ring, where the trees grew closer together.

I should have gone back. I should have woken Fraser and Erin.

Instead, I took a step towards it.

The beam caught the lower branches of a large Scots pine roughly 8 metres from the fire ring. There was nothing unusual there. I moved the light up the trunk.

Then I saw it.

For a moment, my mind refused to understand what I was looking at. It was like an optical illusion in which the shapes would not settle into a recognisable image.

But this was no illusion.

About 6 metres up the pine, wedged between two thick branches, was a red deer hind. Its body had been twisted into a position no living thing could have taken. Its back legs pointed into the air while its torso curved around the trunk as though it were embracing the tree.

There was no head. Only a ragged stump of neck, with fresh blood running down the bark in thick, dark streams.

I stumbled backwards. The torch beam jerked wildly as I tried to keep my balance. When I steadied it again, I saw that the hind's belly had been opened. Its insides spilled across the branches, hanging in glistening loops like obscene decorations.

The cuts were clean. Far too clean.

No deer or scavenging fox had done this. Not even some implausibly bold feral dog could have made those precise incisions or arranged the carcass so deliberately. Someone had used a blade. Someone had done this with purpose.

My chest tightened until I could barely draw breath. The smell was overwhelming, making my stomach heave. I backed away without taking my eyes from the display.

My heel caught on a root and I fell hard. The torch flew from my hand and struck the ground, but remained lit. Its beam pointed upwards, throwing warped shadows through the branches. They seemed to writhe on their own.

I scrabbled through the pine needles until my fingers closed around the torch. When I aimed it at the tree again, the hind was still there, a mangled silhouette against the night sky. Blood continued to drip down the trunk and collect in a black pool at its base.

How had anyone lifted a whole red deer that high? The strength it would have taken. The preparation.

A twig snapped somewhere beyond the reach of my torch.

I froze.

The forest had fallen completely silent. No rustling in the undergrowth. No wings or distant animal calls. Nothing.

Another snap came from closer by.

I turned and ran.

I crashed through the brambles towards camp, branches whipping across my face and roots catching at my boots.

"Fraser! Erin!" I shouted as I burst into the clearing. "Wake up! Wake up now!"

I ran to Fraser's tent and nearly collapsed on top of it as I grabbed the zip.

"Fraser, get up!"

I yanked it open and thrust my head inside.

"There's something out there. You need to see it."

Fraser sat up, blinking in confusion and anger. "What the fuck, Callum?"

"Get up. Please."

My voice cracked, thin and panicked. Erin was already opening her tent. Her dark, tightly curled hair had come loose in sleep and framed her face.

"Callum, what's happened?"

"There's a deer in a tree. Someone put it there. Someone cut it open and put it in the tree."

The words tumbled out so quickly that they hardly made sense, even to me.

Fraser crawled from his tent and dragged on his boots. "Slow down. What are you talking about?"

"Just come and look."

I was already heading back into the trees, the beam of my torch bouncing across trunks and undergrowth.

"It's over here. Hurry."

I heard them following, Fraser swearing as he stumbled through the darkness. I reached the Scots pine and pointed the torch towards the forked branches.

The tree was empty.

I swept the beam frantically up and down the trunk, across every branch and then over the ground.

Nothing.

No deer. No blood. Not even the smell remained.

"It was right here," I said. My voice sounded hollow. "I swear to God, it was right here."

Fraser came up beside me, adding his torch beam to mine.

"There's nothing here, mate."

"There was a deer. A hind with no head. Its belly had been cut open, and it was wrapped around the trunk there." I pointed to the space between the branches. "Blood was running down the bark."

Erin moved her torch slowly over the tree. "I don't see any blood, Callum."

"Check the ground."

I dropped to my knees and raked my hands through the pine needles. "There was a pool of it here."

My fingers found only dry soil. There was no blood, no disturbed earth and no sign that anything heavy had been dragged away.

"It was here," I repeated, more quietly. "I saw it."

Fraser sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You've been stressed, and you barely slept last night. Maybe you had a nightmare."

"It wasn't a nightmare." Anger cut through my fear. I stood so quickly that I nearly struck him with my shoulder. "I was awake. I heard something tearing. I came out here and saw it. It was real."

"Then where is it now?" Fraser gestured around with his torch. "Dead deer don't simply disappear."

"Someone took it down. The same person who put it up there."

Erin stepped closer to the trunk and examined it carefully. "There isn't any blood. There are no marks on the bark either. Nothing."

I stared at her, then back at the tree. It was impossible. I had seen the hind. I had smelled its blood and opened body.

"You think I'm making this up?"

"No," Erin said gently. "I think you're exhausted and frightened. You've been on edge since we arrived, and you haven't been sleeping properly. Your mind can play tricks on you."

"My mind isn't playing tricks on me," I shouted.

Erin flinched, and I immediately regretted it.

"Sorry," I said, lowering my voice. "But I know what I saw."

Fraser put a hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's get back to camp. You need some sleep."

I shrugged him off. "Don't patronise me."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You think I'm some useless Glasgow boy who sees monsters in every shadow."

"You said it, not me," Fraser muttered.

I turned back to the pine and swept my torch over it once more. There was no blood, no smell, no torn bark and no flattened patch where the carcass might have fallen. There was not a trace.

"It was here," I said again, but even I could hear doubt creeping into my voice.

We walked back in silence. Fraser kept glancing at me as though he was worried I might snap. Erin looked concerned rather than mocking, but that almost felt worse.

At the fire ring, Fraser stirred the embers and laid a few thin sticks across them. Small flames began to lick at the wood.

"So," he said, "you heard dragging and tearing noises, went outside and found a headless red deer about 6 metres up a tree. Then, in the couple of minutes it took you to wake us, someone lowered it, carried it away and cleaned every trace of blood without making a sound."

Put like that, it sounded absurd.

"I know how it sounds," I said, staring into the flames. "But I saw it."

"Could a branch have looked like a deer in the dark?" Erin asked. "When you're tired, your eyes can fill in shapes that aren't really-"

"It wasn't a branch," I cut in. "It had fur. Its guts were hanging from the branches. Blood was dripping down the trunk."

Fraser exhaled slowly. "No offence, but you've been jumpy for the whole trip. You're hardly sleeping, and every noise has you on edge. Maybe you nodded off for a moment and had a vivid dream."

"I wasn't asleep."

"All right." He held up both hands. "I'm only trying to understand it."

We sat in strained silence. The fire crackled, sending a few sparks into the black sky.

"I'm not mad," I said quietly.

Erin reached over and squeezed my arm. "Nobody said you were. I believe you saw something. I just don't think it was what you thought it was."

But I could see the uncertainty in her face. They both thought I was coming apart. The inexperienced city camper had lasted two nights before hallucinating something from a horror film.

"We should try to get some sleep," Fraser said, getting to his feet. "It's late, and tomorrow will be a long day."

"I'm not going back into that tent."

He and Erin exchanged a look.

"You want to stay here by the fire?" Erin asked.

I nodded. "At least out here I can see what's coming."

"Suit yourself," Fraser said. "Just don't wake us again unless there is an actual emergency."

The emphasis he placed on "actual" made my face burn.

"Fine."

Fraser returned to his tent. Erin lingered beside me for a moment.

"Try to get some rest," she said. "Things might feel different in daylight."

She squeezed my arm once more, then disappeared into her tent and closed the zip.

I was left alone beside the weakening fire and the darkness beyond it.

I fed more dead wood to the flames, building them as high as I dared. The firelight pushed back the shadows, but only for a few metres. Beyond its reach, the forest waited.

I sat on a fallen log with my back towards the fire, facing the trees. I held my torch in one hand and a stout length of dead pine in the other. Every shadow looked like a figure poised to step forward. Every rustle sounded like a footfall.

I knew what I had seen. The deer, the blood, the smell - all of it had been real.

If it was real, someone was out there. Someone strong enough to raise a red deer 6 metres into a tree. Someone skilled enough to butcher it with terrible precision. Someone able to remove the carcass and every trace of blood in the few minutes I had been away.

Someone who had waited for me to leave before doing it.

I tightened my grip on the pine branch and stared into the darkness.

A twig snapped beyond the firelight.

I jumped and raised the torch. Another snap came from closer by.

I switched it on and swept the beam across the trees. Pine trunks. Heather. Tangled brambles. Nothing moved.

"Who's there?"

My voice sounded embarrassingly weak.

The forest gave no answer. I switched the torch off to preserve its batteries and edged nearer to the fire. My eyes burned from staring into the darkness, but I did not dare close them. Every time I blinked, I saw the hind again, twisted around the tree with its belly opened.

The night stretched ahead of me. Fraser's soft snoring came through the fabric of his tent. I could not understand how he could simply return to sleep, or how either of them could dismiss what I had told them so easily.

I knew I had seen it. Yet there was nothing to prove that I was not a frightened novice losing his grip in the Cairngorms.

I checked my mobile. It was 3.42 am. The battery had fallen to 22 per cent, and there was still no signal. We were far from the nearest phone mast and far from any help. I should have switched the mobile off, but the pale screen was a comforting fragment of ordinary life.

I put it away and picked up the dead pine again. It was not much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

The wind strengthened, whispering through the needles and shifting every shadow at the edge of the light. I tried to think logically. If someone meant to hurt us, why had they not done it already? We were three people asleep in thin tents, isolated and vulnerable.

Why display the deer at all?

It felt like a message. A warning, perhaps, or a test to see whether I would notice. Maybe whoever had done it was still watching, enjoying the sight of me sitting alone and terrified.

Anger flared through the fear. I rose and gripped the branch in both hands.

"I know you're out there," I shouted. "I know you're watching us."

My voice echoed between the trees and came back sounding small.

Fraser's snoring paused, then resumed.

I sat down again, embarrassed but steadied slightly by the anger. The minutes dragged. At 4.17 am, the darkness remained complete. My eyelids had begun to sag, so I pinched the inside of my arm until the pain sharpened my thoughts.

I could not sleep. Not after the first night's deliberate circling, and certainly not after the deer.

I tried to piece together what I knew. The heavy dragging I had heard might have been the hind being pulled through the forest. But how could one person drag an animal that size up the hill, lift it into a pine and then remove it so quickly? Perhaps there was more than one of them.

Perhaps they wanted to frighten us away from their patch of forest. Yet there were easier ways to drive off campers. This felt personal, as though someone were playing with us. With me.

But I had never been here before. I knew nobody in this part of the Cairngorms. I was only a bloke from Glasgow who had agreed to a wild-camping trip because he had quietly fancied Erin for several months and hoped that, if he managed not to embarrass himself outdoors, she might see him differently.

The thought seemed pathetic now.

I glanced towards her tent. She probably believed I was having some sort of breakdown. Perhaps I was.

No. The deer had been real.

A branch cracked loudly to my left.

I froze. That was not the wind. The sound was too heavy and too deliberate.

Slowly, I turned towards it, my thumb resting on the torch switch. Another crack came from closer by.

I switched on the torch and aimed it towards the noise. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a shape darker than the trees moving swiftly to the right.

Then it was gone.

"Who's there?" I called. My voice came out steadier than I expected. "I can see you."

It was a lie, but whoever was out there might not know that.

Silence settled over the forest again. Even the wind seemed to have died. I kept the torch moving over the tree line, but its beam was weaker than before.

"Fraser," I called without looking away. "Erin. Wake up."

Neither tent stirred.

I stood with the branch in one hand and the torch in the other. Going to wake them would mean turning my back on the trees and stepping away from the small protection of the fire.

"I know you're there," I said. "What do you want?"

Nothing answered.

A low scraping noise came from directly behind me.

I spun so quickly that I almost fell, lifting the branch like a club. The camp appeared empty apart from the tents and dying fire, yet I had heard the sound clearly: something heavy dragging across the ground.

I turned through a full circle, sweeping the failing torch over everything. Nothing moved, but Fraser's tent looked wrong. It seemed closer to the fire than before, and its angle had changed.

That was impossible. Tents did not move by themselves. I was disorientated from exhaustion.

Still, the longer I stared, the stronger the feeling became.

"Fraser," I called. "Wake up."

There was no reply and no movement inside.

I took a step towards the tent, then stopped. A hideous thought entered my mind: what if Fraser was no longer inside it?

I forced the idea away. He was a heavy sleeper. The tent had not moved. Nothing had happened to him.

I retreated to the fire and added another small stick. A feeble flame rose from the embers, doing little to hold back the dark.

At 4.53 am, my mobile battery was down to 15 per cent. I sat on the log, shifting my gaze constantly between the tents and the trees, checking behind me every few seconds. My eyes stung, and every muscle ached from hours of tension.

The torch beam continued to weaken.

At 5.22 am, the dragging sound came again, closer than ever.

I leapt up and turned in a circle, trying to find its source. It seemed to come from every side at once, surrounding the campsite.

"Who's there?" I shouted, no longer caring whether I woke Fraser and Erin. I wanted them awake. I needed them to hear it too. "Show yourself!"

The dragging stopped.

The silence that replaced it was worse. I waited, hardly breathing. Nothing moved.

Eventually, I lowered myself onto the log. My heart was pounding hard enough to hurt.

At 5.37 am, the eastern sky had begun to pale. Dawn was coming. I only had to endure a little longer.

Then the dragging began again.

This time it had a rhythm, almost like footsteps, but uneven, as though whoever made them walked with one leg longer than the other.

Drag. Thump. Drag. Thump.

The sound moved around the edge of the campsite, just beyond the last reach of the embers. It was circling us. Circling me.

I stood and turned slowly, trying to follow it. My torch was nearly useless now, its beam reaching only a short distance through the gloom.

"Fraser! Erin!" I yelled. "Wake up! There's something out here!"

The drag-thump quickened. Whatever made it was moving faster around the perimeter of the camp.

I backed towards the fire until the heat of the embers pressed against my calves. The stout pine branch suddenly felt pitiful in my hands.

The sound stopped.

I held my breath and strained to hear where it had gone. There was only the soft pre-dawn breeze in the trees.

My shoulders sagged. Perhaps it had left. Perhaps whatever had been watching had finally lost interest.

A twig snapped directly behind me.

I whirled and swung the branch blindly.

It struck something solid. There was a grunt of pain, followed by a heavy thud.

"What the fuck?"

I recognised the voice at once.

"Fraser!"

Relief flooded through me, then turned instantly to horror. I dropped the branch and knelt beside him.

"Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He sat on the ground clutching his shoulder, his face twisted with pain.

"I thought I heard something," I said. "I didn't know it was you."

"Jesus Christ, Callum." He glared up at me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I heard noises. I thought someone was out there."

I reached to help him, but he knocked my hand away and stood by himself, still rubbing his shoulder.

"The only person making noise is you. You've been yelling and stamping about all night."

"You heard me calling you?"

"How could I not? You've been shouting every twenty minutes."

"Then why didn't you answer?" Fear sharpened into anger. "I was terrified out here."

"Because I was trying to sleep," Fraser snapped. "Some of us want to enjoy this trip instead of jumping at every shadow."

Erin's tent opened. She emerged in a jumper, her dark curls loose and untidy around her face.

"What's going on?"

"Callum just attacked me with a length of pine," Fraser said, gesturing towards me with his uninjured arm.

"I didn't know it was him," I said. "I heard something circling the camp. It was dragging one foot, like the noise from last night."

Fraser rolled his eyes. "The only thing I heard was you stamping about and talking to yourself."

"I wasn't..."

I stopped. Had I been talking to myself? I did not think so, but after a night without sleep, I could no longer be certain of everything I had said aloud.

Erin glanced at the lightening sky. "It's nearly morning. We might as well start breakfast."

I looked from her to Fraser. They did not understand. They had not heard what I had heard. They had not seen what I had seen.

"There's something out there," I said, keeping my voice low. "I'm not making this up. I'm not imagining it. First the deer, and now the noises. Someone is watching us."

Fraser shook his head. "I understand that you're not used to camping. Forests can sound frightening at night, especially when you're exhausted. But there is nothing out there except foxes, badgers and red deer. Maybe a feral dog if we're spectacularly unlucky."

"None of those put that hind in the tree."

"There was no deer in the tree," Fraser said slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You dreamed it, or you saw a branch and your tired brain turned it into something else. It happens."

Frustration tightened my throat. I wanted to scream at him until he believed me.

Fraser was no longer merely annoyed, though. As the first grey light crept into the campsite, he watched me with a concern that was almost fear.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

I shook my head. "How could I, after what I saw?"

Erin exchanged a look with Fraser that I couldn't read. Concern, pity, fear that I was losing my mind - perhaps all three.

"Let's make some coffee," she said gently. "Everything looks better in daylight."

As if on cue, the first proper rays of sunlight broke through the Scots pines, casting long shadows across the campsite. The forest that had seemed so threatening in darkness now looked almost peaceful. But I knew what I had seen. I knew what I had heard.

And I knew with absolute certainty that we weren't alone on that hill.

I watched Erin rebuild the fire while Fraser set up the camping stove. They were behaving as though everything were normal, as though I were the problem.

Maybe I was.

Maybe one dreadful night in the woods had been enough to break my city-bred brain. Maybe I had imagined the red deer hind displayed six metres up a pine, the dragging sounds, and the constant feeling of being watched. Yet when I looked towards the tree line, now visible in the growing light, I couldn't shake the certainty that something was still out there, watching and waiting.

I had been sitting on the same log all night, jumping at every sound and scanning the darkness until my eyes burned. My body was so stiff that I wasn't sure I could stand. The stout length of dead pine I had used by mistake against Fraser lay where I had dropped it.

"Morning, sunshine."

Fraser's voice made me flinch. He had emerged from his tent and was stretching his arms above his head as though he had enjoyed the finest sleep of his life.

"You're up early. Excited for day three?"

I stared at him. "I didn't sleep."

My voice was rough from the cold night air.

"Camping insomnia. Happens to everyone their first time." He walked over to the old stone fire ring and nudged the cold ashes with his boot. "Erin still asleep?"

As if summoned, Erin unzipped her tent and crawled out, her dark, tightly curled hair tied back untidily. She looked at me, then quickly away. At least she remembered the shouting, the blow meant for something in the dark and the deer that had vanished before either of them saw it.

"Coffee?" she asked, already reaching for the stove.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. My thoughts were fogged by exhaustion, but the fear beneath them remained sharp and clear.

When Fraser disappeared among the trees to relieve himself, I seized the chance to speak to her alone.

"Erin," I said quietly. "We need to leave. Today. Now."

She glanced up from the coffee.

"I'm not making this up. I'm not mad. There's something wrong here."

She sighed. "Callum, I believe you saw something that frightened you, but-"

"We should pack and go. We can be back at the cars in about ninety minutes."

"And then what? The trip ends because you had a bad night?"

"Better that than dying in the woods," I muttered.

Erin stopped what she was doing and looked directly at me. "Do you honestly think we're in danger?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "I do."

She seemed to consider that, but then Fraser came crashing back through the undergrowth.

"I slept like a stone," he announced, taking an enamel mug. "What's the plan today? I thought we could walk to that waterfall I mentioned. It's about an hour from here."

"Actually," I began, "I was just telling Erin that perhaps we should-"

"Oh, no." Fraser cut me off and pointed at me. "Don't start that again. We're staying until tomorrow morning, just as we planned. No arguments. You had a nightmare and got yourself worked up. It happens. But it's daylight now, and we're going to enjoy the trip."

He turned to Erin. "Back me up."

She looked between us, plainly uncomfortable. "Maybe we should take it easy today. Stay close to camp."

It wasn't the support I had hoped for, but at least she wasn't dismissing me completely.

Fraser rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll skip the waterfall. But we're not leaving early."

My stomach sank. Another night on the hill. Another night with whatever was watching us from between the trees.

Erin handed me a mug of coffee, and its warmth seeped into my cold fingers. I took a sip, hoping the caffeine would clear my head.

"You should eat something," she said, offering me a handful of granola.

I wasn't hungry. The thought of food made my stomach turn, but I forced myself to chew and swallow while considering my options. I could leave alone. I could take my rucksack and start down the footpath.

But I couldn't abandon Erin and Fraser when I knew something was out there. They wouldn't have let me go alone in any case, though not because they would miss me. They would assume I was bound to get lost or injure myself.

I was trapped until the following morning unless I could persuade them.

"So, what's the plan if we're staying near camp?" I asked, trying to sound normal.

Fraser brightened, clearly pleased that I appeared to be dropping the matter. "We need more firewood for tonight. Then I can show you both a few knots - useful ones for tarps and securing kit."

"Sounds brilliant," I lied.

After breakfast, we spent the morning collecting dead wood. Fraser insisted that we spread out, but I made certain the campsite remained in sight. Every snapped twig or rustle of needles made me spin round, expecting to see a tall, gaunt figure among the pines.

"It's only a squirrel," Fraser called after I jumped for the third time in ten minutes. "Relax."

Easy for him to say. He hadn't seen what I had.

By midday, we had stacked a respectable pile beside the old fire ring. Fraser suggested walking down to the burn to cool off. I agreed only because I couldn't bear the thought of being left at the campsite alone.

The walk there was torture. Every shadow between the trunks resembled a person. Every bird call made me flinch. I kept looking behind us, certain we were being followed.

"Are you all right?" Erin asked quietly while Fraser walked several paces ahead.

"No," I admitted. "I'm really not."

She frowned. "You look awful. Perhaps you should sleep for a bit when we get back."

The thought of closing my eyes, even in daylight, made my skin crawl.

"I'm fine," I lied.

The burn was beautiful, about five metres across, with sunlight dancing over clear water as it bubbled across smooth stones. Fraser waded straight in and splashed water over his face and neck.

"Come on," he called. "The water's perfect."

Erin removed her walking boots and joined him. I remained on the bank, perched on a rock from which I could see in every direction.

"Callum, honestly," Fraser said, flicking water towards me. "You need to calm down. Look around. It's a gorgeous day, we're in a beautiful place, and you're behaving as though we're in a horror film."

I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I'm just tired."

"Then have a nap when we get back."

I nodded, knowing I wouldn't.

We stayed by the burn for about an hour. I kept searching the trees on the opposite bank, certain that I would glimpse someone watching us, but there was nothing. Only birds and the occasional squirrel.

Back at camp, Fraser took out a length of rope and began teaching us knots. Under normal circumstances I might have found it interesting. Now I merely copied the movements while my attention remained fixed on the forest.

"This one's a bowline," Fraser said, looping the rope through his hand. "Useful because it won't slip or tighten under load."

I tried to imitate him, but my fingers were clumsy and uncooperative.

"No, like this," Erin said, taking the rope and demonstrating.

Her hands brushed mine, and I realised how cold my skin was despite the warmth of the afternoon.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

The day dragged. Every passing hour carried us closer to nightfall, closer to whatever waited in the darkness. I checked my mobile constantly, watching the battery diminish as the time crawled forwards.

At about 4.00 pm, I made one final attempt.

"Listen," I said as we sat around the unlit fire ring eating trail mix. "I know you think I'm being ridiculous, but I honestly believe we should pack up and leave."

Fraser groaned. "Not this again."

"Just hear me out. We could reach the forestry car park well before dark. I'll even pay for rooms at a comfortable inn - somewhere with hot showers and breakfast."

"An inn?" Fraser laughed. "That's your answer? Throw money at the problem?"

"It's not about money," I said, my voice rising. "It's about being safe."

"Safe from what?"

"I told you what I saw."

"You saw a branch in the dark and frightened yourself."

"It wasn't a branch!" I was shouting now, the strain of the last two nights finally breaking through. "It was a red deer with its head cut off, displayed high in a tree. Someone put it there. Someone who's been watching us since we arrived."

Fraser stood, his face flushed. "You know what? You're ruining this trip. We planned it for months, and you've turned it into a paranoid nightmare because you can't cope with a couple of nights outdoors."

"Fraser," Erin warned.

He ignored her. "You want to leave? Fine. Walk back to your car and drive to your comfortable inn. Erin and I are staying here."

I looked at her, hoping for support, but she only looked deeply uncomfortable.

"I can't leave either of you here," I said, lowering my voice. "Not with what's out there."

"There's nothing out there!" Fraser shouted, throwing up his hands. "Nothing except trees, animals and your overactive imagination."

"Fraser, that's enough," Erin said firmly.

He turned on her. "Are you seriously starting to believe this? What do you think it is - some mad killer stalking us through the forest? This isn't a film, Erin."

"I don't know what to think," she replied. "But shouting at each other isn't helping."

Fraser drew a deep breath and visibly tried to calm himself.

"Look," he said in a more controlled voice. "I'm sorry if I'm being an arse, but I've camped all my life. There's nothing dangerous here. A bold feral dog would be about the worst of it, and even that is ridiculous."

I wanted to argue, but there was no point. They wouldn't believe me without proof.

"Fine," I said, defeated. "We'll stay."

Fraser nodded, satisfied. "Good. Can we please enjoy the rest of the day?"

I couldn't enjoy any of it. As the afternoon faded and shadows lengthened across the campsite, my anxiety tightened with every minute. I helped collect more wood, prepare supper and clear away afterwards, all while searching the tree line and jumping at every noise.

By sunset, I was a wreck. My hands wouldn't stop trembling, and every muscle felt braced to run. Fraser built the fire higher than he had on the previous nights, sending our shadows stretching across the clearing. In any other circumstances it might have felt cosy. Now the flames only produced more shifting shapes for my eyes to follow.

"Anyone want the last of the whisky?" Fraser asked, holding up the bottle.

Erin shook her head. "I'm fine."

He offered it to me. I hesitated, then held out my enamel mug. Perhaps it would settle my nerves. I swallowed too much, and the Scotch burned all the way down.

"Easy," Fraser said, reclaiming the bottle. "Leave some for me."

We sat without speaking as the forest darkened and the gaps between the trees filled with blackness.

"I'm turning in," Erin said eventually, rising and stretching. "It's been a long day."

My pulse quickened at once. She gave me a sympathetic look.

"You should try to sleep as well. You look exhausted."

"I'm not tired," I lied.

Fraser gave an exaggerated yawn. "Well, I am. Wake me if you see any more deer in trees."

He laughed at his own joke.

I watched them retreat into their tents and close the zips, as though thin nylon walls could protect them from whatever waited beyond the firelight.

Then I was alone again.

I picked up the same stout length of dead pine I had mistakenly struck Fraser with and laid it beside me. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. The fire crackled. An owl called somewhere in the distance.

The ordinary sounds of a forest at night.

I stared into the flames, trying not to think about what might come and not to imagine orange eyes studying me from the darkness. But I knew something was there.

And that night, I meant to be ready.

An hour later, the flames had subsided to embers, casting just enough light to make the surrounding shadows deeper. Fraser and Erin were silent in their tents. Fraser's last joke still rang in my ears.

The forest was never truly quiet. I had learnt that over the previous two nights. Something was always rustling, chirping or calling. But I was beginning to distinguish the natural sounds from the other ones - the deliberate movements that did not belong.

I checked my mobile. It was 11.47 pm, and the battery had fallen to eight per cent.

I ought to have switched it off and preserved what little charge remained for an emergency, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The pale blue glow was comforting, a tiny fragment of civilisation in the nightmare.

My eyes burned. I had slept poorly after the first night's circling sounds and not at all since finding the deer. Each time I blinked, it became harder to open my eyes again. Yet sleep was impossible while something waited beyond the reach of the fire.

I stirred the embers with a stick and watched sparks rise and vanish. The woodpile was running low, and I needed to make it last until dawn. But the weaker the fire became, the more exposed I felt.

A twig snapped among the trees to my left.

I jerked towards it, instantly alert. Sleep vanished. I strained to see beyond the feeble circle of firelight.

There was only darkness.

"Hello?" I called, barely above a whisper.

The forest replied with another rustle.

I tightened my grip on the dead pine, its rough bark digging into my palms. I had struck Fraser with it the night before when I mistook him for an intruder. If I had to, I could strike someone again.

The minutes crept past. My mobile showed midnight.

The witching hour. I nearly laughed at myself for thinking it.

Then I heard the dragging sound.

It was the same noise that had circled us before, but now another sound accompanied it.

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate, human footsteps.

My heart hammered so violently that it hurt. This wasn't a red deer or a scavenging fox. It wasn't an implausibly bold feral dog, and it wasn't my imagination. Someone was walking through the forest at midnight, dragging something heavy behind them.

I stood and raised the branch, turning slowly as I tried to locate the sound. It moved around the edge of the campsite, just beyond the weak light.

"Who's there?" I called. "I can hear you."

The dragging ceased.

The footsteps stopped.

Everything fell silent, even the normal sounds of the forest.

I held my breath. My legs shook with the urge to run, wake Fraser and Erin and flee down the footpath. But I couldn't move. I couldn't look away from the place where the sounds had ended.

Then the bushes at the edge of the clearing stirred.

I lifted the branch higher.

"I know you're there," I said, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. "Show yourself."

As if obeying me, a figure stepped from the darkness and entered the dim firelight.

It was a man, tall and gaunt, his filthy clothes hanging loosely from his frame. His face was all sharp angles, his cheekbones jutting beneath skin that looked as if it had not seen daylight in years.

But it was his eyes that froze the blood in my veins.

They caught the firelight and reflected it like an animal's, two orange points glowing in the darkness of his face.

He was smiling.

In his right hand he carried a stained hunting knife. Its long, curved blade caught the glow of the embers. Dark smears covered the handle and his fingers.

I couldn't move or breathe. I couldn't even scream. My body had forgotten everything except how to stand there and stare at the nightmare that had walked out of the trees.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was a dry rasp, like dead leaves scraping across tarmac. "Good. The others never stay awake."

My mouth opened, but no sound emerged. My thoughts screamed at me to run, shout or fight, yet my body refused to respond.

He took a step closer, and I smelt him: soil, old sweat and something metallic.

Blood.

He smelt of blood.

"I've been watching you," he continued. His smile widened, revealing teeth that looked shockingly white against his filthy face. "All of you. For days."

Days. This was our third night at the campsite. Had he watched us arrive at the forestry car park and followed us onto the hill?

"The deer was for you," he said, gesturing towards the trees with the knife. "My gift. Did you like it?"

I found my voice, though it emerged as little more than a whisper. "Why?"

He tilted his head like a curious dog.

"Why us?" I asked. "Why me?"

He laughed. It sounded like stones grinding together.

"Why not? You came to my woods. My home." He swept the knife through the air. "Most people sleep through it. They never know I was there. But you..."

He pointed the blade at me.

"You stayed awake. You saw my gift. You heard me walking. That makes you special."

My gaze darted towards Fraser's tent, then Erin's. Both remained dark and silent. They had no idea what was happening only a few metres from where they slept.

The man followed my gaze, and his smile widened further.

"Your friends," he rasped. "The loud one and the pretty one."

A colder, sharper fear passed through me. It wasn't fear for myself. It was fear for them, and especially for Erin.

The man took another step and then another, moving with a fluid grace that seemed impossible for someone so starved-looking.

"I think I'll start with the pretty one," he said, turning towards Erin's tent.

Something broke through my paralysis. Adrenaline surged through me like electricity.

"No!"

I lunged and swung the branch with every scrap of strength I had. The man moved with shocking speed, stepping aside as though my attack were unfolding in slow motion. The branch cut through empty air, and its momentum spun me round.

"Fraser! Erin! Wake up!" I screamed as I regained my balance. "He's here! The man is here!"

Movement came from both tents, followed by confused voices. The man's smile vanished, replaced by irritation.

"You ruined it," he hissed.

Then he darted towards Erin's tent with the same unnatural speed.

I hurled myself after him, swinging wildly.

"Erin, run!"

Her zip opened, and I glimpsed her bewildered face just as the man reached for the entrance. I brought the branch down. It struck his shoulder rather than his head, but the impact made him grunt and twist towards me.

The knife flashed in the weak light.

A sharp pain tore across my forearm as I stumbled backwards. Blood immediately began to darken my sleeve, but the cut felt shallow.

"What the hell is happening?" Fraser shouted, his voice thick with sleep but edged with alarm.

The man looked from me to the open tents, his orange-looking eyes narrowing. Then, with a final hissing breath, he turned and seemed to melt into the darkness among the pines.

"He's out there!" I shouted, pointing with the branch. "A man with a knife. He's been watching us."

Erin had crawled fully from her tent. Her face looked bloodless in the dying firelight.

"Callum, what-"

"We need to go," I cut in. "He's still out there. He said he's watched us for days. He put the deer in the tree and called it a gift."

"A man?" Fraser was outside now, searching the shadows. "Where? I can't see anyone."

"He ran into the forest when you woke up. But he's still there. He had a knife. He was going to..."

I couldn't say what the watcher had intended for Erin.

"I can't see him," Fraser repeated, but his old confidence had disappeared. His body was tense as he scanned the darkness.

"We leave now," I said. "Take whatever matters and go."

"In the dark?" Erin asked in a small voice. "We can't walk back in the dark."

"We can't stay. He knows exactly where we are, and he'll come back."

A branch snapped somewhere beyond the firelight.

All three of us froze.

"You heard that," I whispered.

Fraser nodded slowly, his expression suddenly grave.

"Pack up," he said. "Essentials only. We're leaving."

There were no more arguments and no more jokes about my city-boy nerves. He believed me now.

We moved frantically, grabbing sleeping bags, water, torches and whatever essential kit was within reach. I shoved my dying mobile into my pocket and abandoned my tent, most of my rucksack and nearly everything else. Erin did the same, stuffing items haphazardly into a smaller bag.

Another crack came from the trees, closer this time.

Then the dragging began again.

"Hurry," I hissed as I helped Erin shoulder her rucksack.

Fraser swept his torch across the tree line. "I can't see anything."

His voice was shaking.

Within minutes we were ready, leaving the tents and most of our equipment standing around the fire ring. Fraser had taken the small hand axe from beside his tent and held it as a weapon. I still gripped my length of dead pine.

"Which way?" Erin whispered.

"The footpath," Fraser said, aiming his torch towards the route we had used from the forestry car park. "Stay together. I'll lead."

We moved as one, huddled close, our torch beams bouncing wildly as we hurried from the campsite. The forest seemed to close around us. Every shadow might have concealed the gaunt man and his knife.

Once we reached the path, Fraser increased the pace as much as he dared. It was treacherous at night, with roots and rocks waiting to trip us and branches striking our faces.

Behind us, somewhere in the darkness, the dragging noise returned.

Then laughter drifted through the trees.

It was the same harsh, grinding laugh I had heard at the campsite.

"He's following us," I gasped, looking over my shoulder.

My torch revealed only trunks and darkness.

"Keep moving," Fraser said, his voice tight with fear. "Don't stop."

We stumbled downhill, our breath coming in ragged gasps. Every few seconds I glanced back, expecting to see those orange reflections in the night. The dragging followed us, sometimes fading and sometimes drawing nearer, as though the watcher were toying with us.

"Faster," I urged, catching Erin when she tripped over a root.

We were running now, or as close to running as the rough, dark footpath allowed. Branches whipped our faces and roots snatched at our boots, but fear drove us onwards.

The man's laughter rang through the forest again.

Closer.

Much closer.

"He's gaining on us," Fraser whispered, his voice breaking.

I turned once more and swept my torch in a broad arc. For a heartbeat, its beam caught a tall, thin shape slipping between the Scots pines. The eyes flashed orange. He was following the path, moving with the same impossible speed he had shown beside the tents.

"Run!"

I seized Erin's arm and pulled her forwards. We abandoned all caution and sprinted downhill, branches tearing at our clothes and loose stones threatening to throw us to the ground.

Behind us, the dragging became louder. The footsteps quickened. That terrible laugh seemed to come from every direction at once, surrounding us and closing in.

I didn't look back again. I didn't need to. I could feel him behind us, gaining with every second - the man from beyond the firelight, the watcher with the stained knife who had been there all along.

We ran through the darkness with only one thought: reach the cars, reach safety, escape the nightmare that had become real.

All the while, the dragging sound followed.

At last I stumbled out of the trees, my lungs burning and my legs scarcely able to hold me. The forestry car park had never looked so beautiful. It was nothing more than a small gravel area containing three cars, but at that moment it might have been the gates of heaven.

"We made it," I gasped, bending over with my hands on my knees. "Holy shit, we actually made it."

Erin sagged against her car, ghostly pale in the grey dawn. Her tied-back curls had partly escaped during our flight, and scratches marked her arms where branches had caught her.

Fraser was no better. He leant against the bonnet of his car, struggling for breath.

"Keys," he wheezed, searching his pockets. "Where are my bloody keys?"

His hands shook so badly that he could scarcely reach into his trousers. This was the man who had mocked me for two days, the lifelong outdoorsman who had insisted there was nothing in those woods that could hurt us. Now he couldn't hold his keys steady.

"Here," Erin said, taking them from him.

Her hands were little steadier, but she managed to unlock his car and handed the keys back.

I rested against my own car, the metal cool against my back. Adrenaline still surged through me, making my entire body vibrate. The cut on my forearm stung fiercely, and blood had soaked a narrow strip of my sleeve, but it was superficial. I could move my hand and fingers.

I couldn't stop watching the tree line, expecting the gaunt figure to emerge with his knife and reflective eyes.

"We need to call the police," I said, pulling out my mobile.

The screen remained black. The battery had died.

"Mine's gone. Has anyone got any charge?"

Erin pulled out her phone. "Twenty per cent."

She handed it to me with trembling fingers. I dialled 999.

It rang twice before a call handler answered.

"Emergency. Which service?"

"Police," I managed.

Once connected, my voice cracked as I tried to explain. "We were camping in the Cairngorms. There was a man. He had a knife. He's been stalking us for days."

I sounded unhinged even to myself.

The call handler asked where we were, whether anyone was injured and whether the man was still present. I answered as clearly as I could, giving the name of the forestry car park and describing the slash across my arm.

"Police are on their way," she said. "Stay where you are, remain together and lock yourselves in the vehicles if you see him again."

I ended the call and returned Erin's phone.

"They're coming."

Fraser had recovered enough to stand upright, though he kept searching the trees just as I did.

"Did they believe you?"

"I think so. They're sending officers."

Erin suddenly grasped my uninjured arm.

"Callum," she whispered. "Thank you. If you hadn't stayed awake, if you hadn't warned us..."

She didn't finish. She didn't have to. We knew what might have happened if I had been asleep when the man entered our camp.

"I tried to tell you," I said, not accusing them, merely stating the truth.

Fraser ran a hand through his hair. He looked more shaken than I had ever seen him.

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't believe you about the deer. About any of it."

It wasn't the moment for satisfaction. I only nodded.

We fell silent, all three of us staring at the forest we had escaped. In the strengthening daylight, the trees looked ordinary again. Just Scots pines, not the nightmare through which we had fled.

But I knew who was in there.

"Do you think he followed us all the way?" Erin asked.

"I don't know. I stopped hearing him about halfway down."

"Perhaps he gave up," Fraser suggested, though he plainly didn't believe it.

"Or perhaps he stopped making noise."

We instinctively drew closer together.

The wait felt endless, though it lasted only about forty minutes. I found Erin's in-car charger and managed to bring my mobile back to life while we watched the start of the path.

When two marked police cars finally swept into the gravel car park with their blue lights flashing, relief nearly reduced me to tears.

Four Police Scotland officers got out. They were alert, though not yet visibly alarmed. Perhaps they received frequent reports from frightened walkers who had mistaken shadows or strangers for something worse.

Except our monster was real.

The officers separated us to take statements. I told mine everything: the deliberate circling on the first night, the dragging sounds, the mutilated red deer hind I had found displayed about six metres up a Scots pine roughly eight metres beyond the fire ring, and the way it had vanished before Fraser and Erin could see it. I explained that there had been no blood, no smell, no bark damage and no disturbed ground when we returned. Then I described the watcher stepping into our camp with a knife and cutting my forearm when I tried to stop him reaching Erin's tent.

I described him in detail - tall and gaunt, with filthy clothing, a sharp face, reflective orange-looking eyes in the firelight and a stained hunting knife.

The officer wrote it all down without revealing what he thought. He examined the cut on my forearm, confirmed that it appeared superficial and photographed it before wrapping it with a dressing from a first-aid kit.

"Did the man say anything to you?" he asked.

"Yes. He said he'd watched us for days. He called the deer a gift. He said most people slept through it, but I was special because I stayed awake."

The officer's eyebrows rose slightly.

"And this happened around midnight?"

"Just after, perhaps. I checked my phone not long before he appeared, and it was 11.47 pm."

"Had any of you been drinking or taking recreational drugs?"

Anger flashed through me. "We shared some whisky, but that was earlier. I was sober when I saw him. We all were."

He made another note. "You said his eyes reflected orange, like an animal's?"

"They caught the firelight. It could have been the angle, but they looked as though they were glowing."

He nodded, though I could see his scepticism. The story sounded absurd. A week earlier, I wouldn't have believed it either.

When the interview ended, I rejoined Erin and Fraser. They looked as frustrated as I felt.

"They don't believe us," Fraser said quietly.

"They said they'll arrange a search," Erin added. "But they spoke as though we'd been frightened by a rough sleeper or a shadow."

"He wasn't simply some man sleeping wild," Fraser said. "You saw his eyes. You saw how he moved."

"I know. But they won't find him."

"Why not?" Fraser asked.

"Because he knows those woods. He called them his home, and he's careful. Methodical. He removed that deer and cleaned away every trace before we could bring you back to it. He isn't going to leave evidence lying around for the police."

More vehicles arrived. Police Scotland officers were joined by mountain-rescue volunteers and a local wildlife officer, all gathering near the start of the footpath to check equipment and speak in low voices. They were preparing to search the campsite and the surrounding forest.

I wished them luck.

One of the first officers returned to us.

"We've got teams heading up to inspect your campsite and search the area. They'll also document the tents and kit you left behind. For now, you're free to go. We have your contact details if we need anything further."

"That's it?" Fraser asked. "We just leave?"

The officer gave him a practised, reassuring smile. "We'll take it from here, sir. You've all been through a traumatic experience. Go somewhere safe, get that arm properly checked if it worsens, and try to rest."

Rest. As though any of us could sleep after that.

"We should go," Erin said, touching my arm gently. "There's nothing else we can do here."

She was right. We had told them everything. The rest belonged to the police, whether they believed us or not.

"I don't want to drive alone," Erin said, looking between Fraser and me. "Can we stay together until we're back in Glasgow?"

"My flat is closest once we're in the city," I said. "We can all go there and work out what to do next."

Fraser nodded immediately. "Good idea. We'll keep each other in sight."

We unlocked our individual cars and set off in a tight convoy. I led, Erin followed me and Fraser brought up the rear for the roughly three-hour drive back to Glasgow.

As we left the forestry car park, I kept checking the rear-view mirror. Partly I wanted to make certain my friends remained behind me. Mostly I watched the forest recede.

Even in full morning light, the trees looked menacing now.

Whatever the police found at our abandoned campsite, I knew I would never look at the wilderness in the same way again. But Erin and Fraser were alive. When the watcher had moved towards Erin, I had fought him. I had trusted what I heard and saw while everyone around me insisted that exhaustion had made me paranoid.

Because of that, all three of us were driving home.

The drive back to Glasgow took roughly three hours. We travelled in convoy, each of us keeping the others in sight, and stopped once at a brightly lit petrol station for fuel and coffee. Erin lent me her in-car charger, and by the time we pulled in my dead phone had enough power to switch on again.

None of us was willing to go to the toilet alone, even with staff behind the counter and other customers coming and going. Paranoid, perhaps. But after what we had been through, I reckoned we had earned the right.

The dressing on my forearm pulled whenever I changed gear. The cut was superficial, as I had told the police, but the sting of it kept dragging me back to the stained hunting knife and the man's face beyond the firelight.

By the time we reached my building, it was nearly noon. The city felt unreal after the Cairngorms. Traffic crawled through the streets, pedestrians crowded the pavements and buses sighed at their stops. Everything was so ordinary, so noisy and apparently safe.

No one here was being stalked by a knife-wielding maniac. No one here had to worry about waking to find a mutilated red deer hanging in a Scots pine.

We trudged up to my fifth-floor tenement flat in silence, all three of us beyond exhaustion. I unlocked the door and let Fraser and Erin inside, then became abruptly conscious of the state of the place. Dirty dishes filled the sink, washing was draped over chairs, and books and university papers lay scattered across nearly every available surface.

"Sorry about the disaster zone," I muttered. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Mate, we've just escaped an actual psychopath," Fraser said. "I don't give a toss if your flat's a mess."

I managed a weak smile. "Make yourselves at home. The bathroom's through there if either of you needs it. I'll order some food."

Erin went straight to the bathroom while Fraser collapsed on to my sofa. I rang a nearby curry house and placed an order large enough to feed a dozen people. None of us had eaten since Fraser's campfire stovies the previous evening, and now that we were somewhere warm and secure, hunger hit me all at once.

When Erin came out, her face was wet from splashing it with cold water, but she looked a little more like herself. Her dark, tightly curled hair had come loose from where she usually tied it back. She sat beside Fraser on the sofa while I lowered myself into the armchair opposite them.

For a long time, none of us spoke. What was there to say? We had survived something impossible, something that did not belong in the real world.

Fraser finally broke the silence.

"That happened."

A laugh bubbled out of me, thin and slightly hysterical. "Yeah. That happened."

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," Erin said, wrapping her arms around herself. "That it was all some mad nightmare."

"If only," I said.

Fraser leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees. "Callum, I owe you an apology. A proper one. I was a complete arsehole out there. All that rubbish about you being a city boy, and refusing to believe you about the deer."

"It's all right," I said automatically.

"No, it isn't," he insisted. "You knew something was wrong from the beginning. You tried to tell us, and I kept dismissing you. If I'd listened earlier, we might have left before that freak walked into our camp."

"We both should have listened," Erin said quietly. "I knew something was frightening you, but I didn't want to believe it could be anything serious."

I shrugged, uncomfortable under the weight of their apologies. "It doesn't matter now. We all got out."

"Because of you," Erin said. "You stayed awake. You warned us. You fought him off when he came for me."

Her voice broke on the final words.

I did not know what to say. I had been so consumed by my own terror and the need to survive that I had not properly considered what I had done. In the moment, there had been no decision. There had only been the man moving towards Erin and the stout length of dead pine in my hands.

"I just reacted," I said at last. "Anyone would have done the same."

Fraser shook his head. "Not anyone. You barely slept after that first night, then stayed awake all through the next because you knew something was out there. That took serious guts."

Before I could answer, someone knocked at the door. The takeaway had arrived. I stood to collect it, grateful for the interruption. I was not accustomed to being treated as a hero.

We ate in silence for a while, too hungry and too tired for conversation. The hot food restored a little normality to the world. But whenever I closed my eyes for more than a second, I saw the man's gaunt face and those orange-looking eyes reflecting the firelight.

"Do you think the police will find him?" Erin asked eventually, pushing away her empty container.

I shook my head. "No. He's too careful. The police and mountain-rescue teams found our tents and all the kit we left behind, but he didn't leave anything useful at the camp. No blood where the deer had been. No tracks they could follow. Nothing."

Erin stared at the floor. "What if he follows us here? What if he saw our cars and memorised the number plates?"

She had voiced the fear I had been trying not to examine.

"He won't," Fraser said firmly. "Men like that stay where they know the ground. Those woods are his hunting territory. He isn't going to come into Glasgow."

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I remembered what the man had said: he had been watching us for days.

Had he first seen us in the forestry car park, before we even set off up the footpath? Had he watched us unload our rucksacks and followed us on to the hill?

"We should contact Police Scotland here as well," I said. "Make sure the local station has everything, just in case."

Erin nodded at once. "Definitely."

"I'll come with you," Fraser said. "They may take the risk more seriously if all three of us give them the same account."

Gratitude washed through me. Despite the fear, the exhaustion and the horror that still clung to every thought, I was not alone. We had endured it together, and whatever happened next, the three of us were bound by it.

Erin moved from the sofa and perched on the arm of my chair, her shoulder resting against mine.

"I don't think I can be alone tonight," she admitted. "Would it be all right if I stayed here?"

Despite everything, my heart gave a small, involuntary leap. I had quietly fancied her for months, but this was not how I had ever imagined having her in my flat.

"Of course," I said. "You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"I should probably go home at some point," Fraser said, though he made no attempt to stand. "My partner will be wondering where the hell I am."

"Ring her," Erin suggested. "Tell her what happened. Maybe she can come over too."

Fraser nodded and took out his mobile. "Yeah. Good idea."

As he stepped into the kitchen to make the call, Erin leaned closer to me.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

I looked at her properly. Her face was scratched, her hair was tangled and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. She had never looked more beautiful to me.

"You're welcome," I said simply.

Beyond my window, Glasgow continued in its ordinary rhythm. Horns sounded in the street. People shouted to one another. Life went on as though nothing had happened, as though we had not just escaped a nightmare in the Cairngorms.

But we had, and even in the apparent safety of the city, I knew none of us would ever be quite the same. The wilderness Fraser and Erin had loved, and which I had tried to love for Erin's sake, would never feel safe again.

My walking boots stood beside the door, still caked with mud from our frantic escape. Tomorrow I would throw them away, along with every other piece of camping equipment I had bought for the trip.

I was never going camping again.