My girlfriend and I had been dating for two months when this happened. One thing led to another, and we decided to challenge ourselves, get out of our comfort zone, and go camping. I had never done it before, and Alice had, but only a couple of times as a kid — never as an adult. We thought it would be a perfect challenge for our new relationship. Over the following weeks of collecting what we thought to be the necessary equipment, we had to decide on a campground.

While searching online, we came across an appealing place that was highly rated and only two hours from us. We looked at the pictures and list of activities, and it seemed to be the perfect place. The campsites were in the forest, sheltered by trees and bushes. The amenities looked new and well-kept. They had a plethora of activities and rental equipment — biking, kayaking, fishing, and more. For our first camping trip, we couldn’t ask for better.

Needless to say, we booked our weekend away at that campground. When it finally arrived, we packed my little sedan to the brim with everything we thought we’d need and set off. The GPS said we were getting close. The roads were lined with thick, verdant forest, and the smell of pine filled the car. Excited, we talked about the first things we wanted to do when we got there. Although it was already late in the afternoon, we decided to spend our first day setting up camp and settling in.

As we were taking in the experience, we noticed a familiar sign up ahead: it was the campground’s logo, welcoming us. We turned onto the winding dirt road and drove down it until we hit the campground’s checkpoint. Beside the road was the check-in booth, and to the left of it, a worn-down house that looked a hundred years old and like it had never been maintained — most likely the campground’s office. I began to drive slowly as I was observing my surroundings — something felt off. Regardless, I figured the first step was to drive up to the booth and pay for our stay.

When I drove up to the booth, it was empty. Then I noticed it was made from old particleboard, as if it had been quickly assembled. Inside lay a fifty-year-old phone which wasn’t plugged in and some loose maps lying around. It was also strange to have no door to the booth, which, I supposed, explained why no one was inside. I wasn’t sure if I should wait or go to the house. I looked at Alice for suggestions, and her eyes widened, followed by a shrug — she had no clue either.

I got out of my car and looked around aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do. That was when I noticed a large, ragged man sitting on the steps leading to the house, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring right at us. Relieved to finally see someone, I waved to him, but he didn’t reciprocate the gesture. I thought it strange, but made my way to him to figure out how to check us in. When I got to him, I asked him who we should talk to as we had booked the site online and would like to register and pay. The man reached out his hand and mumbled “Twenty dollars.” Confused, I asked him if he needed our booking reference, names, license plates, and all the other typical information campgrounds ask for, as our online research revealed. He waggled his open palm at me and blurted out once again, “Twenty dollars.”

I rummaged through my pockets for the twenty-dollar bill I knew I had. I got hold of it and handed it to him, feeling uneasy about the exchange. He took the money, put it in his pocket, and didn’t say a word after that. I had a lot of questions, but I could tell he wasn’t the right person to ask. However, I had to know which site to go to. I took a gulp and asked the question, and he mumbled something. I politely asked him to repeat what he said because I didn’t hear a word, and the man yelled out with a slur, slowly pronouncing “A,” then the number “Fifteen,” as if it were painful.

I immediately took a few steps back and turned around, rushing to the car. I glanced back instinctively, and he was still looking at me, with a cold gaze. When I got to the booth, I grabbed one of the maps and joined Alice once again in my car. I told her what had happened with the man, and we figured the usual people were not available, and he was filling in for them, which explained the lack of customer service. We both had a feeling we might not be in the right place. But the map — old and worn, the print fading along the creases and the corners bent — showed the correct campground.

I have to admit, at this point in the trip, neither of us wanted to be the skeptic or suggest giving up. There was still this need to prove to one another that we weren’t boring or afraid of discomfort. I can’t speak for Alice, but I didn’t want to stay — though checking out the campsites felt harmless. Maybe it would get better where there were more people and clean facilities. With no objection from Alice, I reignited the engine of my car and drove into the campground.

We drove down a small winding road, similar to the entrance, expecting it to lead to multiple campsites. But it ended soon after it began. We reached the area of campsites. To our surprise, they weren’t covered by trees and bushes like the pictures had shown — instead, the campsites were an open dirt field with overgrown grass sprouting from the ground in random patches. On the left was supposed to be a sun shelter, but one of the supports had collapsed and half of it was in rubble. Then, a loud, disturbing cough came from an old woman sitting on a lawn chair in what remained of the structure. Her cough echoed in the car and sent shivers down my spine. To the right was what I imagined to be the bathroom facility, which looked like it was built the same way as the entrance booth. Not another soul in sight — we were the only campers.

The campsites were arranged in rows — some with three sites, others with ten — with no rhyme or reason to the design. The sites were also labeled with barely legible blue spray paint on the ground, much of it covered by overgrown grass. As we were circling the campsites, I noticed a “1” and “5” with what seemed to be an “A”, meaning it was our site. We parked the car as best we could, since it was hard to see what was a road and what was a campsite. We got out of the car, and I felt the disappointment — not only mine, but Alice’s, radiating off her.

Not feeling eager to unpack, I needed to use the washroom; I hadn’t gone since we left. I told Alice I would be right back — she nodded with a hint of despair on her face — and rushed to the bathroom. I glanced over my shoulder to see the old woman, who was still coughing and watching me from a distance. When I turned around, I was in front of the bathroom. Suddenly, the door flew open, and a large man came out, with a gust of horrid stench from the inside. Startled, I tried to greet the man, but he looked past me, as if he couldn’t acknowledge my existence. He had a hose wrapped around his shoulder and was wearing coveralls — most likely a maintenance man. I ignored the interaction and walked into what was supposed to be the bathroom.

It was a shared bathroom for all genders, with only one toilet, which was clogged with God knows what. The sinks were filled with garbage, including a child’s shoe, cigarette packs, and bottles of beer. I turned the tap on, and viscous black and brown ooze came from it, with a different horrid stench. I looked at the toilet, and there seemed to be no plumbing, as if someone had just taken a loose toilet and put it there. I turned around to look at the door, and there was no lock either. It seemed like lack of privacy was becoming a common theme at that place. The stench finally got to me, and I barged out of there. I didn’t know what I would tell Alice, but my look gave her all the information she needed. She then pointed to her phone. When she did, I checked mine — there was no cell service.

We decided to set up our camp, hoping other campers would show up, while watching the handymen walk to and from the forest, and listening to the wretched cough of the glaring old woman. Feeling hesitant with every pole I assembled and every chair I unfolded, I kept looking at Alice. She was persevering, so I decided I would too. Once we were done, we grabbed a drink, sat in our chairs, and made the best of it. Believe it or not, time flew by as we adapted to the strange environment and got lost in our conversation. However, we broke out of the moment as we noticed the sun was almost down. Night was falling upon us, and there were still no other campers to join us.

I fetched the flashlight and turned it on, and to our disappointment, it barely illuminated two feet in front of me. I looked at Alice, and fear washed over her face. Reality crystallized in that moment — I realized we might not be in a safe place, especially in the dark with no effective source of light. I immediately reassured her that I had brought another flashlight, but it was still in the car. I quickly jumped into the back of the car and rummaged through all the stuff we’d brought. I was like a rat scavenging through piles of garbage looking for scraps of food. In my case, the safety of light. After a while, I gave up. I couldn’t find the extra flashlight.

I pulled myself out of the car and was going to tell Alice the bad news, but she was already sobbing, looking towards the sun shelter. Then I noticed that horrid cough had gone — the old woman was no longer there. I asked Alice what had happened, and through her sobs, she tried to tell me. She saw two of the maintenance men come to help the old woman get out of her chair. They were being delicate, helping her up and each providing an arm for support. They slowly and carefully walked her to the edge of the forest, taking one meticulous step at a time. But once they reached the tree line, the men let go of the woman, and all three began to frantically sprint into the depths of the forest, flailing their arms and legs, limbs swinging at angles that didn’t look right, the old woman matching the men stride for stride. Alice was shaking, and so was I.

I looked up at the disappearing sun and knew we didn’t have much light left. I told Alice to get into the car, start it, and wait there while I packed our equipment. Like a madman, I disassembled all our equipment as fast as I could and shoved what I could into the car. I knew I was leaving some stuff behind, but it didn’t matter — I just wanted to be gone. When I felt I was done, I slammed the back of the car, hopped in the front seat, and drove off.

As we were exiting the park, passing the makeshift entrance booth, I peered over at the house. It was dark, except for a dim light coming from the attic window. Looking closely, I saw four silhouettes of people staring down at us. Instinctively, my foot got heavier on the gas. We finally got a few miles away and were eager to put more distance between us and that place — and get cell service. When we did, Alice checked the website again and noticed it had a different address than the one we’d left. We then realized that when we’d entered the campground’s name into the GPS, two addresses had appeared on the device — the one we’d gone to, and the one that matched the website.

We got home safe and fell asleep. The next morning, we were talking about the events of the prior day and felt that we should inform the campground of the imposter. When we called them, we described everything that had happened, but instead of being grateful, they thought we were pranking them. We tried to assure them of our experience, but they told us there were no other campsites around for miles. Eventually, we figured they didn’t want to hear much more of it, and we hung up.

Then it really hit us: what did those people want? Why would they impersonate that campground for only twenty dollars a night? There was definitely more to that place than we’d realized. We can only imagine what would have happened to us if we’d stayed.