Chapter 5: The Disappearing Clearing

After lying there for a while, thinking and listening to the sounds of the forest and Ana’s steady breathing, my bladder finally woke me up fully. Reaching for the flashlight I kept near the tent entrance, I slipped on my jacket, pants, and boots, and grabbed the pee kit. I would have just headed out as is but the nights were cool, so I had slept in my long johns, but now I needed to venture outside.

As I unzipped the tent, a strange feeling washed over me—something felt wrong. The clearing we had camped in last night had been open and spacious, but now it felt as if the trees were pressing in on me. I couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the sense of being enclosed was overwhelming, as though the forest had shifted in the night. Maybe it was just the darkness playing tricks on my mind, but the trees seemed closer, their silhouettes looming where they shouldn’t be.

I walked over to where we had dug our hole for waste yesterday, but I couldn’t find it. The tree we had marked was missing—or at least, it wasn’t where I thought it should be. Unease prickled the back of my neck as I used the small shovel in the pee kit to dig a fresh 6x6-inch hole near a tree. I pulled my pants and long johns down, then positioned the pee cone to direct the stream into the hole. It was easier this way, especially in the cold, and it kept me from having to expose too much skin to the chilly air.

After finishing, I used my portable bidet to rinse off the pee cone, making sure it was clean before tucking it back into the kit. The ritual was comforting in its familiarity, but the unsettling feeling that something was off still lingered.

As I sprinkled some dirt into the hole but didn’t fill it completely—knowing Ana would need to use it later—I stood up and glanced back at the tent, and my heart skipped a beat.

It was getting lighter, so I turned off the flashlight, letting my eyes adjust to the dim pre-dawn light. But what I saw made me gasp. Our tent wasn’t in the clearing we had camped in last night. How could that be possible? The tent itself was different—last night it had been light grey with a dark grey covering, but now it was camo brown and green. The clearing was much smaller, just big enough for the tent without sleeping on tree roots.

A surge of confusion hit me. Was I just really tired last night and hadn’t noticed? No, that couldn’t be it. Even the firestone circle we had carefully set up was gone, as if it had never existed. I looked around, and other than the footprints I had just made, there were no signs of the day before—no tracks from setting up camp, no remnants of our fire. It was as if we had been picked up and placed somewhere else entirely.

After cleaning up and tucking the supplies back into the kit, I took one last glance around the eerily unfamiliar clearing. The unease that had settled in my stomach only grew stronger, but I pushed it aside as best I could. I needed to check on Ana.

I walked back to the tent, my boots crunching softly on the forest floor. As I reached the entrance, I hesitated, taking a deep breath before unzipping the flap as quietly as possible. The slight rustle of the fabric sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the morning, but Ana didn’t stir.

Inside, the tent was just as I had left it. Ana was curled up in her sleeping bag, her small face peaceful in sleep, her breath steady and slow. Her stuffed bunny was clutched in one hand, the other hand resting near her cheek, fingers twitching slightly as if she were dreaming.

I knelt down beside her, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. The sight of her so calm and safe brought a wave of relief, momentarily easing the tension that had been gnawing at me since I stepped outside. Whatever strangeness was happening outside the tent, at least in here, things seemed normal.

I quietly checked the edges of the tent, making sure everything was secure and in place. There was no sign that anything had disturbed our camp during the night, yet the unsettling feeling wouldn’t leave me. I sat back on my heels, watching Ana sleep, my mind racing with questions. How could everything outside feel so wrong when inside, it was as if nothing had changed?

The early morning light was beginning to seep through the thin fabric of the tent, casting a soft glow over Ana’s face. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again, not with the strange changes outside weighing on me. But I didn’t want to wake Ana either; she needed her rest after yesterday’s hike.

As I sat beside Ana, watching her peaceful sleep, something caught my eye—something that didn’t seem quite right. Her hair, usually tucked neatly into her sleeping bag or splayed out just beyond it, looked longer than I remembered. At first, I thought it was just the way it was spread across her pillow, but the more I looked, the more certain I became that it was different.

I carefully reached out, lifting a lock of her hair. It had grown—not just a little, but noticeably, at least two inches longer than it had been the night before. My heart began to race. How could this be possible? Hair doesn’t grow inches overnight, and yet here it was, longer, as if months had passed in the span of a few hours.

My mind reeled as I gently released the strand of Ana’s hair and instinctively reached up to feel my own. My hair was always tied back with a band, so I hadn’t noticed anything unusual before. But as my fingers threaded through it, I realized it felt longer too—much longer. My braid, which usually ended just below my shoulder blades, now reached well past the middle of my back.

I quickly untied the band and let my hair fall free. It was undeniable: my hair had grown at least two inches, just like Ana’s. A chill ran down my spine, the unease from earlier surging back with a vengeance. This wasn’t just a trick of the light or my imagination—something had changed, something profound and impossible.

I glanced back at Ana, who was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the strangeness that had overtaken our world. My mind raced with questions: Had we somehow lost time? Had days or even months passed while we slept? The thought was absurd, but how else could I explain what I was seeing, what I was feeling?

I needed answers, but I had no idea where to start. For now, I would have to stay calm and think clearly. Ana needed me to be strong, to figure out what was happening and keep her safe. I tied my hair back again, trying to steady my breathing, forcing myself to focus on what I could do next.

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I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Ana’s forehead, feeling an overwhelming urge to protect her, to shelter her from whatever was happening. As I sat back, my mind churned with a mix of fear and determination. Whatever this was—whatever had happened to us during the night—I would face it head-on, with Ana by my side.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary had occurred, something beyond my understanding. But no matter what, I would find a way through it. For now, I needed to prepare for when Ana woke up, to explain what I had discovered and figure out our next steps together.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm my thoughts.

I needed to check our gear to ensure nothing was missing. We also needed to eat something substantial—maybe grab a trail bar or a quick meal—and drink some water. The idea of starting a fire crossed my mind, but the uncertainty of our location made me hesitate. I didn’t want to risk starting a fire in a forest I no longer trusted. Instead, I decided to use the mini camp stove I’d brought.

I cleared a small area outside the tent and set the stove up, placing water on to heat for tea. The rhythmic sound of the bubbling water gave me a moment of clarity, and an odd thought passed through my mind: oatmeal. Something about it felt right for this morning. Comforting, simple, and easy to prepare—a way to calm both Ana and me.

I reached for the silicone pouch where I stored the oats, already pre-mixed with dried fruit and a few spices in another small tin. The spices had been carefully chosen before the trip, and I had stored them in reusable tins to avoid carrying anything plastic or disposable. The cinnamon and nutmeg, in particular, felt like they were made for this moment. I added them to the oatmeal mixture, then measured out some of our remaining water, knowing we couldn’t afford to waste it.

As I stirred the oatmeal over the stove, the scent began to fill the air, a warm, familiar smell that seemed to settle my nerves just a little. It was strange. I hadn’t consciously picked oatmeal because of its calming effect, but it seemed like the right choice all the same, as if some part of me knew this was exactly what we needed. Maybe I was just trying to hold on to anything that felt normal in the midst of all this.

While the oatmeal simmered, I heard Ana stirring inside the tent. She crawled out, her eyes wide with shock as she began signing frantically, “What? Where are we? Did we move the camp overnight? How did I not wake up?”

I quickly tried to calm her down, signing back, “I don’t know what happened either, but we’re going to figure it out.” Seeing her reaction both freaked me out and reassured me. At least I wasn’t the only one sensing how wrong everything felt.

I signed to her where the new pee hole was, and she grabbed the pee kit and headed over to take care of her business. As Ana went to take care of her business, I finished preparing breakfast. I scooped the oatmeal into two collapsible silicone bowls and added a drizzle of maple syrup from another foldable container.

As I worked, my mind drifted to our food supply. I had packed plenty, as usual—probably more than necessary. I couldn’t help it; I always overpacked on these trips, especially when I knew others would be joining us. Alex and Sam were supposed to bring their own supplies, but I liked having extra, just in case. Now, as I glanced at the gear, I felt a flicker of unease. We weren’t in the same place we’d set up camp before. The strange changes—the tent’s color, the length of our hair—left me unsettled. Still, I pushed the feeling aside, telling myself that maybe it was just the unfamiliar surroundings getting to me.

Even though Alex and Sam hadn’t shown up yet, a part of me held onto the hope that we’d see them soon. Maybe they were delayed or had decided to take a different trail. I told myself they’d walk into camp any minute now, laughing about how they got turned around.

We had enough supplies to last, even if it was just the two of us for a little while. I smiled slightly, thinking about how I always packed more food than necessary. There was comfort in knowing we wouldn’t go hungry. I’d brought enough for a few days, and foraging would provide extra—wild berries, greens, and mushrooms were easy to find in these woods. But still, there were essentials we couldn’t just forage: flour, milk, meat. Those were tucked away in our reusable silicone bags, safe in the pack.

Despite the strangeness of our surroundings, I didn’t let the unease fully settle in and reassured myself that everything would be fine. After all, this was supposed to be an adventure. And hopefully, Alex and Sam would arrive soon, and we could laugh about how odd the day had been.

After Ana was done, I asked her to help me move everything out of the tent. I signed to her to sit and eat. “We’ll take the tent down and pack up when we are done,” I added.

I didn’t feel comfortable staying here with all the odd changes. We would head back to town today and maybe catch up with our friends Alex and Sam along the way. But first, I wanted to look through our gear and make sure we still had everything.

Ana nodded, visibly calmer after eating a few bites of the warm oatmeal. The food had done its job—something familiar to ground us in this chaotic situation.

As we ate in silence, something strange caught my eye. I realized I wasn’t wearing my watch. Instead, there was a tattoo on my wrist—a small, spiral design about the size of a quarter, with a blue dot and a green dot positioned at different points in the spiral. I froze, my heart racing again as I stared at the tattoo. It felt smooth, with no ridges, as if it had been there for a long time.

I turned to Ana, gently taking her wrist in my hand. “Ana,” I signed softly, “look at this. Do you remember having this before?”

Ana shook her head slowly, her small fingers brushing over the tattoo as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there. “What is it, Mommy?” she signed back, her hands trembling slightly.

“I don’t know,” I signed, swallowing the fear that was bubbling up inside me. “But I have one too.” I showed her the tattoo on my own wrist, and her eyes grew even wider.

Before I could say anything more, I noticed something in my peripheral vision—a faint green light, barely visible in the early morning light. It was coming from the edge of my vision, but as I turned to look directly at it, it seemed to move away, staying just out of sight. I froze, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

Instead of chasing the light, I relaxed my gaze, focusing indirectly. As soon as I did, the green light sharpened into something more tangible. It wasn’t just a floating orb as I had first thought. Instead, it morphed into a semi-transparent screen, hovering in the air like the interface of a video game. The screen was faint but unmistakable, with tabs across the top—most of them greyed out.

Ana’s eyes followed mine, but she didn’t seem to see what I was seeing. Her hands moved rapidly as she signed, “Mommy, what is it? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, baby,” I signed back, my hands shaking. “But we’re going to figure it out. Together.”

The screen flickered for a moment, as if sensing my hesitation. Then, as soon as I lost focus on it, the display vanished. My heart raced as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. This was no ordinary morning, and these were no ordinary changes.

I turned to Ana, trying to stay calm. “Can you see any lights or anything strange in your vision?” I signed to her.

She shook her head, her expression serious, and signed, “No, Mommy. Just you.”

Relief mingled with the persistent anxiety clawing at my chest. Whatever was happening, it was only affecting me. The tattoos, the altered clearing, the strange screen—none of it made sense, and yet it was all too real.

I knew then that we couldn’t stay here any longer. We needed to get out of the forest, back to civilization, and find out what had happened to us before it was too late.