I don't know what was so different about this particular day. Perhaps the stars and planets were aligned in some special cosmic arrangement reserved by the powers that be for messing with me. Maybe there were events foreshadowing this day that went unoticed as I toiled my way through the dreary monotony of my daily existence. Whatever the reasons for it, this day proved to be one that would change my life in more ways than one.

I woke up that morning to the gentle sound of raindrops tap dancing on the roof of my tiny little camping trailer. It was an unusual sound, as we were experiencing a drought in Texas at the time. Rainy days were few and far between. The joke at home was that it rained every time I went camping, but, only at home, where my wife would have to dry the dogs and wipe the mud from their paws every time they came back in the house. Meanwhile, only a few miles away, my days stayed dry. Texas is like that. Everyone here has watched a thunderstorm roll past flooding a mile-wide strip of land, while the areas surrounding it withered and died for lack of even a drop of rain.

That morning, I did the things that I usually do in the mornings that I am in my camper, all the while hoping that the rain would stop so I could go for a hike on the trails, and praying that the trails would not be muddy. Some trails were okay when wet. On other ones, your shoes accumulated mud with every step until you felt like you had weights strapped to your ankles. Luckily for me, the rain fizzled out just as I ate my last bite of powdered eggs and squirt cheese on tortillas.

I changed into my hiking clothes and gathered my "stuff". It was a ritual I had done hundreds of times, but one for which I still used a checklist to make sure I had everything: my camera, my extra camera battery, my cell phone, my keys, my water bottle, the goofy camping hat that my wife hates so much, and a wad of paper towels for wiping the inevitable sweat that would soak me within minutes of hitting the trail.

After locking the camper door, I compulsively started up the Map My Walk app and headed for the trailhead. I liked to track all of my hikes with the app- just because. I got a sense of accomplishment whenever I heard the app announce that I had finished my fifth mile, even though I knew my hike would probably get to eight or nine by the finish. Then, I would take a snapshot of the screen and post my hike on Facebook. Yes, another ritual. My life is a series of rituals. I got that from my daddy. OCD? Maybe, but not in a way that would ruin my life.

The trail was hardly wet at all. The rain must not have started long before I woke up. There were some little puddles, but for the most part, the ground had already started to dry in the humid heat that Texas is so famous for. I checked the bottom of my shoes and happily saw that there was nothing building up.

As I walked down the trail, I listened to the pleasant sounds of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and birds singing their morning songs. I took pleasure in my surroundings, breathing in that fresh smell that only rain can give to the bushy terrain. Every few minutes, something would catch my eye and become worthy of a photograph. Since my camera was digital and had a 32 gigabyte card installed, I no longer felt the need to conserve my shots. Instead, I fired at will, usually taking about three hundred photos during any particular weekend getaway.

About three miles into my hike, I looked ahead and saw a young boy standing in the middle of the trail holding a stick. I thought it was odd that he was by himself. Children his age were usually hiking with families-most often loudly, annoying the hoohah out of me. This boy was alone and quiet. As I got closer, I sensed something odd about him. I couldn't put my finger on it, though. I smiled at him and said a polite, "Hi". He looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face, but said nothing. I didn't want to engage him in conversation like some old perv, so I started to walk around him. His eyes followed my every move. He didn't seem frightened by me, only baffled by my very presence.

Before I could give it any more thought, I heard a woman's voice call something from off the trail. I was relieved to see that he was not actually alone on the trail. The boy turned toward the voice and waved the stick. I glanced in the direction of the voice, but saw no sign of anyone else in the woods. When I turned back to look at the boy, he was no longer there.

Now I was confused. The boy had been close enough for me to touch, but now seemed to have been beamed up off of the planet. I could not see him anywhere, nor could I hear him crashing through the brush. Then, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. There in a tree about ten feet from me was the stick the boy had been waving. Now it was balanced on a limb of the tree, slowly moving up and down like a teeter-totter. A cold chill ran down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. I was suddenly uncomfortable on the trail.

I hiked a little faster than usual to get myself back to the park road. I had lost my desire to be alone in the woods. Like a child, I found myself frightened by the unknown. After all, what had I seen? A boy in the woods? Why should that frighten me. There had to be a logical explanation for the way he seemed to disappear. I was obviously over reacting to what amounted to nothing. But, as I followed the road back to my camper, telling myself what a fool I had been to be afraid, I couldn't shake the thought that there was something odd about the boy. Maybe it was what he was wearing. I honestly don't know.

Before entering the camper, I took my cell phone from my pocket and checked my hike on the app. I had hiked 4.79 miles. The obsessive part of me refused to hit save. Instead, I walked around the campsites for a few minutes until I heard the voice of the app declare that I had completed five miles. I turned around instantly, and aimed myself in the direction of the camper, where I saved the hike and took a snapshot of the details. Then I unlocked the camper and climbed inside.

I was a sweaty mess, as usual, so I stood in the middle of the camper and stripped off all of my clothes. I soaked a washcloth in the sink, put it in the microwave, and set the timer for 30 seconds. I used the hot cloth to clean myself. I would be taking a few more hikes during the day, so this was not meant to be a true bathing experience. I just wanted to wipe off the sweat and grime from the trail and sit naked on a towel letting the AC and my box fan dry me off and cool me down.

As I sat there, I decided to look at the photos I had taken during my hike. Subconsciously, I was doing everything in my power to follow my normal routines and forget about the boy on the trail. I started up my laptop and reached for my camera. Like I said, the photos were on a removable 32 gigabyte memory card. Fortunately, my laptop actually had a port for it. I pushed it into the slot, and after a few clicks, I was looking at the mornings photos. I could see them on the camera screen, but it was much better to see them on the bigger screen of the laptop.

The photos were pretty normal. Lots of shots of the trails, a few birds, trees that struck me as particularly interesting, and a blurred blob which should have been a bunny. I had yet to master getting good shots of moving animals. But, it was the last photo which captured my attention. I remembered taking it. I had come to a place on the trail that provided a straight view of the next couple of hundred yards. That section was lined by heavy brush on both sides, and gave me a feeling of being fenced in as I walked through it. It was at the end of this section that I had seen the boy. I was stunned by what appeared to be the image of a boy off in the distance of this photo.

I used the zooming features of the photo viewing program to see the image up close. I had to use the scroll bars to keep what I thought was the boy centered in the window. Once I had zoomed in as closely as possible, it was obvious that I had taken a photo of the boy. It was terribly pixilated at this size, but I could even make out the stick in his hand. Seeing it made me happy. There had been a boy there. Where he went was a mystery, but there had been a living boy on that trail. I felt even more foolish for being frightened earlier.

The rest of my day was as normal as any other day spent camping in the Colby T. After spending most of my time taking shorter hikes on the other trails in the park intermingled with visits to the camper to use the restroom, get a drink, grab a bite, cool down with the AC, or just plain rest for a few minutes, I settled into my usual evening routine. At Kerrville Schreiner Park, that involved toting my camp chair, my camera, and a nice glass of Merlot outside to sit and watch for the deer that walk by every night. When it got too dark to see the deer, I went back in the trailer. I don't much care for solitary campfires. They take too much effort for one man to sit around and stare at.

It was still too early to go to bed, although on camping trips, I actually get tired earlier than at home. I threw a bag of microwave pork rinds in the tiny microwave. It is so small that when you make microwave popcorn, the bag can't rotate and usually ends up burning. With the pork rinds, I've learned to stop every twenty seconds and shake the bag before heating longer. That usually prevents scorching and biting into rock hard pieces that didn't expand. This time, I don't know what I did or didn't do right. Before I knew it, the trailer was full of pungent smoke that even set the smoke detector screaming.

I quickly opened the door and started waving a towel to help clear the smoke out. Of course, that allowed all the hot muggy air from outside to come in more than it took the smoke out. After a few minutes, though, it was pretty cleared out. Just smelling the burnt pork rinds killed my appetite for them. I threw the whole bag into the trash can that I have hanging on the back of the bathroom door, but I could still smell them. I took the trash can down, pulled out the bag of trash, and carried it to the dumpster, about two hundred yards from my site.

It was really dark that night. Not twenty steps from the trailer, I thought about getting my flashlight. But, I was too lazy to go back for it. My eyes usually adjust pretty well to seeing in the dark anyway. Tonight was different. It was darker than usual, and the lights from the other trailers seemed to be blocking my vision. My biggest fears were stepping on a rattlesnake or walking up on a skunk. But, on the way back from the dumpster, a more practical reason for a flashlight reared its ugly head. I twisted my ankle in a pothole causing me to stub my toe. It was my own fault for wearing flip flops. Fortunately, the ankle sprain wasn't bad at all. I sort of caught it mid sprain, which was how I stubbed my toe.

I limped back toward the trailer anxious to see the damage to my toe. If felt pretty bad and was definitely bleeding. I glanced ahead to make sure I was headed in the right direction, and, for just a moment, I thought I saw someone inside the Colby T looking out at me. I looked again, but this time there was nobody there. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my head. Not only had I not grabbed a flashlight, I hadn't bothered to lock the camper. This was not turning out to be a very good night.

I quietly approached the trailer and peaked in to see who was in it. There was no one at all. I told myself that I must have seen some kind of reflection coming from the television. I actually chided myself for getting worried about a burglar. Afterall, my trailer is about the cheapest you can buy. If anyone was going to rob an RV, they would go for one of those big ones that seniors actually live in with all of their earthly possessions.

I opened the door of the camper, noticing as I climbed in that most of the burnt odor had subsided. That was good. Still a little spooked by the dark hike to the dumpster, I quickly closed the door behind me and locked it. I sat down and checked out my big toe. There was a bit of blood where I had knocked some skin off of it. I dabbed it with alcohol, squeezed a little Neosporin onto a bandaid, and carefully stuck it on my "boo boo". I decided I was hungry after all and decided to give some microwave popcorn a try. Fortunately, that didn't burn. I ate it slowly while staring at the television without really paying any attention to it. I got that sensation I call "elevators" where you feel like the floor fell out from under you just as you realize you have fallen asleep. I allowed it to happen about three times before giving up, turning off the TV, and getting into bed.

I fell asleep fairly quickly. I remember waking up in the middle of the night thinking that I needed to remember a dream, but unable to. Instead, I staggered to the bathroom and emptied my old man's bladder. I don't think I've made it through a night without getting up to pee since I turned fifty. I could probably help the situation by cutting off fluids at some point in the evening, but won't do it because I like drinking water too much. It isn't such a bother anyway since I fall right back to sleep the second I get back in bed, unlike Rachel who can not go back to sleep, if awakened during the night. That night was no different. I went back to bed and slept in until around 7:00 am.

It seemed like a nice morning, so I decided to have my coffee out at the picnic table. I threw a K-cup in the Keurig and poured water in the tank. While the coffee brewed, I dug out my five morning pills: old fart multivitamin, fish oil, allergy pill, blood pressure med, and 80 mg aspirin tablet. Then I sat on the throne for a few minutes. When I was ready, I picked up my coffee and headed to the door. Unfortunately, I didn't make it. My coffee cups wobble on their saucers. That's probably why they were so cheap on Amazon. Since I was too stupid to use both hands, the cup wobbled and coffee flew all over the place. It took a few minutes to get it all cleaned up with paper towels. I had a replacement cup brewing while I cleaned.

Finally, second cup of coffee being held more carefully, I opened the door of the camper and stepped down on to the step. Something wasn't quite right. I heard and felt a snap right before I started to fall forward. I used my right elbow against the frame of the door to give me some control, then hopped to the ground, splashing coffee all over myself in the process. It was one of those times that you wish you had a video camera running.

I stood there for a second letting my heart rate go down. One of my greatest fears in life is falling. The last time I fell, it took a long time to get up, and I walked like a ninety-year-old for a week. I am just too heavy to fall on a hard surface and expect to go unscathed. I flexed both feet and came to the assumption that I was unhurt, except for a sore right arm. I breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. What I looked at next, knocked the breath right out of me. There, in two pieces, lay a stick which had been laying on the step when I blindly stepped out of the camper. Suddenly, an image of the boy waving his stick in the air on the trail flashed in my mind, just as the sound of a child laughing in the distant woods reached my ears.