One day, I decided to camp in the forest near the city where I live. I packed all the elements I would need for cooking, lying, and sleeping, then put them in my car. I started the journey on a rainy night because I love traveling in the evenings. When I turned the ignition of my car on, a sense of doubt crept into my mind, telling me to delay the journey to another day. But my stubbornness prevailed over my instincts. I left my family sound asleep after informing them of my plans and asking them to take care of the animal farm I had raised two years ago. It was raining heavily, and halfway through the journey, the feeling of unease returned. However, I drowned it out by listening to songs I had loved since my teenage years. When I arrived at the entrance of the vast forest, the sound of silence overwhelmed me. I decided to rest for a while in my car after the long drive. I locked the car to prevent any unwanted interruptions from strangers. As a writer, I began to jot down my experiences to turn them later into a short story entitled "The Habits of Success." Suddenly, I heard movement around the car in the stormy night. Initially, I dismissed it as an animal, but soon realized the steps were human. I tried to focus on my writing despite the increasing intensity of the steps. When I finally stepped out of the car, I saw the shadow of a large man hiding behind a tree. He resembled the cannibals from movies because he was holding an arrow in one hand and a stolen light in the other. I was terrified but I pretended not to notice and quickly restarted the engine to continue my journey. When I drove further through the forest, I encountered other campers and residents gathered around their tents, enjoying the warmth of the fire. I recounted what had happened, but they dismissed it as a figment of my imagination and laughed at my expense. I tried to persuade them but all my efforts were in vain. I retreated to my tent and reflected on the incident which resembled the movies and stories I had watched and heard. It felt as though I was playing the role of the protagonist in a suspenseful narrative.

After arriving at the place where I intended to camp, I told the people I met there about what my eyes had seen in the darkness after stepping outside my car. They did not believe me, and in response to my words, they laughed until I decided to look for a place far from them. I built my tent, started a fire, and lit my cigarette under the heavy rain, which was my companion that night. I remembered that I needed to carry on writing the story I had begun in my car but had not finished. However, I felt a little bit angry. As most of my friends know, I am a good cook. I started making a tagine to fill my stomach, which was empty due to the long road I had taken and the fear I had felt, which no one understood from the bottom of my heart. I recalled the conversation that had taken place between me and the people I had met and told them everything about the incident. An old man was sitting in front of the fire beside his caravan, and he seemed experienced in terms of camping. He uttered quietly after hearing me, "They came back." I wanted to ask a question about who these people were, but the laughter of those who ignored the truth I was telling overcame the conversation. I finished cooking my tagine and went to bring a loaf of bread from Lhaja Fatouma, a woman who makes good bread in the forest with a traditional oven. She is one of the inhabitants who had lived there for a long time. When I arrived at her small wooden store, I wanted to retell her what I had seen in the darkness, but some feelings hindered me from voicing my inner thoughts. I took the loaf of bread and returned to my tent to satisfy my hunger and started completing the story I had not finished. I ate, drank a cup of coffee to enlighten my thoughts, and started brainstorming the ideas in my mind. But all went in vain since I kept recalling the man who looked like a cannibal in the womb of the woods. I wanted to write something about the incident, but who would believe me and trust my words? I imagine, my dear reader, that you also have some doubts about the incident that had just happened. Do not spoil the events through your imagination, or you can do so if you want. Let us carry on with the story. I lit the candle in the tent, lay on my bed, and started again, as every time I felt tired, I tended to write and brainstorm ideas after sipping a cup of coffee, my favorite drink. At a sudden moment, I heard a loud voice coming through the woods, a voice that forced me to go out of my tent at that time when almost everyone in the woods was deeply asleep. I looked right and left, but nothing was revealed due to the darkness. I thought that it might be only some friends joking and playing while looking for sleep in the heavy rain. I turned back to my tent and made another cup of coffee to help me concentrate on the story I intended to finish before forgetting the scenario. I wished I could have some sleep and rest as others did, but knowledge kept me awake that night, knowledge related to what I had seen and the ignorance that made those people act as if nothing was to be mentioned. I fell asleep suddenly without being aware of it until some kids were playing in front of my tent. I stretched my legs and arms in the tent and went out to make sure about the loud voice I had heard, but the response was very shocking.

The shouting was repeated to the extent that I heard it from my tent, but its source was not revealed since I found many campers who went out of their tents after hearing the same voice. I interacted with some of them who were camping next to me. I did not want to tackle the issue I had while I was on my way to the woods. The next morning, there were so many people talking loudly in the forest. I opened the small door of my tent and found them gathering in front of a tree. I gazed at the tree and found a man hanged there, and written on the tree with his blood: Be careful, you may be the next one? I approached the people to find them shocked, as most of them wanted to leave the forest suddenly. I heard one of them talking on the phone to the police, giving him instructions not to leave the place and not to touch the corpse at all. The dead body was not recognized at all due to the skin that was taken from his face, but one of the campers knew him by his clothes. He said that he had come across him while he was swimming in the lake. The dead man had been fishing beside him. This information did not bear fruit since it was not efficient or useful at all. The police came after an hour and started questioning people about everything they had seen and heard. We all shared the same experience of hearing that loud voice but did not know the source of it until the morning. The police wrote the report, the ambulance took the dead man, and the campers started collecting their items to leave under the advice of the police. Only a few decided to stay despite what they had seen of terror that day, and I was among them.

A question was wandering in my mind. Are the cannibals living in the forest, or was it just a grudge taken out on this person who had just died due to some disagreements? But no one had recognized either his name or his origins. The answer to the question was in the hands of that old man I had met upon entering the woods under the heavy rain. The one who had said quietly, "They came back again," as he was sitting by the fire. I searched for him but heard that he had gone hunting in the forest. I returned to my tent and started writing a short story just to forget the horror I had encountered, avoiding at the same time connecting the dots from what I had experienced in the middle of the big forest and seen that morning. It was such a horrible day that I did not go swimming or running but lay on my bed and sipped ten cups of coffee, one after another. The sunrise made me go out and buy some cigarettes from the small store at the entrance of the small forest. I gazed at the place where I had met that old man and noticed that he had returned from the hunt. I lit a cigarette and went to him, finding him unaware of what had happened at all. I told him the story of the dead body hanged on the tree, and before finishing the events that happened after that, he stopped me, saying, "I told you that they came back again."

I knew what he was talking about, but I wanted to ask him to clear all the ambiguity I had in my mind. He recognized the hidden answer, which was not brave enough to appear. He told me that I had the answer. I felt myself sweating from fear after consolidating the thoughts, which were like a ghost that had haunted me since I saw the crime while he was hunting. I took a step back and asked him with improvisation in the question, "I do not know what you are talking about." This question made him angry as he reminded me of the first day I told those fools what I had seen, and no one believed me. He pointed to the place where they had been camping, informing me that he was sure they were the first ones to leave because they were cowards and nothing more. The words uttered from his mouth were not heard at all since I was wandering about the cannibals - who came, from where they came, and why they came. "What is the solution to this problem?" I asked again in fear. He laughed loudly, saying, "The solution is in our hands, and we are responsible for it if these few people unite and show some courage to these motherfuckers [cannibals]." I did not pay attention to the whole answer but focused on the phrase, "The solution is in our hands," and tried to find a solution on my own. Actually, I had never been in that situation before, nor did I have the military experience of battling, especially against those who eat people's meat. I invited him to my tent to discuss what we were going to do to catch these horror cannibals.

The invitation to the old man that night was full of surprise and terror. He told me many things that still wander in my mind at this moment. I asked a huge number of questions, and at every question I raised, he used to answer in anger as his tone got higher gradually. Finally, I proposed a solution to the old man after hearing that the escape of those who witnessed the terrible event was in vain since they might have died suddenly due to their fear. "They will begin by eating them first, then return to the ones who have at least some characteristics of bravery to stay calm and never quit the woods easily despite what they have seen of horror and terror," he added prudently. "It is fear that kills people most of the time. Instead of staying and thinking of a solution that might end the terrible events caused by these cannibals, they escaped like fools." We sipped almost eight cups of coffee to stay awake and struggle against the instincts of sleep and rest. I did not want to trust the old man because I had noticed that he was talking to himself at night while others were sleeping. The desire to go outside and embrace the air that wandered that night was the most repeated scenario in my mind. But the lack of trust in both the cannibals and the old man, who was snoring in his bed, deprived me of achieving that daydream. I did not sleep at all, and as the morning got closer, I did not want to fulfill my instincts, which were manifested in enjoying life, wandering around the big trees in the woods, and completing the short story I had begun at the entrance of the woods but had not finished after encountering the cannibals in sight and deed. Was I aware of what the old man said to me and tried to convince me of, or was I just trying to satisfy him by listening actively and interacting in the way he desired? All these elements deprived me of having rest and amusement in the woods, which I once loved to camp in. Was all this just a dream that kept coming back and forth every time I felt lonely? Actually, it was not a dream after all that I had experienced in the woods and seen in the morning. The old man woke up as usual, murmured to himself while getting dressed, and started his journey as he used to during his camping. He went hunting in the woods in a hurry, like a soldier who has to do his duty without asking for the reason behind it.

I had breakfast in the morning, and my mind was full of ideas that could help us get rid of these cannibals and return to enjoying camping life and the wonderful sights in the woods. I finished my breakfast and started walking around the campers with a gaze of curiosity, trying to notice their feelings about the incident that refused to leave my mind. Finally, I found a lady with her dog playing around the big trees near the lake. I greeted her, surprised by her lack of concern for survival or life. She told me that she was a university professor, and when she asked about my career, I told her that we had the same occupation but in different fields. She taught mathematics, and I taught English. We discussed many issues about our experiences and how we managed to camp in the woods despite having other choices. The exchange of information and details between me and that beautiful lady made me forget the bad experiences I had encountered, among which was the one that happened a few days ago after my arrival in the woods. After a long, deep discussion, we noticed that teaching at university was not the only thing we had in common. She loved to write, but she told me that she had always faced fear when she tried to put her thoughts and ideas onto paper. "Was it fear or something else?" I asked. She answered with a splendid laugh, "Actually, it is a mixture of feelings. Fear is just a feeling that deprives many people of achieving what they want in life." I replied, and she nodded in agreement. She then asked a deep question that sent me flying into memories of my past experiences. "Have you ever been in love, Professor?" she asked. I took a deep breath before answering, and she noticed that. "This is a hard question to answer," I replied. "Sometimes we make things hard when we want to, just like you have now," she reacted to my answer. "Do we have the choice to make things hard almost all the time?" I asked in wonder. "That's a philosophical question I cannot answer," she said while laughing. The term "philosophy" shifted our conversation into another universe, and we talked for almost three hours without stopping. Suddenly, I heard a loud laughter coming from the woods, similar to the one I had heard in movies. I murmured, "This is their laughter."

She asked, with some background knowledge about the hanged man incident, "Do the cannibals live here in the forest, or was it just a lie to hide the killer's actions?" "From my own experience, I do believe that they are people who enjoy eating human flesh, just like they would enjoy a lamb meal while hanging out with their friends at a restaurant," I answered calmly. She informed me that she had read some articles related to this topic before, but she did not retain them in her memory since she believed they were just ink on paper meant to frighten people. "Sometimes we want to believe and see life from only one angle when, in truth, there are different angles that hold other views," I added while throwing a small rock into the lake. "It's true that life is not easy to understand, but are we supposed to believe everything we read on the internet or hear from others?" she asked. "Well, sometimes, we need to use our critical thinking and think logically before accepting a thought or a line written by someone else," I answered while trying to leave. She did not care much about my answer but was more concerned about my attempt to leave the discussion in a hurry. "Are you leaving me after this long discussion full of shared ideas and thoughts?" she asked with regret and sadness in her voice. "Maybe if we had spent more time together, you would have known the answer to your question about love," I answered while holding my jacket and a book titled Sophie's World in my hands. She insisted on going with me to my tent to stay longer, and I did not hesitate to accept her request since all I needed at that time was company to keep me alive and free from boredom. "Yeah, of course, you can, but you need to hurry up because it's getting darker here." She replied happily, "Don't be afraid, I'm here with you. I won't let anything hurt you." Her last words reminded me of my last love, which I regret too much because it did not end happily. "Oh, you're already promising to protect me even though we have just met. That's an odd thing to do." She answered in a sad tone, "Why are you focusing on the details of words? I just wanted to make you feel safe." We started our journey to my tent in silence, as the road was too dark, and we could not see where we were stepping. She grabbed my hand in fear after hearing some faint movements in the woods. "You promised to protect me, yet here you are grabbing my hand in fear over nothing. These are just campers searching for wood to start their fire and sit by it to get warm," I said sarcastically. "Well, I made a promise, and here I am with you, trying to protect you. In fact, I have never started a fire. Could you please show me how to do it? It was one of my childhood dreams," she added. "I will if you help me prepare dinner," I uttered ironically. "I will prepare it myself if you remain silent because your words hurt like a sword stabbed into the back of a sick person," she said angrily. I laughed loudly at what she had said, and we continued our way to the tent?

We arrived at the tent to find the old man waiting for me impatiently. I had forgotten everything about him since my encounter with this exquisite lady. I greeted him happily and introduced him to my new company because he was gazing at her surprisingly. I told him secretly that the tent would not be free that night, and he replied with a tone of wonder. He may have thought that the time to make love was not suitable that night because he told me that he had heard the same voice but closer, as he had dived deeper into the woods. He warned me not to take too much time enjoying the new company while forgetting the main issue behind survival. I assured him that I would be available if he wanted to discuss the solution to this dilemma. He agreed with my statement with a nod of his head and lifted his bag and his rifle. I did not ask him about the details of the hunt since I needed to have some time with my guest I had invited. He left, and I turned back to see her gazing at me with a feeling I did not recognize before since I had been busy with the old man's plan for these cannibals. She asked about the place where the vegetables were kept to make dinner, and I showed her while chuckling. She did not pay much attention to it since she asked again about what she had heard while I was interacting with the old man. "I really want to know why these people torment and eat others' meat," she asked, waiting for an immediate reply. "Well, the issue is a little bit complicated," I answered after a long period of brainstorming my words before uttering them. "You escaped from this question as well as you did when I asked about love." She said " Sometimes, the answers are there. But we bury them because we're not ready to face them " I replied calmly, in regret. "Your answers are very complicated and philosophical to some extent," she added. "I do like to read philosophical books, but I did not have time to do so," I said coldly. "We have to cook something for dinner, or we will be waiting for your philosophical answers to feed us," she said in a hurry while searching for the knife to chop the meat. I laughed secretly and started to assist her in her business. I taught her how to start a fire, and she was very happy as she promised me again to sew a small hat for the cold. We had dinner, sat by the fire, and discussed many issues that night with cups of coffee in our hands and music. Some faint steps were getting closer to my tent while we were lying on the ground next to the fire. I moved my head to notice the old man coming in a hurry. He informed me that the time for fun had finished and that it was time for work. What is this work?

I had never thought much about the man who lived on the edge of the woods, but everything changed that day. The old man had always seemed odd, distant, and secretive, but I had never questioned his behavior. Then, I encountered him again, on the path I walked often. It was a few days before that when I first met the woman. Her presence was quiet, but it struck me how much she resembled something from my past. We sat by the fire together, talking, and somehow, it felt like we had known each other forever. She pitched her tent near mine, almost as if she didn't want to be alone. I felt the same pull. There was something about her that made me feel at ease. The evening seemed to settle back in its usual rhythm. But something in my gut gnawed at me, a feeling I couldn't ignore. Later, I saw the old man again, just standing by the tree where the hanged man's body had been left for days. I approached him, sensing something was off, but he quickly turned and left, disappearing into the woods. That's when it hit me, there was a connection I hadn't made before. The hanged man. The strange bloodstains on the old man's bag. I suddenly understood everything. My blood ran cold. I didn't wait another moment. I called the police and quietly gave them all the details and urged them to come quickly before the old man realized what I knew. By the time they arrived, he was already gone, but they knew exactly where to find him. The old man was arrested right there in the woods, without a chance to escape. It turned out, he had been hiding in plain sight all along, the serial killer who had eluded the authorities for years. When the police led him away, I couldn't help but look at the woman who had shared this strange journey with me. She smiled, as if she knew what was coming. It wasn't just the old man's fate that had been sealed, it was mine too, in a way. The truth which was finally exposed, left me feeling uneasy. It had taken too long to connect the dots, and now, I couldn't shake the feeling that the woods had always known what I had ignored.