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I recall one time when my younger brother and I went camping. We went to Findlay State Park in Ohio for Memorial Day weekend a few years back.
We had planned to spend both Friday and Saturday night, and then head back home Monday afternoon (as he was still in school). Nightfall had already set by the time we had set up camp, so we had a small bonfire. We of course told spooky stories and roasted marshmallows. However, at the climax of the tale I was telling, we heard a loud crash from somewhere beyond our campsite. It sounded like a branch snapping, but a lot louder. This sound was accompanied by what sounded like a dog that was in pain, only deeper and mixed with what sounded like rabid growls. We immediately went inside my truck and waited several minutes until the noises had subsided. We then decided it'd be best to turn in early for the night.
The next day we decided to go on a hike. We brought our fishing rods with us for the hell of it. We trekked through wooded trails and I pointed out different types of indigenous species of plants and animals, trying to seem smart.
We found a nice peak overlooking a small lake. The perfect place to go fishing. We made our way down to the water line and cast out. After about two hours, we still had yet to get a bite. We thought we'd have better luck after the sun went down and the water cooled off.
Right as we were about to pack up and head back to the campsite, my brother's line caught a bite. His fishing rod bent way down, like when people in the cartoons catch a huge fish. We smiled and I cheered for him to reel it in!
My brother lurched forward and was pulled into the water. Of course, he was smart enough to let the rod go before he got pulled under the water as it wasn't expensive. After we ensured safety, we looked back out onto the water. On the far side of the lake, we saw something get out of the water and run back into the woods. And then we heard that loud growling noise again. We decided to head home early.