Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Death Takes a Holiday Rambler

Episode Date: July 21, 2025

They look like the perfect RV family—mom, dad, and two teens on a summer road trip—but when a stranger starts asking the wrong questions, the Dyers’ blood-soaked secrets threaten to turn their campground into another crime scene. Author: Jake Bible * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hank Dyer watches as two women, engrossed in their conversation. Give him casual waves as they walk by. Did you hear about the murders in Arkansas? One asks the other. A whole family decapitated. The other replies, shaking her head. A mom and dad with twin boys. How sad.

These campgrounds are supposed to be safe, the first says. But I'm not so sure. The ladies pass on by as hot dogs sizzle on the grill in front of Hank. He shivers at the subject of conversation, then takes a deep breath and calls out. Ildi, can you bring me on other cores? He continues turning the hot dogs a quarter turn each, making sure they are evenly browned on all sides. Hank crumples the can of beer he's just finished and tosses it into a wire bin next to the grill, or he tosses it close to the bin at least.

He's already had a few Coors lights, and the cans are starting to bounce off the rim and scatter in the dirt and gravel that make up most of the RV campsite. Here you go, dear, Hildy says, handing her husband one of the two cans of course she holds. When Hank takes it, Hildie cracks open hers and downs a third of it before letting loose a loud belch. More room out than in. Hallelujah, Hank says, and lifts his can, then takes a long, deep swig. Those about done, dear? Hildedie asks Hank, nodding her chin at the dogs.

Close to it. Where are the children? Hannah is with some girls over by the picnic tables across from the showers. Hank Jr. is wandering about somewhere. I think he saw a girl this afternoon that he's trying to work the courage up to approach. He's 16. He better get that courage up soon. If I'd waited until I had courage to talk to you, you'd have ended up marrying what's his name? Matt Quigley. Matt Quigley. Damn, that guy was lame.

You'd trade it up when you got with Hank Dyer. I sure did, dear. I sure did. Hildy leans in and kisses Hank on the cheek. I'll see if I can round up the kids. Be back in a few minutes. Just text them. No cell service. And the campground Wi-Fi is down until tomorrow morning, the manager says.

That explains why it's so quiet. No one can stream their tunes. Unfortunately, you know what that means. The guitars come out when the stars come out. Every picker with a dead dream of fame and name. fortune is going to try to serenade the whole campground tonight. Pray the Wi-Fi is back up tomorrow. I already have. Hildy kisses Hank's cheek again, then saunteres off into the evening dusk, following a wide gravel avenue past other RVs filled with traveling families or retirees or

young couples. Hildie waves and calls out greetings at the fellow campers, and Hank watches her go. Happy to know that the ass and those cutoffs is his for life. and good. Hank jumps at the man's voice and whips around, holding up the grill tongs like a sword. Whoa there, Zorro. A man dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and combat boots says. His hands held to his shoulders and surrender. Just giving you a compliment. Not looking to jack your dogs. You startled me, Hank says and lowers the tongs. He looks down at the man's combat boots, then at the gravel. Didn't hear you walk up? You some sort of biker ninja? Biker ninja. I don't know how you snuck up on me in those boots.

I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. The man laughs and holds out his hand. Ogden Hill. I'm two sides over in the old Holiday Rambler. The vintage travel trailer? I saw that as we rolled in. What year is that baby? 1954.

The second year they made them. That's right. You know your RV history. Hank hooks a thumb over his shoulder at his RV. I tried to talk the misses into going vintage, but the kids wanted to travel like they haven't left home, so we have this thing. The man, Ogden, appraises the luxury land yacht, taking up most of the campsite space. That thing had to have set you back a bit. It did, but worth every penny if it means spending

the entire summer together. Us dyers just love a family vacation. Whatever, a sullen teenage boy says as he shuffles by, his flip-flops kicking up gravel in his wake. Hank Jr. Meet Mr. Hill. He's the guy with the vintage Holiday Rambler two sides over. Comey Ogden, Ogden says and holds out his hand. Hank Jr. stares at it, then shrugs, and walks inside the huge RV. Sorry about that. Teenagers. No problem. I was an asshole when I was his age, too. Hank laughs and turns the hot dogs. You got kids, Ogden? Not anymore, no. Hank pauses in mid-turn. The hot dog, dangling limply from the top.

Tongues. He glances at Ogden. I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you. Not something I really talk about. Understood. We'll move on to better subjects. Care for a beer? No, no thank you. I was just passing by on my way to the general store and thought I'd be friendly. Need some batteries. Isn't that how it always is? I even have a case of rechargeables, yet they are never recharged when I need them. I hear that. Good to meet you, hang. and I'll see you around this weekend.

Same, Ogden. Have a great evening. Hank salutes with the hot dog tongs, and Ogden smiles as he heads off toward the front of the campground where the main office and general store sit. Who was that? Hildy asks, walking up with a teenage girl in tow. He owns the Holiday Rambler.

The vintage one? That's the one. Wow, it's a bute. I sure wish we could have traveled around in something like that. Ew, gross, Dad. The teenage girl says. I bet it has like lice and spiders and roaches in there. It looks fully restored, Hannah, Hank says.

It's probably in better shape than our RV. It doesn't have an engine. It can't even drive itself. It's like a trailer or something. Nothing can drive itself. Hank Jr. says as he steps out of the RV with a plate in his hand. Are the dogs done? I'm starving.

They are done. Hand me that plate. Hank says. I was going to use this plate. Just hand it to me. You can get a different one. Jeez. Hank Jr. whines as he hands the empty plate to his father.

But I get first pick. They're hot dogs, moron. Anna says. They all taste like lips and assholes. Hannah, don't be crass. Hildy admonishes her daughter. And watch your language in the campground. Little ears are everywhere.

Whatever. Hank fills the plate with the cooked dogs and walks them to a picnic table. that already holds buns and condiments, plus bags of chips. Get the potato salad from the fridge, will you, Hannah? Hildy asks her daughter. Why me? Because I asked you to.

Ask H.J. I'm already making my dog. Hank Jr. says, squirting ketchup along one side of a hot dog bun he has on his plate. Hannah, get the Kohl's law. Hank snaps. Potato salad. Hildie corrects. Potato salad.

Go. Get it. Now. Hannah mutters an argument under her breath as she turns and heads inside the RV. No one waits for Hannah to return as they fix their plates and settle in on the picnic table. Got my batteries, Ogden Hill announces from the gravel thoroughfare, surprising them all. He's holding up a small package of double A's. You all have a great dinner.

Care to join us? Hildy asks. No, ma'am, but thank you. Maybe I'll see you all around tomorrow. Have a great night. You too, Ogden. Hank says and waves with a napkin he's about to use to wipe the mustard off the corners of his mouth. He seems nice, Hildy says, after Ogden is back at his sight. Sure does. A little sad, though. Oh? I didn't pry, but it sounds like he may have lost a child at some point.

Oh, how awful for him! Hildy reaches for Hank Jr. and squeezes his arm. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my babies. Now, Mom? Mom, let go. You're pinching me. That's just me showing my love, baby. Go show it to Hannah. Show me what? Hannah asks with the Tupperware of potato salad in her hands. How much I love you, Hildie says, and gets up to take Hannah in her arms. Mom, the potato salad! Hildedie lets go, and Hannah scoots past her mother, so she can set the potato salad down on the table.

Then she looks at Hank Jr. Damn it, H.J. I wanted that hot dog. She snaps at her brother. He looks at the dog and the bun he's holding. You said they're all just lips and assholes, so what do you care? That's enough with the lips and assholes talk, Hank says. And keep your voices down. There are other families trying to enjoy their vacations without having to hear you two bickering wine.

Whatever, the teenagers say. Hank looks off in the direction Ogden walked off toward. You all right? Hilded he asks him quietly. Yeah, fine. It's just... Just what? I don't know.

There's something familiar about him. Who? Ogden Hill. Like we've seen him before at one of the campgrounds. Was he at the lakeside shores in Arkansas last week? Could be. Easy to forget folks, considering how many we meet. Hard to forget that holiday rambler, though.

I know we haven't seen that rig before. So maybe he just reminds you of someone we met once. Could be. Ogden says as he walks up behind Hildy where she slips her debit card into the change machine hanging on the general store's wall. You'd think they just make the washing machines and dryers except cards instead of us having to jump through these hoops. Hildy looks over her shoulder and smiles. No way. They have old GE washers and dryers in there.

Those workhorses will still be here long after you and I are gone. Do you mean gone from this campground or gone from life? Both. Ogden chuckles. I don't build them like that anymore. Speaking of, you have that vintage holiday rambler two sides down, right? Ogden raises an eyebrow, and Hildee laughs and holds out of hand. Hildie Dyer. You spoke with my husband last night.

We set high when you walked by with your batteries. Oh, right, Ogden shakes and nods. Ogden Hill, pleased to meet you. Good guy, your husband. I think so. She types in an amount on the keypad and a roaring jangle of course. quarters fills the morning air. Hildi scoops out the coins and tucks them into the right pocket of her cutoffs. Well, I better get to work. Not like the kids are going to do their own laundry. At least, do it well, that is. Bloodstains are hard to get out, that's for sure. Hildie pauses and eyes Ogden

carefully. Bloodstains? Well, your daughter is that age, he says. My twins never made it to their first period. Trying to smile through the awkwardness, Hildy only manages a pained grimace. I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Hill, she says, then moves toward the glass door with laundry painted on it in bright white letters. It was nice meeting you, and I hope you have a great rest of your day. You too, Ogden says, and walks off without getting change from the machine. Hildy watches him go, arise never leaving his back until he's long out of sight.

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That's shopify.com slash dns. I don't like the holiday rambler. Fildy states when she enters the RV, rousing Hank from a short nap on the RV's couch. A 1954? It's a classic. How can you not like it? I mean the guy, the owner. Ogden?

Hank sits up in Issa's wife. Why? What happened? ran into him at the general store while I was getting quarters for laundry. They really need to have those machines retrofitted with card readers. Besides the point, he came up and started talking to me, and then just before leaving, he mentioned blood. Hank waits, and when Hildy doesn't elaborate, he asks. Blood? What about blood? Why would he mention that?

He said it was hard to get out of clothes. He's not wrong, but why the hell would he say that? Alarmed, Hank gets to his feet. He shakes off the relaxed state he was trying to achieve and slips on the irritated husband state he's quickly growing into. He mentioned that Hannah was of that age, Hildy says, using air quotes around that age. Then he says his daughters never got to be old enough to get their first period.

What the actual fuck? Hank shouts. He said that? Do you? He said that to me. That's not cool. He creeped me out. Not bad.

And that's not the weird part. It gets worse. He said his twins never got their period. Twins! Just like we have twins. Yeah. Huh. So?

So what? So what are you going to do about it? Me? Yes, you, Hank. I did not like the way he was talking about our daughter's periods and getting blood out of clothes. I mean, you are pretty damn good at getting blood out of clothes. Besides the point! Well, I don't know what else you want me to say.

Or do. I'm not going to go to the guy in broad daylight and confront him. Too many witnesses if things go wrong. Well, something has to be done. Oh, stop. You know how campgrounds are? They attract some weird folk. Present company, excluded, of course.

Of course. He hasn't done anything yet. So let's just see how things go. We leave in a couple of days anyway. So you won't go talk to him? Is that what you're saying? I'm saying I won't go talk to him right now. I might have a chat with him later this evening, however, when things are a little quieter. You promise?

I promise. And you'll be firm? You won't let him wriggle off the hook. Baby, in 20 years of marriage, have I ever let anyone wriggle off the hook before? Not yet. Then have faith. I'll talk to him around sundown. You better. I promise. The walking stick is as tall as Hank is,

a favorite out of the collection he's grown since the family started RVing. He likes to pretend he is Gandalf when he walks with the stick, since it is really more of a staff anyway, just like the old wizard had in those movies. Hank grips the stick tight with both hands when he pauses at the empty campsite. There is no sign of the classic Holiday Rambler. Even campground maintenance has already been by to rake the gravel smooth. It sure was a beauty, the woman says from the space on the far side of the empty site as she cleans up the remnants of dinner.

They don't make them like that anymore. No, they sure don't, Hank says. When did Ogden leave? Maybe just after lunch? It was sad to see him go. The kids loved getting a tour of the old trailer, and he seemed to not be bothered by their high energy or, you know, their constant screaming. Hank didn't see any kids around, but he could see t-shirts and swim trunks. drying on a clothes line that looked like they'd fit boys around the age of 8 to 10.

Yeah, kids can really scream, Hank says. I have two teenagers, twins, a boy and a girl. Mine are twins, too, the woman exclaims. Both boys. Is that so? It's a small world. I'll have to tell my wife. She'll want to swap pregnancy stories with you. Oof, don't get me started. Hank returns his attention to the empty sight. He say where he was going? The woman stuffs some stained paper plates into a trash bag and frowns.

No, not really. Not really? He mentioned he was hunting, or hunting for something. I'm not sure. The boys kept interrupting him. I wonder what he is looking for. The woman shrugs. I'm Sherry.

Have your wife come on down. Let her know I have boxed chardonnay in the fridge. And it's the good boxed wine, not the bad stuff. Doesn't matter what box it comes out of. My wife doesn't turn down wine. Great! The boys and their dad are off to catch fireflies. It's really just a way to make them walk a ton

so they all fall asleep as soon as they are in bed. Also a way to leave you to clean up without them having to help. That too. Well, nice meeting you. I hope your boys go to sleep right away and stay asleep all night. Thanks. And really do send your wife down. I'll be alone for the next hour or more.

We'll do. This campground better not be as lame as the last one. Anna complains when the RV takes a wide turn into a new campground's entrance. Hush! Hildie says, looking up from her phone as Hank pulls the RV into the guest space by the main office. Be right back, Hank says. I'll get us all signed up. Does this campground have a pool?

Hank Jr. asks. There's literally a sign pointing to the pool right there, moron. Anna snaps and throws a pillar from the couch at him as he sits at the diner. table. Knock it off, Han. Hank Jr. shouts and throws the pillow back at his sister. Hey, knock it off, both of you, Hank growls, getting up from the driver's seat. He points at each teen. No more BS, you hear? I want you two getting along these next few days. We're the dyers, not some white trash yokels, act like it. Whatever, the teens reply. Get us checked in, baby, Hildy says, adding Hank's arm as he moves by, and opens the RV.

side door. Oh, hey there. A woman with the clipboard exclaims as soon as the door is open. Welcome to Withering Springs Campground. I'm the manager, Dolores Hayes. She stands on her tiptoes and leans forward, trying to look around Hank. And what a lovely family. Do you have a reservation? We do, Hank says, and takes the two steps down to the asphalt, forcing Dolores to move back. I'm Hank Dyer, and inside is my wife, Hildy. Hi there. Hildy calls from inside, but doesn't make an appearance. Then my twins, Hannah and Hank Jr.

There is no response from the teens. Well, I'm so glad you could join us here at Weathering Springs, Dolores says and consults her clipboard. She scans down the first page, then flips that over and scans down the second page. Hmm, let's see here. She glances up at Hank and her smile is tight and strained. I'm not seeing you here, and we're all. all booked up. Check again, Hank says. Try Dwyer with a W. Sometimes that happens if I make the

reservation on my phone. Auto correct. You get it. I sure do, she says and checks again. There you are. Dwyer. I'll fix that in our system. Thanks. And it's just the four of you? Yep. Any pets? Nope. Staying four nights? Maybe more, if that's not a problem. Well, we'll see. It should be Okay, but like I said, we're fully booked. Yes, I understand. So four nights then? Yes, four. And where are you folks coming in from?

Excuse me? Dolores glances up from her clipboard. Just wondering where you were last. Looks like you're on a family road trip. I like to live vicariously, since this campground is the only one I see for six months out of the year. Ah, I get it. Yeah, we just stayed at the Foggy Cove Campground in Springfield. Dolores visibly flinches and clutches the clipboard to her bosom.

Foggy Cove? Yes. He sighs and tries to smile. I'm guessing from your reaction that you heard about the unfortunate tragedy. Unfortunate tragedy? A whole family was murdered in their RV. Dad, mom, and their two twin boys. What's this?

Hildie asks, stepping into the RV's open door. What's wrong? The Foggy Cove murders, Hank says. Oh. Dad, what a tragedy. Were you there when it happened? Dolores asks. Hank looks over his shoulder at his wife.

She frowns and nods. Hank returns his attention to Dolores. Yes, we were there. I even spoke to the mother earlier that evening. So awful. They found them hanging from the clothes line is what I heard. She leans in close. Looks both ways, the Nads.

Their heads were gone. They found those in their RV shower. Yes, I know. We were detained by the police for an extra day while they interviewed everyone in the campground. We were supposed to stay a night in Redmond, but we ended up coming straight here instead. How are the children? Did they know the boys? No, no, our kids are much older, but I'm sure they saw them around. So sad. So sad. Hildy echoes. Delores nods. So, what else do you need for me? You have our credit card in your system from when I reserved the spot.

so payment should be good to go. Oh, yes, yes. Everything is in order. Dolores turns the clipboard to face Hank and holds out a pen. If he would just sign on this line, Hank does. Thank you. It's so wonderful to have you all here. I hope your stay is amazing. I am sure it will be, Hank says, and turns back to the RV. Which site? H3. Dolores says.

Extra long. Looks like you need it. Yeah, we do. He says and pats the side of the RV. Swing on into the office if you need anything. Dolores says as she walks off, waving. Or just swing by to chat. I'm not a gosper or anything, but I'd very much like to hear more about what happened at Foggy Cove.

We're trying to put that behind us. Of course. Dolores replies with a guilty giggle. As you should. Just put that nastiness in the past, right? Right. Welcome to Wuthering Springs. We're so glad you're here.

What fuck is a Withering Springs? Hannah asks, as Hank navigates the RV along the campground's narrow roadways. Hannah Dyer! Language! Hildie snaps. Whatever. Yeah, what is up with the name? Hank Jr. asks. There aren't any springs close to here for like a hundred miles. It isn't weathering like part of a name to some Shakespeare play. It was an old Gothic novel, Bildie says.

And it was written by... Her voice trails off as the RV drives by a perfectly restored 19-15. 54 Holiday Rambler. Baby? Hank asks. You good? I just saw the Holiday Rambler back there. The one from Foggy Cove?

The 1954? The same. They keep driving until they find their reserved spot. It says Dwyer. Hank Jr. points out when the RV pulls past a post with a welcome sign on it. Dad! The welcome sign says Dwyer. I mix up, Hank replies.

The RV comes to a full stop, and Hank kills the engine. Here we are, kids. Wuthering Springs Campground. Exciting. Hildy says and claps her hands together. Isn't it exciting, kids? Whatever, the two teens say. Hank and Hildy roll their eyes at each other.

I'm going to the pool. Hank Jr. announces before Hank has the emergency break set. Hold on, hold on. Hank says. Rules first. Hannah and Hank Jr. both sigh, as if their lives are ending this very second. First rule? Egg asks. Be polite to everyone.

Dyers leave a good impression. The teens say in unison. Second rule? Hildi asks. Be aware and be careful. Anna says. There are weirdos out there. Hank Jr. adds.

Dangerous weirdos. Yildie says. Keep your eyes peeled. You never know who is lurking around the corner or waiting just inside a camper door. Geez, mom. Freak us out much, why don't you? Anna says.

Third rule? Hank asks. Have fun! Hildi cheers. The teen's grown. Okay, go ahead. Go have that fun. I'm not going.

Anna says. I'm going to hang around the site. Maybe read. Really? That would be great, baby. Hildy says. I'm kidding. No way I'm hanging out here at the RV while H.J. is at the pool.

Oh, good one. Hilded says. Obviously hurt. Hey, do me a favor, you too. Hank says. Ugh. Anna responds. What? Ang Jr. asks. Steer clear of the Holiday Rambler, okay?

The old trailer? The batteries guy? Yes. Something is off with him. Keep your distance. He has issues. Healdi adds. Sure. Hank Jr. says. Who cares about that guy? Anna says. Good, good. Thanks, kids. We done. Can we go now?

Anna asks. Sure. Hank says as the teens gather up their suits and tuesday. towels and water bottles, and are out the door and halfway down the roadway without a goodbye. Be safe and make good choices. Once they're gone, Hank turns to Hildy. Care for a walk? Get the lay of the land? Sure. Hildy freshenes up, while Hank gets the RV settled and secured for their stay. Let's walk, Hildy says, appearing at the door in a slight cover-up with a one-piece red bathing suit underneath. Oh? Hank says with a laugh. Did this

walk just become about making the dumpy mom's jealous? I don't know what you mean, Hildy says in a tone that tells Hank he's exactly right. I don't mind showing off my sexy wife, Hank says, and holds out his hand. Ready? Ready. They make a slow trek around the campground, greeting folks they have met before at other campgrounds, introducing themselves to new folks, and just enjoying the beautiful summer day and the pleasure of each other's company. Then they come around a turn and are surprised to see a police cruiser parked a few sites down, right behind the 1954 Holiday Rambler. You think they tracked him here from Foggy Cove? Hildee asks as they slowly walk toward the site.

That'd be my guess. He seemed like a nice guy, but you said he was weird with you at the change machine. Maybe some other people noticed and told the police. He could be a suspect. He left before the killings, which looks good for him. But it's easy to go park somewhere else and then. sneak back into the campground. I'd want to talk to him if I were the police. The couple go quiet as they stroll past the police cruiser. The back window of the Holiday Rambler is wide open, and they can both hear two men talking. Then someone stands up and goes to the window, reaching for the curtains on the right side. Ogden Hill pauses and stares out the window at Hank and

Hildie. Hildie gives him a little wave. He closes the curtains without waving back. Yikes, Hildie says. He has issues. Don't we all, my love, don't we all? That guy's been following me around. Hannah says as she bursts into the RV in her bikini and smelling of cocoa butter. He tries to act like he's not, but he is. Hank sets the ace of spades down in the row above his solitaire spread and locks eyes with Hildy.

See? She says. He has issues. What are you going to do about it? Hannah asks her father, with a taunt in her voice. Me? What do you want me to do? Go tell him to stop it.

She cries. I was chatting with this really cute ginger who had no business being out in the sun. And then I saw the creepy rambler guy over by the pool fence, just staring at me. Where's your brother? Hildy asks, finally setting her book down and looking up from her spot on the RV's couch. I don't know. What do you mean you don't know? You are supposed to keep an eye on each other when we pull into a new campground.

We've been here three days and we're 16. We didn't just pull in, and we are too old to be keeping an eye on each other. Do you really think I want to keep an eye on my own brother? Ew, gross. I don't even want to think about what he does when I'm not around. Boys will be boys, Hank says. He'll de rolls her eyes. Has he approached you, or has he just been watching you?

Following. You said he was watching you at the pool. Yeah, then he followed me and the ginger to their campsite. Their parents have like some huge travel trailer. They need a giant pickup truck with like six wheels and shit to pull it. Language, Hildie says. Whatever. Anna says.

And, yes, their parents were there at the trailer. We just had some snacks and sodas. And Mr. Hill followed you there? Hank asks. Who? Mr. Hill, the man with a holiday rambler. I don't care what his name is. Just go tell him to stop following me.

When Hank doesn't respond, Anna adds, Fine, I'll tell him myself. We'll see how that goes. No. Hank and Hildy both yell. Anna smirks. I'll talk to him. Hank says and glances at Hildie.

She raises an eyebrow. Now, apparently. Good. Tell him that if he follows me again. I'll stick my foot so far up as we get it, baby. Hildy says. Now, go get dressed. You're getting pink on your shoulders and chest.

I put on sunscreen. Anna protests. Hildi just stares. Fine. I'll get dressed. and I'll go talk to Mr. Hill, Hank says and stands up. He points at the cards. I'm still playing that hand.

Okay, dear. Hildy says, and returns her attention to her book. So how long are you and your family on the road for? All summer or just a few weeks? What? Hank Jr. asks, looking up from his phone at the man who just sat down across from him at the picnic table. Do I know you? Ogden Hill, Ogden says, and extends his hand across the table. We met at Foggy Cove a few days ago. Hank Jr. blinks several times.

I had batteries. Hank Jr. continues blinking. And the 1954 holiday rambler. Oh, right. You're that guy. Ogden keeps his hand extended. Hank Jr. ignores it or tries to. But after an uncomfortable minute, he sighs and shakes the man's hand. I heard the cops talk to you.

Hank Jr. says, after conspicuously wiping his hand on his shorts. Was it about the murders? The police did talk to me, yes, Ogden replies. He pulls a pack of cigarettes and lighter out of his jeans pocket, shaking one out. He grasps the filter tip between his lips, then looks over at Hank Jr. Knock yourself out. Why would I care if you want to kill yourself slowly? You more a kill him quickly kind of guy, that it? I respect that. Hank Jr. tears his attention away from his phone in size. bruh, what do you want? Nothing, Ogden says as he lights his cigarette and takes a long drag.

Just thought I'd say hello since I remember seeing you at Foggy Cove. Good for you. Hank Jr. buries his face in his phone again while Ogden watches him and smokes. Finally, after several seconds, Hank Jr. looks up. What? Let me ask you a question. Can I fucking stop you? No one has so far.

Hank Jr. frowns. Is twin telepathy real? Ogden asks and takes a drag. What? Twin telepathy. You're a twin, right? Hank Jr. looks around. He sees a few families at nearby picnic tables

and a whole bunch of folks playing volleyball in the sand courts. Yeah, I'm a twin. My daughters were twins. Twin families are funny, aren't they? I guess. I ask. because I have to wonder if one twin is, say, being hacked to death, would the other twin know what is happening if they aren't there?

Or would they have gotten a strange feeling like something is off? What the fuck, bruh? Hank Jr. says and stands up. My mom was right. You have fucking issues. Your mom said that. Yeah, she fucking said that. Because you obbs have issues, bruh. I'm surprised the cops didn't haul you off.

What for? Killing that family. You think they think I did that? Ogden laughs, and streams of smoke pour out of his nostrils. No evidence, kid. There never is. They could arrest me, but they'd never convict. Not for that one, or any of the others.

Ogden locks eyes with Hank Jr. Campgrounds can just be dangerous places to visit these days. Isn't that right? Fuck you, weirdo, Hank Jr. says and turns to leave. He nearly runs into his father. Shit, Dad. You scared. the fuck out of me. Language, Hank says, then shifts his focus to Ogden. Go back to the RV, son.

That's where I was going. Good. Hank Jr. gives Ogden another look, then hurries off. As soon as Hank Jr. is gone, Hank takes his son's seat and smiles at Ogden. Looks like we have the same vacation route planned, Hank says. Looks like it. I can tell by how my boy was acting, that you two weren't talking about sports or YouTube videos. What were you talking about? It was about sports, Ogden says. Hunting, in fact. Oh, you hunt?

Ogden just smiles. I do a little hunting myself, Hank says. But I have a feeling my hunting and your hunting are different. I have that same feeling. My daughter says you're following her. Then I see you're here chatting up my son. Small campground. Bullshit, why are you up in my family shit, Mr. Hill?

I'm not. Like I said, it's a small campground. We'll be bumping into each other the whole time we're here. Except we leave tomorrow. That's so? Yep. We thought we might stick around a little longer. But the vibe here just isn't right. You get what I'm saying. Not exactly no. The vibe here feels perfect to me. Good for you. Hank stands up. Stay away from my daughter, from my son, and from me and my wife. You hear? I do, and I'm sorry I've upset you. Upsetting you is not my goal. Keep it that way, Mr. Hill. Keep it that way.

Hank turns and walks off. See you later, Mr. Hill. Not if I don't see you first, Mr. Dyer. The scrape. That's what brings Hank awake instantly. The scrape. He spent nearly half a million dollars on the RV, and the damn master bedroom door isn't plumb,

so it scrapes on the frame when it closes. and when it opens. Acting like he's still asleep, Hank rolls over onto his stomach, letting his arm dangle over the side of the bed. He groans and shifts his body while ever so slightly slipping his hand under the mattress. His fingers touch the cold steel of his 45 pistol. The scrape comes again, and Hank knows that whoever is in the room has closed the bedroom door.

I can tell you're awake. Ogden's voice rings out in the small space. Hildy comes awake and sits up. Hank? I know. Hank says and rolls onto his back. He shifts the 45 from his left hand to his right. Hello, Mr. Hill.

You shouldn't have come, but I understand. You just had to. So you remember who I am? Ogden asks, holding his own pistol and keeping it leveled at Hank. We do. Hank says and looks at Hildy. She nods. 2019, wasn't it?

Yes. Hildy says. You're well. My wife's name was Elizabeth, and your two girls' names were... Don't you fucking say their names, you monsters. Ogden roars. You do not get to butcher them and steal their futures and say their names. You fucking hear me?

What do you think is going to happen here, Mr. Hill? Hank asks. How do you see this going? Ogden laughs. Who fucking cares? I found you. I hunted for years and I found you. I don't give a shit about what happens next, except I'm going to...

The scrape. Ogden starts to turn around but doesn't make it. A machete to his neck stops all movement. He grunts and goes to reach for the machete, but it's too late. He's already mortally wounded by the time he registers he's in trouble. Collapsing to the floor in a dead heap with a machete still embedded in his neck, Ogden lets out his last breath, then goes still. Hank looks up from the body to the person standing in the bedroom doorway.

Anna smiles, then looks down at Ogden. Her smile goes away instantly as she looks down at herself. Fucker. He got fucking blood on my favorite sleeping shirt. Mom! First, language. Second, I'll be able to get the stains out, sweetie. Don't you worry, Hildy says. Her left arm had been hanging off the bed, and she lifts it up, bringing her own machete with it. She holds the blood up and turns it in the little light that filters in through the RV's windows. But if you want a blade as a tool, then you have to be prepared for blood splatter. We talked about that. Oh, to hell with language and blood splatter.

Look at what our baby girl did. She killed her first adult. Yes, I see that. But we have to be practical. Fuck practical. We need to celebrate. What the fuck is going on? Hank Jr. asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he steps up behind a sister.

He rubs some more and looks down at the floor. Oh shit. The Holiday Rambler guy. He fucked with the wrong family. Hank exclaims and gets up out of bed. Dad! Hannah shrieks. Use pajamas! Hank Jr. shouts.

The two teens leave the bedroom quickly. Hank glances down at his nakedness. Sorry, kids. Here. Ilde says and throws him his boxers. Put those on. Hank slips into his boxers, then studies Ogden's dead body. The machete can be traced back to the foggy cove killings.

So we need to agree that he brought it with him, Hank says. Give me his gun. Ilde says, crawling across the bed and holding out. her hand. Hank plucks the pistol from the corpse's grip and hands it to Hildy. She shoves it deep under the mattress. Let's hope they buy it and don't toss the place, Hank says. Then sell it, baby. Hank nods, then throws himself around the bedroom, slamming into the walls, the closet doors, even breaking a bedside lamp. Does that look like a struggle to the place? He asks, panting. Sure does. So what's the story? Mr. Holiday Rambler has been stalking us?

Because we have twins and he kills twins. He snapped after his girls were killed. Not by us, of course. No, no, not by us. Never. Hank and Hildy laugh and laugh. Then they calm down and Hank takes a deep breath. All right, we have to be serious, Hank says. Holiday Rambler comes in to kill us.

You two fight. He drops his machete. The same machete used at Foggy Cove. We covered that deer. Just being thorough in my thinking. I understand, but we're on the club. clock. Others must have heard something. We have time. We always do. He drops the machete, and Hannah picks it up and hacks him in the neck. All self-defense. Hank nods and sits down heavily on the bed. What's wrong, baby? Hildy asks. We're going to have to take a break on family

fun vacations, he says. We'll be on the radar now. Campgrounds will be on high alert. I know, I know. I thought of that. Hildy rubs her husband's shoulder than smiles. What about a cruise next summer instead? A cruise? That's a great idea, but we have to go outside our usual families with twins as targets. I say we look for bachelorette parties, pick them off one by one, then frame one of the bridesmaids. God, I love you, Hank says and kisses his wife. Let's tell the kids. And get our stories straight. That too. Kids, get in here. Time to sink stories and talk about next year's trip. Does Dad have pants on?

Hannah shouts. Yes. Hank replies, smirking. I swear, this generation, they can help hack a family of four apart. But sweet Jesus, God forbid they accidentally see a parent naked. I know, baby. Hildy says, then claps her hands together. Oh, I can't wait to kill on a cruise.

Kids, come on! Hank shouts. That busybody Miss Hayes will probably be here soon. Story straight time.