Throughout his life, only one strange incident was remembered. Once a big company went to play paintball in the forest - a war with paint bullets, for those who do not know. We chose a remote place so that neither tourists, nor fishermen, nor mushroom pickers could spoil our rest. Well, or we give them - in short, so that a conflict of interest does not arise.
Since you need to get to the selected forest zone first by car, and then on foot, at the same time they started barbecues. In general, a positive rest for the entire weekend and the adjacent holidays.
Despite the fact that we left at dawn, we reached the target point only in the afternoon. We set up camp, rested after the road, had a snack, knocked over a couple of shots, but let's play. We broke up into teams. Three hours of fun - exhausted specifically. We could have had another hour to have fun, but the weather failed, although according to forecasts there was no rain.
And here I am sitting with everyone in the evening at barbecues, and from somewhere in the forest the wind brings subtle sounds. Although rain beats on the canopy, one can discern some kind of howling through it, neither animal nor human. It is worth saying that there was one funny guy in the company with us - he always taught a thread. Therefore, I ignored what I heard, so as not to fall for his "bait". Then everything seemed to be quiet.
Towards dusk, howls began to be repeated, but a little louder. Others also began to pay attention - they became wary. It's already dark in the forest, especially when you're sitting by the fire. “Sanya, you've pulled it up already” - I shouted loudly and then I realized that Sanya was sitting at the other end of the table and looking at me in surprise. With a glance I counted the people and everything inside shrank - everyone was in the camp - there was no question of a rally.
Armed with paintball guns and knives, we took turns on patrol until dawn. With the first rays of the sun, we went in a group to look for traces of what could make sounds. A hundred meters from the camp, or maybe more, we found an overgrown grave - the embankment had swallowed up time long ago, but it was given out by a rusted homemade cross made of a half-rotted Soviet rifle and some other fittings. These two parts were wound with barbed wire, no less rusty than the rest.
We silently returned and moved the camp half a kilometer to the south. Some acquaintances no longer wanted to play, so they simply rested in nature. I'm a skeptic by nature, but I can't find an explanation for what happened so far, and it scares me. To forget is also, unfortunately, impossible. Yes, and since then I also dislike forests …