I can immediately tell that something’s not right. A mother always knows. I sit bolt straight, dread overpowering my drowsiness.

I fumble around the dark tent, but I already know I won’t find what I’m looking for.

A muggy summer breeze hits me as soon as I step out of the tent and into an even deeper layer of darkness.

‘Jessie? You there?’

My voice comes out as a whisper, defeating the purpose of what I’m trying to achieve.

‘Jessie!’

Louder this time, but still nothing. And now I’m afraid I’ve woken all the predators that are lying in wait and let them know that a stupid 45-year-old woman is stranded and alone in the woods.

My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, but all I can make out are unfamiliar shapes and gnarled tree trunks that take the form of claws.

I check my phone, but of course no signal. Why did I let that girl convince me that camping in the Gippsland Ranges would be a good idea? I fell hook, line and sinker for her newfound feminist manifesto: ‘C’mon mum, what does it say about us that two strong independent women have never gone camping without a man?’

A piercing shriek shatters the silence of the night. My heart stops beating in that moment, and I run in the direction of the noise, my mind on autopilot.

I crash through tree trunks, their knife-like tendrils drawing blood from my arms and legs and face. I can smell my own blood, but I feel no pain. All I feel is the overwhelming need to be with Jessie.

But as I approach the small clearing where I could swear the sound had come from, I see no one. The hair on the back of my bloodied arms sticks up, despite the heat and mugginess of the night.

There, against a rock on the sideline of the clearing, is Jessie’s bedazzled sweater, reflecting light in the midst of darkness. I walk slowly to it and pick it up, holding it close to my chest. It still smells like her lavender perfume.

I walk aimlessly around the clearing for more clues, never letting go of Jessie’s sweater, then expand my perimeter when I find nothing.

Sunlight begins to peek through the clouds and onto the fog forming along the ground. I meander about in a manic state until I collapse into the soft earth beneath me.

I let the tears flow and wait. Wait for a miracle that I don’t believe is coming.