Four years ago, it is my freshman summer, and I am running down Mt. Moosilauke, alone, in the dark, 90 percent sure that I am about to die. I am kicking myself for staying an extra hour at the campsite up the mountain with my trail crew members, knowing I needed to get down to the Lodge before sunset. My headlamp begins to flicker. I’m probably running from a moose, or a bear or a psycho-killer AT hiker, right? Wrong. I am running from a fictional, immortal mad-scientist called Doc Benton. Many of you may remember the story of Doc Benton from Trips — the scientist from the 1800s who threw the girl off the headwall in the search for immortality? The story wasn’t very scary surrounded by 150 sweaty teens, but alone in the woods, I am straight losing it. Eventually I make it down (only falling once) and run into the Lodge, sweaty and out of breath feeling like I just outran death; everyone else is playing cards and looks at me like I’m crazy. Honestly, I probably am.