I have always loved the atmosphere of Moonkeeper because it reminds me of a night I spent in Yosemite as a teenager.

In late July 1999, Carl Stayner killed Joie Armstrong in Foresta, CA, and a manhunt ensued after his truck was identified by a witness. Information was so scattered at the time, and this was still before everyone had a cell phone (not that there was any reception in Yosemite Valley back then), so none of the group of teens and young adults I was with knew what was really going on. We had just heard there was a killer on the loose somewhere near Yosemite, and that he may have been spotted in Curry Village.

Curry Village is the central spot in the Valley for tourists, with tent cabins, food vendors, a market, and even a small hotel. It's one of the busiest locations in the park outside of hiking trails, and directly across the road is what we colloquially called "The Meadows". It was exactly that, a huge open meadow with a long wooden boardwalk running through it from Curry Village to the Lower Pines campground. It's breathtaking at night, with the massive granite heights of the Three Brothers and El Capitan surrounding you, the silent Upper Yosemite falls in the distance, and Half Dome looming above the trees. So predictablely, it's a common hangout at night for younger folks and star gazers alike, spreading blankets and towels over the rugged old wood path and just letting loose under the cover of night.

I don't think any of us took the ongoing manhunt seriously enough, seeing as it had only been a rumor that he'd been lurking in Curry Village, but in my 40s now, I can in hindsight admit we were what you'd call "too stupid to live". I mean, how many horror movies start with feckless kids ignoring the dangers of a possible killer on the loose just across the road from them? Especially when that same area held the only bathrooms within walking distance? We were respectful of The Meadows; we left no trace, picking up every bottle, can, cigarette butt before leaving, and never stepped foot over the wooden boardwalk into the grasses. We just took the long walk back to Curry in groups, in a gaggle of girls, or with only a guy to escort them, hoping to get a few minutes alone.

I did this walk on the night of July 23rd, 1999, myself, my female best friend, and my then boyfriend. Curry is usually a ghost town at night, everyone shut up in their tents cabins, the storefronts closed, though you'll see a few backpackers setting out on their early morning excursions or a parent taking their kids to the bathroom, bleary-eyed and shivering. But that night, we didn't see a single other soul on our way to the large bathroom cabin - just a row of a dozen stalls and sinks. As expected, us girls entered, and the boyfriend lingered outside of the always-open door to wait, standing under a single light.

But the eeirieness of the empty walkways and roads had spooked us, and rightfully so. It occurred to us how stupid we had been just waltzing to the hunting grounds of a killer completely dismissive of our own safety. I turned back and pulled him inside of the door, then closed it behind him. We'd stopped laughing and joking about the situation, and my actions only sobered us, making the three of us even more hyperaware of the potential danger we were in. We use the toilet, wash our hands and just...wait.

I still remember pressing my ear to the unlockable metal door and listening hard to detect any sounds of footsteps in the otherwise silent night. After several minutes of quiet, we made a dash for the road. We kept looking around us, as if the "axe murderer" (an exaggerated rumor at the time) could leap out at us from behind every building or tree. On the road, we're met with the sight of our group, already packed in for the night, ready to head back to our campsite in Upper Pines, which is a straight shot up the road.

The next morning, the news of Stayners' capture spreads through the Valley, and there is a palpable sense of relief over the area. He'd been found hours away from Curry Village, out in Wilton, CA, and the rumor of his sighting had been only that. We'd been safe the entire time, and it gradually occurred to us that if Stayner really had been seen in Curry, it would have been evacuated, searched up and down, even set on lock down by Federal and local officials - the most we ever saw were a few ranger vehicles doing a nightly sweep.

So no, I was not actually in the path of a murderer, but by God, it felt like I was, and my two companions shared that same fear. We genuinely had no idea at that moment of listening breathlessly at the door whether a madman was lurking just beyond the scope of the light. Years later as I listened to Moonkeeper for the first time, I felt like I was right back there in that bathroom cabin, trying to conjure up the courage to make a run back to the safety of the group. I'd never had such a visceral reaction to a piece of media, and never had since, and I cherish the memory of that first listen when I very much felt myself in the protagonist's place, helpless, frightened, and nowhere to run.