I've always felt a deep connection to the wilderness, a
bond that's hard to explain. It's like a call that only I can
hear, beckoning me to the untamed parts of the world.
My name's not important, but what is important is that I've
been a camper and mountain rescue worker for over a decade.
This story, well, it's about one of those trips, the kind that
makes you question everything. It was a crisp autumn afternoon
when I packed my 2007 Skoda Octavia with camping gear.
I had everything I needed. A sturdy tent, a reliable
backpack, emergency gear including a flare gun, and a
blank firing pistol for signaling in case of danger.
I was set for a weekend of solitude in an unnamed National
Park, a place I chose because it promised isolation and peace.
The drive to the park was uneventful, but filled with
anticipation. As I pulled into the gravel car
park, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sight of the
towering fir trees. They stood like Sentinels,
guarding the secrets of the forest.
The sun was already low, casting long shadows and bathing the
valley in a golden hue. There were a few cars scattered
around, belonging to other nature lovers like me, but I
didn't mind. I was there for the solitude,
not for company. I took a deep breath of the
fresh pine scented air as I stepped out of my car.
There's something about the scent of the forest that calms
the mind. I walked around to the trunk,
pulled out my backpack and slung it over my shoulders with my bed
roll under one arm. I locked the car and set off
towards the trailhead. I nodded to a couple of hikers
along the way, exchanging brief smiles.
I've been hiking and camping since I was a kid, and with
every step I felt the stress of everyday life melting away.
After about 30 minutes of walking, I decided to leave the
marked trail. That's the way I liked it off
the beaten path. Finding my own spot in the heart
of the woods. With the daylight fading, I made
my way through thick foliage using my knowledge and skills to
navigate. After a while, I found the
perfect spot. It was near a mountain stream
that I had read about. The gentle sound of water
flowing over rocks was soothing. I quickly set up my tent and
gathered some rocks to make a fire pit.
By the time I was done, it was 7:50 PM.
Hunger nudged at me, so I cooked some beef on a steel skewering
rod I brought along. The simple meal felt like a
feast in the tranquillity of the wilderness.
With my hunger sated, I decided to sit by the brook, just
listening to the water and the occasional rustle of wildlife in
the underbrush. It was moments like these that I
lived for the stillness, the connection to nature, and the
overwhelming sense of being part of something larger than myself.
After an hour or so, I felt the weight of the day on my eyelids.
I had a big hike planned for the next day, and I needed rest.
So I doused the fire, leaving my fire starting kit handy and
crawled into my tent. I hung a Lantern for light and
lay back on my sleeping bag, staring up at the lanterns glow.
Then I turned it off, enveloped by darkness.
The silence was profound, magical even.
I remember thinking this is what peace feels like.
But that peace didn't last long. At around 1:34, AMA sound
shattered the silence, jolting me awake.
It was the sound of movement outside my tent, deliberate and
unsettling. My heart raced as I strained my
ears, trying to figure out what it was.
Who would be wandering around in the woods at this time of night,
I wondered, a sense of unease growing inside me.
Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a nightmare I
would never forget. Lying in my tent, the darkness
felt heavier than usual. My heart was beating fast, each
thump echoing in the silent night.
The sound outside had stopped, but the feeling of dread hung in
the air like a thick fog. I squeezed my watch, it's dim
light showing. It was the middle of the night.
This was the time when even the nocturnal animals kept quiet,
and here I was, wide awake, listening for the unknown.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to make sense of what I
had heard. It was like footsteps, but not
of any animal I knew. Probably just another hiker.
I tried to convince myself, but deep down I knew that didn't
make any sense. No experienced hiker would
wander the woods at this hour without a light.
I lay back down, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
The silence was suffocating, making every small noise sound
like a Thunder clap. Then suddenly a loud crack broke
the silence. It was so close.
It felt like it was right next to my tent.
I shot up, my heart in my throat.
I grabbed my flashlight, shining it towards the end of the tent.
That's when I noticed it. The rain cap of my tent, the one
I had taken off earlier, was now crumpled.
At the end of my sleeping bag, a shiver ran down my spine.
I hadn't put it back on. Was someone out there, messing
with my tent? My mind raced with
possibilities, none of them comforting.
Slowly, I turned my gaze upwards to the gaping window in the roof
of my tent. What I saw next will stay with
me forever. There, in the beam of my
flashlight, were a pair of wild, wide eyes staring back at me
through the mosquito netting. They were human eyes, but there
was something unhinged about them.
Something terrifying. I screamed, a sound I hardly
recognized as my own. Scrambling to get out of my
sleeping bag, I dropped the flashlight, plunging the tent
back Into Darkness. My heart pounding, I fumble for
the tent zipper, my fingers trembling.
The eyes had vanished as quickly as they appeared, but the fear
they left behind was suffocating.
I burst out of the tent, yelling into the night.
What the heck are you doing? But my words were swallowed by
the darkness. There was no one there, just the
sound of the wind whispering through the trees.
I circled my tent, my headlamps scanning the trees, searching
for any sign of the intruder. Nothing.
No footprints, no rustling. Just the eerie silence of the
forest. Crawling back into my tent, I
noticed it was nearly 3:00 AM Sleep was out of the question.
Now I lay there waiting for the first light of dawn, each minute
stretching into eternity. As the chilly morning air
greeted me, I made a decision. I needed to leave this place to
find the safety of the crowded camping areas up in the
mountains. Quickly I packed my tent and
gear, my hands still shaking from the night's events.
As I walk through the dense undergrowth towards the
mountains, the events of the previous night replayed in my
mind. The footsteps, the snap, those
haunting eyes. It felt surreal, like a scene
from a horror movie, not something you'd expect in real
life. I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see those crazed eyes following me.
But there was nothing, just the quiet forest and the path ahead.
The thought of what lay behind those eyes, who or what they
belong to sent chills down my spine.
I tried to focus on the hike, on the beauty of the rising sun
filtering through the trees, but the fear lingered, a constant
companion as I made my way deeper into the wilderness.
Little did I know, the true horror was yet to come.
The forest felt different in the light of day, but the events of
the previous night haunted me with every step I took.
The path to the mountain plateau was steep and rocky, demanding
all my focus and energy. Yet my mind kept drifting back
to those wild, crazed eyes that had peered down at me in the
darkness. The thought sent shivers down my
spine, despite the morning sun warming my back.
I had been hiking for a couple of hours when I heard it again.
The eerie singing from last night drifting through the
trees. The song, an old melody from the
30s, was unsettlingly familiar. My grandmother used to sing it.
The nostalgia it evoked was overshadowed by the creeping
fear that I wasn't alone. As the singing grew closer, I
saw him, a thin, sinewy man emerging from the fog.
His appearance was wild, with a long, unkempt beard and clothes
that looked like they were made from animal hides, but it was
his eyes that caught me off guard.
They were the same crazed eyes from the night before.
In his hand he held a handmade knife, its blade reflecting the
morning light. A shudder ran through me as he
glanced down at the knife, then back at me, a childlike giggle
escaping his lips. His smile was a twisted mess of
yellowed, broken teeth. I took a step back,
instinctively reaching for my own knife.
The man mirrored my movements, his giggle growing into maniacal
laughter. I realized then that this was no
ordinary hiker. This was the man who had been
stalking me through the woods. Fear gripped me, but I forced
myself to stay calm. What do you want?
I asked, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.
He didn't answer, just kept giggling, his eyes never leaving
mine. It was a standoff, and I knew I
had to make a move. With a deep breath, I lunge
towards him, hoping to scare him off, but he didn't flinch.
Instead, he got the knife into my stomach.
Pain exploded through my body, hot and searing.
I stumbled back, clutching my wound as the man smiled with a
grotesque satisfaction. I turned to run, but the world
spun around me and I fell over the edge of the trail.
I tumbled down the mountainside branches and rocks, tearing at
my skin. When I finally came to a stop,
pain enveloped me. I lay there, dazed and
disoriented, the taste of iron in my mouth.
Somehow I managed to sit up. The world was a blur of pain and
confusion, but survival instinct kicked in.
My leg was impaled by a branch, and my stomach wound was
bleeding profusely. I needed to act fast.
Using my remaining strength, I fashioned A makeshift bandage
from my shirt, pressing it against the wound in my stomach.
The pain was blinding, but I couldn't give into it.
I had to survive. I tried to stand, but my leg
buckled under me. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the
branch out of my leg, a scream escaping my lips.
Crimson poured from the wound, but I didn't have time to panic.
I wrapped my leg with what was left of my shirt and leaned
against a tree, trying to catch my breath.
I was alone, injured and lost in the wilderness, but I wasn't
going to give up. With every ounce of willpower I
had, I pushed myself to stand and began limping towards the
sound of running water. I had to find help, or at least
a safe place to rest. The journey was a blur of pain
and determination. Every step was agony, but I kept
moving, driven by the sheer will to survive.
I didn't know if I would make it, but I knew I had to try.
This was a fight for survival, and I wasn't going to lose.
The forest around me felt alive with unseen threats, each shadow
and rustle of leaves making me jump.
The pain from my wounds was a constant reminder of the danger
I was in. I knew I had to keep moving to
find help, or at least a safer place to rest, but deep down I
feared another encounter with the man who had attacked me.
As the day wore on, my strength waned.
The pain in my stomach and leg was almost unbearable and I
started to fear that I might not make it.
I had lost a lot of blood and I knew that without proper medical
attention my chances were slim, but I refused to give up.
I had to survive, not just for myself, but for my family and
friends who would be worried sick.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear him at first.
It was the singing again, that eerie melody drifting through
the trees. My body ran cold as I realized
he was back, the man with the crazed eyes and the handmade
knife. He was following me.
I wanted to run, but I knew I couldn't outrun him, not in my
condition. So I did the only thing I could
think of. I prepared to fight.
I clutched my own knife tightly, my hands shaking with fear and
exhaustion. He appeared out of the trees,
his wild eyes fixed on me. He didn't seem surprised to see
me standing there waiting for him.
It was like he had been expecting this final showdown.
With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I lunged at him, my
knife aimed at him, but he was quick, dodging my attack and
slashing at me with his knife. I felt the blade get my skin,
pain flaring up my arm. We were both desperate, fighting
for survival. I managed to land a few blows,
but he was relentless. He was stronger than he looked,
and he fought with a savage intensity that scared me, and
the fight seemed to go on forever, both of us growing
weaker with every passing 2nd. I could feel my strength fading,
but I refused to let him win. With a final effort, I got my
knife into his side. He let out a howl of pain and
fell to the ground. I collapsed next to him, my
breath ragged and my body screaming in pain.
I had won, but at what cost? I was bleeding heavily and I
knew I needed help fast. I lay there trying to gather the
strength to get up when I heard voices.
At first I thought I was hallucinating.
But then I saw them, A group of hikers, their faces filled with
shock and concern. They called for help and within
minutes a rescue helicopter was hovering above us.
I was lifted onto a stretcher and flown to the nearest
hospital. I don't remember much after
that, just the feeling of relief that I was finally safe.
The man was taken to the hospital, too, and I later found
out that he was a war veteran who had been living in the
wilderness for years. He had lost his mind.
Haunted by memories of the war, I spent weeks in the hospital
recovering from my injuries. The physical wounds healed, but
the emotional scars remained. I knew it would take a long time
to come to terms with what had happened, but I was grateful to
be alive. I had survived the wilderness,
but more importantly, I had survived myself.
Lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile white
walls, I had a lot of time to think.
The beeping of the machines and the soft murmurs of nurses in
the hallway were a stark contrast to the haunting silence
of the woods. My body was healing, but my mind
was still trapped in those dark, terrifying moments in the
wilderness. As I lay there, I learned more
about the man who had attacked me.
He was a war veteran who had suffered from severe PTSD.
After being medically discharged, he had vanished into
the wilderness, living off the land for years.
His mind had been shattered by the horrors of war, and he had
become a ghost of the person he once was.
I felt a strange mix of emotions towards him, anger for the
terror he had inflicted upon me, fear for the crazed look in his
eyes, but also a deep sadness for the pain he must have
endured. It was a complicated feeling.
Knowing that my attacker was also a victim in his own right,
my family and friends were relieved when they heard I was
safe. They had been worried sick.
When I didn't return from my camping trip, the search and
rescue team had found me thanks to the clues I had left behind
my backpack, the campsite, and the trail I had taken.
It was a stark reminder of how quickly things could go wrong in
the wilderness. As I recovered, I made a
decision not to press charges against the man.
He needed help, not punishment. I hoped he would get the
treatment he needed to find some peace.
As for me, I had a long road to recovery ahead.
My body slowly healed, but the scars remained both physical and
emotional. I had nightmares about the
woods, about the eyes in the darkness.
But I also had a new found appreciation for life.
I had come face to face with death, and I had survived.
It was a humbling experience. It took me a long time to even
think about going back into the wilderness, but eventually I
did. I couldn't let fear control my
life. The wilderness had always been
my sanctuary, and I wasn't going to give that up.
But I was more cautious now, more aware of the dangers that
lurked in the shadows. I also became more involved in
teaching outdoor safety. I wanted to make sure that
others were prepared for the unpredictability of nature.
I shared my story not to scare them, but to educate them.
The wilderness is beautiful, but it can also be unforgiving.
As I look back on that experience, I realize how much
it changed me. I learned about the fragility of
life, about the strength of the human spirit, and about the
importance of compassion. It was a brutal lesson, but one
that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
The wilderness will always call to me, but now I answer with a
mix of love and respect. It's a reminder that we are all
just small parts of this vast, beautiful, and sometimes
terrifying world. And that's a lesson worth
learning. Hello and happy holidays.
I'm grateful to you because I gained the courage to share my
story after listening to one of your videos.
Someone else had an experience very similar to mine and the
relief of knowing I wasn't alone was overwhelming.
I had been searching for over 30 years to find another encounter
like mine and finally I connected with the person from
your videos comments and we discussed our experiences.
This happened when I was just 11 years old in New Hampshire.
I remember you mentioning a similar encounter in one of your
videos about New Hampshire where the atmosphere felt off heavy
and just not right. I can confirm that the statement
was accurate. We had a cabin on a remote lake
in New Hampshire, surrounded by a few neighbors, but mostly a
secluded area with not much going on.
I spent every summer there from age 3 to 18, and you could
always tell when it would be a bad night because of the
heaviness in the air. There was this strange, hushed
but scrutinizing feeling in the woods.
On the day of my encounter, that feeling was particularly strong.
My grandmother, who was always a bit superstitious, was on edge.
And told me to stay away from the back and side yards,
insisting I play in the front yard or by the lake where she
could keep an eye on me. I agreed and started playing in
the yard, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
It made me so uneasy that I decided to go inside and read a
book, even though it was a beautiful day.
Later that evening, my grandmother told my mom not to
cook on the grill as she had a premonition that something was
amiss. My mom listened, respecting my
grandmother's instincts. Having grown up in the woods of
Maine, our cabin was set up so that when you walked in, the
living room was to your left, the dining room to your right,
and all the bedrooms off the living room.
My room had a door leading outside, and on hot nights I
would latch the screen door on the outside, leaving the main
door open to let in a nice breeze.
That night it was eerily quiet outside, unsettlingly so.
I don't know what woke me up, but when I did, I looked out the
screen door and saw a massive wolf.
It was pure white, and I didn't feel afraid.
In fact, I instinctively felt that it wasn't there to harm me,
but perhaps to protect me. I know it sounds crazy, but if I
hadn't experienced it, I wouldn't believe it either.
The wolf didn't communicate telepathically like in other
people's encounters, but I sensed that it wanted me to go
outside with it. So I got out of bed.
Went outside and sat next to it on the stairs.
I was up three stairs and it was still much taller than me, about
3 to 4 feet taller. It was the most beautiful
creature I'd ever seen with crystal clear eyes.
I began talking to it and petting it, and it leaned in as
if enjoying the attention. We sat together for about 15
minutes, but then I heard branches snapping and something
approaching in the woods just off my yard.
The wolf didn't want me outside anymore and I knew it.
It wanted me to go back inside and lock the door for my safety.
So I did. As soon as I close the door, the
wolf disappeared into the woods with incredible speed.
I heard growling and what sounded like a terrifying scream
from the woods. It was a blood chilling, high
pitched and low pitched scream simultaneously.
I had never heard anything like it before or since.
I don't know what was out there that night, but I'm certain the
wolf was there to protect me. For over 30 years I searched for
someone with a similar encounter or a legend that could explain
what I experienced. Finally, I found a person from
Maine with almost an identical experience in one of your
videos. It felt like a weight had been
lifted off me. I believe the wolf protected me
from something like a Wendigo, as New England is known to be
Wendigo territory. In my research, I even found a
legend among Alaskan and Canadian indigenous tribes about
a white wolf that protected them against the Wendigo.
I can't say for sure what was out there that night, but I
believe the wolf was my guardian.
Thank you for taking the time to read about my encounter, and
thank you for sharing other people's experiences.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to recognize their own
experience in one of yours and feel relief that they weren't
alone. I've kept most of this a secret
to myself for some time, but I'm dying to share this story with
someone else. My name is Eddie and I'm from
upstate Michigan. I love the outdoors and
frequently hit the gym. I've got a part time job as a
janitor at a gym and my shift is usually from 7:00 PM to 12:00 AM
depending on how much cleaning is needed.
This entire thing began back in 2021, sometime during August.
If I remember correctly, the only other janitor working that
night was a guy named Ben. He was busy mopping and I was
wiping down the exercise equipment.
When it came time to vacuum the corners of the rooms, I realized
I was missing one of the attachments for the hose.
Ben told me the only place it could have been was the shed
outside. At first I thought he was
talking about the shed right by the side of the building, but he
clarified that it was the one down by the gravel path at the
edge of the woods. I didn't know why it would be in
there, but I had no choice but to go and look for it.
I took a quick jog from the gym and headed down the trail to
find the attachment. I didn't bring a flashlight
other than the one on my phone, but I figured that would be
enough. To my surprise, the shed was
unlocked and the door was cracked open about 6 inches.
It was weird, but I assumed someone had forgotten to lock it
and maybe the wind had blown it open.
That happened all the time at my house.
I whistled to myself as I walked into the shed, poking around for
the missing attachment, but then I stopped abruptly to listen.
I swear I heard something coming from the shed, and it sent
shivers down my spine. I quit my search and left the
shed looking both ways, but there was nothing.
However, I could hear whistling coming from the woods.
It sounded just like the whistling I had been doing
moments earlier. Long, low whistles that sounded
eerily human. Hello, anybody out there?
I shouted, thinking that maybe Ben was looking for someone or
something. A voice answered back.
Hello, Eddie. It was Ben's voice.
I thought he was trying to be funny, so I laughed and said
maybe if you didn't have so much junk in here I could find the
darn attachment, But the voice trailed off and I caught the
words. Find the darn attachment
echoing. He spoke up again, repeating the
same words, ready to start the night.
I needed clarification. What was he talking about?
7:00 to 12:00 is the real gym shift, buddy, he said.
My heart began to race. He had said those exact words
when we walked in to start the shift.
Those exact words. How was he repeating them?
Ben continued. Couldn't find the darn
attachment. Something wasn't right.
It was as if he was practicing, trying to get the words to sound
more natural. I looked back toward the gym,
which was still lit up through the window, and I could make out
someone moving around inside. It had to be Ben, I thought, but
that's when I knew something was terribly wrong.
I slowly backpedaled from the shed, listening to Ben's voice,
saying the exact phrases repeatedly.
When I was about halfway back to the gym, I noticed something
emerging from the woods, stopping just before the tree
line. Whatever it was, it was tall and
it was difficult to make out details in the darkness, but it
had to be at least 7 feet tall. It had a muscular, slender body
and glowing white eyes. I could hear it panting heavily.
Once I saw this, I high tailed it out of there and locked the
gym door behind me. I told Ben about it and to my
surprise he said that he had seen and heard it before.
He called it the Mocker. Ben explained that it would
repeat things, human things that people would say around the
woods. He also said that you would be
fine if you didn't stick around after hearing it, but I wasn't
so sure. I never saw that thing again,
and I've never really heard much about it.
I've listened to Skinwalker stories and Wendigo stories, but
this just feels completely different.
At the same time, it terrifies me, and I can't shake the
feeling that there's something out there lurking in the woods,
waiting to mimic our every word. Please, if you have any ideas of
what this thing might be, let me know.
Life on a farm in Maryland wasn't something I had ever
imagined for myself. Growing up half Cherokee in
Georgia, I was always drawn to the stories of my ancestors, the
vast wilderness, and the mysteries of nature.
But here I was, a 23 year old woman living on this sprawling
20 acre farm with my fiance, who was as opposite to me as Day Is
Tonight. Our little house, a cozy rental,
sat quietly amidst vast expanses of land, soybean fields, patches
of forest and wheat fields. It was picturesque, almost like
something out of a painting with its long, winding driveway that
seemed to stretch on forever. My fiance.
Well, he was more into his video games than the great outdoors.
I often teased him about his digital adventures, but deep
down I wished he would join me more in my real life escapades.
Our only other housemates were our pets, a lunatic barn cat I
couldn't help but rescue. And Harley, our 75 LB Pitbull,
who was more like a gentle giant, afraid of even her own
shadow. One evening, after a tiring day
at work, I remember coming home to our serene little abode.
Harley was bouncing with energy, her way of demanding her daily
walk. I glanced at my fiance, lounging
on the couch, lost in another virtual battle.
Want to join us for a walk? I asked, half knowing the
answer. He glanced out the window, then
back at his screen, saw Coyote around earlier.
Maybe not a good idea tonight, he said without much concern.
Coyotes. Scavengers more than anything,
especially here on the East Coast.
I wasn't worried. I had learned to handle myself
pretty well over the years, and with Harley by my side, I felt
even more confident laughing. I called him a puss, which got a
half smile from him and told Harley we'd be fine without him.
She wagged her tail, her whole body vibrating with excitement.
We stepped out into the cool October air.
The cornfields next to our driveway stood tall, their
stalks reaching 6 feet high, rustling gently in the breeze.
I remember thinking that my fiance was just trying to scare
me about the Coyote. How could he have seen anything
through this dense corn? Harley pranced around her nose
to the ground, then in the air, thoroughly enjoying her freedom.
I loved watching her like this, so carefree and happy.
It was a simple pleasure, but in moments like these I felt a deep
connection to everything around me.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and
pink. The air had a certain chill,
typical of an October evening. Whispering through the fields.
We walked up the driveway, our long shadow trailing behind us.
Reaching the end of the driveway, I noticed the moon,
not quite full, but bright enough that I didn't need my
flashlight. We turned left, venturing onto
the road that cut across the first section of the farm, a
field of soybeans. If you haven't seen a soybean
field, it's a sea of short, unassuming plants, hardly a
place for anything larger than a rabbit to hide.
In the distance, a few deer grazed peacefully.
Everything felt so normal, so serene.
I threw a stick and Harley, ever the obedient dog, chased after
it, bringing it back with her tail wagging furiously.
It was just a typical evening walk, or so I thought.
Little did I know, this walk would change how I saw the world
around me forever. As Harley and I wandered deeper
into our evening walk, the sky had turned from a canvas of
twilight hues to a deep starry blanket.
The playful air of our adventure began to shift subtly.
It was as if the night itself had decided to cloak us in a
more mysterious, almost eerie atmosphere.
We reached the small section of trees that marked the halfway
point of our root. The trees stood like silent
guardians, their leaves whispering secrets I couldn't
quite understand Harley, who usually bounded ahead, pressed
close to my side. Her behavior was unusual, and it
made me feel a twinge of unease. We continued on, stepping into
the next field. This one was full of wheat, tall
and golden, ready for harvest. It swayed gently, creating waves
that seem to dance under the moonlight.
It was beautiful. Yet tonight it felt different,
as if the field was holding its breath.
Then it happened. The stillness of the night was
broken by a strange rustling sound from the wheat field.
Harley's ears perked up and her body tensed.
I strained my ears, trying to decipher the sound.
Was it just the wind or something else?
Curiosity overcame my initial hesitation, and I found myself
walking towards the sound. That's when a chill ran down my
spine. My whistle, the one I used to
call Harley, was echoed back from the field.
It was a perfect mimic, yet there was something off about
it, something unnaturally human. My heart pounded in my chest and
a mix of fear and curiosity gripped me.
Then the unseen presence in the wheat field did something even
more unsettling. It repeated a phrase I had just
muttered under my breath, in a voice eerily similar to mine.
I froze every instinct, screaming that this was wrong,
This wasn't just some prankster. The accuracy of the mimicry was
too perfect, too precise. Harley growled lowly, her eyes
fixed on the wheat field. The moon cast a ghostly glow,
but it wasn't enough to see clearly through the dense wheat.
Summoning every ounce of courage I had, I took out my flashlight
and shown it towards the sound. What I saw in that brief,
illuminated moment will stay with me forever.
There, crouched in the wheat field, was a young girl.
She couldn't have been more than 16.
Her skin was pale, almost luminescent under the
flashlight, and she was draped in what looked like deer skin.
Her hair was long, tangled with wheat and leaves and her eyes.
They were wild, holding a mix of fear and something
indescribable. We stared at each other, frozen
in time. In that moment she was both
terrifying and mesmerizing, a living contradiction.
Then a coyote howled in the distance, breaking the spell.
Her head snap towards the sound, and in an instant she
disappeared into the wheat, heading towards the howl.
I was left there, standing in stunned silence.
Harley, sensing the shift, suddenly bolted towards home.
My legs, almost of their own accord, followed suit.
We ran, the once familiar path now seeming foreign and
threatening As we near the driveway, I slowed down, not
wanting my fiance to see me in this panicked state.
The howling continued in the distance, a haunting melody that
seemed to follow us. We walked briskly, the comfort
of our little house, a beacon in the night.
That night, as I lay in bed, the image of the girl in the wheat
haunted my thoughts. Who was she?
What was she? The encounter left me with more
questions than answers and a deep, unsettling feeling that
the world was much stranger than I had ever imagined.
In the days following that strange encounter, our little
farm felt different. The fields and forests that I
had once roamed without a second thought now seem to whisper
secrets, and I couldn't help but listen, wondering if the girl in
the wheat was real or just a figment of my imagination.
I never told my fiance about what happened.
He wouldn't have understood, and honestly, I was afraid he'd
think I was losing my mind. Instead, I kept it to myself,
letting the mystery consume my thoughts in quiet moments.
Nights were the hardest. Lying in bed with only the soft
breathing of my fiance and the occasional purr of our cat to
break the silence, my mind would race back to that night.
The image of the girl's wild, haunting eyes lingered in my
dreams. She was like a ghost, a spirit
of the fields, and yet she was as real as the earth beneath my
feet. I found myself researching local
legends and folklore, diving into my Cherokee heritage.
For answers, I read about spirits of the land, about
creatures that walk the line between human and animal, but
nothing quite fit what I had seen.
It was as if she existed in a realm beyond our understanding,
a living mystery that defied explanation.
Then, about a month later, as I was driving home from work, the
memory of that night came crashing back with frightening
clarity. It was dusk and the road was
quiet, the trees casting long shadows across the asphalt.
Suddenly I slammed on my brakes, heart leaping into my throat.
There, in the middle of the road, was a large coyote.
Its fur was matted and wild, but it was the eyes that caught me,
green with a yellow hue reflecting the headlights of my
car. For a brief moment our gazes
locked, and in those eyes I saw something familiar, something
unnervingly human. Then, just as suddenly as it had
appeared, the coyote ran off into the woods, disappearing
into the shadows. I sat there for what felt like
an eternity, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.
The logical part of my brain told me it was just a coyote.
But another part, the part that had stared into the girl's eyes
in the wheat field, wondered if it was her.
That night, and many nights after, I lay awake listening to
the sounds of the night. Occasionally I'd hear the
distant howl of coyotes, and I couldn't help but wonder if she
was out there, running wild and free with her pack.
The mystery of the girl in the wheat field never did get
solved. Sometimes I think it's better
that way. Not all mysteries are meant to
be unravelled. Maybe she was a spirit, a
guardian of the land. Or maybe she was just a girl,
lost and alone. I'll never know for sure.
What I do know is that the experience changed me.
It opened my eyes to the wonders and mysteries of the world
around us, to the thin veil between the known and the
unknown. And though I still walk the
fields and forests of our farm, I do so with a new respect, a
new understanding that we are not alone, that we share this
land with creatures and spirits beyond our understanding.
And sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I find myself
listening for her voice, for the rustle of wheat and the howl of
coyotes in the distance. I've always found comfort in the
predictability of my small world next to the Navajo reservation.
The reservation, a vast expanse of untamed land, had always been
a neighbor to my family's modest home.
It's there, in the heart of unspoiled nature, that I made
friendships which transcended the invisible lines drawn in the
sand. My routine was simple.
Almost every other day after school, I'd trek across to visit
my best friend, Mike, who lived less than a mile away.
This journey was my little adventure, a brief walk that
took me through familiar landscapes and past friendly
faces who knew me as the kid next door.
It was a path trodden so often it felt like an extension of my
backyard. Today was no different, or so I
thought as I left school. The sun was high, a warm and
comforting presence in the clear blue sky.
I arrived at Mike's house with the ease of routine, greeted by
his cheerful hay and an afternoon of gaming, and
laughter ensued. Time, however, is a tricky thing
when you're engrossed. Before I knew it, the sun began
to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of
orange and purple. Mike, with a worried glance
towards the window, suggested I should head back.
It gets dark quickly these days, he reminded me.
I shrugged off his concern with a casual bravado.
I know this path like the back of my hand.
As I stepped out, the air was cooler, a subtle hint of the
coming night. The first leg of my journey was
as familiar as ever, but as I approached the midway point
where a patch of dense forest lay, a sense of unease crept
over me. It wasn't fear, not really, just
the primal recognition of nature's unpredictable spirit.
The forest was different At dusk, shadows stretched across
the path, turning familiar trees into looming figures.
I quickened my pace, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of
being watched, rationalizing it as my overactive imagination
didn't help much. That's when it happened.
A sharp snap of a branch, loud in the quiet of the evening,
froze me in my tracks. Instinctively, I knew it wasn't
just a small animal scurrying. The forest seemed to hold its
breath with me, waiting for what came next.
My heart thumped against my chest, a rhythmic reminder of
the vulnerability that comes with being a part of nature.
I considered turning back, but that felt like admitting to a
fear I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
Instead, I whispered A hesitant hello into the growing darkness,
my voice sounding alien In the silence that followed.
The response came almost immediately, a distorted echo of
my own greeting. It sent a shiver down my spine.
It was as if the forest itself had learned to speak, mimicking
me in a tone that was unmistakably not human.
My rational mind scrambled for explanations, but deep down I
knew this was something beyond the ordinary.
I stood there, heart racing, the forest around me, unnaturally
silent. No birds, no insects, Just the
echo of my own voice hanging in the air.
The desire to run was overwhelming, but my feet felt
as if they were rooted to the ground.
That was the moment I realized the predictable world I had
always known had just shown me it's hidden, mysterious face,
and I was standing right in the middle of it.
The forest at night is a different beast entirely.
It's like it sheds its daytime skin, revealing A darker, more
primal nature. That night, as I stood frozen in
the forest, the echo of my voice still hanging in the air, I
could feel that primal nature closing in on me.
I tried to convince myself it was a trick of the mind, a
figment of my overactive imagination, but deep down I
knew it wasn't. The forest had gone eerily
silent, the kind of silence that screams danger in the
wilderness. In my years living next to the
reservation, I had learned to listen to the language of the
land, and right then it was speaking, a tongue I had never
heard before. The air was thick with
anticipation, as if the forest itself was waiting for something
to happen. I couldn't move, my feet rooted
to the spot, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.
I strained my ears, listening for any sign of movement.
But there was nothing. Just the oppressive silence and
the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Then it happened again, the same distorted echo of my voice.
But this time it sounded different.
It wasn't just mimicking me anymore, it was taking on a life
of its own. The voice was twisted, almost
mocking, and it sent a chill down my spine.
Hello, it called out, and I could hear the smile in its
tone, a dark, sinister smile. I wanted to run, to flee back to
the safety of my home, but I was paralyzed with fear.
It felt like the forest was closing in on me, the trees
leaning in to listen. I knew I couldn't stay there,
but I didn't know what to do. That's when I saw it, a shadow
moving in the darkness, just at the edge of my vision.
I turned my head slowly, my eyes straining to see in the dim
light. It was a deer, but not like any
deer I had ever seen. Its head was too large, its
antlers too twisted, and then it stood up on two legs.
I don't know how I found the strength, but I ran.
I ran like my life depended on it, which in that moment it
probably did. The forest blurred around me as
I sprinted, branches whipping at my face, roots trying to trip me
up. I could hear it behind me, the
sound of hooves on the forest floor, a sound that was all
wrong. I burst out of the forest and
into the open, my lungs burning, my legs aching.
I didn't stop running until I reached my house, slamming the
door behind me and leaning against it, trying to catch my
breath. I didn't tell my mom what had
happened. I just went straight to my room
and lay there, trying to make sense of it all.
It felt like a nightmare, but I knew it was real.
Too real. Later, when I called Mike to
tell him what had happened, his reaction only added to my fear.
He told me not to respond to any voices or sounds during the
night, and that he would explain more tomorrow.
His words hung in the air, a warning of something much darker
than I had ever imagined. That night I lay in bed,
listening to the sounds of the night, each Creek, and Russell
sending a jolt of fear through me.
I knew then that what I had experienced was just the
beginning. The forest had revealed its true
nature to me, and I was now a part of its dark, twisted world.
The morning light had never felt so distant.
I lay in my bed, the events of the previous night, replaying in
my mind like a horror movie stuck on loop.
The once comforting silence of my room now felt oppressive,
each Creek and whisper of the house setting my nerves on edge.
I had always considered myself brave, but this fear was new and
deep, clawing at the very core of my being.
The creature from the forest, with its mocking voice and
twisted form, had followed me, not in flesh but in spirit,
haunting the edges of my consciousness.
When Mike called, his voice was grave, a stark contrast to his
usual jovial tone. He spoke of legends and warnings
passed down through generations on the reservation.
Skinwalkers, he called them, or flesh gates, beings of evil
capable of taking on any form, luring their prey into madness.
The very thought sent shivers down my spine.
You've been marked, Mike said solemnly.
It knows you now. You need to be careful.
His words were like a weight, anchoring me to a reality I
wasn't prepared to face. I was marked haunted, a prey in
a game I didn't understand. The day passed in a blur.
My mom noticed my distracted state, but attributed it to
teenage mood swings. If only she knew the truth.
I couldn't tell her, though. How could I explain something so
unbelievable, so terrifying? As night fell, a sense of dread
settled over me. The darkness outside wasn't just
an absence of light. It felt alive, watching,
waiting. I tried to distract myself with
books, music, anything to drown out the creeping fear, but it
was useless. Every sound was a whisper from
the forest, every shadow a reminder of my pursuer.
Then, in the dead of night, it began A scratching at the
window. Soft but persistent, my heart
stopped. I knew I shouldn't look, but the
terror was too much. Peeking through the curtains, I
saw nothing but the night. Yet the scratching continued,
accompanied by a low, humming sound.
It was playing with me, toying with my sanity, and then it
spoke my name in my mother's voice.
Amy, come here, it called, repeating the phrase over and
over in a sickening mimicry. I backed away from the window,
my mind racing. This was no ordinary creature.
It was something far more sinister, something that defied
explanation. It knew me, knew how to exploit
my fears. The night dragged on an endless
loop of scratching, humming, and that haunting imitation of my
mother's voice. I didn't sleep, couldn't sleep.
The thought of closing my eyes, even for a moment, was
unthinkable. When dawn finally broke, the
sound stopped. I was left in a state of
exhaustion, both physical and mental.
Mike's words echoed in my mind. It knows you now.
Those words felt like a sentence, a condemnation to a
life of fear and paranoia. I knew then that this was just
the beginning. The creature the Skinwalker had
marked me, and it would never let me forget I was part of its
world now, a world where the line between reality and
nightmare was forever blurred. I never thought I'd be the kind
to break tradition, but standing at the edge of Tennessee's vast
Cherokee National Forest with nothing but a backpack and my
dad's old bolt action rifle, I seriously considered it.
This was it. My family's age-old rite of
passage, three days and two nights alone in these woods, a
journey every male in my family had undertaken since, well,
forever. But as I gazed into the
seemingly endless expanse of trees, a deep sense of
foreboding took hold of me. Dad, Are you sure about this?
I asked, my voice barely hiding the tremor.
His face, so much like mine but lined with years of outdoor
living, remained stoic. Thomas, you're ready for this.
It's in your blood, he replied, his voice steady, carrying the
weight of generations. The drive to the forest had been
a silent one, filled with unspoken tensions and the
monotonous hum of the engine. I had tried to argue out of it,
citing every excuse I could think of, but Dad was unmoved.
It was tradition, he'd said, a necessary step to manhood.
I didn't feel like arguing anymore.
What was the point this was happening whether I liked it or
not. As we unloaded the four Wheeler,
Dad went over the instructions one last time.
You remember everything I taught you about survival, right?
He asked. I nodded, though my mind was a
whirlwind of doubt and fear. Good.
I'll leave you here. You've got your map, compass,
and enough supplies. Remember, the cabin is your
endpoint. Make us proud, son.
I couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride at his words
mixed with a heavy dose of anxiety.
The cabin, a small two-story log structure that had been in our
family for generations, was my final destination.
It was about 30 miles from where Dad would leave me, 30 miles of
wilderness with a firm pat on my back.
Dad handed me the backpack, now heavier with additional supplies
he had packed. Remember, the food is only for
emergencies, and use the flare gun if you're in real trouble.
I'll be waiting for you at the cabin, he said, his eyes locking
onto mine with a seriousness that left no room for argument.
The ride deeper into the forest was a blur.
The four Wheeler bumped and jostled along the narrow dirt
path, and with each passing minute, civilization seemed like
a distant memory. Dad's final words before he left
echoed in my mind. Make your way back, son.
You can do this. And then he was gone, leaving me
alone in the vast, silent forest.
The air was crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your cheeks
and makes your breath visible. I pulled my coat tighter around
me, trying to shake off the chill that wasn't just from the
air. Standing there, surrounded by
the towering trees and the quiet, I felt a strange mix of
emotions. Fear, definitely, but also a
kind of exhilaration. This was it.
My test. My journey to prove myself.
I took a deep breath, the forest air filling my lungs, and with a
lingering glance at the direction Dad had disappeared, I
started my trek. The forest was alive with
sounds, the rustling of leaves, the distant call of birds, and
the occasional snap of a twig under foot.
Every step took me further away from the life I knew, deeper
into the unknown. It was both terrifying and
thrilling. I was alone, truly alone for the
first time in my life. It was up to me now to survive,
to navigate, to make it back to that cabin.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows among the
trees, I realized this was no longer just a tradition.
It was a journey of self discovery, a challenge against
nature and my own fears. And whether I liked it or not,
there was no turning back now. The first night in the Cherokee
National Forest was like stepping into another world.
The forest seemed to breathe around me, each rustle of leaves
and distant animal call echoing in the darkness.
I had set up my camp near a small clearing, the fire
crackling as the only source of warmth and comfort.
The rabbit I had caught earlier lay roasted on a spit above the
flames. It's scent, rich and gamey,
mingled with the earthy aroma of the woods.
I remember thinking, this isn't so bad, I can handle this.
But as the night deepened, so did my sense of unease.
Lying in my hammock, wrapped in a blanket, I couldn't shake off
the feeling that I was being watched.
Every snap of a twig, every whisper of wind made my heart
race. It was silly, I told myself,
just the jitters of being alone in the wild.
But then morning came with a discovery that chilled me to the
bone. The leftovers of my rabbit meal,
which I had wrapped up and left by the fire, were gone, vanished
without a trace. No drag marks, no remnants,
nothing. I scoured the area, thinking
maybe an animal had taken it, but found no evidence to support
that. It was as if the forest had
swallowed it whole. The day's light did little to
ease my nerves. I couldn't shake off the feeling
of eyes on me, hidden in the trees, dense foliage, every
crack of a branch, every rustling leaf seemed amplified,
as if the forest itself was whispering secrets I couldn't
understand. It was during a short walk away
from the camp to relieve myself when I stumbled upon something
truly unsettling. Claw marks, deep and ragged,
gouged into the dirt where I had buried the rabbits remains.
They were too large, too violent to be from any animal I knew.
My mind raced with possibilities.
Bears maybe? Or something worse.
But the rational part of me knew that bears were hibernating this
time of year. And what else could it be?
That day, as I hiked through the dense underbrush, the beauty of
the forest was lost on me. Each shadow seemed darker, each
rustle more sinister. I felt exposed, vulnerable.
The rifle, which I had carried more for the tradition than any
real need, now felt like my only lifeline.
I kept it close, my fingers brushing against it's cold metal
for reassurance. As night fell again, the forest
transformed once more. The comforting crackle of the
fire couldn't ward off the fear that clung to me like a second
skin. Sleep was elusive, every noise
jolting me awake, heart pounding.
At one point, deep in the heart of the night, I thought I saw
something move at the edge of the fire light.
A shape too fluid and quick to be human, disappearing into the
darkness. I told myself it was just a
trick of the light, a shadow cast by the flames.
But the fear that gripped me was real, tangible as the rifle I
clutched throughout the night. There, in the depths of the
forest, I felt a primal fear, a realization that I was not
alone, and that the whispers of the woods hid secrets far more
terrifying than any story or legend I had ever heard.
The second night in the Cherokee National Forest was when
everything changed. I had convinced myself that the
previous night's fears were just the product of an overactive
imagination, but that comfort was shattered in a single heart
stopping moment. It started as a typical evening
in the wilderness. I had managed to hunt another
rabbit, a small victory that boosted my confidence.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in
shades of orange and purple. I sat by my fire, the rabbit
roasting slowly. The crackling flames were a
small barrier against the growing darkness and my own
creeping dread. I remember feeling a strange
sense of calm as the night grew deeper, the forest sounds
becoming a familiar Symphony, but that calm was shattered when
I saw them, the glowing neon blue eyes peering at me from the
darkness. For a moment I thought I was
hallucinating, the product of exhaustion and isolation, But as
my eyes adjusted, I could see it more clearly, a creature unlike
anything I had ever seen. It was pale, its skin almost
luminescent in the moonlight, with limbs that were too long,
too angular to be natural. My heart pounded in my chest, a
drum beat of primal fear. Every story of monsters and
creatures of the night that I had laughed off as a kid came
rushing back to me. This was no bear, no animal I
knew of. This was something else,
something otherworldly. I grabbed my rifle, my fingers
trembling as I aimed at the creature, but as quickly as it
appeared, it vanished into the shadows, leaving me alone with
my racing thoughts and pounding heart.
That night, I didn't sleep. How could I?
Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig was a signal that
it was coming back. The fire became my sanctuary,
the only thing I trusted to keep the creature at Bay.
As dawn broke, the reality of my situation set in.
I was alone, deep in a forest that held a creature of
nightmares. I needed to get out, to make it
back to the cabin where my dad would be waiting.
The journey back, once a challenge I was determined to
overcome, now felt like a desperate race for survival.
The hike back was a blur of fear and determination.
Every step was fuelled by the terror of what lurked in the
shadows. The rifle was no longer just a
symbol of tradition, it was my lifeline, my only defense
against the unknown. The forest, once a place of
natural beauty and wonder, now felt like a maze of threats.
Every rustling leaf, every creaking branch was a potential
danger. My eyes darted around, always
searching, always on edge. And then just when I thought I
was safe, just when the cabin was Insight, it happened.
The creature, the monster of my nightmares, was waiting for me.
The confrontation was brief but terrifying.
It's neon blue eyes bore into me, a gaze filled with malice
and hunger. In that moment, with my heart
pounding and my hands shaking, I did the only thing I could.
I raised my rifle and fired. The shot echoed through the
forest, a sound that marked the end of my innocence and the
beginning of a new, terrifying reality.
As I stood there, the smoke from the rifle drifting away, I
realized that the forest was no longer a place of adventure and
family tradition. It was a place of unspeakable
terror, a realm where nightmares walked in the flesh and I was in
the heart of it, alone and afraid.
The sun had barely begun to rise on my 3rd and final day in the
Cherokee National Forest, but the horror of the previous night
still clung to me like a cold shadow.
My body was running on adrenaline and fear, pushing me
forward. Despite the fatigue that weighed
down every step, I had barely managed to escape the creature
last night. The memory of its glowing blue
eyes and inhuman screeches was etched into my mind, a constant
reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows of the trees.
As I stumbled through the underbrush, every sense was
heightened. The once peaceful sounds of the
forest now seemed ominous, every rustle a potential threat.
The rifle in my hand, previously a tool for hunting, had become
my lifeline, my only sense of security In this nightmare, the
forest, which had once been a place of adventure and learning,
had transformed into a labyrinth of fear and uncertainty.
The trees, once majestic, now appeared as towering Sentinels,
hiding unseen horrors. The path which I had confidently
navigated just days before now seemed unfamiliar, twisting and
turning in ways that disoriented me.
But the thought of seeing my dad again, of reaching the safety of
our family cabin, kept me moving.
Every step was fuelled by the desire to escape, to leave this
nightmare behind. As I near the cabin, relief
washed over me, only to be replaced by a bone chilling
horror. The cabin door was ajar,
swinging gently in the morning breeze, and there, on the
threshold, lay the torn and bloodied remains of my father.
The world seemed to spin as I stared at the scene before me,
my father, my mentor, the strongest person I knew, reduced
to nothing more than a lifeless, mangled corpse.
Tears blurred my vision, and a guttural scream of anguish and
disbelief escaped my lips. I fell to my knees, the rifle
slipping from my grasp. The reality of what had
happened, of what I had lost, hit me like a physical blow.
My father, who had sent me into these woods to become a man, had
fallen victim to the same nightmare that had haunted me.
But there was no time to grieve, no time to process the
creatures, the monsters of the forest were still out there, and
I knew with a sinking feeling that I was their next target.
With a new found sense of desperation, I grabbed my rifle
and fled from the cabin. The forest seemed to close in
around me, the trees whispering secrets I no longer wanted to
hear. Every shadow held potential
danger, every sound a warning of the creatures approach.
I ran without direction, driven only by the instinct to survive.
The rifle, now useless without ammunition, was discarded as I
stumbled through the dense foliage.
My thoughts were chaotic, a mix of fear, grief and
determination. As the sun rose higher in the
sky, exhaustion took its toll. My legs gave out, and I
collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
The forest, once a place of wonder and tradition, had become
a prison, a place of death and horror, And in that moment of
utter despair and hopelessness, I understood the true nature of
the forest. It was not a place of adventure
or challenge. It was a place of survival, a
place where only the strongest, the most cunning would emerge
alive. I lay there on the forest floor,
waiting for the end, but it never came.
Instead, the sounds of the forest slowly returned, the
natural Symphony of life that had been there all along.
And with it came a realization. I was not going to die here.
I was going to survive, to carry the memory of my father and the
horrors of the forest with me. With a newfound strength, I
picked myself up and continued my journey.
The cabin, the forest, the creatures.
They were all behind me now. Ahead was the road, the way back
to civilization, to a world that had no idea of the nightmares
that lurked in the shadows of the trees as I emerged from the
forest. The morning light never seemed
so bright, so welcoming. I had survived the Cherokee
National Forest, but I was no longer the same person who had
entered it. I had faced my fears, confronted
the unknown, and emerged a survivor.
But the forest secrets, the horrors that I had witnessed,
would stay with me forever. They were a reminder of the thin
line between the known and the unknown, the safe and the
dangerous. And as I walked away from the
forest, I knew that those secrets would haunt me for the
rest of my life.