How much farther is it, Neil Wind I had to admit I was
getting a bit tired myself. When we first decided to go on a
camping trip in the Great Smokies.
I wasn't expecting it would be this far.
According to the map, we're almost there, Gene said.
You mean the map that covers the entire state?
Sharon said. Almost.
There could be 100 miles. Jean whipped around on her.
Do you think I'm that stupid? Of course it's not a map of the
whole state. I picked it up at the Ranger
station. It only covers the Tennessee
section of the Great Smokies. He turned back and began
trudging. Well, pardon me, O great map
Master. Sharon said under her breath.
Jean paused for a moment, then kept going.
I knew he had heard her and wanted to chew her out, but with
all that had happened, my thoughts were interrupted by the
sounds of struggling behind me. Turning, I found Mike wrestling
with his backpack. It had gotten caught in between
two small trees and had him stuck fast.
Hold on there bud. I said, trying to get down to
him without getting my pack caught.
Grabbing trees as I went, I worked my way down and got his
pack unstuck. Thanks man, he said, sweat
pouring off him as if this trip wasn't tough enough.
I hear you, I said. You need to take a break for a
minute. Yeah, He said, dropping to the
ground. I chuckled, seeing the smallest
of the group panting like a dog in the middle of summer.
Hold on here, I'll be right back.
I struggled my way back up the hill, only to find the rest of
the group hadn't stopped. When I did, I couldn't even see
them. I ran for a little bit on what I
thought was the trail, but didn't see any sign.
Finally, in frustration, I stopped and let out a yell.
Jean, Sharon Neal, where are you?
I heard the words echo back to me, but that was it.
There was no answering call, no sound of brush being pushed
aside as they came back to me. There was nothing.
Even the animals didn't seem to be very talkative.
It was quieter than it had been the entire trip.
Part of that was surely the lack of kneel whining and Sharon and
Jean being at each other's throats.
I wish those two would just give up and go get a room.
Everybody knew they'd had it for each other bad, but they didn't
seem to get it. Or maybe they did and this is
their idea of foreplay. Either way, I was a city boy,
lost in the middle of the forest.
Jean had the map and I had never been taught anything about
direction or survival. I just came on this trip to hang
out with my friends. A motel room in Gatlinburg, five
friends catching some shows, shopping in Pigeon Forge.
That was what I was here for. It was Jean's brilliant idea to
go on this stupid camping trip. Even though he said he got the
map at the Ranger station, I knew he didn't listen to
anything they said about which trail to go on.
Jean was always the leader. He would have shooed them off
and said he knew exactly where to go, even if he had no idea.
Maybe I'm starting to see why Sharon hasn't hooked up with him
yet. Maybe she's trying to knock him
down a peg or two before he's ready to be civil.
It had been 5 minutes since I had stopped and yelled Jean,
Sharon, kneel. I called again, louder this
time. The only thing that got me was a
louder echo coming back to me. I looked back at where I'd come
from, only I wasn't sure of the exact direction.
Jean had LED us off the trail a while back, and I wasn't
positive where I had left Mike. The dense canopy of trees left a
little of the sun peeking through, still high in the sky.
At least I'd have daylight for a while.
Turning back the way I thought I'd come, I started back toward
Mike. At least if we were together,
there'd be two of us to find instead of having to search for
another. It was a long walk.
It seemed like I got to where I was a lot faster than I got
back. I suppose trying to catch up
with the people who know where they're going will get your feet
moving faster. It wasn't long until I realized
I'd been walking too far. I had somehow missed where Mike
was. Mike, where are you?
I called once again, hearing the echo and nothing else.
Looking around, I was sure this was where I'd left him.
The trees all looked familiar, but then again, I didn't know
how many millions of trees there were in the Smoky Mountains.
There could be hundreds or even thousands of spots that looked
exactly like this one. I began to question the wisdom,
or lack thereof, of only one person having a map.
A thought struck me. I whipped out my phone and
tapped on the maps app. Surely it could at least tell me
where I am. Those hopes crashed and burned
when I saw the no signal at the top of the screen.
Mike. I yelled louder, more to vent my
frustration. I collapsed on the ground,
feeling more exhausted and hopeless than I had in a long
time. And then I heard it.
A faint call carried on the wind.
It sounded like it was miles away.
Mike. I yelled again.
I sat and listened, which was easy since the animals weren't
making any noise. Again, I heard the return call.
I hopped up like a dog who'd heard its masters whistle.
Taking a general guess at the direction I'd heard it, I began
to March determinedly. It wasn't quite a run, but it
was no stroll through the park either.
The thought of no longer being lost, or at least not being lost
alone, drove me forward. After a few minutes, I called
again, then waited for the answer.
It came from the direction I was heading, but somehow seemed
quieter, like he was moving away from me.
I broke into a run. My heavy backpack flopped from
side to side, nearly making me stumble, but I didn't care.
I was getting closer, I could feel it.
I never saw the tree root sticking up just enough to catch
my toe and send me tumbling. I woke to total darkness.
Something big and heavy was pressing down on me.
I panicked and tried to throw it off, but it had a tight grip on
me, thrashing all around. This thing held me with a death
grip. I swung my arms trying to punch
it. My legs flailed to get it off
me, but it wasn't happening. It had me and it knew it.
The most disconcerting part was how quiet this thing was.
It didn't growl or snarl or anything, just held on to me
like it's life depended on it. Finally my energy was spent.
It had won. All I could do was lay there and
wait for the inevitable. I waited and waited.
Nothing happened. Maybe whatever it was, I had
fallen asleep. I couldn't imagine all my
thrashing around wouldn't have woken it up.
I rubbed at my shoulder, which was now sore from the fight with
my unknown assailant. As I did, my fingers brushed up
against the thing that held me. Out of curiosity, I rubbed it
where it held me. I immediately pitched a fit at
my stupidity. It was my backpack.
My head thumped off the ground in frustration at how stupid I'd
been. Slowly, I unsnap the latch that
held the straps together and pulled my arms out.
It was a huge weight off my shoulders when the pack rolled
onto the ground. I lay there for a moment, having
forgotten how dark it was when I was fighting to the death with
my backpack. Reaching into my pocket, I
pulled out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight.
As I was doing it, I saw the no signal was still at the top of
the screen. I wondered if there would be any
signal until I got out of this God forsaken place.
I shone the light around and pieced together how I'd got in
here, lying in a ditch in the dark in the forest.
When I fell, I must have hit my head on the rock I saw in the
ditch that had a small patch of dark red on it.
I reached up to feel my head and found a tender spot.
That'd do it. I said of my unscheduled nap,
checking the rest of me out with the flashlight.
I found no other injuries. There remained the original
problem of being lost and alone. At least the animals were making
noise again. That was somewhat comforting.
Having evaluated myself, I shone the light around the area,
trying to find out where I was. The answer was simple and
frustrating. I was lost in the forest,
surrounded by trees. Letting out a sigh, I dug
through my backpack and found some granola bars and a couple
of bottles of water. Hunger pangs hit me in the gut
like a line drive. I ripped open a bar and devoured
it. Before I knew it, three of them
were gone, followed by a bottle of water chugged like I was in
the middle of the desert. As I was enjoying my feast, the
animal noises stopped. It made the hairs on the back of
my neck stand on end to hear such sudden and complete
silence. Swallowing, my last mouthful of
water was so loud it nearly made me jump as my light drifted
aimlessly. Suddenly I saw a pair of eyes
glowing just inside the tree line.
They glowed an eerie shade of yellow.
I tried to remember if that meant it was a predator.
Unfortunately, something in the back of my mind told me the
silence was already telling me it was a predator.
Whatever it was, strangely seemed to have no fur.
Its Gray skin made it look like no animal I'd ever seen.
If anything, it reminded me of Golem from Lord of the Rings.
It was on all fours, but the front legs looked like arms.
If I didn't know better, I would have said it was a child lost in
the woods, but this was no innocent child.
It crept toward me in a way that assured me it was hunting and
nothing else. Nothing about the way it moved
said helpless to me. I unzipped my pack and reached
down to the bottom, all the while the predator creeping
closer. Come on, I said through gritted
teeth, knowing it was down here as I move things from one side
of the pack to the other. It was getting worrisomely close
now. One good leap and it would be
within striking distance. I went for broke and dumped out
the contents of the pack, hearing a loud thump hit the
ground. I flashed around with my light
and found what I've been looking for, my Glock.
I grabbed it and pointed where the Predator had been, fully
expecting it to be right in my face, but it was gone.
Whipping all around. I searched with the light gun
trained on whatever I saw, hoping to catch a glimpse before
it was too late. After a quick scan, I slowly
panned around in a circle, searching more diligently for
the creature, but there was nothing.
Wanting to breathe a sigh of relief, but knowing it could
easily be hiding behind any tree, I started picking up my
belongings and stuffing them back into the backpack.
As I did, the animals began making noise again.
It was somewhat comforting to think that thing had left the
area, but I didn't trust it. Once my backpack was repacked, I
sat down and leaned on it like a pillow.
With my back to the edge of the ditch and my phone's flashlight
shining toward the trees, my gun sat on my lap, ready for some
quick action. It wasn't long till my eyes
betrayed me, slowly closing, causing me to shake myself
awake. Over and over this played out
with me struggling harder to stay awake than when I was
sitting in church. My phone told me it was after
4:00 in the morning, the sun would be coming up in a couple
of hours then I could continue the search for my friends.
My phone also told me it only had 23% battery left.
I held a major debate in my head.
Keep the light on and lose the ability to use my phone if and
when I get a signal or turn the light off and save my battery,
leaving me at the mercy of that creature.
It was an impossible choice until I remembered the animals
in the woods were making noises. They were silent when the
creature was around. My only question was, do they
shut up just for that creature or for all large predators?
For the life of me, I couldn't remember.
I took one last look around before powering off my phone.
Leaning against the pack. My fight to stay alert
continued. Each time my eyes snapped open,
the sky was a lighter shade of Gray.
Soon I could see vague outlines of trees looming over me.
Not frightening or disconcerting at all.
At last I lost the battle and fell into a deep, blissful
sleep. I woke to the feeling of
sandpaper on my face. Opening my eyes and seeing a
deer licking my cheek made me nearly lose my mind.
I jumped back, slipping off my pack and falling against the
dirt in the ditch. The deer lost its mind as well.
It jumped up and galloped away like a herd of hunters were hot
on its heels. Once my heart was beating at a
regular rate, I looked around at the brightly lit forest.
It was late morning and I was still alive.
The creature had not come back to kill me in my sleep.
I took that as a good sign. Standing and stretching, I tried
to figure out how I was getting out of there, let alone how I
would find my friends. Shouting was out of the question
now. I was sure that creature would
see it as a sign of weakness and come running like someone had
rung the dinner bell. But how would I find which way I
was going before I fell into the ditch?
As I stood there and looked back at the trail, I saw the branch
sticking up that had caused this whole debacle.
I drew an invisible line from where I was standing to the
branch. I then followed the line through
me and extended it past me towards where I was heading.
Looking up to the mountain looming above the trees, I tried
to find a landmark to head towards.
There was a huge rock that jutted out from the mountain
with no trees around it. That was my focal point.
I would use that as my compass. Speaking of compasses, I looked
to the right and saw the sun rising into the late morning
sky. With the sun in the east.
I turned back towards my rock and calculated that it was more
or less to the north. Having figured out where I was
going, I kicked my feet into gear and started getting there.
It was a no brainer that my friends would be worried sick.
They were probably already back at the motel making all kinds of
calls and organizing a search party.
I chuckled at my joke. I knew they were as helpless as
I was in the woods. Jean pretended to know what he
was doing, but truth be told, he was the worst of the group,
mostly because he was too stubborn to listen to anyone
else's directions. What if they ran into that
creature? The thought froze me in my
tracks. That thing looked like it wanted
to have me for dinner. Running into the four of them
would be like a smorgasbord. I shook the thought away.
There was nothing I could do about it anyway, but my cheerful
skip in my step at having determined a direction was gone.
It was replaced by concern for my friends.
As I walked, I thought about Mike, how excited he was to come
along and see the Dixie Stampede for the first time.
About Sharon and Jean, what a horrible couple they would make,
and how they fought all the time now when they were just friends.
Or were they? I'd seen them sneaking little
looks at each other when the group was together.
Could the whole thing be a ruse? Could they be a couple already
and trying to keep it a secret? And then there was Neil.
I had no idea why I was friends with Neil.
He was one of those people who just started tagging along one
day. Before you knew it, they were
part of the group. Neil was always competing with
Jean to lead the group, but he went about it a different way.
He would whine and complain until he got his way.
Not all the time, but whenever there was something he left
strongly about. Neil didn't want to come on this
trip, and honestly, I think we all would have been happier if
he hadn't. Being alone with my thoughts had
me making good time toward my destination.
The forest wasn't as dense here and it was slightly downhill.
Good walking conditions. The walk was going so well that
I nearly started whistling. I squashed that real quick.
I didn't need any additional noise for the creature to track.
As it was, I would turn and look over my shoulder from time to
time just to be sure no one or nothing was following.
Each time I glanced over my shoulder, the sky behind me
seemed to get darker. The sun soon disappeared and I
could no longer deny it. There was a storm coming.
I was stuck. There was no shelter except for
trees and rain leaks through them.
Eventually, even though I knew I would get caught out in the rain
regardless, I stepped up my pace.
Maybe there was a rock outcropping I could shelter
under. As I walked, there was a
blinding flash followed by a deafening boom that knocked me
to the ground. At first I thought a bomb had
gone off. I looked around and saw a tree
burning on the mountain. It looked like some giant had
ripped it in half. Staring at this apparition and
wondering what the hell was going on, I saw another flash
that lit up the clouds. This time the Thunder was
farther away but still shook the ground.
It was time to find that shelter before Mother Nature chose me as
the target for her next lightning bolt.
I ran toward the mountain as huge drops of rain pelted my
back. It felt like I was getting hit
by mini water balloons. It didn't take long for the rain
to intensify, quickly becoming a deluge.
The water came down so hard and fast that the ground didn't have
time to soak it up since I wasn't on the trail anymore.
I stumbled through puddles and mini bogs, struggling to stay on
my feet as the muddy ground tried to swallow me whole.
I held my hand above my eyes, trying to see where I was going,
but the rain came down in sheets, reducing visibility to
0. Through it all, I kept trudging
as straight as possible, hoping to find shelter.
Without warning, I ran into something hard.
It looked like I had reached the base of the mountain.
I kept one hand on the rock face to guide me while trudging
parallel to the mountain. Suddenly nothing was pressing
against my hand. I hadn't realized how much I'd
been leaning on the rock until it wasn't there.
I fell on to the surprisingly dry ground.
Rolling over and looking up, I discovered I was in the mouth of
a cave. I sat up and enjoyed watching
the rainfall helplessly outside The Cave while I was safe inside
from the fury of nature. After a short rest, I began to
rub my arms to stave off the chill in the air.
I took my backpack off and looked through for anything that
would be helpful. Fortunately, I'd packed a
sweatshirt. I took off my soaked T-shirt and
used it for a towel before donning my warm, somewhat dry
sweatshirt. While I was looking, I pulled
out another granola bar and devoured it, then downed my last
bottle of water. Staring at the empty bottle, I
held it out to one of the streams of water falling from
the sky until it was full. Putting the cap on, I noticed
the water wasn't as clear as I would have liked, but I wasn't
out of the woods yet and I might need it somewhere down the road.
I sat the pack down, leaning it against the side of The Cave
entrance, then pulled out my phone and turned on the
flashlight. The light penetrated only so far
into the darkness, even the diminished daylight could only
illuminate so much. After that it was like a shadow
wall showing only a large black hole.
I started into the inky blackness before I remembered
and felt for the gun in my back waistband.
I pulled it out and checked it, then dried it off and stuck it
back in my waistband. I didn't see the need to have
both of my hands occupied if I stumbled.
I explored the first few feet of The Cave, finding nothing
spectacular, and was about to come back to my pack and sit out
the rainstorm when I smelled something.
It was faint at first, drawing me several steps further inside
The Cave. Before I could be sure, my mind
had to be playing tricks on me because I swore I could smell a
BBQ. My curiosity and growling
stomach overrode common sense and drove me deeper into The
Cave. The light of the phone
illuminated my steps as I carefully made my way towards
the amazing smell of food. It wasn't long until there was a
glow in front of me. A fire burned in the distance,
just visible, bathing The Cave walls in an orange glow.
As the promise of a warm fire tantalized me, drawing me
closer, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye that made
my spine turn to ice. Coming from the far side of the
fire was the creature that had stalked me the night before.
At least it looked like the same creature.
The eyes shone yellow in the fire's light.
It walked on all fours and struck an amazing resemblance to
Gollum from Lord of the Rings. I dosed my light and threw
myself behind a rock that seemed big enough to conceal me.
Straight ahead was the pinprick of light that was The Cave mouth
and the outside beyond it. Even if I wanted to, the
creature would see me and hunt me down if I tried to escape
while it was within sight. Daring to sneak a peek, I leaned
around the rock to see if it was still there.
What I saw horrified me. The creature was tending the
fire, seemingly oblivious to my presence.
It checked the pieces of meat that lay across hot rocks beside
the fire. He took a few off and sat them
aside. Then he walked toward the left
wall and disappeared. I leaned out a little further to
find out what he was up to and wished I wouldn't have.
Hanging from a large wooden frame tied in a spread eagle was
a human male who had been skinned.
The creature came up to him and carved several chunks of muscle
with a large primitive looking knife.
Once satisfied, he brought the pieces of meat back to the fire
and laid them on the hot rocks where the cooked pieces of meat
had been. He then took the pieces and
disappeared into a hole in the wall.
I threw myself behind the rock, breathing hard at the sudden
realization. Oh my God, that thing killed
someone and it's eating him. My stomach lurched at the
thought. It took all I had to keep from
vomiting on the spot, but I knew how loud I could get when I
puked and I had no desire to let that thing know I was here.
I peeked around the corner again and didn't see it.
My eyes were drawn to the dead body hanging there.
For the first time, I noticed there was another body strung up
beside him. It was another naked male, but
he hadn't been skinned yet. Two more bodies hung beside that
11 male, one female, both naked. Realization hit me like a
sledgehammer as I realized the naked woman was Sharon.
Looking again, I saw the men were Neil and Mike.
No, no, no, I said, abandoning any semblance of subtlety and
charging over to see my friends. When I got there and stood face
to face with them, hot tears rolled down my cheeks.
Their eyes were closed and none of them moved a muscle.
I went to them one by one and felt for a pulse.
Just to be sure, I came to the one who had been skinned first.
He had no pulse. My only guess was it was Jean.
Next I moved on to Mike. There was a scar on his neck and
gore down the front of him. He also had no pulse.
Neil was the same way, scar on his neck and no pulse.
As I got to Sharon I noticed something about her chest.
It was moving. She didn't have a scar on her
neck. I reached up to take her pulse
and her eyes shot open. Instantly she began to scream.
I covered her mouth with my hand, but I knew it was too
late. You need to be quiet and pretend
you're dead or I will be, you understand?
I said, still holding her mouth. She nodded and I ran around
behind them as I heard footsteps approach.
I stood behind Jean since he was the biggest of our group and put
my hands and feet behind his, posing in the same spread eagle.
My only hope was that it didn't notice me.
I didn't dare move as I heard footsteps enter the room and
come over to where we were. I stood as still as a statue,
only my eyes looked over to where Sharon was hanging.
I saw the creature stand and look at her.
She had lowered her head again, looking every bit asleep or
dead. The creature poked her breast
with a knife, drawing a few drops of blood, but she refused
to move. And then another creature
stepped up to her. And a third.
They poked and prodded her to see if she was awake, but she
wasn't moving. Panic grew inside me.
How many of these things were there?
If I knew it was just one, I would have already shot it, but
if hundreds waited in the darkness of The Cave side rooms,
there was no chance. My thoughts were interrupted
when I heard sounds coming from them.
It was like chittering insects communicating.
They spoke back and forth while standing in front of Sharon, who
still refused to move. As the argument became heated, I
noticed one of the creatures looking in my direction.
The longer I watched, the more I realized it wasn't looking in my
direction, it was looking at me. It stepped around Sharon to the
backside when its eyes grew wide and it began to screech.
The other two looked from it to where it was looking and
eventually found me. Their eyes narrowed as one came
around in front of Jean's body and the other stepped between
Neil and Mike. The one holding the knife was
closest when I gave up on my deception, drew my gun and shot
all three. The sound of the shots in a cave
made me instantly deaf. The only thing I could hear was
my ears ringing. I grabbed the knife off the
ground and cut Sharon down. She collapsed like a bag of
rocks. We should go, I said.
What she said we should. Never mind, I said, picking her
up and carrying her over my shoulders like a fireman.
I struggled to carry her and hold the gun.
She kept slipping off my shoulder and I would have to
grab her to keep her on. The thing was, I was grabbing
her naked behind every time. It wasn't like I had a choice or
was enjoying it. If I didn't, she would fall off.
As I ran, legs already starting to tremble, I felt a rock fly
past my cheek. I looked back and there were
many more of the creatures running after us.
I didn't have time to stop and aim, but I pointed toward the
closest one and squeezed off a shot.
By some miracle, the creature fell.
I didn't know if I'd hit it, or the sound of the gun frightened
it, causing it to fall. I had no chance to celebrate as
the first rock hit me in the back of the head, nearly causing
me to stumble, which would have been fatal.
Instead, I pointed and fired another shot, hearing a most
satisfying scream. The Cave grew brighter as the
mouth grew closer, then suddenly we were out.
It wasn't A cause for celebration though.
I glanced back to see a horde of creatures following us out of
The Cave as well. So close and yet so far.
My legs weren't going to last much longer carrying her.
I needed a break, and I needed it soon.
I didn't think they would stop if I turned around and called a
time out. To punctuate that point, another
rock hit me, this time on the back.
I pointed and fired again in response, disappointed not to
hear another scream. Finally, the inevitable moment
came. I tripped Sharon and I went head
over heels in a tangled heap. By some miracle, I managed to
hold on to my gun. I tried to jump up but ended up
falling to the side, still aiming and shooting another
creature. They tried to get around us, but
I shot two more. Scrambling to my feet, I was
able to aim better and shoot another.
They still greatly outnumbered us.
There were too many of them to count.
I aimed at groups, hoping to get more than one kill at a time.
They still tried to flank us and I shot them as they did, but the
inevitable moment finally came. My slide locked back.
I instantly released it, just in case any of them knew what that
meant. I continued to aim at them in a
threatening way and they held their distance, not wanting to
be the next shot. But they had encircled us and
we're closing in. I looked at Sharon to say
goodbye, but she wasn't looking at me.
She had my phone and was doing something with it, hopefully
calling for help, even though I knew no help would get here in
time to save us. Staring into the nightmare faces
of these bloodthirsty cannibals, I prayed a prayer of utter
desperation. The first one was within reach
when suddenly the most piercing sound came from behind me.
Looking back, I saw Sharon holding my phone up with one
hand and her ear with the other. I held my ears as well.
The creatures tried to cover their ears but screamed in agony
at the sound. As a group they ran back to The
Cave, holding their ears as they went.
I couldn't believe it. Turning to Sharon as she shut
the alarm off, I smiled. Well aren't you clever?
I said. Not clever enough.
She said, looking at her naked body.
You think I could borrow your sweatshirt?
I chuckled as I took it off and gave it to her.
We should find a road and get out of here before they decide
to come back. I said.
As we walked, she explained what had happened, how the creatures
had surrounded them, how they thought Mike and I had already
been captured. The funny thing was, Jean never
gave up hope. She said He kept telling us to
hold on, that you would find us even when don't tell me he was
still alive when they. She slowly nodded.
I can still hear his screams, She said with a haunted look.
I don't think I'll ever forget that.
I can't imagine, but even after they took his face, he still
told us not to give up hope. Amazing.
After walking a long time, constantly looking back every
few minutes, we came to the greatest site either of us could
imagine, a road. Within an hour, a Ranger came by
and rescued us. It was the longest hour of our
lives, keeping watch for cannibalistic creatures to jump
out at the last second and drag us back to The Cave.
Our friends were never found. The Ranger told us we were lucky
to make it out alive. Many hikers go missing in the
forest and are never seen again. I know Sharon and I never want
to see another forest unless we pass by it on the highway.
I've guided people all over these mountains for years, but
this time felt off from the start.
We gathered at a cramped parking area beside a faded sign that no
one had bothered to replace in decades.
It warned about logging access only like that mattered to the
three strangers I'd agreed to take up here.
I was already questioning my decision to lead them.
We had Neil, who practically jumped at every snap of a twig,
like he expected a bear or something worse to leap out any
second. Then there was Lauren, lugging a
huge camera bag and a determination that told me she
wasn't here for the usual scenic vistas.
Ben rounded out the trio. Older, a bit grizzled, ex
military maybe. He didn't talk much, but every
so often he'd glance at the tree line like he was measuring how
far we still had to go. That battered sign was the only
thing hinting we were on an old trail at all.
Park management quietly erased this route from maps years back,
and nobody really explained why. I'd heard bits and pieces about
unusual disappearances around here, campers that never checked
out, travellers who parked their cars but never came back for
them. Some folks in town said the
forest didn't want them to, but I convinced myself that was
local superstition. At least, that's what I told the
group. I don't think any of us believed
it. We started walking.
The path sloped into dense undergrowth, the kind that
muffles everything else around you.
No birdsong, no wind in the branches, just heavy silence.
Sometimes it felt like even our breathing echoed.
Every so often, I'd glance over my shoulder and catch Neil doing
the same, eyes flicking from tree to tree.
He claimed he saw a shape moving alongside us, but I saw nothing.
Still, his unease got under my skin.
A mile in, we found footprints that looped over each other, the
tracks too messy to tell where they started or ended.
Someone joked it was just an animal trail, but it didn't look
right. It almost seemed like a single
person had been pacing in circles, lost or waiting for
something. Lauren snapped photos, close-ups
of the footprints, the underbrush, a tree with deep
scratches, like someone tried to mark their way out.
I noticed she stayed quiet after that, eyes darting to the hidden
corners of the forest. By late afternoon, we stumbled
across a rotted wooden post, half eaten by Moss.
A burnt spiral symbol had been scorched into its surface.
It gave off a strange sense of warning.
Nobody wanted to dwell on it too long, but I think all of us felt
its significance. Without saying a word, we
pressed on until dusk, lighting our headlamps in the gloom.
The campsite we chose was basically a patch of level
ground, surrounded by leaning trees that seem to bend in our
direction. Every attempt at conversation
petered out quickly, as if we were conserving energy for some
unknown danger. Setting up our tents felt like a
race against the dark, each rustle in the leaves prickling
our nerves. That night I tried to sleep.
It was impossible to fully relax, knowing there were who
knows how many miles left ahead of us.
Lauren kept her camera within reach, as if she expected to
capture something lurking outside.
Ben did this slow patrol around the tents, scanning the
perimeter with a flashlight. Neil lay awake, eyes wide,
focusing on the shapes dancing beyond the Lantern light.
I wouldn't have called it a restful evening.
Every noise made us flinch. A whisper here, a crack of a
branch there, too distant to be certain of anything, yet
impossible to ignore. By the time morning light crept
through the trees, I swear all of us felt like we'd been
tested. Somehow.
The forest was keeping silent about what else it held in
store. Looking back, that first day
should have been enough to turn around.
But we pushed on. Maybe from stubborn pride, maybe
from a need to know what was drawing us deeper.
Because when you sense a place doesn't want you there, it
becomes nearly impossible to resist finding out why.
That was only the beginning. We broke camp at first light,
convinced that pressing deeper would somehow explain the
bizarre symbols and footprints we kept finding.
Part of me wanted to bolt back to the parking lot, but I guess
we'd come too far. Maybe we were stubborn, or maybe
each of us felt that gnawing curiosity, like we had to see
how bad it could get. The terrain got rougher as we
went. The trail wound around collapsed
logs and thick undergrowth that snagged at our legs.
Neil clung to the back of our group, eyes darting at every
rustle. Lauren walked ahead, camera at
the ready, determined to document each strange clue.
Ben just marched in silence, jaw set tight.
Every once in a while he'd whisper we're going the right
way, though I couldn't tell if he was trying to convince us or
himself. Eventually we stumbled on the
1st cabin. It leaned at a weird angle
against a tree trunk, like a drunk who'd just given up
standing. Half the roof had caved in,
letting sunlight filter through broken beams, But it was the
door that stopped us in our tracks.
That same twisted emblem scorched into the wood.
Something about the way the char framed its spiral edges made my
stomach lurch. Inside, the air felt clammy, and
the floorboard sagged under our weight.
Dust coated everything. An old table sat in the corner,
collapsed on one side. A pile of crusty leather boots,
too many to belong to one person, lay haphazardly near the
fireplace. Sizes varied styles from
different decades. We counted at least a dozen
before we stopped. That's when we realized each
boot had its laces neatly tied, like their owners had just
vanished. On a chipped shelf we found a
journal with mold stained pages, half of them written in some
garbled, archaic script. The English parts were
disturbing enough, referencing appeasing the mountain with
rituals at sunset, a phrase repeated again and again.
Those who wander must feed what lies within.
I couldn't tell if it was some twisted local superstition or
something far worse. The final entry mentioned a
necessary offering at a place called Morgan's Hollow, which as
far as I knew, didn't appear on any official map.
Lauren snapped photos of everything while I leafed
through more pages, each scribbled with shapes that
looked unsettlingly like the brand.
On the door, Ben found a faded photograph pinned under a
splintered table leg. It showed grim faced loggers
from the early 1900s standing in front of a cabin not unlike the
one we stood in. At the very edge of the picture,
a tall figure blended into the background, so faint you'd
almost miss it, except its outline didn't resemble any
normal person. The longer I stared, the more it
felt like the figure was staring right back.
We left the cabin, unsettled and eager to keep moving.
When dusk fell, we made camp near a spot that had a bit of
flat ground. Though it offered little
comfort, I could sense everyone's nerves fraying that
night. The forest seemed alive with new
noises, soft rustlings, distant murmurs, even the occasional
snap, like someone stepping on a branch just out of sight.
Ben took first watch. I tried to doze, telling myself
we'd push through tomorrow and find a real explanation, but at
dawn, Neil was gone. No frantic yelling, no messy
struggle, just an empty sleeping bag.
His flashlight and jacket were folded neatly at his feet, as if
he decided to get up and wander off.
Lauren screamed his name, tearing at the tent flaps and
sprinting in every direction. I stood there, numb, glancing at
Ben, who looked both furious and helpless.
We searched until our throats hurt.
Footprints LED maybe 20 yards into the underbrush, then
vanished. It was like the ground swallowed
him. Our compass spun uselessly.
GPS refused to connect. Everything about the forest felt
wrong, like it was warping to hide Neil's trail.
Eventually, we had to accept that we'd lost him.
I kept hoping he'd pop out from behind a tree with some story
about chasing wildlife, but no such luck.
Around midday, we stumbled onto an overgrown logging camp.
Rusting saw blades lay where they've been abandoned, the
metal eaten away by time. Rotting bunkhouses leaned at
impossible angles. An ancient Ledger sat on a
collapsed desk, the pages stiff with damp.
The final entries described workers complaining of hearing
low chanting right after sunset, people vanishing without a
trace, and management forbidding them to discuss it.
The last line read Evacuate as soon as possible.
No one is safe here. Lauren flipped through the
Ledger with shaky hands. Beneath the neat columns of
daily yields and supplies, we found scribbles of that same
swirling emblem. She snapped a photo, then paused
like she was afraid of recording any more evidence of this place.
We followed a path behind the camp that threaded between
gnarled trees until we reached a cluster of smaller cabins.
Each door had the same spiral burned into the wood.
Inside, everything felt staged. Rusted lanterns, half torn
blankets, dusty footprints from who knows when.
We saw backpacks, modern ones heaped in a corner like cast
offs. Some had partially melted
candles stuffed inside. Lauren reached to pick one up,
only to recoil when she found a clump of hair stuck to the
zipper. That was it for me.
I told Ben and Lauren we should turn around, find an actual
search and rescue team, but it was late again.
The sky was a bruised purple night, creeping in faster than
it should, and that's when a flicker of light appeared
through the trees, like a Lantern being swung back and
forth. At first I hoped it was Neil,
but when we shouted his name, the light bobbed, then slowly
winked out, replaced by a voice calling softly.
Neil. It wasn't his voice.
It sounded stretched, distorted, like it was being forced out of
a throat that didn't belong to Neil at all.
A cold weight sank into my gut. We dimmed our lamps, unsure
whether to follow or hide. In the end, the light flickered
on again, closer this time. My mind spun with the
possibilities, none of them good.
With every step, a primal dread curled around my heart.
I glanced at Ben, then Lauren. Neither looked ready for what
might wait out there. But we couldn't just leave Neil
if he was alive. I nodded and we edged toward the
light, each step feeling like it might be our last.
That was the moment I realized we were no longer just
trespassers on an abandoned trail.
We were trespassers in something else's domain, and it knew
exactly how to keep us from leaving after that sickening
call in the darkness. A distorted voice using Neil's
name, I realized we were barreling toward a confrontation
we never wanted. Backtracking seemed like the
obvious choice, but whenever we tried to retrace our steps, the
paths twisted in ways that defied reason.
It felt as if the forest itself was shifting, refusing to let us
go. Lawrence camera kept glitching,
capturing only static or bizarre streaks of light.
Meanwhile, Ben insisted we keep looking for Neil, though I could
see the dread in his expression. None of us said it out loud, but
we feared something had claimed Neil and was baiting us.
It was like each step we took was part of a well laid snare.
We followed the flicker of that odd Lantern like glow through
tangled undergrowth until we stumbled upon a wide clearing
ringed by jagged stone formations.
In the center stood a circle of stones marked with more of those
spiral carvings, charred candles flickering in a breeze that
didn't seem to touch the trees overhead.
The ground within the circle felt almost electrified, like
the earth itself was humming. That's when we saw him.
Neil was crouched near the center, hands over his head.
His posture was all wrong, like every muscle in his body had
seized up. I called his name, heart
hammering so hard I could practically taste metal in my
mouth. He looked up and for a split
second I thought we'd found him just in time, but his eyes
seemed vacant, distant. He whispered.
Don't come closer, it wants more.
Lauren took a hesitant step forward, ignoring the jolt of
panic that went through me. She tried to talk to Neil in a
calm voice, urging him to stand, to come with us.
He shook his head, lips trembling.
Then he looked behind us and let out a low moan, like he was
seeing something horrifying. That's when the chanting began.
Not a normal voice, more like a surge of noise coming from every
direction at once. It reverberated in the stones,
blending with the hiss of the candles.
Each syllable jabbed into my head, making it hard to think.
Ben and Lauren cringed, covering their ears.
I felt as if we were trespassing on some ancient ritual that was
bigger than all of us combined. Before we could react, the glow
around the circle intensified, each candle flaring bright green
for an instant. I swear.
The stones themselves pulsed with an eerie light.
The chanting rose higher, waves of sound warping the air so
everything seemed to shimmer. Neil tried to crawl away, but
his body jolted like he was hit by an unseen force.
He ended up on his knees, eyes darting wildly.
Ben rushed in, trying to grab Neil and yank him out of the
circle. The moment he crossed that
boundary, his flashlight cracked with a sharp pop, sparks flying
in every direction. He cursed, staggering back while
Neil clutched at the ground as though something was anchoring
him. Lauren and I hovered at the
edge, stomachs and knots. We could practically feel a
barrier between US and Neil, some invisible line that sapped
our courage each time we considered crossing it.
In a sudden burst of clarity, Neil pleaded.
Break the stones. You have to break them.
We didn't understand, but we also had nothing else to go on.
The candles flickered violently, the chanting hitting a fever
pitch. Shadows danced on the trees,
shapes that didn't match anything human.
If I hadn't been so terrified, I'd have been entranced by how
unnatural it all looked. Ben pivoted, locking eyes with
me. Even in the gloom, I caught the
message. We either try or we're done.
So we rushed forward. My knees nearly buckled at the
buzzing force that rippled across my body.
Lauren shouted something I didn't catch, then smashed one
of the upright stones with the heel of her boot.
The top chunk cracked off, tumbling onto the ground.
A roar like the howl of 1000 voices shook the clearing.
The chanting faltered, flickered, then resumed in a
frantic rhythm. We kept going, toppling the
carefully arranged stones, kicking aside the half melted
candles. Each time we wrecked a part of
the ritual set up, the force restraining Neil seemed to
loosen. He collapsed forward, gasping
for breath. With one last heave, Ben shoved
the largest rock out of place. It hit the ground so hard I felt
the vibration in my teeth. All at once the chanting died.
The circles glow fizzled like a dying firecracker, and the air
cleared of that oppressive energy.
We rushed to Neil's side, dragging him away from the
center. He was in bad shape, pale and
shaking, but he managed to stand with our help.
We have to leave. He rasped, voice scratchy, as
though he'd been yelling for hours.
Lorne and I nodded, not even thinking about the direction,
just wanting distance from that cursed clearing.
The journey out was a blur of twisted branches that clawed at
us, steep slopes that tried to send us tumbling.
Yet something had changed. The forest no longer seemed
eager to trap us. Maybe disabling that circle gave
it no further reason to hold us. Maybe it was letting us go.
By midday, we emerged near an abandoned Ranger station.
Even in broad daylight, the place reeked of neglect,
battered windows caked with grime.
Inside we found old bulletin boards layered with decades of
missing person Flyers, faces of hikers, local kids, even what
looked like a family. Once.
The pit of my stomach swirled at the realization of just how many
had walked this path and never returned.
In a dusty corner, pinned under a cracked coffee mug, was a map
with a big red X scrawled over the region we'd just escaped.
No official notes, just a single phrase in shaky handwriting.
No further. Patrol closed indefinitely.
None of us could handle staying there.
We pushed on until we reached a side Rd. that led to the main
highway. It felt surreal when we finally
heard a passing car. Civilization, something I'd
taken for granted my entire life, seemed like a miracle at
that point. Since then, we've tried telling
a few people the truth. The park officials gave us a
stiff warning. They claimed we were trespassing
and restricted wilderness, that we'd put ourselves at risk.
They showed no interest in our proof.
Lauren's pictures. That battered journal?
They brushed us off, said we were confused, disoriented, that
everything we found was just leftover junk from an old
logging site. I'm writing this here because
I'm not about to let anyone bury what happened.
Neil's still pretty shaken. He doesn't remember everything,
but enough nightmares bubble up to suggest it's best if we never
look back. Lauren hardly goes camping
anymore, says she can't sleep under the open sky without
reliving those voices. Ben tries to push it down, act
like it was just another mission gone sideways.
But the Smokies are still there, ancient, half forgotten corners
that no one wants to talk about. The next time you see a worn
trail sign with a weird symbol burned into it, or come across
footprints leading nowhere, maybe consider taking another
route. There are places out in these
mountains that are older than any story, hungry for those who
wander. We escaped, but I can't help
thinking we merely interrupted whatever was lurking there.
And if you ever hear chanting in the forest when you're miles off
the official path, don't wait. Leave.
Because whatever's left in those hollows, I doubt it cares how
prepared you think you are. If you ignore the warnings,
it'll only draw you deeper until you're just another lost voice
in the gloom. At least we made it out this
time. I've never been one to shy away
from the outdoors. Growing up, I spent weekends
tramping through wooded trails, finding peace in the hush
between towering oaks. So when my friend Marcus
convinced me to spend a few nights in the Great Smokies, it
felt like the easiest choice in the world.
I should have known something wasn't quite right.
As soon as we stepped out of the car that morning, the trailhead,
usually buzzing with the sounds of birds and chirping insects,
was almost silent. We exchanged a puzzled look, but
neither of us voiced our concerns.
After all, we traveled a long way for this.
We started hiking around sunrise, weaving through damp
undergrowth and skirting around sprawling roots.
I remember the damp scent of decaying leaves and how the
forest canopy seemed denser than usual.
Marcus tried cracking a joke about local legends, recounting
tales of reclusive hikers who wandered off trail, only to
vanish forever. I let out 1/2 hearted chuckle,
but deep down I felt uneasy. The hush in the air was more
noticeable than I cared to admit.
By mid morning, the sky had taken on a sullen cast and a
distant rumble hinted at incoming rain.
Even so, we pushed forward, wanting to reach our planned
campsite before the weather turned.
A couple of times I caught Marcus slowing his pace,
glancing behind us as though searching for something.
When I asked if he was all right, he just waved me off.
Could have been a nagging sense that we weren't alone, but I
tried dismissing that possibility.
We'd seen no other hikers, no wildlife, not even a single deer
darting through the brush. And maybe that was the problem.
The absence of the usual forest life felt unnatural.
Somewhere around midday, we stopped for a quick lunch on a
patch of flattened grass. The silence was so absolute it
made my ears ring. Every snap of a twig felt
magnified, sending jitters through me despite my best
effort to stay composed. Marcus asked if I heard
anything, but all I could detect was the distant splashing of a
Creek. He admitted he couldn't pinpoint
it either, just a creeping sense of being watched.
We tried to ignore it, gulping down energy bars and lukewarm
water before hoisting our packs again.
By late afternoon we found a semi open clearing bordered by a
narrow stream. The setting sun tinted the sky
with a wand glow, turning the edges of the forest into a wall
of looming shapes. We both agreed this was where
we'd set up camp, even though every instinct in me wanted to
keep moving. The place seemed off somehow,
but we didn't have the luxury of time to find a better spot.
Setting up didn't take long. I hammered in tent stakes while
Marcus gathered firewood. He dropped an armful of sticks
and stood there, listening intently.
When I asked him what was wrong, he claimed he heard something
rustling deeper in the woods, like the tread of deliberate
steps. Too heavy to be a rabbit or fox.
My stomach churned, but I forced a laugh, suggesting maybe a deer
had wandered close. Marcus shrugged, but he couldn't
hide the tension in his eyes. We cooked a small dinner over a
makeshift fire as dusk settled, the flames sending dancing
shadows up the trunks of old trees.
The moment we stopped talking, the clearing felt oppressive.
I poked the fire absently, trying to force normalcy into
the routine. Marcus sat rigid on a rock,
scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.
Eventually, we both turned in for the night, unwilling to
linger around the flickering glow.
I woke up at some point, jostled from shallow sleep by Marcus
whispering my name. The rain outside had started in
earnest, drumming on the thin tent fabric.
He sounded scared, and Marcus was never one to scare easily.
His flashlight beam swayed across my tent walls, throwing
strange shifting patterns. I fumble with the zipper,
stepping into the misty darkness.
The fire had gone out, and the air was cold enough to sting my
face. Marcus stood near the tree line,
saying something about hearing footsteps, a crunch of wet
leaves circling around us. His voice was unsteady as he
gestured toward the shadows. I gripped my own flashlight,
scanning the area. The flicker of light revealed
nothing but gleaming raindrops on foliage.
No footprints, no animals, no person.
Yet the sense that we weren't alone grew stronger each time I
swung the beam in a new direction.
I expected to find someone standing there.
We lingered for what felt like hours, searching with our
lights. Thunder rumbled somewhere off in
the distance. Eventually we found a cluster of
faint depressions in the mud near my tent, almost like
footprints, but they weren't quite right.
I've seen bear and deer tracks before, but these seem too long,
the pattern suggesting something else entirely.
I caught Marcus's eye and a chill settled in my gut.
Without a word, we retreated to our tents, too uneasy to do
anything else. Sleep came in fits and starts,
broken by occasional snaps or crackles in the underbrush.
Dawn took its time. When the sky finally lightened,
I crawled out, half expecting to see evidence of whatever lurked
around us, but there was nothing except muddy leaves and a
smoldering pit of soaked ash where the fire had been.
Marcus looked shaken, dark rings under his eyes, his gear already
half packed. We both knew we had another day
or two planned out here, but neither of us felt confident
about it anymore. That heavy hush still clung to
the clearing, as if the forest itself had something grim it
refused to reveal. I tried telling myself we were
overreacting, that nights in a storm can play tricks on the
mind, yet a nagging thought wouldn't let go.
If we stayed, we might discover exactly who or what was out
there, and I wasn't sure we were ready for that.
Morning light did nothing to settle our nerves.
I crawled out of my tent, half expecting to see muddy
footprints or torn gear, but the area looked undisturbed, like
the forest was mocking us with normalcy.
Marcus was already awake, hunched over the remains of our
soggy fire pit. He glanced up with an expression
that broadcast his unease. We both knew we couldn't keep
jumping at shadows, but neither of us wanted to say out loud
that something felt genuinely wrong out here.
We decided to break camp and press on.
Our plan was to explore a bit downstream in hopes of finding a
better spot, maybe somewhere more open, where the two of us
wouldn't be so consumed by the sense that every shifting tree
limb concealed an onlooker. We shoved our tents and cooking
gear into our packs, keen to put distance between ourselves and
the place where we'd spent a sleepless night.
A steady drizzle followed us as we trudged along, soaking the
undergrowth and turning the trail into a slick mess.
The river gurgled on our left, but even that mild sound seemed
to subdued. Marcus kept pausing to scan the
tree line, like he expected to catch a figure darting behind a
trunk. I tried focusing on practical
tasks, watching where I stepped, checking the map every so often,
but I couldn't stop my brain from running 100 miles an hour.
After about an hour, a stale smell drifted toward us, a mix
of soot and damp rot. We veered off the main trail,
curious and uneasy, until we stumbled upon what used to be a
campsite. Torn tent fabric lay tangled
with broken poles, the colors faded and stained.
Pots and pans littered the ground as though the campers
fled in the middle of a meal. 1/2 charred log stuck out of a
shallow fire pit, the ashes long, cold.
My chest felt tight as I tried to piece together what could
have driven someone to abandon everything like this.
Marcus lifted a shredded sleeping bag, its lining caked
with mud. He let it drop and looked at me,
horror in his eyes. The tears in the fabric were
jagged, too big for simple wear and tear.
I noticed rust colored stains near the edges.
We kept telling each other that maybe a bear wandered in,
spooked the campers, but no footprints or claw marks
indicated a typical animal encounter.
Besides, the entire site felt staged in some twisted way, like
whoever left it behind wanted others to see.
In a corner of the campsite, half buried in soggy leaves, we
found a notebook with a warped cover.
Most pages were smeared or stuck together from the rain, but we
could still make out occasional sentences Someone had written
about hearing voices, about glimpses of movement behind
thick clusters of trees. The last entry ended abruptly.
I know I'm not alone. I just hope and the ink trailed
off in a dark blotch. Neither of us said a word as I
gently close the notebook. The air felt heavier after that
discovery, pressing in on US. Time started dragging.
The drizzle turned into a downpour, and we found ourselves
paranoid about the increasing gloom.
It was still midday, but the clouds blotted out most of the
light, making it feel closer to dusk.
Every step through the mud squelched loudly, echoing our
unease. We tried pushing farther along
the riverbank, but our nerves were shot.
Every rustle of leaves, every broken branch on the ground made
us jump. A couple of times, Marcus
thought he saw something like a figure darting between the
trees, but whenever we shone our flashlights, nothing
materialized. The forest offered no trace of a
welcome. Even the low hum of the water
took on a weird resonance, as if it carried whispered warnings we
couldn't decipher. With daylight fading, we
realized we needed another place to camp.
We found a small rise near the river, where the ground wasn't
quite as waterlogged. The second we dropped our packs,
I regretted it. The spot was cramped and
overgrown, but neither of us had the energy to keep going.
We strung up a tarp, did our best to clear an area for a
fire. The whole time I battled this
constant suspicion that we were being watched.
Darkness fell thick and fast. The wind intensified, pulling at
the branches overhead like fingers scratching across bark.
Marcus tried to get the fire going, but the damp wood only
coughed up smoke. When we finally coaxed some
flames, they were weak and feeble.
We sat close, trying not to give in to panic every time the
shadows twitched beyond the flickering light.
We decided to pass the time by flipping through the notebook
again, searching for more clues. Most of the writing was too
damaged to read, but we caught references to no exits, and
they're always out there. The last few pages were covered
in scribbled shapes, some looking like eyes or symbols.
One page had a sketch of the exact same tall trees that
encircled us. I think Marcus realized it too,
but neither of us said a word. Eventually, exhaustion
overwhelmed caution. We needed sleep, even if it
meant dozing off in short bursts.
Marcus offered to stay up first while I tried shutting my eyes.
For a while, I could hear him pacing around in the wet leaves,
flashlights sweeping back and forth in a frantic pattern.
My dreams, or half dreams, featured the battered campsite
and those strange drawings from the notebook.
Somehow, they bled into my reality, leaving me unsure
whether I was actually asleep or simply delirious.
When Marcus shook me awake a few hours later, his expression was
grim. He whispered that he'd heard a
soft thudding, like footsteps circling our camp again.
We decided to both stand guard, flickering flashlights combing
the dark. We didn't see anything this
time, but the oppressive sensation of a presence lurking
nearby made the night feel like it would never end.
Hours crawled by in silence and dread.
Rain hammered the tarp and the wind whipped the branches into
scraping shapes. Finally, a weak glow of dawn
crept over the horizon. We could at least see beyond the
circle of darkness that had imprisoned us all night, but
that meant facing the reality of how deeply unsettled we were.
Part of me wanted to charge back to the main trail and keep
hiking until we reached the car. Yet I couldn't shake a
compulsion to figure this out, to learn what forced those other
campers to abandon their belongings and vanish without a
trace. Whether we liked it or not, the
Great Smokies had turned hostile in a way I'd never experienced,
and as I studied Marcus's weary face, I understood we were in
this together. We'd either unravel the mystery
of what roamed these woods, or we'd become just another story
scribbled in a waterlogged notebook, left behind for some
future hiker to discover. Neither of us had the luxury of
a decent rest by the time morning came.
We watched Daybreak turn the sky from murky Gray to a dull,
colorless wash, and though the sun tried to breakthrough, the
forest floor remained gloomier than any place I'd ever camped.
Despite our throbbing fatigue, we agreed we'd push for the
trailhead. Sticking around meant flirting
with something we couldn't explain.
We packed in a hurry, our soaked gear dragged at our shoulders,
each strap chafing and biting into skin.
Marcus's face was ashen, eyes darting with anxiety.
Even so, he took the lead, swearing he'd mapped out a more
direct route back. I followed, stepping around
snaking roots and churned up mud.
We mostly kept quiet. Words felt useless.
Every twig snap or distant Creek of branches made us flinch.
We moved fast, sloshing through patches of water logged ground
and over thick clusters of vines.
The weather eased up, but the silence weighed heavier with
every mile. Usually by now we'd hear bird
calls or the rustling of small creatures.
Instead, there was only the soft thump of our boots and the hush
of trees looming overhead. Every so often the path faded,
forcing us to rely on a beat up compass and soggy pages of the
map. Eventually we reached a section
of trail that widened into a small clearing.
A few fallen logs crisscrossed one another, and for a split
second, it seemed like a good chance to rest.
Marcus and I barely had time to exchange glances before
something stirred on the far side, something that snapped a
branch and froze our breath. My flashlight swept over the
area, picking up a flicker of movement.
A shape, possibly a person, hovered behind the logs.
It didn't advance, but it shifted in a way that felt
unnatural, like it was trying to hide, yet remain close enough to
watch us. Marcus shouted, demanding
whoever was there to come out. Silence answered.
We could sense an uncanny awareness from that patch of
forest, as if it was bidding its time.
Instinct told me to run, but my legs felt welded to the ground.
Suddenly the shape moved again, this time vanishing behind a
crooked stump. A jolt of adrenaline tore
through me, and I barked at Marcus, urging him forward.
We bolted. What followed was a rush of
crashing footsteps and frantic heartbeats.
Roots and brambles reached out, snagging our ankles, sending us
stumbling in the direction we hoped led to the road.
Every so often I caught glimpses of something weaving through the
trees parallel to us, never falling behind, never drawing
too close. My pulse pounded so hard I could
taste iron on my tongue, but fear propelled me onward.
Then the terrain shifted, turning steeper as we skirted a
hillside. The undergrowth thickened,
branches scraping our arms. Rain soaked leaves glistened,
forming a slick layer that made each step precarious.
Marcus nearly lost his footing on a mossy log, catching himself
at the last second. Whatever lurked behind us stayed
hidden, yet ever present, keeping pace with no sign of
fatigue. We broke through a dense section
of shrubs that snagged our sleeves and packs, emerging onto
a narrow dirt Rd. The abrupt openness felt
jarring, like waking up too fast from a nightmare.
For a moment, we couldn't speak, our lungs clawing for air.
Marcus spun around, flashlight arcing wildly at the place we
just come from. The foliage swayed, but nothing
emerged to chase us onto the road.
Somehow that made it scarier, like it was content to stay
within its domain, confident we'd never dare return.
A battered Park Rangers pickup was parked 100 yards to our
left, almost swallowed by a bend in the road.
Relief surged through me at the sight.
We sprinted over, dropping our packs at the Rangers feet.
He looked alarmed by our disheveled state.
Marcus rambled about the noises, the footprints and the abandoned
campsite, words tumbling out in a jumbled rush.
The ranger's eyes hardened with concern and he grabbed his
radio, speaking low and quick about checking nearby areas for
missing hikers. Neither Marcus nor I could
muster more than half coherent explanations.
We just wanted off that mountain, away from whatever
presence nested in those woods. The Ranger gave us water and
guided us into the truck. The engines rumble felt like the
sweetest sound in the world, carrying us towards safety.
I glanced back through the rear window at the receding tree
line, half expecting to see a silhouette peering out.
If it was there, it kept out of sight.
It took a while to reach the nearest Ranger station.
We filled out incident reports, trying to detail what we
experienced. They listened carefully but
offered cautious reassurance. Maybe a rogue bear.
Maybe even a person living off grid.
Yet as we stammered through each unsettling occurrence, it was
clear something else was at play.
The authorities planned a thorough sweep, though I
wondered if they'd find anything or just end up with more
disturbing questions. That evening, back in the dim
comfort of a borrowed bunk at the station, I couldn't rest.
Everything felt unreal. Across from me, Marcus stared at
the ceiling, silent. Neither of us bothered, turning
off the small lamp by the door. We just lay there, each lost in
thoughts about the creature or being or whatever prowled those
trails. Eventually, exhaustion set in,
granting us a fractured piece. In the weeks that followed, we
learned some gear had been found in remote sections of the
forest. Scattered bags, old tents,
personal items, but no definitive answers emerged.
Marcus stopped talking about returning to the Great Smokies,
and I haven't set foot there since.
Maybe it's best if we leave those hidden pockets of land to
whatever rules them. Some places, no matter how many
times you explore, maintain secrets you're better off not
uncovering. And yet, part of me can't fully
dismiss the pull of those ancient trails.
I still recall the surge of awe and excitement I felt when I was
younger, forging my way through the undergrowth with a sense of
wonder. But now there's a difference.
I've witnessed that the forest can harbor more than simple
wildlife. Whenever folks on the Internet
ask about hidden corners of the Smokies, Ioffer the same
warning. Respect them.
Or you might come across something that doesn't want you
there and might not let you leave so easily.