A few years ago, I decided I needed a significant life
change. Everything seemed to be going
downhill. My finances, my mental health,
my life. I would go weeks without
sleeping sometimes as heavy traffic passed through the city
streets below. Every time I went outside, I saw
more homeless people, more needles and crack pipes
littering the ground, more muggings, assaults, overdoses,
and deaths. The city had become a wasteland
and I knew it was time to leave. I had no girlfriend, no wife, no
kids. My parents had both died a few
years prior and I barely talked to my siblings anymore.
I had nothing to tie me down to this place where I felt like I
was dying inside a little more each day.
That was when I sold nearly everything I owned, got in my
car, and drove up to Alaska to start anew.
I bought a small cabin and a plot of land in the middle of
its majestic mountains and dark, enchanting forests.
In the winter, the Northern Lights would shine through like
the eyes of God, sending out divine trails of light that
dance through the sky and cosmic waves.
While the move did help give me some Peace of Mind, the source
of all my problems had ultimately followed me 1000
miles into the endless wilderness.
It would take me a long time to realize that because all the
misery was inside of myself, I would never escape it.
As a wise man once said, wherever I go, there I am.
I lived in that cabin for three months without any major issues.
Aside from the constant threat of bears, moose, and wolves.
I had a rifle and a shotgun for hunting, a small garden in the
backyard, and a solar panel to generate electricity.
This is the life, I said, relaxing on a hammock strung
across the corner of the cabin while staring at the endless
beauty directly outside my window.
White capped mountains loomed like giants in the thick
clusters of evergreens. A fresh covering of fluffy snow
made their entire world glisten and sparkle.
There wasn't a house or Rd. insight.
No work, no stress, no pollution, no cars honking all
the time. I closed my eyes, breathing in
the air. I fell asleep for a couple of
hours, waking up just as the sun had started setting.
Bright orange streaks mixed with bloody smears of fading light as
they disappeared behind the mountains.
I groggily arose, stumbling over to make a cup of instant coffee.
As I sipped it, I wandered around the room looking for
something to pass the time. There were still quite a few
random objects left behind by the last owner that I hadn't
really gotten rid of yet. I had moved in just to find a
stocked bookshelf full of classics like Philip K Dick,
Isaac Asimov, and Robert Heinlein.
Bored, I started rifling through the collection looking for
something good to pass the time. As I shuffled past a maze of
Death and Ubik, something caught my eye.
A black leather bound book with No title or author name, its
cover faded with time and wear. Curious, I pulled it out and
opened it. I saw the cursive scrolled
across the pages in a neat copper plate script and realized
it was a diary left by the previous owner.
The first entry was dated January 9th, 2015.
And this is what it said. I don't know if I'm going crazy
or not. I went into town to talk to my
therapist yesterday and she said I should try writing everything
down. She talks to me like it's all in
my head, but I know it's not. When I first moved into the
cabin, it seemed like paradise. I never thought in a million
years that something would be slinking around at night, hiding
under my bed, peeking in windows and following me like a shadow.
Right now I'm snowed in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a
pistol in the other. I can't sleep anymore, and I
keep hearing something shuffling around under the bed.
Sometimes I think I even hear ragged breathing, as if a corpse
with dirt in its lungs had come back to life.
I caught a glimpse of that thing in the darkness.
Whatever it is. Its skin is loose, almost
falling off the bone. It looks like a naked, emaciated
man. Its eyes are rotted and dark,
its back hunched, its spine twisted and jutting out like
tumors. It moves slowly, jerkily, but I
can never catch it. Its body seems broken and out of
alignment. Its legs bend the wrong way.
Sometimes when I turn the lights on or try to take a video of it,
it's always disappeared, but it's fetid odor remains.
It lingers in the cabin like a sweet smelling, spreading
infection. I don't know what it wants from
me. I want to leave, but the storm
raging outside is keeping me stuck here, unable to get back
to town. The snow surrounds the cabin and
mounds 5 feet high. I feel like a prisoner caged in
with a rabid beast, not knowing when it will strike.
My wife claims she hasn't seen or heard anything, but keeps
vanishing on me. Last night she disappeared in
the middle of a snowstorm. Where did she go?
I asked her in the morning, but she said that she was there the
whole time. She didn't remember anything.
There's no way she went into town.
There wasn't time and the trails were impassable.
Something's happening out here, but I don't know what it is.
I'm petrified for our lives. I slammed the diary shut, not
wanting to read anymore. I didn't want to become infected
by a contagious and feverish delusion.
If the last owner had gone insane in the mountains and
started hallucinating naked corpses crawling around, I
didn't want to know. I shoved the diary back on the
bookshelf, going for a maze of death instead.
I tried to forget what I had read in the diary as I flew
through the novel. All right.
I tried to get the image of the naked, twisting man with the
rotted eyes out of my head, but I couldn't.
I eventually fell asleep right before dawn, but as my eyes were
closing I thought I saw a silhouette in the window.
A starved man with excised black eyes that seemed to be rotting
out of his skull. I thought I saw him with his
inhumanly long fingers pressing against the glass as he leaned
forward. I blinked, sitting up and
glancing out into the white, snow covered Wonderland.
There was nothing there. Another hunter occasionally
followed the deer trails near my cabin.
A frozen lake stood 1/4 mile away, the surface white and
covered in thick snow drifts. Bundled up, I decided to go
outside for a hike in the frigid dawn.
I strapped on my snowshoes and grabbed my shotgun, as I always
did when I went outside. After all, I knew then that
polar bears might be waiting around and could be around any
tree. I opened the door, seeing
footprints pressed into the snow around my house.
At first, I thought it was the silhouette that I had seen, the
nightmarish thing from the diary.
But the footprints didn't go over to my window.
They followed the trail 20 feet away, veering off toward the
frozen lake at the bottom of the hill.
I glanced down in that direction, seeing a black figure
slowly moving forward. Steve.
I cried, recognizing my only neighbor within a four mile
radius. He had a cabin about a mile away
on his little plot. He jumped, clearly startled by
my sudden noise. His black snow pants and heavy
fur coats swish together as he spun, raising his rifle high.
When he saw me, he immediately lowered the rifle and put a
gloved hand up in a friendly greeting.
Hey Josh, surprised to see you up this early.
He yelled over the muted wintry landscape.
Sounds always seem different after snowing, as if the world's
noise had faded and died. Yeah, been having some trouble
sleeping. I said, slinging my gun around
my shoulder. What are you doing anyway?
Just a little hunting, you know? He said, giving me a wink.
Animals are always more active at dusk and dawn.
That's when I always have the best luck.
He stepped close to me, staring me in the eyes.
You do look pretty terrible. Those bags under your eyes are
big enough to carry groceries in.
Yeah, trust me, I know. Hey, this might sound a little
weird, but did you know the previous owner of this cabin?
I asked. Steve's wrinkled old face fell
into a scowl, his expression immediately becoming guarded and
distant. Sure, sure, we met.
He exclaimed bluntly. He searched my face for
something, but I didn't know what.
His reaction left me feeling off balance and nervous.
Are they still around? I said.
Steve's scowl deepened. Buddy, I don't know what this is
all about, but he's dead. He's been dead.
He died in that cabin. He pointed a finger at my home
accusingly. With those words, my heart
seemed to drop into my stomach. Waves of dread flowed through my
body like water. How did he die?
Like a heart attack or something?
I asked. Steve's gaze turned downward and
he met my eyes. Do you know that Alaska has the
highest missing persons rate in the entire United States?
It's not even close. In fact, for the population
size, we have far more people who go missing and are never
found than anywhere else. They even have a name for it,
the Alaskan Triangle. Steve said, and we were square
in the middle of it. I stared blankly at him,
wondering where he was going with this.
No, I didn't know that. I responded.
Steve nodded, raising his head again.
He heaved a deep sigh. Look, the thing with the last
owner and his wife is somewhat disturbing.
I'll tell you if you want to know, but it will not help your
Peace of Mind. This will make everything worse.
It's not going to help you get some sleep, you know what I
mean? I want to know.
I insisted. Instantly the wind started to
whip past us, flakes of ice and snow flying sideways in the
sudden currents. Let's go back to your cabin
then. Steve said, pulling his heavy
fur lined hood off and shaking his long black hair behind him.
I could use a bit of whiskey to warm up.
We sat down with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot
glasses. I wasn't much of A drinker, but
Steve certainly was. He chugged three shots in a
minute. I sipped at mine, drinking half
and putting it on the coffee table with a thunk.
Steve grunted, hissing through his open mouth for a moment.
That's the good stuff. He said, slamming his chest as
the burning liquor worked its way down.
Steve looked up at me with a new sparkle in his eye.
So you want to know what happened to Will Lenning?
Well, I'll tell you what nobody else knows, and I'll give you
the whole story. I used to see him occasionally
come down, drink, and talk. Well, we knew each other around
here. I nodded, motioning to him to
continue on. He seemed like a regular,
upstanding guy. Kind of reminded me of you.
A young guy trying to escape the hustle and bustle of city life,
the cancer of the American dream.
Well, he was up here for a couple of months.
I don't know, everything seemed fine.
We used to go skeet shooting occasionally and have some beer.
We'd get together with a couple of other hunters who live closer
to town and sometimes play some poker.
I never saw anything odd about the guy.
I never could have predicted what happened to him.
He heaved a long sigh at this, looking out the window at the
sharp mountains with an expression of nostalgia.
Well, what happened to him? I asked, encouraging him to go
on. He started talking about seeing
someone peeking in through his window at night.
He talked about hearing sounds under his bed while lying in the
dark, like diseased breathing and shuffling.
He started keeping all the lights on in his cabin 24 hours
a day. Steve leaned close to me, a
glimmer of fear rippling across his pale, wrinkled face.
He started to lose his mind. He started digging holes all
over the place, looking for something.
Even in the middle of snowstorms, I would occasionally
see him outside digging. It seemed like he never slept
anymore. It was classic cabin fever if I
ever saw it. It was only a few weeks later
that I came over here, concerned.
I hadn't heard from him in a few days, which was unusual.
I found the door hanging wide open, popped up in a chair, like
the exact spot where you're sitting now.
He lay with a blast hole showing clear through his skull, a
shotgun lying next to his feet. Next to him, I found a blood
stained diary, open to the middle of the page, the last
entry stained with blood spatter but still visible.
I remembered leaning down and reading it.
It was only a few sentences long.
I glanced over at the bookshelf at the same diary, saying
nothing. It said.
I see now what's going on. That twisted man is leading me
to the truth. Today I will finally find it.
That was a suicide note? I asked, my heart hammering in
my chest. He nodded.
Yeah, I went into town, got some Rangers to come back and check
it out. Eventually they got cops and CSI
there. They took all the stuff as
evidence, including the diary, he said.
Good riddance, I say. Reading something like that was
never beneficial. Sometimes delusions spread like
a virus, you know what I mean? I did, but I didn't say
anything. I glanced back at the diary,
it's black leather cover gleaming like a crouching snake.
I wondered if the police took the diary as evidence, and if
they did, how did it return here?
You said he had a wife living with him too?
I asked. Yeah, she went missing around
the same time, he said. It's pretty bizarre the cops
thought that maybe she just moved away.
He shook his head grimly. As far as I knew, she was never
seen again, and it was like she had just evaporated into thin
air. After Steve left, I walked
stiffly over to the bookshelf. Taking down the diary, I flipped
open through the pages. In the middle I found the last
entry. Spatters of old dark blood were
scattered over the page like raindrops.
I found the suicide note and read the date, January 27th,
2015. Will Lenning had not lived long
after he started seeing the twisted man.
I wondered if my fate would be the same.
The sun had started to set outside.
I sat with the diary at the small circular kitchen table,
eating some stewed venison and rice while reading the entries.
In the end, Will says that the twisted man had been trying to
guide him somewhere, that the twisted man had been trying to
protect him from the rather great evil that was lurking
around here. I scoffed, feeling a flash of
anger at the stupidity of all this.
His naivety led him to death. But then a flash of insight
struck me like lightning. What if I was committing the
same kind of stupidity? I should grab my gun and
valuables and leave while I can. I could take off on the
snowmobile and be in town within a few hours time, but in my
heart I knew I would not. Something about the mystery of
this beckoned me to stay. Like a siren leading sailors to
destruction. I was curious and knew I would
not be leaving that night. I needed answers and sadly I
would have to find them. I had fallen asleep with an
empty bottle of beer in my hand. I sat in front of the TV, which
only received satellite reception, of course.
No cable or phone lines were threading their way through the
forest. All of my power came from stored
solar energy in a generator. Since I rarely watch TV and only
really used it to cook or heat water for bathing, the energy
produced was sufficient. Even in winter.
I needed its sound, mindless flashing of light and colors and
canned laughter. Tonight, though, it seemed to
drive away the creeping, suffocating presents like a
candle. I woke suddenly.
The TV flashed with static. The repetitive hissing of the
white noise spit from the speakers like thousands of
snakes. I glanced up at the clock and it
was 333. AMI looked around the dark
cabin, confused. For a long moment I didn't
understand what had woken me so abruptly.
The satellite had not gone out, even with the howling winds and
freezing hail of the Alaskan winter.
The TV started flickering, as if the static were rising upward.
Black lines trace their way horizontally across the screen.
The hissing deepened into a gurgle, and for a second I
thought I heard the faint words behind the white noise.
I thought I heard breathing, slow and diseased, like the
death gasp of a drowning man. A black line rose across the TV
and an image appeared. The cabin was suddenly silent
except for the shrieking wintry wind outside.
I leaned close to the screen, confused as to what the freak I
was looking at. It looked like a live camera
feed of a room. As I took in the details, I
realized it was my cabin. I saw myself in the chair,
leaning close to the screen. I raised my hand and the
miniature version of me did the same thing.
Ice water seemed to drip down my spine as waves of dread coursed
through my body. What the freak is this?
I whispered, looking back to where the camera should be.
But there was nothing there. It was just a coarse wooden
ceiling in the corner. I turned back to the screen and
nearly screamed. The TV showed a pale, naked man
crouching directly behind my chair.
With jerky movements he rose, his broken spine twisting and
shivering. A hissing voice rang out from
the speakers. It spoke as if it had dirt,
writhing with maggots in its throat.
He's a killer, the shadow of death.
It gurgled. Many have fallen, many lie
buried across this forest. You will be next.
He is watching you. Long, broken fingers with
blackened nails reached out to touch my shoulders.
I jumped out of the chair, stumbling back as I spun in
terror. My back smashed into the TV and
it fell to the floor, shattering in an explosion of light.
In those moments before the darkness descended on me like a
blanket, I thought I glimpsed A pale, sunken face with rotted,
blackened eyes peering out from behind the tree.
I turned on every light in the cabin, but there was no sign of
the twisted man in or around the cabin.
I knew I had to get out of there, though.
I thought about the warning that the voice had spoken.
If the creature wanted to attack me, then why hadn't it just
killed me while I was asleep? None of it made any sense.
Who was watching me? The twisted man?
And if he was, why warn me? Perhaps it's some sort of
psychological warfare, I thought to myself.
Possibly the twisted man was simply playing with me.
Thoughts race through my head at 1000 miles an hour as I threw on
snow pants and got a couple of heavy sweaters and coats on.
I covered up my entire body as much as I could.
I wanted to prevent frostbite at all possible.
I had made-up my mind to flee. There was no snow storm tonight,
though. The entire landscape was
blanketed with deep, fresh snow, and I knew the wind chill would
be like an ice blade whipping against my skin.
Traveling in the middle of the night in temperatures that might
reach -30° was hazardous. Steve had been right, after all,
Alaska had the highest missing persons rate of any state, and
many of them were never found, their bodies likely frozen solid
in the deep snow dozens of miles away from the nearest town.
I grabbed my shotgun, jumped on my snowmobile, and headed to
Steve's cabin. I had to wait until sunrise and
figure out what to do next, but fate would take the decision out
of my hands. I felt like eyes were watching
me as I drove along the narrow, winding Deer Trail.
The boughs of the evergreens reached into the path like
greedy hands grabbing at my coat and legs.
More than a couple of times I thought I saw a pale, naked
figure standing in the snow, but it had always gone when I turned
to look. I sighed in relief when Steve's
place appeared. In the distance.
I could see the lights twinkling through the small windows of his
log cabin. I pulled up next to his door.
Looking down, I saw two pairs of footprints, one smaller than the
others. I found it odd, but shrugged it
off. The snowmobile cut out a sucking
gurgle. I knocked on the door a few hard
times. Steve appeared after a few
moments, groggy and half dressed.
He blinked slowly as he looked me up and down.
His wrinkled face fell into a frown.
Steve, I need a favor. I said quickly.
Something weird is happening in my cabin.
Can I stay here until morning until maybe I can get to town or
something? I can't stay at my place
tonight, I just can't. He nodded, yawning and motioning
me to come in. You can sleep on the couch, I
guess. Steve said.
Put that shotgun somewhere safe. Though he had a partitioned
bedroom in his cabin. It was significantly larger than
my one little bedroom cabin, though it still had a joint
kitchen, living room, small bed, and bathroom.
He pointed to a well worn couch in the corner and gave me an
apathetic wave as he stumbled back into his bedroom, slamming
the door. I couldn't sleep though.
I tiptoed around the room, looking at Steve's bookshelf.
He had a strange taste in books, lots of EIN Rand and all kinds
of weird true crime. I saw a dozen books about Ted
Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Richard Chase, Herbert Mullen, Jeffrey
Dahmer, and Richard Ramirez in the collection.
A large black binder stood at the end, unlabeled and worn
looking. It reminded me of that leather
bound diary for a second and my heart dropped, but logically I
knew this had to just be a coincidence.
Yet still, I pulled out the binder.
My curiosity peaked. What I saw inside filled me with
dread and horror. Countless news clippings covered
the length of it. The first clipping was from
nearly 20 years before, about a woman who went missing in the
Alaskan forest while hiking. A later one confirmed that her
body was never found and that her family was still hoping that
she might turn up alive somewhere.
A reward was offered for any information, and every page
after that was more of the same. Missing women, murdered
prostitutes, missing men. No leads.
I kept flipping through until I found clippings about Will
Lenning's death and the sudden disappearance of his wife.
In the article about the death, Steve used a red marker to
scrawl ha ha. Next to it.
I heard the click of a gun being cocked from behind me.
I froze as Steve's voice travelled across the room like a
whisper. How do you like my work, my
friend? He asked, his tone pleasant and
mocking. I still held the binder of
horrors tightly in my hands as I stared open mouthed at this man.
I thought I knew. It's you.
You killed Will and his wife and all the other women.
Everything felt as unreal as it could, like if I was stuck in
some sort of dream. Steve's grin spread across his
face, but his blue eyes stayed cold and dead.
Yes, well, she was cheating on him with me anyways.
Just another, you know? They always get what's coming to
them in the end. He hissed with hatred oozing
from his voice. It's too bad, I just killed
another tonight. I was planning on saving you for
later. The urge isn't too bad yet right
now. After all, it comes in cycles,
you see, It comes in waves. I saw a glimmer of pale, naked
flesh writhing behind Steve. With jerky movements, the
twisted man came up behind him. I said nothing, just watching
wide eyed in horror and amazement.
You need help, man? I whispered.
Steve laughed. Help.
The only help they give people like me is a needle in the arm,
you know that. That's why it's important to
cover your tracks. The twisted man ran long, broken
fingers across Steve's neck. Steve gave a strangled cry and
jumped. He spun around, screaming.
I glanced over at my shotgun next to the couch.
I jumped for it and Steve turned back to me, firing his pistol
twice. The first bullet soared high
above me, raining wooden splinters down on my head, but
the second ripped into my leg. A cold, burning pain ran like
fire up my shin. I screamed in agony and battle
fury as I grabbed the shotgun, spinning and firing.
Steve's head exploded as the slug ripped through his brain.
His forehead collapsed like a smashed melon as bone splinters
and red sprayed the wall behind him.
The twisted man stood there hunched over, grinning at me.
It felt weird. I started to feel more warm
liquid gushing from my leg as I stared back at this thing,
breathing harder. I wondered if I was dying.
You weren't after me after all. I asked.
You were after Steve. But the twisted man said
nothing. After a long moment, he slinked
back into the shadows of the bedroom and disappeared.
As night crawled toward morning, I thought back to the twisted
man's words through the TV, suddenly understanding
everything. He is the killer, the shadow of
death. Many have fallen.
Many lie buried across this forest.
You will be next. He hadn't been trying to hurt me
at all. He had been trying to warn me.
He had probably tried to warn Will Lenning and his wife, too.
I wrapped my leg in gauze, gritting my teeth.
The wound looked puckered and deep, but I knew I could still
move my foot. The bullet had gone through
clean, and luckily enough, I poured alcohol on it, screaming
in pain as it burned its way through my skin.
After rummaging through Steve's bathroom, I found some
prescription painkillers and swallowed a handful of them with
some beer. I knew I would need the opiate
high to get through the pain of riding into town with a
mutilated leg. As the sun finally rose, I made
my way outside the blood stained floors of the cabin to my
snowmobile. Before I left, I glanced back at
the horrid place, the scene of so much torment and death.
In the open doorway, the twisted man stood, his back hunched, his
rotted lips grinning at me. His hand lifted into the air
with jerky movements, almost like it was waving.
I waved back, started the engine, and headed into town.
The question of who or what is capable of good has always been
an age-old concept. While we have accepted that
animals are indeed capable of demonstrating empathy and
performing good deeds, like a dog rescuing a child, it's not
familiar with from drowning or predators choosing to spare a
defenceless person or prey from certain death, what about those
beings that are neither human nor animal?
The irony is, the closer they seem to be human, the more we
fear their cruelty. Fair enough.
The idea that a strange and frankly creepy being intelligent
enough to speak, act and pass as human from a distance has
anything but insidious intentions might be asking too
much of our natural instincts of fight or flight.
This experience had me pondering a bit deeper on who or what was
capable of good. My sister and I were told this
story by my mother and three of her sisters while we prepared
for a Christmas feast a couple of years ago.
My grandmother ran a very successful catering business
from her young adulthood well into her early 50s before she
finally retired. I remember seeing her and all
six of her daughters preparing menus for clients.
Although my mother and aunts didn't work for her, they always
helped whenever they could. All her equipment and utensils
used for making meals were customized and had her name
engraved on them. I thought it was the coolest
thing ever at the time. The conversation started when
after a couple of jokes, my aunt's expression changed as she
angrily ranted about how hectic her time shopping for some of
the ingredients for the latest feast was.
But particularly she spoke about how she almost had an accident.
Grumbling how she would have had a slightly better experience and
would have avoided the mishap if someone had just simply offered
to help. She very disgustedly expressed
how even that demonic man thing was more helpful than actual
people, which caused a temporary pause as my sister and I
immediately turned to her looking confused but probably
more creeped out. My mother scolded her for saying
something that scared us. She unrepentantly retorted that
it is the humans that surround us every day that we should be
terrified of, not some creature we have almost no chance of ever
encountering ourselves. Now my sister and I were so
intrigued right away we began to ask her to tell us about this
demon man thing she spoke of. Our mother quickly chimed in
telling us to shut up and to get back to our tasks.
But my aunt, who is the 5th of six daughters of which my mother
is the third, turned to my sister and I with a defiance
which younger siblings tended to have and said not to mind our
mother. She said that she and our 4th
aunt who was also there in the kitchen would tell us the story.
She had my sister go call her second sister to the kitchen who
was also there at the time of the events.
The incident happened when my mother, her second, 4th and 5th
sister travelled to the eastern part of the country to cater a
funeral ceremony of the mother of a governor of the state.
As I said earlier, my grandmother had a successful
catering business and when I said EI don't just mean it was
the east of the state we reside in.
My country is extremely diverse with at least 250 ethnic groups
and about 500 languages. Each state is divided into
ethnic boundaries. It's like traveling from
California to Texas, but the people are completely different
to the point they may as well be another race.
The language, terrain, culture, food, physical features,
everything is vastly different. Imagine being a tourist in your
own country thanks to how divided each state is by
language and culture. We are from the southwestern
ethnic group and are usually out of our element whenever we
travel. English or Pigeon English are
the only languages that allow us to properly communicate, and not
everyone's going to speak it. Some will just choose not to
even if they can. Now that that's out of the way,
my mother and her three sisters took with them all my
grandmother's catering equipment and essentials in a big van and
traveled E because my grandmother had already retired
at that point. But the client insisted she be
the one to cater the event, so she sent her daughters, whom she
basically raised in the business.
I'll call my aunts AT&B because their names start with those
letters. They set out two days before the
event because of the distance and to give themselves time to
rest and get settled before the busy occasion.
T&B said it was so dark and late when they finally entered
Eastern territory, but not quite the state they were supposed to
finally arrive at and eventually they had to take a rest stop
because the driver was exhausted and they would rather set out
during daylight to continue the journey.
That lonely highway had thick forests on either side.
They drove for hours in hopes of finding a commercial property
with a parking lot to park at and camp for the night.
Soon they arrived at a completely run down and
abandoned petrol filling station by the side of the highway.
They drove into the huge open parking lot.
They said they all got out to stretch their legs, have some
light dinner before figuring out their sleeping arrangements.
My mother spoke this time and said they were surrounded by
complete darkness and the sounds of the night forest.
She said she couldn't even see her hands if she raised them in
front of her because they turned the van off so they didn't have
any headlights to illuminate their surroundings.
They had to use their personal flashlights instead.
Auntie admits she was scared, she advised they don't sleep in
the open and should instead sleep in the van as it was safer
and had comfortable seating. Everyone else disagreed.
The air out was so fresh and relaxing they could just bring
out some of their comfy beds and spread them on the mats they
brought for camping mid journey. After my mother and her sisters
bickered for a while, everyone except A slept outside.
All was well as they dozed off, apart from the occasional cars
driving down the road, casting bright headlights as they drove
past. T said she woke up and went for
a bathroom break, and as she went back to lay down she saw
white. Just stark, pristine and bright
white in the distance. It wasn't a light, instead it
was garments. Imagine bright neon vests that
airport staff wears, but white. This wasn't a vest though, it
was a long, flowing white garment.
That's when she noticed the absolute silence around them.
She said all the crickets hooting, rustles and croaking in
the distance had all gone silent right at the exact moment that
she noticed the figure in white. T immediately sat up and shook
her sister's awake, alerting them that someone was
approaching their camp. They scrambled to get their
bearings together, now sitting on the mat because they didn't
want to be visible in the darkness to whoever this was
coming closer. They aggressively whisper yelled
for the driver to wake up, but he was asleep peacefully in the
van and none the wiser. The driver never woke up to the
panicking women and made to feel the ground in the total darkness
to find anything he could use as a weapon.
By then the white clothing had gotten much closer, like a
couple of yards away. They still could not make out
any features whatsoever because of the dark, just a really white
garment getting closer and making no noise.
My mother interrupted this bit of the story, saying she thought
her soul had already ascended to the great beyond just from the
sheer terror which sent us all into a laughing fit, dissolving
a bit of the tension and fear that had built up while the
story was being told. Honestly, I was grateful for the
Comic Relief because while I could see my mother right in
front of me, I was terrified thinking that she must have been
so scared of the unknown in that moment and could have probably
lost her life. As the figure got closer, they
all stood up at this point because they meant to startle
whoever was approaching with their numbers in case they
thought it was just some vulnerable person parked for the
night. Yet the figure didn't stop, not
until it was in the parking lot and now a few meters away, still
approaching without a word. This caused the driver to
angrily yell to the person to state their business.
The figure finally stopped, followed by silence before they
heard a very deep male voice asking are you here all alone?
What are you doing here? T said.
She very rudely asked how the man considered them alone when
they were obviously more than one person.
The man just politely asked once again why they were here and
they asked how that was his business, explaining that the
station was no longer running so they simply took a rest stop.
They turned his question back at him, asking how he could just
walk around alone in the forest wearing such bright clothes,
seemingly without a care in the world.
My mother described the following laughter from him as a
deep baritone that you heard in your ears and that thumped in
your belly as if you sat too close to a loudspeaker thumping
with bass beats. It was a sound you didn't just
hear, but felt your entire body vibrate with.
The man in white simply said he was passing by and saw them out
in the open, vulnerable. He didn't think it was safe for
them to be out at that time alone.
At this point a chimed in the story because that was when she
woke to the voices and came out of the van.
To this scene, she said all she saw was white, no
distinguishable features. It was too dark after all, and
none of them had their flashlights on.
She asked her companions who the man was, but they just ignored
her, practically laser focused on this interloper.
T said she felt such dread because the man said he saw them
out in the open, which didn't quite make sense because from
that distance, how could any normal person see them lying
down in the dark like that? And A, who now just joined the
group, told my sister and me that the man didn't even sound
like an Easterner. His accent was plain and you
couldn't tell where he was from. Since they couldn't see his
face, there were no features to pinpoint his ethnic identity.
She said he just patronizingly laughed at them, telling them
it's not safe, go back to sleep, I'll keep watch.
As if it was a normal thing to say to a bunch of strangers whom
you just disturbed in the middle of nowhere in the dark.
The driver now teed off, yelled at the man to leave them alone,
asking why in the world he thought they would just go to
sleep with some random creep watching them.
The man came closer now, only a few steps away, maybe three to
four people's spaces away for reference.
He said once again that they were not safe here, but if they
chose to stay, him being there would keep them safe.
The driver had enough. He was going to reach for the
man when T and my mother pulled him back, telling him not to
touch the stranger as they had a suspicion that the man wasn't
even human. They asked the man what dangers
they were vulnerable to. They then heard the sound of a
couple of cars driving down the highway, casting a large glow of
much appreciated light, allowing them to finally see this man.
They said he had very simple yet memorable facial features.
His arms were covered by the sleeves of his clothes, his eyes
were dark, which is normal for brown eyed people, and his skin
was very dark. Prior to the headlights
illumination, they couldn't see anything besides his clothes.
He might as well have been a floating dark mass.
He wore a hat, which they didn't notice because that wasn't white
and it was kind of small. He was quite handsome, T noted.
But here's where it becomes chilling.
As the couple of cars passed by and they saw his features for
the first time, the man flashed them a smile.
And my mother said she recalled sucking in such a cold breath.
My aunts made a shivering gesture in our very warm
kitchen, recalling what they saw.
Well, what did you see? My sister and I could not stand
the suspense, but they all just got momentarily sucked into the
memory like they were reliving it and didn't mean to keep us in
suspense. T described his smile as
unnaturally large, predatory, and downright terrifying.
My mother said his teeth were insanely white to the point they
almost matched the white of his clothes.
As the last bit of the headlights faded, his
unnaturally wide white smile was the last thing they saw as
darkness fell again and the glow of his whites remained seen in
the now pitch black. Imagine a white wide smile, no
facial features anymore, just a wide row of teeth in the dark.
The driver stepped to the front a little, telling him to leave
before he resorted to physically taking him out of their sight.
My mother said she got even more scared because every fibre of
her being was screaming to her that this really tall creepy man
was dangerous, but she didn't exactly know why or how.
Then a truck drove by. It had really huge bright white
headlights. It gave them another better
glance. This time they saw him exactly
for what he was. It got a bit windy and his
clothes were blown to the side, revealing his feet from his mid
calves. They saw really skinny, hairy
legs that ended with a very thick black hoof at the bottom
of those flowy clothes. Not human feet at all, rather
what should have belonged to a horse or a deer.
This man was part animal. They realized in horror that he
stood on 2 hooves, he didn't have four.
A regular 4 legged hoofed animal would either just have a pair of
legs, but they just didn't know if he was part horse from his
waist or if it was just his calves to the feet.
My mother said it was survival instinct that caused all of
them, including the driver, to make 0 indication of what they
just saw. As the truck zoomed past, the
man smiled again in a way that almost seemed as if he knew what
they saw because he just smiled impossibly wider, tilting his
head, telling them he seriously meant no harm but to help keep
them safe. He said something along the
lines of I'm here so they can't come, you really shouldn't even
be here, but go to sleep, you will be safe, I'll leave before
you rise. By then they were too scared to
ask, but wearily huddled closer, packing their sleeping mats and
rushing into the van, locking the doors.
T said he just stood there watching them, and they all
watched him from what they assumed was the safety of the
van. They couldn't drive out because
of how exhausted and terrified they were.
And despite how absolutely terrifying the thing was, it
didn't seem to mean them harm because it seemed capable enough
of causing them harm if it wanted to, but instead it
repeatedly said it wanted to keep them safe.
My mother said she really didn't know when they all fell asleep,
the last thing she saw was that man stranger thing just standing
there keeping watch like he said he would.
It was by no means comforting because they all still felt
immensely in danger from his presence alone, coupled with the
danger he said could harm them if he left.
They woke up to an empty parking lot and drove out of there with
immediate effect. They said that was all they
spoke about the entire journey. They made no more rest stops the
entire way either, not even on their way back.
I said as they drove past that petrol station on their way
back. Two days later, in pitch
darkness, the driver slowed down a bit so they could kind of
slowly take in the place and that crazy experience.
When they saw the stark white garments walk into the parking
lot, they all froze. But this man just stood there
looking back at them. The driver just floored, there
was no reason to wait around to find out if he was still in any
helpful mood or not. T, who was in the passenger
seat, said she just watched in the side mirror.
The fading figure in white still stood there like a rooted cursed
tree. They had no idea what he
possibly could have been since it didn't happen within their
ethnic territories so they didn't have any knowledge of
eastern lore or creatures. We were all just glad it was a
tale they live to tell and never really could give a good guess
on why he or it protected them from these supposed threats that
they couldn't even see. My friend C worked at 711 for
two years. I won't disclose the exact
location as he's going through some personal problems but I do
have his permission to share this story.
C and I have been friends since elementary school and we tell
each other everything. During his third day working, he
and his Co worker G were the only ones in the store.
When a customer walked in and went to the refrigerator with
the sodas, he grabbed a soda and brought it up to the counter.
C scanned it and told him the price.
The customer replied I don't have any money.
C told him Sir, you'll have to put it back.
The customer then got angry and threw the soda on the ground
yelling can't you give it to me for free?
G heard what was going on and came over asking is there a
problem. The customer looked at him and
from what C said was shocked that there was another worker in
the store. He then left the store without
saying anything. G asked You OK?
C nodded his head and they went back to work after clocking out.
C was getting ready to walk home when he got this feeling that he
should call for a ride instead. He was happy he called an Uber
because as they were pulling out of the parking lot, a person
came from behind the dumpster with something shiny and
metallic in their hand. A few days later C and the same
Co worker were outside on their break when a customer walked
into the store. G went in to tend to the
customer, only to come out a few seconds later asking a dude,
where's the customer? C asked.
What do you mean they're not in the store?
The two of them went in, checking every inch of the
store, even the bathroom and stockroom, but there was no sign
of the customer. When they looked at the security
footage, they were dumbfounded as the cameras captured the
store door opening on its own at the exact time they'd seen that
customer enter. Except there was no customer on
the camera. They stared blankly at each
other and C replied I got to stop drinking so many energy
drinks. By the end of the day they were
both still freaked out. C called me when he got home and
told me about the story. I said.
Sounds like you guys saw a ghost.
No, it was just my imagination. Had to be he replied.
All right I said rolling my eyes.
The next day on his way to work, C was almost scared out of his
wits as a car speed past him with a cop car chasing them.
He said out loud, what on earth is wrong with people?
He got to work and got through his day without incident.
The next week he was working the night shift with G again.
They were talking just to pass the time when they heard noises
in the stockroom. They looked at each other and G
said OK, let's go check this out.
They reached the stockroom and G said all right man, go in dude.
C replied I'm not going first, you're bigger than me, you go
first. G opened the door and the two of
them walked in. G turned on the light and a
raccoon ran across the floor. G yelled and ran out.
C walked back out to the front of the store saying G for all
the time I've known you I haven't seen you get scared of
scary customers, nor the power going out, nor the dark and
you're telling me you got jump scared by a little raccoon?
Dude, it startled me, G replied. It's going to be a story.
My friends will love to hear this next event.
Happened over the span. Of two weeks.
C was at work during the. Day when he.
Got a text from a number he didn't recognize and it said
how's that Doctor Pepper? He was obviously freaked out as
the only people who had his number were the ones he knew.
Of course he looked around but he was the only one in the store
at the moment. He then looked outside and saw a
man standing across the road. Awkwardly, he waved at the guy,
but the man didn't wave back. A few seconds later, the same
man walked into the store, grabbing a bag of chips and
placing them on the counter. C scanned them up and told the
man the price. The man gave C his money and C
gave him his change. As the man took it, he caressed
C's hand awkwardly and slowly. C pulled his hand back quickly,
politely saying uh, sorry, I don't like men like that.
The man under his breath said Rude, then snatched his chips
and walked out, pushing G out of the way.
Over the next few hours, he kept getting texts from the same
number, the creepiest of which was, Your skin is so soft, I
just want to wear it, C was understandably.
Creeped out. Soon this matter would follow
him home from work. He was relaxing on a day off
when his Co worker V called him saying hey C this guy walked in
and asked for you referring to you as his boyfriend.
Gave me the creeps and I know you don't like dudes like that.
C replied. Man that's probably the same guy
he tried hitting on me. Thanks for letting me know two
days later. He was stalking.
The chips. When he heard a man's voice
saying hi, Handsome C turned around.
And it was the. Same man.
The man reached out, touching C's chest, and C pushed the man
back, yelling don't touch me. G came running over.
Practically. Dragging the man out of the
store, throwing him onto the ground and yelling stay out of
our store you creep. G drove C home.
That night. Two days later, C was home on
his day off when he got a call from V.
Hey C, I've. Got some bad news?
G was attacked at work last night.
He's in the hospital. C rushed to the hospital and
when he got to G's room he asked dude what happened.
Man, the same guy ran me with his bike so hard I fell and hit
my head on the concrete. Luckily one of the customers at
the gas pump saw the whole thing and called 911, even wrapped my
head up with his jacket to stop the bleeding.
G explained. My God, what's wrong with this
guy? C replied.
After leaving the hospital, C called his boss asking for some
mental health days after what happened and his boss agreed.
When C arrived home, he sat in his recliner.
His Boston terrier, Lucky, jumped into his lap.
Everything was quiet when all of a sudden Lucky began to growl at
the front door. C looked outside his window and
saw someone run from his mailbox.
He slowly walked out to the mailbox.
There was a box of candy with writing on it that said no one
will come between us. I want to spend the rest of my
life with you. CC considered calling.
The cops. But didn't he later wished he
had? The next week he went to work
with pepper spray and a stun gun.
He called me early on in his shift asking me if I could walk
him home. I said yes.
I showed up 10 minutes after his shift was done with my dog, Bear
Bear. Is a Labrador English?
Springer spaniel mix. He doesn't look mean, but he can
get quite aggressive if needed. As we were walking to his house,
Bear kept looking behind us, doing a low growl, but we would
never see anything ourselves. We got to C's house and went
inside. Lucky ran over to Bear and they
started to play. C and I started to talk.
About life. Then C asked hey want to watch a
movie? I said sure but you know me.
We decided to watch a comedy movie as we didn't want to watch
a horror film due to all the stuff that was happening lately.
We eventually fell asleep on the couch.
Eventually we woke up to Bear and Lucky growling.
Then C got a text. It said she's not going to take
you from me either. Before C could say anything the
dogs ran to his room. We then heard a loud scream.
We ran and saw that Bear had his teeth dug into someone and C
turned on the light. It was the exact same man that
had been stalking him. Lucky was biting his legs.
C called the cops, they came quickly.
It was later discovered that the man went to high school with C
and had asked C out, but C turned him down and he tracked
him down years later. C had forgotten all about that
until then. The man was charged with a lot
of things and was put in jail, but he passed away due to
medical reasons. C felt bad and thought it was
his fault. I told him dude, some people
just can't take no for an answer.
G later got out of the hospital and returned to work shortly
after. Now this last event happened
during his last month working there.
He was working the day shift when a customer came in and
said, young man, there are two people in a truck outside and
they're doing the deed. C sighed and walked.
Outside knocking. On the window.
The man rolled the window down and C told him, I'm sorry, you
can't be doing that here. The man looked at him, threw
water on him, yelled A slur, then they drove off.
C called out politely. Have a nice day.
C ended up moving. Back home after.
He found out his dad was sick. We still keep in touch and he
still talks to G who now works from home.
I'm glad they're both happy and safe, but recently C called me
saying so. I drive for Lyft now to help my
mom bring in the money. She works from home during the
day while I drive. Well one day I picked up this
couple from a club. The lady looked pretty scared of
the dude. She had ordered the lift from
her phone. So I texted her and asked
everything all right? She replied.
No, I don't know this man. See continued.
So. As I was trying to figure out a
way to handle it, the man slumped over in his seat.
I pulled over, got out, opened his door, checked his pulse and
didn't find one. The man was dead.
I called the cops and they came with an ambulance.
Of course me and the lady gave statements and they send us on
our way. After they got the man out of
the car I let the lady sit up front.
She told me the man literally followed her out of the club and
hopped in the lift with her. She didn't want to say anything
because she didn't want him to hurt me.
As I dropped her off she gave me a $50 tip saying sorry you had
to deal with that. After he finished his story, I
told him. You see, that's why I don't use
Lyft or Uber and I darn sure won't drive for them either.
I'm glad he made it out of that situation, but that event has a
happy ending as he's now dating that girl who he picked up from
the club and she just happened to be one of G's cousins.
Small world, huh? As the twilight stretched its
shadows. Across Big Cottonwood Canyon,
the cliffs, stark and imposing, towered around us, glowing
softly under the moon's cautious watch.
Alex and I had pitched our tent on an unmarked trail, a spot
cloaked by dense Pines and untouched by the usual troves of
hikers. We were miles away.
From the main Rd. Miles away from the next human
soul, perhaps. The notion usually thrilled me.
The solitude, the rawness of nature.
It was what I craved after weeks penned within city walls.
But tonight, the wilderness felt different, almost watchful.
Earlier in the day, a steady rain had swept through the
Canyon, leaving behind a chilled silence that now hung in the
air. We had spent the afternoon
hiking in, sidestepping the muddier patches, our boots
sinking occasionally into the soft, wet earth.
By the time we set up camp, the rain had dwindled to a light
sprinkle, the kind that you can barely feel but still hear a
whisper among the towering oaks and aspens.
Perfect timing, huh? Alex had said as we unfurled our
sleeping bags inside the tent. I remember chuckling, agreeing,
but there was a tightness in my chest, a curl of apprehension I
couldn't quite place. We had just started a fire.
When the. Dusk began to settle in earnest.
The flames flickered, casting erratic shadows against the
trees, the light playing tricks with the night.
We talked about nothing and everything.
Work, families, the women we were trying not to think about.
It was good, easy conversation that came with years of
friendship. That's when the piece shattered.
From the right, a series of heavy, thudding footsteps broke
through the murmur of the rain. Bipeds.
Not 4 legged critters scurrying, but something walking, running,
sprinting towards us. My spine stiffened, the hairs on
my neck bristling in alarm. Alex's story cut off mid
sentence, his eyes widening as he turned towards the sound.
Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.
But before we could even exchange a word, another set of
footsteps echoed, this time from the left.
The pattern was unmistakable and chilling, a deliberate paced
Sprint directly towards our camp Mountain Lion.
Alex whispered, his voice barely carrying over the soft patter of
rain. Doesn't sound like it, too
heavy. And why the stops?
I whispered back, every sense straining in the dark.
Mountain lions moved with a stealth that didn't match the
intrusive crunching steps we'd heard.
We sat there, our backs against the cool nylon of the tent,
listening as the same sounds repeated from behind, then again
from the other side. It was as if whatever it was
knew exactly how to terrify, how to surround and confuse its
prey. We decided against checking it
out. Instead, we retreated into the
tent, zipping up the entrance with more force than necessary.
We lay there, our breaths shallow, listening to the now
menacing whispers of nature. The earlier ease between us was
replaced by a tense alertness. At some point we tried to sleep,
more out of a desperate need to escape our own rising panic than
from any real hope of rest. But every rustle, every snap of
a twig kept us bolt upright, eyes straining in the darkness.
It wasn't the wilderness I knew, not tonight.
Tonight the wilderness seemed to watch us, its gaze heavy and
unblinking, as if we had stumbled upon some ancient,
guarded secret it was not willing to share.
The inside of the tent felt close, too close, as if the
canvas walls were slowly tightening around us.
Alex and I lay in our sleeping bags, the darkness a thick,
tangible thing, broken only by the occasional flash of
moonlight that slipped through the tent flaps.
Neither of us spoke, but the silence was far from empty.
It was full of the rustlings of the night, the soft patters of
the raindrops easing off, and something else, something that
scraped gently against the nylon of our tent.
That's not just the wind. Alex muttered under his breath,
his voice tight with tension. I nodded, though I knew he
couldn't see it. My hand instinctively went to
the hunting knife by my side, its handle cold and reassuring
under my grip. Just when we thought.
It was perhaps just. A deer or some harmless creature
curious about our camp. The gentle scraping intensified,
morphing into a deliberate dragging sound that circled
around the tent. Something was out there, moving
with purpose. With a predatory curiosity that
set my heart hammering against my ribs, I reached over and
squeezed Alex's shoulder, A wordless signal.
We were getting out of here now. We couldn't stay, not with
whatever was stalking us outside.
We began to pack up silently, our movements quick and
efficient, honed by years of camping in the wild.
But tonight, every snap of a buckle, every whisper of fabric
sounded deafeningly loud. With our gear hastily packed, I
zipped open the tent, the cold air hitting my face like a
splash of icy water. The campfire was out, the embers
dying under the gentle drizzle. Moonlight bathed the clearing in
a ghostly glow, casting long dark shadows that twisted and
turned with the trees. We move back-to-back.
I whispered to Alex, my eyes scanning the darkness.
He nodded and we stepped out, moving In Sync, our senses
straining for any sign of movement, any hint of danger.
Our retreat to the car was a tense, nerve racking ordeal.
Every rustle in the underbrush had us pausing, every snap twig
had us gripping our weapons tighter.
The forest, usually a place of peace and solitude, now felt
like a maze of shadows and threats, each tree a potential
hiding spot, each shadow a potential danger.
Finally, we reached the car, the sight of it under the pale
moonlight a relief so intense it was almost painful.
We threw our gear into the back, slam the door shut and I started
the engine, the roar of it tearing through the night like a
scream. As we drove away.
The Canyon behind us seemed to exhale, the oppressive tension
easing off our shoulders with every mile we put between US and
the campsite. But the relief was short lived.
What had happened back there? What had been watching us,
following us with such intent? We drove in silence, the heater
blasting against the chill that had nothing to do with the night
air. Alex finally broke the silence.
We should tell someone, right? About what happened?
I nodded, my eyes on the road. Yeah, we'll report it, but who's
going to believe us? It's just another campfire
story, right? Except it wasn't.
It was real, and it was terrifying, And as much as I
wanted to chalk it up to an overactive imagination, the fear
that clung to my skin was too raw, too visceral to dismiss.
As we left Big Cottonwood Canyon behind, the unanswered questions
loomed larger, darker. What lurks in the wild places of
the world, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting.
And what would happen if it decided to stop watching and
come out into the light?