I hadn't been back to Kentucky in almost five years, not since
the funeral. Brett was there quiet as ever,
his arms crossed and his face carved from Granite.
He'd always been the tough one built like a tree trunk, a
seasoned Outdoorsman who tracked, deer and Elk through
the Daniel Boone National Forest for a living.
I, on the other hand, spent my days trapped behind dual
monitors drowning in code and client emails.
It was soul-crushing and Brett knew it.
When he invited me to meet him in the Red River Gorge for a
weekend of camping, I accepted instantly.
It sounded perfect, no screens, no calls, just miles of rugged
trails and absolute Solitude. We parked Brett's truck at the
mouth of an old forest service road shouldered, our packs and
set off along a trail that wasn't officially marked on any
park maps. Brett liked it that way.
Keeps the tourists away. He'd muttered.
After a few hours, we arrived at a clearing he called slab Camp.
Gulch It was a quiet primitive site.
Nothing more than Flat Earth ringed by Tall Trees close
enough, to the murmuring trickle of slab, Camp Creek for water
and isolated enough to forget the rest of the world.
I was Rusty at pitching a tent and Brett chuckled.
As I fought the nylon fabric, easy now Evan your setting Camp
not fighting a bear. It felt good to laugh.
We spent the early evening cooking, canned chili over a
modest fire swapping old stories filling each other in on Misty
years. But as the sun sank behind the
Treetops, the atmosphere changed I couldn't shake the feeling, we
were Intruders here, small and insignificant beneath towering
Cliffs and vast Kentucky wilderness.
As Darkness crept in Brett, pointed out something, odd along
the trail, an oak tree stripped almost completely bare of bark.
The peeled strips stretched, nearly 10 feet, high revealing
smooth pale. Wood beneath, what does that I
asked uncomfortable with how unnatural it looked.
Lightning sometimes. Brett, Muse, frowning, but
there's no burn marks. We moved on and soon, I found
something. Stranger a neat stack of three
round Stones. Atop a moss-covered stump, they
were carefully. Placed almost symmetrical,
that's creepy, I muttered Brett. Shrugged it off as animal
behavior, but the hairs on my neck said, otherwise, that first
night, the forest felt oppressive heavy.
Brett snored, softly unaffected but I lay awake staring at the
canvas ceiling of my tent. Hours in.
I heard it. The slow, heavy crunch of
footfalls in dry leaves, my heart quickened, my breath
caught in my chest. It wasn't the skittering of
raccoons or the bounding Trot of deer.
These were heavy steps methodical and too slow to be
animal. I grabbed the zipper of my tent
flap cautiously opening it in an inch.
Outside the dying Embers of our fire cast faint.
Orange glows, across the clearing, beyond that Shadows
swallowed, the rest of the forest, the steps continued
moving slowly around our camp always just out of sight step
step pause step. Brett, I hissed quietly.
My voice shaking a grunt from Brett's 10.
Told me he'd heard the steps ceased instantly silence
returned, oppressive and thick. Brett whispered back probably
just a bare, stay quiet but I'd heard Bears before.
Bears, didn't Pace methodically circling quietly.
Like Predators sizing up prey. We lay there listening for what
felt like hours until exhaustion took hold and sleep.
Finally claimed me at Sunrise, I emerged from my tent relief
washing over me as daylight flooded the forest again.
Brett was already up expression. Grim, you hear those steps?
He asked staring at something behind me.
Yeah, thought it was my imagination at first.
He shook his head. It wasn't look.
I turned to see our supplies cooler.
Cookware backpacks moved. Roughly 10 feet to the left. not
scattered or rummage but neatly arranged lined up perfectly as
if someone had meticulously positioned them, What the hell?
I whispered chills. Rippling down my spine.
Brett stood quietly eyes scanning the tree line.
Somebody's playing with us, we need to pack up but as he spoke,
my eyes landed on Fresh marks, gouged into the trees
surrounding the clearing. Deep claw-like scratches
stretched high above our heads, too high to be from a bear.
My pulse quickened, stomach tightening into knots.
Brett, those marks, his jaw tightened.
Yeah, I see them. He didn't say what?
We were both thinking that whoever, or whatever was here
was Far, bigger, and far, Stranger than any bear, without
another word. We began packing quickly,
neither of us, turning our backs on the woods for long.
I knew we needed to leave, but as I stuffed gear frantically
into my pack, I felt watched judged and somehow
instinctively, I knew getting out, wouldn't be easy.
We broke Camp. Quickly, barely speaking,
Brett's calm confidence had faded replaced by a tense
alertness. I'd never seen in him.
We hoisted our packs and retraced our steps back along,
the trail. We'd come in on the air was
humid oppressive. Every few feet.
Brett, would pause eyes narrowed scanning the Shadows?
After an hour of hiking, I noticed a strange feeling of
familiarity. Brett, stopped abruptly his
body, Ridgid staring at something, ahead of us.
You've got to be kidding me. He muttered.
Ahead stood the same broken Oak from earlier.
Its bare wood. Gleaming pale beneath the forest
canopy We had circled back to the same spot.
We started from How is that possible?
I asked breath catching in my throat.
Brett shook his head slowly glancing down at the compass in
his palm. It spun and lazy circles
useless. He snapped it, shut frustration
lining his face. Something's messing with us.
It was hard, not to feel panicked bubbling up.
Brett new these Woods, he was never lost yet.
Here we stood confused and disoriented exactly where we
tried to leave from. Look, Brett said, quietly
pointing to another tree, deep gouges fresh claw marks
stretched along the bark higher than either of us could reach.
I felt my stomach twists. Bears might claw trees, but
never like this, not so high, not so deliberately placed.
Brett's face told me. He was thinking the same.
We tried a different direction. Brett leading us with tents,
determination hacking, through dense brush with his hunting
knife. The heat was unbearable.
Sweat, drenching my shirt blurring my vision?
And that's when I saw it movement, just a flicker among
the distant trees. I stopped dead.
Eyes straining into the Shadows between two ancient trunks,
stood a figure, a man, at least shaped like one, but twisted,
and hunched wearing only a ragged scrap of cloth around his
waist. His bare skin was smeared with
Grime. His hair matted and Tangled over
broad shoulders. He watched us silently
motionless Brett. I whispered harshly.
Look But as Brett spun around the figure stepped swiftly
backward disappearing silently into the dense forest.
What, what did you see a man? A managed to choke out throat.
Dry, someone's following us. Brett's eyes, hardened, we need
to keep moving fast. We pushed forward.
Limbs aching breath ragged every few minutes.
I glanced over my shoulder feeling his gaze.
Even though I couldn't spot him again, An hour later as we
descended into a narrow Ravine. I saw him.
Once more now, standing, atop a ridge to our left silhouetted
against the sky, mirroring our pace, and Direction he moved.
Fluidly gliding from Shadow to Shadow, never losing sight of
us. He's tracking us.
I hissed pointing upward Brett. Swore under his breath, his
hand, tightening around the knife handle.
We need to get off his path. He knows exactly where we're
going. But no matter how hard we tried
the shadowy figure remained in our peripheral vision.
Always distant always watching. By late afternoon, we were
exhausted our clothes, torn from the brush, limbs scraped, and
bleeding from Briars and thorns. Brett's jaw was clenched eyes
scanning constantly. We can't outrun him, he finally
admitted Breathing heavily and it's getting dark again.
A Sinking Feeling settled in to my chest.
What do we do? He met my eyes Grimley.
We set a trap tonight. At Sunset, we reached another
clearing, Brett lit, a small fire, then quietly explained his
plan. I'd stay by the fire visible
invulnerable. While he hid nearby with his
hunting knife, and flare gun waiting to Ambush our stocker.
I'll be watching the whole time, Brett assured me, the second, he
gets close, I'll hit him. Just hold your nerve as Darkness
swallowed. The trees around us.
I sat near the fire pretending to stare into the Flames calmly.
My hands shook uncontrollably. My chest felt painfully tight.
Every breath a struggle. Somewhere out there in the
shadows. Our Watcher was waiting circling
slowly patiently, inching closer and Brett was waiting too hidden
in the Darkness ready to strike. Minutes dragged into hours.
As I sat rigidly beside the dwindling fire, the heat barely
noticeable against my clammy skin.
Brett was somewhere behind me concealed in a small rock
outcrop ready. And waiting.
The night are pressed down heavy and thick.
Every tiny sound made my muscles tense, a twig, snapping leaves
rustling small animals, darting unseen. each noise could be
nothing or Everything at Once, suddenly, the small sound ceased
Silence flooded. The clearing absolute in
crushing. My heart hammered pulse
throbbing at my temples. Slowly deliberately heavy
footsteps, crunched toward me from the trees.
Not animals steps, not random rustling, but slow careful
strides of someone who no longer feared being heard.
I forced myself, not to look keeping my gaze locked on the
smoldering Embers. As the footsteps Drew closer.
Step after step until finally a shape emerged from the darkness
opposite me standing motionless, just beyond the fire's faint
glow. It was him.
The man we'd Glimpse earlier, he was taller than I'd imagined
powerfully built but gone his skin smeared with dirt and soot
tangled hair, draping down to Broad muscular shoulders.
He stared directly at me, his expression, unreadable beneath
the grime, coding his face. His chest heaved slowly
rhythmically as if gathering strength or courage, my throat
was dry Raw. I fought the impulse to shout or
flee. We stared at each other for what
felt like an eternity. Until he began to Circle slowly
around the fire. Careful to keep a fixed
distance. His eyes never leaving mine.
His movements were careful. But confident, this was his
territory and he knew exactly how to navigate it.
My fingers twitched nervously. Brett needed him closer within
striking range. I drew in a shaky breath, trying
desperately to appear calm defenseless The man Paul asked
finally taking a step toward the fire, his face illuminated in
the flickering, amber light, I caught a clearer view of his
features wild eyes Hollow cheeks lips cracked and bleeding from
exposure. There was Intelligence in those
eyes though, buried deep beneath layers of animalistic Instinct
and isolation. He tilted his head slightly
inspecting me with cold curiosity, almost as if he were
deciding what to do next. He took another step closer,
almost close enough. Now, Brett, now as if hearing my
desperate thoughts, Brett burst from his hiding place behind the
Rocks, firing the flare gun directly at the man.
The sudden flash of burning red ignited, the darkness slamming
into the stalker's shoulder, a feral guttural scream, tore from
his throat, echoing painfully through the forest.
He reeled backward clutching at his burned flesh eyes wide with
shock and pain. For a moment.
I thought he'd charged driven by rage in desperation.
Instead he bolted suddenly Vanishing into the woods
crashing, noisily through the underbrush and leaving behind a
thin glistening trail of blood. Brett, moved quickly, grabbing
my arm and pulling me up move. We can't stay here.
He said, urgently, we stumbled through the darkness until
sunrise painted the Treetops, pale gold We followed the blood
trail, it seemed our attacker near the terrain better than we
ever could. Eventually, the blood faded.
But Brett spotted a service road through the thinning trees.
We stumbled out onto the gravel. Gasping shaking with exhaustion
and relief. A passing truck slowed and
stopped the driver staring wide-eyed at our torn clothing
and scratched bruised. Skin authorities returned to the
spot. We described and found the man's
hidden shelter deep within a nearby Rock.
Overhang inside, they uncovered remnants of survival gear,
stolen belongings, animal carcasses and human remains
evidence, tying the man to several missing hikers from
years passed. DNA tests later, identified him
as a survivalist who vanished in 2008 presumed dead.
We never returned to slap Camp gold.
Brett wiped the coordinates from his private Maps erasing.
It completely from existence. As for me, my days of venturing
into deep Wilderness were done. My nightmares would always lead
back to those woods to the silent star of a man lost to
civilization and the horrifying realization that sometimes the
monster's out there, wear a human face.
My wife, Emma hadn't smiled in months not since the
miscarriage. When we'd packed our gear into
the car that morning, she'd quietly folded up a little blue
onesie. She'd kept tucked beneath her
sweaters. It had torn my heart right out
of my chest. The camping trip had been my
idea, an attempt to escape our tiny, San Diego apartment and
the painful silences. We'd fallen into I could
convince myself that a few peaceful nights and Inyo
National Forest near Mammoth Lakes.
Might be enough to ease us back toward normal.
As we turned off onto the dirt road toward upper Twin Lake The
Emptiness around us seemed to widen.
It was late. September the summer, crowds
long gone. And as we pulled our gear out
and began the half-mile. Hike into the campsite I felt
isolated in the best possible way.
Tall. Evergreen surrounded.
The clear Quiet Waters and the air was crisp enough to numb my
fingertips. Maybe out here away from
everyone, we could finally start talking again, we set up camp
quickly, Emma silent the entire time.
She sat cross-legged by the tenth fiddling with her gloves,
staring into the distant tree line.
I watched her wanted to say something comforting but found
no words. instead I busied myself building a small fire as
the sun slid behind the Peaks, Sleep was hard that first night.
Emma turned, restlessly beside me.
I stared at the top of the tent counting, the hours until dawn
Sometime passed midnight. We both heard faint Twigs.
Snapping nearby, Emma. Squeezed my wrist, tightly,
probably, a deer. I whispered though I wasn't
entirely convinced, she didn't reply morning, arrived, slowly,
a dull, glow warming, the nylon above us.
Outside the lake was glassy and still reflecting an orange sky.
That gave way to pale blue. I stepped outside and stretched
my breath puffing into the chilly air.
Emma emerged silently. Tightening, her jacket around
her body as if holding herself together.
It was then that I first noticed him.
Across the lake nearly blending into the shadowed backdrop of
trees was a figure sitting motionless on an old Fallen log.
I squinted trying to make him out.
He wore a faded red, and black flannel jacket.
The kind Hunter's wore years ago.
He wasn't fishing. Wasn't moving, just sitting
there staring in our Direction. Emma, I said quietly nodding
toward the figure, see that guy over there.
She followed my gaze a small shiver visibly traveling down.
Her spine, has he been there long?
Not sure. Probably just someone enjoying
the Solitude like us. But as I watched him, unease
began creeping into my gut. It wasn't uncommon to see other
people out here, but there was something unnaturally still
about this, man, an unsettling Stillness.
I'd never encountered before the rest of the day passed quietly,
Emma wandered, the shore occasionally crouching by the
water, picking smooth stones, and tossing them into the lake.
I fished for a while without much luck, but every now and
then my eyes flicked across the water.
And each time they did, the man was still there.
Same spot. Same position.
That night was colder. The winds through gaps in the
tent Whispering against my sleeping bag.
Emma fell asleep. Quickly, exhausted by grief, or
boredom or both. I lay awake again.
Listening for noises the previous night.
Snapping Twigs were played in my mind.
Suddenly a sound caught my attention.
Careful. Deliberate breaths.
Outside the thin fabric wall close enough that I felt a surge
of fear deep in my chest. I held my breath listening
closely, hoping it was only my imagination but the breathing
continued slow steady intentional, my heart, slammed
hard against my ribs carefully. I reached for the flashlight and
crawled toward the tent flap. I took a deep breath.
Pushed myself out and swept the light across our camp.
Nothing was there. I circled our sight flashlight
beam darting across dirt rocks and scrub, then I froze.
There were boot prints fresh and deep circling the tent Panic
clawed at my throat. I swung the light wildly through
the trees searching. Nothing moved.
Emma appeared behind me. Her voice barely above a whisper
Mark. I turned shining the beam
downward trying to keep her calm.
It's nothing. I lied.
Probably just someone passing through.
She looked at the prince eyes, wide, Mark, those aren't ours.
I wanted to reassure her to tell her we were safe, but I couldn't
instead, I guided her back to the tent and sat guard outside
flash. Light pointed toward the dark
trees. Heart hammering, with every
small rustle of leaves at Sunrise, my eyes were heavy with
exhaustion but my adrenaline still hummed As the pale light
grew brighter. I stared across the lake again
and my stomach tightened. The man was still there.
Only now he'd moved closer. He sat less than 100 yards away,
partially hidden by a stand of Slender Aspens.
Same posture. Same silent.
Unmoving stare. Emma saw him too.
Her face went pale and for the first time since we'd arrived,
she reached out and took my hand Mark, she whispered voice,
strained, and frightened, we need to leave.
I stared back at the silent. Figure dread pooling in my
chest. Whatever healing we'd come here
to find had vanished completely replaced only by a dark gnawing
fear. Emma's grip on my hand was
tight, her fingers, trembling against mine.
Neither of us wanted to admit how scared we were.
Without a word. I quickly packed our tent and
gear checking over my shoulder every few seconds.
The man had disappeared from his spot by the Aspen's leaving a
hollow feeling in my stomach. He could be anywhere now.
We headed east along the lake toward where we'd last seen him.
Emma stayed behind at the edge of the clearing watching
nervously as I approached the line of trees.
The sun cut through the branches, creating Jagged
patterns on the forest floor. My heart raced with every step,
but I had to know if there was something or someone waiting
there. About 100 feet into the woods.
I stopped cold. On the ground.
Lay a perfectly arranged Arrow made from thin branches pointing
directly west straight toward our campsite.
My pulse quickened. A faint rustle.
Drew my eyes upward to the trunk of a nearby tree.
Their carved roughly into the bark was another arrow.
Three sharp lines pointing straight down.
A rusted bent Nails. Jutted out of the tree just
above it. Mark, Emma's voice called from
behind me. She sounded distant and
frightened, are you okay? Stay there, I called back
forcing. Calm into my voice, I'll be
right out. I moved fast faster.
Pushing through the thickening brush eyes, scanning wildly,
There was another arrow freshly assembled and deliberate again
pointing toward our camp. A sickening dread filled me.
We weren't being watched casually.
We were being tracked. I rushed back to Emma.
Breathing hard. What did you see?
Her eyes searched. Mine desperate for reassurance.
I hesitated but decided honesty was better.
Someone marked a trail toward us, we need to leave now.
We made our way quickly down the trail to where we left the car.
The forest around us seemed tighter more oppressive.
Every shadow deepening, the fear growing inside me.
About halfway there, Emma stopped abruptly staring down at
the path. Another arrow placed
deliberately on the trail pointed directly at us.
She squeezed my arm Mark. Someone knew we'd come this way.
We ran then boots pounding the packed Earth gear clanking
awkwardly on our backs. Relief flooded through me, when
we finally broke free from the trees, the dirt road in our car
in sight. Emma.
Threw her packed down beside the car painting.
But when I turned the ignition nothing happened, the engine
wouldn't turn over. No, no I'm a muttered eyes wide
and frantic I didn't leave anything on.
I said helplessly trying the ignition again and again It was
completely dead, Emma stared Into the Dark Forest clutching
herself. Tightly what do we do now?
The nearest ranger station was miles away, no cell service
anywhere near us. Staying at the car was too
exposed. Two vulnerable.
After a brief Panic debate, we decided to return to the forest,
choosing an elevated. Rocky clearing, we'd passed
earlier, hoping we'd see anyone approaching before they could
get too close. The thought of another night
outside was unbearable, but we had no choice.
Darkness fell quickly. I tried not to think about the
arrows or the silent figure in the woods, but every noise sent
adrenaline jolting through my veins.
A distant metallic sound like something lightly, tapping
steel, echoed through the trees, Emma's eyes, snapped, open
terrified. I pretended not to hear it.
Hoping she'd believe it was the wind or something harmless.
But I knew better at first light desperate and nearly Sleepless.
We decided to push through the forest, cutting Eastward, in
hopes of intersecting the main road, but in a path we stumbled
onto a narrow twisting game Trail.
It led us deep into unfamiliar territory.
Our progress was slow, anxiety mounting with every step.
Then suddenly hidden among the trees.
We saw it. An old weather beaten hunting
Shack, walls, gray, and splintered barely standing.
A padlock hung uselessly from the broken door.
Clearly forced open. I approached cautiously Emma
close behind. I nudged the door open, heart
hammering. Inside dim sunlight revealed a
cot, a rusted wood stove and a battered plywood table covered
with old, Polaroid photographs edges, yellowed and curling.
My breath caught sharply, I stepped closer and saw faded
images of hikers families. Couples each picture taken at a
distance secretly, Emma's voice shook behind me.
Mark, look She pointed to a single photo pinned carefully to
the wall. It showed our camp clearly taken
from the far side of the lake. Mead bent over the fire Emma,
seeded by the tent. The photo was only two days old
next to the stove. Sat an old coffee, can a dull
white objected at the bottom? I stared numbly dread pooling in
my stomach. It was a human jawbone.
Footprints scuffed. The dusty floorboards, Fresh,
Prince boots. That matched those we'd seen
circling our tent. Whoever had watched us.
Whoever had stalked us through the night had been here very
recently. I turned desperate to get us
both away from this place. But Emma stood Frozen staring at
the photograph of our campsite, her voice was a whisper of fear.
He knew we were coming, we have to go.
I said, urgently pulling Emma from her, Frozen stair, my voice
trembled betraying, the panic. I was trying so hard to hide
right now. Emma didn't argue, she grabbed
her packed tossing in whatever she could.
I took an old hatchet from beside the wood stove, my
Knuckles, white around, its splintered handle.
The shack seemed darker now, like it was slowly absorbing
what little daylight was left. Outside, the wind tore violently
through the trees. Clouds black and heavy raced
overhead erasing, the daylight piece by piece.
We pushed West stumbling through brush scraping against branches
and tripping over uneven ground. Behind us.
Something moved. Steadily through the trees
following our frantic flight. I heard the unmistakable crunch
of booths deliberately slow, but persistent.
Every time I glanced back, I saw nothing but endless trees and
darkness, Emma gripped. My arm tighter Breathing
heavily. He's right behind us.
She whispered voiced tight with fear.
I can feel him. Don't look back.
I urge her. but my own curiosity betrayed me, I glanced quickly
toward the Ridgeline behind us against the fading Sky stood,
the shadow of a figure perfectly still Red Flannel jackets
starkly visible, even in the Gathering Darkness Watching us.
We didn't stop after that. Pushing forward through
thickening Shadows, the flashlight barely pierced, the
dense Nightfall and Rain began to fall in icy sheets, drenching
us both. Every route, every slippery.
Stone threatened to bring us down.
Then abruptly, our feet hits something.
Solid. The old dirt road that led back
toward our car and the trailhead.
Hopes surged through me. Bitter and sharp driving us both
onward. Ahead through blinding rain and
swirling leaves. We spotted the glow of
headlights, a Rangers truck was parked at the trailhead engine
rumbling, softly a park ranger Stood Beside it, checking gear
in the bed. Help.
I shouted, Horsley waving my arms, Emma stumbled forward,
nearly collapsing beside the truck.
The ranger, spun startled. Then rushed to steady her.
What happened? He demanded scanning us.
Both with practice eyes. Someone followed us, my gasped,
forcing out, each word between exhausted breaths.
A shack back there. He was watching us.
The Rangers expression shifted, instantly from Curiosity to
concern. He ushered us quickly into his
truck. Emma huddled beside me,
shivering uncontrollably. The ranger grabbed, his radio
urgently requesting backup, you set a shack.
He turned back to us, Voice Low serious. can you tell me exactly
where I described the trail as best I could stumbling over
details in my panic. The ranger noted grimly radio
crackling. As more voices.
Joined the conversation Within minutes headlights, bounced
toward us from down the road a second Ranger vehicle.
Emma. And I exchanged a glance filled
with relief and exhaustion, For the first time in days, we felt
safe. Three days passed.
Before we heard anything more, a voicemail lit up my phone as we
packed to leave. Mammoth Lakes finally heading
home. The ranger district supervisors
voice was calm, but tense. The Shack burned to the ground.
He explained slowly happened the night you left.
Lightning most likely but no strikes recorded.
We found the job in. You described lab, matched it to
a missing hiker. Cody Allen not far from here, my
blood went cold I met Emma's wide, frightened eyes.
Neither of us, spoke. We never found your guy in the
flannel. The supervisor continued voice
tight. But yesterday, one of my guys,
spotted an old fire pit and an axe stuck in a stump down by
lower Twin Lake, whoever he is, he's gone for now.
The line went quiet, but the unease.
Lingard between Emma and me unspoken but clearly understood.
We left Mammoth Lakes behind without looking back, desperate
to put distance between us and the forest between us and the
silent figure who had turned our attempt at healing into a
nightmare. But even weeks later in the
quiet safety of our apartment, I kept the hatchet close.
Tucked away in the closet as a silent reminder that out there
somewhere in the endless trees. Someone was still watching.
Growing Up near Sheridan Wyoming.
You become familiar with big horn National Forest Dense
Woods, steep Ravines and forgotten fire roads that wander
endlessly into the mountains. It's easy to lose your bearings
out there especially if you stray Far Enough From The Marked
paths. It had been three years since
I'd last seen, Wes. Three years since mom passed
away leaving us without a real reason to reconnect.
Life had pulled us in different directions.
Wes had joined the army and gone off to Iraq returning changed in
ways. I couldn't fully grasp I chose
the quieter path. Becoming a middle school,
history teacher in Casper. Our world's rarely intersected
anymore until I reached out and suggested a camping trip.
I figured nature and isolation might help bridge the gap
between us. West somewhat to my surprise
agreed. We met in Sheridan early on a
Saturday, loaded up supplies and drove West.
Passing through the Sleepy town of Dayton before ascending the
winding switchbacks of Highway, 14 to Burgess Junction, West
seemed quiet distracted. Even though I tried making small
talk, he kept his answers short, glancing, occasionally toward
the dense walls of spruce that line the road.
You good. I finally asked breaking the
silence. Yeah, West replied softly.
Just been a while since I've been out here.
I could hear something underneath his voice, something
cautious and tense. About seven miles past the
junction, West pointed out, a hidden pull-off on the right.
I could barely see it through the brush.
This it, I asked skeptically. Yeah, that's the one Old Logging
Road. They stopped using it back in
the 80s. I eased my truck onto the rough
Narrow Path. Branches scraping loudly against
the doors as we drove deeper into the woods.
After about two miles, the road abruptly ended at a slight
incline. Wes nodded satisfied.
Will hike from here. We shouldered our packs and
started uphill, winding between tall stands of spruce and
Juniper. West took the lead confident,
despite the uneven ground and lack of obvious Trails.
Eventually the land level down opening into a small clearing,
that seems strangely out of place flat symmetrical with an
old rusted truck cab hidden in the weeds near the Treeline.
What is this place? I asked feeling suddenly uneasy
Old Logging Camp. West said, we used to hunt near
here when I was younger. There's a trail over there,
might still be passable. He pointed toward a narrow
opening between the trees. It wasn't marked or well
trotted, but something about it felt deliberate as if it had
been intentionally maintained We followed it.
Cautiously Wes, occasionally stopping to inspect snapped
branches and flattened Moss. As we move deeper into the
woods, a heavy silence descended, it was as if the
forest had been muffled by some unseen hand.
Swallowing even the normal sounds of insects and wind Wes
slowed turning his head slightly.
You notice it. He whispered voice barely
audible. What?
No birds, no insects, it's dead, quiet unnatural.
We walked another half mile, the path.
Growing tighter. The brush thickening around us.
Finally West stopped glancing at the darkening sky.
We should turn back. It'll be dark soon.
We retraced our steps returning to the clearing to set up camp
quickly. Wes started a small fire, the
Flames, pushing back the approaching Darkness, we ate in
near silence, West, still edgy glancing into the trees as
though expecting something to appear.
Later that night, I woke up abruptly at first I wasn't sure
what had stirred me. Maybe a dream, maybe the
lingering anxiety of West's mood, but then I heard it
clearly slow, heavy footsteps, pacing deliberately near our
tent. My pulse quickened, Wes.
I whispered there was no answer my eyes adjusted slowly to the
Moonlight filtering through the fabric of the tent.
Wes was Motionless in his sleeping bag breathing, deep and
slow. My heart raced if Wes was here,
who was outside, I rolled slightly to peer through the
tents mesh window. Just beyond the circle of our
dying firelight standing perfectly.
Still at the edge of the trees was a silhouette.
It was West or someone who looked exactly like him.
His familiar stance, shoulders slightly hunched, forward hands
hanging Loosely at his size, but Wes was beside me sleeping
peacefully. A sickening feeling Twisted
through me. I closed my eyes willing the
figure to vanish convinced. It must be a trick of the dark.
but when I opened them again, the figure remained Still
silent. Still unmoving.
I lay there paralyzed by fear hardly daring to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered the
courage to shake West away. He jolted upright instantly
alert. What he hissed, seeing my face,
someone's out there. I whispered Horsley West reached
for the knife beside him sitting, perfectly still
listening. Minutes dragged by intense
silence. When he finally crawled forward
to peer through the mesh, the figure had disappeared leaving
only an empty patch of moonlit grass.
There is nobody. Wes murmured uncertainty heavy
in his voice. He looked at me, wearily, the
unspoken question hanging between us had.
I imagined it, but I knew what I had seen Wes settled back.
Uneasy will look in the morning. He muttered neither of us slept
again, that night listening, anxiously as the Silent Forest
in around us. Each sound amplifying, our dread
as we waited helplessly for Dawn.
I hadn't slept a second since seeing the figure outside our
tent and when the sky began turning gray, I crawled out
desperate for fresh air. Wes was already awake.
Neiling in front of the tent flap staring at something on the
ground. I moved beside him and froze.
My breath catching sharply deep Footprints.
Bear wide misshapen had sunk into the soft mud just inches
from where our heads had rested. They didn't match either of our
boots or even any human Footprints I'd ever seen.
They slanted inward at strange angles.
Almost pigeon toed. As though, whoever made them,
had bones bent and twisted beneath their skin.
They Circle the tent West murmured, quietly.
Three times. I turned to see him pointing and
sure enough the tracks made careful perfect loops.
I glanced back at my brother, searching his eyes for answers
or reassurance, but his expression was empty distant
like he drifted somewhere far away.
We moved stiffly through our morning routine, packing up our
sleeping gear without much conversation.
West stayed, quiet occasionally glancing toward the tree line
always watching. Every movement felt cautious,
measured. The forest still seemed drained
of its usual. Sounds No Birds no rustling
animals, just oppressive unnatural silence.
I think someone's playing with us West, finally spoke his voice
low and even he sounded calm, almost attacked but I could see
tension straining at the corners of his eyes.
Messing with our heads. Who would do something like
this? I asked.
He didn't answer only shaking his head as he stood.
Let's go check the trail again. I want to know what we're
dealing with. I hesitated a sickening dread
churning in my gut but the idea of being alone here was worse.
I followed him back toward the narrow path we discovered
yesterday. The entrance now appearing.
Even darker more unwelcoming in daylight than it had before.
The trail Twisted, further into the dense Woods brush, snagging
our clothing, branches clawing at Exposed Skin.
After a short distance, I paused turning to whistle softly back
to West. It was a quick signal, we'd
always use as kids two notes to let him know.
I was ahead nothing more but as the whistle died away a reply
echoed from ahead of me. Same notes, same pitch,
perfectly repeated, my blood ran cold.
I spun around immediately, heart hammering to see, West Frozen
several Paces behind me, eyes, wide, did you?
I started but West shook his head.
Slowly, signaling urgently to stay silent.
He moved ahead of me on the path.
Now, his rifle gripped, tightly Each step, he took felt
deliberate and cautious as if he feared something hidden might
burst through the brush at any moment.
My ears strained for any sound besides our own breathing but
the forest remained maddeningly, quiet, empty of life and sound.
We finally emerged back into our campsite and I almost cried out.
A few feet from our tent in A Perfect Circle.
Leia dozen Birds small black winged starlings.
Each placed with unnatural Precision, heads outward, and
wings, folded tight against their sides.
They showed no sign of injury, no blood, no damage.
Just lifeless Birds arranged in deliberate order.
This is intentional Wes said, slowly crouching beside the Grim
arrangement. Whoever's out here wants to
scare us. It's working.
I muttered. My throat dry.
Wes straightened, abruptly, scanning, the trees, check your
pack, see if anything's missing. I moved quickly to our gear
feeling, a surge of anxiety, as I opened my pack clothes, food
gear, all their But then I realized my phone was missing.
We'd powered them off for the trip agreeing to disconnect
entirely but now the empty pocket stared back at me
accusingly. My phone's gone.
I called dread thickening in my voice.
West paced around the site quickly.
Then stopped crouching by a flat moss covered Stone carefully.
He lifted it. Aside revealing my phone nestled
beneath covered neatly with leaves and dirt.
He picked it up examining. It closely it's dead.
He said quietly completely drained.
How was that possible? My voice sounded strange, even
to my ears. He shook his head again, eyes
hardening, whoever took it turned it on, drained the
battery hit it here, this is all a game.
But what do they want fear? He replied simply standing
straight again. Casting another weary.
Look into the trees. They're testing us watching how
we react. We spent the next several hours
reinforcing our camp Wes meticulously set alarms using
twigs and fishing line around the perimeter positioning logs
to form barriers He worked quickly quietly with a sense of
practice urgency. That reminded me how little I
truly understood about his years away.
Night fell swiftly. The Shadows from the tree line
stretching hungrily toward our camp.
We built the fire higher than before its bright Flames
offering little Comfort against the heavy darkness, that pressed
in around us. We sat silently ears tuned for
the smallest sound. Around midnight, West shifted
suddenly staring intently at the wall of the tent behind me.
Followed his gaze, my pulse racing.
Pressed against the tents fabric was the outline of a hand, long
fingers, spread wide, unmoving firm and steady against the
nylon. It held perfectly still not
pressing harder. Not retreating just resting
there like an unmistakable statement.
Wes slowly raised his rifle pointing it carefully at the
shadow. Neither of us, moved neither
dared breathe as seconds crawled into minutes.
After nearly half an hour, the hands slowly pulled away,
Vanishing a silently, as it had appeared, I glanced at West eyes
wide, my voice. Barely a whisper, we have to get
out of here. Wes, noted slowly never
lowering, his wife full eyes locked on the place.
The hand had been first light he murmured quietly, we move at
first light. But Dawn felt impossibly far
away and the forest seemed alive watchful waiting patiently for
its next move. As Dawn broke the forest.
Remained unsettlingly quiet. Neither of us had slept a
second. Since the hand pressed against
our tenth, Wes had a moved, much all night, keeping his rifle,
balanced carefully across his knees.
He stood slowly stretching. Stiff, muscles Ice Still fixed
on the trees. We're leaving.
I said, trying to mask the Tremor in my voice.
Now, Wes didn't answer immediately, he surveyed the
edge of Camp, his gaze intense calculating, We can't leave
blind. He finally muttered.
We need to know what we're up against.
I pleaded quietly exhaustion bleeding into my voice.
We can't handle this. We need to go.
He stared back at me for a long moment.
His face pale and Grimm. Just give me one hour.
I opened my mouth to protest but he moved quickly toward the old
truck cab at the clearing Zedge. He rum it briefly inside,
pulling out, oily rags and some pine needles.
Tossing them at my feet. Start making a line of brush and
pine needles across the edge of Camp.
Something we can burn, will smoke it out.
I hesitated glancing nervously at the dark and tree line then
nodded trusting Wes's instincts. More than my own.
We are arranged to make shift line of debris and kindling
quickly. Forming a shallow, semi-circle,
just beyond our tent. West lit, it carefully and smoke
began Rising into the air drifting, slowly toward the
thicker Woods uphill. We waited tensely standing, just
behind the small barrier. I scanning the drifting smoke
after several minutes, a movement emerged, a shape
stepping out slowly from the trees hunched low at the
shoulders cautious. But strangely, Fearless I
couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Eyes.
Locked on the figure as the smoke parted around it.
A man, stood there, if you could still call him that. he was thin
and wiry shirtless, despite the morning, chill pale scars
Twisted across his chest and stomach His face was a wreck of
jagged tissue. One side of his mouth,
permanently torn upward exposing teeth stained yellow, he tilted
his head. Oddly looking at us as if
curious then I saw the way he stood Twisted slightly at the
waist hips. Angled in opposite direction as
though his spine had broken and healed incorrectly. his bare
feet, slanted inward at unnatural angles, the exact same
Footprints, we'd found circling our tent, West slowly, raise his
rifle, the Man's eyes widened briefly in recognition and he
took a careful, step backward, limping and hobbling body.
Swaying awkwardly, he made, no sound, no threat.
Just watched us eyes. Brightened alert before backing
away into the Smoky Woods. Wes exhaled sharply still aiming
toward where the figure had disappeared pack everything.
Now I threw gear into packs as quickly as I could.
My hands trembling adrenaline making each simple movement.
Feel nearly impossible Wes moved to the far edge of the clearing
setting. Another small fire line to
conceal, our tracks. We're not taking any chances.
He murmured eyes dark, he's not gonna follow us.
We shouldered our gear and moved out.
Keeping silent nerves stretched. Tight West stayed just behind me
glancing frequently over his shoulder, wearing his rifle
always Within Reach. Neither of us.
Spoke the entire hike back every sound causing us to Flinch.
Every shadow, becoming the Twisted silhouette of the man
we'd seen. Finally, reaching my truck felt
surreal like waking from a nightmare.
I threw our packs in the bed hands, shaking uncontrollably,
Wes Paul's before climbing into the passenger seat looking once
more toward the woods. His expression haunted at the
Burgess Junction Ranger Station West recounted, our experience
quietly carefully choosing his words, The ranger listened
intently skeptical, at first until West mentioned.
The figures Twisted posture and scars something in the Rangers
eyes. Flickered with recognition,
though, he didn't elaborate a week later, we got a call.
The Ranger and his team had scoured, the area thoroughly.
Deep in the forest, they discovered a hidden campsite a
crumbling lean-to camouflaged with Fallen branches nearby
beneath layers of moss and debris.
They uncovered a shack, half buried and rotting from Decades
of neglect. Inside were piles of Vietnam
era, gear Old Pax, rusted, canteens and cracked helmets.
Most disturbing were the notebooks.
Pages, upon pages of neat, handwriting, chronicled years of
observations about campers, who ventured into the forest names?
Dates habits, carefully documented meticulously,
catalogued The ranger hesitated. Briefly before continuing his
voice cautious, the entry started in 1983.
Most were just brief notes about hikers and Hunters.
But the latest He paused again, letting the silence linger
painfully. They were about you too, Wes's
jaw, tightened, a deep Shadow. Passing over his face.
We thank the Ranger and ended the call quickly eager to
forget, but knowing we never, truly would 3 Days Later.
West stopped by my apartment without a word.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and
metallic dropping it, gently onto my table.
It cladded, softly spinning slowly to rest in the fading
afternoon. Light.
It was one of Wes's dog tags from his first deployment
battered, dented and rusted with his name still readable despite
years of weather and where Wes's voice came softly tight with
barely restrained, anger and confusion.
They found it nailed to the inside wall of that Shack.
Neither of us spoke again that night, but we both knew whatever
had found us on that Old Logging Road, whatever had been watching
and waiting had known exactly who we were.
And that fact terrified me, most of all I had been hiking
Angeles, National Forest for years.
So when my friends suggested spending two nights above bare
flat, I didn't think twice. Sure, the summer heat can get
brutal and Fire season. Warnings posted at the
trailhead, made the stakes. Clear But we weren't novices.
At least, that's what I told myself.
My name's Chris and with me were Marissa Jordan and Lex.
All seasoned hikers or so we believed We plan to head off
Trail bypassing crowded campsites for a quieter spot.
We wanted isolation, we found something else.
Entirely we set off just after Sunrise, aiming to beat the
worst of the midday Heat. By the time we reach the
junction where most hikers turned back, sweat was already
soaking through my shirt and Lex was breathing hard.
I ignored the discomfort, the higher, we climbed the thinner,
the crowds, By late afternoon, the trail, we chose in vanished
into a maze of scrub and Rocky outcroppings, Jordan glanced at
me. Skeptically clearly questioning
my navigation skills. But I insisted, I knew exactly
where we were going. That's when we spotted the old
shelter. It was wedged tightly into the
rock face, a makeshift cabin built long ago from rough cut,
logs stone slabs and corrugated tin it looks dirty enough at
least for a night or two Jordan kicked open the half rusted door
and we stepped inside dust swirling around our ankles, a
pungent mix of mildew and something metallic hit us
immediately. Marissa scrunched her nose.
Clearly discussed. Lex coughed home.
Sweet home. Jordan said attempting a joke.
We dropped our packs and claimed corners of the shelter.
I found a faded carving on the wall.
A date 1989. The shelter was old but not
ancient. It had probably seen plenty of
traffic in the decades since though, by the thick layer of
grime. Covering every surface not
recently. After a quick meal, the
exhaustion set in and we decided to settle down for the night.
As Darkness swallowed, the valley.
Lex lit our small camp stove. A single tiny flame, casting
long, Jagged Shadows along the walls.
We sat quietly exhaustion overcoming any desire for small
talk. Lex spoke first breaking, the
silence. Hey, did you guys see that?
We all turned toward the open door.
Far away a top another Ridgeline.
An orange glow had. Ignited flickering like someone
starting a campfire. We watched it for maybe two
seconds before it abruptly vanished.
As if snuffed by an unseen hand, what the hell Jordan muttered
that was weird. Probably.
Another group out here. I offered though my own
confidence wavered. Something fell off.
Marissa stared on easily into the Blackness outside.
There's nobody else out here that Ridge is Miles From Any
Trail. Nobody responded.
There was no explanation that made sense.
We crawled into our sleeping bags soon.
After unease, settling into my chest, like a heavy Stone.
Sleep eluded me for a long time, but eventually exhaustion won.
It couldn't have been long. I felt like I'd barely shut my
eyes. When Marissa shook me awake.
Her eyes were wide and scared in the thin.
Moonlight filtering through gaps in the shelter walls.
What is it? I whispered already, tense.
I heard someone, she hissed calling my name from Up the
Hill. Lex, sat upright, suddenly alert
me too. She whispered I heard mine clear
as day. Jordan rolled over in his sleep
oblivious. I strained my ears holding my
breath. Nothing but silence filled the
shelter. Still the fear and Marissa's
voice was impossible to dismiss. She was not the type to
overreact. Should we check Lex whispered
voice trembling slightly. No, I said firmly.
It's probably the wind or something.
Even as I said it, I felt foolish.
There wasn't any wind at all, Lex settled back down
reluctantly Marissa pulled her sleeping bag, tighter eyes wide,
open in the dark. Eventually I closed my eyes
listening until fatigue reclaimed me in the morning.
I awoke stiff sunlight, slicing harshly through gaps in the
crude shelter walls. I felt sick dehydrated already
and deeply unsettled by last. Night's events beside me.
Marissa was sitting up pale and staring at her sleeping bag.
sweat she said quietly Touching The Damp fabric her hand
trembling On the inside. Nobody had answers.
I looked out the door at the sun, already burning above the
Ridge, and felt a cold dread settled deep within me.
Something was very wrong on this mountain and suddenly isolation
didn't feel quite as appealing as it had yesterday, it was
barely mid-morning. But the heat had already become
relentless. The sun glared down from a harsh
cloudless Sky baking, every inch of exposed ground.
We Gather our things quickly eager to abandon the shelter and
the unsettling memories of the night before.
Marissa was quiet clearly disturbed by the dampness she'd
found inside her sleeping bag. Lex stuck, close to her
murmuring, reassurances, that neither of them seemed to
believe. I moved around the shelter,
Gathering our water Stash from the Shaded Nook, where I had
carefully placed at the night before.
As I bent down, I froze. Staring at the emptiness, where
four bottles of water should have been instead.
There was just an empty gallon jug tip onto its side.
Who took the water? I demanded sharply Jordan.
And Lex exchanged puzzled looks and Marissa shook her head
nervously. None of us touched it.
Chris I felt a surge of irritation mixed with unease.
without water, we wouldn't last long in this heat Lex suggested
an animal had dragged them away, but there were not any animal
tracks visible near the shelter. I knew what raccoon or bear
prints look like and there was nothing but dust and gravel
nothing except my stomach tightened in the loose dirt,
just behind the shelter. I saw a single set of
footprints. They were unmistakably human
Barefoot and large, much bigger than any of ours.
I crouched down running a finger along the distinct outline of
the toes. Chris, Marissa's voice, broke my
focus. What is it?
Footprints. I said quietly.
My voice barely carrying to the others.
Someone else was here last night.
Jordan came over crouching beside me, Barefoot out here.
He looked around warily. Where miles from anywhere?
I didn't respond standing up slowly and dusting off my hands.
The sooner, we were off this mountain, the better.
Inside the shelter. Marissa was nervously, picking
at something on the wall. I stepped closer and noticed a
dark reddish brown stain. Just beneath the scorched area
of wood. It was dry and flaking as
Marissa scraped at it, with her fingernail.
That's blood, she whispered pulling her hand back sharply.
Someone tried to scrub It Off. Jordan laughed on easily though,
his face had lost all its color probably an animal.
Maybe someone cleaned their kill in here once.
Know Marissa said firmly. This is too high up the wall.
A thick silence settled over us. Nobody wanted to consider the
implications of her words, Lex back toward the shelters,
entrance eyes darting nervously. Let's just get out of here.
I finally said breaking the tension. we started downhill
along the Route, we'd marked on our way up moving slowly at
first but soon, quickening, our Pace as the heat intensified My
throat was already parched and without the water stash, each
step felt harder than the last less than an hour into our
descent things started unraveling rapidly.
I stopped abruptly staring in disbelief at the spot where I
built a small cairn, A stack of carefully, placed rocks, marking
our return route, it was gone completely dismantled with the
stone scattered randomly in all directions.
Who the hell did this? Jordan's voice cracked as he
stared down at the Rocks? I said nothing a knot tightening
painful in my chest. We can continue carefully
forward searching desperately for the blazes we'd marked on
trees, but each one had been scraped away leaving behind only
rough gouges in the bark. It's like someone's trying to
trap us here. Lex said quietly, voicing what
we all feared but didn't want to admit.
Sweat dripped steadily down my face.
Stinging, my eyes. My sense of direction felt
scrambled and the terrain seemed unfamiliar everything was
distorted by heatwaves shimmering above the ground,
turning even solid landmarks in to wavering mirage's.
Hours later, exhausted, and dehydrated, we finally stopped
beneath a cluster of Twisted. Scrub Oaks their leaves offering
precious little shade. The sun hovered mercilessly
overhead forcing us to wait until temperatures dropped
enough to move again. We didn't speak much each Lost
in Silent dread, rationing what little water remained in our
packs. Jordan leaned heavily against
the trunk of a tree staring blankly at the ground.
That night, we camped again, our heads, pounding and throats, dry
and raw. None of us, risked making a fire
to afraid to attract attention. The darkness wrapped around us
heavily. Every sound seemed Amplified in
the Stillness. Then I heard it.
Slow. Deliberate, crunches, like
footsteps coming from uphill behind our makeshift, campsite
My heart lurched painfully. I sat upright gripping the small
hatchet from my pack. Every muscle in my body, tents
Marissa, grabbed his arm, tightly eyes wide with Terror We
didn't dare speak or move, barely breathing.
As we listened. The footsteps stopped just
beyond our line of sight. The silence stretched
unbearably, but I knew instinctively, we weren't alone.
It was a long night and sleep, never came.
I kept my eyes locked on the darkness around us.
My grip never loosening from the hatchet.
The first gray hint of dawn brought no relief.
Only more questions. When we stood to pack, I looked
down and my breath caught sharply fresh Footprints
circled, our camp completely Barefoot and wide.
Whoever had been watching us was close enough to touch Marissa's
voice trembled. As she finally broke the
silence, Chris, we need to get out of here.
Now, she was right but I had no idea if we'd even make it by
Sunrise, the dehydration had begun taking a severe toll on
all of us. My tongue felt swollen scraping
like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth?
Marissa's lips had cracked bleeding slightly at the
corners, her eyes sunken and distant.
Jordan stumbled as we packed our things muttering incoherent
words under his breath. Lex hovered close to him her
eyes shadowed by exhaustion and fear.
We resumed, walking desperation driving each step.
I struggled to keep my bearings as the rocky slopes blurred
together. Each Ridgeline looking
identical. A familiar path appeared to my
right and relief surged briefly through me.
This is the way I rasped pointing upward.
I'm sure. Jordan shot me a doubtful glance
shaking. His head slowly but said
nothing. We climbed anyway, our movements
painfully slow, muscles cramping, from lack of water.
After an hour of agonizing Ascent, the path abruptly ended
at the edge of a dry wash filled with bones animal bones, deer
coyotes, rabbits littered the dusty Basin, some looked weather
and brittle. Others disturbingly fresh.
Lex stared in horror at a leather strap dangling from a
low shrub. It was unmistakably from
Jordan's pack riped in torn though.
He'd never been this way before. Jordan backed away confused his
breathing ragged how he muttered weakly eyes Wilde.
We've never been here. A sickening realization washed
over me. We were walking in circles being
hurted deeper into unfamiliar terrain.
We stumbled downhill again desperation and panic
overtaking. Rational thought The sun was
relentless bearing down heavily and I began seeing flashes of
dark shapes, starting at the edge of my vision.
I blinked hard trying to force Clarity but they wouldn't fade
by dusk. We were barely moving forward.
Stumbling on numb legs. Marissa had fallen silent
entirely staring, blankly ahead, lost and exhaustion, and
despair. Jordan had grown pale.
Trembling with each step, we finally collapsed beneath a
stand of Twisted, scrub Oak to exhausted even to speak.
Darkness fell heavily once more. None of us dared sleep.
I sat gripping. The hatchet, my heart thudding
painfully against my ribs. My eyes straining into the
endless, Blackness around us. Then I heard the sound.
Slow rhythmic crunching of dry leaves and twigs.
Steadily approaching from the ridge line of I held my breath
Knuckles white as my fingers tightened around the hatchet
handle, Lex whimpered. Softly beside me her hand
clutching Marissa's sleeve. the footsteps circled, our makeshift
campsite slow methodical never stopping, but never coming into
view, each step echoed louder in my ears, until my heart pounded
painfully in time with them, Then suddenly silenced, I waited
my body, trembling with tension until finally, the first pale
glow of mourning, illuminated our surroundings.
I stood on shaking legs, looking down to see fresh Footprints and
circling our small clearing bare human impossibly, large Lexus,
voice, broke, raw, and ragged Chris.
We have to get out of here, please.
We moved as fast as we could manage, stumbling through brush
and Rocky outcroppings blind with fatigue.
My vision blurred Darkness creeping around the edges, but I
pushed forward driven by sheer desperation late in the
afternoon. I spotted something that brought
a hoarse cry to my lips a narrow Fire Road sneaking along the
distant Hillside below. I waved frantically hopes
surging painfully in my chest. Behind me, Marissa fell to her
knees, weeping and relief. A white forestry truck rolled
slowly into view the ranger inside leaning forward surprise.
We stumbled down the hillside shouting Horsley waving arms in
Wild. Desperation.
He stopped the vehicle stepping quickly toward username etched
clearly across his face. Minutes later as I gulped down
water from his spare, jug relief, threatened to overwhelm
me but something dark linger. Deep inside a dread.
I couldn't shake days later when we were strong enough Rangers
brought us back up to the shelter.
It was exactly where we'd left it yet.
Something felt profoundly wrong. The logs looked older decayed as
if abandoned decades earlier rather than mere days Around the
shelter Rangers found signs of illegal camping.
Ashes from old fires discarded clothing, nearby deep, drag
marks etched a grim Trail toward the ridge line above the lead
Rangers shook his head slowly as he studied the area, Barefoot.
He muttered glancing down at Fresh Tracks pressed deeply into
the Earth. We've seen these before.
I stared at him. My throat tight.
What do you mean? He hesitated then met my eyes
directly. A group went missing out here in
the 90s experienced hikers. We found gear a campsite but
never any bodies. The words hung in the air heavy
with implication. I turned away chills Rippling
down my spine despite the Heat None of us ever set foot near
Bear flat again. Buckskin.
Gulch is a deep winding gash carved into the desert.
Rock along the border of Utah and Arizona.
A Slot Canyon famous for tight passageways and unpredictable
flash floods. As a search and rescue Ranger
working. These Canyons for the last
decade, I've learned to respect its brutal Simplicity, get in,
get people out and get back safely.
Nothing Else Matters until today that formula had always worked.
It was October 2023, clear skies, cool temperatures ideal
conditions, for hikers, a group of four experienced, Backpackers
from Flagstaff, went missing on a plan, two-day Trek Through The
Gulch I'd read the report twice, their emergency Beacon
activated, briefly sending a distress signal that lasted just
13 seconds. Then nothing, No, indication of
flash flooding, no unusual weather just silence.
Protocol dictated a solo drop in for a visual assessment before
committing a larger team. I volunteered confident in my
knowledge of the terrain by the pre-dawn darkness.
I rappelled alone down wire pass the narrow Chute of sandstone,
barely wide enough for my shoulders.
Cold are pooled at the bottom. Oddly stale and heavy when my
boots touched ground, The Silence of the canyon pressed
into my ears like cotton. My flashlight beam sliced across
the Sandstone walls as I moved forward scanning for any sign of
the missing hikers at first. Everything seemed routine after
nearly an hour. I spotted a jagged piece of
nylon wedged into a narrow crack.
The torn edge of a tent pole nearby.
Equipment damage wasn't unusual in tight Canyon's but my gut
Twisted slightly. This gear had been violently
shredded, as though pulled apart, rather than snagged.
I can continue deeper reaching a section of the canyon where the
walls squeezed inward creating a claustrophobic Passage As I
pressed through my flash, light caught in a regular stains
smeared across the Sandstone floor.
Dark Crimson streaks Trail deeper into the canyon
unmistakably fresh blood. The coppery sent lingered in the
air, sour and unmistakable instinctively.
I reached for my radio and thumbed the button.
Face. This is Ranger Holt.
I've got blood evidence roughly one mile in no visual on missing
party. Yet will proceed cautiously
please acknowledge static buzzed quietly back at me no response.
Typical signals rarely penetrated.
This deep alone was exactly what I was.
Now I Advance slowly census alert, heart quickening.
Ahead, the blood trail became clearer dragonmarks Broad and
deliberate as those someone had been pulled bodily across the
rocky floor. The narrow passageway Twisted
sharply ahead creating blind Corners I stopped forcing slow.
Measured breaths, listening carefully.
That's when I heard it a faint, but distinct, thudding from
deeper in the canyon. Not rockfall not distant
Thunder, to rhythmic two steady footfalls heavy and purposeful
like bare feet. Slapping against sandstone,
Every step echoed softly reverberating gently off the
canyon walls. They stopped abruptly whenever I
halted then resumed as soon as I moved.
Again, always ahead. Always just be on site.
My hand instinctively moved toward the grip of my sidearm
fingers curling tightly around its handle.
Something was down here with me in this Twisted Maze of rock and
Shadow. My rational mind scrambled for
answers a lost, hiker delirious and stumbling, and injured
animal disoriented. But the cold primitive fear
Rising inside me said, otherwise, Something was deeply
wrong about those footsteps. I pressed forward deeper into
the narrowing, passage following the blood trail and the steady
rhythm of feet. I could never quite see, every
nerve screamed at me to turn back to retreat to Daylight and
fresh air, but I couldn't not yet.
Lives depended on me finding answers.
Ahead, the canyon tighten. Again, forcing me to angle my
shoulders sideways and squeeze painfully between Sandstone
walls. My flash, light flickered
briefly then, steady Illuminating.
Another piece of torn gear, a shredded backpack emptied of its
contents, cast aside like refuse.
I paused staring at the torn fabric, heart hammering, whoever
or whatever had done. This was strong powerful enough
to tear through nylon and plastic like tissue paper.
I glanced again at the blood trail.
Smears darkening into near Blackness as The Gulch grew
dimmer around me. With Dread crawling up my spine.
I took another step forward feeling the canyon walls close
around me like a tomb, the deeper I pushed into The Gulch
the tighter. It squeezed around me what
little sunlight had made its way into this twisting Slot.
Canyon now faded entirely My flashlight became a Lifeline
slicing through the thickening Darkness, but even its powerful
beam couldn't reach far enough to offer Comfort.
I'd stopped hearing the footsteps, but that brought no
relief. The silence felt worse.
I strained to listen for any movement, any sign that might
help me make sense of the growing dread.
My heart was pounding, adrenaline.
Keeping my senses, sharp hyper aware of every scrape and
scuffle of my boots against the canyon floor.
Then in the dim edge of my flashlights, reach, I saw
something wedged against the Sandstone wall.
Moving closer, my breath caught as I recognized the remains of a
sleeping bag, torn apart with unsettling Force.
Its synthetic fibers were shredded and clumped together.
Stained dark, red. Where something or someone had
rested? No Footprints, no sign of
struggle. Just more of those Eerie drag
marks that continue further into the Canyons twisting Shadows.
My mind, raced through possible explanations, but none fit,
neatly into reality. Animals didn't drag people
cleanly away without leaving claw marks.
Flash floods left debris and mud.
They didn't carefully scatter belongings like a morbid
scavenger hunt. Every rational thought I had
crumbled against the site in front of me, I turned around
abruptly, deciding I'd seen enough, I would call him back
up, let a full team handle, whatever was happening here.
But as I backtracked through the narrow passage, I immediately
felt disoriented Junctions. I'd never seen appeared around
every turn splits in the canyon walls that hadn't existed
before. My sense of direction started.
Unraveling rapidly Panic clawing at the edges of my thoughts.
This was impossible. I'd trained extensively in these
Canyons. My instincts for navigation were
solid. And yet every turn I took seemed
to shift and warp, funneling me deeper into unfamiliar
territory. Each step felt heavier, each
twist more alien than the last. My flash light flickered,
suddenly and died, plunging me into absolute blackness.
I fumbled quickly with Trembling Hands pulling spare batteries,
from my vest pocket. After struggling, in the dark
fingers, trembling with urgency, I managed to snap them into
place and switch the flashlight, back on the beam returned.
But dimmer fogged by something smeared across the lens, sticky
and oily. It blurred the light into a
hazy. Sickly Halo gritting my teeth.
I continued forward. Ahead, scattered clothing,
appeared shirts, pants jackets, all turned completely inside out
and neatly placed in piles along the canyon floor.
Boots that lined up beside them, perfectly paired, empty and
undamaged. It felt staged purposeful more
chilling than if they'd been violently shredded the scene
made. No sense.
Defied logic entirely and deep in the sense of dread.
Now coiled tightly around my chest.
Then further on my light caught us smear on the Sandstone wall
at shoulder height. I stepped closer shining the
hazy beamed directly onto the surface.
It was a hand print impossibly elongated, and wide each finger,
trailing downward. As if whoever left it had slid
slowly along the wall, it was deep red.
Fresh enough to glisten wetly in my weakened, flash light.
I backed away quickly heart racing wildly.
My rational mind collapsed beneath the weight of fear
replaced by a primal Need to Escape.
Panic surged as I desperately searched for a way out.
A short distance ahead, the passage narrowed dramatically
into a steep chimney Chute. My only possible route upward,
without hesitation I began to climb fingers gripping,
Sandstone, edges muscles, straining to haul myself upward
driven purely by survival Instinct, Halfway up the
chimney, a sound, broke the silence below a deep rasping
intake of breath, long, and ragged unmistakably human.
But distorted somehow. It echoed upward, reverberating
along the stone walls. Freezing me in place, cold
sweat, dripped down my spine, every muscle locked then came
sudden searing pain, my shoulder wrenched violently as I
overextended a sickening pop radiating through my bones.
I bet down hard on my tongue to stifle a scream.
My shoulder was dislocated, useless at my side gasping, I
wedged myself, awkwardly against the Sandstone wall, and bracing
for Agony slammed my shoulder into the Rock.
The pain exploded through me Vision momentarily.
Whiting out, but the joint slid mercifully back into place.
Breathing, shallow Vision swimming.
I forced myself upward again below me.
The breathing continued patient and waiting with every ounce of
remaining strength. I pulled myself higher desperate
for open air and escape from whatever nightmare lurked
beneath I dragged myself out of the chimney Chute collapsing
onto the rocky ledge above My injured shoulder burned with a
deep throbbing, ache every movement.
Sending sharp jolts of pain through my entire body.
Sweat dripped down my forehead mingling with grit and blood.
Stinging my eyes. As I struggled to steady my
breathing The Twilight Sky overhead was fading quickly into
Nightfall painting The Horizon and shades of deep violent and
crimson. Despite the exhaustion that
threatened to pin me down, I knew staying here meant death.
Whatever was in that Canyon could easily follow.
It was only a matter of time before it caught up.
Using my good arm. I crawled forward moving inch by
painful inch until I reached and exposed shelf of rock that
overlooked wire pass. My hands shook as I pulled the
emergency Flare from my pack fumbling to activate it. with
trembling fingers, I pointed the flare Skyward and ignited, it
sending a fiery red streak High into the darkening sky, The
flare illuminated, the canyon walls briefly, casting sharp
Shadows before fading away, leaving me alone again.
In the encroaching Darkness. Time stretched painfully each
second passing, like an eternity until finally I heard voices
echoing from above. My teammates had seen the flare
shouts, grew clearer as flash lights appeared along the Canyon
Rim beams. Slicing through the darkness
toward me. Relief flooded through my veins,
breaking the tension that had gripped.
My body Travis someone yelled hold tight were coming within
moments. They reached me faces, pale eyes
wide with shock at my battered State.
Question. Spilled rapidly from their
mouths but I silence them quickly with a raise hand, Don't
go down there tonight. I warned my voice, raw, and
trembling. You need to wait for daylight
full teams only. As they strapped me onto the
litter and began carrying me up the rocky incline toward safety,
I felt my heart rate. Finally start to ease.
Still my mind couldn't shake the images burned into memory, the
Crimson stains, the Twisted gear, that impossible handprint.
Something unknown and malevolent weighted down there, Deep In The
Gulch and I feared it would always remain unexplained.
Back at Basecamp under bright fluorescent lights, they
carefully examined my injuries. The medic cleaned and bandaged
my wounds tending to my shoulder and administering painkillers
that dulled the throbbing ache to a muted pulse despite
protests. I refused to sedation until I
could show them the footage from my body camera.
I needed them to see to believe so they wouldn't dismiss my
story as delirium or panic. We gather around the small
screen, intense silence the footage playing clearly, at
first, my descent the shredded equipment, the blood Trails,
even faint glimpses of movement just beyond the edge of my
flashlight. My stomach clenched when the
recording reached the final minute.
Static erupted. Blotting out the picture for a
brief moment. and when Clarity returned, the canyon was silent
and still Then abruptly a scream tour from the audio desperate
human filled with raw Terror. The recording cutoff sharply,
plunging us, all into stunned silence.
That scream wasn't mine at Sunrise.
The next morning drones buzzed over Buckskin.
Gulch camera scanning, every shadowy crevice and dark Alcove
The search teams found, no bodies.
No survivors. Only the shredded gear and
Crimson stains. I'd seen with my own eyes.
The drag marks ended inexplicably against smooth rock
walls offering no answers. Only deepening the mystery Days
turned into weeks without resolution official reports
marked the hikers as missing presumed Dead with no
explanation offered. When I finally submitted my
resignation six weeks. Later sighting lingering,
trauma. No one questioned it.
My fellow Rangers had watched that footage with me.
Seen The Unexplained horror first hand, they knew why I
couldn't return I left Buckskin Gulch behind but I knew the
truth would stay with me forever etched into my mind, like the
scars on my shoulder. Whatever had taken.
Those hikers was still down there, hidden within the
twisting Shadows quietly waiting for the next group to descend
into its grass. I've worked the back country of
Bridger. Teton National Forest for nearly
12 years and thought I'd seen just about everything the
Wyoming Wilderness had to offer Bear maulings Lost hikers, flash
floods, I'd been there dealt with it and moved on.
So when I got the call about the elk carcasses up in the Grove
Entre range, I expected wolves maybe even poachers What?
I didn't expect was something I couldn't easily explained.
It was late October cold already settling into the valleys.
And I was helicoptered in to investigate reports that had
shaken up, even the most seasoned Hunters.
Elk had been found dead, not just killed but arranged in
patterns deliberately posed. It wasn't predation, it wasn't
human, at least not normal human activity.
It was something else entirely. The chopper set me down near a
high altitude, Meadow around, mid-morning, the are brittle
enough to catch in my throat. Snow dusted, the ground melting
in thin patches beneath, the sun's pale rays.
I watched the helicopter shrink against the sky, the rhythmic
beat of its rotors. Fading leaving me alone in a
vast stretch of rugged terrain. My gear was simple.
A week's worth of supplies my rifle and enough determination
to figure out exactly what had Hunters.
Spooked enough to call off their trips mid-season.
I moved cautiously through the Timberline I scanning for signs
of wildlife or disturbance. After hours of Silent hiking, I
reached the first reported location the site stopped me
cold. It wasn't the smell of death.
I had gotten used to that years ago.
It was the arrangement itself. Five adult elk placed in a near
Perfect Circle legs extended outward, heads twisted around so
that their antlers formed. A crude interlocking pattern,
their chests were neatly split ribs Pride, open Even more
unnerving, where the entrails which had been removed and
placed neatly around the circle in concentric ring.
Rings forming a grotesque Halo this wasn't random.
It was precise intentional and deeply unsettling.
I stepped closer trying to make sense of it.
Wolf kills were messy chaotic Bears didn't bother organizing
their prey human poachers. Took antlers or meat in left the
rest scattered. But this this was methodical and
left no tracks, no Footprints, no drag marks.
Nothing to show how these massive animals had been moved
or manipulated. I documented the site carefully
photographing and taking notes for my report.
Something Primal tightened in my chest and I knew instinctively
that whatever had done. This was still closed.
The forest Around, Me grew, oppressive each rustle of leaves
sending adrenaline coursing. Through my veins.
I glanced at the map confirming that my next destination was the
ravine. Locals called it, Deadman's
Notch, a name, whispered, rather than spoken, and usually
avoided. Old-Timers had stories, vague
warning about something that lived deep inside it.
But I didn't have the luxury of superstition.
My job was evidence and explanation, not stories.
As I climbed higher toward the Ravine, daylight thin, Shadows,
deepening around me. A strange noise.
Broke the Stillness echoing from the distance a scream but
distorted unnatural it was animalistic yet disturbingly
close to humans. It rang out twice.
Identically each time like a perfect, mimicry, I paused rifle
instinctively at the ready my breathing shallow.
Silence returned heavy and absolute.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss the chill that ran down,
my spine, rational, explanations fought for dominance mountain
lion injured, elk trick of the Wind Through The Gorge, but my
gut told me otherwise, by the time I set up camp near the edge
of Deadman's Notch, Darkness had settled thickly around me.
I made a quick meal, careful not to leave scraps to attract
wildlife and climbed into my tent.
Despite exhaustion from the hike sleep.
Wouldn't come every subtle noise from outside became louder
magnified. I lay awake.
Ears strained, pulse quickening at the smallest.
Sounds hours dragged by before. Exhaustion.
Finally took hold. but just as I drifted off, something brushed
across the top of my tent, heavy enough to Sag the fabric, My
heart slammed against my ribs. I grabbed my rifle and threw
myself. Outside flash light piercing,
the darkness, nothing no movement, no tracks.
Only my own shallow breathing Disturbed, the are my gaze
traveled slowly around the perimeter of Camp.
Something was off. My boots were missing from
beside the tent. I spent several frantic minutes
searching Panic Rising before, spotting them, nearly 40 yards
away, tucked into the fork of a tree.
When I reached them my stomach Twisted, each boot was filled to
the brim with cold dense mud packed firmly, as if by strong
meticulous hands, I stood there, Frozen a wave of realization
washing over me. I wasn't alone out here and
whatever was out there. Had made it clear it.
New exactly where I was an exactly how vulnerable I had
become. I spent the next hour sitting by
the dying fire, my mind racing I couldn't find an explanation
that made sense an animal. Wouldn't move my boots.
Let alone fill them with mud, and place them neatly in a tree
and a human. I didn't even want to consider
that possibility, but who else was there?
Sleep was impossible. Now the tension coiled too
tightly Within Me. I decided to use the remainder
of the night, productively checking gear repacking supplies
and trying to stay focused. As Dawn broke cold gray light,
filtered through the trees. I quickly dismantled Camp eager
to move and regain some feeling of control.
By mid-morning, I descended carefully into Dead Man's notch.
The Ravine was deeper than I had anticipated.
Jagged Cliffs, Rising steeply on either side, funneling Shadows,
along the narrow floor. Moss covered rocks, slick with
frost made footing dangerous and every step echoed with
unsettling clarity. Halfway down, something caught,
my eye on a shelf of rock. Partially hidden beneath an
overhang my breath stalled in my chest. there tucked beneath a
canopy of branches and elides stretched tight across a crude
framework of saplings, stood, a rough shelter, It Blended eerily
with its surroundings camouflaged by weather and
Shadow. I approached cautiously rifle
held tightly in one hand. As I drew nearer the details,
sharpened into Grim reality bones.
Littered the area stacked Loosely in piles.
Each one was cracked open emptied of marrow, some, with
flesh still clinging to the joints.
The scent of Decay hung thick in the chilled are sharp enough to
sting my nose. I knelt studying the bones.
They were not cut with knives or saws.
They had been broken by blunt force methodically and with
precision, My heart. Thumped painfully.
As I noticed, several strips of tattered fabric mixed in to the
bedding inside the shelter. The torn edges, suggested
outdoor gear faded camouflage cloth from jackets fragments of
wool and nylon. A shiver crawled up my spine.
As I realized these could be remnants of hunters, clothing
gear belonging to people who had disappeared or fled leaving
behind only fragments to indicate they'd ever been there.
Panic, prepped, closer twisting coldly within me.
I Rose quickly backing away. Eyes darting around the Ravine
walls. That's when I saw it, a sudden
flicker of movement at the corner of my vision, high above
on the opposite, side of the Gorge.
I spun around raising my rifle instinctively.
Nothing there. Just trees.
Rocks. Shadows.
My pulse drummed hard and my temples each heartbeat echoing
inside my head. The silence was oppressive
closing around me like an unseen hand pressing down until
breathing felt difficult. I forced myself to move again,
desperate to get away from that, awful shelter and whatever had
built it. My sense of direction.
Blurred anxiety nod at the Edge of Reason yet.
I knew I couldn't Panic now. The climb out was steep
dangerous. Even without my nerves praying.
As daylight faded rapidly, my campsite from the night, before
felt impossibly distant. The sky darkened to a dull
bruised purple Shadows stretching deep and long between
the trees. Each crackling twig.
Each rustling Branch became magnified sharpening my
paranoia. But there was nothing visible.
Just an endless void of quiet Menace.
I finally reached my Camp as Darkness fully took hold.
I rebuilt the fire quickly Gathering wood and stoking
Flames high enough to push back. The suffocating blackness My
eyes searched the tree line obsessively, hyper aware of
every shifting shadow. Late into the night as
exhaustion battled anxiety, I drifted in and out of uneasy
sleep. Around midnight, something
stirred, me away, a faint sound, that broke the monotonous
crackling of the fire. My body went rigid as I listened
slowly painfully slowly, the sound clarified into something
distinct, slow rhythmic breathing, not my own.
It seemed to come from just outside the glow of the
firelight hands. Trembling I reached silently
from my rifle. Sweat beaded on my forehead,
despite the biting cold. I stared into the darkness eyes
wide straining for a glimpse of movement.
But nothing revealed itself. Minutes stretched endlessly.
My breathing, shallow every nerve ending on fire.
Then without warning, the breathing stopped abruptly.
silence returned heavier, than before, Somehow that was worse.
I waited until dawn broke, again, eyes gritty and burning
from lack of rest. As pale sunlight finally washed
across the trees, my gaze fixed numbly on the ground, just
outside my tent flap. Two Barefoot prints marked, the
frost-covered soil, clear and human-like, but something about
their shape felt subtly wrong. Elongated distorted as if made
by something only pretending to be human.
The realization sank, deep into my bones settling cold, and
unshakable. Whatever was stalking me through
Deadman's Notch, it wasn't merely hunting.
It was studying Me by morning, I was barely holding it together.
My body warned thin from sleeplessness fear and
exhaustion. Every rational explanation I had
clung to had slowly unraveled over the past two nights leaving
behind only dread. Whatever was out here with me
had no fear of being discovered It was stalking me mimicking, my
movements learning my habits and worst of all letting me know.
It could reach me whenever it shows.
I knew I had to get out returning to my original drop
off. Point would take most of the
day, but remaining in this place was no longer an option.
I quickly packed what Essentials.
I still have abandoning everything nonessential to
lighten my load. As I walked, my eyes darted
across the landscape pulse quickening with every shifting
shadow. I'd hiked for hours when I
finally reached a rocky Overlook above the gorge pausing, briefly
to orient myself. My nerves buzzed with an uneasy
awareness, as if being watched by something I couldn't yet.
See? I glanced up from my map and
froze across the Ravine about 300 yards away.
A figure crouched on a rocky ledge staring directly at me.
Through my binoculars, the breath caught painfully in my
throat. It warmed.
My ranger jacket, identical, in Colour and style complete with
the familiar patches on its sleeves.
The same boots Stan's and even the same posture mirrored my
own. My hands shook as I raise the
binoculars higher desperate to identify who or what was
watching me. My stomach turned, as I brought
the figures face into focus, it was me.
My face, my short hair, the faint scar on my cheek.
All of it was there. Yet something was horribly off.
The eyes sat too far, apart cold, and vacant the mouths.
Slightly opened lips slack like an imitation missing critical
details. Its head cocked.
Slowly to one side mimicking, my exact posture as I shifted my
weight. I lifted my rifle pulse
pounding, trying to Steady My shaking hands.
I aim just above its head, hoping a warning shot would send
whatever it was fleeing. The sharp crack of the gun
echoed Across The Gorge but the thing never flinched it remained
motionless. Its eyes fixed on blinking on me
a cold sharp wave of Terror flooded me.
As I watched the figure drops silently onto all fours, and
Scurry impossibly fast back into the Shadows of the Rocks.
Its limbs moving and jerky unnatural motions.
I didn't wait. Instinct overtook reason and I
turned and ran lungs. Burning branches.
Slapping my face. Every snapping twig and rustling
Bush behind me, pushed adrenaline through my veins,
urging me faster, the creature, stayed parallel tracking me
through the trees. It's distorted shape, glimpsed
briefly and flashes between branches pacing, me effortlessly
I skidded downhill toward the river legs shaking from the
brutal pace. At one point, I risked a glance
over my shoulder. My stomach churned.
When I spotted the thing again, closer, now its mouth wide open
like it was screaming, but no sound escaped.
I stumbled and nearly fell but forced myself, upright, and kept
moving. The river appeared ahead wide
and churning, a ribbon of Salvation cutting through the
forest. Without hesitation, I plunged
into the icy water. Cold seized my chest numbing
instantly, the current yanked, me, Downstream pulling me
beneath the surface. My lung screamed for are as I
fought to stay afloat driven by desperation more powerful than
exhaustion. Minutes stretched into eternity.
The Rushing Water. Sweeping me along until finally
gasping and coughing. I dragged myself onto the muddy
Shore. Downstream limbs, trembling
uncontrollably. Night fell swiftly wrapping the
Wilderness in oppressive Darkness, but I kept moving
along the riverbank driven by the singular urge to survive.
Every Russell every cracking Branch set my heart racing again
but nothing emerged from the darkness eventually my battered
body collapsed on the rocky Shoreline utterly spent By
Sunrise. A Wyoming Fish and Game.
Patrol boat found me shivering violently.
Scratched bruised and barefoot. They brought me in silent and
staring vacantly into the distance, struggling to
articulate, what I had witnessed. back at headquarters,
the dash cam footage from my patrol truck had been erased
entirely leaving only static behind, Without video proof.
All I had were my notes sketches and the unsettling memories
seared into my mind. I wrote a brief guarded report
carefully, avoiding speculation officially, it was logged as an
unidentified threat. But privately among Rangers, I
warned them to avoid Dead Man's not at all costs.
I've since refused to patrol alone Bridger, Teton quietly
restricted access to the gorge citing environmental recovery,
but late at night, lying awake, my thoughts returned there
again. And again, I know now with
bitter certainty that what crawled out of that Ravine
remains hidden waiting patiently for the next person, Brave or
foolish enough to wander into its territory.
Palo Duro. Canyon was never forgiving in
July under a son that blistered the Red Rock and cracked the dry
Earth. It became downright hostile The
heat clawed at your throat. Stole moisture from your eyes
and turn the most seasoned hikers into stumbling mumbling
shells of the themselves. Most visitors underestimated it,
arriving with flimsy water bottles and cheap sandals.
They came here looking for postcard.
Perfect views only to leave humbled if they left at all.
I knew the canyon well. I had been a Texas state park
ranger here, nearly 10 years, a lifetime after serving as an
army medic. I'd patched up snake bites.
Twisted. Ankles heat stroke victims.
After a while, you thought you'd seen it all?
But the truth is the canyon was always waiting with something
new something worse. That summer July brought more
than record-breaking Heat. It brought disappearances three
campsites abandoned within two weeks.
Campers gone Without a Trace. No signs of struggle.
No scattered gear, just silence. A cold sense of unease.
Had crept through the ranger team though.
Nobody spoke openly about it. Maybe because we all remembered
the whispered local Legends When Storms came in summer.
Shadows moved along the canyon walls Shadows tall and
unnatural. I tried not to dwell on ghost
stories Rangers didn't indulge superstition.
But there was something about this July, I couldn't shake.
It was a Tuesday when the call came in.
Two hikers. A brother and sister from
Lubbock were overdue by two days from their planned.
Hike along the rock garden Trail.
A volunteer spotted, their old Subaru.
Parked at the trailhead untouched.
The Visitor Center raised an alert and I headed out at dawn
to investigate before the sun became unbearable.
My patrol, mule Rosie knew the trails as well as I did. she
plotted patiently as we climbed higher into the canyon
navigating narrow paths and Rocky slopes by mid-morning, the
air was shimmering with heat and the sun beat down like a hammer
when we reached the campsite my stomach tightened.
Two tents, stood, intact sleeping bags, laid open as if
the occupants had just stepped out side.
A loaf of bread sat half eaten on a cooler already swarming.
With Anne's water bottles Maps, guidebooks, everything was still
here. Nobody packs for a hike and
leaves all their gear behind a radioed headquarters, but the
line was static the canyon Shear walls often killed reception.
Sighing higher to find a signal, glancing at the Towering Cliffs
around me. My breath caught.
Halfway up. A Sandstone face was something
dark, something unnatural. Carefully picking my way through
loose Rock. I moved closer squinting and
disbelief at what I found three deep gouges each six feet long
and spaced evenly apart carved. Neatly into the Rock.
They looked fresh the edges. Sharp too precise to be animal
claws to powerful for a human prank.
An uncomfortable shiver ran down my back, despite the Heat.
Instinct made me glance quickly over my shoulder at the empty
Canyon behind me. I took a shaky breath feeling
very Exposed on the narrow ledge.
Whatever did this had strength and reach?
On the way back to the campsite Rosie froze ears flattened.
She pod nervously at the ground refusing to continue toward the
dry wash weed crossed early. A foul scent drifted on the
breeze, something dead and ripe baking in the sun animals died
here all the time, but Rosie had never reacted this badly.
She was usually steady unflappable.
I trusted her instincts. We circled around choosing
another route back eventually settling into a different
clearing for the night. The sun sank, behind the canyon
walls. Plunging us into an oppressive
darkness. No moon tonight.
Only thick choking Shadows. That seemed to press inward.
I ate a cold dinner embedded Down Under the Stars, unable to
shake. The feeling of eyes watching me
from the Blackness beyond the firelight, Sleep refused to
come. I lay awake.
Listening to The Silence of the canyon.
Sometime after midnight, Rosie's, terrified braying
jolted me from my thoughts. Scrambling up flash light in
hand. I sprinted toward the sound
Rosie was thrashing violently at her tether.
Her cries abruptly silenced by a sickening crunch.
The beam of my flashlight found her immediately.
She lay crumpled throwed savagely, ripped open eyes wide
and glassy, her legs were bent grotesquely beneath her as if
something had snapped them with brutal force.
Bile Rose in my throat. My flash light trembled in my
grip as I searched frantically around me.
There were deep indentations in the ground, too long too, widely
spaced for human feet. Something large and heavy had
moved quickly here silently approaching the camp.
Killing Rosie before retreating into the darkness.
I stood Frozen my heartbeat, roaring in my ears, realizing
for the first time in my career that I wasn't alone in the
canyon. Something else was out here,
something violent powerful, and utterly unknown, and whatever it
was. It wasn't finished yet.
I sat in the cramped Ranger Station, staring at my shaking
hands. My supervisor Mark paced slowly
in front of me. The room smelled of stale coffee
and sunwarmed Maps. I'd spent all morning filling
out. Paperwork about Rosie's death
Mark, had insisted, I take some personal days, but that felt
impossible. I couldn't just go home and
pretend, the canyon hadn't changed overnight instead.
I found myself buried in Old incident, logs searching through
yellowed pages, that smelled of dust and mildew.
Maybe it was just denial or maybe I was desperate for
something. And anything to explain what it
happened out there. Either way, I was convinced, I
wasn't the first person in Palo Duro, Canyon to see something.
They couldn't explain. I found scattered notes, buried
deep in the archives. Entries from the 80s described
campers Vanishing during heat waves their gear left untouched.
A Ranger named Roy Mendoza had written about strange marks
along the rim, dated July 1999. Then there was a vague reference
to something the older locals called La, Sombra Del Canon, the
shadow of the canyon The notes were frustratingly brief, but
the Common Thread was clear. Campers disappearing without
reason, strange marking on walls citing.
No one could prove that evening as the sun sank low, Over the
Horizon painting, the sky deep shades of orange.
And violet, I found myself packing Not the gear I'd usually
take on routine Patrol but heavier equipment, my service
pistol, a flare gun, an emergency Beacon and night
vision goggles. I'd borrowed from the station
Supply Closet. I didn't check out the gear
properly, I didn't want anyone asking questions.
Rangers didn't go hunting folklore.
They'd say the heat was getting to my head, but something was
out there. And I couldn't shake the image
of Rosie's broken body. The gouges carved into the stone
or the feeling of something close by just beyond the reach
of my flashlight. I headed out on foot.
This time moving slowly toward Capital Peak, avoiding Trails
where hikers or fellow Rangers might spot me the sky darkened
fast. Clouds swirling, overhead,
promising a storm that wouldn't bring rain only heat lightning
crackling silently. The hot air clung to my skin
like a fever after a grueling climb, I reached a shallow cave.
I knew from Patrols Settling into the narrow Alcove, I waited
night vision, goggles, heavy on my head, sweat stinging, my eyes
hours, ticked by and silence the storm.
Finally gathered overhead around two in the morning lighting the
canyon in Erie greenish bursts during a particularly intense,
flash something moved across my vision, I froze heart suddenly
pounding in my ears adjusting the goggles, I scan the opposite
Ridge Another flash lit up the night and their silhouetted
against the sky. Stood, a shape.
My pulse quickened and my breath caught painfully in my throat.
It was tall easily, seven feet with limbs unnaturally long
almost skeletal. The storm flickered again and
for a moment, I caught a glimpse of its skin pale and stretched
tight across its frame face hidden in Shadow.
I fought down Panic, my breath shallow each inhale, barely
filling my lungs. Whatever.
This was it wasn't human or animal.
Not any species native to the canyon it lingered, unmoving.
Like it was waiting watching. Then Darkness fell again.
My heart hammered as I blinked. Sweat from my eyes frantically,
adjusting the goggles. when lightning illuminated the ridge,
once more, the figure had vanished My hands shook as I
forced myself to breathe steadily counting seconds.
Between lightning flashes. Nothing moved.
Only silence filled the Gap, at Sunrise, exhausted, intense.
I left the cave and cautiously made my way down toward the
drywash below, Capitol Peak. As I moved, I noticed something
dark trailing along the canyon floor.
Streaks of dried blood. The trail was easy to follow
winding through the wash and ending abruptly at a narrow Rock
shoot. The opening was tight.
Barely wide enough to squeeze through, but I pushed inside
anyway, skin, scraping against the rough stone walls.
Wedged inside, I found an abandoned backpack.
The missing hikers pack from Lubbock.
My throat tightened. Carefully.
I opened it, finding sealed granola bars sunscreen and
unopened water bottle and a guidebook.
No wallet, no keys. Beside it.
Lays something else, bones broken and Scattered
unmistakably human. I stumbled backwards stomach
churning fighting the urge to be sick.
I grabbed my radio and called in desperation coloring, my voice
headquarters. This is Ranger Louise.
Do you copy static hissed back, empty and lifeless.
Headquarters. My voice broke.
I tried again, voice thick with Dread only more static.
I was completely alone trapped in the heat ravaged Canyon
aware. Now that the missing campers
hadn't simply wandered off, They'd been taken killed.
And whatever had killed them was still out here.
Waiting for Nightfall night came swiftly, and the Darkness fell
like a heavy curtain, over the canyon I sat alone near the
mouth of Sunday, Creek, feeling vulnerable, beneath a thick
blanket of clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Angry, growls promising a storm but no rain fell.
Instead flashes of dry, lightning illuminated the canyon
walls and brief disorienting births of white hot light Each
flash left right after images. Dancing behind my eyelids,
twisting my vision into confusion I had stopped trying
the radio hours ago. It yielded nothing but
meaningless, static. My leg ached from a scrape.
I'd picked up crawling through that.
Narrow Chute, sweat, stung the cut and every move sent.
Fiery jolts up my thigh. Still, I knew staying still
meant dying. I kept low flash like grip.
Tightly moving cautiously through the loose.
Gravel in the dry wash. My heartbeat enough to Echo off
the walls and I forced my breath shallow, and controlled fighting
to Steady My shaking hands. Nothing stirred around me.
No insects no Breeze, only the oppressive silence between claps
of thunder. Then came a sound, so quiet at
barely registered, a subtle shift of gravel, just behind me.
I spun around raising the flash light but the weak beam found
nothing except empty space and dust particles floating in the
air. My pulse hammered at my temples.
Another flash of lightning split the sky and the canyon lit up in
Stark detail. Ahead of me crouched, low behind
a cluster of Mesquite, shrubs was a shape.
Too thin Too Tall, limbs folded on naturally.
My stomach lurched in the brief. Instant of Illumination, its
pale skin seemed almost reflective drawn tight over bony
joints. one arm rows slowly impossibly long fingers reaching
out toward me the canyon plunged Back Into Darkness I stumbled
backward, nearly dropping the flashlight.
Terror surged through me Primal and urgent.
I turned breaking into a full Sprint down, the wash.
Gravel slid beneath my boots threatening to send me sprawling
but sheer Panic. Drove me forward.
The thing pursued, silent Swift disturbingly agile, gaining
ground with each passing second. I thought the air rushed past as
it lunged for me missing by inches.
I spun and fired. My flare gun wildly and the
bright red glare cast Shadows dancing, crazily, off Canyon
walls. In that horrifying glow I caught
a brief glimpse of it again now even closer head cocked at an
unnatural angle, empty eye sockets blacker than the canyon
around us. The Flair fizzled out.
Darkness closing back around me like a tomb.
I ran blindly lungs screaming for are my injured leg
throbbing, an Agony behind me. Gravel shifted again, faster
heavier It was coming. My mind screamed at me to move
faster to run until my legs gave out then without warning.
A bolt of lightning slammed into a cedar tree, only yards away
shattering it into splinters of smoking wood and Flame.
Heat and light exploded momentarily.
Blinding me, I fell hard onto the jagged Earth hand scraped
raw. When I raised my head blinking
rapidly to clear my vision. The Burning Tree cast, an eerie
glow across the wash. I saw clearly the thing behind
me Frozen mid-step recoiling from the brightness, its
elongated arms. Shielded its featureless face
for the first time it hesitated I didn't wait.
Pain forgotten. I scrambled to my feet and
bolted lungs burning as though filled with fire the canyon
blurred passed me rocks and brushed scraping at my skin but
adrenaline carried me forward behind me.
The distant sound of movement faded.
When Dawn finally, broke pale and weak, I reached the ranger
station doors, collapsing onto the dusty floor, gasping for air
blood, trickled from the reopened gash, on my leg
mingling with dirt and sweat. Someone shouted for help but the
voices sounded distant unreal. By afternoon the park accepted
my resignation without argument my silence taken as shock or
trauma. Within days.
A quiet announcement, went out. Backcountry camping was
suspended. Due to fire, risks and trailer
erosion. But those of us who knew Palo
Duro, Canyon understood the truth.
Even if none of us dared, speak it aloud.
I moved away to Amarillo and left the canyon behind But some
nights a specialty when the heat rises and dry lightning flickers
in the distance. I dream vividly of Shadows.
Moving silently along. Sandstone walls.
Shadows, that never fully reveal themselves but whose presence
lingers unmistakably in my memory.
This morning wasn't much different, at least not at first
dispatch, called me at Sunrise about an overdue Back Country.
Permit near bone Valley, two hikers, a husband and wife from
Louisville had parked their Honda CRV at the Noland, Creek
trailhead. Six days later, no return tags.
No check-in, no contact. Normally folks, either come
wandering out sheepishly with an apology or they get themselves
in trouble twisted, ankles dehydration hypothermia.
But something felt off about this one, from the start bone,
Valley is isolated hard to reach.
If you pick that spot you know what you're doing?
Or at least you think you do. I left my itinerary with
dispatch grabbed my gear and headed out.
The trail up from Nolan Creek was overgrown, thick, branches
and Laurel snagging at my pack and uniform sleeves.
Nobody had cleared this route in months maybe longer By noon, The
Climb had me sweating through my shirt breathing heavy.
It was slow-going every mile or so I caught signs.
Someone had passed recently. Small boot prints pressed into
muddy soil, snapped Twigs, dangling, freshly from trees.
Near one stream. I spotted a melted lump of Trail
Mix. The chocolate gone sticky and
embedded with pine needles. They'd come this way, at least
by early evening. I reached the clearing marked on
their permit application. At first glance, it was clear,
something had happened. The tent was half collapsed the
nylon torn along one side shredded in Jagged strips.
The ground was littered with debris?
Cookware clothes, a paperback novel left to swell and Wrinkle
In The Rain. One sleeping bag.
Remained rolled out untouched. The other was gone entirely.
I checked the area carefully, scanning the dirt and plants for
blood or signs of a struggle. Nothing.
But along a nearby tulip poplar, tree.
I saw a deep gouges in the bark. Baer, maybe, but the marks
didn't match anything. I'd seen before they were wide
set and alarmingly deep. The hair on my neck.
Prickled as I ran a finger over the splintered groove's behind
the clearing, the brush had been pushed aside creating a narrow
Corridor through dense thickets I ducked low peering into the
shadowed path. Something big had come and gone
through here repeatedly. By debated following it, but the
sun was already slipping toward the Ridge and daylight had a way
of fading quickly in these. Valleys staying out here alone
after dark wasn't on my list. I took detailed notes logged,
coordinates and then turned to head back.
The sky was already a dim Violet.
As I hiked down, the trail Shadows, lengthened and shifted
the forest had that heavy silent.
Feel it gets it Twilight. Like the trees themselves are
holding their breath. Every few minutes, I paused to
look behind me, scanning the dim Woods, it was then maybe a half
mile from the campsite that. I first noticed it.
Standing perfectly still about 20 yards off the trail was a
figure tall, dark unmoving, I froze hand, inching
instinctively toward my side arm, I blinked once twice hard
then I raise my flash light heart hammering as the beam
swung up but the figure was gone.
The light illuminated only Stone in Moss Twisted tree, limbs and
dense brush I stared for a moment trying to shake the
feeling crawling down my spine, just a trick of the fading light
I told myself nothing more. I resumed walking quicker now
but the next time I glanced back, it was there again.
Exactly the same shape. The same spot perfectly
Motionless. This time I whipped the
flashlight beam across the space Harden my throat.
And again nothing but Stone moss and trees, the hike back was the
longest I'd ever made. By the time, I reached my truck
at the Nolan Creek Trailhead, it was fully dark and the figure or
whatever I had seen never appeared again.
Still, when I climbed into the cab locked, the doors and radio
dispatch. My voice was steady or than my
hands. The drive.
Back to, my Outpost cabin, near Fontana took nearly an hour.
The headlights, barely piercing the dense Darkness, I spent
every minute trying to convince myself, I had seen nothing back
there on the trail. Just my imagination playing
tricks after a long day. The alternative was something I
wasn't ready to consider. By the time, I reached the
cabin, the radio crackled as dispatch confirmed, my report.
They said, they'd send a search and rescue team to meet me at
first light. that should have eased my mind, it didn't Inside,
I locked the door behind me double checking the latch.
It was a small Outpost, one room wood paneled with a desk, a cot
and a modest kitchen area sparse.
But it always felt secure a tiny Sanctuary buried deep in the
mountains. Tonight though, it felt exposed.
I spread a map of the park on the desk, tracing roots, with my
finger. Outside the woods, stood silent.
The usual nighttime. Sounds crickets distant.
Owls were absent. There was only a heavy silence
pressing in from every direction.
Around midnight, as fatigue. Finally began to settle in.
I heard footsteps. They sounded like bare feet
quick and light circling the cabin.
I straightened instantly pulse jumping a bear, I thought or
maybe a coyote. But as I listened my heart
saying the Rhythm wasn't animal, it was paced purposeful.
I moved quietly to the window. Peering cautiously through a
crack in the blinds. I saw nothing but Shadows the
urge to fling. The door open was overwhelming,
but my training screamed at me to stay put Bolted doors were
better than an open Forest. 10 minutes later, the power
flickered and died. I sat Frozen at the desk, the
room swallowed by Darkness. Reaching blindly into a drawer.
I pulled out the emergency radio inflict, the switch.
Static Buzz softly then cut out. Dead.
That shouldn't happen. These radios always worked.
From above a Sharp Creek echoed through the ceiling.
Something was on the roof. My pulse thudded in my ears.
The footsteps overhead moved slowly from one side to the
other pausing then shifting again.
Whatever was up there. Had wait, it sounded heavy
solid. My instinct screamed at me to
stay in side to wait it out. Then just as suddenly as they
started, the footsteps, stopped I waited.
Breathe shallow, ears, straining.
Second stretched into minutes. Just as I began to believe it
had moved on a voice erupted from the trees.
Clear and sharp, as a rifle crack.
Eric, my blood turned cold, The Voice wasn't from dispatch.
Wasn't from another Ranger exactly who it sounded like my
brother. Josh, he died. 10 years ago on a
rescue going wrong. And Shenandoah fell into a
ravine during a midnight search. His voice had been silent for a
decade and yet here in the middle of the Smokies.
I heard it. Unmistakably.
Eric come out here. Every fiber of my being wanted
to shout back but I knew better. I forced myself to stay still
heart hammering. So loudly, it felt like it.
Echoed off the walls, whatever was out there was trying to draw
me into the dark and I wasn't taking the bait.
The Voice grew distant gradually Fading Into nothing.
Still, I didn't move. Didn't sleep.
I just sat rigid at the desk listening until dawn crept over
the ridge line. Spilling soft gray light through
the blinds when the search and rescue team arrived at Sunrise
radio's, crackling and voices. Calm.
I unlocked the cabin door and stepped into the cool morning.
Air, my face, a mask of my didn't feel as we loaded our
gear and started toward bone Valley, I made myself a promise
This would be the last Back Country Patrol I'd ever do
alone. The morning sunlight was sharp
but did nothing to chase away the Chill from the night before.
As the search and rescue team gathered at the trailhead.
I kept quiet about the voice. I heard there was no point
spooking them before we even started.
For seasoned Rescuers in a cadaver, dog.
A Belgian Malinois named Riggs set out with me up the Winding
Trail. Rigs moved confidently, ahead
nose to the ground. When we reach the campsite it
looked exactly as I left it. The torn tent, the unsettling
claw marks. One of The Rescuers muttered.
Never seen marks like that. Rigs stiffen suddenly his eyes
fixed on the dense Laurel beyond the campsite his Handler.
Gave a sharp nod and rigged darted into the brush, the team
moving quickly to follow. We pushed into the Tangled
undergrowth. Following the dog's progress,
along the narrow Corridor of disturbed Earth.
I'd seen yesterday. The path Twisted through the
thickets and ended abruptly at the base of a steep Rocky Bluff.
Riggs stopped body, low knows trained at a shadowed spot below
a moss. Covered ledge.
I stepped forward chest, tightening behind a curtain of
Tangled Vines, a small cave mouth, yawned, open black and
Dam. We ducked carefully inside flash
lights Illuminating walls lined with bones animal bones nod and
cracked. Near the back of the shallow
cave. Someone had a range to small
living area. Torn clothing.
Dirty blankets, and bits of camping gear were strewn across
the uneven floor. Got something one of The
Rescuers called quietly. He held up a weathered backpack
its fabric crusted with dirt. Carefully, he unzipped it
pulling out a worn wallet and a crumbling permit tag.
My breath caught when he passed the permit to me.
The date, stamped on it. Read clearly May 1498.
We found gear belonging to Michael Farris a Backpacker who
had disappeared more than two decades ago on.
This very Trail. The realization that someone
somehow had remained hidden here all that time made my skin crawl
Riggs. Potted something else, his
Handler crouched beside him retrieving a ripped boot from
beneath a pile, of animal remains.
It matched the size and style of Footwear described in the
missing couples report. There were no bodies just signs
that something had claimed this place for years.
By midday we radioed for forensic.
Support the team documented, everything packing, it for the
lab. Eventually we left the cave
behind, but I knew its image would be burned into my mind
forever. Back in the station that evening
after hours of interviews and uneasy glances, I submitted my
request for immediate transfer to a front desk role.
There was no hesitation, I'd done my time.
I was done with the backcountry done with those quiet trails and
lonely nights. In the weeks that followed the
story spread in hushed tones, among Park employees but no
arrests were ever made. The investigation stalled unable
to offer closure beyond what we'd found.
But the truth was clear enough to me obvious in every shadowy
corner of the Smokies. Someone had survived out there
for decades hidden from sight. Someone who knew these mountains
better than anyone. Someone who I was certain still
watched silently from the woods waiting patiently.
For the next hiker, foolish enough to wander two deep I've
been guiding groups through the backcountry of Southern Utah for
over a decade, but the grand staircase, Escalante has always
felt different. Remote expansive and starkly
beautiful. It's a Wilderness that commands
respect. I've LED dozens of expeditions
safely through its slot, canyons Rocky, washes and Sandstone
labyrinths, but last September's photography, Trek reminded me.
Why even seasoned guides can never fully trust the desert.
We were three days into a five-day Expedition.
My group was solid two photographers named Adam and
Jesse a middle-aged couple Steve and Jan from Colorado.
A quiet college, kid named Ethan studying desert ecology and
Pete. An older guy obsessed with
landscape time lapses. Each was experienced enough to
handle the long hot miles of hiking and that made my job
easier. After two straightforward days.
Hiking along Harris wash, photographing arches and rock
formations. The plan was simple.
We'd looped through 25 mile, wash and explore some narrower
Canyons. We were chasing good lighting
and better scenery, and the group trusted me to find it.
But what we found that morning still haunts me, we left our
second Camp early. Eager to make good time.
Jesse had spotted mule deer tracks just after Sunrise fresh
enough that the sand was still damp beneath their steps.
That got the photographer's excited thinking they'd finally
get their Wildlife shots but less than half an hour later, we
stumbled across something wrong. Something that didn't belong
there. The tracks, we'd followed ended
abruptly at a small clearing. And their sprawled out in front
of us, was the deer? Or at least, what was left of
it? It couldn't have been dead more
than 15 or 20 minutes. Steam Rose off the stripped
bones like fog on a winter morning.
Tendrils slowly dissipating into the dry Desert Air.
The carcass was so meticulously cleaned.
It looked like, it had been carefully prepared, not taken
down by a hungry predator. The meat was gone muscle fibers
and tendons vanished. But strangely there was almost
no blood just bones placed in a neat pile.
Like someone was leaving a warning.
I didn't want to admit it then, but I felt a chill run down my
back. That had nothing to do with the
early morning are Jan quietly asked me what could have done
this but I had no good answers. It wasn't Coyote's.
They're messy eaters and their kills never looked this.
Intentional, just he photographed, the carcass
silently. While Adam scanned, the area
with anxious eyes. We moved on quickly but things
fell off. A mile or two later, we
startled. A pair of coyotes drinking from
a stagnant pool. They bolted, like they'd seen
death itself. I'd never seen coyotes run, so
scared, especially from humans. The whole thing sat wrong with
me, so I decided to alter our route heading toward a broader,
less isolated Canyon, I remembered from previous trips.
By Sunset, we had camp set up in a Sandy.
Wash, surrounded by towering Sandstone walls.
It felt safe with a single visible route in and out.
But as dusk turned to night, my unease grew.
I pasted quietly around our perimeter checking gear looking
for animal tracks or anything unusual.
It was all clear yet. I couldn't shake the tension
twisting in my stomach. We turned in early tired from
hiking and nerves frayed by The Strange Day.
Sleep came in patches. And then around midnight, I
awoke suddenly Footsteps, heavy and purposeful moved along the
edges of Camp. They stopped frequently as if
someone was inspecting. Each tent, testing our
awareness. I grabbed my flash light peering
into the darkness but saw nothing that I heard my own
voice calling softly from somewhere just beyond the tents.
You guys. All right.
It's said clear as if I had spoke at myself, But I hadn't
uttered a word. A ripple of confusion washed
over me had. I imagined it I whispered for
the others to stay quiet Adams tent Russell's and I knew he was
awake too listening, just as intently.
My heart, hammered, as I waited ears straining for any sound,
but nothing else came. No footsteps retreating.
No further voices, Silence wrapped around us suffocating
and thick. I waited until dawn before
leaving my tent again. Light brought a little courage,
but when I stepped outside something compelled, me forward
away from camp. I moved slowly at first, as if
following an instinct buried, deep beneath common sense.
Before long, the camp was behind me, my feet bare against Cold
Stone and gritty sand. how long I walked, I don't know, but
gradually, I realized I was lost My mind, snapped back abruptly,
the trance lifting leaving me disoriented.
I stared around trying to orient myself to understand how I come
so far. When I finally stumbled back
into Camp hours later, feet bleeding and head pounding,
everyone stared at me like they'd seen a ghost I could only
tell them one thing, even though it made no sense.
I left because something out there was speaking to me, I
admitted shakily in my voice and I couldn't ignore it.
After I returned to Camp, everything felt fractured.
I could see it in the way, the group looked at me, the
confusion and mistrust, hanging in their eyes, I didn't blame
them. Hell I hardly trusted myself, my
feet were raw bleeding from hours of walking barefoot
through Rock and Sand. Every step felt like grinding
glass beneath me. But the physical pain was easier
to handle than the creeping dread that wrapped itself around
us. All Adam approached me quietly
after we broke Camp, pulling me aside while the others packed
gear. His eyes darted nervously toward
the junipers scattered around the canyon edges.
Their Twisted shapes casting long ragged Shadows Rick, he
whispered voice cracking slightly when you came back, you
just weren't yourself. Stared at him, a chill.
Creeping along my spine. What do you mean?
He hesitated? I searching mine for
understanding last night after you went to your tent.
I saw something out there. It was standing behind a juniper
at first. I thought it was you.
But then I saw your boots outside your tent.
This thing it didn't move didn't blink, its mouth hung open way
too wide and its eyes Rick. They were black completely
black. My mouth went dry, I glanced
around unease clawing at my throat.
Adam wasn't the kind to panic. He was steady careful with his
words. I believe you.
I finally said feeling as though, a weight pressed into my
chest, whatever it is, we can't stay here.
The original route back, the quickest route was now
off-limits in my mind, I couldn't risk passing back
through the canyon, we'd come from back through, whatever had
found us. I unfolded the map with
trembling fingers, tracing a new route, Northwest toward an old
Cattle Trail that intersected, an abandoned Bureau of Land
Management Road. Where changing course, I told
the group firmly trying to mask my own uncertainty its longer
but safer. We set out at a punishing Pace.
I moved at the back glancing constantly over my shoulder,
each Shadow, each Russell of dry brush made my pulse Spike as
evening came the oppressive quiet of the desert grew
heavier, more suffocating I felt as though eyes followed our
every move, but each time I turned nothing was there.
When the sun dipped below the Horizon, I pushed us further
unwilling to camp out in the open again.
The group grumbled but followed without protest even they knew
something wasn't right. Around midnight.
We pause near a shallow, Sandstone, Alcove my breath
coming fast from nerves rather than exertion will rest here.
I said, but my voice had barely died when we heard it.
Someone humming faintly from just beyond our line of sight
up. The trail ahead, every head
snapped up, tension crackling silently Among Us.
The melody was slow. Clear, almost inviting.
I gripped my small sidearm, tightly sweat, dripping down my
palm, heart slamming in my chest.
Steve moved forward and totally someone's out there.
Maybe they need help. Stay here.
I snapped surprising even myself.
Nobody moved. He froze startled at the
sharpness of my voice. Ethan looked at me eyes wide and
questioning Rick. What is that?
I don't know, I answered forcing myself to breathe evenly but
it's not human. We retreated into the Alcove
wedging ourselves tightly against the Sandstone wall.
I positioned myself at the edge gun pointed outward, trying to
Steady My Trembling Hands. The humming continued for
several minutes. Floating gently through the
still air then stopped abruptly replaced by a silence that was
somehow worse. Hours passed agonizingly slow.
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
As Dawn finally broke pale and gray over the Rocks exhaustion
and fear had etched deep lines onto everyone's faces.
But at least daylight was a shield.
If only for now, we left the Alcove immediately following the
Winding Trail higher and higher up the Slick Rock.
Adam fell in beside me quietly pointing to the Sandy ground.
My heart seized, as I saw the prince clearly marked.
There some Barefoot others. Undeniably mine matching the
tread pattern of the boots. I'd Left Behind yesterday.
What the hell? Adam murmured, softly pointing
to a particular set of prints. They moved beside mine.
But traveled backward, as though something had walked parallel to
my path. But in reverse, Keep walking.
I said Horsley don't stop for anything.
The Cattle Trail came into view ahead.
A narrow slash across open Rock. Relief stirred faintly Within
Me, overshadowed by the Primal instinctual fear that refused to
release its grip. As we climbed the final rise, I
dared a glance back down the way.
We'd come there, partially obscured by Shadows cast from
the canyon walls, something tall, moved quickly behind an
outcropping of Rock. Its movement was unnatural
hunched, low gliding, too smoothly across rough Terrain.
I caught a brief glimpse of pale greyish skin stretched taut over
thin bones, Don't look back. I warned sharply pushing
everyone toward the cattle trailer ahead.
We're almost there. I knew the desert well enough to
realize when it was giving a warning.
And this this felt more like a final threat.
I urge everyone forward with a desperation.
I couldn't hide anymore. My throat burned from thirst and
fatigue. And my feet had gone numb.
Every step mechanical propelled by adrenaline alone, The Cattle
Trail Twisted upward Slickrock, giving way, occasionally to
patches of sand and gravel. The old Route was faint.
But unmistakable marked here and there by half, buried Cairns
left behind by ranchers decades ago.
Adams stayed closed, occasionally, glancing behind
us. His eyes darted nervously.
To every shadow, every rock formation we passed.
I didn't blame him. My own imagination was working
overtime, but I knew what I had seen and more disturbingly, I
knew Adam wasn't imagining things either.
Mid-afternoon brought the first real hope in hours.
As we crested a Sandstone Bluff, the site of the faint dirt road
below, nearly buckled my knees Pete.
Let out a shaky breath, Jan and Steve held each other.
Their shoulders slumping and relief.
Even Ethan. Quiet and exhausted.
Cracked a weak smile. Not much further.
I assured them voice hoarse, we get to that road, we get out.
Yet, I felt no real Comfort. The closer, we got the stronger.
My sense of unease became gnawing at my inside.
I found myself constantly glancing down at the ground,
following our Footprints, and those others that shadowed hours
The prince that matched mine yet twisted and uncertain.
The Barefoot marks weaving beside the haunted.
Me it felt like what ever had followed us.
Whatever had tried to trick me into wandering, deeper into the
canyon was staying closed, just out of sight.
Then Adam stops suddenly bending down to inspect the sand near
the trail. His face paled Rick.
Look at these, he whispered. I knelt beside him.
Another set of prints. but these moved backward, retracing our
exact route back toward the canyon weed fled Each step was
deliberate, clear evenly spaced, mirroring ours, perfectly my
chest tightened with Dread. Keep moving.
I said quietly, fighting the Tremor, in my voice.
Don't stop. Again, we pressed on silence
heavy between us. As we approach the final 100
yards toward the dirt road, a flicker of motion to my left
caught my attention. I spun around sharply hand
tightening on my sidearm. For a split second, I saw a
figure slip behind an outcropping.
Its movements were fluid, disturbingly graceful, hunched
low, as it disappeared behind rocks.
In that momentary. Glimpse, its skin looked too.
Pale. Almost translucent stretched
over long bones. Then it was gone.
My heart slammed in my chest, I swallowed hard mouth, dry as
sandpaper Jan touched my shoulder.
Her eyes widened and frightened Rick.
What did you see? Just go.
I urge pushing them onward. The roads, right there.
We stumbled onto the dirt road gasping.
Halo with exhaustion. I scan the area desperately
terrified. We'd see something emerge from
the brush again, but nothing moved.
Silence settled around us, thick and oppressive.
Then the distant Rumble of an engine, cut through the quiet.
Moments later. A battered four-wheeler appeared
driven by a local Cattlemen. he looks surprised then concerned
as he saw our ragged condition, You focus.
All right. He called slowing to a stop.
I felt relief flood my veins. Legs almost collapsing.
Beneath me. Or not hurt.
I managed but we need help. He nodded Gravely and we piled
into his truck bed gratefully. No one spoke much on the ride
into Escalante each of us lost in thoughts.
We couldn't articulate. By the time we reached Town
exhaustion overtook fear. I found myself sitting numbly in
a diner. Holding a cup of coffee, I
barely tasted Later that day, I made an unofficial report to the
local BLM office. The ranger their listened to
politely nodding occasionally, but his skepticism was clear.
There had been no similar Wildlife reports.
No disturbances. Nothing to corroborate our
experience. Officially they considered a
dehydration in panic, no more, no less, I didn't push.
There was no way to explain the things.
We'd felled the way my voice had called me from the darkness or
the impossible figure. Adam had described within weeks.
I quietly resigned from Guiding desert tours.
Grand staircase-escalante, once my home a place, I love deeply
now. Felt haunted irrevocably
changed. I knew I'd never return months
passed and the memory faded but never left.
Atom called me once late one night.
He sounded rattled. Rick, I went through my notes.
He said, softly from that morning, you came back barefoot.
What about them? I asked where Lee there were two
sets of prints that morning, he continued slowly.
I remember Clearly Now one was yours coming back toward camp
but there was another set next to yours.
Identical in shape and size. They mirrored yours.
Exactly. Step for step then just stopped.
I closed my eyes. The sickening feeling returning,
instantly, what do you mean, stopped?
They ended abruptly, Adam said voice shaking as if whoever or
whatever was walking beside. You just vanished Into Thin Air.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment then.
Adam broke the silence one last time.
I don't know what we encountered out there, Rick, but it wasn't
human. It wasn't anything that belongs
in this world. he hung up shortly after leaving me alone
in the dark wondering if I had ever truly left that Canyon
behind I've spent more Summers than I can count guiding
tourists through the deserts of Joshua Tree.
Most guides prefer the crowded trails around Hidden Valley or
Barker Dam places with clear paths and plenty of foot
traffic. But I've always liked the remote
Corners. The Forgotten roads winding
through Pinto basin Out there. It's just you the sand the Heat
and your instincts. No distractions, no mistakes.
At least that's how it always was before I took John and Marta
out into the Basin last July. We headed out from the Jeep at
sunrise. Pinto Basin was already
shimmering with waves of heat. The early Sun promising a
blistering day ahead. John a Dutch guy in his 30s,
looked fit and confident, already snapping on his hat and
adjusting his sunglasses. Marta.
Quiet in German moved carefully, checking and double-checking her
gear. I'd guided hundreds of tourists,
but these two felt capable experience.
I liked that less babysitting, more Adventure.
The plan was a two-day Loop through the Maze of dry washes
east of pinto Mountain. It's easy to Reign to
underestimate, people, think deserts are empty and
predictable, but every Arroyo looks alike and the heat can
erase your tracks in hours. I navigated by landmarks most
visitors. Never notice.
Scorched rocks left by wildfires decades ago.
Twisted branches of dry Okatie, yo, certain rock outcrop shaped
by centuries of wind We hiked quietly that first morning the
rhythmic crunch of boots on Sand filling.
The Silence by noon temperatures pushed toward 100 degrees.
So I let us to a shaded overhang where we rested rationing our
water. I glanced at John who wipes
sweat from his face with a steady hand, Martin sipped water
slowly carefully, her eyes scanning The Horizon.
As if memorizing it after our break, we pushed deeper into the
wash where the sand hardened into baked Earth, cracked and
flaking underfoot. As the sun rose higher even
breathing, became an effort. I kept the pace slow methodical
until something in the distance. Caught my eye and uneven shape
jutting awkwardly from a drift of sand at the base of a bluff.
As we got closer, I felt an uneasy tightness in my chest.
It was an old shack. Half collapsed roof, buckling
inward, rusted metal panels hanging Loosely like broken
teeth. It looked completely out of
place, even in a desert that had swallowed whole towns.
I'd walked this base and dozens of times, but I had never seen,
or heard mention of anything like this.
Russ. What is this?
John asked already moving ahead for a closer, look.
I hesitated no clue. Must be an Old Prospector Camp.
John circled. It slowly fascinated.
Marta, lingard back quiet, as always, studying the bones,
scattered around the shack. Small animal bones, bleached
white by the sun. Then I saw something else.
Partly hidden in the shadows cast by warped, wooden planks,
longer bones, straighter and thicker than any desert, coyote
or Jack Rabbit. John nudged one with his boot.
What animal has bones like this? I didn't answer right away, I
knew Bone's I'd come across, plenty over the years.
But these looked unsettlingly familiar Almost Human.
A cold feeling ran down my spine, despite the Heat.
Let's keep moving. I said finally breaking the
silence. We don't want to linger here.
John didn't argue just glanced toward Marta and nodded.
She was already backing away from the shack, her face tents.
We camped several hundred yards away near a narrow rise with
good visibility in every direction.
I picked the spot on Instinct as though.
The distance could somehow erase what we'd seen.
Nightfall brought no relief from the heat.
My tent felt like an oven, the air.
So still it seemed to press down on me, sleep was impossible.
I lace staring at the thin fabric ceiling listening to John
and Marta shift on easily in their tents nearby.
Then something else, caught my attention.
A soft rustling outside my muscles tense, as I strained to
hear better expecting footsteps or whispered voices.
But there were none just silence punctuated by my racing pulse
unable to shake the feeling. I slowly unzipped my tent flap
peering out into the darkness. My heart nearly stopped.
In the faint, Starlight about 10 feet from our 10th, a figure sat
cross-legged utterly Motionless. It faced us head slightly bowed
completely still. Hey I barked my voice cracking
from dryness and adrenaline, I grabbed my flashlight flooding
the area with red tinted light. The figure was gone.
My breath came in short rapid bursts.
As I scan the area expecting to see Footprints or someone
retreating into the darkness. But the sand was smooth
untouched as though. No one had ever been there at
all. I stayed awake, the rest of the
night hand, tightly gripping. My flash light ears straining
against the silence waiting for something that never came.
Dawn, finally came offering thin Comfort after the longest night
of my life, The memory of that silent figure, haunted me, but
the morning brought immediate distraction, Marta's voice.
Edged with panic. Snapped me out of my exhausted,
stupor, Ross. Look she held her hydration
bladder the water dripping steadily into the sand from a
clean slash across its side. John Stood Beside her, holding
his own bladder. Similarly damaged, the cuts
ragged or chewed through by desert Critters.
They were straight and deliberate clearly made by
something Sharp. my stomach tightened as I surveyed the
campsite Someone or something, had done this silently inches
from our sleeping forms. I swallowed hard forcing calm
into my voice. Will redistribute my water?
It's enough to get us back. If we're careful.
But then, I noticed something else.
Just beyond our tents neatly arranged in a perfect grid
pattern. Thin sticks.
Stood upright in the sand. Each was pushed several inches
deep. Impossibly precise at Each
corner lay a small black and stone charred like charcoal.
My pulse quickened as I stared the pattern alien and
unsettling. John cursed under his breath.
Someone's messing with us. Maybe squatters I offered weekly
though. I didn't believe it myself.
Squatters in the desert meant scavengers or Prospectors people
who value Solitude more than anything.
They wouldn't risk confrontation Marta watched me quietly reading
doubt. Clearly in my hesitation I
brushed sand over the sticks with my boot erasing, the
pattern, but the unease lingard thick, as the heat building with
the Rising Sun, we need to move. I said firmly will cut East and
pick up a canyon. I know it'll bring us back
toward the Jeep will be fine if we don't waste time neither
argued. We packed swiftly silence
hanging heavy between us every shadow.
Now felt ominous each rock formation, a possible hiding
place, for whatever had visited in the night.
As we hiked temperatures, climbed relentlessly the sun,
burning into our skin. My route followed narrow washes
and old fire scars, but my mind raced with thoughts of the
figure the sticks. The slashed water.
I had walked these desert paths, countless times yet now, they
seemed hostile unfamiliar near noon.
We paused briefly beneath the Sandstone, overhang the shade
barely enough to ease our misery.
Marta passed John. My water bottle with a word.
Each carefully rationing their sips.
We had to keep moving this desert had a cruel way of
punishing the slow. After another grueling our
Marta, abruptly stopped eyes wide.
Wait, where's John? My heart.
Plunged into a sickening. Drop turning quickly.
I scan the trail behind us. Nothing.
He'd vanished with without a sound.
No Struggle, No, shout. Not even a footprint out of
place. John, I called sharply fear
edging, my voice, only the quiet vastness replied Marta, stood
Frozen, her expression shifting from confusion to Terror.
Stay here. I ordered.
Don't move. Drink sparingly, I'll find him.
She nodded mutely eyes. Never leaving mine.
Pleading silently, not to abandon her too.
I jogged back down the wash. I scouring, every crevice, every
shadow Then I noticed subtle signs, the scrape of boots, the
bent limbs of dry okoto faint impressions.
In the sand. Leading toward a narrow Chute
between two boulders. My pulse thundered in my ears as
I followed the tracks. In the shadows, my foot kicked
something metallic hidden under a thin layer of sand.
Kneeling quickly. I brushed it clear, a heavy
length of rusted, chain, half, buried bolted, into Solid Rock.
The other end had snapped leaving it empty and useless the
site sent chills through me. Despite the blistering heat
rust. John's voice, startled me.
He emerged on steadily from behind a rocky ledge.
His face pale beneath layers of dust and sweat you.
All right, I asked sharply he nodded shakily.
I thought I saw someone watching from those rocks, he pointed
vaguely behind him, then everything went blurry.
I passed out. Heat exhaustion.
I lied. Confidently.
Clapping his shoulder reassuringly.
Drink slowly. We have to get back to Marta.
We hurried back my anxiety Rising again when I didn't
immediately see her. Then I noticed her pack sitting
beside a small Rock Hollow. Approaching slowly, I called her
name. Softly trying not to startle her
Marta. Crawled out cautiously eyes.
Darting nervously toward the wash.
We'd left behind Something came, she whispered voice cracking.
It crawled out from behind that Ridge covered in Ash or dirt.
I don't know. It didn't look right.
It was crawling rust. Like an animal.
Her words froze. My blood.
No? Desert prospector or squatter
would behave this way? No.
Rational explanation fit my hands trembled slightly as I
helped her stand we go. I said earlier than I felt now
they nodded silently. We pushed northward toward the
canyon. I prayed with lead us, back
toward the Jeep and safety. Every step felt like fleeing,
every shadow hidden Menace. Behind us, the sun began its
slow descent. Casting longer darker shapes
across the sand, chasing us forward towards something.
I now feared waited, patiently ahead.
The canyon walls closed tighter around us.
As we move deeper Sandstone Rising steeply on both sides, my
breath rasped in my throat, each intake of air hot and gritty.
Marta. And John kept pace behind me.
Their footsteps, hurried and anxious.
I felt the tension radiating off them.
My eyes darted toward every shadow, every Bend ahead. the
Slot Canyon was familiar, at least I thought it was but in
this late afternoon light, if it felt hostile somehow narrower
darker Still, it was our best shot at getting out quickly.
We'd make it to the old Jeep Road and follow it back to the
trailhead. I repeated that promise silently
like a mantra fighting to stay calm.
I heard it first. A faint scrap of stone.
Then again, louder closer Marta. Stopped abruptly.
Gripping my arm. Her fingers.
Trembling rusted. Did you hear?
Yes, I whispered sharply cutting her off.
Keep moving. John had slowed behind us.
Stumbling slightly from exhaustion.
He wiped his brow. His eyes Hollow with fatigue and
fear were being followed, aren't we?
I didn't respond. Just quickened our pace.
My heart slammed inside my chest, with every step, whatever
it was, it wasn't bothering to hide anymore.
Each footfall, echoed louder. Now, solid steady gaining ground
behind us, I tightened my grip on the hatchet hanging from my
belt feeling, the Warren wood handle slick with sweat.
Move I hissed, urgently almost jogging.
Now then a shadow detached itself from above dropping
suddenly into the canyon directly ahead.
A figure landed in a crowd dust billowing around him.
My breath caught painfully as he straightened slowly revealing
himself in full. The man was skeletal.
Filthy, streaked head to toe and gray Ash and dirt his cracked
skin raw and blistered from weeks, maybe months of desert
exposure. In his right hand, he clutched a
sharpen piece of rebar. The rusted metal gleaming
faintly in the dimming light, He said nothing staring through
narrowed unblinking eyes. My skin crawled beneath his
gaze. Marta's breaths came in Rapid
panicked. Gasps behind me John began to
move backwards. Slowly stumbling over loose
Stones, his face a mask of disbelief.
Who what is the man lunged forward without warning?
No sound no threat, just a sudden, explosive movement, he
swung the rebar in a vicious Arc toward me, instinctively, I
raised my arm to block pain flashed hot through my shoulder
and I staggered sideways against the canyon wall, gasping.
I twisted sharply scooping A Fistful of sand from the canyon
floor as the Man rushed again, I threw it directly into his face.
Blinding him momentarily. He staggered backward.
Coughing violently clawing at his eyes.
It was my only chance run. I shouted Horsley shoving Marta.
And John toward a narrow Gap behind us.
They bolted scrambling over the Rocks fear propelling them
forward faster than exhaustion should have allowed.
I followed close behind each pounding step in effort,
listening desperately for Pursuit.
We raced through twisting, passages, scraping against
Sandstone walls. The Echoes of our frantic
breathing loud in the tight spaces.
My mind blurred every turn looked identical, just as
despair began creeping in. I saw it the rusted metal marker
half buried at the mouth of the canyon signaling.
The start of the old Jeep Road this way.
I shouted leading them forward, legs burning with every step we
stumbled out on. on to open ground, The Fading Sun, washing,
everything in a muted, surreal glow, Glancing back.
I saw no one following but I knew better than to slow down
now. We didn't stop until the
familiar Shape. Of My Jeep came into view parked
exactly where I had left it two mornings earlier.
Marta leaned against the hood sobbing quietly.
John sank to his knees in the sand coughing weekly my injured
shoulder throbbed. Sharply blood soaking through my
torn sleeve. None of us spoke Later when I
filed the report with the park rangers, their faces showed
confusion skepticism, then quiet concern.
They found the shack exactly where I described, but nothing
else. No sign of the man, no tracks
leading away, just the strange, precise grid of sticks and that
buried length of rusted chain as inexplicable to them.
As it was to me, Eventually they called it an Old Prospector
Camp. Dismissing my question.
But I knew they didn't really believe it and neither did I?
Something had been out there waiting.
Maybe still was. I don't guide tours anymore.
I spend most of my time indoors now away from the heat away from
memories that won't fade. But in a small drawer of my
desk, I keep the single rusted chain link.
I pulled from that desert wash. proof that it all happened proof
that the desert has Secrets its willing to keep for the last six
Summers. I'd guided backpacking groups
deep into Colorado's flat tops Wilderness.
A sprawling remote area in the heart of White River National
Forest. unlike more crowded spots, the flat tops offered
Solitude miles of Wildflower, filled Meadows and trails,
Untouched by casual tourists, This three-day Loop beginning at
Stillwater Trailhead running along skinny, Fish Lake across,
Devil's Causeway and ending in Bear.
River Valley had become my signature route.
I knew it intimately or at least I thought I did on this trip.
There were six hikers under my watch, two teenagers, Liam and
Cody full of energy but lacking focus a couple from Boulder
named Greg and Heather both experienced.
But overly talkative a quiet first timer named Jordan and a
Solo Traveler named Tom from Missouri who seemed confident
enough. We had permits clear weather
forecasts and no fire alerts. It should have been an easy
Loop. It wasn't Midway through the
second day under a blazing afternoon sun.
We reach the junction that marked the ascent toward Devil's
Causeway. I'd hiked this segment a dozen
times. Always admiring its dramatic
exposure, and sweeping Vistas But in the familiar weather
beaten wooden Trail marker. We found a brand new sign,
bright yellow, wood at Fresh black lettering.
Trail clothes, fire reroute, to Deep Creek Basin.
I frowned, feeling an immediate unease Wildfire closures.
Were not unusual in July, but this fell off.
I'd heard no warnings before departure and had meticulously
checked every possible alert source.
Still, as the guide safety came first.
Reluctantly, I motioned to the group.
Looks like we're taking a detour.
I said, trying to sound reassuring, will Loop down into
Deep Creek, Basin and cut back around.
It's going to add a few miles, but nothing we can't handle.
The new Trail was narrow in steep descending into dense,
stands of spruce and fur. The shade was welcome at first,
but the unfamiliar route, quickly turned on settling.
Every guide develops an instinct, a feeling of
something, being off course, even before confirming it on a
map. My internal Compass kept telling
me. We were drifting away from our
intended Loop yet. Every quarter mile or so.
A small red diamond marker nailed precisely to a tree
appeared to reassure us. We were headed correctly. as the
sun began to dip toward the Horizon, we reached a small
clearing something unnatural catching my eye, through the
underbrush I moved closer to investigate.
Hidden among thick, grass and overgrown.
Shrubs, a rusted, metal sign on the ground carefully.
I lifted a corner brushing away, Decades of Grimes, Pine Ridge,
spur, Trail closed. 1984, I glanced around confused, this
didn't match any Trail at ever. Heard of there were no mentions
of this spur on Modern Maps. Unease.
Fred quietly through me but I kept it hidden.
What's that Heather asked? Coming up behind me.
An old trail marker, I replied casually.
Nothing relevant. Let's keep moving.
We continue down setting up camp, as Twilight painted The
Valley in muted, blues and purples.
Everyone was quieter now, sensing something unspoken in
the air. After dinner.
While others settled around tents, I saw Liam staring
fixedly into the darkness beyond the campfires reach.
You, okay? I asked softly his face was
pale. I swear I saw someone crouched
down in the bushes just watching.
I followed his gaze into the Shadows.
Nothing moved no eyes reflected, our light, probably just your
imagination. I reassured him.
It's easy to see things out here, but even as I spoke my
chest tightened, I'd learned not to dismiss hiker concerns too
lightly instead. I double checked our bearings
and kept my radio clip close to my sleeping bag.
I lay awake listening. Around midnight footsteps,
approached Camp, slow heavy purposeful, I tense reaching
instinctively for my headlamp. Who's out there.
I called my voice slicing through the silence.
The footstep stopped. I listened closely barely
breathing, nothing. No further sound came
eventually, fatigued me. And I drifted into an uneasy
sleep morning, brought gray skies and tension.
I woke Before Sunrise counting head silently as the group
stirred. Liam Cody.
Heather, Greg Jordan know, Tom instantly alert.
I scan the tents again. Where is Tom I called?
Sharply Panic, flitted across phases, Heather pointed
nervously toward the trees. I saw him walk off earlier, but
I assumed he was just, you know. We spread out calling his name.
20 minutes later Tom stumbled back in to Camp from the
opposite direction. He was filthy mud, streaked
across his clothes, his expression was blank eyes wide
and Confused. A vivid red scratch marked his
neck fresh and bleeding lightly, what happened?
I demanded trying. Not to sound accusatory.
He shook his head slowly blinking as if waking from
sleep. I I don't remember.
I thought I heard something. Followed it then nothing.
The group, exchanged worried looks my stomach Twisted,
sharply Trails, don't vanish. People don't wander into the
woods and come back with without memory.
Something was deeply wrong in this Basin quietly?
I packed my gear and forced myself into a facade of calm
whatever. This was I knew instinctively we
had to move Trails. Don't just vanish, but markers
can be faked hikers misled, we're leaving.
I said, firmly stay together. No wandering off.
We're getting out today. Even as I spoke, I felt annoying
dread a sensation that the trail behind us was no longer there.
That returning the way we came had ceased to be an option.
We were being herded, forward Guided by markers, that
shouldn't exist into places. Long forgotten and left.
Undisturbed And something in my gut warned me, whatever was
guiding us deeper away from known trails and into forgotten
Woods didn't intend for us to make it out easily.
I led the group out of Camp tension, pulling tight at my
shoulders. I moved us quickly down the
narrow Trail. Ignoring the quiet, murmurs and
worried glances behind me. Tom stated in the middle of the
pack eyes, glassy and unfocused, repeatedly touching the fresh
scratch on his neck. I'd seen hikers act strange
before exhaustion, altitude dehydration, but never quite
like this. The Morning Mist, lingard
turning the trees around us into dark shapes on all sides.
The red diamond markers. We'd followed the day before
were now conspicuously absent. I kept checking hoping they
would reappear, but the bark on every trunk was Bare.
It was as if someone had come overnight and carefully removed
every sign we'd trusted. Greg quickened his Pace coming
up beside me. His voice was tight strained
with forced calmness. Emily.
Shouldn't we have hit the trail Junction by now.
I nodded, but kept my eyes fixed ahead scanning constantly.
Soon. I lied trying not to let my
voice betray. How lost I felled?
It's just a bit farther down. In truth, I didn't recognize
anything around us. The landscape had subtly
changed. The gentle ridges had become
steeper the forest denser, we had somehow drifted into terrain
that bore. No resemblance to the route.
We were supposed to take Just as my anxiety, peaked, Jordan
stopped abruptly. Her breathing had quickened Does
anyone else hear that? Her voice was barely audible
Fragile with nerves. We all froze, ears, straining
into the quiet around us. I heard it clearly this time.
Slow footsteps, tracking parallel to ours.
May be 50 yards away in the underbrush.
They matched our Pace, exactly stopping whenever we stopped.
the rustling was Heavy, methodical and human-sized
Cody's voice trembled, something's out there could be
Wildlife. I said attempting, reassurance
keep moving, it'll likely lose interest.
But in my bones, I knew better. I had spent too many seasons out
here to mistake. These sounds for an animal
animals. Don't stalk patiently matching,
a group's Pace pausing whenever we pause.
We pressed onward. Each step, taking us deeper into
unfamiliar ground. By midday, we reached a small
clearing and saw another wooden Trail.
Sign ahead, weathered with faded lettering, that said, Ridge
Cutoff established 1969, My pulse quickened, another Trail,
I'd never heard of never seen marked on any of my maps or
guides. This isn't right.
I muttered pulling my pack around and grabbing my laminated
topo map. I ran my finger along every
line, every elevation Contour, nothing, even resembled Ridge
Cutoff. Heather watched me nervously,
Emily. It's not on here.
My admission hung heavy in the air, Greg stepped closer, Voice,
Low, and urgent. Then let's turn around and
retrace. Find our way back to the main
trail. I stared back toward the trail
behind using the unsettling lack of markers.
But Greg was right. Retracing was our only clear
option yet. As I turned back toward the
direction, we'd come from my breath, hitched the path.
We'd followed had become almost indistinguishable blending
seamlessly into Tangled undergrowth.
I swallowed hard Okay, let's head back, slowly.
Watch your footing, everyone. We trudged back every step.
Fueling my unease, an hour passed then too.
And nothing familiar. Reappeared.
It was like the trail had simply vanished behind us.
Liam's. Voice.
Broke the oppressive silence. Hey, look up there.
We all looked ahead following Liam's.
Pointing finger, The Narrow Path.
We'd been cautiously navigating Rose upward along, a narrow
Ridge pinched between two steep drop-offs on the ground.
Something glinted strangely beneath patches of leaves and
pine needles, my gut Twisted with Dread Wait here.
I said, firmly inching forward carefully.
Kneeling down I brushed away leaves and immediately recoiled.
A crude trap stretched across the trail carefully disguised
wire secured between Stakes with sharp and sticks, aimed directly
upward, whoever placed it clearly intended harm.
Greg approached cautiously his voice strained.
What is it? It's a trap.
My voice sounded distant, even to myself, and it was meant for
people not animals. A cold silence gripped.
The group, as I grabbed my trekking pole, jamming it into
the wire to disarm the Trap. Metal, scraped loudly sticks,
broken and Scattered, but in the process, the carbon shafts
splintered and snapped in my hands.
I cursed quietly tossing the broken pieces aside, Tom stared
at the disassembled trap color draining from his face.
Someone's out here. He whispered watching us I scan
the Shadows around us. Feeling vulnerable and exposed.
The midday Sun had slipped behind thickening clouds casting
the forest in Gray Gloom. The darkness fell too early and
too heavy. We're moving.
I said my voice clip with urgency no more breaks will hike
straight through the night. If we have to keep your lights
handy and stay close, We pushed onward silent intense eyes
constantly. Scanning the trees.
Around us hours passed marked only by ragged breathing in the
faint crunch of boots on gravel Near Twilight.
We reached another faded Junction, sign the wood warped
and splintered from Decades of neglect.
It read simply Trappers way. Three miles.
The name was like ice water down my spine, another non-existent
Trail. Another ghost from decades
passed Panic threatened at the edge of my mind, but I forced it
away, locked it down, there would be time for fear later.
Stay alert. I whispered barely loud enough
for the group to hear. We're not alone out here.
In the creeping Darkness, our headlamps flickered on one by
one, the narrow beams cast jittery circles ahead of us
Illuminating Twisted, branches and Tangled Roots.
Each Shadows seemed deeper more ominous and full of potential
danger. The footsteps that had Trails us
earlier had returned always parallel always just out of view
matching us step for step through the darkened Forest.
Whatever, or whoever it was, clearly had no intention of
letting us go. And now we were moving deeper
into territory. We should never have entered
toward trails that had vanished decades ago where only forgotten
threats remained hidden waiting patiently for hikers.
Like us to wander too far off course.
By Dawn exhaustion, weighed on each of us muscles burned our
feet blistered raw, and our nerves felt frayed to Breaking.
But then at first light, the trees began to thin ahead.
The dark claustrophobic Woods, gave way to a narrow clearing
that opened onto Ridgeline below us stretched Bear River, Valley
familiar, and beautiful illuminated by the early
morning. Sun For the first time in hours,
I exhaled deeply feeling, genuine relief.
There I said pointing down to a distant rib of gravel road,
cutting through the valley floor.
We just have to reach that road. There's Ranger access their Greg
shoulders sagged with relief. Thank God.
I pushed the group forward quickly, every painful step
downward towards civilization, ease the dreaded since, we'd
first seen the reroutes outside. Soon enough, we reach the road
wide tangible reassuringly. Familiar.
Pulling my radio from my pack. I flicked it on the static
crackled, then a strong voice broke through.
Clear and firm White River dispatch.
Go ahead. I nearly choked with relief.
Dispatch. This is Emily.
Blake guide permit 338 We've had an incident, got rerouted into
Deep Creek, Basin off Devil's Causeway.
We're out now on Forest Road. 112 requesting immediate
assistance. A brief silence then.
Copy that Emily. This is Caleb with search and
rescue. You're saying Deep Creek Basin
affirmative? I replied.
A new reroutes sign was posted yesterday morning at Devil's
Causeway Junction. There was hesitation on Caleb's
end. His voice returned cautious.
that's, Strange. Sit tight.
I'm on my way. Within an hour Caleb's forest
service truck appeared tires crunching on gravel as he slowed
to a stop beside us. He climbed out looking serious.
But confused, a binder of maps and paperwork tucked under his
arm I recounted the previous days events in detail.
The strange sign at Devil's Causeway, the old Trails.
We'd stumbled upon the wire and stick trap Tom's disappearance
and the Mysterious footsteps that had shadowed us through the
forest Caleb's expression, darkened, as I spoke He flipped
urgently through his binder Maps rustling under his fingers.
Finally, he looked up sharply. Emily.
There's no reroute through Deep Creek Basin, there hasn't been
in years. That's impossible.
I said voice, edged with disbelief.
We saw the sign, it was brand new red diamond markers.
Let us the entire way down. Caleb shook his head firmly, we
pulled every sign out of their decades ago.
Nobody's been authorized back there since My stomach Twisted,
I'll take you back and show you. I said we left the markers in
the Trap, right? Where we found them.
Caleb. Noted reluctantly visibly,
troubled. Show me.
Leaving the group safely behind at the truck.
I retraced our path back up the ridge, alongside Caleb.
I felt confident as we neared, the spot where we'd found the
Trap. Yet my confidence, vanished
instantly as we emerged onto the narrow Ridgeline.
No trap, no markers. No, broken Sticks.
No. Disturbed Earth just dense
underbrush. Untouched appearing as though.
No human had Disturbed it in decades.
It was right here. I insisted desperately.
I disarmed it. Myself, snapped my pole in the
process. Caleb stared at the spot quietly
eyes searching for any sign of our presence.
He shook his head, slowly clearly perplexed.
Emily nothing's here. Hasn't been for years.
This is just an Old Logging path.
Reclaimed by the forest, we moved farther up, the trail
toward the junction marked Trapper's way, but as we reached
the spot, my pulse quickened, again, and confusion and dread
the Warped. Wooden sign, we'd seen only
hours before was gone. All that remained was moss
covered ground and a faint indentation of a trail long
abandoned I don't understand. I murmured my voice small
shaking they were here. Caleb studied me closely.
You sure you're not just tired. Emily.
Fatigue can make anyone see things?
I bit back frustration. I know what we saw.
The entire group saw it. Those Trails, the Trap.
It was real. He nodded gently leading me back
toward the truck. Let's get everyone back to the
ranger station and get you hydrated and rested.
We'll talk more there. hours later, showered, and sitting at
a desk inside the quiet ranger station, I flipped through
Caleb's binder of official trail maps Page after page, year after
year confirmed exactly what Caleb had said.
Each route. We'd followed the Pine Ridge.
Spur Ridge, Cutoff Trappers way had been decommissioned erased
from Maps decades earlier. Caleb watched me carefully
folding his arms. None of those Trails have been
marked or maintained since the 80s.
Nobody would bother rebuilding trails that deep.
There's no reason. Then who plays the sign at
Devil's Causeway, I demanded, who nailed those markers on the
trees, and who built that trap. Caleb's eyes, moved past me,
fixed on a faded photograph, pin to the wall behind my chair.
I turned following his gaze. It showed a smiling group of
Rangers posed, near an old cabin, a sign behind them,
reading, Deep Creek, Ranger Station, 1979, he sighed
quietly, Emily some parts of this Wilderness have stories
even older Rangers, don't like revisiting.
Trails, vanish here for a reason.
Maybe some things out there aren't meant to be found.
I shivered and voluntarily looking away from the picture.
Are you saying someone lured us into that Basin?
He hesitated shaking his head. I don't know what to believe,
but what ever? It was your lucky.
You got out. I stared blankly at my folded
hands, thoughts tumbling chaotically.
I knew I'd never returned to the flat tops Wilderness.
Never set foot. Again, on these paths, I thought
I was don't vanish without reason, and if they do, maybe
it's because of the forest is hiding something.
It wants forgotten, maybe Caleb was right.
Maybe some paths really aren't meant to be found again.
I've guided groups of teenagers into the marble Mountain
Wilderness for the past four Summers.
At 33 years old. My job isn't just about showing
kids how to pitch tents or filter water from streams.
It's about teaching them resilience These kids come from
rough backgrounds foster, homes, Inner City Apartments, troubled
families, most have never left their hometowns.
Let alone hiked deep into the rugged, mountains of Northern
California, Marble Mountain was perfect for our mission remote
untouched. A landscape wild enough to
challenge anyone. This particular trip had five
teens on my supervision three boys.
Jason Caleb and Devin and two girls, Elena and Mia.
Elena 16 was quiet and observant, always a step behind
the group. But acutely aware of her
surroundings. Caleb 17.000 joked around
covering his own insecurities with laughter.
Devin 15 and Mia 16 were friends, confident enough to
take the lead on the trail, but in experienced enough to
underestimate the mountains. Jason.
Also 17 was The Quiet One often lost in thought, rarely
engaging, unless spoken to directly We entered from Lover's
Camp Trailhead a well marked spot near Etna and planned a
Six-Day route. Looping through Sky High Lakes
Russian Lake and big elk Lake. It was late, July warm, during
the day, but crisp at night. No phones, no, GPS, just Maps,
compasses, and Instincts by our second evening.
We'd climbed to nearly 6,000 feet, setting camp at the
largest of the sky-high Lakes. We pitched.
Our tents near the Lakes western shore in the shadow of steep
Granite Cliffs. Dinner was straightforward.
Dehydrated pasta cooked over portable stove's.
The kids had settled into a rare moment of silence spooning food
from metal bowls. When Elena suddenly froze,
mid-bite She turned her head eyes.
Narrowing, did you guys hear that?
I glanced up from my map here. What?
Scream. She whispered looking toward the
North East Ridge behind our campsite.
I swear it sounded like a woman the group listened and a low
murmur began uncertain, laughs shrugs.
Devin dismissed it first. Suggesting it was probably just
a mountain lion or maybe the wind blowing through the rocks.
I was inclined to agree. Sounds traveled strangely out
here. Amplified and Twisted by Rocky,
Cliffs and valleys but then just as we were starting to relax.
Again it happened a scream pierced the evening quiet, a
shrill cry, that cut through the thin Mountain Air, it sounded
human a woman in pain or Panic short but unmistakable.
Caleb jumped up from the log where he'd been sitting that
that was close. No, I said standing up slowly.
It sounds close but it's up there.
High on that Ridge. Is someone hurt Elena asked
softly? Her face pale?
I studied the jagged outline of the ridge shadowed now by the
Setting Sun, nothing moved. If someone was hurt, they
wouldn't scream. Just once they'd shout or call
for help besides there's no other permits out here right
now. Mia shifted nervously.
Should we go check it out? No.
I said firmly The Ridges Steep and unstable and it's almost
dark. Whatever it is, will listen out
if we hear it again, we'll reassess. the group slowly
settled back into dinner but the mood had shifted, I caught Jason
scanning, the ridge, repeatedly, eyes, narrowed fists, clenched
tight, 47 minutes later, the scream came again.
Exactly the same pitch. Exactly the same length, but
from slightly farther east along the ridge, we froze Even Caleb,
usually quick with a joke when quiet.
That's not normal. Devin murmured, shifting closer
to Mia. No it's not.
I agreed softly trying to hide my own unease over the next two
hours the screams continued exactly 47 minutes apart always
from different points, along the ridge.
Line each time the same voice identical pitch as if recorded
and replayed But there was no Echo, no Distortion.
Just a pure single scream, slicing through the silence.
Elena finally broke down voice shaking.
Someone's in trouble. We can't just ignore it.
I felt torn. She wasn't wrong, but something
about this. Screamed wrongness to me, yet.
I knew they looked to me, as their guide, the adult who had
the answer's? I'll go take a look.
I said, finally stay here. Stay Together.
Devon. You're in charge.
Keep everyone close. I grabbed my binoculars and
flash light and climbed quickly up a Rocky, Knoll near Camp,
scrambling onto a large flat Rock to get a better View.
Darkness was gathering, but there was still enough Twilight
to scan the area. I swept the binocular slowly
along the Ridgeline following, the jagged Peaks searching for
any sign of movement. A flicker of motion.
Caught my eye instinctively, I turned back adjusting the focus.
My heart still a figure human-shaped but moving low to
the ground, crawling rapidly across the talus slope on all
fours. Darted from one Rocky, Shadow to
another at least 300 yards away. Even from this distance, I could
see it was too fast, too agile, for someone injured or lost.
I lowered the binoculars slowly my throat tight.
What kind of person moved like that returning to Camp?
I forced myself to remain calm. Conscious of every word.
I didn't see anyone needing help.
I said carefully. It's probably an animal.
Sometimes cougars are bears. Make weird noises.
Let's just stay alert and quiet tonight.
Nobody seemed convinced, but the group reluctantly accepted, my
answer as Darkness settled fully, I extinguished the
campfire and ushered everyone to their tents.
Sleep, never came. As I Lay awake, fully clothed
listening to the rustle of nylon.
As the teens shifted nervously, the scream returned every 47
minutes again and again like clockwork until dawn.
I stayed awake gripping. My knife eyes.
Fixed on the thin fabric walls of my tent.
Whatever was out there, I knew two things, for sure, it wasn't
an animal, and it certainly wasn't lost.
Dawn, brought a tense silence. We emerged from our tents groggy
and pale each of us pretending not to notice how exhausted we
all looked. The screaming had stopped
shortly before sunrise, and its absence was somehow worse. at
least when it echoed through the night, we knew where it was now,
we Face an uncertain quiet and that put everyone on edge I
quickly got the group packed deciding Weed, Head North East
cutting through a saddle toward Russian wilderness.
I didn't tell the kids why I chose that direction, but it was
the quickest route toward lower ground in an eventual Fire Road.
I knew existed near Little Elk Lake.
We needed a distance in daylight.
We broke camp. At first light, the teen's
following silently behind me eyes weary and feet heavy even
Caleb. Normally, light-hearted walked
stiffly mouth pressed into a tight line.
Elena stayed closed ice, scanning nervously, with each
step. It was mid-morning by the time
we crested a Granite Ridge that overlooked a steep basin.
Below us lay the remains of a campsite clearly visible Against
The Pale Stone and sparse vegetation.
Charred tent fabric fluttered Loosely in the breeze and gear
was scattered haphazardly across the ground.
What happened there? Jason asked quietly.
Maybe a fire, Devon offered hesitantly could be I said
scanning the area carefully. We'll check it out but stay
close and don't touch anything. We descended cautiously into the
Basin, my heart, sank, the closer we got, this wasn't just
a campfire, accident. The damage was too precise, too
violent. The tents were shredded fabric
torn apart in ragged strips. The sleeping bags looked as if
they had been attacked stuffing spilling out in white clumps
across the ground. A portable camp stove, lay
twisted and crushed. As those something heavy had
slammed down on top of it. Mia.
Knelt beside one of the shredded sleeping bags Owen, what could
do this a bear? I shook my head slowly.
A bear would have left claw marks, chewed through food bags
and dragged things away. This this feels wrong.
Elena stood, Frozen near the edge of the campsite pointing
silently toward something Tangled in a low bush.
I stepped closer and immediately saw it, a backpack, fabric
ripped straps dangling, loosely Carefully, I pulled it free
opened the main compartment and felt my stomach churn inside was
a Blood Stained shirt. Dark patches crusted, stiff and
dry. Caleb muttered softly.
Whose is that not ours, I answered grimly wrong.
Color, wrong size. Jason's voice came low and
controlled That, where are they? I didn't have an answer, my
mind. Flashed back to the figure.
I'd seen crawling across the slope, fast inhuman, and Silent,
whatever, had attacked. This Camp was no ordinary
animal. And I was certain it was in any
lost hiker either. I marked the campsites
coordinates on our map and stood abruptly.
Let's go. We don't want to stay here.
We climbed out of the base and quickly.
The teen's moving with Newfound urgency behind us.
The wind rustle through the shredded fabric a sound that
raised Goosebumps on my arms. By after noon, fatigue began to
set in. We'd covered ground quickly and
I knew the group needed rest. as we paused briefly near a rocky
stream, the scream erupted again, louder, closer, it echoed
down the slopes slicing sharply through the Stillness Elena
flinched, her voice tight, its following us, The group fell
silent. I checked my watch exactly 47
minutes since we'd stopped at the destroyed Camp.
My pulse quickened, with anxiety, I had no explanation.
Only a growing certainty, that we were not alone and that
something was deliberately stalking us.
Keep moving. I urge to fighting to keep the
urgency out of my voice. Will get down to that fire Road
by tonight. Stick together?
No one argued. Our Pace quickened as daylight
began to fade Shadows, creeping out from beneath the trees,
swallowing up the thin sunlight. Caleb stopped suddenly staring
at something ahead. I followed his gaze.
On the trail directly in front of us, sat accrued Stone figure.
Rocks and branches were stacked into the shape of a person arms
outstretched as though, reaching for us.
Jason, stepped back in voluntarily.
What is that me? His voice trembled.
I felt a chill run through my chest.
It wasn't a typical hike hers. Karen, it was intentional
carefully. Placed someone or something
wanted us to see it. Don't touch it.
I warned we go around it. Stay alert.
We skirted the Cairn cautiously. But within minutes, we
encountered another, then another Five Stone figures
blocked or lined our path. Each one larger, more imposing
than the last. The final one blocked, the
Switchback ahead forcing us off the trail and into the thicker
Woods. It was dusk now, light nearly
gone. I took a slow breath realizing.
I'd have to make the choice. I dreaded.
Were leaving the trail. I said, finally, we'll cut East
through the trees and head straight down toward the Fire
Road. It's rough, but it's safer than
staying on this path. No one spoke.
They simply nodded eyes wide trusting me, despite the growing
Terror. As we stepped off the trail, the
forest pressed close around us darkness and developing the
group. My heart pounded steadily in my
chest, each beat marking, my growing fear that whatever had
to destroyed the campsite and followed us within human
persistence was somewhere very close.
Now, watching us move deeper into the darkening Woods. night,
fell hard and the forest closed in around us dense and
suffocating, The trees grew closer, branches, scraping our
arms and faces as we stumbled through the brush.
I led the group forward by Compass alone, flash light, held
low, barely Illuminating, our immediate path.
The teens moved in a tight line. Each gripping the backpack of
the person in front of them, careful to stay Within Reach
every few minutes, I checked over my shoulder hoping, I
wouldn't see anything trailing us yet.
Each time I glanced back, my imagination filled in the
shadows with shifting shapes and unseen threats. then came the
scream again louder closer far too close this time it echoed
off the rocky slopes behind us distorted slightly by distance
and terrain Mia yelped in Terror stumbling forward against Elena
nearly knocking them both down It's right behind us, Elena
gasped. Her voice thin and brittle.
Keep moving. I urged desperate to sound.
Calm, don't stop. No matter what you hear.
It's trying to scare us. Don't let it But my own
confidence, had eroded. Each screen came at shorter
intervals now, 20 minutes apart then, 15, worse.
Yet it shifted positions constantly, sometimes behind,
sometimes beside us. And once, even ahead, it felt as
if, the sound itself was hurting us, steering us deeper into the
darkness. Whatever this thing was it was
playing with us. As we struggled on Jason
suddenly stopped jerking Devin to a halt behind him, I saw
something Jason whispered his voice tight.
There between those two trees, I spun around sweeping my
flashlight. Across the trees.
Nothing, no movement, no shapes. Just dense forest and silence.
But Jason stood rigid staring wide-eyed I swear.
Oh and it was tall standing upright my pulse raced and I
scanned again, nothing moved. We have to keep going.
I whispered harshly were almost at the Fire Road.
Let's not slow down. Jason didn't argue but his
breathing quickened betraying his Panic.
We pressed on stumbling downward through thick underbrush,
scratching ourselves Raw. My map showed we should have
reached the Fire Road by now yet.
It still alluded Us hidden by darkness and dense vegetation My
Mind Race had I miscalculated. Did we Veer off course I
couldn't let doubt seep in not. Now not when these kids relied
on me minutes stretched into hours or at least it felt that
way exhaustion slowed us legs heavy and clumsy until suddenly
mercifully the thick brush opened onto a faint trail of
packed Earth and abandoned fire Road narrow and overgrown, but
clear enough for us to follow. Thank God, Caleb muttered
breathlessly relief. Surged through me though.
Short lived. We weren't safe yet.
I checked the compass again. Guiding us Eastward along the
dirt road. My ears strained for any sign of
danger. Then headlights pierced the
darkness twin beams of Salvation slicing through the trees ahead.
We froze momentarily, stunned. Then waved our arms frantically
shouting and stumbling forward. The vehicle slowed tires
crunching gravel, a battered Trail, maintenance truck rolled
to a stop and the driver leaned out confusion on his face.
What the hell are you folks doing out here?
He asked sharply eyeing. Our ragged appearance?
Suspiciously we need help. I answered urgently.
Something's following us. We've been off Trail for hours.
There's been screaming, destroyed, campsites, Stone
markers, please. These kids need out.
The Man's eyes softened at our desperation and he quickly
knotted. All right, get in hurry. we
piled greatly into the truck bed, collapsing, against the
hard, metal, trembling with relief, The truck lurched
forward rumbling slowly down the uneven Road toward the distant
lights of civilization. I sat with my back against the
cab eyes, fixed behind us, half expecting to see something
emerge from the Shadows, something tall, fast and wrong.
But the darkness stayed still unmoving.
The only sounds now were the engine steady hum and the soft
sobbing of relief from Elena and Mia.
The following morning, I accompanied a small crew of
forest service Personnel, back into the Wilderness, determined
to show them what we had seen But the stone Figures were gone
dismantled or simply vanished. We found the destroyed Camp
again. Exactly, as we left it but the
bloodstained backpack had disappeared as if someone had
returned overnight to remove the evidence.
The Rangers noted, everything carefully photographed, the
campsite, But ultimately Shrugged helplessly.
No permits out here for weeks, oh, and one of them finally told
me and no reported missing hikers, either will investigate
further but there's not much else we can do right now.
Days passed. The teens went home shaken, but
safe. And me.
I stayed awake nights searching online and local news
obsessively for any mention of disappearances or sightings any
explanation at all. I never found a thing.
I never guided another group back into marble Mountain.
I tell myself, I'll eventually forget that the nightmares will
fade, but deep down, I know better.
Whatever was out there. Didn't just want to scare us.
It wanted us to remember to always carry the fear of
something unknown waiting in the dark.
It succeeded. I've always found Solitude in
the wilderness comforting rather than frightening.
Maybe that's why I took the Bear Valley assignment.
As a guide and Scout, my job was straightforward.
Find a suitable route for next Summer's trekking group.
After years hiking the Sierra Nevada, I knew Stanislaus
National Forest like the back of my hand or at least I thought I
did. The terrain around, Bear Valley
was rugged but manageable dense Cedar stands mixed with towering
Granite. Outcrops it wasn't Yosemite
level popular but that's what appealed to me.
Remote peaceful, reliable. I started my trip on a clear.
Tuesday Morning from Lake Alpine.
Trailhead leaving my Jeep park near Highway 4.
The registered showed a few hikers had been through the area
recently, but by the second day, I hadn't seen a single soul.
Just me my gear and the Silence of the woods.
Everything seemed routine familiar on the third day, I
followed the ridge east of Mokelumne Peak double-checking.
The root notes, I'd prepared weeks ago, it was hot but
Pleasant the midday Sun cutting between trees and casting bright
patterns on the forest floor. Around noon.
I stopped to catch my breath, scanning my map for the next
Landmark a creek crossing at the foot of the ridge.
But when I looked up something caught, my eye off Trail, just
beyond a cluster of Cedars at first, it was subtle thin,
slashes carved into the bark. Each marking about waist height
evenly, spaced, not animal. Claw marks.
They were too clean too. Uniform curiosity got the better
of me. I stepped off the trail pushing
gently through underbrush to inspect them more closely The
marks continued in a line stretching deeper into the
woods. Every 20 or 30 feet, another
seater had been marked. Identically, They had to be
man-made Trail markers, may be but none I'd seen before and
certainly nothing Maps. Even more strange was the
absence of any human Footprints below them.
I walked on cautiously feeling the map crumpled slightly in my
tightening fist. After a quarter mile, the
markings changed. Small piles of river Stones
appeared at the base of certain trees stacked deliberately by
someone. I glanced again at the map.
Nothing. No Trails.
Old Logging roads or known hunting paths.
The afternoon, Shadows began stretching longer and I
hesitated, part of me. Knew better part of me, urged
caution Whispering. It was time to turn back and
find my intended path, but I didn't the strange Trail markers
felt like a puzzle one. I convinced myself was worth on
raveling. I pushed onward rationalizing
that if the path didn't loop around soon, I had turned back
before dusk Yet another tree appeared in front of me.
This one bearing, a carved pattern of intersecting diagonal
lines. Deep in recent enough, that
fresh saps, seeped from the cuts, my cut Twisted, this
wasn't normal, but my curiosity outweighed caution just a bit
farther. I told myself.
Before I realized the sun had dipped behind the ridge.
It grew. Dark fast under the heavy,
canopy too fast. I was Miles off my planned,
route and new backtracking would be foolish in this fading
daylight. So I made camp near a shallow
Dry Creek, bed, gathering, firewood, quietly, as my ears
strained against the heavy silence around me.
The evening slipped into night. I sat by the small fire chewing
jerky. Slowly eyes straining into the
darkness. Just beyond the flickering
light. That's when the noise started a
rustling of brush faint at first.
Then heavier clearer. Twigs cracked methodically
rhythmically as if something large, were walking carefully
deliberately around the edge of my camp.
I held my breath adrenaline shooting through me my hand,
inching slowly toward the knife strapped to my hip. the sound
continued stopping suddenly every time I shifted my weight,
I strange to see past the Ring of firelight searching
desperately for a hint of movement.
There was nothing only thick Darkness pressing in from all
sides. It stayed that way the movement
invisible yet. Unmistakable circling me until
the early hours. When the first gray hints of
dawn, filtered through the trees, The Sounds stopped as
abruptly as they had begun. My back ached from holding
myself rigid for hours. Exhausted.
I packed quickly eager to return to the familiar, safety of the
main trail, but something was wrong.
Terribly wrong. The creek bed.
I had camped by now stretched indistinguishability.
No, landmarks no clear incline or decline.
Nothing. But repeating Timber and Stone.
My compass needle. Spun properly pointing North,
but North felt meaningless. I tried to backtrack to the
marked Cedars. I'd seen yesterday, but each
Direction looked identical and was trees repeating slopes the
sense of disorientation closing around me like Fog by midday
frustration turned to a creeping dread Bare Valley, a place.
I once found comfortingly familiar had shifted subtly
overnight into something utterly alien.
I pressed onward. Ignoring the gnawing sense that
each step was taking me farther from safety, and deeper into
whatever strange Trail at. Foolishly chosen to follow.
That was my first real mistake not listening to Instinct and
returning immediately to known territory.
And it was a mistake. I soon come to regret far more
deeply than I could imagine. I struggled onward, hoping the
strange confusion of the morning would wear off as the day
progressed, but each Ridge, I crested.
And each Gulch, I descended looked just unfamiliar enough to
gnaw at my confidence. by midday, my water was running low
and my nerves were frayed then I had navigated Wilderness to
Reign my entire adult life. Yet somehow Bear Valley had
Twisted itself into something, unrecognizable.
Ahead through a break in the dense forest.
I spotted a small clearing. My heart quickened.
Open spaces meant better visibility, perhaps a chance to
orient myself. I hurried forward nearly
stumbling and relief. When I saw the outline of an old
campsite hoping desperately, it might give me bearing. but as I
stepped into the clearing, my relief turned to weary
discomfort the camp was abandoned but not in the way Old
Forest camps. Usually are, there was a
makeshift lean to partially collapsed beneath the weight of
rotted branches and wind blown debris.
Next to it sat a pair of worn leather boots, upright and
untouched placed side by side, as if waiting patiently for
their owners return. The souls were thick with mud
but the leather wasn't cracked from age.
They hadn't been here more than a few seasons at most.
A rusted, hunting rifle leaned against a near the boots Barrel
pointed Skyward. I knelt carefully to inspect it.
The metal was parked with rust, the wooden stock brittle with
moisture damage. I pulled the lever gently and
the empty chamber confirmed, what I suspected, it hadn't been
fired in years. Beside the rifle Leon,
overturned canteen, its contents long evaporated and a scrap of a
topographical map torn in half and now eligible from exposure
to the elements. A chill crept, slowly up my
spine. The silence around the clearing
suddenly felt oppressive. I'd stumbled into a band in
camps before but this was different.
It wasn't the rusting rifle or the inexplicably, upright, boots
that unsettled me. Most it was the feeling that
someone had intended to return yet simply never did I stood
slowly backing away from the items as though distance could
erase the unease gnawing at my gut.
Dark clouds were building quickly above the Ridgeline,
bringing the smell of impending rain on the mountain wind.
I had to move find shelter and regain my bearings fast.
Staying in that clearing felt deeply wrong.
As if I had intruded somewhere, I shouldn't be.
I forced myself onward, climbing upward through thick brush,
until I reached a higher rockier Plateau, the terrain, grew slick
and treacherous as rain began falling in cold, heavy sheets.
The storm descended without Mercy, cutting visibility to
Mere feet lightning cracked overhead briefly Illuminating,
the trees and ghostly white bursts.
Each flashed turning Shadows into looming shapes.
Fighting panic. I set my tent near a granite,
outcrop fingers. Trembling from the icy rain, As
night swallowed, the storm darkened Valley, I lay awake
alert. My ears straining for any sound,
beyond the definition of rain on Fabric hours, passed and
gradually the storm East. But as the rain tapered off the
now familiar sounds from the previous night returned.
Slow footsteps, careful and precise.
Moving through the soaked underbrush, my muscles tense as
the sounds approached the tent. Then halted just beyond my
limited view. Second stretched agonizingly
into minutes, my hand tightened around the cold Hilt of my
knife. when Dawn finally came pale and weary I emerged stiffly
from my tent scanning for tracks or signs of movement, At first
glance, nothing seemed Disturbed, but as I circled
slowly around my campsite dread tightened my throat.
Branches on nearby bushes, were snapped cleanly as though,
something had pressed slowly through them overnight.
More unsettling were deep drag marks gouged into the muddy
Earth. Trailing uphill into dense.
Forest marks that had certainly not been there the previous
evening. The direction they pointed was
opposite. The one I intended to take
leading back toward the heart of Bear Valley, back toward
whatever had been circling me in the Darkness.
I took a step backward, shaking my head against the silent Panic
Rising inside my chest. I had no choice but to keep
moving to get higher and look for landmarks that could guide
me back to familiar territory. I began climbing up the rugged.
Granite slope ahead pushing my exhaustion aside and ignoring
the screaming protest of my muscles.
My mind reeled caught between denial and fear. denial that
anything could actually be following me fear, because every
step now felt watched studied As I gained elevation thick fog
rolled in obscuring, everything in a featureless gray.
Shroud my breath quickened, my heart pounded painfully even
from my elevated Vantage Point, nothing looked as it should no.
Landmarks know, familiar ridgelines, only endless layers
of fog and shadowy granite. I clung to the rock face.
Forcing myself to pause, trying to Steady My shaking hands.
I knew bear valleys to typography.
I had spent days, studying maps and trails yet somehow
impossibly. I was utterly lost every step.
I take him since following. Those strange, carvings had led
me deeper into confusion and deeper into fear and whatever
had led me here. What ever had left those
deliberate markers and abandoned that unsettling campsite was
still out there somewhere below waiting quietly for Nightfall,
once more Night closed in with Relentless certainty.
I clung to the Granite Summit shivering beneath my damp jacket
eyes. Straining through the swirling
fog? My body ache drained from
exhaustion, but adrenaline, kept my mind sharply alert.
I refused to descend blindly into that foggy maze.
From here. At least I had the illusion of
control the possibility that when the fog cleared I might see
a way out. The granite was cold and rough
beneath my fingers. Hours passed painfully slow
marked only by my own uneven breathing and the wind slicing
through cracks in the rock. Eventually mercifully the
clouds, began to thin. Through the haze, far off to the
east. I glimpsed distant lights,
tracing along a gentle curve. Vehicle headlights.
Glinting off the unmistakable ribbon of highway 4.
My heart leaped with Fierce sudden hope it was the first
familiar thing I had seen in days a faint life, line
shimmering through endless wilderness.
I memorized the angle mentally imprinting it like a beacon.
Then I descended as quickly as I dared every step careful, but
urgent. Below the granite Summit, the
trees thickened again, dark shapes crowding.
Tightly around me. With only the distant glow of
headlights. As my guide, I plunged straight
through the dense, underbrush ignoring the branches clawing,
my arms, tearing through my jacket, scraping and cutting
Exposed Skin, My breathing was ragged my throat dry my legs
trembling from fatigue yet. Even as I moved directly toward
the highway lights signs of the same strange Trail.
Reappeared, another freshly gouged tree, another small stack
of stones. Each one angled slightly away
from my intended route beckoning me off course My stomach
tightened. It felt as though, something
unseen were intentionally. Guiding me further into
confusion. I refused to follow in Stead.
I kept pushing forward stubbornly ignoring, the
markings driven by pure desperation.
I stumbled more than once wrenching, my knee hard and a
deep patch of brush pain, radiated sharply through my leg,
forcing tears to blur my vision. But stopping wasn't an option.
Every second felt critical the sense of being pursued growing
stronger with each passing moment, and then a movement
brief, but, distinct flickered between two distant.
Trees ahead. Tall shadowed.
Unmistakably upright. The figure darted swiftly from
one patch of darkness in to another My heart surged in to my
throat pulse hammering. Wildly not human, surely too
fast, but no animal in these Woods moved that way.
Either without thinking, I bolted forward running, despite
the pain. In my leg, ignoring the
protesting screams from my lungs, Panic had fully claimed
me. Now driving rational.
Thought from my mind? Branches whipped my face and
tore fresh wounds along my arms, but I barely felt them.
Time lost, meaning. Minutes blurred into hours, as I
stumbled through endless Forest, always downward always toward
that distant Highway. Eventually my headlamp
flickered. Weakly nearly spent still, I
kept moving blindly forward through the darkness refusing to
pause or look behind me. As Dawn broke softly, spilling
pale light through gaps, in the trees, I reached a clearing of
rock and low brush. My knees buckled beneath me and
I collapsed forward. Gasping, I streaming with tears
of relief below me. Clearly visible through a screen
of sparse Evergreens was a winding stretch of pavement.
Highway 4. I have slid, half crawled down
the rocky incline toward the road.
My clothes hung in tatters, crusted with blood, dirt and
sweat. My legs could barely support my
weight but I managed to drag myself onto the gravel shoulder
almost immediately the rumble of an approaching engine reached.
My ears moments later headlights washed over me as a patrol car.
Rounded the bend the crews are breaked sharply gravel, spraying
as it pulled alongside me. The CHP officer rushed out eyes
wide with shock. What happened to you?
He asked crouching down beside me.
His voice steady but urgent. My voice shook as I spoke barely
louder than a whisper got turned around, Bear Valley, been lost
for days. He nodded sympathetically,
helping me gently into the patrol car and passing me a
bottle of water. I drank greedily throat, raw and
aching. While the warmth of the vehicle
brought tears of exhaustion streaming down my face.
But as we pulled away from that stretch of highway I couldn't
help glancing back through the rear window toward the dense
forest. I just escaped in the fleeting
moment before we rounded. The next Bend, I could swear a
dark shape slipped silently back between the trees disappearing.
Once more into the shadowy woods.
In the months that followed I quietly discarded, every Bear
Valley trail map by owned. I refused to speak of those days
offering vague excuses to my Outfitter about the terrain
being too dangerous for guided trips.
My solo hiking days were done forever.
A year later, at a Trail Guide Gathering.
Someone mentioned a ranger Patrol had found a strange
abandoned campsite deep in Stanislaus.
Boot Still Standing neatly by a cold fire rifle.
Rusting against a log. No, sign of whoever left them
behind. I kept my face blank and said
nothing, but inside a cold certainty settled into my bones.
Whatever had guided me into those woods.
Had guided others before, and might still be there.
Silently waiting watching from somewhere hidden deep within
Bear Valley. I wasn't going to post this, my
cousin still won't talk about it and one of them hasn't spoken a
word since but every once in a while, I get a message from
someone asking, if I have ever heard of black Hollow, So, here
it is. This happened.
Five years ago, back in an area of Monongahela National Forest
that's not even marked on most hiking Maps.
We thought it would be a cool isolated summer camping trip.
Just like the ones we took his kids.
We should have known better when even the locals didn't want to
talk about the place. If you're smart, you'll read
this and stay the hell away. It was early August and humid as
hell. The kind of thick West Virginia
heat that sticks. Your shirt to your back 10
minutes after you step out side. My cousin's, Kyle and Ryan had
driven in from Pittsburgh, I'd come up from Charlottesville.
We met up at a gas station in Elkins stocked up on ice and
snacks and headed into the mountains.
Kyle was the oldest at 28 already complaining about his
knees. While Ryan was the youngest 24,
and still convinced nothing could touch him.
I was 26 somewhere in between the two.
Still figuring things out. Our summers together were an old
tradition. Even as adults, we always found
time to disappear into the woods and pretend we weren't getting
older. We'd done Otter Creek Spruce
Knob Dolly sods, you name it this time.
We wanted something different. When we stopped for gas and
asked the guy behind the counter about remote camping spots, he
just laughed. You want to disappear, he asked
try black Halo really easy to disappear back there.
We thought he was joking. We even laughed along with him.
We wrote down his vague Direction and set off our Jeep
rattling. Along a washed out fire road
until we couldn't go any further.
We shouldered our packs checked, our gear and stepped into the
forest. The trail wasn't much of a trail
mostly guesswork and bushing through thick brush and down
steep slopes until we hit a valley floor.
Everything felt instantly darker here, even though it was just
after noon. The trees were old their limbs
dense enough. That sunlight came through only
in patches We followed a stream until it widened into a rocky
clearing black Halo. Quiet.
As a graveyard Kyle said half, joking.
He wasn't wrong. There was no bird song no wind
rustling, the leaves just the steady trickle of water, over
slick, dark stones. It wasn't comfortable, but we
were stubborn and the spot seemed ideal for privacy.
We pitched our tents gathered wood and set up camp.
That first afternoon was quiet, just a lazy routine of setting
up cooking, some burgers and tossing back beers.
But none of us mentioned the odd feeling the way.
The silence seemed almost heavy pressing down like wet wool.
As Darkness closed around us Ryan, joked about local folklore
Monster's an old curses. He laughed loud and sharp, but
it didn't quite cover. The unease sometime after
midnight. I woke up hearing Kyle's Shuffle
around outside. He was shining his flashlight
Upstream What's up? I whispered poking my head out
of the tent. He hesitated Thought I heard
something moving in the water. We stood there, quietly,
listening hearing nothing but the stream.
After a minute, Kyle Shrugged and climbed back into his tent
muttering. Something about raccoons The
next morning, Kyle called us over to the food stash.
He looked confused staring at the tree.
We tied our bags to the hell Ryan asked, one of our food
sacks was gone. The Rope wasn't chewed or
snapped. It was untied neatly as if
someone with fingers had carefully, undone the knot. you
guys screwing with me, Kyle said, frowning Ryan and I shook
our heads, the ground beneath showed no animal tracks, no claw
marks or signs of struggle. Just an empty patch of damper
Earth. Ryan cracked a nervous joke.
Maybe we pissed off your raccoon, buddy.
We laughed. But not really, it wasn't funny.
as we made breakfast, I found myself, staring into the trees
imagining shape where there was nothing but shadow I couldn't
shake the feeling that something was there watching waiting?
But we'd come all this way. And no one wanted to admit the
place was getting under our skin. so, we stayed We stayed
because we were stubborn because we were cousins who camped 1,000
times before, and Because deep down, none of us wanted to be
the first to admit. We were afraid.
Looking back, I'd have given anything to swallow that pride
and leave right, then, it was just past noon on the second day
when things got worse. We'd finished breakfast late and
were lazily cleaning up. Camp arguing about who'd gather
more firewood. Ryan finally, lost the argument
laughed, sarcastically grabbed his Hatchet and headed toward
the thicker brush Upstream. Kyle and I relaxed around Camp
sorting gear and planning dinner.
An hour passed maybe two, we'd lost track of time.
Caught up in reminiscing about past trips and joking about
nothing. Important, Kyle glanced at his
watch frowning, Should have been back by now, he muttered, he
probably got lost chasing squirrels or something I said,
but neither of us believed it. We called Ryan's name into the
woods of futon times, but nothing echoed back.
The thick canopy seemed to swallow our voices whole.
After another 20 uneasy minutes Kyle stood up abruptly.
All right, he said grabbing his pack.
Something's off, let's go find him.
I tried to hide my own unease, but I felt it heavy in my
stomach. Ryan was impulsive and Reckless
at times, but he'd never stayed away this long.
Without yelling back, we started Upstream walking along the
stream bed, the woods pressed in dense, twisted and Tangled.
Every step felt harder as if the brush was pulling us back toward
camp. Kyla, occasionally shouted,
Ryan's name his voice louder. Now, sharp with worry.
Three hours later we'd found nothing.
No Hatchet marks, no, sign of Ryan at all.
The sun had already begun. Its slow, dip behind the ridge
line. Casting Long Shadows over black
Halo. A sickening realization hit me.
We might not find him before dark.
Just as Panic started creeping in, Kyle stopped dead in his
tracks. And grabbed my arm, his grip was
painfully tight. Look.
There about 50 yards, ahead, stood Ryan Motionless, in the
middle of the stream. He faced Upstream.
His arms hanging Loosely by his side's feet submerged in shallow
water. his shirt was torn along one sleeve revealing pale,
scratched, skin beneath his boots were gone, and his bare
feet were pale stained from mud, and leaves We moved quickly but
cautiously toward him, calling his name.
He didn't respond, not even a twitch of his shoulders or a ton
of his head. When we reached him, I touched
his arm gently. Ryan.
He blinked once slowly and turned his head to look at me as
if through a haze, his eyes were vacant unfocused as though he
were staring past me, Ryan buddy, you good?
Kyle asked voice cracking, Ryan opened his mouth slowly but no
words came. He glanced at Kyle and then it
me confusion washing over his features.
When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, barely above a
whisper, I don't remember. What do you mean Kyle pressed?
You were gone for hours. Did you fall did something
happen? Ryan stared down at his hands
noticing for the first time. The deep scratches across his
forearms thin line that Criss crossed like razor wire.
I was gathering would then I don't know.
Like I was falling forward into a blank room just black, we let
him back to camp in silence supporting him as he stumbled
through the brushing with each step.
When we finally made it back to our clearing, Ryan sank, down by
the fire pit visibly shaking despite the summer heat.
Kyle wrapped him in a jacket and tried to clean his wounds.
While I cooked a quick flavorless meal, none of us ate
By Nightfall, Ryan had stopped responding altogether.
He sat blankly staring into the dying Embers of our campfire,
occasionally muttering something inaudible under his breath.
We decided quickly, we weren't sleeping separately again.
The three of us crowded into my tent shoulder to shoulder
feeling safer with the closeness of each other's breathing.
But safety was a fleeting illusion.
I don't remember falling asleep. The next thing I recall is
jolting awake. My heart hammering.
I could sense movement on the other side of the thin tent
fabric, a slow deliberate pressure brushing lightly along
the nylon walls inches from our heads Kyle's eyes snapped open
too. His breathing quickened but he
stayed silent listening carefully.
Ryan Le beside us eyes closed breathing, shallowly.
Whatever was out there, circled slowly around the tent, the
footsteps dragging slightly over dirt and rocks.
They stopped just outside the door flap, then a voice.
Clear as anything, broke the silence, a voice that belonged
to Ryan, let me back in it's cold.
Kyle and I stared at each other eyes wide with disbelief and
Dread. Ryan's breathing was still soft
and rhythmic next to us unmoving undisturbed again, the voice
spoke softer. Now, please let me back in.
We didn't move. We barely breathed.
We sat motionless Paralyzed by a fierce, so deep.
It seemed rooted in something older than us older than these
Woods after a long silence. The dragon footsteps receded,
slowly fading into the forest but neither of us dared to sleep
again. When Dawn finally came, it found
us Wide Awake shaking and desperate to leave black Halo.
As soon as faint morning, lights seeped through the nylon tent.
Walls, Kyle grabbed my shoulder and nodded toward Ryan.
We both. Understood without words, it was
time to get out. Ryan was still unresponsive, his
face was pale eyes. Unfocused locked on some distant
Place, only he could see When we tried to get him up, he resisted
at first pushing weekly against us, as though, we were holding
him back from something important.
After a minute of careful persuasion, we managed to help
him out of the tent and steady him on his feet.
Packing was chaotic. Our gear went into packs without
any order or logic. Kyle kept nervously, glancing
toward the tree line, his hands shaking Ryan, barely able to
stand mumbled quietly about going back down to the stream, I
held onto his arm firmly, determined not to let him wander
away again. We started the hike out slowly
at first Kyle, and I supporting Ryan between us.
The uphill climbed tortuously, slow, each step dragging our
boots slipping, in the muddy soil, Ryan stumbled repeatedly,
his feet. Dragging uselessly beneath him.
Forcing us to stop and adjust our grip every few minutes.
Kyle kept glancing behind us clearly on edge, you good.
I asked sensing his tension, he hesitated before answering, I
think we're being followed, something's behind us.
I turned quickly scanning the woods.
All I saw Were Trees brush and Shadow nothing moved.
No one was there. Still.
I felt the same creeping dread like something was matching.
Our steps hidden. Just out of sight.
We pushed on refusing to rest until Ryan collapsed near a
fallen log along a narrow, Deer Trail.
Kyle bent over Breathing heavily, his face strained with
exhaustion. Ryan sank, to the ground
silently crying without tears staring at the ground beneath
him. We've got to keep moving Kyle
whispered. We can't stop here.
I nodded taking a quick sip of water watching, Ryan closely as
I scanned. Our surroundings, again, my eyes
caught something beyond the dense, trees, something half
crouched. Quiet and still my breath caught
in my throat, fear crawling up my spine, like ice, it was a
shape vaguely, human low to the ground half hidden in Shadows.
One knee was up an arm resting casually across it head.
Tilted slightly as though it were patiently waiting for
something. I blinked once heart racing and
looked again. Nothing.
Just shadows and branches. You.
Okay, Kyle asked sharply noticing my expression.
I forced myself to nod unable to voice the truth.
Yeah, let's get moving. With renewed urgency, we hoisted
Ryan back up continuing the slow, March uphill.
Ryan was growing, increasingly agitated muttering quietly, then
suddenly with surprising strength, he tried to rent free
from our grip nearly causing all three of us to Tumble backwards,
down the slope. I need to go back.
He whispered desperately, let me go back.
Kyle grabbed him, tightly shaking him by the shoulders
were leaving. Ryan listened to me.
We're getting out of here. Just keep moving.
Ryan fought weekly still muttering about needing to
return to the stream. His voice breaking with
frustration and confusion. We practically carried him half
dragging him forward through the brush.
I refused to look behind us. Again, certain that if I did, I
see that figure following us just close enough to stay hidden
yet. Never quite losing sight of us.
When the trail finally gave way to gravel and our Jeep came into
view. Kyle broke into a half run.
Ryan hanging limply between us feet.
Dragging. Uselessly we practically threw
him into the backseat. Locking the doors.
The second. They slammed shut.
Kyle jammed the keys into the ignition and engine roaring to
life tires spinning. As we tore away from black Halo,
Ryan was hospitalized immediately in Elkins.
They said he was severely dehydrated and had experienced
some kind of cycle break. Eventually he was transferred to
a psychiatric facility near Pittsburgh.
We visited it at first but Ryan didn't speak again.
He only stared vacantly the same lost expression he'd had since
we found him standing in the creek.
Kyle moved to Montana a month later.
Barely saying goodbye cutting off contact entirely.
I stayed in Charlottesville unable to fully process what had
happened unable to talk about it to anyone.
Eventually, I went back to Elkins to speak, to the gas
station attendant who had warned us about black Halo.
He wouldn't say much but before I left, he leaned over the
counter and told me in a low voice that a fire crew at once,
come back from black Halo claiming they'd seen someone or
something following behind them in the trees.
Never quite catching up. Never falling behind.
I never went back. I avoid West Virginia altogether
now, and if someone asks about black Halo, I only have one
thing to say, if you ever hear about it.
Ignore it. It doesn't want you there.
And if you go, you might leave part of yourself behind.
I accepted the forestry internship with the forest
service mostly for The Quiet. The idea was to spend a few
weeks clearing Trail, debris and earning some much-needed field
experience. Sure.
I could have gone for something closer to Laramie.
But Medicine, Bow National Forest called, to me a
Wilderness where Lodge pole and Spruce climbed the steep, slopes
creating a kind of isolation. That felt genuinely appealing.
My supervisor, an older Ranger named Garrett.
Told me I'd be clearing Deadfall along a stretch of trail from
Rock Creek Trailhead out towards Sand Lake.
It was a forgotten Trail segment, closed for nearly a
decade after storms had rendered it practically impassable.
They issued me basic gear, a heavy chainsaw enough food for
four days a temperamental handheld radio and an emergency
Garmin satellite phone. Garrett had warned that signals
were spotty even on clear days. Still, I wasn't worried.
I'd hiked Solo's of times and I figured Trail work would be a
good introduction to the forest service.
The first day started smoothly, I drove out early parked my
battered Tacoma near the trailhead and hiked roughly five
miles to set up camp. Lodge pole, trunks, Chris
crossed the trail. Their branches dry and brittle
from years on the ground. Clearing them was exhausting but
satisfying and I worked until my arms burned by dusk.
I had a neat stretch of usable path and a fire crackling,
softly beside my 10. It felt rewarding.
It was the second morning that things shifted.
After packing Camp, I hiked another half mile scouting ahead
to gauge the days workload. The morning was cool air, crisp
and damp Earth packed easily beneath my boots.
That's when I saw them. Clearly, heavy boot prints
pressed sharply into the wet dirt.
I paused comparing the tracks with my own.
They were not mine. These were larger deeper with a
heavier lug pattern. Typical of logging Boots.
The kind I'd seen on Career Rangers or Timber Harvesters.
But no one else had been authorized here and the trail
behind me was still largely impassable.
I keyed my radio but after a burst of static it cut dead, I
pulled out the Garmin phone, the screen flashed searching then no
signal. A little unnerved.
I decided to follow the prince reasoning.
I might catch someone illegally harvesting Timber or setting
traps. People poached wood and game
regularly, and Garrett had mentioned to casually in our
briefing. The tracks veered sharply off
the flag Trail heading downhill toward unmanaged, terrain thick
with underbrush and Fallen Timber.
I hesitated at the trails edge off Trail.
Hiking wasn't part of the assignment but curiosity and
unease pushed me forward. I stepped over a downed Spruce
sliding. My chainsaw carefully ahead of
me and continued on. After 10 minutes, the trees
opened into a small clearing, my breath caught sharply.
There nestled against a shallow slope stood.
A structure a crude Hut or shelter half sunken into the
ground and partially hidden beneath the branches of
surrounding trees. Its walls were rough, cut, logs
and heavy branches stacked and wedged tightly together.
Moss clung to the corners but most of it appeared newly built
my gut Twisted. It was clearly man-made
deliberately placed yet. No one at the station had
mentioned anything like it, I edged closer gripping the
chainsaw defensively. Inside Shadows obscured, most
details. But what I saw made my pulse
Quicken Bone's arranged in orderly piles bleached and
stripped entirely of Flesh from the size and shape.
They looked like deer and Elk. But the way they were placed
stacked sorted, meticulously made, my throat, go dry hanging
from the ceiling. Beams were small wooden carvings
tied with course twine. Bundles of animal hair wrapped
around them. I felt cold dread crawling up,
my spine, who had built this place.
Why my thoughts shattered as a sharp crack snapped, through the
trees, just beyond the Hutt. I whipped around chainsaw.
Held out defensively scanning the dense growth.
My heart thundered so hard. I felt it in my throat.
Another snap this time closer, not waiting to see who or what
made it. I backed quickly out of the
clearing, eyes locked onto the shifting brush, until I finally
turned and broke into a jog reaching.
My campsite again, felt surreal I sat for a few moments
struggling to regain, calm. Part of me wanted to abandon the
task entirely hikes straight back to my truck and call Garret
from the road. But embarrassment and stubborn
Pride. Stopped me.
Maybe, I had overreacted squatters and survivalists.
Sometimes built weird things in remote forests.
It was strange, sure, but I wasn't hurt.
Nothing had actually happened. I decided to stay.
But moved my tent closer to a granite outcrop.
It's rocky side, offering some small comfort.
I build the fire higher, keeping it burning well after Dark.
That night sleep came fitfully. I startled awake at every
snapping twig my fingers curled tightly around the chainsaw
handle. Sometime after midnight, with
the fire nearly reduced to glowing Embers.
I heard it distinctly footsteps moving carefully, but audibly
through the brittle, leaves and Fallen branches, just beyond my
tent. My breath froze, limbs locking
and panic. The steps weren't hurried or
cautious. Just a steady measured stride
passing slowly by I waited heart hammering body, Ridgid expecting
a voice or the sudden intrusion of someone ripping open my tent
flap. But nothing happened.
The footsteps receded, fading gradually until only silence
remained broken by my own strange breathing.
I lay there motionless, fear gripping, my chest, until first
light, seeped into the fabric of my tent when morning finally
came, everything looked untouched.
Nothing had been Disturbed. My food, my gear, all exactly,
where I had left them. I stepped carefully out stomach,
and Knots and scan the surrounding ground.
Then I saw them the boot prints from yesterday now, freshly
pressed right alongside my own trail from the previous day.
Whoever it was hadn't been following me.
They had been walking right beside me, step for step,
unseen, but present. My resolve broke.
I hastily packed up camp, deciding to abandon the rest of
the assignment and Hike out the long way towards Sand Lake.
I left the trail pushing recklessly through dense brush
desperate, only to leave the forest behind me, but even as I
moved, swiftly away, Panic pushing me forward.
I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching from somewhere
deep among the trees. I moved through the forest
faster than I should have cutting across unmarked slope's.
Guided more by Panic than logic. The pack bounced awkwardly
against my shoulders. It straps.
Digging hard into my chest. My chainsaw felt heavier than
ever. And every few steps I had to
stop and shift hands. My Palms raw from gripping, the
Warren handle. The initial adrenaline Spike
faded within a few hours replaced by a slow heavy dread.
As I climb toward the northern Ridge, that separated me from
Sand Lake. My throat burned from breathing
dry air, too quickly. And dehydration made every
uphill, step feel twice as difficult.
I kept glancing back half expecting someone to emerge from
the trees, but saw nothing except endless rows of spruce
Trunks and dense underbrush. Despite my exhaustion, I pressed
on relentlessly reasoning that putting more distance between
myself and whatever had built that structure was worth the
pain. As the afternoon wore on, I
finally crested the ridge. The forest opened slightly
revealing scattered. Granite formations dried grass
and scrub. I paused to catch my breath.
Looking down toward the distant glimmer of Sand Lake.
I tried the radio again desperate for contact, but God
only static. the Garmin still refused to find a signal, no
matter how high I climbed Frustration clawed at my nerve,
a new Garrett would have eventually come looking if I
didn't check in but how long would it take him to realize
something was wrong? A day 2?
By then it might be too late. Leaning against a boulder, I
glanced back down the slope, I'd climbed and felt my heart slam
into my ribs movement. Down among the spruce.
A figure moves swiftly between gaps in the foliage.
It was distant enough to appear small, but even at this range, I
recognized the shape of a person, heavy jacket wide
shoulders moving silently. Uphill, not an animal, not a
trick of Shadow. Someone was following me panic,
surged again, raw and urgent. I scrambled down the opposite
side of the ridge slipping on loose gravel and dried grass.
The chainsaw suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, pulling me
off, balance anger, and frustration.
Collided. And without hesitation I said it
down, leaning it upright against a pine.
I told myself it was to Mark the route in case Garrett found my
trail but truthfully I knew I couldn't keep carrying it.
My only hope now was speed. Free of the saws.
Wait, I jogged faster. Stumbling recklessly through the
thinning trees. Each breath felt like fire lungs
constricted by altitude and exhaustion but fear pushed me
forward glancing over my shoulder, every few minutes only
increased my paranoia. I caught brief glimpses of
movement through the trees always distant, never clear
enough to identify as Sunset approached Shadows stretched to
cross the terrain turning familiar shape into ominous
silhouettes. By dusk.
I reached a small clearing on the ridge, overlooking Sand
Lake, its Dark Water shimmering faintly in the fading light.
I chose a sheltered spot beneath a cluster of dense spruce, trees
hidden from sight and hastily set up camp.
There was no fire tonight, I couldn't risk the smoke.
Giving away my position. I sat silently in my tent.
As Darkness fell sipping, sparingly from my canteen ears,
straining for any sound beyond the fluttering leaves and my own
unsteady breathing. Every snap or Russell outside
said jolts of adrenaline through my limbs sleep felt impossible
yet exhaustion finally dragged me into fitful bursts of
unconsciousness. Hours later.
I jerked away in Pitch Black silence a cold sweat coating my
back. For a moment.
I lay Frozen unable to pinpoint what had startled me then from
somewhere down the slope. A rhythmic sound drifted, softly
upward, a steady slow thumping. Would striking would repeatedly
It wasn't frantic wasn't random each impact, echoed slightly up
the hillside, a steady tempo, like a heartbeat.
I sat upright, muscles tense, barely breathing the noise
continued, thump pause, thump, consistent.
And unwavering my mind raced picturing, someone standing in
the darkness hammering against a log aware.
I was up here, trapped alone. I had no weapons besides a small
Hatchet and a folding knife. Nothing capable of real defense
if they came closer. Eventually, the thumping stopped
The silence afterward felt worse.
I remained awake sitting rigidly eyes wide listening until the
sky shifted gradually from Ink black to muted Gray.
Only then did I pack silently each movement?
Careful cautious. As though.
The Watcher might hear even the slightest rustle of nylon or
zipper As Dawn, broke, I forced myself, back onto the trail,
trembling with exhaustion, but determined to reach San Lake and
Beyond it, the road to safety. Whatever or whoever had followed
me, would have to chase me into daylight now.
Still, I couldn't shake one terrifying.
Thought? Whoever was out there wasn't
hiding. They knew I was aware of them,
they simply hadn't chosen to show themselves yet.
I stumbled from the tree line onto the cracked blacktop of
Sand Lake Road. Just after midday my legs,
trembling and eyes blurry with dehydration relief, flooded me
when I heard the Deep Rumble of tires on asphalt and saw the
white forest service truck rounding the distant Bend waving
my arms. Wildly, I nearly collapsed into
the dirt, when it stopped. Garrett climbed out eyes wide
with concern. Caleb.
You okay son. He asked gripping my shoulder.
What happened? I shook my head weakly Someone
out there. Garrett, something wrong.
I left. The saw didn't have a choice.
His expression darkened. And after getting me into the
passenger seat and handing me a fresh bottle of water, he
radioed the district station informing them, he'd found me
safe. The drive back was quiet,
Garrett, didn't press me for details, sensing my exhaustion,
and fear at headquarters, after drinking enough water to steady
my hands and thoughts. I told them everything.
The strange Hut the bones arranged in side, the wooden
Effigies the footsteps, circling my tent in the dark and the
Unseen figure following me all the way to the ridge.
I was prepared for disbelief, but Garrett listened closely,
not in Gravely. Poachers are squatters,
sometimes move in. He finally said trying to
reassure me. We'll send a team, we'll find
out what's out there. Two weeks passed and my nerves
slowly calmed. I didn't return to Medicine Bow,
not yet, and instead worked desk shifts back at the main station,
pouring over maps and logging Trail data.
Yet, my thoughts rarely left those four days in the
wilderness. Haunted by memories of unseen
eyes, tracking me through the trees.
Then Garrett approached me quietly one morning.
We found your chainsaw. He said carefully, exactly where
you said you left it. Strange thing is it was standing
upright fuel cap off like somebody placed it.
There intentionally I stared at him dread pooling in my chest.
And the structure, the bones. His face tightened reluctant to
speak gone completely. No shelter, no bones, nothing
but bare Earth, whatever you saw they cleared it out.
My heart sank a hollow feeling spreading through my stomach.
But you believe me, right? You know, it was there.
Garrett, nodded solemnly. Yes, son, I do no question you
saw something and I don't doubt someone else was there with you.
They knew the woods too. Better than any of us.
Covered their tracks, but whoever it was, they're gone
now. But that night lying awake in my
rented room in town. I couldn't accept Garrett's
reassurances. There was something else a
detail, I hadn't shared. Something that had haunted me
from the moment, I left the woods when I first followed,
those heavy boot prints into the clearing, they had sunk deeply
into the soft soil. Clearly visible in the daylight.
But on the trail out, retracing my steps though.
Same Prince had appeared even deeper as if the one who left
them. Had carried something heavy on
their way back. The realization chilled me to
the Bone, because the only extra weight leaving that clearing
would have been me if they'd caught up The forest went quiet
after that. I heard from Garrett that hikers
returned to the newly cleared trails near Sand Lake.
Nobody reported strange Footprints hidden structures or
unseen Watchers yet. I never stepped foot on those
Trails again. The Internship ended and I took
a safer desk job analyzing GIS data far away from isolated
Wilderness assignments. But I never forgot the slow
rhythmic thumping in the dark. The silent footsteps, pacing
past my tent. Or the Unseen figure shadowing
me. Through medicine bows, endless
trees. Some nights when the wind picks
up and shadows shift and dim corners.
I think about the old, Garmin phone still sitting in my desk
drawer. the one I used those four days in the forest, I think
about the single accidental image captured as I stumbled
through the underbrush, a distorted reflection caught in
rainwater, pooled on Stone a blurred.
Looming shape standing right behind me, watching, silently
and waiting. I never showed it to anyone.
I don't usually share this kind of thing online, mostly because
I don't like the attention. But what happened to us last
summer in Alaska. Hasn't let me sleep rights since
Maybe if I put it out there, it'll stop gnawing at my head.
My name's Kyle. It was late, June and three
friends. And I had planned a trip out to
tongass National Forest. My cousin Jared said the whole
thing up, he'd found this Fishing Forum online, where
someone mentioned pristine spots, deep in the forest Off
the Mark Trails far enough, Inland to make the average
tourists turn back. Jared, and I had been camping
together for years. We knew how to handle ourselves
in the backcountry and we'd been fishing in remote areas.
Plenty of times. Dean and Thomas were good,
Outdoorsman too, both fit an experience.
So none of us had any hesitation.
But Alaska, was different bigger older, and wilder than anything
we'd face before. That first night in Ketchikan,
the locals at the bar joked about bears and moose even
wolves. None of it worries me much
animals followed predictable rules, you respected their space
and they generally respect yours.
At least, that's what we thought.
The first two days. When exactly as planned, we
followed the trail along the unique River and camped out each
night beside a rocky stream, fishing and enjoying the
untouched landscape. everything felt perfect, the air smelled,
fresh and sunlight, filtered down through thick, canopies of
Cedar and Spruce on the morning of the third day, we left the
established route entirely following Jared's printed map,
He said it was simple, navigation.
A straight shot through dense forest aiming to reach a remote
estuary. Dean and Thomas took the lead
machetes, cutting back branches and heavy growth every step away
from the main trail, the forest grew thicker wetter and darker.
Moss blanketed Fallen logs, muting our footsteps and the
Tangled vegetation gave the sense that nothing else had
passed this way in years. We'd been bushwhacking a few
hours when Thomas stopped short, pointing ahead.
Through a break in the trees. There was a clearing perfectly
circular and oddly bear devoid of the Lush Greenery.
We'd been trudging through all day.
Standing dead center in the clearing was a rough.
Wooden figure taller than me like some kind of distorted
scarecrow. We approached slowly stepping
into the sunlight. Up close.
It looked even stranger. The figure was carved from a
single narrowed trunk with Hollow eyes and crewed mouths
hacked on evenly into the wood. Driftwood formed its
outstretched arms bound to the Body By chords. bones, small
animal bones, mostly hung from its Limbs and neck tied into
place with string, shells, beads, and bits of feather
dangled from these chords swinging, gently as we circled
it Jared chuckled nervously, What is this?
Some Blair Witch thing? Thomas laughed and walked right
up to it. It's probably just some old
native marker, he said, dismissively nudging the base
with his boot. Dean shot him a warning glance,
but Thomas was already committed.
Giving it another hard shove with a creek.
The thing toppled over hitting the ground with a dull thump.
The shells clattered in Tangled Dean's side, shaking his head.
Seriously man Dean muttered glancing around nervously as if
someone might be watching from the woods.
Thomas Shrugged, relax. It's just some weird statue.
Let's go. We left the clearing quickly but
even as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling we
Disturbed something important that we'd crossed some unspoken
boundary I didn't say anything. Looking back.
Maybe I should have we camped about a mile away near a stream
as planned. We were all quiet tents without
openly acknowledging it. Something about that encounter
had left us edgy. Still we joked and ate trying to
brush off the unease. Eventually we settled into our
tents that night I woke suddenly disoriented in pitch black
darkness. Before I could sit up a piercing
scream erupted, just outside our tents.
Not animal, not like anything. I'd ever heard raw and
impossibly loud. It shook the air and vibrated
through my chest. Jared scrambled out of our tent
with his flash light, but the beam only illuminated darkness
and swaying branches. No sign of anything living.
What the hell was that? Jared whispered Horsley he was
pale shaking Dean and Thomas emerged slowly from their tent
faces, equally drained of color. No, one answered.
Jared's question. We just stared at the woods
waiting ears ringing. At dawn, I stepped outside to
inspect the ground around camp. The soft mud near the stream was
covered with tracks deep Impressions, unlike any I'd seen
before. wide splayed toes each tipped with long curved marks
that looked like claws, Thomas tried to laugh them off as Bear
Tracks but we all knew he was lying, Jared, didn't speak, and
Dean just shook his head looking sick, as we packed up to leave,
I took one last glance, back toward the clearing, nothing but
thick forest behind us now, Yet even in daylight I could sense
eyes on my back. Unseen and watching we should
have turned around right then but we didn't it didn't take
long for us to realize we'd screwed up.
We headed back toward the main trail but everything fell off
from the start Jared pulling out his Compass muttering angrily, I
stepped closer and noticed the needle spinning aimlessly, never
settling. That happened before I asked
trying to keep the concern out of my voice.
Shook his head jaw clenched. Nope, it was working yesterday.
we stopped and Thomas pulled the satellite phone from his pack,
he flicked the power button tapping, it repeatedly harder
each time, Dead, he finally admitted it was fully charged
yesterday. This doesn't make sense.
A creeping unease settled over us.
The forest stretched in every direction.
Dense, Tangled dripping wet. No landmarks just endless.
Green shadows and patches of muted sunlight filtering through
moss-covered branches. The ground beneath our feet was
spongy soaked. Clinging to our boots Dean
suggested pushing on anyway. We've got enough gear and food.
He reasoned trying to keep his tone, casual, it's probably just
moisture messing with the electronics.
But we all know Electronics were not that fragile.
Still arguing, wooden help. So we marched forward trying not
to dwell on how silent the forest had become around us.
No birds, no rustling animals. Just the sound of our breathing
and the squelching mud beneath our boots.
About halfway through the afternoon, Jared suddenly
stopped and dropped his pack frantically, digging through his
gear. He straightened slowly eyes dark
and narrowed my knifes gone. You probably dropped it back at
Camp Thomas offered. No chance.
I packed it away myself. It was Secure Jared insisted a
slight edge of panic in his voice.
The silence that followed hung heavy between us.
None of us wanted to admit what we were all thinking.
Something had taken it. We moved on wordlessly more
tense than ever, ears, straining at every faint sound in the
undergrowth. Several times, I heard faint
cracking behind us, just far enough away to dismiss as
paranoia, but close enough to keep me glancing nervously over
my shoulder. When we finally stopped for the
night, we chose a spot in a tighter cluster of trees.
Hoping the natural barriers would Shield us from whatever
might be following But even as we set up camp, we felt exposed
vulnerable Thomas lit. A fire struggling, to keep it
going. The Flames were weak and
hesitant flickering load despite the dry wood.
We'd carefully gathered from undertale overhangs.
Twice its buttered out as if suffocated leaving us in
unsettling, Darkness each time. On the third, try it finally
caught, but the week, orange glow, only accentuated.
The impenetrable dark pressing in on us from every direction.
We forced ourselves to eat talking in low, murmurs.
Thomas, tried cracking jokes but no one laughed eventually.
We crawled silently into our tents.
Our small, fragile bubbles of comfort.
But sleep wouldn't come. I lay awake alert waiting
sometime well after midnight Thomas's voice tore through the
silence. He wasn't shouting, he was
screaming Dean and I scrambled out first stumbling, half asleep
into the dark. Thomas was thrashing.
Violently in his tent eyes wide, and blank feet, kicking
furiously Thomas Dean shouted grabbing him and pinning.
His arms down Jared, unzip, the tent completely, and I turned my
flashlight on Thomas's feet. My stomach twisted and horror.
His Souls were shredded bleeding heavily. deep gashes sliced
across the bottom long and raw like he'd been dragged Barefoot
over sharpened rocks, The blood soaked the sleeping bag pooling
beneath him. What happened?
Jared, demanded voice trembling. Did you see anything?
Thomas, only shook his head, eyes wide and terrified
breathing and ragged gasps nothing.
He finally croaked, I felt nothing.
I just woke up like this, we dressed his wounds silently,
wrapping his feet, tightly in bandages, none of us, the
obvious That this wasn't natural animals.
Didn't unzip tents quietly, inflict injuries and disappear
without leaving a Trace. Jared kept glancing at the
surrounding trees eyes, twitching toward every shadow.
We packed up quickly deciding. We had no choice but to push
through the brush toward the coast.
Dean mentioned seeing a boat ramp marked somewhere near the
shoreline, on Jared's original map, Jared.
Agreed immediately. Thomas didn't speak.
He just stared vacantly at the ground shivering.
Just as we finished, breaking Camp, Jared pulled out his phone
again. His hand froze, halfway to his
pack. He stared down at the screen
colored draining from his face. What Dean demanded sensing his
fear. Something recorded last night.
Jared said, quietly voice memo. But your phone's been dead.
I reminded him voice. Halo.
Apparently, not weeded close holding our breath as Jared
pressed play. Thomas's voice filled the tense
silence, but it wasn't right. It was deeper guttural broken,
like someone mimicking English without fully understanding it,
the words crawled out, slowly, thick, and heavy bones, and
trees, waiting find bones, he waits Thomas stared at the
phone, his breath hitching and his throat.
That's me. He finally whispered disbelief
mixing with horror but I was asleep.
Nobody spoke after that. Nobody needed to.
We moved quickly cutting straight into the Tangled,
Forest toward the distant sound of the ocean hoping desperately
we could outrun, whatever we'd Unleashed. we stumbled blindly
forward forcing our way through the Relentless, brush, branches,
clawed at our jackets and Roots, caught our boots, with every
frantic step, Thomas limped along between Dean and me.
His torn feet wrapped tightly but still seeping through the
bandages. Jared, usually strong and calm
seemed lost eyes, wide, breathing ragged, we didn't have
much of a plan Beyond making it to the coast Jared had mentioned
seeing a forest service boat ramp on the map.
The map we'd now lost somewhere behind us.
We moved mostly by Instinct aiming toward the distant faint
sound of waves, that occasionally broke through the
forest noise. Every hour or so, we'd pause
gulping air, ears straining at every faint snap or Russell
behind us. Each time, the sounds grew
closer clearer unmistakable. The snapping of branches
dragging sounds Across The Damp Earth.
Something was tracking us. Late in the afternoon Jared on a
moss. Covered rock near a narrow
Ravine. Twisting his ankle sharply.
He hissed through gritted teeth. Gripping a tree trunk for
support you. Okay.
I asked my voice barely above a whisper, he nodded stiffly eyes.
Clenched. Shut just keep moving.
I'll be fine. But he wasn't fine.
None of us were Thomas, his eyes were distant unfocused lips,
moving silently as he limped forward.
I leaned closer trying to catch his words but all I heard were
fragments of the Twisted recording repeated in his low,
exhausted voice. Bones waiting in trees.
The forest began to darken rapidly around us the Setting
Sun Vanishing somewhere behind the dense clouds overhead.
Missed settled low among the trees closing in like a wall of
damp Gray. Dean's.
Slowed, glancing back nervously we have to stop.
He said reluctantly I scanning our surroundings?
Will never make it through this in the dark.
We reluctantly set up a makeshift Camp beneath a tight
cluster of thick cedar trees. Hoping their trunks might offer
some cover. we hung a tarp low, keeping the space tight
comforting ourselves with the false sense of security at gave,
Nobody spoke as we ate a handful of Trail Mix.
Thomas refused Foods, sitting with his knees pulled tightly to
his chest staring blankly into the darkening Forest.
Darkness fully set in and we took turns keeping watch each of
us. Gripping a flashlight and knife
eyes glued to the shadow tree line.
Around midnight during my watch something, large move just
beyond the tarp pressing heavily against the brush.
Exhaling and deep rough breaths. My pulse quickened as my grip
tightened around the knife handle.
Whatever it was circled us slowly methodically never
stepping into view its presence undeniable, but invisible.
I didn't wake the others. I feared any sudden movement
would provoke, whatever weighted just out of sight.
Dean revved me at about 3 a.m. nodding silently as we switched
places. Exhausted, but unable to sleep.
I lay awake listening to the dripping moisture off leaves and
the muffled sounds of Dean. Shifting uncomfortably then
Dean's, breathing suddenly froze.
He leaned forward tents, unmoving something stood inches
from him. Separated only by the thin
flimsy tarp. A deep heavy, breath, rasped
audibly, so close. I could almost feel its weight.
We stayed frozen like that for what felt like hours until at
last, it moved away into the trees.
Dean didn't move, didn't speak until Dawn's weak light.
Finally broke through the Mist. When we finally emerged, drained
and numb, we saw thin marks in the mud surrounding the tarp
long, dragging tracks with deep punctures spaced evenly apart,
claw marks, unmistakable and fresh, we gathered our things
silently eyes. Hollow moving quickly toward the
growing sound of surf ahead. Just before midday the trees,
thinned abruptly revealing, a narrow gravel Shore.
We pushed through the last Tangled branches and stumbled
onto Solid Ground, breathing hard.
A rusted sign stood crookedly by the shore Forest Service boat
ramp relief. Flooded me there was no boat but
a whether to emergency call box stood near the chained off dock.
Jared rushed to it, pressing the faded call button, repeatedly
until a crackling voice. Answered Jared, gave our
location in a hoarse voice. Barely coherent begging,
urgently for a Ranger pickup, We waited huddled together, eyes,
trained wearily, back toward the trees.
None of us, spoke each locked in our own thoughts.
Thomas, sat on the gravel rocking slightly eyes distant.
Jared, watched the trees knife still clenched in his hand.
After what felt like an eternity, we heard the low drone
of a boat engine, a ranger boat, rounded the corner cutting
quickly toward us. The ranger helped us aboard
without many questions, sensing our exhaustion and urgency As
the boat pulled away from Shore, I finally felt my body relax.
I turned to face the ranger. An older man with a weathered
face in serious eyes. What were you boys doing out
here? He asked quietly eyes narrowed,
we got lost Jared lied voice flat The ranger glanced at
Thomas, his bloody bandaged feet.
Now, clearly visible his eyes hardened Lost her.
Jared hesitated, then finally showed him, the phone, the
ranger listened, once expression unreadable before quietly,
deleting the file, and handing it back without comment.
You boys were lucky. He said finally Voice Low and
measured. We don't Patrol this side much
anymore. That part of the forest hasn't
been mapped right in years People stay away for good
reason. We rode back in silence.
Letting his words hang heavily between us, none of us wanted to
know more. None of us ever wanted to set
foot in town gas. Again A year later things still
aren't alright. Thomas never hiked again.
Won't even talk about it, Jared left for Arizona needing
distance from the forests altogether, Dean cut contact
entirely moving somewhere back east.
And me, I still wake up hearing that breathing outside the tarp
feeling the oppressive dampness and the burning stare of unseen
eyes. We shouldn't have mocked that
totem, whatever it was marking, what?
Ever boundary it represented, we'd broken it and I don't think
any of us will ever fully Escape What followed us home I've been
hauling Freight for the better part of 15 years enough, time to
get familiar with just about every empty Highway across the
south west. Names.
Rick Harman based out of Colorado Springs. tonight, I was
hauling diesel generators down from Grand Junction Bound for a
construction site out near Escalante it was a long lonely,
stretch through Utah's, High Desert, cutting South along
State, Route, 24, I crossed into Utah around quarter to 11 fueled
up quick and Green River and set off Southward.
Anyone who's driven that stretch can tell you how isolated it is.
Miles of Rocky emptiness, moonlit mesas and Sandstone
Cliffs casting weird, shadows across the road.
No cell reception, no traffic, just me, my rig and whatever
kept skittering off into the brush at the edge of the
headlights. Half-hour Inn about 30 miles,
South of the turnoff. I crossed a cattle guard.
That's when I saw him standing just off the shoulder clear as
anything. A man.
At first glance, I pegged him for a hitchhiker common enough
on these empty roads, but he didn't signal me.
He just stood motionless armed, straight down watching the truck
pass. In that quick flash of
headlights, I saw jeans a white, undershirt and worn out boots.
Nothing else, no backpack, no jacket.
Just a silent figure completely out of place in the middle of
nowhere. I muttered to myself gripping,
the wheel, a little tighter. Hitchhiker's didn't usually make
me uneasy but something about his Stillness, his isolation,
just felt off. My trailer hummed behind me
Wheels. Rolling steady over asphalt and
I shook it off. Maybe a local drunk.
Maybe somebody broke down, but I didn't stop.
I never stopped out here if I didn't have to. 25 minutes and
20. Some miles later near a dried up
Ravine that cut close to the road.
I saw him again. I swear it was the same guy.
Same stance. Same clothes, same on settling
Stillness. My headlights brushed over him
again, standing perfectly straight unmoving.
No sign. He'd even acknowledged my truck
roaring passed. I scan the side mirrors.
Looking for a parked car. A motorcycle.
Hell, even a bicycle, but saw nothing just dark desert
stretching. Endlessly on both sides,
impossible. I said aloud my voice breaking
the silence even at a full Sprint.
Nobody could cover that much ground that fast.
It had to be my imagination fatigue creeping in from the
monotonous highway, but I'd pulled much longer shifts before
and hallucinations were not part of the deal, not like this.
My skin prickled. I rolled down the window.
A few inches, letting Cool Desert Air fill the cab kept my
eyes. Straight ahead.
No music, no radio chatter, just road noise and wind my mind.
Replayed, the image, the man standing motionless.
Empty desert surrounding him. I kept driving uneasy now,
waiting half expecting to see him again standing by the road
ahead arms down waiting quietly in the dark about 20 miles
further along Route 24. I decided it was time to take a
rest by law. I was required to log a few
hours sleep. And even though I had been
shaking by seeing that man twice exhaustion was creeping in.
There was a dirt pull out near South caneville Mesa marked as a
rest area, a desolate spot. I'd used before no lights, just
a rusted trash bin and Faded. Signs, barely visible in the
dark. pulling in, I cut the engine and sat quietly for a
minute, listening as the hot metal of the truck, ticked and
cooled down, I glanced out the windshield, letting my eyes
adjust to the near Blackness outside.
Nothing moved. Only miles of flat scrub in
distant, Rocky, outcropping, silhouetted By Moonlight.
I reclined my seat and shut my eyes forcing myself to relax,
Sleep usually came easy but tonight every sound seemed
Amplified the wind outside something faint.
Scraping against the undercarriage.
Even my own breathing, seemed unnaturally loud.
My nerves felt frayed and despite my exhaustion sleep
refused to come. Then came the tapping three
soft. Taps rhythmic spaced out evenly
against the metal siding, just behind my cab.
My eyes snapped open instantly. My breath catching immediately.
I rationalized rocks kicked up by wind debris from the road.
But when I listened closer, the sound stopped abruptly replaced
by silence. Too quiet.
Even for out here. I leaned forward, grabbing my
flashlight from the console and carefully climbed down from the
cab. Sweeping the beam around the
dirt clearing. I saw nothing out of place at
first, then stepping to the side of the truck.
I froze footprints. Fresh clear footprints.
In the thin dust circling all the way around my rig.
Barefoot, no tread just the outline of toes in heels
pressed, neatly into the dirt, my gut Twisted painfully.
I spun the flash light wildly around but there was no Trail
leading into the desert, no Footprints came or went just a
circle around my truck as if someone had appeared and then
vanished Every Instinct screamed at me to get out.
Forget the rest break. Forget regulations.
I scrambled back into the cab locked, both doors and fired up
the engine. My heart thudded painfully in my
chest, as I pulled, back onto the highway, watching the
pull-out fade behind me in the mirrors.
Hours later after, unloading the generators in Escalante and
picking up another load bound back East, I found myself on
Route 24. Again it was near midnight once
more and every muscle in my body tightened as the same stretch of
road appeared in the Headlights. This time it started with the CB
radio, a crackling burst of static.
Startled me the kind that comes when someone Keys the mic with
out speaking? I glanced down at the radio
curiously twisting, the knob to clarify the signal.
As I listened my own voice distorted and grainy played back
clearly through the speaker. Loads heavy coming up on a hill.
My blood ran cold. I had said that exact phrase
early hours ago miles from here. I snatched the mic off its clip
my voice trained with anxiety, whose out there, identify
yourself, static hissed back at me, empty and mocking.
No response. Before I could think clearly the
dome light in my cab clicked on by itself, then clicked off on
again off again, my pulse raced Panic edged in.
I checked the fuse box beneath the dash fumbling for anything
loose, any logical explanation, but everything was in place,
secure and undisturbed a quick movement in my side.
Mirror, Drew my eye, back to the highway.
I caught a glimpse of something a shadowy figure darting past
the tail of my trailer Swift. And impossibly, quick Too fast
to be human. My Breath turned shallow, I
punched the accelerator, the truck roaring louder pushing 70
miles an hour on that. Empty Highway ignoring every
speed limit. I refused to look back again.
My grip locked tight on the wheel.
My eyes pinned Straight Ahead. As I raced toward Hanksville and
whatever safety, its lights might offer.
It was around three in the morning when the scattered
lights of Hanksville. Finally came into view glowing,
dimly against the vast emptiness surrounding the highway I'd
never been so relieved to see civilization.
Even if the town barely qualified.
My hands shook slightly as I guided the truck into the
brightly lit. Hollow Mountain, gas station a
tiny Place carved directly into a Sandstone cliff The
fluorescent bulbs overhead flooded every corner with light
for once the harsh brightness felt comforting rather than
irritating. I parked right under the
strongest security. Light killed the engine and sat
rigidly still for several minutes.
Just listening. I was too on edge to even
consider sleep, every Creak of metal, and hiss of cooling
Machinery. Sent jolts through my chest, my
heart thumping, as though ready to burst from my rib cage.
Glancing, at the station's, closed convenience store, I felt
a Pang of helplessness. It wouldn't open for another two
hours and the only human presence was a Clerk's vehicle.
Parked at the far end of the lot.
Empty and cold. But at least I wasn't alone in
the dark. The security cameras mounted
high on the rock face. Gave me some small reassurance,
whatever. Had chased me here.
Surely wouldn't risk exposure now.
I took deep breaths steadying myself, when suddenly a single
sharp tap. Rang out from my passenger side,
mirror, My breath caught instantly and my eyes darted
toward the mirror. I forced myself, not to look out
side every fiber in my body, screamed for me to start the
truck drive anywhere else anywhere but here.
But there was no, where to go. This was the only lit Oasis for
miles and something told me that staying put was my best.
Hope of making it through the night.
I waited intense silence minutes, ticking by painfully
slow, until the Eastern Sky began to lighten.
Casting pale streaks over the distant desert.
With Sunrise approaching the station clerk, finally arrived,
a weary middle-aged man on locking the store and flipping
on even more lights. Seeing him felt like waking from
a nightmare and I quickly climbed out of the cab nearly
stumbling as exhaustion and adrenaline clashed inside me,
when I described what happened and asked, if we could review
the security footage, he gave me a strange look but agreed
without question. We stood behind the counter
staring into a grainy black and white monitor replaying hours of
footage at high speed. Nothing.
No figure circling, my rig, no flashes of movement.
Not even when the mirror had sounded that final tap the lot
remained empty throughout the night aside from my own anxious
movements inside the cab. You sure you saw someone out
there. The clerk asked softly I nodded
grimly, the image of the footprints.
Still seared into my memory. You ain't the first trucker to
say something like that. He added carefully might want to
talk to the Sheriff before you head out again.
An hour later. I stood in front of the Wayne
County Sheriff's Office, recounting my experience to a
deputy who took notes quietly when I finished, he didn't seem
surprised only resigned Without a word.
He led me to a back wall filled with cork boards maps and papers
pinned up haphazardly among them was a handwritten list.
Labeled plainly Route, 24, Phantom, sightings dozens of
dates times and drivers names each accompanied by a short,
note abandoned rig quit, Trucking or missing He wrote my
name at the bottom, adding the date and the simple, note stayed
with truck made it out safe. You did the right thing Rick he
said, quietly, whatever. That is out there, it's best not
to be alone in the dark with it. I thanked him numb and exhausted
and walked slowly back to my truck.
I knew two things clearly I'd never haul.
Another load down, Route 24 again and I'd never forget the
figure standing motionless by the roadside waiting silently in
the Darkness. I've been driving trucks.
Nearly half my life. 15 years, hauling reefer Freight between
Boise and Portland, mostly Knights.
Less traffic fewer hassles and cooler roads, made the summer
months. Bearable But no matter how much
experience you have some stretches of Road, never lose
their Edge. Dead man, pass, what locals
call? Cabbage Hill, was one of them,
it earned its Grim nickname, with a brutal history of
rollovers and recs. If you've driven I-84 through
the Blue Mountains, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
The steep grade, the tight curves, the unpredictable summer
rockslides, everything there kept your nerves raw especially
when the clock ticked toward 3:00 a.m.
It was mid July, humid enough that even the darkness fell.
I'd left Baker City at around, 2:45 a.m. my refrigerated
trailer packed with 31,000, pounds of frozen meats, Bound
for Portland. Scout.
My border collie was curled up on the passenger seat and the
road was empty enough to let my guard down.
If only slightly Everything was smooth sailing until around
3:30. When my headlights caught
something unusual, just passed milepost 227.
A man was standing by the shoulder frantically waving one
of those reflective emergency triangles.
His vehicle an old white SUV, was parked ahead at an awkward
angle against the guardrail hazard lights.
Blinking silently into the darkness.
Instinct told me to keep going dead, man.
Pass wasn't the place to play Hero.
But something about the desperation of his movements
forced my foot off the gas. I slowed and carefully pulled
toward the shoulder about 50 yards in front of his car.
Keeping a safe distance in case something fell off, as I shifted
into park, Scout raised his head ears.
Perked dog's always sensed trouble before we do rolling
down my window halfway, I squinted into the side, mirror
watching The Mane cautiously instead of approaching my truck.
He stood Frozen behind his SUV. He gestured urgently motioning
me to get out and come over. No, calling out.
No. Explanations just desperate.
Silent gestures beneath the pale glow of my tail lights.
Hey you. All right back there.
I shouted, aiming my flashlight out the window, the bright beam
sliced through the darkness. Illuminating him fully for the
first time. My stomach tightened his face.
It wasn't panicked or grateful or relieved.
It wasn't anything? Just slack.
Emotionless. Staring straight at me.
No expression. Like, he'd forgotten how a human
face was supposed to work. His clothes were filthy his
pants. Shredded down, one leg.
He stood there motionless hand still extended toward me, like
some bizarre statue. A shiver crept, down my spine,
everything in my body. Screamed at me to get moving
again. You got a phone?
I yelled again. Buying myself another second to
decide. He didn't respond.
Didn't move, didn't even blink. The triangle dangled Loosely
from his other hand. It's reflectors gleaming faintly
each time at caught my life's I glanced at Scout whose hackles
were raised eyes locked on the stranger.
Nope, I muttered. No way.
I threw the rig back into gear, creeping forward slowly at first
pretending. I was repositioning further down
the shoulder. In the mirror.
I saw him still standing. Motionless illuminated by my red
brake lights, then I punched the gas and felt relief surged
through me as I left the unsettling, figure behind
shrinking quickly into the blackness.
Scout settled slightly but I still felt tense shaken.
I tried telling myself the guy was drunk or high, maybe lost or
hurt and Confused. Maybe I should have called
Highway Patrol but radio reception here was notoriously
spotty. My thoughts were interrupted by
a sharp. High-pitched alert from the
truck system trailer door, open a cold jolt, hit my gut.
I clearly remembered latching and locking it before leaving
Baker City. Something I always double
checked out of habit. Probably a faulty sensor.
I reasoned trying to steady my nerves.
It had happened once before months ago.
Nothing major Still a nagging unease.
Refused to leave me alone. I glanced in my mirror again,
half expecting the man or his SUV to reappear on the road
behind me. The Blackness was empty and
endless. I drove on feeling strangely
vulnerable, despite the massive steel rig beneath me.
I didn't realize it then, but pulling over a Deadman pass, had
set something into motion. Something I couldn't yet
understand. Something I'd soon.
Wish I had never stopped to find out.
It took about a mile before I realized something wasn't,
right. The truck felt off almost as if
the trailer was fishtailing slightly enough to be
noticeable. But subtle enough that I
initially blamed it on wind gusts.
Scout was pacing anxiously across the passenger seat
whining quietly. His ears flat against his head.
He wasn't normally skiddish years on the road had made him
as steady as any truck dog. Could be seeing him.
Rattled didn't help my nerves my dashboard lit up again a sudden
Spike on the wait, sensors built into the trailers axle system.
My load had jumped up nearly 500 pounds, then immediately
returned to normal. Strange, but not impossible.
Sometimes faulty reading's happened on Long hauls,
especially through terrain, like the Blue Mountains.
Still, this one felt different. I forced myself to breathe, deep
in steady. I tried the radio reaching out
to any trucker within a few miles.
Anybody westbound around dead man, pass picking up Crosswinds
or weird road conditions. I asked trying to keep my voice
neutral after a few seconds static crackled before another
driver responded, negative on the Wind eastbound quiet night
out here. What's up Lisa?
Trailers acting weird sensors bouncing all over the place.
I replied forcing a casual tone. Probably nothing just jumpy I
guess. The other trucker chuckled a dry
laugh over the radio. Careful out there could be those
cabbage Hill ghosts drive safe. I didn't laugh.
My eyes kept flicking toward the side mirrors, watching the
trailer carefully. Scout huddled against the seat.
Now eyes wide it felt irrational but his reaction convinced me,
this wasn't just paranoia, he'd been through plenty of rough
weather, bad roads, even animal encounters but never acted this
way. I forced myself to keep driving
trying to rationalize maybe the cargo shifted slightly when I
pulled onto the shoulder. Maybe I hadn't latched.
The trailer securely despite my clear memory of doing it.
My mind searched for normal explanations anything to avoid
acknowledging, the dreads sinking into my gut.
Then the sensor jumped again, a spike of 600 pounds lasting.
A few seconds before dropping back.
It was as if something large was moving around.
Inside Shifting the weight distribution, unpredictably, my
heart rate, climbed sweat dampening, my Palms against the
steering wheel. Scout what's back there buddy?
I murmured knowing he couldn't answer but desperately wishing
he could About 10 miles from Pendleton.
I made a decision, I took the next exit and called Oregon.
Dot's 24-hour. Hotline requesting an immediate
inspection. The dispatcher sounded
skeptical. But agreed to meet me at the
eastbound weigh station, just outside town, I didn't care how
it looked I needed someone else to verify.
What I couldn't explain. I slowed to a stop at the empty
weigh station engine idling softly in the pre-dawn quiet.
Before stepping out, I grabbed my heavy flash light and opened
the cab door slowly. Scout refused to follow,
pressing himself, deeper into the seat.
My throat tightened, another bad sign.
The night air felt unnaturally thick and oppressive.
I moved quickly to the back of the trailer.
Heart hammering, as I aimed the flash light at the latch it was
open. Not broken or damaged simply
unlocked. Dangling slightly.
Ajar The lock itself was still securely in place confirming my
earlier suspicion. whatever had happened here, it had started
inside my trailer, not outside my pulse roared in my ears, as I
stared into the narrow Darkness between the trailer doors, I
should have felt relief at not seeing anything, immediately
obvious. But in Stead my dread deepened.
The faintest smell drifted from the open Gap, rich and earthy
like fresh soil overturned from a grave.
Stepping back instinctively. I swung the trailer doors, fully
open. My flashlight beam swept across
stacked pallets. Tightly wrapped and undisturbed
at first glance. Then near the center of the
trailer floor. I saw a broken palette board
splintered as if crushed by something heavy near it strange
marks gouged the aluminum walls erratic deep scratches that
could have only come from something large and Powerful, my
heart dropped into my stomach. I turned back toward the cab
half running now and climbed inside.
Scout was trembling. I locked both cab doors and
waited for the inspection crew. Eyes fixed nervously on the
darkened mirrors. What exactly had climbed into my
trailer at dead. Men pass and where had it gone.
The Oregon DOT pickup rolled into the weigh station. 15
minutes, later headlights, slicing across my windshield,
briefly blinding me. Two inspectors.
Stepped out. Each carrying a heavy duty flash
light. I climbed down from my rig Scout
following, hesitantly glued to my side as we approached the
trailer. You the one who called asked the
taller inspector, an older guy with a weathered face and a
skeptical. Look Yeah, that's me.
I said forcing steadiness into my voice.
Trailer latch popped. Open something.
Inside isn't right? Loads shifting weird sensor
spikes. It's a mess back there.
He nodded slowly glancing toward his partner, a younger woman who
wore the tired expression of someone already regretting her
night shift. She waved me over as they moved
toward the rear doors. My stomach, churned, as I
followed, when the inspector opened, the trailer, fully the
air seemed thicker than before heavy with a smell like, damp
Earth and Moss, not Rod. Exactly.
But something out of place like wet dirt Dragged In from
somewhere far away the inspectors.
Exchanged a puzzled glance their casual skepticism fading
quickly. They stepped cautiously into the
trailer flash lights, Criss crossing over the aluminum
walls, highlighting the Deep ragged scratches that ran nearly
waist high along. Both sides.
You got an animal loose back here.
The woman asked her voice suddenly tight with unease, I
shook my head quickly, know, just frozen meats from Baker,
City doors were latched and locked before I left, whatever.
Did this God in later somewhere? On dead man, pass. the older
inspector knelt down, shining his beam onto the broken palette
near the center, Splintered wood.
Lay scattered around the floor, like matchsticks.
He glanced back at me eyes narrowed and you didn't hear any
noise. No, banging nothing unusual.
Nothing. I answered honestly.
Just censor alerts a little Sway in the trailer.
I pulled over soon as I noticed. I stepped further back feeling
the oppressive weight of the trailer around me.
Something told me I shouldn't be inside.
Scout hovered anxiously outside pacing, the young and inspector
who had moved deeper into the trailer called out sharply.
Hey, come see this. We moved carefully toward her
beams. Converging on a strange Mound
near the back axle, A pile of dirt dark and freshly Disturbed,
lay heaped against the aluminum flooring.
Bits of moss and grass protruded from it.
Clearly not native to this stretch of Oregon.
What the hell murmur the older inspector kneeling to examine it
closer? He prodded the dirt.
Gently, his face creased in confusion.
Where did this even come from? I felt sick to my stomach.
My Palms. Grew sweaty.
The smell making me dizzy. I don't know, all I can tell you
is something climbed in after I stopped.
Maybe it dug through the floor somehow impossible.
He interrupted sharply. Trailer floors are reinforced
steel, beams aluminum, plating nothing digs through.
He stood abruptly shining, the light upward Illuminating the
walls again. He traced, one of the gouges
with his finger voice quiet, but serious.
These look fresh, whatever it was, it wanted out badly. my
mouth went dry out out where he didn't answer instead they both
stepped past me toward the rear doors.
We're gonna check your dash cam footage.
The older inspector said, firmly beckoning me to follow.
I hurried back to the cab climbing inside to retrieve.
The camera's SD card. Scout pressed close to me
shivering as if chilled. I handed them the card silently,
then watched as the younger inspector loaded it into a
tablet. She scrubbed through the footage
quickly finding the time stamp just before. 3:30 a.m. the video
was clear at first my headlights cutting through Darkness,
everything normal until suddenly inexplicably, the screen went
completely blank. Nothing but Blackness for nearly
seven full minutes. When the picture returned, I was
already driving away the road. Stretching ahead like nothing
had ever happened. She stared at the screen
baffled. You stop anywhere else.
No, just dead man pass. When I saw a stranded driver
waving me down I explained quietly except now Now what she
pressed. Her voice sharp.
I took a breath. Steadying myself.
Now there's nothing on the footage.
No man, no SUV, no record. I stopped at all.
They exchanged uneasy looks the older inspector clearly
uncomfortable. Listen, he said finally will
file a report, send this footage up the chain but officially this
is going to read like a brake in.
Keep it simple, right? I nodded numbly, sure, simple.
They climbed back into their pickup promising a follow-up
that we both knew wouldn't come once they were gone.
I sat in my cab for a long moment staring blankly at the
dash trying to make sense of it, Scout curled beside me, finally,
calling a little, I finished the drive to Portland in a fog, the
trailer dragging behind me, feeling heavier than ever.
Have to unloading. I refused any more solo.
The inspectors were probably right.
This would remain unexplained filed away neatly as a simple
break-in. Another Oddity lost among
hundreds of Highway incidents but I knew better whatever
climbed into my trailer, a Deadman, pass wasn't looking for
cargo. It was looking for a way out and
I'd give it one I was 13 years old.
When my dad, missed our fourth of July reunion for the first
and only time in my life. Every year our family gathered
at my uncle's property, just outside Billings Montana.
We grilled burgers lit, fireworks and stayed up late.
Swapping stories. Around the bonfire.
Dad, a long-haul truck driver named Ray Martinez had made it
home for every reunion since I could remember.
But that year, 2011 things took a different turn.
He was driving a load of refrigerated.
Produce from Cheyenne, Wyoming to Bozeman Montana.
Usually, he'd take the interstate through Casper and
Billings, but wildfires forced him.
North through Cody, then West along route, 212, the Beartooth
Highway. It was longer lonelier and more
treacherous but it was the only open route.
He promised to make it home by July 3rd.
When the day passed without word my mother hid her worry behind
forced Smiles but even at 13 I could feel the tension
thickening years later on a humid summer night in 2024.
Dad, finally told me the full story on our back porch in
Billings as crickets chirped softly, and my own kids slept
inside He spoke slowly as though, picking through memories
long buried. What he told me, explained.
Every silent glance every hesitant look.
He'd given root 212 since that July.
Historic began just after midnight on July, 2nd 2011, as
he navigated a twisting descent along route, 212 near clay.
Butte Lookout, thousands of feet above sea level.
The road was slick with gravel from a recent washout, in the
blink of an eye. The heavy trailer swung wide.
The entire rig, shuttered violently, and Dad's
Freightliner Cascadia skidded off the shoulder sinking into
the dry brush and loose earth below.
Dad wasn't hurt. Just rattled.
His heart hammered against his chest, as he checked for damage.
He stepped down onto gravel and dry grass flashlight.
Trembling in his hand and circled the truck.
The rig was lodged in the dirt, its massive bulk, half tilted,
tires sunk deep, it was hopelessly stuck.
No cell signal up their dad explained quietly middle of
nowhere no traffic road closures everywhere from fires My best
bet was to wait until morning flag down.
Whoever might pass by, or hike to a ranger station.
So he climbed into his sleeper cab and tried to wrest telling
himself. It was just a setback But when
he woke at exactly 3:48 a.m. the air was cold enough to see his
breath, a sharp, contrast to the heat.
He'd expected in July, The trucks engine had cut out some
time. During his sleep, leaving the
cab dark and silent. He slid behind the wheel and
turned the key. Instead of a familiar Roar, he
heard a grinding metallic shriek Echo from beneath the hood.
The dashboard flickered, angrily with warning lights, casting
Eerie Shadows inside the cab. Dad step, back out, Flash Light
Beam cutting through, dust and darkness.
When he lifted the hood a bitter chemical odor.
Stung, his nose, His stomach tightened at what he saw the oil
pan was ripped apart as if something sharp had torn through
the metal with deliberate Force. Oil.
Dripped onto the gravel mixing with coolant and pooling Darkly
at his feet. He moved around the truck.
I scanning the dim surroundings. Heart thudding, now with
something deeper than worry. That's when he saw Footprints,
bear human-like elongated pressed into the dirt and headed
toward the dark wall of trees. I thought maybe someone was
stranded desperate, dad told me shaking his head slowly, but
then I heard movement quick, quiet too quick to be a person.
He paused in his retelling, taking a long sip from his glass
eyes distant. What ever it was he continued.
Finally moved. Upright like a man but faster.
More fluid. It went around behind the
trailer before I got a good look.
Dad wasted, no time, scrambling back into the cab, locking the
doors, pulling his pistol, from Beneath the Sea.
Every nerve on edge, he sat rigid in the driver's seat.
Straining to hear anything beyond the silence. minutes
crawled by Then at 412, a.m. he heard footsteps, slow deliberate
moving Atop, The aluminum roof of the trailer.
He sat Frozen as they stopped directly over his head.
The metal creaking, softly beneath their weight, And then
silence complete silence time stretched out painfully as Dad.
Waited, pistol gripped and sweating Palms.
Whatever it was stayed perfectly still above him.
I didn't know what to do. Dad whispered looking at me
through haunted eyes. Couldn't shoot through the roof.
Blind. Couldn't just stay there
forever. Eventually exhaustion pulled him
back into an uneasy sleep, but sleep, offered No Escape.
Because what happened next blurred?
The boundary between reality and Nightmare.
And when Dad finally woke gasping in Terror, he'd come
face to face with something. He'd spend the next 13 years
desperately trying to forget I woke up abruptly choking for are
my heartbeat hammering painful in my chest.
The vividness of The Nightmare. Lingard like an oily residue.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the
sleeper cab for a split second. I didn't know where I was.
Then reality returned. I was stranded along route. 212
deep in the Montana. Wilderness hours from any real
help. I checked my phone in totally
12:08 a.m. But something was wrong.
I checked it earlier after the footsteps on the roof and it had
said four 12 a.m. my thoughts felt slow Tangled.
The darkness outside seemed unnaturally dense absorbing the
feeble glow of the phone screen. The nightmare itself clawed at
the edges of my consciousness. In it, I'd wandered through a
twisted impossible, Forest filled with trees bent at
bizarre angles and Roots nodded like gnarled dead snakes.
I'd walked aimlessly hearing strange.
Clicking sounds all around me. Feeling unseen, eyes watching
from behind every trunk. In the center of it all stood, a
dark totem, carved crudely from burned wood and bleached bones.
Just before I had awakened, something had stepped from
behind it tall and wrong. Its face stretched into an
expression halfway between Agony and a grotesque grin.
I shivered forcing away the image, rubbing the sweat from my
face. as I sat up fully trying to gather my nerves, a sharp
movement caught my attention my heart, lurked Something shifted
outside, just beyond the driver's side window without
thinking, I whip my head around and stared into the blackness.
My stomach, nodded. Two eyes stared back.
The face pressed against the window was pale gone.
Almost skeletal. Skin stretched tight across
bones beneath the mouth set in a straight unreadable line.
It wasn't quite human. The proportions were wrong,
elongated cheekbones jaw set at an odd angle.
Forehead too high and its eyes. Dark reflective too wide filled
with a chilling emptiness. That froze me in place.
For several heart stopping seconds.
We simply stared at each other. My lungs locked up.
Muscles refusing to move. My pistol.
Lay on the passenger seat inches from my hand.
I knew I had to grab it, but my body fell paralyzed, then with a
burst of adrenaline, my hand shot out closed around the
griped, the weapon and fired the deafening blast shattered, the
silence as the window exploded outward in a shower of glass
fragments. Ears ringing.
I sat stunned for a moment. My breath ragged.
I peered into the darkness beyond the jagged frame pistol.
Trembling in my grass. Nothing.
Nobody, no sounds of movement. No blood.
Just empty darkness and the Knights of Silence.
My breath shook. As I slowly lowered the gun.
My heart still pounded violently and my ears buzzed painfully.
Cold Mountain are seeped through the shattered, window carrying a
faint odor of burning metal and sulfur glancing again at the
phone. My blood ran cold the screen.
Displayed 12 13. Mm, only 5 minutes since I last
checked, it was impossible. It felt like hours had passed.
I Rose cautiously from my seat and peered through the broken
window eyes darting around searching.
The dirt beside the truck was smooth undisturbed no
Footprints, no sign of anything moving.
The gravel lay untouched as if the figure had never been there
at all, but I had seen it clearly.
I knew I hadn't imagined it. Backing away I sank down into
the sleeper. Bunk wrapping my bleeding hand
in a rag. From Beneath the Sea.
My head spun thoughts, spiraling, what was happening
time didn't make sense anymore. Minutes stretched into hours yet
the clock. Barely moved.
Something deeply unnatural was happening.
Something I couldn't explain. I spent the next hour sitting
rigidly upright gripping the pistol, listening intently to
every tiny sound, gradually, fatigue began, overtaking, the
adrenaline pulling the unwillingly towards sleep.
I fought desperately to keep my eyes open terrified of slipping,
back into that Twisted dream, but exhaustion claimed me again
and when I woke next I wasn't inside the truck.
I was standing Barefoot in the woods surrounded by trees.
I didn't recognize with no idea how I'd gotten there.
I stood Barefoot in the darkness, the rocky Earth,
digging sharply into the souls of my feet.
Disoriented and nauseous I stared into unfamiliar Woods
heart thudding. As I struggled to remember how I
had gotten here my truck, my only life line was nowhere in
sight. The darkness of the forest was
thick. Oppressive.
Offering no hint of familiar landmarks or roads.
Shivering. I realized I'd left the pistol
behind unarmed and vulnerable. My pulse quickened the
surrounding trees Twisted Upward at unnatural angles.
The landscape unfamiliar despite hours spent driving through this
region. The air felt thick oppressive.
Not a single insect chirped. Silence pressed in absolute and
suffocating. Behind me, branches cracked
sharply breaking the quiet. Something heavy, moved through
the brush pacing and measured deliberate steps.
I turned quickly breathing, shallowly staring into the
Shadows, I saw nothing. Clearly just glimpses of
movement, dark and Swift. It stayed low shifting side to
side weaving through the underbrush with unsettling
speed. My instincts took control.
I ran branches tore at my arms and face as I sprinted.
Blindly eyes streaming tears from panic and exertion every
breath burned. As I dodged, trees, and leaped
fall in laws, desperate to put distance between myself and
whatever, pursued me. I stumbled tripped righted
myself pressing on through the darkness.
Then mercifully. I broke through the trees onto a
rough clearing. Ahead.
Barely visible beneath Moonlight filtering through clouds stood a
small Log Cabin, smoke curled. Gently from its chimney.
Promising shelter, My legs trembled from exhaustion but I
surged forward driven by raw fear.
I reached the cabins porch, breathless pounding, my fist
against the heavy wooden door. Help my voice cracked.
Echoing hollowly through the clearing.
Please open up after several tents seconds, footstep shuffled
inside and the door creaked open cautiously An old man appeared
eyes. Narrowed wearily above a Gray
beard. Shotgun gripped firmly in
weathered hands. What the hell's going on out
here? He demanded gruffly eyes.
Scanning the tree line behind me.
My truck broke down. Something's chasing me.
I gasped voice shaking please. Let me in.
I don't know what's happening. his eyes studied me sharply
evaluating before he stepped aside, ushering me quickly
inside He bolted the door behind us gesturing toward a worn
armchair in your crackling wood stove.
Sit. He instructed voice, softer.
Now, you're safe for now. At least I sank into the chair.
Still trembling glancing. Nervously at the closed door.
The old man placed his shotgun carefully on a table eyes
thoughtful. As he studied me.
Names. Jonas, he finally said been out
here long enough to know something strange, when I see it
start talking I told Jonas everything the crash the engine
shredded without reason the figure at the window the Lost
hours and the impossible way. I'd woken up deep in these
Woods. He listens silently expression,
Grim, nodding occasionally? when I finished, he leaned
forward slowly his voice low, and deliberate Heard stories all
my life. Jonas said Hunters campers folks
disappearing or Waking miles from their tents with no memory
of leaving him. Most think it's nonsense
hallucinations from altitude or fear but it's real real enough.
He stood crossing the small cabin to an old wooden shelf
lined with books and faded photographs carefully, he pulled
a warn journal from between two heavy volumes and thumbed
through its yellowed Pages. You ever heard of the Apple
carry? He asked glancing up at me.
I shook my head, silently chest tight with Dread old story, say
they lived here long before any settlers or known tribes.
Secretive hidden, deep practice, dark things, things folks,
stopped Whispering about Generations ago, he explained
quietly, eyes locked on mine. But they were not alone, they
made things summoned them maybe or change themselves into
something else, they're called the wrong ones.
Mimics, they look human enough to trick you but they aren't
human not anymore. He closed the journal slowly
watching my reaction closely, My throat went dry.
Why me? I finally whispered.
Jonas shook his head, slowly eyes shadowed no reason anyone
can figure Sometimes folks, get close to places, they shouldn't
see. Maybe you drove through the
wrong, stretch at the wrong time.
Once they said eyes on you, they don't let go easily.
They warp your memory twist up time, make it hard to know
what's real. How do you stop them?
My voice was barely Audible. Jonas sighed, deeply shoulders
sagging. You don't.
He answered softly. You just wait and hope they lose
interest. The good news is you're still
here. Means they have taken you yet.
We sat quietly for hours until dawn broke Jonas.
Brewed coffee, bitter. And strong.
Handing me a steaming cup with a word as sunlight.
Pushed away the Shadows. Jonas, led me back toward the
road both of us wearing the trees constantly.
My truck. Stood exactly where I left it
yet. Now, it was torn.
Apart completely doors, ripped open tires.
Shredded engine. Gutted violently.
We exchanged a glance knowing what had caused the destruction.
Nothing was missing, just senseless.
Deliberate ruin. Jonas clapped me on the shoulder
gently. As we climb toward Higher Ground
to find signal, finally calling in help.
Before I left, he pulled me aside, whatever you do.
He warned eyes solemn, don't come back here, don't tempt fate
twice. I promised meaning every word
But as I watched the rescue truck approach, I realized
something chilling. There were entire stretches of
that night hours that I still couldn't account for.
Even Jonas with all his warnings, couldn't explain that
missing time. I climbed into the rescue trucks
silently glancing. Once more at Jonas's cabin in
the distance, Deep down, I knew what ever had chased me wasn't
finished, not completely. But for now at least I was
getting out alive. 13 years had passed since that night on
route. 212 life had moved forward as it tends to do
dulling the edges of what I experienced until it felt more
like a vivid nightmare than a memory.
I have avoided speaking about it bearing, the event deep, but the
truth about that July night, never faded.
Completely, it was always there beneath the surface.
Quietly waiting now on a humid August Night in 2024.
I sat out back on the porch with my grown son, sipping whiskey
under the pale glow of the porch lights.
The evening had been joyous my grandson's birthday party.
Filled the house with laughter. The Quiet Now felt comfortable
peaceful until my son asked a question.
I'd spent years secretly dreading.
You ever see anything out there that really scared you?
I hesitated swirling, the Amber liquid in my glass.
Silent stretched uncomfortably. My son, waited patiently.
Sensing my internal struggle. Finally, I took a deep breath
and looked into the darkness beyond our fence.
You remember the Fourth of July, reunion?
I missed in 2011. I began cautiously.
He nodded I told you the truck broke down but that wasn't all
of it. I recounted every detail.
Slowly methodically dredging up memories long suppressed, the
crash, the shredded engine, the figure at the window, the Lost
hours in the woods, and Jonas is grim warning.
Which word felt heavy like an anchor dragged up from Deep
Waters. My son listened silent and
intent the humor of early. Now completely drained from his
face. When I finished, he sat back in
his chair. Exhaling.
Deeply Why didn't you ever say something sooner?
He asked quietly. because I spent years trying to convince
myself, it wasn't real, I admitted Telling anyone made it
harder to pretend, but it happened every bit of it and
it's still haunts me after a long silence, I Rose and went
inside. From an old box store in the
attic. I retrieved something.
I'd never shared with another Soul, a small fragment of bark.
Yellowed and curled with age, its edges crumbling Jonas, had
handed it to me just before I climbed into the rescue truck
eyes. Full of a warning.
I hadn't fully understood back then.
Returning to the porch. I placed the bark gently into my
son's hand. He squinted tilting, it toward
the porch, light to read The Faded writing.
Don't call them. Don't follow them, if they
stopped watching you walk, don't run.
Don't think my son stared silently.
At the words, letting them sink in what did he mean by?
Don't think he finally asked. I shook my head, slowly.
I don't know exactly maybe that they mess with your perception,
make your mind play tricks, the less you dwell on them, the
safer you are. the more you acknowledge them, the more power
they seem to have We sat and thoughtful silence.
He eventually stood classed my shoulder firmly and went inside.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering Taste
of memories. I took out my phone fingers
trembling slightly, as I typed route, 212 into the search bar
pulling up satellite images of the highway.
I'd never driven again. I studied the twisting route
closely tracing it with my finger on the screen.
Even now years later my throat tightened just looking at it.
I realized then just how drastically I had altered my
life after that night, how I'd rerouted to deliveries added
hours, sometimes days, onto trips, simply to avoid that
place. But I never fully admitted to
myself, why? Sighing heavily.
I turned off my phone and stood up gazing into the darkness.
The unease was still there simmering.
Just beneath the surface. Something Jonas, said, echoed in
my mind. Clearly.
Now, once they set eyes on you, they don't let go easily.
Walking inside I stopped and turned back one final time
toward the yard looking past our fence into the Shadows Beyond.
I felt certain deep in my bones that whatever.
I encountered on route, 212 hadn't meant to harm me, not
directly. They had been curious.
Interested, perhaps in a way, a child might study an insect
pinned beneath glass. But curiosity like that wasn't
human and it wasn't innocent. I locked the back door
carefully, double-checking the latch before, turning off the
lights. Casting the porch Into Darkness?
Upstairs, as I climbed into bed, I knew with Grimm's certainty,
that the fear I'd carry for 13 years, wasn't irrational.
It was earned bought and paid for with lost hours and shredded
metal. A pale face at the window and
footprints in the dirt that shouldn't have existed.
And asleep finally took me. I knew one thing.
Clearly Above All Else. I would never travel route. 212
again. I've driven rigs for over a
decade. Now, mostly hauling livestock
feed from Great Falls down to Billings.
It's steady work, predictable, even and US. 87 became a second
home for me years ago. On those long drives, you get to
know every rise. Every curve, every patch of
grass, Montana has its own way of lulling you into a quiet
sense of routine. So when something breaks that
Rhythm it, sticks with you late summer, had been brutally dry
and Wildfire season was in full swing long stretches of
Sagebrush and grazing, land were crispy and brown during the
days. The sun, blistered my windshield
by evening. The temperature dropped sharply
enough to send chills through the metal doors of my cab.
My truck had been a Dependable companion.
A big blue Kenworth. I'd take in good care of And as
always, I kept a small arsenal of energy drinks protein bars
and my glock tucked in the glove box.
I'd only reached for it once before, when a coyote charged me
at a rest, stop outside Lewis town.
Until now. Nothing else had ever come close
to rattling me. It happened around dusk about 25
miles. North of Roundup.
I'd already been driving for hours squinting into the
Horizon, waiting for the dark to bring some relief.
I'd clicked on my headlights just minutes earlier washing the
empty 2 Lane Road in a dull yellow globe.
That's when something moved out of the corner of my right eye
just off the shoulder. my first thought was dear, maybe a
pronghorn But when I looked again, my stomach twisted.
It was a man. Shirtless barefoot.
Sprinting, like his life depended on it.
My foot lifted from the accelerator instinctively easing
my speed from 65 down to 40. At first, I thought he might be
running from something in the fields behind him.
A dog, a Rancher, who knew what? But when I glanced again, his
eyes met mine, they were wide and intense staring straight
through the passenger window, as if he knew.
Exactly who I was his muscles were tight, his body bruised.
All over skin, streaked with dirt and dried blood hair,
Tangled and matted. He looked desperate hunted, I
nearly hit the brakes to stop for him, but right as my hand,
hovered over the air horn to signal, I was pulling over the
man cut sharply, right? And Dove head first into the
thick grass alongside the highway one second.
He was there. The next Eve vanished.
My heart hammered as I rolled slowly past the spot.
My eyes scan the brush. Expecting him to pop back up and
wave me down. He never did.
A surge of guilt twisted, my gut.
What if he needed help? What if someone was chasing him?
But what if he was dangerous, the bruises suggested violence,
may be drugs, maybe trouble either way the thought of
stopping. Now felt wrong like stepping
into something bigger than I could handle alone.
After a moments hesitation I radio dispatch but all I got
back was crackling static. Cell coverage was practically
non-existent here so calling. Anyone was out of the question.
I swallowed hard steadied my nerves and kept driving. 15
minutes later, my knuckles were still white around the steering
wheel. I'd almost convinced myself that
I had imagined the whole thing. When out of the darkness to my
right, the same man appeared, again running parallel to the
truck matching, my speed precisely every hair on my body.
Stood on end. He didn't wave or shout.
He just ran eyes, fixed Dead Ahead.
Arms pumping methodically stride, even I floored the
accelerator, the engine growling in protest, but when I dare to
glance in the side mirror he was still there.
Running alongside as effortlessly as before.
My breath caught in my throat, sweat broke out on my forehead.
There was no way, no human could keep Pace with a rig going that
fast and yet. There he was a dark silhouette
flickering through the headlights peripheral reach then
just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he veered sharply and
vanished again into the Shadows beyond the shoulder.
My rig thundered forward leaving him or whatever.
I just witnessed behind in the darkness.
I didn't stop. I didn't look back.
I pushed forward. Heart hammering against my ribs.
Eager to leave round up behind. But deep down, I knew the night
wasn't finished with me yet. I made it to Billings around 10
nerves raw and mine still replaying the runner's face.
Pulling into the truck. Stop on South Billings Boulevard
felt like stepping into the first safe Zone.
I'd seen in hours, bright overhead lights, cast pools of
white across the cracked pavement.
Making the whole place glow on naturally in the Darkness.
Even at this late hour, there was comfort in the distant drone
of idling engines and murmured voices over by the gas pumps.
I parked the rig and shut off the engine leaning back in my
seat to breathe deeply. I'd plan to grab a bite and
crash in my sleeper cab, but something fell off. a persistent
vibration had nagged at me the last 20 miles subtle but
insistent, Maybe I'd hit something early and hadn't
realized it road debris or a pothole after tonight.
I wasn't taking chances. I reached behind my seat for the
flashlight. Grabbed my gloves and hopped
down from the cab. The cool night air made my skin
prickle as I stepped around the rig shining the beam Along the
trailer tires. Nothing unusual there.
When I crouched lower my pulse quickened, Something was stuck
under the truck's. Chassis just above the rear
axle. As the beam caught it, a chill,
went down my spine, a tangled clump of black hair hung from
one of the mounts. I leaned in closer, hoping it
might be animal fur, but the moment I tugged at loose, I knew
better. It was coarse and Long,
unmistakably human. My stomach lurched.
And I scrambled back from under the truck breathing shallowly
through clenched teeth, the hair felt wrong between my fingers,
like a violation instinctively, I flicked it onto the pavement
and stared at it, pulse hammering.
How in the hell had human hair gotten caught there?
Had, I hit someone The bruised Runner flashed through my mind
again but I'd never felt any kind of impact.
Still shaken. I stepped back toward the cab
suddenly conscious of eyes on me from the truckers Milling about
the pumps. I forced a casual wave, then
climbed back into my seat and locked the door.
The hair lay in the beam of my headlights, a dark clumps dark
against the cracked asphalt. Sleep came.
Reluctantly I tossed and turned in the sleeper cab.
Unable to find rest. Every small noise outside the
crunch of gravel beneath booths, the distance slam of a truck
door. Jarred me awake again, twice, I
sat up sharply certain someone had brushed past my rig each
time the window revealed, nothing but Stillness and empty
pavement. Mourning couldn't come soon
enough. At first light, I stepped out
groggy and unrested. I stretched stiff muscles
determined to put the night behind me.
When I caught sight of something dry and reddish brown, smeared
along the rear bumper a sinking dread Twisted inside my chest.
It was blood dry and unmistakable caked onto the
steal and uneven streets. It hadn't been there yesterday.
Without hesitation, I climbed into the cab, slammed the door,
shut and fired up the engine. The steady Rumble felt
comforting now like protection. As I steered out of the truck,
stop heading North toward home. I made a silent vow no more
stopping and Roundup, not ever. Whatever was happening there.
It was someone else's problem from now on My rig barreled down
the highway. And this time, I refused to
glance toward the grass lining. The roadside, some things are
better left. Unseen Two days passed, but the
sense of dread hadn't faded. It clung to me shadowing, every
thought poisoning every quiet moment.
I tried burying it beneath chores at home, cleaning out the
garage tuning up, my old pickup but nothing erase the image of
that bruised Runner or the hair twisted around the axle.
I started wondering if I should have said something to the
sheriff, or at least mentioned it to someone else.
But I didn't know how to explain without sounding crazy.
Then around lunchtime on the second day.
My phone buzzed with an unfamiliar local number I
hesitated briefly before answering bracing myself.
Is this Sam Weller a gravelly voice asked?
Deputy Harris with mussel shell County Sheriff's Office.
I felt a sick tightening in my chest.
Yeah, speaking. You called dispatch about
something. Strange near Roundup.
Two nights ago, someone running along us. 87 that correct.
Yeah, guy looked beat up running Barefoot, didn't seem right.
there was a pause on the line heavy and uneasy We need to talk
to you about that. Where are you now?
Home in Lewistown. Why what happened?
He cleared his throat. We had a Rancher.
Call it in yesterday. Morning found a man alive down
in a culvert off. The highway north of Roundup.
Guy. Had a length of chain still
locked to his ankle, says someone held him in a pit.
Beat him when he tried to escape claims, he broke free and tried
flagging down passing vehicles. my throat like sandpaper, I
leaned against the kitchen counter steadying myself, he was
chained to his ankle Yeah, the deputy said looks like he was
kept underground. Pretty rough shape.
We're trying to piece together how long he was out there?
I remembered the bruises, the desperate expression of the
runner who had stared through my passenger window.
Nausea rose again. Listen Sam.
The deputy continued gently. He mentions seeing a semi-truck.
A blue rig heading southbound twice.
Said he tried waving you down but thought you didn't notice
him. I noticed I admitted quietly
guilt washing over me but he kept disappearing.
He never waived, never yelled just ran.
Well, you weren't the only one to pass him by trust me.
He said we just need to clarify details.
You didn't see anyone else nearby.
Another vehicle something suspicious Know, just him.
And nothing odd with your rig, after no signs of contact my
throat tightened again, I pictured the hair dark and
Tangled beneath my axle Mount. I picture the dried streaks of
blood smeared on my bumper, my heartbeat was pounding hard in
my ears. No, I lied.
Nothing. There was another pause.
Just long enough to make me wonder if the deputy believed
me. Finally, he sighed.
Alright, we'll be in touch if we have more questions.
Stay safe out there Sam. You too?
I muttered hanging up. I leaned heavily on the
countertop, breath ragged Palms sweating.
Every Instinct screamed at me that I had dodged something
horrific. Something very human and very
real was happening along that Highway something worse than any
nightmare I'd ever imagined. That evening, as Shadows
stretched long across my driveway, I worked silently.
Installing a high-powered Spotlight bar and a Dash mounted
camera in the rigs cab. My hands trembled slightly, as I
tightened the bolts, each turn of the wrench, a quiet promise
to myself. The highway had always been my
lifeline my comfort zone but that night.
It felt different dangerous unpredictable.
I knew I drive again, but never through Roundup.
Never along that stretch of us 87.
The rumors would spread among truckers whispered at rest stops
and diners. Don't slow down near Roundup.
Don't stop for anything. In above all else.
If you see a runner along the roadside, keep your eyes forward
and your foot down and never look back.