The rear view mirror caught my eye as I drove, the reflection
showing Brandon's face, his eyes wide with anticipation.
The dense forests of Washington blurred past us, a green canvas
painted with memories of my own childhood.
The radio hummed an old tune, one from my high school days,
and I couldn't help but get lost in it.
Hey, Dad. Brandon's voice pulled me from
my reverie. What's this song?
I chuckled, glancing at him. This, oh, this takes me back.
It was a hit. When I was about your age.
I tapped the steering wheel in rhythm, feeling the weight of
years gone by. Brandon leaned forward,
intrigued. Tell me about it.
And so I did. The drive to the campsite became
a journey down memory lane. I spoke of my high school band,
the concerts we'd sneak into, and the mischief we'd get up to.
Brandon listened, his laughter filling the car, making the
stories come alive once more. You were wild, Dad, he said, his
eyes sparkling with mischief just a bit.
I admitted, ruffling his hair. But those were different times,
simpler in many ways. The campsite sign loomed ahead,
and I turned off the main road. The gravel crunched beneath the
tires, the familiar sound signaling the start of our
adventure. As I parked the car, I took a
moment to breathe in the fresh air, the scent of pine and earth
filling my lungs. Brandon was already out, his
backpack slung over one shoulder, looking around with
excitement. This place is awesome, I smiled,
watching him. It is, isn't it?
Just like the trips I used to take with your grandpa.
He looked at me, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
I wish I could have met him. I nodded, memories of my father
flooding back. He would have loved you,
Brandon, just as much as I do. We got to work setting up our
camp. Brandon, ever the patient one,
waited as I fumbled with the tent poles.
The sun cast long shadows, the golden hour painting the world
in a warm hue. Once the tent was up, we took a
moment to admire our handiwork. Look sturdy enough, I remarked,
patting the canvas. Brandon grinned, thanks to my
expert supervision. I laughed, pulling him into a
hug. Always the joker, huh?
He shrugged, his smile never fading, learned from the best.
The woods beckoned, and we decided to take a short hike
before nightfall. As we walked, I pointed out
various tracks and signs of wildlife, just as my father had
done for me. The forest was calm, the only
sound being our footsteps and the occasional bird call.
Brandon stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on something.
Look, Dad, A deer track. I bent down, examining the
print. Good eye, kiddo, he beamed,
clearly proud of his discovery. I'm learning.
We continued our walk, the bond between us growing with every
step. The weight of my busy work life,
the missed moments and opportunities weighed on me.
But right now, in this moment, it was just me and my son, and
that was all that mattered. As we headed back to camp, the
sun began its descent, casting the world in a soft glow.
The first chapter of our adventure was coming to a close,
but I had a feeling it was just the beginning of something
unforgettable. The forest had a way of making
you feel small. It's towering trees and vast
expanse reminding you of nature's grandeur.
Brandon and I walked side by side, our footsteps barely
making a sound on the soft forest floor.
The world seemed to hold its breath, the usual chirping of
birds and rustling of leaves eerily absent.
Listen, I whispered, holding up a hand.
Brandon stopped, his eyes searching mine for an
explanation. But it wasn't a sound I wanted
him to hear. It was the silence.
The forest was still, as if waiting for something.
We continued on, the quiet, pressing in on us.
I tried to shake off the unease, focusing on teaching Brandon
about the woods. Every so often I'd point out a
deer track or some droppings, trying to recreate the magic of
my own childhood experiences. Brandon was a quick learner, his
keen eyes spotting signs of wildlife before I could.
Dad, look. He exclaimed, pointing to a
cluster of droppings. Rabbit.
I nodded, impressed. Exactly.
You're getting the hang of this. We walked on the forest slowly
coming back to life around us. Birds chirped and a gentle
breeze rustled the leaves. The tension from earlier seemed
to lift, and I let out of breath.
I didn't realize I'd been holding, but the piece was
shortlived as we emerged from the woods, The site before us
stopped us in our tracks. A vast river stretched out, its
waters shimmering in the sunlight.
The beauty of it was breathtaking, but it was what
hovered above that captured our attention.
Dad. Brandon's voice was shaky, his
finger pointing to the sky. What's that?
I followed his gaze and froze. Suspended in the air was a dark,
triangular object, unlike anything I'd ever seen.
It hung motionless, casting a shadow over the river below.
My mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation.
It's it's probably a helicopter, I said, my voice lacking
conviction. They sometimes look different
from below. Brandon looked at me, skepticism
clear in his eyes. That's no helicopter, Dad.
I couldn't argue with him. The object remains still for a
moment longer before vanishing, leaving no trace of its
presence. The forest seemed to exhale, the
tension from earlier returning tenfold.
We stood there, stunned, trying to process what we'd just seen.
We should head back, I finally said, my voice barely above a
whisper. Brandon nodded, his face pale.
We retraced our steps, the forest now feeling more ominous
than serene. Every rustle, every shadow made
us jump, our nerves on edge. As we neared the campsite.
I tried to lighten the mood. You know, when I was your age, I
saw something strange in the sky, too.
Turned out to be a weather balloon.
Brandon gave me a weak smile. Yeah, maybe that's what it was,
but we both knew it wasn't. The mystery of the triangular
object hung over us, a dark cloud that wouldn't dissipate.
We reached our tent, the safety of its confines, a welcome
relief. That night, as we sat by the
campfire, the events of the day replayed in my mind.
The silence of the forest, the object in the sky, the unease
that followed. I had a feeling our adventure
was just beginning, and I couldn't shake the feeling that
we weren't alone. The campfire crackled its warm
glow casting dancing shadows on the trees around us.
Brandon sat across from me, poking at the fire with a stick,
the flames reflecting in his wide eyes.
The events of the day had left an indelible mark on both of us,
but kids have a way of bouncing back, and he seemed more at ease
now. One another marshmallow, I
offered, holding out the bag. He grinned, nodding.
Always we roasted marshmallows and hot dogs, the simple act
grounding us, bringing a semblance of normalcy to the
evening. Every so often I'd catch Brandon
glancing up at the sky, and I knew he was thinking about the
strange object we'd seen. I wanted to reassure him, to
tell him it was just our imagination playing tricks on
us. But the truth was, I was just as
ratled. As the night deepened, the
forest around us came alive with sounds.
The chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, the
rustling of leaves. It was nature's lullaby, and I
could see Brandon's eyelids growing heavy.
Time for bed, champ, I said, stifling A yawn myself.
He nodded, crawling into his sleeping bag.
I followed suit, the events of the day weighing heavily on my
mind. I lay there, listening to the
sounds of the forest, trying to find comfort in its familiarity.
But sleep remained elusive. My mind kept drifting back to
the triangular object. It's eerie stillness, the way it
had vanished without a trace. I turned on my side, trying to
find a comfortable position, when a sudden jolt snapped me to
attention. The ground beneath us shook, a
low rumble echoing through the forest.
I bolted upright, my heart racing.
Brandon. I called out, my voice shaky.
He was already awake, his wide eyes filled with fear.
Dad, what's happening? I tried to calm him, even as
panic threatened to take over. It's just an earthquake.
It'll pass. But this was unlike any
earthquake I'd ever experienced. The ground didn't just shake, it
felt like it was being pulled, tugged in different directions.
The trees around us swayed violently, their branches
snapping and crashing to the ground.
I grabbed Brandon, pulling him close.
Stay with me, I whispered, holding him tight.
The shaking intensified the world around us, blurring into a
chaotic mess. And then, as suddenly as it had
started, it stopped. The forest fell silent.
The only sound are ragged breathing.
I released Brandon, my hands trembling.
Are you okay? He nodded, his face pale.
What was that? I shook my head at a loss for
words. I don't know.
We sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just
happened. The forest around us seemed
different, more ominous. Every shadow, every sound made
us jump. I finally found my voice.
We should pack up and leave first thing in the morning.
Brandon nodded, his eyes never leaving mine.
Yeah, I think that's a good idea.
We crawled back into our sleeping bags, but sleep
remained elusive. The events of the night had
shaken us to our core, and I couldn't shake the feeling that
we were being watched. Every rustle, every whisper of
the wind sent shivers down my spine.
As Dawn broke, I made a silent vow to myself.
We would leave this place and never return.
Whatever was out there, whatever had caused the ground to shake,
it was beyond our understanding, and I wasn't willing to stick
around to find out. The first light of Dawn painted
the forest in muted hues, the world slowly waking from its
slumber. But the serenity was a stark
contrast to the turmoil inside me.
Every fiber of my being screamed to pack up and leave, to put as
much distance between us and this cursed place.
Brandon was already up, his face drawn and eyes shadowed.
Neither of us had slept much, the events of the night
replaying in our minds. We worked in silence, packing
our gear, the urgency palpable. We'll be on the road soon, I
murmured, trying to offer some comfort.
Brandon nodded, his gaze distant.
I just want to go home, Dad. I pulled him into a hug, his
body trembling against mine. We will, I promise.
As we prepared to leave, a sudden chill swept through the
campsite. The birds fell silent, the air
growing heavy. I looked up, my heart skipping a
beat. The sky, which had been clear
moments ago, was now blanketed in thick, dark clouds.
And then, without warning, the world was bathed in a blinding
white light. It was so intense, so
all-encompassing, that I had to shield my eyes.
The ground beneath us trembled, the same eerie shaking from the
night before. Brandon.
I shouted, my voice drowned out by the deafening roar.
I reached out, trying to find him, but he was gone.
Panic surged through me, my mind racing.
Where was he? What was happening?
The light intensified, the world around me dissolving into a
blinding white haze. I stumbled, disoriented, trying
to find my bearings. And then, as suddenly as it had
appeared, the light vanished. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to
the sudden darkness. The campsite was in shambles,
our gear scattered everywhere, but there was no sign of
Brandon. Brandon.
I called out, my voice echoing through the forest.
Where are you? There was no response, the
silence deafening. I felt a rising sense of dread,
the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
My son was missing, and I had no idea where he was or what had
happened to him. I grabbed a flashlight.
It's beam cutting through the darkness.
I searched the campsite, calling out his name, but there was no
sign of him. Every shadow, every rustle made
my heart race, the fear gnawing at me.
And then, from the edge of the woods, I heard it, a faint voice
calling out to me. Dad, I'm over here.
I rushed towards the sound, my heart, and my throat.
Brandon. I shouted, My voice filled with
relief. But as I reached the edge of the
woods, my relief turned to horror.
Brandon was there, but he was different.
His skin was a sickly shade of purple, his eyes sunken and
hollow. He looked at me, his expression
one of pure terror. Dad, He whispered, his voice
weak. Something's wrong.
Everything's wrong. I reached out, touching his
face. His skin felt cold and clammy,
like that of a corpse. I pulled him close, my mind
racing. What had happened to him?
What had that light done? The ground beneath us shook
again, the tremors more violent than before.
I held on to Brandon, trying to shield him from whatever was
happening, but deep down I knew that we were in grave danger.
Whatever was out there, whatever had taken my son, it was coming
for us, and there was nowhere to run.
The sensation of being yanked from the depths of a nightmare
is both jarring and disorienting.
My heart raced, sweat beating on my forehead as I tried to make
sense of my surroundings. The tent canvas above me seemed
both familiar and foreign. Dad.
A voice, clear and untroubled, pierced the haze of my
confusion. I turned to see Brandon looking
at me with concern. You okay, You were thrashing
around in your sleep. I blinked, trying to reconcile
the terrified, altered version of my son from my nightmare with
the perfectly normal boy beside me.
I I had a bad dream, I admitted, my voice shaky.
Brandon's face softened with understanding about the light.
I nodded, the memories of the blinding illumination and the
subsequent terror flooding back. Yeah, it felt so real.
He reached out, placing A reassuring hand on my arm.
It's Okay, Dad. We're safe now.
His words, though comforting, did little to quell the unease
gnawing at me. The dream had been too vivid,
too intense to be dismissed as mere imagination.
I sat up, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
Let's get some breakfast, I suggested, trying to shift the
focus. You hungry?
Brandon's eyes lit up, starving. We emerged from the tent, the
morning sun casting a warm glow over the campsite.
The forest around us was alive with the sounds of nature, a
stark contrast to the eerie silence from the day before.
Birds chirped merrily and a gentle breeze rustled the
leaves. As we prepared our meal, I
couldn't help but glance at the spot where, in my dream, I'd
found Brandon, altered and terrified.
It looked perfectly ordinary now, just a patch of ground, but
the memory of his sunken eyes and the feel of his cold, clammy
skin haunted me. Dad.
Brandon's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
You're doing it again? I forced a smile, ruffling his
hair. Sorry kiddo, just lost in
thought. He studied me for a moment, his
gaze searching. You sure you're okay?
I nodded, though the weight of the dream still pressed heavily
on me. Yeah, just need to shake it off.
We ate in silence, the events of the previous day, hanging over
us like a dark cloud. I wanted to talk about it, to
share my fears and hear his thoughts, but the words wouldn't
come. It was as if we were both afraid
to acknowledge the reality of what had happened.
After breakfast, we packed up our gear, eager to leave the
forest behind. As we drove away, I couldn't
shake the feeling that we were being watched.
Every rustle, every shadow seemed to hold a hidden threat.
The journey back to civilization was uneventful, the familiar
sights and sounds slowly pushing the memories of the forest to
the back of my mind. But the unease remained, a
constant companion that refused to be ignored.
As we neared home, I made a silent vow to myself.
We would never return to that place, never speak of what had
happened. But deep down, I knew that the
events of the past few days would stay with us forever, a
haunting reminder of the unknown dangers that lurked in the
shadows. The days following our return
from the forest were a blur of routine and normalcy.
Work, school, and the mundane tasks of daily life served as a
welcome distraction from the haunting memories of our camping
trip. But no matter how hard I tried
to push them away, the events of that fateful night lingered at
the edges of my consciousness, casting a shadow over
everything. One sunny afternoon a week after
our return, my wife suggested a trip to the local pool.
The idea of a carefree day splashing around with Brandon
seemed like the perfect way to shake off the lingering unease.
I readily agreed, eager for a chance to reconnect with my
family and put the past behind us.
The pool was bustling with activity, the laughter and
shouts of children echoing in the air.
Brandon, ever the water enthusiast, wasted no time
diving in, his joyful splashes drawing smiles from the
onlookers. I settled into a lounge chair,
watching him play, the weight on my chest slowly lifting.
My wife joined me, her hand finding mine, her touch
grounding me. He's growing up so fast, she
remarked, her gaze fixed on Brandon.
I nodded, A pang of guilt hitting me.
I just wish I could be there for him more.
She squeezed my hand, her smile reassuring.
You're doing your best, and he knows that.
We sat in companionable silence, the world around us fading away,
but the piece was shortlived. As Brandon emerged from the
pool, I noticed something that sent a chill down my spine.
His family birthmark, A distinct mark that had been on his upper
right arm since birth, was missing.
I shot up from my chair, my heart racing.
Brandon. I called out, my voice filled
with panic. He looked up, confusion evident
on his face. What's wrong, Dad?
I rushed over, grabbing his arm, searching for the familiar mark,
but it was gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin.
My mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation.
Had I been mistaken? Was it possible that I'd
remembered the location of the birthmark?
Wrong, But deep down I knew the truth.
This wasn't my son. The boy standing before me,
looking at me with familiar eyes, was an impostor.
Dad. Brandon's voice was shaky, his
eyes filled with fear. What's happening?
I looked at him, my mind reeling.
The memories of the forest, the blinding light, the eerie
silence, all came flooding back. Whatever had happened that
night, whatever had taken my son, had left this replica in
his place. I stumbled back, horror gripping
me. My wife rushed over, her face
pale. What's wrong?
I couldn't find the words, my voice trapped in my throat.
I pointed to Brandon's arm, the missing birthmark, a stark
reminder of the unknown dangers we'd faced.
She looked at me, her eyes wide with realization.
No, it can't be. But it was.
The truth was staring us in the face, a terrifying reality that
we couldn't escape. Our son was gone, replaced by
something otherworldly, And as the weight of that realization
hit us, the world around us seemed to shift, the familiar
sights and sounds of the pool fading away, leaving us in a
void of darkness and despair. The last time anyone saw my
sister was nearly a month ago. This is completely out of
character for her because out of the two of us, I am the screw up
and she is the responsible one. However, one day her idiot
friends decided to drag her along to go camping on the other
side of the state. Why they chose to go there as
their destination, I haven't a clue.
While the town offered an escape from the world, it didn't have
much else going for it. If you want to know what the
town was like, the first thing I saw when I arrived was a child
dragging a tin can with a leash as if it were a dog.
The rest of the town was very much the same, somewhere in the
void between weird, surreal, and worrying.
When my sister didn't call after a few days, everyone grew
worried and did all we could think of to find her.
We drove all the way over there to hang up Flyers and knock on
doors, but no one had seen her or her friends.
The police were no help. Every time they saw my car, they
would pull me over to tell me that there was no reason for me
to worry or that she was most likely on a romantic getaway
with her boyfriend and that I should just return home.
It took all the patience I had to play nice when they said
this. If they knew her, they would
know that disappearing like that was impossible.
Something must have happened and I was determined to get to the
bottom of it. The last time I went out to that
cursed and isolated town, I packed enough for an extended
stay and checked into the hotel. I only stayed there once due to
the poor condition of the room. I thought I was going to have to
stay in my car, and this was fine.
I was willing to do it if that meant finding my sister.
It was nearly two in the afternoon when I felt just how
hungry I was and decided to go into the local diner.
There I overheard someone talking about a B&B that had
just opened up, and even though it wasn't advertised online, it
was ready to be rented out. Figuring I might as well check
it out, I asked about it and set off to find the owner so I could
rent A room for my stay. On the way out of the diner, I
couldn't help but to notice that the flyer I had set up in the
window on my last visit a few days before, was taken down.
The owners, a married couple in their early 60s, were happy to
have someone stay at their beach house, and after everything was
in order, they gave me the key code so I could get the key and
enter the house. The house had to have been a 15
minute walk to the closest neighbor, but finding it wasn't
hard. The building screamed old money
and reminded me of a plantation. The surrounding yard was large,
manicured to perfection, and surrounded by a white fence.
In the front yard there was a large tree with a tire swing.
The inside wasn't as nice as the outside.
The light bulbs looked ancient and gave off a sickly yellow
glow to everything the light touched.
As far as the electronics in the rest of the house went, there
was no television or for that matter an outlet to charge my
phone. I called the Keels to ask them
about this, and they told me that the house was considered a
historical landmark, so no renovations could be done.
After settling in, I figured to take some time exploring the
place during the day, since I wasn't planning on being there
unless I was sleeping. There was a library, a dumb
waiter, and everything else one might expect in a place that
grand the view out. The bedroom window revealed a
lake and a dock through the branches of a bunch of weeping
willows. There wasn't a ripple insight.
If I had been there for any other reason than finding my
sister, I would have taken that opportunity to swim.
As I walked down the hallways after unpacking my things, I
thought I heard crying. I tried searching for the source
of it, but whenever I was certain that it would be around
the next corner, there was nothing.
At the time, I just figured the noise was because the house was
so old, or that the noise was all in my head because of the
stress of my sister missing, or because I didn't sleep well the
night before. Ignoring what I assumed I heard,
I traveled back into town to ask people if they saw my sister or
her friends, as well as to hang up Flyers.
I must have walked a few miles by nightfall and figured that I
deserved A nightcap. So I went into the liquor store
and bought myself a bottle of whiskey to drink when I reached
the BNBI am not much of A drinker and have a low
tolerance, a fact that I am proud of.
But I wasn't too drunk to have imagined the ursine howl I heard
after brushing my teeth before bed.
That howl. It stuck in my head for a while
as I tried to figure out what could make a sound like that.
Finally, with the whiskey's help, sleep overcame me.
I woke up feeling refreshed, but that feeling did not last long.
As I got out of bed, I froze. My suitcase had been moved right
before I went to sleep. I put the case in front of the
closet door. I always did this when I slept
in an unfamiliar place. It was a force of habit.
This morning the case was next to the door, not in front of it.
Someone had been in my room as I slept.
I quickly threw the closet open, but there was nothing out of the
ordinary that I could see. I did a cursory search of the
room, and again, nothing seemed to be missing.
I had almost convinced myself that I must have been mistaken,
that I had drunkenly forgotten to put the case in front of the
door, even though I distinctly remember doing it when I saw the
folded paper sticking out of the pile of missing person Flyers I
had on the dresser. My hand was shaking as I grabbed
the note, unfolded it, and read the single word written on it.
Lake. That's it.
Just the word lake. I fell onto the bed.
My mind was racing with possibilities here.
Did my sister drown in the lake? Did people cover it up?
If so, why? None of it made any sense.
I grabbed a stack of Flyers, snatched up the note and headed
to town. I needed answers.
My first stop was the police. When they saw me come in, they
all seem to tense up. I explained about the break in
and they did not believe me until I handed them the note.
The officer seemed shocked. He looked like someone just
punched him in the gut. He waved the Sergeant over and
handed him the note. The Sergeant also seemed
stunned. They looked at each other in
silence for a few seconds and then both turned and looked at
me. I am sure this was a prank, the
Sergeant said. If I were you I would leave
town, head home, and I am sure your sister will turn up.
Furious. I yelled.
Yeah, and what about the note? Looking dead in my eyes, the
Sergeant crumpled the paper in his hand and said.
What note? I was stunned.
What the hell was going on here? I backed slowly away and left
the police station. I glanced back and saw the
officer and Sergeant had followed me outside where they
were staring at me as I walked down the street.
Right as I turn the corner, I saw the Sergeant, while still
staring at me, pull out his cell phone and make a call.
His eyes never wavered from me, not even for a second.
I was unnerved. I was starting to get a little
scared. There was something going on
here and my sister seemed to have been caught up in it.
As I thought about my sister, the feelings turned from fright
to anger. She was still missing and no
podunk Barney Fife police force was going to stop me from
finding out where she was. I headed for the diner, the last
place my sister's credit card was used.
Once again, I noticed the flyer I had taped up earlier was
missing. I went right back to where I had
put it the first time, and with the cook and waitress watching
me, I taped 2 Flyers up right next to each other.
The cook shot the waitress a nervous glance and went back to
his griddle. I sat at an empty booth and
waited. The waitress did everything she
could to avoid coming over, but I just sat there, smiling at
her, watching everything she was doing.
She kept darting glances at the cook, where he would shake his
head almost imperceptibly. Finally, she had no other choice
but to come and take my order. What would you like?
She asked. She seemed so nervous.
She was almost shaking. I would like two things, I
replied, smiling. A coffee and she stood there,
her pencil above the notepad, waiting for the rest of my order
and information on why everyone in this town is pretending not
to have seen my sister, you included.
The waitresses. Eyes grew wide.
She looked over at the cook, who was shaking his head.
No, not even trying to be subtle about it anymore.
Please, She almost whimpered. You need to just.
And right then the officer from the police station walked in,
pointed at me, and motioned for me to go outside.
What a surprise, I mumbled to the waitress as I stood up.
I was a little taken aback when I saw tears in her eyes.
I was not sure if they were tears of fright, compassion or
relief, but she was obviously shaken to her core.
I followed the officer outside where he turned to me and said
you need to leave now, not tomorrow, not later.
Now. No, I snapped back.
The officer got upset. What do you mean, no?
I will arrest you for hassling these good people.
Then arrest me. Do it, I yelled back.
It will be the first time I saw any cop in this town do anything
he was supposed to do. The cop stared at me.
He seemed to deflate a little bit.
Listen, he said quietly. You need to go.
That's all I'm going to say. I ain't threatening you.
I'm trying to protect you. And having said that, he turned
on his heel and left. To say that I was confused is an
understatement. I needed to regroup.
I needed to try and get my head around this.
I headed back to the B&B in my room, taking my food to go, and
that was when I started to get some answers.
I sat down to eat the food I had taken from the diner when I
noticed there was something written up on the napkin.
Look on the bottom, it said. I bumped the bottom of the bag
as I did this and felt the corner of a Manila envelope
sticking out from beneath. I surreptitiously pulled it out.
Don't open in Public was written on the top.
The handwriting seemed to match that on the napkin.
I opened the envelope on the bed and inside were just three short
articles from the local newspaper body found damned to
be drained Wednesday, October 12th.
The Keel Dam, named after its founder and local
conservationist Jared Keel, will be drained to allow officials to
search through the lake on October 10th.
Monday morning, a tourist was hiking when he came across the
body of Dena Smith, who had previously been declared dead
last August after she had been missing for a decade.
The body's identity was confirmed through forensic
testing and evidence of foul play was found during the
autopsy. Local authorities have reopened
the case of Dena Smith as a murder investigation.
There are currently no leads. They intend to drain the lake
starting at 12:00 PM on October 15th and ending at 7:00 PM on
October 16th. Authorities urge you to go be
seen by your doctor if you have drank directly from the lake or
swam in it with open wounds. We were unable to reach Jared
Keel for comment, but sources say that he is devastated by the
news and hopes for a speedy investigation.
Old island to remain uncovered. New BNB to open Wednesday,
September 14th. While local officials drained
the Kiel lake in search of bodies, an old, nearly forgotten
island was uncovered. An employee at our Town library
immediately started a petition to keep the island exposed for
the pleasant view. During the hearing on September
8th, many locals were able to express their concerns.
A volunteer group was then formed to clear off the island
and maintain it in order to appease citizens that believe
the island a source of danger. Son of the recently deceased
Jared Keel spoke of how his father wanted the island to
remain covered, but agreed with the petitioner that the island
improves the view. He plans to turn his father's
place into a bed and breakfast by the spring and feels the two
could attract tourists. His house had an excellent view
of the lake and now it will have an excellent view of the island,
he was quoted as saying Night Lights on Keel Island Wednesday,
August 16th. On August 12th there were
multiple reports called into local authorities of suspicious
flames moving about on the island at night.
An officer was dispatched to the area and reported to have found
no suspicious activity. After a brief investigation, it
is believed to simply be one of those phenomenons that occur
from time to time. Local businesses are excited to
hear this, as the lights will help bring in tourists that
enjoy viewing them. Mr. Keel has updated his listing
on Airbnb to include a footnote about the phenomenon I looked up
from the last article. It felt as though my veins were
full of ice as I stared through the window at the island.
August 12th was the last I had heard from my sister.
First the note, then the envelope of articles.
The way the town has been acting, my answers lay on that
island. I just knew it.
Did these lights have something to do with her disappearance?
I had one more night left. I would wait till after dark and
then find a way to the island. I was a pretty decent swimmer,
but the weather had turned a bit chilly recently.
The article said something about a volunteer maintenance crew for
the island. They must have a means of
getting there. Perhaps a boat somewhere along
the Lakeshore I could borrow for the night without anybody being
the wiser? It was about this time that
somebody began pounding on my door.
I crept to the door and peeked out, but didn't recognize them.
They weren't the owners, and since they didn't have on a
police uniform, I could ignore them.
You've overstayed your welcome, the larger of the two yelled.
How about no? I thought as I crept around and
left out the back door. I had grabbed my belongings on
the way out in case the rednecks decided to bust in, and now I
kept my eyes peeled for a good place to stash them.
Unfortunately, there was no time.
I heard the locals right behind me and drop my stuff in some
bushes to distract them as I ran toward the Lakeshore.
Luck didn't seem on my side at first as I scanned the sands
amid twilight, but then I saw the faint silhouette of a canoe.
I immediately jumped in and paddled as I heard my pursuers
shouting from the tall grasss. Before long, their cries were
muffled out by my paddle strokes and I was alone on the lake.
The moon hung above like a glistening Pearl, its gleam
causing the tiny island to glow. Were these the lights I'd read
about? As I got closer, I realized it
was a variety of gemstones that poked out near the rocks.
There were so many, I was astounded that the townsfolk
weren't using these to make the town rich.
I knew as soon as I stepped foot on the island that something was
off. The air felt cold and rigid, and
no wind blew. There wasn't even green grass.
It was just a dark void in the night, with rocks jutting
aimlessly toward the center. Then I heard that howl, the same
one that has plagued me since I arrived.
It was right up ahead. It was loud and visceral.
It made me think about leaving immediately, but I had to see if
I could find my sister. I've made it this far.
I moved toward the noise, the stones blocking my view and
making me feel like I was in a maze.
It seemed to be coming from all directions.
This howl was both terrifying and disturbing, because it
sounded like a creature in pain, desperate for death to swallow
it up. Finally, I reached a clearing
and saw a large, monolithic boulder with chains tied around
it. The noises were coming from the
other side. As I drew closer, I realized the
stone was made of pure silver, the largest I've ever seen.
And on the other side I found the source of the growl, a beast
straight from my night terrors. It was large and covered in dark
fur, with fangs and claws the size of my head.
I thought at first it was a werewolf, but a closer look
revealed gills in a fish hook tail.
It was the strangest Beastie I'd ever seen.
And yet, as I kept staring, I realized that it was in pain and
not a threat at all. Someone had captured it and left
it here to die, I realized. Then, as the beast thrashed
about, I saw something familiar dangle around its neck.
My sisters lock it. There was no mistaking it.
My mouth felt dry as I looked at the monster.
Was this thing what was left of my sister?
I tried to reach for her, but the creature only reacted in
violence. She was angry, frustrated, and
confused by what was happening. Then behind me I heard voices
and immediately I hid. To my surprise, I saw the B&B
owners walking along, arm in arm, cheerfully conversing as if
there wasn't a 9 foot monster chained in front of them.
The husband was carrying a large wooden stake.
Well, well, the offering is a good one This time.
Our boy Jared done good. He mumbled as he used his weapon
to poke at the monster playfully.
Going to eat good tonight, she agreed.
That name they mentioned sounded familiar, but nothing was
piercing together until I saw with my own eyes what they did.
As the moon reached its apex in the sky, the husband staked the
wolf creature straight in the heart, and I heard the mixture
of my sister's screams with the howl of the monster.
It took all my strength to not stop them.
The wife took out two goblets from her purse, and they used
them to pour blood from the wound into and then both drank
greedily. The older couple jerked and
started to convulse, their bodies suddenly swollen and
reverting to an earlier age. Before I knew what was
happening, they looked even more youthful than I, and it was then
I recognized their faces. The same ones I had seen in the
article when referring to the Keels.
But they were supposed to be long dead.
This monster, this ritual was keeping them alive.
They laughed to themselves as they finished their work and
left my sister to bleed out. My own blood boiled as I heard
them talking about their next victim near the shore.
Me. We need to find that boy who
came to the cabin. You know, these things run in
packs. If we can turn him into his
monster form and chain him up too, we will have another
century to ourselves. The wife chuckled.
Why should we do the work? The damn townsfolk have tried to
betray us and send him away. I say we make those yokels do
our dirty work or it will be their skin We grind up.
They sailed away as I shook away my desperation and frustration
and turned toward my sister. They used you like cattle, and
they'll do the same to me, I realized fearfully.
I tried to recall the old legends of how someone could
turn into a werewolf, a dream of revenge springing into my mind.
Using my sister's large claws, I cut myself straight across the
face, deep enough for the venom in her to deep into my blood.
As soon as I felt it, my body convulsed and I shook in pain.
Except I knew I wasn't going to be gaining any youth from this.
My goal would be to find the keels and destroy them, make
them suffer for what they'd done.
I took the canoe back to the BNB and locked myself in as the
transformation begins. Unfortunately, I think this
means I will lose all sense of my sanity, of my humanity.
I am fearful of when this moment comes, but also I know I will
have to embrace it. I must pray the locals can hunt
me down and end this cruel life with both me and the Keeley
family dead. Maybe this late could finally be
a proper tourist trap. It's a hopeful thought to hold
on to as I slip away from sanity and join the animal Kingdom.
I leave all this in the journals here, to be found by their next
visitor. I suppose if you're reading
this, it likely means the keels are still alive and I have
failed. Beware the lake, beware the
island. And most of all, beware of the
howls, for I cannot control what I shall do next.
The sun had barely begun its descent when I found myself
staring out of my bedroom window.
The golden hues of the evening sky reflecting my own yearning,
Our house, a modest two-story structure, stood as a fortress
of faith and tradition. My parents, devout in their
beliefs, had always been clear about their expectations.
For me, dating, that was a concept as foreign as the idea
of me missing Sunday service. But turning 16 does something to
a person. It's like a switch gets flipped
and suddenly the world outside seems so much more enticing, so
much more alive. Every whispered secret, every
stolen glance, it all felt like a silent act of rebellion.
And in the midst of this whirlwind of teenage emotions,
there was Chad. Chad wasn't like the boys from
church. He had this rugged charm, a
carefree attitude that drew me in like a moth to a flame.
Our school was a melting pot of personalities.
But Chad? He stood out.
Maybe it was the way he wore his confidence, or the way his eyes
seemed to hold 1000 untold stories.
We shared classes, exchange notes, and soon our
conversations shifted from mundane school talk to dreams,
desires and everything in between.
One day, as we sat under the old oak tree behind the school, he
whispered, Have you ever been camping, Steph?
The idea was foreign, exciting and terrifying all at once.
Camping was not something girls from strict households did,
especially not with boys like Chad.
But the thought of it, the allure of a night under the
stars, away from the prying eyes of the world, was tempting.
We could go someday, he said, his voice low, his eyes
searching mine for a hint of agreement.
I remember the weight of that moment, the heaviness of desire
battling the chains of upbringing.
I wanted to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and dive
into this new adventure. But the looming shadow of my
family's beliefs held me back. I I can't, I had murmured, the
sting of regret evident in my voice.
But the seed had been planted. The dream of a camping trip, of
a night of freedom became our shared secret.
Every stolen moment, every hushed conversation, it all
circled back to that one desire. And as the days turned into
weeks, the pull of that dream grew stronger, threatening to
overshadow the teachings I had grown up with.
I knew the risks, the consequences of defying my
parents. But there was something about
Chad, something about the promise of an adventure that
made it all seem worth it. And as I stood by my window that
evening, watching the sun dip below the horizon, I couldn't
help but wonder what it would be like to break free, if only for
a night. The world outside was calling,
and I was on the brink of answering.
The house was unusually quiet that evening.
The familiar hum of my mother's prayers and the distant laughter
of my siblings were conspicuously absent.
They had all left for my aunt's place, a three hour drive away.
The prospect of a night alone was both exhilarating and nerve
racking. The walls of the house, which
had always felt protective, now seemed to echo with
possibilities. I grabbed my phone, my fingers
hesitating for just a moment before I dialed Chad's number.
The line trilled once, twice. And then his voice, deep and
familiar, filled the silence. Steph, Hey, I began, trying to
sound casual. Are you free tonight?
There was a pause, and I could almost picture him, a smirk
playing on his lips. For you.
Always. The plan was simple.
He'd pick me up and we'd drive to that secluded spot.
He'd always talked about the woods, the stars, the promise of
an adventure. It was all within reach now.
I quickly packed a bag. Throwing in a sweater, some
snacks, and a flashlight, the anticipation was electric every
second, stretching out as I waited for Chad's truck to pull
into the driveway. When it finally did, the
familiar rumble of its engine sent a thrill down my spine.
I locked the front door behind me, leaving behind the world I
knew for the unknown. The truck's headlights cut
through the growing dusk, and Chad's silhouette leaned against
the driver's side, waiting. You ready for this?
He asked. His eyes gleaming with mischief.
More than you know, I replied, the weight of my decision making
my voice sound more confident than I felt.
The drive was a blur of winding roads and open fields.
The city lights faded behind us, replaced by the vast expanse of
the countryside. Chad's truck had an old radio
that played country tunes, and we sang along, our voices
filling the cab. Every so often he'd reach over
squeezing my hand. A silent promise that tonight
would be everything we dreamt of.
The woods appeared suddenly, a dark wall against the twilight
sky. Chad parked the truck on a small
clearing, and the world outside was still, save for the chirping
of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl.
We began setting up camp, the beam from my flashlight dancing
over the ground as we laid out the tent.
Once it was up, Chad produced a bottle of vodka from his bag,
the clear liquid catching the moonlight to us.
He toasted, handing me a shot. The liquid burned, going down,
but it was a good kind of burn, one that made the world seem a
little brighter, a little more alive.
As the night deepened, we sat by a makeshift campfire, the flames
casting long shadows on the trees.
The woods around us were alive with sounds, but in that moment
it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
The hours slipped by, filled with whispered secrets and
shared dreams. And as I lay in the tent, the
soft rustle of leaves outside and Chad steady breathing beside
me, I realized that this was it, the taste of freedom I'd been
yearning for. But with freedom came the
unknown, and as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't shake off the
feeling that tonight was just the beginning.
The night had a way of changing things, the woods which had
seemed inviting in the twilight. Now took on a more mysterious
hue. The sounds of the forest, once
comforting, now seemed to carry hidden whispers.
The fire we'd built was dwindling, its embers casting a
soft glow on our campsite. Chad, ever the planner, had left
to fetch his phone from the truck.
Won't be long, he'd said, his voice carrying a hint of
reassurance. But as the minutes ticked by,
the silence grew louder and I felt the weight of the woods
pressing in. I decided to be useful.
Gathering firewood seemed like a simple enough task.
With the flashlight in hand, I ventured a little away from the
campsite, the beam cutting through the darkness revealing
scattered twigs and branches. The forest floor was a maze of
shadows, and every rustle, every snap of a twig made me jump.
I was so engrossed in my task that I didn't notice the ground
changing beneath my feet. The terrain, which had been
relatively flat, now sloped gently downwards.
And then, without warning, my foot caught on something and I
was falling. The world tilted, and I felt a
sharp pain shoot up my leg as I landed hard on the ground.
My flashlight, knocked from my grip, spun away.
It's beamed, dancing wildly before settling on a tree trunk.
I tried to move, but my leg protested, a sharp, stabbing
pain making it clear that I'd injured it.
Panic set in. I was alone, injured and lost in
the woods. The soft glow of our campfire
seemed miles away, and Chad's absence loomed large.
I tried calling out, but my voice sounded small, swallowed
by the vastness of the forest. Then, from the distance, I heard
a rustling. Hope surged.
Chad. I called out, trying to keep the
tremor out of my voice, but there was no response.
The rustling grew louder, closer.
I strained my ears, trying to make out any familiar sound, but
all I heard was the steady approach of something.
Logic told me it was probably an animal curious about the
intruder in its territory, but the night, with its shadows and
secrets, played tricks on my mind.
Every Horror Story I'd ever heard, every cautionary tale
about the dangers of the woods, came rushing back.
I tried to move, to drag myself towards the flashlight, but my
injured leg refused to cooperate.
The rustling grew louder, and I could hear soft, deliberate
footsteps Now. My heart raced.
Each beat echoing the growing dread I felt.
Chad. I tried again, my voice barely
above a whisper, but the only answer was the continued
approach of the unknown. I closed my eyes, trying to calm
my racing heart. I needed to think, to figure a
way out. But as the seconds ticked by and
the footsteps grew closer, one thought consumed me.
I was not alone in these woods, and whatever was out there was
coming for me. The darkness was thick, almost
palpable. Wrapping around me like a
suffocating blanket, the only sound was the rhythmic thudding
of my heart, each beat echoing the terror that gripped me.
The footsteps grew closer, deliberate and unhurried, as if
whatever approached was savoring the hunt.
Then from the inky blackness, a voice called out.
Steph, where are you? It was Chad's voice, but there
was something off about it. It sounded flat, emotionless, as
if it was a recording played on a loop.
Chad. I whispered, hope and fear
warring within me. The voice called out again,
repeating the same phrase, the same tone.
It was then that I realized something was mimicking him.
Using his voice as a lure, I tried to push myself up to crawl
away, but my injured leg protested.
The pain was blinding, but the fear of what approached was even
more potent. I dragged myself inch by inch,
every movement sending jolts of pain through me.
Suddenly, the beam of my discarded flashlight illuminated
a figure tall and gaunt. Its skin was a sickly Gray,
stretched taut over its skeletal frame, but it was the eyes that
held my gaze, glowing a deep, malevolent red, They bore into
me, paralyzing me with a terror I'd never known.
Time seemed to stretch the seconds feeling like ours as the
creature and I locked eyes. I could feel its hunger, its
malevolence, and I knew deep down that I was its prey.
But then. Another sound broke the
stillness, A rustling coming from behind the creature.
It didn't move, didn't even blink, But I sensed its
attention shift, and in that brief moment of distraction, I
found my voice. Chad.
I screamed, pouring every ounce of fear, desperation, and hope
into that one word. The creature recoiled, as if my
voice had physically struck it, and then with a speed that
belied its size. It vanished into the darkness.
Chad burst into the clearing, his face a mask of worry.
Steph, are you okay? He asked, rushing to my side.
I tried to speak, to warn him, but words failed me.
Tears streamed down my face as he cradled me, trying to soothe
my frayed nerves. It's okay, he whispered.
I've got you. But as I clung to him, the
weight of what I'd seen pressing down on me, I knew that things
would never be the same. The woods.
Once a place of adventure and freedom now held a darkness that
would haunt me forever, And as Chad carried me back to the
campsite, I couldn't shake the feeling that the creature was
still out there, watching, waiting.
The morning sun pierced through the trees, casting dappled
shadows on the forest floor, but it's warmth couldn't reach the
cold dread that had settled in my heart.
The events of the night played over and over in my mind, each
replay more horrifying than the last.
Chad tried to console me, brushing off my account as a
product of the vodka and my injured state.
It was probably just a deer or something, he said, attempting
to bring logic into a situation that defied it.
But the disbelief in his eyes, the distance that had suddenly
sprung up between us, spoke volumes.
The drive back was silent, the weight of unspoken words and
unshared fears pressing down on us.
When he dropped me off at my house, there was no promise of
another adventure. No whispered secrets, just a
curtain nod and a mumbled goodbye.
Days turned into weeks, and the memory of that night began to
fade, replaced by the mundane realities of life.
But the scars, both physical and emotional, remained.
Chad and I drifted apart, our shared experience becoming a
chasm that neither of us could bridge.
But it was the nights that were the hardest.
Every rustle of leaves, every Creek of the house sent my heart
racing. I'd lie in bed, eyes wide open,
waiting for the creature to come for me, because deep down I knew
it was still out there. One evening, as I sat in my
room, trying to lose myself in a book, I heard it a soft,
deliberate knock on my window. I froze, every instinct
screaming at me to run, to hide, But curiosity, that ever
persistent demon, held me in place.
I approached the window slowly, every step in eternity.
And as I pulled back the curtain, my blood ran cold.
There, pressed against the glass, was a face.
Not the creatures, but Chad's. His eyes, once full of mischief
and life, were now vacant, hollow.
But it was his mouth, or rather what was in it, that sent me
over the edge. Protruding from between his lips
was a long Gray finger, the skin stretched taut over Bony
knuckles. I stumbled back, horror gripping
me as Chad's voice, flat and emotionless, filled the room.
Steph. Where are you?
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
The creature had him, and now it was coming for me.
The last thing I remember before everything went black was the
sound of breaking glass in that voice, ever persistent, ever
haunting, calling out to me. Steph, where are you?
The first time I saw the house nestled between the dense trees
of Iowa, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
It wasn't the house itself, a quaint 2 story structure with a
wraparound porch, but the forest that surrounded it.
I'd watched enough horror movies to know that woods, especially
ones as thick and dark as these, held secrets.
Dad had gotten a job transfer and we'd packed up our lives and
moved from the bustling city. To this quiet corner of Iowa in
2017. The neighborhood was small, just
about 25 houses, each space generously apart.
It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone and kids
played outside until the street lights flickered on.
I remember the day we brought Tucker home.
Our old dog Max was getting on in years, his once shiny black
coat now specked with Gray. His mom thought a new puppy
might lift his spirits. Tucker was a ball of energy, a
golden retriever with a penchant for mischief.
He chases tail in circles, pounce on unsuspecting shoes,
and playfully nip at Max, who'd watch him with a mix of
amusement and annoyance. But as the months rolled on,
Max's health declined. 1 chilly morning, I found him lying on
his favorite rug, his breathing shallow.
He passed away a few days later. Tucker seemed to sense the loss
his once boisterous energy replaced with a quiet sadness.
Life has a way of throwing curveballs, and just when we
were coming to terms with Max's passing, mom and dad sat us down
for a talk. Their marriage, which had always
seemed rock solid to me, was crumbling.
They decided to divorce. It felt like the ground had been
pulled out from under me. Mom started seeing someone new.
A guy named Rick who lived a few miles away.
He was kind, with a rugged charm that reminded me of the Cowboys
in old Western movies. Their relationship blossomed
quickly, and soon we were splitting our time between two
homes. It was during one of these
drives to Rick's place that mom shared stories from her
childhood. Her family on her mother's side
was Native American. She spoke of legends and tales.
Of creatures that roamed the woods and spirits that watched
over the land, the one that stuck with me was the story of
the Wendigo, a creature born from greed and hunger with a
heart as cold as ice. I'd heard of Skinwalkers and
Wendigo's on YouTube, tales of their eerie encounters and
chilling presents, but hearing it from Mom with the dense
forest as a backdrop made it all the more real every rustle in
the trees. Every shadow that flitted past
made me wonder if there was some truth to the legends.
As the days turned into weeks, the forest, with its towering
trees and hidden secrets, became both a source of fascination and
fear. I'd stare out of my window at
night, half expecting to see a pair of glowing eyes staring
back. But life, with its routines and
responsibilities, has a way of pushing such fears to the back
of one's mind. Little did I know that the
forest. And the legends that surrounded
it would soon become an inescapable part of our lives.
The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the Iowa
landscape as Mom drove down the familiar road to Rick's place.
I was in the passenger seat, lost in thought, the rhythmic
hum of the tires on the asphalt lulling me into a trance.
Tucker, now fully grown but still as playful as ever, was
sprawled out in the back, his head resting on the seat, eyes
half closed. Mom was humming along to a tune
on the radio, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
There was a lightness to her these days, a spark that had
been missing for a while. Rick had brought that back.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.
While I was happy for her, I missed the times when it was
just the three of us. As we approached the curve
leading up to the hill, Mom slowed down.
That's when she saw it. At first it looked like a deer
grazing by the edge of the forest.
But as we got closer, the details became clearer, and what
we saw made my blood run cold. It was tall, much taller than
any deer I'd ever seen. Its skin was a sickly shade of
Gray, stretched taut over its skeletal frame.
But the most unsettling feature was its feet.
They were hooves, like that of a deer.
It moved with an eerie grace, it's long limbs carrying it
deeper into the woods. Mom's grip on the steering wheel
tightened, her knuckles white. She glanced at me, her eyes wide
with fear. We both knew what this could be.
The tales she'd shared, the legends of the Wendigo, all came
rushing back. We drove past in silence, the
only sound being the pounding of our hearts as we reached the
stop sign at the end of the road.
Mom took a deep breath and looked in the rearview mirror.
The creature, or whatever it was, had vanished.
The rest of the drive was a blur.
We didn't speak, each lost in our thoughts.
When we finally reached Rick's place, Mom turned off the engine
and turned to me. Promise me you won't tell anyone
about this, she whispered, her voice shaky.
I nodded, the weight of what we'd seen pressing down on me.
Do you think it was? I trailed off, unable to finish
the sentence. Mom sighed, running a hand
through her hair. I don't know, honey, but we need
to be careful. That night, as I lay in bed, the
image of the creature haunted my dreams.
The stories I'd heard on YouTube, tales of Skin Walkers
and Wendigo's, played out in my mind.
I woke up several times, drenched in sweat, the shadows
in my room taking on menacing forms.
Morning couldn't come soon enough.
As the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, I
felt a sense of relief, but the events of the previous evening
were still fresh in my mind. The forest, which had once been
a source of wonder, now held a dark and sinister secret, and I
couldn't shake off the feeling that we were being watched.
The days following the sighting were a mix of unease and
curiosity. The creature, whatever it was,
had left an indelible mark on our minds.
While Mom tried to brush it off, saying it was probably just a
trick of the light or our imagination playing tricks on
us, I couldn't let it go. One afternoon, with the sun high
in the sky, a brilliant shade of blue, I decided to take a bike
ride. The landscape around our home
was breathtaking, with rolling hills and fields stretching as
far as the eye could see. I wanted to capture some of it
on camera, maybe even get a shot of the spot where we'd seen the
creature. Tucker, sensing an adventure,
bounded alongside me, his tongue lolling out, tail wagging.
The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the
scent of pine and wildflowers. For a moment I forgot about the
fear and let myself get lost in the beauty of it all.
As I approached the hill, the memories came flooding back.
The spot where the creature had stood was now bathed in
sunlight, the grass swaying gently.
I stopped, taking a deep breath, and pulled out my camera.
I was so engrossed in getting the perfect shot that I didn't
notice the silence. The birds had stopped singing,
and even the wind seemed to have died down.
Tucker, who had been happily exploring now stood still.
His ears perked up, his body tense, a feeling of dread wash
it over me. It felt like someone was
watching, their gaze heavy and unwavering.
I slowly turned around, scanning the tree line.
Nothing seemed out of place, but the feeling persisted.
Tucker growled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down my
spine. I followed his gaze and saw it,
a pair of eyes glowing faintly watching us from the shadows.
I didn't wait to see more grabbing my bike.
I pedal it as fast as I could, Tucker keeping pace beside me.
The tree seemed to close in the path, narrowing, but I didn't
stop until I reached the safety of our home.
Breathing heavily, I locked the door behind me and sank to the
floor. Tucker, sensing my distress,
nuzzled my hand, his warm breath comforting.
I hugged him close, grateful for his presence.
Mom found me like that, her face etched with worry.
I recounted the events, my voice shaking.
She listened quietly, her face pale.
We need to be careful, she said, her voice firm.
Whatever that thing is, it's not friendly.
That night, as I lay in bed, the events of the day played out in
my mind. The forest, with its hidden
secrets, had shown its darker side, and I knew that our lives
would never be the same again. The days grew shorter, and a
cold wind began to. Sweep through the trees.
Signaling the onset of winter, the incident on the hill had
left me rattled and I found myself avoiding the woods,
sticking to the well lit streets of our neighborhood.
One evening as darkness began to settle, I was in the kitchen,
the aroma of a simmering Stew filling the air.
Tucker was restless, pacing back and forth, his nose pressed
against the glass door leading to the backyard.
Realizing he needed to go out, I attached his leash to the porch
and let him out. Flicking on the outside light to
keep an eye on him as I returned to the stove, stirring the pot.
Tucker's barking broke the silence.
It wasn't his usual bark signaling the presence of a
squirrel or a passing car. This was different.
Urgent, frantic. Dropping the ladle, I rushed to
the door. Tucker was at the end of his
leash, fur bristling, barking into the darkness beyond the
reach of the porch light. I strained my eyes, trying to
see what had gotten him so worked up.
But the night was pitch black, the trees casting long, eerie
shadows. Tucker inside now.
I called, hoping to get him to come back, but he stood his
ground, his growls deepening. And then I saw them, two glowing
eyes reflecting the light from the porch, staring back at me.
They were too high off the ground to belong to any animal I
knew. A cold fear gripped me, memories
of the creature on the hill flooding back without thinking.
I shouted. Get inside while yanking hard on
the leash. Tucker, sensing my panic,
finally turned and bolted towards the door.
I slammed it shut, locking it, my heart pounding in my chest.
Turning off the porch light, I moved through the house,
ensuring every window and door was locked.
The comforting hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of
the clock were the only sounds that broke the oppressive
silence. Tucker, sensing the change in
the atmosphere, whimpered and headed to the basement, his
favorite hiding spot during thunderstorms.
Grabbing my bowl of Stew, I followed him, deciding it was
best to stay out of sight for the night.
The basement was cold, the concrete walls providing a sense
of security. I settled on the couch, pulling
a blanket around me, Tucker curled up at my feet.
Every Creek of the house, every rustle of the trees outside sent
my imagination into OverDrive. Hours seemed to pass, the weight
of the night pressing down on me.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the first
rays of dawn were filtering through the small basement
window. The events of the night seemed
surreal in the light of day, but the fear, the sense of being
watched, lingered. The forest, with its dark
secrets, had once again reminded me of its presence, and I knew
that the battle between curiosity and fear was far from
over. The days that followed were a
blur of heightened senses and whispered conversations.
The house, which once felt like a haven, now felt like a cage.
Every rustle outside, every unexpected knock, sent waves of
anxiety through me. The forest's edge, once a place
of wonder, now loomed ominously, a constant reminder of the
unknown that lurked within. I developed a routine as the sun
began its descent each evening. Every window was covered, blinds
drawn, tight. Doors were double checked and
the porch light. Which, once illuminated our
yard, remained resolutely off. I even started keeping a
baseball bat by my bed, a small comfort against the unseen
threats of the night. Tucker too, had changed.
The once vibrant and playful dog now moved with caution, often
sticking close to my side. His nights were restless, filled
with low growls and sudden barks at unseen entities.
One evening, as the last light of day faded, I decided to
invite a few friends over. The idea was to distract myself,
to fill the house with laughter and warmth.
We gathered in the living room, the glow of the fireplace
casting dancing shadows on the walls.
The night was filled with stories, music and the
comforting hum of conversation. As the hours ticked by, I began
to relax, the weight of the past weeks lifting slightly.
Maybe, just maybe, things were returning to normal.
That's when the power went out. The room was plunged Into
Darkness. The comforting sounds replaced
by an oppressive silence. A chill ran down my spine, the
familiar feeling of being watched returning with a
vengeance. My friends murmured in surprise,
reaching for their phones to use as makeshift torches.
The dim light revealed anxious faces, eyes wide with fear.
Tucker growled, his gaze fixed on the window.
Following his line of sight. My heart stopped, pressed
against the glass. Was a face or what resembled 1?
Pale, with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth, it stared back.
Unblinking. The room erupted into chaos.
My friend screamed, scrambling for the door, but I was frozen,
locked in a silent standoff with the creature.
Its eyes, devoid of emotion, seemed to Pierce my soul with a
suddenness that took my breath away.
It let out a guttural scream, the sound echoing through the
house. The window shattered, shards of
glass flying everywhere. Snapping out of my trance, I
grabbed the baseball bat and swung with all my might.
The creature recoiled, its scream turning into a hiss of
pain. Seizing the moment, I grabbed
Tucker and bolted for the back door, my friends right behind
me. The night air was cold, biting
at our skin as we ran. The forest, once a place of
refuge, now felt like a trap, but there was no turning back.
The creature, recovering from the initial shock, was in
pursuit. It's elongated limbs carrying it
forward with terrifying speed. We didn't stop until we reached
the main road, the lights of a passing car providing A brief
moment of respite. Panting.
We flagged it down, relief flooding us as we clambered
inside. As we drove away, I looked back
one last time. The house, once a symbol of new
beginnings, now stood dark and foreboding, the forest's shadows
creeping ever closer. And in the distance, the
creature watched, its eyes glowing in the darkness, a
promise of terror yet to come.