This is a true story that happened to me when I was in
middle school. My grandpa was an Eagle Scout
when he was a young man, and after his stint with the Army
during the Vietnam War, he became a Scout Master with Troop
210. He believed in helping young
boys become young men and really connect with vintage skills and
nature, rope tying, camping, hiking, respecting nature, and
most importantly giving back to the community where the
teachings he tried to instill in everyone under his tutelage.
When my grandmother died suddenly, it hit my grandpa
really hard. He didn't push his kids away,
but my dad, my aunt and my uncle we're all very concerned for
him. This is when my dad and stepmom
convinced me to join the scouts again to spend time with him and
keep an eye on how he was doing. I had participated in Cub Scouts
before and it wasn't something I enjoyed.
When I quit, I had no intention of going back.
But how could I argue with this? I loved my grandpa more than I
hated scouts. I won't lie, I enjoyed getting
to spend that time with my grandpa and looking back, it is
something I am grateful for. Every extra moment I got to
spend with him is a cherished memory.
However, there was one experience I went through that
lives in the dark parts of my memory.
Something I've had nightmares about and still to this day get
queasy thinking or talking about.
I know this memory as the trip to Camp Woodruff.
I'd never been a fan of the idea of a summer camp.
Being sent away from my family to an unfamiliar location for an
entire week had always unnerved me.
Call me weird, but I didn't feel like being separated from all I
knew to go sleep in the woods. It took a lot of convincing to
get me to join my grandpa on the scout summer camp trip to Camp
Woodruff. My dad and stepmom told me I had
to go to make sure nothing happened to him and my mom told
me she thought it was a good idea.
So it was three against one and the guilt trip worked.
I told myself he needed me and that it wouldn't be as bad since
I'd have a family member with me.
I know how this part is going to sound, but the night before we
left I had terrible nightmares. I kept having very vivid dreams
of myself dying in various ways, each more gruesome than the
last. The final nightmare I had that
night seemed more like a warning than anything else.
There was a figure cloaked in a dark cloud of mist or fog and
they kept pointing to signs hanging on trees with either the
word warning or a hazard symbol depicted on them.
I wish I had paid attention to the dream because over the next
week I almost died or got seriously injured 4 times.
When we arrived at the camp we were assigned preset tents.
I found a photo online of the tents and I'll put that here.
Most of the tents had huge spiders on or in them and as
someone with arachnophobia, it did not help me get great sleep
at night. Luckily I brought a sort of bug
net with me and I could hang part of it above me like a veil
while I slept, so my face was protected from the spiders and
my sleeping bag protected the rest of me.
However, I was still tired from staying awake just because the
thought of spiders being around terrified me.
The 1st event happened pretty early on in the week, the day
after we arrived at the scout camp.
It had been raining heavily that night and the ground was soaked,
but we went on a morning hike nonetheless.
As we were walking on a trail near the top of a hill, the
Georgian clay dirt gave way beneath my foot closest to the
edge, and I slipped. I rolled a good 20 feet, sliding
on the wet orangish brown clay until I managed to grab onto the
base of a thin tree. It took a good few minutes for
me to catch my breath while lying there hanging on to this
tree, and another few minutes for me to slowly make my way
back to the path. I'll assume that you don't know
much about that clay, but once it's wet it sticks to your skin,
your clothes, your shoes, and once it hardens it takes a lot
to get it off. I walked away from that hike
with a few cuts and bruises, mostly on my legs, but I still
walked away alive. The second event happened the
next morning. I woke up with a cold.
All that tumbling and wet dirt and not drying off quickly
enough is what I reckon caused it.
I was stuck in my tent all day, drinking disgusting tea a scout
master brought me and screaming whenever a spider shuffled into
the tent and up onto my sleeping bag.
I stayed awake for the next hour, making sure it didn't
happen again before I passed out and let exhaustion take me into
my dreams. The dreams I had that day were
of something in the woods, watching us campers as we did
our activities. It leered at us as we learned to
make knots on ropes, spied on us as we shot rifles at the
shooting range, and observed me as I lay in my tent.
I woke up in a sweat when my tent buddy got back from the
day's events and was sent to fetch me for dinner in the main
lodge. I couldn't stomach the dinner
they had that night, which I believe was some type of sloppy
Joe, but one of the cooks took pity on me and brought me a
single serving of frosted flake cereal and a carton of milk.
That night when I got up to use the restroom, I felt like
something was watching me as I walked to the bathroom station.
While I was there doing my business, I swear I heard
someone whispering to me. I stayed there for what felt
like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes.
In reality, I only left when another camper entered the
bathroom and I felt it was safe enough for me to leave.
The third event was on day 4. On this day it was our troops
turn to go to a nearby horse ranch where we would pick a
horse and go on a guided tour of a trail through the woods.
I enjoyed getting to brush and feed the horse, but what
happened on the trail has left me afraid of horses.
The trail was about an hour long loop through the woods leading
back to the ranch. At the end we went in a single
file line and there was a horse rancher leading the front and
one leading the rear to make sure no one caused trouble and
that the horses stayed in line. For the most part it was
peaceful and relaxing. It was a bit hot, but there was
a nice breeze keeping me cool, if not just a bit sweaty.
At one point on the trail we stopped to cross a stream, but
not before our horses had a chance to stop and drink some
water. Once we got to the stream my
horse started getting a little antsy.
I should have known better and tightened my grip on the reins,
but when a snake passed in front of us in the water, it was too
late. My horse bucked and I fell off.
The horse behind me got scared from that and bucked a bit as
well, almost bringing his front hooves right down on me.
I was lucky enough to roll to the side, right into a thorn
Bush. The rancher came up, calmed the
horses down, and picked me up out of the thorn Bush.
I saw the red trickling down my arms and dripping off my cheek.
I had been cut up pretty badly, but I'd rather have taken those
cuts than died by horse trampling.
It hurt so much after my adrenaline wore off and I had
the gauze taped on tightly. Thankfully I slept pretty
soundly that night. The 4th event, and quite
possibly the scariest thing I had ever experienced, was the
day I almost drowned in the lake during our second to last day at
Camp Woodruff. I decided to spend my free time
at the lake with some friends from my troop.
But something felt different that day, almost as if I had to
be at the lake. It felt like something was
calling me to swim. I felt compelled to do so and I
didn't understand why at the time.
After starting to swim for a few minutes, I heard my friend tell
me he dared me to try and touch the bottom of the lake.
I didn't know any better and I didn't realize how deep lakes
actually were. I took a deep breath and started
to swim down. After 7 seconds I didn't feel
the bottom and I knew I had to swim back up.
I felt disoriented for a second, unsure if I was swimming up or
sideways, but it was too late now, I just had to go for it.
I felt that I had finally reached the surface and my lungs
were burning for a breath of fresh air.
But as I went to take a breath, the only thing that filled my
mouth and partially my throat was the disgusting taste of lake
water. I thought to myself, this is it.
My life literally flashed before my eyes as I thrashed and
kicked, trying desperately to reach the surface.
A miracle happened. My hand breached the water's
surface and a lifeguard on the floating platform in the lake
grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the water.
I coughed up the little water. I swallowed and lay on that
platform gasping for air for a good long while.
He asked me if I was OK and what had happened.
I began to say my friend had dared me to swim to the bottom
of the lake when my friend whose voice I heard said I never dared
you to do that. I've been on this platform the
whole time talking with Garrett. At that moment I knew everything
had come full circle to this moment.
The fall, the cold and nightmares, the whispering late
at night from the woods, the snake coming down the river at
just the right time, and now hearing voices after feeling
pulled to the lake. I knew something was in these
woods and it wanted me dead. I stayed away from the water
after that and I made sure I was always with an adult or older
scout. On the 7th day when we loaded
our things onto our bus, I had never felt so relieved to be
going home after all that had happened to me.
My mind might have been playing tricks on me, but while we were
driving I could swear I had seen that same mist cloaked figure
watching our bus drive away and back onto the highway staring at
me as if disappointed, angry or hateful.
I looked straight ahead and didn't look back out the window
until I had woken up and we were in Atlanta passing through.
You may not believe my story, but I don't need you to.
Camp Woodruff is a real place and you can easily find it
online and see pictures if you want to look it up.
I'm sharing this story now because as an adult I still
refuse to go into the woods and I just want to warn you that
there are malevolent things that happen in the trees far from the
view of cameras. So if you do decide to go
camping, just be safe and watch your back.
The excitement of returning to Shiprock filled me as the car
crested the last hill, revealing the familiar landscape that had
always been a part of my childhood memories.
The desert stretched endlessly, bathed in the deep golden light
of the setting sun, and there, nestled against the dusty
horizon, lay my grandparents house.
It had been years since I last visited the reservation, and I
felt a mix of nostalgia and curiosity as we pulled up the
long dirt driveway. My mother smiled, but her eyes
seemed to hold something deeper, something unspoken.
I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the warmth of the
reunion ahead. The evening was everything I'd
hoped for at first. Laughter, stories, and the
comforting aroma of fry bread wafting through the old trailer.
My grandparents greeted me with open arms, and my aunts and
uncles arrived soon after, filling the small living room
with the sounds of family. We shared stories from the past,
tales of old mischief and local news.
The night was moving smoothly, but I couldn't shake a sense of
unease that lurked beneath the surface, an energy that seemed
almost tangible. And then, perhaps out of
ignorance, I asked the question that changed everything.
Hey, are skinwalkers real? I blurted out between bites of
fry bread, a casual curiosity slipping out without a second
thought. The room fell instantly silent.
It was as if I had opened a door no one wanted to look through.
My grandmother's face seemed to age in that moment, her eyes
growing dark, and she shook her head slowly.
Her hands trembled as she placed her cup down on the table, her
gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my skin
prickle. You shouldn't speak of such
things. She said, her voice almost a
whisper, the warning clear. The mood in the trailer changed
instantly, the warmth vanishing as if someone had extinguished a
fire. My grandfather gave me a look, a
mix of disappointment and fear, before standing up and quietly
retreating to his room. My aunts and uncles followed
suit, murmuring good nights, their faces tense.
My mother scolded me softly, telling me that there are things
better left unsaid. I nodded, feeling an
uncomfortable knot form in my stomach.
The once lively trailer now seemed empty, and an unsettling
quiet fell over the house. I tried to brush it off as just
nerves, just the stories getting to me.
But that night, lying on the couch, I couldn't sleep.
The trailer felt too quiet, the air too thick.
The desert wind whispered outside, its low moan seeping
through the thin walls. Shadows stretched long and deep
across the floor, flickering in the dim glow of the hallway
night light. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was out there, just beyond the thin curtains in
the deep, empty night of the desert.
I turned over, trying to force myself to sleep, but every
creak, every rustle seemed amplified, my heart thudding in
response. I squeezed my eyes shut, but my
mind raced. The stories my mother used to
tell me came flooding back, Stories of creatures that wore
the skins, of animals that lurked at the edges of the
light, waiting for the curious and the careless.
Somewhere outside, a coyote howled, a long, mournful cry
that made my skin crawl. I took a deep breath, trying to
convince myself that it was nothing, just an animal calling
into the night. But there was something in that
howl, something that felt wrong. I lay there, staring at the
ceiling, the uneasy feeling growing stronger, as if
something unseen was moving closer, slipping through the
shadows, inching toward the old trailer.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, wishing desperately
for sleep, for the comfort of daylight.
The desert outside was silent, and I couldn't shake the sense
that something was watching, something ancient, something
malevolent, just waiting for me to make the wrong move.
The night seemed endless, every moment dragging by in a slow,
excruciating crawl. The trailer was suffocatingly
quiet, with only the occasional creak of the old structure
breaking the silence. I kept my eyes shut, willing
myself to sleep, but the uneasy feeling only grew stronger.
The stillness was suddenly broken by a sound that made my
blood run cold, A soft rustling, like something brushing against
the side of the trailer. My heart pounded as I opened my
eyes, straining to hear. The rustling grew louder, moving
along the wall. And then came the unmistakable
sound of footsteps. Slow, deliberate crunching
across the dusty ground outside. Panic rose in my chest.
I wanted to believe it was just an animal, but deep down, I knew
better. There was something different
about these sounds, something that spoke of intent.
I forced myself off the couch, moving as quietly as I could
toward the kitchen window. My legs felt weak, my body
trembling as I reached the window and carefully pulled the
curtain aside just enough to see outside.
The porch light cast a dim glow over the yard, and for a moment
I saw nothing. Just the empty, dusty landscape,
the vehicles parked in the driveway, and the old metal
trash cans. But then my eyes caught
movement. A dark, gaunt figure standing
just beyond the reach of the light.
It was coyote like, but wrong in every conceivable way.
Its fur was matted, hanging in clumps from its Bony frame, and
its legs seemed twisted, as if they had been broken and never
healed properly. The creature's head turned
slowly, and I saw its eyes glowing a sickly orange red,
staring directly at me. A wave of nausea hit me.
The malevolence in those eyes was palpable, like it was
staring straight into my soul. I stumbled backward, my breath
caught in my throat. I had to tell someone, I had to
warn them. I rushed to my mother's room,
shaking her awake. She groaned, annoyed, until she
saw the look on my face. What is it?
She whispered, her voice filled with sleep.
There's something outside. I managed to say, my voice
trembling. She sat up, her expression
shifting from irritation to concern.
It's probably just an animal. She said, but before she could
say anything else, we both heard it.
A distorted, unnatural scream that pierced the silence of the
night. The sound was like nothing I had
ever heard. Half human, half animal, filled
with pain and rage. My mother's eyes widened, and I
could see the fear settle in. She quickly got up, rushing to
wake my father. The trailer was soon filled with
hushed voices. Everyone gathered in the
hallway, listening as the creature outside began to thrash
against the ground, its guttural moans growing louder.
My grandfather moved with a calmness that seemed almost
unreal, retrieving his shotgun from a drawer and loading it
with ash coated bullets. He whispered prayers under his
breath as he approached the door.
I watched, frozen in place, as he swung the door open, the cold
night air rushing in. The creature was there, standing
at the edge of the porch light, its twisted form barely visible.
My grandfather fired, the blasts echoing into the night, but the
creature moved faster than anything I had ever seen,
disappearing into the darkness. We stood there in silence, the
acrid smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.
The creature was gone, but the sense of dread remained.
My grandmother's trembling voice broke the silence, trying to
comfort us, but the fear was still there, etched into each of
our faces. My aunt whispered that it saw
us, that it knew who we were now.
The rest of the night passed in tense silence, each of us afraid
of what might come next, our only hope lying in the first
light of dawn. The air was heavy as dawn began
to break, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the
thin curtains, painting the room in soft, muted light.
None of us had slept. We had stayed huddled together
in the hallway, each of us listening for any sign that the
creature might return. My grandfather sat near the
door, the shotgun across his knees, his eyes fixed on the
small window as if daring the thing to show itself again.
My mother's arm was around my shoulders, her presence the only
thing keeping my fear from swallowing me whole when the
sunlight finally broke through. There was a collective sense of
relief. The darkness had retreated and
with it some of the terror seemed to lift.
My grandfather stood, his joints creaking as he rose and he
opened the door. The cold night air had left a
bitter chill, but the warmth of the sun was beginning to melt it
away. He stepped out on to the porch,
his eyes scanning the horizon, the yard, and the space behind
the parked vehicles. The ground was scuffed where the
creature had stood, dark smears marking the spots where it had
dragged its twisted limbs. My grandmother was the first to
speak, her voice barely more than a whisper.
We need help. There was no arguing with that.
The events of the night had shaken us all, and none of us
could pretend otherwise. My grandfather nodded, his
expression grim, and after a few moments, he stepped back inside,
closing the door behind him. He exchanged a few hushed words
with my mother, and soon a decision was made.
We would call on the neighbour, a medicine man known for his
strength and such matters. My mother picked up the phone,
her fingers trembling as she dialed the number.
The hours that followed seemed to stretch on forever.
Every small noise made me jump, every creak of the trailer
sending my heart racing. It felt as if the malevolent
presence of the night before still lingered, hidden just
beyond the edges of the light, waiting for its chance to
return. When the medicine man finally
arrived, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
He was an older man, his face lined with age and wisdom.
He carried with him a small pouch filled with herbs, and he
moved with a quiet confidence that made me feel, for the first
time in hours, that we might be safe.
He spoke little, nodding respectfully to my grandparents
before setting to work. He sprinkled the herbs in a
circle around the trailer, chanting softly in Navajo.
The words were foreign to me, but there was power in them.
I could feel it. He moved from room to room,
marking the walls with symbols, pausing now and then to murmur
prayers. The air seemed to grow lighter
with each step he took, the oppressive sense of dread slowly
lifting, replaced by something calmer, something almost
peaceful. When he finished, he turned to
us, his eyes serious. It may return, he said, but this
will help. Keep it away.
Be careful, and do not speak of it again.
It feeds on fear, on curiosity. Do not give it reason to return.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I nodded, swallowing
hard. I understood now.
Some things were not meant to be questioned, not meant to be
called upon. I had opened a door that should
have stayed shut, and now all I wanted was to close it forever.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I spent most of the
afternoon dozing on the couch, the warmth of the sun streaming
in through the window. My mother stayed close, her eyes
watchful, her hand resting gently on my arm.
There was still fear, still the knowledge that the creature
might return. But there was also hope.
Hope that we had done enough, that the medicine man's
blessings would hold, that we might find peace once more.
As the sunset that evening, my grandfather lit a fire outside,
the flames crackling and snapping as they cast flickering
light across the yard. We gathered around it, the
warmth of the fire warding off the chill of the desert night.
My grandmother LED us in a prayer, her voice strong despite
the fear that still lingered. And as I looked into the flames,
I made a silent promise. I would never again speak of the
things that lurked in the shadows, the things that waited
for the curious and the careless.
I would keep my eyes forward, my heart steady, and I would never
forget the lesson I had learned that terrible night.
We moved into the house when I was four.
It was deep in the rural woods of Pennsylvania, and my parents
had fallen in love with it at first sight, a sprawling old
house surrounded by endless fields and woods.
It was like something out of a storybook.
I remember being enchanted by it, especially the woods.
To a child, those woods seemed magical, a place where anything
was possible. But even then, there was
something else about them, something dark just beneath the
surface. Dash, our sheepdog, was my best
friend and my protector. He was always there, wagging his
tail and bounding beside me, his furry coat always brushing
against my legs as we ran through the meadows.
I was never alone with Dash around, and he seemed to sense
the things that I did from the very first day.
There were moments when the air felt heavier, and even at 4 I
knew something was different. When the sunset behind the
trees, a chill would creep in and the whispering would begin.
The first time I heard it, I was sitting on the porch steps.
It was a soft sound, almost like a breeze rustling through the
leaves, but not quite. It was too rhythmic, too
deliberate. I looked towards the woods, and
Dash, who had been lying beside me, perked up his ears.
He heard it too. His hackles rose and a low growl
rumbled in his chest. I strained my ears, trying to
catch the words, but they were elusive, just out of reach, as
if the woods were talking amongst themselves but didn't
want me to understand. I told my parents about the
whispers that night. My mother laughed, said it must
be the wind, and my father just smiled and ruffled my hair.
It's just your imagination, sweetheart.
They said, but I knew it wasn't Dash, knew it too.
He would stare into the dark corners of the house at times,
his gaze following something invisible, something that moved
in the shadows. I tried to ignore it, but the
feeling of being watched never went away.
As I got older, I spent more and more time in those woods.
They were vast, stretching as far as I could see, a tangle of
trees and underbrush that seemed to go on forever.
During the day they were beautiful, sunlight filtering
through the leaves, the scent of pine and earth all around me.
But there were places that felt wrong, places where the air was
cold even on the warmest days, where the birds didn't sing and
the ground seemed to be still. Dash would always growl at those
places, his ears flattening, and he would press close to me, as
if urging me to leave. The whispers grew louder as the
years passed. By the time I was eight, I could
hear them clearly, especially at night.
They would rise and fall like a conversation, voices that seemed
almost familiar but were twisted wrong.
I never told my parents again. I knew they wouldn't believe me.
Instead, I tried to ignore them, tried to convince myself it was
just the wind, just my imagination.
But deep down, I knew better. The woods were alive, and
something in them was watching me.
Dash knew too. He would sit by my bed at night,
his eyes fixed on the window, his body tense.
Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and I would
see him staring, his eyes following something I couldn't
see, something just beyond the glass.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I would hear my name whispered
from the darkness outside. The air was different that day.
It was the kind of day where the woods seemed darker, even with
the sun hanging high in the sky. There was something heavy about
it, an energy that clung to the air like the humid thickness
before a storm. I didn't want to admit it, but I
felt it gnawing at the edges of my mind, and from the way Dash
kept pausing, his ears flicking and his nose twitching, I knew
he felt it too. Dash and I had ventured deeper
into the woods than usual. It had been my idea, something
inside me telling me I needed to see more, push farther.
It was as if the woods themselves had called me that
day, and curiosity had gotten the better of my sense of
caution. Dash ran ahead, his familiar
silhouette weaving between the tree trunks.
He always checked back, turning every few moments to make sure I
was still there, a reassuring presence amid the wild tangle of
branches and shadows. But that day, I let my attention
wander. I can't remember exactly what it
was, a strange patch of mushrooms, a tree scarred with
deep claw marks that caught my focus, but I lingered for too
long. Suddenly, I realized the forest
was too quiet. No rustle of leaves, no distant
calls of birds, just an unnatural silence that wrapped
around me. My eyes darted up, and Dash was
nowhere. Insight, Dash.
I called, my voice sounding too loud in the hushed woods.
A second later, I heard it, a crashing sound, frantic, coming
from deeper in the forest. My heart skipped, the kind of
skip that feels like it's suspended in mid air for just a
beat too long. It was followed by a bark.
Dash's bark, high pitched and alarmed.
I ran, branches clawing at my clothes and face, the underbrush
grabbing at my feet. The sound of something tearing
through the woods filled my ears, something moving too fast.
I called for Dash again, and then he appeared, bursting out
of the underbrush, covered in thorns, his eyes wide with fear.
He came barreling towards me, skidding to a stop, his body
tense and his teeth bared, growling at something behind us.
I didn't look back. I didn't want to see whatever it
was. My instincts screamed at me to
run, and I did, with Dash at my side.
When we broke through the edge of the woods into our yard, I
doubled over, catching my breath.
The air felt lighter, less oppressive, and I almost
convinced myself we were safe. But then I looked up towards the
neighbouring field and saw it. A shadow standing at the edge of
the grassy runway. It wasn't human, I knew that
even from the distance. There were no features, just
darkness, a shifting smoke like shape that seemed to waver at
the edges. I wanted to believe my eyes were
playing tricks on me, that it was just the fading light.
But then it moved. It hunched over, slowly, raising
its head, and I heard my own voice echoing across the field.
Dash. It sounded exactly like me,
perfect, down to the tone and pitch.
But there was something wrong. Something strained, like it was
trying too hard, forcing itself to sound human.
Dash growled, a low rumble that vibrated through his entire
body, and I felt him press against my leg, trembling.
The figure called again, weaker this time, as if struggling to
keep up the charade. Fear twisted my stomach, a cold,
primal fear that made my skin crawl.
I wanted to scream, to turn and run, but I couldn't move.
My feet felt glued to the ground, my mind grasping for an
explanation. Someone trying to steal my dog,
someone playing a prank. But nothing made sense.
I could feel the malevolence in the air, pressing against me
like an invisible weight. It wasn't human.
I knew that deep down. I turned and ran, dash at my
heels, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
When I reached the door, I slammed it shut behind me, the
echo reverberating through the house.
I told my parents about it that night, but they dismissed it,
said it was just my imagination. But my mom's eyes lingered on
the window for a moment too long, her face pale, her lips
pressed into a tight line. That night, I dreamed of the
figure. It was closer, standing just
outside my window, its head tilted, watching me.
My name came from its hollow mouth, repeated over and over,
each time more distorted, more wrong.
The darkness outside seemed to pulse, creeping closer until it
pressed against the glass, seeping through the cracks.
I woke up drenched in sweat, Dash at my side, whining softly,
his eyes fixed on the window. The fear stayed with me, gnawing
at the edges of my thoughts. The day after I saw the shadowy
figure, I tried to convince myself it was all just a trick
of the fading light, my imagination running wild.
But even as I repeated that to myself, I knew it wasn't true.
The fear clung to me like a second skin, making it
impossible to shake the memory. Dash was restless too.
He paced near the windows, his ears pinned back, and he refused
to let me out of his sight. I decided to visit my cousin's
house a couple of miles away, just to get away from the
heaviness of the woods for a while.
My uncle, a man who rarely spoke of anything other than work and
farming, greeted me with an unusual seriousness.
He said he'd seen something strange the night before, a
creature sprinting across the bridge near the Creek.
He said it looked like an emaciated cow, gaunt and hollow
eyed, and the description gave me chills.
I knew deep down that it was connected to what I had seen.
When I returned home, the air around the house felt thicker,
heavier, as if the shadows were closing in.
My parents still didn't seem to notice it, but I did, and so did
Dash. He wouldn't leave the yard,
barking at the edge of the woods, his eyes fixed on
something only he could see. As the sun fell, the unease
became almost unbearable. I could feel the hairs on my
arms standing on end, the sensation of being watched
pressing in on me from all directions.
That evening I heard it again, my own voice calling from the
woods. It was coming from the edge of
the backyard, just beyond the tree line.
Dash, come here, Dash. The voice was cracked and
strained, like it was trying too hard, and my stomach twisted
into knots. Dash stood beside me, his entire
body rigid, every hair on his back standing on end.
His teeth were bared, a low growl rumbling in his throat as
he stared into the darkening woods.
The voice called again, more desperate this time, and I felt
my blood run cold. I backed away, my heart
pounding, and Dash stayed in front of me, his growl growing
louder. My parents finally noticed my
distress, their faces drawn with concern.
My father grabbed his shotgun and stayed up that night,
sitting by the window, watching the tree line.
He didn't see anything, but I knew it was still out there,
lurking just beyond the edge of the light, waiting for me.
That night, sleep was impossible.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the shadowy figure standing
closer and closer, its head tilted as if listening, watching
the darkness outside. The windows seemed to pulse, and
I could hear my name being whispered from the shadows.
It was a hollow, twisted version of my own voice, repeating my
name over and over again, each time more distorted.
Dash stayed by my side, whining softly, his eyes locked on the
window as if he could see something I couldn't.
The next morning I found the first carcass, a goat, ripped
apart and left in the field near the Creek.
The bones were arranged in strange, deliberate patterns,
and the smell of decay hung heavy in the air, refusing to
dissipate. My parents tried to explain it
away. A wild animal, they said, but I
knew better. The whispers in the woods were
louder now, more insistent, and I could feel the darkness
creeping closer, pressing in on me from all sides.
I tried to avoid the woods after that, but it didn't matter.
Whatever it was, it wasn't bound by the trees.
It was in the air, in the shadows, in the silence that
fell over the house as soon as the sun went down.
It was watching, waiting, and I could feel it, a constant
presence gnawing at the edges of my mind.
Even now, years later, the memory of that shadowy figure
and the voice that called my name in the dark still haunts
me. I can't shake the feeling that
it's still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to let my guard
down. And sometimes, late at night, I
swear I can hear it. My own voice calling from the
darkness, sounding through the trees.
The camp felt different that night.
It was as if the woods themselves were pressing in
closer, the shadows thicker, the silence heavier.
I had grown up coming here year after year, finding solace in
the isolation of the main wilderness.
But as I sat in the warm glow of the television with the rest of
my family fast asleep, a strange unease settled into my bones.
A noise came from the kitchen, just a faint sound, a subtle
creak, but it was enough to set me on edge.
I told myself it was just the house settling, maybe the wind
playing tricks on me, but I couldn't shake the sense that
something was not right. The dog stirred, and I figured
they needed to go out. My brother's two pit bulls,
Brutus and Max, were restless, and Alfie, my little black dog,
looked up at me expectantly. With a sigh, I pushed myself up,
grabbing the leashes and heading to the door.
The porch light flickered as I turned it on, casting a weak
yellow glow that barely made a dent in the darkness beyond the
yard. The main woods at night were a
black void, swallowing everything in their depths.
I tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that seemed to follow me
as I stepped outside, the cold night air prickling my skin.
The pit bulls pulled eagerly at their leashes, sniffing the
ground, while Alfie stayed close to my feet.
I tried to focus on them, to let their presence calm me.
They were big, strong dogs, and nothing in these woods could
hurt us with them here. But as I watched them wander, I
couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched in return.
The silence was too complete, the kind that makes your ears
ring. Even the usual rustle of the
wind through the leaves seemed to have stilled.
Then I saw it. A bird perched on the fence post
at the edge of the yard. Its eyes glinted in the dim
light, unblinking, watching me. For a moment I was transfixed,
unable to look away from those glowing eyes.
And just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, wings
flapping silently as it disappeared into the night.
I shivered, turning my attention back to the dogs, and my heart
skipped a beat. Brutus and Max were standing
still, their bodies tense, ears perked, their eyes locked on
something deep in the woods. I followed their gaze, squinting
into the darkness, but saw nothing.
A cold wave of fear washed over me as I realized that Alfie was
no longer by my side. Panic flared in my chest, and I
called out her name, my voice sounding too loud in the
stillness. For a moment, there was nothing,
just the pit bulls standing guard, their growls low and
threatening. Then I heard it.
A soft whimper. Coming from the darkness, I took
a step forward, my heart pounding in my ears.
Alfie. I called again, my voice
trembling. The whimper came again, closer
this time, and I took another step.
The pit bulls growled louder, but they didn't move, their eyes
still fixed on whatever was out there.
My hands shook as I fumble with the leash, my eyes darting from
the darkness to the dogs and back again.
Suddenly, I felt something brush against my leg.
I jumped, a scream catching in my throat, and looked down.
Alfie. She was there, shivering, her
eyes wide with fear. Relief flooded through me, but
it was short lived. If Alfie was here, then what was
making that noise in the woods? A chill ran down my back as the
realization sunk in. I looked back towards the woods,
my eyes straining to see what the pit bulls were staring at.
The growls coming from Brutus and Max were low and guttural,
the kind of growl that made the hair on the back of my neck
stand on end. They were warning me, warning me
that something was out there, something I couldn't see.
I held Alfie close, backing up slowly, my eyes never leaving
the tree line. The darkness seemed to move, to
shift, as if something was out there, just beyond the reach of
the light, watching us. The pit bulls took a step
forward, their growls growing louder, and I knew I couldn't
stay out here any longer. Whatever was out there, it
wasn't something I wanted to face.
I turned, pulling the dogs with me, and hurried back towards the
porch. My heart was pounding, my breath
coming in short, panicked gasps. I could feel the darkness at my
back, pressing in as if it was trying to pull me back.
I stumbled up the steps, nearly dropping Alfie in my rush to get
inside. I flung the door open, the pit
bulls rushing in ahead of me, and slammed it shut behind us.
I stood there, my back against the door, my hands shaking, my
breath coming in ragged gasps. The pit bulls were still
growling, their eyes fixed on the door, their bodies tense.
I listened, straining to hear anything beyond the pounding of
my heart. The silence outside was
deafening, the kind of silence that seemed to swallow
everything, even sound. And then, just as I started to
relax, I heard it. A voice drifting through the
darkness. Alfie.
It was my voice, but wrong, distorted, twisted, as if
something was trying to mimic me but couldn't quite get it right.
The sound sent a chill down my neck, my blood running cold.
I clutched Alfie closer, my eyes wide with fear.
Something was out there, something that knew my name,
that wanted me to come back outside.
And I knew deep down that if I did, I might not come back.
The pit bulls were still growling, their deep, guttural
warnings echoing through the room.
I backed away from the door, my heart pounding, every instinct
screaming at me to get as far away from that voice as
possible. My hands were trembling as I
held Alfie close, her tiny body shivering against mine.
The cabin, which had always felt like a safe haven, suddenly
seemed too small, too fragile. The walls, once comforting, now
felt paper thin, as if they could barely keep out whatever
was out there. Brutus, Max.
I whispered, my voice barely audible over their growls.
They didn't turn, their eyes still fixed on the door, their
bodies tense. I took another step back, my
legs feeling like they might give out at any moment.
I needed to move, to get to a place where I felt safer, but my
feet felt rooted to the spot, fear holding me in place.
The voice came again, this time louder, more insistent.
Alfie. The sound was wrong, twisted in
a way that made my skin crawl. It was my voice, but not.
It was as if something was trying to mimic me but couldn't
quite understand how to sound human.
The distortion, the strange echo, made it all the more
terrifying. It wasn't just calling for
Alfie, it was beckoning, trying to lure us out.
My breath hitched and I felt my eyes sting with tears.
Whatever was out there knew my name.
It knew Alfie's name, and it wanted us.
The pit bulls barked suddenly, loud and fierce, their barks
reverberating through the cabin. I jumped, my pulse racing, and I
took a shaky breath. I needed to stay calm, needed to
think. I couldn't let fear take over,
not now. I turned, moving towards the
back of the cabin, away from the door, my steps slow and
deliberate. I needed to put distance between
US and whatever was outside. I made my way to my room,
pushing the door open with my shoulder.
It felt safer here, away from the front door, away from the
darkness that seemed to press in from all sides.
I set Alfie down on the bed, her eyes wide and fearful as she
looked up at me. Brutus and Max followed, their
growls never ceasing, their eyes darting between me and the door.
I closed the door behind us, my hands shaking as I turned the
lock. It wasn't much, but it made me
feel a little better. The voice came again, muffled
now by the walls of the cabin, but still clear enough to give
me chills. Alfie, come.
I swallowed hard. I backed up until I was sitting
on the bed, Alfie crawling into my lap.
I could feel her trembling, her small body pressed against me.
I wrapped my arms around her, trying to steady my own
breathing, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.
Brutus and Max stood by the door, their bodies rigid, their
growls a constant rumble in the background.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what was out there
or why it was calling my name. All I knew was that I couldn't
go out there, not now, not ever. The fear was suffocating,
pressing in from all sides, and I felt tears slip down my cheeks
as I held Alfie close. I just had to make it until
morning. Morning would come and whatever
was out there would be gone. It had to be.
The hours passed slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity.
The voice kept calling, each time more insistent, more
desperate, as if it knew I was resisting and it was growing
impatient. I pressed my hands over Alfie's
ears, trying to block out the sound, trying to keep her from
hearing the thing that was calling her name.
The pit bulls never wavered their growls never ceasing,
their eyes never leaving the door.
And then, finally, the first light of dawn began to filter
through the curtains. The voice faded, replaced by the
normal sounds of the forest waking up.
The pit bulls relaxed, their growls subsiding into soft
whimpers, and I let out a shaky breath, my body sagging with
relief. We had made it.
Whatever it was, it was gone. But the fear didn't leave me.
It lingered, a cold heavyweight in my chest.
I knew deep down that this wasn't over.
The woods weren't safe, not any more.
Something was out there, something that knew my name,
that wanted me, and it wasn't going to stop.
The morning light filtered in through the curtains, weak, but
enough to remind me that we had survived the night.
I sat up slowly, my muscles aching from the tension, the
exhaustion heavy in my bones. Alfie was still in my lap,
curled up tightly, her eyes half closed.
Brutus and Max had finally stopped growling, though they
remained close to the door, their ears perked and alert.
I took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs.
The sunlight brought a sense of relief, but it was a fragile 1.
I knew the danger wasn't over. The memory of that voice calling
my name in the dark haunted me. Whatever it was, it knew me.
It knew Alfie, and it wasn't going to stop.
I needed to see the woods in the daylight, to convince myself
that whatever was out there had truly gone.
Slowly, I stood, placing Alfie gently on the bed.
She whimpered softly, her eyes following me as I moved towards
the window. I pulled the curtain aside, my
eyes scanning the tree line. The woods looked so different in
the morning. Calm, quiet, as if nothing had
happened. But I knew better.
I could still feel it, a sense of unease lingering in the air,
like the woods were hiding something just out of sight.
The pit bulls had followed me, their eyes fixed on the window
as well. They could sense it too.
I swallowed hard, trying to push down the fear that threatened to
rise again. Come on, guys.
I whispered, my voice hoarse from the night before.
I needed to get out of the cabin, to breathe, to feel the
sun on my skin. I opened the door slowly, the
pit bulls rushing out ahead of me, their noses to the ground,
sniffing for any sign of what had been there.
Alfie stayed close to my feet, her small body pressed against
my leg as we stepped out onto the porch.
The morning air was crisp, the sky a pale blue, but the woods
felt different. There was no birdsong, no rustle
of small animals in the underbrush.
The forest was silent, waiting. I took a deep breath, trying to
steady myself. I needed to be strong for Alfie,
for the dogs. We had made it through the
night, and I wasn't going to let fear take that away from us.
I walked slowly to the edge of the yard, the pit bulls flanking
me on either side. The tree line loomed ahead, the
shadows still deep beneath the canopy of trees.
I stopped, staring into the darkness, my heart pounding.
Whatever had been there was gone.
It had to be. But as I stood there, I couldn't
shake the feeling that something was still watching, still
waiting. A rustle came from the woods,
and I tensed, my breath catching in my throat.
The pit bulls growled softly, their eyes locked on the source
of the sound. For a moment, everything was
still, the world holding its breath.
And then a deer stepped out from the shadows, its eyes wide and
startled. I let out a shaky breath, relief
flooding through me. It was just an animal, just a
deer. But even as I watched it
disappear into the woods, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we weren't alone. The fear lingered a heavyweight
in my chest, and I knew that whatever had called my name in
the darkness was still out there somewhere.
I turned back to the cabin, the pit bulls following close
behind, Alfie at my heels. We had survived the night, but I
knew this wasn't over. The woods weren't safe, not any
more, and as I closed the door behind us, locking it tight, I
couldn't help but wonder if they ever had been.
Stay safe out there, you never know what you may encounter in
the woods.