The woods were always quiet, but that night they felt weirdly
quiet. I don't know how to explain it
exactly. Like the forest itself was
waiting for something. My boots crunched over the dirt
trail as Ryan and I move deeper into the southern quadrant of
Black Ridge. It was supposed to be a routine
patrol. Nothing about this job ever felt
routine anymore. Ryan was new, fresh out of
training, full of questions and energy, practically bouncing as
he walked beside me. This place is amazing, he said,
gesturing at the endless expanse of trees.
I don't get why people say it's creepy.
I didn't answer right away. How could I explain the feeling
that had been gnawing at me for weeks?
The forest didn't just feel creepy, it felt alive watching,
and with all the disappearances lately, I didn't trust it.
You'll see. I said finally.
It wasn't much of an answer, but I wasn't about to dump my
paranoia on him. The sun was starting to dip
below the tree line, casting long shadows that stretched
across the trail like claws. I checked my watch. 6:45 PM.
Sundown wasn't far off, and the rules were clear.
We were supposed to be back at the station before dark, no
exceptions. I quickened my pace, but Ryan
lingered behind, staring at something on the ground.
What is it? I called back, not sure.
He replied, crouching. Looks like blood.
I froze. Sure enough, there was a dark
stain on the trail. Fresh.
My stomach turned as I stepped closer, scanning the area.
It could be an animal. I said, trying to keep my voice
steady. Ryan didn't respond.
His attention had shifted to the woods on our right.
His brow furrowed. Hey, do you see that?
He asked, pointing. At first I didn't see anything,
just trees and shadows. But then there a figure, small,
motionless. My breath caught.
It looked like a kid, maybe 8 or 9, standing just at the edge of
the trees. What the hell?
I muttered. Kids weren't supposed to be out
here, no one was. Not this late, I'll check it
out. Ryan said, already stepping off
the trail. Wait.
I snapped, grabbing his arm. You don't just walk into the
woods after some random. It's a kid, Chris.
He cut me off, shaking me loose. What if they're lost?
Something about the way the child stood there so still sent
a chill down my spine. But before I could stop him,
Ryan was gone, flashlight bouncing as he pushed through
the underbrush. Ryan.
I called after him. We don't have time for this.
We need to head back now. No answer.
Just the rustle of leaves and the distant snap of a branch.
I stayed where I was, my hand hovering near my radio.
Protocol said we weren't supposed to leave the trail.
Whatever this was, it didn't feel right.
Minutes passed. The forest seemed to grow
darker, the trees closing in around me.
I glanced at my watch again. Seven O 5:00 PM.
My gut churned. Ryan should have been back by
now. I grabbed my radio.
Ryan, where are you? Do you copy Static.
I tried again, my voice more urgent.
Ryan, answer me. We need to get out of here.
For a moment there was nothing but the crackle of static.
Then, faintly, his voice came through.
Chris, I think I found the transmission cut off abruptly,
my pulse quickened. Ryan, repeat that, what did you
find? No response.
Just silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
Screw the rules, I wasn't leaving him out there.
I drew my flashlight and stepped off the trail, following the
direction Ryan had gone. The underbrush was thick,
branches snagging at my jacket as I pushed forward.
Every step felt wrong, like the forest didn't want me there.
Ryan. I shouted, my voice echoing.
Answer me. Nothing.
And then footsteps. Light, quick, moving just ahead
of me. Relief flooded my chest.
Ryan, is that you? The footsteps stopped.
I froze, the beam of my flashlight shaking as I scanned
the trees. Ryan.
My voice cracked. A faint whisper answered.
My name, Chris. It didn't sound like Ryan.
It sounded off, like someone else was trying to mimic his
voice. My heart pounded as I swung the
flashlight around the beam, cutting through the darkness.
Shadows shifted, trees loomed, but there was no one there.
Ryan. I shouted again, desperation
creeping in. If this is a joke, it's not
funny. Something rustled to my left.
I spun toward the sound, flashlight trembling in my grip.
My stomach dropped. There, caught in the beam, was
Ryan's radio. It lay on the ground, cracked
and smeared with blood. I backed away, my breaths coming
fast and shallow. This wasn't right.
Something had happened to him, something bad.
I then saw it. Movement.
A figure, small and hunched, darting between the trees.
It wasn't Ryan, it wasn't even human.
I turned and ran, branches whipping at my face, roots
clawing at my boots. The voices followed me, faint
and mocking. Chris, come back.
By the time I broke through the tree line and stumbled onto the
main trail, my lungs burned and my legs felt like Jelly.
I didn't stop running until the Ranger station came into view,
its floodlights piercing the darkness.
I burst inside, slamming the door behind me.
The other Rangers looked up, startled.
Where's Ryan? Someone asked.
I couldn't answer. All I could do was shake my
head, my mind replaying those voices, that figure in the
woods. Later that night, they asked me
to file a report. I told them everything, but they
didn't seem surprised. They just nodded like they'd
heard it all before. The next day, Ryan's name was
quietly removed from the roster. No explanation, no
investigation, just nothing. And that's when I realized
whatever's out there in the forest, it doesn't leave
survivors. The next morning, Lena arrived
without much of an introduction. She was sharp eyed, older than
me by a couple of years, and her posture screamed authority.
It was clear from the start that Lena wasn't here to make
friends. Not that I wanted to talk after
what happened to Ryan. I barely slept every time I
closed my eyes. I saw that kid in the red hoodie
or whatever it was standing just beyond the tree line, Chris,
Lena said curtly. As we prep the Jeep for patrol,
here's how this works. You follow my lead, no
questions. We stick to the trails, we don't
split up, and if you hear something, anything, you ignore
it. Understood.
Yeah. I muttered, pretending to focus
on the map in my hands. She didn't seem satisfied.
I'm serious. No wandering off, no heroics.
You do exactly what I say or you'll end up like your rookie
friend. Her words hit like a punch to
the gut. What do you mean by that?
I demanded. Lena didn't look at me.
She grabbed the thermal camera from the equipment locker and
tossed it into the Jeep. People go missing out here, she
said. That's all you need to know.
It wasn't all I needed to know, not by a long shot, but
something in her tone made me shut up.
The air was heavier that day, the kind of damp heat that made
every breath feel sticky as we drove deeper into the northern
quadrant. The forest thickened, the trees
towering like Sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky.
Even in daylight, the place felt oppressive.
Shadows pooled beneath the canopy, and the faint hum of
cicadas did little to drown out the feeling of being watched.
Lena barely spoke as she navigated the Jeep down the
overgrown trail. Her eyes constantly scanned the
trees, her hand hovering near her rifle.
I tried to focus. On the map.
But my mind kept drifting back to Ryan.
What had he seen before he disappeared?
What had taken him? We're close.
Lena said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. close to
what? There was a report of an
abandoned campsite near here. We're going to check it out.
I didn't like the sound of that. The last abandoned campsite I'd
seen had blood stains and shredded gear, and I wasn't
eager to repeat the experience. But Lena didn't wait for my
input. She stopped the Jeep, grabbed
the thermal camera and gestured for me to follow.
The campsite was a mess. Torn tents lay crumpled on the
ground, their fabrics stained and shredded.
A charred fire pit sat at the center, surrounded by scattered
belongings, a backpack, a child stuffed animal.
A pair of broken glasses. My stomach twisted.
Animal attack? I asked, though I already knew
the answer. Lena didn't respond.
She knelt beside the fire pit, running her fingers over the
claw marks gouged into the dirt. Then she pulled out the thermal
camera and scanned the area. What are you looking for?
I pressed, trying to keep my voice steady.
She didn't answer right away. Then she stopped, her body going
rigid. There.
She said, her voice low. She handed me the camera.
I hesitated before looking. The screen flickered with faint
static. I then saw it, a figure standing
just beyond the edge of the clearing.
It was humanoid, but wrong. The shape was too tall, too thin
and cold as death on the thermal display.
What is that? I whispered.
Trouble. Lena said, taking the camera
back. We're leaving now.
Back in the Jeep, Lena's mood had shifted from stern to
outright hostile. Her knuckles were white as she
gripped the steering wheel, her eyes darting to the mirrors as
if she expected something to be following us.
I didn't have to ask if she saw it too.
The answer was written all over her face.
OK, seriously. I said, breaking the tense
silence. What's going on out here?
What was that thing? It's not your concern, she
snapped. The hell it's not.
I saw it. I saw what it did to Ryan.
Lena's jaw tightened. You don't know what you saw.
Then tell me. I shouted.
Because whatever's out here, it's not just animals or bad
luck. People are dying, Lena, and you
know why don't you? She didn't answer.
The only sound was the crunch of tires on gravel as we speed back
toward the station. We were halfway there when the
forest came alive. It started with the sound of
branches snapping, followed by something crashing through the
underbrush. Lena slammed on the brakes and
we both grabbed our rifles. The Jeep's headlights
illuminated the trail ahead, but nothing moved, just the swaying
of trees in the breeze. Stay here.
Lena ordered, stepping out of the vehicle.
Like hell I will. I muttered, following her.
My hands shook as I held my rifle, scanning the darkness for
movement. The forest was too quiet now,
the air thick with tension. I heard it.
A low, guttural growl coming from the left.
Lena heard it too. She raised her rifle, her finger
on the trigger. Don't move, she whispered.
The growl grew louder, closer. My heart hammered in my chest as
I tried to pinpoint the source. Then, from the corner of my eye,
I saw them. Eyes, reflective, glowing,
staring at us from the tree line.
Not one pair, but many. Back to the Jeep, Lena said, her
voice barely audible. Slowly, we moved in unison,
stepping backward toward the vehicle.
The eyes didn't blink, didn't flinch.
They just watched. And then they moved.
The figures emerged from the shadows, their shapes flickering
in and out of the light. Pale, elongated bodies with
limbs that bent the wrong way, their movements jerky and
unnatural. I froze, my brain struggling to
comprehend what I was seeing. Chris, move.
Lena barked. The creatures darted toward us
faster than anything I'd ever seen.
I fired wildly, the sound of gunfire deafening in the
confined space of the forest. One of the creatures fell, its
body twisting unnaturally as it hit the ground, but the others
kept coming. Lena grabbed me, dragging me
toward the Jeep as I continued firing.
We barely made it inside, slamming the doors just as the
creatures clawed at the windows. Their faces, if you could call
them that, were pressed against the glass, pale and featureless
except for those glowing eyes. Lena floored the gas and the
Jeep lurched forward, the creatures chasing us down the
trail. I didn't stop shooting until the
headlights illuminated the Ranger station in the distance.
The creature stopped abruptly, retreating into the shadows as
if the light repelled them. We skidded to a stop outside the
station. Lena turned off the engine and
sat there, gripping the wheel so tightly her hands shook.
What the hell were those things? I asked, my voice barely more
than a whisper. Lena didn't answer.
She just looked at me, her expression cold and distant.
That's why you don't ask questions.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I
saw those glowing eyes staring back at me.
Whatever was out there, it wasn't human.
We left before dawn, just as the fog began to curl through the
trees like pale fingers. Lena didn't say much as we
loaded the Jeep, her face set like stone.
I'd stop trying to get answers from her.
Whatever was going on out here, she knew it.
But getting her to talk was like prying open a steel trap.
Still, the silence weighed on me.
I was on edge, hyper aware of every sound, every shift in the
shadows. I couldn't stop thinking about
the night before. The creatures, their glowing
eyes, the way they moved. No animal I knew moved like
that. No animal should.
We'll patrol the northern sector.
Lena said finally, her voice sharp and clipped.
Keep your weapon close and your head on straight.
If something happens, follow my lead.
Got it, Got it, I muttered, Not like I had much of A choice.
The northern sector was a nightmare.
The trees were denser here, the canopy so thick it blocked out
the rising sun. The Jeep's headlights struggled
to Pierce the gloom, casting long shadows that seemed to
shift and writhe like they were alive.
Lena drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her
rifle. Her eyes never stopped scanning
the trees. I gripped my own rifle tightly,
my palm slick with sweat. Why the northern sector?
I asked, breaking the silence. There's been activity up here.
Lena said without looking at me. Campers heard voices, things
moving in the night. Voices.
I repeated, my stomach tightening.
Like Ryan's. She shot me a glance, her
expression unreadable. Just stay focused.
Halfway through the patrol, the Jeep stalled.
The engine sputtered once, then died, leaving us stranded in the
middle of the forest. I could feel my pulse quicken as
Lena cursed under her breath and popped the hood.
Stay in the Jeep. She ordered, stepping out.
I didn't argue. I watched her through the
windshield as she fiddled with the engine, her movements quick
and efficient. But something felt wrong.
The forest was too quiet. No birds, no insects, just
silence. Then, from the radio, a faint
crackle. I grabbed it, my hands
trembling. Lena, the radio.
Before I could finish, a voice came through, soft, distant, but
unmistakable. Chris, help me.
My blood turned to ice. It was Ryan.
Lena. I shouted, panic creeping into
my voice. It's him.
It's Ryan. Lena's head snapped up.
Turn it off, She barked, slamming the hood shut and
climbing back into the Jeep. Now.
But. Turn it off, she shouted.
I fumble with the radio, my fingers clumsy with fear.
The static hissed and popped, Ryan's voice breaking through
again, more urgent this time. Chris.
I'm here, please. I shut it off, my heart
pounding. Lena didn't say anything as she
tried the engine again. It roared to life, but I barely
felt the relief. My mind was spinning, torn
between terror and guilt. What if it really was him?
We drove in silence, the tension between us thick enough to cut.
The forest seemed darker now, the trees pressing closer, their
branches scraping against the Jeep like nails on a chalkboard.
I kept glancing at the thermal camera in my lap, half hoping,
half dreading that I'd see something.
And then I did. Lena.
I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Stop the Jeep. She hit the brakes, her eyes
narrowing as she turned to me. What is it?
I held up the thermal camera, my hands shaking.
On the screen was a figure, human shaped but cold.
It stood motionless about 50 yards ahead, just off the trail.
Lena grabbed the camera, her jaw tightening.
Damn it, she muttered. She turned off the headlights,
plunging us into near total darkness.
Grab your rifle. Stay close.
We moved quietly, our boots crunching on the gravel as we
approached the spot where I'd seen the figure.
The darkness was suffocating, the only light coming from the
weak beam of Lena's flashlight. My grip on the rifle was so
tight it hurt. The figure was gone, but the air
felt heavy, charged with something I couldn't explain.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, but Lena pressed
forward, her movements deliberate, and we heard it, a
low, guttural growl followed by the sound of branches snapping.
I swung the flashlight around, the beam trembling as it cut
through the trees. The growl came again, closer
this time. Lena.
I whispered, my voice shaking. What is that?
She didn't answer. Instead, she raised her rifle,
her eyes fixed on something ahead.
I followed her gaze and froze. There were eyes, dozens of them,
glowing faintly in the darkness. They blinked in unison, and my
stomach turned back to the Jeep. Lena said, her voice low and
steady now. We moved slowly at first, trying
not to provoke whatever was out there, but the eyes didn't stay
still. They moved closer, and with them
came the sound of footsteps, hundreds of them, all around us,
circling, closing in. Lena didn't wait.
She turned and ran, and I followed, my heart pounding so
hard I thought it might burst. The footsteps were deafening
now, the growls turning into a cacophony of screeches and
howls. I didn't dare look back.
We reached the Jeep and scrambled inside, slamming the
doors just as the creatures burst from the trees.
Pale, twisted forms with two long limbs and faces that were
almost human. But not one of them lunged at
the windshield, its jagged teeth scraping against the glass.
I fired through the window, the sound of the gunshot deafening
in the enclosed space. Drive.
I shouted, but Lena was already flooring the gas.
The Jeep lurched forward, throwing the creatures off as we
speed down the trail. They gave chase, their movements
unnaturally fast, their bodies flickering in and out of view.
Don't stop. Lena said through gritted teeth,
her hands tight on the wheel. No matter what, don't stop.
The creatures finally stopped chasing us as we approached the
station. I don't know why, maybe the
floodlights scared them off, but I didn't care.
We stumbled out of the Jeep, battered and shaken but alive.
Inside, the station was eerily quiet.
Too quiet. Carter, the Ranger on shift, was
gone. His gear was still there, his
radio crackling faintly on the desk, but there was no sign of
him. Lena.
I started, but she cut me off. We're locking down, she said,
her voice cold and final. No one leaves this building
until sunrise. I nodded, too shaken to argue.
But as I sat in the corner of the room, clutching my rifle, it
wasn't over. The voices were still there,
faint and distant, just at the edge.
Of my hearing. Chris.
They called come back. And somewhere in the darkness,
they were waiting. The next morning we staggered
into the sunlight like survivors of a war.
The forest behind us loomed dark and silent, but I could still
feel its presence. Hungry, we didn't speak as we
climbed into the battered Jeep, Lena's hands trembling as she
gripped the wheel. The road out felt endless.
When the trees finally thinned and the small Ranger station
gave way to the open highway, I let out a breath I didn't
realize I'd been holding. I turned to Lena, her face pale
and drawn, her eyes locked on the road ahead.
Never again, I muttered, more to myself than to her.
She nodded once, her lips pressed into a tight line.
We didn't look back. We couldn't, because if we did,
we both knew we might never leave.
We are never going into those woods again.
I stepped out of the house Roscoe's leash tighten my grip,
and immediately noticed how quiet it was.
Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels
wrong, like the world's holding its breath.
Normally, even in this sleepy town, you'd hear something.
A car in the distance, the buzz of a street lamp, maybe a dog
barking. But tonight it was just me,
Roscoe, and the sound of his nails clicking against the
pavement. Roscoe, my big brindled pit
bull, trotted ahead, his ears perked and nose twitching.
He was in his element, tail swaying confidently.
I tried to match his energy, but something about the air felt
heavier than usual, like it was pressing down on me.
Still, it was just another walk. I told myself to shake it off.
We rounded the corner onto the main road, where the forest
started to creep closer to the edges of the houses.
That's when I saw them. The coyotes, Three of them,
standing at the edge of the woods where the road curved
toward the trailhead. At first, I thought they were
just passing through. Coyotes aren't uncommon around
here, though you usually hear them before you see them.
These, though they were silent still.
Too still, Roscoe noticed them too, his ears pinned back and a
low growl rumbled in his throat. I tightened my grip on the
leash. Easy, buddy.
I whispered, my voice barely breaking the silence.
The coyotes didn't move, didn't flinch.
They just stared, their eyes reflecting the pale glow of the
street lamp. Then, almost as if on cue, they
started walking. Not away, but toward the trail.
In every few steps, they'd stop and look back at me.
Not at Roscoe, at me. I laughed nervously.
What, you guys giving me a tour now?
I muttered, trying to keep my tone light, but the words felt
hollow. My feet hesitated, but Roscoe
tugged forward, pulling me along.
The coyotes disappeared into the shadows, but the feeling they
left behind lingered. As we approached the woods, the
smell hit me. Rot, thick and sour, like
something had been left to fester for weeks.
I gagged, covering my mouth with my free hand.
Roscoe froze, his fur bristling. His growl turned into a snarl,
and he started backing up, something he never did.
All right, we're turning back. I said, but my voice shook.
I yanked the leash, but Roscoe didn't budget.
His eyes were locked on something ahead, something I
couldn't see yet, And then I saw it.
It wasn't much, just a blur of movement in the trees, pale,
fast and impossibly smooth. It was there, then, gone, like a
ripple in the darkness. My heart slammed against my
ribs. I gripped Roscoe's leash tighter
and swallowed hard, telling myself it was nothing, just an
animal. A deer, maybe, but my gut was
screaming at me to leave. We were almost at the trailhead
when the smell got stronger, thick enough to make my eyes
water. Roscoe was shaking now, pulling
against the leash to go back, but I caught sight of one of the
coyotes again. It was crouched low on the
opposite side of the road, separated from the woods by a
thin stretch of gravel. Its head was tilted, eyes locked
on me. It wasn't moving, wasn't even
breathing. Something about the way it
crouched made my skin crawl. It didn't look like it should be
able to stay in that position for so long.
My flashlight cut through the dark, landing square on its
face. Its eyes didn't even flicker.
I thought about taking a picture, but I didn't want to
take my eyes off it. Roscoe started pulling harder,
practically dragging me backward.
OK, OK, we're going. I muttered, my voice barely a
whisper. I stepped back, then again,
never taking my eyes off the coyote.
That's when it happened. In the space of a single breath,
it was closer, at least 20 feet closer.
It hadn't moved. I didn't see it move, but it was
there, crouched in the same unnatural pose, its eyes still
locked on me. My heart stopped.
My flashlight shook in my hand as I fumble to steady it, but
the beam only made the coyote look more wrong, more unnatural.
Let's go, Roscoe, I said, my voice cracking.
I didn't wait for him to follow. I turned and started walking
fast, almost jogging, my breath coming in short, panicked
bursts. I glanced back once.
Just once, and saw the coyote still there, still watching, but
now standing upright, silhouetted against the tree
line. The walk home felt endless.
Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig made me jump.
Roscoe stayed close to my side, his tail tucked, his growls low
and constant. By the time we reached the door,
I felt like I was being suffocated by the weight of
something unseen. I slammed it shut, locked it,
and double checked every window in the house.
That night, Roscoe didn't leave his spot by the front door.
He sat there, stiff and alert, growling at shadows I couldn't
see. And even though I was safe
inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had been
out there was still watching. I thought I was losing it.
Sitting on the couch, I kept replaying the night in my head.
The coyotes, the smell, that thing I'd seen darting through
the trees. My logical brain tried to
explain it away. Maybe the coyotes were sick and
the thing in the woods was a deer moving too fast for me to
process. But none of it sat right,
especially the way that lone coyote had moved.
Or hadn't moved. Roscoe was still planted by the
front door, growling every so often at nothing in particular.
I could tell he wasn't going to let up.
The tension in the house was thick, pressing on me.
Suffocating, I needed to get out, even just for a little bit,
so I grabbed Pepper's leash and called her over.
Pepper, my Jack Russell mix, came bounding up like her usual
excitable self, wagging her tail and hopping on her back legs.
Her energy was a relief. Unlike Roscoe, who had clearly
sensed something I couldn't, Pepper seemed completely unaware
of the weirdness in the air. I told myself her carefree
demeanor was a good sign. We headed out into the night.
The neighbourhood was quiet and the streetlights buzzed faintly
overhead. The stillness that had felt
oppressive earlier now felt almost peaceful.
I kept to the streets closer to the town centre, deliberately
avoiding the woods. Pepper trotted along happily
sniffing every mailbox and Bush, oblivious to my unease.
I even started to relax a little, chatting with my wife on
the phone as we walked. I think I just freaked myself
out earlier, I said, forcing a laugh.
Coyotes are weird sometimes, right?
And that smell? Probably just roadkill or
something. My wife humored me, though I
could tell she wasn't buying my casual tone.
She knew me too well. Just be careful, OK?
She said, and don't stay out too long.
Yeah, yeah, I replied, waving it off.
I didn't want to admit how much her words unsettled me.
Pepper and I were only a few blocks from home, and nothing
felt off Not yet. We turned down the alley that
ran behind my house, a short cut I'd taken 100 times before.
The alley was narrow, with tall wooden fences on either side and
a single street light at the far end.
The light flickered erratically, casting jittery shadows that
made the space feel smaller than it was.
Pepper slowed down, her ears flicking back as she sniffed the
air. That's when I saw them.
At first I thought they were people, 2 figures standing at
the far end of the alley, just beyond the reach of the
flickering street light. They were tall, easily over six
feet, and broad, their shoulders hunched forward like they were
leaning into the wind. But the longer I stared, the
more wrong they looked. Their arms were too long, their
movements too jerky, like marionettes being yanked along
by invisible strings. My stomach dropped.
They weren't people. Their skin was pale, almost
translucent, stretched taut over bulging muscles.
They were hairless, their heads misshapen and their eyes, God,
their eyes hollow, dark pits that seemed to drink in the
faint light, making the shadows around them ripple unnaturally.
Pepper froze, her little body trembling as a low, guttural
growl escaped her throat. I'd never heard her make a sound
like that before. My feet felt glued to the
ground, my mind screaming at me to move, but I couldn't.
The figure shifted. Their heads tilting in perfect
unison as they turned to look directly at me.
The way they moved made my skin crawl.
Their steps were slow, deliberate, and wrong.
Like they were mimicking the way humans walked but didn't quite
understand how. The sound of their footsteps
echoed unnaturally in the narrow alley, wet and heavy like flesh
slapping against concrete. Pepper.
I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my
ears. Let's go.
But she wouldn't budget. Her growling turned into frantic
barking, high pitched and desperate, as the figures
continued their slow advance. My legs finally obeyed, and I
yanked hard on the leash, scooping her up as I stumbled
backward. My breath came in ragged gasps,
my eyes locked on the figures as they moved closer.
One of them stopped under the street light, its pale skin
glowing faintly in the flickering light.
It raised a hand, long, spindly fingers twitching like it was
trying to reach for something it couldn't quite grasp.
The other figure paused, then turned its head toward the
shadows on my left, as if it had heard something.
I followed its gaze and immediately wished I hadn't. 1/3
figure stepped out from the darkness, larger than the other
two, its movements smoother, more confident.
Its hollow eyes locked on to mine and I felt a cold wave of
dread wash over me. This one was different.
It didn't shuffle or jerk like the others.
It moved with purpose. I ran.
I don't remember how I made it back to the house.
My legs burned and my chest felt like it was going to explode,
but I didn't stop until I was inside.
The door locked and bolted behind me.
Pepper squirmed in my arms. Still barking furiously as I
collapsed on to the floor. Roscoe was on his feet, his
growls deep and resonant, his eyes fixed on the windows.
I crawled over and shut the curtains, my hands shaking so
badly I could barely grip the fabric.
The house felt suffocating, the air heavy with a smell I
couldn't quite place, damp earth and something metallic like
blood. I sat there on the floor,
clutching pepper as Roscoe barked at the door.
Outside, I could hear faint, wet footsteps on the pavement.
Slow, deliberate, coming closer. Then they stopped.
And the tapping began. I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the tapping, faint but
deliberate, like fingernails on glass.
Sometimes it was at the windows, sometimes it was at the walls,
always in a slow, madding rhythm.
I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but
Roscoe's growling and Pepper's trembling told me otherwise.
Whatever was out there wasn't leaving.
When dawn finally broke, the tapping stopped.
The house fell silent, but the air felt just as heavy, like it
was saturated with something unseen.
I waited until the light spilled fully into the room before
daring to open the curtains. The yard looked normal at first.
The patchy grass, the leaning fence, the Lone Tree in the
corner. It was all exactly as it should
be. But then I saw the marks on the
door. Deep gouges crisscrossed the
wood, the kind you'd expect from claws or a blade.
They hadn't been there the night before.
My stomach churned as I stepped outside for a closer look.
The air smelled faintly of rot, a stench that made my throat
tighten. The ground beneath the windows
was disturbed, the dirt scuffed and scattered.
At first I thought it was just from animals, but then I noticed
the footprints. They were huge, far larger than
any animal I'd seen. The shape was all wrong, too.
The impressions were wide, with long clawed toes that dug deep
into the earth. I squatted down, pressing my
hand into one of the prints. It dwarfed my palm.
My pulse quickened as my gaze landed on something else,
symbols carved into the dirt. They were crude and jagged, like
someone had dragged a stick or a claw through the soil.
Swirls and lines that didn't make sense but felt deliberate,
intentional. I didn't want to look at them
any longer. I grabbed Roscoe's leash,
muttered something reassuring to myself, and headed for the
neighbor's house. If anyone would know what to
make of. This it was Old Mr. Larkin.
Mr. Larkin had lived in the neighborhood longer than anyone.
He was the kind of guy who knew everyone's business, whether you
wanted him to or not. When I explained what I'd seen.
Leaving out the worst of it, of course.
His face went pale. You saw them, didn't you?
He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
His hands shook as he set down his coffee mug.
The pale ones. I frowned.
The what? They don't come around often.
He continued, his eyes darting toward the window.
Only in the fall, when the nights get long.
They're not animals. Not people, either.
Something else, something old. His words didn't make sense, but
the fear in his voice was undeniable.
He warned me to avoid the woods and to keep the curtains drawn
after dark. And don't let them mark you, he
added cryptically. If they do, they'll never stop.
I left his house with more questions than answers, my mind
racing. Mark me?
What did that even mean? I couldn't shake the feeling
that he knew more than he was letting on.
Back at home, I grabbed Roscoe's leash and decided to retrace my
steps from the night before. It felt reckless, but I needed
answers. The alley where I'd seen the
creatures look normal in the daylight, though the flickering
street light at the far end was now shattered.
Glass littered the ground, catching the weak sunlight.
Roscoe was restless, pulling against the leash as we walked.
I kept my eyes on the ground, scanning for any sign of the
creatures, but all I found were more of those strange symbols
etched into the dirt in long, looping patterns that seemed to
lead toward the woods. We didn't make it far.
Roscoe froze, growling low in his throat, his body rigid as a
board. He wouldn't move, wouldn't even
look at me. His eyes were locked on the
shadowy tree line ahead. I followed his gaze but saw
nothing, just the dark outlines of trees, their branches swaying
in the breeze. Still, I felt it, that
oppressive weight in the air, the same feeling I'd had the
night before. We turned back.
That night, the tapping returned.
It started softly, just a faint click, click, click against the
window. I stayed in the living room,
clutching a kitchen knife like it would do any good.
Roscoe sat by the door, growling steadily, while Pepper hid under
the couch. The tapping grew louder, more
insistent. I tried to ignore it, tried to
tell myself it was just the wind, but then I heard the
footsteps. Slow, deliberate, like wet flesh
slapping against concrete. My stomach tightened as the
footsteps circled the house, pausing every few feet before
starting again. I held my breath as something
scraped against the front door, long, slow drags that sent
shivers up my spine. Roscoe lunged at the door,
barking furiously. My hands were shaking so badly I
could barely hold the knife. And then came the voice.
It was faint at first, barely audible over Roscoe's barking, a
low, guttural whisper that didn't sound human.
It called my name not once but twice, drawn out, distorted,
like someone trying to mimic a voice they didn't quite
understand. I didn't wait to hear it a third
time. Grabbing both dogs, I bolted for
the garage. My car keys were already in my
pocket, and I fumble to get the door open.
The dog scrambled inside as I started the engine, my hands
trembling on the wheel. As I backed out of the driveway,
I caught a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror.
Three figures stood at the edge of the yard, their hollow eyes
glowing faintly in the darkness. One of them raised a hand, its
fingers twitching unnaturally, almost like it was waving
goodbye. I didn't look back.
Living on the edge of a forest teaches you a thing or two about
silence. I'd grown used to it, or so I
thought. The cabin my brother and I
shared wasn't much, but it was ours, tucked into a clearing
surrounded by tall trees. Quiet was normal, peaceful even,
until that night. I decided to walk the trail
later than usual. The heat of the day had been
unbearable, and the cool night air seemed like an invitation I
couldn't refuse. Luna.
My shepherd mix trotted at my heels, her tail wagging in
anticipation. She loved these walks as much as
I did. I grabbed my flashlight, double
checked the batteries, and stepped off the porch into the
dark. The first half of the loop was
always my favorite. It skirted the Meadow with just
enough moonlight to guide my way.
Tonight the grass shimmered silver under the Half Moon and
the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth.
I could see the faint outline of our cabin from the corner of my
eye, a comforting anchor as I walked.
Luna sniffed at the trail darting ahead, her nails
clicking against the hard packed dirt.
When we reached the forest edge, I paused, staring into the dark
wall of trees. The second-half of the loop cut
deep into the woods, where the canopy blocked the moonlight and
the air grew thick with the smell of woods and decay.
The flashlight beam was thin, swallowed by the shadows almost
as soon as it touched them. Still, I'd done this walk dozens
of times before. There was no reason to feel
uneasy, or so I told myself. The woods were quieter than
usual. No rustling leaves, no chirping
insects, just the crunch of my boots and the soft panting of
Luna somewhere ahead. I adjusted my flashlight,
swinging it left and right, but the shadows seemed thicker
tonight, as if they were closing in.
I told myself it was just my imagination, shook it off, and
pressed forward. I was nearly at the bend that
marked the halfway point when I heard it.
Can you hear me? I need.
Help. I froze.
The voice was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness
like a blade. It wasn't frantic or scared.
If anything, it sounded flat, practiced, like someone reading
lines off a script. I swung my flashlight toward the
sound, but all it caught were trees.
Can you hear me? I need help.
The same words, the same tone. No variation, no urgency.
I clicked off the flashlight, suddenly aware of how exposed I
was. The dark closed around me like a
fist, and my heart thudded hard enough to hurt.
I crouched low, gripping Luna's collar to keep her from barking.
But she wasn't barking. She was growling, a deep,
guttural sound I'd never heard from her before.
Luna. I whispered, trying to pull her
back. She didn't move.
Her eyes were locked on the trees, her teeth bared, the
growl rumbling in her chest like distant Thunder.
I followed her gaze, but the shadows gave nothing away.
The voice came again, closer now.
Can you hear me? I need help.
I felt a spike of panic shoot through me.
My first thought was someone was hurt, lost in the woods.
But there was something wrong, something about the way the
voice didn't carry like it should have.
It was too even too measured, as if whoever was speaking wasn't
really speaking at all. Luna broke away from my grip and
bolted toward the sound. No, I hissed, scrambling after
her, my flashlight swinging wildly.
The beam caught her for a split second, a blur of black and tan
fur disappearing into the underbrush.
The voice called again, louder this time, the monotone cutting
through my panic like a razor. Luna.
I called, my voice shaking. The forest answered with
silence. Then it laughed, low and
guttural. The sound rippled through the
trees. My skin prickled and my knees
locked. It wasn't a human laugh.
It couldn't be. It was too deep, too wrong, like
the growl of an animal that had learned how to mimic us.
I turned and ran. Branches clawed at my arms and
legs as I crashed through the underbrush, the flashlight beam
bobbing wildly ahead of me. The laugh followed, rising and
falling, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
My lungs burned, but I didn't dare slow down.
Images filled my mind, something crouching in the dark, grinning
wide enough to split its face, watching me run.
When I finally burst out of the woods and into the clearing, I
didn't stop. The cabin was Insight, the porch
light glowing faintly through the dark.
I stumbled up the steps and slammed the door behind me, my
chest heaving, my ears straining for any sound beyond the walls.
Luna was on the porch, waiting, her fur bristling.
She stared at the woods, growling low and steady, her
eyes fixed on something I couldn't see.
That night, the forest was silent, too silent, and I knew
deep down that silence wasn't the absence of sound.
It was the sound of something watching, something waiting.
By the time I slammed the cabin door behind me, my legs were
shaking so badly I could barely stand.
Luna followed me in, her tail tucked and her eyes still fixed
on the woods outside. She growled low in her throat, a
sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Whatever was out there, she'd seen it.
I hadn't, and maybe that was worse.
What the hell is going on? My brother Nate came stomping
out of his room, barefoot and holding a wrench he must have
grabbed in a hurry. He froze when he saw me, out of
breath and wild eyed. You look like you've seen a
ghost. I don't know what it was.
I said, gasping for air. I couldn't bring myself to
explain right away, not with my chest still tight and my ears
ringing from the run. Something in the woods I I heard
someone. And Luna, she just ran off.
Nate's expression hardened. He wasn't the type to scare
easy, and I could tell he thought I was overreacting.
Still, he pulled the curtains shut and turned the lock on the
door. Calm down, he said.
Start from the beginning. I tried to.
I told him about the voice, the way it sounded too wrong, about
the laughter that didn't belong to anything human.
Nate listened, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his
face unreadable. When I finished, he shook his
head. You sure it wasn't a coyote?
They can make some freaky noises, He said, but his voice
lacked conviction, and I could see him glancing at the window
just like I had. I know what coyotes sound like,
Nate. I snapped, still shaking.
This wasn't an animal, this was something else.
Before he could argue, there was a noise outside, a soft,
deliberate tapping on the window by the front door.
Luna stiffened and let out a deep, throaty growl.
Her body coiled like a spring. Nate froze and we both stared at
the window. The curtains were drawn tight,
but the tapping continued, steady and unhurried.
What the hell? Nate muttered under his breath.
He grabbed the shotgun from its rack by the door and held it at
the ready. The tapping stopped.
We stood there, holding our breath, waiting for it to come
back. But it didn't.
Instead, the silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural, like the
air before a storm. I felt a bead of sweat slide
down my temple. Luna broke the quiet with a
sharp bark, her attention snapping toward the back wall.
That's when the scratching started.
It came from the other side of the cabin, long, deliberate
drags against the wood, as if someone were running a claw or a
knife along the exterior. Nate's face darkened.
He raised the shotgun and gestured for me to stay behind
him. Slowly, we moved toward the back
door, Luna close on our heels. The scratching stopped as
suddenly as it had begun. Nate yanked open the door and
stepped out onto the back porch, the shotgun raised.
I followed, my flashlight trembling in my grip.
The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the yard and the
forest beyond. Nothing.
Just the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the moonlight
casting jagged shadows on the ground.
See anything? I whispered.
No, Nate said, his voice tight. He lowered the shotgun and
scanned the tree line. Whatever it was, it's gone.
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe it was all
in my head, some cruel trick of the night.
But then I saw them. Three long parallel gouges
carved into the wooden post by the porch steps.
They were fresh, the splinter still pale and raw against the
aged wood. Nate.
I said, pointing. He followed my gaze and his jaw
clenched. We're going inside.
He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The rest of the night was a blur of restless waiting.
We sat in the living room with the shotgun propped against
Nate's knee. Luna curled at my feet, her ears
twitching at every sound. I thought the worst of it was
over. I thought whatever it was had
moved on. But when dawn broke, the world
outside felt wrong. The air was too still, the
forest too quiet. There was no chirping of birds,
no rustling of leaves, just an oppressive, watchful silence.
Nate insisted we go check the trail, though every instinct in
my body screamed to stay away. Armed with the shotgun and a
crowbar, we retraced my path from the night before.
The further we went, the heavier the air seemed to get, like the
woods themselves were holding their breath.
We found the spot where I'd first heard the voice.
The underbrush was trampled and there were scratches on the
trees. Deep, jagged marks that couldn't
have been made by any animal I knew of.
Then we found something worse. Near the bend in the trail was a
patch of ground where the vegetation had withered and
died, leaving behind a blackened, brittle circle.
In the middle of it was a small totem, a crude bundle of sticks
bound together with a strip of leather, with a piece of bone
tied to the top. The sight of it sent a shiver
down my back. It didn't belong there.
Nothing about it did. Some sick joke, Nate muttered,
bending down to pick it up. Don't touch it, I said, my voice
sharp. But he didn't listen.
He snapped it in half and tossed the pieces into the bushes.
Let's go, he said, turning back toward the cabin.
Whatever's out here, we're not giving it the satisfaction.
I didn't argue, but as we walked back, I couldn't shake the
feeling that we'd made a mistake.
The woods seem darker now, the shadows longer, as if they were
creeping closer. I didn't say anything to Nate,
but I knew he felt it, too. I could see it in the way he
tightened his grip on the shotgun, his eyes darting toward
the trees. That night, the scratching came
back, louder this time, more insistent, and I knew deep down
that whatever was out there wasn't going to stop.
Not until it got what it wanted. By the time the sun dipped below
the horizon, I was already on edge.
The whole day had been wrong. The silence, the shadows
creeping across the yard, the feeling that every time I turned
around, something would be there, watching.
Nate hadn't said much since we got back from the trail.
He didn't need to. The tension in his shoulders
said it all. We locked every door and window
in the cabin. Even though deep down I knew it
wouldn't matter, whatever was out there didn't care about
locks. Luna stayed glued to my side,
pacing restlessly, her ears twitching at sounds I couldn't
hear. She'd growl softly every now and
then, her gaze fixed on the windows.
Nate sat at the table, the shotgun loaded and ready.
He hadn't touched his dinner, and neither had I.
The cabin felt smaller than usual, like the walls were
closing in. Then the first tap came.
It was soft, almost polite, like someone knocking on the front
door. We froze.
Luna let out a low growl, her hackles raised.
Nate stood slowly, shotgun in hand, and gestured for me to
stay put. I didn't argue.
The tap came again, louder this time, as if whoever or whatever
was outside was testing our nerves.
Nate moved to the door and peeked through the curtain.
His shoulders stiffened. What is it?
I whispered. He didn't answer right away.
He stepped back from the door, his face pale.
There's nothing there, He said finally, but his voice was
tight, too tight. The tapping stopped.
For a moment, the silence returned, thicker and heavier
than before. Then the scratching began.
It came from the side of the cabin, long, deliberate strokes
against the wood, like claws dragging across the walls.
Luna barked sharply, the sound slicing through the tension like
a knife. Nate swore under his breath and
motioned for me to follow him to the back door.
I'm not waiting for this thing to come inside.
He muttered. We're leaving.
What if it's waiting out there? I asked, my voice shaking.
I hated how scared I sounded, but I couldn't help it.
My gut told me we weren't safe anywhere.
Not in the cabin, not in the yard, not in the truck.
Nate didn't answer. He opened the back door a crack
and looked out. The scratching stopped.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
Then a low, guttural laugh rippled through the air.
It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Get to the truck, Nate said, his voice barely more than a whisper
now. We made it as far as the porch
steps before we saw the trees. The forest had moved.
I know how that sounds, but there's no other way to describe
it. The tree line, which had always
been a good 30. Feet from the edge of the yard
was now just a few paces away. The trees loomed tall and
menacing, their branches swaying without a breeze.
I could feel them watching us, even though I knew that was
impossible. Get in the truck, Nate repeated,
shoving me forward. He climbed in behind me,
slamming the door shut, and jammed the keys into the
ignition. The engine sputtered, but didn't
start. He tried again.
Nothing. Come on, he growled, hitting the
steering wheel. The laugh came again, louder
this time, echoing around us. It felt like it was inside the
truck, curling into every corner.
I looked out the window and froze.
Shadows moved between the trees, tall, spindly shapes that didn't
walk so much as glide. Their eyes caught the moonlight,
glowing faintly, like embers in the dark.
One of them stepped closer, and I realized it wasn't a shadow at
all. It was something else, something
wrong. Its limbs were too long, its
movements too smooth, and its grin was too wide.
Get out of the truck. Nate said suddenly, his voice
sharp. We'll make a run for it.
Run where? I asked, my voice rising.
It's everywhere. Before he could respond, Luna
started barking wildly. She clawed at the truck door,
desperate to get out. I grabbed her collar, but she
pulled free and bolted into the yard.
Luna. I screamed, fumbling with the
door handle. Nate grabbed my arm.
Don't, he said. It's what it wants.
But I couldn't just leave her. I yanked the door open and ran
after her, the cold air biting at my face.
Luna stopped at the edge of the yard, barking at the trees.
I grabbed her collar and turned to run back.
But the truck was gone. No, not gone.
Hidden. The forest had swallowed it, the
trees twisting and crowding together like a wall.
I spun around, my heart pounding, and saw Nate standing
where the porch had been. Only now the cabin wasn't there.
It was just him, the shotgun clutched.
In his hands, surrounded by trees, the laugh came again,
louder and closer. The shadows moved, circling us,
their eyes glowing brighter. Nate raised the shotgun, aiming
into the dark. Stay behind me.
He said. Before I could argue, one of the
shadows lunged. The blast of the shotgun lit up
the night for a split second, and I saw it clearly.
Its hollow eyes, its impossibly wide grin, its two long arms
reaching for. Us.
And then it was gone. The woods were silent again.
Nate grabbed my arm, dragging me back toward what used to be the
yard. The totem, I remembered the
totem he'd snapped in half earlier.
My gut told me it wasn't just some weird decoration.
It was a warning, or maybe a seal.
We have to burn it, I said. What, the totem?
I shouted. We have to burn the pieces.
Nate didn't argue. We scrambled back to the spot
where he'd tossed the broken pieces and piled them together.
He handed me his lighter, and my hands shook as I flicked it to
life. The flames caught quickly,
climbing higher than they should have, casting strange shadows on
the trees. The laugh faded.
The glowing eyes disappeared and the forest slowly began to
retreat. We stood there in silence,
watching as the fire burned itself out.
I wanted to believe it was over, but I could feel it.
Something still out there, just beyond the.
Trees. Whatever we'd done, whatever
we'd disturbed, it wasn't finished with us.
Not yet. Be careful when going into the
woods. You never know what you will
encounter.