It was supposed to be a nice break from the real world, a
getaway to my cabin in the mountains for a few days to
collect myself. After the awful past few months.
I bought my property from some old miners who had run the
mountain dry. The cabin they had built only
needed some minor improvements, and the remains of their
fruitless minds made for some cool features to show friends.
The big mine near the cabin couldn't even be called a mine,
as they had essentially blown open the entrance to a cave wide
enough to get tools inside. The night before I was going to
head back, the largest rainstorm in a century hit.
All roads leading back to civilization were flooded, and
there was no chance my crappy car could hope to make it
through. I wasn't too upset about it,
just thankful I still had enough food to last me another few
days. The truly awful part was that
the shoddy power system I made had gone out and my phone had
died long ago. I needed to wait a while for the
solar panels to charge, so I decided to make the best out of
a bad situation. The rain had made the woods
truly beautiful, and I still had around a dozen Polaroids to use
in my camera. The walk was truly amazing.
The rain had made the green in the forest even more vibrant and
the canopy had provided enough cover that I wasn't soaking wet.
The only problem I ran into was the insane amount of broken
branches on the trail. I knew the storm had been bad,
but in my years of owning this cabin, I had never seen this
amount of clutter pile up in such a short time.
I had no idea how so many branches below the canopy had
broken. I had been walking for a few
hours before it started to get dark and I decided to head back.
I suddenly came up with the bright idea to take a photo of
myself to commemorate the time I got rained out in the mountains.
I turned on the flash and timer, setting my camera down on a
nearby rock, and backed up a few feet.
The only thing I heard before hitting the ground was the crack
of wood splitting. Something had hit me in the head
hard. Still dazed, I tried to figure
out what had just happened, but whatever hit me didn't give me
the chance. It grabbed my ankle, rolling me
onto my stomach and raising my leg into the air.
There was a sudden blinding light and everything stopped.
I heard the Polaroid eject from the camera and softly land on
the ground. I laid there for a minute,
praying for the ringing in my head to subside.
It took me a while to wrench my ankle free from the thing's hand
and sit up. The person, monster, whatever it
was, was just standing there frozen.
After the ringing in my head started to go away, I finally
started to comprehend what I was looking at.
It looked like a human, but the proportions were all wrong.
It was too skinny, to the point where I could see every rib,
bone, and tendon. The skin was taut, Gray, and
wet. One hand was open, palm facing
towards the camera, as if it was trying pointlessly to hide its
face, if you could call it a face.
Its head looked mangled, dented, and bumpy, as if a child had
tried to mold a human skull out of clay.
The eyes were the only part that resembled a human, although they
looked empty. Somehow the monstrosity had a
piece of my calf between its pointed teeth.
I had no idea what this thing was, but I figured that the
flash from the camera had somehow stunned it.
I got up to grab the camera, but the pain from my leg shot
through me. I had to grab a stick off the
ground to balance on. As I stumbled to the rock, I saw
out of the corner of my eye that it was moving.
It was so slow that I could barely tell, but its
outstretched hand was definitely moving towards the camera.
I wasn't about to let it destroy the only way I could defend
myself. Pushing myself through the pane,
I grabbed the camera and started back along the trail towards my
cabin. If I could only make it back
there, I had some old hunting gear that could maybe kill it.
I don't know how long I had been walking.
My bad leg and the cluttered trail made it painfully slow to
traverse, and I tripped any time I tried to speed up.
I counted 4 remaining polaroids, but I was more concerned about
the flash. I needed to make sure nothing
damaged it or I would be as good as dead.
I noticed some landmarks saying. I was about halfway back to my
cabin when I heard the branches breaking behind me.
I ducked off to the side of the trail and looked up at the
trees. I saw a dark shape swing past
me, moving faster than I could comprehend.
It only made it a couple yards past me before it stopped,
crouched up on a branch, searching, searching for me.
I readied my camera, pointing it at the creature in case it leapt
at me. We stayed like that for some
time, so long that it got dark enough I could barely see it.
The rain clouds had covered up the moon, drowning the woods in
oppressive darkness. I would have had no idea it was
there had it not been for the faint glow from its eyes
replacing the emptiness I had seen in them before.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when it finally left, clambering
onto other branches. I waited for a minute, making
sure it was gone before stepping back onto the trail.
I had taken a few steps when I heard something drop behind me.
I turned as fast as I could, Polaroid ready, and took another
photo. It was just a stray branch,
broken by the storm. I breathed a sigh of relief
before realizing how grievous this mistake was.
I had just told the creature exactly where I was.
I tried to run down the path, but I could already hear the
approach of cracking wood. I backed up against a tree,
aiming my Polaroid up in preparation.
It landed on a branch above me, crawling down the opposite side
of the tree to stay out of sight.
I crawled away, but it was too fast.
Grabbing me by the shoulder, I managed to turn and point the
camera, barely getting a photo off.
I heard the Polaroid shoot from the camera and fall to the
ground. I had to use all of my strength
to pry its gangly fingers open. I turned to see the creature
staring me in the eye, its bloody mouth open in a scream.
I could already see it starting to move again.
It wouldn't stay frozen for as long as it did last time.
Not wasting any time, I started back on the trail.
I was freezing cold and drenched to the bone.
The remaining energy I had was fading fast.
I made out enough landmarks to know I was close to my cabin.
A little less than 1/4 of the trail was left before I made it.
I hadn't heard any signs of the monster, but I figured it was
freed from whatever shock the flash had put it in.
It wasn't long until I could reach my cabin, but if I kept
pushing like this I would trip and roll down the side of the
mountain. I decided to sit underneath a
short tree a few feet off the trail, making sure to hide
myself underneath the leaves as best I could.
I rested my head against the bark, catching my breath.
Using my brake, I checked on my leg only to find it a bloody
mess. I put my camera in my coat
pocket as I tore apart my pants to make a makeshift bandage.
When I lifted my head, I saw the faint glow of a pair of eyes
staring at me. It was following me silently
this time, just watching. As quickly as I could, I reached
for the Polaroid and took a photo.
I saw the blinding light and heard the gears push the
Polaroid to the ground, but when my eyes adjusted, I saw nothing
but trees. It had moved out of the way.
The creature leapt at me from behind, not about to give me the
chance to get away again. It pinned me down, holding me
with a force I had no idea it was capable of.
I stared at it, waiting for it to bite into my neck and tear
out what remaining life I had left.
Before I could come up with a way out, it grabbed my face and
forced my head down onto the ground.
Everything went black. I woke up to the rough coldness
of stone. I slowly sat up, feeling the
back of my badly bruised and bleeding head.
It was pitch black. I couldn't see my hands in front
of my eyes. I stretched out my hands,
feeling the coarse rock that surrounded me until my hand
drifted to a warm puddle, following the liquid to its
source. I felt coarse hair.
It was a dead deer. I felt next to it, finding
another dead animal, slowly discovering an ever growing pile
of animal corpses, all with their skulls caved in.
That creature had brought me back to its den.
Did it think I was dead? I reached into my coat pocket
and let out a sigh of relief when I felt the familiar plastic
of my camera. That relief suddenly turned into
terror as I heard scratching coming from somewhere to my
right. It must have heard me.
I only saw one way out of this. I climbed into the pile of
bodies, covering myself with organs and small animals.
I heard the creature turn a corner, pacing around the room
as it searched for me. The cover I made must have been
good as I heard it walk past me. The sounds of it walking slowly
dwindled until I heard nothing. Moving as quietly as possible, I
slid out from under the pile of corpses I made, walking towards
where I heard the monster enter. My progress was slow, but I kept
quiet and hoped I had picked the right way to go.
Just when I was about to give up and turn around, I felt hope.
A breeze. I followed the breeze out,
crawling through tunnels and shimmying through corridors
until I could see the faint outline of an entrance.
I leapt out of The Cave, allowing myself to fully breathe
for the first time in forever. Collecting myself, I searched
around the outside of The Cave for some kind of landmark to
tell me where I was. I then saw a faint light to my
right. It was my cabin.
Whatever this monster was, it had brought me to the old cave
near my cabin. It was pitch black out now, the
rain still coming down hard. Thinking of the best course of
action, I heard an ear splitting scream come from somewhere deep
in The Cave. It already knew I had made it
out. I limped towards my cabin as
fast as I could, throwing open the door and locking it behind
me. The power had come back on while
I was out being chased and I wasted no time making sure every
door and window was locked or covered.
I was lucky the old miners only built one tiny window at the
front of the cabin. I scrambled to find where I had
left my phone, only to remember it was out of battery.
I plugged it in, realizing I needed to wait until it was
charged before I could leave. I wasn't getting through the
storm in my car, so all I could hope for was to get far enough
to reach a signal and call for help.
Remembering my hunting equipment, I got out my rifle
and some rusty foothold traps. I set the traps up at every door
and a few spots in the cabin. The only thing to do now was
wait for it. I lit a fire in the meantime,
letting the warmth soak into my bones and harden my resolve to
survive. It didn't take too long to hear
scuttling along the outside of my house, going up towards the
roof. I had never been gladder for a
fire, knowing it couldn't go through the chimney without
getting burned. The scuttling increased in speed
and sound, as if the creature was getting frustrated it
couldn't find a way in. It then started pounding on the
doors, running between them, testing which one would give in
first. I shot at the doors until my
ears were ringing and my shoulder was numb, but the thing
never stopped. I heard a crash as the window at
the front broke, the monster's elongated arm reaching through
and flailing around in an attempt to grab me.
A few shots from my gun dissuaded it, but then it
decided to make its own entrance.
Using what I could only imagine to be a large rock, the thing
relentlessly beat on a wall until the wood started to split.
No matter how many shots I put through that wall, it wouldn't
stop breaking it down. I was frozen there, trying to
think of a way out of fighting, something I couldn't kill or
trap, but it was already too late.
The monster crashed through the wall, immediately rushing me and
hitting me across the room. I sat there, the wind knocked
out of me, watching as it approached.
It knew it had me. No matter how many foothold
traps it stepped in, it never slowed its approach.
I wanted to save it in case I had to make a run for my car,
but I had to use it now. I pulled out the camera, aiming
it at the monster, and took a photo as it started to run,
trying to stop me before I could press the shutter.
I heard the gears grind and the Polaroid dropped to the ground,
but I closed my eyes when I realized it.
The flash didn't go off. I was about to die.
I don't know when it happened, but my camera must have been
damaged. It's probably toying with me
now, waiting for me to open my eyes so it could make me watch
as it devours me. But there was only silence.
I finally opened my eyes. Its hand was only a foot away,
reaching for the camera. It was frozen.
I looked into its eyes, but something was wrong.
That haunting glow was gone. All I saw was that familiar
emptiness I had seen when it first attacked me.
Confused, I dropped my camera and scrambled around it, going
for the door. Something stopped me, and I
looked back at the creature, seeing its hand slowly starting
to move. I thought it was reaching for
the camera, but it was going for the Polaroid.
I cautiously approached, grabbing the Polaroid before the
creature could. I expected the photo to look
normal, but I instead saw a Gray haze in the rough shape of the
monstrosity standing before me. The haze in the photo looked as
if it was moving, writhing around as if trying to escape.
Taking the photo had ripped it out of the monster, and it
wanted to go back. I knew what I had to do.
I limped to the fireplace and tossed the photo in.
The creature immediately started to scream.
I imagine it would have deafened me if shooting the gun hadn't
already. It dropped to its knees, its
pale skin bubbling and bursting. It crawled towards the
fireplace, using the last of its fleeting strength to fight
against the burning agony it was in.
In the end, it was too slow. By the time the Polaroid was
ashes, the creature was only a pile of misshapen bones.
I grabbed my phone and car keys. I drove it as far as I could,
but the shitty thing got stuck in the mud a few miles out from
the nearest town. I managed to limp the rest of
the way, pushing myself with energy I didn't know I had.
I'm writing this in the home of a kind stranger as they try to
call the police, but they can't get out here due to the storm.
I should be able to upload this account with the little signal I
can get. I'm realizing now that I should
have stayed in my cabin, as all I've done is sentence another
poor person to die. I see their eyes out in the tree
line, dozens of glimmers as they stare at me, curious, waiting,
watching. I don't know if taking photos
with my phone will work. Even if it does, there's no way
I can stop them all. I'm posting this as a warning.
Stay out of the mountains. The headlights cut through the
pitch Black Forest, illuminating gnarled branches that stretched
out like skeletal hands. We finally pulled up to the
cabin, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.
The air was thick and heavy, almost as if the forest itself
was closing in on us. I shook my head, trying to brush
off the feeling. It had been a long drive, and I
was tired. Maybe I was just imagining
things. Mom and Dad were clearly
exhausted too. They weren't arguing, but the
tension between them was palpable.
Eric, my little brother, was half asleep in the back seat.
I nudged him gently. We're here.
I whispered, not wanting to break the stillness of the
night. He groaned, rubbing his eyes and
slowly getting out of the car. The cabin looked nicer than I
had expected. It was modern, but still had
that rustic charm that fit well with the surrounding wilderness.
It was supposed to be a luxurious retreat, but something
about it felt different. The dark windows reflected our
headlights, almost giving the impression that the cabin was
watching us. I shivered, trying to shake off
the sensation. I was just being paranoid.
After unpacking, I made my way up to the loft that would be my
room for the week. It was cozy, with log styled
furniture and a large window that looked out into the woods.
The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting strange
twisting shadows across the floor.
I dropped my bags on the bed and walked over to the window,
gazing out at the dense forest. There was something undeniably
beautiful about it, but also something unnerving, like it was
hiding secrets just beyond my sight.
As I turned away, something caught my eye.
A small door, almost perfectly blended into the wall.
It was positioned low, almost at floor level, with an old brass
lock. The metal looked aged and
tarnished out of place in the otherwise updated room.
I knelt down, tracing my fingers over the lock.
It felt cold and heavy, and I couldn't help but wonder what
was behind that door. But then the sensation of being
watched suddenly returned, stronger this time.
My heart pounded in my chest and I quickly pulled my hand away.
Standing up, I laughed nervously to myself.
Get a grip. I muttered.
It was just a door. The rest of the evening passed
in a blur. We had a late dinner, but the
unease never really left me. Even as we sat together, trying
to relax, the atmosphere felt off.
The cabin seemed too quiet, and our laughter felt forced.
I couldn't fight the feeling that we weren't alone, that
something or someone was watching us from the shadows
just beyond the windows. The next morning, I woke up
early. The sunlight barely pierced
through the thick canopy outside, but it was enough to
make me feel a little better. The air felt lighter, but the
unease from the previous night still lingered.
I decided to go for a walk, hoping that some fresh air would
help clear my head. The trail behind the cabin LED
deep into the woods. The trees grew denser the
further I went, and the sunlight struggled to breakthrough,
casting everything in a dim, greenish glow.
The silence was almost unnatural.
No birds, no rustling leaves, just the sound of my footsteps
crunching on the path. With every step, the sense of
being watched returned stronger than before.
Eventually, I stumbled upon a small abandoned shed.
It looked like it had been there for decades, the wood rotting
and covered in Moss. I hesitated, my eyes drawn to a
rusted metal hatch on the ground, partially open.
There were fresh drag marks leading into the darkness below,
and a chill ran down my neck. Something about it felt wrong,
like I was standing on the edge of a secret I wasn't meant to
uncover. My heart pounded, and I quickly
turned back toward the cabin, the urge to run almost
overwhelming. Later that day, while exploring
the grounds near the cabin, I found something strange.
A key half buried in the dirt near the tree line.
It was old, with a Talon like trinket attached to it.
The texture felt almost like bone and it sent a shiver
through me. But my curiosity outweighed my
fear and I slipped it into my pocket, telling myself it was
just a key, nothing more. That evening boredom got the
best of me. The strange door in my loft
seemed to call to me, and I couldn't resist.
I pulled out the key, my hands trembling slightly as I inserted
it into the brass lock. It fit perfectly, and with a
click, the door creaked open, revealing a cramped, dusty space
filled with old VHS tapes. Unease settled in my gut as I
stared at them, but I couldn't stop myself.
I picked up a tape and slid it into the outdated TV in the
corner of the loft. The footage was shaky, showing
strangers in their homes completely unaware they were
being filmed. My discomfort grew with each
scene. The shots were long lingering
families eating dinner, children playing, people sleeping.
Whoever filmed this had been watching them invading their
lives without their knowledge. The final tape was the worst.
A terrified woman, gagged and bound with an inhuman creature
standing over her, offering her a dismembered limb.
My stomach churned and I quickly ejected the tape, my hands
shaking. Something monstrous had been
here, and maybe it still was. And whatever it was, it was
watching us. The next morning, the cabin was
eerily quiet. I woke up to find Mom and Dad
gone, their bed made untouched. Panic began to build in my
chest. Mom, Dad.
I called out, my voice echoing through the empty rooms.
No answer. Eric was sprawled on the couch,
his eyes glued to his handheld gaming console.
Where are mom and dad? I asked, trying to keep my voice
steady. He shrugged, not even looking
up. They went for a walk, I think.
I don't know. Hours passed, and they still
hadn't returned. The sun began to dip below the
treetops, casting long shadows across the cabin.
I couldn't just sit there anymore.
Eric. I said, trying to sound calm.
Get your shoes on, we're going to town.
He looked at me like I was crazy, but he didn't argue.
He must have seen the fear in my eyes.
The drive to town felt longer than it had the first time.
The trees pressed in from either side of the road, the sky
turning a deep, bruised purple. My heart pounded in my ears,
something deep inside me telling me that something was wrong.
When we finally reached town, it was unsettlingly quiet.
A few people were milling about, but they watched us with
strange, blank expressions. I rolled down the window,
calling out to a man standing by the gas pump.
Excuse me, do you know if there's a police station here?
He just stared at me, his face expressionless.
He shook his head slowly, then turned away without a word.
A shiver ran down my back, and I glanced at Eric, who was staring
at the man with wide eyes. What's his problem?
He whispered, but I didn't have an answer.
With no help to be found, we returned to the cabin.
The sun had disappeared entirely, leaving only the faint
glow of twilight. The forest seemed alive, every
rustle of leaves making my nerves fray even further.
Back at the cabin, I left Eric in the living room, his game
providing a distraction that I was almost grateful for.
I needed to do something. I grabbed a flashlight from
under the sink, my fingers brushing against the cold metal
of a kitchen knife. I hesitated, then took it.
I stepped outside, the night air biting into my skin.
The forest trail loomed before me, darker and more sinister
than it had been earlier. Every instinct told me not to
go, but I had to find them. I had to know.
The path seemed to stretch on forever, the flashlight barely
piercing the darkness. The silence pressed in around
me, a living thing. When I finally reached the shed,
my heart sank. The Hatch was now closed, deep
scratches marking the rusted metal.
My hands shook as I pulled the key from my pocket, the trinket
cold against my skin. I hesitated, my breath catching,
and then unlocked the Hatch. The smell hit me immediately, a
foul mix of decay and something metallic.
I gagged, but forced myself to lower down the ladder, the
flashlight flickering in the darkness.
Mom. My voice was barely a whisper.
I heard a faint noise, a soft, broken SOB.
I swung the flashlight around, my heart pounding as I saw her,
my mother, bound in the far corner, her eyes wide with
terror. We have to leave now, she
whispered, her voice cracking. I rushed over, fumbling with the
ropes. Where's Dad?
I asked, my voice trembling. Tears filled her eyes.
It took him, she whispered. It's still here.
A sound echoed through the chamber, the scrape of claws
against concrete, a ragged breath that wasn't human.
My blood ran cold. We had to get out now.
The scraping noise grew louder, getting closer with every
second. We reached the base of the
ladder, and I shoved the flashlight into my mouth,
climbing as fast as I could. I could hear Mom struggling
below, her gasps growing frantic.
I looked down, my heart stopping at the sight of the creature.
A tall, gaunt figure, pale skin stretched tight over its bones.
It's sunken eyes locked onto mine.
It smiled, a twisted grin full of sharp, jagged teeth.
It was climbing after us. Mom.
Faster. I tried to shout, but the
flashlight muffled my voice. Panic clawed at me as I
scrambled up, my hands aching, my entire body trembling.
The creature was too close. I could feel the chill radiating
off it, the rancid smell of decay overwhelming me.
I reached the top and threw the flashlight aside, reaching down
for Mom. She was almost there, her eyes
wide with terror. I grabbed her arms and pulled
with everything I had, her feet slipping off the rungs just as
the creature's hand reached for her ankle.
With one final effort, I hauled her out, both of us collapsing
onto the ground. The creature let out an ear
splitting scream and I slammed the Hatch shut, severing the tip
of one of its fingers. It screamed again, and I locked
the Hatch, my hands trembling. We sat there, panting, the night
air cold against my sweat soaked skin.
The creature's screams were muffled now, echoing from
beneath the earth. My mother was crying, her
shoulders shaking as she leaned against me.
I wrapped my arms around her, tears spilling down my face.
We were alive, but we couldn't stay here.
The cabin, the woods, it wasn't safe.
I helped mom to her feet and we stumbled back to the cabin,
every shadow seeming to move, every branch a threat.
We reached the cabin and I burst through the door, locking it
behind us. Eric looked up, eyes wide.
What happened? He asked, fear in his voice.
We need to leave now. I said, my voice hoarse.
There was no time to explain. Whatever that thing was, it
wouldn't stay trapped for long. We had to go.
Eric grabbed his things and I help mom into the SUV.
The engine roared to life and I slammed my foot on the gas, the
tires skidding on the gravel as we speed away from the cabin.
I didn't look back. The forest was a blur, the
darkness pressing in as we raced down the winding Rd.
My heart raced, feeling the tension radiate through my
entire body. Sitting in the SUV, the memory
of that creature, its eyes, its smile, burned into my mind.
We had escaped, but we weren't safe, not yet, and maybe we
never would be. The cabin had been a trap, the
woods a nightmare, and whatever evil lurked there wasn't done
with us. As we drove away, the oppressive
weight of the forest began to lift, but the fear remained.
We were alive, but for how long? And what else was still out
there, waiting in the darkness? The 4th of July was supposed to
be a day of fun and freedom, filled with laughter and
friends. But even as we planned our
celebration, an unsettling feeling crept in, a dark
premonition that hinted at something wrong, something that
would haunt me forever. My friends.
Sam, Tom, Ryan and his sister Lily and I decided to break free
from our usual routines and spend the holiday at Sam's
grandparents old farmhouse, tucked away in a remote corner
of Texas. It was surrounded by dense
forests and vast fields, providing the perfect setting
for fireworks and, frankly, a bit of freedom from the watchful
eyes of neighbors. As we arrived in the blazing
afternoon sun, the house stood there almost as if it were
waiting for us, its peeling paint and sagging porch adding
to the charm Sam had promised but also hinting at years of
neglect. I could feel its age and the
memories trapped inside. An eerie calm settled over the
place, the kind that beckoned excitement and unease in equal
measure. I figured it was just the
isolation far from the bustle of the city, adding a tinge of
haunting to our so-called fun getaway.
Lily was the first to dash off to a nearby store to grab
supplies for the evening while the rest of us settled into our
poolside chairs, the heat of the sun pressing against our skin,
the faint rustle of leaves mixed with the distant hum of insects,
creating an almost hypnotic calm.
I could feel the warm breeze carrying the scent of dry grass
and chlorine, and as we relaxed, I noticed the uneasy stillness
in the air, as if the surrounding forest was watching
us. The sun glistened on the water,
a stark contrast to the growing shadow of trees behind us.
We joked about the typical holiday festivities and
discussed fireworks, our laughter bouncing off the
stillness of the woods. It was the kind of laughter that
spoke of familiarity, comfort, and a hint of excitement for
what lay ahead. As the minutes ticked by, I
found myself glancing toward the tree line, a nagging feeling
pulling at my gut. At first, I dismissed it,
attributing my discomfort to the atmosphere.
Just a trick of the light, I thought.
But then I saw it. Movement.
A shadow flickered at the edge of the forest, shrouded by the
dense foliage. Did you see that?
I said, attempting to hide the tremor in my voice.
Tom chuckled. Relax, man, it's probably Lily
trying to scare us. You know she loves that stuff.
Sam and Ryan chimed in, laughing.
After all, that was our Lily. Playful, always with a knack for
mischief. But as the seconds passed and I
noticed the figure linger, unease washed over me again.
This thing wasn't moving like a person.
It swayed in jerky movements. That felt wrong, something about
it striking a primal fear deep within me.
Guys, seriously, look. I insisted, pointing now.
They turned their gazes toward the trees, and when Sam squinted
into the distance, his laughter faded into a frown.
Uh, Lily's still at the store, right?
He asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Ryan answered. Yeah, she left right after we
got here. Why?
The figure grew bolder, stepping into the faint light.
My heart dropped, and I got chills as a sense of horror
overwhelmed me. It was the kind of fear that
paralyzed you that made your instincts scream without any
rational explanation. We stared, frozen.
What emerged from the shadows was a grotesque imitation of
Lily, too tall and angular, with elongated limbs that bent at
unnatural angles, an abomination clothed in what looked like her
sun dress. Its face was a twisted mockery
of hers, eyes sunken deep into hollow sockets, and its skin
hung loosely, almost as if it had been stretched to fit.
The eerie mimicry of her features was not quite right,
eyes sunken and skin pallid. It swayed unnaturally, one arm
raised as if to wave, but the motion was stilted, as if it
were a puppet lacking a proper string.
Guise, I whispered, that's not Lily.
The stench hit us then, an overwhelming rotting odour that
seeped through the air, making my stomach churn.
Tom gagged, covering his nose with his hand while Ryan
stumbled back, his face twisted in disgust.
Sam's eyes watered as he muttered a curse under his
breath, all of us reeling from the putrid smell that seemed to
claw its way into our lungs. The screamed mimicry that echoed
through the trees wasn't human, It was pained and distorted, a
horrible mockery of what once might have been laughter.
The thing let out a cry that could only be described as a
warped version of Lily calling out for us, her voice mixed with
the harrowing howl of something malicious.
Tom, get the shotgun. Sam shouted suddenly, his face
reflecting sheer panic. We scrambled back toward the
house, fear coursing through our veins, tripping over each other
in our frantic rush. I felt someone's hand shove me
forward, desperate to reach safety, while Tom stumbled,
barely catching himself. The laughter was replaced with
the pounding of our hearts, each of us fighting to stay on our
feet as panic took over. The front door slammed shut
behind us and the lock clicked into place.
I fumble for my phone, my fingers trembling as I prayed
for a signal. There was none.
We were completely isolated, and the reality of how alone we were
hit me harder than anything else.
What kind of help could we summon from so far away?
With trembling hands, Ryan and Sam loaded the shotgun as Tom
kept an eye on the window. My mind raced, each thought a
jumble working against the speeding clock of dread.
What? What is that?
I managed to stutter out as we huddled together near the couch.
The creature remained in the shadows, still mimicking Lily,
still screaming, its voice piercing through the night like
a wicked banshee. I shuddered, replaying its
monstrous gestures, the way it extended its limbs in unnatural
ways, like something caught between worlds.
Get out, it screamed, its voice echoing with primal rage,
demanding and taunting. Suddenly, the pounding began, a
heavy fist against the door that shook me to my core.
I pressed my back against the wall, my breath shallow.
Every instinct screamed to run, to hide, to escape this horror,
but we stayed frozen like petrified statues.
The pounding grew frantic, the mimicry louder, and I felt my
heartbeat drown under the cacophony.
Sam snapped then, his eyes darting between us with a
mixture of fear and determination.
He hesitated for a moment, his breath shaky as if wrestling
with himself, before surging forward with a wildness I didn't
comprehend. We're not going to die like
this. He stormed to the door,
wrenching it open with a defiant shout.
I screamed out. Sam.
No, he didn't listen. With the shotgun aimed, he
pulled the trigger, the blast erupting like Thunder in the
night. I watched in horror as an
explosion of sound ripped through the air, and then
silence. The scream halted, replaced by
the echo of our breaths and the distant rustle of trees.
Did we? Ryan began, but his words
faltered, overwhelmed by the deafening quiet.
Sam stumbled back, the gun slipping from his grip.
He scanned the place where the creature had stood, his eyes
wide with disbelief. There was nothing there, only
the faint, sickly scent, tinged with decay that clung to the air
like a lingering nightmare. Let's pack up, we need to go.
I said, my voice quaking as the weight of terror enveloped us.
The farmhouse, which once felt like a getaway, now felt like a
prison. We huddled together, eyes
darting to every shadow as we hastily threw our belongings
into bags. Lily still had not returned, and
dread settled within me like a stone in my gut.
Would she come back? As each moment stretched
painfully, the once bright sun morphed into a foreboding omen
against the horizon. Finally, the sounds of tires on
gravel broke the oppressive quiet, and I felt a flicker of
hope. Sam and Ryan exchanged nervous
glances, and I could see Tom exhale sharply, his shoulders
loosening slightly as relief and anxiety battled within us.
But that flicker quickly extinguished when Lily strode
into view, her face bright with excitement, a handful of snacks
and drinks in her arms. Hey everyone, you're not going
to believe the deals I found. Her cheer echoed hollow in our
hearts. I looked at Ryan, who glanced at
Tom. Our shared fear stilled the
words in our throats as Lily laughed, her voice unfamiliar to
us. I couldn't shake the notion that
we shared the same chilling experience in our minds, the
unnamable thing that still hovered in those shadows with
its insatiable predatory instincts.
What horror had we encountered that evening?
We left the farmhouse in a somber shuffle, Lily oblivious
to the weight of our fear as she chattered about fireworks and
plans to light them. I remained lost in a discord of
dread, the echoes of that scream tearing at my sanity.
Sam leaned over to write a quick note, slipping it to me, a
warning for his grandparents not to return.
Driving down the winding dirt Rd., the oppressive forest
swallowed our retreat, shadows melding together under the
dimming sun. What the hell was that?
Ryan finally whispered, his voice heavy with disbelief.
I shook my head, gripped with an irrational fear that those
shadows might follow. We could talk about it now that
we were away, but something deep in my core told me it was better
left unsaid. The look exchanged among us said
it all, an unspoken agreement to forget the horror we'd
witnessed. But how could I forget the last
haunting scream demanding we get out?
As sleep overtook me that night, I closed my eyes, the darkness
around me flickering with memories of those unnatural
movements and frozen screams. I wished for peace, but the
chill of that figure, its grotesque imitation of life,
would forever haunt my dreams, and I was left to wonder what
truly lurked just beyond the safety of my own door.
I am the outdoorsy type with a huge liking for the rustling of
leaves in the wind, chirping of crickets and rhythm, and the
crackling of wood in a campfire under the starry night sky.
It is this year that my friends and I decided to get together
for what could only be termed as a weekend of merriment and
bonding deep within the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains
National Park, a lush sprawling forest known as much for beauty
As for the unnerving legends that surround it.
Little did I know I was about to experience something which would
have left an indelible mark on my soul.
The first day unfolded like a picture postcard.
We made our camp by a quiet lake with tall Pines and from afar,
mutterings of a brook. Then, when the night started to
set in, fire ghosts flickered in the dark where stories were
spoken, some mischievous, others surreal.
That was when Jamie, our resident storyteller, launched
into the tale of Old Man Grayson.
How he was a hermit, a recluse, an old man who'd lost his wife
many years prior and resorted to seeking the company of anyone
who chanced wandering too far off the beaten path.
The laughter he lets out is unsettling, wheezy, high
pitched. I could feel an icy tendril
creep into my gut. It was on the second night when
it all finally went downhill. We sat at the campsite with the
last embers glowing and shadows promising to pull in from
everywhere around us. Even the forest fell dead
silent. At the stroke of midnight, the
animal calls deadened and it felt as though the air itself
was on hold. That was when the rustling sound
caught my ear. I turned and shrugged off the
feeling of dread creeping down my spine.
It's probably just a raccoon. I said, trying to convince
myself more than my friends. Yet it's stuck, the cold
feeling, a shadow of sorts hanging at the back of my mind.
A little later I went to the bathroom, a kind of dug pit out
in the woods not too far away from the sight.
The moon hung low in the sky, an Arjun glow, palms painted as
ghosts of trees. The farther I walked from
comforting firelight, the darker the atmosphere closed in upon me
like a shroud. I could hardly hear my steps
against the silence, since it seemed that every snapped leaf
sounded with some portentous meaning.
I had stood at the pit and then heard it again, the rustling of
leaves from the nearby bushes, accompanied by a low, guttural
growl that raced my heart. Slowly I turned, expecting to
see nothing but blackness. Then my eyes met, the glinting
eyes staring right back at me, little illuminated by moonlight.
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
They were almost human eyes deep set with a feral wildness that
sent shivers of fear and curiosity through me at the same
time. I froze, my heart telling me to
flee but my body refusing to listen.
I had drawn backward warily as a figure now came out from behind
trees, a tall, stooping man in tattered dark clothes which
seemed to fold into the surrounding forest with an
unnatural facility sallow. His skin seemed to lean in
towards the deep shadows surrounding him.
He brought his head to one side, seeming to study me, a gnarled
finger tracing along his jawline.
Lost are we? He growled in a deep gravelly
voice. It was a sound that ran cold
down my spine. I was anything but lost.
With fear seemingly gluing me in place, I made myself talk.
My voice came out in a slight quake to respond with.
No, I'm fine, just just heading back again.
His laughter sounded out like cracking branches in the wind.
It was mad, more empty than the void of the woods embracing us.
Back to your friends then? He asked, drawing his eyebrows
in. They wouldn't want you straying
too far, you know. Not in the woods.
There are things out here. The alarm swirled in my veins,
my instincts yelling for me to run, but by now it was set well
within my mind that utterly and completely alone I was.
Where were they, my friends? Before I could utter a word, he
moved another step closer, his outline firming once more into
definition. And by the Starlight I saw a
face twisted with grief and madness, with hair as long and
uncontrollable as any animal's. And in that instant I knew he
was no sort of wild and crazed hermit, but something out of the
very stories Jamie had told. And the night was full of
portent. Something in my body yelled back
to the camp. Yet with him staring at me like
that, I stood there in sheer terror.
Stay awhile, won't you? He cooed, the jollity of ice.
I have stories too. Stories that don't ever stop.
I whirled to run, my heart juttering in my chest, and
sprinted back toward camp, the adrenaline coursing through me,
praying I wouldn't look back. I burst into our campsite,
breathless and wild eyed. It was a misunderstanding.
My friends sat around the fire, their laughter dying as they saw
my face. What's wrong?
Jamie asked, concern etched his brow.
Without waiting for a reply, I blurted out.
There's someone out there. The moment I had said it, the
terror fell from my face to be replaced by disbelief and
annoyance. Pervy old dude.
I whispered back, trying to recall exactly what had
happened, hoping it would all go by my word.
Yet deep in my brain I knew it was real fear in my voice, and
it bounced off the others too. We wanted to fob it off with our
laughter, but the unease hung heavier in the air than any joke
we could manage. But despite our attempts to
distract ourselves well into the night with more stories and
jokes, it drug and felt ever more oppressively long.
We went on watch. Every snapping twig and rustling
leaf was some specter in the darkness, each heartbeat
amplifying it, till at one point, midnight or so, we heard
it. This scratching, soft like
fingernails against the fabric of the tent.
We sat paralyzed with fear. My heart was in my throat.
It had to be the wind, I thought.
But before I could inhale again, the stench of something foul
entered my nostrils and sent me into hysterics.
Scratching grew heavier, low whispers urging and filing into
our minds, inviting us to join whatever was waiting for us out
there. Whispers drew closer, a cold
choir teasing taunts enveloped our sanctuary.
Come out, come out, we're here. I hardly breathed while the
faces of my friends went ashen, their eyes wide with terror.
In that instant, I knew that old Man Grayson was no urban myth,
but something on the other side of our thin tent, just waiting
for one of us to crack. A wild scream was just building
in my throat. I bid it off for fear of
attracting what prowled out in the darkness.
Holding on to each other, hearts pounding in unison, pierced the
silence around us like the crack of Thunder until finally, with
break of dawn, the whispers ceased and with them there was
only an eerie quiet. The seeping dread of the
previous night did not leave, but the pale sun brought along
with it a new elixir of hope. We pummeled out of our tent into
morning light, blinking the once vibrant campsite, now a
surrealist backdrop to our shared trauma.
The rest of the trip was a total blur after that.
That feeling just enveloped us that we were being watched by
eyes from inside the trees outwards while the trees look
menacingly down upon us. We packed up, shaking in fear,
and left the beauty to rush back into the safety of civilization.
I drove off, looking deep into the rear view mirror to see that
pale, haunted face peering after us from the tree line.
A twist of warning in the smile. In that second, I knew that the
Great Smoky Mountains would be left interred in my nightmares,
some cautionary tale whereby among the trees there could well
be more than beauty. Sometimes just the dark whispers
of madness and despair. The letter came on a Monday, I
remember, because it was my first day off in weeks and I was
just starting to feel like finally I could relax.
The letter itself was simple, almost to the point of being
nondescript except for the return address.
An attorney's office in Augusta, ME.
My stomach tightened when I saw it.
I knew right away who it was about.
My uncle had always been an enigma, a shadowy figure I had
no interest in. He was the one who'd driven my
father to madness, or so I'd convinced myself.
He was the reason my father took his own life.
And now, after all these years, he was reaching out from beyond
the grave, pulling me back into a past I wanted nothing to do
with. I ripped open the envelope, my
hands shaking slightly. The letter inside was formal and
detached, as if it were just another piece of business for
the attorney. My uncle was dead.
I was his next of kin. There was something left for me
in his will, and I needed to come to Augusta to claim it.
I felt the urge to throw the letter away, to pretend it had
never come. Then I saw the key.
An old brass key, heavy and cold, taped to the bottom of the
page with it too. The curiosity I had been trying
so hard to suppress came roaring back to life.
The days all bled together in indecision.
I hated my uncle, hated everything he stood for.
The last person I wanted to think about, let alone go all
the way to mainfor. But there was something about
that key, something about the mystery of it that I couldn't
let go. I found myself thinking of my
father and all those things he'd said before he died.
Flagrant little pieces of confusion that never made sense.
Maybe, just maybe, this key could unlock some of those
answers. I left Boston very early on a
Friday morning when the sky was still dark and the air was
fresh. It was going to be a very long
drive, with mile upon mile stretched out before me.
The drive was almost restful for the first couple of hours,
allowing myself to sink into the mind numbing rhythm of the road
and hum of tires against asphalt.
But once I crossed the border into Maine, the landscape
started to shift. The trees grew denser, the sky
darker, the air heavier. There dropped over me a feeling
of uneasiness, something that was heavy and oppressive,
growing with each mile that passed.
By the time I got to Augusta, I thought I was going to choke to
death. The lawyer's office was small
and plain, sandwiched between a diner and a frontage of hardware
stores. I parked, sat in the car for a
moment, and stared at the door, wondering if I should just turn
around and leave. But I couldn't.
I had come this far and I needed to see it through.
Inside, the lawyer was affable, almost too much so.
As if he could read my unease, he handed me a small box, no
larger than a shoe box and a letter.
The box was heavy. Whatever was inside shifted a
little as I took it. I opened the letter.
My eyes dropped down the page and my heart sank.
There were just coordinates, nothing more than a set of
coordinates scrawled in my uncle's scratchy handwriting,
and three words Burn it all. I looked up at the attorney, dry
mouthed. He shrugged, his face
expressionless. That's all there is, he said.
Whatever it means, it's for you to find out.
I stumbled out of the office, dazed, the box clutched tightly
in my hands. Not then did I open it.
I just couldn't bring myself to do so.
So I sat in my car, staring at the coordinates, the words
echoing in my head. Burn it all.
What had my uncle been into? What could possibly await me out
there in the middle of nowhere? I knew I had to go.
Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
I had to know. And as much as I hated my uncle,
wanted the past to stay buried, I couldn't shake this feeling
that this was something I was meant to do.
Something that, for better or worse, would change everything.
Driving to the Debsconiag Lakes Wilderness Area was like driving
through an age. The roads narrowed, the trees
thickened, and with every mile I felt myself letting go of this
world that I had so painstakingly built for myself.
Civilization gave way to the dark, brooding wasteland that
stretched in every direction to the horizon.
My uncle's coordinates were burned into my brain, and though
reason kept hitting me, telling me to turn back, my curiosity
had grown into a ravenous beast that was unwilling to be
ignored. I parked at a very old,
overgrown lot by the trailhead, and the feeling was one of
disuse for many years. The air was heavy and damp with
the smell of Moss and earth. I took a deep breath, steeled
myself, and picked up my backpack.
Inside, I had only the bare essentials.
A flashlight, water, some food, and, almost as an afterthought,
a canister of gasoline. I could almost hear my uncle's
voice. Now burn it all.
I didn't know what I might find, but I meant to be ready.
The forest was sourly quiet, save for the crunch of my
footsteps against the leaves that had fallen to the ground
and an occasional rustle of unseen creatures.
As I ventured deeper into the forest, it seemed to close in
around me. The trees began to narrow their
gaps and the branches intertwined above, forming a
canopy to shut out the sun. The little light that filtered
through was dim and ghostly, casting shifting shadows that
seemed to move just beyond the edge of my vision.
The first signs of the fungi were well nigh imperceptible,
small brain like growths nestled against the base of trees.
But the farther I walked, the more frequent and grotesque they
became. They pulsed, almost
imperceptible, as if they were alive, breathing.
The farther I walked, the stranger, the landscape seemed
to grow. Thick, bleeding mushrooms clung
to the trunks of trees, their red SAP oozing like open wounds.
I had to force myself to keep moving, to ignore the creeping
sense of dread that threatened to root me to the spot.
Something was wrong with the forest.
It was the only way to describe it.
It was as if some contagion had infected the very earth beneath.
My feet reached up through the trees, poisoning all that it
touched. I felt watched, eyes hiding in
the trees, tracking every move I made.
Several times I whirled around, convinced I'd seen something,
some shape darting between the trunks, but there was nothing
but the stifling silence of the woods.
What felt like hours finally passed as I caught sight of the
cabin. It was exactly what I had
envisioned. Small, old, and rotting.
The wooden walls were covered in a thick layer of fungi, their
grotesque forms merging with the structure itself.
A stench filled the air, a sickening mix of decay and
something chemical that stung my nostrils and turned my stomach.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing and my heart thudded in
my chest. This was it.
This was what he had left for me.
I'd come all this way and now, standing there, I wasn't sure if
I had the guts to take another step.
The cabin seemed to throb as though it were alive, and the
words on the letter burn It all echoed in my mind, urging me on.
I took a deep breath and steeled myself one step closer.
With every step, the air grew thicker, heavy with the stench.
My head started to swim and for a moment I thought I would pass
out, but I pushed on, reaching the door and hesitating only
briefly before pushing it open. It was worse inside the cabin
than I had dreamed. The air was heavy and damp, like
walking into a greenhouse. Plump rubber hoses snaked across
the floor to join at a huge pot on the stove top, its contents
bubbling ominously. The source of the stench was
quite obvious inside. The liquid was thick, dark and
chunky. It looked like something that
had been alive. I gagged, trying not to vomit as
my eyes watered from the fumes. Books were strewn about the
floor, all of whose pages were dank and covered in black mold.
Their pages were filled with diagrams of strange, twisted
fungi, accompanied by notes in my uncle's erratic scrawl.
A blackboard was hung from the far wall, covered in symbols and
rooms I didn't recognize, each seeming to pulse in the dim
light, as if alive with some terrible energy.
A very low sound, almost inaudible, drew my attention
deeper into the cabin. It sounded almost like rustling
or breathing from somewhere within the shadows.
My heart had started pounding and my hands were shaking as I
searched for the flashlight. And then the beam cut through
the darkness and landed on something that chilled my blood.
A clump of fungi, pulsing with a surface, slick and wet, and
buried within its mass was something unmistakable.
The outline of a human hand. Panic shot through me and I
stumbled backward, my flashlight clattering to the ground.
I had seen enough. I turned around and ran,
bursting through the cabin door, gasping for fresh air.
The world spun around me. My vision blurred, my stomach
heaved. I crumpled to my knees, the damp
earth cool beneath my hands as I struggled to steady myself.
I knew what had to be done. Burn it all.
Whatever my uncle had gotten into, whatever madness possessed
him, it had to end here. I couldn't bear for this horror
to live on, couldn't let it spread.
I reached for the can of gasoline with shaking hands,
ready to finish what my uncle had begun.
The gasoline sloshed as I poured it, my hands shaking, the liquid
spilling over the fungi covered wood.
Those fumes combined with the putrid smell of rot in the cabin
to create a noxious cocktail that watered my eyes and spun my
head. My uncle's mantra echoed through
my mind. Burn it all.
I knew this was what he wanted, what he needed.
But as I stood there, watching the gasoline soak into the
walls, I just couldn't help feeling there was something more
to this. Something I still didn't
understand. I stepped back, wiping the sweat
from my brow with a shaking hand.
The clearing was as silent as a grave, the air heavy and still,
as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a matchbook, striking
one of the matches. The small flame sputtered to
life. It danced in the stillness.
For a moment, I just hesitated. The weight of what I was going
to do fell heavily on my shoulders.
Whatever secrets my uncle had taken to his grave, whatever
darkness dwelled in that cabin, this was my chance to destroy
it. I tossed the match, and the fire
took instantly. Flames licked at the wall,
racing up the gasoline soaked siding, gobbling the rotten wood
and pulsating fungi. The crackling grew loud, the
fire roaring as it took hold, and I stepped back, pounding in
my chest, watching the cabin start to burn.
For a moment I felt a flicker of relief, maybe even triumph, and
then came the screaming. It was not the crackle of wood
or the sound of the fire tearing through the cabin.
It was a high, keening wail, a sound so filled with agony and
rage that it made my blood run cold.
The noise seemed to come from the cabin itself, from deep
within its walls, and grew louder and more desperate as the
flames spread. My heart was pounding in my ears
and my skin prickled with fear. I wanted to turn away, to run,
but I couldn't. I was rooted to the spot,
watching the fire as screams echoed through the clearing,
shapes twisted in the flames. Dark, writhing forms that seemed
to reach out from the inferno. Faces contorted in pain and fury
appeared for an instant before vanishing into the blaze.
I blinked, and smoke stung my eyes.
They were gone. All tricks of the light, I told
myself. Just shadows and my own fear.
But the screams went on, each one more desperate than the
last, until they began to sound like they were slurring
together, forming a single endless howl that tightened my
chest. The roof of the cabin began to
collapse, falling with a deafening crash that sent plumes
of dark, acrid smoke billowing into the sky.
The roar of the fire grew still louder, and it was then that it
seemed to me that something stood within the flames,
watching me. I blinked, and it was gone,
swallowed by the inferno. My heart pounded, and I drew in
short, panicked gasps. I whirled away, stumbling back
toward the edge of the clearing, my legs weak and unsteady.
Beneath me, the forest was once more silent as the cabin burned.
The crackling of the flames and the rustling of leaves in the
distance replaced any screams. I took a deep breath, trying to
steady myself as thick smoke curled up into my nostrils.
I had done what I came here for. I had done what Uncle would have
wanted. But that nagging doubt still
persists when I look back at the burning cabin.
I had merely scratched the surface of the truth that
whatever darkness my uncle had found out here in the woods, it
wasn't gone, not really. I turned my back to the fire,
its heat on the muscles running along my spine still carrying
the weight of the past on my shoulders.
The forest watched me. The trees loomed above silent
Sentinels. Their branches reached out to
yank me back. I kept my eyes ahead and refused
to look back at the cabin, in which, through the trees, I
could still see flames. I had done what I could.
I had burned it all. Still, as I made my way back
toward my car, this feeling of unease grew stronger.
The whispers of the forest followed me.
The shadows grew darker, and I knew that it was far from over.
Not yet. I stumbled to my car, fumbling
with the keys. My hands were shaking, and the
metal was chilled against my skin.
I turned the ignition, and in a moment the silence was
shattered. I turned to take one last look
at the forest. The cabin was gone now, nothing
but a pile of ashes, but that shadow lingered, hiding amongst
the trees, waiting. I pulled out along the winding
road, and as I drove, I couldn't help but think that whatever it
was, my uncle wanted me to burn. Well, it was still out there,
out there in those woods, and one day I knew I was going to
have to face whatever was out there.