I should have known something felt off the second we turned
down that narrow dirt path. The main campground had been
packed, lanterns everywhere, folks chatting around big
bonfires, and I hoped we'd find a quiet patch just a bit further
out. Quiet is exactly what we found,
but I'm not sure it was the kind of peaceful we were looking for.
The sunlight was long gone by the time we hopped out of the
car, and my phone flashlight did a poor job illuminating the
cramped gravel pull off. My girlfriend gave me a look
that said this is the best we can do.
Our friend, riding a mix of excitement and nerves, was
already scanning the tree line, probably wondering if we'd made
a mistake by choosing the far edges of the campsite.
I shrugged like it was no big deal, but I had that nagging
tingle in my gut, the sense that things were about to get
strange. Still, we got to work.
The three of us fumble with our tents, the beams of our
flashlights zigzagging through the darkness.
At one point, I managed to stab my thumb on a tent stake, and I
muttered a few choice words under my breath.
Meanwhile, every time a twig snapped, we paused to stare into
the shadows. The place was so quiet it was
almost suffocating, like the woods had collectively decided
to hold back all sound. It made the hair on the back of
my neck prickle each time the wind rustled through the leaves.
Once we wrangled both tents upright, we started a small
fire. Nothing fancy, just enough to
grill a few hot dogs and keep our morale from dipping too far.
Flickers of orange light danced across our faces, and I swear
the shadows around us grew taller.
My girlfriend forced a grin, trying to pass off her anxiety
as curiosity while our friend told some half hearted story
about a local ghost legend she'd heard.
It was the typical stuff, mysterious sightings, unlucky
hikers, but for some reason everything felt extra tense out
here in the blackness. As we chatted, our words faded
into the night with unnatural speed.
It was like the darkness swallowed them whole before they
even had time to echo. I tried to ignore the creeping,
feeling that maybe this spot was empty for a reason.
We stuck close to the fire, stealing glances over our
shoulders whenever a soft breeze rattled the underbrush.
Despite our best efforts to laugh it off, I think all of us
were itching to crawl into our tents and hope the night time
hours would pass without incident.
Eventually, the flames flickered down to nothing but smouldering
embers. We poured on some water and
quickly doused the last glow, then shuffled into our separate
tents, my girlfriend and I in one, our friend in the other.
Before zipping up, I checked our surroundings with the flashlight
one more time. Trees, gravel, a distant
silhouette of the lake beyond. Just typical stuff, but my
stomach was still. Twisted in knots and I had no
clue why. As I settled into my sleeping
bag, I tried to brush off the uneasy vibe.
This was just another camping trip, right?
A routine night outdoors. Let the forest do its thing, I
told myself, and everything would be fine by morning.
I closed my eyes, hoping to drift off quickly.
Little did I know that was just the opening act.
The real dread was waiting for us a few hours.
Into the night, lurking in the shadows beyond that final dying
ember. I got jostled out of sleep
sometime around midnight, my thoughts hazy and my muscles
stiff from lying on the rocky ground.
At first I thought maybe it was just my own breathing echoing in
my ears, but then I caught this distant cry.
It sliced through the silence, long and wavering like nothing
I'd ever heard out in the wild. It seemed to rise and fall in a
way that made my pulse spike. My girlfriend stirred next to
me, clutching my arm in alarm. It didn't sound like a coyote or
an owl, both of which I've heard enough times to recognize.
This had an eerie quality to it, like a warning or maybe a
summons echoing off the thick trees surrounding us.
I whispered something about it probably being an animal just
passing by. The lie tasted bitter on my
tongue, but I figured 1/2 comfort was better than nothing.
As we lay there, straining to pick up the next sign of life,
the howling stopped. The quiet that followed felt
unnaturally complete, as though the forest had paused to see how
we'd react. Eventually, the tension eased a
notch, and my girlfriend settled back down.
I tried to follow her lead, focusing on the soft rustle of
sleeping bags, the gentle sound of our friend's breathing in the
other tent, but the memory of that cry played on repeat in my
mind. Just when I was starting to
drift off again, I detected a faint scraping outside.
At first I thought it was the wind dragging a branch across
gravel, but it had a distinct rhythm.
Like careful footsteps. Each step seemed to crunch on
rocks, getting closer, then farther, like someone circling.
My heart hammered, every nerve on high alert.
I convinced myself it was our friend venturing out for a late
night bathroom break. After all, she'd mentioned being
nervous about going alone. I called out her name just loud
enough for anyone nearby to hear, but nobody answered.
I decided not to investigate, hoping it truly was nothing.
Still, my brain played out every possible scenario.
A stray camper got lost and was searching for a path, or maybe a
Ranger on patrol who didn't realize how much they were
spooking us. I tried to latch on to any
mundane explanation, but a sliver of doubt remained.
Somehow, exhaustion got the better of me, and I drifted off.
Not for long, though. I snapped awake later, noticing
a faint glow through the tent walls.
Initially, relief washed over me.
I assumed dawn had finally arrived, but a quick look at my
phone showed it was barely past 3:00 AM.
Confusion settled in. The light felt real, but when I
peered through a gap in the tent zipper, the woods outside were
nearly pitch black. It was like my eyes were playing
tricks, or maybe the darkness was reflecting some distant glow
in a way I couldn't comprehend. My girlfriend stirred again,
moaning softly about nightmares. She mentioned seeing vague
shapes shifting in the trees, part dream, part lingering fear
from that weird whale earlier. As I lay there listening,
something about her words struck me as more than idle paranoia.
The night had a peculiar atmosphere, like time wasn't
moving in its usual rhythm. 1 moment it felt like dawn was
right there and the. Next, we were swallowed by
shadows. I tried reassuring her,
muttering stuff about how we'd laugh at this in the morning,
but the eerie feeling clung to my skin.
That hollow cry, the phantom steps, the false dawn, none of
it made sense, yet it all fit together in a way that kept my
nerves on edge. I was determined to believe we'd
be OK as long as we stayed zipped inside and waited for
real sunlight to show itself. Eventually, with my girlfriend's
hand in mind, I let my eyes slip shut again.
My mind churned with stray images of tall silhouettes and
flickers of light, but I told myself it was all just my
imagination. If only I'd known that the
strangest part of our night was still around the corner,
creeping ever closer, I doubt I would have slept at all.
I woke up feeling like I was drowning in terror.
A pressure weighed on the lower part of my sleeping bag, exactly
where my feet were pinned. My mind whirled with the sudden
shock of it. I could actually feel the tent
fabric bending inward, something pushing from the outside.
For half a heartbeat I froze, heart slamming against my ribs,
unsure if I was still dreaming. But then my survival instincts
kicked in. I started swinging, screaming in
a voice so raw I barely recognized it as my own.
My girlfriend jolted upright, eyes wild with confusion.
She clutched at my arm, trying to calm me, but my adrenaline
was sky high. The tent walls seemed to close
in, every movement felt amplified by the darkness, like
something was crawling all over us.
I kept thrashing for what felt like ages, though it was
probably only a few seconds until I realized there was no
sound, no continuation of that force pressing against the tent,
just the frantic gasps of my own breathing and my girlfriend's
panicked voice telling me to stop.
Finally, I went still, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
We both sat there, not daring to speak above a whisper.
Even the faintest shift of our bodies on the tent floor seemed
thunderous. We kept waiting for some follow
up, a zipper opening, a growl, or footsteps crunching the
gravel, but we heard nothing, which in some ways was worse.
The silence felt accusatory, like the woods were mocking us
for thinking we could handle a night out here without
consequences. I fumble around for my phone,
checking the time. 4:25 AM My girlfriend murmured something
about a nightmare that had kept looping in her sleep, shadows
crowding around the sense of being watched.
She said my scream almost matched the tone of that awful
whale we'd heard before. The idea that I might be echoing
the same horror that had rattled us earlier made me shudder.
We realized our friend must have heard me losing it, so we braced
ourselves to leave the tent before unzipping.
We sat in that tight space, listening for any hint of
movement outside. When we heard nothing, I flicked
on the flashlight. Its beam cut through the tent
flap, revealing nothing but raw darkness beyond.
My pulse hammered as I crawled out, expecting at least some
sign of a struggle. Footprints or flattened leaves
where something heavy might have stood.
There was no evidence. Just our second tent a few steps
away, and behind it, rows of towering trees that vanished
into blackness. The air was dead.
Still feeling exposed, I hurried over to check on our friend.
She peeked out wide eyed, clearly terrified but unharmed.
She insisted she'd stayed put the whole time, hadn't even
unzipped her tent since we all turned in for the night.
That only raised more questions. If she hadn't gone outside, then
who or what had made those earlier footsteps I'd heard?
And if nobody was around, what had pressed down on my tent?
Nerves on fire, we came to a silent agreement.
We weren't spending another minute there.
My girlfriend and I tore into our tent, yanking out the stakes
and shoving sleeping bags into their sacks.
Our friends scrambled to do the same, the beams of our
flashlights shaking with every quick movement.
Even the slightest rustle in the underbrush had me turning my
head, half expecting to see a shape lurking just beyond the
tree line. By 4:40 AM, we had most of our
gear hastily packed, our breath hitching and frantic bursts.
Our friend fumble with her phone light and mentioned she'd also
thought dawn had come at some point.
That illusion of daylight through the tent.
It made no sense. The real morning was still hours
away, yet we'd both. Experienced that unsettling half
light, we raced to the car, dumped everything in a heap and
fired up the engine. As the headlights cut across the
campsite, I caught glimpses of the tall Pines looming overhead.
Every shadow felt wrong. Like it concealed something that
had just barely slipped out of sight.
We left without a word, the tires crunching along the
gravel. I don't think any of us breathe
normally until we hit the main road, the faint glow of distant
streetlights promising a return to normalcy.
But even as we drove, I couldn't shake the thought of that
pressure on my feet, The shriek, those creeping footfalls.
It stayed with me, a lingering ache in my chest.
One thing was certain, we'd escaped the campsite, but
whatever had claimed that patch of wilderness wasn't done
whispering in the darkness. We might have left in one piece,
but the haunting memory of that night sure as hell followed us.
I remember settling into our little two man tent that evening
with a sense of calm expectation.
Just me and my husband, tucked away in a remote corner of the
forest. We'd hiked all day, following
winding trails and admiring the steady hum of wildlife in the
distance. By the time we set up camp, I
was exhausted in that good, contented way that usually
promises a solid night's sleep. Sometime after midnight, I
stirred awake. At first, all I noticed was the
thick darkness, broken only by the faint glow of moonlight
edging through the fabric of our tent.
My eyes darted around, trying to reorient.
I realized I needed to step outside for a bathroom break.
Nothing unusual there, just one of those moments when nature
calls inconveniently during the night.
I was tempted to ignore it, but I knew I wouldn't be able to
drift off again without taking care of business.
I turned to check on my husband quietly, making sure I wouldn't
disturb him. He was still asleep, breathing
in that slow, calm rhythm I knew so well.
I'd almost made-up my mind to slip out silently when a strange
noise cut through the stillness. A slow, methodical scratching,
like fingers dragging against the ground.
My thoughts ran wild in seconds. Maybe it was just some curious
critter sniffing around, but this sound was too measured,
almost deliberate. With my breath caught in my
throat, I paused, listening for any sign it had moved away.
When it didn't fade, I gathered the nerve to ease the tent
zipper open just a bit. A slice of moonlight spilled in,
illuminating the forest floor. At first, all I could see were
shadows of shrubs in the outline of tall trunks.
Then I spotted movement. A few feet to my left, a shape
crouched low. My eyes adjusted, and I realized
it was a woman. She looked surprisingly young,
hair tangled and hanging around her face in clumps.
She was so close to our tent that I wondered how I hadn't
heard her approach. She was digging into the soil
with her bare hands, scooping out little clumps of dirt as if
unearthing some hidden treasure. There was something off about
her posture. She moved in slow, careful
motions, almost like she was in a trance.
I tried to steady myself, but my pulse pounded in my ears.
I kept glancing back to my husband, who was still
cluelessly asleep. The idea of confronting a
stranger in the middle of nowhere left me frozen.
For a second, I considered zipping the tent and pretending
I hadn't seen her. But what if she needed help?
Or what if she meant us harm? The question alone made my skin
prickle, so I shuffled backward and nudged my husband awake.
In a hushed whisper, I told him there was someone right outside.
His eyes snapped open and he followed my gaze to the half
open zipper. Without hesitating, he reached
for our flashlight. I stayed low, peeking over his
shoulder as he directed a small beam of light toward the figure.
She barely reacted, just paused her digging.
The beam lit up her face. A mixture of dirt and sweat
clung to her skin, and her eyes had a distant look, as if she
wasn't fully present in that moment.
He called out. Hey, are you OK?
But she didn't respond. She just slowly stood, letting
the loose earth drop from her fingertips.
For a heartbeat, I thought she might lash out or speak, but she
remained silent. Then, in one fluid motion, she
turned and walked deeper into the darkness, leaving that
shallow hole right next to our tent.
My husband and I exchanged a look of disbelief.
Part of me wanted to chase her down, find out who she was, but
common sense said otherwise. The isolation of the place was
suddenly overwhelming. After a few tense minutes of
debate, I decided I still needed to step outside.
I mean, I couldn't exactly hold it till dawn, so I unzipped the
tent the rest of the way, scanning the shadows for any
trace of her. The night air felt colder than
it had an hour before, seeping through my jacket.
Every tree took on a menacing outline.
My husband stood guard, flashlights sweeping left and
right while I tended to my business.
No sign of her anywhere, but the unease lingered.
Once I returned to the tent. We tried to settle down again.
We talked in hushed tones, speculating on what we had just
witnessed. Was she a lost hiker?
A local who wandered away from another campsite?
Neither explanation felt quite right, but exhaustion, one out
over adrenaline, and we lay back down, the zipper closed.
I closed my eyes, hoping the rest of the night would pass
quietly. Still, every time the wind
rustled the leaves, I braced for the possibility of seeing her
again, crouched just inches away.
The tent suddenly felt too thin, almost transparent, like no
barrier at all. I think I drifted off for a bit.
Though my dreams were uneasy. My mind kept returning to the
sight of her kneeling in the moonlight, nails scratching into
the dirt, and that hollow expression on her face, the kind
that hinted at some buried distress or a reality far
different from ours. My husband stayed awake longer,
I could tell. He shifted around, hands
gripping the flashlight as if waiting for her to come back.
That was how the first part of the night played out.
Two people in a campsite that had seemed so comforting just
hours before now wrestling with the notion that safety can
vanish with one bizarre encounter.
We had no clue what would happen next, or if this stranger would
return. All we could do was lie there,
ears straining for another hint of movement, waiting for dawn
and praying she wouldn't appear again.
I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I
recall is being startled awake by a metallic rattle just
outside the tent. It took me a second to realize
it wasn't part of a dream. No, this was real.
A sound of something or someone picking through our gear.
My insides twisted at the thought that the stranger from
before was back. I turned my head and saw my
husband's eyes snap open too. Neither of us spoke, We just
locked gazes, letting the clattering go on for a tense
moment before deciding to act. He unzipped the door as quietly
as he could, stepping out with the flashlight in hand.
I poked my head out right behind him, my pulse pounding.
Sure enough, she was there, the same person, the same filthy
clothes and unkempt hair, only now she seemed deeply absorbed
in our supplies. Pots and utensils were scattered
around her feet. She crouched low, head tilted,
as if the items themselves were more fascinating than we were.
She hadn't tried to take off with anything, but the way she
examined our belongings left me unnerved.
There was an eerie curiosity in her expression, almost
childlike, but it clashed with the rest of her disheveled
appearance. My husband called out to her,
not exactly shouting, but loud enough to cut through the hush
of the forest. Hey, that's ours, do you need
help or something? His voice betrayed the tension
he was feeling. The flashlight beam fell across
her face, revealing eyes that glinted in the harsh light.
She lifted her head, letting a small metal cup clatter from her
grip. She didn't move or speak, just
stared. I tried to read something,
anything in her eyes but came up blank.
Was she hostile, confused, lost? My thoughts were all over the
place. A heavy knot tightened in my
gut. My husband was still trying to
get through to her, asking if she was OK, but she offered no
explanation, no hint at what she might want.
She just held that unnerving stare.
It was as if our words weren't registering, or maybe she just
didn't care. Before I could even decide what
to do, my husband backed away, retreating to the tent flap.
He couldn't force her to leave without risking a full
confrontation. Neither of us wanted that.
We were out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no quick
way to call for assistance. If she didn't budget, we were at
a disadvantage. I stood there in the open air
for a moment, wondering if maybe I could reason with her, but I
froze, tongue tied. She looked at me, and the
flashlight beam caught a smudge of dirt across her cheek that
gave her a feral quality. Slowly, she lowered herself back
into a Crouch, rummaging around our stuff with total disregard
for the tension in the air. 1,000,000 scenarios bounced
around my head. Should we pack up and leave?
Confront her more forcefully? My instincts screamed that a
person who acted this way wasn't going to respond to normal
logic. So I decided to return to the
tent, quietly zipping the door shut behind me and my husband.
The two of us sat there for several minutes, listening to
every scrape and shuffle outside.
It felt like we were stranded in a surreal standoff with no clear
path out. Eventually, the rummaging sounds
faded. I exhaled, trying to settle the
hammering in my chest. Maybe she'd move on.
Maybe this would become just another bizarre campfire story.
But then the digging returned, the same slow, deliberate
scraping near the side of the tent.
I realized she was back at that little hole she'd started.
The sound felt closer than ever, like she was practically inches
from my head. We both jumped when I finally
shouted through the tent walls, telling her to stop.
The instant the words left my mouth, there was a frantic
shuffle. It reminded me of the way a
startled animal might tear through the brush.
I scrambled to peer outside, but by the time I got the zipper
part way open, she was gone. Just darkness, shifting shadows,
and the faint rustling of leaves.
We didn't sleep well after that. Every passing minute dragged on
while we waited for her to return.
My husband gripped the flashlight, occasionally shining
it through the thin fabric of the tent to see if anyone was
out there. The forest seemed to close, in
thick with tension. I couldn't manage to keep my
eyes shut for more than a minute or two before some small rustle
made me start all over again. Dawn came at last, bringing a
weak sliver of Gray light through the canopy.
We cautiously unzipped the tent, feeling like intruders on our
own campsite. Our gear was scattered over the
area, cookware, water bottles, clothing, items.
She had touched everything, inspected it, then tossed it
aside. The only thing more unsettling
than that chaos was the hole, now dug nearly a foot deep
beside our tent. No obvious reason, just a hole,
as if that had been her main objective all along.
My husband and I scanned the area, but she was nowhere to be
found. No footprints beyond some
smudges of dirt, no sign of another tent or bag of her own.
Just our stuff left in disarray. We collected what we could,
still half expecting her to materialize from behind a tree.
When she didn't, we decided we weren't waiting around to tempt
fate. We packed up faster than ever.
Part of me was still braced for her to appear again, maybe
running at us or circling the sight in that awkward Crouch.
We left that clearing with an odd mixture of guilt and relief.
Guilt for not being able to help someone who, for all we knew,
needed it desperately. Relief for escaping an encounter
that felt steeped in danger, even if it never escalated into
outright violence. During the entire hike back, I
kept twisting around to see if she was following us.
The shadows seemed to move at the corner of my vision, but I
never saw her again. By the time we reached the
safer, more populated trails, I realized I had been holding my
breath in tense bursts. Looking back, it's the most
unnerving camping experience I've had, worse than storms or
wildlife or anything else you typically worry about.
Because when it's a person acting that way, you can't
predict what's going to happen. The unknown lingers, creeping
under your skin, reminding you that out in the wild, your sense
of safety can shatter without warning.
And all it takes is one stranger with a strange agenda.
The day kicked off at my friend's place.
The storm from the night before had finally died down, but the
air outside felt charged. It wasn't just the leftover
humidity either, it was more like this low hum pressing in,
making me edgy. We were supposed to be hyped
about riding into the woods, but I noticed everyone sort of
dragging their feet around the living room.
I swallowed my worries, figuring I was just picking up on someone
else's nerves. Eventually we shuffled outside
to load the four Wheelers, two of them each dragging a little
wagon stuffed with our tents, water jugs, and random gear.
We'd done trips like this a dozen times, but something about
the silence in the group made me uneasy.
Usually we'd be tossing jokes around, loud and obnoxious, but
we were just fumbling with bungee cords and fiddling with
the engine switches. Then, without a word, we set
off. The first few minutes on that
muddy trail felt like entering another world.
The forest around us didn't buzz with the usual summertime life.
No birds chattering overhead, no rustling in the brush, just the
rumble of our 4 Wheelers and the squelch of tires in the mud.
I couldn't shake the sensation that the trees were watching us
somehow, but I kept quiet. Nobody else was talking, so I
didn't want to be the one to crack and say something silly.
A couple of miles in, we took a breather by a crooked old stump.
The humidity weighed on me and I leaned against one of the wagons
trying to catch my breath. That's when a streak of movement
crossed the path, maybe a few dozen yards ahead.
Could have been a deer, I told myself, even though it's zipped
by too upright, too quick. My friend's face went pale, but
he shrugged it off just as fast. I think we all felt the tension
in that moment, like we'd just witnessed something that didn't
quite belong in a normal day. Still, we hopped back on and
carried on further down. Fallen branches and slick
winding ruts in the ground turned our trip into slow motion
chaos. We got forced into detours more
times than I could count. Even the sunlight seemed to fade
quicker than it should, leaving the woods looking darker, as if
the day was running away from us.
Each time someone cut the engine to figure out a new path, the
silence around us was suffocating.
I thought I heard a few faint snaps in the underbrush, but
when I turned I only found damp leaves and twisted trees.
By the time we finally reached the site, my shirt was sticking
to my back and my pulse was thrumming a little too hard.
Something about the whole trip there had been off and I had no
clue how much weirder things we're about to get.
By the time we finally hauled our gear into that little
clearing, the daylight was already slipping away.
It felt like we were stepping into a room where something
lurked just out of sight. We spread out, each trying to
find some reasonable ground for our tents, trading uneasy
glances every time a twig snapped or a breeze fluttered
overhead. The air was sticky enough to
cling to your skin, and the silence around us felt
unnatural. Not one bird call, not a single
rustle of anything with fur or feathers.
Like the whole place was holding its breath.
We were exhausted from the ride in, but no one said a word about
calling it quits. Instead, we scrambled to set up.
I jammed tent stakes into the damp soil with unsteady hands
while my friends fanned out, grabbing dead branches for
firewood. The plan was to get a fire going
quick, hoping it'd chase away the uneasy vibe that had been
gnawing at us all day. At first I thought the tall
shape standing among the trees was just another weirdly twisted
trunk, long and narrow, blending in with the dim light.
But then it shifted. I could see it past the tent I
was working on, looming with a bizarre stillness.
A buddy of mine noticed too, because his voice cracked mid
laugh when he spotted it. We froze, waiting for it to do
something, anything, but it just stood there.
And then, faster than I could process, it bolted deeper into
the woods, moving in a way that didn't line up with anything I'd
call normal. Our group rallied around the
fire pit, eyes darting from 1 silhouette to the next.
The relief of the first sparks catching felt almost electric,
but the flames glow warped, the shadows around us playing tricks
on my mind. Shapes seemed to leap and sway
at the edges of the firelight. Every little sound beyond that
circle of light had me gripping my knees, ready to jump up and
run if something too big came crashing through.
Night settled in with a speed that made my stomach not, I
realized with a sinking feeling, that there was no turning back.
Trying to navigate the mud and dense thicket in total darkness
would be a lost cause. We huddled around the flickering
fire, too rattled to swap the usual ghost stories.
Every single one of us was busy scanning the dark, convinced
we'd catch sight of that towering figure creeping closer.
At one point I thought I heard a quiet crunch nearby, but when I
whipped my head around, there was just the same endless sprawl
of trees and undergrowth. We decided to assign a couple of
people to keep watch while the rest tried to snatch some shut
eye like that was possible. I retreated to my tent, half
convinced I wouldn't sleep at all.
My heart was drumming in my ears.
A lantern's faint glow lit the space, revealing how clammy my
own hands looked. I lay there, straining to hear
anything unusual. Occasionally someone would call
out from near the fire just to make sure we were all still
there. The worst part was the quiet
between those calls. Every pause left me imagining
that figure closing in step by step.
Somehow a few hours limped by without any full blown terror.
At first light. We tore down camp like our lives
depended on it. Sleep or no sleep, we just
wanted to leave that place behind.
You could feel the wave of relief when the wagons got
loaded again. The sky was a dreary morning
Gray, but to me it felt like the brightest sunshine I'd ever
seen. We didn't spend much time
talking about what we'd witnessed.
We just aimed our four Wheelers back toward home.
On the ride out, my head stayed on a swivel, scanning the trees
in my peripheral vision. Every now and then I imagine
seeing a gangly silhouette lurking in the shadows, and my
heart would hammer a little harder.
But nothing else darted across our.
Path. And no more shapes towered among
the trunks. It was almost as if the forest
had decided to keep its secrets now that we were leaving.
When we finally pulled up to my friend's driveway, I swear I
could practically taste the relief.
We unloaded in tense silence, nobody quite ready to put into
words what we'd seen. Even later, when the shock began
to fade, we danced around the details, tossing out half
hearted theories. Still, deep in my gut, I knew
our trip hadn't been some ordinary camping adventure.
Sometimes the wild remains indifferent to our need for
answers, and all we can do is pack up and hope it'll let us
go. I've been camping for years, but
I still remember the trip that made me question how safe we
really are out there. My wife and I chose a secluded
spot known for its towering Jack pine, thinking we'd find a quiet
escape. The drive in felt ordinary
enough. Dusty roads, a few deer darting
across our headlights, that usual hush of deep woods.
But once we stepped out of the car, something felt a little too
silent. No rustling, no chirping.
Just a thick, uneasy stillness. We pitched our tent beneath a
cluster of those tall, ragged trees, the ground covered in a
spongy layer of old needles. The sky was a dull Gray that
afternoon, and a hint of cool wind gusted through, making us
both glance around like we were expecting somebody else to show
up. I tried to shake off the
creeping doubt. After all, we'd come for
solitude. But as the day wore on, that
wind turned from a gentle breath into something fierce.
Just before dusk, it started slamming against the tree line,
whistling in a way that made it sound alive.
My wife looked at me with concern and I tried to act
casual, stocking our small fire to keep morale up.
Overhead, the clouds twisted into an angry swirl and the
branches started cracking 1 by 1.
Each crack felt like an alarm bell.
We'd peer up, straining to see which trunk might give way
first. Night descended quickly, and any
sense of security vanished with it.
We crawled into our tent only to hear a deafening snap.
Somewhere in the darkness. The ground trembled with a
jarring thud that set our nerves on edge.
The wind pounded the tent walls so hard I thought the entire
thing might tear apart. Every time a new gust roared
through. I braced myself, half expecting
to feel a branch slam into us. It was like the forest was fed
up with us being there, letting us know in no uncertain terms
that we were intruders. At some point in the chaos, I
became convinced. I heard footsteps out there,
faint and erratic, like someone carefully picking their way
between falling branches. My wife whispered my name, her
voice shaking, and I pretended I hadn't noticed.
There was no way I'd dare step outside to check.
Every snap and crash beyond our thin nylon walls made it seem
like the world was tearing itself apart.
Dawn crept in, revealing a campsite that looked like a war
zone, Massive limbs scattered everywhere, our fire pit half
buried under broken debris. We were lucky our tent hadn't
been crushed. As we packed up, I spotted what
looked like Fresh Prince in the mud, something I couldn't
explain. They didn't match our boot
treads. Trying not to alarm my wife, I
brushed it off as a trick of the light and hurried her along.
Driving away, I couldn't ignore the knot in my gut.
We'd come for a peaceful weekend, but the forest had
other plans and I couldn't help wondering if we had stuck around
just a little longer, would we have discovered who or what was
skulking out there in the turmoil.
I tried to leave it behind, convincing myself it was just a
brutal storm and my own nerves, but looking back it feels like
that was only the beginning. After the storm fiasco with my
wife, I figured teaming up with a friend might keep things
calmer. We'd heard rumors of an old
campsite, only reachable by a decent 4 wheel drive.
The place supposedly had a couple of dilapidated tables, a
metal fire ring, and two outhouses that hadn't been
inspected in ages. That alone should have been a
red flag, but we were craving adventure.
We arrived around midday, kicking up dust as we veered off
the main road onto a bumpy trail.
The place was about as deserted as it gets.
No sign of recent visitors, no vehicle tracks, nothing.
We unloaded, exchanged a few jokes about who'd end up with
tetanus first, then started setting up.
My friend wandered off toward the first outhouse, only to come
back looking troubled. He didn't say much, just headed
to the second outhouse instead. Once he was finished, he said
you need to see what's in that first one.
I braced myself for the usual outhouse horror, maybe a raccoon
nest or some other gross scenario.
But inside were 3 enormous backpacks.
We're talking gear sized bags for a week long trek, each
coated in a thin layer of dust. Two were normal enough, packed
with camping gear, flashlights, sleeping bags, gas canisters.
The last one was downright bizarre, stuffed top to bottom
with Skittles, big bags, small pouches, sour, tropical.
Every single pocket in that pack rattled with rainbow candy.
Four days out there only made it weirder.
Nobody showed up to claim them. Nobody even passed by at night,
it was so quiet it bordered on Erie.
We slept fitfully, half expecting the rightful owners to
storm into our camp demanding their supplies.
A few times I thought I heard twigs snapping near our tents,
but whenever I checked, there was nobody.
My buddy said he kept waking up sure he heard whispering.
We both blamed it on nerves, but the silence pressed in like a
wait. When we finally decided to head
back to civilization, we left the backpacks right where we
found them. Something about hauling them out
ourselves felt wrong. Maybe we were paranoid, but it
was as if the woods didn't want them disturbed.
We let the authorities know, though I doubt they rushed out
there. Even so, I still can't explain
why someone would hide enough Skittles to feed an army in a
rotting outhouse, then vanish. It made me wonder if this was
connected to that storm trip with my wife, like there was a
pattern I couldn't see. Yet as we drove away, I kept
glancing in the rear view mirror, convinced the owners of
those bags might appear on the trail.
Silently watching us leave, I set out on this latest trip.
With my dog on a whim, eager to clear my head after the
weirdness of the last two outings, part of me hoped a
straightforward solo camp might silence all the nagging doubts
that had been building. No raging storms, no abandoned
backpacks full of candy. Just me, my dog, and a stretch
of old forest not too far off a back Rd.
The drive was quiet enough, the sun already dipping below the
trees by the time I found a decent spot to make camp.
I kept it simple, A tarp shelter, a small fire.
My dog curled at my feet as dusk settled in.
There was a slight breeze rustling through the undergrowth
and a distant whoosh of a Creek that gave the place a calming
vibe I'd been missing. Even so, I couldn't fully relax.
My mind kept drifting to the memory of those insane winds,
snapping Pines near our tent, and the image of those 3
enormous backpacks in the outhouse.
It felt like each strange event was a puzzle piece.
All out of place, but somehow linked.
Just as sleep started tugging at me, I caught the tell tale glow
of headlights weaving through the trees.
A second later, a truck engine revved way louder than
necessary. A cluster of drunken voices
followed, echoing in the stillness.
My heart thudded as I glanced at my dog, who was suddenly alert,
ears perked up. Then came the gunshots, Sharp
cracks that tore through the night air.
I instinctively hunched down, trying to figure out how close
they might be. The shots sounded wild and
reckless, spaced out in bursts, like someone was firing off
rounds just for the thrill of it.
Every time another shot rang out, I felt the tension coil
tighter inside me. Were they just blowing off
steam, or did they have any idea I was here?
It didn't help that the terrain sloped in such a way that any
bullets could easily ricochet into my camp.
My dog whined, and I knew I couldn't stay put.
Dousing the fire became priority one.
The last thing I wanted was my little flame advertising our
location to a bunch of rowdy strangers with guns.
I buried the embers, grabbed my essentials, and tugged the
leash. Tight, ready to slip out into
the darkness, it was a nerve racking shuffle away from the
campsite. The forest floor crackled under
each step, making it impossible to move silently.
For a split second, I worried about stumbling across
footprints like the ones I'd seen after the storm with my
wife. But each gunshot sliced through
that thought, reminding me to keep moving.
My heart pounded as we wove among the trees, ducking low
whenever another volley of shots rang out.
My mind churned with questions I couldn't answer.
Was there some link between this chaos and what happened before?
The windstorm might have been nothing more than bad weather,
the backpacks might have been some bizarre joke or hurried
stash, but right then I couldn't shake the notion that the woods
had it out for me, that these separate events were part of a
bigger pattern I wasn't smart enough to decipher.
Eventually I found a rough trail that led away from the noise.
The shots started to fade behind me, replaced by the sound of my
own ragged breathing. I'm not sure how many miles I
covered in that adrenaline fueled haze, but by the time I
stumbled onto a proper service Rd.
I felt raw. My dog stayed pressed against my
leg as if sharing my relief. When I finally stopped to catch
my breath, the night seemed unnaturally still again.
It reminded me of the hush before the storm on that other
trip, and for a moment I was sure I saw movement at the edge
of my flashlight beam. A person, Or maybe just a trick
of the shadows. I froze, but there was nothing.
If someone was watching, they stayed hidden.
Part of me wanted to call it quits right there, maybe find
some motel until morning. But I also felt a strange pull,
like I had to piece together why these things kept happening.
Was it all in my head? Could I really be that unlucky?
Or was there something lurking out here, connecting these
events in a way I couldn't begin to understand?
Climbing into my car, I looked back at the tree line.
The only sound was the wind through the branches and my own
pulse thumping in my ears. I tightened my grip on the
steering wheel, telling myself it was just a few drunken
yahoos, nothing more, but the knots in my gut said otherwise.
Something was out there, and I wasn't sure I'd ever feel safe
in the woods again until I found out what.
I reached that valley by late afternoon, determined to leave
all my deadlines and digital noise behind.
The quiet out there was downright intoxicating.
No phone service, no crowded camp sites, just the occasional
bird call echoing through the hills.
The plan was simple, set up camp before dark and enjoy some well
deserved solitude. But naturally, I miscalculated
my time on the trail. The sun was dipping lower than I
expected, its orange glow barely lighting my way, when a stranger
appeared on the path. He introduced himself like it
was the most normal thing in the world to bump into someone in
the middle of nowhere. I can't explain why, but his
easy tone put me at ease. He asked if I was looking for a
place to camp, then pointed me toward a hidden spot near the
river. The way he described it, close
to the road but invisible to the average passer by, piqued my
interest and set a little edge of curiosity in me.
Part of me wanted to ask why it needed to be so tucked away, but
I let it go. Maybe I was too grateful for the
tip to question it. We threaded through brush that
seemed to close in behind us. I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see a main trail, but it was just a
maze of shadows. The local showed me the exact
spot, a fire pit with well worn rocks, a clearing just wide
enough for my truck, and the river's steady gurgle close by.
He gave me a nod, said something about how I'd probably have the
whole place to myself, and ambled off as quickly as he'd
come. He was gone.
At first it felt magical, like I'd unlocked a secret realm.
The sky was streaked pink and purple, and I decided to build a
fire before it got fully dark. Sparks popped as I fed it,
kindling the heat, licking my face in the fading light.
I set out a chair, cracked open a beer, and scrolled through my
phone on reflex, only to laugh at myself when I remembered I
had no bars out here. The night settled in so fast I
threw on a friend's comedy podcast, letting the jokes
bounce off the trees. I know it wasn't exactly wise to
announce my presence out loud in the wilderness, but the laughter
made the silence less overwhelming.
With no one around to scold me, I kicked back and let the volume
rise. I might have been a little too
confident in my isolation, to be honest.
By the time I realized how late it was, the shadows from the
fire reached across the campsite like giant arms.
For a second I considered setting up my tent, but
exhaustion took over. The idea of wrestling tent poles
under a dim flashlight sounded miserable.
Plus, the back of my truck with the Topper promised a quick,
sheltered solution. I pulled my gear inside and
arranged a makeshift bed, imagining I'd wake up fresh and
ready for a lazy morning by the river.
Despite my best attempts to relax, I dozed off with an odd
awareness that the night felt deeper than usual.
Every small branch crack outside made me wonder if a raccoon or
something else was sniffing around.
I told myself it was the thrill of being alone.
Still, I couldn't help glancing at the dark shapes dancing
beyond the truck windows. Sleep finally took hold, but it
was restless. The wind occasionally gusted,
making the underbrush tremble in the fire's dying glow.
Somewhere in my half awake mind, I questioned if someone or
something was out there listening to the laughter from
my speakers. At one point I sat up and peered
out the window, but all I saw were silhouettes of bushes and
trees swaying in the glow of embers.
I convinced myself it was just me being jumpy.
By the time I drifted off for good, the fire was a cluster of
fading coals and the world outside felt dark as ink.
Little did I know that uneasy vibe would become a cruel
morning reality, but for the moment, I clung to the illusion
that a rugged truck bed and a few aluminum walls were enough
protection from whatever lurked beyond the trees.
Morning came with a crisp, biting chill that had me
blinking awake in the back of my truck.
My muscles weren't exactly grateful for the hard surface
I'd slept on, but at least I was warm.
I fumble around, grabbed some kindling, and got the fire going
again until the flames were strong enough to heat up a quick
breakfast. The plan was simple.
Enjoy the early sunlight, maybe crack a lazy beer and soak in
the peace before heading back to civilization.
I just settled onto a makeshift camp chair when I noticed a
shape at the edge of the clearing.
At first I figured it was just one of the local wildlife coming
in to investigate my leftover food scraps.
But as my eyes adjusted, I realized it was a person.
A tall, ragged figure, almost swallowed up by layers of dingy
clothes and bags. Plastic grocery bags, maybe 100
of them, tied around his limbs and torso like bizarre
streamers. My mind started replaying every
story I'd ever heard about stragglers in remote areas.
He didn't announce himself, didn't even face me straight on.
He sort of shuffled and paused, then sidestepped, like he wasn't
sure if he wanted to come closer or disappear.
Everything felt off. I raised a hand in greeting.
Mourning. I said, trying for a casual
tone. No response.
All I got in return was more of that odd pacing.
It felt like some weird standoff, but I tried not to let
it show. I offered him breakfast,
figuring a hot meal might calm whatever was going on with him.
He only took a couple more steps around the perimeter, the
plastic bags making a soft rustling that somehow unnerved
me more than any words could have.
My instincts were yelling at me in full force.
I kept my bear spray and knife within arm's reach, half hoping
I'd never have to use them. Maybe he was just hungry or
confused. So I called out again, offered a
beer this time, but he didn't even turn his head.
He never looked at me, not once. The way he kept his back turned
was downright unsettling, like he was waiting for me to stop
paying attention so he could move in closer or do something
worse. Seconds dragged like hours.
I tried to think of 1/3 olive branch to extend but nothing
came to mind except a single thought.
This is not going to end with a friendly handshake.
My frustration hit a breaking point.
Acknowledge me or get out. I shouted, voice cracking with a
mix of fear and anger. He stayed silent, focusing on
the ground in front of him. My bear spray felt ice cold in
my grip. I took one step, just one, and
held it up for him to see that I wasn't helpless.
That action finally triggered a reaction.
He slumped, turned away from me, and headed off, leaving the same
way he came, as if the confrontation was already
forgotten. I stood there for maybe 2
heartbeats, then snapped into motion.
Forget breakfast, Forget relaxing.
I doused the fire, hurled my gear into the truck, and fumble
to start the engine. My brain wouldn't stop imagining
him lurking just behind the tree line, waiting for me to let my
guard down. Gravel crunched beneath my tires
as I tore out of that hidden spot.
Relief washed over me, though. I never truly felt safe until
I'd put miles between me and that valley.
Later, once I reached familiar roads, my head was buzzing with
questions. Had he been there all night,
watching me laugh at my podcast? Sip beer by the fire, completely
unaware of his presence? The idea made my skin crawl.
I remember almost thanking my own laziness for not bothering
to set up the tent. Those truck walls had provided a
barrier between me and whatever that man's intentions might have
been. Even now, I'm not sure what he
was after. All I know is I'm certain it was
best I didn't stick around to find out.
I remember how the fire crackled that evening, casting jittery
shadows across our campsite. My parents were chatting with
some neighbors, swapping stories about fishing spots and the best
way to avoid skunks. Meanwhile, I was growing
restless. My friend and I caught each
other's eye from across the fire, and I knew exactly what he
was thinking. It was time for one of our
midnight strolls. I was so sure of myself back
then. I'd been camping nearly every
summer of my life and thought I knew all the woods secrets, what
animals emerged at dusk, which trails looped back, how far I
could wander without getting lost.
But that night, something in the air felt different.
A murmur of apprehension nagged me, though I refused to admit
it. Maybe it was the way the moon
seemed swallowed up by clouds, or how the forest beyond our
tents seemed darker than usual, as if the trees themselves were
pressing in. Whatever it was, my confidence
teetered, but pride kept me pushing forward.
I motioned discreetly to my friend and we slipped away.
There's a certain thrill in leaving the glow of a campfire
and stepping into near total darkness.
Twigs snapped under our shoes and the smell of damp earth hung
thick, like a warning we chose to ignore.
We usually hovered around the outskirts of our family's sight,
close enough to see the embers of our fire through the leaves.
But that night we decided to test our boundaries, forging
deeper into the unknown. The farther we went, the quieter
everything became. You'd think a forest would be
loud at night, with all the crickets and nocturnal
creatures, but this silence was heavy.
Almost too heavy. It filled my head, and every
tiny noise, like the rustle of a branch or the crunch of damp
leaves, made me jump. My friend and I exchanged
nervous grins, but there was a tension behind them.
We were both searching the dark spaces between trunks, half
expecting something to appear. After a while, it occurred to me
we were much deeper than usual. I glanced back, hoping to catch
a reassuring glimmer of our camp fire, but saw only shifting
shadows. That's when I first heard what
sounded like a voice, as if someone was whispering a secret
right behind me. My body tensed.
My friend snapped, his flashlight on the bright beam
tearing through the blackness. We both spun around, scanning
for anything. Just forest.
Twisted, knotted trees, fallen branches.
No figures, no faces. I told myself I was
overreacting. A trick of the wind, maybe?
Except there was no wind that night.
The air was thick and still. We hovered there in uneasy
silence, our own ragged breathing sounding
embarrassingly loud. Finally, we turned our
flashlights off again. Stubborn pride.
This was supposed to be our tradition, right?
If we gave up every time the woods spooked us, we wouldn't be
half as tough as we like to pretend.
Still, we picked up the pace, deciding maybe we'd gone far
enough for one night. I tried to laugh it off, calling
myself a baby, but the joke fell flat.
My friend didn't respond, just kept glancing behind us, as
though he expected something to lunge out at any moment.
Another whisper drifted through the darkness.
This time it was clearer. Something almost like syllables.
No meaning, just raw sound, like 1/2 formed sentence.
My pulse throbbed in my ears. We froze, not sure whether to
bolt back to camp in a Sprint or stand our ground fear ward with
curiosity. For the first time, I realized
that if we'd misjudged where we were, we could be lost.
And there's a certain panic in not knowing if you're close to
safety or miles from it. I nudged my friend.
Without a word, we turned back the way we came.
We wanted to believe we were still in familiar territory, but
everything looked different in the dark.
Every knotted trunk seemed like an unfamiliar face, every
shifting shadow a hidden threat. The air felt charged with a
strange energy, sending prickles up my arms.
Then came a jolt of realization. We weren't hearing night time
critters or a breeze stirring leaves.
Something was out here making those sounds, something with a
voice, and it didn't feel like a wandering camper singing off key
or whispering to a friend. It sounded wrong.
We walked faster. My flashlight quivered in my
grip. Each step crackled over fallen
branches as if we were broadcasting our presence for
all the forest to notice. My friend locked eyes with me,
and in that glance, I saw the same mix of fear and stubborn
determination. We weren't about to break into a
panicked run, not yet. But deep down, I think both of
us wanted to. Branches scraped against our
arms, snagging our sleeves. The hush of the forest turned
oppressive, like it was holding its breath, waiting to see what
we do next. Just when I thought my nerves
couldn't stretch any tighter, another whisper sliced through
the silence. It was close, so close I almost
felt it on the back of my neck. My friend and I stopped dead.
We exchanged a look that all but screamed.
This is enough. We had no clue what was lurking
out here, but it wasn't something we wanted to meet.
We switched on our flashlights without hesitation this time,
sweeping the beams over the undergrowth.
My mouth felt parched, my throat tight.
I just wanted to see a familiar landmark, anything to assure me
we were on the right path home. But the light revealed only more
trees, more endless dark. A swell of dread rose in me.
It wasn't just about being lost. It was the sinking sense that
something or someone was out here, moving, just out of sight,
watching. I grabbed my friend's arm and
pulled him forward. We both knew we had to keep
going, had to get back to our campsite's warm glow where maybe
we could laugh this off in the safety of flickering firelight.
But a deep part of me knew that even if we managed to find our
way home, the night wouldn't let us off so easily.
Something had changed, and the forest wasn't about to let us
forget how vulnerable we truly were.
By the time my friend and I decided we couldn't push our
luck any further, the darkness around us felt almost
suffocating. We forced ourselves to keep
moving toward what we hoped was the way back, every step echoing
like a beacon in unfamiliar territory.
The quiet we'd been half ignoring earlier now felt
unsettlingly total. Even though there were two of
us, I couldn't help feeling like a lone trespasser in a place
where we didn't belong. I raised my flashlight, heart
pounding against my ribs. Something flickered across the
edge of its beam, a shape hunched in the undergrowth.
In that split second, every instinct shouted to turn around
and run, but my feet stayed rooted.
My friend caught sight of it too, and his grip tightened on
my arm. Neither of us spoke.
We just stared as the figure crawled, almost slithered
through a patch of dead leaves. Ragged clothes clung to them,
dark, tattered cloth streaked with mud.
At first, I couldn't decide if it was human or animal.
The posture seemed off, but a muffled voice reached my ears.
Words tumbled out, though they were strange and half formed,
almost as if the speaker had forgotten how language was
supposed to work. My friend flicked his flashlight
higher, illuminating the person's face.
She was a woman, her features pinched with fear or delirium.
Dirt smeared her cheek and her hair stuck out in clumps.
She looked at us with wide, frantic eyes.
I stood there, too stunned to move.
The woman pulled herself upright, swaying dangerously,
and mumbled something about finding her campsite.
There was a desperation in her voice that felt all wrong this
far into the woods. Part of me wanted to back away.
Everything about her presence set off internal alarms, but she
looked helpless in a way that couldn't be ignored.
My friend and I exchanged glances, and even though I was
terrified, I knew we had to do something.
We offered to guide her back to the main grounds, and she
mumbled what might have been a yes.
Without warning, she lurched forward, wobbling like she might
collapse any second. I stepped in to keep her from
tumbling into a Bush, and that close I noticed an odd chemical
smell on her breath. Alcohol.
Maybe something else too. Her eyes darted around as if
searching for something lurking in the shadows.
We set off in a slow shuffle, each of us supporting her on an
elbow. The journey back felt endless.
Every so often she'd mutter disjointed phrases.
A name, a random number, a broken sentence that trailed off
once she stopped all together, scanning the dark spaces between
the trees as if convinced somebody else was out there.
I found myself scanning too, imagining shapes slipping
between trunks, just out of sight.
Twigs snapped beneath our feet, but I still have suspected we
weren't the only ones walking that path.
The woman let out a gasp at one point, and for a moment I feared
she'd bolt back into the darkness.
My friend and I tightened our hold, urging her to keep moving.
The forest pressed in on us, a maze of silhouetted branches and
wet leaves that crushed under foot.
Despite our flashlights, the trail was hard to follow.
I found myself squinting ahead, searching for even the faintest
glow from the campgrounds. Eventually, the tree line began
to thin, revealing a dull orange flicker of a campfire in the
distance. Relief surged through me, but it
was laced with the sense of unease, like stepping into a
safe zone while still expecting trouble to pounce from behind.
When we finally staggered out of the woods, a group of people by
a smoldering fire pit glanced our way.
They looked as disoriented as the woman herself.
One of them recognized her and came stumbling forward, slurring
something about how she'd wandered off after a late night
drink. They seemed clueless about how
long she'd been gone. My friend and I could barely
wrap our heads around that, considering how close she'd come
to being lost for good. We helped her sit on a log by
their dying fire, and the group thanked us in 1/2, dazed,
unbothered way. No questions about the unnerving
trek through pitch black woods or the bizarre ramblings she'd
uttered along the path. Just a casual shrug of relief,
like it was no big deal. My friend and I stepped away,
still rattled. The tension from that search in
the dark clung to. Us and everything about our own
campsite, our families chatting. The warm flicker of our own fire
now felt like a haven we'd taken for granted.
I couldn't stop replaying the moment we first caught sight of
her crawling form in the flashlight beam.
If we'd chosen a different path or left even a minute earlier,
we might never have crossed her. Trail.
We walked back in near silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
The woods seemed calmer here, maybe because the camp was so
close, but I caught myself glancing behind me, expecting to
see some other figure staggering out of the shadows.
Even safe in the ring of familiar tents and hushed
conversation, a part of me stayed on edge.
I knew I wouldn't sleep soundly that night, maybe not for the
rest of the trip. Our families asked if we had fun
on our walk, and we fed them some half truths.
We weren't ready to relive the details, and they probably
wouldn't have believed how creepy the whole thing felt.
Later, when I tried to rest, I kept picturing the woman's dirt
streaked face and the haunted look she'd given the trees
around us. In some dark corner of my
imagination, I swore there were whispers drifting around, still
calling out in the silent forest, waiting for the next
pair of unsuspecting kids brave or foolish enough to venture too
far off the beaten path.