I was born around the Appalachian Mountain area.
After I left school, I moved around a lot.
A great deal happened in my life in the past five years.
Recently, I'd gotten a call that my uncle passed away.
A simple cabin hidden deep within the woods and a truck was
all that had been left of his life.
After everything, I decided spending some time at the cabin
would be a good idea. The cabin looked a bit on the
rougher side when I arrived. My uncle hurt his back and
wasn't able to do most of the upkeep for a while.
I hadn't been there for years and it took some time to figure
out what I was doing. After two weeks, I got the small
cabin back in shape. Since I wasn't in a rush to
leave, I bought more supplies to stay a bit longer.
It felt odd not having a schedule for so long.
My life didn't change from day-to-day.
I was stuck doing the same things at the same time to keep
the bills paid, and in an instant that all changed.
Gray, threatening clouds started to roll in.
While I was fishing. I checked my phone, trying to
see what the weather would be like for the rest of the night.
It didn't work half the time because I was so deep in the
woods. It took 5 minutes for it to load
up the information about a nasty storm.
Packing up quickly, I booked it back to the cabin.
That old building better hold against what was coming.
It grew so dark I needed to turn on a Lantern in the middle of
the day. I made a note of how many unread
books I had left and that I needed to pick up new ones when
I was in town. Next, as I cooked an early
dinner, the rain started to come down hard.
The wind blew, rattling the windows.
Thunder rumbled so hard I felt it in the floorboards.
This was a night to stay inside and under some blankets.
More lightning flashed and I glanced outside at the right
time. If I'd been a second too late, I
might have missed something that would change my life.
A person was limping along outside, fighting the storm.
I rushed to grab my jacket and get my shoes on.
The instant I opened the door, I became soaked.
It was nearly impossible to see with the rain pouring into my
eyes. By some miracle I spotted the
figure again. He looks so damn small out here,
beside the massive trees that made-up the forest.
Pushing on, I reached him through the rain.
I shouted, only to have my voice get carried away by the wind.
He struggled a little as I guided him back to the cabin,
but we finally got inside, drenched and shaking from the
cold. For some reason, he was dressed
in a simple robe that appeared to be made of a natural
material. He looked young, maybe 16.
I fetched a blanket off the couch to wrap it around him.
The poor kid shook so hard his teeth chattered.
Where did you come from? I asked him, His lips pressed
together in a tight line. He refused to say anything.
I carefully guided him another step inside and his legs gave
out from under him. A puddle of water formed from
the rain dripped off us. The water looked too dark in the
dim light. I soon discovered a fresh, nasty
gash on his leg. Since he was so thin.
I lifted him to carry him over to the couch.
I did try calling for help, but my phone didn't connect.
Then I did my best to treat the wound with the supplies I had.
Where did he come from? Was there a weird cult in the
middle of the woods? It wasn't as if that sort of
thing hadn't happened before. From how rattled he looked, I
decided not to press him for answers.
Stay here for the night. If I make you uncomfortable, I
can sleep in the truck, I said. After I wrapped his leg, I stood
up and his hand flew out to take mine.
He shook his head, but hadn't spoken yet.
Gray eyes begged me not to go outside again.
I promised I wouldn't leave him. He needed some dry clothing,
some oversized sweaters and sweatpants.
Would need to be good for now. I didn't sleep well that night.
The cabin had three rooms, a main room, a bedroom, and a
bathroom. I let him sleep in the bedroom
as I took the couch. Ideas of where that kid came
from and what happened rolled around in my brain all night.
I wouldn't get any answers until he decided to tell me.
The storm finally died down before dawn.
I passed out for a few hours feeling more tired.
After I woke up, the first thing I did was knock on the bedroom
door to see how he was doing. When no answer came, I opened it
a crack. The bed appeared, slept in, but
empty. He wasn't in the bathroom, so
did he run off? Fear raced through my stomach
until I opened the cabin door to see the boy from the night
before outside, stretching, At least his leg looked to be all
right. How are you feeling?
I asked, not expecting to get an answer.
Better. He responded in a deeper voice
that didn't match his face. Do you want to head into town
for a real doctor to look over your leg?
I said, and he shook his head. No.
It'll heal on its own. The cut looked worse than it is.
He pulled up the pant leg to show off the long cut along his
leg. I must have been seeing things
last night. I could have sworn it was twice
as long a few hours before. What's your name?
I'm Dean again. I wasn't expecting him to
answer, and yet he did. I'm Hemlock.
Yeah, with a name like that, he was totally a part of a weird
cult that lived in the woods. Would I need to kidnap a random
kid to get him away from an abusive family?
Do you live out here? I said, a bit suspicious.
Yes. I'm a part of a small family
that has lived in the mountains for years.
There are a few different families around here.
A fight broke out and well, that's how my leg was hurt.
I'm sure the issue has been resolved.
I crossed my arms not liking what I was hearing.
My uncle never said anything about other people living near
his cabin. How far out were they?
How many people? I knew it wasn't my place to
look down on how people lived just because it was different,
but I worried about any issues that kind of lifestyle may
bring. You don't have, like a main
leader claiming the end of the world is going to happen and
then takes like 10 wives, right? I suggested hoping being so
upfront wouldn't scare him away. The kid laughed, which put me a
bit more at ease. Who would ever need 10 wives?
Isn't one when you're ready enough, At least.
That reaction made me think there was a chance Hemlock was
doing all right living in the woods.
Then again, his name was Hemlock.
Unless I saw how he was living, I wouldn't be certain he was
safe or not. I nudged at the dirt, wondering
if it was my place to stick my nose into his business.
Where do you live when your leg is a bit better?
I can drive you there. I nodded towards the rusted
truck my uncle left. Hemlock chewed on his cheek,
unsure of my offer. He shook his head, trying to
think of a polite way to refuse. We would need to walk.
It's far into the forest and there are no roads.
I'll be fine to return on my own.
I would like to do something to repay you for your help.
I shook my head, but it didn't look as if he would accept the
lack of repayment. I thought for a minute,
wondering if there was anything I could ask him to do.
Let's go fishing today. It was an easy chore that would
keep him off his injured leg. I had two rods so we didn't need
to share. After collecting the gear, we
walked down to the lake as a chilly wind blew.
It cooled down a lot from the rain.
The path had become so muddy I was having issues with getting
my boots stuck. Hemlock walked barefoot.
Even with an injured leg, he didn't have any issues not
sinking into the muck. We found a good spot by the
lake. To get set up.
I needed to show him how to bait the hook and explain what the
bobber and weight did. Apparently his family just
caught fish with their bare hands.
He was going to do the same, but I told him it wasn't a good idea
to get lake water in his open wound.
I wanted to talk a little, but found it hard to get a
conversation going. How old are you?
Like high school age? When he gave me a blank stare, I
elaborated. 16, younger. I'm an adult, he said, sounding
offended. Not to me.
We got distracted by a bite from a fish.
It turned out to be too small, so it got tossed back.
I caught Hemlock watching me as if he wanted to ask a question.
When he noticed he had been caught, he opened up about what
was on his mind. Only parents think I'm younger
than I am, and you've seemed very protective of me.
Do you have any children? He cautiously asked.
A son a few years younger than you.
Hemlock's face lit up. He half expected to see another
kid his age appear at any moment.
I bet he easily made friends. Will he be spending any time at
your cabin? No, he's with his mother, I
replied, hating how cold my tone sounded.
Hemlock knew to drop the subject and felt awkward bringing the
whole thing up. He made things better between us
by snatching a fish who had foolishly gotten too close to
the edge of the lake. By lunchtime.
We had enough fish for dinner. I'd caught two while Hemlock
caught 6 by baiting the water and grabbing victims before they
knew what was coming. I insisted he stayed for dinner.
It seemed like he was ready to run off at any moment.
I offered to cook while he cleaned up.
The smell of the lake clung to his clothing, which he hadn't
noticed. The cabin had its own water
system. I wouldn't have been able to
stay out here for as long as I had without hot water.
I showed Hemlock how the shower worked, but said he could also
have a bath if he preferred. I cleaned and deep fried the
fish, along with a few side dishes from whatever canned
goods I had around. My guest came out of the
bathroom dressed in more borrowed clothing, his cheeks
still red from the hot water. The soap smelled too strong for
me to use. Hot water is such a nice treat.
It's such a hassle building a fire to warm up water that we
don't bother doing it very often.
My eyes narrowed at him after I set down a plate of hot food.
Was it healthy to take cold baths all the time?
Maybe. I did need to see what kind of
place he was living in. Hemlock dug into his food,
unaware of what he had just admitted.
For a small guy, he ate a lot. Having a full stomach and a bath
knocked him out. I cleaned the dishes as he
slowly drifted off on the couch, promising to get up soon to help
me clean up. I had planned on letting him
sleep through the night and then making sure he got home safely
the next day. Sometimes things just don't work
out the way you want them to. It had gotten dark when Hemlock
started to stir in his sleep. A noise came from outside.
It was as if someone was walking just in front of the cabin.
There shouldn't be anyone around in the dark.
I grabbed the rifle next to the door and stopped to listen.
The gun had belonged to my uncle, and I hadn't fired it
before. I knew it was still loaded from
when he had been alive, but I hadn't found any spare ammo in
the cabin. A soft knock came.
I tensed as I started to reach for the doorknob, the gun in my
other hand. If the person wanted to cause
trouble, I was positive I could deal with it.
Don't, Hemlock shouted from the couch.
I just turned the doorknob When he spoke up.
The wooden door exploded inwards, knocking my body a few
feet back. My entire body heard as stars
danced through the darkness. My head slammed against the
wooden floor, stunning me for a full minute.
I climbed out from under the door, rifle still in hand, but
my body refused to stand. 2 strangers stood inside the
cabin. They were dressed and sewn
together, dirty rags. Their bodies were tall and bone
thin. One had a hand with long fingers
wrapped around Hemlock's arm to start dragging him towards the
open doorway. Let go of him, I said through
gritted teeth and raised the rifle.
The one man turned his head to show a long grin.
His mouth appeared unnaturally thin.
His dark eyes were set into a skull like face.
Oh, how cute. Let's take this one too, he said
in a raspy voice. No, you know the deal.
We do not involve outsiders, Hemlock nearly begged.
The man fully turned around to face me, his movement stiff as
if a corpse had started to walk. He sheltered you.
He is no longer an outsider, the stranger pointed out.
I didn't care about what they were talking about.
I just needed to get these two the hell out of my cabin.
He has a family. If he goes missing again,
Hemlock was on my side. Both the men laughed.
The sound chilled my spine and caused fear to run through my
body. The taller of the two of them
looked over me. The dark eyes see something no
human should be able to. No, he doesn't.
The shorter 1 spoke in such a wispy tone I could barely
understand the words. Then he spoke clearly, but not
in his voice. No, the voice of my wife came
from him. I'm going to my sister's for the
weekend. I'm taking Pumpkin with me.
Call me when you're done work. That was what she said in her
last voicemail to me. How did they know that?
Did they somehow get to my phone while I was at the cabin to hear
it? When the taller 1 spoke, it said
something no one should ever know.
Mom is going to take me for some driving practice after school.
We might be. I pulled the trigger before he
finished speaking. I couldn't bear to hear my son's
voice coming from that creature's mouth.
My hands trembled too much for the shot to hit.
I couldn't even focus enough to see if I could use the gun
again. My stomach turned from guilt and
rage. How did they know what to say?
And how did they sound exactly like people they shouldn't have
ever met before? Both cackled, enjoying my pain
as Hemlock's face fell. A clawed hand reached around to
take his face under his chin to painfully lifted upwards.
Look at what you did. You let a human get involved
with us. Now we must eat him.
Not only that, but you got your silly father killed by attacking
us first. His eyes widened, unaware of if
the creature was lying about his father's death.
I looked around, trying to see if there was a weapon I could
use. The rifle was useless, aside
from being a blunt object. I needed to get us the hell out
of here. I no longer cared about who
these two were. The important thing was how to
get away. You're lying.
You attacked us. We only defended ourselves.
Our tribe has abided by the agreement since it was made.
Why would we ever go against it? He protested, sounding like the
scared Kitty looked like after you're dead, then it'll be our
word as proof. The winter was very hard on us.
I fear the next one shall kill more of our kind.
So be a good little boy and don't fight in the same way your
father did. We don't want to damage such a
nice coat a second time. That was enough to get Hemlock
to fight back. A set of fangs appeared in his
mouth as a deep growl rumbled through the cabin.
He bit down hard on the hand that had held his chin.
While those three were distracted, I rushed over to the
other side of the room to grab the longest knife I could find.
The taller man closed the distance between us in three
steps. I turned on my heel to plunge
the knife right through his body.
To my sheer horror, it didn't even slow him down.
His long fingers easily tore through my shirt to dig into my
stomach. Pain ripped through my body as I
struggled to keep a scream down. I found another knife to try and
get it into his eyes. I missed and hit his neck
instead. The blade poked out clear
through to the other side, with black liquid pulling from the
wound. The creature's eyes grew darker
and mouth widened to his ears with ease.
He tore open my flesh, his hand reaching inside to grab whatever
it could. I screamed then, unable to deal
with the pain and horror of the situation.
For a moment I thought I was going to die from this thing.
Another scream came from the cabin, but it wasn't from me.
The other creature started running towards the door with
black liquid spilling from where it's arm should be.
He was tackled to the ground as sharp teeth found his neck.
Within seconds, the other beast that appeared inside the cabin
had ripped the creature's head off, getting the attention of
the one who still had a dirty hand in my stomach.
The taller monster appeared scared.
For the first time, we were both staring at a massive Gray wolf
devouring a thin body. It lifted a large head, then
angry Gray eyes landed on their next target.
The tall man darted away, trying to run around the couch and
behind the wolf. Within a second, the wolf
changed to more of a human appearance.
It stood on 2 legs with a human upper body covered in fur.
It caught the skinny monster with a powerful hand and easily
ripped off the arm it took hold of.
The creature screamed as it also changed, trying to fight back.
The head was nothing more than a mouth, ready to bite down on
anything in its way, but the thin monster was outmatched.
It was taken apart in seconds by the larger wolf that covered the
inside of the cabin with its dark blood.
I was fading at that point. I fell to the ground.
The pain eased into a comfortable numbness.
If Hemlock was all right, I knew it would be fine to accept my
fate. All the fear I had felt slowly
started to drain away. Someone had lifted me off the
ground and I faintly heard a voice calling out my name.
I forced my eyes open to see a blurry vision of the boy I found
in a storm. His eyes were wet with tears.
My brain didn't understand his words, but I knew he was asking
something. I close my eyes again,
considering what I should do. A second ago I was ready to go
back to my wife and son. After seeing him, I knew I
needed to stay around for a little bit longer.
Using the last of my strength, I agreed to what?
He asked. Then a set of teeth came down on
my shoulder, causing a new wave of pain to flash through my
body. I fell into a deep sleep as
something came flooding into my bloodstream.
It was uncomfortable and I feared who I would become when I
woke up again. When I did wake up, I was in the
bedroom of the cabin. My stomach and any other
injuries were healed over as if they never happened, aside from
a set of scars showing a bite on my shoulder.
I got up feeling oddly light. The sunlight appeared to be too
bright, and the birds outside were far louder than I remember.
Someone had tried to clean the cabin.
Dark blood still stained the wood, but the bodies had been
removed. Hemlock waited for me outside,
wearing more borrowed clothing and appearing almost remorseful.
This wasn't your fault. I told him to make sure to get
that out of the way first. It was.
I should never have entered the cabin with you.
I believed in my father's strength and was positive he
would win against our attackers. There were ten of them.
He stayed behind to let me get away.
He sounded so guilty. It hurt.
I know it hurts being left behind, but he was a good
father. It's the parents job to protect
their kids. I didn't do that.
I couldn't do anything for my son.
Clearly he disagreed and voiced that opinion by punching my arm.
I rubbed the spot where he hit, offended.
I bet he would have done the same thing if he heard you
saying that Hemlock argued. He was a good kid.
I'm glad his father protected him, but I wish they could have
stayed together. How am I even alive right now?
I asked, getting back to the important stuff.
He looked guilty again and kicked at the dirt with bare
feet. Well, I turned you into one of
us. I'm sorry, but it was the only
way, he admitted. I kind of figured it was
something like that. Now what?
Am I going to turn into a wolf every full moon and devour
backpackers? He wrinkled his nose at the
suggestion and shook his head No.
It'll take a few days before you'll be able to fully
transform. With enough strength, you'll be
able to do it anytime it's needed.
I normally spend most of my time as a wolf, but there is a way to
prevent that. If you drink a certain tea
before your first change, the wolf inside you will be locked
away forever. I crossed my arms, uncertain of
how I felt about that. I could still leave these woods
as a human to go about a normal life.
Or I could become a wolf and discover a new life involving
monsters made-up of nightmares. What's stopping people from
abusing this? Like cheating death by getting
bitten anytime they're about to die and drinking the tea to
avoid the whole wolf thing? I wondered out loud.
No one had survived being bitten twice, and a bitten wolf has a
shorter life span than a born wolf.
You'll most likely only live till you're 40, so maybe five
more years. Is that how old you think I am?
I said while uncrossing my arms, very peeved by his misjudgment.
He looked very nervous about upsetting me.
When I smiled, it made him calm down.
I thought over my choices again, really wondering if I could
throw away being human. What's up with those thin
creatures? Are there a lot more of them?
Hemlock nodded, his face grim, thinking about what attacked us.
We're unsure of their numbers, but it feels as if more appear
every summer. Attacks from them have become
more common, even though we can't ever prove it.
I fear another war will break out between us that will hurt
humans that get caught in the middle.
Hearing something like that would make someone want to never
take another step inside the forest again.
If I stayed, I would risk my already shortened life to get
caught up in an enviable war between monsters.
I guess you need one more wolf on your side.
Give me 3 days to get some things in order.
Since I didn't have any family left, it was easy to take care
of things. I sold the higher cost items and
then donated what I could. I kept some clothing and some
savings. It felt oddly freeing to get rid
of most of my worldly goods, knowing they would be far more
useful to someone else. I met Hemlock back at the cabin,
ready to start a different life. He said that his family didn't
mind welcoming A newcomer into their ranks, but they thought
that I should live at the cabin for a bit longer and slowly get
introduced to their way of life, no matter how afraid the idea of
more of those thin monsters made me, I decided to protect Hemlock
in the same way his father had. After all, it's a parent's job
to take care of their children. My name's Sam, and I've spent
all my 19 years in a small, rural town in Michigan where the
trees outnumber people and the sky stretches wide and clear
from horizon to horizon. Living here with my twin sister
Molly, our younger sisters NIA and Sierra, and our parents,
I've grown a deep love for the outdoors.
Whether it's hiking through the dense woods that surround our
home or climbing the rugged Bluffs that overlook our town,
there's nowhere I'd rather be. Tonight, though, was different.
Tonight was about family, laughter, and a bit of mischief.
It was one of those rare evenings when everyone was home
and the outside world, with all its adventures, seemed to fade
away. Our home, usually quiet, was
alive with giggles and whispers. As NIA and Sierra had their
friend Jewels over for a sleepover, I lounged in my bed,
a book forgotten on my lap, listening to the muffled sounds
of my sister's joy From across the hall, Molly popped into my
room, her eyes sparkling with the same excitement that seemed
to charge the air. Come on, Sam, don't be a bore,
she teased, tugging at my arm. I'm not being a bore, I
protested, though the smile on my face betrayed my real
feelings. I'm just really comfy here.
Go on, I'll join you guys later. Molly rolled her eyes, but left
with a laugh. Joining the others, I settled
back, the comfort of my bed lulling me into a state of
contented drowsiness. That's when the night took a
turn. It must have been around
midnight, when a chilling sound pierced the night's calm, a
series of deep, guttural screams that seemed to come from
everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
At first I thought it was just the girls playing around, but
then my phone buzzed. Did you hear them?
Nia's text read, sending a shiver down my spine.
Yeah, I thought it was you guys. I texted back, trying to sound
more nonchalant than I felt. No, they came from the woods,
came her reply. And that's when I knew this was
no ordinary night. I jumped out of bed and rushed
to their room. The scene that greeted me was
one of pure chaos. Nia's eyes were wide with fear,
Sierra was rubbing sleep from her eyes, and Molly looked like
she'd seen a ghost. We huddled together, the weight
of the unknown pressing down on us.
The screams came again, closer this time more desperate.
What are they? Sierra's voice was barely a
whisper, but it echoed my own fears.
Could it be coyotes? NIA wondered aloud, but Molly
was quick to dismiss it. The sounds were unlike anything
we'd heard before. The room fell silent, the
tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Guys, I'm scared, Sierra admitted, voicing what we were
all feeling in that moment. We were no longer just siblings.
We were comrades facing an unseen enemy together.
Jules, who had been asleep through most of this, suddenly
stirred. I don't want to play this game
anymore, she mumbled, before falling back into a restless
sleep. Her words, though innocent,
seemed to hang heavily in the room.
Should we have dad go check it out?
NIA suggested, but the thought of venturing outside was quickly
dismissed. No, we decided, if we were going
to face whatever was out there, we do it together.
Gathering our courage, we equipped ourselves with
flashlights and stepped into the night, not knowing that what
awaited us would be something far beyond our wildest fears.
As we left the safety of our home behind, I couldn't help but
wonder, Were we walking into a nightmare?
The decision to step into the woods that night was made with a
mix of bravery and recklessness that only comes when you're
surrounded by the people who make you feel invincible.
Our little band, armed with nothing but flashlights and the
kind of optimism that seemed foolish in hindsight, ventured
into the darkness that enveloped our backyard.
The woods at night are a different beast entirely.
Shadows danced and twisted around every tree, and the usual
comforting rustle of leaves sounded more like whispers.
My heart raced, and I could hear the shallow, nervous breaths of
my sisters and jewels. We moved as a unit, our lights
cutting through the darkness, creating a small island of
safety in a sea of uncertainty. We should have stayed in the
house, Sierra whispered, her voice barely audible over the
sound of our footsteps on the forest floor.
I couldn't help but agree with her.
The excitement that had propelled us out the door was
quickly being replaced by a gnawing sense of dread.
It's just a bit further, Molly said, trying to sound confident,
but her voice betrayed her fear. Every snap of a twig under foot
sounded like a gunshot in the silence, making us jump.
Then, without warning, the screams tore through the night
again. This time they were closer, more
real. It wasn't just one scream, but
many overlapping and echoing off the trees.
We froze, our lights scanning the darkness, hearts pounding in
our chests. What are they?
NIA asked, her voice shaking. I didn't have an answer.
The screams didn't belong to any animal I knew.
They were too raw, too filled with an emotion that sounded
eerily human. We should have turned back then,
but something kept us moving forward.
Maybe it was the need to protect our home, or maybe we were just
too scared to admit we were in over our heads.
And then we saw it. The beam of my flashlight landed
on a figure so bizarre it took a moment for my brain to even
register what I was seeing. It was tall, unnaturally so,
with skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light.
Its limbs were long and thin, ending in hands with fingers
that were too long, too twisted to be human, But it was its
face, or lack thereof, that haunted me.
Instead of eyes, there were just small black holes, and its mouth
was a wide, grotesque smile filled with sharp, uneven teeth.
It was like something out of a nightmare, and it was standing
there watching us. I don't want to play this game
anymore, it's said, and the voice was Jules's, but it was
all wrong. The words were the same, but the
tone was mocking, chilling. We stood there frozen in terror
as more of these creatures emerged from the shadows
encircling us. Their eyes were voids, and their
smiles were nightmares made real.
I don't want to play this game anymore, they chanted, their
voices a twisted chorus that seemed to come from everywhere
and nowhere. Panic surged through me, primal
and overwhelming. Run, I yelled, and we turned,
fleeing back through the woods. The creatures.
Laughter followed us, a sound that would haunt my dreams for
years to come. We ran without direction,
without thought, driven by the sheer instinct to survive.
The woods around us were alive with movement, with terror, and
with the realization that we had ventured into a world far beyond
our understanding. Our hearts pounded like
drumbeats as we fled through the woods, the night around us,
alive with the chilling echoes of those we were desperate to
escape. The cold air bit at my lungs as
I pushed myself faster, the fear of being caught by those things
fueling my adrenaline. The once familiar woods felt
alien, every shadow of potential threat, every rustle, a possible
ambush. We didn't stop running until the
outline of the shed emerged from the darkness, a beacon of hope
in our night of terror. Molly reached at first, throwing
open the door, and we all stumbled inside, gasping for
breath. NIA slammed the door shut,
locking us in with a shaky hand. The shed was cramped, filled
with garden tools and the musty smell of old wood.
It was hardly a fortress, but it was all we had.
We huddled together in the dark, our flashlights off to avoid
drawing attention, listening to the haunting silence outside.
Are they gone? Sierra's voice was a whisper,
tinged with hope and fear. I didn't answer.
I didn't know. All I knew was that the night
had transformed from an adventure into a nightmare.
We couldn't wake up from time, stretched on, marked only by our
quiet breathing and the occasional creak of the shed
settling. It felt like we were trapped in
a bubble, the world outside holding its breath along with
us. Then the silence was shattered
by a soft thud against the shed wall, followed by another, and
then a barrage of sounds that made my blood run cold.
They were outside, hitting the walls with what sounded like
hands and bodies, a constant reminder of the horror lurking
just beyond our thin shelter. We didn't scream.
We didn't even move. We were statues, frozen by fear,
barely daring to breathe. As the assault on the shed
continued, I could feel my sisters trembling beside me,
their fear as palpable as my own.
It was a long night, the longest of my life, filled with terror
and the unspoken fear that we might not make it until morning.
But eventually the first light of dawn began to seep through
the cracks in the shed, casting weak beams of light across our
huddled group. The banging stopped as suddenly
as it had started, leaving behind a silence that was almost
as terrifying. We waited, none of us willing to
be the first to break the silence or make a move toward
the door. Finally, as the light grew
stronger, I stood up, my legs stiff and my body aching.
I moved to the door, hesitated for a moment, and then slowly,
carefully opened it. The early morning light was
blinding, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
When they did, I saw that the world outside was exactly as we
had left it, with no sign of the night's horrors.
The woods were calm, the air fresh with the scent of dew and
the promise of a new day. We walked back to the house in
silence, a mix of relief and disbelief in every step.
Our mother was surprised to see us up so early, her frown
deepening as she took in our dishevelled appearance and the
unspoken tension between us. We just stayed up late, talking.
Molly lied smoothly, and I was grateful for her quick thinking.
Our mother accepted the explanation with a skeptical
look, but didn't press further. We retreated to NIA and Sierra's
room, not to sleep, but to sit together in silence, processing
the events of the night. We never spoke of what happened,
not even to each other. It was as if putting it into
words would make it too real, too terrifying to face.
But the memories remained, haunting our dreams and coloring
every shadow with the fear of what lurks in the dark.
That night changed us. We were no longer just siblings.
We were survivors of a night we would never forget, bound by a
secret we could never share. I'm not much of an outdoors kind
of guy. I've always preferred the
comfort of indoor spaces, so when my friend Greg invited me
over to his house, I didn't expect our day to take such a
chilling turn. It was a scorching Monday
morning, typical of summer days, and Greg and I were holed up
indoors, engrossed in the world of gaming.
His mom bustled around in the kitchen, conjuring up the
delightful aroma of breakfast with his dad already off to
work. The house echoed with the sounds
of our laughter and the sizzle of bacon.
We were your quintessential 15 year old boys clad in hoodies,
ripped jeans, and cool sneakers. Greg, always the competitive
one, teased me about my gaming skills.
You suck at this game, Isaac, he remarked, prompting a playful
retort from me. Just as the banter settled,
Greg's sister made her entrance, teasing us about our early
morning gaming session. But soon we were all summoned to
the kitchen by the enticing smell of breakfast.
After devouring our meal, Greg's mom mentioned their plan to
visit Uncle Dan's house, leaving us home alone for the day and
night. It was an opportunity we
couldn't resist. Hours passed as we indulged in
our gaming marathon. Eventually, boredom crept in and
we decided to explore the outdoors.
Greg suggested a trail nearby, promising the allure of
adventure. Reluctantly, I agreed, as long
as he compensated me with $5. As we ventured onto the Pinewood
Trail, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease.
The serene ambience of chirping birds and rustling leaves soon
turned ominous. A whisper, barely audible,
tickled my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Greg brushed off my concern, but I couldn't shake the sensation
of being watched. Further along the trail, amidst
the towering Pines, I caught a glimpse of a figure cloaked in
black and white. My call for attention yielded no
response, and the mysterious presence vanished into thin air.
Greg dismissed it as a figment of my imagination, but the sense
of dread lingered as dusk descended.
We hastened our pace to exit the woods, yet the encroaching
darkness only heightened our anxiety.
A growl emanating from the depths of the forest froze us in
our tracks. Panic set in as we fumble for
our flashlights, only to illuminate a horrifying sight.
Before us stood A grotesque creature, pale and naked with
Crimson eyes that pierced through the darkness.
Towering at a height of eight feet, it bared razor sharp teeth
in a menacing snarl. Terror seized us as we realized
this was no ordinary woodland predator.
With adrenaline coursing through our veins, we fled into the
cover of bushes, praying for sanctuary.
The creatures sinister presence loomed, its predatory instincts
guiding it closer to our hiding spot.
Desperation fueled our escape as we sprinted towards safety.
Guided by the eerie whispers of the forest finally emerging from
the treacherous woods, we raced back home, haunted by the
nightmarish encounter. The ordeal left us shaken,
grappling with the inexplicable horrors lurking within the
shadows. And as the moon cast its glow
upon the silent streets, I vowed never to venture into those
woods again, haunted by the chilling memory of that
unearthly creature. I've always found solace in the
untamed corners of the world where nature speaks and whispers
and roars, revealing her beauty to those patient enough to
listen. My camera, an extension of my
being, has captured the serene and the savage, from the silent
dance of the Northern Lights to the ferocious hunt of the
Mountain Lion. It's a life that oscillates
between solitude and the sudden adrenaline of capturing the
untold stories of the wild. But that day, as I sat editing
photos from a recent expedition, the phone rang, pulling me from
my reverie into an unfolding mystery.
The voice on the other end was crisp, authoritative.
We need your eye out here, it said.
The Alps, A terrain so dramatically different from the
rolling plains and dense forests I was accustomed to, beckoned
the local police out of their element in the vast wilderness,
where several hikers had vanished, were calling on me.
The suspicion was a Wolf Pack, but without proof, it was just
that, suspicion. The offer included an extra sum,
attempting sweetener that would cover the down payment for the
new truck I'd been eyeing. Adventure and necessity
colliding. I couldn't refuse.
Packing was a ritual. Each item, camera, gear, laptop,
survival essentials. A testament to the years spent
wandering through nature's marvels and menaces.
The flight to Switzerland was a blur of anticipation and the
endless replaying of scenarios. In my head, what awaited was
unknown, a puzzle nestled in the majestic, daunting Alps.
Marcus, the team leader, met me at the airport.
His handshake was firm, the kind that spoke of resilience and
unspoken stories. His briefing was thorough.
Disappearances weren't new, but the frequency and the lack of
evidence were unsettling. Torn clothing and blood stains
hinted at a narrative of horror and mystery, challenging us to
piece it together. Our base camp was on the
forest's edge, a stone's throw from where civilization ended
and the wild began. Marcus introduced me to the
team, seasoned Mountaineers and rescuers whose eyes mirrored the
resolve I felt. But beneath it there was an
undercurrent of unease, A palpable tension that the serene
beauty of our surroundings couldn't dispel.
The landscape was a photographer's dream, snow
capped peaks standing Sentinel over valleys, the play of light
and shadow casting an ethereal glow on the untouched snow.
It was a stark reminder of nature's duality, her capacity
for breathtaking beauty and, as our mission suggested,
devastating brutality. Marcus's final briefing before
we ventured into the unknown was a sobering reminder of the
stakes. The map laid out before us
charted not just our path but also our purpose, to find those
lost, to bring answers where there were none.
His words on dealing with wolves, though meant to
reassure, felt like a grim prophecy of encounters we hope
to avoid. My experience with wildlife,
usually observed through the lens of my camera, offered
little comfort that night, as I lay in my tent, the excitement
of the chase wrestled with the gravity of our task.
My thoughts wandered to the missing hikers, to the stories
their silence told. Sleep was a reluctant visitor,
and when it came, it brought with it dreams darkened by the
howls of unseen predators, their eyes glowing in the shadows of
my mind. Dawn broke, casting a golden
light on our resolve. As we readied ourselves,
Marcus's gaze met mine, an unspoken acknowledgement of the
journey ahead. We stepped into the forest, the
unknown waiting with open jaws. The Wild called and we answered,
not knowing what reply awaited us.
The morning air bit at my skin as we set out a thin veil of
mist hanging low over the ground, turning the world
ethereal. The Alps, majestic in their
silent watch, held secrets in their snow clad folds.
Marcus LED with a pace that suggested urgency, yet every
step was measured, every glance towards the dense tree line
calculated. Laura, Alex and I followed, each
lost in our thoughts, bound together by a mission that felt
increasingly Sisyphean as the sun clawed its way above the
peaks, casting long shadows that danced across the snow, I
couldn't help but raise my camera.
The beauty of this place was intoxicating, a stark contrast
to the grim purpose that brought us here.
The forest swallowed us whole, the crunch of our boots the only
sign of our passage. I'd been in wild places before,
each with its own voice, but this forest was silent, as if
holding its breath, watching. Marcus stopped us, a few hours
in his hand raised in a silent command.
We huddled around a map, its lines and symbols a poor
substitute for the complexity of the terrain around us.
We split here, he said, his voice low, eyes scanning our
faces. Radio check.
Every hour we can cover more ground that way.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, a silent question of
whether I was ready for what lay ahead.
I paired with Alex, a man of few words, his demeanor as rugged as
the landscape we traversed. Our path was a narrow ribbon
through the trees, the snow untouched but for the tracks of
unseen animals we called out, our voices seeming to hang in
the cold air before being swallowed by the silence.
Hello. Anyone there?
But the forest kept its secrets, offering no reply.
Time became a blur, marked only by the occasional radio check in
nothing on our end. Marcus's voice crackled through
the static. Laura and he had also found no
sign of the missing hikers. The tension was a tangible
thing, a weight that settled on our shoulders, pressing down
with each unanswered call. The decision to split further
was made with a heavy heart. Marcus's warning to stay on the
trail and keep in radio contact was a grim reminder of the thin
line we walked between Searcher and lost.
Alex and I nodded our route, taking us deeper into the heart
of the wilderness. His stride was purposeful, his
eyes constantly scanning the shadows.
I found myself struggling to match his pace, my camera
hanging forgotten at my side. The forest seemed to close in
around us, the trees towering Sentinels that whispered secrets
we couldn't understand. Every snapped twig, every rustle
of leaves sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my
veins. I wondered about the wolves, the
supposed culprits of this mystery.
Were they watching us, unseen, observers to our feudal search?
Our destination was a clearing marked on the map, a rendezvous
point that promised a brief respite from the oppressive
atmosphere of the forest. But as the hours passed and the
radio remained silent, a seed of dread took root in my mind.
The clearing, when we finally arrived, was empty.
No sign of Marcus and Laura, just the untouched snow and the
looming silence of the forest. Alex's attempts to reach them on
the radio met only static, his frustration a mirror to my
growing fear. We need to go back, he said, the
first hint of uncertainty in his voice.
But as we retraced our steps, the forest seemed to mock us,
its secrets sealed behind a veneer of natural beauty and
silence. The wilderness, I realized, was
indifferent to our plight, a reminder that out here we were
not the predators but prey to the unknown.
The realization that Marcus and Laura were missing cut through
the cold morning air like a Shard of ice.
Alex's face, usually an unreadable mask, tightened
lines, etching deeper into his weather beaten skin.
We had retraced our steps, the silence of the forest now a
menacing force pushing against us with palpable hostility.
My camera, once a trusted companion, hung heavy around my
neck, useless in the face of our growing desperation.
We split from the main trail hours ago, a decision that now
seemed reckless. The forest, a labyrinth of
shadows and whispers, seemed to mock our efforts.
Our calls for Marcus and Laura, once hopeful now, carried a note
of panic. The radio, our lifeline to the
others, crackled with static, an ominous soundtrack to our
search. I watched Alex as he attempted
to contact them again, his voice betraying the first signs of
fear. The static answered back, a
cold, indifferent hiss that seemed to come from everywhere
and nowhere. The realization that we were
truly alone, possibly haunted, settled in my stomach like a
stone. The decision to head to the
clearing was made in silence, an unspoken agreement that it was
our best chance of finding our missing friends.
The terrain grew more treacherous.
The beauty of the snow covered Alps, now a cruel joke.
Every step was a struggle, the weight of our gear and the
burden of fear a constant companion.
As we broke through the tree line into the clearing, Hope
flared briefly, only to be extinguished.
The clearing was empty, the untouched snow a blank canvas
that offered no clues. Alex's reaction was visceral, a
curse lost to the wind as he threw the radio to the ground.
The frustration, the fear, the sheer helplessness of the
situation was palpable. We had to make a decision.
The light was fading, the temperature dropping, and with
it our chances of finding Marcus and Laura alive.
The wilderness, indifferent to our plight, offered no comfort,
no guidance. We were intruders here,
unwelcome and unprepared for the reality of the wild.
The return to the camp was a blur, each step and effort to
push back against the rising tide of despair.
The forest seemed to close in around us, the trees whispering
secrets we were not meant to hear.
When we finally emerged, the camp, usually a place of refuge,
felt like a hollow shell, the absence of Marcus and Laura, a
wound that bled despair. That night, as we gathered
around a fire that offered little warmth, the reality of
our situation settled in. We were lost, not just in the
wilderness, but in a mystery that seemed to have no answers.
The team, once a cohesive unit, now seemed fractured, each of us
grappling with our fears, our failures.
Sleep was elusive, the night filled with the sounds of the
forest, each rustle, each snap of a twig, a reminder of our
vulnerability. The dreams, when they came, were
filled with shadows and screams, the forest alive with unseen
threats. Dawn brought no relief, only the
stark realization that we had to go back to face the wilderness
once more. The search for Marcus and Laura
was more than a mission. It was a test, a measure of our
resolve against the unforgiving heart of the wild.
As we set out the weight of the unknown pressing down on us, I
understood the true nature of fear.
It was not the darkness, not the cold, but the silence, the
absence of answers that haunted us.
The aftermath of our grim discovery in the clearing
lingered like a bad taste, the kind that seeps into your pores
and refuses to leave. Our return to the base camp was
a silent procession, A tribute to the loss of Marcus and Laura,
and perhaps to our own dwindling hopes.
The wilderness, once a canvas of natural beauty and wonder, now
felt like a vast, indifferent witness to our despair.
The following days were a blur of activity and inactivity, the
investigation into the deaths unfolding with a sluggishness
that bordered on the surreal. The authorities descended, their
presence a stark contrast to the solitude we had known.
Questions were asked, answers sifted through and theories
proposed. But the forest kept its secrets,
offering no solace, no clues. I found myself adrift, the
camera that had once been my connection to the world, now a
reminder of what we'd lost. The images I had captured, once
vibrant and full of life, now seemed like echoes from a
different time, a different existence.
The mystery of what had happened to Marcus and Laura and the
nature of the beast that had taken them from us, gnawed at
me, an unscratchable itch that permeated my waking thoughts and
haunted my dreams. The call from Alex, when it
came, was like a lifeline, a thread pulling me back from the
edge of an abyss. The autopsy reports were in, he
said, his voice a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
The findings were as unsettling as the mystery itself.
The bite marks didn't match any known animal, a chilling
revelation that suggested we were dealing with something
beyond our understanding, beyond our world.
The news settled over me like a shroud, the implications
terrifying in their ambiguity. What had we been hunting?
What had been hunting us? The wilderness, a place I had
once sought for its beauty and solitude, now felt like a vast,
uncharted territory where unknown dangers lurked.
Mocking our attempts to understand, to categorize, to
control, I spent long hours poring over my photos, searching
for any clue, any anomaly that might provide an answer.
The beauty of the Alps, captured in those frames, now seemed like
a facade, hiding a darker truth beneath its picturesque surface.
The silence of the forest, once peaceful, now felt ominous.
A heavy cloak that concealed the presence of something ancient,
something malevolent. The rest of the team dispersed.
The search officially called off the mystery of the missing
hikers, and the deaths of Marcus and Laura left unsolved a cold
case in the literal and metaphorical sense.
But for me, the journey was far from over.
The wilderness had changed me, had shown me the limits of my
understanding, my courage. I returned to my work, to the
Wilds, but with a new perspective, a new respect for
the mysteries that lay hidden in the depths of the forest.
The call of the wild, once an invitation to explore, to
discover, now felt like a warning, a reminder of our place
in the natural order of the thin veneer of civilization that
separates us from the unknown. The wilderness, with its untold
secrets and unseen dangers, had once been my sanctuary, my muse.
Now it was a puzzle, a challenge, a question that
demanded an answer. And I knew deep down that the
search for that answer would define the rest of my life.
A quest not just for the truth about what happened in those
snow covered mountains, but for the meaning of our existence in
a world that is far stranger, far more complex than we could
ever have imagined. I'd never been one to shy away
from adventure. In fact, I craved it.
But when my family decided to move to what might as well have
been the edge of the world, I felt more apprehension than
excitement. Our new house was surrounded by
woods so dense and dark they seemed to swallow up the light,
making the daytime feel like dusk.
The first day in our new home was a blur of unpacking boxes
and avoiding my parents attempts to make the move seem like a
grand adventure. They didn't understand.
How could they? To them, this was a fresh start,
but to me it felt like exile. As the afternoon waned, I felt a
restless itch to explore. Maybe, I thought, if I could
just get a feel for the land, I might find something to like
about this place. So I told my mom I was going for
a walk, ignoring her warning to stay close.
The forest beckoned with a silent, eerie allure that I
couldn't resist at first. I stuck to the edge of the
woods, tracing the faint game trails that zigzagged through
the underbrush. The further I went, the more the
trees seemed to press in on me, their branches blotting out the
sun until it felt like I was walking at twilight.
It was thrilling and terrifying and equal measure.
The forest felt alive, aware and not entirely welcoming.
I was about to turn back, the silence and the dim light too
much even for my adventurous spirit, when something caught my
eye. Near the base of a particularly
gnarled tree, something dark and out of place lay half buried
under a pile of leaves. Curiosity overcame my
hesitation, and I stepped off the path to take a closer look.
It was a stone, but unlike any rock I'd found in the woods back
home. It was perfectly smooth and jet
black, like a piece of the night sky had fallen to earth.
As I picked it up, examining its surface, the forest erupted into
chaos. Birds burst from the trees in a
squawking, screeching frenzy, their wings beating against the
air as if in panic. My heart raced, and a primal
fear gripped me. I shoved the stone into my
pocket and ran, not caring about direction, just needing to
escape the cacophony and the sense of impending doom.
I don't know how long I ran, but by the time the noise abruptly
ceased, I was gasping for breath, my sides aching.
The sudden silence was as shocking as the noise had been.
The normal sounds of the forest, the rustle of leaves, the
distant call of birds were gone, leaving nothing but a heavy,
oppressive stillness. Panic surged anew.
I realized then that I was hopelessly lost, with no idea
which way LED home. The fading light turned the
trees into menacing silhouettes, and every rustle in the
underbrush felt like a threat. I tried to calm my racing heart,
to think I needed to find my way back before it was completely
dark. But as I stood there trying to
decide what to do, I felt it. The unmistakable sensation of
being watched. My skin prickled with fear and I
knew without seeing that something was out there in the
shadows, observing me. I should have been scared,
should have run screaming back the way I came, but instead I
felt a strange pull, a curiosity that urged me deeper into the
woods towards whatever secrets lay hidden in the dark.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward, determined to face
whatever awaited me. Waking up in a hospital bed was
the last thing I expected after my frantic escape through the
woods. The steady beep of a heart
monitor was the only sound in the otherwise silent room, a
stark contrast to the chaos of the forest.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my back,
forcing me back down. That's when the memories flooded
in. The birds, the stone, the eyes.
My mom was asleep in a chair next to me, her face etched with
worry. Even in sleep, seeing her like
that, I felt a twinge of guilt for whatever I'd put her
through. I must have made some noise,
because she woke up, her eyes widening when she saw me awake.
You're OK? She whispered, more to herself
than to me as she reached for my hand.
Her grip was tight, as if she was afraid I'd vanish if she let
go. I wanted to ask her a million
questions, but the words wouldn't come out.
Instead, I just nodded, still trying to piece together how I
ended up here. It wasn't until a nurse came in,
cheerfully announcing my return to the land of the living that I
learned I've been missing for two weeks.
Two weeks? That couldn't be right.
I'd only been in those woods for a couple of hours at most.
The confusion must have shown on my face because my mom squeezed
my hand, giving me a look that said, we'd talk about it later.
The nurse, oblivious to my turmoil, prattled on about my
miraculous condition, considering I'd been lost in the
wilderness for so long. Once we were alone, my mom
filled in the blanks. They hadn't realized I was
missing until nightfall. They searched the house, the
property, and then in desperation, called the police.
Days turned into a week, and still there was no sign of me.
The entire community joined in the search, combing through the
woods day after day, hearing about the search parties and the
sleepless nights my disappearance had caused, I felt
a strange mix of guilt and disconnection.
To me it had been mere hours, but to them it had been an
agonizing 2 weeks of uncertainty.
And then we found you, my mom said, her voice cracking with
emotion. Just lying there at the edge of
the woods, like you'd just fallen asleep.
But I hadn't just fallen asleep. I'd been chased, terrified, and
somehow wounded by something I couldn't even begin to
understand. The realization hit me hard, and
I lay back, trying to process everything.
The mystery deepened when I checked my back in the bathroom
mirror. The wound was there, all right,
but it was neatly bandaged and I had no memory of how it
happened. And there was something else, a
feeling of being watched that I couldn't shake off, even in the
sterile safety of the hospital. My discharge from the hospital
brought a mix of relief and anxiety.
I was eager to leave, but the thought of returning to those
woods, to whatever was out there, filled me with dread.
The ride home was quiet. My parents and I lost in our own
thoughts as we approached the house.
I couldn't help but feel like we were being watched.
I dismissed it as paranoia, a side effect of my ordeal.
But deep down I knew it was more than that.
The woods had changed me, and whatever was out there, it
wasn't done with me yet. Home.
It's supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of safety.
Yet as we drove up the familiar yet now a strange driveway, a
shiver of apprehension ran down my spine.
I could feel the woods watching, the dark trees standing like
silent Sentinels, guarding secrets too terrifying to
comprehend. The first night back in my own
bed should have been comforting, but it was anything but.
Every shadow seemed to move, and every noise made me jump.
More than once I found myself staring out the window, half
expecting to see those glowing red eyes staring back at me.
But there was nothing. Only the deep, impenetrable
darkness of the woods. The next morning, amidst the
relief and the welcome back hugs, I felt isolated, adrift on
a sea of experiences that no one else could possibly understand.
The stone, the chase, the eyes, all of it seemed like a fever
dream. But the bandages around my
torso, tight against the wound that throbbed with every
heartbeat, were a constant, painful reminder that it was all
too real. I found the stone again while
unpacking the evidence box the police had returned.
It lay at the bottom, it's black surface, dull yet somehow
absorbing the light around it. Picking it up.
I felt a cold shiver run through me, an echo of the fear I'd felt
in the woods. I should have thrown it away,
buried it, or left it behind, but I couldn't.
It felt like the key to understanding what had happened
to me, a piece of the puzzle that I couldn't ignore.
The disturbances started small, a tap on the window when there
was no one there, a whisper in the air that left the hairs on
my neck standing on end. I tried to convince myself it
was just my imagination, the trauma playing tricks on my
mind. But deep down I knew it was more
than that. Something had followed me home
from the woods. Then came the night when the
thumping began. It was a sound I couldn't place,
rhythmic and persistent, like a heartbeat echoing through the
house. My parents heard it too, a fact
that both relieved and terrified me.
It wasn't just in my head. We were all in this together.
Whatever this was, the climax came abruptly, a crescendo of
fear and realization. I was in my room, the thumping
louder than ever when I saw it, a shadow at the window, a shape
too large and too wrong to be anything human.
For a moment our eyes met, and I saw in those glowing red depths
A malice and intelligence that froze my blood.
I don't remember screaming, but my parents tell me I did.
They found me huddled on the floor, babbling about eyes and
shadows. But by the time they looked,
there was nothing there, no evidence that anything had been
watching, waiting. In the days that followed, I
struggled to come to terms with my experience.
The woods had marked me, changed me in ways I couldn't
understand. I was no longer just a kid who
had a scary encounter. I was a survivor of something
otherworldly, something that defied explanation and the
stone. I kept it hidden away where no
one else could find it, a reminder of the ordeal, of the
courage it took to face the unknown, and of the thin veil
between our world and the darkness that lies just beyond
our understanding.