The air was crisp, sharp enough to bite at my lungs as I
adjusted the straps of my pack. After the long day guiding
hikers, I should have headed back to the Ranger station, but
the solitude of this lesser used trail called to me.
I had always liked the way this path wound deeper into the
forest, untouched and quiet. The light was fading quickly,
but I knew the terrain well enough to navigate it without
worry. My boots crunched against the
dirt as the canopy above deepened into shadows.
It wasn't unusual for fallen branches or rocks to litter the
trail, so when I saw something ahead, I didn't think much of it
at first. It was just another shape
against the undergrowth, dark, indistinct.
I slowed, expecting it to come into focus as I moved closer.
It didn't. I stopped scanning the ground.
It wasn't a branch. The shape had too much weight to
it, too much stillness. A tangle of fabric stood out
against the dirt. I crouched low, my heart
drumming as I made out the contours of a body.
Someone was lying there, unmoving.
Dropping my pack, I moved fast, skidding to my knees beside him.
His clothes were hiking gear, though, worn and smeared with
grime. His face was pale, and his
breath came so faintly I had to lean in to catch it.
When I pressed my fingers to his wrist, the pulse was slow,
irregular. His skin was unnaturally cold,
clammy like stone left out in the rain.
Hey. I called, trying to rouse him.
My voice sounded out of place, too loud against the muted hum
of the woods. There was no response.
His head lolled to the side, limp.
A thin, dark smear stained the dirt beneath him, its edges dry
and flaking blood. I couldn't tell how fresh it
was, but the sight of it made my stomach tighten.
I scrambled for the radio strapped to my belt.
Static greeted me when I keyed the mic.
Bass, this is Sarah, do you copy?
The signal was dead. My fingers tightened around the
receiver, knowing full well this part of the trail was a dead
zone. I tried again anyway, the static
answering like an insult. Useless.
The nearest help was miles away, over terrain that would take
hours to cross even under normal conditions.
I glanced down at the man. His breathing was shallow, his
body barely responding. Leaving him alone wasn't an
option. OK.
I muttered to myself, grabbing my pack again.
With what little light remained, I pulled out a length of rope
and rigged together a makeshift sling.
It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
His arms hung awkwardly as I tied them across his chest, his
head slumping forward like a doll's.
Hoisting him on to my back was harder than I expected.
His weight bore down on my shoulders, dragging me toward
the ground. I adjusted, planting my feet
wide and bracing myself against the trail's uneven surface.
My legs strained as I took the first step, then another.
Every inch felt like a victory as I started the long trek
toward the station. The trail stretched ahead like a
jagged wound, each turn shrouded in growing darkness.
My headlamp flicked on its beam, cutting through the shadows, but
only just. The man's body pressed against
me like dead weight, his breathing faint against my ear.
I tried not to focus on the sensation of his cold skin or
the dampness that clung to his clothes.
The first half mile was brutal. My muscles screamed with every
step, the terrain uneven and unforgiving.
Rocks shifted under foot and roots seemed to grab at my
boots. The quiet pressed in close now,
broken only by the rasp of my own breath and the rhythmic
crunch of my steps. And yet something else seemed to
linger in the silence. It wasn't loud, more like a
presence hanging at the edges of my awareness.
A soft rustle here, a broken branch there.
The wind, I told myself. Just the wind threading its way
through the trees. But the thought didn't stop me
from glancing over my shoulder, my headlamp sweeping the trail
behind me. There was nothing there.
Stay with me, I said aloud, more to fill the void than for his
sake. My voice sounded foreign, too
steady to match the pulse hammering in my neck.
We're getting out of here, just hang on.
As the light fully disappeared, the woods came alive in ways I
didn't expect, sounds I usually found comforting.
Owls calling insects buzzing felt oddly distant.
My focus narrowed to the patch of illuminated ground directly
in front of me. The trail dipped sharply, the
slope forcing me to adjust his weight.
His head lolled again, and for a moment I thought I heard him
murmur something. I stopped in my tracks,
straining to listen. Then, just as quickly, the
ambient noises returned. His lips hadn't moved.
I realized my exhaustion was playing tricks on me.
I pushed forward, willing my legs to keep moving.
The trail twisted ahead, leading into thicker brush.
Shadows clawed at the edges of my light, but I didn't let
myself slow. Step by step, I edged closer to
where help might be waiting. The man on my back gave another
weak groan, his body twitching slightly.
It was a small sound, but it was enough to keep me moving.
I didn't dare stop again. The man shifted on my back, just
a slight twitch, but it was enough to throw off my balance
for a step. I stumbled forward, catching
myself on a jutting branch, my breath coming in sharp gasps.
The trail ahead looked endless, a tangle of roots and rocks
barely visible in the narrow beam of my headlamp.
Each step was a battle. My legs trembled, my shoulders
screamed under the weight, and my grip on him slipped every few
minutes, forcing me to stop and readjust.
He groaned again, a low rasping noise that didn't sound entirely
human. You're going to be fine.
I said, more to keep myself focused than for him.
His head sagged forward and I felt his breath against my neck,
faint and uneven. I kept moving.
The forest around me had changed.
The usual hum of crickets and rustling underbrush was patchy,
replaced by stretches of silence that seemed to stretch forever.
Every so often I heard something faint, distant, like a voice
carried on the wind. A word here, a murmur there.
I told myself it was nothing, just the wind snaking through
the trees. The cold was worse now, sinking
deep into my bones despite the sweat soaking through my
clothes. The damp air clung to me, heavy
and sour, and the mist rolling along the ground thickened with
every step. It wasn't normal mist, too
dense, too deliberate, coiling around my ankles like it had
purpose. The headlamp's beam seemed to
bounce off it, scattering light uselessly.
Ahead of me, a crack sounded to my right, sharp, deliberate.
I stopped, adjusting my grip on the man as I turned my head.
The beam swung wildly, catching nothing but trees and shadows.
I stayed frozen for a moment, listening.
Nothing followed. You're imagining things, I
whispered to myself, but my legs felt heavy as I forced them to
move again. Each step felt like wading
through something unseen, something that resisted every
movement. The man stirred against my back,
his body jerking slightly. His head lulled to the side, and
I caught a glimpse of his face in the headlamps glow.
His eyes were half open, the whites bloodshot and glassy, and
his lips moved. What?
I asked, stopping again, my voice barely steady.
He mumbled something low, guttural, but I couldn't make
out the words. I leaned closer, hoping to catch
it. A sound behind me stopped me,
cold. It wasn't the rustle of leaves,
or the snap of a twig. It was deliberate, measured, the
unmistakable crunch of footsteps.
I froze, my grip tightening on the man.
The sound came again, closer now.
I turned slowly, swinging the headlamp behind me.
The light caught nothing but shifting mist and the edges of
trees. My throat was dry as I forced
myself to speak. Who's there?
The words hung in the air, unanswered.
The footsteps stopped. I didn't wait.
I adjusted the man's weight and started moving faster, ignoring
the burning in my legs. My breathing was loud, ragged,
and the man on my back felt heavier with every step.
His body twitched again, more violently this time.
His arms crossed awkwardly against his chest, jerked free
of the sling eyed tide, one hand brushing against my shoulder.
Stay still. I snapped, though I knew he
couldn't hear me. The mist seemed to close in
tighter, curling around my knees, slowing my pace.
The whispers returned, louder now, but still impossible to
pinpoint. It wasn't just one voice, it was
a dozen, overlapping, fragmented.
I stopped again, unable to ignore the sound.
Who's there? I shouted into the dark.
My voice swallowed almost instantly by the forest.
Silence answered, followed by another snap of a branch, this
time directly ahead of me. The headlamp flickered.
I slapped it with my free hand, swearing under my breath, and
the light steadied. But in the moment of darkness, I
thought I saw movement. Just a flicker at the edge of my
vision. When the light returned, there
was nothing there. The man shifted again, his head
snapping upright. I nearly dropped him, startled
by the sudden movement. His body felt unnaturally rigid,
and his breath was louder now, almost wheezing.
I stopped adjusting my grip and glanced down at his face.
His eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead, unblinking.
His mouth moved, forming words that didn't come out.
Then, without warning, a noise escaped him, a low, grating
sound that sent a shiver through me.
It wasn't a groan or a gasp. It sounded like something trying
to speak but failing, the sound too wet, too deep.
Hold on. I muttered, forcing myself
forward again. I didn't look back.
I didn't let myself. The trail levelled out ahead,
and I nearly cried out in relief.
The Ranger station couldn't be far now.
I forced my legs to move faster, my steps uneven as the whispers
grew louder, pressing against my ears.
They were clearer now, forming words I couldn't quite
understand. The sound of footsteps returned,
closer than before, matching my pace.
The headlamp flickered again, and this time it died
completely. I froze, swallowed by the dark.
My hand fumble for the spare light in my pack, but before I
could reach it, a noise cut through the silence.
A voice, low and unmistakable, whispered my name from somewhere
close. Too close.
The man jerked against my back, his head snapping to the side.
His voice joined the others, murmuring something
unintelligible. I staggered forward, groping
blindly for the trail. The whispers were louder now,
overlapping and filling the air, drowning out my own breathing.
Then, finally, a faint glow broke through the mist ahead the
Ranger station's floodlights. I surged forward, dragging the
man's weight with me. The whispers didn't fade.
They followed, growing louder as I stumbled into the clearing.
Help. I shouted, my voice raw. 2
Rangers ran out, their expressions twisting from
confusion to alarm as they saw me.
I collapsed to my knees as they pulled the man from my back,
their voices overlapping with questions I couldn't answer.
Behind me, the forest seemed to sigh, the whispers finally
fading into silence. I sat in the Ranger station
kitchen, wrapped in a blanket and clutching a mug of coffee
that had long gone cold. My hands wouldn't stop shaking,
though, weather from exhaustion or something deeper, I couldn't
say. The fluorescent lights above
felt sterile, too bright after hours of navigating the
oppressive dark. The man was in another room,
surrounded by the Rangers, who were doing what they could until
the ambulance arrived. I could still hear their hurried
voices, though I couldn't make out the words.
They'd stripped off his shredded jacket, exposing his back, and
the glimpse I'd caught before they shooed me out hadn't left
my mind. Those marks, deep parallel
scratches like claws, ran from his shoulders to his lower back.
The edges were red and raw, and though I knew better, they
didn't look like any animal attack I'd ever seen.
One of the Rangers, Ellis, sat across from me now, his face a
mixture of curiosity and concern.
You did good out there. He said, his voice low.
Getting him this far on your own, most wouldn't have made it.
I nodded, but didn't answer. Words felt too heavy, and the
room around me felt too small. My mind replayed the sounds I'd
heard in the woods, the whispers, the footsteps, and
most vividly, the way the man had whispered my name in the
darkness. Ellis shifted in his seat,
leaning forward. You said you found him off the
trail. Yeah, I said finally, my voice
rough, face down, barely breathing.
I thought he'd fallen or gotten lost, but those?
I gestured toward the other room, unable to finish the
sentence. He followed my gaze, his
expression darkening. We've had reports of strange
things out there. He said slowly, like he wasn't
sure he should continue. People hearing voices, feeling
watched. Most of the time we chalk it up
to isolation or exhaustion, but this?
He trailed off, shaking his head.
This is different. What kind of strange things?
I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He hesitated before answering. Hikers disappearing, others
found wandering out of the woods not knowing how they got there.
We don't talk about it much, don't want to scare people off.
But this guy, he matches some of the stories.
Before I could ask more, the door to the other room swung
open and the 2nd Ranger, Callaway, stepped in.
His face was pale, his hands gripping the door frame like he
needed the support. The ambulance is 10 minutes out.
He said, avoiding my gaze. But he's awake.
Ella straightened in his chair. Awake.
Yeah, if you can call it that. Callaway muttered, rubbing the
back of his neck. He finally looked at me, and
there was something in his eyes that set me on edge.
He's asking for you. For a moment, I didn't move.
My stomach turned, my legs felt like lead, but I forced myself
to stand. The blanket fell from my
shoulders as I followed Callaway down the short hallway to the
room where they'd placed the man.
The air inside was colder, despite the heater running.
The man lay on the stretcher, his eyes open but unfocused,
staring at the ceiling. His breathing was steady now,
but his lips moved, whispering something too faint to hear.
Hey. I said softly, stepping closer.
It's Sarah. I found you on the trail.
You're safe now. His eyes flicked toward me,
locking on to mine in a way that felt wrong, like he was looking
past me rather than at me. His lips moved again, forming my
name. The sound was barely audible,
but it sent a shiver through me all the same.
Then he spoke, louder this time, his voice raspy but insistent.
You brought it with you? What?
I asked, my heart pounding. What do you mean?
His hand twitched, lifting weakly toward the window behind
me. It followed you, he croaked.
Don't let it in. I turned sharply, my eyes
darting to the window. Outside, the floodlights
illuminated the clearing and the edge of the forest beyond.
The mist had thickened, curling like smoke around the trees.
For a moment, I thought I saw movement, just a flicker of
shadow, too tall, too thin to be human.
But when I blinked, it was gone. I looked back at the man, but
his eyes had closed again, his body slack.
The whispers in my mind, the ones I dismissed as exhaustion
or fear, seemed louder now, echoing his warning.
Ellis stepped into the room, his voice cutting through the
silence. The ambulance is here.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable.
You should get some rest. I nodded, but didn't move.
My gaze lingered on the window, the mist creeping closer to the
glass. Whatever had happened in those
woods wasn't finished. The forest had let me leave, but
something had come with me. Always be careful when going
into the woods. You might not make it out alive.
I don't scare easily, or at least that's what I tell myself.
Years spent crouched in the wild waiting for the perfect shot,
whether it's a bear fishing in a stream or a storm rolling over a
mountain, have taught me patience, observation, and an
unshakable sense of calm. But from the moment we pulled
into Black Hollow National Forest, something felt off.
I didn't say anything to Rachel at first.
She would have just laughed and accused me of being paranoid.
The Ranger station was barely more than a shack, its paint
peeling and windows clouded with grime.
Inside, a man with leathery skin and cold Gray eyes barely
glanced up as we signed the Ledger whispering Falls Trail.
Rachel chirped, her voice chipper as ever.
The Ranger didn't smile, he just squinted at us, his pen hovering
mid air. You sure about that?
Haven't had many folks out there this season.
Stick to the main trails and don't be out past dark.
Rachel gave him her best we're not tourists grin, and we headed
back to the car. I lingered for a second though,
watching the Ranger as he rubbed the back of his neck, muttering
something under his breath. The guy was probably just sick
of answering the same dumb questions every weekend, but
still, something about the way he looked at us stuck with me.
The drive to the trailhead wasn't long, but as the road
narrowed, the trees seemed to close in on us.
Rachel leaned out the window, snapping photos of the autumn
leaves with her phone. You're too serious, Ally.
She teased, her tone light but cutting.
This is going to be amazing, just relax.
I nodded and forced a smile, even as the forest seemed to
grow darker, the towering trees blocking out more and more of
the late afternoon sun. By the time we parked, I could
feel the weight of the silence pressing down on me.
Scout was the first one out, his black fur practically glowing
against the bed of fallen leaves.
He darted toward the trail, sniffing the ground, tail
wagging. At least he was excited.
I adjusted my pack and camera bag, trying to focus on the
little things, buckling the straps just right, double
checking my lens cap. Rachel was already halfway up
the trail when I called after her.
The first hour wasn't bad. The trail was steep but
manageable, winding through dense oaks and maples.
The air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of damp
earth. Rachel was chattering about
something, work maybe, or her plans for a travel blog, but I
only half listened. My eyes kept darting to the
shadows between the trees. Scout, usually the happiest dog
in the world, had started sticking closer to me, his ears
pinned back and his nose twitching.
You see that? I asked suddenly, stopping in my
tracks. Rachel turned, raising an
eyebrow. See what?
I pointed toward a break in the trees where I thought I'd caught
a glimpse of movement. A flash of Gray, maybe, or a
shadow shifting unnaturally over there.
I think someone's out here. Rachel squinted, then rolled her
eyes. Ali, come on, it's probably a
deer or your imagination. She turned and kept walking, her
voice trailing off. Seriously, you need to chill.
You've been on edge since we got here.
She wasn't wrong, but that didn't make me feel any better.
Scout growled softly, the sound low and almost imperceptible.
I gave him a quick pat on the head and started walking again,
trying to shake the feeling that we weren't as alone as we
thought. We reached the Creek just before
dusk and set up camp. Rachel insisted on pitching the
tent close to the water, despite my protest that it might get too
damp overnight. The sound of the stream will
help you sleep, She said with a grin, brushing off my concerns
like she always did. While she fiddled with the tent
poles, I wandered a few yards upstream with Scout, hoping to
catch some good light for photos.
That's when I saw them. The carvings.
They were crude and weathered, etched deep into the bark of an
old oak. Symbols, shapes I didn't
recognize, like spirals and jagged lines intersecting at
strange angles. I raised my camera to snap a
shot, but Scout barked, startling me.
What is it, boy? I whispered, glancing around.
The woods were still too still. Ali, you coming?
Rachel's voice cut through the silence, and I turned back
toward camp. Yeah.
I called, forcing a laugh. Just a tree.
I didn't mention the carvings. When I got back, Rachel was
already unpacking marshmallows, talking about how this trip was
going to inspire her next big article.
I nodded along, trying to focus on the fire light dancing in her
eyes and not the creeping feeling in my gut.
By the time we crawled into the tent, the stream's Babble felt
less like a lullaby and more like a whispering voice I
couldn't quite understand. Scout curled up close to me, his
warmth a small comfort. Just as I was drifting off, I
heard it. A branch snapping footsteps.
Did you hear that? I whispered, nudging Rachel.
She groaned. It's just the wind, Ollie, go to
sleep. But it wasn't the wind.
I knew it wasn't. Scout growled again, low and
guttural, his body tense against mine.
I lay awake for hours, staring at the tent's nylon ceiling,
listening to the forest breathe. I didn't sleep.
Morning should have brought relief, but it didn't.
The first thing I noticed when I unzipped the tent was Scout.
He was pacing in circles near the edge of the campsite, his
nose low to the ground, letting out soft, anxious whines.
That wasn't like him. Scout was usually up and wagging
his tail the moment we stirred. Today, though, his ears were
pinned back and his body was tense, like he was bracing for
something I couldn't see. Rachel, of course, didn't notice
a thing. She was rummaging through her
pack, humming some song I didn't recognize.
Coffee. She asked, holding up the small
travel press. Sure.
I muttered, but my eyes were on the dirt.
Something was off the ground. Looked wrong.
I crouched, running my hand over the disturbed earth.
There were faint impressions in the dirt, like someone or
something had been here. Branches nearby were snapped at
odd angles, and a thin line of trampled grass LED toward the
Creek. My stomach churned.
Hey, Rach? I said, trying to keep my voice
steady. Did you hear anything last
night? Like footsteps?
She laughed too loudly. Ali, you're obsessed with
footsteps. We're in the woods, animals
exist. She gestured around us, her
hands sweeping the trees like she was showing off a sails
pitch. This is their home.
I didn't respond, instead I grabbed my camera and snapped a
few shots of the impressions, just in case.
Rachel rolled her eyes, muttering something about
paranoia, but I ignored her. Scout was still uneasy, and I
trusted him more than either of us.
We packed up and set out for Whispering Falls.
The hike was supposed to be easy, a gentle climb with clear
views of the valley, But the trail felt different today.
The vibrant colors of the forest were muted somehow, the yellows
and Reds dulled by a strange Gray haze.
The air was heavy, humid, and thick, as if the forest was
holding its breath. Scouts stayed close to me, his
tail low and his ears twitching at every sound.
Even Rachel seemed quieter than usual, though she masked it with
forced enthusiasm. Isn't this gorgeous?
She said, pointing at the trees, her voice a little too bright.
This is exactly what I needed. I nodded, but didn't answer.
My focus was on the shadows, those dark spaces between the
trees where light didn't seem to reach.
Twice I thought I saw movement, a branch swaying where no wind
was blowing, a flash of Gray disappearing behind a trunk.
At one point, Rachel stopped to take a photo near a rocky
outcrop. I stayed back with Scout,
scanning the woods. That's when I heard it.
Laughter. Faint, almost like a child's
giggle, carried on the wind. It was distant but unmistakable,
and it made my skin crawl. Did you hear that?
I asked, my voice sharp. Rachel looked up from her phone,
squinting. Hear what?
Laughter. I said, pointing toward the
trees. From over there.
Rachel stared for a moment, then shook her head.
Ally, you've got to relax. It's probably an echo or the
water. No, I snapped.
It wasn't the water. She sighed, slinging her pack
over her shoulder. Come on, let's keep moving.
You're overthinking everything. I wanted to argue, but Scout
barked, a short, sharp sound that sent a jolt through me.
He was staring at the same spot I'd pointed to, his body rigid.
Rachel was already ahead on the trail, so I had no choice but to
follow. My heart raced with every step,
the weight of the camera strap digging into my shoulder.
I kept glancing over my shoulder, half expecting to see
someone or something behind us. By the time we reached
Whispering Falls, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long
shadows across the clearing. The water tumbled over the
rocks, its roar filling the air. For a moment, the sound drowned
out my anxiety, and I let myself breathe.
Rachel was snapping pictures, completely in her element, and
even scouts seemed calmer. But then I noticed the carvings.
They were etched into a large rock near the base of the falls,
Cymbals similar to the ones I'd seen the day before, but larger
and more intricate. Spirals, jagged lines, and crude
stick figures, all intersecting in chaotic patterns.
My stomach turned as I traced them with my fingers, the edges
sharp against my skin. Rachel.
I called, my voice trembling. She looked up, annoyed.
What? Now look at this.
She sighed, trudging over. Her expression shifted when she
saw the carvings. Huh.
She said, crouching next to me. That's weird.
What do you think it means? I don't know, I admitted.
But it's not random. Someone put these here.
Rachel laughed nervously. Maybe it's like an old Native
American thing, or just some bored teenagers.
I shook my head. It doesn't feel right.
Scout growled again, low and guttural, his hackles raised.
He was staring into the woods, his body trembling.
OK, now you're freaking me out. Rachel muttered, glancing
around. Let's head back to camp.
We retraced our steps in silence, the cheerful banter
from earlier replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension.
The forest seemed darker now, the shadows deeper, the air
colder. I kept hearing faint sounds,
twigs snapping, leaves rustling, but every time I turned, there
was nothing there. By the time we reached the
campsite, it was nearly dark. Rachel tried to make light of
it, cracking jokes as she started a fire, but I could see
the unease in her eyes. Even Scout was on edge, his ears
constantly swiveling, his body coiled like a spring.
That night, as we lay in the tent, the sounds started again,
footsteps circling the campsite. Scout growled, his body pressed
against mine, but Rachel refused to acknowledge it.
It's just an animal, She whispered, her voice tight.
Go to sleep. But I couldn't.
The footsteps stopped, and the silence that followed was worse
than the noise. Something was out there,
something that didn't belong, and it was waiting.
The first scream jolted me awake.
I wasn't sure if it came from outside or from Rachel's throat,
but it didn't matter. My heart was already pounding,
and the weight of dread crushed any lingering fog of sleep.
Scout was barking furiously, his body pressed against the tent
wall, his growls sharp and guttural.
Rachel. I hissed, shaking her.
She bolted upright, her eyes wide with fear, her breathing
shallow. What the hell was that?
She whispered, her voice trembling.
Another scream pierced the night, this one closer.
It wasn't human, too high pitched, too distorted, like the
sound of metal scraping against metal, but alive.
Scout was frantic now, pawing at the tense zipper.
I grabbed him by the collar, trying to calm him, but his
growls only grew louder. Someone's out there, I
whispered, barely able to hear my own voice over the blood
rushing in my ears. Rachel grabbed her flashlight
and flicked it on. The narrow beam sliced through
the tents fabric illuminating vague shapes outside.
Branches, shadows, and something moving, something big.
Stay quiet, I mouthed, but it was too late.
The rustling outside turned into heavy, deliberate footsteps.
They circled the tent, slow and measured, each crunch of leaves
sending another spike of panic through me.
Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth, her flashlight shaking.
My fingers fumble for the survival knife I kept in my
pack. The blade felt too small, too
useless against whatever was out there.
Then the tent walls shuddered. Something or someone dragged
what sounded like claws across the nylon.
Scout lunged, barking wildly, and the tent collapsed inward as
if struck by a heavyweight. We have to run.
Rachel screamed, her voice breaking the silence like glass.
Before I could stop her, she unzipped the tent and scrambled
out, the flashlight swinging wildly in her hand.
I grabbed Scout's collar and followed, my legs shaking as I
stumbled into the cold night. The forest was alive now, not
with the usual sounds of the wild, but with something darker.
Twigs snapping, branches cracking, and that awful
metallic screeching filled the air.
The flashlight beam cut through the shadows, revealing nothing
and everything all at once. Over there.
Rachel shouted, pointing toward the Creek.
Her voice was raw. Panicked.
I didn't have time to argue. I grabbed Scout and ran after
her, my boots slipping on the damp ground.
The sound of pursuit was deafening.
Whatever was behind us wasn't trying to be quiet.
I didn't dare look back, but I could hear the heavy, crashing
footsteps and the guttural, wet growls that seemed to come from
everywhere at once. We reached the Creek, the
rushing water glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Rachel was already scrambling up the rocky embankment on the
other side, her flashlight swinging wildly.
I followed Scout, pulling me forward as if he understood the
stakes. That's when I saw it.
In the shadows across the Creek, just at the edge of the trees, a
figure loomed. It was tall, too tall to be
human, and its shape was wrong, like a person stretched and
warped beyond recognition. The moonlight caught its face,
and I wished it hadn't. Hollow eyes, a mouth twisted
into an unnatural grin, and skin that looked too smooth, too
pale. It stepped closer, and I froze.
Ally, move. Rachel's voice snapped me out of
my trance, and I scrambled up the embankment, my chest
burning. The thing across the Creek
didn't follow. It just stood there, watching,
its head tilting unnaturally, as if studying us.
We didn't stop running. The forest closed in around us,
the trees twisting and clawing at our clothes.
The flashlight flickered, then went out, leaving us in near
total darkness. My legs burned, my lungs
screamed, but I didn't dare slow down.
Behind us, the sounds of pursuit grew louder.
It's right behind us, Rachel sobbed, her voice breaking.
Keep going. I shouted, grabbing her arm to
steady her as she stumbled. Scout was ahead, his barking
relentless, leading us through the maze of trees.
Finally, we broke through the tree line and onto the dirt Rd.
where our car was parked. The sight of it was a shock,
almost surreal, like it didn't belong in the nightmare we'd
just escaped. Keys.
I screamed. Rachel fumble with her pack, her
hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them.
The sound of heavy footsteps was closer now, pounding the dirt
like a drum beat. I spun around, gripping the
knife, ready to make a final stand, but there was nothing.
The forest was still again, its oppressive silence returning as
if nothing had happened. My heart pounded in my ears as I
back toward the car. Rachel yanked the door open and
we both tumbled inside, with Scout right behind us.
She jammed the key into the ignition, her hands trembling.
The engine roared to life, and the headlights cut through the
darkness. For a split second, I saw it
again, standing at the edge of the trees, its hollow eyes
glowing faintly in the light. It didn't move, but its head
tilted, that awful grin stretching wider.
Go. I shouted, and Rachel slammed
her foot on the gas. The car lurched forward, tires
kicking up dirt as we speed down the road.
I didn't look back. I didn't want to see it again.
We didn't stop until we were miles away, the sun beginning to
rise in the distance. The first rays of light felt
unreal, like a cruel joke after the night we'd endured.
Rachel pulled over on the side of the highway, her hands
gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Scout whimpered in the back seat, curling into a ball.
We're never going back there. Rachel finally said, her voice
hollow. I nodded, staring out at the
empty road ahead. Never again.
We drove in silence after that, leaving Black Hollow behind.
But even now, I can feel it, those hollow eyes watching that
twisted grin waiting in the shadows.
And I know deep down that some places are meant to stay hidden.
I always thought I knew what quiet sounded like, the kind you
hear in a forest just before sunrise, the stillness only
broken by the occasional rustle of leaves or a distant bird
call. But as I drove deeper into the
woods, past where the gravel gave up and the dirt took over,
I realized this was something else entirely.
The quiet out here wasn't peaceful.
It was loaded, waiting for something I couldn't name.
The Ridge wasn't marked on any official maps.
I'd pieced it together through old topo charts and scraps of
rumors from hikers who spoke about it like it was some sacred
secret. A perfect overlook with a spring
fed Creek that cut through a Grove so thick sunlight had to
fight to breakthrough. That's what they said.
If it was half as good as the stories, it would be worth the
hours of bumping along these trails that barely deserve the
name. My tires kicked up so much dust
that it hung in the air like smoke, swirling in lazy spirals
behind me. It made everything ahead seem
even darker, as if the forest was swallowing up the light.
The road narrowed, hemmed in by trees that seemed to press
closer with every mile. Branches scraped the sides of my
truck like skeletal fingers. I told myself it was just
overgrown brush, but I couldn't help glancing at the rear view
mirror, half expecting to see something following me.
The trail finally widened, just enough for me to pull off into a
small clearing. I killed the engine, and the
sudden silence was so loud it rang in my ears.
I stepped out, stretching my legs, and some of the tension
from the drive melted away. The forest was thick all around,
a huddle of trees that seemed to shut in on itself, keeping its
secrets locked inside. A Creek bubbled in the distance,
faintly, almost too soft to be real.
I unpacked my gear with practiced efficiency, trying to
shake the unease that had started creeping in somewhere
back on the trail. Tent, hammock, fire pit, all set
up with the kind of precision that came from years of camping
alone. The rituals of preparation
always helped steady me, like building a fortress against
whatever the night might bring. By the time I finished, the sun
had begun to dip below the tree tops, painting the clearing in
shades of orange and gold. I stood at the edge of the
clearing, looking out at the trees beyond.
They seemed to lean just slightly toward me, their
branches tangled together like they were whispering.
The air was heavy, damp with the smell of earth and rot.
But there was something else too, something sharp and
metallic, just faint enough to make me question if it was real.
I decided to ignore it. There was wood to gather and a
fire to start, and the sooner I had some light, the better.
As I went through the underbrush, snapping off
branches and picking up fallen limbs, I was struck by how quiet
it had gotten. Not even the faint hum of
insects or the chirp of a bird, just the crunch of my boots and
the creak of wood in my hands. The Creek wasn't far, so I
walked toward it, figuring I'd collect water for the night
while I was out. The closer I got, the stronger
that metallic smell became, sharp enough now to make my nose
wrinkle. At the edge of the water, I
froze. The Creek wasn't flowing the way
it should have been. The surface was too still, and
there, half submerged in the shallows, was something that
didn't belong. A shoe.
Small, muddy and soaked through. I looked around, scanning the
trees, the bank, the water. No other signs of life.
The shoe could have been here for weeks, maybe months.
It didn't mean anything. Probably some careless hiker
lost it upstream and it got carried here by the current.
But why didn't the water look right?
I gripped the bottle in my hand, filled it quickly, and headed
back to camp. The woods seem darker now, the
trees casting long shadows that stretched out toward me like
reaching arms. I moved faster than I meant to,
my gear clinking together with each step.
By the time I reached the clearing, my fire pit was a
welcome sight. Even unlit, the flames caught
easily when I struck the match, flaring to life with a crackle
that sounded almost too loud in the quiet.
I sat back, letting the warmth chase away the damp that had
settled into my skin. Staring into the fire, I tried
to tell myself the shoe was nothing.
The smell was nothing. The stillness of the water.
It was probably just the way creeks flowed out here,
different from what I was used to.
But as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the
Ridge and the forest sank into shadow, I couldn't help but
notice how the darkness felt heavier here.
Like it wasn't just an absence of light, but something alive,
something that watched from just beyond the fires glow.
For the first time in years, I wondered if I'd made the right
decision coming out here alone. The morning crept in
reluctantly. Pale light filtered through the
canopy as if it were too timid to reach the ground.
My sleep had been restless, filled with fragmented and
disjointed dreams, full of shadows that dissolved the
moment I opened my eyes. I forced myself out of the
hammock, groaning as stiff muscles protested.
The air had a bite to it, heavy with dampness that clung to my
clothes as I coaxed the fire back to life.
Breakfast was quick, just coffee and an energy bar, but something
about the way that Creek had sat so unnaturally still the night
before refused to leave me alone.
I told myself it was curiosity. My hands, however, did shake
just a little bit as I packed a small bag with water and a
flashlight. The way down to the Creek was
narrow and overgrown with brambles that snagged at my
sleeves. Every step made me feel like I
was intruding on something old, something that didn't want me
there. Halfway down, the smell came
back, a faint metallic Tang that seems stronger now in the cold
air. When I reached the bank, I
froze. The Creek wasn't just still, it
was wrong. The water looked thick, almost
oily, its surface catching the light in strange, distorted
patterns. And there, a few feet from where
I'd seen the shoe the night before, was something new.
A child's shirt tangled in the roots of a tree that dipped into
the water, mud streaked and torn.
It looked like it had been there for ages, but there was no
mistaking its size. I crouched low, staring at the
shirt as if it might explain itself.
My mind was racing with possibilities, none of them
good. Maybe it was nothing, just
debris washed downstream. But the shoe had been here too,
and now this. The two together didn't feel
like coincidence. Movement in the corner of my eye
made me spin around, heart pounding.
The trees stood still, their branches bare and brittle, but I
could have sworn I'd seen something dart between them, too
big to be a bird, too quick to be anything else.
I stayed there for what felt like hours, staring into the
woods, my breath coming sharp and uneven.
When nothing else stirred, I forced myself to turn back to
camp, leaving the Creek behind. The day dragged, each minute
stretching out to eternity as I tried to busy myself.
I wandered the perimeter of the clearing, gathering more wood
and double checking my gear. By the time the sun began its
slow descent, I was more than ready for the distraction of a
fire. Flames snapped and licked at the
wood, their warmth pushing back the growing chill.
I skewered a few pieces of sausage on a stick, turning them
absent mindedly as the shadows lengthened around me.
That's when I heard the voice. Can I sit by your fire?
It was low pitched and clear enough to cut through the
crackle of the flames. I whirled around, peering into
the darkness. She stood just outside the ring
of firelight, small and pale, her hair hanging in tangled
strands about her face. Her dress, if you could call it
that, was little more than a torn, muddy slip clinging to her
thin frame. Her bare feet pressed into the
dirt, leaving faint prints behind her.
My throat felt like it had closed up, but somehow I managed
to speak. Where did you come from?
Are you lost? She stepped closer, her eyes
catching the fire light in a way that made them shine unnaturally
bright. No, I'm not lost.
Her voice was calm, almost too steady for a child.
I gestured to the empty log across the fire, my hands
shaking slightly. Sit down.
Are your parents nearby? She didn't answer right away,
just watched me with those reflective eyes.
Finally, she said. They're close.
Her words settled heavily in the air, making the space around us
feel smaller. I tried to keep my tone light.
You shouldn't be out here by yourself, it's dangerous.
She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
It's not dangerous, not for me. The way she said it made my
stomach tighten. I glanced into the trees,
searching for any sign of her family, but the woods were as
silent and empty as ever. No voices, no lights, just her.
Do you want something to eat? I asked, hoping food might keep
her talking. She nodded, and I quickly
speared another sausage, holding it over the flames.
She didn't move, didn't blink, just watched me with those two
bright eyes. When the sausage was done, I
wrapped it in a napkin and handed it across the fire.
Her hand brushed mine as she took it, ice cold and too firm
for someone her size. Thank you.
She said softly before stepping back toward the trees.
Wait. I called, standing up.
Where are you going? She stopped at the edge of the
firelight and turned, her face half hidden in shadow, back to
them. Who?
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Who's with you? Her eyes flicked to something
behind me, and she smiled again, wider this time, showing teeth.
You'll see. Before I could answer her, she
had slipped into the darkness, her pale shape swallowed up by
the trees. I turned slowly, dread pooling
in my gut. Shapes moved at the edge of the
clearing, indistinct and silent. They stood just beyond the reach
of the firelight, their forms blending with the shadows.
My hands clenched into fists, my breath shallow and fast.
One of the shadows moved a little nearer, just near enough
that the firelight caught the glint of an eye.
It wasn't a reflection, it was watching me.
And just like that, it melted back into the dark, leaving
nothing behind but the whisper of leaves brushing together.
I stayed frozen by the fire for what felt like hours, my eyes
darting between the trees. They didn't come back, not then,
but I didn't move until the flames burned down to glowing
coals, too afraid of what might be waiting in the dark.
Morning arrived in a pale, hazy blur, the forest cloaked in mist
that clung low to the ground. I sat by the dying embers of the
fire, legs stiff and eyes gritty from a night spent wide awake.
Every sound, the rustle of leaves, the creak of a branch
had kept me frozen in place, flashlight gripped tightly,
waiting for the shapes to return.
They hadn't, but their absence didn't bring comfort.
It felt more like they were giving me time to Stew, like
prey left to weaken before the final strike.
I forced myself to move, to pack up what I could.
My hands were shaking so hard it took twice as long as it should
have to fold the hammock and roll my sleeping bag.
I saw the dirt near the fire pit and dropped to a Crouch to take
a look. Small Prince, barefoot, pressed
deep into the soil, circling the pit and leading toward my tent.
They were fresh, overlapping the grooves my boots had made the
day before. She'd come back while I was
sitting there, and I hadn't noticed.
Worse than the footprints were the scratches.
Thin, deliberate marks clawed into the canvas of my tent long
enough to Pierce through the fabric.
Whatever had done it had circled the tent over and over, carving
lines like they were marking territory.
I didn't bother with breakfast. My appetite had fled, replaced
by the singular need to leave. The narrow trail out of the
clearing seemed darker than it had the day before, the
undergrowth brushing against my legs with every step.
I didn't dare look behind me, not after what I'd seen last
night. The weight of unseen eyes bore
down on me, urging me forward faster than I wanted to go.
The hike to the nearest campsite wasn't far, maybe 20 minutes,
but it felt like hours. When I finally broke through the
trees, the sight of another fire pit, still smouldering faintly,
almost made me cry out. A man and woman sat on folding
chairs, their backs to me. They turned as I approached,
their faces lined with the kind of weariness that spoke to
Knights like the one I'd just endured.
Sorry to bother you, I said, my voice rough.
But did either of you happen to see anyone last night?
A kid, maybe? Their expressions darkened, the
woman setting her tin cup down carefully before speaking.
We did. A girl, barefoot, came out of
the woods, asking for food. Her words hung heavy in the air,
each one sharpening the knot in my stomach.
What did you do? I asked, though I already knew
the answer. Gave her some granola bars.
The man replied, his voice low. She didn't stay long, Said she
was with her family and them. I gestured toward the woods
behind them, my throat tight. Did you see anyone else?
The couple exchanged a glance, their unease clear.
Shapes. The woman said, finally in the
trees, too many of them all just standing there.
I felt the ground shift under me, the confirmation more
unsettling than I'd expected. I think we need to call someone,
I said. This.
Whatever this is, it's not right.
The man nodded slowly. Rangers came through a while
back, We could try again. We did.
The Ranger who arrived looked as tired as we felt, his uniform
rumpled and his face lined with the kind of skepticism that came
from hearing the same story too many times.
I told him everything. The girl, the shapes, the
Prince. And the couple added their part.
The Ranger didn't look surprised.
He didn't even take notes. We've had reports like yours
before, He admitted, shifting his weight from 1 foot to the
other. The stories go back decades.
There's talk of a family living off grid out here, but no one's
ever gotten close enough to confirm anything.
You're not the first to see the girl, and you probably won't be
the last. What happens when people see
her? I asked, my voice cracking.
He shrugged, his nonchalance making my skin crawl.
Most people leave, some stick around long enough to see more
than they want. My advice, Pack up and go.
The couple didn't need telling twice.
They started breaking down their camp as soon as the Ranger left.
I returned to my clearing to grab the rest of my gear, the
hike back feeling heavier with every step.
Her tracks still lay there, Criss crossing the clearing.
I hurried to pack up the last of my things, the heavy silence
ringing in my ears as I heaved my pack over my shoulder.
I glanced up toward the Ridge above the Creek.
She was there quite still, her dress fluttering weakly in the
breeze. Her eyes caught the sun and
tossed it back at me in that inhuman way that set my teeth on
edge. Behind her, shadows shifted more
than I could count, blending with the trees like they
belonged there. None of them moved, but I knew
they were watching. I forced myself to turn around
and head for the trail. The crunching of my boots
against the dirt sounded deafening to my ears, but I
pressed on. I did not look back, not even
when the wind carried a faint, high pitched laugh that was not
quite human. By the time I reached my truck,
my hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to get the
key into the ignition. I didn't stop driving until the
forest disappeared in my rear view mirror, the road opening up
to sunlight in empty fields. Even then, the girl's face
stayed with me, her unblinking eyes and the way she'd smiled
like she knew something I didn't.
I ain't been back to the Ridge. Maybe no one should.
The freedom of the open Rd. had always been my escape.
That box truck, the Ark, was my sanctuary, a fortress on wheels
that allowed me to stay wherever the road LED.
Autumn it was, and the Appalachian seemed to me like a
detour to perfection, the silence of its trails afar from
the monotonous miles of the highways.
I had heard whispers of such solitude that could only be
found on those winding trails. It sounded ideal, so I turned
off the main road on to a dirt path, letting the truck's sturdy
tires crunch over the uneven surface.
As the trees closed in around me, the sunlight filtered
through in slivers, giving the road an almost ethereal glow.
I didn't see another vehicle for hours.
That's the kind of isolation I typically seek out.
But there was something in that stillness that seemed off.
The air was heavy. Even the leaves on the trees
barely moved despite the occasional breeze.
But I pressed on. The map app showed nothing for
miles, which meant no one would bother me.
Late that afternoon, I rounded a curve and suddenly found myself
in a clearing. The sight before me pulled my
gaze from its normal fixation. On the road ahead, a cluster of
crumbling buildings sat like a collection of forgotten relics
of times past. Cabins leaned against each
other, supporting one another as their roofs sagged with age.
A barn stood, doors ajar, gaping open, dark and hollow.
The centerpiece was a church, or what was once so.
The steeple was broken, jagged against the fading sky.
No sign of life, no cars, no smoke from chimneys.
Just decay. Instinct told me to keep moving,
but I slowed the truck as I passed.
Something about the place demanded attention.
As I scanned the settlement, a figure emerged from behind one
of the buildings. They stood still, just far
enough away that I couldn't make out their features.
Long coat, maybe a hat, but they didn't wave or make a move to
acknowledge me. They just stood there, watching.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as I hit the gas,
rolling past the village and back into the cover of the
forest. By the time I found a place to
pull off, the sky was laced with oranges and purples.
The spot was perfect, open ground surrounded by thick
woods. I shut off the truck and hopped
out into the quiet, almost jarring after the constant noise
of the engine on their beams, bright as they cut through the
growing dark. My truck's perimeter alarm was
on prime to Alert me should anything wander too close.
Dinner was a simple affair, just a can of soup heated on my
portable stove. The warm, savory scent combined
with the earthy smell of the woods, and suddenly everything
felt back to normal. As night began to fall, I
settled back into my routine. I murmured to myself about a
true crime podcast coming from the speaker at the back.
The well known voice spoke of crimes that happened in
far-flung places. I leaned back in the warm glow
of the interior of the truck and let my eyes drift closed.
A shrill screech brought me upright with a jolt.
The perimeter alarm. My pulse pounded as I grabbed a
flashlight and shoved open the back door.
The floodlights illuminated every corner of the clearing,
but nothing moved. The air was still that kind of
silence that made you hyper aware of every tiny sound.
The hum of the lights, the faint rustle of leaves.
I scanned the tree line, the beam from the flashlight cutting
into the shadows, but there was nothing.
No glowing eyes, no movement. Just the trees.
The alarm reset, and I forced myself to laugh.
A raccoon, maybe a bird. It had to be something small
enough to trip the motion sensor back inside the truck.
I double checked the locks and turned off the lights.
It felt safer that way, less exposed.
Sometime in the night, I woke again.
It wasn't the alarm this time. The silence was different now,
more like the world outside had gone completely still.
Then it came. A tapping, soft but deliberate,
a sound that could only come from something with intent.
It started low, near the back corner of the truck, and moved
slowly along the side. Tap, tap, tap.
I reached for the crowbar I kept under the bed, clutching it
tightly as I crawled toward the small side window.
The tapping stopped. My breath hitched as I peered
through the glass. At first, all I saw was the
clearing bathed in faint moonlight.
Then, just at the edge of the trees, something moved.
Figures, several of them barely visible against the dark
backdrop of the woods. They weren't walking.
Their movements were stiff, jerky, like they weren't
entirely in control of their limbs.
I counted 3, maybe 4, before 1 stepped into the light.
The face was pale, stretched tight over bone.
The eyes reflected the light, but not like an animal's.
They looked too human, too aware.
They held something long and sharp, but the angle of the
light made it impossible to tell what.
A sudden scrape above my head made me jerk back.
Something was on the roof. The crowbar felt heavy in my
hand as I stared up at the closed hatch, waiting for
whatever was out there to make its next move.
The laughter started softly, almost as if carried on a
distant breeze. It was disjointed, a chorus of
mismatched tones that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
My grip on the crowbar tightened, the cool metal
grounding me as I stayed perfectly still, listening.
The Hatch above me didn't move again, but I couldn't shake the
sound of faint scratching on the trucks roof.
It wasn't constant, more like the occasional drag of something
heavy being pulled. The figures outside had
retreated, their strange jerking movements blending into the
shadows of the forest. The floodlights still cast their
harsh glow, but they seemed weaker now, their range somehow
diminished. It was as if the clearing was
shrinking, the darkness pushing in closer with every second.
I forced myself to move, crawling toward the back of the
truck where I had a better view of the clearing.
What caught my attention immediately was the etched
patterns in the dirt. They hadn't been there before.
Circles, several of them perfectly spaced and impossibly
precise. Each one was roughly a foot
across, with jagged lines radiating out like a crude
sunburst. They looked burned into the
ground, edges blackened as if seared by something too hot to
imagine. The laughter died away, replaced
by another sound, a metallic hum, low and vibrating.
It pulsed, almost as though it were alive, and I realized it
wasn't coming from anyone spot. It resonated through the air,
through the ground, through the truck itself.
I could feel it in my teeth, in my chest, and it made my head
swim. Enough.
I muttered to myself, barely recognizing the sound of my own
voice. My hand darted for the ignition
key, but a metallic clang from the roof stopped me cold.
The sound was sharper this time, like steel meeting steel, and it
was followed by that same deliberate tapping.
Tap, tap, tap. I gritted my teeth, refusing to
let the fear take over. The crowbar in my hand felt like
the only thing tethering me to reality.
Slowly, I stood, keeping my movements deliberate. the Hatch
loomed above, its edges lined with the faintest trace of frost
that glinted in the dim interior light.
I reached for the locking mechanism, ready to slam it shut
if it opened again. Before I could touch it, the
tapping stopped. The silence returned, but this
time it wasn't empty. It was heavy, thick with the
weight of something unseen. My ears strained for the
smallest noise, but all I caught was the faint hum still
vibrating through the truck. A shadow passed across the side
window. I froze, staring at the outline
of something, someone standing just beyond the glass.
Their head was tilted unnaturally to one side, as if
they were curious. The glass misted for a moment,
like a breath had escaped them. Then they shifted, their figure
dissolving into the deeper black of the night.
This was no accidental meeting, no joke.
Whatever. Whoever this was, they had a
reason for this. And I stood in the middle of it
all. The roof hatch rattled
violently. The sudden movement was so loud
it echoed inside the truck. I jumped back, the crowbar held
out in front of me like a shield.
Whatever it was, it didn't make the Hatch open, but it slammed
against it, harder this time, shaking the truck on its wheels.
I stumbled, catching myself against the wall as the hum grew
louder, more insistent. The floodlights outside
flickered once, twice. Then they went out, plunging the
clearing Into Darkness. My hands shot out, fumbling for
the emergency switch that would reboot the system before I could
reach it. The side window shattered.
Glass rained down, scattering across the floor as cold air
rushed in. I turned just in time to see a
pale arm retreating through the broken window, its fingers
impossibly long and thin. I lunged for the controls,
slamming my palm against the reset button.
The floodlights roared back to life, their beams cutting
through the clearing once more. The figures were there, closer
now, dozens of them. They ringed the truck, their
heads canted at impossible angles, their limbs moving in
ways that made no sense. They weren't holding
flashlights. They had each of them, jagged
metallic rods in their hands, which pulsed to the tune of that
strange hum that filled the air. I didn't wait to see what they
would do next. Scrambling into the driver's
seat, I jammed the key into the ignition and turned.
The engine roared to life, it's familiar rumble a small comfort
against the chaos outside. Slamming the truck into gear, I
hit the gas. The truck lurched forward,
scattering some of the figures as it barreled out of the
clearing. The road was barely visible, the
headlights bouncing with every bump and rut.
The trees seem to close in their branches, clawing at the sides
of the truck as I speed through the forest.
Behind me, the floodlights illuminated glimpses of
movement. The figures weren't retreating.
They were following their jerky movements, keeping pace with the
truck in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
The hum grew fainter as I put more distance between myself and
the clearing, but it never went away completely.
It lingered like an unwelcome reminder that this wasn't over.
When I finally reached a paved Rd. the truck skidded as I
turned sharply, its tires squealing in protest.
The forest thinned, and the first hints of dawn painted the
horizon in pale Grays and Blues. I didn't stop until the trees
were far behind me, their shadows replaced by the safety
of an open stretch of Hwy. Even then, the marks on the roof
of the truck and the etched patterns in the dirt stayed
burned into my mind. Whatever had happened back
there, I never plan on going into the woods again.
Stay safe out there.