I grew up in a quaint little town nestled in the heart of
Canada, a couple of hours drive from Edmonton, AB.
This charming place, situated along the river that lent its
name to the town, was my childhood haven.
For about four to five months each year, Athabasca transformed
into a bona fide winter Wonderland, becoming an integral
part of my upbringing. Winter sports, building snowmen
and engaging in epic snowball fights with my childhood friend
were cherished memories. Alberta was my home, and I never
imagined straying too far from it.
The farthest I thought I'd ever venture was down to Edmonton for
work. However, fate had other plans
for my family, leading us farther away from home than I
could have ever imagined. My career path had taken me to
Melbourne, Australia, where I met a girl, got married and
decided to build our family. Since my side of the family was
more flexible with travel. They visited us in Melbourne
once or twice a year. But for all those years my
children had only heard stories about their dad's homeland and
most importantly, they had never seen snow.
My daughter Angie had turned 5 and my little boy James was 4
when my wife and I decided it was time to introduce them to
the beauty of a Canadian winter. So we planned a trip back to
Alberta for Christmas in 2018. Angie was particularly thrilled
while James seemed rather bewildered by the prospect.
Upon landing in Edmonton and embarking on the 84 mile journey
to my parents place, my kids were utterly captivated by the
pristine snow covered landscape that enveloped us.
Showing them my beloved hometown was a magical experience and
they relish their time with their grandparents.
However, the snow stole the show as my children revelled in its
splendor. In Australia, Christmas was
celebrated much like in Canada, but the glaring difference was
the weather. While Northern hemisphere
countries were immersed in deep winter, the Southern hemisphere
was sweltering in high summer. It was a bizarre feeling to
witness festive advertisements featuring fake snow and 40°C
heat. I often wondered if Australians
would eagerly trade their scorching weather for a day of
frost just to align with the Christmas spirit.
For my kids, having a snowy backdrop for Christmas was as
enchanting as a trip to Disneyland, and they cherished
every moment of it. The kids couldn't get enough of
the snow they wanted to build snowmen, engage in snowball
fights, and experience all the winter activities I had enjoyed
as a child. Donning warm winter clothing was
an exciting novelty for them. Angie once remarked that she
felt like either an Eskimo or an astronaut, given how alien the
experience was for them. Our adventure took an unexpected
turn when my wife spotted an advertisement for a winter
glamping experience at Jolt Lodge.
We eagerly booked an overnight stay in one of their family
sized yurts. Arriving on December 21st, we
were all set to build an army of snowmen by noon.
We frolicked in the snow for hours, but as twilight
descended, my wife retired to the yurt to prepare dinner on
the provided camping stove. The kids and I continue to play
in the fading light, and after an intense snowball fight where
my children unexpectedly teamed up against me, we all grew
ravenous. We were just a short distance
from the yurt, so I dashed back to check on my wife, who assured
me dinner would be ready soon. I then returned to the spot
where my kids had been playing, only to find Angie starting the
base of yet another snowman. My heart pounded as I realized
that James was nowhere to be seen.
I initially assumed James couldn't have strayed too far,
but panic surged through me when Angie looked up with concern and
stammered. I don't know.
She seemed to fear my anger, but my overwhelming emotion was
frantic terror. I knew I had to find James, and
I followed his little boot prints, frantically calling his
name. The moments that followed were
the most terrifying of my life, exacerbated by the fact that
Angie was witnessing my frantic search.
Feeling a sense of responsibility for her little
brother's disappearance, I followed James's footprints
through the snow until they led me to a site that sent chills
down my spine. An icy cold stream lay before
me. It didn't appear deep or wide,
but it was the perfect size for a four year old to fall into and
be swept away by the current. My heart raced as I scanned the
water for any sign of James, screaming his name in
desperation, hoping he would hear and come running.
My daughter watched, petrified, as I ran up and down the streams
banks, searching for any trace of my son's body in the water.
These moments were excruciating, the fear of losing my child
consuming me. I scarcely paid attention to the
opposite bank, deeming it impossible for James to have
crossed without being swept away.
But then, when I heard his voice, I spun around, only to
see him standing on the other side of the stream.
To my amazement, he didn't seem frightened or anxious.
James wandered through the snow in his overcoat and boots,
seemingly carefree. I rushed across the stream,
scooping him up into my arms. I didn't scold him.
Instead, relief washed over me and I could see that he was
scared too. As tears welled up in his eyes.
Upon seeing Angie, who was also crying, I carried him back to
the yurt where my wife awaited, confused and angry.
After recounting the ordeal to my wife, she expressed anger at
me, then at our daughter, and then at me again.
But primarily, we were all just relieved that we had found James
safe and unharmed, avoiding a potential Amber Alert.
Once we calm down a bit, we had dinner.
Put the kids to bed and I couldn't help but ask James
something that had been gnawing at me since it popped into my
head. Just after dinner, I asked him,
How did you get across that stream, buddy?
We were all so relieved to have found James safe and sound, so
that was the main thing on my mind.
I never really thought about how we had gotten across until that
moment. James's response sent a shiver
down my spine, making my blood run cold.
He said The snowman carried me. Of course, I knew a snowman
couldn't have carried him across an icy stream, but someone had,
and that thought made me feel sick to my stomach in the most
delicate way possible. I gently told James it couldn't
have been a snowman, and asked if it was maybe a person dressed
in white clothes or with snow on their hair or shoulders.
He shook his head and repeated. The snowman carried me before I
could press further. He closed his eyes and drifted
off to sleep not more than five or 10 minutes later.
I couldn't imagine what he had gone through, or why he didn't
react more strongly to being taken by a stranger.
The next morning we were on our way back home, not even
considering asking for a refund due to how shaken we were.
Once we returned, I contacted the police to report what had
happened. Within a day, they confirmed our
worst fears. On the opposite side of the
stream, alongside James's tiny footprints, were larger
footprints that had undoubtedly been left by his potential
abductor. James later told us that the
person who carried him had worn a white hat or light colored
clothing. They had carried him through the
woods for a brief moment before setting him down and walking
away. James didn't recall any words
exchanged or feeling scared during the encounter.
It was bizarre for a child not to react when picked up by a
complete stranger, but there was something deeply unsettling
about the whole incident. The memory of that day continues
to haunt me, leaving me with unanswered questions and a
profound sense of unease. The thought of a stranger taking
my son and then letting him go chills me to the bone, and I
can't help but wonder what might have happened if they hadn't
decided to release him. My name is Jim and I live in
northeast Louisiana. A few weeks ago, my friends
Dave, Ryan, Jess, and I embarked on an unforgettable trip to
visit some of my family in Washington state.
Dave and I were both 18 years old, while Ryan and Jess were a
year older at 19. Our adventure began in late
October when we packed up all our belongings and set out on a
long road trip from the swamps of Louisiana to the scenic
landscapes of Washington. Our visit to my uncle's house in
Washington was enjoyable, filled with laughter and catching up
with relatives we hadn't seen in years.
As our time in Washington was coming to a close, Ryan
suggested that we spend our last night camping in the nearby
woods. Dave and Jess readily agreed to
the idea, but I was a bit hesitant.
A million different thoughts raced through my mind, but in
the end I decided to go along with it.
We borrowed 2 tents from my uncle and ventured into the
woods, setting up our campsite not too far from his house.
If we unzipped our tent doors, we could barely make out the
faint glow of his porch light in the distance.
We were in a remote area with no neighbors for miles around.
It felt isolated, but in a thrilling way.
After spending the evening by the warm, crackling fire we had
built, we all decided it was time to call it a night.
Well, all except for Jess, who wanted to savor a little more
peace and solitude beneath the starry sky.
I figured, why not? I joined her and we continued to
chat for about 20 more minutes, basking in the serenity of the
forest. Then it happened.
I saw something massive moving in the darkness about 20 yards
away from us. It was colossal, at least 10
feet tall, Or so it seemed in the dim light.
Panic surged through me as a million thoughts raced through
my mind. Jess and I exchanged nervous
glances, and without a word, we retreated to one of the tents.
We woke up Ryan, who was still half asleep and in hushed tones
he mumbled. What the Hell's going on?
He grabbed his hatchet and sat up, trying to make sense of our
incoherent explanations. Go back to sleep y'all, Ryan
finally said, putting his hatchet down and curling back
into his sleeping bag. Around 20 minutes later, we
heard it again. The ominous footsteps, slow and
deliberate, encircling our tent. Ryan was now fast asleep,
oblivious to the eerie presence outside.
I quietly reached for Ryan's hatchet and held it tightly in
my hand. With my other hand, I covered
Jess's mouth to keep her from screaming.
We realized that we had left Dave alone in his tent.
With no means of defense, Jess bravely volunteered to step
outside with the hatchet. As she cautiously ventured out,
she immediately recoiled, her breath coming in heavy,
terrified gasps. I urged her to explain what she
had seen, but she could only stammer about something vast and
solid black lurking in the shadows.
I couldn't let her face this unknown menace.
Alone. With hatchet in hand, I stepped
out of the tent and there it was, the colossal figure looming
over our campsite. Peering down at our tent, my
heart raced and I swung the hatchet blindly at its leg in
sheer terror. A pained scream pierced the
night as the enigmatic creature fled into the darkness.
The scream jolted Dave and Ryan awake.
They rushed to our side, demanding to know what had
happened. Before we could respond, Ryan
looked down at the deep, massive footprints left in the mud.
Dave's eyes widened in astonishment.
Is that a Bigfoot? He exclaimed.
My cousin, alerted by our commotion, arrived at the scene
with a pistol and a Lantern in hand.
What the hell was that? She shouted, her voice
trembling. Ryan pointed at the enormous
footprints. I ain't never coming without a
gun again, he declared, his voice filled with determination.
I couldn't shake off the fear that had taken hold of me that
night. Sleep remained elusive until we
return to the familiar comforts of Louisiana.
That was one creepy and unforgettable night.
One that none of us would ever forget.
I've been a long time listener here, but today I'm finally
sharing my own story, one that's far from those cliche creepy guy
stared at me tails. This is the story of how my best
friend from college, Tyler and I almost met our demise in the
woods. And let me assure you, it's not
just about creepy staring. It's about survival, fear and a
scar to prove it. Back in college at CU Denver,
Tyler and I developed a strange fascination with survivalism
during our sophomore year. We lived off campus working part
time jobs and we're within a stone's throw of Chief Mountain
and Mount Blue. Sky hiking became our go to
method for blowing off steam and staying fit.
Our interest started during freshman year when we were still
on campus, but after we moved into our apartment we watched a
movie one night that ignited our curiosity even further.
The movie was called Alive and it depicted the harrowing true
story of a South American rugby team whose plane crash landed in
the Andes Mountains. To survive the freezing
conditions and injuries, they resorted to consuming the flesh
of their deceased teammates. It was an intense film, and it
captured our imaginations. We couldn't help but ask
ourselves, what would we do in a similar situation.
It became a debate on how hungry we'd have to be before resorting
to cannibalism. A grim topic indeed.
Obviously, we never wanted to put that to the test.
Instead, we decided on the next best thing, heading into the
mountains during peak snowfall and attempting to camp for a
night or two to see if we could handle it.
Now, before I continue, let me emphasize that what we did is
not something I'd recommend. Wilderness camping is risky
enough, but doing it during the dead of winter is downright
foolhardy. But being the naive college
students we were, we thought it was a brilliant idea.
So after planning over Christmas break, we set off on the first
weekend. Back at school, we drove up to
Echo Lake Park near Rogers Peak, parked our car, and ventured
into the snowy forest in the direction of Mount Goliath.
It took us a few miles, but we eventually found a sheltered
spot among the pine trees where we cleared a space for our camp.
I won't bore you with the gritty details of how miserable it was
to camp in those conditions. Suffice it to say, it sucked.
Everything stayed wet, making it a constant struggle to keep the
fire going, and we barely got any sleep.
The experience was so terrible that we decided to pack up and
leave around 6:30 or 7:00 in the morning, using the first light
to find our way back to the car and escape to the warmth of
home. I used my trusty Jetboil to make
some coffee inside the tent, and after warming up and
caffeinating ourselves, we started packing.
Tyler finished a minute or two before me, then open the tent
flap and said he was going to take a quick pee.
I nodded, still half asleep, and continued with my task.
Moments later, Tyler returned, but didn't enter the tent.
Instead, he squatted by the entrance and asked, is your
knife within arm's reach? I assumed he had spotted a bear.
Sometimes they woke up from hibernation early, and when food
was scarce, they posed a significant threat to campers.
Curiously, I inquired about the issue, expecting to hear about a
bear. However, Tyler's response left
me bemused. There's a dude, he said.
He was watching me take a leak. Relief washed over me as I
processed the situation. So what if some early morning
hiker had given Tyler a disapproving look while
relieving himself in the snow? But then Tyler added a chilling
detail. The guy had a gun.
Now this didn't immediately send me into a panic, given that
seeing armed individuals in Colorado's mountains wasn't
entirely uncommon. But maybe I was too tired, too
cold, or too eager to leave. But I failed to grasp the
gravity of the situation. Tyler's explanation might have
been inadequate, or perhaps my mind couldn't comprehend the
danger lurking in those snowy woods.
I sat there, bewildered, when in reality we should have been
running for our lives. Suddenly, Tyler turned his head,
his eyes widening, and he screamed.
Get out of the tent. I hadn't even finished packing,
but his urgency spurred me into action.
I scrambled out of the tent, my heart pounding.
What I saw outside left me frozen in fear.
It was a hunter, a lone figure with a ski mask or balaclava
covering his face. He remained silent as we slowly
backed away, trying to communicate that we didn't want
any trouble, and apologizing if we had trespassed.
We babbled on, trying to defuse the situation, but the man
remained mute. Then, to our horror, he raised
his rifle, aiming it directly at us.
Time seemed to slow as we waited for the inevitable shot.
Bang. The first shot was deafening,
echoing through the woods as we sprinted away from our campsite.
It felt like an eternity between the first shot and the second.
I vividly recall thinking he's aiming any second now, and I'm
dead. Then another bang and I felt
something strike the back of my left thigh.
My leg threatened to give way, but I pushed through the pain
and ran alongside Tyler through the dense trees.
I knew I had been hit. The bullet fragment had punched
into my thigh, but thanks to the pine trees, it hadn't severed my
femoral artery. Warm blood streamed down my leg
as I sprinted, but the cold air made it feel strangely cold at
the same time, a sensation I never wanted to experience
again. In a blur, we made it down the
mountain. Either the hunter couldn't get
another shot at us, lost us, or decided to flee the area before
we could find someone to call the police.
To say I got off lucky would be an understatement.
The pine trees had thwarted his aim and the bullet had
fragmented, slicing open the top of my thigh as I sprinted.
The doctor later told me that if the bullet had hit the tree
slightly differently, or if I had been running a bit slower,
the fragment could have severed my femoral artery and I would
have bled out within minutes. As for the man who had taken
shots at us, the police questioned a few hunters but
never made any arrests. No one was charged with
attempting to murder us up on that mountain.
If you ask me, the guy was just a hunter, not someone looking to
shoot people intentionally. He might have been a psycho who
thought no witnesses. Why not?
I guess there are people out there who want to know what it
feels like to kill, but I'm not implying that every hunter
thinks that way. I just know for certain that at
least one of them does. When I was a kid of about 12
years old, I used to live in a small town just outside Johnson
City, TN, deep in the Appalachian Mountains.
This was back in the 70s, at a time when people were different
about their kids. We would go off all day and not
come home until dark, and folks didn't worry about the same
kinds of things we do now. But perhaps we should have.
We would explore the woods, find abandoned mines and caves, and
camp outside on warm summer nights.
We weren't stuck in front of the TV like kids today.
Back then, you could only get two or three channels in the
mountains, so it was pretty boring to just stay home.
In retrospect, we did some pretty dumb things and took some
insane risks that could have cost us our lives, but somehow
we survived it all. The story starts early one
morning when I and my brothers and sisters were waiting for the
school bus. It was around 7:00 AM on a cold
November morning, probably in 1973 or 1974.
We noticed the gravel on the road moving, heard the sound of
rocks falling, and could see dirt and dust rising from a
nearby Ridge. This continued for about 10
seconds and was enough to make us run back into the house.
The radio in my dad's old car said there was a 7.3 magnitude
earthquake in Claiborne County to the north.
I remember my dad saying it was felt all the way in Charlotte,
NC, some 100 miles South. We ended up missing school that
day, which was pretty cool for us, so we took off like we
usually did, into the woods by that Ridge because we wanted to
see which rocks had fallen. On our way to the Ridge we saw a
place where the ground had opened up, revealing a cave
entrance. Real cave entrances which aren't
cleared for tourists, look a lot different than the ones in
movies or pictures. This one was covered with roots,
leaves, and dirt, but you could see inside it pretty well.
We went back to the house, got some rope and my dad's old
Lantern. Before long, we were back at the
new cave with our supplies, gathering up our courage to go
in. We talked about finding gold or
diamonds, maybe turning it into a secret hideout.
There were four of us, including two twin boys, my best friend
Dan and me. Dan and I were inseparable for
the most part, while the twin boys were always getting into
trouble and used profanity a lot, but they were always trying
to outdo each other, so they were fun to hang around with.
We climbed down the embankment to the mouth of The Cave and
turned on the Lantern. We pulled away roots and leaves
to make The Cave mouth big enough to climb through.
I stuck my head inside and was immediately met with the smell
of death. The air was so thick with the
smell of it that I gagged. Not to be discouraged, I pulled
my T-shirt up over my nose and pushed past the roots until I
was inside. Dan handed me the light, and
inside I saw a low, flat room, about four feet high and easily
20 feet across. The Cave went further back, but
my light couldn't make out any details past that.
Dan crawled through next, and then the twins holding the
Lantern as high as I could. We proceeded into The Cave, and
once we were inside, we could see bones of animals all over
the floor. Some of them had been picked
clean, while others still had meat on them.
Then one of the twins found a dog collar on one of the bones,
revealing that these were the remains of cats, dogs, sheep,
deer, and small rodents. The bones were scattered around
the floor as if they'd been tossed away from the carcasses.
I remember thinking, what could have done this?
That's when I noticed two lights reflecting the lamp in the back
of The Cave. It didn't make a noise, but I
remember saying, guys, we need to get out of here now.
I never took my eyes off those two pinpoints of light.
It must have been something in my voice because Dan perked up
and followed my gaze without another word.
We all got out of The Cave as fast as we could.
There was only one thing. It could be a bear's den.
Once outside, we all ran back to the house and told our dad what
we saw. He was getting ready to go to
work the 2nd shift at the Blue Jean factory in town.
He told us to stay away from that place until he could go
check it out. Mom overheard us and told us
that if we went back out there she would tear our butts up.
Getting mauled by a bear was not something we wanted, so we
agreed. Just to be sure, Dad gave us a
few chores to keep us occupied until he got back home splitting
firewood and breaking up coal. That was enough to end our
adventures that day. The rest of the week was
uneventful, except for the news of the earthquake.
That was the topic at school and at home for the rest of the
week. By the weekend, Dan and I had
decided we were going to go back and explore that cave to see if
there really was a bear in it. Pretty dumb, but we decided to
go armed with pocket knives and sharp sticks to take care of the
bear if there really was one, or at least we thought we would.
We climbed the hill back to where The Cave mouth was.
A couple of night time rains had washed away the mud and made the
mouth of The Cave bigger and easier to get in and out of.
We made our way inside The Cave and past the smell, which was
still very much permeating from the entrance.
Once inside, we crouched and walked back to the backside of
The Cave. The Cave entrance narrowed to an
opening in the back wall that sloped down at a pretty steep
angle like a set of steps. We continued deeper and noticed
there were no bones or animal remains back in this part of The
Cave. It went back another 100 feet
and stopped at a rather large hole that seemed to go straight
down. The strangest part was that we
could feel warm air coming up from out of the hole.
We couldn't see the bottom when shining the light down into it.
We didn't have enough rope to go farther, so we made our way back
out of The Cave. Undaunted, we wanted to know how
deep that hole was. We used the Lantern to build a
fire and made some makeshift torches.
Dan was one of the best fire starters I'd ever seen.
Within minutes we were equipped with torches and we're back in
The Cave. We dropped a torch down the hole
and it hit the bottom about 20 feet down.
It opened up into a room with a dirt covered floor.
Then there was a growl unlike anything I'd ever heard in my
life. It was coming from somewhere
down in that hole, from something.
It sounded like a tiger or a lion, some sort of big cat more
than that of a bear. Then it screamed so loud we
dropped our gear and covered our ears.
We could see from the torch lights that it was circling the
torch but staying away from most of it.
It was looking up at us, big and lean.
Definitely not a bear, more like a Mountain Lion, but its fur was
black as pitch and its ears were like a Dobermans, straight and
tall like horns. It didn't look like any cat, dog
or bear. Its eyes glowed red in that
firelight like 2 hot coals. It would look at me then a Dan,
as if it were trying to decide who it would kill first when it
screamed again. It was like having a ton of sand
dumped on you from above. I went down to my knees and
tried to curl into a ball. The scream made me feel weak,
unable to think or move. My head felt like it was a gong,
or someone had placed a giant bell on my head and started to
beat at it. I felt sick, confused, in pain,
all at the same time. Dan collapsed into a ball with
his hands on his ears. He had dropped the Lantern and
it had rolled off the edge down into the hole.
It went pitch black up top, but the bottom of the hole burst
with light as the Lantern shattered right beside the
thing. Another scream came from it this
time, a scream like it was in pain.
We didn't feel weakened from it this time, we were just
terrified. It was like the spell had been
broken and we were free. Our survival instincts kicked in
and we took off. Dan and I made our way up the
slope as fast as we could. We could tell that whatever that
was in the hole was going to come after us.
We just knew that it would not let us live for dropping that
Lantern. It was like there was a
connection to the thing in our minds and it was talking to us.
Once up the slope we could see the dim light at the entrance
and we quickly made our way back.
Just before we reached the mouth of The Cave, we heard the scream
again. This time it was like being hit
by water coming out of a fire hose.
It knocked both of us down as we desperately covered our ears,
then tumbled forward toward the entrance.
We got out of the hole and ran all the way home with tears
pouring down our faces. Neither one of us could hear for
a week. I remember having a headache
that was so bad my parents took me to the emergency room.
The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with us other
than the many scratches and bruises we had from The Cave.
We were told that we were very lucky to be alive, as there are
a lot of poisonous gases in caves and that was probably what
was causing the headaches, but it should pass about a week
later. It was just a ringing sound in
my ear, but I will never forget it.
I remember having the strangest dreams for months afterward,
dreams where I was back in that cave with that screaming thing.
I would wake up curled into a ball again, just like before.
I think Dan experienced the same thing.
We never went back to The Cave. It was very unlike us, but we
weren't courageous enough to go back there.
My family moved soon afterwards and Dan and I lost contact.
Many years later, I went back after hearing that they'd had
another earthquake. I wanted to visit and see if
that cave was still there. It is, although it looks like
part of the roof collapsed in on it.
I tried to look up Dan too, but he had moved away.
The twins were there, working at a local garage.
They said Dan lived there for about 10 more years.
He never quite got over the experience, actually.
He ended up being sent away to a special school for the deaf for
several years. When he did come back home, he
was a very quiet person, didn't make many friends, and he lived
with his parents and worked at the mill for a while.
Everyone said he kept to himself and that he liked to drink.
I don't know what it is that the earthquake opened up back then.
I guess I'll never know. I do know this though.
It was more than just a bear, more than just a Mountain Lion.
This thing had the ability to use its cry to disable its
enemies or prey. I'm not sure which we were to
it. I also know it was smart enough
to get into our heads. I've never known another animal
that can do that. Losing someone close to you is a
process that unravels you bit by bit.
It's like losing a piece of yourself, a part of your very
essence. One moment you're living in a
world where you can spend all the time in the world with them,
sharing your thoughts, your laughter, your tears, and then
in the blink of an eye, they're gone, and you're left with
1,000,000 words to say, but no one to say them to.
It's as if they take all your joy and warmth with them,
leaving you to wander through life like an empty shell.
The earth becomes a cold, barren husk, devoid of color and life.
In the midst of this aimless drift, your mind occasionally
toys with the idea of joining them in death, just to be
reunited with the person you held so dear.
My older brother and I were two peas in a pod, a pair of
despondent souls who found meaning in each other's company.
In our childhood, we were inseparable.
We did everything together, so much so that we couldn't even
bear to be in separate classes during elementary school.
The thought of being apart for too long would lead to protests
that my parents still reminisced about.
Our parents owned a vast expanse of land in Washington state,
including a dense forest behind our house.
Every single day. Without fail, my brother and I
embarked on a long and arduous journey into those woods.
We would spend hours playing together, our young imaginations
running wild. We'd pretend to be nights
building castles out of sticks strewn about the forest floor
and laying siege to each other's fortresses.
Looking back now, those are my fondest memories of my sibling
and me. But as we reached our teenage
years, something changed. My brother and I started to
drift apart. He began to allocate the
majority of his free time to his frequent girlfriends, while I
dedicated myself to academics and a part time job.
We started talking to each other less and less, and as our
conversations dwindled, the divide between us grew wider.
It was a silent acknowledgement of what was happening, a
decision we both made to ignore the growing chasm, a choice I
would later regret deeply. It was during the final weeks of
my junior year in high school that everything changed.
The weight of tests and exams inundated me, sweeping aside all
other aspects of my life, including my social
relationships. I had friends, but like me, they
were heavily engrossed in their studies.
Being the terrible time manager I was, I couldn't spare even a
minute from my relentless preparation for finals to
socialize. That was when my brother
extended an unexpected invitation.
He offered me the chance to attend a graduation party being
held by an acquaintance of his. Normally it was for seniors
only, but he was willing to make an exception for me.
I hesitated as parties weren't my scene, but after weighing my
options, I reluctantly agreed. Perhaps it was my desire to
impress my brother, to rekindle the bond that had faded away
over the years that convinced me to go.
The rest of the week passed in a blur as I diligently chipped
away at my remaining homework. When Saturday morning arrived, I
was greeted by my brother's mischievous smile.
I had overslept, and he took full advantage of the
opportunity to wake me up with a jolt.
Wakey, wakey, sleepy head. It's 11.
I want to make sure my favorite little bro is ready for the
night out, he said, patting my head.
I groaned, still half asleep. I hate you so much, man, I
muttered. He chuckled and left my room
utterly proud of his successful wake up call.
The aroma of bacon and eggs greeted me as I got dressed and
headed down to the kitchen. My mother was at the stove and
she greeteded me with a warm smile.
I returned the courtesy and took my seat at the kitchen table.
When my mother finished cooking, she set the plates on the table.
What's the occasion? I asked.
She smiled. It's been a while since you 2
have spent some time together. I thought I'd commemorate the
occasion. I looked down at my plate, guilt
washing over me. Well, mom, things get busy, you
know? I can't balance at all school,
work and everything. The important thing, she said,
is that you're making an effort now.
As the morning turned into afternoon and afternoon into
evening, I started having second thoughts about attending the
party. I was convinced that once we
arrived, my brother would simply forget about me, leaving me
alone in a sea of inebriated teenagers.
But I pushed those thoughts aside, determined to impress him
and rekindle our long lost bond. I dressed in a manner that
reflected the greaser aesthetic. Wearing denim jeans, a leather
jacket, and a muscle tee underneath, I grabbed my car
keys and ventured to collect my brother.
When he saw me, he looked genuinely proud.
My little dweeb of a brother, all grown up now, he remarked.
I'm telling you dude, if you just give it a shot, the ladies
will be chasing you. I smirked and ushered him out of
the door. No time for complimenting me,
even if I am the superior sibling.
We've got to get going, it's an unusually chilly main night, he
commented. As we exited the house, the
frigid air hit us like a freight train.
I opened the garage and we shuffled into my old 79 Camaro.
My side hustle during high school had allowed me to save up
for this car, and I was proud of it.
We're in for a bit of a drive, I said.
But it'll be worth it. The trip to the residence was
surprisingly lengthy, taking us down multiple back roads.
About 2/3 of the way there, the pavement turned to dirt.
Finally, we pulled into our destination at around 7:00 PM.
We were the first to arrive, and Howard, my brother's friend and
the host of the party, welcomed us inside, offering food and
drinks. It was 1985, and the laws
against teenage alcohol consumption?
We're not as strictly enforced as they are now, at least not in
our part of Washington. Within the hour, a sizable crowd
had gathered in Howard's yard, my brother and I helped set up
the grill, and someone had brought a boombox blasting metal
health by Quiet Riot at maximum volume.
As the party picked up pace, I found myself pleasantly
surprised by how much I was enjoying myself.
I had expected the experience to be a chore, but it was quite the
opposite. I played a few games of
blackjack with some of the other guests and even served as a
referee for a drinking contest involving my brother, which he
admittedly lost by a wide margin.
As the night wore on, the party began to die down and many
guests started to take their leave.
I had abstained from alcohol for the duration of the party,
unlike my brother who had over indulged and was having trouble
speaking coherently. As the last of the attendees
disappeared down the Dark Rd. leading away from Howard's
house, I helped him clean up the mess left in the party's wake.
In the meantime, my brother lay sprawled out on a sofa,
clutching his head. Once we deem the place
Immaculate. I helped my brother to his feet
and we prepared to head out. But Howard stopped me.
You know? He said.
Just because the party itself is over doesn't mean the fun has to
be. There's this deserted family
estate just down the road from here.
A lot of people say it's haunted.
Want to go check it out? I hesitated.
Given my brother's level of intoxication, it likely wouldn't
be a great idea to venture out into the woods to some decrepit
old mansion. Just as I was about to reply, my
brother quickly took Howard up on his offer.
Sure, man, even if it's haunted, he slurred.
It wouldn't stop me from going. I glared at him, incredulity
written across my face. It's late as it is, and we have
a curfew. Mom's going to kill us if we go.
My brother turned to me, raising an eyebrow.
I've already had a couple of drinks, not like I can do much
worse. I sighed, defeated.
I knew I couldn't change his mind, but I also couldn't allow
my brother and Howard to go alone.
I gave in, and so the three of us charged forth into the icy
night, piling into my car. I had the unfortunate
disposition of being the designated driver, a role
assigned to me by Howard after he explained that his vehicle's
transmission had failed recently.
Howard directed me to the supposedly haunted property.
As we speed down winding, sparsely populated wooded back
roads, the street lights and sparse forestry began to morph
into dense, undisturbed woods. Eventually we halted in front of
an enormous pair of rusted iron gates decorated with overgrown
vegetation. From what I could tell, there
had at one point been a pair of initials welded into the gates,
but they had since been removed. We carefully exited the vehicle,
perhaps intimidated by the looming barriers.
Howard glanced at me and my brother, a hint of mischief in
his expression. You ready to see some ghosts,
guys? He asked.
I shrugged, unconvinced. Throughout my life I had never
been very religious or spiritual.
I simply reasoned that when you die, you cease to exist.
I didn't have any intention of changing my mind now that we
stood in the presence of this mansion.
My brother seemed to have sobered up a bit, his stance
shifting from relaxed to uneasy. Yeah, I think so, he replied
shakily. Howard shoved open the gates,
emitting an audible creaking sound that made my skin crawl.
He proceeded to gesture for us to take the lead.
How chivalrous of you to make us monster bait, I snarkily stated,
trudging my way through the overgrown grass, my brother
following suit. The task of plowing through the
excessive undergrowth guarding the estate was rather difficult.
Many thorn bushes had inconveniently decided to plant
themselves on our path. In due time, the dark silhouette
of the house began to materialize in front of us.
For all intents and purposes, the place looked very similar to
its description. Much of the siding and roofing
had partially or entirely rotted away, exposing some of the
framework. Where windows had once been,
there were now only gaping holes.
There appeared to be a wooden deck connected to the entrance
of the house, which lay astoundingly intact.
We worked our way to it, and with each step I took my sense
of trepidation slowly crept up, urging me to turn back.
But I couldn't. I was here because of my
brother, and I couldn't let fear hold me back.
As we near the deck, Howard pushed past us and strode over
to the door. He tried the knob, but it
refused to budget. Dang it.
Hang on, I'm going to kick this thing in, he exclaimed
dramatically. He began to vigorously slam his
foot on the door, and after three or four tries it gave way,
crashing into the shadowy interior of the house.
I rolled my eyes, angered by his lack of discretion, but I dared
not oppose him at the moment. Now certainly wasn't the time to
argue. Howard was the first who
sauntered inside, accompanied by my brother, who was unusually
quiet. I treaded carefully, trying to
muffle the sounds of my footsteps while I pursued them.
As the pitch black enveloped me, I reached for my pocket and
produced my handheld flashlight. When I switched it on, my jaw
dropped. The entire interior of the house
was spotless. There were no signs of decay,
not a single speck of dust. It was like the family had never
left. What the?
I stuttered before looking to my accomplices, seeing that they
had similar reactions. My brother at last spoke up.
OK, so this place is missing windows, but somehow the
furniture and floors are untouched.
Am I dreaming? Howard and I must have been too
stunned to reply. Both of us remained speechless
as an eerie hush fell over the three of us.
We began to become aware of a distinct noise emanating from
the second story, the sound of intense sobbing.
My eyes were the size of baseballs, and I glanced at
Howard and my brother, panic visible in their faces.
Howard spoke in a whisper. We've got to check it out.
Someone could be heard in here. My eyes grew even wider.
Are you kidding? Who would be crying like that in
the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere?
Howard didn't respond. Instead he began edging toward
the staircases leading up to the second floor.
Left with no other option, being the self-proclaimed alpha males
that we were, my brother and I stumbled after him.
As we trampled up the stairs, my sense of trepidation grew
stronger, Drowning out all logical thought.
We reached the top of the staircase and were presented
with an extensive hallway on both sides.
We promptly changed our course while the distressing noise
emanated from an unseen room to the right.
Howard led the way, my increasing terror climbing to a
crescendo until I realized the noise was coming from the very
end of the hallway. If it became necessary to run,
our escape would be significantly prolonged.
I shone my light down the hall to get a visual on the source,
finding that the door to the room was shut.
Seeing this as an opportunity, I shook Howard's shoulder in a
final effort to convince him this wasn't a good idea.
He once again soundly ignored me.
Without wasting a word, Howard advanced toward the door as the
crying became deafening. In one swift motion he twisted
the knob with a click that made my heart stop.
The door swung open and all at once the sobbing ceased.
The only thing I heard was a faint ringing in my ears.
My hands violently trembled as I raised my light to the now
gaping doorway. What I saw will forever be
burned into my memory, etched into my very being.
Inside the room, in a fetal position, there was a figure.
It was slender, it's colorless flesh lightly stretched across
heavy bones. The proportions of this being
we're not human like. No.
This creature possessed arms, extending well over half the
length of its body, ending in sharp talons resembling
overgrown fingernails. Long, greasy black hair was
draped across its shoulders and back, forming A tangled, shadowy
curtain that obscured its features.
It lay in a grotesque mound on the floor, unmoving and eerily
still. Despite this apparent
lifelessness, its spine protruded from its backside, A
horrifying series of malignant lumps and deformities.
As I stood frozen in place, my mind struggled to process the
grotesque sight before me. It was as if my eyes were
feeding my brain, a nightmare conjured from some malevolent
corner of my subconscious. My body refused to obey my
desperate commands, to flee or even to blink.
Beside me, Howard, who had backed away from the door with a
mixture of fear and caution, made one fatal mistake.
The pressure of his back pedaling foot released a nearly
imperceptible sound. A Creek.
It was just loud enough to capture the creatures attention.
In an instant it perked up, its chest rising and falling rapidly
as it began to gasp and convulse, each breath sounding
like a tortured, wheezing scream.
The creatures writhing seemed to stretch on for an eternity.
My brother Howard and I were held captive by the horrifying
spectacle, unable to tear our eyes away from the nightmare
unfolding before us. Finally it's ceased its
convulsions and an eerie noise escaped its unseen mouth, a
dreadful, demented laughter that echoed in the room like a sickly
woman's giggle. But then, with a series of bone
snapping cracks, the creature began to move.
It rotated its neck slowly, revealing its hideous face.
Even now, nearly 4 decades later, that image remains etched
in my mind, a grotesque reflection of my flashlight in
its beady, soulless eyes. It had no nose, only slits that
served as nostrils, and its mouth, far from human, was a
gaping maw lined with rows of needle like teeth dripping with
what could only be blood. As the creature rose to a
towering height, I began to grasp the gravity of our
situation. I may have been 6-2 and
athletically built, but this monstrosity exceeded my stature.
Panic surged within me as my brother shook me out of my
trance, shoving me down the hallway with a desperate
urgency. He yelled something, but the
adrenaline coursing through my veins drowned out most of his
words. I sprinted down the hallway,
reached the stairs, and hurled myself downward, crashing onto
the wooden tiles below. I scrambled to my feet and
bolted for the exit. Glancing behind me, I saw Howard
reach the doorway just seconds after me and my brother was
descending the stairs. As I yanked open the car door
and dove inside. I fumble with the ignition, and
the car roared to life just as my brother slipped through the
gates. The creature sat perched atop
the iron gates, its mouth still glistening with Crimson liquid,
but it made no move to pursue us further.
We speed away, breaking numerous traffic laws as we race down the
empty country roads in terrified silence.
The soft hum of the engine was our only comfort.
When we returned to Howard's home, he hurriedly vanished into
his house. I harbored resentment toward
him. After all, he had been the one
insisting on investigating the mansion in the 1st place.
My brother and I were left alone in the car, and he eventually
broke the silence. I think it's best we just
pretend this never happened, he suggested, his voice trembling.
I agreed, even though I knew deep down that we could never
forget what we had witnessed that night.
Life went on, but my brother's health took a severe turn.
He suffered from unexplained aches, muscle spasms, and
nausea. We admitted him to the hospital
in July, and he began describing a tall woman tormenting him in
his nightmares. The doctors could find no
physical cause for his condition, and despite our
hopes, he didn't pull through. I held his hand as he passed
away, my tears flowing freely. My brother's death left an
indelible mark on our family. I couldn't focus on academics as
I grappled with the loss, but one thing he had said haunted
me, the woman in his dreams. It had to be the same creature
we had encountered. It had taken my brother from me.
On a chilling October morning after I turned 18I persuaded my
father to lend me his hunting rifle.
Under the pretense of going hunting with friends filled with
determination, I set off for the old abandoned family estate deep
in the woods. After a long drive, I reached
the familiar iron gates and paused in my car, reflecting on
the profound impact this place had on my life.
Loading the rifle, I pushed open the gates and began my approach.
As I drew closer to the house, I raised the rifle's muzzle to the
sky and fired 3 rounds into the air.
There was no response. I called out an anger, but still
there was only silence. Fueled by rage, I stormed into
the house, determined to confront the creature that had
taken my brother. The interior was a scene of
devastation, the once sturdy furniture and tiling now reduced
to ruins. My bewilderment briefly
overwhelmed me, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it.
I meticulously searched every room, closet, and crevice, but
found no trace of the creature. My spirit crushed.
I exited the crumbling home, defeated.
As I stepped outside, rain began to fall.
It's cold drops battering me. I could no longer contain my
grief, and tears welled up in my eyes.
I wanted to apologize to my brother for failing him, but
there I knelt in the field of silence, alone with my anguish.
I'll never forget that sound, the crashing of feet on dry
leaves passing my tent. It was fast, like I had been
visited by an Olympic sprinter 3 minutes to midnight the first
time it happened. I grabbed my gun and searched
the surrounding area. Nothing.
Not a trace Settling in my sleeping bag.
It wasn't 5 minutes before something ran past the tent once
more. 10 minutes later I heard it again.
Then nothing further as I waited for the sun to rise.
The wilderness has always been my home away from home, my
escape when life was awry. I've been on more camping trips
than I count, mostly alone. You see, I don't like people.
So after many years abroad, another visit to the outdoors
was way overdue. I had been scoping out a new
camping site for a while. It was a few hours outside of
town, but the reviews online were nothing short of glowing.
This place prided itself on being for the solo traveller
with enough space for campers to pitch their tents without
bothering each other. I was sold with the essentials
packed, including my Beretta 92 pistol For safety.
I made my way down the highway and eventually arrived at the
locations reception office. While some people are more
adventurous, I prefer to explore areas curated for campers.
Sure, it comes with an entrance fee, but at least I'm unlikely
to stumble on the land of a lunatic with a shotgun.
As I stepped into the reception, I was immediately struck by a
feeling of emptiness. It wasn't because I was alone.
This was a primal reaction that I felt in my gut, like the space
around me was stealing my energy.
As ridiculous as that sounds, it's the best description I've
been able to come up with. Reaching the front desk, I
called out for someone to assist me.
It was almost two in the afternoon, and I knew that the
camping site would be preceded by a short hike, as displayed on
a nearby map. I didn't have to wait long
before an old man in a blue cardigan arrived through the
back office door. This guy was old, very old, at
least 90 if I were to hazard a guess.
He didn't act like it, though. He spoke like a younger man, and
was far friendlier than his grim appearance would lead you to
believe. Taking me through the rules and
regulations of the land, he swiftly began saying something
about the history of the area. Now I'm not a rude person, but
my adventure was calling, and I had barely been paying attention
to what was being said. Perhaps too bluntly, I told the
old man that I needed to be on my way.
He was disappointed. Sad in fact, but he didn't
hesitate to guide me towards the start of the trail.
Before I left, I was handed a pair of keys that would unlock a
gate at the mouth of the forest. Finally, my holiday could begin.
Despite the reception's map stating that the forest was 2
miles away, it took me many hours to reach the towering
trees displayed on the website. At first I wondered if my pace
was too slow, but I knew I was as fit as I had ever been.
I was surprised that the map was so wrong, but I didn't think
much of it. By the time I reached the gate,
the sun had begun to set. Standing before the metal
barrier, I noticed that the fences on each side stretched
into an endless blur. I looked up at the massive tree
line and peeked beyond the gate to see the wild world that I was
eager to enter. I tried valiantly, but the key
didn't work. Its shape didn't even match the
lock. The many odd elements of this
trip started to add up, but I shook it off as I was in dire
need of a meal and my thoughts would only slow me down.
I suppose what I did next was illegal, but like I said, I had
little energy for an alternative solution.
Thankfully the gate was quite short, so I tossed my bag and
join my belongings by climbing up and over.
At this point, I wasn't picky about a camping location, so I
searched for the first bit of flat, open land.
Passing the hulking trees, the day's last sunlight shone
through the branches. I stopped and appreciated
nature's beauty for a brief moment.
To my despair, this pause brought on the same feeling I
had at the reception office. My stamina was waning, so
instead of finding an appropriate piece of ground, I
immediately put up my tent and prepared an outdoor area for
cooking. With a week's supply of beans
ready to prepare, I decided to lie down and rest before
starting the fire. I hadn't planned on sleeping
just yet, but after closing my eyes for a second, I was out
like a light. I'll never forget the sound that
woke me up. Something ran past my tent.
Initially I wondered if it was an animal, but four feet
colliding with the ground is more distinct than you might
think. Whatever this was, it was on two
legs. I searched the area quite
thoroughly, but found no sign of the unwelcome visitor.
Back in my tent, I heard the noise two more times.
On both occasions, I rushed out to catch my guest in the act.
Again, nothing. I didn't get any more sleep that
night. My mind was buzzing with
theories. Maybe it was a bear on its hind
legs. No, it ran too quickly.
If it was human, why was it running in the woods?
I have no idea. Thinking back now, what was more
chilling than the crumbling leaves was the eerie silence
when I was waiting for the sound to come back.
The new day brought more questions as I quickly learned
that my surroundings weren't what I expected.
Exiting the tent, I noticed the ashes of a burnt out fire.
Had I started it before collapsing the night before?
It didn't make sense as I surely would have noticed the scorched
wood when I searched the area at midnight.
Although I suppose the unwanted intruder had my attention at the
time, I knew it was best for me to leave.
I had planned to camp for five days, but one bizarre night was
more than enough for me. The thought of the long hike
back to the reception was daunting, but for the first time
in my life, civilization was more appealing than the
outdoors. As I packed my bags, I once
again started to become drowsy. Was this due to my lack of sleep
or was it something else? I still don't know.
Luckily, I have done training to operate on Little Rest, so
packing my bags wasn't difficult.
I was tired, but with my pistol strapped to my leg, I was ready
to go. Tracking my movements from the
day before, I followed the opening of the trees, I had
sworn that I didn't travel that far into the woods.
But after walking for an hour, I realized that I must have been
wrong. I knew I had gone the right way
after all. I pride myself on my sense of
direction. Once I reached one hour and 32
minutes, I shifted my focus from the ground to the trees.
While much of the bark surrounding me was in a reddish
brown shade, there were a few unique prints in the color Gray.
That's when I realized I was walking in a loop.
I timed it on my watch every 12 minutes and 16 seconds, I passed
a giant Redwood with a Gray marking in the shape of an
eagle's head. Every 16 minutes and 11 seconds,
I passed a tree that looked like it was decaying.
This happened over and over for what felt like hours.
I tried everything, going in the opposite direction, moving
horizontally, yet I remained stuck in the same cycle.
My spirit was willing, but my body was weak, and after walking
an endless path, I passed out amongst the dry leaves.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised at what woke me up,
but I was startled none the less.
The sound of the runner returned, but I didn't have the
tent to protect me. The thin fabric wouldn't have
done anything, but its absence still left me feeling bare.
My instincts kicked in and I reached for my gun.
Rising to my feet, I pulled out my flashlight and applied the
Harris technique, crossing my arms to prepare for combat in
the dead of night. The noises continued as I
searched for its origin. I noticed a quick shadow in the
corner of my right eye and turned, firing 2 bullets.
There was nothing there. The sound came back, this time
behind me. It took me only a second to spin
my body and pull the trigger three times.
Again, nothing. I repeated this pattern until
all 15 rounds were spent. I remember wondering if I was
going mad, but the thought was fleeting as my eyes and ears had
never deceived me before. I don't mean to brag, but I'm
good with a firearm. I can hit a target from a
distance, even a moving one in most situations.
I am certain about my abilities, but not here.
Every time I missed the target and splattered wood on the
floor, I felt my confidence to pleading.
For the first time in my life, I felt that death could be near.
I was scared. With my options depleted, I
chose a direction and ran. My boots made a considerable
impact on the ground, but I swear I heard a second set of
feet not too far behind me, keeping up with my pace.
Maybe it was an act of God. Maybe it was luck.
Whatever it was, I soon arrived at the locked gate that
swallowed me into the forest. At the time I barely questioned
why it was opened. I simply pushed through and
continued towards the reception office and entered its walls.
After 46 minutes my memory here gets a bit hazy, but I do
remember that the building had its lights off.
However, this was no concern for me as after slamming through the
front door, I jumped in my car and drove home.
I wish I could end this story with a shocking plot twist or
powerful life lesson, but this camping trip is as mysterious
today as it was the day I exited the forest.
If I didn't know any better, I would say that I briefly entered
another dimension. But if I tell anyone that, I
fear that they will have me locked up at the funny farm.
If I'm being completely honest, this trip left me feeling alive
more than I have been in a long time.
I'm writing this with my bag packed in front of me.
Even though the website for the camping site has been taken
down, I vividly remember the directions to its reception.
I don't know what's going to happen, but I am sure of one
thing in particular. This time I will pay close
attention to what the old man has to say.