Many years ago, my nephew and I embarked on a camping and
fishing trip to Cumberland, MD, known for its serene landscapes
and natural beauty. We decided to stay at a state
campground on the Potomac River, anticipating a tranquil and
enjoyable experience away from the hustle and bustle of
everyday life. The campground was somewhat
expensive, with campsites spread far apart, offering comfort and
a bit of eerie seclusion. We chose the last campsite at
the end of the campground, far away from the other campers,
seeking a little bit of extra privacy with its gentle flow.
The Potomac River provided a soothing backdrop, and the
forest surrounding us was alive with the sounds of nature.
We spent the day setting up camp, enjoying the simplicity of
pitching the tent, arranging our gear, and gathering firewood.
The weather was perfect, with a light breeze rustling the leaves
in the sun, casting dappled shadows through the canopy.
We fished along the riverbank, chatting casually and enjoying
the companionship such trips offer.
As dusk settled in, we lit a campfire.
It's flickering flames cast a warm glow in a comforting circle
of light. In the encroaching darkness, the
forest around us began to transition into night mode, with
the sounds of birds gradually giving way to the calls of
nocturnal creatures. Everything seemed normal, just
the typical Symphony of forest sounds.
Then, around 10 or 11 at night, something unexpected happened.
We heard the sound of a woman singing in the woods.
It was not a song with recognizable lyrics, but a
hauntingly beautiful melody without words.
The voice was clear, resonant and carried through the trees,
creating a mesmerizing and unsettling atmosphere.
I glanced at my nephew sitting across the fire from me and saw
that he was wide eyed and tense. My dog, lying peacefully by the
fire, suddenly sprang to his feet, ears perked up and staring
intently into the darkness from where the sound seemed to
emanate. His usual alertness to intruders
or unusual activity made his reaction all the more
concerning. Did you hear that?
I asked my nephew, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at me, pale in the firelight, and responded.
I don't hear anything. I'm going to bed.
His denial was unconvincing, given that he was only about 10
feet away from me and the singing was quite loud.
He was clearly frightened, perhaps hoping it would
disappear by ignoring it. The melody continued weaving
through the trees. While it sounded like it was
coming from One Direction, it had an eerie quality that made
pinpointing its source very difficult.
It was as if the voice was everywhere and nowhere at the
same time. Despite the unsettling nature of
the sound, it did not feel threatening.
There was no sense of malice, just a haunting beauty that was
hard to describe. I suggested to my nephew that we
take a flashlight and walk around to see if we could find
the source of the singing, but he was adamant about staying
put. The fear in his eyes was
evident, and he quickly retreated into the tent, leaving
me and the dog alone by the fire.
For several minutes, the melody continued.
I just stood there, listening intently, my dog by my side,
both of us staring into the inky blackness of the woods.
The fire crackled softly, a comforting but fragile barrier
between US and the unknown. Then, as suddenly as it started,
the singing just stopped. The forest was incredibly silent
again, except for the occasional leaves rustling in the breeze.
I felt a mixture of relief and curiosity.
There was no way someone could have been hiding in the woods
without my dog detecting them earlier.
His calm yet alert demeanor suggested that whatever it was,
it did not pose an imminent threat, but it was definitely
out of the ordinary. The following day, my nephew and
I discussed it a little more. He finally admitted to hearing
the singing but was too scared to acknowledge it.
We tried to rationalize what we had experienced, considering the
possibility of an echo, animals, or even just other campers, but
nothing really seemed to fit the situation perfectly.
In the following days, I searched for similar experiences
online in the Cumberland area but never really found anything
conclusive. Our encounter has remained a
mystery, a peculiar and unforgettable chapter in our
camping adventures. The memory of that night
lingered as a reminder of the many unexplained phenomena that
occur in the depths of nature. I'd like to preface this by
saying that at the time, I didn't find this story spooky at
all. My dad, on the other hand,
certainly did. When I was around nine, my dad
used to take me fishing quite often, especially in good
weather. I'll admit I was never that
interested in fishing, but I did like being outdoors and hanging
out with my dad so I was happy to go with him.
Tired of our usual catch of teeny tiny sunfish and the
occasional equally teeny tiny perch, my dad picked a different
fishing spot that day. Unlike the ponds I was used to,
this was a river and the fast moving current splashed us both
as my dad cast his line. We hadn't even been there an
hour when I got bored with the fishing.
Setting down my fishing rod, I began to climb around on the
rocks on the riverbank, pretending to be a superhero or
maybe a marine biologist. I was an odd little kid so it
could have gone either way. I was checking to see if there
was anything alive hiding underneath the rocks at the
water's edge when I first saw the man.
He seemed ordinary enough to me, just a short dark haired man in
what looked to me like normal fishing gear.
It would be years later before it occurred to me that I'd only
ever seen fisherman on television and movies dressed
like that, and the clothes he wore were actually decades out
of style. As a kid, it made perfect sense
to me. He was a fisherman.
He was wearing what Fisherman wore.
The only thing that seemed off to me at the time was that he
was standing a few feet behind my dad, but they weren't talking
to each other. My dad hadn't even turned
around. He'd always been pretty friendly
and loved to talk, so it was strange to me that he hadn't at
least said hello to this newcomer.
I was wondering why he was being so rude suddenly when the man
noticed me. Without so much as a word to my
father, he quickly walked to the riverbank and waved me over.
We were still only a few feet away from my dad then, so I
figured I was safe to go see what he wanted.
When I reached him, he crouched down to my level and I found
myself looking into the saddest pair of eyes I'd ever seen.
This man looked like he was having the absolute worst day of
his life. He didn't sound any happier than
he looked. You really shouldn't be playing
so close to the edge, honey, he said somberly.
Those rocks are slippery. You could fall in, and it's
awfully hard to swim in a current that strong you could
drown. I remember being a bit put out
that a random stranger was telling me what to do, and that
he had implied that my doggy paddle wouldn't be enough in the
event that I fell into the river.
Nevertheless, he was staring at me so intensely that I assured
him I would stay away from the rocks and went to pick flowers
instead. My dad came to find me a little
while later, confused as to why I'd given up jumping around on
the rocks. When I explained that the man
had told me not to play there, he frowned.
What man are you talking about? He asked the man who was
standing behind you. I answered, obviously.
Suddenly, Dad didn't feel like fishing anymore.
He abruptly picked up all of our gear and led me back to the car.
As he was loading everything into the trunk, he told me we
had been the only two people by the river all morning.
I tried to argue that there had been another man there, that I
had even spoken to him, but he shook his head.
It's just been me and you, kiddo.
Look, ours is the only car in the parking lot.
He was right, of course, and whether he believed what I said
or not, he quickly decided we could spend the rest of our
morning together at the closest Tim horton's instead.
We never went back to that river.
I don't know whether it was because my dad was spooked or
because he just didn't catch anything there, but all of our
subsequent fishing trips involved familiar ponds and
little fish. I do know, however, that I never
forgot the man by the river. Knowing now that children are
more likely to experience the supernatural, I wonder if he had
drowned in that river. Or maybe he lost a loved one to
the current and he was spending his afterlife preventing others
from making the same mistake. Regardless, I hope he has moved
on by now, or at least found some peace.
No one ought to be that sad for eternity.
The cold had settled deep into my bones by the time we hit the
icy patch on Rutherford Lane. I could almost hear the brittle
crackle of frost under the tires, an eerie Symphony against
the distant whisper of winter wind.
Lucy, my sister, was humming along to some forgotten
Christmas tune playing softly on the radio, her breath fogging up
the passenger window as she traced lazy patterns on the
glass. I think it's going to snow
tonight. She murmured, more to herself
than to me. I just nodded, keeping my eyes
fixed on the road ahead. The headlights carved out a
tunnel of dim yellow light through the thick darkness,
barely illuminating the gnarled branches of the trees lining the
narrow lane. That's when the car hit the ice.
One moment everything was as it should be.
Quiet, calm, the steady hum of the engine, and the next the
world spun wildly out of control.
The steering wheel jerked in my hands as the back end of the car
slid out, and I fought desperately to regain control,
but it was too late. The car skidded around the bend,
tires losing their grip on the slick surface, and we were
tumbling sideways into the ditch.
The sound was deafening, metal crunching glass shattering, our
screams lost amidst the chaos. When we finally came to a stop,
the car was on its side in a farmer's field, the night eerily
silent except for the hiss of the engine cooling and Lucy's
ragged breathing. Are you OK?
I managed, my voice sounding strangely detached.
Lucy nodded, her face pale in the dim light filtering through
the cracked windshield. I think so.
You. Yeah, I'm fine, but I wasn't
really sure. My heart was racing, adrenaline
pumping so loudly in my ears it was hard to think.
We scrambled out of the car, the cold air hitting us like a wall.
The ground was hard and frozen beneath our feet as we surveyed
the damage. The front bumper was gone, torn
off in our descent, and one of the wheels had sheared away,
disappearing into the darkness. I'll call Dan, I said, pulling
out my phone with numb fingers. Lucy huddled close, her arms
wrapped around herself as she shivered.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Dan was still at work, probably hadn't even checked his phone.
I tried again, the sense of isolation deepening with each
unanswered ring. We should find somewhere warm.
Lucy suggested after a few minutes, her voice small against
the vastness of the night. Just then, headlights pierced
the darkness, a car slowing as it approached our wreck.
Relief washed over me until I saw the driver, a woman,
middle-aged and smiling kindly, rolled down her window.
You girls need help. I explained our situation
quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Drive to the village, she advised.
Ask for my husband, Tom, he'll come back with a tow rope.
It sounded like a plan, a lifeline, and as she drove off,
promising quick help, I felt the weight of the night lightened
slightly. But as the minutes stretched
into hours with no sign of her or Tom, that fleeting sense of
security evaporated like mist in the morning sun, leaving us
cold, alone, and beginning to despair.
Time seemed to stretch out into eternity as we waited in the
frozen field. The occasional hoot of an owl or
the distant rustle of wind through the branches was the
only break in the silence that enveloped us.
My phone was rapidly losing battery, and with each passing
minute, the likelihood of Tom's arrival seemed to dwindle into
nothingness. Lucy paced back and forth, her
arms wrapped tightly around herself against the biting cold.
What if she forgot about us? She asked, her voice carrying a
tremor of real fear. I don't know.
I replied, trying to mask my own concern.
But we can't stay out here all night.
Just then, the beam of headlights cut through the
darkness once more, and a truck pulled up alongside our broken
car. Two men stepped out, their faces
shadowed and voices carrying thick accents that I couldn't
place. Need help?
One of them called out, a smile playing on his lips that didn't
quite reach his eyes. Something about the situation
felt off. I hesitated, taking in their
well equipped truck and the rope already in hand.
We're waiting for someone. I said finally, my voice firmer
than I felt. They seem to consider this,
exchanging a look that I couldn't read in the dim light.
We can't leave you here. The same man insisted, stepping
closer. The smell of oil and earth clung
to them, a stark reminder of the wilderness that surrounded us.
No, thank you. I said again, this time more
forcefully. They paused, the atmosphere
charged with an unspoken tension, before finally getting
back into their truck and driving away.
Relief washed over me briefly, until I saw their headlights
pause and turn back towards us. My heart sank.
They returned, parking their truck with the engine still
running. It's not safe for you here, let
us help. The man repeated, stepping out
again, this time not waiting for an answer.
Fear gripped me, icy and sharp as the wind.
I stood my ground, though my body screamed at me to flee.
Please, just leave us alone. I shouted, my voice echoing in
the stillness. It was then, at that moment of
peak desperation, that another vehicle approached.
A regular sedan, not a truck. A man jumped out, moving with
purpose and authority. He didn't speak much, only
working quickly to attach a tow rope to our car and affixing a
spare tire as he worked. I asked.
Did you see anyone else when you pulled up?
No, just you girls. He answered without looking up.
Confusion and relief swirled through me.
This was Tom, the husband of the woman who had stopped earlier.
His arrival was so timely it felt almost miraculous,
considering the unnerving encounter we had just endured.
As he drove us to my boyfriend's workplace, my shoulder began to
throb painfully, a delayed reaction to the adrenaline that
had fueled me through the night. Tom's wife had sent him
immediately, he explained, which puzzled me further about the
passage of time that night. The last thing he said stuck
with me, chilling in its simplicity.
Sometimes help comes from where you least expect it, sometimes
not at all. But tonight, it seems you needed
a bit of both. My brother Steve and I were
bursting with excitement as our car rolled into the entrance of
Kuo Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada.
This is going to be epic, I thought, glancing at Steve who
was grinning as wide as I was. We had planned this trip for
months, dreaming of the huge fish we'd catch in the untouched
wilderness. The park Ranger at the gate
handed us a map and pointed us towards the lakes where we could
find the best fishing spots. Be careful out there boys, it's
easy to get lost. He warned, giving us a serious
look. We nodded, eager to get going,
and drove down a narrow dirt Rd. that disappeared into thick
forests of towering Pines and Birch trees.
We parked near a small dock where we rented a sturdy canoe.
It was our vessel for the week and we packed it with all our
camping gear, tents, sleeping bags, fishing rods and a cooler
full of food. Let's catch some monsters.
Steve said, referring to the northern Pike and lake trout we
hope to encounter. Paddling out from the shore, we
felt like true adventurers. The water was so clear we could
see the sandy bottom several feet below.
Every lake we passed seemed more beautiful than the last, with
crystal clear waters and perfect spots along the shore where we
could camp at night. Each evening we set up camp on a
new lake's edge. The routine was simple, build a
fire, cook the fish we caught, and talk about everything and
nothing under the stars. I love these moments away from
the buzz of city life, just Steve and me and the sounds of
the wilderness. But on the 4th night, something
changed. We had found a particularly
secluded spot to camp, a recommendation from the park
Ranger who mentioned it didn't get many visitors.
It was breathtaking, with a view of the lake that mirrored the
sky, making it hard to tell where the water ended and the
heavens began. After a successful day of
fishing, we sat by the fire, our bellies full and our spirits
high. The fire crackled, and the
gentle lapping of water against the shore was like music.
Just as we started to relax, a strange sound sliced through the
peaceful night air. It began as a low rumble, like
distant Thunder, but then it grew into a high pitched screech
that seemed almost metallic. The noise echoed off the
surrounding trees, making it hard to tell where it was coming
from. Steve and I locked eyes, each of
us frozen in place. What the heck was that?
Steve whispered, his voice barely above the crackle of the
fire. I don't know, I replied, my
heart racing. We sat in silence, listening
intently, but the sound didn't come again.
After a while, we tried to laugh it off.
Maybe it's just some weird acoustics or a plane in the
distance? I suggested, not quite believing
my own words. Yeah, maybe.
Steve agreed, though I could tell he was as spooked as I was.
We went to bed uneasy that night, the mysterious sound
still echoing in our minds. Little did we know that was just
the beginning of our eerie adventures in Kuo Provincial
Park. The next morning, Steve and I
woke up with the sun barely peeking through the thick canopy
of pine trees. We were both a bit quiet
thinking about the strange noise from last night, but we were
also excited to explore a new part of the lake.
We had heard from the park Ranger that the fishing was
particularly good where a small river flowed into the lake and
we were eager to see if we could catch some really big fish
there. As we paddled through the mist
that hovered over the lake like a soft blanket, I couldn't shake
off the eerie feeling from last night's noise.
The lake was calm and quiet, too quiet, and it made me feel like
we were the only two people in the whole world.
When we reached the mouth of the river, I noticed something weird
in the water ahead of us. At first I thought it was just a
log floating, but as we got closer it started to move.
It wasn't a log at all, it was something big, really big.
What is that? Steve asked, his voice trembling
a bit. I didn't have an answer for him.
The thing, whatever it was, suddenly dipped below the
surface, leaving behind a trail of bubbles.
We looked at each other, unsure of what to do next, but the
thought of catching big fish lured us forward.
Despite our nerves. We paddled more cautiously now,
our eyes scanning the water. We reached the river mouth and
cast our lines, but something felt off.
There were no signs of fish at all.
No splashes, no ripples, nothing.
It was as if the river was dead. Just when we were about to give
up and paddle back, I felt a sudden tug on my line.
I got something. I yelled, excited at first, but
then I realized it wasn't acting like any fish I'd ever caught.
It was too heavy and wasn't fighting back the way fish do.
It felt like I had hooked onto something solid, something big
cut the line. Steve shouted.
He must have sensed something was wrong too.
But before I could react, whatever was on the line started
pulling hard, dragging our canoe towards the middle of the river.
Steve grabbed his paddle and tried to row us away from it,
but it was no use. Suddenly, the creature burst out
of the water right next to our canoe.
I'll never forget what I saw. It was like a giant eel, but
with a crocodile's head. Dark green, almost black skin
and the most terrifying part, the eyes yellow and glowing with
slit pupils that seem to look right into my soul.
It lunged at our canoe, its jaws snapping close to Steve's arm.
He yelped and swung his paddle at it, but it was like hitting a
wall. The creature barely flinched.
In a moment of panic, I remembered the knife attached to
my belt. I grabbed it and cut the fishing
line. The creature disappeared into
the water, taking my rod and reel with it.
Steve and I were left in the rocking canoe, hearts pounding
and hands shaking. We didn't say a word as we
paddled back to camp as fast as we could.
We packed up everything in a hurry, not even stopping to eat.
We just needed to get away from the water, away from the
creature. We didn't stop until we reached
the Ranger station. We told the Ranger we'd had an
accident and lost some gear. But the real story, the one
about the creature in the lake, we kept that to ourselves.
Who would believe such a thing? It was one of those Fridays
where everything seemed to take forever.
I kept glancing at the clock at the diner where I work, watching
the minutes tick by so slowly they might as well have been
hours. But today was different from the
usual grind. My boyfriend, Alex and I were
heading out on a hiking trip on the Appalachian Trail as soon as
my shift ended. Alex had been an Eagle Scout and
was always super prepared for these kinds of adventures, which
made me feel a bit better about setting off so late in the day.
Are we still good to go? I texted Alex during my last
break. He replied instantly.
Everything's packed, just waiting on you.
By the time I united my apron and clocked out, it was already
past 4:00 PM. Alex was waiting for me in the
parking lot, our gear neatly stacked in the back of his old
Jeep. The moment I saw him, all the
stress of the day began to melt away.
We were really doing this, a whole weekend away from
everything. We should hurry up, we've got
quite a hike before sunset. He said, helping me load my bag
into the car. The drive to the trailhead was a
blur of green. As we passed through the
outskirts of town and into more secludeded areas.
Alex talked about the route we'd take and what I could expect
from the hike. Despite his reassurances and the
excitement bubbling inside me, a nervous flutter remained in my
stomach. It wasn't just the daunting
physical challenge, it was spending a whole weekend so far
from the comforts of civilization.
We started our hike at about 5:30 PM.
The trail welcomed us with a steep incline that seemed to
mock our heavy metal framed backpacks.
Each step was a reminder of how unaccustomed my body was to this
kind of exertion. Alex, on the other hand, moved
with a steady confidence that only years of scouting could
give. Remember, it's about the
journey, not just the destination, Alex would say
every time he noticed me struggling.
His encouragement helped, but so did the breaks we took to admire
the view. About an hour into the hike, the
weather decided we were having it too easy.
Dark clouds rolled in, and soon enough rain started pelting us
relentlessly. Within minutes we were soaked
through, our packs growing heavier with every drop that
clung to them. The trail turned slippery, the
mud grasping at our boots with every step.
As the sky turned a darker shade of Gray, the surrounding forest
took on an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of rain
hitting the leaves and our labored breathing.
The fog was thickening, swallowing the path ahead in a
white mist. Our pace slowed even more, not
just because of the slippery mud, but also because the
visibility was getting worse by the minute.
We need to find a shelter. I shouted over the noise of the
storm, my voice edged with a hint of panic.
Alex nodded, pulling out a map from his waterproof bag.
There's one not too far from here.
We can make it if we keep going. The promise of a dry place to
rest gave me a new burst of energy.
We trudged on, the weight of our packs forgotten in our urgency
to escape the downpour. Every part of me was drenched,
cold and aching, and I started to doubt if this trip was such a
good idea after all. But just as I thought I couldn't
take another step, Alex grabbed my hand and pointed through the
fog. There it is.
Ahead, barely visible was the outline of a small three walled
log cabin, a beacon of hope in the relentless storm.
Relief washed over me, mixed with a sense of accomplishment.
We had made it to the shelter. Little did I know, the real
adventure was just about to begin.
As we approach the shelter, a gust of wind whipped through the
trees, making the branches creak ominously above us.
I shivered, not just from the cold, but also from the sudden
realization that we weren't alone.
Light spilled from the open side of the cabin, and I could hear
voices mingling with the crackle of a small fire.
Relief mixed with a twinge of disappointment.
I had secretly hoped Alex and I would have the place to
ourselves. Stepping into the shelter, we
were greeteded by an older couple who looked like they had
settled in quite comfortably. The woman, with her scraggly
Gray hair and thick circular glasses, gave us a broad, albeit
toothy and somewhat unsettling smile.
The man, a bit overweight with a friendly demeanor, waved us
over. Don't just stand there getting
wetter, Come in, come in. He boomed, his voice echoing
slightly in the confined space. Thanks.
I muttered, glancing at Alex, who seemed as relieved as I was
to get out of the rain. We set down our heavy backpacks
with a thud and began peeling off our soaked jackets.
The woman handed us a towel, which I gratefully accepted,
drying off my face and arms. I'm Maya.
The woman said, her voice raspy, possibly from years of smoking.
And this is Joe. We decided on a spur of the
moment getaway. Just like you, I presume.
Yeah, something like that. Alex replied, smiling politely.
I'm Alex, and this is my girlfriend, Emma.
We exchanged a few more pleasantries.
The kind you do when you're just trying to be nice because you
have to share a space. Joe offered us some of their
warmed up canned soup, which we hesitated but eventually
accepted, not wanting to be rude.
The warmth of the soup was comforting, even if the company
was a bit odd. As the night progressed, the
storm outside grew Wilder. Maya and Joe seemed unfazed,
occasionally taking swigs from a flask that Joe jokingly referred
to as their water bottle. The conversation flowed from one
topic to another, mostly driven by Joe's cheerful banter.
Maya, however, had a more unsettling presence.
Her laughter was too loud, her stairs a bit too long, and her
anecdotes drifted towards Bazaar.
At one point, Maya leaned closer to me, her breath smelling of
alcohol. So, Emma, tell me a story.
I love stories, she said, her eyes piercing into mine.
I glanced at Alex, who was busy discussing something about
hiking trails with Joe Deciding to keep things light, I began
recounting how Alex and I met during our first year in
college. But as I spoke, Maya's
expression changed. Her previous giddiness shifted
to agitation. Why would you say that?
She interrupted sharply. Confused.
I paused. Say what?
You said we met online. Why would you say we met online?
She snapped, her tone accusing. I was taken aback, not
understanding her reaction. I was talking about Alex and me.
Not. Before I could finish, she cut
me off again. What are you implying?
Her voice was rising and Joe glanced over, his expression
suddenly serious. Realizing the situation was
spiraling, I tried to steer the conversation back to safer
waters. I meant no offence.
Let's talk about something else. Maybe you could share one of
your favorite stories? Maya.
Maya's demeanor shifted as quickly as it had soured.
She giggled a bit too loudly. Oh, I have stories, dear, but
they're only for the brave. The rest of the evening passed
in a haze of awkward exchanges and uneasy laughter.
I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something very
wrong with Maya. As the fire crackled in the
shadows, danced on the walls of the shelter, I felt a growing
sense of dread. What had started as a simple
escape into nature was quickly turning into a night I'd rather
forget. The night deepened, wrapping the
shelter in a cloak of darkness, punctuated only by the erratic
flicker of our dying fire. Outside, the storm raged on, but
inside, a different kind of Tempest was brewing, one that
had my heart pounding and my palm sweating.
Maya's behavior had shifted from merely odd to downright
terrifying. As the hours ticked by, Maya's
mood swung wildly. One moment she was laughing at a
joke Joe made, and the next she was staring into space, her face
twisted in confusion. The most unnerving part was when
she suddenly turned to me, her eyes wide and intense.
What did you give me? She hissed, her voice a sharp
whisper that cut through the noise of the storm.
I froze, my mind racing. Alex and I hadn't given her
anything. Joe, who had been trying to calm
her throughout her mood swings, looked equally alarmed.
It's just the beer, Maya, you're not used to it.
Joe said in a soothing tone, trying to placate her.
But Maya wasn't listening. She rose unsteadily to her feet,
pointing an accusing finger at us.
What did he give me? She demanded, her voice
escalating into a shout. It echoed off the wooden walls
of the shelter, making me flinch.
Alex moved closer to me, his hand finding mine in the
darkness, squeezing it reassuringly, but his touch did
little to ease my fear. We were stuck in a remote
shelter, with a woman who seemed on the brink of a breakdown or
something worse. I need to get out.
Maya muttered, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
Her movements were erratic, her shadow monstrous against the
flickering light of the fire. Joe tried to guide her back to
her sleeping bag, but she shrugged him off violently.
Then, as suddenly as her outburst had begun, Maya
collapsed onto her sleeping bag, her energy seemingly drained.
Joe covered her with a blanket, his expression one of deep
concern mixed with embarrassment.
He mouthed an apology to us, his eyes weary.
I think it's best if we all try to get some rest.
Joe suggested quietly, obviously trying to defuse the tense
atmosphere. Alex and I nodded, but sleep was
the last thing on my mind. I lay back, listening to the
sound of Maya's uneven breathing and the relentless patter of
rain on the cabin's roof. Every Creek and whisper of the
wind sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was terribly wrong.
Time passed slowly, the minutes stretching into what felt like
hours. Then, in the darkness, Maya
began to talk in her sleep. Her words were muffled at first,
then grew louder and more frantic.
She was repeating something over and over, but I couldn't make it
out. It sounded like a plea or a
warning. Unable to bear the oppressive
atmosphere any longer, Alex whispered to me.
We should go now. We quietly gathered our
belongings, our movements swift but silent as we tiptoed past
Maya and Joe. Maya suddenly sat up.
Her eyes found mine in the darkness, her gaze piercing and
unsettling. But we didn't stop.
We pushed through the shelter's entrance into the storm outside,
the cold rain a welcome relief from the stifling tension
inside. We hiked away from the shelter,
putting as much distance as we could between US and whatever
darkness had descended upon Maya.
We set up our tent in a clearing far from the shelter, the sound
of the rain a constant companion.
I lay awake for the rest of the night, listening, waiting,
wondering if we had really escaped or if the night's terror
would find us even here. It was the kind of August night
where the air felt just a little too still and the stars a little
too dim. I lay in my hammock, bundled up
in my sleeping bag, listening to the soft rustles of the forest
around our campsite. My uncle, his friend Dee, and
two other friends were all sleeping in their tents.
We were camped about 20 minutes from the trailhead of Half Dome,
a giant granite Dome in Yosemite National Park that we plan to
hike up the next morning. Earlier that evening, we had set
up our camp quickly. My uncle, who's 32 and always in
charge of these adventures, made sure everyone knew what to do.
Dee, who's about the same age as my uncle and just as outdoorsy,
helped get the fire going. We roasted some marshmallows and
told a few jokes, the kind that made everyone laugh until they
forgot about the hike's early start.
But here I was, suddenly wide awake at 3:30.
AMI wasn't sure what had woken me up, but once I was awake, I
couldn't go back to sleep. I lay there looking up at the
moon through the trees. It was unusually bright, casting
eerie shadows on the ground and making the leaves glisten like
silver. It almost felt like I was in a
dream, everything bathed in a ghostly white light.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly slipped out of my
hammock. I didn't want to wake anyone up,
so I tiptoed around, feeling the cool air against my face.
That's when I realized how silent it was.
No crickets chirping, no rustles of small animals.
It was like the forest was holding its breath.
Deciding it was too spooky to stay out alone, I went back to
my hammock. Just as I was about to try and
sleep again, I heard it. Footsteps.
Not the lights scampering ones of a raccoon or a squirrel, but
heavy, deliberate human footsteps.
I froze, listening as they moved around our campsite.
My heart raced. We were supposed to be the only
ones here. Unable to stay still any longer,
I shook my uncle's tent. Uncle Mike?
I whispered urgently. He grumbled, annoyed at being
woken up, but then I saw his face change as he listened to
the footsteps too. He grabbed his flashlight and
peeked outside. Stay here.
He murmured, zipping up the tent behind him.
I waited, every sound making me jump.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes,
my uncle returned. He looked puzzled.
There's no one out there. He said, but his voice was
uneasy. Were you walking around just
now? I shook my head.
No, I woke up because I heard it too.
He frowned, thinking it over. Well, let's try to get some
sleep, we need to be up soon anyway.
But as he settled back into his tent, I knew neither of us would
sleep well. Whatever was out there, or maybe
wasn't, had already stirred the night air into something
strange. And so, with a mixture of fear
and excitement, I lay back in my hammock, staring at the moonlit
sky, wondering what adventures tomorrow would bring and hoping
the mysteries of tonight were just tricks of the light and
shadow. As the clock struck 4:30 AM, our
alarms buzzed loudly in the still dark morning.
Everyone groggily climbed out of their tents and sleeping bags,
rubbing sleep from their eyes. The air was cool and crisp,
perfect for hiking. We quickly munched on some
granola bars and strapped on our backpacks, eager to start our
adventure up Half Dome. Uncle Mike checked his watch and
nodded. All right, let's head to the
trailhead. We piled into the car and drove
the short distance in near silence, the only sound being
the gravel crunching under the tires.
When we arrived, it was still dark, the only light coming from
our headlamps and the dim glow of dawn on the horizon.
Dee announced he needed to use the restroom before we started
hiking. I'll catch up with you guys in a
bit. He said, walking towards the
bathrooms across the field at the intersection near the
trailhead. I started to follow him,
thinking I might as well go too, but then I remembered I had left
my water bottle in the car. Go ahead, I'll catch up.
I called after him. I jogged back to the car,
grabbed my water bottle, and then hurried to the trailhead to
wait for Uncle Mike and the rest of the group.
We all gathered, adjusting our gear, but Dee was taking longer
than expected. He's probably just taking his
time. Uncle Mike said, trying to sound
unconcerned. But as minutes turned into 10
minutes, then 15, we all began to look at each other with
worried expressions. Maybe I should go check on him?
I suggested, feeling a bit nervous.
Uncle Mike nodded, and I sprinted back to the bathrooms.
I pushed open the door to each stall.
No, D, he wasn't anywhere around.
My heart started to beat faster. Where could he have gone?
I ran back to the group, out of breath.
He's not there. I exclaimed.
Uncle Mike's brow furrowed with worry.
That's odd. Maybe he went back to the car.
We decided to split up. I would stay at the trailhead in
case D showed up and Uncle Mike would go back to the car.
As I waited alone, the sky began to brighten, but my worry
darkened. Every minute felt like an hour.
I paced back and forth, peering into the dim light, hoping to
see Dee walking towards me. Finally, Uncle Mike returned,
shaking his head. He's not at the car either.
Just then, as panic was about to set in, I saw a figure
approaching from the direction of the car.
It was Dee, looking disheveled with sweat on his forehead and a
strange look in his eyes. Relief washed over me, but it
was quickly replaced by confusion at his appearance.
Where have you been? I asked, my voice a mix of
relief and frustration. I just went to the bathroom and
when I came out, nobody was here.
Dee replied, sounding confused. But we've been here waiting for
you this whole time. We even checked the bathroom.
I said, puzzled. Dee just shook his head, looking
as baffled as I felt. I don't know, I went to the
bathroom. Where's Mike?
He asked, repeating the question.
Even after I answered, something was off.
His repeated questions and disoriented look made me uneasy.
As we walked back to join the others, I couldn't shake the
feeling that something strange was going on.
What exactly happened to D while he was gone?
And why did he seem so different now?
With D finally back, though seeming a bit off, we all
started our hike up the steep trails of Half Dome.
The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting long
shadows on the path. Everyone was quiet, maybe
thinking about Dee's weird disappearance and sudden return,
or maybe just focusing on the challenging climb ahead.
As we hiked, the weirdness of the morning seemed to follow us.
It started with small things first.
Uncle Mike couldn't find his small red flashlight in his
backpack. I swear I packed it right on
top. He muttered, searching through
his bag. We all waited as he checked
again, but it was nowhere to be found.
Then one of the girls noticed she was missing a glove.
We all stopped and helped her look around the trail where we
had just walked, but there was no sign of it.
I just had it a minute ago, she said, sounding confused and a
bit frustrated. Next my water bottle, which I
had clipped to my belt was gone. I felt the clip.
It was still closed, which made no sense.
How could my water bottle just vanish?
We must be more tired than we thought.
Uncle Mike tried to joke, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.
The mood had shifted and a faint, unsettling feeling hung
in the air. As we push deeper into our hike,
the forest seemed to close in around us.
The trees look taller, darker, and the path less familiar.
Uncle Mike, who had hiked this trail many times before,
suddenly stopped. Doesn't it seem like we should
have reached the halfway point by now?
He asked, looking back at us. Yeah, it feels like we've been
walking for hours. I agreed, my voice a little
shaky. The path seemed to stretch on
endlessly. Every turn looked the same,
every tree seemed to repeat. Were we walking in circles?
The atmosphere felt heavier, almost as if the air was
thicker. It was hard to shake the feeling
that something was watching us, something not quite friendly.
It feels like the woods are alive.
I whispered to no one in particular.
We kept walking, but progress felt slow, almost dreamlike.
Time stretched and bent. Uncle Mike stopped several more
times, scratching his head and looking around.
This is ridiculous. He laughed nervously.
It's like we're stuck in some sort of loop.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the trail
began to look familiar again. Landmarks that should have
passed hours ago suddenly appeared.
Relief washed over us, but it was mixed with confusion and a
touch of fear. How had we gotten so lost on a
well marked trail? When we finally saw the parking
lot through the trees, it felt like we had emerged from another
world. The car was just as we left it,
quiet and unassuming, yet it felt like a lifeline back to
reality. As we drove back to camp, nobody
talked much. Each of us was lost in thought,
trying to make sense of the day's mysterious events.
It wasn't just the physical items we had lost on the trail,
it felt like we had lost a piece of our normal reality out there.
That night, as I lay in my hammock looking up at the stars,
the forest didn't seem so friendly anymore.
I wondered if we'd ever really understand what happened on the
trail that day, or if some mysteries were meant to stay
hidden in the shadows of Half Dome.
I always thought adventures were supposed to be fun, but sitting
in the passenger seat next to Trevor as he drove us deeper
into the Wilds of Alabama, I wasn't so sure anymore.
Trevor is my friend. Well, more like a brother,
really. He's the kind of guy who's too
proud to admit when he's wrong, especially about directions.
He refused to use a map, claiming he remembered the way
from last year when we went to the Great Smoky Mountains.
I should have remembered that trip as a warning.
It was just after sunset when we found ourselves winding down a
narrow Rd. surrounded by thick trees.
The deeper we went, the more I felt like we were being
swallowed by the darkness of the woods.
My headphones were on and I tried to lose myself in the
music, trying to ignore the eerie feeling creeping up my
spine. Did we just drive in a circle?
I asked Trevor, my voice barely above the music blaring from the
radio. Trevor just shook his head and
said no. Everything just looks the same
out here, just trees and mud. I wasn't convinced.
The same crooked tree seemed to pass by our window more than
once. Trevor noticed my uneasy glances
and tried to lighten the mood. Hey, don't worry, it's an
adventure, remember? But his chuckle didn't hide the
slight worry in his eyes. The road was bumpy, and each
jolt felt like a warning to turn back.
It must have been around 11:40 PM when Trevor finally slowed
the truck down. We hadn't seen another soul for
hours, not even a gas station. The only light came from our
headlights, casting long shadows between the trees.
Suddenly, Trevor's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
His knuckles turned white. Trev, you good see a ghost?
I tried to joke, but my own voice sounded tense.
The road, Trevor muttered. There's bottles on the road.
I squinted ahead and sure enough, there was a row of empty
beer bottles lined up across the one lane Rd.
My stomach twisted. This didn't feel right.
I've seen stuff like this before, Trevor whispered, almost
to himself. You get out, they take the car.
Rob, you just turn around, I urged him, my voice shaking.
We're going the wrong way anyway, just loop back to
whatever exit we took. Nodding, Trevor started to back
the truck up. But as he turned the truck
around and stepped on the gas, a loud pop echoed through the
night. One of our tires was blown, and
before we knew it, the truck slid off the road and into a
ditch. We were stuck angled downwards
with the back tires lifted up in the air.
Damn it. Trevor shouted, banging his
first on the steering wheel. Neither of us knew what to do.
Trevor pulled out a small handgun from under the driver's
seat along with a flashlight. Watch me.
He said as we both stepped outside into the chilly night.
The flashlight and our headlights were the only things
piercing the darkness. I could only see about 20 feet
around us before everything melted into the pitch Black
Forest. Trevor, shine the flashlight on
the flat tire. It was lined with nails and
screws. He cursed under his breath,
kicking the deflated rubber. There's a spare in the back,
take it out. He instructed even as I climbed
into the back of the truck. I doubted we could get out of
this ditch easily. I was about to grab the spare
when a spine chilling howl tore through the silence of the
night. What the hell was that?
Trevor asked softly, his voice trembling.
I didn't answer, I couldn't. My heart was pounding in my
chest, fear taking over as the dark wood seemed to close in
around us. Whatever was out there, it was
getting closer and this adventure had turned into a
nightmare. After hearing that terrifying
howl. Trevor and I stood frozen for
what felt like forever. The only thing lighting up the
dark forest was Trevor's flashlight and our trucks
headlights. I held my breath, listening to
the eerie silence that followed. Stay close.
Trevor whispered as he held the flashlights steady.
His other hand gripped the handgun tightly.
We heard the sound again, a dragging noise that sent shivers
down my spine. It was like something was being
pulled across the gravel Rd. towards us.
We couldn't see anything yet, but the noise was getting
louder, closer. Maybe it's just an animal, I
hoped out loud, but my voice betrayed my fear.
Trevor didn't respond, he just squinted into the darkness,
trying to spot whatever was making those sounds.
The dragging stopped, replaced by a terrifying silence.
Then, out of nowhere, the forest erupted with the sound of fast
moving footsteps. I jumped back, bumping into the
truck. My heart raced as I peeked
around Trevor. The beam from his flashlight
finally caught something, a figure stumbling towards us.
It was a man, or at least it looked like one, but he moved in
a way that didn't seem human. He dragged one leg, as if it was
too heavy for him, and his arms hung awkwardly at his sides.
Hey. Trevor yelled, his voice echoing
in the stillness. The figure quickened its pace,
its movements becoming frantic. I will shoot you.
Trevor warned, aiming the gun at the approaching figure.
But it didn't stop, it just kept coming faster.
Stop. Trevor shouted.
He began to back up slowly and I followed, my eyes fixed on the
figure. It was now close enough that I
could see its face under the faint light.
It was twisted and covered with what looked like scars and
boils. It was horrifying.
Trevor fired a warning shot into the air, but the figure didn't
even flinch. It was like it didn't care, or
maybe it couldn't understand. Then, in a panic, Trevor fired
directly at it. The figure staggered, but kept
moving towards us. Get in the truck.
Trevor ordered, his voice shaking.
I didn't hesitate. I ran to the passenger side and
scrambled inside. Trevor was right behind me, but
as he climbed in he slipped and fell into the muddy ditch.
Dropping his flashlight, he quickly picked himself up and
dove into the truck, slamming the door shut behind him.
What is going on? He gasped, trying to catch his
breath. We both watched in horror as the
figure slammed its head against the window.
Bang, bang, bang, bang. The window started to crack and
Trevor scooted towards me, trying to put as much distance
between him and the glass as possible.
The man outside never stopped. He hit the window over and over,
chunks of flesh flying off with every impact.
His face was starting to cave in from the force he was using.
Finally, Trevor took aim at the figures head and fired.
The noise stopped. The man slumped down, no longer
moving. Everything was silent again,
except for our heavy breathing. Trevor and I looked at each
other, too shocked to speak. I tried to say something, but
words wouldn't come out. We just sat there, staring at
the twisted, bloody figure outside.
After a moment, Trevor whispered.
We need to change the tire and get out of here.
I nodded, still too scared to speak.
Whatever that was, I knew I never wanted to see anything
like it ever again. But as we sat there catching our
breath, I couldn't shake the feeling that the night wasn't
over yet. We still had to get out of this
nightmare. We thought we were safe, at
least for a little while after Trevor managed to stop that
terrifying man, but safety seemed like a joke now.
We quickly changed the tire, the silence around us feeling
heavier than before. Neither of us spoke much.
What was there to say after something like that?
We just wanted to get as far away as possible.
Driving away, the trees seem to close in on us.
Every shadow made my heart jump, thinking something else might be
out there watching us. But what we found next made
everything else seem mild. We spotted an old camper off the
side of the road. It looked abandoned, the kind of
place you'd expect ghost stories to be about.
Trevor and I exchanged a glance. Maybe we can find help, or at
least a place to call from? He suggested hesitantly.
I wasn't sure about it, but there weren't many options.
As we approached the camper, a rotten smell hit us.
It was overpowering, making me want to gag.
Trevor, covering his nose, pushed open the crumbling door.
The inside was worse than the outside.
It was covered in mushrooms that glowed faintly, giving the place
an eerie, otherworldly light. There's mushrooms everywhere.
Trevor said, his voice muffled by his hand.
I peeked inside and the sight was horrifying.
The mushrooms weren't just growing on the walls, they were
everywhere, covering everything. Insight.
The air felt thick and heavy, hard to breathe.
In the corner of the camper, something even more ghastly
caught my eye, a body overwhelmed by the same fungus
that took over the place. Suddenly, a loud thud made us
jump. We hadn't escaped our pursuer
like we thought. The creature, or whatever it
was, had followed us. It slammed Trevor against the
camper wall, its face not even resembling a human anymore.
It was all rage and madness. Trevor struggled, trying to
reach for his gun. He managed to fire three shots
and the creature fell motionless, but the damage was
done. Trevor looked at his arms, now
scratched and bleeding. I'm dead, I'm dead, he kept
saying, staring at his wounds in terror.
Whatever it has, I've got it now.
I tried to calm him, but my own heart was racing.
The thought of becoming like that creature was too much.
Trevor looked at me, his eyes wide with fear.
What if I he couldn't finish? I didn't know what to say.
The air in the camper, the spores we might have breathed
in, it was all too risky. We had to get out.
We left the camper and started running through the woods, not
caring about the direction, just needing to get away.
We ran until we couldn't anymore.
Trevor stopped, out of breath, and leaned against a tree.
I looked at him, seeing his pale face and scared eyes.
That's when I noticed something odd about his skin, some bumps
starting to form. What?
Trevor noticed my stare. What is it?
I shook my head, backing away. I couldn't tell him, couldn't
make it real. Instead I turned and ran, ran as
fast as I could towards the highway, towards any sign of
other people. It's been a week now.
I can't stop thinking about that night, about Trevor.
I hope wherever he is, he's OK, but deep down I know he's not.
And now, waking up with hives and coughing blood, I fear I
won't be OK either. What happened in those woods
changed us and I'm scared of what's to come.
I've been gearing up for this trip for weeks, hell maybe even
months. Ever since Plaid Bandana
announced their tour dates, I had this date circled in red on
my calendar, hanging just above my cluttered desk at work.
The night before I was to drive from Calgary to Vancouver, I
couldn't sleep a wink. My head was buzzing with the
melodies of Vin Stricklet's last album, the lyrics etching into
my mind like sacred words. The morning air was crisp, the
kind that bites at your cheeks until they're flushed with a
cold pink. I loaded up my old Japanese
import, a reliable beast from the 80s with more miles on it
than I cared to admit. Maps sprawled across the
passenger seat. In 2003, those were your life
lines, your only guard against getting utterly lost in the
Rocky Mountains. I grabbed a couple of burgers
and a flask full of black coffee for the road.
GPS hadn't found its way into everyone's pockets yet, so it
was just me, my maps, and the open Rd.
I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as I set off, the
city lights of Calgary shrinking in my rear view mirror as I hit
the highway. The first notes of Plaid
Bandana's debut album blasted through the speakers, shaking
off the last vestiges of city life.
I pushed the pedal a bit harder, the engine humming a TuneIn sync
with my rising spirits. I was young, maybe too young to
heed the well meant warnings from folks on message boards
talking about the treacherous paths and the sparse gas
stations. The roads unfurled before me
like ribbons in the vastness of the Canadian wilderness, curving
around mountains and stretching under the vast expanse of the
blue sky. I relish the freedom, the sheer
thrill of barreling down these roads.
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, replaced by a blanket
of stars, a sliver of anxiety crept in.
It was just me out here, miles from anywhere or anyone.
My tranquility was abruptly shattered when the dashboard
flickered once, twice. Then the headlights stuttered
and darkness enveloped me. The engine cut out and panic
gripped my throat. I coasted to the side of the
road, the gravel crunching under tires that had suddenly lost
their life. I cursed, loud and futile into
the mountain air that threw my own fears back at me with a
mocking echo. I got out the night cold, biting
through my jacket as I popped the hood.
The engine was as inscrutable as a stone idol, giving away
nothing of its malady. I slammed the hood in
frustration, a sense of defeat washing over me.
I was alone in the dark, surrounded by an unending forest
that harbored sounds too sinister for my city tuned ears.
Suddenly, a massive 18 Wheeler thundered past, the gust nearly
knocking me off my feet. I yelled after it, a useless
venting of fear and frustration. The truck was gone as quickly as
it had appeared, its tail lights disappearing over the Crest of a
hill. I slumped against my car, my
heart racing. Then, as if by some miracle, the
dashboard flickered back to life.
The engine sputtered, then roared defiantly, as if refusing
to let the night end our journey.
A wave of relief washed over me, mixed with an adrenaline fueled
resolve. I jumped back in.
The music kicked in where it had left off and I was moving again,
speeding into the night, driven by the twin fuels of urgency and
fear. Please detour sign was like a
slap in the face, unexpected and stinging in its suddenness.
Rd. closed due to construction. Please use Forest Service road
detour in 100 meters for next one kilometers for re route.
My hands tightened on the wheel as I squinted at the sign, the
stark white letters ghostly in the moonlight.
As I turned off the main road, the undercarriage of my old car
scraped against the uneven surface of the dirt track.
The flagging tape fluttered eerily on the branches, the only
sign that I wasn't the 1st to pass this way.
The forest closed in around me, a dark, oppressive tunnel that
seemed to absorb both light and sound.
My headlights barely cut through the darkness, and every small
noise was magnified in the suffocating silence.
I tried to keep count of the distance, my eyes flicking
between the road and the odometer, but as the minutes
stretched on, the certainty that I had driven more than a
kilometer gnawed at me. No more flagging tape appeared,
and the comforting rattle of my engine was the only proof I
wasn't yet swallowed by the mountain shadow.
That's when I saw him. Or thought I did.
A man dressed like he'd walked out of a century long past,
holding a Lantern that flickered as if caught in a breeze.
I couldn't feel. The sight was so fleeting, so
surreal, that I slammed on the brakes, heart hammering.
My car skidded on loose gravel, stopping just as quickly as the
apparition vanished. Was I losing my mind?
I shook my head, trying to clear it, convincing myself it was
just the strain of the drive, the isolation.
But as I pressed on, the road worsened, narrowing until the
trees brushed against my mirrors with an ominous hiss.
Fog rolled in, thick and disorienting, and when I
realized the guardrail was gone, my breath caught in my throat.
This wasn't right. This couldn't be right.
The edge of the mountain loomed unseen but palpably near, a
sheer drop just beyond the reach of my headlights.
My progress slowed to a crawl. Every turn of the wheel felt
like a gamble with stakes too high to comprehend.
Then the rocks came first, a few small ones that clattered down
the slope. A forewarning.
I flinched but pressed on, my resolve hardening into something
frantic and sharp. Larger boulders followed,
thundering across the road and disappearing into the void,
their crashes echoing up like the roars of some great beast.
My car lurched as it hit a rock. I couldn't avoid, the jolt
sending a spike of fear through me as the vehicle skewed
dangerously close to the edge. No, I screamed, a raw, desperate
sound that seemed to pull the night tighter around me.
I felt the front tires lift, the stomach dropping sensation of
falling, then a brutal thud as the tires found ground again.
I was panting, tears streaming not from relief, but from raw,
unfiltered terror. I set the emergency brake, my
hands shaking uncontrollably as I grabbed the map.
It showed a main road, safe and wide.
This path of dirt and fog was a mistake, a deadly error.
In my desperate rush, I inched forward, every meter of victory
over the mountain that seemed eager to claim me.
And then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, I emerged.
The road widened, the fog cleared, and the night seemed
almost gentle. But the relief was short lived.
The road I rejoined was too familiar, too similar to the one
I had left. My mind raced.
Had it been a loop, a trick of the terrain, or something else?
Something as inexplicable as the figure with the Lantern?
As I drove on, the previous hours felt both distant and
oppressively close. A nightmare lived wide awake.
I knew then that some roads, once travelled leave tracks that
aren't easily erased. Not on the land and not in the
soul.