I retired six weeks ago, just shy of my 60.
Second birthday. My husband, Tom left, the fire
department a month later and we celebrated by buying a used
24-foot Winnebago. Our idea was simple point, the
nose of the rig at the Cascades and learn what it meant to
relax. Gifford.
Pinchot National Forest seemed like the right first test,
plenty of dispersed sites, clear, summer air and the
promise of Tuck lock, Lakes mirror, smooth view of Mount
Adams. We turned off State Route, 12
onto Forest Road, 25 late on a Tuesday Morning, confident, we
had found the perfect stretch of wilderness, to Mark the
beginning of our new, unscheduled life.
Tom handled, the driving. While I watched the elevation
creep passed 3,000 feet on the dash display.
Cell service flickered but never quite disappeared aside from one
logging truck and alone. Silver Chevrolet.
C10 pickup, heading north. We had the road to ourselves The
trees on either side were second growth, Douglas, fir and Cedar
tall enough to hide the sky until a sharp, Bend suddenly
framed the snow cap of Mount Adams.
In the windshield, I took a photograph even though we were
both sure we would see better angles later.
By mid-afternoon, we had rattled across a narrow bridge, spanning
taku Creek and spotted a cleared Knoll about 30 yards.
Off the pavement. A faded wooden post confirmed,
it was legal to camp for up to 14 days.
Tom leveled, the RV and I climbed down the bank to fetch
water filtered, through pumice colored gravel.
The air smelled of wet needles and wood smoke from someone's
Distant Fire. We set our chairs.
Facing west poured, two fingers of bourbon and toasted the
quiet. A low Rumble in the evening.
Reminded me that these mountains are alive in a very literal way.
Small rockslides are common along Road, 25, especially when
the temperatures swings at dusk, we heard one thought then
another somewhere upslope, but nothing close enough to stir
real concern. The campground fire ring glowed
with Alder Kohl's while Tom grilled the trout.
We had bought in Randall that morning.
Darkness settled without ceremony and we turned in early
lulled by rain tapping steadily on the fiberglass roof.
The next day was everything we had hoped retirement would be,
we paddled inflatable, kayaks on tack Lux Inc, Black Water,
counted five, other visitors, all afternoon, and listened to a
woodpecker Hammer, somewhere beyond the tree line, my phone
maintained two bars of signal enough to send a photograph to
our daughter in Seattle and assure her, that her parents
were not completely off the grid.
Around 7 that evening the silver pickup from the previous day
eased into our clearing. Headlights washed over the
Winnebago, and gravel cracked on its tires.
The driver shut off the engine but left.
The beams on creating a stark theater of light and Shadow
around the fire pit. Where Tom was turning foil.
Wrapped vegetables. A man climbed out mid 40s.
Maybe early 50s, lean beneath a mud streaked, Carhartt jacket.
He wore a green ball. Cap with a forest service
silhouette stitched in white thread.
No, District name. He greeted Us.
By first name, though. We had never introduced
ourselves. Slide took out the blacktop at
mile marker. 23. He said, knotting North whole
Lane's gone. You will not get that rig out
the way. You came Tom asked whether the
county road crew had been notified The man shook his head
and produced a folded sheet of printer paper.
Thick arrows, traced a route that started on a Spur labeled
NF 2550 and ended at an unlabeled Junction.
He claimed would reconnect us to State Route. 125 near Swift
Reservoir. I thought it strange that no
official closure signs had gone up, but the stranger spoke with
a matter of fact, confidence that discouraged doubt He
returned to his truck waived once and drove North tail
lights, fading behind curtains of fur branches.
We broke camp at first light rain still hovering in the tree
canopy like steam. It felt prudent to confirm the
landslide before committing to a detour.
So Tom, idled mile marker 23 The slide existed.
All right, broken pavement Sheard, clean away a fresh,
v-shaped bite, carved into the road bed, a single plastic,
detour Arrow, bright, orange, and spotless pointed down the
Gravel Lane marked. NF 25550.
I opened a topographic map on my tablet.
The spur was not listed, neither were any intersections,
branching from it yet. The gravel looked recently,
graded and we had no appetite for waiting days, on a rural
repair crew, Tommy's the Winnebago forward, we rolled for
10, slow minutes, tires crunching, over Granite chips.
The trees grew denser trunks almost crowding.
The road bed until we reached a t-junction with no signage.
Tom stopped. According to the odometer, we
had driven exactly three miles since leaving the slide but the
terrain looked identical. I stepped out to stretch and
noticed a detail that tightened the skin on my arms.
Two fresh ruts, our ruts ended abruptly at a raw wall of Earth,
20 yards behind us. The lane we had just traveled
was gone replaced by a slope of churned.
Clay and splintered Roots. As if a bulldozer had erased at
while we blinked, Back in the cab, Tom tried to reverse
Wheels. Spinning only Ash, colored dust
the GPS. Puck on the dash insisted.
We were half a mile east of our actual position floating in a
blank field of gray pixels labeled Uncharted.
We had no option but to continue forward a quarter mile later, we
passed a wooden Trailhead signs so whether the lettering had
peeled off Beyond it, lay a small pull-out littered with
beer cans and unexpectedly. Two canvas tents pitched on damp
soil. The camp looked occupied zipper
doors open cookware stacked beside a smoldering fire ring
but no voice is answered when we called out a Subaru.
Outback sat nearby passenger door.
Ajar it's dash cam blinking red. Every second I reached in
pressed playback and watched grainy footage of a campsite at
night. A pair of headlights swept
across the lens. Followed by brief shouts, in a
final frame of the camera tumbling sideways.
Tom suggested leaving immediately.
I agreed we marked the intersection with orange
flagging tape and chose the left Branch.
Hoping it would angle us toward Highway 99.
The forest only grew darker, the canopy knitting overhead until
even midday felt like dusk I checked the rear view mirror and
glimpsed our own orange tape fluttering past the back window,
barely 15 minutes after we had hung it.
A fork in the road appeared left descending toward what looked
like an old Lahar plane right. Climbing toward Ridgeline.
Tom steered, right? The Winnebago rattled over pot
holes then level out onto the same Fork.
We had just left the same flat and Volcanic pumice.
The same skid marks etched into gravel.
Our taped Branch marker, dangled beside us impossible and
undeniable when full night arrived.
The generator hesitated. Then coughed into silence the
cabin. Lights dimmed cold are seeped
through the vents carrying the faint chemical odor of Thomas
dust. Tom clicked, the hazard switch
out of habit, but the dash stayed black.
That is when the headlights appeared in the mirror, two
white cones cutting through missed.
The silver Chevrolet rolled forward at walking speed engine.
Smooth cabin Terrier glowing. No driver occupied the seat, the
pickup halted inches from our bumper its horned silent.
It's grilling the entire back window.
Mud streaks on the tailgate, spelled two words and block
letters, follow me. Tom looked at me, waiting for my
decision. I turned the key and prayed the
batteries had enough left to crank the engine.
The Winnebago started on the second try.
The pickup shifted into motion with a driver's hand, anywhere
near its wheel. it led us into the dark deeper into the unknown
reaches of Gifford, Pinchot where Maps ended and Roads
seemed to rearrange themselves while no one watched I kept my
eyes on those taillights gripping.
The armrests hard enough. For my nails to leave dents.
And silently begged, the forest to stay still.
Even though I Knew by then that the forest was not the one
moving the Chevys tail light's guided us along the spur for
nearly an hour. I kept my eyes fixed on the
glowing red rectangles, while Tom coaxed, the Winnebago across
potholes, that struck like speed bumps.
Had a wide bend. The pickup accelerated slipped
between two stands of fur and disappeared.
When we reach the same Bend there was no turn off, only
thick Timber and a ravine, choked with slide debris.
I slowed until the RV crawled. the odometer showed eight
additional miles yet the map application still displayed a
blank grid labeled Uncharted A wooden kiosk appeared ahead
Trailhead for ape Canyon though. The letters were bleached in the
glass. Display case held only a curled
volunteer schedule sheet, dated May 23rd 2025.
That was yesterday just beyond the kiosk.
We found an improvised campsite on a flat bench of the road.
Two Dome tents stood with doors unzipped.
A frying pan rested on hot ash, I could feel faint warmth when I
hovered my palm over the coals a blue enamel mug.
Lay on its side half full of coffee gone cold.
Nearby a Subaru, Outback? Idled, with its headlights.
Off. Dash cam, blinking red, every
second. No packs.
No keys, know people. I reached into the Subaru, press
the playback button and scrub to the last recorded minute.
Nighttime footage, showed the tents of high beams swept across
the lens bright enough to wash out detail.
Then two muffled screams, cut off mid syllable, the frame
tilted as if the camera had been ripped free. the file ended,
their I slipped the memory card into my phone and saved a copy.
Tom, tied, orange survey tape to a sapling beside the junction
and we drove on taking the only branch that looked recently
traveled. After 10 minutes the road,
curved climbed and dropped us into a clearing.
I recognized instantly. Same flat bench, same tents,
same Subaru. My tape fluttered from the
sapling as though we had never left.
Tom tried a three-point turn. The rear tires spun and loose.
Pumas before catching? We backed onto what should have
been the outbound track yet? The headlights lit.
The Identical Fork again. The GPS rebooted itself,
defaulting to a waypoint labeled nfu the compass application
rotated without settling. I clicked the phone off and
shoved it, into the console Reign intensified in daylight.
Then though my watch said it was barely 3 far farther on in Old
Forest, Service barricade leaned across the spur.
The metal sign red NF, 99 a paved Scenic byway.
I knew sat 40 road miles east moss covered the lower Edge
bullet holes peppered, the route number Pass the barricade, the
road narrowed to single Lane Cinder and descended toward
gray, Ash Flats left by the 1980, eruption generator power,
dropped without warning interior, lights dimmed to an
Amber glow. The temperature inside the cab
fell quickly, our breaths clouded the windshield, a
warning placard appeared at Mi 11 black silhouettes of trees
toppled by blast Force the standard symbol marking Saint
Helens restricted core. Someone had painted a fresh
Arrow, beneath it in the same orange as The Unofficial detour
signs. We reached a fork at what my
watch claimed was six in the evening.
Left to descended toward the ash plane.
Right. Climbed Windy Ridge overlook.
I chose left. The RV rolled downhill for too
long minutes and the headlights struck my own tire tracks,
looping from the opposite direction.
I shifted into reverse backed up to the junction and tried,
right? The same tracks greeted us at
the same Fork. I repeated the maneuver twice
more. Each attempt ended with the
Winnebago facing the identical decision.
Just after midnight engine noise approached from behind.
Tom shut off our headlights. The silver Chevrolet eased into
the beam of moonlight. Breaking through low Cloud.
Idled, ten yards, back and rested there.
The cab Dome, illuminated empty seats.
Mud streaks on the tailgate form.
Two words, follow me. The truck crept forward brake
lights, pulsing at half second intervals, inviting Pursuit.
I hesitated until the RV battery gauge dipped below 9 volts.
Stalling, here meant freezing fog and dead radio.
I turn the key the starter grown because We Trail the pickup at
15 miles an hour at an unmarked Crossroads its brake lights,
flashed three times, then it surged ahead merged with Shadow
and vanished. Headlamps revealed, no branch.
No skid marks, just solid tree trunks, where the truck should
have gone. Tom parked on level gravel
outside the Subaru. Campsite for the third time,
that night hoping that clearing would at least let us maneuver
if we needed to flee on foot. I opened the dash cam file
again. Scrolling frame by frame the
final seconds. Now, showed something new our
Winnebago rolling past the Subaru, captured from behind the
tree line time. Stamped 317, mm 12 minutes in
the future. I checked my watch it was 305
a.m. something rattled. The RVs rear, ladder 3, sharp
jolts, that reverberated through the fiberglass, Tom killed the
interior lights. We listened no footsteps,
followed no voices. Just the ticking of the cooling
engine and the steady drip of rain through the Cedars.
When the minute hand reached 17 past, I watched the campground
entrance through a crack in the curtain.
A familiar white shape moved between the trunks.
Wide, boxy headlights gliding without sound.
The silver. Chevrolet emerged.
Nose, angled straight toward our windshield and engine idling in
neutral. The Mudders across its bumper
had changed last chance. I reached for the ignition ready
to follow or flee or anything that might break the loop Before
Dawn locked us here for good. The word Last Chance glared at
us from the Chevys bumper. I believed it Tom believed it,
neither of us felt safe trusting, a driverless truck yet
staying inside the RV promised to slow, bleed of batteries and
options. We chose a third path.
I pulled the emergency backpacks from under the dinette two
leaders of water. Each freeze-dried meals a filter
and a signal mirror. I had never used Tom grabbed the
satellite phone, we kept for True emergencies.
It's battery indicator, showed 38% and the screen still refused
to lock onto satellites, but the weight of it felt reassuring.
We left a note on the table with the date and time locked.
The Winnebago and stepped into are that smelled faintly of
sulfur and wet Cedar, a game Trail, angled uphill behind the
campsite The slope promised elevation and with luck a
vantage, over the looping roads. We climbed in silence for 10
minutes before the forest, thinned and grey, Pumas replaced
living soil. The line of sight opened onto
the Eastern flank of Mount Saint Helens.
Its ragged Crater Rim catching the first light of dawn.
No persons stood anywhere on the ash plane below but fresh Tire
ruts formed a tangled near the base of Windy, Ridge proof that
Vehicles had passed recently. Even if we had seen none,
Navigation Electronics. Offered no help.
The compass application, spun as before, and the GPS pulsed
acquiring. Tom folded, the devices away and
relied on a simple rule, descend toward water.
Smith Creek, lay somewhere in the valley east of us.
And from there, a network of maintain trails should lead to
the forest service road system beyond the restricted Zone.
Travel across the blast, plane demanded more effort than I
expected. Each step sank an inch into
powdered Ash Fallen trunks forced detours over and under
splintered obstacles. The watching Silence unnerved
me. More than any sound my mind
recorded every detail the crunch of grit under Souls the shallow,
rasp of my breathing through a dust mask, the slow ticking of
TOMS trekking pole against Basalt crumbs, I clung to
tangible, facts, unwilling to give imagination, space to
wander after three hours, the great mellowed, sparse Alder and
fire, weed marked the edge of surviving Forest east of the
crater. When wind shifted, I heard a
distant Mechanical Rhythm. Three short bursts.
Then a pause a chainsaw. I raise my hand and Tom nodded.
Human presence, meant maintenance crews are hikers,
either of which could anchor us to reality.
We angled toward the sound. Half an hour later.
Bright hard hats flashed through Alder, stems a six-person trail
crew. Cleared storm Fallen logs from a
root. I recognized on older Maps as
Smith Creek Trail hash 225 A sawyer killed the engine as we
broke cover. I managed, a shaky greeting,
then offered the short version, stranded RV, malfunctioning
Electronics, unmarked detours. That circled in definitely, The
crew leader Ranger, Hadley radioed, headquarters at Trout
Lake. Dispatch confirmed, no Landslide
on Forest Road, 25. No, emergency detours and no
Chevy pickup registered to any District Fleet.
Hadley insisted we ride out with them.
The hike to the trailhead parking lot.
Took 90 minutes along new clearing once there, cell
service returned in a single bar and the satellite phone blinked
alive with strong coordinates. The spell, whatever name, one
chose for it. And at 100 yards from the last
blast zone, warning sign, a deputy drove us to the trout
lake ranger station. After warm during statements a
search team escorted us back toward the loop to recover the
Winnebago and inspect our flagged route, they found the
tape, but nothing else, no wash out at mile marker, 23, no 10,
no Subaru, no Chevy. The RV sat exactly where we left
it, batteries reading full charge generator Idol but
functional, the note on our table, still bore the ink.
Time stamp we had written yet, its paper, fell bone dry.
Despite the previous night's rain.
The dash cam memory card. I copied inside the Subaru
suffered data loss during evidence transfer.
Only one clip survived, a 10-second Loop of Tom and me
sleeping in our RV. Filmed from several feet above
the windshield, no date. No time code.
No audio investigators could not determine origin or device.
We spent two nights in Trout Lake while Rangers attempted
reconstruction, they uncovered. No recent missing person reports
matching our description, all the one officer mentioned a
couple who vanished from Tuck lock Lake in 1994.
A photo from that file showed their campsite beside a silver
Chevrolet. C10 with a dented left fender
The officer allowed me a brief look.
The trucks, license plates, sat unreadable under a glare spot,
but deep Ash Gray tire tracks stretched Beyond the frame's
Edge. Weeks Later back in Seattle.
We listed the Winnebago for sale.
The buyers paid in cash the day they saw it.
We donated part of the proceeds to Washington search and rescue
volunteers. On paperwork, I cited personal
health reasons for leaving roadlife behind the deeper
motives felt harder to explain. Some nights when house sounds
settle. I still picture.
Orange arrows, nailed to trees and here in idling engine at the
Edge of Darkness. I remind myself that every route
has a fixed length. That Maps, remain static, unless
new roads appear by deliberate, human work.
The logic. Calms me enough to sleep though.
I never quite convinced myself. All Loops can be broken.
Once they close When I was growing up in Brevard, North
Carolina, just outside Pisgah National Forest.
People always told stories about strange things in the woods.
The adults would mention them casually at cookouts, or at the
diner on Sundays after church. Stories about weird noises.
Odd lights drifting through the trees and vague descriptions of
animals. No one could identify Like
everyone else. My age.
I laughed at all. Living near mountains and thick,
forests, rumors were normal. Just something to make our quiet
lives feel more, interesting by 17.
I had developed an interest in photography, and my senior year
project was all about, capturing the Wilderness near Pisgah,
especially in winter. It was perfect.
Empty, Trails, gray, skies, ice frosting, the edges of streams
and branches. There was something hauntingly
beautiful about it, a loneliness that spoke through the camera
lens. But despite the beauty the
forest in Winter also made me feel oddly vulnerable.
Everything seemed more exposed, including me.
On an icy afternoon, in January. My mom drove me out to the
Sycamore Flats Trailhead. It was familiar.
Ground, a safe spot. Where I had taken photos dozens
of times before. My camera hung around my neck.
Bouncing gently against my chest, as I waved, goodbye, and
watched her car, pull over to the side of the road.
She'd wait there, listening to the radio comfortable knowing I
wasn't far away. I walked alone down the dirt
path, leaves crunching. Softly beneath my feet without
my glasses, the trees and River Beyond took on blurry.
Outline making the woods, feel dreamlike I'd recently gotten
glasses because my vision had become noticeably worse, but I
was still adjusting to wearing them regularly without them
distant. Things always looked into
distinct slightly distorted The path opened up onto the
familiar. Riverbank curving gently
alongside the French Broad River.
It was empty. Now.
Nothing like summer when families crowded the banks
today. It was silent ice shimmering at
the waters edges. Bare branches overhead.
I wandered slowly snapping photos of brittle, Twigs cracked
ice, formations and rock shaped like strange, little animals.
Soon. Something caught my eye, a
rusted, railroad spike jutting up from the gravel Warren and
covered with patches of Frost. I knelt to get a close-up
framing at carefully in my camera's viewfinder.
It was at that exact moment that I became aware of a sudden
change. Everything around me had gone
utterly silent the birds. The faint rustle of wind.
Even the distant sound of flowing, Waters seemed muted
pressed beneath a thick blanket of Silence. it was the kind of
Silence that pressed inward on your eardrums heavy and
unnatural I stood slowly uneasy. Now my orange raincoat vibrant,
against the washed out landscape suddenly made me feel exposed.
Almost spotlighted. a creeping, sensation crawled up, my spine,
a raw Primal, feeling of being watched, I squinted across the
river without my glasses, everything beyond the nearest
trees was unclear shapes blending into a hazy gray
backdrop. Then I heard footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate crunching loudly
through dead leaves and twigs coming from the far side of the
river. My pulse quick end, as I
searched the blurry, Tree Line, straining my eyes to catch any
sign of movement. A figure appeared slipping
quietly out from between two large trees.
It stood upright tall and thin but its proportions felt wrong.
Two elongated two fluid in its motion.
Nothing about it. Looked human or animal.
It moved carefully toward the river.
Stepping silently smoothly. Stopping just short of the
riverbank. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't
move couldn't do anything except stare and numb Terror, even
without Clarity. I knew instantly.
It wasn't right, Grace skin like Ash and long limbs shifting with
Eerie Grace impossible to mistake for anything.
Ordinary, my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Every Instinct screamed at me to run my fingers.
Tightened painfully around my camera.
Frozen with indecision Only when the figure took another step
closer did adrenaline, break the spell, I spun on my heels,
stumbling awkwardly, over rocks and ice, and ran faster than I'd
ever run in my life. I didn't dare glance behind me.
Terrified of what I might see. Every step was Panic driven.
Until I finally broke through the trees and saw the car
waiting. My mom already opening her door,
a worried expression on her face.
What happened? She asked urgently gripping my
shoulder as I gasped for air I couldn't immediately respond
still shaking violently. Eventually, in broken sentences.
I told her about the figure, the terrible silence, the awful
sense of vulnerability. Her expression tightened.
She admitted softly that she had felt something strange herself
and overwhelming anxiety. The moment I Disappeared down
the trail. We didn't stay.
We drove away immediately neither of us speaking much on
the drive home, the forest slipping silently away in the
rearview mirror. That day became a fixed point in
my memory, something I could never explain clearly to anyone.
Even years later as an adult, I'd sometimes wonder exactly
what had stood on the opposite Bank of the French Broad River
that afternoon and just how close it had come.
After we left Pisgah, my mind wouldn't stop replaying the
scene by the river. I tried to convince myself that
what I saw was just a trick of my bad eyesight or nerves from
the unnatural silence but deep down I knew it wasn't that
simple. Something else was out there and
whatever it was. It stayed rooted in my thoughts.
Keeping me awake that night as I stared at my bedroom ceiling.
The next morning I woke feeling exhausted.
Still unsettled, I joined mom at the kitchen table for breakfast.
She handed me a plate of pancakes without speaking, but I
could see she hadn't slept. Well, either, she stirred, her
coffee eyes distant, you felt something yesterday, didn't you?
I finally asked her. She paused for a moment, not
looking up. I felt worried she admitted
quietly. It was strange right after you
went down that trail. Something didn't feel right?
It was like the are just went heavy.
I've never had a feeling quite like that before, hearing her
admitted sent a chill down my spine.
Do you think anyone else has felt it?
I wondered aloud? She met my eyes with an
uncomfortable expression. Around here.
Everyone has stories. I always ignored them.
Maybe I shouldn't have After breakfast, my unease turned into
determination. I needed answers or at least
something to ground what I'd seen in reality.
I spent most of the morning at the library searching old
articles and scrolling through archived internet Forums on the
public computer. My fingers taped anxiously on
the Warren keyboard until I found a single strange reference
on an old hiking Message Board in 2004.
Someone had posted, has anyone else seen the gray Walker by the
river near Sycamore Flats? No responses, no follow-ups.
But the question itself was enough to make my stomach
tighten. The post was deleted a few days
later as if someone regretted even asking.
Digging deeper, I found something even older and
archived article from the Brevard times dated 1953.
The headline read. Local boy, frightened by gray,
man in Sycamore Hollow. I skimmed The Faded text heart
beating faster with every line. The details were sparse, but the
boy described to figure tall and gray moving silently By The
River Authorities. Dismissed it as imagination.
The story was buried Fading Into folklore, Feeling even more
unsettled, I met up with Mark later that afternoon.
Sitting together on the worn-out sofa in his basement.
I recounted everything. The silence, the strange feeling
the thing by the riverbank. Mark, listen closely eyebrows
furrowed. That sounds like something out
of those stories. Your grandpa tells he finally
said trying to lighten the mood but I noticed the tension in his
voice, do you really think it was a skinwalker or something?
I asked half hoping he'd laugh at all reassure me, it was
nonsense. He hesitated looking uneasy, no
skinwalkers are just stories from out west, they're human
like whatever you described it. Didn't sound human or animal.
I grabbed a notebook from my backpack quickly sketching out
the figure as best as I could remember elongated limbs hunched
shoulders, oddly jointed legs I handed it to him, silently
waiting for his reaction, Mark stared at it, for a long moment,
then placed it slowly on the table.
Frowning. That's not like anything I've
ever heard of around here. Honestly, Aaron, I don't know
what that is. We sat quietly, my anxiety
settling thickly around us both. After a while Mark took a deep
breath. We should go back.
He said abruptly, check it out in daylight, maybe we'll find
tracks or something. The thought made my stomach
twists but I nodded reluctantly. He saw my hesitation and gently
squeezed my hand. Will be careful.
I have a trail camera, I'll set it up.
See if we catch anything, at least, we'll know the idea of
returning made me nauseous, but curiosity and fear were Tangled
together, pushing me toward answers.
Eventually I agreed, we decided we'd go in a few days give
ourselves time to prepare and call my nerves.
But that night lying awake again in my bed, I wondered if going
back was a terrible mistake, I imagined the river, the silence
and that gray figure moving closer.
I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just coincidence.
That other people had seen it too decades apart.
It felt like something ancient was waiting patiently out there
hidden just beyond Clear Sight undisturbed except by those
unfortunate enough to stumble Too Close three days later Mark
and I found ourselves back at Sycamore Flats.
It was even colder than before the gray sky pressing down
heavily over the forest. The air felt tight in my lungs,
the quietness of the Woods returning.
As soon as we stepped onto the trail, Mark, adjusted the strap
of his backpack where he'd stored his hunting camera and
glanced at me cautiously Are you sure?
You're okay. He asked keeping his voice low
as if afraid something would overhear us. not really I
admitted forcing myself to smile but let's just get this over
with We walked slowly toward the river, our footsteps crunching
softly over Dead Leaves and patches of ice.
The forest around us felt strangely watchful silent except
for our breathing and the faint trickle of water somewhere
ahead. As we neared, the riverbank I
felt the familiar tension grip my chest as if the memory itself
was warning me away. When we finally reached the spot
where I had seen the figure Mark, knelt by the river eyes
scanning carefully over the ground.
I hovered beside him resisting the urge to constantly glance
across the water. After several tense moments, he
called me over quietly. Look at this, he murmured
pointing at an impression in the wet soil, near the edge of the
riverbank My heart tightened painfully as I stared at it.
It was shaped like a footprint. But impossibly elongated, too
thin with deep indentations that seemed more like claws than
toes. What could make something like
that? I whispered my voice barely
audible, he shook his head, slowly eyes weary.
Nothing I've ever hunted and nothing human either.
I took a step back breathing faster.
Now trying to fight off the Panic, creeping steadily into my
chest. Mark straightened up visibly
uneasy and glanced quickly across the river.
He motioned silently toward a tree farther along the bank, all
set up the camera there. He whispered voice taught We can
leave it for a day or two and come back when it's safe.
I nodded numbly eyes fixed on the opposite Shore.
The bare trees stood Frozen blurred slightly by my poor
vision. Something deep inside, warned me
to leave immediately but I stayed rooted in place forcing
myself to keep calm Mark. Worked quickly climbing a low
branch in securing the trail camera so it overlooked the
riverbank clearly His hands shook slightly, but he said
nothing more. We both knew the sooner, we left
the better just as we turned to head back down the path, the air
around a shifted again, becoming thick heavy my pulse surged, my
stomach tightened violently a sudden, undeniable awareness,
flooded me. We were being watched again, the
footsteps returned this time quicker, louder, rushing toward
us, along the opposite bank. I spun around sharply squinting
into the blur of trees across the water.
A shadow darted between trunks fast fluid impossibly, agile,
Mark, saw it too. And grabbed my wrist.
His voice strained. We have to go now.
We ran feet slipping over wet stones and frozen leaves.
My breath rasped painful in my throat Panic.
Driving me forward until something caught my foot.
I tripped hard sprawling forward onto the cold Earth.
Mark quickly turned back. Pulling me to my feet.
My ankle, stung sharply, but I didn't stop behind us, branches
snapped, loudly something big crashing through the brush
Neither of us dared to look back.
We scrambled frantically toward the trailhead.
Breaking through the final line of trees and onto the road
breathless and shaking. Mark on locked his car quickly
and we practically Dove inside. Peeled away tires.
Getting slightly on the icy Road.
For a long moment. We just sat silently listening
to the Roar of the engine, trying desperately to slow our
breathing. Later that evening safe in
Mark's basement. We connected the trail cameras,
SD card to his laptop. Most of the video files were
distorted static riddled blurred shapes shifting rapidly through
corrupted frames but near the very end.
One image came through clear enough to freeze us both in
place Standing near the edge of the river was the gray figure.
Exactly. As I remembered.
Its limbs were unnaturally long. Its stance slightly bent Its
head, tilted. Oddly as though it had been
listening or tracking something It stood, motionless partly
hidden among bare branches. Just clear enough for us to see
that. It was real solid and
terrifyingly close. Mark closed the laptop slowly
his expression. Haunted.
No one can ever see this. He whispered I nodded silently
heart. Heavy knowing, we'd never set
foot near Sycamore Flats again. In the year, since I've heard
other quiet Whispers around town.
Vague reports of Shadows in the woods, Missing Pets strange
noises after dark but Mark and I never spoke openly about it
again. The river still flows quietly
through Pisgah indifferent and unchanging. but now, every time
I pass near those woods, I remember clearly what stood
watching me from the other side Some things belong to the
Wilderness alone hidden and waiting, just beyond Clear
Sight. I never understood why Tyler
always chose places he found online.
Remote places. We barely had any information on
Maybe that's what Drew us all together, me, Tyler and Jace.
Each of us had a different flavor of recklessness.
Tyler had his drone, Obsession, always chasing aerial shots for
YouTube clicks. Jace chased rocks and fossils
with a stubbornness that bordered on Obsession.
And I was the guy behind the camera.
Lens, always aiming for perfect shots of star clusters or
nebulae. The idea was to Drive West rent
an RV and vanished for a weekend under some of the darkest Skies
left in the country. Our chosen destination was an
abandoned logging landing above pactola.
Reservoir in South Dakota's, Black Hills National Forest
somewhere. Barely marked on outdated maps
and whispered about in ancient hiking forums, we arrived on a
Friday afternoon. The drive-up that unmarked Spur
Road was a nightmare thick brush clawed at the side of the RV
potholes. Deep enough to jar our bones and
half collapsed sections that threatened to send us rolling
backward into Oblivion. it took hours, but eventually we climbed
to the clearing The place was perfect at least at first
glance. Flat ground panoramic, views of
the reservoir, far below. And not another soul for miles.
Tyler parked Us near a rusted loader frame.
Poking up through a patch of grass.
I stepped outside savoring, the silence?
But it wasn't peaceful silence. It was Heavy pressing.
The kind that felt like it was waiting holding.
Its breath. As we set up camp.
Jason immediately. Wandered off already.
Poking through the undergrowth. Tyler got to work rigging up his
drone. Eager to scout the area.
I took out my gear telescope tripod camera.
This was going to be my best night for astrophotography yet.
We lost ourselves in the usual routine.
Each absorbed in our tasks. When darkness settled, it was
like a black velvet curtain pulled slowly across the sky.
The Stars emerged dazzling and sharp a billion scattered
pinpricks against absolute Darkness yet, despite the beauty
a nagging discomfort lingered at the edge of my mind, you hear
that? Tyler asked?
Breaking my concentration as I adjusted the focus ring here.
What I replied. Exactly nothing, not a cricket,
not an owl. Nothing.
It's like we're inside a dome. Chase returned then dusting dirt
from his pants shaking his head. Found something weird animal.
Droppings big ones shape strange.
Too big for deer doesn't look right for bear.
I tried to laugh at all, but my voice fell flat.
Tyler ignored him launching the Drone with practiced ease.
We gather around the small monitor watching the drones
sweep, the tree line in grayscale.
The infrared camera turning the forest into a ghostly landscape.
Looks clear. Tyler said satisfied.
We returned to the RV. 8, canned chili heated, on the propane
stove and waited for total darkness to fully immerse.
The campsite by midnight, I was capturing frames of a distant
nebula. Jason scribbling notes about
quartz veins in his notebook. Tyler checking Drone footage.
My camera beeped quietly with each exposure.
A soft reassurance. Everything was fine.
Normally even we were safe hidden away in our private
Wilderness. I drifted a sleep sometime after
2, a.m. my head filled with images of distant galaxies
spinning silently. It wasn't until morning, when
things unraveled, Tyler's voice, woke me, tight and strained.
Guys, you need to see this. We crowded around his laptop on
screen was a frozen drone image time.
Stamped precisely at 18 hours 43 minutes and 12 seconds yesterday
evening. At first glance it appeared
normal trees, brush Shadows, look closer, Tyler whispered,
then I saw him standing just inside the tree line behind our
campsite was a tall man. In camouflage clothing.
He was half concealed by a ponderosa.
Pine his figure motionless blending disturbingly, well into
the background, his posture unnaturally stiff facing
directly toward where we'd been on loading.
Our gear, his face obscured by Shadow and branches even Frozen
his intent was unmistakable, my throat tightened.
Did anyone see him yesterday? No, Tyler said, no way.
I reviewed every second of this footage last night.
He wasn't there. You think he was a hunter.
Jay said, weakly maybe scouting us out.
Could have passed by after the Drone flew over.
Tyler shook his head watch he Advanced frame by frame the man
never moved. Not even slightly, not a head
turn, not a twitch he was a fixed object Frozen hidden in
plain sight. The Drone had recorded only
seconds of him before its path. Carried the lens away.
Seconds was long enough. A cold dreads sank into my
chest. The time stamp showed, clearly
he'd been less than 40 feet from us 40 feet, close enough to hear
us breathe close enough to step out at any moment.
The three of us sat in Silence the RV, suddenly feeling small
and fragile a thin aluminum, shell in a Wilderness, we had
dangerously underestimated. Jace.
Stood abruptly. Grabbing his jacket.
Maybe it's just someone messing with us.
We should look around. Clear our heads.
We stepped outside together, each trying to mask our growing
unease. But as I glanced at the tree
line, again, I knew what ever had watched us was not far out
here. Hidden in plain sight.
Someone or something was already far too close.
The afternoon sun did nothing to ease the tight knot of unease
twisting inside me. Despite the light the forest
still felt impossibly quiet after discovering the stranger
and Tyler's Drone footage, none of us spoke for hours.
We wandered around Camp, inventing busy work to distract
ourselves from the truth. Someone had watched us closely
silently and we'd never even noticed.
Jace ever. Practical insisted?
We stay one more night. Were isolated sure, but running
off, now means hiking down that road in the dark.
No, thanks. Tyler agreed.
Hesitantly. Suggesting we rigged motion
sensor flood lights around the perimeter of camp.
While catch whoever it is. He muttered grimly.
His optimism felt thin more bravado than genuine confidence,
but we all welcome to it as Tyler carefully.
Positioned the lights around the clearing.
I decided to climb a small Ridge behind our campsite hoping to
find a higher point where I might catch enough signal to
call someone the hike was short but steep through thick brush
and loose Rock. When I reached the top my heart
sank still, no reception, I turned slowly surveying.
The surrounding Woods, at The Ridges Summit was an old rotted
fire ring. In circled by small precisely
placed stones. The circle was meticulous.
Each Stone evenly, spaced carefully aligned.
Chills prickled, my skin. I knelt down to inspect them,
more closely finding Moss covering their bases.
Whoever placed these Stones had done, so a long time ago But as
I stood something else Hit Me Harder.
The mossy ground showed no Footprints.
But mine my stomach lurched. How could someone arrange these
stones without disturbing the ground returning to the RV?
I found Jae sharpening. His Hatchet eyes, nervously,
darting toward the trees. Tyler fiddled.
Endlessly. With the drones controls
recalibrating again. And again, neither acknowledged
my presence, their silence confirmation that anxiety.
Now, gripped us fully Nightfall came swiftly draining color from
the sky until only Inky Darkness remained.
I tried to distract myself recalibrating my telescope, but
eventually abandoned it The Shadows felt suffocating all we
could do. Now was wait, at precisely 10:32
p.m. the first motion sensor flood lights snapped on
flooding. The clearing and harsh, white
illumination. We rushed out side scanning, the
edge of the trees. Flash lights, probing deep into
the darkness. Nothing moved.
No sound or shift in the shadows.
Just the Relentless empty Forest. 40 minutes later another
light. Blazed on this time.
From behind the RV, we circled. It frantic beam searching again.
Nothing no Footprints, no branches Disturbed.
Jace muttered under his breath, gripping his Hatchet.
So tightly his knuckles turned pale.
This continued lights snapping on and off randomly through the
night. Each activation drawing us out
like frightened animals our nerves wearing thin, By three in
the morning, exhaustion dulled the edges of our fear replaced
by sheer fatigue. Tyler slumped onto his bunk
hands. Trembling Jason stared blankly
at nothing. Eyes Hollow just after 4:00 as I
dozed fitfully allowed, deliberate knock echoed from
outside. Not a branch or an animal, it
was clear. Precise intentional my heart
pounded against my ribs. Tyler jumped upright.
Jace grabbed his Hatchet and stared wide-eyed at the door
summoning, my courage. I cracked open the RV door,
flash light. Trembling in my hand, our cooler
previously, right outside the door had vanished, Guys, I
whispered mouth dry. The cooler is gone.
We stepped outside cautiously census.
Hyper alert. 20 feet away in the center of the clearing the
cooler. Sat neatly upright around it.
Every item from inside had been arranged meticulously into a
perfect outward spiral. Soda cans, hot dog packages bags
of ice, even utensils all precisely placed labels, facing
upward untouched. And exact the Precision was
chilling. J shook his head.
In disbelief, someone screwing with us, know, Tyler, mermaid
voice thick with Dread. This is different.
I couldn't tear my eyes from the unnatural symmetry, who had
enough patience and stealth to do this.
So silently within feet of where we slept suddenly Tyler's drone
word to life on its own weed. Nearly forgotten, he'd
programmed it early for a perimeter sweep at dawn, it
climbed slowly, hovering just above our heads, Tyler snatched
up the controller finger shaking as he watched the live feed.
Oh God, he gasped his voice cracking, we crowded around the
screen, the drones swung to the RV zooming.
Steadily in a figure stood perfectly, still a top RV
vehicle tall, fully camouflaged arms rigidly at his side's His
head tilted downward face obscured beneath the brim of a
wide shadowy hat. The drones camera glitched with
static Distortion tearing at the edges of the screen.
The man didn't Flinch or move Frozen in unnatural Stillness.
The feed, cut abruptly, dissolving into static snow, We
spun toward the RV lights and flashlights, piercing every
corner. The roof was empty, untouched?
No signs of Entry or disturbance but as Tyler circled, the RV he
stopped abruptly. Wedged neatly into the window
screen at eye. Level was a small clump of
animal fur tied. Neatly with thin thread like
some sort of Talisman or marker. Tyler's hands shook as he gently
removed. It Eyes Wide in horror.
We stood silently staring at the darkened Forest around us,
whatever. Or whoever was out there was
watching closely calmly, tormenting us savoring our fear
We realized with nauseating Clarity, that this was no prank.
We were being hunted at Sunrise, we moved like frightened
animals. There was no pretense of calm
left Among Us. Every sound, every flicker of
Shadow made my pulse race. We packed hastily abandoning.
The careful organization of supplies from earlier, driven
Now, by an overwhelming, urge to flee.
Tyler tossed equipment recklessly into storage bins
muttering anxiously J. Stood guard.
Clutching his Hatchet eyes, dark with exhaustion.
My hands shook as I secured the telescope rig.
The clearing felt different. Now tainted as though.
Unseen eyes watched every frantic move we made.
By the time we were rolling down the narrow overgrown Road away
from The Landing site. Our relief was palpable if short
lived The Descent felt more treacherous than our arrival.
Each rut jarring us roughly Tyler drove slowly straining to
keep the vehicles steady. But barely half a mile down the
slope, the RV lurched violently left nearly throwing me from my
seat. Tyler, cursed loudly gripping
the wheel, as we skidded to a stop in the loose gravel, we
stumbled outside heart, sinking immediately, both rear tires had
been shredded, their thick rubber, slashed and clean,
brutal cuts. This was no random damage.
It had been done deliberately precisely.
While we'd slept Tyler slumped against the RV.
His face pale. What do we do now?
Jay stared helplessly at the tires gripping.
His Hatchet until his knuckles whitened.
Only one option we hiked down for help packed a visitor center
has got to be reachable by foot. I felt dread coil tighter in my
gut. Hiking meant leaving the
relative safety of the vehicle. Hiking meant exposure to
whatever was out there. Tyler and I exchanged a long
uneasy glands. All stay with the RV Jace
offered voice rough. If whoever this is wants to mess
with us more, all handle it, YouTube get help.
There was something fierce and determined in his eyes and I
realized he wouldn't budge. With grim nods Tyler and I
packed Light bags. Took the bear spray flash lights
and extra batteries and set off downhill.
I glanced back once seeing Jace leaning silently against the RV
Hatchet ready, then he disappeared from view as the
trees. Swallowed us whole, the trail
downward was brutal, loose Shale thick undergrowth, an uneven
footing slowed, our progress. I stumbled off often each fall
ratcheting up the anxiety gnawing at my nerves.
Tyler stayed silent. His face grimly said, as we
pushed through the dense brush then we spotted something odd.
A weathered wooden marker etched roughly with the number 6.
A few hundred feet lower, we passed another marked 5, then 4
each number counting downward. Tyler halted abruptly staring at
the marker in disbelief. They're counting something.
He whispered, I swallowed hard counting, what he didn't answer
just urged us. Onward, faster.
I felt a sense of suffocating dread grow with every step
certain we'd made a terrible mistake splitting up.
The woods were impossibly dense Shadows, pressing closed around
us. Finally, after hours the brush
thin, and we stumbled out beside a small day.
Use area, overlooking packed a reservoir.
A solitary kayaker stood near a vehicle packing gear.
He turned startled by our sudden appearance.
You boys. All right, he called wearily
know, Tyler answered sharply, we need help.
Our RV broke down miles uphill. Friends still back there.
The kayaker listened expression, darkening, as we described our
experience, he had a satellite phone.
Thank God and immediately called search and rescue.
Rangers were on their way, within an hour yet every minute
felt agonizingly long. The climb back up with the
rescue team was Grim, the Rangers were quiet, their
cautious, professionalism, a stark reminder of how dangerous
our situation truly was. Reaching the clearing, again,
the sight of the RV. Empty, silent chilled me, Jace.
Tyler shouted. Desperation.
Clear in his voice. Silenced answered.
We raced to the vehicle throwing open the door inside every
window. Stood wide open.
The screen slashed neatly from the inside.
My breath caught painfully. Jace was gone.
Tyler sank to his knees staring vacantly into space.
A ranger approached quietly, noticing, something the monitor
screen, we'd used for the Drone. Now, looped, a short video clip
continuously with trembling fingers.
I played it again. Static gave way to grainy
footage of Jason in the RV back, turned toward the door.
Slowly silently the RV door, swung inward behind him.
My pulse hammered painfully as Jace.
Turned his head slightly and smiled.
The image snapped abruptly back to static repeating endlessly, a
ranger gestured, urgently pointing to the wooden cabinet
behind me, carved crudely into the wood with Jason's.
Multi-tool, where words I knew would haunt me forever.
He waits at eye level. Don't look up Weeks Later back.
Home in Minnesota. We were still numb.
Search teams had scoured, the hills found nothing and labeled
Jace's. Disappearance as another
Unsolved Mystery in a long history of Vanishing.
Around the reservoir, Tyler called me late.
One night voice ragged I found something.
What my voice was barely a whisper, the Drone footage
uploaded automatically to my cloud backup.
It caught one last frame before the feed cut.
He sent me the video clip I opened it blood freezing
instantly in grainy Clarity the camouflaged figure stood
motionless on the RV roof facing downward, then slowly
deliberately the figure raised. One hand waving directly at the
Drone, the camera jerked upward catching a panoramic, shot of
the clearing and the dark Tree Line surrounding it.
My heart still stood. As I noticed them nearly
invisible among the Treetops. More figures camouflage silent,
dozens of them standing perfectly still watching
waiting. I understood suddenly in
terribly that whatever had taken Jace was not a solitary threat,
it was something older darker, a presence, patient enough to
wait, unseen and motionless until the moment was right?
And as I stared at that Frozen image, I remembered Jason's
smile on the video Loop. It was the smile of someone who
had finally realized the inevitable.
The smile of someone who knew he was being watched accepted and
chosen. And now weeks later as I glanced
out my window into the dark woods behind my house, I can't
shake the terrible certainty. We had never been alone out
there. And whatever had taken Jace
might be closer than we ever realized.
Olympic National Forest isn't exactly a Hidden Gem but the
dose Wallops River area accessed by a barely drivable track
called Forest Road. 28 feels about his isolated as you can
get without completely Vanishing off the map.
It had taken months of planning between me, Riley, and elayna to
carve out a weekend away from Portland's crowded bustle.
This was our getaway, a few nights spent on towering.
Fir trees just us a trailer full of beer and snacks, and the
rhythmic murmur of the dose Wallops River.
I'd recently picked up a used Teardrop trailer.
Small enough to tow anywhere comfortable enough to ease.
Riley, his concerns about sleeping in a tent and sturdy
enough to handle the rough Back Country Roads, we all preferred
Forest Road 28 had barely qualified as a road, more a
collection of potholes and mud grooves that rattled our teeth
with every mile. But eventually after nearly an
hour of creeping through dense Ferns and shadowy overgrowth, we
emerged at our destination, a gravel clearing beside a gentle.
Bend in the river. We quickly set up camp stringing
up, lights and unfolding camp chairs.
Riley joked about bears but Elena brushed it off pointing to
our sealed trailer evening slipped quietly into night.
The are thickening with moisture from the river.
The darkness around us absolute except for the narrow cone of
orange glow cast by our portable lights.
After hours of laughter, old stories, and a few too many
beers. We finally crawled in to the
tiny trailer. Letting the rivers, gentle home
Lola's to sleep. I woke before the others.
Just after Dawn. Stretching out of the cramped
bed. I stepped outside into a gray
Morning Mist. Drifting lazily off the river's
surface. Everything felt calm untouched.
Exactly as we had left it until I looked beyond the edge of our
clearing. Standing about 20 yards from our
trailer was a crude figure made entirely of Driftwood and River
debris. It was tall about six feet and
positioned precisely, so it faced directly at our trailer as
if studying us. the longer I stared, the more uneasy I felt A
pair of shed elk, antlers had been tightly lashed to the top
of its head. Both points Twisted deliberately
to Point inland away from the river toward the dense old
growth furs. Elena, I called quietly.
She stirred awake followed by Riley groaning about coffee.
When they emerged from the trailer their faces mirrored, my
confusion. Who built that?
Riley muttered unease. Edging into his voice.
He walked cautiously torted circling slowly examining the
way its limbs were bound together with braided grass and
sinewy bark. Looks too.
Deliberate to just be random, doesn't it?
Someone messing with us Elena said, shrugging and forcing a
laugh that didn't reach her eyes.
Maybe other campers nearby. There were any other campers,
Riley reminded her. Glancing nervously at the dark
wall of trees, no tire tracks, no sign.
Anyone else was here. Let's put up a trail cam
tonight. I suggested hoping a rational
solution would settle, everyone's nerves.
Catch. Whoever it is in the ACT wryly.
Noted reluctantly and Elena returned her attention to
boiling water for coffee, but we all kept glancing back at that
strange. Figure half expecting it to move
or vanish, something to explain away.
Its unsettling presence. The rest of the day passed
without incident. We explored along the dose
Wallops fished unsuccessfully in a small pool upstream and
eventually made dinner as dusk settled heavily around us. we
set up the trail camera positioning, it carefully to
capture any activity near the edge of our clearing, as
Darkness fell, the silence deepened, heavy and absolute,
Each small sound, the crack of a branch.
The faint rustling of leaves seemed magnified.
I found myself, straining to hear something Beyond The
Familiar, LOL of the river, anything out of place, but
exhaustion, finally won out. I woke in the night briefly to
Elena shaking my shoulder. She whispered nervously.
Did you hear that? What I whispered back heart
quickening. A snapping sound something big
near the trees. She breathed, we listened
intently for several minutes hearing nothing but the rivers,
ceaseless Whispering until sleep.
Reclaimed us At first light, we all stepped cautiously from the
trailer. Elena gasped, her hand shooting
up to cover her mouth. Another sculpture stood just a
few feet closer than yesterday's figure.
It was eerily similar in style. Except this one had the skull of
a salmon fast and neatly at eye level strands of wet Moss
hanging from it, like some grotesque Veil.
Check the camera, Riley said quietly eyes wide with fear.
I retrieved it quickly fumbling nervously with the buttons as we
crowded around the tiny display. The footage rolled forward
showing our campsite empty and untouched then suddenly within
the blink of an eye, the figure appeared fully formed built
within the gap between two consecutive Ten Second frames.
No Builder. No blurred movement just an
instantaneous creation. We stood in stunned silence,
Riley, looked visibly shaken. Eyes darting nervously to the
tree line. Elena starred quietly at the
strange figure as if it might reveal something, if she looked
long enough, What the hell is this?
I finally muttered. Nobody answered because none of
us had an explanation that made sense.
The trees around us seemed closer.
Now, looming pressing in more watchful, more oppressive, it
was clear. Something didn't want us here
and for reasons, none of us could begin to understand.
It was making that fact impossible to ignore.
The morning passed an uneasy silence.
Breakfast. Tasted dull mechanical, just
oatmeal shoveled into mouths too.
Distracted to taste it. Riley was pacing.
Anxiously already. Making half-formed plans to
abandon our trip. Elena seemed detached quietly
packing and repacking, our gear eyes constantly flicking toward
the Driftwood sculpture that. Now, stood disturbingly close to
our campsite, I tried to rationalize what we'd seen on
the camera footage, maybe a glitch, a technical failure, or
something else that made more sense than a figure instantly
appearing, fully constructed from nothing.
But even my attempts at logic fellow my own words failing to
sue. The persistent dread.
We should leave Riley. Finally blurted out breaking a
long silence. His voice shook slightly
betraying the fear, we all fell but hadn't fully acknowledged.
Elena hesitated, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
And just ignore this leave without knowing what's actually
going on. I don't care about explanations
anymore. Riley said, sharply, whoever, or
whatever. Did that he gestured toward the
grotesque salmon headed figure. Clearly doesn't want us here.
I sighed rubbing my temples. We set the camera again tonight.
Wider lens better positioning. Maybe we'll get a clear shot if
nothing happens. We leave first thing in the
morning. They both reluctantly agreed
though. No one seemed truly convinced.
We spent the rest of the afternoon making preparations
placing additional trail cameras, strategically around
the perimeter of our campsite Riley suggested setting up solar
powered motion sensitive lights, Something he'd bought as a
precaution weeks ago and was now nervously, eager to deploy.
As dusk settled. Once again, the atmosphere
shifted palpably Darkness blanketed at us.
Quickly, the forest pressing closer with every passing hour
we retreated into the trailer early.
Sealed tightly behind its metal walls.
The tiny space feeling, less comforting now and more like a
trap. Sleep was impossible.
I lay awake, heart pounding with every distant Creek of branches
every snap and crackle of leaves disturbed by unseen feet.
Elena tossed and turned restlessly beside me.
Riley was a rigid shadow on the narrow caught across from us,
unmoving silent. Then just after 2:30 in the
morning, a sharp burst of static tore through the silence
accompanied by a flash of white light, bright enough, to
penetrate through the trailers small windows.
Elena jolted upright beside me gripping, my arm painfully
tight. What was that?
She whispered her breath shallow trembling.
I was already reaching for the trailer door, check the camera.
We have to see Stepping outside flash light beams swung
chaotically around the clearing Illuminating nothing but
Stillness. The air felt colder.
Wetter, the cameras were all silent their tiny indicator,
lights now dead. The batteries are drained, Riley
muttered and disbelief shaking the empty battery compartment.
These were fully charged brand new.
I looked back toward the trailer, something at the edge
of my vision, catching my attention.
The rear hatch secured tight every night now stood wide open.
Did someone forget to latch that I asked softly already knowing
the answer Elena shook her head slowly eyes wide.
I triple checked, Riley murmured, it was closed.
Approaching the open hatch cautiously, our flashlights
revealed something far more unsettling, all our food.
Every can every rapper, every bag had been carefully removed
and arranged into an Immaculate spiral pattern, extending
outward from the trailer toward the dense line of fir trees.
The Precision of it, the Symmetry sent chills.
Cascading down my spine. No animal.
Did that Elena said hoarsely, eyes darting nervously toward
the woods? What kind of person would even?
Her words off as we slowly followed the spirals Direction
with our beams of light it extended into the forest, Fading
Into the Darkness Beyond the Edge of our clearing.
We have to see Riley whispered though.
It sounded as if he hopes someone might disagree.
Reluctantly, we crept forward stepping carefully around the
arranged items. The forest swallowed us quickly.
Each step plunging us deeper into Shadows, thick enough to
smother our flash lights. Barely breathing.
We move slowly scanning for anything out of place.
The spiral ended abruptly at a clearing hidden beneath towering
Furs, a circle of Driftwood, totems surrounding the perimeter
all facing inward as if guarding something sacred or forbidden,
each sculpture was crafted meticulously from Bones bark,
feathers, Mas Natural Things. Twisted into shapes distinctly
unnatural at the center. A top of whether it's stumped,
Sat one of our sleeping bags, rolled neatly zip, tightly shut
damp with river water. We stood silently staring at it
dread growing heavy inside, each of us.
Know, Elena whispered finally shaking her head in denial.
That was in the trailer. Riley backed away slowly
breathing heavily. We need to go right now.
There was no argument, no, hesitation, we turned swiftly
and retraced. Our steps pulse pounding,
louder, with every footfall, every snapping twig until the
trailer loomed ahead, small and vulnerable beneath the endless
Darkness, Back in side, we barricaded the doors,
instinctively blocking every possible entrance with gear bags
and equipment. No one spoke.
No one slept. We sat intense silence listening
to the river's constant murmur hoping desperately for Dawn.
We didn't speak much at dawn. Riley moved mechanically
packing, our gear, his hands shaking slightly Elena always so
steady. Now avoided eye contact busying
herself, securing the trailer for travel.
I checked and rechecked our hitch, our tires, the chains,
anything to keep myself busy anything to avoid thinking about
the Spyro, the figures or the soaking wet sleeping bag
arranged. So deliberately in the Forest,
Clearing We climbed into the SUV without breakfast, anxious to
put distance between ourselves and whatever was lurking in
these Woods. The forest around us was still
almost oppressive as if watching waiting for something else.
Shaking off that thought. I started the engine and guided
us slowly back up Forest Road, 28.
Fairly five minutes passed before I slammed on the breaks,
skidding slightly in the gravel. Cam what the Elena began but
then fell silent as her eyes, caught the same thing.
Mine had a massive Driftwood sculpture larger and heavier
than any Wheat. Seen stretched across the
narrow. Road ahead, completely blocking
our way. The Twisted interwoven logs seem
deliberately placed their ends driven forcefully into the muddy
Earth. It looked immovable.
That wasn't here. Yesterday, Riley muttered, his
voice tight with panic. We climbed out the air cold and
damp tension, making every movement feel heavy.
I stood staring at the barricade mind racing desperately
searching for an explanation. This couldn't be an accident
whoever or whatever had arranged this wanted us trapped, let's
use the winch. Riley suggested shakily clearly
grasping at anything that might offer.
Hope we unwilt. I watched helplessly as the
cable, frayed strands of Steel peeling apart snapping with a
metallic twang. This isn't working Elena
whispered, urgently, her voice trembled eyes.
Locked on something distant in the trees.
I turned following her gaze and saw another figure.
Barely visible through the gaps between towering fur trunks
standing perfectly still, partially hidden by Shadow
constructed, from Mossy wood and animal bones.
It's empty sockets seemed appear directly at us.
Cam, we have to go back Elena said, quietly and firmly.
This isn't safe. We had no choice reluctantly
silently. We were treated to the campsite
we'd fled only moments ago. Our little trailer, sat waiting
untouched yet, profoundly changed We parked hurriedly
barricading, ourselves inside locking doors windows.
Anything that might provide an entry point.
We take shifts watching, I suggested quietly trying to
sound reassuring. Maybe whatever's happening stays
away if we're awake. Nobody believed that, but nobody
argued either hours dragged by night, fell, swiftly and utterly
in enveloping Us in absolute Darkness.
Our single battery-powered Lantern casting, frail Shadows
inside the cramped trailer time. Slowed painfully Riley, pale and
drawn peered nervously, from the tiny window, his breath fogging,
the glass then it started a subtle vibration, under our
feet, barely perceptible, at first like an underground whom
resonating gently, but insistently beneath the trailer,
Do you feel that Elena whispered voice thin with Dread?
Yes, I replied softly, holding my breath, listening feeling the
vibration pulse. Steadily rhythmically like a
heartbeat deep beneath the Earth.
Riley turned sharply eyes wide. Something's out there again, I
glanced toward the trail camera. Positioned just outside our
window, blinking steadily. I hesitated only a moment then
opened the trailer door. Swiftly.
Grabbing the camera from its post before slamming the door
shut again. We crowded around the tiny
screen as the video played back at first only Darkness showed,
then at 409 a.m. a single frame flickered.
Clearly into view, a figure standing just at the edge of the
forest, draped, in thick layers of animal pelts moss.
And would its shape was distinctly, human beneath the
layers of Primal camouflage. Its eye's visible.
Briefly beneath the crude mask of bone and bark stared directly
toward the camera directly at us.
Then the footage dissolved instantly into static leaving us
staring dumbly at a blank screen.
No one spoke Elena's face was pale, Riley, trembling visibly,
fear clogged my throat and all I could do was stare silently
toward the trailer door waiting listening somehow mercifully.
Dawn finally came pale gray filtered through the trees and
as if granted permission, we burst from the trailer anxious
to flee this place forever. The road ahead was now
completely clear where the massive Driftwood barricade had
stood. Only scattered Twigs remained as
if it had never existed. But something else waited there.
One final figure, it's arms were outstretched holding a small
Branch. Horizontally dangling from it
were three Loops made from brightly colored tent courts.
We immediately recognized as ours.
Let's get out of here, Riley whispered urgently his voice of
plea. We moved in silent agreement,
packed hurriedly and drove away without speaking without looking
back. Weeks Later unable to shake the
memory. I posted our experience
anonymously on a Pacific Northwest backpacking Forum.
Hoping someone might know something.
Anything about what we encountered within hours, the
post vanished deleted by an administrator, a private
message, flashed onto my screen second's later, you camped on
the wrong Bend, don't go back, they don't want you there twice.
I closed the laptop. Slowly a chill sliding down my
spine, knowing instinctively that whoever or whatever built
those sculptures was watching waiting making certain.
We never returned. My name is Erin Miller and I've
hiked hundreds of miles alone through some of America's
wildest country. Solitude never bothered me.
It energized me. I was a wildlife photographer by
trade. So hiking solo was less a hobby
than a profession. I tracked through Glacier,
explored Yellowstone's, Backcountry and navigated the
Bob Marshall Wilderness without incident.
But the Continental Divide Trail had a different Aura, especially
where it sliced through the rugged.
Bitterroot mountains. Along the Montana, Idaho border.
It was wild remote and notoriously disorienting I'd
begun this particular section at Chief Joseph pass.
It was early October, the air was crisp and clear, and large
trees, shimmered gold amid. The dark green of the Pines My
goal was straightforward. Three days, hiking, southbound
toward Lemhi, pass the first few hours passed without issue.
I adjusted my pack, kept my camera accessible and moved at a
steady Pace feeling confident and Alive as the forest,
thickened around me. by mid-morning, the trail had
become a Relentless climb switchbacks carved steeply into
loose Shale and gravel My thighs burned slightly with exertion
but I embraced it. This was why I was out here to
push my boundaries and capture images of untouched wilderness.
I paused to check my progress on the Garmin GPS clip to my chest
strap. That was when I first felt
something was off. According to the GPS, my
elevation was exactly 7,552. Feet.
The coordinates hadn't budge since the last checked, nearly
two hours ago. That didn't make sense.
I'd been steadily gaining altitude for at least two miles,
yet the device set otherwise, I frowned checking the signal
strength. Full bars.
Clear, satellite connection, but the coordinates stubbornly
remained. The same has to be a glitch.
I muttered slipping the device back into its holder.
It happens sometimes in the mountains magnetic anomalies
Rock interference signal shadowing.
Nothing to worry about or so. I told myself I glanced up at
the trail ahead still Rising. Still twisting back and forth
like a serpent but the landscape was somehow identical to what I
had already passed through large.
Boulders Twisted, Fallen logs familiar, clusters of large
trees. I shook off the uneasy feeling
all forests can look similar when fatigue sets in By noon,
the Shadows deep and slightly, despite clear skies overhead.
I stopped to eat lunch leaning against a boulder that jutted
from the ground at an odd angle. as I bit into a granola bar, a
strange feeling of familiarity, hit me This particular Rock
angular and leaning precariously, as if it would
topple under its own weight, seems strangely recognizable.
But that was impossible. I'd been ascending for hours and
there had been no loop on the map.
I pulled out my compass. Hoping for reassurance instead.
The needle spun lazily drifting between random directions before
finally settling on South I turned pointed it in various
directions walked several feet. Nothing changed South every
time. What the hell I muttered anxiety
creeping into my chest. Magnetic, interference from
mineral Rich mountains was one thing but a compass stuck facing
south no matter where I pointed it was alarming.
Something wasn't right? I fumbled again, with my GPS,
still no change in coordinates or elevation frustrated.
I rebooted it. Hoping it was just a software
error when it came back online. My stomach knotted, same
coordinates, same altitude, no change at all.
It was as though I hadn't moved in hours despite knowing I'd
covered significant ground. I considered backtracking but
when I turned around the trail I just climbed seemed foreign and
vaguely menacing. An irrational unease settled
over me. I shook my head annoyed at
myself for letting imagination. Take control.
This was still the CDT, a marked mapped and thoroughly explored
route. I was a rational experienced.
Outdoorsman not someone prone to panicking over minor.
Technical issues. Pushing forward seemed the best
choice. Eventually the ridge would Crest
and I'd have a clear vantage point.
So I pressed on The next few hours felt like a dream or
perhaps more accurately, a nightmare the terrain never
changed significantly. Despite my climbing switch backs
became not miss repetitions of the themselves trees rocks and
the steepening path appeared identical to what I'd already
Traverse. I placed deliberate markers
along the trail Stones stacked conspicuously distinct pieces of
brightly colored. Flagging.
Tape wrapped around branches yet no matter how far.
I climbed I seem trapped in the same stretch of forest.
As evening approached Darkness seeped into the valley, beneath
the thick branches shadowing like ink a chill ran through me.
As I radioed, the nearest Ranger Station, my voice was tight, in
measured masking the anxiety, I felt.
This is Aaron Miller solo, hiker on the CDT south of Gibbons
pass. I began my coordinates aren't
updating. My GPS is frozen.
Compass, is acting erratically, elevation on changed.
Despite hiking steadily uphill. I'm not sure what's happening,
but I'm going to set up camp and reassess in the morning.
Static crackled back at me after an unsettling.
Pause a distant slightly distorted reply came through,
copy that Miller, coordinates received signal clear, keep
radio handy overnight. I made Camp quickly picking a
spot beside a familiar Boulder. Despite my unease, By firelight
the Rocks Shadow stretched out, resembling something misshapen
and ominous. The forest around.
Me was strangely silent. No wind.
Rustled, the leaves. No birds called.
It felt unnatural oppressive. Just before I turned in, I
radioed one more time, my voice dropping to a tense whisper to
despite myself. I don't know if you're hearing
this clearly, but something feels off.
I'll check again, at first light I lay in my sleeping bag staring
at the thin fabric of my tent, heart thrumming rapidly,
rational explanations slipped away like sand through my
fingers. Tomorrow, I promise myself
things would look clearer. They didn't I awoke to Daylight
filtering through the tent dim and gray.
It wasn't the crisp Mountain morning.
I had expected. It felt diluted washed out
somehow I rolled over checking my watch.
Just passed. Nine my phone, lying beside my
sleeping bags. Still read 712.
A.m. Frozen like the GPS.
I sat up quickly a surge of nausea Rising outside the tent,
the forest remained impossibly silent, no rustling leaves.
No bird calls, no distant trickle of water, only a heavy
unnatural quiet. I stepped out carefully.
Half expecting the landscape to have changed overnight.
But the same cluster of large trees, stood watch, and that
tilted Boulder was still positioned exactly as I'd seen
it yesterday. I moved toward the campfire,
ring. I'd hastily constructed on a
patch of flat bedrock. Ashes Lake holes, undisturbed.
I crouched running my fingers through the remnants.
No heat as if I hadn't built a fire at all, yet, I clearly
remembered the Flames the flickering warmth that had
briefly calmed my nerves. Pulling my GPS.
From its holder. I stared at the screen.
Still unchanged. Still mocking me with impossible
numbers. I rebooted it again desperate.
Now, when it returned the coordinates were exactly the
same as before unchanged since yesterday morning.
A Rush of anger surged through me, I tightened my grip until my
Knuckles whitened resisting the urge to smash it against the
nearest rock. I'll figure this out.
I whispered to myself barely audible methodically, I packed
Camp placing trail cameras around the area as markers.
Each camera, faced outward program to record any movement.
If something strange was happening here, I'd at least
capture evidence of it, then with forced confidence.
I set off again. I moved uphill, cautiously
careful to observe every feature every Twisted tree, limb, every
angular Stone to mark my path. I tied strips of bright orange,
flagging tape around branches, every 50 yards or so counting,
each step deliberately 100 yards, 200, 500 yet, the
elevation felt stagnant. I could swear, I was climbing my
legs. A With the effort, but the view
behind me, didn't match that effort.
When I glanced backward, the trail markers glowed, Neon
Bright against the shadowed Forest.
Ahead the landscape. Never shifted significantly, my
breathing quickened anxiety, tightening my chest after almost
two hours. Dreads settled over me like a
heavy cloth. Ahead an orange flagging tape
dangled limply from a branch fluttering faintly as if mocking
my efforts. It was my own tape.
I recognized the sloppy knot, I'd hastily tied earlier.
Somehow, despite careful navigation and ascending
steadily. I had circled back to the exact
same place. I sat down hard on a fallen log
pulse hammering in my ears. How was this even possible?
Know, mapped Trail here? Formed such a perfect invisible
loop. I pulled out the map and
unfolded. It frantically my fingers.
Trembling The path was straightforward ascending
clearly to a defined Ridge. No Loops, no intersections,
nothing that explained, this impossible circuit.
I'm stuck. I said aloud my voice sounding
thin and distant in the unnatural silence.
Panic. Edged closer, like a predator
pacing in the Darkness. I stood abruptly determined to
break the cycle. Picking a new Direction.
I marched straight uphill, ignoring the trail altogether
pushing through thick underbrush and laws. branches clawed at my
clothing, scraped my face, but I pressed on After another half
hour relief swelled, briefly, in my chest, I seem to be making
real progress. Finally Breaking Free, but that
relief was short-lived ahead. The trees thin slightly.
I stumbled into a small clearing.
My stomach lurched, as I recognized the angled Boulder
and the faint Circle Of Ashes from my morning fire.
My campsite exactly as I left it hours.
Early greeted me silently, mocking my efforts a crushing
despair settled in this wasn't possible.
It couldn't be the fading, daylight cast strange elongated
Shadows across the campsite I sank down by the fire pit hands
shaking uncontrollably. Then somewhere behind me a faint
movement, caught my eye. My heart's seized in my chest.
I turned slowly Dreadful in my stomach.
Far back among the trees. A shape moved briefly large
quick but utterly silent. No sound of snapping Twigs or
brushing leaves accompanied. It I squinted trying to track it
through the fading light, but whatever it was had vanished as
swiftly as it appeared. I stepped closer peering into
the dimness. Something deep in my bones,
warned me to turn away to retreat to hide in my tent.
Instead I pressed forward desperate for answers about 20
yards from Camp. I froze.
A fallen log, lay gouged by Massive claw marks, fresh deep,
and disturbingly spaced No bear or mountain lion.
I knew could have left something like this.
Instinctively I backed away returning quickly to my campsite
I grabbed the radio fumbling, the controls as Panic took hold.
This is Aaron Miller. Can anyone hear me?
My voice shook uncontrollably. I'm trapped out here.
Something's wrong with the trail.
I keep looping. I am being tracked by something.
Static crackled sharply then. Silence Aaron Miller, repeat
your coordinates, a distant voice, finally broke through,
distorted by Static. Were trying.
The radio died abruptly leaving nothing but the heavy silence
around me. My breathing came in ragged
gasps as darkness in the forest, completely I built another fire
hurriedly piling branches until Flames.
Flickered High. Casting shifting Shadows across
the campsite I took comfort in the illusion of safety at
provided though. Deep down.
I knew it offered none. Before crawling into my tent.
I whispered into my trail camera desperation evident in my voice.
If someone finds this something isn't right out here, I'm not
alone, I don't know what it is, but it knows I'm here.
I zipped my tent, shut clutching a knife.
Tightly sleep came reluctantly plagued by strange, half dreams
of being watched hunted and trapped in an endless loop.
When I awoke again, it was Pitch Black and I knew instantly.
Something was standing just outside the tent.
My eyes snapped open in total darkness.
Heart hammering as adrenaline, surged through me.
Outside. The thin nylon walls of my tent
something shifted slowly. wait pressing softly against the
ground audible, but unidentifiable I remained.
Utterly still barely breathing every muscle rigid the cold grip
of dread coiled around my spine, as I strain to pinpoint the
location of the sound a faint. Scraping noise, began low,
rhythmic like Stone, drag slowly against Stone.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Carefully inch by inch.
I reached toward the zipper of my tent, my knife clutched.
So tightly my Knuckles, burned a thin slice of moonlight leaked
through the opening. Illuminating.
The quiet Forest Beyond I edged closer peering through the
narrow slit. Shadows played oddly, Across The
Familiar campsite distorted by faint moonlight.
The fire-eyed earlier had burned down to smoldering coals, but
the sound the scraping continued steadily, just beyond my line of
sight. Forcing myself to move.
I unzip the tents slowly silently and leaned forward,
just enough to look out. At first, the darkness revealed,
nothing unusual, then my eyes adjusted and I saw it.
Something large crouched low near the edge of my Camp.
Barely distinguishable from the night around it.
My breath caught sharply in my throat it wasn't shaped like any
animal like new even crouched it appeared unnaturally tall long
limbed and a Maci It's pale form was ghostly against the Shadows.
Hunched forward elongated fingers, rhythmically gouging
into solid Stone, my stomach tightened with nausea, the
sound. I'd heard it was digging
effortlessly into Bedrock carving.
Deep clawed grooves, as though it were loose soil.
My breath shuddered, as I eased backward into the tent, heart
pounding, and pure Terror, the creature, paused abruptly, its
posture shifting slightly, my blood froze.
Had it heard me. Its head turned with unnatural
smoothness. Revealing, any elongated face
marred by Deep Hollows where I should have been empty?
Cavernous sockets. Stared directly toward me,
sensing knowing though. It had no eyes to see a
strangled gas escaped. My lips before I could silence
it in that. Instant, the creature lunged
upright with unnatural agility, towering far taller than I'd
expected. I scrambled backward desperately
kicking away from the 10th entrance Panic.
Blinded me as my hands, grasped wildly for anything to defend
myself. The things footsteps were silent
yet. I felt its presence closing in
heavy and overwhelming, Frantically.
I yanked opened the back flap of my 10th and staggered out into
the darkness behind me, abandoning gear shelter,
everything I sprinted wildly through dense, underbrush
crashing, blindly through branches and brush my lungs,
burned breath ragged, but Terror pushed me forward.
Suddenly a jolt of recognition and despair slammed through me.
I burst through the trees, stumbling into the clearing of
my campsite again, my feet slid to a halt heart sinking.
I hadn't escaped. I had looped right back.
The tent stood silent and empty the smoldering Fire Ring casting
weak Embers. But the creature was gone, only
the freshly gouged Stone marks remained deeper than before
arranged like Twisted handprints clawing into the Earth itself.
I staggered forward legs. Weak head spinning, my mind
screamed for logic, but logic had no foothold here.
That a faint crackling noise, Drew my attention.
It came from the ground near the fire pit.
My trail camera blinking faintly, its battery indicator
nearly drained. Shaking.
I lifted it rewinding to the last captured footage.
On the small glowing screen, my stomach turned cold.
I saw myself sleeping next to the dying fire then slowly from
the darkness behind the tent, the creature emerged, pale
gaunt, horrifyingly tall. It moved with alien grace the
creature paused looming. Over my sleeping form, head
tilted at an impossible angle, it seemed to study me.
No eyes. Just those Hollow sockets mouth
hanging slack, then the footage distorted glitching wildly
before cutting to Black. I dropped the camera staggering
backward. There was no more denying it.
I was prey trapped by something impossible in a place that
defied all understanding. Despair flooded through me,
limbs trembling the reality crashing in that there might be
no escape from this Loop. I retrieved my radio from the
tenth floor battery, nearly drained, my fingers, fumbling
desperately Pressing the transmit button.
I spoke in a voice. I barely recognized raw
pleading. This is Aaron Miller, please?
I need help. I can't escape.
Something's here something. Not human.
I'm trapped in a loop on the CDT south of Gibbons.
Pass coordinates. Frozen Compass.
Useless please someone static crackled violently.
For a brief second to distorted voice.
Came through the interference. Aaron.
We hear you. Stay calm.
Sending then silence around me. Darkness closed.
Tighter A faint, scraping echoed through the trees, once more
growing closer purposeful. It had returned.
It always would. With no other choice.
I turned and ran again, stumbling blindly through the
darkened trees, knowing deep down, it wouldn't matter.
Whatever Force had trapped me, here had no intention of letting
me go. The forest stretched endlessly.
Looping cruelly back upon itself.
As exhaustion overtook me, I realized the terrible truth.
I had never leave this place. And neither would anyone who
followed? I'd grown up fishing, these
mountains, learning the winding streams and hidden haulers of
the Smokies from my dad long before he passed.
Now at 32 these Woods felt more like home than anywhere else.
More real, more truthful. Been my best friend since
elementary school needed something real.
Something true. His marriage had collapsed, his
career stalled and the Frantic pace of Knoxville life had
driven him to a place where he needed silence more than advice.
We chosen Hazel Creek, deep in the Great, Smoky Mountains on
the Tennessee side for two reasons.
First Solitude Hazel Creek is remote, only accessible by canoe
or a grueling hike. Shielded by a rugged silent
wilderness. Second trout, I'd stumbled upon
an old fly fishing guide book from the 80s that a flea market,
its Pages brittle and yellowed. On a whim, I'd bought it for
three dollars and in one of its margins in fated ballpoint pen
where the worst unmarked, runoff, wild, brookies coldest
water. This side of hell, I'd never
heard of it, but the idea stuck, we paddled quietly across
Fontana Lake our gear minimal and purposeful.
From the moment, we hit the canoe among the Pines.
The terrain challenge us. Unmarked an unkept.
The Wilderness Clawd at us with dense, underbrush and Tangled,
rhododendrons, like hands, determined to turn us away, been
struggled behind me swatting, at branches and cursing, softly his
frustration clear, why not? Just fish Hazel Creek itself
been finally grumbled. It's right there.
It's famous for trout, isn't it? Famous trout mean, fishermen.
I replied stepping carefully over Fallen logs.
This runoff isn't even named on newer Maps.
We'll have it all to ourselves. He sighed heavily but trudged on
eventually the land flattened and threw a narrow break in the
thick Woods, we saw water glinting in the Sun.
The runoff was narrow perhaps six feet wide with a steady
current trickling between rocks. Despite its modest size.
The water was shockingly, cold clearer than glass and nearly
silent. It ran perfectly straight
through a shallow Valley as if sliced by a Giant's blade.
Been knelt to scoop, a handful of water splashing his face.
Jesus, he sputtered shaking his hands, it's like ice.
My eyes drifted to the shore. I paused something wasn't right.
A dead rabbit. Lay beside the stream.
Eyes wide fur, untouched. As I examined it closer, my
pulse quickened, its body was strangely intact almost peaceful
but something crucial was missing blood.
No bite marks, no wounds just pale skin beneath the fur, a few
yards, Upstream, lay another, a raccoon then a squirrel, each
drained the same way. Been approached peering over my
shoulder. What happened to it?
I shook my head. I don't know.
They all look like this. We walked slowly Upstream.
The trees pressed in tighter, the daylight faded into a muted
green, beneath the thick canopy, the air, grew cooler heavy and
still every animal we found lay, bloodless, and Untouched by
scavengers, or insects I felt a creeping unease, like something
hidden had been disturbed by our intrusion.
This doesn't feel right been whispered, his face was pale.
Now eyes, nervously darting to the Shadows.
Beneath the trees. I didn't answer pushing forward
stubbornly driven by an inexplicable urge to understand
what we'd stumbled upon After another mile, the source of the
stream emerged. Abruptly ahead, my breath caught
embedded into the hillside stood, an unnatural concrete
structure. A slab half covered by moss and
dirt anchored by Twisted rebar, rusted, deep red, from Decades
of exposure. From beneath the structure
flowed, the runoff sliding through a thin.
Horizontal Gap, just above the ground, Ben's voice, quivered
barely above a whisper Luke. What the hell is this doing out
here? I don't know, I murmured feeling
the hair stand on my neck. There aren't supposed to be
buildings or dams this far into the backcountry.
As the sun dipped lower, the forest dimmed further Shadows
growing longer deeper. The Stillness intensified
oppressive and strange. It wasn't merely quiet.
It felt devoid of sound as if the woods themselves held their
breath. Been shifted anxiously, we
shouldn't camp near here. Let's head Downstream.
I agreed reluctantly breaking my gaze from the unsettling
concrete wall. We quickly set up camp, a
half-mile, back beneath, an overhang of rock, where the
forest seemed slightly less oppressive.
But even here the silence, chased us thickening as dusk
settled into darkness. As the fire crackled been stared
nervously into the darkening. Woods eyes reflecting the
flickering light. I keep thinking something's
moving out there, he whispered shifting uncomfortably Just
Shadows. I replied though.
I felt it too. A constant silent pressure from
the darkness Beyond Sleep, came fitfully disrupted by sudden
jolts of awareness ears straining to hear.
What wasn't there. Deep into the night.
I woke suddenly I snapping open Above the gentle rustle of wind,
something else, hummed a faint mechanical vibration steady and
alien. Echoing from Upstream.
I sat motionless heart hammering listening until it faded.
Mourning couldn't come soon enough morning broke slowly and
despite the weak daylight filtering through the dense
canopy overhead, the chill remains stubbornly in the air.
I woke to been already awake staring silently, Upstream,
eyes, tired, and dark. Ringed you heard it too.
Didn't you? He asked without turning toward
me that humming sound. I stretched?
Stiff limbs. Shaking off.
Uneasy Dreams. Yeah, I couldn't tell where it
was coming from. We packed quickly and wordlessly
each eager to move and dispel the uneasy quiet that still
clung to the forest. The runoff stream guided our
path. Its Waters Whispering over
Stone's clearer and colder. With each step we took Upstream.
The animal remains persisted Birds.
Another rabbit, each has bloodless and untouched as the
last. The site never became easier.
My stomach churned uneasily, my mind desperate for rational
explanations. Finally, the stream narrowed
abruptly flanked by steep Rock faces Tangled with roots and
Moss? Around the next Bend, I froze
built into the side of the Ravine was a stark unnatural
concrete structure. Looming silently like some
forgotten Relic from a war long past. rusted, iron bars, jutted
from the stone bent and twisted sealing whatever lay Within The
runoff trickled steadily from a narrow horizontal opening
beneath the wall. Been Stood Beside Me mouth,
slightly Open Eyes Wide, what is this loop?
I shook my head. Slowly trying to fit this into
what I knew of the mountains. I've never heard of anything.
Like this being out here, not on any Maps I've seen.
Cautiously, we stepped closer my heart, thumped heavily in my
chest. The structure was massive solid
concrete. Whether stained in partly
covered by Moss decades old, at least, A faint mechanical hum
drifted from somewhere inside stronger.
Now, vibrating gently Through The Souls of my boots.
Maybe an old Dam or some kind of Waterworks been suggested
nervously, but the words felt thin inadequate.
I circled the structure searching for a clue.
Nearby trees, bear of barks, stood silently, stripped smooth
as bone, amid thick brush at the edge of the clearing something
metallic caught my eye. I stepped closer brushing aside
Vines and dirt to reveal a rusted steel.
Hatch half buried beneath soil and vegetation faded letters.
Stenciled onto its surface. Red USGS authorized personnel.
Only Been peered over my shoulder reading aloud quietly.
Us Geological Survey. What would they have done out
here? I Shrugged on certainly
monitoring may be some old research station or something.
Abandoned Been knelt and tested the hatch handle cautiously.
It moves slightly the ancient hinges, squealing and protest
been. I don't think, but he'd already
wrenched, the hatch open fully revealing a steel, rung ladder
to sending into absolute Darkness.
Cold air float upward, carrying a damp metallic odor.
I'll just take a quick look. He said hurriedly pulling his
headlamp from his pack and clicking it on.
Ben. Wait, we don't know what's down
there. He waved off my concern.
Impatiently I'll be back in 10 minutes.
Just want to see before I could object.
Again, he swung himself onto the ladder and descended into the
Blackness, his black fading quickly as he dropped down wrong
by Ron. A sense of dread Rose steadily.
In my gut as his steps echoed then gradually fell silent.
Ten minutes passed then 20, Been I called Down the Hatch.
My voice bounced hollowly against unseen walls.
No answer came the humming suddenly stopped the forest
falling. Utterly silent.
I strained my ears into the silence below listening.
A sound scraped briefly like fingernails against concrete
quick and sharp. Then silence.
Again I knelt peering into the darkness.
Heart racing been answer me man. Nothing just the gaping empty
dark an hour passed Panic now clawing at my nerve, I debated
following him, but hesitated the darkness below, felt thick
unnatural every Instinct screamed at me to stay.
Put, I pasted helplessly, heart pounding searching the clearing
for any sign of been praying, he'd emerged smiling joking
about getting lost but he never did as night began to fall
again, my anxiety deepened into despair.
I built a fire next to the hatch desperate for its small circle
of flickering light. Shadows danced.
Wildly around the clearing. Deepening.
The darkness Beyond. From the corner of my eye, a
flash of color broke through the Gloom.
I turned sharply squinting Into the Woods.
Far off between trees a strange red glow.
Flickered. Moving slightly wavering like a
distant Lantern. Every hair on my neck.
Rose been I called weakly but I knew immediately it wasn't him.
The glow hovered a few moments longer before blinking out
suddenly plunging the forest back in total darkness.
My heart thundered as I retreated closer to the fire
shivering, not from the cold, but from dread something watched
me from the Shadows. Unseen.
But undeniably present. All I could do was sit
vigilantly by the fire eyes. Fixed upon the open hatch.
Listening as the silence stretched endlessly Into the
Night. Dawn arrived, cold in muted
slipping into the forest without fanfare.
I had barely slept half dozing in fits by the dying Embers.
My eyes fixed anxiously on the open hatch.
Every minute felt like an hour. Every hour fell like eternity.
Been had vanished Without a Trace leaving.
Only unanswered questions, echoing inside that concrete
Darkness. Desperation overcame my fear as
daylight strengthened. Ignoring the scream of instinct
in my head. I gripped my flashlight tightly
and leaned cautiously over the edge of the hatch.
The latter descended into black water, flooding, the space that
had been empty just hours before my stomach turned sharply.
There had been no rain, no sound of flooding overnight.
Been my voice broke as it echoed down into the waterlogged void.
I climbed down two wrongs holding my breath, shining, the
flash light into the murky depths There was nothing, but
Dark Water stagnant and cold the surface still as glass.
I reached out brushing my fingers against it.
Immediately a cold shock jolted through my body intense enough
to rent a startled cry from my throat.
Panicking. I nearly lost my grip on the
ladder, scrambling desperately back up until I was safely above
ground again. staring numbly at the hatch, I knew something was
profoundly wrong unnatural I moved instinctively Upstream
half running half stumbling seeking Clarity or a source, or
just an escape But the runoff abruptly stopped.
No spring, no Creek, no Source. The stream bed.
Simply ended dry as bones at a flat stone basin.
My mind raced, none of this made sense, geologically, or
practically the water simply appeared beneath that concrete
wall? No.
Rational, explanation fit. I felt sick disoriented.
I retreated Downstream but the woods quickly became unfamiliar.
Paths. I was sure I had traveled turned
unfamiliar and confusing. Hours passed the sun rose higher
scorching now as if mocking, the early or cold my head, spun from
thirst and exhaustion, lips cracking painfully night crept,
in mercilessly settling over the forest once more.
I tried to build another fire hands, trembling uncontrollably
but managed only the smallest flames.
I huddled close shivering feeling.
Vulnerable beneath endless. Dark branches.
Hours crawled by paranoia setting in eyes darting toward
every rustle and snap from the forest around me.
Then came a distinct sound a dragging stumbling noise.
Slow and deliberate my breath halted, heart, thudding
painfully from the Gloom. A figure appeared, pale
Moonlight Illuminating. Just enough to recognize a
familiar shape. Been my voice cracked again.
Tentative almost pleading, he walked stiffly unnaturally
upright face. Vacant and pale eyes.
Staring forward blankly seeing nothing.
I stumbled back in horror as he, drew closer feet.
Dragging limply his mouth hung slightly open dried blood
crusted around cracked lips. He looked drained Halo a twisted
imitation of my friend Ben. I shouted desperately hoping
somehow to break him free of whatever terrible trance held
him captive. He halted sharply head tilting
slightly as if listening to something distant then without
warning, he turned sharply away disappearing silently into the
darkness again. Terrors surged through me.
Without thinking I bolted blindly through the trees
fleeing from whatever he'd become.
Branches tore my clothes and scratched my skin Raw.
My ankle Twisted painfully, sending me sprawling face.
First into a bed of pine needles.
Pain exploded up my leg, whimpering, I dragged myself
beneath a thick bush, lungs heaving, heart hammering.
Painfully minutes, blurred into hours.
As I Lay hidden terrified to move.
Listening desperately for signs of pursuit.
Mourning found me dehydrated and disoriented The next days
blurred together, wandering, staggering aimlessly,
hallucinating vividly from hunger and thirst.
Faces appeared in Shadows. Whispers floated from nowhere my
sense of time and place. Fractured somehow.
After days I couldn't count I stumbled out onto the rocky
Shoreline of Fontana Lake Sunlight stabbed painfully into
my eyes as voices called to me, urgently the world spinning into
incoherence as I collapsed onto sharp stones.
When Consciousness returned, I lay in a sterile hospital room,
florescent lights, buzzing overhead, harsh and disorienting
doctors hovered asking questions.
I couldn't answer words. Tangled in my throat too large
to painful to utter. My tongue felt thick, my voice
lost in that, Dark Void, below ground.
Eventually someone pressed a small pad of paper into my,
Trembling Hands, urging Me Gently to write to say
something. Anything, my hand shook
violently as I gripped. The pain, The image of Ben's
empty pale face burned deeply into my mind.
I stared helplessly at the paper heart, clenching painfully.
With great effort. I scrolled one single trembling
word drained. The nurses exchanged nervous,
glances Whispering quietly later Rangers visited, their
questions, careful probing, they claimed, no structure existed
where I described no hatch, no runoff.
Like, I remembered, they seemed uneasy hesitant as though my
memories. Frightened them, late at night,
in my hospital, bed staring blankly at the ceiling.
I knew with chilling, certainty. They'd never find been or
understand what we'd uncovered. I couldn't explain it even to
myself. Only The Emptiness remained,
deep and cold inside me a wound. I feared would never heal.
And as I drifted into Restless sleep, I felt an irresistible
pull toward the runoff toward that unnatural Darkness beneath
the Smoky Mountains knowing somewhere deep inside.
It wasn't done with me yet. I've spent most of my life
wandering, these forests. The Allegheny National Forest
sprawling along the Pennsylvania, New York border
has been my backyard playground and hunting ground for as long
as I can remember. My name is Cal Mayfield and
alongside my closest friend, John Hart.
I've mapped just about every Deer Trail fishing hole and
Hidden Hollow tucked among these thick Woods.
John's always been the cautious one, the guy who double check
Maps before heading out and pack extra batteries every time.
I tended to wing it more often than not relying on Instinct and
stubbornness to see us through. In late October, just a week
after an unusually Fierce storm had ripped through the forest,
John and I decided to scout a new deer hunting spot near
Minister Creek. Branches and Trunks, littered
the ground making old Trails nearly impassable.
We'd been added all morning fighting through Briars and
waist high undergrowth to map out alternative routes.
Cal check this out. John Nelson beside a narrowed
Spruce. Pulling away a thick layer of
moss in decaying leaves. I stepped closer squinting at
The Rusted corner of something metal jutting from the forest
floor. Together, we scraped away years
of damp debris. My fingertips scraped against
Cold Steel, dislodging a clump of soil that revealed faded,
lettering us Forrest, quarantine Zone established 1962.
Do not enter. John frowned running a hand over
the signs corroded surface. Ever heard of this, I shook my
head scanning the woods around us, the silence pressed heavily
on my ears. Nothing.
Not even old Maps ever mentioned this.
Digging deeper. We uncovered two more.
Identical signs. Each equally weather.
They had bolt holes punched through the metal as though,
they'd once hung prominently from offense or post.
Cold War era, may be John said his voice low, a testing site or
fallout shelter. I've read about weird military,
installations tucked away up here.
I Shrugged, but a strange discomfort crawled beneath my
skin. Doesn't explain why nobody ever
talked about it. Folks, around here.
Usually gossip about every old cabin or still sight.
Think we should look further down.
John asked glancing toward a shallow depression ahead of us.
I hesitated then nodded. Curiosity was always my
weakness. We slid cautiously into the
Gully damp Earth slipping beneath our boots.
It wasn't long before we stumbled onto the remnants of an
old service. Road now, fully reclaimed by
brush. We followed it downward
branches, clawing at our sleeves, until we reach the
hollows floor. Ahead partially obscured by Ivy,
and Moss loomed. A collapsed tunnel mouth.
Its concrete. Archway sagged inward blocked by
debris and twisted lengths of iron grading.
Thick iron chains hung from rotting wooden posts nearby,
their rusted links ending in sturdy Loops like restraints or
anchors. John Neal examining the chains
who the hell locks up a tunnel this thoroughly, unless they're
trying to keep something inside. I didn't have an answer stepping
closer. I peered into the darkness
beyond the collapsed entrance. The air smelled stale tinged
with iron and mildew, heavy enough to make breathing
uncomfortable. My gut tightened inexplicably.
I don't like this. John said, quietly shining his
flash light into the debris field Gap.
Feels wrong. As if in response somewhere in
the forest. Behind us, a dog barked sharply.
John startled turning quickly. You hear that, I nodded slowly
straining, my ears. The sound echoed faintly through
the hollow, a frantic yelping short bursts separated by
uncomfortable pauses. But the Echoes didn't seem
natural, they lingered strangely never fading or shifting
position trapped somewhere between trees and stones.
Sounds lost, John whispered, maybe a coyote, I offered, but
we both knew that wasn't quite right.
Coyotes howled whimpered. This barking.
Felt mechanical repetitive. John glanced nervously, back at
the tunnel. We've marked the spot on GPS.
Let's head out. Maybe come back better prepared
tomorrow. I didn't argue the hollows on
natural, quiet unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
We climbed back up, the Steep Bank, neither speaking much.
I could feel John's unease as strongly as my own That night at
Camp miles from the Halo. We huddled closer to our small
fire. Neither of us felt like talking
The image of these quarantine signs, rusted warnings, buried
and forgotten nagged at me like an itch.
Just before midnight, as the forest pressed close around our
camp, the distant barking drifted faintly through the
trees. Once again, it was no closer
than before yet it was clear and sharp as if we hadn't moved at
all, John met my eyes, his expression, haunted, neither of
us voiced, the thought that passed silently between us.
Whatever had happened in warden's.
Hollow in 1962, we just stumbled into something that was meant to
stay buried. Mourning came slowly gray, and
heavy sleep. Had avoided me for most of the
night, and when I woke to the pale Dawn filtering weekly
through the canvas tent walls, John was already sitting up
pouring over an old forestry map.
Shadows ringed his eyes. We've got to go back John
muttered, with without looking up.
He was tracing a finger along Faded Line.
His other hand holding the Rusted.
Quarantine sign. We'd brought back I couldn't
find anything about that place on line, not even a passing
mention. I grown softly and pushed
myself. Upright stretching stiffly,
Feels like maybe there's a reason it was buried and
forgotten John. He glanced sharply at me,
exactly. That's why I need to know what
they were hiding. Reluctantly, I agreed.
John was rarely Reckless. So his quiet urgency unnerved me
even more. Within an hour.
We'd packed flashlights. Ropes spare batteries and an air
quality sensor. John had borrowed years ago from
a mine. Safety course.
He'd always insisted on being prepared for any situation.
This time, I was thankful for his caution.
The air felt colder as we returned to warden's Halo.
Fog settled thickly along, the gullies floor, making the
Twisted iron chains around the tunnel.
Look even more sinister. John approached the entrance
slowly carefully, probing the air inside the Gap.
With the sensor, he squinted at the dial and shook his head, it
stale down there. John said softly but it's
breathable. Just not for long periods.
Let's make it quick. I said, hoping, I sounded more
confident than I felt. We crawled through the partially
collapsed. Entrance debris.
Scraping against our backs. A sense of entrapment tightened
in my chest and the tunnel opened slightly allowing us to
stand hunched beneath cracked concrete arches.
My flash, light beam cut weekly through the Gloom.
Illuminating a side, passage carved roughly into the stone
wall. John edged forward first and I
followed closely my heart hammering unevenly Inside old
military crates, lay scattered, their wooden frames splintered
and rotting. Nearby rusted oxygen tanks.
Lay clustered many dented as if thrown aside in haste, a pile of
Twisted Metal Frames resembling cots sat slumped against one
wall. This place looks like it was
abandoned in a hurry. John whispered.
He lifted the air sensor again, checking the dial nervously. 15
minutes tops, then were out. I nodded tension tightening my
jaw. At the passage's end was a
junction room line with metal lockers, their doors, hanging a
jar or Fallen entirely off their hinges.
John moved carefully towards one still upright.
He shown his flashlight into it. Then reached inside slowly.
Jesus. He breathed lifting out a
cracked and deteriorating gas mask.
Behind. It was a damp clipboard Pages.
Stuck together from water. Damage in age carefully, he
peeled a sheet loose. He read aloud voice, hushed.
Tents specimen, still viable. No, breach, since nine 14
Ranger's rotated monthly do not exceed, 20 minutes outside
airlock My mouth went dry specimens.
John's flashlight, moved restlessly Illuminating, a dark
opening in the corner of the junction room.
It was narrow smooth-edged and angled sharply downward, almost
like a chute or ventilation shaft.
It wasn't built with concrete or steel.
It looked as if it had been burrowed or melted directly into
the Rock. I approached hesitantly peering
down the darkness. Felled bottomless oppressive,
then I heard it, soft it. First rhythmic scraping deep
within it, echoed up faintly, the distant sound of metal
dragging slowly across Stone. Deliberate and unceasing, did
you hear that? John's voice was strained.
His flash light. Trembling slightly.
I nodded slowly. Let's go.
We've seen enough. John didn't argue as we turned
back, I caught something else in my flashlight's beam small, boot
prints etched freshly into the dirt beside us.
Narrow delicate. Prince like those of a child
leading directly toward the shaft.
We just investigated, John noticed them too, his eyes wide
with disbelief. Those were not here when we came
in. He whispered harshly move, I
urged voice. Cracking Panic, edged.
Into my bones, as we stumbled hurriedly through the debris.
Filled passage every step toward the tunnel.
Mouth felt impossibly, slow behind us.
I imagine something unseen Rising silently from that dark
shaft following quietly. We burst into open are gasping
sucking and clean breaths. The sky was overcast.
The afternoon, oddly quiet. John leaned forward hands on his
knees struggling to steady his breathing. specimens, John
repeated numbly staring blankly toward the gaping mouth of the
tunnel They kept something locked down there.
The forest around us stayed silent.
A heavy unnatural hush blanketing.
The Halo I shuddered involuntarily, we reported it.
I finally managed gripping. John shoulder will head out at
first light tomorrow and tell someone at the ranger station.
John didn't respond, his eyes remained, fixed on the dark
entrance behind us, lost in thought. as we climbed back to
campus, seeped into the forest, Shadows growing long and Tangled
By Nightfall, John was mumbling quietly to himself by the
campfire, endlessly flipping through the damp clipboard Pages
eyes wild. I lay awake staring into the
Blackness of the tent, feeling a creeping certainty that we had
Disturbed, something long forgotten, and deliberately
buried. And that John might not let it
rest until he knew exactly what it was.
I jolted awake to cold morning, light filtering through the
10th. A chill prickled down my spine.
When I realized I was alone. John sleeping bag, lay crumpled,
his gear neatly stacked in the corner, but John himself was
gone. My gut Twisted painfully.
Something felt deeply wrong scrambling outside.
I called John's name into the crisp.
Dawn are only silence answered. My heart began racing.
As I glanced around frantically, his shotgun was missing along
with his headlamp. Dread griped me.
I knew immediately where he'd gone in.
Desperation. I dialed the ranger station.
A sleepy voice answered bored. Until I mentioned the quarantine
signs in the Halo. Suddenly the line crackled
strangely then went silent. Hello.
I shouted into the phone, nothing but dead are panic,
attacks. Surged without thinking further.
I grabbed my pistol extra batteries and a handful of
flares, then raced down the slope toward wardens.
Halo the forest seemed to close in around me as I approached the
collapse tunnel entrance. John's headlamp lay abandoned
just inside the Gap, still lit. Pointing directly into the
suffocating Darkness. My breath caught hammering.
John, I shouted only Echoes returned.
Ignoring every screaming Instinct.
I crawled inside flash light, shaking, in my grip.
The tunnel stretch deeper than I remembered less obstructed.
Soon. I was standing beneath cracked
concrete arches, their surfaces slick with moisture.
Footprints drag marks scuffed, along the dirt floor, Vanishing
into the shadowed Corridor ahead.
My throat tightened, I had no choice but to follow after a few
careful steps. I noticed the walls changing
rusted rebar, jutted outward, bent strangely, while overhead
ancient ductworks snaked through the Gloom.
My pulse quickened as the corridor opened into a larger
chamber. The room was lined with rusted
medical equipment. Broken monitors.
Lay toppled glass, shattered, across damp Stone.
Along one wall, a shattered observation Windows stared
blankly into an empty space beyond.
Opposite were several heavy containment doors each marked
with faded, torn, yellow tags impossible to read clearly in
the weak light. John, I whispered barely able to
speak the air felt heavy or colder here, thick with Decades
of stale. Decay a sound behind me.
A faint Shuffle, snap my head around.
Fear surged hot and bitter. As I swung my flashlight toward
a narrow passage. I'd overlooked footsteps padded
softly along Stone accompanied by the rhythmic, hiss of breath
filtering through masks. My blood turned to ice at the
passages, Edge figures emerged stiff, motionless Silhouettes in
ancient military fatigues. Their faces hidden behind
cracked dirt-stained, gas masks. They stood rigidly staring in
unison. Head slowly turning toward me
in. Perfect mechanical synchronicity
I stumbled backward, Panic, overwhelming, reason,
desperation gripped. Me as I darted into a small side
room. Slamming shut a rusted metal
door. My breath came in ragged gasps
turning sharply. I saw John slumped against a
wall, his face pale. Eyes staring blankly ahead, John
I rushed to him. Gripping his shoulder, he barely
registered My Touch whispering in coherently.
They were never allowed to leave Cal, he rasped weekly, his eyes
flickered with frightened Clarity, they don't breathe
there. Like, we do, they need us down
here, allowed pounding, echoed suddenly against the door,
shaking it, violently my heart seized in Terror.
They were trying to get inside. Come on, I yelled.
Dragon on upright, he stumbled nearly collapsing again, but
adrenaline lent me strength. Supporting him, I wrenched, open
another door, escaping down a side.
Passage I prayed would lead out the tunnel narrowed sharply
oppressive, Stone pressing close.
I have carried half dragged John toward a faint glow ahead.
We burst outside just as Dawn bled weekly through clouds.
Gasping lungs heaving, we fell onto damp grass.
Behind us. The tunnel lace silent and dark
exuding Menace. The forest remained utterly
still its unnatural quiet returning immediately.
John Lee, trembling staring blankly at the pale sky.
He murmured softly lost in nightmares, I couldn't see two
days later. After leaving John safely in the
hands of emergency responders, I returned with a team of forest
rangers, but the Halo was unrecognizable.
The tunnel was gone collapsed completely buried, beneath fresh
dirt and rock. The Rusted quarantine signs had
vanished. Even my GPS marker had somehow
been erased, leaving no. Trace the place had ever
existed. When I asked one Ranger about
the quarantine Zone, he hesitated eyes clouded with
unease. That part of the forest, he
said, quietly glancing away, it's always been off the Record.
Some places are better left. Unremembered That night alone at
our campfire. I threw the faded maps and my
hunting log book into the Flames, determined to erase the
memory myself. But as the papers turned to Ash,
something metallic glinted among the Embers, reaching carefully
into the cooling. Ash, I lifted out a small,
rusted key. My stomach Twisted, as I read
the inscription, wardens, access Zone, B.
Staring numbly at the key. I knew the forest would keep it
secrets. And now I was part of them.
My name is Derek Handley and I've been working while
wildfires for over 15 years long enough that the scent of
scorched Pine and hot, ash lingers permanently in my
memory. When lightning storms rolled
across the San Juan mountains. Near Telluride sparking small
manageable blazes. I figured it would be routine
work. Mop up operations, containment
sweeps, making sure nothing reignited.
The usual predictable stuff, exactly how I liked it.
We just finished containing the main Blaze near trout lake and
were on a map of Patrol near Black Ridge.
When dispatch radio to standard Recon task but nothing's ever
routine in places like these, not really by early afternoon,
my crew had split up to cover more ground and I was alone.
Picking my way through charred brush on a densely wooded Ridge
line. The fire had passed through yet,
the air felt heavy and damp instead of hot and dry strangely
cooler than it should have been. something about the wind felt
off too swirling, unpredictably drawing smoke uphill instead of
letting it dispersed naturally, Curiosity nudged me to follow
the odd, smoke flow higher. Cresting the ridge.
I saw a cluster of structures below tucked, beneath dense
Spruce and Pine, The forest here should have been scorched to
Sticks, but the trees surrounding these buildings.
Stood, Untouched by Flames. It was unnatural the black and
Earth. Abruptly ended a few feet from
Woody. Cabins and a central Lodge all
perfectly intact. Ash drifted lazily downward like
Grace, snowflake's settling in silence.
There were no signs or Trail markers, leading into the camp.
Just the remains of an old wooden gate.
My gut tightened. Camps in these mountains.
Were logged with the forest service for emergencies and Fire
Prevention. But I knew every registered site
in this region, this wasn't one of them.
I approached cautiously boots crunching Ash underfoot The
cabins looked old Untouched by modern maintenance, yet sturdy.
As if the fire had avoided, this place intentionally.
It made no sense. Wildfires, don't discriminate a
faded wooden plaque, hung above the largest buildings entrance,
Camp Blackridge. The paint peeled away whether it
and forgotten pushing. Open the lodge door.
I stepped inside instantly greeted by the stale Center of
musty canvas, wood smoke, and something faintly sour.
Sunlight filtered through, Ash dimmed Windows, revealing a
room, a range as a dining hall. Ables and chairs neatly aligned.
As if campers might file in at any moment for lunch children's
drawing were still pinned to the far wall fluttering gently as I
passed. Yellowed paper curled at the
edges, scribbled pictures of mountains, stick figure,
campers, and bright smiling Sons.
Then my eyes settled on one picture set up, apart from the
rest. It was crudely drawn by a
child's unsure hand. A bear in golfed in Flames,
orange and red scribbles, and circling its body.
But the eyes on settled me, most they were not animalize, they
were human, staring out with startling realism.
They looked directly at whoever observed the drawing.
As if trying to communicate something unspoken the hair on
my arms, Rose a chill, tracing down my spine.
I turned quickly scanning the room as a creeping unease
settled over me. Everything felt wrong.
The place was like a snapshot Frozen in time waiting.
Unnerved I reached for my radio dispatch this is Hanley on Black
Ridge. I found some kind of abandoned
Camp here. No fire damage to structures but
the location wasn't marked on our Maps looks untouched, static
crackled before the dispatcher's voice.
Emerged hesitant and unusually tense, repeat your location.
Camp. Black Ridge.
West Side Of The Ridge near Trout Lake.
It's intact. But looks like it's been
abandoned for decades and he records on this place. silence
stretched on comfortably just as I was about to repeat myself,
The Voice returned cautious, Hanley confirm again,
Blackridge. Confirmed dispatch Blackridge
names on the lodge here. Another pause longer this time.
As if a conversation happened, far from the mic, when the
dispatcher spoke again, their voice was low, almost hesitant.
Hanley, we've we've worn teams not to go near that Ridge since
the late 1980s. I stared at the radio baffled
warned. Why was this area?
Quarantine again silence then static filled my ears.
Layered thickly drowning out, the dispatchers voice.
Beneath it barely audible but clear enough, I heard what
sounded like choking coughing strained, Raw.
Then it cut off. Completely dispatch.
I said, sharply can you repeat no answer suddenly the lodge
felt tighter, the dimness oppressive I turned to head back
outside intending to regroup with my crew.
When I caught movement in my peripheral vision, a brief
flicker near the window. I turned sharply nothing.
But the Shadows outside seemed to shift, subtly Whispering
between the untouched trees anxiety, tightened my chest.
I hurried back toward the trail I had followed in but froze at
the edge of the camp. The path was gone.
Before me there was only dense unburned forest where charred
ground should have been, I spun around searching desperately for
the trail. I knew I'd take in but it had
vanished as completely as if it had never existed.
The air was too still the silence profound broken.
Only by my own heavy breathing Joe.
Mike, anybody copy My voice echoed uselessly through the
trees. The radio crackled still
transmitting only faint. Static in the occasional cough.
I stared helplessly at the forests surrounding Camp Black
Ridge, swallowing down my Rising panic.
There had to be a rational explanation.
They're always was, but logic, faltered here in the cold quiet
beneath the ashes where something long forgotten had
started to wake. I stood Frozen at the edge of
Camp Black Ridge, staring into the trees where my trail should
have been Every Instinct screamed at me to stay, calm to
breathe and reassess. But the landscape had betrayed
me entirely shifted into something unrecognizable the
scorched Earth I had walked through minutes ago was Lush
thick with untouched trees and Tangled undergrowth.
Nothing made sense shaking myself.
Loose from paralysis, I pulled out my GPS desperate, for some
tangible anchor to reality. The coordinates were stuck,
numbers. Frozen in place as though,
etched permanently onto the screen, I tapped it harder Panic
creeping into my chest, but the digital numbers remained
unchanged. Mocking my disbelief.
My compass spun slowly in my palm in different to directions.
North became South East rotated, lazily to West the needle.
Wobbling as if magnetized by something invisible nearby.
I checked my watch 312 p.m. but Shadows were deepening too
quickly, the daylight retreating faster than nature allowed.
I needed another route, another landmark, anything to ground
myself? The camp seemed to be drawing me
inward, though. Every bone in my body.
Resisted going back. Still curiosity, pulled me back
toward the cabins. Maybe I had missed something,
some clue to my situation, something logical.
Near the edge of the largest cabin, an old clipboard hung
crookedly from a rusted nail faded paper curling at the
edges. I lifted it carefully.
The yellowed sheet dated and Faded blue ink.
July 1987. A roster of children's names,
filled the paper. Each neatly handwritten in shaky
script. Halfway down the list.
One name was violently scratched out over and over nearly tearing
through the page Colby. My pulse quickened.
Colby. Something about the repeated,
destruction of the name. Felt deeply personal angry.
Disturbed, I set the clipboard down turning toward a nearby
cabin labeled counselors. The door creaked, open hinges.
Protesting sharply. Inside the cabin was small,
cramped, a Dusty mattress, sagged.
Against the far wall. I spotted an old Journal
discarded on a makeshift shelf. Its cover cracked and brittle.
Flipping through brittle pages. I paused at an entry Mark.
July 16th, 1987 ink smudged by hurried handwriting More kids
missing today. It started when Colby began
feeding that bear. We told him to stop but he
insists the bear talks to him. He says it knows things.
The kids believe him their Curious but the bear it's not
right? Something's changed out there.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Suddenly the absurdity of being
trapped here, felt darker more dangerous.
Behind me somewhere outside the cabin, faint laughter drifted in
a child's High ringing laugh playful yet distant.
I move swiftly toward the sound stepping outside pulse,
strumming in my ears. Footprints.
Small Barefoot appeared in the thin layer of Ash leading away
from the cabins toward a shack. I noticed before nestled further
back under thick trees. The laughter had stopped.
I approached cautiously my boots crunching Softly.
The Shack was crude wooden planks.
Hastily nailed together, the door.
Ajar Inside the air smelled, stale, heavy with decay.
Dozens of teddy bears, sat arranged neatly in a circle on
the floor, soot covered their button, eyes, dull and
unblinking. They surrounded a dark hole in
the wooden planks. Gaping downward into the Earth.
My breath quickened. Near the edge.
I spotted a faded Polaroid curled and half melted.
Children, sat smiling in this exact Shack clutching the same
bears. one face centered had eyes, scratched out violently
revealing rough, white paper beneath I leaned closer, heart
thudding then from Beneath The Shack came, a low growl slow and
wet, a guttural, sound resonating through the planks
something large stirred Breathing heavily labored and
moist as those struggling through fluid-filled lungs, my
blood ran cold I stumbled backward nearly falling over a
pile of burned, wood stacked by the entrance.
Fierce Primal and raw bursting out into the open.
Again, I raced toward Higher Ground away from that Shack in
whatever, lingard below it. My breath tore up my throat, as
I climbed Desperately Seeking Clarity or Escape.
When I finally risked, a glance back, a figure moved at the
Camp's Edge, a shape that chilled me to the Bone.
It stood partially hidden by the shadows of spruce.
Branches silhouetted and motionless at first glance.
A bear. I thought at first but it wasn't
right, it's limbs where he elongated, awkwardly,
proportioned. patches of its fur were missing revealing burned
flesh beneath raw and modeled And the eyes, those horrible.
Human-like eyes watched me with a dreadful intelligence.
The creature took a slow step forward, upright.
It stance disturbingly human. Another step shambling, stiffly
toward me, arms, hanging limp long and thin at its side.
I dove behind a tree heart pounding in my ears pulse.
Frantic, I waited pressed against rough bark praying for
silence, forcing myself to slow my ragged breathing, the minutes
stretched painfully. When I finally risked, another
glands the creature was gone but Darkness had swallowed, the
valley and down at Camp Black. Ridge faint, flickers of orange,
light danced from cabin windows, as though lanterns had been lit
by invisible hands. My chest heaved Shadow shifted
between the trees. A more fish shapes drifting
silently, purposefully behind me close enough to feel breath on
my neck. A familiar voice whispered
hoarsely. Unmistakably my teammate, Joe's
voice Derek. I spun stumbling backward, ready
to shout with relief but the darkness stared empty back at
me. Joe nowhere to be seen only
fresh footprints in the ash small and bare LED silently away
into the trees. And again, I was alone, my watch
Red passed midnight, the glowing digital numbers of pale beacon
in the oppressive Darkness. I hadn't slept couldn't sleep,
not here, not now, my throat felt raw parched from hours of
shallow breaths, and whispered curses.
I'd rationed the last of my water, sipping sparingly as the
Shadows. Thickened around me.
I was exhausted nerves, frayed senses heightened to every
rustle and snap of Twigs in the blackness.
Desperate to ground myself. In some semblance of reality.
I stumbled back down toward the old dock area hoping for a
clearer route back to familiar to rain near the collapse.
Doc, something caught my eye a rusted metal sign partially
buried beneath rotted Timber and Ash Kneeling down, I scraped
away dirt with trembling fingers, The Faded lettering
emerged, like an accusation U.S forest quarantine area.
July 1987, A chill crept, up my spine, quarantine there had
been, no records of any quarantine in these mountains.
Not officially not here. It was Stark and undeniable.
Someone had buried this place deliberately kept it hidden.
Why dragging myself upright? I turned toward the nearest
cabin. Perhaps answers, lay somewhere,
inside anything to unravel this madness.
Pushing open the swollen door hinges.
Creaking, I stepped cautiously into a Dusty interior in the
corner was an old Footlocker its latch rusted, but on locked, my
pulse quickened, lifting the heavy lid.
I peered inside. There were three, VHS tapes,
labeled neatly and Faded ink. Feeding one feeding two and shut
down. Beside them in ID card in a
cracked plastic sleeve. I held it closer to my flash
light, my breath hitching, as I read the name, Supervisor
Richard McAllister US Forest Service, missing July, 1987, my
gut tightened, nausea Rising, this place, had taken people
before, I shoved the card into my pocket, grabbing the tapes as
evidence though they felt useless without a weight of view
them. I moved swiftly back outside the
cool night air, only slightly easing my tension.
Then my radio crackled softly from its holster startling me.
I hurriedly pulled it out, adjusting the knob hopeful for
clarity. Dispatch.
This is Hanley. Do you copy?
Please confirm the static surged by a strange.
Modulation tones shifting slowly methodically, then a distorted
voice strained, and deliberate emerge from the static return to
line. Do not acknowledge them, do not
follow, I stared dumbfounded at the radio, the transmission
fading back into silence, Before I could respond movement, caught
my attention. A subtle shifting in the
darkness near the shack. I had fled earlier.
Shapes moved through the trees. Small and hesitant pale figures.
Stepping cautiously from behind trunks children.
Dressed in outdated summer clothing.
Untouched by, Ash or fire. Their faces were expressionless
eyes, blank unseeing. They watched me silently
forming, a rough semi-circle around the shack, my throat
tightened painfully. I staggered backwards trembling
unable to speak. They did not Advance only
observed with empty stairs. A silent congregation guarding.
The darkness. Panic surged, I turned and
bolted. Downhill crashing through brush
and branches desperate for escape.
Breath ragged pulse roaring in my ears.
I nearly collapsed when distant lights pierced through the trees
headlamps. Unmistakably modern.
Hey, I shouted Horsley stumbling out onto a cleared, firebreak
where a Hotshot crew stood in astonishment, their gear
scattered around them. Derek one shouted.
Stepping closer. His face shocked and confused.
What the hell? We thought you've been missing
two days. I grabbed his shoulder's dizzy
with relief. Two days.
No, I just got separated a few hours ago the camp Black Ridge.
It's just up there. They exchanged.
Uneasy glances. Camp.
Derek, there's nothing up there, just trees and Ash.
We saw your flare about an hour ago.
We thought you were hurt or Delirious know.
I insisted voice shaking. I found building's an Old Camp
from the 80s. Kids went missing there a
quarantine Derek, there's nothing.
Another firefighter said quietly.
We swept the area twice. It's empty.
I turned determined to prove them wrong.
Leading them back uphill, through Tangled brush.
Retracing my steps precisely But as we crested the ridge, I
stopped cold my chest clenching painfully.
The camp was gone. There was nothing, no cabins no
Lodge know burned bear drawings, only Ash covered rocks, fire
scorched, Earth and quiet empty Forest.
I swear, it was here. I whispered my voice breaking.
They watched me with sympathetic eyes murmuring reassurances.
Gently guiding me back down the trail.
At base. I filled out the incident report
meticulously documenting, everything and careful detail.
Two days later, the record vanished completely wiped clean
from the system. My attempts to follow up were
met with silence or dismissive shrugs.
Finally, an older fire captain approached me privately His
Eyes, heavy with unsaid history. Derek, Let It Go.
He muttered quietly. Black Ridge.
It's closed for a reason always has been Days passed quietly.
But my sleep remained fractured by nightmares of dark woods in
silent children. Then one evening I received an
unmarked envelope in the mail. Hands trembling I slid out.
A single photograph aged, yellowed, showing smiling
children in front of the camp Black Ridge Lodge.
At the center, stood a small boy, his eyes grotesquely large
filled with a haunting familiarity. in his hand, he
clutched a tattered, teddy bear, one arm, missing My blood froze,
as I flipped the picture over reading words, scrawled roughly
across the back. He stayed, you didn't heart
pounding, I shoved the photo into the fireplace hands,
shaking violently Flames, curled around it, hungrily paper
blackening, swiftly. As the image crumbled into ash
from behind me, came a faint. Sound drifting, from my kitchen
speaker, coughing raw, and tortured identical to the
static-filled transmission on Black Ridge.
I spun around staring at the dark and speakers.
It was off unplugged yet. The coffee can continue echoing
softly through my home. Impossibly familiar impossibly
real. I've been leading groups into
abandoned places for nearly 10 years now.
Fort de la chartreuse outside of liege.
Belgium has always been my favorite It's a sprawling Maze
of brick, tunnels and cold rooms that saw heavy use during World
War Two. The occupying German forces.
Supposedly used parts of it for interrogations and detainment
though. No official records were kept.
Now, the fort lies abandoned and boarded up overgrown forgotten,
except by Urban, explorers and local Scouts staring enough to
sneak in after dark. Tonight was one of those
excursions. We had our rules strict silence,
total darkness, The road running, alongside the fort wall
was busy enough, that headlights passed off, often forcing us to
climb quietly in swiftly. We'd anchored ropes at a sheer
wall months early earlier barely noticeable from the street.
I went in first as usual slipping silently into the Ford
ahead of everyone else, finding my assigned spot deep inside the
tunnels. My job was simple.
Wait, silently at a narrow Junction, directing explorers
toward the main path. If they hesitated or got turned
around, Once inside the fort, everything shifted the air was
always precisely 57 degrees Fahrenheit, no matter the
season. And though the road was closed,
not even the rumble of trucks penetrated these walls, It was
like, entering a vacuum. Utter Stillness, that pressed
against your eardrums. There was a constant Breeze,
slight, but noticeable. Moving through the tunnels in
gentle pulses, almost rhythmic like, slow breathing.
I squeezed into my spot a small recessed, Alcove cut into the
brickwork and waited. It was Pitch Black.
No flash lights permitted, only touch and sound.
Even after all these years, the place still unsettled me.
The tunnels were narrow. Tightened enough that I had to
tilt. My shoulders sideways in some
passages. Sound bounced strangely here.
Footsteps seemed to Echo behind rather than a head.
The acoustic tricking you into believing, you were being
followed. You'd stop.
And for a second, there would always be one extra step.
A lingering Echo that unsettled everyone.
It must have been at least half an hour of Silent waiting.
When I first saw the faint glow down the corridor I frowned
somebody had broken the rule matches maybe or a tiny lighter.
The dim flicker, bobbed gently rhythmic, like someone slowly
pacing. But as I watched it approach, I
realized something strange. There were no footsteps.
None at all. Just that wavering light moving
smoothly down the hallway. Impossibly silent. it drew
closer closer, and then without warning the light blinked out,
Complete darkness returned. I shifted uneasily, feeling a
trickle of cold sweat, slide down my spine.
The hall way, felt colder, empty or somehow despite knowing
rationally, it couldn't have changed temperature, but my
nerves were getting to me. I took a quiet breath to steady
myself. that's when I felt it, a sudden slight warmth against my
face, humid and humans a moist breathe in the otherwise dry
tunnel are I froze, completely my muscles locking there was
something directly in front of me, I could smell it.
A faint scent of sweat damp Earth, and old fabric familiar
and yet horribly out of place, whoever or whatever.
Stood there had stopped breathing, it knew I was there.
My own breath trapped painful in my chest.
As we both stood utterly still neither staring to move.
My pulse throbbed in my temples deafening in the silence.
I strained. My ears desperately for some
clue of movement. A shifting weight, a scrape, a
breath. Nothing.
Only silence and the suffocating closeness of the tunnel.
Minutes passed like hours my lungs.
Beginning to burn. Finally, just as my chest
spasmed for are the warmth slowly receded.
I exhaled silently shuttering and relief trying to convince
myself at it. Only been a trick of my nerves
or imagination but I knew better.
The air shifted again, the faint Breeze returning to brush gently
across my face. A minute later.
A faint light again. Appeared this time moving off
toward the right disappearing. Into another tunnel Passage Then
Darkness. Reclaimed the space once more.
I was still trying to call myself when I heard familiar,
heavy boots coming from the left passage finally signaling.
The first of our explorers, he walked briskly confident in the
dark. As he approached, I stepped
forward. Slightly Whispering
instructions, guiding him toward the proper Corridor.
Before he left though, curiosity compelled me to quietly asked a
single question. Who was first inside tonight, I
murmured already half. Knowing the answer, he paused
briefly his voice hushed but certain no one.
I was the first one in. My blood went cold, the
certainty of his words chilling, me deeper than the constant
oppressive, cold of Fort de la chartreuse.
He moved on quietly into the dark.
Leaving me alone. Again, waiting for the others
with the unbearable sensation of eyes on me.
Unseen yet, presence, somewhere. Deep within the tunnels, After
that encounter in the narrow passage, I tried to dismiss it.
My heart was still beating too fast and each careful.
Step echoed louder in my ears than before.
Maybe it was just paranoia or perhaps sensory confusion from
the dark regardless. I didn't have the luxury to
dwell on it. Not here, deep beneath Fort De
Los Charros guiding the rest of the group forward. we regrouped
in what we call called the chapel It wasn't a real Chapel,
just a vaulted chamber with a collapsed.
Ceiling exposing patches of the night sky, and scattering faint
Moonlight on moss covered ruble. The others were arriving in
small clusters Whispering nervously.
Some laughing off the adrenaline others tents in silent.
I decided to briefly mention what happened, just in case
someone else had seen or heard something similar when I did a
few laughed quietly. Assuming it was some trick of
the census. But a few faces tightened eyes.
Flicking, nervously around the shadow chamber.
I didn't push further. The dark played games after all
and even seasoned explorers could become unnerved down here.
Then Selene one of the newer explorers stopped forward.
Her voice was low cautious. There's something.
I found she whispered a tunnel just off the West Corridor.
It looked old but I don't think we've ever seen it before.
I frowned I knew every passage in this fort or thought I did
yet. I couldn't place the tunnel.
She described The group murmured quietly curiosity tinged with
caution. We agreed hesitantly, to check
it out. She let us down a familiar path
until we reached a collapsed brick wall.
Rubble, partly cleared away exposing a cramped opening Into
Darkness. One by one, we squeezed through
inside the air was colder. Staler pressing down heavily on
my shoulders. The tunnel was low in narrow
line with bricks now slick with condensation.
I ran my fingertips along them catching something rough and
Jagged. We stopped to examine the walls
names. Dozens of names etched crudely
into the brickwork alongside numbers prisoner IDs, perhaps.
German names dated from 1943 and 1944.
The fort had always carried rumors of prisoners held during
the occupation, but this was the first tangible proof I'd ever
seen. Theo stepped up beside me,
tracing a finger along the wall. His voice shook slightly, my
family names here, he said quietly pointing to a faded
carving, my grandfather was in the resistance, he was captured
held somewhere in liege before escaping a chill crawled over my
skin. I tried not to think too deeply
about what that meant But as I looked further along, something
caught my eye fresh marks, clearly recent not softened by
dust or age leaning close. I deciphered them easily heart
tightening, painful in my chest. What is the light?
The scratches were frantic uneven almost desperate before I
could speak annoys echoed down. The passage a steady rhythmic
thought of heavy Boots. The group froze instantly.
I showed my flash light beamed down the tunnel and stink of Lee
revealing only empty Darkness The footsteps continued growing
louder, but there was nobody visible, no shape emerging from
the blackness. Then the beam flickered and went
out in sudden Darkness again, Panic began Rippling quietly
through the group. Selene was breathing fast
Whispering something fearful to the others.
Theo gripped. My arm tightly holding his
breath. Then we heard something else.
A faint. Steady breathing.
It sounded as if someone stood directly behind us a breath.
Damp and audible yet when I turned, I felt only empty space
and cold are the OLED urgently at my sleeve.
Guiding me back toward the chapel, we stumbled through the
narrow opening, trying not to run outright behind us.
The breathing faded but not entirely it lingered, quietly,
present following, just at the edge of hearing.
When we finally emerged back in to the chapel, I bent over
trying to regain composure. That was when I noticed
something new, a weather notebook lying on the ruble
clearly old. But somehow Untouched by the
moisture or mold covering everything else Theo hesitated
before picking it up turning carefully through brittle Pages
until he reached the last written entry dated April 1944.
He signed a small penlight on The Faded handwriting and began
quietly. Reading it.
No longer needs light to see it moves with memory.
It follows breath. Theo looked up at me slowly eyes
wide and horror. The sound of footsteps returned,
slow steady purposeful moving through the darkness towards us.
My pulse thundered in my ears as the footsteps Drew closer.
They echoed through the chapel deliberate and steady.
The others began Whispering frantically, but I raised my
hand sharply signaling. Absolute silence every sound
mattered. Now, every breath counted, I
motioned quickly toward the exit passage and we moved as one
stumbling carefully through the darkness.
The tunnel leading to our rope and climbing gear seemed endless
this time. The walls closing in tighter
than before brushing harshly against my shoulders.
When we finally reached the base of the wall, where we left our
equipment, I felt blindly for the Rope, my stomach turning
cold, when my fingers grasped, only empty air I checked again,
then again, heart hammering, nothing.
The Rope was gone. I whispered to Theo, and saline.
Urgently asking if either had seen or taken the Rope down or
early. Both shook their heads Breathing
heavily and panic. We were trapped a faint
metallic. Scraping sound echoed from
somewhere, deep in the tunnels behind us.
It was moving closer, I recalled, an old rumor about a
collapsed artillery passage at the back of the fort that led
toward the rail line. We'd never verified it.
But now there was no choice. There's another way out.
I whispered hoarsely, follow me and stay quiet.
We moved slowly cautiously deeper into the fort guided only
by fingertips tracing along damp bricks.
The Familiar, gentle breeze faded away entirely, as we
pushed deeper replaced by thick oppressive Stillness.
The air felt stagnant suffocating heavy enough to slow
each step. We paused occasionally, holding
our breath, listening carefully. Every single time, one extra
footstep seemed to Echo quietly behind us.
After one, stop by heard saline whispering in panic.
Did you hear breathing? I froze straining.
My ears. There, it was again a quiet
rhythmic breathing sound wet and warm uncomfortably close.
Every nerve in my body, screamed in fear, mussels Ridgid afraid
to even exhale, then suddenly saline gasped sharply and a
sudden Shuffle of movement echoed in the darkness beside me
Celine. Theo whispered desperately
silence. Nothing replied.
Celine was gone. Simply taking pulled silently
Into Darkness. We hurried on Hearts racing
hardly daring to breathe every shallow gasp painfully loud.
Theo was shaking beside me, his hand, trembling uncontrollably.
I felt my chest. Tightening the urge to breathe
deeply overwhelming, almost unbearable.
Each time, one of us inhaled loudly the faint footsteps
behind grew closer, as we reached a tight Bend in the
corridor Theo faltered, his breathing had become ragged
punctuated by quiet fearful Saabs.
I turned quickly trying to steady him but just as my hand
reached, his shoulder, something shifted abruptly beside us, the
O's breath caught harshly and then he disappeared torn from my
grips. So, swiftly that I stumbled
forward into empty, are I held my breath body?
Ridgid muscles screaming with tension.
Listening desperately for Theo. Silence then horrifyingly close.
Slow careful, breathing returned, brushing warm air
across my neck. My skin crawled violently I bit
down on my tongue to stifle a scream tasting blood carefully
inch by inch. I backed toward the passage,
holding my breath tightly in my chest.
Step by agonizing step. I navigated blindly forward.
Every second a battle against my body's desperate need for
oxygen. My head, spun from lack of air
lungs, burning painfully. Finally, the tunnel turned
sharply and I felt cool night air rush against my face from
somewhere ahead. In sheer desperation.
I pushed forward. Blindly shoulders scraping
against Jagged bricks, ignoring the pain lungs about to burst.
My hands grasped at moss covered Stone and suddenly I was out
collapsing onto damp grass beneath an Open Sky.
The are flooded. My lungs, painfully sharp and
cold. Gasping shivering
uncontrollably. I twisted around staring
wide-eyed. Back at the dark opening from
which I had emerged. Nothing followed me.
The tunnel, sat quiet, empty black as a grave.
Days later, I returned with a small team during daylight.
I'd contacted local authorities, insisting they investigate and
close off the dangerous sections of the fort.
As we moved slowly through the tunnels again.
The beams of our flash lights, revealed familiar corridors.
Now strangely harmless under the glow of bright LED bulbs.
When we reach the chapel, my heart skipped sharply on the
wall near where we had discovered the old notebook was
a fresh carving. It stood out clearly against the
older scratches deep and Jagged the edges rough with brick dust
I still breathe below it, scratched faintly, almost
gently. I read my own full name.
I've spent more of my life underground than I'd like to
admit. It started as a, Teenage dare
exploring, drainage tunnels abandoned mines and the
Forgotten corridors beneath our quiet town in northern
Pennsylvania. My friends, Trevor and Zeke were
always with me addicted to the Russia of squeezing, through
tight spaces, and the strange Allure of places.
No one was ever meant to see, but over the years, adult hood
happened and our Expeditions became rare.
Jaws families, responsibilities life, pulled us apart.
It was Trevor who suggested one last exploration.
A final nostalgic crawl. He mentioned a drain pipe.
He'd spotted a couple years ago in Wildcat Hollow a remote
forested area near Tioga State Forest.
It had been poking out of a steep Hillside partially hidden
by trees and bushes, forgotten and rusted.
Curiosity reignited. The fire and we quickly agreed.
The forest around Wildcat Hollow felt thicker than usual as we
hiked in. It was late after noon with
sunlight filtering, weekly through a dense canopy.
Moss covered Stones lined, the ground and the air carried that
familiar damp earthy smell. We knew all too well.
Finally, Trevor pointed ahead, I squinted to see a dull, glint of
corrugated metal half buried in cloaked in Vines.
This has to be it, Trevor said clearing brush aside.
Zeke looked hesitant but noted, we unpacked our headlamps and
tested them. The beams flickered.
Weakly in the daylight hardly comforting.
Then one by one, we crawled inside the pipe was narrower
than it looked. My elbows scraped Against The
Rusted walls as I crawled on hands and knees.
Immediately, the temperature dropped, the are heavy and
stale. Within a few dozen feet daylight
had entirely vanished behind us. We were submerged in complete
darkness, except for the thin cones of our lamps, Illuminating
bits of rust, Grimes and cobwebs.
How far does this go Zeke whispered his voice echoing
weirdly about 600 feet to a junction.
Trevor answered quietly leading us deeper.
I tried to focus only on the rhythm of crawling ignoring how
tight and oppressive the walls felt around me.
We pressed on in silence, breathes loud and shallow in the
enclosed space. The pipes seemed to narrow
gradually pushing down on my shoulders squeezing, until my
heart pounded. Claustrophobia was always there,
lurking, but something fell totally off this time.
More than usual anxiety deeper. Finally after what seemed like
forever, we Spilled Out into a larger concrete room, a junction
Point, typical of storm drains. Circular walls.
Stretched upward to a rusted manhole cover far above
dripping, water forming puddles on the floor.
I inhaled deeply relieved to stretch out and turns slowly
Illuminating three smaller pipes, branching off.
Looks like we've got options. Trevor said, nervously.
One pipe was marked with a faded splash of red paint probably
left by a maintenance crew decades ago.
Another looked partially collapsed.
The third was small but open just barely wide enough to
Slither through on your stomach Zeke died at wearily.
I'm not sure Zeke started. Come on Zeke Trevor laughed
softly forcing enthusiasm. We used to do way worse than
this. Zeke hesitated, then sighed
giving in Fine, I'll leave this one but if it gets any tighter
I'm turning around. Deal.
I whispered back those, something about the pipe
unsettled me a black tunnel impossibly Niro.
Zeke went first sliding onto his stomach.
Trevor followed, then me within moments, the oppressive weight
of concrete, surrounded me again closer than ever each breath,
tasted stale mingling with rust in moisture.
My elbows scraped painfully against gritty concrete, but I
kept crawling feeling trapped by my own choice.
We made slope progress until Zeke suddenly stopped.
There's something here. He called back voice.
Echoing strangely. Blocking the pipe.
I, I think it's a dead animal. Can you get past it?
Trevor urged. Impatiently, we can't exactly
turn around. Here I heard Zeke breathing
quicker. Shallow, gasps of disgust.
Oh God, I don't know. It feels gross.
Warm. Warm, my stomach churned.
Just go over it quickly Zeke, he groaned wretched, quietly.
Fine fine. I heard scraping as he crawled
over his voice. Panicky.
Oh God, it's all over me. Hurry up my heart pounded, as I
moved forward in the dim circle of my lamp, I saw it a dark
shapeless lump, filling half the pipe, my stomach clenched.
As my body brushed against it, I felt a sickening, warmth.
My fingers sinking slightly into the mass for like and slimy.
The smell hit me next. Like rotten meat mixed with
chemicals. Burning my throat.
I fought the urge to vomit and forced myself quickly over the
foul obstacle. Trevor cursed, softly behind me.
What the hell is that? I don't know, I said weakly
maybe a trapped raccoon or something that thing didn't feel
like a raccoon Trevor whispered harshly.
Jesus Just keep moving Zeke. Pleaded ahead voice thin and
shaky we pressed forward deeper into the cramped darkness.
My mind raced something wasn't right dead animals were common
underground but this felt different.
It felt wrong Zeke. Suddenly paused again, voice,
trembling guys. Something's up ahead.
It it smells worse. Like something died down here.
I see a shape a body. Maybe my blood ran cold, Trevor
began to whisper rapidly terrified, we should turn back
now. Zeke gagged violently ahead,
it's too close. I can't, I can't move any
closer. I need out.
Now, the pipe felt impossibly small trapping Us in darkness
with that horrible smell, whatever.
Lay ahead wasn't something. We wanted to see Panic searched
through me back out. I said, urgently fighting the
desperation in my voice, we're done.
No one argued. We scrambled backward clumsily
feeling trapped and vulnerable. As we passed the lump again, my
lamp caught, its wet surface reflecting dark.
Crimson mixed with clumps of black fur.
My stomach turned violently I hurried past certain it moved
slightly under my touch know, it was just nerves.
We reached the junction room again and climbed frantically
back toward the original entrance Pike squeezing
desperately toward daylight. Sunlight poured through the
opening, as we crawled out coughing and shaking covered in
that foul Darkness. Never again, Zeke gasped,
peeling off his shirt, bloody residue clung to his skin, thick
and foul-smelling. I stared at my own trembling
hands. Agreed.
We knew better now, some things were better left, buried deep
underground. We stood for a while, in the
clearing outside, the pipe shaking breathing fresh air like
we'd forgotten how good it felt. The laid afternoon sun was a
welcome shock after the suffocating Darkness.
I tried to convince myself. It was just a dead raccoon,
something ordinary and explainable, but my gut wouldn't
accept it. Whatever, we had crawled over in
that tunnel, wasn't anything natural.
Trevor rubbed, his palms against his jeans, pacing anxiously.
Zeke's face was pale eyes wide with something close to shock.
What the hell was that? Trevor, finally broke the
silence voice shaking. He peeled off his jacket
revealing streaks of Blackish red, sludge smeared along his
arms. The same muck covered my own
clothing making my stomach Twist Again.
Maybe just an animal caught down there.
Zeke muttered sounding unconvinced himself.
I glanced at the narrow pipe. Entrance animals, don't usually
feel warm like that and the smell it was wrong.
Trevor grimmest looking at his hands I need to get this off me.
We moved quickly down toward a stream nearby, trying to scrub
off the grime. The water turned a rusty, oily
read as it washed over our skin. Zeke was quiet, his breath
shallow and shaky. We should leave.
He whispered forget this ever happened.
I agreed silently. But Trevor hesitated looking
back toward the pipe entrance. We never turned away before he
said quietly. This is supposed to be our last
run. Are we really going to let it
end like this, Zeke? Stared at him?
In disbelief? You didn't feel what I felt.
You didn't see that thing ahead. It looked like like a body.
But worse. Trevor clenched his jaw, maybe
your eyes were playing tricks. We can't leave without knowing I
heard myself say, surprising even myself.
The need to confirm, what lay ahead was suddenly powerful it
nod, at my rational thoughts. We need to be sure Zeke looked
at me sharply fear mixed with disbelief but Trevor nodded
slowly. We go back.
We see clearly. What's down there?
Then we're done forever. Zeke looked between us hesitant
before reluctantly agreeing. The Dread in my gut deepened, as
we approach the pipe again. We squeezed back inside the
tunnel colder, this time are thicker.
It was harder now knowing what weighted ahead still, we crawled
forward our breathing rapid and ragged when we reached the
junction room again the dripping water, echoed louder, the space,
darker somehow. Zeke stared silently at the
narrow pipe ahead visibly shaking but he crawled forward.
Again, driven more by Grim determination than curiosity.
Now, I followed feeling trapped once more.
The darkness pressing from all sides, after several long
minutes, Zeke froze, Whispering back urgently Smells worse.
God, it's awful. I can't breathe.
We were close enough now that I smelled it too.
A putrid, odor thick with Decay chemical like and burning my
throat. Nausea gripped me instantly See
it clearly Zeke kissed. Barely Audible There's something
sitting up ahead against the wall.
It looks. Human.
Are you sure Trevor whispered frantically behind me?
Yes, but the arms are too long Twisted.
Weirdly it's slumped like it's dead.
Zeke's voice was panicked. Now, higher pitched strained.
We have to get out. Now, I felt Frozen.
Trapped between Trevor blocking the way back and zika head Panic
rising in my chest. I strained to see beyond Zeke's
silhouette. My weak headlamp Illuminating,
just enough of the shape ahead. It was slumped against the
tunnel wall, clearly humanoid but the limbs were distorted
overly thin and extended. The figures skin glistened,
wetly under our lights slick and strangely reflective.
The pool beneath it was thick dark and shimmering like oil.
My stomach lurched again as the smell intensified go back I urge
quietly. Now we began scrambling backward
and clumsy terrified births, the tight pipe making movement
difficult. My heart hammered painfully.
Trevor cursed rapidly behind me, breathe shallow.
I could hear Zeke Whispering urgently to himself words,
unintelligible. As we reach the mass, again the
thing we had crawled over I paused instinctively.
My beam flickered over it. Once more, my breath caught
sharply, its surface quivered slightly.
Something shifting just beneath the blackened matted fur, I
pressed against the pipe wall, trying desperately, not to touch
it again, but the tunnel was too tight.
And I felt the sickening sensation of my chest brushing
against its warm. Twitching surface, a quiet wet
sound emerged from it, a rasping guttal hiss, My pulse raced as
panics. Surged through me move faster, I
shouted voice raw with fear. We burst back into the junction
room and scrambled toward the exit pipe climbing awkwardly
toward daylight again. We emerged gasping choking and
sweating heavily into the fading sunlight.
No one spoke for a moment as we lay on the ground shivering
uncontrollably. That wasn't human Zeke.
Finally whispered voice Hollow and strained.
It wasn't animal either. Trevor stared blankly ahead.
Visibly trembling I saw it move. The thing on the floor.
It moved, didn't it? I nodded slowly eyes fixed on
the dark pipe entrance. Now, a gaping hole of dread
Yeah, it did. We stood silently The Fading
daylight bringing fresh Terror rather than Comfort.
None of us knew what we Disturbed, what had lurked
quietly Underground. But as we turned away from
Wildcat Hollow, one thing was clear.
Some places weren't meant to be explored, and some things were
better left hidden forever. Sleep didn't come easily after
Wildcat Hollow. Every night I tossed restlessly
haunted by the memory of that tunnel replaying.
The sensation of crawling over something that moved something,
warm fleshy and alien. My dreams Twisted into Vivid
nightmares, dark corridors, muffled breathing, and those
distorted limbs. We had glimpsed in the shadows.
I'd wake soaked in sweat, gasping, and panic convinced
that foul odor. Lingard faintly in my room days
passed, but the anxiety didn't fade.
Then about a week after the incident, I got a frantic call
from Zeke. I'm sick, man, he whispered over
the phone voice, shaking, really sick, rash all over my body
burning like hell. He went to the doctor.
I asked my stomach tightening uneasily, they're running tests,
some kind of chemical exposure infection.
No one knows yet. Trevor Has it too, but not as
bad. His voice.
Faltered, do you have anything I glanced at my arms and chest
reflectively, noticing nothing yet, but suddenly feeling itchy
paranoid not yet. Maybe it's because you guys
touched it. First God, I hope so Zeke
murmured. Stay safe.
Whatever that thing was. It wasn't right?
I hung up anxiety. Thickening inside me.
The next day, Trevor messaged about nightmares of his own
visions of crawling through tunnels that narrowed until the
walls pressed tight and something.
Faceless dragged itself toward him through the dark My own
nightmares intensified filled with Whispers and scratching
noises I couldn't escape. After days of trying to ignore
it, curiosity won out. I decided to dig deeper
desperate for some kind of explanation.
My searches turned up, vague references to construction
projects around Tioga State Forest in the early 1970s.
I found old articles describing abandoned developments housing,
projects abruptly halted due to unspecified complications
contractors had fled. The site reports said mentioning
underground issues hazards, the county quietly buried, no
specifics, only hints of problems beneath Wildcat Hollow.
The Dread in me deepened was this connected to what we'd
found one evening. Unable to shake my obsessive
thoughts, I unpacked my gear to clean it properly determined to
erase every last trace of that place.
As I scrubbed my knee. Pads under warm water.
Something caught my eye. Dark strands Tangled in the
velcro straps. I carefully.
Plucked them free holding them up to the light.
The strands were thick, coarse and strangely translucent, like
insect hairs. Nausea turned again in my gut.
They didn't belong to any animal, I knew Disturbed, I
sealed the strands in a plastic bag, then immediately threw it
in the trash washing. My hands until they were Raw.
A few days later Zeke texted out of the hospital.
Rash cleared but doctors have no idea what caused it never Going
Underground again. Trevor agreed exhausted by
sleepless nights and a lingering dread that neither of us could
shake yet. Despite our vows I felt drawn
back to Wildcat Hollow one. Last look to reassure myself
that nothing had followed us out.
I returned alone, anxiety, spiking with every step closer
to the pipe. As I approached, I saw that
nature was reclaiming, the hillside Vines and Roots had
partially hidden the entrance. The pipe itself looked like it
had partially collapsed inward Twisted by some unseen Force.
I stood there heart pounding scanning the surroundings.
Near the entrance beneath thick Moss.
Something caught my eye, a rusted metal sign, partially
obscured by vegetation hesitantly.
I brushed away the Moss and stared at The Faded words,
stamped into the metal. Sub drained 4B biological
isolation Zone. Do not disturb my blood froze.
Biological isolation isolation from what from whom.
My mind flashed back to the warm twitching Mass.
We'd crawled over whatever. It was someone had known about
it. Someone who buried the secret
deep underground decades ago. Hoping it would never surface.
I stepped back feeling a deep, chill sink into my bones.
As I turned to leave something stirred behind the pipe opening
a faint, wet. Russell I didn't dare look back
Panic, surged through me and I hurried away faster, and faster,
driven by a primal instinct to flee, from whatever still
lingered there, when I reached my car breath ragged, I knew
with absolute certainty. I had never returned.
Some things were never meant to be disturbed, never meant to see
daylight while Wildcat Hollow had shown me the cost of
curiosity, the horrifying truth that some secrets were buried
for a reason. As a glaciologist, my fieldwork
often took me to the most isolated and harsh, Landscapes
Iceland had to offer. That September my assignment
brought me to langanes a remote Windswept Peninsula.
Stretching into the Arctic Ocean, like a weather finger
pointing to nowhere. The nearest paved Road was 10
kilometers away. Civilization, even farther.
My home for weeks, had been a modified Land Rover Defender,
crammed with field equipment dried meals and topographical
maps. Most of my days were consumed
with trudging through cold, sodden terrain, taking
measurements, and documenting erosion patterns along, the
coastline. One particularly gray afternoon
while referencing an outdated survey map.
I spotted something unusual, a tiny rectangular marker, labeled
simply Farm curious and mildly bored.
I decided to investigate after nearly an hour's hike through
Misty, bogland, and brittle Moss, The Farmhouse appeared,
small and Stark perched. Atop a bluff.
Overlooking, the LED colored sea, the wooden exterior had
weathered to a dull gray, paint long since peeled away by
Relentless. Northern winds.
The structure looked abandoned forgotten by time but despite
its obvious age, it was strangely intact without the
typical signs of vandalism or graffiti that often marred
remote buildings. I approached cautiously my boots
crunching through coarse grass and sheep bones.
Bleached white by years in the sun, The Farmhouse is silent
seemed absolute. As I reached the front door, a
mild unease settled in my gut, a familiar sense of vulnerability
that comes from being utterly alone in the wilderness inside
the air, felt heavy cold and stale The interior was sparse
old wooden furniture, Dusty, floors and pale.
Walls. Bear saved for a faded.
Homemade poster taped above a rusty stove, Squinting in the
dimness. I read the text.
Family gathering 1982. Beside the stove, lay, a pile of
sheep ear tags, yellowed, and brittle relics of a forgotten
past. The kitchen smelled.
Faintly of mold in Sea, Cole intrigued by The Peculiar
preservation. I began taking photographs
documenting, the strangest assortment of household, items
left behind a kettle. A chair with a broken leg and a
framed family photo in the Stillness.
Each camera, click echoed softly breaking the quiet like stones
thrown into Stillwater. I eventually turned toward the
narrow staircase tucked into the corner of the main room.
Dust covered the steps thickly undisturbed for decades.
As I placed my foot on the first step the wood, grown beneath me,
startlingly loud Against The house's.
Deep silence. I hesitated holding my breath
listening intently, nothing convincing myself.
It was just the Aging. Would I moved up another step
carefully. This time, another Creek deeper
more resonant. Echoed from above I paused
again, heart rate picking up slightly.
Suddenly, clearly and deliberately, I heard footsteps.
Slow, heavy steps pacing. Across the floorboards directly
above me. I stood Frozen my rational, mind
frantically trying to explain away the sounds.
It was impossible that anyone else was here.
I was utterly alone miles from another living soul.
Yet, there they were. Unmistakably human footsteps,
then came a loud. Thud forceful enough to vibrate
through the ceiling and down my spine.
My instincts took over rational, thought abandoned me replaced,
by raw Primal Fear. I spun around leaping down the
stairs in two strides, nearly tripping, as adrenaline, surged
through my veins. Bursting out the front door into
the cold afternoon, are I ran without looking back, legs
pounding through moss, and Mars until my lungs burned and I
finally reached the defender, I threw myself inside locked, the
doors and sat panting watching the distant Farmhouse through
the windshield. It stood silent and still
offering no answers. When I finally calmed enough to
inspect my camera's, photographs my fingers trembled.
Flicking through images, I paused at the last picture
taken, just before I ascended, the stairs.
At the very top of the staircase blurred yet, unmistakably
present was a dark silhouette. Someone or something had been
watching me. I spent a restless night parked
far from The Farmhouse wrapped in my sleeping bag inside the
defender. The rhythmic drumming of rain in
the shrill whistle of wind battered against the vehicles
roof, keeping sleep distant and uneasy.
By morning, the storm had subsided, but the cold persisted
creeping through the gaps in the windows.
Shivering. I tried turning the key in the
ignition desperate to move farther away from that place.
But the engine only sputtered helplessly refusing to start.
My frustration mounted with each failed attempt accompanied by
the sinking realization that without cell service and miles
from civilization, I had few options after half an hour of
futile efforts, I resigned myself to the Grim reality I
needed supplies to attempt repairs.
Tools wiring, anything salvageable from that.
Abandoned Farmhouse would be better than nothing.
Every rational part of me protested, the idea of returning
yet, desperation made it impossible to ignore.
Stealing myself against lingering, anxiety.
I trudged back through the damp cold landscape toward the
farmhouse. My boots squelched loudly
through the waterlogged Earth and with each step closer
tension tightened in my chest. As the structure reappeared
through the Mist, it felt more forbidding than, before cold, or
somehow, though, the temperature hadn't changed.
Its dark Windows reflected nothing but Grace Skies
revealing no hint of what weighted inside.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped. Once again, through the creaking
front door inside the chill bit deeper than before seeping into
my bones, the air had grown heavy with moisture overnight
and the faint metallic scent. That I had noticed yesterday.
Was now, stronger mingling unsettlingly with the smell of
mold and decay. I moved toward the staircase
again, eyes. Darting between Shadows.
I knew the Upper Floor would be my best chance at finding spare
wiring or scrap metal. On the second floor, my flash
light illuminated, several small, rooms empty except for
scattered debris and Dusty sheets draped over broken
furniture. In one room, burn marks form
strange, spiraling patterns, on the walls Stark and deliberate.
I moved on quickly suppressing the discomfort growing in my
gut. In the hallway, peeling
wallpaper caught my attention. Beneath The Faded paper deep,
carvings marred. The wooden planks etched crudely
in circular designs and overlapping spirals.
The gouges looked frantic almost obsessive.
Nearby. The largest bedroom had walls
darkened with charcoal scribblings.
Repeated phrases scrolled. Hastily They are in the Attic,
he watches at night. My pulse quickened and my throat
tightened. The cryptic phrases Amplified
the unease I'd tried to suppress.
I moved backward into the Hall. Glancing upward instinctively.
That's when I noticed the attic hatch in the ceiling slightly.
Ajar Aero gap of Darkness, yawned open.
And I felt certain it had been shut when I fled the previous
afternoon. As I stood staring Paralyzed by
dread and uncertainty, I heard it again.
The low dragging scuffle directly above me.
A heartbeat later. Another heavy deliberate thud
shook, the ceiling boards. Sending dust drifting slowly
down into the beam of my flashlight, panics surged.
I spun toward the staircase, determined to escape before,
whatever, was up there decided to come down, but as I reached
the stairs, my feet froze, the wooden steps.
Previously. Thick with undisturbed dust were
now covered in Fresh Tracks. Barefoot prints smeared in mud,
descended step by step toward the lower floor, the prints were
too large to belong to a child. The souls brought in flat each
one, perfectly formed. they ended abruptly at the base of
the stairs, as if whoever had left them, simply vanished or
stood waiting unseen Heart hammering in my chest.
I edged forward fighting the impulse to Sprint, wildly and
risk falling. Each step down the staircase.
Felt like a lifetime. My breath coming in Shallow
gasps as I scan the room below. Empty silent.
Yet charged with an oppressive sense of watchfulness.
Stepping onto the ground floor, I bolted for the door, stumbling
out onto the bluff. My eyes Rose involuntarily to
the Attic Window drawn by an unshakable feeling of being
observed. Behind the dirty glass, for a
brief terrible moment. I glimpsed movement, a shadow
shifting just out of sight. Turning Away sharply.
I ran back toward the vehicle without hesitation refusing to
glance back again. No longer caring about repairs
or Solutions. My only thought now was to get
as far away as possible from whatever lived unseen in the
dark spaces of that farmhouse. The storm returned and earnest.
Fierce gusts pelting, the defender with rain and salt
spray from the nearby ocean. For hours.
I sat huddled in the cold, periodically, turning the key.
Hoping the engine might finally sputtered a life.
It never did Darkness closed around me.
The oppressive Blackness broken only by the feeble glow of my
flashlight as temperatures dropped reality set in.
I was trapped exposed and rapidly losing options, despite
every fiber of my being urging me not to.
I Knew The Farmhouse was my best chance for shelter.
Gathering a few essentials Flash Light, extra batteries, water.
I force myself out into the wind whipped night and began the
agonizing Trek back to the house.
Each step felt heavier than the last and instinctive dread
building relentlessly inside my chest.
When I arrived the building loomed larger in the darkness
silhouetted against a low Cloud choked sky, Rain hammered
against its wooden walls. Filling the air with a
Relentless Roar. Stealing my nerves, I pushed
through the front door. Inside the cold was piercing
soaking into my clothes. Shadows stretched in every
direction. As my flashlight cast.
Trembling beams across the room. I hesitated near the staircase.
Remembering the muddy footprints in the Attic above My heart
pounded at the thought of climbing those stairs again.
But curiosity and fear had merged into a stubborn need for
answers. Slowly step by step, I ascended
census straining for any hint of sound. on the second floor, I
paused beneath the attic hatching my breath into slow
steady rhythms Reaching upward. I gripped the wooden panel and
tugged, it open the hatch, swung downward revealing, a pitch
black void above I shine my flash light upward Illuminating
narrow, wooden, Rafters and thick, beams Tangled with
cobwebs. Climbing carefully into the
attic. Crawl space.
I inhaled sharply. The beam of my flashlight.
Landed on something disturbing tucked away in the far Corner, a
small burned mattress blackened by soot in time.
Crouched down, I leaned forward for a closer look.
Resting a topic. Was a bundle wrapped tightly in
wool fabric and rusted, barbed wire a sinking dread filled my
gut gingerly, pulling the cloth away.
I recoiled sharply inside, lay a collection of charred bones
small brittle and undoubtedly human. my breath came in Rapid
shallow gasps as I backed away, accidentally kicking something,
solid A weather notebook. Lay half-hidden under the
mattress. Hands shaking.
I opened the pages. Damp, and mildewed.
The handwriting was difficult, but not impossible.
To decipher, I skimmed entries from someone named Thor.
Dated decades early. The earliest Pages described
mundane Farm life, but the tone soon, darkened, into Despair and
paranoia, I cannot leave. They refused to let me go.
I hear them Whispering from above.
I've burned them again and again, but they always return.
Feeding them has done nothing. They demand more.
A final page was a frantic scribble repeating a single
desperate line they never leave. I shut the notebook, sharply a
cold sweat tracing my spine. Suddenly I heard movement a
distinct unmistakable shifting from the darkest corner of the
attic. Just beyond my flashlight's
beam. Turning quickly my heart surged
into my throat as the attic hatch.
Slammed shut behind me with a violent crash.
I scrambled across the floorboards pulse roaring in my
ears hands desperately clawing at the hatch.
It wouldn't budge locked. Inexplicably tight from beneath
Then another sound reached me a low scraping movement growing
louder closer, fueled by pure panic.
I kicked at the hatch repeatedly each impact reverberating
through my bones. Finally, the woods splintered
cracking open enough for me to shove it aside.
Dropping through the Gap. I crashed onto the hallway.
Floor flash, light spinning away Into Darkness.
Stumbling to my feet. I sprinted Through The Farmhouse
without stopping pushing blindly through the front door, and into
the Furious storm, wind lashed at my face.
As I sprinted toward the distant Road, not daring a glance behind
After two days of wandering cold and nearly Delirious, I was
finally rescued by a road crew surveying storm damage.
Weeks Later. Back in Reykjavik, I attempted
to recover my photographs The files from inside.
The Farmhouse were corrupted blank.
Nothing, remained of my nightmarish encounter.
Obsessed with finding some explanation.
I posted on an Icelandic history Forum Days Later a local
historian replied with a chilling message.
That Farmhouse burned down completely in the mid-1980s,
only ruins remain, there is nothing, left standing on that
bluff. Unable to believe it.
I checked satellite images again and again the maps confirmed his
words, nothing was left but a weather Stone outline swallowed
by grass and wind. Yet in my dreams, I still see it
clearly that Farmhouse alone on the bluff and the dark Attic
Window. Staring silently back.
I've explored a lot of abandoned buildings over the years.
Warehouses, hospitals old factories, each place has its
own unique story to tell my friend, Markus and I love
photography and these forgotten spaces, often offer the perfect
backdrop. But when Marcus suggested, we
check out the old pekko Delaware station in Fishtown
Philadelphia. I hesitated I'd heard stories
about that place how massive and deteriorating it was with floors
partially submerged in murky water.
Still curiosity won out. It always does the Delaware
station loomed ahead of us as we approached from the rear.
Its brick walls, whether in scarred Windows shattered, like
the hollow eyes of a skull. The only entry point we found
was a heavy steel door. A gravel like slab, rusted, open
just wide enough to squeeze through sideways.
Marcus went first sliding his backpack through before
following grunting from the effort.
I slipped in right after inside the air was stale and thick
tinged with rust and decay. Our footsteps echoed loudly as
we moved cautiously into the cavernous space, the ground
littered with chunks of concrete and broken machinery.
Towering turbine housing, stood. Rusting along one wall.
Giant relics from another era. We took our time setting up
shots, capturing the peeling paint Twisted Metal.
Staircases and graffiti covered walls.
After about two hours of exploring and photographing, we
decided it was time to go. Dusk was approaching and the
fading light turned the building's Shadows into pools of
ink black darkness. We retraced our steps carefully.
Laughing quietly about how jumpy we'd both gotten inside this.
Eerie Relic. When we reached the heavy steel
door, Marcus suddenly stopped in his tracks, its closed.
He whispered urgently his voice tinged with anxiety, I pushed
past him staring at the door and disbelief.
Sure enough. It was locked sealed, shut with
a brand new padlock, that gleamed incongruously against
the rust. My heart rate picked up This
wasn't here when we came in. Marcus nudge me nervously, look
over there. I followed his gaze and saw a
white van parked quietly inside the building.
It definitely hadn't been there early the site of the vehicle.
Sent a chill straight through me.
Someone's here. Marcus muttered almost as if in
response allowed metallic. Clang, echoed through the
cavernous space. We both jumped the sound sharp
and ringing then silence heavy and oppressive descended again,
Marcus flicked on his flash light casting.
Frantic beams into the Shadows. Who's there he called
hesitantly? No answer.
Just another sharp clang rhythmic and deliberate. we
followed the unsettling noise through a maze of corridors
moving cautiously around corners and threw archways, Finally, our
beams caught sight of a figure hunched near a broken control
panel, repeatedly striking a rusted pipe with a small ball
peen hammer. I froze Marcus called out
hesitantly. Hey, excuse me.
Did you lock the door? The man stopped mid-swing.
He turned slowly toward us, revealing a gaunt, face pale and
grimy his eyes wide, and unsettling in the flash light
beam. His mouth curled into an odd
humorless grin. Yes, he said simply his voice
scratchy almost amused. I stepped forward.
Slightly struggling to sound calm.
Can you please unlock it? It's the only way out.
His smile faded abruptly, know he growled low and threatening
Marcus cleared his throat, his voice, trembling slightly look,
if you don't unlock it we'll call the police.
You can't just the man abruptly. Raise the hammer his knuckles
white from gripping it tightly you kids better leave this
building quick. He snarled the Menace in his
voice was undeniable fear exploded inside me without
another word Marcus. And I turned and ran blindly
back. The way we'd come the man's
chilling laughter. Echoing behind us.
We sprinted deeper into the building pulse hammering, in my
ears. Flash light beams darting
frantically around as we descended toward the pitch,
black partially flooded lower. Floors desperately hoping to
find another exit. The Shadows seemed to deepen
with every step and The Echoes of our footsteps.
Sounded louder sharper behind every corner.
I have expected to see him standing there, waiting with
that hammer race. Ready to strike.
We stumbled down the stairs. Breath ragged Hearts thumping,
painfully in our chests. Marcus's Flash, Light Beam
danced erratically, over rusted metal rails and stained concrete
walls leading us deeper into the building's belly.
Each turn took us further away from the man with the hammer
butt deeper into darkness and uncertainty.
My throat felt tight. My hands clammy.
Think he's following us. Marcus whispered, his voice
unsteady I listened intently pausing for just a moment.
The silence felt absolute broken only by the steady drip of water
somewhere ahead. I don't know.
I finally said but we need to keep moving.
We pressed on through corridors that gradually sloped downward
the are growing colder and more humid.
The floors beneath us, grew damp, slick with condensation
soon, shallow pools of water appeared collecting, and cracks
and uneven. Dips in the concrete Marcus,
shown his flash light down a long Corridor.
In swallowed hard, it's flooded ahead.
Lay a passage partially submerged in stagnant water.
A faint acrid smell hung in the air, making my stomach churn.
We hesitated glancing nervously behind us.
The way back was blocked. The only option was forward,
taking a deep breath. I stepped into the water
cringing as it filled my shoes and Rose swiftly to my ankles.
Markus followed reluctantly murmuring curses under his
breath. Each step stirred, the thick
muck beneath releasing a musty sulfurous odor.
My imagination ran wild. I tried not to think about what
might be lurking. Unseen beneath the murky surface
Something brushed my leg Marcus whispered, suddenly his voice
sharp with alarm. He froze, flashlight beam
wavering. It's probably nothing.
Just keep moving. I urge quietly fighting the urge
to panic ahead. A doorway led into a room
cluttered with ancient equipment now rusting and decayed.
Marcus's flashlight swept across the walls, revealing graffiti
intermingled with strange symbols.
I didn't recognize sharp lines circles and Jagged angles.
I'd seen plenty of tags before, but these marks felt intentional
and unsettling. Marcus stopped abruptly, his
flash light fixed on a cluster of small objects arranged neatly
atop an old metal table. I joined him staring down and
confusion. Spread across the surface were
very items while its cell phones car keys, a wristwatch, my
stomach Twisted on comfortably, Marcus picked up a cracked,
smartphone. Its screen flickered.
Weakly showing a missed call notification dated nearly two
years ago. These look like they belong to
someone he whispered hoarsely. I reached out and picked up a
mold covered backpack unzipping, it carefully.
Inside was a student ID. I wiped the grime from The Faded
picture, a smiling, young woman's face, stared back at me.
My breath caught in my throat, as recognition hit me.
I saw her on the news. I said quietly.
She went missing a couple years ago.
They never found her. Markus is eyes widened in
horror. We exchanged a silent Dreadful.
Look, both of us realizing simultaneously that these items
hadn't simply been lost. They had been taken A sudden
sound echoed through the hallway behind us, sharp and metallic.
The unmistakable clang of metal striking concrete, Marcus jerked
his flash like tore the door. We'd entered through his hand
shaking The sound came again closer.
This time, heavy footsteps, splashed through the flooded
Corridor behind us. Deliberate and Relentless Panic.
Surged through me, like electricity go.
Now I historian Lee, we bolted from the room, water, splashing
wildly around our legs. As we ran deeper into the
building, Marcus is Flash Light Beam bobbed chaotically
Illuminating shadowy corridors filled with debris and rusted
Machinery. My lungs burned with exertion
and fear the taste of panic bitter in my mouth, we rounded
another Corner. Then another before, reaching an
old rust, stained maintenance door set into the concrete wall.
Marcus grabbed the handle and pulled hard, but it didn't
budge. I pushed against the metal frame
with him muscles, straining desperately trying to force it
open Behind us the footstep slowed then stopped altogether.
A voice drifted from the darkness low and almost
whispering. You shouldn't have come this far
down. I felt my body sees with Terror
as Marcus and I pushed desperately Against The Rusted
door. It creaked agonizingly, slow
metal grinding against concrete. Finally, with one last
desperate, shove it grown to open into a pitch black tunnel
Beyond without hesitation, we slipped inside closing the heavy
door behind us. Hoping praying it would buy us
enough. Time to find another way out.
The tunnel stretched into pitch Darkness, the air thick with
mold and the lingering odor of decay.
My headlamp flickered, weekly. Barely Illuminating the narrow
concrete. Corridor ahead.
Marcus followed closely his breathing ragged each footstep.
Echoing sharply off the walls behind us.
The heavy metal door remained shut but I couldn't shake the
feeling that at any moment. It might swing open the old man
appearing with his hammer raised High.
We pressed forward, adrenaline, driving us on through twists and
turns that felt like a maze beneath the power plant.
Every few steps, I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting a
silhouette emerging from the Shadows.
Each time there was nothing, just darkness, swallowing the
beam of Marcus's flash, light ahead, the floor dipped suddenly
descending into a stairwell, littered with rusted debris and
chunks of concrete water, drips steadily from the ceiling
pooling, at the bottom of the steps forming a stagnant.
Filthy puddle Marcus's flash, light illuminated a hatch set
into the floor crusted with moss and corrosion.
It looked like it hadn't been opened in decades.
Helped me, Markus whispered urgently his voice trembling he
knelt beside the hatch gripping, The Rusted handle and pulling
with all his strength. I joined him fingers, slipping,
against the cold metal, desperation fueling, every
movement behind us came. A sound that made my blood
freeze, the slow wet, slap of bare feet, moving steadily
across the concrete. The footsteps sounded distorted
uneven. Nothing like the purposeful
stride of the man with the hammer Marcus froze.
Staring wide-eyed into the darkness behind us.
His flash light wavering on steadily.
What is that? He hissed voice breaking.
I don't want to find out, I said through clenched teeth, pulled
together, we strained, muscles, burning Panic growing, as the
footsteps, Drew closer Finally, the hatch gave way with a sudden
grading Screech, revealing another dark passage below.
Marcus dropped through immediately, Landing roughly on
damp, ground below. I followed pulling the hatch
closed behind us as quickly as I could.
We found ourselves in a partially collapsed loading
area. Rusted Machinery, lay strewn
about partially, buried, beneath piles of bricks and splintered
wood. The air here was fresher hinting
at Freedom nearby, Marcus pointed frantically toward a
sliver of fading daylight visible through a gap in the
collapsed wall. Over there.
We scrambled over Rubble. Scraping palms and shins on
Jagged metal and broken concrete desperate.
Now to reach the outside the Gap was narrow.
Barely large enough for us to squeeze through but we forced
ourselves through anyway jackets snagging skin tearing against
the sharp edges. Finally, we emerged gasping into
a dim weeked alley behind the power plant.
Cooler. Filled my lungs painfully sharp.
But incredibly welcome. Marcus bent over hands on his
knees, coughing violently. I leaned against the buildings,
crumbling exterior, breathing hard my entire body, shaking
with exhaustion and fear when I raise my eyes.
Again, my stomach sank across the alley parked facing toward
us, sat the same white van from inside the power plant.
Standing beside. It was the old man.
Hammer still in hand watching us silently his expression revealed
nothing? No anger, no urgency.
Only a chilling Stillness He didn't move forward, didn't call
out. He just watched us with those
cold unsettling eyes. Marcus straightens slowly
noticing him too. Without a word exchange, we
backed slowly Away, Eyes never leaving the figure at the van.
He made no attempt to follow, nor did he shift his stands?
he simply stood there, Hammer dangling, Loosely by his side
watching, as we stumbled backward into the fading,
Twilight We didn't stop moving until we reached the Main Street
illuminated by streetlights and passing cars.
Only then, did I realize how badly I was trembling.
Marcus looked pale. Shell shocked.
His eyes wide and haunted. Days Later, another friend of
ours, Jewels insisted on exploring, the plant himself,
after hearing our account. He emerged safely but mentioned
he'd seen the same man. Jules said, the old guy didn't
speak or chase him only followed quietly Hammer swinging Loosely
at his side, I reported everything to the police, but
they dismissed our account as just another exaggerated Urban
Explorer story. They didn't care didn't believe.
Not until a few weeks later when another name appeared on the
missing persons list. A teenager last seen near the
power plant Sometimes late at night.
I think about what we saw down there.
The scattered belongings, the strange symbols on the walls.
The figure that moved quietly behind us in the flooded halls,
and I wonder how long that man has been inside that building
and what else might still be lurking within its dark hidden
depths. It was laid after noon when we
finally reached Mulberry Mountain, far beyond the
well-worn paths of Ozark National Forest.
Tyler had insisted on leading us deep into the backcountry
promising Solitude away from the usual weekend, campers. the five
of us me Tyler Rachel Marcus and Jess set up camp in a small
clearing ringed by dense stands of white oak and Hickory The
trees pressed close their leafy canopy filtering sunlight into
muted streaks. Across the forest floor.
As we pitched. Our tents Marcus joked about
bears and mountain lions, but Rachel's eyes, flickered
nervously toward the shadowy woods.
I smiled reassuringly telling her.
It was all part of the adventure.
Still and odd tension hung in the air.
The kind you only notice in hindsight by the time, we'd
gather around the campfire, the sky had turned a deep orange,
the sun, dipping behind distant ridges, Jess pulled out her
phone snapping photos of our Silhouettes against the fading
light, that's when we first heard it, too.
Sharp whistles echoed faintly from the trees Christmas and
clear like someone calling their dog back home.
Tyler raised an eyebrow glancing around the circle.
Anyone else here that Marcus Shrugged probably another group
of campers nearby. Just leaned forward smirking.
Too quick. Whistles right?
Maybe it's Morse code. Dot dot.
They're trying to tell us something important, like
they're out of marshmallows. We laughed, but Rachel stayed
quiet. Eyes fixed uneasily on the
darkening Woods. The fire crackled low Sparks
drifting upward into the Gathering Darkness.
Tyler spoke up voice quieter than usual.
You know, I read some weird stuff online about this area.
Some hikers. Claimed people have disappeared
out here, east of Shores Lake toward Dunn.
Halo said something about it being bad ground.
Marcus, rolled his eyes. Come on, Tyler.
Those stories are just meant to scare tourists.
But Tyler didn't smile. He poked at the fire with a
stick causing Embers to swirl upward.
Just figured you guys should know I glanced at Rachel.
Her eyes had gone wide reflecting firelight as she
stared silently into the trees. Darkness settled fully bringing
with it. A dense oppressive silence
broken. Only by the occasional crackle
of firewood. I felt strangely exposed sitting
in that clearing ringed by trees whose trunks vanished into
endless shadow. Just before we turned in the
whistles came again, clearer this time.
Cutting through the night are like sharp blades.
Just tensed sitting up rigidly. Okay.
Seriously. That's closer, isn't it her
voice held an edge of unease? Tyler stood slowly flashlights
sweeping over the edges of the camp.
The beam illuminated nothing but empty Forest.
Rachel whispered, I don't think anyone else is out here.
Just grabbed her audio recorder determined to capture evidence
walking hesitantly toward the trees at the edge of camp.
We watched her slender figure blend Into Darkness, illuminated
only by her, dim Flash Light Beam.
She paused several yards out holding her recorder a loft.
Silence returned for a moment. The forest seeming to hold its
breath. Then clearly and distinctly from
somewhere, right behind Jess came too short piercing
whistles. She Whirled around flash light,
jerking wildly, through Shadows, voice cracking with panic, who's
there? Tyler and I sprinted over flash
lights. Slicing through the Gloom we
reached Jess. Who stood, trembling eyes wide
with disbelief. I swear to God.
She whispered urgently someone was standing right behind me.
We searched the immediate area beams casting Stark Shadows
across empty, underbrush and rough bark.
There was no sign of anyone having been there at all.
No Footprints, no broken Twigs. No disturbance of any kind,
Rachel pulled Jess close her voice shaking.
We should go back. Let's leave first thing
tomorrow. Tyler nodded grimly.
Yeah, we'll head east, catch that trail loop back toward the
car. We returned to Camp subdued and
weary the fire had burned Lowe leaving glowing Embers, that
cast faint uncertain light across our anxious faces.
As I crawled into my sleeping bag, I tried to push away the
unsettling image of Jess, Frozen in fear alone in the darkness, I
lay awake, listening, intently sometime around midnight
drifting into a Restless sleep. I swore I heard it again too
sharp whistles drifting softly through the trees closer than
before just be on the boundary of our camp at dawn.
We packed quickly driven by silent urgency to leave behind
the tension of the previous night.
The morning are felt colder sharper as we hiked East toward
White Rock Mountain. Tyler assured us.
This lesser known trail with lupus, back safely to our car,
but his voice carried on. Certainly, I hadn't heard
before. By late morning, the forest
thicken significantly, the trail grew narrow Fading Into patches
of weeds in Tangled underbrush. Occasionally.
We pass signs of old campsites. Rotting tarps, Tangled in brush
fire, pits scorched, black filled with leaves and debris.
These were normal campsites. They looked abandoned.
Hastily Left Behind as if someone fled Marcus stopped.
Crouching to inspect something half buried in dirt.
He lifted a rusted pocket knife its handle warped and melted as
if exposed to tremendous Heat. He turned it slowly in his
fingers, frowning deeply what would make something like this
Marcus asked his voice tight, Tyler didn't answer, he glanced
down at his map brows furrowed eyes shifting uneasily across
the forest. Rachel moved close to Jess
Whispering something reassuring, but unconvincing the woods
around us had grown silent absent.
The usual rustling leaves or Birdsong.
We set Camp early uneasy fatigue draining, the strength from our
limbs. Tyler placed trail.
Cams around, our perimeter, small electronic eyes watching
silently from sturdy trees. Just set her phone to record
audio leaving it, propped carefully near her tent as dusk
approached the familiar feeling of dread crept.
Over us again stronger. Now We spoke less each locked in
our own private thoughts. Glancing frequently at the
encroaching Darkness. then as if summoned by The Fading daylight,
the whistles returned, two sharp notes, clear and precise echoed
around the clearing. it sounded closer more deliberate like
someone or something was observing us carefully hidden in
the dense foliage The whistles repeated methodically bouncing.
From one side of our campsite to the other circling us.
My pulse quickened, the air felt suddenly thick oppressive.
Marcus cursed under his breath eyes, darting from Shadow to
Shadow, who was out there, Tyler shouted, desperation into his
voice. The forest answered only with
another sharp whistle directly ahead tauntingly close yet
invisible. Just pressed her back against a
tree face pale. Rachel clutched, her arm staring
anxiously into the darkness. We need to check the cameras.
Tyler said firmly. Marcus hesitated briefly but
noted and together, we approach the nearest tree camp.
I watched as Tyler reached for the strap and found nothing but
a dangling piece of fabric. The camera had been removed
cleanly, the mount undamaged, the device itself.
Nowhere in sight, A chill ran through me as we moved quickly
around Camp checking every tree, each camera was gone
meticulously removed. It felt intentional calculated.
Jess hands, shaking retrieved her phone.
I recorded something early. Maybe it caught whoever took
them. we crowded around her as she pressed play at first
silence then too short, whistles startlingly loud but that wasn't
all Just behind the whistles. Something else.
Emerged barely audible, beneath the static.
Just raised the volume and we leaned closer a voice.
Whispered hurriedly desperate and strained.
Don't move it. Sees sound Rachel gasped.
Stepping back Marcus stared wide-eyed at Jesse's trembling
hand gripping the phone. Tyler lowered.
His voice. Barely Audible.
Don Halo he muttered, we must be closed.
What's Done Halo Markus demanded sharply, Tyler.
Hesitated, then continued grimly loggers disappeared here.
A century ago, locals said something hunted them.
Something that could mimic sounds voices animals, even
whistles. They called it cursed land.
Nobody came here after that. You knew Rachel whispered.
Accusingly, I didn't think it was real.
Tyler replied, weekly, a deafening silence enveloped us.
Oppressive smothering. My heart thudded.
Loudly. I glanced at Marcus his face
Twisted with fear and anger. Then without warning multiple
whistles erupted from all directions, a chilling, chorus
filling the dark woods surrounding and closing in.
Marcus bolted flashlight, bobbing wildly as he plunged
Into Darkness, Tyler shouted, after him.
But his cries were drowned by the unsettling, layered,
whistles minutes passed long agonizing minutes before Tyler
and I dared venture out to find Marcos.
We followed the narrow beam of his flashlight, lying abandoned
on the ground. We searched frantically calling
his name, our voices swallowed instantly by the thicks stifling
Forest. Then Rachel pointed upward, a,
trembling finger aimed high in the branches. 12 feet above us,
caught tightly between the rough bark of an oak tree fluttered.
A torn piece of Marcus's jacket. My stomach dropped dread
flooding through me. He couldn't have climbed that
just whispered Horsley, Tyler took a slow shaking, breathe his
eyes fixed on the torn fabric, know he couldn't.
If we were treated to our tents without speaking zipping them,
shut tightly as the whistles echoed.
Once more through the darkness closer now purposeful and
persistent. Marcus was gone and we all
understood instinctively he wasn't coming back.
Sleep didn't come. I lay awake, listening, intently
to every sound. Jess was curled beside Rachel.
Her breath shallow Eyes Wide Open staring blankly at the
fabric ceiling. Tyler, sat motionless
periodically. Checking the tent zipper as if
to ensure it hadn't moved. Marcus is absence hung over us,
like a heavy weight suffocating impossible to ignore.
At dawn, we emerged exhausted in silent quickly.
Packing our gear Tyler checked his GPS again but frowned
turning the device over in his palm.
The screen flickered erratically, coordinates jumping
with out logic. Something's wrong with this.
He muttered frustration tighten his voice, it's useless, Rachel
glanced, nervously around hands clenched at her side.
We should just retrace our steps.
Go back the way we came. Tyler nodded though doubt,
darkened his face. We set off hiking faster than
the day before driven by urgency glancing backward constantly.
But after hours of walking, nothing looked familiar.
Hills Rose abruptly where none had existed before streams ran
in directions, that contradicted the map.
The forest itself felt distorted the landscape Twisted out of
alignment, at midday just began to hum quietly at first.
None of us noticed but soon I realized what she was.
Humming two short tones the whistle.
We'd heard every night my stomach tightened painfully
Jess. I snapped louder than intended,
she jumped startled eyes, glassy and distant.
What she whispered Horsley you were humming.
The whistle Rachel said, softly voice.
Trembling just payed her hand rising to her mouth and horror.
I didn't even realize her voice Trail to silence.
Keep moving Tyler urged gripping, his pack, straps tight
eyes. Fixed Straight Ahead within
minutes. Been stopped abruptly, his eyes
wide head, tilted slightly as if straining to hear something
distant. What is it?
I asked wearily Benz eyes filled suddenly with tears.
His voice, barely Audible. Hear my Mom calling me, she's
close. Rachel's expression Twisted in
pain. Ben's mother had died three
years earlier. Been listen, it can't be her.
But he shook his head, urgently eyes darting through the trees.
I know her voice. She's right here, just ahead.
Before we could stop him. Bend bolted into the dense
foliage ignoring our frantic calls Rachel sobbed openly as we
chased after him. Tripping over Roots, scratching
our faces on branches, but he vanished, completely leaving
nothing behind, but an oppressive silence.
Exhausted desperate. We pushed on, barely speaking.
Late in the afternoon, we stumbled upon a clearing rising
from the Tangled. Underbrush was an old fire
lookout tower rusted and leaning precariously. relief surged
briefly through me, maybe we could finally get our bearings
As we approached, we saw deep gouges covering the metal
supports claw marks. Gouge deeply into the rusted,
steel, beams, my skin prickled on easily, my pulse quickening.
Tyler, climbed quickly, ignoring the groans of the Aged
structure, Jess, Rachel, and I followed carefully.
The tower swaying slightly beneath our feet.
At the top, we crowded into the cramped, observation room, Dusty
glass, windows, overlooked the sprawling, Forest endless and
indistinguishable in every direction.
In a battered cabinet, Rachel found a leather-bound ranger
logbook She flipped anxiously through yellowed Pages, her face
draining of color as she reached the last entry, dated August
15th. 1994 her voice shook, as she read aloud, two-tone whistle
heard. Again, third hiker gone ordered
to evacuate were not alone in this Forest.
Cold dread seeped into my bones. Jesus pressed her forehead
against the window, glass breathing raggedly The sun had
begun to dip below the Horizon. Casting a sickly Amber glow
across the endless trees. Then it came again the whistles
not one but dozens high pitched and low echoing simultaneously
surrounding the tower. The sound rows into a chorus
unbearably loud, mocking relentless.
Mixed into the whistles, I heard a familiar voice, Tyler's voice
calling for help from somewhere. Deep in the woods below, we
turned sharply toward Tyler. His face was pale lips.
Trembling That's not me. He whispered shaking his head.
The whistling intensified nearly deafening resonating through the
tower structure. Tyler grabbed Rachel's shoulders
firmly staring directly into her eyes.
You have to run, he said, forcefully, go east downhill,
don't stop. Don't look back, I'll distract
it. Rachel shook her head, fiercely
eyes streaming with tears. Tyler's voice was firm
unyielding. Now before any of us could
object Tyler, grab a flare from his pack, igniting it in a blaze
of red. He moved quickly tossing it into
the wooden debris, piled at the base of the Tower.
Flames erupted swiftly roaring upward heat, washing over us,
instantly. Tyler shouted.
Again, voice lost amid. The flames and Echoes of
whistles. Rachel and Jess fled first
scrambling down the ladder. I followed rapidly glancing
upward, just long enough to see, Tyler silhouetted against the
glowing Sky. Holding another Flair defiantly
at the base, smoke thickened rapidly choking the air.
We ran frantically branches clawing at our faces, Roots
catching at our feet, just tripped sprawling to the ground.
Rachel helped her up roughly pulling her forward.
But in that moment, just froze, her eyes widening as she stared
into the thickening, smoke behind us.
Something moved, something large, indistinct weaving
between the trees. Whistles now blending with deep
guttural sounds that sent ice coursing, through my veins, just
pushed Rachel hard. Keep going.
She whispered urgently, we sprinted, blindly Terror
overriding exhaustion, my heart, hammered painfully, as Darkness
enveloped us entirely. Hours later or perhaps minutes
time lost meaning, I stumbled onto a forest service road.
I collapsed onto gravel breathing raggedly.
I glanced desperately around. Rachel emerged a moment later
eyes Hollow face. Streaked with dirt and tears.
Just never appeared days later. The Rangers found.
No trace of Tyler. Marcus been or Jess.
Rachel and I were the only survivors.
The official report listed the area as restricted due to
Wildfire risk, but we knew differently.
There was no fire. There was no official
investigation, Don Halo quietly disappeared from maps, forgotten
yet. Sometimes late at night.
I swear I still hear too. Sharp whistles from somewhere
far away. Just beyond my window.
An invitation I will never answer My name is Trevor
Martinez. I've always preferred the
Solitude of hiking alone. Capturing everything on my
GoPro, for my modest audience online.
There's a certain Clarity in isolation, especially in places
like Los. Padres National Forest where the
terrain is raw and unforgiving. This trip in particular, was
supposed to be straightforward. A two-night loop along the
Devil's Backbone. Trail starting from the near a
campground. I'd done my research steep Ridge
lines, the thorny brush and a handful of wildlife warnings.
Nothing. I hadn't handled before it was
late spring and the California heat hadn't fully taken hold
yet. I hit the trail at dawn camera
rolling bird sang intermittently as I navigated through Dry
Chaparral taking steady strides across the rocky path.
By mid-morning. The rhythmic crunch of my boots
was the only thing accompanying me.
Around midday the path narrowed and the Chaparral became denser
whipping at my sleeves. It was then on an exposed Ridge.
I first saw it. Just off the trail on a wide
Boulder. Stood, a strange.
Stone cairn. At first glance, it looked like
a normal stack of rocks. The kind hikers leave behind to
Mark obscure roads. But something felt off.
Approaching cautiously. I realized it wasn't a simple
stack. It spiraled inward tight and
deliberate with no obvious point or message.
Probably just someone's weird art project.
I muttered to myself, half laughing.
But the silence around me made my voice echo strangely.
And I quickly pressed on Hours passed and his daylight
stretched thin. I found myself noticing more
spiraling Cairns. Each one was smaller and more
intricate than the last. They were leading away from the
main trail deeper into the rugged, Hills and canyons.
Curiosity tugged at me. Maybe it was some forgotten
historical Trail. Possibly a root left by locals.
I checked my GPS, which flickered weekly under the
dense, canopy, the signal fading in and out unpredictably.
Still my curiosity, got the better of me and with the
reassurance of being well equipped.
I turned off the main path, following these peculiar markers
in to increase in rough Terrain. The landscape changed subtly
becoming Steep and heavily. Wooded the ground softened,
carpeted with Fallen needles and dense underbrush, that snagged
my gear. The spirals LED further downhill
into a narrow Canyon unmarked on my maps.
At the canyon bottom I found a trickle of water.
Barely big enough to fill my canteen perfect.
Place to Camp by figured setting up my small tent under the shade
of dense Oak and sycamore trees. That night sleep was Restless,
every Creak of branches, overhead, every rustle in the
brush set, my nerves on edge twice, I sat up abruptly
convinced I heard footsteps circling my camp but when I
shine my flash light into the surrounding Darkness, nothing
but shadows and branches stared back.
Eventually I drifted into uneasy sleep Just Before Dawn.
I woke again sharply my pulse racing.
I couldn't pinpoint. Why until I realized what was
bothering me? The forest was completely
silent. Not even the distant who of an
owl or home of insects. Nothing.
Shivering. Despite the mild night I
whispered into my camera, documenting my unease.
Something feels off here. Like I shouldn't have followed
those Cairns I paused suddenly aware of a faint noise in the
trees above A subtle scraping almost like fingernails lightly
dragging on bark. My breathing quickened.
I turned the camera lens toward the trees, squinting into the
darkness. For a brief second.
I thought I saw movement a vague silhouette human shaped standing
absolutely still. Hello.
My voice cracked slightly betraying my fear.
Silence swallowed my words offering.
No reassurance. I tried convincing myself.
It was just shadows and tired eyes.
But deep down an unsettling thought lingered as Dawn slowly
broke over the canyon walls. I think it knows I'm lost.
mourning arrived with a faint muted sunlight filtering through
heavy layers of Oakleys barely Illuminating the campsite I sat
up groggy trying to shake off the fatigue from the nights on
rest. Checking my GPS.
Again only deepened my unease. The device showed a distorted
screen, the arrow spinning slowly on able to lock onto any
reliable coordinates. My compass was no better.
Trembling unsteadily in my palm frustration crept into my
thoughts. I rarely got lost and certainly
not this thoroughly determined I packed up quickly and started
back up the slope certain. I could retrace my steps to the
main trail but nothing looked familiar each Hill and Gully
seemed interchangeable repeating endlessly in every direction.
I felt my pulse Quicken as the morning wore on my sense of
direction, increasingly uncertain.
Midway through the morning, I came across a single Cairn but
this one was different toppled scattered deliberately.
Nearby in the soft soil were Fresh Tracks.
Leaning down. I examined them closely the
prince, resembled a human foot elongated with oddly spread toes
pressed deeply into the ground. A chilled up my spine.
I scan the trees cautiously scanning slowly in all
directions. There was nothing visible.
Yet the sensation of being watched was impossible to
ignore. By noon desperation set in.
My water supply dwindled. Rapidly forcing me to find a
stream or spring soon. I stumbled down an overgrown,
Hillside, leaves and branches, scratching my face and arms
until I found a narrow stream. Relief flooded me momentarily,
pushing aside the growing dread but when I tried to fill my
filter it clogged immediately. The water was clouded with fine.
Muddy, silt unusable. Panic nod at my composure hunger
and thirst weakened my limbs. Clouding my thoughts.
I knew dehydration could quickly become deadly in terrain this
rugged in isolated. Just when I thought things
couldn't get worse I stumbled into something that made my
stomach twists. A crude makeshift shelter
constructed from Twisted branches and piled, Pine boughs.
I approached carefully my heartbeat quickening inside the
shelter I found a torn faded Daypack hesitantly I reached
inside and retrieved a slab of bark at Shaky desperate riding.
No Trail leads out. It follows in silence.
My hands shook, as I dropped the bark, I stepped back quickly,
nearly losing my balance, Breathing heavily, No Birds Sang
overhead. And no insects Buzz nearby, the
silence felt tangible, heavy oppressive For the rest of the
afternoon. I struggled forward marking
trees with my knife to track my path.
Yet, after hours of wandering, I returned to the same shelter, my
own marks mysteriously missing or erased entirely.
Exhausted. I shouted into the still air.
Is anyone there my voice echoed sharply off the canyon walls,
repeating mockingly as Darkness crept back into the canyon.
I had no choice but to set up a hasty uneasy Camp again this
time beneath the Towering Oak. Every nerve in my body urged me
to flee, but I had nowhere left to go Nightfall.
Arrived, swiftly, plunging, everything around me into Inky.
Darkness I tried to sleep but jolted awake frequently,
convinced something shuffled quietly near my 10.
My GoPro was still recording, its tiny, red light, blinking
insistently, barely able to breathe, I whispered horsefly
into the camera, capturing my mounting dread It's been
watching me. I'm not imagining this.
Pausing. I strain to listen closely and
at first, there was nothing, then suddenly from somewhere
deeper in the canyon, I Heard a Voice faint but familiar
speaking words, that froze, the blood in my veins, it's been
watching me, I'm not imagining this.
It was my own voice repeating my words, precisely drifting
hauntingly from the darkness. My heart hammered
uncontrollably, as I huddled tightly in my tent gripping, the
camera, until my Knuckles ached. I knew in a profound chilling.
Instant, I wasn't alone and whatever was out there.
Had no intention of letting me leave this Canyon alive.
My memory fragments at this point hunger.
And dehydration blurred reality making every shadow shift and
every sound resonate ominously. I was beyond exhausted nerves,
frayed and raw. The footage.
I'm about to describe as what Rescuers and investigators piece
together afterward because I hardly recall recording it.
The GoPro footage. Captured me standing near a
cluster of moss covered rocks beside a sluggish, Muddy Creek.
I watched this later horrified, by my own halo eyes and sunken
cheeks. Dirct my face and clothes, my
breathing came in uneven shallow bursts.
On the screen, I spoke urgently desperation and exhaustion
evident in every word. I've been circling for hours, I
said voice, trembling it's keeping me here every path leads
back to the same place. Every Mark I make disappears.
Then something captured my attention.
Pulling my gaze suddenly upward. The camera swung around as I
scan, the dense foliage, eyes, wide and searching.
Who's there? I shouted voice cracking with
panic. Only silence responded.
Heavy and oppressive. Suddenly in the distance of
faint, yell echoed a voice indistinguishable from my own,
it cried for help, then abruptly shifted into sobbing.
My knees. Nearly gave out the fear was
Primal over. I whispered shaking my head
violently that isn't me? It can't be But the voice
continued desperate and pleading floating through the canyon like
a twisted reflection of my own Terror.
The camera shook as I broke into a run crashing, blindly through
the underbrush desperate to escape the echoing cries.
Moments later, stumbling and gasping.
I dropped to the ground near a clearing.
I spoke directly into the camera, my voice, barely audible
of my ragged breathing. This might be the last
recording. I said glancing nervously over
my shoulder. If someone finds this, don't
follow the Cairns. Don't trust your eyes.
It's mimicking me. It wants me trapped here.
I'm leaving the camera here. Maybe someone will find it.
Maybe someone can avoid whatever.
This is. I wedged the GoPro firmly into
the crook of a tree branch. Pointing it toward the Narrow
Path. A desperate final attempt at
communicating, what had happened?
I lingered for a moment. Hesitation clear on my face
before finally staggering out of view.
The Rescuers recovered, my footage Weeks, Later, precisely,
where I had left it. They scoured the canyon tracking
dogs. Sniffing fruitlessly along steep
ridges and deep gullies. But no sign of me emerged.
No Footprints beyond my camera. No clothing scraps.
Nothing. I had vanished completely then
came the last piece of footage the time stamp flashed 36 hours
after my last known appearance long after any rational, chance
of my survival. The camera had activated again,
triggered by some subtle motion or sound.
The clip was briefed less than a minute.
Darkness in the trees, the image barely visible in the faint
moonlight. For several seconds.
Nothing moved. Then a shadow shifted.
Subtly among the trees. Silent an indistinct.
The breathing began alone, rasping exhale, so close to the
microphone. It made my skin crawl when I saw
it later. Just before the video ended, the
same voice almost identical to mine, but colder, emptier spoke.
Clearly your next, those words still echo endlessly in my mind
a chilling. Reminder, that something still
lurks out there in that nameless Canyon along.
The Devil's Backbone. Trail waiting, patiently in
silence. I took the seasonal forestry job
in New Hampshire mostly because I needed isolation.
A break from crowded city streets and fluorescent lit
office cubicles. After years managing digital
records for a small company. In Boston, the silence and
Solitude promised by the White Mountain National Forest seemed
like salvation My name is Derek Madsen and for the next six
months, I was tasked with basic maintenance clearing debris,
maintaining Trail signage and monitoring visitor, safety.
The ranger Outpost I'd been a signed to cabin, 11 sat deep in
the Great Gulf Wilderness. A remote corner overshadowed by
Mount, Washington's rugged Peak. The first day started with a
grueling six mile hike, lugging heavy gear along a winding
overgrown Trail. Sweat coated, my neck soaking
into the collar of my flannel shirt.
By the time I spotted, the cabin nestled amid dense, spruce
trees, the afternoon was already fading toward dusk painting, the
surrounding peaks with streaks of orange, and purple.
I opened the creaky wooden door setting down my backpack in
immediately smelling old Cedar damp Fabric and Decades of
disuse Sparse Furnishings a battered cotton.
A simple, wooden desk, shelves, stocked with canned, beans, and
coffee tins from previous Rangers.
Dust drifted lazily in the waning sunlight on the desk, lay
a thick leather-bound logbook. Curious, I flipped through
yellowed Pages noting dates and signatures stretching back
nearly two decades. Most entries were mundane.
Patrolled Trail removed. Fallen branches clear whether
But as I turned deeper a strange repetition caught, my attention
cabin, 27, inspection overdue cabin 27 Lantern out, cabin 27
sea, Claude damage on interior beam.
These entries repeated themselves over and over in
different handwriting going back years, sometimes months apart.
My brow furrowed. I pulled out the official Forest
Service binder flipping hurriedly through laminated maps
and neatly printed cabin inventories.
No mention of cabin 27 appeared anywhere not even as a ruin not
as a historical site nothing. I shook my head and radioed the
nearest Ranger Station a crackling static voice
responding after a few trees Hey, can someone confirm
something? For me?
I asked trying to sound. Casual, is there supposed to be
a cabin 27 somewhere in Great Gulf?
Silence lingered on the line, a bit too long.
When the voice returned, it was cautious, almost hesitant
negative. No cabin, 27 listed probably an
Old Logging camp or something best to ignore it.
I thank the Ranger and hung up the radio, but his response left
a strange. Unease gnawing at my gut.
If it was an error, why had it persisted across so many log
entries over so many years. I cooked a simple meal of beans
and toast on the propane stove as Darkness.
Descended Outside trees. Rustled in the breeze branches
occasionally scraping against the roof.
I tried to put the odd log entries, from my mind chalking
it up to bureaucratic oversight and boredom from previous
Rangers. after dinner, I readied myself for Sleep stretching out
on the narrow caught, exhaustion heavy in my limbs, Sleep came,
uneasily, dreams scattered, with visions of shadowy cabins
buried, deep and twisted Forest Trails.
I woke suddenly around midnight. Unsure, what had startled me?
Listening closely heart quickening, I heard nothing at
first but the faint wind and distant trickle of a stream.
Then came three, distinct knocks on the front door.
Slow deliberate Taps evenly, spaced my chest, tightened
muscles stiffening. I Rose from the cot quietly
grabbing the flash light from the desk and inching toward the
door. For a long moment.
I stood there, breathe, shallow, waiting silence, Gathering,
courage. I swung the door open Flash.
Light, Beam. Slicing through the inky
blackness Nothing greeted me, except darkness and the trees.
but as I lowered my beam to the ground, a chilled across my
shoulders, Their clear as day stamped into the soft damp Earth
at the edge of the porch. Was a single wet boot print and
it wasn't mine morning, came slow breaking gray and heavy
over the Great Gulf wilderness. I hadn't slept since the
knocking haunted by the image of that wet boot print just outside
my door. I ate breakfast.
Mechanically stale bread and cold coffee.
My thoughts cycling back relentlessly to the strange
logbook entries and that disembodied, tapping.
A Restless energy crawled through my limbs.
I needed answers something to settle my mind.
By mid-morning maps and notes across the cabin desk.
I piece together, Clues from the cryptic log entries. above the
river, split Ridge, near blighted hemlocks I crossed
referenced these hints obsessively with my official
topographic charts. Finally, an isolated unmapped
area near Chandler, Brook Trail revealed itself, a dense patch
of wilderness closed off years ago, after a massive rockslide,
it wasn't far a short drive by ATV, then I would have to
bushwack the rest of the way on foot.
Before I left, I radioed again to the ranger station offering.
Vague details of my route. Deliberately omitting, my true
destination. Something about yesterday's,
hesitation unsettled me and the less they knew about my
intentions. The better. 20 minutes later, I
parked the ATV and moved into dense.
Underbrush compass and map in hand.
The forest was thick. The terrain Tangled with Fallen
logs and grasping shrubs. Every step forward was slow.
Deliberate punctuated by snapping twigs and crunching
Leaf litter. The air was oppressive heavy
with moisture that clung stubbornly to my skin.
My clothes soon, damp with sweat an hour passed.
Then too, the sunlight growing weak and watery beneath the
dense canopy I began to doubt my direction double-checking
landmarks against. The Blurred photo copies, in my
hand. Eventually a rusted nail
hammered into a tree caught my eye. another appeared about 30
yards ahead, then another They formed a crude forgotten path
worn faintly into the Earth. A shiver ran through my spine,
as I followed. Deeper into the forest.
I noticed something strange. Trees.
Stripped clean of bark at chest height, as if something had
clawed at them repeatedly. Exposing raw pale wood, beneath
Unease coiled, tighter inside me.
The claw marks from the logbook entries flashed through my mind.
And my Pace quickened, then abruptly, the forest opened
slightly into a small clearing. Nestled there swallowed by
Decades of overgrowth, stood a dilapidated, wooden structure.
Sagging roof, beams weathered boards nearly collapsing under
their own weight cabin, 27. My pulse quickened, breathe
shallow in my chest. As I moved cautiously closer
stepping onto the creaking porch, The door hung a jar
hinges, rusted and worn inside Shadows pool in every corner,
the scent of rot and mold permeated.
The air nearly choking me. My flash light beamed across the
wooden walls, revealing deep Jagged claw.
Marks gouged furiously into the timber, Splinter's, jutted
outward at harsh, angles, violent in their origin.
Fear stirred inside me mixing with Dread and Fascination
something drew my eyes upward suspended from the ceiling.
By a rusted chain, hung an ancient Lantern, its glass
blackened and smeared, Strangely it emitted a faint lingering
warmth when my fingertips brushed against it as though, it
had only recently been extinguished.
A sudden wave of nausea passed over me.
I lowered the flashlight beam and saw on the floor beneath the
lantern. A small notebook Bound in
cracked leather. My hands trembled slightly as I
opened it Pages. Stiff with age inside were
sketches frenzied, rough chaotic.
Eyes staring from Pages, trees twisted and dark crude antlers
sprouting from shadowy heads. Triangles and vertical, slashes
repeated obsessively over, and over again, it felt like peering
into madness. I reached for my phone quickly,
snapping photos of the notebook and claw marks.
But just as I aimed for another shot, the screen flickered
dimmed then died completely. I pressed the power button
desperately, but the phone remains stubbornly dark,
glancing nervously around the cabin once more the hair on my
neck rows, as I heard something faint yet.
Distinct outside a crunching sound, the snapping of Twigs
beneath. Wait, I stepped out scanning
rapidly with my flash light beam.
Nothing visible moved but on the muddy ground.
Clearly outlined in the faint. Light was a fresh prince.
It was barefoot impossibly large, the elongated toes spaced
unnaturally far apart. Panic surged through my limbs my
compass. Spun erratically in my palm
useless. I quickly shoved it back into my
pocket turning away from the cabin and sprinting through the
undergrowth branches, scraped at my face Thorn snagged my
clothing, but adrenaline fueled my Escape.
Still, no matter how fast. I moved.
I heard faint footfalls. Paralleling my route, echoing my
every step from the shadowed Forest around me.
It was dusk by the time, I stumbled breathlessly back to
cabin 11 heart hammering violently in my chest.
Locking the door tight. I barred it with a wooden chair
and Drew curtains, tightly over windows.
I let every Lantern casting jittery Shadows against walls.
Sleep was impossible. Outside silence grew thick and
oppressive hours later long after Darkness settled fully
around the cabin, it came again. Three slow, steady knocks,
punctuating the night are like Hammer, blows then silence.
Second dragged on agonizingly until a low rasping voice
history through the cabin window.
Barely above a whisper. Lanterns out the knocks echoed
in my mind, long after they had ceased.
I stayed motionless Frozen in the middle of cabin. 11 eyes,
fixed on the door. I barricaded.
Every muscle in my body strained.
With tension, waiting for something, anything to break
through. But nothing came the silence
returned pressing heavier than before hours dragged slowly
toward Dawn as pale gray lights, seeped through the curtains, I
cautiously stepped outside, bracing myself.
The porch bore fresh gouges deep Splinter's, torn from the wood.
The door frame itself had cracked the hinges warped.
Slightly inward, as if something had tried forcefully and
persistently to enter. My hands trembled as I raise the
radio desperate for contact. Static crackled through the
speaker, obscuring. Most of what I heard.
I shouted urgently, this is Derek at cabin 11, something
attacked last night. I found cabin 27, its real.
I need immediate assistance. Static, again then through the
distorted Haze of voice, finally responded, clipped and urgent.
Lee now, That was enough for me, I hastily gathered what little,
I could carry a map compass flash light and burst from the
cabin pushing toward the main trail, back to the ranger
station. Each footstep crunched over
twigs and leaves my breathing rapid and shallow pulse
hammering relentlessly in my ears.
Less than half a mile down the familiar path.
I halted abruptly a cluster of pine trees trunks, snapped,
cleanly, and freshly splintered sprawled like matchsticks across
the trail. This wasn't the storms doing nor
a natural collapse my heart sank.
It would take hours to clear this barrier hours.
I didn't have. Desperation forced me toward the
riverbed, a more dangerous, but direct route leading around the
obstruction. Rain began falling quickly
thickening into a downpour. I moved swiftly soaked through
slipping off and on the Moss slicked, rocks the noise of
Rushing Water masking, the sound of my progress, then I heard it
again, the same three Taps. Distinct rhythmic Knox
resonating through the trees on my left, I spun flashlight,
shaking in my grip beam, searching wildly among shadows
and Rain. Nothing silence again, thick and
oppressive a few steps later. The Taps repeated now from
behind A cold dread, climbed up my spine.
Leave me alone, I shouted my voice echoing weekly into the
darkening Forest. A movement across the river
caught, my eye a shape indistinct through Sheets of
Rain Standing Tall. Hunched unnaturally, my throat
tightened as I struggled to focus on it clearly It's
outlined wavered limbs too long head tilted, strangely and then
it moved quickly, jerkily along the opposite.
Bank matching my Pace precisely I broke into a run heedless of
my footing stumbling repeatedly. My knees struck rocks.
Painfully Palms scraped raw as I pushed myself up, right again
and again behind me footsteps, heavy uneven matched mine
precisely echoing wetly across the riverbed Panic, seized me.
Blinding overwhelming suddenly exhaustion, took hold my legs
folded beneath me sending me sprawling into mud and debris.
I clutched at my chest. Gasping ragged breaths.
I squeezed shut and Desperation the footsteps stopped abruptly
nearby. I held perfectly still Terror
hammering in my chest after several endless moments.
Another sound reached my ears a static hiss faint but
unmistakable my radio Shaking. I pulled it from my pack.
Turning the volume dial a distorted voice.
Barely audible through bursts of interference crackled through
search and rescue. Do you copy Derek?
We have your coordinates hold tight, we're coming.
I don't remember turning on the radio minutes stretched
painfully blending into one another.
I didn't move. Eventually bright beams pierced
through the rain voices, calling my name.
Hands. Lifted Me.
Gently from the ground. Faces blurred by exhaustion and
relief. Surrounded me, They Carried me.
Swiftly out of the Wilderness wrapped in blankets.
My soaked body trembling violently Hours later at the
ranger station, question's bombarded me, I spoke in broken
sentences, describing cabin 27, the claw marks the lantern.
Someone brought my phone fully charged.
Displaying no photos of the cabin, just a single blurred
snapshot of Muddy. Ground and Dead Leaves.
They exchanged uneasy glances disbelief coloring their faces.
I knew what they thought. Exposure Panic, hallucinations
brought on by isolation. I quit the forestry service
shortly after unable to shake the feeling of dread clinging to
me months. Later after I'd moved far from
New Hampshire's mountains, a plain envelope arrived in the
mail, no return address. Inside a single photograph
grainy and shadowed, but unmistakable.
Cabin, 27, sagging under years of neglect claw marks.
Deeply gouged into the walls and hanging from its ceiling beam.
A rusted, Lantern glowing faintly in the Gloom.
I've always found a certain comfort in the cold Clarity of
high elevations. It's one reason, my friend
Thomas and I regularly climb in Rocky Mountain.
National Park places like Sky Pond nestled, at nearly 11,000
feet. Feel both exhilarating and
detached from every day anxieties. this particular trip
had a clear goal Summit, Taylor Peak via the class Force
scramble We'd give away act countless times in alpine
conditions before. And this trip wasn't supposed to
be any different. The ascent from Glacier.
Gorge Trailhead had gone smoothly enough despite
lingering patches of ice and snow.
Tomas a seasoned Alpine guide from Boulder always LED with
confidence, joking, and chatting easily about future climbs.
On the other hand was, typically, quiet ever cautious
from my military training, a trait that had served me.
Well, Our camp was tucked neatly into a shelf of rock sheltered
beneath the shadow of the shark's tooth, a jagged Pinnacle
that stabbed dramatically upward into the Colorado Sky after
setting up our bivy, sacks and heating water from melting snow.
We'd settled in early the wind drumming steadily against
Armistice shelter. The sky was a crisp, black stars
brittle and sharp overhead distant and indifferent sleep.
Found me quickly. I woke at dawn stirred awake by
the creeping. Chill that always settled
around. First light, I sat up slowly
tugging at the zipper on my busy sack and then paused my eyes.
Adjusting to the Stark, bright brightness of fresh Morning, Sun
reflecting off scattered patches of snow.
A strange sight greeted me. Around our bivy area where there
had definitely been snow last night.
I remembered melting at myself there.
Now stretched A Perfect Circle of bear dry Earth about 20 feet
in diameter. I climbed fully out pulling my
down, jacket tighter against my chest, Examining The Boundary
closely the line between snow and dirt was impossibly crisp.
No Footprints, no. Disturbances of any kind just
drawing crumbly soil and circled precisely by Frozen Terrain.
Hey, Tomas, I called quietly not wanting to sound panicked, but
unable to keep a note of urgency from my voice.
He emerged groggily from his sleeping bag.
Rubbing at his eyes. What's up?
I gestured wordlessly his expression slowly shifted from
confusion to Amusement. That's just wind scour man.
He finally said chuckling softly, we get weird
microclimates up here. I shook my head slightly
unconvinced. I've seen wind scour before
this, isn't it? Thomas Shrugged easily already
rummaging through his pack for food.
Well, it's weird sure. But nature does strange stuff.
I knelt again, pressing my palm against the Cold Soil.
It felt dry utterly devoid of moisture.
Curious, I took out my compass. Noting immediately.
The needles faint quiver, like it was hesitant about where
North might be. I glanced up at Tomas, he didn't
know this, he was busy boiling water and talking about which
routes we should avoid because of avalanche risk.
We should go for Taylor soon. Tomas, suggested cheerily,
whether looks stable enough? I agreed absent-mindedly, still
studying the circle. It made my skin prickle in a way
I'd experienced only rarely that deep-seated intuition that
something was subtly but profoundly wrong.
Finally, I photographed it the Stark circle of dryness glaring
at me from the screen of my phone.
Perhaps documentation would reassure me later somehow
normalized. This Oddity We packed quickly
eager to put distance between ourselves and The Unexplained
Circle, the early Sun, Shone bright.
But cold a typical Alpine morning where every breath
crystallized in front of us. We ascended higher navigating
carefully, across patches of frozen screen and scattered snow
fields. The terrain was rougher here,
demanding attention. As we approached a steep Ridge
leading toward Taylor Peaks. Final scramble something tugged
at my attention. High above silhouetted starkly.
Against the bright sky was a dark figure alone.
Climber may be, but who else could be out here?
So early in the season? Tomas, I murmured nudging his
shoulder. Gently.
You see that he squinted upward shading, his eyes with a gloved
hands, where? I pointed directly above us to
the sharp crest of the ridge, but the figure had vanished as
abruptly as if it had been snatched away by wind Tomas
chuckled again, more nervously this time.
Altitudes getting to you, Jace. Nobody else out here this early.
I nodded reluctantly. Maybe he was right.
Perhaps the thin air in that bizarre Circle had unsettled me
more than I realized. We continued silently up the
slope, our crampons biting reassuringly into hard packed
snow. Still even as the summit loomed
closer. The image of that perfectly bare
Circle, persisted gnawing subtly at my thoughts.
By late afternoon, the sun began dropping lower in the sky
casting elongated Shadows across the Mountainside.
We made the mutual decision to return to our camp at Sky Pond
for another night, to rest and prepare for an easier descent
tomorrow morning. We arrived back just before dusk
fatigue, pulling? At my limbs the circle was still
there. Unchanged in its Simplicity
unsettlingly precise as we settled in again, zipping,
tightly into our bivy, sacks against the biting wind.
I heard Thomas mutter softly from nearby.
AJ's yeah. You don't really think
something's out here, right? I hesitated.
I don't know. I replied on honestly.
Something's just off. He went silent and soon, I heard
his breathing deepen. I lay awake longer, listening to
the quiet hush of wind through Stone.
Just before sleep took me, I couldn't shake the feeling of
eyes. Unseen unknowable fixed
steadily, Upon Our tiny Camp waiting, patiently beyond the
confines of that impossible, Circle, sleep came and fits and
starts that night. My mind unable to fully shake
the uneasy sensation brought on by the circle of bare Earth.
Every rustle of fabric from tamas, every distant Creek of
Shifting. Ice seemed Amplified in the
quiet Stillness of Sky, Pond sometime after midnight, I heard
something distinct. Finn rhythmic clicks carried on
the cold, are they were faint intermittent and initially, I
dismissed them as Natural Ice cracking or distant rockfall.
But something about the Cadence felt deliberate.
I laced still ears straining in the darkness heart, drumming
softly in my chest. The clicks faded swallowed, by
The Whisper of wind mourning, came reluctantly, the sun
climbing, slowly above the jagged Ridgeline spilling Pale
Light across the landscape. I pushed myself up, rubbing
sleep from weary eyes and was immediately alert again.
Outside the circles perimeter, right?
Where the snow resumed. I saw something new Footprints.
Huge elongated, indentations in the snow perfectly clear against
the bright untouched powder. Without waking Tomas, I climbed
out of my, Bibi carefully approaching the tracks.
They were deep clearly defined with a broad stance, far wider
than my own stride, suggesting something large and bipedal,
They started abruptly just outside the edge of the circle
as if whatever made them had materialized out of thin air.
The footprints continued steadily uphill.
So why followed them? Each step required an
exaggerated stretch, the prince set unnaturally far apart.
Soon, I came to a point high on an open slope, where the tracks
simply stopped mid-stride the last print was pressed firmly,
then nothing no indication of turning around no side, stepping
no evidence of a jumper Klein, just snow and emptiness.
I scan upward. No trees.
No rocks. Know where something could have
logically gone. My heart thudded harder, my
throat dry with growing on uncertainty.
I crouched and studied the final print more closely noting, its
unsettling length, easily twice that of my climbing boot.
What are you doing? Thomas's voice.
Broke through my thoughts. He was standing just below
hands. Cupped around a steaming mug.
Come here, take a look. I called back trying to mask the
unease in my voice. He climbed up beside me,
frowning down at the prince. He looked back toward Camp then
slowly upward following their impossible trajectory.
Okay, he admitted finally voice, quiet cautious.
That's definitely not normal. I told you, I muttered softly,
something's off here, Tomas sighed, deeply nodding slowly,
maybe someone's messing with us. Out here.
I countered, who would hike in this deep just to leave tracks
like these and disappear and how did they start out of nowhere?
Neither of us had an answer eventually, we returned silently
to our busy site. I reached into my pack and
pulled out a trail. Camera compact motion, triggered
infrared capable We had an intended to use it for security,
only Wildlife photography, but now it seemed prudent.
Let's set this up by suggested if something comes back to
tonight. Maybe we'll catch it.
Tomas agreed silently though. His usual.
Good Humor had noticeably diminished.
Together, we secured the camera to a sturdy tripod pointing it
toward our camp, ensuring. It had a clear field of view.
The rest of the day passed slowly, We barely spoke busying
ourselves with menial tasks. Melting snow reorganizing gear.
anxiety settled in my chest, a physical pressure, that wouldn't
release Worse. I'd started experiencing brief
lapses in memory for getting where I set down my gloves.
Checking my GPS Beacon, only to find it.
Inexplicably turned off. Fatigue stress altitude I
rationalized but deep down I knew it was something more
unsettling. night to send it again, darker and quieter than
the last the sky was Heavy with clouds, obscuring stars and
Moonlight alike. Inside my bivvy, I stared into
the darkness. Ears alert, eyes, straining for
movement, it felt like hours before Thomas.
Finally spoke again. His voice.
Barely audible Jason, he whispered Horsley, let's check
the camera. We climbed out, stiffly boots,
crunching softly in the snow breath misting rapidly in the
freezing air. My pulse quickened, as I opened
the camera's memory card compartment and plugged it into
my phone to review the images. The first set of images was
normal enough. A setting up camp, boiling
water, chatting quietly, My fingers swiped rapidly forward
dread building in my gut. I froze abruptly.
The time stamp read 312 a.m. the image showed Thomas and me
clearly asleep. Inside our bivy.
Sacks taken from perhaps five feet above angled downward.
I glanced sharply at the tripod. It hadn't moved, the angle of
the shot was wrong impossible. It could not have taken that
picture, it hadn't been triggered, hadn't shifted,
Thomas my voice shook slightly. Look at this.
He peered closer expression tightening with concern.
How? He murmured.
Not finishing the question. I clicked further into the
memory card a second folder appeared one we hadn't created.
My hand trembled as I tapped it open.
Images loaded slowly thumbnails flickering ominously.
They revealed photos taken before we arrived at Sky Pond
empty Landscapes at first then increasingly images of our
campsite Not our current setup, but the exact spot we chose
photographed repeatedly from multiple angles.
Empty snow empty rock as if something had anticipated
precisely where we'd bivouac. Neither of us, spoke.
Tomas looked shaken eyes wide with apprehension.
We have to get out of here. I whispered urgently He nodded
slowly deeply first thing tomorrow we're leaving.
We return silently to our bivs though.
Sleep was impossible. I lay awake eyes straining at
the featureless dark gripping. My small knife and numb fingers.
The clicks return sometime later more distinct.
Now, echoing softly from above sharp purposeful.
They can continue to Long After Dawn approached fading only when
the gray light of another cold morning spilled over the Basin.
Illuminating clearly, the circle in the snow A Stark reminder,
that something unseen was watching us closely.
We packed our gear. Hastily at dawn tension,
tightening every movement. The air was colder clouds heavy
and gray promising, snow. Thomas and I exchanged, few
words, each of us silently preparing for a quick descent
toward the lock and ultimately back to the relative safety of
Glacier. Gorge trailhead, I couldn't
shake the feeling of being watched a subtle pressure at the
edge of perception. Something just beyond sight but
undeniably real. The image from the trail cam,
haunted me are sleeping forms captured by some unseen vantage
point the impossibility of it. All the trail down was slick and
treacherous patches of ice hiding beneath fresh powder.
Visibility worsened as fog drifted down from the Peaks
thickening. Steadily until the landscape
blurred into vague shapes and shadows.
We paused briefly checking our GPS beacons and maps.
In, we hadn't straight from the route.
As we descended past Timberline Falls, tomasz boots slipped
abruptly. He dropped heavily onto the ice
covered rock. A sharp cry breaking from his
lips as his leg Twisted, awkwardly beneath him, Tomas, I
called urgently rushing to him. His face was pale pain.
Etched deeply into his features. His leg was twisted at an
unnatural angle. He clenched his jaw eyes,
watering my ankle. He groaned breathing hard, it's
bad. Jason I quickly activated the
Garmin SOS Beacon clip to my pack, the blinking red light
reassuring despite the chill of dread.
Help will be here soon. I promised forcing calm into my
voice. But we both knew rescue at this
elevation could take hours gently.
I wrapped him in an emergency blanket, propping him against a
rock ledge to Shield him from the biting wind.
You stay here. I said firmly.
I'll find a better signal and see if I can spot any landmarks
for SAR. Tomas nodded weakly eyes, half
closed in pain. Don't go far, he warned softly
more pleading than authoritative.
I scrambled uphill slightly looking for clearer to rain.
Fog hung thickly making, navigation, difficult.
My feet, crunched softly through Frozen moss and snow until
suddenly the ground beneath. My boots changed.
I stopped my breath catching sharply another Circle.
Just like the first, but this one was different.
It wasn't just bare Earth. The ground within the circle was
scorched. Black, the Moss and pine
needles, charred and brittle radiating outward with perfect
unsettling symmetry the snow surrounding.
It was melted cleanly away revealing a ring of exposed
burned. Soil, the smell was accurate.
Lingering thickly in the cold air, my pulse quickened.
I snapped a few photos quickly driven by a nervous, urgency to
document this new discovery. What could cause something like
this lightning wouldn't produce such geometric precision and the
burns seemed inexplicably recent fresh yet without heat just
wrong. I retreated.
Hastily toward Tomas dread pushing at my chest.
As I reached him, I found him drifting in and out of
Consciousness. His head slumped forward Tomas.
I shouted urgently gripping his shoulder, he stirred slightly
groaning, softly and response. Time dragged painfully slowly.
Every few minutes, I checked the Garmin reassuring myself that
our distress signal was broadcasting.
The fog continued thickening isolating us further from the
familiar landscape. I still stood straining my eyes
into the opaque white whiteness. That's when I saw it at the edge
of the tree line of us. Just visible through the
shifting fog, a figure stood Motionless, my heart stopped
cold. It was tall unnaturally.
So limbs elongated and disproportionate not human, but
something trying to appear human and failing.
I froze completely scarcely, breathing the figure remained
utterly, still half hidden behind the trunks of Lodgepole
Pines. Slowly I reached into my jacket
pocket and withdrew my phone. My hands trembling.
As I aimed it upward the shutter clicked softly.
The figure was gone when I glanced up again, nothing but
fog, and empty trees, a distant hum slowly broke through my
Panic. The unmistakable sound of an
approaching helicopter. Relief flooded, my veins, as I
signaled frantically. Within moments, the helicopter
hovered briefly a rescue team to sending rapidly via ropes
shouting commands muffled by the rotor wash.
Tomas was swiftly secured into a stretcher.
Lifted carefully up towards safety.
A ranger called out to me offering to call me out as well.
But stubborn pride and perhaps an irrational need to remain
alert. Made me shake my head.
I'll hike down. I shouted barely audible of the
helicopter noise. The ranger hesitated.
But finally, nodded ascending after Tomas, the helicopter
vanished quickly leaving me alone.
Adrenaline faded, rapidly exhaustion, weighing heavily.
Now I trudged downhill ears, tuned sharply to every sound
eyes flickering toward every shadow.
By the time I reach the ranger station at the trailhead
Nightfall had settled fully deepening, the quiet of the
empty building a ranger greeted me, his face lined with concern,
I showed him the photo from the trail cam and recounted the
strange circles the tracks. And finally reluctantly, the
figure I'd glimpse His expression shifted noticeably.
You're not the first he said, quietly averting his eyes.
What do you mean? I pressed urgently.
He has hesitated shook his head, softly, just forget it, some
things out here, we don't talk about go home, be glad you made
it. Back in Boulder a few days.
Later safely distant from the mountains and their cold
Mysteries. I reviewed the photos.
I take in at first glance they appeared, ordinary Landscapes,
trees snow, but one image stopped me cold, the one-eyed at
the tree line of Thomas zooming carefully, my blood ran cold,
There, partially obscured behind the lodge.
Pole. Pine stood, the tall blurred
figure Its limbs were distorted elongated, subtly wrong, it
stood perfectly still undeniably present my breath shook slightly
quickly. I attached the image to an email
intending to send it to the ranger station, but as soon as I
clicked, send my laptop screen flickered, sharply and went
black The computer rebooted itself, the message and photo
nowhere to be found. Frantically.
I searched through my phone but the image had vanished leaving
no Trace Yet, sometimes late at night.
My phone will flicker. Oddly Just briefly the screen
flashes, the image too quick to capture too fleeting to confirm
but unmistakably clear. The Blurred figure in the trees
watching silently from behind the pines at the edge of Sky
Pond. It was late November.
One of those cold gray afternoon's in the Allegheny
National Forest when the woods. Go quiet.
My best friend Reed and I were in the final hour of the Season,
trying to fill our last tag before Darkness forced us back
home empty-handed. We'd hunted, these Hills, since
we were teenagers. A tradition passed down from our
fathers. Everything felt familiar the
crunch of fallen leaves. Beneath our Boots, the bitter
chill seeping through layers of wool and camouflage and the
scent of damp Earth that always reminded me of simpler times
over there. Read whispered sharply nodding
toward a thick cluster of hemlocks on the opposite Ridge.
I saw the movement too, a bucks. Stepping carefully.
Its antlers, barely visible through the Gathering dust
Slowly, I raise my rifle and took aim steadying my breath.
The buck pause just long enough, its silhouette clear against the
fading orange light of the sky. My finger tightened on the
trigger and The Gunshot shattered, the silence.
The buck collapsed instantly a clean kill Reed, clapped me on
the shoulder, Groening? Nice Shot.
He said, relieved, let's get him out before it gets too dark.
We made our way down into the Gully boots.
Sliding on slick, patches of moss and mud As we approached,
the buck, the last glow of daylight drained away.
Leaving the forest washed in deepening Shadows.
Read. Knelt beside the animal.
Flash Light Beam sweeping across its body.
I came up behind him and something immediately fell off.
Where's the blood read muttered confusion in his voice?
He was right, I'd hunted long enough to know a Kill Shot.
Always left to Trail. Crimson, splashes soaking fur,
and Earth alike. But there was nothing here, not
a single drop. My chest tightened unease,
prickling the back of my neck. Flip it over.
I told him my voice quieter than I intended.
We grabbed its legs and rolled it carefully.
Onto its side a chill, raced down my spine at what we saw or
rather what we didn't the Bucks eyes were gone.
Its sockets hollowed out cleanly as if someone had carefully
removed them, the empty socket stared up at us darker than the
night around them. What the hell read murmured
Rising quickly to his feet? I tried to rationalize could be
scavengers, maybe Birds got to it before we got here.
Read shook his head, slowly unconvinced.
No, scavenger does something this precise.
We stood there, the forest growing darker by the second.
The silence around us suddenly oppressive and unnatural I'd
spent my life in these woods, but never had.
I felt so profoundly on welcome. Read glanced around nervously.
And without another word, we grab the buck by the antlers and
began. Hauling it toward his truck.
The carcass felt heavier than it should have the antlers digging
painfully into my Palms. It almost seemed like the buck
was resisting us somehow, anchoring itself to the forest
floor. After a short struggle, weaved
it into the truck bed, both of us panting more from nerves than
exertion. Read slammed the tailgate shut
and stepped back. We'll figure it out.
Back at your cabin, he said, trying and failing to sound
calm. As we climbed into the truck, I
glanced back at the buck in the bed.
Even in the shadows, those empty eye sockets.
Stood out black pits aimed directly at me.
I shook myself and turned away the drive out of the woods
should have been familiar comforting even but tonight it
felt different. Every tree and turned more
Sinister. The darkness pressing closer
Read fiddled anxiously with the radio catching only bursts of
static and garbled voices that came and went like ghostly
Whispers. Reception's crap tonight.
He mumbled I noted absently my eyes repeatedly flicking to the
passenger side mirror on able to shake the feeling we were being
watched. Then I heard it.
The first howl at first, it was distant, barely audible beneath
the hum of the engine. But as Reed slowed slightly it
grew clearer. A guttal mournful cry, echoing
through the trees. It sounded like a wounded deer,
but deeper Almost Human. My blood turned to ice.
Probably coyotes Reid said convincingly gripping the wheel
tighter but I knew the sound of coyotes and this wasn't it.
As the Wailing continued louder. Now each note drawn out with
Eerie Clarity. I felt my pulse Quicken Glancing
back at the truck bed, I froze. Stopped the truck.
I said suddenly read looked at me bewildered.
What? Why?
Just stop my voice cracked. Betraying my Panic.
He slammed on the brakes gravel scattering beneath the tires as
we lurched to a halt. Without a word.
I left from the cab flashed light in hand, heart hammering.
Rejoined. Me a second later breath.
Clouding in the crisp night air as he rounded the back.
The bed was empty, the deer was gone vanished Without a Trace.
There was no blood, no drag marks, nothing but wet, muddy
hoof. Prints leading, inexplicably
toward the back edge of the tailgate and disappearing into
the road. Reed.
Shown his light down the road and into the trees.
His face pale eyes wide. What's happening, Tom?
He whispered shakily I couldn't answer my mouth had gone dry
fear, gripping, my chest tightly From the darkness of the forest
around us that Dreadful, howling rose.
Again, closer now accompanied by something worse, a deep wheezing
breath, just beyond our line of sight, we need to leave.
I said, urgently neither of us spoke as we scrambled back into
the cab, slamming the door, shut read, punched the accelerator
and the truck jolted forward racing down.
The narrow road branches, scratching at the sides.
Darkness closing in like it wanted to swallow us whole but
as we sped away my mind, replayed The Impossible seen
again and again, those wet hoof prints that empty truck bed and
the unexplainable absence of any blood, Worst of all the
lingering question nod at me relentlessly.
If the buck wasn't dead, what exactly had we brought into our
truck and where had it gone, read, floored the accelerator,
sending the truck, barreling down, the narrow, forestry road
gravel and dirt flying behind us.
Neither of us. Spoke at first, the silence
between us filled with a thousand questions neither dared
to ask aloud. My eyes kept flicking to the
side mirror, my pulse quickening.
Every time I caught the blur of Shadow, or bran branch.
Behind us the forest had become a black void.
Swallowing the red glow of our tail lights as quickly as they
appeared. What the hell happened back
there, Tom Reed, finally muttered his knuckles white on
the steering wheel. I don't know.
I admitted struggling to steady my voice.
Maybe it fell out. He shot me a look.
That told me he knew that was impossible.
A buck that size wouldn't have simply slid out of the truck
without a sound, especially not without leaving a trail or
marks. No matter how we tried to
rationalize it, nothing made sense.
Then we heard it again the howl louder.
Now closer tearing through the night with that strange mixture
of animal pain and almost human agony.
It came from behind following us down the road growing louder
despite our speed. That ain't no coyote.
Read whispered through clenched teeth.
The trucks headlights cut, narrow beams through the pitch,
black ahead, Illuminating little more than 50 feet at a time.
The rest was Darkness impenetrable endless and
increasingly hostile. Reed's hands were, trembling
slightly as he fought to keep us straight on the narrow track.
Eyes locked forward. Suddenly the trucks sputtered
radio flaring briefly to life with static that crackled and
snapped in short, broken fragments the garbled, distorted
voices, Rose and fell and Eerie chorus punctuated by bursts of
what sounded disturbingly like laughter.
Then the engine faltered coughing sharply know.
Read growled Panic rising in his voice.
Not now he slammed the dashboard with a palm as if sheer force
could keep the truck running. It didn't.
With one last choked gasp. The engine died.
Completely leaving us coasting forward into the dark silence.
Read steered the vehicle slowly off the side of the narrow road,
the tires crunching to a final halt on gravel.
For a long moment, we sat Frozen staring at each other listening
to the crackling static of the dying radio as it too faded into
silence. Outside, nothing moved nothing.
Breathed the forest around us. Felt impossibly still, as
though, the entire world was waiting holding, its breath.
Grab your rifle. I said, quietly trying to hide
the Tremor in my voice, read reached behind his seat.
Pulling out his gun with trembling fingers as I did the
same. Slowly cautiously we stepped out
of the truck boots crunching into gravel.
That seemed too loud in the oppressive silence. flash
lights, trembling we swept our beams across the empty bed The
wet hoof prints were still there glistening oddly beneath our
lights but otherwise, the bed was empty.
Tom read whispered pointing his flashlight at something on the
ground. I followed his gaze.
My stomach twisted their leading from the truck toward the edge
of the forest were more hoof prints, but something was wrong
with them. They faced backward, as if
whatever made them had walked toward the truck, not away from
it. A chill crawled up my spine,
colder than anything. The November are could produce.
Let's get the truck started. Read said his voice tight
urgency sharpening his tone, I'll check under the hood, watch
my back. I nodded heart thudding in my
ears, as Reed. Popped, the hood and leaned in
flash, light tucked under his chin.
I stood behind him, sweeping the beam of my flash light around us
paranoia. Now, tightening every muscle in
my body, The trees were motionless.
The silence. Absolute it felt as though, the
forest itself were watching waiting for something.
Then from somewhere deep in the woods, to our left, the howling
returned this time, louder clearer closer.
It was followed by a rasping wet breathing sound like lungs
choking on fluid. I swung my flashlight toward the
sound. Branches swayed slightly though
there was no wind Reed. Hurry, I hissed almost there.
He muttered voice barely audible.
Beneath the hood loose wire just give me his voice cut off.
Suddenly, I spun around just in time to see his head, snap
upward eyes wide locked on something behind me, Tom, his
voice trembled, slowly dread settling in my chest, like ice.
I turned just beyond the edge of our headlights standing.
Utterly still was the buckwheat shot.
Only now it was upright balanced precariously on two hind legs
head hanging grotesquely to one side.
Antlers silhouetted starkly against the blackness.
The empty eye sockets stared directly at us two, deep holes
of pure Darkness. What in God's name?
Read whispered, fumbling backward into the truck without
warning. The deer opened its mouth
impossibly wide unleashing, another Gastly Howell.
This time to started into an eerie mimicry of human speech
stretched painfully through an animal's throat, It wailed a
single word garbled, in chillingly.
Clear at once go. My blood ran cold, Read slammed
the hood shut and jumped into the driver's seat.
Desperately twisting the key again.
After a heart-stopping moment, the engine roared back to life.
I hurled myself into the passenger seat, slamming the
door, shut just as Reed. Punched the accelerator.
Gravel flying wildly beneath us as we tore away.
In the side mirror, I watched in horror as the buck dropped back
onto all fours. Its grotesque form, dissolving
into Shadows, melting away into the darkness behind us.
We raced down the forestry Road in silence.
Our breaths ragged pulses pounding in time with the
Frantic home of the engine. Neither of us spoke until the
first dim lights of Kane appeared through the trees,
faintly reassuring, yet. Unable to erase the fresh
Terror, we just experienced But even as the forest fell away
behind us, I knew the night wasn't over.
Whatever that thing had been, whatever it had become wasn't
done with us yet. The buck, the creature had told
us to go, but deep down, I felt certain that it wasn't letting
us Escape. It was just giving us a head
start. By the time, we reached my cabin
on the outskirts of Kane, neither of us, had said a word
for at least 10 miles. Reads hands trembled visibly as
he parked the truck Knuckles white around the wheel.
When he finally spoke his voice barely Rose above a whisper, I
need to get home. Tom, I I can't do this right
now. I nodded slowly understanding
but a small voice inside urge me to keep him close.
It felt safer somehow. You sure.
You don't want to stay here tonight.
It's late. Read shook his head refusing to
meet my eyes. I just need to clear.
My head will talk in the morning.
He backed the truck down my driveway headlights, slicing
through the darkness and vanished Into the Night.
For a long minute. I stood alone listening to the
distant home of his engine fading away, until silence in
me. Again, a bitter wind whispered
through the woods carrying a scent of Rod and damp Earth.
The woods around me had never felt so ominous, so aware.
I moved slowly toward the cabin my boots crunching on frost
covered gravel. The porch creaked beneath my
weight, the old wood growning as I unlocked the door and stepped
inside. The Familiar warmth of home did
nothing to sue the unease twisting through my chest.
Sleep refused to find me. I lay in bed staring blankly at
the darkened ceiling replaying, every impossible moment of the
night, each howl, each Twisted hoof print each image of the
eyeless Buck. Haunted, my thoughts.
I tossed and turned, sweat soaking my sheets.
Despite the chill in the air. Then something outside scraped
against the cabin wall, a faint. Deliberate scratching, I sat up
sharply pulse hammering in my ears, grabbing my flash, light
and rifle from beside the bed. I crept through the dark cabin
to the front door. I hesitated heart thudding
before. Stepping out onto the porch, my
flash light beamed darted around the yard probing, the Shadows.
Nothing just silence. But as I moved toward the shed
where I usually store any game, we brought back my stomach
Twisted, the shed door was open, swinging lightly in the cold
breeze, the lock dangling. Uselessly approaching
cautiously, I shine the flash light into the darkness.
My breath caught sharply. Wet muddy.
Hoof prints were scattered across the wooden floorboards
leading inside. They stopped abruptly at the far
wall as though what ever had made them had simply vanished.
The walls were untouched the windows intact yet, somehow, the
thing had gotten inside without breaking anything.
I stumbled backward, my pulse racing as I scammed the trees
beyond the yard. There was nothing but empty,
Darkness. Yet, the sensation of being
watched was overwhelming. Back in the cabin, I fumbled to
lock the doors. Checking every window twice.
I placed my loaded rifle next to my bed hands.
Trembling and eventually drifted into an uneasy half-sleep
plagued by dreams, filled with hollowed creatures and endless
forests. I awoke some time later to a
sound knew instantly the howling only now at wasn't distant.
It was right outside my bedroom window so close.
I could hear the rattling breath.
Beneath the shrinking cry. Swallowing the terror rising in
my throat. I slowly got up gripping the
rifle, tightly creeping toward the window.
With a shaking hand, I moved the curtain aside just enough to
Pierre outside there at the edge of the tree line illuminated By
Moonlight stood, the buck. My heart nearly stopped.
It stood upright again, it's unnatural posture, grotesque and
contorted. Its antlers.
Now impossibly large branched upward, like, claws, grasping,
at the night sky. The empty black sockets were
eyes. Should have been stared directly
at me. Then with terrifying
deliberateness, the creature turned its head slightly and
smiled a hideous toothy grin. No deer could ever produce my
breath seized in my lungs as Panic set in without hesitation,
I stepped outside, adrenaline overpowering fear, leave me
alone, I shouted voice cracking as I raise my rifle aiming
straight between those empty haunting sockets.
It didn't move. It didn't Flinch.
It just stood grinning horribly, mocking me with its presents
fingers. Trembling, I squeezed the
trigger, the rifle barked loudly.
Echoing through the trees. My shot was perfect directly
into its chest, but the buck didn't even twitch.
Instead with sickening slowness, it dissolved its body,
unraveling into a Dark Mist, pulled into itself until nothing
remained, but empty air, The night fell silent.
Once more leaving me shaking and alone.
I ran back inside. Locking the doors again and
spent the rest of the night awake waiting for Dawn.
Morning brought no relief. Instead, it brought dread my
phone buzzed, jolting me. From exhausted stupor reads,
wife panic in her voice was asking if he'd stayed with me.
My gut Twisted painfully. As she explained, that Reid,
hadn't come home Hours later they found his truck abandoned
on Route. 66 doors wide open keys.
Still in the ignition. There was no blood no sign of
struggle, nothing except the now familiar.
Muddy backward. Hoof prints trailing off into
the forest. I sold the cabin within weeks.
I left Cain left the woods and moved somewhere far away
somewhere bright and crowded. I told myself I could outrun.
It bury the memories in the noise of City Life.
But the truth, still haunted. Me, whispered in Quiet Moments,
when I lay awake at night, You can't outrun something like
that. Once it sees you, once you see
it your marked. There's one last thing.
I kept hidden a secret locked away in my dresser drawer.
On my last night, in the cabin, I checked the game camera
outside the shed it showed nothing for hours.
Just empty Darkness. But it exactly 247 mm, the image
glitched distorted into lines and static before briefly
clearing to reveal one final. Impossible image the buck
standing in my driveway, antlers silhouetted sharply against
Moonlight head, tilted empty eye sockets staring directly into
the lens and it was still smiling.
I parked my truck at the end of the gravel Access Road. 10
miles, south of the trailhead near The Grove Entre Wilderness
boundary The Forest Lake quiet, under a blanket of fresh snow.
That had fallen overnight broken, only by the occasional
Creek of branches under the snow's weight.
After my divorce I had come to appreciate trips like this more
quiet. Lonely simple.
Nothing. Cleared my head, like being
alone in the Wyoming back country with only a bow and
camera for company. I strapped my gear tight
shouldered my pack and moved through knee-high, drifts toward
the ridge locals called the Shelf.
It took me almost four hours to reach the spot.
My legs burning from The Climb, but it was worth the effort from
that Vantage. The entire Valley spread below
me tucked, between slopes dense with Lodgepole Pines and patches
of Open Meadow I set up my small tent near an abandoned Forest
Service Fire Ring just as dusk tinted the sky, pale Orange.
While Gathering kindling for my fire, a sound echoed across the
valley, an elk bugle, drawn out, and rough.
Edged different from what I had ever heard in my years hunting.
I paused trying to pinpoint its origin but found nothing.
Silent soon, returned. Leaving me unsure if I really
heard anything at all, That night, sleep came slowly.
As I lay in my sleeping bag, my ears strained to pick up the
smallest noise outside. Just as my eyes began to feel
heavy. The sound returned it, drifted
closer this time. Louder sharper, almost painful
to hear there was a thick ragged quality to it like an animal
struggling to breathe. I sat up heart racing gripping
the handle of my knife out of instinct.
More than reason, it stopped as abruptly as it started leaving
only my own shaky breaths filling the 10th morning,
arrived gray, and bitterly cold. I rubbed feeling back into my
numb fingers, gather, my gear and crept to the edge of the
ridge. A movement near a downed Pine
caught. My attention a bull Elks stood,
partially obscured by a tangle of Fallen branches.
My pulse quickened, the bull was huge, a trophy, animal easily,
10 years old by the looks of its antlers But as I raise my
binoculars, something about the Elks seemed off.
Its body stood, rigid muscles, twitching, oddly beneath, its
hide. Through the binoculars.
I saw its chest heaving violently breath steaming and
frantic puffs Every few seconds its head jerked sideways as
though. Reacting to unseen irritations.
Ignoring the growing unease in my gut, I knocked an arrow and
lifted my bow. My breath steadied as I aimed
carefully behind its front leg. My finger tightened around the
bowstring muscles tense eyes fixed.
Then the elk jerked, its head upward and let out a piercing
terrified. Scream a scream.
Exactly like a man begging desperately for help.
Somebody help me. The voice reverberated down into
the valley, echoing painfully in my ears, my arrowed, harmlessly
passed, the elk in, to the underbrush.
I staggered back in shock, the boast slipping from my fingers,
The elk remains still a moment longer.
It's wild panicked. Eyes locked directly on mine.
Then it turned abruptly and bolted into the trees Vanishing
with without a sound. My knees buckled and I crouched
low in the snow heart pounding. So hard at hurt.
I waited a long time for my breathing to slow trying to
rationalize what I'd heard telling myself.
It had been a trick of Acoustics or nerves but every explanation
fell flat. Cautiously I approached where
the elk had stood. My eyes scan the ground for any
sign of the animals flight, any tracks or blood but found
nothing except a pair of shallow hoof prints that vanished
abruptly mid-stride leaving. No clear Trail away.
Back at Camp. I packed hastily, I didn't care
that. I had to stay longer didn't care
about the wasted trip. All I wanted was to leave the
valley and what ever had happened behind but as Darkness
fell faster than expected clouds blocking the remaining daylight,
I was forced to reconsider with no choice but to wait until
morning. I stoke the fire high and sat
Ridgid listening watching Shadows dance against the
surrounding trees. It was late perhaps midnight
when the noises began again. Soft at first growing louder.
Hooves crunching snow circling slowly around my camp.
A familiar strained. Elk call echoed through the
darkness, followed by a wet choking cough.
I reached quietly for my rifle, fingers, trembling on the cold
metal, the sound stopped abruptly leaving, nothing but a
silence heavier, than before My eyes scanned, the darkness
waiting. Just as I thought it was over a
voice low horse and horribly human spoke from somewhere
behind the trees. Somebody helped me at the first
hint of Dawn. I abandoned my camp and moved
North through thick brush toward the logging Trail.
I'd seen on the way in My legs ached from the cold sleepless
night, I kept glancing behind checking my trail searching.
The trees, the forest felt heavy watchful, every sound louder
than it should have been. But I reminded myself, Focus
ahead, keep moving. After an hour exhaustion, slowed
me to a steady walk each step crunched through the thin layer
of snow. Gradually, I realized that my
footsteps were echoing strangely each step seemingly mirrored.
By another when I stopped abruptly The Sounds continued
for one more step then halted a sudden, chill, crawled up my
spine, Hello, I called out voice, barely steady anyone out
there, my words faded unanswered into the trees.
I moved forward more cautiously now gripping my rifle tight
enough to make my Knuckles ache. I listened intently between my
breaths but heard nothing unusual.
Only the normal sounds of wind moving branches.
Then from somewhere in the trees, to my right, a voice
drifted toward me, Bailey it sounded exactly like my voice
but younger sharper like a recording from years past.
Bailey had been my retriever dead nearly four years now of
nausea. Hit my stomach making me stumble
Embrace against a tree. I held still breathe locked in
my throat. The Voice called again.
Bailey come here. Boy this time.
Clearer closer. Who is there?
I shouted spinning toward the sound eyes.
Straining through dense brush? This isn't funny.
Silence returned. I listened desperately for
movement, a snapped twig anything.
But the woods stayed quiet, mocking me with the emptiness.
Shaken, I kept moving forward faster.
Now anxiety. Pulling it.
Every nerve Half an hour later I emerged into a clearing and
stopped dead in my tracks. Something hung from the branches
directly ahead. A ragged shape, strung up
swaying gently in the breeze. Moving closer, I saw it clearly
a torn alkyd stretched wide and nailed crudely to the bark with
sharpened twigs. dark fluid drips, slowly from the edges
onto the snow below staining, It Black The smell hit me a second
later. Thick rotten sickening.
Oh, My words were barely a whisper I backed away nearly
losing my footing as I turned the woods erupted around me with
my own voice, urgent and terrified clay.
Clay, help me clay. Panics surged through me, my
heart hammering painfully in my chest, I scrambled away breaking
into a blind. Run through the trees.
Branches tour at my jacket slapped, my face and snagged at
my boots, but I didn't slow down behind me.
My voice kept screaming becoming distorted frantic as though
mocking my own fear. Eventually exhaustion forced me
to slow down. Gasping for breath, I scan the
unfamiliar Terrain. I had run far from my intended,
route. My map was back in the tent.
I'd left behind and I had only a rough idea of where I stood.
despair began creeping into my thoughts but I pushed it aside
survival first panic, later, With daylight fading.
I found a cluster of rocks and built a crude shelter beneath a
shallow outcrop. The wind picked up sharply
pushing bitter cold into every crevice but I had no choice.
I wrapped myself tight in my coat rifle clutched to my chest.
I didn't dare build a fire too, afraid of what it might attract.
Darkness filled the forest, bringing an unnatural quiet.
For hours. I lay awake nerves raw
listening. Just when I believed, I might
escape the night, undisturbed a slow.
Rasping breath. Moved through the air outside my
shelter. The breathing Drew closer,
louder, heavy and wet like someone drowning.
My muscles froze. My heartbeat.
Echoing painfully loud in my ears.
Then a voice whispered softly into the dark right next to my
Hiding Place. Help me, please.
Clay, help me. It was my voice low and broken
repeating endlessly in an awful monotone.
Drifting just inches away. I couldn't move could barely
breathe. Second passed like hours.
Each Whispers stabbing deep into my mind, finally, I gather
enough courage to move. My hand, trembling I reached for
the flare gun on my belt and pulled myself upright.
With a final burst of desperation.
I lunged from beneath the outcrop and aimed the flare into
the darkness. The flare exploded upward
bathing everything in sharp Crimson light.
For an instant, it illuminated a figure hunched low behind a
Fallen Tree thin elongated limbs Twisted unnaturally beneath
antlers too large and Jagged to belong to any elk.
I had ever seen it stared back at me eyes, reflecting red in
the dying Flair. Its long fingers curled into the
snow. Then the flare burned out.
Plunging me back into darkness. I stayed standing breath locked
painfully in my lungs, waiting. Helplessly for whatever came
next. At dawn, I abandoned anything
non-essential. My pack felt like dead weight.
My wife will was my only comfort grip tightly as I stumbled
downhill toward the Snake River range hoping for a sell signal
or a break in the endless Forest.
My throat was dry. My legs numb.
Every sound caused me to spin around rifle raised eyes wide.
By late morning, I started noticing deep claw marks carved
into the trunks around me. Fresh grooves scraped through
bark into raw wood beneath Each set Rose well, above my head, a
cold dread settled heavily in my gut.
An hour later. The forest gave way to an old
Fire Road. Relief flooded through me.
If I followed it far enough, I knew it would lead back towards
civilization or at least to a ranger station.
But as I started down the road, I spotted someone standing at
the far end partially obscured by Shadows.
The figure was dressed like a hunter wearing gear similar to
mine, dark jacket, boots, and cap pulled low my pulse
quickened after days alone. Seeing another person felt
unreal I raised a hand cautiously trying not to appear
as terrified as I felt. Hey, I called out voice raw and
weak you lost? The figure waved back stiffly.
Its posture bent forward. Oddly I felt a sudden tightness
in my chest. Then it spoke.
My stomach turned at the sound of my own voice.
Coming from its direction flat emotionless.
Hey, it called back repeating my earlier.
Greeting, exactly. You lost a wave of nausea surged
upward. My hands shook uncontrollably
rifle barrel wavering in the air.
Slowly I backed up careful not to turn away from whatever stood
in front of me. Stay right there.
I shouted my voice cracked Under Pressure.
Don't move. but in Stead, the figure stepped forward, It steps
were wrong awkward unnatural strides, that Twisted its legs
at strange angles. Then it dropped suddenly to all
fours, charging forward, limbs flailing wildly, its antlers,
scraping branches as it moved. A high piercing scream, filled
the air again, the same anguished human whales from the
elk. Fear exploded inside me, I
raised my rifle aimed wildly and fired three times in Rapid
succession. The gunshots echoed through the
trees leaving a painful ringing in my ears, the figure tumbled
sideways rolling violently down the slope into thick brush for a
moment. Everything fell silent.
I stood frozen. Heart pounding.
Slowly, I approached the spot where it had vanished.
On the ground. Lay strands, of Course, Elk hair
scattered across the snow mingled with dark streaks of
blood. Beside them was a single white
object, a human tooth perfectly intact.
My stomach clenched, I turned away fighting off Panic.
Forcing my trembling legs to move again.
Each step felt heavier than the last, but I forced myself
forward, stumbling along the winding road, Shadows,
lengthened trees, crowding closer as dusk approached.
Just before Twilight fully enveloped the forest.
I finally spotted the dim lights of a small Ranger Outpost.
Weak with relief, I staggered toward it Knocking hard enough
to Splinter my Knuckles on the weather wood door.
Two Rangers answered quickly. Guiding me inside.
They stared silently as I babbled about antlers screams
and my own voice chasing me through the woods.
They exchanged careful glances, the younger one handed me water,
while the older Ranger gray-haired in walking with a
limp sat quietly. Nearby eyes, narrowed
thoughtfully eventually the younger Rangers stepped outside
to radio for assistance. When he was gone.
The older man leaned toward me his voice, low and fern, you saw
the one that hunts with voices, didn't you?
He asked quietly eyes locked on mine.
I nodded slowly afraid to speak aloud.
Side shaking his head as though recalling, some distant memory.
Don't tell anyone else he continued softly, not for their
sake for yours. Hours later safely away in the
back of an ambulance. I deleted every video file on my
camera without even looking at them.
I wanted nothing left of whatever I had experienced out
there. Nothing to remind me of the
thing in the woods that stole voices and War.
Antlers A year passed before I Found the courage to return to
that spot on the ridge compelled by guilt and curiosity.
I wanted closure. I carried a small wooden cross
with me hoping to leave it behind at the tree where I first
encountered the elk. But when I arrived, the tree was
gone entirely replaced by a circle of elks, skulls arranged,
neatly around a bare patch of Earth.
They pointed inward toward emptiness.
I turned around and never went back.
I pulled my truck off the narrow dirt, Access Road into a little
clearing about a mile east of Sylvan Lake.
I'd hunted here every November for the past eight years.
It was still dark just after 5 in the morning, the kind of
chill, that settles deep into your bones.
No matter how many layers you wear, I switched off the
headlights instantly plunging the forest into blackness.
The quiet hum of the engine faded replaced by the hushed,
Stillness of the trees around me.
Grabbing my rifle and backpack from the passenger seat.
I stepped into the crisp air. My breath forming tiny clouds
illuminated by the weak glow of my flashlight, the frosty ground
crackled beneath my boots. As I carefully, made my way
toward my usual spot. My tree stand was set back deep
in a cluster of Pine's, positioned perfectly for the
deer that liked to cross the Halo just after Dawn.
My heart rate slowed as I climbed the cold metal ladder
each rung, stinging my fingers even through gloves.
Settling into position, 20 feet of the ground.
I scan my surroundings. Visit ability was poor in the
pre-dawn darkness, but the first faint blush of dawn had started
to seep into the sky. I sat perfectly still rifle
across my lap waiting patiently. As I'd done countless times
before minutes passed, slowly daylight gradually erasing.
The darkness around me It wasn't until the forest had fully
emerged From Shadows, that I began to feel something was off.
Usually, by this our squirrels were already scampering through
fallen leaves and chickadees, would be softly, calling from
Branch to branch. But this morning, nothing
stirred. No birds, no movement, only a
total oppressive silence. That seemed to wrap itself
around my chest. I shifted uncomfortably scanning
the trees again through my binoculars searching for signs
of movement. My fingers tightened
involuntarily around my rifle. Unease, prickling the back of my
neck. Something deep in my gut told me
this wasn't normal then just be on the thick stand of pine a
shadow moved. I froze binoculars locked on
that spot heart suddenly hammering at first I thought it
might be a mountain lion, a rare enough sight here but not
impossible. It moved cautiously staying low
to the ground slowly creeping out into clearer View.
As I watched more closely wave of cold, dread washed over me,
it wasn't right. It shape was twisted.
Somehow limbs stretched longer than any cougar.
I'd ever seen, moving with jerky unnatural strides.
The fur was ragged and patchy like badly, sown Hyde draped,
Loosely over bones that were too thin to angular my breathing
grew, shallow as it crept. Further into the clearing the
creature. Stopped, abruptly head cocking
sideways. through my binoculars, I saw its eyes clearly for the
first time they were pale, Almost White reflecting faintly
in the weak morning, sunlight. And they were fixed directly on
me. An overwhelming Panic, Rose in
my chest, my pulse throbbing painfully at my temples?
My vision blurred at the edges, dizziness flooding my head as if
I had stood too fast. I fought to steady myself
gripping the railing of the tree stand, but it felt as if all
strength had drained from my limbs, The Paleo eyed creature
below, remained perfectly still watching waiting.
Then Darkness surged up, swallowing my vision completely.
My last coherent thought was a simple desperate, plea.
Please let me wake up. I woke with dirt pressed Cold
against my cheek, my body heavy and numb, my mouth.
Tasted metallic gritty like Earth.
Slowly painfully. I pushed myself up, right?
Blinking away, the blur, in my eyes.
The midday Sun filtered through the trees, too.
Bright, sharp against my pounding skull.
My stomach, churned nauseous from dizziness and confusion.
For a few moments, nothing made sense.
I squinted taking in my surroundings I was sprawled
beside my truck parked haphazardly along the narrow
Access Road near Sylvan Lake, my rifle, lay beside me, its
polished wooden stock. NOW scarred by Deep Jagged
gouges as if something had clawed at it fiercely.
My chest tightened, cold dread washing over me as fragmented
memory surfaced. Those unnaturally pale eyes
locked on mine through binoculars.
That Twisted thing. Moving silently through the
Pines, I scrambled backward, heart thundering, and struggled
to my feet. My legs shook beneath me, but I
forced myself to stand to assess, My fingers, brushed
gingerly over my neck, my arms, my torso, nothing broken or
bleeding. Just dirt caked clothes and
fresh bruises. I breathed heavily trying to
steady my nerves rationalize away.
The Panic rising in my throat. But the marks on the rifle were
too real to dismiss. Something had attacked had
followed me back here. My pulse raced, as I circled the
truck eyes darting from Shadow to shadow.
That's when I noticed the tracks in the soft dirt.
They were larger than any mountain.
Lion print I'd ever seen elongated and misshapen too
narrow yet frighteningly deep. They circled my truck in uneven
Loops pacing repeatedly. I felt sick.
How long had it lingered here watching while I lay
unconscious? The silence around me returned.
No rustling leaves, no distant bird song, Just suffocating
Stillness I climbed into the driver's seat, locking the door
and gripping the steering wheel. So tightly, my Knuckles white
and I turned the key engine roaring to life shattering the
oppressive quiet. I drove out of the forest faster
than I ever had dirt and gravel sprang behind me.
The trees seemed to press closer.
Now, an endless Maze of Shadows. My eyes darted frantically to
the mirrors terrified. I'd see something pale alive and
distorted running alongside me. It took every ounce of
self-control not to lose my nerve entirely.
Half an hour later, I pulled shakily into the parking lot of
a small Diner, in Hill City. The reassuring presence of
civilization calmed me slightly as I stumbled inside.
People glanced briefly returning to their conversations and meals
unaware of the terror still gripping my chest.
I slid into a booth hands, trembling in ordered, black
coffee hoping to settle my nerves.
Across from me, a man about my age.
Nodded sympathetically. he introduced himself as Jim
Redford a local Hunter, his eyes narrowed, when he saw the
condition of my rifle Rough morning.
Jim asked cautiously. I hesitated then quietly told
him what happened? At first, he nodded slowly
skeptical. But as I described the creature,
the stretched limbs pale eyes. It's impossible movements.
Jim's face went Grimm. He glanced around the diner
before leaning closer. There's a name for it around
here, he whispered. Some call it the hill Walker.
Older folks, mostly they won't talk openly about it but Hunters
have whispered about it for years it stalks it waits and
it's nothing you'd ever want to see twice. a chill ran down my
spine, as he spoke The fear I had been desperately trying to
bury surged back colder and sharper than before.
I knew then I couldn't go back into those woods alone and deep
down. I wasn't sure I could ever set
foot there again. Twilight crept over the hills as
Gemini drove back toward the spot where I had seen that thing
earlier. My pulse quickened, as the
familiar outlines of trees, grew darker against the fading sky.
Jim had insisted. We needed to investigate to see
if what I'd encountered matched the Legends whispered through
generations, around these Hills, I wasn't sure why I agreed
except that, fear needed answers.
And hiding wouldn't make this go away the headlights sliced.
Thinly through the darkness, as we parked close to, where I had
left my truck hours before. We stepped out cautiously flash
lights flicking. Nervously through the shadows,
as we move deeper into the forest.
Soon, we reached my original hunting spot and the same
unnatural silence descended again.
Heavy enough to press the breath, from my lungs.
Jim Pauls shining his beam upward.
My tree stand still hung silently. 20 feet above us,
untouched but beneath it. The Earth had been Disturbed as
if something had pasted their obsessively.
The flash light beams traced the tracks elongated Prince, deep
and unsettlingly sharp edged overlapping again and again my
throat tightened as I whispered it waited here.
Jim nodded grimly eyes tense, scanning the darkness around us.
We shouldn't stay long, whatever.
This is, it isn't something we can handle easily.
A branch snapped nearby startlingly loud in the
oppressive quiet. Both flash lights swung, sharply
toward the sound, my pulse, thumped painfully, as Shadows,
flickered. Something moving rapidly.
Just beyond the reach of our lights.
A second crack of Twigs closer. Now.
I caught a glimpse of distorted shapes darting between trees,
quick and erratic. Then it emerged stepping into
our lights with slow. Deliberate motions.
My breath froze in my chest. The creature was taller than I
had realized early or grotesquely elongated.
Patchwork fur hung from limbs that Twisted strangely beneath
its weight. Its arms reached almost to the
ground fingers ending in dark Claus.
The face was more unsettling a distorted blend of human and
animal sharp teeth visible behind a fixed terrible grin.
Those pale lies caught, our lights reflecting a ghostly
Sheen as they locked on to us. Jim, my voice came out.
Barely a whisper, he raised his rifle face pale eyes wide, with
horror back away. Slowly, keep your guns steady.
The creature made a harsh. Rasping noise low at first but
Rising sharply to a chilling guttural shriek It lunged
Forward limbs unfolding grotesquely.
Gunshots exploded through the silence, echoing violently
between the trees the creature, staggered jerking back, but
didn't fall instead. It retreated into the Shadows
howling and fury as its circled. Us staying just beyond our
lights, run Jim shouted, his voice raw with panic.
We turned sprinting, blindly back toward the trucks flash
lights. Bouncing wildly ahead, branches
to my face Tearing Skin, as I stumbled through undergrowth, my
breath came ragged adrenaline scorching, my veins behind us,
the creature moved, through the darkness.
Shrinking again, impossibly fast and agile.
Finally, the trucks appeared, To head outlined faintly by the
moonlight. I lunged into my vehicle,
slamming the door Jim doing the same beside me.
Tires, spinning and engines roaring.
We tore back onto the access road.
I glanced into the rearview mirror.
One final time catching a flash of pale eyes at the edge of the
woods fixed on us as we sped away.
Days. Later, standing at Jim's cabin
in Hill City. My hands shook, as I packed my
gear. He watched silently his face,
grave. We'd spoken little about that
night since returning. Both unwilling to relive it.
You won't come back. Jim said quietly.
It wasn't a question. No, I replied voice tight never
again. As I pulled onto the main
Highway away from the Black Hills, I glanced toward the tree
line. One Last Time, unable to shake
the feeling that somewhere out there.
Hidden deep in the shadows. Pay alive.
Still watched waiting patiently for another chance.
The air was cold and sharp that morning, stinging the inside of
my nostrils. As I climb slowly up the creek.
Bed tour, the ridge, the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness was rugged
country dense, Pine's and twisted.
Cedars stacked upon steep Hillside, thick brush, scraping
against my legs, with every step.
Garrett. And I had hunted these
mountains, plenty. But today, something felt
different. Maybe it was the silence too,
heavy, like it was pressing down from above.
Birds were scarce, squirrels absent, even the creek seemed
muted. Garrett had split off toward the
higher ground an hour earlier hoping to flush an elk toward my
position. In The Gulch, we had tracking
collars sink to each other's GPS devices for safety though.
We'd never had reason to use them before.
The screen on my unit showed him ascending steadily climbing
about 300 yards. Ahead of me.
I paused to catch my breath and wipe the sweat from my forehead.
I checked the GPS. Again, Garrett had stopped
moving strange considering we plan to Rendezvous further along
the ridge. Just as I was about to radio
him, I heard his scream. It ripped through the silence,
sudden, and ragged raw Panic mixed with pain.
Adrenaline flooded, my veins, my heart slamming, into my ribs, as
I took off, running toward the sound, my feet slipped in loose
pine needles and damp Earth, nearly pitching me face first
into the hillside, but I kept scrambling upward ignoring the
burn in my lungs. Garrett.
I shouted as loudly as I could manage listening for any
response. None came only the oppressive
quiet somehow deeper than before.
I pushed myself harder gripping, low-hanging branches to haul
myself up, the steepening slope, When I finally crested the
ridge, my legs trembled beneath me.
I stopped abruptly nearly falling forward as the scene
unfolded before my eyes. the dirt was Disturbed, violently,
clawed and gouged as if something heavy had thrashed
across it, Garrett's bright, orange glove lace shredded on
the ground, streaked dark red blood splattered across the pine
needles in a chaotic pattern pooling in places then dragged
upward along the trunk of a massive, Douglas fur climbing,
impossibly High iced myself to breathe.
Steadily eyes darting around for Garrett or some sign of what had
attacked him but there was nothing, no movement, no sound,
only the blood gleaming fresh in patches marking a Grizzly path
upward into the trees. A sudden flicker of movement
above caught my attention instinctively, I jerked my head
upward rifle raised. High in the branches.
I Glimpse something pale and sinewave.
Vanish quickly between trees. It moved silently effortlessly
like something accustomed to traveling.
Where nothing should be able to climb.
I stared hard trying to make sense of the figure.
I just seen hoping it was my imagination playing tricks on me
in the shadows. Garrett, I yelled again,
desperation cracking my voice my words.
Echoed empty through the forest returning on answered.
I pasted nervously. Scanning upward helplessness
gnawing at my chest. What could have dragged Garrett
upwards, so swiftly. I couldn't imagine an animal
capable of it. my eyes traced the dark smears, higher and
higher disappearing into dense foliage, That's when I spotted
Garrett's hunting cap, Tangled in a branch far overhead.
The fabric was ripped soaked dark red at the edges.
Swaying slightly in the Wind. I sank slowly onto my knees.
Unable to look away. Fear took hole deeper and colder
than anything I'd ever felt. Whatever had taken Garrett, was
still out there watching from somewhere above.
The woods around me were silent and still, but I knew with awful
certainty that I was not alone. I stumbled back into our camp
just as dusk was settling over Paradise Meadows.
The thin orange glow of sunset faded quickly replaced by a
thick impenetrable darkness that felt suffocating My hands
trembled. As I struggled to light the
fire, Matches slipped from my shaking fingers one after
another until finally a flame caught the Tinder crackling
weakly to life. Sitting close to the small fire.
I gripped. My rifle tightly eyes.
Darting between the trees around me.
Every shadow seemed deeper than usual, each movement of
branches, overhead, pulled my attention, sharply upward, my
thoughts, raced chaotically replaying, the image of
Garrett's shredded glove, the blood streaked trees, and that
brief glimpse of something. Agile and impossibly, pale
swinging between the branches. I stared numbly Into the Fire,
occasionally glancing down at my GPS unit.
Garrett signal was offline. Now Frozen at his last known
location, a ghostly dot far upslope.
Without any cell reception and darkness swallowing the
landscape hiking out tonight was impossible.
I was stuck until dawn trapped alone in the middle of nowhere
waiting. That's when the scratching
started at first, it was subtle. A faint, scraping high in the
trees, my muscles went rigid as I strained to hear better
holding my breath. Silence followed broken.
Only by the crackling of the fire.
Just as I began to think. I'd imagined it the scratching
resumed clearer this time. Deliberate, and rhythmic
directly above me, I slowly lifted my gaze upward but the
branches were too thick, the canopy too dense revealing
nothing. Yet the scratching persisted a
quiet persistent rasping noise that slowly moved from One Tree
to another my heart thudded painfully, and my chest.
As I raise the rifle aiming, vaguely into the Shadows, who's
up there. My voice echoed weekly through
the trees. The question hanging on
answered. The scratching abruptly stopped.
Silence fell again, heavy and absolute.
I lowered the rifle, slightly blinking, sweat, from my eyes.
Maybe it was just a squirrel or some nocturnal bird, but deep
down, I knew that wasn't true animals.
Didn't move like that. Didn't wait and watch silently
calculating each movement. A sudden piercing scream,
shattered the quiet, high pitched and twisted, nearly
human, but distorted by pain. it echoed eerily through the valley
chilling, my blood squeezing, my chest until breathing hurt, It
sounded like Garrett scream from earlier mocked twisted and
thrown back at me from somewhere deep within the forest.
Panics surged through my limbs, I swung the rifle wildly around
spinning, to check every direction.
Something rustled overhead and I jerked my head upward just as a
heavy wet object fell from the branches of Landing with a dull,
thud just beyond the fires Edge. My body froze, heart pounding
loudly in my ears as I stared at the spot.
Trembling, I slowly move forward rifle held tight against my
shoulder finger resting lightly on the trigger.
As I drew closer, I noticed a faint blue glow flickering in
the grass, my throat tightened in dread when I recognized it,
it was Garrett's GPS collar, the screen cracked and splattered
with fresh blood. Neiling slowly, I picked it up
my fingers, slick with crimson. The device felt impossibly heavy
in my hand evidence of something unnatural and terrifying above
me. Instinct, force my head upward
once again with shaking fingers. I raise my flash light and aimed
it toward the branches directly overhead.
The beam sliced through the Shadows, briefly Illuminating, a
pale elongated figure. Crouched upside down against the
trunk. Its limbs were thin and twisted.
Impossibly long fingers gripping, the bark reflective
eyes, stared unblinking. Fixed directly on me lips.
Pulled back in a silent predatory grin.
I jerked backward, my breath catching painfully and my
throat. The flashlight dropped from my
num grip. Clattering to the ground
plunging, the trees back into darkness.
The image burned into my mind seared in place.
The creature still crouched above waiting observing, I
huddled closer to the fire gripping, my wife until my
Knuckles turned white. I knew it was still up there,
hidden in the darkness watching me intently Whatever it was.
I understood clearly. I wasn't leaving this place,
unless it allowed me to, I barely slept jolting awake every
few minutes, as if I had been shocked.
Dawn, crept in slowly Pale Light filtering through the branches
of The fire had burned down to Grey ashes and the morning are
felt damp and heavy chilling me straight to my bones.
My body ached from exhaustion muscles stiff and nerves raw.
I shoved a few supplies into my pack moving quickly and quietly,
my goal was simple, get out of the Wilderness and find help.
Each sound seemed Amplified as I moved Twigs.
Snapping under my boots. Fabric scraping against brush.
I felt exposed vulnerable. Beneath the canopy that loomed
overhead My eyes constantly scanned upward, wary of any
movement among the Treetops. The silence broke abruptly.
Branches cracking violently above me?
My head snapped upward, my heart, nearly stopping.
As I saw glimpses of something, pale and spindly moving swiftly
through the branches leaping easily between the trees
descending toward me. Panic exploded through my chest,
adrenaline overriding the stiffness in my limbs.
I sprinted blindly through the brush branches clawing at my
face and neck not daring to look back.
My foot caught on something, hidden beneath fallen leaves and
suddenly I was tumbling downward.
My shoulder slammed painfully into the Earth, momentum,
rolling me down a steep Rocky incline.
I crashed into brush my vision blurring with pain.
Struggling to my feet. I realized I'd fallen into a
thick patch of Twisted trees. And undergrowth Thorns dug into
my arms, Tangled branches, grabbing at my clothes above me,
the violent crashing continued, louder and closer.
I raised my rifle, unsteadily scanning the branches breathing
raggedly as Panic, squeezed my chest.
I couldn't see clearly through the Tangled foliage, but I knew
something was approaching rapidly.
Another loud snap. Echoed from above Twigs and
needles rained down around me, stinging my face.
Through the gaps, I caught sight of it.
Again, it crouched on a branch just overhead, its body thin and
sinui limbs bent at unnatural angles.
Its skin was colorless and stretched tight over elongated
bone bones. Eyes, Cold and reflective stared
down at me with intent. Curved claws.
Flexed, silently around the branch.
Finger tip with hooked Nails, dark and buy dried blood.
My heart thundered wildly and my ears the creature shifted
forward slightly lips, pulling back an anticipation, I raise my
rifle aimed directly upward and squeezed the trigger.
The Gunshot shattered, the silence, The Recoil jolted
painfully into my shoulder ears, ringing.
And inhuman, scream pierced, the are sharp and Furious.
The pale figure recoiled, violently losing its balance and
tumbling awkwardly through the branches.
Without waiting to see where it landed.
I turned and scrambled desperately through the brush,
forcing myself, through the Tangled, mess of trees and
thorns. My lungs burned painfully each
breath feeling like glass shards.
Scraping inside my chest. I ran wildly stumbling tripping
refusing to slow down until I burst free of the underbrush
onto a familiar path. The trailhead to Paradise lay
just ahead visible through the thinning trees.
My strength gave out then, knees buckling as I fell hard onto
gravel and dirt voices shouted nearby distant at first.
Then suddenly close Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me
upright concerned faces appearing in my blurred vision.
Hikers staring at me with wide eyes and Urgent questions.
I tried to speak to explain about Garrett the creature, the
terror of the trees. But words wouldn't come.
My throat tightened Vision dimming as the adrenaline faded,
leaving only exhaustion and fear.
Rescuers eventually arrived guiding me safely out of the
Selway Bitterroot wilderness. They searched for Garrett for
days, scouring The Ridges combing, the woods.
They found no body, no sign of him.
Besides his shredded glove cap and GPS eventually they stopped
looking labeling. It a tragic Wildlife attack.
I moved away shortly. Afterward abandoning Idaho and
its forests for the bright lights of Boise, desperate for
distance between myself and those towering trees.
But despite leaving despite moving hundreds of miles away, I
know I'm not truly free even now in the Silence of my new home, I
wake in the dark, listening to scratching sounds outside.
My window convinced that whatever took Garrett, whatever
worked high up in those woods has never stopped watching me.
It had been a long weekend at my sister's place and though, I
cherished, every moment exhaustion had finally settled
in to my bones. Emma.
And Mason, my two little bundles of restless energy had been
bouncing off the walls all day. Now trapped in our cramped,
sedan their bickering, had reached a boiling point.
Hutching me, Mason shrieked, his voice shrill enough to make my
temples throb. I'm not even touching.
You Emma Shot back. Her tone equally indignant guys
enough. My voice cracked slightly
betraying my frayed nerves. Taking a deep breath, I
reluctantly signaled and pulled off to the gravel shoulder of
the isolated Highway nestled deep within the Appalachian
Countryside. The Fading daylight cast, a
murky glow over the dense. Forests that line the road trees
standing like dark Sentinels guarding ancient secrets.
Twisting around. I fixed them with my sternest.
Mom stare. If you two don't settle down
right now, there won't be any screens for a week.
Do you understand me? They fell into Sullen silence
and I closed my eyes, briefly pinching the bridge of my nose
to ease the building headache. That was when I noticed it.
A soft distant hum of an approaching engine.
My eyes, flickered to the rearview mirror.
Catching headlights, weaving slowly through the dust drawing
nearer at an oddly cautious pace.
Instinctively, I straightened up alertness.
Prickling down my spine. The car, an old sedan with a
faded blue. Paint job, slowed to a stop
alongside ours. Passenger window lowering with a
tired mechanical. Whine, inside, SATA middle-aged
couple, their faces illuminated by the dim glow from the dash.
The woman leaned slightly toward the open window.
Her pale face bearing an amiable smile beneath eyes that were
oddly vacant distant even. Evening, she called out her
voice cheerful but Halo like rehearsed friendliness.
Thought we should warn you. There's a nasty accident just to
head over the hill, traffics, completely backed up.
Beside her. The man stared forward.
Silently barely blinking. His thin lips slightly parted He
hadn't moved or glanced in my direction, since they stopped
and his unnatural Stillness and goosebumps skittering across my
arms. Oh, I managed trying not to
reveal my unease. Thank you.
The woman smile, widened slightly becoming almost forced.
There's a little road right up here.
She continued pointing vaguely toward the shadowy woods behind
her. It'll take you right around the
wreck. You'll get home faster that way.
Something about her overly helpful tone twisted my gut.
That's very kind. I said masking hesitation, I
appreciate the warning. For the briefest moment, her
eyes hardened, an icy glint, replacing the forced warmth.
Then almost immediately she returned to her two friendly
demeanor. Just trying to help drive
safely. They pulled away slowly gravel
crunching, softly beneath their tires.
My breath came shakily as their tail lights, vanished down the
road. Leaving me sitting in unnerving
silence. Emma, and Mason had fallen.
Unusually quiet, their small faces pale in the dim interior.
Mommy, Emma whispered on certainly, those people were
weird. I forced a reassuring smile.
Just trying to be helpful, sweetie. but as I pulled back
onto the main road doubt, at my mind, The suggested detour
appeared just up ahead a narrow unpaved road diving sharply into
the dense forest. Its entrance swallowed by
thickening Shadows my pulse quick and as I neared it eyes
involuntarily drawn to the looming darkened Woods.
Then I saw them again. Their car sat idly by the
roadside awkwardly parked half hidden among tall blackened
trees. Both occupants, stood silently
beside the vehicle shoulders. Rigid, eyes locked, unblinking
onto something. Unseen deep within the Tangled
Forest, Their postures were unsettlingly stiff almost
unnatural? Neither acknowledged, my slow,
passage it was as if I didn't exist.
My stomach Twisted sharply Panic, fluttering up my throat.
As I quickly pressed harder on the gas pedal, the road unfolded
silently beneath me trees, blurring past only when Mi
stretched between us. Did I release my breath?
Realizing I'd been holding it all this time.
That night safe at home sleep, eluded me.
Every shadow reminded me of those strange lifeless stares.
The unnatural Stillness, and the way they'd waited silently
expectantly at the mouth of that forgotten Road.
A road that seemed to lead nowhere but Darkness.
Morning sunlight painted a deceptive warmth over the
countryside pushing back the Terrors of the night before.
Yet a lingering on ease refused to fade.
After dropping Emma and Mason at school, kissing them a bit too
long, holding them a bit too tightly.
I found myself drawn, inexplicably back toward that
isolated stretch of road. My heart beat faster.
As familiar landmarks blurred past anxiety simmering, beneath
my skin, I tried to convince myself.
I was overreacting that daylight would make my fears vanish But
as the narrow road came into view dread returned with
suffocating strength. Slowing down.
I peered carefully toward the roadside, my pulse hammering,
like a trapped bird against my rib cage.
A rusted, metal sign emerged from behind thick brush,
partially, concealed and leaning.
Precariously. My breath caught sharply dead
end. I swallowed hard guiding my car
carefully onto the shoulder gravel crunching, softly beneath
my tires. For a long moment, I just sat
there hands gripping the steering wheel.
So tightly my Knuckles, white and The memory of the couple's
vacant stares and rigid postures was Vivid haunting, the
compulsion to understand to unravel this.
Unsettling mystery, proved stronger than my fear.
Reluctantly I stepped out my shoes thinking slightly into the
soft Earth damp from the morning dew.
The woods surrounding me, felt oppressive, their thick
branches, forming a natural tunnel.
That seemed to suck the sunlight away.
An unnatural silence enveloped everything.
Not a bird chirped, nor leaves rustled.
It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath waiting.
Taking cautious steps toward the dead end sign.
I noticed faint tire marks in the gravel beside them were
clearer, Footprints, fresh imprints, leading from where the
car had parked toward the impenetrable darkness of the
Woods. The couple had walked straight
into the trees leaving. No Trail beyond the initial line
of trees as if they'd simply dissolved into the shadow depths
My pulse quick, and as I followed the footprints to the
Treeline peering into the Tangled shadowfield, thick it.
Something unsettlingly large had recently passed through here.
Branches were snapped at unnatural angles bark, freshly
torn. A chill prickled, along my
spine, as my eyes, caught sight of something on the forest
floor. Shattered glass and Rusty
Twisted Metal half, buried and fallen leaves hinting ominously
at long forgotten violence, suddenly a faint, nauseating,
odor curled through the air. A smell of rot damp Earth and
something darker. Coppery unmistakably familiar
blood. I stumbled backward, nearly
tripping over Roots, hidden beneath the grass.
My heart raced adrenaline, flooding my veins as Panic,
threatened to overtake me, whirling around desperate to
return to my car. I froze from deep within the
shadowy woods, barely visible but unmistakable stood two
figures My throat tightened painfully heart pounding as if
ready to burst from my chest. The couple stood, motionless
staring directly at me through gaps between Twisted, trunks
their pale expressionless faces, half hidden in the shadows.
It was impossible. They couldn't have been standing
there unnoticed all this time yet there they were unblinking.
Statue us their eyes gleaming dully like marbles in the Gloom.
A sudden Whisperer drifted from the darkness alone rasping sound
that crawled over my skin. Like spider legs.
My blood ran cold, it was not a language.
I recognized just unintelligible.
Murmurs that filled the Silence with malicious intent.
Terrified, I forced myself to turn away.
Stumbling back to my car on numb legs, certain that any moment,
I'd feel a cold hand grip, my shoulder or hear footsteps
chasing me The door slam shut behind me.
And I quickly Twisted the key, the engine roaring to life, a
Lifeline anchoring me back to reality.
Glancing in the rear view, mirror, my blood froze, one
final time. The figures had moved forward
closer to the roads Edge. Still unmoving, still staring, I
peeled away, tires, scattering, gravel heart hammering, and
chaotic rhythm. I vowed silently never to return
to this cursed road again yet. Even now 15 years later their
lifeless faces. Still haunt me and Nightmares
Whispering from the dark and woods waiting patiently.
Endlessly. Waiting for another unfortunate
soul to follow them into the Shadows.
I'd driven Route 322 East of Cleveland hundreds of times six
years of hauling packages at midnight in a 30 foot
freightliner teaches you a lot about being alone.
It also teaches you when to keep your eyes on the road and when
not to look too closely into the forest lining either side of
you. Tonight, as usual, the trees,
stood packed, tight, thick, branches Tangled.
Overhead forming, dark tunnels that swallowed my headlights
whole Fog clung to the pavement, creeping upward, and ghostly
tendrils that made each curve feel sharper, each Hill,
steeper, I rolled past, Orwell, my headlights, barely cutting
through the thickening. Mist, abandoned Barn, stood gray
and sagging at the edge of fields, their roofs collapsing,
inward Windows long shattered. Houses laid dark and empty
grass, overgrown, driveways chained off signs posted warning
trespassers away. No porch lights, offered
Comfort, no friendly faces. Just darkness, and the steady
growl of my diesel engine pushing through the foggy.
Silence, as I passed into Mesopotamia, Township the woods
pressed in closer. Here, root 322 wound uphill
through a narrow Gorge of towering Pines and skeleton Oaks
whose black branches clawed at the night sky.
In six years of this route, I'd never shaken the Sensation that
something watched from behind the tree trunks, something
silent and patient. Dear sometimes, burst from the
Shadows, their eyes glowing green as they leapt through the
headlights. Tonight, there were none, not
even Birds fluttered up from the roadside.
I shifted gears the truck rumbling steadily.
Fog began pressing thicker against the windshield.
Forcing me to squint and slow down a chill settled into my
bones as I reached a winding stretch near welshfield There
the road dipped sharply before climbing again, for some reason
tonight felt colder quieter empty.
Her I leaned forward gripping, the wheel eyes, straining
against the pale, glow of the high beams, then at the edge of
my vision, something darker to cross the windshield.
Not a bird. I told myself too big too fast.
I shook my head convincing myself.
It was fatigued. But my chest tightened
adrenaline, trickling slowly into my veins.
I focused on breathing and pushed on fingers gripping the
wheel harder. The road levels briefly and
ahead. Moonlight spilled across the
asphalt. I could see more clearly.
Now, the fog had temporarily lifted in this open stretch.
Then it appeared again. A huge Shadow flashed downward.
Blotting out the Moonlight and suddenly hurled straight at me.
I saw it. Clearly this time, massive Wings
outstretched limbs extended. Like, a diver plunging toward my
cab, I instinctively ducked beneath the dash shielding, my
face just as something heavy crashed violently against the
aluminum roof above The truck shuddered and swayed under the
impact metal, echoing with a Halo boom, that rattled through
the cab and down into my bones. Slamming, the brakes tires
screaming across wet pavement. I skidded to a stop in the
middle of root, 300 and 222. My pulse hammered in my ears.
For several seconds, I didn't move just stared blankly at the
dashboard, my breathing, ragged and shallow.
Silence returned around me, heavy pressing thick.
Slowly carefully. I straightened heart still
pounding as I peered through the windshield into the foggy
Darkness ahead nothing stirred, every rational part of me wanted
to stay in the truck, lock the doors, keep driving, but
curiosity, and fear nod at my resolve.
If it was an animal, it might be injured.
I had to see what it hit my truck.
I grabbed the heavy black flash light from the glove box, and
stepped down, onto the cold, asphalt feet crunching gravel.
As I circled cautiously around to the back of the truck fogs
swirled in my flash lights week, Bean drifting lazily obscuring,
everything Beyond a few yards. My eyes strained through the
haze heart hammering louder with every step.
At first I saw nothing. Just empty pavement, shadowy
underbrush and trees standing like silent Sentinels along the
roadside. Then the flashlight caught
something, large and dark crumpled on the edge of the
pavement about 50 yards away, the beam illuminated leathery
tattered Wings sprawled across the asphalt limbs Twisted
awkwardly no feathers only dark skin reflecting wetly under the
moonlight I paused breathing shallow legs, trembling slightly
as I moved forward again. Slowly approaching the
motionless form. From this distance, the shape,
resembled a massive bird, perhaps a giant hawk or Eagle,
but it seemed off somehow wrong. There were no feathers, no beak,
just strange proportions beneath the dark skin stretched taught
across thin. Limbs My Mind, Race trying to
comprehend. What lay before me?
When I was about 15 feet away the figure suddenly jerked
upright limbs unfolding sharply beneath its body.
My heart froze in my chest. It stood upright perfectly still
its shaped silhouetted against the pale, glow of moonlight.
It was tall close to my own height and thin its limbs too
long too. Angular two human.
Red eyes, glinted dully in the flashlight.
Beam. Fixed directly upon me.
A mouth open slightly, revealing teeth that gleamed wetly.
No bird. No eagle or Hawk something else
entirely something that should not exist before.
I could react it. Bent its knees, slightly Wings,
spreading wide, and shot upward into the night without a sound.
I stumbled backward flash like clattering to the ground.
The dark figure of vanished, instantly into the fog,
shrouded, trees, leaving only empty night, and deafening
silence behind. Heart thundering hands, shaking
uncontrollably. I staggered back to the truck
clambered inside and locked the doors.
My breath fogged, the windshield pulse echoing in my ears.
Without looking back, I slammed the truck into gear and
accelerated racing away from the stretch of road and whatever
impossible thing I had just witnessed. but the image was
burned into my memory, the leathery skin, those silent
Wings red eyes glowing dimly, Not human, not animal, something
unknown and terrifying, lurking along, Route 322 in the darkness
east of Cleveland my hands shook so badly.
I had trouble, keeping the truck steady The cab was suddenly
suffocating every sound Amplified, every vibration
magnified fog pressed against the windshield.
Again, blocking visibility turning the road ahead into
nothing more than vague shapes. My heart, pounded hard enough to
hurt, and my chest felt tight compressed under the weight of
what. I just seen, the creatures read
eyes lingered in my mind, burned into my memory.
I replayed, those few, horrifying seconds over and over
the shape on folding standing watching me silently. then
Vanishing into the darkness of without even a Whisper Of Sound
a cold, sweat beaded, along my forehead, as I continue down
root 300 in 222 toward Chesterland Every shadow moving
past, the truck became a new threat.
Every rustling Branch every flicker of fog.
Across my headlights. Made me jump.
I was barely breathing each inhales, shallow and strained.
Then something else caught my attention.
A blur dark and impossibly quick move just beyond the edges of my
headlights weaving, among the trees, parallel to the road.
I strained my eyes trying to follow the fleeting shapes.
That seemed to Pace me through the woods.
Were there more of them, my chest tightened again, fingers
clutching the wheel. So tightly, my Knuckles went
numb. Each time I glanced over the
movement stopped leaving only thick unmoving Darkness.
I sped up engine roaring loudly diesel echoing off the tunnel of
trees. As I approached the outskirts of
Chesterland something passed above the truck, casting a
brief, but unmistakable Shadow across the moonlit Road.
My stomach lurched and I involuntarily ducked my head
again, nothing landed but the presence lingard somewhere
nearby unseen but not gone. My radio, crackled sharply
startling me static filled the cab growing louder drowning out,
even the growl of my engine. A voice cut through the static
fragmented unintelligible at first, then clearer disturbingly
familiar. It was a voice I recognized
immediately my own distorted and panicked repeating words.
I hadn't yet spoken. My hands shook harder and I
switched the radio off plunging. The cab into silence just ahead
the lights of Chesterland. Finally came into view dimly
glowing through the fog like a beacon.
The faint Comfort. They offered pushed me forward.
When I finally turned into the brightly lit, Sunoco station on
Mayfield Road. My relief was overwhelming.
My legs felt weak trembling as I parked the truck near the pumps
and Switched Off the ignition. Silence settled again, heavy and
oppressive. Taking several deep breaths.
I stepped down onto the pavement cold air bit into my lungs.
I had to see the damage had to confirm that.
It was real. That this wasn't some waking
nightmare. Slowly dreading what I might
find. I walked around to the front of
the truck peering Upward at the aluminum box above the cab, the
site, froze. Me in place there at etched into
the grime and Road dust where massive Wings, unmistakably
defined across the metal. The prince stretched easily six
feet from tip to tip veined and bat like detail in precise.
No feathers, no resemblance to any bird I'd ever seen.
At the center of the Impressions were deep indentations.
Clear marks of clawed hands gripping the aluminum.
My skin went cold stomach twisting painfully from behind
me came the sharp click of a lighter.
I spun around so quickly. I nearly lost my balance, a
young gas station attendant leaned against the wall,
cigarette dangling, Loosely from his lips.
He eyed me carefully then. Glanced up at the marks of the
cab. His expression changing
instantly to recognition. What happened to you out, there
he asked, quietly taking a slow drag, his voice was low
cautious. I hesitated not knowing how much
to share. How much would sound insane, hit
something big. I finally replied my voice was
hoarse and barely audible. Even to myself, he nodded slowly
eyes, narrowing slightly? Yeah, you're not the first man.
Seen those same marks before drivers come through here.
Sometimes looking just like you shaking pale as a ghost.
What the hell is it? My voice cracked revealing more
fear than I intended. He Shrugged uneasily.
Glancing back up at the marks. Nobody knows.
Been stories out there for years folks.
Around here, call it the flyer Comes around every few months.
Chases trucks down that same stretch of road.
Usually at night when nobody else is around.
His words sent a fresh wave of dread washing over me.
What does it want? He paused exhaling smoke slowly
into the foggy are Some say it likes the engines, the diesel
sound, draws it in, attracts it somehow.
Others say, it's just waiting for someone.
Unlucky enough to stop to step out of the truck like you did
tonight. Nobody sure, but whatever it is,
it's not good. He stubbed out his cigarette
eyes darting toward the dark and road behind me.
Be careful heading back. If I were you I'd find another
route. With a tight nod.
He Slipped back into the brightly lit station.
Leaving me alone again in the oppressive quiet.
I stared at the wing Prince One Last Time, pulse hammering
loudly in my ears. Slowly reluctantly, I climbed
back into the cab locking the door tightly behind me.
I knew I had no choice. Soon, I'd have to head back
down. Root 322 right through that same
foggy, Darkness again, toward whatever was still waiting out
there for me. I sat motionless inside the cab
staring blankly at the fog Laden, windshield.
Minutes, ticked by the diesel engine idling.
Steadily beneath me. The rhythmic vibration traveling
up my legs. My heart wouldn't settle and
Dread pulled heavily in my stomach.
I didn't want to go back that way, not to night, not ever.
But there were no good Alternatives, Route. 322 was the
only feasible way home without adding nearly an hour to my
trip. Reaching under the passenger
seat. I grabbed the Crowbar.
I kept tucked their gripping. The cold metal tightly.
If provided little comfort. I switched off the radio,
completely afraid it would burst to life again with another
Twisted imitation of my voice. Instead, I open the voice
recorder on my phone and placed it on the dashboard.
If something happened to me, someone needed to know what I
had seen. Taking a long shaky breath, I
shifted into gear and turned the truck back onto Route 322
heading east. Again my headlights sliced into
the darkness Illuminating empty stretches of damp asphalt and
trees, looming closely on both sides.
The fog had thinned, but the silence outside was even
heavier. Not a single sound broke
through. No rustling leaves.
No animals in the underbrush. Just the constant hum of my
tires on the road. My eyes kept darting upwards
scanning the black Sky, wary of any movement above Each mile
passed painfully slow tension. Nodding tighter inside me.
I approached the section of Road near welshfield where the
creature had first appeared my chest tightening.
The engine suddenly sputtered power faltering, briefly causing
my heart to LEAP into my throat. Gauges.
Flickered, the lights dimming for a fraction of a second.
No, please. I whispered begging the truck.
Not to fail me now. The engine sputtered again.
Louder this time. The headlights flickered.
Once more than faded, completely plunging me into absolute
Darkness. I fought to maintain control as
the truck slowed rapidly. The steering heavy in my hands.
Panic surged through me as the truck rolled to a dead.
Stop completely powerless sitting helplessly in the middle
of the deserted Road. I froze, hardly daring to
breathe. Slowly reached for the
flashlight. Clicked it on and aimed the weak
beam forward Illuminating the foggy road ahead.
At first, there was nothing. Just black pavement and pale
missed drifting lazily over the ground.
Then the beam caught something standing Motionless in the road
about 20 yards ahead. It was there waiting.
It's thin frame. Stood, upright perfectly still.
Massive leathery Wings draped from its shoulders hanging
limply at its sides. The creature was facing me
directly. The dull glow of its red eyes.
Fixed firmly on my truck, I shuddered uncontrollably, the
Crowbar slipping slightly in my damp Palms.
My mind raced desperately for options but every Escape seemed
impossible. It began walking forward, one
slow deliberate. Step.
After another closing, the Gap silently in The Flash, Light
Beam, I saw, its face clearly for the first time.
Skin stretched tight over sharp. Cheekbones pale and translucent.
Its mouth hung partially opened teeth gleaming wetly in the
faint light. The Wing's twitched slightly
with each step, their veined, membranes glistening Panic,
clawed viciously, at my chest, as it approached, I raise the
Crowbar. Heart thundering preparing for
whatever hopeless fight, awaited, The creature was just a
few feet away. Now, its skeletal fingers,
Reaching Forward, fingertips brushing against the grill of
the truck. I braced myself.
Eyes locked onto the things, empty, red gaze. then blinding
headlights suddenly flashed behind me, slicing through the
darkness, bathing everything in harsh, white light, A horn,
blared loud and urgent. The creature's head snapped
sharply toward the new sound in an instant.
It turned leaped upward and vanished swiftly into the dark
trees along the roadside. A large delivery truck pulled to
a stop behind me and engine rumbling loudly lights,
Illuminating everything. I sagged back into my seat
muscles. Trembling from the sudden
release of tension. The truck driver climbed down,
flash light in hand and cautiously approached.
My window, his expression was serious but understanding You
all right man. He called out knocking gently on
the glass. Hand shaking badly.
I opened the door and stepped down onto the road.
My voice cracked as I replied. You saw it didn't you?
He nodded Gravely eyes scanning the dark woods wearily.
I've seen it before two years ago, same road.
Same damn spot. Almost crashed my rig that night
What the hell is it? My voice was barely above a
whisper. He shook his head slowly.
I don't know friend, nobody does.
But if I had, to guess it's been out here a long time.
People see it? Occasionally always around this
stretch. Usually folks keep quiet about
it, easier that way. We quickly checked my truck,
managed to jumpstart the battery and got it running again. he
advised me to never stop along that road at night and if
possible to avoid driving at all together, I thanked him
sincerely grateful beyond words and climbed back into my truck.
I didn't stop again until daylight broke reassuring, and
bright. At home, exhaustion, overtook
me. But before sleep came, I
scrubbed the front of the truck, clean washing away, the marks,
the dirt, and the reminders of the encounter.
Satisfied I collapsed into bed falling instantly into a
Restless sleep. But when I woke later that
afternoon, I noticed something from my bedroom window something
that sent to chill. Crawling slowly up my spine,
faint but unmistakable pressed deeply into the metal itself
where the outlines of those massive veined wings.
No matter how hard I scrubbed the imprints remained.
I never drove Route. 322 again, eventually switching to daytime
routes through busier towns. But some nights even far from
that road when everything was silent.
And still, I would hear heavy Wings beating somewhere high
above passing overhead quietly, hidden by Darkness.
It was just passed 11 at night and I was driving home alone
from a friend's house in Chester Township.
My hands gripped. The wheel tightly my Knuckles
pale beneath the faint green dashboard lights.
I'd had my driver's license for barely three weeks and I still
wasn't completely comfortable behind the wheel especially at
night. The road stretched endlessly in
front of me, Mayfield Road as the signs marked, it curving,
through dense forests, that pressed in on either side.
The fog rolled in heavier than usual smothering, everything
beyond my headlights. I wasn't playing music, my phone
States silent and my jacket pocket because every turn every
shadow demanding of my full attention.
I knew these winding roads. Could hide anything especially
Wildlife, that darted out unexpectedly.
A slight drizzle blurred my windshield, my wipers barely
keeping Pace with the weather, the world felt enclosed reduced
to just a few feet of asphalt illuminated by my headlights. as
I approached a tight curve near Gates Mills, my heart jolted, as
a large dark object appeared suddenly in front of me, I
slammed the brakes, the tires screeching on wet pavement.
My pulse thundered in my ears as the car shuddered to a stop
inches away. From a massive tree log sprawled
across both lanes, I sat there a moment, breathing shakily
adrenaline, flooding my veins. My headlights, lit up the rough
bark of the log and as I squinted through the windshield
something about it looked strangely deliberate carefully,
placed not Fallen. It was too neat.
Two symmetrical. My stomach Twisted into knots.
For a brief second. I debated calling someone maybe
my dad or roadside assistance. But embarrassment took hold.
It was just a log, I could handle it.
I'd started hitting the gym recently and even though I
wasn't the strongest guy around, it seemed manageable Maybe I was
overreacting. so with an uneasy sigh, I pulled on my hood and
stepped out of the car, immediately assaulted by cold
rain, as I approached the log headlights appeared in my
peripheral vision. Another car was slowly creeping
up behind mine, its beams pierced, the fog and it rolled
to a stop about 20 feet away. I squinted shielding my eyes
from the glare unable to make out who was behind the wheel.
Then abruptly, the car started flashing its high beams
repeatedly, honking its horn. The sudden chaotic noise
startled. Me making my breath hitch.
Confusion turned to anxiety as the honking persisted insistent
in aggressive. What the hell?
I muttered half angry half scared.
Maybe they thought I was blocking the road intentionally.
My pulse quickened as Panic began to Claw at my throat.
I wasn't used to confrontations, especially not out here in the
middle of nowhere. Quickly, abandoning the idea of
moving the law, I sprinted back toward my car, fumbling for the
door handle as rain pelted my face.
The second my door slammed shut. I punched the accelerator tires
slipping on wet asphalt before gripping.
The mysterious vehicle behind me lurched forward matching my
speed, high beam, still flooding my mirrors and blinding me
intermittently every few seconds.
The horn, blared echoing through the trees, I took sharp turns
down back roads. I hardly knew so M Center Road
County Line, Road. Anything I could think of to
lose them. But no matter where I turned
those headlights were glued to my rear bumper.
I felt my throat tightened, my breathing ragged as Panic,
seeped into my chest, my grip tightened painfully on the
Wheel. Was this road rage was I being
chased by someone dangerous. Eventually.
After 10 minutes of frantic driving, I saw the familiar
street lights of my neighborhood in Mayfield Heights.
Relief flooded through me briefly but it was short-lived.
The other car was still behind me.
I whipped into my driveway, not even bothering to straighten the
car Out. Jumped from the driver's seat
and bolted inside. Slamming the front door.
Shut behind me and locking it. Swiftly my chest, heaved
gasping. Air as I leaned against the
door, But just, as I thought the nightmare was over, I heard it
the sound of footsteps quickly approaching and then three
deliberate heavy knocks at the door.
I stood Frozen in the hallway. Heart hammering.
So loudly, I could feel it in my temples.
Three slow, heavy knocks, reverberated Through the Wood.
Again, I swallowed dryly trying to slow my breathing but it came
shallow and ragged despite my efforts.
Then came the voice. A woman's voice gentle yet.
Clear? Quietly?
Calling my last name. Hello.
Are you there? We need to speak with you.
A chill race down my spine. Who the hell was that?
My door at this hour? My last name was right there on
the mailbox. Sure, but it was passed
midnight. The knocking, resumed firmer,
this time more. Insistent, I hesitated every
Instinct screaming at me to stay silent to hide.
But curiosity, and a strange sense of obligation took hold.
I crept forward quietly holding my breath and slowly leaned into
the door. Placing my eye against the tiny
people. Outside stood.
In older, couple illuminated by the porch light.
They seemed harmless enough mid-60s, maybe.
The woman was petite. Her gray hair tucked neatly
beneath the scarf her face wearing, a gentle expression
beside her. The man stood taller thin framed
and hunched slightly against the drizzle.
A concerned. Look at deeply into his face.
I exhaled, heart still racing but feeling slightly foolish for
panicking so badly. Against my better judgment.
I turned the lock keeping the chain latched.
As I cracked the door open just an inch.
Can I help you? I asked cautiously my voice
barely louder than a whisper. Oh, thank goodness.
The woman said softly, visibly relieved.
We've been trying to get your attention.
My brow furrowed. Why?
What's going on? The older man stepped forward
slightly his voice calm yet serious.
Son, we were behind you on Mayfield Road right back near
Gates Mills. We saw you get out to move that.
Log my stomach Twisted painfully as dreads.
Slowly up my spine, I nodded silently.
Barely able to form words when you got out, he continued slowly
his tone, careful, someone climbed into your backseat.
I stared blankly at him. The meaning of his words hitting
me like ice water. My breath caught sharply in my
throat, what the woman, nodded solemnly, her eyes wide, and
earnest. It happened.
Right? As you stepped out, we tried
flashing our lights and honking to warn you, but you drove away
so fast. Blood drain from my face.
My knees. Suddenly weak.
Someone was in my car. Yes, the man replied Gravely.
We followed you here to make sure you got home safely.
We were worried. Without thinking I unlatched the
chain and flung the door wide open suddenly filled with
frantic urgency I rushed past them grabbing a sturdy umbrella
from the stand, beside the door. Rain pelted down harder now but
I barely felt it. My feet splashed through
puddles, as I sprinted to my car, I peered inside shining my
phone's flash light across the backseat in floor.
Empty relief, nearly brought tears to my eyes, my breathing
steady slightly. Then I opened the driver's door.
The Flash Light Beam wavering slightly from my trembling
hands. As I scan, the floorboards,
something metallic glinted from under the seat.
Kneeling carefully, I reached beneath fingers brushing against
something cold and unfamiliar. Pulling it into the dim glow of
my flash light, my heart sank, even deeper into dread.
In my palm lay a small folding knife, the cheap handle warn
muddy fingerprints smudged along its Edge.
I had never seen it before in my life, I spun around toward the
elderly, couple mouth opened to speak but the words caught
sharply in my throat. They were gone.
The driveway stood empty silent except for the drumming of rain
against pavement. The street stretched deserted in
both directions. No car in sight.
My knees buckled slightly confusion and fear surging
through my body, like a physical weight.
I stood alone, clutching the knife, tightly feeling, the cold
metal pressed, sharply into my palm as the rain continued.
Pouring down around me, two days passed each filled with Restless
anxiety. The knife I discovered beneath
my seat was now in police custody.
I'd sat in the Highland, Heights, Police station,
recounting everything multiple times but the officers exchanged
skeptical, glances their faces unreadable.
No fingerprints except mine. No Clear.
Proof. Anyone else had been in the car.
I sensed their doubt, which only deepened my paranoia.
I tried returning to a normal routine, hoping to shake the
unease from my mind, but even in the crowded Halls of my high
school, I felt exposed as if unseen eyes constantly watched
me from the Shadows. At home every Creak, in Shuffle
Amplified into something sinister each night since the
incident, I checked every lock repeatedly appearing through
blinds searching, the dark and streets for any sign of Danger,
on the third night, after the incident.
I was alone again, sitting anxiously in my bedroom.
My parents had left earlier to visit relatives out of town, and
I hadn't dared to tell them the full story.
I didn't want to worry them or Worse, sound paranoid as
midnight came and went. My ears picked up a faint, sound
from downstairs. A soft almost inaudible Creek
near the back door. I froze.
Instantly ears straining. Another faint noise, followed a
muffled Shuffling from somewhere below.
Cold dreads surged, through my body.
Reaching silently to my bedside table.
I grabbed my phone its screen Illuminating.
My trembling fingers, as I stood slowly cautiously, I crept down
stairs, my pulse raced, my breathing shallow.
I gripped my phone. Tighter ready to call the police
at the slightest indication of trouble.
I glanced around the empty, living room, Shadows, deep and
unmoving. The back door appeared on
touched. I approached quietly and tested
the knob relieved to find it locked securely.
Yet as I turned away, I heard another sound clearer this time.
A quiet thumb coming unmistakably from the garage.
I hesitated only a second before approaching the garage door
heart pounding louder with each step with a shaky hand, I gently
tested the handle, my stomach dropped, when the door swung
open silently on locked. I stared into the pitch black,
interior my thumb shaking, as I switched on my phone's
flashlight. Footprints wet and muddy
glistened faintly on the concrete.
Floor heading toward my car, a sudden wave of nausea Rose
sharply in my throat before I could move or even think the
house plunged Into Darkness. Everything went silent.
My phone buzzed suddenly causing me to jump on the screen, an
unknown number flashed. You didn't check the trunk?
A way of cold Panic, crashed over me.
Every Instinct screamed to run to get out anywhere else.
But fear propelled me forward. With adrenaline surging, I
hurried out into the pouring rain moving toward my parked
car. My hands shook violently as I
reached for the trunk Keys. Fumbling in my fingers, the
trunk clicked opened softly, and my flash light revealed,
something crumpled Within My stomach Twisted painfully at the
site. A torn piece of flannel soaked
dark heavy with a rot in metallic scent.
Blood. I slammed the trunk shut.
Gasping for air backing away my shaking hands.
Dialed 911. My voice came raggedly barely
coherent as I begged them to hurry within minutes.
Flashing, blue lights, illuminated The Neighbourhood
officers combing through my car and yard methodically searching
for evidence later sitting days. And trembling on my porch, a
detective approached with a grim face.
He explained they'd finally found fingerprints inside the
trunk, Prince matching, and escaped, inmate from Lake County
Jail. He'd been missing for over a
week. I swallowed painfully as
realization saying in this wasn't random.
He chosen me deliberately set the Trap hidden in my car, he'd
watched waiting for the right moment.
Planning something terrible police canvassed.
The area thoroughly finding similar traps on other roads
nearby logs dragged into place Vehicles abandoned.
The detectives voice faded into a distant murmur as my mind
raced with horrifying possibilities.
What had he planned for me? Long after the officer's left, I
sat alone on my porch. Steps staring blankly into the
Rainy Darkness. A chill ran through me not from
the cold but from a terrible lingering truth that I would
never again feel truly safe behind the wheel.
The wheels had never been the threat.
It was always something closer hidden just out of sight,
waiting quietly behind me. It was the first weekend of
October and I decided on a whim to rent a cabin up near Skyline
Drive. I told myself it was to clear my
head. Decompress after the chaos of
the past few months. A breakup, a Relentless workload
and the kind of insomnia you only ever see portrayed
dramatically in movies. Really though, I just needed
silence. Real deep silence, the kind of
Silence that only mountains could offer.
I left Richmond a bit later than I'd intended.
And by the time, I turned onto Skyline Drive, the sun was
barely clinging to the horizon. The sky had turned a deep shade
of purple threaded with streaks of fading Orange.
I knew the drive would be slow winding through the heavy
foliage of Shenandoah National Park.
It didn't help that fog began rolling in thick and milky
blanketing, everything in a soft smothering, quiet.
My GPS flickered out, almost immediately losing signal
completely. I'd expected it might happen in
these mountains but it still made my gut tighten, a little I
reassured myself that I knew roughly, where my cabin was.
Somewhere passed Hazel Mountain Overlook not far from Big
Meadows Lodge. I adjusted my eyes to the
darkness. My high beams slicing through
the fog. Just enough to keep me from
slipping off the narrow Mountain Road.
The road felt unusually empty, no headlights coming from the
opposite direction. It was unsettling the absolute
Solitude of it. And then just as I crested a
hill near the Overlook, something caught my eye.
A pair of faint red, taillights glimmering, through the haze
appeared ahead. A small wave of relief washed
through me. At least I wasn't completely
alone out here. I figured it had to be another
traveler headed toward Big Meadows or perhaps a park ranger
patrolling. I kept a careful distance behind
them, but soon, I noticed something off the lights never
varied in Brighton. Us never disappeared around
corners or dips in the road. It was as if they were
maintaining a precise distance. Hovering consistently about 50
yards, ahead and oddly despite the curves and Hills.
They moved fluidly smoothly without shifting position or
even briefly disappearing. From sight, I glanced down at my
dashboard clock 9:27 p.m. Hadn't read the same time early.
I shook the thought away dismissing it as fatigue.
My hands tightened around the wheel as I turned a sharp Bend
spotting, the wooden sign for hazel Mountain Overlook yet
again. I slowed down confusion
tightening in my chest. Had I gotten turned around
somehow. Had the fog, disoriented me so
badly that I'd made a full circle without realizing it
determined, I pushed onward. But a few minutes later there
was the overlooked sign again, wooden letters emerging from the
fog like a taunting whisper. Impossible.
My heart sped up a little, a quickening thud against my ribs.
I driven this road before. There were no Loops here,
Skyline Drive ran straight along the ridge, branching
occasionally, but never looping back on itself.
Like this again, I checked my dashboard.
Still 9:27 p.m. a cold, sweat began to form on the back of my
neck. My mouth suddenly dry, the tail
lights, were still ahead of me, unmoving and distance.
Impossibly stable, I needed to pull over and gather myself.
Maybe I was overtired hallucinating from the stress of
the drive. Finding a wide shoulder.
I brought the car to a stop, cutting off the engine, but as
the noise of the engine faded, it hit me.
The silence was unnatural. No crickets chirped.
No leaves, rustled. Not even the faint hum of wind.
It was a kind of Silence, I'd never experienced before.
Heavy and oppressive, my ears strained desperately for any
noise, but nothing came I leaned.
Forward staring through the windshield into the thickening
fog. My breathing echoed.
Oddly inside the car. When I looked back at the road
ahead, the tail lights, had vanished.
For a moment relief flooded through me until a whisper of
movement caught my eye in the rearview mirror.
Two red lights flowed. Their now just behind my parked
car. I felt my muscles tense a cold
shiver racing down my spine, I quickly Twisted the key the
engine roaring back to life with a comfortingly familiar sound
the red lights behind me blinked out abruptly, I shifted the car
into gear and started forward again, gripping the steering
wheel tighter than before as the road curve.
Gently ahead my headlights caught something I hadn't seen
early. A roadside mild marker.
I squinted leaning forward to read it.
Clearly my stomach dropped as a deep cold dread settled in.
It was mile marker. 39, the exact same mile marker, I had
seen at least three times already.
I pressed down harder on the accelerator, desperate to break
whatever was happening. The fog thickened further and
still the tail lights. Reappeared again, directly in
front of me moving smoothly ahead, leading me deeper into
the dark heart of Shenandoah and this time as I stared
unblinking, they began to drift slowly backward toward me.
My pulse hammered relentlessly in my throat, as I stared
helplessly at the approaching lights.
They moved backwards, smoothly deliberately without sound
without the faintest hum of an engine or crunch of tires on.
Gravel Instinct took over and I slam my foot against the brake,
bringing the car to a sudden halt.
I gripped the wheel Knuckles. Bone white eyes, fixed on the
rear view mirror. The red glow drifted, closer
only stopping when it was mere feet behind my bumper.
I squinted desperately trying to make out the shape of the
vehicle behind the lights, but saw nothing.
No headlights, no windshield. Not even the shadowy outline of
a cars body. Just two luminous red, orbs
suspended perfectly still panicked up my spine.
Freezing me in place. Second's dragged by each one.
Painfully, slow, sweat trickled down my forehead.
Stinging my eyes unable to sit, still, any longer I shifted into
reverse determined to confront whatever this was, but the gear
refused to engage. My heart sank deeper into my
chest. The car was unresponsive locked
in some unnatural paralysis. I glanced frantically around the
dark interior searching for answers, but found nothing.
Then came a faint crackling static through the speakers.
I jerked my head toward the radio, the sound barely audible
as if a frequency had slipped through the static filled dead
air. A voice whispered faintly from
the speakers. Chillingly.
Familiar yet utterly impossible Aaron.
The voice was gentle. Soft achingly familiar.
It belonged to Emily. My ex-girlfriend, whose warmth,
I'd sought to erase from my memory on this very trip.
My breath caught in my chest as I stared at the radio.
My hands shaking. Aaron, I've missed.
You know, I whispered allowed my voice trembling raw, this isn't
real. Suddenly, the radio went silent
again and the lights vanished, plunging me back into a
suffocating Darkness. My breath came in short ragged
bursts. I knew I had to move, had to get
out, had to run if I had to, but fear had routed me to my seat.
Eventually desperation overcame paralysis and I reached for my
flashlight in the glove compartment, forcing myself to
open the door. The moment my feet touched the
ground, the silence pressed harder around me.
I swung my flashlight wildly, its beam, slicing through dense,
curling fog, that swallowed everything around it.
I stepped cautiously away from the car turning slowly looking
for any sign of what had pursued me.
Then I heard it. A quiet crunching of footsteps
on gravel rhythmic, slow, deliberate.
It echoed from somewhere in the fog just beyond sight.
My chest, constricted painfully, as I spun frantically, shining
my flashlight in every direction, the beam illuminated
only empty pavement, ghostly trees, and thick swirling mist.
The sound stopped. Silence and golfed me again,
thick enough to smother. My breath formed clouds in The
Damp air. I moved instinctively toward the
edge of the road flash light shaking in my grip.
That's when I spotted a faint glow deeper in the woods, barely
noticeable, half of obscured by branches against every
screaming. Instinct, I moved toward it,
desperate for answers, for anything familiar, as I stepped
over roots and Tangled. Brush The Flash Light Beam
revealed remnants of an old campsite tattered canvas
flapping gently tent poles, rusted and bent.
Beside the crumbling, fire pit. Lay a weather, no book, its
cover swollen and warped from exposure kneeling.
I grabbed it flipping through fragile Pages.
The handwriting was frantic uneven as if scribbled in haste
or fear. I've been following them for
days. The red eyes.
They lead you nowhere time bends around them.
Nothing makes sense here. My breathing quickened, the next
entry is grew more. Frantic I tried to leave but the
road Loops endlessly. I'm trapped something Whispers
to me speaking in voices from home, but it's not them.
It's never them. My hands shook as I flipped
through pages, I scanning faster near the end, a single phrase
stood out repeated and scrawled desperate handwriting.
It sees you when you follow it, it wants a second set of Lights.
I dropped the notebook. My pulse roaring in my ears.
The flash light flickered. Suddenly plunging me into
momentary Darkness. Frantically.
I smacked it against my palm cursing silently until the beam
returned weaker them before. I bolted back toward the road,
stumbling, branches clawing at my clothes.
When I reach the pavement, my car sat quietly, the driver's
door now wide open interior lit dimly by the Dashboard Lights.
The seat was empty, but condensation, coated every
window. Wet leaves.
Lay scattered across the hood and roof though.
No, wind stirred the air. I froze.
Flashlight pointed at the open door.
Inside faintly, I saw movement just the slightest shift as if
something had leaned forward from the shadows in the
passenger seat. A soft familiar voice.
Drifted outward again. Hard achingly sweet.
Come back inside, Aaron, it's okay.
Terror surge through me without a thought without hesitation I
turned and sprinted down the road.
My footsteps, echoed loudly filling the silence around me.
Behind me, I heard the sound of the car door.
Slamming, shut followed by an impossibly gentle whisper
carrying clearly through the night air.
Don't go Aaron, stay with me but I didn't look back.
I ran into the dark lungs. Burning legs, numb desperate
only to escape. Whatever had trapped me in these
endless Woods. I ran until the burning in my
lungs. Was unbearable until the muscles
in my legs seized and refused to push any further.
My shoes skidded on loose. Gravel as I finally stumbled to
a stopping desperately for are the fog had thickened even
further. Pressing against me with a
tangible weight, and my flashlight.
Barely illuminated more than a few feet ahead.
The road stretched ahead of me. Dark silent empty.
I glanced behind me. Half expecting to see those
Dreadful red lights approaching once more, but there was
nothing. Just the emptiness of the night.
My pulse thundered in my ears and I bent over hands on my
knees, trying to regain my breath.
And my bearings. When I finally straightened, I
noticed an old wooden sign at the edge of the road partially
obscured by branches. I moved closer and swept the
flash light beam across faded lettering.
Hawks Bill Summit Trail. It was familiar.
I hide this Trail before years ago.
Something inside me stirred, maybe hope.
Maybe desperation Trails LED somewhere.
Didn't they? And where was better than here?
I stepped onto the Narrow Path. Flash light trained carefully on
the uneven ground. Shadows stretched and twisted
around me with each careful step.
The dense canopy overhead blocked out.
Any remaining traces of moonlight soon, even the faint
outline of the road behind me, vanished completely into the
fog. The silence on the trail was
oppressive. Thick unnatural quiet.
That Amplified every ragged breath.
I took I kept moving focused on each careful footfall.
Eventually the terrain steeped and the air grew colder.
Sharper my lungs burned with every inhalation.
But at least here, away from the road away, from those terrible
lights. I felt some small measure of
control. Then, as I rounded a sharp Bend
in the path, my heart stopped ahead just off the trail.
Two red lights, hovered motionlessly in the shadows
beneath a massive Oak. The same lights from before,
except this time, they were clearer brighter.
Not Reflections not headlights, they hung him, impossibly still
suspended about chest, height, glowing, softly, in the
Darkness. Instinctively, I froze in place.
Breath hitching painfully in my chest.
The lights remained perfectly still there.
Glow, steady and unlinking. Swallowing my fear.
I forced myself forward step by cautious step.
Flash light, shaking uncontrollably in my grip.
I had to know I needed to see. Clearly what this thing was,
what had haunted me along? Skyline Drive as I drew closer
my flash light beam slowly illuminated the space beneath
the lights. The realization was immediate
visceral and horrifying. they were not lights at all, they
were eyes, two glowing red, orbs set far apart, in a darkness,
that revealed no shape, no body, just the Eerie Stillness beneath
the branches of the tree, My stomach clenched violently as my
limbs went numb. My breath became shallow rapid
gasps. I wanted to turn to flee back
down the trail, but my legs refused to obey.
All I could do was stare transfixed caught between Terror
and fascination. Slowly around me the forest
began shifting. Subtly the trail beneath my feet
Twisted on naturally warping into a possible curves.
Branches rearrange themselves, silently, Shadows, dancing and
strange shapes onto my weakening Flash Light Beam.
I remembered the desperate scroll from The Notebook.
Break the line of sight break the loop.
Could that truly be the key? Could something so simple free
me from this endless nightmare. I closed my eyes shutting out,
the red glow. Shutting out the terrifying
distortions of reality around me.
With trembling limbs, I forced myself to move backward.
Stepping carefully blindly retracing my path.
The air felt colder. Now a chill seeping, deep into
my bones. each step backward was agonizingly, slow the urge to
open my eyes overwhelming, but I resisted I couldn't afford to
see it again, then my heel caught on something.
Unseen, sending me sprawling onto the ground.
My flash light skittering away into the underbrush.
Darkness enveloped me completely and for an instant my mind when
utterly blank, when I opened my eyes again, the cold dawn light
seeped gently through the trees. I was lying in a shallow ditch
alongside Skyline Drive leaves and dirt, clinging to my clothes
My body ached as though. I had been tossed down a rocky
slope. Slowly, I sat up disoriented but
alive breathing deeply the cool morning air.
My heart quickened as memories flooded back, the red lights,
The Impossible Loop the voice on the radio.
Ahead parked along the roadside sat, my car engine silent doors.
Ajar battery long, dead condensation coated, every
window, and Scattered leaves, lay across the hood and roof
carefully painfully by pushed myself, upright and Limp toward
the vehicle. By the time Park Rangers found
me wandering. Barefoot near Big Meadows Lodge.
The sun had fully risen their expressions were skeptical as I
babbled my story. Their eyes filled with quiet
disbelief. When I mentioned the notebook
and the Frantic writing of someone named Eli their
skepticism turned to confusion. Later.
After a brief search, they told me No Such person had ever been
reported missing. The journal I swore I'd seen was
never found. Months later safely home in
Richmond. I tried to rationalize my
experience as stress induced to hallucinations nightmares
brought on by exhaustion. But deep down, I knew the truth.
I kept glancing at the dark and windows of my apartment.
Expecting red lights to appear in the reflection.
One night months afterward, parked at a quiet rest, stop.
Not far from Shenandoah. I caught movement at the edge of
the tree line. A familiar silent glow.
Two red lights, hung their patiently.
Unmoving watching from the darkness of the forest waiting
for someone else to follow them into the endless loop.
I should have trusted my gut. The moment, we rolled into the
empty. Lot at Lake, Echo just after
5:27 in the morning. only one other vehicle sat there, a
dented silver station wagon with every window fogged from the
inside, a crumpled missing, hiker flyer was pressed against
the windshield, the ink bled so badly, I could read only two
words Last seen Dom joked that the car looked abandoned and
enough to film a zombie cold open, but the joke didn't land.
The are carried that brittle. Sierra chill.
That makes your teeth ache and Somewhere.
In the Pines, a Stellar's Jay LED out a rusty, hinge of a
call. We were three friends who had
backpacked together since College.
Dom, the loud. Botanist who never shut up about
edible lichens. Victor, the silent EMT who
measured every calorie in every, footstep and me Kayla.
The one who always loved and absurd amount of camera gear,
because someday Nat Geo will come calling at the trailhead
kiosk, I went to sign us in only to find the register book torn,
right down the spiral binding, Someone had ripped the pages out
after an entry day to April 18th.
The empty wires curled like ribs.
The Climb toward Tamarack Lake was a slow Switchback procession
through Sugar Pines and Fields of sun rotted snow Where the
dirt faded under snow tongues, when polished the ice until it
looked like glass pulled over Black Rock about a mile up.
We spotted a single boot lodged in a drift.
It was a left. Boot Vibram Soul, heeled lug
missing like it had been chewed off Victor, poked at it with a
trekking pole Dom's said, probably a skier who shredded a
binding Victor Shrugged but I saw the crease flicker in his
brow. We left the boot to the marmots.
Signal died before. The second mile marker, not that
it mattered. We were here to lose ourselves
in Granite basins fish. The meltwater torns and
photograph early wildflowers that hit in cracks like secrets.
By mid-afternoon the trail at us onto a slab.
Overlooking Lake Aloha. Still stitched with ice flows.
We found a flat ledge. Cupped by Winston stunted white
bark Pines. Perfect real estate.
Dom, Stamped Out a platform in the grainy, snow and pitched.
His neon green, tent mine, and Victor went beside it bright.
Nylon kites against Pale Stone. We cooked dinner in the orange
hush of Alpenglow. Victor measured out dehydrated
risotto with a digital scale. He swore was life-saving.
I filmed the steam Rising off the Pod until the lens fogged,
then aimed the camera at the Violet Stripes staining pyramid
Peak. Dom.
Recited the Latin name for some tiny purple flowers.
We'd stepped over lewisham Pig, Maya and claimed their petals.
Tasted sweet enough to garnish open oatmeal.
I told him to chew pine needles instead by nine.
The world had gone Inc. Black, except for the Milky Way
draped, like a bridge of salt, we'd bear packed.
All scented gear into Victor's, titanium, canister, and hung it
in a snow gnarled tie tree. Well, away from Camp, my phone,
spare, battery and drone were sealed inside too nothing.
Electronic to tempt the cold, the wind to cross the granite, a
clean blade of sound that made the tents shiver.
Sometime in the night, my watch was zipped in the vestibule so I
can only guess it was close to 3 in the morning, I clawed up from
sleep because I heard nylon Whisperer not the Roar of a
gust. This was different.
Softer intentional. Zip, then the faintest three
note whistle notes falling in Pitch.
I lay Frozen hand hovering over my headlamp listening to my own
pulse banging in my ears. The sound died.
Wind filled the silence like water.
Flooding back into a footprint. Dawn came on Fast and metallic.
The second, the sun, edged, over the ridge.
Dom barked my name, the comic tone gone.
His innesh, door hung wide open screen hooks dangling.
Like Snapped fishing line, but the outer rainfly, sat neatly
resist pulled tied in a tight Figure, 8 sailor knot.
None of us knew how to tie that knot.
Victor inspected the zipper tracks, no grit, no snag, no
obvious wear while Dom's War, he closed.
Both doors before crawling into his bag.
He looked genuinely shaken cheeks Ashy and the pale light.
I hike to the thigh tree where we'd stash, the bear.
Can the lid was still double latched, but when I peeled it
open my phone lit up with a single alert.
One new video captured at precisely 3 in the morning.
My hands went slick as fish skin.
I taped play. 32nds of footage. Filmed from maybe six inches
outside our tent, the lens framed victory in me faces,
slack and sleep sacks. Condensation silvering the
walls. For half the clip.
Nothing happens just that close intimate breathing, you never
want recorded. Near the end, a shadow goes
across the screen. Blotting the dim Starlight, then
the camera tilts and darkness, pours over the view until it
cuts, Dom cursed allowed, Victor asked for the phone watched
twice, then wordlessly pocketed it in a dry bag.
None of us spoke for a long minute.
The only sound was snow melt trickling between Granite
plates. Victor broke the spell by
crouching, beside a slab and saying, guys, look, Jammed Under
The Edge. Like a shim was a tripod of
sticks Birch. Twigs bark.
Peeled each limb no longer than a match. 3 figures bound with
dried sedge stems the smallest, snapped clean in half.
He plucked it. Free.
Turned it in gloved fingers. Dominic's hailed, a shaky laugh.
Okay. Campers either we just got
punked real hard or were starring in the cheapest found
footage flick ever but his eyes kept scanning the tree line as
if expecting a punchline to step out the wind picked up driving
tatters of cloud across the lake.
I tasted metal on the air, like licking a battery.
My mind flipped through every rational explanation bored
through hikers. A rogue Ranger with a warped
sense of humor, but none fit the Precision of the knot, The
Silence of the zipper or that intimate breathe on the video.
Victor said what we were all thinking we go deeper today, put
some miles between us and whoever thinks this is funny
Ridge camps, have line of sight less cover.
We packed in record time. I did one last pan with the zoom
lens, but the granite slopes were empty.
Just win scoured, Rock and blue sky.
So clean. It looked erase before.
Shouldering his pack. Victor slipped the Broken Twig.
Effigy into a shirt pocket for evidence.
Dom asked, if he expected to hand it to a sheriff.
Victor didn't answer. As we turned up, hills snow
crust cracking under boots. I glanced back at the Tarn.
The surface was mirrors still. Our Footprints trails from Camp
like a dotted line, the only human signatures for miles.
Yet, I could not shake the feeling that another set walked
there, too. Perfectly parallel, just beyond
the resolution of sight. I adjusted my camera strap and
followed the guys into the granite maze, chasing a horizon
that suddenly felt much farther away.
By midday the granite had scraped, every piece of small
talk out of us, we trudged up switchbacks carved and Pale
Stone, that reflected the sun like a blade below Lake.
Aloha glinted through slots in the cliff bands, ice flows
drifting like slow white sharks. Dom tried, joking that the
exposed Ridge, would make a five-bar cell tower but his
voice sounded dry and brittle as if he even sarcasm had windburn,
We gained scab Ridge a little after 3.
In the afternoon, it was less a ridge and more a spine of broken
Shale. Slanted Skyward like shattered,
Crockery. No trees, no shelter.
Just low crumbles Pine's clawing along the scene.
The place looked as if it had been sandblasted for a thousand
years and maybe it had. We dropped packs boots crunching
over gray flakes that chimed like, Plate's Victor pulled our
topo map from his Hip Pocket then froze.
The pocket was empty, his eyes met mine wide and glassy I tore
open my own lid pocket for the spare.
Sawyer squeeze filter. The plastic tubing unrolled in a
neat ribbon. The filter body had been sliced
lengthwise with such Precision that the thread still matched up
two halves of a shell. Inside the hollow fiber membrane
hung like wet spider silk Dom let out a slow exhale.
This is someone's idea of a joke, right?
Please tell me this is a joke, the wind whipped his words down
slope like litter. All we could do was set Camp
before the storm clouds piled any higher.
By 4:30 the barometer in Victor's.
Watch had nosedived the sky looked bruised, purple over
pyramid Peak. We wedged tent Stakes, deep
between slabs and draped. Rock ghosts of granite over
every guideline. Dinner was raw, tortillas and
jerky washed down with meltwater.
We strained through a t-shirt the missing filter waited on us.
So to every gust, Around 6. The first Thunderhead flowered
over the crest tossing, a curtain of sleet across the
valley. The hiss sounded like static
from an untuned radio. We crawled into Dom's. 3-person
tent because none of us wanted to spend a night alone with the
memory of that Figure, 8 knot. my camera sat on the vestibule
floor programmed for Interval shots, every two minutes, just
in case, I doubted it with soothe anyone's nerves but
documenting felt like the only agency I still had Sometime
after full dark could have been nine, could have been midnight,
the first Stones clicked. Three quick Taps, sharp, as
glass marbles a pause. Three slow Taps spaced like drip
lines in a cave. Another pause three more quick.
Taps my brain, translated the Rhythm before, fear did dot dot.
Dot dash dash, dash dot dot SOS. Dom whispered, Kayla, please
tell me that was run off hitting Talus, but even run off has
Randomness, this pattern was deliberate glass.
Clear, I flicked my headlamp to read mode and unzipped the fly
one inch. The outside looked like the
inside of a coffin. Absolute black sleet Whispering
across Rock. The Taps repeated, the Cadence
was closer maybe 20 Paces away. On the wind I caught a copyright
tank like old pennies and ozone. Right before lightning strikes.
Victor's hand closed over my wrist, listen to the interval,
he breathed. It's shortening.
He was right, the pause between each rank Five Heartbeats, then
four then three, whoever or whatever was sending the more
seemed to be walking between Cycles.
Stepping closer with every birth on the next.
Volley my camera shutter fired by itself.
Three quick. Flashes lit, the vestibule
cloth. When the screen went dark again,
I swore I saw a reflection, something metallic, an edge
catching. The light far too close to be
comforting Dom muttered that if anyone was messing with us he'd
pepper spray their teeth blue but the bravado leaked from his
voice. We sat shoulder to shoulder
breathing shallow then the wind shifted and for half a second.
We heard something breathe back. Wet rasping like lungs, full of
gravel, Victor edged, the zipper wider scanned.
A snow. Patch 6 yards away.
In the red glow, we found one Prince a boot.
Vibram Soul, the heel lug missing.
I remembered the station wagon flyer.
The lonely boot in the snow bank earlier.
That morning, the sheriff's email blast last summer about a
hiker who had taken an ice axe to the shoulder near Heather
Lake. Nothing stolen, no motive.
Just all the gears slashed Beyond use Dom reached out side.
Brushed sleet from the prince Rim.
The edges were Chris. It had been laid down minutes
ago, Landing light toes, can't inward as if the wearer placed
weight like a stalking cat. Lightning, flashed over pyramid.
Peak Illuminating, the keyhole pass 3/4 of a mile to the east.
In that single strobe. We saw him a figure in a grey
parka machete, hanging like a Stihl, limb standing dead center
in the bottleneck. When the light died silhouette
and all the world went dark again, my stomach dropped the
keyhole funneled every exit Trail.
Westward Granite walls on either side sword enough to Shear wind
into a howl. No way around without ropes or
days of bushing down Avalanche shoots Thunder crunched.
Sleet shifted to needlepoint, rain, drumming the fly bleeding
through scenes. We killed our headlamps locked,
the zipper and huddled on foam pads.
Victor toggled. His little hand band radio
hoping for weather updates. Statics swallowed the band until
annoys crawled through wet mouth breathing each inhale sticking
on the speaker cone then impossibly a Whisperer probably
a skier who shredded a binding My own words, parroted back in a
husky mimic of my voice Tom's hand.
Slap the radio off. We waited ears straining for the
next volley of TAPS but none Kane.
The sender. No longer needed Morris.
He knew we were awake. Outside the storm flogged, the
ridge tearing it guidelines. Each snap of nylon sounded like
a footfall. I watched the curve of the tent
wall, expecting a blade to press against it.
Minutes crawled in single digits, then fused into hours.
At some point, I dozed but every time sleet change tone, I jerked
back to Consciousness chasing Phantom clicks, that might have
been inside my own skull. Right before Dawn, the wind
drops so suddenly at felt staged silence settled thick as wool.
The tent fabric glowed gray with first light.
And for the briefest heartbeat, I let myself think, maybe we
imagined all of it, then, Victor whispered.
Duo, do you smell iron? A metallic note, filled the are
stronger than copper now. He unzipped the fly a handspan.
The storm had dusted everything in a sugar coat of grapple.
Perfect for catching Prince. Around our 10, less than two
yards, out a single line of boot tracks.
Arced in a Flawless Circle each stepped the same Vibram Soul
healed, gone toe angled toward us.
The trail overlapped itself again and again a tightening
news. Where our own prints should have
crossed yesterday's path. There was nothing only the
strangers as if he'd erased ours.
In the exact center of the circle, sat a new twig,
sculpture three figures again. All snapped.
Dom backed into the tent muttering.
A prayer. He half remembered from
childhood Victor's face when the color of wet Ash my pulse
hammered in my throat hard enough to hear.
We did not eat breakfast. We packed in silence, every
zipper a gunshot on the ridge. When we shouldered packs, the
sun, hist behind a fresh wall of cloud, the keyhole pass late
East, but none of us wanted to March under that gray Park a
sentinel instead, we studied the map in Victor's memory and chose
the only alternative A class four, Gully locals call
hourglass. A drainage that drops. 2000
vertical feet toward Echo Creek. It was a desperate idea.
Half plan, half prayer, but it led away from the circle in the
print in the broken dolls. As we cinched hip belts, I
checked my camera one last time. The auto shots sequence, had
captured, three images during the lightning.
In the first, a silver line near the tent blade sharp curved like
a machete Edge. in the second that same reflective Arc is
closer, maybe 10 feet behind Victors silhouette In the third,
nothing but sleet and night and static.
I scrolled to the end. The last frame time.
Stamped 4 seconds after the series showed the inside of a
hood. Bark colored cloth stitched like
scales, a seam of bone beads running down the crown.
Just before the shutter closed, the hood tilted revealing teeth
far too many filed to points. Smiling straight into the lens.
My breath stopped cold I shut the camera slided deep in the
pack and followed Victor and Dom into the broken white dawn
toward the lip of hourglass, Gully away from the laughter
that I swear echoed in the wind once and then was gone.
The light that finally crept over scab Bridge felt wrong then
and gray like old dishwater. It was barely half past four in
the morning when I stepped out side and saw what the dawn had
painted around us, the circle of single boot prints was tighter
than I remembered. Each healed list Vibram pressed
into the dust with surgical Precision all toes angled at our
tent as if the prints themselves were leaning in to listen.
Dead center, sat the new twig sculpture.
Three figures each snapped? At the waist.
Splinters angling upward like broken, ribs.
Victor lifted it with two fingers, slipped it into an
Evidence bag and whispered that if we survived, he would mail it
straight to the sheriff. Dom, just stared and muttered
the same line over and over. We were never supposed to be
here. The rational thing would have
been to bolt for the keyhole pass, and hoped the machete.
Man in the grey parka had frozen solid overnight, but every exit
Trail ran through that bottle neck.
And the thought of marching beneath his watchful silhouette
made my gut Royale. So, we gambled on folklore,
instead of footpaths, a class four drainage locals.
Call our glass Gully, a 2000 foot slide of ice polished.
Granite that angles South toward Echo Creek.
Victor recited the plan like a triage checklist to send the
Gully Contour, the creek gain the service road, hitch, a ride
simple on paper in real life. The top of our glass looked like
the Throne of a great Stone hourglass.
Ready to swallow, whatever grains fell in, The walls were
streaked with Virg laws. Wind had blown marble sized hail
into every Ripple and Far Below. We could hear meltwater roaring
like an engine. By the time we shouldered our
packs, the sun was no more than a pale bruise behind storm
debris. The Iron smell from the
footprint Circle clung to my nostrils.
Victor went first, planting his ice axe and skittering sideways
down the first 10 yards. Dom, followed boots scraping
Sparks where crampons would have been.
I slipped last camera swinging across my chest hands, numb on
trekking poles. The moment we committed.
The wind kicked up behind us. One long.
Exhale. Almost like a sigh of
satisfaction. The Descent became an exercise
and controlled Terror. Every 20 feet.
The Rock changed texture, smooth as porcelain, then roughest
sharkskin. Then back again, we crab walked
chimney, slid on packs. About a third of the way down.
Dom spotted, something wedged in a basin of blowing snow.
He cursed and waved us over. It was a shredded backpack
forest, green nylon fade, like a burst fruit inside.
We found a cracked satellite messenger, a coil of paracord,
sliced in three clean segments, and a laminated photo ID.
For Evan Torres age 33. Last seen April 18th.
The date hit me like a mallet. That was the missing entry torn
from the register. Victor tucked the ID, into his
medical pouch. None of us spoke, but the
knowledge hung between us, someone had come this way first,
and never made it out. We pressed on Halfway Down The
Hourglass. The Gully, narrowed to a neck,
not much wider than a hallway. Fresh scuffs lined The Rock
chips, no bigger than fingernails.
The kind of Blade might leave when scraped across Granite.
When funneled through moaning, like a giant animal, every few
minutes, loose Pebbles rattled down by us.
Then ahead, as if something paste, the rim edges and sink
with our descent. 300 feet above the apron, the Gully pinched
again, forming alleged, the width of a kitchen table before
dropping sheer, another 30 feet, we paused to rig, Dom's
trekking, Pole to his bear spray canister, duct taped into a
crude spear Victor stepped to the edge.
Scouting repel anchors. That's when a Cascade of slate.
Hissed down the Chute behind us, followed by a single deliberate,
tap of stone against Stone. I swung my camera up and fired a
burst flashes strobing, white across wet granite.
In the instant. After the second flash, I saw
him gray Park. A hood up machete, held backward
like a butcher knife. Sliding down the wall with
impossible, balance eyes, reflecting the strobe, like an
animal caught in high beams. Another Flash and he was closer
maybe 20 feet faced still hidden by the barked mask.
But teeth glinting through the slits too many teeth for any
human smile. Domed thrusting, the spear
forward, while triggering the spray, a cloud of orange Mist,
billowed across the ledge. And for a heartbeat, the figure
vanished inside it. The sound that crawled out of
that. Vapor did not belong in a human
throat. Half-Life half growl wet in
jubilant. The machete came first.
Slicing are inches from. Dom's knuckles.
Victor drove his shoulder into the parka and the three of us,
lurked as one riding Mass, the legendary with a crack.
Rock sheared Away beneath our booths and all four of us
pitched over the lip. I caught a flash of bark, Mass
pale, cheeks splotched, with scabs eyes, wide, with Glee, as
the world flipped upside down. Then gravity took conversation
out of the equation. We fell 10 feet to a snowshoe
the impact punched, every breath from my lungs.
Victor landed beside me ankle, twisting with a snap like dry
kindling. Dom, crashed, farther down,
slope rolling until his pack wedged against a boulder.
The gray Parker slammed face first into the same boulder
Edge, bounced and skittered toward the run out.
My camera still firing stuttered frames of the Fall blur snow
blur. One flash froze, the parka
figure mid tumble, mask, half, torn, revealing skin puckered
with old Burns around feral gums in the next frame.
Empty sleet filled the view. The man was gone either buried
in Alder thick or swallowed by meltwater roaring beneath the
snow Bridge. Silence reclaimed, the Chute,
except for Victor's. Hist curses over his ankle.
We did not go looking for a corpse.
If horror had taught us anything, it was that a body
that disappears does. So, for a reason, The remaining
descent blurred into a mix of adrenaline and hypothermic
Focus. We splinted Victor's, ankle with
trekking, poles, and tape. Then three-legged our way to the
base of our glass where the granite gave up in young Pines,
chewed at the sky. Echo Creek, foamed along the
valley floor and Beyond it. We found the maintenance Road, a
ragged threat of mud studded with Fallen limbs.
We limped West each step. Another tiny proof of survival
sometime around dusk, my watch was cracked, but the light told
the story. We staggered into the Lake Echo
Trailhead, the same lot, that felt so harmless two mornings
ago. Weekend day hikers crowding.
The kiosk turned their heads at the site, three mud cakes
strangers, one limping all wild eyed Someone called 911.
A search and rescue team arrived before fold dark bundled Us in
blankets and listened. While Victor laid out evidence
like a grim show Intel twig, Effigies the phone video, the
broken filter, Evan torres's ID, the Tsar Suite began that night
two days later they found a cave.
Carved beneath a granite overhang halfway between scab
bridge and the keyhole inside where dozens of twig dolls, some
holes some broken pyramids of stolen gear, and a portable hard
drive cataloging night vision, videos of Sleeping hikers, dated
from 2017 to 2025, nobody, no grey parka, no machete, just a
smell of rusted, pennies and a lingering sense that the owner
might return any minute to collect his trophies.
We gave our statements fielded media calls and endured the
sideways looks that people reserved for storytellers, whose
Tales sound too cinematic. Dom's frostbitten selfie snapped
during the ledge fight. When viral in 48 hours, the
flashover exposed so badly that the teeth and the background
seemed to float in darkness. Victor's, ankle healed though.
He swears he still feels pressure on it.
When storms roll over the Sierra as for me I posted the full
account to the backpacking. Horse subreddit, including links
to the photos, most commoners, screamed, Argy, some yelled,
Sasquatch. A few believed every word.
Weeks Later a share of Deputy email to say the case files for
the Heather Lake assault. And three early disappearances
were officially reopened But, investigations move slow as
glaciers and Glaciers melt quicker than Justice in the
backcountry. I have not camped since my gear
lies in a plastic tote zipper poles, tied with Figure 8 knots,
I practiced so I would never forget the shape some nights
when the wind threads through the eaves of my apartment.
Just, right? I still hear Stone.
Tapping stone three quick. Three.
Slow three quick. I tell myself.
It is nothing. If you ever walk into Desolation
Wilderness early in the season, remember this?
Footprints can lie silence can be louder than screams and the
safest zipper is the one you watch until dawn. check every
knot in your rainfly, someone else might have tied it first I
always thought the Blue Mountains.
Sounded gentle like a lullaby you could hike into but by the
spring of 1997 I knew better. They rise east of Pendleton.
Like busted Knuckles, all Cedar spines, and basalt Cliffs.
And they hide enough silent acres to swallow a man's name
hole. That was the draw.
After the breakup in the layoff of the last bar fight, I will
never admit I started. I packed a rucksack, clipped
Jasper's, leash to the belt loop of my jeans and drove the forest
service road until gravel turned to ruts and radio turned to
static. I counted 12 Creek.
Crossing's killed the engine and watched dust settle in my
headlights like tired ghosts, that could finally rest.
Jasper half, Shepherd half anything fast, bounded out,
first nose to damp air, tail sweeping the dark, like, a
metronome set to Hope. I should have taken the hint,
when his ears flattened the moment.
I shut the truck door. Instead, I told myself he
smelled an elk or a Blacktail deer, and shouldered, my canvas
tent. We walked South by headlamp
following a game trail that never saw boots.
Frost clung to the sword ferns each step crunched beneath us
with the soft tact of breaking bones under blankets.
Somewhere far below a creek, carried Moonlight and snowmelt
toward the Umatilla River. I counted a dozen switchbacks
never numbers just quiet. Milestones in my mind to keep
Pace with the crunch of Jasper's paws.
And then we dropped into a flat shoulder of land, just wide
enough for a fire ring and a dream of comfort.
The forest pressed in tight, but the Stars overhead were a
promise worth believing. The first three days blurred the
way good moments do morning coffee percolated over Embers
while Jasper stalked Chipmunks in the underbrush.
I fished a nameless Creek cold enough to stun my hands
threading bright, brook trout onto a Willow Branch Lake
stained glass prisms. At dusk I wrote in a spiral
notebook about starting life from page one.
Again as if you could just flip back through yourself and find
uncrease sheets when sleep came, it was the thick drooling kind,
you only earn a mile of cell service.
On the fourth evening, the woods went still, I was coaxing, a
curl of cedar bark into flame when Jasper froze halfway
between firelight and Treeline knows aimed at the ridge.
No wind, no crickets, just a hush.
So complete my heartbeat felt uncivil I waited for a twig to
snap or a branch to sway nothing then from somewhere above the
campsite a whistle, floated down three notes, low lower than high
light, as a child's dare blown into an empty bottle.
Lost hiker, I called pretended, my voice didn't quaver, the
whistle answered itself from the other side of the clearing, the
same three notes. But thinner as those strained
through teeth that never learned to purse.
Jasper growled, a rattling sound.
I had never heard from him and backed onto my cot, I raked the
fire higher, hoping the blaze would make the Unseen seen But
the Shadows only danced harder. Smoked drifted into the Pines.
Sparks winked out against bark black as space and whatever
watched us stage, just beyond the Border where sight turns to
face. I told myself it was wind
whistling through broken limbs. The LIE held until dawn.
When gray light bled through the canopy?
I found Footprints circling the tent bipedal, but wrong.
No heel just a wide pad and four toes, splayed, like the bones of
a hand pressed flat and mud beside each set claw marks.
Scored the Earth shallow yet. Deliberate, as though, something
sketched sigils while it. Pastes I checked Jasper for
injuries none but his gaze never left the ridge.
Fog gathered quick rolling in off distant, valleys to swallow
the sky. I slung, the pack intending to
hike out, but Jasper planted himself at the river crossing
and refused to step onto the stones on the opposite Bank.
In bedded in a slick of silt, was another foot hand printing,
Upstream above it, 8 feet up a fur trunk, a fresh gouge, oozed
sap, like a weeping. I I tried the rational path.
Probably a black bear. Black bears.
Do not whistle. Maybe a prank on her.
Hunters. Leave boot Treads and beer cans
not symmetrical rings of Claude hieroglyphs.
By noon, the fog had knitted itself into a ceiling.
I knelt beside the creek for water and the surface through
back, my reflection only it wasn't alone.
Behind me, Rippling with the current loomed of face
stretched. Long jaw.
Slack Eyes, Two pits that drank, all light. the image shattered
when a trout kissed, the surface, but the hollow in my
chest stayed that night, I banked a wall of stones around
the fire and sat with Jasper's head on my lap.
Somewhere in the black Timber. The whistle sounded again. same
notes but now an octave lower, almost mournful Jasper Rose,
hackles of wire. I hooked my hatchet from the
pack and waited Flames collapsed the forest exhaled Mist across
the campsite smothering. The Ember glow until only the
lantern remained. Its Halo reached maybe 10 feet.
Something stepped inside long as hunger, elbows folding backward,
like a mantis, that remembered being a man.
It's grin, cut ear to ear cheeks.
Split around teeth, narrow and many like, shims hammered into
rotting wood. Where I should glint there was
only dull slate that reflected nothing, not even fear, Jasper
left the creatures. Legs hinged sideways dodging
with a Grace that mocked gravity.
It flicked, one arm hand claw and Jasper tumbled yelping, but
unbuttoned as if the thing wanted the chase, not the kill.
I raise the hatchet, the creature cocked, its head then
whistled. Our three note, dirge at Double
speed, the sound, hit my skull like vertigo spinning, the world
off, axis, firelight tilted, the air tasted of rust and old
coins. I blinked, it was gone.
The trees held only fog and the bass drum of my heart.
Jasper limped back to my side panting, the lantern sputtered.
I dare to think it over a rasp behind me.
Slice the thought in half canvas tour from ground to peak one
clean stroke down the tent wall, the lanterns flame guttered,
showing nothing but the flaps ragged Edge, curling inward,
like a Peeled back wound, cold seeped through the slit carrying
the faint, sweet, reach of rot blooming in Spring then silence
again, thicker than before. I knelt beside Jasper pressed my
palm to his racing chest and waited for the next whistle.
The Next Step, the next impossible grin to lean through
that open seam. None came the dark simply
watched, and that was how we learned the forest can grin.
I did not sleep until dawn smeared a sickly yellow through
the fog. And even then, every blink felt
like falling every Creak of Branch, a breath against my
neck. By Sunrise, I knew two things
for certain the whistle would return and if Jasper, and I
stayed One More Night beneath, those tilting Pines, the forest
would finish what it had started.
I left the tent flayed the fire pit cold and the journal pages
flapping in a breeze that carried three faint notes.
After us. Low lower high like a promise
spoken in a tongue older than Birdsong and still somehow the
dog, wagged his tail. Trusting that I would find the
trail home. Dawn arrived, like a bruise,
yellow and sick along the horizon.
I did not greet it. I endured it crouched by the
gutted tent. As Jasper knows the ground and
frantic spirals. The slash through the canvas,
still wept threads and in its shadow, lay a new Arrangement,
Jasper's collar tags meticulously pried off in the
night. Now gleamed in three perfect
circles around the dead fire, each ring smaller than the last
an artist's signature in metal and Dread Packer Parish.
The ranger handbook would have said if I'd bothered to bring
one, So I packed shoved stove, blanket and half melted Lantern
into my rucksack left. The torn tent to the thing that
wanted trophies, Jasper whined. When I cinch the straps over his
shallow claw wound but he wagged.
Anyway, loyal to a fault. We faced the Eastern Ridge, its
spine, lost to fog, as thick as plastered us and stepped into
the unknown, The Climb began. Gently enough, soft.
Duff under boots Cedar boughs dripping.
Last night's sorrow. But within 10 minutes, the trail
narrowed to a knife edge of shale.
Every footfall set Pebbles rattling into the abyss on
either side, their Echoes swallowed long before they
struck bottom. Somewhere below water.
Rushed on seen a hush that felt like a held breath.
Behind us, the whistle Rose, same three notes, low lower
high. But now echoed by a second
voice, half of a beat late like children answering each other
across a playground. I imagine two of them.
Maybe three pacing, just out of view, elbows, bending wrong as
they mirrored my stumble for stumble.
Jasper stopped off into look back.
Hackles stiff tail low each time.
I urge him on my throat too. Dried to swallow the word, go.
At The Ridges, midpoint, a stand of white bark, Pines leaned East
their trunks, scarred at waist height.
I brushed one with my palm and found fresh gouges Sapp.
Still bleeding another whistle closer, jubilant.
Jasper and I pushed faster Stones, skipping away beneath
us. My Pax slapped, my spine.
Like a rebuke for staying this long fog folded thicker as we
dipped into a saddle between Peaks.
Deadfall choked the slope. Winter killed Lodge poles
stacked. Like a giant game of Pickup
Sticks. We threaded, the maze.
Ducking branches, hopping trunks, slick with lichens
halfway through a crack split the morning not above behind a
sap dry limbs snapped free and tumbled sending a Cascade of
branches clattering in its wake. The Avalanche struck us in a
blur of bark and pine dust. Jasper yelped, as a limp pinned,
his hind leg. I dropped the hatchet and heaved
heart pounding, in my temples would groaned.
My forearm screamed one final surge in the trunk rolled aside
Jasper. Limped free shaking.
But alive his flank ribboned with a shallow red, I dare to
glance uphill there, not 15 Paces away.
Crouched the creature. No two their limbs folded.
Insect thin heads cocked in Eerie symmetry one domed, its
fingers on a fallen trunk. Tap tap tap curious, almost
polite. The other grin.
So wide, its cheeks. Tore, a new black gums, seeping
like oil. When I swung the hatchet, they
melted backward into the Mist, leaving only the whistle now
taught with impatience. We emerged onto a burn Scar from
the Wildfire of 1993, Acres of charred pillars, reaching
Skyward like beseeching arms. here, daylight felt stronger
reflecting off, Ash and Bone white snags The whistle faltered
at the edge of this Wasteland. The notes warping is though, the
scorched error itself, resisted the tune.
I cracked an emergency Flair Crimson fire spots, Sparks,
painting, Jasper, and me and bloody light.
The creatures hovered at the tree line, skin blistering,
where the red glow touched. One hissed, a wet tea kettle,
Screech and retreated behind a pillar of unburned fur.
The other lingered long enough for me to see its eyes, pale
discs, swirling with something impossibly deep before it too
vanished. We threaded the graveyard of
trees at a jog, Jasper limping. But determined The flare fizzed
and popped, its Brilliance shrinking fast my gut clenched
at every sizzle. When the last Ember died, the
whistle began Anew distant but persistent riding the wind like
a bloodhound's bay the map. In my mind said one, half mile
to an abandoned Logging Road that another mile to the main
track every been teased salvation.
Arise a dip, a stand of Alder. That should have been the road
but never was behind us. The forest came alive with
Pursuit. Scratching trunks, limbs
snapping under two light feet, bark shrapnel peppered, my
shoulders at last between two mosque, clad Boulders.
Gravel appeared twin ruts swallowed by weeds, but
unmistakable Road, I had no breath left to cheer.
Jasper. Surged ahead tongue lolling and
I followed legs jelly Vision. Tunneling headlights, flared
through the fog, an incandescent Miracle, a forest Service
pickup, bounced into view, some Lone Ranger running, a seasonal
survey. I waived both arms, wheezing,
Jasper barked once horse. The truck braked to a gravel
spitting halt in the rearview glare.
I saw them halt at the Treeline, three Silhouettes now.
Mouths unhinging in a silent Perfect Harmony then like smoke
drawn back into a chimney, they folded into Shadow and were gone
the ranger Ramirez badge. Number, I later memorized Like a
Prayer bundled Jasper into the cab and peeled out so hard.
My stomach stayed behind We didn't slow until Pendleton's,
Hospital, lights, replaced Pines in the windows.
Doctors stitched, Jasper's flanked, my forearms, and pumped
fluids into a body that felt borrowed.
Search teams hiked in that afternoon, they found the
shredded tent, the circle of tags, the prince that looked
like hands without wrists. They photographed.
Claw marks. Eight feet up on sap, bleeding
Furs, they found, no boot tracks but mine, no animal.
Sign that matched by dusk, the report read inconclusive, but
concerning I read never go back. I sit now in my apartment
overlooking. Nothing wild.
Jasper asleep. At my feet.
Fresh Collard jingling with new tags that shine two brightly.
The old ones rest in a drawer three rings.
I will never disturb on the desk, my journal lies.
Open to its last line. Written in a shaking hand.
That barely looks like mine if the mountains call again.
Let someone else answer every so often City win.
Whistles through cracked window seals three notes almost
familiar But I closed the pain before the final pitch can rise.
Jasper lifts his head, meets my eyes and settles again with a
side that sounds too human. We made it out alive.
That will have to be enough. I set off before Dawn, on the
9th of August 2024, chasing a fading Crescent Moon up the
switchbacks of the kalmiopsis. The are still carried a hint of
Pacific Salt, even this far inland but every mile deeper
traded that brine for the Phantom Tang of creosote, go
smoke from the great chetco bar. Fire 8 summers ago, Charcoal
trunks of Douglas first stood, like Cathedral pillars on either
side of the faint tread, their barks split and silver.
I paused more than once just to listen half convinced, the
forest would grow in if the wind shifted.
I am by trade in temperament. A patient wildlife photographer.
Solo Trek suit me. No chatter, no compromising shot
angles. No apologies.
When I linger for that one. Perfect frame.
The perseid meteor shower was forecast to Peak in two nights
and the baron Granite saddle above.
The blackened Basin would give me a panorama of unpolluted sky.
I carried a mirrorless body with a fast, prime a carbon fiber
tripod and a shotgun Mic Plus the unromantic gear of anyone
who plans to survive alone. Bear canister, two days of food.
And in reach Beacon laminated Back Country permit, and the
rigid schedule of satellite check-ins my family insisted on
by late afternoon the trail flat and onto a bench Stern with
fire, bleached bones of madrone the artfully, ugly, snags
framed, a few North that stretched on a clear day all the
way to the hump of vulkan peak. Smoke blue haze, dulled The
Horizon, but the air at my altitude was crystalline.
I scouted a granite slab, the size of a tennis court checked
for widowmaker's above and dropped my pack on a patch of
fire Moss. Soft as felt home for the night
as the sun bled behind the Ridgeline, I pitched the Ultra
Lite tent staked guidelines between desiccated Ruth's and
laid out the tripod facing north east.
The saddle fell away into a basin that fire had stripped to
bedrock. in dusks, Violet wash, it looked less like Earth than
the scarred skin of some Planet Too Close to its star perfect.
I set the camera to capture one long exposure.
Every 5 seconds from 9 in the evening until dawn Shutter
priority at 3 seconds. ISO just high enough to coax
faint Starlight. The mic would grab ambient
forest. Sounds a throw in for a
multimedia commission if the shots turned out marketable,
With gear humming, I cooked a pouch of pasta watched daylight
Fade to Charcoal then crawled into the tent with the flapping
Mesh Door, facing the basin. Whenever meteors scratched white
across the sky, I grinned like a kid and whispered, the imagined
headline, Ash and starlight perseids returned to fire
country. Hours blurred in that trance
were Consciousness hovers between wakefulness and REM.
At some dim point, maybe one in the morning, I woke to the
camera's shutter, ticking like a metronome.
I rolled onto an elbow, unzip, the door and squinted a soft
orange glow pulse on the far Ridge.
Exactly where the burn scar crested.
Half a mile away. Not campfire, orange more like
the after image left. When you stare at the sun, too
long, but richer throbbing, once every second Flair fade flare
fade lightning, but no Thunder lens flare impossible, the
camera pointed North and nothing bright occupied that quadrant I
told myself the LCD might be feeding me artifacts so I pulled
a fresh frame onto the screen there.
It was around Ember, blot dead center on the horizon.
I scrolled back another scrolled forward.
Another each insync heartbeat regular a line of sweat chilled,
along my spine, I sat outside with the mic headphones.
Cupped over my beanie and listened Beneath the soft hiss
of nighttime Forest. I heard it a faint, thump offset
by a half second for my own polls, as if the Earth itself
were echoing me with a slight mocking delay, rationality
resurface, probably a Camper's Lantern flickering behind scrub.
My permit didn't guarantee Solitude.
Despite the remoteness, a handful of meteor, Chasers might
sneak in. Last minute.
I crawled back in side, zip, the fly and told my adrenaline to
stand down. But each time the globe
brightened, the floor of the tents seemed to tighten under my
sleeping pad as though, the granite itself were breathing.
I lay awake counting pulses, until they merge with my
heartbeat and sleep. Finally swallowed, the
difference. Dawn unveiled, the Basin in the
cold palette of polished, Ash and Dagger grey Stone.
My camera battery was still chewing through its last
interval. So I heated coffee reviewed
thumbnails and tried not to dwell on what daylight would
surely reduce to nothing. instead, the frame stared back
with stubborn clarity, In sequence after sequence, the
orange flare bloomed on the ridge, every 5th shot.
Steadfast timing that mocked chants.
I pinched zoomed expecting pixelation to dissolve the
anomaly. Yet the light retained a crisp
Halo. As though focused through a
lens, I had not set. Curiosity overruled caution.
I tore down camp in 15 minutes, slung my day pack, and plotted a
beeline to the ridge, using map and compass.
The route dipped through an old slide choked with Manzanita.
Then rows along the ghost, spine of a dozer line bulldoze during
the 2017 fire. Black dust clung to my calves
like soot. Mourning cloak.
Butterfly is erupted from brittles at each step Silent
except for the rattling of their wings.
Half an hour later I gained the Ridge and found nothing where
the glow had danced. No campsite no Lantern, just a
shallow Circle in the volcanic grit for yards across its
interior, etched by Barefoot Prince.
No larger than a grade schooler's.
Each print showed only the ball and toe, never the heel, and
they spiraled inward clockwise tightening, until they ended in
a single print at a dead center. I reached down the ash was warm,
as though the prince retained body heat, I crouched pulled my
field thermometer from a hip pocket and pressed the probe
into the central print. The readout climbed to 97
degrees Fahrenheit and held steady matching my own core
temperature, the surrounding ground read 17 degrees cooler
pulsed in my ears. Fresh somebody messing around
but who moves Barefoot through pulverized glassy Ash, a scrap
of paper Lake curled at the circle's.
Midpoint I eased it free with tweezers old photographers
habit, it was no scrap. It was a Polaroid, the image
showed a meteor streaking across a star soaked sky over a ridge,
unmistakably similar to the one beneath my boots.
Black Ink time. Stamped the lower border, August
11 2024, 215 2 Nights from now. My breath fogged, despite the
rising temperature. August ruffled the Polaroid and
on Instinct, I flipped it over blank.
No smudge, no note, I slipped it into a Ziploc then stood in the
hush. That only freshly awakened dread
can carve any sane plan demanded Retreat to the trailhead.
Yet the photographer in me foolishly in love with evidence
decided that one more night might uncover who, or what had
choreographed light print and heartbeat I rationalized.
If someone was out here, faking Supernatural breadcrumbs,
exposing them would be a public service, if not.
Well, unexplained phenomenon, sell prints.
So I recorded new GPS, core Nets marked the circle with a Karen
of three fist-sized stones and began scouting a perch near the
ridge for tonight's shoot. Clouds were already building
over the Coastal Range. Thunderheads would add drama.
I told myself the real reason was simpler I needed to stare
that Ridge down until it confessed.
I spent the afternoon Gathering Deadfall for a modest fire
strictly contained legal under current restrictions but
psychologically essential Flames fend off more than cold.
They cast certainty in a place, where Shadows riot.
While I snapped branches, I replayed a memory from the
ranger station, two days earlier.
An elderly Trail, volunteer had leaned on the counter while I
filled out permit, paperwork and said, watch out for heart,
lights in the burn scars folks, say they throb in time with your
ticker, try to pull you home, she'd laughed at her own
folklore and I had grinned politely.
Now with the Polaroids timestamp, burning a hole in my
pocket, the joke felt like prophecy By Twilight, I had a
new camp stamped Into The Ridges of crust.
Tripod, staked firm lens pointed exactly where last night's orb
had flared. I set the shutter interval
again, five seconds all night and clipped, the inreach to the
center. Pole of my tent, I even typed a
cheerful preset to my sister. All settled for Night. 2 saw
strange glow, probably campers will photograph.
Love you. I omitted the footprints.
When darkness sealed the Basin. I brewed a second cup of coffee
and waited beside the camera, headlamp off, trusting red light
from my watch face for orientation.
Crickets kept a tentative chorus in the new growth downslope and
somewhere far off a mountain quail whistled at its haunting
whittwood. For a moment, the world was only
Pine resin Starlight and the hum of lithium batteries, then the
glow feathered across the Ridgecrest one.
Slow pulse warm as blood exactly one second long, my watch
ticked, the light faded, another pulse bloomed, my heart answered
with a jump. I forced myself to breathe
evenly. Rolled a knuckle against the
tripod grip to keep from jerking the camera off Target.
The mic meter on my monitor fluttered with each beat.
And with the third Flair, I felt the granite slab.
Shiver under my booths So faintly it could have been
imagination except the water in my canteen.
Dance danced. Tiny ripples.
I shot for an hour before the clouds marched in thick and hid
the Stars. When drizzle began, I sealed the
weather Hood around the camera and retreated inside the tent.
Paul's after pulse painted the Mesh Door, orange softer.
Now, through missed. My eyelids drooped, the
metronome. Glowing me into a truce where
fear and Fascination balanced on a Razor's Edge.
Tomorrow, I promised myself I would hike out.
Camera card full mystery solved or not.
But as the darkness, flickered in my heartbeat fell into step
with that distant, unseen lamp. The vowel felt less like a
decision and more like someone else's suggestion.
Whispered through my own skull sleep, took me in a slow spiral
and the last sight, before the dream Edge slipped up was an
ember Halo. Atop The Ridge pulsing, like a
vast Beacon flare fade Flair fade, one beat after my heart.
I woke on The Ridge at first light, ribs aching, from dreams
of running in circles that never closed.
The Basin below steamed were a dawn drizzle met Sun warmed, Ash
and the world smelled like damp charcoal and struck Flint.
I should have stuffed my gear and headed for the trailhead.
Instead I traced the spiral of barefoot Prince, once more now
win scuffed but still discernible and convinced myself
a closer. Vantage would unravel the trick.
By mid-morning, I had shouldered the pack again circling the burn
scar until I found a knuckled spur of volcanic, rock that
thrust above the surrounding skeleton, Forest like the prow
of a ship. From its Crest the Twin Ridge
lines flanked and narrow. Gulch an echo chamber made for
sound that mattered because last night's pulses had not only
glowed they had thumped and the Earth had answered If the ridge
hid Machinery, some prankster subwoofer rig or a rogue
prospector's generator, this perch would catch the vibration.
Setting Camp here felt like renting a room inside a
Thunderclap, I leveled the tripod on the exposed.
Slab staked, the tent in a gravel Nook, then spent the
afternoon pretending to journal, while really timing, my own
heartbeat against the memory of that glow.
Cloud anvils. Piled over the coast dragging
veils of verga that never hit The Ridges, but the are
thickened with the scent of ozone as though, a giant match
kept striking, just out of sight at Sunset.
The forest fell abruptly silent. No crickets.
No Creek of charred limbs in the wind, even the distant Creek in
Devil's staircase, Slot Canyon hushed, water swallowed, by its
own Stone throat. I knew objectively that silence
and burned. Landscapes, can last minutes
maybe hours but this quiet felled curated an absence swept
clean for something to speak. I powered up the camera the
intervalometer blinked, ready? Five, second exposures all night
I clipped a fresh battery pack, double check the lens cap off.
To the shotgun mic. I added a set of over-ear
monitors one cup on one off. So I could track both the
electronic hiss and the living dark 9 o clock slid by then 10.
The meteors were shy behind gazi Cirrus yet the sensor drank
enough, Starlight to paint their faint, scratches on the screen.
I sipped lukewarm coffee and tried to ignore my wristwatch
pulse reading. 68 climbing At 10:42.
The first orange bloom crowned the opposite Ridge.
One slow. Inhale long then black A single
Pebble rattled from the spur, rolled to my boot and settled as
though it had completed. Its appointed task a second.
Pole's, Granite under me flexed. Not Quake violent but the subtle
bow of a tiny skin when struck my heartbeat hits 73 and the
watch vibrated. A mild tachycardia alert, I had
never tripped. Before I whispered into the mic,
partly for the record and partly to prove.
My voice still worked. Time stamp 2243 pulse 2, feel
ground, resonance the recording meter fluttered.
But on the open ear, the forests swallowed, my words before they
travel to yard the pulses quickened, one, every seven
heartbeats, then five. Each flare sent rings of
heatless light. Rippling Across The Gulch
outlining, The Scorch snags like x-rays.
In the Afterglow I saw my own shadow projected on the Ash and
beside it. A smaller silhouette Frozen in
mid hop toes dug heel raised as though my echo had birthed a
child and left it to balance. I pivoted lightheaded and the
shadow vanished before logic could recalibrate.
The monitors audio. Trace spike a double knock
identical to the sound. You make wrapping Knuckles on
Cedar, but broadcast from everywhere at once.
Headphones crackled and a voice slid through the static, like a
razor through cloth. Fox Trot 3-6.
He follows the Flash. Male breathless syllables
clipped by Panic. Adrenaline iced my limbs.
I thumbed the radio band switch certain the mic had bled into my
headphones except my mic fed a closed circuit with no
transmitter. The message repeated garbled,
coordinates embedded between bursts of static.
I scribbled them in the margins of my journal then crossed
checked with the map. The digits matched my location
within the width of a camp shovel.
A date header, followed the call sign?
August 11th, 1991. 34 years gone.
The next pulse washed the Ridge and in its strobe by saw the
footprints. Again, not in the Basin, but
ringing my tripod, as if they had hopped there, while my eyes
were elsewhere, they were larger.
Now, the size of my own boots yet bare arches.
Deep toes. Splayed, my watch alarm shrill,
heart rate, 87 and climbing. I killed it with a shaking Thumb
in the headphones, the unknown Ranger gasped, one final Line,
stop him, stop him before the channel collapsed into white
hiss Flash. The camera shutter fired of its
own accord. High speed burst.
I had disabled 6 frames 7 8. Each strobe bled Into the Night
painting, ghosts on my retinas, on the 9th flash, I yanked the
battery yet the shutter clacked. Once more empty power, be damned
and the Flash tubes. Spat light hotter than
magnesium, scorching, my sleeve when darkness snapped back a
figure stood 12 steps away. At the ridge, Brink.
Child tall or crouched or merely unfinished.
It flickered like bad film edges.
Jump cutting no face. No clothes.
Just Ember glow radiating from within the silhouette like coal
through gauze. I couldn't run couldn't
photograph. So I spoke absurdly polite
asking what it wanted my voice shook the way tree limbs clatter
and high wind, the figure tilted, listening or mocking and
hopped forward on one foot. The ground pulsed beneath, its
Landing heartbeat for heartbeat with mine.
For the first time in years, I prayed mundane and desperate,
please, stop the figures glow, dim to Ascender, then guttered
out. when my vision adjusted the ridge was empty, yet the
footprints remained now adult size, encircling the tripod in a
perfect ring I packed by headlamp sweating, despite the
cooling night, glancing over a shoulder that seemed to pulse
independent of my body, The camera, I left locked on the
slab. The lens had fused to its mount
in that last impossible, flash only the SD card mattered, and I
slipped it into a waterproof pouch against my sternum, where
it ticked with a warmth that matched my racing pulse.
Inside the tent. I lay fully clothed boots on
bear spray in hand. The glow did not return, but
every few minutes, the Basin, exhaled a hush.
So total, I heard my blood in my ears, followed by a double knock
from nowhere. Like Knuckles wrapping Cedar,
tiktok my heart answered involuntary, then slowed, under
a foreign, not my own. Toward Dawn, exhaustion,
smothered fear. In the last sliver of dreamless
dark. I counted the knocks sifting
through the ridges. They came in pairs, 32 sets,
then silence. As though some, unseen auditor
had tally to Ledger and found the sum acceptable. when the
first gray, light lifted, the Treetops, I swore I would
abandon the Wilderness mystery be damned But outside the trail
South Leigh erased by spiraling footprints that led only deeper
into the burn and my compass needle spun like a coin deciding
which of us it would be tray first.
Great light seeped through the tent fabric like weak teeth
through Muslim. I sat up stiff, jointed and
listened. No wind, no birds, no, drip of
night, rain off the vestibule. Just my own pulse.
Echoing, in the hush. I unzipped the fly expecting to
meet the scent of wet. Ash instead, I tasted copper as
though, the Basin had pumped, a fresh lung full of blood into
the air. I broke camp in silence.
Stakes slid from the gravel without protest.
Even the zipper on the tent bag moved as if greased.
With every task, I rehearse, the route home down the bulldozer
line east across the slide, South to the trailhead.
Yet the map in my head fell as flimsy as the Polaroid in my
pocket. By the time I cinched the last
strap on the pack, the sun had cleared, the coastal ridge,
painting, the base in with cold. I set a bearing due south and
marched, the ash swallowed, my footprints, the moment, they
formed, but I forced a steady Pace counting breaths to drown
the memory of those nighttime Knocks. 100 Paces, 2003.
Charred trunks, slid passed like prison bars.
The compass needle jittered. Then spun a lazy circle before
settling. Exactly opposite.
The direction I walked, I ignored it 300 Paces more A
granite crease in the hillside promised new terrain, maybe an
escape from the burn scar spell. I crested the fold and stepped
into the very ridged Circle. I had fled Before Dawn.
Shock froze me mid-stride the spiral of Prince remained but
now each track matched the size of a tractor tire.
The toe marks cleaving deep, the ash at their centers glowed
faintly as though Embers, slept beneath I backed away heart
hammering and chosen a different bearing.
East this time. I trudged until sweat soaked.
My collarbones. When a clearing opened I
quickened with relief. Until the clearing resolved into
the same Circle. The same impossible tracks
waiting like an ambush the forest.
It seemed had folded in on itself.
Panicked, the edges of reason. I sank to my knees outside, the
spiral and pressed gloved, fingers into the ash warm again
warmer than before almost feverish.
The prince pulse a soft rise and fall.
Like I could feel through the ground my watch vibrated with a
heart rate alert, 95 climbing a yanked, it off and flung it away
it landed inside the circle, right at the tightest coil of
the Spiral where a single depression still smoldered, like
the pupil of a vast. I Something gleamed beneath the
dust a Sheen, too smooth for volcanic Grit.
I brushed the ash aside, glass know, a sheet of obsidian.
So Flawless it mirrored the sky. Slab was shaped like an
anatomically. Correct.
Heart, valves and Chambers etched in micro veins of fire
fused quartz, and it was beating Slowly deliberately each throb
pushed, a puff of warm air through the ash as though the
ridge exhaled a childhood memory.
Burst open a fever dream from age 9.
Orange lights hopping across my bedroom wall, pulsing to my
panicked pulse. I had forgotten that night until
this instant but now it returned, clear as yesterday and
I understood the thing in the ridge did not merely Echo.
Heart the Beats. It collected them, it archived
The rhythms of anyone foolish enough to answer its call in
printing their lives in to cool. Lava until the person themselves
spiraled away, I staggered back mind blazing with exit
strategies. The camera, every flare, every
flash. It had wanted that light a
beacon to Hitch itself too, or perhaps a trade, I unzip the top
pocket feeling, the SD cards faint warmth, against my chest.
And fumbled out the mirrorless body.
I had salvaged the housing sat warped and dead, but the flash
capacitor might still carry charge.
I have what you want. I croaked voice raw with Ash,
take it and let me go. No reply came only the slow drum
of stoneheart in dust. I jammed the battery back into
the camera. Thumbed.
The power switch. Nothing desperate.
I smacked the body, against my palm and Angry.
Red. Elliot flickered, I spun the
mode dial to full manual. Cranked flash compensation to
maximum and pointed the lens straight into the spiral Center.
I pressed the shutter, light exploded white hot star clean
more Sun than strobe. The air trembled like a plucked
string. In the blinding instant.
I saw hundreds of footprints overlapping mine small to
colossal, weaving, a tapestry of vanished Wanderers At the
epicenter, the obsidian Hearts splintered shards, hovering mid
pulse before collapsing into powder.
The Flash died, leaving after images of Amber spirals
corkscrewing upward into a sky that now, felt much too low.
Silence clamped down absolute and Final.
Then the compass in my breast pocket.
Chimed Some low-budget navigation feature I had never
used. And the needle locked South with
a confidence. It did not shown since
yesterday. The forest noise returned in a
rush. Jay's squabbling wins.
Scraping snags the distant Rush of Devil's staircase Creek, I
did not look back. I followed the compass sliding
on loose scree, snagging pack, straps on charred limbs lungs
burning but glorious with panic. The burns scared receded by
living fur and Huckleberry. And At Last I Glimpse the
trailhead signed through dust streaked lenses. my car, sat
alone windshield powdered in pale, Ash carried, by the night
storm, Across the glass. Someone had traced two words
with a fingertip framed 32. My hands shook as I dug out the
SD card and jammed it into the camera slot.
The body stayed lifeless. So I used a pen knife to pry the
card, free again, wrapped it in a bandana and drove until cell
service returned in a motel room, near Gold Beach, I loaded
the card into a laptop. Corrupted files, black
thumbnails until image 32 opened without hesitation.
It showed me a sleep on the granite slab.
First night face, slack, eyelids glowing within her light over my
chest. Hovered a faint orange Halo the
shape of a small human foot. Poised on the ball, heel raised
ready to hop the time stamp read August, 9, 2024 159 a full
minute before I ever set foot on the trail, I typed up everything
you have just read Because stories want Witnesses, the way
ridges want Heartbeats. If you hike the kalmiopsis
during the perseids carry, no camera.
Trust. No compass that spins and above
all ignore anything that pulses in time.
With your blood, Some circles, once entered keep turning long
after your feet are gone.