I've always had the ability to find myself in places where the
map ends and the wilderness begins.
My home is one of those dots on the map that you'd miss if you
blinked. Nestled in the mountains, it's a
town so small that calling it a town feels like an
overstatement. We're 100 souls, give or take,
and I've only ever laid eyes on about a fifth of them.
I recently landed a job in a city that requires a drive
through winding mountain roads, a journey that's as treacherous
as it is isolating. The road is a mess.
Potholes the size of craters, stretches of uneven pavement
that'll rattle your bones and no shoulder to speak of.
Just ditches and steep drops that make you wonder if anyone
would ever find you if you went over.
And then there's the wildlife. Raccoons, posums, coyotes and
deer. They saunter across the road
like they own it, turning my 30 minute commute into a 40 minute
obstacle course. Tonight, as I prepared for work,
my ADHD was acting up worse than a rattlesnake in a heat wave.
I was all over the place, scattered, unfocused, a
whirlwind of half finished tasks, my work uniform soaking
in the washer, my coffee cold and forgotten, my eggs burning
in the pan while I stared at them.
Lost in a maze of thoughts. I finally managed to pull myself
together. Uniform in the dryer, I sat down
to a meal of cold coffee and slightly burnt eggs.
My phone was in my hand and I found myself doom scrolling
through social media. Another rabbit hole that I
couldn't afford to fall into, but I did.
Time slipped away like sand through my fingers.
Finally I snapped out of it. I put on my shoes, hoping the
worst of my scatter brain was behind me.
I tossed the dishes into the sink, grabbed my keys, and
headed out the door. I knew I had to be careful.
Spacing out at home was one thing, but on that road, a
momentary lapse could mean hitting a deer or worse, driving
off a Cliff. I sat in my car gripping the
steering wheel, trying to collect my thoughts.
I'd seen some meditation techniques on TikTok, Yeah,
TikTok of all places, and figured it was worth a shot.
I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and focused on the here
and now. When I felt like I had a grip, I
started the car and eased out of the driveway.
Driving with full attention was a revelation.
I noticed houses I'd never seen, churches that had blended into
the background, even a rock quarry.
That was news to me. It was like driving down a brand
new road, and for a moment I felt good.
I felt in control. But then it hit me, My uniform.
It was still in the dryer. I've been so focused on the
road, so wrapped up and not screwing up, but I'd forgotten
the one thing I absolutely needed for work.
And just like that, my newfound focus shattered into a million
pieces. The realization hit me like a
bullet. My uniform was still in the
dryer, warm and forgotten. I'd been so hell bent on keeping
my focus on the road that I'd let the most crucial detail slip
through the cracks. The irony wasn't lost on me.
I'd mastered the road, but failed the basics.
I was about halfway to work and the clock was ticking.
My options were limited. Either show up to work out of
uniform and face the consequences, or turn back home
and risk being late. I chose the latter.
I had about 5 minutes of driving before I could safely turn
around and that's when I approached Evans, a small town
that was more of a blip on the map than a community.
Evans had always been my favorite part of the drive.
It was a flat stretch of Rd. surrounded by tree covered
mountains, a stark contrast to the winding uphill battle I
usually faced. It reminded me of where I grew
up, flat as a pancake, but comforting in its simplicity.
Evans was the only place to turn around after leaving my house,
and as I drove into its boundaries I felt a sense of
calm wash over me. But that calm was shortlived.
My mind started to drift again, replaying the events of the
evening, cursing myself for forgetting my uniform.
Before I knew it, I was pulling into a small mechanic shop at
the edge of Evans. It was the only place to turn
around, and I figured I could also take a moment to refocus.
I parked the car and sat there, gripping the wheel tightly.
My mind was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, and I needed to
find them before I could move forward.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, mimicking the TikTok
meditation techniques that had worked earlier.
After a few minutes, I felt like I'd regained some semblance of
control. I started the car and made EU
turn, mentally berating myself for the oversight but grateful
for the chance to correct it. As I drove back, my mind kept
circling back to that mysterious hill I'd passed earlier.
How would I never noticed it before?
Was my attention that fragmented?
The hill seemed to beckon a dark enigma that I couldn't shake
off, but I pushed the thought aside.
I had more immediate concerns, like making it to work on time.
I was almost home when I saw it. The rock quarry, the churches,
the houses that had caught my attention earlier.
But this time they seemed less significant, overshadowed by the
looming presence of that hill. It was as if the landscape had
shifted, rearranging itself to highlight its most unsettling
feature. I pulled into my driveway,
rushed inside, and grabbed my uniform from the dryer.
It was still warm, a small comfort in an evening that it
spiraled out of control. I changed quickly, got back into
my car and headed out again, my mind a Whirlpool of thoughts and
emotions. As I drove past Evans for the
second time, I couldn't help but glance at the mechanic shop.
It was closed now, a dark silhouette against the night
sky. But something told me that it
held secrets. Secrets that were intertwined
with that mysterious hill. And as much as I wanted to
ignore it, I knew that I was being pulled into a mystery that
I couldn't easily escape. I was back on the road, uniform
on, and a fresh cup of coffee in the cup holder.
I'd lost time, but I was still in the game.
The road stretched out before me, a winding path through the
mountains that I'd come to know like the back of my hand,
Except, of course, for that hill.
As I approached the spot where I'd noticed it earlier, my
heartbeat quickened. There it was, rising up like a
dark wave against the night sky. I couldn't shake the feeling
that it was out of place, like a puzzle piece, jammed where it
didn't belong. It was steep, lined with trees
on both sides, and had a single streetlight at its base that
seemed to struggle against the encroaching darkness.
I slowed down as I reached the bottom of the hill.
Something about it felt off, like static in the air before a
storm. I could see the moon in the sky,
mostly full, but it's light seemed to stop at the edge of
the hill, as if swallowed by some unseen force.
I hesitated, my foot hovering over the gas pedal.
Then I shook off the feeling and started the climb.
Halfway up I felt it, a strange smell that seemed to seep into
the car. It was a mix of roses, cedar,
and honey, but with an underlying stench of rotting
meat. My stomach churned and I rolled
down the window, hoping for a breath of fresh air, but the
smell only intensified and I quickly rolled the window back
up. I reached the top of the hill
and drove on, but my mind was racing.
What was that smell? Why did the hill feel so out of
place? And why, for the love of God,
had I never noticed it before? I was so lost in thought that I
almost missed the turn off for the mechanic shop in Evans.
I pulled in, my tires crunching on the gravel.
The shop was closed but the lights were still on, casting a
warm glow on the empty parking lot.
I sat there for a moment, my mind a swirl of questions and
half formed theories. Then the front door of the shop
creaked open, and out walked the owner, a scruffy older man with
a weather beaten face. He approached my car and I
rolled down the window. You all right?
He asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me.
Saw you turn around earlier. Everything, Okay.
I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.
Thought I'd forgotten something at home, I said.
Finally. Turned out I didn't.
Just heading back to work now. He stared at me for a moment,
then grinned, a slow, unsettling grin that didn't reach his eyes.
I saw you turn around earlier, he repeated.
But I'm sure whatever you left back there is better off that
way. You should just keep going.
A chill ran down my spine. What did he mean by that?
And what did he know about the hill?
I nodded, mumbled a quick thanks, and pulled out of the
parking lot. But as I drove away, his words
echoed in my mind, adding another layer of mystery to an
already puzzling night. I was being pulled into
something dark and inexplicable, and as much as I wanted to turn
back, I knew I was already in too deep.
I was back on the road, my mind a storm of questions and unease.
The mechanics words had added fuel to the fire of my
curiosity, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was
terribly wrong. I needed answers, and I knew
where to find them. That damned hill.
I drove past Evans, my eyes darting to the mechanic shop as
I passed. It was empty, the lights off,
but I could almost feel the owner's eyes on me, watching as
I drove by. I shook off the feeling and
focused on the road ahead. The hill was coming up and I
needed to be ready. As I approached, my heart
pounding in my chest, I saw it, the street light at the bottom
of the hill, casting its feeble glow on the asphalt.
I slowed down my eyes, scanning the darkness beyond.
Then I pulled over my tires, crunching on the gravel at the
side of the road. I took a deep breath, bracing
myself for what was to come, and stepped out of the car.
The air was thick with that strange smell, stronger now
almost overpowering. I fought back the urge to gag
and started walking, my phone's flashlight cutting through the
darkness. The hill seemed steeper now,
more menacing, as if it had changed since my last visit.
I pushed on, my legs burning with each step, my mind racing
with thoughts of what lay ahead. I was about halfway up when I
heard it, a rustling in the trees, followed by a low growl
that sent shivers down my spine. I froze, my flashlight trembling
in my hand, and scanned the darkness.
Nothing. I took a shaky breath and
continued, my steps, quickening as I neared the top.
And then I saw it, the Hut dilapidated and crumbling,
standing at the edge of the road like a Sentinel.
I approached cautiously, my flashlight illuminating its
broken windows and rotting wood. It looked abandoned, but
something told me that appearances could be deceiving.
I circled around it, my eyes peeled for any sign of life, and
then stepped inside. The air was stale, heavy with
the smell of decay and dampness. I shone my flashlight around,
revealing a small, empty room with a dirt floor and walls that
look like they could collapse at any moment.
But it was what was in the center of the room that caught
my eye. A circle of stones arranged in a
pattern that I couldn't quite make out, surrounded by what
looked like dried blood. I stared at it, my mind
struggling to make sense of what I was seeing.
And then it hit me, the realization that I was standing
in the middle of something far darker and more dangerous than I
could have ever imagined. I turned and ran, my footsteps
echoing in the night, my mind screaming at me to get as far
away as possible. I reached my car and fumbled
with the keys, my hands shaking as I started the engine and
speed away. But as I drove, my eyes glued to
the rearview mirror, I knew that I had crossed a line, that I had
ventured into a world that I couldn't easily escape.
And as much as I wanted to forget what I had seen, to go
back to my old life and pretend that none of this had ever
happened, I knew that it was too late.
I was in too deep, and there was no turning back.
I'd been driving for what felt like hours, my mind a labyrinth
of dread and confusion. The hill, the mechanic, the Hut,
all of its swirled in my thoughts like a dark cloud.
I needed to clear my head to make sense of what was
happening, so I did what any sane person would do.
I pulled into a gas station, parked at the far end of the
lot, and just sat there staring into the void.
I thought about calling someone, anyone, to share the burden of
what I discovered, but who would believe me?
Hell, I barely believed it myself.
I was about to start the car and head back home when my phone
buzzed. A text message.
Unknown number. Don't come back to the hill.
You won't like what you find. My blood ran cold.
Who could have sent that? The mechanic.
Some other unseen watcher. I looked around, half expecting
to see someone lurking in the shadows.
But there was no one. Just the flickering lights of
the gas station and the distant hum of the highway.
I couldn't just sit there. I needed to do something,
anything, to get to the bottom of this.
So I made a decision. One that I knew I might regret.
I was going back to the hill, not to explore or to find
answers, but to confront whatever it was that was pulling
me into its web. The drive back was a blur, the
road empty in the night sky, devoid of stars.
It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for
what was to come. I reached the hill and parked at
the bottom, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.
I took a deep breath, grabbed the flashlight, and stepped out
of the car. The smell hit me immediately,
stronger now almost suffocating. I fought back the urge to vomit
and started up the hill, my flashlight cutting through the
darkness like a knife. I was almost at the top when I
heard it, a low growl followed by the sound of footsteps, heavy
footsteps coming from behind me. I turned around, my flashlight
trembling in my hand, and there it was, the creature.
It was massive, its body covered in pale, rotting flesh, its eyes
empty sockets that seemed to stare into my soul, and on its
head, a human face twisted into a grotesque smile.
I was paralyzed, my mind screaming at me to run but my
legs refusing to move. And then it spoke, it's voice, a
guttural growl that shook me to my core.
You shouldn't have come back. I found my voice, though it was
barely a whisper. What are you?
It grinned, its teeth razor sharp and stained with blood.
Something you can't escape, something you'll never forget.
It took a step toward me, and that's when I broke free from my
paralysis. I turned and ran, my legs
carrying me down the hill faster than I'd ever run before.
I reached the car, fumbled with the keys and speed away, not
daring to look back. As I drove my mind a whirlwind
of terror and disbelief, I knew that my life had changed
forever. I had stared into the abyss, and
the abyss had stared back, and though I didn't know what the
future held, one thing was clear.
I was in too deep, and there was no way out.
I'd been avoiding that road, that hill, like the plague.
My new route to work added an extra hour each way, but it was
a small price to pay for avoiding whatever that thing
was. I even started seeing a
therapist to talk about the stress I was under, though I
never mentioned the real reason. How could I?
It was unbelievable, even to me. Days turned into weeks, and the
memory of that nightmarish encounter began to fade like the
remnants of a bad dream. Upon waking, I almost started to
believe it was all in my head. That is, until the package
arrived. It was a small, unmarked box
left on my doorstep. Inside was a piece of paper with
a single sentence, written in shaky handwriting.
You can't escape what you've seen.
Underneath the paper was a small object wrapped in cloth.
I unwrapped it and gasped. It was a stone, one of the
stones from the circle in the Hut.
I dropped it as if it were on fire, my heart pounding in my
chest. This was impossible.
How did it get here? Who sent it?
My mind raced through the possibilities, each more
terrifying than the last. I had to get rid of it.
I grabbed the stone, wrapped it back up, and drove to the
nearest river with a sense of finality.
I hurled it into the water and watched as it sank out of sight.
That had to be the end of it, right?
I drove back home, my nerves frayed, but my spirit lifted.
Maybe now I could finally move on, but as I pulled into my
driveway, my headlights illuminated something that made
my blood run cold. There, sitting on my doorstep,
was another box, identical to the first.
I got out of the car, my legs shaky, and approached the box.
I already knew what was inside, but I had to see it for myself.
I opened it up and there it was, the stone back in its place, as
if mocking me. But that wasn't the worst part
on the paper. A new sentence had appeared
below the first You're part of this now.
I looked up, my eyes scanning the darkness, and that's when I
saw it. Standing at the edge of my
property, barely visible in the shadows, was the creature.
It was watching me. It's human like, face twisted
into that same grotesque smile, and as our eyes met, I heard its
voice in my head, as clear as if it were standing next to me.
You can't escape. You're part of this now.
I ran inside, locked all the doors, and collapsed on the
floor, my body shaking uncontrollably.
I knew then that there was no escape, no way out.
I was part of something far darker and more terrifying than
I could ever have imagined, and it was never going to let me go.
As I sat there, alone in the darkness, I heard a sound that
made my skin crawl, a low growl coming from just outside the
window. I looked up and there it was,
its face pressed against the glass, its eyes meeting mine.
And as I stared into that abyss, I knew that my life as I knew it
was over. I was part of this now, and
there was no turning back. I've always been a city girl,
born and bred on the East Coast, where skyscrapers touch the
heavens and the closest thing to wildlife is a stray cat darting
between alleyways. But when Annette, my college
roommate and lifelong friend, announced her Bachelorette party
would be a weeklong camping trip in Yosemite National Park, I
couldn't say no. Annette was always the
adventurous type, the kind of woman who choose a hiking trail
over a shopping mall any day. Think about it, Laura, she'd
said, her eyes gleaming with excitement, A week under the
stars, surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery you can
imagine. It's going to be epic.
So here I was, crammed into a rented SUV with Annette, Sarah,
Emily, and Megan driving through the heart of California.
The landscape changed as we moved from the sprawling suburbs
to rolling hills and finally to the jagged peaks of the Sierra
Nevada. I felt a sense of awe creep over
me, a feeling I hadn't experienced since I was a kid
visiting the ocean for the first time.
We reached the park in the late afternoon, the sun casting long
shadows over the valley as we drove in.
The first sight of Yosemite Valley was like stepping into a
cathedral, a sacred place where every towering Cliff and
cascading waterfall felt like an altar.
Even Annette, who'd seen her fair share of national parks,
was speechless. We're not staying down here, she
finally said, breaking the silence.
Too touristy. We're heading up to the high
country. Trust me, it's the real Yosemite
experience. I glanced at Sarah, Emily, and
Megan in the rearview mirror. We were all city girls.
More accustomed to the concrete jungle than an actual one, but
we nodded in agreement, captivated by Annette's
enthusiasm. The drive up to the high country
was a winding journey through narrow roads and hairpin turns.
By the time we reached our campsite near the iconic Half
Dome, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the first stars
were appearing in the sky. We set up our tents in the
fading light, each of us claiming a spot on the forest
floor. Five's an odd number for tents,
Annette observed. They're all two person tents.
Laura, you OK? Bunking alone, I hesitated for a
moment, my mind flashing back to every horror movie I'd ever
seen. But then I looked around at the
towering redwoods, the distant peak silhouetted against the
night sky, and felt a sense of peace wash over me.
Yeah, I'm good, I said, unrolling my sleeping bag inside
my tent. It's not like we're really alone
out here anyway, Annette laughed.
That's the spirit. Just wait, Laura, this trip is
going to change your life. As I zipped up my tent and
settled in for the night, I couldn't shake off a feeling of
unease. It was as if the forest itself
was watching us. It's ancient eyes hidden in the
shadows, I told myself it was just my imagination, the city
girl and me, not used to the sounds and sights of the
wilderness. But as I lay there, listening to
the distant howl of a coyote and the rustling of leaves in the
wind, I couldn't help but wonder what else was out there in the
dark, watching and waiting. And so began our dream vacation,
a journey into the heart of one of America's most beautiful
landscapes. But as I would soon discover,
even the most breathtaking beauty can hide the darkest
secrets. Sleep didn't come easy that
first night. Every rustle of leaves, every
distant animal call seemed to reverberate through my tent like
a warning. I lay there, eyes wide open,
staring at the nylon ceiling as if it could offer some sort of
protection. When dawn finally broke, I felt
more exhausted than when I'd crawled into my sleeping bag.
I unzipped my tent and stepped out into the morning light.
Annette and the others were already up, gathered around the
remnants of last night's campfire.
Their faces were tense, eyes darting around the campsite.
Morning, I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
What's going on? Something got into our supplies,
Annette said, her voice tinged with frustration, tore right
through the cloth bag and scattered food wrappers
everywhere. I looked over at the hanging
bear bag, still intact, swaying gently from the tree branch
where we'd hoisted it. But the bear bags?
Fine. How's that possible?
Annette shrugged. I don't know, maybe it was a
raccoon or something. Either way, we need to clean
this up and report it to the Park Rangers.
We spent the next hour picking up the scattered remnants of our
food supplies. The mood was somber, the earlier
excitement replaced by a sense of vulnerability.
We were no longer just visitors in this wilderness.
We were intruders, and something had marked its territory.
After cleaning up, we made our way to the nearest Ranger
station to report the incident. The Ranger behind the desk
listened to our story with a practiced air of concern,
nodding at all the right moments.
Sounds like you had a run in with a nuisance bear, he said,
filling out a report. Best to move your campsite will
issue you a permit for a different spot.
A bear? I asked, my voice tinged with
disbelief. Wouldn't we have heard it?
Seen it? The Ranger looked up, meeting my
eyes for the first time. Bears can be surprisingly
stealthy, especially if they're used to human food.
Don't take any chances. Move your camp.
We thanked him and left a new camping permit in hand.
The drive to the new campsite was quiet, each of us lost in
our thoughts. When we finally arrived and
began setting up our tents again, I couldn't shake the
feeling that we were being watched.
It was as if the forest had eyes, and they were fixed
squarely on us. Hey, you okay, Annette asked,
snapping me out of my reverie. Yeah, I said, forcing a smile.
Just a little on edge, I guess. Annette chuckled.
You're such a city girl. This is all part of the
adventure. Trust me, there's nothing out
here that wants to hurt us. I wanted to believe her, I
really did. But as we settled into our new
campsite, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long
shadows through the trees, I couldn't escape the feeling that
something was out there, lurking in the dark.
And so we bedded down for another night, a thin layer of
nylon, the only thing separating us from the untamed wilderness
beyond. But as I lay there, listening to
the sounds of the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we were not alone, and whatever was out there, it knew we were
here. Day 4 rolled around, and the
tension from the previous day's incident had somewhat
dissipated. Annette and the girls were all
set to go canoeing on a nearby lake.
I opted out. My body was sore, and my mind
was still reeling from the unsettling events.
I needed a break, a moment to breathe.
I'm going to stay back in Sunbathe, I told Annette as they
prepared to leave. She looked at me, her eyes
narrowing slightly. You sure you're okay?
Yeah, I said, forcing a smile. Just need some me time, you
know? Annette nodded, her face
relaxing. All right, enjoy your day.
We'll catch up later. I watched them leave, their
laughter and chatter fading into the distance.
I was alone, but it was a different kind of solitude.
When I had chosen, I spread my towel on the sandy shore of the
lake, put on my sunglasses, and lay down.
The sun felt good on my skin, and for a moment I forgot about
the lurking fears and unsettling noises.
I was lost in the beauty of the place, the way the sunlight
danced on the water, the distant sound of birdsong.
That's when I noticed him, a man around my age, sunbathing a few
yards away. He had a rugged look about him,
with Hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.
Our eyes met and he smiled. Beautiful day, isn't it?
He said, breaking the silence. I smiled back.
It is absolutely perfect. He got up and walked over,
extending his hand. I'm Rowan, Laura, I replied,
shaking his hand. We got to talking.
Rowan was from Colorado, an avid hiker and outdoorsman.
He'd been coming to Yosemite every summer since he was a kid.
We talked about the beauty of the park, our favorite trails,
and the serenity that comes from being in nature.
Somehow being out here makes all the problems of the real world
seem insignificant, don't you think?
He said, his eyes meeting mine. I nodded.
I know what you mean. It's like an escape.
Our conversation shifted to the strange occurrences at our camp.
I told him about the rated food supplies, the move to a new
campsite, and the unsettling feeling of being watched.
Rowan's face grew serious. Sounds like a Mountain Lion to
me. A Mountain Lion?
I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
Yeah, he said. They're elusive creatures.
You'll only see one if it wants to be seen.
If you can't see it, that's when you should be worried.
His word sent a chill down my spine.
The thought of a Mountain Lion stalking us was terrifying, but
somehow, coming from Rowan, it felt like a warning, not a
threat. Be careful out here, he said,
his eyes locking onto mine. Yosemite is beautiful, but it's
also wild, and in the wilderness, you're never truly
alone. As he spoke, I felt a strange
sense of comfort. Maybe it was his confidence, or
maybe it was the sincerity in his eyes.
Either way, for the first time since arriving at Yosemite, I
felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be all
right. Would you like to have dinner
tonight? He asked, breaking the silence.
I looked at him, my heart pounding in my chest.
I'd love to, I said, and for a moment all my fears seem to melt
away. Dinner with Rowan was like a
scene from a movie we met at one of the parks restaurants, a
rustic place with wooden beams and a roaring fireplace.
The atmosphere was cozy, the food surprisingly good.
Rowan was charming, attentive, and funny.
For a few hours I forgot about the lurking fears and unsettling
events. I was just a woman on a date
with a man who seemed almost too good to be true.
As the evening wore on, Rowan suggested we head back to his
campsite. I've got some wine back there,
he said, his eyes meeting mine. What do you say?
I hesitated for a moment, my mind flashing back to the
warnings about mountain lions and the strange occurrences at
our camp. But then I looked at Rowan, his
eyes filled with warmth and sincerity, and I pushed those
fears aside. Sure, I said, smiling.
Let's go. We left the restaurant and made
our way up the winding trail to his campsite.
The night was clear, the sky filled with stars and the air
crisp with the scent of pine. As we walked, Rowan slipped his
arm around my waist, pulling me close.
It felt good. Comforting.
I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything really
was going to be alright. We reached his campsite, A
secluded spot surrounded by towering trees.
Rowan lit a campfire, and we sat on a log, sipping wine and
talking. The firelight flickered on his
face, casting shadows that made him look both boyish and rugged
at the same time. I'm a little cold, I said,
shivering slightly. Rowan looked at me, his eyes
twinkling. Would you like a sleeping bag?
I nodded, standing up. I'll get it, I said, walking
towards his tent. That's when I heard him.
Laura, wait. I unzipped the tent and froze.
There, in the sleeping bag was a woman.
Her Auburn hair was spread out like a Halo, her face peaceful
In sleep. I turned, my face flushed with
anger and humiliation. You have a girlfriend and you
brought me here. Rowan's face was a mask of
confusion and panic. Laura, it's not what you think.
She's not. I don't care, I yelled, cutting
him off. I can't believe I fell for this.
I turned and stormed off, my heart pounding with betrayal and
rage. Rowan called after me, but I
didn't look back. I just wanted to get as far away
from him as possible. As I made my way through the
dark forest, my mind was a whirlwind of emotion.
How could I have been so stupid, so naive?
But as I walked, something else began to creep into my
consciousness. The sound of footsteps, soft but
deliberate, echoing my own. The rustling of leaves, the
snapping of twigs, the feeling of eyes on me, watching,
following. I stopped my heart and my
throat. Rowan's words echoed in my mind.
In the wilderness, you're never truly alone.
And as I stood there in the dark, I realized just how
terrifyingly true that was. I was disoriented, my mind
clouded by betrayal and the wine from dinner.
But as I stood there in the dark, the reality of my
situation began to sink in. I was alone in the middle of the
wilderness, and something was stalking me.
I reached for my phone, fumbling in the dark.
No service but the flashlight app would have to do.
I turned it on, the beam cutting through the darkness, revealing
nothing but trees and shadows. I took a deep breath, trying to
steady my racing heart, and started to walk.
That's when I heard it again. The soft, deliberate footsteps
mirroring my own. The rustling of leaves closer
now. My skin prickled with fear, my
senses on high alert. I remembered Rowan's warning.
A Mountain Lion will only be seen when it wants to be seen.
I turned off my flashlight, plunging myself back Into
Darkness. My eyes strained, trying to
adjust, searching for any sign of movement.
And then I saw it, a shadow darker than the rest, moving
between the trees. I felt a surge of adrenaline, my
fight or flight instincts kicking in.
I chose flight, ignoring the voice in my head telling me not
to run. I bolted, my feet pounding
against the forest floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I didn't know where I was going, didn't have a plan.
All I knew was that I needed to put as much distance between me
and whatever was stalking me as possible.
I dodged trees, leapt over rocks, my body fueled by pure
adrenaline, but I couldn't keep it up forever.
My legs began to ache, my lungs burning with each breath.
In a desperate bid for safety. I spotted a Redwood tree with
low hanging branches and scrambled up, my hands gripping
the bark, pulling myself higher and higher until I was at least
10 feet off the ground. I sat there, my body trembling,
my eyes scanning the forest below.
I heard it before I saw it, the soft, deliberate footsteps
circling the tree. And then silence.
I held my breath, my body tense, waiting minutes past, each one
feeling like an eternity. And then, just as suddenly as it
had started, it was over. The footsteps moved away, fading
into the distance. I waited, my body rigid, until
the first rays of dawn began to filter through the trees.
Only then did I allow myself to climb down, my legs shaky, my
entire body sore. I had no idea where I was, but I
knew I needed to find my way back.
Using the morning light as my guide, I started to walk.
Hours passed. I was dehydrated, exhausted, and
on the verge of collapse when I finally stumbled upon a trail.
I followed it, each step of struggle until I saw something
that made my heart sore, a sign Pointing the way to the
campgrounds, I quicken my pace, my body running on fumes but
fueled by the promise of safety. And then, just as I rounded a
bend, I saw them, Annette, and the others, their faces filled
with relief and disbelief. We thought you were dead,
Annette said, rushing over to hug me.
I wanted to cry, to laugh, to collapse.
But all I could think about was the shadow in the forest, the
feeling of being hunted. And as I stood there, surrounded
by friends, I realized something.
I may have escaped, but I would never be free.
I was back at camp, but the relief was shortlived.
Annette's face was ashen. Her eyes read from crying. 2
uniformed officers stood nearby, their expression stern.
We need to talk, one of them said, motioning for me to
follow. They led me to a makeshift table
where a couple of photos were laid out.
The first was of Rowan, or, as they called him, David Michael
Whittle. The second was of a woman with
Auburn hair, the same woman I'd seen in the sleeping bag.
Do you recognize these individuals?
The officer asked. Yes, I said, my voice shaky.
The man told me his name was Rowan.
We had dinner last night. The woman was in his tent.
The officer's face hardened. That woman is Alexis Fletcher, a
park employee. She's been missing for a week.
The man you dined with was the last person seen talking to her.
We found her body this morning. She was murdered.
My stomach churned, my head spinning.
But I saw her in his tent. She was sleeping.
The officer shook his head. She couldn't have been sleeping,
ma'am. She was dead.
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
I had been inches away from a murderer, from his victim.
I felt sick, violated. We need to search your camp, the
officer continued. This man is dangerous, and we
have reason to believe he might have been stalking you.
The search turned up nothing, but the damage was done.
The trip was cut short, everyone too shaken to continue.
We packed up, our movements robotic, our conversations
strained. I couldn't shake the feeling of
being watched, the terror that had gripped me in the forest as
we drove out of Yosemite. I looked back at the towering
trees, the majestic peaks, and felt a shiver run down my spine.
This place had promised an escape, a refuge.
Instead, it had become a hunting ground, a place of nightmares.
Weeks passed, but the fear remained.
I triple checked my locks at night, jumped at every sound.
My therapist said it was PTSD, that it would take time to heal,
but deep down, I knew the truth. I would never be the same.
Then one night, as I was lying in bed, I heard it.
A soft, deliberate footstep outside my window.
My heart stopped, my body frozen in terror.
I mustered the courage to look, pulling back the curtain just an
inch. And there he was, standing in
the moonlight. Rowan, or David, or whatever his
name was. His eyes met mine, and he smiled
that same charming smile that had once made me feel special.
As I reached for my phone to call 911, I noticed something in
his hand. It was a photo, the same one the
police had shown me. Only this time it wasn't just
Alexis in the picture. It was me standing next to her,
both of us smiling, unaware. My scream was swallowed by the
night, a chilling realization settling in.
I had escaped, but he had found me, and in that moment I knew
the hunt was far from over. I've always had a knack for
finding trouble. Or maybe trouble has a way of
finding me. Either way, when I told my folks
about the camping trip to Cosia National Park, their faces
turned to shade. Paler Romania isn't exactly the
poster child for safety, and they knew it.
My mom's eyes narrowed, a sure sign she was about to launch
into one of her cautionary tales.
Romania. You know people disappear there,
right? Kidnapped, Murdered.
Who knows what else? She said, her voice tinged with
that maternal worry I'd come to know so well.
My dad chimed in. Your mother's right.
Why can't you pick a safer place somewhere without a reputation
for, well, you know, I had my counter argument ready.
We're staying in a hotel, Okay, right near the park.
It's a tourist area. What could go wrong?
The lie slid off my tongue easier than I'd like to admit.
The hotel stay was far from our rugged back to nature plan, but
it was the only way to get them off my back.
They exchanged glances, and I could see the gears turning in
their heads, weighing the odds. Finally they nodded, their faces
still etched with concern. All right, but promise you'll be
careful, my mom said, her eyes searching mine for sincerity.
I promise, I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back.
Two days later, my boyfriend and I were on a train departing from
Bucharest, our backpacks stuffed with everything we'd need for a
four day adventure in the wilderness.
The train was a relic, its compartments worn and tired, but
it was our ticket to freedom. As we settled into our
compartment, I couldn't help but feel a sense of elation.
The compartment was empty, a rare luxury on Romanian trains.
I looked at my boyfriend, his eyes mirroring my excitement.
Looks like we've got the place to ourselves, I said, stretching
my legs out. He grinned.
Yeah, let's enjoy it while it lasts.
We both knew the solitude wouldn't last long.
Romanian trains are notorious for being overcrowded, but for
those first few minutes, it felt like the universe was giving us
a break, a small pocket of peace before whatever awaited us at
Cozia National Park. As the train chugged along, the
landscape outside the window shifted from the urban sprawl of
Bucharest to the rolling hills and dense forests that make up
much of Romania's countryside. I felt a sense of anticipation
building within me, each mile taking us closer to the unknown.
And then, just when I'd started to think we'd won the lottery
with our empty compartment, the door slid open.
A man stepped in, followed by a German Shepherd that looked more
like a wolf than a dog. My heart sank a little, but I
had no idea just how much that encounter would change
everything. As the door closed behind them,
sealing us in with our new companions, I couldn't shake the
feeling that we were on the edge of something, a precipice beyond
which lay things I couldn't yet see or understand.
And whether it was the thrill of adventure or a premonition of
dangers to come, I knew one thing for sure.
This trip was going to be anything but ordinary.
The door slid shut with a finality that made my stomach
churn. The man who just entered was
tall, his face unreadable, framed by a curtain of dark
hair. His eyes, however, were what
caught my attention. Cold, calculating, as if sizing
us up. The German Shepherd at his side
was equally unsettling, its eyes almost human in their
intelligence. Mind if we join you?
The man's voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like river
stones worn down by years of flowing water.
Of course not, I replied, forcing a smile.
It's a public train, after all. He nodded and took the seat
across from us, his dog obediently settling at his feet.
There was something about that dog, a stillness and intensity
that made me uneasy. What's his name?
I asked, nodding toward the dog trying to break the ice.
Uchi ga shul, he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
The killer, I translated, my eyes widening.
That's an unusual name for a dog he's trained to kill.
It's what he's good at, the man replied, his voice devoid of
emotion. I glanced at my boyfriend, who
shot me a look that clearly said let's not go there.
I took the hint. So you're familiar with Kosha
National Park? I ventured, steering the
conversation towards safer ground.
The man's eyes lit up, a spark of enthusiasm breaking through
his otherwise stoic demeanor. Ah yes, beautiful place.
You should visit the monastery at the base of the mountain and
don't miss the latery shore. A waterfall with a cave behind
it. There's also a local restaurant
you might want to try. His sudden chattiness was
disconcerting, but also a relief.
Maybe he was just a nature enthusiast, I thought, trying to
reassure myself. Thanks for the tips, I said,
genuinely grateful for the information.
We're new to the area, so any advice is welcome.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and then fell silent.
The rest of the journey passed in an uncomfortable quiet,
punctuated only by the rhythmic clatter of the train on the
tracks. I found myself counting the
minutes, eager to reach our destination and put some
distance between us and our unsettling travel companion.
Finally, the train began to slow, the scenery outside the
window coalescing into the recognizable shapes of buildings
and roads. We had arrived.
I felt a sense of relief wash over me, as if I'd been holding
my breath and could finally exhale.
We're here, I said, looking at my boyfriend, then back at the
man and his dog. It was nice meeting you.
The man nodded, his eyes unreadable once again.
Enjoy your stay, he said, his voice tinged with something I
couldn't quite place. Was it a warning, a threat, or
just my imagination running wild as we grabbed our backpacks and
stepped off the train. I took one last look back.
The man and his dog were gone, vanished as if they'd never been
there at all. It was as if the universe had
swallowed them whole, leaving me to wonder if they were ever real
to begin with. And yet, as we made our way
toward Kosha National Park, I couldn't shake the feeling that
our paths would cross again. And next time I feared the
stakes might be much higher. The train station was a blur of
activity, a hive of travelers and locals each absorbed in
their own world. We stepped off the platform, our
backpacks heavy but our spirits light.
The mysterious man and his dog were behind us, or so I hoped.
Now it was just us in the wilderness, a blank canvas
waiting to be painted with our adventures.
We started our trek toward Kosha National Park, the map in my
boyfriend's hand, our only guide.
The landscape was breathtaking, rolling hills giving way to
dense forests, the air tinged with the earthy scent of pine
and damp soil. It was a different world, far
removed from the hustle and bustle of Bucharest, and I felt
a sense of freedom I hadn't felt in years.
That's when we heard it. A soft whimper, a cry of
distress that seemed to echo through the trees.
My boyfriend looked at me, his eyes saying don't even think
about it. But I was already moving toward
the sound, my instincts overriding any sense of caution.
And there he was, a chubby puppy, his fur a patchwork of
white and brown, lying in the middle of the road, as if he'd
given up on life. His eyes met mine, and in that
moment I knew our trip had just taken an unexpected turn.
We can't leave him, I said, already scooping the puppy into
my arms. My boyfriend sighed, A mixture
of resignation and affection. What are we going to call him?
Rudolph, I said, looking into the puppy's eyes.
He looks like a Rudolph. Just when we thought our
adventure had reached its quota of surprises, we heard another
whimper. This one's softer, more
desperate. Following the sound, we found
another puppy, probably Rudolph's sister, half submerged
in a nearby river. Someone had tried to drown her,
a thought that made my blood boil.
We're taking her too, I said, my voice leaving no room for
argument. And so we became a party of
four. Two humans and two puppies, each
with a story to tell. We continued our trek, our new
companions adding a layer of complexity but also a sense of
purpose to our journey. As we walked, we came upon the
monastery the man on the train had mentioned.
It was an imposing structure. It's stone walls weathered by
time, a testament to faith and endurance.
We wanted to go in, but the stern look from the priest told
us that our four legged friends were not welcome.
Let's keep moving, my boyfriend said, his eyes scanning the map.
We circled the monastery, taking in its gardens in the sense of
peace that seemed to permeate the air.
Soon we reached the base of the mountain, the first leg of our
journey complete. That's when we saw it.
The three Anitsa, a small religious landmark tucked away
in the woods. It was a simple structure, a
roof and four walls, but inside was an icon and a Bible.
I picked up the Bible, its pages torn and weathered, and saw the
words that sent a chill down my spine.
I will find you. I looked at my boyfriend, then
back at our two puppies. We were a long way from home in
a land of beauty and mystery, and I couldn't shake the feeling
that our adventure was just beginning.
But as I closed the Bible and we resumed our trek, I also knew
one thing we weren't alone. The sun dipped below the
horizon, casting long shadows that danced and flickered in the
dying light. We had set up camp near the
three initsa, its religious icon, and that haunting Bible
now a stone's throw away. I tried to shake off the unease
that clung to me like a second skin, but it was easier said
than done. We should get the fire going, my
boyfriend said, breaking the silence that had settled over
us. I nodded, my thoughts still on
the words I'd read. In that Bible, I will find you
who had written them, and why. Questions swirled in my mind,
each unanswered, each adding a layer of complexity to an
already puzzling situation. As the first flames of our
campfire flickered to life, casting a warm glow on our
makeshift home, I felt a momentary sense of relief.
Fire has a way of doing that, pushing back the darkness, both
literal and metaphorical. But that relief was shortlived.
A guttural grunt echoed through the forest, a sound so out of
place it made my heart skip a beat.
My boyfriend and I locked eyes, a silent communication that
needed no words. Something was out there,
watching us, studying us. Did you hear that?
I whispered, my voice barely rising above the crackling of
the fire. He nodded, his hand inching
toward the pocket knife he always carried.
Stay close, he said, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the
firelight. And then we saw it, a slithery
figure, its form barely discernible, darting between the
trees. It moved with a speed that
seemed unnatural, its outline blurring and shifting as if not
entirely of this world. What the hell was that?
My boyfriend muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
I don't know, I replied, my mind racing.
But it's gone now. We both knew that was wishful
thinking. Whatever it was, it was still
out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right
moment to reveal itself. As if on cue, the fire let out a
series of sparks, each one soaring into the night sky
before disappearing into the forest.
But something was off. The sparks didn't fade away like
they should have. Instead, they seem to hang in
the air, their glow intensifying, changing color
from a hellish red to an eerie green.
Are you seeing this? I asked, my eyes fixed on the
spectacle unfolding before us. My boyfriend nodded, his face a
mask of confusion and awe. I've never seen anything like
it. It was as if the fire was
beckoning us, urging us to venture deeper into the forest,
into the heart of the unknown. And for a moment I was tempted,
tempted to follow the sparks, to unravel the mystery that had
ensnared us from the moment we'd stepped off that train.
But then I looked at the trees surrounding our camp, their
trunks marked by shapes that looked eerily like eyes,
hundreds of them, all staring at us, all watching our every move.
We're not alone, I whispered, my voice tinged with a fear I
couldn't quite shake. My boyfriend took my hand, his
grip firm and reassuring. No, we're not, he said, his eyes
meeting mine. But whatever's out there, we'll
face it together. And as the fire continued, its
ghostly dance, casting shadows that seem to come alive in the
darkness, I knew he was right. We would face it, whatever it
was, and come what may. But as the night stretched on
each minute in eternity, I couldn't help but wonder, what
were we up against, and would we make it through the night?
The fire had dwindled to embers, it's once vibrant flames now
reduced to a soft glow. My boyfriend had dozed off, his
breathing steady, a counterpoint to the erratic rhythm of my own
heart. The puppies, Rudolph and his
sister, were curled up beside him, their tiny bodies rising
and falling In Sync with his breaths.
I should have felt comforted, but I didn't.
The night was too still, too quiet, as if holding its breath
in anticipation. That's when I heard it, a
rustling in the bushes, a sound so soft it could have been the
wind, but I knew better. My eyes darted to the spot, my
body tensing, every instinct, screaming at me to run, to hide,
to do something. But I was paralyzed, caught in
the grip of a fear so primal it defied logic.
I nudged my boyfriend awake, my fingers trembling as they
touched his arm. Listen, I whispered, my voice
barely audible. He stirred, his eyes meeting
mine, and in that instant he knew something was out there,
something that didn't belong, something that had no place in
the natural order of things. We both peered through a small
opening in the tent, our eyes straining to make sense of the
darkness, And then we saw it, a human head emerging from the
very Bush that had caught my attention.
Slowly, almost painfully, the figure revealed itself, its body
lit by the moon and the dying embers of our fire.
It was him, the man from the train, His face twisted into a
grotesque mask, his eyes devoid of humanity, and he was naked,
his body exposed, as if daring us to look, to bear witness to
his madness. My heart was pounding, each beat
a drum roll in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
The man moved closer to our fire, his hands reaching down to
pick up branches and rocks, methodically dismantling the
very thing that had given us a semblance of security.
And then, as if satisfied with his work, he retreated, his body
disappearing into the Bush. Swallowed by the darkness.
I looked at my boyfriend, my eyes wide with disbelief.
Did that just happen? I asked, my voice shaky.
He nodded, his face pale, his eyes haunted.
It did, and we need to do something about it.
We unzip the tent, our movements cautious.
Deliberate. The fire was out.
It's embers, cold, it's warmth, a distant memory.
We gathered more wood, our hands working in unison, each piece of
building block in our fortress against the unknown.
As the fire roared back to life, it's flames licking the night
sky, I felt a sense of defiance wash over me.
We were still here, still standing, still fighting.
But as I looked into the flames there dance a mesmerizing blend
of light and shadow, I knew we weren't out of the woods yet,
literally and figuratively. We'll stay awake, my boyfriend
said, his voice tinged with resolve.
We'll keep this fire going, and we'll make it through the night.
I nodded, my eyes meeting his, and in that moment I knew we
would. We had to, because whatever was
out there, whatever had visited us on this godforsaken night, it
wasn't done with us yet. And as the fire cast its glow on
our faces, revealing but also concealing, I couldn't help but
wonder, What would the dawn bring?
And were we ready to face it? The first rays of dawn should
have been a relief, a promise of a new day and an end to the
night's terrors. But the sky remained dark, as if
the sun itself had forsaken this patch of Romanian wilderness.
The fire was our only source of light.
It's flames now, more necessity than comfort.
We should have seen daylight by now, my boyfriend said, his
voice tinged with an unease that mirrored my own.
I nodded, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of
Morning's approach. But there was nothing, just an
endless expanse of darkness that seemed to stretch on forever.
That's not possible, I whispered, my voice barely
rising above the crackling of the fire.
The sun has to rise, it's just how it works.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a fear that needed no
words. Maybe we're not where we think
we are, he said, his voice heavy with implication.
Before I could respond, a sound pierced the air, a howl,
guttural and primal, echoing through the trees like a death
knell. It was answered by another, and
then another, a chorus of voices that seemed to come from all
directions at once. They're closing in, my boyfriend
said, his hand gripping the pocket knife as if it could ward
off the impending doom. The puppies, Rudolph and his
sister, were awake now, their eyes wide, their bodies
trembling. They seem to sense the danger,
their instincts, a warning we couldn't ignore.
And then, as if on cue, the figures emerged from the forest,
their forms barely visible in the firelight.
Wolves at least half a dozen, their eyes glowing an unnatural
red, their snouts pulled back in a snarl.
But there was something off about them, something that
defied explanation. They moved in unison, their
steps perfectly synchronized, as if controlled by a single
malevolent will. We need to go now, my boyfriend
said, his voice tinged with desperation.
I nodded, my body already in motion, my mind racing through
scenarios each more terrifying than the last.
We grabbed the puppies, their tiny forms pressed against our
chests and made a run for it, our feet pounding the earth in a
frantic rhythm. But we didn't get far.
A figure stepped into our path, his form illuminated by the
dying embers of our fire. It was the man from the train,
his eyes now a glowing red that matched those of the wolves, his
grin A grotesque parody of human emotion.
You can't run from what's in you, he said, his voice a low
growl that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth.
And as the wolves closed in, their eyes fixed on us, their
snouts dripping with anticipation, I realized the
horrifying truth. We were never meant to leave
this place, this patch of wilderness that existed outside
of time, outside of reality. We were part of it now, part of
its eternal darkness. It's insatiable hunger as the
first set of jaws closed around my arm.
It's bite. A searing pain that shot through
my body. I let out a scream that seemed
to echo through the ages, A final, desperate cry that went
unanswered. Because in that moment, as the
darkness closed in, I knew there would be no dawn, no escape, no
end to the nightmare that had claimed us.
And as my vision blurred, the last thing I saw was the man
from the train, his eyes glowing brighter than ever, his grin
widening in triumph. I have a habit of daydreaming.
Not the kind where you're half listening to a teacher drone on
about algebra while you're mentally on a beach somewhere.
No, I'm talking about daydreams. So vivid you can smell the salt
in the air, feel the sand between your toes, and hear the
waves crashing. It's a gift and a curse, really.
A gift because it makes long road trips bearable.
And a curse because sometimes the line between what's in my
head and what's real gets a little too blurry for comfort.
We were packed into our new RVA, hulking beast of a vehicle that
my dad was still figuring out how to maneuver.
Best investment I ever made, he declared, gripping the wheel
like he was wrestling an alligator.
Mom was in the passenger seat, her eyes scanning the road
ahead, probably contemplating the wisdom of letting Dad drive
this monstrosity. I was in the back, my younger
sister next to me, her nose buried in some teen romance
novel. Florida.
Here we come, Dad announced, his voice tinged with that kind of
forced enthusiasm parents muster when they're trying to make
something sound more fun than it actually is.
We've been driving for hours, the landscape outside shifting
from the familiar to the increasingly foreign.
The sky was a dull Gray, the kind that makes you forget the
sun ever existed. But we were heading South,
towards warmth and sunshine, and that was enough to keep
everyone's spirits up. Eventually, we pulled into a
rest stop near Lake City. The place was a hive of
activity, buzzing with travelers, truckers and families
with screaming kids. All right, everyone out, Dad
said, parking the RV with a finality that suggested he was
glad to be done with driving, even if it was just for a little
while. I stepped out and stretched, my
muscles aching from hours of sitting.
The air smelled like gasoline and fast food, a combination
that was oddly comforting. I made my way to the vending
machines, my eyes scanning the options.
Just as I was about to make my selection.
A man sidled up next to me. He was middle-aged, but fit his
skin tan to a shade that suggested he spent a lot of time
outdoors. I like those Snickers bars the
best. Leave me a couple, would you?
He said, flashing a grin. That was all teeth.
Sure, I replied, making small talk as I punched in the numbers
on the vending machine. His name was Alex, he told me, a
businessman from Arizona. Everyone needs a vacation, he
said, waving away my questions about what brought him to
Florida. Something about the way he
looked at me made my skin crawl. It was like he was sizing me up,
cataloging details for some purpose I couldn't fathom.
I felt like a specimen under a microscope, and I didn't like it
one bit. Time to go.
Mom's voice cut through the air, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Nice meeting you, I said, taking a step back from Alex.
The pleasure was all mine, he replied, his eyes locking onto
mine for a moment too long. As I walked back to the RV, a
shiver ran down my spine. Something about that encounter
felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I climbed back into the RV.
Little did I know that wouldn't be the last I'd see of Alex, and
the line between my vivid daydreams and reality was about
to get a whole lot blurrier. The RV rumbled into the
campground, a patchwork of tents, trailers, and outdoor
enthusiasts trying to escape the grind.
Dad backed the behemoth into our rented lot with the precision of
a surgeon, or at least he liked to think so, Like a glove, He
announced, stepping out of the driver's seat as if he'd just
landed a plane. Mom was already flipping through
a campground brochure, her eyes darting over the activities
listed. There's a nature trail that
leads to a conservation area, she said, looking up.
We should explore it. I was already ahead of her, my
new digital camera in hand. I was thinking the same thing, I
said, eager to capture the raw beauty of Florida's wilderness.
My sister rolled her eyes, more interested in the campgrounds
Wi-Fi password than the great outdoors.
We're coming to, Dad declared, pulling out a pair of binoculars
from an overhead compartment. Can't let you have all the fun.
I hid my disappointment. I've been looking forward to
some alone time, maybe even sneaking off to smoke a bowl or
two. But with my parents tagging
along, that plan was as good as dead.
We set off on the trail, a narrow path that wound through
towering trees and thick underbrush.
The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying
leaves, a smell I found oddly comforting.
Birds sang from hidden perches, their melodies filling the air.
Dad was in full explorer mode, his binoculars pressed to his
eyes as he scanned the treetops for exotic birds.
Mom was a few steps ahead, her pace brisk, her eyes set on the
path ahead. I lagged behind my camera,
ready, waiting for the perfect shot.
We reached a fork in the trail, a wooden sign pointing the way
to the conservation area. This way, Mom said, leading us
down the path. As we walked, I couldn't shake
the feeling that we were being watched.
My eyes darted from tree to tree, half expecting to see Alex
lurking in the shadows. But there was nothing, just the
rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a Creek.
We reached the conservation area, a sprawling expanse of
wetlands that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Wow, I breathed, lifting my camera to capture the scene.
Beautiful, isn't it? Mom said, her eyes taking in the
view. It's something.
Dad agreed, lowering his binoculars.
I snapped a few photos, my finger pressing the shutter as I
tried to capture the essence of the place.
It was wild, untamed, a slice of Florida that had somehow escaped
the relentless March of progress.
As I looked through the lens, my mind began to drift.
I imagine the people who had once called this place home,
their lives intertwined with the land in ways I could barely
comprehend. It was a Daydream, I knew, but
it felt real, almost tangible. And then, just as I was about to
lose myself in the fantasy, I heard it, a voice calling out
from the trail behind us. I lowered my camera, my heart
sinking as I turned to see who it was.
It was a voice I recognized, a voice I'd hoped I'd never hear
again. And as I stood there, my camera
hanging limply from my neck, I knew that the line between my
daydreams and reality was about to be shattered.
We were on a footbridge that spanned A murky stretch of swamp
water, the wooden planks creaking under our weight.
Dad was squinting at a map, trying to figure out where we
were, while Mom was busy snapping photos of a Heron in
the distance. I was leaning on the railing, my
eyes scanning the water below for any sign of alligators.
Look at this, Dad said, pointing to a spot on the map.
There's a lookout tower not far from here.
We should check it out. Before I could respond, a
movement in the water caught my eye.
A ripple, then a flash of scales, and for a brief moment I
saw it. An alligator lurking just below
the surface. Holy moly, that's a big one, Dad
exclaimed. Following my gaze, I raised my
camera, but the creature had already vanished, leaving only a
trail of bubbles in its wake. Missed it, I muttered, lowering
the camera in disappointment. Just then I heard footsteps
approaching. I turned and felt my blood run
cold. It was him.
Alex, the man from the rest stop.
He was talking to a park Ranger, a woman who looked utterly
captivated by whatever he was saying.
Come on, kiddo, Mom said, tugging at my arm.
Let's go get eaten alive in this dirty, damn swamp.
I let her pull me away, but my eyes stayed on Alex.
He was watching me, his gaze unsettlingly intense.
As we walked off. I saw him say something to the
park Ranger, who then handed him a red hair band she'd been
wearing. The moment we were out of
earshot, I turned to my parents. I think we should head back, I
said. My voice tinged with urgency.
Why? We're just getting started, Dad
protested. I don't feel well.
I lied, hoping they'd take the bait.
Mom looked at me, her eyes narrowing.
You're not trying to sneak off and smoke that stuff again, are
you? No, Mom, I swear, I just don't
feel good. She sighed, her face softening.
All right, let's head back. As we retraced our steps, I
couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to
happen. My mind kept drifting back to
Alex, to the way he'd looked at me, to the red hair band he'd
taken from the park Ranger. It all felt wrong, like pieces
of a puzzle I couldn't quite put together.
We reached the RV and I practically sprinted inside,
locking the door behind me. My parents exchanged puzzled
glances but didn't say anything. I collapsed on the couch, my
heart pounding in my chest. For a moment I considered
telling them about Alex, about the unsettling feeling he gave
me, but then I thought better of it.
They'd think I was paranoid, overreacting.
So I kept it to myself, hoping I was wrong, hoping it was all
just a figment of my overactive imagination.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't something was off, something I
couldn't quite put my finger on. And as I sat there, staring out
the window at the fading light, I had the sinking feeling that
our trip to Florida had just taken a dark and dangerous turn.
The next morning, I woke up with a sense of dread hanging over
me. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was off, that we were in danger.
I tried to push the thought out of my mind as I stepped out of
the RV, the Florida sun already beating down.
Morning sleepyhead. Mom greeted, flipping pancakes
on a portable grill. Want some breakfast?
I forced to smile, sure thanks. As I sat down to eat, my eyes
scanned the campground. Families were out and about.
Kids riding bikes, parents setting up lawn chairs.
Everything seemed normal, but the feeling of unease wouldn't
go away. We're going to the beach today,
Dad announced, sipping his coffee.
You coming? I hesitated.
The thought of being out in the open made me nervous, but
staying behind alone seemed even worse.
Yeah, I'll come, I finally said. We packed up and headed to the
beach, a short drive from the campground.
As we spread out our towels and set up our umbrella, I couldn't
help but feel like we were being watched.
I looked around, half expecting to see Alex lurking nearby, but
there was no sign of him. Let's hit the water, Dad
suggested, already in his swim trunks.
I followed him to the shoreline, the waves crashing at our feet.
For a moment I forgot about my worries, lost in the simple joy
of the ocean. But then, as I was wading into
the water, I saw him. Alex was standing on the beach,
not far from where we'd set up. He was staring at me, his eyes
cold and calculating. A shiver ran down my spine.
I turned and hurried back to our spot.
We need to go, I told my parents, My voice tinged with
panic. What's wrong?
Mom asked, concerned. I just saw that guy from the
rest stop. Alex.
He's here, and he's watching us. Dad looks skeptical.
Are you sure it's him? I'm positive we can't just pack
up because you're feeling paranoid, Dad argued.
I'm not being paranoid, I insisted.
Something's not right about that guy.
We need to leave now. Mom looked at Dad, her eyes
filled with worry. Maybe we should go, She said
softly. Dad sighed, clearly frustrated.
Fine, let's pack up. As we hurriedly gathered our
things, I kept an eye on Alex. He was still there, watching us,
and as we headed back to the car, I saw him pull out his
phone and make a call. The drive back to the campground
was tense, no one speaking. As we pulled in, I noticed a
police car parked near the entrance.
My heart sank. We need to talk to them, I said,
pointing to the police car. Dad nodded.
All right, let's see what they have to say.
As we approached the officers, I felt a mix of relief and dread.
Maybe they could help us, or maybe we were already too late.
But as I looked back at the campground, at the people going
about their day, oblivious to the danger lurking among them, I
knew we had to try. We approached the police
officers, their uniforms crisp and their faces stern.
Dad took the lead, explaining that we'd seen someone
suspicious, someone we'd encountered before.
Alex, I added, from Arizona. He's been following us.
The officers exchanged glances. We've had a report of a missing
park Ranger, one of them said. You think this Alex is involved?
I can't say for sure, Dad replied.
But something about him doesn't sit right.
The officers took down our information and promised to look
into it. As we walked back to the RV, I
couldn't shake the feeling that we were running out of time.
We should leave, I said, my voice urgent.
We should pack up and go now. Dad hesitated, looking at Mom.
What do you think? I think our son is scared, she
said softly. And that scares me.
We started packing, throwing our things into the RV with a sense
of urgency. I kept looking over my shoulder,
half expecting to see Alex at any moment, but he was nowhere
to be seen, and that somehow made it worse.
Finally, we were ready to go. Dad started the engine, and I
felt a wave of relief wash over me.
Maybe we dodged a bullet. Maybe we were going to be okay.
And then I saw her, the park Ranger who'd been talking to
Alex. She was standing at the edge of
the campground, her eyes vacant, her face expressionless, and she
was holding something in her hand.
A red hair band. My heart stopped.
Dad. Wait.
He slammed on the brakes, looking at me in confusion.
What is it? Her?
I said, pointing to the Ranger. She's not herself.
Alex did something to her. Dad looked at the Ranger, then
back at me. You can't know that I do, I
insisted. I can feel it.
Suddenly the Ranger moved, her hand reaching up to touch the
hair band, and then in a voice that was not her own, she spoke.
I could have taught you, she said, her voice dripping with
malice. But you chose to run.
A bad choice. My blood ran cold.
It was Alex's voice coming from her mouth.
He'd taken her over, just like he'd said he could.
Dad floored the accelerator and we speed away, leaving the
possessed Ranger standing alone. No one spoke for a long time,
each of us lost in our own thoughts, our own fears.
Finally, Dad broke the silence. What was that?
What the hell just happened? I looked at him, My eyes filled
with tears. I think we just escaped
something terrible, something evil.
He nodded, his face pale. I think you're right.
As we drove, I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened
if we'd stayed, if we'd ignored that feeling of dread.
And as I looked out the window, watching the Florida landscape
speed by, I knew one thing for certain.
We were lucky to be alive. But I also knew that Alex was
still out there, and that thought filled me with a dread I
couldn't shake. We drove for hours, the tension
in the RV as thick as the humid Florida air outside.
No one wanted to talk about what had happened, as if speaking it
aloud would make it more real, more terrifying than it already
was. But the silence was its own kind
of horror, each of us alone with our thoughts, our fears.
Finally, we crossed the state line, leaving Florida behind.
I felt a small sense of relief, as if we'd put a physical
distance between us and the evil we'd encountered.
But I knew it wasn't that simple.
Whatever Alex, or the thing that had been Alex was, it wasn't
confined to one place, one state.
It was something older, darker, something that couldn't be
outrun. We stopped at a rest area, the
first we'd seen in miles. I need to stretch my legs, Dad
said, his voice shaky. Anyone else coming?
I'll stay here, Mom replied, her eyes never leaving the road
ahead, as if she could see something we couldn't.
I got out of the RV, my legs stiff, my body aching.
I walked around the rest area, my eyes scanning the faces of
the other travelers. Were they who they appeared to
be? Or were they like Alex,
something else, wearing a human face?
As I was about to head back to the RV, my phone buzzed in my
pocket, a text message. I pulled it out, my hands
trembling as I read the words on the screen.
I'm disappointed in you, it read.
We could have had so much fun together.
It was from an unknown number, but I knew who it was from my
heart pounding, I looked around, half expecting to see Alex
standing there watching me. But there was no one.
Just families on their way to vacations, truckers on long
hauls, people living their lives unaware of the darkness that
lurked among them. I got back in the RV, my hands
shaking as I showed the text to my parents.
We need to go to the police, Dad said, his voice tinged with
fear. We need to tell them everything.
And then what? I asked, my voice hollow.
Do you think they'll believe us? Do you think they can stop him?
Dad didn't answer, and he didn't need to.
We both knew the truth. There was no stopping Alex, no
escaping him. He was out there somewhere, and
he would find us, no matter where we went, no matter what we
did. As we got back on the road, I
couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that we
were never truly alone. And as I looked out the window
at the endless Rd. stretching out before us, I knew that we
were heading into a darkness far deeper than the night, a
darkness that would never end. And somewhere out there, in that
endless dark, Alex was waiting.