I woke up with a jolt, my eyes snapping open in the dark.
Something was wrong. It wasn't the cold or the
rustling of the wind through the trees.
No, it was something else. Then it hit me.
The smell. It was thick and heavy, like
rotting meat, but much worse. It made my stomach twist and I
could almost taste it. As I breathed in.
I glanced at my watch. It was 2:00 AM.
My heart started to race and I lay there, staring up at the
dark ceiling of my tent, trying to figure out what could be
causing that horrible stench. Living out here in the woods, I
was used to strange smells. Small animals died all the time,
and nature took care of them. But this, this was different.
This smelled like something big, something really dead.
And it was close. I grabbed my bear spray, just in
case. Bears could smell a carcass from
miles away, and if there was something dead nearby, it could
bring one right to my camp. The minutes dragged by, and the
smell just kept getting worse. I tried to ignore it, to focus
on the sounds of the night, but every time I took a breath, it
filled my nose. I felt a growing sense of
unease, a chill that wasn't from the cold.
Then I heard it. A crunch.
A soft, deliberate crunch of leaves coming from the hill just
beyond my tent. I froze, every muscle in my body
tensing. It wasn't the random rustling of
an animal. It was slow, steady footsteps.
And it was coming closer. My heart pounded so hard I
thought it might burst out of my chest.
I held my breath, listening. The steps were getting nearer, 1
slow crunch after another. They weren't heavy like a
bear's. They were careful, almost like a
person. I swallowed hard, my mouth
suddenly dry. Who would be out here at this
hour in the middle of nowhere? The footsteps stopped.
Silence. I lay there, straining to hear
my fingers gripping the bear spray so tight they hurt.
Then snap. A twig broke right next to my
tent. My breath caught in my throat.
Whatever it was, it was close. Too close.
The stench was overpowering now, thick and choking.
I could barely think straight, my senses overwhelmed by the
smell and the fear. I didn't move, I couldn't.
I just lay there, waiting, every nerve in my body screaming.
I could hear something soft, raspy breathing, almost like a
wheeze. It was right outside.
My mind raced, 1000 thoughts blurring together.
What was it? A bear?
A person? Something else?
Minutes felt like hours, and time seemed to stretch on
forever. I waited for something to
happen, for the tent to move, for whatever was out there to
make its move. But nothing happened.
Slowly, the breathing faded away.
The footsteps retreated, crunching softly back into the
woods. I didn't dare move until I saw
the first light of dawn. When the sky finally started to
lighten, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
I reached for the zipper, my hands trembling, and slowly
unzipped the tent. The forest was still, the air
cold and crisp. The horrible smell was gone, and
everything seemed normal. Except it wasn't.
I stepped out of my tent, my headlamp cutting through the
morning mist. The woods felt different, like
they were hiding something. The silence was too heavy, too
expectant, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
I looked around, searching for any sign of what had been there,
but there was nothing. Just the trees, the rocks, and
the feeling that something had been watching me, something that
was still out there, waiting. The sun was up now, and the
forest was bathed in a soft, golden light.
Everything looked peaceful, but I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was wrong. I took a deep breath, trying to
calm myself, and decided to look around.
I had to find out what caused that awful smell last night.
Maybe it was just a dead animal and I was overreacting.
I had to know. I started walking in a circle
around my camp, my eyes scanning the ground for anything out of
place. At first, I didn't see anything
unusual, just the usual rocks and fallen branches.
But as I moved further away from my tent, I noticed something
strange. There were large rocks, each
about the size of a basketball, that had been moved.
They were scattered in a rough line leading down the hill.
It was like someone or something had rolled them there.
My stomach tightened and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
The rocks were heavy, too heavy for a small animal to move.
I knelt down and touched one of them.
It was cold, and there were deep marks in the dirt where it had
been pulled out of the ground. I looked around, my heart
pounding again. Who would do this and why?
The smell from last night was gone, but the memory of it
lingered. I could still almost taste it,
and it made me feel sick just thinking about it.
I stood up and followed the line of rocks down the hill.
They led me to a small clearing where the ground was disturbed.
The dirt was churned up like something had been digging
there. I felt a chill that had nothing
to do with the cold morning air. I stepped closer, my eyes
scanning the ground. There were no footprints, no
signs of an animal, just the rocks and the disturbed earth.
It didn't make any sense. I knelt down again, running my
fingers through the loose dirt. It was soft, like it had been
freshly dug. I looked around, my senses on
high alert. The forest was still, too still.
It felt like the trees were watching me, like they were
waiting for something to happen. I stood up, my heart pounding in
my ears. I had to get out of there.
I turned and started back up the hill, my eyes darting from side
to side. Every shadow seemed to move,
every rustle of leaves made my heart skip a beat.
I felt like I was being watched, like something was following me.
I tried to shake the feeling, to tell myself it was just my
imagination, but it wouldn't go away.
When I finally made it back to my camp, I felt a rush of
relief. I packed up my things as quickly
as I could, my hands shaking. I had to leave.
I didn't know what was out there, but I knew I didn't want
to be around when it came back. The forest felt wrong, like it
was hiding something dark and terrible.
I didn't look back as I walked away, the feeling of being
watched never leaving me. Something had been there last
night, something that wanted me to know it was there, and I
wasn't going to stick around to find out what it was.
The next few days were restless. I couldn't stop thinking about
what had happened in the woods. My mind kept replaying every
sound, every smell, every moment of that terrifying night.
I knew it wasn't a bear. Whatever had been out there was
something else, something that seemed more intelligent,
something that wanted me to know it was there.
The feeling gnawed at me, keeping me up at night, my heart
pounding at every little noise. I spent hours on line searching
for anything that could explain what I had experienced.
Stories about strange encounters in the woods, unexplained
smells, noises, and feelings of being watched.
It wasn't until I stumbled upon an old legend that something
clicked. The Wendigo.
The word sent a shiver down my spine.
I read everything I could find. Stories of an evil spirit that
haunted the woods. A creature that smelled of
decay, that stalked its prey and took pleasure in terrifying
them. The more I read, the more it all
made sense. The horrible stench, the
deliberate footsteps, the rocks that had been moved.
It was as if the Wendigo had been toying with me, testing my
fear. My stomach twisted as I thought
about it. The breathing I had heard
outside my tent, the twig that had snapped so close to me.
It wasn't an animal. It was something far worse,
something that enjoyed my fear, something that fed on it.
I couldn't shake the feeling that it was still out there,
waiting. I tried to convince myself that
it was all just a story, just an old legend, but deep down I knew
better. The woods had always been my
sanctuary, my place of peace, but now they felt different.
They felt tainted, like they were hiding something dark and
terrible. I knew I had to go back.
I had to see for myself if it was real, if the Wendigo was
really out there. The next morning I packed my
gear and headed back to the woods.
My heart pounded as I approached the area where I had camped
before. The sun was bright, the air
crisp, but the feeling of dread was still there.
Like a heavyweight pressing down on me.
I made my way back to the clearing where I had found the
disturbed earth. The rocks were still there, the
ground still churned up, but the air was different.
It was quiet, too quiet, like the forest was holding its
breath. I stood there, my eyes scanning
the trees, my ears straining for any sound.
The feeling of being watched was back, stronger than ever.
I could feel it, something out there, hiding in the shadows,
waiting. My heart raced, and I felt a
chill run down my spine. I knew I wasn't alone.
The Wendigo was out there, watching me, waiting for the
right moment to strike. I turned and started to walk
away, my steps quickening as the feeling of dread grew stronger.
I didn't look back, I couldn't. I knew that if I did, I might
see it lurking in the shadows, its eyes fixed on me, its hunger
growing, and I wasn't ready to face it, not yet.
Living in the middle of nowhere has its perks, but lately I've
started to feel more alone than free.
Our little house in Coos Bay, OR is surrounded by thick woods
that stretch on forever. Sometimes it's peaceful, but
other times, like when it's dark and the wind howls through the
trees, it feels like the shadows are watching me.
I guess it all started on one of those stormy nights.
I was lying in bed trying to sleep when I heard it.
Three loud knocks on my window, clear, spaced out, each one
echoing in the silence. My heart skipped a beat.
I remember just lying there for a second, too scared to move,
but curiosity got the better of me.
I took a deep breath and slowly reached for the curtain, my
fingers trembling as I pulled it back.
Nothing. Just the dark forest staring
back at me, the branches swaying in the wind.
A chill ran down my neck, and I quickly shut the curtain, trying
to shake off the feeling that something had been there.
I lay awake for hours, listening, waiting.
But the rest of the night was quiet, almost too quiet, and
eventually I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I went outside, and that's when I saw them.
Muddy boot prints right under my window.
They were big, much bigger than my feet, and they led off into
the woods. I stared at them for a while, a
knot forming in my stomach. Someone had been there last
night, watching me. I tried to convince myself it
was just a prank, or maybe one of the new neighbors, but it
didn't sit right with me. The whole day I couldn't shake
that uneasy feeling. Later, as I was skateboarding
home from school, I saw him. A man standing just at the edge
of the woods, half hidden behind the trees.
He was too far away for me to see his face clearly, but he was
staring right at me. His posture was stiff, almost
unnatural. I tried to ignore him, tried to
tell myself it was just some guy, but I could feel his eyes
on me the entire way home. That night I was lying in bed
again, trying to forget about the boot prints and the man in
the woods. I was almost asleep when I heard
it. Another knock.
This one was louder, more insistent.
My heart felt like it was going to explode.
I knew I couldn't just lie there.
I had to do something. I reached under my bed, my
fingers finding the cold metal of my dad's old pistol.
I grabbed my flashlight too, my hand shaking as I clicked it on.
I threw open the door and stepped outside, the cold night
air hitting me like a slap. My breath fogged up in front of
me as I scanned the tree line, the flashlight beam cutting
through the darkness. Then I saw it.
A figure running towards the woods.
It moved fast, faster than any person should be able to.
I don't know why, but I followed.
Maybe I was angry, maybe I was just tired of being scared.
I don't know. I ran after him, the flashlight
bouncing in my hand, casting long, twisted shadows around me.
Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves made my heart
jump, but I kept going. I had to know who or what was
out there. The forest felt alive, like it
was closing in on me, the branches reaching out, trying to
pull me back, But I pressed on, the figure always just ahead,
always just out of reach. And then, just as suddenly as it
started, the figure was gone, swallowed by the darkness of the
woods. I stood there, panting, my
breath coming in ragged gasps. The forest was silent again, the
only sound my racing heartbeat. I felt a chill that had nothing
to do with the cold. I turned and ran back home, the
flashlight flickering, the feeling of being watched never
leaving me. That night I barely slept.
I couldn't stop thinking about the Knox, the boot prints, the
figure in the woods. I didn't know what was
happening, but I knew one thing for sure.
Whatever it was, it wasn't over and deep down I knew that this
was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
The next few days were a blur. I kept replaying everything over
and over in my head. The Knox, the boot prints, that
shadowy figure running into the woods.
I didn't tell my parents. They'd either tell me it was
just my imagination, or even worse, they'd start to worry.
So I kept it to myself, trying to convince myself that maybe it
was all just a bad dream. But deep down I knew better.
Something was out there, and it wasn't done with me.
One evening I decided I had to do something.
I couldn't just sit around waiting for the next knock on my
window. I needed answers.
So I grabbed my flashlight again, along with my dad's
pistol, and headed into the woods.
The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a
dark blue, fading quickly into black.
The trees looked like towering shadows, their branches reaching
out like twisted fingers. My breath felt heavy as I made
my way through the underbrush, every crack of a twig beneath my
feet echoing through the silence.
I followed the same path I'd taken that night, the memory of
that figure leading me deeper and deeper into the woods.
The air grew colder, and the further I went, the more the
world around me seemed to change.
The forest felt off, like it was tense, waiting for something to
happen. Then I saw it.
The mouth of a cave, half hidden behind a cluster of bushes.
It was wide, dark, and looked like it could swallow me whole.
A shiver ran down my spine, but I forced myself forward.
I had to know what was inside. I stepped up to the entrance, my
flashlight beam flickering as if it knew something I didn't.
Just as I was about to step inside, a cougar burst out of
the darkness, almost knocking me over.
I stumbled back, my heart leaping into my throat.
The cougar's eyes were wide and it took off into the woods as if
it was running from something inside that cave.
My instincts screamed at me to turn back, to run home and never
look back, but I couldn't. I had come this far.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside, the smell of damp earth
and something rotting hitting me immediately.
The air was thick, heavy, and my flashlight barely cut through
the darkness. I moved slowly, each step
echoing the beam of light dancing across the rough stone
walls. Strange dark stains marked The
Cave, and I felt like the shadows were pressing in on me
from all sides. And then I saw him.
The man, or whatever He was standing there, deeper in The
Cave. He wasn't moving, just staring
at me. My flashlight flickered, and in
that split second, I saw his face.
He was wearing a mask, twisted into an expression of pure
agony, the eyes behind it glowing a deep, unnatural red.
My blood ran cold. He was too still, his limbs too
long, his posture all wrong. Everything in me screamed to
run, but I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring back
at him, my body frozen in place. Finally, I forced myself to
raise the pistol, my hands shaking so badly I could barely
aim. I pulled the trigger, the shot
echoing through The Cave, deafening in the confined space.
I missed. The man didn't even flinch, he
just moved fast, faster than I could follow, darting past me
and out of The Cave. I turned, my flashlight catching
only a glimpse of him disappearing into the woods, his
movements jerky, almost insect like.
I stumbled out of The Cave, my heart pounding so hard I thought
it might burst. The forest was silent again, but
I felt eyes on me, watching, waiting.
I turned and ran, my flashlight flickering, the darkness around
me seeming to close in. By the time I got back home, I
was out of breath, my entire body shaking.
I slammed the door behind me, locking it, my back pressed
against the wood as I tried to catch my breath.
I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I
saw that mask, those glowing red eyes.
I didn't know who or what that was, but I knew one thing for
sure. This wasn't over, not even
close. After that night in The Cave,
nothing felt the same. It was like the world had
shifted and now everything had a dark edge.
I couldn't focus in school, every little noise made me jump.
A door slamming, a book dropping.
My heart would leap and I'd be back in that cave, staring into
those glowing red eyes. The feeling of being watched
never left me, even during the day.
I stopped hanging out with friends, stopped skating around
the neighbourhood. I just wanted to be inside where
I thought I might be safe. But even home didn't feel like a
refuge any more. Every night I'd lie awake, my
ears straining for any sound outside my window.
I could almost feel the knocks coming, hear the slow,
deliberate tapping. In my mind, I tried to tell
myself that whatever it was, it was gone, That the shot I fired
had scared it off. But deep down, I knew better.
It was waiting. It was always waiting.
One night after another, day spent in a daze, I finally
broke. I needed answers.
I needed to know what I was dealing with.
So I grabbed my laptop and started searching.
I went down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, reading about
strange encounters, ghost stories, urban legends, anything
that might explain what I had seen.
And then I found it. The word was there, staring back
at me from the screen. Wendigo.
My eyes skimmed over the description, and my blood ran
cold. A monstrous creature from Native
American folklore, twisted by an insatiable hunger, driven to
stock and consume. The glowing red eyes, the
grotesque mask, the distorted limbs, it all matched.
It felt like someone had taken that night and written it down.
My chest tightened and a shiver ran through me as I scrolled
through the accounts of those who claimed to have seen one.
It wasn't just the stories that got to me, it was the way they
ended. Each one left me with the same
sense of dread. No one ever really escaped.
The Wendigo always came back. I sat there, staring at my
screen, the light from the laptop the only thing
illuminating my room. I didn't want to believe it, but
it made too much sense. What else could it have been?
I tried to tell myself that monsters weren't real, that
things like the Wendigo were just stories, but I had seen it.
I had heard the knocks, chased it through the woods and stared
into those glowing eyes. I knew it was real, and I knew
it was still out there. That night, I barely slept.
My mind was filled with the stories I had read, the
warnings, the descriptions of the creature.
Every noise outside made my heart pound.
I kept expecting to hear those knocks again, to see that figure
standing at the edge of the woods, watching me.
The fear was constant, gnawing at me, a reminder that I wasn't
safe. Days turned into weeks and the
feeling never left. I'd catch myself staring out the
window, my eyes scanning the tree line, waiting for a glimpse
of movement. I knew I couldn't stay here
forever. I had to get out.
My parents thought it was just a phase, that I was acting out or
struggling with something I couldn't put into words.
They didn't understand that this wasn't just anxiety or a fear I
could talk away. This was real, and it was
dangerous. Eventually, I convinced them to
move. I told them I needed a change,
that I couldn't stand being in the middle of nowhere anymore.
They didn't ask too many questions, and I was grateful
for that. We moved to Colorado, to a
neighborhood with more people, more lights, more noise,
somewhere that didn't feel so isolated.
But even here, the memory lingers.
I still feel it sometimes, that sense of being watched, the fear
that one day I'll hear those knocks again.
I know it's out there somewhere, waiting.
Always be aware when going into the woods.
You never know what you will encounter.
Stay safe out there. The house looked different that
evening. It felt different.
My sister Olivia and I had spent the day in town, escaping the
oppressive heat and boredom of our isolated corner of the
world. By the time we returned, the sun
had dipped below the treetops and the long shadows stretched
like fingers wrapping the old house in a shroud of darkness.
Something about the stillness made me hesitate as I reached
for the door handle. Do you think Mom's OK?
Olivia whispered, staring at the darkened house.
The lights were off, even though Mom should have been home for
hours. Of course, I replied, but even I
didn't believe my words. I pushed the door open and a
blast of cold air hit me, sending a shiver down my back.
Inside, it was dark, too dark, the kind of dark that makes you
second guess every step. I flipped the switch, but
nothing happened. The power was out.
The air felt heavy, as if the house itself was tense.
Mom. I called, my voice swallowed by
the silence. Olivia stayed close, her phone
light cutting through the darkness.
The beam swept over picture frames and furniture, which
seemed oddly out of place, as if they had shifted while we were
gone. Mom, are you here?
Olivia called, louder this time. Still nothing.
The silence was deafening. The hairs on my neck stood on
end, a chill creeping through me that had nothing to do with the
temperature. Then we heard it.
A voice, distant, muffled, coming from outside.
Is that? Olivia turned towards the back
door, her eyes wide. It was Mom, or at least it
sounded like her. But something was wrong.
The words were garbled, as if she was speaking underwater.
Without thinking, we moved toward the sound, pushing open
the back door and stepping into the night.
The woods loomed before us, a black wall of trees swallowing
the last of the daylight. Mom's voice drifted through the
branches, a strange, singsong quality to it, like she was
calling us deeper. I hesitated at the edge of the
trees. Dad had always warned us about
the deep woods, about getting lost out there, especially at
night. But this was Mom.
She needed us. Olivia didn't wait.
She switched on her phone light and stepped forward, her feet
crunching on the dead leaves. I followed, my heart pounding,
every instinct screaming at me to turn back.
The deeper we went, the stranger it became.
The air grew colder, The trees twisted their branches, clawing
at the sky like skeletal fingers.
The shadows shifted, and I could have sworn I saw shapes darting
between the trunks, just beyond the reach of our light.
Mom. I called, my voice cracking, the
sounds swallowed by the darkness.
Then we heard it. A scream.
High pitched, terrified. Unmistakably Mom's.
It echoed through the woods, bouncing off the trees until I
couldn't tell where it had come from.
We have to go, Olivia said, panic in her voice.
She started running, her flashlight bouncing wildly.
I ran after her, branches whipping against my face, the
ground uneven beneath my feet. The woods seemed to close in
around us, the trees growing thicker, their trunks like bars
in a cage. Then we saw it.
A clearing opened up, a head, and there in the center stood
something that shouldn't exist. It was tall, at least 8 feet,
its head a skull with flesh hanging in ragged strips, black
sockets glowing with an unnatural red light.
The body was a grotesque mix of bones and rotting flesh, its
limbs twisted and wrong, like someone had assembled it without
ever seeing a living thing. And the smell.
Oh God, the smell. It was death and decay, so thick
I could taste it. The creature turned its head
toward us, the empty sockets locking onto mine.
My blood ran cold. It grinned, yellow fangs
glinting in the darkness, and took a step forward, its body
shifting, dissolving into shadow.
The red eyes remained floating towards us, the grin growing
wider, more sinister. Run.
I screamed, grabbing Olivia's arm.
We turned and ran, the world blurring around us, branches
tearing at our clothes, roots grabbing at our feet.
Behind us, I could hear it, the heavy thud of footsteps, the
rustle of leaves, the low, guttural growl that seemed to
echo inside my head. The deep woods were alive,
whispering, mocking, and I knew without a doubt that we were not
supposed to be there. The lights of the house came
into view, flickering through the trees, and I pushed myself
harder, my lungs burning, my legs aching.
We stumbled out of the woods, onto the back lawn, and I
slammed the door shut behind us, my hands shaking.
For a moment there was silence, just the sound of our ragged
breathing, the pounding of my heart.
But as I looked at Olivia, I knew this wasn't over.
Whatever was out there, whatever had lured us into the deep
woods, it wasn't done with us yet.
The door slammed shut behind us, but the cold grip of fear still
clung to my skin. Olivia and I stood in the
darkness of our kitchen, panting, trying to catch our
breath. My fingers trembled against the
wooden frame and I could barely make out Olivia's wide eyed
expression in the dim light. The house was dark, and it
wasn't just because the lights were off.
It felt darker, like the shadows themselves had thickened,
deepened. Is it gone?
Olivia whispered, her voice barely audible.
She took a shaky step closer to me, her phone light flickering
across the room. I don't know.
I tried to keep my voice steady, but the words wavered.
I glanced around, the flashlight casting long, twisting shadows.
The air was too still, too cold. Something was wrong.
More than just the power being out, more than the thing that
had chased us. It was like the house itself had
changed while we were gone. We moved cautiously, my hand
reaching for the countertop as I tried to find some semblance of
balance. Then we noticed the tracks.
Dark, muddy prints smeared across the floor.
My stomach twisted into a knot, dread pooling in my gut.
They weren't human. They were large, clawed, and
they led from the front door to the kitchen, fading away as they
neared the back hallway. Olivia and I exchanged a glance,
and I could see the fear in her eyes.
What do we do? Olivia whispered, her voice
trembling. My mind raced, but I didn't have
an answer. Let's just see if Mom's here.
I said, though my gut told me that wasn't what we were going
to find. Something had changed in her,
something that had lured us into those woods.
We moved slowly, the light from Olivia's phone bobbing and
casting flickering shadows across the walls.
The scraping sound came first, a rhythmic dragging sound that
made my skin crawl. It was coming from the kitchen.
My throat tightened and I felt Olivia's hand grip my arm, her
nails digging in. We inched forward, and the sight
that met us in the dim glow of the flashlight made my blood run
cold. Mom was there, standing at the
center of the kitchen, her back to us.
She was pushing a mop back and forth across the floor, but the
motion was wrong. It was jerky, like a puppet on
strings, the mop scraping uselessly against the floor.
Her head hung at an odd angle, and her shoulders were hunched,
her whole body trembling slightly with each movement.
Mom. I managed, my voice cracking.
She paused, her head lifting slightly, but she didn't turn
around. The air grew colder, a chill
settling into my bones. Slowly she turned her head, her
neck twisting unnaturally until her face was halfway towards us.
Her eyes, once warm and full of life, were now hollow, dark,
like 2 empty pits. Her mouth stretched into a smile
that didn't reach her eyes, her lips pulling back to reveal
crooked yellow teeth. Your father, he's gone.
She said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.
The words hung in the air, a statement with no explanation,
no feeling. Olivia whimpered beside me, and
I could feel her starting to shake.
What do you mean? I asked, my voice barely above a
whisper. Mom's head turned a little more,
her body still facing away from us.
The smile didn't falter, her empty gaze fixed on something
far away. He left us.
He's not coming back. Her tone was almost cheerful,
like she was sharing something trivial.
The mop resumed its scraping, her body shifting back into that
unnatural rhythm. I grabbed Olivia's hand, pulling
her backward. I could feel her trembling, her
breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
We need to go. I whispered, trying to keep my
voice steady. I didn't know what was
happening, but I knew that wasn't our mother.
Not anymore. We backed out of the kitchen,
moving as quickly and quietly as we could.
I could hear the scraping behind us, steady, unchanging, as if
she hadn't noticed we were leaving.
We made it to the stairs, and I pushed Olivia ahead of me,
urging her up. The wood creaked beneath our
feet, each sound echoing through the silent house.
My heart pounded in my chest, fear clawing at my insides.
Halfway up, the scraping stopped.
Silence, the kind that made your skin prickle, made you hold your
breath. Then came the footsteps, Heavy,
deliberate. They echoed up the hallway, the
sound of something dragging behind.
Olivia looked back at me, her eyes wide with terror, and I
knew we had to move faster. We reached the top of the
stairs, and I turned, catching a glimpse of the kitchen below.
For a moment, I saw her, her head tilted back, her eyes
staring up at me, glowing faintly in the darkness.
Her lips curled back and she let out a low, guttural growl that
seemed to vibrate through the walls.
I shoved Olivia into my room, slamming the door shut behind
us. The pounding on the door came
almost instantly, hard, relentless, the sound of wood
splintering. I could hear her voice, now
filled with anger, snarling, demanding we let her in.
The door shook under the force, the frame cracking.
I didn't know what was happening, didn't know how this
nightmare had started or how it would end, but as I looked at
Olivia, I knew we couldn't stay here.
Whatever was pretending to be our mother, it wanted us, and it
wouldn't stop until it had us out the window.
I said, my voice trembling. We had to escape before it was
too late. The cold night air hit us as we
climbed out the window, the lattice swaying beneath our
weight. My fingers gripped the vine
covered wood and I glanced down at Olivia.
She was moving quickly, her eyes wide, her breath coming in
shallow gasps. I couldn't blame her.
My own chest felt like it was going to explode from the fear
that had wrapped itself around me like a vise.
I kept my eyes on her, urging her down.
The wind howled through the trees, shaking the leaves, and
somewhere in the distance I heard it, that low, guttural
growl echoing through the night. It sent a chill racing down my
soul, and I pushed myself harder.
We needed to get to the car, get out of here before whatever was
inside that house came after us. Olivia reached the ground first,
her shoes landing with a soft thud in the grass.
I followed, my feet slipping for a moment before I caught myself.
I glanced back up at the window, half expecting to see that
monstrous face staring down at us, but it was empty, dark.
I didn't let myself dwell on it for too long.
I grabbed Olivia's hand and we ran, our feet pounding across
the lawn toward the driveway. The car was there, parked where
I had left it earlier. I fumble for the keys in my
pocket, my fingers trembling so badly I almost dropped them.
Olivia was already at the passenger door, her hand on the
handle, her eyes darting back toward the house.
She looked at me, her expression desperate.
Hurry. She urged, her voice barely
audible over the pounding of my heart.
I finally got the key into the lock, yanked the door open, and
we both climbed in. I twisted the key in the
ignition. The car roared to life, the
headlights flickering on, illuminating the driveway and
what was in front of us. It was Mom, or at least it
looked like her. She stood in the center of the
driveway, her head tilted at that unnatural angle, her arms
hanging limply at her sides. Her hollow eyes were fixed on
us, and her mouth opened slowly, her lips parting as if she was
trying to speak. My heart clenched, my hands
gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned
white. For a moment, I hesitated.
I could feel Olivia's eyes on me, her breath hitching in her
throat. What are you waiting for?
She asked, her voice cracking. That's not Mom, you have to go.
She was right, deep down, I knew it.
I took a deep breath, pressing my foot down on the gas.
The car lurched forward and the figure in front of us moved,
almost gliding out of the way, her head snapping toward us as
we passed. Her mouth twisted into a grin, a
horrible, toothy grin that seemed to stretch too far across
her face. I heard Olivia let out a choked
sob beside me, and I pressed the gas harder, the tires spinning
in the gravel as we speed away from the house.
The road stretched out before us, winding through the
darkness, the headlights illuminating only a few feet
ahead. My hands were trembling, my
heart still pounding in my ears. Olivia was silent beside me, her
eyes fixed on the road, her face pale.
I glanced at her, trying to find the right words, but what could
I say? Nothing about this was OK.
Nothing about this made sense. The car's headlights caught
movement up ahead, a flash of something dark darting across
the road. I slammed on the brakes, the
tires screeching as we skidded to a stop.
For a moment, everything was silent, and I held my breath, my
eyes scanning the darkness. Olivia let out a soft whimper,
her hand gripping the edge of her seat.
What was that? She whispered, her voice barely
audible. I shook my head, my eyes darting
back and forth, searching for any sign of movement.
The woods were thick here, the shadows deep, and I could feel
something, something watching us from the darkness.
Then there it was again, a shadow shifting between the
trees, a flash of red eyes. I felt a wave of terror wash
over me, my breath catching in my throat.
It was following us. Whatever it was, whatever had
come for us in the woods, it wasn't done yet.
I pressed the gas again, my hands shaking as I gripped the
wheel. The car jerked forward and I
drove faster this time, my eyes locked on the road ahead.
I didn't know where we were going, just away.
Away from the house, away from the thing that had taken our
mother. The road twisted and turned, the
trees pressing in on either side, their branches like claws
reaching for us. Olivia was silent, her eyes
wide, her body tense. I could still hear that growl in
my head, still see the way her eyes had glowed in the darkness.
We had to get away. But as I glanced in the rearview
mirror, I saw them, those red eyes glowing in the darkness,
following us, relentless. And I knew deep down that we
couldn't run forever. We drove until the road seemed
to stretch into oblivion, until the headlights began to blur in
my tired eyes. The world outside the car was
dark and endless black that pressed in on us from all sides.
The only sound was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thud
of my own heartbeat. An endless pulse that seemed to
synchronize with the tension in the car.
Olivia hadn't said a word since we left the house, her hands
clenched in her lap, her eyes staring blankly at the road
ahead. After what felt like hours, I
finally pulled off onto a narrow gravel Rd. that led to a small
clearing. The car rolled to a stop and I
killed the engine. Silence swallowed us, and for a
moment, I just sat there, staring at the steering wheel,
trying to catch my breath. Olivia finally looked over at
me, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear.
What do we do now? She asked, her voice barely a
whisper. There was a tremor there, a fear
that mirrored my own. I swallowed, looking out into
the blackness of the forest that surrounded us.
The trees stood tall and unmoving, their branches like
skeletal arms reaching up to the sky.
We wait. I said, my voice sounding hollow
even to me. I didn't know what else to say.
We were lost, not just in the physical sense, but in every
possible way. Our home was gone, Our mother,
whatever had happened to her was gone, and the only thing I knew
for sure was that we couldn't go back.
Olivia nodded, her eyes shifting back to the windshield, staring
out at the darkness. You think it's still out there?
She asked after a long moment, her voice trembling.
I didn't have to ask what she meant.
I nodded slowly, my throat tightening.
Yeah, it's out there. The words felt heavy, like
admitting it made it more real. I could still see those eyes,
those red, glowing eyes, watching us from the shadows.
It had followed us, and I knew it wouldn't stop, not until it
got what it wanted. I reached over, taking Olivia's
hand in mine. Her fingers were cold, her grip
tight. We'll figure this out, I said,
though I didn't know if I believed it myself.
The fear in her eyes was mirrored in my own, and I knew
we were running out of time. The forest was quiet, too quiet.
There was no rustling of leaves, no distant calls of animals.
Just silence pressing in on us, suffocating.
I strained my ears, listening for any sign of movement, any
hint that we weren't alone. But there was nothing, only the
sound of our breathing, ragged and uneven.
Then I heard it. A rustling, faint but
unmistakable. My eyes snapped open, and I
looked at Olivia. She heard it too.
Her eyes were wide, her body tense.
The sound came again, closer this time, a soft shuffling,
like something moving through the leaves.
Do you hear that? Olivia whispered, her voice
barely audible. I nodded, my heart pounding in
my chest. The rustling grew louder,
closer, And then I saw them, two glowing red eyes staring at us
from the edge of the clearing. My breath caught in my throat,
and I felt Olivia's hand tighten around mine.
It was here, it had found us. I didn't think, I just moved.
I turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to
life, the headlights cutting through the darkness.
The eyes blinked, and then they were gone, swallowed by the
shadows. I pressed the gas pedal, the car
lurching forward, the tires spinning in the gravel as we
speed away from the clearing. I didn't know where we were
going, I didn't care. All I knew was that we couldn't
stay there, that whatever was out there, it wasn't going to
stop until it had us. The road twisted and turned, the
trees blurring past, and I kept my eyes on the road, my hands
gripping the wheel. We have to tell someone, Olivia
said, her voice shaking. We can't keep running.
I nodded, my throat tight. She was right.
We needed help, but who would believe us?
Who would believe any of this? I glanced at her, her face pale
in the dim light of the dashboard.
We will, I said, though I didn't know how.
We'll find someone. We'll make them listen.
The red eyes were still in my mind, haunting me, relentless.
I knew this wasn't over, not by a long shot, but as long as we
were alive, as long as we had each other, we had a chance.
And I was going to fight for Olivia, for whatever was left of
our family. I pressed the gas harder, the
car speeding down the dark, winding road, and I made a
silent promise to myself, to Olivia, to whatever was out
there watching us. We weren't going to be its
victims, not tonight. It was one of those sweltering
summer nights, the kind where the air feels heavy and you're
dripping with sweat just sitting still.
I had abandoned my room upstairs because it felt like an oven,
and instead found solace in the coolness of the basement.
Down there, beneath the house, away from the smothering heat, I
had my own little setup. The PS4, the old couch, and that
big window that looked out onto the backyard.
Normally it felt like my own private hideaway, but something
about that window felt different lately.
Too exposed, like it wasn't just me who could look out into the
night. That's when the howls started.
The first night I heard it, I figured it was just coyotes.
They often howled at night, somewhere beyond the woods that
bordered our property. But this howl was different.
It wasn't a quick Yip or a high pitched yowl like the coyotes
usually made. No, this one was low, guttural,
like it was echoing from deep within something.
It seemed to stretch on forever, a sound that rippled through the
trees, the walls, my bones. I tried to ignore it, told
myself it was just an old coyote gone rogue.
I wanted to believe that every night it came back the howling,
and every night it sounded closer.
One minute it seemed to be right outside the woods, the next
farther off, then suddenly close again, as if whatever it was, it
could move faster than anything had a right to.
I could hear it shifting, circling, and though I couldn't
see a thing beyond the glass, I felt it, that presence stalking
just out of view, as if it knew I was there and wanted me to
know that, too. It was a Wednesday night.
I remember that the heat was unbearable upstairs, so there I
was, sprawled out on the couch, letting the basement's coolness
settle over me. I had Thor Ragnarok playing on
the screen. I had seen it a dozen times
already, but it was just background noise, something to
drown out the tension that had been growing.
That's when I heard it. A tapping at the window.
I froze. A single tap, light as a
fingertip. Almost polite.
My heart stopped for a beat, and I stared at the dark outline of
the window, too afraid to move. I told myself it was a bird,
maybe something startled out of the woods, but deep down I knew
it wasn't. The second tap came more
forceful, a deliberate knock, as if something, someone, wanted me
to open that curtain. Slowly, my body acting against
every screaming instinct in my mind, I shifted toward the
window. The curtain rustled under my
trembling hand. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry,
and pulled the fabric aside. The face.
That face elongated. No lips, only jagged teeth, like
something sharpened them to points.
Empty black holes where eyes should have been.
The skin hanging in loose folds, decaying and cracked.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment I couldn't
move. It was smiling, or at least
that's what it seemed to be doing.
Its head tilted, those teeth bared.
My scream came out as a strangled gasp, and before I
knew it, I was scrambling up the stairs, every nerve in my body
alight with terror. My father's voice called out
from the dark hallway, but I barely registered it.
I only stopped when I reached his room, my voice breaking as I
told him what I saw. He followed me back down,
muttering something about nightmares, but when we got
there, the window was empty, nothing but the faint
condensation from where its breath had fogged the glass.
I wanted to believe my father, that it was just a bad dream, a
trick of my overactive imagination.
But as I lay in my room that night, every door locked, the
heat pressing down like a suffocating blanket, I knew.
I knew that whatever was out there, it was real, and it was
waiting. The basement had always been my
retreat, the place I went to when I needed to get away from
the chaos of the house. But after that night it felt
like the walls had grown too thin, like the darkness outside
could reach in at any moment. It was the tapping that had done
it, those two gentle knocks, deliberate and knowing.
No matter how much I tried to convince myself it was just a
bird, I couldn't shake the feeling that something out there
knew me, had watched me, and wanted me to know it was there.
It was a couple of nights later when I decided to go back down.
The heat in my room was unbearable, and my father's
dismissive words still echoed in my head.
I wanted to prove to myself more than anyone that it had been a
nightmare. So I gathered my blanket and
pillow and crept back downstairs, telling myself that
it was just another night, nothing would happen.
I turned on the PS4, loaded up Netflix, and settled in.
But I couldn't relax. Every creak of the house, every
gust of wind against the window made me flinch.
My eyes kept darting to that window, expecting, almost
daring, that face to appear again.
I wanted to prove it wasn't real, but every inch of me was
braced for that sickening grin. It was halfway through the movie
when I heard it again. This time, it wasn't a tap.
It was a scrape, the sound of something dragging across the
glass, slow and deliberate. My blood ran cold.
I sat frozen, staring at the window, my heart pounding in my
ears. The scrape came again, and then
a third time, like nails being dragged across the pane.
I could feel my body trembling, every instinct screaming at me
to run, but I couldn't move. I was caught in that moment,
paralyzed by fear. The scraping stopped silence.
I strained to hear every muscle tense, waiting.
Then a soft thud. My stomach lurched as I realized
it had come from the back door, the one that led out to the
yard. The door was locked, but in that
moment I felt the air grow thick with a kind of primal terror.
Something was out there, something that wasn't content to
just stay by the window it wanted in.
My hand moved before I realized it.
Reaching for the remote, I turned off the TV, plunging the
room Into Darkness. I listened, every breath
shallow, my heart feeling like it might explode out of my
chest. The soft rustle of movement
outside, something brushing against the door.
My eyes locked on the doorknob, waiting for it to turn.
But it didn't. Minutes passed, though it felt
like hours. Slowly, the rustling faded, the
present slipping away into the night.
I let out a shaky breath, tears stinging my eyes.
I knew then that this wasn't just some figment of my
imagination. Whatever was out there, it was
real, and it wasn't going away. I crept back up the stairs, my
legs barely able to hold me. I locked every door, every
window, and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over my head
like a child. I knew it was still out there,
waiting, watching, And I knew that somehow it wouldn't be
satisfied until it found a way in.
The days that followed were a blur of sleeplessness and
unease. The memory of that face, those
empty eye sockets and that twisted grin seemed to haunt me
even in the daylight. Every shadow seemed a little
darker, every Creek of the old house a little more sinister.
My parents went about their days like nothing had happened, like
the terror I'd experienced was just some bad dream.
But I knew better. I could feel it, an invisible
thread that tied me to whatever was out there, lurking just
beyond the walls of our house. It wasn't just the nights that
were unbearable now, it was the days too.
The oppressive summer heat only seemed to intensify my paranoia.
I found myself constantly glancing out the windows,
searching the tree line for any sign of movement.
The basement, once a place of comfort, had become a place of
dread. I couldn't bring myself to go
back down there, not even in the midday sun, when everything
should have felt safe. The dog was the first to notice
it. Rusty was never one to bark
without reason, but now he would stand at the top of the basement
stairs, growling low, the hair on his back standing straight
up. He refused to go near the door
that led outside, and every time he growled, that same chill
would creep up my spine. He knew something was out there,
something he couldn't see but could sense.
One night, after another failed attempt at sleep, I heard it
again. The sound was so faint at first
I thought I was imagining it. A soft, rhythmic scratching,
like nails dragging slowly across wood.
It was coming from the back door.
My mouth went dry and I sat up in bed, straining to hear.
The scratching stopped, replaced by a soft rustle, like something
brushing against the side of the house.
My heart raced and I felt the now familiar terror grip me.
I crept out of bed, each step careful and deliberate, trying
not to make a sound. My hands were trembling as I
moved toward the window. I didn't want to look, but I had
to. I needed to know.
I pulled the curtain back just an inch, my eyes peering out
into the darkness. For a moment, all I saw was the
empty yard, the shadows cast by the trees swaying in the breeze.
But then I saw it. Movement just at the edge of the
tree line. Something tall, hunched, moving
slowly between the trees. The figure stopped, its head
turning as if it knew I was watching.
I held my breath, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it
could hear it. The creature's head tilted, just
like it had that night at the window, and even from this
distance I could see the glint of those jagged teeth.
I dropped the curtain and stumbled back, my chest
tightening with fear. It was still out there.
It had never left, and now it knew that I knew it was playing
a game, and I was the prey. I locked my bedroom door, my
hands shaking, and crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket
over me like it could somehow protect me from what was
outside. I could still hear the soft
rustle of movement, the scratching at the back door like
a promise that it would return. I knew I couldn't keep hiding
forever. Whatever it was, it wouldn't
stop until it found a way in, and I wasn't sure how much
longer I could keep it out. The sun was slipping below the
horizon, the last rays of daylight casting long shadows
across the narrow Back Rd. I glanced at Annabeth beside me,
her face softened by the warm glow of twilight.
We were headed back to the ranch, taking the scenic route.
Just me, her, and the old 2000 Chevy that had been through more
adventures than I could count. It was my brother's truck before
he sold it to me, and it had never given us a single problem
until tonight. The engine coughed once, then
sputtered before dying completely.
I muttered a curse under my breath, easing the truck to a
stop. Annabeth looked at me, her
eyebrows knitting in concern. What's wrong?
She asked. I shook my head.
No idea, it's never done this before.
I popped the hood, stepping out into the growing darkness.
The air was cool, carrying with it the faint rustle of leaves in
the wind. The forest around us seemed to
deepen as night settled in, the shadows thickening into
something almost tangible. I leaned over the engine, trying
to figure out what had gone wrong, but everything looked
fine. I was no stranger to this truck.
My brother had made sure I knew it inside and out.
Still, nothing seemed to miss. 5 minutes passed, and I heard the
door creak open. Annabeth stepped out, her voice
tinged with frustration. Did you call me?
I frowned, glancing up at her. No, I didn't say anything.
Her face paled slightly, and she crossed her arms over her chest,
a nervous habit I'd seen 100 times before.
I swear I heard you. You called my name.
A chill ran down my spine, but I forced a smile, trying to ease
her nerves. Probably just the wind.
I said, though I wasn't so sure myself.
There was something about the way the forest had gone silent,
like it was holding its breath, that set me on edge.
Annabeth got back in the truck, and I returned to the engine,
but my concentration was shot. Every creak of a branch, every
rustle of a leaf, made me look over my shoulder, expecting to
see something. I didn't know what.
And then I heard it. A whisper, soft but clear, My
own voice calling Annabeth's name.
My heart pounded, and I looked towards the truck.
Annabeth was already out again, her face a mask of confusion and
fear. Stop messing with me.
She said, her voice trembling. I swear I didn't say anything.
My voice was barely a whisper, and that was when I heard it, A
low growl coming from somewhere behind me.
I turned, and my blood ran cold. A figure stood in the darkness,
just beyond the reach of the truck's headlights.
It was tall, hunched, with limbs that seemed too long, bending at
odd angles. Its eyes glowed, reflecting the
dim light, and its mouth curled into what might have been a
smile if it weren't so grotesque.
It looked like a coyote, but wrong, Distorted, as if
something had twisted it into a mockery of what it once was.
It took a step forward, and Annabeth screamed.
The thing moved faster than I could react, slamming a hand,
no, a paw, against the back of the truck.
The metal buckled under the force, and I saw Annabeth duck
down inside, her eyes wide with terror.
I reached into the truck, grabbing the knife from the
center console, the one Hecht had blessed, carving symbols
into the bone hilt. The creature's eyes flicked to
the blade, and for a moment it hesitated.
It stared at me, then at the knife, and I swear I heard it,
Annabeth's voice pleading. Please no.
Something snapped inside me. I lunged, slashing at the
creature. The blade connected, and it let
out a scream that echoed through the woods, a sound that was part
woman, part beast. It stumbled back, its grotesque
smile replaced by a look of pure rage.
Then it turned and ran, vanishing into the darkness, its
screams fading into the night. I stood there, panting, the
knife still in my hand. My heart was racing.
My mind struggling to process what had just happened.
Annabeth called my name, her voice trembling, and I turned
back to the truck. I climbed in, throwing the knife
onto the dash, and turned the key.
The engine roared to life, as if nothing had ever been wrong.
We drove back to the ranch in silence, the tires kicking up
dirt and gravel as I pushed the truck faster, desperate to put
as much distance between US and whatever that thing was.
Hecht was waiting when we got there, his face grim as he
listened to our story. He nodded as if he had expected
this, and without a word he began the ritual.
Burning sage, spreading ashes, his voice low as he chanted
words I didn't understand. When he finished, he looked at
me, his eyes filled with a seriousness that made my stomach
twist. Keep her close.
He said, nodding towards Annabeth.
This isn't over. And deep down, I knew he was
right. Whatever that thing was, it
wasn't done with us. Not yet.
It must have been past midnight when I heard it.
A slow, deliberate scratching at the window.
The kind of sound that worms its way into your dreams until you
can't ignore it any longer. My eyes shot open, my heart
already racing. The room was dark, shadows
dancing across the ceiling from the faint glow of the moon
filtering through the curtains. For a second I thought I must
have imagined it, but then it came again, a scraping sound
like nails dragged across glass. I turned to see Annabeth already
awake, her wide eyes staring at me.
She whispered. Did you hear that?
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.
The scratching came again, and I felt my stomach twist into a
knot. It wasn't an animal, not a
raccoon or some stray cat. It was too deliberate, too
persistent, like something that knew we were in here and wanted
us to know it too. Stay here.
I said, slipping out of bed as quietly as I could.
Annabeth reached for my arm, her grip tight.
Be careful. She whispered, her voice barely
audible. I nodded, grabbing the blessed
knife from the night stand, the bone hilt cool in my hand.
Moving slowly, I crossed the room to the door and eased it
open, stepping into the hallway. The house was dark, the only
light coming from the dim glow of the moon through the windows.
Every creak of the floor board seemed deafening as I made my
way towards the living room. Echt was already there, standing
by the front door, his eyes narrowed as he listened.
He turned to me, nodding slightly as if he'd been
expecting me. It's here.
He said, his voice low. I swallowed hard, my heart
pounding in my ears. What do we do?
He gestured towards the gun cabinet.
Get the Winchester and the 9mm. I moved quickly, opening the
cabinet and grabbing the weapons.
Hecht took the rifle from me, his movement steady, unhurried.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch of
ashes. He spread them across the
rifle's barrel, murmuring an incantation under his breath.
His eyes closed in concentration.
The scratching at the window grew louder, more insistent, and
I felt a chill run down my spine.
Whatever was out there, it wasn't going to wait much
longer. Hecht handed me the 9mm, the
cool metal heavy in my hand. He looked at me, his eyes filled
with a calm determination that somehow steadied my own nerves.
We face it, he said. That's the only way.
We stepped out onto the porch, the cold night air hitting me
like a slap. The world outside was silent,
the kind of silence that felt wrong, like the earth itself was
holding its breath. Hecht moved to the edge of the
porch, his eyes scanning the darkness.
The rifle held steady. I stayed close, my eyes darting
from shadow to shadow, every rustle of leaves making my pulse
quicken. Then I saw them, hoof like
prints in the dirt, glowing faintly under the moonlight.
They led away from the porch, towards the tree line.
My gaze followed the trail, and that was when I saw it.
The skinwalker stood at the edge of the trees, half hidden in the
darkness. Its twisted form seemed to
shimmer in the moonlight, its glowing eyes locked onto mine.
A wave of anger washed over me, the same anger I'd felt on the
road, and I raised the 9mm, aiming straight at its chest.
My finger tightened on the trigger, but nothing happened.
The gun refused to fire. The trigger stuck, as if frozen
in place. Panic surged through me, but
Hecht was already moving. He raised the rifle, his voice
low as he chanted something I couldn't understand.
He fired, the crack of the shot echoing through the stillness,
and the Skinwalker let out a guttural scream, its body
collapsing backwards. For a moment, everything was
still. Then, slowly, the creature began
to rise, its eyes burning with hatred.
It stared at us, its mouth opening in a twisted smile
before it turned and disappeared into the woods, its form
swallowed by the shadows. I let out a breath I hadn't
realized I'd been holding, my hands trembling as I lowered the
useless 9 millimetre. Hecht turned to me, his
expression grim. It's not over, He said, his
voice barely above a whisper. This thing, it will keep coming.
I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in.
This wasn't just some random encounter.
This was a fight. A fight that had only just
begun, and deep down, I knew we were far from finished.
The next morning came with an uneasy stillness, the kind of
quiet that made every little sound echo louder, every Creek
in the floorboard feel ominous. Annabeth stayed asleep, her
breathing steady, but I hadn't closed my eyes since the
encounter. My mind kept replaying the image
of the skinwalker, its twisted body rising, the hatred in its
glowing eyes. I knew it wasn't over.
It was still out there, and it wouldn't stop.
Hecht was in the kitchen, the scent of sage lingering in the
air from the ritual the night before.
He looked up as I entered, nodding to me with a grim
expression. There wasn't much to say, but
the look in his eyes spoke volumes.
It was a mixture of exhaustion, determination, and something I
could only describe as understanding.
He knew this fight wasn't one that would end easily.
We need to be ready. Hecht said quietly, his voice
barely above a whisper. It will come back, and it will
be more desperate. I nodded, running my fingers
over the bone hilt of the knife still in my hand.
It had become a part of me now, a comfort in a world that had
suddenly turned dark and uncertain.
Just as I was about to respond, a knock on the door made both of
us freeze. The sound was heavy, urgent.
I opened the door to find Sheriff Daniel standing there,
his face pale and drawn. He was the kind of man who
usually carried himself with a steady authority, the kind who'd
seen enough trouble not to be rattled easily.
But today there was fear in his eyes.
We got a situation, he said, his voice gravelly.
He glanced at Hecht, then back at me.
Your neighbor, Missus Lowell, she's dead.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Missus Lowell had always been kind to us.
She lived just a few miles West of our ranch, a widow who kept
mostly to herself but always had a smile when she saw us.
I swallowed hard, the air suddenly feeling too thick to
breathe. What happened?
Sheriff Daniels hesitated, his eyes flicking to heck before he
spoke. Looks like she was shot.
But there's something else, something strange.
Her place was torn up, like an animal got in, but no tracks, no
sign of anyone or anything. Hecht's expression darkened, and
he stepped forward. It wasn't an animal.
He said, his voice calm but edged with something sharp.
Not in the way you think. The sheriff gave him a wary
look. He'd always been skeptical of
Hecht's beliefs, but there was something about the situation
that left him without an argument.
He nodded slowly, then turned back to me.
You folks need to be careful. Whatever this is, it's not done.
I felt a chill run through me, a cold certainty settling in my
bones. Missus Lowell's death was no
coincidence. It was a message.
The skinwalker was escalating, becoming bolder, more dangerous,
and it was my fault. I had faced it, driven it away,
and now it was lashing out at those around me.
As the sheriff left, Hecht and I stood on the porch, staring out
at the horizon where the line of trees stood like silent
Sentinels. We need to prepare.
Hecht said, his voice breaking the silence.
This fight is bigger than just us now.
It's coming for anyone it can reach.
I nodded, my jaw tightening. There was no running from this,
no hiding. Whatever the Skinwalker was,
whatever it wanted, it wasn't going to stop until one of us
was dead. I thought of Annabeth, still
sleeping in the other room, and the fear I had felt the night
before morphed into something else.
Determination. What do we do?
I asked, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at the edges of
my mind. Hecht looked at me, his eyes
filled with the kind of resolve that came from years of
knowledge and experience. We fight it.
We bless every weapon, every doorway, every inch of this
place. We call upon the spirits for
protection, and we don't let our fear give it power.
I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words.
This was real, a battle that had been forced on US1 we couldn't
walk away from. I looked towards the tree line
where the shadows seemed to stretch endlessly, and I made a
silent promise to protect Annabeth, to protect this ranch,
and to see this through no matter what.
The day dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity.
We blessed the weapons, the doorways, and every corner of
the house. Hecht's chance filled the air,
his voice steady, unwavering. The sun began to dip below the
horizon once again, and I knew that nightfall would bring
another confrontation. As the last rays of sunlight
disappeared, I stood on the porch, the blessed rifle in my
hands, my eyes scanning the tree line.
The world was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that made the
hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I could feel it. Somewhere out there, the
skinwalker was watching, waiting.
And this time I would be ready.