I'm what you call a seasoned camper, and the wide open
spaces, the calm and solitude, It's always been my place of
respite. But that night was different.
Pulling up at the campsite, I stepped out of the truck and
felt an immediate connection with the wilderness.
The air was crisp and clear, almost electric.
A Symphony of owls hooting and crickets chirping greeted me,
painting a comforting backdrop to the vast, undisturbed
landscape. I had left the cacophony of
civilization miles behind, trading it in for the intimate
orchestra of nature's quietest corners.
As I set up my tent, I admired the landscape.
The patch of ground I had chosen was smooth and flat, nestling
comfortably between sturdy trees, their limbs arching up
into the vast expanse of a star-studded sky.
Collecting wood for the fire. I was lost in the simple rhythm
of camping, each step part of a familiar dance that always
brought me a profound sense of peace.
With my tent set and a fire crackling, I leaned back and
reveled in the solitude, the seclusion of the wilderness, the
deep connection with nature. It's a meditative experience.
There's no place I'd rather be, no better company than my own
thoughts and the night sounds of the wild.
Then, from the silence of the wilderness, came a sound that
didn't belong. Help.
I nearly missed it, the voice, so soft it seemed like the wind
itself was whispering to me. I strained my ears, the
crackling of the fire suddenly deafening In the quiet night.
The voice came again, this time unmistakable, carried over the
rustling of the leaves. Please help.
It sounded female, but there was a strange quality to it, like an
echo bouncing back from deep within the woods.
A shiver ran down my spine, my heart pounding, a steady rhythm
of alarm in my chest. I picked up my flashlight, the
beam slicing through the darkness, but the forest remains
stubbornly quiet, hiding its secrets within its impenetrable
depths. The voice didn't come again,
replaced by the chorus of the night, but it lingered in my
mind. A stray wind, maybe, or my
imagination playing tricks, I thought.
But I knew deep down that it was real.
As I sat there, feeling the weight of the forest pressing in
on me, I remembered my duty as a citizen.
I dialed the local police station explaining the
situation. I expected immediate action,
perhaps even a comforting reassurance.
Instead, what I got was a chilling command.
Sir, if you ever hear that voice again, ignore it.
Do not respond and do not approach.
Their words echoed in my ears, adding a chilling note to the
solitude I had so eagerly sought.
The tranquility of the campsite was now tainted, replaced by a
creeping dread. I had always found peace in the
quiet isolation of the woods, but that night I realized that
even serene solitude could have a sinister undertone.
Little did I know this was just the beginning of a night that
would change everything. I faced all sorts of challenges
on my camping trips, weathering storms, wrestling with wildlife,
you name it. But never, not once, have I ever
had to ignore a cry for help. I remember staring at the phone,
the officer's words looping in my head.
Ignore it. Don't respond.
Don't approach. Was this how things were done
out here? For a long moment I just sat
there, phone in hand, trying to make sense of what I've been
told. A strange hush had settled over
the campsite. Even the wind seemed to hold its
breath, waiting. I felt a chill creep up my
spine, a sensation I couldn't attribute to the night air.
For a while I convinced myself it was a prank, some local kids
with a morbid sense of humor. That's all it could be.
People didn't just wander into the woods and call for help in
the middle of the night, did they?
I dismissed the unsettling thoughts and hung up, trying to
put my mind at ease, but the officer's words stayed with me,
casting long shadows in the flickering firelight.
I couldn't just shake it off. The unknown, the possibility of
someone out there lost and alone.
It clung to me like a second skin.
Even as the night stretched on and the fire dwindled to glowing
embers, I remained alert, listening for any out of place
sounds. The forest was back to its
nocturnal routine, but the harmony was gone.
Every rustling leaf, every distant owl hoot, they all
seemed to carry an echo of that voice.
Help. Hours must have passed as I lay
in my tent, eyes wide open, straining to listen.
The silence was a thick blanket, muffling the outside world.
I should have felt comforted, encased in this protective
bubble. Instead, I felt the gnawing
unease, the prickling sensation of being watched.
Suddenly I heard it again, a distant plea echoing through the
trees, a soft whisper on the breeze.
My heart pounded in my chest, my earlier doubts dissipating like
smoke. There was no denying it.
Now there was someone out there, but what was I supposed to do?
The authorities had brushed it off, leaving me alone in this
predicament. My gut told me to help, to
follow the voice, but the officer's warning rang in my
ears, a jarring contrast to the silent plea from the woods.
I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees, my eyes darting
around the dark interior of the tent.
My mind raced, trying to map out the situation to plan a course
of action. The voice, soft and distant,
echoed again, it's desperate tone etching itself into my
memory, I wrestled with the decision, torn between my duty
as a human and the ominous warning of the police.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like there was no
right choice. The unknown can be a terrifying
beast, and that night it seemed to have come out of the forest
and perched itself right at my doorstep.
As I lay there, the boundary between fear and responsibility
blurred, and I found myself falling into an abyss of
uncertainty. The darkness stretched out
around me, its heaviness swallowing the night.
Sleep was a distant dream, a luxury I couldn't afford.
My mind was a storm, thoughts colliding and echoing like
distant Thunder. The words the officer had spoken
clung to me, persistent as burrs, catching on every
thought. Just when I thought the night
couldn't get any stranger, another sound broke the silence.
This one was different, closer, almost.
Just outside my tent. My heart pounded a rapid beat
against my rib cage. I held my breath, listening, the
darkness around me pressing in help.
My blood ran cold. The voice was soft, almost a
whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade.
It was the same plea, the same desperation, only now it felt
alarmingly close. Every muscle in my body
tightened. The unease had morphed into a
gnawing fear, one I couldn't shake.
I reached for my flashlight again.
It's dim beam of light, suddenly my only anchor in a sea of
uncertainty. As I moved to open the tent
flap, another voice broke the silence.
This one was different, Deeper, more commanding.
Quiet. No one's going to help you.
My heart skipped a beat, a second voice, and a threatening
one at that. It was as if the night had
thrown another curveball at me, plunging me deeper into the
mystery. This changed everything.
The distant cry for help, the inexplicable warning from the
police, and now this new voice. It was like pieces of a
disturbing puzzle coming together, except I wasn't sure I
wanted to see the whole picture. Once again, I found myself
reaching for my phone. I hesitated, my thumb hovering
over the call button. The officer's words flashed in
my mind. Ignore it.
Do not respond. Do not approach.
But the rules of the game had changed.
There was a new voice, a threat. I had to call, Sir.
I called earlier about a voice asking for help from the woods.
Now there's a second voice. It sounds threatening.
I relayed the new development, my voice shaking slightly.
The line was silent for a moment.
I could hear my own heart beating, a loud drum in my ears.
Then the officer replied, his tone carrying a note of
heightened concern. Are you safe, Sir?
I advise you to leave the campsite immediately.
My blood ran cold. Whatever this was, it was more
than a simple prank or a misunderstood cry for help.
But I wasn't going to back down. Not now.
Not when someone could be in actual danger.
As I hung up, I found myself spiraling into a deeper abyss of
confusion and fear. The whispers of the night seemed
to carry a different tune now, one of dread as the voice echoed
again. I steeled myself, ready to face
whatever was coming. Yet somewhere, deep down, I knew
I was unprepared for the horror that lay ahead.
After I hung up the phone, a deafening silence filled the
air. I was torn.
The authorities were telling me to pack up and leave while my
conscience screamed at me to intervene.
I was scared, of course, but fear has a way of giving us an
adrenaline rush, pushing us to do things we wouldn't normally
do. Without giving it a second
thought, I made the decision. Someone out there was in need
and I had to help. The woods didn't scare me.
I was an outdoorsman after all. I checked my gear, flashlight,
pocket knife, phone, and a small first aid kit.
If there was indeed someone out there, injured or scared, I
wanted to be prepared. Stepping out of the tent, the
night wrapped around me like a shroud.
The voices were eerily silent now.
I took a deep breath, stealing myself, and plunged into the
woods. The woods were different at
night. The darkness seemed to breathe
alive and aware. Every rustling leaf, every snap
of a twig felt magnified, the night soundtrack playing a
chilling melody. The beam of my flashlight cut
through the inky darkness, creating long, grotesque shadows
that danced and morphed with every step I took.
As I ventured deeper, the familiar sounds of the night
grew silent. It was as if the woods were
holding their breath. Waiting.
I called out, my voice cutting through the heavy silence.
Hello. Anyone here?
Nothing. I'm here to help.
Where are you? Are you okay again?
Nothing. A cold feeling of dread washed
over me. The woods had swallowed my
words, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Suddenly I felt very small, like an intruder in this nocturnal
world. It was a chilling realization,
the weight of my decision crashing down on me.
Something wasn't right. The silence, the absence of the
voices, it was all too strange. My heart pounded in my chest as
I weighed my options. I thought about calling the
police again, but decided against it.
What would I say? That I didn't find anyone, That
they were right. I returned to my campsite, the
quiet wilderness around me suddenly feeling oppressive.
The air felt heavy, as if charged with an unseen threat.
I packed my things hurriedly, deciding to leave at the first
light. In the solitude of my tent, the
enormity of what just transpired started to sink in.
The voices, the fear, the woods, it all felt surreal.
Was I losing my mind, or was there something more sinister at
play? Either way, I knew one thing for
sure. I had to get out of there.
But even as I packed my things and prepared to leave, I
couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being watched.
The night was silent, but the silence was far from comforting.
As sleep eluded me, I found myself falling into a spiral of
fear and uncertainty. Whatever this was, it was far
from over. As Dawn painted the sky in
shades of pastel, I moved swiftly to dismantle my camp.
I loaded everything back into my truck with mechanical
efficiency, my mind still echoing the chilling events of
the night. The deserted campground seemed
to mock me. It was here that I had expected
solitude, a break from the clamor of life.
Instead, I'd stumbled into an unsettling mystery, one that had
left me unnerved and rattled. The eerie stillness of the
morning was a sharp contrast to the chaotic storm that raged
within me. I scanned the woods one last
time, half expecting the voices to call out again, half wishing
to see someone, anyone. But there was nothing, just the
lonely rustle of leaves and the distant song of a lark.
With one final look at the now desolate campsite, I started the
truck and drove away, leaving behind a piece of myself with
the woods. The questions remained lingering
like a haunting melody. Who was calling for help?
Why did the police react the way they did?
And most importantly, what did they mean by it?
The drive back was long and torturous, my mind playing out
different scenarios. Maybe it was a prank.
Maybe it was some deranged person lost in the woods.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was something more sinister.
Despite my skepticism, I couldn't dismiss the fact that
the police had seemed genuinely scared.
I replayed our conversation over and over, their stern warnings
and strange references. Still a chilling puzzle when I
reached home, the comfort of my familiar surroundings did little
to ease my mind. As I tried to slip back into the
routine of my everyday life, the haunting echo of the voices
remained a constant reminder of my encounter.
I felt a strange sense of guilt. Had I abandoned someone in need?
Had I missed something? Some vital clue?
But then the reality of the second voice brought me back.
Was it a threat or a warning? The uncertainty of it all was
like a nagging itch, the constant thorn in my side.
I needed answers, yet I had none.
Instead, I had a lingering sense of dread and a disturbing
mystery that was far from resolved.
One week later, the normalcy of life was beginning to seep back
in. I was almost able to convince
myself that it was all a dream, a product of my overactive
imagination. That's when it happened.
I heard it again, The familiar plea for help, the chilling echo
of the voice. This time within the confines of
my own home. A cold shiver ran down my spine
as the reality of it hit me. The voice from the woods had
followed me home. It was a chilling revelation,
one that made my blood run cold. The mystery had turned into a
nightmare, and the nightmare was just beginning.
In the cold sterility of my own home, the voice echoed, more
haunting than ever. It was unmistakably the same
voice I'd heard in the woods. Yet there was an added chill to
it, an intimacy that came from it, infiltrating my personal
space. Every corner of my house, once a
symbol of comfort and familiarity, now seemed alien,
threatening. The voice hadn't just followed
me home. It was as if it had seeped into
the walls, bidding its time, patiently waiting to strike when
least expected. The pleas for help punctuated
the silence, turning my sanctuary into a House of
horrors. I tried to find the source, even
as the voice seemed to ebb and flow, dancing around the rooms
as if playing a macabre game of hide and seek.
Just when I thought I was on the brink of madness, the second
voice came quiet. No one's coming.
It wasn't just the harshness of the command that froze me in my
tracks, but the realization of what it meant.
It was right. No one was coming.
No one but me knew about the voices.
The police were miles away. Likely.
As terrified as I was, I was alone with this.
Whatever it was, sleep was a forgotten luxury.
Every Creek of the house, every whisper of the wind against the
windows brought visions of an unseen entity lurking in the
shadows. I felt a claustrophobic dread
trapped within the four walls of my own home with a terror I
could neither see nor understand.
As days turned into sleepless nights, the voices continued,
their dance of fear sometimes whispering, sometimes
commanding. Their presence was a relentless
reminder of the nightmare I was living.
I was a prisoner in my own house.
The voice is my jailers, the fear, my chains.
One night, when the clock read a little past midnight, something
shifted. The female voice was different
this time. Instead of a distant plea, it
was a soft whisper, like a gentle breath in my ear.
Help me, it begged. It was closer than ever before.
That's when I felt it. An icy touch on my shoulder, a
tangible proof of the unseen terror.
My heart pounded in my chest, every beat echoing the terror
that coursed through my veins. I turned around, a scream dying
in my throat. The room was empty, but the echo
of the plea hung heavy in the air.
There was no one there, but the chilling touch on my shoulder
was as real as the terror coursing through me.
In that moment, I knew I was no longer alone.
I wasn't just hearing the voices, I was feeling them.
The voices from the woods were not just in my house, they were
with me inside me. Fear is a funny thing.
It's a raw, primal instinct that takes hold of you when logic and
reason fail. It was no longer about helping
someone. It was about survival.
The finality of my situation hit me hard.
This was my reality. This was my nightmare.
And this this was just the beginning.
The voices were not going to stop.
They were a part of me now. And the most terrifying
realization of all? I was utterly, helplessly alone.
It's not like we hadn't gone camping before.
We'd been out in the backwoods countless times, just never in
this particular part of the forest.
Our party was the usual 5 good old boys from town.
There was John and Benny, seasoned hunters who carried
themselves with a confident swagger, and Pete and Tom good
company, even if their idea of the great outdoors was limited
to an overgrown backyard. Then there was me, the
protagonist of our adventure, the narrator of our tail.
The summer sun was setting, painting the sky and hues of red
and gold as we drove our way into the woods.
The landscape was unspoiled wilderness, full of towering
Pines and untouched Groves, their shadows spreading out as
the day faded. I remember the scent, a mix of
damp earth and pine needles carrying an allure that only
those who truly appreciate nature understand.
A sense of excitement was in the air, blending in with the rustic
smell of our old Ford pickup as we set off for a weekend of
hunting and camaraderie. Laughter echoed in the cab as
Benny spun tall Tales of legendary bucks he'd bagged and
Tom's latest City Girl escapade had us all rolling in our seats.
As we arrived, we found a perfect camping spot just off
the track, a small clearing shielded by trees from every
side. There was a sort of untouched
beauty about it. We set about pitching our seven
man tent a well practiced routine, with each of us falling
into our roles naturally, even with our jokes and jabs.
The tent was up by 6:00. I could smell the pork and beans
cooking over our campfire. It's Smokey scent filling the
cool evening air. We sat around the fire sharing
stories and reminiscing old times, the flickering firelight
dancing on our faces. Hunting trips were always about
more than just the hunt. It was the camaraderie, the
shared silence in the woods, and the story spun around campfires
that brought us back time and again.
As the night settled in, John and Benny, ever eager, announced
their intention to try their luck hunting.
The forest had a different aura by night, one that wasn't for
the fainthearted. Benny was gracious enough to
lend me his spare rifle, an old piece of hardware that had seen
better days, but I decided to pass on tonight's expedition.
The thought of the dark, unfamiliar woods and the glint
in Benny's eye when he talked about nocturnal hunting didn't
sit right with me as they disappeared into the thick veil
of the forest. Armed with their rifles and
headlamps, the campsite felt eerily quiet.
The rest of us gathered in the tent, the laughter from before
now reduced to hushed whispers, the shadow of the woods casting
a slight unease over us. I remember thinking as I stared
at the dark silhouettes of the trees against the starlit sky,
how nature in all its beauty, could hide so many secrets in
its depths. Little did I know the forest was
ready to unveil its secret, a redeyed terror that would change
our lives forever. The night had fallen hard, the
canopy of stars blocked out by a dense layer of leaves above.
Inside the tent, we've been swapping stories, the glow from
the Lantern throwing ghostly shadows on our faces.
Pete had just finished recounting his adventure in
Costa Rica, which According to him, involved a bartender, a
monkey, and far too many margaritas.
We were just about to call him on his bluff when we heard it,
frantic footsteps and hurried breaths slicing through the
forest. Quiet.
The tent flap flew open and John and Benny tumbled in, faces pale
and eyes wild. They panted heavily, as if
they'd run a marathon through hell.
I rushed to unzip the tent flap, the cool night air rushing in as
they collapsed onto the sleeping bags, their chests heaving.
Benny gulped down his water before he began to speak, his
voice trembling. We finished shooting as it got
dark. He said, gasping for breath
between every few words. John had just packed up his
rifle, and I was having a last scout to see if I could see
anything, and I saw a deer. His eyes were wide with fear,
the typically confident man replaced by someone who'd seen
the unspeakable. I waited, a sinking feeling in
my gut. A deer?
I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Benny nodded. It had glowing red eyes staring
right down my scope. I shot, and nothing happened.
Then it just ran at us, so we legged it.
The words rushed out in a panic, as if he was trying to outrun
his fear. His hands shook as he reached
for his water bottle. Again, my gaze swung to John.
He was quieter, his eyes fixated on the 10th floor, his knuckles
white, where he gripped his knees.
I didn't see it until it started running at us, he confessed, his
voice barely above a whisper. I didn't see a deer form, just
the red eyes coming towards us. His face was pale, his eyes
shadowed with fear. A chill ran down my spine, my
hand unconsciously reaching for the cold metal of Benny's old
hunting rifle. The comfort I found in the
familiar weight did little to ease my dread.
I swallowed, forcing the fear down.
We'll all go back tomorrow, I promised, attempting to put some
steel into my voice. As the night drew on, sleep
became an elusive friend. Every rustle of leaves, every
sigh of the wind was a potential threat.
The image of red eyes burning in the dark was imprinted on my
mind. The forest had shared a part of
its secret with us, and the tale it told was one of terror.
It was a tale that would follow us into the morning, an ominous
herald of the horrors yet to come.
Sleep had been a fleeting, fretful thing, the memory of the
glowing red eyes too fresh in our minds.
The sun was a welcome sight, It's warm light dispersing the
darkness, and with it some of the fear from the night before.
We had made a pact, and so, with a measure of apprehension, we
set out towards the hunting grounds.
The woods were different in the daylight, it's mysteries hidden
beneath A veneer of normality. Yet there was a palpable unease,
a sense of the unknown that had us on edge.
The forest was quiet, it's silence broken only by the
occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.
The peaceful aura of the forest was at odds with our unease.
Finally, we found it, Benny's abandoned rifle lying on the
forest floor. Relief washed over Benny as he
picked it up, quickly checking the weapon, but his face fell as
he turned it over in his hands. Look at the butt, I said,
pointing at the carving. It was a simple engraving, but
the depiction sent a chill running down my spine.
It was a scene straight out of the previous evening.
Two men, one standing with a rifle bag and the other looking
down his scope. There was no denying it.
It was them, John and Benny. That's us, John whispered, his
face drained of color. Benny nodded, a silent
confirmation of our worst fears. It was too much of A
coincidence, too eerie to be a random occurrence.
Someone or something had been watching us.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
John suggested a hunt before sunset, perhaps an attempt to
regain some normalcy, or maybe a need to reclaim his confidence.
But the forest was different now, the thrill of the hunt
replaced by a sense of foreboding.
Our afternoon hunt was shortlived.
We were back in camp by evening, the thought of the night ahead
leaving us unsettled. That night, around the campfire,
our jokes were forced, our laughter hollow.
The tales of hunting glory and city girl escapades failed to
bring their usual cheer. Yet despite the underlying
dread, we managed to create a semblance of the joy we had felt
before the forest unveiled its secret.
There was comfort in each other's company, a sense of
camaraderie that seemed to hold the terror at Bay.
As the night descended, we huddled closer to the campfire,
it's crackling flames warding off the chilling forest
darkness. Unspoken fear hung in the air as
the memories of the night before came flooding back.
The forest had shared its secret once, and as we retreated into
our tent, we couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't done
with us yet. The morning was beautiful, the
forest bathed in a warm golden glow, but the beauty of the day
did little to ease the lingering dread from the night before.
We went about our tasks silently, our jovial camaraderie
replaced by an unspoken tension. We were in a hurry to leave this
place, to escape the eerie specter of the forest and the
fear it had instilled in us. By midmorning the tent was down
and our bags packed. It was a strange feeling, this
hurry to leave a place we had so eagerly arrived at.
The forest had shown us its darker side and we were keen to
put it behind us. We had planned to eat lunch on
the way home and so, with one final look at the clearing that
had been our campsite, we started on our journey back to
the car we had barely covered half the distance when the
scream rent the air. It was a man's scream, full of
raw fear emanating from no more than 100 meters into the forest.
We froze in our tracks, the hair at the back of our neck standing
up. Without thinking, I rushed
towards the source of the scream.
Benny and John, right behind me, the site that met us, sent a
chill down, our spines bloodied clothes lay scattered around the
clearing, but there was no sign of the man who had screamed.
We called out, hoping against hope to hear a response, but all
we got was an eerie silence. And then came another scream,
this time closer and unmistakably familiar.
The scream belonged to Pete and George.
Our hearts pounding, we raced back to the path where we had
left them. The sight that greeted us was a
nightmare brought to life. Our friends were gone, our
belongings thrown about, the silence of the forest and
unforgiving witness to our terror.
Our minds raced, unable to comprehend the reality that was
unfolding around us. Then, once more, the scream
pierced the silence. It was George, his voice coming
from the direction of our former campsite.
My head shot up and my blood ran cold.
The deer, the very one Benny had described with the same haunting
red eyes, was bolting straight towards us.
In that moment, terror overcame us, dropping everything.
We turned and ran towards the car, the forest closing in on
us. The once familiar path now felt
alien and hostile. The redeyed deer seem to have
disappeared, but we didn't slow down.
Once we reached the car, we scrambled in the silence of the
drive, a stark contrast to the chaos of the forest.
The horrifying events of the day played on repeat in our heads.
Our friends were missing, possibly hurt, and all we could
do was drive away. The nightmare didn't end there.
Upon reaching my place, we notified the police about our
missing friends and the bloody clothes we had found.
Their faces betrayed no emotion, but their disbelief was
palpable. We were simply another case in
the rising number of missing persons connected to the forest.
We waited with bated breath, hoping for some news, any news,
about our friends. As the night fell, a harsh
reality settled in. Our friends were gone, swallowed
by the forest, and we had been helpless spectators to their
disappearance. We spent the next day in an
anxious haze, clinging to our phones, hoping for an update
from the police about our missing friends.
Each ring sent our hearts racing.
Each silence felt like a knife in the gut.
We clung to the fading hope that Pete and George were alive, that
this was all a terrible misunderstanding.
In the absence of any tangible news, our minds began playing
tricks on us. We saw the red eyed deer in
every shadow, heard the screams of our friends in every gust of
wind. The once comforting confines of
my home felt haunted by the terror of the forest.
We found ourselves drawn to the forest in a morbid fascination.
Desperate for any signs of Pete and George, we started retracing
our steps, the memories of our time at the campsite now tainted
by the horrifying events. Despite our fear, we ventured to
the edge of the forest every day, scanning the tree line for
any signs of our friends. Our hope waned with each passing
day. We combed through the forest,
sticking to the paths we had tread, avoiding the deeper parts
of the woods. The fear of the unknown was
potent. With each passing day, the
forest grew more hostile. It's silence a constant reminder
of our friends unexplained disappearance.
The police were no help. They treated us with suspicion,
their questions probing, their demeanor cold.
We found ourselves defending our actions, explaining over and
over again about the bloody clothes and the eerie, redeyed
deer. Yet amidst the frustration and
despair, a strange resolve took root within us.
The forest had taken something from us, and we were determined
to confront it, to fight back. With a newfound determination,
we found ourselves drawn deeper into the woods.
The forest responded in kind, its secrets unfolding in strange
ways. We found bizarre markings on
trees, heard distant, indistinguishable sounds that
echoed through the woods. At times we would catch a
glimpse of something darting between the trees, the sight so
fleeting that we doubted our own eyes.
And yet, in the heart of this desolate wilderness, we found a
strange sense of purpose. We were here for Pete and
George, and while the police seemed resigned to the worst, we
refused to give up. We felt a growing sense of
defiance, a will to reclaim our friends from the forests, cruel
grasp. As the days turned into weeks,
we became a constant presence on the forest's edge.
We knew we were unwelcome, that we were poking a sleeping beast,
but there was no turning back. The forest had shown us its
darkness, its terror. Now it was our turn to confront
it, to brave its shadows in the hope of finding our friends.
It wasn't just about Pete and George anymore.
It was about standing up against the fear, the unknown.
It was a fight for our sanity, a desperate attempt to reclaim
some semblance of our old lives. We knew the odds were against
us, but then we weren't ready to back down either.
Not yet. Not without a fight.
We had become phantoms of the forest, our days consumed by the
quest for our missing friends. The forest, once an embodiment
of freedom and adventure, was now a labyrinth of horrors that
hid the truths we sought. But we were resolute, fueled by
the fading hope and the growing need to confront the unknown.
One evening, after a long day of futile searching, we found
ourselves at the site of our ill-fated camping trip.
It looked different in the dimming twilight, a ghost of the
jovial sight that once echoed with our laughter.
A chilling breeze swept through the clearing, the swaying trees
whispering secrets we couldn't decipher.
Suddenly John stiffened, his eyes wide with terror.
I followed his gaze to see a pair of red eyes glowing
ominously in the falling darkness.
The deer. It was back.
Its stare bore into us, its form shrouded in the shadows and icy
fear seized us, a chilling reminder of the events that had
led us here. It charged towards us, the
echoes of its hooves reverberating through the silent
forest. We were frozen, the reality of
the situation hitting us all at once.
This was it. This was the beast that had
haunted our nightmares, the one we had come to confront.
Driven by fear and desperation, we ran.
The forest was a blur as we darted between the trees, the
redeyed creature in relentless pursuit.
It was a surreal chase, our fear heightened by the eerie silence
that enveloped the forest. Suddenly, a bone chilling scream
echoed through the forest. It was Benny.
I spun around to see him crumpled on the ground, the
creature looming over him. It had caught him.
A surge of fear and desperation course through me as I raised my
rifle, the weight of our survival resting on my trembling
shoulders. I took a shot.
The gunshot echoed through the forest, startling birds into
flight, but the creature remained unaffected, its red
eyes glaring at me, mocking my futile attempt.
My heart sank as the realization dawned on me.
Our worst fears were true, the beast was invincible.
With a final menacing glance, the creature retreated into the
forest, leaving us with the echoing silence and the daunting
reality of our encounter. We were left alone, shaken and
terrified, the forest around us suddenly feeling more hostile
than ever before. That night we camped at the edge
of the forest, the events of the day replaying in our minds.
We were terrified, more than we had ever been.
The forest had shown us its true form, and it was far more
terrifying than we could have ever imagined.
In the dead silence of the night, as I looked out at the
vast wilderness before us, I couldn't shake off the feeling
that we were being watched. We had come face to face with
the terror of the forest, and it had left its mark on us.
The chilling image of the red eyed creature haunted me, a
gruesome reminder of the forest's wrath.
As the night deepened, an eerie calm settled over us, the forest
standing silent. Its secrets kept its victims
lost. And then in the distance, a pair
of red eyes glowed ominously, a chilling promise of the terrors
yet to come. This happened four years ago
when my partner and I were still sort of fresh into the
relationship. My sister had recommended me a
snorkeling trip as a fun thing to do with him.
It was this quarry surrounded by a campground that is filled in
with water and it's known for its crystal clear water and it's
diving. There's apparently a helicopter
and school bus that people dive down to see.
My partner and I decided to go camping for the night while we
were checking in. We both got a bad feeling about
the place but kept it to ourselves until after we left.
So at first it was a really good time.
We snorkeled in the shallowish area of the quarry and although
the depth of the water was a bit uncanny, I still was enjoying
myself. The water is 65 feet deep, so
once you had swam out of the shallow area it immediately
dropped off and it was pitch black.
This is actually where I realized I am terrified of
water. Besides the dark, deep water
while you were swimming, there is something very scary about a
lake that is perfectly still. I assume because it is a quarry
the water doesn't have a current.
My partner and I are winding down our night and we're back at
our campsite. We are camping in a grassy patch
down a hill from the road. Our tent is pitched in a wooded
area that our campsite is extended to, and just across the
green is a campsite that looks well lived in, but our neighbors
were out. We're making hot dogs over the
fire when our neighbors get back, it's nighttime now and
they immediately go to sleep. I'd say 20 to 30 minutes after
they get back is when things started to become spooky.
My partner and I were chatting when we noticed a dark figure
watching us from up the hill. Because of the shadow of the
fire, we could not actually make out the characteristics of the
figure, but we knew it was staring directly at us, almost
hiding behind our neighbor's truck.
He had watched us for what felt like forever, until he started
walking down the road again. We both watched it in dead
silence, watching him walk behind trees.
The same ones connected to our campsite, but that also went in
between us and it. I anticipated each time I'd see
it walk forward, out from behind a tree.
It was a good four or five times it did that.
It wasn't until after this I noticed it had stopped walking,
or it was behind the tree. Still.
I was totally freaked out. Where did this thing go?
I watched my partner looking at what happened and thinking the
same thing, but he shrugged it off and I naively did too.
We actually ended up forgetting about it and went to the quarry
late at night. It was beautiful seeing the
stars reflected against the water, but the deep, now all
black water was terrifying, to say the least.
We walked back to our campsite, lay in our tent and chilled.
I soon began to feel an uneasy feeling, which I was trying to
ignore, telling myself it was because I was tired.
After some silence between us, my partner says to me, do you
feel like we're being watched? I said.
Why would you say that? Half joking, but fully serious
that I was scared. My partner wanted to get out of
the tent, so we were standing by my car and I got this stupid
idea that being in the middle of the field that's in the middle
of the campground is the safest place for us.
My logic was if someone was going to come up at us, at least
we'd be able to see them. So we're in the middle of this
field when we see a similar looking shadow figure from
earlier staring at us. It must have been about 20 yards
away. We both notice it while walking,
and it's walking in the same direction as us.
We change directions and so does the figure.
We tell one another if we change again, and the figure does too,
that we're booking it to my car. When we change, it follows and
we book it to the car. I watched the figure from my
seat as he slowly walked back into the darkness while still
staring in our direction. My partner at this point says to
me, let's get out of here. I agree, but all our camping
gear is outside. We quietly get our things
together, not trying to freak the other one out.
The weirdest part of this story, in my opinion, is the next part.
My headlights weren't working and there was a weird fog over
my windshield that didn't go away no matter what we did.
We had to drive out of the woods with only low beams and a
strange fog over the window we barely could see, but got out of
there. Weirdly enough, the fog went
away right as soon as we go to the gas station.
We got home around 1:00 at night.
I told my father the story the next day.
He said he was glad we got out of there or else we could have
gotten hurt or worse. Two people died at this
campground while snorkeling, which I find out after I got
back. My partner and I think it was
either a person trying to kill us or a skinwalker.
We've kind of settled on the skinwalker because what happened
was so unexplainable to us. The mountains always held a
charm for me, an allure of something grander than myself,
something pure, untouched. It was why I chose to venture
out here on my own, seeking the solace these slopes offered.
As I sat by the glowing warmth of the fire, the evening began
to wrap itself around the world like a blanket of tranquility.
The day was fading. Twilight had taken the stage and
a Symphony of crickets chirped, filling the air with their
hypnotic rhythm. It was these moments that I
cherished, the simplicity of being alone, the harmony of
nature serenading me into dusk. The campfire, my soul companion
crackled and popped, painting dancing shadows on the
encircling trees. Embers floated skywards,
reaching out to the twinkling stars above.
I exhaled slowly, my breath mingling with the smoke before
taking in the cool mountain air, crisp with the scent of Pines.
The comforting sounds of nature were an overture to the silence
that lay ahead, the quiet hours where thoughts flowed freely.
But it was in this lull, the serene in between, that a
prickling sensation slithered up my spine, a familiar feeling,
the chilling whisper of paranoia.
The song of the crickets had faded, replaced by a low,
inexplicable hum that seemed to echo from the depths of the
forest. It washed over the camp,
wrapping me in its disquieting tune.
The world felt off kilter. Something was not as it should
be. I've had my fair share of
illusions, auditory hallucinations that broke the
monotony of my mind. I knew their tricks, the way
they would distort my reality. But this was different, More
tangible, more real. I turned my gaze to the inky
black beyond, the firelight, searching for something,
anything that might explain the unnerving hum.
The trees stood like silent Sentinels, their secrets hidden
beneath a veil of darkness. My instincts screamed at me, but
I forced myself to rationalize the fear, clawing at my nerves.
The logical part of me, the part that fought against the undertow
of panic, whispered that it was all in my head.
Fatigue. It murmured just the echoes of a
tired mind playing tricks on you.
Yes, that was it. I was tired.
Worn from the day's activities, it was time to turn in, to seek
refuge in the oblivious arms of sleep.
I doused the fire. It's glowing embers hissing in
protest, dying out to leave a hollow darkness in its place.
The hum, like some mournful ghost, seemed to grow louder,
insistent in its eerie cadence. But I had made my decision.
It was nothing but an illusion, A symptom of my worn out state.
Shaking off the unease that clung to me, I retreated to my
tent. The canvas walls felt unusually
confining, but I convinced myself it was a sanctuary, a
barrier between me and the fears lurking outside.
I was safe. I was secure.
The hum was nothing more than the phantom call of my mind,
conjured by weariness. As I cocooned myself within the
sleeping bag, the hum grew louder, strumming A terrifying
beat in my ears. But I shut it out, burrowing
deeper into the fabric folds, willing the noise to become a
distant echo. Fear would not control me, it
was an illusion, just an illusion.
With that thought, I allowed the edges of sleep to pull me under,
diving into the depths of oblivion as the hum echoed in
the darkness. I'd been skirting the rim of
sleep when that infernal humming escalated, puncturing the bubble
of peaceful oblivion I carefully crafted around myself.
The noise didn't ebb and flow like the gentle caress of a
lullaby, but rather persisted A ceaseless, haunting Symphony of
dread. There was a certain gravity to
it that held me captive, A relentless resonance that made
my nerves stand on end. As the decibels climbed, I
pressed my palms to my ears, a futile attempt to block out the
assault of sound. But the hum was inside my head
now, filling every nook and cranny, A relentless echo that
couldn't be tamed. The ground beneath me seemed to
shake In Sync with a terrifying crescendo, a rhythm that
reverberated through my body, a pulse I couldn't escape.
And just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer,
that my mind would splinter under the strain, the hum ceased
abruptly. It didn't fade or taper off.
It simply stopped, a line drawn in the sand.
Silence, a once comforting companion, felt alien now, heavy
with the ghost of the hum. Fear had always been a potent
adversary, but this was something different.
This was terror, cold and unforgiving, making itself at
home within my chest. My heart pounded, an erratic
rhythm echoing the hum that still seemed to thrum faintly in
my bones. It was as if the world held its
breath, waiting for something terrible to descend.
I knew then I had to leave. Get to the car, Get out of this
godforsaken wilderness. But fear, that insidious
specter, held me immobile. My limbs were like stone, my
breath shallow and labored. The quiet was oppressive,
wrapping me in its cold shroud. Outside, the night was darker
than before, the moon hiding its face, too afraid to witness
whatever horrors the forest harbored.
Caged by the thin canvas of the tent, I was no more than pray,
waiting for the predator to strike.
It was a sensation I'd never known before, the chilling
realization of being utterly defenseless alone.
Out here, amidst the towering Pines and the inky night, I was
nothing more than a lost soul, consumed by a terror that
wouldn't let me go. Tears trickled down my cheeks, a
silent admission of my fright. A cold sweat dampened my shirt,
my heart hammering in my chest like a trapped bird.
I felt so small, so insignificant, a mere pawn in
the hands of an unseen monster. In the end, it was exhaustion
that took over the drain of the relentless fear.
The unforgiving silence. After the storm of sound sapped
my strength, I succumbed to sleep, a final refuge from the
hell I found myself in. The hum.
A phantom echo was the lullaby that rocked me into a fitful
slumber. Even as I slipped into dreams, I
clung to the hope that this was nothing more than a nightmare.
A terrible, dreadful nightmare that would vanish with the dawn
morning arrived, chasing away the remnants of the night and
the terror that had gripped me in its cold clutches.
I stirred from sleep, my mind still foggy, a fuzzy wall
between the nightmare of the previous night and the comfort
of a new day. I blinked, taking in the
familiar sight of the canvas tent, half expecting the hum to
rise from the silence, but all was still.
I emerged into the day, a beautiful morning chorus of
birdsong greeting me. It was a sharp contrast to the
previous night's chaos, an entirely different world bathed
in soft early morning light. The hum was nowhere to be found,
the monstrous terror of the night replaced with the tranquil
Symphony of a new day. I busied myself with the mundane
tasks of camping, finding solace in the routine.
I built a fire, the scent of smoke and the crackling of
burning wood grounding me, tethering me to reality.
Coffee brewed over the open flames, the strong aroma cutting
through the crisp morning air. As I watched the flames dance,
the events of the previous night trickled back like cold water
seeping into my boots. My hallucinations had always
been auditory, confined to the realm of the ethereal, never
something that could cause the ground to shake or for the world
to quiver. I ran a shaky hand through my
hair, my mind grappling with what was real and what was a
figment of my overactive imagination.
Logic dictated it was an illusion, a trick played by an
exhausted mind. But fear had a logic of its own,
an insidious whisper that nawed at the edges of my sanity.
I was torn between the comfort of skepticism and the terrifying
reality of the unknown. I chose denial, a warm blanket
of ignorance, because the alternative was too frightening
to consider. I had planned this trip, looked
forward to these precious moments of solitude.
I wasn't about to let an unexplained hum ruin it, and
besides, I was miles from the nearest town, alone in the
wilderness, running wasn't an option.
With newfound determination, I resolved to carry on.
The mountains beckoned, trails untouched and rivers unexplored.
I ventured into the vastness of the wilderness, fishing rod in
hand, the thrill of the unknown propelling me forward.
I dived into the icy waters of the lake, the cold seeping into
my bones cleansing me of the lingering dread.
The day passed in a blur of activities, the fear from the
night before shrinking, becoming a distant echo.
By the time I returned to camp, the sun was a glowing orb in the
sky, painting the landscape in hues of orange and purple.
The tranquility was intoxicating, a piece that
wrapped itself around me, promising safety.
It was easy to forget, to lose myself in the beauty of the
mountains, to push away the memories of the hum.
But as the day drew to a close, a familiar sense of dread began
to creep in. The shadows lengthened, the
sounds of the forest changed and unsettling Symphony of the
encroaching night. The hum, a phantom echo, seemed
to rise from the depths of my mind, a haunting reminder of the
night before. As I turned back to my campfire.
The dread wrapped itself around me, a cold shiver that ran down
my spine. The nightmare was far from over
as the foreboding hum made its return.
I found myself rooted to the spot, a deer caught in the
headlights. Every fiber of my being screamed
danger, a primal instinct that wouldn't be silenced.
The picturesque tree line I had admired during the day seemed
ominous now, shadowy shapes dancing in the diminishing
light. My eyes darted from one side to
the other, a futile attempt to pinpoint the source of the hum.
An errant movement caught my attention, a quick, unsettling
blur that was gone before my eyes could truly register it.
My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drum echoing the
mounting dread. Voices, not my own, echoed in my
head, a panic chant of go away. I recognized it for what it was,
a plea, a desperate call for help in the face of an
indescribable fear. The familiar chill of terror
snaked its way down my spine, setting every nerve alight.
That's when I knew I couldn't stay.
This wasn't a hallucination, not some twisted figment of my
imagination. It was real, and it was
dangerous. With renewed urgency, I set
about dismantling my camp. But fear had a way of distorting
time every second, stretching into an eternity as the sun
dipped lower, the shadows lengthening with each passing
minute. The scramble to gather my
belongings was frantic and desperate, the looming sense of
danger fueling my actions. But the hum grew louder, a
haunting melody that filled the evening air, the ground beneath
me vibrating with its intensity. It was closing in, whatever it
was, and I was running out of time.
And then I saw it, a tall figure in the dying light, pale and
unnerving, creeping toward me with an eerie grace.
Its arrival heralded a spike in the hum, an increase in volume
that sent chills down my spine. I stood frozen, the figures
ominous approach holding me captive.
But survival instinct won out. Fumbling for my keys, I
abandoned my half packed belongings and made a mad dash
for my car. The figure gave chase, its speed
increasing as I fled. The hum echoed around me, a
sinister lullaby that set the tempo for this deadly game of
cat and mouse. In my frenzied retreat, I felt a
sharp sting on my shoulder, a harsh reminder of the danger
that lurked mere steps behind me.
But I didn't stop, didn't dare look back.
I dove into my car, the metallic thud of the door a welcome sound
as I locked myself in, heart pounding, breath coming in
shallow gasps in the safety of the car.
I finally dare to look back, finding the figure now moving
backward as if some unseen force was keeping it at Bay.
The hum was louder than ever, a protective barrier that seemed
to repel the threatening figure. Without another glance, I peeled
out of the campsite, leaving the figure, the hum, and my
abandoned gear behind. I didn't care about any of it.
All that mattered was getting as far away from the horror as
possible. The city, a place I'd often
sought to escape, was now my only refuge, with the campsite
now a fading blip in the rearview mirror.
I let out a ragged breath, my grip relaxing on the steering
wheel. The hum had receded to a distant
echo, a fading song. As the distance between me and
that terrifying figure grew, my shoulder throbbed in protest, a
sharp reminder of the nightmare I had narrowly escaped.
The darkness of the forest was soon replaced by the warm glow
of distant city lights. As I navigated the winding
roads, the mundane sights and sounds of civilization trickled
in a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
I relished in the monotony, the headlights of passing cars, the
occasional hum of an engine, the mundane that I had until
recently so desperately sought to escape.
When the adrenaline began to ebb, fatigue washed over me.
A tidal wave that threatened to pull me under my hands trembled
as I parked the car outside my city apartment, the familiar
view from my front door a stark contrast to the wild expanse of
the forest. Safe within the concrete
confines of my home. I found myself on the precipice
of sanity, the trauma of the last two days teetering on the
edge of reality. I cleaned and dressed, the gash
on my shoulder, the sharp sting grounding me, a physical tether
to the very real danger I had encountered.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror told the tale of a man
who had seen too much. The haunted look in my eyes, a
silent testimony to the horror that lived in the mountains, in
the quiet of my apartment sleep, eluded me.
I tossed and turned the silence of the city a stark contrast to
the ominous hum that had haunted me in the mountains.
My mind replayed the events, the figures haunting approach, the
hummings protective barrier, and the unexplainable fear I had
felt. Questions swirled around in my
head. What was that figure?
Why was it chasing me? And most importantly, what was
that hum? Was it a natural phenomenon?
Or was it something else, something beyond my
comprehension? One thought, however, rose above
all others. The hum, terrifying as it was,
had kept the figure at Bay. I couldn't shake off the notion
that it had been protecting me, an unseen guardian amidst the
horror. But what did it want in return?
As morning peeked over the cityscape, the unanswered
questions and the trauma of the incident clung to me, a shadow
that refused to recede. But there was one thing I knew
for sure. I was never returning to the
mountains, my once beloved sanctuary forever tainted by the
terror that lurked within. In the days that followed, I
found solace in the hustle and bustle of the city.
The roar of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, the constant
movement. It all worked to drown out the
haunting memory of the humming in that pale figure.
The scar on my shoulder faded, but the mental scars remained
fresh, a vivid reminder of the terror that I'd faced.
I threw myself into my work, using the tedium of everyday
life as a shield against the haunting memories that seemed to
lurk around every corner of my mind, The sight of trees in the
parks and a shiver down my spine, the wind rustling the
leaves like a phantom hum in my ears.
The night was worse. In the silence, I could almost
hear the faint echoes of the hum, A ghostly serenade that
reminded me of my brush with death.
Time moved on, but the fear didn't.
It clung to me like a second skin, a constant companion.
I found myself flinching at shadows, scanning crowds for any
signs of the pale figure, my ears straining for the barest
hint of that haunting hum. I knew I was safe within the
city's confines, yet the fear wouldn't let go.
It had ensnared me in its cold grasp, and I was powerless to
break free. Then came that fateful day.
I was sitting in my apartment, the city's noises wafting in
through the open window. It was a calm evening, the usual
cacophony toned down to a pleasant hum.
But amidst that hum I heard something else, something that
froze the blood in my veins. It was the humming, soft and
low, almost drowned out by the city's noise, but unmistakable.
I shot up, my heart pounding in my chest.
My eyes darted to the window, half expecting to see the figure
standing on the street below. But there was nothing out of the
ordinary, just the same busy city street.
The hum continued, though, weaving its way into the city's
melody, a chilling undertone that sent shivers down my spine.
I couldn't believe it. Was it following me?
Or had it been a part of my life all along?
A sinister shadow lurking in the background?
The questions, The fear. They all came rushing back, a
tidal wave threatening to pull me under as the sunset and
darkness swept over the city. I sat in my apartment, the hum a
constant companion. It was here in the city, in my
home. A chilling realization set in.
I might have left the mountains, but the horror hadn't left me.
It was here to stay, a ghostly echo of my past, a chilling
serenade that promised to haunt me forever.
So here I am, a prisoner in my own home, living in fear of the
unseen. And every night as the city
falls silent, the hum rises, a constant reminder of the terror.
I once faced a chilling lullaby that promises to haunt my dreams
till the end of time. Back in 2016, my friends and I,
for the longest time had been itching to go camping at our
local camping site in the Los Padres National Park in Southern
California. When we found the perfect
weekend to go to that didn't interfere with any of our work
schedules. We set the date three days
before the trip. We found out we were going to
get hit by the El Nino rainstorm.
We, being the type of dudes that we are, didn't care if we got
hit by the storm while camping, so we packed up our cars and
made the 45 minute drive to the campsite.
The campsite was a family friendly one where there were
about 100 camping lots that circled around the clearing in
the forest. We found the perfect spot that
was underneath huge thick trees that would help block as much
rain as possible and it helped out that the restrooms were only
30 yards away. As soon as we got to our spot we
took advantage of the afternoon sky being cleared for the moment
and we rushed to set up our spot.
The layout that we did was that we pitched our tents close by
where our tent doors were only 6 feet apart.
The reason why we did this is because in order to combat the
rain I brought a 20 foot by 20 foot thick blue canopy tarp that
I threw over to cover us from the rain above and from the rain
that would be running through the ground.
It was a genius move on my part, but whenever you would walk
around our tent you would be making so much noise from
crunching the plastic tarp. Hours passed.
And we were all around the campfire.
It was late into the evening and this was the first time that I
noticed that there were barely any other campers.
They were mainly camping in their RV's like the fake campers
they were. In my honest opinion, they were
the smart ones, unlike my friends and I that were sleeping
in two small tents with our only protection being the blue tarp.
I was getting tired from a long day of work and I decided that I
was going off to knock out my friends.
Followed my lead as well. The way that the sleeping
arrangements were was that I had my friend Ray sleeping in my
tent and Ajay and S were sleeping in theirs before I
called it a night. I whispered to Ray and told him
I'm going to prank call S and A J, but I'm not going to say
anything. Ray smiled as I dialed my
friends up. I called them on restricted and
S's phone started to ring off. Both of them, being the way that
they are, got timid very easily as they said to one another.
Who's calling you this late in the night?
I don't know. They called me unrestricted.
Are you going to answer? Of course not.
Ray and I were holding in our laughter as they ignored our
call. I decided to do it one more
time. Once their phone started to
ring, they started to freak out once again and they said, who is
it this time? Same person.
I think I'm going to answer as they did answer.
S said in a very shaking tone. Hello.
Ray and I had to hold in our laughter as we kept as quiet as
possible, not wanting to make any noises that would give off
that it was us. I held the phone close to my
mouth as I began to breathe heavily in a murderous way.
I ended the call and just hearing them freak out the way
they did was making my night even funner.
Me being the idiot that I am, called them one more time and
this time S picked up the phone immediately and said in a tough
voice, Look whoever this is better stop.
I am about to call the cops. If you keep on calling, this is
not a threat. Ray and I looked at one another
as we at the same time began to fake moan so loud and
immediately started to ball out and laughter.
A J&S were so mad at us for pulling this prank on us and
they were cursing us out. Me finally calming down from
laughing so loudly, told the boys good night.
I will have pancakes ready in the morning.
Since I fell asleep relatively easily, I was out in a matter of
minutes while Ray A J&S were up for a while longer.
I was the first of my friends to wake up in the morning, and as I
promised, I had the pancakes already cooking by the time that
anyone else woke up. The smell of me cooking woke up
my friends and one by one they got out of their tents.
As we were eating, Ajay spoke up and said hey Jay, the prank that
you pulled last night went a little too far.
Yeah, you had us ready to run to our car and take off.
Hi. Feeling a bit guilty, apologized
and said sorry guys, my bad. Yeah, it's one thing to prank
call us like that, but then to walk around our tent and then go
inside it in the middle of the night is totally out of limits.
S said me not knowing what they were talking about said what do
you guys mean? Come on, still with the jokes.
You were the one that was walking around our tent and you
walked in. Ray spoke up and said that
wasn't Jay who was walking around.
I thought that was you 2 getting your revenge on us for scaring
you. That wasn't us doing that, it
was you 2 So to explain, after I fell asleep, about an hour had
passed where Ray S and Ajay were still up and all was quiet in
the forest until the sounds of footsteps were heard stepping on
our blue tarp that was on the ground.
At first my friends thought that it could have been just a forest
animal wandering around, but the heavy footsteps were a dead
giveaway that it was a person. As they described, the person
was walking all around our tents making constant figure eights.
The person would place their fingers on the tents fabric
walls to run them up and down. The footsteps finally stopped
after a couple of minutes right in between our tents doors.
The three of them were already having their hearts pounding out
of their chest. It was silent for a long minute
until the sound of the tent zipper being slid open.
As Ajay says, the tents door was only opened halfway, but it was
too dark to see anything clearly.
But in the darkness both S and A J saw the silhouette of a man's
face pop his head into the tent to look at both of them.
A J&S faked being asleep the entire time, but they kept their
eyes locked onto the man. The man then opened the tent
fully and walked inside the tent just standing at the entrance.
The man didn't say a word or do anything, just watch the both of
them laying in their sleeping bags after their longest minute
ever. The man just took his steps out
of the tent and his footsteps were heard walking away,
disappearing into the night. The entire time that this was
happening, S and Ajay thought that it was either me or Ray
doing this and Ray thought that it was a J or S doing this back
to us, arguing back and forth at the breakfast table.
We were interrupted by a man walking to our campsite and he
said good morning boys, how did the four of you sleep last
night? This man spoke in a smoker's
voice as if he has been doing that for all of his 45 years of
being alive. He wore a dirty, sweat stained
white tshirt that looked more Gray at this point and his blue
jeans looked as if they had never been taken off from his
pants. He smelt like liquor, not a good
sign at 8:00 in the morning and his words were just mumbling
around. We didn't say a word to this guy
as he then asked us if we had any cigarettes to spare him.
I said that we didn't smoke and he said Oh well if you boys want
to visit me in my RV, just stop by any time.
The man continued to walk away towards the restrooms and as he
was done using it, he walked back to our campsite.
He didn't say anything this time, but he looked at us and
gave us a nearly toothless smile and he walked back to his RVI
took note of his RV as it was the only RV that stuck out as
being dirty and more run down than the others.
We quickly summed up the man as the person who was walking
around our tents last night and S and Ajay now remembered that
they smelt booze from the person who was standing in their tent.
We all agreed that we would keep an extra eye out on this guy and
if he did spend another night we would most likely report him to
the Park Rangers if he tried anything else when it was around
lunchtime. Now the man came back not to use
the restroom but just to talk to us.
So are any of you boys interested in buying an RV?
You all can go check it out right now and see if you want to
buy it. I don't need it anymore since my
wife left me. Just check out the inside of the
RV. No, we are good, Sir, I said
with a visibly threatening tone. The man seemed to notice this,
and he walked away. The man did end up leaving a few
hours before sunset, but the entire time that he was there,
he kept glancing at us. The man had his RV about 50
yards away from us, and I noticed that he had a restroom
right next to his RV. Why did he make an effort in
walking all the way over to our campsite to use our restroom?
Also, why did he even use hours if Rv's come with restrooms
installed in them? Whatever the man wanted, we were
just glad that we were about to enjoy the rest of our weekend.