The trailhead lay in a hush of early morning stillness, just
what I had craved away from the city's roar and my piling
deadlines. My pack felt reassuringly heavy
on my shoulders as I stepped onto the path, the gravel
crunching softly beneath my boots.
Here the sunlight came, filtered through the ancient canopy,
painting dappled patterns of gold and green across the forest
floor. I savored the unusual quiet,
broken only by the distant trail of birds high above and the soft
whisper of leaves rubbing shoulders in the breeze.
This was my sanctuary. No urgent messages, no neon
screens, just the slow, deliberate pulse of the
wilderness. The trail was an old logging
Rd., its edges blurred by the Moss and ferns that stretched
out in long fingers to its center.
Now and then branches and briars snagged at my clothing.
Each jerk reminded me I was moving further from
civilization, deeper into a place the world had mostly
forgotten. I double checked my map now and
then, reassured by the old markers, each one a small
victory telling me I was still on course.
By noon I dropped to 1 knee beside a narrow gurgling stream
and refilled my water bottle. My fingertips hovered in the
cold water, clear enough to see smooth stones and darting
shadows of minnows below, when something broke the idyllic
spell. A cigarette butt.
It sat on the bank like a bad omen, out of place, too human.
The nearest campsite was miles away, and this route was hardly
popular. My eyes combed the foliage for
some sign of another hiker, a lost smoker, someone nothing.
Only the rustle of leaves and the thud of my own heartbeat.
I forced a shrug, flicked the butt into a small trash bag in
my pack, and continued on. Still, the thread of unease
wound its way through my thoughts.
As the afternoon wore on, the sun's rays took on a lazier
angle, and the forest responded by pressing in closer, branches
weaving overhead, funnelling me through a green corridor.
Air gone still, I picked up my step, intent on making the
signed clearing before dusk. That was when I saw it.
A figure, only a dim outline between the tree trunks.
It was too still, too straight. My reply.
Silence and shadows suddenly stole the voice out of me in a
whispered hello. I waited.
My heart tapped an uncertain rhythm, but there was no
response, no stir. Anyways, I went on, figuring it
was probably just another tourist who didn't feel like
chatting. And yet every step away felt
like a tiny betrayal of my instincts.
When I finally gained the clearing, relief washed over me.
I set up camp, quickly coaxing a small fire to life.
The light felt puny against the endless gloom of the forest.
Night layered itself over the woods, and the absence of
birdsong sharpened my senses. Now and again, I caught a faint
rustle or the snap of a twig. Deer.
Raccoons, I told myself. Yes, but the memory of that
silent figure gnawed at my confidence.
Later, swaddled in my sleeping bag, I heard the careful crunch
of slow, deliberate footsteps just beyond the thin nylon
walls. My throat constricted.
I dared not even breathe. The sound vanished as suddenly
as it had come, leaving me paralyzed with dread.
When I finally unzipped the tent, shaky flashlight in hand,
my eyes fell on a tree inches away.
A crude carving of an eye glared at me from the bark, fresh cuts
glistening. My stomach nodded itself.
Someone had been here, and they wanted me to know I wasn't
alone. Morning brought a cold clarity.
The air felt thinner, the light duller.
I struck camp in nervous haste and took an alternate route to
the east, a longer detour, but one which would bring me back
nearer the main trail. I didn't care to go back into
the other direction, into that place where a stranger had
watched and marked my passing. This new path was Wilder.
I tripped over a fallen branch, cursed under my breath as
brambles scratched my arms, stopped to catch my breath by a
mossy boulder. That was when I saw the boot
prints in the mud, bigger and fresher than I ever could be.
The forest hushed up, silent, while the back of my neck
prickled. Someone walked ahead, guiding
me, stalking me. I pressed on, urgency driving
me. The birds were silent now.
My every footstep felt like a gunshot in the hush.
When a flash of color, bright, frayed rope caught my eye, I
approached it with trembling caution.
It hung over a branch, deliberately placed a message.
Allure. I swallowed hard and moved past
it, my knife at my hip, suddenly feeling inadequate.
Climbing a rocky slope, I heard it, a low, throaty laugh
drifting from somewhere below. It was quiet but carried easily,
as if directed right at me. My blood turned to ice.
They were not afraid of being heard.
They wanted me afraid. I crouched low, peering through
the leaves, no one insight, but I felt them watching.
I hurried on, heart hammering. By mid afternoon, I stumbled
into another clearing, a ruined campsite.
A shredded tent lay crumpled, clothes and belongings strewn
about as if abandoned in panic. At the center, a hunting knife
stood buried in a tree stump, its blade stained with dried
blood. I approached, hands shaking.
Not rusted, not old. The work of days or hours, not
years. I hesitated, then pulled the
knife free. It scraped against the wood with
a sound that turned my gut. If they returned, I would not be
defenseless. I fled that place, the forest
seeming to press in on all sides, now a living thing that
disapproved of my presence. Twilight fell like a drawn
curtain. I made camp out of necessity,
not choice, and spent the night clutching my new knife,
straining at every sound. When morning's faint light
filtered through the treetop canopy, I became aware of the
deep slashes in my tents fabric. Neat, cruel lines, deliberate
and mocking. Outside, a tight bundle of twigs
bound with sinew greeted me like a trophy.
My stomach churned. Whether it was meant as a
warning or trophy, I could not say.
I bundled up my gear, resolving to get to the trailhead at all
costs. The forest went silent.
Every step was a dare. Midway down a slope, I heard
footsteps again, heavier now, picking up pace.
I didn't stop to investigate. I ran.
Branches clawed at my face, leaves snatched at my pack.
Panic flared hot in my chest. The trail dissolved into a
tangle of brush and I hacked my way through, adrenaline making
my limbs shake. When I finally stumbled onto a
clearer path, I chanced to glance back, still and innocent.
The trees stood, their lengthy shadows Criss crossing the
ground. Had I evaded them?
Or had they been waiting there patiently, just behind the
nearest trunk, grinning in silence at me?
At last, the gravel of the parking lot came into view.
Relief bubbled up, turning sour when I saw a figure step from
the shade of the Pines. Even at a distance, I caught the
metallic glint of the weapon in their hand, bigger crueler than
my stolen blade. They did not chase me.
They stood waiting, as if enjoying the show of my terror.
I sprinted to my car, fumbling with my keys.
My arms were shaking so hard it took three tries to get the key
into the lock. I dared a glance back as I swung
the door open. They still stood at the edge of
the lot, hood up, motionless, their presence heavier than any
growl or snarl could be. Once inside, I slammed the door
and twisted the ignition. Gravel spat behind my tires as I
tore down the winding Rd. My pulse hammered in my ears.
A glance in the rear view mirror, muddy handprints smeared
across the window told me everything I needed to know.
They had been closer than close, close enough to leave a parting
signature on my escape. The woods receded into the
distance, but the silent horror of those trees stuck with me,
something that wouldn't rinse off.
I will never go into those woods again.
I recall how excited and somewhat apprehensive I was as I
took my old car deeper into the Idaho wilderness.
Really just a dirt Rd. with potholes big enough that I got
shaken in my seat several times. After a while, I eventually
arrived at a place with not a single sign, not a single
person, and no bars on my phone. I stopped, grabbed my backpack
and tent, and started walking into the dense woods.
It was late afternoon when I came into a small, flat clearing
surrounded by tall Pines. The trees looked ancient, their
bark rough and dark. I decided this would be where
I'd set up camp for the night. I hadn't seen another person for
miles, which was exactly what I wanted.
I wanted peace and quiet, a chance to prove to myself that I
could spend a night alone in the wild.
As I began to unpack, the stillness registered with me.
Normally forests are alive with sounds, the chirping of birds,
the scampering of squirrels or the wind rattle of branches.
Here, everything felt hushed. It was so quiet, all I could
hear were my breathing and the crunch of dry pine needles
beneath my boots. At first I just shrugged.
Maybe I'm lucky and found some calm corner in nature, I
thought. I pitched my tent and then
unrolled my sleeping bag. I gathered some wood to make a
small fire, and after its formation I warmed some canned
soup over it to take down. The sun had settled very low and
I colored the sky with red to orange shades.
Well fed, I sat down upon a fallen log, just doing nothing
but looking around. The trees were planted close
together, and as it grew dusky, their shadows lengthened to
fantastic shapes. I rubbed my arms to keep warm,
though there was a little chill in the air.
Considering that it was still summer, that quiet stillness
began to feel weird without normal sounds.
My imagination began to play tricks on me.
I kept thinking. I saw movement at the edge of
the clearing, just a shape slipping behind a trunk or a
branch bending in a way that didn't quite make sense.
I told myself I was just jumpy. I tried to stay calm.
I even whispered It's nothing, just nerves, as if someone might
answer. When night fell, I checked that
my tent was well secured and got inside.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
The silence had a weight to it, like I wasn't just alone, but
being observed. Still, I had to be brave.
This was an adventure, wasn't it?
For with the darkness pressing in around me, I promised myself
I would make it through the night, no matter how uneasy I
felt. And so I lay down, staring at
the roof of my tent, listening carefully, waiting for
something, anything to break that strange, heavy silence.
I jolted awake in the middle of the night.
First, I had no idea what had dragged me out of sleep.
And then I heard it. A sound that made my skin crawl.
It wasn't some little animal scurrying about.
It sounded almost like a cry, but stretched out and twisted
too slow to be normal. My heart started pounding and I
tried to breathe quietly, fearing any sound I made would
attract attention. I took my flashlight in hand,
turning it on but keeping it pointed down so it was only
bright enough to see the zipper on my tent.
While looking through a small gap movement caught my eye at
the edge of the clearing. In the weak moonlight, I could
just about make out a very tall figure standing there.
It looked human at first glance, but was off in its manner of
standing. Its arms seemed too long, and
the way it cocked its head made my stomach flip.
And then it did something that scared me even more.
It made a noise, something approximating a person trying to
say words but not quite managing.
Some of it almost sounded like my voice, just muffled and
broken. It took me a second to realize
it might be copying sounds I had made earlier.
I remembered talking to myself when I first arrived at camp.
Now here I was, hearing my own voice returned to me in a
horrible, twisted way. I was stock still, my hand
shaking as I gripped the flashlight.
The figure drifted on behind a tree, appearing once more on the
other side of the clearing, and each time it moved it did so
just out of sight, as if it wanted me to know it was there,
but not to get a full view. A couple of times I thought I
heard stifled chuckles, but it wasn't really laughing.
It sounded more like somebody forcing air through their
throat, imitating the real thing.
For what felt like hours, I sat frozen in my tent, too afraid to
make a sound. Branches snapped, eerie whispers
floated through the darkness, and that haunting voice wafted
in and out, never quite forming proper words.
I tried to convince myself that it was most likely just some
trick of the wind or that I was dreaming, but deep inside I knew
better. Something was out there and it
was very aware of me. I lay there night dragging on,
scared to unzip my tent or even sit up.
I thought about calling out for help, but who would hear me?
And what if that only made things worse?
Each minute felt like it stretched forever.
The only thing I could do was to wait and hope that by morning
this thing would be gone and I'd be safe again.
If I ever really could feel safe in these woods, I must have
dozed off, for when I opened my eyes, the sky was a pale grey.
Dawn had finally arrived, but even though nothing outside my
tent seemed to be moving now, I still felt tense, each muscle in
my body aching from not having moved, my heart fluttering with
every little sound. I slowly unzipped the tent and
peeked outside. The forest looked tranquil, but
something was off. I emerged and scanned the
terrain. That's when I saw them, odd
footprints pressed into the soft dirt.
I had never seen anything like them.
The toes were long and spread apart, almost like a person's
foot stretched into some weird shape.
A shiver ran down my spine when I realized these tracks LED
right past my tent, circling it. I was shaking when I packed my
stuff. Every rustle of the leaves made
me jump, and I kept looking around, expecting to see that
figure standing behind some tree.
I found no other clues except a few strands of dark, thick hair
caught on a broken branch. I didn't want to think about
what kind of creature they might come from.
I just knew I had to get out of there.
Hurrying back to my car, I heard a noise echo through the trees.
It sounded like a deer call, but something was off.
The pitch was too slow, too strained.
It reminded me of last night's voices, the ones that tried to
speak but never really sounded human.
I broke into a fast walk, my heart hammering, trying not to
imagine what might be following me.
By the time I reached my car, my clothes were drenched with sweat
and I was breathing hard. My hands were shaking so badly
that I nearly dropped the keys before I could get the door
open. When I did get inside, I slammed
the door, locked it, and started the engine.
I did not hesitate, looking in the rearview mirror as I pulled
away, half expecting something to emerge onto the road behind
me. By the time I finally reached
the nearest small town, my stomach nodded up just thinking
about what had happened. Who would believe this story?
I could hardly make sense of it myself.
All I knew was that I had come face to face with something
inexplicable, something that wouldn't fit into any tale I'd
ever heard. And from that day forward, every
time I think of camping in the woods alone, those weird
footprints come to mind. The mangled sounds and the
feeling that I wasn't the only one out there.
We turned off the main road just after lunch time and rattled for
a while along a rough, gravelly track that my dad was insistent
would lead us to the perfect campsite.
My mom glanced at him every so often, tapping her finger on the
door handle, but he seemed confident enough.
I recall how the forest deepened as we pushed inward.
Trunks grew thicker, leaves grew greener, until after a certain
point I realized I couldn't catch even a glimpse of the
highway behind us. It had all the sounds completely
disappeared, car engines and voices far away.
We eventually stopped at a patch of tall grass and ferns where
Dad parked the car. That was where we were going to
start walking, he told me. I shrugged and swung my pack
onto my back. My little brother was having
some trouble with his bag until Mom helped adjust the straps.
Then we followed Dad along what barely qualified as a trail.
Undergrowth tugged at my ankles and I found myself constantly
ducking under low hanging branches.
Now and again a breeze would cast through the trees, carrying
the redolence of dampened earth and pine needles.
It felt like stepping into another world.
By late afternoon, Dad spotted a clearing and declared it
perfect. The ground was level and there
was plenty of space to put up our large family tent without
bumping elbows. We shed our packs and started
unloading. Mom was rolling out sleeping
mats while Dad hammered tent stakes into the ground.
My brother did his best to help gather kindling, mostly just
poking at Moss covered logs with a stick.
I worked on smoothing out a space for my sleeping bag.
After a day of travel and a decent hike, settling in felt
like relief. Before long, a little fire
crackled in front of us. The orange light danced on the
tree trunks, turning them into leaning shapes that ringed our
camp. With the sun sinking, that
circle of warmth and light felt necessary.
We roasted hot dogs and made s'mores, my brother proudly
holding up a perfectly browned marshmallow and grinning like
he'd won a prize. We talked quietly about
tomorrow's plans. Dad said there was a stream
nearby where we could see deer and maybe fish.
Mom mentioned something about keeping an eye on our route so
we didn't get lost. I nodded along, not really
adding anything. I looked around, watching how
quickly shadows stretched once the sun fell behind the trees.
Birds that had called out earlier fell silent.
The only sounds were the gentle crackling of the fire and a
distant rustle in the underbrush that hinted at any life beyond
our campsite. By the time we zipped ourselves
into the tent, stars I had never seen so bright at home cluttered
the sky. Mom said we'd sleep soundly
after all that walking, and Dad cracked a joke about being too
tired to worry about anything. My brother had whispered
something amusing about woodland creatures playing stealthy games
in the night. I listened for some time,
expecting to hear something familiar, maybe some faraway owl
or hum of insects. But that quiet between those
high trees was almost like the presence of something there.
I said nothing. I lay there trying to sleep.
We had to Morrow to explore, and I told myself there was nothing
unusual about the way this forest seemed to watch quietly
as we settled in. I woke in the dark, unsure of
the time, but the fire outside had died down.
No longer was it crackling and popping, just dying embers that
cast no dance upon the walls of the tent.
The tinge of moonlight grey showed only at the edges of the
fabric. I shifted around, not wanting to
wake my family. My brother made a soft breathing
sound in his sleep. I needed to go outside.
Nothing dramatic, just that normal reason anyone steps out
of the tent at night. Slowly, I pulled my arms from my
sleeping bag and felt for the zipper slipping quietly outside.
The clearing looked different than it had when we turned in.
The moon was bright, but the trees seemed taller, leaning in
as if curious about our presence.
I had no real interest in sightseeing though.
I just stepped beyond the tent, moving a short distance away to
keep some privacy. After I finished, I stood still
for a moment, letting my eyes adjust, thinking maybe I'd spot
a raccoon or some other harmless creature nosing around instead,
something I heard first. I thought I was imagining
things. It started as a voice, too soft
to be intelligible. I cocked my head, listening.
The voice came again, just a little louder, and this time it
sounded very much like my name. That surprised me.
I turned around to look back at the tent, expecting to see my
dad poking his head out, or perhaps my brother horsing
around, but the tent stayed closed, unstirring.
I swung a dim flashlight beam around the edge of the clearing.
The trees caught the light and tossed it back in odd shapes.
Standing behind a tangled patch of bushes, there was a figure
with long arms and a head that didn't quite match what I'd
expect of a deer or bear. It was too tall, too oddly
shaped. It shifted a little, and leaves
rustled against each other near its legs.
If those were legs. I kept looking, unsure whether
my eyes were playing tricks. Then the voice came again,
closer this time. It sounded like a dry voice,
trying to say my name in some raspy imitation, as if it knew
me. I tried to speak something
simple, like who's there, but what actually came out was a
weak squeak. That pathetic sound was enough
to wake my dad. He burst out of the tent with
his larger flashlight, calling my name urgently.
My mom followed, her voice tense.
Before I could point them to that shape in the bushes, it
moved back. When my dad cast his beam over
there, we saw only empty branches.
He swept the perimeter of our campsite while Mom hovered near
me. My brother peeked out, sleepy
eyed and confused. Nobody found prints or broken
twigs. That made sense.
We huddled together, staring at the tree line.
Dad fed the fire until it flared back to life.
No one said anything about keeping watch, but we all did.
The night around us stayed quiet, too quiet for comfort.
We waited for dawn, each of us probably wondering what I had
really seen and who or what knew my name out here.
At first light, Dad said we were leaving.
There wasn't any big family discussion about it.
He just started packing, and Mom and I followed without a word.
My brother rubbed at his eyes, still half asleep, asking
questions nobody answered. The silent tension in the air
did all the talking. The forest, which had seemed so
peaceful when we arrived, now seemed ready to swallow us
whole. Our supplies went back into bags
at double speed. We didn't stop for breakfast or
even a hurried drink of water. Dad told us to stay close
together and keep moving. So that's what we did.
We set off along the faint path we'd used the day before, back
toward where we'd parked. I tried to mark landmarks, a
clump of ferns that looked like a chair, a small boulder shaped
like a turtle's shell. But the woods weren't kind to my
memory tricks. Branches scratched at our arms
and loose stones slid under foot.
There was hardly a sound but for our boots pushing through leaves
and the unsteady breathing as we hurried along.
We made it maybe halfway when I heard something following.
I looked at Mom, and her eyes had darted to the back of us, so
I knew she heard it too. Dad didn't say a word, but he
picked up the pace, leading us over roots and around fallen
logs with a grim intensity. My brother stumbled once and I
caught his arm, jerking him back upright.
We couldn't afford to stop and look back.
Another voice wafted through to us, that raspy voice, trying out
my name like it was some kind of key.
I shook my head, refusing to answer.
There was no way I'd call back. The path grew trickier.
More than once I felt something tug at the back of my jacket or
snag in my hair, though I never saw what it was.
I kept expecting to look over my shoulder and see that long
limbed shape just inches away. At one point we came out into a
slightly open space and Dad said to hurry up.
That was when my brother yelled. He had seen it just behind a
group of young Pines. None of us saw it good, but I
caught an impression of movement, something tall and
wrong shaped slipping between trunks.
Dad hissed at us to keep going, and Mom pushed my brother ahead
of her. Our footsteps turned into a near
run through uneven ground. When we finally found the place
where the car should have been, I expected to feel relieved.
Instead, for a second I thought the car was gone.
The trees had shifted in my mind's eye to a different angle.
My heart thudded heavy, searching.
And then I saw the car's flat paint job through the foliage.
Dad padded pockets for keys. Mom and I hung close.
Looking back, it moved in the shadows and I could swear it
stretched out a hand like it was trying to bridge the distance
between us. We tumbled in slammed doors and
Dad cranked the motor. Gravel spat beneath the tires as
we lurched forward, the wheels of the car bouncing over the
uneven track. No one said a word until we were
miles away. When we finally hit a proper
Rd., Mom asked if everyone was OK.
My brother muttered something about how weird that had been.
I stared out the window, watching the thick forest fall
behind us. Maybe one day we'd talk about it
with clearer heads, but for now it was enough that we were still
here, driving away, and that whatever lurked in those trees
would stay behind. We had been planning the trip
for weeks. A three day inroad into high
country, just the two of us, under the pine canopy and stars,
far from the unyielding hum of city life.
We had chosen a spot deep in the old growth forest, where trails
weren't well kept and maps showed more unnamed landmarks
than official campsites. That was precisely what we
sought. Isolation, with only the soft
rustling sound of the wind in the treetops and the occasional
cry of an owl in the night. The first day was perfect.
We hiked until our legs felt pleasurably sore, striding
through Groves of ancient trees, each gnarled and imposing.
We set our tent near a small Fern lined hollow not far from a
narrow Creek that trickled lazily over Moss covered stones.
The sunset was magnificent and cast a warm golden light over
everything. We would have feasted on instant
noodles and dried fruits, and as darkness fell, we would have
been laughing softly and talking of the future, the ring that was
to be in my pack and the life we could possibly build together
after this trip. Above the sky is a silver quilt
of stars. I fell asleep feeling safe, with
her body pressed comfortably against mine, the smell of earth
and leaves in my nostrils. But the second day changed
everything. We woke to an eerie silence, as
though the forest had swallowed its breath.
The birds were gone, The wind was still.
Even the gentle trickle of the Creek seemed somehow muffled.
It was as though someone had put a large, invisible hand over the
wilderness and commanded it to be quiet.
We tried to enjoy a morning coffee, but every sip was
forced, every swallow with the creeping feeling that something
watched us. We tried a longer hike, wander
deeper into the wilderness, where the Moss grew thick and
the roots formed tangled webs beneath our boots.
But soon the trails became confused, twisting and
converging in ways our map couldn't explain.
Bright orange lichen on a boulder we swore we'd passed
before now appeared on our left instead of our right.
Broken branches seemed rearranged each time we turned
around. It was subtle at first, like an
odd deja vu, but it worsened with each step.
That afternoon we found the marks on the trunks, long,
ragged scratches too high for a bear or Mountain Lion.
The gouges looked deliberate, as if something taller than any
animal we knew stood on two legs and scratched them into the
bark. At one point we caught a foul
odor drifting through the trees. Decay, the stink of old meat
baking in the sun. It made our eyes water and our
stomachs turn, forcing us back to camp earlier than planned.
By late afternoon, the sky had clouded over, though it was
still light out. As we were scrounging together
dinner, rehydrated vegetables and broth, crackers and a little
trail mix, my partner froze, cocking her head into the woods.
I turned and heard it too. Something big was moving just
beyond the firelight, the crunch of dry branches under enormous
weight, a dragging sound and a wet, throaty grunt that clenched
the pit of my stomach. We shown our headlamps into the
trees, but they illuminated only a confusion of branches.
Still, we sensed it. Massive, predatory patient.
We slept fitfully, clinging to each other, listening for the
scrape of claws or the snap of twigs.
We tried to explain it away, a bear, maybe a moose, But neither
of us believed our own words. By dawn, I was frantic to get
out. We decided to pack up and head
back to cut the trip short, But the forest fought back.
Trails that should have led us toward the parking area now
wandered aimlessly, landmarks we had noted on the way in.
We're simply gone. The slender Birch with the
lightning scar. The fallen cedar bridging 2
boulders as if the shifting landscape had swallowed them
whole. Panic fluttered at the edges of
my mind. Every so often more signs
appeared. Shredded bark, small animal
carcasses arranged in grotesque patterns on stones and roots.
One day we heard a shrill cry and saw something tall and
emaciated slipping between the old Pines.
Its limbs were impossibly long and its skin, ash Gray,
stretched tight over protruding bones.
It moved with an uncanny grace that let it disappear behind
trunks before our eyes could really take in the shape.
But we both saw the eyes. Dark, hungry, gleaming with
cunning. I'd heard the stories whispered
around campfires of a Wendigo that stalked northern forests, a
spirit twisted and contorted by some bottomless hunger.
I never believed them, of course.
Now I did. We continued to push on,
compelling our legs to move, tripping over roots and having
our clothes caught and ripped by the briars.
The day wore on into aching afternoon, then into the long
shadows of evening. We rationed our water and tried
not to talk. Words seemed too fragile here.
Twice we thought we saw other people, bright colors shifting
between the trunks. Perhaps hikers like us, But when
we called out, we received no response.
Once we passed what looked like a campsite, long abandoned, a
collapsed tent, moldy and half buried in leaves, a single boot
lying on its side. A chilling thought.
Whoever camped here might never have left at all.
It was nightfall and the woods had turned into a dark
labyrinth. The moon shone feebly, and my
partner snatched my arm and pointed to a little piece of red
cloth caught on a low hanging limb of a tree.
I remembered a red rag being tied to a tree near the
trailhead, an impromptu marker left by a forest Ranger or a
cautious hiker. The vision brought a desperate
sense of hope. We scrambled toward it, ignoring
the sting of thorns and snapping of twigs.
It was then that the Wendigo rose from behind a crooked pine,
and gaunt and crooked, it stood between US and the sliver of
red. Its face was almost a human
shape, but horribly distorted by the protruding bone and the
hollowed cheeks. Jagged teeth caught the
moonlight. It took a rattling, wet gasp of
breath that might have been laughter.
I heard my partner suck in a breath, then let loose a sharp,
terrified scream. It ricocheted through the silent
woods. Fear drove me on.
I snatched up a rock and threw it.
The Wendigo avoided it with ease, having anticipated the
action, swaying aside with inhuman quickness.
It darted forward, claws scraping bark and leaf litter,
and I swung a dead branch, shrieking words that made no
sense. It pulled back, or at least
hesitated, its eyes shining with an intelligence that turned my
blood to ice. We couldn't fight this, not
really. We had to run, but it stood in
our way. My partner, voice shaking but
eyes determined, feigned a move to the left, and the creature
shifted. In that moment, I tore to the
right, grabbing her arm as I passed.
She tripped on a root, almost going down, but I pulled her up.
The wendigo's claws swiped through empty air where we'd
been. With ragged breathing, we
smashed through undergrowth and out of the clearing, ignoring
pain as thorny branches whipped open, cuts on our faces and
arms. A piercing shriek rent the
forest, another worldly cry of rage or hunger.
My guts twisted at the sound. I could almost see it, leaping
tree to tree, closing the distance.
Every second I felt sure that a Bony hand would clamp down on my
shoulder, but I forced myself onward, following that red
fabrics memory through ferns and brambles, sweat stinging my
eyes. And then, somehow, impossibly,
we pushed through a stand of birches and knew the shape of
the land there. A wooden sign, half rotted at
the base, marked the trailhead. Beyond that, the gravel lot
where we parked. My heart was hammering as we
stumbled across open ground, feet skidding on loose stones.
The woods edge was to our backs and we jumped into the car,
trembling so badly it took three tries to get the key in the
ignition. We sat in the dark, car engine
off, for what felt like a very long time, listening to our
ragged breathing. Only when we turned the
headlights on did I dare glance toward the tree line.
Nothing stirred, just darkness and swaying branches.
No eyes, no impossible silhouette.
The smell of blood and sweat filled the car.
We knew that we had escaped by the barest margin.
We didn't speak until we were miles away, the headlights
cutting a path down empty roads. Even now, I don't know what we
really saw, but scratches on our arms and bruises on our shins
and nightmares every time we close our eyes.
These are the proofs that something in that forest doesn't
welcome visitors. Intelligent and hungry, very
old. We were lucky.
I doubt we shall ever return. We left the ring in my pack
unopened, the plans of our future unspoken.
Some silences are safer unbroken, and some forests are
best left undisturbed. I shut off the engine, opening
the door and stepping down into boots crunching in a thin crust
of snow that had settled over the gravel.
Late afternoon, maybe an hour of decent light left.
The trailhead itself was unmarked except for the start of
a crooked trees. I shouldered my pack, took one
last look at the SUV, and moved into the trees.
I plan to stay a few days, long enough to push far into country
where most folks never bothered to go.
The Bitterroot Wilderness stretched out before me like an
old quiet secret. Each step took me deeper into
the landscape that had no interest in making me
comfortable. I carried little besides a
hatchet, Flint, and a few emergency rations.
Beyond that, I relied on whatever I could find.
I'd done this many times before, carrying next to nothing,
sleeping beneath branches, foraging wild foods.
Most trips brought a kind of calm, a reaffirmation that I
could exist out here on nature's terms.
This time, though, something felt 1/2 step off.
No obvious reason, just a sort of tension you'd notice in a
good dog before a thunderstorm. The forest presented itself as
still and remote, yet I kept slowing down, craning my neck,
listening for something I couldn't name.
Nothing answered. No wind brushed needles, no
birds gave warning calls, just the sound of my breath and
boots. Moving uphill I found a small
clearing rimmed with towering trees so heavy with snow their
limbs sagged low. It had a slight elevation and
some natural windbreak, enough to call home for the night.
I dropped my gear and began the routine of building a lean to
and gathering kindling. My hands worked on automatic
with learned movements that left my mind free to track the
silence. The silence seemed to swell as
dusk drew deeper, like a thick cloth settling over the trees.
The fire took easily enough. Sparks danced up and the light
flickered against trunks that crowded in from every direction.
Warmth spread outwards and I knelt close, rubbing fingers
that had gone numb. Eventually the darkness closed
in around the clearing, and my flame became the only real
source of comfort. I leaned back against my
makeshift shelter, scanning the perimeter.
At some point, just after full dark, I caught a faint sound.
A step, maybe 2, somewhere past the glow.
I held still, waiting. Another careful movement.
The sound suggested size. Larger than a deer but slower
than a cat. Something with weight behind it.
I clasped my hatchet. Still, nothing came out of the
gloom. I let a few minutes pass, then
added some wood to the fire. Sparks shot up into the black.
It could have been the sound of a moose stepping on crusted
snow, or maybe a bear that woke too soon, or maybe my mind
playing tricks. Either way, the rest of the
night dragged on with that notion.
Mulling in the dark, I told myself I'll see tracks at first
light and figure it out. Until then, I held my ground.
Morning brought a kind of solace I tried to lean on.
The ashes of my fire glowed in a ring of trampled snow, and my
lean to still stood after the night.
I took a pull from my canteen and stepped out of camp in
search of sustenance. There wasn't much sign of life.
No birdsong, no squirrel chatter.
Just me crunching along, squinting for tracks or edible
plants beneath drifts. On previous trips, I'd find
fresh scat, browse, sign on twig tips, maybe hear a distant
woodpecker. Not this time.
A short trek led me into a depression thick with spruce,
where I came across something that brought me up short the
partial remains of a mule deer. The carcass had been torn open,
ribs exposed, internal organs gone, chunks of flesh scattered
across stained snow. I'd seen predators feed before,
but this looked like a mess left behind by something careless or
impatient. Around it I spotted Prince with
a hoof like shape, but their pattern suggested A2 legged
stride. I crouched, trying to puzzle it
out. The forest seemed to lean in as
though every tree watched. I spent the rest of daylight
weighing explanations. A wounded moose kicking a
carcass. A bear with a malformed paw.
The silence around me never wavered, not even as I circled
back on a trunk near camp. I noticed scratches cut deep
into the bark, parallel and too long for an ordinary animal.
The grooves oozed with amber SAP, sticky and fresh.
I went slower as the afternoon light slanted through the
branches, casting everything in a subdued glow.
My boots squeaked on the crust, and I strained to hear anything
else. Perhaps a branch breaking
distant water? Nothing.
And then, late in the day, a noise came from somewhere beyond
the Ridge, high pitched and layered like metal scraping
metal in a distant Canyon. I stood stock still, hatchet in
hand, and scan the tree line. Something dark shifted behind a
stand of trees, tall and gaunt, with antlers that looked more
like twisted horns than the graceful rack of an elk.
It angled its head in a way that drew a low knot into my gut.
Before I could blink, the figure stepped back Into Darkness,
leaving me uncertain if I'd truly seen it.
By twilight, I realized it was no longer smart to stay put.
The shelter and fire suddenly felt flimsy against whatever
might be lurking out there. My route back to the SUV was
miles of unseen terrain, but I preferred motion to huddling in
this tiny clearing. I packed quietly, not wanting to
announce plans. The remaining daylight drained
from the sky, and a thin slice of moonlight offered poor
guidance. I told myself I'd travel
carefully, make no panicked movements, and keep my senses
open. The thought of stumbling through
the night in unfamiliar territory made me uneasy, but
the alternative seemed far worse.
I tightened my pack straps, doused what few embers were left
of my fire, and moved out, determined to leave no second
chances behind. It was trickier than expected to
get out of that timber stand with so little moonlight.
The world flattened into a series of dark shapes and
guesswork. I trudged forward, careful not
to make too much noise. Each step felt like a deliberate
1. Now and then I stopped behind a
trunk to listen. That heavy presence followed me,
not always sounding its arrival, but by an odd quieting of the
forest which should have stirred with something.
Wind branch creaking. Faint sigh of an owl.
After a while, I struck a faint trail.
The trees thinned enough to let me make better progress, and I
struck more familiar country Tuck near the edge of a logging
Rd. The SUV would be ahead.
I tried to move faster, but a crunch behind me to the left
made my neck prickle. I turned slowly in moonlight.
A shape easing between evergreens was impossibly tall
and thin, its form topped by antlers that curved like bends
in a Creek. Ancient, yet terribly alive.
A hint of sickly pale skin reflected what little light
there was. When it moved, its bones popped.
It stepped toward me, lifting its head as if tasting the air.
I gripped my pack strap and eased my hand inside for the
flare gun. The creature slid closer.
Its gait hinted at some sort of twisted intelligence.
I flicked the flare gun safety back, aimed, and pulled the
trigger. The sudden burst of red
illumination carved the darkness like a wound.
The flare struck its torso. For a moment I saw every detail.
Empty eyes that shone faintly, a body so thin it looked as if it
had been stretched over a frame of old driftwood.
The thing let out a sound, more scream than roar, thrashing,
tearing at the burning flare wedged in its chest.
I didn't wait to see how it resolved its pain.
I bolted down slope, the trail firm under my boots.
Branches whipped my arms as I rushed through, breathing hard,
half expecting it to catch me from behind.
Finally I saw a familiar stump and followed the old, overgrown
Rd. out of the deep woods. The SUV stayed where I parked.
It iced up in black. I yanked open the driver's door,
got in and jammed the key into the ignition.
The engine complained, sputtered, then caught in the
rear view mirror. A movement drew my eye.
The creature broke from the tree line, silhouetted by faint
moonlight. Its scream reached me through
the closed window. A clawed hand struck the glass
beside my head, cracking it. I stomped on the gas, wheels
spinning before they gripped. Its sudden lurch forward threw
it off balance. I saw antlers and flailing limbs
as I speed away, heart hammering, teeth clenched.
I didn't stop until I'd cleared countless bends.
Hours later, safe at home, I tried to settle into bed.
The marks on my face throbbed. The house felt secure and warm.
Then from somewhere outside, maybe far, maybe near, there
came a distorted cry. That same high pitched whale.
It carried a promise that I would never truly put these
woods behind me. We trudged off the gravel road
and followed Donovan into the timber, the light fading faster
than I liked. Nothing screamed danger at first
glance, just old trunks, patches of Fern, and a quiet that made
us talk softer than we had back in the car.
Logan lagged behind, wrestling with a pack that looked about as
big as him. Tristan kept shaking his head at
Logan's stumbling, occasionally snorting or rolling his eyes.
Meanwhile, I did what I could to help, even though Logan tried to
handle it alone. Donovan said something about
learning self-reliance, but I pretended not to catch the
meaning in his tone. As the ground angled upward,
everything started feeling more cramped.
The forest pressed close, branches snagged our jackets,
and the Moss under our boots squished with each step.
There was a certain hush now. Not that overdramatic hush like
an old horror movies, Just the kind that gets under your skin
without announcing itself. I wanted to break it with small
talk, but the word sat useless on my tongue.
We reached a Ridge where a massive cedar loomed, its trunk
split down the middle. The damage looked old, blackened
edges and a hollow where a person could stand.
Donovan stopped there and lowered his voice.
He claimed his grandfather had once mentioned a tribe living in
these parts long before white settlements.
According to him, this tribe carried a curse that lingered
well beyond their time. Donovan didn't get into details
right away. Instead he took his time pacing
a bit, clearing his throat and peering at that old tree like it
might open its mouth and speak. It made me uneasy watching him
behave so oddly. He wasn't usually the dramatic
type. Logan listened wide eyed as
Donovan finally explained that this tribe had offended
something old and cruel. He called it the elk head fiend.
Tristan laughed. Told Donovan to quit with the
bedtime stories. He stepped closer to the Cedars
warped trunk and spat a few rude words into the dark hollow.
Then he wandered off to take a leak against the roots.
Shrugging off Donovan's warning, I edged closer to Logan, who
looked like he wanted to drop his gear and bolt.
Donovan didn't try to stop Tristan, but his jaw tightened.
I swear I saw his knuckles whiten around the flashlight he
carried. When Tristan returned, grinning
like a jerk who'd just proven a point, Donovan shook his head
and shouldered his pack again. We're not sleeping here.
He said flatly, and no one argued.
We turned away, stepping back into the brush.
The thought of setting up camp beside that cracked cedar
vanished. If Donovan and his story had
been an act, it worked on me. My nerves were buzzing.
We aimed to find an old abandoned house.
He'd mentioned some shelter further in.
Maybe we'd laugh this off by morning, once we found a roof, a
corner to spread out our sleeping bags and maybe crack
open a beer without feeling like we were intruding.
By the time we found the old house, our boots were damp and
our clothes carried that damp forest smell, the kind you never
get out entirely. The building rose before us like
something that had been left behind decades ago, a husk of
crooked boards and flaking paint.
A window frame rattled softly in the breeze, and the doorway
looked more like a jagged wound than an entrance.
Donovan lifted his flashlight, sweeping it over warped
floorboards and ripped wallpaper that curled at the edges.
Better than sleeping under that split tree.
He said, trying for a confident tone.
I'd have laughed if I hadn't been so tense.
He set down his pack and checked his phone.
He told me Logan made it home safe.
That was a relief. At least the kid wouldn't have
to deal with whatever had been lurking in our minds since we
left the Ridge. I unrolled my sleeping bag in a
spot that seemed less moldy, and Donovan knelt beside me.
We barely spoke, just exchanged looks.
Maybe we'd both found the night's silence more unsettling
than we wanted to admit. Without warning, Donovan reached
into his pack and pulled out a rose.
Not the sort of thing you'd expect out here.
He whispered something about trying to make peace that we'd
been distant lately. I ran a finger along the petals.
Anything kind and gentle felt out of place in that broken down
room, yet it also felt like a small anchor to something
normal. I guess Tristan got bored.
He wandered off muttering about not sleeping in a termite motel.
So there we sat, Donovan and me leaning close enough to share
some warmth, talking in low voices about nonsense, dorm
life, classes if we could stomach eating another granola
bar. We were trying to ignore the
crumbling ceiling and the nagging quiet outside.
Then a scream twisted the night. It cut through those thin walls
like an alarm. You try to silence by covering
your ears. Tristan had sounded cocky
before, but now he sounded like someone caught off guard by
something horrible. Donovan shot to his feet and
snatched up the flashlight. I grabbed for my boots, my
fingers fumbling with the laces. I didn't say anything clever,
just stumbled out after him. the Rose fell from my hand and
landed on the floorboards. Part of me wanted to grab it as
if it mattered, but Tristan's scream tugged us forward.
Outside, the forest stretched into jagged outlines, and we
called his name, hoping for a quick reply.
We got silence, aside from an occasional branch creaking above
us. We followed a narrow path,
leaves brushing our shoulders. We carried just the one beam of
light, and as it swept ahead I imagined all sorts of things
lurking behind each shadowed trunk.
Donovan kept calling Tristan's name, louder now, and I tried to
help, but my throat felt dry. No one answered.
We stepped deeper, the ground soft and uneven, our voices
sounding weaker with each unanswered call.
We had left a roof behind, no matter how rotten it was, and
now we prowled in open darkness, hearts pounding, hoping Tristan
would call back. We found Tristan near a shallow
dip in the ground, not that far beyond the clearing.
Donovan's flashlight cut across tangled brush and damp earth
until it landed on something that didn't look right at all.
At first it seemed like a heap of clothing.
Then I saw a hand. Tristan's hand.
He wasn't moving, and as we stumbled closer, the shape
hovering over him came into view.
If I try to describe it, I never do it justice.
Taller than any person I've met and lean like it hadn't eaten in
weeks, though that clearly wasn't true.
It crouched there, limbs bent at angles that didn't belong in a
human frame. The skin looked dark, slick and
reflective in the faint light. The head turned stiff and
silent, revealing an angular skull like face with hollow
sockets where eyes should have been.
No fur, just something stretched thin over bone.
I'm not sure it made any sound. Maybe there was some wet
rustling as it withdrew from Tristan's body, something that
resembled a forked tongue flicking about.
Tristan's chest wasn't whole anymore.
I won't give every detail, but the ground glistened in a way
you never want to see around a friend.
Donovan tried to pull me back. Maybe he whispered my name.
It was hard to tell. My legs wobbled.
I clutched at my pocket where I'd shoved that rose earlier
when we hurried out of the house.
The stem still had thorns, and one jabbed into my hand as I
squeezed it. Without thinking, the creature's
head turned toward us. It moved with a slow, deliberate
care, as if studying a curiosity.
I fumble for my phone, desperate for something.
Light noise, calling for help. The creature swiped at the air,
and my phone flew out of my grip.
I heard it crack against a root. Without that small comfort of
connection, we were alone with a thing that should not exist.
Then it approached, sniffing at the Rose in my hand.
It didn't have a normal nose, but it dipped its head, almost
curious. I gasped, tasting iron in the
air. The creature leaned in, and for
a dreadful second I thought it would tear out my throat.
Instead, it plucked the Rose away.
Then it turned and loped off, arms and legs working together
with eerie grace, vanishing Into Darkness as if it had never been
there at all. Donovan and I collapsed in a
ditch. At some point I must have
blacked out, because when I opened my eyes again, it was
daytime. A Ranger found us two days
later. We mumbled something about a
bear, although we saw no ordinary animal.
Tristan's body turned up weeks afterward, miles from where we
left him. Over time, doctors and
counselors told me trauma does strange things to memory.
I tried to believe it was a desperate exaggeration in my
mind. Now, though, whenever I recall
that night telling you around this fire, I can't help but
picture that creature's face and the way it examined that rose
before slipping back into the shadows.
I remember the night as if it were etched into the back of my
eyelids. I can't seem to close my eyes
without seeing it again. It was back in late October a
few years ago when I decided, against every nagging instinct
in my gut, to take a week long solo hike through the Utah
wilderness. The days were still warm enough
and I thought the trek might clear my head after a tough
year. You know how it is, A few too
many disappointments back-to-back and you just want
to get away from it all. At the time, I never questioned
what else might be out there, hidden among the Pines and dusty
red stones, watching and waiting.
I'd been out for about 3 days when I first felt it, the
sensation that something was following me.
Not just following though, more like stalking, keeping itself
just out of view. The forest was quiet that
afternoon. Too quiet.
Not a single bird called out. Not a branch snapped, not even
the wind dared to whistle. It was as if the entire world
was holding its breath. I wrote it off as nerves.
Maybe I was just tired, hungry, but I picked up my pace.
The sun sank low, stretching out the shadows until they looked
like impossibly long fingers clutching at the ground.
I made camp in a small clearing beside a Creek.
Nothing fancy. My tent was wedged between 2
gnarled junipers. The moon was waning, but still
bright enough. That night.
I remember stirring my cup of instant coffee over my little
campfire, listening to the crackle of burning twigs and the
distant whisper of water flowing over mossy rocks.
Suddenly, there was a rustle just beyond the edge of my
makeshift light. I froze, spoon halfway to my
mouth. With a shaky voice, I called out
Hello like an idiot. There was no answer.
After a few tense moments, I decided it must have been a
raccoon or a fox. I forced a half smile and went
back to my coffee, but I was on edge.
Every shadow seemed to move, every flicker of the fire danced
like something alive and hungry. Then I heard something else.
An animal call that didn't sit right with me.
It was too human sounding, like someone imitating a coyote or a
deer without really knowing how. It made my teeth feel sore, and
the hair on my neck stood on end.
I stood up, my heart hammering. Just beyond my campfire's reach,
I saw a shape, low and twisted, skulking around the perimeter.
I shouted, throwing a rock in that direction.
It scampered back, but not like an animal.
It moved wrong, as if the joints were reversed.
At one point it stood on two legs, then dropped again to
four. Then maybe something else.
It never stayed the same. I tried to focus my eyes, but
the shadows in my own terror made it almost impossible.
I backed slowly toward my tent and grabbed the only weapon I
had, a trekking pole. Pathetic, I know, but it was
better than nothing. The creature, the skinwalker,
let out a sort of hiss that curdled my blood.
Then it mimicked my voice, low and warbled, calling my own name
back at me. Imagine that for a second.
Your own name repeated in a distorted half human voice from
something lurking in the dark. I can't think of anything more
unnerving. I didn't stay to ask questions.
I lunged into my tent, hands shaking so badly I could barely
zip it open. I grabbed my pack, fumble with
the straps, and groped wildly for my flashlight.
Meanwhile, the thing circled outside, each pass sounding
closer, its breath rasping against the nylon tent walls.
I thought I could see its silhouette press in.
Its long fingers or claws or whatever they were tracing along
the fabric. All I could do was hold my
breath, begging silently it wouldn't tear through.
The stench that seeped in with it was like rotten leaves and
old blood, enough to make me gag.
When it finally went quiet, I made a decision.
Staying put would get me killed, no doubt about it.
I switched off my Lantern, slipped out of the tent as
silently as I could, and made a break for the Creek.
I hoped the water might mask my scent or noise.
I ran like I'd never run before, crashing through ferns, ducking
under branches behind me. I heard it shriek like a mocking
laughter, and then the sound of something heavy and fast
pounding through the brush. I don't know how long I ran.
My lungs burned and my legs threatened to collapse, but
somehow I reached a rocky slope near a ravine.
I scrambled up it, half climbing, half crawling on all
fours. At the top I found a narrow
ledge. I pressed myself flat against
the rock, praying it couldn't follow.
And there it was, at the bottom, prowling, sniffing the air.
In the moonlight, I caught a glimpse of its face, if you can
call that a face. It looked almost human, but the
proportions were wrong. The eyes were too large,
reflecting the moonlight like an animal's.
And the mouth, the mouth seemed stretched into a grin that was
part snarl, full of teeth that didn't fit right for what felt
like ours. We were locked like that, me
silent and terrified at pacing below.
I thought at any moment it would find a way up the ledge and I'd
be done for. But then, maybe because it lost
track of me in the dark or grew bored, it turned away, melting
into the shadows, its body shifting shapes as it vanished.
I stayed there all night. I didn't dare move until dawn
painted the sky a safer shade. When I finally climbed down, I
immediately headed back the way I came, not caring that my gear
was left behind. Every sound made me jump.
Every stump or mossy log looked like it could be that thing.
Crouched and waiting, I made it out by midday, staggering into a
Ranger station. I must have looked wild.
Dirty, scratched, eyes wide as saucers.
I never told them the full truth, just said I ran into
something out there and lost my gear.
They nodded, not asking too many questions.
Maybe they knew better. So that's my story.
And let me tell you, even out here, safe by this warm
campfire, surrounded by friends, I still feel a tremor in my
chest when I think of that creature.
Believe me or don't. But if you ever find yourself
alone in those Utah woods and you hear your name whispered
back at you in the dark, run. Don't wait and see what happens
next. Run.