When I was in my teens, my friend Robert and I would often
visit Forest Glen National Park. It's a National Forest preserve
that's located just about 15 miles from my hometown.
It offers camping, fishing, and most importantly for our
purposes back then, many winding trails to hike on.
Robert and I didn't have a whole lot to do back in the day, so
Forest Glen is where we would go to spend a lot of our time.
Both of us enjoyed the outdoors, and we would go hiking on one of
the many trails nearly every day.
Sometimes we do two or three, depending on our mood.
It wasn't long, of course, before we knew them all by heart
and we both had our favorites. That didn't matter though, we
would still go on any of them on any given day.
Eventually, though, time went on and Robert and I grew up.
Robert and I are still good friends, but we hadn't been out
to Forest Glen in a long time. It was recently that I had been
reminiscing about those old trails, though, and I decided
that I wanted to go back out there and visit some of my
favorite spots. So two weeks ago, I called
Robert and asked if he wanted to go back out there with me that
weekend, and to my surprise, he was overjoyed at my proposal.
He said he'd been thinking about going out there himself but just
hadn't gotten around to it, so it was decided.
On Saturday morning we would head out to Forest Glen and meet
up at 1 of Robert's favorite trails.
I made it out to that trail at Forest Glen about 6:10 in the
morning. When I drove out to the reserve,
I parked my car in the spot closest to the trail, but I
didn't see Robert's car. There's more than one entrance
into the park, so I thought that Robert hadn't arrived yet or he
was parked at one of the spots that was near one of the other
entrances. I thought I might call him, but
when I looked at my phone I saw that I only had one bar and
figured that it wouldn't go through.
I should have known the reception would be bad out
there. Stashing the phone in the glove
box, I got out and made my way to the trail.
I started to do some stretches in front of the trail entrance
while I waited for Robert to arrive.
After waiting for what felt like about 10 minutes, I began to
wonder if Robert was going to show up late.
When we made the plans to show up at the trail we agreed on
630. AMI thought about jogging back
to my car to grab my phone and call him after all, but I
decided to instead venture into the trail a little ways and then
return after a moment to see if he had shown up.
I started my walk at a brisk pace into the opening of the
trail. The clear patch of the trails
entrance quickly gave way to a narrow cleared path surrounded
on both sides by a thick growth of brush and tall trees.
The trail seemed a bit more overgrown than I remembered, but
I suppose that was a good thing. It meant that the preserve was
thriving. I did notice, however, that it
was rather quiet out there on the trail.
That isn't to say there was no sound at all.
I could hear the occasional caw of a bird and the rustling of
leaves, but the sound seemed somehow muted.
It was if the entire woods had its volume button turned way
down low. About 3 minutes into my stroll,
I stopped just before a small stream that cut through the
trail. I looked to the other side of
the stream where the trail's path resumed.
The path stretched out a few 100 feet beyond the stream and
looked like it forked off in two different directions as far as I
could tell. This is when I decided to turn
back and wait for Robert at the entrance.
I never knew this trail like Robert used to, and for the life
of me I couldn't remember how far it went.
Before I turned to leave, I knelt down to tie my sneaker.
When I finished, I stood up and had to stifle a scream.
Robert was standing right in front of me, grinning like an
idiot, and when he saw the look on my face, he howled with
laughter. My face went hot and I gritted
my teeth. What the hell man?
I yelled. You nearly gave me a freaking
heart attack. Robert had to stifle his
laughter to be able to reply. Sorry bud, I couldn't help
myself. I was up farther on the trail
when I decided to turn back and wait for you.
When I saw you kneeling here, I just couldn't resist.
I couldn't help but smile after that, and I could feel the red
hot feeling in my face start to drain away.
It's OK, but you did scare the living hell out of me.
I didn't even hear you. Robert said nothing, he only
smiled a wide toothy grin. I gestured down toward the part
of the trail Robert came from. I was wondering if you had
gotten here yet. You can lead, I assume you know
the way? Robert nodded in reply, then
jerked his head back to where the fork in the trail was before
he turned around and bounded over the stream that divided the
trail. When his feet hit the other side
of the small bank, he just kept on running.
Hey, wait up. I called after him.
He acted as if he didn't hear me and carried on deeper into the
wood. I really wasn't prepared to jog
yet. I wanted to walk a little more
1st and stretch out my legs. However, it seemed I didn't have
a choice, and I bounded after Robert, hopping over the stream
and pushing myself to catch up with him.
Robert was jogging at an even pace, but not a quick one, and
soon I was just behind him. Can you wait just a second?
I asked. Why?
What are you afraid of? He asked, turning to me with a
wide, toothy grin that seemed to have not left his face.
That question caught me off guard.
What did he mean by that? Nothing, just need to stretch a
little more before I pull something is all.
Robert didn't stop or slow down, he just kept on smiling as he
turned his head back around to face forward.
You'll be fine. There's a nice place to rest
just after the fork in the trail.
We kept on jogging until we hit the fork, and I followed just
behind Robert every step of the way as we veered off onto the
right path. Shortly after the fork, the
trees of the forest grew denser and numerous, their leaves
blotting out light from the sky above.
Even the path itself started to become more overgrown as weeds
and brush seemed to reach out toward the center of the path,
attempting to catch what sunlight they could.
Where before it seemed that the sounds of the forest were on low
volume, here they seemed to be on mute, as not even a buzzing
of an insect could be heard. Though I could attribute the
muted sounds of the forest to not being able to hear them over
my heavy breath and stomping feet, the dense growth could not
be ignored. This trail doesn't seem very
well maintained. Are you sure you know where
you're going? I asked Robert, still keeping
close pace behind him, though my right leg was starting to burn.
Robert didn't answer but ignored me instead.
Without slowing down, I stopped and knelt down to rub my leg.
I looked up to see Robert stop and turn around to walk back to
where I was kneeling. Sorry man, I told you though I
needed to stretch more. I think I already hurt myself.
Robert just smiled as he leaned on a tree next to me.
Sorry man, I thought you'd be able to make it.
We're not far from a really cool spot.
I just got excited to be out here with you again.
At Robert's words, I couldn't help but laugh and return a
beaming grin back to him. I had no idea he missed being
out here so much. On top of that, it had been a
couple weeks since we had done anything together, so maybe
Robert also just missed hanging out.
I couldn't blame him, I did too, but growing up gets in the way.
Don't sweat it man. I said I really missed this too.
What's the really cool spot you wanted to show me?
Robert's grin seemed to somehow get even bigger.
OK, do you remember that wooden bridge we found one of the last
times we were out here? It has that really deep stream
running under it. The memory came back to me in a
rush. It was vague, but I did remember
finding a bridge the last time we came out here.
I had completely forgotten which trail we found it on, though I
remember the water under that bridge was so clear you could
easily see the fish swimming about within it.
It's on this path? I asked excitedly.
It sure is, and I can't wait to take you there.
I've been down there already, it is absolutely beautiful.
Robert said. I stood up quickly and brushed
some dirt off my knee. Well, let's go.
I exclaimed, walking forward on the trail.
OK, but we can walk, I don't want you to hurt yourself.
Robert said I was going to tell him I would be fine if we jogged
again, but I thought better of it.
Though the excitement that came with the prospect of seeing that
bridge again abated some of the pain in my sore leg, it was
still there. So we walked on, talking about
the memories of being out here on the trails.
As we walked side by side, Robert was recounting things I
hardly remembered. He said he remembered a time
when I scrapped up my knees really bad after a nasty fall on
one of the trails, but I didn't remember that.
For the most part, though, I could recall every memory Robert
had, and I realized how much time we really had spent out
there. We spent nearly all our time out
here as teenagers, staying in shape to try to impress the
girls in school. We had been walking for nearly 5
minutes when Robert said, Hey, do you remember when you fell
down that slope and hit the bottom?
I thought you died. Robert belted out a loud,
booming laugh. I stopped walking because
something about what he said didn't make sense.
I remembered falling down that slope like it was yesterday.
It was terrifying. Robert.
You fell down that slope too, remember?
Robert, who hadn't stopped walking until then, froze just
ahead of me. He turned slowly to me and
slapped a hand to his forehead. Oh, duh.
Yeah, well, I didn't fall as hard as you.
Robert laughed again, dropping his head and gesturing back down
the trail. Come on, we're almost there.
I began to breathe heavily, and I took a step back.
Something was wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I
had to get out of those woods and away from Robert.
I had to get away because a memory had finally resurfaced to
the shore of my recollection. A memory of me falling and
scraping my knees. Robert's grin, for the first
time since he snuck up on me, faded from his face.
What's wrong, bud? He asked, a little shaky.
I need to go back. I said, a little shaky myself.
Robert took a step toward me and a look of concern spread on his
face. Come on man, we're so close, why
do you want to leave? He pleaded.
Because you were home sick the day I scraped my knees.
Robert's eyes widened in realization as I turned tail and
began sprinting in the other direction as fast as my legs
would carry me. Green leaves and brown bark
flashed by in my peripheral vision as a blur.
The sound of wind swished around in my earlobes as I ran.
I couldn't hear footsteps behind me and I was thankful for that.
My right leg throbbed and begged for me to stop, but I wouldn't.
Fear is one hell of a motivator and it pushed me past the fork
in the path and over the small stream that divided the trail.
I never looked back to see if Robert or whatever wore Robert's
skin was following me. Not even once.
I kept my eyes on the path in front of me and focused on not
tripping over anything the whole way back out of the trail.
I didn't stop running till I got into my car.
Once inside, I grabbed the keys that I'd left sitting in the
passenger seat and quickly turned them in the ignition.
I paid no attention to the speed limit as I raced all the way
home. Once at my house, I grabbed my
phone out of the glove box and ran into the house latched the
deadbolt behind me. I turned my phone off when I
stored it in my car at the preserve, so once I got inside I
turned it on and sat on my couch while I waited for it to boot
up. My plan was to call Robert
immediately but when the display on the screen flicked on I saw I
had a text message from Robert. I opened it but I was shaking so
bad from the adrenaline it was a little hard to read.
Hey man, so it looks like we can't go out to Forest Glen.
I was talking to my neighbor this morning and he said they
closed it down. At least 4 hikers have been
found dead by drowning out there.
I hope this gets to you before you leave.
Maybe we can just catch a movie or something.
When I read the last word of the text message, there was a loud
knock at my door. I jumped and stood from my spot
on the couch. The knock came again, even
louder, and I crept over to the door as quietly as I could look
through the peephole. It was Robert.
Robert stood on my front stoop with a wide, toothy grin.
I saw him raise up his hand to knock once more, and as the
sound thundered from the wood of the door, I backed away on my
phone. I searched my contacts for
Robert's name and dialed. After two rings, Robert picked
up. Hey man, what's up?
Robert asked. Robert, where are you right now?
I asked. Well I'm at the store right now,
do you want his voice cut out? As I hung up and immediately
began dialing the police, I explained to the dispatcher that
there was an intruder trying to break into my house and I did
not feel safe. The woman on the other end told
me to remain calm and she would be sending help to my address.
When I hung up with 911, I went to the door once again to look
through the peephole. The Robert imposter was gone
when the police arrived. I just told them someone tried
to break into my house and I came home to find them messing
around with my door before they ran off.
I didn't know what else to say. They said they would file a
report and send a squad car by every couple of hours that day
to make sure everything was fine.
That was two weeks ago. Ever since that day, late at
night, that thing comes back and knocks on my door in a warped
mockery of Robert's voice. It calls to me.
Let me in. It wails.
Let me in. I am just so lonely.
Come be with me. The first time I obviously
called the police and the time after that.
The third time they stopped coming.
That creature is always gone when they get here, but he
always comes back. He's back tonight.
And I can hear him as I sit on my couch with a bottle of Brandy
and a tight grip on the large butcher knife I own.
Oh, please, let me in, it pleads in a gargled whale that sounds
nothing like Robert anymore. I need more friends.
I don't know what the hell is in Forest Glen National Park, but
it followed me home. I was stretched out on my couch,
halfway to drifting off, when a scraping sound pulled me awake.
My living room was dark, every light switched off hours ago, so
I wasn't sure if I'd imagine the noise.
It happened again, a slow, faint scratch that felt too deliberate
to be some random outside disturbance.
I remember thinking how unnerving that kind of quiet can
be, like the walls themselves were waiting for something to
happen. Part of me wanted to ignore it,
retreat under a blanket and pretend everything was normal.
But a stronger part, the part that always has to know, pushed
me to get up. I tiptoed past the darkened
hallway toward the sliding glass door in the back.
The glass was foggy from the cool night air, and for a second
all I saw was my own reflection in the haze.
Then I noticed another shape behind the door.
At first, it looked like a stray dog just standing there, paw
raised against the glass. I reached for the handle,
hesitating as my mind raced. Nobody else should be on my
property, let alone this late. I squinted through the haze,
trying to piece together what kind of animal would be
scratching at a door in the dead of night and why.
A flicker of recognition flooded through me.
That dog wasn't just any dog. It had the same coloring, the
same head tilt, the same soulful eyes I used to know by heart.
My breath caught in my throat. Everything in my chest twisted
with the realization that this was Buddy, my dog, my Buddy from
three years ago. Logic told me Buddy couldn't
possibly be standing there. Buddy was gone, but there he
was, tail wagging in that gentle way as though we'd never been
apart. Without thinking, I slid the
door open. A part of me was terrified, but
an even bigger part was desperate to believe.
Buddy stepped inside, fur brushing against my leg, warm
and soft. Exactly how I remembered.
The tears came before I could stop them.
I knelt down, pressing my cheek to his neck, inhaling that
familiar earthy scent. It was as if no time had passed,
like we'd just spent the evening apart and he was back for
another walk. Things felt almost normal until
morning. That's when the unease sank in.
I set out a bowl of kibble, tossed in some leftover steak,
but Buddy ignored it entirely. It wasn't picky eater refusal
either. He acted like it didn't even
exist. Hours went by with him just
hovering near the back door, occasionally letting out a low
whimper. I tried everything, called his
name, offered water, but his attention stayed fixed on the
yard outside. By the time night rolled around
again, my nerves were frayed. I woke up from a restless doze
around 2:00 in the morning to this raspy, almost labored
breathing. I found Buddy in the hallway,
staring at me in the dim light. His eyes, they weren't the same
brown anymore. They were dark, reflecting
shapes I couldn't really process, and his mouth was
moving like he was whispering words.
I stood there, heart hammering, too stunned to make sense of
what was happening. The next day, I decided to dig
out old photo albums, partly for comfort, partly to reassure
myself I wasn't losing my mind. Flipping through snapshots from
Buddy's last few weeks, I paused on a photo taken in the yard.
I'd never noticed it before, but just behind Buddy, in the corner
of the frame, there was some kind of silhouette peeking
through the edge of the woods. A creeping dread crawled over
me. I slammed the album shut.
That night brought a scratching sound of a different kind, this
time from under the floorboards. My basement was little more than
a crawl space, so I grabbed a flashlight and a crowbar.
Dust billowed as I pried up the wooden panels.
I expected maybe a trapped animal or a broken vent.
Instead, I found Buddy. The real Buddy.
His fur was caked with dirt, ribs half exposed, paws reduced
to bloody tatters. He looked like he'd tried to
claw his way out from under the house.
I staggered back, bile rising in my throat as the realization set
in. Whatever had returned to my home
was not Buddy. A presence loomed behind me when
I turned. The impostor crouched on the
edges of the open floorboards, teeth bared in a grin that
seemed more human than canine. Its breath puffed out in uneven,
rattling gasps, and those eyes, too dark, too deep, locked onto
mine. It spoke, voice crackling with
an edge that didn't belong in any living creature I knew.
In those few seconds, I sensed a wrongness so profound it made
every hair on my body stand on end.
I can't remember making a decision to flee.
My instincts took over, sending me scrambling up the stairs,
flinging open every cupboard until I found the gas can I used
for my lawn mower. I splashed it all over the
floors, the walls, tears stinging my eyes as I did it.
My vision blurred, but I kept going, kept drenching the place
in fuel. A single strike of a match was
all it took. Flames erupted, crawling along
the walls and devouring the floor.
The thing that wore Buddy's form let out a tortured, inhuman cry.
I burst out the front door, coughing on the black smoke that
swirled around me. By the time I stumbled onto the
lawn, the entire house was a flame.
The heat roared behind me, and the air reeked of burning wood
and something far worse. I collapsed onto the grass,
trembling and staring at the inferno.
My mind was a tangled mess of regret.
Grief and the faint hope that nothing that hideous could
possibly survive fire. But that hope didn't last long,
because as I watched the flames dance, I felt an unshakable
sense of dread take hold. I destroyed my home.
Yet a gnawing voice in my head insisted the nightmare was far
from over. I thought burning the house to
the ground would end the nightmare.
After the fire, I drifted between motels for a while,
telling the authorities it was some fluke electrical accident,
until I finally found a small apartment on the second floor of
an old brick building 2 towns over.
It wasn't exactly comforting, but I couldn't stand the idea of
another house with a yard. The last thing I wanted was to
see some shape hovering at the back door again.
Those first few weeks I busied myself unpacking, keeping the TV
on at all hours just to fill the silence.
I double check the locks every night, pull the curtains tight,
and sit awake until morning light peeked through.
Some nights, memories of that imposter dog, its voice croaking
about bringing Buddy back, haunted my thoughts.
A single question stayed lodged in my mind.
Could something that came from beneath the floorboards be
destroyed by fire? Sometimes I convinced myself
yes. Other times, I couldn't shake
the dread that it was only a matter of time before it
reappeared. Eventually, I forced myself back
into a routine Go to work, eat something, come home, repeat.
It felt robotic, but I needed normalcy.
Then, around three weeks after I moved in, I was jolted awake by
a faint tapping on the glass. For a moment, I told myself it
was nothing, maybe a branch outside or a pigeon perched on
the window sill. But the noise persisted.
Slow, rhythmic, calculated. My gut tightened and every
instinct I had screamed to stay in bed.
Instead, I found myself creeping toward the window.
My apartment sits on the 2nd floor, well above St.
Level. Nobody should be out there,
especially not an animal. I inched the curtain aside.
Dim street light illuminated the shape of a dog hunched on the
flimsy fire escape. Wet fur matted its body, and two
gleaming eyes locked with mine. If I hadn't seen this with my
own eyes, I would have called myself crazy.
It lifted a paw as though to wave.
A moment later, its mouth stretched into a bizarre grin.
Something about that smile made my hands tremble against the
window sill. I stumbled back, nearly tripping
over a chair in my rush to the bathroom.
My heart thudded so loudly I thought it might burst.
I pressed my ear to the door, unsure if it had followed me
inside. Nothing.
Just oppressive silence. Then I noticed something on the
floor. A few clumps of damp dirt
scattered across the tiles. My stomach lurched.
How did that get in here? I took a shaky breath, flicked
on the light and saw it. Buddy's old collar lying near
the sink. The leather was split, stained
with what looked like old dried blood.
I spent the rest of the night crammed in the bathroom corner,
unable to sleep. By morning I convinced myself
I'd had a stress induced hallucination.
Yet when I ventured out, every muscle stiff and sore, I found
the dog calmly sitting in my kitchen.
It looked cleaner now, fur dry and bright.
The creature turned its head, ears up, tail wagging in an
imitation of normal canine behavior.
For a second I allowed myself to imagine it was the real buddy,
back from the grave, eager to greet me like old times.
Then it spoke. Its voice sounded almost gentle,
a near whisper that made my stomach twist.
It said it had come back for me, that it was here to stay.
My chest tightened as I took a step back.
The creature stood, its nails clicking on the tile.
There was a ripping sound when the fur around its front legs
tore, revealing something like twisted fingers beneath.
They flexed, almost human in shape but capped with blackened
claw like tips. In that moment I wanted to bolt
for the door, but it moved impossibly fast, blocking my
path. Its eyes bored into mine.
The stench of earth and something rotten filled the air.
A distorted laugh, part snarl, part hissing breath escaped its
throat. My head spun with the
realization that I had no gasoline here, no plan, no
escape route from a second floor apartment.
All I had was raw terror and a desperate need to survive.
Somehow, adrenaline kicked in. I lunged around it, flung the
front door open and barreled down the hallway, not caring
about the neighbors or the echo of my footfalls.
My thoughts blurred with fear, memories, and some twisted
semblance of guilt that I'd ever buried Buddy in the 1st place.
As I fled, I could practically sense it smiling behind me, as
if sure I had nowhere left to hide.
Even now, I can't settle. The knowledge it found me again
clings to my thoughts. Every Creek of the building,
every rustle outside my window sets me on edge.
It isn't just a haunting presence, it's relentless.
No matter where I run, it finds a way in wearing my beloved
dog's face. And as much as I try convincing
myself otherwise, I know this battle is far from over.
It all started with the way the sky turned that yellowish Gray
color right before the clouds open up.
I was sitting in our cramped living room, listening to the
wind rattle the window frames, waiting for my parents to say
goodbye before they drove off to their gig.
The house wasn't much more than some creaky boards glued
together with mismatched nails, and every storm felt like a
personal attack on its fragile structure.
My younger brother Eric was at the kitchen table, coloring in
some old magazine pages since we didn't have real coloring books.
The tension in the air made everything feel off.
When my folks finally headed out, I watched from the screen
door as their beat up sedan disappeared along the rain slick
dirt Rd. The plan was for Eric and me to
camp out in the living room, maybe watch an old VHS tape if
the power didn't conk out. Instead I just paced around the
tiny space, eyes darting to the windows every time the wind made
them shudder. The storm was getting worse by
the minute, fat drops pounding the roof, Thunder rolling
through the valley like distant explosions.
I decided to check on Moose, our so-called guard dog.
He was more lanky than intimidating, and my dad had
tied him to a rusted engine block on the screened porch.
It wasn't pretty, but it kept him from wandering off.
Moose was usually pretty mellow, spending his days flopped on the
porch, only barking at random shadows now and then to night,
though the wind had him shifting around, ears back, tail tucked.
The second I opened the porch door to see if he was OK, it
nearly blew off its hinges, letting in a gust of wet air
that chilled the entire front. Hall Moose perked up, probably
wondering if I was taking him inside, but my dad never allowed
that. Before I could check the knots
on his chain, the wind slammed again.
This time, the front door's flimsy latch gave way, and it
wrenched completely loose from the frame.
It felt like a giant had peeled it back just for fun.
Moose freaked out and jerked against the chain, which scraped
along the concrete floor of the porch with a shrill metallic
sound. By the time I turned around, he
was already lunging outside, trailing that chain behind him.
The sight of our only watchdog bolting into a raging storm sent
a jolt of panic straight through my gut.
I slammed a foot against the door, what was left of it
anyway, just to keep more rain from rushing in.
Eric, eyes wide, stood in the hallway, his little hands
clenched in fear. I had this moment of indecision.
Should I chase Moose? Should I stay inside?
And hope he came back. My parents would never believe
I'd done everything I could if that dog went missing and Eric
was too young to help. So I told him to stay put and
not open any doors no matter what.
We didn't have a real lock to secure the front, just a rusty
hook latch that hung crooked from the wood, but it was the
best we could do. I grabbed my father's giant
rubber boots from the corner. They nearly swallowed my legs,
but they. Were the only protection I had
from the ankle deep water forming outside.
No flashlight insight. Either I forgot in the rush or I
was too rattled to think straight.
The wind roared like it was daring me to come out, and I
did. The rain hit me so hard it might
as well have been hail. It felt like the storm was
trying to drive me back into the house, but I forced my way
across the yard, yelling Moose's name.
A flash of lightning revealed a quick glimpse of him scrambling
down the back slope, heading for the Creek.
That Creek was already more of a raging stream from the downpour,
and our makeshift bridge was basically 2 planks set across
the bank. I let out a shaky breath, not
that it helped, and charged after him.
Mud sucked at my boots with each step, and Thunder pounded
overhead. I could see branches flailing,
the trees bent at unnatural angles.
Everything looked like it might snap at any second.
Despite the roaring wind, I managed to pick out the scrape
of Moose's chain. It guided me like a beacon,
though it was faint and easily drowned out by each Thunder
clap. I lost track of time stomping
through the yard. Maybe it was a minute, maybe 10.
Finally, I reached the Creek just as another jagged bolt of
lightning streaked across the sky.
The old planks were slick and crooked, but I had no choice.
I gingerly stepped on the wood, praying I wouldn't slip into the
raging water. For a split second, I glanced
behind me toward the house. The dim glow from our living
room window was barely visible through the sheets of rain.
I wished I could turn around and retreat, but Moose was out there
alone, and that thought twisted my stomach.
So I pushed on, crossing the bridge in two large strides,
boots squelching loudly. The sound of Moose's chain
seemed further up toward the mountain.
The slope beyond the Creek was a tangle of briars and soggy
leaves, and it didn't help that darkness clung to every inch of
the forest. 1 misstep and I'd be sliding down into the water, or
worse. Still, it was better than going
home empty handed to face my father's wrath.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep moving.
Overhead, Thunder boomed again, so powerful it rattled my ribs.
The forest ahead swayed as if alive, full of silhouettes
shifting against each other. Something about it felt
unnatural, like it was quietly waiting for me, bidding its
time. My pulse hammered away, and my
thoughts spun with every possible bad scenario.
All I knew was Moose was out there and I had to find him
before something else did. I gritted my teeth, hands
shaking, and started up the slope.
If I were lucky, Moose was just around the bend, maybe tangled
in a Bush if not. Well, I tried not to think about
that. Either way, there was no going
back. I trudged forward, the roar of
the storm making every step feel like I was venturing deeper into
another world. The Creek was just behind me,
its water raging loud enough to drown out almost everything else
I'd crossed on those slippery planks, heart pounding in my
ears, so it took me a second to realize that Moose's chain had
gone quiet. The silence felt wrong.
Somehow. Even with the rain pounding
leaves and the Thunder crashing above, I had this deep sense
that something out here was holding its breath.
I kept calling Moose's name, my voice ragged.
A flash of lightning lit the trees for an instant, revealing
the chaos of the forest floor. Tangled undergrowth, small
streams of runoff winding between boulders and everything
slicked with water. No sign of Moose.
I pushed on, boots squelching and ankle deep mud.
The wind whistled between branches, almost like it was
whispering warnings I couldn't quite understand.
After another minute of struggling uphill, that smell
hit me. It was a stench so foul my
throat seized in protest, like rotting meat left out in the
summer heat. I'd come across dead animals
before, out in the Appalachian wilderness, but this was
different. It was stronger, like a carcass
that had been there a week or more, oozing and attracting
flies. Except I couldn't hear any
flies, just the thumping of the storm around me.
Whatever it was, it made me want to turn around and run, but I
forced myself to keep going. If Moose had gotten hurt or
tangled somewhere, I couldn't leave him.
My eyes watered from the vile odor, and the mud sucked at each
step. A branch snapped overhead,
making me jump like something had stepped on it.
I whipped around, but all I saw was the black swirl of the
forest in the downpour. I tried to swallow back the
dread and called out again. Moose.
My voice came out sounding desperate, bouncing off wet
trunks. The Thunder grumbled its
response. No chain sounds, no whining dog,
nothing. Lightning flashed once more,
cutting the darkness for maybe half a second.
In that brief light, I spotted something pale on the ground a
few yards away. My stomach churned as I took a
cautious step closer. It looked like an animal's rib
cage, possibly a deer's, picked clean to the bone.
The edges were dark and ragged, as if something had gnawed on
them. Rainwater and mud slicked the
remains, making the bones gleam unnaturally.
I felt a wave of nausea, but terror kept me from throwing up.
The wind gusted hard. And the leaves overhead thrashed
as though furious. I was still there.
I realized the smell might be coming from that carcass, but it
felt like there was more to it, like something else was in the
air beyond just death. Something old and malevolent.
Then lightning illuminated the area once again, but this time I
noticed that certain patches of the forest weren't lighting up
at all. It was as if a section of the
trees had been painted with ink so black the light refused to
touch it. I blinked, trying to clear
rainwater from my eyes, certain it had to be a trick of shadows.
Except it stayed there, a dense void where tree trunks and
undergrowth should have been. Suddenly, I heard a barking
frenzy. My head snapped to the right and
in the dim, stuttering light, Moose bounded into view, chain
clattering on rocks. He was soaked in wild eyed
barking at that patch of darkness.
I yelled his name again, voice cracking in relief.
He kept barking, the chain tangling around his legs as he
inched closer to the void. Every instinct in me screamed to
keep him away from whatever that was.
I stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance, and
managed to snatch the chain just before he lunged.
Moose's hackles were raised and a low growl rattled in his
throat. The barking stopped abruptly, as
if he realized we were both in serious danger.
Then a low rumble echoed from higher up the slope, a sound
deeper than any animal I'd encountered.
It felt like it vibrated through my ribs, so heavy I nearly lost
my balance in the mud. That was enough for both of us.
I yanked Moose back and we started downhill.
Calling it a retreat would be an understatement.
It was a panic scramble. The ground seemed determined to
keep us there, slipping under my feet every time Lightning
revealed tree limbs. We jerked around them, half
expecting something massive to burst through the brush.
Moose fought the chain in terror, but for once, he and I
were on the same page. We needed to get out of there,
and fast. The descent was a blur of
snapping twigs and thorns slicing at my arms.
Rain plastered my hair to my face, forcing me to wipe my eyes
constantly. I barely kept track of Moose's
chain in my hand. A flash of lightning was
followed by the biggest boom of Thunder I'd heard all night.
It rattled the leaves off nearby branches.
The steep slope made me feel like I was skiing on wet leaves.
My boots slipped and I nearly fell face first into the muck.
Behind me, a loud crash echoed like a gigantic branch broke
under tremendous weight. Maybe it was just the wind, or
maybe it was whatever made that growl.
I didn't even want to look back. The only thing that mattered was
getting Moose and me across that Creek and back to the house.
When I finally spotted the Creek below, lightning flickered
again. For a split second, I swear I
glimpsed a tall, vaguely distorted shape higher up on the
slope. The very air around it seemed to
bend. I squeezed Moose's chain,
practically dragging him the last few yards.
The planks that served as our bridge looked even more rickety,
now half submerged by the swollen water.
With no real plan, I splashed across water, sloshing into my
boots. Moose leapt beside me,
spattering mud everywhere. Another vicious gust hammered
the trees, and I heard a crunch of wood.
My imagination. Or maybe not conjured the idea
that something huge was only a dozen yards behind us, snapping
branches in its path. I didn't wait to confirm.
Moose and I stumbled back into what was left of our yard, the
faint glow from the house's window like a beacon.
My legs burned with exhaustion and my lungs stung from
breathing so hard. The storm still raged, but as
awful as it was, it felt safer than whatever lurked deeper in
the forest. The door had swung shut behind
me when I left, and I could see Eric's small face pressed to the
glass, eyes large. He was waiting, probably
terrified. Moose and I darted up the muddy
slope to the porch. I nearly collapsed onto the
door, fumbling to get it open. My hands shook so badly I could
barely work the latch. Finally it gave, and we toppled
inside. I slammed the door behind us,
though there wasn't much left of it to bolt.
Rain dripped from my clothes in a steady trail.
Moose shook himself, spraying water all over.
Still breathing hard, I pressed my ear to the door, half
expecting something to slam against it, but all I heard was
the storm raging outside. Eric stood by the dim lamp on
the side table, looking so small that my heart hurt to see him.
He opened his mouth to ask a question, maybe about what
happened out there, but I just raised a hand, still gasping.
There was nothing I could say that would make sense.
Not yet. Instead, I walked over to the
window, parted the threadbare curtain a fraction, and looked
out into the darkness. My eyes strained to spot any
movement or shape. The rain blurred everything into
a shifting mess of shadows, yet I couldn't shake the idea that
something was still out there, watching, listening, waiting.
In that moment, the storm outside no longer felt like the
biggest threat. Something else was lurking in
the Appalachian Mountains that night, and I'd come terrifyingly
close to it. I had no clue what it was or how
it had stayed hidden. All I knew was that we'd barely
gotten away, and I didn't want to test our luck twice.
By morning, I was running on fumes.
I'd spent most of the night in the living room, fighting the
urge to fall asleep. Eric dozed in a chair with Moose
curled at his feet, a rare moment of calm for that dog, who
was still damp from our Sprint through the storm.
The rain finally started letting up at sunrise, and it gave me
just enough courage to crack open the busted door and peer
out. The yard looked waterlogged and
torn up, like a battleground of mud and broken branches.
Before I could decide whether to investigate the Creek, my
parents barged in, complaining about the warped door.
My dad, wearing an old denim jacket spotted with rain, took
one glance at the wood we'd rigged as a latch and muttered
something about lousy craftsmanship before turning on
me. He wanted to know why the door
was off its frame, why everything smelled like wet dog,
and what had happened during the night.
My explanation came out rushed and jumbled.
Moose ran off. I chased him.
The storm was insane. Something in the woods.
He cut me off with a wave of his hand.
The expression on his face said he was in no mood for what he
believed were wild stories. He turned around and stomped out
the door, grumbling that he'd check for any real damage and
see if any punks messed with our stuff.
My mother followed, giving me a tired look that hovered between
concern and annoyance. I stood there, knuckles sore
from gripping Moose's chain so tight the night before.
A part of me. Wanted to just let my dad go,
but my gut told me I should see what he found at the Creek.
The memory of that snarling sound, the rotten smell and the
impossible darkness clung to my mind like a stain.
Eric stayed inside to calm Moose while I stepped out into the
dreary morning. Rain still dripped from the
gnarled trees overhead. The sky was a dull grey that
made everything look washed out except for scattered piles of
shattered wood leading toward the Creek.
I followed the splinters, my boots sliding in patches of
thick mud. My parents were already ahead,
picking their way down the slope.
The bridge, or what was left of it, looked like something had
crushed and shredded it overnight.
Chunks of rotted plank lay in the swollen water, and jagged
spikes stuck up at odd angles. My dad crouched on the muddy
bank, running his hand over a broken piece.
His lips tightened in anger. Kids with no respect, he said
under his breath, though he didn't explain how any kid could
have snapped boards in such a savage way.
My mom glanced over at me, her eyebrows raised.
She hadn't said much since we got here, just stared at the
destruction with a pale face. I could see the gears turning in
her head, trying to reconcile this with the idea of some
troublemakers running around in the rain.
It didn't fit, and I think she knew it, but she wasn't about to
admit it out loud. The smell of decay had faded
somewhat, replaced by the dank odor of morning fog and wet
earth, but I couldn't shake the memory of it.
I shuffled closer to the water, scanning the opposite bank.
The forest beyond seemed calm, just dripping leaves in the
faint Babble of the Creek in broad daylight.
There was no sign of that strange void or the presence I
sensed before. It was like the mountain had
returned to its usual self, just another stretch of Appalachians
brimming with wild critters and tall trees.
My dad grabbed a loose plank and threw it aside.
He gestured for me to come over and pointed at deep scratches
along the wood. Teeth marks.
He snapped, as though I was the expert.
The edges were jagged, as if something had gnawed or torn at
the plank with an unbelievable force.
He shook his head. Beavers, maybe, he mumbled,
though I'd never heard of Beavers large enough to snap a
thick board in one bite. He stood up, rubbing his hands
on his jacket, looking over the muddy mess.
I'll have to fix this, he said, then shot me a glare.
Next time, keep that dog under control.
We can't afford to replace everything.
He tears up. I wanted to argue, to tell him
it wasn't. Moose.
But I could already see the disbelief in his eyes.
He'd made-up his mind that local hoodlums or some oversized
animal caused all the chaos. We made our way back toward the
house, my dad muttering plans to gather more wood and reinforce
the place. My mom trailed behind him, arms
crossed. I suspected she had questions
about what really happened, but she stayed quiet.
I had a bunch of questions myself, and none of them had
good answers. Inside, Eric was petting Moose,
who seemed exhausted, like he had no fight left.
The dog wouldn't even look at the door, and every time a gust
of wind shook the house, he pressed himself tighter against
Eric's legs. My parents wanted breakfast and
coffee, so they shooed us out of the kitchen.
We ended up back in the living room, facing the window that
gave a perfect view of the yard and the dripping woods beyond.
Eric whispered. Was it a bear?
I shook my head, not sure how to respond.
A bear might tear up a plank, sure, but the snarl I'd heard on
the slope wasn't quite animal. I thought about telling him
everything. The black void, the smell, the
mangled carcass, I saw, but I couldn't bring myself to terrify
him even more. We'd barely slept as it was.
The day rolled on, dull and gloomy.
With my parents hauling tools out to patch up the front door,
I stood in the yard, eyes drifting toward the tree line.
In normal weather, it was just a typical patch of forest, crowded
with ferns and oak trees, occasional deer tracks.
Now I pictured the twisted remains of the bridge and that
unnatural darkness hidden somewhere up the slope, waiting
for another storm or another unwary wanderer.
My mom called me to help with the door, so I wandered back and
hammered nails where my dad pointed, trying not to think
about the place beyond the Creek.
It felt like just a few short hours ago.
We've been running for our lives, certain that something
monstrous was on our heels. But with the daylight creeping
in, nobody wanted to mention it. Nobody wanted to believe
anything unexplainable lurked this close to our house.
Eventually, when the door was half fixed, my parents turned
their attention to the yard and started ranting about muddy
footprints and the battered porch.
The tension in the house was like a tightening knot.
Nobody felt safe, but we all pretended it was just a typical
morning after a storm. I retreated to my room for a
bit, peeling off the filthy clothes I still had on.
Part of me wanted to ask if we could leave even for a day, Go
stay with someone else until the weather cleared, but we barely
had enough gas money to get my parents to their gig.
They weren't about to up and vacate the house because of one
scary night. I kept glancing out my window,
half expecting a sudden movement near the tree line.
Nothing showed, just water dripping from branches and
leftover fog hugging the base of the mountains.
Under a normal sky, it might even look serene, but I'd seen
what the night could hide. My heart thudded every time I
remembered that rumbling growl echoing through the storm.
The next few hours dragged on. Eric tried to calm Moose with
bits of food, but the dog wouldn't leave his side.
My parents acted like the real villain was the wind, or maybe
some vandals who'd chosen the worst weather possible to play
pranks. Nobody acknowledged that the
broken bridge splintered into fragments was too extreme for a
casual prank. Nobody wanted to confront the
idea that something beyond ordinary had trampled those
planks into matchsticks. Once the evening arrived, a sick
feeling settled in my stomach. The sky was clearing, stars
beginning to peek out. Normally, I'd be relieved to see
no more rain, but a clear night meant every dark corner of the
forest stood out in sharp detail.
I caught myself scanning the window again, searching the
edges for any shape that didn't belong.
There was no sign of that darkness or the stench of decay,
yet I couldn't convince myself it was truly gone.
The Appalachians had plenty of hidden corners, caves, and
hollows where something could live without being disturbed.
Maybe it only came out in storms, or maybe we'd simply
stumbled upon its territory at the wrong moment.
I hated not knowing. I helped Eric settle in for the
night, keeping Moose next to us. We sat on the worn couch, lights
off, just quietly looking at the window.
Sometimes you can feel safer in the dark if you think nothing
can see you yet. I was aware of everything, every
Creek in the rafters, every gust of wind outside.
A branch scraped the roof and I nearly jumped.
But no monstrous shadow loomed at the window.
No. Chain rattling chase played out
in the yard. When my parents finally turned
in, the house fell into an uneasy silence.
Eric drifted to sleep eventually, arms wrapped around
Moose like a security blanket. I sat there, staring past their
forms at the night beyond the window, gripping the couch
cushions until my fingers hurt. The moonlight made the tree line
visible, turning the shapes of trunks and tangled branches into
black silhouettes. Part of me tried to believe
nothing was out there, but it was a hollow belief.
Somewhere in those mountains, something was waiting, something
I'd practically run headlong into when chasing moose.
Something that snapped planks, left bones in the mud, and made
a sound that shook the ground like a tremor.
I just prayed it wasn't peering back this way, remembering my
scent. The idea sent my heart rattling
in my chest. And so I sat through the night,
wide awake, glancing at the window every time a breeze
stirred a branch. If the thing from the storm
decided to come back, I knew our patched up door wouldn't be
enough to keep it out, but all I could do was cling to hope that
daylight would keep it at Bay. That maybe this horror was
finished with us, or at least satisfied enough to leave us
alone for a while longer.