I've always believed there's no better therapy than a weekend in
the woods. Fresh air, the scent of pine
needles under foot, and the kind of silence that's hard to find
in the city. These were the thoughts playing
on my mind as the SUV rumbled along the dirt trail, with the
four of us sharing laughter, past camping tales, and the kind
of comfortable banter that comes from years of friendship.
Remember last summer at Red Creek?
Jack said with a chuckle. Gary fell right into the water,
trying to catch that trout with his bare hands.
Gary scowled, though there was amusement in his eyes.
In my defense, I nearly had it. Lucy, always the Peacekeeper,
intervened before the friendly banter turned into a fullblown
reminiscence. War.
Let's just hope this trip doesn't involve anyone taking an
unplanned swim, she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I focused on the road. Guiding the vehicle passed a
particularly gnarly stretch of terrain.
It wasn't my first time driving through rugged landscapes, and
there was something about maneuvering through nature's
obstacles that I always found satisfying.
Still, today's destination was a new one for all of us, a
secluded part of the forest that came highly recommended by a
fellow hiker. By late afternoon, the dense
trees parted to reveal our campsite.
It was a quiet, serene spot, a small clearing bordered by tall
Pines and spruces. A gentle stream bubbled nearby,
its waters clear and inviting. Looks perfect, Lucy commented,
stepping out of the vehicle and taking a deep breath.
Her hair, which was typically confined in a neat bun, was now
surrendering to the gentle breeze, loose strands framing
her face. Gary and Jack were already
unloading the gear, their earlier banter replaced by the
kind of efficient teamwork you'd expect from seasoned campers.
We had a system in place. Lucy and I would handle the
tents while the guys took care of gathering firewood.
As the sun began its descent, casting golden hues upon the
forest floor, I couldn't shake off a particular thought.
The woods around us were silent, but not the usual tranquil
silence I was accustomed to. This was deeper, more profound.
It was as if nature itself held its breath, watching and
waiting, lost in my musings. I almost didn't hear Lucy's
voice. Everything.
Okay. I nodded, brushing off my
concerns. Just soaking it all in, I
replied, forcing a smile. She seemed to accept this, and
we got to work Soon. Our tent stood proud, and a fire
was crackling cheerily in the makeshift pit, jacket dug as
darkness began to creep in, stealing the vibrant colors of
the day. We all settled around the
campfire. The logs popped and hissed,
throwing sporadic bursts of sparks into the night.
We talked, laughed, and shared stories, the camaraderie a
welcome distraction from the lingering unease I felt.
But as the flames danced higher and our shadows grew longer, I
couldn't help but wonder if we were truly alone in these woods,
or if something else was quietly observing our intrusion into its
domain. The night was still young, but
an underlying tension had settled like the prelude to a
storm, and deep down I feared the night had more in store for
us than just stories and laughter.
The fire was our anchor, it's warmth countering the creeping
cold of the night. But as the shadows lengthened
and deepened, there was an underlying note of anxiety in
our conversation. The city's ambient noise was
something we had left behind, and out here the silence was
amplified. At first it was just the random,
barely audible rustling of leaves, but soon enough there
were noises that didn't fit the usual pattern of the forest, a
twig breaking the soft thought of something heavy touching the
ground. Probably just deer passing
through, Gary remarked, trying to inject some reason into the
growing unease, but his voice lacked the usual confidence, and
it didn't do much to dispel the tension.
We tried to drown the unsettling forest murmurs with our own
tales and laughter. Lucy, in a valiant attempt to
divert our attention, began recounting her encounter with a
bear during a solo hike. Jack, not to be outdone,
launched into his story about being stalked by a Mountain
Lion. I strained my ears, trying to
discern the sources of the sounds around us, and then,
quite suddenly, the distant thought of footsteps, heavy,
deliberate, closing in. Did anyone hear that?
Jack whispered, his jovial demeanor gone.
Everyone nodded, eyes wide. It's strange how shared fear can
create a bond, and how it can draw people closer without
words. We all shifted, subtly forming a
tighter circle around the fire. Lucy, ever the voice of reason,
tried to reassure us. It could be another camper or
hiker, right? But the logic didn't quite land.
This part of the woods was meant to be secluded, and besides,
there was something off about the footfalls.
They weren't the regular rhythm of a human, they were too
irregular. It wasn't just footsteps now.
There were other noises, the soft whisper of something
brushing against a tree trunk, the faintest hint of breathing.
As the reality of our isolation set in, a genuine fear began to
take hold. The darkness beyond our campfire
was thick, impenetrable. It felt as if it was pressing in
on us, trapping us. A pair of eyes glowed
momentarily in the distance, catching the fire's light, then
disappearing just as quickly. I felt Lucy's grip tightened on
my arm. Jack and Gary, meanwhile, had
grabbed hold of the larger sticks from our woodpile,
holding them like makeshift weapons.
It's just an animal. Gary tried to reassure himself
more than anyone else. A raccoon, perhaps, or a deer.
But deep down I knew better. Deer didn't have eyes that
glowed like that, and they didn't make footsteps that
sounded so deliberate. The noises circled our camp, the
unseen presence making itself felt but not seen.
Hours seemed to pass, though it was likely only minutes.
Finally, as abruptly as they started, the noises stopped.
The forest returned to its previous stillness, the silence
even more oppressive than before.
We sat there, too stunned to speak, the weight of what had
transpired pressing down on us. Whatever had been out there in
the dark had chosen to retreat for now.
But as we tried to gather our composure, one question loomed
large in my mind. What was it watching and waiting
for? The forest seemed to come alive
with every imagined horror my mind could conjure.
Each rustle of leaves, each brush of wind against our tent,
magnified by the consuming darkness, was a reminder of our
vulnerability. Jack broke the silence with a
murmur. We need a plan, something better
than sitting here like bait. But even as he spoke, the dread
grew palpable. We were surrounded by an
oppressive weight, the kind that pushes down on your chest,
making every breath and effort. Lucy, ever the resilient one,
tried to rally us. We stick together no matter
what. Maybe it's gone, but any hope of
that vanished when it happened. A scream, raw, visceral, echoing
through the trees with a chilling resonance, A sound that
was neither animal nor completely human.
A cry of anguish mixed with an unearthly fury, Gary's face
drained of color. What the hell was that?
He whispered, barely able to find his voice.
The scream faded as quickly as it had appeared, but it left a
void, a silence so complete that my own heartbeat sounded like a
drum in my ears. And just when I thought the
tension was insurmountable, Lucy's voice, trembling but
determined, broke through. We need to check if everyone's
okay. We did a hurried roll call.
Jack, Lucy, Gary, and me, all present, all shaken.
The initial shock gave way to an adrenaline fueled need to act.
We can't stay here, I said. Whatever's out there might come
back, Jack, ever, the pragmatist, countered.
But we don't know what's out there.
It's safer to stay put until dawn.
Debate ensued, but the woods had another plan.
That haunting scream returned louder, closer, and more
desperate. It was as if the forest itself
was resonating with the agony of that cry.
This time it was unmistakably clear.
The sound was drawing nearer. Panic spread like wildfire.
We abandoned thoughts of leaving and instead huddled together in
the largest tent. Gary and Jack, gripping their
makeshift weapons, took guard at the entrance, their silhouettes
framed against the dim light filtering through the tent
fabric. Lucy and I sat close,
flashlights in hand, casting weak beams that seemed to be
swallowed by the overwhelming darkness.
We didn't speak. Words seemed inadequate, and the
only communication was the silent exchange of glances, each
one asking the same question. What is out there?
Time lost its meaning. Moments stretched into hours,
and each sound, each hint of movement outside, sent a fresh
wave of terror coursing through us.
And just when the night seemed endless, the scream echoed
again, right outside our tent. It's volume overpowering, it's
pain palpable. Then, just as suddenly, silence.
Dawn felt like a distant dream, a forgotten memory of safety.
The oppressive weight of the forest, the unknown entity
lurking just beyond our sight, held us captive.
The only certainty was our shared fear, the realization
that we were trapped in a real life nightmare, one that showed
no sign of ending. Yet even as hope dwindled, a
shared resolve grew amongst us. We might be prey, but we
wouldn't go down without a fight.
And as the night wore on, with every shiver and every shared
look of determination, our bond strengthened, forged in the
fires of shared terror, The first light of dawn pierced the
trees, providing A meager but welcome reprieve from the
suffocating darkness. With the veil of night lifted,
the forest took on a different feel, a deceptive serenity
masking the terror of the previous hours.
I cautiously unzip the tent, the sound almost unbearably loud in
the morning stillness. The campsite, which had been a
source of joy and anticipation just yesterday, now resembled a
war zone. Overturned belongings,
scattered, embers of a long extinguished fire, and our once
cozy tents now looking vulnerable and exposed.
Jack emerged from another tent, rubbing his eyes but alert.
We need to pack up fast. Lucy nodded in agreement, her
usually radiant face drawn and pale.
Let's get out of here before whatever that was comes back.
Yet as we hurriedly began to dismantle the camp, Gary's voice
brought us to an abrupt stop. Guys, come see this.
We gathered around where he stood, and a collective gasp
escaped us. Encircling our tents was a
series of symbols intricately etched into the earth, a
chilling mix of runes and patterns that seemed both
archaic and menacing. The realization hit us hard.
While we had huddled together in fear, something had been here,
silently marking its territory, taunting us.
Is this some kind of sick joke? Lucy whispered, looking at each
of us, searching for an answer. But the raw fear in our eyes
mirrored hers. This was no prank.
We had unknowingly trespassed on hallowed or cursed ground.
It's a warning, Jack murmured, tracing one of the symbols with
a shaky finger. The pattern seemed to exude a
cold energy, making the air around them drop several
degrees. With a newfound urgency, we
worked in unison, packing up our gear.
Every rustle of the leaves, every chirp of a bird made us
jump. Our sanctuary had turned into a
prison, and we were the hunted. As we prepared to leave, I
couldn't shake off a feeling of being watched.
I scanned the tree line, half expecting to see those glowing
eyes again, or perhaps some shadowy figure observing us.
But there was nothing, only the oppressive weight of the woods
and its secrets. Gary, who had been silent for a
while, suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with fear.
We need to make sure we don't take any of this with us.
He pointed towards the symbols, suggesting that they might
somehow attach or transfer their malevolence to our belongings.
Although it sounded like a stretch, none of us were in the
mood to argue. We carefully checked our gear,
making sure no trace of the ominous symbols came with us.
The forest, once a playground, had revealed its hidden teeth,
and we weren't about to take any chances as we finally left the
campsite. The forest felt different.
The trees which had stood silent Sentinels during our ordeal now
whispered among themselves as if discussing the intruders who had
dared disturb their realm. Every step towards civilization
was a step away from the harrowing nightmare, but the
scars of the experience were indelible.
The forest had shown us a glimpse of what lay beyond the
known a dark underbelly that existed alongside our everyday
reality. And even as the sounds of the
city grew louder, signaling our return to safety, the woods
eerie whispers seemed to follow, a reminder of the night we'd
never forget. The days turned into weeks, and
the city's hustle and bustle, once annoying now, felt like a
comforting embrace. But the shadows of that
ill-fated camping trip clung to me like a second skin refusing
to be shed. I'd taken to avoiding any
semblance of wilderness Parks, tree lined streets and even
potted plants felt like portals to that dreadful night, but it
was the nights that were the worst.
The veil of darkness would descend, and with it the
memories would come flooding back, visceral and raw.
Jack, Lucy, Gary and I had become inseparable after the
incident we met, often holding on to each other as life lines.
There was solace and shared trauma.
During one such gathering, Lucy whispered what we'd all been
thinking. It followed us back.
We'd all felt it. The oppressive weight, the sense
of being watched, the nightmares that seemed almost real.
And then there were the symbols. The ones we'd found in circling
our campsite had started appearing elsewhere, scribbled
in the margins of a newspaper, etched faintly on a frosted
window. Even in the shadows cast by the
evening sun, Gary, always the researcher, had dived deep into
ancient texts, searching for any reference to these symbols.
He'd found something an old legend spoke of a forest spirit,
neither good nor evil, but fiercely protective of its
territory. Any who trespassed with ill
intent or disrespected its domain would be marked.
These symbols were its claim, a sign that the trespassers belong
to the forest. It says here that, once marked,
there's no escape. The forest will reclaim its own,
Gary had said, his voice quivering.
We'd scoffed, attributing our experiences to trauma and shared
hallucinations. But deep down, a seed of dread
had been planted. It grew with every whispered
wind, every rustling leaf, and every shadow that seemed to
stretch just a tad too long. One evening, as the sun cast its
golden hue over the city, I found myself drawn to a park.
The trees bathed in that golden light seemed inviting.
The memories of the camping trip felt like a distant dream.
Maybe it was time to face my fears.
Stepping into the park, I felt an immediate chill.
The world around me seemed to blur the city sounds replaced by
an eerie silence. Before me stood the forest, its
trees tall and imposing, their branches stretching out like
gnarled fingers. It was as if I had been
transported back to that fateful night.
A familiar rustling caught my attention, and I turned, half
expecting to see my friends. Instead, I was met with those
haunting, glowing eyes. They were not alone.
All around the forest seemed alive with similar eyes, all
focused on me, their intensity unwavering, a cold wind, blue
carrying with it that bloodcurdling scream.
But this time it wasn't a singular scream.
It was a cacophony, echoing from every corner of the forest.
Closing in, I tried to run, but my feet were rooted to the spot.
The cymbals once outside were now under my feet, glowing with
a sinister light. They seemed to pulse, each beat
drawing the eyes closer. The realization hit me with icy
clarity. I was being reclaimed as the
shadows closed in. A final thought crossed my mind.
We had never left the forest, we'd merely been allowed a
temporary reprieve. And now Forest with its age-old
secrets, was taking back what it believed was rightfully its own.
From a young age I have seen or experienced things that could be
terrifying to some. When I was seven I would stay on
my grandparents farm in Colorado and while there I frequently had
dreams about a young boy with a brutally injured head speaking
to me. When I woke up I would swear to
my parents that I saw a little boy running across the room and
I would see flashes of light across the basement where I
slept. They always calm me down,
explaining that I had an active imagination and put me back to
sleep. It wasn't until I was much older
that my mother revealed, hoping not to scare me mindless, that a
little boy had died on my grandparents property.
The interesting part is that he had died from falling off his
horse and being dragged through the back pasture, his foot
caught in the ropes killed by being dragged head first into a
rock on the ground. That was not the only incident I
had that was unexplainable, but as I grew older it became
challenging for me to distinguish what might be
paranormal and what might just be my imagination acting up.
I had nightmares constantly, two or three a night most nights.
My parents slept on my floor on many occasions throughout my
childhood, as my nightly terrors frequently resulted in me
knocking on their door, ashamed, asking for help to make it
through the night. The weird thing about these
dreams, however, was that sometimes they followed me after
waking up. After some dreams, I would lie
in bed and feel like there was something else in the house.
Wandering around. It felt like whatever was in my
dream piggybacked a ride into my house by using me.
Over the nights I began to put together, whether from
imagination or actual experience, that when I woke up
from a nightmare and sent something in the house, they
could also sense me. More importantly, I felt they
wandered around with supernatural hearing, hearing
every single small thing I did, sensing my every movement.
I would hear a rustling down in our kitchen, so quiet that only
someone awake and actively listening could catch it, and I
would freeze, trying to not make a single sound to hear better.
Eventually I would need to swallow and every time I did I
noticed the movement downstairs would change.
Sometimes it directly related to how many times I swallowed.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I would swallow and I would hear a
footstep going up one of the stairs.
Swallow again and another step was taken.
Naturally this terrified me, which was part of how I ended up
running to my parents door every night.
Luckily the footsteps never really made it to the top of the
stairs and for the most part I became used to the process.
However, there was one night when everything changed.
And the dream I had frightened me in a way none of my previous
dreams had before. I was about 8 years old at this
time and in the dream I was standing in the living room of
my grandparents house with my mother, sister and father
standing next to me. My grandparents were nowhere to
be found, but the three of us were conversing with smiles,
happy about something I was unable to put together in the
haze of the dream. In the middle of saying
something, my father turned and looked down the hallway from the
living room where we were all standing, his smile dropping and
his demeanor changing instantly. It was at this point that I
noticed how dark the house was, and how the end of the hallway
melted into a suffocating pitch black.
My father remained transfixed on the end of the hallway, and I
saw my mom's expression change similarly, as if they were
coming to the same conclusion in their head that I was unable to
attain myself. What did they know?
Suddenly, my mom frantically pushed my sister and I onto the
couch a few feet behind us. She handed us a pillow, and as
she was talking to us, I witnessed my father begin
walking down the hallway into the darkness.
Hold these as tight as you can to your face and think about the
funniest joke you can remember. Do not remove these pillows from
your eyes, no matter what. Do you understand?
I recognize that she was battling to appear as if she was
not worried while still conveying an intense sense of
urgency and seriousness to us. Without saying anything, I
pressed the pillow against my eyes, fear beginning to swell in
my stomach like a balloon. I knew something was horribly
wrong, but I could not understand what I heard.
My mom's footsteps softly move away from us on the carpet
towards the direction my dad had gone down.
I began to see fuzzy shapes from how tightly I had my eyes forced
together. The faint presence of my sister
sitting on the faded leather couch a few feet to my right
comforted me slightly, but it was not enough to counter the
unexplainable terror that soaked me like cold water.
My attention shifted as I heard the smallest commotion from the
end of the hallway. Not a crashing or a banging or
even a sound as loud as a normal conversation.
The way I remember it, with the sound muffled by the corners of
my ears being folded into the course pillow was like a quiet
slicing noise. Like what it would sound like to
cut through a ripe Peach, only a little louder.
What happened after this was unexplainable to me after years
of nightmares. I had developed the ability to
sense when I was in a nightmare and use that realization to calm
my nerves with the rebuttal that it was all fake.
In this dream, I did not feel that way.
I felt a paralyzing fear, and even recognizing that I was
dreaming, I knew something was different.
There was a weight of dread that had never been in any of my
previous dreams, something that clearly separated what was
happening now from anything I had experienced.
After hearing the noise and concluding in my head that the
sooner I could figure out what was happening, the sooner I
could wake up, I slowly removed the pillow I had been forcing
against my face to reveal the room.
I could still taste the leathery fabric of the pillow.
The first thing I noticed was that my sister was no longer on
the couch next to me. Her pillow was, but it was torn
and stuffing was falling out of it.
In a normal dream, I would have found blood on the pillow and
that would have been the end of it.
But this was not a normal dream, and the lack of blood or
apparent horror unsettled me even more.
I have never had a nightmare that has built suspense
intentionally. I felt trapped in my dream.
It was an inescapable prison, and my conscious mind was
screaming, attempting to wake up so violently that my mind was
ringing but I could not get out. How did I hear something down
the hallway but not hear my sister leave from a few feet
next to me? Terror and confusion intertwined
in my head as a blaring siren, indistinguishable from one
another but both begging for me to wake up.
I panned over the room from where my father had been
standing to the left, where the hallway he had walked down lay,
meeting the corner of the living room.
The next thing I noticed was how the overwhelming darkness at the
end of the hallway had seeped out into the living room I was
in. It reached just over the first
quarter of the room, about 10 feet away from where I sat on
the couch, my body filling with the indescribable lead of panic.
I scanned for an explanation of where my family had gone.
As I finished my scan, I finally found what I had been dreading
in the darkness at the corner of the living room, buried beneath
layers of black nothingness. It was hiding.
I couldn't see its shape from the darkness.
I had no idea what it was or how large it was.
The only thing visible from the darkness was a pair of stunning
bright white eyes, and a few inches beneath them, an inhuman
white smile that jutted out of the darkness.
The smile consisted of clearly human teeth, but was double the
length of any normal person's best grin, and it leered at me,
smiling directly and intentionally at me across the
room. It was mocking me, and it had
been waiting for my eyes to find it.
My heart sank and dread swallowed me whole, and as the
smile widened, I was thrust back into my bedroom, finally awake
upon waking up For half of a second, relief relaxed me,
thinking the horror was finally over.
The rustling in the kitchen quickly eliminated this feeling.
In tandem with the rustling, the almost instant sense that
something was in my house draped over my mind.
I tried to calm myself, stating that I had done this hundreds,
maybe thousands of times over the past few years and I was
used to it. But deep down I wasn't consoled.
I was terrified. Even the presence which I felt
everywhere was infinitely more overwhelming than any I had
experienced before. The part most frightening was
that I knew it sensed me. I felt it crawling around the
walls of my mind, listening to me, mocking me.
I tried not to swallow, but after about 20 minutes I failed
for the first time. Hyper fixing on not swallowing
makes it so incredibly hard not to.
You notice how dry your throat is.
It feels as if it is swelling with sand, You are drowning in
your own saliva, and eventually you always fail.
The normal goal for me was not to make it through the night
without swallowing, though. It was only to swallow few
enough times to fall back asleep before whatever was in my house
took enough gentle steps to make it to my room.
I had never allowed anything into my room before, and I tried
to reassure myself of that fact after my first failure following
my swallow. The slight commotion downstairs
in my kitchen stopped immediately, and there was a
painful silence for a few seconds.
I knew better than to be relieved, and following the few
seconds of silence, there was a pounding of footsteps
downstairs, as if someone was sprinting from the kitchen
towards the stairs as fast and as violently as they could.
Fear crawled across my skin and down my spine, and I panicked,
unsure of what to do but too paralyzed by terror to move.
I envisioned the smile standing on the steps, pointing at me as
if it could see me through the layers of walls.
It felt like more than a vision. I knew the smile was doing
exactly what I pictured. I knew it as if it were a fact.
I felt it. I lay flat in bed, frozen, and
listened as the Stampede of footsteps stopped with the first
one on the staircase. I knew when the first step had
hit the staircase, as it always gave off a recognizable squeak
from the old wood under the carpet.
I tried to compose myself and shut my eyes, desperately trying
to recite the lyrics to a song in my head, a trick I used to
try and fall asleep faster and distract myself.
I was much too terrified for this to work, unable to get the
vision of the smile out of my mind, and after about another 10
minutes I swallowed again, furious with myself for failing
like the first time. The house went quiet even though
there was virtually no noise in the previous minutes, as
whatever was on the stairs had remained motionless since
finishing its Sprint. 3 seconds later I heard the staircase
shake as something pounded up the stairs towards my room, the
wood and the banister shaking and the steps squealing with
each progression. At this point, the fear was
nauseating for me. I began to feel like I was going
to either throw up or pass out, and I hoped for the latter.
I found myself wishing for death just to escape the feeling, but
I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.
I tried to weigh my options with the few minutes I had before I
would fail and swallow again. I could run for my parents door
at the opposite end of the hallway, but I would go right
past the top of the stairs to do so, which eliminated that option
for me. My door was open, so I
considered trying to shut and lock it and scream for help, but
again, from the top of the stairs there was a Direct Line
of sight into my doorway, which I could not see as my bed was
tucked into the corner of the room, parallel to the door.
Yet this option felt vain as well.
I knew there were only a few steps from the top of the stairs
to my doorway, and based on the speed at which it had been
moving, I knew it would reach me before I could close the door.
All these options felt meaningless anyway.
I was glued to my bed like a plank of wood, my legs cramping
from how tightly I coiled myself, every one of my muscles
now painfully stiff. As the minutes went on, I
realized that I was stuck and I genuinely thought I was going to
die. There was nowhere to go, nothing
to do, and I couldn't fall back asleep or stop swallowing.
For the rest of the night. I fought as hard as I could, but
after 25 painful minutes I eventually swallowed as the rest
of my body fought it, making a sort of half swallow.
There was complete silence, and I heard no footsteps for at
least a few minutes, at the exact point that I began to
wonder if I had survived and maybe that thing had left.
My thought was interrupted by the feeling that something was
in my room. It had chosen not to Sprint into
my room this time, but I knew it was here.
I had been squeezing my eyes shut out of fear, listening
intently, and had heard nothing walk towards my room and enter
it. Nonetheless, I knew it was
within a few feet of me, somewhere, everywhere,
surrounding me and laughing at me again.
I wished I could die to escape the fear, unable to move it all
or even open my eyes without hearing anything out loud.
I knew something was in my closet across the room.
I don't know how I knew, but I did as if someone placed the
thought in my head intentionally.
For the same reason we can't look away from car crashes.
With logic gone and the anticipation taking over my
mind, I opened my eyes. Just as I had done in the dream
about an hour ago, exactly as it was in the dream.
Across the room in the endless darkness of my closet, the same
pair of eyes and smile looked back at me.
The smile widened, just as it did in my dream, but this time
there was nowhere for me to go. I couldn't wake up like I did
from my dream. Instead, I forced my eyes shut,
praying to all gods that might exist to please offer me
salvation from what was smiling at me across the room.
I prayed and squinted my eyes shut as hard as I could, using
all my willpower to not open my eyes again.
There was no noise, no movement in my room, but as I lay on my
left side, facing the room in the closet across from me with
my eyes for shut, something leaned over my right shoulder
and exhaled A shaky, warm breath into my ear.
Within the first second of feeling the breath in my ear, I
flew out of my bed, my leg catching on my sheets for a
second before I kicked it loose. Refusing to look at my bed or
the closet to my left, I tunnel visioned on my door and took
off. Propelled by an insurmountable
amount of fear, I raced down the hallway toward my parents room,
wasting no time in shrieking as loud as I possibly could.
I reached their room, banging on the door until they opened a few
seconds later, petrified that something was wrong.
As you can probably expect, they checked my room and nothing was
there. Though that was the first time I
encountered him, it certainly wasn't the last.
That smile followed me through the next six years or so of my
life, appearing randomly every few weeks or months to ruin one
of my nights and reignite the fear I had of it.
The dreams always started the same I was with people I
trusted, happy and having fun, and suddenly the entire mood of
the dream would switch and despair would cover every
surface. The people I loved and trusted
would mysteriously disappear with something always indicating
that they had been killed. And at the very end of it all,
hidden somewhere in my vision, was that smile leering at me
from the darkness. That continued for a while until
the first real relief I found was when we moved to
Pennsylvania when I was 14 and I saved up and bought a cute
little pug to keep me company. Rosie, my new pug, slept at the
end of my bed, around my foot, and since the night I bought
her, my nightmares reduced by nearly half.
Whether it was from the move or Rosie or both, I had a few year
stretch where I didn't see the smiling thing and I finally
thought I shook it. It took me a little while to
realize that maybe I didn't. When I was at the end of my
senior year of high school, Now 18 years old, I slept over at my
closest friend's house on the last weekend before graduation,
having smile free dreams. For years now, the thought of
the man reappearing never even crossed my mind.
In a way he didn't reappear for me.
I just found it strange that the following morning while we were
eating breakfast, my closest friend Charlie mentioned that he
had the worst dream of his life the night before.
Still suspecting nothing, I asked what happened and felt the
dread creep back into my body. As he mentioned his dream, he
had been with his family at an amusement park and then his
family had disappeared. Following that, he had been
looking around and found a roller coaster that was going
with only one person on it. He said that the person on it
was flailing around with a huge smile on their face and it was
the only thing he could see from where he was at.
Yeah, that does sound scary. I told him the conclusion of his
story, trying to mask my own fear.
No, no, you don't get it, he insisted, now way more serious
than he had been before. That wasn't the scary part.
The scary part was when I saw it.
When I woke up, I was now too scared to want to hear more
details and wanted to move on. I'm sorry, Charlie.
That sounds freaky, but I am glad it's gone now.
It probably was just your imagination messing with you, I
consoled, hoping to convince him.
He shook off the fear, trying to regain his normally humorous and
unconcerned mood. I don't know, man.
I'm just glad it wasn't looking at me.
He chuckled nervously. I stopped in the middle of my
walk to his kitchen sink with The Dirty cereal bowl in my
hand. Wait, what?
What do you mean? What do you mean it wasn't
looking at you? I felt my heart picking up pace,
my nerves were on end, and I began to feel like I was being
watched. No, man.
It wasn't looking at me, thankfully.
I thought it was looking at you. The eyes were looking to the
left of me, down where you were, and the smile kept like, getting
wider and narrower in the same pattern of your breathing.
It would like widen every time you inhaled and then get smaller
when you exhaled again. My heart was bursting through my
chest at this point, and I didn't feel safe in his house.
Why would you not wake me up? Why didn't you shake me or
something? I questioned the panic,
beginning to come off like irritation.
I'm sorry, man, I scooted forward to reach out and touch
you, but as I was reaching out, I looked to the doorway again
and it was gone. I just figured it was tweaking
out, like you said. Why does it matter?
He questioned apologetically. It doesn't.
That's a creepy dream, though. I reverted, trying to downplay
it. I left his house that day,
terrified to go to bed at night, convinced that the smile would
visit me as soon as my eyes closed.
Luckily, though, he didn't. I never fully understood why.
A few years later, I went to college and met someone in my
hallway whose family friend was apparently a psychic.
My college friend knew a little of my history.
After asking one time why I was so tired, and I briefly
explained that I had multiple nightmares a night, she
recommended I visit this psychic.
And, curious for myself, I obliged.
When I met with her, I explained everything weird that had
happened to me cynically, noting how I didn't really believe in
any of it and knew it was just my imagination.
She met with me for free as a friend, so I felt fairly
convinced she wasn't playing anything up for money.
After hearing my story, she said she suspected, among other
things, I had an ability to dead talk, simply just meaning that
those who have died could communicate with me, she said.
Most of the time their communication is unintelligible
and they only really try to show me feelings.
Most of the spirits that are strong enough to appear in a
dream or make a noise in my house were spirits that were
traumatically trapped, whether it be from a painful death or
something along those lines. Thus when they tried to converse
with me, it often came across as fear, confusion, and anger,
explaining how they concocted nightmares for me every night
with little tide in my life. When I went into detail about
the smiling thing, I could tell she was a little bit more
uncomfortable, and I almost got the sense she was trying to
relax me the same way I had tried to relax my friend Charlie
without letting him know the full story.
She essentially said that if something terrible had been
following me for a few years, I had somehow found a way to force
it out. Except if it was still appearing
to those that slept near me, Because apparently sleep was its
way in. It was never fully gone.
Instead of having free rein in my head, torturing me whenever
it wanted, I had unintentionally created a barrier that prevented
it from reaching my dreams. According to her, I thank the
psychic lady for meeting with me, unsure of what to make of
her information, and continued with my life.
About six months later, in the summer, after my freshman year
of college, the next incident occurred.
My girlfriend, who I had been dating for a year, was over at
my house one afternoon while my father and mother were home as
well working. My sister was living in
Colorado, having moved there during college.
My girlfriend was taking a nap in my bed while I was working on
my computer. To the right of the bed, my mom
and I had planned to go to Lowe's.
I was going to buy her some flowers and plant them for her
as part of her Mother's Day gift.
My father tagged along and I left my girlfriend.
Not wanting to disturb her, I sent her a little text saying we
would be back in an hour or two in case she woke up and headed
out. 30 minutes later I was in Lowe's when I got a call from
her. I picked up and stepped to a
side aisle while my mom continued looking at flowers and
was bombarded by her blurting out words in a frenzy.
She was clearly upset and was choking out sentences between
flowing tears. Eventually she was able to calm
down enough to get out a few broken sentences.
I just had the worst dream of my life.
Can you please get back home? I really need you.
Yeah, yeah, I will be home in maybe 30 minutes or so.
Can you make it that long? I was looking for my mom to get
an estimate of what flowers she still wanted to look at,
calculating in my head how quickly I could be home.
No, I think I'm just going to go home.
I don't really want to be here right now, she responded,
improving slightly from her last sentences.
Okay, okay. I'll stop by your house when I'm
done. Please get home safe and we can
talk later. I wasn't too worried about the
drive because she was literally one St. away from her house, but
I was still concerned about her. When I stopped at her house an
hour later, she was still visibly upset, but obviously
much more put together than she had been before.
She was reluctant to talk about it, but I finally was able to
coax her into telling me what happened.
She informed me that she was in a dream where she was standing
in my driveway with me next to her and we were laughing while
talking about something. She said.
It looked like a pretty day and it was a nice dream.
There were lots of birds flying around and she was happy.
Well, I was happy and then everything changed really fast,
she explained. The birds that were flying
through the air froze in place and I turned to ask you what was
happening and you were laughing at me and then you were just
gone. I grabbed her hand and looked at
her intently, pushing her on without saying anything.
So I was turning around and trying to look through all of
these frozen birds and then the day felt a lot worse.
I felt like it was the worst day of my life, even though nothing
had happened and it felt so dark.
This fit the formula so far, so I was pretty convinced it was
him, sure enough, she continued. I walked out into the street in
front of your house looking for you, and I just felt like
something horrible was next to me.
I felt like something terrible was looking at me and I couldn't
find it. I did circles around the street
with all those birds frozen everywhere around me, and then I
saw this thing on the roof of your house.
Just by saying that, she clearly grew more upset and tears welled
up in her eyes, bursting with fear and anticipation.
Now I squeezed her hand and asked what it was she saw.
Well, it was like a bird, but a lot bigger.
It covered the entire roof and it was lying flat on it, not
standing up. She continued fighting back
tears. It had a long neck that was
missing feathers, so it was all red and bloody.
And the worst part is that its neck was all twisted and broken,
so its head was completely upside down, while the rest of
its body was lying flat on the roof.
Any doubt that I had left was eliminated and she confirmed my
suspicion. But its head wasn't normal.
It had these huge human teeth and it was smiling at me with
its upside down face from the roof, and I swear it was looking
directly at me now that I had all the information, or at least
I thought I did, I shifted into comforting mode instead of
interrogation, reaching forward to try and rub her arm and begin
working on making her feel better.
She winced back, though, and continued talking.
No, I'm not done. I kept trying to wake up after
that thing was grinning at me and I couldn't wake up.
I was trying so hard to get out and there was nothing I could
do. I just felt stuck.
And then I did wake up, but not because I wanted to, because
there was something tapping me on the shoulder.
It was at this point that she began to burst into tears again,
overwhelmingly upset. From the recollection of the
feeling, something was tapping me, and then I rolled over
because I thought it was you napping with me, but it wasn't
you. There was something just smiling
at me an inch from my face. Her voice picked up and she
began to lose control of herself.
I tried my best to help her. As she finished, it was smiling
at me right next to me, and I saw its finger still poking out.
She was now standing, pointing her shaking finger at me to
display what she saw. The smiling man had never gotten
that close to me, so at that point I was beginning to panic
as well, but I didn't want to make her feel worse, so I did my
best to hide it. What happened after that?
I asked, my voice shaking for the first time.
I jumped out of the bed and it was gone.
She was incredulous, and I could tell she was worried about what
I thought of her. I grabbed her and held her, not
asking anything else while my mind raced through what to do.
I had never told her about the smiling man, and there was no
way that many coincidences could line up when I returned home
later that day. As it was getting late, I
noticed that my room felt particularly uninviting.
This could have been a placebo from the story, but the room
seemed to hold hostage and all too familiar sense of dread.
I slowly cased my room, not sure what I was looking for, but
unsure of what else to do. I eventually gave up thinking
that I was going to have to sleep in my bed at some point,
so it might as well be tonight. I was thinking about how scary
it was that this smiling thing appeared in the sunny hours of
the day for the first time ever, when I felt my leg brush against
something. I reached down under the
blankets, pushing my precious Rosie a little to the side to
see what I had felt. What I pulled out from under the
blankets made my heart drop again.
In my bed was a large bird feather, one about four times
the size of a crow feather, but of similar color.
There was no blood on the feather, no smile, no other
message, but it was enough. I knew what he was saying.
After years of searching for a way in, a way to finally get
close enough to impact me physically, he had done it.
This all brings me to today, about a week after I discovered
the feather and my girlfriend experienced the terror I grew up
with. I began writing this yesterday
afternoon and I have not slept since the night after finding
the feather and everyone since then, I have seen him in my
dreams. When I woke up the past few
days, at least I have not seen anything.
It was almost worse. Not being able to see the smile
somewhere in my room, I feel his presence.
The helplessness looms over me as I sit paralyzed in my bed
every night waiting for him to finally appear.
At this point I am confident this is all part of his game.
Years of interacting with him have shown me how clever and
more accurately evil the smiling man is.
Whether he gained something from it or just does it because he
enjoys it, he will bleed out my fear until it is impossible to
live with and I feel like I would tear off my own skin just
to escape. Even worse, he is smart about
the way he appears and does it almost insultingly, as if to add
emphasis to how powerless I am. For example, the birds my
girlfriend saw in her dream were all mourning doves, birds that I
had told her a few weeks before gave me comfort and made me feel
safe because I grew up with them.
I find it no coincidence those were the same birds in her
dream. He mocks me in every little
detail, dragging out the torture.
Now I don't even need to be sleeping to sense him arrive.
Even in the middle of a warm summer day, I noticed something
watching me while I'm out mowing lawns.
The trees sway in the wind and I catch the silhouette of
something behind the leaves every few seconds.
I never can find him, but I know exactly when he appears.
Feeling the cold seep into my skin, I put up with it for a few
days but concluded that if he was this powerful while I was
awake, the next time I slept would be the last for me.
Thus, that is why I haven't slept in a day.
And that is why I have begun writing this as both a coping
mechanism for what I believe is my final day alive and hopefully
a warning to anyone else. You may be wondering why I am
giving up so easily, why I am not going to a priest or calling
anyone or trying to stay near my family.
The simple answer is, I don't think it will matter.
He clearly has found a way into the minds of any of my friends
or family just from sleeping in the same room as me, and now
that he is apparently more alive than ever before, I don't know
what sanctuary anyone could provide for me.
In fact, they would probably just be eliminating themselves
as well. As far as a priest or
supernatural help goes, I did try.
I called the psychic lady I talked to a few days ago and
clearly sensing my panic, she tried to reason out with me what
was going on. A few minutes into our call, I
began to feel like I had someone I could rely on for support.
Yet while detailing which crystals to buy, she concluded
her recommendations by saying in the end, you know it won't
really matter. Anyways, he is already there.
He is all around you watching and laughing and no crystal will
be able to stop him. Can't you see me right now?
The switch to first person at the end of the sentence, paired
with the lowering of the voice into a deep guttural octave,
confirmed to me that I was not talking to the psychic lady over
the phone. I did not know if I ever had
been. That's my entire point.
I don't know what is real or what is a game anymore.
His real form is so well shrouded by layers of false
security that reaching out for help only stresses me out more.
I would prefer to just die than to be built up and let down
repeatedly. My eyes are watering typing
this, and I feel the exhaustion beginning to catch up to me.
However, I have one last act of defiance residing in the plate
of sleeping pills I have resting on my bedside table.
Or maybe that is exactly what he wants.
Either way, I don't care. I'm tired of being terrified as
I type this, it grows later into the night time, and I feel his
presence waiting for the right time to begin the show.
Panic is bubbling in my gut slowly, and though I'm tired, my
mind still provides me no peace from the fear.
Right on cue, I hear a pan drop in my kitchen downstairs,
shocking me and making me jump from where I'm sitting on my
bed. My mind pumps adrenaline, and
I'm painfully aware that this time he has a lot more
capabilities than just a breath in my ear.
My typing is speeding up, and as I'm finishing the sentence, he
is already on the first step toward my room.
I heard the squeak. His steps are slow and
intentional, different than the first time I met him.
Now he is at the top of the stairs pacing towards my room.
My parents sleep blissfully and my girlfriend one neighborhood
over. They all have no help to give.
There is nothing more dangerous than being the last person awake
in the house. There is a quiet, gentle knock
on my door. 3 slow intentional knocks.
I feel the smile through the door, as if the door is not even
there and I'm looking right at it.
My muscles tense and I feel thrown back in time to the days
of paralyzing fear in my younger days.
Rosie, the last shred of comfort these last few days, looks up
and tilts her head at the door, her ears raised.
Tears are welling in my eyes, hopelessness, battling fear to
be the victor of my emotions. My attention shifts as I hear my
closet doors rattle with three gentle, drawn out knocks.
I see the doors rustle over the top of the laptop I am typing
on. I have closed it, anticipating
in the nights past he might try to make an appearance there.
Nonetheless, he smiles at me through the closet and my
shaking hands take a few tries to spit out each of these
sentences. I don't want to waste any time
waiting for the sleeping pills to kick in, so I grabbed the
plate next to me and get down as many as I can.
Ironic that a few years ago I would fight so hard to not
swallow in the presence of this smile, and now I do it as a form
of escape. The pills are down and I can
only hope for them to kick in quicker.
The window on the left side of my room has the blinds open.
How could I forgotten that in my peripheral vision?
As I continue to type, I see two bright white shapes stabbed
through the darkness of the night sky, dropping down slowly
from the top of the window. I refuse to look at the window,
knowing as the third, wider white shape lowers over the
window. It is him smiling upside down.
I live on the second floor of my house.
A shadow extends over the white shapes.
Reaching down towards the bottom of my window, I see a dark
movement of what I can assume to be a hand, reach forward and
exert 3 knocks, all of which are substantially more intense than
the past ones. Though they are delivered at the
same slow intentional cadence. I see the triangular smile widen
after the third knock finishes. The fear induced nausea ignites
in my stomach and dread drops like a kettlebell in my stomach,
weighing me down against the bed.
It takes all my willpower to not look out of the window.
I turn to my right, blocking the window out of sight.
There are three more knocks on the door to my room and my
closet at the same time. I want to scream and run and cry
and go faster. I want to do anything to remove
myself from where I am right now.
Something is scratching on the other side of the wall to the
right of my bed, and I feel the smile a mere 2 feet away from
me, separated only by a thin layer of plaster looking
directly at me. Rosie jumps off my bed and is
now in the center of the room, turning to track all the knocks
across my doors, walls, and now the tapping on the window as
well. He is begging me to look at him
to see the smile. I know he is, but I won't.
My mind keeps reiterating that my parents are only a couple of
steps away down one hallway, and that I can make it somehow.
But the pills are already down, and at this point I don't know
if I want to continue on. I sympathize with the survival
instinct, periodically giving me desperate pushes to do something
knowing it will not win tonight. Suddenly the noise stops all at
once and I freeze. I hear my heart pounding and my
mind races through instances of our interactions.
I remember the first time I recognized this silence before
he began sprinting across the first floor of my house the
first night I met him. This is not a good silence.
The noise may have stopped, but the weight of all the smiles
around the room has not. This is his final act, and he
mocks me before eliminating me. I am frozen in place, my heart
beats erratic and loud. I focus on Rosie in the middle
of the room, refusing to give him what he wants.
My beautiful, perfect pug is the only thing I will devote my
attention to. I feel his smile waiting for me
from every corner and I feel my stomach climbing into my throat,
my vision getting blurry. I will myself to go faster.
I focus on the details of Rosie's fur, the patterns I have
grown up identifying, and try to find the memories I have with
her from the depths of my fear scattered mind.
I study her floppy ears and the back of her head as she
continues to watch my door. I love her more than anything,
and my heart sinks as her head begins to turn, her body not
turning with it. Her head rotates, her neck
creaking as it turns towards me while the rest of her face
doesn't, her poor smushed nose replaced by a smile that wraps
around nearly half of her entire head filled with human teeth
that gleam at me. All right, so this is going to
be a pretty long story, but bear with me.
I did change names for privacy also.
Fun fact, this story double s as the tale of How I Met my fiance.
But let's move on. So this entire ordeal took place
around August 2017 when I was 16 years old.
A couple of months before at the beginning of summer break, my
mom unfortunately lost her battle with breast cancer.
I'm an only child, so growing up I was really close to my mom.
She also had a wonderful marriage with my dad.
After she passed away. Both Dad and I were absolutely
wrecked by the loss. Sure, we'd had some time to
brace ourselves. Her health had been slowly
deteriorating for quite a while, but that didn't make it any less
excruciating when the day finally came.
Once Mom's funeral wrapped up, Dad and I stayed cooped up at
home pretty much every day for a while.
Having just wrapped up my sophomore year in high school, I
only had a small circle of friends who I gradually started
ignoring over the summer months. During those days, Dad and I
barely spoke to each other. There was this crazy tension
between us that we couldn't shake, even though neither of us
really made any effort to talk through it all either.
About two weeks in, Dad gradually returned to work while
I remained isolated in the sanctuary of my bedroom.
As summer vacation drew to a close, Dad began to grow
increasingly concerned about my reclusive tendencies.
After all, who wouldn't grow worried seeing their child spend
their days locked away in their room?
His only reprieves from his concern were when my door would
creak open for chores, meal time, or the bathroom.
In an attempt to help us reconnect, Dad suggested a good
old camping trip, something our family had always loved doing
together. I decided to give it a shot,
figuring it would be nothing more than a night or two at our
usual wilderness retreat. We lived in the Pacific
Northwest, which was abundant with beautiful camping spots.
In fact, our go to option wasn't too far from home, and so on a
sunny afternoon, we departed around noon and arrived at our
beloved campground around 2:00 in the afternoon.
Like clockwork, we rolled into our regular camping spot, as we
had so many times before. However, before settling down
for the night, we had to check in at a quaint Ranger cabin
where you paid $10 to park your car.
Our campsite was nestled about 600 feet away, and though it
wasn't located right beside the lake, it's close proximity made
for an enjoyable experience nonetheless.
For context, the campground featured campsites situated
quite close to each other, with only a sparse line of trees
separating each one. You could easily spot cars and
large tents through these thinly spread trees.
When we arrived, we noticed the adjacent campsite was already
occupied by an RV, much to my dad's dismay, as they tended to
play music and be noisier. At night, the campground sits
right by a vast lake which served as our primary source of
food due to the abundance of fish.
Consequently, we didn't need to pack much food for the trip.
A short distance away, across the road and down a slightly
rocky decline, there was a small Pebble Beach that granted full
access to the lake. You could even catch a glimpse
of the water from our campsite. Strolling down the shoreline
would reveal more charming Pebble bays.
In fact, whenever my parents swam in the past, they preferred
to choose a secluded Pebble Bay free from crowds for their dip.
I've personally had an aversion to large bodies of water and
swimming ever since I can remember.
Sometime around 5:00 in the afternoon, my dad and I headed
down to the main Pebble Beach. Its descent was fairly steep and
scattered with rocks that could easily trip someone up and cause
scrapes and bruises. We managed to catch 3 fish
before scaling the incline back towards our campsite.
Once there, my dad asked if I could gut and fillet the fish, a
task I agreed to take on. The knife I used turned out to
be sharper than I anticipated and accidentally sliced into my
lower palm. Unfortunately we hadn't packed
any bandages or other first aid supplies.
Reluctant to ask our RV neighbors for medical supplies
due to my anxiety riddled teenage self, my dad stepped up
and went over to seek their assistance.
As it turns out, an older couple was staying at the RV site and
they couldn't have been more gracious.
After handing my dad an entire box of bandaids, they claimed to
have too many. I tended to my wound and tried
to put the incident behind me. The rest of the evening followed
a rather uneventful but pleasant script.
We enjoyed our meal and played poker for a few hours before
calling it a night. The next morning I didn't wake
up quite as early as my dad did. When I emerged from the tent.
I found him cooking up some potatoes and bacon on a griddle
over the fire. He was engaged in conversation
with the friendly, elderly couple we'd met the previous
day, along with a boy who seemed to be around my age and was busy
typing on his phone. Following an initially awkward
introduction, I discovered that this boy, let's call him Lee,
was staying with his grandparents at the campsite.
As we all sat down to enjoy breakfast together, Lee and I
struck up a conversation. He turned out to be pretty
funny. We spent the entire morning
together and at some point. My dad mentioned how great it
was for me to have a new friend. To be honest, it annoyed me a
bit more embarrassment than anything.
So I decided to take some distance from my dad and asked
Lee if he'd like to catch bass for lunch.
He was up for it, so we grabbed our fishing gear and followed
the same short trail we had taken the day before to reach
the rocky Bay. When we arrived we noticed other
families enjoying themselves swimming and playing.
There was this one kid with his sister, I assume building a rock
tower, the kind that people use as trail markers.
We fished for approximately an hour with me doing most of the
work as Lee had never fished before.
We managed to catch 2 fish, not much, but enough for lunch.
As we left the area, the siblings were still working on
their rock tower. It wasn't huge or anything, but
about 3 feet tall, made out of large rocks that would stand
sturdily against the wind. After hiking back up, we
continued chilling together for a few more hours.
Around 8:00 in the evening, Lee asked if I'd like to go swimming
during sunset. Truthfully, I was scared of
swimming in that lake, but didn't want to pass up on
hanging out with him any longer, so I agreed.
We put on our swimsuits and brought along tshirts to keep
warm after leaving the water. I also brought my pack of cigs
and lighter, mostly to impress Lee as we headed off on our
little adventure. My dad was relaxing on a towel
near the fireplace and grossed in a book.
I let him know that we were going for a swim at the Bay and
would be back in about an hour or so.
He advised us to be careful and enjoy our time.
By this point it was beginning to get darker, but it was still
light enough for us to see our path and directions.
The forest, however, was turning into a blend of shadows and
mystery. We followed the exact same trail
we'd taken before to reach the beach.
Upon reaching the beach, I glanced to my left and noticed
the rock tower from earlier had vanished without a trace.
There were no rocks piled up in that spot.
The ground lay flat, as if there had never been a tower.
Someone must have scattered the rocks haphazardly.
Both Lee and I saw this anomaly, but remained silent regarding
the toppled tower. We hung out at the main beach
for a short while and then it struck me that I could show off
to Lee with my cool little cigarettes.
But I didn't want my dad to find out, so I suggested we go to a
more secluded beach nearby. Lee agreed, and we strolled
along the shore for about 100 feet.
Although the campgrounds were never more than 1000 feet away
during our walk, navigating the somewhat steep bank proved
slightly challenging. Eventually, we discovered a
smaller beach surrounded by a dense forest.
Cutting through the woods would mean crossing roughly 300 feet
before reaching A campsite. I was confident about our
location and knew we wouldn't get lost at the secluded beach.
I took out my cigs, lit one up, and passed it to Lee.
We chatted for about 20 minutes as he took a drag, and I tried
my best not to cough and attempt to appear cool afterward.
I left the lighter and sig carton on a rock next to both
our shirts. By this time, darkness was
settling in, making it difficult to see the stars.
The Erie Lake was formed over an abandoned town, a fact that has
always terrified me and still does so When Lee
enthusiastically removed his shirt and jumped into the water
for a swim, I hesitated but eventually joined him.
Despite the water being way too cold, we swam for roughly half
an hour before boredom started kicking in.
When we climbed out of the water, our shirts had vanished.
Strangely enough, my cigs and lighter were still there.
We hadn't noticed anyone nearby while swimming, and there was no
wind either. Just like that, our shirts were
gone. Desperation prompted us to
search using only the dim light of my lighter, but we found
nothing. Then we heard it, an odd,
deafening groan that didn't resemble any bird or bobcat.
I knew it was more akin to a guttural screen, unlike the
familiar cougar cries. Some people would attribute such
sounds to Lee and I were petrified, and without a second
thought we sprinted along the beach.
With the frightful noise growing louder.
Visibility was minimal at this point.
We relied on the faint Starlight to illuminate the ground as we
reached the main beach. All seemed as we left it
earlier. Out of breath we raced up the
incline towards our campsite, which should have been merely
400 feet away since we had sprinted roughly 600 feet from
where we were swimming. The sound or growl was so
intense that I was sure everyone in the camp would hear it.
Yet Lee and I remained silent as we rushed up the slope,
continuously glancing back to ensure nothing was chasing us.
But we didn't see anything throughout our nerve racking
escape. After both of us painstakingly
climbed the hill, scraping our hands and knees on the rocks, we
sprinted towards the campsite. I'm certain we didn't make any
wrong turns. Despite running about 600 feet,
the camp just wasn't there. We found ourselves in the heart
of the forest, surrounded by trees with soft ground beneath
us, as though it hadn't been tread on for ages.
I could hear Lee sobbing, and I was on the verge of tears
myself. The mysterious figure or
creature behind us kept getting louder or closer, so we dashed
away from the ominous sounds as far as our legs could carry us.
Lee trailed right behind me, hoping I knew an alternate route
back to camp. As the grunts closed in on us, I
fought the urge to glance back, knowing that doing so would have
caused me to collide with a tree at our breakneck pace.
We continued running until the eerie sounds faded into the
distance. Exhausted, cold, and drenched in
sweat, we stopped to catch our breaths and leaned against a
tree for support. Neither of us spoke too
frightened to make even the slightest noise that might
attract whatever was pursuing us.
We remained in place until we could no longer hear those
menacing groans. At that moment, it hit us that
we were just two shirtless teenagers sitting in the middle
of the woods, crying our eyes out and looking utterly
maniacal. Finding ourselves too drained to
run any further, we began walking with weary steps.
Whispering softly to each other, we confirmed that neither of us
knew what had transpired or where on earth we were.
We must have strolled for roughly an hour when it occurred
to us that it was likely around 10:30 at night or later,
overwhelmed with fear, yet determined to return to camp or
find some helpful souls nearby. Having walked at least three
miles by then, we spotted a road in the distance and followed it
until we stumbled upon a Ranger station.
Though empty, I quickly realized it was the very station where we
paid entry fees for the camp, located on the opposite side of
the lake. We decided to rest there for a
bit. Then I escorted Lee back to our
campsite. Upon our return, everything
appeared unaltered. The fire still crackled where my
dad had been sitting. Lee clung closely to my arm as
we approached our campsite. Getting closer, I saw my dad in
the exact same spot he'd been when we left, with his book
still open on his lap. Since it wasn't particularly
long, I figured he should have finished reading by now.
As soon as he saw us, his shocked expression startled me.
I assumed it was due to our odd entry route, but what he said
next will forever be etched in my memory, and I despise it so
deeply. Are you back so soon?
Have you even gone in yet? I was on the verge of losing it.
He informed us that it was nearly nine and we had only been
gone for about 30 minutes. I attempted to describe the
bizarre events that had transpired, but I abandoned my
efforts. After asking if he had heard
anything peculiar, he stared at us as if we had lost our minds.
There was no way I could sleep in the tent, wanting to be as
far away from the ground in the forest as possible.
Thankfully, Lee suggested that we both sleep in the RV's fold
out bed. The following morning we awoke
and discussed everything, none of which made any logical sense.
Our memories of the prior night were identical.
After having breakfast together, we proceeded to pack up our
separate campsites. Around 11:00 AM We exchanged
phone numbers and bid each other farewell.
To this day, my father remains skeptical about our experience
that night. As for Lee and me, we have since
become engaged and frequently reminisce about what might have
transpired during those mysterious hours.
Upon returning home, I made sure to write everything down in a
journal, which I've consulted while writing this account to
ensure it remains consistent over time.
It's still unclear what happened on that unforgettable night, but
all I know is that we're never going back.