I should have listened when she told me not to say the name.
It was my first time on Navajo land.
I take in freelance gigs before. Cultural pieces remote travel
stories but this one was different.
A buddy of mine from Arizona. Tipped me off about the folklore
stories around the four corners. Said no one had really covered
the properly that if I played it right, I could walk away with a
photo essay that itself to National Geographic or the
Atlantic. The plan was simple fly into
Gallup. Rent a Jeep and Drive North
toward Window, Rock. I booked a few nights at a
modest little Motel on the outskirts.
Cheap basic didn't even have a real front desk.
Just a buzzer. I'd already reached out to a
local fixer someone who could help translate drive and
hopefully get me accessed to some Elders willing to share
their stories. Her name was Elsie Nez.
Quiet traditional. Had this kind of presence where
she didn't need to say much to make you.
Listen. Or red velvet skirt and silver
jewelry that clicked softly when she moved.
The kind of person you didn't want to disappoint.
We met for the first time at a small Cafe across from the
tribal offices. I had a notepad out camera in my
bag. Trying to seem casual After a
few polite exchanges about the land and the people, I asked the
question. So, do people still talk about
skinwalkers out here? Her eyes locked on mine, the
clinking of her bracelets stopped.
You shouldn't say that. She said, quietly.
Not here I gave a little nervous laugh.
Sorry I just meant the stories I'm not trying to offend anyone.
I just want to understand the you said its name she
interrupted. That's not a story.
That's a thing and saying it's name, it calls it closer.
I tried to backpedal apologized again.
Told her. I meant no harm.
She just looked past me like something had already shifted.
Like it was too late that night. The motel felt wrong, not
haunted or anything, just Unsettled.
The desert outside was pitch. Black not a single star.
No, wind the kind of Silence. That feels like it's waiting for
something, I couldn't sleep. So I stepped outside to get some
air. the parking lot had only two cars, mine and a beat-up
truck, I hadn't seen anyone Drive just beyond the property
line. The land dropped into a wash of
shrubs and rock all cast in Deep Shadows.
I heard a dog bark in the distance.
Then another then nothing until I heard it.
A high pitched whistle long and slow.
Almost like someone trying to mimic a bird call, but wrong
off. It echoed once across the rocks
and then stopped. I waited listening, heart
thudding, trying to convince myself.
It was just some kid or a drunk pulling a prank.
Then came the smell like, burnt hair and metal so strong.
It made my stomach cleanse. I rushed back into my room and
locked the door slept with the lights on.
The next morning, I tried to rationalize everything.
Told myself I was overreacting. Maybe the altitude was messing
with me. Maybe I was just tired.
I went out to my Jeep to head into town and meet Elsie again.
That's when I saw the marks three long gouges down the
driver's side door, parallel clean, no rust, no dents, just
deep raw gashes like something with claws had dragged, its hand
across it and Scattered near the tires.
Ash not dust not leaves Ash, I asked the motel owner.
If there were cameras in the parking lot, he Shrugged and
said they hadn't worked in years.
Elsie didn't say, I told you so she didn't need to.
Instead she asked me a question that chilled me more than the
claw marks ever could. When you heard it last night,
did it use your voice yet? I stared at her.
What? She shook her head slowly, if it
does, don't follow it. I told myself, it was all in my
head, the claw marks, the whistles, the way, the desert
went dead quiet. I wanted to believe it was
nerves paranoia. Maybe too many late-night Reddit
threads getting under my skin. But I couldn't shake the
feeling. Something was wrong.
I knew it. The moment I stepped out of the
cafe, the next after noon. And so Elsie already waiting for
me, by her truck arms crossed tight, like, she didn't want to
be there. You're still planning to go.
Aren't you? She asked I nodded just for
Sunset shots. Nothing dangerous.
I'll be back before dark her eyes narrowed.
That place the butte's. Watch, it's a Borderland where
things cross over. You don't want to be near it.
When the Sun goes down. I should have listened God, I
should have listened. But I didn't I thanked her for
the warning packed my gear and told myself, I'd be quick.
The drive out there felt longer than it should have been I had
marked the location on my GPS but the roads were barely there
just Dusty scars across the land.
No signs, no fences, no other cars by the time I reached the
trail, my phone had lost service and the sun was already low on
the horizon, painting the desert in deep orange and red.
Yas watch wasn't marked on any map.
It wasn't even that tall just a jagged formation rising from the
flat scrubland like a broken tooth.
But standing in its shadow, I felt like a trespasser.
The air was heavy or still not even a breeze as I climbed a
nearby Ridge to get a wide shot. I noticed something strange.
Footprints not mine. Not boot prints either Barefoot,
but misshapen the toes were too long.
The heel too narrow. Whatever made them walked
upright but not human. The path, forked near a row of
Boulders stacked in unnatural ways, balanced twisted like
figures, mid scream. I lifted my camera to snap a few
shots. And that's when I heard it
again, whistling, same tone. Same, Eerie mimic of a bird
call. But this time closer, I turned
it expecting to see someone anyone, but there was only
desert and then I saw it. A top, the Butte, maybe 40 feet
up a shape crouched against the last Light of Day.
Humanoid thin unnaturally thin, its skin.
The color of bleached bone. It wasn't wearing clothes just
folds of Flesh, pulled tight, like it.
Had been starved for years. Its head it wasn't right.
Dear like it first long snout antlers but then it twitched
glitched and the antlers Twisted back into its skull.
Its skull unhinged and it opened its mouth and my voice came out.
Help. Hey, I'm up here.
I dropped my camera. The creature smiled.
That's the only way I can describe what it did.
Its lips, didn't move, but its eyes.
Squinted just enough to convey pure malice.
Then it began crawling. Down the Rocks.
Fast jerky. Silent like a video.
Skipping frames. I ran.
I didn't look back. I just ran down the Ridge.
Across the flats, through the brush, and stones that seemed
different now, like the landscape had shifted Every few
steps I thought I saw movement behind me a shadow to my left a
blur to my right at one point. I heard Elsie's voice clear as
day. Tyler, come back, you're going
the wrong way. I stopped her voice came from
just passed a cluster of rocks ahead but I knew I knew she had
no idea. I was even out here, she hadn't
followed me. I turned and sprinted the other
way but it didn't matter. The trail was gone.
The jeep was gone. I was surrounded by unfamiliar
formations half, buried, wood. Poles marked with cymbals, I
didn't recognize I found a tree that hadn't been there before
its bark blackened like it had been struck by lightning.
And at its base, I found a dead, coyote open, its organs removed
and arranged in a perfect circle around its body.
Something was playing with me. Leading me in circles.
I could hear it moving through the brush without making a sound
clicking like it's joints weren't made for this form.
It never ran, it didn't have to. It was always just out of view
at one point. I ducked behind a Sandstone
ledge to catch my breath. That's when I heard the mimicry
again. Tyler it whispered my name in my
own voice spoken just inches from my ear.
I screamed and scrambled up the rock.
Cutting my hands open on the stone.
I don't even remember how long I ran after that.
Time didn't feel real. I just know I ended up
collapsing near the road, just as the Horizon started to
brighten. I must have made it through the
night. Barely.
And through the entire ordeal, I never got a single clear photo,
my memory card corrupted, my backup blank. only thing I had
left was a photo from earlier that day, a self-timer shot near
the Butte But when I opened it later, I wasn't alone in the
picture in the background blurred, but unmistakable was a
shape crouched behind a rock watching me.
I don't remember how I made it back to Elsie's place, just
flashes, my boots caked in blood, my voice, hoarse from
screaming, Every time I blinked, I saw that thing wearing my face
grinning with teeth too wide. And too sharp crawling low
through the desert scrub, like it belonged to the ground when I
finally stumbled into her yard, the sun was barely cresting the
Hills. Her dogs were barking, like mad.
Foaming snarling. Backing away from me.
Elsie stepped out onto the porch eyes wide.
You looked at it, she said not a question a statement.
I collapsed right there in the dirt.
She didn't ask for details, she didn't want them by that.
After noon, her cousin Thomas and an old medicine man named
Yazi had arrived carrying bundles of sage cornmeal and
something, I didn't recognize black shards of obsidian raped
and red cloth. I could barely sit upright.
I was dehydrated shaking, but I understood one thing we were
running out of time. They brought me inside, pulled
the blinds and placed me in the center of a chalky, white
circle, surrounded by eagle feathers and Ash I didn't
understand the words they chanted.
But I understood the urgency, something was coming the air got
colder thicker, like breathing through wet wool.
Whatever you do. Yazi said, do not look outside
no matter what you hear. At first, there was nothing.
Just the low Rhythm of the chanting, the crackle of burning
sage. Then the smell hit that same
burnt metal in wrote stench from the other night but stronger now
like it was seeping in through the walls and then the
scratching started, not on the door, on the roof heavy
footsteps something dragging itself across the shingles, slow
deliberate a wet dragging sound, followed like raw meat on tile,
the dogs outside went completely silent.
Then came the voice. It started as a whisper, let me
in, but it wasn't mine this time.
It was Elsie's, perfect, same Cadence.
Same tone. I looked at her, she was frozen
Tears In Her Eyes, then another voice Tyler.
It's okay. You're safe now, my mother's
voice, she died, two years ago. My hands started to tremble.
I clenched my fists tried to shut it out.
Then the banging so loud. It made the floorboards, jump a
massive weight slammed into the front door again and again, the
hinges screeching, like they'd snap any second.
The chanting grew louder faster, the candles around the circle,
flickered, wildly, then the voice came back, but this time,
it was me. Please, it's sobbed Elsie,
please. It's me.
I don't know what's going on. I'm scared, please.
It was my exact voice but desperate panicked and it came
from the other side of the front door.
I looked up, I don't know what made me.
Do it curiosity, Instinct stupidity?
I broke the rule. I looked out the window.
It was me standing Barefoot in the yard closed, torn blood down
my face eyes wide, pleading, I blinked and the figure, didn't
it just smiled and that smiled kept stretching past where lips
should end. Pass the jawline until it the
face entirely. Then it dropped to all fours and
skittered toward the house like an insect.
I screamed. Fell backward into the circle.
Something slammed into the side of the house, hard enough to
Rattle picture frames, and make the floor creak.
The temperature dropped again, I could see my breath.
Then suddenly it was gone silence.
Yes, he didn't stop chanting until the sun fully broke Over
the Horizon. The moment, the light touched,
the circle the tensions snapped like a rubber band.
I collapsed. Later after I could finally
speak. I asked Yazi what it was?
You already know. He said, can I come back?
He looked at me for a long time. It marked you it didn't get in
but it got close. Close enough to know your scent,
your name, your voice. Then, what do I do?
Never speak of it again. Never whistle at night.
Never go back to that place. I left the reservation that same
day moved back to the city. Tried to go back to normal life.
And for a while, I almost convinced myself, it was over.
But last week, I got a voicemail from a blocked number.
No message. Just breathing ragged wet.
And in the background, very faint, I heard someone whisper,
let me entire and it was my voice.
I never wanted to come back to that part of Arizona.
Not because I didn't love it. I did the high desert are the
Red Cliffs the way the Stars looked like they'd been sewn
right into the sky. But some places carry weight
memory. And my grandfather's land in the
Navajo Nation had both Luis and Corey had been bugging me for
weeks. Bro, we need content.
Luis kept saying shoving a camera in my face.
Canyon De Chelly slot. Canyons abandoned ruins will
make a killer doc. Call it blood in the Redlands or
something. Corey was more direct.
Come on, Dan your Navajo. That's your Turf.
Doesn't your family owned land out there or whatever.
They weren't wrong. My grandparents used to live
near Chinle tucked up near the cliffs, just a few miles off.
Spider Rock. After my grandfather passed my
grandma moved in with her sister and Gallup.
The house had been sitting vacant for a while now.
So yeah, I agreed stupid. We got to the reservation around
Sunset. The light was sharp or orange
cutting across the Rocks, like fire the last gas station before
the canyon was run by a guy who looked like he hadn't changed
his flannel in two decades. He noticed the out of state
plates on luis's car and asked where we were headed.
Just doing some filming near Spider Rock, Luis said,
documentary stuff, the guy froze, his eyes darted to me
that your land. He asked, Sort of, I mumbled
don't go wandering past Sundown, he said, slowly, and if you hear
whistling at night, don't answer, don't even look.
Corey laughed behind me. What happens if we Whistle Back
skinwalkers? Come out and do a tick?
Tock dance. The man didn't crack a smile,
they mimic, that's how they find you.
He didn't say anything else. Just rang us up bagged our
Gatorades and watched us leave like he was already Mourning.
We drove out past the pavement and onto the old Service Roads.
My stomach was tight, the whole time, the land looked the same,
but wrong empty or somehow. I hadn't been back in over a
decade and all that silence pressed on me like a weight.
No birds. No insects just win and dust and
memories. We camped about a mile east of
my grandparents house up on a Sandstone ledge.
Overlooking the canyon. The View was incredible until
the sun went down. That's when it hit me.
Nothing moved, the deserts, never truly quiet.
There's always something a beetle, an owl, the rustle of
wind through Sagebrush. But that night nothing like the
land itself was holding its breath.
We built a fire and cook. Some canned, chili Corey pulled
out of flask. To forbidden ground and local
Legends. He toasted don't joke like that.
I said he raised an eyebrow. What you believe that crap?
I didn't answer. Truth was, I didn't know what I
believed my grandfather used to tell me stories not bedtime
stories. Warnings, he said, there were
things out there that weren't meant to be seen that.
If you ever heard a voice calling your name from the dark
and it sounded like someone you loved, you should run.
I used to laugh at that but not that night.
Around 2:11 a.m. I woke up in a cold sweat.
I didn't know why. At first, the fire had burned
down to Embers Luis and Corey, were passed out in their
sleeping bags, their faces lit red from the coals, then I heard
it a whistle, not a tune, just one long.
Slow Rising note like someone was testing their breath.
It came from the East then another answered from the west
then silence. I didn't move not an inch.
I pulled the sleeping bag Tighter and prayed.
It would stop it didn't after a few minutes it started again but
this time it was closer. The pitch was off just slightly.
Like someone trying to copy the sound of a human whistle but
getting the shape of the lips wrong, I could hear it bouncing
off the cliffs, but I couldn't pin it down then came the voice,
Daniel, it was barely above a whisper.
Daniel boy, it's cold out here. My blood turned to ice.
That was my grandfather's voice. No question, same rhythms, same
Gravelly tone. The way he used to wake me up
for morning, chores, but he died in 2012 opened the tent son, I
stayed frozen breathing through my nose trying.
Not to shake. The zipper didn't move.
Neither did Corey or Louise. Just me locked in place.
While something outside pretended to be family.
After a minute, I Found the courage to unzip the flap.
Just enough to peek outside, there was nothing there.
Just the dying fire. Just rock and dust.
I was about to lay back down, when I noticed something strange
about the firelight the Shadows were moving in the wrong
direction. Like something was blocking the
light just out of frame. I swung the flash light toward
the ridge that's one I saw it. A figure crouched low like it
was squatting its arms hung longer than they should have
nearly to the ground, the face. I couldn't make it out.
Just the suggestion of it. But it was watching us.
Watching me. I shut the tent locked, the
zipper. Pressed my back against the
fabric and sat there until morning.
When the sun came up, Luis found me still sitting like that pale
and silent. Corey groaned and asked why I
hadn't gone to sleep. I didn't answer.
Louise was reviewing some of his nighttime.
Long, exposures and pause. Suddenly he turned the screen
toward me. there in the top, corner of the frame, perched on
the ledge like a gargoyle was the thing I saw The silhouette.
Still and hunched, you could almost make out hands pressed to
its face. Like it was watching through
binoculars made of its fingers. I don't remember speaking, but
apparently I muttered something under my breath.
That's not a man. We didn't talk much that
morning. Louise kept zooming in on that
photo over and over again. Like he could force it to make
sense. Corey said it was probably a
trick of the light or maybe someone messing with us but he
didn't sound convinced. Not really.
I told them we needed to leave. I'm serious.
I said something's wrong. This isn't a joke.
Corey rolled his eyes. Dude, you're just freaked out
because you saw a shadow come on.
You've been telling us spooky story since we got here.
Now you're buying into them. Luis didn't say anything.
He just kept staring at the screen.
We moved Camp. Anyway, packed everything in
silence, drove, another few miles down into a shallow Canyon
and pitched. Our tents near an old dry
riverbed out of sight from the cliffs, I didn't tell them why I
picked that spot. I just knew it was far from
where we saw that thing. The second we got the fire
going, I stepped away and gathered some ash from the pit.
I mixed it with cedar bark and a pinch of cornmeal from a pouch.
I'd carry in my bags since I was a kid.
My grandmother used to do this when I was sick or scared
marking circles around beds doorways, Windows, a barrier a
prayer. Corey watched me from his
camping chair. What the hell are you doing now?
Don't break this. I said, drawing the circle
carefully around the tent, I'm serious, Corey.
You don't want to invite anything in, he laughed like he
always did but it sounded forced this time.
Fine. Five, Circle, whatever.
We didn't hear the whistling that night, we heard something
worse. It started with a smell around
midnight, the air shifted. It was cold already but this was
something different, like, opening a freezer and getting
hit in the face with spoiled meat rotten wet fur.
It Came In Waves, then came the noise scratching, it was faint
barely there but distinct like claws against fabric.
It moved around the tent. Slowly, I held my breath.
Corey was silent too. Then it sniffed I swear to God
it sniffed the tent wall right? Next to my head long heavy
breaths like it was tasting. Our scent.
I didn't move. Neither, did Corey a moment
passed then another. Then I heard Louise.
Whisper from his side of the tent.
Guys, there's someone out there, they're they're looking at me.
He sounded choked afraid in a way.
I had never heard before. I started to unzip the tent,
just a little, just enough to peek out, but something beat me
to it. A shadow passed across the mesh
a shape upright, but bent its hands, dragged across the fabric
as it moved, slow, and deliberate, its fingers were too
long, I backed away and grabbed my flashlight, the second, I
turned it on everything stopped, no wind, no movement, no sound.
Then from the tree line, just passed the fire came a voice.
Danny Boy, I felt every hair on my body stand up.
It wasn't my grandfather. This time it was me my voice.
But wrong Halo like, someone had recorded it and played it back
through broken speakers. Then it said, Corey his name,
then luis's in every voice, but our own Luis come see, you're
not scared. Are you The Voice laughed.
I turned to Louise he was pale sweating gripping.
His camera like a weapon. I saw it.
He said it was wearing my face. What in the trees just standing
there? I saw its eyes.
It. Smiled like me Dan, but the
mouth, it went too far. Corey snapped.
Okay, enough of this. This is ridiculous.
We're sitting here scared of the woods, like, kids.
I'm gonna take a piss and come back and YouTube better have
grown a pair. Don't leave the circle.
I said quickly Corey don't break the circle, but he was already
stepping through it. He muttered something about not
being afraid of ghost stories and vanished into the dark.
I wanted to scream, I wanted to grab him and pull him back but I
didn't the second he stepped out the fire flickered.
Then we heard it running. Not human running animalistic
too fast. Circling Louise gripped.
My arm do you hear that? Cory came back into view, pale
wide-eyed Frozen. I I think something's out there.
He said barely above a whisper. I felt it watching me.
Then we heard a dry rattling breath.
Just behind him. I aimed the flash light and what
we saw did not belong to this world.
A figure hunched low crawling fast on all fours, but the
joints bent the wrong way, like a puppet with broken strings.
It's back arched on naturally spine visible through its
modeled skin. And when it stopped and stood,
it unfolded like a spider standing upright, it had a face,
a stretched leathery face. But it was wearing it, not
owning it sewn around its own Twisted, features it smiled and
then it spoke in Louise's Voice. Come on man, it's just a joke.
I dragged Corey back inside the circle, we piled sleeping bags,
gear, and even the cooler in front of the 10th zipper, Then
we heard a new sound zip. The tent was unzipping from the
outside. I shoved my hand forward flash
light in one hand knife in the other.
In the Split Second, Glimpse through the half open tent flap.
I saw fingers long, clawed dirty and bent backward feeling along
the zipper like it was learning what it was.
Then Luis screamed not inside the tent outside.
We burst out but he was gone. Just gone, no struggle, no
blood, no noise. Just his camera lying on the
dirt. Still recording Corey, picked it
up with shaking hands. We watched the footage right
there. Using the back screen.
It showed Luis sitting alone looking toward the trees.
Then a figure stepped into frame behind him.
Not walked crawled like a lizard down a tree head first its arms
reached out then folded Luis into them like he was nothing he
didn't fight he just vanished into the dark.
And then the camera turned on its own and showed the face
luis's face grinning wrong stretched too wide and then the
feet cut out, we didn't speak, we didn't cry, we just packed
what we could and started walking, we didn't know where
just a way, I never told Corey what I saw in the firelight,
just before we left, just passed the ashes of the broken Circle.
There were hoof prints, Barefoot tracks, and drag marks, and
written in the ash in crooked block letters.
Let us in We didn't stop walking until the sun came up.
No sleep, no food. No plan just the two of us.
Me and Corey hauling, what was left of our gear through miles
of empty scrubland. Hoping we'd hit a road or see
headlights or something that didn't have a face sown.
From someone, we used to know Louise was gone and I wasn't
even sure he died that somehow made it worse.
I tried to keep my mind moving tried to focus on distance
Direction, anything But Corey. Corey was breaking. he wasn't
talking, not really just muttering to himself replaying
the footage on luis's camera over and over even though the
battery had died hours ago, We came across the SUV by
mid-morning, but it was already too late, all four doors were
wide open. The inside was gutted ripped
apart, like a coyote had gotten into it except there were no paw
prints. Just long bare feet in the dust.
And something else. Hooves small ones, the kind
you'd expect on a goat or a fawn, but spaced wrong too far.
Apart like something bipedal, wearing the wrong skin.
The seats had been clawed up. My backpack was open every item
inside a neat little pile across the windshield.
Like, it was studying us like it knew, What mattered, the
driver's side window had a message.
Scratched into the glass from the inside.
We follow your voice. I dropped the keys.
They wouldn't matter anyway. The battery was stoned dead.
Were being hunted. I said, flatly.
It's not just trying to scare us.
It wants us lost alone. Corey nodded still blank.
I remembered something. My grandfather told me when I
was nine. That if you're being followed by
something, not of this world, you don't go home.
You don't run straight. You don't give it a trail to
follow. Instead you head to where the
old Spirit sleep? That's when I remembered the
Hogan, it was built by my grandfather's grandfather.
Half buried in the canyon near the old Shepherd paths.
He used to take me there sometimes when I was a kid it
was sacred untouched. Maybe even protected.
We headed there. The farther we got into the
canyon, the quieter it became no birds.
No wind. Not even our footsteps made much
sound anymore. Like, the Rocks were listening
around noon. We started hearing them again.
Our own voices from behind the rocks, from The Riches of us
always just far enough that we couldn't see where they were
coming from. Corey, you left me, bro.
Danny, it's Luis. I'm okay.
I just need help. But there was no Echo.
No. Wait to the words, they floated
Halo. Corey broke first.
He turned sharply and screamed into the Rocks.
Shut up, you're not him. The canyon responded in perfect
mimicry, shut up, you're not him.
Same tones, same rage, same pitch, but higher like a child
mocking its parent. That's when the Rocks started
falling, not a landslide, just a warning.
Something was above us. We reached the Hogan by late
afternoon. It was half, buried into the
side of a slope, its door, sealed with thick planks, the
red clay walls covered in faded symbols Navajo protection.
Glyphs some scratched away, some still strong.
I pushed the door open in nearly wept inside its smelled like
Cedar and Sage dusty. But untouched in the center
there was a small circle of black ash intact We dropped
everything and sat inside it. I grabbed the old Satchel from
the altar shelf, my grandfather's pouch of blessed,
Ash, and turquoise chips, and kept it clutch tight in my
hands. Like, it was the only real thing
left in the world outside the air turned thick.
Like, we were being suffocated by silence.
Then came the knock three times, slow rhythmic, like it had all
the time in the world. I held my breath another knock,
but it came from the opposite side of the Hogan, now then
another above us on the roof, Corey whimpered it surrounding
us. Know, I whispered it is us.
It's inside our heads. Then the voice came right
outside the door. Luis's voice.
Dan open up, man. I'm hurt silence.
Then it came again. From behind us this time.
Please, it's so dark out here. Don't leave me out here.
I stood. Step toward the door.
Corey grabbed my arm. Don't I'm not.
I said, I think it knows. It's losing outside.
It growled. Not like a bear.
Not like a coyote, something deep and wet.
Like breath caught in a throat too long.
The voice changed Daniel. It wasn't Luis anymore.
It was my grandfather opened the door, son.
We need to bury you. My knees buckled, then something
slammed against the wall so hard.
It shook the dirt from the ceiling.
Then again, the door cracked wood splintered.
It was coming in. I ripped, open the Satchel, grab
the ash whispered, the only prayer I could remember my dine
was Rusty but I spoke at any way with everything I had and when
the door shattered and the thing crawled in I saw its real face
that had none just Ross in you holes for eyes a mouth that
stretched and warped and split open as it screamed.
But it scream was layered dozens of voices, all at once, like a
choir of the Dead, I threw the ash in its face, it hit like
acid, it screeched a sound. So sharp it made my ears bleed
and burst into fire without flame a white, hot flash that
Lit, the Hogan like a furnace, it didn't run.
It crawled out, backwards screaming, all the way bones.
Snapping skin tearing off as it went, then it was gone and the
silence returned. The sun rose, like it had no
idea what it happened. We were found by a park ranger
around. 8 a.m. Corey was curled up in the
ashes. I was standing on the ridge of
the Hogan staring at nothing. They didn't ask questions, just
got us out. Luis's body was never found.
We gave them the story. They expected, we got lost Luis
wandered off. We panicked.
That was it. They didn't push Corey.
Deleted the footage, every file, every photo, I moved back in
with my grandmother in Gallup and spent the next three weeks
in ceremony cleansing fasting burning prayers into Cedar Wood.
She didn't ask what happened. She just looked at me one night
and said, you brought something back with you.
I asked what she meant. she pointed to my shadow on the
wall, it was still even when I moved some things don't just
wear your skin, they wear your voice, your memories, and if
you're not careful, they wear you It started as one of those
last hurray kind of trips. We were all about to drift into
different corners. Of adulthood Marcos was moving
to Portland for work. Trey had just proposed to his
girlfriend and I I guess I just didn't want to be left behind.
So when I found that old field journal in my uncle's, things
dirt stained leather cover filled with yellowed pages, and
half a raced warnings. I suggested a camping trip out
near the border of the Navajo Nation somewhere remote
somewhere. Real, I should have just thrown
that journal away. Uncle Ray was arranger back in
the early 2000s. He disappeared in 2003 while on
a solo Back Country Patrol, they never found him.
Just his truck parked near a canyon that no longer had a
name. The journal was tucked beneath
the driver's seat in a plastic bag.
Labeled do not open here. Naturally, I opened it.
There was a hand-drawn map, charcoal sketched arrows,
leading toward what he called, the Halo, Beneath one line of
scribbles he wrote they mimic stay quiet, don't say names
after dark. I told the guys it was just some
forgotten Slot. Canyon near Kayenta, perfect for
off-grid camping. Trey was all for it.
Marcos was hesitant, but he'd always been the voice of reason.
We ignored We loaded up the car and headed out early Friday
morning. It was hot by the time we hit
Tuba City and I remember the are starting to feel thick, not warm
thick, like trying to breathe through wet cotton.
I didn't say anything. Didn't want to start the trip
off weird. We stopped at this tiny gas
station. That looked like it, hadn't been
updated. Since 1987 I went inside to grab
a few more Waters and this old dying woman at the register
watched me like I just dragged dirt into her soul.
She didn't speak until I handed her a 20.
You boys going into these Canyons.
She asked, I paused Yeah, planning to camp for a night or
two. She didn't take the money
instead, she reached under the counter and handed me a little
pouch, tied with red yarn. I opened it and caught the scent
of sage and something sweet. Juniper may be It was warm in my
hand, like it had just come from the Sun, you leave this at your
tent entrance. She said, and don't say names,
when the Moon Rises not even your own I laughed a little what
happens if we do. She didn't smile, they'll wear
your skin to find you. I left the 20 on the counter and
got the hell out. We drove another hour down the
back roads, passing nothing, but dust, Rock and silence.
Eventually even the GPS Tapped Out leaving us with the hand
sketched directions, from raised Journal, we followed an old
Service Road and found a dry riverbed.
The kind you'd Miss. If you blinked that was our turn
off, the canyon walls opened like Jaws reddish.
Orange stone looming on both sides.
I swear the shadows in that place moved before the sun did
Marcos kept glancing behind us like he expected something to
crawl out of the Rocks tray. Just played music and rolled a
joint. We reached a flat clearing
beside a low Cliff face. No trees, no wind, no noise.
That kind of dead silence. You only hear in the desert?
When every animal knows not to make a sound, we set up camp.
Anyway, Trey found some old petroglyphs carved into the
canyon wall. He snapped pictures and joked
about summoning desert demons. Marcos was quiet.
Nervously, checking his phone. Even though it had no signal, I
didn't mention that the canyon wasn't on any recent Maps.
Just raised Journal by Sundown. The Stillness had become wrong
like the world was holding its breath.
We were sitting by the fire passing the bottle.
When we heard the first whistle sharp and short like someone
trying to get our attention from the Rocks above.
We all looked up at once. There was nothing there a few
minutes later. Marko swore, he saw a figure
watching us from the ridge, a man crouched low.
But with a face, that looks stretched too long and sharp
like a snout. We laughed at all said he was
just spooked, then the coyotes started howling but it didn't
sound right. It wasn't in the distance like
usual. It was close too close.
One call was behind us. The reply came from the opposite
direction. Maybe 30 feet away, no movement,
no glowing eyes. Just sound perfect mimicry, it
all went quiet by midnight, I woke up sometime later must have
been three in the morning to the sound of clicking.
Light rhythmic like fingernails tapping on rock.
It circled the tent once then again.
I held my breath and listened Trey and Marcos were out cold.
Then something pressed against the fabric of the tent right
next to me. I didn't move, I didn't make a
sound, the imprint stayed there for five.
Maybe 10 seconds human but too large fingers too long.
Six of them. And then it was gone.
I didn't sleep the rest of the night.
When the Sun finally started to rise.
We unzip the tent and that's when we saw it.
A perfect ring of dead birds surrounded, our camp dozens of
them sparrows, rinse, even a hawk each one laid out beat out
all facing the 10th. Their eyes were gone.
We were packing up before coffee.
I went to unlock the SUV and froze.
There was a hand print on the back window, blood red smudged,
from the inside, we left the canyon.
As soon as the sun cleared the Horizon, none of us said, much,
Marcos refused to look back. Trey tried to act.
Like he wasn't rattled, but he kept shaking out his sleeves.
Like something might still be crawling under his skin.
I drove fast. The red handprint on the inside
of the rear, window was still there, even after I wiped it
three times. It wouldn't come off.
Just smeared, the plan was simple.
Get to Higher Ground, find a signal and call for help.
But about five miles down the trail, the SUV started
sputtering. The dashboard lights flickered,
then the engine died completely just shut off.
The battery was fine. Fuel gauge was fine but the key
might as well have been a rock tray.
Popped the hood. But nothing looked out of place.
No, signs of chewing. No leaks.
It was like something had drained the car of life without
touching a single wire. We didn't argue, we knew we
couldn't stay. We grabbed our packs and started
walking the road back. The way we came toward the last
marked road. We passed the Devi Ford.
The temperature was Rising fast, that kind of dry heat.
That cooks your skin from the inside out, the wind never came
back. Just the sound of our boots
crunching sand and our water sloshing in half empty bottles.
We'd been walking maybe two hours when Trace stopped dead in
his tracks. There's something up there.
He said, I scan the path ahead, nothing just a ridge in a bend
in the road, but Marcos was already backing away Whispering.
It's watching us. We didn't see it at first, just
a flicker of movement near the Rocks.
Then something stepped out a man or what looked like one at a
distance. He was tall unnaturally tall.
His limbs were too long. His shoulders sloped at an odd
angle, like his bones, didn't understand how human joints were
supposed to work. He was wearing Trace shirt.
The one he was wearing. Right?
Then, same hole in the sleeve, same faded red, same sweat
stains, but it wasn't Trey, the thing didn't move it, just stood
there. Head tilted, arms hanging limp.
Like it was waiting for us to say something.
We didn't We turned and ran, I don't remember how long we ran
maybe a mile, maybe more, but the desert doesn't give you
cover and we were too exposed. We only stopped when Trey
collapsed to the ground Heating and gasping.
Marcos dropped beside him. I was about to pull out our last
water bottle when I saw it. The thing hadn't followed us on
foot. It was just there again 20 feet
away. Closer this time, still silent
still smiling with lips. That didn't look made for
smiling. Trey was the first to move.
He picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it.
It missed bouncing harmlessly off the dirt.
The thing didn't Flinch in Stead, it turned around and
walked slowly into the canyon brush Vanishing.
Like it had never existed. We didn't talk the rest of the
hike. We didn't run either.
Just kept moving eyes wide jumping at every sound.
The birds never returned, the wind stayed dead.
Even the son felt colder, then we lost Trey, it happened fast.
He said he needed to step off the road to piss.
We told him not to go far. He waved cracked a joke about
getting skin by desert demons and vanished into the scrub
brush. We waited five minutes passed,
then 10. I called for him.
No answer Marko started getting nervous.
Dylan, I don't like this. We both shouted.
His name. Then from the brush, we heard
trays voice coming. Just a second relieved, we
waited a moment later traced stepped out of the brush with a
big grin on his face, but he was off.
His movements were too stiff, like someone figuring out how to
walk. His smile didn't quite reach his
eyes, his voice, sounded the same.
But the way he said, words felt practiced rehearsed, Marcos kept
glancing at me and I could tell he felt it too.
Something wasn't right, Trey walked with us for another mile.
He didn't say much. Just hummed a tuneless song
under his breath. He didn't drink water, didn't
ask for any. And his eyes kept flicking
toward the Rocks, like he was checking for something.
Then around dust we stopped to rest in the shade of a rock
formation. Marcos pulled me aside, that's
not Trey. He whispered look at his hands.
I did his nails, were cracked black and like frostbite, and he
had six fingers on his left hand.
We turned to confront him but Trey was gone.
Again gone, like Vapor then from behind the Rocks.
We heard laughter first Marcos voice that mine then trays all
at once. All wrong.
I don't remember drawing the flash light from my pack.
I just know that we turned and swung it at something moving too
fast, too close. The flash light, hit hard and
the thing crumpled to the dirt. It looked like Trey but as it
twitched and his skin began to Slough off peeling in strips
like bark. Beneath the muscle was dark and
webbed with thin white fibers like Roots, its chest split
open, not from injury, but intentionally and inside were
rows of jagged teeth. No throat, no bones, just
endless gnashing and through that open mouth chest.
It whispered. You shouldn't have come here.
We ran. The last thing I heard as we
stumbled away through the dark was the thing laughing using my
voice. We made it out of the canyon
just after Dawn, or at least, it looked like Dawn, the light felt
wrong dimmer than it should have.
Been like, the sun was Rising through a sheet of wax paper.
Everything around us was muted colors.
Sounds even the air. It was like stepping back into
the world but not quite all the way Marcos and I were both
scratched up dehydrated and stumbling.
By the time we hit the highway. I didn't even remember seeing
the pavement, we were just suddenly on it.
Miles of dead Road in both directions.
I was about to scream when I saw headlights coming over the hill.
A tribal patrol officer found us.
I barely remember what I said. I think I just kept repeating
Trey's name. Marcos didn't speak at all.
He just stared out into the desert rocking slightly like
something was still whispering in his ear.
They took us to a small clinic in Tuba City the nurse cleaned.
Our wounds No one asked too many questions.
That's when the medicine man arrived.
They didn't call him. He just showed up late 50s.
Stone faced with silver streaks in his braids and a necklace of
carved bone. He walked into my room, like he
already knew what it happened. Not the details, what happened?
He sat across from me and didn't say anything for a long time.
Then finally, he asked Did you say its name?
I didn't answer because I didn't know what name he meant, he
leaned forward, and lowered his voice.
To a whisper. They can't take you unless you
call them, unless you speak the name of someone.
It's wearing when you saw it, did you call it by name?
I thought, back that thing in Trey shirt the way I yelled for
him when he wandered off the way I screamed his name.
When we saw it, grinning at us from the rocks.
Yeah, I said his name more than once.
I nodded the medicine man looked down then it knows yours.
Now he performed a cleansing ritual that night burning herbs.
Chanting brushing me down with eagle feathers and Ash It should
have felt comforting but it didn't not really.
It felt like trying to mop up a flood with paper towels, like
whatever. I had invited in.
Wasn't something that could be swept away.
He handed me a pouch of Ash and said, keep this with you, you
may have delayed it, but if it comes again, run, don't speak.
Don't even think in your own voice.
That night Marcos vanished from the motel.
No struggle, no signs of forced entry, his shoes were by the
door untouched. His bed was still made just
gone. Only one thing was out of place.
The bathroom mirror had something scratched into the
glass. You said my name?
I checked out that morning and drove straight back to Phoenix.
I didn't stop. Once I didn't even listen to
music, just white noise on the radio.
I left the sage pouch in my lap, the entire way.
For a while. Things were quiet weaks past.
I saw a therapist, I started writing down what happened told
myself, it was just trauma, a hallucination, some shared
psychotic episode in the desert, but then the handprint came back
on the inside of my car window. Same shape, same angle.
Same six fingers that was two nights ago, yesterday, I got a
text from marcos's number. No, words, just a video
attachment. I shouldn't have opened it, but
of course, I did. The footage was shaky like
someone filming from chest height, walking slowly into a
motel bathroom. The camera tilted up toward the
mirror. What I saw in the reflection
wasn't Marcos. It, wasn't anyone?
No face, just a mess of stretched, skin pulled tight
over a skull with black pits where the eyes should have been.
It turns slowly, and whispered in my voice Dylan The video cut
off. I haven't slept since I keep
hearing footsteps outside my apartment Window, but every time
I check nothing's there, just silence.
The kind of Silence. I remember from the canyon, the
kind that Waits I know what you're thinking that it's in my
head that I'm spiraling. And I wish that were true.
I really, really do. But just now as I'm riding this,
I heard something scratch the back of my front door and a
voice whispered. Let me wear you, if you're
reading this, don't go looking for the canyon.
Don't read from journals that were not meant for you, and if
someone steps out of the dark wearing the face of your friend
don't speak, don't run. Just close your eyes and pray.
It hasn't learned your name yet. I never thought I'd be the kind
of person to post something like this online but Onyx, I don't
know. Where else to go with it.
I'm not looking for clicks or Karma or sympathy.
I just need someone anyone to hear this and maybe believe me
because what happened out near Dry Creek wasn't just weird.
It wasn't just a hallucination or desert fever or anything.
I can explain away it was something else.
It started two weeks ago. I driven up to Northern Arizona,
to visit my mom after her stroke.
She's okay. Now, mild symptoms, mostly
affecting her balance. but it shook me enough to finally
answer my dad's voicemails They still live in Dry Creek, a
little out of the way, Junction about 30 minutes, Southwest of
Sedona close to the border of Coconino and Kaibab National
Forest. If you blink, you'll miss it.
Just a couple of feed stores, a diner, and some ranch style
houses scattered between dirt roads and dry washes.
I hadn't been back in years. There wasn't really a reason to
I moved to Flagstaff after college and things with my
parents. let's just say we weren't on weekly phone call
terms But something about seeing my dad looking older, my mom
quieter made me feel like I had been a way to Long.
That second night after dinner, we were sitting on the porch,
watching the sun dipped behind the ridge line.
It was one of those sedona's sunsets that paints the Red
Rocks gold and turns the sky into fire.
I mentioned how much the place hadn't changed and my dad just
nodded. You should check out Sycamore
Canyon. He said after a pause Trail got
reopened a few months back. I remembered that trail.
We used to hike it, when I was a teenager, it cuts through the
northern edge of the Wilderness Area and has some incredible
views if you know where to look. I told him maybe I would.
And he nodded again more serious this time.
But don't go past the old cattle gate, he added not unless you
want to see something that won't leave you alone.
I laughed couldn't help it. He always had a flair for weird
warnings dry desert humor mixed with half believed folklore.
Skinwalkers. Shadow things dead.
Coyotes. That walk upright.
I grew up hearing those stories around campfires and cookouts.
I figured he was just trying to give me one last spook for the
road. The next evening, I drove out to
the trailhead with a headlamp, a flash light and a full bottle of
water. I started around 6:30 p.m. the
sun was low but there was still plenty of light and the air was
that perfect kind of cool that only happens right before the
desert drops into the cold everything was familiar, the
dusty trail markers, the rust colored rocks lining the path,
The Whisper of pine higher up the ridge, About 45 minutes in.
I came across it, the gate just like he said, it was old maybe
60, 70 years if I had to guess. A rusted metal thing, half
swallowed by dirt and leaning sideways like it was too tired
to keep standing. The no trespassing signs zip tie
to it. Had been weathered down to just
a ghost of words, the area passed, it looked wild,
overgrown, less like a trail and more like a place.
The forest had decided to reclaim.
I stood there for a second. I really did consider turning
back. The light was fading fast and my
phone didn't have a signal. But then I heard something faint
almost imagined. The sound of Rushing Water.
There shouldn't have been any, I stepped over the gate.
The first thing I noticed was how fast everything changed.
The dirt got softer. Like it hadn't been walked on in
years. The air got colder even though
the sun hadn't fully set and the smell.
It was faint. But sharp metallic like, pennies
left out in the rain. I followed a narrow downward.
Sloping wash ducking under low branches and stepping carefully.
Over rocks until I reached it the creek.
It wasn't very wide maybe 15 feet across, but it was moving
fast. Crystal clear water cutting
through stone that looked almost black in the fading light.
It felt off. Not wrong exactly but out of
place. Like it didn't belong in this
part of the canyon and I'd hiked Sycamore Canyon a dozen times
growing up. I'd never seen water.
Run through this stretch, not even in Spring I turned on my
flashlight, that's when I saw the footprints, they were on my
side of the creek, maybe 10 feet from where I stood.
At first, I thought they were human, bare feet, deep
impressions in the Sandy Bank. But something about the made my
stomach twists. The toes were too long almost
finger-like. The arch was too high and the
depth of the prince made no sense.
Unless the thing that left them weighed three or 400 pounds, I
crouched to get a closer look, sweeping my light over the
prince, the mud glistened, like it was fresh.
Like, whatever made them had just been there.
Then I heard it my voice. Over here.
It came from a cross, the water low, casual almost, like I was
calling someone from behind a door.
I froze. The Flash Light Beam jerked
upward slicing through the darkness on the far Bank.
Trees rocks movement and then it stepped into the light.
My brain couldn't register it at first.
I saw a figure humanoid definitely but warped.
It's arms hung too long, the knees bent forward, but too far,
like they were not for walking upright.
Its skin was pale and sagging almost translucent.
Like it had been soaked in water for too long and its head.
Its head looked like mine or was trying to it was like a sculptor
tried to make my face out of melted wax.
Close enough to make my stomach flip, but wrong and all the ways
that mattered lips, too wide eyes, too black, a grin
stretched tight across the jaw, like someone had stapled it in
place. Over here.
It said, again, same voice my voice, but this time it's mouth,
moved badly, the words didn't match the motion, they came too
slow or too fast with gaps between syllables that didn't
belong like a recording that kept skipping.
I backed up my heel, hit a rock and I stumbled the flash light
dropped Rolling Out Of Reach when I looked back.
He was gone the far, Bank was empty, but the woods were
silent. Now not quiet, silent.
Even The Creeks had gone still. And that's when I heard the
branches crack behind me, it was on my side of the water.
I ran. No, hesitation no second
guesses. I turned and ran like something
Primal inside me had taken over. I couldn't hear it at first over
my own heartbeat, but a few seconds in, I realized it was
behind me, following stumbling dragging sometimes fast
sometimes, slow sometimes right next to me, when I didn't hear
it, move at all and then it started mimicking me again.
Help me. It cried voice breaking, please.
It wailed like a dying thing. It begged it laughed every sound
came in my voice. It sounded like me in pain me,
sobbing me, screaming for someone to come back.
I didn't stop. I couldn't I crashed through
brush and nearly broke my ankle on loose Stone.
But when I saw the faint reflection of my trucks tail
lights in the dark, I nearly cried.
I didn't even check behind me. I dove into the driver's seat,
slam the door locked. It and fumbled with the keys.
Like a man, trying to outrun death.
When the headlights came on I looked up.
It was standing in the middle of the trail, its head tilted at
that awful angle, it's grin even whiter now.
It's body slack like a puppet held up by invisible strings.
And then it raised one hand and waved.
I didn't talk to anyone on the drive back from Dry Creek.
Not my parents, not my friends, not even my boss.
Who was expecting me to call in about work that Monday.
I just got in the car, white knuckled, the steering wheel and
drove North up. I-17 like something was still
behind me. That night, when I got home to
Flagstaff, I left all the lights on.
I didn't sleep. I told myself I had just seen
Something a sick, hiker a deranged squadder my mind making
patterns out of Shadows. But I knew that wasn't true
because what I saw by the creek it knew me.
It wore my voice like a mask. It wanted me to hear it.
And the worst part, it wanted me to believe it was me.
I didn't go to work that week. I didn't tell anyone why I lied
about food poisoning and shut myself in.
I triple lock the doors. Pulled, the blinds slept with a
baseball bat, next to my bed and a flash light under my pillow I
tried to convince myself. It had stayed in the canyon.
That whatever I saw belonged out there and that dark pocket of
wilderness. But it didn't, it followed me
home. I woke up that first night to a
sound, I couldn't immediately place.
Soft repetitive like someone tapping on glass.
I sat up in bed Frozen. My phone said 241.
Mm, the tapping came again, it was coming from my bedroom
window, I live on the second floor, the air in the air.
In the room, shifted went still heavy.
My mouth was dry. I didn't want to look every
nerve in my body, screamed, don't look, but I had to.
I turned slow as death and looked toward the window,
nothing. Just closed blinds no silhouette
no movement. No.
Then it spoke. I see you.
It was my voice and not a recording, not a hallucination.
My voice Whispering from the other side of the glass.
I didn't move for the rest of the night.
When the Sun finally came up. I went outside and checked the
ground under the window. Nothing, no Footprints no scuff
marks. Just clean dirt and frost
covered gravel. I told myself it was stress PTSD
or something. I even considered going to a
doctor but then the knocking started again, it didn't happen
every night. Some nights were dead quiet but
those were the worst because it meant I didn't know when it
would come back. And when it did knock, it wasn't
just one place. Sometimes it was the window,
sometimes the back door, sometimes, God help me.
It was the garage which I started padlocking.
Each time. It knocked it said something
different. I'm cold.
I don't know where I am. You left me?
There always in my voice but as the days passed the voice
changed the tone cracked words, slurred sometimes it sounded
like me in pain other times like me Whispering through gritted
teeth and sometimes it didn't sound like me at all.
It sounded like something trying to imitate me.
Like a broken speaker trying to speak a language.
It didn't understand the worst was the laughter, it came on the
fourth night around 3:10 a.m. I just started to drift off when
I heard it right outside, the living room window, this dry
rattling. Cackle that started in my voice
and twisted into something deeper wetter.
Like it was laughing with a mouthful of blood.
That night, I slept in my bathroom with the door locked
lights on and the bat on my lap and then came the roof.
I didn't hear it at first, I felt it, although me then
another footsteps slow deliberate pacing from one end
of the roof, to the other heavy enough to Creek the ceiling
light enough not to break through.
I live alone. No pets.
No upstairs. Neighbors, just me, and whatever
the hell was now, walking around above my bedroom.
Like it had every right to be there.
Then came the voice muffled like it was speaking through the
insulation. I'm so cold.
It said please. I couldn't tell where it was
coming from above. Me beside me inside me.
Then the pacing stopped right above my bed.
I didn't move. I didn't even breathe.
I see you. I squeezed my eyes shut
clenched. My hands over my ears and still
I felt the words sink into my chest.
Like it was already in the walls like it was already inside the
house and just waiting for me to say yes.
When I woke up the next morning, there was nothing on the roof.
No Prince, no signs of forced entry, but the coppery smell
from the canyon was in the house.
Faint. But sharp like something left to
piece of itself behind. That was the first time I
seriously thought I might be losing it.
I started taking pictures of the windows recording audio at
night. I even set up my phone with a
motion sensor app, but every time I looked at the results,
nothing The app would crash. The camera would stop recording.
once the video played back with my face staring into the lens
for 10 straight minutes completely still I never hit
record. I deleted it the following week.
It got worse. I came home from grabbing
groceries, maybe 20 minutes tops and found the front door.
Open not wide. Open, just cracked.
Like someone wanted me to know they could get in but chose not
to nothing. Was taken nothing moved.
Except in my bedroom, my mirror there was a handprint on the
glass, not pressed, not smudged, dragged like something, slick
with mud had slid, its fingers down the surface, five long
streaks, all pointed toward the base and just above it drawn
into the fogged glass, I see you.
I have not used that room since I sleep on the couch now, if you
can call it sleep, Most nights, I lie awake until the skies
starts to turn blue baseball, bat on my chest flash, light by
my side, trying not to think about the fact that whatever I
saw in Sycamore Canyon isn't just following me, it's
learning. It knows where I live.
It knows my voice and it knows how to sound like someone worth
saving. I don't know what I expected
when I went back to Sycamore. Canyon closure, maybe answers.
Proof I wasn't losing my mind. Or maybe I just wanted it to end
the sleepless nights. The laughter outside, the
window. The way, my own voice had
started sounding wrong. When I talked to myself in the
mirror, I stopped recognizing it.
Stopped recognizing me, something had to give.
So I packed what I thought I might need my flash light, a
backup headlamp, my old hunting knife and the baseball bat.
I had been sleeping next to for two weeks straight.
I even brought a bottle of whiskey.
I'd meant to leave for my dad as a gift.
Not sure if I plan to drink it or use it as bait, maybe both.
I didn't tell anyone where I was going, not that anyone would
have believed me. I hit the trail just after six
in the evening. The sky was bleeding out at its
last bit of orange. By the time, I passed the old
rusted sign at the edge of the Sycamore Canyon wilderness. the
same route I take in before back when this all started, Only this
time something was different. The cattle gate wasn't there.
It was gone completely. No frame, no hinges.
Not even the patch of disturbed Earth that used to stand on,
just open desert in silence. So thick, it felt like, sound
had been vacuumed out of the world.
I kept walking the path Twisted into the Ravine like before, but
it looked more overgrown. Now, Bush's clawing at my arms
trees leaning in like they were watching me pass.
I hadn't noticed how the trunks bent inward before.
Or how the dirt underfoot felt soft, almost spongy, like
walking on skin. The air turned cold again.
The metallic smell was Stronger, this time copper and mold and
old wrote baked into the roots of the earth.
That same six sweetness, I'd smelled by the creek and then a
sound my voice but not calling this time, it was singing low
and slow a song. I didn't recognize just a string
of humming syllables in my Cadence.
It echoed faintly bouncing off the canyon walls like it had
been practicing, I should have turned back, I wanted to turn
back but something in me, kept going the water came into view a
few minutes later. Same shallow Creek.
Same black rocks lining the edge only this time, there were
Footprints in the Sand. All ready, mine from before
perfectly preserved, like time hadn't touched them.
And across the creek. It was waiting it stood ankle
deep in the current head low arms limp at its sides hair
matted with filth. The water didn't move around it.
It moved with it. Like it was part of the flow.
The flashlight beam caught, its skin, pale sagging seamless in
places like it had grown from the ground rather than been born
and its face. It was perfect this time.
It didn't look like a twisted version of me anymore.
It was me down to the scar on my eyebrow.
The slight asymmetry in my jaw, the little mole behind my left
ear, I couldn't speak couldn't breathe it.
Tilted, its head and smiled, I remember now it said in my
voice, you let me out. I opened my mouth, but nothing
came out. My tongue felt heavy, my lungs
felt watched What are you? I finally managed to ask.
It took a step forward. The water didn't Splash you.
It said before you left, it took another step you it's set again.
After you die. It's voice, shifted slid between
tones. At one moment, I was hearing
myself then my mother's voice, then my fathers, then something
else, something I didn't recognize a hollow empty
vibration like wind blowing through a skull.
I don't understand, I whispered it smiled.
Wider you brought me back. I stumbled backward.
My heel caught the edge of a root and I nearly fell.
My flashlight trembled in my hand.
It didn't come after me. It just stood there.
Staring watching. Then it began to change.
His skin rippled like water bones, snapped into new
positions. Limbs shortened and widened its
face began to split open down the middle like rotten fruit
inside. Something darker wetter eyes,
too many and too deep. It was wearing me.
That's when I remembered the whiskey.
My hands were shaking but I fumbled the bottle out of my
pack and yanked, the cloth from my back pocket.
I wrapped it around the neck, soaked it and lit it with the
emergency Flair. I had packed just in case, the
fire whooshed to life orange and wild.
I threw it as hard as I could. It landed just in front of the
creature in the dry brush by the creek.
Flames snapped to attention Rising fast, the thing didn't
move. It just watched the fire.
Like it was curious. Then it opened its mouth again.
Thank you I turned and ran branches whipped at my face.
Something screeched behind me, not a voice, but the sound of
hundreds of voices breaking at once.
I didn't look back. I didn't stop, I didn't care
that. I tripped twice or that I
dropped the headlamp or that I couldn't feel my legs.
By the time, I reached the road when I saw my car, I sobbed I
drove until the sky, turned gray behind me.
That was 12 nights ago since then the house has been quiet.
No footsteps, no laughter. No voices begging to be let in.
I've started sleeping again. I even spoke to my mom on the
phone. Last night, I told her I was
okay, I almost believe it but this morning when I went to
brush my teeth, I saw something in the mirror, a handprint.
Just one clean centered. The same shape as mine but
longer in the fingers and behind me from the hallway.
I heard my voice say you're not done yet.
It was Drew's idea. Like it usually was when we
ended up doing something dumb. But, well, intentioned he called
me after 8 months of Silence. No texts.
No means not even a Merry Christmas just a one-line
message at 2:04 in the morning. Still hike.
I didn't respond right away. Truth was I hadn't hit a trail
in over a year, work a breakup and the kind of creeping
exhaustion that settles in your bones.
Had kept me, firmly planted indoors.
But something about the timing about the way.
Drew asked made me say, yes, without even asking, where we
met up in Asheville, three days later.
He looked rough. Pale.
Gone to around the eyes like he hadn't slept properly and weaks.
But when I asked about it, he Shrugged It Off.
Said, he just needed to get out of the city.
Clear his head. Breathe.
Real are again, and I didn't push, because, frankly, I needed
the same. Drew had picked the spot, an
isolated stretch of the Appalachian Trail near the
Tennessee, North Carolina border.
We'd hike for four days Circle back using a fire Road and crash
in the truck. No service, no noise, just miles
of nothing, it sounded perfect. I should have asked him.
Why he picked that spot. Should have asked a lot of
things really, we parked his rust bitten to Tacoma on an
overgrown, shoulder near an old mile marker.
The trailhead wasn't labeled on any map.
I had Drew just said, trust me. It connects in and pointed
uphill to a faded break in the trees.
The path was narrow overgrown in places and I could feel the
wetness of the Moss through the sides of my boots within the
first 20 minutes. The air was Heavy damp like the
woods had just finished raining even though the sky was clear.
It smelled old earthy but not the good kind.
More like mildew and forgotten things.
Every step kicked up the scent of rotting leaves and mud.
Still we laughed a lot that first day.
Talked about the usual exes. Jaws dumb crap.
From high school, Drew seemed like himself again.
That night, we set up camp in a shallow Basin next to a Dry
Creek bed, just a flat enough. Patch to drop our gear.
We cooked some Ramen on my jetboil and passed a tiny flask
back and forth until the stars came out in full.
Around midnight. The forest got two quiet.
It wasn't gradual one second. We could hear the rustle of
squirrels, the buzz of insects the occasional flap of something
big in the trees. The next it was like someone had
hit mute on the whole world. The fire still crackled.
Drew's breathing was steady but beyond that, nothing.
I sat up Suddenly alert. Do you hear that?
He didn't say anything. Just nodded eyes, fixed on the
dark Tree Line, beyond the fire. That's when we heard it.
This low, grinding noise, not footsteps, not a growl It
sounded like someone dragging a bag of rocks through wet gravel
long, slow pausing. Every few seconds it moved just
beyond the trees where the firelight faded to Black, we
didn't speak didn't move. Just listened it.
Circled slowly. Like it was checking us out when
it stopped Drew whispered. Don't move it circling.
I nodded even though he couldn't see me, my skin felt electric,
my body coil tight, like a spring.
I grabbed the hatchet near, my sleeping bag and held it low
minutes passed, maybe hours. I don't know.
At some point, I must have dozed off because when I opened my
eyes again, the sky was turning gray and the fire had burned to
Ash. The woods were noisy.
Again birds chirping a squirrel, scampering up a trunk like
nothing had happened. Drew was already awake standing
at the edge of camp with his arms folded.
I walked up next to him and followed his gaze.
Boot prints deep ones, not ours, they circled the camp in a wide
Arc, maybe 15 feet out where the brush was just thick enough that
you wouldn't see someone unless you were looking for them.
Drew didn't say anything, just turned and started packing up.
we hit the trail again, around 7 a.m.
Both of us were quieter not as quick with the jokes.
There was this shared understanding between us now,
unspoken but heavy. Something had been watching us
last night. And it wasn't a bear or a deer
or anything. That belonged out here, we hiked
most of the day, without seeing anyone know other hikers.
No Trail markers, not even the occasional candy wrapper left
behind by an amateur. It felt like we were the last
two people on the trail at one point.
I checked my phone just to see the time and notice something
weird. The time was wrong off by two
hours. I laughed at first thought, I
must have hit daylight savings or messed with the settings, but
Drew checked his watch and went pale.
Same thing. We both had different brands,
mine digital his analog, but both were off exactly two hours
behind. No way.
Both of them are busted. I said, Drew did an answer just
looked back over his shoulder scanning, the trees.
Like he was expecting something to step out of them.
The rest of the day passed in a fog.
At some point, we found an old overhang looked like it.
Used to be a trail shelter before it collapsed in on
itself. The beams were weather Warren
and splintered, roof caved in like it had given up Fighting
Gravity. We didn't stop just moved past
it and kept walking and that's when we saw him a man walking
the opposite direction. Maybe 50 yards ahead, just
stepping slowly down the trail. Like he had nowhere to be.
At first I was relieved, another person.
Proof. We weren't alone out here.
But something felt off immediately, he was barefoot
filthy. His shirt was torn hanging off
one shoulder and he was carrying a bundle of sticks in one hand
like carrying them not in a pack.
Just bundled in his arms like a toddler holding toys we stepped
aside to let him pass. He didn't look at us, didn't say
a word, just walk straight down. The trail eyes locked on the
dirt like he was afraid to look up.
Drew muttered under his breath. What the hell was that?
I didn't answer my mouth was dry.
Tongue stuck to the roof like I hadn't drunk in days.
I watched the man disappear around a bend and felt this
pressure in my chest like the woods were holding their breath
again. We made Camp early that night
just Before Sunset. Drew didn't speak much while we
set up just went through the motions, tent food fire like a
man on autopilot when it got dark, we didn't tell stories or
pull out the flask. We just sat there watching the
woods listening. And that's when we heard it.
Again, three short whistles sharp deliberate, we both froze.
Then the sound of something stepping, just beyond the trees
One Step, pause, another pause closer.
Drew whispered, that's not the same thing from last night, I
didn't answer. I just gripped the hatchet and
prayed it with, leave us alone. But deep down, I knew something
had followed us. Something was out there and it
knew we were here. The morning after the whistles,
neither of us set a word about what we'd heard.
Maybe we were too afraid to put it into words.
Maybe it felt safer to pretend it didn't happen.
But the silence between us wasn't normal.
It was sharp tense like a wire. Pulled tight between two people
trying not to panic. We broke Camp faster than usual,
no coffee, no breakfast. Just packed our Gear with stiff
fingers and got moving before the sun had fully cleared.
The trees. The trail was wrong.
I don't know how else to put it. The path looked the same, but
the woods fell off. The space in of the trees was
too, even like they'd been planted and I swear, they were
closer together than they'd been yesterday, the light filtered
through the branches in thin pale streaks that didn't feel
like sunlight. It looked like the glow off a TV
screen in a dark room. Cole, an artificial.
An hour in. We found the first marker, it
was carved into a tree trunk. Deep gouges in the bark done
recently, at first, I thought it was Trail graffiti until I got
closer and saw the shape three straight vertical slashes
evenly, spaced, not letters, not a hikers.
Initials, it looked more like tally marks.
But they were only three like someone or something was keeping
track. We pushed on trying to stay
calm, but the deeper we went the more signs.
We saw not just carvings Stones stacked until little pyramids,
beside the trail. With Tufts of fur wedged between
them twine hanging from branches in half Hazard knots. once we
passed a log covered in dozens of dead, moths Wings played,
like they had been arranged their Drew didn't say much, but
I caught him looking over his shoulder constantly and he
started mumbling. Just little things under his
breath. Don't look at it or keep walking
over and over like a mantra. I finally stopped him what's
going on man. He looked at me eyes glassy.
I've been here before my stomach dropped.
What? I, I don't mean, literally not,
like, I remember hiking this part, but I know this place.
I've seen it in dreams that tree.
He pointed to a Crooked Cedar, split down the middle by
lightning. I've seen that tree a dozen
times. You didn't tell me you'd been
dreaming about this. He didn't answer just started
walking again by midday it felt like we were the only people
left in the world. No birds, no bugs.
Just the sound of our own breathing and the crunch of
boots on damp leaves and that's when we saw the footprints.
Not ours, not from boots, bare feet.
One set deep heel Impressions, long toes wide apart like
someone or something. Had been running Barefoot, along
the trail and they were fresh. We stopped dead.
The prince curved off the path and into the woods.
I could see the trail. They left behind in the
undergrowth bent grass, Disturbed, leaves.
It wasn't random. It was like, it wanted us to see
where it had gone. We should turn around.
I said Drew shook his head slowly.
We won't get out that way. You don't know that he looked at
me and there was something behind his eyes that made my
stomach twists. Like he wasn't sure if we'd ever
get out. We followed the trail for
another hour. Then Came Upon a structure.
It wasn't on any map just a single rotting shelter.
Buried deep in the woods old Ranger Station.
May be The roof sagged like a broken spine, Windows boarded
the door, hanging off its hinges.
I didn't want to go in. Every part of me screamed not
to. But Drew was already stepping
through the threshold. Inside.
It was worse. The air was thick foul like old
meat and mold. The walls were covered in claw
marks. Not scratches gouges deep enough
that flakes of wood curl at the edges.
Something had torn through here recently.
In the corner was a pile of bones.
Small ones animal probably, but they were laid out in a pattern
symmetrical. Deliberate skulls stacked, on
top of each other, like a totem. And next to it, a pile of
clothes folded clean, too. Clean a faded.
Hoodie hiking pants. A baseball cap with a tiny patch
that said, wander more, There was a name stitched into the
jacket collar Ryan, s. Drew said, nothing just stared
at the clothes like they were Radioactive.
Then we heard it again. The whistle three notes, this
time closer, right? Outside Drew turned to Me Slowly
its hunting. No, I said backing away, it's
toying with us. We bolted out of the station and
ran full Sprint bouncing lungs on fire.
We didn't stop until we were halfway down a ravine.
Gasping and soaked in sweat. That's when I realized my GPS
wasn't in my pocket anymore. Gone just gone.
I'd checked it. Maybe. 10 minutes, early
earlier. No way it fell out.
It was taken. Mine's dead Drew said holding up
his screen. It was cracked straight down the
middle, the display flickered once and shut off for good.
We sat there in silence for a while.
Listening to the forest, breathe?
The sun was going down behind the ridge.
We didn't have long. We need to make Camp.
I said, set a fire. Keep watch.
Drew nodded but didn't move. And then he whispered something
that chilled me more than anything that day, I don't think
we're on the trail anymore. I looked around, he was right,
the path. We'd been following, wasn't a
trail, not really no markers, no blazes, just a warned line
through the trees that we'd been blindly following thinking it
would lead somewhere safe. But it didn't, it was a path
meant for something else. We didn't sleep that night, we
built a fire and took turns watching it listening for the
whistle It didn't come. That's somehow made it worse.
At least before we knew where it was.
Now it could have been anywhere all around us.
Or maybe it was just waiting. The woods didn't feel like Woods
anymore, they felt like a maze. Like we'd cross some invisible
line in the rules, no longer applied when the sun came up, if
you could even call it that we packed up and tried to
backtrack. We figured if we could retrace
our steps to the ranger station, maybe we'd find something that
pointed us toward a real Trail. But the Ravine we'd scrambled
down gone. Just a flat stretch of moss and
Deadfall. The ranger station nowhere.
Maybe we missed it. I said, even though I knew we
didn't Drew didn't respond, his face had gone pale again and his
left. I had started twitching every
couple of minutes. He looked like he was falling
apart from the inside out. I don't think it wants us to
leave. He finally whispered.
We kept walking after a few hours, we hit a clearing a wide
circular opening in the trees. No sound no birds.
Just to feel of stones, big flat slabs laid out in tight
unnatural roads. Some were cracked.
Others looked like they'd been burned and in the center a tree
dead blackened, split right down the middle.
At its base. Something had been carved into
the wood come closer. Drew just stared at it like it
was calling his name. I grabbed his arm, we're not
going near that thing. He didn't argue, just let me
pull him away. That's when we heard it.
Not the whistle this time. It was our voices, my voice
Drew's voice coming from the woods.
It said this way, then, help and then laughing mocking.
Like it was trying to remember how to be human, but got the
tone wrong off. Just enough to make your skin
crawl. We ran the path was uneven Roots
rising to grab our boots. Branches clawing at our arms.
I lost track of how long we moved like that ducking
stumbling shoving through brush. Like we were being chased even
when nothing was behind us, eventually?
We hit another Trail, a real one.
I recognized the markers white rectangles on the trees
Appalachian. Trail Blaze.
I nearly cried but Drew wasn't celebrating.
He just stood there, staring into the woods.
It led us, find it. He said it wants something.
What the hell are you talking about?
He looked at me expression, flat.
Were not both getting out. No, I said backing away, don't
do this but he was already taking off his pack.
Dropping it in the middle of the trail.
You've got a wife, a real life back home.
I don't this thing, it followed me first, I grabbed him by the
jacket. I'm not leaving you out here.
And that's when we heard it footsteps, not shuffling, not
creeping, running fast, heavy, right?
Toward us? We turned and bolted, whatever
it was, it was behind us. Close.
I could hear the snap of branches, feel the vibration in
the ground. I didn't look back.
I couldn't, we ran until my lungs felt like they were filled
with glass. My legs barely worked.
Drew was falling behind. He stumbled once hard rolled
down a slope and hit a tree with a sickening crunch.
I stopped turned back, he wasn't moving.
The thing was close now, too close.
I could hear it breathing wet, rattling.
Breaths. I had to make a choice, I turned
and ran, I ran until I saw a clearing in the glint of metal.
A trail sign bent rusted, half covered in Vines, but real, I
followed it crashing through the underbrush until I saw a gravel
road, a ranger truck, a man in uniform.
I don't remember what I said. I think I screamed, he grabbed
me hauled me into the truck and drove he didn't ask questions.
Didn't talk just kept his eyes on the road.
We drove for maybe 20 minutes before I caught my breath enough
to speak my friend. Drew he still out there.
The ranger didn't look at me, he just muttered.
You're lucky it. Lets you go.
What are you talking about? What is that thing?
He finally turned his head. Just enough for me to see the
Deep lines in his face. We get a few like you every
couple years pairs, mostly one gets out one doesn't.
I stared at him so what? You just leave them.
We've tried, he said sent teams in dogs drones, sometimes we
find pieces. Sometimes we don't, it's not our
land, not really? We rode in silence after that,
back at the station. They gave me water.
Took a statement, I barely remembered giving told me
someone would look into it, but I could see it in their eyes.
They already knew how this ended but Drew.
Made it three days later. A rescue team, found him
wandering down a game Trail six miles from where I left him.
Shirt, shredded, Shoes Gone, blood crusted down one side of
his face. He was muttering something about
names and mirrors. They sedated him on the spot.
He doesn't talk anymore. Not to me, not to anyone.
He moved to New Mexico changed his name, deleted.
Every trace of his old life. Sometimes I text him just to see
if he still there. He never replies as for me.
I moved out of the city, don't hike anymore, I stay away from
wooded areas. I Don't Go Near parks.
Sometimes I catch myself listening to closely at night
waiting for the wind to shift and once just once I swear, I
heard it again. Three sharp whistles and my
voice calling from the trees. I didn't grow up with ghost
stories. I didn't grow up believing and
curses forests Spirits or anything that couldn't be
measured or explained. My family wasn't superstitious,
we were practical. We believed in what we could see
touch quantify. That's probably why I didn't
take Everett seriously when he grabbed my arm that night his
nails, digging into my skin eyes, glassy and wide.
If the woods, go quiet, you stop.
Don't talk, don't run, don't turn around.
That's what he told me. I should have listened Everett
lived out past Blue Ridge in this patch of the Georgia
Mountains where the trees felled older than time.
His cabin was one of those places that never had good cell
reception, never got mail delivered directly.
And somehow always smelled like damp Stone.
I driven in that afternoon to grab the will paperwork he'd
finally gotten around to finalizing.
He wasn't dying, but he looked like he was getting their thin
pale like something. Had hollowed him out from the
inside. He wasn't eating said the woods
had been too loud lately, then too quiet.
Whatever the hell that meant? His windows were covered in a
new paper. And black duct tape, he'd
unplugged his fridge covered. All the mirrors and kept bundles
of sage hanging above every door frame.
It looked less like a house and more like a bunker for someone
who thought the trees were conspiring against him.
When I asked about the blackout curtains, he just said they
don't like to be watched, I laughed.
He didn't when I stood up to leave, Everett didn't follow me
to the door. He jumped ahead of me and
blocked. It clutching the frame like he
thought, it might vanish, if he let go.
Just stay the night. He said, I'll drive you back at
first light. It's safer that way. it's a mile
and a half, I said, I know the trail.
I've done it 100 times. I'll be home in less than an
hour. Ever had stepped aside but not
before pulling. Something from his pocket, a
small cloth pouch tied shut with a knot of red twine, Take this.
He said, don't open it, don't lose it.
What is it? Salt, bones, a few teeth stuff.
It doesn't like I shoved it in my jacket just to make him feel
better and promised to text, when I made it back to the
trailhead, he didn't smile didn't even wave.
Just stood there on his porch. As I walked off, eyes locked on
the tree line like he expected it to move and for a while,
everything was fine. The trail was familiar narrow
winding, but clearly marked light bled through the trees and
thin golden strands. And the air was Chris still
clinging to that late Autumn chill.
I kept a steady Pace earbuds in just wanting to get home before
my mom started blowing up my phone.
I was about a quarter mile in when I noticed it the silents.
Not the peaceful kind either. The kind that makes your stomach
tightened before your brain, even catches up.
No, wind no crunch underfoot. Even my own footsteps, sounded
muted. I paused pulled out one earbud
and realized the forest wasn't just quiet.
It was dead. No birds, no insects nothing.
I don't know how long I stood there before I realized I was
holding my breath. I took a step forward, something
shifted in the corner of my vision, just trees.
Another step, a low creaking, noise echoed from behind me like
a tree groaning under its own weight.
I kept walking, that's when I smelled it.
Something foul heavy and sweet like meat left in a plastic bag
on a hot day, it hit my nose like a slap and lingered in the
back of my throat. I covered my mouth with my
sleeve eyes watering. I don't know why I looked left,
maybe Instinct, maybe stupidity, but through the thick brush just
passed the slope of the ridge. I saw something standing between
two trees. At first, I thought it was a
person. Just a man watching me from a
distance but it didn't move, it didn't breathe, it's arms were
too long hands. Drooping low enough to brush the
tops of its knees. The legs were bent like a deer's
and its skin. What?
I could see of, it looked leathery like, it had been
stretched too tight over the bones.
And its face. God, its face.
It had a mouth, a human one full of teeth, too many teeth and
eyes, like open, coals glowing just faintly in the dimming
light, like they were not reflecting light but making it,
I blinked it was gone. I laughed mostly out of panic
and forced myself to keep walking.
I told myself, I'd imagined it. Some illusion from the Shadows.
My brain playing tricks. That's what I told myself.
That's what I needed to believe, because if I didn't, I have to
accept that ever, it wasn't crazy that he was right.
That there's something in those woods that watches you when the
air goes still, My shoe came untied about halfway through.
I bent down to fix it hands shaking more than I would like
to admit. As I did something snapped in
the trees ahead, not a twig, a crack, like something heavy had
stepped on a branch without caring.
How much noise it made. I froze, another snap this time
closer. I stood up fast tighter knot and
started walking not running just walking that's what ever it said
right? Don't run.
Don't talk. Don't look back.
I tried to whom keep myself calm.
But even my voice sounded swallowed up like the trees were
listening. Then I heard it singing low
feminine no words. Just a tune carried by a voice
that sounded human almost. But there was something off
notes, held too long vibrato where there shouldn't be any, a
voice, that sounded practiced. Like it had learned the song by
watching people sing but never tried it until now.
It came from behind me. I didn't turn around the sound
moved circling to my right then to my left, then above, I told
myself, it was an echo, just sound bouncing off rocks or
Cliffs or whatever. But the air was too flat too
thick. That's when I felt the breath
hot and rancid hitting the back of my neck.
Like someone was standing in an inch behind me.
I closed my eyes. Took one step forward.
Then another the singing stopped, everything stopped, I
heard my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Heard the crunch of gravel beneath me again, finally, like
the trail had come back online. I opened my eyes at nearly cried
from relief. When I saw the old mile marker
nailed to a tree ahead. I was halfway there, just keep
walking. There's a weird kind of Silence
that comes after something terrifying.
Not peaceful. Not even still just Hollow.
Like the world is holding its breath.
That's what the trail felt like. As I passed that old mile marker
and step deeper into the trees, I kept thinking just a little
farther. But my legs were tight with
tension and my back felt like it was being watched scanned.
I hadn't seen that thing again, but the memory of it was burned
into me. That mouth.
Those eyes the way it just vanished.
I kept my Pace steady. No running, no talking.
Just walking like Everett said, I even kept my eyes down
watching the dirt. The scattered leaves the faint
depressions in the past. That's probably why I almost
missed it. The second mile marker, I
blinked at it confused. It looked exactly the same as
the one I had already passed. Same angle same fated white
numbers. Same nail poking out, just a
little too far. I reached out hesitating and ran
my fingers along the cracked wood.
It was the same, not just a copy, the same one, I hadn't
gone in a circle, the trail didn't Loop.
There were no offshoots. I knew this part of the at like
the back of my hand, but somehow I was back where I started.
That was the first time I really started to panic.
I turned slowly trying not to make any sudden moves.
Nothing but trees, nothing but missed In the far-off Pines.
The sun had dipped below the Horizon completely now and the
forest was cast in that final blue haze just before full dark
and then I heard the laughter children, not happy laughter Not
Innocent, this laughter was dry and mean like kids daring each
other to poke a dead animal with a stick.
It echoed weirdly bouncing between the trees in short
bursts rising and falling like waves.
I froze, then it got louder, One Voice, then too then more it
sounded like they were running around me fast.
Their footsteps were impossible light but quick circling weaving
closing in I turned in a slow Circle, heart thudding, and
still saw nothing. That's when one of them.
Whispered my name not screamed, not called whispered right into
my ear. I spun swinging wildly behind me
but nothing was there. My flash light nearly slipped
from my hand. Another Whisperer this time from
the other side, then a giggle, and another voice My own voice
mimicking the way I had said, I know the trail back at Everett's
house word for word, same tone, but it was wrong.
A fraction too slow, the Cadence, just slightly off.
Like it was trying to understand the way I spoke but hadn't
figured it out completely. I started moving again fast.
Not running but not calm either. Every shadow looked like it was
about to reach out and grab me. The trees leaned a little too
far into the trail. Like they were listening
watching. I pulled out my phone.
No service no signal, just a blinking red battery icon
figures then for a split second I saw myself.
At first, I thought it was a reflection, a trick of the light
but it was me my clothes, my face, everything standing just
off the trail. To my right head tilted, arms
limp, a mirror image, Except it was smiling.
A big toothy unblinking smile, that felt like a mask stretched
too tight. I didn't scream.
I couldn't my throat locked up. I just stared heart frozen in my
chest as it raised one hand and slowly mimicked.
A wave, then it walked backward into the woods, not turned
walked backward. Its knees bent the wrong way.
I couldn't help it. I ran.
I know Everett said not to, but every Instinct in my body took
over, I tore down the trail branches, slicing at my arms, my
jacket snagging on Thorns. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't
think. I just ran and then the trail
disappeared. It didn't end.
It didn't split it, just vanished one moment.
It was beneath my feet. The next I was standing in thick
undergrowth surrounded by trees that didn't look familiar.
My flash light, flickered. I turned in every direction.
No Trail markers, no path. Just Woods.
Endless swallowing Woods, the stench returned, coppery rotting
thick in the air. It clung to the inside of my
nostrils. My flashlight, flickered again,
then died, and that's when I heard it.
Again, the song, same voice same lullaby, only this time, it was
closer directly in front of me and something moved.
I don't mean a shadow or a blur. I mean the space in front of me
shifted like the air had folded Inward and something stepped
through a tall spindly shape emerged from between the trees
its body. So thin it looked like it had
been starved for years. It walked with this slow
graceful Bend like it was sniffing the air.
I didn't breathe, I didn't move, it's headed toward me.
It had no eyes just sockets filled with that same burning
red glow. The grin widened.
Then it started humming. I turned and bolted.
I didn't care if I was making noise, I didn't care if it was a
mistake. I needed out the thing.
Didn't chase me with footsteps. It chased me with sound every
time. I thought, I'd gotten some
distance, it was there again closer, louder, humming in that
same terrible tone that somehow knew every nerve to twist.
I stumbled fell hard, slammed my shoulder into a rock my
flashlight, hit the ground and cracked open the batteries
popping loose, my vision swam, and then I felled of fingers,
long, ice cold, wrapping around my ankle.
I kicked screamed, my boot caught something, solid and
whatever it was like, let go. I scrambled to my feet and ran,
I don't remember the next part. Clearly just flashes trees.
Rushing passed blood running down my leg.
Annoys behind me like someone breathing through a throat full
of water then pavement, just like that.
I was on asphalt the trailhead parking lot.
My car was there empty waiting? I collapsed against the hood
crying shaking. I don't remember unlocking the
door. Don't remember driving home.
The next thing I remember clearly is my bedroom, my bed.
My ceiling fan slowly spinning above me.
My clothes still damp with sweat and dirt and something else.
Something worse, a strip of dirty Fabric in my jacket
pocket, red and frayed, soaked in something dark, when I
touched it. The humming started again, this
time from inside my closet but that wasn't what woke me.
It was the humming low barely audible.
Like it was coming through the walls.
I sat there for a full minute, clutching my sheets staring at
the closet. The door was cracked open.
Just an inch. Just enough for Darkness to
spill out. I got up slowly and crossed the
room. Every step felt like walking
into a Minefield. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was behind the door crouched waiting.
When I finally yanked, it open. There was nothing just closed
shoes. The usual clutter, but that's
smell the rot, the wet copper, the scent of it.
Still hung in the air like fog. I slammed the door shut and
didn't open it again. Later that morning, I noticed
something else. My backpack was still zipped and
untouched from the night before but when I opened it there was
something tucked inside the main compartment, a folded piece of
old fabric, flannel torn faded red, Everett's shirt I didn't
pack that and stitched crudely into the corner.
Just barely visible. In the light was my name not
written, not labeled stitched. The thread was dark and stiff.
Like it had been soaked in. Something thick blood may be or
worse. I dropped it immediately and
backed away like it was a live grenade.
That was the moment I realized whatever I saw out there didn't
stay out there. It followed me the humming
returned that night closer. Now, inside the house, I tried
everything lights on windows, locked Sage smudging, even salt
across the thresholds, it didn't matter.
The lights would Flicker and dim the salt lines would smear on
their own and no matter how loud I played music or The TV.
I could still hear it right underneath the same lullaby,
looping endlessly and the laughter the children.
They giggled from under my bed. They whispered, from inside the
walls. Once I walked into the bathroom
and saw hand prints on the fogged up mirror child size
smudged moving. I stopped looking in mirrors
after that then Everett showed up unannounced just after
sunset. I don't know how he got there.
His truck wasn't outside. One second.
I was checking the window and the next he was knocking at my
door. When I opened it.
I almost slammed it shut again. He looked off, not just tired,
not just sick wrong. His skin was almost gray.
His eyes sunken deep in their sockets.
But somehow glowing faintly beneath the surface and he was
smiling not a normal smile. One that looked glued in place
like it was stretched too far too wide.
I forgot to give you the final page he said holding up a
crumpled envelope I didn't take it.
He tilted his head slightly. You saw it, didn't you?
I didn't respond, couldn't my throat felt like it had been
stapled. Shut Everett leaned in closer.
I told you not to run his eyes flashed red, then he turned
stepped off my porch and walked straight into the woods behind
my house. No flash light.
No, hesitation and vanished. I didn't move for hours.
I just sat on the couch, with every light in the house on
clutching a fire poker. Like it would do any good when I
finally stood up to check the yard.
There were no footprints. No sign he'd ever been there and
then I saw it in the backyard. Something was standing just
beyond the tree line tall. Bony Silhouetted against the
night. It waived.
Slowly, like, it was learning. I shut the blinds that night.
I dreamed of it of me. But it wasn't me.
It was my body. Yes my face my voice but inside
it was something Hollow smiling hungry.
It walked through my house opened my drawers, touched my
things practiced, my laugh. And when it looked in the
mirror, it seemed to shudder with joy.
Then I woke up to find my closet open again.
The next few days were a blur. Time stopped making sense.
I'd lose hours at a time. Blackout while, brushing my
teeth only to come to with the water running and the room dark.
I'd hear myself talking in the other room, but I would be
alone. Once I woke up outside just
lying on the grass in my backyard, Barefoot my door still
locked and always always that feeling of being watched like I
wasn't just being followed, like I was being replaced.
The final straw came three nights ago, I caught it.
Not clearly not in full But in the hallway mirror, I turned the
corner and for a split second it didn't move the way I did.
It was just slightly off. The head tilted too late the
smile too quick. Its eyes glowed faintly before
Vanishing. I smashed the mirror with a
chair. I have smashed every mirror in
the house since covered the TV with a blanket.
I don't take photos. I Don't Go Near reflective
glass. I don't even look in puddles.
When it rains it still here somewhere.
Sometimes I hear it pacing of stairs.
Sometimes I hear me humming in the next room when I know I'm
alone. Once I swear, I saw my own face
staring back at me through the window from the outside.
I don't sleep much anymore. I don't leave either something.
Tells me if I try it'll take that as an invitation Everett
warned me not just about the rules.
But what happens if you break them?
If you speak, if you run, if you bring it back, Tonight, I found
something in my drawer. A piece of old flannel stitched
into the edge, Everett's name. I think it's learning to switch
hosts. so if you're reading this and you're thinking about hiking
the Appalachian Trail, do yourself a favor, If the woods.
Go, quiet. Stop if you hear singing.
Don't answer. And whatever you do, don't look
into the trees. Because if it sees you, it won't
forget your face and it always finds its way home.
I moved into the cabin on a cloudy Thursday.
The kind of overcast, that turns everything dull, and flat.
Like someone drain the color out of the sky.
No fanfare. No, welcome basket from the
town. Just me, two duffel bags and a
rusted U-Haul trailer that barely made it through the
switchbacks. The real estate agent ghosted
after the final payment cleared and the previous owner hadn't
left so much as a note. Just dust mold and the weirdest
God damn feeling. Every time I looked out the back
windows into the trees, but still I like it.
It was quiet, the property backed right up against an old
section of the Appalachian Trail.
Not an official part anymore from what I gather, but the
ridge line snaked through dense Old Forest.
Just passed the fence. No neighbors.
No noise. No cops.
I figured it was perfect. A place to disconnect reset
Turns out there was a reason it was so cheap.
I didn't meet anyone in town until the weekend.
Place was called, stag Hollow population, may be 200.
Mostly older folks. A handful of younger ones who
look like they've been trying to leave since high school.
It was one of those towns that had a single Road.
A gas station with a beer, cooler, and a cafe that doubled
as a post office. Most people didn't say much to
me, they just stared. Except for Nolan, he ran the
bait shop that also passed for a general store.
I was grabbing a few Basics eggs, Ramen batteries.
When he finally spoke up from behind the counter, you the one
bought that cabin up by mile 7, I nodded.
Yeah, moved in a few days ago you know it.
He grunted, everyone knows it. Something about the way he said
it made my skin itch. you planning on hiking that trail
behind it, he asked Voice Low and even yeah, I said that's
kind of why I picked the place. Figured it'd be nice to have it
right in my backyard. Nolan stopped bagging, my
groceries and met my eyes. If you go past mile marker 7,
don't stop. And if you see bones skulls a
specialty you go around them, don't touch them.
Don't even look too long. I laughed just a little.
He didn't the hell does that mean?
I asked trying to keep it light. He didn't answer just handed me
the bag and said, good luck out there.
The first week was uneventful the house creaked like it was
alive. Pipes grown when I ran the water
and there was a spot near the fridge, where the floor dipped
just enough to trip me every time.
But the forest. The forest was beautiful.
Thick trees. Big Mossy stones and the kind of
quiet that settles in your chest like a long exhale.
I started hiking every morning, just an hour or two.
Following the trail behind the property deeper into the woods.
The blazes were faded and half the trees were overgrown, but
the path was still there. Pressed into the Earth, like a
vein. I passed mile marker 5 on the
second day. A slab of old wood nailed into a
tree. Barely legible.
By the end of the week, I reached marker 7.
That's when things started to feel different.
There was nothing obvious at first, no jumpscares, no, sudden
storm clouds just Stillness, the kind that feels heavy like the
whole Forest is waiting for something that's all.
So when I saw the first Bone's it was a squirrel I think hard
to tell. The skull was small teeth still
intact, the body was gone, but the bones had been arranged into
a little circle. Skull right in the center.
Deliberate precise. I stopped bent over stared at it
for a moment, then I remembered what Nolan said, I stood walked
around it, it rattled in my head for the rest of the day.
Who the hell Stacks animal bones in the middle of the trail like
that? Kids Hunters.
Something about it felt. Wrong.
Like, it was meant to be there. I didn't sleep great.
That night every time I closed my eyes, I see that little skull
staring back at me. By the following week.
They were everywhere bird. Bones strung up.
In little stick cradle nests hanging from tree branches.
A row of raccoon skulls lined up along a log, like, they were on
display. and always at, or just beyond miles 7, the deeper I
went the more intricate the displays became Bone stacked.
Like Cairns arranged in spirals. Sometimes there were symbols
carved into the dirt circular Jagged impossible to make out
unless you were looking right at them.
I told myself it was some weird Forest art thing that I was
being paranoid but I kept walking around them then came
the deer skull, big clean no blood.
It was resting in the exact center of the path.
Perfectly positioned antlers intact, both eye sockets,
pointed directly up. The trail toward me.
I stopped cold something about a chilled me.
My gut screamed, don't touch it. I thought about Nolan's voice
the way. It dropped an octave when he
warned me. But I was tired sweaty annoyed.
I grabbed a long stick hooked it through one of the antler holes
and shoved, it off the trail into the brush.
Not today, I muttered. Like I was doing a chore and
that's when the forest got quiet.
I didn't notice it right away. I was already walking again,
maybe 20 or 30 yards down the trail when I realized there were
no birds. No crickets, no Breeze.
The only sound was my boots crunching deadly leaves
everything else had vanished. I turned around and stared back
at the path. I couldn't see the skull
anymore, but I felt it like something was still looking at
me. That night, the house groaned
louder than usual. The kind of creeks that sound
like footsteps, floorboards flexing underweight at first.
I chalked it up to wind, then I heard it breathing, slow wet
coming from directly beneath my bed.
I froze didn't even breathe, just laid there in the dark
mussels locked. Ears straining.
The breathing stopped. Then the laughter started.
Hi, raspy. Like a man pretending to laugh.
Three short bursts then silence. I didn't move until morning, I
tried to pretend it was a dream. Tried to Shake it Off, told
myself, I had imagined it stress.
Isolation. Maybe the house had mice or
raccoons, or something happens. In Old cabins all the time.
But when I opened the front door the next morning, there were
muddy footprints on the porch, bear.
Human shape each toe too long and curved.
They LED straight up to the door and stopped the porch light
burned out two nights after the deer skull.
I hadn't even touched it. Just opened the door after
Sunset to check on a noise and pop gone.
The bulb was brand new. That wasn't what got to me,
though. It was what I found underneath
it. A handprint, it wasn't mine, too
big too long smudged into the dust, on the door like it had
pressed hard, slow the fingers, dragged downward before pulling
away that night, I locked every window and slept with the
kitchen knife under my pillow. At 312 a.m.
I woke up choking on the smell of wet, dog and copper.
Something was breathing at the bedroom window.
Slow animal, breathes with the occasional hitch.
Like it was trying to. Remember how, I didn't dare
look, my curtain was thin enough to see movement through and I
could already make out the silhouette.
Too Tall, hunched shoulders, like Spears, it stayed there for
20 minutes. Just breathing.
Then it the glass once and laughed.
I was already losing it and I knew it I didn't go back into
the woods for days. I stayed inside paste circles
around the house and kept a hammer next to me, when I
showered On the fourth day. I convinced myself.
It was over. That maybe it had just been
some. I don't know why wild dog.
Drifter messing with me. Rationalizing, was easier than
thinking about the alternative. so, I went back on the trail
mid-afternoon, Sunny birds, chirping normal enough, I even
remember feeling silly, like, maybe I had overreacted the
woods looked just like they always did.
Still quiet, peaceful. But then I got to the spot.
The deer skull was back exactly where it had been the first time
clean dry. Antlers perfectly intact.
Like I'd never moved it. Like it never left.
I stared at it for a long time, I didn't touch it this time.
Just stood there. Heart thudding, that pressure
again like the trees were leaning in holding their breath
watching to see what I do. I walked around it didn't say a
word, didn't even curse under my breath.
Just got off the trail and stepped wide into the
undergrowth. Ignoring the Briars and got back
home fast that night. It followed me.
It started with the scratching, not at the windows, not under
the bed, inside the walls, soft at first like a mouse, then
deeper wet, like something was digging with claws by midnight,
the scratching turned into thuds.
Something slamming itself against the drywall, I called
the sheriff, they sent Deputy Roach.
Guy couldn't have been older than 25.
Showed up with a flashlight and an empty notepad asked if I had
been drinking. I showed him the muddy
handprint. Still smudged on the front door,
he squinted at it said it looked like just some smudge.
I asked if it looked like a raccoon, he said, I should get a
dog. He left after that.
I didn't sleep. I stayed on the couch with a
flashlight. In my hammer, twitching at every
groan and Creeks of the house. Sometime around 3 a.m. the power
flickered. And my flashlight dimmed not
died. Just dimmed like, the batteries
were being slowly drained. Then I saw it.
Through the back window, it was standing at the edge of the
woods in full Moonlight arms, dangling its shoulders reached
higher than its head. The face was long too long, a
stretched mask of skin pulled taught over something that
wasn't a skull. Not anymore, its mouth hung open
like it had never learned how to close it.
It lifted a finger. One long black cloth and pointed
at me. I didn't move.
I couldn't then it smiled not like a human, not even like a
dog. Just something that had seen a
smile once and tried to mimic it.
That's when the howling started again, hi twisting A Chorus, not
just one. A dozen voices layered over each
other echoing through the forest like a siren made of teeth.
I dropped the hammer, I ran to the bathroom locked, the door
crawled into the tub and cried. When morning came, I walked
outside. The porch was covered in skulls.
Not just animal ones. A mix squirrels.
Foxes a fawn. Some of them were still wet.
One was charred. Another still had a chunk of fur
clinging to it. They'd been arranged in a spiral
leading to the front step like a message, a countdown.
I call Nolan didn't even wait to say hello.
Just it came back. I think I made it mad.
There was a pause on the other end, then he sighed.
You moved the bones. I nodded like he could see me.
Once with a stick the second time.
I, yeah, I tossed it. Another pause you need to feed
it. I didn't know what that meant,
not at first, you owe it something.
Now, he said, you disturbed the path broke the order.
That means it's sees you and when they see you, they want
you, what is it? He didn't answer just said come
to the shop. I'll tell you what to do.
The drive to town felt like years.
Trees blurred by and I kept catching movement in the
rearview mirror. Not Cars, not animals.
Something running alongside me, just out of frame, when I pulled
into the gravel lot behind Nolan's store, he was already
outside smoking pacing. He handed me a grocery bag,
slick, and wet inside were raw, steaks.
Bloody wreaking, you're gonna walk 10 minutes up, the trail at
Sunset. Lay these down on the dirt.
Don't say a word, don't look back.
No matter what you hear feel or think you see, You walk home,
you lock your doors and you wait, that's it.
I asked clutching the bag. Like it might bite me.
That's your apology. He said, won't fix what you did
but it might buy you a little time.
I waited until sundown the woods were colder than usual.
Dead quiet. No insects no birds.
Even the wind fell muffled. I walked past markers 7, and
kept going. 10 minutes in, I stopped at a clearing, just off
the trail laid, the stakes on the ground, backed up slowly
that I heard it breathing fast, hungry, wet followed by
something heavy crashing, through the undergrowth, Been a
laugh, it started right behind me.
Then it multiplied laughter from every direction.
High-pitched croaking, giggles and gurgling Chuckles that made
my teeth ache. I walked faster than ran, the
sounds. Followed something.
Thumped through the brush beside me matching Pace.
I could feel it. Hot breath on the back of my
neck Twigs, snapping inches from my heels, but I didn't look not
once. When I burst through the tree
line and reached the porch, I turned the handle slam the door
and locked it. Something slammed into the wood
hard enough to knock the pictures off my walls.
It didn't stop for hours. I didn't sleep that night, I sat
by the front window with my hammer again, watching waiting
sometime near dawn, the forest quieted, and then It stepped
onto the porch, not the creature, a skull.
Just one placed neatly at the center of the welcome mat.
But this one, this one had a name carved into it.
Mine The skull with my name carved into it didn't bleed but
I swear I could still smell the iron.
It was fresh. Not Bone Yard dry, like the
others, the Letter's were carved deep John Ruffin Jagged like
whatever did it had Claws. And of fingers, I left it on the
porch and drove straight to town running.
Two red lights and nearly skidding out on the gravel at
the bottom of the hill. I didn't stop at my usual spots.
I didn't even glance at the gas station.
I went straight to Nolan. When he opened the door and saw
me, he didn't look surprised he didn't even ask.
They gave you a name skull, didn't they?
I nodded jaw locked Knuckles. White on the steering wheel.
That means they're keeping track your marked.
Now, that's not a warning anymore.
That's a countdown. There's a term, the locals use
hollow ones, they don't call them skinwalkers or when to goes
or demons just Hollow ones. Because that's what they are
empty. Vessels for something that
doesn't belong in this world. Things that slip through when
the veil Thins. Old Forest Spirits, turned
feral, or maybe something older than spirits.
Whatever they are, they collect not for food, not for trophies,
just to collect skulls bones names.
Souls maybe Nolan told me. They've been showing up for
centuries. Usually when someone breaks the
rule, Sometimes it's a hike or sometimes it's a hunter.
Sometimes, like this time, it's a dumb City transplant, who
thinks he's found. Peace in a place that doesn't
want him. The hollow ones.
Don't always come in numbers. But when they do, it means
they're preparing for a harvest. And I kick the damn door open
for them. The town held a meeting that
night at the diner. It wasn't advertised.
No one posted Flyers, people just knew to come there were
maybe two dozen of us in total. Men with rifles women with
revolvers tucked into their coats.
Even the priest was there holding a box of shotgun shells
and a bottle of holy water like they were equally sacred Nolan
stood at the head of the room. Last time this happened, he said
we lost four people. Three never came back.
One did but not all of him. No one laughed, no one asked for
details. He pointed at me, he opened the
door but were all going to pay for it.
The room didn't argue they started handing out weapons.
I got a sawed off 12 gauge in a bandolier of shells with
carvings on each slug crosses rooms symbols.
I didn't recognize one woman Ruth handed me a flask and told
me to drink it. Tasted like Ash and burned all
the way down for protection. She said, and to make you smell
wrong to them. What happens if it doesn't work.
I asked Then you'll scream less when they drag you, we headed
out before Sunset the forest didn't wait halfway up the
trail, the birds stopped, then the wind died and then the trees
began to groan, not from wind, but from pressure like something
massive was pressing down on the whole Mountain.
We set up a perimeter near the clearing past mile marker, 7 6,
men and women to a ring. The priest in the center
murmuring over a makeshift altar made of stone and Bone.
And then we heard it laughter not from One Direction from all
of them. High pitched two human to be
animal to wrong. To be human some laughed and
gasps others mimicked cries for help then the lights died
flashlights. Blinked out lanterns guttered.
The fire pit blew cold in a split second they were here.
The first one we saw was tall. Eight feet, easy thin is a
scarecrow arms, dangling to the knees skin, like ash bark, a
skull for a face, but not worn like a mask fused to it bone.
Where cheeks should be empty sockets, leaking, black Ruth
shot first, the blast, shredded, the things chest, but it didn't
fall. Just screamed, the sound like a
train screeching against metal and charged.
It took four people to bring it down.
Two shotgun blasts a hatchet to the neck and Nolan emptying a
revolver in to its back. It melted not like flesh like
candle wax dripping. Into the dirt and hissing as it
vanished. The others came after that fast
loud, hundreds of footsteps, pounding through the underbrush
shapes flashing between trees crawling, leaping dragging
Twisted, limbs behind them. Some ran on all fours.
Some walked like humans. One slithered all of them.
Had faces. Like cracked porcelain and Jaws
too wide. We fought.
It wasn't War. It was survival bullets.
Tore through the trees. The priest screamed until
something. Dragged him away, mid prayer.
Someone else got taken up into the trees so fast.
They didn't even get to fire a shot.
I saw Nolan go down one of the creatures left onto him to his
shoulder with a mouth full of glass like teeth.
I got there just in time to shoot it off him.
He was bleeding bad. Don't stop.
He said, don't let them get behind you.
I dragged him toward the center of the clearing where the altar
had been, but it was gone. Now just shattered Stone and
blood all around us. The hollow ones laughed.
It wasn't just a hunt. It was a game to them.
They pushed us back. Herded us cornered us like
cattle One By One. The Others fell, some vanished
in a blink. Some didn't even scream.
I fired until I ran out of shells.
Nolan handed me his last one. This won't kill them, he
whispered but it'll make them think twice.
Then he shoved me into the trees down the slope.
I tumbled through brush and blood and mud until I hit a
ditch when I looked back. Nolan was standing alone.
Hands raised staring down three of them as they circled.
He never cried out. Just stood there silent until
they swallowed him whole. I ran through the forest passed,
the skulls passed mile marker, 7 passed my own porch.
I didn't stop until I hit the road until I reached my car.
I didn't drive home. I went back to town back to the
diner. There were five of us left, just
five, all of us, silent bleeding staring at our hands, like they
belong to someone else. Someone laid out a map, another
grabbed salt so someone else began carving fresh rounds.
We're going back out tonight. We have to because the forest
didn't just whisper this time. It screamed, I haven't seen
Nolan since that night. But sometimes when I wake up
with the taste of Ash in my mouth and blood on the soles of
my feet, I wonder if he made it if maybe somehow he struck a
deal or became something worse. The town is quieter now, fewer
people walk the trail and those who do, they know the rule don't
touch the skulls because the hollow ones are still out there
and they're still collecting. It was early September of 2006.
When the idea first came up a camping trip just like the old
days. I hadn't seen Ryan or Mike in
nearly a year by then life had kind of scattered us.
I was stuck working 60-hour weeks at a hotel front desk.
In Connecticut. Ryan was driving trucks for a
moving company up in Maine and Mike, well, he bounced between
construction gigs and his girlfriend's couch but when we
all finally got on the phone, one night, just shooting the
crap like old times. The idea came up naturally.
Dude, you remember ledgeview. Ryan asked I did I remembered it
too? Well, we'd camped there once
before in high school back. Then it was this kind of
unofficial spot about two hours into the state forest.
No marked Trail. No designated campsite.
Just a flat clearing near a stream where someone had made a
fire ring out of rocks. There was a steep ledge.
You had to climb over to get there.
Hence the name and it was just far enough off the beaten path
that you never saw anyone else. No Rangers, No hikers total
privacy. The first time we went there it
was perfect. We were 17 and stupid and high
as hell and we stayed up all night.
Throwing logs on the fire, eating canned ravioli and
passing around a cheap bottle of Fireball.
Like it was Liquid Gold. It felt like Freedom like our
own little world. So yeah.
I remembered ledgeview and against better judgment.
I said we should go back. We picked a weekend later that
month I requested time off and got approved.
Surprisingly, quick Ryan said he could take a long weekend in
Mike, Mike never had to ask anyone for time off.
He just kind of showed up or didn't we all agreed to pack
light but smart, this time we aren't kids anymore.
Sleeping pads tarps headlamps good boots.
I picked up some freeze-dried meals from REI and even a
compact stove. Ryan said, he'd bring his dad's
old weatherproof 10th mic was on firewood Duty.
He had a bunch of pre-split logs in his garage, we met up in the
morning just outside the forest and convoyed in with two cars.
It was about a 45-minute hike to the ledge.
Maybe more. Now that we were older and a
little heavier. the trailhead was barely marked and we had to
bushwack for a bit, but when we got there, Man, it hit me that
weird mix of nostalgia and something else not dread.
Exactly. Just discomfort.
Like walking into an old house that used to be full of people,
but now it's just empty and stale and quiet.
The fire ring was still there. Black and Stones, half sunk into
the dirt. We stomped down the overgrowth
and laid down a fresh. Tarp set the tent up, got a fire
going cracked, a few beers, it didn't take long for it to feel
normal again familiar. The first night was great, we
didn't stay up quite as late as we used to but we had music
stories. Dumb jokes Mike brought a
Bluetooth speaker and a handle of whiskey and got real
emotional for a minute about how much he missed us.
I remember laughing until my stomach hurt.
It was the next morning that things fell off.
I woke up early, maybe sick or 6:30 and crawled out of the tent
to take a piss. The fire had burned out to cold
Ash and there was this thick Mist rolling over the ground.
The air smelled weird. Not Smoky.
Not woodsy. Just wrong.
Like stagnant water and Metal. The stream nearby was barely
moving. I remember crouching down to
splash some on my face and thinking it looked too dark like
the water wasn't reflecting, right?
When I got back to the tent, Ryan was sitting up.
Rubbing his eyes. I told him about the mist and
the water, and he just Shrugged said, maybe a storm was rolling
in. Mike, didn't get up until almost
10. He stumbled out of the tent
looking like hell, pale eyes, sunken said he hadn't slept.
Well, that something kept waking him up.
Said, he kept hearing noises like crunching footsteps outside
the tent. But he assumed it was one of us.
we told him, we hadn't moved all night that afternoon, we decided
to explore a bit like we used to We hiked along the ridge past
the stream and into a Thicket of dead pine trees. the deeper, we
went the quieter at got I know people say that a lot in these
kinds of stories, the woods got quiet, but this wasn't just
birds or bugs going silent. It was everything.
The kind of Silence that presses on your eardrums and makes your
heartbeat sound louder than it. Should we found something back
there too? A structure, sort of looked like
a hunting blind at first old plywood, nailed a tree's camo
tarps strung across but it was all rotted and sunken into the
Earth. When we got closer, we realized
it was a shelter. Someone had lived out there, a
long time ago. There were bones in it animal
bones, probably. But they were piled up.
Strangely arranged in circles, Loops shapes.
That didn't make sense. Ryan didn't say a word.
Mike just laughed, this dry Hollow sound and said we should
get the hell out of there. We didn't argue that night was
different heavier, the woods felt tighter somehow closer.
We kept the fire going long, past midnight.
Nobody really wanting to be the first to crawl into the tent.
Ryan eventually passed out in his camp chair.
Mike said he had a weird headache and went to lie down
and I followed soon after. I don't know what time it was
when I woke up, but it was still dark and I was freezing like the
temperature had dropped 20 degrees.
The 10th felt damp and the air smelled wrong again.
Sweet and rotting like wet dog. Fur.
And mold Ryan was gone. His sleeping bag was there,
empty and cold. His boots were gone too.
I checked my phone but there was no signal, no GPS.
I nudged microwave and he groaned before realizing
something was wrong. We unzipped the tent and stepped
out into the dark. The fire was out.
No, coals, no smoke. Just dead.
We called for Ryan quietly at first then louder no answer,
might grabbed a flashlight and I followed with my headlamp, we
circled, the site, calling his name shining lights into the
trees, still nothing. Then we found the first thing,
it was Ryan's hoodie, just lying in the dirt sleeve ripped a
little farther. We found his socks.
Then his jeans, they were all laid out in a perfect line.
Not torn, not thrown just left. Mike kept muttering, what the
hell on his breath, like it was a prayer.
Then we saw the flash light, it was Ryan's still on flickering
and then something moved just at the edge of the beam, a figure,
it, ducked behind a tree. We froze, Mike whispered Ryan
but got no response, just silence then the light died we
ran we didn't even make it back to the tent, we just ran
straight toward the ledge. The way we came in.
The forest was Pitch. Black branches whipped, our
faces the ground. Sloped Roots, tripping us every
few feet. Somewhere behind us, something
moved, heavy fast. I swear I heard breathing when
we got to the ledge we stopped. Mike doubled over gasping.
And I turned back with the headlamp.
And I swear to God, I saw someone standing there just
beyond the trees. Not Ryan Too Tall.
Too still eyes. Like pale glass.
Just watching then gone. We didn't sleep.
Just sat on the ledge till sunrise.
At first light we went back. Ryan wasn't there.
Neither was his gear but our stuff had been Disturbed.
The tent was half collapsed. The logs from the fire pit
strewn in a circle around it like a ritual.
There were marks in the dirt bare feet, but not human toes
too long, heels too narrow. Like hands, almost, we left
everything and hiked out in silents.
We didn't stop till we hit the road, we went straight to the
local police station. Told them everything, they took
notes asked questions, then told us Ryan was probably just lost.
Maybe wandered off, drunk or disoriented.
They sent A team out found, nothing.
Not even the shelter in the woods a week later, Ryan's mom
called me. She said someone had mailed her
his wallet no return address. Just postmarked from a town,
three states away. Inside was his ID and a photo of
the three of us standing by the stream one.
I'd never seen before we weren't smiling, we looked scared And in
the background between the trees, something was watching.
Ryan's mom said the envelope was sealed with tape and had no
fingerprints. She'd taken it to the police,
but they didn't do much will follow up.
They told her, but she knew the look in their eyes.
Same one, me and Mike got from the ranger that night.
The look that says you're wasting our time.
This is already over, but that photo I can still see it.
Three of us by the stream, heads turned slightly like we heard
something. I don't remember it being taken.
None of us did Mike asked if maybe Ryan took it with a timer
or something, but that didn't make sense.
The angle wasn't from a rock or tree stump.
It was from higher. Like someone or something was
standing over us when they took it.
I didn't sleep the night. She sent me that image.
I sat on the floor of my apartment with the lights on
staring at my phone screen until the battery died.
I kept zooming in checking every shadow and when I saw it it in
the trees behind us, something inside me just snapped, it
wasn't clear blurry as hell, like a smudge in the shape of a
figure. But the outline was tall Too
Tall. And the eyes, barely visible,
or, like drops of milk in Pitch pale.
Wet wrong. Might call the next morning.
He'd seen it too. We need to go back he said his
voice was hoarse like he hadn't slept either I told him he was
out of his mind. We barely made it out alive.
I said, but he just repeated it. We need to go back.
I told him no. Hung up on him.
Even I couldn't go back there. I wouldn't but the thought kept
worming its way through me, like a sickness What if Ryan was
still alive somehow? What if that photo was proof?
He wasn't dead. What if something else was out
there? A week later Mike disappeared I
found out from his sister. He'd packed a backpack, taking
his old truck and left a note saying I'm going back to find
him. If you don't hear from me in
three days, call the cops. I didn't know what to do.
I pasted my apartment. Watched the rain, slide down the
windows, and tried to convince myself to stay out of it.
But deep down, I already knew. I wasn't going to let this
happen again so I packed my gear flashlight knife.
First aid, kit a compass and a handgun.
My dad's old revolver with five rounds.
Still in it. I'd never fired it before, but
it felt heavy and cold in my bag.
Solid. I didn't tell anyone where I was
going, just left a note on the fridge that said gone for a few
days, don't worry, I don't know who I thought would read it.
I reached the trailhead by Nightfall.
It was exactly like I remembered quiet overgrown.
Barely there. The moment I stepped onto it.
I felt that same pressure in my chest, like the woods were
leaning in on me watching. I hiked for nearly an hour
before I saw the first sign. A piece of fabric red and torn
nailed to a tree. It was Mike's hoodie, the one,
he always wore. I stared at it for a long time,
then I kept going the sun was long gone when I reached
ledgeview and it wasn't the same.
The fire ring was gone. Just a bare patch of dirt.
Now, with long deep gouges, dug into the Earth, like something
had clawed at it. The tent we'd Left Behind
Ryan's, was still there shredded and collapsed.
The other gear was gone and there were symbols now carved
into the trees. Circles with lines through them
Jagged X's, something like an eye.
I stood there, my breath fogging in the cold night air, and
whispered Mike. Something answered not a voice,
not words a clicking sound like bone.
Tapping on wood. I turned flashlight, sweeping
the trees, nothing then a rustle.
I raise the revolver I'm armed. I shouted come out, silence,
then a voice. Not Mike, not Ryan, you came
back. It came from the trees, Low Dry
like wind, scraping over a corpse Iran, not toward the car,
not toward the trail toward the shelter.
I don't know why Instinct, maybe something in me said, that's
where I find them or what was left of them.
It took me another 20 minutes of tripping cutting through
branches and climbing over roots.
But I found it the same shelter, the same bones only now they
were arranged in a pattern. A spiral leading to the center
where something lay bundled in cloth.
I crept forward revolver shaking in my hand and pulled the cloth
back. It was a camera old film base
covered in dust and pine needles, but intact, there was a
note beside it. You wanted to see now, you will.
My fingers moved before my brain could stop them.
I opened the back of the camera. There was a single roll of film
inside. I should have left it.
I should have, but I didn't. I took it the second, I put it
in my pack. I heard it again that clicking
closer. This time louder.
I turned and saw it. Not clearly not all at once.
Just shapes movement but I knew it was tall.
Almost scraping the branches of it.
It's limbs were too long and they bent the wrong way.
It skin was the color of tree bark soaked in Blood and its
head. If you could call it, that was
just a smooth oval with slits, where the eyes should have been.
I ran screaming the forest closed, around me branches
clawing Roots. Grabbing I don't remember how
long I ran. At one point, I tripped and
rolled down an embankment slamming into rocks.
I tasted blood my arm burned but I kept moving eventually I saw
The ledge that same ledge we'd named the place after and
standing there at the edge was Mike.
I almost cried but something was wrong.
He was barefoot shirtless covered in dirt.
And his eyes. They didn't look like his
anymore. I slowed Mike.
I called out. He didn't answer just stared, I
stepped closer, he smiled wide too wide, then he spoke but it
wasn't his voice. You brought it back.
I took out the revolver. His smile dropped.
I don't know how I did it. I didn't name didn't think.
I just pulled the trigger, the blast, echoed through the woods
mic dropped like a ragdoll. I fell to my knees sobbing a
second later the forest screamed not with a voice with sound with
pressure, the air pulse, like a drum beat like the Earth itself
was in pain. And the thing, the thing came
crashing toward me through the trees.
I raise the gun and fired again and again the third shot.
Hit it. I think it shrieked.
Hi and piercing and then vanished into the dark.
I didn't wait. I grabbed Mike's body or what
was left of it and ran. Somehow I made it to the car
drove without stopping until I hit the highway, I don't
remember most of it. I think I blacked out at one
point, I turned the film into a private lab.
I knew paid cash, told them I founded in my late uncle's attic
a week later. The tech called me set.
I needed to come in. There were only a few photos
most were of trees blurry. Shapes nighttime shots.
But one one showed the three of us me, Mike Ryan by the stream,
only, we weren't standing we were tied to trees.
Eyes closed blood on our faces and behind us.
Arms draped, around our shoulders.
Was that thing? Groening, The photo was dated
three days before we arrived? I moved across the country after
that changed. My name, got a new job.
I don't talk to anyone about what happened.
Ryan's body was never found Mike's was identified in Buried
though. I still don't know what really
happened to him out there. I keep that photo in a locked
drawer. Sometimes I take it out just to
remind myself. It was real.
And at night on the really bad nights, I hear it again that
clicking and I remember what it said in Mike's voice, you
brought it back. So now I wonder is it still in
those woods or did I bring it out with me?
I've been itching to get away for a while between work bills
and just life in general. Kicking me around a weekend in
the woods. Sounded like the perfect reset.
Just me. My brother Nate and our friend.
Jordan, no phones. No emails, no noise.
Just trees fire and stars. We settled on a spot out.
In New Mexico, not the touristy Parts.
This was deeper. Far from cell towers near the
reservation line, but not quite on it.
Nate knew the area from a hunting trip years back.
He swore it was beautiful and quiet and I didn't really care
as long as it was far away from everything else.
The drive took forever. Dirt roads that were not really
roads anymore, just gravel Tire ruts and dust for miles.
We finally pulled up around four in the afternoon, it was hot the
kind of dry heat that soaks through your shirt, but doesn't
make you sweat. Quiet.
Eerily quiet. Not even Birds just the soft
wind of wind through Dry trees and brush.
We set up camp fast, one big tent between the three of us, a
little fire ring made of rocks and coolers stuffed with beer
and junk food. Typical guy stuff.
We weren't trying to survive off the land or anything.
Just trying to relax. The first night was fine, we
made burgers over the fire drank a little too much and sat up
telling dumb stories from high school.
It was calm. I remember thinking how good the
Stars looked out there, like, you could fall into them, if you
stared too long. That first night, I slept like a
rock The second night not so much.
It started weird. Right after Sundown, we were
sitting around the fire again. Nate throwing pine needles in
just to watch them spark when we heard something move out in the
brush. Not an animal sound, not really
it sounded like shuffling slow methodical like footsteps but
heavier somehow like something. Dragging we all froze.
Nate grabbed his flash light and pointed it toward the noise, but
it didn't reach far, just caught the trees and made Shadows
danced. Probably a deer Jordan muttered,
but he didn't sound convinced. I tried to shake it off too.
Probably just the dark and a little beer messing with us, but
the mood had shifted it was like the woods had changed around us
heavy or somehow like they were watching.
Later that night, I woke up to a sound.
I still can't describe properly, not fully, it was like breathing
but not human raspy and broken coming from just outside the
tent, low and close. Like someone was crouched down
right behind the fabric. Just listening just waiting.
I didn't say anything at first just stayed.
Still eyes wide open in the dark.
Trying to convince myself. It was nothing.
I thought maybe Nate or Jordan had gotten up to take a piss,
but when I turned slightly, I could see their shapes on the
floor beside me. Both still both asleep.
The breathing went on for a full minute then zip.
The sound of our tent zipper pulling down slow as hell.
Tooth by tooth. I couldn't move my body locked
up. Completely my mind screaming at
me to grab the flash light or yell anything.
But I just lay their eyes locked on the little entry flat, but it
never opened. Eventually the breathing faded
and I heard it again that dragging Shuffle as it moved
away from the tent and disappeared into the brush.
I didn't sleep after that just laid there staring at the
ceiling counting, every heartbeat, In the morning.
I didn't say anything right away.
I figured I was just overtired or maybe still a little buzzed
from the night before. But then, Jordan stepped outside
and called for us in this weird voice.
Tight and sharp. You guys need to see this, we
came out and there it was Footprints all around the tent,
dozens of them. Bare feet, wide and long and
misshapen like someone with a limp had been pacing around the
tent over and over again. Some were smeared drag marks and
in the dirt near the fire pit. Something had been drawn
assemble. Just a crude stick.
Figure carved into the dust with a long vertical body and weird
antlers or horns. Curling off the top, the limbs
were long and bent out like a spider.
Did you do that? Nate asked Jordan half laughing,
but with his voice cracking a bit, Jordan shook his head.
I thought one of you did no one said anything for a while.
We packed up breakfast. Quick that morning and decided.
Maybe just one more night, then we'd had back in the morning.
The place was giving off bad vibes.
Now, something didn't feel right.
The third night was the worst, we didn't drink that night,
didn't really talk much either. Just sat around the fire and
silence throwing in wood and trying not to jump at every
Creak or gust of wind. It was passed midnight when we
heard it a voice at first, we thought it was someone yelling
from far away, just one word, screamed into the trees, help we
froze. Then it came again but it wasn't
farther away. It was closer help, please.
But the voice, it was off like someone trying to imitate a
human. The Cadence was wrong.
It sounded like it was coming from a throat that wasn't used
to speaking. Nate stood up grabbed the
flashlight and aimed it toward the sound.
That's when we saw it a shape just at the edge of the
firelight, it looked like a man at first tall, naked hunched
forward, but its limbs were too long.
It's arms dangled nearly to the ground.
The skin was pale and patchy like something half rotted and
its head. It was tilted role.
Like it had no control over its own neck.
It opened its mouth again, help. Help me it.
Croaked, but now we could all hear it clearly.
That wasn't a person's voice. It sounded like one but it was
warped. Like it was pushing the word
through a broken speaker. Nate dropped the flash light,
Jordan, screamed. And the thing whatever it was
took one long step forward. We didn't think we just ran
grabbed what we could and bolted for the truck branches slapped
our faces Thorns ripped at our clothes, but I didn't care.
I just kept running. I don't even know how I got to
the truck or found the keys but somehow we did through ourselves
inside, slammed the doors and I floored it.
We didn't stop until we hit a gas station about an hour out.
It was one of those rundown places with a flickering sign
and nobody inside except a tired looking guy behind the counter.
We must have looked crazy three guys covered in dirt, sweat and
Terror. The cashier didn't say anything
at first, just stared. Finally I told him maybe
stupidly what happened? I didn't use the word Skinwalker
or anything. Just said there was someone or
something out there in the woods that didn't seem human, that's
when his face changed. He looked us over real slow and
said, you boys weren't camping near black Halo where you We
looked at each other, that's exactly where we'd been, he just
nodded ya'll lucky. Lucky.
Jordan asked still shaking the man leaned in voiced low.
He ain't supposed to be up there this time of year, that's when
they walk. He wouldn't say more.
Just gave us this look like a warning and rang us up for water
and snacks without another word. We stayed in a cheap motel that
night didn't talk. Much just lay in our separate
beds, trying to pretend none of it happened, but none of us have
been the same. Since Jordan won't go near the
woods anymore. Says he hears things outside his
window at night. Nate moved back East.
Got rid of all his camping gear and doesn't talk about the trip
at all. Just shuts down.
If you bring it up as for me, I keep thinking about that voice.
That warped broken imitation of a cry for help, like something
trying to lure us out. Something that had watched us
all weekend, maybe even longer, I don't know what it was.
I don't want to know. All I know is we weren't alone
out there, and I don't think we ever will be again.
I didn't think about it, much that first week back, not
because I wasn't scared. I was every time I close my
eyes, I saw that thing at the edge of the firelight, the way
its limbs didn't move, right? That voice like a puppet
learning human words but I figured it was over.
We'd gotten away. We'd left, whatever that was
behind in the trees, buried in the dust of some cursed stretch
of wilderness. But then things started
happening, little things at first, the kind of stuff you'd
brush off. If it weren't for what we'd seen
the first night I was home. My dog wouldn't stop barking at
the backyard. Just stood there at the sliding
glass door, ears back growling at nothing.
Hackles up didn't move from that spot for hours.
I figured it was a raccoon or something.
I didn't go out to check just close the blinds and turn the TV
up louder than normal. The next night I found muddy
footprints on the porch bare feet and I live alone.
I tried to stay rationale told myself, maybe it was a prank or
some neighbor's kid messing around.
Still I locked all the doors. Check the windows twice before
bed. Then the tapping started.
It was around three in the morning, maybe later.
I'd fallen asleep on the couch. Two wired to stay in bed.
I woke up to this soft tap tap tap against the glass.
Not loud, not urgent. Just deliberate.
I didn't move, just sat there, breathing shallow listening,
after a minute, it stopped. I waited another five, then 10
nothing eventually. I stood up and peeked through
the blinds, the porch was empty, but the air felt heavy again,
that same pressure, I remembered from the woods, like something
was near just Out Of Reach. I turned every light on in the
house that night, slept with a kitchen knife under my pillow
like an idiot. Told myself it was just my
nerves until Nate called the next day.
He hadn't spoken to me or Jordan since the motel I figured he
needed space, but when he called his voice was different
strained. Dried like he hadn't slept.
I think something, followed me, he said, I didn't say anything.
Just let him talk. He told me he'd been hearing
things around his property at night Whispering, scratching
found claw marks. On the side of his shed, his dog
had gone missing, two days before and the worst part, I saw
it. He whispered.
I looked out my bedroom window last night and I saw it in the
yard standing there. Same thing from the woods, I
swear to God. I didn't want to believe him.
Not really. But I did because that night it
was my turn. I was brushing my teeth just
getting ready for bed. When I Heard a Voice faint from
outside. Help my stomach dropped.
I walked to the window above the kitchen sink and for a second
just a second. I saw a shadow move across the
backyard. A tall, crooked silhouette,
hunched and slow. Then it was gone.
The lights flickered, my phone glitched.
Just went black for a minute, then came back on the next
morning. I found the back gate open.
I always lock it. Always the grass, looked
trampled. Flat and like something had
circled the house over and over again.
I called Jordan. He didn't answer.
I tried again an hour later. Still nothing that night.
He finally messaged me, bro. Are you seeing it too outside my
window right now? It's just standing there.
I called him. No answer.
Just a text, a few minutes later.
It said my name, it said it in my voice and then nothing.
I didn't sleep. That night, I sat in my living
room, with all the lights on front door.
Dead bolted, shotgun across my lap.
My fingers were trembling the whole time.
The next morning, I drove to Jordan's place.
His front door was locked, but his car was in the driveway.
I knocked rang the bell. Pounded on the door.
Nothing I walked around to the back and looked through the
window that's when I saw the living room completely torn.
Apart couch, cushions shredded, the coffee table, split in half.
Deep gouges in the floor. Like claws.
Not dog claws, not anything normal.
Deep uneven. Slashes like something had raped
the ground in a frenzy. And in the center of the room,
sitting upright in the corner was Jordan's phone.
Just sitting there screen cracked still on.
I didn't go in, I called the cops.
They took it. Seriously, I guess a after
seeing the state of the place. But Jordan was gone, no blood,
no, signs of a break-in just gone.
Like he'd been taken, they asked me questions.
I lied through most of them. I wasn't about to start talking
about monsters from the woods or voices.
Mimicking. Your name in the dark They
listed him as missing. That was it Nathan, I didn't
talk for a few days. Then he called again said he was
leaving moving going to stay with his uncle in Montana
off-grid. I can't be here anymore.
He said, I don't think we're safe.
I don't think anywhere safe, but maybe if I'm far enough out, it
won't find me again. I didn't argue I understood, but
I wasn't going to run. I wanted to know what it was.
I wanted to understand why it was doing this.
Why it waited until we were home safe.
Before it started tearing us apart.
I started digging forums, Reddit weird, Facebook groups, native
folklore sights. And I kept seeing the same thing
over and over skinwalkers, shapeshifters witches and animal
form creatures that can steal your voice.
That can mimic people you love. They stalk, they honk and they
punish those who wander where they shouldn't.
Some stories said they attached to people follow them, mark
them. I remembered the symbol in the
dirt that morning near our camp. That stick figure with the
Twisted limbs. Maybe that wasn't a warning.
Maybe it was a claim a week later.
I started hearing scratching on my windows, it came every night
at the same time around 312 a.m. Just this slow.
Deliberate scratch across the glass.
I recorded it once listened back the next day.
It wasn't just scratching, there was whispering underneath barely
audible, my name over and over whispered in my own voice.
That was the night. I almost lost it.
I packed a bag through it in the truck and just started driving
nowhere. In particular just away but two
hours out of town in the middle of nowhere.
My truck died. Lights Went Out engine sputtered
just died. I sat there on the side of the
road pitch black outside and I swear to God, I could see
something in the trees watching. I turn the key over and over and
it finally started again, roared back to life, like nothing had
happened. I didn't go home after that, I
crashed at a friend's place out of state for a few days.
Slept on the couch, kept the lights on nothing happened.
While I was there. No tapping, no voices, just
peace. But I couldn't stay forever.
Eventually. I came back and now every night
the lights flicker, Every night, the porch, camera, glitches.
And every night at exactly 312 a.m. the motion sensor by the
back door, lights up, but there's never anyone there.
I don't talk to anyone about it anymore.
I tried once a friend at work, he gave me this look like I
needed help, like I was unraveling, maybe I am, maybe
it's just trauma. Some part of my brain cracking
from stress. But deep down, I know the truth
that thing from the woods. It shows us, it's not just some
Cryptid or old story, it's real and it wants something not to
kill. Not at first, it wants you to
see it. It wants to be known to be
feared to be inside your life. Nate won't answer my calls
anymore. I don't think he made it to
Montana. Jordan, still missing.
No leads no updates and me every time I close my eyes, I hear
that voice help. Not from far away now from
inside the house and I don't know what to do anymore.
All I know is this I didn't bring it back, it followed.
I've always loved the desert, not in the way.
Tourists love it. Snapping selfies.
Under arches, or posing next to Dusty Trails signs.
I mean the real desert. The stretches that look
untouched where you can drive for hours without seeing another
car. The kind of land that makes you
feel like you've slipped out of time.
That's why I said yes. When Eric pitched, the trip it
was supposed to be our annual camping tradition.
Four of us me, Eric Marcus and Caleb had been doing this since
College. Pick a remote spot.
Drop off the grid for a few days.
Drink some whiskey, talk about how much we hated our jobs and
maybe do a little stargazing, if the clouds didn't roll in, It
was predictable comfortable. The kind of thing that reminded
us. We were still the same guys even
if our lives were drifting in different directions.
This year though, Eric wanted something.
Different. He said, he'd found a place.
Not a park, not a campsite just a place somewhere out.
Past the Navajo Nation in southern Utah, real off grid, he
called it a guy. I met in, Moab told me about it
said, there's this Basin tucked between two ridges.
Totally secluded. No Trails, no, campsites, know
people. I remember asking how we were
supposed to get there, if there weren't any Trails, he just
grinned and said that's the point.
Should have said, no, but I didn't.
I wish to God, I had We met up in Salt Lake on a Thursday
morning. The plan was simple.
Grab supplies, make the five-hour drive south and set up
camp before dark. The drive was uneventful at
first. Miles of Highway then smaller
roads, winding through Red Rock, Cliffs and sagebrush.
We passed fewer and fewer signs of civilization the deeper, we
went. By the time we turned off onto
the dirt road, Eric had marked on the map.
My phone had already lost service.
Caleb joked that. It felt like we were driving off
the edge of the Earth. Nobody laughed.
The road was more like a dry wash.
It twisted between rocks and dipped into shallow gullies.
Eric's Jeep could handle it but barely the sun was starting to
sink when we finally pulled into the Basin and I swear the second
we stepped out of the car. It got quiet, not peaceful
quiet, not nighttime, quiet. It was wrong.
Like the whole place was holding its breath.
No birds, no bugs, no win. Just this heavy pressing
silence. Still the spot was gorgeous.
Red Cliffs Rising on all sides, scattered Boulders and a wide
flat stretch of land. Perfect for tents, it felt
untouched sacred almost Eric was practically glowing.
Told you, he said tossing his pact to the ground.
This place is perfect. I wanted to agree but something
in my gut clenched. When I looked up at those
Cliffs, they felt Too Close like walls.
We set up camp quickly, two tents, a circle of stones for
the fire and a little Cook Area off to the side.
We didn't bother with cell phones.
No point. Caleb pulled out a speaker and
played some old rock song while Marcus boiled water for dinner.
As the sun dipped behind the Rocks, the Shadows stretched
long and fast, one minute, it was Daylight, the next it was
dusk. That strange silence never left.
Even the music, sounded muffled like the air didn't want to
carry sound. Still the fire helped.
We drank a little told stories, Eric and Caleb have about some
old College trip. Marcus mostly listened flipping
through a battered paperback. It was just like old times until
it wasn't it started around midnight.
The music had long since died. Battery gone.
The fire was low, just flickering coals, and the
occasional crackle of pine. Marcus was asleep, Eric and
Caleb were still up quietly talking about stars or whiskey
or some conspiracy theory. I wasn't really listening.
And then we heard it a howl, not close, but not far, either
somewhere, beyond the ridge, it echoed off the Rocks, long and
low. We all froze.
Coyote Eric said after a beat normal out here, but Caleb was
already grinning want to hear a real one.
He cut his hands and let out a high-pitched howl.
It echoed into the darkness. We waited half expecting.
Nothing, then something answered only.
It wasn't a coyote, it was deeper wet drawn out in this
garbled, half snarling, growl that started low and ended in
something that sounded like a laugh.
It wasn't an animal. It wasn't right.
Eric's face went pale. Caleb stopped smiling.
Okay, Caleb said slowly, that was creepy.
We all stared out at the dark line of trees.
Beyond the fire, no more howls, no wind, just the fire cracking
and the distant hiss of Ash Marcus sat up in his sleeping
bag. Groggy what the hell was that?
Eric stood hand drifting toward the knife on his belt.
We should call it a night. Nobody argued, I lay awake for
hours staring at the ceiling of my tent.
Every little sound set me on edge, the wind brushing, the
nylon a rock settling nearby even Caleb's soft snoring.
I kept thinking about that howl, the way it sounded like,
something trying to sound like a coyote, but not knowing how I
finally drifted off sometime before Dawn.
And I swear just before sleep, took me, I heard something
walking slowly passed my tent. Bare feet dragging.
I told myself it was just a dream.
I'm still not sure if I believe that.
I don't think any of us said, a word that next morning we just
sat there around the fire. Pit drinking instant coffee with
shaky hands and avoiding each other's eyes.
The air felt heavier somehow. Like it had thickened overnight.
I kept replaying the howl in my head that awful stretched out,
imitation of Caleb's, call it sounded too wet, like something
dragging, its breath through a broken throat.
We all tried to pretend it was nothing just a coyote or a
bobcat. Or maybe we were tired and
imagining things, but then Marcus stood up and quietly said
we need to check that structure. Nobody argued we set out
mid-morning following the ridge from the day before.
The air was still not even a breeze.
Moving through the sagebrush. The sun felt weak.
Like something was filtering it out.
It took us about an hour to reach it.
The structure was tucked in the shadow of two.
Massive Boulders, not a cabin. Not a shack.
It was older round. Half sunken into the ground.
Built with crumbling mud and wooden beams.
A Hogan Erik said quietly, it's Navajo, there was no door, just
a wide. Dark opening, leading down into
a slanting interior. I didn't want to go in none of
us did. But Eric did he stepped inside?
First ducking low. Caleb followed!
Then Marcus, I stood outside for a second longer staring into the
hole. Like it might breathe.
Then I stepped in the inside smelled like dry rot and
something else, something old and dead.
Bones. Littered the ground.
Small ones. Mostly rabbits Birds.
But a few were longer thin with sockets at the ends.
That didn't look right. There was no furniture just
packed Earth, rotted wood and in the center of the floor.
Something arranged carefully a bundle.
It was made of Twigs wrapped tightly with a length of frayed
red string. Feathers jutted out in all
directions. And at the center was a clump of
black hair noted in Twisted into the wood.
We just stood around it in a circle.
Not speaking. I don't know how long we were
there before. Caleb broke the silence.
This is some Blair Witch looking crap, he said laughing
nervously, maybe it's like a good luck charm.
Eric didn't laugh, it's not a charm.
He said it's a ward, Marcus raised an eyebrow.
A what? A protective binding Eric
replied to keep something out or keep something in.
Then, Caleb crouched down and plucked one of the feathers from
the bundles souvenir. He grinned know, Eric stepped
forward. Put that back.
Caleb waved him off. Relax.
It's just a feather. But as he shoved it into the
side pocket of his pack, the room felt colder, like the air
had dropped 10 degrees in seconds.
I wanted to say something to stop him but I didn't none of us
did that night everything fell apart.
We built the fire bigger than usual.
No one said it out loud, but we were scared.
We posted up in a tight Circle backs, facing outward eyes,
scanning the black gaps between the boulders and trees.
I kept my knife close. Eric had his gun in his lap
Marcus hadn't said much since the Hogan.
Around 1:30 a.m. I started hearing it Whispers.
Not loud. Not even clear but definitely
voices. Faint and fast moving in a
circle around us. At first, I thought I was going
crazy, hearing the wind and feeling in blanks.
But Caleb looked at me across the fire eyes, wide.
You hear that? He mouths, I nodded Eric stood
slowly. Flash lights, scanning the dark.
The beam danced across rocks and brush casting long, twitching
Shadows, nothing. Then we all smelled it rotting
meat like roadkill left in the sun too long mixed with
something metallic blood may be or copper Then came the sound.
I'll never forget breathing, slow heavy wet.
Just beyond the fire's reach Eric, stepped toward the edge of
the circle and aimed his flashlight.
And we saw it, it was standing about 20 feet away.
Tall emaciated. Human shaped but all wrong.
It's arms were too long and fingers that looked like broken
twigs. Its skin was modeled like
leather stretched over bone and its face.
Its face looked like me almost but warped.
Like someone made a mask of my face out of whacks and let it
melt in the sun. One I was too high.
The mouth was too wide. The skin didn't move, right?
It's smiled at me. Then it spoke, dovid said, my
name with my voice, but strangled like it had swallowed
it and was forcing it back out. I couldn't move Eric raised his
gun and fired. The shot.
Echoed through the canyon like thunder.
The thing didn't run, it just collapsed like a puppet with its
strings. Cut, hit the ground hard too
hard, its body twisted like it had no bones.
Then it scurried backwards. Still Twisted fast into the
trees. We couldn't see where it went.
We didn't pack, we grabbed what we could and ran, we hiked the
trail back to the jeep with only headlamps and adrenaline, the
whole way. I could hear it somewhere in the
trees, keeping Pace. Sometimes on two legs sometimes
not it never attacked it, just followed, like it was waiting.
We made it to the car around Dawn.
Eric, didn't even wait for everyone to Buckle in before
tearing down the dirt road. Nobody said a word for the first
hour? Just heavy breathing and the
sound of tires. Bouncing off the Rocky Trail.
Back in Salt Lake, Marcus booked a flight and was gone before
noon. Caleb said he needed a shower
and some sleep. He didn't answer when I texted
him later that night, Eric wouldn't stop pacing.
He kept saying it had your face as for me I haven't slept.
Since the thing is, I don't think we left it behind because
last night, I saw it again standing at the end of The Alley
behind my apartment. Same Twisted face.
Same fake smile. Same voice.
And this time, it said my name again, but it said it closer.
I didn't even pack. I just grabbed the feather.
Threw a change of clothes into a backpack and got in the car.
I drove straight through the night.
Didn't stop, didn't eat, didn't even turn on the radio, just me
the road and that thing in my head Whispering, my name like it
owned it. Now, every time I blinked I saw
its face again that half melted version of me too wide two,
still two hungry by the time, the sun rose.
I was already deep into Southern Utah.
The red dust started, showing up on the edge of the road, like
bloodstains, the closer I got to the Basin the worst at God.
The wind was gone, the birds were gone, the world felt paws.
Like something was waiting for me to come back and the worst
part. I knew I had to I reached the
edge of the canyon. Just before noon it was exactly
the same the same cracked dirt road, the same Cliffs the same
wide bowl of red stone and dust. Even the Jeeps tire marks were
still faintly there like time hadn't moved since we left I
parked and stepped out the second.
My boots, hit the ground, the silence hit me like a wall.
It was the kind of quiet that feels alive, like it's
listening. I retraced our path through the
drywash, passed the boulders over the ridge.
My chest got tighter with every step.
My fingers went numb. I kept telling myself to turn
around, but I couldn't. I found the Hogan exactly where
we left. It half collapsed covered in
dust like it had been waiting. The doorway looked darker than
it should have like a mouth waiting to swallow something.
I didn't go inside this time. I didn't need to the center of
the structure was hollowed out the Earth Disturbed where the
bundle had once been. The ward we'd broke in.
That's where I buried it. The feather Caleb took the one
that had shown up on my doorstep wrapped in string and my hair.
I knelt hand shaking and dug into the dry Earth with my
fingers. The ground was warm two.
Warm like something below was breathing.
I pushed the feather. Deep into the dirt, then
flattened it out padding, it smooth.
I didn't say a prayer. I didn't know how.
So I just whispered, I'm sorry. And then I stood and then I
heard it. The crunch of footsteps behind
me slow deliberate. I turned and it was me standing
10 feet away or something, wearing me, same face, same
eyes, but wrong. Its head tilted, too far to one
side, it smile stretched wider than a smile should its arms
hung low. Like, it didn't understand how
to carry them and the skin. It wasn't real skin.
It looked like paper drawn over bone tight, transparent thin
enough to tear. I couldn't breathe.
It took one step closer, then it spoke.
Why did you leave me? It's voice.
Sounded like mine, but drowned, like it was bubbling up from
waterlogged lungs. Slow wet familiar.
It's stepped again. You left us in the dark then the
things shivered its face melted right in front of me, like Wax
over fire. It's fluffed off the eyes
drooped, the mouth sagged skin peeled away in Long strips and
beneath it was Marcus, then Caleb then Eric.
Then me again every time it shifted bones, cracked
shoulders, popped its body, bent backward and snapped up, right?
Like it was made of wires and meet the faces.
Each one were off, two wide, two pale, two empty, Do you
remember? It said switching to Marcus's
voice. It stepped closer you ran said,
Caleb's voice. You always run said, Eric's,
then it wore my voice again, you brought it home.
I stumbled backward. The wind kicked up full of dust
and heat and Ash then I saw something move in the corners of
my vision, Shadows crawling up the canyon walls dozens of them
human-shaped, but broken some on two legs.
Some crawling one, dragging its head sideways across the dirt,
all of them had my face and they were watching smiling.
I dropped to my knees and grabbed the dirt with both hands
trying to. Hold on, I could feel the Earth
shaking the buried feather pulsed, under the ground, like a
heartbeat please. I whispered take it back, we
didn't know, we didn't mean to the wind, stopped the Shadows
vanished. The creature in front of me
tilted. Its head, its stepped closer
until it was inches from my face.
Its breath smelled. Like rot and burned hair, then
it leaned, in its mouth. Just beside my ear and whispered
something in a language. I didn't understand.
The words were low wet ancient and they hurt to hear I felt
blood dripped from my nose then nothing.
I woke up alone flat on my back, the sky above me perfectly
clear, the Hogan was gone, no beams, no bones, just a circle
of scorched Earth and Ash the air smelled like sage and copper
and smoke the feather was gone. I stood up slowly.
Every muscle aching. My ears were ringing.
There was no sign of the creature but I could feel it.
Like something was pressed just beneath the surface of the world
waiting to rise again I didn't look back.
I made it back to my car by Sunset.
The engine turned over on the first try the drive back was
quiet. No Shadows, no Whispers.
Just the road that was three weeks ago and I think it worked.
The scratching is gone, the voices have stopped.
No more footsteps outside my window.
I don't see my face smiling back at me from the alley anymore.
I sleep now not Great. But better most nights.
Then this morning I got something in the mail a small
envelope no return address inside was a single Polaroid
photo. It showed Caleb standing on a
cliff. I didn't recognize His body
looked wrong slack like a puppet without strings his head was
twisted at an angle that shouldn't be possible and behind
him just out of focus was a figure.
Tall, bent grinning holding something a mirror.
I burned the photo didn't tell, anyone didn't even open the
blinds, but tonight as I'm riding this, I swear, I just
heard it again, not the voice, not the scratching, just
breathing, close, heavy familiar, like something just
outside the walls smiling. I always thought I knew what
remote men. I had done plenty of solo hike
before weeks in the Ozarks a winter stint in the sawtooths
even spent a few nights in Big Ben without seeing another soul.
But nothing prepared me for cold water basin.
Know, I don't expect you to find it on a map.
You won't. Hell, I only learned about it
from a retired Forest Service guy named Len.
I met at a gun show in Reno We were both looking at the same
used Louver action point, 308 and ended up talking over bad
gas station, coffee afterwards. when I mentioned, I was looking
for an isolated place to camp and shoot without the usual,
you're scaring, the hikers crap, his eyes went quiet, There's a
base in east of the Sierra line. He said, eventually not on the
wreck Maps locals stay away they say the winds wrong.
There you go, out you go out, quiet.
And don't ask what you're not ready to know.
I thought he was full of it. Just a guy clinging to whatever,
weird Legends the mountains hadn't buried yet.
But two months later, I found myself navigating a half a race
trail with his hand drawn map in my lap, chewing beef, jerky and
praying. My Tacoma didn't rattle a part
on the rocks. It was early, May 2018, still
cool at night bone dry during the day, the kind of weather you
dream about for Backcountry. And I plan to every damn detail
two weeks off grid, a satellite SOS Beacon, my rifle enough,
freeze-dried meals to feed a platoon and just me, that was
the plan. The further, I drove the more
the world peeled away. The road thinned out turned to
gravel, then dirt around the last Bend even the trees.
Gave up just Jagged rocks and gray dust like the land had been
burned clean. I parked under a rock overhang
for shade and stepped out into silence.
I don't mean peace and quiet silence.
I mean Dead Silence. No wind no bugs, not even the
high-pitched wine. You get in your ears when it's
really quiet, just nothing. I tried to Shake it Off, grab my
pack, locked the truck and started the hike in The map said
about six miles to the Basin following a dried-up Creek bed,
and a Ridgeline with a big lightning, split Pine.
It was just past noon. When I passed that tree half of
it, was blackened from the strike, it felt like a warning.
Someone had nailed into the dirt.
The first weird thing I noticed was the animal bones.
Scattered here and there along the trail.
Not Unusual in itself. Nature's Cleanup Crew as
efficient but they weren't old. Still had some dried sinew Tufts
of fur and they were not chewed no bite marks, just torn then
came the deer I found it may be a quarter mile from where I set
up camp. Lying half submerged in a patch
of red dirt. No blood, no blood flies.
Its neck was bent too cleanly like someone had snapped it its
eyes were gone but not picked out removed the sockets were
weirdly clean. I didn't want to admit how much
that shook me. Still I made Camp forced myself
to follow the Motions tent stake near a rock wall for wind cover
fire pit dug and ringed water. Boiled rifle, loaded and
cleaned. I told myself it was probably
just a mountain lion kill even if I knew damn well that wasn't
how lions kill. By Sunset, the sky lit up in
oranges and Deep Purple. I roasted a pouch of chicken
teriyaki and sat by the fire, feeling the nerves, settle a
little That first night was calm still no wind just the stars
watching I left the rain fly off the tent and lay there.
Watching satellites blink overhead at some point.
I drifted off then I heard it. Not a noisy, exactly more like a
presents. I bolted.
Upright, heart in my throat. The fire had died to coals.
My rifle was still beside me. Untouched, I scan the dark.
Nothing. I did a slow circle around the
camp flash light in one hand rifle in the other.
No Prince, no movement, not even a stirred up bit of dust.
It was just a dream had to be. I crawled back into the tent.
Laid there staring at the nylon roof eyes wide waiting.
Then I felled it the Sensation that you're being watched.
Not imagined, not anxiety. It was there just outside the
firelight like something was perched on the edge of the dark
waiting for me to close my eyes again.
I didn't I stayed awake until the sun started bleeding.
Into the sky rifle across my chest ears.
Tuned to every crack and Russell.
But nothing came when daylight finally arrived the feeling
vanished like smoke. Still, I should have left then,
packed up walked away, but I didn't because I hadn't even
fired the damn rifle yet. And because I'm an idiot who
thought fear was something you could ignore if you acted Tough
Enough. and because I still thought I was alone out there, I
wasn't. And the next day was going to
prove that in ways. I still can't forget the second
morning came with a sky so clear at almost looked fake.
I rolled out of my tents slowly every muscle stiff from sleeping
in a half alert sprawl. The fire had burned down to a
pile of Grey Ash and the air had that dry charged Stillness.
That always comes right before a storm but there were no clouds
just heat and silence. I made coffee forced down a
granola bar and tried to shake off the unease from the night
before. I had managed to convince myself
that the rustling, I heard outside the tent was just an
animal, a fox, maybe or even a deer.
Curious about the smell of food. Nothing worth panicking over,
but the truth was, I hadn't slept.
Not really. I kept waking up every 20
minutes. Heart thudding, convinced
someone or something was standing just beyond the edge of
the firelight. I thought about packing up,
there was still time to hike out before the sun got too high
before the heat made the return brutal.
But then I looked at the rifle resting beside my pack and told
myself I was overreacting I had come out here to shoot to clear
my head. I wasn't about to leave just
because I got spooked by some Twigs snapping in the dark.
I said out around midday heading back toward the dry wash, I had
found the day before. It was perfect for shooting
natural walls to trap sound. Plenty of space.
Good visibility, I brought a box of rounds a couple of empty cans
and a battered old road sign. I dragged out from a brush pile.
As I set up my targets, I remember feeling not calm,
exactly. But distracted focused.
The smell of hot dust and Gun oil grounded me in a way.
Nothing else had since I'd arrived.
I fired off maybe a dozen rounds.
Before I heard it. Not an echo, not a Ricochet
gunfire coming from deeper in the Basin at first.
I paused waiting to see if it repeated half thinking, I'd
imagined it, but then it came again.
Rapid bursts different rhythms, definitely more than one weapon
being fired. Some sounded sharp and High
Caliber others duller and faster like handguns.
It wasn't some other camper messing around this sounded
coordinated like a live fire drill or something much worse I
crouched low adrenaline flooding my system, the shots were
erratic but they were not moving away.
If anything, they seemed to be Fanning out echoing off the
canyon walls in weird patterns that made it impossible to tell
how close they actually were. One moment.
It felt like they were miles off the next like they were just
over the next Ridge. I packed up in record time and
started back toward Camp staying low and keeping off open ground
every now and then the gunfire would stop for a while.
Then start again always just far enough to keep me guessing but
close enough that I felt like I was being tracked. once I caught
a whiff of something foul on the Wind, It passed almost as
quickly as it came, like old blood or rotting meat left in
the Sun. And I couldn't tell if it was
real or just my nerves twisting my senses.
By the time I reached Camp, my shirt was soaked through my
hands shaking slightly as I slung my rifle over my shoulder.
The shooting had stopped but the are still felt tight like
something was holding its breath.
I sat with my back against The Rock Wall, watching the
perimeter of my little clearing as the sun started to sink
Behind the Jagged Skyline, My stomach Twisted in knots, but I
forced down a meal. Anyway, beef stew from a pouch
and a lukewarm bottle of water. It tasted like Sawdust.
As night rolled in, I did what I done the night before I cleaned
my wife all restocked some of the firewood, anything to keep
from sitting still too long but the dread hadn't passed.
If anything it had thickened like fog crawling in from the
lowlands. My instincts were screaming at
me to leave. To just grab my gear and Hike
out through the dark. But my logic kicked back just as
hard. Hiking in Pitch Black, possibly
injured possibly being followed. That was asking for a twisted,
ankle, a fall or worse. So I stayed one more night.
I told myself just until sunrise around 2 in the morning I heard
the first scream it started as a sharp cry distant but
unmistakably human then came a second one longer horse filled
with panic a woman's voice cutting through the Stillness
like a blade. I shot up right rifle already in
my hands scanning the trees then I heard it again.
Someone help me please closer now and not just louder, but
frantic that voice? It didn't sound like an act.
It was raw broken. Gasping between sobs.
He's gonna kill me please, I see your fire, I stepped out past
the Ring of firelight flash light flicking from tree to
tree, my finger hovered near the trigger.
I couldn't see anyone, no movement, no, crunching leaves
or snapping Twigs. Just the voice growing louder
with each desperate, cry. And then, as I stood Frozen
halfway between camp and the Treeline, The Voice repeated
itself word, for word, same tone, same volume, same pauses,
he's gonna kill me, please, I see your fire, it looped again,
and again, I backed away slowly chest tight bile rising in my
throat. It wasn't real.
It could be something was mimicking her.
I don't know how long, I stood there locked in place, but then
the scream stopped a few seconds later.
There was a single gunshot short controlled distant but not far
enough. Then silence.
No wind no birds no footsteps, just the fire crackling in my
own pulse pounding in my ears. I stayed up the rest of the
night. Sitting cross-legged beside the
Flames rifle across my lap, listening to the dark press in,
from all sides. I didn't move, didn't speak
barely breathed. And just before Dawn, as the sky
began to shift from black to gray, I heard it one last time
faint off to the West, please help me same Cadence same
pattern like a broken record buried in the trees, The Voice
never got closer again, but it never left either I left.
As soon as the light was strong enough to see the trail No
coffee, no food, just a flask of warm water and my gear barely
stuffed into my pack. I wasn't careful about noise.
I didn't even try to stay quiet. Something inside me had snapped
and all I could think about was putting as much distance as
possible between myself and that place.
Every time I looked over my shoulder, I expected to see
someone or something. Standing there in the fading.
Shadows watching me, leave the hike out should have taken most
of the day. On the way in, I had stopped off
and checked my bearings taken notes.
This time I didn't stop at all. I barely blinked.
I moved fast pushing myself harder than I probably should
have legs burning lungs, tight, heart pounding in my chest, like
it was trying to break free and still I felt hunted.
I kept imagining, I'd hear it again that voice fraying at the
edges chasing me, like an echo. That didn't want to be forgotten
at one point, near a split in the trail.
I spotted something that made my skin crawl, a footprint, just
one fresh pressed into the fine gray.
Dirt like it had been made minutes ago.
It was booted, but smaller than mine narrow, possibly female.
I didn't stop to investigate. I just ran by the time I reached
my truck, the sun was already slipping behind the ridge.
I tossed my gear into the bed without ceremony.
Jumped into the driver's seat and peeled out sending up clouds
of dust in my rearview. I didn't look back not once I
didn't want to see if someone or something was standing at the
tree line watching me disappear it wasn't until I hit the first
gas station in an hour out that I realized I'd been gripping.
The steering wheel so hard, my knuckles were bloodless.
I parked stumbled inside bought a sandwich.
I didn't eat. And a bottle of water.
I barely touched. A teenager behind the counter
asked if I was. Okay, said I looked messed up I
nodded smiled told him. I just gotten back from a long
hike. I didn't tell him what I had
heard what I'd felt. And I wouldn't tell anyone else
for a long, long time for weeks, the screaming, echoed in my ears
at night. I would wake up covered in sweat
convinced. I could still hear her calling
for help just outside my bedroom window.
My hands would reach instinctively for the rifle.
That wasn't their heart hammering.
Like it had all started over again.
The worst part wasn't the fear though.
It was the shame that woman had begged, me begged and I done
nothing. I told myself 100 times over
that I couldn't have known that. It could have been a trap that
maybe the voice wasn't even real.
I can convince myself that rushing into the dark would have
gotten me killed. That logic had saved me.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that campfire flickering
on her voice and felt my body frozen in place Paralyzed by
fear and indecision. I wanted to report it.
I really did. I pulled up the Sheriff's
Department, contact page more times than I could count.
But what would I say that? I heard a scream somewhere out
in the wilderness That I thought a woman might have been killed
near Coldwater, Basin, but I had no proof.
No location. No names.
They laughed. Me off or Worse?
Think I was insane. So I didn't tell them and that
guilt stayed with me. Settling in my chest, like a
second set of lungs that never fully.
Let me breathe. Months passed.
I buried it as best. I could push the memory down
deep and piled distractions on top of it.
Work. Friends projects.
But late at night at always clawed its way back up.
Then one evening, a story popped up on one of the hiking forums.
I'd been part of for years, just a simple thread.
Anybody here. What happened near Coldwater,
Basin, last spring. My stomach turned before I even
clicked it. It was a short post, someone had
been hiking near the area weeks after I had been there and
stumbled across a collapsed campsite tent.
Shredded gears still scattered. The post mentioned blood, not a
lot but enough to make someone concerned the user had reported
it and eventually law enforcement got involved.
I read every word three times before.
Clicking through the links. And that's how I found her name.
Danielle Suarez, 27 solo hiker last seen April 30th.
She'd been reported missing by her brother when she failed to
check in after her trip. The search had started late and
was called off, quickly due to a lack of leads.
But by some impossible Stroke of Luck, a Rancher, found her
nearly a week, later, barely alive.
She had been crawling through the brush near the Southern
Ridge miles from the nearest Road.
She was dehydrated in shock and had a gunshot wound just below
her shoulder. One lung had collapsed.
She spent two weeks in the hospital.
The full story came out later. Buried in the local paper's and
Fringe blogs that still covered this kind of thing.
Danielle had been abducted by a group of squatters living in a
concealed, Dugout near the base in four of them.
Three men, one woman armed paranoid and strung out on meth.
They'd been using the canyon as a hideout in occasionally
luring, in isolated hikers, Danielle had wandered, Too
Close. They grabbed her on her second
night, and kept her tied up beaten half-starved.
She managed to escape when one of them passed out drunk, ran
through the dark screaming for help, they'd shot at her as she
fled one round. Hit her the others missed.
I remember reading that sentence over and over.
She screamed for help as she fled into the trees.
And thinking how close I had been how real it all was.
How she nearly died while I was crouched by a fire rifle in
hand, doing absolutely nothing. The squatters were arrested
within the month. They found the Dugout buried in
a Thicket of juniper and debris. Inside were weapons supplies
blood-stained rope and traces of other people people, they hadn't
identified two of the men had prior warrants in other states.
One had killed before Daniel survived.
She recovered gave her statement and vanished from the news cycle
not long after I never reached out.
I never came forward. What would I have said that?
I was there that I heard her that I didn't help that I could
have done something and didn't know that was her story to
survive. Mine was something else.
Something darker, something I'll carry to the end.
I'm not writing this for sympathy or forgiveness.
I'm not interested in some stranger patting me on the back
and saying you did what you had to do.
I know what I did or rather, what I didn't do?
I'm writing this because there's a dangerous lie.
People like to tell themselves that it's better not to get
involved, that it's safer to stay silent that someone else
will take care of it. But I've been that someone else
I've been the only person within shouting distance and I froze.
I stayed alive. But I didn't live after not
really. If you ever find yourself out
there and you hear something, someone crying for help, just
know there's a cost. Either way, if you go, you might
not come back. But if you don't, if you walk
away, you might still lose something and some things don't
grow back. How much farther is it Neil
wine? I had to admit.
I was getting a bit tired myself.
When we first decided to go on a camping trip.
In the Great Smokies, I wasn't expecting.
It would be this far. According to the map, we're
almost there Jean said. You mean the map that covers the
entire State? Sharing said almost, there could
be 100 miles. Jean whipped around on her.
Do you think I'm that stupid? Of course, it's not a map of the
whole state. I picked it up at the ranger
station, it only covers the Tennessee section of the Great
Smokies. He turned back and began
trudging while pardon me a great map Master Sharon said, under
her breath Jean, paused for a moment then kept going.
I knew he had heard her and wanted to chew her out.
But with all that had happened, My thoughts were interrupted by
the sounds of struggling behind me.
Turning, I found Mike wrestling with his backpack.
It had gotten caught in between two small trees and had him
stuck fast. Hold on there, bud.
I said trying to get down to him without getting my pack caught.
Grabbing trees. As I went.
I worked my way down and got his pack on stuck.
Thanks man. He said, sweat pouring off him
as if this trip wasn't Tough Enough.
I hear you. I said, you need to take a break
for a minute. Yeah.
He said dropping to the ground. I chuckled seeing the smallest
of the group panting like a dog in the middle of summer.
Hold on here, I'll be right back.
I struggled my way back up the hill, only to find the rest of
the group hadn't stopped. When I did, I couldn't even see
them. I ran for a little bit on what I
thought was the trail, but didn't see any sign.
Finally, in frustration, I stopped and let out a yell Gene.
Sharon Neal, where are you? I heard the words Echo back to
me, but that was it. There was no answering call.
No sound of brush being pushed aside as they came back.
To me there was nothing. Even the animals didn't seem to
be very talkative, it was quieter than it had been the
entire trip. part of, that was surely, the lack of Neil whining
and Sharon and Gene being at each other's throats I wish
those two would just give up and go get a room.
Everybody knew they'd had it for each other bad but they didn't
seem to get it or maybe they did and this is their idea of
foreplay either way, I was a city boy lost in the middle of
the forest, Jean had the map and I had never been taught anything
about direction or survival. I just came on the Strip to hang
out with my friends, a motel room in Gatlinburg five,
friends. Catching some shows shopping in
Pigeon Forge. That was what I was here for.
It was jeans. Brilliant idea to go on the
stupid camping trip. Even though he said, he got the
map at the ranger station, I knew he didn't listen to
anything. They said about which Trail to
go on. Gene was always the leader.
He would have shooed them off and said he knew exactly where
to go, even if he had no idea, maybe I'm starting to see why
Sharon hasn't hooked up with him yet.
Maybe, she's trying to knock him down a peg or two before he's
ready to be civil. It had been five minutes since I
had stopped and yelled Jean, Sharon Neal, I called again,
louder this time. The only thing that got me was a
louder Echo. Coming back to me, I looked back
at where I had come from only. I wasn't sure of the exact
Direction Jean had led us off the trail, a while back and I
wasn't positive where I had left mic.
The dense canopy of trees left a little of the sun peeking
through still high in the sky. At least I'd have daylight for a
while. Turning back the way I thought
I'd come. I started back toward Mike at
least if we were together there'd be two of us to find
instead of having to search for another.
It was a long walk. It seemed like I got to where I
was a lot faster than I got back.
I suppose trying to catch up with the people who know where
they're going, will get your feet moving faster.
It wasn't long until I realized I'd been walking too far.
I had somehow missed where Mike was Mike, where are you?
I called once again hearing the Echo and nothing else.
Looking around, I was sure this was where I had left him.
The trees all looked familiar but then again, I didn't know
how many millions of trees there were in the Smoky Mountains.
There could be hundreds, or even thousands of spots that looked
exactly. Like this one.
I began to question the wisdom or lack thereof of only one
person having a map, a thought struck me.
I whipped out my phone and taped on the maps app.
Surely it could at least tell me where I am those hopes crashed
and burned. When I saw the no signal at the
top of the screen, Mike. I yelled louder more to vent my
frustration. I collapsed on the ground,
feeling more exhausted, and hopeless than I had in a long
time. And then I heard it.
A faint, call carried on the wind.
It sounded like it was Miles Away.
Mike, I yelled again, I sat and listened which was easy since
the animals were not making any noise.
Again, I heard the return call. I hopped up like a dog who had
heard its Master's whistle. Taking a general guests at the
direction, I had heard it. I began to March determinedly.
It wasn't quite a run, but it was no stroll through the park,
either the thought of no longer being lost or at least not being
lost alone, drove me forward. After a few minutes I called
again, then waited for the answer.
It came from the direction, I was heading, but somehow seemed
quieter, like he was moving away from me.
I broke into a run my heavy backpack flopped from side to
side, nearly making me stumble. But I didn't care.
I was getting closer. I could feel it.
I never saw the tree roots sticking up.
Just enough to catch my toe and send me tumbling.
I woke to total darkness. Something big and heavy was
pressing down on me. I panicked and tried to throw it
off, but it had a tight grip on me.
Thrashing all around this thing. Held me with a death grip.
I swung my arms trying to punch it, my legs flailing to get it
off me, but it wasn't happening. It had me and it knew it the
most disconcerting part was how quiet this thing was It didn't
growl or snarl or anything just held on to me like it's life
depended on it. Finally, my energy was spent.
It had won. All I could do was lay there and
wait for the inevitable, I waited and waited nothing
happened, maybe whatever it was. I had fallen asleep.
I couldn't imagine all my thrashing around, wouldn't have
woken it up. I rubbed at my shoulder which
was now sore from the fight with my unknown assailant.
As I did, my fingers brushed up against the thing that held me
out of curiosity. I rubbed it where it held me, I
immediately pitched a fit at my stupidity.
It was my backpack. My head, thumped off the ground
and frustration at how stupid I had been.
Slowly. I unsnapped the latch that held
the straps together and pulled my arms out.
It was a huge weight off my shoulders when the pack rolled
onto the ground. I lay there for a moment, having
forgotten how dark it was when I was fighting to the death with
my backpack. Reaching into my pocket, I
pulled out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight.
As I was doing it, I saw the no signal was still at the top of
the screen. I wondered if there would be any
signal until I got out of this, God forsaken place.
I Shone the light around and piece together how I got in
here, lying in a ditch in the dark in the forest.
When I fell, I must have hit my head on the Rock.
I saw in the ditch that had a small patch of dark red on it.
I reached up to feel my head and found a tender spot.
That a do it. I said of my unscheduled nap.
Checking the rest of me out with the flash light.
I found no other injuries. There remained the original
problem of being lost and alone. At least the animals were making
noise again. That was somewhat comforting
having evaluated myself. I shown the light around the
area trying to find out where I was.
The answer was simple and frustrating, I was lost in the
forest surrounded by trees. Letting out a sigh.
I dug through my backpack and found some granola bars and a
couple of bottles of water. Hunger.
Pangs hit me in the gut, like, a line drive.
I ripped open a bar, and devoured it before.
I knew it, three of them were gone followed by a bottle of
water chugged. Like I was in the middle of the
desert. As I was enjoying my Feast, the
animal noises stopped, it made the hairs on the back of my
neck. Stand on end to hear such sudden
and complete silence. Swallowing my last mouthful of
water was so loud. At nearly made me jump as my
light drifted aimlessly. Suddenly I saw a pair of eyes
glowing just inside the tree line.
They glowed in Eerie shade of yellow.
I tried to remember if that meant, it was a predator.
Unfortunately, something in the back of my mind, told me, the
silence was already telling me, it was a predator, whatever.
It was, strangely seemed to have no fur.
Its Grace skin made it look like no animal I'd ever seen.
If anything, it reminded me of Gollum from lord of the ring
rings. It was on all fours, but the
front legs looked like arms. If I didn't know better, I would
have said it was a child lost in the woods.
But this was no innocent child. It crept toward me in a way that
assured me. It was hunting and nothing else.
Nothing about the way it moved, said, helpless to me, I unzipped
my pack and reached down to the bottom, all the while the
Predator creeping closer. Come on.
I said, through gritted teeth, knowing it was down here.
As I moved things from one side of the pack, to the other.
It was getting worriedly close. Now, one, good leap, and it
would be within Striking Distance, I went for broke and
dumped out the contents of the pack, hearing a loud, thump, hit
the ground. I flashed around with my light
and found what I had been looking for.
My glock. I grabbed it and pointed where
the Predator had been fully expecting it to be right in my
face but it was gone. Whipping all around.
I searched with the light gun trained on whatever I saw hoping
to catch a glimpse before, it was too late.
After a quick scan, I slowly panned around in a circle,
searching more diligently for the creature, but there was
nothing, wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but knowing it
could easily be hiding behind any tree.
I started picking up my belongings and stuffing them
back into the backpack. As I did, the animals began
making noise again. It was somewhat comforting to
think that thing had left the area, but I didn't trust it.
Once my backpack was repacked, I sat down and leaned on it, like
a pillow, with my back to the edge of the ditch and my phone's
flashlight shining toward the trees.
My canh sat on my lap, ready for some quick action.
It wasn't long till my eyes betrayed me slowly, closing
causing me to shake myself away. Over and over.
This played out with me struggling.
Harder to stay awake than when I was sitting in church.
My phone told me it was after four in the morning.
The sun would be coming up in a couple of hours, then I could
continue the search for my friends.
My phone also told me it only had 23% battery left.
I held a major debate in my head, keep the light on and lose
the ability to use my phone. If and when I get a signal, Or
turn the light off and save my battery leaving me at the mercy
of that creature. It was an impossible Choice
until I remembered the animals in the woods were making noises
They were silent when the creature was around.
My only question was, do they shut up just for that creature
or for all large predators? For the life of me I couldn't
remember I took one last look around, before, powering off my
phone leaning against the pack, my fight to stay alert continued
each time, my eyes snapped open the sky was a lighter shade of
gray. Soon, I could see vague outlines
of trees looming over me, not frightening or disconcerting at
all. At Last, I lost the battle and
fell into a deep Blissful sleep. I woke to the feeling of
sandpaper on my face, opening my eyes and seeing a deer licking
my cheek made me nearly lose my mind.
I jumped back slipping off my pack and falling against the
dirt in the ditch. The deer lost its mind as well.
It jumped up and galloped away like a herd of hunters were hot
on its heels. Once my heart was beating at a
regular rate. I looked around at the brightly
lit Forest. It was late morning and I was
still alive. The creature had not come back
to kill me in my sleep. I took that as a good sign.
Standing and stretching. I tried to figure out how I was
getting out of there. Let alone how I would find my
friends. Shouting was out of the
question. Now, I was sure that creature
would see it as a sign of weakness and come running.
Like someone had rung, the dinner bell But how would I
find, which way I was going before I fell into the ditch.
As I stood there and looked back at the trail, I saw the branch
sticking up that had caused this whole debacle.
I drew an invisible line from where I was standing to the
branch. I Then followed the line through
me and extended it past me towards where I was heading.
looking up to the mountain, looming above the trees, I tried
to find a landmark to head towards There was a huge rock
that jutted out from the mountain with no trees around
it. That was my focal point.
I would use that as my compass. Speaking of compasses, I looked
to the right and saw the sun rising into the late morning sky
with the sun in the East, I turned back towards my rock and
calculated that it was more or less to the north.
Having figured out where I was going, I kicked my feet into
gear and started getting there. It was a no-brainer that my
friends would be worried sick. They were probably already back
at the motel, making all kinds of calls and organizing a search
party. I chuckled, at my joke, I knew
they were as helpless as I was in the woods Jean pretended to
know what he was doing. But truth be told he was the
worst of the group mostly because he was too stubborn to
listen to anyone else's Direction's.
What if they ran into that creature?
The thought froze me in my tracks, that thing looked like
it wanted to have me for dinner. Running into the four of them
would be like a smorgasbord. I shook the thought away.
There was nothing I could do about it anyway, but my cheerful
skip in my step at having to Direction was gone.
It was replaced by concern for my friends.
As I walked, I thought about Mike how excited he was to come
along and see the Dixie Stampede for the first time.
About Sharon and Jean, what a horrible couple, they would make
and how they fought all the time.
Now, when they were just friends, Or were they?
I'd seen them sneaking little. Looks at each other when the
group was together, could the whole thing be a ruse?
Could they be a couple already and trying to keep it a secret?
And then, there was Neil. I had no idea why I was friends
with Neil. He was one of those people who
just started tagging. Along one day before you knew
it, they were part of the group. Neil was always competing with
Gene to lead the group, but he went about it a different way.
he would whine and complain until he got his way, not all
the time, but whenever there was something he left strongly about
Neil didn't want to come on this trip.
And honestly, I think we all would have been happier if he
hadn't being alone with my thoughts, had me making good
time toward my destination. The forest wasn't as dense here
and it was slightly downhill. Good walking conditions.
The walk was going so well that I nearly started whistling.
I squashed that real quick. I didn't need any additional
noise for the creature to track. As it was, I would turn and look
over my shoulder from time to time just to be sure.
No one or nothing was following each time I glanced over my
shoulder, the sky behind me seemed to get darker the sun
soon disappeared and I could no longer deny it.
There was a storm coming. I was stuck.
There was no shelter except for trees and rain leaks through
them eventually. Even though I knew I would get
caught out in the rain. Regardless I stepped up my pace
maybe there was a rock outcropping, I could shelter
under as I walked there was a blinding flash, followed by a
deafening boom, that knocked me to the ground.
At first, I thought a bomb had gone off.
I looked around and saw a tree burning on the mountain.
It looked like some giant had ripped it in half.
Staring at this Apparition and wondering what the hell was
going on. I saw another flash that lit up
the clouds. This time the Thunder was
farther away but still shook the ground, it was time to find that
shelter before Mother Nature chose me as the target for her
next lightning bolt. I ran toward the mountain as
huge drops of rain pelted, my back.
It felt like I was getting hit by many water balloons.
It didn't take long for the rain to intensify quickly becoming a
deluge The water came down so hard and fast that the ground
didn't have time to soak it up. Since I wasn't on the trail
anymore, I stumbled through puddles and many bogs struggling
to stay on my feet. As the muddy ground tried to
swallow me whole, I held my hand above my eyes, trying to see
where I was going, but the rain came down and sheets reducing
visibility to zero. Through it all I kept trudging
as straight as possible hoping to find shelter without warning.
I ran into something hard. It looked like I had reached the
base of the mountain. I kept one hand on the rock face
to guide me while trudging parallel to the mountain.
Suddenly nothing was pressing against my hand.
I hadn't realized how much I had been leaning on the rock until
it wasn't there. I fell onto the surprisingly,
dry ground. Rolling over and looking up.
I discovered I was in the mouth of a cave.
I sat up and enjoyed watching, the rainfall helplessly outside
the cave. While I was safe inside from the
fury of nature. After a short rest, I began to
rub my arms to Stave off the chill in the air.
I took my backpack off and looked through for anything that
would be helpful. Fortunately, I packed a
sweatshirt. I took off my soaked t-shirt and
used it for a towel before donning, my warm somewhat dry
sweatshirt. While I was looking, I pulled
out another granola bar and devoured it.
Then downed my last bottle of water.
Staring at the empty bottle. I held it out to one of the
streams of water falling from the sky until it was full.
Putting the cap on. I noticed the water wasn't as
clear as I would have liked. But I wasn't out of the woods
yet and I might need it somewhere down the road.
I sat the pack down leaning it against the side of the cave,
entrance, then pulled out my phone and turned on the
flashlight. The light penetrated only so far
into the darkness. Even the diminished daylight
could only illuminate so much. After that, it was like a shadow
wall, showing only a large black hole.
I started into the inky Blackness before I remembered
and felt for the gun in my back waistband, I pulled it out and
checked it then dried it off and stuck it back in my waistband.
I didn't see the need to have both of my hands occupied.
If I stumbled I explored the first few feet of the cave.
Finding nothing spectacular and was about to come back to my
pack and sit out the rainstorm. When I smelled something, it was
faint at first. Drawing me several steps further
inside the cave before. I could be sure.
My mind had to be playing tricks on me because I swore I could
smell a barbecue, my curiosity and growling stomach over Road.
Common sense and drove me deeper into the cave.
The light of the phone illuminated, my steps.
As I carefully made my way towards the amazing smell of
food, It wasn't long until there was a glow in front of me, a
fire burned in the distance, just visible bathing.
The cave walls in an orange glow.
As the promise of a warm fire tantalized me, drawing me
closer, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye that made
my spine, turned to ice. Coming from The Far Side of the
fire, was the creature that had stalked me the night before.
At least it looks like the same creature.
The eyes Shone yellow in the fires.
Light it walked on all fours and struck an amazing resemblance to
Gollum from Lord of the Rings. I dosed my light and threw
myself behind a rock. That seemed big enough to
conceal me. Straight ahead was the pinprick
of light. That was the cave mouth and the
outside Beyond it. Even if I wanted to, the
creature would see me and Hunt me down if I tried to escape
while it was within sight. Daring to sneak a peek.
I leaned around the rock to see if it was still there.
What I saw horrified me, the creature was tending, the fire
seemingly oblivious to my presence.
It checked the piece of meat that lay across Hot Rocks beside
the fire. He took a few off and sat them
aside then he walked toward the left wall and disappeared.
I leaned out a little further to find out what he was up to and
wished I wouldn't have Hanging from a large, wooden frame tied
in a spread, eagle was a human male who had been skinned.
The creature came up to him and carved several chunks of muscles
with a large primitive looking knife. once satisfied, he
brought the piece of meat back to the fire and laid them on the
Hot Rocks, where the cooked pieces of meat had been He then
took the pieces and disappeared into a hole in the wall.
I threw myself behind the rock breathing hard at the sudden
realization. Oh my God.
That thing killed someone and it's eating him.
My stomach lurched at the thought.
It took all I had to keep from vomiting on the spot.
But I knew how loud I could get when I puked.
And I had no desire to let that thing.
Know I was here. I peeked around the corner again
and didn't see it. My eyes were drawn to the dead
body hanging there. For the first time, I noticed
there was another body strung up beside him.
It was another naked male, but he hadn't been skinned yet two
more bodies hung beside that one.
One male one female, both naked, realization, hit me like a
sledgehammer. As I realized the naked woman
was Sharon looking. Again, I saw the men were Neil
and Mike, no, no, no, no. I said abandoning, any semblance
of subtlety and charging over to see my friends when I got there
and stood face-to-face with them, hot tears.
Rolled down my cheeks. Their eyes were closed and none
of them moved a muscle. I went to them one by one and
felt for a pulse just to be sure I came to the one who had been
skinned. First, he had no pulse my only
guess was, it was Jean next. I moved on to Mike, there was a
scar on his neck and Gore down the front of him.
He also had no pulse Neil was the same way scar on his neck
and no pulse. As I got to Sharon, I noticed
something about her chest. It was moving.
She didn't have a scar on her neck.
I reached up to take her pulse and her eyes shot open.
Instantly. She began to scream.
I covered her mouth with my hand but I knew it was too late.
You need to be quiet and pretend your dead or I will be, you
understand. I said still holding her mouth.
She nodded and I ran around behind them as I heard footsteps
approached I stood behind jeans since he was the biggest of our
group and put my hands and feet behind his posing in the same
spread eagle, my only hope was that.
It didn't notice me. I didn't dare move.
As I heard footsteps, enter the room and come over to where we
were. I stood as still as a statue.
Only my eyes looked over to where Sharon was hanging.
I saw the creature stand and look at her.
She had lowered her head again looking every bit of sleep or
dead the creature, poked her breast, with the knife drawing,
a few drops of blood but she refused to move and then another
creature stepped up to her and a third.
They poked and prodded her to see if she was awake, but she
wasn't moving. Panic, grew inside me.
How many of these things were there?
If I knew it was just one, I would have already shot it.
But if hundreds, waited in the darkness of the cave side rooms,
there was no chance My thoughts were interrupted.
When I heard sounds coming from them it was like chittering
insects communicating, they spoke back and forth while
standing in front of Sharon who still refused to move.
As the argument became heated, I noticed one of the creatures
looking in my direction. The longer I watched the more I
realized it wasn't looking in my direction it was looking at me.
it stepped around, Sharon to the backside when its eyes grew
wide, and it began to Screech, The other two looked from it to
where it was looking and eventually found me.
Their eyes narrowed as one came around in front of Jean's body
and the other stepped between Neil and Mike.
The one holding the knife was closest.
When I gave up on my deception, Drew my gun and shot all three,
the sound of the shots in a cave, made me instantly death
The only thing I could hear was my ears ringing.
I grabbed the knife off the ground and cut Sharon down.
She collapsed like a bag of rocks.
We should go. I said what she said.
We should never mind. I said picking her up and
carrying her over my shoulders. Like a fireman.
I struggled to carry her and hold the gun.
She kept slipping off my shoulder and I would have to
grab her to keep her on. The thing was, I was grabbing
her naked behind every time. It wasn't like I had a choice or
was enjoying it. If I didn't, she would fall off.
As I ran legs already starting to tremble.
I feel to rock fly past my cheek.
I looked back and there were many more of the creatures
running after us. I didn't have time to stop and
aim, but I pointed toward the closest one in squeezed off a
shot. By some miracle, the creature
fell. I didn't know if I had it or the
sound of the gun, frightened it, causing it to fall.
I had no chance to celebrate as the first rock.
Hit me in the back of the head nearly causing me to stumble
which would have been fatal instead, I pointed and fired,
another shot, hearing a most satisfying, Scream the cave.
Grew brighter as the mouth grew closer then suddenly we were
out. It wasn't a cause for
celebration though I glanced back to see a horde of creatures
following us out of the cave as well.
So close and yet so far. My legs were going to last much
longer carrying her. I needed a break and I needed it
soon. I didn't think they would stop
if I turned around and called a timeout.
To punctuate that point. Another rock.
Hit me this time on the back. I pointed and fired again in
response. Disappointed, not to hear
another scream. Finally the inevitable moment
came I tripped, Sharon and I went head over heels and a
tangled Heap by some miracle I managed to hold on to my gun, I
tried to jump up at ended up falling to the side, still
aiming and shooting another creature.
They tried to get around us but I shot two more.
Scrambling to my feet. I was able to aim better and
shoot another. They still greatly outnumbered
us. There were too many of them to
count. I aimed at groups, hoping to get
more than one kill at a time. They still tried to flank us and
I shot them as they did, but the inevitable moment.
Finally came my slide locked back.
I instantly released it just in case any of them knew what that
meant. I can continue to aim at them in
a threatening way and they held their distance, not wanting to
be the next shot, but they had encircled us and were closing in
I looked at Sharon to say goodbye.
But she wasn't looking at me. She had my phone and was doing
something with it. Hopefully, calling for help,
even though I knew no, help would get here in time to save
us. Staring into the nightmare faces
of these bloodthirsty cannibals. I prayed a prayer of utter
desperation. The first one was Within Reach
when suddenly the most piercing sound came from behind me,
looking back, I saw Sharon holding my phone up with one
hand and her ear with the other. I held my ears as well.
The creatures tried to cover their ears, but screamed in
agony at the sound. As a group they ran back to the
cave, holding their ears as they went.
I couldn't believe it turning to Sharon as she shut the alarm off
I smiled. Well, aren't you clever?
I said, Not clever enough. She said, looking at her naked
body, You think I could borrow your sweatshirt?
I chuckled, as I took it off and gave it to her.
We should find a road and get out of here before they decide
to come back. I said As we walked, she
explained what it happened? How the creatures had surrounded
them? How they thought Mike and I had
already been captured. The funny thing was Jean never
gave up hope she said. She kept telling us to hold on
that you would find us even when don't tell me he was still alive
when they she slowly nodded. I can still hear his screams,
she said with a haunted look, I don't think I'll ever forget
that. I can't imagine but even after
they took his face, he still told us not to give up hope.
Amazing after walking, a long time, constantly looking back,
every few minutes, we came to the greatest sight either of us
could imagine. A road within an hour, a ranger
came by and rescued us. It was the longest hour of our
Lives. Keeping watch for cannibalistic
creatures to jump out at the last second and drag us back to
the cave. Our friends were never found.
The ranger told us, we were lucky to make it out alive.
Many hikers, go missing in the forest and are never seen again.
I know Sharon and I never want to see another Forest unless we
passed by it on the highway. I've guided people all over
these mountains for years, but this time felt off from the
start, We Gather at a cramped, parking area beside a faded sign
that no one had bothered to replace in decades.
It warned about logging access only like that mattered to the
three strangers. I had agreed to take up here.
I was already questioning my decision to lead them.
We had Neil who practically jumped at every snap of a twig,
like he expected a bear or something worse to LEAP out any
second. Then there was Lauren, lugging a
huge camera bag and a determination.
That told me she wasn't here for the usual Scenic Vistas. been
rounded out the trio older, a bit grizzled ex-military, maybe
He didn't talk much. But every so often he'd glance
at the tree line like he was measuring how far we still had
to go. That battered sign was the only
thing hinting we were on an old trail at all.
Park management quietly. Erased this route from Maps
years back and nobody really explained why I'd heard bits and
pieces about unusual disappearances around here.
Campers that never checked out Travelers who parked their cars,
but never came back for them. Some folks in town said, the
forest didn't want them to. But I convinced myself that was
local superstition. At least that's what I told the
group. I don't think any of us believed
it. We started walking.
The paths sloped into dense undergrowth, the kind that
muffles everything else around you.
No Birdsong, no wind in the branches, just heavy silence.
Sometimes it felt like even our breathing echoed every so often
I'd glanced over my shoulder and catch Neil doing the same eyes
flicking from tree to tree. He claimed he saw a shape moving
alongside us but I saw nothing. Still, his unease got under my
skin a mile in. We found footprints that looped
over each other. The tracks too messy to tell
where they started or ended. Someone joked.
It was just an animal Trail but it didn't look right.
It almost seemed like a single person had been pacing in
circles lost or waiting for something.
Lauren snapped photos close-ups of the footprints.
The underbrush, a tree with deep scratches like someone tried to
mark their way out. I know she stayed quiet after
that. Eyes darting to the hidden
corners of the forest. By late afternoon, we stumbled
across a rotted wooden post half-eaten buy moss.
A burnt spiral symbol had been scorched into its surface.
It gave off a strange sense of warning.
Nobody wanted to dwell on it too long, but I think all of us felt
its significance without saying a word.
We pressed on until dusk lighting, our headlamps in the
Gloom. The campsite we chose was
basically a patch of level ground surrounded by leaning
trees. That seemed to bend in our
Direction. Every attempt at conversation.
Petered out quickly as if we were conserving energy for some
unknown Danger. Setting up our tents felt like a
race against the dark. Each rustle in the leaves
prickling our nerves That night, I tried to sleep.
It was impossible to fully relax knowing there were who knows how
many miles left ahead of us. Lauren kept her camera within
reach as if she expected to capture something lurking
outside. Been did this slow patrol around
the tents scanning, the perimeter with a flash light,
Neil lay awake, eyes, wide focusing on the shapes dancing,
beyond the lantern light. I wouldn't have called it a
restful evening. Every noise made us Flinch a
whisper here, a crack of a branch there.
Two distant to be certain of anything yet impossible to
ignore. By the time Morning Light crept
through the trees. I swear, all of us felt like
we'd been tested somehow The forest was keeping silent about
what else had held in store. looking back that first day
should have been enough to turn around, But we pushed on maybe
from stubborn Pride maybe from a need to know what was drawing us
deeper. Because when you sense a place
doesn't want you, there it becomes nearly impossible to
resist. Finding out why?
That was only the beginning. We broke camp.
At first light convinced that pressing deeper would somehow
explain the bizarre symbols and Footprints.
We kept finding part of me wanted to bolt back to the
parking lot, but I guess we'd Come to Far.
Maybe we were stubborn or maybe each of us, felt that gnawing
curiosity like we had to see how bad it could get.
The terrain got rougher as we went the trail wound around
collapsed logs and thick undergrowth that snagged at our
legs. Neil clung to the back of our
group eyes darting at every Russell.
Lauren walked ahead Cameron at the ready, determined to
document each strange clue. Been just marched in silence jaw
set tight every once in a while. He'd whisper, we're going the
right way though. I couldn't tell if he was trying
to convince us or himself. Eventually we stumbled on the
first cabin, it leaned at a weird angle against a tree trunk
like a drunk who just giving up standing.
Half the roof had caved in letting sunlight filter through
broken beams. But it was the door that stopped
us in our tracks. That same Twisted, emblem
scorched into the wood, something about the way the Char
framed its spiral edges made my stomach lurched, inside the air
felt clammy and the floorboards sagged under our weight dust
coated. Everything.
An old table, sat in the corner, collapsed on one side, a pile of
crusty leather boots, too many to belong to one person, lay
haphazardly near the fireplace. Sizes varied styles from
different decades. We counted at least a dozen
before we stopped That's when we realized each boot had its laces
neatly tied. Like their owners had just
vanished On a chipped shelf, we found a journal with mold
stained Pages half of them. In some garbled, archaic script.
The English parts were disturbing enough.
Referencing appeasing the mountain with rituals at sunset
A phrase repeated again. And again, those who wander must
feed what lies within I couldn't tell if it was some Twisted
local Superstition or something far worse.
The final entry mentioned a necessary offering at a place
called Morgan's Hollow, which as far as I knew didn't appear on
any official map. Lauren snapped photos of
everything. While I leafed, through more
pages, each scribbled with shapes, that looked unsettlingly
like the brand on the door. Been found a faded photograph
pinned under a splintered Table leg.
It showed grim-faced lagers from the early 1900s standing in
front of a cabin, not unlike the one we stood in.
At the very edge of the picture, a tall figure blended into the
background. So faint you'd almost miss it.
Except its outline didn't resemble, any normal person.
The longer I stared the more it felt like the figure was staring
right back. We left the cabin, unsettled in
eager to keep moving. When dusk fell, we made camp
near a spot that had a bit of flat ground though it offered
little comfort. I could sense everyone's nerves
fraying that night. The forest seemed alive with new
noises, soft wrestling's, distant murmurs.
Even the occasional snap, like someone stepping on a branch
just out of sight. Bend took.
First watch. I tried to doze telling myself.
We pushed through tomorrow and find a real explanation, but at
dawn Neil was gone. No, frantic yelling no messy
struggle. Just an empty sleeping bag.
His flashlight and jacket were folded neatly At His Feet, as if
he decided to get up and wander off.
Lauren screamed, his name tearing at the tent flaps and
sprinting. In every direction I stood there
numb, glancing at ben who looked both Furious and helpless, we
searched until our throats hurt. Footprints LED maybe 20 yards
into the underbrush, then vanished.
It was like the ground swallowed him.
Our Compass spun uselessly GPS, refused to connect everything
about the forest felt wrong. Like it was warping to hide
Neal's Trail. Eventually we had to accept that
we'd lost him. I kept hoping he'd pop out from
behind a tree with some story about chasing Wildlife.
But no such luck around midday, we stumbled onto an overgrown.
Logging Camp rusting saw blades, lay where, they'd been abandoned
the metal eaten Away by time rotting bunkhouses leaned at
impossible angles. Ancient Ledger sat on a collapse
desk. The pages stiff with damp The
final entry is described workers complaining of hearing low
chanting right? After Sunset.
People Vanishing Without a Trace and management.
Forbidding them to discuss it the last line.
Read. Evacuate, as soon as possible.
No one is safe here. Lauren flipped Through The
Ledger with shaky hands beneath the neat Columns of daily yields
and supplies. We found scribbles of that same
swirling emblem She snapped a photo, then paused like she was
afraid of recording any more evidence of this place.
We followed a path behind the camp that threaded between
narrowed trees until we reached a cluster of smaller cabinets.
Each door had the same spiral burned into the wood.
Inside, everything felt staged, rusted lanterns, half torn,
blankets, Dusty, Footprints from, who knows.
When We saw backpacks, modern ones heaped in a corner like,
cast offs. Some had partially melted
candles stuffed inside. Lauren reached to pick one up.
Only to recoil when she found a clump of hair stuck to the
zipper. That was it for me.
I told Ben and Lauren, we should turn around find an actual
search and rescue team but it was late again.
The sky was a bruised, purple Knight creeping in faster than
it should. And that's when a flicker of
light appeared through the trees like a lantern being swung back
and forth. At first, I hoped it was Neil.
But when we shouted, his name, the light bobbed, then slowly
winked out replaced by a voice calling softly Neil.
It wasn't his voice. It sounded stretched distorted.
Like, it was being forced out of a throat that didn't belong to
kneel at all. A cold.
Wait, sank into my gut. We dimmed our lamps.
Unsure whether to follow or hide in the end.
The light flickered on again, closer.
This time my mind spun with the possibilities.
None of them good. With every step a primal dread
curled around my heart. I glanced at Ben, then Lauren.
Neither looked ready for what might wait out there, but we
couldn't just leave Neil if he was alive.
I nodded and we edged toward the light, each step feeling like it
might be our last That was the moment I realized, we were no
longer just trespassers on an abandoned Trail.
We were trespassers and something else's domain.
And it knew exactly how to keep us from leaving after that
sickening call in the darkness, a distorted Voice using Neil's
name, I realized we were barreling toward a
confrontation. We never wanted.
Backtracking seemed like the obvious choice, but whenever we
tried to retrace our steps, the paths Twisted in ways, that
defied reason, it felt as if the forest itself was shifting.
Refusing to let us go. Lawrence camera kept glitching
capturing only static or bizarre streaks of light.
Meanwhile been insisted. We keep looking for Neil though.
I could see the dread in his expression.
None of us said it out loud but we feared something had claimed
Neil and was baiting us. It was like each step we took
was part of a well-laid snare. We followed the flicker of that
odd Lantern like glow through Tangled undergrowth until we
stumbled upon a wide clearing ringed by Jagged Stone.
Formations In the center stood, a circle of stones marked with
more of the Spiral. Carvings charred candles
flickering in a breeze that didn't seem to touch the trees
overhead. The ground within the circle,
felt almost electrified like the Earth itself was humming.
That's when we saw him. Neil was crouched near the
center hands. Over his head.
His posture was all wrong, like every muscle in his body had
seized up. I called his name heart
hammering, so hard. I could practically taste metal
in my mouth. He looked up and for a split
second, I thought we'd found him just in time.
But his eyes seemed vacant distant.
He whispered don't come closer, it wants more.
Lauren took a hesitant step forward ignoring the jolt of
panic that went through me. She tried to talk to Neil in a
calm voice, urging him to stand to come with us.
He shook his head lips, trembling then he looked behind
us and let out a low moan like he was seeing something
horrifying that's when the chanting began.
Not a normal voice, more like a surge of noise coming from every
direction at once. It reverberated in the stones
blending, with the hiss of the candles, each syllable jabbed
into my head, making it hard to think, Ben and Lauren cringed
covering their ears. I felt as if we were trespassing
on some ancient ritual that was bigger than all of us combined
before, we could react the glow around the circle intensified,
each candle, flaring bright green, for an instant.
I swear the stones themselves pulsed, with an eerie light.
The chanting Rose higher waves of sound, warping the air.
So everything seemed to Shimmer Neil tried to crawl away but his
body jolted like he was hit by an unseen Force.
He ended up on his knees eyes, darting wildly, been rushed in,
trying to grab Neil and yank him out of the circle.
The moment he crossed that boundary, his flashlight cracked
with a sharp pop. Sparks flying in every
direction. He cursed staggering back while
Neil clutched at the ground as though something was anchoring
him Lauren and I hovered at the edge, stomachs in knots.
We could practically feel a barrier between us and Neil.
Some invisible line that sapped our courage.
Each time we considered Crossing it.
In a sudden burst of clarity, Neil pleated, break the stones,
you have to break them. We didn't understand.
But we also had nothing else to go on.
Candles flickered. Violently the chanting hitting a
fever pitch. Shadows danced on the trees
shapes that didn't match anything.
Humans if I hadn't been so terrified I'd have been
entranced by how a natural at all.
Looked been pivoted locking eyes with me.
Even in the Gloom, I caught the message.
We either try or were done. So we rushed forward, my knees
nearly buckled at the buzzing force that Ripple to cross my
body. Lauren shouted, something I
didn't catch then smashed one of the upright stones with the heel
of her boot. the top chunk cracked off tumbling onto the
ground, a roar like the howl of 1,000 voices shook the clearing
The chanting faltered flickered, then resumed in a frantic
rhythm. We kept going toppling, the
carefully arranged Stones kicking aside the half-melted
candles. Each time we wrecked a part of
the ritual setup. The force, restraining Neil
seemed to loosen. He collapsed forward gasping for
breath. With one last heave been shoved,
the largest rock out of place. It hit the ground so hard.
I felt the vibration in my teeth.
All at, once the chanting died, the circle's glow fizzled, like
a dying firecracker and the are cleared of that.
Oppressive energy, we rushed to Neil's side.
Dragging him away from the center.
He was in bad, shape, pale and shaking, but he managed to stand
with our help. We have to leave.
He rasped voice scratchy as though he'd been yelling for
hours. Lauren and I nodded not even
thinking about the direction, just wanting distance from that
cursed clearing. The journey out was a blur of
Twisted branches that clawed at us.
Steep slopes, that tried to send us tumbling.
Yet something had changed the forest.
No longer seemed eager to trap us.
Maybe disabling, that Circle gave it.
No further reason to hold us. Maybe it was letting us go.
By midday we emerged near an abandoned, Ranger Station, even
in broad daylight the place reeked of neglect battered
Windows caked with Grimes inside, we found old bulletin
boards layered with Decades of missing person, Flyers phases of
hikers. Local kids even what looked like
a family once. The pit of my stomach swirled at
the realization of just how many had walked this path and never
returned. In a Dusty Corner.
Pinned under a cracked coffee. Mug was a map with a big red X
scrolled over the region. We just escaped No, official
notes just to single phrase in shaky handwriting.
No further Patrol closed in definitely none of us could
handle staying there. We pushed on until we reached a
side road that led to the main Highway.
It felt surreal when we finally heard a passing car,
Civilization, something I take in for granted my entire life
seemed like a miracle at that point.
Since then, we've tried telling a few people the truth.
The park officials gave us a stiff warning, they claimed, we
were trespassing and restricted Wilderness that we'd put
ourselves at risk. They showed no interest in our
proof. Lauren's pictures that battered
Journal. They brushed us off said we were
confused disoriented that everything we found was just
leftover junk from an Old Logging site.
I'm riding this here because I'm not about to let anyone bury
what happened. Neil still pretty shaken.
He doesn't remember everything, but enough nightmares bubble up
to suggest its best. If we never look back, Lauren
hardly goes camping anymore. Says, she can't sleep under the
Open sky without reliving those voices.
Ben tries to push it down act like it was just another mission
gone sideways. But the Smokies are still there.
Ancient half forgotten Corners that no one wants to talk about.
The next time you see a worn Trail sign with the weird symbol
burned into it or come across Footprints leading nowhere,
maybe consider taking another route.
There Are Places out in these mountains that are older than
any story hungry, for those who wander we escaped.
But I can't help thinking we merely interrupted whatever was
lurking there. And if you ever hear chanting in
the forest, when your miles off the official path, don't wait.
Leave Because whatever's left in those Hollows, I doubt it cares.
How prepared You Think You Are. If you ignore the warnings,
it'll only draw you deeper until you're just another lost voice
in the Gloom. At least we made it out this
time. I've never been one to shy away
from the outdoors. Growing up.
I spent weekends tramping through wooded Trails, finding
peace. In the hush between Towering
Oaks So when my friend Marcus convinced me to spend a few
nights in the Great Smokies, it felt like the easiest choice in
the world. I should have known something
wasn't quite right. As soon as we stepped out of the
car that morning. The trailhead usually buzzing
with the sounds of birds and chirping.
Insects was almost silent. We exchanged a puzzled look, but
neither of us voiced, our concerns after all we'd travel
to long way for this. We started hiking around
Sunrise, weaving through damp on undergrowth and skirting around
sprawling, roots. I remember the damp scent of
decaying leaves and how the forest canopy seemed denser than
usual? Marcus tried cracking a joke
about local Legends recounting Tales of reclusive hikers.
Who wandered off Trail only to vanish forever.
I let out a half-hearted chuckle.
But deep down I felt uneasy The hush and the air was more
noticeable than I cared to admit.
By mid-morning, the sky had taken on a sullen cast and a
distant Rumble hinted at incoming rain.
Even so we pushed forward wanting to reach our plant
campsite before the weather turned.
A couple of times. I caught Marcus slowing his
pace. Glancing behind us, as those
searching for something. When I asked if he was.
All right, he just waved me off. Could have been a nagging sense
that we weren't alone. But I tried to dismissing that
possibility, we'd seen no other hikers, no Wildlife, not even a
single deer darting through the brush and maybe that was the
problem. The absence of the usual Forest,
life felt unnatural. Somewhere around midday.
We stopped for a quick lunch on a patch of flat and grass.
The silence was so. every snap of a twig, felt magnified,
sending Jitters through me, despite my best effort to stay
composed, Marcus asked if I heard anything but all I could
detect was the distance splashing of a creek.
He admitted he couldn't pinpoint it either.
Just a creeping sense of being watched.
We tried to ignore it gulping down, energy bars, and lukewarm
water before hoisting. Our packs again.
By late afternoon, we found a semi-open clearing bordered by a
narrow stream. The Setting Sun tinted the sky
with a wand glow. Turning the edges of the forest
into a wall of looming shapes. We both agreed.
This was where we'd set up camp, even though every Instinct in me
wanted to keep moving. The place seemed off somehow but
we didn't have the luxury of time to find a better spot.
Setting up, didn't take long, I hammered intense Stakes while
Marcus gathered firewood. He dropped an armful of sticks
and stood there, listening intently.
When I asked him, what was wrong?
He claimed, he heard something rustling deeper in the woods.
Like the tread of deliberate steps.
Too heavy to be a rabbit or Fox my stomach churned, but I forced
to laugh suggesting, maybe a deer had wandered close.
Marcus Shrugged but he couldn't hide the tension in his eyes.
We cooked a small dinner over a makeshift fire as dusk settled,
the flame sending dancing Shadows up the trunks of old
trees, the moment we stopped talking, the clearing felt
oppressive, I poked the fire absently trying to force
normalcy into the routine. Marcus sat rigid on a rock
scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.
Eventually we both turned in for the night unwilling to linger,
around the flickering glow. I woke up at some point jostled
from shallow sleep, by Marcus Whispering.
My name, the rain outside had started in Earnest, drumming, on
the thin tent fabric, He sounded scared and Marcus was never one
to scare easily. His flash light beams swayed
across my tent walls, throwing strange, shifting patterns.
I fumbled with the zipper stepping into the Misty
Darkness, the fire had gone out and the air was cold enough to
sting my face. Marcus stood near the tree line
saying something about hearing footsteps.
A crunch of wet leaves circling around us.
His voice was unsteady as he gestured toward the Shadows.
I gripped. My own flash lightning the area.
The flicker of light revealed, nothing but gleaming, raindrops
on foliage. No Footprints, no animals, no
person. Yet the sense that we weren't
alone, grew stronger. Each time I swung the beam in a
New Direction. I expected to find someone
standing. There, we lingered for what felt
like hours searching with our lights.
Thunder rumbled, somewhere off in the distance.
Eventually we found a cluster of faint depressions in the mud
near my tent, almost like footprints.
But they were not quite right. I've seen bear and deer tracks
before, but these seem too long. The pattern, suggesting
something else, entirely, I caught Marcus's.
I and a chill settled in my gut without a word.
We retreated to our tents, two uneasy to do anything else.
Sleep came in fits and starts broken by occasional snaps or
crackles in the underbrush. Dawn, took its time.
When the sky finally lightened I crawled out half expecting to
see evidence of whatever lurked around us.
But there was nothing except muddy leaves and a smoldering
pit of soaked. Ash where the fire had been
Marcus looked shaken dark Rings under his eyes.
His gear already have packed. We both knew we had another day
or two planned out here, but neither of us felt confident
about it anymore. That heavy hush still clung to
the clearing as if the forest itself had something Grim.
It refused to reveal. I tried telling myself, we were
overreacting That nights in a storm can play tricks on the
mind. Yet a nagging thought.
Wouldn't let go, if we stayed. We might discover exactly who or
what was out there, and I wasn't sure we were ready for that
Morning. Light did nothing to settle our
nerves. I crawled out of my tent, Half
expecting to see muddy Footprints or torn gear, but the
area looked undisturbed like the forest was mocking us with
normalcy. Marcus was already awake hunched
over the remains of our soggy, fire pit.
He glanced up with an expression that broadcast his unease.
We both knew we couldn't keep jumping at Shadows but neither
of us wanted to say out loud, that something felt genuinely
wrong out here. We decided to break camp and
press on. Our plan was to explore a bit
Downstream in hopes of finding a better spot.
Maybe somewhere more open where the two of us wouldn't be so
consumed by the sense that every shifting tree, limb, concealed,
an onlooker He shoved our tents and cooking gear into our packs
Keen to put distance between ourselves and the place where
we'd spent a sleepless night. A steady drizzle followed us as
we trudged along soaking the undergrowth and turning the
trail into a slick mess. The river gurgled on our left,
but even that mild sound seemed too subdued Marcus.
Kept pausing to scan the tree line, like he expected to catch
a figure darting behind a trunk, I tried focusing on practical
tasks watching where I stepped checking the map every so often
but I couldn't stop my brain from running 100 miles an hour.
After about an hour, a stale drifted toward us a mix of soot
and damp wrote We veered off the main trail, curious and uneasy
until we stumbled upon what used to be a campsite.
Torn tent, fabric, lay, Tangled, with broken poles, the colors
faded and stained. Pots and pans.
Littered the ground as though the campers fled in the middle
of a meal. A half-charge log stuck out of a
shallow fire pit. The ashes long cold.
My chest felt tight as I tried to piece together.
What could have driven someone to abandon everything like this.
Marcus lifted a shredded sleeping bag.
Its lining cake with mud. He Let It Drop and looked at me
Horror in his eyes. The tears in the fabric were
Jagged two big for simple, wear and tear.
I noticed rust-colored stains near the edges.
We kept telling each other, that may be a bear wandered in
spooked the campers, but no Footprints or claw marks.
Indicated a typical animal encounter.
Besides the entire site felt staged in some Twisted way like
whoever left it behind wanted others to see in a corner of the
campsite half buried. In soggy leaves we found a
notebook with a warped cover. Most Pages were smeared or stuck
together from the rain, but we could still make out occasional
sentences. Someone had written about
hearing voices about glimpses of movement behind thick clusters
of trees. The last entry ended abruptly.
I know I'm not alone. I just hope.
And the ink Trail off in a dark blotch.
Neither of us. Set a word as I gently close the
notebook. The air felt heavier.
After that Discovery pressing in on us.
Time started. Dragging the drizzle turned into
a downpour and we found ourselves paranoid about the
increasing Gloom. It was still midday but the
clouds blotted out, most of the light, making it feel closer to
dusk. Every step through the mud
squelched loudly. Echoing our unease.
We tried pushing farther along the riverbank but our nerves
were shot every rustle of leaves.
Every broken branch on the ground made us jump.
A couple of times, Marcus thought he saw something like a
figure darting between the trees.
But whenever we Shone our flashlights, nothing
materialized. The forest offered.
No, trace of a welcome. Even the low hum of the water.
Took on a weird resonance as if it carried whispered warnings we
couldn't decipher With daylight fading.
We realized we needed another place to camp.
We found a small rise near the river where the ground wasn't
quite as waterlogged. The second we dropped our packs,
I regretted it. The spot was cramped in
overgrown, but neither of us had the energy to keep going.
We strung up a tarp did our best to clear an area for a fire.
The whole time, I battled, this constant suspicion that we were
being watched. Darkness fell thick and fast.
The wind intensified pulling at the branches, overhead like
fingers, scratching across bark. Marcus tried to get the fire
going, but the damp wood. Only coughed up smoke.
When we finally coaxed some Flames, they were weak and
feeble. We sat close.
Trying not to give in to panic every time the Shadows twitched
beyond the flickering light. We decided to pass the time by
flipping through the notebook. Again, searching for more clues.
Most of the writing was too damaged to read but we caught
references to know exits and they're always out there.
The last few pages were covered in scribbled shapes, some
looking like, eyes or symbols, One page had a sketch of the
exact same tall trees that encircled us.
I think Markus realized it, too, but neither of us set a word.
Eventually exhaustion, overmeld caution.
We needed sleep, even if it meant dozing off in short
bursts. Marcus offered to stay up first.
While I tried shutting my eyes for a while.
I could hear him pacing around in the wet leaves flash lights,
sweeping back and forth in a frantic pattern.
My dreams or half dreams featured, the battered campsite
and those strange drawings from The Notebook.
Somehow they bled into my reality leaving me unsure.
Whether I was actually asleep or simply delirious.
When Marcus shook me awake, a few hours later, his expression
was Grimm. he whispered that he'd heard a soft thudding, like
footsteps circling, our camp again, we decided to both stand
guard flickering flashlights. Combing the dark.
We didn't see anything this time, but the oppressive
sensation of a presence lurking nearby made the night feel like
it would never end. Hours crawled by in silence and
Dread rain, hammered, the tarp and the wind whipped the
branches into scraping shapes. Finally, a weak glow of dawn
crept Over the Horizon. We could at least see on the
circle of Darkness that had imprisoned us all night.
But that meant facing the reality of How Deeply unsettled
we were. Part of me wanted to charge back
to the main trail and keep hiking until we reached the car.
Yet, I couldn't shake a compulsion to figure this out.
To learn what force those other campers to abandon their
belongings and vanish Without a Trace.
Whether we like it or not, the Great Smokies had turned hostile
in a way I'd never experienced. And as I studied Marcus's weary
face, I understood we were in this together.
We'd either unravel the mystery of what roamed these Woods or
we'd become just another story scribbled in a waterlog
notebook, Left Behind for some future hiker to discover.
Neither of us had the luxury of a decent Rest.
By the time mourning came, We watched Daybreak, turn the sky
from murky gray to a dull, colorless wash and though the
son tried to break through the forest floor remained gloomier
than any place I'd ever camped. Despite our throbbing fatigue,
we agreed we'd pushed for the trailhead.
Sticking around meant flirting with something.
We couldn't explain. We packed in a hurry are soaked.
Gear. Dragged at our shoulders each
strap chafing and biting into skin.
Marcus's face was Ashen eyes darting with anxiety.
Even so he took the lead swearing he'd mapped out a more
direct route back. I followed stepping around
sneaking roots and turned up. Mud We mostly kept quiet, words
felt useless every twig snap or distant Creek of branches made
us flinch. We moved fast sloshing through
patches of waterlogged ground and overthink clusters of
Vine's. The weather is up, but the
silence weighed heavier with every mile.
Usually, by now, we'd hear bird calls or the rustling of small
creatures. Instead there was only the soft
thump of our boots and the hush of trees.
Looming overhead. Every so often the path faded
forcing us to rely on a beat-up compass and Soggy pages of the
map. Eventually we reached a section
of trail that widened into a small clearing.
A few Fallen logs, criss-crossed one another and for a split
second, it seemed like a good chance to rest.
Marcus and I barely had time to exchange glances before
something stirred. On the far side, something that
snapped a branch and froze, our breath My flash light swept over
the area, picking up a flicker of movement.
A shape, possibly, a person, hovered, behind the laws, it
didn't advance, but it shifted in a way that felt unnatural
like it was trying to hide yet remained close enough to watch
us. Markus shouted demanding,
whoever was there to come out. Silence answered.
We could sense an uncanny awareness from that patch of
forest as if it was biting, its time.
Instinct told me to run but my legs welded to the ground.
Suddenly the shape moved again, this time, Vanishing behind a
crooked stump a jolt of adrenaline, tore through me and
I barked at Marcus. Urging him forward.
We bolted What followed was A Rush of crashing footsteps and
frantic heartbeats roots and brambles reached out.
Snagging our ankles sending a stumbling in the direction we
hoped led to the road. Every so often, I caught
glimpses of something weaving through the trees.
Parallel to us. Never falling behind never
drawing too close. My pulse pounded so hard.
I could taste iron on my tongue but fear propelled me onward.
Then the terrain shifted turning steeper as we skirted a
hillside, the undergrowth thickened branches, scraping our
arms, rain soaked leaves glistened, forming a slick layer
that made each step precarious. Markus nearly lost his footing
on a Mossy log catching himself at the last second.
Whatever lurked behind us, stayed hidden yet, ever present
keeping Pace with no sign of fatigue.
We broke through a dense section of shrubs that snagged, our
sleeves and packs emerging onto a narrow dirt road.
The abrupt openness felt jarring, like waking up too fast
from a nightmare. for a moment, we couldn't speak our lungs
clawing for are Marcus spun around.
Flashlight arcing wildly at the place.
We just come from the foliage suede.
But nothing emerged to chase us onto the road.
Somehow that made it scarier like it was content to stay
within its domain. Confident.
We'd never dare return. A battered park, ranger's
pickup, was parked, 100 yards to our left, almost swallowed by a
bend in the road. Relief, surged through me.
At the site, we sprinted over dropping our packs at the
Rangers feet. He looked alarmed by our
disheveled. State Marcus rambled about the
noises, the footprints. And the abandoned campsite
words, tumbling out in a jumbled, Rush the Rangers eyes.
Hardened with concern and he grabbed his radio speaking low,
and quick about checking nearby areas, for missing hikers.
Neither Marcus nor I could muster more than half coherent
explanations, we just wanted off that mountain away from whatever
presents nested in these Woods, the ranger gave us water and
guided us into the truck. The engines Rumble felt like the
sweetest sound in the world. Carrying us towards safety.
I glanced back through the rear window at the receding tree,
line, Half expecting to see a silhouette peering out.
If it was there it kept out of sight, it took a while to reach
the nearest ranger station, we filled out, incident reports,
trying to detail what we experienced.
They listened carefully, but offered cautious, reassurance,
maybe a rogue bear, maybe, even a person living off grid.
Yet as we stammered through each unsettling, occurrence, it was
clear, something else was at Play.
The authorities plan to throw sweep though.
I wondered if they'd find anything or just end up with
more disturbing questions. That evening back in the dim
comfort of a borrowed bunk at the station.
I couldn't rest everything fell on real.
Across from me, Marcus stared at the ceiling silent.
Neither of us bothered turning off the small lamp by the door.
We just lay there each lost in thoughts about the creature or
being or whatever proud. Those Trails eventually
exhaustion set in granting us a fractured piece.
In the weeks that followed we learned some gear had been found
in remote sections of the forest.
Scattered bags, old tents, personal items, but no
definitive answers emerged. Marcus stopped talking about
returning to the Great Smokies and I haven't set foot there
since Maybe it's best. If we leave those hidden pockets
of land to whatever rules them. some places, no matter how many
times you explore maintain Secrets, your better off, not
uncovering, And yet part of me can't fully dismiss the pull of
those ancient trails. I still recall the surge of all
and excitement. I felt when I was younger,
forging my way through the undergrowth with a sense of
wonder. But now there's a difference.
I've witnessed that the forest can Harbor more than simple
wildlife. Whenever folks on the internet
ask about hidden corners of the Smokies, I offer the same
warning respect them or you might come across something that
doesn't want you there and might not let you leave so easy.
I never expected a simple drive to become the stuff of
nightmares, but that was before I found myself on that forgotten
stretch of highway The plan had been straightforward head to
Fairbridge for a last minute work.
Errand, then slip back home before the predicted blizzard
grew teeth. By the time I passed the only
gas station for Miles the snow was already thickening.
Big heavy flakes, collided with the windshield, muting the
outside world into a swirling sheet of white.
I kept telling myself to stay calm but my palm stayed clammy
on the steering wheel. The wipers groaned with each
pass, smearing ice crystals, and of clearing them at first I held
onto a slim. Hope that the plows would come
through or at least that the storm wouldn't get much worse.
Within an hour that hope died under drifts of snow?
Visibility shrank until I could only see a few feet beyond the
headlights. Every piece of roadside signed
posts fence, lines melted into a single Endless Blur.
I must have driven another mile or two at a crawl before
deciding I was better off stopping.
The shoulder was nearly invisible.
So I edged over until I felt the tires slip into deeper snow.
Trusting that meant I wasn't on the main road anymore.
I threw the car in park and let the engine idle hoping it'd keep
some semblance of warmth, but it didn't take long before the cold
started creeping in my breath clung to the windshield in hazy
patches time. Blurred after that, It felt like
I'd been huddled there forever. My phone had maybe, 10% battery
and of course, no signal. The worst part was the silence
that set in. Once I finally killed the
engine, No passing cars? No plows, not even wind.
Rattling branches. Just the low Rumble of the storm
pressing down. I grabbed the spare blanket from
the backseat and tucked it around my legs telling myself,
I'd wait until morning. Then try to flag down help then
came a soft noise against the glass.
Maybe sleet, I thought but sleep doesn't scrape.
It was so faint that for a second.
I doubted I heard anything. When it happened again, a
quicker more, deliberate, rasp my pulse kicked into overdrive I
peered through the driver's side window, but the storm was too
dense to make out shapes, just shifting, Shadows minutes,
dragged on the temperature, dipping fast, ice crystals,
formed along the base of the windshield creeping upward.
An uneasy feeling nodded me. Like the landscape outside,
wasn't just empty, it felt occupied somehow even though no
headlights approached and no Silhouettes loomed near the
road. Still, I kept glancing in the
rearview mirror half certain, I'd see something lurching
toward me. A cracking sound echoed from
under the car sharp enough to jolt me.
Possibly just ice forming beneath the chassis.
But it set my nerves on high alert.
I gripped. The steering wheel ignoring how
stiff my fingers felt and reminded myself that I just
needed to last till daylight. Eventually, the swirling
Darkness would soften into mourning and I have a clear way
out. That's what I told myself,
anyway. in the moment though, it was hard to feel comforted by
any promise of dawn, the storm outside, only seemed to deepen.
And I couldn't shake the sense that stopping here might have
been a dire mistake. One that would keep me pinned in
this cold metal box uncertain. What if anything was lurking
beyond the snow? I'm not sure what woke me first.
The sharp bite of the cold or the tapping noise somewhere
behind me. My blanket had slipped and my
teeth were chattering. Outside.
The wind had shifted to a grading whistle through the side
mirrors, as though, the storm itself had grown a voice.
I tried to convince myself. That was the only sound in the
dark. Deep down, though.
I sensed something. Else was moving around out
there. I twisted around in my seat,
focusing on the back window. Everything was a blur of frost
and swirling flakes, but the shape of a shadow flickered, a
large silhouette passing close, then Vanishing again.
My stomach went tight. I told myself it could have been
a tree, limb swaying but the edges looked too defined then
came that tapping on the trunk light testing almost like it
wanted to check. If I was awake, I breathed slow
hugging my arms against my chest.
The air inside the car, felt thinner, like it was being
shared with someone or something standing, just beyond the doors.
A soft scuff came from the driver's side to deliberate to
be random Snow Shifting the handle jiggled.
Once twice, it set off a tiny click from the lock mechanism
and every hair on the back of my neck prickled A Rush of
adrenaline flooded through me. I fumbled for the interior
lights switch, flicking it on out of sheer, desperation.
The overhead bulb revealed a cramped Frost smeared interior,
and plenty of my own Terror but didn't do much to illuminate the
storm outside. If whoever was out there, saw
the lights snap on, they might realize I was watching, suddenly
a noise, broke the silence laughter, but it sounded like a
strangled imitation forced through clenched teeth.
My grip tightened on the seat so hard, that my fingertips ached,
I couldn't pin down where it was coming from, only that it
shifted. First near the trunk, then along
the passenger side, the laughter Rose in pitch and died away like
an abandoned recording cutting out mid-track.
I nearly called out but the words jammed in my throat, a
part of me wanted to shout to scare away, whatever lurked out
there, but I couldn't even form a full sentence as if On Cue
something heavy scraped across the roof.
The car rocks, slightly enough to remind me that if it wanted
to, that thing could punch through the glass or tear off a
door minutes, or maybe seconds later.
Time was a blur. I heard my sister's voice only,
she was living halfway across the country and definitely not
in this. Snowstorm Still, it sounded so
much like her that my chest, constricted. she called me by
the old nickname, she used when I was little Her voice was
faint, muffled by the storm. As if drifting just outside the
passenger door, it could be real.
I knew that yet, it felt so wrong.
Like the words were borrowed from my memories.
The handle on the passenger door.
Popped up testing, the lock. My sister's voice said hey, open
up, I'm freezing out here. A wave of dread clutched.
Me not just because the lock was rattling but because it sounded
almost affectionate. I stared half expecting the
handle to snap off under whatever pressure.
It was enduring the door, rattled.
Then went still For a moment. I heard nothing.
But the wind, the overhead light, flickered.
A bowl on his last leg. Casting jumpy Shadows across the
seats. Then came a new noise, a raking
sound across the side panel, like the tip of a knife or a set
of nails. Before I could move the
silhouette was at my driver's window.
It's outlined, nearly filled the frame tall strangely angled
limbs that Benton ways. My mind struggled to process.
I saw what might have been a face long slack with ridges.
Where cheeks should be it leaned close.
And I almost swore. I saw breath pluming against the
glass. I clamped my mouth shut trying
not to let any sound Escape. Despite the adrenaline
thundering through me a sick. Part of my mind wanted to roll
down the window to see if that really was my sister's voice to
this day. I don't know what stopped me,
maybe a survival Instinct, maybe pure shock after what felt like
forever the shape with Drew. The noise of scraping pause or
Hooves impossible to be sure which faded to one side of the
car. my heart hammered so hard my vision blurred For a second,
I thought about flinging open the door and running into the
storm but outside was a vast white Maze and that thing was
out there too. Staying put seemed marginally
safer hours bled together the laughter returned a few times
closer and more brittle. Once a whisper brushed against
the windshield saying my name in a hushed Singsong way.
I huddled under the blanket and tried not to look, whenever a
shaped slid passed, the windows. Eventually in the hush that
followed I realized the storm was beginning to ease.
Tiny shards of moonlight broke through the thinning, clouds
casting pale streaks over the snow.
The interior light dimmed completely leaving me in
darkness. My legs were cramped, my feet
numb but I refused to move instead.
I watched every direction as best I could my breath coming in
Shallow bursts. At some point, a force dropped
onto the roof. The metal groaned pressing down
just a few inches over my head. My seatbelt jammed against my
chest, as I hunched down waiting, for steel to give way.
When it didn't, I exhaled shakily.
The pressure shifted sliding toward the trunk, then vanished.
My hearing buzzed with the Aftershock.
I couldn't see it, but I knew it was still there.
Wandering in the snow looking for a way in.
And it had learned to speak to me and voices.
I once loved, I must have lost Consciousness from the cold and
fear One minute I was wedged against the driver's seat ears
trained on every bump and scrape on the roof.
The next, my eyes snapped open to a Milky gray Dawn.
The storm had eased into a whisper of drifting Flakes and a
thin light was working at its way through the ice windshield.
My body felt led in as if all the tension of the night had
settled deep in to my muscles. for a moment, I thought I'd
imagined it all the laughter, the rattling door handles that
terrible silhouette Then I tried to move and pain shot through my
stiff shoulders. The interior of my car was slick
with condensation. My breath hung in a low fog.
We're still my roof was dented inward, a few inches lower than
it, had been right, where something massive had put its
weight. Claw-like gouges stretched
across the passenger door in raw lines of paint, seeing it in the
dawn, light made my stomach clenched.
I willed myself to check out side to confirm the shape, had
truly gone. The driver's side door resisted
at first. I sealing it shut but I
shouldered it hard until it popped open.
A blast of frigid are slammed into me.
Snow was up to my knees drifted in by the knights wind My breath
caught at the sight of my surroundings trees, bowed under
layers, of white fence posts, half buried in the distance.
The road was little more than a pale scar winding off into
emptiness. At first all was still.
No sign of footprints or tracks. Then as I stumbled around to the
back of the car, I found something that stopped me cold.
A single line of deep hoof like Impressions elongated and too
far apart to be any ordinary animal.
They let away from the trunk to the tree line, then just
vanished as if whatever made them had taken off into the sky.
My heart fluttered with a renewed jolt of fear.
Despite the daylight, the world felt no safer.
I knew I couldn't stay. My phone was nearly dead and the
engine wouldn't start every Creak or grown of wind had me
spinning around half. Sure, I'd Glimpse that elongated
face again. So I grabbed the blanket, my
phone and what little gear I had left.
Then with my hood pulled tight, I started walking.
The snow swallowed, my steps dragging.
At my ankles as I forged to head every few yards I had to look
behind me just to make sure nothing was following.
The silence was a constant reminder of how alone I was.
After what felt like hours, I crested a small slope and
spotted a rundown, motel, and gas station.
Maybe a quarter mile away. Relief.
Nearly buckled my legs. I hurried across the lot as fast
as the drifts would. Let me panting face numb.
Inside the station a startled clerked at me.
Then rushed to fetch blankets and coffee.
I tried explaining what happened but words, tumbled out in a
jumbled mess of something was out there.
It wasn't human. He looked at me the way you'd
look at a person spouting ghost stories but he still dialed the
local police. When the authorities, showed up,
I expected skepticism or maybe that indulgent nod, you give
someone who's hysterical. Instead, they listened
carefully, especially when they heard about the scratches on the
car. Too officers, drove out to
investigate and a few hours later, they returned looking
shaken. They didn't offer me a full
report, but one muttered, something about unidentified
Prince and fur, clumps around the vehicle.
I caught the fearful glances, they exchanged like neither
wanted to say what they really thought the rest of the day
passed in a blur of formalities. A tow truck collected, my
battered car. The police advised me to get
checked at a clinic for frostbite.
Through it all a single question his at the back of my mind, if
that thing really just walked away, could it come back?
I'm not sure how I made it home. My memory is blur after stepping
into a heated ambulance. In the days since I've clung to
the stinging memories of that night, the laughter, that
mimicked, loved ones. The Impossible silhouette
pressed against the window, the single trail of hoof prints
burned into the snow. Friends keep telling me, I was
hallucinating from the cold. Maybe part of me wants to
believe that, but I can't forget the Damage Done to my car or how
the officers seemed rattled by whatever they discovered in the
fresh drifts. I share my story now because I
need to in the hopes that it'll finally Shake.
Loose. The knots in my mind, Believe me
or don't I know it all sounds absurd.
But if you ever find yourself traveling, Rhoades swallowed by
a blizzard checking that rearview mirror and seeing
shapes that just don't make sense.
Do me a favor, keep your doors locked and your eyes sharp
because I can't stop feeling like it's still out there.
Prowling those white out highways waiting for the next
person foolish enough to pull over and sometimes in the dead
of night, I catch myself straining to hear it again.
I woke up earlier than usual that morning convinced the day
would start like any other, the coffee.
Tasted a bit stale, but I figured, I'd fix a fresh pot
once I settled on my front porch.
That porch used to be my Fortress of calm.
The perfect spot in Oak Ridge, Valley to watch wind danced,
across the meadow and swirl into the thick line of Elms and
birches Beyond. On a normal day, I'd hear small
creatures rustling through the brush, see crows, taking lazy
Loops in the sky, all of its stitching together.
A sense of peace. But everything felt strangely
locked in place as I stepped outside, no Breeze, no hint of
movement. Even the usual chatter from the
birds was gone, like they decided to vanish overnight.
My stomach Twisted in an odd way, but I forced myself to
ignore it telling myself, I was just tired.
I settled into my usual seat propping, my binoculars against
the rail. I never went out there without
them animal watching was a habit that always put me at ease.
Raising them, my panned over the Rolling Meadow scanning for any
sign of deer or maybe a fox. At first, nothing looked out of
place, the Bright Morning Sun, glinted off the tall grass and a
small cluster of wildflowers gave us flash of color near the
fence. It was almost relaxing enough.
To let me forget how weirdly quiet it was.
Then I caught a twitch in the trees.
Just a flicker of movement. At first, I chalked it up to a
trick of light but this particular Branch didn't just
sway. It jerked like something had
tugged it. As I brought my binoculars into
sharper Focus, my pulse bumped. The shape seemed too thin too
pale and there were no fresh buds like the other branches
around it. Its surface looked smooth in
places almost like bleached Driftwood.
That had spent too long under a harsh Sun leaning forward.
I locked onto the Eerie Branch expecting it to be nothing.
More than a weird optical illusion.
That hope of evaporated, The Moment I Saw other spindly
offshoots growing out of it all equally bare.
They stuck up at unnatural angles like skeletal digits. a
tiny shiver of alarm rippled through me, but I tried to
reason with myself, maybe it was just a dead limb left over from
Winter, right? Wrong, the limb.
Lifted straight up defying. Any kind of Breeze.
There was none. Anyway, it Rose then extended
sideways almost gliding. I held my breath wishing at its
stop. My mind toyed with me spinning
silly images of living trees, but I knew that was nonsense.
Only it sure didn't behave like a normal Branch, a voice in my
head insisted I tear my eyes away but I couldn't my gaze
followed the limb to a shape near its end, Something warped
and elongated. That's when I noticed a smooth
curve that looked an awful lot, like a horn or maybe two horns.
Sprouting from what appeared to be a skull.
No eyes. Just two Hollow cavities where I
should be. It angled toward me as if
acknowledging, I'd spotted it. My nerves flared in an instant
Without Really deciding to move. I was already off my chair and
inside, slamming the door behind me.
Heart hammering. I snatched my phone from the
kitchen table. Pressing it tight in my grip.
I peeked through the curtains in a panicked blur expecting to see
the yard still empty instead. I spotted it in the meadow out
in the openness time it was massive easily.
Ate her nine feet tall and it seemed to Glide as it walked.
Tattered animal hides covered parts of its frame but bone was
visible underneath reflecting the sun in an unnerving way.
It's bleached skull tilted in my direction horns.
Branching out like Twisted limbs.
I felt the unshakable impression.
It was staring directly at me, even though those sockets were
dark. For a moment.
My muscles refused to respond. Everything inside me, screamed
run, but I was frozen. Finally, I forced myself into
action thumb, jabbing at the phone's keypad.
When the dispatcher answered, my voice came out, shaky.
I rattled off bits about something in the field.
A monstrous shape made of Bones and horns and halfway through
the operator's tone shifted from polite, concern to an odd calm
like she'd heard this story before I almost asked if I
dialed the right number but then the call Simply dropped no
warning, no crackle of static just dead silence.
Staring at the phone and disbelief, I redialed.
Nothing. Not even a ring.
I glanced at the curtains. Again regretting, my choice
instantly. The creature was moving closer.
Crossing, more of the meadow, my old sedan, was parked on the far
side of the yard, but if I tried to Sprint for it, I doubted I'd
even make it halfway before that thing, caught me.
It almost seemed to relish closing the Gap as if it wanted
me to see it coming. Although thud from the front
porch, jolted me out of my stunned Haze, my entire body
braced itself, as a second impact Rock, the door dust
trickled from the frame and the hinges, grown under the assault,
That door was old. The kind of heavy would I once
thought was Secure. A new wave of horror rolled over
me when I realized it probably wouldn't hold against this
unnatural Force. I gripped a kitchen knife on the
counter though. How a bit of sharpened steel
would help was beyond my imagination.
The next strike, against the door threatened to rip it from
its hinges. My thoughts blurred fear fueling
every frantic breath. Should I hide run fight?
None of it felt right. But I had maybe seconds to
decide that next Collision, broke something in the door
sounded like an entire panel caving.
In My pulse thundered, in my ears, my mind shot through
possible exits or maybe barricades, but the hammering
grew louder, more. Insistent, I pressed my back to
the far wall of the hall way, mustering, whatever courage I
had left the house seemed way too small now like there was no
where safe to go. By the time I heard wood
splinters and saw a hint of that Pale Horse through the crack, I
had already chosen my only real option, the basement, it might
buy me time, maybe it had lose track of me or the locked door
down there would last a few extra moments.
Tightening my. Hold on.
The knife. I threw myself down the stairs.
Not daring to look behind me. The ramming noise thundered
again, echoing through the house.
My hands scrambled for the basement door handle.
Yanking it shut a flimsy lock clicked into place.
I stood there in the darkness shoulders, trembling waiting to
see if the door would hold. Above me, the front entrance
gave way entirely letting in something that should not exist
and all I could do was wait. My breath came and ragged gasps.
As I stood on the basement steps hand clenched tight around the
flimsy lock the thuds from above left.
No room to doubt. The thing had fully broken
through the front door, every impact Jared, the entire frame
of my old farmhouse. It was like the house itself,
shuttered, in pain for a moment, I just froze there, hoping
praying, it might lose interest. No, such luck.
I heard its weight shift. The floorboards creaking under
something impossibly tall. The older that wafted down
drifting through the Gap. Beneath the door made my eyes,
water, rancid decaying, but with a strange chemical tank like
sulfur mixed with old wrote, Allowed crunch echoed from what
used to be my living room. It sounded like the remains of a
coffee table or maybe one of the chairs each crack shredded,
another piece of my nerves. Finally, I forced my feet to
move the single naked. Light bulb buzzed overhead,
casting shaky Shadows along the narrow basement walls.
The air down here was stale tinged with damp Earth and rust.
There was no, easy exit, just a heavy storm, hatch that I knew
for a fact was barred from the outside.
And the slim possibility of calling for help.
My phone was in my pocket but it was useless no signal.
Got down here and 911 had already failed me once.
At a glance, the basement was a cluttered mess of half-rotted
crates and stacks of ancient newspapers but the hulking
shapes of the old furnace and oil tank dominated the room, a
decade's old pipes system, snake around them dripping with
condensation. Instinct nudged me to find cover
behind the massive tank because who knew if that door would even
slow the creature. I hustled to cross the room
footsteps. Echoing each one.
A personal betrayal because they practically announced where I
was. My pulse thudded in my ears.
As I crouched behind the tank, a deep metallic grown.
Told me the basement door wasn't going to hold Sure enough.
I heard a tortured Screech and a jagged hole, splintered through
the old, would my eyes locked on that door, any second now, it
would burst open entirely Then the footsteps stopped an eerie
hush crept. Back in like the house was
holding its breath seconds. Ticked by maybe it left.
Maybe it was tricked by the darkness.
I peered around the side of the oil tank straining to hear the
faintest hint of movement. That was when I noticed a wet
glistening near the base of the tank, a small puddle of oil that
had seeped out around ancient rag.
Presumably there to patch a slow leak.
My mind flashed in alarm. Flammable, one spark, and this
place was a Tender Box. A sharp crack yanked, me back to
reality. The doorknobs spun on its axis
and clattered to the floor. My chest, constricted every hair
on my neck standing on end, then with a slow, measured Creek the
door, gave way revealing a slice of Darkness Beyond Through it,
slid. Something pale and narrowed.
One long, limb ending in fingers or Clause of exposed bone, it
tapped. The would like it was testing
how sturdy the steps were. The shape stooped, low letting
me Glimpse, those Twisted horns. And that elongated skull.
It slithered through the opening, each step a dull.
Thud, that pressed dust from the rafters.
The basement light cast flickering Shadows over it.
Exposing a rib cage, beneath rotted scraps of hide.
My heart hammered as it sniffed the air in a disturbingly
deliberate way. Slow purposeful, like a beast on
the hunt. I realized then it must smell my
sweat, my Terror, it paused scanning the cramped basement
with those bottomless sockets, I crouched lower behind the tank,
trying to Steady My uneven breathing.
A rivlet of oil snaked along the concrete in under my shoe, the
stench grew thicker, if it triggered the furnace pilot
light, we'd be in the middle of a firestorm, my lungs tightened.
Suddenly the creatures skull jerked toward me as though.
It had finally caught my scent. A ragged hiss escaped at its
mouth before. I could think it lunged against
the oil tank, the entire metal cylinder shuttered pipes,
rattling in protest. I bet back a crying inching away
from the sloshing liquid. Another slam the brackets that
bolted, the tank to the ground squealed in protest.
Oil sputtered from the intake valve.
Spraying the floor Panic welded my feet to the spot.
One more good, hit and the tank might tip.
Sure enough, the monster pounded.
Again, a deafening clang. Jolted me so hard, I nearly lost
my grip on the knife. The tank lurched sideways
tearing free of its brackets. Oil poured out in a fresh
torrent. Spattering the floor in me.
A ring of dark liquid expanded around the base.
My eyes darted to the Old Furnace half dreading half
expecting the pilot flame to flicker in the corner of my
vision. With a horrible inevitability.
I heard the furnace click a whoosh as its cycled on A spark
must have leaped into the oil fumes because in a heartbeat
orange, flames burst along the Slick floor racing toward the
thrashing creature. A guttural screech tour from its
skeletal Jaws echoing off the walls.
Fire coiled up at its legs. Igniting the rags of fur and
hide. In an instant, the basement was
a nightmare of swirling flames and choking black smoke,
adrenaline surged and I scrambled backward, brandishing.
The knife, even though I had no clue how a mere blade would
help. The Beast flailed a living.
Torch lurching toward me, swiping at the air with
elongated arms. One claw, snagged my sleeve
ripping through Fabric and raking.
My Flesh pain. Blazed at my side, I staggered
backward tears. Stinging, my eyes from the mix
of Agony and smoke somehow I found my feet and lunged for the
stairs, the staircase weighed under each step.
And with the basement filling rapidly with acrid smoke, I had
to keep low. The creature shrieked behind me
and a burst of spark shot up as it crashed into the furnace.
Sheets of flame blossomed out burning.
So hot it singed my hair. I clutched the railing
half-blind and stumbled onto the main floor with a gasp that was
equal parts relief and Terror. Through the haze, I could see my
front entry, what was left of it Flames danced wildly in the
basement opening and blackened bits of debris.
Littered the hallway. Fire crawled up the walls and
the stench of smoke overpowered. Every other smell There was no
time to plan. I bolted for the front yard,
heart Galloping in my chest. The sound of that creatures
tortured. Howling locked in my ears, I
burst through the shattered door frame hacking out costs.
The cool outside are feeling like salvation The house behind
me glowed with flickering, firelight, an orange, Beacon of
Destruction against the morning Sky, my hands trembled side
burning, but I was alive at least for the moment.
I only paused long enough to glance back at the threshold
that sense of dread still clinging to me.
Somewhere under the Roar of flames, I heard another
unearthly shriek Echo up from the basement.
I didn't wait to see if it would emerge.
I staggered into the yard stumbling toward my car.
Convinced the nightmare was far from over.
The last Glimpse, I caught of my basement was an inferno
devouring everything in its path and I couldn't shake the
sickening certainty that the thing, whatever it was might yet
survive. Escaping the basement felt like
coming up for air after nearly drowning.
I have collapsed onto the charred, remnants of my front
porch, lung scraping for oxygen as a dull Roar of flames rage
behind me. My sight robbed from the Bony.
Swipe, the creature had inflicted, and my vision tunnel
in and out. I wanted nothing more than to
sink to the ground and close my eyes, but dread kept, the
adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Pulling myself together, I staggered across the yard,
heading for my Dusty sedan, parked behind a scraggly Oak.
The air smelled of smoke and something darker.
An acrid bitter, stench, clinging to the back of my
throat. My keys had to be in my pocket
somewhere. My hands shook so violently it
took me two tries to unlock the driver's side.
Door, a terrified whisper in the back of my head warned me.
The monster might still be prowling around, possibly
scorching alive in the basement or limping Through The Inferno,
something Unstoppable. My phone clattered onto the
passenger seat and I slid. The keys into the ignition
jamming, The Petal, the moment, the engine caught Gravel
sprayed, as I tore away from The Farmhouse, every fiber of my
being crying out for distance. In the rearview mirror.
My once Cozy home raged with Unholy fire.
There were no neighbors to see the glow, nobody for miles.
For a heartbeat. I felt a Twist of guilt for
abandoning everything. Then another burst of flame
crackled through a broken window scattering Sparks and the guilt
vanished under raw survival Instinct I drove aimlessly at
first when singing with each bump on the dirt road as pain
pulsed in my side. I kept expecting my phone to
ring with more, cryptic instructions or maybe that
unsettling 911, operator asking me bizarre questions but the
screen stayed dark indicating zero service.
A wave of relief mixed with fear.
No help was coming yet. I needed to get patched up
before I bled out. Eventually the road led to the
outskirts of pine. Glade one of those small towns
where everyone's known each other for decades except for
recluses like me on farmland. I headed straight for the Urgent
Care Clinic. The nurse on duty gasped at my
bruised and bloodied State. Ordering me onto a gurney, while
peppering me with questions, I tried explaining what had
happened, but every time I stumbled onto the creature made
of Bones Part, I saw her eyes fill with a courteous disbelief.
She wrote possible animal attack on a note and told me to stay
calm that the sheriff would be in soon.
A doctor stitched me up at 8:09 stitches.
I think and gave me a set of By the time, the sheriff showed up,
I was floating in a hazy swirl of exhaustion and medication, he
wanted details. So I gave him my half garbled
version of the story. Something monstrous far beyond a
mere mountain lion or deranged bear tore up my house and tried
to kill me. Fire consumed, everything?
The sheriff's face was blank except for a flicker of
sympathy. He jotted notes without comment.
They released me from the clinic early, the next morning, my side
felt tender but stable enough for me to shuffle out under my
own power. Just outside the clinic sliding
doors. I spotted a fire truck rumbling
past heading toward Oak Ridge Valley no siren blaring just a
slow Grim crawl. My stomach dropped picturing
what they might or might not find in the black and wreckage.
Had the Flames ended that nightmare for good or was it out
there somewhere still prowling, I checked into a cheap motel on
the edge of town. The room had a musty odor and
thread bear carpet, but at least I wasn't out in the open.
After a scalding shower that stung every scratch I slumped
onto the bed and finally let all the pent-up shakes roll through
me. I replied every terrifying
second heart racing like I was still in the thick of it.
Unable to sleep. I booted up my phone.
The 911 call log was blank, no record of a dropped call.
Desperate for an explanation or maybe just validation.
I open the Reddit app. Found a horror themed forum and
started typing my ordeal in frantic detail.
Every battered nerve insisted that no one would believe me,
but I had to do it. If there was someone else out
there, who'd seen something like this, I needed to know, or maybe
I just needed to purge the memory from my system.
I spent the night, refreshing, the page, but exhaustion won by
the time Dawn, light, seeped through the thin curtains, I'd
finally drifted off phone, clutched in my hand when I woke
my notifications tab blinked, loaded with replies.
Some comments were jokey or outright dismissive but a few
stood out. One person mentioned an ancient
legend of a horned skeleton figure roaming, deep forests
haunting, those who trespass on certain land, another user
claimed to have spotted something similar near an
abandoned mine shaft in a nearby County attaching, a blurry,
photo of a gangly silhouette by Twisted trees. my heartbeat
hitched even though it was out of focus, there was no
mistaking, those elongated limbs for a second.
I felt a shred of relief. I wasn't alone in this.
The next second brought a fresh wave of dread thinking about the
possibility that thing was still out there.
My phone buzzed with a direct message from the user.
With the photo. They asked if I wanted to go
check that mine shaft, maybe, gather real proof.
I nearly threw the phone, across the room.
Absolutely not. I grabbed a coffee from the
motel Lobby, forcing down the stale.
Bitterness, while my mind, spun, The remnants of my house and
whatever lurked there were still smoldering in Oak Ridge Valley.
The authorities would find nothing but Ash and cinders.
part of me itch to go back to confirm, the remains of that
monstrosity, were scattered among the ruins The smarter part
insisted I leave well enough alone there was no sense risking
my life for closure. Later that afternoon.
The sheriff called me with a measured tone reporting.
The fire had destroyed everything but the stone
foundation. No human remains turned up.
No animal carcass either. I hung up hands quivering.
Relief and fear ward in my gut. If the monster died, it left no
Trace. If it lived, it was invisible
now. That night, I packed my car with
every possession I had left which wasn't much.
I took the highway toward a friend's place in another state.
My side ached with every mile a dull, reminder that something
impossible had nearly ended me. Yet, I kept going eyes, fixed on
the horizon. It wasn't until I crossed the
county line that I finally exhaled.
A few weeks passed. The wound on my side, slowly
healed, but my night stayed Restless.
Each new evening, I checked my Reddit thread reading stories
from people who'd seen vaguely similar beasts or heard Tales
From older relatives, maybe half of them were jokes or fictions,
but some had too much in common to discount.
Over time, fear shifted into a grim, understanding these
nightmares were, as rare as anyone would hope.
As the days turned into a makeshift routine, I found a
fractured piece. Yes, the memories still lurked
and every Creak at night made me twitch, but I was alive to
experience those jitters. My old house was gone, but I
wasn't. That felt like Victory enough
for. Now, I wrote a final update to
my Reddit, post thanking everyone who believed me.
Warning others to trust their instincts, to run, if something
feels off in the woods or the lonely back roads.
Then I closed the laptop stepping away with a sense that
I done what I could. I might never prove the
creatures existence to the world, but I didn't have to.
I done my part staying alive and telling the story.
If it was out there, it wouldn't catch me again and somehow that
was enough. I used to think life was
predictable that if I kept a routine stayed alert, nothing
truly Sinister could Blindside me.
Turns out I was wrong, one moment.
I was juggling laundry, tickets and groceries outside a bland
Corner Shop. The next, I was Fading Into
forced sleep, at the hands of a stranger, everything else
blurred. Now, I'm here in a Cellar that
stinks of mold and stagnant. Water trying to remember how I
got trapped in this concrete tomb.
If I could replay those final seconds of my normal life, I
tried to spot the moment. Everything went sideways.
Was it the second I rummaged in my purse for the laundry
receipt? when I realized, I left my
wallet in the car, Something. So trivial yet, it opened the
door for him. I recall a rustling behind me. a
sudden clamp across my face and a prickling sensation deep in my
shoulder, my mind flared, white hot, like a fuse snapping I
can't recall. If I screamed, maybe I did.
Maybe I just Frozen place. My body refusing to cooperate.
Darkness, swallowed me long before any actual night fell
outside? When I woke I was alone.
No City sounds, no voices, not even the hum of traffic.
It felt like the world had evaporated into a vast
emptiness. That was the first hint.
I wasn't in some typical basement.
Everything about the are the silence oppressive and stale
suggested, I'd been taken far away.
I wanted to believe it was a nightmare but the grid under my
Palms in the Aiken, my shoulder told me it was real I forced my
eyes open the dim overhead light flickered.
Like, it was powered by a dying generator.
Its weak glow. Revealed a low ceiling and
cracked walls, slick with moisture.
My wrists were bound the Rope digging.
So tight, that every pulse of blood reminded me, I was still
alive. My legs were free which at
first, struck me as odd, then I realized he probably didn't need
to restrain my legs. The locked steel door across the
room was enough. Something about that door kept
catching my attention. It looked heavy reinforced like
it had been there for decades. A dark slot near the bottom
hinted that maybe it was used for sliding and food or waste.
I tried crawling toward it, but my body felt ledden, every
muscle trembling from sedation. After a few grueling minutes, I
managed to stand leaning against the wall.
The door didn't budge. When I tested it.
I started to panic chest tightening, but I forced myself
to breathe slowly. If I collapsed into hysteria,
I'd never think clearly, that's when I heard it, soft footsteps
above me. I studied myself waiting for
something, anything A voice may be but the steps halted
abruptly. Then silents.
A drop of water fell from somewhere overhead landing.
On the back of my neck, making me jump.
Each droplet in that place felt like a countdown.
My second day in the cellar, I discovered the caretakers idea
of hospitality. A metal dish with limp peas, and
half raw rice was shoved through the slot along with the plastic
bottle of water. Not enough to fill me, but
enough to keep me alive. I devoured it at any way every
bite tasting of dust. He never showed his face the
first few days, but I knew he was listening, because the
moment I mutter for help or whimper too loudly, I adhere
sudden heavy footsteps overhead, almost a warning to keep quiet.
When I obeyed the footsteps receded, that started an awful
pattern, I'd wake to the flickering light, eat the
miserable food, paste, the perimeter of the seller until I
was exhausted, then slump Against The Damp concrete to
wait for tomorrow. One night, the bulb went out,
entirely plunging me into Blackness.
So absolute, I thought I'd lost my vision.
Minutes, dragged into hours in that Darkness, I became aware of
every sound, my breathing, the drip of water faint, scratching
somewhere Behind the Walls. I imagined rodents or maybe
other captives, though, it was probably just the building
settling. My paranoia skyrocketed.
I kept thinking, I heard Whispering on the other side of
the door, like he was pressing his ear against it savoring,
every sign of my fear Eventually the light flickered back on as
if he decided, I'd spent enough time in the dark.
That was the first moment I realized how much power he had
over me. Not just physically, but
mentally, he controlled. When I saw light when I ate,
when I slept, it made me Furious and terrified all at once as
days passed, I became hyper focused on my surroundings.
I noticed faint scratches near the corners of the floor.
Like someone had tried to dig out the mortar between the
bricks. Another time I found a broken
finger nail embedded in a seam of the wall, a tiny relic of a
desperate struggle. These Clues told me, I wasn't
the first and that thought it sunk into my chest, like a lead
weight. Someone else had been here,
maybe, multiple someones. The caretaker though, I hadn't
labeled him that yet had a system refined through practice.
I began spotting inconsistent details, a battered bucket in
the far Corner that served as a bathroom.
Discolored in ways, that suggested it had been used
countless times Faint footprints on the concrete smaller than my
own trailing, from the door, to the darkest corner of the
cellar. Occasionally, a frigate draft
would trickle in through cracks near the ceiling, carrying with
it. The scent of rotting wood or old
chemicals. Fueling my speculation about
what kind of place he was keeping me in.
Yet, he remained silent. He never rushed in with threats,
or brandished a weapon. Instead he let the seller itself
break me down. The waiting, the lack of human
connection, the rationed food, the flickering lights, it was
torture and slow motion. I tried occupying, my mind by
reciting anything. I could remember song lyrics
random poetry from high school, grocery lists.
The more I fought to hang on to, who I was before.
The more I realized I was losing track of it.
Time blurred hours melted into days or maybe weeks.
The caretaker, kept me off balance playing with the light
and the tiny ration slot as if the whole process was some
Twisted experiment. Eventually, I caught a glimpse
of him or part of him. I had fallen asleep leaning
against the wall. At some point in the night, the
door creaked open and I jolted awake, my wrists still Bound by
rope made it impossible to Shield.
My eyes from the sudden glare of a flash light pointed at my
face. I barely saw more than an
outline tall wearing a hooded coat gloves on both hands.
Something about him was coldly precise.
Like he was all angles and edges.
He didn't speak at first. The only thing I heard was the
scratch of pen on paper, was he taking notes on my reaction, my
posture, my fear, Eventually, he stepped closer enough that I
could smell disinfectant on him. I forced myself not to recoil
though. Every Instinct urged me to
crawl. Backward, the caretaker knelt
down shining the light into my eyes, as though, assessing me
like a doctor. Would You're doing well.
He said finally almost in a whisper So far, at least.
Then he stood up and turned away leaving the door.
Ajar for a fraction of a second, I considered lunging after him,
but my legs were trembling still half asleep and I couldn't get
the Rope around my wrists free in time.
He vanished into the hallway and the door swung shut with a heavy
clang. The lock clicked, sealing me
back into my world of stale air. I spent the rest of the night.
Mentally replaying that split second encounter.
His voice was steady but I heard a tightness in it, like he was
trying not to betray any emotion, it unnerved me.
More than open rage would have At least anger comes with a
reason. This was different.
Like he was performing an experiment, he expected me to
fail. The next few days, I became
obsessed with the scraps of evidence left by past captains.
I counted, the tally marks carved into the concrete near
the bucket, 13 sets each with five lines plus a few incomplete
ones. That might mean days or weeks or
something else entirely did that person die here?
Did they escape? I traced one of the carvings
with my fingernail accidentally. Slicing my own skin on the
Jagged Edge. It bled, not too badly, but
enough to drip onto the floor. I stared at that.
Bright red stain. Imagining how many others had
done the same? A wave of dread nearly made me
collapse. What if I was just the next poor
soul doomed to scratch hopeless marks until my final breath,
That evening, the caretaker slid another meal through the slot.
But as I crawled to retrieve it I noticed something new a scrap
of paper folded beneath the dish.
I snatched it up. Heart pounding, the paper read,
stay calm, don't fight survival. Depends on obedience, It wasn't
his handwriting. This was far too shaky, the
words pressed so hard that the pain nearly ripped the page,
another prisoner had tried to warn me or maybe the caretaker
left at their to manipulate me either possibility was awful.
By now, I had lost track of how many days I had been locked in
that cellar. My body was weak, but my senses
were razor sharp honed by sheer desperation.
Every noise upstairs. Jolted me awake.
The caretakers footsteps, became a twisted lullaby, the only
signal that the world above still existed.
Sometimes I could swear, I heard him talking to himself or maybe
speaking on a phone, but I couldn't make out any words.
The minute I focused too hard the murmur faded as terrorizing
as it was a spark of stubborn will grew inside me.
Each time he, let me taste another day.
I refused to dissolve into the Oblivion.
He wanted me to. I'd catch myself Whispering,
old, memories places. I'd visited faces of people.
I loved. Some were half gone slippery
fragments that made my eyes Sting with tears.
The caretaker wanted to erase me, reduce me to a nameless body
under his control. I wouldn't let him win so
easily. One night, after hours of Silent
Darkness, a new sound drifted through the cellar, quiet
sobbing. At first, I thought it was an
echo of my own distress. But as I listened, it became
clear. The crying was distinct.
Someone else in another room. Maybe deeper in this basement.
The realization that I wasn't alone in this Labyrinth turned
my Terror into a twisted, kind of hope.
If there was another captive perhaps together, we could find
a way out or at least share the burden of survival yet.
I never heard that voice again. In the days that followed, I
tried tapping on the walls but no response came.
The caretaker of course must have known what I was doing.
He started stomping on the floor above me, whenever I knocked a
silent command to stop, eventually I gave in Day by day,
I could feel him drawing closer, increasing his visits scribbling
on his notepad whenever he came in.
He made more direct comments about how I was adjusting.
That I had potential but he never elaborated.
Leaving me in a constant state of uneasy speculation.
My mind ran wild with possibilities.
Was he planting to sell me? Kill me or use me in some
Unthinkable experiment. This question nod at me
relentlessly. The caretakers calm methodical
approach was worse than any frantic assault.
He was patient confident, he knew the seller would do half
his work for him and it was working.
My strength, was fading, my sense of reality unraveling
Still, I held onto one sliver of defiance.
I was alive. I was aware.
And if I had even the smallest chance, I'd claw my way out of
his grip. Maybe that stubborn core was the
only thing keeping me from collapsing into the submission.
He craved. At the end of what felt like an
endless streak of days. I caught sight of something
glinting under the door. A tiny Shard of glass probably
from a broken bottle. I hesitated glancing around as
if expecting him to burst in at any second.
My body ached in protest, but my desperation outweighed the pain.
I crawled over picked it up with trembling fingers and hid it in
the pocket of my tattered pants. It wasn't much just a jagged
piece of glass that could easily cut me if I wasn't careful, but
it was hope a tiny advantage in a place designed to strip me of
all power. Clutching that Shard against my
palm. I promised myself, I'd find a
way out. Or Die, Tryin.
This caretaker whoever he was, wouldn't have the final say on
my face. Somewhere in the distance,
water, dripped in a steady unending Rhythm, my personal
metronome counting the second of my captivity.
But for the first time, since I woke in this nightmare, I
allowed a faint spark of determination to warm my chest.
This wasn't over. I was still breathing still
thinking. And as long as that continued,
my story had a chance to break free from the seller's
suffocating Darkness. I used to cling to the idea that
I could fight my way out with sheer willpower.
That Shard of glass, I'd hidden at the end of what I'd come to
call. My first chapter in, the cellar
felt like a Lifeline tangible proof.
I could still make choices, but as time dragged on and the
caretaker began to tighten his grip, the glass started to feel
more like a loaded gun with no bullets.
The more he learned about me, the harder, it became to find
any moment of privacy, let alone at an escape.
The caretaker began to watch me with a clinical Fascination as
if I were a Lab Rats scurrying in his maze.
At first it was small changes. He'd replaced.
The flickering bulb with a new one that burned steady forcing
me to track time, more accurately.
And then he started new tasks under the guise of helping me
regain my strength. I was never sure if he was
testing my endurance or my obedience, he introduced a
battered exercise mat padded butt smelly stained by, who
knows what and ordered me to perform stretches and push-ups.
My arms were trembling from malnourishment and I could
hardly manage more than a few. When I collapsed the caretaker
simply nodded scribbled something on his ever-present
notepad, then left. It felt clinical like he was
logging data, sometimes it went beyond physical endurance.
One morning, I awoke to a new edition, a Dusty old typewriter
perched, on a flimsy, table beside it, lay pages of text
medical journals, scientific articles, even a chunk of a
psychology, textbook, my tasks transcribed, them word for word.
If I misspelled anything, he'd withhold food, the caretaker
would glance over my shoulder now and then tapping his foot
impatiently. If I slowed down, I started to
suspect. He was forcing me to memorize
these obscure passages. Maybe because it amused him or
perhaps. It's served some Twisted
experiment. Still, I did, as I was told.
Every keystroke felt like a countdown.
Each sentence. Pressing me further under his
thumb. Part of me wanted to Rebel type
nonsense until the ribbons dried out, but I didn't have the nerve
to face the consequences. Hunger and darkness, had their
claws in me and survival, trumped Pride.
During these sessions, he was eerily calm.
No yelling. No threats beyond the implied
punishments. If I fail, it was like I was an
object to be trained a data point, he could mold it will And
each day his Devotion to logging my progress grew.
A slip of the tongue or a misspelled word.
He'd noted a moment where I resisted reading certain lines,
he'd Circle it in red ink. By the end of the second week of
these activities. I felt my sense of
self-evaporating. Just when I thought I couldn't
take another day of his cold examinations.
The caretaker would pull a 180 showing an unnerving softness.
Once I woke up with a raging fever, my face burning body
drenched in sweat. My head felt like it was
cracking open from the inside. I braced for the worst.
Instead he knelt beside me with a damp cloth, pressed it gently
against my forehead and whispered something that almost
sounded like concerned, you need fluids, he said Voice Low then
he placed a canteen near my lips.
Real water, cool, refreshing for a moment.
It felt like Mercy. But there was nothing benevolent
about it. I remember the ghost of a
smirking on his mouth as he watched me gulp like he was
pleased with how quickly I depend on him for relief.
Then he gently peeled back. My sweat soaked hair and said,
you can't fall apart yet. Not until you've reached your
potential, that sentence sent chills straight through.
My fever, the idea that he had some master plan that my
suffering was far from random terrified me more than any
beating would have. I spent the rest of that
feverish night thinking about what potential meant to someone
who kept a prison cell in his basement.
In another instance, he offered me a threadbare sweater on a
particularly cold morning. My lips were almost blew from
shivering and I half expected him to sneer at my weakness.
Instead he draped the sweater around my shoulders.
Gave me a fleeting path, then left without a word.
I was sure it was a setup but as the minutes passed and no
punishment came, I dare to feel warmth that wasn't purely
physical. Yet, even that fleeting kindness
curdled into dread. He was caring for me like a
farmer tending livestock Just enough to keep me from dying.
I'd lost count of how many days it had been since he first
commanded me to do those exercises.
The seller felt both smaller and more suffocating each time he
came. I'd hear him approached through
the hall. Way methodical footsteps that
halted just long enough to make me doubt.
Whether he was coming in or Turning Away there were nights.
He barely checked on me, then all of a sudden he'd flood
myself with his presence for hours. on one of those nights,
he slammed the door opened, not even bothering with his usual,
measured composure, He was panting eyes, darting around
like a cornered, animal immediately I picked up on it.
He was afraid. I didn't know who or what could
scare someone like him but if he was spooked, it couldn't be good
news for me. He rummaged through the tools
scattered along the wall, a bent crowbar, a frayed coil of rope,
a stained Hammer. My heart hammered in my ears,
but I forced myself to appear calm He wouldn't make eye
contact, which was almost more unsettling than his usual Stony
stare. for a second he looked like he wanted to speak but
swallowed whatever words, he'd formed, I caught a glimpse of
something else in his gloved. Hand a yellowed folder stuffed
with papers. He gripped it as though it was
crucial to him a Lifeline without warning.
He grabbed my arm, I started to protest but his grip was iron
tight. He whipped out a syringe similar
to the one. I remembered from my abduction
and plunged it, into my arm before I could jerk away.
Hot panics surged through me, pain in a sudden.
Numbness, cascaded up my shoulder.
I felt my Consciousness slipping my last clear memory of that
moment was his face cold, sweat gleaming at his Temple.
A grim set to his jaw, then Darkness swallowed me.
I woke to a throbbing headache and a chill in the air that cut
right to my bones. Gone where the clammy concrete
walls in the single dim light bulb.
Instead, I found myself staring at wooden beams, overhead, Dusty
with neglect a small window broken in one corner LED in a
weak stream of pale Dawn shivering.
I pushed myself, upright and realized I was in what looked
like an abandoned Cottage The floor was littered with dried
leaves and bits of glass, the walls peeled of paint.
My right ankle was chained to an old radiator.
The caretaker wasn't in sight. My head swam either from
sedation or the shock of new surroundings.
The strangest part. Unlike the cellar, the door to
this room, stood a jar. Threw it, I could see an empty
Hall way, leading to a back entrance.
Overgrown grass poked inside where the door was broken off
its hinges. This place felled unplanned like
he'd moved me in a hurry without time to prep.
Why else would he leave a half busted window in a door that
wouldn't fully clothed? I tested the chain on my ankle.
Hoping it was his haphazard as the rest of the setup.
It was solid though, attached to a thick metal ring bolted into
the radiator. A wave of desperation, hit me.
So close to potential freedom and yet still bound.
No sign of the caretaker no sign of the folder or the syringe,
just me my throbbing arm and the new prison.
That might be less secure but was no less terrifying.
A Russell outside made my heart skip.
I strained to see if it was him returning, but all I glimpsed
were gnarled. Apple trees in the morning, Haze
branches twisting and Jagged shapes.
An orchard may be Something about the neglected rows of
trees felled like I was gazing into the skeleton of someone's
fail dream. I scan the cottage for anything
that might help. A toppled chair by the
fireplace, an empty bookshelf, a shattered Lantern.
Then I noticed fresh footprints on the dusty floor.
One set belonged to me Barefoot and stumbling clear from where I
had collapsed. Another set trail deeper into
the house, leading away from the door.
Was the caretaker still here? Rummaging around for something?
Or had he fled? I tugged at the chain of second
time, The radiator creaked but it didn't budge.
My hands were free. Now though, he'd removed the
rope from my wrists, either by negligence or because he knew
the chain was enough. I was exhausted half drugged but
the seeds of defiance that had taken root back in the cellar.
Still lived in me. I wasn't just going to wait for
him to return and dragged me to whatever fresh horror he'd
planned. Gathering what little strength
remained I forced myself to stand leaning on the radiator
for balance. My mind raced with questions.
Why move me here of all places? What was he afraid of?
And most pressing could I escaped before he came back.
I stood there heart hammering in my chest staring through the
broken window, at the pale, early morning, Sky a strange
mixture of Hope and Dread filled me.
On one hand, this was the first time in ages, I'd seen daylight
real daylight, and breathe dare, that wasn't thick with mold on
the other. My captor was still out there
possibly closer than I realized and for all I knew this caught
in was just another stage in his Grand experiment but a flicker
of possibility, ignited. If he was careless enough to
leave windows shattered and doors, ajar maybe just maybe
this was my chance to get away. Or at least to get help.
I had no idea how far we were from civilization.
I had no idea if he had backup, but I refused to let the
caretakers grip. Suffocate me, any longer?
Outside a breeze. Rustled through the orchard,
making the branches grown like old bones.
I swallowed closed my eyes for a moment and steadied my breath.
Then tightening my fists. I began testing the radiator
bolts and Earnest determined to break free.
Because if the caretaker had taught me anything it was this
as long as I was alive, I had a shot at outlasting him and maybe
even stopping him before he moved on to someone else.
I had no clue what the next hours would bring.
Whether I'd find a path back to the real world or sink deeper
into his nightmarish plan. But for the first time in
months, I could feel the sun on my skin and despite the chain
rattling at my ankle that fleeting brush of warmth
reminded me, I still had a sliver of Hope left to fight for
The afternoon sun. Stung my eyes, as I stumbled out
of that Orchard Cottage, half collapsing into the shocked arms
of a middle-aged farmer. He'd heard glass shatter and
came to investigate. He didn't expect to find me
skin, bruised eyes, Hollow an ankle chain, dangling, from my
foot. All I remember is his face.
Blanching like he'd walked straight into a ghost story.
It took him a moment to process the scene before helping me limp
away from my makeshift cell. That was the day I finally
escaped, or more accurately, the day, the caretaker abandoned me.
Either way, I was free for a moment.
At least, I woke up in a hospital bed, a few hours later,
drifting in and out of Consciousness.
The sterile smell of disinfectant, burned my
nostrils, the florescent lights, harsh and uncaring.
Nurses, hovered around threading, Ivy lines and
Whispering words like dehydration.
Severe malnutrition, and Trauma. I had a gratitude of if I hadn't
been so hollowed out even a safe clinical environment felt
menacing after everything I had been through detective Mills
introduced herself. The moment, I was lucid enough
to speak. She was tall composed her warm
hazel eyes. The only softness in a face
chisel by years of police work. She spoke gently but her
questions were pointed. What's your name?
Do you remember where he took? You did you see his face with
every inquiry? She strained to keep a
reassuring tone knowing how fragile I was but I felt more
frustration than relief. My memories were like puzzle
pieces. Submerged in murky water?
I could picture the caretakers gloved, hands, the hush of his
voice. The orchard skeletal rows, but
nothing that pinned him down. No distinct face, no license
plate, no clue. I heard the disappointment in
her voice, when I said, I couldn't recall the last clear
image of him. All I had were scattered
Impressions. The burn scar on his wrist, his
obsession with scribbling notes, the cloying stench of
antiseptic, Time in that hospital blurred, I had
nightmares. Whenever I tried to sleep
jolting awake at odd hours, nurses would rush in.
Try to calm me. Detective Mills would pop by
offering me, small forced smiles.
Some nights. I thought I saw the caretakers
silhouette in the hallway, waiting for the right moment to
drag me back. Rationally, I knew he wasn't
there. But reason never stood a chance
against the lingering Terror of captivity.
Gradually though. The medication and rest did
their job, I could form clearer sentences.
Hold conversations without dissolving into sobs that's when
detective Mills approached a file tucked under her arm.
Her expression, Grim we have a lead she said quietly flipping
through the paperwork Another missing person's case about 20
miles. South of that Orchard kid named
Nolan vanished two weeks ago. My stomach tightened.
Two weeks ago, was around the time, the caretaker uprooted me
from the Orchard and dumped me in that abandoned Cottage.
I felt sick wondering if he'd moved on to another victim, the
very moment. He decided I wasn't worth
keeping any more. Once I was stable enough to
stand without toppling over detective Mills transferred me
to a safe house. The space was simple, a small
kitchen, a couch two bedrooms, the front windows had thick
curtains and extra locks. My assigned officer a
sympathetic woman named officer Jaramillo did her best to make
me comfortable, but I rarely spoke.
My mind was Miles Away. Stuck on the caretakers
potential, new captive. Sure enough, a week into my stay
detective, Mills, knocked on the door, with urgent news.
A hiker had discovered a makeshift camp near an Old
Logging Trail. She didn't say much more.
Just handed me a set of photos. I flipped through them heart,
pounding, pictures of a dilapidated Shack inside the
lens. Captured unsettling details,
makeshift restraints, a grimy mattress with fresh stains, and
a plastic bucket that reminded me all too much of my old life
in the cellar. One shot showed the caretaker's.
Trademark brand of control a small desk with scattered
papers. Each covered in these spidery
notes and red circled words, my skin crawled just looking at it.
Then came the worst image a young man in pale strapped to a
post. By his wrists head, slumped
forward, his arms, bore Angry Red Wells, possibly from
repeated injections. The caretakers Mo if you asked
me the caption read victim, found alive semi-conscious.
My eyes welled with tears. Part horror parte relief, he was
still breathing. Detective mills's voice, drew me
back, he's in the hospital now on oxygen and sedatives but he's
stable she paused he mentioned you my heart almost stopped me.
Yes. He said, the caretaker kept
telling him Sarah's a success story, you'll be my new project
if she disappoints me again. Mills, wet her lips.
A flicker of anger in her eyes. He's obsessed with you, it's
like you're his proof of concept or something, a cold dread took
root in my spine. The caretaker was using me as an
example for new captives. Fueling their Terror by implying
I was complicit somehow or that I would become part of his
Twisted designs, but if that poor kid had found the courage
to mention me, maybe I could return the favor and help put a
stop to this once and for all I wanted to help.
More than anything. I wanted to end this. but to
detective Mills, was hesitant to involve me further, She
insisted, I wasn't well enough that I should rest and let the
department handle it. Yet, I knew the caretaker too
well. His patterns, his manipulation.
I could sense that if we didn't act fast, he'd vanish again
leaving more victims in his wake After hours of pleading Mills,
finally relented and allowed me to accompany her team to the
site strictly for observational input.
She made me swear, I'd stay in the car, under normal
circumstances, I would have, but everything about the caretaker
defied, normal rules. We drove out in a convoy at dusk
the Sun, a molten. Orb, on the horizon.
My stomach twisted, like I was heading back into the orchard
cellar. The logging Trail was dense with
towering Pines, the underbrush thick enough to hide a million
secrets. Detective Mills led the way
headlights cutting swaths Through The Dark?
When we reached the shack uniformed officers lept out,
flash lights probing, the area. I clenched my teeth.
Trying not to shiver as memories assaulted me, then came the
shouting. One of the officers burst from
behind the shack yelling. He's here.
Gun metal glints in the waning light.
I heard branches snapping frantic footsteps pounding the
dirt. My blood froze.
Could it really be him against my better judgment?
I threw open the car door and scrambled out.
I had no weapon no defense, just a swirl of terrified adrenaline.
I jogged around the shack, heart hammering.
That's when I saw the caretakers silhouette racing between the
trees, the same purposeful stride.
I recognized from The Cellar, detective Mills and two
officers, tore after him, I should have stayed back but I
couldn't. I dashed through the undergrowth
branches clawing at my arms. The caretaker had a head start
weaving through the pines with unsettling agility but a fallen
log tripped him up. He stumbled Mills gained ground
shouting for him to freeze, I caught a glimpse of his face.
Partial half-lit by the flashlight, beam beneath.
All that usual composure was raw panic.
He pulled something from his coat, A Shard of glass, maybe or
a tiny blade Mills. Barely had time to react.
He slashed at her grazing, her arm, then lurched over the log.
The officers struggled to maneuver in the chaos.
I locked eyes with him for a heartbeat, I saw recognition and
fury. I think he realized I was the
one who'd motivated. This chase that I guided them
here then with a guttal hiss, he vanished into the darkness
Beyond the Pines. My vision blurred with tears
breath ragged. Officers scoured, the area for
half an hour shining lights and calling out.
But the caretaker was gone as if he'd melted into the forest.
Detective Mills cursed under her breath, clutched her wounded
arm. I wanted to scream hating that
he'd slipped away again. But as heartbreak threatened to
overwhelm me, I remembered something else.
We'd found that boy Nolan alive. We'd raided the caretakers
stronghold. Retrieved new evidence
disrupted, his sick routine. It was a partial Victory but a
victory. Nonetheless.
Back at the safe house, I nursed a cup of chamomile tea trying to
calm the Tremors in my hands. Mills sat across from me, a
bandage wrapped around her arm. We locked eyes an unspoken
understanding passing between us.
We'd wounded him in more ways than one by invading his lair,
the caretakers prize system was compromised, his new victim,
rescued. He'd be more dangerous now,
perhaps but also more desperate and more likely to slip up.
They say the hospital has transferred Nolan to a secure
Ward and he's making slow progress.
He's terrified haunted but he is also Cooperative every day.
He shares a little more about the caretakers methods.
Small details that might help the police, build a complete
profile. Together with my own fragmented
Memories. The net around.
This monster is tightening. It's not the neat ending.
I dreamed of He's still out there lurking somewhere.
Possibly scouting. Another remote location to
rebuild his Twisted Kingdom. But for the first time, I feel
like I've dealt him a real blow, he's not Invincible detective.
Mills assured me, they'll keep looking federal agencies might
even join in soon, given the severity and pattern of his
crimes. As I settled onto the safe
house, couch that night, exhaustion pulling it.
Every limb, I stared at the locked door and realized
something profound Despite all the bruises, the night, terrors,
The overshadowing Dread. I am here.
I am healing, and I am no longer powerless.
The caretaker might still roam the darkness but he has lost
control of me. More importantly, I've helped
unravel his secret world helped to save at least one life from
his grass. I don't know how long it'll take
for the nightmares to fade. Maybe they never fully will, but
I refuse to let him to find me any longer Detective Mills said,
there's a good chance will catch him soon.
And if we do I plan to stand in that courtroom and tell every
detail of what I endured, I'll give his victims a voice.
Even if that moment of Justice sits on the horizon, I can
imagine it now and imagining, it is the first step toward truly
living again. Endings aren't always tidy but
this one has something I never thought I'd feel again hope.
We're closing in on him and I'm finally standing on the right
side of the door. Free determined and ready to
take back every loss second. And if he ever tries to come
back for me, he'll learn. I'm no longer the scared captive
in a damp cellar. I found my voice my strength and
the caretakers reign of terror is near its end than he ever
bargained for