After hearing all the stories on here, I wanted to write down my
own experience that still freaks me out whenever I think about
it. Just down the road from where I
used to live a few years ago in southeast Australia, there's an
opening that leads into about 100 acres of Woodlands and Bush.
I frequently went there when I was younger to ride camp and do
the usual outdoorsy things. One night around 11:30 PMI was
out driving with my girlfriend. Since we were in the area, I
decided to show her The Woodlands.
She loves everything related to nature and because it was
summer, the night was extremely warm.
I parked my car so the headlights were shining into the
trees as we weren't planning to go very far and it was pitch
black inside. We both sat there chatting,
having a smoke and generally relaxing.
She was sitting on a sort of plastic covered map of the area
and I kept watching the trees because I had a strong feeling
that something wasn't right. I've read posts where people
mentioned feeling like they were in danger even though nothing
around them seemed out of place, and I had that exact same
feeling. Every sense was on high alert
and my adrenaline was up, yet I couldn't see anything unusual in
front of me. After lighting another cigarette
to calm my nerves, I scanned the tree line again and realized it
looked different than before. It took a moment of staring into
the dark to notice that moonlight was now hitting some
grass where there had previously been a black shape blocking the
light, a shape I had assumed was just a tree.
I get goosebumps just typing this, but the only way to
describe the next moment is that all sound suddenly ceased,
leaving everything dead silent. A few seconds later, a horrible
feeling of dread washed over me. I saw something move in the dark
along the path. It was crawling toward us on all
fours. I've seen nearly every animal in
the Outback, and we don't have large predators like they do in
the US or Europe. But I somehow knew this thing
was a predator. It wasn't hiding, it was
deliberately crawling toward us. I don't know if my girlfriend
saw it at first because I couldn't look away.
As soon as it reached the edge of the car's headlights, it rose
up onto 2 legs and just stared at us.
I'm 6 foot four and this thing was about a meter taller than
me, with arms far too long, almost reaching the ground.
Its fur looked off white, almost yellowish, and in the dim light
its head resembled. That of a dog or a wolf.
I couldn't move while it stared at me, but then my girlfriend
gasped, snapping me out of whatever was preventing me from
thinking straight. I grabbed her arm, sprinted to
the car, slammed the doors, and speed away as fast as I could.
We were both too terrified to speak until a good half hour
later. We've discussed it many times
since then. The feeling we had was like what
I imagine a rabbit feels when it sees a wolf or fox watching it.
The realization that this creature could end us with
absolute ease if it chose to. Neither of us has been able to
explain what we saw, but it definitely changed how I view
the woods and Bush. Now whenever I go camping or
hiking, I think back to that night and wonder what it was and
if I'll ever see something like it again.
This is a true encounter and one of the creepier experiences I've
had. And trust me, I've had plenty.
I stumbled across this sub recently, so I thought I'd share
my story here and see if anyone has had similar experiences
anywhere in the US. Back in the summer of 2017, my
girlfriend and I were driving up from Evanston, IL to spend the
weekend at her parents lakefront cottage in Petoskey, MI, a
popular destination for summer retreats.
The drive was about 6 hours, taking us N through the western
half of Michigan. Much of this route goes through
fairly remote areas. Eventually we realized we'd been
on the same single lane highway through dense woods for what
felt like at least 45 minutes. I remember our navigation
showing we were somewhere in the Huron Manistee National Forests.
When I say dense, I mean the tree canopy formed a tunnel over
the narrow Rd. making it seem significantly darker than it
actually was outside. Luckily, Michigan summer days
are long and we still had a couple of hours of daylight
left. While driving, I noticed some
older dilapidated structures in the woods on the right looked
like remains of old sheds or storage buildings.
This is a good time to mention that I'm a bit of a treasure
hunter. I collect historical relics and
old coins. These ruins seemed like a great
place to dig up artifacts that might have been buried for
years. Also, this stretch of Rd. was
deserted, so it was unlikely anyone else had explored the
site recently. Luckily I had my metal detector
in the car. I plan to use it on the beach at
Petoskey. I also had a child shovel one of
those with a neon plastic scoop and a wooden handle for digging
in sand. It wasn't ideal for soil, but I
figured it would do. I told my girlfriend I wanted to
stop for a bit and pulled over onto the shoulder.
She said OK, but preferred to stay in the car and continue
napping. The closest ruins were small and
not too far from the road, but I noticed a larger structure
deeper in the forest and decided to check it out because bigger
buildings, homes, et cetera tend to yield cooler fines.
When I got closer, I saw it was made of brick.
The window openings were still clearly defined, with dirty,
broken glass around the edges. Peering through one window, I
could see that although half of the building had collapsed, part
of the floor was still intact. I could just barely see my car
from there because it was so dark around the ruins.
I left my shovel outside. I wouldn't need it on the
building's hard floor, and used my free hand to hold up my phone
as a flashlight to spot anything metallic.
I snooped around one corner and swept the metal detector around
the interior. The roof was collapsed for about
half an hour. Then I started hearing movement
around me, crunching twigs and rustling bushes.
At first I dismissed it as small animals, but it continued,
almost as though it was following my movements around
the building's perimeter. At that point, the hairs on the
back of my neck stood up. I got the distinct feeling I was
being watched, like some animal was stalking me.
I decided to turn back. I shouted and made loud noises
in hopes of scaring off whatever was there, then cautiously
headed to where I'd left my shovel.
It was gone. I was certain I hadn't misplaced
it. Being neon orange, it would have
been impossible to miss if it were still there in the open.
That was enough to spook me. I said screw it and booked it
back to my car. When I jumped into the driver's
seat, I saw my girlfriend was awake and looked alarmed.
She told me that just a few minutes earlier, she'd seen a
child emerge from the forest and stare at her from several feet
down the road. She described him as a boy of
maybe 7 or 8 with a dirty face and ragged clothes.
She said she was worried the boy might be lost, but the way he
looked at her made her uneasy. She mentioned he didn't seem
scared or curious, but just stared with a gaze that seemed
off for a lost child. She also said she wanted to
notify the police but wasn't comfortable leaving the car or
calling out to the kid who had disappeared by then.
I hadn't yet told her about what happened by the ruins, but my
heart started pounding. While I was looking up the
non-emergency number for the nearest Sheriff's Office on my
phone, my girlfriend suddenly screamed my name.
I looked up to see a boy similar to the one she described
standing at the edge of the woods just a few feet from the
passenger door, staring directly at us.
Then I noticed another boy, identical in appearance, right
outside the back window, peering into the back seat.
That was it for me. I turned on the car and floored
it out of there. After driving for a few seconds,
I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the boys
disappear into the forest as quickly as they'd appeared.
I speed for who knows how long until we were well clear of
those woods. We ended up calling the
Sheriff's Office and they mentioned there had been similar
sightings of children along that stretch of Rd. by other drivers.
Though I never got a very good look.
I agreed with my girlfriend that something was off about those
kids. Their behaviour didn't match
that of normal lost children. Maybe they lived on a secluded
property and were just playing in the woods or trying to steal
our stuff. I've heard of feral children,
which might explain their dirty faces and ragged clothes.
Later at the cottage, I googled similar paranormal sightings.
Apparently melon heads, a band of feral children with enlarged
heads, have been spotted in Michigan's forests only a couple
of hours from where we were. They might also have been Black
Eyed kids, although when I asked my girlfriend if she noticed
black eyes, she said she was sure the boy's eyes weren't
black. She would have remembered that.
Still, his mannerisms as she described them sounded eerily
similar to stories I've read about Beks Black Eyed kids, so
it's a possibility. If anyone has insight into this
or has had similar experiences, I'd love to hear about it.
The whole thing still creeps me out to this day, and on our trip
home from Petoskey, we ended up taking a completely different
route just to avoid going through those woods again.
I remember how the gravel Rd. seemed to stretch on forever
that evening, the sky tinted with the kind of murky orange
that shows up right before night swallows the last bit of
daylight. I was crammed in Uncle Grant's
old SUV with Aunt Beverly and my cousin Jeff, all of us worn out
from the long drive. We were heading to this
supposedly cozy cabin near a lake in northwestern
Pennsylvania for my cousin's wedding weekend.
Everyone acted excited, but there was this electric tension
in the air that I couldn't quite place.
When we finally turned off the main road and reached the
property, I got this weird sensation in my stomach.
The cabin looked older than any photos we'd seen online.
Its porch slanted at an angle, and the wooden steps creaked
under our feet. Something about the way the
trees surrounded the clearing made me feel like we were being
watched. Naturally, I told myself it was
just exhaustion. Aunt Beverly teased me, saying I
was always looking for spooky thrills.
I tried to laugh it off, but I caught myself checking over my
shoulder more than once. Inside, the place had this stale
odor that reminded me of forgotten storage rooms.
Each floorboard groaned whenever someone shifted weight.
The walls were practically bare except for a few faded pictures
of the lake pinned up here and there.
When I flicked the overhead light, it flickered ominously
before settling into a weak glow.
Uncle Grant declared it charming.
Meanwhile, I found myself eyeing odd scratches on the front door,
long, jagged marks that didn't look like normal wear.
I pointed them out and he shrugged.
Said something about a previous tenant's dog, but it didn't feel
right. We set about unpacking a few
groceries. The fridge rattled like it might
give up at any second. Some insects scurried across the
counter, vanishing under a faded dish towel.
I jumped back, feeling my skin crawl, but Jeff just laughed and
handed me a paper towel to shoo them away.
I tried to stay calm, though every clink and squeak in that
house made me more on edge. The wind began to pick up and
the windows rattled, almost like an unseen hand was testing them
from the outside. After a quick dinner, we all
headed for bed, but I wasn't sure if I'd sleep at all.
Uncle Grant stayed up to watch a Late Show on TV, muttering about
wanting to smoke a last cigarette.
I fell into a restless doze on the living room couch with the
sound of crickets outside blending into the hum of the old
TV. Some time passed before I
noticed Uncle Grant quietly slipping out the front door.
I pulled a blanket over my shoulders, trying to drift off
again. I must have dozed, because the
next thing I knew, Uncle Grant was back inside, locking up with
more gusto than usual. He whispered my name, and I sat
up, feeling my pulse thrum harder than it should.
He said he'd heard this loud banging, like someone was
smashing a sheet of metal in the distance, over and over, but
with no rhythm or explanation. No crunch of leaves, no voices,
nothing else. Just those jarring metallic
thuds echoing around the woods. I wanted to tell him it was just
old pipes clanging, or maybe random machinery from a nearby
property, but even I didn't believe myself.
The way he looked, eyes darting from window to window, made it
impossible to dismiss outright. I tried to be the steady one,
telling him not to worry, that it was probably nothing.
Still, every nerve in my body was jumping.
Convinced something about this house and the land around it was
off, he headed to his room and I was left alone in the dimly lit
living area. The television buzzed quietly,
its glow flickering on the wall. Every so often the floor would
make a snapping noise, as though someone was pacing in the
hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing
myself to think of anything else.
I didn't get much rest. Maybe I was waiting for the
banging to start again, or half expecting to hear a knock at the
door. When I did manage to drift off,
I dreamt about silhouettes lurking among the trees, their
outlines barely visible. By the time morning rolled
around, my nerves were shot and we still had another night to
endure in that place. I told myself I was being
paranoid, that everything I felt was just tension from the long
trip. But deep down I suspected there
was more to it, something I couldn't quite identify yet
couldn't ignore. Sunlight streamed through the
windows way too early for my liking.
I'd hardly slept, and I was still on edge from the strange
banging Uncle Grant had heard the night before.
We all trudged into the kitchen for breakfast, quietly picking
at toast and eggs. Nobody wanted to be the first to
admit how tense things felt. Aunt Beverly tried joking about
the crazy raccoons that must have been making a racket
outside. Jeff chimed in with something
sarcastic about Bigfoot, but Uncle Grant kept glancing out
the window like he was expecting something to be lurking just
beyond the tree line. I decided I needed fresh air,
even though the atmosphere outside felt just as heavy.
As I stepped off the porch, the morning chill hit me and I
caught sight of the ground near the car.
There were these odd impressions in the mud, bigger than my
footprints, definitely not shaped like any tracks I'd
recognize. The outline looked elongated,
maybe even distorted, with a few weird indentations that reminded
me of claws. It didn't look like a bear, or
any dog I'd come across. I knelt down, pressing my hand
near one of them for size comparison, and a wave of unease
stirred in me again. My mind was racing with rational
explanations. Maybe the ground had just eroded
weirdly, or some animal's paws had slipped in the rain.
Still, it felt off. I stood there a moment, debating
whether to share it with the others.
Eventually, I settled on keeping it to myself.
I didn't want to add to the tension that was already hanging
over us. We spent most of the afternoon
in a flurry of wedding activities.
It should have been a nice escape, but every time I glanced
at Uncle Grant, I could tell the previous night was still bugging
him. Aunt Beverly kept trying to
lighten the mood, but it never really stuck.
The ceremony went fine. People were laughing, sipping
champagne, and talking about the newlyweds.
If someone noticed our restless energy, they were polite enough
not to mention it. By the time we got back to the
cabin, I was physically exhausted yet oddly wired.
Aunt Beverly and Jeff went straight to their rooms,
complaining about the long day, while Uncle Grant plopped onto
the couch, flicking the TV on for some background noise.
I stood by the window, half heartedly checking out my
reflection. My mind wouldn't let go of those
footprints in the mud. Eventually, I gathered enough
courage to step outside. I told myself I just needed a
moment alone, that I was blowing everything out of proportion.
The back porch light was weak and flickered like it might go
out at any second. The trees formed a dark outline
against the sky, and the distant lake shimmered faintly.
For a moment, I actually felt a hint of calm, like maybe we were
all just tired and spooked over nothing.
Then a voice cut through the stillness, calling my name loud,
urgent, and sounding exactly like Uncle Grant.
The tone was forceful, coming from the direction of the front
yard. My heart thumped painfully, and
I nearly stumbled over my feet. It made no sense.
Uncle Grant was inside, on the couch.
I hadn't heard the front door open, hadn't seen any movement
near the porch, Yet there it was, calling for me again.
The emptiness around the cabin seemed to intensify, as though
everything else had stopped to listen.
I practically leapt for the back door, throwing it open and
racing into the living room. Uncle Grant was there, half
asleep, remote in hand. The TV drones some late night
program, and he blinked in confusion when I rushed in.
My words came out too quickly. Were you outside?
Did you just yell for me? He just stared blankly, shaking
his head. I stood there, trying to steady
my breathing. There was no possible way he
could have been outside yelling my name and then back in front
of the TV in a matter of seconds.
I wanted a reasonable explanation, but my mind kept
circling back to those footprints, the banging, the
oppressive feeling. Something about this place was
off, no matter how skeptical I claimed to be.
Uncle Grant insisted. He hadn't even moved from the
couch. I was left with that eerie echo
of my own name still rattling around in my thoughts.
I couldn't sleep. I tried lying down, but every
little Creek. In the house had me sitting up,
half expecting to hear the voice again.
The air inside felt stifling, and I kept replaying the entire
day in my head. The footprints, the shifting
tension at breakfast, that moment outside when I could have
sworn I heard Uncle Grant. Hours dragged on and I barely
drifted off before dawn light started.
Creeping through the old curtains, looking back, I almost
wish it had just been a prank, some elaborate joke to scare me.
But the fear stirring inside me was too tangible for that.
Something about the cabin and whatever lurked around it wasn't
content to let us enjoy our stay in peace.
And deep down, I already knew the worst part.
We still had another morning to face in this place.
Morning arrived with a Gray, overcast light spilling into the
living room. I could tell my eyes were puffy
from hardly sleeping. Everyone else looked worn out,
too. Uncle Grant looked as though
he'd been pacing all night, his shoulders tight, his knuckles
white as he clutched a mug of cold coffee.
Aunt Beverly and Jeff were uncharacteristically quiet,
practically tiptoeing around the cabin like they didn't want to
set something off. The entire mood was suffocating,
and I just wanted to be gone. I decided to head outside and
check around before we packed up.
Maybe there was some logical explanation waiting out there,
something to rationalize this claustrophobic anxiety.
That's when I noticed the side of the porch railing.
Deep gouges marred the wood. Jagged edges splintered outward.
They seemed too deliberate to be wind damage or an animal trying
to claw its way up. Something about them felt
purposeful, like a wordless warning.
I almost called out for Uncle Grant, but stopped myself,
remembering how bizarre the voice had been the night before.
Instead, I stepped closer, my stomach churning.
Each scratch varied in length, and I could almost swear some
had an odd shape, like crude symbols.
Nothing I recognized, but clearly not random.
It looked fresh, with wood shavings still hanging from the
grooves that sent my pulse racing in a way I couldn't deny.
Scrambling back inside, I found Uncle Grant stuffing clothes
into his suitcase. The moment I mentioned fresh
damage on the railing, he froze. Then, wordlessly, he resumed
tossing things into bags, not bothering to fold or organize.
It was clear we all agreed on one thing.
We needed to leave as soon as possible.
There was no more half joking or rationalizing.
The rush to pack felt frantic. Doors slammed, suitcases thumped
against the wall. Jeff tripped over a stray
extension cord and let out a string of curses that shattered
the quiet. Aunt Beverly hastily grabbed
leftover groceries, practically sprinting to the car.
Every slam of a trunk or click of a door lock seemed too loud,
echoing in the hollow morning air.
I helped load everything, glancing at the perimeter of
trees surrounding the property, convinced something was peering
out from behind the thick trunks.
A brisk wind stirred branches overhead, making the entire area
feel alive and tense. Each time a shadow shifted, my
senses went on high alert, but I never saw anything conclusive,
just suggestions of movement and gloom.
It was enough to keep me on edge until we finally shut the car
doors and turned onto the gravel Rd.
The moment we got a few miles away, my chest felt marginally
lighter, the oppressive heaviness receded, and normal
conversation began to trickle back.
Uncle Grant muttered something about never returning to that
place. Aunt Beverly looked out the
window as if she couldn't believe the last two nights had
happened. Jeff just stared at his phone,
scrolling aimlessly, trying to distract himself.
We all need a distance from whatever had been going on.
When I got back to my own place, I reached out to my friend
Martina. She's the type who devours
Cryptid documentaries and loves scouring obscure Internet
forums. I expected her to laugh off my
story or tease me for getting jumpy.
Instead, she listened intently, occasionally nodding with a
grave expression. The moment I mentioned a voice
that sounded exactly like Uncle Grant's, she cut in and
described stories she'd read about creatures that mimic
people's voices to lure victims out at night.
Although I'd heard rumors of such folklore before, hearing it
tied so closely to my own experience made my stomach not.
Martina explained how these tales often surface in mountain
regions, but she said legends can pop up anywhere dense
forests and remote cabins exist. People vanish under strange
circumstances, leaving behind little trace besides footprints
or curious marks on wood or stone.
That last part stuck with me. The memory of the porch railing.
I recall standing there, thinking how carefully those
scratches had been carved. Later that evening, I scoured
the Internet on my own, reading about disappearances, theories,
and plenty of wild speculation. Not everything felt relevant,
but I stumbled on a few accounts that sounded uncomfortably
familiar. Unexplained knocks, distorted
animal calls or voices mimicking loved ones.
An unsettling number of people wrote that responding to these
calls often LED them deeper into danger.
Ever since, a lingering sense of unease has shadowed me,
especially at night. I'll be in my living.
Room hear a random noise outside and feel my heart pound.
All those rational explanations I once clung to don't hold the
same weight, and while I keep telling myself we got away in
time, I can't stop wondering what might have happened if I'd
followed the voice when it called to me.
Part of me wishes it were a simple case of nerves or an
overactive imagination, yet everything from the footprints
to the metallic banging, the gouges in the wood, and that
echo of my name in the dark suggests something more.
I may never have solid proof, but that experience left a mark.
And I'm sure I'm not the only one who's driven off into the
early morning light, convinced that something unnatural lurked
in the trees behind them, waiting.
That evening, I trudge through the front door feeling grimy
from another 2 long shift at the hardware store.
Everything was routine until I noticed Benny, my bulldog mix,
acting off. Normally he'd pounce around,
eager for attention. Instead, he hovered near the
couch as if expecting trouble. I called his name.
He inched forward but stayed low to the floor, shooting wary
glances at the back door. My girlfriend, Sam glanced up
from her spot in the kitchen, eyebrows raised.
He's been like that for the past hour, she said.
I tried taking him out earlier, but he whined and backed away,
Figured he just sensed another stray cat.
She shrugged, but I picked up on the unease creeping into her
voice, too. I told her I'd handle Benny's
walk, thinking a breath of fresh air might help.
Usually, I step outside and breathe in the swampy odor of
southern Mississippi, that damp mix of mud and Moss.
This time, the yard felt strangely cloaked in silence.
Even the neighborhood frogs and cicadas, my usual nighttime
soundtrack, seemed to be missing.
The porch light buzzed overhead. Casting a faint glow across the
patchy grass, Benny stayed close to my leg as we headed around
the side of the house. Most nights he's fearless,
tugging me toward the fence to sniff out whatever smells nature
left behind. Tonight he looked ready to bolt
at any moment. Still, I kept going, shining a
little flashlight at the ground to avoid stepping on any stray
branches or slick mud. The second we rounded the
corner, something about the air felt oppressive.
I tried to brush it off, blaming it on exhaustion or the
humidity. We reached our usual spot near
the shed, just a basic metal structure that rises about 6
feet high at its peak. Benny did what he came out to
do, but the hair on his back was stiff as bristles.
That's when I noticed movement in the gloom behind the shed.
My focus snapped to a shadow that seemed to stretch taller
than the roof itself. It was like a column of darkness
sliding between the trees. A single heartbeat later, the
shape darted sideways, too fast to be a person, too large to be
any stray dog. Benny let out a strangled Yelp
and bolted. I was so startled I nearly
dropped the flashlight. Trying not to panic, I sprinted
after him, nearly slipping in the damp grass.
Benny reached the porch in record time, scratching at the
door. I grabbed the doorknob, flung it
open, and the two of us tumbled inside.
I collapsed against the wall, pulsed thudding in my ears.
Sam rushed over. What happened?
She asked, eyes darting between Benny and me.
She must have seen my face, because her own expression went
pale. I forced myself to speak, though
the words tangled in my throat. Something's out there, I
managed, avoiding the window as I fumble to lock the door.
Sam reached for Benny, who huddled by her ankles, refusing
to budget. Tension clung to the three of us
like static. I didn't know what I had seen,
only that it moved in a way that defied every logical explanation
I could come up with. I realized we needed to check
the yard before I drove myself nuts imagining possibilities.
Though my instincts screamed to stay put, the pull of curiosity
was too strong. Sam and I exchanged a long look,
both of us unsettled but unwilling to ignore what might
be lurking in the darkness. We decided we had to find out.
If we didn't, the fear would fester all night, gnawing at us.
Flashlights in hand, we prepared to step into that heavy
stillness once more, uncertain whether we'd come back any wiser
or just more terrified. I couldn't just stand by and
wonder what lurked in those trees, so I decided to see if my
neighbor Walter had any idea. He's been around these parts
longer than anyone, plus he keeps a bunch of hunting dogs.
If something unusual was moving through the swamp, he'd probably
have a clue. Sam stayed on our front porch,
flashlight in hand, clearly uneasy about me leaving.
Benny hovered behind her, ears pinned flat.
He usually trailed me everywhere, but not tonight.
After promising I wouldn't be gone long, I headed across the
yard. Hyper aware of the dark shapes
and rustling sounds in the distance, Walter was on his
porch, shining a Lantern around like he expected trouble.
His old hound dogs yapped in their kennels, a nervous,
restless noise. When he spotted me, he waved me
over with a grim nod. You hear anything strange back
there? I asked, trying to keep my voice
even. Walter scratched his beard,
admitting he heard something pacing around the swamp earlier,
but he figured it was an alligator or maybe coyotes.
I explained what happened earlier in my own yard,
including the massive silhouette and the fence that nearly got
rocked off its hinges. Walter's expression shifted.
He dealt with all manner of local wildlife, but my story put
him on edge. Without a word, he picked up a
rifle. Even though he's a seasoned
hunter, something about his posture told me he wasn't ready
for what we might find. We crept along the fence line at
the back of his property. The moonlight was faint, but it
was enough to see the twisted trunks of Cypress trees and the
murky water gathered around their roots.
Every so often I heard this squelching, like something large
was shifting in the mud. Deeper in the swamp.
Walter and I edged forward, flashlights darting across the
undergrowth. The dogs kept barking and my
nerves were on edge. The next moment, the fence
between US and the swamp rattled so violently that my ears rang
from the impact. The whole thing quivered as
though struck by a truck, boards grinding in protest.
Walter reflexively fired a shot into the darkness.
We peered through the beams of our flashlights, but nothing
moved. No footprints, no sign of an
animal. Still, we sensed a presence,
something nearby watching. Then we heard a voice.
At least it sounded like a voice, but in a language I'd
never heard. It was garbled, wet, and seemed
to echo from all directions. Walter's breath caught.
This was obviously new territory for him, too.
I took an involuntary step back. Every instinct told me we were
in deep trouble, messing with something that knew these
marshes better than we did. Walter motioned for me to get
out of there, so I didn't argue. We hurried back toward his
house, flashlights bouncing wildly off the trees.
My lungs felt tight, adrenaline crashing through my veins.
By the time we got to his back porch, the fence was still
rattling, even though no one and nothing stood there.
I shot one last look over my shoulder.
The swamp was silent again, but not in any comforting way.
It felt more like waiting. Walter gave me a stiff nod,
letting me know he'd be OK, though I could see fear etched
on his face. I sprinted home, heart pounding,
desperate to get behind locked doors and figure out how I was
going to keep my family safe from something that defied
explanation. The second I stepped onto my own
porch, Sam rushed into my arms. Benny finally inched forward,
tail low, as if he could sense how spooked I was.
I told them both what happened, though my words spilled out in
pieces. All I knew was that everything
had changed. This swamp we'd called home for
so long was hiding something, and it was closer than any of us
wanted to believe. No more than 10 minutes had
passed since I'd sprinted home from Walter's place.
I tried to steady my breathing, but it stayed ragged as Sam and
I hovered by the kitchen table. Benny refused to leave my side,
pacing in circles with his eyes fixed on the doorway.
I was in the middle of telling Sam every horrible detail when
the entire house lurched like a sudden earthquake had hit our
tiny patch of land. Windows rattled.
A bang so intense that my insides twisted around each
other rippled through the neighborhood.
A brief flicker in the power caused the overhead light to
dim, then sputter back to life. Sam dropped her phone, and Benny
whimpered in confusion. I ran to the window, expecting
to see flames or some sign of destruction, but there was only
darkness and that eerie quiet. Several neighbors gathered in
the street almost instantly, flashlights bouncing over the
asphalt. Walter emerged from his house
looking frazzled, rifle still clutched in his grip.
One of the neighbors, an older woman named Jeannie, pointed
into the swamp, swearing she'd noticed some flickering blue
glow in the distance right before the explosion.
Others mumbled about feeling the ground shake beneath them.
The way everyone's voices trembled told me we were all
grappling with the same sinister thought.
Something unnatural resided out there and it was getting bolder.
Sam and I joined the group the moment we set foot beyond the
lawn. An uneasy prickling sensation
crept over my skin, as if we were all being observed.
Nobody had an explanation. Any conversation about it or
whatever's out there just trailed off.
In that silence, the swamp loomed, soaked in shadows and
stillness. Police arrived soon after, a
pair of officers with tense expressions.
They questioned. Us in turn jotting down notes.
When Walter told them about the fence being slammed by an
invisible force, they exchanged a look that practically screamed
they wanted no part in chasing something through a swamp at
night. Even hearing about the
unintelligible voice left them shifting on their feet.
By the time they finished taking statements, it was clear they
were going to file their report and head out, not stick around
to figure out the cause of that detonation.
Once the patrol car disappeared down the street, we all realized
we had no one else to rely on. People retreated to their homes,
locking doors that had never been locked before in this small
community. Walter shot me a knowing glance.
His presence had always been a comfort, like he'd protected
this neighborhood for decades, but now he appeared just as
spooked as the rest of us. Sam and I hurried back inside,
triple checking every window latch.
Benny stationed himself near the front door, hackles raised,
ready to spring. The residue of that massive bang
still hung in the air, leaving my nerves on edge.
Every little creak of the house sounded magnified.
Every distant rustle in the yard made me tense up.
Time crawled. We clicked on every lamp,
determined to ward off the oppressive darkness outside.
No official explanation ever surfaced for the blast.
Neighbors whispered about illegal activities in the swamp,
but even the more skeptical folks couldn't ignore the
stories trickling through our small cluster of homes, Stories
of a colossal shape weaving through the murk and a voice
that belonged to no person. Days later, I was still peeking
Outback windows whenever night fell.
The entire place felt different, like we'd stirred up an ancient
hornet's nest. Every so often I recalled the
colossal figure near my shed, the way the fence shook at
Walter's place, and the terrifying language echoing
through the undergrowth. I never got answers and maybe
that made it worse knowing something monstrous might still
be roaming those. Swampy woods, waiting for the
right moment to let us know it was still there.
It all started with the way the sky turned that yellowish Gray
color right before the clouds open up.
I was sitting in our cramped living room, listening to the
wind rattle the window frames, waiting for my parents to say
goodbye before they drove off to their gig.
The house wasn't much more than some creaky boards glued
together with mismatched nails, and every storm felt like a
personal attack on its fragile structure.
My younger brother Eric was at the kitchen table, coloring in
some old magazine pages since we didn't have real coloring books.
The tension in the air made everything feel off.
When my folks finally headed out, I watched from the screen
door as their beat up sedan disappeared along the rain slick
dirt Rd. The plan was for Eric and me to
camp out in the living room, maybe watch an old VHS tape if
the power didn't conk out. Instead I just paced around the
tiny space, eyes darting to the windows every time the wind made
them shudder. The storm was getting worse by
the minute, fat drops pounding the roof, Thunder rolling
through the valley like distant explosions.
I decided to check on Moose, our so-called guard dog.
He was more lanky than intimidating, and my dad had
tied him to a rusted engine block on the screened porch.
It wasn't pretty, but it kept him from wandering off.
Moose was usually pretty mellow, spending his days flopped on the
porch, only barking at random shadows now and then.
Tonight, though, the wind had him shifting around, ears back,
tail tucked. The second I opened the porch
door to see if he was OK, it nearly blew off its hinges.
Letting in a gust of wet air that chilled the entire front
hall, Moose perked up, probably wondering if I was taking him
inside, but my dad never allowed that.
Before I could check the knots on his chain, the wind slammed
again. This time, the front door's
flimsy latch gave way, and it wrenched completely loose from
the frame. It felt like a giant had peeled
it back just for fun. Moose freaked out and jerked
against the chain, which scraped along the concrete floor of the
porch with a shrill metallic sound.
By the time I turned around, he was already lunging outside,
trailing that chain behind him. The sight of our only watchdog
bolting into a raging storm sent a jolt of panic straight through
my gut. I slammed a foot against the
door, what was left of it anyway, just to keep more rain
from rushing in. Eric, eyes wide, stood in the
hallway, his little hands clenched in fear.
I had this moment of indecision. Should I chase Moose?
Should I stay inside and hope he came back?
My parents would never believe I'd done everything I could if
that dog went missing and Eric was too young to help.
So I told him to stay put and not open any doors no matter
what. We didn't have a real lock to
secure the front, just a rusty hook latch that hung crooked
from the wood, but it was the best we could do.
I grabbed my father's giant rubber boots from the corner.
They nearly swallowed my legs, but they were the only
protection I had from the ankle deep water forming outside.
No flashlight insight. Either I forgot in the rush or I
was too rattled to think straight.
The wind roared like it was daring me to come out, and I
did. The rain hit me so hard it might
as well have been hail. It felt like the storm was
trying to drive me back into the house, but I forced my way
across the yard, yelling Moose's name.
A flash of lightning revealed a quick glimpse of him scrambling
down the back slope, heading for the Creek.
That Creek was already more of a raging stream from the downpour,
and our makeshift bridge was basically 2 planks set across
the bank. I let out a shaky breath, not
that it helped, and charged after him.
Mud sucked at my boots with each step, and Thunder pounded
overhead. I could see branches flailing,
the trees bent at unnatural angles.
Everything looked like it might snap at any second.
Despite the roaring wind, I managed to pick out the scrape
of Moose's chain. It guided me like a beacon,
though it was faint and easily drowned out by each Thunder
clap. I lost track of time stomping
through the yard. Maybe it was a minute, maybe 10.
Finally, I reached the Creek just as another jagged bolt of
lightning streaked across the sky.
The old planks were slick and crooked, but I had no choice.
I gingerly stepped on the wood, praying I wouldn't slip into the
raging water. For a split second, I glanced
behind me toward the house. The dim glow from our living
room window was barely visible through the sheets of rain.
I wished I could turn around and retreat, but Moose was out there
alone, and that thought twisted my stomach.
So I pushed on, crossing the bridge in two large strides,
boots squelching loudly. The sound of Moose's chain
seemed further up toward the mountain.
The slope beyond the Creek was a tangle of briars and soggy
leaves, and it didn't help that darkness clung to every inch of
the forest. 1 misstep and I'd be sliding down into the water, or
worse. Still, it was better than going
home empty handed to face my father's wrath.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep moving.
Overhead, Thunder boomed again, so powerful it rattled my ribs.
The forest ahead swayed as if alive, full of silhouettes
shifting against each other. Something about it felt
unnatural, like it was quietly waiting for me, bidding its
time. My pulse hammered away, and my
thoughts spun with every possible bad scenario.
All I knew was Moose was out there, and I had to find him
before something else did. I gritted my teeth, hands
shaking, and started up the slope.
If I were lucky, Moose was just around the bend, maybe tangled
in a Bush. If not, well, I tried not to
think about that. Either way, there was no going
back. I trudged forward, the roar of
the storm making every step feel like I was venturing deeper into
another world. The Creek was just behind me,
its water raging loud enough to drown out almost everything else
I'd crossed on those slippery planks, heart pounding in my
ears, so it took me a second to realize that Moose's chain had
gone quiet. The silence felt wrong.
Somehow. Even with the rain pounding
leaves and the Thunder crashing above, I had this deep sense
that something out here was holding its breath.
I kept calling Moose's name, my voice ragged.
A flash of lightning lit the trees for an instant, revealing
the chaos of the forest floor. Tangled undergrowth, small
streams of runoff winding between boulders and everything
slicked with water. No sign of Moose.
I pushed on, boots squelching in ankle deep mud.
The wind whistled between branches, almost like it was
whispering warnings I couldn't quite understand.
After another minute of struggling uphill, that smell
hit me. It was a stench so foul my
throat seized in protest, like rotting meat left out in the
summer heat. I'd come across dead animals
before, out in the Appalachian wilderness, but this was
different. It was stronger, like a carcass
that had been there a week or more, oozing and attracting
flies. Except I couldn't hear any
flies, just the thumping of the storm around me.
Whatever it was, it made me want to turn around and run.
But I forced myself to keep going.
If Moose had gotten hurt or tangled somewhere, I couldn't
leave him. My eyes watered from the vile
odor, and the mud sucked at each step.
A branch snapped overhead, making me jump like something
had stepped on it. I whipped around, but all I saw
was the black swirl of the forest in the downpour.
I tried to swallow back the dread and called out again.
Moose. My voice came out sounding
desperate, bouncing off wet trunks.
The Thunder grumbled its response.
No chain sounds, no whining dog, nothing.
Lightning flashed once more, cutting the darkness for maybe
half a second. In that brief light, I spotted
something pale on the ground a few yards away.
My stomach churned as I took a cautious step closer.
It looked like an animal's rib cage, possibly a deer's, picked
clean to the bone. The edges were dark and ragged,
as if something had gnawed on them.
Rainwater and mud slicked the remains, making the bones gleam
unnaturally. I felt a wave of nausea, but
terror kept me from throwing up. The wind gusted hard, and the
leaves overhead thrashed as though furious I was still
there. I realized the smell might be
coming from that carcass, but it felt like there was more to it,
like something else was in the air beyond just death.
Something old and malevolent. Then lightning illuminated the
area once again, but this time I noticed that certain patches of
the forest weren't lighting up at all.
It was as if a section of the trees had been painted with ink
so black the light refused to touch it.
I blinked, trying to clear rainwater from my eyes, certain
it had to be a trick of shadows. Except it stayed there, a dense
void where tree trunks and undergrowth should have been.
Suddenly, I heard a barking frenzy.
My head snapped to the right, and in the dim, stuttering
light, Moose bounded into view, chain clattering on rocks.
He was soaked and wild eyed, barking at that patch of
darkness. I yelled his name again, voice
cracking in relief. He kept barking, the chain
tangling around his legs as he inched closer to the void.
Every instinct in me screamed to keep him away from whatever that
was. I stumbled forward, arms
flailing for balance, and managed to snatch the chain just
before he lunged. Moose's hackles were raised, and
a low growl rattled in his throat.
The barking stopped abruptly, as if he realized we were both in
serious danger. Then a low rumble echoed from
higher up the slope, a sound deeper than any animal I'd
encountered. It felt like it vibrated through
my ribs, so heavy I nearly lost my balance in the mud.
That was enough for both of us. I yanked Moose back and we
started downhill. Calling it a retreat would be an
understatement. It was a panic scramble.
The ground seemed determined to keep us there, slipping under my
feet every time Lightning revealed tree limbs.
We jerked around them, half expecting something massive to
burst through the brush. Moose fought the chain in
terror, but for once, he and I were on the same page.
We needed to get out of there, and fast.
The descent was a blur of snapping twigs and thorns
slicing at my arms. Rain plastered my hair to my
face, forcing me to wipe my eyes constantly.
I barely kept track of Moose's chain in my hand.
A flash of lightning was followed by the biggest boom of
Thunder I'd heard all night. It rattled the leaves off nearby
branches. The steep slope made me feel
like I was skiing on wet leaves. My boots slipped and I nearly
fell face first into the muck. Behind me, a loud crash echoed
like a gigantic branch broke under tremendous weight.
Maybe it was just the wind, or maybe it was whatever made that
growl. I didn't even want to look back.
The only thing that mattered was getting Moose and me across that
Creek and back to the house. When I finally spotted the Creek
below, lightning flickered again.
For a split second, I swear I glimpsed a tall, vaguely
distorted shape higher up on the slope.
The very air around it seemed to bend.
I squeezed Moose's chain, practically dragging him the
last few yards. The planks that served as our
bridge looked even more rickety now, half submerged by the
swollen water. With no real plan, I splashed
across, water sloshing into my boots.
Moose leapt beside me, spattering mud everywhere.
Another vicious gust hammered the trees, and I heard a crunch
of wood. My imagination, or maybe not,
conjured the idea that something huge was only a dozen yards
behind us, snapping branches in its path.
I didn't wait to confirm. Moose and I stumbled back into
what was left of our yard, the faint glow from the house's
window like a beacon. My legs burned with exhaustion
and my lungs stung from breathing so hard.
The storm still raged, but as awful as it was, it felt safer
than whatever lurked deeper in the forest.
The door had swung shut behind me when I left, and I could see
Eric's small face pressed to the glass, eyes large.
He was waiting, probably Terrified, Moose and I darted up
the muddy slope to the porch. I nearly collapsed onto the
door, fumbling to get it open. My hands shook so badly I could
barely work the latch. Finally it gave and we toppled
inside. I slammed the door behind us,
though there wasn't much left of it to bolt.
Rain dripped. From my clothes in a steady
trail, Moose shook himself, spraying water all over.
Still breathing hard, I pressed my ear to the door, half
expecting something to slam against it, but all I heard was
the storm raging outside. Eric stood by the dim lamp on
the side table, looking so small that my heart hurt to see him.
He opened his mouth to ask a question, maybe about what
happened out there, but I just raised a hand, still gasping.
There was nothing I could say that would make sense, not yet.
Instead, I walked over to the window, parted the threadbare
curtain a fraction, and looked out into the darkness.
My eyes strained to spot any movement or shape.
The rain blurred everything into a shifting mess of shadows, yet
I couldn't shake the idea that something was still out there,
watching, listening, waiting. In that moment, the storm
outside no longer felt like the biggest threat.
Something else was lurking in the Appalachian Mountains that
night, and I'd come terrifyingly close to it.
I had no clue what it was or how it had stayed hidden.
All I knew was that we'd barely gotten away, and I didn't want
to test our luck twice. By morning, I was running on
fumes. I'd spent most of the night in
the living room, fighting the urge to fall asleep.
Eric dozed in a chair with Moose curled at his feet, a rare
moment of calm for that dog who was still damp from our Sprint
through the storm. The rain finally started letting
up at sunrise, and it gave me just enough courage to crack
open the busted door and peer out.
The yard looked waterlogged and torn up, like a battleground of
mud and broken branches. Before I could decide whether to
investigate the Creek, my parents barged in, complaining
about the warped door. My dad, wearing an old denim
jacket spotted with rain, took one glance at the wood we'd
rigged as a latch and muttered something about lousy
craftsmanship before turning on me.
He wanted to know why the door was off its frame, why
everything smelled like wet dog, and what had happened during the
night. My explanation came out rushed
and jumbled. Moose ran off.
I chased him. The.
Storm was insane. Something in the woods.
He cut me off with a wave of his hand.
The expression on his face said he was in no mood for what he
believed were wild stories. He turned around and stomped out
the door, grumbling that he'd check for any real damage and
see if any punks messed with our stuff.
My mother followed, giving me a tired look that hovered between.
Concern and annoyance. I stood there, knuckles sore
from gripping Moose's chain so tight the night before.
A part of me wanted to just let my dad go, but my gut told me I
should see what he found at the Creek.
The memory of that snarling sound, the rotten smell and the
impossible darkness clung to my mind like a stain.
Eric stayed inside to calm Moose while I stepped out into the
dreary morning. Rain still dripped from the
gnarled trees overhead. The sky was a dull grey that
made everything look washed out except for scattered piles of
shattered wood leading toward the Creek.
I followed the splinters, my boots sliding in patches of
thick mud. My parents were already ahead,
picking their way down the slope.
The bridge, or what was left of it, looked like something had
crushed and shredded it overnight.
Chunks of rotted plank lay in the swollen water, and jagged
spikes stuck up at odd angles. My dad crouched on the muddy
bank, running his hand over a broken piece.
His lips tightened in anger. Kids with no respect, he said
under his breath, though he didn't explain how any kid could
have snapped boards in such a savage way.
My mom glanced over at me, her eyebrows raised.
She hadn't said much since we got here, just stared at the
destruction with a pale face. I could see the gears turning in
her head, trying to reconcile this with the idea of some
troublemakers running around in the rain.
It didn't fit, and I think she knew it, but she wasn't about to
admit it out loud. The smell of decay had faded
somewhat, replaced by the dank odor of morning fog and wet
earth, but I couldn't shake the memory of it.
I shuffled closer to the water, scanning the opposite bank.
The forest beyond seemed calm, just dripping leaves in the
faint Babble of the Creek in broad daylight.
There was no sign of that strange void or the presence I
sensed before. It was like the mountain had
returned to its usual self, just another stretch of Appalachians
brimming with wild critters and tall trees.
My dad grabbed a loose plank and threw it aside.
He gestured for me to come over and pointed at deep scratches
along the wood. Teeth marks.
He snapped, as though I was the expert.
The edges were jagged, as if something had gnawed or torn at
the plank with an unbelievable force.
He shook his head. Beavers, maybe, he mumbled,
though I'd never heard of Beavers large enough to snap a
thick board in one bite. He stood up, rubbing his hands
on his jacket. Looking over the muddy mess.
I'll have to fix this, he said, then shot me a glare.
Next time, keep that dog under control.
We can't afford to replace everything.
He tears up. I wanted to argue, to tell him
it wasn't Moose, but I could already see the disbelief in his
eyes. He'd made-up his mind that local
hoodlums or some oversized animal caused all the chaos.
We made our way back toward the. House, my dad, muttering plans
to gather more wood and reinforce the place.
My mom trailed behind him, arms crossed.
I suspected she had questions about what really happened, but
she stayed quiet. I had a bunch of questions
myself, and none of them had good answers.
Inside, Eric was petting Moose, who seemed exhausted, like he
had no fight left. The dog wouldn't even look at
the door, and every time a gust of wind shook the house, he
pressed himself tighter against Eric's legs.
My parents wanted breakfast and coffee, so they shoot us out of
the kitchen. We ended up back in the living
room, facing the window that gave a perfect view of the yard
and the dripping woods beyond. Eric whispered.
Was it a bear? I shook my head, not sure how to
respond. A bear might tear up a plank,
sure, but the snarl I'd heard on the slope wasn't quite animal.
I thought about telling him everything.
The black void, the smell, the mangled carcass, I saw, But I
couldn't bring myself to terrify him even more.
We'd barely slept as it was. The day rolled on, dull and
gloomy. With my parents hauling tools
out to patch up the front door, I stood in the yard, eyes
drifting toward the tree line. In normal weather, it was just a
typical patch of forest, crowded with ferns and oak trees,
occasional deer tracks. Now I pictured the twisted
remains of the bridge and that unnatural darkness hidden
somewhere up the slope, waiting for another storm or another
unwary wanderer. My mom called me to help with
the door, so I wandered back and hammered nails where my dad
pointed, trying not to think about the place beyond the
Creek. It felt like just a few short
hours ago. We've been running for our
lives, certain that something monstrous was on our heels.
But with the daylight creeping in, nobody wanted to mention it.
Nobody wanted to believe anything unexplainable lurked
this close to our house. Eventually, when the door was
half fixed, my parents turned their attention to the yard and
started ranting about muddy footprints and the battered
porch. The tension in the house was
like a tightening knot. Nobody felt safe, but we all
pretended it was just a typical morning after a storm.
I retreated to my room for a bit, peeling off the filthy
clothes I still had on. Part of me wanted to ask if we
could leave even for a day, Go stay with someone else until the
weather cleared, but we barely had enough gas money to get my
parents to their gig. They weren't about to up and
vacate the house because of one scary night.
I kept glancing out my window, half expecting a sudden movement
near the tree line. Nothing showed, just water
dripping from branches and leftover fog hugging the base of
the mountains. Under a normal sky, it might
even look serene, but I'd seen what the night could hide.
My heart thudded every time I remembered that rumbling growl
echoing through the storm. The next few hours dragged on.
Eric tried to calm Moose with bits of food, but the dog
wouldn't leave his side. My parents acted like the real
villain was the wind, or maybe some vandals who'd chosen the
worst weather possible to play pranks.
Nobody acknowledged that the broken bridge splintered into
fragments was too extreme for a casual prank.
Nobody wanted to confront the idea that something beyond
ordinary had trampled those planks into matchsticks.
Once the evening arrived, a sick feeling settled in my stomach.
The sky was clearing, stars beginning to peek out.
Normally, I'd be relieved to see no more rain, but a clear night
meant every dark corner of the forest stood out in sharp
detail. I caught myself scanning the
window again, searching the edges for any shape that didn't
belong. There was no sign of that
darkness or the stench of decay, yet I couldn't convince myself
it was truly gone. The Appalachians had plenty of
hidden corners, caves, and hollows where something could
live without being disturbed. Maybe it only came out in
storms, or maybe we'd simply stumbled upon its territory at
the wrong moment. I hated not knowing.
I helped Eric settle in for the night, keeping Moose next to us.
We sat on the worn couch, lights off, just quietly looking at the
window. Sometimes you can feel safer in
the dark if you think nothing can see you Yet I was aware of
everything, every Creek in the rafters, every gust of wind
outside. A branch scraped the roof and I
nearly jumped. But no monstrous shadow loomed
at the window, no chain rattling chase played out in the yard.
When my parents finally turned in, the house fell into an
uneasy silence. Eric drifted to sleep
eventually, arms wrapped around Moose like a security blanket.
I sat there, staring past their forms at the night beyond the
window, gripping the couch cushions until my fingers hurt.
The moonlight made the tree line visible, turning the shapes of
trunks and tangled branches into black silhouettes.
Part of me tried to believe nothing was out there, but it
was a hollow belief. Somewhere in those mountains,
something was waiting, something I'd practically run headlong
into when chasing moose. Something that snapped planks,
left bones in the mud, and made a sound that shook the ground
like a tremor. I just prayed it wasn't peering
back this way, remembering my scent.
The idea sent my heart rattling in my chest.
And so I sat through the night, wide awake, glancing at the
window every time a breeze stirred a branch.
If the thing from the storm decided to come back, I knew our
patched up door wouldn't be enough to keep it out, but all I
could do was cling to hope that daylight would keep it at Bay.
That maybe this horror was finished with us, or at least
satisfied enough to leave us alone for a while longer.