I'd always been a sucker for the great outdoors.
The smell of pine, the rustle of leaves under foot, the promise
of solitude. It was a sirens call I couldn't
resist. Today was supposed to be no
different. A TikTok video had shown me the
way to some rare fungi and I was hell bent on finding them.
A modernday treasure hunt if you will.
I parked my truck by the trailhead, laced up my boots,
and set off with a sense of purpose.
The main trail was familiar, almost comforting, with its well
worn path and occasional markers.
But today I had my sights set on something less traveled, a side
trail that promised the kind of adventure you can't find on a
map. The moment I stepped off the
main trail, I felt it a shift, subtle but palpable.
The air grew thicker, the silence deeper.
I shrugged it off, attributing it to the thrill of the unknown.
But as I ventured deeper, I couldn't shake the feeling that
something was off. It took me a while to put my
finger on it, and when I did, it sent a chill down my spine.
The trees, they were all the same, identical down to the last
twig and leaf. It was as if someone had taken a
single tree and copied it over and over, filling this part of
the forest with its clones. It was unnatural, Eerie, like
walking through a hall of mirrors where every reflection
is a towering pine. I should have turned back then,
but curiosity is a powerful force.
I convinced myself that it was a trick of the light, an illusion
born of solitude. I pressed on my eyes, scanning
the forest floor for the elusive fungi that had lured me here.
But the deeper I went, the more disoriented I became.
The identical trees seem to close in on me, their sameness
disorienting like a maze with no exit.
And then, as if on cue, the sky turned.
Clouds rolled in thick and inky, blotting out the sun.
In a matter of minutes the forest grew dark, the air heavy
with the promise of a storm. I looked up, and through the
thick canopy I saw the sky churn with an unnatural energy.
Shapes formed and dissolved in the clouds, as if something was
roiling within them. Panic set in.
I knew I had to get out, find shelter before the heavens broke
open. But in a forest of identical
trees, every direction looked the same.
I was lost, disoriented, a lone wanderer in a forest that defied
the laws of nature. Just as I was about to give in
to despair, a deafening crack of Thunder shook the sky.
It was a sound so primal, so terrifying, that it jolted me
out of my paralysis. I knew I had to move, and fast.
I turned back toward what I hoped was the direction of the
main trail, my heart pounding in my chest as I broke into a run.
The first raindrops began to fall, heavy and cold, like the
fingers of some unseen giant reaching down to claim me.
And that's when I heard it. A sound that would haunt me for
the rest of my life. A wet slapping noise, like bare
feet on mud coming from behind me, growing louder with each
step I took. I ran, my breath ragged, my fear
absolute knowing that something was coming for me, something
born of this cursed forest. And as I ran, the storm broke
open, unleashing A torrential downpour that would become my
baptism into a nightmare I could never have imagined.
The rain was a deluge now, each drop a miniature missile
stinging my skin. As I barreled down the trail,
the Thunder roared again, a monstrous growl that seemed to
shake the very ground beneath me.
But it was the other sound, that wet slapping against the mud,
that drove me to the edge of terror.
It was getting closer, and whatever it was, it was fast.
I had no time to think, only to run.
The trail twisted and turned a labyrinth in the darkening
forest. My boots slipped in the mud.
My breaths came out in ragged gasps, but I pushed on.
I had to. The alternative was unthinkable.
Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, I
slipped. My foot caught on a root, and I
went sprawling into the mud, my world a blur of earth and sky.
For a split second I lay there stunned, the rain pelting down
on me like a shower of icy needles.
It was a flash of lightning that saved me in that brief, blinding
moment I saw it, the outline of a cabin just a few yards ahead,
a haven in the storm, a chance for survival.
I scrambled to my feet, my body screaming in protest, and lunged
forward. But as I did, I heard it again,
That wet slapping sound now accompanied by something new.
The crashing of trees, the splintering of wood, as if
something or someone was tearing through the forest, obliterating
everything in its path. My heart sank.
Whatever it was, it was almost upon me.
I reached the cabin and practically threw myself against
the door, my hands fumbling for a knob, a latch, anything.
To my immense relief, the door swung open, and I stumbled
inside, slamming it shut behind me.
I was in darkness now, but it was a darkness.
I welcomed, A barrier between me and the terror outside.
I leaned against the door, my breaths coming out in shallow
sobs, my body trembling from exertion and fear.
I fumbled in the dark, my hands finally finding a bolt, and I
slid it into place with a sense of finality.
I was safe, at least for the moment, but even as I stood
there trying to catch my breath, I heard it.
The sound of trees crashing just outside the cabin.
Each thud A seismic event that seemed to shake the very walls
around me. And then, above it all, that
dreadful wet slapping, now so close it was, as if it were
right outside the door. I backed away, my eyes straining
to adjust to the darkness, my mind racing.
The cabin was my sanctuary, but it was also a trap, a single
room with no other exits, no place to hide.
I was cornered, and I knew it, and that's when it came.
A loud slam against the door, so violent it made the whole cabin
shutter. A scream followed, a sound so
shrill and inhuman it seemed to Pierce my very soul.
I was not alone, and whatever was out there it wanted in.
The slam against the door reverberated through the cabin
like a gunshot, leaving a silence so thick you could cut
it with a knife. I stood there, frozen, my back
pressed against the far wall. The bolt held, but for how long?
Whatever was outside had just announced its presence with a
violence that left no room for doubt.
It was strong, and it was angry. I forced myself to move, my
eyes, scanning the room for anything that could help me.
The cabin was a time capsule of neglect, its wooden walls aged
and weathered, its furniture reduced to a single overturned
table and a couple of broken chairs.
Dust hung in the air, visible in the slivers of light that
penetrated the boarded up windows.
It was a place forgotten by time, but I had no luxury to
ponder its history. I was writing my own, and it
felt like a final chapter. My eyes settled on the windows.
They were old, their glass tinged with the grime of years,
but they were intact. I moved cautiously toward one,
my ears straining for any sound from outside.
The rain was still coming down in sheets, a curtain of water
that distorted everything. I wiped a small patch clean and
peered out, my heart pounding in my chest.
Lightning flashed, and for a split second the world outside
was illuminated in stark relief. And there it was, a figure
crouched just beyond the window, its form of grotesque parody of
the human shape. But it was the head that caught
my eye, a deer skull, empty socket, staring back at me.
The sight was so shocking, so utterly unnatural, that I
stumbled back, a scream catching in my throat.
The figure moved, its form blurring in the darkness, and I
knew I had been seen. I was out of time.
My eyes darted around the room, desperate for a way out.
And that's when I saw it. The fireplace.
It was old, it's hearth filled with the ashes of long
extinguished fires, but it offered a glimmer of hope.
Could I fit? Could I climb up and out,
escaping this nightmare through the chimney?
I had no time to weigh the odds. I lunged for the fireplace just
as another slam shook the cabin, this one so powerful it seemed
to lift the whole structure off its foundation.
I heard wood splinter, nails groan, and I knew the door
wouldn't hold much longer. I scrambled into the fireplace,
my hands grasping at the brick interior, my feet finding
purchase on the narrow ledge. I began to climb, each movement
a battle against gravity and fear.
I was a few feet up when I heard it, the sound of wood giving
way, the crash of a door flying off its hinges.
It was followed by a thud, heavy and final, as if something had
just landed inside. I froze, my body pressed against
the chimneys, narrow walls, my breath shallow and rapid.
I was cornered like an animal in a trap, and as I clung there,
suspended between hope and despair, I knew one thing with
chilling certainty. It was inside, and it was coming
for me. My muscles screamed with each
inch I climbed, my fingers digging into the soot covered
bricks. I was a few feet up the chimney,
but it felt like miles. My mind raced with thoughts of
escape, of somehow reaching the top and pulling myself out into
the storm. But even that grim prospect was
better than facing whatever had just entered the cabin.
Then I heard it, the slow, deliberate thud of footsteps on
the wooden floor below. Each step was a seismic event,
shaking the very foundation of the cabin and sending a fresh
wave of terror through me. I held my breath, praying that
it wouldn't look up, that it wouldn't discover my desperate
hiding place. The smell hit me first, a putrid
mix of earth and rot tinged with the metallic scent of blood.
It filled the narrow chimney, choking me, making my eyes,
water and my stomach churn. I gagged my body, convulsing
involuntarily, and that's when I heard it.
A low growl, a sound so full of malice it seemed to freeze my
very blood. I looked down, and through the
darkness I saw it, its head thrust into the fireplace, it's
empty sockets staring up at me. It's snarled, a sound of pure,
primal hunger, and began to climb.
I scrambled higher, my movements frantic, my hands slipping on
the sooty bricks. I was running out of chimney,
running out of time. My arms ached, my legs trembled,
but I pushed on, driven by pure adrenaline and terror.
I could hear it below me, its movement slower but no less
determined, its growls echoing up the narrow shaft.
Then, just when I thought I couldn't go any further, my hand
found something. A ledge.
A break in the chimney just big enough for me to crawl into.
I pulled myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, and
squeezed into the narrow space. I was trapped, cornered, but at
least I was out of reach. Or so I thought.
I heard it snarl, a sound of frustration and rage.
And then, to my horror, I felt it.
The chimney walls shaking, bricks dislodging, falling past
me in a shower of soot and dust. It was tearing the chimney
apart, its strength unimaginable, its determination
relentless. I press myself into the ledge,
my body shaking, my mind numb with terror.
I knew I couldn't escape, couldn't climb any higher.
I was stuck, and it was only a matter of time.
As I sat there, waiting for the end, my phone buzzed, its screen
lighting up, the darkness battery low.
It flashed and then went dark, my last link to the outside
world. Gone.
And that's when I heard it. A final, triumphant growl
followed by the sound of bricks giving way, tumbling down into
the fireplace below. It was coming.
It's assent now, unimpeded. It's victory assured.
As I sat there, my body paralyzed with fear, I knew one
thing with chilling clarity. I was not alone.
I've always felt at home in the woods.
The smell of damp earth, the rustle of leaves under foot, the
distant chatter of woodland creatures.
It's like a Symphony to me. My name's Rick, and I've been
hunting in the Ozarks since I was old enough to hold a rifle.
But this trip was different. It had a different air about it,
like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
Jeremiah, my best friend since grade school, was with me.
He's Choctaw, and his family's been in these parts longer than
anyone can remember. We were packing up my truck,
stowing away our 3030 Marlins .44 Magnums and hunting knives.
We had tags for almost anything that moved in the Ozarks, but we
were really hoping for an elk or a big buck.
As we were double checking our gear, Jeremiah's mom came out
onto the porch. She had that look on her face,
the one that said she was about to impart some kind of wisdom
that we probably ignore, boys, she began.
You know the Ozarks aren't just trees and animals.
There are stories. Old stories my parents and
grandparents would tell. Yeah, mom, we know, Jeremiah
interrupted, rolling his eyes. Sasquatch shapeshifters, the
whole 9 yards. She sighed.
I'm serious. Be careful out there.
Those legends have been around for a reason.
We both nodded more to humor her than anything else.
I mean, come on, shapeshifters. This was the 21st century.
We had rifles with scopes. For heaven's sake, what could go
wrong? We hit the road, the truck's
tires crunching over the gravel as we left civilization behind.
The deeper we went into the Ozarks, the more alive I felt.
The worries of school family in the future seemed to fade away,
absorbed by the towering trees and endless sky.
We reached our spot, a secluded area we'd scouted weeks before.
It was perfect, a small clearing surrounded by dense forest, a
natural corridor for game. We set up our blind a makeshift
structure of camo netting and branches.
It wasn't the Ritz, but it would keep us hidden.
As we settled in, I couldn't help but think about what
Jeremiah's mom had said. I looked over at him.
He was cleaning his rifle, focused and methodical.
You ever think there's something more out here?
I asked. He looked up, locking eyes with
me. What do you mean?
You know, like what your mom was talking about.
Sasquatch shapeshifters, that sort of thing?
He chuckled. Man, those are just stories to
keep kids from wandering off into the woods.
We've got guns, we've got ammo. What's there to worry about?
I nodded, but a small voice in the back of my mind whispered,
What if the stories are true? I shook off the thought we were
here to hunt, and daylight was burning.
I chambered around into my Marlin and peered through the
scope, scanning the tree line for movement.
Little did I know. The Ozarks had something planned
for us, something that would make me question everything I
thought I knew about these woods.
And so, with the sun sinking lower in the sky, we waited.
But we weren't alone. The sun was a golden disk
hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced with
the wind. The woods were alive with the
sounds of nature, a cacophony that could lull you into a false
sense of security. But Jeremiah and I knew better.
We were predators in this landscape, but we weren't the
only ones. We'd been in the blind for a
couple of hours, our eyes peeled for any sign of game.
The anticipation was like electricity buzzing through my
veins, making every sense, heightened.
That's when I saw it. A flash of tawny fur, a ripple
in the sea of green and brown Over there, I whispered, nodding
toward the spot where I'd seen the movement.
Jeremiah shifted his position, his eyes following the line of
my gaze. I see it, he murmured.
Mountain Lion. My heart pounded in my chest.
A Mountain Lion was a rare sight, and a dangerous one, but
we had tags, and we had the firepower to take it down.
This was the kind of story you'd tell for years, the kind of hunt
that made legends. Jeremiah shouldered his Marlin,
his finger hovering over the trigger.
He took a deep breath, steadying his aim.
I held my own breath, as if that could somehow help him make the
shot. Time seemed to slow down, each
second stretching out, taught as a bow string.
And then the Mountain Lion moved.
It wasn't a sudden dash or a leap.
It simply walked behind a tree, its tail flicking out of sight
like a wisp of smoke. Jeremiah let out his breath, his
finger easing off the trigger. Damn, he muttered.
Lost the shot. We waited, our eyes glued to
that tree, as if we could will the animal to reappear.
Minutes ticked by, turning into hours.
The sun dipped lower, the light fading, turning the world into a
canvas of Grays and blacks. But the Mountain Lion didn't
come back. You think it knew we were here?
I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Jeremiah shrugged. Animals are smarter than we give
them credit for. Maybe it sensed something was
off, or maybe it was something else, something we couldn't
understand. I thought back to the legends,
the stories of shapeshifters and creatures that walked between
worlds. It sounded crazy, but out here
in the Gathering Dark, anything seemed possible.
We should pack up, Jeremiah said, breaking into my thoughts.
It's getting too dark to shoot. I nodded, but as we started to
gather our gear, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were
being watched. It was like a prickling on the
back of my neck, a whisper in the wind.
I scanned the tree line one last time, half expecting to see a
pair of glowing eyes staring back at me.
But there was nothing. Just the trees and the shadows
and the secrets they kept as we left the blind.
I took one last look at that tree, the one where the Mountain
Lion had disappeared, and for the first time, I wondered if
Jeremiah's mom was right. Maybe there were things in these
woods that defied explanation, things that existed only in the
space between legend and reality.
And maybe, just maybe, if we had come closer to that space than
we'd ever wanted to, the next morning broke clear and crisp,
the air tinged with the scent of pine and damp earth.
We were back in the blind, rifles at the ready, but the
atmosphere was different. The events of the previous day
hung over us like a cloud, unspoken but palpable.
I was scanning the tree line, my eyes still not fully trusting
what they saw when Jeremiah nudged me.
Look, he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I followed his gaze and saw it, a bobcat emerging from behind
the very tree where the Mountain Lion had vanished.
My mind raced. Bobcats were common enough in
the Ozarks, but this was something else.
This was the same spot, the same eerie feeling of being watched.
That's not right, I muttered. It can't be the same animal.
Jeremiah shook his head. I don't know, man, but
something's off. The bobcat seemed to hear us.
It turned its head, its eyes locking onto ours.
Those eyes were a deep yellow, almost golden, and they seemed
to bore right into my soul. Then, as if making a decision,
the bobcat started walking toward us.
My heart pounded in my chest. Bobcats usually avoided humans.
They were solitary creatures, more likely to run than
confront. But this one was different.
It moved with purpose, as if it had something to prove.
It stopped a few yards from the blind, right under the window
where we'd set up our rifles. It crouched low, its body
coiling like a spring, its eyes never leaving ours.
Jeremiah, I said, my voice shaky.
Do something, You didn't need to be told.
Twice. He grabbed his .44 Magnum and
aimed it at the Bobcat. I'm going to give you to the
count of three, he said, his voice steady. 1-2.
We both held our breath, waiting for the inevitable.
The bobcat seemed to sense what was coming.
Its muscles tensed, its eyes narrowed.
And then, just as Jeremiah was about to say 3, the Bobcat
relaxed. It stood up, turned around, and
walked away, as if it had made its point.
But before it vanished into the woods, it looked back over its
shoulder, its eyes meeting ours one last time.
It was a look I couldn't describe, a mix of defiance and
something else, something almost human.
We sat there and stunned. Silence.
Our weapons forgotten, our minds racing.
What had just happened? What did we just seen?
Was that a warning? Jeremiah finally asked, breaking
the silence. I don't know, I replied.
But it felt like one. We packed up our gear, our
movements mechanical, our minds elsewhere.
As we left the blind, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd
crossed a line, that we'd ventured into a world we didn't
understand. And as we made our way back to
the truck, I thought about the legends, the stories of
shapeshifters and creatures that defied explanation.
I thought about the warning from Jeremiah's mom, the 1:00 we'd
ignored, And I realized, maybe for the first time, that there
were things in these woods that were beyond our understanding,
things that existed in the shadows, in the space between
the known and the unknown, And whether we liked it or not, we
were now a part of that world. We were back at my place, the
walls closing in after the vast openness of the Ozarks.
The air felt heavy, saturated with questions we didn't want to
ask. Jeremiah had left, muttering
something about needing to talk to his mom.
I was alone, staring at the screen of my laptop, my fingers
hovering over the keys. I'd started to research the
legends, the folklore that we'd laughed off as mere stories,
shapeshifters, skin walkers, beings that could change their
form at will. The more I read, the more the
pieces started to fit like a jigsaw puzzle, revealing an
image too unsettling to contemplate.
The bobcat, the Mountain Lion, the inexplicable feeling of
being watched. They all pointed to something
beyond the realm of the natural, something that defied
explanation and the most terrifying part?
These beings were said to mark those who'd seen them, to claim
them as part of their world. I was so engrossed in my
research that I didn't hear the sound at first.
A soft scratching, like claws against wood.
It was coming from outside, from the direction of the woods.
My heart started to pound, each beat echoing the sound that was
growing louder, more insistent. I grabbed my .44 Magnum from the
table and made my way to the window.
My hands were shaking as I pulled back the curtain, my eyes
scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.
And then I saw it, a pair of eyes glowing in the dark,
staring right at me. I aimed my gun, my finger
trembling on the trigger, But before I could shoot, a voice
echoed in my mind, as clear as if someone were standing right
next to me. You are marked, it said.
You are one of us now. I staggered back, my gun
slipping from my grasp. The eyes vanished, swallowed by
the darkness, but the message was clear.
I was marked, claimed a part of a world I'd never wanted to
enter. My phone buzzed, breaking the
silence. It was a text from Jeremiah.
We need to talk, it read. My mom says there's something we
have to do, a ritual to cleanse ourselves.
She says it's the only way to break the mark.
I started to type a reply, my fingers fumbling over the keys.
But before I could hit send, another message popped up on my
screen. It was from an unknown number, a
string of digits that made no sense.
Don't bother, it read. You're already one of us.
My blood turned to ice, my fingers freezing over the keys.
The room seemed to close in the walls pulsating like a living
thing, and in that moment I knew the legends were real, the mark
was real, and my life as I knew it was over.
I heard the scratching again, louder this time more insistent.
It was coming from the door, from the other side of the thin
barrier that separated me from the darkness.
And as I sat there, paralyzed by fear, I realized the terrifying
truth. I was not alone, and I would
never be alone again. My Uncle Jack and I had been
hunting these Illinois woods since I was old enough to hold a
rifle. We knew every Deer Trail, every
thicket, every hollow like the back of our hands.
But familiarity can sometimes breed a dangerous sort of
confidence, the kind that makes you forget that even well
trodden paths can hold secrets. It was deer season, and the
woods were alive. With the promise of a good hunt.
Uncle Jack and I had spent the day checking tree stands and
marking new trails. Poaching had been a problem in
these parts, and we wanted to make sure we had the upper hand
this season. As the sun dipped below the
horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, we
called it a day. I headed home, my mind already
drifting to the hunt ahead. The phone rang just as I was
cleaning my rifle. It was Uncle Jack.
Hey, I think I dropped my wallet somewhere in the woods, he said,
his voice tinged with annoyance. You mind taking a look?
You're closer, and it's going to be dark soon.
I glanced at the clock. 8:00 PM, late, but not too late.
Sure, I'll go take a look, I said, my voice more eager than I
intended. A chance to be back in the
woods. I'd take it, lost wallet or not.
I grabbed my flashlight and headed out, my truck's tires
crunching on the gravel Rd. that led to our usual hunting
grounds. The woods welcomed me like an
old friend. It's towering trees forming a
dark canopy against the night sky.
I switched on my flashlight, it's beam cutting through the
darkness as I retraced the trail we'd walked earlier.
As I move deeper into the woods, I couldn't shake off a nagging
feeling that something was off. The air felt heavier, as if
charged with static, and the usual night sound seemed muted,
distant. I shook my head, chiding myself
for letting my imagination run wild.
I was about to turn back when my flashlight beam caught something
unusual on the ground, a patch of freshly disturbed earth, as
if something had been digging. Curiosity peaked.
I moved closer, my senses on high alert.
That's when I heard it. A soft, rustling sound, like the
whisper of leaves in the wind, but different, more deliberate.
I swung my flashlight around it's beam darting from tree to
tree, but there was nothing, just the dark, impenetrable
woods staring back at me. I took a deep breath, steadying
my nerves. It's just the woods, I told
myself. You've been here 1000 times.
But even as the words left my mouth, I knew something had
changed. These woods were no longer the
sanctuary I had always known. They had become, a labyrinth of
shadows, hiding secrets that I was not sure I wanted to
uncover. I turned back my steps,
quickening as I made my way to my truck.
Uncle Jack's wallet would have to wait.
Right now, all I wanted was to put as much distance as possible
between me and whatever was lurking in those woods.
As I reached my truck, I couldn't shake the feeling that
I was not alone, that something was watching me, hidden in the
darkness. And for the first time in my
life, the woods felt like a place where I did not belong.
I drove away, but the unease stayed with me, a dark cloud
hanging over my thoughts. I knew I would have to go back,
but the thought filled me with a dread I had never felt before,
because I knew that these woods were hiding something, something
that I was not sure I was ready to face.
I couldn't shake the feeling that last night had left me
with. The woods had always been a
second home, a sanctuary, but now they felt like a maze with
walls closing in. Still, Uncle Jack's wallet was
out there, and I couldn't let my newfound apprehensions keep me
from doing a simple favor for family.
I waited until daylight had fully settled in before heading
back. The sun was a reassuring
presence, it's rays filtering through the canopy of leaves,
casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.
Daylight makes all the difference, I told myself,
gripping the flashlight in my pocket just in case.
I retraced our steps, my eyes scanning the ground for that
familiar piece of leather. I reached the spot where I'd
turned back the night before, the patch of freshly disturbed
earth. It looked different in the
daylight, less menacing, but I couldn't shake off the unease
that tightened in my chest. That's when I saw it.
A figure in the distance hunched over, sniffing the ground.
My heart skipped a beat. A poacher?
No, this was different. The figure moved in a way that
was almost animalistic, its motions too fluid, too
deliberate. I felt a chill crawl up my spine
as it lifted its head, as if sensing my presence.
For a moment, our eyes locked and a wave of dread washed over
me. This wasn't just some lost hiker
or a poacher. This was something else,
something I couldn't, didn't want to identify.
My fight or flight instincts kicked in hard.
I turned and bolted, my boots pounding against the earth,
every snap twig echoing like a gunshot in my ears.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
The only thing that mattered was the growing distance between me
and whatever that thing was. As I neared my truck, a guttural
scream ripped through the air, echoing through the trees.
It was a sound I'd never heard before, a sound that no animal I
knew could make. It was as if the woods
themselves were crying out, warning me, urging me to go
faster. I reached the truck, my hands
trembling as I fumbled with the keys just as I slammed the door
shut, Something, someone rushed past me, a blur in the corner of
my eye, disappearing into the other section of the woods.
I jammed the key into the ignition and turned, half
expecting to see that figure emerge from the trees.
But there was nothing. As I drove away, my heart still
pounding in my chest, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd
escaped something terrible, but what?
My mind raced through the possibilities.
A ghost, A demon, A skin Walker. I didn't know, and I wasn't sure
I wanted to find out. The woods had always been my
sanctuary, a place where I felt most alive, but now they felt
like a tomb, hiding secrets darker than the shadows that
danced between the trees. As I left, I looked in the
rearview mirror, half expecting to see that figure standing in
the road behind me. But there was nothing, just the
empty road and the towering trees, their branches swaying in
the wind, as if waving goodbye. I knew then that these woods
would never be the same for me, and as I drove away, I couldn't
help but wonder what else was out there, lurking in the
shadows, waiting for the next unsuspecting soul to venture too
deep. Years slipped by like water
through a sieve, but the memory of that night in the woods
remained lodged in my mind like a splinter I couldn't remove.
I'd taken to hunting in different areas, places where
the trees didn't seem to whisper secrets and the shadows didn't
dance with hidden figures. But the woods have a way of
following you, even when you try to leave them behind.
It was my aunt Sarah who brought it all rushing back.
She lived closer to those woods, in a house that bordered the
fields leading to that tangled maze of trees.
One evening she called me, her voice tinged with a nervous
energy I'd never heard before. I saw something, something I
can't explain, she said, pausing, as if searching for the
right words. It was a figure, all black,
walking in the field, but its head its head looked like that
of a crow. I felt a chill creep up my
spine, a haunting echo of the dread I'd felt years before.
Did it see you? I asked, my voice barely above a
whisper. I don't know, she replied.
But when I looked again, it was gone.
Just vanished. Not long after that call, a fire
broke out in the woods. It raged for hours, consuming
acres of trees and underbrush, as if trying to cleanse the land
of some unspeakable evil. The firefighters managed to
contain it, but the damage was done.
The woods were scarred, changed, as if bearing the physical
manifestation of the darkness I'd always felt.
But it didn't end there. Aunt Sarah started hearing
things, voices that whispered in the wind, strange noises that
echoed in the night, something tapping on the walls of her
house. Even her dog Max, seemed to
sense something, growling at unseen threats and pacing
restlessly through the house. We need to do something, she
said when she called me again. I can't live like this.
I'm putting up cameras around the house.
I agreed, more for her Peace of Mind than any real belief that
we'd catch something on film. But deep down, a part of me
hoped we would, that we'd finally get some tangible proof
of the darkness that lurked in those woods.
We spent a weekend setting up the cameras, positioning them to
cover the fields, the edge of the woods, and the perimeter of
her house. We tested them, made sure they
were working, and then we waited.
It didn't take long. Just two nights later, the
cameras triggered, motion sensors picking up something
that moved in the field near the edge of the woods.
My heart pounded as I clicked on the video file, my eyes
straining to make out the shape that flickered on the screen.
For a brief moment it was there, a shadowy figure, its form
indistinct but unmistakably real.
And then the screen went black, the file corrupted, unreadable.
We caught it, Aunt Sarah said when I called her, her voice
tinged with both relief and fear.
We caught something, but even as she said it, I knew we'd caught
nothing at all, whatever haunted those woods had shown itself.
But it remained elusive, a darkness that refused to be
caught in the light, and as the screen flickered back to black,
I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd only scratched the
surface of something far deeper, far more terrifying than we'd
ever imagined. The corrupted video file sat on
my computer like an unopened letter from a long lost friend,
both inviting and foreboding. I tried every trick in the book
to recover it, but it was as if the file itself resisted being
viewed. Finally, I had to admit defeat.
The cameras went offline shortly after, their lenses clouded as
if touched by some unseen hand. They never worked again.
I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd poked.
The bear stirred, something that should have been left alone.
Aunt Sarah felt it, too. She sold her house, moved to a
small apartment in town, far from the whispering woods and
haunting fields. But you can't escape something
that doesn't want to be escaped. I took to hunting in other
places, far from those cursed woods.
But no matter where I went, I couldn't shake the feeling that
I was being watched, that I was the one being hunted Now the
woods had eyes, and those eyes had followed me.
Then came the call that I've been dreading.
It was from a local hunter, a guy I'd met a few times at the
local bar. He'd been out near those woods,
the ones I'd sworn never to return to.
You should come see this, he said, his voice trembling.
There are holes, man. Fresh holes, like someone's been
digging. My heart sank.
The old legend about the man who killed his wife and buried her
in those woods, searching for the money she'd hidden, flashed
through my mind. The low spots, the freshly
disturbed earth, it all connected in a horrifying
clarity. I met him near the woods, my
hands shaking as I parked my truck.
We walked in silence, the weight of our unspoken fears as heavy
as the rifles slung over our shoulders.
And then we saw them, holes freshly dug, the earth upturned
as if in a frenzied search for something.
Look, he said, pointing to one of the holes inside.
It was a wallet, old and weathered, its leather cracked
and faded. It was Uncle Jack's.
As I picked it up, a scream echoed through the woods, a
guttural, inhuman sound that froze my blood.
I looked up, and for a brief moment I saw it.
The figure, its eyes glowing in the dim light, its form an
indistinct shadow that seemed to absorb the very darkness around
it. And then it was gone, vanished
into the depths of the woods, leaving nothing but the chilling
echo of its scream and the haunting emptiness of its gaze.
I dropped the wallet, my hands trembling, my heart pounding in
my chest. We turned and ran, our feet
barely touching the ground, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.
We didn't stop until we reached the truck, and even then the
feeling of dread remained, a dark cloud that hung over us
like a shroud. As I drove away, my eyes caught
a glimpse of something in the rearview mirror, a figure
standing at the edge of the woods, watching.
I don't know what haunts those woods, Ghost, demon, skinwalker,
or something far worse. But I do know this.
It knows me now, knows that I've seen it, that I've touched a
piece of its Dark World. And as I drove away, leaving
those cursed woods behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that
a part of it had followed me. A shadow that would forever
linger at the edge of my life, waiting for the moment when it
could step fully into the light. I've always been a believer in
the things that lurk just beyond the veil of our understanding.
Maybe it's the Mexican blood that runs through my veins, or
the countless nights I spent as a kid listening to my grandma
recount tales of La Yorona and El Chupacabra.
So when my brother Alex decided to move to Kirtland, NM, to
finish his college degree, I couldn't shake the feeling that
he was stepping into a landscape ripe for the inexplicable.
Kirtland wasn't just any town. It sat across the river from a
Native American reservation primarily occupied by the Donna,
a tribe or, as most folks know them, the Navajo.
My grandparents had been living there for years, their home a
cozy but aging structure that had seen better days.
I helped Alex pack up his old Ford truck, throwing in boxes of
textbooks, clothes, and that old guitar.
He never seemed to play, but refused to leave behind.
Take care of yourself, Hermano, I said, slapping him on the back
as he climbed into the driver's seat.
Don't I always? He grinned, his eyes alight with
the kind of youthful excitement that comes from embarking on a
new adventure. The drive from Kansas to New
Mexico was a long one, but Alex said it was uneventful.
He called me the moment he arrived, his voice tinged with
exhaustion but also a hint of awe.
This place is something else, man, he told me.
There's a kind of stillness here, a quiet that makes your
skin prickle. He settled into life quickly,
enrolling in classes at the College in Farmington, a
neighboring town, and even landing a parttime job at a
hardware store. It was a small family run place,
the kind where the paint on the signs had started to chip and
fade, but nobody really minded. The store was frequented by
locals, many of whom were Native Americans from the reservation.
Alex was a social guy. Always had been.
And he soon struck up friendships with some of the
regulars. They talk about all sorts of
things, from the weather to local politics.
But what really caught Alex's attention were the stories
they'd share. Ghost stories.
Legends. Tales that made the hairs on the
back of his neck stand up. Only a select few ever mentioned
the word Skinwalker, and when they did, their voices would
drop to a whisper, as if saying the word too loudly might invoke
something terrible. Man, you wouldn't believe the
stories these guys have, Alex told me one evening over the
phone. Makes you wonder what's really
out there, you know? I chuckled.
Will. Just remember, curiosity killed
the cat. Yeah, but satisfaction brought
it back, he retorted, and we both laughed, comfortable in the
knowledge that whatever was out there, it was simply part of the
grand tapestry of life's mysteries.
Or so we thought. As April rolled around, the days
growing longer and the nights warmer, a sense of normalcy
settled over Alex's life. Classes work, the occasional
night out with friends. It was easy to forget that he
was living in a place where the boundary between the known and
the unknown seemed so permeable. But all that was about to
change. Late one night, as Alex sat in
his room watching TV, he heard it, a sound that would shatter
his sense of normalcy and plunge him into a world he had never
imagined existed. And that was just the beginning.
The clock on the wall read 11:17 PM.
I was sprawled out on my bed, half watching some late night
talk show when I heard it, A soft scraping sound, like gravel
being shuffled in the driveway. My first thought was that it was
Grandma maybe letting the dog out for a late night bathroom
break. But then it hit me.
It was way past her bedtime. She'd be sound asleep by now.
I muted the TV, straining my ears.
The sound came again, closer, this time more deliberate.
A shiver crawled up my spine. I got up and tiptoed to the
window, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.
I parted the blinds just enough to peek through.
What I saw out there froze me to my core.
It was crawling across the driveway, this thing.
It had hind legs like a bear, a torso that seemed to ripple with
muscle, and a head that was canine but not quite.
Its snout was shorter, more grotesque, and its eyes, those
bright yellow eyes, seemed to glow in the darkness, locking
onto something I couldn't see for a moment.
It stopped, as if sensing that it was being watched.
Then, in a movement that defied all logic, it rose.
It stood up on its hind legs, towering over the ground, and
sniffed the air. I felt like it was sniffing for
me. I was paralyzed, caught in some
sort of trance I couldn't explain.
My mind screamed at me to move, to close the blinds and back
away, but my body wouldn't listen.
I was locked in its gaze, those yellow eyes piercing through the
night, through the window, through me.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it dropped back onto
all fours. With a speed that seemed
impossible for its size, it darted toward the property gate.
It didn't jump over. It didn't break it down.
It crawled over it, its body contorting in ways that made my
stomach churn. And then it was gone, swallowed
by the darkness. I stumbled back from the window,
my legs weak, my breath shallow. What did I just seen?
Was it a figment of my imagination, a trick of the
light? Or had I come face to face with
something otherworldly? I grabbed my phone and dialed my
brother's number. It rang once, twice, then went
to voicemail. I hung up, my hands trembling.
I needed to tell someone to share what I'd seen, but the
words caught in my throat. Who would believe me?
Hell, did I even believe myself? I sat back on my bed, my eyes
darting to the window every few seconds.
The TV host was laughing at some joke, the audience joining in a
world so blissfully unaware of the darkness that lurk just
beyond the veil of our understanding.
I knew one thing for certain. I had stepped over that veil
tonight, and there was no turning back.
Whatever this was, whatever I had seen, it was only the
beginning and the most terrifying thought of all.
It knew I was here. I didn't sleep a wink that
night. Every Creek of the floorboards,
every rustle of the wind against the window sent my heart racing.
By the time dawn broke, painting the sky with hues of orange and
pink, I was a mess of frayed nerves and unspoken fears.
I went to work that day like a zombie, my movements mechanical,
my interactions forced. The hardware store was busy, a
constant stream of customers needing help with this or that.
But my mind was elsewhere, lost in the haunting images of the
previous night. Hey, you okay.
It was Tom, a Navajo guy who'd been working at the store long
before I got there. He was older, maybe in his 50s,
with a face that looked like it had seen its fair share of hard
times. I hesitated, unsure of how much
to reveal. Had a rough night, I finally
said, opting for vagueness. Tom looked at me, his eyes
narrowing. You saw something, didn't you?
The directness of his question caught me off guard.
What makes you say that? He leaned in closer, lowering
his voice. This land, it's old, filled with
stories and spirits that most people don't understand, but
sometimes they make themselves known.
I felt a chill run down my spine like a skin Walker.
Tom's eyes widened, and he quickly made the sign of the
cross. Don't say that word out loud.
It's bad medicine. But you know what I'm talking
about. He nodded his face grave.
I do, And if you've seen one, you need to be careful.
They're not to be taken lightly. I told him about the creature
I'd seen, about its yellow eyes and the way it had sniffed the
air, as if searching for something or someone.
When I finished, Tom was silent for a long moment.
Sounds like you had a close encounter.
He finally said You should speak to a medicine man.
Get some protection. Protection.
You mean like a Talisman or something?
Something like that. But more importantly, you need
to understand what you're dealing with.
These beings, they're not just legends or folklore.
They're real and they're dangerous.
I thought about my grandparents house, about its proximity to
the river. Is it true that they use rivers
for rituals? Tom nodded.
Water is a conduit for spiritual energy, both good and bad.
If your grandparents house is near a river, it could be a
pathway. A pathway for what?
For them to enter our world. I felt my blood run cold.
So what do I do? First, speak to a medicine man.
Second, be vigilant. These beings, they're cunning,
manipulative. They'll try to trick you, to
lure you into their world. And then what?
Tom looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear
and sadness. Then you'll be lost forever.
As I left the store that day, Tom's words echoed in my mind,
filling me with a dread that was as palpable as it was
intangible. I was entangled in something far
greater and more terrifying than I could have ever imagined.
And the worst part? I was in it alone.
Mid-May brought with it a sense of celebration.
My graduation was a milestone, a beacon of hope in the midst of
the chaos that had become my life.
My family, ever supportive, made the journey to Kirtland.
We laughed, shared stories, and for a brief moment I allowed
myself to forget the terror that lurked in the shadows.
We set up a popup camper behind my grandparents house.
It was cozy, filled with the familiar sounds of my cousin's
laughter and the comforting aroma of my grandmother's
cooking That night, as the stars painted the sky, we sat around a
campfire, the warmth of the flames warding off the chill of
the desert night. But as the embers died and we
retreated into the camper, a sense of unease settled over me.
The darkness outside seemed thicker, more oppressive.
I tried to shake off the feeling, attributing it to the
stories and warnings that had consumed my thoughts in recent
weeks. I was jolted awake in the dead
of night by a soft, almost inaudible sound.
It was a rhythmic tapping, like fingers drumming on a window
pane. My heart raced as I remembered
the creature, its yellow eyes and its haunting presence.
I lay still, hoping it was just a dream, but then my
grandmother's voice pierced the silence.
Who's out there? She whispered, her voice
trembling with fear. I sat up, straining my ears.
The tapping had stopped, replaced by a soft, almost
melodic humming. It was a tune I recognized, one
my grandmother used to hum to me as a child.
But this was different. Distorted, as if coming from far
away. I mustered the courage to peek
out of the window. The moonlight bathed the yard in
a silvery glow, casting eerie shadows on the ground.
And there, standing in the middle of the camper, was a
silhouette. It was tall, it's frame
reminiscent of my uncle's, but there was something off about
it. It stood still, its head tilted
as if listening. My grandmother's voice broke the
silence again. It's watching them, she
whispered, her voice filled with terror.
I followed her gaze to the trailer, where my cousins and
uncle slept. The silhouette was now closer.
It's formed clearer in the moonlight.
It was not my uncle. Its limbs were too long, its
posture too unnatural, and its eyes, those familiar yellow
eyes, stared intently at the sleeping forms inside, frozen in
fear. I watched as it leaned closer,
its breath fogging up the window of the trailer.
It seemed to be studying them, its head tilting from side to
side, as if trying to understand, And then, in a
swift, fluid motion, it turned its gaze to our camper.
Our eyes locked, and a cold dread washed over me.
It knew it, knew I had seen it, that I was aware of its
presence. With a guttural growl.
It lunged at our camper, its form blurring in the darkness.
I screamed, the sound echoing in the still night.
But before it could reach us, it vanished, leaving behind only
the chilling memory of its presence.
The next morning we found the trailer empty.
My cousins and uncle were gone without a trace.
The only evidence of their presence was the fogged up
window and a single chilling message written in the
condensation we are always watching.
The terror of that night will forever haunt me, for I know
that somewhere out there in the shadows, they are waiting,
watching, and one day they will come for me.
I turned 16 on a hot June day, the kind where the air sticks to
your skin like a second layer. Birthdays had lost their shine
over the years, but this one felt different. 16 meant
freedom, or at least the promise of it.
But freedom was still a year away.
I couldn't drive yet, so I decided to spend my newfound
maturity visiting my sister Morgan, in Cleveland.
Morgan had moved to Cleveland a couple of years back, chasing
some dream job in marketing. She lived in a small house with
creaky floors and an attic that smelled like old books and
mothballs. It was a far cry from the
sprawling Wyoming landscapes I was used to, but it was a
change, and at 16, any change felt like an adventure.
Morgan was seven years my senior, the responsible one with
a boyfriend named Nate who had a beard and drove a pickup.
Nate was okay a bit too serious for my taste, but he treated
Morgan well, and that was what counted.
I'd been in Cleveland for a few days, mostly confined to the
attic. Morgan had converted into a
makeshift guest room. It was hot up there, the kind of
heat that makes you feel like you're breathing through a wet
cloth. I passed the time playing GTA on
an old console, the sounds of virtual car chases filling the
small space. It was a way to kill time,
nothing more. Morgan worked most days, and
Nate was often busy with whatever it was he did for a
living, so it was a surprise when they both showed up in the
attic one evening, beers in hand, with a proposal.
How about we go light some fireworks for the 4th?
Nate asked, scratching his beard, as if pondering the
complexities of the universe. There's a secluded park not far
from here. Could be fun.
I looked up from my game, pausing to consider the offer.
The attic was stifling, and the thought of spending another
evening up here was less than appealing.
Plus, fireworks meant a break from the monotony, a chance to
feel like a normal teenager, if only for a night.
Sure, I said, setting down the controller.
Why not? Morgan grinned, her eyes
lighting up in a way I hadn't seen in years.
Great, it's a plan. Then, as they left the attic, I
couldn't shake the feeling that this 4th of July would be
different. Maybe it was the promise of
fireworks, or perhaps the simple joy of doing something,
anything, that broke the routine, but deep down, a small
voice whispered that this adventure would be unlike any
other. I shrugged off the thought,
attributing it to the overactive imagination of a bored 16 year
old. But as I'd soon find out, some
instincts are better left unignored.
The night was warm, the kind of summer evening that makes you
forget about the passage of time we piled into Nate's pickup, the
engine rumbling to life like a beast waking from slumber.
Morgan sat shotgun, flipping through her phone while I
claimed the back seat, my eyes fixed on the darkening horizon.
Nate drove with a steady hand, his eyes focused on the road as
if he were deciphering some hidden message in the asphalt.
We left the city lights behind, venturing into the outskirts
where civilization gave way to untamed land.
The road twisted and turned, leading us deeper into the
wilderness. We're almost there, Nate
announced, breaking the silence that it settled over us like a
thick fog. It's just past this hill.
As we descended, the world around us seemed to change.
The sky turned a deeper shade of black, as if someone had thrown
a dark cloth over the moon and stars.
The headlights cut through the darkness, 2 beams of light in an
ocean of nothingness. That's when I saw it.
A deer standing by the side of the road, its eyes catching the
light in a way that made them glow an eerie yellow.
But before I could get a good look, it vanished.
One moment it was there, and the next it was gone, as if
swallowed by the night itself. I blinked, trying to make sense
of what I just seen. Deer were common in these parts,
but something about this one felt off.
Its eyes had glowed in a way that seemed almost unnatural,
and its disappearance was too swift, too silent.
You OK back there? Morgan asked, her eyes meeting
mine through the rear view mirror.
Yeah, I said, forcing a smile. Just thought I saw a deer, is
all. Morgan shrugged, turning her
attention back to her phone, but Nate glanced at me, his eyes
narrowing as if he were weighing my words.
We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the tension in the
car thickening like quicksand. Finally, we reached a parking
lot, a small patch of civilization in the middle of
nowhere. Nate pulled in, killing the
engine. We're here, he said, a hint of
excitement creeping into his voice.
I looked out the window, taking in our surroundings.
We were parked next to a large field, the tall grass swaying
gently in the night breeze. On the other side was a dense
forest, its trees standing tall like ancient guardians.
As I stepped out of the car, a chill ran down my spine.
The air had turned cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of just a
few minutes ago. I wrapped my arms around myself,
trying to shake off the sudden drop in temperature, but the
chill remained, clinging to me like a second skin.
I couldn't shake the feeling that we were not alone, that
something was watching us. From the shadows.
I glanced at Morgan and Nate, but they seemed oblivious,
caught up in the excitement of the night.
As Nate began setting up the fireworks, I couldn't help but
wonder if we were making a mistake.
But before I could voice my concerns, a loud pop echoed
through the air, signaling the start of our 4th of July
celebrations. And so, with a sense of
foreboding hanging heavy in the air, we stepped into the
unknown, blissfully unaware of the eyes that watched us from
the darkness. Nate wasted no time.
He pulled a box of fireworks from the back of the pickup and
began setting them up in the field.
The air was thick with anticipation, each of us lost in
our thoughts as we waited for the show to begin.
Morgan was busy capturing the moment on her phone, her face
illuminated by the soft glow of the screen.
I leaned against the car, my eyes drifting to the forest that
bordered the field. The trees stood like dark
Sentinels, their branches swaying gently in the wind.
It was a peaceful scene, but the tranquility did little to ease
the sense of unease that had settled over me.
The temperature had dropped noticeably since we arrived, and
I found myself shivering despite the warm clothes I was wearing.
It was as if the very air around us had changed, growing colder,
denser, as if warning us to leave ready.
Nate called out, lighting the fuse on the first firework.
A loud pop echoed through the air, followed by a burst of
color that lit up the night sky. For a moment, all thoughts of
unease were forgotten as we watched the display, our faces
lit up by the vibrant hues of the fireworks.
But as the last firework exploded in a shower of sparks,
the sense of foreboding returned stronger than before.
I looked around, half expecting to see something lurking in the
shadows, but there was nothing, Just the empty field and the
dark forest beyond. That's when I heard it, the
sound of breaking branches followed by heavy footsteps that
seemed to come from the forest. My heart began to race, each
beat echoing in my ears as I strained to hear over the sound
of my own breathing. Did you guys hear that?
I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hear what? Morgan replied, her eyes meeting
mine. Those footsteps, I said,
pointing toward the forest. Something's out there.
Morgan laughed, dismissing my concerns with a wave of her
hand. You're just being paranoid.
It's probably just an animal. But as she spoke, I saw it, a
silhouette in the tree line, barely visible in the darkness.
It looked like a deer, but there was something off about it.
From what I could make out, it was standing on its hind legs,
its eyes fixed on us, as if watching, waiting.
We should go, I said, my voice tinged with urgency.
Something's not right. Morgan rolled, her eyes, clearly
unconvinced. You worry too much.
Just relax and enjoy the night. But as we climbed back into the
car, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were making a
grave mistake. The eyes that had watched us
from the forest seemed to bore into me, filling me with a sense
of dread that I couldn't explain.
As Nate started the engine, I took one last look at the
forest, half expecting to see the creature emerge from the
shadows. But there was nothing, Just the
empty field and the dark trees beyond their branches swaying
gently in the wind as if waving goodbye.
And so, with a heavy heart, we left the park, each of us lost
in our thoughts as we drove back to Cleveland.
But as the city lights came into view, I couldn't help but wonder
if anything had followed us home.
The pickups engine roared to life, shattering the silence
that had enveloped us. Nate shifted into gear and we
began the ascent up the hill, leaving behind the field, the
forest, and whatever it was that had been watching us.
Morgan seemed lost in her own world, her fingers dancing over
her phone screen as she scrolled through social media.
Nate was focused on the road, his eyes scanning the darkness
ahead as if expecting something to leap out at us.
I sat in the back, my mind racing, my eyes darting to the
rearview mirror every few seconds.
John. You've been quiet, Morgan
finally said, breaking the silence.
You okay. I hesitated, unsure of how to
put my unease into words. I just think we should have left
sooner, I finally said. Morgan chuckled.
You're such a worry, Wort. What's the worst that could have
happened? I wanted to tell her about the
eyes I'd seen, the footsteps I'd heard, and the inexplicable
chill that had settled over me, but I held back, fearing she'd
dismiss it as the overactive imagination of a 16 year old.
As we drove, the city lights of Cleveland began to appear in the
distance, like stars breaking through a cloud covered sky.
It should have been a comforting sight, but it only intensified
the feeling that we were bringing something back with us,
something dark and malevolent. We're almost home, Nate
announced as we entered the city limits.
I nodded, forcing a smile, but my eyes were drawn to the
rearview mirror one last time. For a split second, I thought I
saw something, a shadowy figure standing at the edge of the
road, watching us as we drove away.
But when I blinked, it was gone, leaving me to wonder if it had
ever been there at all. As Nate pulled into the
driveway, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
We were back, safe and sound in the heart of civilization.
But as I stepped out of the car, I realized that the sense of
dread that had gripped me in the park had not dissipated.
It had followed me home. See you inside, Morgan said,
giving me a playful nudge as she headed toward the front door.
I nodded, forcing a smile, but my eyes were drawn to the trees
that lined the property. They stood tall and imposing,
their branches swaying gently in the night breeze, as if
whispering secrets to one another.
As I made my way inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we had been part of something much larger than ourselves,
something we couldn't understand or explain.
And as I closed the door behind me, I knew that whatever it was,
it wasn't over. It was just beginning.
And so, with a heavy heart, I climbed the stairs to the attic,
each step taking me further away from the events of the night,
but not from the sense of foreboding that it settled over
me. As I lay in bed, staring at the
ceiling, I couldn't help but wonder what we had left behind
in that park, and what, if anything, had followed us home.
The attic was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where I could
escape the complexities of the world below.
Morgan joined me, and we settled in to watch some late night TV.
The room was filled with the soft glow of the screen, casting
shadows that danced on the walls like restless spirits.
I left the window open, welcoming the night breeze that
usually carried the comforting sounds of Cleveland distant
traffic, the occasional laughter of people enjoying the summer
night, crickets singing their endless songs.
But tonight, the air that flowed through the window was
different. It was colder, heavier, as if
carrying the weight of unseen eyes.
As we sat there and grossed in some forgettable show, I
realized that the usual sounds of the city had vanished.
The room was enveloped in an eerie silence, the kind that
presses against your eardrums, demanding to be acknowledged.
Do you hear that? I finally asked, muting the TV.
Hear what? Morgan looked at me, puzzled the
silence, I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
It's too quiet. Morgan laughed, dismissing my
concerns with a wave of her hand.
You really need to stop worrying so much.
It's just a quiet night, that's all.
But before I could respond, a sound pierced the silence, a
loud, unnatural whistling that seemed to come from all
directions at once. It was a haunting melody, one
that seemed to resonate with the very air around us, filling the
room with a sense of impending doom.
Do you hear that? I asked, my eyes, meeting
Morgan's. Hear what?
She replied, clearly not sharing my experience.
The whistling, I said, my voice tinged with urgency.
Tell me you hear it. Morgan shook her head, her eyes
narrowing as if questioning my sanity.
I don't hear anything. Are you sure you're okay?
But as she spoke, the whistling grew louder, it's melody
twisting and turning like a snake searching for its prey.
It was as if the sound was coming from everywhere and
nowhere at the same time, a ghostly Symphony that defied
explanation. Unable to bear it any longer, I
rushed to the window and closed it, shutting out the night air
and the haunting melody that filled it.
But even as I latched the window, I knew that it was too
late. Whatever it was that had been
watching us, that had followed us home was already here.
I turned to Morgan, my eyes searching hers for some sign of
understanding, some acknowledgement of the terror
that gripped me. But there was nothing.
Just the blank stare of someone who had not heard the whistling,
who had not felt the chill in the air, who had not seen the
eyes that watched us from the darkness.
And as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I knew
that I was alone in my fear, isolated by an experience that
defied explanation. But as the clock ticked toward
morning, one thing became clear. Whatever it was that had found
us, it had no intention of leaving.
And so, with a heavy heart and a mind filled with questions, I
closed my eyes, praying for a sleep that I knew would not
come, and a peace that seemed forever out of reach.
The morning light filtered through the attic window,
casting a golden glow on the room.
It should have been comforting, a new day, wiping the slate
clean, but the events of the previous night hung over me like
a dark cloud, refusing to be forgotten.
Morgan had already left for work, leaving me alone in the
house. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was terribly wrong.
The air still felt heavy, as if charged with an energy that I
couldn't see, but could definitely feel.
I decided to go downstairs, make some coffee, try to act normal.
But as I descended the steps, each Creek of the wooden floor
seemed to echo unnaturally, as if the house itself was warning
me. I reached the kitchen and
started the coffee maker. The familiar gurgling sound it
made was oddly reassuring. That's when I heard it.
The whistling. It was back, but this time it
was coming from inside the house.
My heart pounded in my chest as I followed the sound, each note
guiding me like a sirens call. It led me to the front door.
Taking a deep breath, I opened it.
There was nothing there, just the empty driveway and the trees
swaying gently in the morning breeze.
But then I looked down and saw them, hoof prints leading right
up to the doorstep and then disappearing as if the creature
had vanished into thin air. I slammed the door shut, my
hands trembling. It was real, All of it.
The deer like creature, the whistling, the sense of dread.
It was all real, and it had found me.
I retreated to the attic, locking the door behind me.
I sat there for what felt like hours, my eyes fixed on the
window. The daylight was fading, giving
way to the dark of night, and as the room grew darker, so did my
thoughts. That's when I saw it, the face
at the window. It was the deer like creature,
its eyes glowing an eerie yellow, but it was the
expression on its face that terrified me the most.
It was smiling, as if savoring, a secret that only it knew.
Before I could react, the creature let out a whistle, the
same haunting melody that had filled the air the previous
night. But this time the sound was
accompanied by words, whispered so softly that they were almost
lost in the wind. We see you, it said.
It's voice tinged with a malevolence that made my blood
run cold. And then it was gone,
disappearing into the night as quickly as it had come.
But it's words remained, echoing in my mind like a curse.
I was left with a sense of dread that no morning light could
dispel, a fear that clung to me like a shadow.
I knew then that I was not alone, that I would never be
alone again. And as I lay in bed that night,
staring into the darkness, I realized that the most
terrifying thing of all was not the creature, or the whistling,
or the eyes that watched from the shadows.
It was the unanswered question that haunted me, a question that
I feared I already knew the answer to.
What did it mean when it said we see you?
And so, with a heart filled with terror and a soul forever
scarred, I closed my eyes, praying for a sleep that I knew
would never come and a piece that had been shattered beyond
repair.