We reached our campsite deep in Canyon Dechelli just as the sun
dipped below the sandstone cliffs, painting them in deep
hues of rust and Violet. The desert heat that scorched us
during the hike quickly surrendered to the crisp
coolness of nightfall. Our flashlights danced across
the rocky terrain as we hurried to pitch our tents beneath the
towering cottonwoods, their leaves whispering softly as
darkness closed around us. Jason, Amber, Maya, Caleb, and I
had been friends since college, always seeking adventures in
remote places. But this spot felt different,
older, lonelier. I could sense an uneasy quiet
clinging to the ancient Canyon walls, heavy and watchful, as if
the land itself held secrets we weren't meant to disturb.
Once we got the campfire crackling, the comforting warmth
briefly banished my unease. We settled onto fallen logs
around the fire, tired but relaxed, joking about past hikes
and minor misadventures. Caleb handed around
marshmallows, which amber eagerly skewered, the sweet
scent mixing with the aroma of burning Mesquite As the stars
came out bright and impossibly numerous.
Jason nudged me with a grin. Come on, Eli, tell us one of
your creepy stories. You always have something
that'll keep us awake. I hesitated, glancing at the
flickering shadows cast by the firelight on the Cliff face.
It felt wrong to speak of dark things here, but my friends were
insistent. Amber teased gently, and Maya
leaned forward eagerly, eyes wide with expectation.
All right. I finally conceded, clearing my
throat. But just remember, you asked for
it. I leaned in, lowering my voice
for effect. There's an old Navajo legend,
they call it the Skin Walker. It's said they're witches who've
taken a dark path, learning to change their forms, shifting
into animals or even other people.
They're malicious, hateful beings who thrive on fear and
chaos. The others chuckled nervously,
exchanging glances. Jason rolled his eyes.
Classic Eli. Ignoring him, I continued,
deepening my tone. The Skinwalker hunts by
mimicking voices, luring victims away from safety, pretending to
be someone they trust. Sometimes you'll hear your own
voice echoing back at you from the darkness, twisted and
distorted just enough to unsettle you, before I pause
dramatically, letting silence fill the gap.
Before what? Caleb urged, A cautious grin on
his face. I shrugged slowly.
Before it takes you. My friends broke into awkward
laughter, dismissing the story with exaggerated relief.
Amber shook her head, muttering something about me needing
better hobbies. But as their laughter faded, a
heavy silence suddenly pressed down on us.
Even the breeze had died, and the Cottonwood leaves stilled
entirely. It was as if the Canyon itself
had drawn in a slow, deep breath, holding it, waiting.
Jason was the first to notice. Did anyone else?
Just before he could finish, laughter burst forth from
somewhere high above us, a perfect imitation of Jason's own
amused chuckle, echoing unnaturally clear from the
cliffs. The sound felt profoundly wrong,
mocking and distorted. My skin prickled as we all
stared upward, faces illuminated in pale firelight.
Very funny, guys. Jason muttered, clearly
uncomfortable, scanning our faces for some admission of
guilt. But the Canyon was not finished.
The laughter shifted seamlessly into screams.
First Jason's voice, then Maya's terrified cry, followed by
Caleb's desperate shout for help.
Every anguished imitation echoed down from the cliffs, perfectly
replicated with a chilling, malicious precision.
Amber grabbed Caleb's arm, eyes wide in panic.
Maya rose slowly, her voice trembling.
That that can't be one of us. That's impossible.
We stared at one another, hearts pounding, all traces of humor
gone. The night seemed colder now, the
shadows deeper and more alive. I swallowed hard, regretting
every word I'd spoken. The silence returned, but the
damage was done. Something had hurt us, something
ancient and malevolent, awakened by careless words whispered
around the campfire. And now it knew our voices.
My heart slammed against my ribs, beating frantically as
adrenaline surged through me. We stood frozen by the fire,
eyes locked on the towering Canyon walls, our breath forming
shaky clouds in the cold desert air.
The echoes of our own screams had faded, leaving behind a
dreadful silence so deep it felt suffocating.
We can't stay here. Amber whispered, her voice
ragged with panic. We need to leave right now.
I glanced at the others, meeting their frightened eyes in the
flickering firelight. Jason nodded quickly, his
expression grim. Grab essentials, leave the rest.
We moved as one, gathering our backpacks, flashlights, and
jackets. Nobody spoke as we kicked dirt
onto the fire, smothering the flames.
Darkness engulfed us instantly, thick and oppressive.
Flashlights clicked on beams of trembling white slicing through
the inky night, illuminating twisted tree limbs and ancient
rocks that now seemed sinister and alive.
I took the lead, my feet crunching nervously on loose
gravel. Every shadow felt like it hid
something, watching something, waiting.
I kept my eyes forward, focused only on the narrow path
illuminated by my shaking flashlight.
Caleb suddenly stopped, raising a hand sharply.
Wait, he hissed. We froze, listening intently.
My breath sounded loud and ragged in the eerie stillness.
Then, faint but unmistakable. I heard it.
Footsteps above us, soft and rhythmic, pacing along the
ridgeline high on our right. Something's up there, Caleb
whispered urgently, pointing toward the cliffs.
I lifted my flashlight, catching only glimpses of shadowy
movements slipping effortlessly between moonlit boulders.
Whatever it was matched our pace perfectly, keeping us in
constant sight. Coyotes, Maya said weekly,
desperation creeping into her voice.
It has to be coyotes. But as I stared, dread tightened
like a fist in my stomach. The shapes moved with an eerie
fluidity, too precise, too deliberate.
Coyotes would scatter, make noise.
These figures were silent, careful, their movements
disturbingly human. No, I murmured, voice barely
audible, throat dry with fear. That's not an animal.
Another voice came from the darkness, a twisted echo of my
own words drifting down mockingly from above.
Not an animal. I shivered violently, the beam
of my flashlight shaking uncontrollably.
Maya clutched my arm hard enough to hurt, her breath hitching in
sharp gasps. Keep moving.
Jason growled behind me, his voice tight with barely
contained panic. We surged forward, feet
stumbling over stones and tangled roots, desperate to put
distance between US and the stalking shapes above.
Every rushed step, every gasp and whispered instruction was
cruelly echoed from the darkness, twisted into something
sinister, taunting us relentlessly.
Caleb, always steady and confident, suddenly broke into a
full Sprint, bolting ahead down the trail.
His flashlight beam jerked wildly as he disappeared into
the blackness. Caleb.
Amber screamed after him, her voice cracking.
Don't split up. But his pounding footsteps
quickly faded into silence. Seconds stretched into eternity
as we stood rigid, straining to hear.
Then his scream erupted from the shadows ahead.
Raw, agonized, abruptly cut off. Horrified silence swallowed us
again. Caleb.
Amber's voice trembled. There was no reply, only another
chilling, mocking echo. Caleb's voice distorted,
blending seamlessly into guttural animal snarls.
Amber sobbed softly, a desperate sound filled with hopelessness.
The shapes above us seemed closer now, moving swiftly along
the cliffs, shadowy silhouettes etched against the moonlit
stone. We have to go.
Jason urged frantically, pushing us forward now.
I forced my legs to move, heart hammering painfully, my mind
racing with terror and guilt. We'd left Caleb behind, but
there was no going back now. The darkness was alive,
watching, closing in around us, whispering our names and voices
disturbingly familiar yet horrifyingly wrong.
Whatever haunted this ancient Canyon knew exactly who we were,
and it wasn't letting us go easily.
We ran blind through the darkness, our feet barely
keeping traction on the loose gravel.
My flashlight swung chaotically, casting distorted shadows that
danced along the Canyon walls like twisted spectres.
Every pounding heartbeat echoed painfully inside my chest.
Caleb's screams haunted me, the memory sharp and raw, driving my
desperate flight. The trail narrowed abruptly,
hemmed in by walls of jagged sandstone ahead.
Jason stumbled, nearly falling face first into the dirt.
Amber yanked him up roughly, urging him forward.
Keep going, don't stop. A quick glance upward revealed
the figures still pacing us effortlessly, their outline
stark against the pale moonlight.
My stomach churned. Whatever they were, they moved
with chilling ease, each step precise and deliberate, as if
toying with us. Don't look at them, I shouted,
remembering the old stories I'd foolishly recited earlier.
Just keep running. We rounded a sharp bend, and my
blood froze. A solitary figure stood
perfectly still, blocking our narrow path, silhouetted
grotesquely by moonlight. I slowed instinctively, nearly
losing my footing. The figure twisted unnaturally,
joints bending at impossible angles, limbs stretching and
shrinking, contorting silently into nightmarish shapes.
Amber screamed, pressing a hand over her mouth.
Oh my God, what is that? Jason hesitated, his voice
ragged with fear. We're trapped.
No, I shouted, the panic breaking through.
It's a trick. Don't stop, go around it.
I surged forward, ducking my head, squeezing past the
horrible shape. Cold, feted air brushed my cheek
and angry snarl hissed inches from my ear.
Pure, primal terror erupted within me and adrenaline pushed
me on faster, harder. Amber and Jason followed,
breathing in harsh, panicked gasps.
The incline steepened as we neared the Canyon rim, and I
glanced behind us, regretting it instantly.
Shadows flooded the trail, limbs and figures stretching and
morphing, skittering rapidly in pursuit, their eyes catching the
moonlight glowing with malevolent hunger.
Jason's breath came in frantic wheezes.
Amber stumbled, sobbing, exhaustion beginning to claim us
all. I reached back, grabbing her
trembling hand, dragging her forward.
We're almost there, just keep moving.
The horizon began to pale faintly, the promise of dawn
just beyond reach. The shadowy pursuers drew
closer, growling softly, voices merging into distorted whispers.
Our whispers calling our names, pleading for help in Caleb's
voice, chillingly real. A clawed hand brushed my jacket,
snagging briefly. I jerked free, feeling the
fabric tear, stumbling upward. Another snarl erupted behind us,
rage and frustration evident in its tone.
Amber screamed as something tugged at her backpack.
She yanked free, desperately discarding it without
hesitation, racing onward beside me.
Finally, we crested the canyon's rim, collapsing onto flat
ground, gasping for air. The first rays of sun broke the
horizon, golden and warm, spilling across the desert
landscape. I rolled onto my back, half
expecting to be grabbed and dragged back down into the
darkness, but the figures stopped abruptly, lingering at
the Canyon edge, their outlines blurring in the morning light,
shifting uneasily. They paced anxiously, snarling,
growling, low and guttural, angry but seemingly unable or
unwilling to follow us further into daylight.
We watched helplessly as they melted back into the canyons
shadowy depths. A final, mournful howl rose,
echoing in our ears, the distorted, familiar voice of
Caleb woven hauntingly into it. A final taunt as dawn reclaimed
the Canyon. We staggered to the car without
speaking, shaken and broken as we speed away from Canyon to
Shelley. The weight of silence filled the
vehicle, punctuated only by Amber's quiet sobs.
Days later, search team scoured the Canyon for Caleb, finding
nothing. No body, no trace.
Just empty desert and relentless silence.
I understood then with sickening certainty that the ancient evil
had claimed him, adding Caleb's voice forever to its mocking
chorus. We never returned to that place,
nor spoke openly of what happened.
But the echoes of that night remain relentless and clear,
haunting my dreams, a grim reminder of the ancient shadows
waiting patiently in Canyon to Chelli for those foolish enough
to doubt their existence. I'd chased sunsets before, but
nothing compared to the way Monument Valley glowed as
twilight settled over it. The massive sandstone towers
stood silent, almost otherworldly, silhouetted
against the fading amber sky. It was my last day out here, a
solo photography trip intended as a creative reset.
Tomorrow I'd be heading home, back to the noise and lights of
the city. But tonight, on impulse, I'd
taken a rough dirt Rd. thinking I could capture just one more
perfect shot near the totem pole Rockspire.
The road wasn't marked barely wide enough for my car.
Red dust kicked up in clouds behind me as I bounced slowly
over ruts and potholes. My GPS had lost signal miles
ago, but I wasn't worried yet. After all, I'd studied maps
before heading out here. Kyenta wasn't far, just 1/2 hour
drive South at most. If I turned around now, I could
still make it back to my motel before full dark.
But I didn't turn back, and soon the desert decided for me.
A sudden cough from the engine jerked me to attention.
My dashboard lights flickered, the radio crackled static, and
then, without warning, the engine sputtered once, twice,
and died. The silence that followed felt
absolute, an oppressive weight settling instantly over the
darkening landscape. My pulse quickened.
Come on, I whispered, gripping the key tight, cranking the
ignition. The engine wheezed weakly,
refusing to start. My stomach twisted sharply with
anxiety. I grabbed my phone from the
passenger seat, praying for at least a bar of service.
Nothing great, I muttered, leaning my head back against the
seat. Through my windshield.
The desert sprawled infinitely outward, a shadowy maze of mesas
and rock formations that now seemed vaguely threatening.
The Crimson glow that had seemed so magical moments ago was
vanishing, replaced by stark darkness punctuated only by
faint moonlight. I sat a moment, collecting my
thoughts, rationalizing. Someone would come along
eventually, right? I glanced around.
No one would be coming this way after dark, not down a dirt Rd.
that wasn't on any tourist maps. Panic crept closer, tightening
my chest. I decided to check the engine.
Though I knew little about cars beyond changing a tire.
At least it felt proactive. I stepped out, my shoes
crunching loudly in the gravel, and popped the hood.
Cool night air slipped around my shoulders, colder than I'd
expected. The quiet unsettled me,
unnatural in its completeness. No birds, no insects, nothing
but the muted sigh of a distant wind.
The engine looked normal enough, nothing visibly damaged or
leaking. Frustrated, I slammed the hood
shut, the sound echoing harshly against the valley walls.
That's when I heard it. A faint, distinct clicking
noise, rhythmic and deliberate. Somewhere off to my left.
I froze, ears straining. Silence.
Then footsteps. Soft, almost hesitant, circling
slowly around the far side of my car.
Hello. I called, my voice trembling
slightly. My words died quickly in the
desert air. Nothing answered, but the
footsteps stopped. Heart pounding, I scanned the
darkness. I saw nothing but shadows,
distorted shapes beneath the distant mesas.
It's nothing, I whispered shakily, climbing quickly back
into my car, locking the doors behind me.
The silence deepened. I stared at the dashboard,
willing the lights back on, willing anything to happen.
Movement caught my eye. Far out atop a distant rock
ledge, a figure shifted suddenly.
I squinted desperately trying to make sense of it.
It moved fluidly, too fast, shifting abruptly from human
like to something animalistic, hunched and agile.
Goosebumps prickled my skin. What was that?
I breathed, gripping the steering wheel.
My instincts screamed danger, but reason fought back.
Shadows played tricks at night. Maybe just a desert animal, a
coyote, a bobcat. Maybe nothing at all.
I reached down, fumbling with the ignition again, but still
the car refused to start. Panic rising, I glanced toward
my camera bag on the passenger seat, my hand trembling as I
reached for the flashlight tucked within.
As I flicked it on, a harsh white beam illuminated the dusty
road ahead, starkly highlighting the eerie emptiness of the
valley around me. Then my camera shutter snapped,
a sharp, electronic click. I jumped, startled, whirling
around, grabbing the camera. My breath caught as I stared
down at the screen, a sick dread settling heavy in my gut.
I hadn't touched the camera. I hadn't even turned it on.
But there it was, an image, glowing on the small screen,
slightly blurred from the low light, but unmistakable.
My car, surrounded by darkness. And directly behind it stood a
figure, tall and thin, facing toward me.
My breath quickened into short gasps as my fingers fumble
desperately to delete the picture.
I shut my eyes, swallowing the fear rising like bile.
It's a glitch, I told myself. A camera error, maybe.
The heat or another sharp click Pierce the silence.
My eyes snapped open and dread flooded every cell of my body as
the same image appeared again, only this time the figure had
moved closer, now standing just behind my rear bumper.
I spun around in the seat, flashlight shaking violently in
my hands. I stared through the rear
windshield into black emptiness. Nothing was there, not yet, But
something was out there, something moving toward me,
something watching from the darkness.
And now it knew that I knew it was there.
For what felt like eternity, I sat, frozen, eyes locked on the
impenetrable darkness outside the car.
My breath fogged the window, slightly obscuring my already
limited view. My flashlight trembled in my
hands, sending erratic beams of white across the empty Rd. the
rocks, the barren landscape beyond.
Every muscle in my body felt knotted, tense with a fear I'd
never experienced before, a deep, primal sense that
something was terribly wrong. The silence was suffocating.
Then, without warning, every light in the car flickered once
more and went completely dark, leaving me isolated in complete
blackness. My heart lurched.
I hit the ignition again, turning the key in desperation.
Nothing. No clicking, no sputter.
Just the deafening emptiness of a dead vehicle stranded on a
desolate Rd. My breathing quickened, and in
the absolute silence that followed, I heard something new.
A soft, deliberate tapping. Gentle but persistent.
Tap, tap, tap. The sound came from the
passenger side window. My blood ran cold.
My mind screamed at me not to look, not to turn my head, but
something compelled me to glance toward the source.
At first I saw nothing but my own reflection, pale and
frightened in the glass. But as I focused beyond, the
outline of a figure slowly emerged.
It stood close enough for me to make out details.
A frail elderly man dressed in traditional Navajo clothing, his
face deeply lined, his hair thin and silvery beneath a wide
brimmed hat. He looked harmless, even frail,
yet my skin crawled as his eyes met mine through the thin glass.
Please. He said softly, his voice
muffled by the window but clear enough to send chills down my
spine. Please help me, my son.
He's lost. He went into the desert and he
hasn't returned. A rush of conflicting emotions
surged through me. The instinctual urge to help
clashed violently with the gut deep feeling of dread that
radiated from this man. My mind raced, debating my
options, but caution won. I cracked the window barely an
inch, heart thumping hard enough to hear in my own ears.
Do you have a phone? I asked, my voice unsteady.
He shook his head slowly, never blinking, never breaking eye
contact. No phone.
He replied softly, his voice almost singsong, hypnotic in the
way it curled gently through the crack.
Please, he's just over there, near our Hogan.
It's not far. My eyes flicked in the direction
he pointed. There was nothing but inky
blackness and empty desert. You shouldn't be here.
The old man whispered suddenly, his voice changing slightly
deeper, harsher. Not on this land, not tonight.
My breath caught sharply. I'm sorry.
I said weakly, my throat dry and tight with fear.
I can't leave my car. He stared silently for a long
moment, his expression never changing, the emotionless gaze
sending a ripple of cold down my spine.
You're safer with me. He murmured softly, leaning
closer, pressing his thin fingers gently against the
window. Come with me now.
My instincts screamed. Every fiber of my being told me
to pull back, lock down, retreat.
But something drew my eyes involuntarily toward my side
mirror as he leaned in, fingers still pressed softly to the
glass. The mirror distorted him
somehow. His face wasn't right, stretched
oddly in reflection. My heart stopped as I watched
his image twist, his features elongating grotesquely, his
jaw-dropping into an unnatural grin, Teeth sharpened into
jagged points, eyes becoming hollow, sockets dark as pitch.
I gasped and jerked away, rolling up the window as fast as
my shaking fingers would allow. He moved quickly now, circling
the car with terrifying agility, tapping insistently on every
window in succession. Tap, tap, tap.
He moved fluidly, one second elderly and fragile, the next
predatory and wrong, his limbs contorted bizarrely, bones
shifting visibly beneath his clothing, his shadow dancing
wildly under the moonlight. I scrambled backward in my seat,
tears of terror blurring my vision.
Go away, I screamed, banging desperately on the dashboard,
fighting the steering wheel. Please start, please.
Then, without warning, silence returned.
Absolute, crushing silence. I turned slowly, cautiously,
searching for any sign of him. In the dark, I found nothing.
My ragged breath filled the car, the only sound left.
My trembling hand reached again toward the key, turning it once
more, hopelessly expecting the same failure.
And then, miraculously, the engine coughed weakly and roared
back to life, dashboard lights flickering into existence.
I nearly sobbed with relief, tears blurring my sight as I
threw the gear shift into drive. But as I slammed my foot down
onto the gas, a heavyweight crashed onto the roof, sending
the car shuddering violently beneath me.
The metal above my head dented sharply inward, claws or fingers
scraping horribly against steel, a snarling, guttural growl
rattling my teeth. I screamed, gripping the wheel
tighter, speeding wildly down the narrow dirt Rd. praying I
could shake whatever nightmare clung to my car.
The road ahead stretched endlessly, darkness pressing in
from all sides, and in my rear view mirror I saw nothing but
shadows chasing me through Monument Valley, relentless and
hungry in their pursuit. My foot pressed harder on the
accelerator, the car fishtailing on loose gravel as I speed
blindly through the desert night.
Adrenaline blurred reality around me, behind and above.
Claws or hands, I couldn't tell anymore, scraped and thudded
violently against the roof, sending vibrations of pure
terror down my spine. I swerved left and right,
desperately trying to shake whatever monstrous thing clung
so determinedly to my car. Get off, I screamed, tears
streaming down my face, mixing with cold sweat.
The headlights flickered erratically, casting wild
shadows across the road ahead, the world becoming a chaotic
Whirlpool of dark mesas and suffocating dust.
With a final wrenching motion, I jerked the wheel sharply.
Left tires screeched against packed earth and the vehicle
lurched violently, nearly rolling over as the passenger
side wheels left the ground. For a terrifying second, the
thing atop the car snarled viciously, then abruptly
vanished, tumbling heavily onto the road behind me.
Heart hammering in my chest, I straighten the wheel and
accelerated again. My headlights stabilized,
illuminating a battered wooden sign emerging suddenly from the
gloom. The letters faded and weathered,
but readable enough to send another jolt of dread through
me. Do not enter after dark.
Tribal land. I barely had time to absorb the
warning before the road forked ahead, split by a rusted cattle
guard and two narrow dirt paths leading into opposite voids of
darkness. I slowed instinctively, eyes
darting between the shadowy paths ahead.
Which way LED out? Which way took me deeper into
this nightmare. I stopped completely, engine
idling, breath ragged and uneven.
For a moment, there was only silence and darkness, my hands
trembling on the steering wheel as I tried to quiet my racing
mind. Then, from the right hand Rd. a
voice drifted toward me. A voice impossibly familiar and
gentle, yet utterly impossible. Elise.
My body froze, blood chilling instantly in my veins.
I knew that voice. I'd heard it countless times
throughout my life, though not once since the day he died five
years ago. My father.
Elise, please, sweetheart, help me.
His tone was weak, pleading, heartbreakingly vulnerable.
I swallowed back a sob, tears springing to my eyes.
No, I whispered, shaking my head desperately.
No, it can't be. But his voice continued,
becoming clearer, more desperate with every word.
I'm hurt. Elise, please, I'm right here,
come quickly. My chest ached, every instinct
begging me to go toward him, to save the one person I missed
more than anyone else in this world.
My hands twitched on the wheel, tempted, but deeper beneath the
raw grief, my gut twisted, screaming warnings.
Whatever stood out there calling my name was not my father.
It was the same creature that had stalked me through Monument
Valley, wearing his voice like a mask.
I'm sorry, I whispered hoarsely, tears spilling unchecked down my
cheeks. You're not him.
You're not real. The voice turned pleading,
frantic, breaking into sobs. Now, Elise, don't leave me here,
I'm scared. Ignoring every screaming nerve
in my body, I jammed the accelerator down and turned hard
to the left, tires spinning furiously over the cattle guard.
I barreled down the unfamiliar dirt Rd., blind to where it
might lead, refusing to glance backward, refusing to listen to
the heart wrenching screams now dissolving into hateful
animalistic shrieks echoing behind me.
Minutes stretched eternally as the road gradually widened and
smoothed, turning from rough dirt to packed gravel, then
mercifully to paved asphalt. The comforting glow of distant
headlights appeared far ahead, marking Hwy. 163, a lifeline
back to safety. As I neared the main road,
lights emerge suddenly from the darkness at the roadside,
illuminating a small vendor stand, a weathered structure of
weather beaten wood and tarps framed by strings of gently
swaying lights. Beside it stood a traditional
Hogan, softly illuminated by a fire burning gently in a metal
pit. Outside, an elderly Navajo woman
wrapped in a colorful shawl stepped quietly forward from the
shadows. She watched me approach, her
eyes calm, knowing my car slowed involuntarily, as if drawn
toward her presence, her gaze locked onto mine, steady and
compassionate. Wordlessly, she lifted a bundle
of smoking sage, waving it gently, rhythmically in my
direction. The thick smoke curled softly
through my open window, its sweet, cleansing scent wrapping
around me, offering something like comfort for the first time
since nightfall. My shoulders shook as I began to
sob openly, overwhelmed by gratitude, relief, and lingering
terror. You're lucky.
The old woman murmured quietly, her voice strong yet soothing.
It followed you for a reason, You saw it, and it saw you.
My throat constricted. What?
What was it? I managed to ask, my voice
cracking. Her dark eyes flickered
slightly, carrying both sadness and a stark warning.
A Yee nod. Lushi.
She whispered. Skinwalker, it's angry you
escaped. Don't return here, not after
sundown. It won't forget.
A shuddering breath left my lungs and I nodded, unable to
speak, only able to offer silent gratitude with my eyes.
Her gaze softened as she stepped back into the glow of her fire,
watching me drive onto the highway, back towards
civilization, towards safety. But safety felt fleeting,
fragile. Even after I reached my motel,
even after sunrise dispelled the darkness, even after leaving
Monument Valley far behind, I carried it within me, a shadow
lingering, ever watchful. Because some nights, when sleep
eludes me, I still hear tapping. Soft, patient taps, not on a car
window, but against my own bedroom glass.
It was 1:30 in the morning when I first heard it.
The sound jolted me awake from the groggy haze I'd slipped into
while grading my 7th graders history essays.
My pen lay slack in my fingers and my glasses had slipped
halfway down my nose. The house was quiet, eerily
still aside from the persistent wind rustling the old Cottonwood
branches outside my window. Scratch.
My head snapped toward the kitchen door, heart catching
sharply in my chest. Scratch, scratch.
A low, faint wine followed, rising into something almost
desperate. My pulse quickened as hope mixed
with dread. I knew that sound.
I recognize the familiar pleading, frantic pawing at the
back door. It was Cos, my blue heeler mix,
but it couldn't be. He'd been missing for three
days, vanished into a sandstorm that had swept through town so
violently it turned midday into twilight.
I rose slowly, paper sliding off my lap and scattering across the
worn rug. A small voice whispered caution
from deep within my mind, my grandmother's voice, clear as
when she'd warned me as a child. Never answer the door after
midnight. Whatever knocks may no longer be
what you think. I reached the kitchen, stopping
a few feet from the back door. A faint silhouette pressed
against the gauzy lace curtain that covered the window,
shifting restlessly. My breath felt thick, like
molasses caught in my throat. Another scratch, slower,
heavier. My hand trembled as I inched
forward, pulling back the curtain just enough to see.
Co stood there, unmistakable at first glance, the familiar
shape, the speckled coat, the slightly curled tail.
My heart surged at the site, then I froze.
The proportions were off, subtly but undeniably wrong.
His torso stretched unnaturally elongated, as if something
inside him had rearranged. His front legs bent oddly at the
joints, bowed inward as though bearing an impossible weight.
And those eyes, they caught the dim porch light and glowed
softly, not the reflective Sheen of an animal's normal vision,
but a dull, sickly yellow that seemed to shine even when he
turned his head away. My stomach twisted, panic
filling every nerve. Koz's mouth open slightly,
exposing teeth that were too long, too sharp.
My grandmother's warnings flooded back again.
Warnings of things that wore familiar forms to deceive us.
Creatures that haunted near the desert's edge.
Creatures that mimicked voices, faces, even pets.
I stepped back slowly, reaching blindly for my phone.
My fingers slipped on the screen, dialing clumsily as I
struggled to keep the creature insight.
It tilted its head sharply, as though listening, then stood up
fully, rising onto hind legs, elongated torso stretching
grotesquely taller. Then the handle of the door
rattled, once, twice, forcefully.
A choked gasp escaped me as the kitchen lights flickered,
casting shifting shadows across the curtain.
In that brief flash, I saw the impossible.
Clearly muddy paw prints streaked up the door frame,
ascending unnaturally high. They stopped nearly 7 feet off
the ground. I backed away faster now,
pressing the phone hard to my ear, my voice barely a whisper
as dispatch finally answered. Hello.
My voice cracked, betraying A terror I couldn't hide.
Please hurry, something's outside my house.
The dispatcher's calm voice repeated again.
Officer Yazzy will be there in 8 minutes, just stay inside and
lock the doors. 8 minutes felt impossibly long.
Each passing second was heavy, pressing down on me.
My eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for
something to defend myself, but all I saw were useless kitchen
utensils and ceramic plates. I froze again at the sound of
metal creaking overhead. The tin roof warped beneath
shifting weight, groaning softly under the slow, deliberate
movements. My throat tightened, breath held
tight in my lungs. The thing had climbed up onto
the roof. Then I heard a gentle tapping,
like nails slowly scraping against glass.
I looked upward instinctively toward the skylight.
A shadow moved against the cloudy pane, A snout briefly
pressed to the glass, elongated and distorted.
My pulse thundered in my ears, adrenaline surging like wildfire
through my veins. I wasn't staying here.
I couldn't. Without hesitation, I grabbed my
keys from the counter and bolted toward the front door, throwing
it open and stumbling into the cool desert air.
I jumped into my pickup and slammed the door shut, fumbling
to jam the keys into the ignition.
The engine sputtered to life, headlights slicing through
darkness as I accelerated toward town in my rear view mirror.
Movement drew my attention back to the house.
My heart clenched. The creature slid effortlessly
from the rooftop, landing silently in the dust.
It stood upright for a moment, stretching unnaturally before
dropping onto all fours and bounding forward in pursuit.
Gravel kicked up behind my tires as I speed down the dusty Rd.
toward Hwy. 160, desperation driving my foot harder against
the gas pedal in my side mirror. The twisted shape was gaining
fast, bounding awkwardly yet impossibly quick, keeping pace
easily despite the truck racing at nearly 50 miles an hour.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they ached.
The desert blurred by, empty and unforgiving, the dark mesas
looming on either side, massive and indifferent in the pale glow
of the headlights. My breath caught as I glanced to
my left. The creature paralleled the
road, it's twisted body gliding fluidly through sagebrush and
sand, head snapping sharply to keep me in view.
As I approached the junction of State Route 264, my phone
buzzed, startling me nearly enough to lose control of the
truck. Officer Yazzy's voice crackled
through the speaker. I'm almost to the Chevron by the
health clinic. Can you get there?
I forced myself to speak clearly through my panic.
I'm heading there now. It's following me.
It won't stop. Just keep driving, Yazzie said.
Do not slow down. The lights of Tuba City appeared
ahead, an Oasis of civilization after the suffocating darkness
of the open desert. My chest loosened slightly, hope
clawing its way back into my heart.
The Chevron station glowed warmly, bright floodlights
spilling across the pavement. I skidded into the parking lot,
tires screeching against the asphalt.
Yazzy was already there, his patrol trucks lights flashing
reassuringly, his presence a sudden lifeline.
He waved urgently for me to get behind him, stepping shakily out
of my truck. I nearly collapsed from relief,
but when I glanced back toward the darkness I just escaped,
dread tightened its grip once more.
The creature had stopped at the edge of the streetlights reach,
its shape blurred in the shadows, yellow eyes gleaming
coldly. It lingered for only a moment
longer, head twisting sharply, before turning back toward the
blackness of the mesas, slipping silently away.
Yazzy's gaze followed mine, understanding flickering in his
eyes. He'd seen it too.
They've come before, he murmured grimly.
We'll need to trap it, or it'll keep returning.
I stared out into the dark, heart hammering, still wondering
if I would ever feel safe again. The pre dawn sky was Gray and
flat, heavy clouds hanging motionless over Black Mesa as
Officer Yazzy and I prepared for the creatures arrival.
The abandoned mine entrance gaped in front of us, a hollow
darkness framed by rusted iron beams and faded warnings from
years long past. Yazzy moved quietly,
deliberately scattering cedar, ash, and white cornmeal in a
broken circle, a pattern I recognize from childhood, A
protective right our elders once used.
I clutched Cose's old collar, turning the worn leather over in
my hands. My fingers trembled as I looped
it around a chain that hung loose from the tunnel's mouth,
letting the metal tags Jingle softly in the faint breeze.
The sound echoed softly, unnaturally loud against the
oppressive silence of the Mesa. We stepped back, positioned
ourselves carefully, and waited. Every muscle in my body was
coiled tight. Yazzy drew his service pistol,
holding it low, alert eyes scanning the horizon.
The morning stretched on painfully, minutes dragging out
with excruciating slowness. Then movement.
A shadow flickered against the scrub brush, far down the slope,
weaving silently between patches of sagebrush and juniper.
My breath caught sharply. It moved toward us, cautious yet
determined, hunched low, mimicking an animal's cautious
gait. As the figure closed the
distance, its distorted features became clear.
The shape was disturbingly familiar, yet unmistakably
wrong. Its joints bent in impossible
angles, its elongated torso rippling as it moved.
Its head was turned slightly away.
Yellow eyes narrowed, fixed upon us.
Without blinking, the creature paused abruptly at the perimeter
of Yazzy's circle. It drew back slightly, hackles
rising, visibly sensing something it could not cross.
The elongated jaw opened, revealing uneven rows of jagged
teeth, and emitted A shriek, A distorted sound halfway between
a coyote's Yelp and a human scream.
My chest tightened painfully, ears ringing from the shrill
cry. Yazzy raised his pistol sharply
and fired a single shot into the air.
The sharp crack of gunfire reverberated harshly against the
cliffs and tunnel walls. The creature flinched sharply,
twisting wildly, then darted toward the mouth of the mine,
fleeing instinctively toward darkness and shelter.
Now. Yazzy shouted, his voice firm
and commanding. I lunged forward, gripping the
support pin he'd indicated earlier, and yanked it free.
He triggered The detonator. The charge exploded with a
deafening roar, shaking the ground violently beneath our
feet. Dust and debris surged outward
as the entrance collapsed inward, burying the mines
opening beneath tons of broken rock and dirt.
The rumbling faded gradually, replaced by a choking silence.
My heart thudded in my chest, ears ringing loudly from the
blast. Yazzy took a cautious step
forward, studying the now sealed mine shaft.
After a moment, he drew a small sign from his patrol truck,
hammered it into the earth, and stepped back.
The words read clearly in stark black letters.
Hazard, do not enter. Neither of us spoke as we
returned to the trucks, silence lingering heavily between us,
Yazzy radio dispatch confirming the incident was resolved.
I held Koz's collar tightly, a painful reminder of what I'd
lost and what we'd barely escaped.
In the weeks that followed, my sleep gradually returned, though
uneasy dreams often brought me back to the mine, to that moment
of collision between our world and something older, darker,
deeper. My grandmother's words echoed
frequently in my thoughts, reminding me that some things
could never truly be forgotten or fully sealed away.
Even now, as dusk settled once again over Moncopi Wash, I sat
on my porch, watching shadows lengthen across the sand.
The wind stirred softly through sagebrush and juniper, rustling
quietly until it faded into silence.
Somewhere far off, across the darkening Mesa, came the
faintest distant Jingle of a dog's collar.
I drew a sharp breath, pulse quickening briefly, but the
sound drifted no closer, fading gently into stillness.
My gaze moved to the fresh cedar ash lining my threshold,
reaffirming my resolve. Whatever lingered out there
beyond the reach of firelight would not cross that line again.
We set out from Moab well after sunset, the three of us Grant,
Zach and me, bound for the dense, shadow choked valleys of
Mante La Salle National Forest. It was our usual hunting spot,
and normally we were comfortable here, confident in the
familiarity of this wild terrain.
We've been coyote hunting countless times before, enough
that wandering through these thick woods after midnight felt
more routine than reckless. But tonight was different.
The first thing I noticed was the quiet.
Too quiet. The forest felt smothered, as if
every creature had vanished without a trace, leaving a
silence so profound it pressed in from every side.
Usually coyotes howled in the distance.
Owls hooted overhead. Insects droned in the
underbrush. Tonight, nothing stirred.
The only sounds were our breathing, heavy and uncertain,
and the rustling of our boots through dry leaves.
Anybody else notice how quiet it is?
Grant murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
He shifted nervously, swinging the beam of his headlamp between
darkened tree trunks. Zach chuckled softly, feigning
confidence. None of us laughed, not really.
Instead, we pressed forward cautiously, the dogs patting
silently at our heels. Usually eager, they were
strangely subdued tonight. Duke, my retriever, moved with
his head low, ears pinned flat. He usually pulled ahead, excited
by every new scent. Tonight, he slunk like something
haunted, not Hunter. Then, without warning, all three
dogs stopped simultaneously, planting their paws firmly in
the dirt. Duke began to whimper, the
others joining in immediately. They flattened themselves down,
tails tucked tightly, eyes darting around the shadowy
trees. What the Hell's gotten into
them? Zach asked sharply, tugging
impatiently at the leash. Come on, Duke.
But Duke didn't move, didn't even acknowledge the command.
He just stared forward, trembling.
Grant bent to stroke his dog's fur, but the animal recoiled,
whining louder. He stood slowly, glancing at us
with a mix of confusion and anxiety.
Maybe they smell a bear or cougar nearby.
I shook my head. No way.
Duke never acts like this around wildlife.
He's trained for that. Zach sighed, clearly frustrated.
Well, I'm not dragging them. Let's tie them here, they'll be
fine. I hesitated briefly, but finally
agreed. We tethered the dogs to a large,
sturdy pine, leaving them huddled close together as we
moved off into the darkness. Their frantic whines echoed
behind us, fading slowly as the trees thickened ahead.
The forest closed in tighter, branches clawing at us as we
push deeper. Grant stopped abruptly, kneeling
beside a patch of soft earth. His headlamp illuminated tracks
clear, fresh prints. But something was very wrong
with them. What kind of tracks are those?
I asked, a sudden chill prickling my spine.
The prints shifted strangely, one moment clearly canine claws
defined, then unmistakably human toes splayed and distinct.
It was as if something moved on 4 legs, then rose on to 2 feet,
over and over again. Zach knelt beside Grant, tracing
the bizarre footprints with trembling fingers.
Coyotes don't do this, he said, voice tight.
No animal does, guys, Grant whispered urgently, pointing
forward into the gloom. Look.
Far ahead, barely visible at the edge of our flashlight beams,
something moved silently between trees, a shadow slipping fluidly
from trunk to trunk. My heart hammered violently in
my chest, adrenaline surging. Maybe someone else is out here.
Zach muttered doubtfully, but his tone betrayed deeper unease.
Then, from the darkness came a distant howl, thin, high,
wavering as if torn from the throat of something desperate.
The sound was familiar, yet horribly distorted, twisted into
something grotesque and unnatural.
Another joined it, then another, echoing from all sides.
A chorus of inhuman cries gradually melted into screams,
screams that sounded chillingly human.
What the hell is that? Grant's voice cracked with raw
fear. That's no coyote.
I whispered, instinctively backing closer to my friends,
clutching my rifle tighter. We need to go back.
But when I turned around, the path we'd come along seemed
different somehow, unfamiliar. Panic tightened in my chest as I
realized I couldn't recognize the landmarks we'd passed just
moments ago. The howling intensified, louder
now, shriller, closing in around us.
Grant's breathing turned ragged, eyes wide with terror.
Zach frantically swept his flashlight across the trees, but
nothing appeared clearly, only shadows dancing just out of
reach. Then the forest fell utterly
silent again, deafening silence. We stood frozen in place, barely
daring to breathe, listening intently to the oppressive void
surrounding us. My pulse throbbed in my ears.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptible at first, a soft
rustling began from the shadows ahead, footsteps creeping
closer, heavy yet deliberate. Something was stalking us,
something that had brought silence to the forest and fear
into our dogs. Something not entirely human nor
fully animal, And it was getting closer.
My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out rational thought as
we stood frozen, straining our senses toward the darkness.
The silence stretched agonizingly long, broken only by
shallow breaths and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Grant shifted nervously beside me, his rifle barrel trembling
in the pale beam of his headlamp.
We got to get back to the dogs. I whispered, finally fighting to
keep my voice steady. Grant nodded quickly.
Zach remained rigid, staring off into the black void between the
trees. I tugged his sleeve gently,
pulling him from his trance. Zach, move.
I urged. He snapped back into himself,
stumbling backward, eyes wide with panic.
Something's out there. He muttered hoarsely.
Something's been following us since we got here.
None of us contradicted him. We knew he was right.
Carefully keeping tight together, we began retracing our
steps. Or at least we tried to.
But nothing looked right. The trail we'd taken moments ago
had become twisted and unfamiliar, the landscape subtly
rearranged by shadows. Every tree looked the same,
every rock indistinct, every turn a mirrored reflection of
confusion. It's like the forest shifted.
Grant said, his voice thin with desperation.
Then came the sound again, those hideous screams circling, now
closer, pressing tighter. Voices cried out in torment,
mimicking fear, agony, pleading. Each scream echoed eerily
between the trees, seeming to come from every direction
simultaneously. But the worst was that they
mimicked our own voices perfectly, repeating our names
and terrified, pleading tones. Ethan.
My own voice called, frantic, desperate, trailing off into
chilling laughter. I flinched, nausea rising
sharply. Zach raised his rifle, squeezing
the trigger wildly into the dark.
The flash illuminated grotesque shapes, briefly, twisted limbs
moving fluidly just out of Clearview, gone as quickly as
they appeared. His shots cracked uselessly into
the trees, swallowed instantly by shadows.
Zach, stop, you're wasting ammo. Grant yelled.
The forest answered him in Grant's exact voice, mocking and
cruel, repeating his warning back in distorted echoes.
We bolted then, no longer thinking, only reacting in blind
panic. Branches clawed at my face,
tearing my skin raw as we barreled through brush and
stumbled over unseen roots. Behind us, laughter rose, dark
and malicious, punctuated by rustling movements and the quick
snap of branches under foot. I felt it, something just behind
me, matching my stride. Breathing heavily in my ear, I
swung around wildly, my flashlight beam slicing across
empty air. Nothing was there, only darkness
and dancing shadows. Grant suddenly shouted.
Ahead, this way, there's a clearing.
We burst from the tangled brush into a small opening, moonlight
barely piercing the thick cloud cover above.
Grant stopped abruptly, panting hard, and Zach bent double,
vomiting into the weeds. I scanned the clearing, trying
desperately to Orient myself, when something at the edge
caught my eye. Grant stood motionless just
ahead, his back to me, staring silently into the woods.
Grant. I called cautiously, confusion
tightening my throat. What are you doing?
What do you mean? Grant asked softly, but his
voice came from beside me, not ahead.
I turned slowly, ice flooding my veins.
Grant stood at my shoulder, pale and shaken, staring at the
figure before us. We watched in mute horror as the
figure slowly turned toward us, its movements jerky, unnatural,
limbs slightly elongated, the outline subtly off.
Wrong. Its eyes glinted faintly in the
dim moonlight, empty of humanity, mouth twisting into a
chilling, mocking grin. It wasn't Grant.
It had never been. Grant run.
I whispered hoarsely, fear stealing my voice.
The creature lunged forward as we scattered, vanishing into the
shadows like frightened animals, each of us plunging blindly into
the waiting darkness, hopelessly separated, helplessly alone.
Branches lashed at my face as I hurtled through the darkness, my
chest heaving and lungs burning. I'd lost all sense of direction,
guided only by raw instinct and desperation.
Every shadow was alive, every rustle of leaves another
torment. Voices called my name from the
shadows, sometimes Zach's, sometimes Grant's.
Always twisted, always wrong. Ethan, stop running, it's gone.
Zach's voice cried, breaking through the trees, strained and
desperate. But I knew it wasn't Zach, not
anymore. Whatever lurked here had learned
us, mimicking our fear perfectly.
I stumbled onward, blind panic guiding my feet, until suddenly
a familiar sound pierced the darkness ahead, whimpering,
anxious cries. The dogs, Duke.
I called softly, voice ragged and desperate.
Ahead, 3 trembling shapes appeared, eyes glowing faintly
in the dim moonlight, tails tucked tightly beneath their
shaking bodies. Relief flooded through me as I
reached out quickly untying their tethers.
They huddled close to my legs, refusing to move even an inch
further into the woods. We're getting out of here, boys.
I whispered, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.
Find the truck. Go.
Duke pressed his head briefly against my leg, then surged
forward, the other dogs close behind.
Trusting their instincts above my own, I race to follow the
dogs guiding me along a faint path barely visible in the
gloom. Every step brought fresh dread,
but I forced myself onward, praying silently that Zach and
Grant had somehow survived, that we'd find each other before it
was too late. Ethan, over here, Grant's voice
shouted suddenly from the dark, raw with urgency.
I skidded to a halt, heart hammering wildly in my chest,
uncertain whether to trust it. Then another voice broke
through, unmistakable, choked with emotion.
Zach's Ethan. We're here, hurry.
Shoving aside doubt, I sprinted toward the voices, nearly
sobbing with relief as Grant and Zach stumbled into view, pale
and hollow eyed, their faces etched with exhaustion and
terror. Thank God.
Grant gasped, reaching out to grip my shoulder tightly.
We thought. We thought you'd.
Zach cut him off, his voice shaking.
We have to move. It's still out there.
It's circling back. The dogs growled softly, hackles
rising, heads swiveling towards something behind us, an
impenetrable curtain of blackness between the trees.
My flashlight flickered weakly as shadows stirred at the edge
of the beam. We turned as one, breaking into
a frantic Sprint a head through the trees.
The faint glint of headlights offered our only hope.
The truck wasn't far now. Then the forest erupted around
us. A massive shape burst from the
shadows, impossibly fast, shifting in a grotesque blur
from human to animal and back again, fur and skin rippling
obscenely under moonlight. Twisted limbs ended in clawed
hands. And it's face, God, it's face,
was a shifting nightmare, half human and half bestial, mouth
twisted into a snarl of rage and hunger.
Instinctively, Zach and Grant raised their rifles, firing
desperately. Muzzle flashes illuminated chaos
in brief nightmarish bursts, rounds finally striking true.
The creature reeled, shrieking in agony, limbs flailing
grotesquely, its shape dissolving and reforming wildly,
contorting into unrecognizable forms before collapsing to the
ground. The shriek faded, replaced by an
eerie stillness. Slowly, cautiously, we
approached the fallen creature, but there was nothing left but
ash and bone fragments, dissolving even as we watched,
carried away by the wind as though it had never existed.
Wordlessly, we turned and stumbled toward the truck,
shaken beyond speech. Dawn broke gently over Monte
LaSalle as we drove away, the mountains fading behind us In
the rearview mirror, none of us spoke.
None of us needed to. We had seen enough to know we
would never return, to know that we'd narrowly escaped something
ancient and cruel, something far beyond our understanding, hidden
deep in Utah's shadowed forests, waiting patiently for its next
prey.