Denali National Park is a wild and unforgiving place,
especially in winter. Nearly 6,000,000 acres of
rugged, isolated terrain sprawl out beneath the icy Alaskan sky,
home to Grizzlies, wolves, and sub zero temperatures that steal
warmth from the bones quicker than you can realize.
It's a place I've learned to respect deeply, knowing how
swiftly its beauty can turn lethal.
My name is Ellie Warren, and this was my first real winter
assignment as a Ranger cadet. I'd always dreamed of working in
wilderness parks, but even after months of training, nothing
quite prepares you for Denali. In February, 3 weeks earlier,
reports began filtering into headquarters from hikers who had
stumbled across unusual bone piles and strange markings on
trees along the Stampede Trail. There were whispers of animal
mutilations, but no one knew what predator could or would
arrange bones so deliberately. Rangers Stan Keller and Julia
Maddox were tasked with investigating, and I'd been
allowed to tag along to gain hands on experience.
On a frozen Wednesday morning, we loaded up the snowmobiles at
the park's northern outpost near Healey.
Julia drove with me tucked behind her, gripping tightly to
the handles of the seat. Stan rode alone, leading the way
deeper into the parks dense spruce forests.
At first the ride felt exhilarating, A rush of crisp
air and endless, pristine white stretching out ahead.
But the farther we traveled along the Stampede Trail, the
more uneasy I felt. The towering black spruce
crowded closer, casting deep shadows that seemed immune to
sunlight. I adjusted my GoPro, secured to
my chest for documenting our survey, standard practice for
training missions, but the battery indicator was already
flickering oddly, dipping lower than it should this early into
the trip. Stan raised his hand, signaling
for us to slow down. He gestured toward a clearing to
the left. My breath caught sharply when I
saw it, a neat spiral of animal bones placed meticulously in the
untouched snow. At the top sat a skull, white
and gleaming in the pale winter sunlight.
Julia parked our snowmobile besides stands, and we stepped
off cautiously. The snow was deep, crunching
softly beneath our boots. No tracks.
Stand muttered, crouching near the pile.
Nothing at all, not even scavenger prints.
Julia circled slowly, studying the perimeter.
Her brow furrowed. That's impossible.
Something arranged these bones. I felt my pulse quicken.
The bones were entirely stripped of flesh, smooth and clean as
polished stone. Carefully, almost reverently
placed, stand straightened abruptly, nodding toward a tall
spruce nearby. Look.
Julia and I move toward the tree.
Long vertical gouges had been carved deeply into the bark,
rising at least 12 feet from the ground, too deliberate to be
accidental and too high to be from a bear or wolf.
Julia glanced at Stan, unease flickering briefly in her eyes.
She reached for her radio and clicked the transmission button.
Static crackled loudly, but no voice responded from the
outpost. She shook her head, frustration
evident, Radio signals spotty. Stan glanced back toward the
bone spiral. We should keep going, at least
to the old cabin site. Something might be sheltering
nearby. Julia nodded slowly, hesitantly.
And we mounted our snowmobiles again.
I tightened my gloves, suppressing a chill that wasn't
just from the cold. My fingers trembled slightly as
I restarted the GoPro, hoping it would keep recording.
By dusk, the sky bruised with twilight shadows, and Julia
guided us to a small clearing beside a frozen stream.
We set camp quickly. There were no sounds, no birds,
no rustling wildlife. Just heavy silence that seemed
unnatural even in the quiet of winter.
Stan built a small fire, flames flickering weakly against the
oppressive dark. I kept glancing back toward the
trees, feeling eyes that weren't there.
Julia caught my stare and gave a reassuring nod, but her
shoulders were tense. Sleep didn't come easily.
Wrapped tightly in my sleeping bag, every rustle of nylon
sounded deafening. I stared at the faint glow of
the tent fabric, heart pounding, when, sometime after midnight, a
strange rhythmic noise echoed faintly outside.
It wasn't footsteps. It was lighter, sharper, A
gentle yet deliberate tapping. Like snow shaken from branches
above. It drifted closer, hovered
briefly, then faded into silence.
By morning, exhaustion and tension had carved dark circles
beneath our eyes. As I unzipped the tent and
stepped out, a sudden dreadful realization made my blood run
cold. One of the snowmobiles was gone.
Stan moved quickly, examining the faint trail left in the
snow. His eyes widened as he traced
the tracks. They head uphill toward that
Ridge, but he paused, scanning the tree line.
Confusion clear. They just stop.
I approached cautiously, following his gaze.
Sure enough, the tracks halted abruptly halfway up the incline,
as if the snowmobile had vanished mid ride.
Julia checked her radio again. Nothing but static.
Her voice was calm, but I sensed tension barely controlled
beneath the surface. We need to go up and
investigate. As we strapped on snowshoes, I
kept my gaze locked on the darkening ridgeline ahead.
Something inside me stirred uneasily, and for the first time
since stepping foot in Denali, I questioned if we were truly
alone. We left our camp behind, heading
slowly uphill into the deepening shadow of the trees, unaware
that this decision would become the last normal moment of our
expedition. The deeper we moved into the
Denali wilderness, the more I felt my grip on calm slipping
away. With only one snowmobile left,
we pushed forward on snowshoes, our progress slowed dramatically
by the thick snow drifts. The sky had turned Gray and
daylight was fading more rapidly than expected.
Each crunching step seemed unnaturally loud against the
oppressive silence of the forest.
Julia kept glancing back toward me, her eyes cautious,
protective even. Stan led the way, pausing
occasionally to scan the trees with narrowed eyes.
Something had shifted within him, a nervous edge, a
hesitation I'd never seen in the usually confident Ranger.
An hour later, Stan abruptly raised a hand.
Hold up. I followed his gaze and felt a
shudder roll down my spine. A second bone pile lay just
beyond a thicket of Alder branches, larger than the last,
darker against the snow. Julia approached slowly, her
boots sinking deep, her flashlight playing across the
unsettling scene. This pile was different.
It was constructed from larger bones, thicker ribs, and long,
curved vertebrae carefully lashed together with what looked
like sinew. My mouth went dry as I
recognized their origin, unmistakably large enough to be
human. Stand knelt, face grim.
Whoever did this took their time.
Julia said nothing. She seemed transfixed, staring
at the bones as though she might decipher their message if she
looked long enough. Finally she shook her head,
visibly disturbed. Let's document quickly.
We need to get out of here. I turned to scan the
surroundings, adjusting my GoPro with trembling fingers.
The battery indicator flickered again, dangerously low.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I glimpsed movement, a shadowed
figure between distant trees. My heart leapt, and I grabbed
Stan's sleeve urgently. There.
I whispered hoarsely, pointing toward the tree line.
Stan immediately raised his binoculars.
Julia stood beside him, tense and silent.
I could hear the faint rasp of their breathing, visible in
puffs of fogged air. Stan lowered the binoculars,
shaking his head. Nothing.
I saw something. I insisted, voice barely
audible. Tall, watching us.
Julia squeezed my shoulder. It's getting dark, Ellie.
Shadows play tricks. Stan shook his head slowly,
unconvinced. No, she's right.
Something's been following us since we found the first pile.
A gust of icy wind rattled the branches, and we exchanged tense
glances. Julia clicked her radio,
desperation lining her face. Only static replied.
Compass is off. Stan said quietly, shaking his
head at the small instrument in his hand.
It's needle spun lazily, aimlessly.
We've lost direction completely. I felt a wave of panic rise
sharply in my throat. Julia clenched her jaw and
forced calm into her voice. We'll navigate by landmarks.
There was an old hunting cabin somewhere near here.
If we can reach it, we'll shelter for the night.
As darkness fell swiftly, we stumbled through thickening snow
toward what we hoped was safety. My legs ached, My heart
hammered, and every shadow felt alive with a hidden threat.
The trees crowded closer, their dark forms pressing in, making
every step a test of willpower. Finally, Julia pointed ahead, a
small clearing 1/2 collapsed structure of weathered logs,
barely visible in the fading twilight.
Relief flickered briefly, but died instantly when Stan raised
his hand to silence us again. Something moved nearby, subtle
but purposeful, A scraping noise, like a branch
deliberately dragged across bark.
My breath halted sharply in my throat.
Julia slowly drew her flashlight upward, illuminating fresh
gouges carved high into a tree trunk far above our heads,
deeper and more violent than before.
Stan murmured in disbelief. Those weren't here before.
Inside now. Julia's voice trembled, urgency
overriding composure. We hurried into the shelter
quickly, barricading the entrance with a fallen beam and
chunks of frozen debris. We sat inside the cramped
darkness, listening intently. No one spoke.
Outside, a rhythmic tapping resumed, circling slowly around
the cabin, Soft, deliberate, and patient.
My breath came in shallow bursts.
Then, without warning, a shadow pressed suddenly against the
rotting boards, massive and silent, briefly blotting out
moonlight seeping through cracks.
Julia touched my hand, silently urging me not to move, not to
breathe. Slowly, the shadow withdrew.
Silence returned, oppressive and heavy, until exhaustion dragged
us into a weary, shallow sleep. Hours later, I jolted awake.
My body froze instantly sensing something horribly wrong.
Stan's sleeping bag lay open, shredded lengthwise, Tufts of
insulation drifting in the frigid breeze from a fresh gap
in the barricade. His boots still stood beside his
pack. He was gone.
Julia stared, eyes wide, horrified.
Without a word, we bolted outside, our flashlights
sweeping wildly. Drag marks LED into the darkness
toward a ravine. We followed, desperation driving
each frantic step, until Julia halted abruptly, shining her
beam onto a low hanging branch. Stan's Ranger jacket hung there,
empty, swinging gently. No blood, no further trail.
Julia looked at me, pale with unspoken dread.
The terrible truth hung heavily between us, undeniable.
We were being hunted. My hands trembled violently as
Julia and I stumbled back from the empty jacket, dangling in
the darkness. Stan was gone, taken, and now we
were alone, lost in the frozen wilderness.
I could feel Julia fighting panic as she steadied her
breathing, eyes darting around the shadows, searching for
something familiar, anything to anchor our sanity.
We have to move, she whispered hoarsely.
We're exposed here. We retraced our steps toward
higher ground, straining against thigh deep snowdrifts.
The night was bitter, A merciless wind slicing through
layers of clothing and biting into our bones.
Trees pressed tightly around us, black and silent, shielding
whatever haunted us from view. Julia moved stiffly ahead,
gripping a flashlight that illuminated only a small circle
of glittering snow. I followed closely, every sound,
every Creek of a branch or rustle of snow sending sharp
jolts of fear surging through my chest.
I continually glanced behind us, my Gopro's tiny blinking red
light barely reassuring, the battery indicator now flashing
desperately low. Suddenly, something crashed
through the brush behind us, a heavy, rapid approach, loud and
undeniable. My heart surged into my throat,
and Julia's voice cracked through the stillness in a
desperate shout. Run.
We plunged forward blindly, adrenaline overwhelming
exhaustion, legs pumping wildly. Julia tripped, stumbling
forward, sprawling into the snow.
I skidded to a halt, turning back to help her as she
struggled upright. A blur tore from the trees,
something massive and impossibly quick.
It seized Julia by her backpack, yanking her violently backward
Into Darkness. She didn't even scream, just a
sharp, shocked gasp abruptly silenced.
In an instant, she vanished. Panic numbed me.
Frozen breath hitching painfully in my lungs, I stared helplessly
into the black void where Julia had disappeared.
Then reality crashed through my paralysis.
Alone, utterly exposed, I turned and ran harder, faster than I
thought possible. My lungs burned, icy air
slashing through my throat with every gasping breath.
Tears streamed down my face, freezing in painful trails along
my cheeks. Ahead, moonlight glinted off
fractured ice. A field of crevasses spread
across the slope like gaping wounds in the glacier surface.
Desperation drove me into the maze of fissures.
I nearly slipped, catching myself just before plummeting
into a deep, narrow gap, barely wide enough for a person.
Driven by raw instinct, I squeezed myself down into the
crevasse, wedging into a niche of jagged ice, pressing my back
painfully against the frigid wall.
Darkness swallowed me whole. I switched off my flashlight,
leaving only the faint red glow of my Gopro's indicator light.
Minutes dragged into hours. My body convulsed uncontrollably
from cold and fear. Every breath sounded deafening,
impossibly loud. In the tight space above me, a
faint noise began, A deliberate shifting of snow, the careful
crunching of something large approaching.
I held my breath, heart hammering, eyes locked on a tiny
gap above. Through it, I saw a shadow
blotting out the moonlight. Massive, silent, unmoving.
My stomach twisted violently, dread constricting my throat.
Then two luminous eyes blinked slowly open.
Pale, faintly glowing, inhumanly high above the crevasse.
They stared directly down at me, unwavering, intelligent,
waiting. My blood ran ice cold.
Terror paralyzed me utterly, my body rigid, unwilling to
breathe, unwilling even to blink.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the eyes vanished.
Footsteps faded, leaving only silence and lingering fear.
I remained motionless, cramped, and terrified until dawn crept
faintly into the icy crack. Finally daring to move, I
climbed painfully upward, fingertips bloody from scraping
ice, joints stiff from prolonged stillness.
I crawled onto the surface, the sky pale and empty, the forest
around me silent and indifferent.
With numb fingers, I triggered the emergency beacon on my pack,
collapsing into the snow to wait, exhausted and half dead.
Hours later, a search team found me barely conscious,
hypothermic, shaking violently from exposure and shock.
They airlifted me to Fairbanks, and I drifted in and out of
consciousness, my mind replaying horrors too vivid to bear in a
sterile hospital room. I awoke to sympathetic faces and
careful questions. Official explanations filtered
in quietly, rational and neat. Julia and Stan, lost to weather,
missing, presumed dead in an avalanche prone area.
No, I whispered hoarsely, voice trembling.
Something took them. The investigators nodded
patiently, pityingly. My GoPro had been recovered, but
I was told the footage was corrupted, unreadable.
Technical malfunction, they insisted gently.
It happens. Days later, discharged and
hollow eyed, I returned home haunted by disbelief and
nightmares. Alone in my apartment, wrapped
in blankets, I removed a backup SD card I had hidden deep in my
pack. Hands shaking, breath shallow, I
played back the footage on my laptop.
Blurry frames speed by. Trees, snow.
The briefest glimpses of movement until it froze abruptly
on a single clear frame. Tall, unnatural, human shaped,
yet undeniably wrong. 2 faintly glowing eyes stared back at me,
caught perfectly between trees, impossibly high from the ground.
My pulse quickened sharply. Hands trembling, I stared into
the creature's eyes again, dread returning with nauseating force.
I knew what I had seen. It had followed us, haunted us,
and it would wait, patiently silent in the wilderness of
Denali, for others to wander too close again.
People around Rapid City like to talk about the Black Hills as if
they're tame, tourist friendly woods.
Just somewhere to hike and camp. Growing up hunting these
mountains with Levi and Grandpa taught me different.
The hills are ancient, quiet and unpredictable, dotted with
granite cliffs and thick stands of ponderosa Pines that can make
you feel like you've stepped back in time.
Every local knows their spots, you just don't wander after
dark. But Levi and I knew these hills.
Or at least we thought we did. We had spent the early part of
October planning our elk hunt, the rut in full swing, the bulls
screaming across the ridges. It was tradition for Levi and
me, ever since Grandpa taught us how to hunt after he passed.
It was the best way we knew to remember him, to stay connected.
We drove up from Rapid City late afternoon, the bed of my truck
loaded with gear, 2 rifles, ammo, backpacks, tents, and
sleeping bags. Stopping at a little reservation
gas station outside Keystone. Levi and I were laughing,
talking loud about the trail we'd chosen inside an old Lakota
man named Raymond. 2 feathers overheard us and stepped closer.
You boys going hunting up Trail 73?
His voice was low, cautious. Yeah, that's the plan.
Levi answered, handing the cashier a 20.
Raymond shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing slightly,
studying us as if measuring what we could handle.
Wouldn't recommend it past sundown.
He said quietly. Locals call it hollow run.
Animals won't go near it after dark.
You shouldn't either. Levi glanced at me with a grin.
Shrugging off the warning with youthful confidence.
We'll keep an eye out. The old man's expression never
changed. Just steady caution.
It's not your eyes that'll save you.
We laughed it off as we climb back in the truck.
Levi joked about it, but something stuck with me.
Nod quietly at the edge of my thoughts as we drove deeper into
the hills. It was just past sunset by the
time we parked at the trailhead, the mountains darkening quickly,
casting long shadows through the Pines.
Levi carried the rifles while I shouldered our gear.
Trail 73 snake deeper into Norbeck Wildlife Preserve,
climbing steadily higher into untouched terrain.
We moved quickly, ignoring the fading daylight.
We heard elk bugling nearby, close enough to feel the sound
in our chests, and excitement overtook caution.
We went further than planned, chasing the call until it faded
abruptly, leaving us alone in the quickly darkening woods.
I think we missed it, Levi whispered, staring into the
shadows. We should set up camp.
We cleared a small area, pitched the tent, and built a quick
fire. By the time darkness swallowed
the last traces of twilight, I noticed how unusually quiet
everything had become. No crickets, no birds, nothing.
It was as if someone had muffled the forest.
The silence felt unnatural, oppressive.
I settled into my sleeping bag, rifle propped against my pack
within reach, listening to Levi's breathing deepen into
sleep. Something about the stillness
made me uneasy, like waiting for a sound you expect but never
comes. Around midnight, I jerked awake,
heart pounding. A heavy, unmistakable crash
echoed through the trees, jarring me upright.
Levi was already sitting up, eyes wide and searching the
darkness. What the hell was that?
He whispered harshly. I reached for my rifle.
We listened, but nothing followed.
No footsteps, no rustling leaves, no branches snapping,
just a deafening absence of sound.
It made my pulse quicken, a dread settling in my gut that
felt heavier than fear. Another crash sounded, closer
this time, violently shaking branches somewhere off to our
left. Still no accompanying sound.
No footsteps, no animal breathing.
Levi scrambled to the tent flap, shining his flashlight out into
the pitch black woods. Nothing, Cody, there's nothing
there, He muttered, disbelief lacing his voice.
He swung the beam around the bright circle, illuminating pine
trunks, bushes, and empty darkness with the silence.
Felt alive, thick, suffocating. My breath came in short, shallow
bursts, adrenaline hammering through my veins.
Whatever had crashed through the woods seemed impossible,
unnatural, something massive moving without a single audible
step. My mind flashed to the old man's
warning, and my stomach twisted in regret.
We sat awake the rest of the night, rifles clenched tight,
eyes straining against shadows. In silence.
The invisible thing circled slowly, branches periodically
shuddering, marking its unseen path.
It never approached, never revealed itself clearly, but its
presence felt as tangible as my pulse.
By dawn, the wood slowly stirred to life again, birds tentatively
calling from distant trees. Levi and I barely spoke, numbed
and exhausted, packing our gear quickly.
As daylight returned, so did our confidence, and Levi tried to
rationalize what we'd experienced.
A Mountain Lion, maybe, or a startled bear.
But I couldn't shake the dread, the feeling we'd stumbled across
something we weren't meant to understand.
I glanced back down Trail 73 as we walked away, sunlight
streaming between trees, chasing away shadows that had terrified
us hours earlier. I hoped we'd seen the worst of
it. We hadn't.
Morning sunlight brought temporary relief, filtering
gently through the high Pines and casting golden patches
across the forest floor. The light made the terror of the
night before seem distant, almost unreal.
Levi busied himself packing gear with a forced calmness, but I
caught him glancing back toward the silent trail more than once.
Neither of us had slept, and exhaustion weighed heavily on
our movements. We should get out of here.
Levi finally muttered, tightening the straps of his
pack. I've haunted here my whole life,
Cody. Never experienced anything like
that. I swallowed hard, nodding in
reluctant agreement. Part of me wanted desperately to
dismiss it as a trick of fatigue and nerves, but my gut twisted
at the memory of the crushing silence and unseen impacts.
Still, something stubborn, a remnant of pride or maybe fear
of admitting we were shaken, pushed back.
One more night? I said quietly, avoiding his
eyes. We're already here.
Let's just move camp higher ground, maybe get away from
whatever that was. Levi stared at me, uncertainty
clear on his face, but eventually gave a short nod.
All right. He sighed.
But we keep the rifles loaded this time.
By noon, we reached higher terrain and overlook near a
rocky outcropping that offered good visibility and felt less
oppressive. Levi visibly relaxed as we set
up the new camp, but unease still gnawed at my nerves.
I scanned the surroundings relentlessly, catching myself
flinching at every rustle of leaves and snapping twigs from
distant animals. The normal woodland sounds
reassured me, at least partially.
Late in the afternoon, Levi called to me from just beyond a
dense thicket. Cody, come look at this.
I found him standing over the remains of a bull elk, partially
hidden among low brush. Fresh blood stained the ground,
ribs cracked open with brutal force.
No neat bites from predators, just splintered bones, raw and
jagged. Levi bent down, running a finger
carefully along the snapped rib cage.
What could do this? He murmured.
No bite marks, no claws, looks like something just broke it
apart. I glanced around nervously,
studying the ground. No tracks either.
Elk don't just explode open, Levi.
Maybe it was dropped from above. He said half heartedly, looking
upward, his voice betraying disbelief in his own theory.
We quickly returned to our camp, each lost in our thoughts,
conversation minimal and strained.
As night fell again, tension settled heavily around us,
oppressive and exhausting. Levi stoked the fire into a
steady blaze, while I sat with my back pressed against a tree,
rifle laid across my lap. You think the old man was right?
Levi finally asked quietly, his eyes locked on the fire.
I don't know. I answered, reluctant to admit
what I felt deep in my bones. But if anything comes near us
tonight, we don't hesitate. Darkness returned swiftly,
pulling a familiar, unnatural silence along with it.
Birds ceased their distant calls.
Insects grew quiet. Even the breeze vanished,
leaving only the snap and pop of the firewood.
Levi's shifted uncomfortably, eyes wide and alert, rifle
gripped tightly. We need to stay awake.
He whispered hoarsely. We need to.
He stopped mid sentence, head tilted toward the darkness.
Something shifted nearby, so faint I questioned if it was
real at all. My pulse quickened.
I strained to hear, but again, nothing followed.
No footsteps, no animalistic panting or huffing.
Just a vast, empty stillness. I'll be right back.
Levi muttered, voice strained. Just need a second.
He stood, stepping out of the fire's glow toward the shadows
at the camp's edge, disappearing into the brush.
Seconds stretched to minutes, each heartbeat louder than the
last, each breath more labored as my anxiety climbed.
Levi. I called out, trying to keep my
voice steady. Silence swallowed my words
whole. Levi.
No answer. Panic rose sharply in my chest,
and I stumbled toward where he'd vanished, rifle in hand,
flashlight sweeping frantically. Levy.
I froze. Just 20 feet from camp, Levi's
boots sat perfectly upright, side by side, as if he'd simply
stepped out of them. No blood, no disturbed earth.
The footprints leading away from camp stopped abruptly, as though
my brother had been plucked into thin air.
Levi, I screamed into the darkness, desperation shredding
my voice. I fired a shot into the air, the
sound deafening against the unnatural.
Quiet echoes rolled briefly, then died out, leaving silence
again. Nothing responded.
I scrambled back to the fire, building it higher, my hands
shaking uncontrollably. The cold dread of isolation
crashed over me, crushing and absolute.
I climbed into a tree, pulling myself onto a sturdy branch
above our camp, eyes wide, rifle clutched with numb fingers.
All night something circled me, never visible, never audible,
only hinted at by the faintest shift of branches or displaced
air. Occasionally, it stopped just
beyond the fire light, its unseen presence heavy,
suffocating Hours dragged endlessly until, mercifully,
dawn began to paint the sky in muted shades of Gray and orange.
Birds cautiously returned to their songs, oblivious to the
terror that had stalked these woods in silence.
My muscles ached, rigid and trembling, eyes burning from
sleeplessness and fear. When daylight finally spilled
fully through the trees, I climbed down stiffly,
approaching Levi's empty boots again.
They stood undisturbed, mocking the reality I wanted desperately
to deny. I stared at the abandoned boots
for a long time, dread settling deep inside my chest.
My brother was gone, and something else, something
unimaginable, still remained out there, waiting silently within
the trees. I don't remember clearly how
long I stood staring at Levi's empty boots, the forest around
me slowly regaining its natural sounds.
Birds calling, leaves rustling gently in a cautious breeze.
Every fiber of my body screamed at me to move, but a part of me
stayed frozen, half expecting him to appear from the brush,
laughing off this sick joke. But he didn't.
I radioed desperately over and over, pleading for a response,
but the device crackled with meaningless static.
Panic clawed at my throat. I had to get out of there.
Grabbing Levi's boots, I stuffed them roughly into my pack and
started running down trail. 73 branches whipped my face,
scratched my hands, but the pain felt distant, numb.
My breath came ragged, shallow, and I fought to suppress the
dizzying waves of fear. Every shadow seemed to reach
toward me, every shifting branch a silent threat.
Hours slipped by, blurred and chaotic.
My frantic pace slowed as exhaustion set in, lungs
burning, legs trembling from exertion.
When the sun started sinking below the horizon again, dread
seized me. The thought of another night
alone with whatever had taken Levi was unbearable.
I stumbled onward, desperate, barely registering direction or
terrain, guided only by instinct.
Shadows thickened, and once again silence enveloped me like
a heavy curtain. My flashlight beam quivered
wildly as I swung it side to side, desperate to see anything
ahead. I no longer trusted the forest
sounds. They lied, mimicked familiarity
to conceal something monstrous. Then I heard it.
Levi's voice, faint but unmistakably his, drifting
softly through the darkness behind me.
Cody. My chest tightened painfully.
I turned sharply, rifle shaking in my hands.
Levi. I whispered, voice brittle,
nearly broken silence. Then again, further back along
the trail I'd come from. His voice drifted softer,
pleading. Cody.
Help Levi. My shout cracked with
desperation, echoing uselessly through the trees.
I took a hesitant step backward toward the sound, but stopped
abruptly, heart hammering. My brother's voice sounded off,
hollow, empty of true emotion. Just a flat mimicry that sent
chills down my spine. The realization twisted my
stomach and revulsion and my mind flashed vividly to the
elders warning. It's not your eyes that'll save
you. The thing out there wasn't Levi.
It had never been Levi. The crashing impacts returned,
heavy branches shuttering violently, invisible footsteps
racing toward me with impossible speed, but still no sound of
footfalls. Just force.
Relentless and impossible. I ran, blind panic overtaking
me, feet pounding the earth as branches clawed my face and tore
at my clothes. The rifle snagged and tugged
painfully at my shoulder strap, but I barely noticed.
Adrenaline surged wildly as I burst from Trail 73 onto the
familiar dirt of an old Ranger Rd. recognizing faint lights
flickering far ahead the Ranger station.
Desperation pushed me harder, lung screaming for air.
Whatever chased me remained silent, but was gaining rapidly.
A presence felt more than heard. I glanced back and saw nothing,
but a pressure loomed, real, tangible, and dreadful.
The Ranger station appeared suddenly, bathed in faint
moonlight, windows dark and empty.
Reaching it, I slammed into the front door, rattling the handle
violently locked. A fresh wave of panic rose as
the silent, invisible force moved closer, brush snapping
sharply at the forest edge behind me.
Without thinking, I scrambled around the side, grabbing at
gutter pipes, fingers scraping raw as I pulled myself
desperately upward onto the sloping roof.
Barely able to breathe, I crawled toward the highest
point, turning awkwardly and raising my rifle.
I pointed shakily into the darkness, my finger trembling
against the trigger. Nothing moved, nothing stirred,
yet it was out there. I shouted incoherently into the
night, firing wildly into the trees until the rifle jammed,
the bolt clogged by pine needles and dirt.
My hands shook violently, cold and numb, trapped and
weaponless, I curled tightly against the shingles, eyes wide,
staring into the darkness as dread swallowed me whole.
Hours passed, time lost, meaning replaced only by panic and
exhaustion. And yet I refused to move from
the roof. Even as dawn's Gray light washed
gently over the landscape, I remained frozen, unable to trust
the silence that had deceived me before.
I barely registered the sound of a truck approaching, wheels
crunching softly on gravel, the slamming of a door, voices
calling my name. Then someone spotted me.
Ranger Jenna Michaels, whose eyes widened in disbelief and
concern. Cody, my God, what happened?
I couldn't answer. My tongue felt thick, useless.
Jenna carefully coaxed me down, her hands gentle but firm as she
guided me toward her vehicle. She spoke soothingly, yet I
barely comprehended her words. Everything blurred around me,
fading into disjointed sensations of motion and voices.
In the sterile quiet of a hospital room hours later, I
finally managed a few words. Nurses and doctors hovered
nearby, watching cautiously as I struggled to articulate what had
happened. Levi's disappearance, the
unnatural silence, the mimicry of his voice.
My fragmented explanations met uneasy glances and whispers.
Later, when the search teams returned, they brought back
Levi's shredded gear and a strange bundle of coarse Gray
black fur found inexplicably high in the trees.
The official explanation, animal predation, felt hollow, empty,
just words meant to comfort those who didn't know better.
Weeks passed. Eventually, the authorities
quietly closed the investigation, offering
meaningless condolences and promises that meant nothing to
me. I left South Dakota soon after,
moving far from those familiar woods, but distance couldn't
erase the silence, the hollow echo of Levi's stolen voice, or
the invisible threat still lurking there, waiting in the
Black Hills. I'd been backpacking before
plenty of times, enough to know the difference between adventure
and outright stupidity. But when Jake pulled out those
faded maps of the trails South of Klingman's Dome, I should
have known we were drifting into the latter category.
He insisted it would be better this way.
No tourists, no screaming kids at the summit, just the four of
us in the untouched parts of the Smokies.
Marcus loved the idea immediately.
He always thrived off trouble while Aaron, our group's
unofficial voice of reason, only reluctantly nodded me.
I just didn't want to argue. The plan was simple enough.
We'd leave the popular lookout area and drop below the tree
line into Gregory's Hollow, a shadowed valley tangled in dense
rhododendron and ancient hemlocks.
Jake had a confident swagger about him, acting like he knew
exactly what he was doing, even though he'd only been here once
as a kid. Come on, Sam, he'd said to me
with a wide grin. It'll be unforgettable.
He was right, but for reasons we couldn't possibly imagine, we
left the crowds and selfie sticks behind, and within an
hour the trail narrowed, twisting sharply downward.
Fog seeped between the trees, making the forest floor slippery
and uncertain. As the light dimmed and the
canopy thickened, my anxiety sharpened.
My uncle used to tell me stories about this part of the
mountains, about things he called old spirits, creatures
that kept to shadows, watching from behind trees, waiting for
someone foolish enough to stray off trail.
Jake would laugh if I mentioned it.
Marcus would mock me endlessly, and Aaron would dismiss it as
superstition, so I kept quiet. By late afternoon, we reached a
clearing near a Creek bed that Jake declared perfect for
camping. Aaron began unpacking her gear
methodically, quietly, efficient as always.
Marcus and Jake got the fire going, their laughter echoing
through the hollow. I stayed near the edge, glancing
frequently over my shoulder into the deepening gloom.
We ate dinner quickly, hung the bear bag high between two tall
Pines, and settled around the fire as darkness swallowed the
valley. The fire light was comforting at
first, the snapping logs drowning out the uneasy silence
of the surrounding woods. Then, from somewhere in the
distance, a sound like metal rattling against metal echoed
faintly. Just once.
Marcus frowned. Chains out here?
Jake shrugged. Just branches, maybe old logging
gear. Sure, Marcus said, but his voice
lacked its usual cockiness. Then I noticed something.
Our bear bag, suspended high above, swayed gently back and
forth as though pushed by an invisible hand.
Aaron stepped away from the fire to test the wind.
She returned, shaking her head. No breeze, she whispered.
Jake laughed nervously. Maybe ghosts?
Marcus snorted. Ghosts don't bother me.
Crazy mountain Drifters do. Aaron shot him a look.
Not funny, but the humor had drained from Jake's eyes,
replaced by something less certain.
We were silent for a moment, listening nothing, until a
sudden, heavy snap of twigs cracked just beyond the edge of
firelight. The sound was loud, distinct,
and unmistakably deliberate. It wasn't the careful rustling
of a deer or raccoon. It sounded heavier, intentional.
My pulse quickened. Something's out there, I
whispered. Jake shone his flashlight into
the dark, scanning slowly. A pale flash, low to the ground
darted between the distant trunks.
Jake jerked his beam toward it, but the spot was already empty.
Probably a fox, he muttered. Foxes aren't white, Marcus said,
glancing at me. He tried to sound tough, but I
could tell he was nervous now. Jake shrugged again, feigning
nonchalance. Whatever it is, it's probably
more scared of us. Yeah, right.
Marcus said, laughing hollowly. Sure it is.
I stayed quiet, staring at the darkness behind Jake's shoulder.
The thought gnawed at me. My uncle's stories, those
warnings whispered around campfires when I was a kid.
Tales of a pale, crawling thing, gaunt and silent until it chose
to stand and watch. Eventually, the others drifted
to their tents, but I lingered by the dying fire, the chill of
the night seeping into my bones. My head snapped up at every tiny
sound, every rustle of leaves, every faint snap.
And then, unmistakably clear in the moonless night, I heard the
slow drag of something heavy sliding through the underbrush,
like a limp body pulled across dead leaves.
I waited, frozen in place, my breath shallow.
Nothing moved in the dark. I scrambled into my tent,
zipping it tightly, heart pounding before I closed my
eyes. Jake called from his tent, voice
muffled and strained. Hey, Sam, if we get eaten
tonight, make sure you tell my mom I went down brave.
He laughed, weak and brittle. I didn't respond.
Sleep eventually overtook me, fitful and restless.
But not long after, just before the pale dawn began to filter
through the trees, I woke sharply to the sound of the tent
zipper nearby, Marcus stepping out into the darkness, muttering
something about needing to pee. I lay still, waiting for him to
return, my ears straining against the silence.
He didn't come back. The first sign of trouble came
when Aaron shook my tent, jolting me awake.
Her voice was strained, urgent. Sam, Marcus isn't here.
I sat up, disoriented. Dawn had barely broken through
the fog. Heavy trees and a chill clung
stubbornly to the air. Marcus was reckless, sure, but
he wasn't stupid enough to wander far in these conditions.
I crawled out of my tent, rubbing my eyes.
Aaron stood a few yards away, arms crossed tightly, eyes
narrowed as she scanned the woods.
Jake was already pacing near Marcus's tent, irritation
evident in his sharp movements. He probably just wandered off to
mess with us. Jake snapped, mostly to himself,
but his tone betrayed his worry. He took his boots and headlamp,
though. We called Marcus's name
repeatedly, but the Hollow absorbed our voices, leaving
only unsettling silence. After nearly an hour of
searching, combing nearby brush, and shouting until our throats
went raw, Jake froze. He stared upward at the rough
bark of an old hemlock. Guys, he said softly, voice
barely audible. Come here.
My stomach twisted as Aaron and I approached Marcus's knife.
His favorite blade, unmistakable by the bright orange handle, was
stabbed into the tree at least 8 feet up.
Above it was a dark smear, drying fast blood.
Jake looked pale. He struggled to maintain
control, fists clenched. Aaron quickly grabbed her
emergency beacon, fumbling for the switch.
After a few 10th seconds, she stared blankly at the display.
There's no signal, she whispered.
Not even static. The oppressive fog thickened
around us, blurring trees into indistinct silhouettes.
My mind raced back to last night, to the pale shape darting
between trunks, to the dragging sound across dry leaves.
My throat went dry as I tried not to connect these dots.
We packed quickly, anxiety gnawing at every breath, moving
as fast as the uneven terrain allowed.
Aaron took the lead. Jake hovered behind her
silently, his face drawn intense.
My gaze darted constantly to the edges of the path, half
expecting something pale and silent to appear.
Jake suddenly stopped, raising a hand sharply.
We halted, pulses racing. Did you hear that?
His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
I strained to listen. Silence stretched uncomfortably.
Then a distant, slow, dragging sound echoed through the trees.
It was the same noise from the previous night, a heavy, soft
scrape of something moving slowly across dead leaves.
Jake's eyes widened slightly, and Aaron took a cautious step
backward, almost bumping into me.
Then Jake swung his flashlight into the dense fog.
A shape emerged briefly, white skin stretched tight over bones,
crouched impossibly low. The face was misshapen, the
mouth wide, flat, nosed eyes deep and shadowed.
My heart froze. Before we could fully register
what we'd seen, the figure darted sideways, vanishing with
unsettling speed into the trees. What was that?
Aaron gasped, gripping my arm tightly.
I don't know. Jake answered, voice shaking.
A drifter? Maybe someone crazy?
No. I whispered, unable to keep the
dread from my voice. That's not a drifter.
They both looked at me, waiting for an explanation I was too
afraid to give. I thought of my uncle's hushed
warnings. I shook my head instead silently
pleading to move on. We didn't stop again until
evening, finding a rocky ledge sheltered by dense brush to
camp. No one spoke as we set up our
tents quickly and mechanically. The air felt thicker, colder,
pressing down relentlessly. Marcus's empty tent haunted me.
Every sound from the forest beyond made me jump.
Jake refused to sit, pacing, eyes locked on the fading
daylight. Night fell mercilessly fast,
wrapping around our camp in a tight, suffocating blanket.
Aaron whispered softly to Jake, trying to calm him down, but he
waved her off. We just have to make it through
tonight, he muttered to himself. When I finally crawled into my
tent, exhaustion overtaking dread, sleep still eluded me.
Every creak and rustle made my pulse quicken.
Then I heard it clearly, a quiet, deliberate crunch of
leaves right at the edge of camp.
It wasn't cautious. It moved slowly, confidently.
Jake. I hissed through clenched teeth.
It's here. Silence, Then Aaron's voice
panicked. Oh my God, Sam, don't move.
In the faint moonlight bleeding through the fabric, a shadow
passed slowly across my tent wall, impossibly low to the
ground, limbs elongated, joints bent at unnatural angles.
I held my breath, muscles locked.
Then fingers pressed softly against my tent, long and thin,
tracing slowly along the fabric. A scream shattered the quiet.
Jake's voice ragged, Terrified. I ripped open my tent, stumbling
out, heart hammering. Jake's tent lay ripped open,
shredded nylon flapping softly. Aaron knelt nearby, wide eyed
and shaking. Jake lay curled tightly inside,
alive but trembling uncontrollably, blood streaking
his arms. It touched me.
He whispered hoarsely, eyes fixed on something behind me.
I spun around quickly, but saw only darkness and Marcus's shirt
wrapped neatly around a broken deer antler, driven firmly into
the ground near the dead fire. Jake wouldn't speak after we
found him in his shredded tent, curled and shaking.
His eyes stayed wide, staring into the fog, searching the
darkness behind every tree. Aaron wrapped his arm tightly
with gauze, her hands trembling as she worked.
I stood beside them, glancing nervously at the shredded fabric
of Jake's tent. Each tear was precise,
methodical. Something had ripped through it
quietly, deliberately, without hesitation.
Dawn seemed reluctant to breakthrough, the dense fog
keeping our small, miserable clearing cloaked in pale
twilight. We had no words left, just
instinct driving us forward. I moved mechanically, barely
noticing the pain from my blistered feet.
Jake walked silently, his movements stiff, occasionally
glancing fearfully behind him. Aaron tried her radio again and
again, desperation growing each time she was met by static.
Every step was labored. The fog pressed closer,
disorienting us, masking the trail beneath thick Moss and
leaves. Aaron paused periodically,
marking trees with swift, deep cuts from her knife.
She was methodical, determined to keep us on a straight path,
but as we climbed higher, exhaustion and dread pulled at
us. Each incline drained what little
strength we had left. Jake stopped abruptly, eyes
fixed on a wide oak just ahead. Aaron froze beside him.
Her hands shook as she raised the flashlight, illuminating 3
distinct slashes carved into the bark, clean and precise.
My stomach dropped, recognition twisting sharply within me.
We'd passed this tree before, less than half an hour ago.
Aaron had marked it herself. We're going in circles.
Jake muttered weakly, his voice thin, barely audible.
He pressed his palms to his temples, shaking his head.
We can't get out of here. It won't let us leave.
His words tightened my throat. We have to keep moving.
Aaron urged softly, her tone brittle but controlled.
She reached out, gently grabbing Jake's shoulder.
We're almost there. We have to be.
I didn't believe her, none of us did, but we moved anyway, driven
by sheer desperation. My uncle's warnings echoed in my
ears, louder with each dragging step.
It walks like a man, Sam, but it isn't.
It lures you off the trail and never let's go.
By nightfall, we'd reached another clearing, barely
distinguishable in the gloom. Jake refused to set up his tent,
instead huddling near Aaron beneath a rocky outcropping.
I sat alone, back pressed against a fallen log, eyes
darting nervously at each sound that punctuated the heavy
silence. Hours dragged past, measured
only by the fading battery on Aaron's watch.
My body felt heavy, numb exhaustion competing with the
sharp edges of fear. Just as I felt myself slipping
into a restless half sleep, I heard a sound.
Subtle, close. A slow, careful, crawling
through leaves. Jake shifted suddenly, eyes wide
in panic, hand gripping Aaron's arm tightly.
I froze, heart hammering painfully against my ribs.
Then I saw it clearly, a shadow moving just beyond the thin veil
of fog, low and steady. It crept forward silently,
outline blurred, joints shifting unnaturally.
Don't move. Aaron breathed almost inaudibly,
her voice breaking with effort. But Jake bolted upright, eyes
wild. No, get away from me, he
screamed, staggering backward. I lunged toward him, but he was
already stumbling toward the fog.
He tripped over roots, crashing through underbrush blindly.
Jake, stop. Aaron shouted, desperately
chasing after him. I followed closely behind,
breath ragged. Suddenly Jake halted, standing
rigid, staring into the darkness ahead.
Aaron stopped beside him, gripping his arm tightly.
My flashlight beam landed on something standing just beyond a
tall, gaunt figure, skin pale as bone, emaciated ribs sharp
beneath translucent flesh. Antlers rose grotesquely from
its skull, uneven and splintered.
It watched us silently, head tilted slightly, face
expressionless. Run.
Jake whispered hoarsely, voice strained with terror.
We sprinted, driven by blind instinct, crashing through
branches and brush, stumbling desperately toward higher
ground. Jake fell repeatedly but
scrambled up each time, panic fueling him.
I could hear the soft, rapid footsteps behind us, moving
effortlessly, gaining ground steadily.
My lungs burned, vision blurred by tears and sweat.
Aaron cried out sharply ahead, then stumbled, tumbling to the
ground. I grabbed her, pulling her
upright, and glanced behind me briefly.
The figure moved impossibly fast, closing the distance
silently, its pale skin glowing faintly in the dark.
We ran until daylight finally broke through the trees,
suddenly illuminating a marked trail junction.
A weathered sign stood before us.
Clingman's Dome. Summit trail, 1.5 miles.
Aaron gasped. Relief and desperation tangled
together. She pressed the radio once more,
voice shaking. Please, if anyone hears this,
help us. We need help now.
A faint crackle. Then a voice responded clearly.
We hear you. Stay put.
The wait felt endless, each second a test of our sanity.
Jake sat slumped, eyes glazed, staring blankly at the trail
behind us. He refused to acknowledge
Aaron's attempts at reassurance. By the time the Park Rangers
appeared, hurrying along the trail toward us, I could barely
stand. What happened out here?
1 Ranger asked cautiously, eyes scanning our torn clothing and
frightened expressions. 3 of us didn't make it.
Aaron said quietly, her voice drained.
Marcus, Sam, they're gone. The Ranger paused, confused.
Sam. He asked gently, glancing at me.
She blinked, catching herself. Marcus.
She corrected quietly. Marcus didn't make it, he's
gone. Something took him.
Was it a bear? A cougar?
The Ranger pressed gently. No.
Jake whispered sharply, the first words he'd spoken clearly
since dawn. No animal did that.
Aaron shook her head slowly, eyes hollow.
We just want to leave, please. They guided us out, moving
swiftly, glancing periodically into the forest behind us as if
expecting something to follow. I didn't look back.
I couldn't. Three months later, the local
news ran a story buried deep beneath headlines.
A drone used for routine trail inspection had captured strange
footage in Gregory's Hollow something pale and emaciated,
limbs unnaturally elongated, head crowned with antlers,
moving with alarming speed, first upright, then dropping
fluidly onto all fours, vanishing beneath the tree
canopy before the camera could track it further.
Park officials declined to comment.
I've spent eight seasons as a wildland firefighter, and in all
that time, I've learned that every stretch of wilderness
holds secrets, some benign, some dangerous, some best left buried
beneath layers of ash and memory.
But the San Juan National Forest felt different right from the
start. It was as if the land itself
didn't want us there. We landed deep in the Hermosa
Creek Wilderness on a crisp September morning.
The aspens glowed like veins of gold threading through Evergreen
hillsides, breathtaking from the helicopter window.
Our mission was straightforward. Prepare the Backcountry for a
large scale prescribed burn. 8 days of hard work clearing
deadfall, creating fire breaks and flagging safe zones.
My crew was reliable. Nico, young and easygoing, joked
constantly, his chainsaw buzzing confidently through thick
timber. Joe was reserved but efficient,
marking GPS waypoints with meticulous accuracy.
Bryce, the new recruit, fresh from Arizona, seemed eager, if
slightly nervous. Read from the Navajo Nation was
our quiet backbone. He'd seen things, understood
things, and usually knew when to speak and when silence was best.
We set up camp near a quiet stream surrounded by a dense
cluster of lodge pole, pine and Aspen Groves.
The first day's work passed smoothly.
The rhythm of axes and saws echoed through the valley as we
cleared underbrush and dead limbs.
By evening we had a tidy fire line stretching several 100
yards. Things were going according to
plan, routine, predictable. The next morning, as Joe and
Nico moved further out to flag an eastern perimeter, Nico
radioed back, sounding uneasy. Calder, there's something weird
out here. Define weird, I said into my
handset, wiping sweat from my forehead and adjusting my
helmet. Come and see.
Curiosity and mild irritation led me deeper into the woods.
I arrived to find Joe and Nico standing beside a circle of
blackened earth. The ground was scorched, the
surrounding trees stripped of leaves and bark, charred but
strangely undamaged. Beyond this circular patch.
It was as if fire had erupted spontaneously in a perfect ring
and vanished without spreading lightning Strike.
I asked, kneeling to inspect the ash.
Joe shook her head, frowning deeply.
No signs of lightning. Nothing overhead burned either.
It's too precise. That's not all.
Nikko said, gesturing toward the center.
Look closer. I moved cautiously inward,
pushing aside a layer of Gray ash with my boot.
Beneath it lay the edge of a Stonewall, old, crude, and
clearly man made. We cleared more debris,
uncovering A circular structure partially sunken and ancient.
Inside were animal bones meticulously arranged into a
spiral pattern, weathered antlers jutting upward like
sharpened stakes, and black charcoal symbols smeared across
the inner stones. At the heart sat a large, flat
slab, charred black, drips of hardened resin or SAP fused to
its surface. Red approached slowly behind me,
silent until now. We shouldn't be here.
He murmured, voice taut and careful.
This isn't ours. What is this?
Bryce whispered, staring wide eyed.
Red didn't answer, just stepped backward, distancing himself
from the structure. I glanced around, noting the
apprehension in their faces. But we had a job to do, so I
buried my own unease beneath a facade of calm professionalism.
Mark it on. GPSI said firmly.
We'll report it to base and move on.
Joe took quick coordinates, her fingers tapping nervously at the
screen. We returned to camp as daylight
faded. Tension clung to the crew as
thickly as the smoke we usually fought, and dinner passed in
uncomfortable silence. Later that night, after most of
the others had retired to their tents, I sat awake, turning my
radio handset absently in my hand, feeling strangely alert.
The forest usually soothed me, but tonight it's stillness was
unsettling. That's when I heard it.
The gentle popping sounds familiar, like pine cones
bursting open from heat, but we hadn't lit any fires yet.
I stood slowly, shining my flashlight toward the darkness
between the trees. Nothing but dense shadow.
I exhaled, feeling foolish. A whisper of motion behind me
made me turn sharply. Joe stood at the edge of camp,
staring wide eyed toward the deeper forest, flashlight
trembling slightly in her grip. Joe, you saw it too?
She asked quietly. Saw what?
She hesitated, clearly embarrassed, Fire light
flickering through the trees. I thought.
I thought it was a flare up, but when I went closer it just
vanished. I shone my flashlight deeper
into the darkness, nothing but shadows and the quiet rustle of
leaves. Probably your eyes playing
tricks. I said, though the words felt
hollow even as I spoke them. She nodded slowly, unconvinced
as she returned to her tent. I lingered, scanning the forest,
feeling inexplicably tense. Something felt off balance,
misplaced. When I finally lay down, sleep
eluded me, replaced instead by an uneasy vigilance.
I listened carefully, ears tuned to the smallest noises, the
faint rustling of wildlife, the distant crack of branches.
Then, in the silence just before dawn, I heard something else,
far off, indistinct. A human sound, A muffled scream,
thin and stretched, as if carried by wind.
From someplace distant yet alarmingly close.
I bolted upright, pulse hammering.
But as quickly as it came, the sound vanished, replaced once
more by silence. I lay awake until dawn,
wondering just what we'd uncovered and what else might be
waiting in these woods. The morning sun did little to
dispel the heaviness settled over our camp.
Everyone moved sluggishly and conversation was sparse.
Even Nico's usual humor felt forced, his laughter brittle and
short lived. As I sipped lukewarm coffee from
a metal mug, I tried to rationalize the strange
occurrences of the night. Forests played tricks on tired
minds, I knew that, but still the unease lingered.
Red Crouch near the edge of camp, scanning the tree line
thoughtfully. He glanced at me, his dark eyes
troubled. Finally, he spoke, quietly
enough that only I heard. My grandfather told stories
about places like that, he said, tilting his chin toward the
woods. He called them burn circles,
places touched by things we shouldn't disturb.
I raised an eyebrow skeptically. Folklore.
He shook his head. Warnings.
I wanted to dismiss it, to brush it aside as superstition, but a
part of me hesitated. I'd spent years trusting my
instincts to survive dangerous terrain and sudden wildfires.
Right now, every instinct told me we'd wandered into something
beyond our understanding. Mid morning brought another
unsettling discovery. Nico returned from inspecting
our gear cache, visibly agitated.
Calder, you need to see this. He said grimly, his hands
shaking slightly. I followed him, Joe close
behind. Our packs and tools were neatly
stacked beneath a tarp, untouched except for Nico's
gear. His backpack was coated in soot,
the fabric charred around the edges as though held briefly
over an open flame, but nothing else showed signs of fire.
Not the tarp above, nor the packs beside it.
How the hell did this happen? Nico muttered, turning his
damaged pack over in disbelief. I glanced around, scanning the
canopy and ground. No scorch marks, no embers,
nothing. It was inexplicable.
We need to report this. Joe insisted, a hint of panic
creeping into her voice. Report what?
I countered, more sharply than I intended.
Random soot. Joe's expression hardened,
clearly unsatisfied. I softened my tone.
Look, we'll call it in when we get the chance.
Right now, let's finish our grid sweep and mark the structure
clearly. I want clear coordinates ready
when the chopper returns. Joe nodded slowly.
Bryce and I will flag the site again.
Maybe we missed something yesterday.
I agreed reluctantly, watching them vanish into the trees.
The air felt colder as the day progressed, an unnatural chill
seeping beneath my jacket. I couldn't shake the feeling of
eyes on my back, though each glance over my shoulder revealed
nothing. Hours later, Bryce and Joe
stumbled back into camp. Bryce looked pale, his face
drained of color. He sat silently by the campfire
pit, staring blankly at the ashes, shoulders hunched.
What happened out there? I asked Joe quietly, away from
the others. She hesitated, avoiding my gaze.
I don't know. Bryce just shut down.
He won't talk. Red approached Bryce carefully,
kneeling beside him. You all right, man?
Bryce didn't answer, just scratched absently at his
forearms. His fingers left thin red marks
across his skin. It's hot.
He muttered distantly. Why is it so hot?
Red glanced back at me with clear worry.
It wasn't hot. If anything, the temperature had
continued to drop steadily all afternoon.
Bryce looked feverish, haunted. That night, sleep eluded
everyone. The tension was palpable, A
collective expectation of something yet undefined.
After midnight, I drifted briefly into uneasy dreams
before the sound of rustling outside jolted me awake.
Through the thin tint fabric, I saw orange flickers of light
dancing along the trees. I scrambled upright, pulse
thudding in my ears, adrenaline sharp.
This was no illusion, no trick of the mind.
The light was clear, firelight shifting silently through the
trees, casting eerie patterns against canvas walls.
Nico shouted suddenly from his tent.
Calder, do you see that? I burst outside, met by Nico in
red, their faces illuminated by brief flashes.
The orange glow moved silently among the trees.
No crackle, no smoke, no heat. Just the sickly light, shifting
and fading, rhythmic as breathing.
Where's Bryce? Joe's voice trembled behind us.
We spun around, dread settling heavily.
Bryce's tent flap hung open, fluttering gently in the breeze.
Empty panic surged through me. Spread out.
Find him now. We scattered flashlights
piercing the darkness, calling Bryce's name in vain.
Minutes later, Niko's voice cut sharply through the woods.
Over here. We rushed to him, heartbeats
loud in the stillness. On the ground lay Bryce's boot,
melted and distorted, the sole blackened and twisted.
Tracks half burned. Prints extended away into the
forest, smoldering faintly in the dirt.
The footprints were too precise, too deliberate.
Each imprint blistered into the earth as if the wearer had
walked through fresh flame. Joe stared down, her breath
shallow and rapid. Those weren't here earlier.
We walked this path today. Red stepped closer, shining his
flashlight onto the eerie trail. This isn't right.
He murmured softly. We shouldn't follow.
Like hell we shouldn't. I snapped.
Bryce is out there. Red looked at me sadly,
resignation heavy in his eyes. Bryce isn't out there anymore.
A cold silence enveloped us behind the line of trees,
faintly illuminated. Again, the shadows stirred as
the unsettling orange light briefly returned.
It pulsed, fading as quickly as it appeared.
I grabbed the satellite beacon, fingers shaking as I activated
it. The device flickered weakly, the
screen dimming abruptly, refusing to transmit.
I shook it angrily, panic rising, but it only drained
further, shutting down completely in my hand.
We stood motionless, trapped between shadows and inexplicable
flames. Something ancient, something
dangerous, had awakened in the woods around us, and now one of
us was already lost. Dawn came slow and bleak, a Gray
wash bleeding through the thinning leaves above.
Bryce's disappearance had drained what little morale we
had left. None of us spoke, each locked in
our own silent dread, trying to rationalize the impossible.
I'd seen fires swallow entire hillsides, storms of flame
leaping from tree to tree, but never had I witnessed fire move
silently without warmth or reason, taking someone and
leaving behind only burned boot prints.
The last image of Bryce haunted me, confused, feverish, lost
somewhere inside himself. We need to get out of here, Joe
said finally, voice hollow. Red sat silently by the fire
pit, eyes distant. Nico paced anxiously, glancing
at me as if expecting answers I couldn't provide.
I took a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
Agreed. I said quietly.
Grab essentials only we'll move South toward the old trailhead.
If the radio won't reach, maybe we'll catch a cell signal higher
up. As we quickly gathered gear, Red
approached me privately, his voice barely audible.
That place we found wasn't abandoned.
Something still uses it. What's something?
I demanded, frustration breaking through.
He shook his head slowly. Not people, not anymore.
We set off, moving cautiously along the narrow path.
Trees loomed over us, oppressive and silent, the sunlight
strangely muted. A sickening anxiety gnawed at my
chest as we pass through shadows, each step echoing too
loudly in my ears. The air felt brittle and wrong,
as if oxygen itself were thinning.
About an hour later, we broke through thick brush into another
clearing. Nikko froze mid step, breath
hitching sharply. My stomach clenched.
A second stone circle lay ahead, smaller yet unmistakably similar
to the first. Ashes and embers glowed softly,
as though a fire had just been extinguished.
Nikko knelt cautiously, reaching out toward the stones, pulling
his hand back quickly. It's hot, He whispered, his eyes
wide with disbelief. This thing's still warm.
My pulse hammered. We'd moved miles from camp.
The realization sank heavily. The fire, or whatever moved with
it, had been here recently, perhaps moments before us.
A sudden snapping of twigs echoed from behind.
Joe spun sharply toward the noise.
Bryce. She called out hopefully, voice
shaking. Silence answered.
Red glance nervously around, breathing rapidly.
We shouldn't linger here. Another sound rustled closer
now, deliberate. Joe's flashlight pierced the
gloom, darting wildly through shadowed trunks.
I saw something move, she whispered.
Panic edged her voice. Red stepped forward, carefully
placing himself between Joe in the woods.
Stay close, he said urgently, scanning the darkness around us.
Then Red cried out a sound of pain, sharp and raw.
He stumbled back toward us, clutching his arms, gasping in
shock. Long, dark burns traced up his
forearms, angry red lines etched into his skin, as if something
searing had grazed him. It moved through me.
He choked, eyes wild with disbelief.
It burned through me. I lunged toward him, catching
him as his knees buckled. Red trembled violently, his
breathing shallow and labored. Joe crouched next to us, eyes
wide with horror. Then, silently and swiftly, the
woods erupted in bursts of orange flame, bright yet utterly
soundless. No smoke, no heat, just cold
pulses of fiery light illuminating shadowed trunks.
Flashes of bodies danced in the brief illumination, ash covered
figures standing still among the trees, disappearing each time I
blinked. Nico staggered backward, terror
stricken. He pointed shakily at the flames
encircling us, closing tighter with each flicker.
It's trapping us, he breathed, voice barely audible.
A flame ignited suddenly along Nico's sleeve.
His shrieks pierced the unnatural silence, echoing
harshly against the trees. I dove toward him desperately
beating at his jacket, but the flames wouldn't extinguish.
Instead, they spread rapidly, blistering his skin, leaving raw
patches of flesh beneath blackening fabric.
He collapsed, screaming, eyes wide with agony.
Joe grabbed my arm, dragging me away, her voice frantic.
We have to run. I stumbled after her, the world
spinning wildly, heart pounding violently.
Red's limp form lay motionless behind us.
Nico was gone, consumed by impossible fire.
Joe and I crashed blindly through brush and fallen
branches, every breath ragged and desperate.
My flashlight beam sliced erratically ahead, guiding us
nowhere. Then Joe vanished.
One moment she was there, hand gripping my sleeve, and the next
she was ripped violently from sight.
Her scream shredded the silence, sharp and brief, before abruptly
cutting off. I staggered forward, shouting
her name until my throat burned. Suddenly I burst through a thick
curtain of branches into a clearing bathed in sickly orange
glow. A third stone circle waited
there, identical yet fully intact.
At its center knelt Joe, motionless, eyes open and
staring blankly at nothing. I rushed toward her, yelling her
name, desperation overriding all caution.
A ring of flame surged upward around us, blinding in its
brilliance but cold as ice. I fell to my knees beside her,
reaching out helplessly. Joe's lips moved slightly,
forming silent words. Her eyes were fixed beyond me,
empty of recognition. Then blackness rushed in, sudden
and complete. I woke slowly days later in a
hospital bed. My body throbbed painfully, skin
raw beneath bandages. Doctors hovered at my bedside,
speaking quietly among themselves.
A sheriff asked questions, but I had no answers, only fractured
memories of impossible fire and vanished friends.
Satellite images, they told me later, had shown strange heat
signatures appearing and disappearing rapidly around our
location, bursts of flame circling like predators.
No natural fire behaved that way.
No embers or fuel remained to explain it.
Weeks afterward, search teams reported finding our campsite
exactly as we left it, untouched.
But the stone circle was different now.
Fresh bones littered the ground, antlers newly broken.
Scorch marks imprinted clearly with boot treads.
Our boots. When investigators asked for
explanations, I had none, only the haunting certainty that
whatever we disturbed beneath those ancient ashes still burned
out there, waiting silently for someone else to stumble too
close.