Life in Kansas City, especially in my small neighborhood, is
pretty much a synonym for boring.
Don't get me wrong, I love my family and the few friends I
have here. But excitement, Adventure, Those
words felt like they belonged in another universe.
That's me, by the way. Alex a 19 year old who dreams
big but lives in a world that's way too small.
My life's highlight reel includes reading about cryptids
and monsters. You know, creatures that people
swear they've seen but nobody can ever prove exist.
Wendigo's dog, men, you name it. I've read about them all.
I've always wanted to see something like that, to have my
own story to tell. I figured it would never happen
though. Stuff like that doesn't happen
to people like me. Or so I thought.
Most of my evenings are pretty routine.
I come home from work, grab some dinner, and then it's straight
to my room, my sanctuary. It's where I draw, losing myself
in sketches of fantasy creatures and landscapes that I wish I
could visit. My phone's always within reach,
buzzing with texts from my friends.
We share, memes joke around, and sometimes they'll listen to me
ramble about the latest Cryptid story I've stumbled across
online. This one particular night,
though, as I was sketching, a particularly menacing looking
creature that I imagined roamed the dense forests of some far
off land. My mom's voice pierced through
my concentration. Alex, don't forget to take out
the trash. It's garbage day tomorrow.
I sighed, looking out the window at the dark, cold night.
Yeah, I'll do it in a bit, I called back, not moving an inch.
The thing is, we have this big family, which means a lot of
trash, and I was not looking forward to hauling 5 cans to the
end of the driveway in the freezing cold.
Eventually though, duty called, or rather the thought of my mom
nagging me until I did it was motivation enough.
I put on my jacket, bracing myself for the chill, and headed
downstairs. It was around 11:30 PM By then
the house quiet except for the sound of my dog Scout, who
seemed to be the only other awake soul.
Scout's a good girl, always keeping watch over the house.
She has two beds, one in the dining room and another by the
front door. As I walk down stairs, I noticed
her by the door, her nose pressed against the window,
staring intently at something outside.
I didn't think much of it. Probably a raccoon, I figured.
We have this one that likes to rummage through our trash, and
scouts always been too interested in it.
Shrugging it off, I grabbed the first trash can and dragged it
outside. The air was colder than I
expected, biting at my skin as I made my way down the driveway.
The sound of my footsteps and the dragging of the trash can
were the only sounds in the otherwise silent night.
I was about to grab the third can when I heard it, a strange
scrabbling noise that seemed to come from the big oak tree at
the front of our yard. Curiosity peaked.
I paused listening. The sound was odd, like
something big was climbing down the tree.
It wasn't the quick, light movements of a raccoon.
This was heavier, deliberate. I turned, trying to peer through
the darkness, and that's when I saw it.
A figure, human sized but impossibly thin, peeking out
from behind the tree. For a moment I just stood there,
my heart racing. This was it, wasn't it?
The encounter I'd always wanted. But as quickly as that
excitement came, it was replaced by a chill that had nothing to
do with the night air. Something about this figure felt
off, wrong even. And then in the blink of an eye,
it was gone. I rushed back inside, my mind
racing. What had I just seen?
Was it really something supernatural, or was my
imagination getting the better of me?
Either way, one thing was clear. My life had just gotten a lot
more interesting after the weird encounter with that thing.
I couldn't shake off the feeling that my boring life had just
taken a turn for the creepy scout.
My trusty sidekick seem to sense it too.
She hadn't moved from her spot by the window, her eyes still
fixed on the spot where the figure had disappeared.
I tried to tell myself it was nothing, just some weird trick
of the light, or maybe my imagination running wild.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't. Dragging the rest of the trash
cans out felt like the longest walk of my life.
Every little noise made me jump, and I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see that figure again.
It was stupid, I told myself. There's a logical explanation
for everything, right? Right.
The cold seemed to bite even harder as I made my way back to
the house, the last trash can in tow.
That's when I heard it. A scrabbling noise like before,
but closer this time. My heart skipped a beat.
I froze, listening. It sounded like something was
climbing down the tree again, but this time it was followed by
a soft thud, as if whatever it was had landed on the ground.
I turned slowly, my phone's flashlight trembling in my hand.
And there it was, the figure from before, but now it was
closer, standing at the edge of the driveway, barely hidden by
the shadows. It was tall and impossibly thin,
its eyes reflecting the light from my phone like some wild
animal. Hey, I called out, my voice
shaking more than I'd like to admit.
Who are you? What do you want?
But it just stood there, silent, watching me.
I took a step forward, my curiosity battling with my fear.
That's when I noticed it, The way it seemed to sway slightly,
as if it was struggling to stand.
And its eyes, they weren't human.
They were too big, too bright. I blinked, and in that instant
it was gone, vanished into the night without a sound.
I ran to where it had been standing, but there was nothing
there. No footprints, no sign that
anyone or anything had been there.
Just the cold, hard ground. I race back inside, locking the
door behind me. My heart was pounding and my
mind was racing. What had I just seen?
Was it a ghost? A monster?
Or was I just losing my mind? Scout was still by the door, her
tail wagging as if to ask what happened.
I wished I could tell her. I wished I could explain what I
had seen, but I couldn't. All I knew was that something
was out there, something I couldn't explain.
As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I
couldn't help but feel like my life had changed.
I had wanted an adventure, something to break the monotony
of my everyday life, but now that it had happened, I wasn't
so sure. The world felt bigger, darker,
filled with things I couldn't understand, and I couldn't shake
the feeling that my encounter with the shadowy figure was just
the beginning. The morning after my eerie
encounter, I found myself scrolling through my phone, not
really looking at anything. My mind was elsewhere, replaying
last night's events over and over.
I had barely slept, my dreams filled with shadows and strange,
lurking figures. Scout seemed to sense my unease,
sticking close to me, as if she could ward off any supernatural
threats. With her presence alone, I
decided to do something about my swirling thoughts.
If I couldn't get answers in the real world, maybe, just maybe,
the Internet could help. I started off by searching for
anything related to supernatural sightings in Kansas City.
Nothing. Then I widened my search to
include cryptids, supernatural beings, and anything remotely
linked to what I saw. That's when I stumbled upon
forums filled with people like me.
People who had experienced the unexplainable, the eerie, and
the downright terrifying. I pored over posts about the
Rake Skinwalkers and hide behinds.
The more I read, the more I felt a strange sense of belonging.
These were my people. They wouldn't laugh at my story.
They would listen and maybe offer some insight.
Gathering my courage, I decided to share my encounter.
I described the figure. It's eerie silence and it's
sudden disappearance. I talked about Scouts reaction
and how everything felt off that night.
Then I hit send. The relief was immediate, like I
had shared a burden with strangers who understood.
Replies started trickling in. Some offered words of comfort,
telling me I wasn't alone. Others shared their theories.
A few mentioned the hide behind a creature I hadn't thought much
about until now. According to legend, it was a
being that could conceal itself behind any object, no matter how
small. It was said to prey on humans,
using its ability to remain unseen until it was too late.
The more I read, the more the pieces seemed to fit, the way
the figure had disappeared, how it seemed to blend into the
shadows. It matched the descriptions of
the hide behind almost too well, but with every theory that
seemed to fit, 1000 doubts would follow.
Was I just seeing what I wanted to see?
Was my love for the supernatural clouding my judgement?
I spent the entire day lost in thought, jumping at shadows and
second guessing every Creek and groan of our old house.
That night I couldn't face the thought of being alone in my
room, so I camped out in the living room with Scout.
She seemed happy with the arrangement, snuggling up to me
as if she could protect me from whatever lurked in the darkness.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I realized something.
My encounter, as frightening as it was, had awakened something
in me, a curiosity, a need to know more about the world and
its hidden corners. I no longer wanted to be a
passive observer in my own life. I wanted to explore, to seek out
the mysteries of the world and uncover the truth.
My thoughts drifted to the woods near our house, a place I had
always avoided at night, but now it called to me whispering
secrets in the wind. I knew what I had to do.
I needed to go back, to face my fears and find out once and for
all what had visited me that night.
As I drifted off to sleep, a plan began to form in my mind.
Tomorrow I would start my investigation.
I would go into the woods, and this time I would not be afraid.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows that danced across
my bedroom walls. I stood there, backpacks slung
over one shoulder, filled with everything I thought I might
need. Flashlight, extra batteries, my
sketchbook, and, of course my phone.
Scout watched me with her head tilted as if questioning my
sanity. Maybe she was right to wonder.
After all, I was about to venture into the woods at dusk,
chasing after something that might not even exist.
I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, a mix
of fear and excitement. This was it.
The moment where I would either prove to myself that I wasn't
crazy or, well, I wasn't sure what the alternative was.
I just knew I had to find out what was out there.
Come on, Scout, I said, my voice more confident than I felt.
She bounded up to me, ready for whatever adventure lay ahead.
Together we stepped out the door, the familiar comfort of
home giving way to the unknown. The woods were different at
night. Sounds were amplified, a twig
snapping under foot sounded like a gunshot, and the rustle of
leaves in the wind sent shivers down my spine.
I kept my flashlight trained in front of me, half expecting to
see the figure from the other night appear at any moment.
But there was nothing, just the darkness and the occasional
curious gaze of a deer caught in the light.
As we venture deeper into the woods, I couldn't help but feel
a little foolish. What was I expecting to find?
Ghosts. Monsters.
The rational part of my brain told me I was on a wild goose
chase. But something else, Something
deeper urged me on. We reached the spot where I
thought I had seen the figure. I shown my flashlight around,
inspecting every tree, every shadow.
But there was nothing out of the ordinary, just an empty patch of
forest that looked like every other part.
Disappointment washed over me. Had I really let my imagination
get the best of me? I sat down on a fallen log scout
settling beside me, her warm body a small comfort in the cool
night air. That's when I heard it.
A sound that wasn't just the wind or a nocturnal animal going
about its business. It was a soft, scrabbling noise,
like something or someone moving through the underbrush.
My heart leaped into my throat. I grabbed my flashlight and
stood up, ready to face whatever was out there.
But as quickly as the sound had come, it vanished.
I stood in silence, listening hard.
But there was nothing. Just the quiet of the woods and
the beating of my own heart. I realized then that the answer
I was looking for might not be as straightforward as I had
hoped. Maybe some mysteries weren't
meant to be solved. Maybe the thrill was in the
search, the endless quest for understanding in a world filled
with unknowns. As we made our way back home, I
felt a sense of peace settle over me.
I might not have found the creature from that night, but I
had found something else. Courage.
The courage to face the unknown, to step into the darkness and
not be afraid of what might be lurking there.
And so my quest continues, not just for the truth about that
night, but for the many mysteries that lie waiting in
the shadows. With Scout by my side, I'm ready
for whatever comes next. The adventure, it seems, is just
beginning. The idea of one last hurrah
before the inevitable splintering of paths to
different colleges seemed not just appealing, but necessary.
The Pacific Crest Trail, with its promise of untamed
wilderness and nights under the stars, was the perfect backdrop
for our final adventure together.
Dan, my boyfriend of two years, was the architect of this trip,
his excitement contagious as he picked me up early in the
morning. His Jeep was packed to the brim,
a testament to his thorough preparation, or perhaps just his
inability to pack light. You're going to love it, Dan
promised as we drove, the landscape blurring past us.
His description of the trail painted pictures of endless
green canopies and crisp mountain air, a world away from
the suburban monotony we were eager to escape.
It's US against nature out there.
But babe, I think nature might have a bone to pick with us,
considering the amount of alcohol we're bringing along.
I laughed, glancing at the cooler that was indeed filled to
the brim with an assortment of drinks.
What about this? Dan said, pulling out a sandwich
size zip lock bag filled with weed.
I'm sure Mother Nature won't mind this.
It's her creation after all. Snatching the bag from him, I
couldn't help but admire the quality been holding out on me,
huh? I teased the familiar scent
filling the car. The drive to the trail felt both
eternal and fleeting, conversations flowing as
smoothly as the road beneath us. When we arrived at the Bridge of
the Gods, the sight took my breath away.
It was a majestic structure, serving as a threshold between
the mundane and the magical. We crossed it with a mix of
reverence and caution, aware that we were sharing this narrow
path with larger, more menacing vehicles.
The hike to our campsite was uneventful, yet every step
filled me with a growing sense of freedom.
We settled by the river, the perfect spot, as dictated by
some unspoken agreement Among us, Nick, his girlfriend Tessa,
the inseparable twins Sadie and Katie, Dan and I3 tents for six
people our makeshift homes. For the next few days, as the
sun dipped below the jagged mountains, painting the sky and
shades of orange and purple, we gathered around the fire that
Nick and Dan had started. The alcohol did flow, easing us
into a state of nostalgic reminiscence about high school
antics and whispered confessions of our hopes for the future.
Dan grew quiet as darkness enveloped us, his gaze fixed on
the river following his line of sight.
I squinted, trying to make sense of the shadows dancing on the
water. Do you see that?
He asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
We all looked, the mood shifting palpably.
Nick, ever the protector, retrieved A flare gun from his
backpack, aiming it towards the dark outline that it captured
our attention. The flare arced through the
night, briefly illuminating the riverbank and revealing a boat.
And not just any boat, but one, With two figures on board, their
intentions unclear, the sudden intrusion of these strangers,
coupled with Nick's reckless response, sparked a flurry of
activity. Rocks were thrown, harsh words
exchanged, but eventually the boat retreated, leaving us with
a lingering sense of unease. Trying to shake off the
incident, we returned to our revelry, determined not to let
fear dampen our spirits. Yet as I laid in my tent later
that night, the excitement of the day warring with the
adrenaline of our unexpected encounter, I couldn't help but
feel a foreboding sense of what was to come.
This was supposed to be a trip to celebrate our bond, our last
carefree days before adulthood. Little did I know, it was the
beginning of a nightmare none of us could have anticipated.
The first light of dawn had barely touched the sky when I
awoke to the distant sound of water gently colliding with the
riverbank. The events of the previous night
felt like a distant dream, blurred at the edges by sleep in
the remnants of alcohol induced haze.
Yet the unease that settled in my stomach was real, as palpable
as the cold air that seeped into our tents.
We emerged from our shelters, groggy and disoriented, only to
discover the stark reality of our situation.
Our supplies, meticulously packed and accounted for, had
vanished without a trace. The coolers, once brimming with
the promise of indulgence, were gone.
Even the zip lock bag, a token of our rebellion against the
strictures of the world we were temporarily leaving behind, had
disappeared. The theft was a violation, a
stark reminder that the wilderness we had sought to
embrace was not ours to claim. The initial shock gave way to a
creeping dread as we realized we were not alone.
Our isolation, once a coveted ally, had turned against us.
The mysterious boat from the night before was no mere figment
of our intoxicated minds. It was a harbinger of the danger
that now lurked unseen among the trees.
Determined not to let this set back derail our adventure, we
decided to split up in search of the trail we had abandoned the
day before. The logic was sound.
More ground could be covered if we divided our efforts.
Yet as Dan and I ventured into the dense underbrush, each snap
of a twig, each rustle of leaves felt like the closing steps of
an unseen predator. Our search was aimless, guided
more by instinct than any real sense of direction.
The dense canopy above seemed to mock our efforts, filtering the
light into a kaleidoscope of shadows that dance just out of
reach. It was, in one such moment,
caught between light and shadow, that Dan stopped dead in his
tracks. There he whispered, his voice
barely carrying over the sound of our breathing.
Do you see it? I followed his gaze, my heart
sinking as I discerned the outline of a figure standing
motionless in the distance, clad in a bright orange hoodie that
seemed to glow amidst the green. The figure was an anomaly, a
stark contrast to the natural palette of the forest.
The tension was palpable, A tangible force that seemed to
hold us in place even as every instinct screamed for us to
flee. We turned our retreat as chaotic
as it was swift, the underbrush clawing at our legs as if to
slow our escape. The forest, a labyrinth of
green, offered no sanctuary, only the illusion of safety that
shattered with each crunch of foliage beneath our feet.
When I fell, the forest floor greeted me with unforgiving
hardness, a stark reminder of the brutality of nature.
Pain shot through my wrist, a cruel souvenir of my attempt to
escape the inevitable. Dan's face, etched with concern
and fear, was the last thing I saw before I urged him to leave
me behind, a desperate attempt to ensure at least one of us
made it out alive. But we were not meant to part
ways. Not there, not under the
watchful gaze of our pursuer. With a determination born of
desperation, we pressed on the pain in my wrist, a constant
reminder of the stakes. The clearing we stumbled upon
was not a reprieve but a trap, the smoldering remains of a fire
serving as a sinister welcome. We were not alone.
The realization hit us with the force of a physical blow, the
presence of others in the clearing confirming our worst
fears. The hunters had funneled us
here, their motives as obscure as the paths that had LED us to
this moment of reckoning. As we stood back-to-back,
surrounded by the encroaching figures, the wilderness ceased
to be a backdrop for our adventure and became the stage
for our survival. In that moment, the Pacific
Crest Trail was no longer a path to freedom, but a descent into a
nightmare from which there was no waking.
The clearing, bathed in the weak light of dawn, felt like the
world holding its breath. The smoldering remains of a fire
pit in the center served as a grim reminder of the night's
horrors. Surrounded with no obvious path
to safety, the feeling of being haunted settled over us like a
shroud. Dan's hand found mine, his grip
firm grounding. Yet when I looked into his eyes
I saw the reflection of my own fear.
We were standing at the edge of a precipice.
The unknown lay before us, shrouded in mist and menace, the
men in orange hoodies, their faces obscured by camouflage.
Masks emerged from the trees like spectres, silent harbingers
of doom. Our group, once vibrant and full
of life, was now a study in terror.
Nick, with his usual bravado, seemed to shrink before the
encircling hunters. Tessa clung to him, her eyes
wide, searching for an escape where none existed.
Sadie and Katie, the twins who had always shared an unbreakable
bond, stood close, their faces mirroring the same stark terror.
The decision to run was unspoken, A collective impulse
driven by primal fear. We broke as a unit scattering in
different directions, a desperate attempt to evade our
pursuers. The forest, once a place of
beauty and tranquility, transformed into a maze of
shadows and threats. Each branch of potential snare,
each shadow a hiding place for our hunters.
The sound of a gunshot shattered the relative silence, a cruel
punctuation to the chaos. Nick fell, the impact of the
bullet sending him to the ground in a heap.
The sight of him motionless was a gut punch, a visceral reminder
of the stakes. Dan and I paused only for a
moment, our survival instincts screaming for us to continue.
We ran, lungs burning, legs pumping with adrenaline fueled
desperation. The forest blurred past, a
kaleidoscope of green and brown as we sought refuge, any kind of
sanctuary. But salvation remained elusive,
the Hunter's presence a constant shadow at our backs.
A second shot rang out, this time striking Dan.
The force of the impact spun him around, a fine mist of blood
painting the air. He fell, his body crumpling in a
way that left no room for hope. My heart broke, then, shattered
by the realization that I was alone, truly alone in this
nightmare. With no time to mourn, I pushed
forward, driven by the instinct to survive.
The clearing gave way to dense underbrush, the ground uneven
beneath my feet. Every rustle of leaves, every
snap of a twig was a potential threat, a possible end.
Eventually, exhaustion and pain became too much, forcing me to
stop. My breaths came in ragged gasps.
Each won a battle. The silence of the forest was
oppressive, a weight on my chest that made it hard to think, hard
to move. It was in this moment of utter
despair that I heard it. A faint sound, the distant
murmur of voices, hope fragile and fleeting, sparked within me.
With the last reserves of my strength, I move towards the
sound, each step an act of defiance against the hunters who
sought to end my story. The trail emerged suddenly, like
a line drawn in the sand between the nightmare and the real
world. I stumbled onto it, my relief so
intense it was almost palpable. The bridge, the threshold
between wilderness and civilization, was insight, a
beacon of hope in the darkness. Flagging down a car, I collapsed
into the arms of strangers, my story pouring out in a torrent
of words and tears. The police arrived, their
questions a blur as the reality of what had happened settled
around me like a shroud. Tessa and I were the only ones
left, the sole survivors of a trip that had promised so much
and delivered only horror. The woods had claimed the rest,
their laughter and dreams silenced by the cruelty of men
who haunted for sport, not sustenance.
As I sat in the back of an ambulance, watching the sunrise
on a day I never thought I'd see, I knew that the wilderness
would forever be a place of terror.
For me, the Pacific Crest Trail, once a symbol of adventure and
freedom, was now a grave, a reminder of how quickly joy can
turn to despair, how suddenly the light can be snuffed out by
darkness. The sun dipped low, casting long
shadows that stretched across the clearing like fingers
grasping at the remnants of the day.
The forest, once a place of serene beauty, now felt like a
mausoleum, silent except for the whisper of the wind through the
trees. It was here, in this desolate
place, that the final chapter of our journey unfolded, a journey
that had begun with laughter and dreams only to end in nightmare
and tragedy. As Tessa and I sat in the back
of the police cruiser, the officers voices were a distant
murmur, their questions punctuating the heavy silence
that hung between us. My mind was a torrent of images
and emotions replaying the events that had led to this
moment. The senseless violence, the loss
of friends, the desperation of our escape.
It all seemed like a horrific dream from which I couldn't
awaken. The clearing where we had been
trapped, where Dan and Nick had fallen, was now a crime scene,
cordoned off with yellow tape that fluttered in the breeze.
The authorities had found the gruesome spectacle left by our
hunters, a macabre display of sadism that defied understanding
Sadie and Katie, the inseparable twins, were discovered in a
manner so barbaric, so inhuman, that the mere thought of it sent
shivers down my spine. Dan and Nick, their bodies lying
at the foot of that horrific tableau, were silent witnesses
to the cruelty that humans are capable of inflicting upon one
another. I tried to speak, to give voice
to the horror, but found that words were inadequate to
describe the depth of our despair.
Tessa, her face a mask of shock and grief, could only clutch at
my hand, her silence a testament to the unspeakable nature of our
ordeal. The officers were patient, their
faces etched with a mix of sympathy and professional
detachment. They asked us to recount our
story, to provide details that might lead to the capture of
those responsible. But what could I say?
How could I articulate the fear, the loss, the sheer brutality of
what we had witnessed as the sunset, casting the world into
twilight? The reality of our situation
sank in. We were survivors, yes, but at
what cost? Our friends, our innocence, our
belief in the fundamental goodness of the world, all had
been stripped away in those dark woods.
The ride back to civilization was a blur of lights and
shadows, the world outside the cruiser window a stark contrast
to the darkness we had escaped. The bridge, once a symbol of our
adventure, now felt like a gateway to a world we no longer
belonged. In the aftermath of our ordeal
was a whirlwind of police interviews, media attention, and
the suffocating embrace of families who had come perilously
close to losing us. But amidst the chaos, a profound
sense of loss lingered, a void that could not be filled by
comforting words or shared grief.
As I lay in my own bed that night, the safety of familiar
surroundings did little to ease. The turmoil within The forest,
with its secrets and shadows, had imprinted itself upon my
soul, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the
darkness that lurks just beyond the light.
I vowed never to return to the Pacific Crest Trail, to leave
behind the wilderness and its hidden dangers.
But I knew, even as I made that promise to myself, that the
memories of what had happened would never fade.
They would haunt me, a ghostly echo of laughter and screams
forever intertwined in the story of a journey that had ended in
despair. And so, as the final chapter of
our adventure closed, I understood that some paths once
taken, can never be untrodden. The scars we bore were not just
physical but emotional, etched deep into our being, a permanent
reminder of our brush with death in the Wilds of the Pacific
Crest Trail. I've always considered myself
kind of a dork, with short black hair that never seemed to sit
right and braces that felt like they could pick up satellite
signals. I wasn't exactly what you'd call
cool, but believe it or not, I did play lacrosse.
OK, I wasn't the fastest or the most coordinated on the team,
but what I lacked in agility I made-up for in brute strength.
It was weird for a kid my size. You wouldn't expect me to be
strong, but somehow I was. Every summer I made the trip to
Phoenix, AZ to visit my grandparents on my dad's side.
It was a tradition, one that I secretly looked forward to
despite the heat that could fry an egg on the sidewalk.
My grandparents were an odd pair.
My grandpa stood tall at Six Way 6A, semi muscular tower of a man
with a penchant for jokes and teasing.
He never took anything too seriously, which made every
visit unpredictable and fun. My grandma, on the other hand,
was tall for a woman, about 5 for 9, and rather skinny.
She didn't joke much herself, but she always laughed at
Grandpa's antics. They were different in many
ways, but their love for each other and their family was
evident. They also shared a love for the
outdoors, often going on walks and hikes, which was something I
admired, even if I didn't always share their enthusiasm.
This summer was different, though.
I was alone. My older brother Jayan, who was
six years older than me, had always been my companion on
these trips, but this year he decided to stay back and work,
saving money for his return to campus.
I wasn't mad at him. I got it.
It was a responsible decision, but I missed him.
JN was more than just my brother.
He was my best friend, the person I could always rely on
and open up to. Our dog Lucy was part of the
family too. She was a rescue, a beautiful
mix that looked more like a large fox than any dog breed I
could name. Even after becoming a registered
veterinarian assistant, I couldn't quite place her breed.
She had medium sized pointy ears, a snout, and a devotion to
her owners that reminded me of a German shepherd.
But her fur was the bright orange of a fox and her tail
matched. The morning after I arrived at
my grandparents, they announced we'd be hiking up Camelback
Mountain. I wasn't thrilled.
Like most teenagers, my idea of a good time was more about
scrolling through YouTube in bed than sweating up a mountain.
This was also the first year without JN by my side, which
made the prospect even less appealing.
But as I sat in the car with Grandma, staring out at the
scorching Arizona sun and listening to Lucy's steady
panting from the back seat, I couldn't help but feel a bit of
excitement. There was something about being
here with my family in the vast, open desert around us that felt
like an adventure waiting to happen.
Little did I know this trip would be more than I bargained
for, and I'd soon find out that the world was much bigger and
more mysterious than I had ever imagined.
Dragging myself out of bed that morning felt like pulling teeth.
The sun hadn't even properly said hello yet, and there I was,
getting ready to hike up a mountain that looked like a
camel's hump. Why couldn't we just have a
normal summer activity, like swimming or, I don't know, an
ice cream eating contest? Anything but hiking in what felt
like the surface of the sun? Grandma seemed excited, though
she always did. It's going to be a great day for
a hike, Josh, she said, her eyes sparkling with that adventurous
spirit I wished I could share. And then there was Lucy, wagging
her tail, completely oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm.
She loved these outings probably more than anyone else.
If it weren't for her, and the fact that I didn't want to let
my grandparents down, I might have tried harder to get out of
it. The drive to Camelback Mountain
was quiet. I spent most of it staring out
the window, watching the landscape shift from the urban
sprawl of Phoenix to the rugged, raw beauty of the Arizona
desert. The mountains stood tall against
the blue sky, their silhouettes a stark reminder of how small we
really were. It was beautiful in a desolate
sort of way. Once we arrived.
I strapped on my backpack, making sure I had enough water
to last me through what I was sure would be a grueling trek.
Lucy, ever the eager one, was already pulling at her leash,
ready to explore. I had to admit, her excitement
was infectious. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad
after all. As we started up the trail,
grandma by my side, and Lucy leading the charge, I began to
feel a sense of peace. The early morning air was cool,
a gentle reminder that the day hadn't yet reached its full
scorching potential. The path was surrounded by a
surprising amount of greenery, Cacti and arid, resistant trees
formed a sort of desert Oasis that I hadn't expected.
Above us, the sky was a canvas of blue, vast and endless.
We made idle talk as we walked, Grandma telling me stories of
her younger days when she and Grandpa would explore these
trails long before the city had crept so close.
It was hard to imagine her as anything but my grandmother.
Yet here she was, sharing tales of adventure and youth.
It made me see her in a different light.
But as we delved deeper into the trail, a nagging feeling started
to grow in the pit of my stomach.
I couldn't quite place it at first.
Was it just the heat starting to get to me, or something else?
I glanced at Lucy, and the way her ears perked up in her stance
lowered sent a shiver down my spine.
She sensed something. Animals have that instinct, a
way of knowing when something's not quite right.
And if Lucy was on edge, then maybe I should be too.
The beauty of the trail, the cacti and the blue skies
suddenly felt overshadowed by a sense of dread.
I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just the
unfamiliarity of the terrain, or maybe a story from Papa that was
creeping back into my mind, but deep down I knew it was neither.
Something was out here with us, something that made the hair on
the back of my neck stand up. I remembered Papa's words.
If you ever feel like you're being stalked, don't run.
Prey runs. I had no idea how soon I'd need
to heed that advice. The further we hiked, the
heavier the air felt, like it was thick, with something more
than just the heat. Lucy's behavior hadn't improved.
If anything, she seemed more on edge, her body tense and her
steps cautious. Grandma, ever so focused on the
trail ahead, didn't seem to notice, but I did.
Every rustle in the bushes, every shadow that moved just
beyond my line of sight. It all made my heart race
faster. I tried to remember what Papa
had told me about being in the jungle during the war, about the
things he'd seen that he couldn't quite explain.
I always thought they were just stories meant to scare me into
being cautious. But standing there in the middle
of the Arizona desert with something watching us, I wasn't
so sure anymore. That's when I saw it.
At first I thought it was just a trick of the light, a shadow
cast in a peculiar way. But as I focused, I realized it
was looking back at me, hidden partially behind a large cactus.
There was something. Someone.
No, it couldn't be a person. It was too big, too dark, and
the way it seemed to blend with the shadows was unnatural.
Its eyes were the most terrifying part.
They were like voids, black holes that seemed to suck in the
light around them except for a faint glint of yellow that made
it clear it was staring right at me.
I felt a chill run down my spine, my body instinctively
knowing this creature was dangerous.
I remembered Papa's words. Don't run, pray, runs.
My legs wanted to bolt, every instinct telling me to flee.
But I forced myself to stand still.
Don't scream, Pray screams. My throat was tight, but I kept
silent. And then the hardest advice to
follow don't meet its gaze. How do you not look at something
that seems to hold your death in its eyes?
But I had to protect Grandma and Lucy.
I couldn't let my fear control me.
I tried to make myself bigger, puffing out my chest and
spreading my arms, hoping to appear more intimidating.
It felt silly, a kid trying to scare off a monster from the
stories. But what else could I do?
Grandma, we need to go back, I said, my voice steady despite
the fear. I don't feel good.
She looked at me, concern etching her features.
Oh honey, we can head back if you're not feeling up to it.
As we turned around, I made sure to stay between the creature and
my grandmother, walking backwards for a few steps before
convincing myself it was safe to turn.
Every sound seemed amplified, every shadow a potential hiding
spot for the creature, but it didn't follow us, or if it did,
it stayed out of sight. The walk back to the car was the
longest journey of my life. I kept replaying the encounter
in my head, trying to make sense of what I'd seen.
Was it real? Had I imagined it?
But the fear I felt, the way Lucy reacted, it was all too
real. We reached the car without
incident, and as we drove away, I couldn't help but look back,
half expecting to see the creature following us.
But there was nothing. Just the desert, the mountain,
and the unanswered questions that would haunt me for a long
time to come. The ride back home was a blur.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts trying to process what
had just happened. Every now and then I'd catch
Grandma glancing at me from the rear view mirror, a mix of
concern and curiosity in her eyes.
Lucy was quiet too, resting her head on my lap as if she could
sense my unease. Once we got home, I excused
myself and went straight to my room.
I needed time to think, to be alone with my thoughts.
I replayed the encounter over and over in my head, each time
trying to convince myself that it had been just my imagination.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't. The fear I felt was too real,
too visceral to be made-up. I remembered Papa's stories, the
warnings he'd given me about creatures we couldn't
understand. I always thought they were just
tales from an old man who'd seen too much war, but now I wasn't
so sure. Had he been trying to prepare me
for something like this? The thought sent shivers down my
spine. Two days later, Grandma
mentioned something that made my blood run cold.
She'd seen a news report about hikers going missing on the same
trail we've been on. My heart stopped.
That could have been us, if we hadn't turned back when we did.
I didn't even want to think about it.
I was grateful to Grandma for listening to me that day, for
trusting me enough to turn back. It was a small comfort, but it
meant everything in that moment. I realized then how fragile life
could be, how quickly things could change.
The encounter changed me. I couldn't look at the world the
same way anymore. There was so much out there that
we didn't understand. So many mysteries hidden in the
shadows. I found myself being more
cautious, more aware of my surroundings.
The adventurous spirit that had once driven me to explore seemed
to have dimmed, replaced by a wariness that I couldn't shake.
Papa's advice never left me. I carried it like a Talisman, a
reminder of the day I came face to face with the unknown.
I even started carrying a serrated pocket knife he'd given
me for my birthday. It was more symbolic than
anything, but it gave me a sense of security, a feeling that I
wasn't completely defenseless. I never went back to those
mountains. The thought alone was enough to
make my heart race. Instead, I found other ways to
satisfy my curiosity, other paths to explore that felt
safer, less threatening. But the memory of that day
lingered, a shadow that followed me, reminding me of the world's
hidden dangers. In the end, I learned to live
with the fear, to accept it as part of my reality.
It was a hard lesson, one that taught me respect for the
natural world and its mysteries. I knew I couldn't let it control
me. I couldn't let it stop me from
living my life. But I also knew I'd never forget
the day I realized we weren't alone, that there were things
out there beyond our understanding.
And maybe, just maybe, that was OK.
The moment our tires crunched onto the gravel path that led to
our chosen campsite in the heart of Arkansas's wilderness, I felt
the weight of the city life lift off my shoulders.
James, my ever adventurous boyfriend, was at the wheel, his
eyes bright with the promise of a weekend away from it all.
Lane, his childhood friend and our occasional guide into the
wild, lounged in the back seat, his laughter mingling with the
sound of the forest around us. We're going to have the best
time, James declared as he parked our old SUV in a clearing
that offered a picturesque view of the Creek.
The sun was beginning to dip low, casting long shadows that
danced on the water surface. It was perfect, just us, the
wilderness, and the kind of quiet you can't find in any
city. We unloaded our gear with
practiced ease, the routine of setting up camp as familiar to
us as the back of our hands. The tent was up in no time, and
soon a fire crackled in the pit, it's warm glow warding off the
evening chill. Lane, the unofficial DJ of our
group, picked out a playlist of groovy tunes that filled the
air, blending seamlessly with the natural Symphony of the
Creek and the rustling leaves. As darkness enveloped our little
campsite, we settled around the fire, the flickering flames
illuminating our faces. We shared stories, laughed, and
enjoyed the simple pleasure of each other's company, our
conversation punctuated by the occasional pop and hiss of the
firewood. The Creek murmured in the
background, a constant, soothing presence.
It was during one of these moments, as we relaxed into the
night, that James's gaze drifted beyond the fire light.
You see that he nudged me, nodding towards a faint light in
the distance. I squinted, making out what
looked like another fire far off through the trees.
Probably just some other campers, Lane chimed in.
Though we hadn't noticed anyone else when we arrived, the
thought was momentarily unsettling.
Had we been so absorbed in our own little world that we miss
the signs of neighbors? Yet as quickly as the curiosity
came, it was dismissed. We were here to disconnect after
all, not to ponder over the presence of others.
The night deepened, and with it our conversation drifted into
silence. The fire had burned down to
glowing embers, casting a soft, comforting light.
The music had been turned down now, just a gentle backdrop to
the sound of the night. It was the perfect end to a day
in the wilderness, Or so we thought as we prepared to turn
in for the night. I couldn't shake off a feeling
of unease, as if the shadows held secrets we were not Privy
to. But looking over at James and
Lane, their faces lit by the dying fire, I pushed those
thoughts away. We were together, we were safe,
and that was all that mattered. We crawled into our tent, the
fabric walls a thin barrier between US and the vast unknown
dark. I drifted off to sleep with the
comforting thought that tomorrow was another day of adventure,
unaware of the turn our story was about to take.
The night had deepened into an impenetrable black, the kind
that seems to swallow sound, insight whole.
I was jerked awake, not by a noise, but by an absence of it,
the kind of silence that screams.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I lay still, trying to
discern the cause of my sudden wakefulness.
Beside me, James was a silent, rigid form, his eyes wide in the
dark. What is it?
My whisper barely disturbed the air, yet James's hand found
mine, his grip tight. Listen was all he said.
And then I heard it. The subtle, unmistakable sound
of movement outside our tent, the soft crunch of leaves and
the occasional snap of a twig. My mind raced.
Animal. Human.
Something else. The wilderness doesn't scare me.
It's what I can't see in it that does.
We lay there, frozen as minutes stretched into what felt like
hours. The crackling of the fire had
long since died down, and the night seemed to press in on us
with a palpable intensity. I could hear my own breathing
too loud in the oppressive silence, and James's steady
quiet inhales and exhales beside me.
Then, abruptly, the silence was shattered by the sound of our
car door handle being jiggled once, twice.
The clear intention behind the action sent a chill down my
spine. Someone or something was out
there, and they were trying to get into our car.
The whispering started then, a low murmur that was impossible
to ignore. It was human, or so it seemed,
but carried an otherworldly quality that made my skin crawl.
The voices were too soft to make out words, but the intent felt
malevolent, a discussion of plans that we were not meant to
understand. James's grip on my hand
tightened to the point of pain, a silent echo of the fear we
both felt. The tent no longer felt like a
refuge, but a trap, too flimsy to offer any real protection.
Lane was in his tent, a mere 15 feet away, but he might as well
have been Miles for all the help he could offer us.
The voices continued, A sinister whispering that seemed to circle
our campsite, drawing ever closer.
I could feel James tents beside me, his body coiled like a
spring, ready to act, to defend, but against what?
Our unseen assailants remained just that unseen, their presence
marked only by the eerie sound of their voices.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the whispering stopped.
The silence that followed was even more terrifying, A void
that seemed to wait. Expectant.
I held my breath, listening for any sign of what was to come
next. But nothing did.
The night reclaimed its silence, leaving us with nothing but our
fear and the pounding of our hearts.
We didn't sleep after that, remaining alert and watchful
until the first light of dawn began to seep through the fabric
of our tent. The morning brought no answers,
only more questions. The absence of any footprints or
signs of our nocturnal visitors was as disturbing as the
encounter itself. It was as if the night had
conjured them from the ether, leaving us to wonder if what we
had experienced was real or the product of our imagination.
But the fear was real, as palpable as the weight of the
gun I wished I had brought along.
And as we packed up our camp in the cold light of morning, I
knew one thing for certain. The wilderness had revealed a
face to us that night that I never wanted to see again.
The morning sun did little to dispel the chill that had
settled over us since the night's unsettling events.
With the light came the reality of our situation, stark against
the backdrop of the serene wilderness that had been our
haven just a day before. James Lane and I moved with a
mechanical efficiency, our actions driven by the need to
understand, to find some evidence that would make sense
of the whispers and the fear. We have to check around, see if
they left anything behind, James said, his voice carrying a
weight that matched the bags under his eyes.
Lane nodded, his usual easy going demeanor replaced by a
taut alertness as we began to scour the area around our
campsite. But there was nothing.
The ground, covered in a layer of pine needles and leaves,
betrayed no signs of intrusion. No footprints marred the earth.
No disturbed vegetation pointed to a hasty retreat.
It was as if the forest had conspired to erase any evidence
of the night's visitors. It's like they were never here,
Lane muttered, echoing my thoughts.
But we knew they had been. The fear we'd felt, the whispers
we'd heard. They were too real to dismiss as
a collective hallucination. Our search LED us to the spot
where we had seen the distant fire the night before.
But here, to the forest offered no clues, no ashes, no remnants
of a campfire. The ground was undisturbed, the
silence unbroken, the voices. They sounded so close, I said,
struggling to reconcile the lack of physical evidence with the
intensity of what we had experienced.
But they talked about the car, and we heard them from here.
How? James shook his head, His brow
furrowed in thought. I don't know.
It doesn't make any sense. And no tracks.
Nothing. It's like they floated over the
ground. The notion seemed absurd, yet in
the absence of any logical explanation, the absurd began to
take on the Sheen of possibility.
We had heard stories, of course. Local legends of spirits and
creatures that roamed these woods, Tales we had laughed off
as the kind of folklore every secludeded area seemed to have.
Now those stories wormed their way into our thoughts, offering
explanations that defied logic but fit the facts as we knew
them. We should get out of here, Lane
said, finally voicing the decision we had all silently
reached. The wilderness around us felt
different now, it's beauty marred by the knowledge of what
lurked within it, unseen and unknown.
Packing up our camp, we spoke little, each lost in our own
thoughts. The drive back to civilization
was somber, the landscapes that had thrilled us on the way in
now passing by unnoticed. Our conversation from the night
before seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the fear
and the questions that now filled the car.
As we left the wilderness behind, I couldn't help but look
back, half expecting to see something watching us from the
trees. But there was only the forest,
silent and inscrutable, keeping its secrets.
The experience had changed something in US, I realized.
The wilderness had always been a place of escape, a sanctuary
from the world's noise. Now it was a reminder of how
thin the veil was between the known and the unknown, and how
easily that veil could be torn aside.
We had sought an adventure, a break from the predictability of
our lives. We had found it not in the
beauty of the natural world, but in the shadows that lay just
beyond the reach of our campfire light.
And as we return to the familiar streets of our town, the echoes
of those whispers followed us, a haunting reminder of what lay
hidden in the heart of the wilderness.
The road unwound before us, a ribbon of asphalt slicing
through the landscape, leading us away from the wilderness and
back into the embrace of civilization.
The familiar sights of town life gradually came into view, but
they seemed somehow less real, less substantial than they had
before our trip. We had left seeking an escape
from the mundane, a taste of the wild unknown, but we returned
with a deeper, more unsettling knowledge.
The silence in the car was a heavy thing, filled with the
echoes of our experiences. James drove with a focused
intensity, his usual easy banter gone.
Lane two was quiet, staring out the window at the passing
scenery with a distant look in his eyes.
I found myself caught between a longing for the comfort of home
and a strange reluctance to re enter a world that now seems
slightly Askew, tainted by the shadow of our night in the
woods. As we neared home, the
conversation turned hesitantly to what had happened.
We spoke in low tones, as if afraid that raising our voices
would somehow make it all more real.
The lack of evidence, the impossibility of what we had
heard and felt, left us grappling for understanding.
It's like the more we talk about it, the less sense it makes,
Lane said, breaking a long silence.
His words hung in the air and acknowledgement of the surreal
quality of our experience. James nodded, his eyes never
leaving the road. I keep thinking about those
voices, the way they seem to come from nowhere and everywhere
at the same time. It's hard to shake off.
I listen to them, feeling the weight of my own thoughts.
The fear had receded, leaving in its wake a profound sense of
vulnerability, a realization of how little we truly understand
about the world around us. The wilderness had always been a
place of beauty and peace for me, a sanctuary from the
complexities of human life. Now it felt like a vast,
unknowable entity, indifferent to our presence and capable of
hiding secrets beyond our comprehension.
The drive home had given me time to reflect on the thin veil
between the known and the unknown, and how easily it can
be pierced. Our encounter in the woods was a
stark reminder of the mysteries that lurk just beyond the edge
of our understanding, hidden in the shadows and whispers of the
night. As we unpack the car, the
familiar sights and sounds of our neighborhood wrapped around
me like a comforting blanket. Yet beneath the comfort, a
question lingered. What else was out there, unseen,
unheard, moving in the depths of the unknown?
Our adventure had ended, but the echoes of that night would stay
with us, a haunting reminder of our brush with the inexplicable.
In the days that followed, I found myself looking at the
world with new eyes, aware of the thinness of the barrier that
separates the ordinary from the extraordinary.
The wilderness had changed us, not just by instilling fear.
But by opening our minds to the vastness of the unknown, it was
a lesson in humility, a reminder that for all our advancements
and understanding, there are still things beyond our grasp,
whispers in the dark that defy explanation.
As I settled back into the rhythms of daily life, the
memories of that night in the Arkansas woods remained A
shadowy presence. At the edge of my thoughts.
We had sought an escape from the ordinary, and we had found it
not in the way we expected, but in a way that would forever
alter our perception of the world.
The wilderness had revealed its other face to us, not just as a
place of beauty and solitude, but as a realm where the
mysteries of the universe whispered just beyond the fire
light.