Ever since I can remember, life in our small Utah town felt like
a scene straight out of an old western movie.
Houses spaced miles apart, open fields as far as the eye could
see, and the Rocky Mountains painting a distant, majestic
backdrop. But for me, a 25 year old who
moved away long ago, it's not the beauty of this place that
haunts my memories. It's something far more
sinister. I was 17 then, a high schooler
with more on my mind than just grades and girls.
Home wasn't exactly my favorite place.
Mom and dad. Well, let's just say we didn't
see eye to eye on most things. That's why I spent most of my
time at my best friend's house next door.
His name was Mike, and he lived in a unique spot, right where
our little town seemed to give up on growing.
His house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, a lonely Sentinel
overlooking the endless field that we jokingly called our
backyard. Those fields, man.
During the day, they were nothing but stretches of dry
grass swaying in the breeze, harmless and peaceful.
But as night fell, they transformed into something else,
something eerie. I remember the first time Mike
and I heard it. We were up late as usual,
probably playing video games or watching some horror flick,
trying to prove who was less scared.
Then came the sound, a dragging, gargling noise that seemed to
creep up from the back porch. Mike's room was in the basement,
with a window that just peeked above ground, offering a view of
the porch. We froze, eyes wide, each hoping
the other would be brave enough to take a look, but neither of
us did. Not That night.
It was easier to tell ourselves it was just a stray animal or
the wind playing tricks. The noise came and went after
that, maybe a couple of times a month we'd hear it, look at each
other with that same mix of fear and curiosity, and eventually
fall asleep without ever really checking.
This went on for years, becoming a strange, unsettling part of
our lives. We got braver, or maybe just
more foolish. A few times we'd muster up the
courage to rush to the window, peering into the darkness, but
there was never anything there. Just the empty porch bathed in
moonlight and the vast, quiet field beyond.
Looking back, I realize how much those sounds shaped those high
school years. They were like a dark cloud over
our late night laughs and whispered secrets, a reminder
that not everything in our little town was as plain and
simple as it seemed. I'd like to say we eventually
solved the mystery, confronted whatever was making those
noises. But we didn't.
Not really. The sounds just stopped one day
as mysteriously as they had started, and life went on as it
tends to do. But even now, years later and
miles away, I can still hear that dragging, gargling sound in
my dreams. It's funny how something stick
with you. How some fears once planted
never really leave. That field, with its endless
expanse and hidden secrets, still haunts me.
I can't help but wonder what was out there, just beyond the reach
of the porch light. I still remember that night as
if it happened yesterday. It was the summer after our
senior year and everything was about to change.
Mike was moving away for college and our days of carefree
adolescence were numbered. We decided to make the most of
one of our last nights together, doing what we did best, staying
up late, playing video games and watching movies.
The room was a mess of soda cans and pizza boxes, a testament to
our teenage disregard for cleanliness.
We were lost in the glow of the TV screen, the outside world
forgotten. It must have been past midnight
when Mike suggested, how about a music drive?
It was our thing, cruising down the empty streets, blaring our
favorite tunes, feeling like the kings of the world.
We hopped into his old truck, the Familiar Creek of the Doors,
like a soundtrack to our youth. The night was unusually dark,
the stars hidden behind a veil of clouds as we swung out of his
driveway. Mike flicked on the high beams,
the powerful lights cutting through the darkness and
illuminating the field ahead. That's when we saw it.
There, in the light's edge, was a figure that defied
explanation. It was on all fours, but it was
no animal I'd ever seen. Its limbs were too long, bending
in unnatural ways, and its skin? It was pale, almost translucent,
stretched tight over its bones. It looked like a person, but
grotesquely distorted, as if someone had taken a human form
and twisted it into something nightmarish.
But the face, that's what haunts me the most.
Its jaw hung open unnaturally wide, like a snake preparing to
swallow its prey, and its eyes, 2 black voids seem to absorb the
light around them. They fixed on us for a moment
that felt like an eternity. Then, as quickly as it had
appeared, the creature recoiled, scurrying backwards into the
brush. The way it moved was unsettling,
like watching a film in reverse. Mike and I sat there paralyzed,
Our hearts pounded in our ears, the only sound in the deafening
silence. We stared at each other,
wordless, the same question in our eyes.
Had we really just seen that? We didn't speak much after that,
The usual banter replaced by a heavy silence.
The drive back was a blur. Once we were inside, we locked
every door, barricaded ourselves in the basement.
We didn't sleep that night. Instead we sat there, guns in
our hands, waiting for something, anything.
But nothing came. That night changed something in
us. We'd always joked about ghosts
and monsters, but deep down, we never really believed.
But after that night, belief wasn't a choice.
It was a cold, hard reality that stared at us from the darkness
of that field. We tried to rationalize it, to
convince ourselves it was just a trick of the light or our
imagination. But the fear in our eyes, the
way our hands shook, told a different story.
We knew what we saw, even if we couldn't explain it.
I left that town not long after, but that night never left me.
It lingered in my dreams, a constant reminder of the
mysteries that lurk in the dark, unseen corners of the world.
Years have passed since that terrifying night, but not a day
goes by without it creeping into my thoughts.
I moved away from that small Utah town, chasing dreams and a
fresh start. Yet the shadows of the past
cling to me, unshakable. Whenever I return, which isn't
often, the town feels different. The once familiar streets in the
sprawling fields hold a sense of foreboding, but it's that field,
the one behind Mike's old house, that really gets to me.
It's just as vast and empty as it ever was, but now it feels
like it's hiding something, watching me with unseen eyes.
I can't explain it. I'm a logical person, or at
least I like to think I am. Ghosts.
Monsters, the things that go bump in the night, they're just
stories, right? But then I remember that night,
the creature with its elongated limbs and gaping jaw and doubt
creeps in. Was it real?
A trick of the light, perhaps? Or something else, Something
beyond our understanding, like a skinwalker.
I've spent countless hours trying to rationalize what we
saw. I've scoured the Internet for
explanations, delved into folklore, even talked to local
historians. But nothing fits.
Nothing makes sense. That image is burned into my
mind. The creatures, black, soulless
eyes. It's almost human, like form.
The way it moved. Mike and I don't talk about it
much. It's like an unspoken agreement
between us. When we do catch up, we stick to
the safe topics, work, family, the mundane details of everyday
life. But there's always that unspoken
question hanging in the air, the memory of that night lurking in
the background of our conversations.
Sometimes late at night when the world is quiet, I find myself
staring out into the darkness, half expecting to see it there,
watching me. I know it's irrational, but fear
isn't bound by logic. It's a primal, deep seated thing
that clings to you, coloring your perception of the world.
I've tried to let it go, to move on and leave it in the past, but
it's not that simple. It's like a puzzle with missing
pieces, a story with no end. I want to understand, to find
some kind of closure, but maybe some things aren't meant to be
understood. Maybe some mysteries are better
left unsolved. And so I live with it, this
haunting, this unshakable feeling that there's more to the
world than what meets the eye. That night changed me in ways
I'm still trying to comprehend. It opened my eyes to the
unknown, to the possibility that there are things out there
beyond our understanding. As much as it scares me, it also
fascinates me. It's a reminder that the world
is a vast, mysterious place, full of wonders and horrors
alike. And maybe, just maybe, that's
OK. Maybe it's enough to accept that
some things are beyond our control, beyond our
comprehension. So I'll keep looking out into
the night, half hoping, half fearing that I'll see something.
And maybe one day I'll find my answers.
But until then, I'll live with the mystery, with the haunting
memory of that night in the field and the knowledge that
some things are better left in the shadows.
The first thing that struck me about Glen Rock State Park was
its silence. It was a deep, enveloping quiet,
the kind that makes your ears ring.
I had just started as a park Ranger here, eager to leave the
noise of the city behind. But as I stood on the edge of a
thick forest, with the smell of pine and earth filling my lungs,
I realized this was a different world.
I was breaking in my new boots on the trail when Dan, my fellow
Ranger, called me on the radio. His voice, usually calm and
controlled, had an edge of urgency.
We've got a situation, he said. A hiker's gone missing.
Heather Rick's young woman, about 25, didn't check back from
her hike. My heart skipped a beat on my
way. I responded, clipping the radio
back to my belt. The sun was dipping low, casting
long shadows between the trees. As I hurried back to the
station, I couldn't help but feel a chill, despite the warm
evening air. Rachel, another Ranger, was
already at the station when I arrived.
Her face was lined with worry. Heather's an experienced hiker,
she said, spreading out a map on the hood of a patrol vehicle.
She was on the Cedar Trail. It's easy terrain, well marked.
She shouldn't have had any trouble.
As the twilight deepened, we set out with flashlights and gear,
our boots crunching on the gravel path.
The forest seemed to close in around us, the towering Pines
like silent Sentinels. Every snap of a twig under foot
made me jump. I tried to focus, remembering my
training, but the weight of the situation pressed down on me.
We found Heather's backpack first, discarded carelessly by
the side of the trail. My gut clenched.
This wasn't right. Heather's water bottle and a
crumpled park map lay nearby. I picked up the map, noticing
her planned route. There was something deliberate
in the way her things were scattered, as if someone or
something wanted them to be found.
We searched until the early hours, our voices calling out
Heather's name swallowed by the vastness of the park.
As dawn broke, we retreated, exhausted and empty handed.
Back at the station, I sat alone, sipping bitter coffee,
staring out at the thick fog that had rolled in overnight.
Dan and Rachel were in the back, making calls, organizing search
teams for the day. The forest felt different now,
ominous like it was hiding secrets.
As the sun rose, burning off the mist, I couldn't shake the
feeling that we were up against something we couldn't
understand. I thought of Heather out there
alone, and a shiver ran down my spine.
This was more than a missing hiker.
There was something wrong in Glen Rock State Park, and I was
right in the middle of it. I stood up, setting my coffee
cup down with a firm resolve. Whatever was happening here, I
was going to get to the bottom of it.
Heather's life, and perhaps our own, depended on it.
The days following Heather's disappearance blurred together
like a bad dream. Each morning I'd wake up with a
start, hoping it was all just a nightmare.
But then I'd see my Ranger badge, my uniform hanging on the
chair, and the reality would hit me again.
I was out on the trails every day, searching, probing, looking
for anything that might lead us to Heather the park.
Once a sanctuary of natural beauty, I now felt like a
labyrinth of secrets and shadows.
I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of eyes on me
from the dense undergrowth. Dan and Rachel were just as
relentless in the search. We'd become a tight knit team,
bound together by the shared mission of finding Heather.
But as days turned into a week with no sign of her, our hope
began to wane. One afternoon, as the sun cast a
golden hue over the park, I stumbled upon a stream.
It was odd, snaking through a part of the forest I thought I
knew well, but there it was, a gentle, babbling brook, not
marked on any of our maps. I crouched down, dipping my hand
in the water, expecting it to be cold.
But it was warm, strangely warm for a stream in the middle of a
forest that evening. We gathered in the Ranger
station, pouring over maps and reports.
Rachel brought in a stack of missing persons files.
Look at this, she said, spreading them out.
Each file was a woman, Each had vanished in the park, all within
the last few months. A chill ran down my spine.
This wasn't just about Heather anymore.
We were looking at a pattern, a sinister pattern that had gone
unnoticed. As we delve deeper into the
files, the forest outside seemed to press against the windows and
ever present reminder of the unknown.
I couldn't help but feel we were missing something, a piece of
the puzzle hidden in the vast wilderness.
The next day brought more eerie discoveries.
We found more of Heather's belongings carefully placed
along a trail we had already searched, A scarf draped over a
Bush, a shoe perched on a rock. It was as if someone was playing
a twisted game with us that night.
Rachel shared her theory. I think we might have a murderer
in the park, she said quietly, her voice barely above a
whisper. The words hung in the air like a
dark cloud. Later, as I lay in my bunk,
unable to sleep, I heard it, a low, mournful howling.
It wasn't an animal, It was something else, something
otherworldly. I sat up, heart pounding,
listening as it echoed through the forest.
The next few days were a blur of searches, theories, and mounting
fear. We were no longer just Park
Rangers. We were hunters, searching for a
predator in our midst. As I patrolled the trails, every
rustle of leaves, every snap twigs set me on edge.
The park had become a stranger to me, a place of hidden dangers
and unseen threats. I realized then, standing alone
in the vast whispering forest, that we were dealing with
something beyond our understanding, and I couldn't
shake the feeling that whatever was out there was just getting
started. The longer Heather remained
missing, the more the park transformed.
In my eyes, What was once a haven of natural splendor now
seemed like a vast, inscrutable entity hiding secrets beneath
its serene facade. The more we searched, the less
we understood. Our routine was grueling up at
dawn, searching until dusk, then back to the station to pour over
maps and notes. The strain was showing on all of
us, especially Rachel. Her usual stoic demeanor had
given way to a quiet, simmering anxiety one morning.
Dan didn't show up for the briefing.
Concerned, I went to his cabin. The door was ajar.
Inside, I found him sprawled on the floor, unconscious, with a
deep gash on his head. Beside him lay Heather's hat,
neatly placed as if to taunt us. My blood ran cold.
We rushed him to the nearest hospital.
The doctor said it was a miracle he was alive.
Whoever or whatever did this to him was still out there, and now
we knew they were dangerous. Back at the park, the atmosphere
was charged with a palpable sense of dread.
The Rangers spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting to the
forest's edge. Reports of strange occurrences
had escalated. Unexplained electromagnetic
disturbances, bizarre animal behaviors, and a pervasive
feeling of being watched. Late 1 evening, as Rachel and I
reviewed the day's search, she confided in me.
I've heard stories, she whispered, about skinwalkers,
creatures of Native American legend.
They can take the form of any animal, even a person.
I wanted to dismiss it as superstition, but the forest had
a way of making you believe in the unbelievable.
The eerie howling at night, the warm stream, Dan's attack.
It all defied rational explanation.
Each day we push deeper into the wilderness, but the park seemed
to shift and change around us, revealing nothing.
I began to feel like we were pawns in a game we didn't
understand, played by a force as ancient and unfathomable as the
land itself. One evening, as the sun dipped
below the horizon, casting the forest in an eerie twilight, I
saw it, a figure, shadowy and indistinct, flitting between the
trees. I gave chase, heart pounding,
but it was like chasing a wisp of smoke.
Elusive, insubstantial. I returned to the station,
breathless and shaken. What was happening in Glen Rock
State Park? Were we dealing with a human
predator, or something far more sinister?
As I lay in my bunk that night, the boundary between sleep and
wakefulness blurred. I dreamt of the forest, of eyes
glowing in the dark, of whispers carried on the wind.
When I awoke, the dream clung to me like a second skin, leaving
me unsettled. The days melded into one
another, each bringing more questions than answers.
We were no closer to finding Heather, and now, with Dan out
of Commission, our resources were stretched thin.
The park, with its hidden streams and shifting shadows,
seem to mock our efforts. I realized then that we were not
just searching for Heather or a perpetrator.
We were battling the very essence of Glen Rock State Park,
a place where reality seemed to warp and twist into something
dark and unknowable. The park was no longer just a
backdrop for our search. It had become an active
participant, a vast and enigmatic character in its own
right. The strange occurrences
escalated each day, bringing a new, inexplicable event that
defied logic. I spent my days combing through
the dense underbrush, my nights haunted by dreams of dark,
unseen forces. The line between the real and
the surreal was blurring, and I found myself questioning
everything. Rachel and I were the core of
the search team, now, with Dan still recuperating.
We pushed deeper into the park's heart, driven by a mixture of
fear and determination. Each clue we uncovered only deep
in the mystery, leading us further into the unknown.
One morning, as the mist hung low over the trees, we
discovered a series of strange markings on a group of ancient
oaks. They were unlike any animal
scratches or natural wear I'd ever seen.
The patterns were deliberate, almost ritualistic.
It was as if the trees themselves were trying to
communicate. The clues were perplexing.
We found footprints that seem to belong to no known animal,
strange symbols etched into the ground, and areas where the very
air felt charged with an unseen energy.
Each discovery left us with more questions than answers.
As we piece together the fragments of the puzzle, a
chilling picture began to emerge.
The disappearances, the strange phenomena, they all seem to be
connected. But how?
One evening, as the sunset in a blaze of Crimson and gold, we
made a startling discovery. In a secludeded Glen, we found
what appeared to be a makeshift altar adorned with bizarre
totems and surrounded by a circle of stones.
The air around it was heavy, charged with a palpable sense of
dread. That night, back at the station,
Rachel and I poured over the park's history, searching for
any clue that might explain what we had found.
The park's past was steeped in local lore and legend, tales of
spirits and creatures that roamed the forest, but nothing
concrete enough to serve as a lead.
The following days were a tense mix of trepidation and resolve.
We knew we were close to something, a revelation that
could unravel the mystery. Yet there was a part of me that
feared what we might find. Then, on a crisp morning, with
the first light of dawn filtering through the trees, we
found another clue, a photograph partially buried under a pile of
leaves. It was old, faded, but
unmistakably a picture of the park.
On the back, scrawled in hasty handwriting, were the words they
are watching. The photograph was a tangible
link to the past, a piece of the puzzle that hinted at a history
we had yet to uncover. It was a breakthrough, but it
left me with an overwhelming sense of foreboding.
What were we dealing with? A human threat, or something
beyond our understanding? As the days passed, the park
revealed its secrets and fragments like pieces of a
shattered mirror. Each piece reflected a part of
the truth, yet the full picture remained elusive.
We were no longer just searching for Heather or a culprit.
We were delving into the heart of Glen Rock State Park itself,
a place shrouded in mystery and darkness.
And as we ventured further, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we were not the hunters, but the haunted.
The days had turned into a relentless March of tension and
uncertainty. Glen Rock State Park, once a
place of tranquility, had become a maze of fear and mystery.
Each step we took seemed to draw us deeper into an abyss of the
unknown. Rachel and I had become shadows
of ourselves, driven by a relentless need to find the
truth. The park was no longer just a
setting for our search. It had become an entity, a
living, breathing presence that seemed to watch our every move.
We followed the trail of clues with dogged determination, each
one leading us further into the heart of the park.
The photograph, with its cryptic message, had opened a floodgate
of possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.
Then one foggy morning, as the first light filtered through the
trees, we stumbled upon something that changed
everything. In a clearing shrouded in mist
lay a set of old rusted tools and a diary, its pages yellowed
with age. The diary belonged to a former
park Ranger, and as I read the shaky handwriting, a cold
realization washed over me. The Ranger had written of
strange occurrences of shadows that moved in the night and
whispers on the wind. He spoke of a presence in the
park, something ancient and malevolent that had been there
long before the park was established.
The diary ended abruptly with a final, chilling entry.
They are here and they are watching.
It was the connection we had been searching for, the missing
piece that linked the past to the present, the disappearances,
the strange phenomena, the feeling of being watched.
It all stemmed from something deeply rooted in the park's
history. As we delve deeper into the
investigation, the line between reality and superstition
blurred. We uncovered more about the
park's past, tales of lost travellers and unexplained
events that had been dismissed as folklore.
But now they took on a new significance.
The climax came on a night when the moon was just a sliver in
the sky. We had set out to explore a part
of the park where the electromagnetic disturbances had
been strongest. There, in the heart of the
forest, we encountered something that defied explanation.
It was a figure, ethereal and shifting like a wisp of smoke.
It moved with an eerie grace, vanishing and reappearing
amongst the trees. We chased it, hearts pounding,
but it was like chasing a shadow in the end.
We never found Heather, nor did we come face to face with
whatever haunted the park. But the experience left us with
a profound sense of unease, a feeling that some mysteries are
better left unsolved. As I write this, sitting in the
Ranger station and looking out at the dark whispering Forest, I
know that Glen Rock State Park holds secrets that go beyond the
realm of understanding. The park is alive, with a
presence that watches, waits, and remembers.
We may never know the full truth of what happened to Heather and
the others, but one thing is certain, The park is more than
just a wilderness. It's a place where the line
between the natural and the supernatural is forever blurred,
a place that reminds us that some mysteries are not meant to
be unravelled. The warmth of the sun had begun
to fade by the time Melissa and I arrived at the campsite,
located within one of the oldest forests in our state.
We had selected the site primarily due to our shared love
of exploration in the outdoors. The air carried A crispness that
tickled our senses, and the familiar scent of pine enveloped
us, reassuring us that we were deep in nature's embrace.
With eager anticipation, we set about pitching our tent, the
fabric rustling in the gentle breeze.
The dancing flames of our well lit fire illuminated our
surroundings, casting flickering shadows that danced across the
nearby trees. As the crackling fire glowed in
the darkness, we felt a surge of excitement coursing through our
veins. The allure of the unknown
beckoned to us, fueling our desire to explore the mysteries
that lay hidden within the depths of the woods.
Leaving the safety of our campsite behind, we ventured
into the enigmatic forest, our senses heightened by our
anticipation of the adventures that awaited.
The serenity of our surroundings gradually gave way to a sense of
awe as we marveled at the towering trees, their branches
intertwining above us, creating a canopy that obscured the sky.
Each step we took, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath our feet
echoed through the silent woods. The twilight hours cast a
mystical aura over our journey, the fading light painting long,
haunting shadows across our path.
An uneasy tension settled over our shoulders as the silence of
the woods began to buzz with an indiscernible energy.
Nervous glances were exchanged between US, and vague whispers
of discomfort danced on our lips.
Melissa's grip on my hand tightened, mirroring the rapid
rhythm of my heart. In hushed voices, we attempted
to reassure ourselves that our unease was merely a product of
overactive imaginations. But every rustle in the
underbrush, every snap of a twig pushed that reassurance further
from our grasp. The vastness of the ancient
woods started to transform from a source of excitement to a
labyrinth of anxiety. The looming silhouettes of
gnarled tree trunks and twisted branches became an obstacle
course, challenging us to find our way.
We concentrated on retracing our steps, following the trail
markers that had helped us navigate the woods in the past,
but this time they seemed deceitful, mischievous.
Even as they led us astray, doubt began to creep into our
thoughts, seeping through the cracks in our confidence.
Panic nodded in the pit of my stomach as it became apparent
that we had lost our way. A shiver ran down my spine as
our surroundings began to blur, each tree resembling the next,
leaving us disoriented and trapped amidst the foreboding
wilderness. Melissa's voice quivered with
concern, her eyes searching for any signs of our campsite.
Even the comforting warmth of our fire felt leagues away as
night began to blanket the forest.
Stars began to twinkle overhead, but instead of offering solace,
they seem to mock us, distant and indifferent to our
struggles. Fear wrapped its icy fingers
around our throats, squeezing the last remnants of confidence
from our minds. Though we stood side by side,
our once unyielding bond now wavered in the face of
uncertainty. The forest, once a place of
wonder and adventure, had transformed into an oppressive
maze that swallowed our hopes and dreams.
We knew we had to find a way out to escape this claustrophobic
nightmare. But where could we turn when
every direction seemed equally foreign?
Each path we chose let us in circles, deepening our feeling
of entrapment. Desperation settled in as the
realization dawned on us that we were truly lost.
The darkness, once a mere backdrop to our exploration, now
became an accomplice to our fear, concealing unknown dangers
that lurked at every turn. As the moon gently cast its pale
glow upon our disheartened figures, casting ethereal
shadows that flickered like spectres, we couldn't escape the
nagging sensation that something else was out there with us.
Our hearts raced as we realized that we were not alone.
In this forest of shadows, unseen eyes bore into our souls,
making every hair on our necks stand on end.
The presence of an unknown force grew stronger, its intentions
ambiguously threatening. We took tentative steps forward,
our senses on high alert, our minds consumed by the eerie aura
that pervaded the woods. The once harmonious Symphony of
nocturnal creatures was replaced by an unsettling silence.
It was in that tense moment that we felt the first true whispers
of danger, the inescapable feeling that something sinister
lurked concealed in the darkness, stalking us with
vicious intent with every crackle of the underbrush.
Our apprehension grew, as did our resolve to find a way back
to safety. Melissa's hand trembled in mine
as her fearful gaze searched for any sign of familiarity, any
flicker of hope. In this labyrinth of despair we
moved forward hesitantly, like prey sensing the approach of a
predator, our steps measured and cautious.
But in this new found depth of darkness, certainty became
elusive and every path seemed to lead us further into the
unknown. With no alternative but to keep
pushing forward, we pressed on our determination masking the
raw fear that had taken hold of us.
The night grew deeper, the blanket of darkness enveloping
us and it's cold embrace. I could hear the pounding of my
heartbeat in my ears, the rhythm becoming one with the ominous
silence that enveloped our surroundings.
The wood seemed to pulsate with an unnatural energy, a presence
that whispered tales of the unknown and invoked A primal
fear deep within us. Every rustle of leaves, every
gust of wind felt like a prelude to something unimaginable.
We were no longer explorers, reveling in the thrill of
adventure. We had become unwitting
participants in a tale that would forever alter the fabric
of our reality. As time blurred, the shadows
deepened and the edge between reality and nightmare was
fractured. We became mere fragments of what
we once were, worn down by the unyielding impediments of the
forest and the unspoken spectres that haunted us.
Yet as despair threatened to consume us, a flicker of light
pierced the suffocating veil of darkness, emerging as a distant
glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching threat.
Night had fully descended upon the woods, engulfing Melissa and
me and it's inky embrace. Each passing moment intensified
the eerie ambience of the forest, amplifying our growing
sense of unease. The trees, once majestic and
welcoming, now loomed over us with an ominous presence.
Their twisted branches seem to reach out like skeletal fingers,
as if eager to ensnare us within their cold grasp.
With careful steps, we navigated the obscure paths that wound
through the unfamiliar terrain. The trail markers that had once
served as our guiding beacon now betrayed us, leading us astray
with their deceitful directions. Our footsteps wavered, our
confidence quickly eroding as anxiety and doubt gnawed at our
minds. Every sound, no matter how
distant or faint, echoed with dreadful resonance in the
oppressive silence. The rustling of leaves morphed
into wicked whispers, as if unseen creatures sought to
communicate their sinister intentions.
The woods seem to come alive with a malicious sentience
conspiring against our very existence.
Lost in the disorienting maze, we were mere pawns in this
deadly game, the sense of being watched intensified and
invisible gaze that seem to penetrate our souls.
Shadows danced at the corners of our vision, fleeting apparitions
that disappeared as we turn to face them and icy shiver slither
down our spines, freezing our breath in anticipation of an
unseen threat. Time lost its meaning in this
nocturnal labyrinth. The hours blended together as
trepidation clung to our every step.
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon us as the darkness persisted,
our energy sapped by the relentless pursuit of escape.
We fought against mounting despair, holding onto the
flickering hope that guided us forward through the dense
thicket and undergrowth. We trudged onward, hands tightly
clasped, seeking solace in each other's presence.
Our shared determination tethered US against the
encroaching terror, fortifying our spirits in this seemingly
never ending nightmare. Cold tendrils of fear wound
themselves around our hearts, strangling our courage and
threatening to choke out any remnants of hope.
Doubt crept into our thoughts, whispering insidious words into
our ears. Were we destined to wander these
woods forever? Trapped in a loop of despair and
terror, each step forward became a desperate bid for survival, a
silent plea to the impassive forest to relinquish its grip on
our souls. Time became both fleeting and
eternal, the weight of the unknown bearing down on us with
unforgiving persistence. The forest offered no answers,
only relentless mysteries that taunted our fraying sanity.
Unbeknownst to us, our presence had not gone unnoticed.
Unseen by our eyes, a presence lurked in the shadows.
Sensing our vulnerability and seeking to exploit it, the
ancient woods held secrets, and we had unwittingly stumbled upon
one of the darkest. Suddenly, the rustling of leaves
stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that hung heavily in the
air. In that moment, a figure emerged
from the depths of the forest, an indistinct shape that seemed
to blur the line between man and beast.
It moved with an unsettling grace, its form shifting and
contorting like liquid darkness. Fear seized our hearts as we
realized we were face to face with a Skin Walker, a being of
ancient lore with the ability to take on the appearance of any
creature it desired, Its eyes shown with a malevolent glow,
reflecting our own terror back at us.
Panic surged within us, urging us to run, but our legs felt as
though they were rooted to the ground.
The skinwalker's gaze held us captive, its intentions unknown
but undeniably sinister. Stay calm, I whispered to
Melissa, feeling the weight of responsibility.
Settle upon my shoulders. We need to be smart and find a
way to protect ourselves. Melissa nodded, her eyes locked
on the creature. Together we frantically searched
for any means of defense. Our backpacks held only the
typical camping supplies, insufficient against a
supernatural foe. As if sensing our desperation,
the skinwalker lunged forward, its speed and agility defying
human capabilities. Adrenaline course through our
veins as we dodged its advance, barely escaping its clutches.
The creatures guttural growls echoed through the forest,
sending a chill down our spines. We retreated, putting distance
between ourselves and the skinwalker, seeking refuge in
the thick underbrush. Heart pounding, we desperately
brainstormed a plan, our minds racing to find a strategy that
would keep us alive. As we continued through the
woods, our hearts raced with a mixture of fear and
determination. The encounter with the
skinwalker had shaken us to our core, leaving us on edge,
constantly scanning our surroundings for any sign of
danger. Melissa and I knew we had to
move quickly, reluctant to linger in one place for too long
as we pressed on, desperate to put distance between ourselves
and the lurking threat. A cacophony of snapping branches
and rustling leaves Pierce the silence.
We froze, our eyes widening and dread.
Without a word, we instinctively knew it was time to run.
Panicked footsteps pounded against the forest floor, our
breaths ragged as adrenaline surged through our veins.
We dashed through the underbrush, each desperate leap
carrying us further away from imminent danger.
The forest distorted around us, resembling A nightmarish
labyrinth that sought to confound our escape.
Trees seemingly shifted positions, creating a
disorienting maze that threatened to engulf us.
The treacherous terrain sent us stumbling and tripping, but the
desperation to survive fueled our determination.
In the chaos and confusion, we lost sight of one another.
Melissa's presence faded into the darkness, leaving me
disoriented and alone. Panic consumed me as I called
out her name, my voice drowned by the overwhelming silence of
the forest. Forced to make a choice, I
hurriedly decided to continue moving, hoping that Melissa
would do the same. Fear clung to my thoughts, but I
reassured myself that she possessed the strength and
resilience to endure. A part of me believed that our
bond would guide us back to each other.
Flashlight in hand, I pressed on, relentless in my pursuit of
safety. Every shadowed corner held the
potential danger of the unknown, but I pushed back the rising
fear and focused on finding a way out of this nightmarish
realm. Ours turned into an eternity as
I traversed in complete solitude.
The forest seemed to swallow me whole, it's ancient whispers
becoming a haunting soundtrack to my journey.
Doubt and guilt gnawed at my mind, tinged with the
uncertainty of Melissa's fate. Questions plagued me.
Had she encountered more peril, or had she found her way to
safety? My steps became heavy, fatigue
beginning to wear down my resolve.
Doubts threatened to overtake me as the weight of the situation
bore down on my shoulders. But then a glimmer of hope
pierced the darkness, a faint glow ahead like a beacon of
salvation. With renewed vigor I hasten
toward the light yearning for the respite it promised.
As I drew closer, the glow revealed itself to be the soft
radiance of a moonlit clearing. A sense of cautious relief
washed over me, but the knowledge that Melissa was not
by my side cast a shadow over my relief.
I took a moment to catch my breath, basking in the cool
evening air. As I scanned my surroundings, A
tattered piece of cloth caught my attention.
It hung from a nearby tree branch.
It's fabric torn and weathered. My heart skipped a beat as I
recognized it as a fragment of Melissa's hoodie.
A mixture of apprehension and hope flooded my senses,
uncertain of what this discovery meant.
Had Melissa passed this way? Had she encountered danger or
found temporary refuge? The questions taunted my weary
mind, urging me to find answers resolutely.
I made the decision to search for any further signs or clues
that would lead me closer to Melissa's whereabouts.
I gathered the fragment of cloth, holding it close as a
Talisman of hope. With the moonlight as my guide,
I plunged back into the forest, determined to unmask the secrets
hidden within its depths and reunite with Melissa.
As I retraced my steps through the dense forest, a sense of
unease settled in my chest. The minutes turned into hours as
I called out Melissa's name, but there was no sign of her.
Anxiety gnawed at me, and I couldn't shake the nagging
thought that something sinister may have befallen her.
Pushing fear aside, I pressed on, determined to leave no stone
unturned in my search for Melissa.
Every rustle of leaves or snap of twigs inflated my heart rate,
as if amplifying my awareness of the lurking dangers around me.
Yet I couldn't let fear paralyze me.
Melissa needed me, and I needed to find her.
The moon cast its ethereal glow upon the forest, illuminating my
path and guiding my steps. Even as hope flickered within
me, a voice in the back of my mind reminded me that time was
slipping away. The night was growing colder,
and the darkness seemed to thicken.
As I venture deeper with each passing moment, a sense of
urgency ignited within me. I switched my focus from calling
out her name to meticulously scouring the surroundings,
examining every nook and cranny for any signs of her presence.
Yet as my search intensified, the presence of the skinwalkers
weighed heavily on my thoughts. At some point I stumbled upon a
clearing bathed in moonlight and seemingly untouched by the eerie
stillness of the forest. My heart raced with
anticipation, hoping that this would be the moment I found
Melissa safe and sound. But as I stepped closer, my hope
dissolved into disappointment. The clearing was serene, devoid
of any trace of Melissa. A deep sigh left my lips
mingling with the whispers of the wind.
Doubt began to consume me once again.
Was it possible that the skinwalkers had taken her?
The uncertainty nod at my core? But I couldn't allow myself to
succumb to despair. I had to keep searching, adapt,
and find a way to bring Melissa back.
As I pressed on through the treacherous darkness of the
forest, my determination to find Melissa burned fiercely within
me. Every step forward seemed to
carry an air of anticipation, as if the forest itself held its
breath, whispering secrets just beyond my reach.
Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed through the trees,
causing my heart to skip a beat. I spun around, my flashlight
cutting through the gloom, and there, illuminated in its beam
or the unmistakable figures of the skinwalkers, fear surged
within me, threatening to paralyze my every move.
But I couldn't afford to succumb to it.
Melissa's safety depended on my courage and swift action.
With a deep breath, I mustered my resolve and face the dark
figures ready to confront them head on.
The skinwalkers moved with an eerie grace, their shapes
shifting and twisting in the flickering light.
In my mind. I conjured memories of the
stories told about their malevolence and their dangerous
abilities. I knew I had to be cautious to
protect myself while also trying to find a way to free Melissa
from their clutches. As I took a step forward, they
lunged at me, their eyes glowing with a haunting intensity.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I dodged their advance.
My senses heightened, desperately searching for an
opening. With each evasive maneuver, I
moved closer to Melissa, determined to set her free.
A chaotic dance ensued, the forest becoming a battleground
between the skinwalkers and me. Branches snapped under foot,
leaves rustled, and the moon bore witness to our struggle.
Time seemed to stretch every second, a testament to my
resilience and unwavering love for Melissa.
Finally, seizing A momentary distraction, I broke free from
the clutches of the Skinwalkers and race towards a secluded spot
where Melissa was held captive. Her eyes met mine, a mix of fear
and hope shining within them. Silently, I reassured her that
help had arrived. Carefully, I united the ropes
that bound her. Our hands trembling but filled
with determination, we didn't have a moment to spare.
As we made our escape through the dense forest, the
Skinwalkers pursued US relentlessly, their dark forms
never far behind. With each step, our desperation
grew, propelling us forward. We navigated through tangled
thickets, jumped over fallen trees, and pushed our bodies to
the limit, but a small sliver of hope still burned within us,
urging us to keep going. Finally, as the first glimpses
of dawn painted the sky, we emerged from the depths of the
forest. We gasped for breath, our lungs
heaving with exhaustion and relief.
We had made it together. We stumbled back to where we had
parked our car, the sense of freedom overwhelming us.
We collapsed into the seats, our bodies exhausted but our spirits
soaring. The encounter with the
skinwalkers had only strengthened our bond,
solidifying the depths of our love and the resilience of our
will. As I turned the ignition and the
car roared to life, Melissa reached out, her hand, finding
mine. We shared a knowing glance, a
silent promise that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we
would face them. United.
Days had passed since our escape from the haunting depths of the
forest, and Melissa and I attempted to resume a semblance
of normalcy. Yet a sense of underlying unease
lingered within me, casting a shadow of doubt over our new
found freedom. Subtle changes in Melissa's
behavior caught my attention. There were moments when her gaze
seemed distant, filled with an otherworldly longing.
Her movements became more fluid, her grace seemingly beyond human
capabilities. It was as if an invisible
barrier stood between us, creating an unsettling
disconnect. The weight of uncertainty
pressed upon my chest as I looked into Melissa's eyes,
longing for a connection that no longer seemed attainable.
Yet it was the way she stared through me, as if gazing into a
void beyond my existence, that sent shivers down my spine.
The warmth and familiarity that once radiated from her gaze had
been replaced by something chillingly distant, leaving me
feeling like a stranger in her presence.
In the depths of my soul, a chilling realization began to
take hold, an eerie understanding that the forest
had not stolen Melissa away, but instead it had birthed something
far more sinister. As the whispers of the wind
carried an unsettling melody, I couldn't escape the bone
chilling truth that the woman I once knew, the love of my life,
had become a haunting presence, an embodiment of the very
darkness that had lurked in the depths of those woods.
I stood at the southern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail in
Campo, CA, the morning sun casting long shadows across the
arid landscape. The air was already warm,
hinting at the scorching heat to come.
This was it, the beginning of a journey that would stretch over
2600 miles to Canada, a path I dreamed of since Kate first told
me her stories of the wild. The desert stretched before me,
an expanse of sand and scrub that seemed to dare me forward.
With each step my boots kicked up, small clouds of dust, and
the weight of my backpack settled into a familiar, if not
entirely comfortable presence on my shoulders.
I had prepared for this, trained for it, but nothing quite
compares to the moment you actually embark on a journey
that's been a mere fantasy for so long.
Rattlesnakes were my first real challenge.
I'd hear the ominous rattle, a sound that cuts right through
the silence of the desert, sending shivers down my spine.
I learned quickly to give them a wide berth, respecting their
place in this harsh landscape. The desert, I realized, wasn't
just a physical challenge. It was a mental 1.
The vastness could be overwhelming, the silence
deafening. It wasn't all harsh sun and
silent deserts, though. There were moments of incredible
beauty. Sun rises that painted the sky
in hues of orange and pink. The surprising burst of
wildflowers after a rare rain. The way the stars seemed to
multiply tenfold at night, unobscured by city lights, these
moments made every hardship worth it.
On the 53rd day, I reached Kennedy Meadows, a milestone for
every PCT hiker. This was where the desert gave
way to the Sierra Nevada, where the landscape would change
dramatically, and where I could take a short but much needed
break. My body was weary, but my spirit
was undeterred. I sat by the side of the trail,
pulling off my boots and feeling the grass beneath my feet, a
simple pleasure after days of nothing but sand and rock.
Kennedy Meadows was a hive of activity, a stark contrast to
the solitude I had become accustomed to.
Other hikers buzzed around, sharing stories, advice, and
food. I listened, absorbing their
tails and tips, but a part of me yearned for the solitude of the
trail. There's something about being
alone out there, with nothing but your thoughts and the
wilderness around you that changes you.
It strips away the unnecessary, leaving only what's essential.
As I set out again, I couldn't shake off a feeling of unease, a
sense that this next leg of my journey would be different.
The forests I entered after Kennedy Meadows held a silence
that was eerie, A stillness that seemed to hint at something
more. I pushed these thoughts aside,
focusing on the path ahead, but they lingered in the back of my
mind like a shadow just out of sight.
I thought of Kate, then, of her stories and her warnings.
The trail teaches you, she had said.
I was beginning to understand what she meant, but I couldn't
shake the feeling that the most important lessons were yet to
come. Yosemite National Park welcomed
me with its grandeur, a stark contrast to the arid deserts I
had left behind. The towering trees in the
verdant valleys seemed like another world, one that was
lush, alive, and teeming with secrets.
I hiked on feeling small beneath the ancient redwoods, their
trunks like Sentinels guarding the mysteries of the wild.
A week into this leg of the journey, the trail began to feel
different. It was subtle at first, a rustle
in the underbrush, A fleeting shadow at the edge of my vision.
I brushed it off as the tricks the mind plays when you've been
alone for too long. But the feeling of being watched
grew stronger, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck
that I couldn't shake off. One evening I reached a
campsite, a rare gathering of fellow hikers sharing stories
around a crackling fire. The camaraderie was a welcome
change, but as night fell and I lay in my tent, the forest
around us fell eerily silent. Then out of the silence, I heard
it, a voice distant and ethereal, calling my name.
I sat up, heart pounding, but when I peered out, there was
nothing but the dark, dense forest.
The next few days passed without incident, the strange
occurrences seeming like nothing but figments of my imagination,
but the sense of unease lingered like a cold wind that you can't
escape. Then, as I navigated a
particularly rocky stretch of the trail, I twisted my ankle.
The pain was sharp and immediate, forcing me to stop.
I found a solitary campsite to rest, setting up my tent with
difficulty. My ankle throbbed, a constant
reminder of my vulnerability as the sunset The forest around me
took on an ominous feel. The trees seemed to close in,
and the sounds of the forest grew quieter, as if in
anticipation. That night, as I lay awake
nursing my ankle, I heard the voice again.
This time it was closer, more insistent, A pleading tone that
sent chills down my spine. I grabbed my flashlight,
unzipped my tent, and peered into the darkness.
What I saw in the beam of my light shook me to my core, a
figure humanoid but not human, standing at the edge of the
clearing. It didn't speak, but it didn't
need to. Its presence was enough to fill
me with an overwhelming sense of dread.
It circled my tent, leaving behind footprints that were
unlike any animal I knew. I stayed awake all night,
flashlight in hand, heart racing.
As soon as the first light of dawn broke through the trees, I
packed up my gear, ignoring the pain in my ankle.
I needed to get to the nearest town to safety.
Every rustle in the underbrush, every snap of a twig had me
looking over my shoulder. I didn't know what that figure
was, but I knew I didn't want to encounter it again.
The journey to the town was a blur of pain and fear, but as
the buildings came into view, I felt a surge of relief.
I had escaped the forest and whatever lurked within it, but
the memory of that night and the haunting, mocking figure would
stay with me long after my ankle had healed.
The town was a haven, a place to heal both my ankle and my frayed
nerves. People went about their daily
lives oblivious to the darkness that lurked in the forests just
beyond. I spent days there, resting and
recovering the image of that figure, never quite leaving the
corners of my mind. But I couldn't stay in the
safety of the town forever. Betrayal called to me an
unfinished chapter in my life that I needed to close.
With a mix of trepidation and determination.
I set out again, my ankles still tender but manageable.
The forests of Yosemite awaited, and with them the unknown.
As I hiked, the memory of the figure weighed heavily on me.
Every shadow seemed to move. Every whisper of wind sounded
like a voice. The wilderness had lost its
innocence. It now felt like a realm where
anything was possible, where the lines between reality and myth
blurred. Then, on a cool, starless night,
it happened again, the voice closer, this time more
desperate. It pleaded, called out in a tone
that was almost human, but not quite.
I couldn't ignore it anymore. I had to face whatever this was,
confront my fear with my flashlight in hand.
I stepped out of my tent. The forest was eerily still, as
if holding its breath. I called out, asking who was
there, demanding an answer. But there was only silence, and
then a laugh, low and mocking, that seemed to come from
everywhere and nowhere. That's when I saw it, the figure
circling my tent again. This time I got a better look.
It was tall, its body humanoid but distorted, its movements
unnatural as it moved through the beam of my flashlight.
It seemed to flicker like a bad signal on ATV.
Its eyes, though, were the most disturbing, intensely human,
filled with an emotion I couldn't place.
I stood my ground, fear and fascination battling within me.
The figure stopped circling and stood still, as if considering
me. Then, as suddenly as it had
appeared, it vanished into the forest.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I didn't sleep that night. As dawn broke, I packed up and
moved on every step, fueled by a need to leave that place behind.
But the encounter stayed with me, haunting my thoughts.
What was it? A figment of my imagination, a
creature of folklore. I had no answers, only more
questions. As the days passed and I moved
further away from Yosemite, the encounters stopped.
The forest gradually returned to the tranquil refuge I had known
before, but the experience had changed me.
I was more alert, more aware of the thin veil between the known
and the unknown. When I finally reached the end
of the trail, I felt a sense of accomplishment, but also a
lingering sense of unease. I had completed my journey, but
the mystery of what I had encountered remained unsolved, A
puzzle that I couldn't quite put together.
And somewhere in the depths of the forest.
I knew that figure still roamed, a reminder of the mysteries that
lie hidden in the wild places of the world.
The days after my encounter in Yosemite were a mix of relief
and reflection. I had faced something
inexplicable, something that defied logic and understanding.
But the trail was still there, winding its way through the
wilderness, and I had a journey to complete.
As I resumed my hike, the shadow of that figure lingered in my
mind. Yet the trail had a way of
soothing fears, of putting things into perspective.
The rhythm of walking, the beauty of the changing
landscape, the challenge of each mile, it all helped to push the
fear to the back of my mind. I hiked through the lush forests
of Oregon, marveled at the volcanic landscapes of
Washington, each step taking me further from my fears and closer
to my goal. The trail was no longer just a
physical journey. It had become a path to inner
strength. I learned to trust my instincts,
to listen to the subtle whispers of the wild, and to respect the
unknown. The encounter stopped, but their
memory didn't fade. I found myself looking over my
shoulder less, my nights less fraught with anxiety.
The wild had tested me and I had emerged stronger, more
resilient. The beauty of the Pacific Crest
Trail is in its diversity. Deserts, forests, mountains, and
rivers. Each day brought a new scenery,
a new challenge. I crossed rushing streams,
climbed steep passes, and walked through fields of wildflowers.
The trail was both my adversary and my companion, and I had
grown to love it. As the days passed, Canada drew
closer. The anticipation of reaching the
end of completing this epic journey was both exciting and
bittersweet. I had grown during this journey,
not just as a hiker, but as a person.
The trail had taught me about solitude, about facing fears,
about the beauty and mystery of the natural world.
Finally, the day arrived. I stood at the northern terminus
of the Pacific Crest Trail, a simple wooden monument marking
the end of a journey that had changed me in ways I was still
trying to understand. I felt a surge of emotions.
Pride, relief, a sense of accomplishment, but also a hint
of sadness. The trail had been my home for
months, and leaving it behind was like saying goodbye to an
old friend. As I made my way back to
civilization, back to the noise and bustle of everyday life, I
carried with me the memories of the trail, the beauty, the
challenges, and even the fear. The encounter in Yosemite
remained a mystery, one that I pondered often.
Was it a figment of my imagination, a creature of
folklore? I didn't have the answers, but
the experience had opened my mind to possibilities I had
never considered before. I returned home with more than
just stories and photographs. I came back with a new found
respect for the wild, a deeper understanding of myself, and a
lingering curiosity about the mysteries that lie hidden in the
remote corners of the world. The trail had ended, but the
journey, in many ways, was just beginning.
Back in the comfort of my home, the Pacific Crest Trail felt
like a distant dream, a surreal blend of beauty and fear.
I had completed an epic journey, one that left its mark on me in
ways I was still unraveling. The familiar surroundings of my
house seemed strangely foreign. After months on the trail, I
found myself missing the simplicity of life on the trail,
the clarity that comes with facing each day as a single
straightforward challenge. The memory of that figure in
Yosemite lingered, A haunting presence in the back of my mind.
I couldn't let it go, couldn't chalk it up to mere fatigue or
imagination. I found myself spending hours
researching, diving into forums and books about folklore and
unexplained phenomena, skinwalkers, wendigos, names and
stories from different cultures that spoke of beings that were
neither human nor animal, that walk the thin line between the
physical world and something else.
I was a rational person, always had been, but what I had
experienced on the trail challenged that rationality.
It opened a door to a world of possibilities I had never
considered. I read accounts of hikers and
campers who had experienced similar encounters, each story
adding to the mystery deepening my curiosity.
Despite my research, answers were elusive.
The more I read, the more I realized that some things just
can't be explained, at least not by conventional understanding.
The wilderness is vast, and it holds secrets that were perhaps
not meant to understand. I had to accept that my
encounter might remain a mystery, a piece of the puzzle
of the natural world that didn't quite fit.
I began to share my story with others, especially with those
planning to hike the PCT, not to scare them, but to prepare them.
The trail, for all its beauty, could be unpredictable,
challenging not just your physical strength but your
mental resilience. I emphasize the importance of
safety, of being aware of your surroundings, and of respecting
the wilderness and its mysteries.
As time passed, the intensity of the experience faded, but it
never completely left me. I found myself looking at the
world differently, with a sense of wonder and a healthy respect
for the unknown. The trail had changed me in many
ways. It had taught me about my own
strength and vulnerability, about the beauty of the natural
world, and about the thin line between reality and the unknown.
Sometimes, late at night, I'd find myself thinking back to
that figure in the forest, wondering what it was and why it
had come to me. The experience had left me with
more questions than answers, but it also left me with a profound
sense of awe for the natural world and its mysteries.
The Pacific Crest Trail was behind me, but the journey it
started continued. It was a journey of discovery,
not just of the world around me, but of myself.
And as I sat there, looking out my window at the familiar
streets, I knew that a part of me would always be out there,
walking the trail, searching for answers and marvelling at the
wonders of the wild.