I've always loved the woods. There's something about the way
the trees swallow you whole, cutting you off from the static
of the world. But this time they felt
different. Not welcoming, not vast and
free. Just wrong.
It started the second we pulled off the gravel road and into the
clearing. Boone, our older lab, was pacing
in the back seat before I even put the car in park.
Juno, who's usually the bold one, wouldn't stop whining.
Looks perfect, right? I forced a smile, glancing at my
wife, Claire. She nodded, though her brow was
furrowed. Tyler, our son, jumped out
before I could say anything else, clutching his little
backpack. Looks like a movie.
He yelled as Boone bolted past him, barking at the tree line.
Boone. I called and he froze, tail low,
ears pinned back. He trotted back slowly, nose to
the ground, like something was out there.
It put me on edge. Boone wasn't scared of anything.
We got to work setting up camp. The clearing was big enough for
the tent, the fire pit, and a spot for Tyler to play around,
all wrapped in a thick wall of trees.
Too thick almost. It felt like the forest was
watching us. Claire must have noticed it too,
because she stayed close while unpacking, glancing over her
shoulder more than usual. You hear that?
She asked at one point, pausing mid step.
I stopped too, listening. It took me a second to realize
what was missing. The birds.
The damn birds. No chirping, no rustling,
nothing but the faint hum of the wind through the Pines.
It's just quiet out here. I said, though it felt like a
lie even as it left my mouth. By the time we lit the fire that
night, my unease hadn't gone away.
Boone and Juno sat stiffly by the fire, their eyes tracking
something beyond the glow. Tyler laughed as he roasted
marshmallows, oblivious. Claire stared at the fire like
it was the only thing grounding her.
It started small, a crack of a branch in the distance.
Boone stood immediately, growling low.
Another crack, closer this time. Juno joined him, her hackles up.
Probably a deer, I muttered, though my hand drifted to the
shotgun I'd propped against the tent.
The footsteps weren't like a deer.
Too slow, deliberate, heavy. They circled us, crunching
leaves and snapping twigs, staying just out of sight.
Boone barked sharply, launching into the darkness, but stopped
dead at the edge of the fire light, growling like he didn't
want to go farther. Stay back.
I shouted into the night, gripping the shotgun, hoping the
noise would scare off whatever it was.
Silence. Not even a shuffle.
The forest held its breath. I didn't sleep that night.
Every time the footsteps started again I would freeze, praying it
was just an animal. But by morning, I was certain of
one thing. We weren't alone.
The morning didn't bring any relief.
If anything, the forest felt heavier in the daylight, like it
was closing in on us. The birds were still silent, the
air stale, and Boone and Juno hadn't relaxed one bit.
Boone sniffed constantly, his nose low to the ground, while
Juno stuck so close to Tyler you'd think she was glued to
him. Let's take a walk.
Claire suggested, trying to ease the tension.
Her smile was forced, but I agreed.
Anything to shake off the unease from the night before.
We followed an overgrown trail just beyond the clearing.
It twisted through the dense woods, the kind of path you'd
miss if you weren't looking for it.
Tyler led the way, bouncing ahead like nothing was wrong,
while Boone stayed just a step behind him, his ears flicking at
every sound. I kept the shotgun slung over my
shoulder, not normal for a casual hike, but nothing about
this trip felt normal anymore. We hadn't gone far when Boone
froze. He barked once, sharp and loud,
and took off down the trail. My chest tightened as I called
for him, running after him before he got too far.
Boone, get back here. Claire shouted, panic in her
voice. Tyler stopped, his smile gone as
we all broke into a Sprint. When I caught up to Boone, he
was standing at the edge of a clearing, barking furiously at
something I couldn't see. What is it, boy?
I whispered, stepping forward. That's when I saw it.
An abandoned campsite, or what was left of 1A shredded tent lay
collapsed in the dirt, its poles snapped like twigs.
A cooler was tipped over, its sides crushed inward, and a
propane stove lay bent and broken nearby.
The place looked like it had been hit by a tornado, but there
was no storm damage, no fallen trees, just destruction.
Did did animals do this? Claire asked, her voice barely
above a whisper. I wanted to say yes, but my gut
told me no. I stepped closer, scanning the
wreckage. Something glinted in the dirt,
fabric torn to shreds. And something else.
A child's shoe, small and muddy, sitting upright on a stump, like
it had been placed there on purpose.
My stomach turned. Let's go, I said, backing away.
Boone barked at the woods again, his growls louder this time.
Claire grabbed Tyler's hand and pulled him close.
What about them? Tyler asked, looking back at the
shoe. I didn't have an answer.
Back at camp, I tried to shake it off.
We set up for lunch and Tyler played with Juno nearby, but the
woods felt tighter, darker, like something was watching.
Claire went to gather kindling and Boone bolted after her,
barking like he was chasing something.
What happened? I asked when she ran back, pale
and shaking. I wasn't alone, she said.
I swear I saw something. It was huge, crouched in the
trees, its eyes. Her voice cracked.
They were glowing. Boone growled into the forest,
but the trees gave nothing back. Whatever was out there, it was
waiting, watching. And we still had one more night.
The sunset below the trees too quickly, and the forest
swallowed the light in one long gulp.
The fire crackled weakly at the center of the clearing, but it
wasn't enough to push back the creeping darkness.
Boone and Juno were restless, pacing the perimeter, their
growls low and constant. Claire sat with Tyler pressed
against her, her eyes darting to every sound.
I stayed on my feet, gripping the shotgun, scanning the
shadows for movement. I don't think it's safe to stay
another night. Claire whispered.
Her voice trembled, and I couldn't argue.
The unease from earlier had grown into a suffocating weight,
pressing down on all of us. Something was out there,
something was watching. The first sound came just as I
moved to douse the fire, a branch snapping loud and
deliberate, then another, closer.
Boone barked sharply, the fur along his spine bristling.
Juno whimpered, circling back toward Tyler.
Inside the tent. I ordered, my voice sharp now.
Claire grabbed Tyler and pulled him toward the tent, but before
they could reach it, the rope alarm rattled violently.
The sound of metal cans jingling was like a gunshot in the
stillness. Then came the growl.
Low, guttural, and impossibly deep, it vibrated through the
ground, freezing us all in place.
Boone lunged forward, barking furiously, but he stopped short
of the tree line, teeth bared. My flashlight caught the edge of
something, a shadow that moved too fast and too low to be
human. Get to the car.
I barked, backing toward Claire and Tyler.
My heart was hammering against my ribs, the shotgun trembling
in my hands. We'll never make it.
Claire hissed, but we had no choice.
Another growl echoed from the opposite side of the clearing.
There was more than one. I fired a shot into the trees,
the blast deafening in the quiet.
Something screamed, a sound so unnatural and high pitched it
made my blood run cold. Boone and Juno snarled, barking
at the shadows that seemed to close in on all sides.
Run. I shouted, grabbing Claire's arm
and shoving her toward the car. Tyler clung to her, tears
streaming down his face as we sprinted for the truck parked at
the edge of the clearing. Boone and Juno flanked us,
barking madly, their eyes locked on the shadows darting between
the trees. As we reached the truck, I threw
open the doors. Get in.
I yelled, shoving Claire and Tyler inside.
Boone jumped in next, but Juno hesitated, her gaze locked on
the darkness behind us. Juno, come.
I screamed, but she let out a savage growl before leaping into
the truck. I slammed the door shut and
fumble with the keys, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
The growls grew louder, closer. Circling the truck, the
flashlight beam caught a glimpse of something massive, its eyes
glowing white hot like embers. I turned the ignition, the
engine roaring to life just as a shadow slammed against the side
of the truck with a force that made it rock.
Go, go, go, Claire screamed. I floored the gas pedal, the
tires kicking up dirt as we speed down the trail.
Something chased us, its footsteps pounding behind us,
too fast and too heavy to be human.
I didn't dare look in the rear view mirror.
Only when we hit the main road did the pounding stop.
My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my breath coming
in gasps. Claire clutched Tyler, tears
streaming down her face, while Boone and Juno sat rigid still,
growling softly. We didn't speak until we reached
the edge of town, the distant lights promising safety.
My voice was hoarse when I finally broke the silence.
Be careful when going into the woods.
You never know what you might encounter.
We were four days into what was supposed to be the trip of a
lifetime. The kind of honeymoon you dream
about. Just me, Emma and Max, our half
wolf of a dog out in the Appalachian wilderness.
No distractions, no work emails, no anything.
Just the crackle of campfires, the smell of pine, and the kind
of silence you only find when the nearest town is a 2 hour
drive away. Emma had just started packing
away the remnants of our dinner, some gourmet freeze dried
something that neither of us would ever admit tasted like
cardboard, When Max let out this low, guttural growl, the kind
that makes your skin tighten over your bones, I glanced at
him. He was staring off into the
darkness beyond the edge of our campfire, hackles raised, lips
peeled back over his teeth. My first thought was bear or
coyote, this deep in, they weren't uncommon, and Max
usually had a sixth sense about them.
Max, stop. Emma said, but her voice didn't
carry its usual confidence. She looked at me, eyes darting
toward the dark, as if asking me to confirm that everything was
OK. Before I could say anything, a
voice, soft, almost melodic, cut through the air.
Can I sit by your fire? Emma jumped, dropping the empty
pan she'd been holding. Max's growl turned into a full
throated bark, the kind that echoed off the trees.
My heart, which had been beating steadily until that moment,
kicked into a gallop. The woman was just there, like
she'd stepped out of the shadows themselves.
I hadn't heard her approach. No crunch of leaves, no snap of
a twig, nothing. One second it was just the two
of us, and the next she was standing there at the edge of
the fire light, barefoot and still.
She didn't look homeless or anything, just wrong.
Her clothes hung loosely, mismatched and wrinkled like
she'd thrown them on without looking.
Her dark hair clung to her face in oily strands, and her eyes,
God, her eyes. They didn't focus on me or Emma.
They weren't looking at Max either, despite his barking.
It was like she wasn't really looking at anything, just
staring into some middle distance only she could see.
A no. I said, trying to keep my voice
steady. We're about to head to bed,
actually. She didn't react, not at first.
She just stood there, swaying slightly, her hands hanging limp
at her sides. I glanced at Emma, hoping she'd
say something, but she was frozen, her lips parted like she
wanted to speak but couldn't. Max lunged forward, snapping his
jaws, and that finally made the woman take a step back.
Your dog doesn't like me, she murmured, almost to herself.
I tightened my grip on Max's leash.
Yeah, he's not usually like this, I lied.
He's just protective. She tilted her head, as if
weighing my words. Then, without another sound, she
turned and walked away. Not toward the main path where
the other campers were, but deeper into the woods.
The firelight didn't reach far enough to track her for long,
but I swear I could hear her bare feet brushing against the
undergrowth long after she disappeared.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
The silence was oppressive, like the trees themselves were
holding their breath. Jake.
Emma finally whispered, her voice shaky.
Who the hell was that? No idea.
I said, but the truth was, I didn't believe she was just
another camper. Something about her didn't fit.
The next morning, the encounter felt almost like a dream, one of
those disjointed nightmares that sticks with you even after you
wake up. Emma didn't say much as we ate
breakfast, but I caught her glancing toward the tree line
more than once. Even Max seemed on edge,
sniffing at the air and whining softly.
I decided to walk down to the water pump to refill our
bottles. The campground was quiet.
Most of the other campers were probably still sleeping.
As I approached the pump, I saw her again.
She was standing near a tree, maybe 15 feet away, as still as
a statue. Her head was tilted at that same
odd angle, her hands hanging limp at her sides.
This time, her eyes were locked on me.
I froze. Hey.
I managed, my voice sounding far less casual than I wanted it to.
She didn't answer. Instead, she stepped forward and
held something out to me. It was a key, rusted and old,
with scratches running along its edges like it had been gnawed
on. You dropped this, she said.
I didn't drop anything, I said, taking a cautious step back.
She smiled then, a thin, humorless curve of her lips.
You'll need it later, she said, her voice soft, almost singsong.
Look, I don't know what this is about, but I don't need it, I
said, keeping my voice firm. Her smile didn't falter.
She tilted her head the other way, then placed the key on the
ground between us. Without another word, she turned
and walked away, heading back into the woods as silently as
she'd appeared. I stood there for what felt like
an eternity, staring at the key. Finally, I bent down and picked
it up. It was heavier than it looked,
cold against my palm. A faint smell of rust clung to
it, metallic and sharp. By the time I got back to our
campsite, Emma was waiting for me.
What took you so long? She asked, her tone light but
her eyes wary. Nothing.
I said, slipping the key into my pocket.
Just ran into someone. I didn't tell her about the
woman or the key, not yet. Not until I knew what the hell
was going on. By the time the sun rose on our
fifth day in the woods, I was ready to pack up and go.
Emma hadn't slept much after the weird encounter the night
before, and Max had been on edge, growling at every Creek
and snap of a branch. I tried to tell myself it was
just the isolation messing with me, that the woman was probably
some eccentric hiker with zero sense of personal boundaries,
but deep down I didn't believe that.
Still, I didn't want to freak Emma out any more than she
already was, so I convinced her. We'd report the incident to the
Rangers on our way to the next trailhead.
We'd put some distance between US and her, but that plan
unraveled before we even left the site.
The first sign something was wrong came when we walked past
the woman's campsite, or at least the campsite where she'd
been staying. It was trashed, completely
obliterated. Tent poles were snapped like
twigs, and bits of fabric hung from the surrounding trees like
some grotesque art installation trash.
Food and clothing were scattered everywhere, as if the whole
place had been ransacked. Emma nudged me and whispered.
Was it a bear? I didn't answer because I wasn't
sure. Max sniffed at the air, then
whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, something he
hadn't done in years. Whatever had happened here
wasn't normal. Then I saw the stones.
In the middle of the wreckage was a circle of rocks, carefully
arranged, each one marked with jagged scratches that almost
looked like runes. At the center of the circle was
the rusted key. The same damn key.
My stomach turned. I'd left it in my pocket last
night, I was sure of it, and yet there it was, sitting in the
dirt like it had always been there.
What the hell is that? Emma asked, her voice low.
Nothing. I lied, grabbing her arm.
We should let the Rangers deal with this, Come on.
She hesitated, her eyes flicking between me and the circle of
stones, but eventually nodded. I didn't look back as we walked
away. The Ranger station was less than
a mile from camp, but the walk felt endless.
The trail was eerily quiet, with no birds or rustling leaves to
break the silence. Emma tried making small talk to
lighten the mood, but I could tell she was just as on edge as
I was. When we got to the station, I
explained everything to the Ranger on duty, a tall, broad
shouldered guy named Brian. He listened, his expression
calm, but I could see the flicker of unease in his eyes.
That sight's been vacant for a while.
He said after I described the woman.
No, it hasn't. Emma cut in.
We saw her staying there. She had a tent and she was?
She trailed off, realizing how crazy it sounded.
Brian scratched his beard and glanced out the window.
I'll take a look. He said finally.
Probably just some squatter. It happens more than you'd
think. His tone was casual, but his
hand hovered near the radio clipped to his belt.
We headed back to camp, trying to shake off the conversation.
Emma seemed a little more at ease, but I couldn't stop
thinking about the key, about the Stones.
Something about it felt deliberate, like whoever or
whatever had done it wanted us to see.
When Sam and Lisa arrived later that afternoon, their upbeat
energy was a welcome distraction.
They were an easygoing couple we'd been friends with for
years, and they immediately set about pitching their tent and
unpacking snacks for a few hours.
Things felt normal again. But normal didn't last.
It started while Sam was setting up their tent.
I just handed him a beer when Emma froze mid laugh, her eyes
locked on something behind me. Jake.
She whispered. I turned, and there she was
again. The woman stood just beyond the
edge of our sight, half hidden in the shadows.
She wasn't barefoot this time. She wasn't even dressed the
same. She wore a strange patchwork of
clothes, like she'd raided a thrift store and picked
everything at random. Her face was blank, as always,
but her eyes, her eyes were different.
They weren't vacant anymore. They were locked on me, sharp
and hungry. Can I help you?
I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
She didn't respond, instead she took a step closer, her gaze
shifting to Sam and the half assembled tent.
That's the same tent as mine. She said softly, only bigger.
I can help you set it up. Sam gave her a polite but firm
smile. No thanks, we got it.
But she didn't move. She crouched down, picked up one
of the tent stakes and ran her fingers along its edge like it
was something fragile and precious.
I said we're good. Sam said, his tone sharper this
time. For a moment she just stared at
him, the stake still in her hand.
Then she picked up the mallet we'd been using and stood,
holding both items, as if weighing her options.
It was the stare that did it, the way she looked at him, at
all of us, like she was calculating something.
Sam took a step forward and held out his hand.
Can I have my stuff back, please?
The air between them felt like it was about to snap.
Then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she dropped everything
and bolted into the woods. Emma let out a shaky breath.
What the hell was that? I don't know, I said.
But we're keeping watch tonight. That night, as the fire burned
low, we heard the singing. It started faint, barely more
than a whisper. At first we thought it was
someone playing music in the distance, but as it grew louder,
we realized it wasn't coming from One Direction.
It was all around us, weaving through the trees like the wind
itself carried it. The melody was haunting, almost
hypnotic, but the words, if they were words, were unintelligible.
Max barked, snapping me out of the trance.
I grabbed a flashlight and shone it into the woods, and for a
brief second, the beam caught her face.
She was standing between 2 trees, her head tilted, a
strange smile on her lips. When the light hit her, she
turned and vanished, moving impossibly fast.
We stayed up all night, each of us taking turns keeping watch.
Every rustle, every snap of a branch sent my heart racing.
But the singing didn't come back.
By morning, none of us felt safe anymore.
We should have left right then and there, but we didn't.
We should have left, God, We should have packed up the second
the sun rose and not looked back.
But Sam said we were overreacting.
She's just some weirdo, he'd said with a shrug, popping open
another can of beer. Weirdos are harmless.
Harmless. The word rattled around in my
skull as we headed back to her wrecked campsite.
Emma had convinced us to take one last look before we made any
decisions. I told myself it was just
curiosity, that we wanted to see if the Rangers had cleaned up
the mess, but deep down I think we were all trying to convince
ourselves that none of this was as bad as it seemed.
We were wrong. The sight was worse than before.
The circle of stones was still there, but now there were two
circles, the second one larger and more elaborate, the markings
on the stones deeper and more precise.
Fresh dirt had been scraped over the ground, as though something
had been buried there. Emma spotted the claw marks
first, Long, deep gouges that ran vertically up a nearby tree.
They were too high to have been made by an animal, but there
they were, unmistakable. OK, I'm officially freaked out.
Lisa said, her voice shaking. Can we go now?
I nodded, but something stopped me.
In the center of the larger circle, partially buried in the
dirt, was another object. It was a photograph.
I crouched down and picked it up, brushing off the dirt.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
It was a picture of our campsite, our exact campsite,
taken from the woods. The fire pit was glowing
faintly, meaning the photo had been taken at night.
And there we were, sitting around the fire, oblivious.
I handed it to Emma without saying a word.
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Who took this? Sam asked, his voice low.
You already know, I said. The sun was starting to dip
below the trees by the time we got back to our sight.
None of us spoke much, the weight of the photo hanging over
us like a storm cloud. Max was on edge again, pacing
and sniffing the air, his growls low and constant.
It was Emma who broke the silence.
Let's go to the lookout, she said, her voice trembling.
Just for a little while. I don't want to sit here in the
dark. The lookout point wasn't far,
maybe a 10 minute walk. It was one of the most beautiful
spots in the park, perched high above the valley with sweeping
views of the river below. I think Emma was hoping the view
would calm us down, remind us why we came here in the 1st
place. It didn't.
The lookout was empty when we arrived.
The air was cooler up there, the breeze rustling through the
trees in a way that should have been peaceful, but the tension
between us was electric. We sat in silence, taking in the
view. The sun was a fiery orange ball,
sinking slowly behind the distant mountains.
Emma snapped a few photos, her camera clicking softly in the
stillness. That's when I saw her.
She was on the Ridge below us, far enough away to look like
just another hiker at first glance.
But it wasn't just another hiker.
It was her. She stood perfectly still, her
head tilted in that same unnerving way, her hair hanging
in dark curtains around her face.
Even from this distance, I could feel her watching us.
I grabbed Emma's arm. Don't look, I whispered.
What? Why?
She froze when she saw the woman.
Is that? Sam started, but I cut him off.
Yes, I said. Don't move.
The woman raised her arm slowly, deliberately, and pointed toward
the valley below. Then she turned and disappeared
into the trees. By the time we got back to camp,
the sun had set. The air felt thicker, heavier,
as though the woods themselves were pressing in on us.
We found the note taped to the cooler.
You'll need it soon. I didn't want to touch it, but
Sam grabbed it and crumpled it in his first.
That's it, he said. We're leaving right now.
But before we could start packing, the singing came back.
It was louder this time, more guttural, like a chant.
The melody twisted and warped, echoing off the trees, coming
from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Max went berserk, barking and lunging at the shadows.
I grabbed the flashlight and swept it across the woods.
For a moment, I saw nothing but trees and undergrowth.
Then I saw her. She was standing just beyond the
fire light, and this time she wasn't alone.
The shadowy figures from before were back, but now I could see
them more clearly. They weren't people.
They were wrong. Their limbs were too long, their
bodies too thin, and their faces, if they had faces, were
hidden in the darkness. The woman took a step forward,
her eyes locked on me. I reached into my pocket and
pulled out the key. I don't know what you want, I
said, my voice shaking. But take it.
I threw the key toward her, and the moment it hit the ground,
the singing stopped. The figures dissolved into the
shadows, and the woman tilted her head one last time before
turning and disappearing into the woods.
We didn't sleep that night. At first light, we packed up our
gear and left. We didn't bother with the Ranger
station or stopping for coffee. We just drove, putting as much
distance between US and that place as possible.
And I still have nightmares about her sometimes.
About the way she watched us, about the photo, about what
might have happened if I hadn't thrown that key.
I don't think I'll ever go camping again.
You know that feeling when you've been craving something
for so long that when you finally get it, it almost feels
too good to be true? That's how I felt as I parked my
car on the narrow strip of dirt at the edge of the forest.
The crisp, woodsy air hit me like a wave when I opened the
door. The kind of air that makes you
feel alive, even if your fingers are already starting to numb.
The city was miles away, an afterthought really, and for the
first time in weeks, I could breathe.
I double checked the gear in my pack, compass, map, sleeping
bag, my lightweight tent, firestarter kit, knife,
everything a solo camper like me could need.
This wasn't my first trip, not by a long shot.
I liked going off trail, finding a pocket of the woods where I
could really be alone. The kind of alone that feels
freeing, not isolating. Out here, I wasn't dodging
catcalls on the sidewalk or navigating crowds with my head
down. Out here, I was in charge.
It was late afternoon when I finally started hiking, the sun
dipping low behind the trees and casting everything in a rich
golden light. The trail wasn't much more than
a faint deer path, overgrown and quiet.
I let my thoughts drift as I walked, soaking in the quiet
rustle of leaves and the occasional trill of a bird.
It was so peaceful I almost didn't notice the first weird
thing. There was a branch, broken and
dangling at an odd angle just off the trail.
I wouldn't have thought much of it, except the brake was too
clean, fresh. The wood inside was pale and
splintered, the kind of thing you'd expect to see if someone
had snapped it with their hands, but who?
There wasn't a soul out here. At least, there wasn't supposed
to be. I shook it off.
Could have been an animal, a bear maybe, or a moose.
I told myself not to overthink it, but I couldn't help glancing
over my shoulder a few times as I walked.
By the time I found my spot, the sun was starting to dip below
the horizon. I chose a small clearing with
just enough room for my tent and a fire.
It was perfect. Secluded, quiet, surrounded by
thick trees that felt like a natural barrier from the outside
world. I set up quickly, pitching my
tent with practiced ease and gathering some kindling for the
fire. By the time the flames were
crackling, the stars were beginning to show, dotting the
inky black sky like pinpricks of light.
I leaned back against my pack and let out a long breath.
This was what I'd come for. No deadlines, no noise, just me
and the wilderness. I even laughed a little,
thinking about how my friends in the city would call me crazy for
doing this. You're going to get eaten by a
bear, One of them had joked. I'd rolled my eyes at the time,
but now, sitting there in the dark, the thought sent a small
shiver down my spine. It wasn't the idea of a bear
that bothered me, though. It was the quiet.
Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes
your ears strain for any sound, even a distant one.
Normally the woods at night are alive with noise.
Crickets, owls, the occasional rustling in the underbrush.
But to night? Nothing.
Just the faint crackle of my fire and the steady pounding of
my own heartbeat. I told myself to get a grip.
I was just overthinking it, right?
First night jitters. I poked at the fire, watching
the embers rise and flicker against the dark, but even then
I couldn't shake the feeling, like there were eyes on me from
somewhere deep in the shadows. Still, I managed to sleep.
I don't know how long I was out, but I woke up at some point in
the night to a strange sound, a low, distant crunch, like
footsteps in the snow. My eyes snapped open, my body
frozen as I strained to listen. The sound was faint, almost too
faint to hear, but it was there, rhythmic, deliberate, getting
closer. I fumble for my knife, my
fingers stiff and clumsy in the cold.
The sound stopped. For a long moment.
I held my breath, waiting, listening.
Nothing, just the soft rustle of the wind through the trees.
Eventually, I convinced myself it was just an animal, a deer or
a raccoon or some other harmless creature.
I tucked the knife under my pillow and tried to drift off
again, but even as I closed my eyes, that feeling lingered,
gnawing at the back of my mind like I wasn't as alone as I
thought. When I woke the next morning,
the woods were cloaked in a heavy fog, the kind that muffles
sound and makes everything feel smaller and closer.
My fire had long since burned out, leaving behind a circle of
cold ash. For a moment I lay still in my
sleeping bag, staring at the pale Gray light filtering
through the nylon of my tent. My mind wandered back to the
noise from the night before, the crunching footsteps, the way
they stopped so suddenly. I told myself again it was
probably an animal, but the memory left an uneasy nod in my
stomach. I shook it off.
I needed to focus on packing up. The fog was bad, but it would
burn off soon enough, and I wanted to make it to the road by
early afternoon. Solo camping is about trusting
yourself, your instincts, your skills.
Panic is the enemy, and I wasn't about to let my nerves get the
better of me. But when I stepped out of my
tent, that knot in my stomach tightened.
The air was thick with moisture, and the silence was still wrong.
No birds, no insects, just the faint drip of dew falling from
the branches. I glanced around the clearing,
scanning for anything out of place.
My tent was intact, my gear untouched, but there was
something off. The trees seemed closer than
they had the night before, their dark trunks looming through the
fog like silent Sentinels. I busied myself with breaking
camp, forcing my thoughts into practical tasks.
Pack up the sleeping bag, fold the tent, double check the map
and compass. But as I worked, I couldn't
shake the feeling that I was being watched.
It wasn't just paranoia, it was physical.
That prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the instinct
that makes you turn around even when you know no one's there.
By the time I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and started
hiking, I was practically counting the seconds until I
could see the road again. The trail I'd mapped out wasn't
an official one, just a series of game trails and landmarks,
but I knew it well enough to keep a steady pace despite the
fog. The first mile was uneventful,
but the silence was suffocating and every crunch of my boots on
the frozen ground sounded deafening.
I didn't notice the clearing until I was almost in it. 1
moment I was pushing through the underbrush and the next the
trees opened up into a wide circular space.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat.
In the center of the clearing, a deer carcass hung from a low
branch strung up by its hind legs.
Its belly had been split open, the entrails removed and piled
neatly beneath it. The blood was fresh, glistening
in the dim light. Flies buzzed lazily around the
scene, but there was no other movement, no sound except the
faint rustle of leaves in the distance.
I froze, my mind racing. Hunters.
But no hunter would do this. It was too precise, too
deliberate. The entrails weren't discarded.
They were arranged, almost ritualistic.
And who would leave a kill like this in the middle of the woods?
Even in the cold, decomposition would set in fast.
It didn't make sense. I took a shaky step back, then
another, my boots crunching against the frost.
That's when I saw it. Tracks in the snow, Not animal
tracks. Boot prints.
Big ones leading from the base of the tree into the dense
underbrush on the far side of the clearing.
Whoever had done this was still out here.
My stomach lurched. I turned and bolted.
The pack on my back slowed me down, but I didn't dare stop.
The trees blurred around me as I crashed through the underbrush,
branches clawing at my arms and face.
I didn't know how long I ran, but when I finally stopped
gasping for air, I realized I'd lost my bearings.
Everything looked the same in the fog, the same trees, the
same pale ground. I pulled out my compass with
shaking hands, forcing myself to focus South.
I just needed to head South. The road was somewhere that way.
The crunching sound came again, faint and far off, but this time
it wasn't stopping. Footsteps, heavy, deliberate,
getting closer. I didn't wait to find out who or
what it was. I ran again, this time clutching
my knife in one hand, my other arm pumping awkwardly under the
weight of my pack. My lungs burned and my legs
screamed for me to stop, but I didn't dare, not until I saw the
pale, gravelly edge of the road through the trees.
I burst out of the forest and collapsed onto the asphalt,
trembling and gasping for air. My car was 50 yards down, its
blue frame barely visible in the fog.
I stumbled toward it, fumbling with the keys as I reached the
driver's side door. When I finally managed to get
inside and lock the doors, the relief was so overwhelming I
almost cried. I sat there for a long time,
gripping the steering wheel, staring at the empty road ahead.
Eventually, I started the engine and drove to the nearest Ranger
station. I wasn't sure what I was going
to say. How do you even begin to explain
something like this? But I had to tell someone.
Even now, hours later, parked outside a cheap motel with the
door bolted shut behind me, I can't shake the image of that
deer. The way it's lifeless eyes
seemed to follow me, the way the entrails were arranged so
carefully, like a message I couldn't understand.
And the tracks, those boot prints leading away into the
fog. Whoever left them, they were out
there, and they knew exactly where I'd been.
I barely slept that night. The motel room was cold and
damp, the thin walls doing little to muffle the creaks and
groans of the building or the occasional sound of tires
hissing along the wet Rd. outside.
But it wasn't the room keeping me awake.
It was the image of that deer, the precise cuts, the entrails,
and the unmistakable boot prints leading into the forest.
Over and over, my mind replayed the sound of those crunching
footsteps, the thought of how close they had been.
When my phone buzzed the next morning, I nearly jumped out of
my skin. It was Officer Reeves, the
Ranger I'd spoken to at the station the day before.
He sounded annoyed, like he'd already decided this was a waste
of time. But he agreed to meet me at the
forest's edge. Show me where you saw it, he
said. I could hear him tapping
something in the background, like he was already half
distracted. I didn't care about his
skepticism. I just wanted someone else to
see it, to confirm I wasn't losing my mind.
Reeves arrived in a beat up ATV, his face lined and weathered.
He looked more bored than concerned, like he'd seen too
many wild goose chases to expect this to be anything different.
Let's get this over with. He muttered, motioning for me to
hop on to the back. The ride into the forest was
jarring, every bump and jolt rattling my already frazzled
nerves. The fog had lifted, but the air
felt heavier than before, the silence pressing down like a
weight. Reeves tried to make small talk
as we drove, something about how hunters sometimes mess around
with their kills, but his words barely registered.
My eyes were fixed on the trail ahead, every shadow between the
trees sending my heart racing. When we reached the clearing,
the ATV sputtered to a stop. I climbed off hesitantly, my
stomach sinking as I scanned the area.
The deer was gone. Figures.
Reeves said, crossing his arms. He sounded almost smug.
Probably a bear dragged it off. Happens all the time, no?
I said, shaking my head. This wasn't an animal.
There were boot prints. Someone did this.
Reeves sighed and crouched down near the center of the clearing,
examining the dark stain in the dirt where the deer had been.
The blood was still there, thick and glistening, but the entrails
were scattered now, like something or someone had
deliberately kicked them apart. Bears can leave messy scenes, he
said, though his tone had softened.
He wasn't as sure as he wanted me to believe.
Look. I said, pointing to the snow on
the far side of the clearing. The drag marks were still
visible, a long, smooth path leading into the trees.
Does that look like a bear to you?
Reeves straightened slowly, his face pale.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came
out. Instead, he pulled a flashlight
from his belt and motioned for me to follow him.
Stay close, he said, his voice tight.
The trail let us deeper into the woods, the trees growing thicker
and the light dimmer with every step.
My breath came shallow and fast, each exhale a cloud of white in
the cold air. Reeves didn't say much, but his
hand hovered near the gun on his hip.
That, more than anything, terrified me.
After what felt like hours, we came to another clearing.
My stomach churned as I saw the scene in front of us.
My campsite, or what was left of it.
My tent was destroyed, slashed to ribbons that fluttered weakly
in the breeze. My gear was scattered
everywhere, shredded beyond recognition.
And there, in the center of it all, was another pile of
entrails. They weren't arranged this time,
just dumped in a heap like someone had grown bored of
playing games. Blood soaked the snow in dark,
sticky patches. Reeves cursed under his breath.
Jesus Christ, he muttered, pulling his gun from its
holster. He turned in a slow circle,
scanning the trees. We need to go now.
What the hell is this? I whispered, my voice shaking.
Who would do something like this?
I don't know. Reeves said, his eyes darting
nervously from shadow to shadow. But we're not sticking around to
find out. I wanted to argue, to demand
answers, but something about the tension in his voice stopped me.
He wasn't just spooked, he was scared.
I followed him back to the ATV, glancing over my shoulder with
every step, sure I'd see someone or something lurking just beyond
the trees. We didn't speak on the drive
back to the road. Reeves kept one hand on the
wheel and the other on his gun, his knuckles white against the
black grip. When we reached the edge of the
forest, he didn't say goodbye. He just told me to leave and not
come back. I drove straight to the motel,
my hands trembling on the wheel. I wanted to believe it was over,
that I could just leave and put it all behind me.
But later that night, as I sat curled up on the bed with the TV
buzzing in the background, my phone rang.
It was Reeves. His voice was low, almost a
whisper. The trail cameras, he said.
We checked them. My heart stopped and there was a
long pause. Then, quietly, he said it wasn't
a bear. Click.
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, my blood
running cold. I didn't call him back.
I didn't want to know. All I knew was that I'd been
lucky, luckier than I'd ever been in my life, and I wasn't
going back to that forest, Not ever.
They always say familiarity breeds complacency.
I guess I'm living proof of that.
For years, the trails at Great Smoky Mountains up were my
escape. I knew every twist and turn,
every incline and rocky outcrop. That night though, they turned
on me. It started like any other ride.
I had pushed myself further than usual that evening, taking the
longer loop out. The trail.
There winds through thick woods, and even in the dim light of
dusk, the air smelled of pine and wet earth.
By the time I decided to head back, the sun was long gone,
leaving only a swollen moon to light my way.
The trail stretched out before me in a pale ribbon, the trees
casting long, twisted shadows across the dirt.
I wasn't worried, hadn't even thought to bring a flashlight.
The moonlight was enough, and I'd bike this route so many
times I could probably do it blindfolded.
But as I pedaled deeper into the woods, a strange silence fell
over the trail. The usual chirping of crickets
and the occasional rustle of night critters faded, replaced
by nothing, just the crunch of my tires on the dirt.
I shrugged it off, convincing myself the cooler night air had
quieted the wildlife. That's when I heard it.
A sharp crack to my left, like a branch snapping under something
heavy. My hands tightened on the
handlebars as I slowed, scanning the woods.
The moonlight barely penetrated the thick canopy, turning the
underbrush into a black, impenetrable wall.
I told myself it was probably a deer, or maybe one of those
feral hogs that occasionally wandered through the park.
I didn't see anything, so I pushed forward, forcing my legs
to keep pedaling. But the sound lingered in my
mind, gnawing at the edges of my confidence.
A few minutes later, just as I was starting to relax again,
something hit me hard. Pain bloomed in my thigh and I
skidded to a stop, nearly toppling off the bike.
I looked down, expecting to see blood or some kind of injury,
but there was nothing. That's when I saw it.
A rock, maybe the size of a baseball, rolling lazily across
the trail in front of me. My first thought Kids, some
little brats sneaking around after dark, screwing with
whoever passed by. But as I scanned the ridges on
either side of the trail, there was no sign of movement.
Just more shadows. And then another rock came.
This one hit the front wheel of my bike with a dull thunk and
bounced onto the trail. My stomach dropped, the kind of
feeling you get when you miss a step on the stairs.
I glanced uphill, my eyes adjusting slowly to the dark.
That's when I saw it. At first I thought it was a
trick of the moonlight, a shadow stretching in some weird way.
But then it moved, a hulking figure, tall and broad, standing
on the Ridge above me. Its arms were raised, and even
from that distance I could tell it wasn't right.
Its outline was jagged, wild, and it didn't move like a person
should. It screamed.
The sound tore through the silence, guttural and raw,
echoing off the trees. It wasn't human.
It couldn't be. My mind scrambled for an
explanation, but nothing fit. My hands went cold and my bike
tipped as I tried to process what I was seeing.
Before I could make sense of it, the figure moved fast and
deliberate, charging downhill. My body kicked into autopilot.
I didn't think. I didn't look back.
I just pedaled hard. The trail blurred under my tires
as I raced toward the stone bridge that crossed Blackwater
Creek. Behind me, I could hear rocks
thudding into the dirt, some landing close enough to make me
flinch. The thing, it was still
screaming, a sound that didn't belong in this world, let alone
this park. As I neared the bridge, a shadow
passed over the trail in front of me.
I looked up in time to see a massive boulder hurtling through
the air, slamming into the Creek with a splash that soaked the
bridge in mist. My lungs burned, my legs ached,
but I didn't stop. I wouldn't stop, Not until I was
home. I finally burst out of the woods
and into the clearing near my neighbourhood, Drenched in
sweat, shaking so hard I could barely keep hold of the
handlebars. I didn't even bother putting the
bike in the garage. I just abandoned it on the front
lawn and bolted inside, locking the door behind me.
The thing's screams had stopped somewhere in the woods, but I
could still hear them in my head, echoing long after I was
safe in bed that night. I stared at the ceiling, the
dark shapes of the trees outside my window casting shadows that
twisted and shifted like the thing I saw on the Ridge.
The trails of the Great Smoky Mountains would never feel the
same again. I didn't sleep much after that
night. The shadows in my room didn't
seem to stay still, and every Creek of the house sounded like
something climbing the walls outside.
By morning, I had convinced myself that what happened
couldn't be real. Maybe I'd imagined the whole
thing. Moonlight, fatigue, adrenaline,
whatever. But deep down I knew I hadn't.
By the time the sun came up, I decided to report it.
I didn't even know what it was, but it felt like the right thing
to do. Carl, one of the senior Park
Rangers, had always been decent to me.
A bit of a loudmouth, sure, but he seemed like the type who'd at
least listen. The Ranger station felt too
normal when I walked in, like the world outside wasn't hiding
something monstrous. Carl was there, leaning back in
his chair, a Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and a clipboard
in the other. He looked up as I came in,
flashing me his usual grin. Morning, Ryan, he said.
What's got you up so early? Deer wander into your yard
again? I didn't know how to start, so I
just blurted it out. Something attacked me in the
park last night. Carl raised an eyebrow, sitting
up a little straighter. Attacked you.
You OK? Yeah, I'm fine.
But it wasn't an animal. At least, I don't think it was.
I hesitated, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words left my
mouth. It was big, like really big.
And it was throwing rocks. Screaming, too.
Carl's grin widened, but not in a friendly way.
Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me Bigfoot's out
there chucking rocks at people now?
I stiffened. I'm not saying it was Bigfoot,
Carl, I'm just saying it wasn't normal.
It chased me halfway to Blackwater Creek.
He leaned back again, chuckling. All right, Ryan, look, I'll keep
an eye out for your rock throwing giant, but maybe you
just saw a bear or something. They can get loud if you
surprise them. It wasn't a bear.
I snapped louder than I meant to.
Bears don't scream like that, and they don't throw rocks.
This thing, it was trying to hurt me.
Carl held up his hands in mock surrender.
OK, OK, don't bite my head off. If I see Bigfoot or whoever out
there, I'll let you know. I wanted to argue, but what was
the point? I left the station feeling worse
than before. Carl's laughter followed me out
the door, ringing in my ears. A week passed and I avoided the
park. I told myself it was because I
was busy, but the truth was, I couldn't bring myself to go
back. Every time I thought about the
trails, my chest tightened and I heard that scream all over
again. Then one morning, as I was
finishing breakfast, a familiar truck pulled into my driveway.
Carl climbed out, but his usual swagger was gone.
He looked off. His face was pale, and his usual
grin had been replaced with a tight, uneasy line.
Ryan. He called, waving me over.
You got a minute? I stepped outside, Hart already
racing. What's going on?
Get in, He said, nodding toward the truck.
I need to show you something. I hesitated.
Show me what? Carl sighed, rubbing the back of
his neck. Look, I owe you an apology.
Just trust me, all right? You'll understand when we get
there. Against my better judgement, I
got in. The truck ride was silent except
for the hum of the tires on the road.
Carl didn't say a word, just gripped the steering wheel like
it might fly out of his hands. We didn't head toward the park.
Instead, we went into town, stopping in front of the
Sheriff's Office. Carl turned to me before I could
ask anything. Before we go in, I need you to
hear this. Last night a couple was camping
out near Blackwater Creek. Around midnight, they called the
cops, saying something was attacking them.
Rocks, branches, screaming, the works.
My stomach dropped. The Sheriff's Department called
us in to help. Carl continued.
When we got out there, we heard it too.
Rocks coming down from the Ridge and that scream.
Jesus, Ryan, I've never heard anything like it.
I thought about what you told me last week, and I knew we had to
check it out. I stared at him, unable to
speak. We went up the hill, guns drawn.
Carl said, his voice quieter now.
And we found him. Him.
I asked, my throat dry. Carl nodded.
Not Bigfoot, not some monster. A man, naked, covered in mud and
blood, screaming like a damn banshee.
He charged at us, and it took three officers to bring him
down. Turns out he escaped from the
veterans facility across the lake.
PTSD, severe psychosis. He thought he was in a war zone
and we were the enemy. I leaned back in the seat, my
head spinning. He, he's the one who chased me,
most likely, Carl said. You're lucky, Ryan.
The guy's strong as hell, and he's been living out there for
weeks. We found traps, pits lined with
sharpened sticks hidden under brush if you'd gone off the
trail. He didn't finish the sentence,
but he didn't need to. Inside the Sheriff's Office,
they took my statement, asking me to describe what I'd seen
that night. The details spilled out in
pieces, but they nodded like it all fit.
On the drive home, Carl tried to make small talk, but I barely
listened. My mind was stuck on the Ridge,
on the rocks, in the scream. I couldn't stop picturing the
man charging toward me, thinking I was something he needed to
kill. As Carl dropped me off, he said
again. Ryan, I'm sorry I didn't believe
you. We'll make sure he doesn't get
out again. I nodded, but I didn't say
anything. Words wouldn't make it go away.
That night, as I locked every door and window, I couldn't
shake the feeling that something else was still out there, hiding
in the shadows of the Smoky Mountains.
A week passed, but the nightmares didn't.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw him, his mud covered body
charging down the hill. The scream that didn't sound
human, the boulder smashing into the Creek.
I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, and every time I thought
about biking the trails again, my legs felt like Jelly.
I wanted to believe it was over. The man, the thing, had been
caught, locked up in some facility where he couldn't hurt
anyone. But the woods didn't feel safe
anymore. It was like the shadows there
had swallowed the part of me that loved the Smoky Mountains.
A few days later, I got a call. It was Carl Ryan, he said, his
voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
I hate to ask, but can you come down to the Ranger station?
The Sheriff's Office needs you to clarify a few things from
your statement. I didn't want to go.
Hell, I didn't want to think about that night again.
But something in Carl's tone, something shaken, made me agree.
When I got to the station, Carl met me outside.
He looked worse than before, like he hadn't slept in days.
His usual bravado was gone, replaced with a nervous energy
that made him jumpy. He didn't say much as he led me
inside. The sheriff was there, along
with a couple of deputies. They asked me to go over my
account of that night, Every detail, every sound, every
moment. I told them what I remembered.
The rocks, the figure on the Ridge, the scream, the chase.
They nodded, taking notes, but their eyes kept darting to each
other, like there was something they weren't saying.
When I finished, one of the deputies asked.
You're sure? He didn't speak, didn't say
anything intelligible. No, I said it was just screaming
like, like he wasn't human. The deputy glanced at the
sheriff, who gave him a sharp look.
Carl cleared his throat, breaking the tension.
Thanks, Ryan, that's all we needed.
You're free to go. I stood to leave, but something
about the way Carl was looking at me, like he wanted to say
more but couldn't, made me pause.
Is there something you're not telling me?
The room went quiet. The sheriff looked at Carl, then
back at me. It's nothing you need to worry
about. He said the man's been
transferred to a secure facility.
You're safe. Safe.
The word felt hollow, like they didn't even believe it
themselves. On my way out, Carl followed me
to the parking lot. Ryan, he said, lowering his
voice. I didn't want to say this in
there, but we've been getting reports.
Strange ones. Strange how?
I asked, my stomach tightening. Other people have heard it, he
said. The scream.
A few hikers, some campers near the lake.
And last night one of our trail cameras picked up movement in
the same area where you were attacked.
My chest tightened. It's him.
He escaped, no, Carl said quickly.
The man's accounted for. He's under constant supervision
in a facility 2 states over. It's not him.
Then what the hell is it? I asked, my voice rising.
Carl glanced around like someone might overhear us.
We don't know. The camera footage was strange.
There was movement, but we couldn't make out what it was,
just something large. I stared at him, waiting for him
to say it was a prank, that he was messing with me, but his
face stayed serious. I thought, you should know, he
said. Just keep your guard up, OK?
That night I locked every door and window again, double
checking each one, but it didn't feel like enough.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something or someone was
out there, watching, waiting. Around midnight, I heard it,
faint at first, but unmistakable.
The scream, that raw, guttural sound that made every hair on my
body stand on end. It wasn't close, not yet, but it
was there, drifting through the woods like a warning.
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.
It didn't make sense. The man was locked up.
He couldn't be here unless it wasn't him.
The scream came again, louder this time.
Closer, I grabbed a flashlight and stepped onto my porch, my
hands shaking so badly the beam wobbled across the yard.
The woods loomed just beyond the clearing, dark and impenetrable.
I scanned the trees, half expecting to see that hulking
figure charging toward me again, but there was nothing, just the
shadows stretching and shifting in the wind.
The scream echoed one last time, so close it felt like it was
right behind me. I spun around, the flashlight
darting across the yard, but there was nothing there.
I didn't sleep that night, and the next morning I called Carl
Ryan, he said, his voice tight. I heard it too.
What the hell is it, Carl? I asked.
If it's not him, then what? There was a long pause before he
answered. I don't know, he said finally.
But I think we both know this isn't over.
And he was right. The scream came again, ripping
through the still night like a blade.
Louder this time. Closer.
Carl and I exchanged a look, neither of us needing to say a
word. We were already moving, running
down the trail as fast as we could, our flashlights bobbing
wildly with each step. This way.
Carl shouted, pointing toward the Ridge.
I followed, my legs burning as the incline steepened behind us.
The sound of something crashing through the underbrush grew
louder, closer. Whatever it was, it wasn't
human. It couldn't be.
I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw the shadow,
massive and unrelenting, tearing through the trees like they were
nothing. The beam of my flashlight caught
a glimpse of it. Mud caked skin, tangled hair,
and eyes that gleamed with something primal.
Something wrong. My foot snagged on a root and I
went down hard, my flashlight skittering across the trail.
Karl skidded to a stop, doubling back to pull me up.
Get up, he hissed, yanking me to my feet.
I grabbed the flashlight and stumbled forward, my lungs
heaving as the screams echoed behind us, closer with every
step. The Ridge ahead was steep and
uneven, but Karl led the way, pushing us higher and higher.
Where are we going? I gasped, my chest on fire.
Old fire tower. He shouted over his shoulder.
We can lock ourselves in. I didn't have time to argue.
The crashing behind us had turned into a roar, like the
forest itself was being ripped apart.
We scrambled up the rocky incline, slipping and sliding
but never stopping. Finally, the fire tower came
into view, its skeletal frame rising against the night sky
like a lifeline. The stairs were rusted and worn,
but they held as Carl bolted up them, taking two at a time.
I was right behind him, my flashlight swinging wildly in
one hand as I gripped the railing with the other.
We reached the top and threw open the metal hatch, slamming
it shut behind us. Carl slid the heavy iron bolt
into place, his hands trembling as he locked us in.
The tower swayed slightly in the wind, the creak of its beams
mixing with our ragged breaths. For a moment there was silence,
just the two of us staring at each other, trying to catch our
breath. Then we heard it.
The sound of something climbing the stairs, slow, deliberate.
The tower shook with each step it took, the old metal groaning
under the weight. Carl fumble with his belt,
pulling out his sidearm and aiming it at the Hatch.
I grabbed the only thing I could find, an old metal wrench, heavy
and rusted. It's coming.
Carl whispered, his voice tight. Get ready.
The footsteps stopped just below the Hatch.
We held our breath, every second stretching into an eternity.
Then the Hatch rattled, the metal groaning under the strain
of something pulling at it. Stay back.
Carl shouted, his gun trained on the Hatch.
But the thing on the other side didn't stop.
The bolts holding the Hatch in place began to bend, screeching
as the creature pulled harder and harder.
Carl fired. The deafening crack of the
gunshot echoed through the tower, and for a moment the
rattling stopped. I dared to hope that it was
over. Then came the scream, louder
than ever, so piercing it felt like my skull was splitting. the
Hatch exploded inward, the creature ripping it clean off
its hinges. Carl fired again, the muzzle
flash illuminating the thing's face for a split second.
Mud caked skin stretched tight over sharp bones, eyes wild and
gleaming. It lunged.
Carl emptied his clip, each shot forcing the thing back an inch,
but it didn't stop. I swung the wrench with
everything I had, the impact jarring my arms as it connected
with the creature's shoulder. It roared, swiping at me with a
hand that felt more like claws. Ryan, go.
Carl shouted, shoving me toward the ladder on the other side of
the platform. No, I screamed, grabbing for
him, but he pushed me harder now.
He roared, turning back to face the creature, his empty gun
raised like a club. I hesitated for a split second,
then climbed over the edge and started down the ladder.
The tower shook violently as the struggle continued above me.
I was halfway down when I heard Carl scream, a sound I'll never
forget. Tears blurred my vision, but I
kept climbing, my hands slipping on the rungs.
When I hit the ground, I ran, the forest around me a blur.
I didn't stop, didn't look back until I burst into the clearing
where Carl's truck was parked. The keys were still in the
ignition. I jumped in, slamming the door
behind me, and gunned the engine.
The headlights cut through the darkness, and for a split second
I thought I saw movement at the edge of the woods, but I didn't
wait to find out. I drove all night, not stopping
until I was miles away from the mountains.
They found Carl's body the next day, or what was left of it.
The fire tower was in ruins, the metal twisted and shattered like
a child's toy. No one could explain it.
Not the Rangers, not the sheriff, not anyone.
I haven't gone back there since. I can't.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that thing on the Ridge,
hear it screams in the dark, and I know deep down that whatever
it was, it's still out there, waiting.
Waiting for someone like me to make the mistake of coming back.