I had quite the experience when I was 17.
I am now 26, but the events that unfolded remained forever burned
into my memory as if they happened yesterday.
My father and I had decided to make a weekend hunting trip to
my family's hunting cabin. The cabin is located on a 120
acre plot of land in the middle of Mark Twain National Forest.
We loaded up on Friday morning and made the drive out to the
cabin. It is extremely isolated.
The closest house is roughly 10 miles away.
The cabin sits in a clearing and is surrounded by fairly dense
forest on all sides. We arrived around noon, brought
everything inside, gassed up the electric generator, hooked it
up, and then decided it would be a good time to figure out where
we wanted to set up our deer blind and the stand we had
brought along. I decided to go find a good spot
for the blind and my dad went to set up the stand in a different
area of the woods. I followed a small game trail
for quite a while and eventually found a good spot.
I spent some time setting up the blind and securing it so it
would be ready to go first thing in the morning.
As I was finishing up, I became very aware that something was
watching me from the tree line about 25 yards away.
At first it was just that uneasy feeling, hairs on the back of my
neck standing up, catching glimpses of movement.
I saw something peek out from behind a tree and then duck
back. Then I heard a loud crashing
sound as it ran off in the opposite direction.
It freaked me out at first, but since I didn't get a good look I
eventually convinced myself it was a deer or some other wild
animal. I returned to the cabin and told
my dad what had happened, and we both laughed about it.
We made some dinner, bull crapped a little, and settled
down to sleep at about 9:00 PM. Around 1:30 AM, we both awoke to
a loud crashing sound like someone had thrown a large rock
onto the roof. We got up, listened for a few
minutes, and heard nothing but the eerie stillness of the
night, occasionally interrupted by the howl of the wind outside.
After a few minutes, we armed ourselves and my dad grabbed a
spotlight. We walked outside and shined it
around but saw nothing. We eventually shrugged it off as
a tree branch or something similar and went back to sleep.
We got up around 5:00. AMI went to the deer blind and
my dad went to the stand he had set up.
I stayed until around 8:00 AM without any incident.
That evening I decided I would go to the deer stand and my
father wanted to try the blind. We explained to each other where
we had set up and headed off. My dad had placed the stand on
the edge of a small field next to a stream about a 20 minute
walk away. I opted to leave the four
Wheeler so I wouldn't scare any potential game in the area.
I eventually found the stand, climbed up and settled in.
I had been sitting for a while and hadn't seen anything other
than a few rabbits and a lot of squirrels.
The sun was starting to set and I was about ready to head back
to the cabin before dark. The sun was low enough that the
woods were semi dark and eerie, creating odd silhouettes at the
edge of the shadows. As I was contemplating climbing
down, I heard a rustle coming from the brush to my right.
I looked over, hoping for a big buck, but immediately froze in
fear. No more than 25 feet away stood
a huge upright creature covered in reddish brown hair staring
right at me. Its face looked so human, but it
was definitely not human. It gave off an odor like old
coffee grounds or garbage. It was roughly 7 feet tall or
more huge and massive. I can't emphasize enough how
large this thing was. It could have ripped me to
shreds without breaking a sweat. The deer stand was about 9 feet
up and it could have walked right over and yanked me out of
it. I was terrified.
It turned and walked off into some thick brush and I lost
sight of it. I took my chance, hopped out of
the stand and hurried back toward the cabin.
I was completely freaked out and scared to death.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my head.
I started to calm down a bit, thinking it had gone off in
another direction when I heard a limb break not too far behind me
off the path in the brush at the edge of the shadows.
Then I heard more rustling. It was following me.
I started to run and I could hear it keeping pace with me
just out of sight in the darkness of the woods.
I was really regretting not bringing the four Wheeler.
I heard it getting closer and panicked.
I made a decision I immediately regretted.
I turned and fired a shot in the direction of the noise, hoping
to scare it off. It started screaming loudly,
unlike anything I had ever heard.
It made my heart skip 10 beats. I just turned and sprinted as
fast as I could. It kept screaming, sounding like
it was knocking down trees as it came after me.
I heard it come out, cross the trail, and then go into the
woods on the other side, still gaining on me, screaming and
wailing horribly the whole time. I never looked back, but it
sounded so close I was sure it could grab me at any moment.
Then I heard the sound of the four Wheeler.
I kept running while this thing was behind me, screaming and
wailing, the most awful noise bashing through the woods.
I was still in a full Sprint and I could hear the four Wheeler in
Top Gear heading my way. Just as I was certain this thing
would catch me, my dad appeared on the four Wheeler looking just
as freaked out as I was. I jumped on and he hauled back
to the cabin. The entire time I could still
hear it screaming behind us. I didn't look back.
By the time we reached the cabin, the screaming had
stopped. We quickly gathered our things,
decided to leave the stand and blind and got out of there.
On the way home, my dad told me that as he was approaching on
the trail, he saw the creature maybe 20 paces behind me,
chasing me. When it saw him on the four
Wheeler, it ducked into the tree line.
I believe if my dad hadn't shown up, I wouldn't be here typing
this story. We talked about it a little on
the drive home, and then we never spoke of it again.
This is the first time since then that I've spoken of it to
anyone. It was the most terrifying
experience of my life. I can still hear it wailing and
screaming and it sends shivers down my spine.
I haven't been in the woods much at all since then and have never
once gone back to that cabin. I've lived in a secluded corner
of Southwest Virginia my whole life.
No cable, no Internet, and no nearby neighbors.
Just rolling hills, thick forests, and a handful of dusty
back roads connecting everything.
Most folks would feel uneasy, but I always liked the
isolation. I learned to hunt before I was
old enough to drive. Fishing and wandering through
the undergrowth became my version of hanging out with
friends. Maybe that sounds lonely, but
it's shaped who I am. It also set the stage for the
night. I nearly questioned my own
sanity. It started out like any other
Coon hunt. We had these young hounds, not
exactly champion level trackers. We'd usually tromp out under the
stars with high hopes of hearing them open on a raccoon trail.
I still remember stepping into the night air, the crunch of
leaves under my boots, and the muffled bark one of the pups
gave as we walked down an overgrown path.
I was already picturing a successful catch and a good
story to tell at the next family gathering.
After I turned the dogs loose, though, the woods went still.
Not the normal kind of quiet you get in nature.
No wind rustling the branches, no distant call from an owl.
Even the usual nighttime insects felt like they were holding
back. I whistled for the dogs,
expecting at least one of them to let me know where they ran
off to. Nothing.
Their silence was unnerving. Part of me wondered if they had
chased a deer too far away, but I convinced myself it was just a
slow start to the night. I decided to cut across a cow
field to see if I could spot them.
The field offered a clearview of the ridgeline above, which was
normally black against the moonlit sky.
But as soon as I stepped into that open space, a strange
redness caught my eye. It stretched across the Ridge in
a wide band, like someone had hung a massive red curtain over
the treetops. There were no flickers of flame,
no smoke in the air, just a steady glowing light that seemed
impossibly bright for this neck of the woods.
My pulse pounded. I kept trying to come up with a
logical reason, maybe a group of off road trucks with brake
lights on, or some heavy machinery, but this was miles
from a main road and no engine sounds broke the silence.
I crouched low and switched the birdshot shell in my shotgun for
a slug, just in case. My hands were trembling, and it
felt like the emptiness around me was closing in.
I glanced back toward the tree line, torn between sneaking
closer to see what was happening or turning tail and heading
home. In the end, I chose caution.
I backed away, doing my best to move quietly, each step
crunching grass and snapping twigs far louder than I liked.
I worried something or someone might spot me if I turned on my
flashlight, so I navigated using the faint moonlight.
By the time I made it to the old dirt Rd. that led home, I was
breathing hard, clutching my shotgun so tight my knuckles
hurt. The dogs were already at the
house, sitting next to their kennels like nothing had
happened. But my parents weren't thrilled
I'd cut the hunt short, said I should have gone after the
hounds instead of giving up. That night sleep felt
impossible. The image of that red glow kept
searing through my thoughts and I was stuck wondering what on
earth could produce a light so strange and powerful without any
sign of a normal fire. I tried explaining it, hoping my
parents might offer some reassurance.
All I got were stern looks about my so-called wild imagination.
Deep down I knew something out there had no explanation I could
wrap my head around and it left me with a sense of unease I
couldn't talk away. The next morning I got up before
dawn, trying to make sense of everything I'd seen.
That brilliant red glow wouldn't leave my mind if it was some
prank. Whoever pulled it off had gone
to extraordinary lengths. I tossed on my boots and coat,
grabbed a flashlight, and made a bee line back to the Ridge.
Part of me hoped I'd find ashes or footprints, anything that
would put my thoughts to rest, but there was nothing.
Every tree looked the same as it always had.
The ground was untouched by tire tracks, and no branches were
snapped like you'd expect if vehicles had rumbled through.
For a moment, I just stood there, feeling like I was
wandering through someone else's dream.
I spent hours picking over the underbrush and combing every
inch of that field, coming up with zero evidence.
It was madding. I'd seen that glow with my own
eyes, yet I couldn't prove it. Eventually, I dragged myself
back home, my mind buzzing with possibilities.
A trick of light, some forest phenomenon, or something more
ominous? I didn't realize how anxious I
was until I tried to talk about it with my stepdad that
afternoon and couldn't form the right words.
He didn't tease or lecture, he just pulled me aside with an
uneasy look. He mentioned he'd gone hunting a
few nights after my incident in an entirely different patch of
woods. He was waiting for our dogs to
bark when he witnessed 3 flashes of intense red lighting up the
tree line. Each flash illuminated the
forest around him like a camera strobe, except tinted Crimson.
He confessed he nearly dropped his rifle in shock.
He flicked on his flashlight, thinking maybe flares were being
fired, but the woods were. Silent, no sign of people or
emergency gear. It was gone as fast as it
appeared. Hearing that rattled me.
My stepdad doesn't scare easy, so to see him unsettled clued me
in that we were dealing with something serious.
Suddenly, my own brush with that glow felt a little less like a
delusion and more like a shared mystery.
We spent the rest of the evening tossing around theories, secret
military drills and experimental aircraft, maybe even something
that defies normal explanation. None of it clicked into place.
Days slipped by, and each one felt a little more tense than
the last. We'd do chores, feed the dogs,
chat about everyday stuff, but it was obvious we were both
distracted by the memory of that red light.
I tried venting my confusion online, mostly local forums and
social media groups. Eventually I found a thread
where someone described a red orb that had appeared in the sky
about 10 miles away. The post was old, but they
included grainy photos of a Crimson object that shifted
colors. Reading that made me uneasy in a
completely different way. Instead of feeling singled out,
I now realized we weren't the only ones who had seen something
out of the ordinary. I shared those screenshots with
my stepdad and we just stared at.
Them neither of us spoke right away, probably because we were
trying to figure out if we preferred feeling alone in our
experience or knowing that others had witnessed something
just as bizarre. If it was a hoax, it was a
detailed one. But if it was real, then what
was it doing in our little corner of Southwest Virginia?
We never got a neat explanation. After a while, it stopped
dominating our every conversation, but I noticed we
both started carrying our rifles a little more carefully when we
went out. I began scanning the horizon at
dusk, imagining that eerie glow flickering back to life.
Part of me almost wanted to see it again, just to confirm we
hadn't lost our minds. The rest of me dreaded the
possibility that it might reveal something we weren't prepared to
handle. Those woods still feel like
home, but there's an undercurrent of unease I can't
shake. The questions hang in the air.
What caused that radiant Crimson light?
And why choose these secluded hills to manifest?
Without any answers, I just keep trudging up and down those
ridges, wondering if I'll ever stumble upon the truth, or if
the truth might one day find me. I've been roaming these farm
roads for as long as I can remember.
Growing up out here meant not much else to do besides hunting
squirrels, fishing in Creek beds, and helping neighbors when
they needed extra muscle. It was a decent trade off.
They let me tread their land in search of game, and I'd fix a
fence or corral a stray cow whenever asked.
It was a routine that suited me just fine until I learned about
that old house tucked deep in a forgotten valley.
From the outside, it was unlike any rundown shack I'd seen
before. Despite the rusted tin roof, the
place still seems solid. Two stories of finely crafted
wood with every window intact. You could tell it must have cost
a fortune back when it was built.
Out back stood 1/2 collapsed building that everyone whispered
about. They called it the Slave shack
and nobody wanted to talk about its history.
Even the farmer who owned the land clammed up if you pressed
him on it. He had one big rule for me.
I could hunt the surrounding woods all I wanted, but I was
never to set foot inside that house.
He told me he stored equipment there and worried I'd hurt
myself on rotting boards or rusted nails.
On the surface it made sense. I respected him enough to keep
my distance most days, but something about that silent
structure made it impossible to ignore.
Once or twice I slipped inside just for a peak, quick and
quiet, mostly to confirm the floors were still rock solid.
The farmer never found out, and I never told a soul.
Nights out there brought the strangest sights.
My stepdad and I used to hunt raccoons in the fields near the
house. We'd switch off our flashlights
to preserve our night vision, crouching in the tall grass and
waiting. Sometimes we'd notice a faint
glow drifting across the upstairs windows.
It looked exactly like a single candle moving from.
Room to room. Too steady to be moonlight
reflecting off glass. That valley was nowhere near any
roads and we were the only ones around with flashlights, which
we kept off. It made no sense.
My stepdad would side eye me as if to say don't ask and I'd just
stare at those windows, too anxious to blink.
My biggest turning point came on a day that started out mild.
I was out searching for red fox squirrels under the big oaks
near the house. The sky seemed clear, barely any
breeze. Then, without warning, the wind
kicked up and the temperature plummeted.
I'm not talking about a mild chill.
You know, the kind that digs right under your skin.
My thin jacket wasn't cutting it every gust.
Felt like it was slicing right through me and I realized I was
a couple miles from home. With 0 shelter insight, I had no
choice but to use the one place off limits.
Stepping onto the porch, I hesitated.
The farmer's warning rang in my mind, but my numb fingers
gripped the doorknob anyway. The wind howled behind me, ready
to RIP the breath from my lungs if I stayed out another minute.
So I pushed that old door open and slipped into a hallway of
dim light. Instantly, the biting cold
faded, leaving me in this weird hush.
My cheeks stung as blood started flowing again, and it felt more
comforting than I ever expected. I remember thinking, this can't
be real because the shift was so abrupt it was almost like
crossing into a different world. I took a moment to scan my
surroundings. The farmer's equipment, wire
cutters, fence posts, a couple of large tool boxes was lined up
against the walls. Dust drifted across the floor in
the faint glow that seeped in through the windows.
The craftsmanship was impressive, especially for a
house this old. Smooth wood panelling, a sturdy
staircase, and tall ceilings that made it feel more mansion
than farmhouse. Despite the grime, it had a calm
grace about it. But there was something else
too, a tingling sense in the back of my mind, urging me to be
cautious. I told myself it was just the
rush of stepping into a forbidden spot, the fear of
getting caught. Yet part of me suspected there
might be another reason the farmer insisted nobody come
here. I felt like I was trespassing on
more than just private property. My rifle still hung over my
shoulder, but I was more focused on the silence, broken only by
the muffled wail of wind outside.
As I stepped farther in each footsteps seemed to echo as if
the house itself was listening. My eyes drifted to a door at the
end of the hallway leading to who knows where.
A swirl of dust flashed in the light as I moved, and my heart
thudded in my chest. I had never been this deep
inside, not with the intention of wandering.
I stood there, telling myself I just needed to warm up and go.
But after a moment, curiosity started to claw at me, hinting
that maybe I should explore just a little more.
The house was silent, waiting. Still, a small voice in my head
insisted that some boundaries aren't meant to be crossed.
I tried to push that aside thinking what could possibly be
hiding in a place like this? Outside, the wind pounded
against the old walls. Inside, I felt a heaviness I
couldn't name. My fingers hovered over the door
handle at the end of the hall, uncertain whether I'd open it or
keep my promise. The glow I'd seen at night
flickered through my thoughts. I couldn't explain what was more
unsettling, the notion I was alone in that house, or the idea
that maybe I wasn't. I rested my hand on the knob,
feeling the cold metal under my skin.
For a second, I almost imagined I heard movement somewhere
beyond that door. Just a soft shuffle, like
someone shifting their weight. It could have been the building
settling, or maybe the wind found a gap in the boards.
I didn't know what to believe. All I did know was that I was on
the edge of something I might regret.
And that moment, that fleeting second of indecision.
Was all it took for me to realize there was no turning
back. I stood in that dim hallway,
lingering by a battered door whose edges were chipped from
years of neglect. The old house had been dead
silent moments ago, but now it seemed to breathe in unison with
me. That door in front of me was
slightly ajar, as though inviting me to cross a final
boundary. In the hush, the wind outside
sounded remote, like a distant chorus.
My mind was torn between heading back into the cold or
surrendering to the pull of something sinister.
I nudged the door open and peered down a flight of creaking
stairs. They led into an inky darkness
that made every instinct of mine scream to turn away.
The only reason I kept going was because that tiny voice of pride
in my head refused to admit I was afraid.
With a trembling flashlight in hand and my shotgun balanced on
my shoulder, I inched down step by step.
Each board groaned under my boots and the stale air hit my
nose, a mix of damp earth and rot, a warning that whatever
lurked below wasn't meant for casual eyes.
Halfway down, the warm sensation I'd felt upstairs vanished.
It was like entering a different world, one that felt charged.
It was difficult to pinpoint if the source was just my nerves or
something deeper. The flashlight flickered,
casting shaky beams along the walls.
Spider webs swayed like veils, hinting that nobody had stepped
foot here in ages. Yet I couldn't push aside the
suspicion that I wasn't alone. Below me, the basement opened up
into a cramped space. The walls were rough stone, with
dusty shelves lining the perimeter.
From what I could see, they were mostly empty, aside from a few
rusted cans and glass jars so clouded I couldn't see what they
once held. I swept the flashlight around,
trying to get my bearings. Each time the beam revealed a
new corner, I half expected to catch sight of a shape crouched
in the shadows. That was when the flashlight
landed on something that made my insides twist.
At the far wall, large iron chains were fastened directly
into the stone. They ended in a set of equally
rusted shackles. The metal looked ancient,
weathered by more years than I could guess.
I moved closer, though part of me didn't want to.
The presence of those chains told a story nobody ever spoke
about. A grim reminder that this wasn't
just some old house. It was a place that might have
swallowed entire lives. As I approached, an icy dread
seeped through my gut. Dust coated the chains, but they
still bore faint scratches, as though someone or something had
struggled against them. My breathing hitched as I
extended a hand. My flashlights beam wavered as I
tapped the shackles with my fingertips.
They made a dull clang that echoed too loudly in that silent
room. It was enough to make my teeth
clench. Suddenly, a thunderous crash
reverberated from above. It felt like the ceiling was
about to cave in, sending a flurry of dust raining down.
I jolted back, nearly losing my grip on the flashlight.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I stood there, waiting for
another crash or a shout or anything to explain the noise.
Nothing followed, just stillness, so complete it felt
accusatory, like the house had caught me snooping in the most
forbidden place. My common sense kicked in,
telling me I needed to leave now.
I spun around and clambered toward the stairs, my feet
tangling in my own haste. Each step rattled as though the
staircase might buckle under me, but I didn't care.
I had to escape that suffocating space where every second felt
like an hour. When I reached the top, I shoved
the door closed behind me and found myself back in the
hallway, gulping in breaths of slightly fresher air.
Yet something felt different now.
The gentle warmth I experienced earlier was gone, replaced by a
heavy atmosphere that pressed down on my shoulders.
The silence was still there, but it carried weight.
Almost like a scolding presence, I lifted my gaze to the windows.
The wind outside had dropped to a nervous hush, as if nature
itself had paused to see what I'd do next.
Gripping my shotgun, I hurried to the front door, refusing to
look back down the hall. Deep down, part of me wanted to
run back home and forget this entire adventure.
Another part wanted to tear through every room until I
uncovered every last secret. But there was no way I was
staying, not after glimpsing those iron chains and hearing
that door slam overhead in perfect, menacing timing.
Stepping on to the porch, I felt the cold sting my face once
more, but it was a relief compared to the basement's
choking air. I moved swiftly across the
overgrown yard, not bothering to close the front door behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the yawning darkness of the
entrance, daring me to come back.
It was a silent promise that whatever I'd stumbled on was
only a fraction of the story. As I put distance between me and
that looming structure, questions flooded my mind.
Who had those chains bound? Why were they so deeply anchored
in a place that still radiated unease?
Did the farmer know more than he let on?
No matter how many times I looked back, the house remained
still and inscrutable, as though it held 1000 stories in its
rotted bones, waiting for an unlucky soul to peel back the
layers. By the time I rounded the edge
of the property, my breath steadied, but the gnawing unease
stayed. The ordeal left me rattled,
unsure if I would ever see the house in the same light again,
or if I even wanted to. One thing was certain, the
deeper I ventured into that place, the more it felt like it
had a heartbeat of its own, and it wasn't one to be trifled
with. I got the invite on a quiet
Thursday. My buddy Danny rang me up with a
once in a lifetime opportunity, a hunting trip in northern BC,
on land reserved exclusively for a local band and their guests.
I'd only ever heard rumors about places like this, pristine
wilderness hardly touched by outsiders, so my answer was an
immediate yes. Before I knew it, I was packing
gear into my truck, double checking every piece of
equipment. Danny mentioned we'd be the only
outsiders in the area, which gave the trip a weird sense of
privilege and caution. There was an undercurrent of
excitement as we headed out in a small convoy, me, Danny, and a
handful of others, including two band members who had arranged
the permits. The drive itself felt endless.
We barreled down narrow roads with barely any signs.
Tree canopies thickened overhead making it clear this was no
typical tourist stop. Radio signal was non existent so
we kept each other awake with jokes and half baked legends
about the deep N some funny, some dark.
One story about the Highway of Tears hung in my mind longer
than I'd have liked. It was just a passing mention,
but it set the tone. By late afternoon, we reached
the spot designated for our base camp, a small clearing near a
winding stream. Unloading gear felt like it took
hours. Tents went up, cooking gear
rattled out of crates, and the band members walked us through a
few ground rules. No wandering off alone, and
always let someone know where you were headed.
They said they'd keep track of everyone in the territory for
safety reasons. It was comforting in theory, but
it also made me wonder what might happen if someone
unexpected showed up that first night.
We settled in around the fire, taking turns sharing our plans
for the next few days. We'd split into pears or trios
to scout the area for moose or elk, then meet back in the
evenings. I tried to soak in the calm
atmosphere, cool air, distant croaks of frogs in the water.
Still, there was a lingering tension in the group.
Maybe it was just me overthinking, but even Danny
seemed more on edge than usual. Over the next few days, we hiked
deeper into the landscape. We followed game trails through
brush, clambered over fallen logs, and paused whenever we
heard branches snapping in the distance.
Every so often we'd find fresh tracks or droppings, but the
animals stayed elusive. 1 evening.
We even joked that the wildlife knew we were outsiders and
decided to keep their distance. On the 4th day, though, things
took a strange turn. While trudging along a narrow
path, I noticed footprints in the mud that didn't match any of
ours. Too small?
Maybe a different tread. A few yards away, we found a
discarded food wrapper partially buried in dirt.
It could have been anyone's trash, but the band members
exchanged uneasy glances. They insisted no one else was
registered to be out here. It left me with an unsettled
feeling like we weren't entirely alone.
I tried to shrug it off, focusing on the hunt, but it
stayed in the back of my mind. When we returned to base camp
that evening, the others reported similar findings.
Footprints, bits of random debris, even a faint trail of
footprints heading north. We decided to remain vigilant.
No one said it out loud, but we all knew something was off.
The land was massive, sure, but folks around here didn't just
wander in without telling the band.
It felt like we were tiptoeing on someone else's turf, and that
unnamed someone didn't want to be found.
By the end of that day, the mood around our fire was noticeably
tense. We tried to keep spirits up with
stories and a hearty meal, but the conversation kept drifting
toward the possibility that strangers were lurking out
there. Part of me wanted to laugh it
off, call it paranoia. Another part couldn't ignore the
quiet in the air that felt loaded with secrets.
I told myself we'd have a fresh start come morning, that maybe
we'd figure it out or forget about it once we bagged some
game. But deep down, I sensed that the
real story was just getting started, and we were heading
straight into it. It happened the morning we
pushed further than usual. Our group was heading toward a
new patch of land rumored to have plenty of game.
But I had a strange apprehension that kept creeping in.
The band members seemed just as wary.
They kept trading anxious looks and I could tell they wanted us
all to stick closer together. We navigated dense brush for
hours. Twigs snapped under foot and the
forest around us felt damp and heavy.
Occasionally we spotted odd footprints leading off the
trail, smaller than what we'd expect from a hunter wearing
standard boots. No one said much about them, but
we all silently acknowledged this was unusual.
Eventually, Danny, who was leading, motioned for us to slow
down. Through the thick undergrowth,
we spotted a clearing. It wasn't big, but I caught
glimpses of something that looked like tents.
We carefully crept forward, expecting to bump into another
hunting party. Instead, we entered a bizarre
makeshift campsite. 2 tents were sloppily pitched side by side,
several garbage bags were haphazardly scattered around,
and a couple more were leaning against a fallen tree trunk.
A ring of stones formed what might have been a fire pit, the
ash still fresh. It felt like the occupants had
stepped out only moments ago, yet the entire place was silent,
not even a rustle. We tried calling out, thinking
we'd find folks who were simply off collecting firewood or
scouting. Nobody answered.
Danny took a few steps into the camp while the rest of us hung
back, searching for any sign of movement.
There was nothing but the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
One of the band members, Noah, decided to check the tents.
He peeked inside, hoping to find an ID.
He quickly pulled back with a grimace.
A couple of sleeping bags were tossed about.
No personal papers insight, just a lingering odor like stale
sweat. Across the campsite, another
hunter named Brian poked a hole in one of the garbage bags,
searching for receipts or something that could point to
who was out here. He paused, eyes wide, and waved
us over. We gathered around as he pulled
out a small piece of clothing, bright pink, frilly, and
obviously not something a typical hunter would wear.
Then he reached deeper and drew out a handful of women's
clothes, all jammed in together. We stared, trying to process why
anyone would stash so many garments in the middle of
nowhere. The confusion deepened when
Brian unfolded a shirt with rusty brown splotches along the
sleeves. It was impossible to pretend we
didn't recognize what that might be.
The sight made my stomach lurch. We stood there, surrounded by
half a dozen bags stuffed full of clothes, some of which had
what looked like old blood stains.
There were even purses mixed in several, all different styles,
some with straps torn off. An icy wave of realization swept
through our group. This wasn't an innocent case of
campers for getting their laundry.
Something much darker was hidden here.
My pulse hammered, and I felt the urge to leave right then.
We were in way over our heads. We had no idea if the owners of
this place would come back, or whether they were already
watching from the trees. Noah took charge, telling
everyone to stop rummaging so we wouldn't mess up any potential
evidence. We huddled in the middle of the
camp, glancing at the thick woods around us.
Every snapped twig, every gust of wind felt menacing.
At one point, someone murmured about hearing footsteps in the
distance, but we never saw anything.
It only took a few minutes of whispered deliberation before we
decided to pack up and leave. A direct route back to the road
was our best chance. That meant hours of fast hiking
through rugged terrain, but none of us wanted to stay in that
campsite a second longer. We hurried back the way we came,
darting through bushes and stumbling over roots.
A couple of times I thought I heard branches moving behind us,
like someone or something was following.
It was impossible to be sure in that tangled forest.
By the time we reached the first gravel Rd. it felt like 1000 lbs
had lifted off my chest. We flagged down a passing truck
and piled in, breathless and shaken.
The driver looked bewildered at our story, but he drove us to
the nearest small town in silence, eyes flicking back at
us in the rearview mirror as if he wasn't sure whether to
believe any of it. The local police station was
modest, a single building with a few cars parked out front.
We practically burst inside, trying to explain ourselves
while still trying to catch our breath.
The officers were taken aback at our account of a hidden camp,
women's clothing stuffed in garbage bags and possible blood
stains. They asked us to point it out on
a map and took down every detail we could remember.
A search party was organized, but it took close to two days
for them to get out there and locate the site, and once they
arrived, it was gone completely cleared out the tents, the
garbage bags, even the fire pit stones were removed, leaving
only faint depressions in the dirt.
Whatever had been there had vanished as if it never existed.
We lingered in town expecting updates, but the authorities had
no real leads for us. No official statements ever
popped up in the local news. It was a dead end.
Whenever I asked one of the cops about it, they just shake their
heads and say they were working on it, though they never reached
out. Afterward, back at our own
homes, we tried to piece together a theory.
Someone remembered the talk about the Highway of Tears,
dozens of missing women, rumors of organized predators lurking
in remote corners. The clothes we found might have
been connected to something unspeakable.
That possibility stuck with me long after I'd washed the forest
dirt off my boots. Knowing we'd stumbled across
evidence of real darkness out there on land that once felt so
peaceful unsettled me in ways I can't fully explain.
We'd gone in search of game and a good time.
Instead, we discovered a piece of a nightmare that seemed to
slip through our fingers when we tried to bring it to light.
To this day, I still picture that camp whenever I close my
eyes. Abandoned tents, random trash,
and piles of clothes nobody should have found in a place
like that. We never got answers, but every
so often I think about what might have happened if we'd
arrived earlier, or if we'd stuck around too long.
It's a thought that keeps me awake more nights than I'd like
to admit. I went out to Guana State Park
with seven friends thinking it would be a typical evening
adventure. Our plan was simple, walk the
trails under 1/2 Hearted Moon and maybe spot some wildlife.
Most of us had never visited the place after dark, and the
parking lot already felt different than it had in
daylight. We joked about the lack of
crowds, but there was an undercurrent of tension in every
laugh. It was as if we were
collectively trying to convince ourselves we had nothing to
worry about. The trailhead was quieter than
we expected. No buzz of insects or frogs
croaking in the distance. It was like someone turned the
volume down on nature. The walkway stretched out,
fading into the black. Our flashlights barely pierced
the thick darkness, creating narrow beams that danced over
roots and clumps of damp leaves. I kept scanning left and right,
anticipating the rustle of a nocturnal animal, but nothing
revealed itself. A few minutes in, something
caught my eye. Small white glimmers on both
sides of the path. They looked like weird, floating
specks of light spaced at odd intervals.
I mentioned them to the group. Nobody had a clue what they
could be. 1 friend made a joke about lightning bugs, but these
glows were too stark and steady for that.
We pressed on, more curious than alarmed.
At first, I tried to sneak up on one of the lights.
The moment I got close, it vanished.
I stared at the spot, shining my flashlight over mossy ground,
but saw only dirt. Another person attempted a
different approach, creeping from behind.
Same outcome. Each time we got within a couple
of steps, that glow winked out. It was madding, like we were
being taunted by something that didn't want to be seen.
My nerves started to fray. The absence of any normal
nighttime sounds felt unnatural, and these mysterious lights made
everything worse. At some point, one of my friends
swore they saw a shape moving between the trees.
We all froze, scanning the darkness, but saw nothing.
We shouted a few tentative hellos into the night, expecting
a hiker or maybe a stray camper to call back.
Silence. Our uneasy banter turned into
hushed muttering. Every so often, another glow
would appear further down the path, then blink off before we
could focus on it. The air felt suffocating, like
we'd wandered into a place that didn't appreciate visitors.
Eventually, we'd had enough. No one wanted to say I'm scared,
but we didn't need to. Our feet moved faster,
practically speed walking back the way we came.
It felt like the trail stretched on forever.
Every time I glanced behind, I half expected to see a cluster
of lights trailing us. By the time we reached the
parking lot, we were breathing hard, relieved to see the faint
glow of a street lamp. We all piled into our vehicles
without much talk. The drive home felt surreal.
Like we just woken up from a bizarre dream, except each of us
knew it was all too real. I couldn't ignore my curiosity,
even though every nerve in my body warned me to stay away.
A few days after that unsettling night hike, I convinced my
cousin to join me for a return trip in broad daylight.
It felt safer under the sun, or so I told myself.
The gravel crunching beneath our boots sounded normal enough, but
there was a weird quiet in the air.
Birds perched in branches above us, yet they barely sang.
My dog stuck close by at first, tail swishing low, almost unsure
if she should be excited or wary.
We walked the same trail we'd fled from days before, without
darkness to hide anything. I kept expecting some obvious
explanation, broken reflectors or random debris that could have
made those glowing dots. Instead, we found nothing.
The path looked ordinary, just dirt, roots and wild vegetation.
The more we searched the stranger, it felt that something
could appear so clearly at night, then vanish in daylight.
My dog suddenly bolted off the main trail.
She was quiet, no barking or growling, which made it even
more unsettling. We hurried after her, ducking
under low hanging branches and stumbling over uneven ground.
She finally came to a standstill around a slight bend.
No movement, no wagging tail. She was frozen in place, focused
on a filthy cloth bundle nestled among leaves.
My cousin caught up behind me out of.
Breath, muttering about how we should leave it alone.
But I couldn't just walk away. I moved closer and realized this
thing had definitely been here a while.
The cloth was stained, the edges frayed, tied with a piece of
grungy string. Attention loomed over the spot
like the air itself was heavier. My cousin mumbled that it looked
like bad news, but I was too curious for my own good.
I crouched down and united the ragged knot, half expecting
something awful to scuttle out. Inside I found a mix of items.
Sharp edged stones, small bleached bones, bits of
driftwood and shells, plus some twigs and dried leaves that
looked deliberately chosen. They weren't tossed together by
accident. It all felt deliberate, like
somebody had curated these pieces for a purpose I couldn't
guess. My cousin demanded we seal it
back up and go. I admit I hesitated longer than
I should have, just taking in every odd detail.
The cleanliness of the bones, the carefully selected shells,
that sense of intent. Eventually, I rewrapped it as
neatly as possible, set it on the ground, and stepped back.
The dog broke her stare and shook herself like she'd been
snapped out of a trance. My cousin and I locked eyes,
deciding without a word that we'd seen enough.
We returned to the main trail, my pulse hammering like I'd just
run a marathon. The sun still poured down,
bright as ever, but I didn't feel safe.
Every crunch of leaves under foot seemed too loud.
Getting back to the car was all that mattered.
We barely spoke until we were on the road, each of us trying to
make sense of a place that felt anything but normal.
Whatever secrets were tucked away among those trees, I wasn't
sure I wanted to find out yet. A part of me still wondered if
those nighttime lights and this eerie little bundle were
connected, and the unsettling truth was, I had no clue what
either of them really meant. I left the house while the sky
still hovered in that half light of early morning, hoping to
catch sight of some wildlife before the day got too warm.
My two dogs, Duke and Jax, trotted out of the truck and
onto the trail, usually raring to go.
But right from the start, something was off.
The entire place was so quiet it was practically humming with
tension. No distant birds calling, not
even a stray cricket. I'm used to the woods brimming
with noise, squirrels scurrying in the underbrush, a crow cawing
overhead, maybe the soft crunch of leaves as a deer scampers
away. That morning, though, there was
nothing but a heaviness in the air.
I remember glancing at the dogs, expecting them to nose around
like they usually do, tails wagging like they were
auditioning for a dog food commercial.
Instead, both stayed close to my ankles.
Jax even paused to stare into the tree line, as if he expected
something to burst out at any second.
I tried to push aside the uneasy sense in my gut by focusing on
the task at hand. I was here to hunt, or at least
to see what was moving around. So I ventured farther along,
scanning the ground for tracks. Oddly enough, I barely saw any
sign of recent animal activity. No deer Prince, no coyote scat.
Nothing to suggest a living creature had crossed this path
in a while. Usually the dogs would sniff out
a hint of something and tug me in a new direction, but they had
nothing to report. After a couple of hours picking
my way through undergrowth without a single sign of game, I
veered back toward a small Creek we'd passed.
If the forest had decided to clam up, maybe the water would
offer better luck. Fishing's always been my fall
back. It's just me, a line and the
calm reflection of sky on the water.
The quiet still held, though, like even the wind was too
scared to rustle the leaves. Casting a line into the Creek
felt like dropping a pin in a silent auditorium.
Duke and Jack settled on the bank, both gazing at me with a
kind of muted confusion, as if they couldn't figure out why
there wasn't a single bird overhead.
I shrugged it off, figured maybe the weather patterns had shifted
or something had spooked the wildlife earlier.
Still, I couldn't deny that it put me on edge.
That said, it didn't take long before I felt a tug on the line,
which was almost a relief. Maybe all I needed was a nice
catch to remind me that nature sometimes just has off days.
The fish gave a decent fight, but within a few minutes I had
it flopping in the shallows. It was odd how quickly it had
gone for the lure, but I wasn't about to complain.
At least it was something. I hoisted it up, letting the
sunlight glint off its scales. For a moment, it was almost
normal, just a fisherman and his catch.
The dogs perked up too, like maybe we'd finally shaken off
whatever strangeness hung over the morning.
But even as I held the fish, the hush in the surrounding trees
refused to break. No splashing of frogs, no
insects buzzing near the water. It felt like everything with a
heartbeat had abandoned the area, leaving me and the dogs to
puzzle over the sudden emptiness.
If I'd been smarter, maybe I would have called it quits right
then, tossed the fish back and headed straight home.
But I'm a stubborn old soul and I'd come out here to enjoy the
day, silence or no silence. So that's exactly what I plan to
do. At least, that was my thinking
at the time. Little did I know the most
unsettling discovery still lay ahead.
All I knew in that moment was that it was only mid morning and
already I was counting the hours until I could climb back into my
truck and be done with this unnerving quiet.
The idea of pressing on felt wrong, but I chalked it up to
superstition and kept going. Sometimes I wish I'd listened to
my instincts right then and there.
Instead, I trudged along with that, fish in hand, dogs padding
after me, unaware of how badly the day was about to unravel.
I set up a small fire by the Creek, figuring a fresh caught
fish would make a decent breakfast.
My dogs flanked me, both more restless than usual as I started
the routine, gathering, kindling, getting a little flame
going. Duke and Jax kept peering into
the trees like they expected a bear to come barreling out at
any second. Still, not a single branch
rustled. No birds flitted overhead.
That hush felt so absolute it gave the impression we were
intruders in a place that wasn't ours to inhabit.
Anyway, I was hungry and tired of the eerie stillness, so I
focused on frying up that fish. Once the fire caught, I tossed a
bit of Crisco into my pan and bent down to gut the catch.
Normally I'd mutter something about how it's the messy part of
the process, but instead I went quiet the moment the knife cut
through the belly. Right away I could see this mass
of long, dark parasites squirming inside.
They twisted and coiled so thickly the fish's flesh looked
more worm than meat. It was nauseating, like opening
a rotten log and finding it crawling with insects, only
worse because I was holding it in my hands.
Duke let out a low whine. For a moment I just stared,
debating whether to throw the whole thing into the Creek, but
that seemed like I'd be contaminating the water, so I
chucked it onto the fire instead.
The parasite sizzled and hissed in the flames, giving off a
smell so revolting it turned my stomach.
It wasn't just the usual stink of cooking fish, it was a foul
chemical reek that clung to my clothes.
I backed away, splashing Creek water on my hands until they
felt numb from the cold. That was the moment I decided
these woods needed a heads up. The Rangers might want to check
the water supply or run a test on the fish population.
So I kicked dirt onto the fire, planning to head back to my
truck and make a stop at the Ranger station on my way out.
My dogs seemed relieved, bounding a few steps ahead like
they were happy to leave this spot behind.
Usually I'd be disappointed, cutting a trip short, but I
couldn't ignore the sense that something was deeply wrong.
On the walk back, the forest only got stranger.
No chirping birds, no movement in the trees.
I passed by spots where I'd sometimes see deer or foxes, but
the undergrowth looked untouched, as if nothing had
even brushed by. The quiet was so total that
every step I took on the leaf covered ground echoed in my own
ears. It felt like the woods had died,
yet the leaves and grass looked perfectly alive.
That's when a thin haze started drifting through the air.
I'm not talking about morning fog or leftover smoke from my
fire. It was more like a faint,
lingering vapor that smelled sour, almost acidic, as though
something was rotting in a chemical spill.
The dogs coughed and snorted, clearly not fans of the odor.
I kept glancing around to see if we'd maybe crossed paths with a
decaying carcass, but there was no sign of anything dead.
Just more silence and that creeping haze.
As I pressed on, I couldn't shake the growing urgency
clawing at my mind. Every minute I stayed in that
environment felt like a risk. The world felt wrong, and it
wasn't just about that fish anymore.
I started imagining an entire water system contaminated with
those wriggling parasites, or maybe a bigger issue that had
driven all the animals out. I had my rifle over my shoulder,
but for once it didn't make me feel any safer.
How do you defend yourself against something invisible,
something that infects fish so thoroughly it's like the
creature never stood a chance? My plan was simple.
Get back to the truck. Get on the road.
Report this to the Rangers. The dogs seemed to understand
the plan too, because they kept shooting me, these anxious
looks, staying close by my side instead of roaming ahead.
I took that as confirmation enough.
We needed out. Every so often I paused to
listen for any sign of life. An owl, a squirrel, a rustle in
the brush. But the silence remained
absolute, like a blanket smothering any normal sound I'd
had. Run insurance with danger.
Before. Stand offs with territorial
bears, Accidental brushes with folks guarding illegal grow
sites. Those situations were alarming,
but they were threats I knew how to handle.
You can stand your ground with a bear, fire a warning shot, or
talk your way out with some anxious looking people who'd
rather be left alone. But this?
This felt like stepping into a nightmare.
Maybe it was a freak natural occurrence, or maybe it was
something else entirely. Either way, I wasn't about to
hang around and find out. As the truck came to mind, I
quickened my pace. My one regret was tossing that
fish on the fire. Part of me wished I'd found a
way to bag the corpse and show a Ranger, but I wasn't about to go
digging through the ashes for that infected mess.
Not with the dogs. As rattled as they were.
Jax actually kept bumping his nose into the back of my knee
every few steps as if to say we need to move faster.
And for once, I didn't argue with him.
The deeper I walked, the more obvious it became.
The forest had emptied out for a reason, and I was out staying my
welcome. I just hoped I could leave
before discovering what that reason might be.
The sour haze, the infested fish, the oppressive silence.
It felt like signs pointing me in One Direction out.
And that's exactly where I was headed, determined to get back
to my truck and away from whatever had tainted this place
so completely. I was more than halfway back to
my truck when Jack started barking in this wild, frenzied
way I'd never heard before. Duke joined in a second later,
both hackles raised and eyes wide with alarm.
They were facing the same stretch of woods we'd just come
through, dense undergrowth, twisted branches, and complete
stillness. It was as if they sensed
something moving where I could only see shadows.
I gripped my rifle, scanning the area.
Normally I'd catch a rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig if
there was a bear or another big predator.
Instead, absolute silence. My gut told me something was
watching from the trees, something that didn't want to be
seen. Jack's back toward me, tail
tucked. He never cowered like that, not
even when we'd crossed paths with a grizzly.
That's what made me realize we couldn't just stand there,
waiting for whatever lurked beyond those bushes.
I started urging the dogs forward, picking up my pace.
Each step felt like wading through molasses.
There was this overwhelming sense of pressure, like the
forest itself was closing in. The air changed too, bringing an
intense, acrid odor that made my nose sting.
The stench reminded me of cat urine, only mixed with something
rotten. Every breath tasted foul, as if
we were inhaling some toxic vapor.
I tried to push it out of my head, focusing on just getting
us to the truck. We hurried along, the dogs
darting ahead, then spinning around to check on me.
Occasionally Duke would pause to growl at the brush, but still
nothing moved. My heart hammered harder with
each stretch of trail. For a few minutes, I started to
wonder if I was losing my mind, spooked by quiet woods and a
rotten smell. But the terror in my dog's eyes
was impossible to ignore. They sensed a threat, and they
wanted out. So did I.
When the path finally opened up into the clearing where I'd
parked, relief slammed into me like a wave.
Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling we were being pursued,
possibly from a distance. I fumble with my keys, the dogs
whining and pawing at the door. The instant I got it open, they
practically launched themselves inside.
I yanked the door shut, turned the ignition, and gunned the
engine. Gravel spit out behind my tires
as I lurched onto the dirt Rd. speeding away.
I forced myself not to glance in the rear view mirror.
Deep down I was afraid I might spot a shape standing among the
trees, something that shouldn't exist in any forest I'd known.
My clothes clung to me, damp from sweat and that stomach
turning odor. Part of me wanted to believe
we'd escaped whatever was out there, but a knot of dread stuck
with me. The forest felt alive with a
wrongness, and it had been closing in the entire time.
I drove home in a daze, dogs curled up in the back seat, both
panting hard. Usually the warmth of a truck
ride calms them right down. That day, even safe behind
locked doors, they kept their ears perked and eyes fixed on
the passing trees. I had the same thought burning a
hole in my mind. If something could silence an
entire forest, infect its fish, and terrify 2 seasoned hunting
hounds, how was I ever supposed to face it or warn people before
it got worse? I may have left that place
behind for the moment, but I knew I hadn't truly escaped it
at all.