The summer of 2022 was a warm one as far as summers in Alberta
go. During COVID, I had taken up
hiking as a means of both passing the time and keeping
myself in some semblance of good shape.
Now that the pandemic and it's related restrictions had largely
abated, I had grown so fond of my hiking expeditions that I
began to retain it as part of my regular activities.
I won't claim to be any sort of professional hiker, but I had
learned my fair share via trial and error to the extent that I
always packed well and took all the necessary precautions for
wherever I was heading. If you've never been to Alberta
before, I would highly recommend it.
We're not well known as far as Canadian provinces go, but we
have some of the best wilderness in the world for campers and
hikers looking to enjoy the serenity of nature.
The northern reaches of the Rocky Mountains form our western
border and provide an abundance of trails, campsites and
provincial parks that can be enjoyed for free, sparing the
expense of getting there. It was to the Rocky Mountains
that I had planned my latest hiking excursion.
The Heritage Day long weekend was fast approaching and I
decided to abscond to the mountains for a good four day
hike to get a break from the bustle of city life.
I had recently found a trail that I had never hiked before,
called Crestwood Trail, which from the pictures online
promised to be a beautiful trip dotted with suitable campsites
for a three day journey. I had managed to rope a couple
of friends into coming with me on this hike.
Two were well seasoned in mountain hikes, Evan and
Evangeline, the other two Emma and Erin, not so much.
The plan was for all of us to arrive separately on Friday
afternoon, make camp at the trailhead, then begin on
Saturday morning to return sometime on Monday.
Having the Monday off due to the holiday, I booked that Friday
off work so that I could make my way to the mountains at a
leisurely pace, departing Edmonton as the sun reached its
zenith. I made Hinton just after 3:00
and pulled into the parking lot of a local diner to put
something in my stomach and to check on the status of my fellow
hikers. I settled into a booth, ordered
a cup of coffee along with a greasy plate of meat, eggs, and
hash Browns, and took out my phone.
The rest of the company was still some ways away, so I had
plenty of time to eat, reach the campsite, and pitch my tent
before expecting the presence of anyone else.
I finished my meal and leaned back, satisfied.
I always used hiking trips as an excuse to binge on my favorite
unhealthy breakfast foods. I got a refill on my coffee and
asked for the bill the next time The waitress happened by and sat
at the booth, gazing out the window, watching the cars zip by
on the highway. The coffee was strong and
bitter, but there's something about a crappy cup of diner
coffee that scratches a particular itch like nothing
else need. The machine, came a voice from
my right, and I pulled my attention away from the highway
to focus on the waitress standing next to me, smile on
her face and debit machine in her hand.
Yes, I will, thank you, I said as I set down my cup of coffee
and tilted to the side to fish my wallet out of my back pocket.
Heading to the mountains for the weekend?
The waitress asked as I punched my pin into the machine.
Yeah, three day hike actually, I replied with a smile as I
returned the machine to her and drained my cup of coffee.
Ooh, fun, whereabouts you headed?
She asked, tearing a receipt off the machine and handing me a
copy. Crestwood Trail a bit northwest
of here. Never been, I said with a smile
that quickly evaporated as I watched the face of the waitress
darken as I mentioned the trail. They say that's an evil trail,
you know? She said.
Evil Like it's haunted? I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Well, no, it's not a ghost. Folks say it's a monster, she
said with a sly tilt of her head.
What kind of monster? I asked.
The waitress glanced around the diner.
It was in between the lunch and the dinner rushes, so the whole
place was pretty much empty, aside from me and two other
tables. After satisfying herself that it
wasn't too busy, she sat down across from me in the booth and
leaned forward. I always enjoy a good folk
legend, so my attention was fixed on her.
So way back in the early days she began, when settlers first
showed up here at the foot of the mountains, there was a
preacher who came from the east with his daughter and set up one
of the first churches around these parts.
Now this preacher was one of those old school men, the
Puritans or whatever. Super strict.
He and his daughter would be working all day, never laughing
and never smiling. But the one thing this preacher
would allow his daughter was that he got her a pet dog after
her momma died. A big beautiful dog who loved
that girl and was always by her side.
The problem was, as the preacher got older, well, he got even
stricter and harsher in the house.
Before long the preacher was saying that his daughter loved
the dog more than she loved God. He might have been losing his
marbles a bit by that point too, because he was saying that the
dog was possessed by a demon that was making his daughter
stray away from the Lord. A text pinged on my phone, which
I ignored, and the waitress poured me another cup of coffee,
which I sipped at absentmindedly as I listened to the story.
So this preacher, thinking that there's a demon in his
daughter's dog, gets up from his prayers one day and grabs his
musket to go put an end to the mutt which was out playing in
the field with his daughter. Now, as you might guess, the
daughter is screaming and crying and begging her dad not to do
it, but the preacher won't listen.
Now the preacher goes to shoot the dog and the daughter.
She pulls out her pocket knife and stabs her dad right in the
arm before her and the dog. They book it off into the woods
right up where Crestwood Trail is nowadays.
So the girl haunts the trail or something.
Then I asked, taking a sip from my coffee.
Nope. The thing is, that preacher
might have been right about there being a demon in that dog,
because she paused to look around.
They never saw the girl or the dog ever again.
But they say that when you go up that trail, sometimes you find
these things with the heads of dogs and the bodies of people.
So like a dog, Minotaur? I asked with a smile.
Pretty much, the waitress said, laughing and standing up from my
table. Well, that's a good story.
Where'd you hear it? I asked.
Family. It's a story that makes the
rounds. In all seriousness, that trail
does get some bears and wolves now and then, along with a
couple of rock slides. You be careful up.
There may not be no monsters, but it is a dangerous trail, she
said as she took my plate. Oh, don't worry, I know what I'm
doing, I said, standing up with a smile.
After finishing my coffee, I strode out of the diner, taking
a mint from the bowl by the front door.
On the way out, I lit a cigarette and leaned against the
driver side door of my car. I gazed up at the handful of
clouds that were drifting lazily across the sky and side out a
cloud of smoke into the pleasantly warm summer air.
I chuckled as I thought over the folktale that the waitress had
told me and crushed my smoke out under foot.
I gave my back and legs a final stretch, sat down in the car,
and hopped back onto the highway heading West into the mountains.
It only took another hour to reach to the trailhead of
Crestwood, and most of that delay was due to having trouble
finding the spot. I parked in the lot, packed up
my things, notified the gang that I was there, and set off
for the campsite we were all planning to meet at.
It was a brief walk quite close to the trailhead, which we
planned merely to use as our staging ground For the first
day. The trailhead was nearly
deserted, with only one or two other cars in the lot and not a
soul Insight. I had snapped a picture of the
trail map at the lot just in case I needed it later.
It was the height of summer, but a cool breeze was blowing off
the mountains from the West. The world felt fresh, crisp and
alive. Birds were singing, squirrels
chased one another back and forth, and a few rabbits were
nibbling on patches of grass aside the trail.
I reached the clearing that we had decided on for our first
campsite, tossed my bag on the ground, and took a deep breath
of fresh air. A small Creek was gurgling past
the clearing and ancient Pines ring.
The space around the Crestwood Trail was just visible past the
underbrush, which would make it easy to call out to my friends
as they passed by. I gathered a pile of stones from
the Creek and created a small spot for a fire in the center of
the clearing, and after gathering up enough Deadwood and
kindling, had a respectable blaze going.
Shortly after, I pitched my tent and sat down by the fire to bask
in the peaceful serenity of unadulterated nature.
When I'm in nature, the closest I get to keeping track of the
time is knowing where the sun is, so I can't tell you how long
it took for Evan and Evangeline to show up, but it couldn't have
been that long. I said hello and asked all the
standard questions, like how they were and how their trip
was, and then help them set their tents up.
We were halfway through the setup when Emma and Aaron came
plodding up the trail, causing the whole process of questions,
and set up to begin anew. Barring a few hiccups by the two
inexperienced hikers, we quickly had our campsite set up and a
small dinner cooked over the fire stomachs full.
We settled down and passed a few drinks around the circle.
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, I heard the howling
of something deep off in the wilderness, either a wolf or a
coyote, and it sent a quick chill up my spine, reminding me
of the story the waitress and Hinton had told me.
I piped up, told the group I had a story, and related the tale
that I had heard that afternoon to the general approval of my
friends. They thought it was at least a
unique local folk tale, albeit not a particularly scary
campfire story. This devolved into us telling
scary stories around the fire for another hour or so, though
it was nothing beyond your very stereotypical ghost stories or
serial killers with hook hands stories.
With a slight buzz and a full stomach, we all retired to bed
after spending a good half hour gazing at the beauty of the
mountain stars, which were shining in full, unobstructed
beauty unimpeded by the light pollution of a city.
As I slipped into my cool sleeping bag, my head filled
with thoughts of trees gently swaying in the wind and crystal
clear glacial Creek snaking silently along the floors of
ancient valleys. We woke early to the gentle
tittering of the mountain birds and I stepped out of the tent,
shivering as I yawned. Sunbeams were shattering
themselves against the dew drops that coated both the trees and
the grass, causing the whole clearing to glitter like
crystal. A few ribbons of fog were hung
about the Creek, distant and dismal cousins to the rolling
banks of fog that embraced the upper reaches of the mountain
peaks About us. I relieved myself and dug
through the ashes of last night's fire, where I found a
few red coals desperately clinging to life and heat in
their ashen tomb. With some kindling and a series
of deep breaths, the crackling of a fire soon joined the chorus
of sounds on the morning mountain.
I sat for a while as I let the warmth flood over me.
Summer, though it is a night in the mountains, is almost always
cold, regardless of the time of year.
A lesson I learned the hard way when I almost froze on a
mountain one summer night. I boiled a pot of coffee on the
fire and began to fry up breakfast, the smell of which
served well and waking up my still sleeping friends.
We gathered around the fire, eating and drinking in silence
until everyone's mood seemed to perk up.
Once they had some coffee in them, we broke camp and kicked
out our fire, chatting all the while about what had been going
on in our lives. At 8:00 that morning, we
returned to the path and began our hike up Crestwood Trail.
The hike that day was largely uneventful.
Don't get me wrong, it was an absolutely beautiful trail,
snaking through the hearts of a number of valleys.
We were passing by Groves of trees, fields of flowers, and
pure blue ponds and rivers. We sat on the side of a shale
outcropping for a quick lunch and a break from The Walking and
camped that night on the banks of a glacial pond.
It was another great night of stars and good company and we
all went to bed early to rest our aching legs.
Emma and Erin, not being avid hikers, had slowed us down
somewhat, but we were still on track to reach the trail end by
tomorrow and be back to the trail head on Monday.
I had my morning coffee while laying on the Bank of an ice
cold pond and watching dawn break over the peaks of a
mountain range. It was absolutely beautiful,
like the day before. We broke camp quickly and we're
off again on the trail. This day promised to be harder
than the ones before, as it was largely uphill, with terrain far
rockier and more treacherous. The end of the trail was
supposedly one of the most captivating glacial waterfalls
in the world, however, so I found sore feet a small price to
pay. The five of us were crossing a
portion of the trail that was buried under a shale slide when
I heard a Yelp from behind me and the sound of rocks being
tumbled down the side of the hill.
I spun around to see that Aaron had slipped on some of the loose
stones and tumbled a few feet off the trail.
You all right? Evan called as he picked his way
down to her to help her back to her feet.
Yeah, I think so. Aaron winced as she was lifted
back to her feet. She let out a little Yelp and
had to lean on Evan for a moment, who lowered her back
down. We had gathered around, and
Aaron had pulled her boot off to reveal that her ankle looked in
somewhat of a bad state. Could be sprained, Evangeline
said worriedly. It's hurting when I put pressure
on it, Aaron said. I don't think you should keep
walking on that, I added. Well, not much of A choice at
this point, Emma said, gesturing to the broad wilderness all
around us. I can head back and you guys can
keep going without me. I don't want to spoil the
weekend, Aaron said with a smile.
Not alone, you won't, Evan said. We sat there on the shale and
debated for a bit. We found a walking stick for
Erin and managed to bind her ankle up so it stayed in place
better. It was decided that Evan would
take her as far back as they could go that day and camp
somewhere, meeting up with us as we made our way back.
The next day. We sat on the shale slide,
taking a break and passing some whiskey around, which seemed to
put everyone, including Erin, in a better mood.
We bid goodbye to one another as Emma, Evangeline, and I carried
on up the trail while Aaron and Evan hobbled slowly away in the
distance. After about half an hour of
walking, they were out of sight with just the three of us, and
now feeling like we were in something of a hurry, we reached
the end of the trail not long after the sun had peaked in the
sky. It was as beautiful as promised.
A stream of ice white water cascaded down the stones above
us to spill out into the Riverhead that bounded down the
mountain into the valleys below. Pine trees and shrubbery filled
the entire mountain Cove where the waterfall began, and we
spent some time exploring and taking pictures.
Hey, come check this out. I heard the voice of Emma cut
through the sounds of the afternoon.
I pushed through some underbrush before I found her standing at
the mouth of a yawning black cave.
Whoa, Evangeline said as she emerged from the undergrowth to
stand next to us. The mouth of The Cave opened up
the face of the mountain rock and before The Cave was strewn a
random collection of bones, blood, feathers and fur.
Some sort of totem was constructed just outside the
mouth of The Cave, A pile of rock stacked one on top of the
other with strange symbols and patterns drawn on them in what
looked like it was blood. On top of the pile sat what
looked to be the skull of a wolf or huge dog that glared at us
from empty black eye sockets on the sides of the mountain.
Flanking the entrances of The Cave were what looked like
ancient cave paintings, scenes of animals being hunted.
But unlike most cave paintings where it was humans hunting
Buffalo or whatever, this one seemed to show some sort of
animal headed man hunting things.
It looked like some sort of ancient Egyptian God.
The three of us stood in dumb silence, gazing at the scene
before us, and my stomach started to turn as I thought of
the story from the diner. I knew, or thought I knew that
monsters weren't real, they were just stories.
But at this moment, all reason was out the window and I was
ready to get the hell off of that mountain.
All right, that's enough for me. Let's go, Emma said.
Yep, I said. Okay, Evangeline said, and the
three of us turned and nearly ran back down the trail, away
from the waterfall. I shuddered at the sound of a
howl far off in the distance as the three of us descended in
silent haste. I was taking up the rear, and
though it was never vocalized, I could feel that The Cave had
unsettled all of us. The unease was palpable.
I cast a number of furtive glances back over my shoulder,
and periodically I could swear I was seeing things in my
peripheral vision. We moved so quickly down the
trail that we soon had to stop and take a break.
What do you think that was? Emma asked with a quake in her
voice. Probably just some prank that
has to do with the folk legend. That waitress was pretty excited
to tell me that story, I said, between gulps of water.
What if there's actually a dog man monster thing on the
mountain? Evangeline said with an
unconfident smile. No such thing as monsters.
I spoke. Either way, I'm not dying sober,
Emma said as she took a swig from the bottle of whiskey that
she was carrying in her bag. She passed it around, and we all
took a drink as well. We kept a quick pace going as we
traced the trail back to its source.
Each of us had picked up a stick to use for support while
walking, and perhaps on some primal level, we wanted them as
weapons in the event there was a monster out there.
Emma and I had each brought bear spray with us, which we kept
very close at hand as we walked. All of our heads were on a
swivel as we passed back down the shale slide where Erin had
fallen earlier. We hit the floor of the valley
quickly, and we're nearly jogging down the trail when we
stopped again for a break with Erin's ankle.
She and Evan can't have made it much further.
I bet we overtake them soon, Evangeline said.
Do we stop and camp or do we make them keep moving?
Emma asked. I say we set up our tents and
wait for Evan and Erin to come back.
They probably didn't expect us for a few hours more and just
wandered off. And if they don't come back?
Emma asked, sitting down and fishing her whiskey out of her
pack. Then we deal with that when it
happens, I said, shrugging my pack off.
Evangeline remains silent. We set up our tents and heaped
the campfire a bit higher. Everyone was moving and working
in nearly complete silence, ears trained on the woods around us,
starting at the slightest sound. As much as I was trying to ram
the idea into my head that there was a perfectly rational
explanation for what was going on, I couldn't help but be
startled a few times at the sound of some of the sticks
cracking and breaking in the fire.
We sat silently as an hour passed, and then a second one.
Our shadows were beginning to lengthen, and the only thing on
everyone's mind was that Evan and Aaron should by all means
have been back by now. It was almost as if we were all
too paralyzed to broach the subject.
That if none of us mentioned it, if we didn't speak the words, it
wouldn't be real. They're not coming back, Emma
said, slurring her words slightly At this point.
Evangeline turned away and rubbed her face with her hands.
I stared straight into the fire. We'll find some Park Rangers
when we get back and report them missing.
They'll find them, I said. Find their bones more likely,
Emma scoffed. Let's eat something and get some
sleep. We can start back right at
sunrise, I said as I began to assemble a few things to cook
over the fire. I'm not hungry, Evangeline said
as she quietly walked away from the fire back into her tent.
Emma followed her with her eyes and then shrugged toward me.
I cooked for Emma and me in silence, and we ate quickly as
the sun began to set. We finished and packed our
things up before I knocked on the front of Evangeline's tent.
Yeah, what? Came her voice from inside.
Emma's going to bed. I'm going to stay up and keep
watch, I said. Okay, Evangeline said quietly.
Goodnight. Emma retreated to her tent, and
I took up my walking stick and my bear spray and planted myself
next to the fire, which I heaped with a few extra branches.
My legs and back were sore and I was exhausted, so I boiled some
coffee for myself and shakily smoked a cigarette.
The nicotine calmed me down and the coffee perked me up.
The valley was silent, save for the hooting of some owls and the
skittering of some nocturnal animals along the forest floor.
I paced around the campsite for a while to keep the blood
flowing through my legs, and managed to smoke my way through
about half the pack of cigarettes I had with me.
Something howled far off in the distance, which sent a
primordial shiver of fear through my body.
What was normally the serene beauty of the countryside,
Blanket of stars, now seemed to mock me, displaying its beauty
with cosmic indifference to what was happening below.
I turned at the sound of a tent being unzipped.
Evangeline was emerging from her tent, wrapped in a jacket, and
looked at me. I nodded to her.
Want me to take over? She asked quietly.
Sure, give me one of those cigarettes first, she said with
a weak smile. I handed her one and held up my
lighter for her. She breathed the acrid iron
smoke out into the still night air and walked over to the fire.
Good night, I said. There's coffee there that's
still warm, if you want some, thanks.
Good night, she smiled. I crawled into my tent and
tucked myself into my sleeping bag without zipping it closed,
preparing in case I had to suddenly leap to my feet.
Sleep overcame me quickly, but it was a brief and fitful sleep,
choked with nightmares and visions of running through the
forest, pursued by some unnatural, antediluvian beast
that snarled and snapped at my heels.
I was dreaming that the beast had caught me and was sinking
its teeth into my ankles. I let out a shrill scream, but
the scream sounded like it was made with a voice that wasn't my
own, I bolted awake. The scream wasn't a dream.
I ripped out from my sleeping back and smashed through the
flap of my tent, walking stick in one hand and bare Mace in the
other. The scream was coming from
Evangeline, who was sprawled on the ground next to the fire with
some sort of hulking human form crouched over top of her.
The beast had the body of a huge hairy man, something like 7 feet
tall, but the head. The head was that of some mangy
wild dog with blood on its teeth and a huge tongue lolling down
from its snout. Its eyes were a deep blue and
flashed violence by the light of the campfire.
I raised the bear Mace and released it at the monster.
A jet of aerosolized spray leap towards the beast and coated it
from the head to the waist. It reeled back off of
Evangeline, howling and tearing at its eyes and face.
It backed and bounded off into the tree line, crashing into the
trunk of a huge pine as it went, howling and screeching all the
way. What the hell was that?
Emma yelled as she was fumbling out of her tent flap.
No idea, I said breathlessly as I rushed over to where
Evangeline was lying bloody on the ground.
Whatever it was had got at her throat and opened up what I
assumed was an artery by how much blood was coming out.
She looked at me, her skin deathly pale in the firelight,
and she grabbed my arm with her blood soaked hand.
She tried to move, but grunted and fell back onto the ground.
She looked as though she was trying to say something, but all
that came from her mouth was a gurgling sound followed by a
trail of blood running out from her lips.
She went limp on the ground and shut her eyes.
Do something, Emma yelled. No use, I said as I stood back
up and readied my bear spray again.
The sound of the beast howling had faded to silence, and I
couldn't make out the sound of underbrush being crashed through
any longer. What do we do now?
Emma hissed, grab only bare necessities.
Leave everything. That would just be extra weight.
We're going to make it back to the cars, I said as I scanned
the tree line for any signs of movement.
Emma rushed back into her tent to pack things.
I gazed up at the sky briefly, where the stars continue to
twinkle and the moon sat shining down on the scene of horror
unfolding in the wild. Emma was ready in a moment, and
I left her to keep watch with her can of Mace while I packed
my things, which amounted to almost nothing save some water,
snacks, and a flashlight. I came back out and we left our
tents there in the clearing next to the smoldering fire.
We hit the trail and immediately started running, allowing the
moon to light our path and saving the flashlights only if
they were absolutely necessary. Emma was much shorter than me,
so we made a slow pace, and before long the sound of howling
began to cut the silence of the night behind us.
We're never going to outrun it, Emma said, panting and stopping
on the side of the trail. Do you have a better idea?
I said, as I opened my water bottle and took a long drink.
Nope, Give me a cigarette, Emma said, extending her hand.
I gave her one and lit one for myself now.
Doesn't seem like the time, I said, still catching my breath.
It ran from the Mace once. I think our only chance is to
hit it again and keep running, she said.
Or I leave you behind because you're not as fast.
I smiled. Screw off.
We moved off the trail and hid in a small ditch that was
surrounded by bushes, deciding that we had to try and
immobilize the thing one more time.
The howling was quickly getting closer and we wouldn't be able
to run all night. We each had a final swig of the
whiskey bottle as the howling started to get so close that the
hair all over me was standing on end.
We could both hear the thing prowling around just over the
lip of the ditch and we made eye contact and nodded.
We both jumped from the ditch at the same time, each of us
discharging a shot of the Mace at the thing.
It was covered head to toe, but instead of immediately turning
the monster, it merely howled and leaped toward us.
It landed on Emma and sent her crashing down to the ground.
The beast had obviously been blinded somewhat by the Mace as
it tried to sink its teeth into her, but merely managed to bite
into the ground next to her head.
As I raised my walking stick to strike the monster, the last
thing I saw was Emma's hand, which had managed to squirm its
way into her pocket, flicking the lighter she had taken from
me. When she lit her cigarette with
a sudden whoosh, A blinding light and a searing heat, the
monster and Emma were immediately engulfed in a
towering flame as the butane from the bear spray ignited in
half a second. The monster shrieked and
screamed and howled with a terrible, primal ferocity that
made my blood run cold as it writhed on the ground.
I heard a pitiful choked scream escape from Emma's burning form
as I turned in fear and began sprinting down the trail.
Adrenaline is an unbelievable drug.
I ran for what felt like hours, my legs screaming in pain and my
mind a furious hurricane of thoughts that had only the goal
of survival in mind. The screams of the dying and the
smell of burning flesh and hair never left my consciousness for
a second as I was running. As the sun began to make its
presence known in the eastern sky, I reached the parking lot
and collapsed on the gravel in front of my car.
I began crying, heaving sobs that were both gasps for breath
and attempts to expel the horror I had just witnessed.
My limbs felt like Jelly, and it took nearly 10 minutes before I
was breathing regularly enough to be able to swallow some
water. I climbed into my car, a
shattered husk of a person, and began to back out of the parking
lot with the goal of finding the nearest Ranger station.
Before I could floor the gas pedal away from the Crestwood
trailhead, I looked back to where I had come from, and far
off through the tree line I could make out a terrible black
loping shape. The hair had been burned off of
it across its entire body, and what wasn't covered in soot and
dirt was a mess of bloody, ragged skin that was beginning
to Slough off from the flesh consuming power of the Butane.
It merely stood in the tree line and stared at me with its
hateful, icy blue eyes. I made it to a Ranger station
and spilled out this entire story.
Unsurprisingly, they think I'm insane.
There's a huge search currently underway for the four that I
left behind, but nobody has been found yet.
Safe to say, I've now become suspect #1 in the disappearance
of everyone. So I've been asked to put my
story into writing for the use of the police and whatnot.
They might all think I'm insane, and who knows, maybe I am.
Maybe my mind got shattered on that mountain and I killed all
my friends. Monsters aren't supposed to be
real. Either way, I've never been the
same. I might as well have died on
that mountain, too. They say I'm crazy, but I know
what I saw. From the moment I was born, I
was tucked into the soft folds of darkness, a baby who entered
the world without the gift of sight.
Darkness was my cradle, my school, my sanctuary.
Sightless, yes, but sightless in a world where I learned to
appreciate textures, vibrations and sounds as a seer appreciates
colors. Some folks, I suppose, might
call it a tragedy, being shrouded in an eternal night.
But me? I never understood the fuss.
I've been blind from the get go, and you can't miss something
you've never known. That's not to say I wasn't
curious about this thing called sight, but I wasn't a mourner at
a funeral. I was just someone who couldn't
appreciate the visual scenery. My life was a series of well
practiced motions, much like a dance you've learned by heart.
I knew the terrain of my life, knew the pathways my feet had
memorized and the familiar corners that told me where I was
every day was a composition of routines, A repetition of known
landscapes. Home was an apartment about a
mile away from a local steakhouse, a run-of-the-mill
joint that did its stake just the way I liked, rare, with a
side of baked potato that smelled like a dream.
I knew the 10 block radius around my place like the back of
my hand. Every crack in the sidewalk,
every rustle of the trees, every hum of the city I called home.
It was a day like any other when I decided to take myself out for
a spin, indulge in a solo outing to my favorite haunt.
The air was crisp, the noises of the city a familiar song.
I navigated the familiar streets with the assistance of my white
cane. It's tap tap against the
pavement, A comforting sound in the Symphony of urban life.
There was a certain rhythm to it, a rhythm I had been dancing
to since I was a kid. The rhythm of life, I guess
you'd call it. There's a pleasure to
independence, to making your own way in the world, despite what
life throws at you. Sure, I was blind, but I wasn't
helpless. I had my routines, my spaces, my
independence. That night was about a simple
pleasure, a steak dinner on my own.
Little did I know it was the night my understanding of my
world would change, the night that darkness would take on a
whole new meaning. In that moment, though, I was
blissfully unaware, the tap of my white cane leading me towards
a delicious evening. An evening that was just a
preamble to a night that would redefine what I knew about the
dark. The restaurant was a modest
place, tucked in between the brick and mortar establishments
that made-up my city's fabric. There was nothing particularly
special about it, but the steakhouse had been there for as
long as I could remember. The smell of grilling meat was a
landmark, a sensory signal that told me I was close.
It was bustling that evening, the noises painting a vivid
picture in my mind. I could hear the clatter of
dishes, the low hum of conversation punctuated by
laughter and the occasional chime of the entrance bell.
With my stick leading the way, I found my usual spot at the bar,
right next to the window that overlooked the street.
The texture of the weathered counter beneath my fingertips
felt familiar, the worn down edges A testament to countless
hands that had sat here before. The bartender, a man named Dale,
recognized my voice. Evening, he greeted the usual.
His voice was warm, tinged with a bit of roughness that spoke
volumes of the cigarettes he smoked during his breaks.
Evening, Dale. Yes, the usual, please, I
responded. As I waited for my meal.
I found myself drawn to the conversations around me, the ebb
and flow of life unfolding in this little corner of the city.
There was a certain beauty in the mundane, in the routine
exchanges, the shared laughter, the clink of glassware.
It was a Symphony of normalcy that I cherished.
The steak arrived, the tantalizing aroma hitting my
senses before Dale's voice did. Enjoy your meal, and enjoy it, I
did. The steak was juicy, just the
right side of rare, and the baked potato was done to
perfection. It was a sensory feast, the
robust flavors igniting my taste buds, the satisfying texture of
the meat, and the crunch of the potato skin grounding me in the
moment. In the cocoon of these familiar
surroundings, I was at ease, content.
I was just another patron enjoying his meal, another
thread woven into the fabric of the city's vibrant tapestry.
It was the perfect end to a day, a humble celebration of
independence and normalcy. As the hour grew late, I decided
it was time to make my way back. I paid my bill, left a generous
tip for Dale, and rose from my seat, white cane in hand.
As I made my way to the entrance, I could hear the
familiar sounds of the city outside, cars honking, people
chatting, and the distant sound of a dog barking.
Be safe out there, Dale called after me, a note of concern
coloring his tone. Will do, Dale, I called back,
stepping out into the cool evening air.
Walking back home, the noises of the night were a comfort, a
lullaby that was all too familiar.
Little did I know that the melody was about to change, that
my dance with the darkness was about to take a chilling turn.
My journey home was a practiced routine, each step as familiar
as the next. The night was draped around the
city, a comforting darkness that was as much a part of me as the
beats of my heart. About halfway home, my path
crossed with an alleyway, A narrow strip of city that ran
perpendicular to the sidewalk. It was usually quiet, nothing
but the echo of distant city sounds reaching its depths.
Tonight, though, something was different.
A sound broke the monotony, a strange noise that didn't fit
into the usual night music. I halted, head tilted, trying to
make sense of it. It was quiet but discernible, a
wet, squelching noise followed by a suppressed whimper.
I felt a chill raced down my spine.
It was a sound I had encountered before, not in reality, but in
the scores of movies and shows I had listened to.
Someone was being hurt. I felt a surge of fear rise
within me, followed by the instinct to flee as quietly as I
could. I started to retreat, hoping to
disappear into the night undetected.
My attempt at escape, however, was cut short by a sickening
thud, like the sound of a heavy bag of meat hitting the
concrete. It was followed by a loud yell.
Panicked footsteps echoed through the alleyway, growing
louder as they neared. I froze, backing up against the
cold brick wall, heart pounding like a hammer against my ribs.
Hey, you. A voice thundered, filled with
rage and panic. You weren't supposed to see
that. The voice cut off abruptly.
The soft clatter of my dropped cane followed, and an eerie
silence filled the air. Oh oh ho ho ho, you're blind,
the man spoke again, his voice softer this time but no less
terrifying. I stood there, rooted to the
spot, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
I felt the rush of wind against my face as he waved his hand
before my eyes. My delayed flinch must have
confirmed his suspicions. My, my, the man mused, his voice
too close for comfort. What a unique opportunity I find
myself with. Then, in a bizarre twist, I felt
him grab my hands, pulling me to my feet.
He placed my cane back in my grip.
I was too stunned to speak, too terrified to question.
What are you doing? I stammered out my mind, racing
to make sense of the situation. I want to walk you home, he
said, his voice casual, as if the idea wasn't horrifyingly
insane. I shivered as his hand traced my
brow Ridge, a chilling touch that sent goosebumps spreading
across my skin. I felt a push against my back,
jolting me out of my terror induced stupor.
Now walk. He commanded, his tone icy.
And so I started walking, my heart hammering in my chest, the
sounds of the city replaced by the terror filled silence of my
world turned upside down. We set off my steps, hesitant,
and his confidently firm. I couldn't place his voice,
couldn't gauge his size or age or anything that might give me
an advantage. All I knew was that he was the
puppeteer now, pulling the strings of my fear.
The city, so familiar a moment ago, felt like a labyrinth of
uncertainty. A sudden metallic clatter Jarred
me, sharp against the silent backdrop of the cityscape.
Oops, sorry, the man muttered, His tone, almost jovial, Dropped
the knife. His words hit me like a punch in
the stomach. The knife.
The same knife that had ended life in the alleyway.
My skin turned cold, the grim reality of the situation
settling in. Why are you doing this?
Why don't you kill me? Why?
My voice was barely a whisper, choked with fear and disbelief.
He didn't answer. His silence was deafening, the
only sound being the steady rhythm of our footsteps.
The city seemed eerily still, the usual cacophony of night
sounds replaced by a hollow quiet.
It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for
the nightmare to end. After what felt like an
eternity, the familiar contours of my apartment building came
into focus under my touch. Relief washed over me, but it
was short lived. I could still feel his presence,
A looming shadow that turned the familiar into the terrifying.
I reached for my key, hands trembling, and unlocked the
door. There was a brief moment of
silence, then the feel of a hand on my back, a chilling breath
against my ear. My heart pounded in my ears as
he whispered something, his voice a haunting lullaby that
drowned out everything else. I struggled to comprehend his
words, my mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion.
Have a good night, stranger, he finally said, his tone almost
friendly. I stood there, paralyzed as his
footsteps faded into the night. The echo of his voice hung in
the air, a chilling reminder of the horror I had just lived
through. I stumbled into my apartment,
the door shutting behind me with an echoing thud.
I was safe for now, ensconced within the familiar walls of my
home, yet I knew the fear would remain a ghost that had taken
permanent residence in my world. I was no longer the same man who
had stepped out for a quiet dinner earlier that evening.
The simple pleasures. The ordinary routine, everything
was stained by the terror of the night.
Alone in the dark, I realized that the nightmare was far from
over. It had only just begun.
I spent the night locked inside, every sound, every shift in the
wind setting my heart racing. I was living in a world that had
suddenly become a stranger, every familiarity now cloaked in
a shroud of terror. Sleep was a far off land,
unreachable through the clamoring fear that had settled
into my bones. The morning came with a creeping
dawn that I could not see but felt in the warmth seeping into
my apartment. I sat there, huddled on my
couch, my cane lying lifelessly by my side.
The world had shifted on its axis, and I was lost within its
new daunting topography. It was midday when there was a
knock on my door. I froze, my heart pounding, the
echo of the knock reverberating through my apartment.
I remained silent, praying they'd leave, praying it wasn't
him. A few minutes past.
Then the knock came again, louder this time with a deep
breath, I rose and walked towards the door, my cane
tapping nervously against the floor.
Police. A woman's voice called from the
other side. We're investigating an incident
that occurred near here last night.
Can we ask you some questions? My hand shook as I unlocked the
door and let the officers in. They questioned me about the
night before and I told them everything I could hear, the
sympathy in their voices, the underlying horror at what I had
been through. The encounter ended with a
promise to do everything they could to find the man who had
tormented me. Days turned into weeks and weeks
into months. I tried to find normalcy again,
to erase the nightmarish stain from my life.
Yet every echo in the alleyway, every unexpected sound, sent me
spiraling back into that night. I was trapped in a never ending
cycle of fear, my world of prison, of unseen terrors.
It was on one of these terror filled nights as I lay huddled
on my bed that I heard it, a soft tap against my window.
Like the wind teasing the glass. I froze, my heart pounding in my
chest. Then it came again, louder this
time. I reached out, my trembling hand
pressing against the cold glass. Hello, stranger, A voice
whispered through the darkness, his voice unmistakably familiar.
You thought you could forget about me?
His laughter echoed through the night, a chilling lullaby that
sank into the depths of my soul. I was blind and alone, trapped
in a world of unseen terrors. As his chilling words swirled
around me, I knew with a sickening certainty I would
never walk alone again. I'd never been one for the great
outdoors, Not like Jim. Jim was born with a compass in
his hand and a trail map in his head, the kind of guy who could
make a campfire sing me. I'm a city boy through and
through, but Jim was my best friend, The kind you can't
refuse, the kind you stick with through thick and thin.
And so when he suggested we take a few days to trek some trail
miles from civilization, I found myself saying yes.
We were rumbling down the old highway, a Twolane Rd.
Hemmed in by dense forest on either side in Jim's beat up
truck that had seen better decades.
Jim had a way of turning the mundane into an adventure.
Remember, it's not the destination but the journey,
he'd say, a grin splitting his tanned face.
His chiseled features, wild hair, and sparkling eyes were
more at home in this wilderness than in any city, and as much as
I found it annoying, I couldn't help but admire his spirit.
We packed the truck to the gills with supplies.
I kept asking if we needed all that stuff, pointing to the
extra boots, the water filters, the emergency blanket, the bear
spray. Jim would laugh and slap me on
the back. You can never be too prepared,
buddy. The ride was filled with tales
of his upcoming marriage, future in Zurich, his excitement to
make me his best man, and his dreams of European wilderness.
He planned to make the Alps his new backyard.
We shared beers, laughs and songs, making the drive a
memorable one. It was one of those moments
where life felt whole. He was everything I wasn't a
free spirit, fearless, a man of the wilderness.
Me. I preferred my coffee brewed, my
food cooked and my Wi-Fi strong. But somehow, the wilderness, the
promise of an adventure, and a bond of a decade made me tag
along. As we crossed the county line, I
felt a twinge of unease. I looked at Jim, who was humming
along to a country song on the radio.
His eyes focused on the road ahead.
I could tell he was home, ready for the adventure ahead.
Meanwhile, I was unsure, out of my comfort zone, wondering if my
friend's sense of adventure would get the better of us, but
there was no turning back. Now we're here, buddy, he said,
patting me on the shoulder as he parked the truck at the
trailhead. The forest loomed over us and
untamed beast, ready to swallow us whole.
Ready. Jim asked, looking at me with
those twinkling eyes filled with excitement and a dash of
madness. I took a deep breath, stepping
out of the comfort of the truck. I guess we'll find out, I said,
my voice trembling just slightly as we started our descent into
the wilderness. I had no idea what lay ahead.
We started our hike into the wilderness, the sun warming our
backs, our bags full of gear weighing us down.
The trail was beautiful, untouched.
The towering pine trees, the chirping birds, the crunch of
gravel under our boots. It was a different world from
the city. I was beginning to see why Jim
loved this so much. We had been walking for a couple
of hours when Jim stopped abruptly.
He stood looking at something off the trail.
His usually jovial face was drawn into a serious expression.
I walked over to see what had caught his eye.
Lying there in the underbrush was a body, a woman.
Her body was crumpled up, face down.
Her blonde hair fanned out around her head like a golden
Halo. Her pale skin stood out starkly
against the dark greens and Browns of the forest floor.
A chill ran down my spine as I took in the gruesome sight.
Jim knelt down next to the body. He was quiet, looking her over
his experienced eyes, taking in details that I couldn't see.
He was no stranger to death in the wild.
He'd hunted and fished all his life, but this was different.
This was human. We need to call the police, I
whispered. My voice choked.
Jim looked at me, his eyes dark. We're miles away from any cell
signal, buddy. Silence fell between us.
I looked at the woman, my heart hammering in my chest.
She was young, barely older than a teenager, I realized, my
stomach churning. We need to do something, Jim.
We will, he said, his voice quiet first.
We need to be sure there's no danger around The person who did
this might still be around. His words sent a cold chill down
my spine. My city boy instincts were
screaming at me to run to get away from here, But we were in
the middle of the wilderness, with a dead body and a potential
murderer on the loose. I was way out of my comfort
zone. We searched the area, our eyes
straining for any signs of the killer.
My heart pounded in my chest as every rustle in the underbrush
seemed like a potential threat, but there was nothing.
Jim insisted we continue with our hike, arguing that it was
the quickest way to reach help. We left the body, marked the
location on our map, and with heavy hearts we moved forward.
I glanced back at the lifeless form, an icy hand gripping my
heart. This was supposed to be a fun
trip, a last adventure before Jim got married and moved away.
It wasn't supposed to be a crime scene.
As we trek deeper into the wilderness, I couldn't shake off
the image of the girl, her lifeless eyes, her pale skin.
Who was she? Why was she here?
And who could have done something so horrible as the sun
started to set? We set up camp, but there was no
laughter tonight, no stories or beers.
The forest was eerily quiet, and the darkness around us felt
heavy with the weight of what we had found.
As I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, all I could see was the
dead girl's face. The next morning was grim.
Neither of us had slept much. Our eyes were heavy with the
lack of sleep in the weight of what we had discovered.
We packed up camp quickly, barely speaking a word to each
other. The usual camaraderie between
Jim and me was missing. Our trek back to civilization
was tense. We moved as fast as we could,
but the dense forest and the rough terrain slowed us down.
The chirping birds, the rustling leaves, the sounds of nature
that usually brought me peace, only heightened my anxiety.
Now each rustle in the brush seemed like a threat.
Each bird's call felt like a warning.
After hours of walking, we saw it, the faint glimmer of a cell
tower civilization. We quickened our pace.
As soon as we had a strong enough signal, Jim called the
police. He gave them our location,
described the scene we had found.
His voice was steady, but I could see the worry in his eyes.
I sat down on a fallen tree, feeling exhausted and shaken.
The wilderness, which had always been a place of peace and
tranquility for Jim and a newfound escape for me, had
turned into something sinister and dangerous.
Jim ended his call and came to sit next to me.
They're sending a team right away, he said.
We did what we could. Now it's up to them.
But who was she, Jim. And who could have done
something like this? I asked, my voice barely a
whisper. Jim didn't have an answer.
He just patted my shoulder and gave me a grim smile.
When the police finally arrived, we led them back to the body.
They roped off the area, started their investigation.
Forensic teams moved around, capturing pictures, collecting
evidence. Jim and I stood off to the side,
watching the grim scene unfold. One of the officers, a gruff man
with a thick beard, came over to us.
He asked us questions about the body, about our hike, about what
we had seen. His questions were direct to the
point I could tell he was experienced, that he had seen
scenes like this before. When he was done, he thanked us
and told us we could leave. As we walked away, I glanced
back at the scene one last time. The woman's body, now covered by
a police tarp, was a stark reminder of the tragedy we had
stumbled upon. As we drove back to the city, I
couldn't help but think about the woman.
Who was she? What was her story?
And who could have done something so monstrous?
The question circled in my mind, building a knot of worry and
fear. That night, as I lay in my bed,
the comfort of my own home did nothing to ease my anxiety.
The image of the woman's body, the eeriness of the wilderness,
the knowledge of the evil that existed, it all weighed on me
heavily. Little did I know this was just
the beginning. The wilderness had more secrets
to unveil, and they were far darker than anything I had ever
imagined. I sat at my kitchen table,
nursing my morning coffee. When Jim called, his voice was
heavy with urgency, pulling me from my thoughts.
They've identified the woman, he said.
My heart lurched in my chest. I found myself at the local
police station sooner than I'd like, the bitter taste of the
hurried coffee still lingering on my tongue.
The officer who had questioned us at the scene, Officer Wilson,
led us to a small room. I recognized it immediately as
an interrogation room. Too many crime shows, I guess.
He motioned for us to take a seat.
He began to speak, his voice grave.
The woman's name was Sarah Miller.
She was a local, lived in town with her husband and two
children. The family had reported her
missing a week ago. I felt a cold shiver run down my
spine as he relayed the information.
She had a family. She had a life.
She had people who loved her. Wilson's face was stern as he
told us about their preliminary findings.
There were signs of struggle, defensive wounds.
They were treating it as a homicide.
It was everything we feared but hadn't dared to articulate.
Sarah's picture was on the table, her smile eerily
disconnected from the grim discussion.
Her bright eyes seemed to follow me, her joyful expression a
stark contrast to the way we had found her.
The officer went on, talking about their investigation, their
leads, or rather, the lack of them.
They didn't have any suspects yet.
Sarah's husband had been cleared.
He had a solid alibi. They had no idea who could have
done this or why. I felt a pang of frustration.
How could such a thing happen and no one had any clue?
The room grew silent. Wilson finished his briefing,
thanked us for our cooperation, and excused himself.
I stared at the photo of Sarah, her face forever frozen in a
moment of happiness. I couldn't reconcile it with the
image of her lifeless body in the woods.
Jim and I left the station in a somber silence.
As we walked to our cars, I couldn't help but glance back at
the police station. It was just a regular building
in our small town, but it held so much weight now I couldn't
shake off the feeling of unease. There was a killer in our midst,
a predator hiding in the wilderness.
The thought was chilling. And yet a part of me knew we
couldn't sit idle. We couldn't let Sarah's death go
unanswered. As I drove home, I couldn't help
but think about Sarah's family. How would they cope with such a
loss? And how could we, as a
community, ensure that this never happened again?
Sarah's murder was more than a tragedy.
It was a violation, a stark reminder of the evil that lurked
in the corners of our peaceful town.
As I parked in my driveway, I made a silent vow.
We would find justice for Sarah. We would find the monster who
had done this. That night, as the moon shone
brightly in the clear sky, the peaceful wilderness felt more
like a battlefield, and I knew we were at war.
The whole town was on edge. You could feel it in the air, a
tense quiet that seemed to hang heavy over our once peaceful
town. Whispers in the grocery store,
hushed conversations at the diner.
Everyone was talking about Sarah, and the fear was
palpable. I spent the next few days with a
knot in my stomach, restlessly pacing around my house.
The silence was deafening. The isolation of my cabin, which
I usually found comforting, felt oppressive.
The nights were the worst, the shadows in the woods seeming
more ominous than ever. One afternoon, as I was
attempting to distract myself with some paperwork, Jim called.
His voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief.
It's Pete, he said. They took him in for
questioning. My heart pounded in my chest as
I processed what he was saying. Pete Walker, our Pete.
He was one of us, a well liked and respected member of our
community. Sure, he was a bit of a loner,
living up in the hills, and he had a bit of a temper, but he
was no murderer. I couldn't, wouldn't believe it.
I found myself at the police station again, this time of my
own accord. Officer Wilson looks surprised
to see me, but he let me in to see Pete.
The sight of him sitting behind the glass, his face pale and
drawn, was jarring. This wasn't right.
Pete denied everything. He claimed he was innocent, and
I wanted to believe him. The evidence, however, was
damning. He had been seen arguing with
Sarah a few days before her disappearance.
He couldn't provide an alibi for the night she was killed.
He had a history of violence, bar fights, and domestic
disputes. His rifle matched the one used
to kill Sarah. The air in the room grew thick
with tension as Pete pleaded his innocence.
I didn't do it. He kept repeating, his voice
shaking. His eyes, usually so full of
life, were clouded with fear and desperation.
My gut twisted. I left the police station with a
heavy heart. The sun was setting, casting
long shadows over our small town.
Everything felt different, tainted.
Sarah's murder had opened a Pandora's box of suspicion and
fear, and there was no going back.
I didn't sleep that night. The thought of Pete alone in his
cell haunted me. The community was divided, some
voicing their support for Pete, others condemning him.
The piece we had taken for granted was shattered.
I couldn't shake off the feeling of dread.
What if Pete was innocent? What if the real killer was
still out there? As I stared out into the
darkness, the woods seemed to whisper secrets.
There was a killer among us, hiding in plain sight, and we
were his prey. The thought was chilling, but
one thing was clear. We wouldn't let fear paralyze
us. We couldn't.
We had to fight. We had to uncover the truth for
Sarah, for Pete, for our town. In the quiet stillness of the
night, I made another vow. We would not rest until we had
answers. We would not let fear rule us.
We would stand together, united in our pursuit of justice.
Because that's who we were. That's who we are.
A community. A family.
And we would protect our own, no matter what days turned into
weeks, and the peace that our town once enjoyed seemed like a
distant memory. The community was torn apart.
Suspicion hung over us like a dense fog.
The look in people's eyes, once friendly and open, was now
guarded and mistrusting. We had changed.
The question on everyone's mind was who did it?
Conversations whispered in shadowed corners about motives,
alibis, and past grudges. Despite our best efforts, Pete's
trial had turned up more questions than answers.
Jim and I pored over every scrap of evidence, every statement.
Our search for the truth became an obsession.
Each lead we followed ended in a dead end, leaving us back where
we started, lost and frustrated. The weight of our collective
failure hung heavy on our shoulders.
Then, one night, everything changed.
Jim called me late into the evening.
He had a lead, something we hadn't considered, a piece of
information so significant, so shocking.
It threatened to turn everything we knew upside down.
He didn't share the details over the phone.
All he said was, you need to see this.
When I got to Jim's place, he was pacing the room, his face
pale. He handed me a letter, his hands
shaking as I read the words. A cold chill ran down my spine.
It was a confession. The letter was written by Bill,
the town's good-natured mechanic, a family man, a
friend. His words were clear, his
remorse palpable. He admitted to killing Sarah.
He wrote about the guilt, eating him from the inside, the torment
of carrying such a dark secret. I felt a mix of emotions as I
read the letter. Shock.
Disbelief. Anger.
Bill. It couldn't be the thought of
someone we had known for so long, someone we trusted.
Being capable of such a heinous act was terrifying.
We drove to Bill's house the darkness of the night matching
the darkness that had descended on our hearts.
The front door was ajar. Inside, the house was deathly
quiet. And then we found him.
Bill was in the garage, lying motionless on the floor, an
empty pill bottle next to him. It seemed he had decided to
escape the torment of his guilt in the most tragic way possible.
The air was heavy with the stench of gasoline, and a single
note lay on the workbench, the same confession, word for word
that we had read earlier. Next to it, a matchbox.
The realization hit us like a punch to the gut.
Bill had planned to take his own life and burn everything down
with him, leaving behind a pile of ashes and a terrified,
shattered community. My heart pounded in my chest.
The horror of it all was overwhelming.
Our small town had been transformed into a scene
straight out of a horror movie. The trust we had in each other
in our community was shattered. As we walked out of the house, I
glanced back one last time. The darkness of the garage
seemed to engulf everything, a symbolic representation of the
darkness that had descended on our lives.
It was a terrifying end to a horrifying saga.
We had found our killer, but at what cost?
Our town would never be the same again, our sense of security
forever shattered, we were left with a haunting question.
How well do we truly know anyone?