There's something thrilling about setting off on a solo
trip, especially to places where not many would dare to tread.
My love for solo travel has taken me to some pretty wild
places, but none as mysterious as the Cypress swamp in
Arkansas. It was just across the mighty
Mississippi River, a place where the air felt ancient and secrets
seem to whisper with the wind. I've had my share of adventures,
like the time I stared down a bear in Colorado, but this was
different. This was the swamp, a place out
of a storybook, and I was determined to camp there, under
its starless sky. The drive was long and filled
with anticipation. The closer I got, the more the
modern world seemed to fall away, replaced by dense forests
and the heavy, humid air of the swamp.
By the time I reached the end of the Dirt Rd. the sun was just a
memory, and the swamp silhouette loomed ominously.
I hurried to set up my campsite. The tent went up first, followed
by a small crackling fire to boil water for dinner.
Beef stroganoff again. My buddies Brandon and Raleigh
thought it'd be funny to give me a mountain of it before I left.
Despite the repetition, it tasted good, a warm, comforting
presence in the growing dark as night fully embraced the swamp.
The usual sounds of wildlife filled the air.
Frogs croaked, crickets sang, and somewhere an Otter splashed.
It was a live orchestra, one that I had learned to appreciate
over my travels. Yet amidst this natural
Symphony, a peculiar sound caught my attention.
A knock? Or was it a ping?
It was hard to tell, but it definitely didn't belong.
Curiosity piqued. I listened intently, trying to
pinpoint the source. Then another knock from a
completely different direction. My heart raced a little.
This was no ordinary night in the swamp.
The knocks continued, a mysterious call and response
between unseen beings. It felt like the swamp was
communicating, and I was an uninvited guest trying to
decipher a foreign language. With my flashlight in hand, I
ventured closer to the water's edge, careful not to disturb the
delicate balance of this ecosystem.
The light caught the reflective eyes of various swamp creatures,
an eerie yet fascinating sight. I felt a blend of fear and
exhilaration. Here I was, alone in the heart
of a swamp, surrounded by sounds that shouldn't exist.
It was thrilling, yet a small voice in the back of my mind
whispered caution. I couldn't shake off the tails
of the swamp. I'd heard as a kid, stories of
ghostly apparitions, mythical creatures and unsolved
mysteries. Was I standing in the middle of
one such story? The thoughts sent a shiver down
my spine, yet the adventurer in me relished this moment.
It was why I travelled solo, after all, to face the unknown,
to listen to the wild stories nature had to tell.
The night deepened and the NOx grew more frequent.
My curiosity battled with a growing sense of unease.
What was out there in the dark waters?
Were the stories true, or was this just the swamp playing
tricks on my mind? I knew the risks of solo
camping, the importance of being prepared for anything.
Yet nothing could have prepared me for this.
A night when the swamp itself seemed alive, whispering secrets
in a language I couldn't understand.
As I crawled into my tent, the sounds continued, a mysterious
serenade that promised no sleep. I lay there listening,
wondering, daring to imagine what lay beyond the veil of
darkness. This was the adventure I craved,
the unknown I sought here in the heart of the swamp.
I found it lying in my tent. The fabric walls felt like the
only thin barrier between me and the vast, unknown world of the
swamp. The knocks and mumblings
continued, each sound sending a ripple of unease through me.
My mind raced with every Horror Story I'd ever heard about
swamps, ghostly figures, creatures lurking beneath the
water, and even tales of people getting lost, never to be found
again. But there I was, in the middle
of it all, my heart pounding not just with fear, but with a
strange kind of excitement too. I tried to convince myself that
there was a logical explanation for everything.
Maybe the sounds were just animals communicating in their
natural habitat, or perhaps the wind playing tricks as it passed
through the trees. But the NOx seemed too
deliberate, too intentional. And the mumbling.
It was like whispers, voices trying to tell me something, or
maybe warning me. As the night wore on, the sound
seemed to circle around me, coming from every direction.
It felt like I was being watched, observed by unseen
eyes. The thought made my skin crawl.
I remembered stories of swamp creatures from my childhood, of
mysterious beings that roamed these waters.
My imagination ran wild, painting vivid pictures of what
lurked just beyond the reach of my flashlight.
I couldn't stay there. The feeling of being surrounded,
the eerie sounds, the unnerving whispers, they all became too
much. It was one thing to seek
adventure, but another to ignore the primal instinct of fear that
screamed at me to leave. Making up my mind, I decided to
break camp. My hands shook as I hastily
packed up every rustle in the dark, making me jump.
The swamp felt alive, aware of my intentions to flee.
Leaving the campsite behind, I made my way to my truck, the
sounds following me until I was well away from the water's edge.
Driving away, I glanced back at the murky shadows, half
expecting to see something emerge.
But there was nothing, just the dense, impenetrable darkness of
the swamp. Finding a new place to camp
further up the road, I settled in for what I hoped would be a
more peaceful night. Yet sleep eluded me.
The events of the evening replayed in my mind, each sound
and whisper magnifying. In the silence of the night, I
questioned what I had heard, what I had felt.
Was it all just a product of my imagination, or had there really
been something out there in the depths of the swamp?
Despite the fear, there was a part of me that felt alive,
exhilarated by the unknown. It was a reminder of why I chose
to travel alone to face the wilderness head on.
There's something about the unpredictability, the mystery of
the natural world that calls to me.
It's not just about the landscapes or the solitude.
It's about confronting the unknown, about finding strength
in oneself when faced with fear. As dawn broke, the night's
events seemed like a distant dream.
Yet the feeling of unease lingered.
The swamp had challenged me, tested my resolve.
I knew I would carry this experience with me, a reminder
of the thin line between adventure and recklessness.
But for all its mystery and menace, the swamp had also
offered me something invaluable, a moment of true confrontation
with the wild, a test of my courage against the primal
forces of nature. And so, as I packed up once
again, ready to continue my journey, I couldn't help but
feel a sense of gratitude. The swamp, with all its shadows
and sounds, had given me a story of my own to tell, a testament
to the power of the wild and the resilience of the human spirit
in the face of the unknown. The day I decided to venture
into Lee Woods was born out of a simple desire for something
more. The streets of Bristol, once
teeming with endless possibilities, had shrunk to a
mundane loop of concrete and predictable turns.
I was 17, filled with that restless energy that demanded
new challenges, new sights. So when the idea of exploring
Lee Woods sprang to mind, it wasn't just an idea.
It felt like a calling. I remember sitting at my desk,
the glow of the computer screen casting long shadows across the
room. My fingers danced across the
keyboard, pulling up information about Lee Woods.
It was close, just a couple of miles from home, yet it was a
place I had never given much thought.
The articles and forms painted it as a peaceful retreat, a
slice of nature's untouched beauty.
Amidst our urban sprawl, I imagine the dense foliage, the
whisper of the trees, and the trails that snaked through the
heart of the woods like arteries of adventure.
It was decided then I would ride my mountain bike into Lee Woods,
seeking the thrill of the unknown.
The morning of my expedition arrived with a soft golden light
that filtered through my bedroom window.
It felt like the world was holding its breath waiting.
I dressed quickly, filled a backpack with essentials, and
wheeled my bike out of the garage.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of early spring and the
promise of warmth. The ride to Lee Woods was a
meditative experience. Pedalling through the quiet
streets, I watched as the urban landscape gradually gave way to
the green embrace of the countryside, my heartbeat In
Sync with the rhythmic turn of the wheels, a cadence of
anticipation building with every mile.
Standing at the entrance to Lee Woods, I was struck by an
overwhelming sense of tranquillity.
The forest canopy stretched skyward, a tapestry of green
that seemed to pull me in. I took a deep breath, the scent
of earth and ancient wood filling my lungs, and felt a
profound connection to the world around me.
It was almost dreamlike, the way the beauty of the place settled
over me, a stark contrast to the concrete and noise I had left
behind. I approached the trailhead,
noting the colored markers that designated different paths.
Blue, red, green. Each a silent invitation to
discover what lay beyond. My gaze lingered on the blue
trail, the symbol of an easy path, but the very essence of
adventure is the pursuit of challenge.
With a determined nod, I steered my bike toward the trail, marked
with the more daunting red sign. The trail welcomed me with a
canopy of leaves that danced in the gentle breeze, dappling the
ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow.
As I pedaled deeper into the woods, the noise of the city
faded into a distant memory, replaced by the Symphony of
nature. Birds called to one another, a
background melody to the soft crunch of my tires on the path.
Yet as I ventured further, a subtle shift occurred.
The comforting embrace of the woods seemed to tighten, the
shadows lengthening and deepening into something more
ominous. It was as if the forest itself
was watching it's ancient inhabitants whispering secrets I
could not understand. The thrill of adventure mingled
with a creeping unease, a prelude to the strange and
terrifying events that were to unfold.
I was unaware then, peddling eagerly into the heart of Lee
Woods, that this ride would not just be a test of my courage,
but a confrontation with the inexplicable.
As the trail wound deeper into the forest, I was about to
discover that some places hold mysteries that are better left
unexplored. The deeper I rode into Lee
Woods, the more I felt like an intruder.
In a realm where ancient laws governed unseen forces.
The playful curiosity that had fueled my journey began to wane,
replaced by a primal alertness. I had always prided myself on my
keen sense of direction, my ability to read the subtle
language of the wilderness. But here, amidst the dense
underbrush and towering oaks, my confidence began to falter.
The trail had become a narrow ribbon, winding through the
thick forest, challenging both my skill and my bike's
endurance. The canopy above was so dense
that it seemed to swallow the sky, casting everything in a
perpetual dusk. It was in this dim light that
the first prickles of unease crawled up my spine.
The woods were too silent, as if holding its breath, and I
couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
I tried to dismiss the sensation, attributing it to the
adrenaline and the isolation. Yet the further I ventured, the
stronger the feeling grew, A tangible pressure against my
skin. It was then that I stumbled upon
a clearing, a crossroads in the heart of the woods that offered
two paths, one that promised the safety of the familiar leading
back towards the trailhead, and another that delved deeper into
the unknown. Driven by a compulsion I didn't
fully understand, I chose the path that led deeper into the
forest. It was as if the woods
themselves were guiding my decision, whispering promises of
secrets yet to be unveiled. The trail here was rough,
untravelled, and it wasn't long before the terrain became too
treacherous for my bike. With a resigned sigh, I
dismounted, deciding to continue on foot.
As I walked, the forest seemed to close in around me, the trees
towering like silent Sentinels. Every rustle in the underbrush
felt like a warning, every snap of a twig a threat.
I was about to turn back when I found myself in another
clearing, smaller this time with a path that seemed to beckon me
forward with an almost magnetic pull.
Despite the voice in my head urging caution, my feet moved of
their own accord, drawn by the lure of the unknown.
It was here, in this secludeded part of the woods, that time
seemed to slip away from me. One moment I was stepping into
the clearing, and the next I was standing still, staring down a
path that had suddenly become unfamiliar, the light shifting
in a way that seemed impossible. A wave of Vertigo washed over
me, and for a terrifying moment the forest seemed to grow and
expand, the trees stretching away into the distance.
Shaking off the disorientation, I realized I was lost.
The path I had been following had vanished, replaced by thick
underbrush and dense foliage. Panic set in as I tried to
retrace my steps, but every direction looked the same, the
once familiar landmarks swallowed by the forests,
insatiable appetite. It was in this moment of
desperation that I heard it, a soft, sobbing cry that seemed to
emanate from just ahead. My heart raced as I move towards
the sound, driven by a mix of concern and an unshakable fear.
As I approached, the crying grew louder, more distinct, until I
was sure I was upon its source. But when I parted the branches,
expecting to find someone in distress, there was nothing.
No sign of life, no indication that anyone had ever been there.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The woods felt alive watching me with unseen eyes, and I knew
with a certainty that chilled me to the bone that I was not
alone. The forest had always been a
place of solace for me, a refuge from the cacophony of everyday
life. But as I stood in the unnerving
silence that followed the unexplained, sobbing Lee Woods
transformed before my eyes. It became a labyrinth of fear
and shadows, a place where the line between the natural and the
supernatural blurred into obscurity.
The decision to flee was instinctual, a primal urge to
escape the unseen menace that lurked within the heart of the
woods. With each step, the underbrush
seemed to grasp at my feet, as if the forest itself was
reluctant to release its hold on me.
The trees, once majestic in their beauty, now loomed
ominously, their branches clawing at the sky as I ran.
The sound of my own ragged breathing was a harsh
accompaniment to the pounding of my heart.
The fear that had taken root in the pit of my stomach spread
through my veins like ice, propelling me forward.
The sobbing had ceased, replaced by a silence so profound it was
as if the forest was holding its breath.
Waiting for my next move. I reached for my bike, my
thoughts a chaotic whirl of desperation and fear.
The moment my hand touched the handlebars, a sudden hiss of air
stopped me cold. My back tire, previously solid
and dependable, was now completely flat, sabotaging my
hope for a swift escape. A surge of panic flooded through
me, but surrender was not an option.
I hoisted the bike onto my shoulder and began to run, the
weight of it a constant reminder of my vulnerability.
The path, once familiar now seemed to twist and turn in ways
that defied memory. Each step forward was a battle
against the disorienting terror that the forest now embodied.
The rustling of the bushes grew more frantic, as if something or
someone was keeping pace with me, just out of sight.
The thought propelled me faster, pushing my body to its limits as
the edge of the forest seemed to recede with every desperate
stride. It was then that the sobbing
returned, a mournful wail that echoed through the trees,
chilling me to my core. It was no longer just a sound.
It felt like a presence, a specter of grief and despair
that clung to my skin, urging me to glance back into the shadows
I was so desperately trying to escape.
But I didn't look back. I couldn't.
The fear of what might be lurking just beyond my field of
vision spurred me onward, driving me towards the faint
promise of light that signaled the end of the forest.
With every step, the sobbing grew distant, a dissonant chorus
that faded into the depths of the woods, leaving behind a
heavy silence emerging from the tree line.
The sudden brightness of the open space was blinding.
The carpark, a symbol of the mundane world I had left behind,
had never seemed so welcoming. As I stumbled into the clearing,
gasping for breath, the pressure in my chest began to ease.
The air felt lighter here, untouched by the darkness that
infested the heart of Lee Woods. Glancing down at my bike, a wave
of disbelief washed over me. The tire, once deflated and
useless, now appeared fully intact, as if the forest had
relinquished its grip on me and my possessions.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, a stark reminder
of the inexplicable forces at play within those woods.
I mounted my bike, the need to put as much distance between
myself and Lee Woods driving me forward as I peddled away.
The weight of what I had experienced hung heavy on my
shoulders. The forest had shown me a side
of nature I had never known, a realm where the boundary between
reality and myth was as thin as the mist that clung to the
trees. Lee Woods had left its mark on
me, a scar etched into my memory.
As the distance grew, the events of the day began to feel like a
nightmare, a terrifying journey through a landscape that was
both hauntingly beautiful and unspeakably sinister.
Yet the fear remained, a constant reminder of the day.
I raced against shadows and the unseen watchers of the woods.
Moving into Grandma's old house in Ottawa Lake, MI wasn't
exactly my dream scenario, but after she passed away in 2015,
my parents thought it would be good for me.
A fresh start or something. The house was a decent sized
ranch sitting quietly on an acre of land surrounded by woods that
stretched over 40 acres or more. Those woods, they say, had
secrets. Dark ones, including a story
about a local murder back in the 70s.
Creepy, right? The area around had changed a
lot. Lots of new houses and stuff,
but those woods untouched. Now there was talk about
clearing them for more houses, and somehow that made me want to
share what happened a few years back before those woods and
their secrets are gone for good. The house had three bedrooms and
three bathrooms. I ended up in Grandma's old room
on the east side, facing the woods.
Weirdly, this part of the house was super close to those woods.
Never figured out why. So it was this one summer
evening around 6:45 PM, sun just starting to set and I had just
pulled into the driveway. The moment I shut the garage
door and stepped into the house, something felt off.
It was too quiet. Usually you could hear the well
pump or the boiler, but nothing. And the air, It felt thick,
almost suffocating. I shrugged it off, thinking
maybe it's just one of those quiet nights, but then when I
tried to watch TV, the volume was so low I had to crank it up
to 100 and could still barely hear it.
Weird, considering it was just an old antenna TV, but still, it
was like the silence was swallowing up the sound.
Dinner was uneventful, just me trying to shake off the eerie
calm. But as I moved through the
house, that feeling of unease grew.
It was like the house was holding its breath.
I decided to take a bath, hoping it would relax me, but even the
faucet sounded muffled like it was far away.
That's when I really started to freak out.
Something was definitely not right.
The silence was too heavy, too deliberate.
Pulling myself together, I walked into my bedroom to grab
my clothes from the closet. One of the windows face the
woods, and for some reason I felt compelled to look out.
Big mistake. There, just beyond the tree
line, was something I couldn't explain.
A creature about 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and fur
that shimmered gold and silver in the fading light.
Its eyes glowed golden, and its head it was like a Doberman's,
but bigger, more menacing. And it was staring right at me.
I froze, heart pounding. It didn't move, just kept
looking at me with those eerie eyes.
Then, as if someone pressed play on the world again, it turned
and disappeared into the woods, and suddenly all the normal
sounds rushed back. I could hear the tub, the
distant sound of a car, the normal noises of life.
That night I didn't sleep much. Every Creek and whisper of the
house made me jump. What was that thing?
Why was it so quiet when it was there?
And most importantly, would it come back the next day?
I was on edge, constantly looking over my shoulder,
especially near the windows, facing those woods.
I knew I had to do something, anything, to feel safe again.
But what could I do against something like that, Something
so unknown? After seeing that thing in the
woods, my sense of security was shattered.
Every shadow seemed menacing. Every night sound felt like a
warning. I couldn't shake off the image
of its golden eyes. Watching me, I knew I had to do
something, anything, to feel safe in my own home again.
So I went all out. I installed floodlight cameras
around the house, making sure every corner was covered.
I got an alarm system, the kind that would wake up the entire
neighborhood if triggered. And yeah, I even bought a
shotgun. Maybe it was overkill, but
seeing something that seemed ripped from a horror movie will
do that to you For a while. Things went back to normal, or
as normal as they could get. I tried to convince myself that
what I saw was just a trick of the light, or maybe a
particularly vivid nightmare, but deep down I knew it was
real. Then, almost a year to the day
after my first encounter, it happened again.
It was after a night hanging out with my buddies in the basement,
playing pool and trying to forget about the creature.
Everyone had left, and I was just shutting off the lights
when I decided to call it a night.
I had just dozed off when I woke up.
Suddenly it was around 3:00 AM and something had pulled me from
sleep, though I didn't know what.
Then I heard it, a scratching sound coming from the window
where the air conditioner was fitted.
My first thought was its back. Panic surged through me.
I grabbed the shotgun from under my bed and hit the panic button
on the alarm system. The alarm was deafening, slicing
through the quiet night. The scratching stopped
immediately. I stayed in my room, shotgun
aimed at the door, Hart racing, until the sheriff arrived.
It took him about 35 minutes to get to my place, given how far
out we lived. When he did, I explained what
happened, my voice shaking. We checked the security footage
together. The camera by the air
conditioner had caught something, a big, tall
silhouette moving away from the window.
The sheriff suggested it might be a bear, but we both knew that
didn't make sense. There are no bears here.
He left after a thorough search, and I was alone again, with
nothing but my thoughts and fears for company.
I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning I examined the outside of the house, looking
for any signs of the creature. Nothing.
It was as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace
but the gouges in the trees near the woods edge, like something
massive, had clawed at them. I spent the next few days jumpy,
constantly checking the cameras, half expecting half dreading to
see that creature again. But there was nothing, just the
occasional raccoon or stray cat. Despite the lack of evidence, I
couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of not being
alone. The woods that I once found
peaceful now seem to harbor unknown dangers.
I found myself avoiding the windows at night, the memory of
those golden eyes etched into my mind.
I didn't know what it wanted or if it would come back.
All I knew was that I couldn't let my guard down.
Not again. The creature had made two things
abundantly clear. It was real, and it was close.
Too close for comfort. Ever since the night the
creature came back, my house felt more like a fortress than a
home. The floodlight cameras, the
alarm system, the shotgun by my bed, they were all constant
reminders that safety was just an illusion.
That thing in the woods had shattered my peace, and now
every Creek of the house, every rustle of leaves outside made my
heart race. I lived on the edge of a
nightmare, never knowing if or when it would decide to step
into reality again. I spent a lot of time thinking
about the creature. What was it?
Why did it come so close to my house?
And why did it leave without harming anything?
The more I thought about it, the more questions I had.
None of it made any sense. And the silence from the woods,
the lack of any new sightings, only made the mystery deeper,
more unsettling. The days turned into weeks and
the weeks into months. Life had to go on, and so I
tried my best to get back to normal.
I went to school, hung out with my friends, and did my homework,
but the creature was always there in the back of my mind, a
dark shadow lurking in the unseen corners of my thoughts.
Occasionally I would hear sounds at night, strange,
unidentifiable noises that seem too deliberate to be the work of
the usual nocturnal animals. Each time my heart would stop
and I'd hold my breath, listening, waiting for something
to happen, But nothing ever did. It was as if the creature was
playing a game, reminding me of its presence without ever
showing itself. I checked the cameras every day,
scanning through the footage for any sign of it, but there was
never anything conclusive, just the occasional deer or fox,
their eyes glowing in the night vision like ghosts passing
through my yard. Living with the unknown became
my new normal. I learned to carry my fear with
me, a constant weight that I got used to bearing.
And though I never saw the creature again, its impact on my
life was indelible. It had changed.
The way I saw the world taught me that there are mysteries out
there, hidden in the dark that we're not meant to understand.
The woods that had once seemed so inviting now felt like a
boundary, a line I wasn't brave enough to cross.
I couldn't bring myself to explore them as I had before,
too afraid of what I might find or what might find me.
The mystery of the creature, its origins, its intentions, all of
it, remained unsolved. A chapter of my life left open
unresolved. As time passed, I found myself
wondering less and less about the creature.
Maybe it had moved on, or maybe it had never been real in the
1st place, a figment of my imagination, fuelled by fear and
the eerie silence of the woods. But deep down I knew it was
real. I had seen it, and it had seen
me. I learned to live with the fear,
with the knowledge that some things are beyond our
understanding. The creature in the woods became
a part of my story, a reminder that the world is bigger,
stranger, and more mysterious than we can ever imagine.
And somehow, accepting that felt like a victory, a way to reclaim
my peace one uncertain day at a time.
The chill of the early evening air did nothing to dampen the
serenity of the Aboro Nature Reserve.
It was a place I'd come to call my sanctuary, a vast expanse of
wilderness that seemed untouched by the chaos of the world
outside its boundaries. My routine, almost sacred by
now, was simple. Drive up to the Deer Park at
dusk, park my truck at the base of the hill overlooking the
sanctuary, and let the natural world wash over me.
It was a routine born out of necessity during the pandemic, a
way to escape the confines of my home in a town too small to hide
any secrets. Or so I thought.
I've lived here all my life, long enough to know every
whispered legend and every odd tradition that knits this
community together. But nothing, no tale whispered
under the breath of elders or warning scrawled on the Old Town
Hall's bulletin board, could explain the sign that appeared
last week at the park's entrance.
It wasn't the usual Forest Service notice printed on metal
and bolted to a post. No, this was something
different. Something hurried, a sheet of
plywood painted in hasty strokes with words that caught the dying
light in a way that made the pit of my stomach tighten.
A polite notice to our valued visitors entering the Aboro
nature reserve, it began, its tone almost apologetic.
Our deer are exhibiting unusual behaviors.
The list that followed was anything but ordinary.
Park guidelines don't stop your car during grazing periods or on
Midsummer nights. Act calmly if the deer approach.
Ignore any deer standing on their hind legs.
A black stag with dominion over the Western herd was not to be
approached under any circumstances.
The words blurred together as I read each guideline more bizarre
than the last. Dear remember faces, don't pay
attention to rumors of deer congregating at night.
The absurdity would have been laughable if not for the
undercurrent of urgency. In every hastily painted letter
I considered turning back, letting the sanctuary remain
just that in my mind. But curiosity, that old,
relentless Dr., pushed me forward.
I'd seen the stag. They mentioned JoJo, a
magnificent beast that seemed to command the western fields with
an almost regal authority. I'd watched him from afar,
respected his space, and marveled at the way he kept his
herd in line. The thought that something could
unsettle him, unsettle them, was enough to quicken my pulse.
So I drove on, the tires of my truck, crunching over the gravel
path that wound its way through the reserve.
The setting sun cast long shadows that danced across the
dashboard, and for a moment I let myself believe that this was
just another evening, that the sign was a prank, a story soon
to be told with laughter over beers at the local bar.
But as the sanctuary enveloped me, the familiar fields and
forests bathed in the twilights, Last embers, a sense of unease
crept in. The deer, usually a common
sight, were nowhere to be seen. The air felt still, too still,
as if the very land was holding its breath, and somewhere beyond
the next bend the unknown awaited its secrets, veiled by
the gathering darkness and a sign that warned of things
beyond understanding. It was in this moment between
the comfort of the known and the terror of the unknown, that I
felt it most acutely, the thin veil between the natural world
and something far more ancient, something that whispered of old,
forgotten packs and rituals born from the very earth itself.
And as I parked my truck and stepped into the fading light, I
knew that whatever lay ahead, whatever truth the park
concealed, my life was about to change in ways I could never
have imagined. The night had draped itself over
the Aboro nature reserve like a shroud, the moon a mere sliver
in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows across the
landscape. The air was thick with mist,
wrapping around the trees and the fields in a ghostly embrace.
It was on nights like these that the world seemed to shift,
revealing a face less familiar, more primal.
I had driven back to the Deer Park, drawn by a need to
understand, to see for myself what lay behind the bizarre
warnings that had unsettled my once peaceful retreat.
The park was different. Under the cloak of darkness, the
familiar paths and clearings were transformed, hiding secrets
that felt ancient, almost sacred.
As I parked my truck at the usual spot, the silence was
oppressive, a heavy blanket that muffled the sound of my own
breathing. I couldn't shake the feeling
that I was intruding on something, that my presence was
a violation of an unwritten pact between the land and its true
inhabitants. It was then that I saw them, the
deer. But these were not the creatures
I had come to know. They moved with an unsettling
grace, standing on their hind legs in a grotesque parody of
humanity. Their eyes, usually so gentle,
now gleamed with an otherworldly light.
The sight was surreal, a nightmare brought to life in the
heart of the sanctuary I had once found solace in.
At the centre of this twisted gathering was JoJo, the majestic
stag I had admired from afar, but the creature that now stood
before me was a shadow of his former self, surrounded by the
not deer, as if he were the focal point of some dark ritual.
My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I
struggled to comprehend what I was witnessing.
The not deer moved with purpose, dragging something with them, a
structure primitive yet unmistakably an altar of some
sort. JoJo was led to it, his once
proud stance now defeated, resigned to his fate.
The ritual that unfolded was one of savagery and primal worship,
a celebration of darkness that belonged to an age long
forgotten. As the not deer shrieked their
unholy cries to the moon, a response came from the depths of
the forest, a groan that spoke of ancient hunger and untold
power. The very ground beneath me
trembled, and I knew in that moment that I was witnessing
something not meant for human eyes.
The ritual reached its climax with Jojo's sacrifice, a display
of violence and reverence that left me numb with shock and
horror. I should have fled, then, should
have turned my back on the nightmare unfolding before me.
But a morbid fascination held me captive.
A need to understand the unfathomable And as the not deer
turn their gaze upon me, their eyes void of emotion yet filled
with an intelligence that spoke of deep, ancient knowledge, I
knew I had crossed a line from which there was no return.
The drive back to civilization was a blur of terror and
confusion. The ranger's words echoed in my
mind, a cryptic warning that now held a sinister weight.
As long as they didn't look at you, you're fine, he had said.
But they had looked at me, had seen me witness their most
sacred and profane ritual. And in that moment of shared
gaze, a connection was forged, a silent acknowledgement of the
truth that lay hidden in the heart of the Aboro nature
reserve, that we are not alone, and that the world is far
stranger and more terrifying than we could ever imagine.
Ever since that night at the Aboro Nature Reserve, the world
around me has felt altered, like I've been living in the shadow
of something vast and unknowable.
The once comforting solitude of my home in the outskirts of town
has become oppressive, each Creek and whisper of the wind, a
reminder of the eyes that might be watching of the ancient rites
performed under the cover of darkness.
I tried to convince myself it was all a dream, a figment of my
overactive imagination fueled by the isolation of the pandemic.
But the deeper part of me knew better.
The forest Rangers words kept replaying in my mind, a cryptic
clue to a puzzle I wasn't sure I wanted to solve.
So long as they didn't look at you, you're fine.
But they had looked at me, their gaze piercing through the veil
of my skepticism, leaving me marked.
The days following were a blur of sleepless nights and restless
days. My routine, once a source of
comfort, now felt like a perilous journey through a
landscape that had turned hostile.
The Deer Park, my sanctuary, had become a place of dread, its
secrets too dark, too ancient for me to comprehend.
Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to go back, to
confront whatever it was that lurked in the shadows of the
reserve. Perhaps it was the need,
foreclosure, or maybe a foolhardy attempt to reclaim my
sense of safety. Whatever the reason, I found
myself driving back to the park, the setting sun casting long
shadows that seem to reach out towards me.
The park was eerily quiet, the usual chorus of wildlife
silenced as if in anticipation of something.
The mist that had shrouded the reserve on that fateful night
was gone, replaced by a clear sky that offered no solace from
the prying eyes of the unseen. I parked my truck at the usual
spot, the weight of my decision pressing down on me as I scanned
the horizon with my binoculars. The events of that night played
back in my mind. The not dear Jojo's sacrifice,
the ancient being that had responded to their calls.
It was a scene out of a nightmare.
Yet here I was, searching for proof that it hadn't been a
dream. The realization hit me then, a
cold wave of understanding that chilled me to the bone.
Whatever had happened that night, it was part of something
much larger, a cycle of nature that was as old as the land
itself. I was an intruder in a world
that operated on laws and rituals beyond human
comprehension. A movement in the periphery of
my vision caught my attention, a reminder that I was not alone.
I turned, half expecting to see the not deer staring back at me.
Instead, I found myself looking into the eyes of the forest
Ranger. His expression was one of
resigned understanding, as if he knew the burden I now carried.
You saw them, didn't you? He asked, his voice barely above
a whisper. I nodded, unable to find the
words to describe the terror and awe that had consumed me.
It's best to leave them be, he continued, his gaze drifting to
the horizon. Some things are better left
untouched, unseen. The world is full of mysteries,
and not all of them are meant to be solved.
His words were a cold comfort, a reminder of the fragile boundary
between the known and the unknown.
As I drove away from the park that evening, I knew that my
life had been irrevocably changed.
The Deer Park would forever be a symbol of that change, a place
where the veil between worlds was thin and where the ancient
guardians of the land held sway. The drive home was a silent
reflection on the nature of fear and curiosity, on the human
desire to understand the mysteries of the world.
But some mysteries, I realized, are better left unsolved, Their
secrets preserved in the shadows, watched over by those
who know the true cost of looking too closely.
I'd rather not say my name, but I'm a 37 year old woman from
Surrey, England. You see, I've developed
xylophobia, a fear of forests and Woodlands.
It's not just a simple aversion. It's an irrational dread that
grips me, suffocates me, even at the thought of venturing into
those dense, shadowed realms. Let me clarify what xylophobia
truly entails. It's not, as a friend amusingly
suggested, once, a fear of xylophones, which I actually
quite like. No, it's a fear deeply rooted in
the woods, in the trees, in the unknown that lurks within.
It all started with a traumatic event, a story I feel compelled
to share not only for my own catharsis, but also in the hope
that it might resonate with someone out there, Someone who
needs to know they're not alone, someone who needs to understand
that there's life beyond the darkness.
I've been undergoing therapy, the kind that delves deep into
the psyche, peeling back layers of fear and trauma.
Cognitive behavioral therapy, they call it a fancy term for
confronting your demons head on. And so I embarked on a journey
of writing, of pouring out the horrors that haunt me onto the
page, hoping that by facing them I might regain some semblance of
control. But let me take you back to
where it all began, back to Avenger Common, a quaint village
where I once called home. It was a place where the woods
beckoned, promising solace amidst the chaos of daily life.
And so I took to running, carving out a path through the
trees, finding solace in the rhythmic pounding of my feet
against the earth. Those runs became my lifeline,
my escape from the pressures of work and the suffocating grip of
anxiety. I ran the same trails at the
same times, like a ritual. A ritual that kept the darkness
at Bay. But one fateful day, the ritual
was shattered, torn apart by a chance encounter with a stranger
on the trail. He appeared innocuous at first,
just another hiker wandering through the woods.
But as he drew closer, his intentions became chillingly
clear. With a sudden, violent lunge.
He sent me crashing to the ground, the breath knocked from
my lungs. I felt the sting of his first
against my skin, the searing pain as my head connected with
the unforgiving bark of a tree. I fought desperately, fiercely,
but he was relentless, his grip tightening around my throat,
dragging me further into the depths of the forest.
I screamed. I pleaded, but my words were
lost in the silent embrace of the trees.
In those moments of terror, I made a choice, a choice to
survive at any cost. I played dead, feigning weakness
in the hopes of catching him off guard, and to my disbelief, it
worked. He hesitated, his resolve shaken
by the possibility of his actions having fatal
consequences. And so, with every ounce of
strength left in me, I fled, racing through the forest, the
echoes of his footsteps fading into the distance.
I ran until my lungs burned, until my legs threatened to give
out beneath me. But even as I escaped, the fear
remained festering within me like a poison, For he was never
caught, never brought to justice for the horrors he inflicted
upon me. And so the woods became a
prison, a place of nightmares and endless dread.
I've since moved away from Avenger Common, but the fear
still lingers, a shadow that follows me wherever I go.
And yet I refuse to let it consume me entirely.
I cling to the hope that one day I'll reclaim the woods as my
own, that I'll find peace amidst the trees once more.
And so I share my story not as a tale of despair, but as a
testament to resilience to the unyielding strength of the human
spirit. For even in the darkest of
times, there is always hope, always a flicker of light amidst
the shadows. And it's that glimmer of hope
that keeps me going that reminds me that I am not alone, that I
am capable of overcoming even the greatest of fears.
My name's Maddie, and I guess you could say I'm your average
Seattle mom, if there's even such a thing as average around
here. Between keeping up with my 2
kiddos and working full time, life is a whirlwind of soccer
practices. Meal preps and the occasional
coffee run that turns into my mini Escape from Reality.
I don't get much me time, but when I do, I dive into YouTube,
losing myself in stories that are anything but ordinary.
There's this one channel all about mysterious disappearances
that I've been hooked on lately. It's not exactly light viewing,
but hey, we all have our things right.
I've lived in Seattle all my life, but it's funny how you can
forget things like how green the trees are in spring, or the way
the city lights shimmer off Puget Sound at night.
But there's one thing I thought I'd forgotten for good a memory
buried so deep that I never thought I'd see it again.
Until last night. I was halfway through a video
about missing 411 cases, those strange stories of people
vanishing without a trace. Normally, I'm not easily
spooked. Seattle folks are made of tough
stuff, but one story hit me like a freight train.
It wasn't the creepiest or most bizarre tale, but it unlocked
something in my mind, a door I thought I'd locked tight many
years ago. Back in high school, I was what
you might call an accidental athlete.
I stumbled into cross country running, or XC, as we called it,
and discovered I had a knack for it.
I wasn't the fastest at sprints, and don't even get me started on
team sports. A disaster waiting to happen.
But give me a long stretch of trail and I could run for days.
It was my thing, my escape, and before I knew it I was dreaming
of snagging an athletic scholarship high school.
Maddie was a bit of an oddball, not quite fitting in with the
jocks or the nerds, but floating somewhere in between.
Running gave me a sense of belonging, and I clung to it
like a lifeline. My parents, ever practical, saw
it as a potential ticket to college, So with their cautious
encouragement, I dedicated myself to the sport, training
relentlessly in hopes of catching the eye of university
scouts. It wasn't easy.
Balancing school work with training sessions left me
perpetually exhausted and cranky.
Imagine trying to solve algebra equations after running 10 miles
in the rain. Not a pretty picture, but I had
my sights set on a scholarship and nothing was going to stand
in my way. Kaia, one of my teammates, was
in a similar boat. We were both chasing that
elusive scholarship dream, though I think she was more
about the academics than the running.
We weren't exactly best friends, but we understood each other in
a way that only teammates can. We shared the same goals, the
same fears, and as it turned out, the same race that would
change everything. As I listened to that missing
411 video, memories of Kaia and that fateful day flooded back.
It was like watching a movie of my own life, scenes playing out
with a clarity that took my breath away.
I remembered the anticipation, the adrenaline, and then the
confusion and terror of what happened next.
It was a day that would tie us together forever, a reminder of
how quickly things can change, how suddenly the familiar can
become unfamiliar. And just like that, a piece of
my past I thought was lost, came rushing back as vivid and
startling as if it had happened yesterday.
It was early May, and everything was in full bloom.
You could smell the fresh, earthy scent of spring in the
air, mixed with a hint of excitement and nervous energy.
That day was important for Kaia and me.
It wasn't just any race. It was our chance to shine, to
prove that all our hard work and sacrifices were worth it.
A scholarship was on the line, and we both knew it.
We strategized like it was a military operation, skip the
first water station to get ahead, power through to the
second, and then push ourselves to the limit before the final
stretch. It sounded simple in theory, but
executing it was going to take everything we had.
The Hawaii Lakes Trail was beautiful, a runner's dream with
its winding paths around the lake in the towering presence of
Mount Rainier in the distance. But that day, the beauty of the
trail was the last thing on my mind.
My focus was on the race, on keeping my pace steady and my
breathing even. Kaia and I started strong,
bypassing the first water station with a determined glance
at each other. We were In Sync, each step
propelling us forward, closer to our goal.
But as we approach the third station, something shifted.
I could feel it in the air, a sudden change that sent a shiver
down my spine. Kaia stopped abruptly, her
movements erratic and unlike her.
I watched, bewildered, as she began to undress, her focus
entirely removed from the race and me.
It was as if she was in a world of her own, unreachable and
distant. I called out to her confusion,
turning to concern, but she didn't respond.
She just kept stripping down, oblivious to my pleas.
In the race around us, panic set in.
This wasn't the Kayaia I knew. This was someone else, someone
driven by an unseen force. I tried to reach her to
breakthrough the barrier that had formed between us, but it
was like talking to a ghost. Then she started walking towards
the trees, naked and vulnerable. I didn't know what to do.
Part of me wanted to run for help, to leave her and fetch
someone who could make sense of the situation.
But another part, the part that had trained with her, laughed
with her and shared dreams of the future with her, refused to
leave her side. I shouted for help, my voice
echoing through the woods, desperate for someone, anyone,
to come, And when the race Marshall appeared, I thought we
were saved. But his reaction, a mix of shock
and disbelief, only added to the surreal nightmare unfolding
before me. He turned and left, promising to
bring help, but in that moment I felt utterly alone.
It was just me and Kaia in a race that had suddenly lost all
meaning. I grabbed her wrist, trying to
anchor her to reality to me, but she was lost, slipping further
away with every step she took into the woods.
I had to make a choice, then let her go or fight to bring her
back. I chose to fight, to hold on to
her even as she tried to break free.
I yelled, pleaded, and finally, in a moment of sheer
desperation, I used water in an attempt to snap her out of
whatever trance she was in. It didn't work.
She continued on her path, leaving me to grapple with the
fear of what might happen if I couldn't bring her back.
The race, the scholarship, our future, none of it mattered
anymore. All that mattered was Kaia and
the terrifying possibility that I might lose her to the woods,
to a mystery that neither of us understood.
After the race, life sort of went back to normal, or at least
as normal as it could get after something like that happens.
Kaia was OK physically. Everyone said it was just heat
stroke, a fluke thing that could happen to anyone if they push
too hard or forgot to stay hydrated.
But something about that explanation didn't sit right
with me. Sure, people get heat stroke,
but do they all react like Kaia did, stripping down and walking
into the woods like they're being called by something only
they can hear? It felt too simple, too neat of
an explanation for something that felt anything.
But I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Not just about what happened, but about what could have
happened. What if I hadn't been there?
What if I hadn't caught up to her?
Those questions haunted me, swirling around in my head until
they formed a current, too strong to ignore.
So I did what any teenager with Internet access and too much on
their mind does. I fell down a rabbit hole of
research. I started with heat stroke,
reading up on symptoms and treatments, trying to convince
myself that what happened to Kaya was just a medical issue.
But then one click led to another, and suddenly I was
reading about missing 411 cases about people who vanished into
thin air in national parks and wilderness areas.
The more I read, the more I saw patterns.
Not everyone who disappeared had stripped down, but enough of
them had for it to be a thing. A weird, unexplainable thing
that nobody had answers for. And then there was the video
that started it all, the one about Marin Kelly.
Her story was eerily similar to Kaya's, right down to the
stripping and walking into the woods.
Except Marin never came back. She disappeared without a trace,
leaving behind a mystery that seemed to have more questions
than answers. That's when it hit me.
What happened to Kaya wasn't just a one off.
It was part of something bigger, something darker, something that
nobody really understood. I spent nights glued to my
computer screen, reading forum posts and articles, watching
videos of interviews with search and rescue workers who'd seen
things they couldn't explain. The deeper I went, the more I
realized that we were lucky Kaia came back, so many others
didn't. The theories varied from the
plausible to the outlandish. Some said it was natural
phenomena like sudden weather changes or unknown environmental
toxins. Others talked about
psychological states, about how stress or fear could push a
person into doing things they wouldn't normally do.
And then there were the more out there theories, cryptids,
aliens, dimensional rifts. It was a lot to take in and most
of it sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie.
But after what I'd seen, I wasn't ready to discount
anything. The one thing that kept coming
up in my research was the idea of a fugue state, a temporary
amnesia that makes people forget who they are and what they're
doing. It was the only thing that made
sense, the only thing that explained how Kaia could have
done what she did without remembering any of it.
But what caused it, and why did it seem like the wilderness
itself was a trigger? I didn't have the answers.
Nobody did. But I knew one thing What
happened to Kaia wasn't just a fluke.
It was a warning, a glimpse into something that none of us really
understand. And as much as I wanted to
forget, to move on and pretend like it was all just a bad
dream, I couldn't. Because somewhere out there, in
the woods and the wild places of the world, something was
happening. Something that could take you
away, leaving nothing behind but questions and shadows.
And the scariest part? I wasn't sure we were ever meant
to find the answers. As weeks turned into months, the
memory of the race and Kaya's inexplicable behavior lingered
like a shadow, never quite leaving my side.
Life moved forward, as it always does, with the rhythm of school
running and the everyday routine smoothing over the jagged edges
of that day. But beneath the surface,
questions bubbled up. Stubborn and persistent, I found
myself looking at the world differently.
The trails I once ran with abandoned now seem to whisper
secrets hidden just beyond my understanding.
The woods, with their deep shadows and rustling leaves,
felt like they were watching, waiting.
It was as though I had glimpsed behind a curtain I wasn't
supposed to know existed, and now I couldn't Unsee it.
Kaia and I didn't talk much about what happened.
It was like an unspoken agreement, a mutual
understanding that some things are too strange, too unsettling,
to put into words. She recovered, physically at
least, and we both threw ourselves into our running.
But the camaraderie we once shared was tinged with an
undercurrent of unease. The missing 411 stories, once a
morbid curiosity, now felt too close to home.
I couldn't shake the feeling that Kaya and I had skirted the
edge of something profound and terrifying.
The theories I'd read about, from environmental toxins to
psychological states, offered no real comfort.
They were just guesses in the dark.
Attempts to explain the unexplainable.
As graduation approached, the future loomed large, full of
possibilities and uncertainties. I was leaving behind the trails
and woods of high school, moving on to college and whatever came
next. But the mystery of what happened
to Kaia and to all those who had vanished without a trace
remained unsolved. It was a reminder that for all
our progress and knowledge, there are still things in this
world beyond our control, beyond our understanding.
I thought about Kaia's brief journey into the unknown, how
close we had come to a different ending.
What if I hadn't been there? What if she had disappeared like
Marin Kelly, leaving behind a void filled with questions and
grief. It was a thought too painful to
dwell on, yet impossible to ignore.
As I packed up my room preparing for the move to college, I came
across my running shoes, worn and dusty from miles of
training. They were a tangible link to
that day, to the person I was before.
I understood how quickly everything could change.
I realized then that I was taking more with me than just
memories and hopes for the future.
I was carrying a sense of caution, a respect for the
unknown that I hadn't had before.
The world is full of mysteries, of stories that defy
explanation. Some might find that terrifying,
but I've come to see it as a reminder of the vastness of our
existence, of the infinite possibilities that lie just
beyond our understanding. We may not find all the answers,
but perhaps it's enough to keep asking the questions, to keep
seeking even when the path leads into the shadows.
As I stepped into the next chapter of my life, I carried
with me the lessons of that race.
The knowledge that we are all just visitors here, navigating a
world that holds more wonders and mysteries than we could ever
hope to understand. And maybe in the end, that's
what makes life so endlessly fascinating.
The search, the journey, and the unanswered questions that keep
us looking. Always looking for what lies
beyond the next bend in the trail.