It started with a dumb idea, as most nights like this do, I
couldn't sleep, so I figured why not.
Sneaking out was easy, my parents are heavy sleepers and
my window open straight to the porch roof.
Within 5 minutes I was out the door hopping onto my ATV with my
phone buzzing in my pocket. I texted Ryan and Tyler to meet
me at the grain silo. Bring whatever you've got, I
wrote. By whatever I meant.
Beer, snacks, maybe something to make the night feel less boring.
The woods always felt different at night, like they had secrets
to share if you were stupid enough to listen.
Tonight, I was stupid enough. The ride to the silo was
uneventful, but the woods on either side of the dirt path
felt wrong. No crickets, no wind, just the
hum of my ATV and the crunch of gravel under the tires.
I shook it off and reached the silo, parking near its rusted
frame. Ryan and Tyler showed up minutes
later, headlights cutting through the darkness like
searchlights in enemy territory. Ethan, you're a lunatic for
dragging us out here. Ryan said, grinning as he pulled
out a six pack from his bag. Tyler followed, holding a
flashlight and a bag of chips. Shut up, you'll thank me later.
I shot back, but even as we laughed, I felt it.
A wait in the air, like the woods were leaning in to listen.
We hopped on our ATVs and headed toward the clearing.
The ride was bumpy, the trees closing in as the path narrowed.
Tyler's flashlight beam bounced wildly, catching shadows that
moved just a little too fast. My heart thudded, but I kept my
eyes forward, refusing to let my imagination get the better of
me. The clearing came into view, a
small circle of open space surrounded by towering oaks.
I'd set it up months ago, dragging old lawn chairs and
setting up a fire pit. The three of us killed the
engines and the sudden silence was deafening.
Ryan tossed some wood into the pit while I struck a match.
Soon flames danced and cracked, pushing back the darkness.
The first beer cracked open, then another.
We laughed, talked about school, and teased Tyler for being
jumpy. The firelight played tricks on
his face, making him look pale and wide eyed.
You guys ever hear about those things in the woods?
He asked, his voice low. Oh, great, Ryan groaned.
Here we go. I'm serious, Tyler said, leaning
forward. My grandpa told me about these
things. People see them out here
sometimes. Tall, skinny, almost human, but
not. Yeah, yeah, and they eat kids
like you. Ryan quipped, chucking an empty
can at him. Tyler ducked, but his eyes
flicked to the trees again. He wasn't joking.
I laughed it off, but Tyler's words stuck.
The woods were so dark tonight, the kind of darkness that
presses against your skin. The firelight only made it
worse, creating shadows that felt too solid.
That's when we heard it. A sound like, I don't know, like
a growl, but deeper, almost guttural.
It came from somewhere behind us, far enough to dismiss, but
close enough to set my teeth on edge.
What the hell was that? Tyler whispered.
Coyotes. Ryan said, though his voice
lacked its usual confidence. He tossed another log onto the
fire, and the sparks shot up like tiny fireworks.
The noise came again, this time closer, accompanied by the
faintest snap of a branch. My chest tightened.
I stood up, trying to act casual.
I'm going to check out that trail over there.
I said, jerking my thumb toward a barely visible gap in the
trees. My stomach flipped as the words
left my mouth, but I couldn't back down.
Now alone. Have fun getting eaten.
Ryan joked, though there was a hint of nervousness in his
smirk. I climbed onto my ATV, heart
pounding. The growl came again, this time
sharper, almost deliberate, like it wanted me to hear.
I gunned the engine and rode into the darkness, leaving the
safety of the fire behind. The trail was tighter than I
remembered, overgrown and barely navigable.
My headlights barely pierced the thick underbrush, casting long,
eerie shadows. The silence out here was even
worse. No bugs, no birds, just the low
hum of my engine. I should have turned back.
Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, but I didn't.
And then I saw them. Two glowing eyes in the
distance, not reflective like a deer's, but glowing, a sickly
amber that burned through the darkness.
I froze, gripping the handlebars so tight my knuckles hurt.
The eyes blinked once, and a shape emerged.
My breath caught as I took it in.
Tall, hunched, with matted fur hanging from a gaunt frame.
It looked like it had been pieced together wrong.
Joints bent in ways that shouldn't be possible.
Legs too long, arms too thin. I tried to convince myself it
was a coyote. A sick coyote, maybe rabid.
But when it stood upright, its head almost grazing the branches
above, I knew better. It tilted its head like it was
studying me. Then it took a step forward.
I didn't wait to see what it wanted.
I turned the ATV around so fast I nearly tipped it and floored
it back down the trail. Behind me, I heard it move fast.
Too fast. Branches snapped and the
guttural growl grew into a shriek, high pitched and
unnatural. It was chasing me.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
I tore through the woods, dodging trees and praying the
engine wouldn't stall. The trail opened up into the
clearing, and I skidded to a stop, nearly slamming into the
fire pit, but Ryan and Tyler were gone.
Their chairs were overturned, beer cans scattered, and the
fire was dying, embers barely glowing in the dark.
The shriek came again, closer now, and I realized with a
sickening jolt I wasn't alone. I sat there, straddling my ATV,
my chest heaving and my eyes darting around the clearing.
The fire was nothing more than a smoldering pit, sending up thin
wisps of smoke. Ryan and Tyler's ATVs were still
there, headlights dim and flickering, but they were
nowhere to be seen. My brain scrambled for an
explanation. Maybe they got scared and ran
back home. Maybe they were messing with me.
But deep down, I knew better. The growl came again, low and
guttural, from somewhere in the trees.
My stomach dropped. It wasn't close, but it wasn't
far either. It moved, circling, stalking.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet felt nailed to
the ground. Ryan Tyler.
I yelled into the void, my voice cracking.
The only response was the crackle of damp wood collapsing
in the fire pit. I killed the AT VS engine,
hoping for silence. Big mistake.
The moment the hum stopped, the forest came alive with sound.
Branches snapping, leaves, rustling footsteps, Heavy,
deliberate footsteps. Whatever was out there wanted me
to know it was coming. I scanned the tree line, and
that's when I saw them again, the eyes glowing amber just like
before, but now they bobbed and swayed as the creature moved
closer. My throat tightened.
I forced myself to breathe, gripping the handlebars like
they could somehow save me. The creature emerged slowly,
stepping out from the shadows like it had all the time in the
world. It was worse than I'd imagined.
Its skin hung in loose patches, fur clinging to a frame that was
all wrong, Legs too long, shoulders hunched unnaturally
high. Its head tilted at an angle that
made me feel sick, like it was broken.
And those teeth jagged, uneven, stained with something dark.
It was grinning at me. I fumble with the key, trying to
restart the ATV. The engine sputtered but
wouldn't catch. Come on.
I hissed, twisting the key again and again.
The creature let out a shriek, a piercing, distorted sound that
rattled my skull. It started toward me.
It steps quick and jerky. Adrenaline took over.
I jumped off the ATV and bolted, weaving between trees, not
caring where I was going as long as it was away from that thing.
My breath came in short, ragged gasps and my legs burned as I
pushed harder, faster. I could hear it behind me, its
heavy footfalls crashing through the underbrush.
I don't know how long I ran. Time didn't exist.
There was only the pounding of my heart and the sound of that
thing closing in. I tripped once, slamming hard
into the dirt, and for a split second I thought it was over.
But when I looked back I saw nothing.
Just darkness and the faintest hint of movement in the shadows.
I scrambled to my feet and kept running.
Eventually I stumbled onto a structure, a shack, old and
rotting, barely standing. It looked like something out of
a horror movie, the kind of place you avoid unless you're
desperate. I was desperate.
I threw myself inside, slamming the door shut and pressing my
back against it. The air inside was thick with
the smell of mould and something else, something metallic and
sour. My flashlight flickered as I
scanned the room. The walls were covered in claw
marks, deep grooves that splintered the wood.
A pile of old, tattered clothes sat in the corner, next to a
rusted hunting knife and empty cans of food.
Whoever had been here before, they hadn't left in a hurry.
The footsteps outside stopped. My breath hitched.
I leaned against the door, straining to hear anything over
the pounding in my ears. For a moment it was silent.
Then a slow, deliberate scratch started at the base of the door,
working its way up. I bit back a scream, pressing
harder against the door as if that would make a difference.
The scratching stopped. Then came a sound that made my
stomach churn, the thing sniffing deep and guttural, like
it was tasting the air. My flashlight flickered again,
and in its weak beam, I saw the edges of the door frame start to
bend inward. It was testing the door,
pushing, pulling, as if deciding whether it was worth breaking
down. I clutched the hunting knife
from the floor, gripping it so tight my knuckles ached.
Please, I whispered to no one in particular.
Please just go away. The door shuddered, but it
didn't break. After a few agonizing minutes,
the sniffing faded, replaced by the sound of retreating
footsteps. I waited, counting each second,
until the silence felt suffocating.
When I finally dared to peek out the window, the clearing was
empty. The glowing eyes were gone, but
I knew it wasn't over, Not even close.
I didn't stay in the shack. My legs felt like Jelly, but I
forced myself to run again, trying to retrace my steps.
Every shadow, every rustle of leaves sent jolts of terror
through me. I reached the clearing where the
fire had been, but it was completely extinguished now, the
darkness absolute. The chairs were toppled, Ryan
and Tyler's ATVs still abandoned, but they were nowhere
to be found. Ryan Tyler.
I screamed into the night, but only silence answered.
And then the sound returned, the growl deep and guttural from the
direction of the tree line. My head snapped toward it, and I
saw the eyes again, closer this time.
I didn't wait. I ran toward the path that led
home, the creatures distorted shrieks chasing me the entire
way. I don't remember running out of
the woods. My legs just carried me, blind
and automatic, like some primal part of me had taken over.
All I knew was the sound, the creature's shrieks, unnatural
and echoing, growing closer with every step.
My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I couldn't stop.
I wouldn't stop. The clearing finally gave way to
the edge of the field, and I spotted it.
Our old station wagon, half sunken into the weeds like it
had been swallowed by the earth. My chest tightened with hope and
dread. If I could just get to it, but I
knew that thing was right behind me.
I stumbled to the car, yanking the door handle so hard I
thought it might snap off. It opened with a groan and I
threw myself inside, slamming it shut and locking the doors.
The old, familiar smell of dust and oil hit me, a cruel reminder
of all the times I'd played in this car as a kid.
I crouched low in the back seat, panting, trying to catch my
breath. My hands shook so badly I had to
clench them into fists. For a moment, there was silence.
No footsteps, no growls. Just the soft sound of rain
starting to fall, pattering against the car's metal roof.
I let out a shaky breath, daring to believe I'd outrun it.
But then, through the fogged glass, I saw them.
Those glowing amber eyes emerging from the tree line.
They floated closer, unblinking, cutting through the dark like
twin lanterns. My heart felt like it stopped.
The creature was walking toward the car, slow and deliberate,
its head tilting side to side as if it were studying me.
I ducked lower, trying to make myself invisible, but it was too
late. It knew I was there.
I could hear it now, its breathing wet and laboured,
mixed with a low growl that made my skin crawl.
It circled the car, its long claws dragging across the
windows with a high pitched screech.
I covered my ears, but it didn't help.
The sound went straight to my brain, like nails scraping
across bone. I had to think, I had to do
something. That's when I remembered my
dad's rifle. He always kept it in the car for
emergencies. I reached under the back seat,
fumbling blindly until my fingers brushed against cold
metal. There it was.
I pulled it out, my hands trembling as I checked the
chamber. 3 bullets. That was it.
The creature stopped scratching. I froze, clutching the rifle,
straining to hear through the pounding rain.
And then, with a sickening crunch, its face appeared in the
back window. It was inches from me, its teeth
bared in a grotesque grin. I could see the blackened gums,
the jagged edges of its teeth, and the hollow pits of its eyes,
glowing with that horrible light.
My breath hitched, and I instinctively raised the rifle.
I fired. The shot shattered the window,
sending glass everywhere, but I missed.
The creature shrieked, a deafening guttural sound that
made my ears ring. It clawed at the back of the
car, ripping through metal like it was paper.
I scrambled into the front seat, desperate to put more space
between us. The keys.
My dad always kept the keys in the glove box.
I flung it open, my hands searching frantically outside.
The creature slammed against the car, rocking it back and forth.
The metal groaned and the roof started to cave.
My fingers closed around the keys just as the passenger door
wrenched open. It reached inside, its long,
twisted arm grabbing at me. I screamed, slamming the door
shut on its hand over and over until it let out a howl and
pulled back. My hand found the ignition, and
I twisted the key. The engine sputtered.
Come on, I begged. Come on, It roared to life.
Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the gas.
The car lurched forward, throwing the creature off
balance. I turned the wheel hard, aiming
straight for it. The headlights illuminated its
full form. Too tall, too thin.
Its limbs contorted like a spider's.
I clenched my teeth and hit the gas.
The car collided with it, the impact sending a sickening thud
through the cabin. It crumpled, folding unnaturally
beneath the car. But I didn't stop.
I kept going, dragging at several feet before the car
stalled again. For a moment, everything was
still. Rain pelted the windshield and
steam hissed from the engine. I dared to look back.
The creature was lying there, motionless, its glowing eyes
finally dimmed. I let out a shaky breath,
gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned
white. But as I opened the door to get
out, I saw something that made my blood run cold.
The creature's hand twitched. No, I whispered.
No, no, no. I grabbed the rifle and ran.
I didn't care where I was going, as long as it was away from that
thing. The rain was blinding, the mud
pulling at my shoes, but I kept moving.
When I finally reached the edge of the woods, I turned back.
It was standing there in the middle of the field, watching
me. Its head tilted again, as if
amused. My breath caught in my throat.
I didn't wait. I ran the rest of the way home,
bursting through the door and locking it behind me.
I collapsed in the entryway, soaked and trembling, listening
to the rain hammering against the windows.
I didn't sleep that night. I sat in the corner of my room,
clutching the rifle, staring at the door.
The next morning, I went back. The car was there, battered and
bloodied, but the creature was gone.
No body, no tracks, just deep gouges in the dirt and the
twisted remains of the station wagon.
Ryan and Tyler were still missing.
I checked their houses, but neither of them had come home.
Tyler's parents said he'd called muttering something about the
woods, but Ryan, nothing. The worst part?
That night, as I sat in my room, I heard it again, the growl,
faint but unmistakable. It's still out there.
I don't know what to do. I write this now to warn as many
people as possible. Be careful when going into the
woods. There's a certain kind of
silence you only find in the wilderness.
At first it feels peaceful, like you're wrapped in a blanket of
trees and fresh air, miles away from the chaos of city life.
But after a while, it gets oppressive, like the world's
forgotten. You're there.
That's what hit me on the first night of the trip.
Jonah and I had been best friends forever, and this
weekend camping trip was our way of escaping the stress of senior
year. No assignments, no college apps,
just the two of us, a couple of fishing rods and the forest.
We pitched our tents near the edge of a lake surrounded by
towering trees that swayed gently in the breeze.
The first day was perfect. We fished, built a fire, and
grilled up the one trout Jonah managed to catch.
He was always better at that outdoorsy stuff than me.
We laughed a lot, mostly at me falling into the lake trying to
reel in a line. By the time the sun dipped below
the horizon, I felt like we were exactly where we were meant to
be. But then came the night.
I should have known something was off when the crickets
stopped. It was so gradual I didn't even
notice at first. One second their chirping was
everywhere, a comforting white noise, and the next nothing,
Just the sound of the lake lapping against the shore and
the faint rustling of leaves. Jonah, you hear that?
I whispered, trying not to sound paranoid.
He looked up from the fire, the glow casting shadows across his
face. Hear what exactly?
It's too quiet. Jonah chuckled, tossing another
log onto the flames. Dude, you're just used to
Portland noise. No honking cars or barking dogs
out here. Relax.
But I couldn't. The silence was suffocating.
And then came the noises. At first, it sounded like a wolf
howling in the distance. That would have been creepy
enough, but then it shifted. The howl turned into something
else, like a bird call, sharp and shrill, but weirdly human,
like someone imitating it. It didn't stop there.
The sounds melted together, twisting into something
unnatural, something alive. I stared into the darkness, my
stomach nodding. OK, you heard that right?
Jonah paused, his grin faltering for just a second before he
shook his head. Chill out, Eli, it's probably
just the wind or some birds messing around.
I didn't buy it, but I didn't want to argue either.
Jonah was the type who never took anything seriously, and I
didn't want to ruin the trip with my paranoia.
We eventually turned in for the night, each retreating to our
own tents. I tried to focus on my
breathing, on the comforting glow of the Lantern hanging
above me, but my mind wouldn't let go of those sounds.
Just as I was starting to drift off, I heard it.
Footsteps, light and quick at first, like a small animal
skittering through the underbrush.
Then they grew heavier, more deliberate, circling the
campsite. My heart raced.
I wanted to unzip the tent, but some primal part of me screamed
to stay put, to stay hidden. The footsteps stopped directly
outside my tent. Jonah.
I hissed as quietly as I could. Jonah, what the hell are you
doing? No response.
I held my breath, straining to listen.
The zipper of Jonah's tent slid open and I exhaled, relieved.
Jonah. I said again, louder this time.
What? He whispered back, annoyed.
Don't go out there, it could be a wolf or chill.
Eli, I've got my knife, I'll check it out.
Before I could argue, I heard him step out, his boots
crunching softly against the dirt.
The lighter footsteps, whatever had been circling us, vanished.
Jonah moved around the campsite, his footsteps slow and
methodical. Then they stopped, and the
silence returned. My gut twisted in on itself.
Minutes felt like hours. I clenched the edge of my
sleeping bag, my ears straining for any sound.
Finally, I heard him again. Heavy steps, uneven, dragging
slightly. Jonah.
I called, unzipping my tent just enough to peek out.
He stood at the edge of the firelight, his silhouette dark
against the faint glow. His clothes were torn, dirt
streaked across his shirt. A long, jagged cut ran from the
center of his chest to his ribs. Holy crap, Jonah, what happened?
I scrambled out, rushing to him. He stared at me, his eyes blank
and glassy. For the first time since I'd met
him, Jonah didn't have that easy grin, that spark of mischief.
His face was empty. Jonah, talk to me, man, what's
going on? He blinked slowly, like he was
waking up from a dream night. He muttered, his voice flat and
wrong. Then he turned and stumbled into
his tent, leaving me standing there, heart pounding.
I didn't sleep that night, how could I?
Every noise, every rustle of leaves felt like a threat.
I sat by the fire until the sun came up, my mind racing with
questions. In the morning, Jonah acted like
nothing had happened. He barely spoke, just packed his
gear and tossed his bloodied shirt into the woods like it was
trash. I didn't press him, I should
have, but some part of me already knew I wasn't talking to
Jonah anymore. When we got back to town,
something in me was desperate to believe that everything would go
back to normal. I clung to the idea that Jonah
just needed some sleep, a hot meal, and a little time to shake
off whatever had happened out there.
But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.
Whatever came back with me wasn't Jonah.
It started small. We'd barely gotten out of the
car when Jonah froze on the sidewalk outside my house.
He stared blankly at the street, the way you might stare at a
math problem you couldn't figure out.
You good? I asked, slinging my bag over my
shoulder. Yeah.
He hesitated. Where's your house?
I laughed, waiting for the punchline, but it didn't come.
Jonah, you've been here like 100 times.
It's right there. Oh, right.
He followed me inside, walking stiffly, like his body wasn't
quite sure how to move. I brushed it off at first.
Maybe he was tired, maybe something had scared him in the
woods, whatever. But then things got weirder.
My mom had made lasagna for dinner, her way of welcoming
Jonah back. He loved her cooking, always
piling his plate high. This time, he didn't eat a bite.
He just sat there, watching us. Not hungry?
My mom asked, smiling at him. Jonah blinked like he'd
forgotten she was there. I'm fine.
His voice was flat, monotone. The Jonah I knew couldn't keep a
straight face to save his life, but now he looked like a
mannequin, his expression empty, his movement stiff and awkward.
I tried to ignore it, but the more time I spent around him,
the more wrong it felt. That night, we went up to my
room to play video games. Jonah used to be obsessed with
beating me, always leaning into the competitive banter.
This time, he just stared at the screen, his hands slack around
the controller. You're not even trying?
I said, nudging him. He didn't respond.
Jonah. His head snapped toward me, his
eyes locking onto mine in a way that made my stomach flip.
What? I laughed nervously.
Dude, you're acting weird. He didn't laugh, he didn't say
anything. He just stared.
It wasn't until later, when I was getting ready for bed, that
I realized how bad things had gotten.
I stepped out of the bathroom and saw Jonah standing in the
hallway, perfectly still, his face turned toward my little
brother's room. Jonah, what the hell are you
doing? I whispered, my voice sharp.
He didn't flinch. I asked you a question.
I said, louder this time. Finally, he turned to me, slow
and deliberate. Just wanted to see how he
sleeps. I froze, every instinct
screaming at me that this wasn't my best friend.
That's really not OK, man. He tilted his head slightly,
like he was trying to figure out if he'd said something wrong.
Sorry. Then he walked past me, back to
my room like nothing had happened.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept replaying his words, his
tone, the way he stared into my brother's room like he was
studying him. It didn't make sense.
Jonah wasn't like this. He'd never been like this.
The next morning I tried to get him to talk about the woods,
about what happened that night. He shrugged it off, refusing to
make eye contact. Nothing happened, he said.
Jonah, come on, You were bleeding.
Your clothes were torn. Something happened out there.
His jaw tightened, and for the first time I saw anger flash in
his eyes, quick, sharp, and gone in an instant.
I said Nothing happened. I backed off, but the unease
kept growing. Every time I looked at him, I
felt like I was staring at a stranger wearing Jonah's skin.
That night, I tried to distract myself by diving into the
Internet, looking up anything I could find about the forest.
Stories of hauntings, disappearances, and cryptids
filled the screen. But one thing kept coming up.
Tales of shape shifters, creatures that could mimic their
victims perfectly, down to their memories and mannerisms.
One account stuck with me. A man wrote about how his wife
had changed overnight. She came back from a camping
trip, distant and cold, watching him with a predator's gaze.
He described hearing her voice outside the house when she was
supposed to be asleep inside. I slammed the laptop shut, my
pulse racing. Jonah wasn't Jonah.
The realization settled over me like a weight I couldn't shake.
Every little moment. His stiffness, his silence, the
way he stared at my family, it all fit.
Something had taken him, something was wearing his face,
and I had no idea what it wanted.
Around midnight, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
They were heavy and deliberate, stopping right outside my door.
Eli. Jonah's voice called softly.
I froze. You awake?
He asked, his tone sweet and calm but somehow off.
I didn't answer. The doorknob jiggled.
Eli let me in. I need to talk to you.
I stared at the shadow of his feet under the door, my heart
hammering in my chest. The doorknob stopped moving, but
he didn't leave. He stood there, silent, waiting.
And then he said it. It's OK.
I just want to see how you sleep.
I didn't sleep that night. I didn't know if I'd ever sleep
again. The next day, Jonah was gone.
He left without a word. No note, no text.
At first, I felt a strange mix of relief and dread.
Relief that I didn't have to see his hollow, alien eyes watching
me any more. And dread because I knew this
wasn't over. Whatever Jonah had become, he
wasn't done with me. That night, I barricaded myself
in my room. I piled my dresser, desk, and
even my mattress against the door.
I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my mom's gun
in my lap. I'd stolen it from her drawer
that morning, feeling ridiculous and terrified all at once.
I didn't even know how to use it properly, but it felt better to
have something, anything, to defend myself.
The house was quiet. Too quiet, the kind of silence
that makes your ears strain for any sound, no matter how small.
I stared at the shadows stretching across my room, every
Creek of the floorboards outside making my pulse spike.
And then, just after midnight, I heard it.
A knock at the front door. It wasn't loud or hurried, just
three calm, deliberate knocks. My mom was at work, and my
little brother was staying at a friend's house, so I was alone.
At least, I thought I was. I crept to the window, peeking
through the blinds. My stomach dropped.
Jonah was standing on the porch, his face illuminated by the pale
glow of the porch light. Eli.
He called softly. His voice carried through the
still night, too loud and too clear.
It's me, let me in. I stayed silent, hoping he'd
leave. Come on, man.
He said, his tone light, almost cheerful.
I just want to talk. I clenched the gun tighter, my
fingers trembling. He knocked again, harder this
time. Eli.
He said, his voice shifting, taking on a sharp edge.
Don't make me wait. When I didn't answer, his tone
changed again. It's softened, warm and
familiar. Eli, please, it's Jonah, your
best friend. Don't you trust me?
My breath caught in my throat. He sounded so much like the old
Jonah, the one I'd grown up with.
For a split second I wanted to believe it was him, but then he
started laughing. It wasn't a normal laugh.
It started low and guttural, bubbling up into something high
pitched and maniacal. The sound scraped against my
nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
Let me in, Eli. He whispered, his voice suddenly
right outside my bedroom window. I whipped my head toward the
window, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The blinds rattled as his hand slid across the glass.
You can't hide forever. He said, his voice dark and
syrupy. I'm coming in.
The front door rattled as he began pounding on it.
The sound echoed through the house, each blow more violent
than the last. I backed into the corner of my
room, the gun shaking in my hands.
The pounding stopped abruptly, and the silence that followed
was worse. Eli.
A new voice called my mom's voice.
Sweetie, it's me, let me in. My blood ran cold.
Mom. I whispered, my voice cracking.
Her voice came again, soft and pleading.
I forgot my key. Please, honey, open the door.
No, I muttered, shaking my head. That's not you.
Yes, it is. She insisted, her voice rising
in pitch. Open the door, Eli.
You're scaring me. I clamped my hands over my ears,
trying to drown her out. The door to my bedroom rattled
as something pressed against it. Eli, my mom's voice said, now
deeper, distorted. Don't you love me?
Stop it, I screamed, tears streaming down my face.
The rattling stopped, replaced by heavy, dragging footsteps in
the hallway. They moved past my door, heading
toward the stairs. I scrambled to the window,
peering outside. Jonah was gone, but the front
door was wide open, swinging gently in the breeze.
Then I heard it. A wet sloshing sound coming from
downstairs. It was faint at first, but grew
louder, like something heavy and slimy was being dragged across
the floor. I pressed my back against the
wall, clutching the gun to my chest.
The sound stopped directly below me, and the ceiling creaked
under the weight of something massive.
My heart pounded as I heard it start climbing the stairs.
Slow, deliberate steps, each one heavier than the last.
I aimed the gun at the door, my hands shaking so badly I could
barely keep it steady. The steps stopped outside my
room. Eli.
Jonah's voice said, low and guttural.
You can't hide from me. The door splintered as something
slammed into it. The dresser shifted the
barricade, barely holding. I screamed, pulling the trigger.
The gun roared, the sound deafening in the confined space.
The door cracked, and something wet splattered against the
floor. The pounding stopped.
I held my breath, listening to the silence.
Then I heard it. A wet Slytherin sound, followed
by a low, guttural laugh. You can't kill me, Eli.
Jonah said, his voice distorted and layered, like 100 voices
speaking at once. The door burst open and I fired
again, but it was too late. The thing that used to be Jonah
stood in the doorway, its human facade melting away.
Its skin sagged and tore, revealing a mass of black, oily
tendrils writhing beneath its face.
My face stared back at me, its lips curling into a grotesque
grin. Your turn, it whispered.
I don't remember much after that, just pain and darkness.
If you're reading this, stay out of the woods.
And if someone you know comes back wrong, don't wait.
Run. The first thing I noticed about
Uncle Jack's house was how exposed it felt.
It was big, bigger than anything I'd ever lived in, but it didn't
feel safe. The walls weren't really walls,
not like normal houses. They were glass.
Almost every single one floor to ceiling windows stretched across
the entire back of the house, facing nothing but endless
trees. It felt like stepping into a
fishbowl with the woods watching from all sides.
Danny thought it was amazing. He ran from room to room,
pressing his hands and face against the windows like a kid
at the zoo. Look Lizzie, you can see
everything. He shouted, his voice echoing
through the cavernous space. I didn't feel like looking.
The trees were too close, their dark branches tangled like a net
that could snare the house at any moment.
The whole place felt wrong. Pretty cool, huh?
Uncle Jack's voice startled me. He was standing behind me,
grinning like he'd just won an award.
I designed it myself. Seamless, living with nature.
It's what the magazines call modern rustic.
I forced a smile and nodded, but all I could think was how easy
it would be for something or someone to see us without us
seeing them. The forest pressed in on the
House, dense and unrelenting. The nearest neighbour was miles
away. I hated it already.
That first night, I couldn't sleep.
The guest room Uncle Jack gave me was at the far end of the
house, separated from the rest of my family by a long hallway
that seemed to stretch forever. My room was small, but it had
the same glass wall facing the woods.
No curtains, no blinds, just an uninterrupted view of pitch
black trees. I lay there, staring at the
glass, too scared to close my eyes.
The forest outside was completely still.
No wind, no sound, just shadows. Deep, endless shadows.
My heart was pounding and I didn't even know why.
I told myself I was being ridiculous, that nothing was out
there. But then I heard it.
Tap, tap, tap. It was faint, but unmistakable.
I sat up in bed, every muscle in my body frozen.
The sound came again, slow and deliberate.
It was coming from the glass. I didn't want to look, but I
couldn't stop myself. I slid out of bed and crept
toward the window, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor.
The tapping stopped. My breath fogged up the glass as
I leaned in close, peering out into the darkness.
There was nothing, just the trees, their branches swaying
slightly in the still air. But the ground near the edge of
the woods looked disturbed, like something had been moving there.
I stared for what felt like forever, waiting for something
to move. Go to sleep, I whispered to
myself, backing away from the window.
I climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over my head,
as if that could protect me. I didn't sleep.
The next morning, I tried to forget about it.
Danny was already outside, running through the yard and
waving a stick around like it was a sword.
My mom was busy in the kitchen with Uncle Jack, talking about
something boring like paperwork or groceries.
I decided to check out the yard, hoping the sunlight would make
me feel less uneasy. Lizzie, look at this.
Danny yelled, dragging me toward the edge of the woods.
He'd found something in the dirt, a deep groove carved into
the ground, jagged and messy, like a giant claw had raked
through it. It's just an animal, I said
quickly, pulling him away. But the truth was, I had no idea
what could have made a mark like that.
It was too big, too deliberate. I glanced at the tree line and
thought I saw something, a shadow moving between the
trunks, but when I blinked, it was gone.
That night, I couldn't shake the feeling that the house wasn't as
empty as it seemed. The windows felt like eyes, and
the woods outside felt alive, like they were waiting for
something. I didn't tell anyone about the
tapping or the shadow, not even Danny.
He'd just laugh, and my mom had enough to deal with.
I went to bed early, hoping that if I fell asleep fast enough I
wouldn't have time to think about the glass wall or the dark
shapes in the trees. But as I lay there, staring at
the ceiling, I heard it again. Tap, tap, tap.
This time, it wasn't faint. It was loud and deliberate, like
someone or something was trying to get my attention.
I gripped the blanket tight, my heart hammering in my chest.
I didn't move. The tapping stopped, but then I
heard another sound, softer, almost like scratching, tracing
along the edge of the glass. I wanted to scream, but I
clamped my hand over my mouth. Slowly, I turned my head toward
the window. The glass was empty, just like
before. But then, in the moonlight, I
saw them. Marks, long and thin, etched
into the surface of the glass. They hadn't been there before.
I didn't sleep that night either.
The first time I heard it, I thought I was dreaming.
I woke to the sound of my mom's voice, soft and calm, calling my
name from somewhere down the hall.
Lizzie, She said, her tone so warm and familiar it eased the
nod of fear that had been sitting in my chest since we
arrived. Lizzie, I need you.
Still half asleep, I pushed the blanket off and swung my legs
over the side of the bed. The house was cold and the floor
creaked beneath my feet as I shuffled toward the door.
Her voice called again, this time from the living room.
Lizzie, come here, I need your help.
Something about it didn't sit right.
The hallway was pitch black, and the farther I walked, the less
her voice sounded like hers. There was a sharpness to it now,
an edge that didn't belong to my mother.
It grew deeper as I approached the living room, almost guttural
but still unmistakably calling my name.
I stopped just before the living room doorway, suddenly wide
awake. The room beyond was bathed in
faint moonlight, spilling in through the massive glass wall.
Outside the woods were a wall of darkness, the trees swaying ever
so slightly. My mom wasn't there.
No one was. Just the empty couch and the
silent forest. I blinked hard and stumbled
back, the fog of sleep clearing all at once.
My heart raced as I realized I wasn't dreaming.
I turned and ran back to my room, slamming the door shut
behind me. I crawled into bed and pulled
the blanket over my head shaking.
For the rest of the night, I stayed awake, listening for the
voice to call me again. It didn't.
The next morning, I convinced myself it had to be a dream.
I didn't mention it to anyone, not even Danny.
He wouldn't have believed me anyway.
But the uneasiness stayed with me, following me through the day
like a shadow. Danny spent the afternoon
exploring the woods again. I didn't want to go with him
this time, not after what I'd heard.
I stood by the window instead, watching him run through the
trees with the same stick he'd been playing with since we got
here. For a moment, everything seemed
normal, until he stopped. He was standing near the edge of
the woods, staring at something on the ground.
I could see his shoulders tense, the stick slipping from his
hand. Then he turned and sprinted back
toward the house, his face pale. By the time he burst through the
door, he was out of breath, his eyes wide.
There's something out there. He gasped.
It's dead, all torn up. What's dead?
I asked, my stomach sinking. I don't know.
Some animal. It's huge, though.
He hesitated, glancing back at the door.
I think something dragged it there.
There were marks, claw marks. Uncle Jack overheard and brushed
it off, saying it was probably a coyote.
But Danny wouldn't stop talking about the claw marks, about how
deep they were, how whatever made them must have been
massive. I tried to push the thought out
of my mind, but when I looked out the window again, I swore I
saw movement between the trees, a dark shape slipping behind a
trunk. The second time the voice called
me, it wasn't my mom, it was my dad.
It had been years since I'd heard his voice, but I
recognized it instantly. Lizzie.
He called, his tone pleading. Lizzie, come talk to me.
I sat up in bed, my head spinning.
I knew it wasn't possible. He wasn't here, he wasn't
anywhere. But his voice was so real, so
desperate, that I found myself standing and walking toward the
door. I felt detached, like my body
was moving on its own. The living room was the same as
before, silent, empty and bathed in cold moonlight.
But this time, there was something new.
A figure stood by the glass wall, its back to me, staring
out into the woods. It looked like him, but
something was off. His shoulders were hunched, his
posture rigid, and his hands hung limply at his sides.
Dad. I whispered, my voice trembling.
The figure turned slowly, and I stumbled back.
Its face wasn't my dad's. It wasn't anyone's.
Its skin was smooth and pale like wax, with hollow
depressions where eyes should have been.
Its mouth was stretched into a wide, unnatural grin.
I woke up in my bed, gasping for air.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.
The room was silent, but I could still feel its presence, like a
lingering shadow in the corner of my vision.
For the next few nights, I refused to leave my room after
dark. I kept the door shut and stayed
under the covers, too scared to even peek out the window.
But something changed in Danny. He started acting strange, and I
caught him standing in front of the glass wall one night, his
face inches from the glass. His hands were pressed against
it, and his breath fogged up the surface.
Danny. I hissed, stepping closer.
What are you doing? He didn't answer, he didn't even
blink. His eyes were fixed on something
outside, but when I looked, all I saw were trees.
I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, and he finally snapped out
of it, blinking like he'd just woken up.
What? He said, confused.
What's wrong? You were just standing there?
I stammered. Did you see something?
He frowned, rubbing his eyes. I don't know.
I don't remember. That was the first time, but it
wasn't the last. I started finding him there
almost every night, staring out at the woods, his face blank and
his hands trembling. No matter how many times I
asked, he couldn't explain why. The tapping on the windows came
back louder and more frequent scratches appeared on the glass,
faint but deliberate, like something was trying to carve
its way in. And sometimes, just before I
fell asleep, I thought I heard whispers.
Soft, raspy and too faint to understand, but always calling
my name. I wanted to believe it was just
in my head, but deep down I knew it wasn't.
Something was out there, waiting for me to let it in.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps.
At first I thought it was part of a dream, the kind that
lingers just long enough to blur the line between real and not.
But then I heard it again. Soft, deliberate, shuffling
steps moving down the hallway outside my door.
My heart leapt into my throat as I stared at the ceiling, every
nerve in my body on high alert. It wasn't Mom.
Her steps were brisk and purposeful, not this slow,
dragging shuffle. And Uncle Jack's gait was
heavier, louder. This was something else,
something wrong. I held my breath, straining to
listen. The footsteps stopped just
outside my door, and for a moment all I could hear was the
blood pounding in my ears. Then, slowly, they moved on,
heading toward the living room, toward the glass wall.
I sat up, the floor cold beneath my bare feet.
My first instinct was to run to Mom's room and wake her up, but
something stopped me, a pull, like an invisible thread,
tugging me toward the door. I cracked it open just enough to
peer into the hallway. There, at the end of the
corridor, was Danny. He was walking slowly, his
movements stiff and unnatural, like a marionette being dragged
along by invisible strings. His head hung low and his arms
swayed limply at his sides. Danny, I whispered, but he
didn't stop. He didn't even flinch.
Panic flared in my chest as I slipped into the hallway,
following him at a distance. I could hear a faint sound now,
coming from the direction of the living room, A low, mournful
moan, like the cry of a wounded animal.
It wasn't loud, but it felt close.
Too close. Danny reached the living room
and stopped in front of the sliding glass door.
I crept closer, staying low, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The glass wall loomed before him, the forest beyond bathed in
pale moonlight. The trees were swaying again,
but not like they had before. This was violent, chaotic, like
something massive was crashing through them.
Branches snapped and cracked, and the moaning grew louder,
reverberating through the house like a low, guttural hum.
I watched in horror as Danny reached for the lock on the
sliding door. His hand trembled as his fingers
brushed against it, and for a second I thought I saw something
move in the shadows beyond the glass.
Danny, no, I whispered as loudly as I dared.
Rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders
and yanked him back just as his fingers touched the lock.
His eyes were glazed, unfocused as he turned to look at me.
Lizzie, He mumbled, his voice distant, hollow.
They're waiting for us. The moaning stopped.
The forest fell eerily silent, the sudden quiet almost more
terrifying than the noise had been.
I froze, gripping Danny's arm as my eyes darted toward the glass.
And then I saw it. A shadow moved between the
trees, Too fast, too big. It darted closer, weaving
between the trunks like a predator closing in on its prey.
My breath caught as it stepped into the moonlight.
It was humanoid, but impossibly tall, its limbs grotesquely
elongated. Its skin was dark and shiny,
almost wet, and its face was a blank, featureless void.
No eyes, no mouth. Just smooth, black nothingness.
It crouched low, its limbs bending unnaturally, and pressed
its hand against the glass. Its fingers were long and thin,
ending in sharp claw like tips that scraped against the
surface. The sound sent a shiver down my
spine. It tilted its head, as if
studying us, and I swore I could feel its gaze even though it had
no eyes. Lizzie.
Danny whispered, his voice trembling.
It's going to get in. No, it won't.
I whispered back, though I didn't believe it.
The creature's claws dug into the glass, leaving deep, jagged
scratches. It leaned closer, its head
tilting back and forth in jerky, unnatural movements.
The glass groaned under the pressure, spider web cracks
forming around its hand. I grabbed Danny and pulled him
behind the couch, out of sight. My heart was racing so fast I
thought it might stop altogether.
I clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, trying to
steady my own breathing. For a moment, there was silence,
and then the sound of heavy, ragged breathing filled the
room, deep and rhythmic, coming from just beyond the couch it
was inside. I shut my eyes tight, willing it
to go away. Danny's small body trembled
against mine, and I tightened my grip on him, desperate to keep
him still. The breathing grew louder,
closer, until I could feel it, hot and damp against the back of
my neck. And then, just as suddenly as it
had started, it stopped. The air felt cold and empty, and
I risked a glance over the edge of the couch.
The living room was empty. The sliding glass door was
closed, though the glass was marred with deep claw like
gouges in the dirt. Just beyond the glass, the
creature had left something. A series of symbols scratched
into the ground, spirals and jagged lines that seemed to
pulse faintly in the moonlight. I didn't wait to figure out what
they meant. I pulled Danny to his feet and
half dragged him down the hallway, my legs shaking so
badly I thought they might give out.
We burst into Mom's room, slamming the door behind us.
What's going on? She mumbled groggily, sitting up
in bed. Don't ask.
I whispered, my voice trembling. Just lock the door, don't open
it until morning. She didn't argue, though I could
tell she didn't believe me. I climbed into bed with her and
Danny, keeping them both close, and stared at the door until the
1st rays of sunlight crept through the window.
We left the house that morning for good, and I've never looked
back. When Ryan and I first rolled
into the reservation, I couldn't drop the feeling that we didn't
belong. It wasn't just the place, it was
the way people looked at us. No smiles, no nods of
acknowledgement, just cold, blank stairs that followed our
car as we bounced over the uneven dirt Rd.
The village itself felt frozen in time.
Crumbling Adobe houses leaned precariously under the weight of
years, Rusted out trucks sat abandoned in dry patches of
earth. Even the air felt strange too,
still too heavy, like it was pressing down on us.
The only sound was the occasional Creek of wood in the
wind, though I never felt the wind on my skin.
When we pulled up to the meeting spot, a small group of elders
waited for us. Their faces were lined and
expressionless, except for the oldest woman, who seemed to hold
the weight of the entire reservation in her sunken eyes.
She stepped forward, her voice firm but quiet.
You'll stay in the camper by the Mesa, she said, gesturing toward
the barren expanse of desert beyond the village.
Stay inside after dark. Keep to yourselves.
Ryan shot me a look, but I shrugged.
A camper on the edge of nowhere didn't sound great, but I wasn't
about to argue. The drive to the camper was
short, but the farther we got from the village, the more
isolated I felt. By the time we parked, the sun
was starting to dip behind the horizon, painting the desert in
deep Reds and purples. The camper sat alone, dwarfed by
the looming shadow of the Mesa. It wasn't much to look at.
Faded paint, a busted screen door, and a set of uneven steps
that creaked ominously as we climbed inside.
The inside wasn't any better. It smelled faintly of mildew,
and the overhead light flickered like it was deciding whether to
work or not. A tiny table and two rickety
chairs sat in one corner, and a narrow bed was crammed against
the opposite wall. Ryan dropped his bag with a
sigh. This is cozy.
He said, his tone heavy with sarcasm.
I chuckled, trying to keep things light.
Hey, at least it's got 4 walls. That first night, we settled in
early. With no TV or Wi-Fi, there
wasn't much else to do. By the time the last light faded
from the sky, we were both in our sleeping bags, staring at
the ceiling. The silence was deafening.
No crickets, no wind, nothing. Just the occasional groan of the
camper as it settled into the cold desert night.
I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I
remember is waking up to a sound, a low, rhythmic thud.
At first I thought it was just my imagination, but then it came
again, louder this time. I sat up, my heart pounding in
my chest. Ryan.
I hissed. Did you hear that?
He groaned, half asleep. Hear what?
Before I could answer, the entire camper jolted.
It felt like someone or something had slammed into the
side of it with full force. Ryan shot up, wide eyed.
What the hell was that? He whispered.
The camper rocked again, harder this time.
My stomach dropped as I realized it wasn't just shaking, it was
moving, being pushed. The sound of heavy, scraping
footsteps surrounded us, circling the camper.
The walls groaned under the pressure, and I swear I heard
something breathing deep and guttural just outside the thin
metal shell. Ryan scrambled out of his
sleeping bag and crouched under the table.
Get down, he hissed. I joined him, gripping a
flashlight so tightly my knuckles ached.
The rocking continued, violent and relentless, as if whatever
was out there was testing the campers strength.
Shadows flickered through the tiny windows, but I couldn't
make out anything distinct. Then came the whispering, low
and faint like a breeze, carrying voices just out of
reach. It didn't sound like English, or
any language I'd ever heard. My skin prickled as the whispers
grew louder, almost chanting, but still impossible to
understand. Ryan's face was pale, his eyes
darting around the camper. This isn't normal, man, This
isn't right. I didn't respond.
I couldn't. My heart was hammering in my
chest and my mouth felt dry as sandpaper.
The rocking stopped suddenly, and the silence that followed
was worse. It felt alive, pressing in on us
from all sides. We stayed under the table for
what felt like hours, barely daring to breathe.
Finally, the first light of dawn crept through the windows,
casting weak Gray beams across the camper.
The silence remained, but the oppressive weight in the air
began to lift. When we finally stepped outside,
the ground around the camper was littered with tracks.
Not human tracks, not fully, anyway.
They looked like animal prints, but something about them was
wrong. Too large, too deep, and some of
them ended abruptly, as if whatever made them had vanished
into thin air. Ryan stared at them, his voice
barely a whisper. What the hell is out here?
I didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear.
Whatever it was, it wasn't just the desert playing tricks on us.
By the third night, the fear had settled into my bones.
I hadn't slept more than a few hours since we arrived, and
neither had Ryan. During the day, we tried to act
normal, making rounds in the village, but I could see it in
the way Ryan's hands shook when he held his coffee cup, or how
he flinched at every stray noise.
I wasn't doing much better. Every shadow felt too long.
Every gust of wind carried a sound that made my stomach
twist. That morning, we'd found more
tracks around the camper. They crisscrossed the dirt like
something had been pacing, circling.
The prints were bizarre, too large to belong to any normal
animal, and some were shaped like hands, long, Bony fingers
pressed into the dirt. One track looked as though
something had dragged its foot, leaving deep gouges in the
ground. Ryan wanted to leave.
I couldn't blame him. We're sitting ducks out here,
man, he said, pacing the small space inside the camper.
Whatever's out there, it's messing with us.
I don't think it's just animals. I tried to sound calm, rational.
We've got a job to do. We can't just leave.
Ryan stopped and glared at me. You think this is normal?
You think a coyote or a bear or whatever leaves that?
He jabbed a finger toward the window, where the edge of a claw
mark was visible on the camper's side.
You're fooling yourself if you think this is going to stop.
He wasn't wrong, but I didn't know what else to do.
The village elder's words echoed in my head.
Stay inside after dark. Keep to yourselves.
I hadn't taken it seriously then, but now it felt like a
warning I'd been stupid to ignore.
That night, the camper felt smaller than ever.
We sat in silence, listening to the faint creaks and groans of
the structure settling into the cool desert air.
Ryan sat by the window, holding a wrench he'd found in one of
the drawers. It wasn't much, but I could tell
he felt better having something in his hands.
I had the flashlight, the same one I'd gripped like a lifeline
2 nights before. It didn't feel like enough.
The first sign of trouble came just past midnight.
It was subtle at first, a faint shuffling sound like footsteps
dragging through the dirt. I sat up, straining to listen,
and the sound grew louder, circling the camper.
Do you hear that? I whispered.
Ryan nodded, his face pale. It's back.
The footsteps stopped abruptly, replaced by a heavy scraping
noise, as though something sharp was dragging across the metal
exterior of the camper. The sound moved methodically,
starting at the back and creeping toward the door.
My chest tightened as it grew closer.
Suddenly, the entire camper jolted, throwing us off balance.
The shaking was stronger than before, more deliberate.
Whatever was outside wasn't just testing the structure, it was
trying to get in. The walls groaned as the force
increased and the small table toppled over with a crash.
Get down. Ryan hissed, pulling me to the
floor. We huddled in the corner, the
flashlight beam darting wildly across the room as the camper
rocked violently. The sound of claws scraping
against metal was deafening, and underneath it I swore I heard
that whispering again, Low, guttural, and incomprehensible.
It wasn't just one voice. It was a chorus, layered and
distorted like a broken radio. Evan, what the hell is that?
Ryan's voice cracked, his wrench trembling in his hand.
I didn't answer, I couldn't. My throat felt like it had
closed up, and all I could do was stare at the door, waiting
for it to burst open. The whispering grew louder, more
insistent, until it felt like it was inside my head.
I clamped my hands over my ears, but it didn't help.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, everything stopped.
The whispering, the shaking, the scraping, all of it vanished,
leaving behind an oppressive silence that made my ears ring.
Ryan and I stayed where we were, too afraid to move.
Minutes passed, maybe hours, before we finally worked up the
courage to look outside. Slowly, I pushed open the door,
my flashlight casting a thin beam of light onto the dirt.
The tracks were everywhere again, crisscrossing each other
in a chaotic pattern. Some of them ended abruptly, as
though whatever had made them had simply vanished.
I shone the flashlight toward the edge of the Mesa, and for a
split second I thought I saw something move.
A shape, tall and thin, with glowing eyes that reflected the
light like an animal's. It disappeared before I could
focus on it, slipping into the shadows like smoke.
Ryan grabbed my arm. We have to go now.
I didn't argue this time. By morning, we were on the phone
with our supervisor, begging to be relocated.
The village elder didn't seem surprised when we told her we
were leaving. She just nodded and said it's
better this way. But as we packed up the camper,
I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
The air was too still, the silence too heavy.
I glanced toward the Mesa one last time, half expecting to see
those glowing eyes staring back at me.
We left before sundown, the tracks outside the camper
already being erased by the shifting desert wind.
I told myself it was over, that whatever was out there would
stay behind. But deep down, I knew the truth.
Months had passed since Ryan and I left the reservation.
I told myself I'd moved on, that the nightmares would fade.
But deep down, I knew the truth. Whatever had stalked us in that
barren stretch of New Mexico wasn't just some local
superstition. It was real.
And I wasn't done running from it.
When the assignment came to pick up my new partner, Noah, from
the airport, I hesitated. The route would take us back
through the edges of the reservation, the same place
where everything had started, the same place I'd sworn never
to go near again. But I couldn't exactly say no,
not without explaining why. And who would believe me?
So I shoved the unease down and hit the road.
I met Noah just as the sun was dipping below the horizon,
painting the sky in streaks of orange and red.
He was younger than I expected, with an easy smile that made him
seem like he had no idea what he was getting into.
I envied his ignorance. Before we left, the supervisor
pulled us aside. His tone was sharp, the kind of
seriousness that makes your stomach drop.
You're driving through a dangerous area tonight.
He said. No stops.
I don't care how badly you need a break, if you have to go, do
it now. Noah laughed nervously.
I'm fine, really, I'll just hold it.
The supervisor's eyes darkened. I'm not joking, There are rules
out there. You stop, you'll regret it.
I didn't say a word, I just climbed into the driver's seat
and waited for Noah to settle in.
As we pulled onto the highway, I caught the supervisor watching
us through the rear view mirror, his face a mask of quiet dread.
The first half hour of the drive was uneventful, but the tension
in the car was palpable. Noah tried to make small talk,
asking questions about the job, the area, but I barely heard
him. My focus was on the road, on the
ever encroaching darkness. Every shadow felt too long,
every flicker of movement just outside the headlights made my
pulse quicken. The reservation's boundaries
were marked only by a rusted sign that flashed past in the
gloom. I gripped the wheel tighter as
we crossed into the no man's land of empty desert and jagged
hills. The road stretched on endlessly,
swallowed by the night. About 20 minutes in, Noah
shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Hey. He said, his voice hesitant.
I think I actually do need to stop.
My stomach dropped. No, I said flatly.
We're not stopping. Come on man, I really need to
go. He said, a nervous laugh
creeping into his voice. It'll only take a second, no.
I snapped, more forcefully this time.
Hold it, we're not stopping here.
Noah frowned, but didn't argue. For another 10 minutes he
squirmed in silence before finally blurting out.
I can't hold it anymore, just pull over, please.
I hesitated, my knuckles white on the wheel.
The road ahead was empty, silent except for the hum of the
engine. Against every instinct screaming
at me not to, I eased the car to a stop.
Fine, I said through gritted teeth.
But stay by the car, don't wander.
And if I tell you to get in, you get in fast.
Got it? Noah said, already unbuckling
his seat belt. He hopped out, leaving the door
open as he walked a few paces into the darkness.
The second he was outside, the air changed.
It was subtle at first, a shift in the wind, a sudden stillness.
The distant hum of insects stopped, replaced by an
oppressive, suffocating silence. My heart pounded in my chest as
I scanned the darkness, the headlights casting weak beams
into the void. Noah.
I called out, my voice tight. Hurry up, almost done.
He said, his voice drifting back to me.
Then I saw it, movement in the shadows, just beyond the reach
of the headlights. At first it looked like an
animal, a large hunched figure slinking through the scrub.
But as it drew closer, its shape shifted.
Its limbs stretched unnaturally, its body twisting in ways no
living things should move. The figure stepped into the
light, and my blood turned to ice.
It was massive, easily 7 feet tall, with the head of a wolf,
but the torso of a man. It's glowing amber eyes locked
on to me, unblinking. The creature bared, its teeth
jagged and too long, its lips pulling back into something that
looked like a grin. Noah.
I screamed, slamming my hand on the horn.
Get in the car now. He turned, confused, but froze
when he saw the creature. For a second, he didn't move.
Then, as if breaking out of a trance, he bolted back toward
the car. The thing lunged, its limbs
moving too fast, too erratic. I reached across and yanked Noah
into the car, slamming the door shut as the creature's claws
raked across the window, leaving deep, jagged grooves.
I floored the gas, the tires kicking up gravel as we tore
down the road. The creature gave chase, it's
distorted body loping alongside the car on all fours before
rising onto 2 legs. I glanced at the speedometer,
708090 miles an hour, and it was still there, it's glowing eyes
locked on us, its mouth open in that horrific toothy grin.
Noah was screaming, clutching the door handle like it might
save him. What is that thing?
What is it? I don't know.
I shouted, my voice cracking. Just don't look at it.
The creature slammed into the side of the car, nearly sending
us off the road. I gritted my teeth, pushing the
car as fast as it would go. For what felt like an eternity,
it stayed with us, its shadow flickering in and out of the
headlights. And then, just as suddenly as it
appeared, it veered off into the darkness, vanishing between the
hills. I didn't slow down, not until we
were miles away, the safety of city lights finally breaking
through the horizon. Noah didn't say a word as we
pulled into the parking lot. He stepped out of the car,
shaking, and stared at the claw marks on the window.
What the hell did we just see? He whispered.
I didn't answer. I didn't have one.
All I could think about was the supervisor's warning.
No stops. You'll regret it.
And I did, because even as I stood there, my knees weak, I
couldn't drop the feeling that it wasn't over, that those
glowing eyes were still out there, waiting for me to slip up
again.