I'm posting this in hopes that someone out there may be able to
help me. I've started writing and
deleting this so many times over the last six months or so that
it would make your head spin. At first I thought that no one
would believe me, so why bother? Then it became a matter of not
wanting to relive those events again.
Now it's all I can think about and I just want it to stop.
Let me explain. This past June, my wife
Michelle, and I took our two teenage girls camping.
I'd made our reservations online at a campsite we'd never stayed
at before, a quaint little place called Lost Creek Campgrounds.
It was a little farther away than we usually went, but the
reviews were amazing and the pictures were absolutely
breathtaking. I just couldn't pass it up.
We used their online map and found an isolated spot that
looked perfect for us. When we got there, we set the
canopy up over the included picnic table and we're putting
up the tent. When I heard what I thought was
a family out hiking, they seemed to enjoy themselves so I paid
little attention until it seemed like they might be lost.
Calling out to one another for help, I alerted Michelle and was
heading to the nearest trailhead to lend a hand when the voices
stopped. I chalked it up to a
misunderstanding and helped her finish setting up the tent.
I was exhausted from the drive and getting camp set up.
The kids were complaining about all the bugs and lack of cell
phone service. Michelle's energy kept us all
going as she hummed some early 90s tune stuck in her head while
getting the campfire going. I started thinking about that
family in the woods again, but since I hadn't heard anything in
a little while, I could only assume everything turned out OK.
It was getting dark, so we roasted some hot dogs, made some
s'mores, and took turns trying to tell the scariest story
before turning in. The girls regaled us with some
things they'd read on the No Sleep subreddit about a search
and rescue officer. I went with some classic
campfire stories, like the babysitter and the clown statue
and the man with the hook. Michelle was the clear winner,
with some story I'd never heard her tell before, about the time
she and her siblings encountered what they thought was a Wendigo
while camping in San Antonio in the morning.
We spent some time relaxing at the beach and just enjoying our
surroundings. It was a beautiful day and I
couldn't help but think it odd that we were the only ones in
the water. There wasn't even a single boat
out past the buoys to disturb the still and tranquil lake.
It was nice to have the place to ourselves though.
I went swimming with the girls and teased them about all the
things they couldn't see in the murky lake water while Michelle
laughed from the shore and worked on her tan.
We had a few sandwiches for lunch and didn't head back to
camp until the early evening. As night fell, I talked them all
into doing some night hiking. It was a family tradition that I
insisted we keep up on every trip.
We wandered around the circuitous trails near our
campsite. The woods were an entirely
different place at night. There could be something new and
exciting around every twist and turn of the trail.
Having only the beam of your flashlight to illuminate things
added that little taste of adrenaline that kept us going
for a few hours. Heading around the last circuit
back to camp, I began hearing familiar voices asking for help.
This time, Michelle and the girls heard them as well.
We headed toward the voices to offer some assistance, but the
closer we got to where we thought they were, the further
into the maples, hemlocks and white ash trees, the voices
could be heard. After 10 minutes, I let us back
to camp. I didn't make a big deal about
it, but I sense something was wrong.
I could feel it in my bone somehow.
I put on a fake smile and teased the girls about our experience
to calm them down. We all decided that it was
probably just some Bobcats. You couldn't go camping anywhere
in Ohio without hearing them at some point or another.
Sometimes they could sound like a screaming woman or even a
crying child. They went to bed content with
that information and fell fast asleep in their sleeping bags.
Michelle and I curled up by the campfire to enjoy the rare
silence together. The older the girls got, the
harder it was to come by. An hour later we heard our
youngest daughter calling for us from the woods.
That wasn't possible. She was still curled up, asleep
in her sleeping bag. We could see her before we could
react. We heard our other daughter's
voice coming from the other side of the woods.
She was also fast asleep in the sleeping bag next to her sister.
We rushed into the tent and locked it down.
It was an all season tent. It was thick and durable with
locking zippers. We battened down the hatches and
held on to each other while I kept an eye out through the
little window. I must have dozed off because
the sound of a zipper woke me up.
I had locked them from the inside so I assumed one of the
girls had gone to the bathroom. Still I moved to the entry
fearing the worst When I saw everyone in their sleeping bags,
my blood went cold. The zipper inched upwards.
I grabbed it and held it tight. I saw an impossibly long finger
through the screen. I told who or whatever it was to
go the hell away. I took a deep breath as I heard
quiet footsteps moving away from the tent.
The lock was broken at my feet. Before I could process anything,
I heard movement. This time it came from multiple
directions. I considered waking everyone on
one hand. I needed help on the other a
screaming wife and kids seemed like a bad idea.
I let them sleep, for better or worse.
I felt surrounded and I smelled something odd.
Copper and nag Champa. I could make out enormous shapes
through the tent fabric. The voices rang out as more of
them moved in, close enough to brush against the tent.
I bit my lip till it bled, closing my eyes to steady my
nerves. I heard the voices of the family
from the first day, the voices of my still sleeping daughters
and wife. I nearly lost my hard earned
composure when I heard my voice whispering near where I
crouched. I realized what I had missed in
the voices all along. While they sounded like copies
of human voices, there was something distinctly off about
them, like mimicking instead of speaking.
They were piercing words together to form conversations
without matching tones or tempos.
I focused so much on how they sounded that I wasn't listening
to what they were saying until it became one cacophonic burst
of repetition. Hungry as the first few jagged
claws tore long streaks all around the tent, a bright light
filled the camp from an unknown source.
Through a rip in the entrance door, I could see one of them.
It must have been 7 feet tall and was impossibly thin.
It's mottled Gray skin stretched so tight over its bones that I
could see its organs pulse beneath.
It glared at me with empty eye sockets so deep that no light
could escape them. It lunged at me, ripping the
rest of the fabric to shreds as I finally screamed to wake up.
Michelle and the girls. I knew at that moment that I was
dead. There was nowhere to run, and
soon we would all be devoured. I shut my eyes as it tore into
my chest. An explosion of sound followed
by warm liquid raining down on me assaulted my senses, but
somehow I was alive by the time I opened my eyes.
I'd heard a dozen more small explosions in quick succession,
mixed with the confused screams of my family As they were
harshly awakened, men approached the wreckage of our tent,
shotguns in hand. They ushered us to their trucks
and drove us into the nearby town.
I had so many questions, but the men stayed quiet till they got
us to safety. They called them forest mimics.
Something had been stirring them up over the last few weeks, and
more people had gone missing than usual.
They'd shut down the campgrounds until they could sort it out.
Our online reservation had somehow gone unnoticed, and by
the time they stumbled upon our camp, it had nearly been too
late. We never went back for our gear.
As a family, we stick to resorts and indoor lodgings these days.
Michelle and the girls were lucky they didn't see what I
saw. To them, the story has become
that time a pack of wild animals attacked our tent.
For me, it's something different entirely.
I've developed PTSD and severe insomnia since it all happened,
not even the medication I've been prescribed as helping.
Some nights, I swear I can still hear those voices chanting that
word, hungry in the dark recesses of our home.
A month ago the dreams began, and that's why I'm finally
posting this now. In those dreams, I can hear more
than just that single word they call out to me in their
staggered amalgam of voices, their legion like staccato,
shrieking and begging me to come home.
On those nights I wake up crying.
I don't cry out of fear or some sense of personal preservation.
No, I cry because the longing in their voices is palpable.
I cry because of the pain that flares up in the scar that they
left on my chest. I cry because because I'm
hungry. I just want to start by saying
that dating is hard. Once you get past all the bots,
ads, and scammers and meet a real person, the guessing game
begins. Why is this person actually
available right now? Are they really just down on
their luck? Or is it something else that
you're happy or not knowing? Then once you figure out their
deep dark secrets, the question becomes, are they willing to put
up with your deep, dark secrets? This process can take weeks to
sort out, usually resulting in a dead end somewhere, forcing you
to start over. The whole thing is frustrating,
demeaning, and humiliating enough that you're physically
and emotionally exhausted, making you just want to give up
and be a loner. Now I know what you're
wondering. What's this got to do with
anything? Well, it's kind of simple.
A little bit ago, I wrote about how my girlfriend Wendy never
eats, and that I heard some unsettling things at her house
the last time I visited. Well, I decided to keep seeing
Wendy. Sure, she might have some
unusual habits, but she makes me feel good about myself and I'm
happy with her. So what if she never eats or
chases off bears while nude in the middle of the night?
Compared to returning to the dating scene, that's really not
so bad. We even have nicknames for each
other now. Country Girl and City Boy.
I'll let you guess which is which.
Anyway, that's a rather long and roundabout way of saying that
yeah, I went on that camping trip with her and things didn't
go quite how I expected. First off, I want to say that
she was right. The forest really is beautiful.
The sun's heat, combined with the coolness of the shade while
listening to the insects drone lazily in the background, seems
to slow time to a crawl, making each breath a relaxing
experience. In and of itself, it's entirely
unlike anything you'll experience during your morning
commute. Combine all that with the right
company and soon you'll wonder why you'd ever return.
And let me tell you, Wendy is 100% the right company.
Wendy was quick with tips to make the hike easier, from how
to properly distribute your pack load to how to lace your shoes
for maximum comfort. During the trek to where we were
going to set up camp, she alternated between offering
interesting bits of information about the local flora and fauna
and walking in silence, allowing me to get lost in the
experience. The whole affair made me want to
give up the city life and move to the country.
There was just one thing during the walk that wasn't as pleasant
as everything else. At one point we must have walked
too close to a skunk or a rotting carcass or something,
because the whole area around us started to reek.
At first it wasn't so bad, but eventually it got so strong it
made me want to gag. I jokingly mentioned it to
Wendy, but she just looked ahead, like she was determined
and told me pick up the pace, we'll be past it soon enough.
Sure enough, we eventually got past the smell and things
quickly became pleasant again. The rest of the hike passed
without incident, and Wendy even helped me set up the tent.
Her evident experience in the matter showed through because it
took no time. Soon enough, everything was
ready and we even had a nice cheerful fire roaring.
This time. When she pulled out the supplies
for dinner, I didn't even bat an eye when it was clearly only
enough for one. Whatever was going on with her,
this was just the way it was going to be.
It was up to me to accept that or move on and I'd made my call.
But I have to say, for someone who never seems to eat, she sure
knows how to sear a steak to perfection.
After a pleasant evening and an even more pleasant night, we
passed out in the tent together while listening to the crickets
and the more distant owls. But of course, if that's all
that happened, I wouldn't be writing about it here.
Sometime during the night I awoke to find I was alone in the
tent. This wasn't too unexpected
because Wendy was both an outdoor enthusiast and a bit of
a night owl. I debated calling out to her,
but something in the air felt like I shouldn't disturb it with
such an out of place sound. However, Mother Nature did have
her demands and it was time to answer her call.
As I unzipped the tent and stepped out, I couldn't help but
look up into the night sky. The stars were breathtaking.
You never see this many this vibrant in the city.
However, their beauty couldn't distract me for long in the face
of more urgent demands. Do you know that feeling when
you've been holding it in a little too long and finally
experience relief? Maybe it distracted me from the
fact that all the usual night sounds had suddenly gone quiet,
but it couldn't distract me from the sudden smell of rotting
flesh. It was even stronger than it had
been on the trail, and was accompanied by the kind of fear
that you usually feel when you're very young and just
starting to wonder if there might be reasons sounds go bump
in the night, I gagged as I struggled to cut off the stream,
zip up my pants, and retreat into the tent again.
Once in the tent, I reached for the flashlight, then hesitated.
I desperately wanted to see better, but something in the
back of my mind told me it was better to remain hidden.
Of course, I don't know how well hidden a blue tent in the middle
of the forest can be, but turning on a flashlight would be
like activating a beacon for everything within a few miles to
see. I sat in the dark, for I don't
know how long feeling my heart pound through my chest loud
enough that I was sure whatever was out there could hear it
clearly. Thankfully, the smell eventually
faded, but I was still so high on adrenaline that I knew I
wouldn't sleep. Another wink for the rest of the
night, Or so I thought. The following day, I awoke with
Wendy cuddled in my arm with one of her legs and arms draped over
me, and once again she was totally nude.
Now, I was pretty sure she'd put on some pajamas before going to
bed, but as she stirred and I got a good look at what was on
display, I suddenly didn't care all that much.
Eventually, she smiled lazily up at me and spoke.
You sleep all right, city boy. You seem to have some pretty
rough dreams in the middle of the night.
At the time, those words made perfect sense.
In the light of day, it seemed pretty clear that whatever
happened last night was probably just a vivid dream brought on by
the experiences of the day before and an unfamiliar
environment. After a bit more time together,
we decided to get up and tackle another day in the forest.
However, when I finally crawled out of the tent, I could see our
entire camp was in disarray. It was like something had gone
through and tossed everything around.
A few of the more delicate items were totally demolished.
After a moment, I called out. Hey, you might want to take a
look at this. As Wendy crawled out of the
tent, she made a face. Must have been a bear.
They usually don't come out this way, so I wasn't too worried
about them. I guess that's on me.
Sorry. A bear.
That kind of made sense. At least I told myself so.
As we were cleaning up, I even saw tracks, though in my
inexperience as a city boy, I would have said they belong to a
dog, not a bear. A huge dog, maybe a wolf.
What was even odder was when I found what looked like hoof
prints. Looking at the Prince, I
realized that deer must be much bigger than they look on TV,
since they were more than twice as long as my hand.
There isn't much more to say about the day.
We fixed the place up, had breakfast, went on a hike, made
dinner, and called it a night with a few other minor
activities sprinkled throughout. I was back to enjoying the trip,
so much so that I had mostly forgotten about the night
before, but that night things took a bit of an unexpected
turn. Once again, I awoke in the
middle of the night. Thankfully I wasn't alone this
time as Wendy was still asleep half on top of me.
Again. However, that stench was back
and stronger than ever. It was amazing how bright it
seemed in the tent. It must have been a full moon,
or at least nearly full, because I could clearly see the shadow
of a large deer pass between US and the night sky.
But there was something wrong with this deer.
It was clearly too tall, as if it was standing on hind legs,
and when it opened its mouth I could even make out a mouthful
of very sharp teeth. I couldn't help it.
I felt myself breathing more heavily by the 2nd as my heart
rate skyrocketed. My mind went blank when I
suddenly felt Wendy stir. Remembering the presence of my
considerably smaller girlfriend, I suddenly felt protective, as
if I couldn't let anything happen to her.
I was just about to tell her to be quiet when I noticed her
looking up at me with a finger on her lips, as if telling me to
do the same. Then she whispered to me stay in
the tent and started to get up. I don't know what I was thinking
or if I was thinking. All I knew was I couldn't let
Wendy go out to face whatever that was, so I reached out and
grabbed her wrist before she could exit the tent.
However, when she looked back at me, I released her immediately,
almost as scared of her as whatever was outside the tent.
Her eyes reflected light back at me like a cat's, and I could see
the nails on her hand growing as I watched in half a moment.
She turned back around, open the tent, and climbed outside.
I will never forget the sound I heard at that moment after I got
home. I looked up the calls of a bunch
of wild animals, and in hindsight I'd say it was like a
compilation of an elk call, a rabbit scream, and a Mountain
Lion scream, but impossibly loud.
Wendy shouted an answer, her tiny human voice sounding so
frail in comparison. At least it did until it started
to change. Morphing and twisting into the
howl of an impossibly large wolf, I couldn't help it.
I peeked out the tent flap, and standing in front of the tent
was what I could only describe as a werewolf, the little 5 foot
and change. Wendy was now standing at least
7 feet tall, covered in fur with claws and fangs that looked like
they could tear through steel, and she looked ready for murder.
Then some movement on the opposite end of our camp drew my
attention, and I witnessed a living nightmare that suddenly
made a werewolf seem like less of a problem.
It looked kind of like a deer, if a deer had more articulated
limbs far too long for its body. The feet ended in hooves, but
the hands ended in long, Bony claws.
The whole thing looked desiccated, its skin drawn so
tight over its ribs and arms you could make out the skeleton
beneath. The fur was spotty and looked
partially rotted with open holes, leaking bodily fluids
that should never see light. Its teeth were long and
serrated, clearly meant for tearing rather than chewing.
I sometimes hear hunters talking about deer being 8 or 10 points,
but if I had to estimate, this thing had a 30 point antler with
many of the tines covered in what I suspected to be dried
viscera from previous victims, the two monsters charged each
other. The nightmare, which I now know
was a Wendigo, lowered its head, intending to impale its
opponent, but at the last second, Wendy threw herself
nearly flat on the ground, only to rock it up into the Wendigo,
latching onto its long neck with her powerful jaws while her hind
feet kicked gouges into its vulnerable stomach.
However, the Wendigo didn't seem willing to give up that easily
and tossed Wendy aside. She hit the ground hard and was
soon set upon by the other monster.
She raised an arm to defend herself, only for the Wendigo to
latch on with its own teeth, easily tearing through her skin
and muscles. With a powerful kick, Wendy
pushed the nightmare back, then started swiping at him over and
over, making it loose ground. However, lowering its head, the
Wendigo charged forward again, and this time Wendy wasn't fast
enough as the Wendigo caught her on his antlers and flipped her
over his back with new blood, darkening the tips of the tines.
But that was its downfall as Wendy sprung up and again
latched onto its neck with her teeth, this time from behind.
The nightmare struggled in vain, occasionally raking Wendy with
his claws, but she refused to let go and began ripping and
tearing her way through its neck until she grabbed hold of its
antlers and with one final jerk the head came free.
I don't have the heart to describe what came next, but
let's just say the sound of flesh being torn and eaten is
much more distinct through the thin membrane of a tent than a
closed cabin window. Time passed at least an hour,
maybe two or three. It's hard to say for sure.
I don't know what I expected to happen next.
Maybe I was going to be next, or perhaps I'd wake up from this
nightmare. But eventually the adrenaline
passed, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep again.
When I awoke in the morning, I was alone this time.
There was no sign Wendy had come back.
I'd half hoped she'd still be here, telling me I'd had another
nightmare, but I don't think I would have believed it again.
It was kind of sad and lonely, packing up our things by myself.
I debated bringing Wendy's stuff with me, but I'm not that good
of a hiker and wasn't confident I could pull it off, so I just
left her things in her pack inside the tent.
When I exited the tent, I was more than a little surprised to
see Wendy sitting calmly by the fire pit with no wounds.
Insight. She smiled sadly.
So I guess I owe you an explanation.
I remember hesitating my mind blank before I settled on the
thought I had earlier. What?
You're not going to try and convince me?
It was a nightmare again. She looked around at all the
destruction in the campsite. Earth was kicked up, trees had
claw marks gouged out, and there were signs of blood splatter
everywhere. I didn't think I could convince
you this time. I nodded as I looked around.
Yeah, I guess not. Then I looked back at her.
You know, for a bit. There I was, starting to think
you were, the monster eating people out here.
Wendy pointed at herself, then laughed.
Wait, me, Wendy the Wendigo? Don't you think that's a little
too on the nose? I couldn't help it.
As weird and messed up as everything was, as disturbing as
everything I learned was, this was the Wendy I knew and cared
for, so I laughed with her. Yeah, maybe so.
Long story short, we're still together.
Sure, my girlfriend might be a 7 foot tall monster that eats
other monsters for fun, but everyone has their quirks.
Besides, dating is hard, and I'm happy where I am.
The first time I realized that the world wasn't as it seemed, I
was just a kid, a sprout, really, with more courage than
sense. That's how it is growing up in
Greenville, a town so small it felt like a secret, tucked away
in the cradle of the mountains and bordered by an expanse of
National Forest so vast it seemed like another world.
Douglas and I, we were inseparable back then, two
halves of the same coin, always itching for the next adventure,
the next mystery to unravel In the Wilds that lay just beyond
our backyards, we thought We knew every inch of those woods,
every secret trail and hidden glade.
But the forest kept its deepest secrets hidden, revealing them
only to those with the audacity to look.
It was the summer of 1999, the kind of summer that sticks in
your memory, bright and searing, filled with the endless
possibilities that only childhood can believe in.
Our dads had taken us camping, a tradition, but for Douglas and
me, it was just another chance to explore.
Once the camp was set and our fathers settled into their
routine of fishing and fireside stories, we seized our moment,
slipping away into the thickening woods as the shadows
grew long. We played at being explorers,
charting unmarked territories, daring each other to venture
further, to discover what lay beyond the next Ridge or
underneath the rotting log. It was a game until it wasn't.
Dusk crept upon us like a thief stealing the light and our sense
of direction. The familiar turned foreign, and
the sounds of the forest, once comforting, now carried a hint
of menace. Dad, where are you?
Our calls went unanswered, the forest swallowing the sound, the
realization that we were lost, truly lost, settled in with the
darkness. I'm scared, Douglas admitted,
his voice barely above a whisper.
I wanted to tell him I was too, but the words felt like a
betrayal of the unspoken pact of bravery between us.
Then we heard it, the crunch of heavy footsteps, deliberate and
fast, coming towards us. My heart hammered against my rib
cage, a wild drum beat signalling danger through the
dim light. A shadow darted between the
trees, too fast to be natural. It's zigzagged, an impossible
movement, drawing closer with every heartbeat.
What the hell is that? Douglas's voice cracked with
fear. I didn't have an answer.
Panic took hold and we ran, the thud of our footsteps and the
crashing of our pursuer blending into a terrifying Symphony.
Glancing back, I saw it, a blur of movement and a flash of amber
eyes that seemed to Pierce through the veil of the night.
Miraculously, we broke free from the grip of the trees, stumbling
onto a trail lit by the beams of flashlights.
The search party, our dads at the forefront, had found us.
Relief washed over me, only to be replaced by frustration as
our tale of the shadow creature was met with skepticism.
Lying in my tent that night, the sounds of the forest all around,
I understood for the first time that there were things out there
beyond our understanding, ancient and hidden, and I knew
with a certainty that settled deep in my bones that Greenville
and its surrounding woods held secrets darker and deeper than I
could have ever imagined. It was a revelation that would
shape the years to come, drawing me back to those shadows time
and again, searching for answers I was only beginning to
understand. I needed.
Turning 21 in the wilderness of the mountains surrounding
Greenville was meant to be a rite of passage, a step into
manhood with the wilderness as my witness.
My father, with his rough hands and weathered face carved from
years of working under the open sky, had planned it all out.
A father and son camping trip with a bottle of Jack Daniels as
the centerpiece to celebrate your stepping into being a man,
he had said with a grin that crinkled the corners of his
eyes. The day was spent setting up
camp and recounting tales of past adventures, of days when
Greenville was even smaller and the forest even more mysterious.
As night fell, the forest around us came alive with the sounds of
nocturnal creatures, a Symphony of the wild that made the hairs
on the back of my neck stand up not out of fear, but reverence.
After my third shot of whiskey, the world felt slightly Askew, a
pleasant buzz softening the edges.
That's when the night tore open with a screech that curdled my
blood. My dad, off in the trees,
relieving himself, laughed off my startled jump.
What's the matter, kiddo? Jack on the rocks, too strong
for you? His amusement faded when the
screech cut through the night air again.
Closer this time, a sound so alien it seemed to freeze the
very marrow in my bones. What in the hell?
He muttered, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice as he
stumbled back to the campfire, his face etched with concern.
He fetched our rifles, his old lever action, and my 22 long
rifle, handling them to me with a seriousness I'd rarely seen.
What was that? I asked, my voice steadier than
I felt. Boy, I don't know, he replied,
his gaze darting through the darkness that enveloped our
camp. Been hunting out here for years
and I ain't never heard nothing like that.
The screech tore through the air again, this time right above us,
so close I could almost feel the vibration of it.
It was a sound that defied natural explanation, a blend of
agony and anger that seemed to come from something neither
human nor animal. Without thinking, my dad raised
his rifle and fired into the darkness, the muzzle flash
illuminating the forest. For a fleeting moment, the echo
of the gunshot was followed by a heavy thud, as if something
massive had dropped from the trees.
The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken
fears. We sat back-to-back for the rest
of the night, rifles in our laps, jumping at every crack and
rustle in the underbrush. Sleep was an impossible dream,
the whiskey in our veins no match for the adrenaline
coursing through us. As dawn broke, painting the sky
with streaks of pink and gold, the forest seemed to return to
its usual self, the terror of the night fading like mist in
the sunlight. But the memory of that screech
and the undeniable feeling of being haunted, lingered long
after we packed up camp and headed back to civilization.
That trip, meant to mark my passage into adulthood, did more
than that. It peeled back the veneer of the
natural world, revealing a glimpse of something older,
Wilder, and utterly unfathomable.
It was a birthday to remember, a stark reminder that there are
things in this world hidden in the dark and wild, places that
defy understanding. The disappearance of Jessica cut
through Greenville like a cold wind, leaving a chill of worry
and fear in its wake. She was one of our own, a
familiar face in the small constellation of our community,
and her sudden absence cast a shadow over the town.
It was Douglas who came to me, his eyes burning with a mix of
concern and something else, something deeper.
Jessica wasn't just another missing person to him, she was
the one who got away, the object of a quietly held affection that
he'd never had the courage to act on.
We have to do something, he said, his voice tight with
determination. The resolve in his eyes was
something I couldn't argue with, not that I wanted to.
Despite the fear that twisted in my gut, the thought of not
stepping up to help was worse. The search party gathered at
dawn, a motley crew of locals armed with nothing but
flashlights and a shared sense of purpose.
We were assigned to the northeastern section of the
forest, an area so thick with underbrush it felt like moving
through another world. Douglas led the way, his usual
easy going nature replaced by a focused intensity I'd rarely
seen in him. Jessica, are you out here?
Our voices echoed through the trees, Hopeful calls met with
silence. The search felt endless, A
feudal gesture against the vastness of the wilderness.
As the day wore on, the optimism that had buoyed us began to
wane, replaced by the heavy realization of just how easy it
was to disappear in these woods. It was Douglas who spotted The
Cave, an ominous gash in the side of the mountain that seemed
to swallow the fading light. She could be in there, he said,
his voice a mix of hope and fear.
Everything in me scream to stay away, memories of shadowy
figures and unexplained screeches flooding back with a
vengeance. But Douglas was already moving
toward the cave's mouth, his flashlight cutting through the
twilight like a beacon of desperation.
I'll wait here, I called after him, my voice sounding small and
hollow in the gathering darkness.
There was a part of me that knew I should follow, that leaving
him to face whatever might be lurking in that cave alone was a
betrayal of our friendship. But fear rooted me to the spot,
a cold heavyweight that refused to budget.
Time stretched, each minute feeling like an eternity as I
waited for Douglas to re emerge. The forest around me grew
darker, the sounds of the night creeping closer than a voice.
My voice echoed from the depths of The Cave, a perfect mimicry
that sent a jolt of terror through me before I could
process it. Douglas's scream shattered the
silence, a sound of pure terror that had him stumbling out of
The Cave, his face ashen, eyes wide with horror.
He couldn't speak, couldn't form the words to tell me what he'd
seen in the darkness. All I could do was stand by him,
a silent guardian against the night as the sounds of something
unspeakable echoed from The Cave behind us.
That night changed us, deepen the bond between us with a
shared secret too terrifying to speak aloud.
Whatever Douglas had seen in The Cave, whatever had chased us
from the woods that day, it was a reminder of the thin veil
between our world and something much older, much darker.
We had peered into the abyss, and the abyss had stared back,
leaving its mark on us forever. The wildfire that swept through
the National Forest surrounding Greenville in the summer of 2021
was unlike anything our community had ever witnessed.
It consumed everything in its path with a ferocity that left
us breathless, heartbroken, and in a way I couldn't fully
understand at the time. Relieved, the fire seemed like a
cleansing force, purging the forest of its dark secrets and
perhaps the creatures that lurked within its shadows.
In the aftermath, as our town struggled to rebuild from the
ashes, I couldn't shake the feeling that the fire had been
more than a mere act of nature. The memories of that night in
The Cave of Douglas's terror and the inhuman sounds echoing from
the darkness haunted me. The forest had held a
malevolence, A presence that felt ancient and hungry, and now
it was gone, reduced to char and ash.
But it was the arrival of the government officials in the days
leading up to the wildfire that truly set my mind racing.
They came without warning, a convoy of Black SU VS rolling
into Greenville with an air of authority that was impossible to
ignore. I watched them from the porch of
the Ranger station, a knot of unease growing in my stomach.
They spoke in hushed tones with the park Superintendent, their
questions pointed and their glances toward the forest filled
with a wait I couldn't decipher. When they ventured into the
woods, they were gone for hours, emerging with expressions that
were hard to read. And then, just as suddenly as
they had arrived, they were gone.
Six days later, the fire started.
The pieces of the puzzle were there, but fitting them together
painted a picture that was hard to accept.
The government had known something, had been searching
for something in the woods around Greenville, and whatever
they found or didn't find had led to a decision that changed
everything. As I pieced together the
evidence, the theory that formed was one of desperation and last
resorts. The fire had been no accident,
but a containment measure, an attempt to eradicate whatever
had been haunting the forest, the Wendigo or whatever it had
been posed a threat that couldn't be controlled or
understood. Fire, a primal force as old as
the creatures themselves, had been the answer.
Living with this knowledge, this suspicion, was like carrying a
weight that never eased. I found myself looking over my
shoulder, jumping at shadows, wondering if the fire had truly
been enough. The disappearances had stopped,
yes, but at what cost? And was it a permanent solution,
or merely a temporary reprieve? In the quiet moments when the
wind whispers through the trees that have begun to reclaim the
burned land, I can't help but wonder about the balance of
nature and the unseen forces that move within it.
The government's intervention, if that's what it had been, felt
like a breach of some ancient pact, A violation that could
have consequences beyond our understanding.
Greenville has begun to heal, but the scars remain, both on
the land and in the hearts of those who remember what was
lost. The fire took so much from us,
but it also gave us a chance to start anew, to rebuild not just
our town, but our understanding of the world and the mysteries
it holds. As for me, I keep searching,
keep looking for answers in the ash and the new growth.
Because to forget, to let the memories and the warnings fade,
would be the real tragedy. The forest will always be a part
of me, a place of wonder and terror, of beauty and darkness.
And I know deep down that the story isn't over.
The shadows may have receded, but they're still there,
waiting, watching. Reminding us that we're not
alone in this world, and maybe, just maybe, that's the way it's
supposed to be. For the sake of keeping things
on the down low, let's just say my name is Howard.
Looking back, I could never have guessed how that weekend at Lake
Huron would turn my world upside down.
It was late 2018 and I was just a 13 year old kid trying to
navigate the world one day at a time.
That weekend, my family and I were heading to my mom's friend
Carissa's Place, nestled about a mile off the coast in the
northern woods of Michigan. The thought alone sent shivers
down my spine. I've always had a thing for
forests, just not the creatures that might be lurking in them.
The journey from our home in the South of Michigan was a quiet
one, at least for me. My mind raced with images of
wolves and bears hiding just beyond the tree line, watching,
waiting. I don't want to go, I remember
muttering more than once during the drive.
My mom, in her usual comforting tone, would reply.
It'll be fine, Howard. If anything happens, we'll
protect you. But words were just words, and
they did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
We rolled into Bay City just as the sky began to dim, the
setting sun casting long shadows that seemed to reach out from
the forest. The lake house sat in a large
clearing, with the dense woods encircling it like a dark,
unending maze. That sense of dread I tried so
hard to shake off. It hit me full force the moment
we arrived, but there was no turning back.
Now. Trying to push my fears aside, I
made an effort to mingle with Carissa and the others.
They were nice enough, and for a short while I managed to forget
about the encroaching darkness just beyond the windows we had.
Pizza laughed, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Well, everyone except me. The forest loomed large in my
mind, a silent watcher just waiting for the right moment.
Later that evening, while the adults hung out in the basement,
I found myself alone in the kitchen, my only company being a
YouTube video playing on my phone.
That's when I heard it, a scraping sound coming from
outside, right on the other side of the wall.
My heart jumped into my throat. I was frozen, too scared to
move, too scared to even breathe.
The noise continued, relentless, as if something or someone was
trying to claw their way in. But then, as suddenly as it
started, the noise stopped. Curiosity overcame fear, and I
mustered the courage to peek outside.
To my relief, it was just a deer.
It's antlers likely the culprits of the sound.
My mom checked on me shortly after, chuckling when I told her
about my scare. Deer are a symbol of peace and
freedom, Howard Nothing to be afraid of.
She reassured me. I wanted to believe her.
I really did. That night I crashed on the
couch with my Jurassic World blanket, the events of the
evening still playing in my mind.
Despite everything, I slept surprisingly well, comforted by
the thought that maybe, just maybe, my fears were unfounded.
But as I would soon discover, some fears are rooted in a very
dark reality. The next morning came way too
fast for my liking. Carissa, with her morning person
energy, chirped. Hey, Howard, wake up, buddy.
It's bright outside. I groggily opened my eyes,
shocked to see it was already 2:00 PM.
How did I sleep in so late? Not that I was complaining.
It just meant fewer hours of daylight to worry about the
woods. After a quick breakfast or
lunch, I guess Carissa decided we should all head to the lake.
The idea didn't excite me. The lake meant the beach, and
the beach meant people. Lots of them, and I've never
been one to thrive in crowds. To make matters worse, when we
got there I found out that people included a bunch of
little kids. Great.
Just my luck. I've had enough experiences with
my younger cousin from Tennessee to know that kids, especially
the loud and energetic ones, were not my cup of tea.
So I did what any anti social teenager would do.
I grabbed my phone and planted myself just beyond the tree
line. Far enough to avoid unwanted
interaction, but close enough to not seem like I was planning a
solo expedition into the forest. I figured I'd just watch some
YouTube videos until it was time to go back.
The Hodgett Winds always knew how to get a laugh out of me,
even when I was feeling completely out of my element.
But then something strange happened.
I was halfway through a video, laughing quietly to myself when
I heard it, a voice unmistakably like my grandmother's, calling
out to me from the woods. Howard, come here, boy.
It was exactly how she'd call me whenever she needed help with
something. My initial reaction was
confusion, then fear. I knew for a fact my grandmother
was back on the beach with my mom.
I could see them from where I was sitting.
The voice sounded so real, so convincing, yet slightly off.
Like when my grandma is out of breath after climbing the stairs
to her apartment, every instinct in me screamed that this was
wrong, that I shouldn't head towards the voice.
So I didn't. I ran back to my grandmother and
my mom, my heart pounding out of my chest.
When I told them what happened, they looked at me like I had
grown a second head. It sounded like Grandma.
I insisted, but they brushed it off, thinking I was making it up
or trying to find an excuse to go home.
But I wasn't. I knew what I heard, and it
chilled me to the bone. We stayed at the beach for
another hour or so, but I couldn't relax.
Every sound from the forest made me tense up.
Every shadow seemed to move. It was like the woods were
alive, watching me, waiting for me to let my guard down.
The ride back to the house was quiet, at least for me.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to make sense
of what had happened. But one thing was clear.
I was not alone in feeling uneasy.
The forest had eyes, and it had chosen me for some reason.
What that reason was, I couldn't tell.
But as the sun began to set and we approached the house,
surrounded by the dark outline of the trees, I couldn't shake
off the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
After the beach incident, the day dragged on like a bad dream.
I tried to stay close to my mom and Carissa, hoping their
presence would somehow protect me from whatever was out there.
But as evening fell, my sense of unease grew stronger.
The woods seemed to close in around us, a dark, impenetrable
wall of shadows and secrets. Dinner passed in a blur.
I wasn't hungry, my stomach tied in knots.
Everyone else seemed to move on from the day's events, laughing
and joking, as if we weren't surrounded by miles of
wilderness that harbored who knows what.
I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that
something was waiting for the right moment to strike.
The breaking point came later that evening.
We were all hanging out outside, trying to enjoy our last night
at the Lake House. Blitz, Carissa's Husky had been
my one source of comfort throughout this trip.
He was always so happy and energetic, a welcome distraction
from my fears, But even Blitz seemed on edge tonight.
His ears perked up, his eyes scanning the dark tree line.
Then it happened. One of the kids, probably
frustrated by Blitz's lack of interest in playing, kicked him
hard. Blitz reacted instantly, lunging
at the boy with a growl that sent shivers down my spine.
I managed to grab his collar just in time, holding him back
from doing any real harm. The parents rushed over,
scolding and soothing, but the damage was done.
The atmosphere had shifted, tension crackling in the air
like electricity. Carissa was furious, not just
with the kid, but with Blitz too.
I couldn't believe it. How could she blame the dog for
defending himself? I stayed outside with Blitz,
trying to calm him down, but my mind was elsewhere.
The forest seemed to press closer, the night sounds louder
and more sinister than before, and then I heard it, a stick
snapping in the darkness, heavy and deliberate.
Blitz tensed, his growl low and menacing.
He stared into the woods, his body rigid with aggression, and
before I could react, he bolted into the trees, disappearing
into the night. Panic took over Carissa's
husband, Steve, and my stepdad grabbed their guns and charged
after blitz, vanishing into the darkness.
The rest of us huddled inside the windows, now menacing eyes
peering into the soul of the forest.
We turned off the lights, hoping to see or hear something,
anything that would tell us they were OK.
But there was only silence. An oppressive, terrifying
silence that seemed to swallow up all hope after what felt like
hours. Faint gunshots shattered the
night far off and desperate, Carissa wanted to go after them,
but reason held us back. We had to stay inside safe and
wait for them to return, but they didn't come back.
The night dragged on, an endless cycle of fear and waiting.
Eventually, exhaustion took over and we fell into a fitful sleep,
plagued by nightmares of shadows and screams.
When morning finally came, it brought no relief, only horror.
The sight that greeted us on the back porch will haunt me
forever. Steve and my stepdad, or what
was left of them, lay torn apart, a gruesome testament to
the savagery of the night's events.
It was clear then that we were dealing with something beyond
our understanding, something ancient and malevolent that
called the dark woods of Michigan its home.
As the police arrived and questions were asked, I couldn't
help but feel a deep sense of dread.
Whatever had attacked them was still out there, watching,
waiting. And I knew deep down that our
nightmare was far from over. I didn't sleep that night.
How could I? The images of Steve and my
stepdad, mangled and lifeless, played over and over in my mind
like a horror movie. I couldn't pause.
The house felt different now, tainted by death and fear.
Every Creek and whisper of wind sounded like a prelude to
another nightmare. I lay on the couch, clutching my
Jurassic World blanket, listening to the silence and
wishing for mourning. But mourning seemed a lifetime
away. My thoughts raced, trying to
piece together what could have done such a thing.
Bears. Wolves.
No. The savagery of it.
It was something else, something worse.
I remembered the stories I'd heard, legends of creatures that
roamed these woods. Tales I dismissed as just that,
stories. But now, faced with the
unimaginable, I wasn't so sure. Then, in the deepest shadows of
the night, I heard it again, the scraping.
But this time it was different, closer, personal.
My heart froze. The sound wasn't coming from
outside. It was right there, on the other
side of the wall. The realization hit me like a
punch to the gut. Whatever was out there wasn't
just passing by, it was here for me.
I didn't dare move. I barely breathed.
The scraping continued, each sound a step closer to my doom.
And then silence. Deafening silence.
I strained my ears, hoping, praying It was gone, but the
nightmare was far from over. The next sound I heard was the
back door, slowly creaking open. A cold draft swept through the
room, carrying with it the stench of decay and death.
My eyes watered not just from the smell, but from fear.
I was too scared to move, too scared to even scream.
I just lay there, hidden under my blanket, hoping it would
somehow protect me from whatever horror was creeping into the
house. And then I saw it, a shadow,
tall and thin, moving with an eerie grace.
It was like nothing I'd ever seen before, a creature of
nightmares brought to life. It paused, as if sensing my
presence, and turned its skull like head in my direction.
I could see its eyes, dark pits of malice, staring right at me.
I remembered the stories then, the legends of the Wendigo, a
creature of hunger and horror. It all made sense.
The disappearances, the savagery, the voice mimicking my
grandmother. This was no bear.
This was something much, much worse.
The Wendigo moved closer, its clawed hand reaching out towards
me. I wanted to run, to scream, to
do anything but just lie there. But I was paralyzed, trapped by
my own fear. It spoke then in a voice so like
my grandmother's, yet filled with a hunger that chilled my
blood. Come with me, boy, it said, But
I remained silent, refusing to give in to its call.
Just when I thought it was over, that I was about to meet the
same fate as Steve and my stepdad, I heard footsteps.
Someone else was awake, moving around the house.
The Wendigo hesitated, then turned and vanished into the
night as silently as it had come.
The next morning couldn't come soon enough.
As we drove away from the lake house, I couldn't shake the
feeling of being watched. The forest seemed alive with
unseen eyes, and I knew deep down that we were leaving
something evil behind. We never talked about what
happened, not really. The official story was a bear
attack, but I knew the truth. The Wendigo was out there
waiting, hungering, and I had survived its call.
But the nightmare wasn't over. A month later, Carissa and her
family disappeared, vanished without a trace.
The only thing left behind was a kids shoe and a blanket.
The police searched, but they never found a thing.
It was as if the forest had swallowed them whole.
I still think about that weekend, about the horror we
faced. I don't know if I'll ever truly
understand what happened, but I know one thing for sure.
I'll never forget the Wendigo, and I'll never, ever go back to
those woods again. It was one of those blazing
summer days in Indiana when you could fry an egg on the
sidewalk. And honestly, I was over it,
over the heat, over the endless days of doing absolutely
nothing, and definitely over the boredom that clung to me like a
second skin. That's why when my cousins
called me up inviting me for a camping trip to some hidden gem
in northern Ohio, I didn't think twice.
Ohio has to be better than Indiana, right?
I'm used to myself packing a bag with a mix of excitement and A
dash of adventure. The drive to my cousin's house
was the first leg of my escape from monotony.
I arrived to find them already buzzing with energy, their gear
spread out like they were planning an expedition to
uncharted territories. We packed everything into the
back of an old but sturdy truck that had seen better days,
squeezing in between coolers and camping gear, the anticipation
building with every mile we put behind us.
The journey to our destination was a mix of old tunes blasting
through crackling speakers and tales of what awaited us.
My cousins were vague about the details, teasing me with hints
of breathtaking views and nights under a sea of stars.
As we ventured further from civilization.
The paved roads gave way to gravel and then to nothing but
dirt and dust. I remember waking up from a nap
to the truck bouncing on uneven ground, surrounded by wilderness
as far as the eye could see. We're off the grid now, my
cousin declared with a grin, and I couldn't help but feel a
thrill at the thought. We parked the truck at the foot
of a hill and hiked up to our campsite, our gear weighing us
down but spirits high. The spot they had chosen was on
top of a hill overlooking a valley framed by dense woods.
It was beautiful, serene, and so incredibly peaceful.
Setting up camp didn't take long, and soon we were sitting
around a campfire, the flames casting shadows that danced in
the twilight. As darkness enveloped us, the
conversation turned to the land we were on.
In between fits of laughter, my cousins revealed that we weren't
actually in a State Park, but on Native American land.
They said it was some sacred hill, but the way they were
chuckling made me think they were pulling my leg.
Yeah, right, I thought, not fully buying it, but intrigued
by the idea. They mentioned the name of a
tribe, which sounded legit, but I was too caught up in the
adventure to question it further.
It wasn't until the first scream shattered the night that the
laughter died in our throats. It was a sound that seemed to
come from another world, a howl that carried across the hills
and settled in the pit of my stomach.
We tried to laugh it off, but the unease was palpable.
The more we heard it, the closer it seemed to get, and the more
we realized this was no ordinary camping trip.
The night had wrapped us in its cool embrace, a stark contrast
to the day's heat. Our campfire crackled, the only
light in a sea of darkness that surrounded us atop the hill.
After the revelation about the land being sacred, a part of me
felt a strange thrill at the thought, while another part
couldn't shake off a creeping unease.
That unease turned into cold dread when the first scream
pierced the night. It was unlike anything I'd ever
heard. A howl, a scream, something that
seemed to tear through the fabric of the peaceful night and
embed itself into our bones. We all froze, the laughter dying
on our lips as we tried to convince each other it was just
an animal. But deep down we knew this was
no animal sound we were familiar with.
The screams continued, each one sounding closer than the last,
turning our initial fear into panic.
I remember exchanging looks with my cousins, the same question
reflected in our eyes. What should we do before we
could answer another scream, this one so close it felt like
it was right next to us, made-up our minds.
Then, from the darkness of the tree line across the valley, it
appeared. At first, all I saw was a shape,
a shadow that seemed too tall. Too thin to be human, but as it
stepped into the faint glow of the moonlight, there was no
denying what we were seeing. A creature, humanoid but
grotesquely elongated, sprinted towards us with unnerving speed.
It was a scene straight out of a nightmare, and for a moment we
were too shocked to move. The shock quickly turned to
terror, and without a word, we all turned and ran.
The woods, dark and foreboding, seemed to close in on us as we
stumbled through, driven by the primal fear of being chased by
something we couldn't even begin to understand.
The creatures screams followed us, a haunting soundtrack to our
desperate escape. Those woods felt endless, and
the terror seemed to stretch every second into eternity.
I don't know how we did it, but eventually we burst out of the
tree line, the sight of the truck a beacon of hope in the
darkness. We didn't pause, didn't look
back, just drove as fast as we could, away from that hill, away
from the screams. We ended up at a McDonald's, the
only place open at that ungodly hour, trying to calm our racing
hearts and shaking hands. None of us spoke much.
What was there to say? We had come face to face with
something inexplicable, something terrifying.
When dawn broke, we knew we had to go back.
Our gear, our belongings, they were all still up there.
Returning to the campsite felt like walking back into a
nightmare, but in the light of day, everything seemed peaceful,
untouched. It was almost as if the previous
night had been a collective hallucination, but the fear we
felt was real, the screams we heard were real, and the
creature? It had to be real too.
Later, curiosity got the better of me, and I looked up creatures
of folklore online, stumbling upon the legend of the Wendigo.
The descriptions match too closely to what we saw, sending
a shiver down my spine. It was a chilling confirmation
that what we encountered was not just a figment of our
imagination. It was real, and it was out
there in the dark, waiting.