I should have turned back the moment I stepped out of the
truck. There's something about the way
the forest feels at night. Alive, watchful.
But this time it was different, too.
Still too quiet. The trip started out like any
other. Baxter and I had done plenty of
these solo outings before, and I had no reason to think this one
would be any different. I'd packed the essentials,
sleeping bag, snacks, the knife I always carry, and Baxter's
favorite chew toy just in case he got restless.
We were heading to a spot deep in Gallatin National Forest that
I'd found years ago, miles away from campsites or other people,
perfect for catching the meteor shower.
The drive was long, but the view of the stars from the winding
Mountain Rd. made it worth it. By the time we arrived, it was
just after sunset and the fading light painted the trees in hues
of gold and deep purple. Baxter leapt out of the truck,
sniffing at everything like he was on a mission.
His enthusiasm was contagious and for a while I felt the usual
excitement that comes with being out here, away from the noise of
the world. I got the fire going as the
first stars began to peek out. Sitting back with Baxter curled
up beside me, The quiet of the woods was peaceful at first, a
welcome change from the buzz of everyday life.
The fire crackled, its warmth chasing away the evening chill,
and I leaned back to take in the sky.
One meteor streaked past, then another.
I grabbed my phone, snapping a few pictures to show friends
later. That's when Baxter growled.
It was low, almost a rumble, and I felt it in my chest before I
fully registered the sound. I glanced down at him, expecting
him to be looking at a squirrel or some other harmless animal,
but he wasn't. He was staring at the tree line,
ears flat, his entire body rigid.
Hey, what's up, bud? I said softly, trying to calm
him down. He didn't look at me.
The fire popped loudly, making me jump, and I realized the
usual hum of the forest, crickets, rustling leaves,
distant owls had vanished. The silence was so complete it
felt suffocating. I grabbed my flashlight and
stood, my boots crunching on the dry leaves.
Probably a deer, I muttered, more to myself than to Baxter.
His growl deepened, sweeping the light across the trees.
I searched for the source of his unease.
Nothing. Just shadows and the faint
outline of branches swaying in the breeze.
But something felt off. The shadows were too dark, too
solid, as if they weren't cast by the firelight but by
something else entirely. And then I saw it.
At first I thought it was just a trick of the light, a tall, thin
shape standing perfectly still among the trees.
But as I kept the flashlight on it, my stomach dropped.
It wasn't a tree. It was a figure, unnaturally
tall and gaunt, its limbs too long and its head tilted to the
side almost inquisitively. I froze.
Baxter whimpered, and back toward the truck.
Hey. I called out.
Hoping it was just another camper who'd wandered too close.
My voice sounded small, swallowed by the trees.
The figure didn't move. I stepped back instinctively,
the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
The flashlight shook in my hand as I kept the beam trained on
it. That's when its head moved,
slowly, jerkily, like it was figuring out how to move for the
first time. The tilt became more
exaggerated, almost upside down. And then its eyes.
Two faint yellowish glows opened.
My breath caught. Those weren't human eyes.
They weren't animal eyes either. Baxter in the truck.
I whispered, my voice trembling. The figure didn't step forward.
It slid. No sound, no shift in the
undergrowth. One second it was 10 feet into
the tree line, and the next it was 5 feet closer.
Its glowing eyes locked on me. OK, we're leaving, I muttered,
more to myself than to Baxter. I turned and bolted for the
truck, Baxter right on my heels. I could hear my own heartbeat
pounding in my ears as I fumble with the keys, dropping them
once before finally managing to shove them into the ignition.
The truck roared to life, and I slammed it into reverse,
spinning the tires as I backed out of the campsite.
My headlights swept across the clearing, and for a brief moment
I saw the figure again, standing in the middle of where my fire
had been. It hadn't moved like it should
have been able to. It was just there.
I didn't wait to see what it would do next.
The truck skidded onto the dirt road and I floored it, speeding
into the dark. Behind me, the clearing
vanished. Swallowed by the trees, but the
silence stayed with me, heavier than ever.
Something had followed me out of the woods, and I wasn't sure I'd
left it behind. The road felt endless.
My hands were gripping the wheels so hard my knuckles were
white, and Baxter was curled into the farthest corner of the
passenger seat, trembling. Every bump in the road sent
shocks through the truck, and every shadow that crossed the
headlights felt like it could be it.
I tried to convince myself I was just seeing things back there,
but my gut wouldn't let me. Something was wrong, and no
matter how far I drove, I couldn't drop the feeling it was
still there. I glanced at the rear view
mirror out of instinct, and my heart stopped.
There, in the faint glow of my tail lights, it was the same
impossibly tall figure running. No sprinting, only it wasn't
running like a person. Its limbs were moving wrong,
like it had too many joints or none at all, each step covering
far more ground than it should have.
It moved like a predator, silent, relentless, and
impossibly fast. Oh no, Oh no, no, no.
I muttered, slamming my foot on the gas.
The engine roared as the truck lurched forward, tires spitting
gravel. I risked another glance at the
mirror. It was still there, and worse,
it was getting closer. Baxter barked sharply, his
hackles raised, and I almost screamed.
I didn't dare look over at him. My eyes were glued to the road,
watching as the headlights carved through the endless dark.
The forest closed in on both sides, the trees like a tunnel,
and I realized how trapped I was.
There were no turn offs, no clearings, just this single
suffocating Rd. Then came the screech.
It started low, like metal grinding against metal before
rising to an ear splitting whale that made me jerk the wheel.
The trucks swerved dangerously close to the edge of the road
and I fought to keep it steady. Baxter yelped and ducked under
the dash. The sound wasn't coming from
behind me, it was coming from above.
Something slammed onto the roof of the truck, and I felt the
entire vehicle shudder under the weight.
My heart felt like it was going to explode.
I could hear it moving up there, dragging itself across the metal
with a sickening scrape, the sound vibrating through the cab.
I knew what it wanted. It wanted me to look.
Don't, I whispered to myself, my voice shaking.
Don't look, just keep driving. The roof groaned again, denting
inward just slightly. The thing was heavy, far heavier
than it should have been. My brain screamed at me to pull
over, to stop, to do something, but my body refused to listen.
I slammed the gas pedal harder, willing the truck to go faster.
The trees whipped past in a blur, and for a moment I thought
maybe I could outrun it. But then the weight shifted
again, and the truck shuddered violently.
I felt it moving toward the sunroof.
The tapping started, light, rhythmic, almost playful.
Just three quick taps, like it was knocking to be let in.
I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes on the road.
You're not real, you're not real, I whispered, gripping the
wheel like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
The tapping came again, this time harder.
The sunroof cover rattled as if it could barely hold the thing
out. My pulse was deafening, my
breath shallow and ragged. I knew, knew that if I opened
that cover, I wouldn't survive whatever I'd see.
Baxter whimpered from under the dash, his nails scratching at
the floor as if he could dig his way out of the truck.
Then the tapping stopped. For a brief, terrible moment,
all I could hear was the roar of the engine and the crunch of
gravel beneath the tires. The silence was worse than the
tapping. And then, with no warning, the
weight slid off the roof. The truck bounced slightly as it
hit the road behind me with a sickening thud, and I couldn't
stop myself from looking in the mirror.
There it was, lying in the middle of the road.
It looked crumpled, almost broken, its limbs twisted at
impossible angles. But it wasn't staying down.
I watched in horror as it began to move, slowly at first, jerky,
unnatural movements as it straightened itself out.
I could hear the sound even over the engine, the crack of joints
snapping back into place, the wet, awful noise of bones
grinding together. It's head turned toward me and
those glowing yellow eyes locked onto mine through the mirror.
Nope. I said aloud, slamming the gear
shift into reverse. The truck fishtailed as I backed
away from it, trying to put as much distance as I could between
us. The thing stood fully up right
now, taller than before, it's silhouette blotting out the
trees behind it. It didn't run this time, it
didn't need to. The scream came again, louder
and closer, like it was tearing through my skull.
I jammed the truck back into drive and floored it, refusing
to look back again. My only thought was to get to
the nearest town, the nearest light, anywhere that wasn't
here. I drove for what felt like hours
but the forest. Never seemed to end.
Every shadow looked like it was moving.
Every sound made me flinch. Baxter stayed under the dash,
his whimpers now barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
When the glow of a gas station finally appeared in the
distance, I felt tears sting my eyes.
Safety, light, civilization. I didn't slow down until I was
directly under the harsh fluorescent glow of the lot,
parking so close to the building that I almost hit the wall.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I exhaled.
But even as I stumbled inside to beg the clerk for help, I
couldn't get rid of the feeling that it wasn't over, that it was
still out there. I hadn't escaped, not really.
The gas station clerk looked at me like I was insane.
I didn't blame him. I probably looked insane.
Wide eyed, shaking, dirt smudged across my face and Baxter
refusing to leave the truck, barking at nothing in the
distance. I could barely get words out as
I stumbled toward the counter, my voice cracking as I asked if
he'd seen anything strange. Strange.
He repeated, his tone thick with boredom.
You mean like UF OS or Bigfoot or something?
I wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him understand.
Instead, I just nodded, my hands gripping the edge of the counter
to keep from collapsing. Nope.
He said with a shrug, popping his gum.
Just you. I didn't bother trying to
explain further. I bought a coffee I didn't want
just for an excuse to linger in the bright, sterile light of the
gas station. My body felt like it was on
autopilot. Every instinct in me screamed to
stay put, but the rational part of my brain knew I couldn't.
I had to keep moving. Baxter's barking reached a
frantic pitch, and I turned to see him clawing at the window of
the truck, his eyes wide and wild.
My blood ran cold. He wasn't barking at nothing, he
was barking at something. I bolted outside, my eyes
scanning the darkness at the edge of the gas station lot.
The floodlights only reached so far, and beyond them was the
black void of the forest. For a second I thought I saw
movement, something tall and spindly shifting just out of
sight, but when I blinked it was gone.
All right, we're leaving, I muttered, mostly to myself.
I climbed into the truck, my heart hammering, and slammed the
door shut. I didn't bother looking back as
I speed out of the lot, the gas station lights disappearing into
the rear view mirror. Baxter had wedged himself into
the footwell, trembling, and I kept glancing at him like he
might somehow reassure me. He didn't.
The road stretched endlessly ahead of me, winding through the
forest like a cruel joke. Every shadow seemed to move,
every flicker of light in the trees felt like eyes staring
back at me. I turned the radio on, desperate
for some kind of normalcy, but all I got was static.
And then the tapping started again.
At first it was faint, just a single tap, like a Pebble
hitting the glass. Then another, and another.
I knew better than to look, but my eyes flicked up to the
windshield anyway. Nothing.
Just the reflection of my own terrified face and the blur of
the road. The tapping grew louder, more
insistent. It wasn't coming from the
windshield, it was coming from the roof.
My breath hitched and I tightened my grip on the wheel,
refusing to slow down. Not real, not real, I whispered
to myself, the words more desperate each time.
But it was real. I felt the truck shudder as the
weight shifted again, the metallic groan of the roof
echoing in my ears. Something scraped along the side
of the truck, nails or claws dragging across the paint.
Baxter whimpered, burying his head in his paws, and I felt the
panic rising in my throat. Suddenly, I saw it.
Standing in the middle of the road, illuminated by my high
beams, was the figure. It's limbs were longer now,
stretched to impossible proportions, and it's head
tilted at that sickening angle. Those glowing eyes burned into
mine even from a distance. I slammed the brakes, the trucks
skidding to a halt. For a moment, everything was
still. I didn't breathe, didn't move.
And then it smiled. The figure's mouth stretched
wide, too wide, the edges curling unnaturally, as if its
face wasn't meant to move that way.
I screamed. I couldn't help it.
My body moved on instinct, slamming the truck into reverse
as I floored it. The figure didn't move at first,
just stood there grinning. But as soon as my tail lights
hit it. It dropped to all fours and
started crawling toward me. No, not crawling.
Scuttling. Its limbs moved like a spider's,
too fast and too fluid, and it was closing the distance faster
than I thought possible. I whipped the truck around and
gunned it, gravel flying as I tore down the road.
The thing kept pace, darting between the trees, its glowing
eyes flickering in and out of view.
My chest felt like it was going to burst.
I couldn't think, couldn't do anything but drive, drive,
drive. The road felt like it would
never end, and the shadows kept growing darker, thicker, closing
in around me. Finally, I saw the faint glow of
a street light in the distance. My house, home.
I didn't stop until I reached the driveway, slamming the truck
into park and bolting for the door.
Baxter was right on my heels, his tail between his legs.
Inside, I locked every door and window, turning on every light
in the house. My hands were shaking so badly I
could barely hold my phone as I tried to call someone, anyone,
but the signal was still dead. Baxter whimpered from the corner
of the room, staring at the window.
I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it.
Slowly, I turned my head. There it was, standing at the
edge of the yard, just outside the glow of the porch light.
Its head was tilted, its eyes glowing, and that horrible,
unnatural smile stretched across its face.
I shut the curtains, my heart pounding in my ears, but the
tapping didn't stop. Ellie's fever had been
relentless all day. Her flushed cheeks and the way
her tiny body radiated heat through the thin blanket left me
on edge. I've been nursing her through
this virus for nearly a week, and tonight felt like a tipping
point. Every breath she took was
shallow, rasping, as if her little lungs were running out of
patience. I sat on the edge of the.
Bed, one hand resting on her damp forehead, the other
clutching my phone. The alarm was set for 3:00 AM.
Time for her next dose of medicine.
The clock ticked loudly in the silence of our small apt.
I couldn't sleep, not really. Every Creek in the walls or
distant car engine made me jolt upright, my heart racing.
When the alarm finally blared, it startled me so badly that I
nearly dropped my phone. I slid out of bed, careful not
to wake Ellie. Her soft murmurs tugged at me,
but I reminded myself that she needed this medicine.
Padding into the kitchen, I squinted against the glow of the
overhead light and fumble through the cabinet for the
bottle of liquid Tylenol. That's when I saw it.
The light. It wasn't the warm yellow glow
of a street lamp, or the faint blue flicker of a distant TV.
No, this was stark white and harsh, cutting through the
curtains over the sliding glass door.
It cast sharp shadows across the living room, making the edges of
furniture look sharper, almost unreal.
I froze the bottle of medicine in my hand, listening.
The neighbourhood was usually quiet at this hour, but
something about that light unsettled me.
Slowly, I moved toward the door, pulling the curtain aside just
enough to peek out. There it was, a car parked at
the far edge of the lot, its brights pointed directly into
the woods behind the building. The light sliced through the
trees, catching on branches and throwing jagged reflections
across the ground. I thought maybe someone had just
pulled in, maybe dropping off a friend or getting back late, But
the car wasn't moving. The engine wasn't running.
It just sat there too, still with its lights bearing down on
the forest like it was searching for something.
Then I saw the movement. At first it was subtle, just a
flicker near the edge of the light.
My eyes strained to make sense of it.
A shadow? A trick of the headlights?
No, it was an animal, something low to the ground, slinking
between the trees. My immediate thought was a fox.
They were common enough around here, though this one moved
strangely. Its body seemed disjointed, like
its limbs were struggling to obey the same command.
I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to the cool glass,
trying to make out the shape. As it stepped into the light, my
stomach twisted. It wasn't a fox, or at least, it
wasn't anymore. Its body began to change, the
edges of its form rippling like water disturbed by a stone.
One moment it looked like a small dog, its tail twitching
nervously, and then it stretched, growing thinner,
taller, until it resembled a cat.
But even that didn't last. Within seconds, its body
collapsed inward, folding unnaturally, before emerging as
something bulkier, its movement slower, heavier, like a bear
dragging itself. Across the forest floor, I
stumbled back from the door, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
My mind scrambled for answers, rational explanations.
Was it an optical illusion? A shadow cast by swaying
branches? But the way it moved, it was
wrong, unnatural. My hands were trembling as I
edged back toward the glass, compelled by equal parts terror
and disbelief. The creature had shifted again,
now smaller, rounder, with fur that gleamed under the bright
headlights. A raccoon, maybe, or something
pretending to be one. Its body seemed to shimmer, the
edges blurring and reforming like it couldn't decide what it
was supposed to be. That's when I realized my heart
was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
I needed to wake Paul. He'd see this.
He'd tell me I wasn't losing my mind.
But before I could step away, the creature paused.
It turned, or at least its body shifted in a way that felt like
turning, and though it had no discernible face, I felt its
attention. A cold, sinking dread settled in
my chest, as if its gaze had pierced through the glass
through me. And straight into my core.
I didn't realize I was moving until I was already halfway down
the hall, my feet carrying me on autopilot.
Paul. I whispered harshly, shaking his
shoulder. Paul, get up, you have to see
this. He groaned, groggy and annoyed,
but I didn't have time for his protests.
Grabbing his arm, I hauled him out of bed, dragging him toward
the living room. My hands wouldn't stop shaking,
and the words spilling out of me didn't make any sense.
Something about headlights, the woods, the creature by the time
we reached. The door, the light outside felt
even brighter, harsher. I didn't want to look, but I had
to. When we pulled the curtain aside
together, the thing was closer now, crawling out of the woods.
Its form twisted again, shrinking down into something
small and striped. A skunk.
Relief washed over me so quickly I nearly laughed.
A damn skunk. All that panic over nothing.
I turned to Paul, my voice a mixture of nerves and
embarrassment. It's just a skunk, I said,
chuckling. I.
Paul didn't respond. He just stared, his face pale,
his eyes locked on the creature outside.
Following his gaze, I turned back to the glass.
The skunk's fur rippled unnaturally, its body spasming
as it grew larger, then smaller, then larger again.
Its tail disappeared, its legs elongated, and in one horrifying
moment it looked almost human, crawling on all fours with
patches of fur and exposed skin hanging from its limbs like
tattered fabric. I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't move. All I could do was stare as the
creature fell apart and rebuilt itself over and over, right
there under the light. Paul stared at the creature, his
face slack with disbelief. His usual gruff confidence, the
one that usually annoyed me, was gone.
I clutched his arm tightly, afraid to look away, but more
afraid not to. The thing outside moved with a
jerky, unnatural rhythm, like its joints weren't hinged
correctly. It paused under the glow of the
headlights. Shivering, shifting, my stomach
twisted as it began to change again.
At first it looked like it was shedding, as if clumps of fur
and skin were peeling off its body falling to the ground in
sticky, wet slaps. But then it would reassemble
itself, the pieces sucking back into its core, twisting into
something new. It stretched upward, its limbs
unnaturally long, its back arched at an impossible angle.
For a moment it stood there, swaying.
And I swore it looked like a person, if a person's skeleton
had been broken and reassembled by someone who didn't understand
how bodies worked. Paul muttered something under
his breath, but I couldn't make it out.
His voice sounded far away, muffled, like it was coming from
underwater. My pulse roared in my ears as
the thing collapsed again, dropping to all fours with a
sickening crunch. This time it crawled forward,
dragging itself across the gravel lot like it weighed too
much for its limbs to support. Its head jerked in our
direction, and I felt it again, that awful, suffocating
sensation of being watched. We need to call Animal control.
Paul said finally, his voice strained.
He reached for his phone, but I grabbed his arm.
It's not an animal. The words came out harsher than
I intended, but I couldn't stop myself.
My throat was dry, my mouth barely able to form the
syllables. You saw it, that thing.
It's not normal. Paul hesitated, his fingers
hovering over his phone. What the hell else could it be?
He snapped, his voice shaking. He was trying to be rational,
trying to explain this away, but I could see the fear in his
eyes. He didn't know what it was any
more than I did. Before I could respond, the
car's headlights flickered. The light dimmed for a moment,
then surged back brighter than before.
The creature froze mid crawl, its head twitching to the side,
almost like it was listening to something.
Then, without warning, the headlights cut off completely.
Darkness swallowed the parking lot, and with it, the creature
disappeared. I grabbed Paul's arm, my nails
digging into his skin. Turn on the porch light, I
hissed. Now he fumble for the switch,
and the small bulb over the sliding door sputtered to life,
casting a pale, weak glow over the deck.
It wasn't much, but it was enough to see the edge of the
lot and the first few feet of the woods.
Enough to see that the thing was gone.
Paul exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as he leaned
against the wall. It's gone, he said, more to
himself than to me. It's gone, but I didn't believe
it. I couldn't.
The way it had moved, the way it had looked at us.
It wasn't the kind of thing that just disappeared.
It was still out there, somewhere, in the dark, waiting.
I'm going out there, I said suddenly, the words spilling out
before I could stop them. Paul's head snapped toward me.
The hell you are. I need to see, I said, my voice
trembling. I need to know it's really gone.
Are you insane? Paul grabbed my arm, his grip
firm. You just saw whatever the hell
that was. You're not stepping outside.
But I couldn't sit here, couldn't wait for it to come
back. Every nerve in my body screamed
at me to do something, anything, to take control of this
nightmare. I wrenched my arm free and
grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen counter before Paul
could stop me. I slid open the door just enough
to step outside. The cold air hit me like a slap,
sharp and unforgiving. The night was eerily quiet, the
kind of silence that felt wrong. No crickets, no rustling leaves.
Just the sound of my own breathing, shallow and rapid.
I held the flashlight in a death grip, its beam trembling as I
pointed it toward the tree line. Just a quick look, I whispered
to myself, though my voice didn't feel like my own.
Just a quick look. I shone the light over the
gravel lot, searching for any sign of the creature.
The car was still there, its engine off, its windows dark.
The ground where the thing had been crawling was empty, but the
gravel looked disturbed, like something heavy had dragged
itself through it. As I inched closer to the edge
of the deck, I heard it. A faint, wet sound, like
something being dragged through mud.
My flashlight flickered, the beams sputtering weakly, and for
a moment I thought I saw movement in the shadows, a shape
low to the ground, scuttling just out of reach of the light.
My heart raced as I stepped back, nearly tripping over the
door frame. I slammed the sliding door shut
and locked it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the
latch. What did you see?
Paul asked, his voice sharp with urgency.
Nothing. I lied, my voice barely above a
whisper. It's gone, but I didn't believe
it, not for a second. I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it, the creature, its body
twisting and tearing apart, only to reform into something even
more unnatural. Paul had managed to drift off
eventually, his steady breathing an unwelcome reminder of his
ability to compartmentalize. I, on the other hand, was wide
awake, perched on the couch with a blanket draped over my
shoulders and the flashlight clutched in my lap like a
lifeline. The clock on the microwave
glowed faintly in the dark. 245 AM, 15 minutes until the time it
all started last night. I stared at the sliding door, my
breath fogging the glass as I leaned closer, trying to peer
into the darkness beyond. The porch light was still on,
casting a weak, uneven glow over the deck.
Beyond that was an impenetrable wall of black.
I hadn't told Paul about the sound I heard, that horrible
wet, dragging noise. I didn't need to.
It had echoed in my head all night, a sound so unnatural it
felt like it had been burned into my brain.
I thought about Ellie, asleep in her bed down the hall, and my
stomach clenched. What if it came back?
What if it was already here, watching?
By the time the clock clicked over to 3:00 AM, my nerves were
frayed. I told myself I was being
paranoid, that I was letting fear get the better of me, but
deep down I knew better. I could feel it, the same
oppressive, suffocating presence I'd felt the night before.
The air seemed heavier, thicker, as if the apartment itself was
holding its breath. And then there it was, a faint
glow flickering through the curtains.
I froze, my grip tightening on the flashlight.
It wasn't the car this time. The light wasn't steady or
bright. It pulsed, dim and irregular,
like the dying glow of a Firefly.
Slowly, I rose from the couch, every muscle in my body
screaming at me to sit back down, to pretend I hadn't seen
it. But my legs moved on their own,
carrying me toward the sliding door.
I pressed my face to the glass, squinting into the night.
At first I saw nothing. The glow had vanished, leaving
only the weak light of the porch bulb to illuminate the deck.
But then, just at the edge of the woods, something shifted.
A shadow darker than the night around.
It moved. My breath hitched as the shape
emerged, slowly, deliberately. It was the creature.
It hadn't left this time. Its movements were different,
more purposeful, as if it had finally decided what it wanted
to be. It crawled on all fours, its
body stretched and hunched, its skin rippling like water.
The weak light from the porch caught its face, or what should
have been a face. Instead, there was only a
smooth, featureless expanse, blank and unfeeling.
It stopped at the edge of the deck, its head tilting upward as
if it were looking directly at me.
My legs turned to Jelly, and I stumbled backward, clutching the
edge of the couch for support. The flashlight slipped from my
hands, clattering to the floor and rolling under the coffee
table. No, I whispered, the word barely
audible over the pounding of my heart.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
The thing began to move again, its limbs jerking unnaturally as
it crawled onto the deck. The boards creaked under its
weight, each step slow and deliberate.
My stomach churned as I watched it shift once more, its body
folding in on itself, collapsing into a pile of limbs and fur.
When it reassembled, it was smaller, more compact.
But no less horrifying. It looked almost human, its arms
too long, its legs bending backward at the knees.
The porch light flickered, casting the creature into
momentary darkness. When the light returned, it was
closer. I wanted to scream, to wake
Paul, to grab Ellie and run, but I couldn't move.
My body refused to obey. All I could do was watch as the
thing pressed 1 long, gnarled hand against the glass, its
fingers splayed, leaving behind a wet, smeared print that drips
slowly down the surface. Then it leaned forward, its head
tilting to the side, and though it had no eyes, I knew it was
staring at me. I felt it deep in my chest, a
suffocating weight that threatened to crush the air from
my lungs. From down the hall, Ellie's
small voice broke the silence. Mommy.
The sound shattered whatever trance I'd been under.
I turned and bolted, my feet slipping on the hardwood as I
raced toward her room. She was standing in the doorway,
clutching her stuffed rabbit, her cheeks flushed with fever.
It's here, she said softly, her voice eerily calm.
It's looking for you. I scooped her up, her small body
hot against mine, and ran back to the living room.
The sliding door was empty now, the deck bare.
But the wet smear on the glass remained.
A grotesque reminder that it had been there.
Paul stumbled into the room, bleary eyed and disoriented.
What's going on? He demanded, his voice thick
with sleep. I couldn't answer.
I just stood there, clutching Ellie tightly, staring at the
sliding door as if the thing might reappear at any moment.
My voice finally came, trembling and weak.
We're not safe here. I said.
We have to leave now. Paul looked at me like I was
crazy, but I didn't care. I knew the truth.
Whatever that thing was, it wasn't going to stop.
It wasn't going to leave us alone and it wasn't going to let
us go. When I think back to that
summer, I can still feel the weight of the forest pressing
down on me, the thick, humid air carrying a silence that didn't
feel right. My uncle's cabin sat miles away
from anything resembling civilization.
Tucked deep into the woods where the trees grew too close
together and the dirt rode in, was more crater than path.
It wasn't the kind of place you found yourself accidentally.
You had to want to be there, or in my case, have no choice.
It was the first time my cousin Alex had come to stay with us.
He was older than us, tall, and confident in a way that felt
reassuring. Back then.
He had this way of making everything seem like an
adventure, even if it was just lugging water from the Creek or
chopping firewood. My siblings, Noah and Emily,
adored him and I followed suit, trusting him completely the way
only a kid can. We spent most of our days
playing games in the woods, hide and seek, tag, whatever Alex
dreamed up. But there was an unspoken rule.
We didn't go past the big hollow.
Tree. The tree stood like a Sentinel
at the edge of a small clearing, its trunk wide enough for all of
us to hide behind at once. Its bark was scarred with deep
grooves that looked too deliberate to be natural, like
someone or something had clawed at it over the years.
Alex told us it marked the property line, and we weren't
supposed to go beyond it. He said it was because of the
steep ravine on the other side, but even then I could tell there
was something he wasn't saying. That evening started like all
the others. The sun was sinking low, turning
the sky a dusky orange, and the woods were alive with the hum of
cicadas. Alex suggested we play hide and
seek, and as always, I was the seeker.
I didn't mind. I liked the chase, the thrill of
finding someone crouched behind a tree or tucked into a hollowed
out log. But as I counted to 20 with my
eyes squeezed shut, I felt the first prickle of unease.
The forest had gone quiet, too quiet.
The cicadas had stopped their droning, and even the occasional
rustle of leaves in the breeze had faded.
It was just me and the sound of my own breathing.
I shook it off, chalking it up to the nerves that always came
with being alone in the woods. When I finished counting, I
opened my eyes and called out. Ready or not, here I come.
My voice sounded too loud, bouncing off the trees in a way
that made me shiver. The game started like normal.
I found Noah first, his sneakers sticking out from under a Bush.
Emily was trickier, tucked into the shallow dip of an old tree
root that left Alex. He was always the hardest to
find, and I figured he'd gone deeper into the woods than the
rest of us dared. Alex.
I called, peering around tree trunks and kicking at piles of
leaves. The sun had almost disappeared,
casting long shadows across the ground.
The hollow tree loomed up ahead, it's gnarled branches stretching
like skeletal arms. I hesitated, remembering Alex's
rule, but then I heard it. A faint rustling, like someone
shifting behind the tree. Gotcha.
I said, circling around. But when I reached the other
side, there was no one there. The forest felt heavier now, the
silence oppressive. I turned to head back toward the
clearing when I saw him. Alex was standing just beyond
the hollow tree, his back to me. He wasn't moving, just standing
there, his head tilted to one side, as if he were listening to
something I couldn't hear. Alex.
I called again, louder this time.
He didn't respond. My stomach tightened.
There was something off about the way he was standing, too
rigid, too still. I took a hesitant step forward,
and that's when he turned. His face wasn't right, the
shadows distorted his features, but his smile was what froze me
in place. It stretched too wide, his teeth
gleaming in the dim light. His eyes.
There was something wrong with his eyes.
They didn't look like Alex's. They didn't even look human.
Alex. I whispered, my voice barely
audible. He took a step toward me, his
movements stiff and jerky, like a puppet being yanked by
invisible strings. I didn't wait to see what he
would do next. I bolted back toward the cabin,
my heart hammering in my chest. Branches whipped at my face, and
the ground seemed to tilt beneath me.
I heard footsteps behind me, too fast, too heavy to be mine.
When I burst into the clearing, Noah and Emily were already
there, their faces pale. Did you see him?
I gasped, barely able to get the words out.
They both nodded, their eyes wide.
He. He smiled at me.
Emily said, her voice trembling. But it wasn't him.
We didn't stop running until we reached the cabin.
The door slammed shut behind us, and we shoved the old wooden
table in front of it for good measure.
It wasn't until we turned around that we saw Alex, the real Alex,
standing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes.
What's going on? He asked, his voice groggy.
We stared at him, too stunned to speak.
Finally, I managed to choke out. We, we saw you in the woods.
His face changed then. The color drained from it, and
his eyes darted to the windows. Lock everything.
He said, his voice low and urgent.
Don't make a sound. We did as he said, but I
couldn't stop shaking. Outside, the forest was quiet
again, but it didn't feel right. It felt like something was out
there. Alex didn't say anything as we
scrambled to lock the doors and windows, but the tension in his
movements told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn't a game, and whatever we'd seen wasn't something we
could explain away. His hand trembled as he bolted
the last window, the sound of the lock snapping into place
echoing in the oppressive silence.
The cabin felt like a flimsy box made of twigs, and outside the
woods pressed against it, dark and heavy.
Noah, Emily, and I huddled in the living room while Alex
paced, gripping the old rifle he kept behind the door.
He muttered under his breath, too low for us to hear, but his
face gave him away. He was scared.
Alex, the unshakable was scared. What did you see out there?
I finally asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
Alex stopped pacing, his eyes darting to the window.
He glanced at me, then at Emily and Noah, and shook his head.
It's nothing. He said, but his tone wasn't
convincing. Probably just some animal
messing around. It wasn't an animal.
Emily said, her voice trembling. It was you out there, but it
wasn't you. Alex's jaw tightened and he
looked away. Stay inside, don't open the door
for anything. Got it?
Before we could protest, he turned and stepped out onto the
porch, slamming the door behind him.
We all froze, listening to the heavy thud of his boots as he
moved down the steps. Through the window, I could just
barely make out his silhouette disappearing into the trees, the
rifle slung over his shoulder. For a long time, none of us
spoke. The cabin creaked around us, the
old wood groaning as if under some invisible weight.
The silence outside was absolute, and that was the worst
part. No wind, no insects, no night
birds. Just stillness.
And then we heard it. A scream tore through the night,
raw and guttural, a sound that didn't belong to anything
natural. It wasn't Alex, it couldn't have
been Alex. It was too deep, too twisted,
like the sound of metal scraping against stone.
It sent a shiver down my spine and Emily grabbed my arm, her
nails digging into my skin. What was that?
Noah whispered, his voice barely audible.
None of us had an answer. We stared at the door, half
expecting it to burst open, but nothing happened.
Minutes stretched into what felt like ours.
I started to think Alex wasn't coming back.
Maybe whatever was out there had gotten him.
And then suddenly, the door slammed open.
Alex stumbled inside, slamming it shut and bolting it behind
him. His face was pale, his shirt
torn, and there was a scratch running down his arm, the blood
dark against his skin. He leaned against the door,
breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the room like he
was still looking for something. What happened?
I asked, my voice shaking. He didn't answer right away.
He moved to the window, peering out into the darkness.
It's gone, he finally said, though he didn't sound
convinced. He turned back to us, his face
grim. Everyone stays together.
No one goes near the windows, and no one goes outside.
Got it. What's out there?
Emily asked, tears streaming down her face.
Alex hesitated, his hand tightening on the rifle.
I don't know, he admitted. But it's not human.
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
I wanted to ask more, but something in Alex's expression
stopped me. Instead, we sat together in the
corner of the room. The three of us pressed against
each other while Alex kept watch.
As the hours dragged on, the oppressive silence returned, but
it didn't feel empty. It felt full, like something was
out there, circling the cabin, waiting.
Every so often, I thought I heard faint whispers, too low to
make out, but just loud enough to set my teeth on edge.
And then, as if the forest itself decided to exhale, the
whispers grew louder. At first they sounded like the
wind brushing against the cabin walls, but then they became
voices. Familiar voices.
Emily. A voice called, soft and
coaxing. It sounded like my mother.
Come outside, sweetheart, it's OK.
Emily stiffened, her eyes wide. That's not, it's not her.
She whispered, clutching my arm. Then another voice joined in.
Noah, it said, and I recognized it immediately.
It was Alex's voice, but Alex was right here, sitting in front
of us, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles were white.
The whispers grew louder, overlapping and chaotic.
They called our names, each voice more convincing than the
last. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying
to block them out, but they seeped into my head like a bad
dream I couldn't wake from. Don't listen to it.
Alex said, his voice sharp and commanding.
Whatever it is, it's trying to get inside.
Don't open that door. The voices persisted for hours,
clawing at our resolve, until finally, they stopped.
The silence returned, heavier than before, and the cabin felt
like it was suffocating under its weight.
I didn't know how much time had passed.
Minutes, hours, days. All I knew was that I didn't
feel safe any more, not even with Alex there.
As the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the
shutters, Alex lowered his rifle.
It's gone, he said, though he didn't sound convinced.
We didn't argue. We were too tired, too scared.
But as the sunlight stretched across the floor, I couldn't
shake the feeling that something was still out there, just beyond
the tree line, waiting for the darkness to return.
Dawn felt like a fragile reprieve, the weak sunlight
spilling through the gaps in the shutters doing little to chase
away the fear that clung to us. Alex hadn't said a word since
declaring it was gone. He just sat there, staring at
the rifle across his knees like it was the only thing keeping
whatever was out there at Bay. None of us wanted to stay in the
cabin, but the thought of leaving felt even worse.
The woods outside were too still, too quiet, as though the
trees themselves were holding a secret we weren't meant to know.
Even the birds, usually so lively at dawn, were silent.
It wasn't until Alex stood up, stiff and pale, that any of us
moved. We need to leave.
He said, his voice flat. Pack up whatever you can carry.
We're heading out as soon as the sun's high enough.
I wanted to believe we'd actually make it out of there,
but the tension in Alex's voice made my stomach churn.
Something about the way he avoided looking at us made it
clear he wasn't convinced we'd make it either.
We scrambled to gather our things, moving quickly, speaking
in whispers. Noah was digging through the
kitchen drawers when Alex froze by the door.
He patted his pockets, then his face twisted in panic.
The keys. He muttered.
I had them last night, We all froze staring at him.
You had them when you went outside.
Emily said softly. Alex didn't respond.
His silence said everything. The keys were gone and that
meant one of two things. They were somewhere in the cabin
or they were out there. Alex didn't hesitate.
Stay here. He said, grabbing the rifle.
Lock the door behind me. If I'm not back in an hour,
you're not going out there. Emily cut him off, her voice
trembling. You don't know what's.
Waiting for you. I know exactly what's out there.
Alex snapped. He softened almost immediately,
his shoulders sagging. That's why I have to go.
You can't. Before we could stop him, he
opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And we locked it. Standing there in stunned
silence, we waited. Minutes turned into an hour.
The sunlight crept higher into the room, but it didn't bring
the warmth or safety we hoped for.
The quiet outside pressed against the cabin walls like a
physical wait. I tried to listen for Alex's
footsteps, his voice, anything. But there was nothing.
Just the madding stillness. Finally, I couldn't take it any
more. He's been gone too long, I said.
What if he's hurt? What if I couldn't bring myself
to finish the thought? Emily and Noah exchanged nervous
glances, but neither of them argued.
Grabbing a flashlight in one of the kitchen knives, I opened the
door, my siblings trailing behind me.
The morning light felt weak, as though the forest itself was
trying to dim it. The shadows between the trees
were long and thick, swallowing the ground beneath them.
We followed Alex's tracks into the woods, moving as quietly as
we could. The path LED toward the hollow
tree. I didn't want to go near it, but
there was nowhere else to look. As we drew closer, the air grew
colder and the sunlight seemed to dim even further.
When we reached the hollow, we found his rifle lying on the
ground. The woods scratched and
splintered. There were no signs of Alex,
just the overwhelming feeling that we were being.
Watched. I then saw it.
Something moved within the hollow tree.
A pale humanoid figure crouched just inside the shadows.
At first it was still, its form blending almost seamlessly with
the bark, but then it turned its head and my breath caught in my
throat. Its face wasn't a face at all.
It was a grotesque parody of one, like it had studied human
features but gotten everything slightly wrong.
Its eyes were too wide, its mouth stretched far too much,
and its skin looked like it had been stretched over something
that didn't quite. Fit, Alex, it said in his voice.
Emily screamed, and the thing moved.
It unfolded itself from the hollow, its limbs long and
spindly, bending in ways that made my stomach churn.
It moved with terrifying speed, jerking toward us as if its body
couldn't decide how to function. Run, I shouted, grabbing Emily's
hand and yanking her away. Noah was already ahead of us,
crashing through the underbrush behind us.
The thing let out a sound, a horrible guttural shriek that
vibrated in my chest and made my ears ring.
We ran without looking back, branches clawing at our faces
and legs. The cabin came into view, but
the thing was faster. I could hear it, it's footsteps
too heavy, too loud. It was close, so close.
We burst through the cabin door, slamming it shut and throwing
every piece of furniture we could find against it.
The thing hit the door with a force that shook the entire
cabin, and for a moment I thought it would breakthrough,
but then it stopped. We waited, holding our breath as
the whispers began again. They were louder this time, more
insistent. They called our names, mimicking
Alex's voice, my mother's, even my own.
I clamped my hands over my ears, but it didn't help.
The voices weren't just outside, they were in my head, burrowing
deep and pulling at something primal.
The whispers stopped abruptly as the first rays of sunlight
pierced through the shutters. The oppressive weight in the air
lifted, and for the first time, I felt like I could breathe.
But Alex didn't come back. We left the cabin later that
morning, never looking back. Whatever had happened in those
woods, whatever had taken Alex, stayed there.
But I can't forget the thing's face or its voice calling out to
me in the dark. Even now, years later, I wonder
if it's still there, waiting for someone foolish enough to wander
too close to the Hollow. It started like any other
hunting trip, but by the end of the day I wished I'd stayed
home. I parked my truck on the side of
an old logging Rd. a good 10 miles from the nearest paved
Hwy. the kind of place where even the wind seems to think
twice before passing through. The forest here always felt
older, like it had seen things no one was meant to see.
But I shook it off. I wasn't the superstitious type.
This area was a Hunter's dream, rugged, remote, and untouched.
No weekend hikers or noisy dirt bikers to scare off game.
I'd been out here more times than I could count and knew the
trails like the back of my hand. But even seasoned hunters can't
ignore the weight of silence when it falls too hard, too
sudden. The first mile into the woods
went smoothly enough. The trail was overgrown in
places, thick with brambles and roots that seemed to claw at my
boots. Above me, the canopy blocked out
most of the afternoon sun, leaving the woods bathed in a
dim greenish light. I'd chosen this spot because I'd
seen fresh buck tracks the week. Before big ones, but today the
woods felt different. I told myself it was just the
weather. The air was heavy, damp, and
oddly still. Usually you'd hear birds
flitting between branches, squirrels arguing over acorns,
maybe the distant howl of a coyote if you were lucky.
Not today. Today the woods held their
breath. After about an hour, I reached
the clearing I'd scouted earlier.
It was a perfect setup, a small Meadow surrounded by dense
underbrush. If anything crossed through, I'd
have a clear shot from my blind. I climbed up into the tree stand
I'd rigged last season, settling in for the evening.
The sun was just beginning to dip below the tree line,
painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple.
Prime time for deer. For a while, I let the piece of
the woods wash over me. Hunting isn't just about pulling
the trigger. It's about sitting still,
blending in, and letting the forest forget you're there.
But the peace didn't last long. The first scream cut through the
quiet like a blade. High pitched and ragged, It sent
a jolt through my chest. A rabbit, I thought, probably a
hawk or a fox got hold of it. But the sound didn't stop.
It just kept going. A horrible, gut wrenching wail
that made my skin crawl. If you've ever heard a rabbit
scream, you know it's not a sound you forget.
But this was worse. Longer, louder and more
desperate. It echoed through the trees,
making it impossible to tell where it was coming from.
I tightened my grip on my rifle, scanning the underbrush.
The scream rose and fell in waves, each one more piercing
than the last. Then, as suddenly as it started,
it stopped. The silence that followed was
worse than the noise. It pressed down on me, heavy and
suffocating, like the whole forest was waiting for
something. I adjusted my scope and scanned
the clearing, my heart pounding. That's when I saw it.
At first I thought it was a deer, a pale shape moving low to
the ground, weaving through the thicket about 30 yards away.
But something about the way it moved was wrong.
Its limbs jerked awkwardly, like it didn't quite understand how
to walk. I squinted through the scope,
trying to make out details, but the undergrowth was too thick.
It vanished behind a tree, and I held my breath, waiting for it
to reappear. It didn't.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched
across the clearing. I should have felt relieved when
the pale shape disappeared, but instead a cold knot formed in my
stomach. Something wasn't right.
I stayed perfectly still, listening, but all I heard was
my own breathing. Then it came, A voice, soft at
first, barely more than a whisper.
Help, help, help. The words floated through the
trees, flat and emotionless, like someone reading them off a
script. Not a plea, not a cry for
assistance, just a statement repeated over and over.
It wasn't the kind of voice you'd expect to hear in the
woods. It sounded human, but there was
no fluctuation, no urgency, just a cold, robotic monotone.
I froze, every instinct screaming at me to stay still.
The voice came from where the pale figure had disappeared,
repeating the same word over and over like a broken record.
Help, help, help. I didn't move, didn't blink.
It said the word 15 times. Yes, I counted.
Then it stopped, leaving the woods so silent I could hear my
own heartbeat. A sharp crack broke the
stillness, loud as a gunshot, a branch snapping under foot.
The sound was followed by an explosion of motion.
Birds bursting from the trees, squirrels skittering up trunks,
a herd of deer crashing through the brush like something was
chasing them. And then nothing.
No footsteps, no voice, no sound at all.
Just the weight of the silence pressing down on me again.
I sat there, frozen, my rifle clutched so tightly my knuckles
ached. The clearing was empty, but I
couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me.
I knew I had to get out of there, but leaving the safety of
the tree stand felt like stepping into a trap.
The forest was dark now, the last traces of sunlight
swallowed by the thick canopy. My flashlight was back in the
truck, along with my sense of security.
All I had was the moonlight filtering through the branches,
casting twisted shadows across the ground.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
I didn't know what I'd just witnessed, but I knew one thing
for certain. I wasn't alone out here.
I don't scare easy. I've faced charging elk, had
bears sniffing too close for comfort, even gotten lost in a
Blizzard once. But this?
This was something different, something my gut couldn't
categorize, couldn't prepare me for.
And that made it worse. I stayed in the tree stand
longer than I should have, trying to convince myself I'd
misheard the voice. Maybe it was a prank, some idiot
messing around, or maybe my own mind straining against the
quiet, had imagined it. I wanted to believe that, but
the way the animals had bolted, the way the woods seemed to hold
their breath, it told me otherwise.
My fingers ached from gripping the rifle too tightly.
I forced them to relax, took a deep breath, and told myself it
was time to move. Sitting in the stand was only
delaying the inevitable. I couldn't stay up there all
night. The path back to the truck
wasn't long, but in the dark it might as well have been 100
miles. The first step down from the
stand felt wrong, like I was breaking some unspoken rule.
My boots hit the soft dirt and the forest swallowed the sound
like it didn't belong. Every muscle in my body screamed
to climb back up, but I ignored it.
Survival meant moving, not waiting.
The clearing was empty, bathed in faint moonlight that turned
every branch and shadow into a potential threat.
I stayed low, rifle at the ready, and made my way to the
trail. It wasn't much, a narrow strip
of dirt winding through the underbrush, but it was my
lifeline. I hadn't gone more than 20 yards
when I heard it again. Footsteps.
They were faint, just behind me, crunching the dry leaves.
I stopped dead in my tracks, holding my breath.
The sound stopped, too. I waited, listening so hard my
ears ached. The woods were too quiet.
No wind, no insects, just the soft rustle of something or
someone waiting. I forced myself forward, keeping
my pace steady. Whatever it was, it wasn't
rushing me yet. The trail felt narrower than it
had on the way in, like the forest had grown overnight.
Branches reached out, snagging at my sleeves, my pack slowing
me down. I swore under my breath as I
stumbled over a root that hadn't been there before.
Then the footsteps started again.
This time they were louder, closer.
I spun around, rifle raised, scanning the shadows.
The moonlight played tricks on my eyes, turning tree trunks
into figures, branches into arms.
I knew better than to panic, but my hands were sweating, my heart
hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
Who's there? My voice was steady, louder than
I expected. Nothing.
Just the whisper of leaves in the breeze that hadn't existed a
second ago. Then, faint and far too calm, I
heard it again. Over here, please.
Over here. The voice was closer now, and it
sounded wrong. Too flat, too deliberate, like
someone mimicking human speech but missing the part where it
feels real. I didn't wait to hear more.
I turned and started moving faster, almost running.
The footsteps matched my pace, crunching and snapping just far
enough behind to keep me guessing.
The trail twisted and turned, each bend feeling like it LED
deeper into a trap. My flashlight would have helped,
but it was back in the truck, clipped to my hat, the one I'd
lost earlier. The moonlight was all I had, and
it wasn't enough. I risked a glance over my
shoulder. That's when I saw it, just for a
second. Barely more than a flash.
Something pale, hunched, and impossibly thin darted between
the trees. Its movements were jerky, like a
puppet with tangled strings. And its eyes.
God, its eyes reflective like an animal's in the dark, but
bigger. I didn't stop to get a better
look. My instinct screamed at me to
move, to get out of the woods before whatever that thing was
decided to get closer. The trail ahead was nothing but
shadows and shifting shapes. I stumbled again, my boot
catching on another route. This time I went down hard,
landing on my side with the rifle clattering out of my
hands. For a second I just lay there
gasping for breath. The footsteps stopped.
I scrambled to grab my rifle, rolling onto my back to face
whatever was coming, but the trail was empty.
Or so I thought. The sound of breathing reached
me first, low and raspy, like it was struggling to pull air
through a broken throat. I aimed the rifle at the sound,
my finger hovering over the trigger.
My hands were shaking so badly I wasn't sure I could hit anything
if it came at me. The breathing grew louder,
closer. Then it stopped.
Silence. I didn't wait to find out what
was lurking in that silence. I forced myself up and started
running. Branches clawed at my face, my
pack, my legs. My lungs burned, my heart
threatening to explode. The footsteps returned, crashing
through the underbrush, now matching my frantic pace.
When I finally burst out onto the gravel Rd. it felt like
coming up for air after being underwater too long, but the
feeling of safety was fleeting. The forest behind me was still.
Too. Still, I didn't dare look back
as I ran to my truck. I fumble with the keys, my hands
trembling so badly it took three tries to unlock the door.
I threw myself inside, locking the doors and starting the
engine in one motion. As I reversed onto the road, I
risked a glance in the rearview mirror.
It was there, standing just at the edge of the tree line, pale,
hunched, watching. I floored it, gravel spitting
from my tires as I tore down the road.
I didn't stop until I was miles away, and even then I couldn't
shake the feeling that something had followed me.
And I'll be damned if I ever go back to those woods again.