I've always felt most at home when surrounded by wilderness,
especially places far off the beaten path.
Living in San Francisco meant being surrounded by noise,
buildings, and people, too much of everything except solitude.
That's why I often escaped into the mountains whenever my
photography job allowed, particularly favoring the
grandeur and isolation of Yosemite National Park.
Over the years, I'd explored nearly every corner of this
sprawling wilderness, except for one elusive place that had
always beckoned Clouds rest. I set out from the Sunrise Lakes
trailhead just after dawn, my pack comfortably loaded with
gear and enough food for a single overnight stay.
I had no intention of lingering, just enough time to soak in the
silence, capture photographs of Half Dome's iconic profile, and
enjoy a night of serene solitude beneath the stars.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the clean scent of pine
needles and sun warmed granite. I moved easily along the trail,
my boots softly crunching dried leaves as sunlight filtered down
through tall, ancient trees. After the first hour, I paused
to drink water and adjust my gear.
That's when I first noticed them.
Enormous footprints pressed deeply into the earth beside the
trail. They were bare, human like, but
massive, easily twice the size of my own boot prints.
My initial thought was that another adventurous hiker had
decided to travel barefoot, though it seemed oddly reckless.
Still, people sometimes did peculiar things in nature.
I took a quick photo out of curiosity and moved on,
dismissing it as nothing more than an oddity.
But as the morning stretched toward noon, those footprints
kept pace with mine, unwavering and parallel, always at the
trail's edge, as if someone was deliberately avoiding being
directly on the path. I stopped several times, calling
out tentative greetings into the quiet forest, expecting maybe a
fellow trekker would sheepishly emerge from the trees with an
explanation. No response ever came.
Just silence. Unease stirred within me,
growing steadily with each passing mile.
Around midday, while taking photos of Half Dome against a
cloudless sky, movement flickered at the edge of my
vision. I swung my camera toward the
tree line, trying to catch whatever it was.
My breath caught in my throat when I glimpsed something huge
stepping effortlessly behind the shelter of a thick red fur.
It vanished quickly, but not before I'd caught sight of broad
shoulders covered in dark, shaggy fur.
A bear, perhaps? My pulse quickened.
Bears were common enough here, but something about the way it
moved was undeniably upright and purposeful, utterly unlike the
lumbering gate of any bear I'd seen before.
Forcing calm, I scanned the trees cautiously calling out.
Again. My voice echoed hollowly,
swallowed by the endless walls of forest.
Again, only silence replied. Nervous but determined, I
continued onward, though my earlier enthusiasm was now
shadowed by a creeping sense of vulnerability.
Every rustle in the brush, every snap of twigs seemed amplified.
The beauty of the landscape was becoming secondary to a rising
anxiety. By late afternoon, exhaustion
mingled with adrenaline as I finally arrived at the secluded
campsite I'd chosen ahead of time.
It was nestled in a small clearing at the foot of Clouds
rest, shielded by low granite outcroppings.
I quickly set up camp, pitching my tent and starting a modest
fire to keep animals at Bay. The sun dipped rapidly, bathing
everything in fiery hues, which deepened my sense of isolation.
Sitting near the flames, I tried to convince myself I'd imagined
the strange figure and its enormous footprints.
Yet a part of me, one I couldn't easily dismiss, felt something
watching, studying me from just beyond the flickering edge of
firelight. Nightfall brought with it a
profound stillness, as if the forest itself held its breath.
And then, from somewhere close in the surrounding dark, I heard
the distinct, deliberate snapping of branches, heavy and
slow, moving methodically around my campsite.
Whatever was out there had followed me here, and I was
certain now it wasn't a bear. I stared hard into the
blackness, gripping my flashlight, pulse hammering in
my ears. My throat tightened as I
recognized a sound just beyond the firelight.
Deep, rhythmic breathing. The shadows shifted again.
Something massive stood just beyond sight, patiently waiting,
and it knew I had nowhere else to run.
I sat frozen beside my fire, my flashlight gripped tightly in
trembling fingers. Sweat cooled uncomfortably
against my neck as the night seemed to press in from all
sides. The presence I'd sensed before
dusk had returned, heavy, deliberate movements now
unmistakably circling my small camp.
Every few moments I'd hear the faint crackle of dry leaves, or
the soft shuffle of something large shifting its weight.
Whatever it was, it stayed just beyond the edge of firelight,
careful never to reveal itself. I strained my eyes into the
darkness, desperate for clarity, desperate for confirmation that
I wasn't losing my mind. Hello.
I called again, my voice breaking slightly.
Who's there? Only silence responded, a
silence broken periodically by the careful footfalls of
something heavy and deliberate moving just beyond sight.
The fire crackled softly, providing a small island of
warmth and light that felt distressingly insufficient
against the vast darkness. A twig snapped sharply, this
time closer, startling me into action.
I swung the flashlight beam toward the sound.
For an instant, the light caught the outline of something
immense, a broad shouldered silhouette partially obscured
behind a tall cluster of trees. Dark fur glistened briefly under
the flashlights beam before the figure swiftly withdrew into
shadow. My breath caught painfully in my
chest, heart hammering so loudly I could hear nothing else.
It was watching me, waiting, but for what?
Was it curious, or was it hungry?
My mind raced through possibilities, each scenario
darker than the last. Several tense minutes passed,
punctuated by the occasional crunch of branches under heavy
footsteps. The figure continued its slow,
deliberate orbit, maintaining an agonizingly steady distance.
Then, from somewhere to my left, a low, guttural sound drifted
through the darkness, a deep, breathy huff halfway between a
grunt and an exhalation. The sound wasn't threatening,
exactly, but it was unquestionably intelligent,
controlled, like it was testing my response.
My pulse surged. Stay back, I shouted, standing
suddenly, waving my flashlight erratically.
The beam danced chaotically through the trees, catching
nothing. My throat tightened with the
feeling of vulnerability. It knew exactly where I was, and
all I had was a dwindling fire in a small flashlight.
Forcing myself to move, I grabbed more wood from the pile
I'd hastily collected earlier, tossing logs aggressively onto
the fire until flames flared brightly.
The surrounding trees came briefly into sharper view, tall
trunks casting elongated shadows across the clearing.
My small circle of visibility expanded, but beyond that
perimeter, the darkness only deepened.
Hours crept by in agonizing slowness.
Each sound became amplified by fear.
Every rustle, every shift, every breath beyond my sight became a
signal of danger. Occasionally, the creature would
move closer, standing just outside the glow, breathing
audibly. At one point I glimpsed clearly
the outline of its enormous frame, tall enough to make me
feel impossibly small. It stood upright, observing
silently before melting quietly back into the blackness.
Exhaustion began to claw at my senses, but adrenaline refused
to let sleep overtake me. I sat rigidly near the flames,
snapping awake each time my eyes grew heavy, terrified that any
lapse would end in disaster. More than once, I considered
making a run for it down the darkened trail, but logic
reminded me that fleeing into the woods at night would only
invite disaster. Slowly, the night crawled toward
dawn. The sky began subtly shifting,
fading from inky black to muted Grays and purples.
With the faint promise of daylight approaching, the
presence around me grew quieter. Eventually, silence returned.
No breathing, no footsteps, nothing.
At the first pale glow of mourning, I hesitantly rose from
my place by the fire, legs stiff and shaking.
The woods were perfectly still, almost serene, mocking the
terror of the night I just endured.
Yet as I stepped carefully away from camp, my flashlight beam
illuminated massive footprints clearly circling my sight,
passing disturbingly close to my tent, imprinting in the earth an
unmistakable message. It had been here, patiently
pacing through the darkness, waiting and watching.
The morning light brought little relief, only the stark reality
of how close the creature had come.
As I packed my belongings with trembling fingers, I couldn't
avoid the tracks encircling my camp.
Each print was enormous, clearly defined, pressed deeply into the
soft forest earth, a silent, unsettling testimony of its
nocturnal vigil. My cooking utensils lay
scattered around the campsite, moved and examined but not
destroyed. It had clearly been interested,
curious, perhaps even intelligent.
But why hadn't it attacked? Questions spun endlessly in my
mind, making my pulse race as I hastily stuffed my gear into my
backpack. Fear urged me to hurry, to leave
this place far behind. As I tightened the last strap,
the forest seemed unnaturally silent, as though holding back
some unknown revelation. The idea of hiking back down the
trail, vulnerable again, filled me with dread.
But what choice did I have? Stepping onto the trail, I moved
quickly, almost recklessly, desperate to put distance
between myself and whatever had stalked me.
The massive tracks continued parallel to my path, weaving in
and out of the tree line just out of view.
A cold chill settled deep into my bones when I realized it was
still nearby, tracking my movements.
Every rustle of brush and snap of a twig startled me, causing
me to glance nervously over my shoulder, always expecting that
dark shape to emerge and block my retreat.
Suddenly, something heavy sailed through the air, landing hard on
the path ahead. I froze, staring at the stone
that had narrowly missed me, a rock larger than my fist,
freshly pried from damp soil. My throat tightened painfully.
It was close, and it was intelligent enough to send a
message. Leave me alone.
My voice was ragged, desperate, echoing weekly between the
trees, but nothing moved. Silence persisted, oppressive
and thick as I pushed on, nearly stumbling over roots and stones
in my urgency. I knew I was being guided, heard
it even, but I couldn't discern toward what purpose.
My heart pounded relentlessly, fear and exhaustion battling
within me. Finally, the trail opened to a
broad overlook, a steep drop on one side lined with dense forest
on the other. I halted abruptly, breathing
heavily, my legs shaking beneath me.
For the first time in hours, the sense of being pursued eased
slightly, though the tension lingered.
Something told me to turn back, to look carefully into the
shadows behind me, and there, partially concealed between two
towering red furs, stood the creature.
It emerged slowly, deliberately into view, as though deciding to
finally confront me face to face in the revealing clarity of
mourning. Its massive frame dwarfed
everything around it. Broad shoulders, muscular limbs,
shaggy dark fur that rippled slightly as it moved.
Its face was shadowed beneath heavy brows, eyes deep set, dark
and intensely watchful. My breath caught in my chest,
paralyzed by awe and terror. The creature stood completely
still, observing me, it's expression unreadable yet
undeniably intelligent. The seconds dragged on, heavy
with unspoken meaning. My hands trembled
uncontrollably, gripping the straps of my backpack tightly,
anticipating either attack or retreat.
Then, without warning, it tilted its massive head slightly, as if
acknowledging my presence, a subtle yet undeniably human
gesture. My pulse hammered loudly in my
ears, but the creature made no move toward me.
Instead, after another lingering moment, it turned, its massive
body smoothly disappearing silently into the woods, leaving
no sound or trace of its departure.
Shaking violently, relief and confusion flooding through me, I
hurried down the remainder of the trail, feeling the unseen
presence gradually recede behind me.
By the time I reached the familiar safety of my car parked
at the trailhead, exhaustion and disbelief numbed my senses.
I climbed into the vehicle and slammed the door shut, sitting
motionless behind the wheel, staring blankly through the
windshield at the distant forest.
I'd escaped physically unharmed, but something fundamental had
shifted inside me. I understood now that my world
had grown more complex, more mysterious, and infinitely more
unsettling. The Ridge Walker had seen me
clearly, had measured me, had chosen to let me go.
But why? That unanswered question would
haunt me forever, leaving me to wonder endlessly about its
intentions and whether the encounter had been merely a
chance meeting or something darker, deliberate, and
disturbingly unfinished. I'd known Marcus and Trent since
grade school, the kind of friends who stuck through thick
and thin, the ones you call when life gets tough or when you want
to get away from it entirely. That's what brought us to
Cranberry Wilderness, West Virginia, deep inside the
Monongahela National Forest. Marcus, the photographer among
us, had suggested the north-south Trail.
It was a place for people serious about wilderness,
isolated enough that cell service was a myth and maps only
loosely represented reality. He wanted rugged and untouched.
Trent and I just wanted a break from our daily grind.
Our hike started from Route 150, the scenic highway, a strip of
pavement barely wide enough for two cars.
After leaving a note on the dashboard with our expected
return date, we slipped into the mist, heavy forest, confident
and eager. It wasn't long before the woods
closed behind us, the trail narrowing to a thin line between
towering trees and thick underbrush.
The silence was noticeable right away.
Usually, woods have a pulse. Birds, insects, the rustle of
leaves. But here it was oddly muted, as
if nature itself was holding its breath.
We joked about it at first, saying even the wildlife was
intimidated by Marcus's incessant talking.
But deep down, we felt it. The first day passed
uneventfully, punctuated by breaks for water and navigation
checks. It was late afternoon of Day 2
when things began to shift. We emerged onto a small clearing
near the junction where Cranberry River met Rough Run.
The first sign something wasn't right was the shredded tarp
tangled high in a tree, flapping gently like a faded flag of
surrender. Beneath it, the charred remains
of a campfire stood out starkly, ringed by stones deliberately
arranged into strange, unnatural patterns, concentric circles
intersected by sharp, angular lines.
Marcus shrugged it off as backwoods nonsense, but I saw
Trent's jaw tighten. Pressing onward, we stumbled
onto a smaller clearing. This one made my skin prickle.
Clothing hung limply from branches overhead, a child's
faded jacket, jeans ripped at the knees, and something
heavier, a Hunter's bib crusted and stained with dark reddish
brown smears. Trent glanced at me, silently
communicating our mutual discomfort, but Marcus waved his
hand dismissively. It's hunting season somewhere,
Marcus said, voice falsely confident.
That evening, we camped by a narrow, bubbling stream.
Darkness settled heavily, the mist growing thick again,
wrapping around our tents and muffling the outside world.
We ate in near silence, senses heightened by unease we didn't
fully acknowledge. When Marcus started testing his
camera for long exposures, the flash illuminated stark glimpses
of the trees surrounding us. He scrolled absently through the
images, freezing abruptly on one frame.
Guys. He said quietly, his voice
dropping an octave. He turned the screen towards us.
There was a blurred figure standing at the very edge of the
fire, light, tall, indistinct, watching.
Trent swore softly under his breath.
That's got to be a branch or something.
Marcus didn't reply, just shut the camera off and zip the tent
flap tight, burying himself in his sleeping bag.
None of us spoke again that night, each feigning sleep, ears
straining against the unnatural silence outside.
At some point, Exhaustion 1 pulling me under.
Morning arrived damp and Gray, but it offered no comfort.
Emerging stiffly, I saw Trent standing near a large red spruce
beside our campsite, staring blankly upward.
I approached slowly. What is it?
He stepped aside. Scratched into the bark with
crude precision were four parallel slashes intersected by
a single downward stroke, an inverted tally.
Fresh SAP trickled from the grooves.
Marcus appeared barefoot and frantic.
Have either of you seen my boots?
We searched the camp perimeter. Nothing.
The realization was slow but inevitable.
Someone had been here with us, silent as shadows, leaving no
footprints but taking what they wished.
Unease crystallized into something sharper, colder.
I glanced back at the cymbals, then at Marcus's bare feet.
We need to get out of here, Trent said quietly.
But even then we knew escape wouldn't be easy.
Something out there had marked us, and the wilderness had
swallowed our path whole. We tried retracing our steps,
Marcus hobbling awkwardly without boots, his face tight
with silent pain. Our GPS flickered erratically,
losing its signal whenever we tried to pinpoint our exact
location. Trails that had seemed
straightforward yesterday We're now twisted and unfamiliar.
Familiar Cairns, those neat Little Rock stacks hikers rely
on were toppled or deliberately moved.
Blazes marking the trail had been gouged from tree trunks,
replaced by deep, jagged cuts. Random and meaningless were
being toyed with. Trent muttered, pausing to wipe
sweat from his forehead. His voice carried attention I'd
rarely heard from him. Marcus's face was pale, his feet
raw from the uneven forest floor.
He refused to stop, determined to keep pace, but each step was
agony. After nearly an hour of aimless
wandering, we made a collective decision to climb to higher
ground in hopes of spotting a landmark or regaining GPS
reception. Climbing up the steep, slippery
slope, we pushed aside tangles of mountain Laurel until we
stumbled into another clearing. This one was fresh, recently
abandoned. A modern hiking tent.
It's bright blue nylon shredded, lay collapsed at the center,
flapping softly in the morning breeze.
My pulse quickened. Blood stains darken the fabric
around the entrance, drying to a sickly rust color.
Trent held up a hand, silently signaling caution.
We stepped carefully around scattered gear, a metal cup, a
sleeping bag partially dragged into the brush.
Marcus bent painfully and picked something from the ground.
A phone screen, dark caked with mud, surrounded by frantic dirt
packed handprints pressed deep into the damp earth.
What the hell happened here? Marcus whispered, his voice thin
and strained. None of us answered.
Something caught my eye near the tents ripped entrance.
A small figure, constructed meticulously from twigs and
animal bones, tied together with thin strips of dried sinew.
It's blank bone chip face stared up from the leaves.
Trent backed away, eyes widening with a fear that shattered his
usual composure. He glanced toward the shadows
beneath the trees, his breath rapid.
I didn't want to say anything before, but I grew up in Logan
County. There were always stories about
families living way out here. Hollow folk, We called them.
Stories. Marcus asked weakly.
Trent nodded slowly, staring at the tiny effigy at our feet.
They've lived in these mountains for generations.
They're isolated, secretive. My grandparents talked about
rituals, things whispered around coal camps, folks who vanished
after wandering too far. You're saying we're being hunted
by some backwoods cult? Marcus's voice cracked, half
disbelieving, half panicked. I think they've been tracking us
since yesterday, Trent said quietly.
The realization hung heavily over us.
We quickly abandoned the clearing, moving westward
through increasingly dense terrain.
Silence pressed in again, broken only by our harsh breathing and
Marcus's pained footsteps. We abandoned our heavy gear,
stripping down to essentials even as we moved swiftly.
It felt as though eyes watched from every shadow, unseen
trackers closing in silently. Without warning, Caleb lurched
sideways, shouting as his leg jerked upward violently.
Trent and I grabbed for him, holding him steady.
A thin, nearly invisible wire tightened sharply around his
ankle. A snare.
The metal sliced into his skin, drawing thin ribbons of blood.
Marcus, biting his lip against the pain in his feet, fumble
through his pocket and handed me a small multi tool.
We frantically cut through the wire as the tension snapped
free. Caleb fell to the ground,
breathing heavily, his face pale with shock.
In that awful silence, a sound echoed faintly through the
forest, a low, rhythmic chanting resonating from the valley
below. It wasn't English, it was older,
harsher, reverberating in a way that chilled the marrow in my
bones. Trent hauled Caleb upright.
We have to move now. We forced ourselves up the next
rise, lungs burning and muscles aching.
Cresting a small Knoll, we glanced back into the valley.
Behind us, through gaps in the trees, we saw points of
flickering orange light, torches held by figures spaced evenly
apart, their movements synchronized and deliberate.
One of them stepped forward slightly, swinging something
through the air. A metallic clang rang out,
echoing clearly, a dull, resonant tolling that felt like
a heartbeat thudding in my chest.
It was a bell, a crude, hollow thing made from bone or rusted
iron. They knew exactly where we were,
and they were coming for us. We moved through the woods as if
trapped in a waking nightmare, exhausted, filthy hearts
hammering painfully against our ribs.
Marcus struggled between Trent and me, limping forward with
torn, bleeding feet. The chanting had faded, replaced
by distant drum beats, rhythmic and unrelenting, marking each
agonizing step we took. We can't keep going like this,
Marcus rasped. They're pushing us exactly where
they want. But stopping was unthinkable.
Every rustle of branches, every shadow behind the twisted,
looming trees seemed like a threat.
I swallowed back a dry lump of fear, scanning desperately for
any familiar landmark. Then Trent pointed ahead.
There's a trail there. Look.
It was narrow and barely visible, covered in thick layers
of fallen leaves and red clay. It didn't appear on our maps,
but it stretched westward, roughly the direction we needed.
The red trail? Trent murmured.
He seemed almost surprised by his own words, as if remembering
some long forgotten name. We have no choice.
I said grimly. Marcus simply nodded, his face
pale with pain and dread. We followed the thin, winding
path as it snaked through the dense undergrowth.
The trees overhead tangled into a canopy thick enough to choke
out daylight, the air damp and heavy with rot.
Every step sank into the wet clay, staining our shoes and
clothing a deep, rusty red. The drums behind us echoed
faintly but steadily, driving our pace.
The trail eventually opened slightly, revealing crude
structures hidden among the shadows.
They were hunting blinds, some constructed from fresh timber
and camouflaged netting, others from ancient weathered stones
stacked meticulously near 1 of the older structures.
Something glinted pale in the dim light.
Caleb stepped closer, hesitating before kneeling to examine it.
A bone lay there, a femur etched intricately with the same
strange symbols we'd seen scratched into trees and stones.
This isn't just some twisted cult, I whispered.
This is deeper. This is their religion.
Trent said softly, the horror clear in his voice.
Before any of us could say another word, Marcus screamed.
He was only a few yards behind us, but he'd stopped.
Eyes wide and terrified, Trent and I sprinted back, finding
Marcus slumped against a tree, trembling violently.
His camera was smashed, shards of plastic scattered around him.
His face was streaked with dirt, his mouth jammed open by
something grotesque, a charm of bone and sinew forced crudely
between his teeth. Oh, God, Trent breathed, pulling
it free, throwing the charm to the ground with disgust.
Marcus gasped, retching, tears streaking his face.
I didn't see them. Marcus choked, voice cracking.
They were so close, so fast. We lifted him quickly, forcing
our battered, exhausted bodies onward as the drum beats
intensified, closer now, vibrating the ground beneath our
feet. Every step felt like running
through quicksand, but the distant sound drove us forward.
The logging Rd. Trent said urgently, nearly out
of breath. There's a logging Rd.
West, near Williams River. I remember it.
We trusted him implicitly, pushing through thickets,
branches, tearing at our skin and clothes.
The forest felt endless, hostile, filled with eyes we
could sense but never see. And suddenly we stumbled onto
it. A narrow, forgotten logging Rd.
overgrown but unmistakably man made.
We burst onto its gravel covered surface, relief washing through
us so powerfully I nearly collapsed.
Turning back toward the woods, we saw them.
They stood silently along the edge of the forest, torchlight
illuminating twisted faces streaked with mud and ash.
They didn't advance. One stepped forward slightly,
raising something to his lips. A horn carved from bone like a
ram's skull, twisted grotesquely.
The horn echoed through the trees, a deep, haunting sound
that would follow us long after we'd escaped.
Then, abruptly, the forest was silent again.
For nearly an hour we hobbled desperately down that logging
Rd. constantly glancing back, waiting for pursuit that never
came. Marcus was barely conscious,
slumped against Trent, mumbling incoherently.
The distant rumble of an engine shattered our days.
A Jeep Wrangler rounded the bend ahead, headlights glaring
brightly. Trent stepped forward,
frantically waving. It skidded to a halt, gravel
flying. 2 bow hunters jumped out, eyes wide with shock as
they took in our battered state. What the hell happened to you
guys? One asked, rushing over.
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
We were filthy, bleeding, shaking uncontrollably.
They helped us into the Jeep without further questions,
driving rapidly towards civilization.
Days later, from a sterile hospital bed in Richwood, I
listened numbly as Park Rangers and state troopers described
their exhaustive search of the area.
Nothing was found. The campsites, the trails, even
the bizarre effigies, all gone without a trace.
The red trail itself had vanished, fading seamlessly back
into the wilderness. Marcus recovered slowly,
haunted, withdrawn. One afternoon, he handed me a
small envelope. Inside was a corrupted memory
card. Only one grainy image remained
salvageable. The figure from our first night.
It's form clearer now, horribly familiar.
Tall, gaunt, wrapped in stitched leather, a deer skull clutched
in one hand, watching silently. We never returned to Cranberry
Wilderness, but even now, when I'm alone and night closes in, I
swear I still hear those distant drums and the hollow, echoing
tone of a bell made from bone. Everyone's heard stories about
the Pine Barrens, the endless stretch of forest that swallows
up nearly 1,000,000 acres of southern New Jersey.
Legends of hauntings, whispers of the Jersey Devil, strange
disappearances. It was easy to laugh them off
from my apartment in Philly. It felt different out here,
though. The dense, shadowed trees had a
way of swallowing laughter and leaving nothing but silence
behind. My girlfriend Jessa had never
liked wilderness trips, and now I was starting to wonder if
she'd been right all along. She always trusted her gut more
than I did. But today was supposed to be
different. Just a quiet, peaceful hike,
away from the noise, away from our phones, away from work.
I found the road on a hiking blog, one that promised solitude
and untouched trails. Branching out from Batstow
Village, a historic spot I'd visited as a kid, I figured
nostalgia could ease her nerves about heading into the unknown.
But now we stood beneath a canopy so thick the sun barely
filtered through. Jessa glanced nervously at her
phone, shaking it as if that might magically summon a signal.
I've got nothing, she said quietly, tension edging her
voice. No GPS yours.
I checked mine, seeing the little arrow frozen on a
featureless screen. I shrugged, hoping to seem
unconcerned. We'll just keep moving, the blog
said The trails are rough, but they loop back.
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue.
Instead, she tightened her backpack straps and walked
slightly ahead, her posture tense and wary.
We pressed on for another half hour, the terrain becoming
increasingly tangled and wild, thorny underbrush toward our
pant legs, and the ground turned marshy in spots, releasing A
pungent odor of stagnant water and rotting leaves.
This definitely wasn't on any map I'd seen, and the forest
seemed intent on guiding us somewhere deeper rather than
out. Just as I considered suggesting
we turn back, a structure emerged through the trees ahead.
My heart skipped slightly, not from relief, but from a strange,
unsettling sensation that this discovery was somehow wrong.
What the hell? Jessa whispered, stopping
abruptly. A head stood A decrepit shack,
its wooden boards warped by time and moisture.
Animal skulls, deer mostly, but some smaller unidentifiable,
hung from rusted metal hooks around its doorway.
They swung lightly, disturbing yet oddly mesmerizing.
Small bones littered the dirt around it, arranged in shapes
that felt deliberate, ritualistic.
Maybe some local Hunter's place? I ventured, though even I didn't
believe my own words. Jessa shook her head firmly.
We need to get away from here, Aaron, Right now.
Before I could respond, I heard a sound from inside the shack, a
faint scratching, rhythmic slow. My pulse quickened.
Every rational instinct told me to run, but curiosity gripped me
tighter. Stepping cautiously toward the
open door, I peered inside. The shack's interior was dark,
heavy with the smell of decay in the dimness.
Bones lay scattered on the dirt floor.
Charred wood and small, primitive looking figures carved
from sticks hung on the walls, their forms twisted, grotesque.
A message had been scratched deeply into the rotting boards,
the jagged lettering harsh and frantic.
It feeds in the trees. The hair stood up on the back of
my neck. I stumbled backward, heart
racing. Jess's eyes were wide, her
breath rapid. Aaron.
A snap of branches echoed behind us.
We spun toward the sound. Just beyond the edge of the
clearing, something moved. A silhouette, inhumanly thin,
crouched low behind a tree. Its form was wrong, limbs
stretched grotesquely, as if each movement caused it pain,
but it moved fast, too fast to clearly track.
Without thinking, I grabbed Jess's hand.
Run. The forest blurred around us as
we tore blindly through brush and fallen branches.
I could hear something behind us now, gaining steadily, its gait
erratic but impossibly rapid, like a predator closing the gap.
We ran until our lungs burned, stopping only when my foot
caught an exposed route, sending me sprawling face first into the
dirt. Jessa pulled me to my feet,
scanning wildly for any sign of pursuit.
Silence enveloped us again, but it offered no comfort, just a
mocking emptiness that seemed eager to betray our position.
Did we lose it? She whispered.
I listened, holding my breath, searching for any movement.
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, softly, from somewhere too
close in the tangled darkness, we heard a distorted mimicry of
Jessa's own voice, twisted by a guttural rasp.
Did we lose it? The darkening woods closed
around us like a tightening grip.
We hadn't spoken since hearing that horrible mimicry, moving
cautiously instead through thick Groves of pitch trees and
tangled brush, guided by instinct and panic.
The moon rose, offering faint illumination, painting
everything in ghostly shades of blue and Gray.
We needed shelter. My mind raced through options,
but the more I tried to Orient myself, the more disoriented I
became. It felt as if the forest itself
had rearranged overnight. Even the stars above provided
little comfort. They appeared misaligned,
foreign. Eventually, we stumbled upon a
small Cedar Grove set lower than the surrounding terrain, a
natural depression sheltered by dense branches.
It felt protected enough. I dropped my pack onto the damp
ground, pulled out some dry kindling I'd stuffed inside
earlier, and quickly got a small fire going.
The weak flames cast flickering shadows, making the darkness
around us dance unsettlingly. You think that thing is still
nearby? Jessa whispered, hugging herself
tightly. I nodded, scanning the edges of
the firelight. It knows these woods better than
we do. It'll be out there somewhere.
She shivered, visibly pulling closer to the flames.
Something was off about the ground near her feet, and I
leaned closer, realizing with a jolt what I was seeing.
Deep grooves in the dirt. Drag marks.
They ended just a few feet away from where we planned to sleep.
My chest tightened. Whatever made those marks had
been close. Too close.
And recently. Jessa.
I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.
Look at this. She knelt beside me, her
expression hardening into fear. Before either of us could speak,
a rustling came from directly overhead.
A heavyweight crashed suddenly from the branches, landing in
the firelight with a wet, sickening thud.
We recoiled instinctively. The twisted remains of a deer
lay sprawled across the ground. Its rib cage was open, exposed
bones stark white against shredded muscle and skin.
The eyes had been plucked out, leaving only dark, empty sockets
staring blindly upward. Jessa stumbled backward,
gagging, while my own stomach heaved violently.
We had to move, and fast. Pushing through dense
underbrush, we ran again until our strength faltered.
Soon another clearing appeared, this one larger, starkly open in
the faint moonlight. A hole gaped darkly in the
center of the clearing. We approached slowly,
cautiously, peering inside. My throat tightened at the
sight. It was a pit several feet deep,
filled with half rotted carcasses.
Bones were everywhere. Animals, yes, but also clearly
human. Remnants of hiking boots, scraps
of jackets and backpacks littered the pit, unmistakable
even in their decayed state. The stench made breathing nearly
impossible. My mind raced back to the shack
and its carvings. It feeds in the trees, I
whispered hoarsely. This was its larder.
We were in its territory, trapped in its feeding ground.
Aaron, we need to keep going. Jessa urged, grabbing my arm,
pulling me away from the pit. We can't stop here.
We pressed onward, half stumbling until a broken shape
emerged through the darkness and abandoned Ranger station, it's
metal siding peeling and rusted. Without hesitation, we pushed
inside, barricading the flimsy door behind us with an
overturned table. Panting, we stood silently in
the dark, straining our ears. 2nd stretched to minutes without
any sound, but I knew better than to feel relief.
Then the scratching began, slowly at first, soft and
deliberate. Circling the Ranger station,
Nails scraped against metal siding with a chilling rhythm.
The sound paused, occasionally replaced by rapid clicks and
guttural breaths. It was testing for weaknesses,
looking for entry. I rifled through my bag,
frantically finding 2 Rd. flares.
Maybe this will scare it, I muttered, more hope than belief.
I cracked the first flare, and the station filled instantly
with an eerie Crimson glow. The scratching ceased
immediately, replaced by a furious screeching noise.
Inhuman and enraged footsteps scattered rapidly into the
trees. It worked.
Jessa breathed shakily, but I shook my head, knowing it was
only a temporary reprieve against the far wall,
illuminated in red. I noticed an old map pinned
beneath a cracked sheet of plastic.
Trails, fire roads and landmarks were faded, but one route, a
fire Rd. seemed to run directly toward Batsto.
It was our best chance out of here.
This is it? I whispered urgently.
If we move fast at dawn, maybe. The metal wall behind us
suddenly buckled inward, metal shearing violently.
I spun around, flare held high. Clawed fingers reached through
impossibly long, grasping for us.
Go out the back. I shouted.
Jessa shoved open a cracked window and scrambled through,
tearing her jeans on the jagged edge.
I dove out after her, landing roughly on the cold ground.
Behind us, the Ranger station rattled and groaned as something
tore violently through metal and wood.
We didn't wait, didn't look back.
The only thing left to do was run again, blindly into the
waiting darkness. The forest blurred past us, an
endless maze of shadowed trees, sharp branches, and hidden
roots. Every breath burned in my chest,
muscles screaming from exhaustion.
But we couldn't afford to slow down, not with those rapid
footsteps still echoing behind us.
Each step brought the faint glow of dawn closer, the sky turning
from pitch black to muted Gray. Daybreak was our only chance,
the hope of seeing clearly enough to navigate.
Beside me, Jess's breathing was ragged, her face pale, streaked
with sweat and dirt, eyes wide with the primal terror of
something relentlessly closing the gap.
We had no compass, no GPS, just the vague hope that the fire Rd.
I'd glimpsed on the map would appear through these trees at
any moment. A piercing howl tore through the
stillness behind us, guttural and raw.
Jessa stumbled, but quickly regained her footing, gripping
my arm tighter. Aaron, it's getting closer.
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing fleeting glimpses of a
gaunt figure weaving between trunks, gaining ground.
My mind raced for options. Ahead, the forest floor dipped
steeply and I suddenly remembered the multi tool in my
pocket. It was our only chance.
Jessa, keep going. I shouted breathlessly.
Don't slow down no matter what. What Aaron, I'll catch up.
I said, the lie bitter in my mouth.
But she had to believe it. She had to run before she could
protest again. I dropped to 1 knee, pulling the
multi tool from my pocket. My hands trembled violently as I
snapped the small blade open. Desperately, I tore my belt off,
looping it between 2 low branches.
Crude, yes, but maybe just enough.
Behind me, branches cracked violently as the creature
barreled toward us. Jess's footsteps faded ahead.
My heart pounded painfully, every instinct screaming to run
after her, but I forced myself to wait.
Crouched muscles coiled, The creature burst from the shadows.
Thin, pale, its skin mottled Gray and stretched grotesquely
across emaciated bones, it lunged forward, all hunger and
blind fury. The belt snapped taut, catching
its foot, sending its sprawling forward with a sickening crack.
It shrieked an ear piercing sound, thrashing violently.
Adrenaline surged, propelling me upright.
I sprinted toward Jessa, her silhouette barely visible ahead
through the dim morning light. Behind me, the shrieking faded
into furious growls as it tore itself free, now even angrier
and injured. We stumbled forward, branches
slashing our faces and arms, legs shaking from fatigue and
terror. Suddenly, the forest opened into
a wide, straight corridor, the old Fire Rd. barely
distinguishable beneath pine needles and fallen leaves.
This way. I gasped, urging Jessa forward.
The distant glint of metal caught my eye, utility poles
lining the road, a sign of civilization.
Hope surged through me briefly, only to vanish as the creature
burst from the woods again, faster, more frenzied.
We ran with everything we had, our feet hammering the packed
dirt, lungs burning. But the thing closed quickly,
unnaturally fast, it's snapping teeth now horrifyingly audible.
Jessa stumbled, tumbling roughly to the ground.
I spun, scooping her up, practically dragging her
forward. Almost there.
I breathed, barely believing myself.
Headlights suddenly appeared, bouncing down the rutted track.
My pulse surged. Someone was coming.
Help. Jessa screamed hoarsely, waving
her arms desperately. A truck came into view, a
battered state wildlife vehicle driven by a startled game warden
whose eyes widened at our bloodied and desperate state.
He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt just feet
from us. Behind us, the creature stopped
abruptly at the edge of the road, skeletal limbs poised,
grotesquely sunken eyes glaring with unmistakable hatred.
Its jaws opened wide in a silent scream, but it didn't follow,
not onto the open Rd. not into the growing morning light.
We collapsed against the hood of the truck, sobbing, gasping for
breath. The warden jumped from his seat,
grabbing a rifle from the rack behind him.
What happened? He demanded, his voice urgent,
scanning the woods. There's something in there.
Jessa managed, voice shaking. It took it.
Hunts, people. He stared toward the woods,
disbelief mixed with caution, then guided us roughly into his
truck. I glanced back one last time as
we speed away. The creature stood perfectly
still, watching from the shadows as the trees swallowed it once
again. Hours later, as police searched
the area, they found only remnants.
My torn backpack. Blood stained scraps of fabric
tangled in thorns. No sign of the creature except
marks they attributed to a bear they found.
Nothing of the shack, Nothing of the Pit, Nothing of our
nightmare. In the cold silence of a motel
room outside Hammonton that night, I finally charged my
phone. There was 1 voicemail waiting
time stamped just moments after we first saw the shack.
My heart stopped as I pressed play.
Static crackled, and then my own voice whispered through the
line, broken and distorted. Don't trust the trails it
watches from the trees. When you've spent as much time
in the Backcountry as I have, you learn to trust your
instincts. The small voice urging caution
when the woods fall unnaturally silent, or when shadows between
trees linger too long. But sometimes even instincts
fail to prepare you for what's waiting in the wilderness.
My name is Miles. For nearly a decade, I worked as
a Ranger in the Great Smoky Mountains.
Now, in my late 30s, I still find myself returning regularly,
drawn by the raw isolation of remote trails away from crowds,
civilization and the noise of daily life.
My younger brother Jamie, doesn't share my caution.
At 27, Jamie's adventurous spirit is unbridled and
enthusiastic, always chasing the next challenge.
This time he convinced me to lead a hike deep into the
Smokies, the Baxter Creek and Swallow Fork trails, up toward
Mount Sterling, then across to Mount Camera, and finally
looping back along Big Creek. It was ambitious, isolated and
exactly the type of trip Jamie and his girlfriend Daria wanted.
Daria studied anthropology in college, skeptical but
fascinated by local legends and folklore.
Wes, our friend and a former Marine, was here to simply
disconnect, as he put it, though I suspected he enjoyed the
camaraderie more than he led on. Despite local warnings at the
small mountain towns, vague mentions of bear sightings, and
hesitant silences, we packed our gear and ventured deep into the
wilderness. Our first night's camp was near
the old fire tower atop Mount Sterling, where the trees stood
twisted by years of harsh weather.
By sunset, the air was sharply cold, tinged with moisture from
clouds hovering low across the ridges.
We gathered around a fire conversation, turning naturally
toward ghost stories, harmless attempts to unsettle each other.
But I could feel a strange tension building, something
restless beneath our jokes. It was Daria who heard it first.
She stopped mid sentence, her eyes wide in the dim glow of the
campfire. Did you guys hear that?
We froze, listening. Silence pressed heavily around
us, dense and complete. Then a faint sound rose from the
valley below. A voice.
It echoed strangely, a woman's cry, urgent yet oddly flat,
repeating the same phrase again and again.
Help me, please help me. Jamie stood quickly, flashlight
in hand. Someone's in trouble.
I grabbed his arm, shaking my head.
Listen to it again. We waited, listening, the cries
repeated, unchanged. Identical pitch, identical
cadence. Jamie's confidence wavered.
Even Daria, skeptical by nature, leaned closer, troubled.
It's looping. She whispered.
Exactly the same every time. Animal.
Wes suggested doubtfully. Too human?
Jamie insisted. The voice carried on another
minute before abruptly stopping, plunging the woods back into
eerie silence. We retreated to our tents,
unsettled. I lay awake for hours, staring
at the tent ceiling, ears straining at every rustle in the
brush. By morning, sunlight seemed to
chase away our fears. We rationalize the voice as a
trick of the wind, an odd echo, nothing more.
We pressed forward along Swallow Fork, eager to reach Mount
Cameron by late afternoon. But unease followed us, little
irregularities creeping into our journey.
I began to notice trail markers subtly out of place.
Small Cairns shifted slightly, enough to guide us subtly away
from the familiar route. I stopped frequently to check
our bearings, my unease growing sharper.
It was near dusk when we reached the edge of the Swallow Fork
trail. Wes, walking behind, paused
abruptly. Something's out there, he said,
voice quiet but taut. We turned to see Wes staring
intently into the trees. My pulse quickened.
I squinted into the fading light, spotting a tall, shadowy
figure standing perfectly still, partially obscured behind a tree
trunk. It was unnaturally tall,
motionless, silently watching. Bear.
Jamie whispered. No Bear stands like that, I
muttered. The figure remained unmoving, a
dark silhouette. Then it simply wasn't there,
gone between the blink of an eye.
Night fell quickly, and we made a tense camp beneath the thick
canopy, each of us reluctant to speak openly about our growing
dread. Sleep was intermittent, fitful.
I woke near dawn to find Daria awake, staring into the trees.
It was closer. She murmured without looking at
me, standing right there, watching us, closer than before.
My throat tightened. A feeling of confinement
descended, oppressive, as if the woods themselves were pressing
in. At first light, we decided to
turn back, retracing our route. Within minutes, it became clear
we weren't on the same trail. Familiar landmarks vanished.
Terrain that should have been straightforward seemed alien and
tangled. How is this possible?
Jamie asked, his voice rising in panic.
We walked this exact trail yesterday.
Daria grabbed Jamie's sleeve. Listen.
We froze again. From somewhere deeper in the
woods came another voice, clearer now, calling Jamie's
name softly, urgently. Jamie's eyes widened in shock,
and he took a hesitant step toward the voice, compelled by
the sound. Stop.
I barked, grabbing his arm. Jamie blinked, suddenly alert,
frightened. It's my voice, he whispered.
That's me calling. I swallowed, the chill rising in
my chest. Daria looked pale, her eyes
darting between the trees. West scanned the shadows warily,
hand clutching his knife tightly.
With each frantic attempt to retrace our path, we grew more
lost, disoriented. Each loop took us deeper into
unknown terrain. Eventually we stumbled through
thick brush, exhausted and bewildered, and emerged onto a
small clearing where a campfire smouldered weakly, a familiar
sight. My stomach lurched.
It was our camp, the 1:00 we'd abandoned just hours before.
Silently, we stared at each other, comprehension dawning.
We'd been herded back here, intentionally, guided through
the forest like prey driven into a trap.
I tried to steady my breathing, hearing the pulse hammering in
my ears as dusk descended once again.
We huddled closer, knowing that whatever was out there,
watching, mimicking hunting, was not finished with us yet.
Night descended like a shroud, thickening the fog until it
pressed damp and clammy against my skin.
My pulse still hammered unevenly from our endless circles through
the forest. We'd given up trying to
rationalize it. We'd been LED here, guided and
manipulated deeper into unfamiliar ground.
The realization brought a sickening dread.
Our maps, our compasses, all useless.
The wilderness had swallowed us whole.
Jamie, wide eyed and jittery, held Daria close, whispering
reassurances he didn't believe. Wes paced silently at the camp's
edge, eyes darting into the gloom.
Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves sent cold panic
shooting through my chest. We can't just sit here.
Wes finally snapped, voice tight.
He knelt and tightened his boot laces, movements sharp and
military precise. We need to find higher ground,
spot landmarks. I nodded numbly.
Higher ground offered a slim chance.
We decided to split briefly. Daria and I would ascend toward
the nearest Ridge, hoping for vantage, while Jamie and Wes
stayed lower, setting up a temporary shelter and fire.
It wasn't ideal, but we needed answers more than comfort now.
The climb uphill was slippery, steep, and maddeningly slow.
Trees leaned at odd angles, limbs jutting out like skeletal
fingers to block our way. My breath came ragged, burning
cold in my lungs. Every shadow seemed deeper than
natural, thicker somehow. Darya stayed close, glancing
nervously behind us. Wait.
She hissed, suddenly, grabbing my sleeve.
My body froze, instantly alert. What?
She pointed silently into the mist about 50 feet ahead.
Something moved, or rather several somethings shifting
subtly between the trees. Through the dense vapor, 3 tall,
vaguely human shapes stood utterly still.
Not merely tall, impossibly elongated, thin limbs stretching
grotesquely in the dimness. My pulse surged into OverDrive.
We didn't dare breathe. Seconds stretched agonizingly.
The figures stood motionless, outline smudged by fog, but
unquestionably real. Then, with a silent fluidity,
they simply vanished, dissolving effortlessly into the gloom.
What were those things? Daria whispered, voice shaking.
I don't know. I lied.
Memories surfacing, old Cherokee legends whispered around
campfires, warnings I'd always dismissed.
She reached out, gripping my arm with icy fingers.
Miles, Those shapes, I've read about them.
Skinwalkers, Wendigos. But those aren't supposed to be
real here, right? Before I could respond, a
panicked shout from Jamie echoed uphill, breaking through our
paralysis. Daria miles, come quick.
We sprinted recklessly downhill, heartbeats pounding violently.
Jamie's face was ghostly white in the dim firelight.
Wes was gone. His pack lay torn open,
suspended grotesquely from a low branch, contents meticulously
arranged below. Twigs formed precise circles, a
scattering of animal bones arranged in crude patterns, and
at the center, 1 yellowing tooth.
Human. It wasn't there a minute ago.
Jamie stammered, voice brittle. I swear he was here, then, gone.
My skin prickled sharply. Every nerve screamed at me to
flee, but rational thought remained elusive.
We couldn't leave W behind, not like this.
Yet standing still felt equally suicidal.
They're playing with us, Daria whispered, trembling visibly.
Were entertainment. Night returned brutally,
enclosing us. We clustered tight, building the
fire higher, desperate for illumination.
Our flashlights strained uselessly against the oppressive
darkness. The woods grew impossibly still.
Then, softly at first, distant murmurs echoed through the
trees, indistinct whispers circling our position.
My gut tightened painfully. The murmurs sharpened gradually
clearer, each syllable distinct. Jamie stiffened beside me, face
drained of color. It's me, he rasped, choking out
the words. I hear myself.
He wasn't wrong. His voice repeated eerily in the
dark, begging softly, urgently, repeating pleas for help.
Exact phrases Jamie had uttered just moments ago.
Then my pulse stuttered, breath catching sharply as a different
voice emerged, deeper, rough, edged with age.
It was my father's voice, unmistakably clear despite his
passing years ago. Miles, it called, gently,
coaxingly, echoing from deeper shadows.
Miles, come here. The forest erupted into chilling
mimicry, Daria's frightened gasps, Jamie's terrified shouts,
Wes's startled curses, all blending into a nightmarish
Symphony, taunting and provoking.
Daria covered her ears, sobbing silently.
Jamie, frantic, stood defensively over her.
Stop it, I shouted, voice raw. My command echoed futilely,
swallowed by mockery. Abruptly, the woods fell silent
again, leaving only the crackling fire and our ragged
breaths. My throat burned from held back
fear. Daria stirred, eyes wide,
staring blankly toward a nearby tree.
Her voice shook with disbelief. Miles, Look.
A large symbol carved roughly into bark, glistened wetly,
freshly scored into the trunk. Daria reached out, fingertips
trembling inches from the gouges.
It's Cherokee, she whispered, a warning, a barrier symbol to
keep something out or in. Jamie whispered bleakly,
glancing towards shadows beyond the firelight.
The depth of our peril hit me fully then.
Whatever haunted these hills wasn't merely animal or myth.
It was cunning, malevolent, predatory, and we had stumbled
blindly into its trap. Hours dragged torturously.
We sat huddled back-to-back, eyes darting to every shifting
shadow. Near dawn, my exhausted mind
began to drift, thoughts numbing, until Daria gasped
sharply beside me, clutching my wrist painfully tight.
Look at the tree line, clearly illuminated by faint firelight.
5 tall silhouettes stood silently, impossibly elongated
bodies swaying gently. They never approached, just
watched, observing with blank, featureless faces.
Then with fluid ease, one drop silently to all fours, head
cocked unnaturally. It's voice slithered softly from
shadowed trees, perfectly mimicking Daria's precise
intonation. Terrified and hopeless.
We should have never come here. Silence followed, thick and
absolute. Then, from deep within the
trees, a cold, hollow laugh rippled outward.
Unmistakably, my own fog strangled the dawn, smothering
the forest in a choking veil. The remnants of our fire lay
cold and Gray. Jamie paced restlessly, glancing
back toward the shadows where Wes had vanished, jaw clenched
in futile anger. Daria sat trembling, barely
responsive, eyes distant and unfocused.
We have to move, I said, voice low but firm.
I needed to keep them alert, moving, doing anything but
falling apart. If we can find water, we follow
it downstream. That'll take us out of here.
Jamie stared hollowly. We're leaving Wes behind.
Jamie. Wes is gone.
My voice cracked. They took him.
They'll take us to if we stay. Daria didn't argue, merely stood
shakily, her expression dull. Her composure was deteriorating,
drained by terror and exhaustion.
Jamie nodded stiffly, silent. It wasn't acceptance.
It was surrender. We moved slowly, descending
toward the faint gurgle of a stream below.
The terrain was treacherous, sloped steeply and slick with
wet leaves. Every shadow loomed, every
snapped twig shot panic through my chest.
After hours of stumbling downward, the woods opened
slightly, revealing a Creek bed snaking through dense
rhododendrons. My relief faded as I noticed
unnatural disturbances, deep gouges in the soft earth,
branches twisted and broken as though something massive had
dragged itself through the brush.
It wasn't a bear's doing. The marks were deliberate,
chaotic, too purposeful. They're guiding us again.
Daria murmured, voice nearly inaudible.
I didn't want to acknowledge it, but she was right.
Our path was too convenient, the way clear yet lined ominously by
destruction. Still, we had no other options
left. We pressed forward in silent
dread, shadows thickening again, mist closing in tighter.
Jamie stopped suddenly, head snapping toward a dense thicket.
His eyes widened, disbelief freezing him in place.
It's Wes. His voice cracked, hope and
horror intertwined. He's here, he's alive.
I saw him. He lunged forward into the
thicket before I could react, vanishing instantly behind a
screen of twisted branches. Jamie, stop.
I shouted, Hart hammering painfully.
Come back. Silence swallowed my voice.
Then Jamie screamed, a raw, sharp sound of surprise and
anguish. I pushed into the brush,
branches tearing at my face and hands, but Jamie was gone,
vanished completely. Nothing moved.
There was no sign of Wes, no Jamie, only the suffocating
quiet. Daria stood frozen behind me,
pale eyes wide with terror. She whispered, barely audible.
They wanted him. We stumbled forward in numb
desperation, moving purely by instinct.
Eventually we reached 1/2 collapsed stone shelter, ancient
and forgotten, partially swallowed by Moss and vines.
The old CCC structure sagged, its walls scarred with deep
scratches and charred by fire long past.
Blackened handprints smeared the stone, fingers elongated and
misshapen. Inside, the air felt thick,
Choking. We stood silently, overwhelmed
by a sensation of being watched. I wanted desperately to believe
we'd found safety, but my gut told me otherwise.
We were trespassing deeper into territory we couldn't
comprehend. Night fell with brutal
swiftness. Outside, the shadows stirred
again, whispering unintelligible words.
Familiar voices twisted cruelly. Shapes circled slowly, tall and
slender. Faces blurred, moving with
unnatural grace. They never entered the
structure, but their presence pressed against the walls,
seeping inward, poisoning our thoughts.
Daria shivered violently, voice barely a whisper.
They aren't hunting us to kill us.
They're choosing us to replace us.
I clenched my fists, feeling the hopelessness she voiced
infecting my resolve. She might be right, but I refuse
to let her know I believed it too.
We'll get out. I said, forcing false confidence
into my tone. We have to.
Suddenly, from deep within the darkness, Jamie's voice rang
out, clear, terrified, pleading for help.
Daria Miles, please, I'm hurt, please don't leave me here.
Daria moved instantly toward the entrance.
Compelled by instinct. I grabbed her roughly, holding
her back. It's not Jamie, I whispered
harshly, fighting to steady my trembling limbs.
You know it isn't him. She struggled weakly, sobbing.
But what if it is? The voice called again, closer,
agonized, perfect in imitation. My pulse pounded in my ears.
My grip tightened on her arm, desperate.
They're tricking you, Darya. They'll lure you out.
Like Jamie. Like Wes, she stopped
struggling, collapsing into me, shoulders shaking with silent
sobs. The voice continued fading
slowly, replaced by cold laughter drifting between the
trees. My laughter.
I knew then our only chance was to escape immediately,
regardless of the risk. I guided Daria carefully from
the shelter, forcing ourselves through thickets, tumbling
downward recklessly through brush.
Shadows closed in around us, looming impossibly close,
whispering and taunting. We broke free onto an old,
abandoned service Rd. Barely discernible beneath the
Moss, a head dimly illuminated by moonlight filtering through
clouds, was a narrow culvert, rusted metal embedded into the
earth. The opening was tight, barely
large enough for a human body. I knelt, forcing Daria inside,
her breathing ragged and uneven. Go, I urged fiercely, pushing
her forward. She crawled frantically through,
sobbing softly. I squeezed in after her,
ignoring the jagged metal scraping painfully along my back
and shoulders. The claustrophobic tunnel felt
endless, pressing tighter as we crawled, panic surging in waves
behind us. Sounds echoed the scrape of
claws, low murmurs distorted laughter.
But whatever pursued us refused to follow into this narrow,
human made place. We emerged finally, muddy,
scraped raw, gasping beneath cold stars.
The air tasted clearer here, the oppressive weight lifted.
Ahead was a gravel clearing, the distant glow of civilization, a
ranger's cabin in the faint distance.
We staggered forward, bodies trembling uncontrollably.
We made it out alive, but barely.
I later told park authorities Jamie was lost, possibly
injured, still somewhere out there.
I didn't mention Wes, nor did I describe the horrors that
stalked us. How could I?
Weeks later, while recovering in the familiar safety of my home,
my phone buzzed softly, the screen illuminated with Jamie's
name. My breath caught painfully in my
chest as I answered, praying irrationally that I'd hear his
real voice. Instead, a single phrase played
softly in my ear, my own voice cold, empty.
We should have never come here. Then silence.