There's a stillness to the Idaho wilderness that feels like
stepping into another world. No cars, no chatter, no
deadlines. Just trees stretching endlessly
in every direction, their towering forms bending slightly
under the breeze. This is what I needed.
An escape, a reset. I parked my car at the
trailhead, threw on my pack and tighten my boots.
The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks in a way that made me
feel alive. I checked my map, folded it back
into my pocket, and started down the trail.
The crunch of my boots against the dirt echoed faintly through
the trees, a comforting sound against the overwhelming quiet.
The forest was different out here.
No sounds of distant hikers or dogs barking, no signs marking
every fork in the trail. Just raw, untouched wilderness.
I reveled in the isolation, feeling that rare freedom city
life can never provide. The first couple of miles were
uneventful. A squirrel darted across the
trail. A hawk circled lazily above.
I stopped once to adjust my pack and sip some water, letting the
sheer quiet of the forest seep into my bones.
That's when I noticed something off to my right, just beyond the
tree line. At first I thought it was a
trick of the light. The way the sun filtered through
the branches can create strange illusions, turning shadows into
shapes that aren't really there. But as I squinted, I realized
this wasn't a shadow. It was a person, a man standing
perfectly still between the trees.
Something about him was wrong. His proportion seemed stretched,
his arms hanging a little too long at his sides.
He was facing me, or at least I thought he was.
The details were hard to make out in the dappled light, but it
looked like his face was blank, just smooth skin where eyes, a
nose, and a mouth should have been.
I froze. My mind scrambled for an
explanation. Maybe he was wearing some kind
of mask? A hunter maybe, but who hunts
without moving, without blinking?
Hey. I called out, my voice sounding
too loud in the silence. No response, no movement, just
that blank, faceless stare. My heart hammered as I took a
step back, my fingers tightening around the straps of my pack.
I blinked, and he was gone. Not walked away, gone, just
gone. Like he'd never been there at
all. I stood there, staring at the
empty space between the trees where he'd been.
My rational brain kicked in, offering up excuses.
You're tired. Your eyes are playing tricks on
you. This is what happens when you
spend too much time staring at shadows.
Shaking it off, I kept moving. My steps felt heavier now, the
forest around me a little darker, a little quieter.
I told myself it was fine, just a weird moment, nothing more.
Still, when it came time to set up camp, I made sure to go a
little off trail, far from where I'd seen him, just in case.
By the time I pitched my tent, the sun was sinking low,
painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
I ate a quick dinner, a freeze dried something or other that
tasted like cardboard but filled the void in my stomach.
Exhaustion crept in as the first stars appeared overhead and I
crawled into my tent, zipping it up tight.
The forest at night is a different beast.
The silence is so complete it's almost loud.
Every rustle of leaves, every distant crack of a branch feels
amplified. I lay there listening to the
rhythm of my own breathing. Trying to convince myself that I
was safe, that I was alone. At some point, I drifted off.
I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, the first
thing I noticed was the cold. The air inside the tent was icy,
brushing against my face like a breath from the outside.
That's when I realized the door was open.
Not just unzipped a little, completely open.
The flap hung loosely, swaying slightly in the breeze.
I shot up, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst
through my chest. My mind raced.
Did I forget to close it? Did I hear something earlier and
ignore it? I fumble for my flashlight and
shone it outside. The beam of light cut through
the dark, illuminating only the thick trees surrounding my camp.
Nothing moved, no sign of anyone or anything.
I sat there for what felt like hours, flashlight clutched in
one hand, knife in the other. Eventually I convinced myself it
was a mistake. Maybe I'd been so tired I hadn't
zipped it all the way. It had to be that, right?
I zipped the tent back up, this time, triple checking it, and
laid down again, though sleep didn't come easily.
Outside, the forest creaked and groaned, and every sound felt
like a footstep. I didn't know it then, but the
worst was still ahead. Much, much worse.
I couldn't shake the feeling from the night before.
That open tent door haunted me. I'd spent the morning convincing
myself it was nothing, a slip of my tired mind, but deep down the
unease lingered. As I packed up camp.
The forest seemed heavier somehow, like the trees
themselves. Were leaning in, listening.
I forced myself back onto the trail, trying to focus on the
rhythmic crunch of my boots against the dirt.
The sky was overcast now, the sun only peeking through in
small bursts, casting fleeting shadows that danced unnervingly
across the path. Every so often I'd catch myself
glancing back over my shoulder, expecting I don't know what but
the trail. Behind me was always empty.
That's when I noticed it. A bundle of sticks bound tightly
with rope, lying dead center on the trail.
It wasn't large, maybe the size of my forearm, but it was
intricately tied with the sticks, twisted and bent into a
shape that vaguely resembled a human figure.
I stared at it, heart thudding in my chest.
Someone had to have made this, and recently too.
It hadn't been there the day before.
I nudged it with my boot, half expecting it to crumble, but it
held firm, the bindings taut. Some kind of prank?
I muttered, my voice sounding hollow in the stillness.
But who would be out here in the middle of nowhere, pulling
stunts like this? And why?
I kicked the bundle into the underbrush and kept moving.
The air felt colder now, and the once soothing silence of the
forest was starting to feel oppressive.
Every snap of a twig made me flinch.
Every rustle of leaves had me scanning the trees.
Searching for movement, I couldn't shake the feeling I was
being watched. By late afternoon, the unease
had grown unbearable. I decided to camp in an even
more secluded spot that night, far from the trail.
I found a small clearing surrounded by thick trees and
set up my tent quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I drove
the stakes into the ground. The sun was sinking fast, and I
didn't want to be caught fumbling in the dark.
As night fell, I lit a small fire, hoping its warmth would
settle my nerves. It didn't.
Every crackle of the flame seemed to echo too loudly, and
the shadows they cast seemed to shift in ways that didn't make
sense. I tried to focus on my meal, but
my appetite had vanished. Movement just at the edge of the
fire light, a shadow slipping between the trees.
My breath caught and I froze. My eyes locked on the spot where
I'd seen it. Hello.
I called out, my voice shaking. Nothing.
No response, just the faint whisper of the wind through the
branches. I grabbed my flashlight and
swept it across the trees, the beam slicing through the
darkness. It caught nothing but bark and
leaves. Still, I couldn't shake the
feeling that something, someone, was out there watching.
I doused the fire and retreated into my tent, zipping it up
tightly and double checking every seam.
The knife I'd packed for emergencies felt inadequate as I
clutched it in my hand, but it was better than nothing.
Hours passed. My heart refused to slow, every
noise outside amplified by the thin walls of the tent.
Then I saw them. Two faint glowing Points of
Light high in the branches of a tree directly ahead of me.
Eyes. They didn't blink, didn't move.
They just stared down at me, unflinching.
I wanted to tell myself it was a reflection.
A trick of the light, but there was no mistaking it.
Those were eyes. I gripped the knife tighter, my
palm slick with sweat, and stayed perfectly still, barely
breathing. Minutes stretched into hours and
the eyes never wavered. I felt trapped.
Like an animal caught in a snare, unable to run, unable to
fight. When the first faint light of
dawn began to creep into the tent, the eyes vanished as
silently as they'd appeared. I didn't move until the sun was
fully up, the golden light spilling over the clearing.
When I finally unzipped the tent and stepped outside, I stopped
cold. An axe made of sticks and rope
was lying just in front of the tent flap.
It wasn't like the figure I'd seen before.
This was deliberate, precise, like a warning.
I stared at it, my mind racing. Someone or something had been
here while I was inside, too paralyzed with fear to notice.
This wasn't a prank. This wasn't my imagination.
I didn't bother eating breakfast.
I packed up my gear as fast as I could, my hands trembling, and
hit the trail again, my eyes darting to every shadow, every
tree. I decided this trip was over.
Whatever I'd come here to escape was nothing compared to what I
might be running toward. The forest was suffocating me.
Every step I took felt heavier, like the ground itself was
trying to pull me down. Keep me here.
My pack bounced against my back as I trudge toward the
trailhead, every muscle in my body aching from the tension I'd
carried all night. I couldn't stop thinking about
the X outside my tent. Someone had been there, close
enough to touch the fabric, close enough to take me if they
wanted. I kept my knife in my hand as I
walked, my knuckles white around the handle.
The trail was empty, as it had been since I started this trip.
No hikers, no animals, just me and the endless forest.
But I knew I wasn't alone. I could feel it, like an itch
just beneath the skin. An hour passed, maybe 2.
I wasn't sure anymore. Time felt warped out here, every
shadow stretching longer than it should, every sound echoing too
long. Then I heard it, the faint
crunch of leaves behind me. I stopped dead in my tracks, the
sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Slowly, I turned, scanning the trail.
There was nothing there, just trees and underbrush, the path
winding back into the distance. I waited, straining to hear, to
catch a glimpse of movement. Silence.
I shook my head and started walking again, forcing myself to
focus on the dirt path ahead. My car wasn't far.
I could make it. I just had to keep.
Moving. Then came the rocks.
The first one was small, barely larger than a Pebble, and it
landed on the path a few feet behind me with a soft thunk.
I spun around, my breath catching in my throat.
Again. Nothing.
I stared into the woods, the trees twisting together like
dark veins. Who's there?
I called out, my voice cracking. No response.
I backed away slowly, my knife held out in front of me like it
could actually protect me from whatever was out there.
Another rock landed, closer this time, then another.
It wasn't random, it was deliberate, like something was
hurting me, forcing me to keep moving.
The path opened up slightly, giving me a sliver of hope as I
caught sight of the parking lot in the distance.
My car was there, a beacon of safety in the oppressive
wilderness. Relief surged through me, and I
broke into a run, my boots pounding against the dirt.
I didn't care about the weight of my pack or the pain in my
legs, I just had to get out. As I reached the edge of the
parking lot, I stumbled to a stop.
The sight of my car, my safe haven, nearly made me collapse
in relief. But then I saw it through the
driver's window. Something was lying on the seat.
I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me to turn around,
to run back into the woods, even if that meant certain death.
But I couldn't leave. I had to see.
Slowly, I approached the car, my hands shaking so badly I nearly
dropped my knife. Pressed against the window was
one of my shirts, ripped and shredded with dark stains along
the fabric, and next to it, perfectly centred on the seat,
was another X made of sticks and rope.
I reached for the door handle, praying it was still locked.
It was. My knees almost buckled.
Whatever had left that thing in my car had the keys at some
point. They'd been close enough to take
them, close enough to lock the door again. close enough to have
been inside my tent, too. My fingers fumble for the key in
my pocket. I unlocked the door, threw my
pack into the back seat, and climbed in, slamming the door
shut behind me. My chest was heaving, my breath
coming in short, ragged gasps. I started the car and threw it
into reverse, my eyes darting to the rear view mirror as I backed
out of the lot. I was so focused on getting out
of there that I almost didn't see him.
Standing at the edge of the lot, just where the trees began, was
the faceless man. He didn't move, didn't step
forward or retreat. He just stood there, his long
arms hanging at his sides, his featureless face tilted ever so
slightly as if he were watching me.
I couldn't look away, even as the car lurched backward onto
the road. My hands gripped the steering
wheel so tightly they hurt. The man didn't chase me.
He didn't make a sound. He just stood there, unmoving.
As I speed away down the winding Rd., my heart didn't slow until
I reached the outskirts of the nearest town.
Even then, I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, half
expecting to see him standing in the middle of the road, waiting
for me. I don't know what he was, what
he wanted, or why he let me go. All I know is that I'll never go
back to those woods. I don't think I could survive
another encounter. And the worst part?
As I sit here now writing this, I can't get rid of the feeling
that I'm still not alone. It was Eric's idea, of course.
It always was one last adventure before school starts, he'd said,
grinning like the woods were calling him.
Personally, I didn't have the heart or the guts to say no.
That's how we ended up on Dagger Ridge Trail 2, backpacks full of
gear and me dragging my feet behind him like I knew something
he didn't. The day was perfect.
Cloudless skies. Warm sun.
The kind of summer day that makes you think nothing bad
could ever happen. But the closer we got to the
trailhead, the quieter everything became.
Even the cicadas, which had been screaming earlier, faded into
silence as we stepped under the cover of trees.
Come on, Ryan, keep up. Eric called, already a few paces
ahead. His backpack swung with every
step, his excitement almost tangible.
I adjusted the straps on mine, wishing I hadn't packed so much
and followed. The trail started wide, an easy
climb over loose gravel and roots, but it quickly narrowed,
hemmed in by trees so thick their branches tangled.
Overhead, the sunlight filtered through and broken patches,
casting long, fractured shadows on the ground.
I kept my eyes on Eric's back, trying to ignore how the air had
cooled, how the faint. Breeze smelled faintly sour,
like rotting leaves. Why does it smell like that?
I asked, my voice too loud in the silence.
Eric shrugged. Wildlife, maybe?
Relax, man, it's just a trail. But it wasn't, not really.
Dagger Ridge wasn't on any map I'd ever seen.
The stories about it were vague, half remembered tales from older
kids who swore they'd seen shadows.
Move or heard voices calling their names.
I hadn't believed them, at least not until now.
As we climbed higher, I noticed strange marks on the trees.
At first I thought they were scratches.
Maybe from a bear, but the closer I looked the less they
made sense. Long, jagged lines that crossed
and spiralled as if someone had carved them deliberately.
You see these? I asked, stopping to trace one
with my fingers. Eric didn't even glance back.
Probably some hiker messing around.
Let's keep moving. We'll lose the light if we don't
hurry. I wanted to turn around right
then. Every instinct I had screamed to
go back. But Eric's confidence was
infectious, always had been. He'd charge ahead, laughing at
the danger, and I'd follow. Too stubborn to be the one who
chickened out. By the time we reached Silver
Basin, the sun was low, the sky streaked with bruised purples
and fiery Reds. The basin was a wide clearing,
surrounded by jagged cliffs that seemed to lean in as if they
were listening. Eric dumped his pack and
stretched, grinning. This is perfect, he said.
Look at that view. I dropped my pack, sitting
heavily on a Flat Rock. The air was still unnaturally
so. I tried to focus on the beauty
of the cliffs, the way the last rays of sunlight painted them
gold, but I couldn't drop the sensation that we weren't.
Alone. Eric, as usual, was oblivious.
He grabbed his flashlight and slung his backpack over one
shoulder. I'm going to check out the
Ridge, He said. Be back in 10.
Wait, what? I stood up, already reaching for
my own flashlight. You're just going to wander off,
It's getting dark. He laughed, that cocky, carefree
laugh that always made me feel like a little kid.
Relax, Ryan, I'll be fine. Just stay here and get the fire
going. I'll be back before you know it.
I watched him disappear into the trees, his flashlight beam
bouncing ahead of him. For a moment I considered
following, but the thought of being alone in the dark woods
was worse than staying put. The fire took longer to start
than I'd expected. My hands wouldn't stop shaking,
and the dry kindling Eric had packed wasn't Co operating.
By the time I had a small flame going, the sun was gone, leaving
only the flickering light of the fire and the encroaching
darkness beyond it. 10 minutes passed, then 20.
The fire crackled, and the shadows it cast danced on the
trees, making them look alive. I glanced at my watch, the knot
in my stomach tightening. Eric.
I called, my voice too small, swallowed by the vast silence.
Nothing. The shadows seemed to stretch
longer, deeper, their edges sharp and wrong.
I stood, gripping my flashlight, and turned toward the path Eric
had taken. The darkness beyond the
firelight felt alive, pulsing with a weight I couldn't
explain. Eric, I shouted again, louder
this time. A faint sound like a branch
snapping, came from the woods. Relief surged through me.
About time, I muttered, stepping toward the noise, but no one
answered. The fire light behind me felt
impossibly far away. As I stared into the woods.
My flashlight flickered, its beam weak against the thick
shadows. For a second I thought I saw
movement, a figure darting between the trees.
But when I focused, it was gone. Something wasn't right.
I could feel it in my chest, in the way the hair on my arms
stood on end. The shadows weren't just moving,
they were watching. I took a shaky step back toward
the fire, my flashlight trembling in my grip.
A whisper, faint, just barely audible.
Ryan. It came from the woods, soft and
drawn out like a breath. My heart slammed in my chest.
Eric, I whispered my voice. Trembling, but deep down I
already knew it wasn't him. I don't know how long I stood
there, staring into the trees. The fire crackled behind me, but
it felt miles away. My grip on the flashlight was so
tight my fingers ached, but I didn't dare let go.
The whisper, my name, soft and stretched like it didn't belong
in this world, still hung in the air.
Eric. I called again, though my voice
was barely a croak. The silence that followed felt
heavier than before, like the forest was tense.
I stepped forward, flashlight shaking in my hands, the weak
beam cutting through the shadows.
The trees loom taller now, their branches twisted into shapes
that didn't look natural. My foot crunched on something
and I froze, heart pounding. Slowly, I looked down.
It was Eric's backpack. It sat upright in the middle of
the trail, like someone had placed it there on purpose.
The straps were torn, 1 hanging by a thread, and dirt streaked
the fabric. I crouched down, my hand
trembling as I reached for it. Eric.
I whispered, as if he might jump out from behind a tree, laughing
at the scare. But there was no sound, no
movement. I unzipped the pack slowly, each
rasp of the zipper too loud in the suffocating silence.
Inside, everything was untouched.
A flashlight, an unopened water bottle, Eric's old compass, and
a crumpled map. My stomach turned as I realized
he wouldn't have left this behind unless he had no choice.
Where are you? I muttered, my voice cracking.
Then I heard it again. The whisper.
Ryan. It was closer this time, deeper,
as if the forest itself was saying my name.
My head snapped up and my flashlight caught something, a
flicker of movement just beyond the beam.
A shadow, too large to be Eric, slipping between the trees.
Who's there? I shouted, my voice breaking.
The forest didn't answer, but I swore I heard a faint chuckle,
dry and rasping like leaves crumbling under foot.
Panic bubbled in my chest, and I stumbled back, the flashlight
darting wildly across the woods. The shadows seemed alive now,
stretching and shifting, moving when they shouldn't.
That's when I noticed the footprints.
They led away from the backpack, deeper into the forest.
At first I thought they were Eric's deep impressions in the
soft dirt, but as I followed them with the beam, my stomach
dropped. They were wrong.
Too long, too wide, and space too far apart.
Like whatever made them wasn't human.
Eric. I whispered, my throat dry.
I didn't want to follow the trail.
Every instinct screamed at me to turn around to run back to the
camp and wait for daylight. But if Eric was out there, if he
needed help. I swallowed hard and took a step
forward. Then another.
The forest seemed darker now, the trees closer together.
The air was thick, heavy, like I was breathing through a wet
cloth. My flashlight flickered again,
the beam weakening as if the forest was sucking the life out
of it. Ahead, the footprints ended
abruptly in a small clearing dominated by a massive tree.
Its trunk was gnarled and twisted, its bark covered in
deep, spiraling grooves that glowed faintly in the dark.
The cymbals made my skin crawl, their patterns too perfect, too
deliberate, as if they were alive.
The earth around the base of the tree was disturbed, churned up
like something had been buried or dugout.
My stomach churned, the sour smell stronger now, stinging the
back of my throat. Eric.
I called, my voice barely above a whisper.
The tree didn't answer, but the shadows around it seemed to
shift, converging toward the base.
I stepped closer, my feet feeling like they weighed a ton.
My flashlight caught something near the roots, a piece of
fabric torn and dirty. Eric's shirt.
My breath hitched. The whisper came again, loud and
clear, wrapping around me like cold hands.
Ryan. I spun around, the flashlight's
beam slicing through the darkness.
There was nothing, no one. But the whisper didn't stop.
It grew louder, joined by others, overlapping voices that
came from everywhere and nowhere.
Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. They weren't just calling my
name, they were laughing. I backed away, my heart
hammering in my chest, and tripped over a root.
The flashlight flew out of my hand, clattering to the ground,
its beam flickering wildly. I scrambled for it, my fingers
brushing cold earth when I saw it.
A figure, tall and impossibly thin, stepped out from behind
the tree. Its face, or what should have
been its face, was nothing but a void, a black emptiness that
seemed to swallow the light. Its limbs were too long, its
movements jerky, like a marionette controlled by
invisible strings. I froze, unable to breathe,
unable to move. The thing tilted its head as if
studying me. Before taking a slow, deliberate
step forward, my body finally obeyed.
I grabbed the flashlight and bolted, tearing through the
forest as the whispers turned into a deafening roar.
The trees seemed to close in their branches, clawing at me,
their roots grabbing at my feet. When I finally stumbled into the
clearing where our camp had been, the fire was out.
The tent was gone, and scratched into the dirt, glowing faintly
in the moonlight, were the same spiraling symbols I'd seen on
the tree. I fell to my knees, gasping for
breath, the whispers fading into silence.
But the feeling of being watched didn't leave.
It would never leave. I don't remember much about how
I got back to town. The trees seem to stretch on
forever, their shadows clinging to me like they didn't want to
let go. By the time I stumbled out of
the woods, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stay
upright. I collapsed onto the dirt Rd.
clutching Eric's shredded backpack, the straps still
frayed and damp with something I didn't want to think about.
When I reached town, it was already morning.
The sunlight didn't feel warm, though.
It felt harsh, too bright, like it was trying to erase the
nightmare of the night before. But it couldn't.
That cold, heavy feeling followed me, clinging to my skin
like the forest itself had seeped into my veins.
The words tumbled out of me when I saw Eric's parents.
He's gone. I croaked, barely able to meet
their eyes. Something, something took him.
The search party was organized faster than I expected.
Maybe it was the look on my face.
Maybe it was the way I couldn't stop shaking, or how I gripped
Eric's backpack like a lifeline. I told them about Dagger Ridge,
about the symbols, about the whispers, but no one believed
me, not really. It's just the woods, Sheriff
Greer said, adjusting his hat like this was any other missing
person case. Kids get lost all the time.
We'll find him. But as the search teams
disappeared into the forest, I saw the doubt in their eyes.
They'd heard the stories, too. Everyone had.
I stayed at the edge of the. Woods pacing, biting my nails,
waiting for someone to come back with good news.
Hours passed, then days. They found nothing.
Not Eric, not even footprints. Just his backpack abandoned in
the middle of the trail and near Silver Basin.
The massive tree with its spiraling carvings.
The search dogs refused to go near it.
One of them, a big German shepherd, yelped and bolted when
its handler tugged too close. The handler turned back pale,
muttering something about the air feeling.
Wrong. Eventually, the search was
called off. We'll keep looking, the sheriff
told Eric's parents, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.
They all thought he was gone for good.
Dead, probably, but I knew better.
The nightmares started a week later.
At first they were just flashes. Eric's pale face, his lips
moving like he was trying to tell me something, but no sound
came out. Then the dreams grew worse.
I was back in the forest, running through the trees, the
whispers all around me. The shadows were alive, reaching
for me with long, spindly fingers.
Eric was always ahead of me, just out of reach, his figure
flickering like an old TV about to lose its signal.
Wait, I screamed, but he never did.
When I woke up, my body felt heavy, my chest tight, like the
forest was still there, pressing down on me.
The whispers followed me into my waking life, faint at first,
just on the edge of hearing. But over time, they grew louder.
Ryan. Always my name, always the same
tone, mocking, laughing. Like the forest itself was
calling me back. I tried to ignore it.
I buried myself in school, in chores, in anything that kept me
out of my own head. But no matter where I went, the
forest was there, lurking at the edge of my mind.
Years passed. I never went back to Dagger
Ridge. I didn't need to.
The forest had come with me, following me like a shadow I
couldn't drop. The whispers were worse at
night. I'd wake up drenched in sweat,
my heart racing, convinced I wasn't alone in my room.
Once, I swear I saw a figure standing in the corner.
Tall, thin, its limbs too long, its face nothing but darkness.
When I turned on the light, it was gone.
By the time I was 25, I'd stopped sleeping entirely.
The nightmares blurred into reality, and I couldn't tell
where 1 ended and the other began.
That's when I knew I had to go back.
I returned to the Rockies in the dead of winter.
The forest was different now, quieter, colder, more menacing.
The trailhead to Dagger Ridge was overgrown, nearly hidden
beneath snow and underbrush. But I found it.
Of course I did. The symbols were still there,
carved into the bark of the trees, their jagged lines
glowing faintly even in daylight.
The air felt thicker with every step, the whispers louder.
They weren't faint anymore. They were a chorus, overlapping
voices, calling my name, laughing, taunting.
Ryan. Ryan.
At Silver Basin, I saw it again. The tree, its bark twisted with
the same spiraling patterns, its roots.
Clawing into the earth like they were alive, and at the base, a
patch of disturbed ground. The snow didn't stick there,
like the earth itself was rejecting it.
My flashlight flickered as I stepped closer.
Eric. I whispered, my voice breaking.
The whispers stopped for a moment.
The silence was deafening. Then, from behind the tree, a
figure stepped out. It was him, Eric.
Or at least it looked like him. His face was pale, his eyes wide
and empty, his mouth moving silently.
He raised one hand, pointing toward me, his movements slow
and jerky, like a puppet on strings.
Eric. I croaked, taking a step back.
He stopped, tilting his head, his mouth twisting into
something that wasn't a smile. And then, all at once, the
whispers came back. They weren't voices anymore.
They were screams. The shadows around the tree
erupted, long and clawed, reaching for me.
I turned and ran, the ground shifting beneath my feet, the
trees closing in. The last thing I heard before I
broke free of the forest was Eric's voice, faint and broken.
Don't come back. To this day, I don't know what
happened to him. I don't know if that thing was
really Eric, or if it was something else wearing his face.
But I do know this. I'm never going into the woods
again. The Pacific Northwest had always
called to me, it's dense forests and misty mountains feeling more
like home than my cramped apartment back east.
This trip was supposed to be my escape, a reset after years of
grinding through work and life. It started perfectly, the crisp
mountain air, winding roads that felt endless and the kind of
solitude that lets you think clearly for the 1st.
Time in months. When Rick joined me in Bend,
though, things shifted. He stepped off the bus, looking
pale, like he hadn't slept in weeks.
I chalked it up to the long journey or his usual complaints
about too much nature. But there was something else, a
jitteriness I couldn't quite place.
This place is weird, he muttered as we loaded his bag into the
car. He glanced around like someone
might be watching us, though the parking lot was empty except for
a rusted pickup. Yeah, weirdly beautiful.
I teased, hoping to lighten his mood.
You'll love it once we get out there.
He didn't. The whole drive to the cabin,
Rick barely spoke, staring out the window like the trees were
pressing in on us. And honestly, the woods did feel
thicker than usual. Almost alive.
I told myself it was just the overcast sky or the early dusk,
but by the time we arrived, even I was feeling unsettled.
The cabin wasn't much an old structure that smelled faintly
of mildew, with creaky floorboards and a sagging roof
that looked like it had survived one too many storms.
Quaint, I said, trying to sound cheerful.
As I unlocked the door. Quaint is code for haunted.
Rick muttered, tossing his bag on the couch.
He didn't mean it as a joke though, and the look he gave me
made my stomach twist. Inside, the cabin was even
smaller than the pictures made it seem.
A single light bulb buzzed faintly in the living room, and
the kitchen was barely more than a counter with a sink and an
ancient stove top. The windows were small, and when
I peeked out, all I could see was forest, a wall of dark green
stretching endlessly in every direction.
We unpacked in silence. Rick kept checking his phone,
even though we both knew there wouldn't be service out here.
He had this habit of pacing when he was anxious, and by the time
I'd set my bag down, he was already wearing a path into the
cabin's thin carpet. What's wrong?
I finally asked, trying to sound casual.
Nothing. He said too quickly.
It's just, this place feels off, you know?
Off how? I pressed.
He shrugged. I don't know, it's like, like
we're being watched or something.
I rolled my eyes, but his words hit a nerve.
I hadn't admitted it to myself yet, but the cabin did feel
strange. The air inside was heavy, almost
stifling, and the silence wasn't peaceful.
It was an odd energy, like the woods were tense.
That night, we sat by the fireplace, eating canned soup.
I'd planned a whole itinerary of hikes and scenic drives for the
next day, but Rick barely acknowledged me when I laid it
out. He just stared at the flames,
his jaw tight. Maybe we should head back
tomorrow, he said suddenly. What?
No, we just got here. I tried to laugh, but it came
out forced. Come on, it's not that bad.
You'll feel better after a good night's sleep.
He didn't argue, which wasn't like him.
Usually Rick was the type to dig his heels in, even over little
things, but tonight he just nodded, staring into the fire.
Like he was afraid to look away. As we were getting ready for
bed, he broke the silence again. Hey, what's that thing you
mentioned earlier? The legend or whatever?
I froze. You mean the forest?
Watchers yeah, that what's the deal with that?
It's just a local story, I said quickly.
People say the woods are protected.
I guess you're not supposed to disrespect the land or, you
know, call attention to yourself.
He. Raised an eyebrow.
Call attention How? There's a name you're not
supposed to say. They say if you do, they'll
notice you. Rick smirked, and I knew
immediately what he was about to do.
Don't. I started, but it was too late.
He said, the name loud and clear, his voice almost
taunting. The room felt colder
immediately, like a draft had swept through, but the windows
were shut tight. Rick.
I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
That's not funny. Oh, come on, it's just a story,
he said, but his smirk was gone. He glanced at the window, his
shoulder stiff. The rest of the night passed in
tense silence. I fell asleep easily enough,
exhausted from the long day, but Rick stayed up.
I woke once around midnight to the sound of him pacing again,
but when I asked if he was OK, he just muttered go back to
sleep. I did, but not before noticing
how he kept glancing at the windows, his face pale in the
dim light. When Rick shook me awake, I
thought it was time to leave for our hike.
My brain was groggy, still tethered to whatever half formed
dream I'd been in, but his voice cut through the fog like a
blade. Get up.
He hissed, his words trembling. We have to go, what time is it?
I mumbled, reaching for my phone, but his hand grabbed
mine, stopping me. No, now Claire, get up.
He said, his voice sharp and urgent.
It took me a moment to register his face.
In the dim glow from the bedside lamp, I could see his wide eyes,
the way his jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful.
Rick was tough, sarcastic, sometimes annoyingly skeptical,
but never scared. Yet here he was, pale and
shaking like he'd seen something no one should ever see.
Rick. I whispered, my throat dry.
What's going on? I can't explain it.
Not here. Just pack your stuff, we're
leaving. I started to argue, but
something in his expression shut me up.
My pulse quickened and a cold knot formed in my stomach.
He grabbed his bag from the corner, tossing clothes into it
haphazardly while glancing over his shoulder like he expected
someone or something to burst through the door at any second.
I threw on a hoodie and started stuffing my things into my
backpack. Is it an animal?
Did you hear something outside? Rick froze mid step, his back to
me. Yes.
He whispered, almost too softly to hear.
But it wasn't normal. My heart skipped.
What do you mean? Not now, he snapped, his voice
cracking. Just move faster.
We hurriedly packed, and I followed him outside to the car.
The cold hit me first, sharp and biting, though it wasn't that
cold earlier. My breath clouded the air as I
stuffed my bag into the trunk. Rick was already in the driver's
seat, fidgeting with the. Keys, his hands shaking so badly
it took him three tries to get them into the ignition.
When the engine roared to life, I felt a brief surge of relief.
The headlights cast a pale yellow glow over the dirt road
ahead, but beyond that was only blackness, the kind of darkness
you don't realize exists until you're in the middle of.
Nowhere. What happened back there?
I asked as we pulled onto the road.
My voice sounded thin, brittle. Rick didn't answer right away.
He kept his eyes locked on the road, his knuckles white against
the steering wheel. Finally, after what felt like an
eternity, he exhaled shakily. I was trying to fall asleep.
He began, his voice low and uneven, but I kept hearing this
sound like tapping. At first I thought it was just
the wind or something, but it kept moving from the window to
the wall to the door. I shivered and pulled my hoodie
tighter around me. Could it have been an animal?
He shook his head, his gaze darting to the rear view mirror.
No, it was too deliberate. And then I heard whispers.
I froze. Whispers.
Yeah, he said, his voice barely above a whisper now.
At first they were faint, like, like wind through the trees.
But they got louder, like like they were circling the cabin.
Then came the footsteps. My chest tightened.
Footsteps. Rick's jaw clenched and he
nodded. Heavy ones.
They were outside at first, moving around the porch, Then
they started climbing. I heard them on the roof.
Claire. The car swerved slightly as his
grip on the wheel tightened. I gripped the door handle, my
pulse pounding in my ears. You didn't see anything?
No, he admitted. But I felt it like they were
right there, watching, waiting. A chill crawled up my back, but
I forced myself to stay calm. It was probably just animals, I
said, though the words felt hollow even as I said them.
Raccoons or something? Rick laughed bitterly, shaking
his head. Raccoons.
Don't whisper, Claire. The road stretched ahead of us,
winding through the endless forest.
The further we drove, the darker it seemed to get, as though the
trees were swallowing the light. The hum of the engine was the
only sound, but it didn't feel peaceful.
It felt like we were being hunted.
After about 30 minutes, Rick tensed.
Do you see that? He asked, his voice sharp.
I squinted into the darkness. At first I thought it was
nothing, but then I saw them. Two headlights in the rear view
mirror, growing brighter and closer.
Someone's behind us, I said, more to myself than to him.
They weren't there a second. Ago.
Rick muttered, his voice tight. I've been watching.
The car behind us gained speed, closing the gap unnervingly
fast. I braced myself as Rick speed
up, the tires skidding slightly on the loose gravel.
The headlights loomed closer, and for a moment I thought they
were going to ram us. But just as suddenly as they'd
appeared, they vanished. What the hell?
I whispered, twisting around to look behind us.
The road was empty. Rick didn't answer.
His grip on the wheel was ironclad, his knuckles pale in
the dim glow of the dashboard. It's not over, he muttered under
his breath. The road curved sharply ahead,
and as we rounded the bend, the car's headlights illuminated
something that made my blood run cold.
A massive stag stood in the middle of the road, its antlers
stretching impossibly high, its eyes reflecting the light in an
unnatural way. Rick, stop.
I screamed. He slammed the brakes and the
car skidded to a halt just feet from the animal.
The stag didn't flinch, it just stood there.
Its dark eyes fixed on us, Its sheer size was other worldly,
like it didn't belong here or anywhere.
Rick and I sat frozen, too afraid to move.
And then I heard it again. The Whispers.
Soft, faint, but unmistakable, carried on the cold night air.
They were back, and they were closer now.
The stag didn't move. It just stood there, a dark
silhouette against the faint beam of our headlights, its
massive antlers like twisted branches reaching into the sky.
My breath caught in my throat. The whispers were back, low,
faint murmurs that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere
at once. I gripped Rick's arm, my nails
digging into his skin. Drive, I whispered, barely able
to form the word. Rick didn't respond.
His hands were glued to the steering wheel, his knuckles
white, his whole body rigid. He was staring at the stag, his
chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.
I shook him. Rick, we have to go.
The stag turned its head slightly, its eyes glinting like
black mirrors. And then it stepped aside, not
hurriedly, not startled, but deliberately, like it was
allowing us to pass. Rick slammed on the gas, the car
lurching forward as we speed past the animal.
I couldn't help but glance back, and for one horrifying moment, I
thought I saw it watching us, its head turned unnaturally far
to follow our. Escape.
We didn't speak for a long time after that.
The road ahead was shrouded in darkness, the trees crowding
closer with every mile. The whispers ebbed and flowed,
sometimes so faint I thought I imagined.
Them. Other times growing louder,
almost insistent. I kept checking the rear view
mirror, half expecting those headlights to reappear, or
worse, something else. The gas gauge dipped closer to
empty. I swore under my breath, my
voice breaking the fragile silence.
We're not going to make it to the airport if we don't find a
station soon. Rick didn't respond, just
pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.
His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but I could see the
tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched against the
steering wheel. The whispers were louder now,
and I realized they weren't just murmurs, they were words.
I couldn't understand them, but they were there, layered and
overlapping, coming from the trees, the road, the air itself.
Finally. A faint glow appeared ahead a
gas station, its flickering neon sign like a beacon in the
oppressive night. Relief washed over me, but it
was short lived. As we pulled into the lot, I
noticed how deserted it was. No cars, no noise, just the hum
of the old lights. And the wind rustling the trees.
Rick jumped out to pump the gas while I headed inside to grab
coffee. The moment I stepped through the
door, the atmosphere hit me like a wall.
It was warm and still, but not in a comforting way.
The air felt too heavy, too quiet, like the whole place was
holding its breath. The woman behind the counter
didn't greet me. She didn't even look up.
Her hands shook slightly as she rearranged a display of gum, her
eyes darting to the windows every few seconds.
I moved to the coffee station, fumbling with the lid as I tried
to shake the unease that had settled over me.
That's when I noticed her watching me, not openly, but
from the corner of her eye. Every time I moved, her gaze
shifted, her body tensing as though I might do something
unpredictable. I tried to ignore it, but her
discomfort was contagious, and I couldn't help but glance out the
window behind me, the trees seemed closer than before, their
dark silhouettes pressing against the glass.
When I turned back, she was gone.
I blinked, scanning the store, but she had disappeared into the
back. My pulse quickened, and I
grabbed my coffee, moving to the counter.
Rick entered just as I reached it, his face pale and drawn.
Pay and let's go. He muttered, his voice low.
He placed a pack of gum on the counter, not meeting my eyes.
The woman reappeared, her movements jerky and nervous.
She rang us up quickly, her hands trembling so badly she
dropped the change. As I bent to pick it up, I saw
him. A man stood near the back of the
store, leaning casually against a shelf.
His face was mostly hidden under the brim of a wide hat, but his
eyes, his eyes were fixed on Rick.
I froze. Something about him was wrong.
He wasn't threatening, exactly, but his presence felt heavy,
oppressive, like he belonged to a different time, or maybe a
different world. His gaze didn't waver, didn't
blink, just stayed locked on Rick, like he was studying him,
measuring him. I stood, clutching the change in
my hand. Rick.
I whispered, but when I turned to look at him, his face told me
he'd already seen the man. He grabbed my arm, pulling me
toward the door. As we stepped outside, the
whispers surged louder now, almost deafening.
The wind had picked up, whipping through the trees, carrying
those voices with it. I felt a prickling at the back
of my neck, like we were being watched not just by the man in
the store, but by something much bigger, something unseen.
Rick shoved the gas cap back on and climbed into the driver's
seat. I barely had time to shut my
door before he floored it, the tires screeching as we speed out
of the lot. I looked back, expecting to see
the man standing in the doorway, but there was nothing.
Just the gas station shrinking into the distance, its neon sign
flickering like a dying flame. We drove in silence for what
felt like hours. The whispers faded as the first
light of dawn crept over the horizon, turning the sky a muted
grey. The oppressive weight that had
followed us all night began to. Lift.
But the fear lingered. Rick broke the silence first,
his voice barely audible. Did you see him?
I nodded. Who was he?
Rick shook his head, gripping the wheel tighter.
I don't know, but I don't think he was human.
We reached the airport just as the sun rose, its golden light
washing over the landscape like a blessing.
As soon as we boarded the plane, the tension finally broke,
leaving us exhausted and hollow. I leaned my head against the
window, staring out at the mountains below.
But my thoughts were elsewhere. I didn't know what had followed
us that night, whether it was something ancient, something
angry, or simply the consequences of Rick's careless
words. But I knew one thing.
The forest had been watching us, and it had let us leave.
This time. I didn't plan this trip well,
I'll admit that right off the bat, my idea was simple.
Escape the grind, spend a weekend in nature and clear my
head. Vermont's backwoods sounded
perfect. I didn't even bother booking a
hotel, just threw my gear in the trunk and hit the road.
By the time I reached the trailhead, it was pushing 5.
PM Way later than I'd planned. The place was deserted.
Not a single car. Insight.
The sign at the trailhead said it was a 5 hour hike to the
nearest shelter. Five hours.
I figured if I hustled, I'd make it by 10, maybe 1030.
I had a flashlight and plenty of adrenaline, so I wasn't too
worried. Still, something about the empty
parking lot made my skin prickle.
The first stretch of the trail wasn't bad.
The air was crisp and smelled like deep woods.
The trees loomed overhead, their branches knitting together in
dense canopies. I kept a good pace, the crunch
of my boots on the dirt trail echoing in the silence.
Too silent, now that I think about it.
No birds, no rustling leaves. Just me.
Two hours in. The sun started to dip below the
trees, and everything turned this muted grey.
I stopped for a quick break, leaning against a mossy boulder
to catch my breath and sip some water.
I heard something, a soft crunch, like a footstep.
My stomach dropped. I froze, the water bottle
halfway to my lips, and strained to listen.
Nothing, just the quiet hum of insects and the faint rustle of
leaves. Probably a deer, I told myself.
Maybe a small animal. But when I swung my flashlight
around, the beam cut through the trees like a knife, illuminating
absolutely nothing. Get a grip, I muttered under my
breath, trying to laugh off the tension.
It was probably just my imagination.
I pushed off the boulder and kept moving, quickening my pace
as the trail grew darker. By the third hour, it was pitch
black. My flashlight was my only
lifeline, casting a narrow beam of light that felt painfully
inadequate. The trees were thicker now,
their gnarled trunks twisted and blackened in the shadows.
Every few minutes I thought I heard something, a faint
rustling behind me, the crack of a twig.
But every time I stopped and. Swung the light around.
There was nothing. The isolation was suffocating.
I kept telling myself it was just the woods playing tricks on
me, that my mind was conjuring noises out of the silence, but
the feeling that I wasn't alone wouldn't go away.
It was this nagging, crawling sensation on the back of my
neck, like I was being watched. Then, at the four hour mark, I
heard it again. This time it wasn't subtle.
A branch snapped, loud and deliberate, somewhere to my
left. My heart shot into my throat as
I spun around, the flashlight trembling in my hand.
The beam landed on a cluster of trees, their shadows stretching
and twisting like skeletal hands.
Hello. My voice sounded small,
ridiculous even. The woods didn't answer.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of
movement, something darting behind a tree.
Hey. I shouted, more out of instinct
than anything else. My voice cracked, and the forest
swallowed it whole. My pulse was hammering in my
ears, drowning out everything else.
I held the flashlight steady. The beam fixed on the tree where
I'd seen something, but nothing moved.
Nothing came out. I backed away slowly, my
footsteps crunching against the dirt trail.
The beam of my flashlight swung wildly back and forth, but the
shadows were too thick, too deep.
My breath came in short, panicked gasps, The kind you try
to control but can't. Then it happened.
A scream. High pitched, distorted, and
impossibly loud. It tore through the forest like
a blade, echoing in every direction.
I froze, every muscle in my body locking up.
It didn't sound human. It didn't sound like any animal
I'd ever heard either. It sounded wrong.
I don't remember deciding to run.
One second I was standing there and the next I was sprinting.
My legs burning as I tore down the trail.
The flashlight bounced wildly in my hand, illuminating glimpses
of roots and rocks that I barely managed to avoid.
Behind me, I heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and fast.
Something was following me. I didn't dare look back.
The trail blurred as I ran, my lungs screaming for air.
My mind raced with questions I didn't want answers to.
What the hell was out there? What did it want?
The footsteps stopped suddenly, but I didn't.
I kept running, desperate to put as much distance as I could
between me and whatever was in those woods.
When I finally couldn't run anymore, I stumbled off the
trail, collapsing behind a massive fallen tree.
My chest heaved, my throat raw from sucking in cold air.
I switched off the flashlight and crouched low, clutching it
like a weapon. The darkness was absolute.
My hands were shaking, my ears straining for any sound.
I waited and waited. And then I heard it again.
Soft, deliberate footsteps, this time circling the tree I was
hiding behind. I clenched my jaw, holding my
breath. The footsteps stopped just on
the other side of the trunk. Something heavy scraped against
the bark. I closed my eyes, praying that
whatever it was couldn't see me, couldn't hear the pounding of my
heart. And then silence.
Nothing but the faint hum of insects.
I stayed there for what felt like hours, too terrified to
move. Whatever was out there was
waiting, watching. I knew it wasn't over, not yet.
I don't know how long I stayed curled beneath that fallen tree,
but every second felt like an eternity.
My muscles ached from crouching, my breaths came shallow and
uneven, and my flashlights sat dark and cold in my trembling
hands. I couldn't bring myself to turn
it back on, Not yet. Whatever was out there would see
me first. The footsteps had stopped, but
the forest wasn't quiet. Far off, the crickets chirped
steadily, their drone oddly soothing.
Closer, though, the sounds were sharper.
Small snaps of twigs, the rustling of leaves.
Sometimes they were near, other times farther off.
Whatever it was, it hadn't left. It was circling.
Me. I thought about running, but
where would I go? The trail was barely visible,
even with the flashlight, and I had no idea how far I'd wandered
off it. And then there was that scream.
The memory of it froze me in place.
I didn't want to hear it again, and I definitely didn't want to
find out what had made it. Hours passed, or maybe minutes.
It was impossible to tell. The forest felt like it had
swallowed time. My mind kept jumping to the
worst possibilities. What if this thing was leading
me somewhere? What if there were more of them?
What if it didn't need to see me to know where I was?
Then, from the silence came the first whisper.
Low, guttural, and just barely audible.
My heart stopped. I couldn't make out the words,
if they were even words at all, but the sound was unmistakably
human. It rose and fell like someone
muttering to themselves, each syllable jagged and harsh, like
it hurt to say them. The whisper came again, closer
this time. My breath hitched, and I pressed
myself tighter against the tree trunk.
I couldn't see anything in the darkness, but I could feel it.
Something was there, just on the other side.
I fumble for the flashlight, every instinct screaming at me
not to turn it on. But I couldn't just sit there
blind. My fingers found the switch
slick with sweat. I took a deep breath, counted to
three, and flicked it on. The beam cut through the
blackness, and for a split second I wished I hadn't done
it. The light landed on a figure
crouched low, maybe 10 feet away.
Its face was obscured, hidden beneath a hood or hair I
couldn't tell, but its body was twisted at an unnatural angle,
one arm bracing the ground, the other stretched toward me.
The light hit its face and it recoiled, letting out a low
hiss. Its movement was jerky, like a
puppet pulled by invisible strings.
Before I could process what I was seeing, it scrambled back
into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was caving
in. My flashlight trembled in my
hands, the beam darting back and forth.
But there was nothing, No sign of it.
Just the endless oppressive dark.
I had to move. Staying there wasn't an option
anymore. Whatever that thing was, it knew
where I was. Slowly I stood, my legs shaking
so badly I nearly collapsed. I scanned the area one last
time, then started walking, trying to keep my steps as quiet
as possible. The fog had rolled in while I
was hiding, blanketing the forest in a thick, suffocating
Gray. My flashlight barely cut through
it. Every tree looked the same.
Their twisted branches reaching toward me like skeletal hands.
The trail was gone. I had no idea where I was.
I stumbled through the underbrush, each step crunching
louder than I wanted. The whispers followed me,
growing louder then fading like they were weaving in and out of
the fog. Every so often I'd hear a
footstep or the faint scrape of something dragging along the
ground. I was too scared to look back.
Then I found it. A clearing.
At first I thought I'd made it to the shelter, but as I got
closer, my stomach dropped. In the centre of the clearing
was a ring of branches, arranged in a perfect circle.
Strange symbols were etched into each one, crude and uneven, as
though carved by a shaking hand. In the middle of the circle was
a hole, deep, fresh and wide enough to fit a person.
I stumbled back, my flashlight catching on something else.
Footprints, bare human footprints, large and staggered,
leading from the hole to the tree line.
My throat tightened and I swung the light around, expecting to
see those glowing eyes staring back at me.
The forest was empty for now. I turned and ran.
I didn't care about the noise anymore.
Branches whipped at my face, roots snagged my boots, but I
didn't stop my only. Thought was to get back to the
car. I didn't know how far I was, or
if I was even heading in the right direction, but I had to
try. When I finally broke through the
trees and saw the trailhead, relief hit me like a wave.
My car was there, untouched, just as I'd left it.
But as I got closer, something caught my eye.
A handprint smeared across the driver's side window.
It was muddy, the fingers impossibly long, and it was
fresh. I didn't stop to think.
I yanked the door open, threw myself inside, and locked it.
My hands shook so badly I could barely get the keys into the
ignition when the engine roared to life.
I floored it, gravel spraying beneath the tires as I speed out
of there. In my rear view mirror, I saw
it. A figure standing at the edge of
the forest, it's head tilted, watching me.
It's glowing eyes were the last thing I saw before the road
curved, taking me away from that place.
I didn't stop driving until I was halfway home.
Even now, I don't know what I saw out there.
I just know I'll never go back. And sometimes, late at night, I
still hear those whispers.