It was supposed to be just another ordinary, boring summer
job. I needed a way to save money for
the upcoming school year, so my geology professor offered to put
me in touch with a local caving group from June to August.
The group hosted camps for children ages 12 to 14.
Over the course of each four day, three night session campers
would hike along limestone rivers, learn about underground
ecology, receive guided tours of three different caves, and even
spend the night in one. Along the way, of course, they
would be treated to the usual cringy team building activities,
cold bug infested showers, and barely edible food familiar to
summer camp attendees everywhere.
My task on paper was a simple one.
I was to guide the campers through the caves in groups of
about 20 and keep an eye on them while they stayed overnight.
We worked in pairs with one guide at the front of the group
and another at the rear to make sure that no one got lost.
We carried helmets, three sources of light, walkie
talkies, first aid kits, and extra rope.
Even though the caves that we worked with were well mapped and
well trafficked, no one expected anything to go wrong.
Well, almost no one. Scout Master Dan got his
nickname from his khaki short shorts with too many pockets,
his knowledge of knots, and his obsession with being prepared.
In over 40 years as an organizer, Dan Raffled had never
lost a camper, and as he was fond of telling us, he planned
to keep it that way. We were expected to find our way
through each cave at least five times before we even began
escorting campers through them, and every guide lived in
constant fear that the scout master would suddenly turn up to
inspect their gear, equipment or quiz them on first aid
procedures. As a college boy from the city
with no experience, I had expected Dan to be especially
hard on me, but he held us all to the same stern standard, no
more, no less. The excitement in the air during
those first green cool weeks of summer was infectious.
By the time we had mowed the green lawn of the main
campground, clean the facilities, and learn the layout
of each cave, I was surprised by how eager I was for the campers
to arrive. Unfortunately, I had forgotten
what preteens could be like. The body odor, the bullying, the
constant boundary pushing. It was tough enough just to get
them quiet and moving in the same direction, let alone to
make them understand the importance of safety
underground. There were times when I almost
wanted one of them to wander off just so that they would finally
learn their lesson. But then I thought about what it
would be like to be alone in the dark, so far underground,
feeling the cold, damp air on your skin and knowing that it
was just a matter of time until your light ran out.
As a new guide, I spent the first three weeks at the back of
the group, keeping a head count and radioing the leader, Miriam,
about any issues. Miriam was a lanky, sunburned
redhead who'd been working as a guide for five summers now.
She had a sheepdog attitude toward the campers.
As long as they were all present for each count, she couldn't
have cared less about their eye rolling complaints and snide
comments about her height or her freckles.
What really mattered to Miriam, the reason she kept coming back
were the caves themselves. The fast flowing underground
streams, the beautiful alien rock formations that could be
found nowhere else, the unique wildlife that had never seen the
sun. For her, our work was more like
a stroll through a beloved park with the minor inconvenience of
hurting a group of accident prone campers.
Thanks to her enthusiasm I also began to enjoy my time spend in
the caves, except for one of them.
It was just my luck that it was that Cave where I was told to
lead my first tour. In theory, Silver Load Cave was
the easiest option for a first time guide.
The other two caves, Pine Knot and Church Falls, each had their
own drawbacks. Pine Knot Cave was like a maze
with so many levels and passages that sometimes even experienced
guides lost their way. Church Falls Cave was small, but
there were a few tight squeezes where one or two campers
inevitably discovered their own claustrophobia and needed to be
helped through. Silver Load Cave, however,
featured large and well explored passages with few pits or other
dangers, at least on the main road.
Even so, the place gave me a bad feeling.
Maybe it was the sheer size of its high ceilinged galleries.
No matter where you directed the beam of your headlamp, there was
still a lot of darkness leftover.
There was also the fact that Silver Load was one of the most
well known caves in the area, which meant you might find
yourself suddenly face to face with other cavers or drunk local
teenagers. Miriam and I had never had any
problems, but still there was something unsettling about
running into strangers in that lightless subterranean world.
I think what bothered me most about Silver Load Cave was the
graffiti. There's usually graffiti in the
more popular caves, but the images in Silver Load just felt
wrong. Worm like black squiggles, faces
not quite animal, not quite human.
Spray painted on the stone in lurid colors of lime green and
purple. My heart raced whenever I
rounded a corner and caught one of them in the beam of my
headlamp, sneering at me like it knew some awful secret that I
didn't. Then, of course, there was the
history of the place. According to Scout Master Dan,
Native Americans had mined precious metals in Silver Load
Cave for centuries until they suddenly and inexplicably
stopped over a millennia ago later, during the Civil War.
Silver Load Cave had been a hideout for Confederate
guerrilla fighters. Imagining some illiterate farm
boy getting his legs sawed off by Lantern light while listening
to the echo of his own screams was enough to make The Cave feel
hostile, if not downright menacing.
Miriam didn't seem to mind or even notice, but she wasn't
leading the campers that day. I was.
To make matters worse, it was the group's final cave tour,
which meant that we'd be spending the night in The Cave.
I had done overnights before, but only in Pine Knot or Church
Falls, never in Silver Load. So far the worst things to
happen were a twisted ankle and a camper who woke up screaming
because a cave cricket crawled into his sleeping bag.
Between the cool air, the coziness, and the complete
darkness, I had actually found caves to be pleasant places to
sleep so far as many times as I had been through Silver Load
Cave with Miriam. However, I had never spent the
night there and I wasn't looking forward to the prospect.
I knew right away that the three boys in the back of my group
that day would be trouble. Alex hid Kyle's head, lamps in
his bulky pockets. Kyle dumped Sean's water on his
head during the safety meeting, and Sean tried to push Alex into
the Creek on the hike to Silver Load Cave.
The trio talked over us constantly, their preteen voices
cracking in the humid summer air.
Even Miriam, who almost never lost her cool, wound up
shouting. Her words reverberated eerily
through the tunnels so that I could hear her anger, but not
what she said. In fact, there were times when I
wondered whether the voice I was hearing was even Miriam at all.
The constant tension grated on my nerves and kept me from
paying attention to things that I'm sure I would have noticed
otherwise, things like the shadowy figure that seemed to be
following our group. The first time I saw it, I
thought it was just another caver backlit by one of their
companions headlamps. When it appeared again, however,
I wasn't so sure. Maybe it was just a shadow that
happened to look sort of human, but if it was, then what was
casting it and why did it seem to be moving closer each time?
I warned myself to cut it out. There was clearly no one else in
The Cave with us. We would have heard them, and
besides, it was impossible to navigate through the jagged
rocks with no illumination. I considered radioing Miriam
about it, but I didn't want to risk the campers overhearing and
getting scared or making myself look like an idiot.
As it turned out, I didn't have to.
We were about 15 minutes from the first break spot when my
walkie-talkie started to go off. At first it was just a rushing
sound, like wind or the Creek that flowed through the cavern.
But then it changed, gibbering, scratching a voice, whispering
my name. Since Miriam's talk button was
pressed down, there was no way I could respond to ask her what
was going on. I called a halt to the group.
Moments later, there was a loud crack and the noises stopped.
We had paused on a low plateau where dripping stalactites hung
from the ceiling. It wasn't so low that we had to
crawl, but standing up wasn't exactly comfortable either.
I was grateful for my knee pads. The 20 campers packed into a
circle, swigging kool-aid from plastic bottles and wondering
what was going on. Miriam scrambled over to me, her
face a mask of pale anger. I think one of those kids
pinched my walkie-talkie. Whoever it was, they must have
freaked out when you called a halt and dropped it.
I heard something rattle when she shook the plastic device.
Well, either way, I found it and it's completely dead.
I groaned. It had barely been an hour and
already something had gone wrong.
Mariam must have seen the look on my face because she gave my
shoulder a reassuring squeeze. You're doing fine.
Let's just keep the group close enough to see each other, OK?
She bit her lip. There was something she wasn't
telling me. Hey, have you noticed that?
Ouch. Let go of my leg, Alex, or maybe
Sean or Kyle, suddenly started shouting.
There was a small rock slide. I'll handle this.
Miriam hissed and disappeared, and for a while it seemed like
she did. Since Miriam and I couldn't
contact each other by radio. She turned on the infrared
setting on her spare headlamp and hung it around her neck,
where it bobbed in the gloom like a glowing red eye.
That way I could be sure that I wasn't getting too far ahead.
Except as we moved through The Cave, I could have sworn I saw
other dim red lights moving in the darkness, some further back,
others closer up. I told myself that it was
probably just Miriam's secondary headlamp, reflected in dripping
water or mineral veins in the walls, but I knew that didn't
make any sense. There were too many of them, and
they were moving with a will of their own.
I tried to distract myself by throwing myself wholeheartedly
into my explanation of silver load, caves, history, and
geology, but every time I looked up, the danger in the dark felt
closer. Two hours later, we'd reached
the large chamber that would serve as our campsite.
It was a wide, flat area formed naturally by a curve in the
subterranean stream. It was only about 8:00 PM, but I
knew from experience that getting 20 campers fed and
bedded down would take at least two more hours.
I kept an eye out for the shadowy figure or the phantom
red lights, but there was no sign of anything strange.
While we all unpacked. When the campers had finished
eating and we're getting ready for lights out, Mariam
approached me. I wanted to ask you earlier,
have you noticed another caver around?
My blood ran cold. Mariam went on without waiting
for a response. It's just strange that someone
would be in here this late. Someone other than a few loud
local teenagers, I mean. And whoever they are, why
wouldn't they be using any light?
To be honest, I hesitated. I've got a bad feeling about
this. Should we, I don't know, call it
off? I silently prayed that she'd say
yes. Everything about this trip was
wrong. Wrong.
Like those eerie graffiti faces spray painted on the walls.
Wrong, like the rusted Civil War era bone saw we'd pass near the
entrance. Wrong.
Like the abandoned veins of precious metals that lead
downward into the dark, Miriam shook her head.
Do you want to explain to Scout Master Dan and 20 odd parents
why they have to come pick up their kids at 1:00 AM on a
weeknight? Because that's what will happen,
assuming we get them all out of here on no sleep and with just
one working radio. She had a point.
Whoever or whatever was out there, it hadn't made any
hostile signs toward us so far. Just ignoring it and hoping it
would go away wasn't the best option.
It reeked of helplessness and desperation, but I couldn't
think of anything else to do. The campers muffled laughter and
whispered conversation suddenly sounded sinister as I performed
the final bed check. I kept expecting to find one
campers sleeping bag ripped to shreds or squirming as some
monstrous, unnameable thing with too many legs came bursting out.
Despite my fears, all 20 campers were present and accounted for
after a long day of caving. Even Alex, Kyle, and Sean were
already fast asleep. Unlike them, I couldn't bring
myself to crawl into my sleeping bag or close my eyes.
I was too afraid that I'd wake up and find myself being dragged
off into the dark. There was no dawn underground,
but Miriam and I had our alarm synchronized for 6:00 AM That
would give the campers a total of 6 hours to pack up, eat, trek
out of The Cave, and get cleaned up before their parents arrived
to pick them up. The early wake up was met with
groans and complaints, but we were used to that.
The important thing was to get them moving.
After a breakfast of granola bars and sports drinks, we
rounded everyone up for the morning head count 18/19/2021.
It was impossible, I thought for sure I had miscounted, but
Miriam's count returned the same result.
As I scan the group for an unfamiliar face, I told Miriam
to dig the roster out of a rucksack.
She returned moments later, angry, confused, and scared, the
rosters. Gone.
So are my spare head, lamps, and the extra food.
It's like a bear went through my pack.
I checked my own pack and found that it too had been ransacked
sometime during the night. I shivered.
Whatever had done it would have been just inches from my head,
and I hadn't even noticed it. Time was of the essence.
We couldn't count on our spare lights any longer.
Miriam nodded to the assembled group of 21 campers and
whispered. Are there any faces you don't
recognize? Anyone who stands out.
It could have been the pale kid standing at the edge of the
group with a blank expression on his face, his shirt buttoned up
wrong and his boots unlaced. It could have black haired boy
with glasses who'd somehow gotten his arms and legs covered
in Gray green cave mud. It could have been the skinny
one with a blonde bowl cut who was chomping on his sixth
granola bar like a wolf gnawing on a bone.
They could have been any of them in the past weeks.
All of those preteen faces had started to blend together.
I'd been so distracted by everything that had gone wrong
that I was no longer sure exactly who I had come into The
Cave with. The campers, too didn't seem to
notice that anything was amiss, and some instincts screamed at
me. To keep it that way.
We needed to get out of Silver Load Cave and fast.
Ironically, Alex, Kyle, and Sean were the only ones I felt sure
of, so I put them right behind me in line.
I knew they wouldn't like that one bit, but I figured they
would do or say something stupid to Alert me if some horrible
impostor came crawling across the ceiling to slit my throat.
The campers were always quiet on their first morning in The Cave.
Usually it was just the uncanny feeling of waking up in absolute
darkness that did it. But there was something more at
work this time. Even the densest of them had
seen the fear and confusion on my face.
They knew that something was off, and they seem to realize
for the first that they were dependent on us to get them out
of here. The goofing off that we'd had to
deal with on the trek into Silver Load Cave had been
replaced by nervous jitters and whispering.
I took a deep breath, forced myself to turn my back on the
campers, and began to lead us out of Silver Load Cave.
One of the first things that Scout Master Dan taught us about
caving was the importance of pausing occasionally to note the
landmarks behind you. Unlike the terrain above ground,
a cave can seem completely different when observed from the
opposite direction. Even long time guides like
Miriam sometimes experience the gut plunging feeling of looking
around at the twisting passages and realizing that nothing at
all looked familiar. It hadn't happened to me, not
until we began our journey back that day.
As we left the main chamber behind, we reached the first
sink, a bend in the Creek where the water disappeared, only to
reappear further along in The Cave.
The path should have been to the right, but it wasn't.
There was only the Creek disappearing between yet another
jagged Stonewall. The way to the exit had
disappeared. I wanted to believe that I just
made a mistake, that what I was seeing was just the result of my
own slowly building panic, but Miriam had noticed it too.
She kept mumbling under her breath, rummaging in her
rucksack for the plastic coated map that had disappeared along
with the rest of her gear. As an experienced guide, she was
taking the impossible change a lot harder than I was.
She knew it was wrong, and I had a nasty feeling that if she
stayed in the chamber much longer, she'd shut down
completely. Most caves have more than one
way in or out, and Silver Load was no exception.
We normally led the campers via the easiest route, the one that
followed the stream, but that was apparently no longer an
option. The lower passages tended to
flood, and even when the water subsided, it left snarls of dead
leaves, wood, and trash muck that fed some of the largest
insects and spiders that I'd ever seen.
I didn't like my odds of getting the campers through that mess,
so I opted for the alternative route through the upper
galleries. I tried to swallow, but my
throat was dry with cave dust. All right, campers, I grimaced.
We're going to take a little detour.
It was tougher than I remembered.
The tunnel grew so narrow that the stone walls scraped against
my shoulders, the rough ceiling so low that I occasionally felt
the long, alien legs of a cave cricket as it skittered through
my hair. These upper passages had a nasty
slope. While crawling along them, you
were constantly sliding down and to the right toward a jagged
black crevasse that, to the best of my knowledge, had never been
explored. It wasn't wide enough to fall
into, not even for the skinniest of campers, but it was
unsettling. I couldn't shake the fear that
it might suddenly begin to expand like a grinning,
toothless mouth and swallow us whole, or that some unspeakable
horror might come Slytherin out of its lightless depths.
I looked back at the campers, their faces flushed with effort,
sweaty hair plastered to their foreheads beneath their cheap
plastic helmets, and reminded myself that the unspeakable
horror was already here among us.
But as to what it was, or what it wanted, I had no idea.
Just an hour left, I reminded myself.
In an hour we'd come crawling out into the sunlight, where
surely everything would make more sense.
It would turn out to be some stupid mistake, like a wrong
turn or a misplaced gear bag, or a miscount on our way out of The
Cave. Nothing more.
It had to be. I'm not sure how I knew
something was wrong. Maybe it was the absence of
sound. The kids had been chattering
like chipmunks for hours, but now they were silent.
Maybe it was the smell. Our flashlight beams had
revealed that the passage was a crypt, its floor strewn with
half decomposed animal skeletons.
Or maybe it was the fact that there was no light.
I'd taken my eyes off the campers for just a few seconds,
and now I couldn't see any of them.
Miriam. I tried to call, but the word
wouldn't come out. Instead, I dropped to my knees
and crawled forward, my heart pounding.
Then I stopped. The infrared light Back in the
main chamber, Miriam had turned on the infrared setting on one
of her head lamps so that I could follow her.
Her light was the only one with this setting, or at least it
should have been. Yet I could see a second dim red
light somewhere in the darkness ahead of me.
And another. And another, 20 of them, the
same number of campers. They were moving, sliding
actually silently toward the center of the chamber like a
pack of ravenous wolves. No longer children, their bodies
had become emaciated and twisted, their bones peeking
through thin, bluish skin. One turned to face me, and I
caught a glimpse of its face, a grotesque, twisted parody of a
human child with hollow eyes and a gaping, lipless mouth that
seemed to stretch unnaturally wide.
My instinct was to flee, to crawl back the way I had come,
but the thought of leaving Miriam and the campers behind
paralyzed me. I needed to do something, but
what? Then?
It hit me. I still had my whistle.
I reach for it, but as I brought it to my lips, I hesitated.
What if the sound attracted more of those things?
I couldn't take that risk. Instead, I used my hand to cover
the whistles opening, muffling the sound as much as possible.
I blew as hard as I could, and the shrill sound filled the
chamber. The creatures recoiled, covering
their ears with their Bony hands.
Their heads jerked in my direction.
Their empty eye sockets filled with rage and confusion.
I seized the opportunity to scramble back the way I had
come, not looking back until I was back in the upper galleries.
The creatures hadn't followed me, but I could still hear their
guttural, inhuman cries echoing through The Cave.
I crawled as fast as I could, determined to get back to the
campers and marry them and lead them out of The Cave.
But when I finally reached the spot where I had left them, they
were gone. There was no sign of them
anywhere. I called out Miriam's name, but
there was no response. Panic set in as I realized I was
alone in the dark with those creatures somewhere behind me.
I crawled as fast as I could, not caring about the narrow
passages or the jagged rocks that scraped against my skin.
I just wanted to get out of that cave and away from those things,
but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find the way out.
It was as if The Cave had shifted and rearranged itself,
leading me further into its depths.
Hours turned into days and still I crawled through the endless
passages, my food and water running out.
I knew I was lost, and I knew I would never escape The Cave.
The creatures were always just behind me, their voices echoing
through the darkness. And now here I am, still lost in
this never ending nightmare with no way out.
If you're reading this, please, whatever you do, don't go into
Silver Load Cave. There are things in there that
should never see the light of day, and I fear that I am now
one of them. In the summer of 2015, my best
friend Scott and I, along with his oldest son, David, embarked
on our annual fishing trip to Morgan Monroe Reservoir.
This tradition had been our escape from the grind of the
work week, a cherished ritual we looked forward to.
Every year I would meet up at Scott's Place, where we would
load our fishing gear into his trusty old truck, eager to hit
the road. At that time, I was only 28
years old, and I'd often tease David about enjoying his youth,
warning him about the impending realities of adult life.
Scott and I had shared a friendship spanning over a
decade, one that resembled a brotherhood more than a mere
friendship. We'd also work together for the
same amount of time, cementing our bond and treating each other
like family. Our journey to our favorite
fishing spot was always filled with excitement, and this year
was no different. As we drove, we discussed our
plans with a pit stop for bait. Being our first order of
business, I suggested we needed more bait, which irritated Scott
slightly, but he agreed. Understanding the desire to
start fishing as soon as possible, our pit stop at a
small gas station in Martinsville provided us with
worms and other essentials. We loaded up our supplies and
continued the journey, listening to some classic rock tunes on
the way. All three of us were bubbling
with anticipation, eager to cast our lines into the water.
As we arrived at our destination, a sign welcomed us,
but it bore an ominous message. Closed due to animal attack, the
trail leading to the water was shrouded in shadows as the sun
began to set. However, we paid little heed to
the sign or the encroaching darkness.
Both Scott and I were armed, and we felt confident in our ability
to protect ourselves. We wasted no time setting up our
gear by the water's edge, engaging in friendly banter
about who would catch the most fish.
David was the first to cast his line, boasting that he would out
fish us. Scott and I scoffed and quickly
followed suit, casting our lines into the water.
Hours passed and the night was filled with laughter and
discussions ranging from cars and girls to work related
stories. At one point, David stood up,
announcing that he needed to relieve himself.
I handed him a flashlight. Mindful of the darkness that had
settled in, David took the light and disappeared into the woods.
Around the same time, we began to hear an eerie knocking sound
in the distance. Knock, Knock.
A shiver ran down my spine, but I initially dismissed it,
thinking David was playing a prank.
As David returned, Scott reprimanded him for potentially
jeopardizing our remote location with pranks.
However, David denied making the knocking sounds.
Then the knocking noise resumed, louder and more unsettling than
before. Knock, knock.
I stood up grabbing David's flashlight, directing it towards
the source of the sound, but my beam revealed nothing unusual.
Suddenly, something large crashed nearby.
I pointed the flashlight in its direction and discovered a
massive rock, possibly weighing 10 to 20 pounds or more.
Scott began to worry that someone might be messing with
us, but David raised the possibility of a bear.
Fear had crept into his voice and eyes.
I, however, knew that bears didn't typically engage in
knocking or rock throwing. Concerned, I retrieved my
firearm, ready to use it if necessary.
For a while, the knocking and rock throwing ceased and we
thought the strange episode had ended.
I glanced at my phone and realized it was nearly 3:00 in
the morning, though it didn't feel like it.
But then another knock knock echoed through the woods,
followed by a chilling, inexplicable howl yell.
The noise was uncomfortably close, sending shivers down my
spine. I asked the others if they were
ready to leave, and both Scott and David answered in the
affirmative. Simultaneously, we hurriedly
packed our belongings, and just as we were about to make our
escape, another rock landed perilously close.
It sounded as though something had hurled a massive boulder
rather than a mere rock. All three of us froze, scanning
our surroundings with our flashlights.
Heavy footsteps were drawing nearer, and it seemed like
whatever was responsible was in a hurry.
Even with our flashlights, visibility was limited.
David piped up, wondering if the area's closure was related to
these strange occurrences. Scott and I remained silent,
pressing forward down the trail that ran parallel to the water's
edge. We still had nearly 100 yards to
cover before reaching the truck. Then there was a loud kerplunk,
followed by a splash just beside us.
It sounded as if something had thrown a colossal boulder into
the water. Our hearts raced and adrenaline
surged through our veins, pushing us onward.
Both Scott and I had our firearms at the ready, prepared
to use them if necessary. We continue to hear disturbing
noises, including a blood curdling screech reminiscent of
a creature. In agony, I asked Scott if the
remote start worked from this distance.
He reached for his key fob, but before he could respond, an
abhorrent stench engulfed us. It was a putrid amalgamation of
decaying trees and wet dog. The odor suggested that whatever
was responsible was dangerously close, perhaps within arm's
reach. We heard low growls just ahead,
along with a loud crash and knocking noises, as if something
was slamming trees together. Finally, we reached the truck.
It's four windows shattered, and we discovered the source of the
screeching sounds, a mangled raccoon.
The gruesome sight did little to alleviate our panic.
We piled into the truck and Scott started the engine.
When the trucks lights illuminated the area in front of
us, we saw it. A dark 7 foot tall creature with
reddish yellow eyes. David pleaded with his dad to go
faster and Scott floored the gas pedal.
A deafening bang reverberated through the air causing the back
of the truck to sway. However, we pressed on, our eyes
wide and unblinking, the terror palpable.
We arrived at Scott's house and stepped out of the truck,
examining the damage more closely.
The windows were shattered and a colossal rock now rested in the
back. The loud bang had been the
Bigfoot throwing the rock at us. Scott looked at me, finally
breaking the silence with disbelief in his voice.
Is that what I think it was? I replied.
I think so. David, still in shock, attempted
to explain the situation to his wife, but she dismissed it,
assuming he had been drinking and wrecked the truck.
I recounted the story to my wife, who merely laughed in
disbelief. Despite our harrowing
experience, it seemed that no one cared or believed us.
As 2023 rolled around, we had not returned to that fishing
spot. I often wondered if that Bigfoot
had ever encountered anyone else in its remote habitat, and I
hope that they wouldn't meet the same terrifying fate as we had
that eerie night in 2015. On a muggy late summer afternoon
in the heart of Georgia, my husband, our six year old son,
and I found ourselves in search of a camping adventure.
Instead of opting for a well trodden, paid camping ground, we
yearned for something a little more off the beaten path.
Rumors had whispered to us about an old abandoned camping site, a
place no longer attended to or maintained.
Our curiosity got the better of us and we decided to check it
out. As we pulled up to the entrance
we were greeted by a site that immediately sent chills down our
spines. The gate to the old check in
booth was securely chained shut, a stark symbol of the site's
disuse and neglect. This meant we'd have to park our
car in the tree lined wilderness and carry our camping gear on
foot. After a short walk through the
overgrown foliage, we began to spot remnants of old campsites,
picnic tables covered in Moss, fire pits choked with weeds, and
other signs of abandonment. We pressed on, determined to
find a spot near the tranquil pond we'd heard about, and
continued our hike until we stumbled upon what seemed like
the perfect camping spot. It was about a 15 minute trek
from our car nestled deep within the woods.
As evening descended, we set up our campsite with a sense of
anticipation and excitement. Our sun eventually succumbed to
the weariness of the day and fell into a peaceful slumber.
My husband and I sat by the crackling campfire, enjoying the
solitude. The silence stretched for miles
around us, making it a bit overwhelming.
But it was precisely when the silence was at its peak that
something extraordinary occurred.
Out of nowhere, we heard it six loud, heavy, bipedal steps
emanating from the water's edge. It was as if someone had emerged
from an inner tube in the water and taken several deliberate
ground shaking strides onto the shore.
My initial thought was that a park Ranger or police officer
had discovered our car, located our campsite and was making
their way towards us to ask us to leave immediately.
Yet the sound was unlike anything I had ever heard
before. It didn't resemble the cautious
steps of an animal like a deer, muskrat, Beaver or even a bear,
which shouldn't have been in our region.
Instead, it was heavy and deliberate, far more
intimidating than any animal could ever be.
My husband, a tough guy who wasn't easily rattled, sprang to
his feet, feeling defensive and genuinely afraid.
At that moment, my blood ran ice cold.
We hastily turned on our flashlights, instinctively
grabbing a nearby pocket knife and a sturdy stick, prepared for
whatever might be approaching, we waited intense silence for
the intruder to reveal themselves.
Strangely, no park Ranger or officer announced their
presence, and no deer darted into view.
It was just eerie silence. Then true terror set in.
I couldn't shake the feeling that someone with malicious
intent was lurking nearby, waiting for the right moment to
strike. I mustered the courage to quiver
out a shaky hello, much like in horror films just before a
gruesome attack. But there was no response, just
continued silence. Suddenly we heard branches
cracking, not on the ground, but overhead.
All around us, rapidly and loudly, pine cones fell to the
forest floor, echoing the snapping branches.
It sounded as if 100 squirrels had simultaneously gone mad,
ascending the trees and sending the forest into chaos.
But no matter where we shown our lights, we saw nothing.
The cacophony continued relentlessly, as if it had no
intention of ceasing. We stood there, petrified,
unable to do anything except listen and wait for any sign of
movement. It was as though we were being
toyed with. Sounds came from above, below,
in the trees, in the water, from every direction.
There were no animal sounds, no growls, grunts, or squeaks.
The noises and their patterns were not natural, normal, or
recognizable. I felt utterly cornered.
All I wanted was to wake our child, hold him in my arms,
abandoned our belongings, and Sprint back to the car as fast
as humanly possible. However, we were a good 15
minute walk from the car and I could hardly move, let alone run
into the dark woods. With this unknown presence
surrounding us, it all became a blur, but I remember us
retreating to the tent, huddling inside with our son, waiting for
whatever would happen next. The noises persisted loudly and
without respite. Sometimes they were close, and
at other times they seemed far away.
Sometimes they were loud in the water and then in the trees.
What kind of creature or entity could exist both on land and in
the water, moving with such incredible speed and making its
presence known in so many places simultaneously?
It was becoming madding, but that was the extent of it,
terrifying unexplained sounds. We never slept, waiting for the
first rays of daylight to break so we could make our escape.
Shortly after sunrise, the noises ceased entirely.
Finally, we ventured down to the water's edge, looking for
footprints or any other evidence of what could have caused all
those bizarre sounds. There we discovered one puzzling
thing, a large tree trunk from a fallen tree that appeared to
have been stabbed or shredded, with no natural patterns or
signs of wildlife. It was as though the tree had
been repeatedly stabbed and gouged with a very large knife,
leaving deep gashes and splinters.
These cuts were fresh, and they definitely hadn't been there the
previous day. In the stark light of day, we
left that eerie place without any idea of what had caused
those bizarre sounds in the woods.
Perhaps there was a reason why they had closed down that
campground. Even years later, it still
baffles me. I've been unable to rationalize
or explain it away. It was something very, I'll just
say, unnatural. I've spent most of my life in
East Tennessee, surrounded by the tales of old wives and urban
legends about the eerie creatures that roamed the dense
forest. As a child, I dismiss these
stories as mere attempts to scare us away from venturing
into the wilderness, believing they were concocted to keep us
safe from ravines and getting lost in the vast wilderness.
However, the tales lingered in my mind, and as I grew older, my
curiosity got the better of me. I started to delve into these
stories in my spare time, drawn to the enigmatic creatures said
to inhabit these woods. While the locals were fixated on
the legend of Bigfoot, I found myself intrigued by the dog man.
Although I kept this fascination unofficial after high school, my
sole ambition was to become a park Ranger, a job that would
allow me to immerse myself in the beauty of nature even when
it was at its most perilous. There are countless stories I
could recount, but one that haunts me to this day involves a
group of hikers from a couple of years ago.
It was early October, a time I typically made my annual
pilgrimage to Klingerman's Dome. The view from the top, with
trees ablaze in a kaleidoscope of autumnal colors, always
reaffirmed my career choice as a park Ranger.
On that particular day, I was on patrol when a distress call came
in, directing me to the cabins near Fontana Lake.
A woman met me there, her eyes filled with worry.
She explained that her husband, son, and brother-in-law had gone
fishing at the lake and had not returned.
I gathered the necessary information about their
descriptions, names, and the details of their truck and boat
before setting out to search for them.
She mentioned they were heading up to Wolf Creek.
I informed the station and then proceeded to drive down to Flat
Branch, suspecting they might have ventured into the river
there. The journey was lengthy, but
getting anywhere deep in the backwoods of the Smoky Mountains
always was. Upon arrival, I spotted three
trucks parked on the side of the road, two of them with empty
boat trailers. One of the trucks matched the
description given by the wife, giving me a starting point for
my search. I approached the water's edge
and scanned in both directions, hoping to spot them returning
from their fishing expedition, but my hopes went unanswered and
there was no sign of them nearby.
I found a house and decided to ask the occupants if they had
seen the missing trio. The man there mentioned he had
been fishing himself the previous day and recalled seeing
a boat resembling the one I described.
With two men and a boy aboard heading West, I inquired if he
had a boat to transport me to Wolf Creek, to which he
hesitantly agreed, his demeanor shifting from friendly to wary.
He consented to ferry me across the river, but refused to take
me all the way to Wolf Creek. I accepted his offer and after a
quick dash back to my truck from my backpack, he transported me
across the river and promptly departed.
It was approximately a mile to the remote campsite I believe
they had used. I began walking along the
river's edge, keeping a vigilant eye out for any signs of them.
It wasn't long before I spotted a boat resting on the shore,
appearing to match the description.
Approaching the boat cautiously, I hope to find the missing party
calmly sitting by a campfire ready to head home, but my
optimism quickly waned. When I reached their campsite,
there were only two tents, both of them ravaged as if some force
had torn into them. I ventured inside each tent,
discovering scattered sleeping bags and camping equipment
strewn about, trying my best not to disturb the scene.
However, it was the 2nd tent that revealed a more disturbing
truth. Inside the disheveled tent, I
noticed conspicuous droplets of red.
Nearby lay a notebook, and I gingerly picked it up to peruse
its pages. October 3rd.
We set out for our annual fishing trip this morning, much
to Mom's chagrin, but we reassured her that we'd be back
the following day. The drive to the boat launch was
long, filled with our anticipation of the bountiful
fish we'd catch and stories of the region.
Dad tried to spook me with tales of a Cryptid living in the area,
but I dismissed it as a jest. We reached the boat launch and
embarked on the water without much trouble except for Uncle
Rodger's near tumble. While trying to release the
boat. He didn't find it nearly as
amusing as Dad and I did. As we ventured further into the
lake and cast our lines, Uncle Rodger seemed to relax,
especially after a few beers. Laughter echoed from our boat as
we enjoyed ourselves. Although we caught a couple of
small fish that required release, we finally hit the
jackpot. When we reached Wolf Creek,
Uncle Rodger managed to catch 3 largemouth bass and I caught
two. Dad had a colossal one on his
line, but it eluded our grasp. With dusk approaching, Dad
suggested we head to one of the secluded campsites.
We moored the boat by the shore, securing it to a massive tree.
We unpacked our gear, pitched our tents, and Dad lit a
campfire while Uncle Rodger cleaned the fish.
We relished our meal and exchanged stories late into the
night. Dad mentioned a promising
fishing spot further W planning to visit it early the next
morning before we return to our cabin the middle of the night.
I awoke to a strange commotion outside the tent.
Dad was absent and I could hear rustling and what seemed like
something pawing the ground and snorting.
I surmised it was Dad playing a prank trying to frighten me.
I had dismissed their attempts to scare me with Crypted tales
earlier, confident I wouldn't be deceived again, I resisted the
urge to turn on the light or investigate, knowing my father
and uncle would probably run away pretending to be the very
creature they had warned me about.
I anticipated that come morning they would discuss the eerie
sounds they claim to have heard to perpetuate their prank.
Instead, I rolled over and attempted to return to sleep,
but Dad's antics continued relentlessly.
He stomped around and growled, attempting to gain my attention,
but I remained steadfast in my determination not to be fooled.
When morning arrived, I ventured outside the tent, expecting to
find the campsite intact and my father and uncle with cheerful
expressions, ready to break their prank.
To my astonishment, the campsite lay in ruins.
Uncle Rodger asked if I had heard any noises during the
night and I feigned compliance, claiming I had heard something
like a creature outside our tent but was too fearful to
investigate. He pretended to search for Dad,
displaying genuine concern. I remained patient, expecting my
father to end the charade, but as the morning progressed, my
anxiety grew. Dad was nowhere to be found, and
Uncle Rodger eventually suggested we begin searching for
him. By noon, we decided to set out
in search of Dad, with Uncle Rodger acting as though Dad had
simply gotten lost in the wilderness.
I wanted to reveal that I hadn't fallen for their ruse, but I
couldn't bring myself to spoil their fun.
Uncle Rodger was deeply troubled, yet he concealed his
emotions, asserting that Dad was likely already back at the
campsite. As the sun dipped lower in the
sky, we abandoned our search and return to the camp.
Twice we lost our way, and each time we retraced our steps to
reach the campsite. The region had few established
trails and it was evident that people had not explored these
parts extensively. Upon our return to the campsite,
I rushed to our tent in the hope of finding my father there.
However, my search yielded no results.
We hastily consumed our meager supper and retired for the
night, with Uncle Rodger vowing to wake me.
When Dad returned October 4th, Uncle Rodger never woke me.
Dad did not return. I suggested we seek help, but
Uncle Rodger revealed that Dad was the only one with a phone.
We debated our next course of action when we suddenly heard
rustling in the woods and the birds fell silent.
We scanned our surroundings and discovered the source of the
disturbance. A creature was approaching us.
It stood tall on its hind legs, producing loud bone cracking
sounds as it moved. This monstrous being was massive
and I was paralyzed with fear. Uncle Rodger urgently pulled me
behind the tent and we tried to conceal ourselves.
However, the creature spotted us and unleashed a deafening roar.
We were mere feet away, and I could see blood on its claws and
teeth, sending shivers down my spine.
What? What should we do?
I whispered. Uncle Rodger raised a finger to
his lips, and the creature turned its attention to our tent
as though searching for something.
Come on, Uncle Rodger whispered. We silently slipped away from
the monster. We descended the creek's bank
and walk downstream, concealed by the water.
We hoped the rushing water would muffle any sounds and help us
evade our pursuer. Time dragged on as we made our
way downstream, our nerves on edge.
We reached a bridge, a small wooden structure that spanned
the Creek. Our options were limited, and we
sought refuge under the bridge, praying that the creature would
lose our scent and leave. We huddled together in the
shadows, the daylight fading into dusk and the temperature
dropping rapidly. Without our jackets.
We shivered with the cold air, contrasting with the adrenaline
coursing through our veins. As I began to doze off, Uncle
Rodger nudged me. I looked up, and he motioned for
me to remain silent. I was about to ask why when I
heard a creaking sound on the bridge directly above us.
It was not the steady rhythm of a hiker passing by, but a slow,
deliberate progression, as if someone or something were
stalking us. I listened intently as each
board groaned under the weight of whatever was creeping above.
My teeth chattered in fear, and I bit my tongue to stifle the
noise. The creature seemed to pause, as
though it had heard something. It's movements tentative as it
assessed the situation. We strained our ears and I heard
sniffs, a creature trying to detect our scent for the first
time. I noticed a slight breeze, and
it occurred to me that it might carry our scent downstream or
upstream. Another slow footsteps sounded,
causing the board to creak, and for a brief moment it appeared
the creature was moving away from us, heading to the far end
of the bridge. Hope surged within me, but it
was short lived. The creature abruptly stopped
and with a quick jerking motion dipped its head under the bridge
and peered into our hiding spot. We remained frozen, our hearts
racing as the monstrous creature on its hind legs resembling A
nightmarish dog, scrutinized the area beneath the bridge.
Darkness enveloped us, offering precious little cover.
The creatures gaze shifted toward us and our hearts pounded
in our chests. Daylight had dwindled to dusk,
and our hideout provided some shadows that rendered us nearly
invisible. However, our safety was short
lived. As the creature approached, my
mind locked in terror, unsure of what course to take.
Running would likely expose our location, and it appeared our
only option was to face a horrific demise.
At that moment I felt Uncle Rodger lean closer.
He was right in front of me and I saw him pick up a stone the
size of his first. I realized he intended to shield
me, offering himself as a sacrifice to protect me.
Tears streamed down my face at the thought of my father falling
victim to this monstrous creature.
As I braced myself for the inevitable, I saw the creature's
terrible claws inch closer to Uncle Roger's face.
It was a defining moment. Suddenly, the creature halted,
raising its head to sniff the air.
The hair on its back bristled, and then, in an instant, it
vanished. Uncle Roger cautiously stood,
and I tried to do the same. Though my legs felt weak, I
unintentionally dislodged some stones, creating a minor noise
that prompted Uncle Rodger to hiss at me.
We stood in silence, waiting for the creature to spring from its
hiding place at any moment. After several agonizing minutes,
we dared to move away. Cautiously, we descended the
creek's bank and walked downstream through the water.
Where are we going? I whispered.
There's a bridge downstream, Uncle Rodger whispered back.
If we're quiet enough and the creature loses our scent, we can
hide under it and hope it goes away.
I focused on walking as silently as possible in the rushing
water. It's noise masking our
movements. It felt like an eternity before
we reached the bridge, a small wooden structure spanning the
Creek, providing hikers with passage over it.
There was little cover. We sought the deepest shadows at
the far end of the bridge, our hearts pounding.
Time seemed as slow as I sat on the uncomfortable rocks,
trembling. Neither of us had our jackets,
and the temperature had plummeted as the sun
disappeared. I was nearly dozing off when
Uncle Rodger nudged me. I looked up and he motioned for
me to remain silent. I was about to ask why, when I
heard a creaking sound. Someone or something was slowly
approaching on the bridge above us.
It wasn't the steady gait of a hiker on the trail.
It was a cautious, deliberate step, as though the entity were
stalking us. I listened intently as each
board groaned under the weight of whatever was inching closer,
one slow, deliberate step at a time.
My teeth chattered with fear as I fought to keep quiet.
It couldn't have been very loud, and Uncle Rodger barely heard
it, but he motioned for me to stop.
I bit my tongue, trying to suppress any noise and continue
to listen. There was nothing to hear.
The creature above us had halted its advance as if it were
listening to ascertain whether it had detected something.
I strained my ears, desperate for any sign of movement.
Then I heard sniffling. It was the creature attempting
to pick up our scent for the first time, I realized A slight
breeze blowing aligned with the waters flow.
However, I had no way of determining which side of the
bridge the creature was on, and the wind could either save or
doom us. Another deliberate footsteps
sounded like an explosion as the board groan beneath the weight.
For a brief moment it seemed like the creature was moving
away toward the far end of the bridge.
Hope flickered within me as another step followed, and then
another. I silently sighed with relief as
I heard it step off the bridge and on to the trail.
However, my relief was short lived as I saw a face peer
around the corner, gazing under the bridge.
It was the creature, a monstrous dog like being standing on its
hind legs, its presence A grotesque nightmare.
Daylight had faded to dusk, and there was minimal illumination.
Our only advantage lay in the shadows, making us nearly
invisible. Yet the creature approached
steadily, and I feared our safety was slipping away.
My mind raced with thoughts, and I felt paralyzed.
Running would only reveal our presence more quickly, and it
seemed we had no choice but to face a dreadful end.
In that moment, I was certain of what had befallen my father.
Tears streamed down my face as I imagined him torn apart by this
monstrous entity. As I braced myself for the end,
I felt Uncle Rodger lean closer. He was right in front of me, and
I watched as he picked up a stone roughly the size of his
fist. I understood his intention to
protect me at the cost of his own life.
Tears flowed more intensely, obscuring my vision.
The creature's claws drew closer to Uncle Rodger's face again.
This was it. Then, abruptly, it stopped.
It lifted its head and sniffed the air, its back bristling.
In an instant it vanished again. It was like we were in a
terrifying loop. Uncle Rodger and I slowly stood,
and I tried to follow suit. Although my legs felt unsteady,
we remained still, listening for any signs of the creature
emerging from its hiding place. After several agonizing minutes,
Uncle Rodger led the way back to our camp.
We believe that changing into dry clothes and resting were our
best options. The warmth of the campfire and
the dry clothes offered a welcome respite from the cold
and dampness. I nestled into my sleeping bag
and wrote this message, hoping that someone would find it if we
didn't survive. I prayed that my father had been
as fortunate as we were. I read through the entire
message, my heart heavy with concern for the boy, his uncle,
and the fate of the father. If my suspicions were correct,
the situation was dire. Despite the impending danger, I
felt compelled to search for them.
I began with a meticulous examination of the tracks around
the camp, specifically those near the tents.
It seemed that the boy and his uncle had initially headed
toward the Creek, and the creatures tracks followed suit.
I followed the erratic tracks, occasionally losing them but
eventually picking up drops of blood that confirmed their
direction. The tracks ran along the Creek,
and I noticed that the boy and his uncle must have returned to
the campsite after initially leaving.
However, there were no signs that the father had come back
with them. As I circled the campsite, I
made a disturbing discovery. An adult's tracks LED from one
of the tents to the edge of the woods and stopped abruptly.
There was a dark stain on the tree bark a few feet up, likely
from a late night bathroom break.
However, the tracks never returned as though the person
had vanished. I searched the area thoroughly
but found no indication of the father's whereabouts.
Finally, I realized there were specks of blood higher up on the
tree bark. I expanded my search and found
tracks of the creature accompanied by drops of blood.
My heart sank at the implication.
I followed the trail of the creature, hoping against hope
that my instincts were wrong. However, each step deepened my
dread. I attempted to radio the station
to report the situation, but inexplicably all I received was
static. Frustration and urgency gripped
me as I realized that communication had been
compromised. I adjusted my backpack, ensuring
my sidearm was loaded, and ventured deeper into The Cave.
The deafening sound of the rain outside gave way to an eerie
silence within the cavern. Each step I took echoed in the
vast darkness. As I crept deeper, I felt a
sense of foreboding that intensified with each passing
moment. Two thoughts weighed heavily on
my mind. Firing my gun in this confined
space would likely deafen me, and the putrid stench that
pervaded The Cave was nauseating.
My flashlight pierced the darkness, revealing the caves
expanse, a rough, uneven floor scattered with boulders and
stones. The walls were rugged, devoid of
any ancient cave drawings. The silence was oppressive,
broken only by the sound of my footsteps, my breathing, and my
racing heartbeat. The tension was unbearable, and
I pressed forward with trepidation, every step feeling
like a descent into a nightmarish abyss.
Doubts filled my mind, and I contemplated retreating, but a
nagging sense of responsibility compelled me to continue.
As I ventured deeper into The Cave, the rains distant, roar
outside diminished, replaced by an eerie stillness.
I could hear my own footsteps, my rapid breathing and the
pounding of my heart echoing through the cavern just as I
contemplated retreating. A movement ahead caught my eye.
It was substantial, as large as a person.
Panic surged within me and I instinctively pressed myself
against The Cave wall, forgetting momentarily that my
flashlight remained on, betraying my position.
I heard a shuffling sound growing closer and I frantically
pointed my flashlight in the creatures direction, my heart
pounding in my chest. I knew that I needed to gather
more information, but I couldn't afford to be taken by surprise.
I withdrew my side arm, clutching it tightly as I
cautiously advanced, my light illuminating the cave's
interior. And then I saw it, the creature,
a nightmarish amalgamation of a dog like form.
Elongated and standing on its hind legs, it loomed only a few
steps away, it's grotesque appearance etched into my
memory. Fear surged through me, but I
couldn't afford to hesitate. My only option was to confront
the abomination that stood before me, standing between life
and death in the darkest depths of The Cave.
The creature, a nightmarish and wounded beast, recoiled from the
blinding light of my flashlight and emitted A guttural growl
that sent shivers down my spine. Panic surged within me and I
fought to control my trembling body, fearing I might lose
control of my bodily functions in sheer terror.
Instinctively I raised my gun and pulled the trigger,
unleashing A deafening blast that left my ears ringing.
The creature roared in response, its proximity to me making the
sound almost inaudible over the ringing in my ears, and it
darted deeper into The Cave, its malevolent intent palpable.
As the echoes of the gunshot faded, I stumbled, struggling to
regain my balance and composure. My desperate need to find the
missing hiker compelled me to press on, despite the
overwhelming dread that course through me.
I scanned The Cave floor, searching for any sign of blood
or injury, but there was none to be found.
It seemed that my shot had merely startled the creature.
The realization that it was still at full strength filled me
with dread, for I knew that it would perceive me as an invader
in its domain. With my flashlight cutting
through the darkness, I ventured deeper into The Cave, my senses
on high alert, watching for any sudden movement.
I had no clue where the creature had disappeared to, nor whether
it was preparing an ambush. A sudden gust of air brushed
against my skin, and I reacted on pure instinct, leaping
backward just in time to evade the deadly swipe of claws
through the air. My heart raced as I rolled and
fired my gun blindly, the flashlight casting a feeble glow
on my target. I squeezed the trigger
repeatedly, desperate to hit the creature, but it dodged every
shot, retreating with unnatural speed until it vanished from
sight, leaving me to hope that at least one of my shots had
connected. I ejected the spent magazine
from my gun, replacing it with a fresh one, all the while
chastising myself for not conserving my limited
ammunition. In my mind, I reasoned that
there was no use in dying with a full magazine.
Following the trail of blood drops left by the wounded
creature, I proceeded deeper into The Cave.
A pervasive chill permeated the air, making me shudder as I
pressed forward, a sense of impending doom weighing on my
mind. It felt like a tomb, my tomb,
but I shook off such thoughts and continued my pursuit until
the blood trail came to an abrupt end.
I illuminated a small puddle with my flashlight, scrutinizing
the ground for any clues. The absence of blood beyond that
point filled me with unease, as if I had walked into a trap.
I scanned every inch of The Cave from floor to ceiling, but the
creature remained elusive. My instincts scream that it was
a trap. With my heart pounding, I
started backing out of The Cave, my eyes darting around, scanning
for any sign of my relentless pursuer.
Then it struck me like a speeding bulldozer, a sudden,
brutal impact to my back that sent me sprawling.
My flashlight landed several feet away, and I had no idea
where my gun had ended up. Gasping for breath, I struggled
to move, but my body refused to cooperate.
The creature circled around me, growling and bristling A
palpable menace. I knew it was closing in for the
kill. Panic gripped me as I willed my
body to move. I watched as my arm slowly
reached out towards the distant flashlight.
Just as I grasped it, I saw the creature Crouch, ready to lunge.
I clicked the flashlight to strobe mode, directing its
blinding beam at the creature's face.
It screamed and swiped at the light, as if trying to fend it
off. Summoning every ounce of
strength, I rose to my knees, keeping the light trained on the
creature. When it turned away, I
frantically scanned for my gun. It lay a few yards away, and I
attempted to crawl toward it, ignoring the pain from my
freshly broken nose, aware that my life hung in the balance.
I couldn't afford to feel the pain.
I reached for the gun, and just as the creature charged at me
with renewed aggression, I aimed and fired.
The impact sent the creature tumbling, but it remained on its
feet, growling defiantly. My magazine emptied.
I fumble to reload, berating myself for not being more
cautious with my limited ammunition.
I justified it with the thought that there was no point in
preserving bullets if I didn't survive.
I resumed my pursuit, exhilarated by a trail of fresh
blood drops that indicated I had wounded the creature.
Though the drops were infrequent, I knew that at the
speed it was moving, it must have suffered a severe injury.
As I continued into the depths of The Cave, an eerie chill
gnawed at my resolve. It felt like a tomb, and the
thought of it being my own tomb gnawed at my mind.
But I pushed through, following the blood trail until it
vanished. My flashlight revealed a small
puddle. The final traces of blood and
the absence of any more tracks filled me with dread.
I knew it was a trap. My instinct screamed at me in a
desperate retreat. I backed out of The Cave, my
eyes darting in all directions. Then out of nowhere, it struck
with the force of a freight train ramming into my back.
I sprawled on the floor, my flashlight a few feet away,
gasping for air. I lay defenseless as the
creature circled me, its growls growing more menacing.
I could feel its intent to kill. My mind screamed at me to move,
but my body refused to cooperate.
The creatures, breath visible in the dim light, signaled that my
time was running out. With a Herculean effort, my arm
was the first to regain mobility.
Slowly, I reached for the flashlight.
The creature pause just as I got a grip on it.
I directed the strobe at its face again, and it howled,
clawing at the blinding light. Summoning all my strength, I
rose to my knees, keeping the light trained on the creature.
When it turned away, I frantically searched for my gun,
which I found a few yards away. I attempted to run for it, but
my body's full recovery remained elusive and I fell flat on my
face. Ignoring the pain of my broken
nose once more, I crawled toward the gun with every ounce of
energy within me. It seemed like an eternity until
I grasped the grip and aimed it at the creature which was
charging at me full speed. I squeezed the trigger at the
perfect moment, sending it crashing down with a horrific
scream. It writhed and clawed at its
face, blood pouring from its numerous wounds, but even in
agony it refused to surrender. Minutes passed, and it finally
ceased its frenzied movements, becoming eerily still.
My flashlight revealed that I had struck its eye, leaving
nothing but a bloody hole. I dared not approach it,
standing at a safe distance, gun at the ready in case it made a
final move. It's squeals devolved into
moans, and then a heavy sigh before it lay still.
With caution, I directed the flashlight toward the creature,
cautiously optimistic that the threat had ended.
Remembering my original purpose, I tried to regain my bearings
and ventured further into The Cave.
My primary thoughts were finding the missing hikers alive and
hoping there weren't more of these creatures lurking in the
shadows, for I knew I couldn't endure another confrontation
like the one I had just faced. I retraced my steps through The
Cave, passing the blood stained battleground where I had faced
the creature. Shell casings and blood were
scattered on The Cave floor, serving as grim reminders of our
encounter. I wondered how I had avoided
getting hit by a stray bullet, and I looked to the spot where
the creature had fallen, but to my bewilderment, it was gone.
I scanned the area frantically, searching for any sign of its
presence, but it had vanished without a trace.
Fear course through me as I checked my gun, realizing I had
only two rounds remaining. The creature's absence was
unnerving. It could be lurking anywhere,
bidding. It's time for a final strike.
Despite the unsettling turn of events, I knew there was nothing
more I could do. I was defenseless, carrying a
corpse on my back. I holstered my gun and continued
leaving the creatures whereabouts A terrifying mystery
as I neared the cave's exit. The world outside had
transformed. Daylight struggled to penetrate
the thick fog that now blanketed the valley.
The mist obscured everything below, except for the distant
peaks of the mountains, which remained untouched by the
suffocating haze. I glanced over at my backpack,
left waiting patiently for my return, and retrieved my water
bottle. I took a moment to savor the
last sip, knowing I would need every ounce of energy to
complete my grim journey. Sitting on the precipice of The
Cave, I looked down at the valley below, pondering how to
descend with my burden without risking both our lives.
For a fleeting moment, the temptation to toss the hikers
body down crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it as an
undignified option. Rummaging through my backpack, I
found a set of bungee cords and use them to secure the body to
my back, forming A macabre backpack.
It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was the best I could manage
under the circumstances. With the gruesome load secured,
I began the treacherous descent, my heart pounding with each
precarious step. There were moments when I lost
my footing and nearly tumbled to my death, but my determination
to honor my mission and the hikers memory spurred me on.
Finally I reached the bottom unscathed, but a new challenge
loomed ahead. The thick fog obscured my
surroundings and I had no clear path to follow.
I decided to move straight ahead hoping that the fog would lift
as I ventured further. The rain had transformed the
forest into a soggy marshland with the soft ground and swollen
streams posing additional obstacles.
At times I waded through knee deep water, the cold seeping
through my clothes and draining my energy.
With each step my thoughts oscillated between the missing
hiker and the relentless creature that had pursued me.
I hadn't discovered any other remains in The Cave, suggesting
that the creature hadn't had the opportunity to bring its other
victims there. My relentless pursuit had forced
it to retreat prematurely. Throughout the journey I kept my
ears attuned for any signs of the creature following me, but
the eerie silence of the forest raised concerns.
Wildlife often fell silent in the presence of a predator, and
I couldn't shake the feeling that danger still lurked nearby.
Nevertheless, I couldn't afford to dwell on my fears.
My sole focus was to make it back to the safety of my truck.
My primary goal? To honor the hikers memory and
provide his family with closure. Exhaustion nod at my every step
and two thoughts persisted in my mind.
The whereabouts of the other hikers and the relentless
pursuit of the creature. The Cave had revealed no other
remains, suggesting that they might still be alive if that
were the case, they were counting on me to find them.
My journey seemed endless, and I pushed forward with the
determination born of desperation.
The relentless pursuit by the wounded creature loomed over me
like a dark cloud, my constant companion in this eerie silence.
After what felt like an eternity, I reached a turning
point, a fleeting glimmer of hope On the horizon.
I heard the faint sound of running water, the soothing flow
of a Creek. Hope surged within me,
momentarily eclipsing the fear that had gripped me for so long.
But hope was short lived, for I heard a solitary footstep behind
me, and I whirled around, my macabre burden nearly
unbalancing me. The thick fog obscured my view,
and I strained to see through the mist, my heart pounding.
My senses sharpened, and I knew I was being pursued.
My pursuer was relentless, determined, and a harbinger of
death. The boy had given voice to my
darkest fears, and I knew I couldn't afford to slow down or
become an easy target. With renewed determination, I
set my course toward the sound of the Creek, my every step
guided by the instinct for survival.
The marshy terrain slowed my progress and the cold water
sapped my strength, but the specter of the pursuing creature
pushed me forward. As I reached the banks of Wolf
Creek, I knew my strength was waning.
The creature had entered the water behind me and was steadily
gaining ground. The Creek grew deeper, forcing
me to swim the frigid water, sapping my energy further.
My relentless pursuer was a mere few yards behind me, and I knew
my chances of survival were slim.
It was impossible to see whether the creature could swim, but I
couldn't afford to turn and find out.
With every ounce of energy, I swam to the far side of the
lake, praying for salvation. I reached the shore, utterly
exhausted and chilled to the bone, and lay there, expecting
the creature to descend upon me at any moment.
To my astonishment, I look back and saw the creature standing on
the far shore, unable or unwilling to cross the water.
It was grotesque, it's single eye socket oozing gore, internal
organs visible through its many wounds, and its right leg
wounded, causing a severe limp. The rage burning in its
remaining eye was unmistakable, but it seemed unable to pursue
me further. A wry smile played across my
lips as I lay there, catching my breath.
It appeared that the creature couldn't swim, and for the
moment I had eluded its clutches.
As I slowly rose and continued my journey back to the truck, I
couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mixed with exhaustion.
I had survived the relentless pursuit, but I knew my battle
with the creature was far from over.
Upon reaching my truck, I opened the door and knocked gently on
the cabin door. When the woman inside saw me,
her expression shifted from fear to relief.
Are you all right? She asked in a trembling voice.
I hung my head wearily. No, but I will be after some
much needed rest. I have unfortunate news.
I found your husband, but your son and brother-in-law are still
missing. A man and a young boy emerged
from the cabin, their eyes filled with curiosity and
apprehension. The man looked at me
quizzically. Who are you?
He asked. She's the Ranger who came
looking for all three of you, the woman explained.
I don't understand, I replied, my fatigue evident Your tracks
were confusing. I followed them to the bridge,
but they doubled back to the campsite.
The boy chimed in, explaining how they had rested and then
slipped away to a boat, rowing across the river to escape.
I couldn't help but smile at their resourcefulness, relieved
that they had survived. I'm very glad you did, I said
sincerely, pulling them both into a grateful hug as the boy's
eyes welled up with tears. He asked.
You said you found my dad. My face grew somber as I nodded.
I did, but it was too late. So he's.
The boy began. I nodded again, my heart heavy.
Where is he? He asked, his voice trembling.
He's in my truck, but you don't want to see him like that.
Before I could utter another word, he sprinted to the truck
and peered inside. Finding the passenger seat
empty, he turned to the bed of the truck and, upon seeing his
father's lifeless form, broke into sobs, sliding down the side
of the vehicle. I'm so sorry, I murmured.
Turning to the grieving family, the woman embraced me tightly,
expressing her gratitude. Don't be, she said.
Without you, we might have lived in false hope for weeks, months,
or even years. You've given us a chance
foreclosure and the opportunity to properly grieve.
Tears Weld in my eyes as I gently placed the hikers body on
their couch, covering him with a blanket.
The boy, still overwhelmed by grief, sat in a nearby chair,
his gaze fixed on the covered form.
Knowing I had done all I could, I excused myself and left the
cabin, my mind heavy with the weight of the day's events.
I had fulfilled my duty, but I couldn't shake the feeling of
impending danger from the relentless creature.
As I drove back home, I called the Ranger station and reported
the harrowing ordeal in detail, informing them that I would be
taking the following day off after a long shower and
collapsing into bed. I had only one thought on my
mind, a return to Wolf Creek, armed with more firepower to put
an end to the creature that had haunted my nightmares.
But that, as they say, is another story.