My father told me a story once and I'll never forget it for a
few reasons. I think it's the first story he
ever told me as a child. It's also the story of how my
grandfather died. But honestly that isn't the
reason I remember it so well. You hear stories on TV, or
sometimes you overhear something in a public place.
People talk about ghosts or aliens, and you think to
yourself that isn't real. They're making it up, or they're
mistaken, or they're crazy or something like that.
You just can't believe it until something happens.
Something that brings it all together, connects the dots in a
way you didn't think of before. Maybe it happens to you, maybe
you hear it, or maybe you hear the same story again and again,
happening to different people. It doesn't take long for the
world to become a lot bigger than you thought it was.
As I said, this is a story my father told me, but I never
believed it, even though he swore up and down it was true.
It wasn't until I started clicking around the Internet
that I started to believe. I started to hear other stories
just like the one my father told me.
It didn't take me long to believe in the Rake.
That's not what my father called it.
Of course. He's never used the Internet in
his life. He wouldn't know what the
consensus has taken to naming it when he chose to call it
something other than it or that thing.
He called it a skinwalker after an old Cherokee tale his
grandfather told him. But I'll tell you the story the
way he told it to me. We were out hunting one night.
He had told me we were hunting coyotes.
We'd kill them for 50 bucks a skin.
They live near a dairy farm in Ohio, and they'd kill calves
sometimes. We did it every night because we
needed the money. Sometimes while we were out we'd
come across a deer and kill it. Our landlord didn't mind and it
could feed our family for a few nights and save us some money.
Anyway, we were done making our rounds and began heading home
walking because we didn't have a car or a four Wheeler back then.
We'd cut through the woods. That's when we came upon it.
Blood everywhere. Splattered on the trees, the
grass in the Creek, everywhere. At first we figured it was a
pack of coyotes. We'd seen it.
Sometimes they can't scavenge and start hunting a deer or
cattle. The worst was when they bred
with feral dogs. But this wasn't like that.
See, when a pack of dogs, wolves, or coyotes attacks
something, they do it right. They pick off the one that's
weak, sick, old, or just small. They hunt it, draw it into a
corner someplace it can't get out of, and they'll run it right
into the biggest one, the alpha. And that deer will never see the
alpha. It might hear it, but it won't
see it. It'll just notice that its
throat's gone, and then it'll drop dead.
It's quick and clean. That wasn't what happened here.
Something had run up on a den of deer.
Coyotes won't attack a den, Wolves neither, because they'd
get too much of a fight. There were three, I think 3
bodies just torn apart. You'd see a head there, a leg
there, a torso here. Predators don't do that.
They don't leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn't done
it for food. It had done it for fun.
But we didn't know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses and
we thought it was something we had to take care of.
I remember my dad telling me to go home.
He thought it was a pack of feral dogs, but I wasn't leaving
him and I damn sure wasn't walking through 2 miles of woods
alone with nothing but a 22 and a pocket knife.
I was 13 at the time, so a 22 rifle was the only gun I could
reliably use. Dad had a shotgun and I wasn't
going anywhere without it. It took me a while to convince
him, but finally we began tracking whatever did that.
It wasn't hard either, we just followed the blood.
Either that thing bled before it got away or it dragged one for a
mile. I don't know.
I know I'd never seen my dad scared before that night we
started hearing noises. I've been in a lot of woods in
my life, I've been all over the world and I haven't ever heard
noises like I heard that night. I heard things screaming.
I heard deer, a fox, rabbits, a raccoon, and birds.
Just scared. Keep in mind this was maybe
midnight or 1:00 AM. Except for the fox and some
birds, nothing was supposed to be awake.
But they weren't just awake, they were moving.
I saw flocks of birds just trying to get out of there.
We came upon a pack of coyotes and nearly shot a couple of them
thinking it was what we were looking for.
But then we saw they were running towards us, then right
past us. They didn't even notice us.
Then some deer did the same. Then some rabbits, squirrels,
foxes, and even a couple of wild hogs.
These things were supposed to be eating each other, and the only
thing they cared about was getting out of there.
We should have put it together that maybe whatever we were
tracking wasn't something we were supposed to see and wasn't
something we could kill. I don't know why we didn't just
go home. I guess we were curious.
I think that was my dad's nature, to go toward trouble, to
fight. And knowing what I knew about
what my father did during the war, my nature was to stay close
to him. We finally got into an open
valley. It was normally a soy field, but
it wasn't in season, so it was just flat dirt.
We saw the tracks. A lot of the animals fleeing the
forest had paved over the land, but where that deer blood was,
nothing had taken a single step like they were leaving it for us
to find. The tracks were shallow.
Whatever it was couldn't have weighed more than 100 lbs, but
that didn't mean much. A bobcat weighing 40 lbs nearly
tore out my dad's throat once. All that means is it's quick and
hard to hit. So we followed the tracks and it
didn't take us long to find where it was.
There was this old schoolhouse that sat on the top of the hill.
Half of it had been ripped out by a tornado, but nobody lived
there, not for a long time. We caught homeless people in
there sometimes, or even druggies looking for a safe
place to shoot up. We figured maybe that was it,
maybe it was some sick kid riding a high, but we didn't
think that for long. We got within 50 yards and heard
this noise, a scratching kind of sound.
It was sort of made-up of two different sounds.
One was a high pitched screech and the other was a low pitched
growl. It was making both at the same
time. We got within 20 yards and we
heard the sound. I can remember thinking it
sounded like paper being torn apart while someone was swishing
water in a bucket back and forth.
My dad looked at me, kneeled down, and whispered that I had
to stay behind him because we were about to corner it.
Any animal will fight when it's cornered, especially if it's a
predator, but we could tell by the tracks that it was just one.
He told me it was probably a single feral dog, most likely
rabid. The plan was to sneak up on it
while it was eating, shoot it, and then keep shooting it until
it didn't move anymore, then slit its throat.
And if it got to Dad, it was my job to shoot it or stab it to
get it off of him. So he walked up, and I was right
behind him, just a tad to his side so I could see what it was.
I wish to this day that I hadn't.
It was leaning over a carcass, tearing off its flesh and
throwing what it didn't nibble aside.
There was blood all over the brick, glistening in the
moonlight. It was pale white, human
looking, but not quite human. It had arms and legs like a
human, but it sat like a monkey, hunched over, and its hands
weren't normal. It had long fingers with claws
at the end. So we saw that, and my dad
hesitated. He wasn't about to fire on a
person, so he cleared his throat, trying to get it to turn
around. I swear to God, all the noise
just ceased. I haven't ever heard true
silence before that and not after it, but for a few seconds
nothing. Nothing made any noise which
made it all the louder when it turned around.
Made this shrill cry and jumped on my dad.
He got a shot off. I think he missed.
If he hit the thing it didn't mind but it was on him tearing
parts of him off. I started shooting with my 22
point blank but it barely bled. I got off 5 rounds and then I
started hitting it with the butt of the gun.
It wasn't budging, it didn't even register that I was there.
It was clawing at my dad, taking off bits of his flesh and
started on his torso, ripping off skin.
Then it moved up. It tore off his throat, and then
his nose ripped off the bottom half of his jaw.
I don't exactly remember what happened, but somehow my dad's
knife ended up in the thing's shoulder and my dad ended up on
my back. I'm running, and by God I'm
running faster than I have ever run before and it's following
me. I ended up back in the woods
opposite the ones we'd been in. I'm heading towards my
landlord's house because it's half a mile away.
I can hear the things screeching and moaning.
I hear these tree branches crack and get thrown around.
It sounds like someone's taking an axe to every single tree I
pass. It's cracking so loud and often,
but I just can't look back. Finally, I trip into gravel.
I look up and there's my landlord and a bunch of his
buddies drinking around a campfire.
I scream and I cry and they come over.
I'm telling them to call an ambulance and he looks at me and
I'll never forget what he said. What's on your back?
He asked me. Just as he said it, he saw one
of those God awful flannel shirts my dad wore everywhere.
It was what was left of my dad. Suddenly we heard it screeching.
He grabbed me and my dad got thrown to the ground.
I'm fighting him, crying because I think we can still save him
somehow, but my dad had been gone before I ever picked him
up. He had to pick me up and throw
me aside before I came with him. He and his buddies were all
inside, locking their doors and getting guns.
The landlord was asking me what happened, but I just didn't know
what to tell him. He pieced enough of it all
together to understand that there was something dangerous
there. All the lights in the house were
on and someone called the cops. They'd be there in 15 minutes.
We looked outside and I saw it walk in front of the fire they'd
made. They didn't know what it was.
One of them said it looked like an ape.
Suddenly something came through the window.
We shot at it, but it wasn't the thing.
It was my landlord's dog. Just the body though, not its
head or legs. We started pushing things in
front of the doors and windows when we heard something in the
garage. I remember one of my friends
saying the doors were open. We heard metal and glass get
ripped apart, but we put a couch and TV in front of the door to
the garage. It banged around some more, but
then it got quiet. Not silent like it was before.
We could hear it move around some and the guys were talking,
making sure the guns were ready. Someone handed me a pistol.
No sooner had I cocked the hammer back did we hear
something shatter upstairs. Then we heard it screech again,
except now it was louder and it didn't echo and fade out because
it was inside. We all rushed to the one door
leading upstairs, and we got to it just as that thing did.
It opened it just a bit, and four or five men just slammed
into it. It got its hand through, though.
Someone with a shotgun took care of that, put the barrel right up
to its wrist and pulled the trigger, tried to cut its hand
clean off. That only pissed it off, though.
It started pushing on the door, clawing.
We were on one side pushing as best as we could, and it was on
the other side doing the same. The wood was just not going to
hold. Someone told us to keep our
heads down. Then suddenly the top half of
the door was just gone. My ears were ringing and there
were splinters everywhere. Two or three of them unloaded on
the top of the door. I don't really know where it
went after that. The police got there.
I was still glued to the door or what was left of it.
The sun was up before they got me off of it.
They put me in the hospital for a while.
A lot of people talked to me, but I didn't talk back, not for
a long, long time. When I got back home, I got a
job for the landlord working on the farm.
We didn't talk much, not about the thing, but I signed up for
the army when I was 19 and he'd sat me down to drink some Scotch
as a send off. I asked him right away what the
police told him. The story they went with was a
wild animal, probably a wolf or maybe a bear that had migrated
north. I asked him how they could say
that when they had the hand. He looked at me stunned.
He told me the hand never made it back to the station.
The cop who had it in his car wrecked into a tree and died on
impact. The hand was never found,
probably taken away by an animal.
The cops, when they would acknowledge the hand existed at
all, said it was simply the paw of a bear and it looked like a
human hand. I never talked to the landlord
again. He went missing when I was in
basic training. They never found him.
They say he owed some people money and just ran away, but I
don't think it's that simple. I never went back to those
woods. I wouldn't even if I had the
whole U.S. Army at my back.
I don't think my father felt he had anything left and that he
might as well settle old scores. He went into those woods.
He never came back. The FBI was called.
They did a show for everyone involved, but I knew they
weren't really looking. I had to get one drunk and slip
him a few 50s before he finally told me that.
They got a few calls about those woods every year about someone
up and vanishing, but that was all he wanted to tell me before
he got up and left with the rest of the team.
He wrote the rake onto a napkin. I didn't know what it meant
until I searched for it on the Internet.
Honestly, I would have rather not known.
The summer stretched out before me like a promise of adventure.
I was staying at my grandma's house, a place so remote it felt
like the edge of the world. The air was thick with pine and
wildflowers, and the sound of cicadas hummed in the
background, fading as the evening settled in.
My cousins, and I4 of us in total, had spent most of August
chasing thrills. I was the oldest, at 15, and I
loved the role of protector, the one who wouldn't back down when
things got spooky. It was a few weeks into our stay
when we decided to push things further.
We had a fire going in the backyard, the flames flickering
and spitting sparks as we sat in a loose circle.
The trees loomed beyond the edge of the light, thick and black,
as if the forest could swallow us whole if we let it.
My cousins, ages 1013 and 14, huddled closer, their eyes wide
as we took turns telling ghost stories.
It felt good to be scared in the safety of the firelight, to
laugh afterward and shake it off.
But that night we wanted something more.
The idea started innocently enough.
Truth or dare, we all knew the game, and I had a reputation for
not backing down. My 14 year old cousin grinned at
me, mischief in his eyes. I dare you and Danny to walk the
forest path. He said, nodding to our 13 year
old cousin. 10 minutes, no flashlight.
I didn't hesitate. I stood up, brushing off my
jeans, and looked at Danny. He swallowed, eyes darting to
the dark tree line. But then he nodded.
I gave him a reassuring smile and together we stepped away
from the warmth of the camp fire and into the shadows.
The path was narrow, and the further we walked, the more the
forest seemed to close in around us.
The air turned cooler, the sounds of the night muffled, as
if the trees were swallowing every whisper.
I could hear Danny's breathing beside me, fast and shallow.
I tried to stay calm for both of us, but something about the
silence felt off. There were no insects, no
rustling leaves, nothing but the crunch of our footsteps on the
gravelly trail. 5 minutes in. I turned to Danny.
We should head back. I said, my voice barely louder
than a whisper. He nodded quickly, relief
flooding his face. But just as we turned, I saw it.
A shape loomed in the middle of the path, barely visible in the
dim light. My breath caught in my throat,
and I grabbed Danny's arm, yanking him to a stop.
It was large, hunched, its form twisted in ways that made my
stomach clench. For a second I thought it might
be a dog, but then it shifted, and the fire light glinted off
its face. A face that shouldn't have
existed. The creature had a head like a
man's, with hollow, glowing white eyes that bore into me as
if it could see all the way to my soul.
Its body was covered in mangy fur, twisted like a dog, but its
hands were human, elongated fingers that curled towards the
ground, twitching slightly. My heart pounded in my chest, a
primal fear rooting me in place. The air turned cold and a low
growl rumbled from its throat, vibrating through the earth
beneath us. Danny made a noise, a strangled
gasp, and that seemed to snap me out of it.
I turned, grabbing his arm, and we ran.
Branches whipped at my face, my feet barely touching the ground
as we tore through the forest, the campfires glow our only
beacon. I could hear something behind us
crashing through the underbrush, the sound growing louder with
every step. I didn't dare look back.
We burst into the clearing, our screams tearing through the
night. My grandma and my other cousins
were already on their feet, their faces pale, eyes wide with
confusion and fear. I stumbled, my legs giving out
beneath me, and then everything went black.
The next thing I remember was waking up in my bed, the events
of the night before feeling like a horrible dream.
But the fear in my cousin's eyes told me otherwise.
Something was out there, something that wasn't human, and
it wasn't finished with us yet. The morning sunlight filtered
through the curtains, beaming soft patterns on the walls.
I blinked, the events of the previous night swirling in my
mind like a bad dream. I sat up slowly, my head still
foggy, and looked around. The basement was quiet, my
cousins still asleep in their beds, but it didn't feel right.
There was an unease that clung to the air, a heaviness that
made my skin prickle. I pushed the covers off and
swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching
the cool concrete floor. I could hear the muffled sounds
of my cousins outside, and I turned to look through the large
sliding glass door. My bed was right against it,
giving me a clearview of the backyard.
My cousins were out there, standing in a tight group, their
faces turned away from me. I frowned, something about their
posture making my stomach twist. I pulled on a jacket, skipping
breakfast as I made my way outside.
The chill of the morning air hit me, and I rubbed my arms as I
walked down the slight incline toward my cousins.
They hadn't moved, their eyes fixed on something on the
ground. As I got closer, the metallic
scent of blood hit me, sharp and unmistakable.
My heart dropped. My grandma's two dogs lay in the
grass, their bodies still and broken.
The sight stopped me in my tracks.
Their fur was matted with blood, their bodies torn in ways that
made my stomach churn. I heard a gasp.
Maybe it was me, maybe it was one of my cousins, but the sound
seemed to echo in the silence. I felt Danny step closer to me,
his hand brushing against mine, his eyes wide with shock.
What? What happened?
I whispered, my voice barely audible.
No one answered. My grandma came out of the house
then, her face pale as she hurried over.
She took one look at the scene and pulled us all back, her
voice trembling as she told us to go inside.
She didn't want us to see any more.
But it was too late. The image was already seared
into my mind. The rest of the day passed in a
blur. The house felt different, like a
shadow had settled over it, darkening every corner.
My grandma tried to reassure us, her voice calm, but I could see
the fear in her eyes too. She kept us close, not letting
us wander far, her eyes constantly flicking to the
windows as if she expected to see something out there.
That night, we went to bed early.
No one said much. The silence was heavy, the
unease from the morning still lingering.
I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of the dogs
flashing in my mind every time I closed my eyes.
Sleep didn't come easy, every creak of the house making my
heart jump, every shift of the wind outside sounding like
something moving through the yard.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I finally drifted
off, exhaustion pulling me under.
But it didn't last. I woke suddenly, my eyes
snapping open, my heart pounding.
Something had hit my head, something light, almost like a
Pebble. I blinked, disoriented, the room
bathed in shadows. It took me a moment to realize
my cousins were awake too, sitting together on the double
bed across the room. Their faces were pale, their
eyes wide, staring at me. Danny caught my gaze and nodded
toward the sliding glass door. My stomach dropped, my body
going cold. Slowly, I turned, my head.
Pressed against the glass was a face, pale, twisted, its eyes
wide and unblinking, The same face from the woods.
Its mouth was stretched into a grotesque grin, its yellowed
teeth bared. My breath caught in my throat,
and for a long moment neither of us moved.
Then it raised a hand, those same twisted, elongated fingers,
and tapped on the glass, a deliberate, rhythmic sound that
seemed to echo through the room. I screamed, the sound tearing
through the silence, filled with pure terror.
The face vanished, disappearing into the darkness.
My grandma rushed downstairs, her face etched with panic as I
tried to explain my words tumbling out in a frantic mess.
She called the police, her hands trembling as she dialed.
They searched the property, but they found nothing.
No footprints, no signs that anyone had been there.
It was as if the creature had simply vanished.
The next morning, I packed my things.
I couldn't stay there another night, not with the image of
that face burned into my memory. I left my heart heavy with fear
and confusion. To this day, I haven't been back
after dark. Even now, years later, I still
have nightmares about that creature.
Its hollow eyes, its twisted grin, the way it watched me
through the glass. Whatever it was, it wasn't
human, and it wasn't finished with us.
Sleep had finally come, but it never stayed for long.
I woke up to the familiar feeling of unease, the kind that
clung to the back of my neck like cold fingers.
The room was dark, and the only sound was the slow breathing of
my cousins across the room. I lay there, trying to let the
weight of exhaustion drag me under again, but something kept
me alert. Eyes open, senses on edge.
A heaviness hung in the air, as if the very room was waiting for
something to happen. And then it did.
A muffled noise, like a shuffle, echoed from somewhere outside.
My heart began to pound, the adrenaline sparking in my veins.
I turned my head toward the sliding glass door, squinting
into the darkness beyond. There was nothing there, only
the reflection of my face, pale and frightened, staring back at
me. But that heaviness, that sense
of being watched, only grew stronger.
It was like an itch I couldn't scratch, a warning that
something was just out of sight. I blinked, and that's when I saw
it. A shadow moved across the glass,
slow, deliberate. My breath caught in my throat,
the world shrinking down to just that one small pane of glass.
The shadow stopped, and then, as if it sensed me watching, it
turned. A face appeared, pressed against
the glass, the same face from the woods.
Those hollow, glowing eyes stared at me, the twisted grin
stretching across its face like it was mocking me, daring me to
do something. My body locked up, every muscle,
every nerve froze in place, and all I could do was stare back.
The creature's eyes bore into me, and I knew.
I knew it remembered me. I could feel its hatred, its
hunger. It raised a hand, the fingers
long and gnarled, and tapped against the glass.
The sound was soft but deliberate, like it was calling
me out, like it was reminding me it knew where I was.
And then Danny moved. He let out a sharp breath, a
small whimper that sliced through the silence.
The creature's eyes flicked toward the sound, and for a
split second I could see something shift in its
expression. Recognition, maybe.
Satisfaction. And then it was gone,
disappearing into the shadows without a sound.
I didn't scream this time. I was too scared, the terror so
deep it felt like I couldn't even breathe.
My grandma rushed downstairs, her face filled with fear and
confusion. My cousins were crying, their
small bodies trembling as they clung to each other.
I tried to explain, tried to make sense of it all, but the
words wouldn't come. All I could do was point at the
glass, at the place where the creature had been.
The police came again, their lights flashing, their voices
low and serious. They searched the woods, the
yard, but again they found nothing.
No Prince, no sign that anyone had been there.
It was as if the creature was nothing but a figment of my
imagination. But I knew better.
I knew it was real, and I knew it wasn't finished with us.
The next morning, I left. I packed my things, hugged my
grandma, and promised I would come back, though I wasn't sure
if I meant it. I couldn't stay there, not with
that face still staring at me every time I closed my eyes.
My cousins were silent as I left, their eyes filled with the
same fear that gripped my heart. Even now, all these years later,
I can't forget it. That twisted grin, those hollow
eyes, they haunt my dreams. Whatever it was, it wasn't
human, and it knew me. It knew where I was, and it
wanted me to be afraid. And the worst part?
It worked. It was late July in 2004 and my
10 year old son and I were moving to our new home near
Gallup, NM. After a long day of packing and
cleaning, we were both exhausted.
Despite my fatigue, my son was excited, buzzing with the kind
of energy only a child could muster at the end of such a long
day. As we close the door to our old
apartment for the last time, I felt a mix of exhaustion and
hope. The air outside was heavy, and
the night was strangely quiet, as if the world had paused,
holding its breath. A strange sense of unease
settled in the pit of my stomach.
I tried to ignore the feeling as we walked toward the car.
The parking lot was dark, illuminated only by the dim St.
lights. My son was just a step ahead of
me, and I was about to tell him to wait when I felt it.
A tingle at the back of my neck. I stopped, my eyes scanning the
darkness around us. I couldn't shake the feeling
that we weren't alone. That's when I saw it.
A shadow moved quickly from behind my neighbor's car to the
tree that stood between our apartments.
I froze, my heart pounding. I couldn't make out much, but I
knew it wasn't normal. My breath caught in my throat
and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
The creature moved just enough into the light for me to catch a
glimpse of it. It wasn't like the monsters from
stories. There were no glowing eyes or
sharp teeth, but that almost made it worse.
It looked real. Too real.
The creature had shaggy matted fur, brown and unkempt.
It stood on two legs, hunched over awkwardly, and it was much
larger than any wolf I'd ever seen.
My instincts screamed at me to look away, but I couldn't.
I was frozen, barely able to breathe, my gaze locked on the
creature as it tried to blend into the shadows behind the
tree, as if it realized it had made a mistake by being seen.
Slowly, I reached for my son's hand.
He turned to me, confusion written on his face.
Mom. He asked, but I shook my head,
not wanting to scare him. I whispered for him to keep
moving, trying to sound calm, though my voice trembled.
My heart raced and my hands shook as I fumble with the keys.
We made it to the car, and I quickly unlocked it, glancing
back at the tree. The creature was no longer
visible, but I knew it was still there, hiding.
My son climbed into the car, still oblivious to what I had
seen. I got in, locking the doors
behind me as I started the engine.
I looked at him, relief washing over me.
Did you see that? I asked, my voice barely above a
whisper. He shook his head, his eyes wide
not with fear, but with confusion.
Thank goodness. I drove away, my hands trembling
on the steering wheel. In the rear view mirror, I half
expected to see the creature step out from behind the tree,
but the street was empty. Still, the sense of dread
lingered. Even as we left that place
behind. I knew what I had seen.
I knew it was real, and I prayed that I would never see it again.
That night, after we arrived at our new home, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in bed, replaying every detail in my mind.
The creature, its hunched form, the way it tried to hide in the
shadows. A chill settled over me that
wouldn't fade no matter how tightly I wrapped myself in my
blanket. Every sound seemed louder.
Every creak of the house made my heart pound.
I knew it was just the wind, just the settling of a new
house, but I couldn't shake the fear.
I got up and went to the kitchen, hoping a glass of water
might calm me. The house felt too quiet, the
silence pressing in on me. I looked out the window, my eyes
scanning the darkness, half expecting to see the creature
standing there, watching. But there was nothing, only
shadows. I took a deep breath, trying to
convince myself we were safe now, that whatever I had seen
was far behind us. The next day, I decided to tell
my brother-in-law about what I had seen.
He was the kind of person who knew about strange things, the
stories people whispered, but never really believed.
As I spoke, he listened without interrupting, his expression
growing more serious with every detail.
When I finished, he nodded slowly.
It was a skinwalker. He said, his voice low.
They don't let themselves be seen unless they want to be.
His words sent a fresh wave of fear through me.
The thought that the creature had wanted me to see it, even
for just a moment, made my skin crawl.
I tried to shake it off, to tell myself it was over, but the
feeling stayed. It was like a shadow that
wouldn't leave, a constant reminder that there were things
out there I couldn't understand. Days passed, but the memory of
that night refused to fade. I would catch myself glancing
out the window, my eyes searching the tree line, always
looking for something that shouldn't be there.
At night, when the wind howled outside, I would close my eyes
and remember the way the creature moved, the way it
seemed to melt into the darkness.
I told myself it was just my imagination, but I couldn't help
it. The fear had settled deep inside
me, and I didn't know if it would ever go away.
One night as I lay in bed, the wind picked up, rattling the
windows. I closed my eyes, trying to
block out the sound, but it was no use.
The feeling of dread came rushing back, and suddenly I was
right there again, in the parking lot, the creature just
feet away, its eyes hidden in the shadows.
I knew, deep down that it was still out there.
Maybe not near us, maybe not watching, but it was out there
somewhere, and that was enough to keep me awake, my heart
pounding, praying I would never see it again.
I was excited as I packed my bags for the three day trip to
Karen's grandmother's house. Karen and I were both college
students and I was eager to learn about Navajo traditions,
to experience a culture so different from my own.
The drive to Tuba City, AZ was long, the landscape around us
growing more and more remote. By the time we pulled up to the
small house on the reservation, the sun was already low on the
horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
Karen's grandmother greeted us warmly, her smile lined with
years of wisdom and stories. I felt a comforting warmth in
her presence, as though I had stepped into a place of safety
and tradition. That night, as we settled in, I
noticed the stray dog for the first time.
Its coat was dark and matted, and it stared at us from a
distance, unmoving, its eyes glinting in the fading light.
I thought it was just a curious stray, but there was something
about the way it watched us that made my skin prickle.
It wasn't like any other dog I'd seen.
It had a presence, almost as if it were aware of our every move.
The other reservation dogs gave it a wide berth, refusing to
come near. Karen shrugged it off, but I
couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about
it. The first day passed without
much incident, but that night, as Karen and I sat in the living
room, something changed. We were watching a movie, the
lights turned low, when Karen suddenly stiffened beside me.
I followed her gaze and felt my heart leap into my throat.
The dog was there, standing on a wood box just outside the
window, staring straight at us. Its gaze was dark, cold, and
unwavering, almost as if it were challenging us.
I tried to tell myself it was just a stray looking for food,
but the way it stared, it felt wrong, filled with something
malicious. Karen stood up and opened the
window, shouting at it to leave, but it didn't move.
It only growled, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate
through the glass. After what felt like an
eternity, it finally backed away, disappearing into the
darkness. Karen tried to laugh it off, but
I could see the unease in her eyes.
I forced a smile, pretending I wasn't as scared as I felt, but
deep down, I knew that there was something wrong with that dog.
Later that night, as we got ready for bed, we heard
scratching at the door. Slow, deliberate, like something
was testing us. Waiting for a response, Karen
and I exchanged nervous glances. We tiptoed to the living room,
and when we peeked out the window, my breath caught in my
throat. The dog was there, standing on
its hind legs, its front paws pressed against the door, trying
to turn the knob. I swallowed, my mouth dry as I
watched. Those paws.
No, they looked like hands with fingers that curled around the
brass knob. Karen opened the door, shouting
at the dog again. It dropped to all fours and ran
off into the night, disappearing behind the shed.
We stared after it, the unease settling deep in my chest.
We locked the door, and I could see Karen's hands trembling
slightly as she did. We tried to joke about it, to
lighten the mood, but neither of us could sleep easily that
night. In the middle of the night, I
was jolted awake by a sound on the roof.
Heavy footsteps, deliberate and slow moving above us.
I held my breath, listening as they made their way across the
roof, pausing directly above our room.
My heart pounded in my ears and I glanced over at Karen, who was
already awake, her eyes wide with fear.
We lay there in silence, the sound of scratching and panting
filtering through the ceiling as though something was trying to
get in. Suddenly, a barking sound
erupted from outside, deep, guttural, and wrong.
It wasn't a dog barking, it was a twisted imitation, almost
human in its attempt. It circled the house, growing
louder, more frantic, until it seemed to be coming from all
directions at once. My entire body was frozen in
fear, my heart racing as I clutched the blanket, praying it
would stop. I looked at Karen, her face pale
in the dim light, and I knew she felt the same terror I did, that
whatever was out there, it was no ordinary stray dog.
The morning after that terrifying night felt like a
fever dream. Everything seemed ordinary.
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Karen's
grandmother was bustling around the kitchen as if nothing had
happened. But the air still felt heavy, a
sense of something unfinished lingering in the shadows.
We tried to shake off the fear from the previous night,
convincing ourselves it was all just our imaginations running
wild, but deep down we both knew that something sinister had come
to visit us. It was mid afternoon when we saw
it again. Karen and I were outside helping
her grandmother hang laundry when I felt the unmistakable
sensation of being watched. I turned slowly, my eyes
scanning the tree line, and there it was.
The dog. No, the creature, was standing
at the edge of the yard, half hidden behind a Bush.
It was on all fours, but there was something horribly wrong
with its posture. Its back seemed too straight.
Its head too upright, almost as if it was pretending to be a dog
but not quite getting it right. Its eyes were locked on to mine,
unblinking, and my stomach twisted with fear.
I grabbed Karen's arm, my voice barely a whisper as I pointed it
out. She turned, her face going pale
as she saw it. Her grandmother noticed our
reaction and followed our gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and without a
word, she dropped the laundry and rushed inside.
She returned moments later, carrying a bundle of dried herbs
in a small pouch. She began to chant in Navajo,
her voice low but commanding. The creature didn't move, but I
could see its body tense, the fur along its back standing on
end. It was as if it understood her
words, as if it knew it was being challenged.
Karen's grandmother motioned for us to go inside, her face stern.
We obeyed without question, locking the door behind us.
We watched from the window as she continued her chant, the
herbs smouldering in her hand, smoke drifting into the air.
The creature began to back away, slowly at first, then faster,
until it disappeared into the trees.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands
trembling. Karen's grandmother came back
inside, her expression grim. She didn't say anything, just
motioned for us to sit down. She explained that what we had
seen was not a dog, it was a skinwalker, a malevolent
shapeshifter from Navajo legend. My heart pounded as she spoke,
the reality of our situation sinking in.
The creature had been trying to get inside, trying to break the
protective barrier of the house. She told us that skinwalkers
were powerful, dangerous beings, capable of taking on the form of
animals to deceive and terrify. They fed on fear, drawing power
from the terror they instilled in their victims.
That night, the sense of dread was even worse.
We could feel it just outside, lurking in the shadows, waiting
for an opportunity. The noises started again,
scratching at the windows, the sound of something moving on the
roof. My entire body was tense, every
muscle coiled with fear. Karen clutched my hand, her eyes
wide, and I could see the tears welling up.
We both knew that whatever was out there, it wasn't going to
stop. It wanted something from us,
something we couldn't understand, something we
couldn't fight. Suddenly, there was a loud bang
on the door, and we both screamed.
The barking started again, that same twisted, almost human sound
echoing around the house. Karen's grandmother rushed into
the room, her face set with determination.
She grabbed a shotgun from under her bed, loading it with
practiced ease. She sprinkled ashes from the
fireplace onto the floor, muttering a prayer under her
breath. She looked at us, her eyes
fierce, and told us to stay put. Then she opened the door,
stepping out into the night, her voice rising in a powerful
chant. We watched from the window, our
hearts pounding as she confronted the darkness.
The creature's form flickered at the edge of the yard, its eyes
glowing in the moonlight. Her voice grew louder,
commanding, and for a moment, everything was still.
Then, from the shadows, a howl erupted.
Angry, defiant. The creature turned and vanished
into the night, leaving only the echo of its howl behind.
Karen's grandmother came back inside, her shoulders sagging
with exhaustion. She looked at us, her expression
softening, and told us that it was gone for now.
But I knew, as I looked into the darkness beyond the window, that
this wasn't over. The creature would be back.
It was only a matter of time. The day after the confrontation
felt like an uneasy truce. There was a heaviness in the
air, as though the very land itself was holding its breath.
Karen and I stayed close to her grandmother, not daring to
venture far from the house. The sun shone brightly, but it
felt like a false sense of security, like a thin layer of
warmth barely hiding the darkness that lurked just beyond
the tree line. We tried to keep busy, helping
her grandmother with chores, but my eyes were constantly drawn to
the windows, watching, waiting. The medicine man arrived in the
late afternoon. He was an older man, his face
lined with years of wisdom, and he carried with him an air of
calm authority. He greeted Karen's grandmother
with a nod, then set to work immediately.
He moved through the house, carrying bundles of cedar, the
smoke drifting through each room as he chanted softly.
The smell was pungent, filling the air, and I felt a strange
mixture of relief and dread. Relief that he was here to help,
and dread at the reminder of why he was needed.
He purified the house thoroughly, his chance growing
louder, the words ancient and powerful.
He used an eagle feather to bless us, the feather brushing
against my forehead as he murmured a prayer.
When he was done, he gave me a small Arrowhead and a pouch, a
corn pone, telling me to keep them with me at all times.
His eyes met mine, and I could see the gravity in his gaze.
This will protect you. He said, his voice steady.
But you must always be vigilant. The Skinwalker is cunning, and
it will return if given the chance.
As the sun began to set, the medicine man walked the
perimeter of the property, placing protective charms at
each corner. Karen and I followed closely,
watching as he buried small bundles wrapped in red cloth.
He spoke of the Skinwalker, explaining that it fed on fear,
that it thrived on the terror it created.
His words sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn't help but
glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see those glowing
eyes watching us from the shadows that night.
The sense of dread was still there, but it was different,
muted, as though the creature had been pushed back, at least
for the time being. We gathered in the living room,
Karen's grandmother lighting a fire in the hearth.
The flames danced, casting flickering shadows across the
walls, and I found myself staring into the fire, trying to
push away the memories of the night before.
But every creak of the house, every rustle of the wind
outside, made my heart jump, my body tense with anticipation.
We didn't sleep much that night. Karen and I stayed in the same
room, the protective charms placed carefully around us.
I clutched the Arrowhead tightly in my hand, the edges digging
into my palm. It was a reminder, a tangible
symbol of the reality we faced. I could hear Karen breathing
beside me, each exhale shaky, and I knew she felt the same
fear I did. We were safe, but only for now.
The skinwalker was out there somewhere, waiting for us to let
our guard down. As dawn broke, I felt a strange
sense of both exhaustion and relief.
We had made it through the night, but I knew this wasn't
over. The medicine man's words echoed
in my mind. Respect the old ways.
Never let your guard down. The danger was still there,
lurking in the shadows, bidding its time.
We packed our things, preparing to leave the reservation, and I
felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving Karen's
grandmother behind. She was strong, far stronger
than I could ever hope to be, but I wished we could do more.
Karen's grandmother hugged us tightly before we left, her eyes
filled with both warmth and warning.
Stay safe, She whispered, her voice barely audible over the
sound of the wind. As we drove away, I looked back
at the small house, the landscape stretching out around
it, empty and vast. I knew that what we had
experienced wasn't just some nightmare we could leave behind.
The Skinwalker was still out there, lurking, waiting for the
right moment to strike again. The Arrowhead felt heavy in my
pocket, a reminder that the battle between good and evil
wasn't always visible. But it was always there, lurking
in the shadows, just waiting to emerge.
And as the reservation disappeared in the rearview
mirror, I knew that this was a story that would stay with me
forever. A reminder that there are things
in this world that defy explanation, things that are far
more dangerous than we could ever imagine.
The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows
around our campsite as I watched the flames dance, mesmerized by
their hypnotic rhythm. Marcus sat across from me, his
face partially obscured by the firelight, a look of calm etched
on to his features. We were miles deep in the Ozark
National Forest, away from any trace of civilization.
Marcus had always loved the wilderness, and I idolized him,
always wanting to follow wherever he led.
This trip was our last adventure together before he was to
deploy, and I could think of no better way to spend it than
beside my brother, deep in the wild.
The air was cool and still under the starless sky.
The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the leaves and the
occasional pop of the campfire. Marcus told stories of his
adventures overseas, his voice a mix of pride and melancholy, and
I listened, captivated. But as the night went on, I felt
an unnatural chill settle in, a chill that seemed to seep into
my bones, gnawing at the edges of my nerves.
I tried to brush it off, but then I heard it.
A distant cry, echoing through the woods, unlike anything I had
heard before. It wasn't the yowl of a coyote,
or the call of an owl. It was something else, a sound
that sat somewhere between a human scream and the howl of an
animal. I caught Marcus's eye, and for a
fleeting moment, I saw it. The uncertainty in his gaze, the
glimmer of worry he tried to hide.
He gave me a reassuring smile. It's probably just a bobcat, he
said, his voice steady. They can make some strange
noises. I nodded, but the unease
lingered. Something in the pit of my
stomach told me we weren't alone.
Later that night, I woke with a jolt.
The fire had burned down to embers, casting a dim red glow
around the camp. My heart pounded in my ears, and
I had no idea why until I heard it.
Low, guttural noises, like something trying to speak but
failing, mixed with the unmistakable sound of something
moving through the underbrush. I turned my head slightly, my
eyes adjusting to the darkness, and saw Marcus already awake,
his eyes scanning the edge of our camp.
He glanced at me, and his expression made my blood run
cold. He brought a finger to his lips,
signaling me to stay quiet, then gestured for me to put on my
shoes. I moved as silently as I could,
my hands shaking as I fumble with my laces.
The noises grew closer, twigs snapping, a whispering that
seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
My breath caught in my throat, and Marcus leaned close, his
voice barely a whisper. We need to move now.
I nodded, fear gripping me, and Marcus helped me out of the
tent. He motioned for me to climb onto
his back, and without hesitation, I did.
He moved quickly but quietly, his footsteps barely audible as
we made our way up the hill, away from our campsite.
The dark woods surrounded us, every shadow seeming to shift
and move as we passed. My heart pounded harder with
each step, and I clung to Marcus, trying to steady my
breathing. We reached a cluster of dense
bushes, and Marcus crouched down, setting me on the ground
beside him. He drew his pistol, the metallic
click of the slide sending a shiver down my back.
We lay there in silence, hidden in the underbrush, watching the
campsite from our elevated position, the minutes stretched
on each one feeling like an eternity.
I could feel the damp earth beneath me, smell the scent of
pine and decay, but all I could focus on was the darkness below.
Then I saw it. A figure emerging from the
trees. It moved in a jerky, unnatural
way, its limbs elongated, its body twisted.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched it step closer to our
campsite. The thing let out a low,
gurgling noise, followed by a sound that made my blood run
cold. It was my brother's voice, or at
least something trying to mimic it.
Hello, it called, the word twisted and broken as if spoken
through a shattered mirror. My entire body went rigid, fear
unlike anything I'd ever felt coursing through me.
Marcus tightened his grip on his pistol, his eyes locked on the
creature. He leaned close to my ear, his
voice barely a whisper. Stay quiet, he said.
No matter what happens, stay quiet.
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes as I watched the creature circle
our tent, sniffing the air. My heart felt like it might
burst out of my chest, and I pressed myself deeper into the
ground, praying that whatever it was wouldn't find us.
We stayed there, hidden in the darkness as the creature moved
through our camp. I had never felt so small, so
powerless. Every second felt like an hour,
the terror of the unknown pressing down on me, the
realization that we were truly alone out here, miles from
anyone who could help. I clung to Marcus, knowing that
as long as he was there, I had a chance.
And so we waited, the darkness closing in the forest around us
alive with shadows. The darkness seemed to grow
thicker around us as we lay hidden in the underbrush, my
brother's steady breathing the only thing anchoring me to
reality. Marcus held his pistol at the
ready, his eyes scanning the campsite below, every muscle in
his body tense. I tried to match his calm, but
my heart was racing, my body trembling as I listened to the
eerie silence around us. I felt like the forest was
tense, waiting for something to happen.
Time moved strangely as we hid there, the minutes dragging on
like hours. My mind kept racing back to the
creature I had seen, the way it moved, the way it sounded like
Marcus, but broken, twisted. My skin crawled just thinking
about it. I had never seen anything like
it before, and I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't
human. It was something else, something
ancient and malevolent that didn't belong in this world.
I glanced at Marcus, his expression locked in
concentration. He gave me a small nod, as if to
say we're OK, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way
his eyes never left the darkness.
He was scared too, even if he would never admit it.
I wanted to ask him what we should do, but I was too afraid
to make a sound. The creature could be anywhere,
watching us, waiting for us to slip up.
Suddenly, a noise cut through the silence.
Heavy footsteps, twigs snapping under the weight of something
large. My breath caught in my throat,
and I pressed myself closer to the ground, my eyes wide as I
scanned the darkness below. There it was again, that
grotesque figure emerging from the shadows, moving with that
same unnatural jerking motion. My stomach twisted in fear, my
whole body trembling. The creature was back, and it
was searching for us. The thing let out a low growl,
its head jerking from side to side as it sniffed the air, its
long limbs twitching unnaturally.
It moved closer to the remnants of our camp, circling the torn
tent like a predator hunting its prey.
It let out another sound, a distorted imitation of Marcus's
voice. Where are you?
It called, the words chilling and wrong.
I clenched my teeth, trying not to let the fear overwhelm me,
trying not to move or make a sound.
Marcus slowly raised his pistol, his finger resting on the
trigger. He was ready, but I knew he
didn't want to fire unless he absolutely had to.
The creature paused, its head tilting as if it had heard
something. I held my breath, every muscle
in my body frozen. It started moving again, closer
to the hill where we were hiding.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might give us away.
The creature's glowing eyes seemed to scan the woods, and I
knew that if it saw us, we would be done for.
Suddenly, a blinding light cut through the darkness, and the
wail of a siren shattered the silence.
The creature let out an ear piercing scream, a sound that
seemed to rattle the very trees around us.
Marcus pulled me down, shielding me with his body as the creature
bolted into the woods, its long limbs moving with impossible
speed, disappearing into the darkness.
The sirens grew louder, the flashing lights approaching
through the trees, illuminating the forest with an otherworldly
glow. I let out a shaky breath, my
body sagging in relief as the creature vanished from sight.
Marcus held me close, his eyes still scanning the forest, his
grip on the pistol never loosening.
The lights grew closer, and I could see the outline of a
ranger's truck making its way through the woods.
Marcus raised his hand, signaling our position, and
within moments, the Ranger's flashlight was on us.
You boys all right? The Ranger called out, his voice
a mix of concern and urgency. Marcus nodded, helping me to my
feet. I was shaking my legs, feeling
like they could barely hold me up.
The Ranger approached, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of
us two brothers, one of them armed, hiding in the underbrush
in the middle of the night. We're all right.
Marcus said, his voice steady. But we need to get out of here
now. The Ranger LED us back to his
truck, his flashlight cutting through the darkness as we
moved. I stayed close to Marcus, my
heart still pounding. The memory of the creatures
twisted form burned into my mind.
As we climbed into the truck bed.
I looked back at the forest, the darkness seeming to close in
behind us. Whatever that thing was, it was
still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting, and I knew
that I would never forget the terror of that night, the
feeling of being hunted by something that shouldn't exist.
Marcus gave me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and I
clung to that small comfort, knowing that as long as he was
by my side, I had a chance. The truck rumbled as it bounced
along the uneven dirt Rd., the ranger's lights flashing through
the trees, casting brief glimpses of the forest rushing
past us. I sat in the bed of the truck,
huddled close to Marcus, the cool metal beneath me a strange
comfort. I could still hear the creatures
scream in my ears, that distorted echo that seemed to
penetrate into my very bones. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying
to focus on the present, on Marcus's arm around me, on the
steady rumble of the truck, on the knowledge that we were
finally getting away. The Ranger turned his head
slightly, shouting back over the roar of the engine.
What was it you boys saw out there?
His voice carried a hint of disbelief, like he couldn't
quite believe what he had stumbled upon.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
How could I describe it? How could I explain something
that shouldn't exist? I looked to Marcus, hoping he'd
know what to say. Marcus hesitated, his eyes
flicking from me to the Ranger. Something dangerous, he finally
said. Not an animal, not anything I've
seen before. He kept his words vague, but I
could hear the edge in his voice.
He was scared, and that made me even more uneasy.
Marcus was never scared. The Ranger nodded, his eyes
narrowing as he focused back on the road ahead.
We'll get you 2 to safety, don't worry.
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that we were
safe now. But deep down, I knew that
whatever that thing was, it wasn't gone.
It was out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows, waiting.
The forest seemed to stretch on endlessly, the narrow dirt path
winding through the darkness. I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see those glowing eyes staring back
at me. The cold wind whipped across my
face, and I shivered, my entire body still tense.
Marcus pulled me closer, his voice barely a whisper in my
ear. We're OK, We're going to be OK.
I nodded, but I couldn't shake the fear that clung to me.
The ranger's truck eventually broke through the tree line, the
dense forest giving way to a small clearing where a couple of
other vehicles were parked, their lights illuminating the
area as we rolled to a stop. I let out a shaky breath, my
eyes scanning the clearing. It felt surreal, like I had
stepped back into reality, away from the nightmare of the dark
woods. The Ranger helped us out of the
truck, his expression serious. You boys did the right thing
calling for help. There's something strange going
on out here tonight. He gestured for us to follow him
toward one of the other trucks, where a second Ranger stood
waiting. Marcus nodded, keeping me close
as we walked. I could feel the other Rangers
eyes on us, a mix of curiosity and concern.
The Rangers spoke in hushed tones, their expressions grim.
I caught snippets of their conversation, words like search,
party, and not alone. I swallowed hard, my gaze
drifting back toward the dark line of trees.
It felt like they were watching me, like the shadows were alive,
and the unease in my stomach grew stronger.
I turned back to Marcus, his face set in a determined
expression. He looked down at me, giving me
a small smile, though I could see the worry in his eyes.
We're going to be OK. He repeated, his voice firm.
I'm not leaving you, all right? I nodded, clinging to his words,
even though a part of me knew that the fear wouldn't leave me
so easily, not after what we had seen.
The 2nd Ranger approached us, giving Marcus a nod.
We're going to take you boys back to the station.
You'll be safe there for the night.
He paused, looking between us. But if you can, I need you to
tell us exactly what happened out there.
Marcus exchanged a glance with me, then looked back at the
Ranger. We'll tell you what we can, He
said, his voice steady. But I don't know if you're going
to believe us. The Ranger gave a grim smile.
Son, out here, I've learned to believe in a lot of things.
We climbed into the truck, and as we pulled away, I took one
last look at the dark forest, its secrets hidden behind the
wall of trees. The fear was still there,
gnawing at me, but I knew I had to be strong.
Marcus was with me, and as long as we were together, we had a
chance. Whatever that thing was, I never
want to encounter it again. Be careful out there, especially
when going into the Ozark National Forest.