10 SCARIEST True Stories I've Ever Read

Ever wonder what stories scare a scary story narrator like me? Well, here are 10 of my favorite scariest stories. Keep in mind this is not a definitive list; rather, these are 10 of some of my favorite ones that I can remember, starting from around 2019 and on. So, there are some stories I missed that won't appear here. Also, this is very much my opinion; you'll likely enjoy or dislike these stories more or less depending on your own tastes. So, without further ado, enjoy. I have a friend named John from RJB. On May 19th, in

2015, John came home a different man. It was the night that haunts his dreams. I knew him once as a bright, happy, and kind man, but after that night, he was different. John was a forest ranger in Arkansas for eight years. He was six foot five and never got scared very easily; he was a tough and rather built guy. On that night, I had pulled into his driveway at around 10:30 PM to pay him a surprise visit. I lived in Louisiana at the time. He hadn't made it home from work yet, so I figured he

might have had to work later than usual, as he'd said that it happened sometimes. He didn't know I was coming, and I hadn't seen him in two years. John pulled up about half an hour after me. He parked beside me and shut off the engine; however, he did not get out. I got out of my little Ford Ranger and walked to the passenger side to open his door. I opened it to see a grown man crying. The smell of alcohol was thick in the air; obviously, he had been drinking. "John, what's wrong?" I asked him

nervously. He continued to cry, so I placed my hand on his shoulder, but he immediately jerked away. "John, it's me, Ryan." I thought he may not have recognized me because I had grown a full beard in the two years we hadn't hung out. "Come on, man, let's go inside," I told him. He clumsily stumbled out of his truck. I wrapped my arm around him, helping him walk, then I carried him over to his sofa and sat next to him. "John, what the hell happened to you?" He didn't respond at first, but he did stop crying

at a point. He was pale and had a look on his face like he had been to war—shell shock, I think it's called. I repeated myself. He looked at me with tears drying on his cheeks. "God, Ryan." He stumbled over to me with shaking legs and gave me a hug. "Yeah, you have no idea how happy I am to see you," he whimpered. John had been my best friend since grade school. We grew up always hanging out, mostly wandering around the nearby woods, climbing trees, and as we reached our teens, we'd often go camping together.

We had never been scared in the woods. The only strange occurrence was when we found some weird footprints one time, but that's a different story. He let go of me and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer, pouring us both a glass. "Don't you think you've had enough?" I said as he handed me my glass. John calmed down and ignored me. "Can you at least answer my question? What happened, John? I don't think I've ever seen you like this before." Like I said, he'd always been a happy-go-lucky guy. He spoke, "There's some weird crap

going on in those damn woods." "What do you mean?" I asked, worried. "Ryan, Ryan, we found a body today," he replied. I was puzzled. I knew he had found bodies before, but he'd never been this upset about it. "I'm sorry, man," I genuinely was sorry for him. "Go ahead, tell me everything." He downed the glass of whiskey in no time and poured more in it. "And this was different. This wasn't like the other bodies we'd seen. There was something—something had been eating him." He sat swirling the glass around before he downed a second. I was

still on my first. "Good God, John, stop! That's enough," I said, grabbing the bottle and putting it back in the freezer. "Fine," he groaned. I asked him what was eating this man's body. "I don't know. It was like nothing I'd ever seen," he said. I told him to start at the beginning. He spoke, "I was at HQ when we received a misin-person call. The woman said she and her husband had been hiking on one of the more remote trails when her husband decided to walk a ways off the trail to take a leak. She waited

for 10 minutes for her husband to come back. She yelled for him, but she didn't get a reply. She went into the trees in the direction she saw him go, but she didn't find him. She instead found blood on the ground. That's when she called us. My coworker Bill and I immediately packed our gear and headed to the location he was last seen. We didn't have to go far because we found an arm about a hundred yards off the trail, and the rest of him was about 50 yards further. The sun had already set, but

we had our maglites. When I found him, there was something else—something squatting over him—and I could hear it tearing flesh off his body as it was ripping chunks of meat off him and swallowing them." John began to tear up again, but he pulled himself back together and continued. "I shined my flashlight to get a better look at what it was. I should have just ran. God, I—I just froze, though. Bill was just terrified. We couldn't move. It stood up and turned around towards us, giving us a full..." View, it was tall, about seven feet. Its

skin was pale, almost gray, and it seemed like the skin was painfully stretched over old bones. It was so thin, it had a single large, pure black eye on the left side of its face. Its mouth opened, and it made this weird, insect-like clicking sound. It didn't even have a normal mouth; it opened up like a blooming flower, like petals filled with rows upon rows of teeth. The mouth seemed to vibrate, too, as it made the sound. He paused, grabbed a cigarette from his pack, and lit it. He took a long puff and exhaled. His

story sounded insane, but the look of pure fear on his face told me otherwise. From the look of him, he seemed to be telling the truth. Sure, he would sometimes lie to prank me, but those tears, that desperate need to drink—that was all real. "Please, go on," I told him, and he did. I pulled out my .45 and took aim. My co-worker screamed and ran, so I prayed it would do some damage or at least buy us some time. It lunged at me, and I fired. It wailed, and I proceeded to empty the clip that

I had. However, it still stood there; though it was bleeding badly, it acted like it was just a scratch. I ran. I'd never been so scared in my life. "Jesus Christ," I thought I was gonna die. He took another drag. My lungs, my legs burned; I felt like I was gonna pass out at any second. We made it back to HQ and turned around to see if the thing had followed us, but there was nothing there. We were safe—or we assumed we were safe. I sat there in disbelief, still holding a mostly full glass of

Jack. "Oh God," I replied, "that sounds awful." "Don't I know it, but it was so vivid, so real," he said, with trembling hands. "Ryan, I'm done working the late shift." The police took a statement, and Bill quit on the spot. The police said it was probably a hallucination caused by the shock of finding a corpse like that, but I was adamant that what we saw was real. One of the officers pulled me aside and said quietly, so no one else would hear, "If I were you, I'd just forget what you saw. It's better to let

us handle it, man. They know what's out there, but they won't tell us details. I'm honestly terrified to go back. Screw risking my life for this job; I'm not going out after dark again." John finished telling his experience. "I'm going to bed now, and I think you should do the same." John got up, gave me a bro hug and a thank you, and went to his room. But I didn't sleep much that night. I know this is a long and pretty unbelievable story, but I do believe there's something in the forests of northern Arkansas—something that,

just by the sight of it, has haunted my friend. Whatever it is, it doesn't care if you have family or friends. It's something that won't hesitate to rip you apart and devour you bit by bit. Be careful out there; sometimes you don't know how scary it is out there until it's too late. The rescue from... I live in the rural end of a village in England. I've always thought I was very lucky with my line of work and where I lived. I was employed by an animal rescue charity. This tended to be wildlife call-outs more

than domestic, but I was pretty handy at getting a cat out of a tree. Back in 1995, there was a particular night while on call that I'll never forget. It started out as any normal night; I had just decided to watch a movie when I received my first call of the evening. Around 9 PM, the caller advised that some livestock on his farm had been found dead in unknown circumstances. I informed him that he would need to call the police or RSPCA, as we didn't deal with dead animals, and I politely ended the call. A

bit of time had passed after that when the phone rang again. It was the same guy, though this time he sounded slightly different. He spoke in almost a whisper, like he was trying to filter his voice. The person got upset that no one would help him, begging for me to come out to help him because a wild creature was hunting on their farm. I told him I would see what I could do, then I took down the address. When I checked it, it was only 30 minutes from my house, so I called my colleague Joe,

who lives closer to the village and worked the same shift as me for about five years. We talked about the call and decided that we should go and see what we could do to help. After all, the past few nights had been pretty quiet. Soon enough, I pulled up to the address; I knew that Joe wouldn't be far behind me. I could see the farmhouse to my right and the top of a barn behind it. There was also a glow from the back, from what I assumed to be the lights in the yard. I had

a quick look around from the drive but couldn't see anyone. After about 20 minutes, Joe finally arrived. As he got out of his car, he told me that the place gave him a really creepy feeling. I recall Joe saying, "This is a farm, right? Then why is it so quiet?" I told him to get a grip, but a second later I realized he had a point. I was beginning to feel uneasy. We were making our way up to the front. Of the house, when something made us both stop in our tracks, there was movement in

the bushes a good couple of feet away to the left of us. Suddenly, there was a mighty growl. It was so deep it hit me in the bottom of my stomach, making all my senses go crazy. It was truly a fight or flight moment. I turned my head round to Joe and whispered to him, "What the hell was that?" Joe was about to answer when we heard whatever it was in the bushes moving again. Something big, something dark ran out, heading away from us down a small path that appeared to lead round to the back

of the house. I did not get a good look at this thing, but I knew it was something that I'd never seen before. We stood there for a few minutes, gathering ourselves. We looked at each other and, without a word, decided that we should continue up to the house and go knock on their door. After all, we were still professionals, but feeling a bit shaken up, we approached the porch steadily and then knocked on the door. I remember Joe kept his back to me, constantly checking the bushes and path to our left. After a few

minutes, there was no response, but we could hear that the TV was still on somewhere inside. I knocked again, louder this time, and we waited, but there was no answer. While we just stood there and waited, I thought about what we were going to do when Joe spoke up. It made me jump a mile high. He suggested we should go and try to find the back door. I was surprised, as Joe could be a bit of a wimp at times. We looked around from where we stood and saw that the only path which led round

to the back was the same way that the dark creature had taken. I decided that we weren't going down there, so I desperately looked for another way. I found a gate which led to the yard. We hopped over because it was chained shut. We stayed close to the house and looked into the windows to see if we could find anyone. Again, there was nobody, but I could see a glow of light coming from what I thought to be the kitchen. By this point, something deep down inside of me was screaming for me to turn around,

get back in the car, and drive away. I ignored this feeling and carried on looking around the property. I'll never forget how silent that place was; it was really getting to me. As we made our way around, we reached the yard, and I pointed out to Joe that the back door was open. I remember thinking that this whole situation was so wrong and that we were not the people who should be here. We made our way over to the back door anyway. I had a sudden overwhelming feeling that we shouldn't be outside right now and

that we were being watched. I know we shouldn't have, but we entered the house, calling out to anyone that was there, hoping that someone would respond. I took a quick scan around the kitchen and noticed that the phone had been pulled off the wall; it was lying on the floor with one of our info cards beside it. On the back, I noticed my number had been handwritten. While we were stood in the house, staring at this, I still had the feeling we were being watched from somewhere outside, so I quickly shut the back door behind

us. The second the door was closed, there was a deep low growl that came from the other side, but this time it was ever so different. I'll never forget the sound of it. Whatever it was, it was trying to say something; it sounded like broken speech. After a few terrifying minutes, the sound came again. I stood there, utterly petrified. Something then began to scratch at the door, sniffing at it too. I turned to Joe, who had turned pale with fear, gesturing to him to keep quiet. Eventually, the sounds from the door stopped, and I heard

it outside moving away. That creature! We stood there like statues for a few minutes until we felt it was safe to move or make any sort of sound. I thought I should have a look around the house, so I slowly walked through the kitchen into a hallway and saw the glow of the TV coming from a room to the right. I called out again, but this time softer, still terrified and intimidated by that experience at the door. I needed to know if someone was in here, but I was not getting any answer. I walked to

the room with the TV in it and looked around; there was no one to be found. I found the remote on the arm of a chair and muted the TV. I didn't want to turn it off for some reason; to this day, I still don't know why. I made my way back and noticed a window at the end of the hall left of the kitchen doorway. There was something moving just outside of it. The window overlooked the yard of the farm and the joining barns; it was lit up by the yard lights, which seemed to

be attached to the house. From the shadows that were being cast, I looked over to check on Joe, who was still in the kitchen. He hadn't moved at all, but he did look at me, fear in his eyes. I pointed toward the window near me, which later on he told me he couldn't see from where he was. I moved closer to try and get a better understanding of what was going on out there, but from the window, I couldn't see any movement from anyone. ...or anything, just farm equipment and random stuff thrown about. But then

something moved. I turned my head quickly, trying to get a glimpse of it. What I saw was a black mass moving along the shadows of the barn opposite the house. It looked to be sniffing around, like it was trying to find something. As everything else around us was entirely silent, it wasn't hard to hear this thing sniffing and growling. It was still difficult to see what it actually was from that distance and with this amount of light; it was just a black mass. If anything, it reminded me of a dog. It walked on all fours,

but its legs were twisted. It was big and dark; it was blacker than the shadows it was in. Feeling creeped out, I slowly moved away from the window, keeping low in the hopes it couldn't see me, and I headed back into the kitchen to be with Joe. 1 a.m. was approaching. I remember this because I kept looking at the cuckoo clock on the wall. The kitchen was old-fashioned, stained yellow, with net curtains in the window above the sink. The walls were covered with dated and stained wallpaper. I kept thinking this place would be nice if

it had a fresh lick of paint. By this point, I was getting very tired and achy from sitting in the same place. Joe and I hadn't said much to each other in the last few hours, in fear of the thing outside hearing us. I looked over, and Joe's eyes were shut, so I gave him a slight nudge, as I couldn't believe he was falling asleep at a time like this. He sat up straight and looked at me in a panic. I whispered, "It's okay," telling him that we either needed to lock this house down and

stay until sunrise, or we needed to try to make a break for the car. As it was wintertime, the sun would not be rising until 8 or 9 a.m., and I did not want to stay in this place for another seven to eight hours. We sat there in silence for a bit longer, thinking over the options. Then, in the distance, we heard the growling again. It sounded like it was getting closer. Keeping low, I made a move for the hallway. I headed to the front door to see if I could open it, but the handle

wouldn't budge. I thought it must have been locked. Fed up and just generally pissed off because we were stuck in someone else's house, I have to say that I used to have a very short temper. I stood up straight and walked back into the kitchen. The back door was the kind of staple-style door with the top half and a lower half. I unlatched the top half and screamed at the top of my lungs, "Would you just sod off?" I quickly slammed the door shut, Joe looking at me in utter shock. Then, from outside, we heard

the growl again. The scratching and sniffing grew louder at the door. My anger had caused us to become in danger again. I shook my head and silently apologized to Joe. We waited for another hour, not moving, until these sounds finally went away. I wanted to get out of this house, out of this situation. I made my way back into the hall to try and look for a key for the front. I was not taking any chances leaving via the back. I searched around the few rooms on the lower ground, all of which needed to be

fixed up. I found a key in a dresser drawer in the living room, but it wasn't the one I needed. Feeling truly trapped and getting to the point of giving up, I decided to try the front door again. This time, I checked every inch and found it wasn't actually locked; it was latched. Finding this out, I laughed so hard at myself, all while trying to keep quiet. I was making my way back to the kitchen when I saw a silhouette-like figure in the window staring directly at me. I froze in the spot, staring back at

whatever it was. I still couldn't get a look at it, as it was so black and it was really dark outside in the first place. I couldn't see any eyes, but I knew it was looking at me. I could feel it; it was going right through me. I thought, this was it—it's now or never. I was close enough to the kitchen that I could see Joe's back. I softly called his name through my teeth, still locking eyes with this creature. I could feel myself getting more terrified. I called out for Joe again, and he finally

came over to the doorway. I whispered in a tone through my teeth for him to get down low and that we were going to make a run for the cars. I remember Joe looking at me and nodding his head. I told him to not look toward the window, which was to his left, and to just head to the door. Joe got down low and headed toward the exit. When he made it to the door, I told him where he could find the latch to get a hold of it, as we were going to run as

fast as we could to the cars. After waiting a few minutes, I turned and shouted, “Now!” He unlatched the door and threw it open. I ran out so fast; I recall turning around just as I left the door and looking at the window. I could tell that the black mass of the creature had gone. We reached the cars, which luckily neither of us had locked. My car was the closest, so I dove into the driver's seat, and Joe jumped in. the back in the corner of my vision, I could see the dark figure moving quickly

down the path at the side of the house. It was heading right towards us. This time, I could have sworn I saw it running on two legs, not four, making me even more confused as to what the hell kind of animal it was. Its stride looked awkward and cumbersome. Feeling seriously beyond freaked out, I started the car, and the two of us sped down the lane. I went straight to the police station. I had gone so fast, I nearly crashed the car. Even though it was likely the police wouldn't believe us, I just wanted to

be somewhere that I could feel a bit more safe. When we made it to the station, Joe and I got out, looking at each other and laughed with relief. Then I looked at the car and noticed that there was a massive dent in the shape of a footprint on the bonnet. It almost looked like a dog's paw print, but it was bigger and misshapen. I looked at Joe and just shook my head. It was now nearly 4 a.m., and I'd given my statement to the police. I knew some of the officers quite well; they saw

how scared Joe and I were. They assured me they'd go to check out the farm when they were able to the next day. Not feeling in the right mind to be alone, Joe said I could stay at his house as it was nearer to the village than mine. We made it to Joe's, and we both just sat on the sofa, not really saying much to each other. Joe then realized he had left his car at the farm, so he had a call to make. I must have fallen asleep, as the next thing I knew, I

was waking up and it was sunny outside. I called the station to check if they had attended the farm. They advised me that officers had been and found that the front door was shut and that they were not able to open it. They could hear the TV on inside as well. This made my skin crawl because I had muted the TV. They advised that the officers had gained entry through an open rear door and found no one inside. They checked over the barn in the yard and didn't see anything unusual. Joe had asked about his

car, and they agreed to bring it back for him as he refused to go to the farm to collect it, even during the day. After a few days passed, I received another call from the station. They had continued their search and were informing me that they had found the farmer, who had locked himself in a small storage room in the barn opposite the house. It took them a while to convince him to leave. Once he was out, he just kept rambling about the darkness and how the shadow had killed his animals. I still do not

know what was going on at that farm. I have no idea what we encountered, and this is easily my worst experience working in animal rescue. I can't be the only one who grew up in a small town with a few resident creeps. I'm not talking about criminals or stalkers; I'm talking about those people who live in the house on the hill or at the end of the street. The people that everyone knows about, but nobody actually knows. Everyone else in town seems to agree that something is not quite right about them. They never even have

visitors. I'm sure you know the type. When I was a little kid, I spent a great deal of time at my grandparents' farm in the foothills of North Carolina. I would explore all around their property, and most of the neighbors would let me explore their lands too. However, there was one man who lived a few miles from the farm who my grandparents warned me about, saying that I should never go near. The neighbors all agreed something about him was a little bit off. The exact reasons people cited were varied, ranging from PTSD to an escapee

from a mental asylum, but nobody could say for sure exactly what his problem was. I always followed my grandparents' advice, and I never knocked on the door of the elegant two-story farmhouse where the mysterious man lived. But I nevertheless found myself standing in front of that old farmhouse back in November of last year. I'm a machinist by trade, but sometimes I work odd jobs on the side for some extra cash. I often do jobs using heavy machinery, mostly grading driveways or digging drainage ditches. So, when I got a call asking about what my rate would

be for removing about a dozen large tree stumps, I was excited at the prospect of an extra payday. However, when I arrived at the given address, I was more than a little bit surprised to find that it was the oh-so-familiar home of the mystery man from my childhood. I slowly rolled up the long gravel driveway, suddenly trepidatious about meeting the man that I'd been told to avoid my whole life. Finally, I reasoned with myself that surely the resident must simply be an old shut-in, and I scolded myself for being irrational and almost avoiding a perfectly

good customer based on childhood gossip. I knocked on the sturdy door of the farmhouse, and after a few moments, the door swung open to reveal an elderly gentleman of about 80 years old. I introduced myself, and he hobbled shakily out of the house to show me the stumps that needed to be removed. I gave him my estimate for the cost, and he nodded slowly. "That'll be fine. When can you start?" "The sooner, the better," he said. We shook. hands on a date and a price. As I got back in my truck to leave, I thought

to myself that he seemed far less scary than all the rumors might have suggested. Although, as I looked over my shoulder to back down the driveway, a flash of movement from the tree line caught my eye. It was only for a second, but I could have sworn I saw a person's face staring out at me from behind one of the trees at the edge of the yard. I had always been told the man lived alone, but I figured it wasn't really that odd for someone to be visiting, right? Maybe it was one of his out-of-town

grandchildren exploring the whites just like I had always done as a kid. [Music] I returned a few days later. The stubborn walnut stumps proved no match for my old D7. When I was done, I knocked on the door and informed the owner that I had finished early, so I'd be billing him for fewer hours of work than anticipated. He smiled dryly and thanked me for my honesty, offering to pay me extra for finishing the job so fast. I initially assured him that it was really no big deal, but then he made me a very tempting

offer. He asked if I would like to come and hunt on his land. It was the height of deer season at the moment, and I was definitely interested since his entire 250-acre property was ringed with barbed wire fences and no trespassing signs. In fact, everybody I knew avoided the place due to the rumors and stigma surrounding the owner, and that meant that I would probably have a chance at some pretty nice deer if I took him up on the offer. I eagerly accepted and thanked him for the opportunity, and as soon as I had a

free weekend, I headed out onto the land. Nearly the entire property was covered in dense forest and pine thickets, so this wouldn't be the usual post-up-in-a-tree-stand-and-wait sort of hunt. This would rather be a real old-school deer stalking. It couldn't have been more than 40 degrees that day, and to make things worse, it was misting rain. It was great weather for hunting, but it certainly made me grateful for my thick clothing and warm socks. I followed a tangle of game trails through the thick woods, seeing plenty of deer tracks— even a few fairly large ones— all

leading deeper and deeper into the pines and cedars. I should also mention that the woods were incredibly calm and peaceful as the gloom and chill of the rainy November day had practically put the entire forest to sleep. In fact, other than the occasional rustle of a small animal dashing through the damp underbrush, the only noises were my own footsteps and the soft pitter-patter of raindrops. [Music] The rest of the day passed in much the same way, but by 5:15, it was starting to get too dark to continue, so I decided to turn around and start

making my way back to the truck. Luckily, the rain had almost stopped, but a thick fog now hung in the damp evening air. I carefully retraced my steps as the woods became darker and darker. However, just when I was about to pull out my flashlight, I noticed that mine were no longer the only footsteps in the twilight thicket. I stood very still, listening to the movement in the brush as something drew closer. The footfalls were too loud to be deer, and besides, even a herd of deer is careful and methodical as they move, pausing regularly

and picking their way around any obstacles. In contrast, these footsteps were reckless and constant, and I could hear twigs and low-hanging limbs cracking. This, I realized, was the sound of another person traipsing through the woods. I quietly crouched and hunkered down behind the base of a large poplar tree, making myself small in its shadow. I was worried that whoever was coming might have been a poacher, and I certainly did not want to catch a bullet due to being mistaken for an animal in the murky darkness. As the footsteps grew closer, I realized there was definitely

more than one person out there in the fog, and even worse, I couldn't tell exactly what direction they were coming from. I could hear voices too— at least two, maybe three— but they sounded muffled, distorted in the thick mist. I held my breath as I listened closely and I leaned out from behind the tree just enough to look in the direction of the noise. There, about 20 yards away, was the soft glow of an old incandescent flashlight bobbing through the fog, and silhouetted in that light I could see three nightmarish figures. At first, I couldn't

even make sense of what I was seeing; the three silhouettes looked alien and bizarre, each one an amalgamation of human and animal features. However, on closer inspection, I realized the mysterious shapes were actually people— strange people. The one in front was wearing a deer's skull and antlers on top of its head, as well as a hooded cloak made from crudely cut animal skin. It also carried what looked to be a shovel over its shoulder, and in its hand, it held the flashlight responsible for the glow. The second and third figures stood close together, and they

both wore a collection of coyote towels like bandoliers across their bodies, along with coyote skulls adorning their huts. As I squinted to look more closely, I could see that they were carrying something between them; it was a large tarp or sack, and judging by how the two coyote men handled it, it was heavy. As I watched the surreal column move wordlessly through the undergrowth, there was suddenly a loud... Rustling in the brush behind me, I snapped around, struggling to bring my rifle to bear. But when I turned to face the noise, I saw that it

was only a fat possum. The little thing just stared at me for a few moments before dashing away back through the woods. I guess the noise of its passing had gotten the attention of the three animal men because when I looked back around the tree, the one with the deer antlers had turned back and began to walk in my direction. I held my breath, making myself as small as possible behind the poplar. I silently flipped my rifle safety off. The deer man drew closer and closer, and the ground on either side of my hiding place

was bathed in the yellow glow of the flashlight. My blood thrummed in my ears as my heart beat faster and faster. I didn't know for sure if these people would be hostile, but I wasn't about to pop out and introduce myself all the same. The footsteps of the deer man were very close now, and if I listened carefully, I could make out the sound of breathing on the other side of the tree. However, just when I was sure it was about to come around the tree, I heard one of the coyote men call out in

the distance. I couldn't tell quite what he said, but I could make out the word "heavy," so I assumed he was complaining about whatever he was carrying. The light suddenly disappeared as it was pointed back in the other direction, and the footsteps again receded into the distance. I must have waited a good five or ten minutes before getting up from my hiding place, unsure of whether or not the bizarre trio had truly left. But when I poked my head around the tree, they were indeed gone. I wanted nothing more than to get the heck out

of there as soon as possible, but I couldn't help going and having a quick look at where they had passed. It didn't take me long to locate their footprints, and much to my relief, all three sets I found were normal shoe prints—no giant hooves or paws. However, as I shone my flashlight on the ground and investigated the footprints, something else caught my eye. Right in the middle of the trail the three of them had left, there was a glistening splotch of red-brown liquid that couldn't be anything but blood. I pointed the flashlight further down the

trail, and sure enough, there were more drops and splotches. Further still, there was even a large puddle where the coyote men had stopped as the deer men had backtracked looking for me. A feeling of nausea brewed in my stomach as I realized the implications of this. I quickly doused my flashlight to avoid broadcasting my presence. Now filled with rising panic, I got moving back toward the trailhead as quickly and quietly as possible. The rain had started again, and in the foggy darkness, I could barely see a few feet in front of me. Even so, I

only pulled my flashlight out when I absolutely had to, in case those people were still prowling around. Finally, I stumbled out of those woods at about 7:45, and I hastily jumped in my truck, pulling back onto the road. I was pretty focused on getting out of there, but as I drove past the farmhouse, I noticed none of the lights were on. There were no other cars in the driveway either, so whoever I'd seen in the woods hadn't come in by that route. Once I was safely home, I called the sheriff's office and anonymously reported that

I had seen some suspicious men in those woods. I did not mention the animal skin cloaks or the various pelts and skulls. [Music] I have no idea if there was ever an investigation, but nothing ever showed up about it in the local paper. As far as I know, no bodies were ever found, too, and no arrests were made. But I can tell you for certain that there are places in those woods where something could hide and never be found. For the rest of the season, I did not go back there, and I'm not sure if

the man's offer was good for more than one season. Even if I got the chance, I don't think I would go back there alone. However, at least now I think I understand all those warnings from my childhood. I don't think all the neighbors were really that concerned about the old shut-in; I think they knew about those people using his land for god knows what, and they wanted to keep me and the other children in the area safe from ever wandering into something we shouldn't. After all, who knows what somebody that disturbed in the head would

do to a witness in the woods? The leer from CT Flaska: falling asleep has always been a problem. Ever since I was young, I thought what had happened back then was a dream, but only just recently was I reminded that it was very real. When I was 10, I would often lay awake in bed thinking about the day that I just had or the challenges the next day might bring. I spent nights watching the lights dance on my bedroom wall as cars went by or glancing around my room at the few toys I had. I

would get lost in thought, thinking about what kind of adventures they would get into if they had come to life, like in that one movie. The house I grew up in was located on the corner of a less-traveled intersection. One streetlight lit the four-way; the light was old but bright, shining through my window soothingly, giving my room an orange tint like a dim... Melody, the streetlight would flicker every once in a while, causing the collection of bugs around its bulb to disperse, only to return once their oddity of light came back into existence. The nighttime

setting was memorable, comforting, until that thing showed up one night. After crawling out of bed from pure boredom, I sat on the edge of the footboard, watching cars go by. I counted the passing vehicles while getting lost in thought—one car, maybe two, all night; but sometimes none at all. A few hours passed without a car whizzing through the intersection. The light flickered, and when the bulb regained power, I saw it standing directly beneath it. The night air went still, and the noisy insects went silent. The dark figure stood frozen, but not in a natural way,

not in any way that seemed comfortable—oblong limbs on a cracked and deformed body. The figure was so dark it was hard to be sure if what I was looking at was a person or a shadow. Climbing over the end of my bed, I crept over to my window, never removing my gaze from the being. I couldn't tell, but I think it knew I was watching it. It wasn't long after I reached my bedroom window that I knew something was not right; the dark figure under the streetlight had moved. My eyes narrowed, and I focused on

the abnormal being. I studied it and noticed it was breathing—not slowly, but fast and erratically, almost as if it was out of breath or as if it had just exhausted stamina sprinting a long distance. Its arms moved slightly up and down with every sporadic breath. At this moment, I realized it had moved again, slightly, but it was definitely not in the same position as when I had first seen it. It was hard to be sure; the being was so dark under the light that it was too hard to focus on what was its torso or

limb. I continued to stare at it, my eyes just above the window frame. I was so focused on the strange creature in the street that I jumped when I heard a noise in my own home. Quickly, I turned around toward my bedroom door; one of my parents, or maybe my brother, had just gotten up to use the restroom down the hall. After assessing the situation, I turned my head back to the newfound problem in the road, and I noticed the figure had moved again. It was now obviously staring at me. I knew this because I

could see its eyes now. I froze; its eyes were small but bright. They were piercing white sparkles, so tiny they almost seemed to get lost in the black void of its body. I knew for some reason that it wasn't just looking in my direction; it was looking me over. It was staring directly at me. After a few minutes, I decided I needed to leave. I had to run and get someone—ask someone what in the world that was in the road. I slowly began to stand out of the view of the window, but I didn't take

my eyes off the figure. It was at this moment that I realized the game I was in. Before I made my way out of the window frame, I blinked, and upon opening my eyes from a single blink, the figure had shifted. I blinked again, and it moved again. That thing out there was moving anytime I wasn't looking. It had by now taken a full step in my direction. The dark figure looked excited, like it knew I'd finally figured out the horrific rules of its game. Its frantic breathing grew more intense. "This is crazy! This isn't

happening, is it?" I asked myself. My heart began to pound, and my breathing quickened too. "This is... no! What's happening?" I thought, disbelieving what was happening. I held my breath as I stood in my bedroom, shutting my eyes. I thought to myself, "I'll count to five; it must be a dream, after all." "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four..." Suddenly I heard a crunch, like a tree branch snapping. I opened my eyes; the figure was no longer at the streetlight. I was overwhelmed with adrenaline, with panic. I bolted from my bed and dove under the

blankets. I was so scared I forgot what I had just proven to myself. I had to look at it; I had to look before it got even closer. As I shuffled the covers, I heard quickly approaching footsteps. They sounded unreal; the steps were quickly growing louder and hitting so hard I swear I could hear the dirt and sticks outside being thrown into the air behind it. My head rose above the blankets, and sure enough, the footsteps stopped. I stared at the window; the only visible thing was the intersection lit by the light pouring down from

the streetlight above. Although the figure wasn't in my sight, I knew it was there, somewhere in the dark. I sat in my bed, staring through the window in the bedroom. I didn't move. I would blink once in a while, and when I did, I could always hear just a bit of movement. I knew the longer I blinked, the more distance between us the creature would cover. This nightmare lasted for hours. Every time I was tempted to yawn, I would fight the reflex—fight it with every fiber of my being. After what felt like an eternity, the

sun rose. A soft light began to wash over my neighborhood. I decided to get out of bed and move to the window to attempt to locate the thing from the road. I knew it was out there, but where? I slowly approached the window and was given a much... Broader view of my yard leading up to the intersection. Even though I was looking for the creature, it still made me jump when I laid eyes on it. Once again, there it was in greater detail. The blood left my face, hands, and feet as soon as I saw

how terrifying it truly was. [Music] The thing was in a paused motion, must have been about seven feet tall, and was perched on one leg, frozen mid-stride. One of its dangly arms was open-palm on a tree it had been passing, as if it was going to use it to push off of and increase its speed. The other hand was open and clawing right in my direction. It was now 20 feet from my window, whereas in the road it had been about 45 feet. The creature's skin was black, wrinkled, the texture of dried leather. Other areas

of its body were made up of random patches of black mangled fur. It was tall and gangly and unbelievably skinny. The creature looked as if it had been malnourished, starving, and desperate, and its sights were set right on me. Every time I moved even slightly, I noticed its breathing would intensify. It was excited, as if any moment I would turn and lose eye contact with it, and it could continue its hunt, its rampage towards me. I remembered its piercing eyes and decided to look at them in the small glimpse of daylight I now had. As

I lifted my gaze towards its head, the streetlight suddenly flickered. The sunrise was causing the light sensor to diminish the power to the bulb, and it was shutting off. I was tired and not thinking when I flashed my eyes to the light, which I noticed had just gone out. My eyes hit the streetlight, the light went out, and I then heard a long growl coming from that creature. The noise it emitted was low and scratchy, and it sent shivers down my spine. I quickly relocated my eyes back toward the creature, and it was gone. I

didn't move for quite some time. The creature had vanished, but the last time that happened, it had covered nearly 25 feet in a matter of seconds, so my guard was up. I scanned the yard intensely. I was shaking; I could feel the cold morning breeze against my cold, sweat-covered body. Minutes had passed, and still no change to the absence of the being. A car passed through the intersection. I hadn't even noticed if cars had passed at all since the thing appeared. I still couldn't find it. I was unsure that the thing had vanished at all.

Then there was a beep beep beeping. I jumped and shot my head around to evaluate the sudden noise in my room. It was just my alarm. I threw my head back toward the window; there was still no sign of it. Had the creature finally disappeared? Was it unable to be in the daylight? It vanished as the streetlight went out, so it must be gone. Maybe it can only pound to pound. There was a knocking at my door. I gasped. "Turn off your alarm, it's annoying. Come on, dude!" It was just my brother. I sighed with

relief and mouthed an almost silent, "Yeah, sorry." Knowing that someone else was within reach, I felt that I could take my eyes off the yard, so I turned to silence my alarm. I felt uneasy; I felt alone and unsure. I sat in bed and covered myself, attempting to regain composure. The day went by, but many questions clouded my head. Was I going to see it again? Could anyone else see it? I told my brother what happened, and he just chuckled at me. Same reaction from my parents, too. Their conclusion was that I had a vivid

imagination, so no more scary movies, or I'd have more nightmares. This was my situation to handle on my own. To my dismay, it was under the streetlight multiple times after that night. Sometimes it didn't show, but that didn't mean I was just going to bed like nothing happened. I mean, there was no instruction manual to this thing. All I knew was I had to stare at it, blink sparingly, and under no circumstances nod off. I made that mistake once, and it nearly cost me my life. After a few nights of this, I had a good

system going. I would blink about 20 times per hour, so by sunrise, it would only have made it a few steps, which at that point was only the beginning of the lawn. The system worked so well that I became bored. Boredom led to drowsiness. One night, I repeated what I'd done most every night for a couple of weeks. I didn't even remember shutting my eyes, though I only recall jumping awake to the sound of the screen bursting off the window. My eyes met the creature as it was now frozen in place, one foot on the

bottom of my window and a hand at either side of it, as if it were ready to launch itself at me. Its breathing changed from fast and frantic to slow inhales and exhales—calm, like it was sure it would finally get to me. Huge gnarled teeth and unblinking white eyes expressed anger and yearning. I stared for the remaining hours, and once that sunrise hit, it vanished once again. This nightmare lasted about a month, and then it just stopped showing up entirely. I stayed awake as much as possible the next year after that until I slowly began

to gain a normal life back. Five years passed, then ten. Now I'm 32, sitting at my desk writing this post at about 6:30 AM with a cold cup of tea to keep me company. I'm submitting this experience. Everywhere I can, in an attempt to reach out to someone who may have been this thing. I need to know if others are seeing what I'm seeing, and if they have any answers for me. I’m asking because I think it’s back. Last night, it managed to climb up four stories to my apartment's balcony. I accidentally spotted it on

my way back from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea. It was only just getting its other leg over the railing outside the sliding door— that freaking look on its face! It almost had me. If you know what this is, comment below, because I don't think I can do this again. Camping with Anna From Anonymous I experienced something in the summer of 2013 that still haunts me and continues to make me question my sanity. My girlfriend Anna and I had decided to go camping as a last farewell to summer and to get some alone

time. She'd be going back to college soon after, and I wouldn't see her as often. We'd been together for over two years then, and I was completely head over heels for her. I was even thinking about asking her the question. So on a weekend in early August, I packed up my camping gear, driving 45 minutes away to the park we often frequented. It was a nice park, thick with trees and wildlife, along with a small creek running through it. We knew the area well since my friends and family had camped there since childhood. I sent

a text to Anna after parking my car, letting her know that I'd made it and I’d set up camp in our favorite spot. You see, Anna had been caring for her sick grandmother all summer, and her sister had finally agreed to watch her so that Anna could get away for a while. But she had to wait for her sister to get off work around 5 PM to relieve her. To save time, I'd volunteered to go ahead and set things up. I trekked up the trail a bit until I found the spot we always camped at.

It was nice and level, and it was right beside the creek. I immediately started setting up the tent. I wanted to get everything done fast so Anna didn't have to help. Forty minutes later, I had it all set up: the tent, the sleeping bags, a little fire—everything was organized and cozy. My phone suddenly buzzed; it was a text from Anna: "I have something to tell you," it read. Just as I began to text her back, I heard footsteps coming down the path. My body tensed up a bit because you can never tell what kind of

people you might run into out here. We had, on a number of occasions, met with a few drunks and the occasional rowdy teenager out here, but I soon relaxed as I saw Anna step out from behind the trees with a big grin on her face. I walked up and hugged her, scooping her up off the ground a bit to make her giggle. I set her back down and asked her what she had wanted to tell me. "I love you," was the reply I got from her as she planted a kiss on my cheek. Her voice,

though, it sounded different, and her lips were chillingly cold. I asked her if she felt sick; she simply shrugged off the question and went to check out our campsite. I gave her a brief tour before I set about cooking dinner. I made us each one of those pre-packaged camping meals that you add hot water to. It was pasta Alfredo, and I opened a bottle of red wine to go with it. We sat around the fire eating while I tried my best to entertain her with some funny stories. The sun was setting and I was having

a great time. I watched the shadows dance off of her and the surrounding trees; I listened to the gentle motion of the nearby creek. The daylight was almost gone when she said she was cold. I mentioned she could go in the tent to warm up while I cleaned up from dinner. She made her way inside but not before giving me a smile and another freezing cold kiss. I was starting to get worried about her; I wondered if she was getting sick, but I didn't want to nag her, so I didn't say anything. I busied myself

with cleaning up our dinner, and it was then that I found Anna's plate of food that she had set off to the side on the ground. She hadn't even touched it! I also found her glass of wine nearby tipped out onto the grass. This wasn't like her at all; that girl loved food, and that particular wine was her favorite. At this point, I was more than a little worried, so I headed into the tent to ask her if she was feeling sick and to suggest that we pack up and get a motel for the night.

But when I unzipped the tent and crawled in, I found her sound asleep in her sleeping bag. I contemplated waking her up so we could leave, but she looked so relaxed that I decided against it. I went back outside and finished cleaning up, putting out the fire before I laid down next to her in my own sleeping bag. I had a bit too much wine, and I fell asleep quickly. Morning came soon enough and filled the tent with a soft glow as I listened to the birds singing outside. Anna was still sound asleep, so I

decided to get up and start some breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, I was admiring the meal I made—well, as much as one can admire slightly runny scrambled eggs from a pouch. I poked my head back… Into the tent to tell Anna that breakfast was ready, but that's when things got even weirder. Anna wasn't there. I didn't think it was likely that she could have left the tent without me seeing her, but maybe she had done so while my back was turned. I waited for a bit, figuring she stepped out when nature called. About 15 minutes passed,

and I was starting to get worried. I walked to the edge of the campsite and called out for her, but there was no response. I walked to the trail and called out her name as I walked up and down the path each way, but still nothing. I went back to the campsite and checked the tent, but it was still empty. I searched for her belongings, but that's when I realized she hadn't brought a thing with her. I couldn't even remember her checking her phone last night, which she was in the habit of doing. She always

checked her phone and always brought it with her in case her grandma needed her. That's when I grabbed my phone and decided to text her. I didn't have any signal, so I walked back up the trail a bit to the truck, where I knew the signal was good. That's when the text messages started flooding my screen. All of them were from Anna. My hands began to tremble as I read: "I have something to tell you." That was the text I saw earlier. I went on, "It's bad news. My grandma just passed away. Are you there?

Can you meet me at grandma's when you can? I can't go camping tonight. I'm sorry; we should reschedule. Where are you? Fine, I'll be at my sister's house for the night. Call me when you can." My hands were shaking so violently that I dropped my phone. My mind reeled so fast that I had to fight to not pass out. I ran back to the campsite and searched it, but there was no evidence of Anna or anyone else being there. I checked the tent to look at her sleeping bag that had clearly been used last night.

I even checked the garbage bag to confirm that there were, in fact, two plates from dinner last night, one with food still on it. I ran back to the truck and sent Anna a text because I didn't trust my voice not to tremble if I called her. I told her I got really sick last night and couldn't text her back. I apologized profusely and offered my condolences about the passing of her grandma. She texted me back, letting me know she was okay and that I would see her later today. I walked back to camp in

a daze. My mind seemed to want to shut down; it couldn't process what had happened. At first, I thought I was going crazy. I thought I'd had a breakdown and imagined everything, but the used sleeping bag and uneaten dinner told me differently. Who or what kept me company last night? Who or what could look just like Anna but not be her? Had it been a ghost, a doppelganger, a shapeshifter of some kind? Was all of it just a sick joke? I packed up camp with difficulty. My stomach was a knot and my muscles were weak.

I felt like I was going to get sick at any moment. I made it home and sent a text to Anna. I said I was still sick and didn't want to make her sick. I saw her next on the day of her grandma's funeral, where I easily passed off my residual anxiety about the whole ordeal as grief and sympathy. As I said at the beginning, I haven't told this story to anyone. Anna and I are now happily married, and I still haven't even told her. We don't go camping in those woods anymore; we found a

much nicer, hopefully safer spot. I look back on that night often. I replay all the scenes in my head, trying to find hints that will lead me to an explanation, but I haven't figured out anything. I still only know one thing: I spent the night with someone or something that wasn't my girlfriend. Hill 29: From the Woodsman. Talk to anyone around my age about camping when they were young and they'll tell you all about their proverbial good old days. I suppose I'm no different, really. We used to go and get plastered in every grove and

gully from here to Florida. Not like we had much else to do; school was a joke. We were young and stupid; we didn't have a care in the world. Funny enough, you go camping as much as we used to and it becomes less like camping and more like just kind of hanging out. I mean, really, every summer, every weekend, all the time. We had despair you could expect us to be in some backwoods hollow raising heck. So as you can imagine, most of the memories of those days I got are just kind of one big

blob. But not this one. Out here, federal land means to us free roam. Never really knew why the feds latched themselves onto so much nothingness, but they did, and it created for us our very own little slice of the wild. Rarely did we see or even hear anyone else out there. The only other human beings out there within 50 miles were the army squads that used the woods as training grounds pretty regularly. They had a whole grid and label system set up out there, and thanks to a kid named Tommy's dad, we'd gotten our hands

on one of the maps. We navigated with the grids, markers, and numbered features, and all kinds of other minute, individually specified details. Even now, people refer to my hometown area as Hill Country—high sandstone cliffs. with winding, dusty paths stretching far into the sky, as well as low, dark valleys where the air felt good as conditioned. The lands bordered on a big military base, so generally speaking, the town was an army town. Of the small group of guys we had that went out, all but one was a military kid. Now, I'm not saying that army families

always have trouble in them, but it'd be ignorant for me to not say that they did more often than not. So getting out of the house was sometimes a priority, and so we loaded two or three old pickup trucks with our green army bags and put on our green army coats, heading into the endless green valleys and ridges. Not long ago, parks and the like weren't really maintained as well as they are now, and federal lands had basically no management in comparison. Dirt roads and dilapidated fences made up the border of the nearly untouched open

expanse. There were hardly even trails, and half of them were cut by us. Cell phones weren't really a thing we had, so to keep in contact, we used radios. A friend of mine, Mika, was a real whiz with that kind of thing. I was never really considered the brightest of kids, especially when it came to electronics, so I had a rather basic understanding of how the radios worked. What I did know was that the hilly terrain messed with them, so when we had two separate groups, we'd have to set up a small relay tower and

then take it down at the end of the trip. Nothing major; just a small little tripod thing and a little black box propped atop one of the many numbered hills. This particular trip happened late summer; our senior year of high school was to start up soon, so we had a pretty sizable group. It was me, Tommy, Mika, Porter, Herschel, and another group of six who'd be across a cliffside from us—some of Herschel's friends, a guy named JT, and some other kids we sort of knew. We were all set for a week-long beer-fueled send-off to the

summer of '86. Stupid, yeah? Fun? Also, yeah. Anywho, we loaded up the same old way: a couple of beater cars headed up and down the winding valley roads. Pushing about eight o'clock, we pulled off onto some back road, bounced up and down along the old dirt path for a few miles, and eventually parked in a little clearing. The two groups split themselves, unpacked their bags from the trucks, reviewed our plans, and got ready to roll out. Herschel, Porter, and Tommy would head off on the south side of Hill Number 29 along the 38003 line, and

the other group would work their way along the close side of Hill Number 28, ending up somewhere along the 36-001 area. It became mine and Mika's job to work our way up 29 and set up a communication tower so the two groups could keep in contact. Everyone set off like a little pack of GIs, eventually diverging our separate ways. Mika and I, with pieces and parts lashed to our pack frames, began the ascent to the sandy reaches of 29 as the rest of the guys headed deeper into the rapidly darkening woods. We made up our

minds to be swift about the task, as it would be pitch black within the hour, and our flashlights weren't exactly the brightest. The climb was rough in patches, with rather sheer rock slides that were only made navigable by the protruding roots that served as our natural handholds. We made it to the peak area as the sun was setting and worked out a setup for the tower. Soon it was erected and ready for relay. "Hey, Jake, think we'll pick anything up?" Mika had a set of headphones plugged into the box, rotating a dial. "Dunno. Probably not.

How strong is it?" I replied. "Oh, if we heard anything, it'd be army in the area. Say for that, I'd be surprised if anything were close enough," Mika answered while digging into the OD green carrying case. He produced another set of headphones from somewhere within the plastic box and gestured for me to take them. I slid them down over my ears and listened in. I could faintly hear Mika's "hmm," as the static flickered back and forth over the radio. Little but faint murmurs came through, and static filled the gaps. Mika sat back, looked at the

device again, and switched the dial. A sudden new patch of static filled my ears as Mika began to carefully rotate the knob. For a minute, I thought we'd hear nothing when the radio picked up the faintest of signals. I could only pick up small phrases between the static: "we'll go right side over the south." The channel then reverted back to static, and we could no longer hear anything. "I wonder what that was about," Mika pondered, removing the headphones. "Probably some army drill or something," I replied, placing my own headphones back into the case. The sun

was getting really low. "Well, we ought to be getting down to camp. At this rate, we'll be getting there by dark. If they don't have the fire set up by now, I'll strangle one of them," he trailed off as he packed his things. We began back down the steep trail towards the turn and headed for camp. It was dark, as Mika predicted, when we finally trudged into camp. Two rather basic wooden sheds we'd built some time back stood illuminated by a fire contained in an old metal fire ring. We ate a hasty meal of canned

garbage, radioed the camp across the hill to check the comms, then fell asleep. I woke up maybe half an hour before the crack of dawn and did what all campers do upon awakening... Awakening, I walked what felt to be a suitable distance from the campsite and took care of business. Then, I decided to head down to a nearby stream. As the first pastel lights of morning cut their way through the sky, I washed my face and took a drink. I plunged my arms into the cold water, and as I did so, a crack and a

screech faintly bounced across the valley. Perplexed, I stood up and strained my ears for more, but it never came. This was a strange occurrence, sure, but I'd certainly encountered stranger. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew what this one was. If you've never heard a cougar scream, well, I'll say that I can understand why the old settlers told stories of monsters in the hills. I made my way back to camp and began to throw some more logs under the fire. Soon, the crackling of flames eating away at dry logs awoke the guys. Within a few

minutes, the camp was full of life. Herschel and Tommy were frying up some bacon over the fire, Mika and Porter collected wood, and I busied myself cleaning one of the two hunting rifles we brought. The rifle itself was Porter's, or rather his dad's—a rugged old bolt action chambered in .308 with a short, non-descript scope set atop. The other rifle, Tommy's, was a touch newer—a sleek .22 caliber made for small things, squirrels and the like. For today, we'd planned a short hunt, as it may just be the only full day when we weren't drunk or hungover.

After sitting down to eat our breakfast and some messing around with each other, we loaded up our packs and then set off with either rifle or binoculars in hand. Porter and I would set off in the mid-elevation areas in search of deer or anything else substantial, and Tommy, Mika, and Herschel would go about bagging some squirrels or rabbits. Neither of those animals were in season, but that wasn't something that was enforced nor that anyone really cared too much about, for that matter. Each group took a radio and took off. As we trudged into the woods,

a light fleck of rain began to mist across our shirts and soon warranted a deployment of our army ponchos. The cliff trails were soon slick with mud as our leather boots left tracks behind us. Every now and again, we would stop at an overlook, scan with scope and binoculars, and see what we could find. We saw some light movement on the other side of the valley, and very little aside from that. We walked on into the afternoon in the misty rain, stopping to have some lunch of canned sausages and sandwiches. Soon, we were on the

move again. The rain began to fall with more force now, at a full rainstorm pace. On one of our stops to search the valley, Porter picked up more movement. "There! Next to the pine," he said in a subdued breath. "Yeah, I got it," I replied, equally as hushed. "Buck!" he excitedly whispered. He began to dial in his scope. I heard the click of his safety moving into the off setting. A shot suddenly cracked through the valley, followed by three more in rapid succession. The deer raised its head, turned for an instant, and took off into

the woods. "Dang it!" exclaimed Porter, lowering the rifle. "Uh, Tommy, why'd we give him the rifle again?" he said with a disappointed chuckle. "Never was a good shot. Surprised he got more than one in, though," he trailed off. "I don't know; something seems a little weird about that. Let me radio in," and my words were cut short by a burst of noise from the radio in my hand. [Music] "Jake, the heck did you find? That took four shots to take down," garbled out of the black box. Porter and I exchanged a brief "Wait, what?" look

before I pressed the button and raised the comm to reply, "We we were just about to ask you the same thing." A moment passed with no reply. "Rain's real bad," the radio cut out abruptly. "Mika?" I asked into it. "Radio check, do you copy?" No response. "Well dang," Porter said aloud. "What do you think we should do now? The weather's too bad to stick around." "I think they'll think the same and head back to camp," I replied. "Probably not a bad idea. Let's get moving," Porter said, flicking his safety back on and sliding two caps

onto the scope. The sound I heard at dawn rang out from the same vicinity of the shots. "Huh," I said, confused. "I heard that same sound this morning." "Mountain lion," Porter theorized. "I guess," I replied. "Creepy," things, Porter nodded in agreement, but I could tell something didn't sit right with either of us. Nevertheless, we began the trek towards camp, winding down the slick, twisted face of the rocks. Our packs grew heavier, and the sun crept lower with each step. We made haste toward the campsite and arrived at around 5 PM. Porter and I took refuge

in one of the old Adirondack shelters around what remained of the morning's campfire. We set our now damp packs down, hung up our rain gear, and changed clothes. We sat down in the back of the shelter and waited for the rest of the folks to arrive. An hour passed by, and both Porter and I began to get anxious. Our nerves were calmed by the soft sound of footsteps and twigs breaking in the near distance. Porter turned his head. "You know, y'all had me a little worried for a second," he called out, standing up and advancing

toward the open wall of the shelter. The footsteps stopped abruptly, and so did Porter. Silence fell on the campsite. "Tommy, you guys good?" he cautiously said into the dark groves of trees. Weighty footsteps burst off, scampering in the opposite direction. Porter hardly breathed a "What the hell?" before another set of footsteps from behind him made him whip around, facing the oncoming steps. It was Herschel, Mika, and Tommy. "What's going on? You good?" Herschel questioned, looking at a disoriented Porter. "Yeah," he stammered out with somewhat of a relieved sigh. We all settled down into our shelters

as the rain pelted the roofs. For a while, a silence hung about the camp. No one wanted to address the strangeness of the events that day, and I knew the other guys were just as suspicious as me and Porter. Mika broke the silence. "I think we should radio the other group," he declared, standing up. "We need to get the comms working again to make sure they're okay. From what I can tell, I think the storm may have knocked out the tower. I'm not sure, though. I don't remember JT or any of them saying if they

had rifles or not. Maybe they did; maybe that's what we heard. But we still need to check." We nodded and grumbled in agreement. The plan was that Mika, Herschel, and I would work our way back to the station at Top 29, figuring out what was wrong with the relay, then contacting the other group. Porter and Tommy would stay at the campsite, waiting for contact from us. With our bags packed and ready to move the next morning, we skipped dinner and laid down for the night. The sounds of the rain pouring against the shelters put us

to sleep. I rose at first light, which was shrouded in the grim clouds that still bore rain. With some difficulty, I was awakened by Porter, who was up before anyone else. The rest of the group followed. "You think this bloody rain will ever stop?" Tommy groaned, cracking open a can of beans. He placed four more cans into the struggling fire, lids open, and gave each a stir. We all got dressed, released our boots, checked on our bags, and got ready to set out. We joked around a bit while digging our spoons into the burned cans,

eating a quick meal. "I'm honestly not too sure what happened to the relay," Mika said between bites. "It's never done anything like this before. It should have been able to make it through a storm ten times this fierce." We all exchanged somewhat uneasy glances. For the first time, we collectively acknowledged the strangeness of the trip's occurrences. The moment passed, and we prepared for our trek. I slung my backpack on, donned my poncho, and watched my two companions do the same. Porter and Tommy began to find something to keep themselves occupied, collecting and splitting wood, cleaning

a rifle, and things like that. Mika and Herschel began to move toward the trails, and I followed. We soon found ourselves amongst the endless, pointless ups and downs that inhabited these woods. The soft paths of our rubber-soled boots became our soundtrack as we moved about the forest. After a while, the rain let up, and we became bored of the sounds around us. We started to talk. "I thought this trip would be a little less... I don't know, weird," Herschel said, echoing our thoughts. "Me too," I replied. "I hate being on edge out here." "I think

we're thinking too much," Mika said. "Let's forget about all this creepy garbage and drink some beer or something." Truer words were not spoken. The rest of the trek passed with uneventful normalcy. Eventually, we reached the base of the hill. The sky grew dark again as we neared our route. The slick limestone faces above peered down at us, as a bear might to a mouse. Plant life grew all down the sides and along the length of the ridge's spine. Great boulders and minuscule pebbles stood alongside each other, perched high above the dark recesses of the ground

beneath. With a grunt, Herschel was the first to start the steep ascent. The climb followed a series of crags and faces as it worked its way up; parts of the hill were little more than inclined hiking, while others were more akin to rock climbing. I certainly felt my pack the whole time, as it gave the slightest of pulls on my back, away from the hill itself. We made good time on the hill and soon found ourselves rapidly nearing the peak. Each of us found ourselves a small seat to top the hill, taking a drink of

water and breathing hard. The sun was just past its midpoint, and the view across the valley was unparalleled. A hush crept over us; we all felt a stark tranquility. The overlook gave us a glimpse into all that was the valley, with its tall, dense green shadows and looming hills as far as we could see. For a moment, we were all at peace. The passing quiet was shattered by sounds I'll never forget. First, a thud in the near distance, then another shot, followed by screams. I've heard people in pain cry out before, but this... this was

like nothing else—pure, primal shrieks of absolute pain and terror. I could feel the fear in my ears as the screams ripped across the valley in front of us, echoing off the distant hills. My stomach dropped like I was a rider on a million roller coasters; I felt sick to the core. I saw Herschel and Mika react the same way. Mika looked like he might vomit too. With huge eyes, he spoke. "What the mother of God was that?" he staggered out, mirroring all of our reactions of confusion and fear. "I don't know," Herschel said, and from

the looks of him, he was ready to bolt. "Call Porter, figure out what that was." "Right," Mika said curtly as he frantically dug for his radio. "Porter! Tommy! Did you hear that? No!" "Response, guys! Not funny. Did you hear that? Mika was beginning to panic. Silence. Did you hear that? Mika screamed into the radio, nearly in a rage. He cursed and shoved the radio into his bag. 'We need to get up to that tower right now,' I said. Herschel nodded, and Mika turned to continue. We scrambled up the rest of the trail, going faster than

was probably safe. Soon, the small metal tower and box popped into our sight. It stood solitarily amongst the darkening clouds in the sky above it. Mika hurried to it and knelt down beside it. Herschel and I caught our breaths and bent over with our hands on our knees, watching Mika fiddle with the box. His face suddenly went pale. 'What?' What?' Herschel asked, to no response from Mika. 'Mika,' I shouted, snapping him out of it. 'Someone messed with our relay,' he said quietly, still not looking back at us. 'What?' I asked, confused. 'Someone messed with our

relay,' Mika shouted. 'Someone cracked into it and battered the dials and bloody turned it off!' Mika was growing angrier by the minute. 'What the heck?' Herschel spat. 'Who would do that? Who else is even out here?' 'I don't... I don't know,' Mika dejectedly stated, cooling down. 'I don't know. Can you fix it?' 'I asked determinedly. 'Yeah,' he replied. 'Give me a minute.' Ursula and I looked on as he reset the dials and flipped switches. Suddenly, the radio sprang to life. A stern and regimented voice faded in and out. We all recognized the tone of the

man's voice as military. 'North Side Hill Number 29. Over!' We all went pale. 'Stay sharp. Move in. Over and out!' 'Did he just say—?' Herschel trailed off. 'Yeah,' I replied with a lump in my throat. 'North Side of 29—that's where JT and his guys are,' Herschel said, realizing what was happening. 'Get them on the radio!' he said to Mika. 'The radio—one sec,' Mika replied, rapidly moving dials. 'Get them on the freaking radio!' Herschel shouted. 'I am! I am! Give me a bloody second!' Mika lashed out, turning dials with more urgency. He whipped out his radio.

'Hey JT! Whoever has the radio, this is Mika! What the heck was that?' An indistinguishable garble flooded the radio. Mika cursed and adjusted more dials. 'Repeat!' he commanded with authority into the microphone. 'Who is this?' came back through. 'This is Mika. We're on the other side of the hill from you,' Mika said quickly, with utmost urgency. 'What? What are you talking about?' the radio replied. Mika responded, confused. 'It's not funny, dude! Screaming and shooting stuff in the woods is just a dirtbag move!' 'That wasn't us!' we replied. There was a pause. 'What do you mean?'

the radio responded. 'It wasn't us! We're trying to figure out if you're okay!' Mika was growing in anger again. 'What? I mean, yeah, we're shaken, but no one's hurt!' JT said. 'He'd been trying to reach somebody. I guess that was you guys. We've been in this cave JT and some other guys found a bit north. We're gonna hang tight and hopefully this crazy jungle stops happening.' 'Maybe not a bad plan. Stay in contact. The radio should be working now. Sorry about the misunderstanding.' 'It's no big deal. Just stay safe. Meet us at the radio down

inside.' We paused for a moment and thought about the events we'd just witnessed. Mika called down to Porter, who said they'd faintly heard the noise and had tried reaching us. He said they'd stay and make contact with the other group to try and set up someone to reliably contact. 'Well, while we're up here, might as well check the weather,' Mika said, finally relaxing a bit. He tuned the radio to the weather in the next frequency. 'Days, we have some flooding issues in the lower valley region, so if you're in those areas, roads will likely not

be safe to travel on. Many local towns have declared a shutdown of most roads in order to...' 'Did they say—?' I asked aloud, realizing what this might mean. 'That's just great! Now we can't even leave!' Herschel exclaimed, hearing the bad news. 'Yeah, looks like we're stuck here. At least for the night,' I sighed. 'If we're gonna be here, let's at least try to enjoy it, guys!' Mika said, standing up. 'Let's head back to camp. It's been two days out here already, and we haven't even touched our cooler! Let's go get plastered!' And that's what we

did. By the next morning, we were up far later than was normal, all of us sporting head-splitting hangovers from the night before. Herschel groaned as he set up, setting the precedent for everyone else. We all slogged up slowly and doggedly set about our tasks. We were all doing our best to ignore the prior events and try to enjoy ourselves, at least a little. The ever-present rain made it hard to get a fire going. Fortunately, Porter and Tommy occupied themselves with the acquisition of firewood the day before and had stored nearly half a quart in the

shed using the old mall stored there. The group enjoyed the rather slow and tired breakfast of hot cakes and bacon—a warm refresher from the previous day's breakfast. For a while, it seemed like all was going normal again. It was still raining—not as hard as it was, but nonetheless. So we sat just inside our Adirondack sheds, talking and laughing. We killed maybe three hours doing that. The day passed by inevitably as dark clouds continuously rolled over our heads. The fire crackled as a meal cooked. Porter moved towards the fire and stirred the pot. A horrible stench

wafted up out of it. 'Jesus!' Mika remarked. 'What'd you do to that thing?' 'I don't know, maybe I overcooked it!' Porter replied, perplexed. "Tommy, Herschel, and myself shared the sentiment with Mika. We reluctantly dug out eating equipment and spooned ourselves some of the thick, terrible-smelling stew. We sat back down in our sheds and slowly began to eat with pinched noses. To everyone's surprise, the soup was delicious. We all looked at each other, shrugged, and kept eating. Soon, the cooking pot was empty. We cleaned our bowls and equipment, only to find that the smell persisted. Confused,

Herschel spoke out, "What is that smell? It's awful," he said in disgust. "It's not one of you," Tommy jabbed. "No, I don't think so," I said, holding my nose. We tried to play it off, to ignore it, but it was to no avail. A few moments passed as our resolve to continue disregarding the stench that invaded our nostrils faded gradually, and Herschel was the first to crack. "Hell with this! What is the friggin' smell?" he blurted out. "You're right; I can't stand it. We gotta find whatever that is and chuck it off a cliff or

something," I replied in utter agreeance. We fanned out and began searching, checking around the side until Porter called out in surprise, "Hey, uh, guys, you ought to come look at this." Porter's accented voice faded out as we rushed over to see what he was looking at. His dark eyes were fixated on the ground at the base of a tall oak, just maybe 50 feet down the slope at the back of the campsite. The scattered members of our group slowly and apprehensively made their way to the spot. We strained to peek around the trees, or Porter,

whichever obstructed our view. There, at the base of the tree, lay a jagged lump of puffy white and brown fluff and shiny dark liquids. The tree itself was spattered with the same. It was a deer, misshapen, contorted, sliced, and torn apart. All of us knew from hunting when we were younger that it was relatively fresh; the blood was still bright, the flesh still red and not browned. Bones jutted out from various places within the small pile of the creature, cracked like a glow stick. Now bemused, I looked to the others for an explanation, a plan,

a concession, anything. I soon found that they matched my expression and that there was no such reasoning to be heard of. Wordless, we turned to make the slow, cautious retreat back into our nearby encampment. I think we could have stayed silent for the rest of the trip if it were not for what happened next. As we stepped into the edge of our site, Tommy began to pick up some of his things and moved into the sheds. He returned clutching an axe. The rest of us gave but a mere concerned look before inevitably coming to the

same conclusion that he’d reached before us: that being we weren't alone out here. As if a stage cue had been issued, the situation immediately escalated. Behind myself, there was a crack of a stick. Everyone's heads, including mine, snapped backwards to see what had made the faint, nearly inaudible noise at the edge of the tree line. We held our breaths and waited for another noise. Nothing at first, then something—another stick broke, this time louder, opposite from where the last had come from, resonating from behind Herschel, who now had found that he had quickly changed from being

the back of the group to being the front. He whipped around just as I did, but not before another stick broke, this time two cracks in rapid succession. All of us began to back up together, wide-eyed and vigilantly scanning the tree line. I noticed Porter make a slow, methodical shuffle to a shed and return with the deer rifle. He began to raise it, pointing in the direction of the most recent tracks. I saw Mika do the same with the .22 and suddenly felt naked of defense myself. I drew out my knife and held it out

as if it would serve as a deterrent against whatever was encircling us. Mika dialed in the rifle, preparing for a shot at seemingly nothing. He never got the chance. A shadow, a cloud, a lump of darkness flashed through my vision, blurred out of the trees, and backed in like a dog running a competition. Tommy, nearest the movement, swore and fell backward, scrambling to get away. In his panic, the axe in his hand slipped, careening into his lower left calf and slicing into him. He cried out in pain, and I rushed to him as Mika and

Porter swung around, rifles raised like sentinels on a shaft. Tommy was cut bad. The bit of axe had dug about two or three inches into his leg, revealing the dark, reddish matter beneath. I made for my bag, retrieved the first aid kit, and fumbled it on the way back to Tommy, who was now wincing repeatedly. I quickly moved to start applying gauze, and Tommy bit down on a stick he had placed in his mouth. Mika and Porter were shouting to each other, but what exactly I could not tell; I was focused on Tommy and finishing

applying the antiseptic liquids I was pouring onto a rag. I began to cover the wound when, out of the corner of my vision, I saw Porter raise his rifle. A dreadful quiet fell over us as Porter aimed toward where he last saw the looming dark mass. A moment passed; a mere second that felt like an eternity. The silence was shattered by two deafening booms in rapid succession—booms that made my ears ring. The dark shadow appeared once more, this time fleeing. The heavy and steady patterning thump of footfalls returned deep into the woods once more, and

as they faded away, the whole encampment faded to silence for yet another time. seemed now that all of these significant events of which we experienced were marked by a silence, a quiet of some kind. We all got up and looked around as if we hadn't really seen any of it, as if we'd all just imagined everything. But now things were different; it was no longer this sort of unrealized game of cat and mouse. Now we knew what we were into. Now we knew that we weren't just seeing things. Now it was us and them. We

all realized this as we set about solemnly patching up Tommy and packing our bags. The rain and the flooding couldn't have been that bad; we had to get out. We all sat down back at our prompt logs near the fire that was now smoldering. "We gotta go," Mika said, voicing all of our thoughts. Tommy, Porter, Herschel, and I mumbled in agreement. "But we can't try in the dark," Porter said, sounding just as apprehensive as we all felt. "We have to! What the hell are we going to do if that thing comes back?" Herschel blurted. We

shuddered at the first dimension of the creature we'd seen since it happened, as if somehow speaking of it gave it life and made it reality. "Herschel, you know we can't! You know with all the hills and slopes and crap, we just plain can't make it through in the dark," Porter pressed on. "I know! I'm just... hell, man, we're in a shaky spot right now," he trailed off. We knew that Porter was right; we'd have to stay one more night. That didn't stop us from completely mobilizing as the sun set, though. By the time darkness descended

upon the site, we'd gathered enough firewood to light up almost 50 feet around us in all directions and had packs lined up, completely packed save for our sleeping bags, which were lashed onto the outside. We divided up shifts: Porter would start at 9 PM and go until midnight, standing watch with a rifle. Porter would wake Mika, who took 12 to 2 AM, followed by Herschel at 2 to 4, and eventually me from 4 to sunrise. Tommy needed rest to heal from his leg. The sun was getting low, so we retreated to our shelters, grabbing some

additional firewood on the way. Porter examined his rifle, rubbed a mark off the barrel, and chambered a round. He sat down onto his upturned log, sighed, and pulled his head lower. "You good to go?" Mika inquired. "Yeah, I'll wake you up in three," he replied, clearly shaky. "Good luck, man. Don't hesitate to get us all up if anything—if you need us," Mika finished. After a bit, "Yeah, yeah," Porter resolved, tugging at his hat again. The rest of us laid down and waited. According to my watch, Herschel shook me awake at 3:56 AM. "Hey," he said

in a deep, hoarse voice. "Hey," I replied, just as exhausted. "Still plenty of wood; nobody's seen anything yet," he informed me as I exited my sleeping bag and stood up, pulling on my boots and tucking my arms into a button-up shirt. It was surprisingly chilly. "Enjoy the sleep, dude; wish me luck," I said, slapping him on the back as he went for his own bag. "Let us know if anything goes wrong." "You're up till sunrise," he drowsily stammered, tucking his face into a sleeping bag. I moved to the fire and saw that Herschel had chucked

on a few logs before plopping back down next to it. I resolved to keep a good watch of the stretch of treeline where we'd seen the thing before. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes to hours. The creatures of the dark chirped and howled as the fire crackled. The night grew colder, and I was glad for the flames. Aside from warmth, the blaze allowed me to see around myself. The stars and moon were bright dots painting the sky, lighting up the night and allowing me to see even farther. I could faintly hear the creek at the

base of our site emitting a distant trickle. A cool, nearly imperceptible breeze flowed through my hair and whispered away sparks and embers of the fire. The tall trees of the valley swayed and danced like ancient deities engaged in a sleepy waltz. The sky opened itself as if it were the spotlights upon the theater that was the valley, with curtains of pines and solemn stone faces. My eyes grew heavy as the hands of the great forest gently shut them for me. I awoke from my near-catatonic state to what I believed to be pine resin in my

fire, cracking louder than usual as it sometimes does. I put together the thoughts to check my watch, finding it was now nearly 6:30. The sky was beginning to light up. The fire popped loudly again, but something was off. It took me a minute to realize that the fire behind me was not giving off much light anymore, nor was I being warmed. I turned to face it; it was smoldering, nearly out. I murmured an expletive and tossed on a few new logs. Soon, the fire was going again. I was about to drift off again before my

brain finally realized what felt so wrong. How did the fire pop so loudly if it was out? With impeccable timing, another pop rang out. Fully awake, I placed it as a distant noise. It was a gunshot. "No, no, no," I spoke softly to myself, beginning to realize what was happening. That ear-rending scream I knew all too well boomed through the valley again. My stomach sank; I felt like a kid who was about to be sick on a county fair ride. I stood alone, listening. "Guys! Hey, guys!" I yelled, panicking. There was... stirring in the shelters,

"What? What?" Mika said, standing up. "Listen," I demanded frantically, gesturing to the distance. The four others, now plenty awake, listened intently. There was nothing. They looked at me, confused. In the distance, there were shots and screams. I exasperatedly stated this just as Herschel gave a bemused "Huh?" The screech was back, followed by two more shots. They turned to me, wide-eyed. "Ah hell," JT, Herschel said. "Radio! Get them on the radio!" Mika frantically went for his pack. He produced the radio and flicked it on fast. "JT, Group Two, anyone come in? This is Mika, come in!"

he shouted, but there was no response. He tried again, but to no avail. "Everyone, swear bags! Get your bags! We gotta go help!" I commanded, sounding far more confident in my choice of words than I really was. No one replied, instead heading for their packs and quickly lacing their boots. Porter helped Tommy up, and after talking, I assumed they determined Tommy was well enough to walk. We took off quickly, kicking the fire out as much as we could in about 30 seconds, clicking on our dim lights, and praying that between that and the slowly rising

sun, we would have enough to make our way there. Mika tried over and over to reach Group Two by radio as we walked into the solemn woods once more, rapidly approaching Hill 29. When we made it to 29, Mika and I set up the hill for the third time, leaving the rest to wait with Tommy to let him get some time off his bad leg. This time, though, we knew our route and got up the hill in no time. To our relief, we didn't hear any more sounds from the other cap. On the flip side,

Mika still couldn't reach them, so it wasn't just the radio. We recovered the comms equipment, rapidly strapping it to our pack frames. We scrambled back down and set on the trek again. The forest had transformed so much since our walk in; what was our own green heaven was now a shaded nightmare. Our boots were in a strangely uniform cadence as we nearly marched our way up and down the deep hills. The sun was reaching higher and higher in the sky. We clicked our lights off, and soon we drew within a few miles of the second

encampment. Mika called out loudly, but there was no reply—no surprise there. We descended into the valley down to the campsite, and soon we could see the large shapes of the shelters in the afternoon sun. We broke the tree line into the camp's clearing, and what we saw was bizarre. The sight was vacant. We called out again, but it truly was vacant. There were loose belongings here and there—a shirt, a water bottle, and even a pocket knife. The shelters were slightly charred, and the remains of what once was a tent were now a few metal poles

and shreds of fabric. A lone yellowed note, clearly soaked in rain, was left just inside the shelter under a rock. We tried to make out the words, but what we were able to read was, "We had to leave. Radio won't meet back and something out here," Mika read the mostly unintelligible note. "They're already gone," he concluded. "God, I hope they made it out," Tommy trailed off. "I guess we're on our own now, and we gotta get the heck out of here," Porter said firmly. We turned and began to mobilize. Porter and I began to help

Tommy up, who was sitting on the ground. "Hey!" shouted a gruff deep voice, startling us all so badly we nearly dropped Tommy. Mika turned, reaching for his .22 and facing whatever it was, as I faced it as well. I was taken aback. A tidy row of about six green-clad troopers stood, each clutching weapons. Several were wearing pack frames with pressurized tanks strapped to them and all kinds of hosing running all over. Others clutched heavy rifles, but all of them were armed to the teeth. They were fanning themselves out and checking around the site like some

cheap movie scene. "What are you doing here?" demanded one of the soldiers, stepping forward with his rifle thankfully lowered. "We... we were camping," I replied. "Why'd you bypass all the signs? This place is on lockdown." "What signs?" Tommy inquired. "This land has been off-limits for four days now. You shouldn't be here." "We've been out here nearly a week," I responded. He sighed. "Listen, you shouldn't be here, and you need to go. But we have some questions first." This gave me a bad feeling. "Do you know this area well?" he inquired. We nodded. "Do you know

how to get out the fastest?" We nodded again. "Are you armed?" We were confused but murmured a "yes" again. This time he nodded as if to say good. "All right," he said. "We're looking for a unit who was sent out on an evasion exercise." I perceived immense mistruth in this excuse. "Have you seen anything?" "For a while? You knew what they were looking for," yeah, that way past the third hill, there's another campsite just like this one. It ran in and out of the trees there," Mika said, sounding almost irritated. The soldier seemed to take

it aback when Mika so confidently delivered the answer he wanted. I think he knew that we knew. The soldiers sighed again. "I need you all to get out of here now," he commanded sternly but relentingly. "And if you don't want trouble, stay away." My desire for answers was quickly outweighed by my need to get away from this thing in the woods, and looking to the others, they nodded in agreeance. We slung on our packs and the soldiers made their ways out. We then set off back up the trail. We were going home. The walk out

was... our final silent checkpoint in the timeline of our bizarre experience, eventually the green tunnel developed some holes, and soon we stood next to our truck. We loaded our gear and started it up; piling in, we talked retrospectively about what we'd seen. I think we all didn't or couldn't believe that it all happened, and talking through it made us feel like we could truly think about it. We'd have to track down the other group when we got back and figure out what they'd seen. We sat for a bit and eventually set off for the winding

hilly backroads that would lead us back home. As we passed the "Now Leaving" sign written in plain white dremeled letters, a thin column of black smoke arose from the forest from right on the other side of hill number 29. Encounter with a shadow being in the woods From snowman185 It's taken a long time for me to come out and be more public about this experience in my life, as I've repressed it due to a terrible and traumatizing event. This experience happened in Hardington, Nebraska, during turkey hunting season in 2015. The specific plot of land that

my friend Jackson and I were hunting on was labeled private because the hunting was really good there, and the owner of the land is notoriously mean and tight with whom he lets hunt on the land. Luckily and unluckily, Jackson is friends with the owner of the land. Since remembering this experience, it permeates my mind with horrifying clarity. It was five o'clock in the morning when Jackson and I arrived at the beginning of the land, so that we could get to the spot where turkeys roost. Now, for folks who don't turkey hunt, these creatures are pretty

intelligent, and the slightest sound you make might spook them. So you have to get to your post before they wake up with complete silence. Immediately when I set foot on the land, I had a very uncomfortable feeling, but I eventually ignored it. I hadn't been back here in a year, so it felt much less familiar to me thanks to the time gap. The process of hunting and getting our turkeys went very well, just like many times before in the past. After we both shot our turkeys, we picked them up and went to Jackson's grandparents' house

to butcher and clean up the kills. After we got all that done, it was roughly one in the afternoon, and since Jackson wanted to go back to check his trail cam later at night, we decided to go get another memory card. The day after that was uneventful; we just did the same busy work at his grandparents' farm until dark. The whole time, I had this feeling in my stomach that I couldn't really pinpoint, and yet again I chalked it up to random stomach problems that I often have throughout the day. Once it was dark outside,

we began to make our way back to the plot of land with the trail cam. As we drove over there, I saw a flock of crows fly past; I took this as a bad sign, which made my stomach pains even worse. I turned right to Jackson and told him that we should probably go back; we could change the memory card another time. Jackson, being a generally rational and hard-headed person, insisted we go to the camera because he wasn't going to be up in this part of the land for another two weeks. I reluctantly agreed, but

I felt my stomach turn as we pulled up next to an abandoned corn crib. We began to make our trek up some hills to reach the camera. We discussed how lucky we were to bag our turkeys as quickly as we did earlier that day. We hopped the barbed wire fence and made our way up the hills. The woods were alive with forest critters doing what they do every day—bugs whirring past, squirrels scurrying up trees, and the occasional crinkle of leaves further into the woods. Coming up to about halfway to our destination, Jackson turns to me

and says he has to go to the bathroom. Now that I thought about it, I had to go as well. We went our separate ways to do our private business. While walking through the trees alone to get away from Jackson for a moment, I couldn't help but notice that all the normal business of the woodland creatures all but ceased in a matter of moments. The moment I noticed this, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. This prompted me to turn around and shout for Jackson to see where he was and if

he noticed the same thing. I called three times at the top of my lungs, but I did not receive a reply. I ended up deciding that I would stop right there where I was, use the bathroom real quick, and speed walk back to Jackson. When I was carefully laying the guns I had on my back to the ground, I heard rustling in the woods to the left of me. I brushed this off as there are many deer in the area at this time of the year. I forgot to add that we both had headlamps with

adjustable strengths of light due to it being nearly pitch black outside. After laying my guns down, I adjusted my lamp to the highest setting for maximum clarity of my environment. While I was adjusting the headlamp, I heard my name being called to the left of me. The way the voice sounded—it's hard to explain, but it was like a mix of someone who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day blended with nails on a chalkboard. Instinctively, I turned to my left, hoping it was Jackson, whose voice may have cracked for... Whatever reason, he did smoke cigarettes

pretty heavily. When I turned, I saw what caused me to repress my memories for so long. I can only explain it as an entity of some kind that measured about eight feet tall. It was running straight at me when I looked, but the figure was composed of complete darkness, like some sort of animated shadow. Think of the darkest environment you can relate that to—the color of the figure I was seeing. The scariest part was that while it was running, it was not like any run you could do with two legs; whatever it was doing was

more of a scuttle, all the while making absolutely no noise. This is impossible due to there being dead branches and leaves littering the forest floor. When I initially saw this entity coming right at me, it was about 75 yards away, but I blinked once and the distance instantly shrank to only 25 yards. Staring at this thing running towards me, I noticed that it had no distinguishable features until it opened what appeared to be a jaw. Inside were hundreds of thin, sharp, needle-like teeth, tips glossed over with what appeared to be a red color, as if

it had killed recently. While this thing was doing this, eyes protruded on its body from seemingly nowhere. These eyes were red with a hint of yellow thrown in. Struggling to breathe in my panic, I grabbed the 12-gauge Remington Super Mag and fired in its direction—three shells. My ears rang, and I became briefly deafened as I shook my head and looked back at the creature. It was still coming unscathed, but I did notice a blister in the tree behind it; one of the shots that should have hit had gone straight through. I turned and ran, but

I knew it would catch me. If something could travel 50 yards in the blink of an eye, I was honestly surprised that I wasn't dead yet. The entire time I ran, I could hear my name in that same voice as before being called from behind me. At the same time, I began to scream Jackson's name, hoping that he would find me. After a minute or two, I finally heard him yelling my name to the right. I yelled back at him, but I was already so close to the truck that I just told him to pile

in with me. I peeled out, and we left the hunting ground. Jackson had plenty of questions, but I wasn't in the mood to talk for a while. I don't go back to that hunting ground anymore; I'm too afraid to go back to that land, and I wish I had any idea as to what I saw that day, but I don't. Warning: the following story contains written illustrations of dead animals that some viewers may find disturbing. What do the crow feathers mean? From Wicca. Growing up as a little girl in the backwoods of rural Eastern Pennsylvania,

I learned a lot of things. I learned how to make a fort, I learned what plants I could eat and want to avoid, I learned how to tell what track belonged to which animal, and most importantly, I learned what places I should never go. My earliest memory of the 200 acres of state game land that our property sat in the middle of was something I'll never forget. At the age of around six or seven, I can remember one day that I heard mewing coming from under the porch. When I appeared under the wooden steps, I

stumbled upon two very different cats. My mother came home to find me grass-stained and sitting with a fluffy black and white kitten and a scraggly old grey cat with matted fur. Not until she called my name did I turn to face her with a cut across my face. Right then, she knew that we'd have to name them, so we did: Baby and Scar. I came home every day to play with these cats until my mom decided that we couldn't take care of them both and my neighbor adopted Baby, the cute little kitten, leaving me stuck

with Scar. Scar was a strange cat. As much as I loved and enjoyed him, he, of course, was not my cat—so much as nature's cat. He would always leave me dead things, like birds and mice, to clean up. Scar knew how to survive and thrive in what he seemed to know: every path hiding in the whole game lands. Although Scar, the beast, would wander off, he never failed to be waiting for me back at home. So, of course, I was surprised when I got home from school one day and my lovely Scar was nowhere to

be found. I decided, of course, I would find him. I trekked off into the woods, past the stream on the property and into dense forest. The trees waved in the slight breeze, and the sun shone overhead. Birds chirped, and leaves rustled. Despite how distraught I was about possibly losing my beloved little monster of a cat, I was beginning to enjoy myself on this walk. Just as soon as I began humming to myself, I could hear a mewing off in the distance. Of course, that makes so much sense—that Scar would know my voice—that's what I thought.

So I bolted in the direction of the meow. Soon, I found that the sound of my feet crunching the leaves below blocked out the subtle mewing in the distance. I slowed down to realize that I no longer heard my Scar's meows, and I heard absolutely nothing at all. The only noise that was made was my footsteps. The birds had stopped their songs, and the woods' movement from the wind had gone dead still. The sun had now fallen. Behind some clouds, creating a thin shadow of darkness under the already blackened tree coverage, I felt the silence.

My ears sharpened; my other senses seemed to focus too. I looked around, wondering where I was and if I could even get back. I thought about how my mom must have gotten home by now. She'd be so mad at me for running off in the middle of nowhere before she got home. My eyes focused on a cleared spot in the dense brush. I realized I'd found a trail. My survival guide brain kicked in, and I rationalized that it must lead somewhere; so I figured I could follow it and eventually get home, or at the very

least, to a road. I began to walk and walk and walk. I began to notice something that piqued my attention. I always kept my eyes on my feet while I walked because I was a clumsy child and was afraid I would trip over a root or twig. So, when I was staring at my little boots in the mud and leaves, I began to notice a color that you don't always see in nature: bright red. I inspected the leaf with the dense red liquid on it, and I knew what it was. I'd seen blood before, as

I had scraped my knees pretty badly many times. At first, my mind began racing. Would I find Scar? Would he be dead? No, no, no, no. Just keep walking; follow the trail. The blood followed the trail too, though. Every step, I walked to avoid the drips, drops, and splatters. But my little mind was relieved when the blood had feathers instead of cat fur. The shiny black feathers were large and had a green tint to them. I figured at some point I'd find the animal they belonged to, all mangled and no longer living. I was dreading

that scene until I had an epiphany: perhaps my Scar had killed many small creatures; he'd left a trail of blood at my wooden porch dozens of times, leaving us plenty of little cat presents. This had to be him; it had to be my Scar. I raced and dashed among the branches and ferns; somewhere the blood led, somewhere that my Scar would be, I just knew it. My heart skipped a beat as I stepped and my shoe got stuck under a log, sending me flying forward. I skidded across the forest floor, and my shoe got taken

off, still wedged under the log. My arm hit a rock, and it tingled, but I found myself brushing off my clothes and hopping back up. I was okay. I refocused. I was following a trail—a trail. My eyes beaded back and forth for the trail, but it was gone. Where had it gone? It was just there. I frantically turned, searching for that familiar crimson color that I'd followed for what must have been miles, but it was gone. I abruptly sat there and cried. I knew it—that was Scar, and I had no hope of finding him. Just

as I opened my eyes, wiping the tears away, my vision corrected and revealed yet another color that you rarely see in nature: fluorescent pink. I knew that color, though; it was the one my dad used to mark the trees on our property line, the ones he never got around to cutting down. I knew where to go now. If I just ran toward the tree, my house would come into view soon after. So, that's what I did. For the last time, I ran, overjoyed to be in a familiar place. Just as my driveway came into view,

my mother's car was pulling into the parking spot. I ran to her and hugged her with the biggest six-year-old squeeze. She smiled at me and said, "You're sure happy to see me!" I pleaded with her not to punish me, that I was sorry for being gone so long. She frowned and scolded me for being in the woods alone but said she had no idea what I was talking about; she had just gotten home. My mom got home from work every day only 20 minutes after I got home from school. This did not make sense, though.

I'd been gone for several hours, lost in the trees, following a feathery bloody trail. My little kid brain wasn't too bothered by that gap in time; however, the only thing that mattered was that I was home. I was safe. I was secure with my mom. When I pulled away from her arms, I noticed something behind her: the crimson drips across the concrete that formed a walkway to my porch. He was home; I knew it. This time I jumped across the concrete, turning toward my deck, toward the stairs. I was right—Scar had come home to me,

just as I'd wished. I expected to see him there with the crow jutting from his jaws, and though this was nearly the case, something was wrong. I fell backward, and a wave of dread crashed over me. My Scar had come home, all right, but he had been mangled and crushed, with fresh blood still creating little plops on the steps below. His gray stripes could barely be seen under the coat of deep-colored liquid. His limbs seemed to have been pulled from their sockets, dislocated and broken. He had become a mess of a carcass, nearly unrecognizable. But

I knew it was him; I could always tell him apart. For as much as no one would believe he was my cat, the only distinguishing thing in this mass of mass was a single reflecting crow's feather. Now let me fill you in on some things that you didn't know before, things that I certainly didn't know when I was six years old. Our woods were on Native American... Land, or what used to be their land, there are three signs outside of the development that talk about how the natives gave the land to the pioneers. However quirky

and nice that sounds, it's simply not the truth. I soon found out that the land was sacred and had been stolen from the tribes. One of the signs, which is very dilapidated, states that there was a wagon trail that led the mountaineers here, and they started building mines into where all the houses are. In fact, there are these old mountaineer homes that are abandoned on a trail near my own house. Every time I explored one of these houses, I found a new dead creature—not freshly dead, usually just bones. There used to be a dead crow

nailed to the ceiling of one of the houses; however, it has since been moved by someone or something. Lastly, during my trip to a clearing behind my home, I found an arrowhead in the dirt. This land is now mostly owned by the state, but my house is here, and I know it was never meant to be. I've come to the conclusion that some sort of native curse or entity had killed my cat, leaving the feather as a sign. I know that the crow feathers must mean something because I would always continue to find them wherever

I found dead animals. I know it sounds odd—unbelievable even. I wish I could be more informed on the subject, but believe me when I say the last thing I want to do is anger the natives and their spirits. I saw it crawling on my neighbor's roof from Plague Bacon. These incidents occurred over a period of time when I was younger; however, it was only until recently that I connected the dots. I grew up in Louisiana, right on the outskirts of New Orleans. The city itself has so much history, myths, and intrigue surrounding it that I

would be remiss to say that I didn't have other experiences involving spirits and all that—but that's a story for another time. Right after Hurricane Katrina, I was displaced by the storm and ended up staying in Florida for a while. While there, it seemed as though every channel on the news had coverage of the horrific event: people's homes were flooded, the roads were blocked, and businesses were destroyed. To make things even worse, there were many reports of people committing some heinous crimes. Part of the news covered people trying to escape the storm and the resulting aftermath;

the other half seemed to cover the dark side of humanity—vandalism, theft, looting, violence—all of that occurred while others were simply trying to survive. To make matters worse, the prisons were destroyed, and a lot of the city's unmentionables started roaming the area, causing more trouble for the people who were simply trying to exist. Some really horrible stuff went on. Like sure, this experience involves the aftermath of a horrible storm and the possible encounter with something dangerous and unexplained, but I'll never put it past humans to be the darkest, most cruel creatures in existence. The news covered

up a lot of it, of course. This is where people begin to say, "Then how do you know what really happened if there was a cover-up?" To you, I'll say this: I was there in the Superdome. I hid from the prisoners when they broke in, and I, being one of the able-bodied people in the area, had to help deal with the people who weren't as fortunate in being able to hide. Coverage about the swamps flooding, animals escaping zoos, as well as creatures from the bayou areas like alligators and such were frequent. Many of these dangerous

animals made their way into the same broken streets as the ones where there were people simply trying to get back home. So, what I'm trying to say is all manner of beasts were displaced by the storm—not just humans. But what about the things that we are told don't or shouldn't exist? Is it possible that the storm impacted them as well? A few months after the storm, I eventually moved back to Louisiana, trying to put back the pieces of my own life. I lost a dear friend to looters, my house was in shambles, and the majority

of my classmates were off in different cities now. Thankfully, I started dating my now-wife from Florida. We would take turns visiting each other every other weekend. It was a long-distance thing, but we made it work. This is relevant to the story; trust me. One week, as I was driving my sister home from the movies, we started talking about lions. She was 13 at the time and had just gotten out from seeing the Narnia movie with some friends. We crossed over the small bridge over a canal that led into our subdivision, and as we turned the

corner, she said something along the lines of, "And Mr. Tumnus started to play a flute." "Wait, what's a Tumnus again?" I asked. She saw my confused face and continued, "He's got like the legs of a goat, but he has horns and doesn't have any hair on his body, like Phil, you know, from Hercules." She paused mid-sentence. "Oh, did Ashley get a new dog or something?" she motioned towards our neighbor's yard. I glanced to the left and saw what looked to be a grayish dog, sort of like a greyhound, sitting in their front lawn. Something about

it didn't feel right; it was skinny—like a little too skinny. Its muzzle looked to be flat and its legs were longer than I thought they should be. But I was no dog expert by any means, so I didn't think too much about it at the time. "I'm not sure," I said as we drove past. Their house, but I can ask later. We drove off with that dog looking in the direction of our car, almost as if it were following us with its eyes. But I figured that's what animals do, and I cast it off as

nothing. Later on, I would text Ashley about her new creepy puppy, but she had no idea what I was talking about. She said if anything, it was probably some stray that got a whiff of her dogs. I wrote it off as whatever and forgot about it entirely for a while. A few weeks later, I was on the phone with my girlfriend, talking about our respective days at school. I walked into the kitchen to grab a Coke. Robin, my sister, was browsing her friend's MySpace pages and listening to Lil Wayne on Pandora. Soon as I walked

into the kitchen, I could barely hear what my girlfriend was saying, so I asked Robin if she'd lower the music. She begrudgingly complied after muttering to herself. I grabbed my Coke, a whole bag of chips (and don't judge me), and was making my way back upstairs when I heard Robin call to me. "Cool!" she squeaked as I rounded the steps. "What's that?" "What do you mean?" "I heard something outside." I groaned and told my girlfriend to hold on a moment. I went back down into the kitchen to see Robin peeking out through the blinds. "Oh,

that dog is back," she said, closing up the laptop and heading towards the stairs. "I'll be in my room. That thing gives me the creeps." Sure enough, there it was, sitting at the edge of our property. Trying to sound tough, I told my girlfriend I was going to go outside to scare it off, and I'd call her back. In reality, I wanted to see the thing up close, bring it some food if it wasn't hostile; however, if it was, I didn't want her to hear me scream like a baby. I opened the sliding glass door

that led towards my backyard and proceeded to walk over to where Robin saw the dog sitting. Now, to get an understanding of our backyard, it had a cement patio that connected to the grass, and at the very end of the yard was a canal. We had cement bases for a fence, but due to the hurricane, all work stopped there. As I approached closer, its gaunt silhouette started to make me feel uncomfortable. It did that thing with its eyes that nocturnal animals do when they reflect light, you know, making it look even more unsettling. I took

a deep breath and was about to let out a "Hey boy, you hungry?" but before those words could leave my mouth, it quickly jolted up and turned its head back toward the canal. For some reason, this caused me to freeze. The way it moved was wrong. It let out this moan—maybe it was a growl. It sounded like the combination between a dog's howl and a goat bleating. It was more melodic, though, if that makes sense. I saw its eyes flash that eerie glow again as it spun its body around and darted down toward the canal.

It was creepy, sure, but once more, I wrote it off as whatever. Fast forward another week or so, and one of Ashley's dogs was found dead in her backyard. Now, I didn't see it myself, but from the way she described it, the poor thing was torn to shreds, pieces of fur scattered all over, and what appeared to be a struggle. The general consensus was that a bobcat or some other wild cat had done it, but she wasn't convinced. "But Jax was a mastiff," she kept repeating. "There's no way some bobcat got to him like that."

Now, I know what you're thinking: it's probably related to that thing I saw, right? It was outside of her house that one night too. I mean, the thought crossed my mind, but I didn't want to bring it up around her. Later that same day, I was sitting on my roof. I would crawl out of my window from the second story and recline on the rooftop that hung over the garage. This gave me a good view of the neighborhood. I was telling my girlfriend about all that had happened so far—how I kept hearing strange sounds at

night and about how Jax was found dead. I was in the middle of telling her how these sounds had been increasing in occurrence these past few days when I heard it again. Right there. It sounded louder, closer. Before I could ask if she heard it as well, she asked, "What the hell was that?" confirming that she had heard it too. I then proceeded to tell her my theory on how it was connected to the creepy dog. When the weekend came, my girlfriend was in town to visit, so I took her and my sister out to

dinner. It was a nice meal: steak, potatoes, soda (the latter is important because none of us had any alcohol during the meal). On the drive home, we were discussing the intricacies surrounding religion and faith when Robin screamed. She pointed to the roof of a nearby neighbor's house. In my shock, I slammed on the brakes to get a better look, and that's when we saw it. And I mean really saw it. It was slender, almost to the point of absurdity, and its limbs were outstretched, joints bent in some unnatural posture. It had pale gray fur—well, not

fur actually; it was skin. Its skin was pale gray and stretched extremely tight over its body. It was quite unnerving to look at. I sat there with a foot on my brake as I tried to make sense of what it was. My sister screamed, "Go! I want to go!" Home, then the creature froze. "Wait, I thought, did it hear us?" "No, there's no way it heard us." The creature twitched, turning back to face us once again, hitting me with the eerie glow of its eyes, and then it skittered like the way a lizard does, body

close to the surface, over to the other side of the roof towards their backyard. I quickly called my neighbor as soon as we got home and told him that we saw something on his roof. In an attempt to not sound crazy, I said that it looked to be a huge possum crawling around the second story. His reply shocked me. "Did it look like a monkey?" "Wait, what? No! It was—" "The wife and I have been seeing this monkey-looking thing hanging in the trees at night." We called animal control, and he said it was probably some

possum that escaped from a preserve. But I know what a possum looks like, and that thing ain't no possum. I was more than a little confused. "I guess it looked like a long, skinny dog or something." "We just saw a croc!" "That's the one, little man, that's the one. Don't you worry, though; it just sits there, staring at nothing. I figure if it means any harm, it would have done so already." He had interrupted me. "I guess," I said. "Well, I just wanted to let you know it's pretty weird looking." He laughed. "Well, if we

come in here, I'll knock it dead and mount it on the wall." And that was the end of that. Fast forward to a few weeks ago, early 2020. My wife, the girlfriend from the story, and I ended up moving to Florida, became parents, and were living the good life when my sister and parents came to visit us for the weekend. While the grandparents were enjoying putting our daughter to sleep, Robin suggested looking for creepy videos on YouTube. We're horror buffs, so why not, right? We came across a few scary story channels but then soon came

across another YouTube channel. Wish I could say the name of the channel or the video, but he had a numbered list of the creepiest things ever caught on camera. It went through various ghost sightings, unexplained occurrences, and even dabbled into the unexplained creature territory. This YouTuber started to talk about the rake, a creepypasta creature. As with the other items on the list, it had some photos and videos attached, all of which looked eerie until we came across one photo: a photo of a long, emaciated creature sitting on all fours. Almost as an aside, Robin said,

"That looks like that thing we saw on the roof. Do you remember that, kuya?" I looked up and squinted. "Yeah, kind of. I'm surprised you remember that." My wife added, "She's right; I remember it as well, and it did look very similar to this." We laughed it off as a strange experience and proceeded to watch the video, which more or less said supposedly the rake lives within deep forests. Reports have also cited the creature in places like Louisiana. We all froze. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as it all came crashing

back. I looked up to see my wife and Robin in similar instances of awe. "Well, crap, now that's creepy," I said. The video proceeded to show more convincing footage of the rake with glowing eyes, via video from a sewer tunnel. You probably know what video I'm talking about. As I watched it, I began to feel uneasy. Those eyes—they pierced through me. I mean, that's exactly what I remember staring back at me from way before. "That's even worse," I started, because "that's how I remember the eyes looking." I cut myself off. Then the creature in the

video ducked out of view, moving in that same fluid yet jittery motion as it did on that roof. My wife and my sister froze, both visibly shaken. This sparked a big discussion on cryptids and the like, ending with both my wife and sister telling me to share our story. "Someone needs to know something," they said. A thing I forgot to mention earlier was the smell. There was always this dry, musty, rotted smell lingering in the air whenever we remembered seeing it, but I couldn't find anything that talked about how the rake smells. So, whoever's listening:

did we really encounter the rake back home? Is it possible that there's more than one of these things out there? I mean, what else could it be? I know it's hard to explain, but the creature in that video—it was so similar. The movement, those eyes. One does not forget a sight like that—not at all, especially once you've seen it on your neighbor's roof. What is taking people in the Northern California wilderness? From wicked windigo, this story was passed down to me by my grandfather. I'll be relaying this story from his point of view. He said

this happened to him when he was 17 years old. He was born and raised in the lush, wooded landscape of Northern California. Our family has roots all over Northern California and Oregon, so naturally, most of us are avid hunters and outdoorsmen. My father, grandfather, and I are very experienced with the wildlife that inhabit these woods. So, what my grandfather encountered in the woods of NorCal back in 1968 is something still debated amongst our family. It was late spring in 1968; my senior year of high school was coming to a close, and I couldn't help but

reflect on the last four years of my life—so much had happened. My childhood best friend, Greg, had gone missing on a hunting trip two years prior. No evidence had been found that could help determine what had happened to him. Local... Law enforcement eventually gave up searching. All that was left of Greg were my memories and his face, with the word "missing" plastered all over our small town. From the day he vanished, I spent every weekend scouring those darned woods, hoping I could do what all the trained professionals couldn't. I just needed some kind of closure;

I needed to know what happened. "Listen, son, I don't expect you to believe me. No one ever does. But you know Pop-Pop would never lie to you. Just don't put me in one of those crazy person homes after this. I'm not crazy," my grandfather told me as he chuckled and cleared his throat. "Okay, here's what happened: a long week of school had wrapped up, with college applications and testing coming up. It was hectic, to say the least. I didn't worry too much; honestly, I was focused on finding Greg. Even after all the time that had

passed, I still had hope that he was out there. Looking back, I know it wasn't hope I was feeling; it was guilt. I was supposed to go with Greg on that trip. I got the flu and had been bedridden, so I couldn't make it. I was hard on myself after he went missing. Maybe if I'd gone with him, he'd still be here. Anyway, it had become routine; I'd done this so many times before that it became normal, almost like brushing my teeth every morning—just another part of life. I got home around 3 p.m., told your

grade Pop-Pop where I was going and when I'd be back before taking off in my old '57 Chevy pickup. I was heading to the popular local trailhead. This is where most of the locals started hunting and camping—the same place I went every weekend. It was the same place Greg entered and never returned. I arrived, threw my pack over my shoulder, and started the long hike up the mountain. The hike up to the camping spot was roughly two miles. I arrived at around 6 p.m., made camp, and unfolded my worn map filled with red circles and

X's taunting me with all my past failures to locate Greg. I sighed and circled the new location I would be searching; it was a 12-mile hike around the east side of the mountain. The landscape was dense and thick there, but nothing too crazy—I’d hiked the worst areas before. I started a fire and warmed up a can of beans I had in my pack. I let the fire die down over the next couple of hours before I climbed into my sleeping bag and fell asleep. The familiar sounds of crickets and bullfrogs acted as a soothing lullaby.

That night, I had a dream of Greg. Even though finding him was a main part of my life, not once had I had a dream of him. I remember I could see nothing but pitch black. I could hear the sound of trees rustling during a rough windstorm. Then suddenly, a small light appeared in front of me. It was flickering yellow and red. As I walked towards it, I reached the light and could see Greg's face illuminated by the flickering light. He held an old oil lantern above his head. I stopped roughly five feet in front

of him. I tried to talk, but no words came out. He slowly started to shake his head back and forth, and then he began to decay in front of my eyes—flesh falling from his skull like ice melting on a hot June day. Greg began to violently shake his head faster and faster in the same back-and-forth motion until he suddenly stopped, with nothing left but small patches of flesh and skin dangling from his skull. He said in a hushed tone, "No, not safe." I jerked awake with my body drenched in sweat. I felt sick. In that

moment, I had no desire to continue my search; I wanted to go home. I wanted to hide under my bed and curl into a ball. I was terrified. I quickly crawled a few feet from my sleeping bag and began to vomit. I then sat up against a nearby oak tree and quietly sobbed into my knees. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and was met with my necklace dangling from my neck. It was a 1943 silver penny on a dog tag chain. Greg and I found a pair of these matching pennies one day at

the local supermarket. We drilled holes into the tops of them and wore them as a type of memento to our friendship. This reinstated my overwhelming desire to find him. I knew I owed it to my friend to find out what happened, so I stood up with the morning sun peeking through the tree canopy, and I got ready to start my hike. It was around 11 a.m. when I started the hike up to the east side of the mountain. I had never been on this trail before. This side of the mountain was very dense. Prior to

this, I'd searched all of the southern and western sides of the mountain. I just knew I was getting close to finding answers. Those woods held the secrets of what happened to my friend; I just had to search every inch of that cursed place to find them. I stopped to rest and rehydrate around halfway up the trail. I sat on a large boulder facing the direction I'd come from and took a sip from my canteen when I heard a loud guttural scream from behind me. [Music] It was far away, but I felt uneasy, seeing as it

came from the direction I was heading to. I told myself it was a mountain lion and that I needed to stay vigilant. I had on me a large buck knife for protection. I stood up and began hiking again when I heard the scream once more; it was a bit closer this time but still fairly far away. I stopped walking to listen. My anxiety grew, and Greg's words just kept echoing in my mind: "No, not safe." I took a deep breath and continued on; I couldn't stop. I reached the eight-mile mark around four PM. I'd been

hiking for five hours, and I needed to start heading back to make camp before dark. I walked around the area to scout a camping spot for next weekend, as I still had four miles of this trail left to search. Finding an adequate spot, I stopped and leaned against the nearby tree and began to unfold my map when I heard something unbelievable. "Now listen, this is the part where stuff gets crazy, so listen closely and save your snarky remarks and die rules for the end," my grandfather said to me. I chuckled and leaned in, now fully

invested. My grandfather's face went serious, and he began again. "Something called my name: 'Tommy.'" It was Greg's voice. I jolted around quickly in the direction I'd heard it, my eyes frantically scanning from tree to tree, trying to locate the source. My eyes filled up with tears as my brain was attempting to rationalize what I heard. Then I heard it again, but this time from behind me. "Tommy!" I turned around and was instantly met with a sharp pain on the right side of my head. I fell to the forest floor. My vision started to fade in

and out until all I saw was black. As he told this story, tears started to well up in my grandfather's eyes. I knew he was serious; I'd honestly never seen him so worked up. "Okay, I just need a moment to calm down before I continue." He took a minute to regain himself and began again, talking with a shaky voice. "I don't know how long I was unconscious, but when I awoke, I was met with pitch black dark. The wound on my head throbbed with pain; it was tender to the touch. I touched my face and

realized dried blood was running down the side of it and along my neck. I sat up and attempted to adjust my eyes to the dark. I was hit with an overwhelming smell of blood, with an underlying hint of sulfur. I scanned my surroundings, looking for anything that wasn't darkness. I spotted something to my right; it was dull blue light, accompanied by a faint flicker of yellow and red. Deja vu hit me hard. I remembered my dream from the night before. Surely, I wasn't dreaming! The pain I felt was very real. I struggled to stand. Once

on my feet, I fell to my right and hit a rocky surface. It was apparent now that I was in a cave. My anxiety heightened, as no maps of the area showed caves. I put all these thoughts in the back of my mind; I had one goal at this point: getting out of the cave. I made my way towards the light, using the cave wall to help balance myself. I could not put much pressure on my right ankle; blood was slowly dripping from my right pad leg, but I pressed on. I could see the light

more clearly now; it was coming from the mouth of the cave. I could even see the dull blue moonlight shining brightly, with the occasional yellow and red flicker peeking from the bottom of the cave mouth. As I reached the cave mouth, I slowly stumbled out onto a cliffside edge overlooking a small valley. I could make out the mountain I’d been hiking in the distance in front of me. I was shocked. How in the world did I get here? I looked down into the valley and noticed a large bonfire with a tent near it; that explained

the flicker from before. I could see two men lying on the ground; I assumed they had gotten pretty intoxicated and fell asleep outside. I turned to find a way down the ledge and into the valley. I needed to get down there and get some help. I found a small trail that led down the cliffside, but something caught my eye as I scanned the ledge. Personal belongings were scattered across the ground leading into the cave: torn shirts, old shoes, tent poles, even a child's teddy bear. I felt uneasy seeing all these intimate items just lying around.

Then my eye caught something reflecting the moonlight. I walked over and picked up a dog tag chain from the dirt; my heart was pounding, and I could hear it in my ears. With my hand shaking, I ran my fingers across the chain until I found something round at the end. Then I reached for my necklace; it was still around my neck. A mix of dread and joy filled my body. I wanted to jump and cry at the same time. Greg was here—or he was at one point. I called into the cave in a hushed tone,

"Greg, are you in there?" I started to wobble back into the cave when I heard a loud crashing from the valley below. I placed my back to the ledge and crouched down so as not to be seen. I scanned the treeline surrounding the camp when I saw movement. I watched in horror as a long, lengthy gray arm sporting four bony fingers slowly emerged from the tree line. It grabbed the right leg of one of the men and slowly dragged him into the surrounding brush. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing; suddenly, everything made sense: my

dream, Greg's warning, how I was knocked unconscious and ended up in a cave. I had no idea what that thing was. "Was," but I knew it would be back. I shoved Greg's necklace into my pocket and made my way down the cliffside trail as quickly and quietly as possible. With adrenaline pumping, I made my way to the tree line towards the mountain. As I reached the tree line, I turned back to the bonfire still burning brightly; it was roughly a football field to my left. I noticed the second man was gone; I could only assume

the creature had already come back for him. I then looked back up the cliff to the cave mouth, and in the moonlight, I saw it—a tall grey mass moving up the cliffside trail, the one I had just come down. I saw its two arms, longer than the creature itself, dragging behind it, clutching two dark masses. I could only assume it was the two men from the camp. I quickly ducked into a bush and watched as it disappeared into the cave. I wasted no time; as soon as it was out of sight, I made my way

towards the mountain. I stopped every few minutes to make sure I wasn't followed. Eventually, I found a familiar trail. I was so tired I went off the trail and laid under a fallen oak. I fell asleep rather quickly. I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the sunshine blinding me. I sat up, still attempting to process what I saw. My ankle was in a lot of pain. I pulled up my pant leg to reveal four purple bruises with dime-width holes at the end of each bruise. The bruises wrapped around my calf and ankle; they

matched the long fingers I saw grab them that night. Before I reached into my pocket and pulled out Greg's necklace, I now knew what happened to my best friend. Whatever that thing was, it took him, and it almost took me. Judging by the items I saw at the entrance to its home, it had taken many others as well. I made my way up the trail and eventually back to my truck. When I arrived back home, I told your great pop-pop that I had a run-in with a small black bear. We went to the hospital to

get my head and leg checked out. I knew that lie was the only way I would stay out of a mental institution. You couldn't just go around claiming to see those types of things back then. Regardless, I finally had closure and a newfound respect for the unknown. I don't know what it was that took my friend, but I know I never returned to those woods. I graduated high school, and eventually, I moved here and met your grandma. As my grandfather wiped tears from his eyes, he reached into the collar of his polo shirt. He pulled

out an old, slightly rusted dog tag chain necklace with two silver 1943 pennies dangling from the end. He smiled, tucking them back into his shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, "Son, some things are better left alone."