CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I was dropped off in the woods for three days. Something followed me out" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 12, 2020

Could you survive 3 days on your own in the middle of the woods?CREEPYPASTA STORY►by EpsilonUndying: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY- Yuri Hill: ►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Dx...►https://www.instagram.com/yur_hill/SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

In the early days of February, just before my senior year, I was prompted by my father to undertake a rite of passage as he called it. I was to be left alone to fend for myself in a section of Tennessee's Cherokee National Forest for three days and two nights. I was against the trip from the beginning. Sure, I liked hunting and camping, but this was extreme, too extreme for my tastes. But it was a tradition, passed down from father to son in the same. my family for generations. Who was I to break tradition? So, against my reservations and against the feeling that this was a stupid idea, I packed on my backpack, grabbed my 30-06 bolt-action rifle and climbed into the cab of my dad's pickup. It was a long drive, broken only by

stilted attempts at conversation and the heater going full blast as the tires rolled past endless concrete. I was a little ticked off that my dad was basically forcing this on me and our uneasy silence only made the hours feel like days. We only stopped once at a gas station about 10 miles from our cabin.

The stench of unleaded and a cheap, convenient store hamburger would be the last remnants of civilization I'd see for the next three days. I mechanically swallowed my burger and sloped down the watery coke filled with too much ice as we turned off the highway and got on the rural backroads. It was 50 miles of dirt to my dad's cabin that his grandfather had left him, which would, in turn, be left to me.

It was tradition after all. But I wouldn't be getting the luxury of a cabin, no. We were parking the truck, and my father was driving me up deeper into the woods on a four-wheeler to a random, undisclosed point. I would then have three days to find my way back. If I succeeded, I'd become a man in my dad's eyes, and we'd also be getting a new swimming pool for the summer. It was bribery, but I would be going into my senior year in August, and having a big pool would cement my popularity.

It was vain, and I was doing this for mostly selfish reasons, but I wanted to make my dad proud. I stepped out of the toasted truck to the calm, frigid forest air. The cabin was a small two-story log affair, worn from age, but obviously well maintained. A new wooden wraparound porch had been built last summer, and was in need of staining that we'd never gotten around to, but otherwise the cabin was pristine. It was a tremendously peaceful place, far removed from the troubles of civilization, and I felt like I was intruding on hallowed ground.

I brushed off the shiver that crawled down my spine and putt in my long coat to my neck. Immediately, most of the chill went away and I shook off my unease. I didn't want to admit it, some primal part of me relished the opportunity to put all the survival skills I'd been taught over the years to the test. Before I could take a step to the cabin, my dad came around to the front of the truck and held out his hand. Thomas, hand me your bag, he demanded, in a curt, no nonsense tone. My dad and I looked so much alike in the face, the same unruly dark hair and deep-set eyes,

but I could never hope to measure up to his terrifying drill sergeant voice. As he told me to hand in my backpack, I did so without question, and he immediately went inside, telling me to wait on the porch. I marched across the wood and sat in the rocking chair while my dad bussed around inside pots and pans clanged and metal scraped against metal as he worked breaking the sounds of the forest around me

for half an hour my dad busied himself with my bag before the screen door creaked as he ambled back outside I loaded everything you'll need for three days in the bag you have a couple days food but it's only for an emergency I also added a flare gun for an actual emergency. My dad kept his voice rough and only used that tone with me when he wanted me to really pay attention to him.

He had a good reason. As fun and full of tradition as this experience would be for me, I was still spending several nights alone in the woods and in the untamed wilderness. Anything could happen. He handed me back the bag and it was stuffed full,

a lot had been added to it, so much that the strings strained against the nylon fabric. I hefted it onto my shoulder, and though it was much heavier than before, it was encompassing or unwieldy. I could carry it all day, and I don't think it would bother me. After he handed me the pack, we unloaded the four-wheeler from the back of his truck, and we set off up the small walking trail next to the house. From memory, the path went on for dozens of miles. and followed the stream as it snaked through the wilderness. We rode until the dirt road ended

and humanity fell away into the deep woods. The road got bumpy as we wound around trees and over small rocks and for a minute I was afraid of hazards. My dad was an experienced outdoorsman though and he knew these woods well. A few hours later we'd apparently reached the destination.

It was a small clearing nestled under a court The remains of a previous campsite long since put out rested in the centre of the dirt, surrounded by a circle of rocks. I was up here scouting a couple weeks ago, so I know the route I'd take to get back, he said cheekly. Be careful, son, and call me if there's an emergency. I'm only a few hours away, and I should be able to see the flare if there's trouble. Yeah, because I'll be able to get signal out here, and replied, holding up my now useless phone. Well, there's always the flare gun, but I'm confident you'll be fine. And besides, the flare's only really there if you decide to give up, he said, laughing. With a parting wave, he departed, rolling back down the mountain and leaving me stranded in the woods for three days.

The first thing I did was take inventory and catalogue my belongings. I ended the pack and carefully emptied its contents onto the ground. I had a pair of long johns, some extra socks and underwear, a box of matches, a hunting knife and miniature shovel, a zip-lock bag filled with a blend of spices, a canteen of water, two days of vacuum-sealed rations and water pouches, and a flare gun, along with my hammock and blanket. I had everything I needed to make camp and survive if my hunting skills proved to be lacking. I had over 30 miles of wilderness to hack through before I hit the main road and could circle back to the cabin on the main road.

Dad told me it should take at least two days, three if I didn't get lucky with my hunts. I had a few more hours to kill before nightfall, and I wanted to get some miles in and find my bearings. The best bet, I thought, would be to hike along the stream until it ended. It was somewhat close to the trail, but not on it, as that would be cheating. But it would give me an excellent landmark to keep me oriented. So, with mild hesitation, I packed up and set off through the woods. It had been a good couple months since I'd last been in the woods, and I never been this deep in them.

It was quiet, only disturbed by the rustling of trees and the occasional scuffle of an animal nearby as I trudged over rough ground and rocks. Staying near or on the trail would have defeated the purpose of the occasional. experience, so I stayed off it as much as I could and only travelled through the woods themselves. Of course, it slowed my progress considerably, and I only managed to walk about two miles before I started thinking about stopping. I would have to hunt before it got dark if I didn't want to go hungry, and I only had an hour or two before the light fell enough to make hunting

impossible. After searching around for about ten minutes, I found a good spot to set up camp for the evening, and I dropped my bag, grabbed my rifle, chambered a cartridge, and double-check the safety. My game was rabbit, since I didn't have the tools needed to string up and gutter deer. I set off and crept through the brush, looking for signs of a nearby den. Rabbits are most active at dusk or dawn, so it was the perfect time to hunt them. Less than five minutes later, I found signs of rabbit trails in the underbrush a few hundred yards from camp. I leaned against the tree, just waiting. The rabbit I wanted appeared half an hour later, hopping out of the brush without a care in the world. It was a plump eastern cotton tail.

It stopped and sniffed, giving me my opening. The crack of my rifle pierced the air and the cotton tail dropped dead. I'd hit my mark, taking it in the neck so as to not spoil any of the meat. It was a decent sized rabbit, more than enough for dinner. I bagged it and went back to camp. Light was fading as I reached my campsite, which made fire priority one. I grabbed the mini shovel and dug a small pit in the centre of camp, spreading the loose dirt around the perimeter. I picked up a bundle of sticks and kindling just clearing the campsite,

which gave me ample dead wood to burn. So I piled a bundle in the ground with some dead. leaves and twigs and got a nice fire going. When I had light to work by, I cleaned the rabbit, making sure not to perforate the bowels and remove the organs and skin. I walked away from camp and buried the offal and hide in a small hole next to a tree. When the meat was cleaned, I rubbed some spices onto the meat to remove some of the taste of game and skewed it with a stick I'd sharpened.

While the meat cooked over a makeshift spit, I tied my hammock to the only trees close enough for it to work. By the time my bed was ready, I had to turn the meat and get it ready to eat. A sprinkle of seasoning garnished the piping hot meat, and I dug in when it was fully cooked. I wasn't the best cook, and didn't have the right tools and ingredients, so the meat was a little dry and bland, but filled me up nicely, and I washed it down with a swig from my canteen. I even had leftovers. I wrapped them up in a cloth and sat them by the fire, ready to be eaten for breakfast in the morning. With nothing else to do for the evening, a night had fallen an hour ago, I decided to turn in for the evening and get an early start in the

morning. I had many miles to cover and would have to hunt again at some point the next day for dinner. I nodded off, listening to the sounds of the forest as they lulled me into a deep sleep. I woke up refreshed from one of the best night's sleep I ever had and was eager the take on the day. I was in such a good mood that it took me a few minutes to realize something was off. In the middle of packing up my hammock and gathering my supplies, I couldn't help but notice that the leftover rabbit was missing from next to the fire. I searched around for it in vain, thinking the wind must have caught it and blown it away from the camp, but there was nothing. I chugged it up to a wild animal, but that unsettled me.

Dears don't often eat meat, and I don't think that a deer would get anywhere near my campsite. The smoke from the embers of the fire would have been enough to keep most animals away. Black bears were common enough in the forest, but they should still be hibernating during this time of year. Right now, there isn't anything larger than a deer in these woods, so, unless it was a coyote, it had to have been a deer. But there were no tracks anywhere around my campsite, so no answer. came to me. I'd packed up my camp and went to relieve myself when I found something that confused and terrified the hell out of me.

I went to pee by the tree where I buried the offal of the rabbit last night and right where I buried them was a hole. It was rough with long claw marks gouged deep into the dirt as if something had ripped into the ground to get what I'd buried. I'd buried them deep enough to not attract the scent of wild animals. and I'd never seen claw marks like the ones next of the tree. I didn't know what to make of them. Wild animals weren't that smart, and they were skittish by nature.

No animal would risk getting close to a human unless they were starving, and no human had claws like the ones I'd found. Without hesitation, I grabbed my rifle and racked a cartridge. The air was calm, and birds sang through the treetops. It was a lovely morning and I was petrified I walked the camp in a circle spreading out

searching for any tracks or signs the only ones I found was some deer tracks about a hundred yards from the camp that were at least a day old there was nothing else even remotely resembling the marks I'd found there was nothing for me to find and even though I was freaked out

I still had to hike back to civilization As the Miles wore on, I began to rationalise the experience, thinking it nothing more than a hungry animal looking for food and brave enough to sneak into my camp. I just hadn't buried the awful deep enough and some critter had smelled it. That's all it was. As the day wore on, there was nothing to differentiate my delusions. The woods were normal, no ominous warnings, no foreboding feeling, just nature, alive and alive. well in the midday sun. I managed to bag another rabbit, purely in coincidence as it scambed out of the tree line. I snapped off a shot and my aim was lucky.

I'd taken it in the head, which left little of its skull behind, but it left the meat ripe for the taking. I'd made good time through the woods, so I stopped and quickly cleaned the rabbit, leaving the offlin skin where they lay. If something wanted to eat them, then let it. After the rabbit was clean, I wrapped the meat in a cloth and stowed it away. I was hungry from the hike and the fact that my breakfast had been stolen that morning, but I wanted to put some more miles under my boots before it got dark.

I wanted to be far away from my campsite, just in case. As the sunlight faded from the canopy and my aching feet demanded a break, I found a spot to set up camp. It was a small campsite nestled up against a rocky mound that stretched skyward for a couple dozen feet with a slanted shelf near the top. I felt comfortable having my back to the wall and abrasive trees next to the rock ensured I could set up my hammock. I raided the campsite, building a roaring fire twice as large as the one last night, just to scare away any nearby animals and cook the rabbit to perfection. I was ravenous and scarfed down the meat with gusto. Despite my hunger, there were still plenty of leftovers again,

but this time I was careful to stow the meat inside my pack, which I kept next to my hammock. Exhaustion had worn me down from the many miles I'd walked that day, and I was eager to get some sleep. I laid my head on my pillow and was out like a light. The stillness woke me, like a veil of silence had been draped over the woods. Not a single sound rose from the forest floor,

other than the rustling of leaves in the wind, not even cricket. Animals instinctively go quiet in the presence of predators, but this was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I lay in my hammock, straining my ears to listen to any sound I could. There was nothing but the wind. The fire had died out, leaving only coals that sparkled every time a stiff breeze rolled in. The moon was fat in the sky, and gave me ample light to see by as I stared up at the trees.

For some reason, I was terrified to get up and look around. My rifle was next to me, resting just by against the tree. I could grab it in seconds and there was a round in the chamber, but I couldn't reach my gun, couldn't do anything other than stare straight ahead and try not to move an inch. Because I realised something was what. watching me. It started as a tickle of paranoia on the back of my neck as my hair stood an end, but it grew to fear as sweat beaded on my forehead. There was a presence in the woods,

its eyes were on me, and it was angry. Pure, unadulterated malice oozed from just beyond my sight. Something was watching me, and it hated me. It's a hard feeling to describe, the anger that was directed toward me, but I knew what it was on a primal level, something instinctual, right alongside the fear of being alone in the dark. I knew that feeling too. The presence persisted for a few minutes and didn't fade. Sweat poured down my neck as I fought to stay still. Eventually, the silence and fear got to me, and I had to do something.

I couldn't take it anymore and live. leapt from the hammock, hitting the ground hard. I ignored the pain radiating from my arms and scrambled from my rifle, scanning all around me, trying to find whatever it was. As I spun around, I saw it, perched on the rocks above me. For a single split second, a flash of neon blue eyes stared back at me from an angular, too pale body, before it slunk out of sight.

My heart pounded in my chest and my head felt fuzzy, like ants crawling over my brain. It became hard to breathe and I fought to keep from passing out. I was scared out of my mind because whatever that thing had been wasn't human and it wasn't an animal. It was a monster. I didn't sleep that night. I built up the fire and huddled around it, clutching my rifle till morning. Screw tradition and screw these woods I was heading back to the cabin at first light

And I wasn't stopping until I reached it Nothing else happened through the night But as dawn broke over the mountains My nerves were shot to hell And my eyes ached with a strain of keeping them open I stumbled to my feet kicked out the fire and slung my backpack over my shoulder I left the hammock tied where it was

And set off towards the stream I was going to follow it to the trail and I'd be back at the cabin before nightfall It took an hour of walking stumbling over uneven terrain till I found the stream And from there I found the worn trail I followed it for a few hours

As the sun rose high in the sky I was so tired But the fear of death and that monster Were the only things that kept to me Putting one foot in front of the other I was hungry, thirsty, and beyond everything else, utterly exhausted, but I kept pushing forward, no matter how slow and tired I was. I still had the rabbit tied up in my pack, but I couldn't stop and eat.

As the day wore on, I began to recognise part of the terrain and I knew I was close to the cabin. I was so elated that I didn't pay attention to where I was wondering and rolled my ankle on a small rock that jutted out from the side of the trail. I lost my balance and careened off and hit my head on a nearby tree branch. Everything went black. I awoke to dusk. I'd been out for a couple of hours,

whether from the blow to the head or the exhaustion, whichever it was, I was still in the woods, and night was coming quickly. The monster never appeared during the daytime, so I thought I was safe in the light. but light was running out and I still had a mile or so

till I reached the cabin I picked myself off the ground and dusted the dirt off I grabbed my rifle checked that it was still loaded and flick the safety off my finger stood a millimeter from the trigger

and I kept my head on a swivel as I hastily jog the trail back to the cabin relief swept through me when I saw the wraparound porch come into view I nearly sagged to my knees as I reached the cabin just as the lass of the orange bled from the purple skyline I had made it back

Dad! I yelled as I ran up to the porch Dad, we got to go! I ran around to the front door and stood stock still as my blood ran cold. The door to the cabin was wide open and my dad was lying halfway inside and halfway on the porch He'd been mauled.

His body was nothing but ribbons and scraps of flesh that only half resembled what a human should look like. I stared in silence, my mind not comprehending what I was seeing. He'd been wearing the red and black chequered flannel I'd gotten him for his birthday. It was the only way that I could tell it was my dad. His face had been ripped from his skull. Two white bone peeked out from his empty eye sockets.

The stench was ungodly, a mixture of fresh meat and the iron tang of blood filled the air. I clutched down my stomach and hurled bile on the wooden floorboards, sinking to my knees as my throat burned raw as I heaved my guts out. Absolute panic gripped my sanity and took it for a joyride as I tried and failed to come to terms with the fact that my father was dead, had been ripped to pieces by whatever it was outside, stalking me in the dark. I had to leave, had to get as far away from that place as I could, or else I'd be next. I screamed wordlessly and backed away from the porch.

I turned and ran to the truck. It was my only avenue of escape, and I had to hurry. Night had already fallen. I scrambled the driver's side of the pickup and yanked the handle hard enough to break it, but it held and opened the door after a second. of sticking. I climbed into the cab and threw down the visor, where my dad usually kept the keys, but they weren't there. The only other place they could be was in the pocket of my dad's jeans, and I would have to get them. Stealing myself for the inevitable, I clutched my

rifle tight and exited the vehicle. I knew I had to be fast, knew I needed to already be far away from the woods, but my feet wouldn't carry me any further. I stared at the mutilated remains of my father and tried not to throw up again or break down in madness. Come on, you can do this, just put

one foot in front of the other. Do it now, my rational mind screamed at me, trying to override the panic I felt at that moment. I stepped forward, an inch at a time, and before I knew it, I was back, staring down at my dad,

I breathed through my mouth, not being able to stomach the smell again and crouched, careful of the sticky and drying blood. I squinted through my eyelashes and patted my dad's pants. The keys were in his left pocket, so as quickly as I could, I stepped at the side and dug through them. My hands clutched around the metal keys and I yanked my prize free, nearly stumbling from the force. With a key in my hand I bolt it from the porch and back to the truck I just wish I'd been faster As I reached the open cab

Flesh thudded against the wood And I turned searching for the sound Movement from above me drew my gaze And I finally got a good look It would have been chasing me through these godforsaken woods It was on the roof of the cabin clinging to the side of the slanted roof with ease. The monster was humanoid, but it crawled on all floors like an animal.

Its skin was pale white like paper and thick and rough, leathery almost. But what marked it as being something inhuman was its head. It bore ethereal blue eyes that lit up the night and a large arrowhead face that tapered to a point near its mouth. its mouth, which opened, revealing thousands of miniscule, needlepoint, silver teeth, and rose stretching down its throat. The creature's eyes never left mine and clinted with malicious intelligence. It upturned its too many teeth into a gruesome smile. I didn't think, didn't panic, I just reacted, raised my rifle and fired.

The bullet whist past its head and tuck it. in the shoulder. Bright white blood splurted from the wound and splashed across the roof of the cabin to drip down the shingles. It let out a high-pitched shriek of pain and record from a shock. It slid down the roof and into the tree line faster than I could line up a second shot. When it broke from my line of sight, I sprinted to the truck, tossed in my bag and rifle and slid into the driver's seat. Thankfully, the truck started on the first try and the engine roar to life. I flicked on the high beams, through the truck in reverse, and spun around as fast as I could. The shadows of the forest writhed in chaos as I sped down the trail, going too

fast for comfort. But my mind and nerves were shot. It was all I could do not to floor the pedal and speed away as quickly as I could. I was driving recklessly, taking curves too sharply and doing everything in my power not a fish tail into a tree when a thud landed on the roof of the truck, crumbling the aging metal. I screeched,

panicked and jerked the wheel, trying to throw it off. I spun the wheel too much and clipped an overgrown tree in the process. I tried to overcorrect myself, but only ended up slamming the side of the truck into the tree line. The truck crunched to a halt, the passenger's side

crumbling like a bent can, as tree branches snapped, sounding wooden gunshots through the forest. Whatever it was on the truck, it was flung to the side as we crashed. It flew off the hood and hit a tree further into the forest. Bones cracked, and when it fell to the dirt, it left a smear of white blood across the bark. I tried to start the truck again, but it just groaned and wouldn't turn over. With a half growl, half grown, the creature picked its bleeding body off the ground and glared at me. its neon eyes going even brighter as it shrieked and clawed toward me.

I grabbed my rifle and left the truck. I could follow the monster by its eyes alone, and I perched my rifle on the hood of my truck and took aim. It was slow as it crept toward me, giving me plenty of time to line up the perfect shot. I had my cross-airs centered right between its eyes, and I rested my finger on the trigger, a split second away from firing.

The creature led out another scream, much higher in pitch than the others, and my body jerked on its own accord. My hand spasmed and I squeezed the trigger. My shot went wide, flying off into the woods and thudden into an old tree. That had been my last bullet. My rifle only held four shots and I hadn't brought any extra ammo. I squeezed the trigger again and again. Terra gripped me as it slunk along the earth. leaving a milk-white trail of blood behind it.

I threw the gun at it and ran for the truck, for the knife in my bag. I wasn't going to let it get me. I wasn't going to end up as food as a mutilated corpse like my dad. I was going to kill it while myself if that failed. I wouldn't let it eat me. The thing was on me before I reached the cab.

It slammed into the side of the door, pinning me as I was halfway through the door. I lunch for my bag as the moment. monster opened its jaws wide and bit through the metal door like it was cardboard. It ripped a chunk free and spattered on the ground as it eyed me with rage and hunger. My hand closed around my bag and I tore the strings, grabbing the knife that was at the top of the bag. I slid it from its sheath as the creature was poised a bite. I slammed the knife to the hilt in the side of its face, just below its glowing blue eyes. It reared back in pain,

sending a mild pounding streak of pain splitting through my psyche. It stopped my heartbeat for a second as it jumped away from the truck and tried to dislodge the knife from its skull. I thought then that I'd landed a lucky blow and it was going to leave,

that I'd be able to get back in the truck and escape the forest. But more howls joined the first and two more of the monsters slunk out from the shadows. This is where I die. It was the only thought running through my head.

I couldn't run from them, couldn't fight them. I was going to die, but I wasn't going to make it easy for them. I grabbed my torn bag and ran into the woods as fast as I could. I was desperate to escape, but the howls and thuds of too many legs padding through the dirt behind me told me I wouldn't escape. They were close at my heel, and the only thing that saved my life that night was gravity,

and my own clumsiness. I tripped on a branch and tumbled to the ground as one of them sailed over me, mouths wide as the thousand needles closed around empty air. It hit the ground a few feet away and turned, eyeing me up. I backpedaled, but hit a tree as it lunged the second time. With nothing else in my hands, I brought my bag up as it clamped down,

throwing me to the forest floor. Its teeth closed around my bag, ripping the nylon to shreds. But my mini-shovel got lodged in its throat and it couldn't close its mouth all the way. Clothing and food poured out of its jaws and I scrambled out from under it. My hand hid something plastic

as I crawled away from the creature and even in the dark of the woods I couldn't fail to make out the bright orange handle of the flare gun. It was a long shot but it was the last weapon I had and I clung to it as I saw. stood up and ran away.

I didn't get very far as the monster chumped through the metal shovel like it was a toothpick and spat out the remains of my backpack. It howled in rage and ran for me. Knowing I had one shot, I stopped, dropping to my knees and fired. Daylight split the night as my eyesight was obliterated by the burning red flare as it streaked through the air and hit the monster in the face. Like it had been doused in kerosen The creature went up in a gulf of flames

Its flesh sizzled and popped like grease in a pan As it cracked and blackened in seconds It howled in agony Screaming such a high-pitched sound That my ears bled And I fell to my knees as my consciousness waned By the time I rose to my feet And whipped the blood from my ears

It was dead It was now nothing but a charred carcass burning under the crackling fire. The fair was still burned, illuminating the night, and showed me the other two creatures that had crept upon us. I was out of weapons and out of hope, but they stayed back, just at the treeline, watching me and the flaming carcass of their friend.

Fire was their weakness, it seemed, and even though I had no more flames, I bluffed them. It was the most rubeing. reckless thing I could have done, but I had no other options left. I raised the empty flare gun and they flinched. They took a step back and stayed low to the ground, like they were ready to bolt. I pressed my lock and took a step forward. They turned and ran as fast as they could, deeper into the forest, how long as they did so. As soon as they were out of sight, I ran myself. I ran as far as my legs would carry me, not caring about that.

the scrapes and scratches from the branches, weeping at my face. I only cared about my own survival. I hit the road leading to the highway and ran for hours. There were too many miles between me and the highway, but I didn't care. I just kept running. By the time I hit the pavement, it was daybreak and I knew I could stop running, but I kept on, because I had nothing else but the run. If I stopped, it would mean accepting what had happened, and I don't think my mind would survive. I ran until I hit the gas station we'd stopped at only three days ago, what felt like a lifetime ago. The gas station attendant took one look at me, out of breath, with bloody, torn clothing, and called the police. He was kind enough to give me all the water I wanted while I waited for

the police. I drank it in silence while I sat, huddled in and myself, trying to calm my raising heart and not to think. It took the cops nearly an hour to arrive from the nearest town, and when they did, I finally had to tell them my story. They didn't believe me, because, of course, they wouldn't. I sounded insane, raving about monsters and glowing blue eyes and white blood like a madman. However, the officer was patient and kind, taking down my statement word for word, despite the skepticism on his face.

I told them where to find the cabin, the truck and everything. They found it all right where I told them it would be. But there was no sign of the creature I'd killed, not even ashes. My dad's body was also gone. The only sign it had been there at all, the bloodstains. The police chalked it up to a wild animal attack, attributing my story to just be that, a story by a scared teenager who witnessed an animal kid.

his father. The reporters, the kids at school, hell, even my mother, they didn't believe me. But, I know the truth. I'm not crazy. There's something evil in that forest. Whatever it was, whatever those nightmares were, there's more than one of them, and they burn just fine. If you camp out in the Tennessee forest at night, be here. careful learn from my story and for the love of God carry a fire source