Creepy - I Was Dropped Off in the Woods for 3 Days

Episode Date: September 7, 2020

Don't stray from the path...***Written by UpsilonUndying***The Bloody Disgusting Podcast on iTunes: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-bloody-disgusting-podcast/id1528386150 ***The Bloody Disgusting Podcast on Spotify:https://open.spotify.com/show/7AcIAof1JPBxbdiIEX4mQC ***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Every week lead movie critic for Bloody Disgusting, Megan Navarro, the real queen of horror isina Dixon, and myself, will sit down and talk about our favorite horror movies, along with the news and trending topics in the world of horror and under an hour. Disclaimer, these are two very different shows. While creepy is a scripted horror narration podcast, the bloody disgusting podcast is discussion-based, no scripts. So basically, you'll hear what kind of a horror dork I really am. It would be a huge help for us if you could subscribe to the bloody disgusting podcast on your favorite app. We've even made it a part of the show for the listeners to be part of the discussion with a call-in number. It's a podcast all about our love of horror and trying to focus on the things we love the most in these times

that are filled with more than a little unease. That's the bloody disgusting podcast. Okay. Enough of me talking. Time to get to me talking. Now. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world.

Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you. you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents.

I was dropped off in the woods for three days. Written by Epsilon Undying. It was 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 a trip from the beginning. Sure. I liked haunting and camping, but this was extreme. Too extreme for my tastes. But it was tradition.

Passed down from father to son and 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 up my backpack, grabbed my 30-a-6 bolt-action rifle, and climbed into the cab with 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 piss and 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 ten miles from our cabin. The stench of unlatted and a cheap, convenient, sore hamburger would be the last remnants of civilization I'd see for the next three days. I mechanically swallowed my burger and slurped down the watery coke filled with too much ice as we turned off the highway and got on the rural back roads. It was 15 miles of dirt. 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. It would also be getting in a swimming pool for the summer. It was bribery, but I was going into my senior year in August and having a big pool with some of my popularity. It was vain, and I was doing this for mostly selfish reasons, but I also 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 wrap-round 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. I felt like I was intruding on hollow ground. I brushed off the shiver that clawed down my spine and buttoned 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, but a part of me was looking forward to the trip. Some primal part of me relished the opportunity to put all the survival skills I've been taught over the years to the test.

Before I could take a step to the cabin, my dad came around 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 surgeon voice. As he told me to hand him my backpack, I did so without question, and he immediately went inside, telling me to wait on the porch. I marched around the wood and sat in the rocking chair while my dad bustled around inside.

Pots and pans clanged and metal scraped against metal as you 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'd need for three days in the bag. You have a couple days of food, but it's only for an emergency. I also added a flare gun for an actual emergency. 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 days alone in the woods, and in the untamed wilderness. Anything could happen. He handed me back to bag, and it was stuff full. A lot had been added to it, so much that the strings strained against nylon fabric. I have to get onto my shoulder and thought it was much heavier than before.

It wasn't cumbersome or unwieldy. I could carry it all day, and I didn't think it would bother me. After he handed me the path, we unloaded the four-wheeler from the back of the truck, and we set off up to a small walking trail next to the house. From memory, the path went on for dozens of miles and followed the streams that sneak through the wilderness. We rode until the dirt road ended, and humanity fell away. into the deep woods.

The ride got bumpy as we wound around trees and over small rocks, and for a minute, I was afraid of hazards. My dad was an experience of tourists, though. They knew these woods well. A full hour later, we'd apparently reached the destination. It was a small clearing nestled under a copse. The remains of a previous campsite long since put out, rested in the center of the dirt's thrown up 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 cheekily. 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 any trouble. Yeah, because I'll be able to get a signal out here.

I 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 is really only there if you decide to give up, he said, laughing. With a parting wave, you 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 catalog my belongings. I ended the pack and carefully emptied its contents onto the ground. I had a pair of long junks, some extra socks and underwear, a box and matches, a haunting knife, and miniature shovel.

The Ziploc 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 roads and could circle back to the cabin on the main road. Dad told me it should take me at least two days, three if I didn't get lucky with my hunts. I had a few hours to kill before nightfall, and I wanted to get some miles 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'd never been this deep in the woods. It was quiet, only disturbed by a rustling of trees and the occasional scuffle of an animal nearby as I trudged over rough ground and rocks. Staying nearer on the trail would have defeated the purpose of the experience, so I stayed off as much as I could and only traveled 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 hunt.

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 and grab my rifle, chambered a cartridge, and double-checked to safety. My game was rabbit, since I didn't have the tools needed to string up and gut a deer. I set off and crept through the brush, looking for signs of a nearby den. Rabbits are most active at dawn or dusk, so it was a 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. the meat. It was a decent size 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 a mini shovel and dug a small pit in the center camp, spreading the loose dirt around the perimeter. I picked up a bundle of sticks and kindling, just clearing the site, which gave me ample dead wood to burn. So I piled a bunch in the ground with some dead leaves and twigs and got a nice fire going. When I had liked to work by, I cleaned the rabbit, making sure not to perforate the bowels and move the organs and skin. I walked away from the camp and buried the oafel and hide in a small hole next to a tree.

When the meat was cleaned, I rubbed some spices into the meat to remove some of the tasted game and skewered it with the stick I'd sharpened. While the meat cooked over makeshift spit, I tied my hammock to the only two trees close enough for it to work. By the time my bed was ready, I had to turn the meat and get ready to eat. The sprinkler seasoning garnished the piping hot meat and I dug in when it was fully cooked. I wasn't the best cook and I 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 to the swig for my canteen. I even had leftovers. I wrapped them up in cloth and sat them by the fire, ready to be eaten for breakfast in the morning,

with nothing else to do for the evening, and night having fallen an hour ago. I decided to turn in for the evening and getting early start in the morning. I had many miles to cover, and I 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. In the morning, I woke up refreshed from one of the best night's sleeps I'd ever had, and was eager to 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 and notice that the leftover rabbit was missing from next to the fire. I searched round for it in vain, thinking the wind might have caught it and blown it away from the camp. But there was nothing. I chalked it up to a wild animal, but that unsettled me. Deer don't often eat meat, and I didn't think a deer will 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 wasn't anything larger than a deer in these woods, so unless it was a coyote, it would have had to have been a deer.

But there were no tracks anywhere around my campsite. So no answers came to me. I packed up camp and went to relieve myself when I found something that confused and terrified the hell out of me. I went to piss by the tree where I buried the awful of the rabbit last night, and right where I'd 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 buried them deep enough not to 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. Someone would risk getting close to humans unless they were starving. I know a 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'd found were some deer tracks. about 100 yards from 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 rationalize the experience,

thinking it to be 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 or foreboding feelings, just nature alive and well in the midday sun. I managed to bake another rabbit, fairly on coincidence as it scampered 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 clean the rabbit, leaving the aweslin skin where they lay. If something wanted to eat them, then let it. After the rabble was clean, I wrapped the meat and cloth and stowed it away. I was hungry from the hike and the fact that my breakfast had been stolen that morning, but I still 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 the rocky mountain 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 embraced the trees next to the rock and assured I could set up my hammock. I readied my campsite, built a roaring fire twice as large as one last night just to scare away any nearby animals. and cooked 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 still 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 and the wind,

not even crickets. 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 any sound I could. There was nothing but the wind. The fire had died out, leaving only coals that sparked 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 against the tree. I could grab it in seconds and there was a round in the chamber. But I couldn't reach from my gun. Couldn't do anything other than stare straight ahead and try not to move an inch. because I realized something was watching me. It started as a tickle of paranoia on the back of my neck as my hair stood straight on end, but it grew to fear as sweat beat it 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 hard to describe the feeling, the anger that was directed toward me that was on a primal level. Something instinctual. Right alongside the fear of being alone in the dark. I do that feeling too. The presence persisted for a few minutes and didn't fade. Sweat poured down my face 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 leapt from my hammock hitting the ground hard. I ignored the pain radiating from my arms and scrambled for 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 and 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 the 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 strain of keeping them open. I stumbled to my feet, kicking out the fire and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I left the hammock tied to where I was and set off towards the stream. I was going to follow it to the trail, and then I'd be back at the cabin before nightfall. It took an hour walking, stumbling over uneven terrain until I found the stream. And from there, I found the worn trail. I followed it for 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 me putting one foot in front of the other. I was 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 recognize parts 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 walking and rolled my ankle on a small rock that jutted out from the side of the trail. I lost my balance and cleaned off and hit my head on a nearby tree branch.

Everything went black. I woke at dusk. I'd been out for a couple 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 monsters never appeared during the day, so I thought I was safe in the light. But the light was running out, and I still had a mile or so until I reached the cabin. I picked myself up off the ground and dusted the dirt off.

I grabbed my rifle, checked that it was loaded, and flicked the safety off. My fingers set a millimeter from the trigger, and I kept my head on a sort of. swively jogged the trail back to the cabin. Her leaf swept through me when I saw the wrap-round porch come into view. I nearly saved my knees as I reached the cabin, just as the last orange blood from the purple skyline. I had made it back. Dad! I yelled as I ran up on the porch.

Dad, we got to go! I ran around the front porch and stood stock still as my blood ran cold. The door to the cabin was 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-chickered flannel I'd gotten him for his birthday.

It was the only way 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, and the stench was ungodly. A mixture of fresh meat and the iron tang of blood filled the air. I clutched at my stomach and hurled bile onto the wooden floorboards. Sinking to my knees as my throat burned raw as I heaved my guts on. Absolute panic gripped my sanity. I took it for a joy ride as I tried and failed to come to terms with the fact that my father

was dead. I'd been ripped at pieces by whatever was outside, stalking me in the dark. I 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. The night had fallen. I scrambled to the driver's side of the pickup and the inked the door 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. They weren't there. The only place I could be was in the pocket of my dad's jeans. 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. No, 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 a breakdown 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 in that moment. I stepped forward, an inch at a time. 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 to the side and dug through them. My hands clutched around the metal key, and I yanked my prize-free, nearly stumbling from the force. With a key in my hand, I bolted from the porch, back to the truck.

I just wish I'd been faster. As I reached the open cab, flesh thudded against 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 fours like an animal. Its skin was pale, white like paper, and thick and rough, almost leathery. But what marked it as being something inhuman. and was its head.

It bore ethereal blue eyes that lit up the night, and a large angular face that tapered a point near its mouth, its mouth which opened, revealing thousands of minuscule needle-point, silver teeth and rose stretching down its throat. The creature's eyes never left mine and glinted with malicious intelligence. It upturned its too much.

Too many teeth into a gruesome smile. I just reacted. I raised my rifle and fired. The bullet whizzed past its head and took it in the shoulder. Bright white blood spurted 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 recoiled from the shock. It slid down the roof and ended 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.

The truck started on the first try and the engine roared to life. I flicked on the high beams, threw 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 to fish tail into a tree when a thud landed on the roof of the truck, crumpling the aging metal, 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 overcruck myself but only ended up slamming the side of the truck into the tree line.

The truck crunched to a halt. The passengers had crumpling like a bent can as tree branches snapped, sounding wooden gunshots through the forest. Whatever was on the truck was flung to the side as we crashed. It flew off the hood and hit the tree further into the forest. Bones cracked. And when I fell to the dirt, it left a smear of white blood across the bottom. I tried to start the truck again, but it just groaned and wouldn't turn over. With a half-grawl, half-grown, the creature picked its bleeding body off the ground and glared at me. Its neon eyes glowing even bright as a shrieked don't crawled towards 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 the 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-air centered right between its eyes, and I rested my finger on the trigger, a split second away from firing. The creature let out another scream. higher pitch than the other, my body jerked on its own accord. My hand spasm and I squeezed the trigger.

The shot went wide, flying off into the woods and thudding into an old tree. Last bullet. My rifle only held four shots and I hadn't brought any extra ammo. I squeezed the trigger again, and again. Terror gripped me as it slunk along the earth, leaving the 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 his food. I was going to get a corpse like my dad. I was going to kill it.

Or myself, if that failed, it was on me before I reached the cab. It slammed into the side of the door, pinning me as I was halfway at the door. I launched from my bags and monster opened its jaws wide and bit through the metal door like it was cardboard. I ripped a chunk free and spabbed. and spat it to the ground as it eyed me with rage and hunker. 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 his feet as the creature was poised to bite.

I jammed the knife to the health in the side of its face just below its glowing blue eyes. It reared back in pain, sending a mind-pounding shriek of pain splitting through my psyche. It stopped my heartbeat for a second as it jumped up. I jumped away from the truck and tried to dislodge the knife stuck in its skull. Thought then that I'd landed a lucky plow and was just going to leave. That I'd be able to get back to the truck and escape the forest. Howells joined the first. And two more, the monsters slunk from out of the shadows.

This is where I die. It was the only thought running through my head. I couldn't run from them. I 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 I ran into the woods as fast as I could. I was desperate to escape.

But the hollas and thuds of too many legs patting through the dirt behind me told me I wouldn't escape. They were close to my heels. 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. Mouth wide as a 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 a lunge the second time. With nothing else in my hands, I brought my bag up as it clamped down, throwing into the force floor.

Its deep closed around my bag, ripping the nylon to shreds. But my mini shovel got lodged and it's strong and it couldn't put its mouth all the way. and food poured out from its jaws, and I scrambled out from under it. I handed 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 with a flare gun. A long shot, but it was the last weapon I had, and I clung to it as I stood up and ran away. I didn't get far as the monster chomp through the metal shovel like it was a toothpick and spat out the remains in my backpack.

It howled in rage and ran for me. I had one shot. I stopped running, dropped to my knees, and fired. Daylight split the night as my eyesight was obliterated by the burning red flare that streets through the end hit the monster in your face. Like it had been doused in kerosene, 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 and aiding, screaming such a high-pitched sound in my ears flat.

And I fell to my knees as my consciousness waned. By the time I rose to my feet, wiped the blood from my ears, it was dead. It was now nothing but a charred carcass burning under the crackling fire. The flare still burned, illuminating the night. And showed me the other two creatures that had crept up on us. I was out of weapons and out of hope. But they stayed back, just at the trouble. Watching me and the flaming carcass of their friends,

The fire was their weakness, it seemed. And even though I had no more flares, I bluffed them, this is the most 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 luck and took a step forward.

They turned and ran as fast as I could deeper into the forest, howling as they did so. As soon as they were out of his side, I ran myself. I ran as fast as my legs were carrying me, not caring about the scrapes or scratches from the branches whipping in 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 just happened. And I didn't think my mind would survive. I ran until I hit the gas station we'd stopped at only three days ago, which 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 in silence while I sat huddled in on myself, trying to calm my racing heart and not to think. I took the cops nearly an hour to arrive from the nearest town, and when they did, finally had to tell them my story. They didn't believe me, because of course they wouldn't. I sounded insane, raving about monsters with glowing blue eyes and white blue.

Blood like a madman. However, the officer was patient and kind, taking down my statement word for word, despite the skepticism in his face. I told him where to find the cabin, the truck, everything. They found it all right where I told him 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 that had been there at all were the blood stains. The police chalked it up to a wild animal attack, attributing my story to be just that. A story by a scared teenager who witnessed an animal kill his father. The reporters. The kids at school.

Hell, even my own mother. They didn't believe me, but I know the truth. I'm not crazy. There's something evil in that forest. Whatever it is, whatever those fucking 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 careful. Learn from my story. And for the love of God, carry a fire source.

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