Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 3 Truly Terrifying DEEP WOODS Horror Stories | Scary Forest Stories

Episode Date: August 7, 2024

These are 3 Truly Terrifying DEEP WOODS Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ ►C.J. Darcy Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:31:05 Story 2 00:47:02 Story 3 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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There's some weird, creepy stuff out in these woods. I know because I've seen it myself. A lot of hikers and campers go missing around here. Some return with stories you wouldn't believe. Others never come back. I'm one of those people. I went missing for four days and am lucky to still be alive. If you're ever out in the woods and you hear you.

sirens, run. So, if you've ever thought about living in a fire tower, it's not like a long vacation in the national parks. In reality, you end up carrying water, food, books, and other supplies up 11 flights of stairs, all to live in a 10 by 10-10 room and sleep on a bunk bed that's been used by a hundred other people. Yes, the view from the walk-around deck is spectacular, and if you're good with being on your own, it might be a good fit for you, but today Today was a very bad day. I'm standing here in a tiny room, 120 feet up in the air, watching rain come down in buckets. Thunder is booming, and the wind must be upwards of 60 miles an hour. So the whole tower is swaying back and forth. My dog, who's terrified of loud noises,

is hiding under the bed. To top it all off, I left my boots on the porch, and they're now filled with at least six inches of water. On the positive side, after the After a heavy rain like this, I won't have to worry about fires. On the other hand, there's going to be a lot of debris to clean up. The rain continued for the rest of the day and on through the night. When I woke the next morning, sunlight was peeking through the clouds. I had to coax my dog, Molly, a three-year-old border collie I got from a dog shelter when she was six months old, out from under the bed with scrambled eggs and bacon bits mixed

in with her dog food. colleagues are working dogs, so they don't like being left alone for long periods. They like to be close to their person, and she's an escape artist. She can open a closed door and climb over a six-foot fence. Luckily, I work for the Forest Service. It's a take-your-dog to work kind of job, and she's proven herself to be a valuable part of the team. Once, when I was clearing a trail, two panicked parents ran up to me. They said they were hiking with their nine-year-old son, Daniel, But when they turned around, he was gone. They called and searched for over an hour before seeking help.

I had them take me back to where they'd last seen him. And Molly saved the day. Dogs can hear much better than we can. So I blew the emergency whistle I had in my gear and had us all stay completely quiet. Molly must have heard him calling for help because she took off into the woods. After a 40-minute trek through the undergrowth, we found him, exhausted and pretty scratched up, but okay.

I walked with the family back to their car, and while we were walking, I asked Daniel what happened. He said he was following his parents on the trail and looking for some cool rocks for his collection. Suddenly, he saw something move beyond the trees, so he stopped to get a better look. About 10 feet off the trail, he saw a giant white owl, just sitting there, staring right at him.

Daniel took a few steps off the trail to get a little bit. closer. The huge bird fluttered its wings and hopped a little further into the woods. Daniel had almost caught up to it when it disappeared. In its place was a small black stone. Daniel said the stone had strange markings on it. He picked it up, put it in his pocket and turned around to head back towards his parents. But instead of seeing the trail, he saw a high rock wall going at least 50 feet straight up. He said no matter which way he went, he couldn't find his way back to the trail. When Daniel started getting tired, he remembered to stay in one place to make it easier for people to find him. So he sat down under a large tree and called for help, but no one came. And here's

the really strange part. The boy had been lost for maybe two and a half hours at most, but Daniel said he was gone for three days. He said he saw the sun go down three times, and he never heard anyone calling for him. But every few hours, he would hear something big walking through the woods. Daniel couldn't see what it was. He said he was too scared to look. He just hid behind the tree and tried to stay quiet. The only thing he saw was Molly running towards him right before he got rescued. I asked Daniel if I could see the stone he found. But after searching through his pockets, he couldn't find it. He said he must have lost it, over there. The way Daniel said over there made it sound like it was another planet. We got back to their car. They thanked

Molly and me again and headed home. But the parents must have called the local newspaper, because the following week, a reporter came out to take some photos of Molly. They put her picture under the headline, Hero Dog finds Missing Boy. She's been a bit of a local celebrity after that. Sometimes a hiker will recognize her. And whenever we're in town, she always gets a free scoop of ice cream, and Molly seems to really enjoy the forest ranger lifestyle, but she's afraid of loud noises like thunder, so I couldn't really blame her for hiding under the bed during last night's storm. I spent the morning after the storm picking up branches from around the base of the tower. Once that was clear, Molly and I checked the trails. There's really only one main trail this

far out into the forest. It enters the clearing by the fire tower from the south, then keeps going farther north. There are a few small offshoots and overlooks into the valley, but they're all dead ends. I found a few small trees blocking the path, and those were easy enough to clear by hand. As I tossed those into the woods, Molly helped by dragging away some of the smaller branches. A few miles from the fire tower, a huge pine tree had come down right across the trail. That was a bigger job, involving a chainsaw. So Molly and I took a break for an early lunch. I was was sitting on a log, finishing up a bag of chips, when I noticed Molly was acting strange. Ordinarily, when I'm eating something shareable, Molly will be staring at me with the intensity

of a thousand white-hot suns. But she was looking off trail towards the valley. Her head was tilted to the side, and she was whining softly. What is it, girl? I stopped chewing to listen, but I didn't hear anything. Molly and I are always out in the woods. She completely ignores rabbits and squirrels and barely gives deer a second look. So I thought maybe a mountain lion was passing by. Molly took a few more steps into the woods. When I walked up next to her, I could see she was trembling. Following her gaze, I noticed an overgrown path,

an offshoot from the main trail that I'd never seen before. Maybe that fallen pine tree had blocked it from view. Curious now, I carefully headed down what remained of the old trail. I knew it couldn't go very far, because unless I'd gotten completely turned around, the path should end at a steep cliff overlooking the valley. Ten minutes later, I came to the end of the trail. Blocking the way were two huge boulders with a ten-foot opening between them. The opening was blocked by a massive deadfall of tangled branches and small trees. There was no way around. On the other side of the boulders, there was a steep

drop-off into the valley. What the hell is this? I must. mumbled. The whole thing looked strange. It looked old, sharp, and dangerous. For some reason, it reminded me of a Stephen King book, Pet Cemetery, when the old guy and the new neighbor climb over a huge deadfall at night to bury a dead cat. After standing there for a few minutes, I decided to head back to the main trail to get back to work and start cutting up that fallen pine tree. I'd made up my mind to ask Chester if he knew anything about the old hidden path and the massive blockade of piled up branches. Chester had been a park ranger in this area for at least 25 years. He knew this park, inside and out. If anyone would know about it, he would. I started walking

back when I realized Molly wasn't with me. I turned to see her about 80 feet back, standing perfectly still, staring at the deadfall. Her head was tilted like she was listening to something in the distance. All of a sudden she took a running leap up onto the deadfall and started climbing. No, no, Molly, come, I yelled, running back towards her. But she didn't stop. By the time I got back to the deadfall, her tail was just disappearing over the top. I ran around the side of one of the boulders still calling for her. But I couldn't see anything, only a sheer drop.

I heard Molly bark from the other side. But when she barked again, a few minutes later, she sounded much farther away. I ran back, to the main trail to grab my pack with my. supplies. I quickly hid the chainsaw and tools off trail in case any hikers with children came through. I rushed back to the deadfall and started climbing. It was only about 15 feet high, but it was dangerous. A couple of times branches broke under my weight, and I almost fell through. This is a great way to break a leg, I thought to myself. Reaching the top, I looked down to find a small path at the bottom of the deadfall. It looked like it was carved right out of the

side of the mountain. On the left side of the little two-foot path was the rocky face of the mountain. On the right side was a sheer drop-off. I swung my leg over and started climbing down the other side of the deadfall. If I fell now and missed the path, I'd enjoy a 200-foot drop straight down to the valley floor. No wonder they blocked this trail. Breathing a sigh of relief, my boots finally hit solid ground. I used the high vantage point to check for any signs of Molly. But all I could see was the steep trail I was standing on, slowly descending down the mountain and into the tree line. There were no clearings that I could see in the valley, just dense forest. So I started down.

I had to watch my step because every once in a while a chunk of the trail had fallen away, and there would be a two-foot section of open air. But about halfway down, I began to notice a slight haze along the base of the trees. The closer I got to the valley floor, the more the light mist turned into a heavy fog. It was cool and damp at the bottom of the trail. The temperature must have dropped 10 or 15 degrees. I called out for Molly, but the sound of my voice seemed to fade in the mist. So I blew my emergency whistle.

Molly would hear that from a long way off. I listened for any sign of her but heard nothing. Looking down, I noticed paw prints in the damp ground, heading into the forest. So I followed. Thirty minutes later, I lost Molly's trail. I decided to walk in a large circle and try to look for any paw prints. I marked my starting point with a piece of rope tied to a massive oak tree. After 45 minutes of walking through dense forest, I realized I was lost.

It was hard to see ten feet in front of me through the heavy fog, and I started to get the feeling that something was watching me. Shaking off the paranoia, I blew my whistle again to see if Molly could find. me. The sound might also scare off any mountain lions. Then I sat down on a log for a drink. I was putting the canteen away when a man stepped out from the trees. He was young, maybe in his 20s, thin, in tattered clothes with an old backpack slung over his shoulders. Stardled, I said, Hey, I'm looking for my dog. Are you okay? Without saying a word, he put his hand up to cover his mouth. Signaling for me to keep quiet, he pointed into the trees. I felt the vibration through

the soles of my boots. It was a ways off, but every four or five seconds I could feel the ground shake slightly. Then I heard it, a soft boom. The sound would repeat every few seconds. It was like something huge was walking through the valley, and it was getting closer. I looked over to the guy and saw that he had plastered himself behind a large, tree. And that's when I heard the siren. It was so loud. I actually fell back onto the ground, and the sound was coming from above the tree line. This thing, whatever it was, seemed close now. I stayed low. The ground shook with each step. There was a fallen log on the ground next to me, and I saw it roll away to the left. It was the next blast of the siren that got me moving.

It was so loud that I could feel my eardrums ringing. It sounded like it was almost, on top of me. I scrambled towards the nearest tree and held onto it. My face pressed into the bark. Then there was silence. Everything was completely still. I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. And then it was moving again, moving away from us. I thought about Molly, how she was so afraid of loud noises. She must be as far away from here as possible. I hope she was okay. I looked over to where the guy had been hiding, but he was gone. Legs shaking. I slid down to the ground and tried to catch my breath. It was then that Molly's head poked through the underbrush. Molly, man, am I glad to see you? I patted my leg for her to come, but she didn't move. It's okay, girl. Come on, let's get out of here.

But Molly stayed where she was, whining softly. She looked back into the brush, then took a small step towards me, and something came with her out of the bushes. It was a little girl with long dark hair, maybe nine years old. She was wearing a Rugrats T-shirt, and she was clutching Molly's fur like it was a lifeline in the ocean. I could see the girl was scared, so I spoke as quietly as I could. Hey there, I see you've met Molly, she's a good dog. The girl looked down at Molly and then back up at me. What do you say? The three of us find our way out of here? She stood there motionless for a full minute, then gave a slight nod. Okay, good. You hold on to Molly so she doesn't get lost. Can you take my hand?

I stood where I was and held my hand out toward her. After a moment she slowly came toward me and took it. Grabbing my backpack, I pulled out a fresh water bottle and offered it to the girl. I bet you're thirsty. Would you like some water? But she just stood there, staring at me. Okay, not right now. We'll try again later. Then I looked down at Molly and said, Let's go home, girl. She sniffed at the air and then headed into the forest. We followed close behind.

Twice more we heard something huge walking through the trees, once from a distance and once too close for comfort. We stayed silent and unmoving until the danger passed. We walked for hours. I was sure we'd never find our way out. We eventually decided to sit down to rest, and I was once again trying to get the girl to take some water. Suddenly Molly jumped to her feet. Her head tilted to the side like she was listening to something in the distance.

Then she took off straight into the woods. I grabbed the girl's hand and we ran after her. Whenever Molly got too far ahead, she would stop and wait for us. She'd keep barking till we caught up. Then she'd take off running again. When I saw the rope tied around the tree I'd used for a mark. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was only a little farther till we reached the trail that led up and out of the valley. As we came out of the mist, I couldn't believe my eyes. Chester,

I mumbled. There was park ranger Chester Miles, with a relieved look on his face. He had a length of rope tied around his waist. Jim, thank God. Come on, he said. Hurry! I picked up the girl and we made our way back up the path carved out of the cliff face. As we climbed, I told Chester about the hiker I saw in the valley. He said, he'll have to find his own way out. We're not going back there. The only reason you three got out is because Molly heard my emergency whistle. When we got to the top, Chester took off the rope and tied it around the girl's waist, then told her to climb over the deadfall slowly and carefully. We climbed up right behind her. I carried Molly under one arm. When we made it to solid ground on the other side, we stopped to catch our breath. All of a sudden,

I was incredibly thirsty. I pulled out the water bottles, gave one to the girl, and we both drank until the bottles were empty. Easy, easy there. You don't want to make yourself sick. A little at a time, Chester said, taking a sip from his canteen. Jim, I see you and Molly have a new traveling companion. Now who have we here? Chester asked. I just shook my head. She hasn't said a word, I replied. That's okay. Let's all get back to the fire tower and we'll figure things out from there. Chester replied with a smile. Molly took the lead with the girl following close behind. Chester, I said quietly. If you've got your phone with you, call for an ambulance now, because it'll take them over an hour to reach us. Chester shook his head. No calls. He pointed

towards the girl. I'll explain later. I looked over at him, wondering what was going on, but I trusted Chester. He's a good guy. So I just nodded and kept walking. By the time we got back to the fire tower, the sun was setting. We were all exhausted. The girl refused to go more than three feet away from Molly, so we made a campfire in the clearing below the tower. We cooked up some food and set up a small tent for her and Molly to sleep in.

Chester and I sat by the campfire and had a couple of cold beer. When we were sure the girl was sound asleep, I turned to him and asked, So, what the hell is going on? She needs to get checked out by a doctor. And her family needs to be informed now. How long do you think you've been gone? Chester asked. What does that have to do with anything?

I replied. Just answer the question, he said. I sighed. Okay, I guess I was gone for maybe eight or nine hours. Chester shook his head. you were gone for four days. That's not funny, Chester. I'm not laughing, he said.

When you didn't report in for three days after the storm, Kenny assumed that the storm knocked out the equipment again. Like it did last April. And with all the power outages and flooding, we had our hands full for the last few days. But when I heard Kenny mention that you hadn't called in, I dropped everything and came right over, because I knew exactly where you were.

How? I started. but Chester cut me off. No, let me finish, he said. There's something wrong with that valley. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but let's just say it goes to another place. Not always, but sometimes it does.

When I first started here as a new park ranger, about six months in, a couple of hikers disappeared, boyfriend and girlfriend. They were heading down into the valley to camp for the weekend. They never came back. There was a big search. It went on for over three weeks.

Never found anything. Not a tent or a backpack or a shoe. Nothing. Like they just vanished clean off the earth. About a year later, a 12-year-old girl goes missing about 50 miles from here. Her name was Allison Beckett, if I remember correctly. Anyways, this search party was massive. Always is when a child goes missing.

There must have been 400 people out looking for her. they found nothing. Six weeks later two women were hiking through our valley, and they found her, huddled up against a tree, brought her back, called her parents. She was okay. But remember, she got lost 50 miles away. So how did she end up here, in the valley? Our mayor held a little celebration to thank the two women and present them with an award. Allison and her family came down to attend. There was food and drink. Everyone was happy. Just for a moment, I happened to catch Allison sitting by herself at a picnic table. So I sat down and asked her what really happened. She said that her family was hiking up to a waterfall, and her little brothers were arguing. Her parents stopped

to separate them. And while they were stopped, Allison kept walking. She said she was tired of listening to her brothers argue. She went around a curve in the path, and off the side of the trail, about 50 feet into the woods, was a merry-go round, a full-sized merry-go round, with lights and music and everything. She said she stepped off the trail, walked over to it, and held out her hand. Allison said she just wanted to touch it, to see if it was real, and as soon as her hand touched the carousel, she was standing in a different forest, and everything was covered and missed. There were three more disappearances over the next five years, and that's when I decided to block off the trails that led to the valley. You did that? I asked. You made the deadfall.

Yes, and I don't regret it. Because the disappearances fell off after that, Chester continued. I blocked off every entrance, and then I hid the trails leading to the valley as best I could. Things were pretty quiet here for a long time, but four years ago, a little boy went missing. His name was Jackson Perry. He was six years old at the time. And again, a massive search. Locals, reporters, even some people from out of state came to help. We looked everywhere, brought in search dogs too. And you better believe I searched those hidden trails,

even climbed up the deadfalls to look. There was nothing there. Five days later I found him sitting at the base of that same deadfall we climbed over today. I'd already looked there three times, so I check him for broken bones, and he looks okay except for some scrapes and some scrapes and some. scratches. I pick him up and carry him back to the search party. And while it's just me and Jackson, I ask him what happened. He says he was playing hide and seek with his sister, and he was hiding

behind a big rock. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his sister was gone, and he was in the woods. And he couldn't see very far because there was smoke everywhere, like when there's a fire. He got scared and started crying. Then he heard a big noise, kind of like a fire truck. It made his ears hurt. The ground started shaking. Then he says, a giant picked him up and carried him over the trees. He said it was like flying. Jackson said he could see a long way. Then the giant set him down on top of a big pile of sticks, and he climbed down and sat at the bottom. And after a while, I came and found him. When I brought him back to his parents, they rushed him to the hospital. The doctor said the only thing wrong with Jackson, other than the some cuts and scratches was a burst eardrum. The doctor said that could happen from being close to a loud blast of noise. I think Chester noticed that I went pale after that last story. He stopped to open another beer. I asked him the only question I could think of. But why don't you want to take the girl to the hospital to get checked out? We have to find out who she is. I know who she is,

Chester said quietly. Her name is Olivia Hernandez. She's eight years old, and she went missing over 20 years ago. How? I started again, but Chester interrupted me. You were gone for four days. Time is different over there. How could you possibly know it's her, I said. I looked for that girl for weeks. I guess I never really stopped looking for her. I memorized her picture, and I recognized the Rugrats T-shirt she was wearing when she got lost. It's faded now, but it's the same shirt, and I remember her father Miguel. Long after they called off the search, he was up here searching side by side with me. Every weekend and every day off, he was out in these woods, looking for Olivia.

He said he knew she was still alive. He knew it. But 20 years, I stammered. How could she survive? What did she do for food and water? And how did she keep away from the things that live over there? I don't know, Chester said. But at first light, I'm going back to base. I'll find contact info for her.

parents. They'll have kept it current. Parents of missing children always keep their contact information current, no matter how much time passes. I'm going to have them get out here as fast as possible. I guarantee, if they're still breathing, they'll be here by tomorrow night. In the meantime, she stays here with you, and before you start to argue with me, let me say this. That little girl has been through more than we could ever imagine. If we take her in, there will have to be a report. The press will show up, and eventually they'll figure out her story doesn't make sense. They'll be all over her and her parents for months. It'll be a crap show, and if you need another reason, take a look at her sleeping with Molly. I think she feels safe for the first time, in a long,

long time. Do you want to take her away from Molly and leave her at the hospital with a bunch of strangers? Let me answer that for you. No, you don't. It's not right. Let her stay with Molly till her parents get here. I thought for a moment about what happened to me, and about what people would say if I told them what happened to me. They'd think I was crazy. Then I thought about Olivia. Chester was right to keep things quiet.

Okay, I said. Olivia will stay here with me and Molly until you come back with her parents. I fell asleep in the chair by the fire, and by the time I woke up, Chester was already gone. He'd left a note under a rock by my chair. I'll be back by tonight, was all it said. I spent the day watching Olivia play with Molly in the clearing. And true to his word, by five that evening,

Chester called to say he was waiting at the airport to pick up Olivia's mother, Maria Hernandez. She was flying in alone because her husband was finishing his last round of chemo and was too weak to travel. When I heard the truck pull up two hours later, I waited at the head of the dirt path from the parking area. A few minutes later, they came walking up. As soon as I saw Maria, I knew it was Olivia's mother.

I could see the resemblance in her face. She was visibly nervous as she asked, Where is she? I pointed to the clearing. Olivia was sitting with Molly and weaving dandelions into her collar. Maria gasped and clutched at her heart. Oh my God, can this be real? she whispered. She walked slowly towards the girl.

Olivia, she whispered. It sounded like a prayer. Olivia stood looking at the woman for what felt like an eternity. Then she ran, throwing her arms around her mother, her little hand still clutching a flower. Then Maria was full on weeping, still holding tight to Olivia. I had tears in my eyes, and I looked over to see that Chester did too. It was one of the best moments of my life.

I'll never forget it. After things calmed down, we all talked for a while. Maria thanked us over and over, saying she could never repay us for what we had done. Olivia still hadn't spoken, but she held tight to her mom. Chester drove mother and daughter to the airport. Maria wanted to bring Olivia back home to see her father as soon as possible. She said that seeing his daughter would be the best medicine he could ever have. After they were gone, I sat by the fire, thinking about everything that had

happened. Molly was sound asleep at my feet. Weeks went by and things settled back down. Then I got a call from Chester, asking if I wanted to meet for dinner in town. We met at the local diner. They had good burgers, and there was a patio outback that allowed dogs. After the waitress took our order, Chester said, I got a letter today from Maria Hernandez. She said her husband's cancer is in remission. She wished we could have seen the look on his face when he saw Olivia. It was like a huge weight he had been carrying for 20 years, had been lifted from him. She also said Olivia's coming out of her shell. She's talking again, and Maria said she took my advice about keeping things quiet. She just wanted her family back. In fact,

she's homeschooling Olivia right now, because she can't bear to be apart from her. A few weeks ago, they took Olivia to the local dog shelter and let her pick out a puppy. She named it Molly, and the puppy sleeps with her every night. Maria also said that Olivia's birthday is next week, and she and her husband would be honored if we would come celebrate with them, because they have a lot to celebrate right now. Chester looked at me and asked, so what do you think? You two up for a road trip. Always, I replied, grinning. Molly looked up at the words road trip. and woofed her agreement. After dinner we walked out to the parking lot.

Chester got in his truck, waved, and pulled out onto the road. I stood there for a minute, looking down at Molly. There was a family, I said, with a giant hole right through the heart of it, and you patched it up, Molly. You did this. She stared up at me, head tilted to the side. I gave her a scratch behind the ear and said, "'Job well done, girl, let's go home.' The end.

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At participating U.S. Taco Bell locations for a limited time and while supplies last. I never thought I'd find myself heading back into the wild, especially not to a place as mysterious as Diatlov Pass. My name is Dan, and these days, my best friend is my best friend is my friend. dog, Colt. He's not just any dog. He's a hero who served with me on the police force before I retired. Now it's just him and me against the world. Or so it felt until my old buddy Steve called. Dan, you've got to get out of the house, man. Come with me to Diatloff Pass. It's going to be an adventure, just like the old days, minus the paperwork. Steve always knew how to mix excitement with a touch

of madness. His voice crackled through the phone like he was right next to me, pulling me out of my slump. Despite myself, I felt a spark of curiosity. I hadn't left my house much since retiring, except for walks with Colt. Steve, that place is not just any camping site. You know the stories. I replied, trying to sound cautious, but a part of me was already packing bags in my mind. Yeah, yeah, the stories make it even better. Imagine the thrill, Dan. Plus, we'll be We're not rookies. He laughed, brushing off the danger as he always did. I couldn't help but smile. Steve could always make the darkest alley seem like a stage lit up for a grand adventure. After hanging up, I looked down at Colt, who was watching me with his keen, intelligent eyes.

Looks like we're going on a trip, buddy, I said. He wagged his tail, almost as if he understood. Maybe he did. The next day was a blur of preparation. Packing felt strange. like I was dusting off a part of my life I had put away. Warm clothes, camping gear, and of course, Colts essentials. We were ready to go before I knew it. Our journey started with a long drive to a small, remote Russian village. It felt like traveling back in time. Wooden houses scattered around snowy fields,

smoke curling up from chimneys, and a silence that spoke of both peace and secrets. The villagers eyed us with curiosity, mixed with a hint of suspicion. They knew where we were headed. Andy, our tour guide, was a young, eager man with a thick accent and a bright smile. Welcome. I prepare everything for journey.

Snowmobiles are ready, yes? He announced proudly, gesturing towards the sleek machines behind him. His enthusiasm was infectious, and even I felt a thrill looking at the snowmobiles and the untouched white landscape beyond. Steve was in his element, chatting with Andy and loading our gear onto the sled attached to of the snowmobiles. I took care of Colt, making sure his special coat was snug against the cold. He seemed excited, his nose twitching at the new sense, his eyes bright. As we left the village, the reality of where we were going hit me. Diatlov Pass was not just another wilderness. It was

a place of mystery, where a group of hikers had lost their lives in strange circumstances many years ago. But as the cold wind brushed against my face and Colt sat close by looking as fearly, as ever, I felt alive. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was part of something adventurous again, something bigger than the small world I had confined myself to. Tonight we would camp where they did, under the same stars surrounded by the same silent, snowy peaks. I wasn't sure what awaited us, but I knew we were in it together. As the sun dipped below the icy horizon, the whole world seemed to hold its breath. The pass, with its hauntly. beauty, felt alive, as if the snow and trees were watching us set up our little camp. We were

far from everything and everyone, except for the eerie memories of those who had never left this place. Steve and I, along with Andy, managed to set up our tents quickly, Colt, ever vigilant, patrolled around, sniffing and sometimes growling softly under his breath. He was uneasy, and seeing him like that made a chill run down my spine that wasn't from the cold. Animals sense things we don't, Andy had said earlier, and his words echoed in my head now. As darkness wrapped around us like a thick blanket, we gathered around the fire. The flames crackled and danced, throwing shadows that twisted and turned on the snow. It should have been cozy, just like the camping trip Steve and I used to take.

But tonight, each snap of a twig, each whisper of the wind seemed loaded with warning. We tried to keep the mood light. Steve joked about old times and Andy shared stories about the mountains. But amidst our laughter, a strange sound cut through the night air, a sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It was a low, haunting melody, like a flute playing a tune meant to lure or to warn. I felt my heart skip a beat. Do you guys hear that? I asked, glancing around.

Steve shook his head, looking puzzled, while Andy stopped mid-sentence. his face turning serious. Music, here, he whispered, and there was fear in his eyes that made my stomach turn. The music grew louder, weaving through the trees, a sound no wind could mimic. Colt started to bark, his body tense and alert. Something was very wrong.

I reached for my radio, trying to contact anyone who might be out there, but all I got was static. And then, the compass Andy had been playing with earlier, started spinning wildly. It was as if the very earth beneath us was shifting, refusing to be still. No good. This place, it has bad spirits, Andy muttered, looking at the compass with wide eyes. We should not have come.

But it was too late for regrets. We were here, and the night was only getting darker. Suddenly, out in the distance, lights appeared. They were like nothing I'd ever seen before, red orbs floating above the ground, moving in patterns that made my head spin. They flickered and darted through the trees as if they were watching us, deciding what to do. Colt growled louder, and I felt a primal fear rise in my chest.

We need to stay together, I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Steve nodded, his usual jokes gone. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as we watched the lights dance. The night air grew colder, and the music played on. I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it felt close, too close. Then the unthinkable happened. The music seeped into our radios,

a clear, sharp melody that was impossible to ignore. It filled the camp, drowning out the sound of our breaths. Colt barked furiously, and I grabbed my flashlight, shining it into the darkness beyond our camp. There, in the beam of light, were footprints in the snow. They circled our tents, overlapping and weaving,

a dance of shadows and threats. They weren't just human. Some were too large, too misshapen. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my shaking hands. We need to be ready for anything, I told Steve and Andy. We agreed to keep watching shifts through the night, each of us on edge, listening to the haunting melody that refused to let us rest. As I settled down with Colt by my side, I knew one thing for sure.

We weren't alone in Diatlov Pass. and whatever was with us didn't want us here. The darkest part of the night seemed to last forever. Every minute felt like an hour as we sat, huddled in our tents, listening to the strange, haunting music and the eerie silence that followed. I tried to sleep, but my eyes kept snapping open at every little sound. Colt was restless, too. His ears perked up, his body tense as he lay by the tent flap.

As dawn finally broke, the light brought little comfort. Stepping outside, I saw our campsite in disarray. It looked like a storm had hit, but the chaos was too focused, too deliberate. Tents were torn, our supplies scattered across the snow. The snowmobiles were overturned, looking like fallen giants in the pale morning light. Steve was missing. Andy was still tied up, but he was different now. His eyes had a wild, terrified look as he mumbled incoherently.

The rope that had bound him was short. shredded, soaked in blood. It was clear that something horrifying had happened while I was trying to catch a few moments of rest. Steve, I called out, my voice echoing off the distant mountains. There was no reply, just the whisper of the wind through the trees. Colt barked, his growl low and ominous as he stared into the woods. I followed his gaze and saw footprints leading away from the camp. Some were boots, some bare feet, and others were too strange to identify. With no sign of Steve and Andy nearly catatonic, fear and responsibility weighed heavily on me. I had to find Steve. I had to find out what was happening. Grabbing my flashlight and radio,

I set off into the woods, colt by my side. The forest seemed alive watching me with unseen eyes. every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig made my heart race. The footprints we were following were erratic, weaving between the trees as if whoever made them was running from something, or toward something unimaginable. As we went deeper, the air grew colder, the shadows darker. Then, just when I thought we were lost, we came upon a clearing. There was Steve, standing in the middle, looking confused and scared.

His clothes were torn, his face pale and drawn. Steve, what happened? I asked, stepping closer. He looked up at me, his eyes unfocused, as if he was seeing me through a fog. He, he came at me, Dan. I had to defend myself, he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. In his hand, he held a knife, its blade stained with dark blood. I froze, taking in the scene. The ground was disturbed, signs of a struggle evident in the snow. I didn't want to believe it, but something terrible had happened here. Colt growled again, his body tense. He didn't trust Steve, and I had to admit, something felt off. The Steve I knew wouldn't act like this. He was always the steady one,

the jokester, not this haunted figure before me. We need to get back, I said slowly, watching Steve closely. We can figure this out, but we need to. to be safe, back at camp. Steve nodded, but his movements were jittery, uncertain. As we walked back, I kept Colt close, the dogs unease mirroring my own. When we returned to the ruined camp site, the full horror of the night hit me. The snow around our tents was blackened, as if burned. The food and gear were ruined, scattered like leaves in a storm. Then out of nowhere, the haunting melody started again, soft and close. Voices joined it, forming a haunting chorus that seemed to come from all around us. I spun around trying to locate

the source, but it was everywhere and nowhere. Colt barked furiously, and I felt it then, a pull, a tug in my chest, like the music wanted me to follow it. I resisted, focusing on the dog beside me, on the cold wind against my face. We're not going to let it take us, I said to Colt, though I was really trying to convince myself. We're going to make it through this. The haunting melody that had plagued our night was now a constant echo in the woods around us. The more we tried to block it out, the clearer it seemed to become. Steve's movements grew more erratic and his eyes darted around, as if he was seeing things in the shadows that I couldn't. Colt stayed close, his growls low and menacing. We should have never come here,

Steve muttered, his voice trembling. This place, it's cursed. I couldn't disagree. Everything that had happened since we arrived at Dietloff Pass, the strange behaviors, the supernatural occurrences, and now, the eerie music that wouldn't cease, it all pointed to something beyond our understanding, something malevolent. As the day wore on, the sky remained a dull gray, the sun hidden behind thick, oppressive clouds. We tried to reorganize what was left of our camp, but our efforts felt futile. The sense of impending doom grew with every passing. minute. We need to leave, I said decisively. Now, we'll pack up what we can and get out of here. Steve nodded, but his gaze was fixed on something behind me. Turning around, I saw them. Shadows at the

edge of the clearing. Not just shadows, but figures. Human-like, but distorted. Their outlines blurry as if seen through water. They were moving towards us, slow and deliberate. it. Dan, they're coming, Steve's voice cracked as he backed away, stumbling over a fallen branch. Colt barked ferociously, positioning himself between us and the advancing figures. I grabbed my flashlight, shining it directly at them, but it did nothing to dispel the gloom that seemed to envelop them. As they drew closer, the details of their appearances became horrifyingly clear. Their eyes were hollow, their mouths agape in silent screams. and their skin pale and translucent.

Some bore the marks of violence, others the decay of time. The melody grew louder, a cacophony that seemed to be coming directly from the figures. It was as though the song was their voice, a siren call that was both a warning and a lure. We can't just stand here, I shouted over the din, grabbing Steve's arm. We need to move. We ran, stumbling through the snow and underbrush, the figures mirroring our movements just beyond the tree line.

Every glance back showed them closer, their numbers seemingly multiplying. Suddenly Steve stopped, his face going white as he stared at something ahead. Dan, look. In the path before us the ground was moving, not with life but with a swarm of shadows, forming a barrier that writhed and twisted on the snow.

It was as if the darkness itself was alive, blocking our way forward. Trapped, we backed away, but the figures from the woods closed in, encircling us. Colt snarled and lunged at the nearest shadow, but it was like biting air. There was nothing solid to hit. I could feel the cold seeping into my bones, the song piercing my mind, urging me to give in. Steve was beside me, shaking uncontrollably.

I can hear them. They're in my head. The figures converged, the music reaching a deafening pitch. I clutched my head, trying to block out the same. sound, but it was inside me, a melody that knew no end. In that moment, the world narrowed to the song and the cold, the darkness and the pressing weight of eyes unseen. The last thing I felt was Colt's fur against my leg, his body pressed to mine in a final, desperate attempt to protect me. Then everything went silent. The Diatlov Pass claimed us, as it had claimed others before.

The melody lingered in the air, a final note had. hanging in the chill, a reminder that some places are better left unexplored. This is a Bose moment. You've been there before. Somebody's apartment, small talk that's going nowhere, plastic up that's almost empty. It's not great. Then someone hits play on a Bose speaker. Heads nod, feet tap, one person dances than everyone does. Awkward becomes electric. When Bose sound fills the room, you don't just hear the music. You feel it. Your life deserves music. Your music deserves Bose. Find your perfect product at Bose.com.

I've always had a weird group of friends. They all went into manly careers like logging, oil rig work, and construction. I'm the black sheep of our little group of high school buddies. I went into IT. They give me a hard time about working on nerd stuff, and I give it back. Me no likey computer. Me dig. I'm an unlikely addition to their group of friends, but it works somehow.

So there we are in a bar. This is one of those rare occasions when every day. everyone's back in town together, and we're getting drunk, swapping stories about horrors on the job. Someone talks about when part of their oil rig blew up killing three people a few years ago. Danny, an actual lumberjack, talks about seeing a guy working not ten feet from him get his arm torn clean off by a log line, just a quick zip, and a limb went flying. He held a shirt to the wound as the man bled out, babbling and whining in agony until a life flight came, two hours too late. And all the while, I'm sitting there, knowing I've got a story,

but it's not the kind of story I'd usually bring up to a bunch of drunk sort of friends. Not the kind of story I'd tell anybody. It's the kind of truly unsettling memory that you worry should you tell it. You might give it life. You might feed it somehow. Make it more real. I carry it around in the back of my mind like a caged, dangerous animal, not considering letting it out until now. Everyone has said something already, and I'm just sitting there, looking sheltered, looking obvious. So I ignore that voice in my head that says, don't. I ignore my dry, tightening throat.

I've got one. My voice cracks, and they look surprised. I'm surprised. They all give me doubtful, amused looks. Go on then, the looks say. And so I do. I work from home on our 30 acres outside of a small town in Alaska. I live alone, no kids.

It's a college town, just a small liberal arts college of a few hundred, but it's the heart of the town. The campus is huge, with the natural beauty of the area being a big draw. Reservation land neighbors the campus, and the tribe sort of acts like park rangers for the hundreds of miles of forest trails. My own land borders part of the campus on the other side. One day, I'm out at the edge of the cleared part of my property, right behind. my house. It's probably about 200 yards from the house. I'm watering a set of raised beds I have right near the tree line, just enjoying the scorching sunny day. And that's when something weird happens. There's this sound, like a record of someone speaking, coming from a few hundred feet into the

woods. It's like someone talking to you through a bad cell connection, where only parts of the words are coming through, and it's just noise, but you can tell it's supposed to be words. I just stood there, listening to the noise, curious but not afraid. I didn't even turn the hose off. I think looking back, that's why it took me so long to get freaked out, to start taking it seriously. Weird things like that. Supernatural things, they happen at night, deep in the woods,

not at one o'clock in the afternoon, while standing right in your backyard. After about 30 seconds, it just stops. I turn the water off. then figure out if it actually stopped or just got quieter. Nothing. I file it away as a minor oddity, something to be brought up later as a casual conversation token or more likely forgotten.

That was my first regret. Fast forward a couple of weeks. I'm on a hike at the back of my property on one of the trails I started last summer, which is pretty overgrown at this point. I'm strolling, lost in thought beneath the tree cover, simply enjoying the gorgeous midsummer weather. I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear the odd sound in the woods, far in the distance.

There's the sound of garbled human speech. The forest around me, though, is oddly quiet. Now, I'm not much of a risk-taker, and I generally prefer looking irrational to looking dead. I casually turn and walk back towards the trail entrance, not wanting to encourage any large predators by fleeing suddenly. What the hell's making that sound anyway? I resolved to bring Danny along to check it out when he comes to visit in two weeks. Two weeks later, I'm back at the trailhead, alone because Danny bailed on me. I told him that if I died, I'd be coming straight to his apartment to haunt the hell out of him.

I'm looking down the seemingly innocuous forest trail. I steal myself, check my pack, bear spray and brand new Bowie knife, which I have no idea how to use. It's just a sound, I tell myself. I start down the path. A few miles and about an hour in, I hear the first signs of that odd sound in the distance. It's maybe a hundred yards ahead and just off the side of the trail. The forest, however, moves and rustles with life in that familiar, reassuring way. I carry on.

As I approach the origin of the sound, I put my hand to the hilt of my bowie knife. The source of the sound, now within 20 feet or so, is not immediately apparent. It's the same stream of incoherent babble, but with a distinct crackling sound to it. Looking up, I see a small black speaker fixed to a tree, about ten feet from the ground. Huh. Fairly confident the speaker poses no threat. I take my hand from my knife and inspect it. Written on the side of the speaker, in white paint, is the name of the local college and the words forestry department.

Ah, a clue and a reasonable explanation. Go figure. Content that I won't have to stab anything or haunt any apartments this day. I head back home. During a slow day the next week, I call the forestry department of the college. Yes, I'd like to speak to the dean. No, I'm not a student. No, they don't know I'm calling.

The dean answered in a bored voice, but seemed eager to answer my questions as if, I were the highlight of an otherwise mundane day. As it turns out, the speaker is, or was, a sort of live art project in which students could write and record poems to be spoken aloud in the forest. It's solar paneled, but he suspected the connection to the speaker I found had gone bad. Once per semester, someone was supposed to come out and upload new MP3s to a waterproof MP3 player near the base of each tree. He went on to say that they discontinued the project due to outcry from the nearby tribe. Initially, he ignored their request to take down the speakers,

but the vice president of the college eventually stepped in when complaints persisted, worried about souring good relations with the tribe. They'd probably missed my station when they went to take them all down, he said. Mystery solved. Hiking season passes without incident. About a month after the snows finally melt, I decide to go on another hike on the trail with the speaker. I've got some overnight. camping gear with me, and I plan to camp out near my turnaround point a few hours away. I almost miss the speaker when I'm about an hour in. It's completely silent now. I stopped to poke at the electronics event, but there's nothing obviously wrong with it. The fraying connections appear to have

finally worn out over the winter. I continue down the trail. About two hours later, I've set up my tent and prepared a simple camp. It's late afternoon, but I'm restless. With a few hours of daylight left, I decide to walk ahead of my turnaround point for a little bit. I pick a little offshoot trail that leads upward, perhaps with the promise of a nice view. Just a few minutes into the walk, my mind is drifting. I'm just soaking up the late afternoon sun and basking in the first good weather of the season.

I've picked the perfect time to explore. Damn, this is nice, I think to myself. And a moment later, I hear that familiar, unsettling sound of speaking in the distance. I pause on the trail, my brain still registering the noise as something innocuous. This sound is a little different, and even so far away, I can tell that it's a higher quality than the first speaker. I get closer, and have to go a little off the trail to make out the words. It's definitely missing that crackly sound, so I can easily make out the words.

It's the sound of a woman reading poems, just as the dean said. less perturbed than I once was, I decide to sit on a rock near the speaker, pull out my water, and take a little break. I'm sitting there, listening to the sounds of the forest and the voice reading the familiar poems. It still feels a little eerie, though, and after just a few minutes, I decide it's time to get going again. I toss my water bottle into my pack and stand to leave, and that's when I hear the other voice. Someone nearby is babbling these crazy nonsense words. I perk up, curious, but not yet afraid. It has this strange warbling sound, like the natural rise and fall of pitch in a sentence,

but in all the wrong places. Like someone turning random words in a sentence into questions. It's the kind of sound you'd laugh at if you weren't alone in a forest, miles and miles from help. The forest goes dead silent around me, as if flipping a switch. The sound begins trailing close through some thick brush in front of me. I'm totally frozen in place, just listening to this ridiculous noise, like a giant basso baby voice.

I utter under my breath, What the hell? I see just a glimpse of something coming through the brush, and then my trance is broken. My conscious mind is slammed to the back seat, as my animal instincts send me sprinting back toward the trail. I'm already careening back down the trail before I even realize what I'm running from. And then it hits me.

A wall of realization. A great towering cloud of cold, crippling realization. I actually stumble. My neurons fire in slow motion. The implications are forming in my mind like a slowly condensing water droplet just before the release and then the fall. My chest tightens, and I take a sudden sharp breath. It was a hand, some kind of elongated, grotesque hand reaching through the brush.

a body to match that distorted voice. It's then that I hear it again on the path, right behind me. What the hell? It warbles, like it's learned a phrase for the first time and it's trying it out loud. And then I'm running. I'm barely touching the ground, feet flying down the tight forest trail in the late afternoon sun. Tree branches are slapping at me as I barrel down the path, careless, mindless. My nerves are on a knife's edge for the entire.

sprint back to camp, ears pricked, skin covered in goose bumps. I enter a clearing and slow to walk cautiously into camp, my hand hovering lightly over my bowie knife. I see my tent in the small clearing where the main trail splits into these smaller tributaries. The tent sits in the shade, flat partially open. I stop, staring at it. It would take about ten minutes to pack it up. I contemplate it for about half a second. Nope. And then I'm moving again, back on the main trail. Now I'm holding a sustainable jog, but after about 30 seconds, I slide to a stop because I hear something new. And then I hear nothing. A quiet deeper than anything before. No distant birds, no rustling leaves, no quiet breeze or chirping insects. There's only complete and unnatural silence. It's almost

suffocating. It's like having a giant glass jar dropped around me. One second there's a rich blanket of forest sounds, and then next, it's like I'm in a vacuum. I freeze. I can feel my heart pounding out of my chest, but otherwise I'm as silent and still as the forest around me. The air is hot, still, and dead on my sweaty skin, like standing in a silent summer attic. An odd thought occurs to me, an intuition that I shouldn't move. People always always, always get that feeling like they're being watched, but it isn't quite like that. It's not like being watched, it's like I'm being examined. And my guts telling me to blend in, to do what the bugs and the birds and the trees are doing.

Sit still and wait. Do as they do. This isn't something you run from, do as they do and survive. So I wait, frozen in an awkward position mid-stride, mid-breath, refusing to even blink or look around. I stand there, like a store mannequin in the closet, watching through wooden slats as something very bad looks back at me, trying to figure out if I'm actually a mannequin or just something pretending.

We look at each other like that. This force and I, for ten seconds. My head is swimming with terror. Twenty seconds. My lungs are screaming for air, and my heart is pounding still. It examines me, and suddenly the gaze is broken. Its focus is on something else. My vision narrows to a pinpoint because my brain is clamoring for oxygen.

Far off, I hear a rustle of leaves and then slowly, it comes my way. Not the rustle of a creature, but a great collective exhale from the forest. The sound of the forest returns in great sweeps past me. I bend, put my hands to my knees, and join in with a heaving gasp of my own. The rest of the trip back is a barely restrained panic. I jump at every twig snapping, but I'm in a forced calm because the logical part of me knows I can't run forever. I set my pace at a brisk hike for two hours into the late evening. It's getting dark by the time I get back to my property.

In the bar, my friends are all statues, still faces slack. No one's touched their drink in five minutes. My whole body's shaking as I absent-mindedly run the fingers of both hands up through my hair. It was like I was staring down the barrel of a gun, I say. A gun I couldn't see, but I knew. I knew that if I had so much as twitched, I wouldn't be here right now. It would have known I was there. It would have known I was real.

And I never went back for that tent, I say, taking a sip of my beer and taking a little grim satisfaction in my friend's stunned, distant faces. They let out a few half-hearted, nervous chuckles at. my attempt to lighten the mood, but otherwise everyone seems intensely interested in their drinks, the table, or the floor. Man, one of them eventually says, Yeah, I reply. We're all pretty quiet and unusually pensive until we pay our tabs and leave the bar. On the way out, one of my buddies pulls me aside and asks, was that really true? All of it, I mean. I just sort of squint and look up at the stars in the Alaskan sky. Eventually the words the words I'm looking for come to me.

There are things out there that no one can explain, things that don't have names, and I think, every now and then, someone comes across one. The smart people, the lucky people like me, are the ones who get to tell their stories. He looks at me for a moment longer, then, seemingly content with my answer,

he nods and walks to his car. Night, he says, of course, I don't tell him there's more, I don't tell him it wasn't some ethereal, invisible force staring me down in the woods. It was a monster, a lanky, horrid, yet somehow human thing. It was in the shape of a man, but it was no man. God gave me two gifts that day. The first was sparing my life, and the other was keeping that creature in the periphery of my vision.

I did tireless research after that incident in the forest. I found out about a missing homeless man and the dismembered corpse the cops found. in the woods, parts of a corpse anyway. And I found out about something called the Akadixite. I think that's how you say it. A follow-up call to the dean from the nearby university got me that, and it got me a meeting with the grandson of the shaman who asked the university to take the speakers down. I met with him the very next day. I don't know how well I can explain it. I don't think of it the same way my grandfather does, Ida says. I follow up immediately. Try me. You know how everything that's alive today has some of the same DNA?

Like if you go back far enough, we all have a common ancestor, even really different things like germs. Well, I think Akadixite are in that family tree. I think they come from something else. He sort of trails off, perhaps expecting skepticism from me. Two days ago, maybe, but he doesn't know that I have a good reason not to be a skeptic. These things aren't a joke, you know, he tells me, fingers wrapped around a frappuccino. People at the college think my grandfather's crazy.

They only listen to him because he's respected in the tribe, but even though they respect him, most of the tribe thinks he's crazy too. Do you think he's crazy? I ask him, about this? He looks brave, and the sudden seriousness from this man surprises me. No, he's not crazy. He's not crazy because I saw one. It was like five or six years ago. I was out in the woods on an 18. just weaving through trees and I was going too fast. I was stupid back then. I did a lot of stupid stuff. Anyway, I'm in some pretty sparse woods, so it's easy to see far off, and I see this animal laying down in the distance. I turn my ATV to get closer, and I can tell it's a deer. As I'm pulling up to it, I cut the engine and just roll to a stop about 20 feet from the thing.

I think it must be hurt or something because its back legs aren't working, and it's it's pulling itself along by its front legs. Thinking I'll need to kill it, I go to pull out my knife. As soon as I reach down, this thing's head just snaps towards me. And I don't mean it heard a sound and sort of looked around, then saw me. It just immediately jerked its head right towards me. It, um, it didn't look right. It was like someone tried to make a deer, but didn't have all the right parts. It was all twisted and gangly with these nasty swollen eyes just staring. at me, and I got this feeling like it was trying to figure me out, trying to figure out what I was, and then a couple seconds later it just turned and dragged itself away. Wow, I say with real awe.

I pushed my ATV as fast as it could go back to the house, and that's when my grandfather told me about the Akadik site. He said they were bad spirits that spawned deep in the forest. They're attached to signs of life, noise, sight, stuff like that. And when they're they find something alive, they sort of copy it, but they disassemble it first. Once they've copied something, they try and find more of it to make a better copy. I don't really know why. It's just what he told me. Most of the time they're harmless, but every now and then, one shows up in the shape of a deer, a dog, or something else. And then some men go out and take care of it. Huh, so what did they do about the one you saw? They went out to find a deer, a real deer. When they caught one,

they brought it to the Akadixite. The only way to kill them is to make them copy something already dying. We sat in silence there for a moment. Drinks forgotten. I saw one, I say. What? he says, surprised. And I think I know why your grandfather wanted the speakers taken down. What he was afraid of, it happened.

Wait, wait, slow down. What are you talking about? There is a human Akkadikseed out there. A few hours later, we're standing at the trail behind my apartment. It's turning into evening now, with only about an hour of real daylight left. There's a group of men nearby from Ida's tribe talking to each other in hushed voices. Behind them are a dozen or so women and children, and some of the women are crying. Ida, what's going on? I ask in whispered tones. But he motions for me to wait as the circle of

shaman breaks up. An older man in his early 60s, who I assume is Ida's grandfather, walks over to us at the entrance to the trail. He doesn't stop to talk to us, but just nods his head in our direction, and continues past us down the trail. He has a wiry sort of strength to him, despite his age, and the feathered garb and war paint on his body lend him an air of danger. I see an ornate stone dagger on his belt as he goes. Eventually I speak, when's he coming back?

And Ida just gives me this flat, mournful look. He isn't coming back. And then I remember Ida's words. The only way to kill them is to make them copy something already dying.