Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 4 Scary True Forest Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 20, 2024

These are 4 Scary True Forest Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:18:04 Story 2 00:34:23 Story 3 00:55:38 Story 4 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #forest #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

The trail felt different that night. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about the way the air clung to my skin, thick and damp, made me pause as I stepped onto the dirt path. I had been down to the creek dozens of times before. It was my spot, you know. A little escape from everything,

tucked just far enough into the woods that no one bothered you. But tonight, it felt like the trees were leaning in a little too close, like they were trying to listen. I shook it off. It was just another late night. I'd told everyone to meet me at the creek for a fire, and I figured I'd get there early, set things up, and surprise them with everything ready to go. I had my bag slung over one shoulder, stuffed with firewood, a lighter, my lantern,

and a blanket to sit on. It wasn't much, but I didn't need much. The place had its own kind of magic, quiet, peaceful, just the sound of the water rushing over the rocks. The path down was dimly lit as usual. Two old lamp posts lined the trail, one halfway down and one at the base of the creek where the dirt turned to sand. Their light was faint, barely cutting through the trees, but I liked that. It made everything feel more secluded.

The first lamp post flickered as I walked past it, the bulb buzzing faintly. I laughed to myself. Classic horror movie vibes, I muttered, my voice sounding too loud in the silence. When I reached the clearing by the creek, I dropped my bag and took a deep breath. The smell of the water and pine was sharp, earthy. It was nice. I set up my lantern on a rock and flicked it on, its warm light spilling over the sand. Then I started digging the fire pit, using a small camping shovel to scrape out a shallow circle.

The sound of the shovel cutting through the sand was rhythmic, almost calming, until I heard the splash. It wasn't close, not at first. It sounded like it came from farther downstream, a loud, deliberate plunk that cut through the quiet like a gunshot. I froze, the shovel gripped tight in my hands, and turned my head toward the sound. My lantern didn't reach that far, and all I could see was the glint of the creek under the sliver of moonlight.

Just the water, I said under my breath, trying to convince myself. maybe a fish or a branch fell in. I went back to digging, but I couldn't shake the unease creeping up my spine. A few minutes later, another splash. This one was closer, louder, like something heavy being thrown into the water. My hand started to sweat. I stood up, holding the shovel like some kind of makeshift weapon, and scanned the creek again. The lantern flickered for just a second, and my heart skipped.

I swung the beam toward the trees lining the water, but there was nothing, just shadows shifting in the breeze. Hello? My voice cracked, and I hated how scared I sounded. Silence answered me, thick and heavy. I laughed nervously, more to myself than anyone else. Okay, calm down, Alex. It's just water. I went back to the pit, but my hands were shaking now.

Every scrape of the shovel felt louder, like it was bouncing off the tree. and echoing back at me. And then I heard it, the rustling. It wasn't loud, just a soft crunch of leaves, but it was unmistakable. It came from across the creek, just past where the bridge arched over the water. I snatched the lantern and swung it toward the sound, my pulse pounding in my ears. The light swept over the trees, catching on the glint of water, but there was nothing. Maybe it's a deer, I whispered, but the words didn't even convince. me. It didn't sound like an animal. It sounded deliberate, like someone was stepping carefully, trying not to make too much noise. The rustling stopped, but my heart didn't. I stayed frozen,

holding the lantern up like a shield, scanning the shadows. Just when I started to think I was imagining things, I saw it, a flash of pale skin. It was quick, just for a second, but it was there. Something, or someone, moved in the trees, hunched low and still. My stomach dropped, My throat felt dry. I stayed perfectly still, the lantern trembling in my hand. Hey, I called out, my voice shaking. Who's there? No response. The figure didn't move, but I knew it was watching me. I could feel it, the weight of its gaze pressing down on me. My skin crawled. I didn't wait for a second sighting. I turned back to my bag, stuffing the shovel and blanket in with fumbling hands. Whatever was out there, I wasn't about to stick around and find out.

As I grabbed my things and started toward the trail, I heard it again, the rustling, closer this time. My breath hitched, and I made the mistake of looking back. Something was standing just beyond the creek, barely visible in the lantern's glow. It was a man, crouched low, his pale naked skin shining faintly. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. But his head tilted like he was curious. I ran. I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I just ran. Up the narrow trail past the first lamp post, the light flickering wildly as I passed. My bag thudded against my back and every step felt too loud, too slow. I could hear the crunch of leaves behind me, faster now, closer. And then came the laugh, low, guttural, like something scraping against stone.

It wasn't a sound a person should make. It was wrong. I didn't look back. I couldn't. My legs burned as I ran harder. The second lamp post finally coming into view. My car was just beyond it, parked at the trailhead. I could make it.

I had to. But the laugh followed me, growing louder, echoing in my ears like it was everywhere at once. I don't think I've ever run that hard in my life. My lungs were burning. My legs felt like they'd been replaced with legs. and my grip on the lantern was slipping with every pounding step. The trail felt endless, the trees pressing in on both sides like they wanted to swallow me whole, and behind me I could hear it.

Him. I didn't dare look back, but I could hear the crunch of leaves and twigs, the steady rhythm of footsteps that weren't my own. He wasn't sprinting, not yet. He didn't have to. He was just behind me, close enough that I could hear the way his breathing dragged, like it took effort to keep up with me. My foot slipped on a patch of loose dirt, and I stumbled, nearly falling.

I caught myself on a low-hanging branch, the rough bark scraping my palm. My lantern swung wildly in my hand, its beam cutting through the dark and jagged arcs. For a second I thought about turning it off, thought maybe, just maybe, the dark would swallow me up, hide me from him. But then I remembered his eyes. The way they gleamed in the dim light. how they locked onto me like a predator sizing up its prey. No, I needed the light. I needed to see.

The first lamp post was up ahead, its faint yellow glow barely visible through the thick trees. It felt like a beacon, like safety was just a few yards away. I forced my legs to move faster, pushing through the pain in my thighs. I reached the lamppost and collapsed against it, panting, the metal cold against my back.

The trail ahead stretched into darkness, but at least the dim light gave me a moment to catch my breath. I turned the lantern toward the trail behind me, the beam bouncing as my hands shook, and that's when I saw him. He was crouched at the edge of the light, his body low to the ground, pale and glistening. His limbs moved wrong, like he didn't know how to use them properly.

His head tilted to one side, and his mouth, God, his mouth, stretched into a grin so wide it looked like his face would split in half. He didn't blink. For a second we just stared at each other. Me, gasping for air, clutching my lantern like it could save me. Him, motionless, except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Why are you doing this? I yelled, my voice breaking. It came out too loud, too desperate. He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his hands pressing into the dirt, and then he crawled into the light. The way he moved, it wasn't human.

His knees and elbows bent at odd angles, his limbs jerking like a marionette on invisible strings. Every movement made this faint clicking sound, like his joints were grinding against each other. I didn't wait for him to get closer. I bolted again, sprinting toward the second lamppost. My legs screamed in protest, and my vision blurred, but the thought of him catching me was enough to drown out the pain. Behind me, his movements grew louder, faster. It wasn't just footsteps anymore. It was the wet slap of bare feet on the dirt,

the sound of something too large moving too quickly. The second lamppost came into view, its glow steady and unbroken. My heart leapt at the sight of it, but then I felt it, the sharp, icy prickle of being watched. I chanced a glance over my shoulder. He wasn't crawling anymore. He was standing now running on two legs.

His movements were jerky, unnatural, but he was fast. too fast, and his grin hadn't faltered. If anything, it had grown wider. Stop! I screamed, my voice hoarse. What do you want? He didn't stop. He didn't answer. He just kept running. His eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. I made it to the second lamp post and skidded to a stop, nearly dropping the lantern. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, my head spinning. The light above me buzzed faintly. Calfrey, a sickly yellow glow over the trail. For a moment, I thought he'd stop at the edge of the light again,

like he had before. But this time, he didn't hesitate. He stepped into the glow, his skin almost luminescent under the lamplight. He wasn't smiling anymore. His face had gone slack, his eyes dark and empty. But the way he stared at me, it was like he was peeling me apart, layer by layer and I couldn't move.

He took a step forward and I stumbled. back, tripping over my own feet. My lantern fell to the ground, its beam slicing across the trail. I scrambled to pick it up, my fingers fumbling in the dirt. When I looked up again, he was crouched over me, just out of reach, his breath hot and rancid. Why? I whispered, tears streaming down my face. He leaned closer, his head tilting again, like he was trying to understand me. And then, for the first time, he spoke. It wasn't a word, it was a sound, low, guttural, and inhuman, a sound that crawled into my ears and lodged itself in my brain, making my skull feel like it was going to split open.

I screamed. I don't even remember standing up, but I must have, because the next thing I knew, I was running again. Running toward the parking lot, the dim glow of the final lamp post guiding me like a lifeline. I didn't look back. I couldn't. All I could hear was the pounding of his hand. feet, the low growl that seemed to echo all around me, and the buzzing of the lampposts fading into the distance. The parking lot was just ahead, my car a dark silhouette against the trees.

If I could just get there, if I could just make it inside, I'd be safe. But the growl behind me was growing louder, and I wasn't sure I'd make it. The parking lot was just ahead, but it felt like miles away. My legs burned. Every step of battle between my will to survive. and the growing exhaustion that dragged at my body. The lamppost above the trailhead flickered faintly, and my car sat just beyond it, its silhouette bathed in weak moonlight. My keys were in my pocket. I just had to get there.

Behind me, the sound of bare feet pounding against the dirt grew louder. Faster. He was closing in. I risked one glance over my shoulder and instantly regretted it. He was sprinting now. his body jerking with every step like a puppet yanked along by invisible strings. His mouth was open, wide and unnatural, and his eyes. They weren't just watching me.

They were hungry. A branch caught at my arm as I turned back to the trail, tearing into my skin, but I didn't feel it. My focus was on the car, on safety, on not dying here. The parking lot came into view, gravel crunching under my feet as I stumbled onto the lot. my car was right there just a few steps away i reached into my pocket for my keys but my fingers were shaking too much to grab hold of them come on come on i muttered panic rising as i fumbled my foot slipped on loose gravel and i nearly fell the keys sliding out of my pocket and onto the ground with a metallic clink no i gasped dropping to my knees and frantically sweeping my hand across the gravel i could hear him now the wet slid of his feet on the trail, the guttural growl that had haunted me since the creek. I found the keys, snatched them up. My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, lunging for the driver's side door. The key fob shook in my hand, and it took me three tries to hit the unlock button. Behind me,

I heard the sound of his feet hitting the gravel. I threw the door open and climbed in, slamming it shut just as he reached the edge of the parking lot. The car's interior light flicked on, lock the doors with a trembling hand. For a second, everything was silent except for my ragged breathing. He stopped at the edge of the parking lot, just beyond the glow of the lamppost. He stood there, his chest heaving, his face slack, but his eyes focused. He was watching me, his head tilting slightly as though trying to decide what to do next. I fumbled with the key, shoving it into the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, and my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard. hard my knuckles turned white. I shifted into reverse, my foot slamming on the pedal as I backed away

from him. That's when he moved. He sprinted toward the car, his arms flailing unnaturally at his sides, his face twisting into something that looked like rage or hunger. I shifted into drive and floored it, gravel sprang under my tires as I tore out of the lot. I didn't look back at first. I couldn't. My eyes were locked on the road ahead. The shadows of the trees rushes, passed in the weak glow of my headlights, but something told me to check the rearview mirror. He was there, standing in the middle of the parking lot, framed in the fading light of the lamp post. His head tilted again, that same unnatural angle, and he raised one hand, like he was waving. I didn't stop. My heart pounded as I sped down the dark, winding road,

the silence of the night broken only by the hum of the engine and the sound of my own gasping breaths. I drove for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a few minutes, until I reached the edge of town. Only then did I finally pull over, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the key to kill the engine. I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, staring at the empty road in front of me. My mind raced, replaying everything, the splashes, the footsteps, the way his eyes had locked onto mine like I was prey. I told myself it was over. I was safe, but I couldn't stop looking at the trees lining the road, their shadows shifting in the breeze. When I got home, my friends were already there, sitting on the porch with a six-pack waiting

for me. They laughed when I pulled into the driveway, probably ready to tease me for being late. But when they saw my face, their smiles dropped. I told them everything, every detail, from the first splash at the creek to the moment I sped out of the parking lot. They tried to to laugh it off at first, but I could see the unease in their eyes. When I told them about the man, the way he moved, the way he watched me, one of them muttered something about meth heads or a prank gone wrong. But I knew better. The next morning I called the police. I expected them to brush it off, and for the most part, they did. An officer came out to meet me, and I took him to the trail. I pointed out where I'd seen the man, where I'd dropped my keys. But the officer, the officer came out to meet me, and I took him to the trail.

there was nothing. No footprints, no disturbed gravel. It was like he'd never been there. The officer gave me a half-hearted promise to keep an eye on the area and left. But as I turned to leave, I noticed something. At the edge of the trail, where the dirt met the gravel, there was a single, pale handprint pressed into the ground. It wasn't mine. I didn't go back to the creek after that. And every time I drive past those woods, I keep my eyes straight ahead, pretending I don't see the shadow standing just inside the trees. Watching. Waiting.

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Don't pass go and own it all. Only at Yamava, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You in? Details at yamava.com must be 21-20. Please gamble responsibly. Monopoly is a trademark of Hasbro. Hasbro is not a sponsor of this promotion. I didn't want to stay at Clara's place. Let me just get that out there right away. It wasn't Clara. I liked her enough. But her house? No. It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees so thick you could barely see the sky. And that was just during the day. At night, forget it. It wasn't just the woods either. The whole place gave off this vibe. like it wanted you to leave.

But Clara begged. Come on, Naomi, she'd said, practically dragging me into her mom's car after school. You always make me sleep at your place. Just one night. I swear it'll be fun. Fun. Right. The drive took an hour,

and with every mile the houses got fewer and farther apart until there were none, just winding roads, dark trees, and the occasional rusted mailbox leaning like it had given up on life. By the time we reached the property, my stomach was already in knots. The house, or, well, houses, look like something out of a creepy movie. At the top of the hill was a giant old Victorian farmhouse, all peeling paint and sagging roof lines. That's where Mr. Carrick, the landlord, lived.

Clara told me he owned the whole property. Down a steep gravel driveway were two smaller buildings, one on either side of the clearing. Clara and her mom lived in the one on the left, a one-room shack barely big enough for a bed. On the right was her mom's section, another tiny building with a kitchenette and a bathroom separated by a curtain. No doors, just cloth. Cozy, huh? Clara said, grinning as we lugged my bag into her room. She must have seen the look on my face. Okay, yeah, it's a little small, but it's nice. You'll see.

Nice? Sure. If you liked cramped spaces and furniture older than dirt, half the room wasn't even hers. A tall shelf and a divider cut off the back section, where Mr. Carrick stored his junk, old chairs, boxes, whatever. The only other thing in the room was a massive sliding glass door that led outside. It was almost floor to ceiling, and it made me feel like I was on display. I tried to brush it off.

At least it's not school, right? I joked, forcing a smile. Clara laughed and dropped onto her bed. Exactly. Let's just chill tonight. No teachers, no homework, just us. But I couldn't relax. Not really. There was something about the way the woods pressed in, how the shadows seemed to cling to the corners of the room, even with the curtains open. And that sliding door, it was like it was begging someone to look in. The first weird thing happened pretty early. We'd gone over to Clara's mom's section to grab snacks. Her mom wasn't in the room, but the bathroom door was closed. and we could hear her humming inside. Mom, Clara called out. Yeah, I'm here, her mom's voice answered, muffled but clear. I stepped toward the fridge, but then I heard it.

A deep voice, gruff and almost lazy, muttered from outside the window. Yeah, I froze. What was that? I whispered, spinning around to look at Clara. Her face had gone pale. That, she stammered. That wasn't her. We both stared at the tiny window above the same. sink. It was dark outside, nothing but shadows in the faint outline of trees. Nobody was there.

Maybe it was an echo? Clara said, her voice shaky. But she didn't sound like she believed it. Neither did I. We didn't talk about it after that. She grabbed the snacks. I grabbed my water bottle and we bolted back to her room like it was no big deal. Except it was a big deal. I couldn't stop thinking about how close that voice had sounded. Too close. By the time night fell, I was a wreck. Clara was trying to act normal, but I could tell she was on edge too. Let's watch something, she said, pulling out her ancient laptop. Something funny.

Yeah, sure, I mumbled, pulling my knees up to my chest. The movie was supposed to help, but it didn't. The whole time I couldn't stop glancing at the glass door. We'd locked it, thank God, but that didn't help much. It felt like we were in a fishbowl, with nothing but a. thin paint of glass between us and the pitch black forest. Every now and then, I'd see my reflection move, and my stomach would twist like it was someone else. At some point I asked Clara about the divider. Why does Mr. Carrick keep his stuff in here? Doesn't he have enough space in the

big house? Clara shrugged. He's weird like that. Mom says he likes to keep an eye on everything, even his junk. Great. Just great. Now it felt like he was. watching us too. Clara must have seen the look on my face because she laughed. Relax, Naomi, it's fine. Seriously, there's nothing out there. I wanted to believe her. I really did, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't as alone as she thought. And then the footsteps started. The footsteps started out faint. At first, I told myself it was just the wind, or maybe some animal shuffling through the leaves outside. But then they got louder, more deliberate. crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

I muted the laptop mid-sentence, cutting off some corny romantic dialogue. Do you hear that? I whispered. Clara froze, her eyes darting to the glass door. It's probably just a possum or something, she said, but her voice cracked at the end. She didn't believe herself.

Neither did I. The steps didn't sound like an animal. They were too steady, too human. Crunch. Crunch. I couldn't move. My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air. Clara, I whispered, gripping her arm.

It's right outside. We both sat there, frozen, listening as the sound circled her room. Slow, deliberate steps on the dry, brittle leaves. They were moving closer to the back of the building. I glanced at the divider, that stupid, tall shelf blocking the back section where the second door was. The footsteps stopped, for a second door. second there was nothing but silence. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring, that feels

like it's waiting for something to happen. Then the doorknob rattled. It wasn't loud. In fact, it was the quiet, almost gentle way it jiggled that made it so much worse. Like whoever was out there wasn't in a hurry, like they had all the time in the world. Is that door locked? I whispered. My voice barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Clara's face was pale. It's stuck, it doesn't open all the way, I think. She thinks, great. The rattling continued, slow and deliberate. I could hear the soft scrape of metal like they were testing the lock.

My throat was dry, and every instinct in me was screaming to get up and check if the door was actually secure. But I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead, and I was terrified that if I made even the slightest sound, it would draw whoever was out there right to us. Then the rattling stopped. We both stared at the divider, our breath shallow. For a second, I thought maybe they'd given up, maybe they'd left. But then I heard it, breathing.

Heavy, slow, deliberate breathing just on the other side of that door, Clara clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn't dare let them fall. All I could think was that this person, whoever they were, wasn't just trying to scare us. They were waiting, testing. The breathing stopped, and after a long, agonizing pause, the footsteps started again. This time, they were moving away from the back door, circling back toward the front of the room, toward the glass door.

We need to call someone, I whispered, fumbling for my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. Clara nodded frantically, her face wet with silent tears. I managed to dial zero zero. the emergency number here, and pressed the phone to my ear, trying to keep my voice steady as the operator picked up. Emergency services, what's your location? We...

My voice cracked, and I tried again, whispering as quietly as I could. We're at a property off Millwood Road. There's someone outside. They're trying to get in. Clara grabbed my arm and pointed at the glass door. My heart nearly stopped. There, pressed against the glass, was a hand-pired. print. It hadn't been there before. The smudged outline of a palm and five long fingers dragged

across the dusty surface. The operator's voice buzzed in my ear, but I couldn't focus on what she was saying. They're still here, I choked out. Please, send someone. Please. The operator tried to calm me down. Her voice smooth and practiced, but I couldn't stop shaking. She promised to dispatch a unit, told us to stay where we were and not to open any doors or windows, as if that was even an option. Then the ringing started, a loud, shrill, piercing ring that made me jump and nearly drop the phone. It wasn't mine. It was coming from the old landline in the main house, Mr. Carrick's phone. We sat in stunned silence as the ringing echoed through the clearing. After what felt like forever, it stopped, and we heard Mr. Carrick's muffled voice.

He was talking to someone. Clara leaned closer to me. Is he... Is he talking to the police? I don't know, I whispered back. But deep down, I already knew something wasn't right. Minutes later, the heavy stomp of boots echoed outside. Mr. Carrick's silhouette appeared in the moonlight as he marched toward Clara's mom's section.

He didn't look concerned. He looked pissed. We sat frozen as he banged on the door, yelling something. something about wasting his time. A few minutes later, Clara's mom shuffled out, groggy and annoyed. We could hear them arguing through the thin walls, but their voices were muffled, drowned out by the sound of blood pounding in my ears. When Clara's mom finally came into the room, she looked annoyed, not worried. What's going on with you two? Why'd you call the cops? Someone's out there, I blurted, pointing at the glass door. They were at the back door,

there are handprints. Clara's mom sighed, rubbing her temples. It's probably just dirt, she said dismissively. Mr. Carrick poked his head in, glaring at us like we were the problem. I didn't see anyone, he said gruffly. Don't call the cops again unless it's a real emergency. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. As he turned to leave, I caught sight of something that made my stomach drop.

There, just outside the glass door were faint footprints in the dirt. Not animal tracks, human footprints. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just grabbed my phone and texted my mom, begging her to come get me. My mom arrived just before midnight. I've never felt such a rush of relief as I did

seeing her car's headlights cut through the suffocating darkness of the clearing. I didn't even wait for her to park properly before I yanked open the door and scrambled inside. Clara was right behind me, clutching her bag with trembling hands. Is everything okay? my mom asked. Her voice concerned but calm. I could tell she thought we were overreacting, two teenage girls letting our imaginations run wild in the middle of the woods. No, I whispered,

glancing back at the property. Mr. Carrick's shadowy figure stood in one of the windows of the farmhouse, unmoving, watching. Just drive, please. She didn't argue. The gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled away, and I couldn't look back. I didn't want to see the forest, the glass door, or the footprints that I knew were still outside. The ride home was silent, except for Clara's occasional sniffles. My mom tried asking questions, what happened, why we were so scared, but I couldn't bring myself to explain.

Not yet. Every time I opened my mouth, the memory of the doorknob rattling, the breathing outside, the handprint on the glass. It all came flooding back. By the time we reached my house, it was nearly 1 a.m. Clara and I curled up on the couch, the TV flickering in the background, but neither of us could sleep. Every creek of the house made me jump. Every shadow looked like a figure.

I can't go back there, Clara finally whispered, her voice shaking, ever. The next morning, I convinced my mom to drop Clara back home. She didn't want to go alone. and honestly, I didn't want her to either. I figured if I went with her, it'd feel less, final, less like we were walking back into the nightmare. We pulled into the clearing, just as the sun was climbing over the trees, casting long, pale shadows across the ground.

In the daylight, the place didn't seem as scary, but there was still this heaviness in the air, like the property was holding its breath, waiting for something. Clara's mom met us outside, looking tired and annoyed. I hope you two are feeling better, she said, barely looking at us. Last night was a lot of fuss over nothing. Clara and I exchanged a look but didn't respond. What was the point?

Then her mom said something that made my stomach drop. Oh, and the wind knocked over the light pole last night. What? Clara asked. The pole with the fairy lights and beads, her mom explained, pointing to the side of her building. It must have been the storm or something. It's on the ground now. Clara and I walked over to the spot, but the moment I saw the pole, I knew it wasn't the wind. The pole was thick and heavy, bolted into the concrete. It had been yanked out of the ground entirely. The bolts twisted and broken like they'd been pulled with brute force.

The zip ties holding it in place were shredded, dangling uselessly. This wasn't the wind, I whispered, staring at the splintered concrete. Clara didn't say anything, but her face had gone pale. On the drive back, I couldn't stop thinking about it, about the handprint, the breathing, the footsteps. What if it was Mr. Carrick? Clara muttered, breaking the silence. I shook my head.

I don't know. He's creepy, but... I trailed off, remembering the voice we'd heard the first time we went to her mom's flat. It wasn't Mr. Carrick's voice. It was deeper, rougher. What if it was your mom's ex? I asked. The thought suddenly hitting me. The one you said was, you know, weird. Clara shrugged, but her hands were trembling. Maybe. But how would he know where we were, or even how to get here? I didn't have an answer. I didn't have answers for any of it.

That night, back at my house, I lay awake replaying every moment in my head. I kept thinking about the footprints outside the glass door, the voice by the window, the way the doorknob rattled so slowly, so deliberately. Whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were doing. They weren't just trying to scare us. They were testing us, testing the locks, testing our nerves. And the worst part, I don't think they were done. I don't know if it was Mr. Carrick, or Clara's mom's ex, or some random stranger who stumbled onto the property. But I do know one thing. Whoever it was, they weren't just watching us. They were waiting. And if we hadn't left when we did, I don't think we'd be here to tell the story. It always felt colder in gutters hollow. Even in the middle of fall, when the days were brisk but manageable, something about that place dug under your skin. Maybe it was the way the trees grew so close together, their branches nodded like old hands blocking out every sliver of moonlight. Or maybe it was just the stories, the whispers about people seeing things in the trees, about the forest swallowing sounds like it was hungry.

Lucas and I knew better than to admit we were scared. We were 19, invincible in the way that only teenage idiots can be. That night, as we rolled our bikes out of our buddies' basement after hours of gaming and bad jokes, Lucas grinned and slapped my shoulder. You good for the shortcut, he asked. He already knew the answer. I looked down the road toward the hollow, completely unlit and stretched out like an open mouth. The forest on either side was just there, waiting, silent. A perfectly good road through town was behind us, well-lit, safe. I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie pockets and shrugged. Yeah, saves us 20 minutes. Big man, Lucas chuckled, flicking on the headlights strapped to his bike. It cast a thin, narrow beam down the center of the road,

cutting through the dark just enough to make it worse. I turned on mine too, and we set off into the trees. The thing about the hollow is that it doesn't start scary. The first hundred meters are fine, normal even. The road's cracked but paved, and if you stay dead center, you can pretend the shadows are just shadows, that nothing's watching you. Lucas rode a little ahead of me, his light bobbing in the distance as we peddled in silence.

The only sounds were the grind of our tired, against loose gravel and the occasional creak of a bike chain. About halfway in it started. The air shifted first. It was subtle, like someone had opened a freezer door, and the cold just bled into everything. My hoodie suddenly wasn't enough. I pulled it tighter around myself,

my hand stinging on the handlebars. I wanted to say something, crack a joke about how maybe we were imagining it, but then I realized how quiet it had gotten. No wind, no rustling leaves, no bugs. Lucas must have noticed it, too, because he glanced over his shoulder and called back. Creepy, huh? His voice sounded too loud like it didn't belong there.

Yeah, I muttered. I picked up speed trying to close the space between us. Then we saw the tree. Lucas's bike light caught it first, a thick, gnarled trunk blocking the road, surrounded by a mess of dead branches. It looked like it had been ripped out of the ground and dropped there, roots and all, but something about it felt wrong, too clean, too deliberate, like someone had put it there. Are you kidding me? Lucas grumbled as he skidded to a stop. He swung his leg off

the bike and stomped up to it, kicking a branch like it was the tree's fault for being there. Some kids messing around, that's what this is. I stopped just behind him, my light flickering across the bark. It didn't look fresh. The wood was old, brittle, crumbling where Lucas Lucas had kicked it, like it had been dead for ages. How did it even fall? I asked, hearing my voice shake a little. There's no wind, nothing. Lucas turned to look at me. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Then, as if to break the tension, he forced a laugh and waved me forward.

Come on, help me, we'll lift the bikes over. Reluctantly, I followed. My palms scraped against the rough bark as I hoist. wasted my bike over the tangle of roots and branches. It wasn't heavy, but every second I stood there, I felt more exposed, like the forest was getting closer. The air smelled wrong, too, like something burning, faint but sharp enough to make me wrinkle my nose. Do you smell that? I asked as Lucas hauled his bike over, probably just some asshole camping nearby. He didn't sound convinced. We got back on our bikes and peddled harder, moving toward the bridge. I could see it up ahead now, the incline that led to the narrow crumbling overpass. Just before the bridge started,

something flickered to the left. Light. A fire. Stop, Lucas said suddenly, his voice low. I nearly ran into him again as he slowed to a crawl, our lights barely cutting through the darkness. There it was. A small fire, carefully built just off the road where the path curved. It wasn't big, maybe the size of a campfire, but it burned steady. Something. about it felt wrong, controlled. That's when we saw them. At first I thought it was just shadows, but then Lucas's light hit them, figures. Eight, maybe more, standing behind the fire in a loose half-circle. They wore long white robes that reached the ground, the fabric heavy and stained dark at the hems, like they'd been dragging it through mud. Their faces were covered by masks,

wooden masks, rough and handmade, like someone had hacked them out of trees and carved them into faces. Hollow eyes, jagged mouths. One of the masks looked too smooth, like a child's face with no features at all. They didn't move. Lucas and I froze. For a second it felt like time stopped completely, like we'd wandered into something we were never supposed to see. My chest felt tight, my lungs refusing to pull air. The figures just stood there, still as stone, the firelight flickering off their robes.

Then one of them stepped forward, not like a normal step. It was jerky, unnatural, like its body was figuring out how to move. The mask tilted toward us, hollow eyes fixed in our direction. Another figure twitched, and I swore I heard something. A dry clicking sound, like teeth gnashing together. Go, Lucas whispered. I couldn't move. My hands were frozen on the handlebars.

My feet rooted to the pedals. I stared at the figure as it took another step, faster this time, the other's shifting behind it. Lucas's voice cracked as he screamed, Go! The spell broke. We turned our bikes so fast I nearly fell over, the tires slipping on loose gravel.

I didn't look back. I couldn't. My legs burned as I peddled, the sound of our chains rattling and Lucas's ragged breathing filling my ears. Behind us the clicking grew louder, closer. We hit the bridge, the incline slowing us down, but I didn't dare stop. The path blurred in front of me, my headlight bouncing as I rode.

Every muscle in my body screamed, but I kept going, Lucas just ahead of me, until we crested the bridge and the road started to dip. Ahead, there was light. Streetlights, civilization. We didn't stop until we hit the pavement of the main road, the glow of the lamps washing over us. us like a flood of safety. I skidded to a stop and looked back. The forest was just a wall of black, empty and still, like nothing had ever happened. Lucas dropped his bike, hands on his knees as he

gasped for air. He didn't look at me when he spoke. Did you see their feet? I swallowed, my throat dry. What? They weren't touching the ground, he whispered. We didn't say another word the whole way home. We didn't talk about it as we rode. There wasn't time. My lungs burned as I pushed my bike harder than I ever thought possible, my legs moving on pure instinct, like an animal trying to escape a predator. I didn't look back. I couldn't. But I could hear them. The footsteps started soft like someone walking through sand,

but they picked up speed, quick, deliberate thuds pounding the gravel behind us, too heavy to be human. And mixed in with it was this other sound, faint, but undeniable, something clicking, like bones snapping into place. Lucas was just ahead of me, his light bouncing wildly as he peddled. Don't stop, he yelled, his voice raw. I couldn't answer. My mouth was dry, my throat a fistful of sand.

All I could think about was the fire, the masks, the way that one figure moved, like it had to learn how to walk. My mind was racing in loops. What were they? What were they doing out there? But the more I thought about it, the louder those footsteps seemed to. to get. We hit the tree line where the bridge began, the steep incline rising in front of us like some cruel obstacle. My bike wobbled as I forced it uphill, the tires slipping on gravel.

Lucas grunted ahead of me, pushing harder. I could see the bridge now, narrow, cracked concrete stretching over the train tracks below. Then I heard it. The scrape, a sound like nails dragging over stone, so close behind me I almost stopped peddling. My skin crawled, hair on my neck rising like it wanted to peel off my body and run away. It was right there. I looked back. I shouldn't have. The light from my bike cut through the dark just far enough to see them, three of them now, gliding down the road toward us. That's what they were doing. Gliding. Their feet moved like they were walking, but they weren't touching the ground. Their robes didn't billow, didn't move at all, as if the air didn't exist around them.

And the masks, God, the masks. They were clearer now, caught in the edge of my light. One had a twisted, jagged smile carved into its wood, but the other two were worse. One had no features at all, just a flat, smooth surface where the face should have been. And the third? The third had a hollow mouth, stretched unnaturally wide, black and empty inside. I looked away and peddled harder, my legs screaming. Lucas, I croaked, my voice breaking.

Faster! I'm trying, he yelled back. His bike swerved on the incline, but he kept going. We crested the bridge together, and for one terrifying second I felt like my body was about to give out. My lungs were on fire, my legs trembling. But the sound was still behind us. The clicking, the scraping.

And then I heard something worse. a laugh. It started low, almost inaudible, but it grew louder, spreading out behind us like fog. It wasn't a human laugh. It was ragged, choked, like someone trying to force the sound out of a throat that didn't work anymore. The noise clawed its way into my brain, and I swear I could feel it vibrating in my bones. Lucas heard it too. He let out this strangled, panicked noise, half a yell, half a sob. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't stop. We were barreling down the other side of of the bridge now, the road sloping into a straight stretch that led toward the blockade we'd climbed earlier. And the footsteps were still there, still chasing us. The blockade appeared

suddenly in the beam of Lucas's light. He skidded to a stop so fast I nearly slammed into him. The tree, the damn tree, he shouted, his voice cracking. It was still there, the gnarled mess of branches blocking the road, just as deliberate as before. We have to climb it, I choked out, jumping off my bike. We didn't have time to think. Lucas dropped his bike and scrambled forward, hauling himself up the dead roots, his hands slipping on the dry wood. I shoved my bike to the ground and followed. The air around us feeling thick, like the forest was closing in. And then I heard it. The crunch of gravel, right behind me. I looked down. In the thin, cold light of my bike, I saw a hand reaching for me from the darkness. It wasn't a hand, though, not really,

really. The fingers were too long, too stiff. The skin stretched gray and tight, like it had been left out in the sun for weeks. I scrambled up, my palms scraping against the wood, something cold and sharp grazing my ankle as I pulled myself over the top. Lucas was already on the other side, his face pale and slick with sweat. Move, he shouted, grabbing my arm and dragging me down. I stumbled and fell to my knees on the gravel panting so hard I thought I'd pass out, but I didn't stop. We ran. The road stretched ahead of us like an endless tunnel, but I could see it now, the faint, flickering glow of the streetlights beyond the trees. We ran toward it like drowning men clawing for the surface. My legs felt like they were made of stone, my vision swimming, but I kept

going. And all the while, I heard it behind us. The footsteps, the scraping and the laughing. The sound followed us to the edge of the forest. I didn't dare look back, even when we burst out onto the main road and collapsed in the dirt. For a long moment, we just lay there, gasping, our bodies shaking so hard I thought we'd fall apart. The light from the street lamps washed over us like salvation. Lucas was curled on his side, holding his knee where he'd scraped it on the tree. I sat up and looked back at the hollow. It was silent, empty.

The forest just sat there, black and still. like it hadn't just tried to kill us. Lucas let out a shaky breath and sat up next to me. Did you? He stopped. I turned to him. What? His face was pale, eyes wide, and empty.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. Did you see their faces? I shook my head, my throat too tight to answer. Did you see their feet? He asked, trembling. They weren't touching the ground. We didn't go back for the bikes. We didn't go back at all.

sleep didn't come easy that night. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Every shadow in my room suddenly too long, too dark, like it was reaching for me. Every creek of the house felt deliberate. The sound of footsteps, soft and rhythmic echoed in my head, even when the room was perfectly silent. I didn't know what I saw back there. Maybe it was some sick prank, some weird local cult. Maybe we imagined parts of it. But I couldn't stop reprimed. playing it. The fire, the masks, that sound, the clicking, and the way they moved. Lucas's voice wouldn't leave my head. They weren't touching the ground. By morning, I'd convinced myself we had to go back. Not to the forest, never the forest, but we had to at least get our bikes. Maybe someone had

already stolen them, but leaving them felt like leaving a loose thread, and loose threads had a way of pulling everything apart. Lucas didn't need much convincing when I called. He sounded like he hadn't slept either. Daylight's fine, he muttered. We'll be in and out. We met around noon, when the sun was at its highest, and peddled to the hollow's edge.

The road looked so normal in the daylight, it made me feel stupid. The forest didn't look hungry or watching, just trees and leaves and dirt. Lucas grunted as we slowed down, glancing over at me, See, no big deal. Yeah, I said, forcing a smile that didn't reach my chest. We walked our bikes into the hollow together.

The forest still seemed quiet, unnervingly so, but it didn't have that weight pressing down on us. I wanted to believe it was nothing. A trick of light. Our brains spooked by shadows and stupid stories. But when we reached the spot where the tree had been, we stopped dead. The blockade was gone. The road was clear.

not a single branch, not a hint of dust. The forest floor on either side looked undisturbed, like nothing had ever been dragged there. Someone must have moved it, Lucas mumbled, though he didn't sound sure. Yeah, I said, not believing myself either. But our bikes weren't there. The spot where we'd dropped them was empty, like we'd imagined leaving them behind in the first place.

I felt a chill crawl up my spine, the sun suddenly feeling thin and distant. I kicked at the gravel, my voice unsteady. Maybe they rolled into the ditch? We split up, checking the edges of the road, but there was nothing. No bikes, no tire tracks. Just dry dirt and leaves. I was starting to feel it again, that sinking pressure in my chest,

the weight of the forest around us. My fingers twitched nervously as I scanned the tree line, my throat tight. That's when Lucas yelled, Here! I turned to find out. find him crouching at the edge of the path where the underbrush thinned out into a clearing. He pointed down into the grass, his face pale. There they were, our bikes, or what was left of them. They were half hidden in the tall weeds, mangled and bent like someone, or something, had grabbed

them and twisted them apart. The tires were flat, the spokes bent in every direction. My seat was slashed clean through, like it had been torn open with a knife. Lucas stepped closer, pointing at the handlebars. Do you see that? He whispered. I leaned in and froze. There were marks on the metal. Long, scorched fingerprints burned into the surface,

like someone with searing hot hands had gripped it. My mouth went dry and I stumbled back, heart pounding in my ears. Let's go, I muttered. Lucas didn't argue. He took one last look at the bikes before backing away. His face pale as milk. We left them there and made our way out of the forest, walking fast, neither of us saying a word. I could feel it again, the forest watching us.

The silence pressing against my ears, growing louder and louder, until I was sure I could hear something else underneath it. Breathing. Just barely there, as though it was keeping pace with us. When we stepped out of the hollow and back onto the open road, I finally let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I turned to Lucas. That's it. I'm done. I'm never going back. He didn't answer. He just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes distant. That night Lucas called me. I answered on the second ring, already knowing it wouldn't be good. Come over, he said. His voice was low, tight, like he was trying not to shake. I found something. What? I asked, my chest tightening. Just come over. It took

me less than five minutes to get there. Lucas met me at the edge of his family's property, flashlight in hand, leading me toward the back field. It was getting dark, too dark, and my stomach nodded as we walked. Then he pointed, the bikes. They were there, mangled just like before, dumped in the tall grass at the edge of the woods, the same woods, the same hollow. How? I whispered. I don't know, Lucas said, his voice shaking. I don't, He stopped suddenly and aimed the flashlight at the ground. Just in front of the bikes, pressed into the dirt, were footprints. Long, narrow, bare feet.

Only they weren't normal feet. The toes were too long, too spindly, like something skeletal. Worse, there were too many. Neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed. The silence stretched, pulling tighter and tighter until it felt like it was squeezing me. Then I heard it. The sound of gravel.

soft, deliberate steps coming from the trees. Go, Lucas whispered. I turned, already running. We didn't stop until we were back at his house. The doors locked, the windows closed. My heart slammed in my chest as I sank onto the floor. My hands shaking so hard I couldn't hold the glass of water Lucas brought me. I didn't sleep that night.

I lay awake, staring at the window, listening for sounds I hoped weren't there. But sometime after three I heard it. Tap. Tap, tap, tap. Soft, rhythmic, against the glass. I didn't look. I couldn't. I pulled the blanket over my head, shaking, my breath hitching in my throat, but I felt it, that heavy watching presence just beyond the thin pain of glass. By morning, it was gone. We never spoke about the hollow again. Lucas and I stopped hanging out late at night, and I avoided that road like it was cursed. But even now, years later, I still feel it sometimes, that presence, watching from the edge of the dark.

And every so often when the house is quiet, I hear it again, tap, tap, tap. It was supposed to be a quiet day. A couple of hours in a forgotten corner of the Welsh countryside, just me, my camera, and the kind of light you only get in dying afternoons, gold seeping through twisted branches, casting shadows that look almost alive. I'd found the grove by accident a week ago, an ancient copse of oaks that bent and nodded into each other like skeletons frozen mid-wessel, perfect for the kind of eerie shots I loved. When I pulled up to the clearing at the forest's edge, I was alone.

Just my car, my gear, and the smell of damp earth thick in the air. It felt like stepping into a pocket of the world no one had touched in years, quiet, still, I liked it that way. I had just finished setting up my tripod when I heard the engine, a low, groaning hum that echoed through the trees like it didn't belong there. I turned and saw it, a rusted white van rattling up the dirt road and parking next to my car. A single figure got out. A woman. She was tall, taller than me, wearing a red raincoat that looked too bright, too new for the rest of her.

Something was off. Her movements were slow and stiff as she walked to the edge of the forest, where she just stood, facing the tree line. Her back to me. I tried to ignore her. People were strange sometimes, and I wasn't going to let some random lady ruin my shoot. The camera clicked, and I focused on the screen,

framing the gnarled branches perfectly as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. Then she moved. When I glanced up again, she was on the path, the same path I was standing on. She didn't look at me at first. just shuffled forward, dragging her right leg behind her like it was weighted with something heavy. Every step sent a dull thump through the dirt. I gripped the tripod a little tighter,

keeping one hand on the camera. Evening, I said, trying to sound normal. She stopped. That's when she turned her head. Her face was pale, sunken, with dark, wet hair plastered to her forehead. Her eyes locked on mine, blank, glassy, like she wasn't seeing me at all. Her mouth hung slightly open, lips cracked and colorless. Uh, are you all right? She tilted her head sharply, too sharply, and let out a low broken noise from her throat. Not a word.

Not quite a growl. Just noise. She stayed like that, head crooked, body still, as if she were trying to process what I was, whether I mattered. I took a step back. Then she lunged, not at me, but at the ground, bending over with such force I heard her joints crack. Her hands dug into the earth, clawing up damp leaves and mud,

flinging them into the air in frantic jerky bursts. The noise she made grew louder, a low hum mixed with sharp grunts, like she was singing to herself in a language no one else could understand. My heartbeat drummed in my ears. I slid my camera into my bag, slowly, as if any sudden movement might snap her attention back to me. Okay, I'll just leave you to it. I muttered more to myself than her. She froze. Leaves clung to her fingers, dirt smeared up her wrists, and she turned her head again, slowly this time. She was still hunched over like a broken

marionette that didn't know how to stand upright. Then she shuffled off, back into the trees, dragging her leg behind her. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I heard my exhale shake through the quiet. My hand fumbled for my phone, and I dialed Sophie. She answered on the second ring, her voice a lifeline in the stillness. Hey, what's up? Just stay on the phone with me for a bit, yeah, I said, keeping my voice low as I stared into the spot where the woman had disappeared. There's this person here. I don't know. She's a branch snapped. I whipped my head around. Nothing. Just trees. The kind of trees where shadows blur into each other, where everything looks like it could be someone watching. You're scaring me, Sophie said. What's going to?

on. Nothing, it's fine. I'm just being stupid. I kept her on speakerphone as I packed up the rest of my gear, telling myself it was wildlife, probably deer, brushing through the undergrowth. I heard it again, though, the unmistakable crunch of leaves, pacing, circling. My breath was short now, too loud in my ears. I hurried to the clearing, eyes darting between the trees. The van was gone. Thank God. I let out a shaky laugh. It's okay, I said to Sophie, trying to convince us both. She's gone, whoever she was. I turned onto the main path phone still in hand, and that's when I saw him, a man, at the forest edge, just standing there. He was taller than I thought at first, his shoulders broad beneath a flannel jacket caked in dried mud. His hair hung in wet strings around his face, and he looked straight

at me with those same empty eyes and the smile, crooked. and stretched, splitting his face like it didn't belong there. My blood turned to ice. It was her, the same person, just different now, exposed. Evening, he said. The voice was low and cracked, like something dead trying to speak through a throat that shouldn't work. I didn't answer. I just kept walking, faster, not daring to look back. I could feel his eyes on me. I could hear him, too. the faint thud-thud of his steps on the dirt matching mine. When I reached my car, I yanked the door open, locking myself inside with shaking hands. My phone was still on, Sophie's voice distant, tinny.

Are you okay, Dan? I looked up. The man was standing on the road now, still as stone, staring at me with that awful grin. He lifted his hand, a slow, casual wave, before taking one deliberate step back into the woods. And then I heard it. A humming sound. Low, droning, vibrating in my chest. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once,

and I swear to God I saw shadows move between the trees. I didn't stick around to see what came next. I threw the car into reverse and got the hell out of there, gravel kicking up in my wake. When I passed the rusted van parked just down the road, hidden now, half buried in brush, the back doors were open, crates, ropes, and something dark and crumpled that I refused to look at,

I didn't stop driving until I hit the main road where I finally pulled over and screamed into the steering wheel. Dan? Sophie's voice crackled through the phone. I'm fine, I lied. It's nothing. But I couldn't stop thinking about the grin and the humming. And how for just a second I'd seen something else in that forest. They weren't watching me. They were waiting. I didn't sleep. Not really. I must have dozed off for an hour or two, but ever Every sound outside my rental cabin yanked me back awake. Every creek of a branch. Every whisper of wind against the walls.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling. The hum I heard in the grove still rattling around in my head like a tune I couldn't shake. By morning, I'd convinced myself it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The man, the woman, whoever they were, they were probably just a lunatic squatting in the woods. I could rationalize it. strange yes but manageable that's what i told myself as i drank the strongest coffee i could brew and packed up my gear i don't know why i went back part of me felt like i had to maybe i wanted to prove to myself that there was a simple explanation something that would make me feel less insane or maybe it was something deeper something that grove had sunk

into me like a splinter that wouldn't work itself out i told sophie i was heading back she called me an idiot She wasn't wrong. The forest looked different in the morning. Lighter, less oppressive. The sun breaking through the canopy and scattered beams. It should have made me feel better, but it didn't. The light didn't reach deep enough, and the silence was still wrong. The kind of silence that isn't natural, the kind that feels listening.

I parked at the clearing, heart pounding as I climbed out. The van was gone. That helped a little. My car was the only one there, and the woods felt empty. Still, I gripped the knife I'd tucked into my coat pocket as I started down the trail. The grove looked untouched, like nothing had ever happened. The tripod marks I'd left in the dirt were gone, though, as if the earth had smoothed itself out overnight. Fresh leaves covered the ground.

I tried to ignore how they looked like they'd been placed. Then I saw it. A shred of red fabric, bright and filthy, caught on a thorny branch. The raincoat. I stepped closer, my breath shallow, and noticed something else. A faint line of disturbed earth leading off the path, deeper into the woods. A dragging mark. My stomach twisted, but I followed it.

The deeper I went, the colder it got. The sun barely made it through the branches now, and the air felt heavy, pressing against me like it didn't want me there. The drag marks ended in a small clearing I hadn't seen before, a hollow ring of stones half buried in moss and ivy. My throat went dry. There were symbols carved into the stones, faint, worn, but still there, jagged lines that twisted into shapes almost human, almost.

The ground in the center was disturbed, as though someone, or something, had been digging. I crouched low and saw fragments scattered near the pit. Old bones, small and brittle, like they'd been there for years. and rope. A voice in my head screamed leave. I stood up and turned sharply, ready to go back. That's when I saw the footprints, mine, and others. Bare feet, larger than mine, imprinted in the soft earth.

They circled the clearing. And then I heard it. A sound. Barely audible at first, rising out of the trees like a low vibration, a humming. Not one voice, but many, layered on top of each other, deep and steady like an old chant. I froze. My eyes scanned the trees every shadow, every space between branches, and then I saw them, figures. At first I thought it was the trees playing tricks on me, but then they moved. People, tall and short, men and women, standing at the edge of the clearing,

half hidden in the gloom. Their faces were pale and blank, mouths slightly open as the humming poured out of them. Their clothes were all wrong. mismatched, tattered layers that looked like they'd been pulled from another time. I stumbled back, my pulse hammering in my ears. Who's there? I croaked. No one answered. They didn't move, didn't blink, just watched. Then a shape stepped forward from the line of trees, and I felt bile rise in my throat. It was him, the man in the flannel jacket. He was closer now, close enough for me to see the way his face didn't seem right. too smooth in some places, too hollow in others, as if it were a mask stretched too thin over something else.

That same crooked smile split his face, and when he spoke it was barely a whisper. You shouldn't have come back. I turned and ran, branches clawed at my clothes, scratched my face as I tore through the woods, the humming growing louder and louder, until it felt like it was vibrating through my chest. I didn't look back. I couldn't. I could feel them moving, though, closing in around me, the sound coming from all directions. I hit the trail, nearly stumbling as I sprinted toward the clearing. My car was still there. I dug the keys out of my pocket with shaking hands, throwing myself into the driver's seat and locking the doors. The humming stopped. It was silent again. I sat there, panting, gripping the steering wheel,

waiting for something, anything to appear. Nothing did. Nothing did. After a long minute I forced myself to look back at the trail. They were gone. I backed out slowly, half expecting to see the man step out from the trees, but there was nothing. I turned onto the road and drove, not stopping until I was miles away, the trees behind me, swallowed up by distance. Later, back at the cabin, I plugged in my camera, hoping the photos would distract me, anything to convince myself that what I'd seen wasn't real. But as I scrolled through the shots, my chest tightened.

The grove was there, perfectly framed, the trees twisting into dark silhouettes. But in the shadows, I saw them, faint outlines of figures standing perfectly still, watching. And in the last photo, the very last one, there was something else, a shape in the foreground, just out of focus, close. Too close. I slammed the laptop shut and sat back, the humming still rattling in my skull like it never really stopped. They hadn't just been watching. They'd been waiting.