Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 Scary Deep Wilderness Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 26, 2024

These are 5 Scary Deep Wilderness Horror Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:13:07 Story 2 00:32:15 Story 3 00:39:10 Story 4 00:57:43 Story 5 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #wilderness #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Bad advice. You talking to me? Kayak, got that right. I grew up in a rural community in the Squintna area of Alaska, a place that doesn't often appear on maps. Its only claim to fame is being a place the Iditarod passes on the way to Gnom. It isn't a town or even a village, rather a scattered community of homesteaders,

apocalypse preppers, lodge operations, and wealthy Southerners with summer retreats, all spread for miles up and down the river. It tends not to be a very frightening place, though it can be dangerous, whether from hostile wildlife or smash-and-grab criminals. If you know how to handle it with a rifle, there's nothing to be afraid of. Yet, as long as I've lived out there, I have had an uncanny fear of being out in the woods alone. My family has a homestead nearby, a large marsh. Ever since I was a child, I could see that expanse of grass and water outside my window. It could be mesmerizingly beautiful, watching the wind ripple through that sea of grass.

But at the same time, there was always something off-putting or eerie about it, especially when night came. Alaska is known as the place of the midnight sun. During the summer, it never really gets dark. Instead, everything gets suspended in a drawn-out dusk until morning breaks again. The sun falls just enough below the horizon that the sky grays, and all the colors become muted with less definition. But there's still enough light to see everything, to make out shapes, perfect conditions to make you think you're seeing things.

I'd be looking out my window, watching the mist roll over the now-still grassy expanse, thinking I could almost make out things moving on the far side of the marsh. I would always dismiss it. Moose are frequent, and love to browse the aquatic vegetation there. Yet there was always a fear. A fear I could not rationalize or explain. I didn't know where it came from. When I was young, I attributed the fear to bears.

After all, there were many cases of hungry grizzlies breaking into cabins and attacking people in their beds. This actually happened to one of our neighbors, a story I might share another time. Later, my family had to put down a problem bear that had been breaking into our garbage shed. With it lying dead before me, I realized that maybe bears were, weren't behind this unknown terror. This strange, irrational dread went on for many years, until I was old and big enough to be allowed to go out on my own. It subsided with the newfound freedom I gained.

I could go wherever I wished, whenever I wished. I could explore, and I did, as many children do. I tromped around the woods, usually armed with a big axe, bear spray, and a 22. the area we built on was raised with a steep wooded slope that ended at the edge of the marsh these slopes encircled at least half of the marsh before it flattened out on the other side i typically paraded around on the highlands never really venturing down these slopes to the marsh the year two thousand sixteen was when it began or perhaps it had always been and i was only just then noticing there's a big trail that overlooks the marsh where we had long ago pushed old stumps rotten logs and debris from trail creation off the side of the slope, creating kind of a giant ball of dirt and tangled wood that one could stand on to overlook the marsh. I was speeding by at the time on a four-wheeler, and I just happened to look in that direction. When I did, there was something

there, something standing in the trail by the debris pile. To this day I almost chalk it up to me seeing things, but I felt it should be included. I went by so quickly that I never really got a good look at it. It looked like it wasn't really there, like an apparition of some kind. An enormous hunched body suspended on thin, emaciated legs, with long spindly arms reaching out to its side. It was gray, gray like a dark cloud. It had a big neck and a huge snouted head. There wasn't enough definition to the body, and I was going too fast to see much of anything else. After I'd passed it, I stopped and backed up to see if I could catch a glimpse of it again. There was nothing to see. I ruminated on that sighting. All I could think of was some enormous bipedal moose or wolf. It couldn't have been

a bear. Bear's limbs are quite thick and stocky, not long and emaciated. The fear returned, and this time I felt like I knew where it was coming from. Since 2016, there have been happenings, perhaps brought on by my own foolishness. The next year, I sought to conquer my fear, saying to myself I was only seeing things, and if it was an animal, it was only an animal. A friend was staying with me at the time, and I invited him on a squirrel hunt with me, an excuse for me to go down where I saw that thing, and in the adjacent area, proved to myself that there was nothing to fear, with a friend for backup. I regret having dragged him down there now. It was pretty scummy of me, now that I think about it.

about it. Armed with axes, bear spray, and rifles, we went down the slope where the debris pile was. It was quiet. There were no squirrels chattering in the trees, no chickadees chirping. Even the ever-present mosquitoes lessened and quieted. The only sound was us wading through the bush toward the bottom of the debris pile at the marsh's edge. We came across a bone, a femur belonging to something. We didn't think too much of it. After all, you'll find bones every now and then, especially out in the bush. But eventually, we found more, a whole moose carcass, picked clean and scattered around the base of the debris pile. Its ribcage lay derelict, bleached by the sun, still interconnected by dried cartilage.

We both thought it interesting, stopping to examine the remains. It was old. There was no smell. Perhaps one or two years had passed since its death. As we sat there over the bones, we looked behind us, noticing that the pile of debris had several tunnels dug through it into the side of the slope. Dense tufts of moose hair littered around it. Perhaps a bear had dug its den here. Wisely, we decided to leave, moving horizontally along the slope, away from those tunnels. The dread began to seep back into me, though I powered through it, making excuses.

Maybe a bear had eaten the moose. moose and hibernated there a long time ago, I thought to myself. But as we progressed, things became well, uncanny. Along the slope there were many well-worn trails going alongside it, which we walked on to avoid bushwhacking. No discernible tracks could be made out, but there were definitely signs of moose, where they had stripped off leaves and bark to eat and large patches of flattened grass where something had bitten down. Eventually, we came across another carcass, more intact this time. Its bones were less scattered, likely only one winter since it died. Its skeletal body was covered in the crunchy shells of dead insects and maggots, weirdly,

and its neck had been snapped, one of its vertebrates cleanly broken, like someone breaking a carrot in half. We thought it strange and moved on. As we went, we began to notice that every so often, by the side of the trail, there was a young aspen, or poplar sapling, bent over with a log, or something holding down its top, like the log had been placed there to keep it bent over. We found places where there were multiple saplings bent over in strange patterns, one after the other in a row. Growing more unnerved, we continued.

Eventually, seeing little sticks all laid around the base of a bigger tree, like a tiny teepee at that point we knit out of there heading back to the house we got back inside and we're just taking off our jackets and shoes when it happened there was a howl or a deep moan something like that i struggled to describe it but it was so deep so loud i could feel it in my chest like it rattled my very lungs the only thing i can really liken it to was when i was at a military air show and the f-15s did a low fly-by over the attendees. The jolt and the air reverberating in your lungs is something that you just can't forget. This howl boomed once, and that was it. I felt that whatever it was, it was telling us, I know where you've been, and I know where you live. My buddy and I were shaken, but we both

came to the excuse of, did you hear that howl? It had to have been a wolf or something. But when we looked at each other, we both knew darn well it was no wolf. After this trek down the slope, there have been things happening. We'll find moose carcasses increasingly close to our house, with most being yearling calves, which were about the size of horses. And we never hear any fight or commotion, so it's assumed that whatever kills them drags their carcasses close to our place. And every time it's the same, the neck is snapped, sometimes with the head detached.

One time in the winter, we went out to the shed to find a moose. moosehead sitting in the doorway, its decapitated body just off to the side of the building. It's been a while, and I may be misremembering, but we might have also found a leg in a tree as well. And every time, it's the same procedure, we burn or dispose of the carcass so our dogs don't get into it. We heard one of the neighbors had something big trying to dig under his house while he was gone one evening. All his dogs had been huddled under the cabin. When he came back, he found massive claw marks, overturned earth at the edge of his home. He had to coax his own dogs out, letting them sleep in the house with him. A couple of nights later, one of his dogs went missing. A bear maybe? I'd find

strange tracks. I wouldn't know what to make of one or two in the middle of the trail, with no discernible trackway, even what looked like semi-human handprints in the mud of a nearby lake bottom. I don't know what to make of this. A lot of it can kind of be explained away by coincidences, but the one thing that sold this for me was when I was alone one night at the house. In an upstairs bedroom, I was reading a book in bed when I heard something outside. Something was running around on the lawn. I got up out of bed to go take a look, and I heard this massive whack, as if something just hit the side of the house. I froze, hearing something running around with loud, ragged breathing. I turned off my lights and locked the door. The breathing continued,

heaving and panting gargling breaths i ended up recording a little on my phone but due to the crappy audio i couldn't really make it out over the sound of a clock ticking in the background i gathered my courage and peeped out the window nothing there but it sounded so close it had stopped running and all i could hear was that breathing yet try as i might looking out the window i saw nothing no movement not anything it was anything It was as if, whatever it was, hugged the side of the house under the eaves to stay hidden from my view. The breathing slowed to the occasional huff and pant. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it just stopped. The next morning, I found a large poplar stick with a long indentation in the house paint. Whatever it was had hit the side of the house with a stick, which must have been the whack I heard. Since that night with the breathing and the stick, there have been no more carcass.

life has gone relatively back to normal. I have reluctantly gone back down over the slope, looking for property markers. The bones are gone, and the tunnels in the debris pile have collapsed or eroded. Thankfully, nothing came of me going down there again. But in the end, I don't know. Maybe I'm going crazy, making connections between things that aren't really connected. My fear has subsided. It's smaller, but still there in the back of my mind whenever I'm alone in the woods. How many discounts does USAA auto insurance offer? Too many to say here.

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were fading fast replaced by the looming reality of law school And all its attendant anxieties I remember thinking As I sat in my small cluttered apartment how quickly the carefree days had slipped through our fingers. My phone buzzed, and I saw Percy's name flash across the screen. The idea he pitched was simple, yet enticing, a road trip, a final hurrah, before we succumbed

to the rigors of our respective futures. Percy, Victor, and I had always shared a thirst for the unknown, a curiosity for the eerie whispers of the night. It was this shared passion that set the wheels of our adventure in motion. The plan was to wind our way through the country, soaking in the majestic beauty of national parks by day, and seeking out haunted locales by night. Percy, with his mop of untamed hair and a grin that could light up the darkest rooms,

was the de facto leader of our trio. Victor, more reserved, with a sharp intellect hidden behind quiet eyes, was always the one to temper our enthusiasm with a dose of reality. And then there was me. caught somewhere in the middle, forever balancing on the fine line between skepticism and belief. Our journey began under a sky so blue it felt like a promise. We drove Percy's beaten-up jeep, windows down, the air tasting of freedom in summer. The road stretched before us like a ribbon of possibilities. We joked, we sang along to the radio,

and we talked about everything and nothing at all. It was the kind of easy camaraderie that can only be forged in the fires of adolescence. Our stops were whimsical, guided more by fancy than any real plan. We walked the trails of Yellowstone, marveling at the geysers and the vast, untamed wilderness. We spent a night in a purportedly haunted hotel in Colorado, where the only spirits we encountered were the ones we brought in our flask. It was an idyllic existence, far removed from the impending responsibilities that awaited us. But as the days passed, a restlessness began to grow within me. It was like a slow-burning fire, a yearning for something more,

something that could stir the blood in my veins. Percy and Victor felt it too. I could see it in their eyes, the way they scanned the horizon as if searching for a sign. It was on one of those aimless evenings, in a nondescript motel room, that I stumbled upon the article. It was buried deep in the archives of an online newspaper,

a small piece from the late 1800s about a remote farmhouse. The story was a tapestry of horror, a reclusive family found mutilated, an entire household bathed in blood, and no culprit ever found. It was the kind of story that would have sent shivers down our spines as kids, huddled around a campfire. I remember calling Percy and Victor over,

my finger hovering over the faded print on my laptop screen. Their reactions were immediate and visceral. Percy's eyes lit up with that familiar thrill, while Victor's brow furrowed in intrigue. The farmhouse wasn't just another stop on our journey. It was a call to adventure, a siren song for our horror-loving hearts. So we veered off the path we had been following.

The road to the farmhouse was a detour, both literal and metaphorical, leading us away from the predictable and into the unknown. As the jeep rumbled down the dusty back roads, the setting sun casting long shadows across our path, I felt a thrill of anticipation. Little did we know, our search for ghosts would soon become much more than a simple scare. The road behind us unfurled like a forgotten memory,

each mile marker a step further into the unknown. The landscape had changed, the lush greens giving way to a more barren, desolate beauty. Victor drove in silence. His usually expressive eyes narrowed in concentration. Percy, sprawled across the back seat, was lost in his own world, headphones on, nodding to a rhythm only he could hear. I was left alone with my thoughts, the newspaper article about the farmhouse burning a hole in my mind. It was an odd feeling, sitting there with the wind whipping through the open windows, a sense of foreboding slowly creeping up my spine.

It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was more like the thrill of standing on the edge of a cliff, wondering what lay beyond. The article had been brief, the details sparse, but the implications were clear. Something terrible had happened in that farmhouse, something that defied explanation. As we turned onto an even more remote road, the shadows seemed to grow longer, the trees denser, The Jeep's tires crunched over gravel and dirt, the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over us. Victor finally spoke, his voice low. You sure about this? I could only nod, my gaze fixed on the thickening woods.

The story of the farmhouse was like something out of a gothic novel, a reclusive family, living far from the nearest town, suddenly and brutally destroyed. The local townspeople, wary of the family's isolation, only disguised. discovered the tragedy months later. The newspaper report had been graphic, body parts strewn across the rooms, blood painting the walls, and the family's heads lined up on a window-sill like some grotesque exhibition. The authorities had blamed a wild animal, but the townsfolk whispered darker theories. Witchcraft, curses, something unholy. Our decision to visit the farmhouse was impulsive, driven more by our shared love for the macabre than any real plan. Percy had been the most enthusiastic, his imagination fired by the tale of horror. Victor, ever the realist, had raised

his eyebrows but agreed nonetheless. And I, I was caught in the grip of a story that felt larger than life, a mystery that beckoned with a siren's call. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the landscape, we finally saw it. a weathered sign pointing toward the farmhouse. The words were barely legible, worn away by time and neglect. We turned on to an even narrower path, the branches scratching against the jeep like fingers trying to hold us back. The farmhouse itself was a shock.

Nestled in a small clearing, it stood defiantly against the encroaching forest. Time had not been kind to it. The wood was rotting, the paint peeling away to reveal the bare bones' bits It was smaller than I had imagined, its windows dark and empty, like the eyes of a skull. We got out of the Jeep, the air heavy with the scent of decay and old secrets. The silence was oppressive, the kind of quiet that feels like a weight on your chest.

As we approached the house, each step felt heavier than the last. The door hung off its hinges, an unspoken invitation into the darkness beyond. I remember pausing at the threshold, a sense of unease washing over me, the story of the family, the gruesome details of their deaths, all of it felt suddenly real, tangible. The line between the past and the present blurred, and for a moment I wondered if we were stepping into a story that had never truly ended. The interior of the farmhouse was like stepping into another world, a snapshot of a past long forgotten. The first thing that hit me was the smell, a musty, earthy scent that clung to the

back of my throat. The dimming light from outside barely penetrated the gloom, casting long, twisted shadows against the walls. Victor flicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness like a knife. The walls were bare, the paint peeling and discolored, and the floorboards creaked under our weight, as if protesting our intrusion. Percy, Ever the fearless one, led the way, his steps echoing in the empty space. This is it, huh? he said, more to himself than to us. Victor and I exchanged a look but said nothing. The truth was, we were both feeling the weight of the place, a heaviness that seemed to press down on us with each step.

As we explored the ground floor, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. It was an irrational thought, I knew, but the sensation was undeniable. The farmhouse was devoid of furniture, save for a few broken pieces that lay scattered like forgotten toys. The only sign of the former inhabitants was a series of old rusty cans in a cupboard, their labels long since faded. Victor was the first to notice the stairs. Should we check upstairs? He asked, his voice unusually hesitant. I nodded, and we made our way to the second floor, the stairs groaning ominously beneath our weight. The upstairs was much like the ground floor, empty and forlorn.

The windows were dirty, the glass cracked and broken in places, allowing slivers of the dying light to filter through. It was then that we heard it, a soft, rustling sound like something moving in the shadows. We froze, our hearts pounding in our chests. Victor raised his flashlight, the beam dancing across the walls, but there was nothing there. just as we were about to dismiss it as our imagination, there was a sudden flurry of movement and a bat swooped down from the rafters, its wings beating frantically. Percy let out a yelp, ducking as the bat circled above us. Dang it! he cursed, swatting at the air. The bat seemed disoriented, its echolocation thrown

off by the flashlight. With a final swoop, it disappeared through a broken window, leaving us in stunned silence. We laughed then. A nervous, relieved laughter that echoed through the empty house. The tension that had been building broke, and for a moment we were just three friends on an adventure, nothing more. But as we made our way back downstairs, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. We had come seeking ghosts, seeking a brush with the supernatural, but all we had found was an old abandoned house and a disoriented bat. Little did we know, our real encounter was yet to come.

The sun had set by the time we left the farmhouse, the darkness complete and absolute. We used our flashlights to navigate back to the jeep, the light beams cutting through the night like beacons. But as we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were not alone, that something was watching us from the shadows, biding its time. Night had fallen like a curtain, heavy and absolute. The air was cooler now, the forest around us alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. We walked in silence, our footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Percy was the first to break the quiet, his voice barely above a whisper. You guys feel that? he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Victor and I exchanged a look, but neither of us responded. The truth was, we did feel it, a prickling sensation on the back of our necks, a feeling of being watched. It was easy to dismiss it as the product of our overactive imaginations, fueled by the stories of the farmhouse. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. We pressed on, the beam from Victor's flashlight cutting a swath through the darkness.

That's when we heard it, a soft, almost imperceptible rustling in the underbrush. We stopped, our hearts pounding in the stillness. I strained my ears, trying to pinpoint the sound, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Probably just an animal, Victor said, but his voice lacked conviction. We continued our trek back to the jeep, but the sense of unease grew with every step.

The forest felt different now, hostile, as if we were trespassing in a place we didn't belong. The shadows seemed to shift and move, playing tricks on our eyes. Then, without warning, Victor's flashlight flickered and died. We stood there in the darkness, the weight of the night pressing in on us from all sides. I fumbled for my own flashlight, the sudden urgency making my hands clumsy. When the light finally came on, it felt like a lifeline, a thin thread of safety in an ocean of darkness. We decided to stick close together, moving as one unit. The Jeep wasn't far now, or so we thought, but the woods had a way of disorienting you,

of twisting your sense of direction, until you doubted even the ground beneath your feet. That's when we heard it, a low, guttural laugh, drifting through the trees like a wisp of smoke. It was a sound that chilled the blood, a sound that had no place in the natural world. We froze, our breaths caught in our throats. What the hell was that? Percy hissed, his eyes wide with fear. I shook my head, unable to form words. The laugh came again, closer this time, a sound filled with malice and hunger. There was a rustling in the underbrush, a sense of movement, of something circling us in the darkness.

We ran then, terror lending speed to our limbs. The forest was a blur around us, branches snagging at our clothes, roots tripping our feet. The laughter followed us, a constant companion in the night. We burst out of the woods and onto the road, the sight of the jeep up ahead like a beacon of hope. We piled in, not bothering with seatbelts, not bothering with anything but the need to escape. As I turned the key in the ignition, the headlights came on. illuminating the road ahead. And that's when we saw it, a figure standing at the edge of the woods, just outside the reach of the light. It was tall, too tall to be human, its eyes glowing red in the

darkness. For a moment we were frozen, our minds unable to process what we were seeing. Then the figure moved, a fluid, unnatural motion that defied the laws of physics. It stepped back into the shadows, disappearing from view. But the image of those glowing red eyes was seared into my memory, a reminder of the terror that lurked in the darkness. We drove in silence, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from our veins.

The road stretched out before us, leading us away from the nightmare we had just experienced. But even as we put distance between us in the farmhouse, I knew that some part of us would always remain there, trapped in the darkness, forever haunted by the laughter in the woods. The engine of the Jeep roared to life, shattering the oppressive silence that had enveloped us.

My hands were shaking as I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, half expecting to see those glowing red eyes following us. But there was nothing, only the darkness and the winding road that stretched out before us. Percy and Victor were silent in the back seat, their bodies rigid with shock. The jovial atmosphere that had marked the start of our journey was gone,

replaced by a suffocating sense of dread. I pushed the Jeep faster, the trees blurring past us in a green and black smear. None of us spoke. What was there to say? We had sought out the supernatural, craving the thrill of fear, but what we had found was something else entirely, something that defied explanation, something that had looked at us with red glowing eyes and laughed.

As we neared the main road, the sense of urgency that had propelled us began to fade, giving way to an exhausted relief. We were safe, or at least we were out of the woods, both literally and figuratively, but the feeling of safety was an illusion, a fragile bubble that could burst at any moment. We pulled into the hotel parking lot, the bright lights of the lobby jarring after the darkness of the woods. The old man at the front desk gave us a cursory glance as we walked in, his eyes lingering on our disheveled appearance. I mumbled our reservation details, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. The room was a welcome respite, a haven of normalcy in a world that had suddenly tilted on its axis.

We didn't bother unpacking, didn't bother with showers or changing clothes, we just collapsed onto the beds, the events of the night replaying in our minds like a horror movie on an endless loop. I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, the images flashing behind my eyes, the abandoned farmhouse, the rustling in the underbrush, the figure with the red eyes. Sleep was a distant dream, something unattainable and foreign. The next morning we packed up in silence, the camaraderie of the road trip a distant memory. The drive back was a quiet affair, each of us lost in our own thoughts. We made a few stops, more out of necessity than desire, but the usual banter was gone.

We had seen something that night, something that had changed us, something that had stripped away the veneer of safety, and shown us a glimpse of the darkness that lurked just beneath the surface. We finished the road trip as planned, visiting a few tourist spots, but the joy was gone. There were no more haunted locations, no more seeking out the supernatural. We just went through the motions, counting down the miles until we could go our separate ways. I still have nightmares about that night, dreams where I'm running through the woods, pursued by something I can't see, something that laughs in the darkness.

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, the echo of that laughter still ringing in my ears. I bought a hunting property in southern Maryland. a few years later, a place where I could find some semblance of peace. But even now, when the night falls and the woods come alive, I find myself listening for the sound of laughter, praying that it was all just a figment of my imagination. But deep down, I know the truth. The farmhouse, the figure with the red eyes, the laughter in the woods, they were all real, and they will haunt me for the rest of my life. You say this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet.

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his house just across the street from those ominous mills. We made it our habit to regularly venture into that desolate, decaying industrial landscape, not knowing the unspeakable terror that awaited us. We had our favorite old buildings in the area, and one in particular became our makeshift headquarters. We spent weeks fortifying it, building walls and securing entry points to keep unwanted visitors at bay. The wild dogs that roamed the area,

traveling in packs of six or more, were our greatest concern. They were known for their viciousness, and we couldn't afford any encounters with them. The building we frequented had no stairs, so we had to make daring leaps to get inside, which, in a twisted way, added an element of safety. Our chosen spot was dangerously close to an active railroad,

which the nearby working steel mill used for supplies. It was the summer of a nightmarish encounter, and we were exploring the mills under the cover of darkness. We always carried guns with us, for this was Youngstown, Ohio, in the late 80s, known as Murder Town, USA at the time, with plenty of gang activity to match. We had picked a massive old factory,

building for our expedition, even setting up a roaring bonfire on the first floor. To ensure our privacy and avoid unwanted attention, we erected a wall of metal U-shaped shields, which, in retrospect, we believed were milling shields. Little did we know that these would become our lifeline later that night. As we hung out by the fire, our sense of safety crumbled when we heard the distant howls of approaching dogs. They seemed to be in pursuit of something, their frantic barks echoing in the night. Curiosity got the better of us,

and we stealthily ventured outside to investigate. The pack of dogs rushed past us, scrambling over a mound of coke, which steel mills used in their processes. What followed was a gruesome fight, a savage battle that unfolded before our horrified eyes, and then, an unexpected sound pierced through the chaos, a louder, more imposing growl, a growl that sent chills down our spines.

Amidst the cacophony of the wild dogs, a colossal, wolf-like creature emerged. Its size was unfathomable, almost surreal, like something out of a nightmare. It crawled on all fours, its massive frame moving with a grace that belied its terrifying presence. Its eyes, glowing with a yellowish amber light, seemed to possess an otherworldly power source. I can still feel the fear that washed over us at that moment, my heart racing, and my skin prickling. My friend stumbled backward into our makeshift wall, and in that instant, the creature turned its attention towards us. The sheer magnitude of dread that overcame us

was indescribable, its growl resonated deep within our chests, an ominous sound that seemed to pierce through our very souls. Then the unimaginable happened. The creature, this nightmarish being, did something that defied all logic and reason. It stood up on its hind legs, revealing a set of massive dog-like legs, their muscles resembling those of a bodybuilder, only thicker. Its towering muscular form was a horrifying sight to behold. One of my friends was so terrified that he broke into tears, his body trembling with fear. In a frantic attempt to escape, we dashed inside the building,

climbing two sets of deteriorating, crumbling concrete stairs to reach the third floor. The realization that we were fortunate not to have broken a bone, or worse in our haste only added to our panic. But the creature wasn't done with us yet. We could hear it climbing up the exterior of the building, its shadow casting a pall over us. We stood motionless, paralyzed by fear, even though we should have hidden from view.

At the very least it was a small. as large as a grizzly bear, yet its canine nature made it seem like an impossible, surreal creature. Its eyes continued to glow, and it began to drool profusely, as if anticipating a meal. The question gnawed at our minds. Did it want to kill us? It certainly had the means to do so. Then, it shifted its gaze towards the stairs we had just ascended, and a new wave of terror washed over us. It was heading in our direction, and we were trapped on the third floor. Panics set in, and we desperately considered our limited options, an outside fire escape leading to the roof, or a perilous descent to the fourth floor. The creature effortlessly cleared the missing steps

and reached the second floor, its growls echoing through the building. We held our breath, praying for a miracle, and then our salvation arrived in the form of a passing train. The train's horn blared as it slowly passed by, likely drawn to our blazing bonfire. The creature was startled, diverting its attention towards the train's source. In mere seconds, it made its exit, disappearing into the night. We screamed for help, but no one came to our rescue. Instead, we were left screaming from the sheer stress and relief that we might have escaped with our lives intact. When the train finally vanished from our ears, our fear returned in full.

full force. Every little sound seemed like the creature returning for us. We cautiously descended to the second floor, waiting for what felt like an eternity, then to the first floor, where we huddled for an additional hour before mustering the courage to venture outside. Every step we took, we feared that the creature would reappear. In the distance, we could still hear the wild dogs, and we ran as if our lives depended on it, finally reaching my friend's house. To this day, those of us who survived that night and remain in touch relive the horror, unable to forget the unimaginable encounter. I'm still awestruck that such creatures can exist,

and whenever I hear similar stories, I freeze, transported back to that fateful night when the boundaries of reality were shattered, and we encountered a terror beyond imagination. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Springs calling.

Ross, work your magic. As I sat in Officer Chase's dimly lit office, my eyes were glued to the computer screen, displaying footage that still gives me chills. Chase, a seasoned officer with a stern look, played the video from the body cam found on one of the hunters who ventured into the Weeping River Forest. The forest, known for its dense trees and eerie silence,

was the last place Eric and Frank were seen alive. Only one of them ever made it back, and now I was about to find out why. The footage started with a shaky image of lush green surroundings, the kind of vibrant nature you'd expect in a forest, but something was off. It was too quiet, almost as if the forest was holding its breath. I leaned forward, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched Eric and Frank,

two hunters appear on the screen. They had been sent to collect samples from animals infected with a disease nobody could figure out. I'm telling you, Frank, I hit it, Eric's voice came from the speakers. He held a hunting rifle in his left hand, his right hand far from the trigger, showing he was a responsible hunter. Then where is it? Frank's voice was tinged with impatience. The camera jostled as they pushed through the dense underbrush, searching for whatever Eric had shot.

My eyes darted across the screen, trying to spot any sign of the animal before they did. Suddenly, the footage steadied. And there it was, a fawn, lying on the ground, seemingly weak from blood loss. Told you, I got it, Eric's triumphant voice rang out. Frank grumbled something about owing Eric ten bucks before the footage showed him inspecting the fawn. It was a small creature with a wound that wasn't bleeding as it should. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. As they examined the fawn, I couldn't help but lean closer.

My curiosity peaked. The animal had another wound, older and infected with something that looked like red fungi. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Eric and Frank seemed just as puzzled, discussing the nature of the wound and the absent mother of the fawn. The footage took a dark turn when Eric, ignoring Frank's warning, reached out and touched the red fibers emerging from the fawn's wound. The fibers reacted instantly, wrapping around his finger and digging into his skin. I recoiled in my seat, a chill running down my spine. Eric's cry of pain echoed in the room, and I felt a knot form in my stomach.

Damn, that looked painful, I muttered, more to myself than to Officer Chase. Chase, who had been quietly observing me, gave a nod. It gets worse, he said, his voice grave. The footage fast forwarded to their journey back. Eric was clearly struggling, his condition deteriorating rapidly. His face was pale, sweat covered his brow, and he slouched as if it was a Herculean effort just to stand. Frank's concern was evident, even through the grainy footage.

Something, Eric began, but he was cut off by his own violent vomiting. His speech slurred, and he could barely walk. As the footage ended, my mind raced with questions and fear. What had they encountered in that forest? What was this disease? And most importantly, what happened to Eric and Frank after the camera stopped? Eric Crawford was never found, Chase said, answering one of my unspoken questions. And Frank Dale, he died a day later, showing the same symptoms.

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. This was no ordinary case. This was something out of a horror story. And now it was my job to find out what really happened in the Weeping River Forest. The Weeping River Forest loomed ahead, its dense canopy casting long shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the unknown. Officer Chase and I had just arrived at the outskirts, the place where civilization ended and untamed nature began. I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling that the forest was watching us, hiding its dark secrets under its green veil. We were greeted by Dr. Lisa Pearson and her team of biologists, who had set up a makeshift,

lab amidst the trees. Dr. Pearson, with her sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, seemed like someone who had spent her life unraveling nature's mysteries. Glad you could join us, she said. Her voice tinged with both seriousness and curiosity. We've got quite a situation here. As we walked through the camp, I noticed samples and equipment scattered around. It felt like a scene straight out of a sci-fi movie, only this was real, very real. Dr. Pearson began explaining their findings. The red fibers, the same ones that had attacked Eric in the footage, were unlike any pathogen they'd ever seen. They weren't viral, bacterial, fungal, or even prion-based. These fibers were something else, something unnervingly alien. The organism sustains the host's

life while feeding off it. Dr. Pearson continued. pointing to a series of images showing various stages of infection. It's like a parasite, but with a level of sophistication we've never encountered. My mind raced with questions. How did such an organism come to exist? Was it natural or something more sinister? The implications were terrifying. As Dr. Pearson spoke, I felt a growing sense of unease.

This wasn't just about solving a case anymore. It was about confronting a potential threat we hardly understood. Officer Chase, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up. What's the plan then? How do we tackle this thing? Dr. Pearson exchanged a glance with her team, her expression grave. We need to understand how far this infection is spread and whether it's confined to the forest. The decision was made to explore deeper into the forest.

As we geared up, the reality of the situation hit me. We were about to step into the unknown, into a world where nature had concoct. cocked something beyond our understanding. I felt a mix of fear and adrenaline as we ventured deeper into the forest. The silence of the forest was unsettling. It was as if the usual chatter of wildlife had been silenced by an unseen force. We pushed through the thick underbrush, every step taking us further from safety and deeper into the mystery. As we walked, Dr. Pearson briefed us on the safety protocols.

Avoid direct contact with any animal, dead or alive. If you see those red fibers, do not touch them under any circumstances. The deeper we went, the more signs of the infection we saw. Animals, once vibrant and full of life, now lay motionless, their bodies overtaken by the red fibers. Each sighting sent a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of the danger we were in. Eventually, we reached an area where the fibers seemed more concentrated, their red hue standing out against the green of the forest. It was here that we discovered the entrance to a cave system, partially hidden by overgrown foliage.

This could be it, Dr. Pearson said, her voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. The heart of the infection could lie within. I took a deep breath, stealing myself for what lay ahead. we were about to enter the belly of the beast into a world where nature's laws had been twisted into something unrecognizable. The mystery of the Weeping River forest was about to unfold, and I knew our lives would never be the same again. The mouth of the cave yawned before us, a dark abyss that promised only unknown dangers. I felt a shiver run down my spine as Dr. Lisa Pearson, Jane, a former marine biologist and I, prepared to delve into the depths of this natural labyrinth. The air was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the warm,

vibrant life of the forest outside. As we ventured into the cave, our flashlights cut through the darkness, revealing walls covered in red fibers that seemed to pulse with a sinister life of their own. It was like stepping into a different world, one governed by this eerie, alien organism. My heart raced with a mix of fear and fascination. Watch your step, Dr. Pearson warned. her voice echoing off the walls. We don't know what we might encounter down here. The further we went, the more the red fibers seemed to invade the cave. It was as if the entire place was being consumed by them.

We came across various animals, from small rodents to larger mammals, all ensnared by the organism. Their eyes were open but unseeing, a haunting reminder of the fate that had befallen them. Eventually, we found Mark, another member of Dr. Pearson's team, He was partially fused with the cave wall, red fibers creeping over his body like sinister vines. His eyes met mine, filled with a mix of pain and resignation. We heard someone calling for help deeper in the cave, Mark rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

But I fell, and these things, they got me. I felt a lump in my throat as I looked at Mark, trapped and helpless. Jane, who had known Mark for years, knelt. beside him, her face etched with concern and sorrow. We'll find a way to get you out, Mark, she said, her voice firm yet gentle. But deep down, I knew the chances were slim. The organism had already claimed him, and there was little we could do. Leaving Mark with a promise to return, we pressed deeper into the cave.

The calls for help that Mark had mentioned were nowhere to be heard, replaced by an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on us. The deeper we ventured, the more the cave seemed to close in around us, the air growing thicker, harder to breathe. Finally, we reached a pit, a gaping hole in the earth from which the red fibers seemed to emanate. Peering down into the abyss, I could see no bottom, only darkness. The realization hit me hard. This organism, this crimson nexus, was far more extensive and dangerous than we had imagined. We need to get back, Dr. Pearson said, her voice laced with urgency.

We're not equipped to deal with this. We made our way back to where we had left Mark, only to find him in a worse state. The fibers had spread further, covering more of his body. I can feel them. Inside my head, Mark whispered, his voice trembling. They're everywhere. Jane's face was a mask of pain as she looked at her friend, knowing there was nothing we could do to save him. We need to warn the others, I said, my voice barely above a whisper. We need to get out of here. With heavy hearts, we made our way back to the surface, each step taking us away from

the horror we had witnessed, but bringing us no closer to understanding or stopping it. The crimson nexus was a threat unlike any we had faced, and as we emerged back into the light of day, I knew that our battle against it had only just begun. Breathing heavily, we emerged, we emerged, from the cave into the daylight, which now seemed harsh and unforgiving. The forest around us felt different, like a once familiar friend who had turned into a stranger. Dr. Lisa Pearson, Jane, and I were still processing the nightmarish scene we had left behind in the cave. The image of Mark, consumed by the crimson nexus, haunted me. We need to get back to the lab.

Now, Dr. Pearson said, her voice urgent and tense. As we hurried through the forest, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched. The red fibers had changed everything, and now the forest felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. As we approached the field lab, a chilling scream pierced the air. My heart jumped into my throat. We broke into a run, and what we saw upon arriving turned my blood cold. Gerard, another member of the team, was on the ground thrashing in agony. The red fibers had infected him, and his arms and torso were a horrifying sight of intertwining red strands. Jane rushed to his side, her face pale.

Gerard, hold on, we're here, she called out. But it was evident that Gerard was beyond our help. The fibers had taken hold of him, just like they had with Mark. I felt a surge of helplessness and anger. This thing, this crimson nexus, was like a relentless predator, consuming everything in its path. Dr. Pearson was on her phone, speaking rapidly. We need an evacuation plan.

This is beyond our control, she said, her voice shaky. Then the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs alerted us to a new danger. Two infected bear cubs, their bodies grotesquely altered by the red fibers, emerged from the bushes. Their eyes were wild, and they moved with a terrifying, unnatural agility. Watch out! I yelled as one of the cubs lunged towards us. Instinctively I reached for the gun I had been given for protection. My hands shook as I fired, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the forest.

The cub was hit, but it kept coming, driven by the relentless force of the infection. Jane, with a bravery I could hardly believe, leapt forward with a knife, slashing at the fibers. The scene was chaotic, a desperate struggle for survival against a foe that seemed to invincible. Get to the lab now, Dr. Pearson shouted, her voice cutting through the mayhem. We retreated the sound of the infected cubs growls haunting our steps. Back at the lab, the reality of our situation sank in. We were outmatched and outgunned. This wasn't just a scientific expedition gone wrong. It was a battle for survival against an unknown enemy. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. What do we do now? I asked.

looking at Dr. Pearson. Her face was grim. We wait for extraction and hope that we can contain this before it spreads any further. As we waited, the weight of our situation settled on my shoulders. The Crimson Nexus wasn't just a threat to us, it was a threat to the world. And as the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but wonder if we were already too late. The forest around us had transformed from a place of natural beauty to a nightmarish landscape. The red fibers of the crimson nexus seemed to have infiltrated every corner, turning the once peaceful weeping river forest into a living horror. Dr. Lisa Pearson, Jane and I were on edge,

every sound sending a jolt of fear through us as we awaited extraction. The weight of the situation was crushing. The organism we had encountered wasn't just a scientific anomaly, it was a catastrophic threat. Every minute we spent in the forest felt like a gamble against an unseen timer. I couldn't shake the image of Mark and Gerard, consumed by the nexus, from my mind. Then, the sound of approaching helicopters broke the tense silence. Relief washed over me, mixed with a sense of impending doom.

As the choppers landed, soldiers poured out, their faces stern and focused. It was clear that the situation had escalated beyond our control. We're evacuating the area. The threat level has been raised, one of the soldiers announced, his voice firm. We were quickly ushered into the helicopters. As we lifted off, I looked down at the forest below, its green canopy hiding the deadly secret we had uncovered. The flight back was silent, each of us lost in our thoughts.

Dr. Pearson looked out the window, her expression unreadable. Jane sat with her head bowed, her hands clenched tightly. I could only imagine the turmoil in her mind, having lost friends to the nexus. Once we landed, we were debriefed by a team of officials. Their questions were rapid and clinical, focused on understanding the extent of the threat. I recounted everything we had witnessed, the horror in the cave, and the aggressive nature of the infection. The officials exchanged grave looks. The area will be quarantined and monitored.

Any further spread of the infection will be dealt with accordingly, one of them said. The finality in his voice sent a chill down my spine. As I left the debriefing room, the reality of what we had faced hit me. The Crimson Nexus was more than a biological threat. It was a reminder of our vulnerability in the face of nature's unknown mysteries. The thought that there could be more out there, undiscovered and potentially catastrophic, was terrifying. I walked out of the facility, the sky above clear and blue.

It was a stark contrast to the darkness we had left behind in the forest. The world around me continued as usual, oblivious to the danger that had lurked in the shadows of the Weeping River Forest. As I drove home, the events of the past few days replayed in my mind. the fear, the desperation, the loss. It was over for now, but the experience had changed me. I knew that the world was full of hidden dangers, and the crimson nexus was just one of them.

I arrived home, the familiarity of my surroundings, a small comfort. But as I sat down, trying to process everything, I couldn't escape the feeling that this was just the beginning. The race against extinction wasn't over. It had just started, and next time, we might not be so lucky. Some things work better together, like NARS's soft matte complete concealer and radiant creamy concealer. Soft matte complete concealer erases and blurs imperfections with full coverage.

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if only for a moment. I sipped my coffee on the porch of my small rented house and ocean side, a stone's throw from Camp Pendleton where I was newly stationed. The sea breeze carried the distant sound of waves crashing and seagulls cawing, a serene backdrop to the thoughts racing through my head. Life here was a paradox. The neighborhood had a laid-back, almost surfer-like vibe, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline and strict hierarchy that ruled my life on base.

People around here seemed to move at a different pace, unhurried, soaking in each day like it was a gift. I envied them, in a way. My days, on the other hand, were a relentless drill of orders, exercises, and the stern gaze of my commanding officer, a man who seemed to have a permanent frown etched onto his weathered face. As a kid growing up in Wyoming, I'd always craved adventure and the great outdoors.

The Marines seemed like a natural fit, a chance to serve my country and feed my appetite for the wild and the unknown. But reality hit hard and fast. The military wasn't just about adventure. It was about discipline, structure, and often, sacrifice. camp pendleton with its sprawling acres and strategic importance was a dream come true on paper but it was quickly becoming a grueling test of my limits i tried to shake off the thoughts as i finished my coffee and headed out the early morning air was crisp a reminder that the ocean was as much a part of this place as the land i jogged along the beach feeling the sand give way under my boots trying to let the rhythm of my steps and the sound of the surf calm my wrist restless mind. But peace was elusive. The more I settled into my new life, the more I felt torn.

During the day, I was a marine, part of a well-oiled machine where orders were followed without question, and personal feelings were a liability. But at night, when I lay in my bunk, listening to the distant sound of the ocean, a different side of me emerged, a side that longed for freedom, for the simplicity of a life not bound by rigid rules and the unyielding gaze of authority. It was during one of these restless nights that it first happened. I woke up suddenly, heart racing, to find myself standing in the middle of a field, the base a distant silhouette against the starry sky. The moon hung low, casting a pale light over the barren landscape. How had I gotten here? I remembered dreams of Mark.

arching, drills that had haunted me since basic training. But this was no dream. This was real. Panic set in as I realized I was sleepwalking, something I hadn't done since I was a kid. My mind raced with questions. How long had I been out here? What if I'd wandered onto the firing range or into some restricted area?

I looked around, disoriented, trying to find a landmark, anything that would point me back to the base. And then I saw it. a faint glow in the distance, the lights of the base calling me back to reality. My legs felt like lead as I started walking, each step a reminder of how far I'd strayed, not just from my bed, but from the person I thought I was. As the base grew closer, a chilling thought crept into my mind. What if this was just the beginning?

What if the discipline and structure I'd embraced were just a facade, and underneath, I was still that kid, lost and wandering. searching for a place to belong. The dirt beneath my boots felt cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warm, soft sand I was used to. The night air carried a different kind of silence, the kind that settles deep in your bones, heavy and foreboding. I trudged forward, my mind still grappling with the surreal reality of waking up in the middle of nowhere. The base's lights flickered in the distance like a beacon in the dark, guiding me back to safety, or so I thought.

My steps were mechanical, driven by a primal urge to find familiar ground. But something felt off, the back of my neck tingled, the kind of sensation you get when you know you're not alone. I told myself it was just the chill of the night, or perhaps the leftover adrenaline from the shock of waking up in a field. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. I was trained to trust my instincts, to listen to that little, voice inside that often knew more than my rational mind. And right now, that voice was screaming at me to be alert. I slowed down, my senses on high alert, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. That's when I heard it, a soft, barely audible clearing of a throat.

My heart leaped to my throat. I spun around, my hand instinctively reaching for a weapon I didn't have. Who's there? I called out, trying to sound more confident than I. felt. The figure stepped forward just enough for the moonlight to reveal his features. A Marine uniform, adorned with the insignia of an officer, but something about him was off. Lost Marine, he asked, his voice deep and gruff, yet tinged with an unsettling friendliness. His eyes caught the moonlight, reflecting an eerie yellow hue that sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to respond, but my voice caught in my throat. Yes, sir, just heading back to the base, sleepwalking, I guess, I

managed to stammer out. He smiled, a gesture that should have been reassuring, but wasn't. We must be distant relatives, both of us wandering in the night. His words were casual, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something predatory. As we walked, I found myself drawn into a conversation that felt oddly natural, yet surreal. He asked about my life, my family, probing with a curiosity that felt invasive, yet compelling. I caught myself sharing details I hadn't intended to, his presence lulling me into a sense of false security. Then as the base's lights grew brighter, my perception shifted. His resemblance to me became uncanny, unsettling.

My mind raced, trying to rationalize the transformation. Had the darkness played tricks on my eyes? but deep down I knew it was more than that. His questions grew more personal, his gaze more intense. I felt myself slowing down, matching his pace, the base's lights dimming as if being swallowed by the night. Panic set in, a realization dawning on me that I was no longer in control. I blinked and the man was gone.

In his place stood a creature of nightmares, tall and gaunt, its skin a ghostly gray, its eyes were black voids, its mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, unhinged like a snake's. The creature lunged, and I felt its teeth sink into my shoulder, a pain so intense it jolted me awake from my trance. Shots rang out, voices shouting in the distance, but all I could focus on was the creature, its form now dissolving into shadows, retreating into the night. I lay there panting, my shoulder burning, the realization sinking in, that what had a attacked me was no ordinary animal. As my rescuers approached, their voices filled with relief and disbelief, I knew I couldn't tell them the truth. They saw a mountain lion, a wolf, but I had seen

something far more terrifying, something that defied explanation. And as I stumbled back to the base, supported by my fellow Marines, I knew that whatever had attacked me in the darkness had left me with more than just physical scars. The hospital room was sterile and white, the kind of place that's supposed to make you feel safe. But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I knew safety was just an illusion. The doctors came and went,

their faces masks of professional concern, but their eyes couldn't hide the truth. They were baffled and a little afraid. I could feel it spreading through me, whatever it was that creature had given me. The bite on my shoulder had healed strangely, leaving behind a dark, vein-like pattern that seemed to pulse with its own life. It wasn't just the wound. It was inside me, changing me. Sleep was no longer restful. It was a battleground. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing, fragments of nightmares lingering in my mind.

Dreams of running through the night, of hunger, of a darkness that was more than just the absence of light. and each time I awoke the lines on my skin seem to have grown, creeping closer to my heart, to my mind. The hospital released me, but it wasn't a discharge. It was an exile. They didn't know what to do with me, and they didn't want whatever was happening to me happening there. I couldn't blame them. I didn't want to be near anyone either. The thing inside me, it was growing stronger, and I was scared of what it would do if it got out. I tried to go to. I tried to go. back to my life, to pretend everything was normal, but how do you pretend when every mirror shows you a stranger? The veins were on my neck now, visible for anyone to see. People stared, and I saw

the questions in their eyes, the fear. I started wearing scarves, even in the heat, anything to cover the marks. But it wasn't just the physical changes. It was the blackouts, the lost time. I'd find myself in places with no memory of how I got there, hours gone in the blink of an eye, and every time it happened, I'd feel it, the pull of the night, the call of the wild places far from the lights of the base. I became a recluse, avoiding people, avoiding the questions I couldn't answer. I knew they were watching me, the military, the doctors, they were waiting to see what I would become, and deep down, so was I. One night, it happened, the transformation, it wasn't like

in the movies where you see the change coming. It was sudden, a snap of the mind and body. I found myself standing in the middle of those same fields, the darkness around me alive with whispers. I looked down at my hands, or what should have been my hands. They were elongated, clawed, the skin a sickly gray. I could feel the power in my limbs, the hunger in my belly. I was no longer just a man. I was something else, something more. But even as I stood there, reveling in the newfound strength, a part of me was screaming, fighting to regain control. I wasn't just a creature of the night. I was still a marine, still a man, and I wasn't going to let this thing take that away from me. I don't know how long I fought, how long I struggled against the darkness inside.

But eventually, I found myself back in my bed, the morning sun streaming through the window. The veins were receding, the claws gone, for now. But I knew it wasn't over. The creature was still there, lurking in the shadows of my mind, waiting for the night to fall again, and I knew I had to be ready, to fight it, to hold on to the man I still was, because one day the battle would be for keeps and I wasn't going down without a fight. This podcast is brought to you by Carvana.

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