Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 5 TRUE Deep Woods Horror Stories With Rain & Haunting Ambience

Episode Date: August 14, 2024

These are 5 TRUE Deep Woods Horror Stories With Rain & Haunting Ambience 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 00:07:16 Story 2 00:21:40 Story 3 00:38:47 Story 4 00:46:14 Story 5 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #nationalpark #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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It's a natural remedy for the most brutal summer days. Over the years we've come to prefer certain lakes, rivers, and even annual events. The water community itself is super cool and tight-knit. They plan all kinds of dope activities throughout the season. One pretty cool thing that they do in our neck of the woods is the night paddles, and the vibe of these events can vary. Some are planned as late-night excursions downstream, where a team travels with minimal light at a nice slow pace,

leaning on their skills and each other for support to navigate the terrain. This is considered a pretty dangerous pastime, but the folks that organize it are top-notch. Many are search and rescue operators, and they use these events for training. The other type of night paddle is more like a rave on the water. Everybody decks out their board or kayak with all kinds of lights and glow sticks, even glow-in-the-dark paint. They bring inflatable rings and rafts full of coolers, speakers, all the stuff you need to throw a party.

The rave night paddles were more my style. I made sure to attend at least one or two every year. Where we live, even at night, temperatures can sometimes exceed 100 degrees. Well, as usual, my friends and I got invited to one of these. We all agreed to go. I got my paddleboard all decked out and crafted some glow-stick props for the night and prepped all my gear. However, by the time of the event, every single one of my friends had cancelled, some leading up to the day, and the rest just failed to show.

They all had good reasons. I didn't take it personally, but I was still fully committed to going solo. I drove out to the parking lot, secured a space, and then offloaded all my stuff, carrying what I needed down to the shore. I wasn't drunk or high or anything. I'd only have a few beers with everybody else once out on the water, as I had to pack up my own stuff and drive myself home. That kind of thing was fun, but wasn't a reason to be irresponsible.

There were plenty of people in the parking lot and along the shore. Down the waterway, more would be showing up every hour. You had to get there almost at sunset to get a decent parking spot. Otherwise, you'd have to drag your gear for a quarter mile just to get to the water. I loaded up my paddleboard and set sail, neon tube lights lighting my way like a flagship for a good time. Further down the river, I could hear dance music blaring, and soon I joined the crowd in a large, spacious body of water, with enough room to fit a good 75 people or more. There were only about 20 or 25 so far, but there were girls dancing on paddleboards just like mine. Their bodies lit up

with every manner of glow stick. I cracked a beer and settled in with my feet in the water, cheering and whooping to the music. After an hour, the place was nearly packed, brimming with college-age coeds floating in every direction. I linked up with a few people I knew. being such a frequent participant. And soon I fell in with a crowd of folks and felt right at home. We drank a bit, played a little floating beer pong under the rave lights, and danced our asses off to the music. At one point, I got in the water a bit to cool off and enjoy the river. I made a big show of falling backward off my board as the punchline to a joke I made. When I fell into the water, I felt something weird touching my back and shoulder. It was only there for a second.

soft and kind of slick, then it swam away. I shot out of the water like a bullet, caught off guard by whatever was underneath. There was enough light in splashing that any fish or snakes, or whatever, wouldn't be hanging around this pool. If they were, they were literally hiding near the bottom somewhere. Critters have never been a problem at the night paddles I attended. It was weird, and I mentioned it, but we all pretty much just brushed it off. It's a river.

It could be anything, even just. just some driftwood. Regardless, it creeped me out. I decided I just wanted to get out for a second. I needed to take a leak anyway. I explained to everybody that I was going to hit the shore for a minute. I grabbed my flashlight and hopped off my board, deciding to wade over. It was supposed to be quick, but I didn't take more than five or six steps before I felt it again, this time on my shin. I knew it was something near the bottom of the river. It was moving out of my way. At this point, weirded out, I brought my other shin up to bang it off, and it felt like my leg touched an arm or something similar.

At this point, I just thought it was a massive fish. I got scared because I didn't really know. I clicked my flashlight on and pointed it straight down. To my complete shock and bewilderment, I saw a person looking back up at me. He was in sparse snorkeling gear, but I could make out the goggles, the mouthpiece, and he even had fins on. I literally couldn't believe what I was seeing. As I started to call my friends over, the guy disappeared deeper into the water. I called out and pointed. The others lit him up with their flashlights too. At this point, the guy knew he was caught, came up, and played it cool.

Everyone knew better, though. They just started laying into him. I guess this guy had been caught a time or two at events like this. He was the equivalent of a peeping Tom, watching girls underwater, swimming around them without them even knowing, maybe even touching them. Who knows? He heard about these little get-togethers and decided it was a perfect place to get his rocks off. The creepiest part of the whole thing, at least for me, was that he would steal people's stuff right off their paddle boards or kayaks, and then, like, hold it for ransom. It's very common for people to lose all kinds of stuff, from glasses to wallets and keys, phones, you name it, and for other people to find it later along the shore or places in the river,

people have even found wedding rings years after they go missing. Because of this, little groups were created on social media to help return the lost items after these night paddle events. A bunch of people would post their missing phones, wallets, whatever. This creep would respond because he's the one who stole it. He was the one collecting rewards from these people. I knew a few people, specifically women, who had gotten their phones back from this guy.

They all claimed that they were pretty sure someone had broken into their phone, like this guy was prying through their personal stuff, texts, pictures, everything. It's just a grim reminder that you can never be too careful. You never know what kind of craziness people get up to, even in the middle of the night, in the middle of a river. My name is Rob. For the past few years, I've held the position of deputy team leader at the Breen Mountain Rescue Team here in Wurham.

Wales. The BMRT is an essential emergency service in rural Wales, staffed entirely by volunteers and funded by donations from the National Lottery and members of the public. Our work is not just restricted to mountain or wilderness search and rescue for climbers and hill walkers. Our skills are also deployed by the Welsh police to search for vulnerable or missing persons on assignments where we can employ our specialist medical and rescue techniques. I've seen some pretty wild things during my time in the rescue team, some of which may be more distressing or disturbing than others, some more than I care to admit. However, there's only been one incident in my entire career that myself and my colleagues have not been able to fully explain. This is the

story of that incident. Mountain rescue teams can only be called on the authority of the police. A call is normally initiated by the local force in response to a 999 call or the report of a missing person. The team can be, and usually is, called out at any time of day or night under any conditions, even on New Year's Day and Christmas Day. The relevant police personnel will initially alert the rescue team by means of a pager or message. A little outdated I know, but it reflects the slimmer than slim budget we're forced to work with year in, year out. Once the volunteers receive their I will respond message, the ball gets rolling. A team leader, deputy team leader will then discuss the details of the incident with the coordinating police officers

and decide on an appropriate rendezvous point and if any additional assets need to be deployed. These can include additional teams, tracker dogs, or even helicopter support if the situation calls for it. So I'm sitting in the Drover's Arms pub with a few mates, having just finished watching one of their younger brothers represent their high school in a rugby sevens match. Their team won, so spirits were high. We've just finished some dinner, and I'm about to get stuck into my first pint of the evening when my beeper goes off. I won't lie. I was a bit annoyed. I'd really been looking forward to that pint, but we're explicitly told to expect things like that. Such is the life of a mountain rescue volunteer. Anyway, I let the lads know I had to leave, put my coat on,

and began the ten-minute walk up to the small set of offices that serve as the BMRT headquarters. It's early on a Sunday night. Most calls seem to happen around holidays and weekends, and the place is empty. So I unlocked the doors, turned on all the lights, and walked down to my office to phone the police liaison officer to get all the necessary details. As I'm talking to the officer in question, my phone starts lighting up with text messages from various other team members telling me they're on their way. Everything was coming together nicely,

and the situation seemed to be a usual basic search and rescue job. A couple of hikers went up into the hills on Saturday, intending to camp overnight before heading back down on Sunday afternoon. According to the person who had called it in, the hikers hadn't returned on schedule, nor were they answering any of their phones, so they called us. Now, on more than one occasion, we've gotten calls from members of the public reporting missing people who weren't actually missing at all. Sometimes groups are slowed down by dodgy ankles or an upset tummy, or, you know, something like that. I get why someone might panic, and it's always better to be safe than sorry. That's why the BMRT exists in the first place, so it always helps when the person making the call knows a little about the missing person's group, especially if they know the intended route,

so we can retrace or follow it to the best of our ability. That'll help us potentially find them nice and quickly, too. If we can focus our search, we don't need helicopter support, which saves us a huge amount of money. I know that sounds callous, but we really do live and die on our funding, so it's essential we keep the purse strings tight. So I'm going through all the core details with the liaison officer, determining the group's most likely whereabouts, trying to figure out where they started and where they could have gotten lost. We go through all the usual stuff, just like normal, then move on to the miscellaneous details that can often aid a search. These can include any medical conditions that might bring the person into difficulty,

age ranges, and things of that nature. You'd be amazed how tiny, seemingly insignificant details can help with the search, so it's extremely important that we compile as much information as possible as quickly as possible. Only when I pressed the liaison officer for more information regarding the emergency call itself, did she become awfully coy. Very little in the way of detailed information could be passed along regarding the missing group. The only significant detail is that the woman who had reported them missing was absolutely distraught when she did so. The dispatcher had noted that no matter what she did or said, she could not seem to reassure the caller that their loved ones would be found. The caller seemed convinced that the group of hikers was gone, and never coming back.

Honestly, it's stuff like this that has kept me in the BMRT for so long. Being the hero that people so desperately need at what for many is the lowest point of their lives thus far. Less than an hour after the initial beeper messages, myself and four additional volunteers had convened at the BMRT HQ, ready to begin our search. Our route would take us over 16 miles of hills and mountains, roughly five hours of solid walking, but it was likely we'd find the missing group of hikers in a fraction of that time. At least, that's what we told ourselves initially. We did find something relatively quickly after only 45 minutes worth of hiking up gently sloping trails, but it didn't fill us with confidence.

In fact, it did the very opposite. We found a tent, an empty, abandoned tent. Being a BMRT volunteer sometimes means you're basically a detective. You can use small pieces of a puzzle to build up a larger picture of an overall situation. What we had before us was an empty two-man tent, but we were looking for a total of four missing hikers. What was clear was that whoever had set this tent up had been able to make it down into the brite to report an emergency.

Only they hadn't. They'd apparently gone back up the trail, but why would they do such a thing? This escaped us completely. This was the first really worrying sign. But what was obvious is that they had done so without even wearing their hiking boots. So they had climbed up the mountain barefoot in the middle of the night. That's definitely not good.

This happened to be in the middle of March, not the coldest month of the year, but one which brings strong winds to central whales. Wind chill can lower ambient temperatures by almost half, and tends to be the cause of most cases of hypothermia we encounter. A hiker can look outside, see a sunny day, and assume fine weather. But once they're up a mountain, the wind can drop the temperature into single digits, and turned seemingly benign situations into a deadly one. But it wasn't just hiking boots that had been left behind either.

A fair amount of cold weather clothing had been left behind in the tent, along with what appeared to be a significant amount of food and water. It was at that point that any hope of getting through this rescue without having to call in helicopter support went right out the window. Whoever was lost out here needed help, and quickly. So we called it in, and within a few minutes, a search and rescue helicopter had taken off from Neil Hall Hospital, with the intention of flying the length of our proposed route. Our eye in the sky was on its way. It was fully dark with no

stars by the time we made the call, and shortly afterward, we began to see red and white flashing lights moving westward in the sky ahead of us. The helicopter's pilot and I exchanged greetings as they tuned into our radio frequency, and I kept in touch with them as best as possible as we advanced along our route. What's more, it didn't take long before the co-pilot spotted something unusual just about a mile or so ahead of us. According to the helicopter's crew,

they had spotted a person running along one of the mountain trails in the opposite direction we were heading. They had tracked the individual's movement for a moment or two before losing sight of them around a set of standing stones. There are over 30 standing stones in the Beacon National Park.

Some of them are many centuries old and wreathed in myth. It isn't known exactly how many of the surviving standing stones are prehistoric. Some appear to be memorial stones, and others seem to have had more than one function, either as boundary markers, way marks on ancient trails, signposts, or even rubbing stones for livestock. But whatever their purpose was, we had our next rendezvous point, one that we would have to reach quickly if we hope to find our missing purpose. persons in good health. It took about 45 minutes of hard hill climbing before we reached the standing stones. They formed a high, rough circle of about five huge chunks of granite, worn and misshapen

by the elements. According to the helicopter's crew, the person they had been tracking had run off the trail and into the standing stones before disappearing from view. It was more likely that the helicopter had simply let the person slip out of their searchlight and lost track of them, but why a person in peril would run away from the rescue chopper and not towards it was a complete and utter mystery to us. I mean, yeah, stranger things have happened on previous rescue attempts. But this little conundrum certainly left us scratching our heads as we began to search for clues as to where the person might have headed next. After a minute or two of combing the area with only our personal torches for light,

one of the many team members called over to me. behind this standing stone, set into a little hillock that was obscured from view, was a small opening in the earth. I say small, but it was just big enough for a fully grown adult to climb inside. And what was clear was that it was the perfect place for someone to hide in and get away from the biting wind and rain. I stuck my torch inside the opening and peered inside, only then seeing how deep the passageway seemed to go. Wales used to be a hub for the British coal mining industry, and the country is now littered with disused mining pits and shafts, both ancient and modern. Knowing this full well, the underground passage didn't strike me as unusual at first,

and I actually thought the missing hikers were lucky that they might have come across something like this to shelter them. I called out down the opening, checking to see if anyone had slipped down the tunnel and had gotten themselves stuck while trying to take shelter or something like that. I received no reply. I then called over to one of the other team members who had happened to carry the majority of our climbing ropes. We harnessed him up, staked climbing pegs into the earth just outside the entrance, and began to lower him into the opening to check for signs of life. We lowered him down so far into the earth that I began to worry about the prospect of getting him stuck, but thankfully we didn't have to lower him any further before he found something.

He called out for us to pull him up, alerting us that he had found an item of clothing that possibly belonged to one of our missing hikers. So we did just that. We pulled him back up, took the item of clothing from him, and lowered him back down to continue looking. As he did so,

I took a quick look at the jumper he had brought up and was struck by something unusual about it. It looked old, really old. Clothing exposed to the elements for long periods can end up looking pretty rough, but not that rough. It appeared as though it had been stuck down in that hole for far too long. We didn't find anything else down that hole or the rest of the mountain. We stayed up there until about 3 o'clock in the morning, long after our helicopter support had to withdraw due to dwindling fuel. But we didn't find a single thing, no more clothes, no more signs of life, and no more bodies.

The more it became clear that we weren't going to find anything, the more I thought about how the distressed caller seemed convinced that the hikers were gone. She had no way of knowing that whatsoever, yet somehow she was right, and that really didn't sit right with me at all. Throughout the next week, two more search parties took to the hills, in hopes of finding a trace of our missing hikers. Both came back empty-handed. I expected reports of the missing hikers to appear in local news publications,

only they didn't. When I tried to find out why, I was turned away by most police sources until one slipped that a judge at the High Court of England in Wales had placed a publication ban on the incident, meaning an order prohibiting publication under Section 11 of the Contempt of Court Act in 1981 was in fact keeping all news of the incident out of newspapers.

But that's not what really bothers me about this whole thing. I mean, it's been confounding, sure. But it's another peculiar detail. surrounding the case that keeps me up at night. The name stitched into the jumper we found down that hole in the earth was Robert Williams. I came to find out that this didn't match any of the names we had been given regarding the missing hikers. In fact, Robert Williams had been missing from a nearby town of Neath since March of 2002. 17 years before our missing hikers were reported.

Who was it that our helicopter support had spotted before they disappeared among the standing stones? Was it one of our missing hikers? Or was it, in fact, the long-lost Robert Williams? Regardless, I can't help but think I'll find the answers to these questions at the bottom of that tunnel, hidden somewhere among those standing stones. Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars. Catch the Jonas Brothers return to the Yamava Theater stage on April 30th, the powerful vocals of Demi Lovato on May 17th,

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But the hardworking men and women in Carhart don't wait for the forecast to get to work. Hatching roads, clearing trails, planting crops. Their hands turned this season's uncertainty into possibility. So get out there. Spring into action. We've got you covered for whatever the season throws your way. Carhart, made possible. You said this place was steps from the water.

We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough. Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your ocean front room. Just steps from me. the water. The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to

get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. The Pacific Northwest is a paradise for outdoor enthusiasts, and my boyfriend Eric and I are no exception. The forests are so lush and dense. It's like walking through a jungle, coupled with the breathtaking mountains and the ocean, turning it into a truly warm. one-of-a-kind area many of us just can't get enough of. Eric and I try to get outside for a few miles at least once a week, and I swear we never see the same thing twice. We met in college, bonding over our shared love of hiking, backpacking, and paddleboarding. If it happened outside, we both wanted to try it. Our adventures had taken us to some of the most breathtaking spots in

the region. We've always found that our time in nature just brings us closer together. Having a mutual love and admiration for the outdoors only nurtures the bond that we share, and it's been like that since day one. That being said, there are some activities we do more than others. Day hiking has kind of become our go-to hobby, thanks to its convenience and accessibility. Paddleboarding is fun, but super involved. Camping is great, but sometimes requires a lot of time we don't always have available. The more we adventure, the more we come to,

to love one and done trips that just burn up the miles as fast as possible. We started as hobbyists and slowly whipped ourselves into shape over time to the point that we actually had muscles and pretty solid cardio. Hiking put us in the best shape of our lives. We've explored countless trails, each one offering a unique experience and a chance to connect with the natural world. So when we heard about a natural spring at the end of a long hike, we knew we had to check it out. There are all kinds of waterfalls, forgotten lakes, and lookout points we've hiked to, anything that we heard about. The spring itself was rumored to be a hidden gem tucked away inside a secluded valley. The hike would take all day, but the promise of a serene view and

chilly, clean water was too enticing to resist. And all day didn't necessarily mean hard. The trail itself actually had a pretty low rating in regard to difficulty. We spent the week planning our trip, pouring over maps and online guides, and preparing our gear. Finally, the weekend arrived. We set off early and eager to hit the trail. As we drove to the trailhead, the excitement was building up inside me. I love the sense of adventure that comes with exploring a new trail, and the fact that this one was a bit of a challenge in terms of length only added to the allure. Eric and I had become experienced hikers over the years. We were confident. We were confident, in our ability to navigate the wilderness, especially here in our own backyard.

We'd spent so much time in this area that we used to joke that it was impossible for us to get lost. Once we arrived at the trailhead, I felt this sense of relief and adrenaline at the same time. The parking lot was almost empty, a good sign that we'd have the trail to ourselves. I have a bit of a complex when it comes to our hiking. I don't like it to be a spectacle. I don't like sharing every little step of the path with people I don't know. I know it sounds entitled, but I go the distance to just be alone, not brushing shoulders with people just trying to take photos. We got our packs together, loaded up on water and snacks,

and immediately hit the trail. The first mile or so was just stunning, like walking through a jungle. The trees were tall and green, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The trail itself was narrow and winding, but well marked. so we made pretty good progress. But as we hiked deeper into the woods, the trail began to get harder and harder to follow. It splintered off in different directions,

and in some places it seemed to disappear altogether. Eric and I exchanged a look at one point, our excitement changing into curiosity. Bushwhacking a trail was nothing new for us, and we welcomed the challenge. We pulled out our little hand map and took a bearing, pressing on. Hard to follow trails aren't really uncommon here or really anywhere, just a factor of the terrain. Some areas encourage people to wander in all directions, and when this happens, the trail gets diluted and seems to go in every direction.

This had been the case in this area, to the point that the main trail turned into a ghost of itself, and we really struggled to follow it. We just pushed on with it and did our best. After another hour or so, we were 99% sure. 99% sure that we'd been successful. The trail seemed to re-establish itself along the correct route, deeper into the valley. Either way, the place was breathtaking, and had my attention pretty much held hostage. I didn't care if we were lost. The way back to the car was clear as day. It would take miles and miles of unknown navigating for us not to know where the car was. As we continued on the trail, the beauty of the wilderness enveloped us once again. The

Trees towered above, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. We walked hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds of nature. There was water somewhere far off, like the echoes of a waterfall, and it was carried up to us. We lost ourselves in the woods, just soaked it in one beautiful step at a time. Soon after this, we found ourselves inside a small, grassy clearing, surrounded by three or four different trails, breaking off in multiple directions. A large wooden sign stood in the center, but it was old and vandalized. The letters were faded and pretty much unreadable.

This was a rest stop that we'd been counting on as it's well marked online. Everybody said this was the intersection of many different trailheads. One would lead to the spring, one to the riverway, and several just went up towards a jagged rock base that offered absolutely beautiful views. The problem was, we wanted the spring specifically, And without the sign, we didn't know which way to go. Great, Eric said with frustration etched on his face. Now what?

I pulled out our handmap, but it really wasn't much help. The trail seemed to twist and turn in every direction. It was pretty disheartening. Both thought the trail would clean itself up and get more defined. Alas, it was more diluted than ever. Just then, we noticed a man sitting on a log across the clearing, dressed in worn hiking gear. His face was weathered from years of exposure to the elements.

We shared a wave, and Eric and I approached him. He smiled pretty much right away, seemed friendly enough. Like I mentioned earlier, I wasn't fond of approaching strangers, but this was pretty much our only option in the moment, so I was actually grateful to see a friendly face out there, especially one that might have directions for us. Hey there, Eric said. said, his voice almost jolly.

We're trying to get to the spring. Can you help us out? The stranger looked up at us, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. Ah, the spring, yeah, it's a beauty. Eric and I nodded. Can you get us there? he asked. Um, yeah, sure, he said. His face was weird though.

He was kind of looking all around, not really making eye contact when he said this. I didn't know what to think other than it was weird. Maybe he wasn't very social. he wasn't very social. Maybe there was a mosquito buzzing around his face. Who knows? He said he had the directions, and that's really all that mattered to me. Great, I said, relieved. We're having a bit of trouble finding it. The trails out here are pretty unclear. The stranger nodded. His eyes alight with a knowing look. Yeah, it can be tricky, but I can help you out. The trail that you want is the one to your left. It'll take you straight to the spring.

He pointed down the trail that he indicated, giving additional directions. Stay to the left, don't go over the boulder, stay left of that too, and when it forks, follow it uphill, not downhill, even though the downhill side looks more promising. He explained that we had to hike a series of ascending switchbacks that would root the hillside and then right to the spring, which was tucked back in the furthest slot of the canyon. Thanks, Eric said his voice grateful. How far is it, though?

The stranger's smile was cryptic in the moment. Oh, it's not far. Just a few miles. You'll see some landmarks along the way, so keep an eye out for an old oak tree with the carved initials. That'll let you know that you're on the right path. I don't know why, but I felt a shiver run down my spine as we thanked the stranger and continued on our way.

There was something about him, something unsettling that just didn't quite add up. The more he spoke, the less he looked at us. Once he did, he was looking at my legs. It gave me the creeps. I said thanks anyway and followed Eric down the path, super glad to have him with me. Otherwise, who knows with that guy? He just had that energy of someone up to no good.

As we walked, the forest seemed to grow darker, the trees twisting and turning in ways that seemed almost sinister. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that unblinking eyes were trained on us from somewhere out in the shadows. I whispered, my voice barely even audible. Do you hear that? He looked at me, his eyes questioning. Hear what?

That right there. It's like crunch, ing or something. I could hear it somewhere behind us, inconsistent, distant crunching off in the tree line. It sounded like walking, but I couldn't tell if it was two-legged or four. It stood out to me because we hadn't heard or seen anybody throughout this entire time, so a person all of a sudden hiking parallel to us was pretty strange. He shrugged, his expression reassuring. It's the woods, babe. It's normal to feel a little spooked.

But I knew what I heard, and it wasn't just the woods. Either way, I pressed on, eager to put some distance between myself and whatever was lumbering around behind the trees. There are various predators out here, of course, snakes and spiders. And Eric and I have had our fair share of encounters with them. I didn't get the vibe that it was any kind of animal like that around, though. as the birds and bugs continued to bustle around, making noise. Usually, once a predator enters the area, everything moves on or gets quiet.

Whatever it was, I was the only one who found it creepy. We hiked for another mile or so, enjoying the terrain and views inside that area. The sun was shining, and birds were singing their sweet melodies. But as we walked, that feeling came back, the feeling of being watched. Throughout this time, I kept looking behind us, and that's when I saw him, the man from earlier sneaking through the brush following us. Eric, look, I whispered, tugging on his arm. He turned just in time to see that guy creep back into the foliage. What is it? he asked.

That guy from earlier, he's following us, I said, my heart racing. I was sure that it was him. He was a ways off. I'd say a good quarter mile. but the slope we just climbed gave me a great vantage. I pegged him the second I saw him. You couldn't miss those scruffy clothes, that torn up red backpack, same haircut and beard.

I mean, he was the only person we'd seen out here. Who else could it be? Eric immediately shrugged it off. Baby, he's probably just out here hiking like we are. He has just as much right to be out here as we do. I know what I saw, and I know it didn't feel right. The guy was trying to keep hidden, at a half crouch, sticking close to the brush and branches. I kept a close eye on the trail behind us, my senses on high alert.

This is exactly why I don't like hiking with people I don't know. Another mile, and we encountered another couple hiking in the opposite direction. To me, for the first time ever, it was a godsend. They were using the trail and going the opposite direction, looked totally normal. I was relieved to have strength in numbers just in case that guy decided to pop out, waving a knife or something. We asked them how much further the spring was. They looked at us with complete confusion.

You're not on the spring trail, they said. This is the lookout trail. It gets seriously steep in about a half a mile. It starts to climb up the canyon wall. My heart immediately sank. We'd been walking for close to two hours, and now we were on the wrong trail. We went back and forth with them for a while, just to clarify what they were saying and where we were. Super disappointing.

Only added more confusion and creepiness to the situation that I believe we were in. I mean, it's obvious, right? That guy back at the rest stop was not making eye contact with us because he was giving us bad directions, or in other words, lying out his ass. Now here was the real question. Was he just messing with us? or was he setting us up for something weird? I was grateful for the honesty of the couple,

as it told me they weren't involved with that guy at all. Thanks for letting us know, Eric said, his voice laced with frustration. The other couple bit us farewell and then disappeared around the bend. I gave them a brief warning about that guy down there, just saying that he gave us bad directions and that he was now coming up behind us. They agreed it was weird, and they would keep an eye out as well. Eric and I stopped for a moment, just taking inventory of where we were now, how far we'd gone. I think Eric just wanted to settle and take the situation in alone.

I mean, we were out of options. A lot of the day had gone by, so the spring was probably off the table now. We just needed to decide if we were committing to the lookout point or turning back now for something else. We weighed our options for ten minutes or so, long enough for me to forget about scanning the trail, and that's when we both heard it, the shutter of a camera. It was so jarring that we literally stopped talking and looked back at one another, went pale in the face.

I could tell now Eric was suddenly on board with the strangeness I'd been talking about. We both looked up to see that stranger from earlier, hiding behind the trees and branches. He had a camera, and he was snapping photos of us. My blood immediately ran cold, and I know this sounds weird, but stuff like this is literally my night. nightmare. What a weird, creepy thing to do with people you don't know in the woods. It implies a mindset that I can't fathom. When I think about it, it still makes my skin crawl. What the hell?

Eric exclaimed, his voice angry. He's normally a very level guy, but I could tell he was seething and just ready to go ballistic. Get away from us, I shouted, my heart racing. I shouldn't have said anything, but I wanted to match Eric's energy. Do my best to get this guy out of him. here. The stranger didn't move. His eyes just fixed on us with this unnerving intensity. It's not like we were trapped or anything, but we were alone with this guy in the wilderness, and he was within 30 yards now. He never said a single word. We just heard the shutter a couple more times. Dude, what the hell is your problem? Why did you give us bunk directions? Eric asked. This time, the guy laughed a little, snapped another photo, and then dissoned

disappeared behind the tree trunk. Remember, this is the Pacific Northwest. The area that we found ourselves in was beyond thick, overgrown to the point of jungle status. Huge leaves blanketed branches. This guy vanished like a ghost right in front of our eyes. Now we were both officially creeped out, and Eric did not want to go off trail and risk getting injured or something with us being far from the car. We just turned around and started that long slog back to the car. It was something like four miles. We took this as a hard defeat, but on the surface we were just glad to not have anything worse happen. I don't know what that guy was capable of.

We didn't hear or see him again after we turned around. We made it back to the parking lot and didn't see another soul. We drove back home and theorized what the hell that guy was about. This all took place a few years ago, and still to this day, I wonder why he took those photos and more importantly what he did with them. It almost makes me ill, thinking there could be photos of me floating around out there, pictures that I'll never see. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right, so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points.

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Eye drops and work all day to prevent the release of histamines that cause itchy allergy eyes. And the winner, by knockout, is Padaday. Padaday. Bring it on. The sun fell below the mountains as I settled into my solitary post atop Pine Ridge, my home for the summer as a fire lookout worker. I enjoyed the isolation, crisp mountain air, vibrant sunsets, and the occasional rustle of wildlife in the underbrush,

a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the city. This was my sanctuary, a small cabin with a panoramic view of the forest stretching endlessly in every direction. As darkness took the forest, I turned on my own. oil lamp. Its warm glow flickered against the wooden walls. The radio crackled with static, a reminder that I was connected, however tenuously, to the world below. I kept my logbook nearby, jotting down the day's observations and checking in with the ranger station. All clear, I reported, feeling a sense of pride in my responsibility, but tonight felt different. A dense fog rolled

in as the sun sank, creeping up the trees like a ghost, swallowing the last hints of of daylight. I peered through my binoculars, scanning the sprawling woods that now seemed to swirl with shadows. The sound of rustling leaves filled the air, louder than before, as if the forest was alive and whispering secrets I couldn't quite decipher. Around midnight, my ease exploded into full-blown terror. It started subtly, a flicker at the edge of my vision. I turned quickly, convinced I'd see an animal or perhaps the wind playing tricks on me, but there was nothing. there. I returned to my logbook, dismissing it as fatigue. Sleep had been elusive these past few nights, and the shadowy edges of my mind were beginning to fray. Then, the first cold thump

echoed through the cabin. I held my breath. It was followed by two more deliberate and rhythmic thumps. Someone, something, was knocking on the wooden exterior of the lookout. Goose bumps prickled my skin as I glanced around, my heart pounding. The sound was organized, almost as if it was trying to get my attention. Hello? I called out, trying to sound unafraid. Is anyone there? Silence. Yet the knocking resumed, louder, more insistent, each thwack resonating through my bones.

I peered out the small window straining to see through the fog. The trees loomed like sentinels, blocking any trace of movement. Was it the wind? An animal testing the boundaries of the, of my sanity? I returned to my desk telling myself I was alone and began to write again, hoping to drown out the sounds. But then I heard a soft voice whispering my name, barely audible over the howling wind. Claire, chills cascaded down my spine. My name echoed in the emptiness, its source lost to the night. Who's there? I exclaimed, panic rising in my throat.

Show yourself. The answer came as the cabin violently shook, rattling to the very very, foundation. The knocking morphed into thunderous blows, as if something immense were trying to break through the walls. I leapt to my feet, gripping the table for stability, the lantern's flame dancing wildly, threatening to extinguish. Stop it, I shouted, eyes wide and frantically searching for anything to explain this madness in my mind. I replayed every horror story I had ever heard about fire lookouts, ghosts of past strangers, lost souls wandering the woods seeking revenge. I couldn't let those stories control me. I had to remain calm, but the voices grew louder, overlapping in a cacophony that filled my ears.

Claire, help us, we're trapped. I stumbled back, heart racing, terror flooding my senses. The air grew thick and heavy, the temperature dropping as if I had entered a tomb. Against my better judgment, I opened the door, desperate to confront whatever had invaded. my sanctuary. The fog swirled in, cold and biting, wrapping around me like icy fingers. Show yourself, I yelled into the void. But all I saw were the intimidating silhouettes of trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands clutching at the sky. Then in the dense fog I spotted them, figures emerging silently, pale and translucent. Their faces were etched with anguish and fear. They moved slowly toward me, mere shadows in the night.

but their eyes were piercing. I could feel their sorrow deep within my chest. Please help us, one whispered, echoing inside my skull. I stepped back, stumbling over the threshold, my breath hitching. What happened to you? I asked, desperation spilling from my lips. Trapped, the voice reverberated, a mournful chant that resonated with the woods' essence. We cannot leave. You must help us. The figures advanced, and I could, could feel their pain washing over me like a wave. I realized then that they were lost souls, perhaps victims of past fires or tragedy, forever haunting this landscape. I wanted to run, to lock the door, but a force held me in place, compelling me to listen. Tears filled my

eyes as I searched for words, something to ease their suffering. What can I do? I asked, voice trembling. They seemed to unite in a whisper, but I couldn't. understand it, something about breaking a barrier. Their voices, a haunting melody, wrapped around my heart. The weight of their collective grief bore down on me, and I thought about the fire season, the control towers, and what I had learned, that the woods were fragile, their spirits woven into the fabric of nature. The only way to help them, I realized, was through acknowledgement of their existence and understanding of the life and death that occurred in the very trees surrounding me. Heart pounding, I returned to the cabin, moved to the center of the room and declared,

I see you, I hear you, I acknowledge your pain. I repeated it over and over, my voice carrying into the emptiness. Slowly, their forms began to dissolve, warmth flooding the air and the sorrow in their voices faded into a gentle, whispering breeze. The voice was. The Voices turned into a murmur, and then slowly drifted away, leaving the cabin unbothered by their long, haunting presence. As dawn broke, the fog lifted, and I could see the sprawling expanse of the forest. Exhausted, yet somehow relieved, I took a deep breath, knowing that Pine Ridge would always carry the weight of those lost souls, even as it stood guard over the living. Some nights, as I sit alone in my lookout, I hear the rustle of leaves and whispers in the wind, A reminder of that chilling night I learned to listen, not just with my ears, but with my heart.

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Show up for her with double blooms at 1,800flowers.com slash Spotify. That's 1,800flowers.com. I know it's a bit of a stereotype, but I've always heard it's hard to make friends as an adult. I never really took this into consideration until I was close to becoming a fat, middle-aged loner. I've lived in the same little community for many years. After the kids moved out, it was just me and the wife. Many of the guys I called buddies had moved on to the city, gotten arrested, or simply lost interest in being friends anymore. Suddenly, I had a lot of free time, lots of stuff I wanted to do, but nobody to do it with.

My wife and I have our own hobbies and date nights, mainly going to the movies, but when it came to outdoor recreation, I was largely on my own. My wife thinks activities like hunting and fishing are gross and archaic. She's a girly girl, and I love her for it. About ten years ago, I did the unthinkable. I made a friend. He was actually a guy I'd known around town, but one day at the tackle shop, we started exchanging info regarding fishing spots and other stuff like that.

We decided to plan a trip out together. We've been fishing buddies ever since. My friend's name is Scott, and my wife calls him my mistress, which is pretty funny. Anyway, Scott and I are river fishermen. We hit the lake sometimes if we have the itch, but for the most part we stick to the moving water. It's more fun and more isolated, typically yielding a better catch too. I compare fishing a lake and fishing a stream to driving an automatic or a manual. Sure, they both get you from A to B, but one of them is just more fun.

This particular trip was just like all the rest. Scott swung by and scooped me up around 5 a.m. just before sunrise. We buzzed out of town and into the woods. There are all kinds of old logging and service roads that cut through, the forest around here, and Scott had the wise idea one day to get Google maps out to see which one got us closer to the river. Not an actual parking lot near the stream, but a place we could park along the road, kind of in secret, then hike back to the water itself. This way, we'd come up on part of the stream that others couldn't access, hopefully tapping into a source of fish that

were otherwise unknown. Sure enough, he found a perfect little place way back in the woodland, where very few people knew the water cut through at all. Man, I love this time a day, Scott said, his voice low and gravely as we drove down that winding road. World's still waking up, and we're already out here getting our day started. I grunted in agreement, sipping at my coffee as the darkness outside seemed to press in on us. We've been coming out here for years at this point, but it never really got old. There's just something about being in motion when the rest of the world is still asleep.

It's like I know a secret that I can't share. It's hard to explain, but I've always loved being an early riser. Scott, not so much, but his love for fishing overrides his laziness, so he gets his butt in gear when he needs to. You know, I was thinking, Scott said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. We should come back again tomorrow before the holiday weekend. I'd be down for that, I replied, my eyes scanning the darkness outside. But we'd have to find a way to make it work.

with our schedules. As we drove, the trees seemed to close in around us, their branches creaking ominously in the wind. Scott worked for the town. I own my own small business, so throughout the week we stayed pretty busy. Typical old guy stuff, you know. Almost there, Scott said, looking out over the dash. Hurry it up, I joked with him. Finally, we arrived at the spot where we usually parked. It was just this little hairpin of a turnout, barely enough. room to park his truck, but very few people drove out this far, and it was still pretty early in the morning. We didn't expect to see anybody until the afternoon, if at all. We took a moment to bundle up in the cab, put our fingers in front of the heater one last time, and took a final

sip of coffee before we pushed out into the wilderness. We unloaded our gear and started the trek to the forest, our flashlights casting eerie shadows on the trees. We went light, just a couple of creel bags, our rods, and whatever food and water we packed ourselves for the day. It's easier to fish a stream with light tackle, as you constantly find yourself moving up and down the creek, hopping rocks, and maybe even climbing trees just to get a little better vantage over the water. I love this part, Scott said, his voice barely above a whisper. It's like we're the only two people in the world. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. We walked to in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the rustling leaves beneath our feet.

I'm not really afraid of animals or the dark or anything for that matter, but I am afraid of circumstances. That dark trek through the trees was only a little unsettling for me because if something bad were going to happen, that'd be a damn good time for it to happen. We each kept a firearm, most outdoorsmen do, but it wouldn't be any use if a mountain lion decided to stalk us through the dark, or if we accidentally stepped into a snake pit. We did our best just to follow that same little strip of terrain, trip after trip, year after year, and hope for the best. It had been working for us so far, at least.

We stumbled along until we could almost hear water, which always put my mind at ease. We were more than halfway at this point. We used this big, old, ugly tree as a kind of waypoint to let us know of our progress. I lit it up with the flashlight and took in the gnarled old form, that dead gray trunk reaching up into a black maw in the early morning sky. Then that's when we saw them, a pair of boots, unlaced and upright, sitting at the base of a tree. My heart skipped a beat as I felt sweat come to life along my back and forehead.

In all the years that we'd been coming out to this area, we'd never seen any evidence of another human, not even so much as a piece of trash or a boot print. absolutely nothing. So, to see something so personal out there, it was really weird. What the hell? Scott breathed. His eyes fixed on those boots. He didn't move a muscle, almost looking like he was expecting a person to jump out from behind the tree at any point. I shook my head, my mind racing with possibilities. Who would leave their boots out here and why? It seemed like a delicate thing to just leave behind, especially in the dark. But what did I know? They could have been sitting here for a week, never to be picked up again.

It gave me this eerie feeling that maybe something had happened to somebody out here. We stood there for a moment, our flashlight beams fixed on the boots. They seemed so out of place, like a piece of a puzzle that just didn't quite fit. Well, that's weird, Scott said finally, his voice low and cautious. I nodded, my eyes scanning the surrounding area. Yeah, it definitely is. We looked at one another, and I could sense the unease in Scott's eyes, but we didn't say anything more.

We didn't need to. We both knew this was something strange, something that didn't belong in our little slice of wilderness. We stood quietly and strained our ears for anything strange, anything out of place. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, interrupted only by the occasional chirp of a cricket. or small bird waking up to the early morning light. Let's just leave them, Scott said finally, his voice decisive.

Maybe they belong to somebody, and they'll come back for them. I nodded, and we continued our trek through the forest. Now, as we walked, that silence seemed to grow thicker, like a fog that clung to our skin. We didn't talk about the boots anymore. We didn't need to. I know we were both thinking the same thing. that it's something strange, but ultimately, maybe it's nothing at all. After all, it was just a pair of shoes.

It's not like we found a severed head or something. Finally, we emerged from the trees and saw the river stretching out before us, calm and peaceful. The first rays from the sun glinted off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. We stood there for a moment, taking it in, then we split up, each of us finding our own spot to fish. We didn't go far, I'd say maybe 50 feet or so, far enough that we wouldn't have an issue getting our lines tangled, but also close enough that we were both within earshot. As the day went on, we'd move further and further from each other,

sometimes a mile or two, just to get all the good fishing that we could. By midday we'd start working back towards one another, have lunch, and then hit the river for another hour or two before heading back to the truck. As I cast my line into the water, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. This was what I loved about fishing, the quiet, the solitude, the sense of being completely alone in the world. And yet, as I stood there, I couldn't shake that feeling that I was being watched. I kept an eye on the other side of the river, looking for anything along the bank that just might be out of place.

I imagined seeing footprints scampering through the mud, but I didn't find anything. Hey Scott, I called out, my voice low and casual. You, uh, see anything weird? There was a pause, and then Scott's voice came back, equally casual. Uh, no man, just the usual, you know, fish, trees, water. I nodded, even though he wasn't looking at me. Yeah, me too. We stood there in silence for a few minutes,

the only sound being the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. And then, without warning, a fish bit my line. My heart skipped a beat, just like it does every time I get a bite. Muscle memory took over from there, drop, hold, yank, reel. After a few good turns, I knew I had him, biting left, right, down, up, before finally giving up and letting me haul him in. Yeah, I exclaimed, my voice loud and triumphant. I got one.

Nice. Let's see it. Scott's voice came back equally as excited. I grinned, my heart pounding with excitement. I hoisted it up and let Scott have a look, though it was only about 12 inches long, not a trophy by any sense of the imagination. It was proof that there were fish here, and they were biting. A good omen, if you will. I got it off the hook and released it, per usual. It's always been a little weird superstition of mine. Let the first cat, of the day go, so he can tell the others that were merciful. The hook is safe to bite. I know it's silly, but it's just more old man thinking. The sun came up, but Scott and I didn't move yet.

Catching a fish that early meant we were in the right place at the right time, so we wanted to fish this pool raw before moving on. I cast out a few more times and tried some different jigging patterns, but got nothing. Scott, however, had a couple of bites, and on the third landed a decent size of, trout, something like 18 inches. I kept my line in, watching as he worked to get the hook free. I wanted to see if he would put it on the trout line and keep it or not. What happens next is one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. As I watched Scott work the line and the hook, I caught movement across the river in my periphery. It was so quick and small that I didn't even

look over at first, but the moment it stirred, I remember getting this dizzy, almost sick feeling. I knew whatever was moving shouldn't be, and honestly, I think I was afraid to look. It was moving backward and quickly disappearing into the foliage, and then it all went still. This all happened in a matter of a few seconds. Then before I could shout any kind of warning, something came flying out of the brush over the stream and right at Scott. I thought it was a bird at first, almost giving me a sense of relief, but as it started to arch back towards the ground, I knew it was an object. a rock or a stick, something like that. It hit Scott right in the chest, and I could tell it scared the crap out of him.

He froze up, totally rigid from top to bottom, then dropped both the fish and his rod, and scrambled back from the water. What the hell was that? I hollered over, setting my rod down and slowly approaching. I pointed across the water. It came from the other side of the river. Scott took a moment to gather himself, then stood up and scanned his little alcove. I think it was a rock, he said as he looked around. Whatever it was, it was heavy.

Our eyes naturally wandered across the water, scanning for anything and everything. I don't pack much heat when we're out there, just this little snub 38 special. Even then, half the cylinder is full of snake shot. If I came up on anything small, I could take care of it, but much more than a coyote, it's probably a goner. Scott, on the other hand, carried his baby out there, a wood. handled, stainless steel .44 magnum, a real showstopper. He kept a hand on it as he checked the surrounding area. We took another moment to compare notes, and I told him what I saw, and he told me

what he felt. Whatever the case and whatever happened, there was nobody to point a finger at. We started entertaining weird theories, maybe some kind of rogue water current pushed a rock up, and it flipped out of the water, maybe a raccoon threw one. It was hard to be sure of anything when it happened so fast. We went back to doing really the only thing that we could, fishing the river. This time, we really didn't watch the water, just kept our eyes up for anything weird. We stood a little closer to each other this time. I wanted to mention the boots, but I also didn't want to spoil the trip with fears and worries. I kept my concerns to myself, and just did everything I could to enjoy the peace and quiet that would soon only be a daydream.

However, I'd say maybe an hour later, I caught a little movement, a little disruption across the river that I almost didn't look up for. Again, thinking about the incident earlier, I decided to look. To my horror, I saw a sliver of a guy looking back at me. He was shirtless, dirty, barely peeking around the tree trunk across the river. I froze in place and did my best to pretend not to see him. When I let my eyes flip back to the guy, he was gone. Now I knew who threw that rock earlier.

I crept down to where Scott was and nodded to get his attention. He came over and asked me what was up. I think I just saw somebody across the creek, I said. What, fishing? He asked, agitated. He looked around and started scanning the area. No, no, he looked like a kid, and he didn't have a shirt on, I clarified. How old?

Scott asked. I don't know. Maybe 21. We both looked back over the water. the water. There was nothing there. We agreed the whole thing was weird, packed up, and just headed downstream a bit. This turned out to be a mistake truly. I wish we'd gone the other way, upstream. What we found downstream ruined that trip and sent us packing back to the truck. We came around a bend and saw this beautiful pool, one that we fished often. In one of the shallow,

sandy basins, though, there was what looked like gallons of blood all in the water. Because the pool was so big, placid areas formed along the shores where the water moved a little less, and so debris or whatever could actually choke up there, much like the blood was doing. We both stopped in place, looked at one another, and just shook our heads. At the foot of that shoreline, I swear to God, there must have been a hundred massacred fishes, all sizes, all different species, all gutted, inside out, some smashed to a paste, others chopped up. It took up the whole shoreline, the water, everything was painted with blood and organs, and the gutted fish showed us that whoever did this was human. No bear, no eagle, no animal at the time would do this. It just creeped

us the hell out. We had a brief conversation, added everything up, and decided it wasn't worth it. We packed everything up, turned back into the woodland, and didn't even bother eating lunch, just to hopefully create a little more distance. This wasn't the same route back through the woods that we usually took, so we were a little off course, but still had a pretty good idea of the direction we needed to go. We kept a steady hand on our guns as we walked through the trees, looking over our backs every few feet. As we got closer, though, we had an itch. Scott had mentioned it before, and we both wanted to walk over to the old dead oak tree, see if those boots were still there. It was only ten, maybe twenty minutes off course. So we redirected ourselves and started

cutting a path. As I'm sure you can imagine, we got to the tree, and there wasn't any sign of those boots. In fact, there was evidence of water in the dirt at the base of the trunk, like a person who was wet from the waist down had been standing there. We knew then that that person had crossed the river by foot, had come back and gotten his boots. We chocked it up to a hunter or woodsman just having a rough night. When we got back to the road, we still hadn't seen anybody else. There were no cars parked near us, so we really didn't know what to make of it all. I mentioned calling it into some kind of agency, but Scott said no. The guy was throwing rocks, he can find his own way back. We left, never saw that guy again, but I can say that was the weirdest fishing trip of my

my life. We ended up hearing later there had been this big college party blowout a couple of nights before. Search and rescue was even called. Some of the guests took hallucinogens, had wandered off, and got seriously lost. We thought maybe it was a leftover straggler from that, but even then, what the hell was he still doing out there, gutting fish by the dozen? The experience left us both shaken and with a lot more questions than answers. Every fishing, trip after that, we were more cautious, more aware of our surroundings, and frankly, less inclined to stray too far from familiar waters. The wilderness had always been a place of solitude and respite for us, but that day it revealed a darker, more unpredictable side. As we drove back home,

the silence between us was thick, each lost in our own thoughts, the usually lively banter about our catches, and the one that got away was absent. Instead, there was a mutual, mutual understanding that we had just experienced something out of the ordinary, something that neither of us could easily brush off. In the weeks that followed, I kept a keen eye on the local news, half expecting to hear about a missing person or some bizarre incident in the woods, similar to what we had encountered. But there was nothing, no reports, no follow-ups, no closure. It was as if what we had witnessed was isolated entirely to our own reality, a chilling thought

that made the woods seem even more vast and secretive. Scott and I discussed the possibility of going back, perhaps with more people, or even notifying the local authorities to have them check the area. But deep down, we knew that whatever had happened was probably long gone, swallowed up by the dense, unyielding forest. Our fishing trips continued, but we never ventured back to that particular spot. The memory of those eerie discoveries, boots, blood and all. was enough to keep us from trying our luck there again.

Eventually we found new spots, new routines. The rivers and streams still called to us, and we answered, but always with that lingering unease in the back of our minds. The woods were no longer just a backdrop for our angling adventures. They were a reminder of nature's deep, abiding mystery, capable of hiding stories and secrets far beyond what we could ever hope to uncover.