Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 6 Scary Wendigo & Skinwalker Horror Stories | Scary Stories to Fall Asleep To | Cryptid, Deep Woods

Episode Date: February 21, 2025

These are 6 ScaryWendigo & Skinwalker Horror Stories | Scary Stories to Fall Asleep To | Cryptid, Deep WoodsLinktree:https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepyStoryCredits:►Sent in tohttps://www.justcreepy.net/►https://www.reddit.com/user/LucyBoo_22/Timestamps:00:00 Intro00:00:18 Story 100:11:31 Story 200:28:33 Story 300:39:18 Story 400:48:34 Story 500:54:59 Story 6Musicby:► Myuu's channelhttp://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Musichttp://bit.ly/2f9WQpeBusinessinquiries: ►[e-mail]#scarystories #horrorstories #skinwalker #wendigo #cryptids 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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and honestly, I wouldn't blame you. It still doesn't make sense in my own head. I've heard stories about unknown creatures in the woods, but I never thought I'd encounter one myself, you know? I posted another story about some creepy old people I ran into in the woods, but that's nothing compared to this. It might sound like a good horror story to some people, but it haunts me every day. Anyway, here we go. I love hiking. I usually go with my three-year-old German shepherd, Kairi, and let her roam off leash since we prefer secluded places. I've hiked all over the mountains in Utah, but wanted to find a new trail not too far from home. I have an app, all trails, that tells me about nearby hikes, whether they're challenging, if there are any reviews,

and if they're dog-friendly. I was scrolling through it, hoping to find something new, and to surprise, there was a listing I hadn't seen before. I don't remember the name, but it was at the bottom of the list with just one review that said good. I thought it was odd because people usually leave detailed reviews, but I figured maybe it just wasn't popular. The next day, Kyrie and I packed our gear and set out. I always carry a first aid kit, extra food, a knife, and other emergency items in case I get lost. It's important to note that Kyrie eats raw meat. so I brought some along in her little blue backpack, planning to feed her later when it got warmer. Where I live, you drive through a long canyon with many roads branching off toward different trails.

This one was farther than I'm used to, but I was excited to try something new, and Kyrie always winds until we arrive. I followed the directions on my phone and ended up on a narrow, hidden road. No wonder I've never heard of this place, I thought, because it was so tucked away in the mountain. The road only fit one car, so I was nervous about meeting another car head on. Luckily, none ever came. When I reached the parking lot, if you could even call it that, I saw space for maybe three cars total, all crammed together.

It was tiny, so I parked with my car facing out just in case. I worried it might be private property, but the app didn't say anything, so I shrugged it off, got Kyrie out, and we headed for the trail. Although I didn't see any other cars, I initially kept Kyrie on her leash in case there were bikers around. After about 30 minutes without seeing a soul, I led her off leash. The first half was steep, but it was a beautiful hike. We were deep in the woods, and I felt at peace. I used to wear headphones while hiking, but stopped, so I could listen to the forest. It was still early, and I wore a light jacket, planning to feed Kyrie her breakfast when it got warmer. Now,

before anyone points it out I know. Carrying raw meat was absolutely stupid and ignorant. I'd never seen a bear, wolf, or anything else scary, so I got cocky and figured it would be fine. I learned my lesson that day. No need to tell me I was dumb. I already know. Anyway, here's where the bad part begins. The trail leveled out into an easier path. At the top, through the trees, I could see a beautiful open meadow. Beyond it, I could hear a river and a waterfall. The trail circled the meadow, and it was all stunning. The mountains in the background, the sound of rushing water. It was one of the most gorgeous places I'd ever hiked. Kyrie and I were near the center of the me when she stopped in front of me and stared straight ahead. She usually walked a bit ahead of me, so when she stopped like

that, I trusted her instincts and stopped too. Before I even looked, the smell hit me. a strong, rotting odor that burned my nose and made my eyes water. I lifted my shirt over my nose, feeling sick, and turned to see what Kyrie was staring at. In the middle of the meadow stood a deer. I've seen doze before, but never a buck, and its antlers were enormous. Think the deer spirit in Princess Mononoche.

It was breathtaking, but that smell was unbelievable. The deer was facing away from us, looking toward the mountains. I thought maybe Kyrie's food had. had spoiled, but when I checked, it seemed okay. Then, when I glanced back up, the deer was looking directly at us. Kyrie's hackles went up, and she whimpered nervously. I'm Native American, so I grew up hearing about Wendigoes and Skinwalkers, plus I've listened to plenty of scary stories on YouTube. When Kyrie reacted that way, I got a bad feeling in my gut, despite already feeling sick. I realized it had to be a Wendigo. These creatures were only

supposed to be in the stories my grandmother told me, not in real life. She was the one who really knew about them, but she's gone now. No one else in my family has her knowledge. I looked at Kyrie again when she whined, then back at the creature. It started to stand on its hind legs. Holy hell it was tall, and turned to face me. It began walking toward me, and I was about to run, when I heard something in my head, I am the one of this land. Suddenly it charged at me full speed. I screamed, called Kyrie, and took off running. She was right behind me. I was crying as I ran, because I heard it crashing closer, smashing through everything in its way. My adrenaline was so high that I just kept moving, not even thinking about a direction.

The trail narrowed, and thorny bushes appeared. They scratched and cut my arms, but I barely felt it. Just as I thought it was about to catch me, it swerved off to the left, while I kept going straight. I dared to look back. Both it and Kairi were gone. Kairi, I shouted. Right then the trail dropped about a foot onto some rocks. I stumbled off the drop, hit my head, and started bleeding a little, though I barely noticed. I stood up, looking around frantically, when I heard Kairi cry out to my right. Kairi, I yelled. I was sobbing and had no idea what to do. I saw. I saw a river leading up to the waterfall I'd heard earlier. Suddenly something heavy slammed into me, and we both fell. I hit my head again and then saw Kyrie, her neck covered in blood.

Kyri? I cried. She was whimpering and breathing heavily. Her backpack was ripped in places. Before I could do anything, a scream echoed from the woods. I looked toward the waterfall, and somehow I managed to pick up my 85-pound dog and run. I don't know what my plan was. just that the waterfall seemed like safety. I almost reached it when I heard the creature land on the same rocks I had. I tripped and looked back to see it staring right at me. Its eyes were black, or maybe there was nothing there at all. I tore off Kyrie's backpack and threw it at the monster,

hoping it would go for the raw meat instead of us. I scrambled backward toward the waterfall, crying as I dragged Kyrie with me. Being near that thing made me literally weak in the knees. It walked toward us in huge steps. It looked so different from before. What had seemed like a deer now looked like a full-blown monster. I don't know how else to describe it. Water hit my head hard as we reached the waterfall.

I kept going until I was pressed against the rock wall, in a spot where the water didn't completely drench Kyrie in me. Kairi was limp by then. I could see the creature through the waterfall. It stood on its hind legs watching me. The smell was beyond worry. and I almost threw up. It reached out an arm, and I screamed so loudly that I lost my voice. Then, out of nowhere, another scream came from deep in the forest. The creature snapped its head around,

almost a full 180 degrees, and looked toward that sound, which was similar to its own screech. I was still clinging to Kyrie, crying and screaming because its arm was so close. It turned back to me, pulled its arm away, and I heard again in my mind. I am the one of the one of the same. I am the one this land. With that, it backed away from me and moved down the riverbank on all fours. It paused where I'd thrown Kyrie's backpack, ripped it apart, and devoured the meat, bag, and all. Then it screeched again and ran off in the direction of that other scream. The moment I felt it was gone, I shakily got to my feet and carried Kyrie back to the trail. Along the way, I found my own backpack, torn to shreds. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around Kairri.

to slow the bleeding. After that, I remember very little, just getting back to my car, driving like crazy, and screaming all the way to the emergency vet. At the vet, they asked what happened. I said it was a bear. They called an ambulance because I was covered in blood, and they couldn't tell whose it was. Kairi survived surgery, needed stitches, and had a pad for her wounds. She developed a big bump that got infected but eventually healed. She also had a bite mark above her left eye that healed better. They pulled out a four-inch tooth, which I refused to look at, but they decided it had to be from a bear, even though they said it looked odd.

While waiting for Carrie, I tried to look up the trail on the app, but it was gone. I have no idea why or how, and I can't remember exactly where it was. It's all a haze. I do have pictures of Kyrie. One is of her with my niece on a hike my mom took them on a few weeks later, later. Carrie looks nervous in it, and you can see the huge bump on the left side of her neck. There's another picture of her with bandages around her neck, and a recent one showing the black area where her stitches came out. The last picture is of the top of her head, also black, but now

healed. I'll figure out how to post them. I haven't been hiking since, and I refused to let Kyrie out of my sight. My mom once took her hiking while I was at work, but regretted it when Kyrie got so scared they had to turn back. My mom knows about my nightmares. I screamed in my sleep for a couple of weeks. She placed white candles in my room to ward off negative spirits attracted to my trauma. So that's my story. I've heard of people seeing a Wendigo and walking away unscathed. I wish that was my experience. I hate hiking now. My therapist thinks I have PTSD, but I only told him it was a bear. I'm working through it, and so is Kyrie. Maybe one day I'll go back, but not anytime soon. If you're going to head into the mountains, please, please prepare yourselves.

Mother Nature is unpredictable, and there are things out there that don't make sense to us. Stay safe, seriously. If there's another subreddit where I could share this and possibly help someone else, please let me know. Thanks for listening. I drove into Mendocino National Forest feeling both eager and oddly restless. Usually I get a burst of energy the moment I hit winding roads in thick woods, but something was off this time. The forest just seemed too quiet. Not the peaceful, sleepy silence you might expect on a late afternoon,

but a heavier stillness that lingered in the air, daring me to press on. Yuri, my dog, was panting in the back, head resting on the window ledge. She's been my companion on countless backcountry trips before, so I rely on her to sense if anything's wrong. Up until now, she'd seem perfectly content. I kept glancing at the rearview mirror, half hoping she'd offer some reassuring sign that everything was normal. Each time I looked, though, she was just watching. Her ears flicked back and forth, as if she was listening for something I couldn't hear.

The dirt road climbed higher, becoming bumpier with each turn. My tires crunched over loose gravel, and I caught myself easing off the gas, not wanting to go too deep into a place that had my nerve, jumping. I tried to brush it off. Maybe I was just spooked by how isolated this route was. Usually, I crave solitude. I'd planned this trip precisely because I was tired of crowded campsites and wanted somewhere remote where Yuri could run free. Yet, every foot forward stirred a growing unease in my gut. I decided to pull over when I saw a small clearing on the edge of a bluff. It was a decent spot to stretch my legs and give Yuri a chance to sniff around. The view should have been

stunning, a sprawling valley with dark green tree top stretching out like an endless sea, but I felt unsettled enough that I couldn't properly appreciate it. My phone had just enough reception to send one last text to my boyfriend, something along the lines of, I feel strange out here, might head back. He joked as he does, saying maybe something mythical was lurking in the woods. Under normal circumstances, I'd have laughed it off, but his words hung in my mind longer than they should have. I climbed out of the car and Yuri hopped after me. The breeze was light, but it carried a stale undercurrent that seemed out of place for this kind of forest. Then I noticed a squirrel's body near the dirt. At first, I figured it must have been run over by some passing

vehicle, but the road was empty, and barely more than a narrow path. The sight of broken glass glittering around it was also jarring. The shards poked through the dirt, reflecting the sun in tiny blinding pinpricks. It had me wondering who would bother hauling bottles this far into the woods, only to smash them and leave the mess behind. Yuri let out a low rumble, one I'd almost call a growl. She usually reserves that for encounters with strange dogs or wild animals, never for random debris by the roadside. My chest clenched at the sound. I knelt down, ran a hand along her back to calm her, and her ears flattened against her skull. She made direct eye contact with me as if to say, we don't belong here. Determined not to overreact, I exhaled slowly and got back

into the driver's seat. With every bump of the road as I continued uphill, I kept telling myself that weird vibes happen sometimes. Solitude can play tricks on people's minds, the stillness of the forest, the lack of traffic, the abandoned glass, maybe it was nothing more than unfortunate coincidences. That's when more unsettling details came into focus. I saw other animal remains, small creatures like birds and rodents, spayed out in ways that made my stomach tighten. Granted, wildlife perishes out here naturally, but never quite so frequently along a single, seldom used road. The deeper I went, the heavier everything seemed. Each stretch of the journey felt like crossing into terrain that wasn't meant for casual visitors.

Uri stirred in the back seat, panting quietly, ears pinned forward as if expecting something. I glanced at her, then forced myself to keep my eyes on the narrow track. The scenery whirled by, tall trunks, dense canopies of green, patches of sunlight fighting through the leaves. But the silence was the most oppressive aspect of all. No birds, no rustling underbrush, just the scraping sound of my tires and my own uneasy breathing. I couldn't help remembering other trips I'd taken by myself, times I'd welcomed the hush and the isolation. Why was this different? I tried to rationalize. Maybe the area got hit by drought, maybe some sickness had spread among the small animals, but that same creeping tension wouldn't let go.

A wave of relief washed over me when I spotted a point. pull out wide enough to stop again. I needed a moment to gather myself. This time, I didn't even bother getting out of the car. I just sat with the engine off, the silence wrapping around me. That was when I heard faint murmurs, distinctly male voices, though I couldn't tell if it was one person or more. They weren't shouting. The tone sounded conversational, but I couldn't make out any real words. My heart started to pound so fiercely, it felt like it might echo in the confined space of the car. Uri perked up, ears drawn tall, a twinge of alarm raced through me. I hesitated, debating whether to answer with a quick shout or maybe honk the horn, but something, some

internal alarm, made me stay quiet. Instead, I peered out the window, scanning for any glimpse of movement through the trees. Nothing. The voices faded as soon as they'd arrived. arrived, replaced by that grating stillness again. I sat there, torn between forging ahead and turning back. The plan had been to find a clearing to set up camp. I loved the idea of being alone in nature, getting away from the stress of daily routines. Yet my gut kept urging me to rethink everything. In that moment, stubbornness won out. I started up the engine, telling myself I just needed to push on a bit further. Maybe the ideal campsite was just around the the bend. As I drove, the murmur of voices popped up again, then vanished, like a distant radio

station flickering in and out of range. My pulse throbbed at every twist in the road, half expecting to see someone or something, but every turnout I passed was vacant. No tents, no cars, not even a stray piece of trash. Finally, I paused on a narrow stretch of gravel, overlooking the steep slope below. The setting sun pressed in on me, throwing long shadows across the dusty path. I needed a decision. Either commit to staying the night or get off this mountain while I still had enough light. My hand clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles gone white with tension. Movement in the tree line caught my eye, just a flicker, a shape I couldn't fully make out.

It disappeared quickly, leaving me with a rush of dread that turned my stomach. Yuri let out a short, sharp bark, which made me jump. That sealed my choice. Enough was enough. I wanted to show I was brave, that I could handle remote camping, but some intangible danger clung to these woods. I turned the car around as quickly as I could, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment in myself. The voices went quiet again, the oppressive hush settling over the forest like a cloak. Yet I swore I could feel unseen eyes tracking my departure, nerves buzzing. I maneuvered back down the mountain at a careful but urgent pace. Part of me hated feeling spooked, but every mile away from that eerie stretch of forest lifted a weight off my chest. Even if I ended up second-guessing my decision later, I knew I was making the safer call for me and my dog. I wasn't sure what, if anything, was hidden up there beyond the twisting trees, but the leftover tension told me it was nothing good. I came back down that mountain road with Yuri at my side, but even as we were leaving, I couldn't shake the nagging sense that I should have stuck around to investigate more.

Part of me felt like a coward, like maybe I was turning my back on something I needed to understand. In the end, my curiosity got the best of me. I checked into a cheap motel for the night, slept fitfully, then made a rash decision at first light. I'd head back up there. I told myself I'd just do a quick scouting trip, figure out what had me so rattled, then leave for good. The next morning, I followed the same winding road, my stomach knotted up every time I recognized a stretch of it from the previous day. Yuri stayed quiet in the passenger seat this time,

her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. She'd occasionally sniff at the air in short bursts, as though trying to pick up a scent I couldn't detect. We covered the same ground in about half the time. I seemed more determined, more prepared for what I'd find. When I pulled on to that first clearing, I noticed the broken glass and the little squirrel carcass were still there, untouched. The forest floor looked about the same,

still covered in thick layers of debris and pine needles. There was no wind, no rustle of wildlife, nothing. That distinct hush pressed in on me, and once again, it made the place. face feel vaguely guarded. Like it had secrets it wasn't in a hurry to share. As I moved deeper along the dirt track, I spotted more dead animals, birds, smaller rodents, just like before. This time, though, I dared to stop and inspect one. It was a small rabbit, its fur matted, and its body strangely intact, no sign of predation or typical scavenging. It creeped me out to

the point that I practically sprinted back to the car. Uri whined as a I slid into the driver's seat, and I caught myself mumbling that I was okay, even though my hands were shaking. Farther up, the road curled around a thick stand of trees, branches so dense that sunlight barely reached the ground. I slowed almost to a crawl, scanning the woods on both sides. The voices I'd heard the day before were nowhere to be found, just a crackling silence. Yet the more I advanced, the more certain I became that something was lurking in those shadows. following me in that subtle menacing way you sense before you actually see it. Yuri perked up and started a low, throaty sound, not a full growl, but more like a warning.

My pulse jumped. I didn't see anything at first, but then came a flicker of movement. Through the cluster of trunks, I made out what looked like a hunched shape skirting behind a fallen log. It was quick, gone almost before I registered it. Could have been a bear, maybe a large deer that was spooked by my present. except the movement felt off, swift and upright in a way most forest animals aren't. I fought the urge to call out, telling myself it was a bad idea. No need to announce my presence to something I wasn't prepared to deal with.

My main concern was Yuri. If whatever that was decided to come closer, I didn't want her dashing into the trees after it. Edging the car forward again, I noticed the air had this stale heaviness to it, like the forest was holding its breath. I made a point of checking my phone, hoping for even a single bar of reception, but the screen just showed no service, typical for these backcountry areas,

but that helpless feeling of isolation only amplified the sense of being cornered by unseen watchers. The next turn opened onto a narrow plateau, a clearing with a partial view of the valley below. It looked like an ideal spot to set up camp if anyone were insane enough to do so in these conditions. I parked and tried to see if there were footprints, or any sign that other people had been around.

That's when I discovered a pile of bones off to one side, half hidden under a tangle of branches. They appeared bleached, stripped of flesh, and left in a disturbingly neat stack. I could make out a small skull, likely a deer. The weirdest part was how deliberate it looked, like it was placed rather than left by scavengers. I backed away, feeling a surge of dread.

Yuri must have sensed it because she started pacing in and out of the car, muzzle low, tail rigid. In that moment it felt like the entire forest was a trap that I'd driven right back into something that didn't want me there. Suddenly, I heard voices. This time they were clearer. At least two men, maybe three, arguing in hushed tones that rose and fell too quickly for me to catch their words.

My heart was practically thudding out of my chest as I tried to locate the source. It sounded so close, but there was nobody visible in the clearing. Just those bizarre bones, the thick tree line, and the breeze that had begun stirring the branches ever so slightly. I climbed halfway back into the driver's seat, door still open, trying to decide whether to shout a greeting. Before I could work up the courage, the voices cut off as if someone had flipped a switch. That abrupt silence had me trembling.

No normal conversation ends that abruptly, especially in the middle of an argument. It felt like they'd noticed me. A shape flashed between two tall pines at the edge of the clearing. For a moment, I saw a pale face, or maybe just the suggestion of one, peering from behind the bark. It vanished the second my gaze landed on it. My breath caught in my throat. Uri fixed her stare on the same spot, emitting a gutter. snarl that I'd never heard from her before. It was enough. I jumped into the car,

slammed the door, and gripped the wheel tight. My tires spun in the loose dirt as I whipped around, practically fish-tailing as I aimed back the way I came. I didn't even bother with the brake at the washboard turns, which made the descent feel reckless and dangerous. But I had to get out of there. The forest itself felt hostile, like it was compressing, funneling me out. I glanced at my rearview mirror more often than the road, convinced any second I'd see something, some one, barreling after me. The voices didn't return, but I could still sense them, as if the forest had swallowed them up. Every dip and bump nearly rattled my car apart, but I powered on, ignoring the dust billowing behind. Eventually, I hit a stretch of better road, still enveloped by

the thick trees on either side. It was lighter out, though, and the sense of immediate danger started to fade. If anything was chasing me, it had given up, or it was just waiting. I couldn't decide which was worse. When I reached a paved section near the edge of the park, relief flooded me. The tension in my neck and shoulders felt enormous. I accelerated until I saw the sign for a nearby gas station and pulled in, my hand still quivering. I got out, took a breath, and realized my clothes were damp with sweat, clinging to me in the chill air. Yuri hopped out and stuck close to my side, tail between her legs. I bought a bottle of water and tried to compose myself,

flipping through my phone in search of an explanation, any explanation, for what I'd just witnessed, local news articles, missing persons notices, crypted lore even. My mind darted to the strange bits of legend I'd read before about creatures in the deep woods that can mimic human voices. Suddenly, all of it felt a bit too plausible. ended that day locked up in another motel room, curtains drawn, unable to fall asleep. My thoughts looped over the images, the stacked bones, the blurred figure behind the pines, those disembodied

arguments that ended the moment I arrived. It wasn't just standard isolation. This place had a darkness that cut through whatever logic or bravery I thought I possessed. Whatever had been in those woods, I was certain it was aware of me in ways I didn't understand. Even recalling the memory now, I get the same knot in my gut. Maybe I'm just another spooked traveler who let the primal quiet of the forest stir up old legends. Or maybe there really is something out there that likes to watch, wait, and toy with people foolish enough to come looking for it. All I know is, if you ever find yourself alone on those back roads in Mendocino, pay attention to every gut instinct you've got.

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Save up to 40% your first year at LifeLock.com slash special offer. Terms apply. The air felt cool against my cheeks as I followed the narrow footpath. My dog, a stocky mix with bright eyes, padded alongside me, occasionally glancing up like she wanted reassurance. It was early. Sunbeams were still stretching across the leaf-littered ground. I'd chosen this public stretch of woods for the quiet,

mostly to enjoy a morning free from the rush of everyday life. I remember noticing how still everything seemed. Sure, there were bird calls in the distance. but the undergrowth felt oddly void of movement. My dog paused every so often, nose working overtime, like she sensed something I hadn't. I felt that twinge of caution,

the same jolt you get when you realize the world around you might be watching more than you realize. The trail meandered through dense scrub, eventually dipping toward a shallow creek bed. A cluster of leafless branches overhead looked like they'd host a roosting flock or two, but I didn't spot any right away. My dog's ears flicked, and she let out a low, uncertain growl.

Instinct nudged me to slow. I stopped, letting my gaze wander across the creek, noticing how the sun sparkled on the shallow water. In that moment, a subtle impulse tugged at me. It's difficult to explain, an instinct maybe. Without a single conscious thought, I reached for my dog's collar, shortened the leash, and crouched low. A crack of anxiety moved through me.

It was as if every sense sharpened simultaneously, telling me to wait. I scanned the tree line. At first I noticed a group of turkeys perched in the branches, nearly invisible in the morning glare. They were big, bulky silhouettes rustling quietly in the canopy. Relief flickered in me, thinking maybe that was the cause of my nerves. Still, I stayed put, not wanting to disturb them, or get a surprise wing slap if one spooked. A moment later, a rustle came from behind. My dog flinched, and I pivoted carefully, expecting a deer or another hiker.

What emerged from the brush was a man dressed in top-tier camouflage, cradling a bow in one hand. I barely made out his outline until he stepped fully into the light. He wore a mask of irritation that I understood too well, a hunter, interrupted mid-stalk. He froze when he spotted me, probably guessing I'd been sitting there. there like some clueless bystander. For a second, I thought he might say something or lay into me for messing up his morning. But instead, he just stood, shoulders tense, staring first at the turkeys, then at me. I raised a hand in an uneasy wave not sure if words would help. He glanced from me to my dog and then back to the creek. His mouth twitched, some mix of

annoyance and resignation, before he turned and cut an entirely new path through the thicket. I watched as he melted into the undergrowth, quiet as a shadow, leaving barely a snapped branch in his wake. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned in my gut. I couldn't decide whether I was more sorry for scaring off his quarry, or relieved I'd spotted him before he loosed an arrow in our direction. There was no question. Something in me had registered his presence moments before my eyes ever found him. It made me look at these woods differently. I'd always been confident in my outdoor sense. knew the habits of local wildlife, knew the sweet spots where deer liked to bed, had a notion of how to tread without spooking half the forest, but this felt personal. I'd caught that man's glare before fully seeing him, like an invisible alarm telling me, you're not alone.

My dog whined softly, as if echoing my thoughts. I gave her a scratch behind the ears, and we continued on, though it wasn't the same calm hike I'd planned. Every step forward felt loaded, my eyes scanning for any movement in the brush. My mind kept returning to the hunter's cold, laser-focused expression, a look that said, you just cost me a morning's work. I left that trail with fresh respect for how quietly danger, or at least tension, can lurk in the woods. Sometimes it announces itself with snapping branches and fluttering wings. Other times, it hovers unseen, relying on your instincts to register it,

and occasionally you get lucky. You sense the observer before they have a chance to fade away like they were never there at all. My second encounter happened a year later. I chose the suburban edge trail that day expecting a straightforward stroll, something to clear my head without the rugged challenge of backcountry terrain. The spot was known for its wide paths and scenic overlooks, often buzzing with joggers and dog walkers. My dog and I had a comfortable routine, walk in,

enjoy the sights, and head out before evening rolled in. Yet as we started down the gravel stretch, I noticed something was off. No chatter, no footsteps patting behind us. Even the usual hum of traffic from the nearby road felt muted. It was the kind of hush that clings to a place when people sense a reason to stay away. I tried to brush aside my unease. Maybe it was just an off hour. Maybe everyone else had better places to be.

but my dog's tense posture stopped me from pushing that thought too far. She paused every few yards, straining her nose toward the timber line. Every leaf crunch under our feet rang loud enough to carry. To calm my nerves I focused on details, the brilliant yellows and reds in the foliage, the sunlight slanting through half-bare branches, the distant shape of the hills. The area had a certain postcard charm, the kind that draws families on weekends. except there were no families today, no casual hikers, not a single face peering from around the next bend. About halfway in, we reached a wooden footbridge spanning a shallow trickle of water,

usually a popular photo spot, empty. My dog whined and snaked her head side to side. A sense of watchfulness ignited in me, recalling the time we'd encountered that camouflaged bow hunter. This time, however, I doubted it was a legitimate sportsman. Hunting here was banned. I crouched by the railing, trying to see if something down by the stream was causing her alarm. Nothing caught my eye, no sign of movement in the bushes, no leftover trash or footprints along the muddy bank.

The silence pressed in, thick and foreboding. Standing again, I scanned the tree line beyond the water. My mind toyed with different explanations. Maybe a wild predator had slipped into these suburban woods. I'd heard rumors of cougars occasionally drifting into places they shouldn't. Most folks wrote those stories off as urban legends. Another possibility, less comforting, was that someone sat hidden among those trees, deliberately tracking me.

I'd known people who thought scoping out unsuspecting hikers was a thrill. A faint breeze stirred the branches overhead, carrying a stale scent reminiscent of damp soil and something else. Not exactly decay, but not the crisp autumn smell I expect. my dog bristled and a subtle wine escaped her throat. I tried to steady myself with logic. It could be an animal carcass nearby, or a small scattering of leaves left to rot.

Yet the tension in my gut wouldn't let me chalk it up to something benign. I kept an eye on the undergrowth, searching for a glint of metal or the flash of glass that might indicate binoculars. I saw nothing. Still, the feeling of being evaluated by an unseen presence persisted. pressing on felt necessary, even if every step tightened the knot in my stomach. The next bend led to a narrow corridor of trees, their branches arching overhead to form a tunnel of sorts.

Light filtered through, casting elongated shadows on the path. My dog's pace slowed, her tail dropping. She glanced back at me, almost pleading. A branch snapped off to my left. I froze, ears straining, another crack. like someone trying to creep unnoticed through underbrush but missing a step. My heart hammered against my rib cage. My mind jumped back to that camouflaged hunter months ago.

Only this situation was worse. My dog was nervous. The park was empty, and nobody was around to see if anything went wrong. I stood still, scanning the spot where the noise came from. A moment passed and the forest returned to its unnerving stillness. I suppressed the urge to call out. something told me not to give away my exact location to whoever or whatever might be lurking. Without a solid plan, I moved forward, each footstep measured.

My dog crowded close, panting shallowly. The trail felt endless, winding through silent trees that seemed eager to hide secrets. I did my best to keep calm, but every shift of the wind, every shuffle of leaves, raised my tension higher. Eventually, the path opened near the edge of the woods, and I glimpsed the parking area in a clearing through the final stand of timber. Relief washed over me, but I kept glancing back, half expecting someone to burst from cover. Reaching the lot, I found it as deserted as the trail. A single street lamp hummed, flickering weakly. Getting my dog into the car took two tries because she was trembling, her paws slipping on the seat. I fumbled with the keys, resisting the pears. Resisting the

panicked urge to floor the accelerator the moment the engine came alive. Pulling away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. For an instant, I thought I caught movement among the trees, a lean shape or a silhouette, but it faded when I blinked. It could have been my anxious mind playing tricks. Safe behind the wheel I should have relaxed, but that tingle of being watched refused to vanish. Questions swirled. Was it a big cat? A reckless thrill seeker with a scope? or simply my imagination amplifying every stray noise. Truth be told, I had no real answers. All I knew was that the uneasy hush in those woods felt different from any ordinary day.

I wasn't going back any time soon. Even as I drove away, the sense of invisible eyes lingered. A reminder that sometimes, in places meant for peace and recreation, there are watchers who don't belong. I remember the drive out to my grandparents' place being both nostalgic, and strangely tense. The asphalt seemed endless, winding through fields that felt emptier than I remembered. When I finally pulled into the long gravel driveway, the crunch of the tires set me on edge for no real reason I could put into words. My grandparents' little farmhouse came into view,

and although it looked the same, white paint peeling in places, a sagging porch that needed new boards, I got the sense something about the area had changed. Maybe. it was just my imagination acting up. Grandma and Grandpa greeted me at the door, fussing over how much taller I'd gotten since my last visit and asking if I was hungry. The smell of fresh cornbread wafted through the open window, which usually made me feel right at home. It sort of did at first. But while Grandma rambled about chores that needed doing, and Grandpa talked about a recent coyote problem, I found myself glancing over at the tree line more often than I wanted to admit. nothing stood out as threatening. Still, my gaze kept drifting over there. Eventually, I decided to

stretch my legs and wander out toward the woods. That big yard used to be my stomping ground when I was a kid, a place where I'd spin around until I got dizzy and collapse on the grass, staring up at the sky. Now the grass felt too tall, prickly against my ankles, and the air tasted heavier. Each step I took seemed to stir up old memories. A pang of homesickness flashed through me, weird considering I was actually at home. I walked until I reached the first cluster of trees, letting my hand brush the rough bark. Everything grew quiet. No wind, no chirping birds, not even the usual rustle in the underbrush. A strange hush settled around me. I tried to shake it off and took a few more steps under the canopy. The farther I ventured, the darker it got, even though the sun was still high overhead.

Without meaning to, I started thinking about old legends my family sometimes told during late-night gatherings. Stories passed down about things best left alone. Creatures that show up when you're by yourself and vulnerable. I'd always laughed them off as spooky tales. Now, not so much. This patch of land had never seemed dangerous, but it definitely didn't feel inviting anymore. A soft snap echoed somewhere to my left. Might have been a branch, or maybe just my imagination.

I froze, straining to hear anything else. Moments later, a breeze finally swept through, carrying the slightest whiff of something sour. It reminded me of damp leaves left too long in the sun. I tried to dismiss it, chalking it up to the thick undergrowth. I thought about heading back, but curiosity tugged at me. This was my childhood playground. Right? Nothing to be afraid of here. Still, as I took a cautious step forward, my skin prickled. That uneasy feeling crept up my spine, and I couldn't figure out why. I glanced around once more,

half expecting something to jump out, but saw only gnarled trunks and shifting shadows. I convinced myself it was all in my head and turned around to head for the house. Tomorrow I thought, I'd go deeper into the woods like I used to. Whatever was bugging me had to be nerves, or maybe an overactive imagination fueled by old family stories. Deep down, though, I felt a flicker of anxiety that I couldn't quite name. Something was different here, and I really wasn't sure I wanted to find out exactly what it was. I woke up thinking that maybe I'd just overreacted the day before. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, and everything seemed normal, grandma in the kitchen clattering around with pots and pans,

Grandpa on the porch whistling an old tune. The sense of safety that came with daylight gave me a little confidence. I decided to head back into the woods, convincing myself I needed to check if there was anything out there worth investigating, like an animal burrow or a fallen tree. Probably nothing sinister. The moment I stepped off the porch, though, I realized the air felt oddly still again.

The grass glistened with dew, dampening my shoes, and every step sounded loud in that unnatural silence. My gaze drifted to the same patch of trees I'd visited before. Part of me wanted to call it quits right then, but I just kept walking like I was on autopilot. Once I passed the first line of trees, that uneasy hush descended once more. No birds, no insects, nothing but my own breathing. I reminded myself I'd spent entire summers out here without a single single single. scare, so I pressed on, crunching over fallen leaves until I was surrounded by trunks and tangled undergrowth. I was about to turn back when a voice trickled through the stillness, calling my name.

It sounded like my mom, but off somehow, as if it were coming through an old radio with poor reception. My immediate instinct was to shout back, but a warning flickered in my mind. She was supposed to be in the house, not out here. I froze, scanning the area. I tried to trace the direction of the sound, but it seemed to dance around me, far away one moment, close the next. My pulse raced. I knew my mom wouldn't be wandering aimlessly in these woods, not in that tone. A second call echoed and I realized it wasn't just me imagining things. My eyes flickered over to a gap between the trunks. That's where I spotted it, an impossibly tall figure hugging the bark of a wide tree. At first, the details were hard to be.

make out, but as it shifted slightly, the pale color of its skin was unmistakable. It wasn't the shade of anything alive and healthy, more like old, cracked leather stretched over a frame too large for it. Its head angled to the side, revealing a mouth lined with jagged teeth that glinted in the dim light. Fear tightened every muscle, locking me in place. For a split second, I thought about calling out to it, asking if it was hurt or needed help. But the longer I stared, the more I realized how wrong it looked. It peered back at me with

eyes I can only describe as hungry, and a foul smell drifted in the air, like something rotting in the sun. Without warning, it shifted away from the tree in a sudden, jerky motion, almost like it was testing how quickly it could move. My instincts overrode every other thought, and I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a tangle of roots. That's when a bizarre, crackling sound filled the silence, like branches snapping in half, but it seemed to come from the creature itself. My mind screamed to run, but my legs felt stuck for a moment. The sight was so horrifying that part of me refused to believe it was real. Then the creature took another lurching step in my direction, and I finally managed to turn around. I bolted through the trees, not caring how many branches,

or thorns scraped my arms. My breath came out in ragged bursts, and every twig cracking behind me sounded like it could be that thing, right on my heels. I forced my way through the undergrowth, practically diving over a fallen log. That rancid smell seemed to follow, lodged in my nose. My chest burned, and I was convinced I was seconds from being grabbed. By the time I reached the edge the woods my legs were shaking so badly I nearly fell. The yard opened up before me, bathed in the daylight that suddenly felt like the only barrier between me and whatever lurked in those trees. I sprinted to the house, heart pounding. Grandma was in the kitchen window, smiling at something on the counter, completely unaware. I slowed down just enough to look back

over my shoulder. The tree line stood silent once again, as if it had swallowed the thing whole. But I knew it was there, watching, maybe even waiting for me to come back. I slipped inside without a word. A surge of nausea hit me, and I had to take a minute to steady myself. Neither grandma nor grandpa noticed how rattled I was, so I pretended everything was normal. But inside I couldn't calm down. I kept replaying the moment those eyes fixed on me, that twisted version of my mom's voice drifting through the trees. That night, sleep was impossible.

Every little sound, a settling floorboard, the old clock chiming, felt like a potential threat. I could practically feel the darkness pressing against the windows. There was a part of me that wanted to grab Grandma and Grandpa, pile into the car, and tear out of there for good. Another part couldn't stop wondering if it would even matter, because once you've seen something like that, something that knows your name and isn't afraid to call it out, you start to fear it can find you anywhere. I pulled onto that back road with just enough moonlight to silhouette the thick tree line against the sky. The night air drifted in through my window, left open from when I'd been smoking earlier, and I remember glancing in the rear view for no real reason,

a sense tugging at my gut that maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought. The road stretched out in front of me, empty, silent, and unsettlingly dark. No streetlights, no farmhouses lit up in the distance, just a narrow route cracking beneath my tires. I tried to shake off my nerves by fiddling with the radio, but every station offered nothing but static. My hands clenched the wheel tighter than usual. It felt like the trees were watching me,

as if waiting to see if I'd keep going or turn around. Still, I pressed forward, telling myself everything was fine. When I spotted a lone stop sign at a ragged four-way intersection, I exhaled in relief. It was a small hint. civilization. I slowed down, not quite stopping, thinking, all right, just make a left and you'll be halfway to your friend's place. That was when the tree line erupted with motion. Some creature burst into view, barreling straight toward my door. I nearly slammed the brake before instinct made me

gun the gas instead. My headlights caught a flash of something with elongated limbs and teeth that glistened in a way teeth shouldn't. The sheer ferocity in its eyes, or whatever they were, made my stomach twist. It was so close I could sense its aggression, like it had been waiting for me to roll by with that open window. I pressed the accelerator until the engine roared, my heart thudding in my ears. The beast kept pace for a few unnerving seconds, snarling in an almost human rage. My window was wide open, an invitation if I screwed up for even a second. The tires squealed in protest, and I wrestled with the steering wheel to keep from flying off the road. gravel pinged against the undercarriage.

The creature lunged again, missing the window by inches. A guttural noise rang out behind me, and I couldn't tell if it was an animal's growl or something else. Then it fell back, swallowed by the dark. My pulse continued to pound as I tore away from that intersection, desperate to outrun whatever had just tried to reach me. Only once the road curved and the creature vanished from the mirrors did I allow myself a shaky breath.

My mind raced with impossible questions. Had I run into a rabid animal, or did something with genuine malevolence just choose me as its target tonight? Staring into the night, I kept my foot on the gas, determined to leave that lonely crossroads, and the thing that lurked there, far behind. I pulled into my friend's driveway still gripping the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing in the world. Every muscle in my arms felt tight, and my pulse throbbed in my temple. The moment I killed the engine, I noticed how shallow my breathing had become. My fingers shook with leftover adrenaline as I fumbled with the door handle.

I could almost sense that thing from the road hovering right behind me, ready to lunge again if I let my guard down. Inside the house was warm and filled with laughter, so painfully normal that my brain needed a second to adjust. The conversation dropped the instant I walked in. I must have looked a complete mess, wide eyes, hair plastered to my forehead. I tried to find my voice, but it came out raw and broken.

Once the shock wore off enough for words, I rattled off a rambling account of something huge with teeth, something that seemed more like a nightmare than any animal I'd come across before. Their faces reflected confusion. A couple friends asked if I was messing with them or if I'd had too much to smoke. Their dismissive reactions hit like a punch to the gut. I kept insisting it was real, too real, but it felt impossible to convey the intensity. My mind kept replaying how close that thing had gotten, how it showed this unnatural hostility.

The more I tried to talk about it, the more I realized nobody could truly understand without having been there. I forced myself to sit down, but my nerves were thrumming too fiercely to stay still. Even when I tried to breathe and calm down, my gaze flick toward the windows, half expecting those eyes to appear by, the glass. The walls felt stifling and I couldn't decide if I wanted to be hidden away in my room or surrounded by people. Either way, I couldn't banish the image of snapping jaws and the grating guttural sound still echoing in my head. Night dragged on and everyone else drifted off to bed. Sleep was the last thing on my mind. There was a heavy weight in my chest, like dread that just wouldn't dissipate. I flipped through my phone, searching for anything.

Urban legends, weird sightings, local warnings. My heart hammered as I stumbled on to stories about shapeshifters and cryptic creatures said to stalk lonely roads. Some details were scarily similar, eerie canine forms, the sense of an intelligence behind the brutality. It made me question if I'd pushed my luck on a path I had no business traveling alone. The later it got, the more my thoughts spun in circles. I wondered if it had tracked me, if it had tracked me, if it had. knew exactly where I ended up. Logic told me that was absurd, but a gnawing suspicion kept me glancing at every window. Eventually, exhaustion forced me to shut my eyes, though sleep brought no comfort.

I dreamed of glinting teeth and felt, in the pit of my stomach, that the next time might not end so cleanly. By morning, I was a jittery wreck, fueled by the same obsessive questions. Had I really escaped something no one else believed existed? Should I let it go or try to learn more? Fear and curiosity clashed in my thoughts, and I dreaded the idea that I might need to see that place again just to prove it wasn't my imagination. Even so, the mere notion of returning to that cursed intersection

twisted my insides with anxious anticipation. Something told me my story, and the creatures, wasn't finished. I was about nine the Thanksgiving we arrived at Grandma's place, nothing but trees surrounding that old house so thick you could hardly see the sky. The driveway felt longer than usual, like it stretched deeper into some secret place. Grandma's house always felt a bit strange, with all those Native American masks hanging on the walls and the faint smell of incense or something that hinted at old ceremonies. Whenever I stepped inside, I half expected those masks to whisper warnings I couldn't quite catch.

Thanksgiving meant cousins everywhere. piling coats in the hallway and chatting so loud it drowned out any sense of caution. Aunt Sandy was setting the table. Uncle Jim rummaged around in the fridge and everyone else drifted in and out of conversation. I remember glancing out the back window, noticing how dark the woods looked even in daylight. The branches gnarled like they'd been there for centuries. My older cousin Sam caught my stare and raised an eyebrow, like he knew I was thinking about exploring. Once we wolfed down some snacks, Sam nudged me to head outside. Mom gave a half-hearted wave to go have fun,

maybe expecting we'd just skip rocks in the creek or pick up arrowheads along the usual path. Instead, Sam wanted to push deeper. He'd heard there was a massive rock ledge somewhere far behind the house, and he was determined to find it. The air in those woods was thicker than I remembered. Every footstep sank in damp leaves, and the silence pressed in a round.

around us until it felt like we were tiptoeing through someone else's territory. We passed the old sweat lodge structure with rotting hides still clinging to a wooden frame. I'd always been too nervous to peek inside. Even now, I sped up to get away from it. Sam didn't say anything, but I saw him glance over his shoulder like he expected someone to emerge from that sagging doorway. After what felt like forever, we saw a rocky ledge jutting out ahead. towered over a slope filled with broken branches and dead foliage. Sam and I stood there,

kind of breathless, scanning the drop below. That's where I noticed something that shouldn't have been there. It looked like a person standing in ragged clothes, maybe 30 feet down. I remember trying to blink it away, maybe a scarecrow or some lost hiker who never made it out, but then it moved. I barely breathed. Sam's eyes went wide. The figure turned, letting us see its face. It was long, and shaped like a moose's snout, with rough, modelled fur in these eerie, dark eye sockets. It gazed straight at us, like it knew exactly who we were, and that we'd made a terrible mistake stepping this far into its domain. My insides nearly locked up. I had this wordless instinct screaming to run, but no part of me wanted to make a sound.

Sam grabbed my arm. We bolted back the way we came, crashing through undergrowth. twigs sliced at my cheeks and damp leaves stuck to my clothes. With every step, I felt a presence behind me, as though the thing below the ledge had silently decided we weren't allowed to leave. The light through the canopy seemed to flicker, and the trees around us twisted into shapes I barely recognized. We stumbled onto a clearing that shouldn't have been there, an open circle of grass and mushrooms arranged in rings. A weird green glow hung in the air, and a sudden wave of warmth made my head swim. It felt like the whole place was pulling me in, urging me to slow down, to forget why I was running. Sam shook my shoulder, his voice tense. We needed to move,

but I couldn't figure out where to go. The brush we'd cut through had simply vanished. Then a shout cut through everything. My mother's voice echoed in the distance, calling my name. It snapped me back to reality. We scrambled out of that clearing, following her voice until we burst into our backyard, panting and covered in scratches. Everyone else was just setting the table for dinner, the same old bustle of holiday chaos. No one believed the garbled story Sam and I tried to spill about a moose-faced figure and a bizarre clearing that tried to trap us. At that moment, I almost wished I could block it all out too. But as the sun sank lower, my mind refused to let go of the image of that tall,

ragged shape. It was somewhere out there, in those depths of the forest, and I was certain it remembered us. Dinner that evening was supposed to be the high point of our holiday. Everyone crammed around Grandma's table, swapping stories, and passing turkey like it was a relay race. But I couldn't focus on anything except what I had witnessed a few hours earlier with Sam. While everyone else bantered about football or joked about old family tales, my thoughts kept wandering to the figure with the moose-like head lurking out there in the darkening woods. The swirl of voices and the glow of candles couldn't blot out that creeping sense of unease. I glanced at Sam. He was barely touching his food.

Every now and then he'd dart his eyes toward the window, as if expecting a tall silhouette to slip past. The grown-ups shot us odd looks for being so quiet. I knew they chalked it up to silly childhood fears, some rumored ghost story or a product of too much imagination. but I noticed a few uneasy glances at the walls where Grandma's native masks seemed to watch us, their carved eyes lit by flickering candlelight. If they had known what we actually saw out there, maybe they'd have believed us. Or maybe it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong.

After dessert, some of the older cousins suggested a round of manhunt to break the tedium. Normally, the idea of running around at night, flashlights dancing in the dark, brought a spark of excitement. This time my stomach twisted. Still, it seemed safer to be with a big group than wandering alone. I figured I'd stick close to everyone else and not stray more than a few yards from the back porch. The cousins burst outside in a flurry of jackets and laughter. The yards sat under a thick canopy of stars, and the line of trees loomed like a fortress. Aunt Sandy switched on a big floodlight near the tool shed, which cast just enough glow for us to see the game's boundary. At first, it felt almost normal, people sprinting between tree trunks, calling out and mock bravado.

I teamed up with Sam, and we prowled the perimeter with flashlights. Leaves rustled as some cousins snuck by, trying to avoid being tagged. Occasionally, we found ourselves scanning the darkness, searching for a shape that didn't belong. Each time, a cousin would pop up instead. said, shrieking or laughing, which felt like relief and disappointment at the same time. Deep down, I worried I'd spot an antlered silhouette among the branches. We were about to give up on the last hidden cousin, when someone shouted from across the yard, Over here! We rushed toward the sound, flashlights bobbing.

A group of us converged on a dense cluster of bushes close to the trees. The beam swept over leaves, revealing a crouched figure. That missing cousin, trying not to breathe too loud. But behind him stood something else, a shape so tall it nearly blended with the shadows of the branches overhead. My pulse hammered as the flashlight beams caught slivers of torn fabric and what looked like fur along its neck. The antlers, jagged, decaying in places, stretched above the creature's head.

It towered in silence, and the part of me that had been trying to forget the earlier encounter shattered in an instant. There was no mistaking the slender twisted limbs or the elongated snout of a moose-like face. Its eyes reflected the flashlight glow, forming two pinpoints of malevolence. All of us froze. Not a single joke, not a single breath wasted. The cousin in the bush turned around and a split second passed before he realized what loomed just behind him. His face contorted into horror, and he scrambled out so fast he nearly collided with two others. The entire group screamed at once. Someone dropped their flashlight. I stumbled in the

rush to get back toward the house. Every instinct hollered that the creature could yank one of us off our feet at any moment. Footsteps pounded across the lawn, breath ragged, hearts hammering like frantic drums. We crashed through the back door in a jumbled swarm, shrieking for the adults. Aunt Sandy nearly dropped the stack of dishes she was washing when she saw us all sweaty. shaking and yelling about something in the yard. The rest of the family quickly gathered. At first they were skeptical. Some asked if we were pulling a prank,

but the collective panic changed their minds. We all babbled over each other, describing the antlers, the face, the towering silhouette. That was when I realized nobody was laughing anymore. A hush fell, heavy with dread, as if acknowledging something beyond our comprehension had taken root in these woods. The house suddenly felt too small, windows too large.

The backyard, a yawning black hole, ready to devour any of us who ventured out again. A few uncles locked the doors and flipped off lights to reduce visibility from outside. Grandma stood in the corner, her eyes shut like she was recalling stories she'd heard long ago, maybe warnings from the same people who once lived on this land. I retreated to the living room with Sam, pressing myself to the wall beneath those old masks. The hum of shaken voices and muffled sobs filled the house. It was the first time we'd ever considered not being safe in Grandma's home. Part of me wanted to believe it was a nightmare,

but I couldn't deny the memory of those hollow eyes scanning us under the flashlight's glare. We were no longer just telling ghost stories. We were living one, and outside something monstrous knew exactly who we were.