Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Best Scary Skinwalker Stories of January 2025 | Compilation, Wendigo, True Scary Stories for Sleep

Episode Date: January 29, 2025

These are the 19 Best Scary Skinwalker Stories of January 2025 | Compilation, Wendigo, True Scary Stories for Sleep Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #Skinwalker #Wendigo #Cryptid #JustCreepy 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

I always thought moving to the cabin would be peaceful. You know, the quiet where the loudest thing is the wind in the trees and the occasional crackle of a fire. Grace loved it here. She said the woods felt alive, like they were watching over us. I used to laugh that off, but after what happened, I'm not so sure anymore. The ridge loomed behind the cabin like a wall. The trees stretched thin and tall against the sky.

It was beautiful during the day. day, but at night it was something else entirely. The way the shadows moved, the faint rustle of branches. It was too still, too quiet. I'd chalked it up to my imagination, at least until that night on the porch. We were sitting outside wrapped in a blanket watching the stars. Grace was leaning against me, her face lit by the faint glow of the lantern beside us. She was humming softly, something she'd heard growing up, when she stopped. mid-note and stiffened. Do you see that?

She whispered, barely audible. See what? I asked, already feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise. She pointed toward the ridge. At first I didn't see anything, just the black outline of trees against the sky. But then it moved, a flash of pale, almost white, slinking low to the ground. I squinted, trying to make sense of it. A deer maybe?

But it wasn't. It was too thin, its limbs too long, its movements all wrong. It crawled forward on all fours, its head jerking unnaturally, like it was struggling to balance itself. For a second it stopped and turned toward us. I froze. I couldn't see its face, but I swear it was looking at me. It's just an animal, I muttered, trying to convince myself as much as grace. She shook her head. No, it's not. Her voice didn't sound like her. Calm, almost reverent. She leaned forward. Her eyes locked on the thing as it crawled into the shadows and disappeared.

I wanted to get up, grab the flashlight, and chase after it, but my legs wouldn't move. Maybe it's a coyote, I suggested, my voice unsteady. Grace smiled faintly, her eyes still fixed on the ridge. No, she said, it's something else. I didn't sleep that night. Every creek of the cabin, every gust of wind, made me jump. Grace, though, seemed perfectly at ease. She even laughed at me when I told her I'd heard something outside.

Maybe it's your forest spirit, I said, trying to make light of it. She just smiled. Maybe it is. The next morning, I went out to check the property. The air was crisp, the ground damp from the rain the night before. Everything looked normal until I got to the edge of the clearing. Then I found something disturbing. A circle of broken branches, scattered as if,

something had been lying there. In the center was a pile of bones, small ones, picked clean. I knelt down, my stomach twisting. They looked like rabbit bones, but there was something off about the way they were arranged, almost like a spiral. I brought Grace out to see it. She didn't seem phased. It's a gift, she said simply. A gift? From what? She shrugged her gaze drifting toward the ridge, the forest. I laughed nervously, but she didn't. She just stood there staring until I finally dragged her back inside. That night, the thing came closer. We were inside, the fire crackling low, when Grace suddenly got up and went to the window. What is it? I asked, already dreading the answer. She didn't reply at first, just pressed her hand against the glass. Finally, she said,

it's here. My chest tightened. I grabbed the the flashlight and stepped onto the porch. The air was freezing, my breath coming out in clouds, and there it was. It stood at the edge of the clearing, upright now. Its pale body stretched and gaunt. Its limbs were too long, its hands dangling near its knees. It didn't move, didn't breathe, just stood there, watching me. I shined the flashlight on it, and it flinched, its head snapping to the side like it was trying to avoid the light. Then it dropped to all four. It was, and it dropped to all four, and skittered back into the woods, disappearing into the dark. When I turned back to the house, Grace was still at the window, smiling.

It doesn't want to hurt us, she said, her voice soft. It just wants to watch. That was the first time I felt truly afraid, not of the thing, but of her. It started with Grace spending more time on the porch. She'd always liked being outside, but this was different. She wasn't enjoying the fresh air or taking in the scenery. She was watching, waiting. Every morning she'd step outside barefoot, no matter how cold it was, and stare toward the ridge.

At first, I told myself it was harmless. Grace had always been a little more connected to the natural world than me. And if she wanted to commune with the trees, who was I to stop her? But then she started talking about it. I see it every day now, she told me one afternoon while I was stacking firewood. She was sitting cross-legged on the porch, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, her eyes locked on the tree line. I stopped mid-swing.

You see what? The watcher, she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It comes closer every time. I set the axe down, my stomach tightening. Grace, this isn't funny. She turned to me, her face calm, serene even. I'm not joking.

It doesn't want to hurt us. It's curious. That's all. Curious, sure. because that's exactly how I'd describe something that crawls on all fours like a broken marionette. That night, I woke up to find Grace's side of the bed empty. At first, I thought she'd gone to the bathroom or maybe downstairs for a drink of water, but when I didn't hear any movement, I got up to check. The house was silent, the kind of silence that presses on your ears.

The door to the porch was wide open, letting in a freezing draft. My heart dropped. I grabbed a flashlight and stepped outside. The moon was high, casting long shadows over the clearing. Grace, I called, my voice shaky. No answer. I followed the faint tracks in the snow, my breath coming out in short, panicked bursts. They led toward the woods. Grace, I shouted again louder this time.

Finally I saw her. She was standing just inside the tree line, her back to me, staring at something I couldn't see. Grace, I yelled, running to her. What the hell are you doing? She didn't turn around. Her breath fogged in the cold air, slow and steady, like she wasn't freezing her ass off in nothing but a sweater and pajama pants.

Do you hear it? she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I grabbed her arm and spun her around. Hear what? What are you talking about? She smiled faintly, her eyes distant. It's singing. A chill ran down. my back. We're going inside, I said, pulling her back toward the cabin. She didn't resist,

but as we walked, she kept glancing over her shoulder, like she was leaving something important behind. The next day, she acted like nothing had happened. She hummed to herself while making breakfast, joked about how I needed to chop wood faster, and didn't mention the previous night at all. Something was wrong. That afternoon, while she was outside, I found something near the edge of the clearing, a bundle of sticks tied together with twine sitting on top of a patch of disturbed snow. At first, I thought it was just some weird debris, but then I noticed the hair tangled in the twine, long, dark strands that looked exactly like graces. I showed it to her when she came back inside. Do you know anything about this? I asked, holding it up. Her eyes lit up

and she reached for it. It's a gift, she said, cradling it like. like it was something precious. A gift from what? I demanded. She shrugged, still smiling. The forest. I took it outside and burned it. Grace watched me from the porch, her face expressionless.

The breaking point came three nights later. I woke up to the sound of something moving on the roof, slow, deliberate footsteps. I lay there holding my breath, straining to listen. Then I realized Grace wasn't beside me. I bolted upright and looked around. The curtains were open, and through the window, I saw her.

She was standing in the clearing, looking up at the ridge. I threw on my boots and coat, grabbing the flashlight as I stumbled out the door. The cold hit me like a slap, but I didn't care. Grace? I yelled, running toward her. She didn't move. When I reached her, I grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, like she was in a trance. What are you doing? I shouted.

She didn't answer, she just pointed toward the ridge. I followed her gaze, and there it was. The thing stood at the edge of the forest, half hidden in the shadows. It was taller now, its limbs impossibly long, its face, a pale, featureless void. It tilted its head as if studying us, and then stepped forward, its movements jerky and wrong. I dragged Grace back to the cabin, my heart pounding. She didn't fight me, didn't say a word, just kept looking over her shoulder, just kept looking over her shoulder at the thing. When we got inside, I locked the door and shoved a chair under the handle.

Grace sat at the table, staring out the window with a faint smile on her face. It doesn't want to hurt us, she said softly. I didn't sleep that night. Neither did Grace. She just sat there watching the woods. I didn't think it could get worse. Every night since that last encounter, I'd stayed up late sitting by the window with a shotgun across my lap. Grace barely spoke to me anymore, her eyes always drifting toward the ridge, her face drawn and pale. She claimed she hadn't seen the thing again, but I knew she was lying. She flinched at every creek of the floorboards, every gust of wind that rattled the windows. But the worst part was how quiet the forest had become. No birds, no rustling of animals, just silence. It was like the woods were

holding their breath, waiting. That night the storm hit. The wind howled, rain pelting against the cabin like a thousand tiny claws. The power flickered and then died completely, plunging us into darkness. I lit a lantern and tried to keep calm, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Grace had gone to bed early, or at least that's what she'd told me. I hadn't checked. I didn't want to see the vacant, glassy look in her eyes again. I sat in the living room, the shotgun propped against my knee. When I heard it, the faint creek of footsteps overhead. My stomach twisted. I told myself it was just the wind, that the old roof was groaning under the pressure of the storm. But then it came again, louder this time, deliberate. Something was up there.

I stood gripping the shotgun, my heart pounding. Grace? I called out my voice cracking. No answer. I moved toward the bedroom, the lantern casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The door was slightly ajar, and when I pushed it open, my heart sank. The bed was empty. The curtains were drawn back, and the window was wide open, rain soaking the floorboards. Grace! I shouted, running to the window.

Outside, the storm raged. But through the sheets of rain, I saw her. She was standing in the clearing. Her arms stretched upward. Her face tilted to the sky. And it was there. The thing loomed over her, taller than I'd ever seen it. Its pale, emaciated body was bent at impossible angles.

its limbs trembling as if struggling to hold their weight. Its face, or lack of one, was turned toward her, a gaping black void where its eyes should have been. I yelled her name again, but she didn't react. She was whispering something, her voice carried away by the wind. I didn't think, I just ran. The rain soaked me to the bone as I sprinted across the clearing, the shotgun heavy in my hands.

The thing didn't move as I approached, didn't even acknowledge me. Its entire focus was on grace. When I was just a few feet away, I raised the shotgun and fired. The sound was deafening, cutting through the storm like a thunder clap. The thing jerked back, its body folding in on itself like a collapsing puppet. For a moment, I thought I'd killed it, but then it straightened, its head snapping toward me with a sickening crack. It turned its half-decade head, its jagged, toothless mouth splitting open in what I can only

describe as a grin. Then it reached for grace. No, I screamed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. The thing let out a sound, a deep, guttural noise that vibrated in my chest. Its arm stretched toward us, impossibly long, its clawed fingers brushing the edge of my jacket. I fired again, this time aiming for its head. The shot hit, and the thing recoiled, its body convulsing. It let out another sound, this one high-pitched and grating, like metal scraping against metal. Then it retreated, skittering backward into the woods, its limbs twisting and contorting as it disappeared into the darkness. I didn't wait to see if it would come back.

I threw Grace over my shoulder and ran for the cabin. When we got inside, I locked the door and barricaded it with everything I could find, chairs, the table, even the couch. Grace didn't fight me. She just sat on the floor, dripping wet, staring at nothing. What the hell were you doing out there? I demanded, my voice shaking.

She didn't answer. Grace! I shouted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. Finally, she looked at me, her eyes wide and filled with tears. It was beautiful, she whispered. I didn't know what to say. The next few days were a blur. Grace wouldn't leave the cabin, wouldn't eat or speak.

She spent most of her time sitting by the window, staring out at the ridge. I tried to convince her to leave, to pack up and go back to the city, but she refused. It won't let us, she said, her voice flat. I started hearing things at night, soft whispers outside the windows, the creak of footsteps on the porch. Sometimes I thought I saw movement in the shadows, but whenever I looked, there was nothing there. Then, one night, I woke up to find Grace standing at the window again. Her hand was pressed against the glass, her breath fogging up the pain. It's back, she said softly.

I didn't look, I didn't want to see, but deep down, I knew it was true. The thing wasn't done with us. I don't know how we survived that night. It started with Grace waking me, her voice trembling. It's here, she whispered. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, with terror. For a second I thought it was just another one of her trances, her strange connection to the thing that haunted us. But then I heard it too. The scraping sound like nails dragging across

the cabin walls. I bolted upright, grabbing the shotgun from the floor. The sound circled the cabin, slow and deliberate, like it wanted us to know it was there. Grace clung to me trembling, her nails digging into my arm. What do we do? She asked, her voice barely audible. I didn't have an answer. I just knew we couldn't stay. The sound stopped suddenly, and the silence that followed was worse. It pressed down on us, thick and suffocating. Then the door rattled. I aimed the shotgun, my hands shaking. Stay behind me, I told Grace, though my voice didn't sound convincing, even to me. The door creaked open an inch, the wood splintering as something pushed against it, and then it came. The thing squeezed through the opening, its partly

decayed body contorting, limbs bending at impossible angles. It filled the room with its presence, towering over us. Its eyeless face turned toward me. It didn't move, but I could feel it, sense it, crawling into my mind. My thoughts twisted, my vision blurred, and I felt like I was falling, even though I hadn't moved. Grace screamed, snapping me back. I fired the shotgun, the sound deafening in the small cabin. The thing recoiled, its body jerking violently, but it didn't fall. Instead it screeched, a sound so loud and piercing it felt like it was splitting my skull. I grabbed Grace's hand and ran, dragging her toward the back door. We stumbled into the storm, the rain freezing against our skin. The forest was alive with noise, branches snapping,

leaves rustling, the sound of heavy footsteps chasing us. Don't look back, I shouted, pulling Grace with me as we sprinted toward the truck. The thing was close. I could hear its guttural breathing, feel the ground trembling beneath its weight. Grace tripped, falling into the mud, and for a horrifying second, I thought it was over. I yanked her up, practically carrying her the rest of the way. When we reached the truck, I threw open the door and shoved the door. her inside. My hands fumbled with the keys as I climbed in, the shotgun clattering to the floor.

The engine roared to life, and I slammed on the gas. The tires spun in the mud, the truck lurching forward as the thing burst from the tree line. It was faster than I thought possible. Its long limbs skittering across the ground like some grotesque spider. It reached for us, its claws scraping against the tailgate as the truck finally found traction and shot forward. We didn't stop driving. Not for miles, not until the forest thinned, and the lights of the town came into view. Only then did I pull over, my hand still gripping the wheel so tightly they ached. Grace was silent beside me, staring straight ahead. Her face was pale, her lips trembling, but she didn't cry.

Neither did I. Finally she broke the silence. We can't go back, she whispered. I nodded. We won't. We packed up the cat. the next day. I didn't care about leaving things behind. Half our stuff wasn't worth the risk. We drove away with what little we could carry, the weight of that place still clinging to us like a

shadow. I've thought about what happened a hundred times since then, but I still can't make sense of it. Was the thing real? Was it some kind of crypted, or a skin walker, or just a manifestation of our worst fears? I don't know, and I don't want to. All I know is we barely made it out alive. And no matter how much grace insists she feels better now, no matter how far we've gone, I still wake up some nights to the sound of her whispering in her sleep. Sometimes I catch her staring out the window, her gaze distant, her lips moving silently, and in those moments I wonder if we ever really escaped, but one thing is certain we will never, ever go back into those woods.

The drive into Cayenta, Arizona felt endless. The desert stretched out like a massive, silent void. the horizon shimmering under the relentless sun. Lena had the music on low, some scratchy old playlist she loved, but it did nothing to fill the oppressive stillness. The further we drove, the more isolated it felt. No gas stations, no other cars.

Just endless sagebrush and sun-baked dirt. My phone had lost signal hours ago, and even though I tried to shake the unease creeping up my spine, it clung to me like the desert dust. This is it, Lena announced suddenly. turning the wheel sharply onto a gravel path that I wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't pointed it out. The tires crunched as we bumped along the uneven road, the house finally coming into view. It wasn't much, just a single-story place with weathered wood siding and a sagging porch.

A fence surrounded the property, the kind meant to keep something out, not in. Her uncle Sam was waiting on the porch, leaning against one of the support beams. He looked older than I'd imagined, his sun-creased face partially hidden under a wide-brimmed hat. You girls made it, he said, his voice deep and gravely as he helped unload our bags. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting someone or something to appear. You didn't mention how far out this place was, I said, trying to keep it light, but my voice betrayed me. Sam chuckled, but it was humorless. solitude's good out here, but it comes with its quirks.

He didn't elaborate. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the air began to cool, but it didn't feel refreshing. It felt heavy, almost suffocating. After dinner, we sat on the porch, watching the stars start to emerge. Sam lit a cigarette, the glow briefly illuminating his face. Had a visitor lately, he said suddenly, exhaling a stream of smoke. Big stray, not like any dog I've ever seen. He leaned forward, the creek of the chair loud in the stillness.

Things been hanging around for days, too bold for a wild animal. Lena brushed it off, laughing softly. Uncle Sam, you get spooked too easily. It's probably just a coyote. He shook his head. Coyotes don't act like this. It's different, smart, watching me like it knows something. He flicked the cigarette into the dirt and stood.

You'll see. That night, as we settled into the guest room, I couldn't stop thinking about Sam's words. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the wind against the siding. The window by my bed had no curtain, just a clear view of the barren landscape beyond. I kept staring out into the dark, half expecting to see. What? Glowing eyes? A shadow moving against the brush? I didn't know, but the longer I stared, the more uneasy I felt. Somewhere around midnight, I jolted awake. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep.

Lena was out cold in the other bed, but something had woken me, a sound, faint, but distinct. Scratch, scratch, scratch. It was coming from the porch. I sat up, my heart thudding in my chest. It could have been the wind, I told myself. Or one of the dogs Sam kept in the back. But deep down I knew it wasn't. The sound was deliberate, like claws dragging across wood.

I slipped out of bed, moving toward the window on shaking legs. The porch light was on, casting a weak yellow glow that barely illuminated the space. At first, I didn't see anything, just the empty rocking chair swaying slightly in the breeze. Then I saw it, just at the edge of the light. A figure, crouched low to the ground, its black fur matted and patchy. It wasn't a dog. It was too big, too misshapen. Its head was cocked unnaturally to one side, and even in the dim light, I could see the way its eyes glinted, catching the glow like tiny flames. It was staring right at me. I stumbled back, my hand catching the edge of the bed frame with a loud thunk.

The thing didn't flinch. Instead, it rose slowly onto its hind legs, its outline growing taller and more grotesque. It didn't move toward the house. It just stood there, watching. It's breath visible in the cold night air. Behind me, Lena stirred. What's going on? She mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the window.

There's something out there, I whispered. She was next to me in an instant, her eyes wide as she peered out the window. The thing had moved closer, now fully in the light. Its body was gaunt, its fur hanging. in clumps, and its face. Its face wasn't right. It looked almost human. The features distorted, like someone had stretched skin over a skull that didn't belong to it. Lina grabbed my arm pulling me away from the window. We need to wake Uncle Sam, she whispered. The second she said his name, the creature's head snapped toward the door, as if it had understood. It let out a low,

guttural growl that reverberated through the room. My stomach dropped, and every indifference instinct in me scream to run. But where? The thing was just outside. The growl grew into a deep, unnatural scream, a sound I'll never forget. It wasn't an animal. It wasn't human. It was something in between. A sound that didn't belong in this world. Move, Lena hissed, yanking me toward the hallway. The sound of scratching filled the house now, coming from multiple points, windows, walls, the roof. It was everywhere, as if the creature was multiplying, surrounding. us. Sam met us in the hallway, his rifle in hand. Get back in the room. Now! His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed him. He was scared. As we huddled in the dark, the sounds grew louder,

more frantic. And I realized something chilling. It wasn't trying to get in. It was playing with us. The next morning the house was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Sam was already outside by the time Lena and I stumbled into the kitchen for coffee. Through the window, I could see him pacing along the fence line, his rifle slung over one shoulder. The events of the night before hung heavy in the air, but Lena tried to act like everything was normal. I wasn't buying it. She hadn't slept either, and the dark circles under her eyes matched the ones I'd seen in the mirror. We should leave, I said quietly as we sat at the table. The coffee tasted burnt, but I sipped. I sipped. it anyway, needing something to calm my nerves. Lina shook her head. We're fine. Whatever it was,

it's gone now. She didn't sound convinced, and when Sam walked in, his grim expression only added to my growing anxiety. He dropped a bundle of firewood by the door and shook his head. It came back after sunrise, stayed just out of range, like it knew I couldn't get a clear shot. What do you mean it? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. sam glanced at lena then back at me i mean that thing from last night it's not a dog and it sure as hell isn't a coyote the room felt colder suddenly the morning sunlight failing to chase away the shadows lingering in the corners the day passed in a haze of tension every noise every flicker of movement outside the windows set me on edge sam spent most of the afternoon reinforcing the fence and checking the property muttering under his breath about how it was testing him Lena tried to distract me by stacking firewood near the shed, but even out there, the atmosphere felt wrong. The air was too still. The dogs, usually loud and energetic, stayed huddled in their pens,

their tails tucked between their legs. And then there was the smell, a faint, rancid odor that seemed to cling to the breeze. What's that smell? I asked, wrinkling my nose. Lena stopped stacking wood and sniffed the air. I don't know. Dead animal, maybe? I wasn't convinced. It smelled too, human. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, the tension in the house reached a breaking point. Sam called us inside and locked the doors,

double-checking the latches on every window. Keep the curtains closed, he said sharply. No matter what you hear or see, don't open them. I wanted to ask what he was expecting, but the look in his eyes stopped me. We ate dinner in near silence, the scrape of utensils on plates the only. sound. By the time night fell, the house felt like a fortress. Sam sat near the front door,

his rifle across his lap, while Lena and I stayed in the living room, pretending to watch TV. It started just after nine. At first it was faint, a soft rustling outside like wind through dry leaves. Then came the footsteps, heavy and deliberate, circling the house. I froze, the sound sending a shiver down my neck. Lena grabbed the remote and mute. muted the TV. The footsteps stopped. For a moment the silence was deafening. Then came the scratching. It started at the back door, low and slow, like claws dragging across the wood. The sound moved, scratching its way along the wall until it reached the window nearest us. Lena whispered, Don't look. But I couldn't help myself. I turned my head just enough to see

the curtain twitch, as if something was brushing against it from the outside. My breath caught in my throat as a shadow moved behind the fabric, tall, distorted, and all wrong. Then came the knock. It was soft at first, almost polite, a gentle tap, tap, tap on the glass. When no one responded, it grew louder, more insistent, until the sound echoed through the room. Don't answer it, Sam barked from the doorway. No one moved. The knocking stopped, replaced by a low, guttural growl. It wasn't like anything I'd heard before, not an animal. Not human, but somewhere in between. Lena clutched my arm.

It's playing with us. The next few hours were a blur of terror. The sounds grew louder, more chaotic, scratching at the walls, pounding on the roof, footsteps racing back and forth. At one point we heard the front door rattle, the knob twisting as if someone were trying to open it. Sam fired a shot out the window,

and for a moment everything went still. Then it screamed. The sound was. was inhuman, piercing and guttural, vibrating through my chest like a physical force. It came from everywhere at once, surrounding the house, growing louder and louder until I thought my ears would burst. Get away from the windows! Sam shouted. Lena and I scrambled into the hallway, pressing ourselves against the walls.

The house felt like it was under siege, the walls groaning under the weight of the relentless assault. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The silence was worse somehow. thick and oppressive, as if the house itself was holding its breath. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Something had gotten in. Sam yelled, Stay back! And disappeared around the corner, his rifle raised. Lena grabbed my hand, her grip so tight it hurt. We stayed frozen in place,

listening as Sam moved through the house, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Then we heard it. The growl, low and menacing. followed by the sound of claws scraping against the tile floor. Sam fired once, twice, and then, silence. Uncle Sam, Lena called out, her voice trembling, no response. And then, from the shadows of the hallway, we heard it, the sound of something breathing, heavy and ragged, and it wasn't Sam. I don't know how long we stood there, frozen in the hallway,

listening to that horrible sound. Each breath it took was labored and wet, like it was savoring every moment before making its next move. Lena's grip on my arm was vice-like, her nails digging into my skin, but I didn't care. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. Uncle Sam? Lena whispered again, barely audible. The breathing stopped. The silence was worse, oppressive, suffocating.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might give me away. Then slowly, deliberately, the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. Heavy, uneven. Whatever it was, it wasn't walking like a person or an animal. It was something else entirely. The kitchen light flickered, casting erratic shadows onto the walls, and I could feel Lena trembling beside me. What do we do?

She mouthed. I didn't have an answer. Suddenly, the footsteps picked up, faster now, slamming against the floor as if whatever was out there. had dropped to all fours. It was heading straight for us. Run, I yelled, grabbing Lena and pulling her down the hall. We bolted into the guest room, slamming the door behind us. I pushed a dresser in front of it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the edges. Lina was pacing near the window, her breaths coming in short gasps.

It's in the house, she said, her voice cracking. It's in here with us. I didn't respond. I couldn't. My eyes were glued to the door, watching the shadows under the frame as they moved, shifting unnaturally. A deep guttural growl came from the other side, low and deliberate, as if it was letting us know it knew exactly where we were. Then came the scratching, slow, deliberate, nails dragging across the wood. The sound made my skin crawl. Stop it!

Lina screamed, covering her ears. The growling stopped, replaced by something even worse, a voice. It was faint at first, barely a whisper, but unmistakably human. Lena, it hissed, drawing out the name like it was tasting every syllable. Lena froze, her face draining of color. How does it know my name? she whispered. I didn't have an answer. We stayed in the room for what felt like hours, listening to the thing Pace outside.

Every now and then, it would tap on the door or the window, its claws clicking like nails on glass. Lena sat curled up in the corner clutching a blanket to her chest, while I stood guard with a fireplace poker I'd grabbed from the living room earlier. It felt useless, like bringing a knife to a gunfight. Just when I thought we couldn't take it anymore, we heard the sound of tires crunching gravel outside. Headlights flooded the room, and for a brief moment I felt a glimmer of hope. It's the elder, Lena said, scrambling to her feet.

I yanked open the curtains, desperate to see. someone, anyone who could help. The elder was standing by his truck, his silhouette tall and commanding in the headlights. He was holding something in his hand, a bundle of sage, already smoking. I didn't see the creature at first, then it moved, a shadow breaking away from the darkness near the fence. It was crouched low to the ground, its body contorted and wrong, and even from inside the house, I could hear the low, guttural growl that made my stomach twist. The elder raised his arm and started chanting, his voice strong and steady. He walked slowly toward the house, trailing the smoke behind him, and the creature recoiled. It screamed, a high-pitched

bone-chilling sound that made my ears ring. It doesn't like the sage, Lena said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. The creature lunged toward the elder, but he stood his ground chanting louder. With a flick of his wrist, he threw a hand for a hand for. He threw a hand of what looked like ash directly at it. The thing let out another scream, stumbling backward, its form shifting unnaturally. For a moment it looked human, too human, before snapping back into its monstrous shape. Stay here, the elder yelled, his voice booming over the creature's whales. The elder entered the house, his presence filling the room with a calm but fierce energy. He moved with purpose,

setting the sage bundle on a plate and lighting more cedar. The smoke curled upward, filling the room with an earthy sharp scent. It's a skinwalker, he said, glancing at us. Someone sent it here, and it won't leave until we force it out. How do we do that? I asked, my voice shaking. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he began sprinkling a mixture of ash and herbs around the room, muttering prayers under his breath.

Finally, he turned to us. You'll have to be strong, he said. It feeds on fear. Don't give it what it wants. As if on cue, the creature slammed against the door, the wood groaning under the force. The elder didn't flinch. He raised his voice, his chanting growing louder, more forceful. The door rattled, the growls turning into screams. Shadows danced along the walls, and for a moment it felt like the house itself was alive, breathing with the energy of the ritual.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything went still. The elder lowered his arms, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. It's gone, he said, but his tone was cautious. For now. The next morning, the elder walked the property with us, sprinkling more herbs and muttering prayers. Near the fence, he uncovered something buried, a bundle wrapped in cloth, tied with human hair. He opened it carefully, revealing a collection of small bones. and a piece of jewelry.

This is the curse, he said, holding it up. Someone sent it here to draw the Skinwalker. You were the target. He handed Lena a small pouch filled with herbs. Keep this with you at all times, he said. And stay away from whoever gave you this. Lena's face went pale as she stared at the bundle. I think I know who it was, she whispered.

I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. As we drove away from the property later that day, I glanced in the rearview mirror. The fence line was empty, but I got the feeling we were still a target. And when the elder's words echoed in my mind, stay away from whoever gave you this. I don't know what to do. The desert has a strange way of quieting sound. Even though my cousins were laughing in the other room and the hum of the fridge buzzed softly,

the quiet outside was unnerving. It wasn't just silence. It was the kind of stillness that felt alive, like the desert was tense. I had just arrived that afternoon, bags still half- unpacked in the corner of my cousin's tiny room. The adobe house was cozy, with its low ceilings and warm, earthy walls, but it felt like it was barely holding back the wilderness outside. That night, after a long day at the fall festival, my family crowded around the dining table, swapping stories about people we hadn't seen in years, and who was marrying who. It was the kind of harmless gossip that made the place feel alive.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I asked the question. I didn't plan to. It just slipped out, casual and stupid. So does anyone actually believe in skin walkers? The room shifted. You wouldn't think a handful of words could drain the air from a space, but it did. Conversations sputtered, smiles faded. My grandmother, who had been stirring her tea, froze mid-motion.

The spoon clinked against the cup as she set it down. Her face pinched tight. You shouldn't speak of such things, she said, her voice sharp and firm like the crack of a stick snapping. That wasn't the reaction I expected. My cousins exchanged uneasy glances, and even my uncle, who could usually laugh off anything, looked like he wanted to bolt out of his chair. What? Why?

I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words wavered. My grandmother's eyes darted to the windows. You just don't. Not here. Not at night. For a moment, no one said anything, the tension hanging like the desert heat before a storm. Then my uncle cleared his throat. He wasn't looking at me when he spoke. I've heard them, he said, his voice quieter than I'd ever heard it. Few weeks ago, out by my sheep pen, screaming like a woman in pain, but it wasn't no woman. He didn't elaborate, and no one asked him to. I wanted to press for more. My curiosity practically screamed for it, but I could feel the weight of the room crushing down on me. My grandmother stood up abruptly, mumbling something about needing to check the windows. That was it. Conversation over. No one wanted to say another word. Later that night,

I couldn't sleep. I lay on the lumpy mattress in my cousin's room. room, staring at the wooden beams above me, listening to the creeks of the old house settling. The window was cracked open to let in the cool night air, but it did nothing to calm me. My uncle's words played on a loop in my head, screaming like a woman, but it wasn't no woman. The wind picked up, whistling through the cracks of the old adobe. The soft rustle of mesquite branches brushing against the side of the house almost made me relax. almost. Then I heard it. It started faint, just a low drag, like someone pulling a bag of rocks across gravel. I held my breath, convincing myself it was nothing, a stray dog or a loose tarp blowing in the

wind. But it came again, closer this time. Drag. Stop. Drag. Stop. I sat up slowly, my heartbeat drumming in my ears. The room was pitch black, except for the pale glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. My cousin was still asleep, her breath steady and oblivious. I tiptoed to the window and peered out. At first I saw nothing, just the yard, bathed in silvery light. The old truck sat rusting in its usual spot, and the ground was littered with scattered brush and a few broken down tools. But then something moved near the truck. I squinted, my eyes adjusted. to the faint light, and my stomach dropped. It looked like a dog, but wrong. Its limbs were too long. Its fur matted and patchy like it had been pulled from a sewer. The way it moved wasn't natural,

jerky and deliberate, like it didn't quite know how to walk on four legs. Then it stopped, raising its head to look directly at me. The eyes. God, those eyes. They glowed a sickly yellow like burning sulfur, and they didn't blink. My knees locked and I couldn't. I couldn't. It tilted its head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey. Then it opened its mouth, and the sound it made was like nails scraping across metal. A growl that wasn't quite animal, wasn't quite human. I stumbled back from the window, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. I wanted to wake my cousin, but my legs wouldn't move. The dragging sound started again,

Closer. This time it was coming toward the house. I pressed myself against the wall, staring at the window, terrified of what I might see next. The sound stopped just below the sill, and for a moment there was nothing but silence. Then came the scratching, slow, deliberate, as if whatever it was wanted me to know it was there. I bolted, straight to my cousin, shaking her awake, my words tumbling out in panicked whispers. There's something outside. I saw it. It's right outside. She sat up grogly, annoyed at first, but her expression changed when the scratching came again, louder this time. Her face went pale. We need to wake everyone, she whispered. As we crept toward the hallway, the stench hit, like rotting meat left to bake in the sun. It was so thick

I gagged covering my nose. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't just an animal. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it wasn't here by accident. It was hunting, and it had seen me. The scratching didn't stop. Each drag of its claws on the door sent shivers down my spine, a slow, deliberate sound that seemed to mock us. My cousin and I were frozen in the dark hallway, too scared to move, too scared to breathe. The smell of rot still hung in the air, thicker now, like it was seeping through the cracks in the adobe walls. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding so loud I was sure it could hear me. My cousin grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. What do we do? She whispered.

Her voice barely audible over the sound of my own panicked breathing. We wake everyone, I said, though my voice trembled so much I wasn't sure it even sounded like me. We crept down the hall, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath our bare feet. The scratching stopped. and I froze mid-step. The silence was worse than the noise. I strained my ears trying to hear anything over the blood rushing in my head. And then it started again, this time on the side of the house, just beneath the window we had been looking out of earlier. I almost screamed, but my cousin yanked me forward. We reached my aunt and uncle's room first, shoving the door open without knocking. My uncle sat up immediately, his face groggy but alarmed.

What's going on? He asked, his voice low but stern. There's something outside, I blurted, my voice shaking. It was scratching at the door, and now it's moving around the house. My aunt sat up now too, wide-eyed. What do you mean, what kind of something? Before I could answer, we heard it again, a faint thud like something heavy hitting the wall. My uncle's face went pale, and he threw it.

off the blanket, grabbing a flashlight from the nightstand. Wake the others, he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Minutes later, we were all gathered in the living room, my grandparents, my parents, my cousins, and me. The room felt too small, the air thick with fear, and the rancid smell of decay that refused to dissipate. My grandmother was clutching a small pouch of ash, muttering prayers under her breath in Navajo. My grandfather stood by the door, rifle in hand, his jaw set tight.

It's probably just a stray dog, my dad said, though he didn't sound convinced. He peeked out the front window, careful not to get too close to the glass. Maybe a coyote. It's not a dog, I said, louder than I intended. Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt my face flush. I saw it. It's wrong. It's not natural.

My grandfather's expression darkened. He glanced at my grandmother, who was still praying, and then back at me. You looked at it? He asked, his voice sharp. I didn't mean to, I stammered. I just, I thought it was a dog at first, but it wasn't. It had these eyes, glowing, yellow-green, and it... It was looking right at me. My grandmother gasped, her hands trembling.

You never look at them, she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Now it knows you. Her words sent a chill through me, but before I could respond, the scratching started again, this time louder, more aggressive. It was coming from the front door. The room went deadly quiet. Everyone was staring at the door, the sound filling the space, dragging against our nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

My grandfather stepped forward, raising his rifle. Stay back, he ordered, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. The scratching stopped again. replaced by something worse, a low, guttural whisper. It wasn't loud, but it was unmistakable, like words spoken in a language I couldn't understand. The sound seemed to vibrate in the air, crawling into my ears and burrowing into my brain. My stomach churned, and I pressed my hands over my ears, but it didn't help. What's it saying? My cousin whispered, her face pale as a sheet. Don't listen to it. My grandmother snapped, her very voice.

voice fierce. She threw a handful of ash toward the door and began chanting louder. The whispering stopped abruptly, as if cut off mid-sentence. Then came the thud. Something slammed into the door with such force that the whole house seemed to shake. My little cousin screamed, and my aunt pulled her close, covering her ears. My grandfather raised his rifle, his hand steady despite his age. Open it, he said to my dad. What? My mom hissed. Are you insane? We can't let it think we're scared, my grandfather replied. Show it we're ready to fight. My dad hesitated, but the thudding came again, louder this time.

He muttered a curse under his breath and grabbed the doorknob, his knuckles white. He flung the door open in one swift motion, and my grandfather stepped forward, aiming the rifle into the night, but there was nothing there. The porch light illuminated the yard, the ground scattered with dust and brush. The truck sat where it always had, and the surrounding desert stretched out, empty and quiet. But the smell lingered, and it was stronger now, so strong it made my eyes water. My grandfather stepped outside, scanning the darkness with his flashlight. It's still here, he muttered. I can feel it.

That's when we heard it, a sound that made every hair on my body stand on end. A laugh, high-pitched and distorted like a coyote imitating a human. It echoed from somewhere in the darkness. and I could swear it was coming from every direction at once. My grandfather fired a shot into the night. The sound rang out, deafening in the stillness, but the laugh didn't stop. It only grew louder, more twisted, until it dissolved into a scream that made my blood run cold. Get back inside, my grandmother yelled, pulling my grandfather by the arm.

He hesitated, his eyes scanning the desert one last time before stepping back into the house. My dad slammed the door shut, and my grandmother began sprinkling ash along the windows and doorframe. Her prayers fast and urgent. We stayed in the living room for the rest of the night, huddled together like children scared of the dark. The whispering didn't return, and the scratching stopped, but none of us could shake the feeling that we were being watched. Every creek of the house made us jump, and every shadow seemed to move. When dawn finally broke, it brought little relief. The desert looked the same, but it felt different, like something had shifted, something we couldn't see.

My grandfather stood by the door, staring out at the horizon, his rifle still in his hands. It'll be back, he said quietly, and somehow I knew he was right. The morning light did nothing to ease the tension. It only made the fear feel sharper, more real. The shadows that had hidden in the night were gone, but the memory of those sounds. the scratching, the whispers, that unholy laughter clung to the walls of the house like smoke. We were all still gathered in the living room, no one brave enough to drift far from the group. My grandmother sat by the window, clutching her pouch of ash, her lips moving silently in prayer.

My grandfather hadn't slept. He stood by the door, his rifle cradled in his arms, staring out into the open desert as if daring it to try something in broad daylight. I hadn't slept either. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it, those glowing yellow-green eyes, the way it moved, that horrible laugh. I kept thinking about what my grandmother had said the night before, now it knows you.

We decided to go outside together, strengthen numbers. The smell of rot still lingered in the air, weaker now but enough to make my stomach churn. The yard looked normal at first, just dirt, scattered brush, and the old truck. But then my uncle noticed the door. Deep, jagged claw marks ran across the wood in long, uneven streaks. The scratches were so deep they had splintered the surface. My dad swore under his breath, running his hand over the marks. That's no dog, he muttered. No kidding, I said,

unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. But the door wasn't the only thing. Around the base of the house in the dirt were tracks, big enough to look human, but wrong. The shape was off, with long, narrow toes that ended in claw-like indentations. They circled the house, stopping at the windows and the door. It had been watching us, moving from one side of the house to the other as we huddled inside. I felt my stomach drop, a cold wave of dread washing over me. Then my cousin found the fur. It was caught on the edge of the old truck's bumper, a tuft of mangy matted hair. hair. She picked it up with a stick, holding it at arm's length. The smell was unbearable, a rancid stench that made us gag. It was coarse and wiry, stained with something dark and sticky.

My uncle told her to drop it, and immediately started covering it with dirt. By midday, my grandmother insisted on calling a neighbor, a medicine man who had helped our family before. He arrived within an hour, an older man with a weathered face and sharp, knowing eyes. He didn't ask many questions just nodded solemnly as we explained what had happened. "'It saw you,' he said, his voice heavy. He looked directly at me, and I felt like he could see straight through me. Once it sees you, it knows you. That's how it works. "'What do we do?' I asked, my voice breaking. I hated how small I sounded, but I couldn't help it. We drive it out, he said simply, but it's not easy. These things don't like to let go. He set to work immediately, gathering cedar and ash, and creating

a mixture he sprinkled around the house. He chanted as he worked, his voice low and rhythmic, a language I couldn't understand but felt deep in my chest. He marked the doors and windows with the ash, creating patterns that he said would block the creature from returning. As the blessing continued, I wandered toward the edge of the yard, drawn to the vast emptiness of the desert. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the brush. I stared at the horizon, searching for something I couldn't name, when I felt it again. That prickling sensation, like I was being watched. I turned sharply, my eyes scanning the landscape.

At first I saw nothing, just the endless stretch of dirt and rock. but then, far off in the distance I saw movement, a figure, low to the ground, darting between the sparse bushes. My breath caught in my throat. It was fast, too fast to be anything normal, and the way it moved, jerky, unnatural, made my skin crawl. I backed up slowly, my heart racing. Grandpa, I called, my voice barely above a whisper. He was by my side in an instant, his rifle in hand. What is it? he asked. I pointed, but the figure was gone. I saw it.

I said, my voice trembling. It's still out there. He didn't doubt me. He just scanned the horizon, his grip tightening on the rifle. Get back to the house, he said, his voice calm but firm. The medicine man finished the blessing just as the sun dipped below the horizon. He warned us to stay inside for the night and to keep the windows shut no matter what we heard. It may test the barrier, he said, but it won't get through, not if you don't invite it in.

His words didn't make me feel any better. As darkness fell, the house seemed smaller, the walls thinner. The wind picked up, howling through the cracks like a distant scream. I sat by the window, staring out into the night, every shadow and flicker of movement making my heart skip. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke to a sound that made my blood run cold. A faint knocking at the window, soft but deliberate. My grandmother's words echoed in my head, It knows you.

I didn't move, I didn't breathe. The knocking stopped, replaced by the low, guttural whispering I'd heard the night before. It was outside just beyond the thin glass, speaking in that horrible inhuman voice. I wanted to scream, to run, but I couldn't. All I could do was sit there, frozen, as it whispered my name. The blessing held. Blessing held, it didn't get in. But that night, as I lay in bed, I knew this wasn't over. It wasn't just something I'd seen. It wasn't just something that happened. It had seen me,

and I didn't think it would ever forget. I've lived in Southern California my entire life. If you know anything about California, you'll know it's very diverse. Up north, it's filled with mountains and trees, while down south it's much more city-like. This summer, I decided to to take a trip to Lake Tahoe. It's a beautiful place, and it was my first time being upstate. I'm going to chop this story up into segments to make it an easy read. Day one, I settled into the cabin at around 5 p.m. After an eight-hour drive, I was very tired. I went and lay down in the bed in the loft. It was quiet, like being in a different world. I was so used to cars zooming by and people talking right outside my house. But here,

It was silent. I fell asleep fairly quickly. About four hours later, I jerked awake. I looked around for a bit before hearing a strange tapping sound. I tried to figure out where it was coming from, but to no avail. It sounded as if someone was tapping on the window of the back door. I figured I was just paranoid and fell back asleep. Day two. Nothing happened this day and I slept fine. Day three, early morning.

I woke up very early, maybe around 4 a.m. I heard a crash coming from the attic ladder, which was conveniently placed right behind the couch I was sleeping on. I didn't move. Then I heard a few footsteps. You know that feeling when you sense someone staring at you. That's exactly how I felt. I was on my side, staring straight ahead.

Suddenly I felt somebody, or something, crawl over me. I felt two hands on either side of me, and I could tell their face, was just inches away from mine. Like I said, I was facing straight ahead, and I wasn't about to turn my head to see who, or what, it was. It felt like they stayed there forever before finally crawling backward and off the couch. I heard the dog let out a muffled bark, and then someone shushed her with a quiet, good girl. The presence lingered for what felt like in eternity, until I heard footsteps going out the back door. Still, I didn't move. I was parent. I was

paralyzed with fear. Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep. Later, when I felt it was safe, I checked on my friends. None of them had left their rooms that night. When I told them what happened, they said I was just being paranoid. I half agreed, and we went on with our day as planned. Day three, later that day. After a day at the lake with my friends, we returned to a quiet, cozy cabin. The caretakers told us there was a river a bit farther into the woods, about a 15-minute walk. My friends decided to stay behind and rest, so I took some bug spray, a small backpack with snacks, and my phone, and headed out. The trail was pretty straightforward. Tall grass flanked either side, and the path itself was thin, but easy to follow. I reached the

riverbank where there were two picnic tables. I didn't want to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, but I'd stupidly worn sandals. I dropped my bag on one of the tables and started back toward the cabin. for some odd reason the path suddenly seemed distorted what was once a smooth trail was now rough and uneven i noticed the tall grass on the side of the path had been flattened as if something huge and i mean gigantic had passed through it at first i suspected a bear since the locals warned us they could be a problem this time of year but the sheer size of whatever caused it made me second guess that i was startled but kept going until i made it back to the cabin and then i returned to the river again By now, I was a little frightened. I kept telling myself I was just overreacting and should try to enjoy nature. I sat at one of the tables and watched the river for a while. That's when I started to feel like something was watching me.

I looked around, assuming one of my friends was trying to prank me, but there was no one. Across the river, I noticed some disturbed brush. It opened into a small clearing, blocked off by two logs in an X-shape. The longer I sat there, the more uneasy I became. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was hidden behind that thick brush. Hoping to find some sign of life, I moved down to the river's edge. But there was nothing. No fish.

No frogs. No roads. Just mosquitoes. A whole swarm of them. Disappointed I went back to the table. That's when I heard it. A sound I can't accurately describe. Like a scream mixed with a gurgle.

As if whatever was making the noise had a mouthful of water. It was inhuman. I froze. I should have run for my life, but I just stood there. I heard rustling in the bushes behind me. Yes, the same bushes I'd been worrying about earlier, and then that scream again, even louder this time. It was the loudest sound I've ever heard.

Run. So I did. I sprinted through the forest, but what should have been a quick run back to the cabin turned into anything but. After about ten minutes of full-on sprinting, I realized I was lost. I stopped for a moment, panicking, to see if anything looked familiar. Finally, I spotted a bridge I remembered crossing on my way there.

I started running toward it, wondering why that thing hadn't just attacked me when I first froze. That thought haunted me. I could hear it chasing me. It felt like a twisted game. Every time I stopped, it stopped too. Eventually I made it back to my cabin. Instead of going inside, I stood on the porch facing the fore. and cried. I couldn't see anything unusual out there, but I knew it was there. I didn't want to turn my back on it, so I stayed on the porch for hours, silently crying, checking my phone occasionally, and writing all of this down. I still don't know what that thing was. The only creature I can compare it to is a Wendigo or Skinwalker. All I know is that I will never go back to that river again. If anyone has insight into what or who might have been out there, I'd appreciate it.

These past two days have been too strange not to be connected. Edit. Last day of the trip. We burned some sage before heading to bed that night. Brett came to me around 4 a.m. and said he couldn't sleep. We watched TV for a while before hearing tapping on the back window again. It lasted a few seconds at a time, almost in intervals, if that makes sense. Brett managed to record a video. We decided not to investigate because, frankly, we were scared out of our mind.

After about ten minutes the tapping stopped. Brett and I took turns sleeping, and nothing else happened that night, until we were both woken by loud banging on the shed out back. When we went to check it out, no one was there. I'm leaving in two hours. I can't wait to get back to city life and leave all this weirdness behind. Thank you for all your support and guidance over these past few days. I really appreciate it, and wish you all the best.

I think my friend and I are being followed by a skin walker. This started a few days ago. I don't know what we did, but ever since about three days ago, we've been noticing very odd things. Our truck started smelling like sulfur and rotten meat, and our trailer, which is very clean, smells like rotten meat as well. We don't have any meat here.

We checked. We hear scratching at night while we're trying to sleep, as well as knocking. But that doesn't make sense because we are in the middle of nowhere in Utah, with no towns for at least 20 miles. There is also a Native American reservation literally 200 feet from our property. We decided to go looking for it last night. We walked about two miles from our truck and started to smell sulfur. Then we both saw a six or seven foot tall silhouette running toward us. We ran right back to the truck, but it wouldn't start. Pretty

cliche, I know. I got out, went to the toolbox on the side, grabbed a wrench, and and started taking off the intake. I sprayed some ether in and put the intake back on, and it fired up. Needless to say, we peeled out of there. We were doing about 53 miles per hour heading back to our trailer when I looked back and saw that thing still behind us and keeping up. I told my buddy to punch it because it was right behind us.

He floored it, but it wouldn't go any faster. It can usually do around 70-80, but it wouldn't go past 55. It's a Ford's 6.9 IDI with a turbo kit in case anyone was wondering. We eventually made it the mile or so back to our trailer, shut the truck off, and ran inside as fast as we could. We locked the door and covered all the windows with blankets. As soon as I got the last blanket up, there was something tugging at our door and trying to open it, so I went and held the door shut. Then, out of nowhere, the lock started to unlock itself. I tied it in the locked position, with a bootlace, grabbed a hammer, it's all I had to defend myself, and waited.

About a minute later, I got a text from a girl I'm interested in, but who never texts me back, saying that she's in trouble and needs us to come get her right now. I asked what was going on, and she said she was getting kicked out of the house, so I got ready to go because this was my only chance with her. I asked if she had money for diesel, and she asked me why. I told her we were coming to get her, and she then said, why would I want to see you? We haven't talked in months. Um, what, you just texted me three minutes ago. So I decided it was probably in our best interest to stay inside that night. I started hearing my name being called from outside by vaguely familiar voices, but I couldn't quite place them. I never looked outside last night for fear that this thing

was just outside the door. I put salt around the door because someone told me that would help, and nothing got in last night, so it must have worked. Now it's morning, and there's almost no sign that anything happened last night. No scratch marks on the trailer, no dents, no footprints or paw prints, nothing. So here I am writing this and hoping someone believes me because I need help. I don't know how to get rid of this thing. If you read this far, I just want to say thank you, and I will have another update tonight. To clarify, this post is not me trying to do.

to seek attention. I'm just saying I'm scared to death and don't know what to do. There are people saying that it's fake, but I'm just explaining the events that happened and asking for help. I appreciate those of you who are trying to help me and keep me safe. Unfortunately, I cannot leave my property since I have nowhere else to go, but I am taking the necessary precautions to stay safe. I'm going to the gas station soon to buy salt to make a barrier around my trailer. Thanks for the help, y'all. Again, feel free to downvote my post if you like. All I need is help.

I understand the skepticism. I really do, as I didn't think it was real either. The thing that really shook me was when the door started to shake and began to unlock. Thanks for reading. Edit 2. Another thing I forgot to mention is that my flashlight did flicker on and off a few times. I don't know if that's paranormal or just the battery dying, but I thought I should mention it. Edit 3, Day 4.

It's now nighttime, and I haven't experienced anything yet today. I plan on keeping a log of everything that happens. The reason it says day 4 is because this whole thing started about four days ago. Even though it's dark, I really want to capture some video for everyone, and that's what I'll be doing. I'm not going to try to piss it off, but I am going to record. Not sure how I'll upload it yet, but I'll find a way and be back with an update. Thanks again to everyone who is genuinely trying to help me.

Ever since I followed your advice, I've had fewer experiences, but that could just be because it was daytime. Also, side note, I went to the reservation today, but no luck. My buddy and I asked everyone who drove by where the tribe is, and nobody knew. We might have to try again tomorrow. I wish I could just call them, but I don't know where to find their number. I'll be back with an update in a couple of hours, hopefully. Edit 4. Day 5. I listened to everyone's advice and made a salt barrier. There are also a lot of

people saying that it's a demon, not a skinwalker, so I've been researching demons. I found one very helpful point. If you don't give it the power to mess with you, you won't get messed with. So I did exactly that last night. I didn't focus on it. In fact, y'all told me to pray, so I prayed. I didn't hear any knocking or scratching last night. No light flickering, Nothing. Thank you to everyone who has helped me fight off this entity, whatever it is. You guys don't understand how much you helped me stay calm and fight it off. Also, if I do have any more experiences, I will try to record it and communicate with it using an EVP app. Not sure if the app works, but I might as well try. Thanks again, y'all. I'll be back with an update

later. Edit 5 and most likely final update. No new occurrences. I still have a I haven't gotten any help from the reservation, but nothing has happened in the last couple of days. We also got a dog, and it hasn't acted weird at all these last couple of days. I think that whatever was bothering us is gone for good. I just want to say, I'm so, so glad I had y'all to help me through this, and keep me calm. I may or may not post more updates, depending on what happens next. I must preface this with a few things. This encounter is second-hand, but it was told to me on multiple occasions by the person who experienced it.

I am a natural skeptic and cynic, so I can't say I 100% believe it. However, his telling of the story was simple yet concise, and it never varied between retellings. I've known him for many years, and his advice and input on just about everything are well-reasoned and always helpful, so I'll take his word for it, even if with a grain of salt. Also, keep in mind I am not a a seasoned writer. My past and present tenses may get a little jumbled, but I'll keep it as clear and accurate as I can. Now, let's get down to business. My friend, we'll call him Marv, likes to go solitary camping on occasion to be one with nature and experience everything that goes along with that. He's also an avid gun collector and enthusiast. I don't remember exactly when he said this

took place, but it was a few years back when he decided to go camping on a whim. He packed his gear and a few guns, a hunting rifle and a 45 sidearm specifically, and headed out into the country onto a vast swath of property owned by a friend of his. He had full permission and the works. This happened near the Kasachi National Forest in south central Louisiana. I won't be any more specific than that. Suffice it to say, it's miles and miles of forest and wilderness. He liked to hike in pretty deep and camp at a specific spot he had found on a few previous trips. These details are sparse, as they're not really the meat and potatoes of this encounter. After making his way in, he set up camp in his usual small clearing for the night. Skipping ahead a few hours,

it was late afternoon, when he heard leaves crunching and twigs snapping. He assumed it was an animal at first and got up from cooking something on the fire to take a look. He gazed in the direction of the noise and saw a man approaching through the trees. Still a good many yards away, Marv has described his etiquette for dealing with people in very remote places as always being cautious because more often than not, the people he comes across are armed, just like him. He tries to stay friendly while keeping his guard up, always on the lookout for ulterior motives, because you never know what some folks are up to in the middle of nowhere. He'll make small talk with them, find out generally what they're doing if he can, and occasionally share a meal. He's never really met anyone nefarious until this situation, and maybe one other, but that's a whole other ordeal. One thing that set off small alarm bells for him was that he knew he was the only one with permission to be on this property.

Secondly, the guy was not dressed for this location at all. He said the man was wearing a white t-shirt, short blue jogging shorts, and white socks and sneakers. Keep in mind, Marv was miles out in the middle of the middle of the same. the woods, away from any paths, roads, houses, or anything else. Nobody would casually stroll into that location dressed like that unless they were lost or confused. It was early fall, but not quite cool, very normal for Louisiana. So there were tons of mosquitoes, ticks, and other insects aplenty. You wouldn't want most of your skin exposed if you could help it, especially deep in the woods. I know that all too well from personal experience. Marve assumed something might be off and called out, Hey there, do you need help or something? Loudly, definitely loud enough to be heard.

The man kept walking forward, staring directly at him. Marv started to feel uneasy, which is unusual for him because he's typically cool as a cucumber in tense situations. As the man kept closing the distance, Marv stood up and said loudly, Hey man, can I help you with something or what? The guy was now about 15 to 20 feet away from Marv, standing at the edge of the clearing and the forest. Looking Marv dead in the eye, the man spoke clearly. Help me. Marv said he was already starting to get worried at this point because the way the man said it

made it seem like something that didn't quite know how to talk. At least that was his first impression. It didn't sound right. The man, still unmoving, said, Help me, again. Slightly more emphatic, but only slightly louder. Marv said that's when he picked up on what was really wrong. He noticed the timbre of the voice was more feminine

and actually sounded like a recording being played back. The man's lip and mouth movements weren't matching the words. It was as if he was just opening his mouth, emitting the phrase, then closing it again. Marv asked, what do you need help with? not daring to back up or move at all. The man, still standing motionless, still looking directly at Marv, said, help me again, and repeated the phrase another three times slowly, but not any louder.

Now, completely unsure of what the hell was going on, Marv interrupted him by barking, All right, you need to go now unless you actually need my help. He continued, loud and firm, do you need my help or not? The man didn't miss a beat. He started up with the help me again and made as if to take another step toward Marv. Marv told me he did the only thing that made sense in that moment. He drew his 45 semi-auto pistol and pointed it at the man, telling him again, you need to go. I don't care what you want. The man grew more animated and agitated, actually starting to say the phrase louder and louder, but he neither stepped closer nor backed away. Marv did what he thought was right, given his predicament. Assuming he was dealing with an unstable or potentially dangerous individual,

he discharged around into the ground in front of the man. Here's where it gets fully absolutely crazy. I'm not kidding. The man stopped uttering the phrase, went silent, and while still staring at Marv, did a full backflip somersault, the kind gymnasts do, backward into the woods, disappearing immediately from sight. Yes, you read that right. I know what you're thinking because I had, and still have, the same reaction.

That sounds like bull crap. But Marv gave no indication of lying and told me this story multiple times, every time in a dead serious manner. Marv said the man back flipped away effortlessly, as if pulled by an unseen tensioned coil. He described it as completely unnatural and totally out of place. The man had just appeared, repeated the same phrase over and over, and became almost frantic before Marv fired at the ground in front of him, causing him, or it, to flee. Marv stood there, focused on the spot in the forest where the man had vanished. He saw and heard no further movement.

It was as if the guy had never been there at all. He stayed like that as the sun began to set, and the normal night noises crept in. As I mentioned before, Marv is pretty unshakable, and actually stayed in the area for the rest of that night and the next, with no further incident. When he told me and some other friends about this, of course we had many questions. We asked him to elaborate on the man's speech. He said the more he thought about it afterward, the more sure he was that it was definitely a female voice coming from the man. It was like he or it had heard someone say, help me, and was minimal. mimicking it like a parrot or some other talking bird, almost like a lure.

He doesn't know what it wanted. It didn't give any indication that it wanted Marv to follow or do anything else. It reacted immediately to the gunshot, and you know what followed. Marve has been back to the property since, with no other strange occurrences. The only other small detail I can think of is that during the early morning of that first night, he remembered hearing what sounded like a gunshot in the distance. sounded eerily similar to his 45. He thought he might have heard it again on his hike back out. Of course there are people who hunt in the area, so it could have just been that. He couldn't

be sure. Since this incident, and one other, which happened in a completely different location, Marve has done some online research of the whole Cassachi area and found many legends, stories, and supposed encounters dealing with skin walkers and other unnerving bits of Native American folklore in the region, not to mention mimics and other similar supposed creatures. A lot of his encounter lines up with these tales. There's nothing tangible to prove it, of course, but even as a skeptic, it makes me wonder about strange things in remote and untouched areas of our world that can't be explained. The mornings here are quiet, usually very quiet.

Silence that stretches, yawns, and swallows sound whole. No birds, no wind. just the soft creek of the cabin settling in the cool September air. That morning wasn't any different, at least not at first. Bo was scratching at the door like usual, his way of saying, walk now or deal with me later. I grabbed his leash, threw on my boots, and stepped outside. The air was sharp, crisp enough to wake me up faster than coffee.

We started our walk along the edge of the property, where the pines press in on one side and the wheat field sprawls out on the other. Bo always loved this route, nose to the ground, tail wagging like he was on the trail of something big. But today, he was different. His nose stayed up, ears twitching at every rustle in the field. His steps weren't playful. They were cautious, deliberate. It put me on edge, even if I didn't want to admit it.

The wheat was high that year, taller than me in some spots. I hated it. Couldn't see a damn thing past the first couple rows. and it always felt like something was just out of sight watching. Bo stopped, his body stiff. His growl started low, the kind that made your stomach not up, the kind that said, we're not alone. Coyotes probably, I muttered, trying to convince myself as much as him.

But coyotes didn't usually make Bo act like this. He pulled at the leash, digging his paws into the dirt like he wanted to drag me straight into the wheat. Knock it off, Bo. I said yanking him back. His growl turned into a bark, sharp and urgent. Then I heard it, a soft whimper, high-pitched, like a puppy crying out for help. It came from the wheat. I froze.

There weren't any dogs around here that I knew of, no neighbors for miles. The sound came again, closer this time. Probably some stray, I said, though it sounded more like a question. I took a step forward, and Bo went wild, barking and pulling harder than ever. All right, all right, I said backing up. We're going. But as I turned to leave, the whimper changed. It stretched, warbled, like a record spinning too slow.

And then it was something else entirely. A growl, deep and guttural, vibrating through my chest. Bo lunged at the wheat, his leash cutting into my hand. Bo, stop! I shouted my voice cracking. The wheat rustled, a heavy sound like something big, was moving through it. Not a dog, not a coyote, something bigger. I gripped Bo's leash tighter and pulled, practically dragging him back toward the cabin. The growl followed us, growing louder, sharper, and then it shifted again. This time it sounded human. A scream tore

through the air raw and ragged, like someone was being ripped apart. My feet moved faster than my brain could process, dragging Bo along as he barked and howled like he was trying to fight whatever was in that wheat. We reached the edge of the yard, and I glanced back just once. The wheat was still again, perfectly still, like nothing had ever been there. Bo stopped barking, but kept growling, his eyes locked on the field. I didn't wait to see if anything came out. Inside the cabin, I locked the door and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. Bo paced in front of the window, still growling low. I grabbed the curtain and yanked it shut.

No way was I looking out there again. That scream, though, it stuck. It didn't sound like an animal, didn't sound like a person either. It sounded wrong. Like something trying to sound human and not quite getting it. That night, as I sat at the kitchen table, Bo curled up at my feet. I thought about the field, about how still it had looked after all that. noise. I almost convinced myself it was nothing, just my imagination running wild, just a stray

dog or coyote. Then came the tapping on the window. Light at first like a bird brushing against the glass. Then heavier, deliberate. I didn't move. Bow's head shot up, his ears twitching. He growled low, a sound so deep it rumbled through the floorboards. The tapping stopped. I sat there, every muscle locked up, staring at the curtain like it was going to be ripped off at any second. But nothing happened. The cabin stayed quiet, except for Bo's growl, and the faint sound of wind whispering through the wheat. I didn't sleep that night, not even a little. I spent the morning cleaning up the scratches on my front door, long, jagged marks that ran deep into the wood, like something with claws had tried to get in. Bo sat by the window, watching the tree line,

growling under his breath. He hadn't been himself since the day. day near the wheat, and neither had I. The cabin didn't feel safe anymore. Every creek of the walls, every gust of wind against the glass had me glancing over my shoulder. I needed answers. Something had been out there, and it wasn't leaving any time soon. I called Walter, my nearest neighbor, if you could call someone living three miles down a dirt road a neighbor. He picked up on the third ring, his voice gruff like he'd been expecting bad news. What's going on? on Charlie. I told him everything, the wheat, the scream, the tapping on the window. I even told him about the claw marks, though I could hear how ridiculous it all sounded as the words tumbled out.

He didn't laugh, didn't tell me to get some sleep or lay off the whiskey. Instead, there was a long pause, followed by a quiet, you need to come by. I packed Boe into the truck and headed over. The drive felt longer than usual, the pine trees pressing in on either side of the road. The road like they were trying to swallow it whole. Even Bo was uneasy, his ears twitching at every sound. Walter was waiting on the porch, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked older than I remembered. His face lined like someone who'd spent too many years staring into the woods. He didn't say much, just waved me inside. His house was cluttered, walls lined with hunting trophies and old photographs. He poured us coffee and sat down, his hands trembling slightly as he

lit another cigarette. What you're dealing with, he started. Ain't something you can shoot or scare off. It's older than that. Old as the land itself. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. Walter went on to tell me about a story he'd heard growing up. A legend passed down from the Ojibwe people who used to live on this land.

They spoke of a guardian spirit, something tied to the woods in the fields. It wasn't evil, not exactly, but it didn't take kind of. finally to being disturbed. They called it the keeper, he said, his voice low, said it watched over the land, made sure everything stayed in balance. But if you messed with it, dug up something you weren't supposed to, it had come for you. That's when I remembered. The artifact. I told Walter about the carved piece of metal I'd found in the garden last week, how I'd tossed it near the edge of the field without thinking twice. His face darkened. You need to put it back, right where you found it, and you need to do it soon.

I wanted to ask him why, wanted to push for more details, but something in his expression stopped me. Walter looked scared, the kind of fear that doesn't leave room for questions. On the drive home, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the road. I thought about the artifact, the weight of it in my hand, the strange carvings that seemed to twist and shift in the life. I'd found it buried deep, almost like it wasn't supposed to see daylight. By the time I pulled into the driveway, it was nearly dark. The cabin loomed ahead, its windows glowing faintly against

the growing night. Bo bolted out of the truck and ran straight to the porch, his tail down, ears flat. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. I grabbed the flashlight and made my way to the spot near the field where I'd left the artifact. The wheat was swaying, though there wasn't any wind. My footsteps crunched against the dirt path, louder than they should have been. The artifact was still there, half buried where I'd tossed it.

I crouched down, picking it up gingerly. It felt colder than I remembered, heavier. The carvings on its surface seemed deeper now, more intricate, like they'd grown in my absence. As I stood a sound carried through the air, a low, rhythmic hum, almost like chanting. It wasn't coming from the house or the woods. It was coming from the field. I turned slowly, shining my flashlight into the wheat. The light barely penetrated the stalks, but the sound grew

louder, closer. Bo barked from the porch, a sharp, desperate sound that made me want to run, but I couldn't move. The wheat shifted, parting slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of something moving within. Tall, too tall, with limbs that bent in ways they shouldn't. The hum turned into a deep, guttural growl that vibrated through the ground. I bolted. The artifact clutched in my hand. I ran back to the cabin with Bo barking wildly at my heels. I slammed the door shut and locked it, leaning against the wood as the sound outside faded.

Inside, Bo wouldn't settle. He paced the room, whining and growling at the windows. I set the artifact on the kitchen table, staring at it like it might move on its own. Walter's words echoed in my head. You need to put it back, and you need to do it soon. The chanting outside stopped, replaced by a single deliberate knock on the door. I didn't sleep, not even for a second. The knock on the door had been deliberate, too deliberate.

Whoever, or whatever, was out there, wasn't done with me. Bo lay by the door, growling low, his ears flicking at every creek of the cabin. The artifact sat on the kitchen table. cold and silent, as if it was waiting for me to decide what came next. Walter's warning played over and over in my head. I had to put it back, not toss it, not leave it near the edge of the field like I did before, but back where it came from. The problem was, I couldn't even be sure I'd survive the trip.

By the time the sun began creeping over the trees, I was already packed, a flashlight, my hunting knife, and a bundle of matches, I wasn't sure I'd. ever use. Bo whined when I leashed him, but I had no intention of bringing him into the field. He stayed on the porch, pacing and barking as I headed toward the wheat alone. The early lights stretched long shadows over the rows of wheat, making the field look taller, denser. Every step I took along the dirt path felt like walking into a trap. The silence wasn't natural, not the kind you hear when the woods are still waking up. This was something else. The kind of quiet that presses down on you, suffocates you. I stopped where I thought I'd dug up

the artifact the first time. The wheat swayed around me, though the air was completely still. Clutching the artifact in one hand, I crouched, my knife in the other, and started digging. The ground was cold and stubborn, resisting me at every scrape of the blade. That's when it started again. The sound, a low, rhythmic hum, so deep it felt like it was coming from beneath the ground. I froze, my hands caked with dirt, my heart hammering. The hum built slowly, shifting into something sharp and grating, like metal scraping against bone. The wheat rustled to my left, then to my right. Something was moving, circling, but I couldn't see it. I kept digging, throwing dirt behind me as fast as I could,

desperate to finish before whatever was out there decided to come closer. And then it stopped, The sound, the movement, the wheat stood perfectly still. I didn't dare look up. The soil beneath my knife began to soften, almost too easily, as though something below wanted me to hurry. My blade hit something hard, and I realized I'd found the spot. The hole was deeper now, more than enough to bury the artifact, but I hesitated. A part of me felt like putting it back was a trap.

Like whatever I was dealing with wanted me to finish this for reasons I didn't understand. The wheat shifted behind me, slow, deliberate. I clenched the artifact so tightly the edges dug into my skin. My flashlight flickered, casting long beams that made the shadows stretch and twist. I stood, turning slowly, and finally saw it. It wasn't just one. Tall figures stood just inside the wheat, their forms barely visible between the stalks. They didn't move like they had before, jerky and unnatural.

Now their motions were fluid, almost human, but there was nothing human about them. Their limbs were too long, bending in ways that defied reason, and their faces, if they could even be called faces, were pale voids, featureless, except for faint impressions where eyes might have been. They didn't advance. They just watched, their heads tilting in unison, as though waiting for me to act. I dropped the artifact into the whole. and shoved the dirt over it, my hands trembling. The hum started again, but it wasn't coming from the ground anymore. It was coming from them. A deep, layered sound that vibrated in my chest and made my ears ache. I'm sorry, I said, though my voice felt small and useless. I didn't mean to

disturb anything. The figures didn't react. The hum grew louder, sharper, like it was burrowing into my skull. I backed away slowly, careful not to trip, careful not to run. The wheat began swaying violently, as if caught in a storm, but the figures stayed still, their heads following my every step. I reached the edge of the field and turned, bolting toward the cabin. The hum stopped the moment I crossed into the yard, but the silence that followed was even worse. Boe barked and howled, his claws scrabbling at the porch as I climbed the steps and collapsed against the door. My lungs burned. My hands throbbed, but I didn't look back. I couldn't. Inside, I locked the door and pushed the kitchen table in front of it. Bo sat at my feet, whining softly as I tried to steady

my breathing. For a moment, everything was still. No hum, no movement, just the faint sound of wind through the trees. But then came the tapping, not at the windows this time, not at the door. It came from the roof, slow, deliberate, moving steadily toward the center of the cabin. They weren't gone. They were never gone. I should have trusted my gut the moment I stepped into that house. It wasn't just the damp smell that hit me like a slap, mold, old wood, and something faintly metallic, like pennies left out in the rain. It wasn't even the dim lighting that turned every corner into a shadowy void. No, it was the feeling. that heavy suffocating weight pressing down on me as soon as I crossed the threshold,

like the house was watching me. I knew something wasn't right, but I told myself to man up. We were here because we had no other choice. Mission rules didn't matter when you didn't have a roof over your head. The woman who owned the place, Sister Wilcox, waddled ahead of us, her wide frame brushing against the walls as she led us to our room. She didn't say much, just muttered something about us,

making do. Her voice was thin and raspy, like the air in the house. When she opened the door to our room, I had to bite back a grimace. Room was generous. It was more like a shoebox someone had lined with cheap paneling and called livable. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a sickly yellow light. Two twin beds crammed together with barely enough space to walk between them and a closet that looked like it hadn't been opened in years. This'll do, she said, more to herself than to us. Her small, watery eyes flitted over me, lingered for a beat too long,

then turned to my companion Elder Rousseau. Dinner's at six, she added before lumbering off, her footsteps heavy on the creaky floorboards. Cozy, Rousseau muttered, tossing his bag onto one of the beds. His Italian accent made everything sound less sarcastic than it probably was. I tried to shake off the unease as I unpacked, telling myself this was temporary,

just a few days until the mission office found us another place. But the feeling lingered, a nagging itch I couldn't scratch. The first night, I couldn't sleep. Rousseau snored softly on the bed next to mine, his steady breathing the only sound in the room. But something kept me awake. Maybe it was the faint creek of the house settling, or the way the shadows in the corner seemed to shift when I was, I wasn't looking directly at them. I stared at the closet door, its faded wood grain catching the light in strange patterns. I don't know how long I lay there, but at some point I must have

dozed off. I woke up to the sound of my name, David. It was a whisper, soft but distinct. My eyes snapped open and my heart hammered in my chest. I glanced at Russo, who was still snoring. Then at the closet, the door was slightly ajar. I hadn't noticed it before. David. It came again, this time louder, more insistent. My skin prickled and my mouth went dry. I told myself it had to be my imagination, a leftover thread from a half-remembered dream, but the voice didn't sound like something conjured by my subconscious. It sounded real, close, like someone standing just behind the closet door. I sat up, my movement slow and deliberate, and stared at the crack of darkness inside the closet.

My pulse thudded in my ears, drowning out everything else. Rousseau, I whispered. No response. I reached over and shook his shoulder, but he just grunted and rolled over. The voice didn't come again that night, but I didn't sleep. I sat there, wide-eyed, watching the closet until the first light of dawn seeped through the window. The next day, I tried to convince myself it was nothing, stress, fatigue. but when Russo asked why I looked like I hadn't slept, I couldn't bring myself to tell him.

What would I even say? That I thought the closet was whispering to me? We spent most of the day out on our bikes, visiting houses, knocking on doors. By the time we got back, I was bone tired, the kind of exhaustion that made your legs feel like lead. But as soon as we stepped into that house, the unease came rushing back. Dinner was the same bland casserole as the night before. served with sister wilcox's unsettling stare she didn't talk much but when she did it was always something strange cryptic comments about how houses have memories and some rooms are better left shut that night i made sure the closet door was shut tight before i climbed into bed i even jammed a chair against it just to be safe russo teased me for it but i didn't care you'll thank me when the boogeyman doesn't get us i said forcing a laugh. But the laugh died in my throat when I woke up in the middle of the night to find the

chair moved and the closet door wide open. The voice was back, clearer this time. David, come here. My blood ran cold. The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight, a sense of command that made my stomach churn. I wanted to scream, to wake Russo, but I couldn't move. It was like something had pinned me to the bed. My breath came in shallow gasps, as I stared at the open, door. The darkness inside seeming deeper than it should have been. Like it wasn't just shadows, but something alive, watching me. I don't know how long I lay there, paralyzed. When I finally managed to move, I didn't dare look inside the closet. I just reached over and shook Rousseau awake. We're switching beds, I blurted. What? Why? He grumbled, groggy and annoyed. Just trust me. He didn't

argue, and I didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night. By the third night, I was ready to leave, rules be damned, but Rousseau convinced me to stick it out. A few more days, he said, we can handle a few more days. That was the night I woke up to find the scratches, three long parallel lines across my abdomen. They didn't bleed, but they burned like fire. I stumbled to the bathroom, my hands shaking as I stared at them in the mirror. They were too precise, too clean, not something I could have done to myself. When I asked Sister Wilcox the next morning if she had any pets, her response sent a chill through me.

No pets, she said smiling faintly. But you know this house is haunted, don't you? She didn't wait for my reply. She just shuffled off, humming to herself, leaving me alone with the gnawing realization that whatever was in this house wasn't done with me yet. The reservation felt like another planet. The air was thinner, drier, and the emptiness stretched forever, rusted out cars littered yards

like forgotten relics, and the wind carried a faint metallic tang that didn't belong to the desert. My new companion, Elder Ramirez, was the quiet type. He was polite enough, but you could tell he'd seen some things in his five months here, the kind of things he didn't want to talk about. We stick to the rules here, he told me the first day. No staying out past sundown, no shortcuts through the back roads. And if something feels wrong, we leave. No questions.

It sounded dramatic, but I didn't argue. There was something about the way he said it, like he wasn't quoting the mission handbook, but speaking from experience. Out here, the rules felt less like guidelines and more like survival instincts. It was a Thursday evening, and we were driving back from Superior, the sun bleeding red into the horizon. Ramirez was at the wheel, humming a hymn under his breath while I stared out the window, watching the shadows grow long and sharp across the desert. We were supposed to be back before dark, but the appointment had run late.

Now the road ahead was cloaked in twilight, and the silence between us felt heavier with each passing mile. I was about to say something, maybe crack a joke to lighten the mood, when Ramirez slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a stop, and I lurched forward. seatbelt digging into my chest. What the hell? I barked clutching the dashboard. Ramirez didn't answer.

He was staring at something in the road ahead. His hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were white. I followed his gaze and froze. A dog, at least I think it was a dog, stood in the middle of the highway. Its fur was patchy, hanging in clumps like it had been pulled off in strips. Its ribs jutted out sharply, and its head hung low, almost too low. as if its neck couldn't support the weight. Its eyes, though, those weren't the eyes of an animal.

They were dark and glassy, and they locked on to me like it knew I was watching. Speed up, Ramirez said, his voice low and urgent. What? Speed up, he snapped, slamming his foot on the gas. The engine roared and the truck lurched forward. I stared at him in disbelief. You're going to hit it. Shut up, he hissed.

Don't look at it. Just don't look. But I did. I couldn't help it. As we barreled toward the thing, I turned to look and for a split second, it looked back. The face staring at me wasn't a dog's. It wasn't even human. The skin was stretched too tight, the features twisted into something grotesque, like it was wearing a mask that didn't quite fit. And it smiled. Its lips pulled back to reveal jagged, yellowed teeth, and I swear I heard it laugh, a low guttural sound that cussed. cut through the roar of the engine. I snapped my head forward, my heart hammering. The truck

jolted as we sped past, and when I looked in the side mirror, the thing was gone. What the hell was that? I demanded my voice shaking. Ramirez didn't answer. He was breathing hard, his eyes fixed on the road. Don't talk about it, he finally said. Don't even think about it. That night, back at the apartment, I couldn't shake the image. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that face staring at me. Its dark eyes boring into mine. Ramirez barely said a word as we ate dinner, and when the sun dipped below the horizon,

he locked every door and window in the place. It seemed excessive, but I didn't argue, not after what I'd seen. It was around 11 p.m. when the knocking started. It was soft at first, just a faint tap, tap, tap on the front door. I froze, my fork halfway to my. mouth. Ramirez's head snapped up, his eyes wide. Don't answer it, he whispered. What if it's the district leader, I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. It's not. The knocking grew louder, more insistent. My skin prickled. I moved toward the door,

but Ramirez grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. Don't. I shrugged him off. You're being ridiculous. It's probably just... He cut me off with a desperate look. If you open that door were dead. Something in his tone stopped me cold. The knocking continued, rhythmic and deliberate, like whoever, or whatever was on the other side knew we were listening. And then I heard it. Elder, a voice called softly.

It sounded like our district leader, but something about it was wrong. The tone was off, too flat like it was reading from a script. Elder Ramirez? Elder Johnson? It's me. Open the door. My blood ran cold. Ramirez pulled out his phone and dialed, his hands shaking.

After a few tense seconds, someone picked up. Where are you? he asked. His voice barely above a whisper. In bed, came the groggy reply. Why? Send me a picture, Ramirez demanded. Now. I heard the muffled sound of confusion on the other end,

followed by the ding of a text. Ramirez showed me the screen, a photo of our district leader and his companion, time-stamped just a minute earlier. They were in their apartment two hours away. The knocking stopped. I let out a shaky breath, but Ramirez's grip on my arm tightened.

It's not over, he whispered. The silence that followed was worse than the knocking. It pressed against my ears, thick and unnatural. And then, faintly, I heard it, breathing, heavy, labored breathing, just outside the window. I turned slowly, my pulse pounding in my ears. The blinds rattled softly, as if something was brushing against them. Ramirez motioned for me to stay put as he moved toward the window. He peeked through the edge of the

blinds and went rigid. His face drained of color, and he stumbled back, his hand clutching the cross around his neck. What did you see? I whispered, my voice barely audible. He didn't answer. He just turned to me with a look I'll never forget, pure, unfiltered, terror. We didn't sleep that night. We just sat there, backs against the wall, clutching whatever we could find that felt even remotely like a weapon. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional shuffle of footsteps outside. And when the sun finally rose, we found the footprints. Large, clawed, and muddy, they led from the front door to the window, then stopped abruptly. As if whatever had been there had vanished into thin air. But I knew it hadn't. Not really.

We didn't talk about what happened that night, not at first. Ramirez wouldn't look me in the eye, and I wasn't about to press him. I wasn't even sure I wanted answers. Every instinct I had screamed to forget it. Pretend none of it had happened. But how do you ignore muddy claw marks that disappear into nowhere? The next morning, our district meeting was already set. We drove in silence, the truck humming along the cracked highway.

The desert felt different now. The vast emptiness I'd once found almost peaceful had turned oppressive, as if every shadow and rock was hiding something. Ramirez gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles bone white, while I kept my eyes on the horizon, avoiding my own reflection in the passenger side mirror. I couldn't shake the feeling something was watching us, just out of sight. The meeting started like any other, elders talking shop, exchanging stories about rejections, and the occasional rare success. But when it came to my turn to share, I hesitated. The words were caught in my throat like barbed wire. Ramirez stayed silent, but I could feel his eyes on me, daring me to say something.

Finally, I muttered, we had some... Disturbances, knocking, weird noises. The room went quiet, too quiet. Everyone else exchanged uneasy glances, and the air grew heavy, almost stifling. Elder Hutchins, one of the district leaders, cleared his throat and leaned forward. Disturbances? he asked. His voice calm but laced with something sharp. What kind of disturbances? I swallowed hard and tried to keep my tone light. You know, just strange knocking, a voice outside the door, probably just some kids messing with us. Hutchins didn't laugh. His face darkened,

and he exchanged a look with his companion before nodding slowly. You saw something, didn't you? His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. I hesitated, but Ramirez stepped in. We don't need to get into it, he said quickly. It's handled. No, it's not, Hutchin snapped. His composure slipping for a moment.

You think this is a joke? You think this is something you can just ignore? The tension in the room was unbearable. Finally, Hutchins leaned back and sighed. You've heard of Skinwalkers, right? What followed was a crash course in nightmares. Hutchins explained the legend in hushed tones, his voice steady but his hands trembling.

Skinwalkers, he said, were dark spirits, shapeshifters born of unspeakable acts. Murder. Betrayal. They wore the skins of animals, mimicked human voices, and thrived on fear. According to local,

lore, making eye contact or acknowledging them, gave them power over you, marked you in some way. They don't stop, Hutchin said, his eyes fixed on me. Once they notice you, they keep coming, unless you figure out how to break their hold. My stomach churned, the thing on the road, the knocking, the voice outside our door. Had I looked too long, listened too closely, I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. That night I was restless. Ramirez tried to reassure me, mumbling prayers under his breath, as he sprinkled the apartment with salt and holy water. It seemed desperate, almost futile, but I didn't stop him. Any comfort, no matter how small, was better than none.

Around midnight, the air in the apartment changed. It felt heavier, colder, like the temperature had dropped ten degrees in an instant. Ramirez and I exchanged a look, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Then the knocking started. It was soft at first, just a faint tap, tap, tap, tap, but it grew louder, sharper, until the entire doorframe rattled. This time, there was no mistaking the malice behind it. The sound was angry, purposeful, like whatever was out there was trying to break through.

Ramirez grabbed a Bible and stood near the door, muttering rapid prayers. I stayed back, clutching the pocket knife I'd brought from California. It felt laughably inadequate, but it was all I had. The knocking stopped suddenly, and for a moment the silence was worse. Then came the voice. Elder Ramirez, Elder Johnson, let me in. It sounded like Hutchins, perfectly unmistakably Hutchins, but it wasn't him. The voice was wrong, flat, hollow, like it was coming from a broken speaker.

Ramirez shook his head, his lips moving silently in prayer. Then came the scratching, long, deliberate strokes like claws dragging across wood. The sound was unbearable, setting my teeth on edge. My heart pounded as I stared at the door, waiting for it to give way. But it didn't. Somehow it held. The scratching stopped, and for a moment I thought it was over. Then I felt it. A cold hand brushed against the back of my neck.

I whipped around, but there was nothing there. just Ramirez, wide-eyed and pale, clutching his cross like a lifeline. The next morning the claw marks were there, deep gouges in the wood, too precise and on purpose to be anything natural. We reported it to the mission office, but they dismissed it as a prank. We knew better. Whatever it was, it wasn't done with us. Driving to our next assignment, the unease followed me like a shadow. I caught glimpses of something in the mirrors, a figure, distrower. distorted and animalistic, always just out of focus. I didn't tell Ramirez. I couldn't,

but I knew one thing for sure. Whatever had marked me back on that highway wasn't going to let go. I should have turned back the moment I stepped out of the truck. There's something about the way the forest feels at night, alive, watchful, but this time it was different. Too still, too quiet. The trip started out like any other. Baxter and I had done plenty of these solo outings before, and I had no reason to think this one would be any different. I'd packed the essentials, sleeping bag, snacks, the knife I always carry, and Baxter's favorite chew toy, just in case he got restless. We were heading to a spot deep in Gallatin National Forest that I'd found years ago,

miles away from campsites or other people, perfect for catching the meteor shower. The drive was long, but the view of the stars from the winding mountain road made it worth it. By the time we arrived, it was just after sunset, and the fading light painted the trees in hues of gold and deep purple. Baxter leapt out of the truck sniffing at everything like he was on a mission. His enthusiasm was contagious, and for a while I felt the usual excitement that comes with being out here, away from the noise of the world. I got the fire going as the first stars began to peek out, sitting back with Baxter curled up beside me. The quiet of the woods was peaceful at it.

first, a welcome change from the buzz of everyday life. The fire crackled, its warmth chasing away the evening chill, and I leaned back to take in the sky. One meteor streaked past, then another. I grabbed my phone, snapping a few pictures to show friends later. That's when Baxter growled. It was low, almost a rumble, and I felt it in my chest before I fully registered the sound. I glanced down at him, expecting him to be looking at a squirrel. or some other harmless animal, but he wasn't. He was staring at the tree line, ears flat, his entire body rigid. Hey, what's up, bud?

I said softly, trying to calm him down. He didn't look at me. The fire popped loudly, making me jump, and I realized the usual hum of the forest, crickets, rustling leaves, distant owls, had vanished. The silence was so complete it felt suffocating. I grabbed my flashlight and stood. my boots crunching on the dry leaves.

Probably a deer, I muttered, more to myself than to Baxter. His growl deepened. Sweeping the light across the trees, I searched for the source of his unease. Nothing. Just shadows, and the faint outline of branches swaying in the breeze. But something felt off. The shadows were too dark, too solid, as if they weren't cast by the firelight but by something else entirely.

And then I saw it. At first I thought it was just a trick. of the light, a tall, thin shape standing perfectly still among the trees. But as I kept the flashlight on it, my stomach dropped. It wasn't a tree. It was a figure, unnaturally tall and gaunt, its limbs too long and its head tilted to the side, almost inquisitively. I froze. Baxter whimpered and back toward the truck. Hey, I called out, hoping it was just another camper who'd wandered too close. My voice sounded small, swallowed by the trees. The figure didn't move.

I stepped back instinctively, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The flashlight shook in my hand as I kept the beam trained on it. That's when its head moved. Slowly, jerkily, like it was figuring out how to move for the first time. The tilt became more exaggerated, almost upside down. And then its eyes, two faint yellowish glows, opened. my breath caught. Those weren't human eyes. They weren't animal eyes either. Baxter, in the truck, I whispered, my voice trembling. The figure didn't step forward, it slid, no sound, no shift in the

undergrowth. One second it was ten feet into the tree line, and the next it was five feet closer. Its glowing eyes locked on me. Okay, we're leaving, I muttered, more to myself than to Baxter. I turned and bolted for the truck, Baxter right on my heels. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I fumbled with the keys, dropping them once before finally managing to shove them into the ignition. The truck roared to life, and I slammed it into reverse, spinning the tires as I backed out of the campsite. My headlights swept across the clearing, and for a brief moment I saw the figure again, standing in the middle of where my fire had been.

It hadn't moved like it should have been able to. It was just there. I didn't wait to see what it would do next. The truck skidded onto the dirt road, and I floored it, speeding into the dark. Behind me, the clearing vanished, swallowed by the trees, but the silence stayed with me, heavier than ever. Something had followed me out of the woods, and I wasn't sure I'd left it behind. The road felt endless.

My hands were gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles were white, and Baxter was curled into the farthest corner of the passenger seat, trembling. Every bump in the road sent shocks through the truck, and every shadow that crossed the headlights felt like it could be it. I tried to convince myself I was just seeing things back there, but my gut wouldn't let me. Something was wrong, and no matter how far I drove, I couldn't drop the feeling it was still there. I glanced at the rearview mirror out of instinct, and my heart stopped. There, in the faint glow of my taillights it was, The same impossibly tall figure, running, no, sprinting. Only it wasn't running like a person.

Its limbs were moving wrong like it had too many joints or none at all, each step covering far more ground than it should have. It moved like a predator, silent, relentless, and impossibly fast. Oh no, oh no, no, no, I muttered, slamming my foot on the gas. The engine roared as the truck lurched forward, tires spitting gravel. I risked another glance at the mirror. It was still there, and worse, it was getting closer. Baxter barked sharply, his hackles raised, and I almost screamed. I didn't dare look over at him. My eyes were glued to the road, watching as the headlights carved through the endless dark.

The forest closed in on both sides, the trees like a tunnel, and I realized how trapped I was. There were no turnoffs, no clearings, just this single, suffering. road. Then came the screech. It started low like metal grinding against metal, before rising to an ear-splitting wail that made me jerk the wheel. The truck swerved dangerously close to the edge of the road, and I fought to keep it steady. Baxter yelped and ducked under the dash. The sound wasn't coming from behind me. It was coming from above. Something slammed onto the roof of the truck, and I felt the entire vehicle shudder under the weight. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I could hear it moving up there, dragging itself across the metal with a

sickening scrape, the sound vibrating through the cab. I knew what it wanted. It wanted me to look. Don't, I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. Don't look. Just keep driving. The roof groaned again, denting inward just slightly. The thing was heavy, far heavier than it should have been. My brain screamed at me to pull over, to stop, to do something. But my body was a body. refused to listen. I slammed the gas pedal harder, willing the truck to go faster. The trees whipped past in a blur, and for a moment I thought maybe I could outrun it. But then the weight shifted again, and the truck shuddered violently. I felt it moving toward the sunroof. The tapping started, light, rhythmic, almost playful. Just three quick taps, like it was knocking to be let in. I swallowed

hard keeping my eyes on the road. You're not real. You're not real, I whispered, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. The tapping came again, this time harder. The sunroof cover rattled as if it could barely hold the thing out. My pulse was deafening, my breath shallow and ragged. I knew, knew that if I opened that cover, I wouldn't survive whatever I'd see. Baxter whimpered from under the dash, his nails scratching at the floor as if he could dig his way out of the truck. Then the tapping stopped.

for a brief terrible moment all i could hear was the roar of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires the silence was worse than the tapping and then with no warning the weight slid off the roof The truck bounced slightly as it hit the road behind me with a sickening thud, and I couldn't stop myself from looking in the mirror. There it was, lying in the middle of the road. It looked crumpled, almost broken, its limbs twisted at impossible angles, but it wasn't staying down. I watched in horror as it began to move. Slowly at first, jerky, unnatural movements as it straightened itself out.

I could hear the sound even over the engine, the crack of joints snapping back into place, the wet awful noise of bones grinding together, its head turned toward me, and those glowing yellow eyes locked on to mine through the mirror. Nope, I said aloud, slamming the gear shift into reverse. The truck fish-tailed as I backed away from it, trying to put as much distance as I could between us. The thing stood fully upright now, taller than before, its silhouette blotting out the trees behind it. It didn't run this time. It didn't need to. The scream came again, louder and closer, like it was tearing through my skull. I jammed the truck back into drive and floored it, refusing to look back again. My only thought was to get to the nearest town, the nearest light, anywhere that wasn't here. I drove for what felt like hours, but the forest never seemed to end. Every shadow looked like it was moving. Every sound made me flinch. Baxter stayed under the dash. His whimpered. is now barely audible over the pounding of my heart. When the glow of a gas station finally appeared

in the distance, I felt tears sting my eyes. Safety, light, civilization. I didn't slow down until I was directly under the harsh fluorescent glow of the lot, parking so close to the building that I almost hit the wall. For the first time in what felt like forever, I exhaled. But even as I stumbled inside to beg the clerk for help. I couldn't get rid of the feeling that it wasn't over, that it was still out there. I hadn't escaped, not really. The gas station clerk looked at me like I was insane. I didn't blame him. I probably looked insane, wide-eyed, shaking, dirt smudged across my face, and Baxter refusing to leave the truck barking at nothing in the distance. I could barely get words out as I stumbled toward the counter, my voice cracking as I asked if he'd

seen anything strange. Strange? He repeated, his tone thick with boredom. You mean like UFOs or Bigfoot or something? I wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him understand. Instead, I just nodded, my hands gripping the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing. Nope, he said with a shrug popping his gum, just you. I didn't bother trying to explain further. I bought a coffee I didn't want, just for an excuse to linger in the bright sterile light of the gas station. My body felt like it was on autopilot. Every instinct in me screamed to stay put, but the rational part of my brain knew I couldn't.

I had to keep moving. Baxter's barking reached a frantic pitch, and I turned to see him clawing at the window of the truck, his eyes wide and wild. My blood ran cold. He wasn't barking at nothing. He was barking at something. I bolted outside,

my eyes scanning the darkness at the edge of the gas station lot. The floodlights only reached so far, and beyond them was the black void of the forest. For a second, I thought I saw movement, something tall and spindly shifting just out of sight. But when I blinked, it was gone. All right, we're leaving, I muttered, mostly to myself. I climbed into the truck, my heart hammering and slammed the door shut.

I didn't bother looking back as I sped out. of the lot, the gas station lights disappearing into the rearview mirror. Baxter had wedged himself into the footwell, trembling, and I kept glancing at him like he might somehow reassure me. He didn't. The road stretched endlessly ahead of me, winding through the forest like a cruel joke. Every shadow seemed to move. Every flicker of light in the trees felt like eyes staring back at me. I turned the radio on, desperate for some kind of normalcy, but all I got was static. And then the tapping started again. At first it was faint, just a single tap, like a pebble hitting the glass, then another and another. I knew better than to look, but my eyes flicked up to the

windshield anyway. Nothing. Just the reflection of my own terrified face in the blur of the road. The tapping grew louder, more insistent. It wasn't coming from the windshield, it was coming from the roof. My breath hitched, and I tightened my grip on the wheel, refusing to slow down. Not real, not real, I whispered to myself, the words more desperate each time, but it was real. I felt the truck shudder as the weight shifted again, the metallic groan of the roof echoing in my ears. Something scraped along the side of the truck, nails or claws dragging across the paint. Baxter whimpered, burying his head in his paws, and I felt the panic rising in my throat, Suddenly, I saw it. Standing in the middle of the road, illuminated by my high beams, was the figure.

Its limbs were longer now, stretched to impossible proportions, and its head tilted at that sickening angle. Those glowing eyes burned into mine, even from a distance. I slammed the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt. For a moment everything was still. I didn't breathe, didn't move, and then it smiled. The figure's mouth stretched wide, too wide, the edges curling unnaturally as if its face wasn't meant to move that way. I screamed. I couldn't help it. My body moved on instinct, slamming the truck into reverse as I floored it. The figure didn't move at first, just stood there grinning. But as soon as my taillights hit it, it dropped to all fours and started crawling toward me. No, not crawling, scuttling. Its limbs moved like a spider's,

fast and too fluid, and it was closing the distance faster than I thought possible. I whipped the truck around and gunned it, gravel flying as I tore down the road. The thing kept pace, darting between the trees, its glowing eyes flickering in and out of view. My chest felt like it was going to burst. I couldn't think, couldn't do anything but drive, drive, drive. The road felt like it would never end, and the shadows kept growing darker, thicker, closing in around me.

Finally, I saw the faint glow of a streetlight in the distance, my house, home. I didn't stop until I reached the driveway, slamming the truck into park and bolting for the door. Baxter was right on my heels, his tail between his legs. Inside, I locked every door and window, turning on every light in the house. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone as I tried to call someone, anyone. But the signal was still dead. Baxter whimpered from the corner of the room, staring at the window. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it.

Slowly I turned my head. There it was. Standing at the edge of the yard, just outside the glow of the porch light, its head was tilted, its eyes glowing, and that horrible, unnatural smile stretched across its face. I shut the curtains, my heart pounding in my ears, but the tapping didn't stop. Ellie's fever had been relentless all day. Her flushed cheeks and the way her tiny body radiated heat through the thin blanket left me on edge.

I'd been nursing her through this virus for nearly a week, and tonight felt like a tipping point. Every breath she took was shallow, rasping, as if her little lungs were running out of patience. I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on her damp forehead, the other clutching my phone. The alarm was set for 3 o'clock a.m. time for her next dose of medicine. The clock ticked loudly in the silence of our small apartment. I couldn't sleep, not really. Every creak in the walls or distant car engine made me jolt upright, my heart racing. When the alarm finally blared, it startled me so badly that I nearly dropped my phone.

I slid out of bed careful not to wake Ellie. Her soft murmurs tugged at me, but I reminded myself that she needed this medicine. Padding into the kitchen, I squinted against the glow of the overhead light, and fumbled through the cabinet for the bottle of liquid Tylenol. That's when I saw it, the light. It wasn't the warm yellow glow of a street lamp or the faint blue flicker of a distant TV. No, this was stark, white, and harsh,

cutting through the curtains over the sliding glass door. It cast sharp shadows across the living room, making the edges of furniture look sharper, almost unreal. I froze, the bottle of medicine in my hand listening. The neighborhood was usually quiet at this hour, but something about that light unsettled me. Slowly I moved toward the door, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek out. There it was. A car parked at the far edge of the lot, its brights pointed directly into the woods behind the building.

The light sliced through the trees, catching on branches, and throwing jagged reflections across the ground. I thought maybe someone had just pulled in, maybe dropping off a friend or a friend or getting back late. But the car wasn't moving. The engine wasn't running. It just sat there, too still, with its lights bearing down on the forest like it was searching for something. Then I saw the movement. At first it was subtle, just a flicker near the edge of the light. My eyes strained to make sense of it. A shadow? A trick of the headlights? No, it was an animal, something low to the ground slinking between the trees. My immediate thought was a fox.

They were common enough around here, though this one moved strangely. Its body seemed disjointed, like its limbs were struggling to obey the same command. I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to the cool glass, trying to make out the shape. As it stepped into the light, my stomach twisted. It wasn't a fox, or at least it wasn't any more. Its body began to change, the edges of its form rippling like water disturbed by a stone. One moment it looked like a small dog, its tail twitching nervously, and then it stretched, growing thinner, taller, until it resembled a cat. But even that didn't last. Within seconds,

its body collapsed inward, folding unnaturally before emerging as something bulkier. Its movement slower, heavier, like a bear dragging itself across the forest floor. I stumbled back from the door, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My mind scrambled for answers, rational explanations. Was it an optical illusion? A shadow cast by swaying branches? But the way it moved, it was wrong, unnatural. My hands were trembling as I edged back toward the glass, compelled by equal parts terror and disbelief.

The creature had shifted again, now smaller, rounder, with fur that gleamed under the the bright headlights, a raccoon maybe, or something pretending to be one. Its body seemed to shimmer, the edges blurring and reforming, like it couldn't decide what it was supposed to be. That's when I realized my heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I needed to wake Paul. He'd see this. He'd tell me I wasn't losing my mind. But before I could step away, the creature paused. It turned, or at least its body shifted in a way that felt like turning. And though it had no discernible face, I felt its attention. A cold, sinking dread settled in my chest as if its gaze had pierced through the glass,

through me, and straight into my core. I didn't realize I was moving until I was already halfway down the hall, my feet carrying me on autopilot. Paul, I whispered harshly, shaking his shoulder. Paul, get up. You have to see this. He groaned, groggy and annoyed, but I didn't have time for his protests. grabbing his arm I hauled him out of bed, dragging him toward the living room.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and the words spilling out of me didn't make any sense. Something about headlights, the woods, the creature. By the time we reached the door, the light outside felt even brighter, harsher. I didn't want to look, but I had to. When we pulled the curtain aside together, the thing was closer now, crawling out of the woods. Its form twisted again, shrinking down into some. something small and striped. A skunk. Relief washed over me so quickly I nearly laughed. A damn skunk. All that panic over nothing. I turned to Paul, my voice a mixture of nerves and embarrassment.

It's just a skunk, I said, chuckling. I, Paul didn't respond. He just stared, his face pale, his eyes locked on the creature outside. Following his gaze, I turned back to the glass. The skunk's fur rippled unnaturally, its body spasming as it grew larger, then smaller, then larger again. Its tail disappeared, its legs elongated, and in one horrifying moment it looked almost human, crawling on all fours, with patches of fur and exposed skin hanging from its limbs like tattered fabric. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. All I could do was stare as the creature fell apart and rebuilt itself over and over, right there under the light. Paul stared at the creature, his face slack with disbelief.

His usual gruff confidence, the one that usually annoyed me, was gone. I clutched his arm tightly, afraid to look away, but more afraid not to. The thing outside moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm, like its joints weren't hinged correctly. It paused under the glow of the headlights, shivering, shifting. My stomach twisted as it began to change again. At first it looked like it was shedding. as if clumps of fur and skin were peeling off its body, falling to the ground in sticky, wet slaps.

But then, it would reassemble itself, the pieces sucking back into its core, twisting into something new. It stretched upward, its limbs unnaturally long, its back arched at an impossible angle. For a moment it stood there swaying, and I swore it looked like a person. If a person's skeleton had been broken and reassembled by someone who didn't understand how bodies were,

I worked. Paul muttered something under his breath, but I couldn't make it out. His voice sounded far away, muffled, like it was coming from underwater. My pulse roared in my ears as the thing collapsed again, dropping to all fours with a sickening crunch. This time it crawled forward, dragging itself across the gravel lot like it weighed too much for its limbs to support. Its head jerked in our direction, and I felt it again. That awful, suffering. sensation of being watched. We need to call animal control, Paul said finally. His voice strained. He reached for his phone, but I grabbed his arm. It's not an animal. The words came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't stop myself. My throat was dry, my mouth barely able to form

the syllables. You saw it. That thing. It's not normal. Paul hesitated, his fingers hovering over his phone. What the hell else could it be? He snapped, his voice shaking. He was trying to be rational, trying to explain this away, but I could see the fear in his eyes. He didn't know what it was any more than I did. Before I could respond, the car's headlights flickered. The light dimmed for a moment, then surged back, brighter than before. The creature froze mid-crawl, its head twitching to the side, almost like it was listening to something. Then, without warning, the headlights cut off completely. Darkness swallowed the parking lot and with it the creature disappeared.

I grabbed Paul's arm my nails digging into his skin. Turn on the porch light, I hissed. Now. He fumbled for the switch and the small bulb over the sliding door sputtered to life, casting a pale, weak glow over the deck. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see the edge of the lot and the first few feet of the woods, enough to see that the thing was gone. Paul exhaled sharply. his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the wall.

It's gone, he said, more to himself than to me. It's gone. But I didn't believe it. I couldn't. The way it had moved, the way it had looked at us. It wasn't the kind of thing that just disappeared. It was still out there, somewhere in the dark, waiting. I'm going out there, I said suddenly, the word spilling out before I could stop them.

Paul's head snapped toward me. The hell you are! I need to see, I said, my voice trembling. I need to know it's really gone. Are you insane? Paul grabbed my arm, his grip firm. You just saw whatever the hell that was. You're not stepping outside.

But I couldn't sit here, couldn't wait for it to come back. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to do something, anything, to take control of this nightmare. I wrenched my arm free and grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen counter. Before Paul could stop me, I slid open the door just enough to step outside. The cold air hit me like a slap, sharp and unforgiving. The night was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt wrong. No crickets, no rustling leaves, just the sound of my own breathing, shallow and rapid. I held the flashlight in a death grip, its beam trembling as I pointed it toward the tree line.

Just a quick look, I whispered to myself, though my voice didn't feel like. like my own. Just a quick look. I shone the light over the gravel lot, searching for any sign of the creature. The car was still there, its engine off, its windows dark. The ground where the thing had been crawling was empty, but the gravel looked disturbed, like something heavy had dragged itself through it. As I inched closer to the edge of the deck, I heard it, a faint, wet sound, like something being dragged through mud. My flashlight flickered, the beams sputtering weakly, and for a moment I thought I saw movement in the shadows,

a shape, low to the ground, scuttling just out of reach of the light. My heart raced as I stepped back, nearly tripping over the doorframe. I slammed the sliding door shut and locked it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the latch. What did you see? Paul asked, his voice sharp with urgency. nothing i lied my voice barely above a whisper it's gone but i didn't believe it not for a second i couldn't sleep every time i closed my eyes i saw it the creature its body twisting and tearing apart only to reform into something even more unnatural paul had managed to drift off eventually his steady breathing an unwelcome reminder of his ability to compartmentalize i on the other hand was wide awake perched on the couch with a blanket draped over my shoulders, and the flashlight clutched in my

lap like a lifeline. The clock on the microwave glowed faintly in the dark. 2.45 a.m., 15 minutes until the time it all started last night. I stared at the sliding door, my breath fogging the glass as I leaned closer, trying to peer into the darkness beyond. The porch light was still on, casting a weak, uneven glow over the deck. beyond that was an impenetrable wall of black. I hadn't told Paul about the sound I heard, that horrible wet dragging noise. I didn't need to.

It had echoed in my head all night, a sound so unnatural it felt like it had been burned into my brain. I thought about Ellie, asleep in her bed down the hall, and my stomach clenched. What if it came back? What if it was already here, watching? By the time the clock clicked over to 3 a.m.,

My nerves were frayed. I told myself I was being paranoid that I was letting fear get the better of me. But deep down, I knew better. I could feel it. The same oppressive, suffocating presence I'd felt the night before. The air seemed heavier, thicker,

as if the apartment itself was holding its breath. And then, there it was, a faint glow flickering through the curtains. I froze, my grip tightening on the flashlight. It wasn't the car this time. the light wasn't steady or bright. It pulsed, dim and irregular, like the dying glow of a firefly. Slowly I rose from the couch, every muscle in my body screaming at me to sit back down, to pretend I hadn't seen it. But my legs moved on their own, carrying me toward the sliding door.

I pressed my face to the glass, squinting into the night. At first, I saw nothing. The glow had vanished, leaving only the weak light of the porch bulb to illuminate the deck. But then, just at the edge of the woods, something shifted. A shadow, darker than the night around it, moved. My breath hitched as the shape emerged, slowly, deliberately. It was the creature. It hadn't left. This time its movements were different, more purposeful, as if it had finally decided what it wanted to be.

It crawled on all fours, its body stretched and hunched. its skin rippling like water. The weak light from the porch caught its face, or what should have been a face. Instead, there was only a smooth, featureless expanse, blank and unfeeling. It stopped at the edge of the deck, its head tilting upward as if it were looking directly at me. My legs turned to jelly, and I stumbled backward, clutching the edge of the couch for support. The flashlight slipped from my hands clattering to the floor and rolling under the coffee table. No.

I whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of my heart. This isn't real. This can't be real. The thing began to move again, its limbs jerking unnaturally as it crawled onto the deck. The boards creaked under its weight, each step slow and deliberate. My stomach churned as I watched its shift once more, its body folding in on itself, collapsing into a pile of limbs and fur. When it reassembled, it was smaller, more compact, but it was, no less horrifying. It looked almost human, its arms too long, its legs bending backward at the

knees. The porch light flickered, casting the creature into momentary darkness. When the light returned, it was closer. I wanted to scream, to wake Paul, to grab Ellie and run, but I couldn't move. My body refused to obey. All I could do was watch as the thing pressed one long, gnarled hand against the glass. Its fingers spayed, leaving behind a wet, smeared print that drips slowly down the surface. Then it leaned forward, its head tilting to the side, and though it had no eyes, I knew it was staring at me. I felt it, deep in my chest, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush the air from my lungs. From down the hall, Ellie's small voice broke the silence. Mommy? The sound shattered whatever trance I'd been under.

I turned and bolted, my feet slipping on the hardwood as I race toward her room. She was standing in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit. Her cheeks flushed with fever. It's here, she said softly, her voice eerily calm. It's looking for you. I scooped her up, her small body hot against mine, and ran back to the living room. The sliding door was empty now. The deck bare, but the wet smear on the glass remained, a grotesque reminder.

that it had been there. Paul stumbled into the room, bleary-eyed and disoriented. What's going on? He demanded, his voice thick with sleep. I couldn't answer. I just stood there, clutching Ellie tightly, staring at the sliding door as if the thing might reappear at any moment. My voice finally came, trembling and weak. We're not safe here, I said. We have to leave. Now. Paul looked at me like I was crazy, but I didn't care. I knew the truth. Whatever that that thing was, it wasn't going to stop, it wasn't going to leave us alone, and it wasn't going to let us go. When I think back to that summer, I can still feel the weight of the forest pressing down on me, the thick, humid air carrying a silence that didn't feel right. My uncle's cabin

sat miles away from anything resembling civilization, tucked deep into the woods where the trees grew too close together, and the dirt road in was more crater than path. It wasn't the kind of place you found yourself accidentally. You had to want to be there, or, in my case, have no choice. It was the first time my cousin Alex had come to stay with us. He was older than us, tall and confident in a way that felt reassuring back then. He had this way of making everything seem like an adventure, even if it was just lugging water from the creek or chopping firewood. My siblings, Noah and Emily, adored him, and I followed suit, trusting him completely. the way only a kid can. We spent most of our days playing games in the woods,

hide and seek, tag, whatever Alex dreamed up. But there was an unspoken rule. We didn't go past the big hollow tree. The tree stood like a sentinel at the edge of a small clearing. Its trunk wide enough for all of us to hide behind at once. Its bark was scarred with deep grooves that looked too deliberate to be natural, like someone, or something, had clawed at it over the years. Alex told us it marked the property line, and we weren't supposed to go beyond it. He said it was because of the steep ravine on the other side, but even then, I could tell there was something he wasn't saying. That evening started like all the others. The sun was sinking low, turning the sky a dusky orange, and the woods were alive with the hum of cicadas.

Alex suggested we play hide-and-seek, and as always, I was the seeker. I didn't mind. I liked the chase, the thrill of finding someone crouched behind a tree or tucked into a hollowed out log. But as I counted to twenty with my eyes squeezed shut, I felt the first prickle of unease. The forest had gone quiet, too quiet. The cicadas had stopped their droning, and even the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze had faded. It was just me and the sound of my own breathing. I shook it off, chalking it up to the nerves that always came with being alone in the woods. When I finished counting, I opened my eyes and called out. Ready or not, here I come.

My voice sounded too loud, bouncing off the trees in a way that made me shiver. The game started like normal. I found Noah first, his sneakers sticking out from under a bush. Emily was trickier, tucked into the shallow dip of an old tree root. That left Alex. He was always the hardest to find, and I figured he'd gone deeper into the woods than the rest of us dared. Alex, I called, peering around tree trunks and kicking at piles of leaves. The sun had almost disappeared, casting long shadows across the ground.

The hollow tree loomed up ahead, its gnarled branches stretching like skeletal arms. I hesitated, remembering Alex's rule. But then I heard it, a faint rustling, like someone shifting behind the tree. Gotcha, I said, circling around. But when I reached the other side, there was no one there. The forest felt heavier now, the silence, oppressive. I turned to head back toward the clearing when I saw him. Alex was standing just beyond the hollow tree, his back to me.

He wasn't moving, just standing there. His head tilted to one side as if he were listening to something I couldn't hear. Alex! I called again, louder this time. He didn't respond. My stomach tightened. There was something off about the way he was standing, too rigid, too still. I took a hesitant step forward, and that's when he turned.

His face wasn't right. The shadows distorted his features, but his smile was what froze me in place. It stretched too wide, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. His eyes, there was something wrong with his eyes. They didn't look like Alex's. They didn't even look human. Alex, I whispered, my voice barely audible. He took a step toward me, his movements stiff and jerky,

like a puppet being yanked by invisible strings. I didn't wait to see what he would do next. I bolted back toward the cabin, my heart hammering in my chest. Branches whipped at my face, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath me. I heard footsteps behind me, too fast, too heavy to be mine. When I burst into the clearing, Noah and Emily were already there. Their faces pale. Did you see him?

I gasped, barely able to get the words out. They both nodded, their eyes wide. He smiled at me, Emily said, her voice trembling, but it wasn't him. We didn't stop running until we reached the cabin. The door slammed shut behind us, and we shoved the old wooden table in front of it for good measure. It wasn't until we turned around that we saw Alex, the real Alex, standing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes. What's going on? He asked his voice groggy.

We stared at him, too stunned to speak. Finally, I managed to choke out. We... We saw you. In the woods. His face changed then. The color drained from it. And his eyes darted to the windows.

Lock everything, he said. His voice low and urgent. Don't make a sound. We did as he said, but I couldn't stop shaking. Outside the forest was quiet again. But it didn't feel right. It felt like something was out there. Alex didn't say anything as we scrambled to lock the doors and windows.

But the tension in his movements told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't a game. And whatever we'd seen wasn't something we could explain away. His hand trembled as he bolted the last window, the sound of the lock snapping into place, echoing in the oppressive silence. The cabin felt like a flimsy box made of twigs, and outside, the woods pressed against it, dark and heavy.

Noah, Emily and I huddled in the living room while Alex paced, gripping the old rifle he kept behind the door. He muttered under his breath, too low for us to hear, but his face gave him away. He was scared. Alex, the unshakable, was scared. What did you see out there? I finally asked. My voice barely louder than a whisper.

I wasn't sure I wanted the answer. Alex stopped pacing, his eyes darting to the window. He glanced at me, then at Emily and Noah, and shook his head. It's nothing. he said, but his tone wasn't convincing, probably just some animal messing around. It wasn't an animal, Emily said, her voice trembling. It was you, out there, but it wasn't you. Alex's jaw tightened and he looked away. Stay inside, don't open the door for anything. Got it? Before we could protest, he turned and stepped out onto the porch, slamming the door behind him.

We all froze, listening to the heavy thud of his boots as he moved down the step. Through the window I could just barely make out his silhouette disappearing into the trees, the rifle slung over his shoulder. For a long time none of us spoke. The cabin creaked around us, the old wood groaning as if under some invisible weight. The silence outside was absolute, and that was the worst part. No wind, no insects, no night birds, just stillness. And then we heard it.

A scream tore through the night raw and guttural, a sound that didn't belong to anything natural. It wasn't Alex. It couldn't have been Alex. It was too deep, too twisted, like the sound of metal scraping against stone. It sent a shiver down my spine, and Emily grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. What was that? Noah whispered. His voice barely audible. None of us had an answer. We stared at the door, half expecting it to burst open, but nothing happened. Minutes stretched into what felt like ours. I started to think Alex wasn't coming back. Maybe whatever was out there had gotten him. And then, suddenly, the door slammed open.

Alex stumbled inside, slamming it shut and bolting it behind him. His face was pale, his shirt torn, and there was a scratch running down his arm, the blood dark against his skin. He leaned against the door, breathing heavily, his eyes darting around the room, like he was still looking for something. What happened? I asked. My voice shaking. He didn't answer right away. He moved to the window peering out into the darkness.

It's gone, he finally said, though he didn't sound convinced. He turned back to us, his face grim. Everyone stays together. No one goes near the windows, and no one goes outside. Got it. What's out there? Emily asked, tears streaming down her face. Alex hesitated, his hand tightening on the rifle. I don't know, he admitted. but it's not human. The room fell into an uneasy silence. I wanted to ask more, but something in Alex's expression stopped me.

Instead, we sat together in the corner of the room. The three of us pressed against each other while Alex kept watch. As the hours dragged on, the oppressive silence returned. But it didn't feel empty. It felt, full, like something was out there,

circling the cabin, waiting. Every so often, Often I thought I heard faint whispers, too low to make out but just loud enough to set my teeth on edge. And then, as if the forest itself decided to exhale, the whispers grew louder. At first they sounded like the wind, brushing against the cabin walls. But then they became voices, familiar voices. Emily, a voice called, soft and coaxing. It sounded like my mother.

Come outside, sweetheart, it's okay. Emily stiffened her eyes wide. That's not... It's not her, she whispered, clutching my arm. Then another voice joined in. Noah, it said, and I recognized it immediately. It was Alex's voice, but Alex was right here, sitting in front of us, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles were white.

The whispers grew louder, overlapping and chaotic. They called our names, each voice more convincing than the last. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they seeped into my head like a bad dream I couldn't wake from. Don't listen to it, Alex said, his voice sharp and commanding. Whatever it is, it's trying to get inside. Don't open that door. The voices persisted for hours, clawing at our resolve, until finally they stopped. The silence returned, heavier than before, and the cabin felt like it was suffocating under its weight. I didn't know how much time had passed, minutes, hours, days.

All I knew was that I didn't feel safe anymore, not even with Alex there. As the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the shutters, Alex lowered his rifle. It's gone, he said, though he didn't sound convinced. We didn't argue. We were too tired, too scared. But as the sunlight stretched across the floor, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still out there, just beyond the tree line, waiting for the darkness to return. Dawn felt like a fragile reprieve, the weak sunlight spilling through the gaps in the shutters

doing little to chase away the fear that clung to us. Alex hadn't said a word since declaring it was gone. He just sat there, staring at the rifle across his knees, like it was the only thing keeping whatever was out there at bay. None of us wanted to stay in the cabin, but the thought of leaving felt even worse. The woods outside were too still, too quiet, as though the trees themselves were holding a secret we weren't meant to know. Even the birds, usually so lively at dawn, were silent.

It wasn't until Alex stood up, stiff and pale, that any of us moved. We need to leave, he said, his voice flat. Pack up whatever you can carry. We're heading out as soon as the sun's high enough. I wanted to believe we'd actually make it out of there, but the tension in Alex's voice made my stomach churn. Something about the way he avoided looking at us made it clear he wasn't convinced we'd make it either. We scrambled to gather our things, moving quickly, speaking in whispers.

Noah was digging through the kitchen drawers when Alex froze by the door. He patted his pockets, then his face twisted in panic. The keys, he muttered. I had them last night. We all froze staring at him. You had them when you went outside, Emily said softly. Alex didn't respond. His silence said everything.

The keys were gone, and that meant one of two things. They were somewhere in the cabin, or they were out there. Alex didn't hesitate. Stay here, he said, grabbing the rifle. Lock the door behind me. If I'm not back in an hour, you're not going out there. Emily cut him off, her voice trembling. You don't know what's waiting for you.

I know exactly what's out there. Alex snapped. He softened almost immediately, his shoulders sagging. That's why I have to go. You can't. Before we could stop him, he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. The door clicked shut behind him, and we locked it, standing there in stunned silence. We waited. Minutes turned into an hour. The sunlight crept higher into the room, but it didn't bring the warmth or safety we hoped for. the quiet outside pressed against the cabin walls like a physical weight. I tried to listen for Alex's footsteps, his voice, anything, but there was nothing. Just the maddening stillness. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

He's been gone too long, I said. What if he's hurt? What if I couldn't bring myself to finish the thought? Emily and Noah exchanged nervous glances, but neither of them argued. grabbing a flashlight in one of the kitchen knives, I opened the door, my siblings trailing behind me. The morning light felt weak, as though the forest itself was trying to dim it. The shadows between the trees were long and thick, swallowing the ground beneath them. We followed Alex's tracks into the woods, moving as quietly as we could.

The path led toward the hollow tree. I didn't want to go near it, but there was nowhere else to look. As we drew closer, the air grew up. colder and the sunlight seemed to dim even further. When we reached the hollow, we found his rifle lying on the ground. The wood scratched and splintered. There were no signs of Alex, just the overwhelming feeling that we were being watched. I then saw it. Something moved within the hollow tree, a pale, humanoid figure crouched just inside the shadows. At first it was still, its form blending almost seamlessly with the bark. But then it turned its head, and my breath caught in my

throat. Its face wasn't a face at all. It was a grotesque parody of one, like it had studied human features but gotten everything slightly wrong. Its eyes were too wide, its mouth stretched far too much, and its skin looked like it had been stretched over something that didn't quite fit. Alex, it said in his voice. Emily screamed, and the thing moved. It unfolded itself from the hollow, its limbs long and spindly, bending in ways that made my stomach churn. It moved. It moved with terrifying speed, jerking toward us as if its body couldn't decide how to function. Run! I shouted, grabbing Emily's hand and yanking her away. Noah was already ahead of us crashing through the underbrush.

Behind us, the thing let out a sound, a horrible, guttural shriek that vibrated in my chest and made my ears ring. We ran without looking back, branches clawing at our faces and legs. The cabin came into view, but the thing was faster. I could hear it. Its footsteps too heavy, too loud. It was close, so close. We burst through the cabin door, slamming it shut and throwing every piece of furniture we could find against it.

The thing hit the door with a force that shook the entire cabin, and for a moment I thought it would break through. But then, it stopped. We waited, holding our breath, as the whispers began again. They were louder this time, more insistent. They called our names, mimicking Alex's voice. my mothers, even my own. I clamped my hands over my ears, but it didn't help. The voices weren't just outside. They were in my head, burrowing deep and pulling at something primal. The whispers stopped abruptly as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the shutters. The oppressive weight

in the air lifted, and for the first time, I felt like I could breathe. But Alex didn't come back. We left the cabin later that morning, never looking back. Whatever had happened in those woods. Whatever had taken Alex, stayed there, but I can't forget the thing's face, or its voice, calling out to me in the dark. Even now, years later, I wonder if it's still there, waiting for someone foolish enough to wander too close to the hollow. It started like any other hunting trip, but by the end of the day, I wished I'd stayed home. I parked my truck on the side of an old logging road, a good ten miles from the nearest paved highway, the kind of place where even the winds seems to think twice before passing through. The forest here always felt older, like it had

seen things no one was meant to see. But I shook it off. I wasn't the superstitious type. This area was a hunter's dream, rugged, remote, and untouched. No weekend hikers or noisy dirt bikers to scare off game. I'd been out here more times than I could count, and knew the trails like the back of my hand. But even seasoned hunters can't ignore the weight of silence when it falls too hard, too sudden. The first mile into the woods went smoothly enough. The trail was overgrown in places, thick with brambles and roots that seemed to claw at my boots. Above me, the canopy blocked out most of the afternoon sun, leaving the woods bathed in a dim, greenish light. I'd chosen this spot because I'd seen fresh buck tracks the week before. Big ones. But today,

the woods felt different i told myself it was just the weather the air was heavy damp and oddly still usually you'd hear birds flitting between branches squirrels arguing over acorns maybe the distant howl of a coyote if you were lucky not today today the woods held their breath after about an hour i reached the clearing i'd scouted earlier it was a perfect setup a small meadow surrounded by dense underbrush if anything crossed through I'd have a clear shot from my blind. I climbed up into the tree stand I'd rigged last season, settling in for the evening. The sun was just beginning to dip below the tree line, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Prime time for deer. For a while, I let the piece of the woods wash over me.

Hunting isn't just about pulling the trigger, it's about sitting still, blending in, and letting the forest forget you're there. But the piece didn't last long. The first scream cut through the quiet like a blade. High-pitched and ragged, it sent a jolt through my chest. A rabbit, I thought. Probably a hawk or a fox got hold of it.

But the sound didn't stop. It just kept going. A horrible, gut-wrenching wail that made my skin crawl. If you've ever heard a rabbit scream, you know it's not a sound you forget. But this was worse, longer, louder, and more desperate. It echoed through the tree. making it impossible to tell where it was coming from. I tightened my grip on my rifle, scanning the underbrush.

The scream rose and fell in waves, each one more piercing than the last. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. It pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, like the whole forest was waiting for something. I adjusted my scope and scanned the clearing, my heart. heart pounding. That's when I saw it. At first I thought it was a deer, a pale shape moving low to the ground, weaving through the thicket about 30 yards away, but something about the way it moved was wrong. Its limbs jerked awkwardly, like it didn't quite understand how to walk.

I squinted through the scope, trying to make out details, but the undergrowth was too thick. It vanished behind a tree, and I held my breath, waiting for it to reappear. It didn't. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched across the clearing. I should have felt relieved when the pale shape disappeared, but instead, a cold knot formed in my stomach. Something wasn't right. I stayed perfectly still, listening, but all I heard was my own breathing. Then it came, a voice, soft at first, barely more than a whisper. Help, help, help. The words floated through the tree. flat and emotionless, like someone reading them off a script, not a plea, not a cry for

assistance, just a statement repeated over and over. It wasn't the kind of voice you'd expect to hear in the woods. It sounded human, but there was no fluctuation, no urgency, just a cold, robotic monotone. I froze, every instinct screaming at me to stay still. The voice came from where the pale figure had disappeared, repeating the same word, over and over. like a broken record. Help! Help! Help!

I didn't move, didn't blink. It said the word 15 times. Yes, I counted. Then it stopped, leaving the wood so silent I could hear my own heartbeat. A sharp crack broke the stillness, loud as a gunshot, a branch snapping underfoot. The sound was followed by an explosion of motion. Birds bursting from the trees, squirrels skittering up trunks,

a herd of deer crashing through the brush like a herd of deer through the brush like something was chasing them. And then, nothing, no footsteps, no voice, no sound at all, just the weight of the silence pressing down on me again. I sat there, frozen, my rifle clutched so tightly my knuckles ached. The clearing was empty, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I knew I had to get out of there, but leaving the safety of the tree stand felt like stepping into a trap.

The forest was dark now, the last traces of sunlight swallowed by the thick canopy. My flashlight was back in the truck, along with my sense of security. All I had was the moonlight filtering through the branches, casting twisted shadows across the ground. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I didn't know what I'd just witnessed, but I knew one thing for certain. I wasn't alone out here. I don't scare easy.

I've faced charging elk, had bears sniffing too close for comfort, even gotten lost in a blizzard once. But this. This was something different, something my gut couldn't categorize, couldn't prepare me for, and that made it worse. I stayed in the tree stand longer than I should have, trying to convince myself I'd misheard the voice. Maybe it was a prank, some idiot messing around, or maybe my own mind, straining against the quiet, had imagined it. I wanted to believe that, but the way the animals had bolted, the way the wood, seemed to hold their breath, it told me otherwise. My fingers ached from gripping the rifle too tightly. I forced them to relax, took a deep breath, and told myself it was time to move. Sitting

in the stand was only delaying the inevitable, I couldn't stay up there all night. The path back to the truck wasn't long, but in the dark, it might as well have been a hundred miles. The first step down from the stand felt wrong, like I was breaking some unspoken rule. My boots hit the soft dirt, and the forest swallowed the sound like it didn't belong. Every muscle in my body screamed to climb back up, but I ignored it. Survival meant moving, not waiting. The clearing was empty, bathed in faint moonlight that turned every branch and shadow into a potential threat. I stayed low, rifle at the ready, and made my way to the trail. It wasn't much, a narrow strip of dirt winding through the underbrush, but it was my lifeline. I hadn't gone more than 20 yards when I heard it

again, footsteps. They were faint, just behind me, crunching the dry leaves. I stopped dead in my tracks, holding my breath. The sound stopped too, I waited, listening so hard my ears ached. The woods were too quiet, no wind, no insects, just the soft rustle of something or someone waiting. I forced myself forward, keeping my pace steady. Whatever it was, it wasn't rushing me. Yet. The trail felt narrower than it had on the way in, like the forest had grown overnight.

Branches reached out, snagging at my sleeves, my pack, slowing me down. I swore under my breath as I stumbled over a route that hadn't been there before. Then the footsteps started again. This time they were louder, closer. I spun around, rifle raised, scanning the shadows. The moonlight played tricks on my eyes, turning tree trunks into figures, branches into arms.

I knew better than to panic, but my hands were sweating, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. Who's there? My voice was steady, louder than I expected. Nothing. Just the whisper of leaves in the breeze that hadn't existed a second ago, then faint and far too calm, I heard it again. over here. Please, over here. The voice was closer now, and it sounded, wrong, too flat,

too deliberate, like someone mimicking human speech, but missing the part where it feels real. I didn't wait to hear more. I turned and started moving faster, almost running. The footsteps matched my pace, crunching and snapping just far enough behind to keep me guessing. The trail twisted and turned, each bend feeling like it led deeper into a trap. My flashlight would have helped, but it was back in the truck, clipped to my hat, the one I'd lost earlier. The moonlight was all I had and it wasn't enough. I risked a glance over my shoulder.

That's when I saw it. Just for a second, barely more than a flash, something pale, hunched, and impossibly thin darted between the trees. Its movements were jerky, like a puppet with tangled strings, and its eyes, God its eyes. like an animal's in the dark, but bigger. I didn't stop to get a better look. My instincts screamed at me to move, to get out of the woods before whatever that thing was decided to get closer. The trail ahead was nothing but shadows and shifting shapes. I stumbled again, my boot catching on another route. This time, I went down hard, landing on my side with the rifle clattering out

of my hands. For a second I just lay there, gasping for breath. The footsteps stopped. I scrambled to grab my rifle, rolling onto my back to face whatever was coming. But the trail was empty, or so I thought. The sound of breathing reached me first, low and raspy, like it was struggling to pull air through a broken throat. I aimed the rifle at the sound, my finger hovering over the trigger. My hands were shaking so badly I wasn't sure I could hit anything if it came at me. The breathing grew louder, closer. Then it stopped.

Silence. I didn't wait to find out what was. lurking in that silence. I forced myself up and started running. Branches clawed at my face, my pack, my legs. My lungs burned, my heart threatening to explode. The footsteps returned, crashing through the underbrush now, matching my frantic pace. When I finally burst out onto the gravel road, it felt like coming up for air after being underwater too long. But the feeling of safety was fleeting. The forest behind me was still, too still. I did I didn't dare look back as I ran to my truck.

I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling so badly it took three tries to unlock the door. I threw myself inside, locking the doors and starting the engine in one motion. As I reversed onto the road, I risked a glance in the rearview mirror. It was there, standing just at the edge of the tree line. Pale, hunched, watching. I floored it, gravel spitting from my tires as I tore down the road. I didn't stop until I was miles away, and even then I couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed me, and I'll be damned if I ever go back to those woods again.

The woods were always quiet, but that night they felt weirdly quiet. I don't know how to explain it exactly, like the forest itself was waiting for something. My boots crunched over the dirt trail as Ryan and I moved deeper into the southern quadrant of Black Ridge. It was supposed to be a routine patrol. nothing about this job ever felt routine anymore. Ryan was new, fresh out of training, full of questions and energy, practically bouncing as he walked beside me. This place is amazing, he said, gesturing at the endless expanse of trees.

I don't get why people say it's creepy. I didn't answer right away. How could I explain the feeling that had been gnawing at me for weeks? The forest didn't just feel creepy. It felt alive, watching. And with all the disappearances lately, I didn't trust it. You'll see, I said finally. It wasn't much of an answer, but I wasn't about to dump my paranoia on him.

The sun was starting to dip below the tree line, casting long shadows that stretched across the trail like claws. I checked my watch. 6.45 p.m. Sundown wasn't far off, and the rules were clear. we were supposed to be back at the station before dark. No exceptions. I quickened my pace, but Ryan lingered behind, staring at something on the ground. What is it? I called back. Not sure, he replied crouching. Looks like, blood? I froze. Sure enough, there was a dark stain on the trail, fresh. My stomach turned as I stepped closer, scanning the area. It could be an animal,

I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Ryan didn't respond. His attention had shifted to the woods on our right. His brow furrowed. Hey, do you see that? He asked, pointing. At first I didn't see anything, just trees and shadows, but then, there, a figure, small, motionless. My breath caught.

It looked like a kid, maybe eight or nine, standing just at the edge of the trees. What the hell? I muttered. Kids weren't supposed to be out here. No one was, not this late. I'll check it out, Ryan said, already stepping off the trail. Wait, I snapped, grabbing his arm. You don't just walk into the woods after some random. It's a kid, Chris.

He cut me off, shaking me loose. What if they're lost? Something about the way the child stood there, so still, sent a chill down my spine. But before I could stop him, Ryan was gone, flashlight bouncing as he pushed through the underbrush. Ryan, I called after him. We don't have time for this. We need to head back. Now. No answer. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant snap of a branch. I stayed where I was, my hand hovering near my radio. Protocol said we weren't

supposed to leave the trail. Whatever this was, it didn't feel right. Minutes passed. The forest seemed to grow darker, the trees closing in around me. I glanced at my watch again. 7.05 p.m. My gut churned. Ryan should have been back by now. I grabbed my radio. Ryan, where are you? Do you copy? Static. I tried again. My voice more urgent. Ryan, answer me. We need to get out of here. For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of static. Then faintly, his voice came through. Chris, I think I... Found. The transmission cut off abruptly. My pulse quickened. Ryan, Repeat that. What did you find? No response. Just silence. Heavy. Suffocating silence. Screw the rules. I wasn't leaving him out there. I drew my flashlight and stepped off the trail, following the direction Ryan had gone. The underbrush was thick, branches snagging at my jacket

as I pushed forward. Every step felt wrong, like the forest didn't want me there. Ryan! I shouted, my voice echoing. Answer me. Nothing. And then footsteps. Light, quick, moving just ahead of me. Relief flooded my chest. Ryan, is that you?

The footsteps stopped. I froze. The beam of my flashlight shaking as I scanned the trees. Ryan? My voice cracked. A faint whisper answered. My name. Chris.

It didn't sound like Ryan. It sounded off. like someone else was trying to mimic his voice. My heart pounded as I swung the flashlight around, the beam cutting through the darkness. Shadows shifted, trees loomed, but there was no one there. Ryan! I shouted again, desperation creeping in. If this is a joke, it's not funny.

Something rustled to my left. I spun toward the sound, flashlight trembling in my grip. My stomach dropped. There, caught in the beam, was Ryan's radio. It lay on the ground, cracked and smeared with blood. I backed away my breaths coming fast and shallow. This wasn't right. Something had happened to him.

Something bad. I then saw it. Movement. A figure, small and hunched, darting between the trees. It wasn't Ryan. It wasn't even human. I turned and ran, branches whipping at my face, roots clawing at my boots. The voices followed me, faint and mocking.

Chris, come back. By the time I broke through the tree line and stumbled onto the main trail, my lungs burned and my legs felt like jelly. I didn't stop running until the ranger station came into view, its floodlights piercing the darkness. I burst inside, slamming the door behind me. The other rangers looked up, startled. Where's Ryan? Someone asked. I couldn't answer. All I could do was shake my head, my mind replaying those voices, that figure in the woods.

Later that night they asked me to file a report. I told them everything, but they didn't seem surprised. They just nodded like they'd heard it all before. The next day, Ryan's name was quietly removed from the roster. No explanation. No investigation. Just... nothing. And that's when I realized, whatever's out there in the forest, it doesn't leave survivors. The next morning, Lena arrived without much of an introduction.

She was sharp-eyed, older than me by a couple of years, and her posture screamed authority. It was clear from the start that Lena wasn't here to make friends. Not that I wanted to talk. After what happened to Ryan, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that kid in the red hoodie, or whatever it was, standing just beyond the tree line. Chris, Lena said curtly as we prep the Jeep for patrol. Here's how this works.

You follow my lead, no questions. We stick to the trails. We don't split up. And if you hear something, anything, you ignore it, understood. Yeah, I muttered, pretending to focus on the map in my hands. She didn't seem satisfied. I'm serious. No wandering off.

No heroics. You do exactly what I say. Or you'll end up like your rookie friend. Her words hit like a punch to the gut. What do you mean by that? I demanded. Lena didn't look at me. She grabbed the thermal camera from the equipment locker and tossed it into the Jeep.

People go missing out here, she said. That's all you need to know. It wasn't all I needed to know, not by a long shot, but something in her tone made me shut up. The air was heavier that day, the kind of damp heat that made every breath feel sticky. As we drove deeper into the northern quadrant, the forest thickened, the trees towering like sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. Even in daylight the place felt oppressive. Shadows pooled beneath the canopy,

and the faint hum of cicadas did little to drown out the feeling of being watched. Lena barely spoke as she navigated the Jeep down the overgrown trail. Her eyes constantly scanned the trees, her hand hovering near her rifle. I tried to focus on the map, but my mind kept drifting back to Ryan. What had he seen before he disappeared? What had taken him? We're close, Lena said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. Close to what?

There was a report of an abandoned campsite near here. We're going to check it out. I didn't like the sound of that. The last abandoned campsite I'd seen had bloodstains and shredded gear, and I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. But Lena didn't wait for my input. She stopped the Jeep, grabbed the thermal camera, and gestured for me to follow. The campsite was a mess.

Torn tents lay crumpled on the ground, their fabric stained and shredded. A charred fire pit sat at the center, surrounded by scattered belongings, a backpack, a child stuffed animal, a pair of broken glasses. My stomach twisted. Animal attack? I asked, though I already knew the answer. Lena didn't respond. She knelt beside the fire pit, running her fingers over the claw marks gouged into the dirt. Then she pulled out the thermal camera and scanned the,

the area. What are you looking for? I pressed, trying to keep my voice steady. She didn't answer right away. Then she stopped, her body going rigid. There, she said, her voice low, she handed me the camera. I hesitated before looking. The screen flickered with faint static. I then saw it, a figure standing just beyond the edge of the clearing. It was humanoid, but wrong. The shape was too tall, too thin, and cold as death on the thermal display. What is that? I whispered. Trouble, Lena said, taking the camera back. We're leaving. Now. Back in the Jeep, Lena's mood had shifted from stern to outright hostile.

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her eyes darting to the mirrors, as if she expected something to be following us. I didn't have to ask if she saw it, too. The answer was written all over her face. Okay, seriously, I said, breaking the tense silence. What's going on out here? What was that thing? It's not your concern, she snapped. The hell it's not.

I saw it. I saw what it did to Ryan. Lena's jaw tightened. You don't know what you saw. Then tell me, I shouted. Because whatever's out here, it's not just animals or bad luck. People are dying, Lena. And you know why, don't you?

She didn't answer. The only sound was the crunch of tires on gravel as we sped back toward the station. We were halfway there when the forest came alive. It started with the sound of branches snapping, followed by something crashing through the underbrush. Lena slammed on the brakes, and we both grabbed our rifles. The Jeep's headlights illuminated the trail ahead, but nothing moved.

Just the swaying of trees in the breeze. Stay here, Lena ordered, stepping out of the vehicle. Like hell I will, I muttered, following her. My hands shook as I held my rifle, scanning the darkness for movement. The forest was too quiet now, the air thick with tension. I heard it, a low, guttural growl coming from the left. Lena heard it too. She raised her rifle, her finger on the trigger.

Don't move, she whispered. The growl grew louder, closer. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to pinpoint the source. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw them. eyes, reflective, glowing, staring at us from the tree line. Not one pair, but many. Back to the Jeep, Lena said, her voice barely audible. Slowly. We moved in unison, stepping backward toward the vehicle. The eyes didn't blink, didn't flinch. They just watched, and then they moved. The figures emerged from the shadows, their shapes flickering in and out

of the light. Pale elongated bodies with limbs that bent the wrong way. Their move jerky and unnatural. I froze, my brain struggling to comprehend what I was seeing. Chris, move, Lena barked. The creatures darted toward us faster than anything I'd ever seen. I fired wildly, the sound of gunfire deafening in the confined space of the forest. One of the creatures fell, its body twisting unnaturally as it hit the ground. But the others kept coming. Lena grabbed me, dragging me toward the jeep as I continued firing. We barely made it inside, slamming the doors just as the creatures clawed at the windows. Their faces, if you could call them that, were pressed against the glass, pale and featureless,

except for those glowing eyes. Lena floored the gas, and the Jeep lurched forward, the creatures chasing us down the trail. I didn't stop shooting until the headlights illuminated the ranger station in the distance. The creatures stopped abruptly, retreating into the shadows as if the light repelled them. We skidded to a stop outside the station. Lena turned off the engine and sat there, gripping the wheel so tightly her hands shook. What the hell were those things? I asked.

My voice barely more than a whisper. Lena didn't answer. She just looked at me, her expression cold and distant. That's why you don't ask questions. That night I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those glowing eyes staring back at me. Whatever was out there, it wasn't human. We left before dawn, just as the fog began to curl through the trees like pale fingers.

Lena didn't say much as we loaded the Jeep. Her face set like stone. I'd stopped trying to get answers from her. Whatever was going on out here, she knew it, but getting her to talk was like prying open a steel trap. Still, the silence weighed on me. I was on edge, hyper aware of every sound, every shift in the shadows. I couldn't stop thinking about the night before. The creatures, their glowing eyes, the way they moved.

No animal I knew moved like that. No animal should. We'll patrol the northern sector, Lena said finally. Her voice sharp and clipped. Keep your weapon close and your head on straight. If something happens, follow my lead. Got it? Got it?

I muttered, not like I had much of a choice. The northern sector was a nightmare. The trees were denser here. the canopy so thick it blocked out the rising sun. The jeep's headlights struggled to pierce the gloom, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and writhe like they were alive. Lena drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her rifle.

Her eyes never stopped scanning the trees. I gripped my own rifle tightly, my palms slick with sweat. Why the northern sector, I asked, breaking the silence. There's been activity up here, Lena said without looking at me. Campers heard voices, things moving in the night. Voices, I repeated my stomach tightening. Like Ryan's? She shot me a glance, her expression unreadable. Just stay focused. Halfway through the patrol, the Jeep stalled. The engine sputtered

once, then died, leaving us stranded in the middle of the forest. I could feel my pulse quicken as Lena cursed under her breath and popped the hood. Stay in the Jeep, she ordered, stepping out. I didn't argue. I watched her through the windshield as she fiddled with the engine. Her movements quick and efficient. But something felt wrong. The forest was too quiet. No birds, no insects. Just silence. Then from the radio, a faint crackle. I grabbed it, my hands trembling. Lena, the radio. Before I could finish, a voice came through, soft, distant, but unmistakable. Help me. My blood turned to ice.

It was Ryan. Lena, I shouted, panic creeping into my voice. It's him, it's Ryan. Lena's head snapped up. Turn it off, she barked, slamming the hood shut and climbing back into the Jeep. Now, but turn it off, she shouted. I fumbled with the radio, my fingers clumsy with fear. The static hissed and popped.

Ryan's voice breaking through again, more urgent this time. Chris, I'm here. Please. I shut it off. My heart pounding. Lina didn't say anything as she tried the engine again. It roared to life, but I barely felt the relief. My mind was spinning, torn between terror and guilt. What if it really was him? We drove in silence, the tension between us thick enough to cut. The forest seemed darker now. The trees pressing closer, their branches scraping against the jeep like nails on a chalkboard. I kept glancing at the thermal camera in my lap, half hoping, half dreading that I'd see something. And then I did. Lena, I said, my voice barely a whisper. Stop the Jeep. She hit the brakes, her eyes narrowing as she turned to me. What is it?

I held up the thermal camera, my hands shaking. On the screen was a figure, human-shaped but cold. It stood motionless about 50 yards ahead, just off the trail. Lena grabbed the camera, her jaw tightening. Damn it, she muttered. She turned off the headlights, plunging us into near total darkness. Grab your rifle. Stay close.

We moved quietly, our boots crunching on the gravel as we approached the spot where I'd seen the figure. The darkness was suffocating, the only light coming from the weak beam of Lena's flashlight. My grip on the rifle was so tight it hurt. The figure was gone, but the air felt heavy, charged with something I couldn't explain. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run. But Lena pressed forward, her movements deliberate. And we heard it. A low, guttural growl, followed by the sound of branches snapping.

I swung the flashlight around, the beam trembling as it cut through the trees. The growl came again, closer this time. Lena, I whispered my voice shaking. What is that? She didn't answer. Instead, she raised her rifle. Her eyes fixed on something ahead. I followed her gaze and froze.

There were eyes. Dozens of them, glowing faintly in the darkness. They blinked in unison, and my stomach turned. Back to the Jeep, Lena said, her voice low and steady. Now. We moved slowly at first, trying not to provoke whatever was out there. But the eyes didn't stay still. They moved closer, and with them came the sound of footsteps,

hundreds of them all around us circling, closing in. Lena didn't wait. She turned and ran, and I followed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. The footsteps were deafening now, the growls turning into a cacophony of screeches and howls. I didn't dare look back. We reached the jeep and scrambled inside, slamming the doors just as the creatures burst from the trees. Pale twisted forms with two long limbs and faces that were almost human but not. One of them lunged at the windshield, its jagged teeth scraping. against the glass. I fired through the window, the sound of the gunshot deafening in the enclosed space. Drive, I shouted, but Lena was already flooring the gas. The jeep lurched forward, throwing the

creatures off as we sped down the trail. They gave chase, their movements unnaturally fast, their bodies flickering in and out of view. Don't stop, Lena said through gritted teeth, her hands tight on the wheel. No matter what, don't stop. The creatures find finally stopped chasing us as we approached the station. I don't know why. Maybe the floodlights scared them off, but I didn't care. We stumbled out of the Jeep, battered and shaken, but alive. Inside the station was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Carter, the Ranger on shift, was gone. His gear was still there, his radio crackling faintly on the desk. But there was no sign of him. "'Lina,' I started, but she cut me off.

"'We're locking down,' she said, her voice cold and final. "'No one leaves this building until sunrise. "'I nodded, too shaken to argue, "'but as I sat in the corner of the room, clutching my rifle, it wasn't over. "'The voices were still there, faint and distant, just at the edge of my hearing. "'Christ,' they called. "'Come back.' "'And somewhere in the darkness they were waiting.

The next morning, we staggered into the sunlight like survivors of a war. The forest behind us loomed dark and silent, but I could still feel its presence. Hungry. We didn't speak as we climbed into the battered jeep, Lena's hands trembling as she gripped the wheel. The road out felt endless. When the trees finally thinned and the small ranger station gave way to the open highway, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I turned to Lena, her first.

face pale and drawn. Her eyes locked on the road ahead. Never again, I muttered, more to myself than to her. She nodded once, her lips pressed into a tight line. We didn't look back. We couldn't. Because if we did, we both knew we might never leave. We are never going into those woods again. I stepped out of the house, Roscoe's leash tight in my grip, and immediately noticed how quiet it was. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels wrong, like the world's holding its breath. Normally, even in this sleepy town, you'd hear something, a car in the distance, the buzz of a street lamp, maybe a dog barking. But tonight, it was just me, Roscoe, and the sound of his nails clicking against the pavement. Roscoe, my big brindled pit bull trotted ahead, his ears perked and nose twitching. He was in his

element, tail swaying confidently. I tried to match his energy, but something about the air felt heavier than usual, like it was pressing down on me. Still, it was just another walk. I told myself to shake it off. We rounded the corner onto the main road where the forest started to creep closer to the edges of the houses. That's when I saw them, the coyotes, three of them, standing at the edge of the woods where the road curved toward the trailhead. At first I thought they were just passing through. Coyotes aren't uncommon around here, though you usually hear them before you see them. These, though, they were silent. Still. Too still. Rasko noticed them too. His ears pinned back, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. I tightened my grip on the leash.

Easy, buddy, I whispered, my voice barely breaking the silence. The coyotes didn't move, didn't flinch. They just stared, their eyes reflecting the pale glow of the street lamp. Then, almost as if on cue, they started walking, not away, but toward the trail. In every few steps they'd stop and look back at me, not at Roscoe, at me. I laughed nervously. What? You guys giving me a tour now? I muttered, trying to keep my tone light, but the words felt hollow. My feet hesitated, but Roscoe tugged forward, pulling me along. The coyotes disappeared into the shadows, but the feeling they left behind lingered. As we approached the woods, the smell hit me. Rought, thick and sour, like something had been left to fester for weeks. I gagged, covering my mouth

with my free hand. Rasko froze, his fur bristling, his growl turned into a snarl, and he started backing up, something he never did. All right, we're turning back, I said, but my voice shook. I yanked the leash, but Roscoe didn't budge. His eyes were locked on something ahead, something I couldn't see yet, and then I saw it. It wasn't much, just a blur of movement in the trees, pale, fast, and impossibly smooth. It was there, then gone, like a ripple in the darkness. My heart slammed against my ribs. I gripped Roscoe's leash tighter and swallowed hard, telling myself it was nothing, just an animal, a deer maybe. But my gut was screaming at me to leave.

We were almost at the trailhead when the smell got stronger, thick enough to make my eyes water. Roscoe was shaking now, pulling against the leash to go back, but I caught sight of one of the coyotes again. It was crouched low on the opposite side of the road, separated from the woods by a thin stretch of gravel. Its head was tilted, eyes locked on me. It wasn't moving, wasn't even breathing.

Something about the way it crouched made my skin crawl. It didn't look like it should be able to stay in that position for so long. My flashlight cut through the dark, landing square on its face. Its eyes didn't even flicker. I thought about taking a picture, but I didn't want to take my eyes off it. Roscoe started pulling harder, practically dragging me backward. Okay, okay, we're going. I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

I stepped back, then again, never taking my eyes off the coyote. That's when it happened. In the space of a single breath, it was closer, at least 20 feet closer. It hadn't moved. I didn't see it move. But it was there, crouched in the same unnatural pose, its eyes still locked on me. My heart stopped. My flashlight shook in my hand as I fumbled to steady it.

But the beam only made the coyote look more wrong, more unnatural. Let's go, Roscoe, I said, my voice cracking. I didn't wait for him to follow. I turned and started walking fast, almost jogging, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. I glanced back once, just once, and saw the coyote still there, still watching, but now standing upright, silhouetted against the tree line. The walk home felt endless. Every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig made me jump. Roscoe stayed close to my side, his tail tucked, his growls low and constant.

By the time we reached the door, I felt like I was being suffocated by the weight of something unseen. I slammed it shut, locked it, and double-checked every window in the house. That night, Roscoe didn't leave his spot by the front door. He sat there, stiff and alert, growling at shadows I couldn't see. And even though I was safe inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had been out there was still watching, I thought I was losing it. Sitting on the couch, I kept replaying the night in my head. The coyotes, the smell, that thing I'd seen darting through the trees.

My logical brain tried to explain it away. Maybe the coyotes were sick, and the thing in the woods was a deer moving too fast for me to process. But none of it sat right, especially the way that lone coyote had moved or hadn't moved. Roscoe was still planted by the front door, growling every so often at nothing. in particular. I could tell he wasn't going to let up. The tension in the house was thick, pressing on me, suffocating. I needed to get out, even just for a little bit. So I grabbed Pepper's leash and called her over. Pepper, my Jack Russell mix, came bounding up like her usual excitable self, wagging her tail and hopping on her back legs. Her energy was a relief.

Unlike Roscoe, who had clearly sensed something I couldn't, Pepper seemed completely unaware of the weirdness in the air. I told myself her carefree demeanor was a good sign. We headed out into the night. The neighborhood was quiet, and the streetlights buzzed faintly overhead. The stillness that had felt oppressive earlier now felt almost peaceful. I kept to the streets closer to the town center, deliberately avoiding the woods. Pepper trotted along happily, sniffing every mailbox and bush, oblivious to my unease. I even started to relax a little, chatting with my wife on the phone as we walked. I think I just freaked myself out earlier, I said, forcing a laugh. Coyotes are weird sometimes, right? And that smell? Probably just roadkill or something.

My wife humored me, though I could tell she wasn't buying my casual tone. She knew me too well. Just be careful, okay? She said, and don't stay out too long. Yeah, yeah, I replied, waving it off. I didn't want to admit how much her words unsettled me. Pepper and I were only a few blocks. from home and nothing felt off, not yet. We turned down the alley that ran behind my house, a shortcut I'd taken a hundred times before. The alley was narrow, with tall wooden fences on either side and a single streetlight at the far end. The light flickered erratically, casting jittery shadows that made the space feel smaller than it was. Pepper slowed down, her ears flicking back as she sniffed the air. That's when I saw them. At first, I thought

they were people. Two figures standing at the far end of the alley, just beyond the reach of the flickering streetlight. They were tall, easily over six feet, and broad. Their shoulders hunched forward like they were leaning into the wind. But the longer I stared, the more wrong they looked. Their arms were too long, their movements too jerky, like marionettes being yanked along by invisible strings. My stomach dropped. They weren't people. Their skin was pale. almost translucent, stretched taut over bulging muscles. They were hairless, their heads misshapen, and their eyes, God their eyes, hollow dark pits that seem to drink in the faint light, making the shadows around them ripple unnaturally. Pepper froze, her little body trembling

as a low, guttural growl escaped her throat. I'd never heard her make a sound like that before. My feet felt glued to the ground, my mind screaming at me to move. but I couldn't. The figures shifted, their heads tilting in perfect unison as they turned to look directly at me. The way they moved made my skin crawl. Their steps were slow, deliberate, and wrong, like they were mimicking the way humans walked, but didn't quite understand how. The sound of their footsteps echoed unnaturally in the narrow alley, wet and heavy, like flesh slapping against concrete. Pepper, I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. Let's go. But she wouldn't budge. Her growling turned into frantic barking, high-pitched and

desperate, as the figures continued their slow advance. My legs finally obeyed, and I yanked hard on the leash, scooping her up as I stumbled backward. My breath came in ragged gasps. My eyes locked on the figures as they moved closer. One of them stopped under the street-light. its pale skin glowing faintly in the flickering light. It raised a hand, long, spindly fingers, twitching like it was trying to reach for something it couldn't quite grasp. The other figure paused, then turned its head toward the shadows on my left, as if it had heard something.

I followed its gaze and immediately wished I hadn't. A third figure stepped out from the darkness, larger than the other two, its movements smoother, more confident. Its hollow eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me. This one was different. It didn't shuffle or jerk like the others. It moved with purpose. I ran.

I don't remember how I made it back to the house. My legs burned, and my chest felt like it was going to explode. But I didn't stop until I was inside. The door locked and bolted behind me. Pepper squirmed in my arms, still barking furiously as I collapsed onto the floor. Roscoe was on his feet, his growls deep and resonant, his eyes fixed on the windows. I crawled over and shut the curtains, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the fabric. The house felt suffocating, the air heavy with a smell I couldn't quite place.

Damp earth and something metallic, like blood. I sat there on the floor, clutching pepper as Roscoe barked at the door. Outside I could hear faint wet footsteps on the pavement. Slow, deliberate, coming closer. Then they stopped. And the tapping began. I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the tapping, faint but deliberate, like fingernails on glass. Sometimes it was at the windows.

Sometimes it was at the walls. Always in a slow, maddening rhythm. I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but Roscoe's growling and peppers trembling told me otherwise. Whatever was out there wasn't leaving. When dawn finally broke, the tapping stopped. The house fell silent, but the air felt just as heavy, like it was saturated with something unseen. I waited until the light spilled fully into the room

before daring to open the curtains. The yard looked normal at first. The patchy grass, the leaning fence, the lone tree in the corner. It was all exactly as it should be. But then I saw the marks on the door. Deep gouges crisscrossed the wood, the kind you'd expect from claws or a blade. They hadn't been there the night before.

My stomach churned as I stepped outside for a closer look. The air smelled faintly of rot, a stench that made my throat tighten. The ground beneath the windows was disturbed. The dirt scuffed and scattered. At first I thought it was just from animals, but then I noticed the footprints. They were huge, far larger than any animal I'd seen. The shape was all wrong, too. The impressions were wide, with long, clawed toes that dug deep into the earth.

I squatted down, pressing my hand into one of the prints. It dwarfed my palm. My pulse quickened as my gaze landed on something else. Symbols carved into the dirt. They were crude and jagged, like someone had dragged a stick or a claw through the soil. Swirls and lines that didn't make sense but felt deliberate, intentional. I didn't want to look at them any longer. I grabbed Roscoe's leash, muttered something reassuring to myself, and headed for the neighbor's house. If anyone would

know what to make of this, it was old Mr. Larkin. Mr. Larkin had lived in the neighborhood longer than anyone. He was the kind of guy who knew everyone's business, whether you wanted him to or not. When I explained what I'd seen, leaving out the worst of it, of course, his face went pale. You saw them, didn't you? He said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands shook as he set down his coffee mug, the pale ones. I frowned. The what?

They don't come around often, he continued, his eyes darting toward the window. Only in the fall, when the nights get long. They're not animals, not people either, something else, something old. His words didn't make sense, but the fear in his voice was undeniable. He warned me to avoid the. woods and to keep the curtains drawn after dark. And don't let them mark you, he added cryptically. If they do, they'll never stop. I left his house with more questions than answers, my mind racing. Mark me? What did that even mean? I couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on.

Back at home, I grabbed Roscoe's leash and decided to retrace my steps from the night before. It felt reckless, but I needed answers. The alley where I was. I'd seen the creatures look normal in the daylight, though the flickering streetlight at the far end was now shattered. Glass littered the ground, catching the weak sunlight. Rasko was restless, pulling against the leash as we walked. I kept my eyes on the ground, scanning for any sign of the creatures, but all I found were more of those strange symbols, etched into the dirt in long, looping patterns that seemed to lead toward the woods. We didn't make it far. Rossco, froze, growling low in his throat, his body rigid as a board. He wouldn't move, wouldn't even

look at me. His eyes were locked on the shadowy tree line ahead. I followed his gaze but saw nothing, just the dark outlines of trees, their branches swaying in the breeze. Still, I felt it. That oppressive weight in the air, the same feeling I'd had the night before. We turned back. That night, the tapping returned. It started softly. just a faint click, click, click against the window. I stayed in the living room, clutching a kitchen knife like it would do any good. Roscoe sat by the door, growling steadily, while Pepper hid under the couch. The tapping grew louder, more insistent.

I tried to ignore it, tried to tell myself it was just the wind, but then I heard the footsteps, slow, deliberate, like wet flesh slapping against concrete. My stomach tightened as the footsteps circled the house, pausing, every few feet before starting again. I held my breath as something scraped against the front door, long, slow drags that sent shivers up my spine. Roscoe lunged at the door, barking furiously. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife, and then came the voice. It was faint at first, barely audible over Roscoe's barking, a low guttural whisper that didn't sound human. It called my name, not once, but twice.

Drawn out, distorted, like someone trying to mimic a voice they didn't quite understand. I didn't wait to hear it a third time. Grabbing both dogs, I bolted for the garage. My car keys were already in my pocket, and I fumbled to get the door open. The dog scrambled inside as I started the engine, my hands trembling on the wheel. As I backed out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of them in the rear-view mirror. Three figures stood at the edge of the yard, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. One of them raised a hand, its fingers twitching unnaturally, almost like it was waving goodbye.

I didn't look back. Living on the edge of a forest teaches you a thing or two about silence. I'd grown used to it, or so I thought. The cabin my brother and I shared wasn't much, but it was ours, tucked into a clearing surrounded by tall trees. Quiet was normal, peaceful even. Until that night, I'd decided to walk the trail later than usual. The heat of the day had been unbearable, and the cool night air seemed like an invitation I couldn't refuse. Luna, my shepherd mix, trotted at my heels, her tail wagging in anticipation. She loved these walks as much as I did. I grabbed my flashlight, double-checked the batteries, and stepped off the porch into the dark. The first half of the loop was always my favorite. It skirted the meadow, with just enough moon, to guide my way. Tonight, the grass shimmered silver under the half-moon, and the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth. I could see the faint outline of our cabin from the corner of my eye, a comforting anchor as I walked. Luna sniffed at the trail, darting ahead, her nails clicking against the hard-packed dirt. When we reached the forest edge, I paused, staring into the dark

wall of trees. The second half of the loop cut deep into the woods, where the canopy blocked the moonlight, and the air grew thick with the smell of woods and decay. The flashlight beam was thin, swallowed by the shadows almost as soon as it touched them. Still, I'd done this walk dozens of times before. There was no reason to feel uneasy, or so I told myself. The woods were quieter than usual, no rustling leaves, no chirping insects, just the crunch of my boots and the soft panting of Luna somewhere ahead. I adjusted my flashlight, swinging it left and right.

But the shadows seemed thicker tonight, as if they were closing in. I told myself it was just my imagination, shook it off, and pressed forward. I was nearly at the bend that marked the halfway point when I heard it. Can you hear me? I need help. I froze. The voice was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness like a blade. It wasn't frantic or scared. If anything, it sounded flat, practiced, like someone reading lines off a script. I swung my flashlight toward the sound, but all it caught were trees. Can you hear me? I need help. The same words, the same tone, no variation, no urgency.

I clicked off the flashlight, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. The dark closed around me like a fist, and my heart thudded hard enough to hurt. I crouched low, gripping Luna's collar to keep her from barking, but she wasn't barking. She was growling. A deep, guttural sound I'd heard from her before. Luna, I whispered, trying to pull her back. She didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the trees. Her teeth bared, the growl rumbling in her chest like distant thunder.

I followed her gaze, but the shadows gave nothing away. The voice came again, closer now. Can you hear me? I need help. I felt a spike of panic shoot through me. My first thought was someone was hurt, lost in the woods. But there was something wrong. Something about the way the voice didn't carry like it should have.

It was too even, too measured, as if whoever was speaking wasn't really speaking at all. Luna broke away from my grip and bolted toward the sound. No! I hissed, scrambling after her, my flashlight swinging wildly. The beam caught her for a split second, a blur of black and tan fur disappearing into the underbrush. The voice called again. Louder this time, the monotone cutting through my panic like a rink. razor. Luna, I called my voice shaking. The forest answered with silence. Then it laughed. Low and guttural, the sound rippled through the trees. My skin prickled and my knees locked.

It wasn't a human laugh. It couldn't be. It was too deep, too wrong, like the growl of an animal that had learned how to mimic us. I turned and ran. Branches clawed at my arms and legs as I crashed through the underbrush, the flashlight beam bobbing wildly ahead of it. me. The laugh followed, rising and falling, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. My lungs burned, but I didn't dare slow down. Images filled my mind, something crouching in the dark, grinning wide enough to split its face, watching me run. When I finally burst out of the woods and into the clearing, I didn't stop. The cabin was in sight, the porch light glowing faintly through the dark. I stumbled up the steps and slammed the door behind me, my chest heaving,

my ears straining for any sound beyond the walls. Luna was on the porch, waiting, her fur bristling. She stared at the woods, growling low and steady, her eyes fixed on something I couldn't see. That night, the forest was silent, too silent, and I knew deep down that silence wasn't the absence of sound. It was the sound of something watching, something waiting. By the time I slammed the cabin door behind me, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. Luna followed me in, her tail tucked and her eyes still fixed on the woods outside. She growled low in her throat, a sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Whatever was out there, she'd seen it. I hadn't, and maybe that was worse. What the hell is going on? My brother Nate

came stomping out of his room, barefoot and holding a wrench he must have grabbed in a hurry. He froze when he saw me, out of breath and wild-eyed. You look like you've seen a ghost. I don't know what it was, I said, gasping for air. I couldn't bring myself to explain right away, not with my chest still tight and my ears ringing from the run. Something in the woods. I, I heard someone. And Luna, she just ran off. Nate's expression hardened. He wasn't the type to scare easy, and I could tell he thought I was overreacting. Still, he pulled the curtains shut and turned the lock on the door. Calm down, he said. Start from the beginning. I tried to. I told him about the voice, the way it sounded too, wrong, about the laughter that didn't belong to

anything human. Nate listened, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. When I finished, he shook his head. You sure it wasn't a coyote? They can make some freaky noises, he said. But his voice lacked conviction, and I could see him glancing at the window just like I had. I know what coyotes sound like Nate. I snapped, still shaking. This wasn't an animal.

This was something else. Before he could argue, there was a noise outside, a soft, deliberate tapping on the window by the front door. Luna stiffened and let out a deep, throaty growl, her body coiled like a spring. Nate froze, and we both stared at the window. The curtains were drawn tight, but the tapping continued, steady, and unhurried. What the hell? Nate muttered under his breath. He grabbed the shotgun from its rack by the door and held it at the ready. The tapping stopped. We stood there, holding our breath, waiting for it to come back. But it didn't. Instead, the silence

pressed in, heavy and unnatural, like the air before a storm. I felt a beat of sweat slide down my temple. Luna broke the quiet with a sharp bark, her attention snapping toward the back wall. That's when the scratching started. It came from the other side of the cabin, long, deliberate drags against the wood, as if someone were running a claw or a knife along the exterior. Nate's face darkened. He raised the shotgun and gestured for me to stay behind him. Slowly, we moved toward the back door, Luna close on our heels. The scratching stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Nate yanked open the door and stepped out onto the back porch.

The shotgun raised. I followed, my flashlight trembling in my grip. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the yard and the forest beyond. Nothing. Just the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the moonlight casting jagged shadows on the ground. See anything? whispered, no, Nate said, his voice tight. He lowered the shotgun and scanned the tree line. Whatever it was, it's gone. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe it was all in my head,

some cruel trick of the night. But then I saw them. Three long, parallel gouges carved into the wooden post by the porch steps. They were fresh, the splinters still pale and raw against the aged wood. Nate, I said pointing. He followed my gaze. and his jaw clenched. We're going inside, he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The rest of the night was a blur of restless waiting. We sat in the living room with the shotgun propped against Nate's knee.

Luna curled at my feet, her ears twitching at every sound. I thought the worst of it was over. I thought whatever it was had moved on. But when dawn broke, the world outside felt wrong. The air was too still, the forest too quiet. There was no chirping of, of birds, no rustling of leaves, just an oppressive, watchful silence. Nate insisted we go check

the trail, though every instinct in my body screamed to stay away. Armed with a shotgun and a crowbar, we retraced my path from the night before. The further we went, the heavier the air seemed to get, like the woods themselves were holding their breath. We found the spot where I'd first heard the voice. The underbrush was trampled, and there were scratches on the trees. deep, jagged marks that couldn't have been made by any animal I knew of. Then we found something worse. Near the bend in the trail was a patch of ground where the vegetation had withered and died, leaving behind a blackened, brittle circle.

In the middle of it was a small totem, a crude bundle of sticks bound together with a strip of leather with a piece of bone tied to the top. The sight of it sent a shiver down my back. It didn't belong there. Nothing about it did. "'Some sick joke,' Nate muttered, bending down to pick it up. "'Don't touch it,' I said, my voice sharp.

"'But he didn't listen. He snapped it in half and tossed the pieces into the bushes. "'Let's go,' he said, turning back toward the cabin. "'Whatever's out here, we're not giving it the satisfaction. "'I didn't argue, but as we walked back, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd made a mistake. "'The woods seemed darker now, the shadows longer, as if they were creeping closer. I didn't say anything to Nate, but I knew he felt it too. I could see it in the way he tightened his grip on the shotgun, his eyes darting toward the trees. That night the scratching came back, louder this time, more insistent.

And I knew, deep down, that whatever was out there wasn't going to stop, not until it got what it wanted. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was already on edge. The whole day had been wrong, the silence, the shadows creeping across the yard, the feeling that every time I turned around, something would be there, watching. Nate hadn't said much since we got back from the trail. He didn't need to. The tension in his shoulders said it all. We locked every door and window in the cabin, even though deep down I knew it wouldn't matter. Whatever was out there didn't care about locks. Luna stayed glued to my side, pacing restlessly, her ears twitching at sounds I couldn't hear. She'd growl softly every now and then, her gaze fixed on the windows.

Nate sat at the table, the shotgun loaded and ready. He hadn't touched his dinner, and neither had I. The cabin felt smaller than usual, like the walls were closing in. Then the first tap came. It was soft, almost polite, like someone knocking on the front door. We froze. Luna let out a low growl, her hackles raised. Nate stood slowly, shotgun in hand, and gestured for me to stay put.

I didn't argue. The tap came again, louder this time, as if whoever or whatever was outside was testing our nerves. Nate moved to the door and peeked through the curtain. His shoulders stiffened. What is it? I whispered. He didn't answer right away. He stepped back from the door, his face pale. There's nothing there, he said finally, but his voice was tight, too tight.

The tapping stopped. For a moment the silence returned, thicker and heavier than before. Then the scratching began. It came from the side of the cabin, long, deliberate strokes against the wood, like claws dragging across the walls. Luna barked sharply, the sound slicing through the tension like a knife. Nate swore under his breath and motioned for me to follow. him to the back door. I'm not waiting for this thing to come inside, he muttered. We're leaving. What if it's waiting out there? I asked, my voice shaking. I hated how scared I sounded,

but I couldn't help it. My gut told me we weren't safe anywhere, not in the cabin, not in the yard, not in the truck. Nate didn't answer. He opened the back door a crack and looked out. The scratching stopped. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then a low, gutteral laugh rippled through the air. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Get to the truck, Nate said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Now. We made it as far as the porch steps before we saw the trees. The forest had moved.

I know how that sounds, but there's no other way to describe it. The tree line, which had always been a good 30 feet from the edge of the yard, was now just a few paces away. The trees loomed tall and menacing, their branches swaying without a breeze. I could feel them watching us, even though I knew that was impossible. Get in the truck, Nate repeated, shoving me forward. He climbed in behind me, slamming the door shut and jammed the keys into the ignition. The engine sputtered but didn't start.

He tried again, nothing. Come on, he growled, hitting the steering wheel. The laugh came again, louder this time, echoing around us. It felt like it was inside the truck, curling into every corner. I looked out the window and froze. Shadows moved between the trees, tall, spindly shapes that didn't walk so much as glide. Their eyes caught the moonlight, glowing faintly, like embers in the dark. One of them stepped closer, and I realized it wasn't a shadow at all.

It was something else. Something wrong. Its limbs were too long, its movements too smooth, and its grin was too wide. Get out of the truck, Nate said suddenly, his voice sharp. We'll make a run for it. Run where? I asked, my voice rising. It's everywhere. Before he could respond, Luna started barking wildly.

She clawed at the truck door, desperate to get out. I grabbed her collar, but she pulled free and bolted into the yard. Luna, I screamed, fumbling with the door handle. Nate grabbed my arm. Don't, he said. It's what it wants. But I couldn't just leave her. I yanked the door open and ran after her.

the cold air biting at my face. Luna stopped at the edge of the yard, barking at the trees. I grabbed her collar and turned to run back, but the truck was gone. No, not gone, hidden. The forest had swallowed it, the trees twisting and crowding together like a wall. I spun around, my heart pounding, and saw Nate standing where the porch had been. Only now, the cabin wasn't there. It was just him.

The shotgun clutched in his hands. surrounded by trees. The laugh came again, louder and closer. The shadows moved circling us, their eyes glowing brighter. Nate raised the shotgun, aiming into the dark. Stay behind me, he said. Before I could argue, one of the shadows lunged. The blast of the shotgun lit up the night for a split second,

and I saw it clearly. It's hollow eyes. It's impossibly wide grin. It's two long arms reaching for us. And then it was gone. The woods were silent again. Nate grabbed my arm, dragging me back toward what used to be the yard, the totem. I remembered the totem he'd snapped in half earlier.

My gut told me it wasn't just some weird decoration. It was a warning, or maybe a seal. We have to burn it, I said. What? The totem, I shouted. We have to burn the pieces. Nate didn't argue. We scrambled back to the spot where he'd tossed the broken.

pieces and piled them together. He handed me his lighter, and my hands shook as I flicked it to life. The flames caught quickly, climbing higher than they should have, casting strange shadows on the trees. The laugh faded, the glowing eyes disappeared, and the forest, slowly, began to retreat. We stood there in silence, watching as the fire burned itself out. I wanted to believe it was over, but I could feel it. Something still out there, just to be there. Just to be able to be able to. beyond the trees. Whatever we'd done, whatever we'd disturbed, it wasn't finished with us. Not yet. Be careful when going into the woods. You never know what you will encounter. It started with a dumb idea, as most nights like this do. I couldn't sleep so I figured,

why not? Sneaking out was easy. My parents are heavy sleepers, and my window opened straight to the porch roof. Within five minutes I was out the door, hopping onto my ATV with my phone buzzing in my pocket. I texted Ryan and Tyler to meet me at the grain silo. Bring whatever you've got, I wrote. By whatever, I meant beer, snacks, maybe something to make the night feel less boring. The woods always felt different at night, like they had secrets to share if you were stupid enough to listen. Tonight, I was stupid enough. The ride to the silo was uneventful, but the woods on either side of the dirt path felt wrong, no crickets, no wind, just the hum of my ATV and the crunch of gravel under the tires.

I shook it off and reached the silo, parking near its rusted frame. Ryan and Tyler showed up minutes later, headlights cutting through the darkness like search lights in enemy territory. Ethan, you're a lunatic for dragging us out here, Ryan said, grinning as he pulled out a six-pack from his bag. Tyler followed, holding a flashlight in a bag of chips. Shut up, you'll thank me later. I shot back.

But even as we laughed, I felt it, a weight in the air, like the woods were leaning in to listen. We hopped on our ATVs and headed toward the clearing. The ride was bumpy, the trees closing in as the path narrowed. Tyler's flashlight beam bounced wildly, catching shadows that moved just a little too fast. My heart thudded, but I kept my eyes forward, refusing to let my imagination get the better of me. The clearing came into view, a small circle of open space surrounded by towering oaks. I'd set it up months ago, dragging old lawn chairs and setting up a fire pit. The three of us killed the engines and the sudden silence was deafening.

Ryan tossed some wood into the pit while I struck a match. Soon, flames danced and cracked, pushing back the darkness. The first beer cracked open, then another. We laughed, talked about school, and teased Tyler for being jumpy. The firelight played tricks on his face, making him look pale and wide-eyed. You guys ever hear about those things in the woods? He asked, his voice low. Oh, great, Ryan groaned.

Here we go. I'm serious, Tyler said, leaning forward. My grandpa told me about these things. People see them out here sometimes. Tall, skinny, almost human, but not. Yeah, yeah, and they eat kids like you, Ryan quipped, chucking an empty can at him. Tyler ducked, but his eyes flicked to the trees again.

He wasn't joking. I laughed it off, but Tyler's words stuck. The woods were so dark tonight, the kind of darkness that presses against your skin. The firelight only made it worse, creating shadows that felt too solid. That's when we heard it. A sound like, I don't know, like a growl, but deeper, almost guttural. It came from somewhere behind us, far enough to dismiss but close enough to set my teeth on edge. What the hell was that? Tyler whispered.

coyotes, Ryan said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He tossed another log onto the fire, and the sparks shot up like tiny fireworks. The noise came again, this time closer, accompanied by the faintest snap of a branch. My chest tightened. I stood up, trying to act casual. I'm going to check out that trail over there, I said, jerking my thumb toward a barely visible gap in the trees. My stomach flipped as the words left my mouth, but I couldn't back down now. Alone? Have fun getting eaten, Ryan joked, though there was a hint of nervousness in his smirk. I climbed onto my ATV, heart pounding.

The growl came again, this time sharper, almost deliberate, like it wanted me to hear. I gunned the engine and rode into the darkness, leaving the safety of the fire behind. The trail was tighter than I remembered, overgrown and barely navigable. My headlights barely pierced the thick underbrush, casting long, eerie shes. shadows. The silence out here was even worse. No bugs, no birds, just the low hum of my engine. I should have turned back. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, but I didn't. And then I saw them. Two glowing eyes in the distance, not reflective like a dears, but glowing, a sickly amber that burned through the darkness. I froze, gripping the handlebars so tight my knuckles hurt.

The eyes blinked once, and a shape emerged. My breath caught as I took it in, tall, hunched, with matted fur hanging from a gaunt frame. It looked like it had been pieced together wrong, joints bent in ways that shouldn't be possible, legs too long, arms too thin. I tried to convince myself it was a coyote, a sick coyote, maybe rabid. But when it stood upright, its head almost grazing the branches above, I knew better. It tilted its head, like it was studying me. Then it took a step forward.

I didn't wait to see what it wanted. I turned the ATV around so fast I nearly tipped it and floored it back down the trail. Behind me, I heard it move, fast, too fast. Branches snapped, and the guttural growl grew into a shriek, high-pitched and unnatural. It was chasing me. I didn't look back. I couldn't. I tore through the woods, dodging trees, and praying the trees, and praying the

the engine wouldn't stall. The trail opened up into the clearing, and I skidded to a stop, nearly slamming into the fire pit. But Ryan and Tyler were gone. Their chairs were overturned, beer cans scattered, and the fire was dying, embers barely glowing in the dark. The shriek came again, closer now, and I realized with a sickening jolt, I wasn't alone. I sat there, straddling my ATV, my chest heaving and my eyes darting around the clearing. The fire was nothing more than a smoldering pit, sending up thin wisps of smoke. Ryan and Tyler's ATVs were still there, headlights dim and flickering, but they were nowhere to be seen. My brain scrambled for an explanation. Maybe they got scared and ran back home. Maybe they were messing with me. But deep down,

I knew better. The growl came again, low and guttural, from somewhere in the trees. My stomach dropped. It wasn't close, but it wasn't far easy. It moved, circling, stalking. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet felt nailed to the ground. Ryan, Tyler? I yelled into the void, my voice cracking. The only response was the crackle of damp wood collapsing in the fire pit. I killed the ATV's engine, hoping for silence. Big mistake. The moment the hum stopped, the forest came alive with sound, branches snapping, leaves rustling, footsteps, heavy, deliberate footsteps. Whatever was out there wanted me to know it was coming. I scanned the tree line, and that's when I saw them again. The eyes. Glowing amber, just like before.

But now they bobbed and swayed as the creature moved closer. My throat tightened. I forced myself to breathe, gripping the handlebars like they could somehow save me. The creature emerged slowly, stepping out from the shadows like it had all the time in the world. It was worse than I'd imagined. Its skin hung in loose patches, fur clinging to a frame that was all wrong, legs too long, shoulders hunched unnaturally high. Its head tilted at an angle that made me feel sick,

like it was broken. And those teeth, jagged, uneven, stained with something dark. It was grinning at me. I fumbled with the key trying to restart the ATV. The engine sputtered but wouldn't catch. Come on, I hissed, twisting the key again and again. The creature let out a shriek, a piercing, distorted sound that rattled my skull. It started toward me, its steps quick and jerky.

Adrenaline took over. I jumped off the ATV and bolted, weaving between trees, not caring where I was going as long as it was away from that thing. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and my legs burned as I pushed harder, fast, I could hear it behind me, its heavy footfalls crashing through the underbrush. I don't know how long I ran. Time didn't exist. There was only the pounding of my heart and the sound of that thing closing in. I tripped once, slamming hard into the dirt, and for a split second I thought it was over.

But when I looked back, I saw nothing, just darkness and the faintest hint of movement in the shadows. I scrambled to my feet and kept running. Eventually I stumbled onto a structure, a shack, old and rotting, barely standing. It looked like something out of a horror movie, the kind of place you avoid unless you're desperate. I was desperate. I threw myself inside, slamming the door shut and pressing my back against it. The air inside was thick with the smell of mold and something else, something metallic and sour. My flashlight flickered as I scanned the room.

The walls were covered in claw marks, deep grooves that splintered the wall. wood. A pile of old tattered clothes sat in the corner, next to a rusted hunting knife and empty cans of food. Whoever had been here before, they hadn't left in a hurry. The footsteps outside stopped. My breath hitched. I leaned against the door, straining to hear anything over the pounding in my ears. For a moment, it was silent. Then a slow, deliberate scratch started at the base of the door, working its way up. I bit back a scream, pressing harder against the door as if that would make a difference. The scratching stopped. Then came a sound that made my stomach churn. The thing sniffing, deep and guttural, like it was tasting the air. My flashlight flickered again,

and in its weak beam, I saw the edges of the doorframe start to bend inward. It was testing the door, pushing, pulling, as if deciding whether it was worth breaking down. I clutched the hunting knife from the floor, gripping it so tight my knuckles ached. Please, I whispered to no one in particular. Please, just go away. The door shuddered, but it didn't break. After a few agonizing minutes, the sniffing faded, replaced by the sound of retreating footsteps. I waited, counting each second, until the silence felt suffocating.

When I finally dared to peek out the window, the clearing was empty. The glowing eyes were gone, but I knew it wasn't over, not even close. I didn't stay in the shack. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to run again, trying to retrace my steps. Every shadow, every rustle of leaves, sent jolts of terror through me. I reached the clearing where the fire had been, but it was completely extinguished now, the darkness absolute. The chairs were toppled.

Ryan and Tyler's ATVs still abandoned, but they were nowhere to be found. Ryan, Tyler! I screamed into the night, but only silence answered, and then, the sound returned. The growl, deep and guttural, from the direction of the tree line. My head snapped toward it, and I saw the eyes again, closer this time. I didn't wait. I ran toward the path that led home. The creature's distorted shrieks chasing me the entire way. I don't remember running out of the woods. My legs just carried me, blind and automatic, like some primal part of me had taken over.

All I knew was the sound. The creature's shrieks, unnatural and echoing, growing closer with every step. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop. The clearing finally gave way to the edge of the field, and I spotted it. Our old station wagon, half sunken into the weeds like it had been swallowed by the earth. My chest tightened with hope and dread. if I could just get to it.

But I knew that thing was right behind me. I stumbled to the car, yanking the door handle so hard I thought it might snap off. It opened with a groan, and I threw myself inside, slamming it shut and locking the doors. The old, familiar smell of dust and oil hit me, a cruel reminder of all the times I'd played in this car as a kid. I crouched low in the back seat, panting, trying to catch my breath. My hands shook so badly I had to clench them into fists. For a moment there was silence. No footsteps, no growls. Just the soft sound of rain starting to fall, pattering against the car's metal roof. I let out a shaky breath, daring to believe I'd outrun it.

But then, through the fogged glass, I saw them, those glowing amber eyes emerging from the tree line. They floated closer, unblinking, cutting through the dark like twin lanterns. My heart felt like it stopped. The creature was walking toward the car slow and deliberate, its head tilting side to side as if it were studying me. I ducked lower trying to make myself invisible, but it was too late. It knew I was there. I could hear it now. It's breathing, wet and labored, mixed with a low growl that made my skin crawl. It circled the car, its long claws dragging across the windows with a high-pitched screech. I covered my ears, but it didn't help. The sound went straight. to my brain like nails scraping across bone. I had to think. I had to do something. That's when I remembered,

my dad's rifle. He always kept it in the car for emergencies. I reached under the back seat, fumbling blindly until my fingers brushed against cold metal. There it was. I pulled it out, my hands trembling as I checked the chamber. Three bullets. That was it. The creature stopped scratching. I froze, clutching the rifle, straining to hear through the pounding rain, and then, with a sickening crunch, its face appeared in the back window. It was inches from me, its teeth bared in a grotesque grin. I could see the blackened gums, the jagged edges of its teeth, and the hollow pits of its eyes glowing with that horrible light. My breath hitched, and I instinctively raised the rifle. I fired. The shot shattered the window, sending glass every,

everywhere, but I missed. The creature shrieked, a deafening guttural sound that made my ears ring. It clawed at the back of the car, ripping through metal like it was paper. I scrambled into the front seat, desperate to put more space between us. The keys. My dad always kept the keys in the glove box. I flung it open, my hands searching frantically. Outside, the creature slammed against the car, rocking it back and forth. The metal groaned, and the roof started to. to cave. My fingers closed around the keys just as the passenger door wrenched open. It reached inside, its long, twisted arm grabbing at me. I screamed, slamming the door shut on its hand, over and over, until it let out a howl and pulled back. My hand found the ignition, and I twisted

the key. The engine sputtered. Come on, I begged. Come on! It roared to life. Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the gas. The car lurched forward, throwing the creature off balance. I turned the wheel hard, aiming straight for it. The headlights illuminated its full form. Too tall, too thin, its limbs contorted like a spider's. I clenched my teeth and hit the gas. The car collided with it, the impact sending a sickening thud through the cabin.

It crumpled, folding unnaturally beneath the car, but I didn't stop. I kept going, dragging it several feet before the car stalled again. For a moment, everything was still. Rain pelted the windshield and steam hissed from the engine. I dared to look back. The creature was lying there, motionless. Its glowing eyes finally dimmed. I let out a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. But as I opened the door to get out, I saw something that made my blood run cold. The creature's hand twitched. No, I whispered. No, no, no. I grabbed the rifle and ran.

I didn't care where I was going, as long as it was away from that thing. The rain was blinding, the mud pulling at my shoes, but I kept moving. When I finally reached the edge of the woods, I turned back. It was standing there, in the middle of the field, watching me. Its head tilted again, as if amused. My breath caught in my throat. I didn't wait. I ran the rest of the way home, bursting through the door and locking it

behind me. I collapsed in the entryway, soaked and trembling, listening to the rain hammering against the windows. I didn't sleep that night. I sat in the corner of my room, clutching the rifle, staring at the door. The next morning I went back. The car was there, battered and bloodied, but the creature was gone. No body, no tracks, just deep gouges in the dirt and the twisted remains of the station wagon. Ryan and Tyler were still missing. I checked their houses, but neither of them had come home. Tyler's parents said he'd called, muttering something about the woods, but Ryan, nothing. The worst part?

That night, as I sat in my room, I heard it again, the growl, faint but unmistakable. It's still out there. I don't know what to do. I write this now to warn as many people as possible. Be careful when going into the woods. There's a certain kind of silence you only find in the wilderness. At first it feels peaceful, like you're wrapped in a blanket of trees and fresh air, miles away from the chaos of city life.

But after a while, it gets oppressive, like the world's forgotten you're there. That's what hit me on the first night of the trip. Jonah and I had been best friends forever, and this weekend camping trip was our way of escaping the stress of senior year. No assignments, no college apps, just the two of us, a couple of fishing rods, and the forest. We pitched our tents near the edge of a lake surrounded by towering trees that swayed gently in the breeze. The first day was perfect. We fished, built a fire, and grilled up the one trout Jonah managed to catch. He was always better at that outdoorsy stuff than me.

We laughed a lot, mostly at me falling into the lake trying to reel in a line. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt like we were exactly where we were meant to be. But then came the night, I should have known something was off when the crickets stopped. It was so gradual I didn't even notice at first. One second, their chirping was everywhere, a comforting white noise, and the next, nothing, just the sound of the lake lapping against the shore and the faint rustling of leaves. Jonah, you hear that? I whispered, trying not to sound paranoid. He looked up from the fire the glow casting shadows across his face. Here what? Exactly. It's too quiet. Jonah chuckled, tossing another log onto the flames. Dude, you're just used to

Portland noise. No honking cars or barking dogs out here. Relax. But I couldn't. The silence was suffocating. And then came the noises. At first, it sounded like a wolf howling in the distance. That would have been creepy enough, but then it shifted. The howl turned into something else, like a bird call, sharp and shrill, but weirdly human, like someone imitating it. It didn't stop there. The sounds melted together, twisting into something unnatural, something alive. I stared into the darkness, my stomach nodding. Okay, you heard that, right? Jonah paused, his grin faltering for just a second before he shook his head. Chill out, Eli, it's probably just the wind or some birds messing around. I didn't buy it, but I didn't want to argue either. Jonah was the type who never took anything seriously,

and I didn't want to ruin the trip with my paranoia. We eventually turned in for the night, each retreating to our own tents. I tried to focus on my breathing, on the comforting glow of the lantern hanging above me, but my mind wouldn't let go of those sounds. Just as I was starting to drift off, I heard it, footsteps, light and quick at first, like a small animal skittering through the underbrush. Then they grew heavier, more deliberate, circling the campsite. My heart raced.

I wanted to unzip the tent, but some primal part of me screamed to stay put, to stay hidden. The footsteps stopped directly outside my tent. Jonah, I hissed as quietly as I could. Jonah, what the hell are you doing? No response. I held my breath, straining to listen. The zipper of Jonah's tent slid open, and I exhaled, relieved. Jonah, I said again louder this time.

What? he whispered back, annoyed. Don't go out there. It could be a wolf or, Chill, Eli, I've got my knife. I'll check it out. Before I could argue, I heard him step out, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. The lighter footsteps, whatever had been circling us, vanished. Jonah moved around the campsite, his footsteps slow and methodical. Then they stopped, and the silence returned.

My gut twisted in on itself. Minutes felt like hours. I clenched the edge of my sleeping bag, my ears straining for any sound. Finally I heard him again, heavy steps, uneven, dragging slightly. Jonah? I called, unzipping my tent just enough to peek out. He stood at the edge of the firelight, his silhouette dark against the faint glow. His clothes were torn, dirt streaked across his shirt. A long, jagged cut ran from the center of his chest to his ribs.

Holy crap, Jonah. What happened? I scrambled out rushing to him. He stared at me, his eyes blank and glassy. For the first time since I'd met him, Jonah didn't have that easy grin, that spark of mischief. His face was empty. Jonah, talk to me, man.

What's going on? He blinked slowly like he was waking up from a dream. Night, he muttered, his voice flat and wrong. Then he turned and stumbled into his tent, leaving me standing there, heart pounding. I didn't sleep that night. How could I? Every noise, every rustle of leaves felt like a threat.

I sat by the fire until the sun came up. my mind racing with questions. In the morning, Jonah acted like nothing had happened. He barely spoke, just packed his gear and tossed his bloodied shirt into the woods like it was trash. I didn't press him. I should have. But some part of me already knew I wasn't talking to Jonah anymore. When we got back to town, something in me was desperate to believe that everything would go back to normal. I clung to the idea that Jonah just needed some sleep, a hot meal, and a little time to shake off whatever had happened out there. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. Whatever came back with me wasn't Jonah. It started small. We'd barely gotten out of the car when Jonah froze on the

sidewalk outside my house. He stared blankly at the street, the way you might stare at a math problem you couldn't figure out. You good? I asked, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Uh, yeah, he hesitated. Where's your house? I laughed. I laughed. waiting for the punchline, but it didn't come. Jonah, you've been here like a hundred times. It's right there. Oh, right. He followed me inside, walking stiffly,

like his body wasn't quite sure how to move. I brushed it off at first. Maybe he was tired, maybe something had scared him in the woods, whatever. But then things got weirder. My mom had made lasagna for dinner, her way of welcoming Jonah back. He loved her cooking,

always piling his plate high. This time, he didn't eat a bite. He just sat there, watching us. Not hungry? My mom asked, smiling at him. Jonah blinked, like he'd forgotten she was there. I'm fine. His voice was flat, monotone.

The Jonah I knew couldn't keep a straight face to save his life, but now he looked like a mannequin, his expression empty, his movement stiff and awkward. I tried to ignore it, but the more time I spent around him, the more wrong it felt. That night we went up to my room to play video games. Jonah used to be obsessed with beating me, always leaning into the competitive banter.

This time he just stared at the screen. His hands slack around the controller. You're not even trying, I said nudging him. He didn't respond. Jonah? His head snapped toward me, his eyes locking onto mine in a way that made my stomach flip. What? I laughed nervously.

dude, you're acting weird. He didn't laugh. He didn't say anything. He just stared. It wasn't until later, when I was getting ready for bed, that I realized how bad things had gotten. I stepped out of the bathroom and saw Jonah standing in the hallway, perfectly still. His face turned toward my little brother's room.

Jonah, what the hell are you doing? I whispered, my voice sharp. He didn't flinch. I asked you a question, I said, louder this time. finally he turned to me slow and deliberate just wanted to see how he sleeps i froze every instinct screaming at me that this wasn't my best friend that's really not okay man he tilted his head slightly like he was trying to figure out if he'd said something wrong sorry then he walked past me back to my room like nothing had happened that night i couldn't sleep i kept replaying his words his tone

the way he stared into my brother's room like he was studying him. It didn't make sense. Jonah wasn't like this. He'd never been like this. The next morning, I tried to get him to talk about the woods, about what happened that night. He shrugged it off, refusing to make eye contact. Nothing happened, he said.

Jonah, come on, you were bleeding. Your clothes were torn. Something happened out there. His jaw tightened, and for the first time I saw anger flash in his eyes, quick, sharp, and gone in an instant. I said nothing happened. I backed off, but the unease kept growing. Every time I looked at him,

I felt like I was staring at a stranger wearing Jonah's skin. That night, I tried to distract myself by diving into the internet, looking up anything I could find about the forest. Stories of hauntings, disappearances, and cryptids filled the screen, but one thing kept coming up, tales of shapeshifters, creatures that could mimic their victims perfectly, down to their memories and mannerisms. One account stuck with me. A man wrote about how his wife had changed overnight. She came back from a camping trip distant and cold, watching him with a predator's gaze. He described hearing her

voice outside the house when she was supposed to be asleep inside. I slammed the laptop shut, my pulse racing. Jonah wasn't Jonah. The realization settled over me like a weight I couldn't shake. Every little moment, his stiffness, his silence, the way he stared at my family, it all fit. Something had taken him. Something was wearing his face, and I had no idea what it wanted. Around midnight, I heard footsteps in the hallway. They were heavy and deliberate, stopping right outside my door. Eli? Jonah's voice called softly. I froze. You awake? He asked. His tone sweet and calm, but somehow off. I didn't answer. The doorknob jiggled. Eli, let me in. I need to talk to you. I stared at the shadow of his feet under the door, my heart hammering in my chest. The doorknob stopped

moving, but he didn't leave. He stood there, silent, waiting. And then he said it. It's okay, I just want to see how you sleep. I didn't sleep that night. I didn't know if I'd ever sleep again. The next day, Jonah was gone. He left without a word, no note, no text. At first I felt a strange mix of relief and dread, relief that I didn't have to see his hollow alien eyes watching me anymore, and dread because I knew this wasn't over. Whatever Jonah had become, he wasn't done with me.

That night, I barricaded myself in my room. I piled my dresser, desk, and even my mattress against the door. I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my mom's gun in my lap. i'd stolen it from her drawer that morning feeling ridiculous and terrified all at once i didn't even know how to use it properly but it felt better to have something anything to defend myself the house was quiet too quiet the kind of silence that makes your ears strain for any sound no matter how small i stared at the shadows stretching across my room every creek of the floorboards outside making my pulse spike and then just after midnight i heard it-and then just after midnight i heard it A knock at the front door. It wasn't loud or hurried.

Just three calm, deliberate knocks. My mom was at work, and my little brother was staying at a friend's house, so I was alone. At least I thought I was. I crept to the window, peeking through the blinds. My stomach dropped. Jonah was standing on the porch, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the porch light. Eli, he called softly. His voice carried through the still night, too loud and too clear.

It's me. Let me in. I stayed silent, hoping he'd leave. Come on, man, he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. I just want to talk. I clenched the gun tighter my fingers trembling. He knocked again harder this time. Eli, he said, his voice shifting, taking on a sharp edge. Don't make me wait. When I didn't answer, his tone changed again. It softened, warm and familiar. Eli, please. It's Jonah, your best friend. Don't you trust me. My breath caught in my throat. He sounded so much like the old Jonah, the one I'd grown up with. For a split second, I wanted to believe it was him. But then he started laughing. It wasn't a normal laugh. It started low and guttural, bubbling up into something high-pitched and maniacal. The sound scraped against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Let me in, Eli, he whispered. His voice suddenly right outside my bedroom window. I whipped my head toward the window, my heart slamming against my ribs. The blinds rattled as his hand slid across the glass. You can't hide forever, he said, his voice dark and syrupy. I'm coming in. The front door rattled as he began pounding on it. The sound echoed through the house, each blow more violent than the last. I backed into the corner of my room, the gun shaking in my hands. The pounding stopped abruptly, and the silence that followed was worse. Eli, a new voice called, my mom's voice. Sweetie, it's me. Let me in. My blood ran cold. Mom? I whispered my voice cracking. Her voice came again soft and pleading. I forgot my key.

Please, honey, open the door. No, I muttered, shaking my head. That's not you. Yes, it is, she insisted. Her voice rising in pitch. Open the door, Eli. you're scaring me. I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to drown her out. The door to my bedroom rattled as something pressed against it. Eli, my mom's voice said, now deeper, distorted. Don't you love me? Stop it!

I screamed, tears streaming down my face. The rattling stopped, replaced by heavy dragging footsteps in the hallway. They moved past my door, heading toward the stairs. I scrambled to the window, peering outside. Jonah was gone, but the front door was wide open, swinging gently in the breeze. Then I heard it, a wet, sloshing sound coming from downstairs. It was faint at first, but grew louder, like something heavy and slimy was being dragged across the floor. I pressed my back against the wall, clutching the gun to my chest.

The sound stopped directly below me, and the ceiling creaked under the weight of something massive. My heart pounded as I heard it start climbing the stairs. slow deliberate steps each one heavier than the last i aimed the gun at the door my hands shaking so badly i could barely keep it steady the steps stopped outside my room eli jonah's voice said low and guttural you can't hide from me the door splintered as something slammed into it the dresser shifted the barricade barely holding i screamed pulling the trigger the gun roared the sound deafening in the confined space The door cracked and something wet splattered against the floor. The pounding stopped. I held my breath, listening to the silence. Then I heard it, a wet, slithering sound, followed by a low, guttural laugh. You can't kill me, Eli, Jonah said.

His voice distorted and layered, like a hundred voices speaking at once. The door burst open and I fired again, but it was too late. The thing that used to be Jonah stood in the doorway, its human facade melting away. Its skin sagged and tore, revealing a mass of black, oily tendrils riving beneath. Its face, my face, stared back at me, its lips curling into a grotesque grin. Your turn, it whispered. I don't remember much after that. Just pain and darkness.

If you're reading this, stay out of the woods. And if someone you know comes back wrong, don't wait, run. The first thing I noticed about Uncle Jack's house was how exposed it felt. It was big. bigger than anything I'd ever lived in, but it didn't feel safe. The walls weren't really walls, not like normal houses. They were glass, almost every single one. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire back of the house, facing nothing but endless trees. It felt like stepping into a fishbowl, with the woods watching from all sides. Danny thought it was amazing. He ran from

room to room, pressing his hands and face against the windows like a kid at the zoo. Look, Lizzie. You can see everything, he shouted, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. I didn't feel like looking. The trees were too close. Their dark branches tangled like a net that could snare the house at any moment. The whole place felt wrong. Pretty cool, huh? Uncle Jack's voice startled me. He was standing behind me, grinning like he'd just won an award. I designed it myself, seamless living with nature. It's what the magazines call modern rustic. I forced a smile and nodded, but all I could think was how easy it would be for something, or someone, to see us without us seeing them. The forest pressed in on the house, dense and unrelenting.

The nearest neighbor was miles away. I hated it already. That first night I couldn't sleep. The guest room Uncle Jack gave me was at the far of the house, separated from the rest of my family by a long hallway that seemed to stretch forever. My room was small, but it had the same glass wall facing the woods. No curtains, no blinds. Just an uninterrupted view of pitch-black trees. I lay there staring at the glass, too scared to close my eyes. The forest outside was completely still. No wind, no sound, just shadows, deep, endless shadows. My heart was pounding and I was. I didn't even know why. I told myself I was being ridiculous, that nothing was out there,

but then I heard it, tap, tap, tap. It was faint but unmistakable. I sat up in bed, every muscle in my body frozen. The sound came again, slow and deliberate. It was coming from the glass. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't stop myself. I slid out of bed and crept toward the window. My bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The tapping stopped. My breath fogged up the glass as I leaned in close, peering out into the darkness. There was nothing. Just the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the still air. But the ground near the edge of the woods looked, disturbed, like something had been moving there. I stared for what felt like forever, waiting for something to move.

Go to sleep, I whispered to myself, backing away from the window. I climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over my window. head, as if that could protect me. I didn't sleep. The next morning I tried to forget about it. Danny was already outside, running through the yard and waving a stick around like it was a sword. My mom was busy in the kitchen with Uncle Jack talking about something boring like paperwork or groceries. I decided to check out the yard, hoping the sunlight would make me feel less uneasy. Lizzie, look at this! Danny yelled, dragging me toward the edge of the woods. He'd found something in the a deep groove carved into the ground, jagged and messy, like a giant claw had raked through it.

It's just an animal, I said quickly, pulling him away. But the truth was, I had no idea what could have made a mark like that. It was too big, too deliberate. I glanced at the tree line and thought I saw something, a shadow moving between the trunks. But when I blinked, it was gone. That night, I couldn't shake the feeling that the house wasn't as a little. empty as it seemed. The windows felt like eyes, and the woods outside felt alive, like they were waiting for something. I didn't tell anyone about the tapping or the shadow, not even Danny. He'd just laugh, and my mom had enough to deal with. I went to bed early, hoping that if I fell asleep fast enough, I wouldn't have time to think about the glass wall or the dark shapes in the

trees. But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I heard it again, tap, tap, tap, tap. this time it wasn't faint it was loud and deliberate like someone or something was trying to get my attention I gripped the blanket tight my heart hammering in my chest I didn't move the tapping stopped but then I heard another sound softer almost like scratching tracing along the edge of the glass I wanted to scream but I clamped my hand over my mouth slowly I turned my head toward the window the glass was empty just like before But then, in the moonlight, I saw them. Marks, long and thin, etched into the surface of the glass. They hadn't been there before.

I didn't sleep that night either. The first time I heard it I thought I was dreaming. I woke to the sound of my mom's voice, soft and calm, calling my name from somewhere down the hall. Lizzie, she said, her tone so warm and familiar, it eased the nod of fear that had been sitting in my chest since we arrived. Lizzie, I need you. Still half asleep, I pushed the blanket off and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The house was cold, and the floor creaked beneath my feet as I shuffled toward the door. Her voice called again, this time from the living room. Lizzie, come here, I need your help. Something about it didn't sit right. The hallway was pitch black, and the farther I walked, the less her voice sounded like hers.

There was a sharpness to it now, an edge that didn't belong to my mom. mother. It grew deeper as I approached the living room, almost guttural, but still unmistakably calling my name. I stopped just before the living room doorway, suddenly wide awake. The room beyond was bathed in faint moonlight, spilling in through the massive glass wall. Outside, the woods were a wall of darkness, the trees swaying ever so slightly. My mom wasn't there. No one was. Just the empty couch and the silent forest. I blinked hard and stumbled back. the fog of sleep clearing all at once. My heart raced as I realized I wasn't dreaming.

I turned and ran back to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over my head, shaking. For the rest of the night, I stayed awake, listening for the voice to call me again. It didn't. The next morning, I convinced myself it had to be a dream. I didn't mention it to anyone, not even Danny. He wouldn't have believed me anyway. but the uneasiness stayed with me, following me through the day like a shadow.

Danny spent the afternoon exploring the woods again. I didn't want to go with him this time, not after what I'd heard. I stood by the window instead, watching him run through the trees with the same stick he'd been playing with since we got here. For a moment, everything seemed normal, until he stopped. He was standing near the edge of the woods, staring at something on the ground. I could see his shoulders tense, the stick slipping from his hand. Then he turned and sprinted back toward the house. His face pale.

By the time he burst through the door, he was out of breath, his eyes wide. There's something out there, he gasped. It's dead, all torn up. What's dead? I asked, my stomach sinking. I don't know, some animal. It's huge, though. He hesitated, glancing back at the door. I think something dragged it there.

There were marks, claw marks. Uncle Jack overheard and brushed it off, saying it was probably a coyote. But Danny wouldn't stop talking about the claw marks, about how deep they were, how whatever made them must have been massive. I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but when I looked out the window again, I swore I saw movement between the trees, a dark shape slipping behind a trunk. The second time the voice called me, it wasn't my mom. It was my dad. It had been years since I'd heard his voice, but I recognized it instantly. Lizzie, he called, his tone pleading. Lizzie, come talk to me. I sat up in bed, my head spinning.

I knew it wasn't possible. He wasn't here. He wasn't anywhere. But his voice was so real, so desperate, that I found myself standing and walking toward the door. I felt detached, like my body was moving on its own. The living room was the living room was the same. The living room was the same as before, silent, empty, and bathed in cold moonlight. But this time there was something new.

A figure stood by the glass wall. It's back to me, staring out into the woods. It looked like him, but something was off. His shoulders were hunched, his posture rigid, and his hands hung limply at his sides. Dad, I whispered, my voice trembling. The figure turned slowly and I stumbled. back. Its face wasn't my dad's. It wasn't anyone's. Its skin was smooth and pale, like wax, with hollow depressions where eyes should have been. Its mouth was stretched into a wide, unnatural

grin. I woke up in my bed, gasping for air. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst. The room was silent, but I could still feel its presence, like a lingering shadow in the corner of my vision. For the next few nights, I refused to leave my room after dark. I kept the door shut and stayed under the covers, too scared to even peek out the window. But something changed in Danny. He started acting. Strange, I caught him standing in front of the glass wall one night. His face inches from the glass. His hands were pressed against it, and his breath fogged up the surface. Danny, I hissed, stepping closer, what are you doing? He didn't answer. He didn't even blink. His eyes.

eyes were fixed on something outside, but when I looked, all I saw were trees. I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, and he finally snapped out of it, blinking like he'd just woken up. What? He said, confused. What's wrong? You were just standing there, I stammered. Did you see something? He frowned, rubbing his eyes. I don't know. I don't remember. That was the first time, but it wasn't the last. I started finding him there almost every night, staring out at the woods, his face blank and his hands trembling.

No matter how many times I asked, he couldn't explain why. The tapping on the windows came back, louder and more frequent. Scratches appeared on the glass, faint but deliberate, like something was trying to carve its way in. And sometimes, just before I fell asleep, I thought I heard whispers,

soft, raspy, and too faint to understand, but always calling my name. I wanted to believe it was just in my head, but deep down I knew it wasn't. Something was out there, waiting for me to let it in. I woke up to the sound of footsteps. At first I thought it was part of a dream, the kind that lingers just long enough to blur the line between real and not. But then I heard it again, soft, deliberate, shuffling steps, moving down the hallway outside. my door. My heart leapt into my throat as I stared at the ceiling, every nerve in my body on high

alert. It wasn't mom. Her steps were brisk and purposeful, not this slow, dragging shuffle. And Uncle Jack's gate was heavier, louder. This was something else, something wrong. I held my breath, straining to listen. The footsteps stopped just outside my door, and for a moment, all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. Then, slowly, they moved on, heading toward the living room, toward the glass wall. I sat up the floor cold beneath my bare feet. My first instinct was to run to mom's room and wake her up, but something stopped me. A pull, like an invisible thread tugging me toward the door. I cracked it open just enough to peer into the hallway. There, at the end of the corridor, was Danny. He was one. He was,

walking slowly, his movement stiff and unnatural, like a marionette being dragged along by invisible strings. His head hung low, and his arms swayed limply at his sides. Danny? I whispered, but he didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. Panic flared in my chest as I slipped into the hallway following him at a distance. I could hear a faint sound now, coming from the direction of the living room, a low, mournful moan, like the cry of a wounded animal. It wasn't loud, but it felt close, too close. Danny reached the living room and stopped in front of the sliding glass door. I crept closer, staying low, my pulse pounding in my ears. The glass wall loomed before him, the forest beyond bathed in pale moonlight. The trees were swaying again, but not like they had

before. This was violent, chaotic, like something massive was crashing through them. Branches snapped and cracked, and the moaning grew louder, reverberating through the house like a low, guttural hum. I watched in horror as Danny reached for the lock on the sliding door. His hand trembled as his fingers brushed against it, and for a second, I thought I saw something move in the shadows beyond the glass. Danny, no, I whispered as loudly as I dared, rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back just as his fingers touched the lock. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, as he turned to look at me. Lizzie, he mumbled, his voice distant, hollow.

They're waiting for us. The moaning stopped. The forest fell eerily silent. The sudden quiet almost more terrifying than the noise had been. I froze, gripping Danny's arm as my eyes darted toward the glass. And then I saw it. A shadow moved between the trees. Too fast, too big.

It darted closer, weaving between the trunks like a predator closing in on its prey. My breath caught as it stepped into the moonlight. It was humanoid, but impossibly tall, its limbs grotesquely elongated. Its skin was dark and shiny, almost wet, and its face was a blank featureless void. No eyes, no mouth, just smooth black nothingness. It crouched low, its limbs bending unnaturally, and pressed its hand against the glass. Its fingers were long and thin, ending in sharp claw-like tips that scraped against the surface. The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

It tilted its head as if studying us, and I swore I could feel its gaze, even though it had no eyes. Lizzie, Danny whispered his voice trembling. It's going to get in. No, it won't. I whispered back, though I didn't believe it. The creature's claws dug into the glass, leaving deep, jagged scratches. it leaned closer, its head tilting back and forth in jerky unnatural movements. The glass groaned under the pressure, spiderweb cracks forming around its hand.

I grabbed Danny and pulled him behind the couch, out of sight. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might stop altogether. I clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, trying to steady my own breathing. For a moment, there was silence. And then the sound of heavy, ragged breathing filled the room. deep and rhythmic coming from just beyond the couch it was inside i shut my eyes tight willing it to go away danny's small body trembled against mine and i tightened my grip on him desperate to keep him still the breathing grew louder closer until i could feel it hot and damp against the back of my neck and then just as suddenly as it had started it stopped the air felt cold and empty and i risked a glance over the edge of the couch The living room was empty. The sliding glass door was closed, though the glass was marred with deep, claw-like gouges.

In the dirt just beyond the glass, the creature had left something. A series of symbols scratched into the ground, spirals and jagged lines that seemed to pulse faintly in the moonlight. I didn't wait to figure out what they meant. I pulled Danny to his feet and half dragged him down the hallway, my legs shaking so badly I thought they might give out. We burst into Mom's room, slamming the door behind us. What's going on? She mumbled grogly, sitting up in bed. Don't ask, I whispered my voice trembling. Just lock the door.

Don't open it until morning. She didn't argue, though I could tell she didn't believe me. I climbed into bed with her and Danny, keeping them both close, and stared at the door until the first rays of sunlight crept through the window. We left the house that morning, for good, and I've never looked back. When Ryan and I first rolled into the reservation, I couldn't drop the feeling that we didn't belong. It wasn't just the place. It was the way people looked at us. No smiles, no nods of acknowledgement. Just cold, blank stairs that followed our car as we bounced over the uneven dirt road.

The village itself felt frozen in time. Crumbling adobe houses leaned precariously under the weight of years. Rusted out trucks sat abandoned in dry patches of earth. Even the air felt strange, too still, too heavy, like it was pressing down on us. The only sound was the occasional creak of wood in the wind, though I never felt the wind on my skin. When we pulled up to the meeting spot, a small group of elders waited for us. Their faces were lined and expressionless, except for the oldest woman, who seemed to hold the weight of the entire reservation in her sunken eyes. She stepped forward, her voice firm but quiet.

you'll stay in the camper by the mesa she said gesturing toward the barren expanse of desert beyond the village stay inside after dark keep to yourselves Ryan shot me a look, but I shrugged. A camper on the edge of nowhere didn't sound great, but I wasn't about to argue. The drive to the camper was short, but the farther we got from the village, the more isolated I felt. By the time we parked, the sun was starting to dip behind the horizon, painting the desert in deep reds and purples. The camper sat alone, dwarfed by the looming shadow of the mesa. It wasn't much to look at, faded paint, a busted screen door. and a set of uneven steps that creaked ominously as we climbed inside.

The inside wasn't any better. It smelled faintly of mildew, and the overhead light flickered like it was deciding whether to work or not. A tiny table and two rickety chairs sat in one corner, and a narrow bed was crammed against the opposite wall. Ryan dropped his bag with a sigh. This is, cozy, he said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. I chuckled, trying to keep things light.

Hey, at least it's got four walls. That first night we settled in early. With no TV or Wi-Fi, there wasn't much else to do. By the time the last light faded from the sky, we were both in our sleeping bags staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening. No crickets. No wind.

Nothing. Just the occasional groan of the camper as it settled into the cold desert night. I must have dozed off at some point because the next thing I remember is waking up to a sound, a low rhythmic thud. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but then it came again, louder this time. I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest. Ryan, I hissed. Did you hear that? He groaned half asleep. Here what? Before I could answer, the entire camper jolted. It felt like someone or something had slammed into the side of it with full force. Ryan shot up, wide-eyed. What the hell was that? He whispered. The camper rocked again,

harder this time. My stomach dropped as I realized it wasn't just shaking. It was moving, being pushed. The sound of heavy, scraping footsteps surrounded us, circling the camper. The walls groaned under the pressure, and I swear I heard something breathing, deep and guttural, just outside the thin metal shell. Ryan scrambled out of his sleeping bag and crouched under the table. Get down, he hissed. I joined him, gripping a flashlight so tightly my knuckles ached. The rocking continued, violent and relentless,

as if whatever was out there was testing the camper's strength. Shadows flickered through the tiny windows. But I couldn't make out anything distinct. Then came the whispering, low and faint, like a breeze carrying voices just out of reach. It didn't sound like English, or any language I'd ever heard. heard. My skin prickled as the whispers grew louder, almost chanting but still impossible to

understand. Ryan's face was pale, his eyes darting around the camper. This isn't normal, man, this isn't right. I didn't respond. I couldn't. My heart was hammering in my chest, and my mouth felt dry as sandpaper. The rocking stopped suddenly, and the silence that followed was worse. It felt alive, pressing in on us from all sides. We stayed under the table for what felt like hours, barely daring to breathe. Finally, the first light of dawn crept through the windows, casting weak gray beams across the camper. The silence remained, but the oppressive weight in the air began to lift. When we finally stepped outside, the ground around the camper was littered with tracks.

Not human tracks. Not fully, anyway. They looked like animal prints, but something about them was wrong. too large, too deep, and some of them ended abruptly, as if whatever made them had vanished into thin air. Ryan stared at them, his voice barely a whisper. What the hell is out here? I didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear. Whatever it was, it wasn't just the desert playing tricks on us. By the third night, the fear had settled into my bones.

I hadn't slept more than a few hours since we arrived, and neither had Ryan. During the day, we tried to act normal, making rounds in the village, but I could see it in the way Ryan's hands shook when he held his coffee cup, or how he flinched at every stray noise. I wasn't doing much better. Every shadow felt too long. Every gust of wind carried a sound that made my stomach twist. That morning, we'd found more tracks around the camper. They crisscrossed the dirt like something had been pacing, circling. The prints were bizarre, too large to belong to any normal animal, and some were shaped like hands,

long bony fingers pressed into the dirt. One track looked as though something had dragged its foot, leaving deep gouges in the ground. Ryan wanted to leave. I couldn't blame him. We're sitting ducks out here, man, he said, pacing the small space inside the camper. Whatever's out there, it's messing with us. I don't think it's just animals. I tried to sound calm, rational.

We've got a job to do. We can't just leave. Ryan stopped and glared at me. You think this is normal? You think a coyote or a bear or whatever leaves that? He jabbed a finger toward the window, where the edge of a claw mark was visible on the camper's side. You're fooling yourself if you think this is going to stop.

He wasn't wrong, but I didn't know what else to do. The village elder's words echoed in my head. stay inside after dark. Keep to yourselves. I hadn't taken it seriously then, but now it felt like a warning I'd been stupid to ignore. That night, the camper felt smaller than ever.

We sat in silence, listening to the faint creeks and groans of the structure settling into the cool desert air. Ryan sat by the window, holding a wrench he'd found in one of the drawers. It wasn't much, but I could tell he felt better having something in his hands.

I had the flashlight, the same one I'd gripped like a lifeline two nights before. It didn't feel like enough. The first sign of trouble came just past midnight. It was subtle at first, a faint shuffling sound, like footsteps dragging through the dirt. I sat up, straining to listen, and the sound grew louder, circling the camper. Do you hear that? I whispered. Ryan nodded, his face pale. It's back.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, replaced by a heavy, scraping noise, as though something sharp was dragging across the metal exterior of the camper. The sound moved methodically, starting at the back and creeping toward the door. My chest tightened as it grew closer. Suddenly the entire camper jolted, throwing us off balance. The shaking was stronger than before, more deliberate. Whatever was outside wasn't just testing the structure, it was trying to get in. The walls groaned as the force increased and the small table toppled over with a crash.

"'Get down!' Ryan hissed, pulling me to the floor. We huddled in the corner, the flashlight beam darting wildly across the room as the camper rocked violently. The sound of claws scraping against metal was deafening, and underneath it I swore I heard that whispering again, low, guttural, and incomprehensible. It wasn't just one voice. It was a chorus, layered and distorted, like a broken radio. "'Evin, what the hell is that?' Ryan's voice cracked. his wrench trembling in his hand. I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat felt like it had closed up,

and all I could do was stare at the door, waiting for it to burst open. The whispering grew louder, more insistent, until it felt like it was inside my head. I clamped my hands over my ears, but it didn't help. And then, just as suddenly as it started, everything stopped. The whispering, the shaking, the scraping, all of it vanished,

leaving behind an oppressive silence that made my ears ring. Ryan and I stayed where we were, too afraid to move. Minutes passed, maybe hours, before we finally worked up the courage to look outside. Slowly, I pushed open the door, my flashlight casting a thin beam of light onto the dirt. The tracks were everywhere again, crisscrossing each other in a chaotic pattern. Some of them ended abruptly, as though whatever had made them had simply vanished. I shone the flashlight toward the edge of the mesa, and for a split second, I thought I saw something move, a shape, tall and thin, with glowing eyes that reflected the light like an animal's.

It disappeared before I could focus on it, slipping into the shadows like smoke. Ryan grabbed my arm. We have to go. Now! I didn't argue this time. By morning we were on the phone with our supervisor begging to be relocated. The village elder didn't seem surprised when we told her we were leaving. she just nodded and said,

It's better this way. But as we packed up the camper, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. The air was too still. The silence too heavy. I glanced toward the mesa one last time, half expecting to see those glowing eyes staring back at me. We left before sundown,

the tracks outside the camper already being erased by the shifting desert wind. I told myself it was over, that whatever was out there would stay behind. But deep down, I knew the truth. Months had passed since Ryan and I left the reservation. I told myself I'd moved on, that the nightmares would fade. But deep down, I knew the truth.

Whatever had stalked us in that barren stretch of New Mexico wasn't just some local superstition. It was real, and I wasn't done running from it. When the assignment came to pick up my new partner, Noah, from the airport, I hesitated. The route would take us back, through the edges of the reservation, the same place where everything had started, the same place I'd sworn never to go near again. But I couldn't exactly say no, not without explaining why, and who would believe me. So I shoved the unease down and hit the road. I met Noah just as the sun was dipping

below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and red. He was younger than I expected, with an easy smile that made him seem like he had no idea what he was getting into. I envied his ignorance. Before we left, the supervisor pulled us aside. His tone was sharp, the kind of seriousness that makes your stomach drop. You're driving through a dangerous area tonight, he said. No stops. I don't care how badly you need a break. If you have to go, do it now. Noah laughed nervously. I'm fine, really. I'll just hold it. The supervisor's eyes darkened. I'm not joking. There are rules out there. You stop. You'll regret it. I didn't say a word.

I just climbed into the driver's seat and waited for Noah to settle in. As we pulled onto the highway, I caught the supervisor watching us through the rearview mirror, his face a mask of quiet dread. The first half hour of the drive was uneventful, but the tension in the car was palpable. Noah tried to make small talk, asking questions about the job, the area, but I barely heard him.

My focus was on the road, on the ever-encroaching darkness. every shadow felt too long every flicker of movement just outside the headlights made my pulse quicken the reservation's boundaries were marked only by a rusted sign that flashed past in the gloom i gripped the wheel tighter as we crossed into the no man's land of empty desert and jagged hills the road stretched on endlessly swallowed by the night about twenty minutes in noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat Uh, hey, he said, his voice hesitant. I think I actually do need to stop. My stomach dropped. No, I said flatly. We're not stopping. Come on, man, I really need to go, he said, a nervous laugh creeping into his voice. It'll only take a second. No, I snapped more forcefully this time. Hold it, we're not stopping here. Noah frowned, but didn't argue.

For another ten minutes he squirmed in silence before finally blurting out. I can't hold it anymore. Just, Pull over, please. I hesitated, my knuckles white on the wheel. The road ahead was empty, silent except for the hum of the engine. Against every instinct screaming at me not to, I eased the car to a stop. Fine, I said through gritted teeth, but stay by the car, don't wander, and if I tell you to get in, you get in. Fast. Got it, Noah said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He hopped out, leaving the door open as he walked a few paces into the darkness. The second he was outside, the air changed.

It was subtle at first, a shift in the wind, a sudden stillness. The distant hum of insects stopped, replaced by an oppressive, suffocating silence. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the darkness, the headlights casting weak beams into the void. Noah, I called out, my voice tight, hurry up. Almost done, he said, his voice drifting back to me. Then I saw it, movement in the shadows just beyond the reach of the headlights. At first it looked like an animal, a large, hunched figure slinking through the scrub, but as it drew closer, its shape shifted. Its limbs stretched unnaturally, its body twisting in ways no living things should move. The figure stepped into the light,

and my blood turned to ice. It was massive, easily seven feet tall, with the head of a wolf but the torso of a man. Its glowing amber eyes locked on to me, unblinking. The creature bared its teeth, jagged and too long, its lips pulling back into something that looked like a grin. Noah! I screamed, slamming my hand on the horn. Get in the car! Now! He turned, confused, but froze when he saw the creature. For a second he didn't move. Then, as if breaking out of a trance, he bolted back toward the car. The thing lunged, its limbs moving too fast, too erratic. I reached across and yanked Noah into the car,

slamming the door shut as the creature's claws raked across the window, leaving deep, jagged grooves. I floored the gas, the tires kicking up gravel as we tore down the road. The creature gave chase, its distorted body loping alongside the car on all fours before rising onto two legs. I glanced at the speedometer, 70, 80, 90, 90, 90. miles an hour, and it was still there. Its glowing eyes locked on us, its mouth open in that horrific toothy grin. Noah was screaming, clutching the door handle like it might save him. What is that thing? What is it? I don't know, I shouted my voice cracking. Just don't look at it.

The creature slammed into the side of the car, nearly sending us off the road. I gritted my teeth, pushing the car as fast as it would go. For what felt like an eternity, it stayed with it. It stayed with us, its shadow flickering in and out of the headlights. And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it veered off into the darkness, vanishing between the hills. I didn't slow down. Not until we were miles away, the safety of city lights finally breaking through the horizon. Noah didn't say a word as we pulled into the parking lot. He stepped out of the car, shaking, and stared at the claw marks on the window. What the hell did we just see? he whispered. I didn't answer. I didn't answer. I didn't have one. All I could think about was the supervisor's warning. No stops. You'll regret it.

And I did. Because even as I stood there my knees weak, I couldn't drop the feeling that it wasn't over, that those glowing eyes were still out there, waiting for me to slip up again.