Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Best Scary Stories of October | Scary Halloween Stories 2021, Forest, Wendigo

Episode Date: October 30, 2021

These are the Best Scary Stories of October | Scary Halloween Stories 2021, Forest, Wendigo https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy ► Check out the latest JUST CREEPY gear:  https://just-creepy-merchandise.creator-spring.com/ Paypal Donation: Any amount is appreciated :) ►https://www.paypal.me/justcreepy ***All stories have been approved by the authors to allow narration on my channel. I can provide proof If necessary.*** Story Credits: ►https://tinyurl.com/2t5649nf ►https://tinyurl.com/tfbbbjdv Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey  ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Business inquiries:  ►[e-mail]    💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

You said this place was steps from the water. We just haven't found the steps yet. How much did we save? Enough. Enough to get lost. Or you could book a stay with Hilton. Welcome to your ocean front room. Just steps from the water.

The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton for the stay. I don't usually write things like this, but I find it necessary. You see, a few nights ago, my friends and I went hiking deep in the woods.

We live in a small town in Norway. The summers are short there, so we try to profit as much as we can from them. In our town, there is an old legend that if you go too deep in the woods, you might find the monster of many skins. Growing up, our parents used it as a way to scare us from going too far into the woods. The legend says that the monster of many skins eats the people who go too far into the woods. As we got older though, we started to realize it was just a fable. We grew out of it like most kids do.

Monsters don't exist, do they? My small group of friends never stopped believing in that though. Instead of staying out of the forest, we wanted to go deeper and eventually find that monster. That's why we held parties in the woods to test our luck. That particular day, we heard that some kids in our school had found the beast, but were lucky enough to get away. I was always the skeptical one, so I didn't quite believe their story, but my friends wanted to know the truth. That night, we traveled deep into the woods. We packed a case of drinks and a notepad to log our encounter and headed off, leaving at sundown.

We trekked into the woods. We were quite deep in the woods when we found a small, run-down hunting cabin, and broke the door open. Moss was littering the outside, and I can say more than a few animals had made their home inside. We opened the door, an intense rush of dust hit our face and made us wheeze even after we had left. Everything inside had been turned around and pushed to all corners of the room. The cabin itself was around 10 feet by 12 feet, and we had been. covered in a thick layer of dust. The roof of the cabin was caving in. In the corner of the room was a journal on a small round table. The cover was made of a thick leather and it was bound with string.

The paper inside of it was thick and darkened with age. We gathered around the journal and opened it. Reading it, it seemed like a normal diary written by an old huntsman from the late 1700s. Most of the pages contained a log of what he had caught and where he had been. There was nothing specifically unusual about it, except for where it was placed. As I'd said before, the rest of the room's furniture was pushed to the corners of the room, but the book was placed on the top of a small table in the middle of the cabin. To me, it looked almost antler-like. Nothing was out of the ordinary, aside from the few last pages.

We presumed either the hunter had died. or had completely forgotten about the journal as if he had left in a rush. I will write for you the last few pages of the journal. December 28, 1792. Today, I caught but one hair. Although it's the midst of winter and there is not much wildlife around, I find it rather weird that there is not more animals out. It is abnormally cold out and I sense a big storm coming.

The sun has just set but is not much. dark yet. I set up camp in a small overgrown area where the cedar leaves create a little shelter. I am quite afraid it will grow too cold for me to stay here. My beard is covered in frost and my face is going numb. I have started a fire to keep warm. I've been sitting around this fire for a while now and it's starting to get dark. The storm is coming. I feel the wind picking up. The snow is light for now. but at this rate the storm will get worse quickly it's starting to feel like daggers against my exposed skin i have decided to scout the area for better shelter i heard of an old hunting shack not too far from here i will grab my things and head out Haza, I had made it to the small log cabin. The visibility was very low, and by the time I got to the shack,

the last bit of day had creeped below the horizon, leaving me in the dark and cold of the foreign forest. That's wrong. It's not foreign. I have passed through here numerous times, and had never actually stopped and camped out here, because I've never caught anything except for a few small rodents in this region. It's just here. it's hard to explain. The aura is different. The snow had already piled high against the cabin,

making me have to dig to get into the darn thing. When I entered, the cold entered my lungs. The stillness of the cabin was eerie, as if it had not been touched in years. Outside, the wind howled like a madman banging against the outer walls of the cabin, but on the inside, it was complete and utter silence. The interior of this cabin has a small wooden cot pushed in the corner in the fireplace. In the middle of the room was a tiny table and two chairs. Everything in the room had a thick layer of dust, leaving me to believe the old tenants had left a few years,

maybe a decade ago. I unpacked my bags, made my bed, and started a fire to warm up the place. Surprisingly, there was unused wood in the fireplace, as if the cabin was expecting me. I skinned and gutted the hair, putting the remains outside to potentially attract larger, more expensive prey.

I placed the skin of the hair outside under the snow to freeze, marking it with a cedar branch so that it would be easier to carry out when I depart from this cabin. I place the meat of the animal on the fire to cook while I rest. I sit here writing this, waiting for my hair to cook. It's very late, I'm getting very tired. In this moment, I have nothing else to do, but get a bit of shut-eye. I will retire to bed for now, and will continue riding at dawn. It is in the middle of the night. I awoke with a great shock in my lungs. The fireplace had gone out for what seemed like hours

because the cabin was glacial. I could see my own breath and my skin stung to the touch. I got up, relit the fire, and continued to cook the hair on the fireplace. I checked. I checked, outside and it was still dark from what I could see. The only noise in that cabin was my own labored breath and the droning crackle of the fire. I sit here writing this as the cabin warms up. I don't even know who would be reading this. If you are, do you find this amusing? I have not much to say for right now. I'll sit here, staring at the blank pages. If I were not a hunter, I suppose I could have worked my penmanship and become a writer. That would be the life, wouldn't it?

The cabin is warm now, and my eyelids are getting heavy. I will get some shut-eye for now, since it is still black out, and my bait has not been taken yet. December 29, 1792. I awoke again, this time at dawn. The storm has subsided, although not completely. The snow has piled high against the sides of the cottage, but it seems as though the door is sheltered enough for me to get out. The windows are frosted over. Lucky for me, the wind isn't as strong as it was last night, and as I write this, the snow is calming down. Outside is perfect

hunting conditions. I hope I catch something more this afternoon. I glanced outside and saw the bait was gone, and whatever took it, left large tracks leading into the forest. I have decided I shall grab my gun and head out. I hope I can catch whatever animal that was before it travels a length too great for me to follow. I am desperately hoping that the storm, which chase me here, will not return. I hope to return to this cabin. If I do not, then one of three things happened. The storm returned, and this time I was not so lucky and could not evade the howling winds and the needle-like snow. I found the animal I'm about to track, but was not a little bit of the animal. I was not a little bit of successful in conquering the beast or when out in the forest I was not able to find my

way back to the cabin in all but one scenario I am gone so let's hope none of those options have happened for now I say goodbye reader whomever you are and I hope to write again oh dear God oh what my eyes have seen in this terrible forest are enough to cripple even the strongest of men's sanity let me start from the beginning, in as much agonizing detail as I can bring myself to write. After my last entry, I grabbed my gun and went outside to check the scene. The snow was packed and easy to walk on, which was to my advantage. I was shocked that not only the remains of the hair were gone, but also the skin I had placed strategically in the snow, had been dug up. I found this rather

weird since I had placed it so it was rather hard to reach. The beast, or beasts, had left deep gashes in the snow, and the tracks in the snow were by far the oddest thing about it. It seemed as though ten or more animals passed by this very area. I could identify deer, bear, and wolf tracks for sure. The prince never overlapped. They all followed the exact same route as the others. It was not odd having animals pass by at night and check out the scene, especially since I had left out animal entrails, but having this many of them was incredibly abnormal, especially in this region. I followed the tracks into the forest. I contemplated turning around and headed back to the cabin, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I proceeded further into the forest. In that part of the forest, it was

very different. I cannot quite describe it. The trees seem longer in a sense, more foreboding. The dark green spruce trees were spindly and twisted, looming over my head with a sense of indescribable evil. The air in that region was dense, making it hard to breathe, as though I was breathing in water. Before, I used to hear winter birds like crows and ravens, but here, there was nothing, nothing at all but the light howl of the wind as it passed through the tree branches. The whole scene was ghastly. Here the sky was darker, or the snow was reflecting light in a different way. I noticed large gashes in the surrounding trees and small droplets of blood on freshly fallen snow. About 30 minutes away, in a small snowed in grotto, under the open sky was a large creature

making seismic movements with its arms. The creature was hunched over. its back facing me, and most likely concentrating on what it was doing with its hands. I creeped forward to get a better look at what this creature was and what it was doing. The thing was unnaturally gaunt. As I got closer, I made a noise. I cannot quite recall what it was now. It might have been a twig snapping. The horrible creature snapped its head around violently, creating the snap and pop of bones, but didn't seem to care. It saw me. What I witnessed there still makes my stomach churn. The creature was about ten feet, maybe more since it was hunched over.

It had multiple animal parts sewn into it. There was wolverine and rabbit limbs protruding out of its side, with dry blood kicking to it. The hide of the limbs of many animals had been sewn into it with a black thread. It was sagging off the ancient beast's bones. The monster had limbs of varying sizes under the fake flesh which I presume to be organs. The beast was wearing the appendages as if it were a shell, like a hermit crab. As I reread through my notes, I realized I cannot begin to describe the sheer horror of the thing. It had animal heads, rotting and blackened with frost. The head of the creature was the

head of a young buck. The face of an old wolf was sewn on the left side, and the face of a bear on the right. The eyes of the buck were sunken in and glazed over. The eyes of the thing were milky white with disease. On the head of the buck, the antlers of a moose and deer were butched together with thread and dried blood. There was an opening where I could see that it was in the process of sewing the hair that I had caught onto its body. The creature's anatomy was something I had never seen before, a torso way too long with too many limbs, arms long and shoulders sagging, touching the snow. I could not see the lower portion of its legs, but from what I could make out. It was the legs of that poor buck. The creature let out a guttural shriek,

striking me with the most foul stench of decay. I could see inside of the gaping mouth and saw nothing. Its mouth was empty, but I knew that behind the hollow emptiness there was something horrifying, something I didn't want to see. It stood up. Even from a distance, I could see it towering over me. Spit mixed with small droplets of blood. poured out of its mouth, hitting the snow and staining it yellow with rot. As it lifted its body out of the snow, I could see the horrible claws that made those marks in the snow and trees. They were bony, darkened hands of a humanoid being. No, not humanoid, not even that. It was a parody of a human, as if it tried to replicate a human figure but failed horribly.

Its fingers were too long, maybe four times longer than mine, and you could see every bone from afar. The skin on its hands was dark from the frost of years of existence. Its torso was long, too long. It made up most of the beast's figure. I was stuck in fear and had no control over my body. As soon as I regained control, though, I shot my gun at it,

stumbling around because of the recoil of the old rifle. The beast fell with such a violent force. As it got up, and I saw crimson leaking out of it onto the snow, It had the internals of various different shapes and sizes in it. Most were of that of small rodents. It howled. I couldn't tell if it was from pain or anger,

but it howled louder than anything I had ever heard from anything before. It put its vile hand over the open wound to hold back the gore. It bent over and started to pick itself together with handfuls. As it was distracted, I sprinted away for the cabin. When I reached it, the sun had dipped below the horizon. and daylight was limited. My lungs were burning, and my lakes could barely hold their own weight. I got into the cabin, and here I am now. It has gotten too dark for me to leave the cabin, so I will stay here for one more night. I can only hope it doesn't come for me tonight.

I have not started a fire and fear that it will make it easier for the beast to track me down. I am riding this by the light of a very small lantern that admits a fair amount of heat. I pray to the Lord that it does not find me. I will keep this lantern on tonight to keep me warm. Good night. It's currently the middle of the night. I have awoken with a strange sense in my gut, almost like having butterflies,

but instead of a nervous fluttering, it's more like wasps stinging my stomach and buzzing violently inside me. I cannot tell if it's purely anxiety mixed with sleep deprivation, or if I truly am ill. My eyes are playing tricks on me. I have seen tens.

No, hundreds of rodents race across the floor of the cabin. I hear movement outside. The feeling in my stomach has grown into disoriented nausea, and I feel as though I will faint. Beads of cold sweat have gathered on my forehead, keeping me awake. The room is different. I cannot tell how, but it just is, almost as if everything in the room was moved by half an inch.

If anyone is reading this and believes I am but a madman, I am not. I know what I am seeing, and I know it is true. The rodents are now crawling all over the walls. The flame of the lantern is dying out, but I have no clue what to do. I feel a pounding in the back of my head, as though the rodents are crawling and gnawing at my brain. Through the white noise that the scurrying is producing, I can hear, no, feel something pulling me out. outside, a force stronger than man itself can conceive, almost like a serene song pulling a young sailor out to sea.

I will go check. I feel the only thing keeping me sane and focused is this journal. I'm back and I must describe what has happened to me. I lifted myself off the bed and stood up, nearly vomiting. My legs shook under the weight of my own feeble body. I directed myself to the door. my head pulsing with the sound of the rodents. They scurried under my feet, forcing me to hold onto the wall. I staggered to the cabin door and opened it. I was suddenly sobered with what I saw.

Hundreds of eyes staring at me, and in the middle of them all, I saw the grotesque silhouette of the beast illuminated by the light of the full moon. The animals were just staring at me with such a fury I had never seen in my life. I have never been much of a religious man at all. But in that moment, I wondered if there was a god above. If this was a way of repayment for killing his creatures, his children. The beast was silent, all of the animals were. I retreated slowly and tripped over the mice and rats that were racing toward the beast. What I saw will forever haunt my nightmares.

The moon shone down on a part of the beast that I had never seen before. A human head was sewn under the side of the beast. the man's face forever frozen in expression of dread. I made the realization then, the hands of the beast, ancient human that had been mummified by the frost and wrapped around its own skeletal hands. My body trembled with a hollow ache. I was so disoriented, so scared, yet I felt something,

a quiet sense of calm. It started at the back of my head and grew as I got closer to the beast. Then the beast opened its mouth and howled. but instead of making me recoil in fear and disgust, it was enchanting. The whole scene was so beautiful, no words in the human language can begin to describe the beauty. Blood dripped from its mouth as it chanted its song. I ran inside tripping over the rodents that now poured out of the cabin like a raging river, shutting the door behind me and dropping to my knees with tears streaming down my cheeks.

The creature continued its chant. Blood started to drip from my ears, pooling around my fingertips, for I was not crying because of the amount of pain I was in. It was because of the beauty I had just witnessed. I gathered my composure and crawled to the table. I sit here now, writing what I think will be the last thing I ever write. My fate is sealed, and I know that. I do not fret the end of my life. In fact, I desire it.

I will repent for my sins. the beast is my lord, and I know it is here to make me join its army. I regret the loss of life I have caused in my complete and utter carelessness. I will follow its voice and become one with it. It will save me. It will forgive me. The air of the cabin feels like acid in my lungs, and it's getting harder to breathe. The rodents are starting to break down the cabin door and have already broken through the window.

It's waiting for me. the creature of many skins. God, I will repent. Goodbye. As you can see, after reading that, we all got freaked out. Of course, being a skeptic I am, I first thought it could be some stupid guys that had decided to play a sick prank on whoever read the journal. But that's just impossible. The book itself was too old, too brittle. It looks so genuine. And I guess that's what made it even more unnerving. There was no name anywhere on the journal. Believe me, we triple-checked, so we could not identify the man in this journal. This journal was all the proof my friends needed to be convinced it was real, all of it. I wanted to leave, but my friends kept pushing to look

through the cabin, and I didn't feel like trekking through the woods alone. Pushed to the side of the cabin was a cot with blankets on it. Moths had gotten to the blankets and chewed them up. In the cot was a rat's nest that had long since been vacant. Under the bed was a bag made from unidentifiable material because of age. Thrown violently at the wall was the smashed and rusted remains of a lantern. This was no doubt where the hunter had stayed during the harsh winter of 1792. Of course, everything in the cabin was distorted with age, but that was expected. Finally, I convinced my friends that we had seen enough and that it was getting dark

out. We left the cabin, Astrid cradling the lantern remains, Eric carrying the notebook, Daniel carrying the drinks and chips, and me holding the hunter's journal. The sky was getting dark and the temperature was dropping quickly. I was falling behind my group as they chattered ahead of me. I turned around to face the cabin one last time and saw, hunched over, the large figure of a creature with large antlers and many faces. Its hands dragged. against the ground. I turned as white as a ghost and ran to my friends, screaming at them to run. In retrospect, that was the worst thing I could have done. But the fear mixed with adrenaline made me act upon my stupid impulses. We all bolted for home. Luckily, we got there. It's now

the wee hours of the morning. I have stayed up all night. I keep glancing over the hunter's journal. My head is pounding and my heart is racing because, outside, at the forest edge facing the window of my room is the silhouette of the thing I had glanced at once in the forest. Writing this is keeping me distracted for the meantime, but I've already seen a few rats scurry out from under my bed. It's calling me. It's calling me to be one with it.

I don't know if I'll be able to make it so. If you're reading this, I want you to know there is something in the woods. You're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance.

Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs. Execution style killing it. It's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them.

All of them. M.I.A. Streaming now. Only on Peacock. I am writing this as a complete and total recount of the events I experienced on Sillian Mountain almost three months ago, so I can have my facts straight if the police decide to listen to me. No, when they decide to listen to me. They have to, because I'm terrified of what will happen if they don't. I know I already lost my friend Ethan, and I'm

afraid that whatever that thing was may get more people. I've already tried to contact the local authorities, the news, hell, even the local wildlife conservation group to see if they know anything. But I've either been laughed away or thrown out for wasting their time. So this document is a way for me to gather my thoughts, but also as a warning. At this point, I think I have to be the one to do something about this. And in case I don't make it back and things get worse, I want someone to be brought up to speed. My name is Ned Harris. I have dark hair, brown eyes, missing the tip of my pinky on my right hand and a small scar on my left cheek. If you read this and later see me casually walking on the streets of Jericho, West Virginia, it means I failed. Get out while you can.

And please, do not go into the woods. This nightmare came to be when my friend Ethan Lancaster and I, decided to camp out on Sillion Mountain for a week. In celebration of his recent promotion, this was going to be a first for us, but one we were more than excited for. Sillian Mountain was a notoriously difficult mountain to hike, and even more difficult to survive on. Only a handful of people ever made it to the peak and returned.

More than a handful were never seen again. This would turn most people away, but Ethan and I were avid hikers and campers. We met on a camping forum five years earlier and became close friends almost immediately due to our mutual love of the outdoors. We had been on numerous hikes through the years, varying in difficulty,

but when Ethan became a general manager for the firm he worked at, we decided it was time to finally tackle the big one. After a month of planning and saving up for new gear, we found ourselves in Jericho, West Virginia. Jericho was a small, Gatlinburg-esque town that sat squarely at the bottom of Sillian, consisting of only two roads and a population of a few hundred. It was hardly the Gatlinburg competitor that the ads lead you to believe. It had a few attractions like bars, restaurants, museums, and most famously Sweet Tooth.

The concerningly obese grizzly that spent her days roaming, her barren enclosure. Tourists were beginning to trickle in now that the seemingly eternal snow was beginning to melt. But for the most part, Jericho wasn't meant for tourists. It was the place where all hikers began their journey, obsidian, after purchasing all the overpriced gear at the local shops, of course. Ethan and I found a motel for the night, and we were up the next morning before sunrise so we could get a jump start on the three-day hike to our chosen camp spot, which we had marked on our map. Aside from a twisted ankle and Ethan being charged by a particularly aggressive raccoon, the hike itself was uneventful. The steep, yet relatively short slopes of Sillian

scared most of the ill-fit hikers away quickly, but we trekked up the 45-degree slopes with ease, having trained for this journey for months. By the second day, we only occasionally ran into other experienced hikers, in which we would return their friendly wave and continue on our separate paths. By dusk of the second day, we arrived at our chosen camp spot. It was a small clearing that provided some legroom from the suffocating pines that speckled the landscape, and we had a small creek babbling away nearby thanks to the melting snow. We had camp set up and under an hour and began the rituals we had become accustomed to after many years of camping together. I began preparing tonight's dinner, a lovely pack of dehydrated mac and cheese,

while Ethan went out to find firewood. Once I had all the cooking utensils out of their cases and set up how I liked them, I grabbed a large pot and headed over to the creek so that we could undo the pesky, dehydrated part of our meal. The area surrounding the creek was picturesque, like something you'd see on a water bottle wrapper. The crystal clear water trickled softly down the slopes, with evidence of local wildlife regularly stopping by for a quick drink. I took a moment to appreciate the scenery, taking a deep breath of cold mountain air,

and feeling the high that made me fall in love with hiking so many years before. I knelt by the creek bed and began to fill up the pot, whistling softly to myself. When something made me stop, I glanced around at my surroundings, scanning the tree line behind me and the steep, rocky slope ahead of me. My ears strained for a sound that I hadn't heard, but my brain still warned me of. The hair on the back of my neck shot up as I quickly looked to my right, at the slopes above me. I saw nothing in the cragid peaks above, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

The one softly babbling creek now sounded like a roaring river as I stared into the rocks above, frozen to the spot with a confusing terror that seemed to come from nothing. I slowly rose my knee and faced the peaks to my right. It's hard to explain, but it felt as if they were watching me. Not a creature that resided in them, but the mountain itself. The skin of my scalp tightened and my stomach churned as the chirping birds around me fell silent, as if some kind of predator had just came into view. I backed away from the creek, continuously scanning the cliffs above the cliffs,

me. It felt as if I was staring into the eyes of an old god, asleep from millennia, that had just decided to wake up and stare directly into my soul, a force so old and eternal that my existence was a mere blip in comparison. My life, a blink and you miss it moment. I was suddenly overcome with an enormous wave of terror that would have caused me to drop the pot and sprint back home, had it not subsided as quickly as it came. The birds began to chirp once more, and the birds, and the creek's deafening roar returned to a trickle. I stood for nearly 20 minutes, unmoving and staring at the cliff above, before eventually gaining the courage to step away from the creek and return to the camp,

never taking my eyes away from what felt like an unseen assailant. A half hour later, I was back at camp, running the water through the purifier and staring off into nothing. My rapidly beating heart finally began to slow, and I began to feel silly. Look at you, Harris, jumping at mountain ghosts, I muttered to myself, chuckling at the absurdity of my experience, but unable to shake it completely. It was like a small rat was inside of my skull, gnawing away at my brain, no matter how hard I tried to shake it loose. I glanced at my watch and frowned. It was almost nine. Ethan had been gone for almost an hour, and it was nearly dark.

It wasn't uncommon for him to take long collecting firewood, but we both agreed to be back at camp before sunset. I looked east, the direction he had gone, and grabbed my flashlight. I knew he would give me crap for worrying about him, but if he had gotten lost or hurt, it would be near impossible to find him in total darkness. I clicked the button, and a beam of light illuminated the woods ahead of me, casting the trees in rocks with a harsh white light and everything outside the circle,

to be shrouded in darkness. I took a deep breath and ventured into the woods. Ethan? I called out. Following the tracks, he left in the melting snow. It's almost dark. You should head back. The only response I got was that of crickets beginning to chirp.

I swallowed, gripped the flashlight tighter, and pushed on. Come on, man, seriously. Let's get back to camp. I passed the beam from tree to tree. my nerves causing me to jump as I expected to see some twisted face peering from behind the trunks, but never seeing anything. I eventually lost his trail as he seemed to turn and ascend upwards. I turned and pointed my flashlight past the trees, and my heart jumped.

The same peaks as before loomed over me, staring down with a smug stoicism that seemed to say, Welcome back. My hand trembled, causing the light to dance across the rocks above me. That feeling of existential terror washed over me once more, crashing into my mind with such a force that I immediately turned and ran, not as a man who made a decision, but as a mindless animal relying on instinct to save it from imminent danger. I crashed through the woods, crying out as sharp stick seemed to clawed my face and arms.

I felt the distinct presence of something behind me, an immense invisible force that was bearing down on me like a thundering avalanche. closing the distance between us faster than I was closing the distance between me and the camp. I picked up the speed, pumping my legs as fast as I could, and ignoring the stinging pain as the branches raked against me. I half panted and half sobbed as I exploded through the brush and fell into the clearing, going into the fetal position and waiting for an attack that never came. After a moment, I peered through my fingers,

watching the gently rustling branches in front of me, as everything beyond them was now cast in total darkness from the setting sun. I took a deep breath and rose to my hands and knees, desperately trying to slow my heart rate before I either collapsed or vomited. Once I felt like I wasn't going to pass out anymore, I rose to my feet, backed away from the woods I had just escaped from, and turned back to camp.

Ethan was standing in the center of the clearing, his arms held firmly at his sides and his head lulling around lazy, as if he were drunk. Ethan, what the heck man? I panted, glancing around behind me into the woods again before making my way over to him. Are you okay?

I was looking for you. Ethan, what the heck man? Ethan responded, still facing away from me. I froze. His voice sounded rough, as if he suddenly aged 30 years and smoked a pack every day at the same time. Even more strange was that the inflection of his voice.

How he said was identical to how I did, almost like listening to a playback recording. Uh, yeah, listen, I... What is that? He suddenly screamed out, making me jump. Oh God, please, I... He cut himself off, each word sounding more like Ethan's normal voice

before mimicking a strange snapping noise, like a broken twig. or, Ethan, I said, slowly approaching him from behind. This isn't funny, man, you're scaring me. Scaring you? He responded, swaying slightly as I approached. He sounded totally normal now, which didn't make me feel all that better. I stretched my hand towards him as he made a sound that still haunts me to this day.

A noise that sounded like a mix between a click and a short shriek and seemed to almost impossible for a person to be able to make. Before I was able to touch his shoulder, he whirled around and faced me, causing me to jump back and yell out in terror. He bared his teeth at me, a horrific and failed mimicry of a smile. His blonde hair was filthy and shrung over his face and eyes. My God, his eyes were pointing in opposite directions before sliding together focusing on me. My stomach churned and my hair stood on end as those eyes. My eyes were pointing in opposite directions, eyes seemed to stare straight through me in a gaze that I had only ever felt before, never seen. Come on, Ned, I have something I want to show you. It stammered, like it was still trying to figure out

how to work its tongue. Get away from me, I squeaked out, backing away from whatever this thing was. Every animal instinct in me was screaming at once to run, to get away from this foul mimicry of life, of my friend. It isn't far, just a few hundred yards. It stammered, lurching towards me in unnatural movements as if controlled by unseen strings. I turned a run and tripped over my hiking bag, landing hard, crying out in pain as my previously twisted ankle became a sprained ankle. It is beautiful. It cried out as it descended upon me. We are beautiful. It grabbed onto my face as I grasped out in horror. The skin on its hands were rubbery, like frog's skin,

and it caused my own skin to crawl in an attempt to avoid contact with this crazy thing of nature. You are not beautiful. I struggled against the Ethan thing, eventually landing a hit to its face with my elbow. It stumbled, that horrific face still froze into a false smile, as it rose back to its feet and turns towards me. I jumped to my feet and ran, screaming in agony as my sprained ankle, became a broken ankle.

The trees around me rustled violently. The branches clotted my face as if they were trying to slow me down. I cast a glance behind me and screamed in terror. The Ethan thing was behind me, that false human expression unmoving as it followed me at a full sprint. Its arms plastered stiffly to its side.

I ducked and dodged the branches as best as I could, breathing so loudly that I didn't even notice that thing behind me wasn't breathing at all. I could feel it closing in, those yellow eyes staring hungrily at the back of my head. I was done for. I couldn't outrun it, even if I didn't have a broken ankle. My legs weren't even bending. How in the... It continued gaining on me. The branches almost seemed to part for it.

Tears streamed down my face as I get. gasped for air, pumping my good leg as fast as I could. Closer. My head pounded from the cold mountain air. Closer. I could feel its presence right behind me now. It emanated a scent that smelled old. Closer.

Very old. Closer. Older than everything. I stumbled and began to pitch and spin down the mountain slopes, crying out as I slammed into the tree trunks and rocks. I felt my ribs splintered. and my vision went white as my head collided with a large root. I rolled off an overhang and free fell for two or three seconds before slamming into something below,

causing whatever it was to scream out in surprise and anger. I swam in and out of consciousness as people crawled their way out of the tent I fell upon. Their voices sounded distant and echoed in the void I was quickly sinking into. I felt hands pat me down and assess my condition and heard the distant beeping and worried voices of someone on the phone. The last thing I saw before blacking out were the trees on the ledge I had fallen from, looming above me like ancient giants. That was almost three months ago now. I spent a few days in a hospital outside of Jericho before being released with my injuries tended to. I immediately went to the Jericho Police Department and told them my story, in which I was

reminded that it was strictly forbidden to have drugs of any kind on Cillian. I said, I said, spent the next month trying to find someone, anyone who would believe me. I pushed my friends and family away with hysteria and was put on leave at work until I could figure my crap out. The strangest thing, no one seemed to remember Ethan. Whenever I'd bring him up, I would just get weird looks, with people saying that I had done all my camping trips solo. Even Ethan's family looked extremely concerned as they hugged their daughter and only child, afraid of the man in their living room, screaming about a son they never had. I felt like I was losing my mind, so I decided to return to Jericho and try to settle this once and for all. I walked the streets of the small mountain town,

jumping at every noise and recoiling from anyone who walked too close. I took a swig from the bottle of Jamison I carried in a brown paper bag, the closest thing I had to a friend these days. I passed the hotel Ethan and I had stayed at, which of course didn't have him on record, and continued down Main Street toward the path that led to the mountain. I fidgeted with my hands, brushing my unkempt unwashed hair in my face as I approached the trail, passing by a group of tourists who were listening to a trail guide. I froze. That voice!

I slowly turned towards the group of middle-aged tourists, taking pictures and listening to the tour guide standing on a large log. The man wore the taill-tale brown and green khaki outfit of a forest guide, pointing toward a map and telling corny jokes to a group as he pushed the blonde hair out of his eyes. Ethan. I rushed towards the group, shoving tourists away from me as I pushed a path towards Ethan. Hey! I screamed, startling people around me. Ethan turned and locked eyes with me.

The briefest flash of recognition in his eyes before he smiled. Hello, sir. If you'd like to join the group, you can sign the group. up in the hut over the... I tackled him, ripping him off the stump and slamming him into the ground. The crowd gasped as I slammed my fists into his face over and over again. What are you? What did you do to my friend? I roared,

trying to pull his hands away from his face so I could get him again. I felt a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and pull me off of Ethan roughly, sending me sprawling onto the grass. Two cops pounce on me, forcing my hands into a pair of cuffs. No, no, you don't understand. I screamed, struggling against their grip. Ethan rose to his feet and wiped his nose, smiling down at me. Go easy on him, fellas, he said, flashing a warm smile to the cops.

No harm done, just needs to work out whatever he's on, I'm sure. I wrenched against the cops and tried to lunge at him, but they held me tight and began to drag me away. No, you don't understand what you're doing, I cried. fighting against the men, I whipped back towards Ethan, who only smiled at me. I noticed his assistant was watching me too, with an awkward-looking smile that looks like she hadn't quite mastered it yet. No, please! I yelled as I was thrown into the back of a cop car, hearing Ethan's voice carry over the lot

as the door slammed close. Sorry about that, folks. Some crazy people, huh? Anyway, let's get on with the hike, shall we? I have something very beautiful I'd love to show you all.