Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary DEEP WOODS Horror Stories That Will Give You Chills On A Cold Winter Night

Episode Date: December 18, 2024

These are 4 Scary DEEP WOODS Horror Stories That Will Give You Chills Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:10:35 Story 2 00:28:59 Story 3 00:45:30 Story 4 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 #compilation #parkrangerstories #deepwoods #nationalpark 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

Yamava Resort and Casino at San Manuel is California's number one entertainment destination for today's superstars. Catch the Jonas Brothers return to the Yamava Theater stage on April 30th, the powerful vocals of Demi Lovato on May 17th, and the signature Southern Country Rock of Eric Church on July 19th. Tickets on sale now at Yamavat Theater.com, only at Yamava Resort and Casino, celebrating its 40th anniversary. You in? Must be 21 to enter. I've always loved the woods. There's something about the way the trees swallow you whole, cutting you off from the static of the world. But this time, they felt different.

Not welcoming, not vast and free, just wrong. It started the second we pulled off the gravel road and into the clearing. Boone, our older lab, was pacing in the back seat before I even put the car in park. Juno, who's usually the bold one, wouldn't stop whining. Looks perfect, right? I forced a smile, glancing at my wife Claire. She nodded, though her brow was furrowed. Tyler, our son, jumped out before I could say anything else, clutching his little backpack.

Looks like a movie! he yelled as Boone bolted past him barking at the tree line. Boone, I called, and he froze, tail low, ears pinned back. He trotted back slowly, nose to the ground like something was out there. It put me on edge. Boone wasn't scared of anything. We got to work setting up camp. The clearing was big enough for the tent, the fire pit, and a spot for Tyler to play around,

all wrapped in a thick wall of trees, too thick almost. It felt like the forest was watching us. Claire must have noticed it too because she stayed close while unpacking, glancing over her shoulder more than usual. You hear that? she asked at one point, pausing mid-step. I stopped too listening.

It took me a second to realize what was missing. The birds, the damn birds, no chirping, no rustling, nothing but the faint hum of the wind through the pines. It's just quiet out here, I said, though it felt like a lie even as it left my mouth. By the time we lit the fire that night, my unease hadn't gone away. Boone and Juno sat stiffly by the fire, their eyes tracking something beyond the glow.

Tyler laughed as he roasted marshmallows, oblivious. Claire stared at the fire like it was the only thing grounding her. It started small, a crack of a branch in the distance. Boone stood immediately, growling low, another crack closer this time. Juno joined him, her hackles up. Probably a deer, I muttered, though my hand drifted to the shotgun I'd propped against the tent. The footsteps weren't like a deer, too slow, deliberate, heavy. They circled us, crunching leaves and snapping twigs, staying just out of sight.

Boone barked sharply, launching into the darkness, but stopped dead at the edge of the firelight, growling like he didn't want to go farther. Stay back! I shouted into the night, gripping the shotgun, hoping the noise would scare off whatever it was. Silence, not even a shuffle. The forest held its breath. I didn't sleep that night. Every time the footsteps started again, I would freeze, praying it was just an animal. but by morning I was certain of one thing. We weren't alone. The morning didn't bring any relief. If anything, the forest felt heavier in the daylight, like it was closing in on us. The birds were still silent, the air stale, and Boone and Juno hadn't relaxed one bit.

Boone sniffed constantly, his nose low to the ground, while Juno stuck so close to Tyler you'd think she was glued to him. Let's take a walk, Claire suggested, trying to ease the tension. her smile was forced, but I agreed. Anything to shake off the unease from the night before. We followed an overgrown trail just beyond the clearing. It twisted through the dense woods, the kind of path you'd miss if you weren't looking for it. Tyler led the way, bouncing ahead like nothing was wrong, while Boone stayed just a step behind him, his ears flicking at every sound. I kept the shotgun slung over my shoulder, not normal for a casual, hike, but nothing about this trip felt normal anymore. We hadn't gone far when Boone froze.

He barked once, sharp and loud, and took off down the trail. My chest tightened as I called for him, running after him before he got too far. Boone, get back here, Claire shouted panic in her voice. Tyler stopped, his smile gone as we all broke into a sprint. When I caught up to Boone, he was standing at the edge of a clearing, barking furiously at something I couldn't see. What is it, boy? I whispered, stepping forward. That's when I saw it. An abandoned campsite, or what was left of one. A shredded tent lay collapsed in the dirt, its poles snapped like twigs. A cooler was tipped over, its sides crushed inward, and a propane stove lay bent and broken nearby. The place looked like it had been hit by a tornado, but there was no storm damage, no fallen trees,

just destruction. Did, did animals do this? Claire asked, her voice barely above a whisper, I wanted to say yes, but my gut told me no. I stepped closer, scanning the wreckage. Something glinted in the dirt, fabric, torn to shreds, and something else. A child's shoe, small and muddy, sitting upright on a stump like it had been placed there on purpose. My stomach turned. Let's go, I said, backing away.

Boone barked at the woods again, his growls louder this time. Claire grabbed Tyler's hand and pulled him close. What about them? Tyler asked, looking back at the shoe. I didn't have an answer. Back at camp, I tried to shake it off. We set up for lunch, and Tyler played with Juno nearby. But the woods felt tighter, darker, like something was watching. Claire went to gather kindling, and Boone bolted after her, barking like he was chasing something. What happened? I asked when she ran back, pale and shaking.

I wasn't alone, she said. I swear I saw something. It was huge, crouched in the trees. Its eyes, her voice cracked. They were glowing. Boone growled into the forest, but the trees gave nothing back. Whatever was out there, it was waiting, watching, and we still had one more night. The sun set below the trees too quickly, and the forest swallowed the light in one long gulp.

The fire crackled weakly at the center of the night. the clearing, but it wasn't enough to push back the creeping darkness. Boone and Juno were restless, pacing the perimeter, their growls low and constant. Claire sat with Tyler pressed against her, her eyes darting to every sound. I stayed on my feet, gripping the shotgun, scanning the shadows for movement. I don't think it's safe to stay another night, Claire whispered. Her voice trembled, and I couldn't argue. The unease from earlier had grown into a suffocating, weight pressing down on all of us. Something was out there. Something was watching. The first sound came just as I moved to douse the fire, a branch snapping, loud and deliberate. Then another,

closer. Boone barked sharply, the fur along his spine bristling. Juno whimpered, circling back toward Tyler. Inside the tent, I ordered my voice sharp. Now, Claire grabbed Tyler and pulled him toward the tent. But before they could reach it, the rope alarm rattled violently. The sound of metal cans jingling was like a gunshot in the stillness. Then came the growl. Low, guttural, and impossibly deep. It vibrated through the ground, freezing us all in place. Boone lunged forward, barking furiously, but he stopped short of the tree line, teeth bared. My flashlight caught the edge of something, a shadow that moved too fast and too low to be human. Get to the car, I barked, backing toward Claire and Tyler.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, the shotgun trembling in my hands. We'll never make it, Claire hissed. But we had no choice. Another growl echoed from the opposite side of the clearing. There was more than one. I fired a shot into the trees, the blast deafening in the quiet. Something screamed, a sound so unnatural and high-pitched it made my blood run cold. Boone and Juno snarled, barking at the shadows that seemed to close in on all sides.

Run, I shouted, grabbing Claire's arm and shoving her toward the car. Tyler clung to her, tears streaming down his face as we sprinted for the truck parked at the edge of the clearing. Boone and Juno flanked us, barking madly, their eyes locked on the shadows darting between the trees. As we reached the truck, I threw open the doors. Get in, I yelled, shoving Claire and Tyler inside. Boone jumped in next, but Juno hesitated. Her gaze locked on the darkness behind us. Juno, come! I screamed, but she let out a savage growl before leaping into the truck.

I slammed the door shut and fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The growls grew louder, closer, circling the truck. The flashlight beam caught a glimpse of something massive, its eyes glowing white-hot like embers. I turned the ignition, the engine roaring. to life just as a shadow slammed against the side of the truck with a force that made it rock. Go, go, go, Claire screamed. I floored the gas pedal, the tires kicking up dirt as we sped down the trail. Something chased us, its footsteps pounding behind us, too fast and too heavy to be human. I didn't dare look in the rearview mirror, only when we hit the main road did the pounding stop.

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my breath coming in gasps. Claire clutched Tyler, tears streaming down her face, while Boone and Juno sat rigid, still growling softly. We didn't speak until we reached the edge of town, the distant lights promising safety. My voice was hoarse when I finally broke the silence. Be careful when going into the woods. You never know what you might encounter.

We were four days into what was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime, the kind of honeymoon you dream about. Just me, Emma, and Max. our half-wolf of a dog, out in the Appalachian wilderness. No distractions, no work emails, no anything, just the crackle of campfires, the smell of pine, and the kind of silence you only find when the nearest town is a two-hour drive away. Emma had just started packing away the remnants of our dinner.

Some gourmet freeze-dried something that neither of us would ever admit tasted like cardboard, when Max let out this low, guttural growl. the kind that makes your skin tighten over your bones. I glanced at him. He was staring off into the darkness beyond the edge of our campfire, hackles raised, lips peeled back over his teeth. My first thought was bear or coyote. This deep in, they weren't uncommon,

and Max usually had a sixth sense about them. Max stop, Emma said, but her voice didn't carry its usual confidence. She looked at me, eyes darting toward the dark, as if asking me to confirm that everything was, was okay. Before I could say anything, a voice, soft, almost melodic, cut through the air. Can I sit by your fire? Emma jumped, dropping the empty pan she'd been holding. Max's growl turned into a full-throated bark, the kind that echoed off the trees. My heart, which had been beating

steadily until that moment, kicked into a gallop. The woman was just there, like she'd stepped out of the shadows themselves. I hadn't heard her approach. No crunch of leaves, no snap of a twig, nothing. One second, it was just the two of us, and the next she was standing there at the edge of the firelight, barefoot and still. She didn't look homeless or anything, just wrong. Her clothes hung loosely, mismatched and wrinkled, like she'd thrown them on without looking.

Her dark hair clung to her face in oily strands, and her eyes, God, her eyes. focus on me or Emma. They weren't looking at Max either, despite his barking. It was like she wasn't really looking at anything, just staring into some middle distance only she could see. A no, I said trying to keep my voice steady. We're about to head to bed, actually. She didn't react, not at first. She just stood there, swaying slightly, her hands hanging limp at her sides. I glanced at Emma, hoping she'd say something, but she was frozen. Her lips parted, like she wanted to speak but couldn't.

Max lunged forward, snapping his jaws, and that finally made the woman take a step back. Your dog doesn't like me, she murmured, almost to herself. I tightened my grip on Max's leash. Yeah, he's not usually like this, I lied. He's just protective. She tilted her head, as if weighing my words. Then, without another sound, she turned and walked away,

not toward the main path, where the other campers were, but deeper into the woods. The firelight didn't reach far enough to track her for long, but I swear I could hear her bare feet brushing against the undergrowth long after she'd disappeared. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence was oppressive, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. Jake, Emma finally whispered, her voice shaky.

Who the hell was that? No idea, I said. But the truth was, didn't believe she was just another camper. Something about her didn't fit. The next morning, the encounter felt almost like a dream, one of those disjointed nightmares that sticks with you even after you wake up. Emma didn't say much as we ate breakfast, but I caught her glancing toward the tree line more than once. Even Max seemed on edge, sniffing at the air and whining softly. I decided to walk down to the water pump to refill our bottles. The campground was quiet,

Most of the other campers were probably still sleeping. As I approached the pump, I saw her again. She was standing near a tree, maybe 15 feet away, as still as a statue. Her head was tilted at that same odd angle, her hands hanging limp at her sides. This time, her eyes were locked on me. I froze. Hey, I managed, my voice sounding far less casual than I wanted it to. She didn't answer.

Instead, she stepped forward and held something out to me. It was a key, rusted and old, with scratches running along its edges like it had been gnawed on. You dropped this, she said. I didn't drop anything, I said, taking a cautious step back. She smiled then, a thin, humorless curve of her lips. You'll need it later, she said, her voice soft, almost sing-song. Look, I don't know what this is about, but I don't need it, I said, keeping my voice firm. Her smile didn't falter. She tilted her head the other way, then placed the key on the ground between us.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, heading back into the woods as silently as she'd appeared. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the key. Finally, I bent down and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked, cold against my palm. A faint smell of rust clung to it, metallic and sharp. By the time I got back to our campsite, Emma was waiting for me. What took you so long? she asked. Her tone light, but her eyes wary. Nothing, I said, slipping the key into my pocket. Just ran into someone. I didn't tell her about the woman, or the key. Not yet. Not until I knew what the hell was going on.

By the time the sun rose on our fifth day in the woods, I was ready to pack up and go. Emma hadn't slept much after the weird encounter the night before, and Max had been on edge, growling at every creek and snap of a branch. I tried to tell myself it was just the isolation messing with me, that the woman was probably some eccentric hiker with zero sense of personal boundaries. But deep down, I didn't believe that. Still, I didn't want to freak Emma out any more than she already was, so I convinced her we'd report the incident to the Rangers on our way to the next trailhead. We'd put some distance between us and her, but that plan unraveled before we even left the site. The first sign something was wrong came when we walked past the woman's campsite,

or at least the campsite where she'd been staying. It was trashed, completely obliterated. Tent poles were snapped like twigs, and bits of fabric hung from the surrounding trees like some grotesque art installation. Trash, food, and clothing were scattered everywhere, as if the whole place had been ransacked. Emma nudged me and whispered, Was it a bear? I didn't answer because I wasn't sure. Max sniffed at the air, then whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, something he hadn't done in years. Whatever had happened here wasn't normal. Then I saw the stones. In the middle of the wreckage was a circle of rocks, carefully arranged, each one marked with jagged scratches

that almost looked like runes. At the center of the circle was the rusted key. the same damn key, my stomach turned. I'd left it in my pocket last night. I was sure of it. And yet, there it was, sitting in the dirt like it had always been there. What the hell is that? Emma asked, her voice low. Nothing. I lied, grabbing her arm. We should let the Rangers deal with this. Come on. She hesitated, her eyes flicking between me and the circle of stones, but eventually nodded. I didn't look back. as we walked away. The Ranger Station was less than a mile from camp,

but the walk felt endless. The trail was eerily quiet, with no birds or rustling leaves to break the silence. Emma tried making small talk to lighten the mood, but I could tell she was just as on edge as I was. When we got to the station, I explained everything to the Ranger on duty, a tall, broad-shouldered guy named Brian.

He listened, his expression calm, but I could see the flicker of unease in his own. eyes. That sight's been vacant for a while, he said after I described the woman. No, it hasn't, Emma cut in. We saw her staying there. She had a tent, and she was... She trailed off, realizing how crazy it sounded. Brian scratched his beard and glanced out the window. I'll take a look, he said finally. Probably just some squatter. It happens more than you'd think. His tone was casual, but his hand hovered near the radio clipped to his belt. We headed back to camp trying to shake off the conversation.

Emma seemed a little more at ease, but I couldn't stop thinking about the key, about the stones. Something about it felt deliberate, like whoever, or whatever, had done it wanted us to see. When Sam and Lisa arrived later that afternoon, their upbeat energy was a welcome distraction. They were an easy-going couple we'd been friends with for years, and they immediately set about pitching their tent and unpacking snacks. For a few hours, things felt normal again. But normal didn't last. It started while Sam was setting up their tent. I'd just handed him a beer when Emma froze mid-laff.

Her eyes locked on something behind me. Jake, she whispered. I turned, and there she was again. The woman stood just beyond the edge of our sight, half hidden in the shadows. She wasn't barefoot this time. She wasn't even dressed the same. She wore a strange patchwork of clothes, like she'd raided a thrift store and picked everything at random. Her face was blank as always, but her eyes, her eyes were different. They weren't vacant anymore. They were locked on me sharp and hungry. Can I help you? I said trying to keep my voice

steady. She didn't respond. Instead, she took a step closer, her gaze shifting to Sam and the half-assembled tent. That's the same tent as mine, she said softly, only bigger. I can help you set it up. Sam gave her a polite but firm smile. No thanks, we got it. But she didn't move. She crouched down, picked up one of the tent stakes, and ran her fingers along its edge like it was something fragile and precious. I said we're good, Sam said, his tone sharper this time. For a moment, she just stared at him, the stake still in her hand. Then she picked up the mallet we'd been using and stood, holding both items as if weighing her options. It was the stare that did it, the way she looked at him, at all of us, like she was calculating something. Sam took a step forward and held out his

hand. Can I have my stuff back, please? The air between them felt like it was about to snap. Then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she dropped everything and bolted into the woods. Emma let out a shaky breath. What the hell was that? I don't know, I said, but we're keeping watch tonight. That night, as the fire burned low, we heard the singing. It started faint, barely more than a whisper. At first we thought it was someone playing music in the distance. but as it grew louder, we realized it wasn't coming from one direction. It was all around us, weaving through the trees like the wind itself carried it. The melody was haunting, almost hypnotic, but the words, if they were words, were unintelligible.

Max barked, snapping me out of the trance. I grabbed a flashlight and shone it into the woods, and for a brief second, the beam caught her face. She was standing between two trees, her head tilted, a strange smile on her lips. When the light hit her, she turned and vanished, moving impossibly fast. We stayed up all night, each of us taking turns keeping watch. Every rustle, every snap of a branch sent my heart racing, but the singing didn't come back.

By morning, none of us felt safe anymore. We should have left right then and there. But we didn't. We should have left. God, we should have packed up the second the sun rose and not love. looked back. But Sam said we were overreacting. She's just some weirdo, he'd said with a shrug, popping open another can of beer. Weirdos are harmless. Harmless. The word rattled around in my skull as we headed back to her wrecked campsite. Emma had convinced us to take one last look before we

made any decisions. I told myself it was just curiosity that we wanted to see if the Rangers had cleaned up the mess. But deep down, I think we were all trying to convince ourselves that none of this was as bad as it seemed. We were wrong. The sight was worse than before. The circle of stones was still there, but now there were two circles. The second one larger and more elaborate. The markings on the stones deeper and more precise. Fresh dirt had been scraped over the ground as though something had been buried there. Emma spotted the claw marks first, long, deep gouges that ran vertically up a nearby tree. They were too high to have been made by an animal, but there they were, unmistakable. Okay, I'm officially freaked out, Lisa said, her voice shaking. Can we go now?

I nodded, but something stopped me. In the center of the larger circle, partially buried in the dirt, was another object. It was a photograph. I crouched down and picked it up, brushing off the dirt. My heart dropped into my stomach. It was a picture of our campsite, our exact campsite, taken from the woods. The fire pit was glowing faintly, meaning the photo had been taken at night, and there we were, sitting around the fire, oblivious. I handed it to Emma without saying a word. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Who took this? Sam asked, his voice low. You already know, I said. The sun was starting to dip below the trees by the time we got back to our sight. None of us spoke much, the weight of the photo hanging over us like a storm cloud. Max was on edge again,

pacing and sniffing the air, his growls low and constant. It was Emma who broke the silence. Let's go to the lookout, she said, her voice trembling. Just for a little while. I don't want to sit here in the dark. The lookout point wasn't far, maybe a ten-minute walk. It was one of the most beautiful spots in the park, perched high above the valley with sweeping views of the river below. I think Emma was hoping the view would calm us down, remind us why we came here in the first place. It didn't. The lookout was empty when we arrived.

The air was cooler up there, the breeze rustling through the trees in a way that should have been peaceful. But the tension between us was electric. We sat in silence, taking in the view. The sun was a fiery orange ball, sinking slowly behind the distant mountains. Emma snapped a few photos, her camera clicking softly in the stillness. That's when I saw her. She was on the ridge below us, far enough away to look like just another hiker at first glance.

But it wasn't just another hiker, it was her. She stood perfectly still, her head tilted in that same unnerving way, her hair hanging in dark curtains around her face. from this distance I could feel her watching us. I grabbed Emma's arm. Don't look, I whispered. What? Why? She froze when she saw the woman. Is that? Sam started, but I cut him off. Yes, I said, don't move. The woman raised her arm slowly, deliberately, and pointed toward the valley below. Then she turned and disappeared into the trees. By the time we got back to camp, the sun had set. The air felt thicker, heavier, as though.

though the woods themselves were pressing in on us. We found the note taped to the cooler. You'll need it soon. I didn't want to touch it, but Sam grabbed it and crumpled it in his fist. That's it, he said. We're leaving, right now. But before we could start packing, the singing came back. It was louder this time, more guttural like a chant. The melody twisted and warped, echoing off the trees, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Max went berserk. barking and lunging at the shadows. I grabbed the flashlight and swept it across the woods. For a moment, I saw nothing but trees and undergrowth. Then I saw her. She was standing just beyond the firelight, and this time she wasn't alone. The shadowy figures from before were back,

but now I could see them more clearly. They weren't people. They were wrong. Their limbs were too long, their bodies too thin, and their faces, if they had faces, were hidden in the darkness. The woman took a step forward, her eyes locked on me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key. I don't know what you want, I said, my voice shaking, but take it. I threw the key toward her, and the moment it hit the ground, the singing stopped. The figures dissolved into the shadows, and the woman tilted her head one last time before turning and disappearing into the woods. We didn't sleep that night. At first light, we packed up our gear and left. We didn't bother with the ranger station or stopping for coffee.

We just drove, putting as much distance between us and that place as possible, and I still have nightmares about her sometimes, about the way she watched us, about the photo, about what might have happened if I hadn't thrown that key. I don't think I'll ever go camping again. You know that feeling when you've been craving something for so long that, when you finally get it, it almost feels too good to be true. That's how I felt as I parked my car on the narrow strip of dirt at the edge of the forest.

The crisp, woodsy air hit me like a wave when I opened the door, the kind of air that makes you feel alive, even if your fingers are already starting to numb. The city was miles away, an afterthought really and for the first time in weeks i could breathe i double-checked the gear in my pack compass map sleeping bag my lightweight tent fire-starter kit knife everything a solo camper like me could need this wasn't my first trip not by a long shot i liked going off trail finding a pocket of the woods where i could really be alone the kind of alone that feels freeing not isolating out here I wasn't dodging catcalls on the sidewalk or navigating crowds with my head down. Out here, I was in charge. It was late afternoon when I finally started hiking,

the sun dipping low behind the trees and casting everything in a rich golden light. The trail wasn't much more than a faint deer path, overgrown and quiet. I let my thoughts drift as I walked, soaking in the quiet rustle of leaves and the occasional trill of a bird. It was so peaceful, I almost. almost didn't notice the first weird thing. There was a branch, broken and dangling at an odd angle just off the trail. I wouldn't have thought much of it, except the break was too clean, fresh. The wood inside was pale and splintered, the kind of thing you'd expect to see if someone

had snapped it with their hands. But who? There wasn't a soul out here. At least, there wasn't supposed to be. I shook it off. Could have been an animal, a bear maybe, or a moose. I told not to overthink it, but I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder a few times as I walked. By the time I found my spot, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. I chose a small clearing with just enough room for my tent and a fire. It was perfect, secluded, quiet, surrounded by thick trees that felt like a natural barrier from the outside world. I set up quickly, pitching my tent with practiced ease and gathering some kindling for the fire. By the time the flames were were crackling, the stars were beginning to show, dotting the inky black sky like pinpricks of

light. I leaned back against my pack and let out a long breath. This was what I'd come for. No deadlines, no noise, just me and the wilderness. I even laughed a little, thinking about how my friends in the city would call me crazy for doing this. You're going to get eaten by a bear, one of them had joked. I'd rolled my eyes at the time, but now, sitting there in the dark, the thought sent a small shiver down my spine. It wasn't the idea of a bear that bothered me, though. It was the quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears strain for any sound, even a distant one. Normally the woods at night are alive with noise, crickets, owls, the occasional rustling in the underbrush, but tonight, nothing, just the faint crackle of my fire and the

the steady pounding of my own heartbeat. I told myself to get a grip. I was just overthinking it, right? First night jitters. I poked at the fire, watching the embers rise and flicker against the dark. But even then, I couldn't shake the feeling, like there were eyes on me from somewhere deep in the shadows. Still, I managed to sleep. I don't know how long I was out, but I woke up at some point in the night to a strange sound, a low, distant crunch, like a low, like footsteps in the snow. My eyes snapped open, my body frozen as I strained to listen. The sound was faint, almost too faint to hear, but it was there, rhythmic, deliberate, getting closer. I fumbled for my knife, my fingers stiff and clumsy in the cold. The sound stopped.

For a long moment, I held my breath, waiting, listening, nothing. Just the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. Eventually, I convinced myself it was just an animal, a deer or a raccoon or some other harmless creature. I tucked the knife under my pillow and tried to drift off again. But even as I closed my eyes, that feeling lingered, gnawing at the back of my mind, like I wasn't as alone as I thought. When I woke the next morning, the woods were cloaked in a heavy fog, the kind that muffles sound and makes everything feel smaller and closer. My fire had long since burned out. leaving behind a circle of cold ash. For a moment, I lay still in my sleeping bag, staring at the pale, gray light filtering through the nylon of my tent.

My mind wandered back to the noise from the night before, the crunching footsteps, the way they stopped so suddenly. I told myself again it was probably an animal, but the memory left an uneasy nod in my stomach. I shook it off. I needed to focus on packing up. The father was bad, but it would burn off soon enough, and I wanted to make it to the road by early afternoon. Solo camping is about trusting yourself, your instincts, your skills. Panic is the enemy, and I wasn't about to let my nerves get the better of me. But when I stepped out of my tent, that nod in my stomach tightened. The air was thick with moisture and the silence was still wrong. No birds, no insects. Just the faint drip of dew falling from the branches.

I glanced around the clearing, scanning for anything out of place. My tent was intact, my gear untouched. But there was something off. The trees seemed closer than they had the night before, their dark trunks looming through the fog like silent sentinels. I busied myself with breaking camp, forcing my thoughts into practical tasks, pack up the sleeping bag,

fold the tent, double-check the map and compass. But as I worked, I couldn't shake the field, that I was being watched. It wasn't just paranoia, it was physical, that prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the instinct that makes you turn around even when you know no one's there. By the time I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and started hiking, I was practically counting the seconds until I could see the road again. The trail I'd mapped out wasn't an official one, just a series of game trails and landmarks, but I knew it well enough to keep

a steady pace despite the fog. The first mile was uneventful, but the silence was suffocating, and every crunch of my boots on the frozen ground sounded deafening. I didn't notice the clearing until I was almost in it. One moment I was pushing through the underbrush, and the next, the trees opened up into a wide circular space. I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. In the center of the clearing, a deer carcass hung from a low brain. strung up by its hind legs. Its belly had been split open, the entrails removed and piled neatly beneath it. The blood was fresh, glistening in the dim light. Flies buzzed lazily around the scene, but there was no other movement. No sound except the faint rustle of leaves in the distance.

I froze, my mind racing. Hunters? But no hunter would do this. It was too precise, too deliberate. The entrails weren't discarded. They were arranged, almost ritualistic. And who would leave a kill like this in the middle of the woods? Even in the cold, decomposition would set in fast. It didn't make sense. I took a shaky step back, then another, my boots crunching against the frost. That's when I saw it, tracks in the snow. Not animal tracks, boot prints, big ones, leading from the base of the tree into the dense underbrush on the far side of the clearing. Whoever had done this was still out here. My stomach lurched. I turned and bolted. The pack on my back slowed me down, but I didn't dare stop. The trees blurred around me as I crashed through the

underbrush, branches clawing at my arms and face. I didn't know how long I ran, but when I finally stopped, gasping for air, I realized I'd lost my bearings. Everything looked the same. Everything looked the same in the fog, the same trees, the same pale ground. I pulled out my compass with shaking hands, forcing myself to focus. South. I just needed to head south. The road was somewhere that way. The crunching sound came again, faint and far off, but this time it wasn't stopping. Footsteps, heavy, deliberate, getting closer. I didn't wait to find out who or what it was. I ran again, this time clutching my knife in one hand, my other arm pumping awkwardly under the weight of my pack. My lungs burned and my legs screamed for me to stop, but I didn't dare. Not until I saw the

pale, gravelly edge of the road through the trees. I burst out of the forest and collapsed onto the asphalt, trembling and gasping for air. My car was 50 yards down, its blue frame barely visible in the fog. I stumbled toward it, fumbling with the keys as I read. reached the driver's side door. When I finally managed to get inside and lock the doors, the relief was so overwhelming I almost cried. I sat there for a long time, gripping the steering wheel, staring at the empty road ahead. Eventually I started the engine and drove to the nearest ranger station. I wasn't sure what I was going to say. How do you even begin to explain something like this? But I had to tell someone. Even now, hours later, parked outside a cheap motel with the door

bolted shut behind me, I can't shake the image of that deer. The way its lifeless eyes seemed to follow me. The way the entrails were arranged so carefully like a message I couldn't understand. And the tracks, those boot prints leading away into the fog. Whoever left them, they were out there, and they knew exactly where I'd been. I barely slept that night. The motel room was cold and damp, the thin walls doing little to muffle the creeks and groans of the building, or the occasional sound of tires hissing along the wet road outside, but it wasn't the room keeping me awake. It was the image of that deer, the precise cuts, the entrails, and the unmistakable bootprints leading into the forest. Over and over, my mind replayed the sound of those

crunching footsteps, the thought of how close they had been. When my phone buzzed the next morning, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Officer Reeves, the ranger I'd spoken to at the station the day before. He sounded annoyed, like he'd already decided this was a waste of time, but he agreed to meet me at the forest's edge. Show me where you saw it, he said. I could hear him tapping something in the background like he was already half distracted. I didn't care about his skepticism. I just wanted someone else to see it, to confirm I wasn't losing my mind. Reeves arrived in a beat-up ATV, his face lined and weathered. He looked more bored than concerned. like he'd seen too many wild goose chases to expect this to be anything different.

Let's get this over with, he muttered, motioning for me to hop onto the back. The ride into the forest was jarring, every bump and jolt rattling my already frazzled nerves. The fog had lifted, but the air felt heavier than before, the silence pressing down like a weight. Reeves tried to make small talk as we drove, something about how hunters sometimes mess around with their kills, but his words barely registered. My eyes were fixed on the trail ahead, every shadow between the trees sending my heart racing. When we reached the clearing,

the ATV sputtered to a stop. I climbed off hesitantly, my stomach sinking as I scanned the area. The deer was gone. Figures, Reeves said, crossing his arms. He sounded almost smug. Probably a bear dragged it off. Happens all the time.

No, I see. said, shaking my head. This wasn't an animal. There were boot prints. Someone did this. Reeves sighed and crouched down near the center of the clearing, examining the dark stain in the dirt where the deer had been. The blood was still there, thick and glistening, but the entrails were scattered now, like something, or someone, had deliberately kicked them apart. Bears can leave messy scenes, he said, though his tone had softened. He wasn't as as he wanted me to believe. Look, I said, pointing to the snow on the far side of the clearing. The drag marks were still visible, a long, smooth path leading into the trees. Does that look like

a bear to you? Reeves straightened slowly, his face pale. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he pulled a flashlight from his belt and motioned for me to follow him. Stay close, he said, his voice tight. The trail left. The trail left. us deeper into the woods, the trees growing thicker and the light dimmer with every step. My breath came shallow and fast, each exhale a cloud of white in the cold air. Reeves didn't say much, but his hand hovered near the gun on his hip. That, more than anything, terrified me. After what felt like hours, we came to another clearing.

My stomach churned as I saw the scene in front of us, my campsite, or what was left of it. My tent was destroyed, slashed to ribbons that flooded. weakly in the breeze. My gear was scattered everywhere, shredded beyond recognition, and there, in the center of it all, was another pile of entrails. They weren't arranged this time, just dumped in a heap, like someone had grown bored of playing games. Blood soaked the snow in dark, sticky patches. Reeves cursed under his breath. Jesus Christ, he muttered, pulling his gun from its holster. He turned in a slow circle, scanned. the trees. We need to go. Now. What the hell is this? I whispered my voice shaking.

Who would do something like this? I don't know, Reeves said, his eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow, but we're not sticking around to find out. I wanted to argue, to demand answers, but something about the tension in his voice stopped me. He wasn't just spooked. He was scared. I followed him back to the ATV, glancing over my shoulder with every step, sure I'd see someone, or something, lurking just beyond the trees. We didn't speak on the drive back to the road. Reeves kept one hand on the wheel and the other on his gun, his knuckles white against the black grip.

When we reached the edge of the forest, he didn't say goodbye. He just told me to leave and not come back. I drove straight to the motel, my hands trembling on the wheel. I wanted to believe it was over that I could just leave and put it all behind me. But later that night, as I sat curled up on the bed with the TV buzzing in the background,

my phone rang. It was Reeves. His voice was low, almost a whisper. The trail cameras, he said, we checked them. My heart stopped. And? There was a long pause,

then quietly he said, It wasn't a bear. Click. The line went dead. I stared at the phone, my blood running cold. I didn't call him back. I didn't want to know. All I knew was that I'd been lucky,

luckier than I'd ever been in my life. And I wasn't going back to that forest, not ever. They always say familiarity breeds complacency. I guess I'm living proof of that. For years, the trails at great smoky mountains were my escape. I knew every twist and turn, every incline and rocky outcrop. That night, though, they turned on me. It started like any other ride.

I had pushed myself further than usual that evening, taking the longer loop out. The trail there winds through thick woods, and even in the dim light of dusk, the air smelled of pine and wet earth. By the time I decided to head back, the sun was long gone, leaving only a swollen moon to light my way.

The trail stretched out before me in a pale ribbon, the trees casting long, twirling, twisted shadows across the dirt. I wasn't worried, hadn't even thought to bring a flashlight. The moonlight was enough, and I'd bike this route so many times I could probably do it blindfolded. But as I peddled deeper into the woods, a strange silence fell over the trail. The usual chirping of crickets, and the occasional rustle of night critters faded, replaced by... Nothing. Just the crunch of my tires on the dirt.

I shrugged it off, convincing myself the cooler night air had quieted the wildlife. That's when I heard it, a sharp crack to my left, like a branch snapping under something heavy. My hands tightened on the handlebars as I slowed, scanning the woods. The moonlight barely penetrated the thick canopy, turning the underbrush into a black, impenetrable wall. I told myself it was probably a deer, or maybe one of those feral hogs that occasionally wandered through the park. I didn't see anything, so I pushed forward, forcing my legs to keep peddling, but the sound lingered in my mind, gnawing at the edges of my confidence. A few minutes later, just as I was starting to relax again, something hit me, hard. Pain bloomed in my thigh,

and I skidded to a stop, nearly toppling off the bike. I looked down, expecting to see blood or some kind of injury, but there was nothing. That's when I saw. saw it. A rock, maybe the size of a baseball, rolling lazily across the trail in front of me. My first thought, kids, some little brats sneaking around after dark, screwing with whoever passed by. But as I scanned the ridges on either side of the trail, there was no sign of movement, just more shadows. And then another rock came. This one hit the front wheel of my bike with a dull thunk and bounced onto the trail. My stomach dropped, the kind of feeling you get when you miss a step on the stairs. I glanced uphill my eyes adjusting slowly to the

dark. That's when I saw it. At first, I thought it was a trick of the moonlight, a shadow stretching in some weird way. But then, it moved. A hulking figure, tall and broad, standing on the ridge above me. Its arms were raised, and even from that distance, I could tell it wasn't right. Its outline was jagged, wild, and it didn't move like a person should. It screamed. The sound tore through the silence, guttural and raw, echoing off the trees. It wasn't human. It couldn't be. My mind scrambled for an explanation, but nothing fit. My hands went cold, and my bike tipped as I tried to process what I was seeing. Before I could make sense of it, the figure moved, fast and deliberate, charging downhill. hill. My body kicked into autopilot. I didn't think. I didn't look back. I just peddled, hard.

The trail blurred under my tires as I raced toward the stone bridge that crossed Blackwater Creek. Behind me I could hear rocks thudding into the dirt, some landing close enough to make me flinch. The thing, it, was still screaming, a sound that didn't belong in this world, let alone this park. As I neared the bridge, a shadow passed over the trail in front of me. I looked up in time to see a massive boulder hurtling through the air, slamming into the creek with a splash that soaked the bridge in mist. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I didn't stop. I wouldn't stop.

Not until I was home. I finally burst out of the woods and into the clearing near my neighborhood, drenched in sweat, shaking so hard I could barely keep hold of the handlebar. I didn't even bother putting the bike in the garage. I just abandoned it on the front lawn and bolted inside, locking the door behind me. The thing's screams had stopped somewhere in the woods, but I could still hear them in my head, echoing long after I was safe in bed. That night, I stared at the ceiling, the dark shapes of the trees outside my window, casting shadows that twisted and shifted like the thing I saw on the ridge. The trails of the great smoky

mountains would never feel the same again. I didn't sleep much after that night. The shadows in my room didn't seem to stay still, and every creek of the house sounded like something climbing the walls outside. By morning, I had convinced myself that what happened couldn't be real. Maybe I'd imagined the whole thing, moonlight, fatigue, adrenaline, whatever. But deep down, I knew I hadn't. By the time the sun came up, I decided to report it. I didn't even know what it was, but it felt like the right thing to do. Carl, one of the senior park rangers, had always been decent to me. A bit of a loud mouth, sure, but he seemed like the type who'd at least listen. The ranger station felt too normal when I walked in, like the world outside wasn't hiding something monstrous.

Carl was there, leaning back in his chair, a styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and a clipboard in the other. He looked up as I came in, flashing me his usual grin. Morning, Ryan, he said, What's got you up so early? Deer wander into your yard again? I didn't know how to start, so I just blurted it out. Something attacked me in the park last night. Carl raised an eyebrow, sitting up a little straighter. Attacked you? You okay? Yeah, I'm fine, but it wasn't an animal. At least, I don't think it was. I hesitated, feeling really. ridiculous as soon as the words left my mouth. It was big, like really big, and it was throwing rocks, screaming too. Carl's grin widened, but not in a friendly way. Wait, wait, wait. You're

telling me Bigfoot's out there chucking rocks at people now? I stiffened. I'm not saying it was Bigfoot, Carl. I'm just saying it wasn't normal. It chased me halfway to Blackwater Creek. He leaned back again, chuckling. All right, Ryan. Look, I'll keep an eye out. for your rock-throwing giant, but maybe you just saw a bear or something. They can get loud if you surprise them. It wasn't a bear, I snapped louder than I meant to. Bears don't scream like that, and they don't throw rocks. This thing, it was trying to hurt me. Carl held up his hands in mock surrender. Okay, okay, don't bite my head off. If I see Bigfoot or whoever out there, I'll let you know. I wanted to argue, but what was the point? I left the station feeling worse than that. I left the station

feeling worse than before. Carl's laughter followed me out the door, ringing in my ears. A week passed and I avoided the park. I told myself it was because I was busy, but the truth was I couldn't bring myself to go back. Every time I thought about the trails, my chest tightened, and I heard that scream all over again. Then one morning, as I was finishing breakfast, a familiar truck pulled into my driveway. Carl climbed out, but his usual swagger was gone. He looked off. His face was pale, and his usual grin had been replaced with a tight, uneasy line. Ryan, he called, waving me over. You got a minute? I stepped outside, heart already racing. What's going on? Get in, he said, nodding toward the truck. I need to show you something. I hesitated. Show me

what? Carl sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Look, I owe you an apology. Just, trust me, all right? You'll understand when we get there. Against my better judgment, I got in. The truck ride was silent, except for the hum of the tires on the road. Carl didn't say a word, just gripped the steering wheel like it might fly out of his hands. We didn't head toward the park. Instead, we went into town, stopping in front of the sheriff's office. Carl turned to me before I could ask anything. Before we go in, I need you to hear this. Last night, a couple was camping out near Blackwater Creek.

Around midnight, they called the cops, saying something was attacking them, rocks, branches, screaming, the works. My stomach dropped. The sheriff's department called us into help, Carl continued. When we got out there, we heard it too. rocks coming down from the ridge and that scream. Jesus, Ryan, I've never heard anything like it. I thought about what you told me last week, and I knew we had to check it out.

I stared at him unable to speak. We went up the hill, guns drawn, Carl said, his voice quieter now, and we found him. Him, I asked, my throat dry. Carl nodded, not Bigfoot, not some monster, a man, naked, covered in mud and blood. screaming like a damn banshee. He charged at us and it took three officers to bring him down. Turns out, he escaped from the veteran's facility across the lake. PTSD, severe psychosis. He thought he was in a war zone and we were the enemy. I leaned back in the seat, my head spinning. He. He's the one who chased me.

Most likely, Carl said. You're lucky, Ryan. The guy's strong as hell and he's been living out there for weeks. We found traps, pits lined with sharpened sticks, hidden under brush. If you'd gone off the trail. He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Inside the sheriff's office, they took my statement, asking me to describe what I'd seen that night. The details spilled out in pieces, but they nodded like it all fit. On the drive home, Carl tried to make small talk, but I barely listened. My mind was stuck on the ridge, on the rocks and the scream. I couldn't stop picturing the man charging toward me, thinking I was something he needed to kill. As Carl dropped me off, he said,

Again, Ryan, I'm sorry I didn't believe you. We'll make sure he doesn't get out again. I nodded, but I didn't say anything. Words wouldn't make it go away. That night, as I locked every door and window, I couldn't shake the feeling that something else was still out there, hiding in the shadows of the smoky mountains. A week passed, but the nightmares didn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, his mud-covered body charging down the hill, the scream that didn't sound human, the boulder smashing into the creek. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, and every time I thought about biking the trails again, my legs felt like jelly. I wanted to believe it was over. The man, the thing, had been caught, locked up in some facility where he couldn't hurt anyone.

But the woods didn't feel safe anymore. It was like the shadows there had swallowed the part of me that loved the smoky mountains. A few days later, I got a call. It was Carl. Ryan, he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. I hate to ask, but, can you come down to the ranger station? The sheriff's office needs you to clarify a few things from your statement. I didn't want to go.

Hell, I didn't want to think about that night again, but something in Carl's tone, something shaken, made me agree. When I got to the station, Carl met me outside. He looked worse than before, like he hadn't slept in days. His usual bravado was gone, replaced with a nervous energy that made him jumpy. He didn't say much as he led me inside. The sheriff was there, along with a couple of deputies. They asked me to go over my account of that night.

every detail, every sound, every moment. I told them what I remembered. The rocks, the figure on the ridge, the scream, the chase. They nodded, taking notes, but their eyes kept darting to each other like there was something they weren't saying. When I finished, one of the deputies asked, You're sure he didn't speak? Didn't say anything intelligible?

No, I said. It was just screaming, like, like he wasn't human. The deputy glanced at the sheriff who gave him a sharp look. Carl cleared his throat, breaking the tension. Thanks, Ryan. That's all we needed. You're free to go. I stood to leave, but something about the way Carl was looking at me, like he wanted to say more but couldn't, made me pause. Is there something you're not telling me?

The room went quiet. The sheriff looked at Carl, then back at me. It's nothing you need to worry about, he said. the man's been transferred to a secure facility. You're safe. Safe. The word felt hollow, like they didn't even believe it themselves. On my way out, Carl followed me to the parking lot. Ryan, he said, lowering his voice. I didn't want to say this in there, but we've been getting reports, strange ones. Strange how, I asked, my stomach tightening. Other people have heard it, he said. The scream.

A few hikers, some campers near the lake, and last night, one of our trail cameras picked up movement in the same area where you were attacked. My chest tightened. It's him. He escaped. No, Carl said quickly. The man's accounted for. He's under constant supervision in a facility two states over. It's not him. Then what the hell is it? I asked, my voice rising. Carl glanced around like someone might overhear us. We don't know. The campers. camera footage was strange. There was movement, but we couldn't make out what it was, just something large. I stared at him, waiting for him to say it was a prank, that he was messing with me, but his face stayed serious. I thought you should know, he said. Just keep your guard up,

okay? That night I locked every door and window again, double-checking each one, but it didn't feel like enough. I couldn't shake the feeling that something or someone was out there watching, waiting. Around midnight, I heard it, faint at first but unmistakable, the scream, that raw, guttural sound that made every hair on my body stand on end. It wasn't close, not yet, but it was there, drifting through the woods like a warning. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. It didn't make sense. The man was locked up. He couldn't be here, unless it was wasn't him. The scream came again, louder this time, closer. I grabbed a flashlight and stepped onto my porch. My hands shaking so badly the beam wobbled across the yard. The woods loomed just

beyond the clearing, dark and impenetrable. I scanned the trees, half expecting to see that hulking figure charging toward me again. But there was nothing, just the shadows, stretching and shifting in the wind. The scream echoed one last time. So close and it felt like it was right behind me. I spun around, the flashlight darting across the yard, but there was nothing there. I didn't sleep that night. And the next morning I called Carl. Ryan, he said, his voice tight. I heard it too. What the hell is it, Carl? I asked. If it's not him, then what? There was a long pause before he answered. I don't know, he said finally, but I think we both know this isn't over.

And he was right. The scream came again, ripping through the still night like a blade. Louder this time, closer. Carl and I exchanged a look, neither of us needing to say a word. We were already moving, running down the trail as fast as we could,

our flashlights bobbing wildly with each step. This way, Carl shouted, pointing toward the ridge. I followed, my legs burning as the incline steepened. behind us the sound of something crashing through the underbrush grew louder closer whatever it was it wasn't human it couldn't be i risked a glance over my shoulder and saw the shadow massive and unrelenting tearing through the trees like they were nothing the beam of my flashlight caught a glimpse of it mud caked skin tangled hair and eyes that gleamed with something primal something wrong my foot snagged on a root and i went down hard, my flashlight skittering across the trail. Carl skidded to a stop, doubling back to pull me up. Get up, he hissed, yanking me to my feet. I grabbed the flashlight and stumbled forward, my lungs heaving as the screams echoed behind us, closer with every step. The ridge ahead was steep and uneven, but Carl led the way, pushing us higher and higher. Where are we going? I gasped,

my chest on fire. Old fire tower, he shouted. over his shoulder. We can lock ourselves in. I didn't have time to argue. The crashing behind us had turned into a roar, like the forest itself was being ripped apart. We scrambled up the rocky incline, slipping and sliding, but never stopping. Finally, the fire tower came into view, its skeletal frame rising against the night sky like a lifeline. The stairs were rusted and worn, but they held as Carl bolted up them, taking two at a time. I was right behind. I was right behind him, my flashlight swinging wildly in one hand as I gripped the railing with the other. We reached the top and threw open the metal hatch, slamming it shut behind us.

Carl slid the heavy iron bolt into place, his hands trembling as he locked us in. The tower swayed slightly in the wind, the creak of its beams mixing with our ragged breaths. For a moment there was silence. Just the two of us, staring at each other, trying to catch our breath. Then we heard it, the sound of something climbing the stairs. Slow, deliberate. The tower shook with each step it took, the old metal groaning under the weight. Carl fumbled with his belt, pulling out his sidearm and aiming it at the hatch.

I grabbed the only thing I could find, an old metal wrench, heavy and rusted. It's coming, Carl whispered, his voice tight, get ready. The footsteps stopped just below the hatch. We held our breath, every second stretching into an eternity. Then the hatch rattled, the metal groaning under the strain of something pulling at it. Stay back, Carl shouted, his gun trained on the hatch. But the thing on the other side didn't stop. The bolts holding the hatch in place began to bend, screeching as the creature pulled harder and harder.

Carl fired. The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed through the tower, and for a moment the rattling stopped. I dared to hope that it was over. Then came the scream. louder than ever, so piercing it felt like my skull was splitting. The hatch exploded inward, the creature ripping it clean off its hinges. Carl fired again, the muzzle flash illuminating the thing's face for a split second. Mud caked skin stretched tight over sharp bones, eyes wild and gleaming.

It lunged. Carl emptied his clip, each shot forcing the thing back an inch. But it didn't stop. I swung the wrench with everything I had. Jarring my arms as it connected with the creature's shoulder. It roared, swiping at me with a hand that felt more like claws. Ryan, go! Carl shouted, shoving me toward the ladder on the other side of the platform. No, I screamed, grabbing for him, but he pushed me harder. Now, he roared, turning back to face the creature, his empty gun raised like a club. I hesitated for a split second, then climbed over

the edge and started down the ladder. The tower shook violently as the struggle continued above me. me. I was halfway down when I heard Carl scream, a sound I'll never forget. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept climbing, my hands slipping on the rungs. When I hit the ground, I ran, the forest around me a blur. I didn't stop, didn't look back, until I burst into the clearing where Carl's truck was parked. The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped in slamming the door behind me and gunned the engine. The headlights cut through the darkness, and from the lights. For a split second, I thought I saw movement at the edge of the woods, but I didn't wait to find out.

I drove all night, not stopping until I was miles away from the mountains. They found Carl's body the next day, or what was left of it. The fire tower was in ruins, the metal twisted and shattered like a child's toy. No one could explain it, not the Rangers, not the sheriff, not anyone. I haven't gone back there since. I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see that thing on the ridge, hear it screams in the dark. And I know, deep down, that whatever it was, it's still out there, waiting,

waiting for someone like me to make the mistake of coming back.