Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Scary Forest Horror Stories | TERRIFYING WILDERNESS ENCOUNTERS

Episode Date: May 23, 2024

Get ready to be spooked with these bone-chilling scary forest horror stories featuring terrifying wilderness encounters. From mysterious sounds echoing through the trees to unsettling sightings in the darkness, this collection of tales will send shivers down your spine. Join us as we explore the eerie side of the woods and delve into encounters that will leave you questioning what lurks in the shadows. Watch if you dare... Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►John H ►Beth C Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:22:17 Story 2 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #redditstories #deepwoods 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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My lips are sealed. Marvel Television's Wonder Man. All eight episodes now streaming. Only on Disney Plus. Mike, my 12-year-old son, blindsided me one day. when he asked if we could go camping. I nearly spit out my lukewarm coffee and surprise.

This was coming from the same kid who complained about the sun's brightness at soccer practice and whined about mosquitoes at night. So when he suddenly expressed interest in camping, I couldn't help but chuckle. It was such a far cry from his usual pastime of being glued to anything with a screen. We were hanging out by my truck one morning, talking about school. When Mike first mentioned camping, He nudged a pebble along the dry road, his gaze fixed on the ground. Hey, Dad, he began hesitantly.

Think we could go camping sometime. I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. Apparently Mike's friend Dan had been endlessly bragging about a camping trip he went on with his dad, making the great outdoors suddenly irresistible to my screen-obsessed son. Camping, huh? I said, trying to contain my excitement. Sounds great, but you know, it's not all fireflies and s'mores. There's bugs for one thing, lots of them. Mike grimaced, his enthusiasm briefly dimming.

Yeah, I know, he mumbled, kicking at the dirt with his sneakers. I gave him a playful nudge. If the weather holds, maybe we can just find a good spot by the lake next weekend. Just you and me. You up for it? Yeah, Mike said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. His response to the lake idea didn't seem genuine, A subtle shrug and a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes revealed his desire for a more immersive experience, one that involved tents, campfires, and a genuine escape into nature.

Merely visiting the lake wouldn't cut it. Only a true camping trip would satisfy him. Truth be told, I hadn't been camping in years. Fond memories of childhood fishing trips and backyard campouts with my own dad felt like a lifetime ago. work had a way of taking over, and lately it had been consuming more than its fair share. But after listening to Mike's retelling of Dan's camping trip story, it had stirred something in me, a friendly rivalry. I was suddenly determined to one-up Dan and his dad to make sure my boy had the camping trip of a lifetime. A grin spread wide across my face as I promised Mike, yeah, you know what, Mike, we're going to go camping, and it's going to be the best camping trip ever, as soon as I can take a break from work, we'll go.

Mike's excitement was contagious. He jumped up and down with joy, and I couldn't help but laugh. It hit me then that I probably should have introduced him to camping sooner. Thank you, Dad, he shouted, his voice ringing with gratitude. Thank you, Dad, thank you. I gently placed a hand on his shoulder. All right, champ, let's simmer down a bit, I chuckled. Head inside and get started on your homework.

We don't want mom holding this over our heads, I added with a wink. Mike nodded eagerly and practically skipped into the house, leaving me with a warm sense of fatherly pride. The weeks flew by, and I finally managed to snag some time off work. In the evenings, I'd pour over articles and videos on wilderness survival, and the delicate art of smore making. My childhood camping memories were more fuzzy nostalgia than concrete know-how, and I couldn't let my lack of experience show,

not in front of Mike, and certainly not in front of that Dan. Meanwhile, my ever-supportive wife, Sarah, decided to forego the mosquitoes and campfire smoke for the comfort of our home. She said it was Girl Time, with a good book and a long bath, but I couldn't help but sense a hint of amusement in her eyes. Trader, I'd jokingly tease, reminding her of our grand mission to outshine Dan and his dad's camping trip. She'd just laugh and say, Go conquer the wilderness, honey, I'll be here holding down the fort. It was true that Sarah wasn't exactly an outdoors enthusiast.

She enjoyed a leisurely stroll in the park, but multi-day camping trips weren't her cup of tea. Still, I knew she secretly loved seeing Mike and me bond, and deep down, I hoped this man versus wild adventure might reignite my own forgotten love for the outdoors. My mission mastering the art of building a fire that wouldn't leave us all choking on smoke,

identifying constellations for Mike, hoping I wouldn't mix up Orion with the big dipper, and maybe even catching a fish or two. Although, based on my past fishing experiences, that might be the biggest challenge of all. It was time to put my crash course in wilderness survival to the test, and create an unforgettable camping trip for Mike, one that even Dan and his dad couldn't top. At last, the weekend we'd been waiting for. arrived. That Friday, as I picked Mike up from school, excitement buzzed through the car as we pulled into the driveway. The moment we stepped through the front door, Mike's eyes widened in amazement at the

sight of the camping gear I had meticulously, or so I thought, laid out for him like a treasure trove for an intrepid explorer. The living room had transformed into a chaotic staging ground for our trip. A giant green tent bag rested at his feet, while two mismatched sleeping bags, one one of vivid orange, the other in subdued camouflage, leaned precariously against the table. Beside two overstuffed backpacks, I'd proudly displayed a bounty of rations, mostly marshmallows, chocolate bars, and enough instant ramen to feed a small army. Ready to conquer the wild with me? I asked. Mike didn't disappoint. His eyes sparkled with an unspoken thrill that seemed to shout,

I can't wait to tell Dan I went camping too. With the car packed to the brim and threatening to keel over at any sharp turn, Sarah pulled me aside just before we left. Her usually bright and playful eyes held a seriousness that cut through my usual humor. "'Please be careful out there,' she said. Her voice tinged with worry. I knew this wasn't the moment for jokes. Squeezing her hand, I gave her a reassuring nod. "'We'll be fine,' I promised, hoping my confident smile would hide any lingering anxieties about my own lack of camping expertise. Mike and I settled into the car, the engine rumbling with the promise of adventure. Determined to make Dan and his dad's Crystal Lake camping trip look like a backyard picnic, I'd scoured maps and forums for the perfect spot.

Mike had mentioned that Dan and his father had gone camping at the Crystal Lake campgrounds, conveniently close to our town. Crystal Lake, I teased, as if it were the last place any self-respecting outdoorsman would pitch a tent. We're going somewhere way better, I added with a wink. Our destination was Whisperwood Forest, a hidden camping ground three hours north. As the miles stretched before us, Mike peppered me with questions, his enthusiasm keeping the energy high. Are there bears in Whisperwood? He asked, eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. Maybe, I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though a flicker of unease ran through me. The forums did mention some black bear sightings. But that's why we have all this camping gear, right?

To be prepared for anything. Mike's questions ranged from the practical, will there be a bathroom? To the fantastical, do you think we'll see Bigfoot? By the time the landscape outside our window blurred into a patchwork of greens and browns, his voice had grown hoarse, and a peaceful silence settled over the car. We veered off the main road, following the rhythm of a narrow, dirt path snaking through the dense forest. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy overhead, casting long dancing shadows on the dusty track. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of damp moss and decaying leaves, punctuated by the occasional chirp of an unseen bird. With every bend and dip, the car swayed alongside us, its tires crunching on loose gravel. I caught a glimpse of Mike in the

rearview mirror, his head bobbing with every bump, his eyes wide with anticipation, and fixed on the passing scenery. After about 20 minutes, we emerged into a small clearing, the sudden brightness of unfiltered sunlight momentarily blinding me. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the scene. The clearing was modest in size, about the size of a tennis court. In its center stood a gnarled oak, its branches reaching out like skeletal arms.

An eerie silence enveloped the area, interrupted only by the rustle of leaves in the still air. I brought the car to a gentle stop, the engine sighing softly as it died. Mike's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked over at me. Ready? I asked, my voice echoing in the sudden stillness. His nod was eager and swift. As I stepped out, my joints popped like distant firecrackers. I retrieved our backpacks from the trunk and hoisted the tent onto my shoulder,

its weight familiar and grounding. I let Mike take the lead as we scouted for a camping spot. I knew it was important for him to feel like the captain of our adventure, the leader of our expedition. Watching his determined strides and furrowed brow as he surveyed the land like a seasoned explorer was hilarious. Eventually we found a suitable spot, or rather my son did, tucked away from the car and hidden by thick underbrush. Sunlight danced through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on a carpet of moss and ferns. Nearby, a crystal clear stream burbled, its melody harmonizing with the chirping symphony of unseen insects. It was a secluded paradise, the perfect refuge for me and my son, nestled away from the world within the forest's embrace.

With a proud grin, Mike declared our campsite found. While he scampered off to explore the nearby stream, I tackled the seemingly straightforward task of pitching the tent. However, the instructions were akin to cryptic hieroglyphs, filled with diagrams resembling abstract art and terminology, that would challenge even a seasoned scholar. Twenty minutes later, after much head-scratching and muttered curses, the tent stood, albeit with a noticeable lean to one side. Behold, I announced, trying to hide the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead. Mike, ever the diplomat, simply grinned. Coolest tent ever, dad. As we unrolled our sleeping bags inside the tent, I sent Mike on a mission to gather sticks for our fire.

He scampered off into the undergrowth while I patrolled the edge of the woods, collecting stray logs to bolster our firewood stash. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a figure peeking from behind a tree, but dismissed it as a trick of the fading light. Igniting a fire, often portrayed in movies with a single dramatic swipe of a flint, turned into a comedic ballet of fumbled matches and stubborn. kindling. My attempts at channeling my inner caveman were met with sputtering defiance from the damp sticks. After 20 minutes of frustration, I surrendered to the ease of modern technology and pulled a lighter from my backpack. As if sensing my defeat, the fire roared to life with a satisfying crackle. I called Mike back, and together we roasted marshmallows under the shifting hues of the evening sky. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with fiery shades of

orange and red, we shared stories and laughter, leaving behind the worries of city life for the simple joy of being together in the wild. As the clock neared 9 p.m., exhaustion settled over us like a warm blanket. Mike, his eyelids drooping like weighted curtains, readily agreed it was bedtime. I subdued the fire with a few nudges from my boot, but instead of fading completely, the embers seemed to pulse with an unnatural inner light, casting dancing shadows across the forest floor. The usual nighttime sounds of crickets and rustling leaves took on an unsettling tone. A distant howl pierced the silence, long and mournful, similar to an owl's call yet somehow different from any I'd heard before. A chill ran down my

spine, prompting me to pull Mike closer and tuck him snugly into his sleeping bag. Just an owl, champ, I reassured him, trying to sound confident despite my uninsured. knees. My voice echoed strangely inside the tent, adding to the eerie atmosphere, but Mike, already drifting off to sleep, remained unfazed. Before I knew it, my eyes had closed, and I drifted off. It felt like no time had passed before a soft nudge at my shoulder stirred me awake. Squinting in the dark, I made out Mike sitting bolt upright looking at me. What's wrong? I mumbled my voice heavy with sleep. "'Sh!' he whispered, his voice trembling.

"'There's something outside.' "'Half asleep, I assured him it was probably just a squirrel "'or a similar creature and encouraged him to try and sleep. "'I turned onto my side seeking the comforting embrace of sleep once more, "'but before it could claim me again, I heard it. "'A sequence of sounds distinct from the forest's usual symphony. "'Fetsteps, deliberate and measured footsteps circled our tent. These weren't the light steps of a deer or the clumsy thudding of a bear.

There was no natural rhythm to them, no tell-tale snap of a twig. They were silent, calculated movements. Two steps. A pause. Two more steps. A pause. As if whatever lurked outside was deliberately trying to be quiet. Two minutes stretched into an eternity before the pattern resumed. Two deliberate steps. A pause. And then two more steps. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I propped myself up.

A glance at Mike confirmed he was still awake, his eyes wide with terror. In a hush tone, I promised to investigate. He gave a small nod, and with a deep breath I inched forward, my hand trembling as I unzip the tent just a crack. Peering through the gap, I found the darkness outside impenetrable, the only light source being the faint embers of our extinguished campfire. squinting, I strained to see beyond the flickering red glow. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought I saw a figure near the tree line, a subtle shift in the shadows that seemed to move on

silent feet. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving me questioning my tired sanity. Turning back to Mike, I forced a reassuring smile. Everything's okay, champ. Go back to sleep. Whatever lurked outside wasn't any creature I recognized, and it showed no signs of leaving. As we settled back into our sleeping bags, a sudden noise shattered the silence, jolting me awake. It wasn't the familiar rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. This was a sharp crack, a deep resonant snap of a fallen branch, weighty and too close for comfort. A cold sweat instantly coated my skin. Whatever had caused that sound was heavy.

Quietly, I rose from my sleeping bag, the tent floor feeling small and exposed beneath me. Retrieving my flashlight, I unzip the tent fully with deliberate care. The chilly night air rushed in, stealing my breath momentarily. With trembling hands, I switched on the flashlight and swept its beam across the surrounding woods. The once-familiar trees now loomed ominously in the darkness. Shadows danced and twisted in the flickering light, playing tricks on my already rattled mind. I scanned the forest floor for any sign of the creature, a footprint, a snapped twig, but found nothing, yet just beyond the flashlight's reach, a glimmer caught my eye,

a subtle movement, a flash of reflection. I focused the beam in that direction, my heart pounding, but saw only the swaying branches of a nearby pine. Convinced the source of the noise was ahead of me, I had turned away from the tent. However, the sound of leaves crunching behind me shattered that assumption. Whirling around, I aimed the flashlight toward the tent, partially illuminating my son, who sat upright with a confused expression. Whatever had made the noise remained out of sight. I had almost convinced myself it was merely a curious animal nosing around behind our tent. Just as I was about to dismiss the fear and retreat into the safety of the tent,

ready to label the sounds as harmless, the source of the noise revealed itself, a moment that stretched my sanity thin. It stood up from behind the opposite end of the tent, where it had been hiding. It, or, me. Standing over the tent, partially bathed in the weak glow of my flashlight, it defied all logic and reason. Even as I stared directly at it, my mind struggled to accept what my eyes were seeing. It wasn't an animal, as I had initially assumed, it was me. I found myself locked in a gaze with, myself. It had my face, but it wasn't me. Its limbs extended from misaligned joints at the shoulders, longer and more spindly than mine. Though

humanoid in shape, its proportions were wrong, its limbs extending at unnatural angles. Clad and tattered clothes akin to my camping attire, its body seemed like a grotesque mirror image of my own. The most unsettling part was its face. It mirrored mine in almost every detail, save for the eyes, voids of absolute blackness in place of my familiar brown eyes. When caught in the beam of my flashlight, those eyes revealed twin specks of light within the darkness, staring back at me with an unnerving intensity. A single glance revealed its formidable strength, far surpassing my own. Its arms, thick with sinewy muscle, bore the unmistakable markings of a life lived in the wilderness.

These were not the sculpted muscles of a gymgoer, but the rugged strength forged by the trials of nature itself. mountains climbed, rivers crossed, battles waged against the elements. As its mouth contorted grotesquely across its face, the skin splitting like parched earth, a wet tearing filled the night air, an agonizing sound that sent a primal scream echoing through my mind. The chill of the night was now a distant memory, replaced by a fear so profound it threatened to immobilize me. Suddenly, a voice pierced the silence, a small, vulnerable voice belonging to Mike, calling out from within the tent, asking if I could see anything. At the sound of his voice, the creature's attention shifted sharply toward the tent.

It leaned in, drawn by Mike's innocence. It's already unnaturally wide mouth stretched further, the lower jaw unhinging to an impossible length, revealing a menacing row of needle-like teeth. The thing raised its elongated arm, which moved unnervingly stiff and jerky, like the movements of someone who hadn't felt flesh beneath their fingertips for years. I could see each joint crackle and pop as it extended its arm. I was confused as to what it was doing, but then realization hit me. Instinct took over. I plunged my hands into the tent, grabbing Mike, and yanked him out with all my strength.

Yanking him from the tent, we stumbled out, the ground a sickening blur beneath my feet. We landed in a heap, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air as the creature tore through the tent like a child ripping through tissue paper. The metallic tang of blood, sharp and acrid, filled my nostrils. I covered Mike's mouth with my hand, feeling his tears against my skin. We lay there in silence, watching the thing eviscerate our tent. Amidst the chaos, my bag was flung towards us. Recognizing it, I rummaged through it until my fingers closed around the car keys. Leaning close to Mike, I told him when I gave the signal, I wanted him to run for the car. In the tense silence that followed the creature's assault, a distant noise momentarily

captured its attention. Seizing the opportunity, I whispered to Mike, run. We sprang up and bolted towards the car, the creature's piercing shriek chasing us from behind. My lungs burned, my legs screamed in protest, but I pushed on, fueled by a primal urge to protect my son. Reaching the car, I fumbled with the keys, the creature's rasping breaths hot on my my neck. With a satisfying click, the door unlocked. We tumbled inside, slamming the doors shut just as the creature lunged forward, its fingers scraping against the metal. With trembling hands, I turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. In the dim light, I could see the creature standing mere inches from the car, its grotesque smile contorted in what seemed to be frustration.

With a surge of adrenaline, I shifted into reverse, then saw the same. spun the car around, tires churning the earth as we sped down the trail. We didn't stop until we got home. Throughout the drive, Mike remained silent. His soft sobs a stark contrast to my own stifled emotions. That night marked the end of our camping trips. It doesn't look like I'll be beating Dan and his dad's camping trip anytime soon. This is a Bose moment.

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Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic. This is a story about three spooky instances that happened during one trip.

It's long, but I think it's worth it. My buddy and I still talk about it to this day. So my friend and I took off on an early-season trail run through the Mount Margaret backcountry. The route was a big 30-mile loop. It started out nice, but once we got up to the passes, it was obvious we had bitten off more than we could chew, tons of snow.

My friend is not very comfortable on steep snow, but we stayed optimistic that the other side of the next pass would be better. We moved slowly and did this all day. It did not get better. Finally, we got to the final pass, which was a moment of truth. It was steep, and if it was too snowy, it would probably mean backtracking, which would mean a night out. At this point, I remember hummingbirds buzzing all over the trees around us, which I took as a positive message from the universe. For those that don't really trail run, I'll break it down like this.

It's like hiking, except you come. complete the entire trip at a jog. The intensity is much higher. We carried a single small pack with basic supplies along with a camelback water pouch. Because of the nature of movement, trail runners typically don't bring a lot with them. We were packed minimally and wearing only what we needed to stay warm. Now I told you we went out too early. Trail running in the snow is okay.

It means you can't get lost because of the backtracking. That being said, it's almost 100% harder. than normal trail running. We were past the point of defeat when all of this started to get weird. We crested the pass as the sun started to get low in the sky. Light started to fade as we entered the valley in the final ten miles. Throughout this time, my friend had been talking about true crime podcasts, joking about all the places to hide a body out here. We were crashing through the overgrown trail, probably the first through it for a year, when a brown tarp caught our eyes through the brush. We paused and looked at one another like, uh, that's about the size of a body.

We approached, and we were both physically and emotionally exhausted after the day, saying to ourselves, well, we've got to figure out what this is now. So we prodded it with a trekking pole and found that it was firm. We moved the tarp a bit and caught a glance of a red-stained fabric. We both went still. I've got major chills now. We moved the tarp back and found this big old sleeping bag with red interior fabric. We both laughed and then kept moving. Still, as we kept moving back toward the parking lot, I couldn't shake the feeling. Why would someone hide a sleeping bag like that? We finally reached the trailhead in my friend's car. It was dark. We were completely exhausted and half delirious. It was an empty lot except for one other car at the far end. That didn't make

sense. We had seen one other hiker on the trail far off in the distance. He looked pretty normal. He had your regular hiking pack and gear. As we were getting into his car, though, we heard a woman call out from the other car saying, Hello, help. Do you know what kind of bugs are out here? My friend said, let's just get out of here, man. But I found myself steering over and found this lady sitting in her overpacked car with the door open. She was like, there's this big bug on my neck. I don't know what it is. It's freaking me out. She was pointing to it, but there was no bug. I told her, Lady, I don't see anything. There's nothing there.

But she said, no, come closer. My friend from behind me said, Uh, don't do that, dude. He's got no filter. He's saying it loud enough that both of us can hear him. I told her, I'd take it off if I were you. Sorry, I can't really help you with that. Then turned back and got in my buddy's car. He's looking at me like I'm crazy, and honestly, I had no idea why I went over there. I think part of me wanted answers after finding that abandoned sleeping bag.

A woman unfamiliar with the area, covered in bugs, vaguely fit the description of our phantom sleeping bag owner. Who else could it be? We didn't really discuss it any further. We just took off. We were both depleted, rattled, and ready to get the hell out of dodge. I felt pretty bad about bringing him along to. to begin with, but I felt even worse now that things were kind of taking a creepy turn. We just turned on some music and chatted about other stuff going on in our lives.

Around five minutes down the road, my friend's flat tire light comes on, and we just look at each other like, oh no, there's no way this is happening. Fortunately, he had a little pump to plug into his lighter port. We took a guess at which tire was losing air and sat in a silent pitch black, glancing back up the road nervously and waiting for the pump to work. It must have been half an hour when we realized we got the wrong tire. The one we picked was low but wasn't losing air. It was the one in the back on the opposite side, slowly deflating and bringing the back end toward the ground. We had just noticed it before it was completely out of air. Great, now we're really stuck for a while. We got the

pump moved and situated, watched the slow, tedious process once again. Overhead, the stars started to fade in favor of a shadowy overcast. It was already freezing, but the cloud cover and potential moisture just simply weren't prepared for it. My friend was asking if it would rain or snow, and I said, No, I checked the forecast every day for a week.

This weekend was supposed to be clear. Just as I'm having that thought, the first few flakes of snow drifted out of the sky and landed right on my face. It was beyond demoralizing to see. My buddy's car was a little two-wheeled drive SUV. It worked well enough on dirt roads and mild terrain, just that kind of stuff. It definitely

wasn't built to pull us out of a few inches of snow, and the pump still had at least an hour left to go. We were getting ready to settle in for the long haul, bundled up in the front seat, the heater going on full blast, and we hear something. We both turned, one-legging the car, and one looking down the road we'd just come from. It almost sounded like a cough, and now we could hear footsteps along that muddy road. That schluck, shluck, shluck sound of someone in sneakers walking through the muck. Hello, help! These bugs are everywhere! It had to be that same tweaked-out woman from the trailhead. It was definitely possible. We'd only made it a mile from where we left her. Why she left her car behind was completely beyond us. She had to be on drugs, or just crazy to some

degree. We also figured that she was living in her car. These were just quick deductions that we made after our encounter, things we didn't think were important. Now all we could say was, Who the hell is this lady? We did the only thing that we could do. We got back in the car and locked the doors. The plug-in for the pump snaked through the window that we had partially opened. This way, we could keep as much warmth as possible inside the car. Now it was a double win. We had a little security from this lady out in the street. We didn't see her at first, but after a minute or two she came wandering out of the darkness. She walked right by the car, still talking to herself and looking in every direction.

She was so out of it, she didn't even realize she passed us. The car was on so the lighter port would work. It was just so crazy that we both even had to stifle a laugh. Another second or two later, and she was gone. It was unbelievable. I couldn't believe our luck. We went back to talking in a whisper. I leaned my seat back and started to zone out. as the late hour and lack of energy were starting to shut me down completely.

My buddy and I just kept talking about whatever, and as he spoke, his voice kind of trailed off into silence. I started to speak when I heard it too, those muddy footsteps on the road. The only problem is they were coming from behind us, from where the lady originally came from. We expected them to be coming further up the road because that's where she walked to. Had she circled around? Maybe there was an offshoot trail that would double her back to,

us. But whatever the case, we shrank into our seats and waited for whatever or whoever it was. Suddenly, our car was lit up by a flashlight. We didn't see anyone walk by. There was just a sudden beam of light cutting down the road. There was a man carrying some stuff, and when he saw our car, he started to slow down. He was totally shadowed, so I couldn't really make out any details besides his backpack. My buddy could, though. He leaned over and whispered it was the hiker that we saw earlier. This guy picked up his pace again and came sprinting over to the car. He looked in the back and then in the front. He had his hands pressed up against the glass with his flashlight shining through. I'll never forget that big creepy grin that he gave when he saw us.

His eyes lit up, his lips peeled back, and the worst teeth you could imagine were shown, chipped and rotting right out of this guy's head. Hey, I'm looking for my girlfriend, he shouted through the glass. and I mean shouted. This guy was high as a kite and didn't realize we were only separated by a bit of glass. He was yelling like there was a country mile between us. Thank God my buddy picked up the dialogue. He was way more scared than I was, because this weirdo was on his side of the car.

He was really close. My friend started talking to buy some time. The first thing that came out of his mouth was that she went walking down the road. By which way? the guy asked. We both pointed down the way she went, literally the only way she could have gone. He nodded and looked around but didn't move, didn't even budge an inch. He kept the conversation going, telling us that he stopped out here so he could do a day hike. She wasn't much for outdoors and wanted to stay in the car. He said they had a dog with them, but neither myself nor

my buddy ever saw one, not even in the back of their dumpy car. The guy went on and on, telling us he'd had a stroke of bad luck lately, hadn't found much in the way of work or a place to stay. He went on and on with what I would consider his whole life story in various stages of yelling, speaking with his hand so he was banging on the glass for emphasis, at least starting to scare the daylights out of both of us. That's when he looked down and saw our air pump and through the window. His eyes sort of rolled in his head, and his entire demeanor shifted like he forgot that he was talking to us. He asked if we were having car trouble, to which we replied, It's just a leak, it's almost fixed. He said, no problem, I'm a big car guy. Then he asked if

we'd seen his girlfriend. She should be somewhere around here. My buddy and I shared a look like, Oh my God, you've got to be kidding me. The guy started messing around with the pump, saying he'd make it work better. My buddy and I were almost in hysterics at this point, thinking we'd have to open up the door and confront this guy. guy before he broke our only way out of the situation. And just as we were getting ready to do just that, we heard a crazy, blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. The snow was starting to ramp up, and now something was screaming bloody murder out in the darkness. The weird guy at our back tire stood up and looked around, then started booking it in the direction of his girlfriend,

yelling her name as he went. My friend and I sat in total silence for the next 45 minutes, until we felt like the tire was aired up enough to drive on. The whole time, we were looking in every direction, expecting one or both of these psychos to come screaming out of the trees. Thankfully, neither of them did. We loaded up the pump and hit the road sometime around 9 p.m., a full three hours later than I wanted. We saw them one last time right before we got off that dirt road.

They were standing before a thicket of trees, either holding hands or pushing each other. We couldn't really tell. All we could see was their arms were stretched toward one another. Just as we hit the pavement and started to slog back to town, we heard them both start screaming their heads off. By far the scariest hike of my life. And to those crankbug weirdos, I don't ever want to see you again. I was hiking in the Issaquah foothills a couple of winters back on a weekday. The Issaquah Alps see a lot of traffic year-round. But on this particular gloomy day during working hours, there was one. weren't a lot of people on those trails. This is exactly what I was looking for. Pure isolation

in the beautiful backcountry. My hike involved connecting two neighboring parks separated by a road. Once you exit the first park, you cross the road over to the second park's parking area and trailhead. When I reached the parking area, I noted a few cars in the lot and started my way up the trail. I hadn't gotten far when I heard a guy start calling out from behind me. Hey, hey, excuse me. He was trying to get my attention, but in typical Seattleite fashion, I had no interest in talking to strangers and just decided to pretend I didn't hear him, hoping he would go away.

He didn't go away, though. He proceeded to follow me up the trail and kept yelling, Hey, hey, sir. I probably could have lost the guy, but it felt just kind of silly to run away for no real reason. So he picked up his pace to a jog and got closer. I stopped, turned around, and said something like, Yeah, what? What's up? He stopped at a distance from me where he didn't really need to yell,

but had to speak loudly to hear one another. Not a normal conversation distance for me, though this was okay because I mentioned this whole interaction was pretty annoying. I got out here to be alone with nature, not to get harassed. Just outside the parking lot, were you just taking pictures of my car? He asked. I was taken aback by his question, since I had no idea who this guy was.

What? I asked him. I saw you. You were taking pictures of my car, he went on. In my mind I made the connection. He must have been parked in the lot below, hanging out in his car. I had my phone out earlier when I was in the parking area consulting the trail map, and I guess he thought I was taking photos. So I explained to him that I was just looking at my map, and he seemed to be satisfied with that answer.

He then paused for a moment, looked down as if he was in contemplation, then looked back up at me and asked, Have you been following me? My heart started to beat a little faster now. Something was off about this guy. This made no sense whatsoever as he was, in fact, currently following me. It was also at this moment where my confusion turned to tension, as I realized this person was not mentally well. The way he asked me this question was super intense and accusatory. It made me feel for a moment that I might need to defend myself against this guy.

So I did my best to diffuse the situation, explaining in a non-threatening way that I was simply out on a hike. I don't even know who you are. This also seemed to satisfy him and settle him down. He goes on a little bit of a tangent and tells me how someone had been harassing him on Facebook. He didn't know who it was. I don't really remember all the details, but I think that was the gist of it. I didn't have much to say, and he ended up just saying,

well, don't take pictures of people's cars, before turning around and heading back down the trail. I watched him make his own descent before turning back to my own adventure. The rest of the day passed as relatively normal. I saw some cool critters, snapped a few pictures, and just did the general outdoor thing. By noon, I'd put some miles behind me and lost sight of any other hiker. I broke a small camp for a little rest and recharge and had lunch just before pushing onward for another hour or so. After a bit, the cold started to get to me.

The wind was cutting through my jacket. My hands were starting to fail, and the sun was perfect for a downhill climb at this point. It's clear navigation. The trail is mostly exposed through the snow, and it's covered from the shade. My bootprints clearly marked the path. When I reached my spot for lunch, I considered stopping for a second time but decided against it.

I just wanted to get back to my car. As I'm moving through the little camp, something catches my eye. My track marks where I'd come from, where I stopped, and where I went. But there seems to be a different set of tracks cutting through the area. And sure enough, after a little more inspection, it is a second set of tracks, bootprints a little bigger than mine. They came up the slope, loitered in the camp, and then wandered back the same way that I went earlier. Spooky, but not the strangest thing. I guess it is a local outdoor area, a well-trafficked trail system, all the stuff that attracts daypackers.

The strangest part was, I didn't encounter this person on my way back down the trail. And by the direction of their tracks, they were on the same trail that I was using. I should have crossed paths with them at some point. on my return journey. I pushed on down the mountain, where the tracks just got weirder and weirder. It looked like they walked up and down the trail multiple times as the boot prints faced both directions. I tightened up my pack straps, my belt, and everything that might bang around just in case I needed to run. My mind naturally went back to that stranger who'd followed me up the path that morning. I reached a part of the trail that overlooked a very long stretch of

the valley ahead. I could see close to a mile of the path laid out before me, switching back every now and again with pockets of trees and snow melt here and there. Everything looked bright and muted at the same time. I took in the view for a few more seconds, and that's when I saw him. There was a man way off down the hill, close to a half mile by my guess. He was hard to see at first, just standing still among some trees. He was looking up at me. He was looking up at me, or at least in the direction of the hilltop. As we're looking at each other, I see him slowly slink into some bushes and hide himself along the path. What the hell is going on? I was relatively chilled out, but in the blink of an eye my heart was racing, and a cold sweat was pouring down

my face. Even with the distance, it looked like that weirdo that accosted me earlier. The simple clothing, the lack of gear, the pullover sweater instead of a real jacket. I mean, who else could it be? More pressing, though, was how the hell was I going to get back to my truck? I looked around the terrain and shrugged. The only option was this trail system. The snow and mud made everything off the path way too treacherous. If I had to run, he'd catch me quickly through the wilderness. I took a deep breath and continued down the mountainside. Not many will agree with this. but I don't carry much in the way of self-defense when I'm out in the wilderness. No walking poles, no bear spray, and definitely not a gun.

I've hiked my whole life and never had needed to use anything of that sort. What I do carry, though, is a medium-sized fixed-blade hunting knife. I consider it a tool above all else, but obviously it's a reliable means of security. I unclasped the sheath strap so I could pull it out quickly if I needed to. nothing happened for quite some time i walked on did my best to enjoy the dwindling views all while keeping an eye out for wherever this guy could be i navigated the entire valley including the tree line that i saw him near but there wasn't any sign of him this gave me a little confidence and helped me keep going i even braved a few shortcuts through brambles where i could shave off a few steps there's one part of the trail where it weaves through a small boulder field It's nothing crazy, but there is one brief scramble between some rocks. As I'm making my way through the stonework, I hear this sound behind me. Not any sound from the natural world, but something you could hear in the city or a suburban area,

the unmistakable shutter click of a camera. I stopped, hands extended before me on the boulder face as I shuffled along. I slowly turned and looked behind me, but there was no one there. I kept looking, and finally, up in the stones, I saw him. It was that weirdo from earlier, just as I thought. He had his phone out with the camera pointed at me. He's got this creepy look on his face, dead shark eyes, no emotion, a half snarl on his lips. Not very nice, is it?

He called down to me. I don't know why, but something boiled up inside me, and I would compare it to rage. Being followed, stalked, and now having photos taken of me, I didn't like being made to feel victimized when I hadn't done anything wrong to this guy. He climbed down slowly while snapping a picture of me every few feet. Finally, I asked this guy what his problem was. You've been following me, and I'm going to figure out why. He screamed at me.

By this point I had enough. I explained that I didn't know him. I'd never met him, and I would never waste my time following him. I then went into explicit detail that I was ahead of him, therefore couldn't be following anyone. The guy just continued to shake his head, argue with me, and snap random pictures. By this point, he made it down the trail but was still 25 feet from me. The argument continued to escalate until he finally picked up a rock and hurled it at me.

It didn't hit me, but it was fist-sized, so it came pretty close. I could tell by his facial expression that he liked the results, so he started to pick up a second stone. As he did that, I pulled out my hunting knife from my belt and started charging back down the path toward him. The sun hit the steel, and the guy's entire expression changed.

Now it was me who liked the result of my actions. At this point, I just started hurling threats back at him. I said this was perfect, being so far out here. No cops. No one to see what was about to happen. This obviously scared the hell out of him. He started backing away, hands up saying, All right, all right, all right.

Over and over again. He started huffing it back up the mountain, saying all kinds of crazy stuff like how I better not follow him anymore, or he'll call the police. I waited, watched him trundle up the hillside before turning back to my own journey. I didn't have any more issues after that and never saw that guy again. More to the wise, though. In order to communicate with crazy, you got to talk crazy.

having encountered many bears coyotes and mountain goats in the wilderness this was the only moment although brief that i felt threatened on the presence of those trails this was more of a bush walk but when i was a teenager i lived near a very long creek trail and empty bushland beautiful place very hilly and mountainous area with rainbow lorikeets and a dam near by my friend and i headed to the creek after school because i wanted to show her a bat colony near that trail I don't remember if I turned left when we had to turn right, or if we turned right when we should have turned left. But either way, we never found that colony. This was well before smartphones, so we just followed the creek aimlessly for a couple of hours, hoping it would end somewhere familiar. It might also be important to note that we're both female. It was getting dark when we first saw it, a flash of red in the bushes.

We have Rosella's out here, but she swore that it wasn't a bird. We heard rustling now and again, which made us walk faster. It was tough to move fast on that terrain, though, because the slope along the creek was getting steeper. Embedded in the creek bed were sometimes these huge concrete cylinders, big enough to stand inside. Some of them had water flowing through them, and some didn't. Soon after she saw that red flash, we spotted something on the other side of the creek.

It was one of those big concrete cylinders, but there was something inside. At first, we thought it was garbage, but it was a home. We could make out the blankets, a shopping trolley full of miscellaneous items, and newspaper or magazine cutouts hanging on the concrete walls, mostly of girls. We came to a stop and just stared inside that little shelter. I remember having this sinking feeling in my stomach like I was seeing something no one was supposed to see. So suddenly, we were aware of a dirty smell in the air, like body odor. and the fading sunset behind us. Just as I'm getting ready to speak,

my friend grabs my wrist and jerks my arm. She's pointing to the tunnel where a red light has come out of. We watch in horror as it slowly moves outward from the tunnel, and as it does, we can make out the silhouette of a person hobbling in the cylinder. They're holding a small handlight of some kind, a keychain clicker with a red bulb. Long, stringy hair, oversized clothes, and the creepy way that they shuffled along

had us all but petrified. When they got to the edge of that cylinder, the person stopped and pointed the light right at us. It didn't reach us, but it showed that they knew we were there. We started to take a couple of steps down the trail when another light came to life, this one above the cylinder and in the tree line.

A third one followed down by the edge of the creek. The two new ones started to converge towards the light in the tunnel. one of them, I think the man in the tunnel, called out and asked what we were doing. We replied back with, Nothing, just exploring the waterways and looking for bat hollows. We really needed to get home, and the hour just got away from us. We heard snickering, then muted footsteps. The trickling of the creek made everything sound further away than it really was.

It also helped to carry the noises away. I briefly wondered how long these sickos had heard us coming down the trail. There's a load of bats right back in here, the guy in the tunnel said. He was waving us toward him in the dim light. My friend and I were still taking small steps back the way we came, back toward home. We said, no thank you. We had to get home before our parents called the police. That only brought on more snickering.

I started to feel claustrophobic even though there was a creek between us. The man in the tunnel went on to say that there was no police presence out here, that we were much further from town than we originally thought. That's all we needed to hear. My friend leaned over and whispered something like, we needed to run, and we need to do it now. Since it was dark, I snatched up her hand and tore off her home. Just as we started sprinting, all those men started hooting and hollering, telling us not to go. They'll show us the quickest way back. When I decided to look back just in case, I did see another light come to life. one was on our side of the creek where we were just standing. Just as my lungs were starting to

burn from the sudden motion, I saw the red light start chasing after us. It took me a second to realize that I'm not running anymore, but also screaming at the top of my lungs. So is my friend. We're running like lightning, pumping so fast it almost doesn't feel real. The screaming has cut off our airflow. We can't maintain the speed that we're at. Meanwhile, we can hear the creep behind us mimicking our screams, shining his red light back and forth. The illumination is proof that he's gaining on us. A little bend comes up in the road, and I consider bustling through the bushes, rather than losing speed on the turn. It doesn't matter, though. We aren't fast enough. All of a sudden, I feel a jerk behind me as the guy snatches up my friend by her other wrist.

We both start to stop screaming, now even louder, when we feel a big pair of hands collide with our backs and throw us into the dirt. We hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of us and everything. We both gave up at that point and assumed we were dead. Nothing happened, though. We laid there, listening to the pounding footfalls of someone running away. As they faded, we looked up from the dirt to see only darkness. The shock of being attacked started to fade, and being all alone, all we could do was cry. We crawled to our feet and dusted one another off, then started jogging down the trail again. We didn't say anything to one another, but saved our breath instead. We didn't want a chance being heard anymore. There was rustling behind us now and then, which could have been

anything, I guess. Plenty of wildlife in that area of the bushland. It was maybe 30 minutes to an hour later when we saw a wire fencing. We followed it to some kind of garbage yard in an industrial area. It turned out that we were a three and a half hour walk from our original starting point. I'm still not 100% sure what happened that day, other than the fact that my friend was grounded for a month. We told our parents about what happened, which they blew a gasket as expected. They alerted the authorities, who explained to us that there were undesirables that lived far up that waterway. There was nothing they could really do about it. To this day, I don't go hiking without a good sense of where I am.

First, I will say I'm 100% in favor of sending me. teen girls out into the wilderness. This trip, as disturbing as it was, was the end of my childhood and the beginning of my young adulthood. I think all women should be given a chance to take real risks and make serious decisions. I was at a similar camp in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. We were a group of 10 girls, ages 13 to 14. We had two counselors who were ages 18 and 19. This trip was supposed to be a 14-day cross-country hiking trip deep into the backwoods. We had a couple of stashes of water that had been dropped along our route, but otherwise, everything we needed was on our backs. About 10 days into our hike, we were looking forward to a legendary aspect of this trip, which older campers had told us about.

We would spend a day alone in the woods on a solo. This was a cool, all-day excursion, wherein the counselors dumped each camper into an isolated area for 10. hours or so. We'd have to fend for ourselves. We were all very excited at the prospect of being truly self-sufficient for a little while. I went into my solo with my full kit, including a tent, with the exception of cooking supplies. My counselor hiked out with me to a sandy bank overlooking a pond, gave me a high five, and told me she'd be back to collect me around 6 p.m. for dinner. I had a small journal and some embroidery to entertain myself with after days and days of hard marches across sandy and uneven terrain and about a billion giggly conversations with the other

girls. I really actually looked forward to some rest and some quiet. I wrote a few letters to friends and family back home, even jotted down a little poem about the nature around me. I remember eventually getting bored and deciding to take a nap. When I woke up, it was late afternoon. I was surprised that my counselor hadn't already come back to get me. Within an hour, I started to get really worried. It was getting dark, and once it got dark in an era before GPS, I knew that my counselors might not find me. It was also getting colder.

Now that the sun was gone, I hadn't collected any firewood or dug a fire pit. I was caught with my pants down, and it was too late to do anything about it. I opened up my pack and looked at my supplies. I didn't have enough water, so I had to deal with that first. filling my flask with pond water and dropping in some emergency iodine tablets to clean it. I did have enough calories in the form of trail mix, which was nice. I had limited matches, so I decided to conserve those. I pitched my tent, changed into my warmer clothes,

and then, wearing my headlamp in parka, I bundled myself up in my tent. I had a disgusting but satisfying meal of iodized pond water and trail mix. Then I poured over the map of my location. I was very, very acutely aware of the fact that I was a 14-year-old girl with limited orienting experience, who just might need to start a solo hike out of Michigan's backwoods at first light in the morning. Then I heard something outside my tent. Instinctually, I killed my flashlight and held my breath, listening for it. Once more, it sounded like footsteps along the shore of the pond below camp. The shore was cropped up with rocks and shells, so anything moving down there would be

pretty loud. After a minute or two, I heard it again, crunching footfalls. My fear dissipated, though, as I realized it was my camp counselor. She'd overshot my camp and wandered toward the pond. I unzipped my tent and stepped out into the chilly mountain air. A big, bright moon welcomed me, casting shadows all throughout the wilderness. There was no sign of anyone, though, not in the trees or near the pond. That's when something exploded down by the pond. That's when something exploded down by the pond. In front of me was so loud that I couldn't even process it, but after a second, I realized that it was a gunshot. I could see the water spray shooting up into the air from the impact of the bullet. My ears were ringing. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought I was going

to pass out. There was someone out here shooting a gun in the pond. I didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation, but I knew this was dangerous, and I was unequipped to handle it. before I could start to come up with some kind of plan, another gun blast exploded in front of me. This time, I could see the flash from the barrel and the person holding the gun. They were standing on a stump just outside the water. Regretting my decision to leave my tent, I climbed back inside and zipped it up as quietly as I could. I scooted into the back corner and tried to make myself as small as possible. Soon I could hear talking.

What sounded like two men muttering down by the water? It occurred to me the only reason they didn't know I was there was because I didn't make a campfire. My decision to save my matches might have saved my life that night. I heard them laughing, talking, then laughing again. It sounded like they were getting closer, perhaps climbing the cove up to the campsite. The shale gave way to soil, and I could almost feel their steps shaking through the earth. Once they got to the top, I could hear them clearly now. They loaded up the gun and fired a couple more times into the water below.

I could see the muzzle flash from inside my tent. Their long silhouettes passed against it. After they emptied the gun, they started climbing back down to the pond shore. I had no idea where these guys could have come from. Maybe there was a dispersed camping area on the other side of the valley, and that path led back to the pond. Next, I heard a woman holler, kind of yell. then a loud splash in the water.

I could hear treading and splashing and swimming around. The guys whistled and shouted some vague encouragement. I turtled up the best I could and tried not to lose it as it only got weirder from there. There was a distant conversation between the three, the sound of the swimming, and then the sound of what I could only describe as a stampede. There wasn't any commotion near me or my tent, but I could hear the thunder of their hooves. I didn't know if it was cattle or horses.

All I do know was that it was deafening. Next came more gunfire. Ten or fifteen bright flashy discharges exploded. I could almost hear drums or whooping of some kind. But with the other sounds mixed in, it was hard to tell. My ears were ringing so bad that I covered them with my hands. Then it was all over. The stampede, the hollering, the gunfire, it just vanished.

I got up from where I was laying and waited for something else to happen. All I could hear was the same hush talking from before down by the water. The voices sounded a little different this time, though, but soon they were gone too. Next thing I knew, I passed out in my sleeping bag from the adrenaline dump. Luckily, shortly after the first morning light, I woke up to my counselor Sarah calling my name. I jumped out of my tent and ran into her powerful bear hug. I'd never been happier to see another person. She told me that another one of the campers had injured herself.

seriously cutting herself deeply on a sharp rock. Both counselors had to carry her back to camp. Sarah had then needed to hike out a certain amount of miles to radio for backup, while the other counselor stayed with the injured camper. By the time they'd handled the situation, it was nearly dark. They'd managed to collect most of the campers, but I'd been too far away from the camp to reach me safely. They knew I was well equipped and not of a nervous temperament.

I was one of the campers they decided to leave at their solo camps overnight. When I told her what had happened to me, her eyes bulged out of her head. She asked me to clarify what I was saying, to which I did, and she began apologizing profusely. This probably came from a sense of guilt and worry, but also because she could lose her job, I'm sure. She said they didn't hear anything like what I described during the night, and they were only three-quarters of a mile away. Surely they would have heard all that gunfire. The injured girl ended up being just fine, and even told she developed an extremely cool scar from that incident. All I can really say about my incident is that I'm really glad I didn't have to hike out alone,

but also quite proud that I kept my composure, and did what I needed to do to stay safe while alone in the woods. Whoever was out there may have meant me no harm, and simply just didn't even know I was there. That stampede was a whole other experience that I just chalked up. to some kind of natural phenomenon. There are plenty of animals in the woods, and the repeated discharge of a gun like that might be enough to get them all moving. Whatever the case, I came out of it alive and well, if not a little braver for it. I went with my brother and mother on a hiking trip from Poland to Russia. The first few days were pretty great, with some minor clashes with bad weather. As we arrived at the Russian border, we needed to take a bus to cross it because no pedestrians are

to cross the border without a vehicle. After a bit of a hassle, we started out on our day on the Russian side of the border with our planned route in mind, and a much shorter time frame to get it done, thanks to some visa problems and other passengers in our bus. We walked over to the main road that crossed the oblasts that we hiked through. At a small village, our mother had the brilliant idea

to give my brother all the money she withdrew when we arrived in the most blatant, obvious way. She handed him this money in plain view of a cluster of Russian soldiers, who had a reputation for swindling travelers in outlier villages. One of the soldiers happened to be questioning my brother about his visa while this happened. The soldier, who was probably as confused as my brother and I were, started to interrogate us a bit harsher than before. In this more serious tone, he asked about more concrete data and details of our visa.

All of this was cleared, thankfully, and we got to continue our high. Like, still, I won't forget looking behind me and seeing that same cluster of soldiers watching us out of town. They were smoking cigarettes under a light drizzle of rain. None of them looked pleased to see us go, especially now that they knew we were traveling with large sums of cash. Guard work doesn't pay well unless you jam up the people passing through for whatever valuables they might have. As we continued on, we had to go off the main street, which had no footpath but a huge shoulder that was pretty convenient to walk on. We reached our overnight stay. The road got gradually smaller as we followed it, finally turning into a small mud path before the

first few houses of another village at a field, which we had to follow. We were greeted by some farmers that were currently on a break from harvesting. They asked us where we were going and told us with gestures of swimming hands that continuing this path might not be the best idea. We, in hindsight, did not care because there were no rivers or other sources of water that could stop us. As we continued our journey, the vegetation around us grew more and more the further we went. The supposed road that we were on suddenly turned into an overgrown path, which we had lost for a short amount of time because it basically wasn't really a path anymore. We followed the knee-high meadows next to it for a few hundred meters, until we finally realized

that the forest next to us was indeed the path. It was more overgrown than the forest in Poland or the rest of Europe for that matter. As we continued along this forgotten alleyway, the vegetation switched from dry underwood to six-foot-tall stinging nettle. I wore jeans because, whereas it might be heavier, it's much safer for this exact reason. My brother and mother were wearing shorts and sleeveless shirts, totally unprepared for such an encounter. Worse yet, I did a double-take at the tall grass and thought I saw a face in the plants. It was a woman, dirty, wrapped in cloth to protect from the nettle. Once we made eye contact, she disappeared deeper into the thicket.

Now that I inspected it, the stinging nettle was really only one lane. It surrounded the trees to the brush further back. I called out for the others to watch themselves. There were vagrants living in the forest. It isn't uncommon to be robbed blind on a cross-country backpacking trip. We tightened up our belongings and walked in spinning circles to keep an eye on every angle. They followed us for a mile or two, but never gained on any of our stuff. We had to admit, hanging around in those stinging nettles was a perfect idea for a bandit.

If you could protect yourself from the acid rash, you were damn near invincible, as nothing could chase you through such overgrowth. We had only lucked out because I had just happened to see that woman before they could jump us. We did not turn around because it was the only road that led directly out of the village for our stay. We continued on for another ten kilometers until we reached the road that crossed our nettle path. After we saw the street, I opened up our street map. This is normally my trustworthy source to find a good hiking trail if no printed maps of the region are available. It said that the road should significantly improve over the next kilometer or two.

It definitely did not. the Underwood went from mildly annoying to actively troubling us. Two times on our path, we had to cross small streams. There were bridges, but sadly, they were torn down a few years prior to us hiking out there. So we had to climb down the embankment, walk through eight-foot-tall plants at the bottom, and cross a really small yet inconvenient stream just to get to the other side, where we had to climb up to our path yet again. This part was a little scary because we had to potentially be able to potentially.

offload some of our equipment to climb down. We could still see some of the highway bandits lingering along the tree line. Anytime we set anything on the ground, they came strolling over like it was their property. It was kind of mind-boggling to watch them. The moment we snatched our things off the ground, they would spin around and march right back into the trees. At some point, a few hours, shortly before sunset, the road finally turned into a walkable path again. My brother found a coin from 19, 20, right in the middle of the trail. This made it clear that there weren't many users of this road,

and also told us that the vagrants weren't likely to follow us anymore, since there was just money lying around. We were only two kilometers away from a much more trafficked roadway when we hit this fence, a very high one. It not only crossed the path, but seemed to run in both directions for as far as we could see. There was a sign that said it was an engagement. enclosed deer habitat and travel would not be possible in this direction. We took the only option that we had, started walking around the fenced area, hoping it would lead us around to where we could

pick up our trail again. We were worried the fencing would lead us out of the Russian border, though, as we had only really walked a few kilometers. There was a forest ahead, and soon the fence led us straight into it. The little path that we followed along the fence quickly turned into nothing. We did encounter spurts of walkways where the fence had needed a little maintenance in the past, but beyond that, it was bushwhacking. Our luck continued to get worse as that fence suddenly led us right into a river, then it followed it for the better part of a kilometer. We had to cling to the fencing and plant materials too,

just to stop ourselves from falling into the water. Our hands were absolutely ruined by the end of it. As the fence turned away from the river and the shrubs, the trees got denser and denser until we could not walk directly next to the fence anymore but along the free spots in between the trees. At this time, it was night already. My brother was leading us with a flashlight through the thicket, only a few meters per minute. After enough stress and time spent along this fence, we finally were fed up

and decided that illegally crossing that deer enclosure was safer than walking through this forest for who knows how long. We let my brother climb over the fence. then gave him all of our backpacks. Then he and my mother climbed over it as well. After a small check of ourselves, we realized that we'd somehow lost some minor things in the forest, like a plastic water bottle and a rain cape.

We were fine beside some nettle stings and just pure exhaustion. The walk along that deer enclosure was a leisure, especially because the full thing had an interior road system that was way easier to get access to. We silently followed the path to the farmer's house, which we definitely did not want to disturb at that time. We were just some random hiking trespassers on our way to accommodations on the other side of the property. It didn't matter, though. The farmer caught sight of us moving between fields, and we heard him start hollering for us to leave. We answered kindly, saying that we were just hiking through to the next town and would leave immediately.

This wasn't good enough, though, because the next thing, we hear is the report of a rifle and the bullet whistling through the crops. This crazy Russian farmer was shooting into his own plants, so our only option was to run. He fired a few more times, but the growth was so dense he didn't have an idea of where to aim. We left him behind at the cost of all of our energy. As we followed the road, we finally reached that village and searched for our guest house in its respective neighborhood. As you can guess from our prior luck, it wasn't there. The guest house itself wasn't a fraud,

but somehow it was misadvertised as the wrong address. The real place was 12 kilometers across town. Normally that wouldn't really be a deal breaker, but at this point, with our trip and all the exhaustion, we just called it a day and bowed out. We walked to a small train station that luckily had a small waiting cabin next to pure nothingness. We tried to sleep there until the next day when the first train would arrive to skip at least that last 40 kilometers and get directly to the township.

After the stinging nettle, the long distance, the thieves, the border patrol, and the shooting farmer, we were desperate for everything to just be over. All of that struggle, and we didn't even make it. We were fortunate, though. We didn't get kidnapped, robbed, or murdered by any locals. I'm proud of my brother, who was able to hold up such a distance, with a swollen knee from a prior incident, as well as my mother, who already proved that she could hike 700 kilometers upward in one tour. It was an eye-opening experience, the kind that tells

you what kind of person you are, but I definitely wouldn't recommend it to anyone.