I hadn't been back to Kentucky in almost five years, not since the funeral.

Brett was there quiet as ever, his arms crossed and his face carved from Granite.

He'd always been the tough one built like a tree trunk, a seasoned Outdoorsman who tracked, deer and Elk through the Daniel Boone National Forest for a living.

I, on the other hand, spent my days trapped behind dual monitors drowning in code and client emails.

It was soul-crushing and Brett knew it.

When he invited me to meet him in the Red River Gorge for a weekend of camping, I accepted instantly.

It sounded perfect, no screens, no calls, just miles of rugged trails and absolute Solitude.

We parked Brett's truck at the mouth of an old forest service road shouldered, our packs and set off along a trail that wasn't officially marked on any park maps.

Brett liked it that way.

Keeps the tourists away.

He'd muttered.

After a few hours, we arrived at a clearing he called slab Camp.

Gulch It was a quiet primitive site.

Nothing more than Flat Earth ringed by Tall Trees close enough, to the murmuring trickle of slab, Camp Creek for water and isolated enough to forget the rest of the world.

I was Rusty at pitching a tent and Brett chuckled.

As I fought the nylon fabric, easy now Evan your setting Camp not fighting a bear.

It felt good to laugh.

We spent the early evening cooking, canned chili over a modest fire swapping old stories filling each other in on Misty years.

But as the sun sank behind the Treetops, the atmosphere changed I couldn't shake the feeling, we were Intruders here, small and insignificant beneath towering Cliffs and vast Kentucky wilderness.

As Darkness crept in Brett, pointed out something, odd along the trail, an oak tree stripped almost completely bare of bark.

The peeled strips stretched, nearly 10 feet, high revealing smooth pale.

Wood beneath, what does that I asked uncomfortable with how unnatural it looked.

Lightning sometimes.

Brett, Muse, frowning, but there's no burn marks.

We moved on and soon, I found something.

Stranger a neat stack of three round Stones.

Atop a moss-covered stump, they were carefully.

Placed almost symmetrical, that's creepy, I muttered Brett.

Shrugged it off as animal behavior, but the hairs on my neck said, otherwise, that first night, the forest felt oppressive heavy.

Brett snored, softly unaffected but I lay awake staring at the canvas ceiling of my tent.

Hours in.

I heard it.

The slow, heavy crunch of footfalls in dry leaves, my heart quickened, my breath caught in my chest.

It wasn't the skittering of raccoons or the bounding Trot of deer.

These were heavy steps methodical and too slow to be animal.

I grabbed the zipper of my tent flap cautiously opening it in an inch.

Outside the dying Embers of our fire cast faint.

Orange glows, across the clearing, beyond that Shadows swallowed, the rest of the forest, the steps continued moving slowly around our camp always just out of sight step step pause step.

Brett, I hissed quietly.

My voice shaking a grunt from Brett's 10.

Told me he'd heard the steps ceased instantly silence returned, oppressive and thick.

Brett whispered back probably just a bare, stay quiet but I'd heard Bears before.

Bears, didn't Pace methodically circling quietly.

Like Predators sizing up prey.

We lay there listening for what felt like hours until exhaustion took hold and sleep.

Finally claimed me at Sunrise, I emerged from my tent relief washing over me as daylight flooded the forest again.

Brett was already up expression.

Grim, you hear those steps?

He asked staring at something behind me.

Yeah, thought it was my imagination at first.

He shook his head.

It wasn't look.

I turned to see our supplies cooler.

Cookware backpacks moved.

Roughly 10 feet to the left.

not scattered or rummage but neatly arranged lined up perfectly as if someone had meticulously positioned them, What the hell?

I whispered chills.

Rippling down my spine.

Brett stood quietly eyes scanning the tree line.

Somebody's playing with us, we need to pack up but as he spoke, my eyes landed on Fresh marks, gouged into the trees surrounding the clearing.

Deep claw-like scratches stretched high above our heads, too high to be from a bear.

My pulse quickened, stomach tightening into knots.

Brett, those marks, his jaw tightened.

Yeah, I see them.

He didn't say what?

We were both thinking that whoever, or whatever was here was Far, bigger, and far, Stranger than any bear, without another word.

We began packing quickly, neither of us, turning our backs on the woods for long.

I knew we needed to leave, but as I stuffed gear frantically into my pack, I felt watched judged and somehow instinctively, I knew getting out, wouldn't be easy.

We broke Camp.

Quickly, barely speaking, Brett's calm confidence had faded replaced by a tense alertness.

I'd never seen in him.

We hoisted our packs and retraced our steps back along, the trail.

We'd come in on the air was humid oppressive.

Every few feet.

Brett, would pause eyes narrowed scanning the Shadows?

After an hour of hiking, I noticed a strange feeling of familiarity.

Brett, stopped abruptly his body, Ridgid staring at something, ahead of us.

You've got to be kidding me.

He muttered.

Ahead stood the same broken Oak from earlier.

Its bare wood.

Gleaming pale beneath the forest canopy We had circled back to the same spot.

We started from How is that possible?

I asked breath catching in my throat.

Brett shook his head slowly glancing down at the compass in his palm.

It spun and lazy circles useless.

He snapped it, shut frustration lining his face.

Something's messing with us.

It was hard, not to feel panicked bubbling up.

Brett new these Woods, he was never lost yet.

Here we stood confused and disoriented exactly where we tried to leave from.

Look, Brett said, quietly pointing to another tree, deep gouges fresh claw marks stretched along the bark higher than either of us could reach.

I felt my stomach twists.

Bears might claw trees, but never like this, not so high, not so deliberately placed.

Brett's face told me.

He was thinking the same.

We tried a different direction.

Brett leading us with tents, determination hacking, through dense brush with his hunting knife.

The heat was unbearable.

Sweat, drenching my shirt blurring my vision?

And that's when I saw it movement, just a flicker among the distant trees.

I stopped dead.

Eyes straining into the Shadows between two ancient trunks, stood a figure, a man, at least shaped like one, but twisted, and hunched wearing only a ragged scrap of cloth around his waist.

His bare skin was smeared with Grime.

His hair matted and Tangled over broad shoulders.

He watched us silently motionless Brett.

I whispered harshly.

Look But as Brett spun around the figure stepped swiftly backward disappearing silently into the dense forest.

What, what did you see a man?

A managed to choke out throat.

Dry, someone's following us.

Brett's eyes, hardened, we need to keep moving fast.

We pushed forward.

Limbs aching breath ragged every few minutes.

I glanced over my shoulder feeling his gaze.

Even though I couldn't spot him again, An hour later as we descended into a narrow Ravine.

I saw him.

Once more now, standing, atop a ridge to our left silhouetted against the sky, mirroring our pace, and Direction he moved.

Fluidly gliding from Shadow to Shadow, never losing sight of us.

He's tracking us.

I hissed pointing upward Brett.

Swore under his breath, his hand, tightening around the knife handle.

We need to get off his path.

He knows exactly where we're going.

But no matter how hard we tried the shadowy figure remained in our peripheral vision.

Always distant always watching.

By late afternoon, we were exhausted our clothes, torn from the brush, limbs scraped, and bleeding from Briars and thorns.

Brett's jaw was clenched eyes scanning constantly.

We can't outrun him, he finally admitted Breathing heavily and it's getting dark again.

A Sinking Feeling settled in to my chest.

What do we do?

He met my eyes Grimley.

We set a trap tonight.

At Sunset, we reached another clearing, Brett lit, a small fire, then quietly explained his plan.

I'd stay by the fire visible invulnerable.

While he hid nearby with his hunting knife, and flare gun waiting to Ambush our stocker.

I'll be watching the whole time, Brett assured me, the second, he gets close, I'll hit him.

Just hold your nerve as Darkness swallowed.

The trees around us.

I sat near the fire pretending to stare into the Flames calmly.

My hands shook uncontrollably.

My chest felt painfully tight.

Every breath a struggle.

Somewhere out there in the shadows.

Our Watcher was waiting circling slowly patiently, inching closer and Brett was waiting too hidden in the Darkness ready to strike.

Minutes dragged into hours.

As I sat rigidly beside the dwindling fire, the heat barely noticeable against my clammy skin.

Brett was somewhere behind me concealed in a small rock outcrop ready.

And waiting.

The night are pressed down heavy and thick.

Every tiny sound made my muscles tense, a twig, snapping leaves rustling small animals, darting unseen.

each noise could be nothing or Everything at Once, suddenly, the small sound ceased Silence flooded.

The clearing absolute in crushing.

My heart hammered pulse throbbing at my temples.

Slowly deliberately heavy footsteps, crunched toward me from the trees.

Not animals steps, not random rustling, but slow careful strides of someone who no longer feared being heard.

I forced myself, not to look keeping my gaze locked on the smoldering Embers.

As the footsteps Drew closer.

Step after step until finally a shape emerged from the darkness opposite me standing motionless, just beyond the fire's faint glow.

It was him.

The man we'd Glimpse earlier, he was taller than I'd imagined powerfully built but gone his skin smeared with dirt and soot tangled hair, draping down to Broad muscular shoulders.

He stared directly at me, his expression, unreadable beneath the grime, coding his face.

His chest heaved slowly rhythmically as if gathering strength or courage, my throat was dry Raw.

I fought the impulse to shout or flee.

We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Until he began to Circle slowly around the fire.

Careful to keep a fixed distance.

His eyes never leaving mine.

His movements were careful.

But confident, this was his territory and he knew exactly how to navigate it.

My fingers twitched nervously.

Brett needed him closer within striking range.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying desperately to appear calm defenseless The man Paul asked finally taking a step toward the fire, his face illuminated in the flickering, amber light, I caught a clearer view of his features wild eyes Hollow cheeks lips cracked and bleeding from exposure.

There was Intelligence in those eyes though, buried deep beneath layers of animalistic Instinct and isolation.

He tilted his head slightly inspecting me with cold curiosity, almost as if he were deciding what to do next.

He took another step closer, almost close enough.

Now, Brett, now as if hearing my desperate thoughts, Brett burst from his hiding place behind the Rocks, firing the flare gun directly at the man.

The sudden flash of burning red ignited, the darkness slamming into the stalker's shoulder, a feral guttural scream, tore from his throat, echoing painfully through the forest.

He reeled backward clutching at his burned flesh eyes wide with shock and pain.

For a moment.

I thought he'd charged driven by rage in desperation.

Instead he bolted suddenly Vanishing into the woods crashing, noisily through the underbrush and leaving behind a thin glistening trail of blood.

Brett, moved quickly, grabbing my arm and pulling me up move.

We can't stay here.

He said, urgently, we stumbled through the darkness until sunrise painted the Treetops, pale gold We followed the blood trail, it seemed our attacker near the terrain better than we ever could.

Eventually, the blood faded.

But Brett spotted a service road through the thinning trees.

We stumbled out onto the gravel.

Gasping shaking with exhaustion and relief.

A passing truck slowed and stopped the driver staring wide-eyed at our torn clothing and scratched bruised.

Skin authorities returned to the spot.

We described and found the man's hidden shelter deep within a nearby Rock.

Overhang inside, they uncovered remnants of survival gear, stolen belongings, animal carcasses and human remains evidence, tying the man to several missing hikers from years passed.

DNA tests later, identified him as a survivalist who vanished in 2008 presumed dead.

We never returned to slap Camp gold.

Brett wiped the coordinates from his private Maps erasing.

It completely from existence.

As for me, my days of venturing into deep Wilderness were done.

My nightmares would always lead back to those woods to the silent star of a man lost to civilization and the horrifying realization that sometimes the monster's out there, wear a human face.

My wife, Emma hadn't smiled in months not since the miscarriage.

When we'd packed our gear into the car that morning, she'd quietly folded up a little blue onesie.

She'd kept tucked beneath her sweaters.

It had torn my heart right out of my chest.

The camping trip had been my idea, an attempt to escape our tiny, San Diego apartment and the painful silences.

We'd fallen into I could convince myself that a few peaceful nights and Inyo National Forest near Mammoth Lakes.

Might be enough to ease us back toward normal.

As we turned off onto the dirt road toward upper Twin Lake The Emptiness around us seemed to widen.

It was late.

September the summer, crowds long gone.

And as we pulled our gear out and began the half-mile.

Hike into the campsite I felt isolated in the best possible way.

Tall.

Evergreen surrounded.

The clear Quiet Waters and the air was crisp enough to numb my fingertips.

Maybe out here away from everyone, we could finally start talking again, we set up camp quickly, Emma silent the entire time.

She sat cross-legged by the tenth fiddling with her gloves, staring into the distant tree line.

I watched her wanted to say something comforting but found no words.

instead I busied myself building a small fire as the sun slid behind the Peaks, Sleep was hard that first night.

Emma turned, restlessly beside me.

I stared at the top of the tent counting, the hours until dawn Sometime passed midnight.

We both heard faint Twigs.

Snapping nearby, Emma.

Squeezed my wrist, tightly, probably, a deer.

I whispered though I wasn't entirely convinced, she didn't reply morning, arrived, slowly, a dull, glow warming, the nylon above us.

Outside the lake was glassy and still reflecting an orange sky.

That gave way to pale blue.

I stepped outside and stretched my breath puffing into the chilly air.

Emma emerged silently.

Tightening, her jacket around her body as if holding herself together.

It was then that I first noticed him.

Across the lake nearly blending into the shadowed backdrop of trees was a figure sitting motionless on an old Fallen log.

I squinted trying to make him out.

He wore a faded red, and black flannel jacket.

The kind Hunter's wore years ago.

He wasn't fishing.

Wasn't moving, just sitting there staring in our Direction.

Emma, I said quietly nodding toward the figure, see that guy over there.

She followed my gaze a small shiver visibly traveling down.

Her spine, has he been there long?

Not sure.

Probably just someone enjoying the Solitude like us.

But as I watched him, unease began creeping into my gut.

It wasn't uncommon to see other people out here, but there was something unnaturally still about this, man, an unsettling Stillness.

I'd never encountered before the rest of the day passed quietly, Emma wandered, the shore occasionally crouching by the water, picking smooth stones, and tossing them into the lake.

I fished for a while without much luck, but every now and then my eyes flicked across the water.

And each time they did, the man was still there.

Same spot.

Same position.

That night was colder.

The winds through gaps in the tent Whispering against my sleeping bag.

Emma fell asleep.

Quickly, exhausted by grief, or boredom or both.

I lay awake again.

Listening for noises the previous night.

Snapping Twigs were played in my mind.

Suddenly a sound caught my attention.

Careful.

Deliberate breaths.

Outside the thin fabric wall close enough that I felt a surge of fear deep in my chest.

I held my breath listening closely, hoping it was only my imagination but the breathing continued slow steady intentional, my heart, slammed hard against my ribs carefully.

I reached for the flashlight and crawled toward the tent flap.

I took a deep breath.

Pushed myself out and swept the light across our camp.

Nothing was there.

I circled our sight flashlight beam darting across dirt rocks and scrub, then I froze.

There were boot prints fresh and deep circling the tent Panic clawed at my throat.

I swung the light wildly through the trees searching.

Nothing moved.

Emma appeared behind me.

Her voice barely above a whisper Mark.

I turned shining the beam downward trying to keep her calm.

It's nothing.

I lied.

Probably just someone passing through.

She looked at the prince eyes, wide, Mark, those aren't ours.

I wanted to reassure her to tell her we were safe, but I couldn't instead, I guided her back to the tent and sat guard outside flash.

Light pointed toward the dark trees.

Heart hammering, with every small rustle of leaves at Sunrise, my eyes were heavy with exhaustion but my adrenaline still hummed As the pale light grew brighter.

I stared across the lake again and my stomach tightened.

The man was still there.

Only now he'd moved closer.

He sat less than 100 yards away, partially hidden by a stand of Slender Aspens.

Same posture.

Same silent.

Unmoving stare.

Emma saw him too.

Her face went pale and for the first time since we'd arrived, she reached out and took my hand Mark, she whispered voice, strained, and frightened, we need to leave.

I stared back at the silent.

Figure dread pooling in my chest.

Whatever healing we'd come here to find had vanished completely replaced only by a dark gnawing fear.

Emma's grip on my hand was tight, her fingers, trembling against mine.

Neither of us wanted to admit how scared we were.

Without a word.

I quickly packed our tent and gear checking over my shoulder every few seconds.

The man had disappeared from his spot by the Aspen's leaving a hollow feeling in my stomach.

He could be anywhere now.

We headed east along the lake toward where we'd last seen him.

Emma stayed behind at the edge of the clearing watching nervously as I approached the line of trees.

The sun cut through the branches, creating Jagged patterns on the forest floor.

My heart raced with every step, but I had to know if there was something or someone waiting there.

About 100 feet into the woods.

I stopped cold.

On the ground.

Lay a perfectly arranged Arrow made from thin branches pointing directly west straight toward our campsite.

My pulse quickened.

A faint rustle.

Drew my eyes upward to the trunk of a nearby tree.

Their carved roughly into the bark was another arrow.

Three sharp lines pointing straight down.

A rusted bent Nails.

Jutted out of the tree just above it.

Mark, Emma's voice called from behind me.

She sounded distant and frightened, are you okay?

Stay there, I called back forcing.

Calm into my voice, I'll be right out.

I moved fast faster.

Pushing through the thickening brush eyes, scanning wildly, There was another arrow freshly assembled and deliberate again pointing toward our camp.

A sickening dread filled me.

We weren't being watched casually.

We were being tracked.

I rushed back to Emma.

Breathing hard.

What did you see?

Her eyes searched.

Mine desperate for reassurance.

I hesitated but decided honesty was better.

Someone marked a trail toward us, we need to leave now.

We made our way quickly down the trail to where we left the car.

The forest around us seemed tighter more oppressive.

Every shadow deepening, the fear growing inside me.

About halfway there, Emma stopped abruptly staring down at the path.

Another arrow placed deliberately on the trail pointed directly at us.

She squeezed my arm Mark.

Someone knew we'd come this way.

We ran then boots pounding the packed Earth gear clanking awkwardly on our backs.

Relief flooded through me, when we finally broke free from the trees, the dirt road in our car in sight.

Emma.

Threw her packed down beside the car painting.

But when I turned the ignition nothing happened, the engine wouldn't turn over.

No, no I'm a muttered eyes wide and frantic I didn't leave anything on.

I said helplessly trying the ignition again and again It was completely dead, Emma stared Into the Dark Forest clutching herself.

Tightly what do we do now?

The nearest ranger station was miles away, no cell service anywhere near us.

Staying at the car was too exposed.

Two vulnerable.

After a brief Panic debate, we decided to return to the forest, choosing an elevated.

Rocky clearing, we'd passed earlier, hoping we'd see anyone approaching before they could get too close.

The thought of another night outside was unbearable, but we had no choice.

Darkness fell quickly.

I tried not to think about the arrows or the silent figure in the woods, but every noise sent adrenaline jolting through my veins.

A distant metallic sound like something lightly, tapping steel, echoed through the trees, Emma's eyes, snapped, open terrified.

I pretended not to hear it.

Hoping she'd believe it was the wind or something harmless.

But I knew better at first light desperate and nearly Sleepless.

We decided to push through the forest, cutting Eastward, in hopes of intersecting the main road, but in a path we stumbled onto a narrow twisting game Trail.

It led us deep into unfamiliar territory.

Our progress was slow, anxiety mounting with every step.

Then suddenly hidden among the trees.

We saw it.

An old weather beaten hunting Shack, walls, gray, and splintered barely standing.

A padlock hung uselessly from the broken door.

Clearly forced open.

I approached cautiously Emma close behind.

I nudged the door open, heart hammering.

Inside dim sunlight revealed a cot, a rusted wood stove and a battered plywood table covered with old, Polaroid photographs edges, yellowed and curling.

My breath caught sharply, I stepped closer and saw faded images of hikers families.

Couples each picture taken at a distance secretly, Emma's voice shook behind me.

Mark, look She pointed to a single photo pinned carefully to the wall.

It showed our camp clearly taken from the far side of the lake.

Mead bent over the fire Emma, seeded by the tent.

The photo was only two days old next to the stove.

Sat an old coffee, can a dull white objected at the bottom?

I stared numbly dread pooling in my stomach.

It was a human jawbone.

Footprints scuffed.

The dusty floorboards, Fresh, Prince boots.

That matched those we'd seen circling our tent.

Whoever had watched us.

Whoever had stalked us through the night had been here very recently.

I turned desperate to get us both away from this place.

But Emma stood Frozen staring at the photograph of our campsite, her voice was a whisper of fear.

He knew we were coming, we have to go.

I said, urgently pulling Emma from her, Frozen stair, my voice trembled betraying, the panic.

I was trying so hard to hide right now.

Emma didn't argue, she grabbed her packed tossing in whatever she could.

I took an old hatchet from beside the wood stove, my Knuckles, white around, its splintered handle.

The shack seemed darker now, like it was slowly absorbing what little daylight was left.

Outside, the wind tore violently through the trees.

Clouds black and heavy raced overhead erasing, the daylight piece by piece.

We pushed West stumbling through brush scraping against branches and tripping over uneven ground.

Behind us.

Something moved.

Steadily through the trees following our frantic flight.

I heard the unmistakable crunch of booths deliberately slow, but persistent.

Every time I glanced back, I saw nothing but endless trees and darkness, Emma gripped.

My arm tighter Breathing heavily.

He's right behind us.

She whispered voiced tight with fear.

I can feel him.

Don't look back.

I urge her.

but my own curiosity betrayed me, I glanced quickly toward the Ridgeline behind us against the fading Sky stood, the shadow of a figure perfectly still Red Flannel jackets starkly visible, even in the Gathering Darkness Watching us.

We didn't stop after that.

Pushing forward through thickening Shadows, the flashlight barely pierced, the dense Nightfall and Rain began to fall in icy sheets, drenching us both.

Every route, every slippery.

Stone threatened to bring us down.

Then abruptly, our feet hits something.

Solid.

The old dirt road that led back toward our car and the trailhead.

Hopes surged through me.

Bitter and sharp driving us both onward.

Ahead through blinding rain and swirling leaves.

We spotted the glow of headlights, a Rangers truck was parked at the trailhead engine rumbling, softly a park ranger Stood Beside it, checking gear in the bed.

Help.

I shouted, Horsley waving my arms, Emma stumbled forward, nearly collapsing beside the truck.

The ranger, spun startled.

Then rushed to steady her.

What happened?

He demanded scanning us.

Both with practice eyes.

Someone followed us, my gasped, forcing out, each word between exhausted breaths.

A shack back there.

He was watching us.

The Rangers expression shifted, instantly from Curiosity to concern.

He ushered us quickly into his truck.

Emma huddled beside me, shivering uncontrollably.

The ranger grabbed, his radio urgently requesting backup, you set a shack.

He turned back to us, Voice Low serious.

can you tell me exactly where I described the trail as best I could stumbling over details in my panic.

The ranger noted grimly radio crackling.

As more voices.

Joined the conversation Within minutes headlights, bounced toward us from down the road a second Ranger vehicle.

Emma.

And I exchanged a glance filled with relief and exhaustion, For the first time in days, we felt safe.

Three days passed.

Before we heard anything more, a voicemail lit up my phone as we packed to leave.

Mammoth Lakes finally heading home.

The ranger district supervisors voice was calm, but tense.

The Shack burned to the ground.

He explained slowly happened the night you left.

Lightning most likely but no strikes recorded.

We found the job in.

You described lab, matched it to a missing hiker.

Cody Allen not far from here, my blood went cold I met Emma's wide, frightened eyes.

Neither of us, spoke.

We never found your guy in the flannel.

The supervisor continued voice tight.

But yesterday, one of my guys, spotted an old fire pit and an axe stuck in a stump down by lower Twin Lake, whoever he is, he's gone for now.

The line went quiet, but the unease.

Lingard between Emma and me unspoken but clearly understood.

We left Mammoth Lakes behind without looking back, desperate to put distance between us and the forest between us and the silent figure who had turned our attempt at healing into a nightmare.

But even weeks later in the quiet safety of our apartment, I kept the hatchet close.

Tucked away in the closet as a silent reminder that out there somewhere in the endless trees.

Someone was still watching.

Growing Up near Sheridan Wyoming.

You become familiar with big horn National Forest Dense Woods, steep Ravines and forgotten fire roads that wander endlessly into the mountains.

It's easy to lose your bearings out there especially if you stray Far Enough From The Marked paths.

It had been three years since I'd last seen, Wes.

Three years since mom passed away leaving us without a real reason to reconnect.

Life had pulled us in different directions.

Wes had joined the army and gone off to Iraq returning changed in ways.

I couldn't fully grasp I chose the quieter path.

Becoming a middle school, history teacher in Casper.

Our world's rarely intersected anymore until I reached out and suggested a camping trip.

I figured nature and isolation might help bridge the gap between us.

West somewhat to my surprise agreed.

We met in Sheridan early on a Saturday, loaded up supplies and drove West.

Passing through the Sleepy town of Dayton before ascending the winding switchbacks of Highway, 14 to Burgess Junction, West seemed quiet distracted.

Even though I tried making small talk, he kept his answers short, glancing, occasionally toward the dense walls of spruce that line the road.

You good.

I finally asked breaking the silence.

Yeah, West replied softly.

Just been a while since I've been out here.

I could hear something underneath his voice, something cautious and tense.

About seven miles past the junction, West pointed out, a hidden pull-off on the right.

I could barely see it through the brush.

This it, I asked skeptically.

Yeah, that's the one Old Logging Road.

They stopped using it back in the 80s.

I eased my truck onto the rough Narrow Path.

Branches scraping loudly against the doors as we drove deeper into the woods.

After about two miles, the road abruptly ended at a slight incline.

Wes nodded satisfied.

Will hike from here.

We shouldered our packs and started uphill, winding between tall stands of spruce and Juniper.

West took the lead confident, despite the uneven ground and lack of obvious Trails.

Eventually the land level down opening into a small clearing, that seems strangely out of place flat symmetrical with an old rusted truck cab hidden in the weeds near the Treeline.

What is this place?

I asked feeling suddenly uneasy Old Logging Camp.

West said, we used to hunt near here when I was younger.

There's a trail over there, might still be passable.

He pointed toward a narrow opening between the trees.

It wasn't marked or well trotted, but something about it felt deliberate as if it had been intentionally maintained We followed it.

Cautiously Wes, occasionally stopping to inspect snapped branches and flattened Moss.

As we move deeper into the woods, a heavy silence descended, it was as if the forest had been muffled by some unseen hand.

Swallowing even the normal sounds of insects and wind Wes slowed turning his head slightly.

You notice it.

He whispered voice barely audible.

What?

No birds, no insects, it's dead, quiet unnatural.

We walked another half mile, the path.

Growing tighter.

The brush thickening around us.

Finally West stopped glancing at the darkening sky.

We should turn back.

It'll be dark soon.

We retraced our steps returning to the clearing to set up camp quickly.

Wes started a small fire, the Flames, pushing back the approaching Darkness, we ate in near silence, West, still edgy glancing into the trees as though expecting something to appear.

Later that night, I woke up abruptly at first I wasn't sure what had stirred me.

Maybe a dream, maybe the lingering anxiety of West's mood, but then I heard it clearly slow, heavy footsteps, pacing deliberately near our tent.

My pulse quickened, Wes.

I whispered there was no answer my eyes adjusted slowly to the Moonlight filtering through the fabric of the tent.

Wes was Motionless in his sleeping bag breathing, deep and slow.

My heart raced if Wes was here, who was outside, I rolled slightly to peer through the tents mesh window.

Just beyond the circle of our dying firelight standing perfectly.

Still at the edge of the trees was a silhouette.

It was West or someone who looked exactly like him.

His familiar stance, shoulders slightly hunched, forward hands hanging Loosely at his size, but Wes was beside me sleeping peacefully.

A sickening feeling Twisted through me.

I closed my eyes willing the figure to vanish convinced.

It must be a trick of the dark.

but when I opened them again, the figure remained Still silent.

Still unmoving.

I lay there paralyzed by fear hardly daring to breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered the courage to shake West away.

He jolted upright instantly alert.

What he hissed, seeing my face, someone's out there.

I whispered Horsley West reached for the knife beside him sitting, perfectly still listening.

Minutes dragged by intense silence.

When he finally crawled forward to peer through the mesh, the figure had disappeared leaving only an empty patch of moonlit grass.

There is nobody.

Wes murmured uncertainty heavy in his voice.

He looked at me, wearily, the unspoken question hanging between us had.

I imagined it, but I knew what I had seen Wes settled back.

Uneasy will look in the morning.

He muttered neither of us slept again, that night listening, anxiously as the Silent Forest in around us.

Each sound amplifying, our dread as we waited helplessly for Dawn.

I hadn't slept a second since seeing the figure outside our tent and when the sky began turning gray, I crawled out desperate for fresh air.

Wes was already awake.

Neiling in front of the tent flap staring at something on the ground.

I moved beside him and froze.

My breath catching sharply deep Footprints.

Bear wide misshapen had sunk into the soft mud just inches from where our heads had rested.

They didn't match either of our boots or even any human Footprints I'd ever seen.

They slanted inward at strange angles.

Almost pigeon toed.

As though, whoever made them, had bones bent and twisted beneath their skin.

They Circle the tent West murmured, quietly.

Three times.

I turned to see him pointing and sure enough the tracks made careful perfect loops.

I glanced back at my brother, searching his eyes for answers or reassurance, but his expression was empty distant like he drifted somewhere far away.

We moved stiffly through our morning routine, packing up our sleeping gear without much conversation.

West stayed, quiet occasionally glancing toward the tree line always watching.

Every movement felt cautious, measured.

The forest still seemed drained of its usual.

Sounds No Birds no rustling animals, just oppressive unnatural silence.

I think someone's playing with us West, finally spoke his voice low and even he sounded calm, almost attacked but I could see tension straining at the corners of his eyes.

Messing with our heads.

Who would do something like this?

I asked.

He didn't answer only shaking his head as he stood.

Let's go check the trail again.

I want to know what we're dealing with.

I hesitated a sickening dread churning in my gut but the idea of being alone here was worse.

I followed him back toward the narrow path we discovered yesterday.

The entrance now appearing.

Even darker more unwelcoming in daylight than it had before.

The trail Twisted, further into the dense Woods brush, snagging our clothing, branches clawing at Exposed Skin.

After a short distance, I paused turning to whistle softly back to West.

It was a quick signal, we'd always use as kids two notes to let him know.

I was ahead nothing more but as the whistle died away a reply echoed from ahead of me.

Same notes, same pitch, perfectly repeated, my blood ran cold.

I spun around immediately, heart hammering to see, West Frozen several Paces behind me, eyes, wide, did you?

I started but West shook his head.

Slowly, signaling urgently to stay silent.

He moved ahead of me on the path.

Now, his rifle gripped, tightly Each step, he took felt deliberate and cautious as if he feared something hidden might burst through the brush at any moment.

My ears strained for any sound besides our own breathing but the forest remained maddeningly, quiet, empty of life and sound.

We finally emerged back into our campsite and I almost cried out.

A few feet from our tent in A Perfect Circle.

Leia dozen Birds small black winged starlings.

Each placed with unnatural Precision, heads outward, and wings, folded tight against their sides.

They showed no sign of injury, no blood, no damage.

Just lifeless Birds arranged in deliberate order.

This is intentional Wes said, slowly crouching beside the Grim arrangement.

Whoever's out here wants to scare us.

It's working.

I muttered.

My throat dry.

Wes straightened, abruptly, scanning, the trees, check your pack, see if anything's missing.

I moved quickly to our gear feeling, a surge of anxiety, as I opened my pack clothes, food gear, all their But then I realized my phone was missing.

We'd powered them off for the trip agreeing to disconnect entirely but now the empty pocket stared back at me accusingly.

My phone's gone.

I called dread thickening in my voice.

West paced around the site quickly.

Then stopped crouching by a flat moss covered Stone carefully.

He lifted it.

Aside revealing my phone nestled beneath covered neatly with leaves and dirt.

He picked it up examining.

It closely it's dead.

He said quietly completely drained.

How was that possible?

My voice sounded strange, even to my ears.

He shook his head again, eyes hardening, whoever took it turned it on, drained the battery hit it here, this is all a game.

But what do they want fear?

He replied simply standing straight again.

Casting another weary.

Look into the trees.

They're testing us watching how we react.

We spent the next several hours reinforcing our camp Wes meticulously set alarms using twigs and fishing line around the perimeter positioning logs to form barriers He worked quickly quietly with a sense of practice urgency.

That reminded me how little I truly understood about his years away.

Night fell swiftly.

The Shadows from the tree line stretching hungrily toward our camp.

We built the fire higher than before its bright Flames offering little Comfort against the heavy darkness, that pressed in around us.

We sat silently ears tuned for the smallest sound.

Around midnight, West shifted suddenly staring intently at the wall of the tent behind me.

Followed his gaze, my pulse racing.

Pressed against the tents fabric was the outline of a hand, long fingers, spread wide, unmoving firm and steady against the nylon.

It held perfectly still not pressing harder.

Not retreating just resting there like an unmistakable statement.

Wes slowly raised his rifle pointing it carefully at the shadow.

Neither of us, moved neither dared breathe as seconds crawled into minutes.

After nearly half an hour, the hands slowly pulled away, Vanishing a silently, as it had appeared, I glanced at West eyes wide, my voice.

Barely a whisper, we have to get out of here.

Wes, noted slowly never lowering, his wife full eyes locked on the place.

The hand had been first light he murmured quietly, we move at first light.

But Dawn felt impossibly far away and the forest seemed alive watchful waiting patiently for its next move.

As Dawn broke the forest.

Remained unsettlingly quiet.

Neither of us had slept a second.

Since the hand pressed against our tenth, Wes had a moved, much all night, keeping his rifle, balanced carefully across his knees.

He stood slowly stretching.

Stiff, muscles Ice Still fixed on the trees.

We're leaving.

I said, trying to mask the Tremor in my voice.

Now, Wes didn't answer immediately, he surveyed the edge of Camp, his gaze intense calculating, We can't leave blind.

He finally muttered.

We need to know what we're up against.

I pleaded quietly exhaustion bleeding into my voice.

We can't handle this.

We need to go.

He stared back at me for a long moment.

His face pale and Grimm.

Just give me one hour.

I opened my mouth to protest but he moved quickly toward the old truck cab at the clearing Zedge.

He rum it briefly inside, pulling out, oily rags and some pine needles.

Tossing them at my feet.

Start making a line of brush and pine needles across the edge of Camp.

Something we can burn, will smoke it out.

I hesitated glancing nervously at the dark and tree line then nodded trusting Wes's instincts.

More than my own.

We are arranged to make shift line of debris and kindling quickly.

Forming a shallow, semi-circle, just beyond our tent.

West lit, it carefully and smoke began Rising into the air drifting, slowly toward the thicker Woods uphill.

We waited tensely standing, just behind the small barrier.

I scanning the drifting smoke after several minutes, a movement emerged, a shape stepping out slowly from the trees hunched low at the shoulders cautious.

But strangely, Fearless I couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

Eyes.

Locked on the figure as the smoke parted around it.

A man, stood there, if you could still call him that.

he was thin and wiry shirtless, despite the morning, chill pale scars Twisted across his chest and stomach His face was a wreck of jagged tissue.

One side of his mouth, permanently torn upward exposing teeth stained yellow, he tilted his head.

Oddly looking at us as if curious then I saw the way he stood Twisted slightly at the waist hips.

Angled in opposite direction as though his spine had broken and healed incorrectly.

his bare feet, slanted inward at unnatural angles, the exact same Footprints, we'd found circling our tent, West slowly, raise his rifle, the Man's eyes widened briefly in recognition and he took a careful, step backward, limping and hobbling body.

Swaying awkwardly, he made, no sound, no threat.

Just watched us eyes.

Brightened alert before backing away into the Smoky Woods.

Wes exhaled sharply still aiming toward where the figure had disappeared pack everything.

Now I threw gear into packs as quickly as I could.

My hands trembling adrenaline making each simple movement.

Feel nearly impossible Wes moved to the far edge of the clearing setting.

Another small fire line to conceal, our tracks.

We're not taking any chances.

He murmured eyes dark, he's not gonna follow us.

We shouldered our gear and moved out.

Keeping silent nerves stretched.

Tight West stayed just behind me glancing frequently over his shoulder, wearing his rifle always Within Reach.

Neither of us.

Spoke the entire hike back every sound causing us to Flinch.

Every shadow, becoming the Twisted silhouette of the man we'd seen.

Finally, reaching my truck felt surreal like waking from a nightmare.

I threw our packs in the bed hands, shaking uncontrollably, Wes Paul's before climbing into the passenger seat looking once more toward the woods.

His expression haunted at the Burgess Junction Ranger Station West recounted, our experience quietly carefully choosing his words, The ranger listened intently skeptical, at first until West mentioned.

The figures Twisted posture and scars something in the Rangers eyes.

Flickered with recognition, though, he didn't elaborate a week later, we got a call.

The Ranger and his team had scoured, the area thoroughly.

Deep in the forest, they discovered a hidden campsite a crumbling lean-to camouflaged with Fallen branches nearby beneath layers of moss and debris.

They uncovered a shack, half buried and rotting from Decades of neglect.

Inside were piles of Vietnam era, gear Old Pax, rusted, canteens and cracked helmets.

Most disturbing were the notebooks.

Pages, upon pages of neat, handwriting, chronicled years of observations about campers, who ventured into the forest names?

Dates habits, carefully documented meticulously, catalogued The ranger hesitated.

Briefly before continuing his voice cautious, the entry started in 1983.

Most were just brief notes about hikers and Hunters.

But the latest He paused again, letting the silence linger painfully.

They were about you too, Wes's jaw, tightened, a deep Shadow.

Passing over his face.

We thank the Ranger and ended the call quickly eager to forget, but knowing we never, truly would 3 Days Later.

West stopped by my apartment without a word.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and metallic dropping it, gently onto my table.

It cladded, softly spinning slowly to rest in the fading afternoon.

Light.

It was one of Wes's dog tags from his first deployment battered, dented and rusted with his name still readable despite years of weather and where Wes's voice came softly tight with barely restrained, anger and confusion.

They found it nailed to the inside wall of that Shack.

Neither of us spoke again that night, but we both knew whatever had found us on that Old Logging Road, whatever had been watching and waiting had known exactly who we were.

And that fact terrified me, most of all I had been hiking Angeles, National Forest for years.

So when my friends suggested spending two nights above bare flat, I didn't think twice.

Sure, the summer heat can get brutal and Fire season.

Warnings posted at the trailhead, made the stakes.

Clear But we weren't novices.

At least, that's what I told myself.

My name's Chris and with me were Marissa Jordan and Lex.

All seasoned hikers or so we believed We plan to head off Trail bypassing crowded campsites for a quieter spot.

We wanted isolation, we found something else.

Entirely we set off just after Sunrise, aiming to beat the worst of the midday Heat.

By the time we reach the junction where most hikers turned back, sweat was already soaking through my shirt and Lex was breathing hard.

I ignored the discomfort, the higher, we climbed the thinner, the crowds, By late afternoon, the trail, we chose in vanished into a maze of scrub and Rocky outcroppings, Jordan glanced at me.

Skeptically clearly questioning my navigation skills.

But I insisted, I knew exactly where we were going.

That's when we spotted the old shelter.

It was wedged tightly into the rock face, a makeshift cabin built long ago from rough cut, logs stone slabs and corrugated tin it looks dirty enough at least for a night or two Jordan kicked open the half rusted door and we stepped inside dust swirling around our ankles, a pungent mix of mildew and something metallic hit us immediately.

Marissa scrunched her nose.

Clearly discussed.

Lex coughed home.

Sweet home.

Jordan said attempting a joke.

We dropped our packs and claimed corners of the shelter.

I found a faded carving on the wall.

A date 1989.

The shelter was old but not ancient.

It had probably seen plenty of traffic in the decades since though, by the thick layer of grime.

Covering every surface not recently.

After a quick meal, the exhaustion set in and we decided to settle down for the night.

As Darkness swallowed, the valley.

Lex lit our small camp stove.

A single tiny flame, casting long, Jagged Shadows along the walls.

We sat quietly exhaustion overcoming any desire for small talk.

Lex spoke first breaking, the silence.

Hey, did you guys see that?

We all turned toward the open door.

Far away a top another Ridgeline.

An orange glow had.

Ignited flickering like someone starting a campfire.

We watched it for maybe two seconds before it abruptly vanished.

As if snuffed by an unseen hand, what the hell Jordan muttered that was weird.

Probably.

Another group out here.

I offered though my own confidence wavered.

Something fell off.

Marissa stared on easily into the Blackness outside.

There's nobody else out here that Ridge is Miles From Any Trail.

Nobody responded.

There was no explanation that made sense.

We crawled into our sleeping bags soon.

After unease, settling into my chest, like a heavy Stone.

Sleep eluded me for a long time, but eventually exhaustion won.

It couldn't have been long.

I felt like I'd barely shut my eyes.

When Marissa shook me awake.

Her eyes were wide and scared in the thin.

Moonlight filtering through gaps in the shelter walls.

What is it?

I whispered already, tense.

I heard someone, she hissed calling my name from Up the Hill.

Lex, sat upright, suddenly alert me too.

She whispered I heard mine clear as day.

Jordan rolled over in his sleep oblivious.

I strained my ears holding my breath.

Nothing but silence filled the shelter.

Still the fear and Marissa's voice was impossible to dismiss.

She was not the type to overreact.

Should we check Lex whispered voice trembling slightly.

No, I said firmly.

It's probably the wind or something.

Even as I said it, I felt foolish.

There wasn't any wind at all, Lex settled back down reluctantly Marissa pulled her sleeping bag, tighter eyes wide, open in the dark.

Eventually I closed my eyes listening until fatigue reclaimed me in the morning.

I awoke stiff sunlight, slicing harshly through gaps in the crude shelter walls.

I felt sick dehydrated already and deeply unsettled by last.

Night's events beside me.

Marissa was sitting up pale and staring at her sleeping bag.

sweat she said quietly Touching The Damp fabric her hand trembling On the inside.

Nobody had answers.

I looked out the door at the sun, already burning above the Ridge, and felt a cold dread settled deep within me.

Something was very wrong on this mountain and suddenly isolation didn't feel quite as appealing as it had yesterday, it was barely mid-morning.

But the heat had already become relentless.

The sun glared down from a harsh cloudless Sky baking, every inch of exposed ground.

We Gather our things quickly eager to abandon the shelter and the unsettling memories of the night before.

Marissa was quiet clearly disturbed by the dampness she'd found inside her sleeping bag.

Lex stuck, close to her murmuring, reassurances, that neither of them seemed to believe.

I moved around the shelter, Gathering our water Stash from the Shaded Nook, where I had carefully placed at the night before.

As I bent down, I froze.

Staring at the emptiness, where four bottles of water should have been instead.

There was just an empty gallon jug tip onto its side.

Who took the water?

I demanded sharply Jordan.

And Lex exchanged puzzled looks and Marissa shook her head nervously.

None of us touched it.

Chris I felt a surge of irritation mixed with unease.

without water, we wouldn't last long in this heat Lex suggested an animal had dragged them away, but there were not any animal tracks visible near the shelter.

I knew what raccoon or bear prints look like and there was nothing but dust and gravel nothing except my stomach tightened in the loose dirt, just behind the shelter.

I saw a single set of footprints.

They were unmistakably human Barefoot and large, much bigger than any of ours.

I crouched down running a finger along the distinct outline of the toes.

Chris, Marissa's voice, broke my focus.

What is it?

Footprints.

I said quietly.

My voice barely carrying to the others.

Someone else was here last night.

Jordan came over crouching beside me, Barefoot out here.

He looked around warily.

Where miles from anywhere?

I didn't respond standing up slowly and dusting off my hands.

The sooner, we were off this mountain, the better.

Inside the shelter.

Marissa was nervously, picking at something on the wall.

I stepped closer and noticed a dark reddish brown stain.

Just beneath the scorched area of wood.

It was dry and flaking as Marissa scraped at it, with her fingernail.

That's blood, she whispered pulling her hand back sharply.

Someone tried to scrub It Off.

Jordan laughed on easily though, his face had lost all its color probably an animal.

Maybe someone cleaned their kill in here once.

Know Marissa said firmly.

This is too high up the wall.

A thick silence settled over us.

Nobody wanted to consider the implications of her words, Lex back toward the shelters, entrance eyes darting nervously.

Let's just get out of here.

I finally said breaking the tension.

we started downhill along the Route, we'd marked on our way up moving slowly at first but soon, quickening, our Pace as the heat intensified My throat was already parched and without the water stash, each step felt harder than the last less than an hour into our descent things started unraveling rapidly.

I stopped abruptly staring in disbelief at the spot where I built a small cairn, A stack of carefully, placed rocks, marking our return route, it was gone completely dismantled with the stone scattered randomly in all directions.

Who the hell did this?

Jordan's voice cracked as he stared down at the Rocks?

I said nothing a knot tightening painful in my chest.

We can continue carefully forward searching desperately for the blazes we'd marked on trees, but each one had been scraped away leaving behind only rough gouges in the bark.

It's like someone's trying to trap us here.

Lex said quietly, voicing what we all feared but didn't want to admit.

Sweat dripped steadily down my face.

Stinging, my eyes.

My sense of direction felt scrambled and the terrain seemed unfamiliar everything was distorted by heatwaves shimmering above the ground, turning even solid landmarks in to wavering mirage's.

Hours later, exhausted, and dehydrated, we finally stopped beneath a cluster of Twisted.

Scrub Oaks their leaves offering precious little shade.

The sun hovered mercilessly overhead forcing us to wait until temperatures dropped enough to move again.

We didn't speak much each Lost in Silent dread, rationing what little water remained in our packs.

Jordan leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree staring blankly at the ground.

That night, we camped again, our heads, pounding and throats, dry and raw.

None of us, risked making a fire to afraid to attract attention.

The darkness wrapped around us heavily.

Every sound seemed Amplified in the Stillness.

Then I heard it.

Slow.

Deliberate, crunches, like footsteps coming from uphill behind our makeshift, campsite My heart lurched painfully.

I sat upright gripping the small hatchet from my pack.

Every muscle in my body, tents Marissa, grabbed his arm, tightly eyes wide with Terror We didn't dare speak or move, barely breathing.

As we listened.

The footsteps stopped just beyond our line of sight.

The silence stretched unbearably, but I knew instinctively, we weren't alone.

It was a long night and sleep, never came.

I kept my eyes locked on the darkness around us.

My grip never loosening from the hatchet.

The first gray hint of dawn brought no relief.

Only more questions.

When we stood to pack, I looked down and my breath caught sharply fresh Footprints circled, our camp completely Barefoot and wide.

Whoever had been watching us was close enough to touch Marissa's voice trembled.

As she finally broke the silence, Chris, we need to get out of here.

Now, she was right but I had no idea if we'd even make it by Sunrise, the dehydration had begun taking a severe toll on all of us.

My tongue felt swollen scraping like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth?

Marissa's lips had cracked bleeding slightly at the corners, her eyes sunken and distant.

Jordan stumbled as we packed our things muttering incoherent words under his breath.

Lex hovered close to him her eyes shadowed by exhaustion and fear.

We resumed, walking desperation driving each step.

I struggled to keep my bearings as the rocky slopes blurred together.

Each Ridgeline looking identical.

A familiar path appeared to my right and relief surged briefly through me.

This is the way I rasped pointing upward.

I'm sure.

Jordan shot me a doubtful glance shaking.

His head slowly but said nothing.

We climbed anyway, our movements painfully slow, muscles cramping, from lack of water.

After an hour of agonizing Ascent, the path abruptly ended at the edge of a dry wash filled with bones animal bones, deer coyotes, rabbits littered the dusty Basin, some looked weather and brittle.

Others disturbingly fresh.

Lex stared in horror at a leather strap dangling from a low shrub.

It was unmistakably from Jordan's pack riped in torn though.

He'd never been this way before.

Jordan backed away confused his breathing ragged how he muttered weakly eyes Wilde.

We've never been here.

A sickening realization washed over me.

We were walking in circles being hurted deeper into unfamiliar terrain.

We stumbled downhill again desperation and panic overtaking.

Rational thought The sun was relentless bearing down heavily and I began seeing flashes of dark shapes, starting at the edge of my vision.

I blinked hard trying to force Clarity but they wouldn't fade by dusk.

We were barely moving forward.

Stumbling on numb legs.

Marissa had fallen silent entirely staring, blankly ahead, lost and exhaustion, and despair.

Jordan had grown pale.

Trembling with each step, we finally collapsed beneath a stand of Twisted, scrub Oak to exhausted even to speak.

Darkness fell heavily once more.

None of us dared sleep.

I sat gripping.

The hatchet, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

My eyes straining into the endless, Blackness around us.

Then I heard the sound.

Slow rhythmic crunching of dry leaves and twigs.

Steadily approaching from the ridge line of I held my breath Knuckles white as my fingers tightened around the hatchet handle, Lex whimpered.

Softly beside me her hand clutching Marissa's sleeve.

the footsteps circled, our makeshift campsite slow methodical never stopping, but never coming into view, each step echoed louder in my ears, until my heart pounded painfully in time with them, Then suddenly silenced, I waited my body, trembling with tension until finally, the first pale glow of mourning, illuminated our surroundings.

I stood on shaking legs, looking down to see fresh Footprints and circling our small clearing bare human impossibly, large Lexus, voice, broke, raw, and ragged Chris.

We have to get out of here, please.

We moved as fast as we could manage, stumbling through brush and Rocky outcroppings blind with fatigue.

My vision blurred Darkness creeping around the edges, but I pushed forward driven by sheer desperation late in the afternoon.

I spotted something that brought a hoarse cry to my lips a narrow Fire Road sneaking along the distant Hillside below.

I waved frantically hopes surging painfully in my chest.

Behind me, Marissa fell to her knees, weeping and relief.

A white forestry truck rolled slowly into view the ranger inside leaning forward surprise.

We stumbled down the hillside shouting Horsley waving arms in Wild.

Desperation.

He stopped the vehicle stepping quickly toward username etched clearly across his face.

Minutes later as I gulped down water from his spare, jug relief, threatened to overwhelm me but something dark linger.

Deep inside a dread.

I couldn't shake days later when we were strong enough Rangers brought us back up to the shelter.

It was exactly where we'd left it yet.

Something felt profoundly wrong.

The logs looked older decayed as if abandoned decades earlier rather than mere days Around the shelter Rangers found signs of illegal camping.

Ashes from old fires discarded clothing, nearby deep, drag marks etched a grim Trail toward the ridge line above the lead Rangers shook his head slowly as he studied the area, Barefoot.

He muttered glancing down at Fresh Tracks pressed deeply into the Earth.

We've seen these before.

I stared at him.

My throat tight.

What do you mean?

He hesitated then met my eyes directly.

A group went missing out here in the 90s experienced hikers.

We found gear a campsite but never any bodies.

The words hung in the air heavy with implication.

I turned away chills Rippling down my spine despite the Heat None of us ever set foot near Bear flat again.

Buckskin.

Gulch is a deep winding gash carved into the desert.

Rock along the border of Utah and Arizona.

A Slot Canyon famous for tight passageways and unpredictable flash floods.

As a search and rescue Ranger working.

These Canyons for the last decade, I've learned to respect its brutal Simplicity, get in, get people out and get back safely.

Nothing Else Matters until today that formula had always worked.

It was October 2023, clear skies, cool temperatures ideal conditions, for hikers, a group of four experienced, Backpackers from Flagstaff, went missing on a plan, two-day Trek Through The Gulch I'd read the report twice, their emergency Beacon activated, briefly sending a distress signal that lasted just 13 seconds.

Then nothing, No, indication of flash flooding, no unusual weather just silence.

Protocol dictated a solo drop in for a visual assessment before committing a larger team.

I volunteered confident in my knowledge of the terrain by the pre-dawn darkness.

I rappelled alone down wire pass the narrow Chute of sandstone, barely wide enough for my shoulders.

Cold are pooled at the bottom.

Oddly stale and heavy when my boots touched ground, The Silence of the canyon pressed into my ears like cotton.

My flashlight beam sliced across the Sandstone walls as I moved forward scanning for any sign of the missing hikers at first.

Everything seemed routine after nearly an hour.

I spotted a jagged piece of nylon wedged into a narrow crack.

The torn edge of a tent pole nearby.

Equipment damage wasn't unusual in tight Canyon's but my gut Twisted slightly.

This gear had been violently shredded, as though pulled apart, rather than snagged.

I can continue deeper reaching a section of the canyon where the walls squeezed inward creating a claustrophobic Passage As I pressed through my flash, light caught in a regular stains smeared across the Sandstone floor.

Dark Crimson streaks Trail deeper into the canyon unmistakably fresh blood.

The coppery sent lingered in the air, sour and unmistakable instinctively.

I reached for my radio and thumbed the button.

Face.

This is Ranger Holt.

I've got blood evidence roughly one mile in no visual on missing party.

Yet will proceed cautiously please acknowledge static buzzed quietly back at me no response.

Typical signals rarely penetrated.

This deep alone was exactly what I was.

Now I Advance slowly census alert, heart quickening.

Ahead, the blood trail became clearer dragonmarks Broad and deliberate as those someone had been pulled bodily across the rocky floor.

The narrow passageway Twisted sharply ahead creating blind Corners I stopped forcing slow.

Measured breaths, listening carefully.

That's when I heard it a faint, but distinct, thudding from deeper in the canyon.

Not rockfall not distant Thunder, to rhythmic two steady footfalls heavy and purposeful like bare feet.

Slapping against sandstone, Every step echoed softly reverberating gently off the canyon walls.

They stopped abruptly whenever I halted then resumed as soon as I moved.

Again, always ahead.

Always just be on site.

My hand instinctively moved toward the grip of my sidearm fingers curling tightly around its handle.

Something was down here with me in this Twisted Maze of rock and Shadow.

My rational mind scrambled for answers a lost, hiker delirious and stumbling, and injured animal disoriented.

But the cold primitive fear Rising inside me said, otherwise, Something was deeply wrong about those footsteps.

I pressed forward deeper into the narrowing, passage following the blood trail and the steady rhythm of feet.

I could never quite see, every nerve screamed at me to turn back to retreat to Daylight and fresh air, but I couldn't not yet.

Lives depended on me finding answers.

Ahead, the canyon tighten.

Again, forcing me to angle my shoulders sideways and squeeze painfully between Sandstone walls.

My flash, light flickered briefly then, steady Illuminating.

Another piece of torn gear, a shredded backpack emptied of its contents, cast aside like refuse.

I paused staring at the torn fabric, heart hammering, whoever or whatever had done.

This was strong powerful enough to tear through nylon and plastic like tissue paper.

I glanced again at the blood trail.

Smears darkening into near Blackness as The Gulch grew dimmer around me.

With Dread crawling up my spine.

I took another step forward feeling the canyon walls close around me like a tomb, the deeper I pushed into The Gulch the tighter.

It squeezed around me what little sunlight had made its way into this twisting Slot.

Canyon now faded entirely My flashlight became a Lifeline slicing through the thickening Darkness, but even its powerful beam couldn't reach far enough to offer Comfort.

I'd stopped hearing the footsteps, but that brought no relief.

The silence felt worse.

I strained to listen for any movement, any sign that might help me make sense of the growing dread.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline.

Keeping my senses, sharp hyper aware of every scrape and scuffle of my boots against the canyon floor.

Then in the dim edge of my flashlights, reach, I saw something wedged against the Sandstone wall.

Moving closer, my breath caught as I recognized the remains of a sleeping bag, torn apart with unsettling Force.

Its synthetic fibers were shredded and clumped together.

Stained dark, red.

Where something or someone had rested?

No Footprints, no sign of struggle.

Just more of those Eerie drag marks that continue further into the Canyons twisting Shadows.

My mind, raced through possible explanations, but none fit, neatly into reality.

Animals didn't drag people cleanly away without leaving claw marks.

Flash floods left debris and mud.

They didn't carefully scatter belongings like a morbid scavenger hunt.

Every rational thought I had crumbled against the site in front of me, I turned around abruptly, deciding I'd seen enough, I would call him back up, let a full team handle, whatever was happening here.

But as I backtracked through the narrow passage, I immediately felt disoriented Junctions.

I'd never seen appeared around every turn splits in the canyon walls that hadn't existed before.

My sense of direction started.

Unraveling rapidly Panic clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

This was impossible.

I'd trained extensively in these Canyons.

My instincts for navigation were solid.

And yet every turn I took seemed to shift and warp, funneling me deeper into unfamiliar territory.

Each step felt heavier, each twist more alien than the last.

My flash light flickered, suddenly and died, plunging me into absolute blackness.

I fumbled quickly with Trembling Hands pulling spare batteries, from my vest pocket.

After struggling, in the dark fingers, trembling with urgency, I managed to snap them into place and switch the flashlight, back on the beam returned.

But dimmer fogged by something smeared across the lens, sticky and oily.

It blurred the light into a hazy.

Sickly Halo gritting my teeth.

I continued forward.

Ahead, scattered clothing, appeared shirts, pants jackets, all turned completely inside out and neatly placed in piles along the canyon floor.

Boots that lined up beside them, perfectly paired, empty and undamaged.

It felt staged purposeful more chilling than if they'd been violently shredded the scene made.

No sense.

Defied logic entirely and deep in the sense of dread.

Now coiled tightly around my chest.

Then further on my light caught us smear on the Sandstone wall at shoulder height.

I stepped closer shining the hazy beamed directly onto the surface.

It was a hand print impossibly elongated, and wide each finger, trailing downward.

As if whoever left it had slid slowly along the wall, it was deep red.

Fresh enough to glisten wetly in my weakened, flash light.

I backed away quickly heart racing wildly.

My rational mind collapsed beneath the weight of fear replaced by a primal Need to Escape.

Panic surged as I desperately searched for a way out.

A short distance ahead, the passage narrowed dramatically into a steep chimney Chute.

My only possible route upward, without hesitation I began to climb fingers gripping, Sandstone, edges muscles, straining to haul myself upward driven purely by survival Instinct, Halfway up the chimney, a sound, broke the silence below a deep rasping intake of breath, long, and ragged unmistakably human.

But distorted somehow.

It echoed upward, reverberating along the stone walls.

Freezing me in place, cold sweat, dripped down my spine, every muscle locked then came sudden searing pain, my shoulder wrenched violently as I overextended a sickening pop radiating through my bones.

I bet down hard on my tongue to stifle a scream.

My shoulder was dislocated, useless at my side gasping, I wedged myself, awkwardly against the Sandstone wall, and bracing for Agony slammed my shoulder into the Rock.

The pain exploded through me Vision momentarily.

Whiting out, but the joint slid mercifully back into place.

Breathing, shallow Vision swimming.

I forced myself upward again below me.

The breathing continued patient and waiting with every ounce of remaining strength.

I pulled myself higher desperate for open air and escape from whatever nightmare lurked beneath I dragged myself out of the chimney Chute collapsing onto the rocky ledge above My injured shoulder burned with a deep throbbing, ache every movement.

Sending sharp jolts of pain through my entire body.

Sweat dripped down my forehead mingling with grit and blood.

Stinging my eyes.

As I struggled to steady my breathing The Twilight Sky overhead was fading quickly into Nightfall painting The Horizon and shades of deep violent and crimson.

Despite the exhaustion that threatened to pin me down, I knew staying here meant death.

Whatever was in that Canyon could easily follow.

It was only a matter of time before it caught up.

Using my good arm.

I crawled forward moving inch by painful inch until I reached and exposed shelf of rock that overlooked wire pass.

My hands shook as I pulled the emergency Flare from my pack fumbling to activate it.

with trembling fingers, I pointed the flare Skyward and ignited, it sending a fiery red streak High into the darkening sky, The flare illuminated, the canyon walls briefly, casting sharp Shadows before fading away, leaving me alone again.

In the encroaching Darkness.

Time stretched painfully each second passing, like an eternity until finally I heard voices echoing from above.

My teammates had seen the flare shouts, grew clearer as flash lights appeared along the Canyon Rim beams.

Slicing through the darkness toward me.

Relief flooded through my veins, breaking the tension that had gripped.

My body Travis someone yelled hold tight were coming within moments.

They reached me faces, pale eyes wide with shock at my battered State.

Question.

Spilled rapidly from their mouths but I silence them quickly with a raise hand, Don't go down there tonight.

I warned my voice, raw, and trembling.

You need to wait for daylight full teams only.

As they strapped me onto the litter and began carrying me up the rocky incline toward safety, I felt my heart rate.

Finally start to ease.

Still my mind couldn't shake the images burned into memory, the Crimson stains, the Twisted gear, that impossible handprint.

Something unknown and malevolent weighted down there, Deep In The Gulch and I feared it would always remain unexplained.

Back at Basecamp under bright fluorescent lights, they carefully examined my injuries.

The medic cleaned and bandaged my wounds tending to my shoulder and administering painkillers that dulled the throbbing ache to a muted pulse despite protests.

I refused to sedation until I could show them the footage from my body camera.

I needed them to see to believe so they wouldn't dismiss my story as delirium or panic.

We gather around the small screen, intense silence the footage playing clearly, at first, my descent the shredded equipment, the blood Trails, even faint glimpses of movement just beyond the edge of my flashlight.

My stomach clenched when the recording reached the final minute.

Static erupted.

Blotting out the picture for a brief moment.

and when Clarity returned, the canyon was silent and still Then abruptly a scream tour from the audio desperate human filled with raw Terror.

The recording cutoff sharply, plunging us, all into stunned silence.

That scream wasn't mine at Sunrise.

The next morning drones buzzed over Buckskin.

Gulch camera scanning, every shadowy crevice and dark Alcove The search teams found, no bodies.

No survivors.

Only the shredded gear and Crimson stains.

I'd seen with my own eyes.

The drag marks ended inexplicably against smooth rock walls offering no answers.

Only deepening the mystery Days turned into weeks without resolution official reports marked the hikers as missing presumed Dead with no explanation offered.

When I finally submitted my resignation six weeks.

Later sighting lingering, trauma.

No one questioned it.

My fellow Rangers had watched that footage with me.

Seen The Unexplained horror first hand, they knew why I couldn't return I left Buckskin Gulch behind but I knew the truth would stay with me forever etched into my mind, like the scars on my shoulder.

Whatever had taken.

Those hikers was still down there, hidden within the twisting Shadows quietly waiting for the next group to descend into its grass.

I've worked the back country of Bridger.

Teton National Forest for nearly 12 years and thought I'd seen just about everything the Wyoming Wilderness had to offer Bear maulings Lost hikers, flash floods, I'd been there dealt with it and moved on.

So when I got the call about the elk carcasses up in the Grove Entre range, I expected wolves maybe even poachers What?

I didn't expect was something I couldn't easily explained.

It was late October cold already settling into the valleys.

And I was helicoptered in to investigate reports that had shaken up, even the most seasoned Hunters.

Elk had been found dead, not just killed but arranged in patterns deliberately posed.

It wasn't predation, it wasn't human, at least not normal human activity.

It was something else entirely.

The chopper set me down near a high altitude, Meadow around, mid-morning, the are brittle enough to catch in my throat.

Snow dusted, the ground melting in thin patches beneath, the sun's pale rays.

I watched the helicopter shrink against the sky, the rhythmic beat of its rotors.

Fading leaving me alone in a vast stretch of rugged terrain.

My gear was simple.

A week's worth of supplies my rifle and enough determination to figure out exactly what had Hunters.

Spooked enough to call off their trips mid-season.

I moved cautiously through the Timberline I scanning for signs of wildlife or disturbance.

After hours of Silent hiking, I reached the first reported location the site stopped me cold.

It wasn't the smell of death.

I had gotten used to that years ago.

It was the arrangement itself.

Five adult elk placed in a near Perfect Circle legs extended outward, heads twisted around so that their antlers formed.

A crude interlocking pattern, their chests were neatly split ribs Pride, open Even more unnerving, where the entrails which had been removed and placed neatly around the circle in concentric ring.

Rings forming a grotesque Halo this wasn't random.

It was precise intentional and deeply unsettling.

I stepped closer trying to make sense of it.

Wolf kills were messy chaotic Bears didn't bother organizing their prey human poachers.

Took antlers or meat in left the rest scattered.

But this this was methodical and left no tracks, no Footprints, no drag marks.

Nothing to show how these massive animals had been moved or manipulated.

I documented the site carefully photographing and taking notes for my report.

Something Primal tightened in my chest and I knew instinctively that whatever had done.

This was still closed.

The forest Around, Me grew, oppressive each rustle of leaves sending adrenaline coursing.

Through my veins.

I glanced at the map confirming that my next destination was the ravine.

Locals called it, Deadman's Notch, a name, whispered, rather than spoken, and usually avoided.

Old-Timers had stories, vague warning about something that lived deep inside it.

But I didn't have the luxury of superstition.

My job was evidence and explanation, not stories.

As I climbed higher toward the Ravine, daylight thin, Shadows, deepening around me.

A strange noise.

Broke the Stillness echoing from the distance a scream but distorted unnatural it was animalistic yet disturbingly close to humans.

It rang out twice.

Identically each time like a perfect, mimicry, I paused rifle instinctively at the ready my breathing shallow.

Silence returned heavy and absolute.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the chill that ran down, my spine, rational, explanations fought for dominance mountain lion injured, elk trick of the Wind Through The Gorge, but my gut told me otherwise, by the time I set up camp near the edge of Deadman's Notch, Darkness had settled thickly around me.

I made a quick meal, careful not to leave scraps to attract wildlife and climbed into my tent.

Despite exhaustion from the hike sleep.

Wouldn't come every subtle noise from outside became louder magnified.

I lay awake.

Ears strained, pulse quickening at the smallest.

Sounds hours dragged by before.

Exhaustion.

Finally took hold.

but just as I drifted off, something brushed across the top of my tent, heavy enough to Sag the fabric, My heart slammed against my ribs.

I grabbed my rifle and threw myself.

Outside flash light piercing, the darkness, nothing no movement, no tracks.

Only my own shallow breathing Disturbed, the are my gaze traveled slowly around the perimeter of Camp.

Something was off.

My boots were missing from beside the tent.

I spent several frantic minutes searching Panic Rising before, spotting them, nearly 40 yards away, tucked into the fork of a tree.

When I reached them my stomach Twisted, each boot was filled to the brim with cold dense mud packed firmly, as if by strong meticulous hands, I stood there, Frozen a wave of realization washing over me.

I wasn't alone out here and whatever was out there.

Had made it clear it.

New exactly where I was an exactly how vulnerable I had become.

I spent the next hour sitting by the dying fire, my mind racing I couldn't find an explanation that made sense an animal.

Wouldn't move my boots.

Let alone fill them with mud, and place them neatly in a tree and a human.

I didn't even want to consider that possibility, but who else was there?

Sleep was impossible.

Now the tension coiled too tightly Within Me.

I decided to use the remainder of the night, productively checking gear repacking supplies and trying to stay focused.

As Dawn broke cold gray light, filtered through the trees.

I quickly dismantled Camp eager to move and regain some feeling of control.

By mid-morning, I descended carefully into Dead Man's notch.

The Ravine was deeper than I had anticipated.

Jagged Cliffs, Rising steeply on either side, funneling Shadows, along the narrow floor.

Moss covered rocks, slick with frost made footing dangerous and every step echoed with unsettling clarity.

Halfway down, something caught, my eye on a shelf of rock.

Partially hidden beneath an overhang my breath stalled in my chest.

there tucked beneath a canopy of branches and elides stretched tight across a crude framework of saplings, stood, a rough shelter, It Blended eerily with its surroundings camouflaged by weather and Shadow.

I approached cautiously rifle held tightly in one hand.

As I drew nearer the details, sharpened into Grim reality bones.

Littered the area stacked Loosely in piles.

Each one was cracked open emptied of marrow, some, with flesh still clinging to the joints.

The scent of Decay hung thick in the chilled are sharp enough to sting my nose.

I knelt studying the bones.

They were not cut with knives or saws.

They had been broken by blunt force methodically and with precision, My heart.

Thumped painfully.

As I noticed, several strips of tattered fabric mixed in to the bedding inside the shelter.

The torn edges, suggested outdoor gear faded camouflage cloth from jackets fragments of wool and nylon.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

As I realized these could be remnants of hunters, clothing gear belonging to people who had disappeared or fled leaving behind only fragments to indicate they'd ever been there.

Panic, prepped, closer twisting coldly within me.

I Rose quickly backing away.

Eyes darting around the Ravine walls.

That's when I saw it, a sudden flicker of movement at the corner of my vision, high above on the opposite, side of the Gorge.

I spun around raising my rifle instinctively.

Nothing there.

Just trees.

Rocks.

Shadows.

My pulse drummed hard and my temples each heartbeat echoing inside my head.

The silence was oppressive closing around me like an unseen hand pressing down until breathing felt difficult.

I forced myself to move again, desperate to get away from that, awful shelter and whatever had built it.

My sense of direction.

Blurred anxiety nod at the Edge of Reason yet.

I knew I couldn't Panic now.

The climb out was steep dangerous.

Even without my nerves praying.

As daylight faded rapidly, my campsite from the night, before felt impossibly distant.

The sky darkened to a dull bruised purple Shadows stretching deep and long between the trees.

Each crackling twig.

Each rustling Branch became magnified sharpening my paranoia.

But there was nothing visible.

Just an endless void of quiet Menace.

I finally reached my Camp as Darkness fully took hold.

I rebuilt the fire quickly Gathering wood and stoking Flames high enough to push back.

The suffocating blackness My eyes searched the tree line obsessively, hyper aware of every shifting shadow.

Late into the night as exhaustion battled anxiety, I drifted in and out of uneasy sleep.

Around midnight, something stirred, me away, a faint sound, that broke the monotonous crackling of the fire.

My body went rigid as I listened slowly painfully slowly, the sound clarified into something distinct, slow rhythmic breathing, not my own.

It seemed to come from just outside the glow of the firelight hands.

Trembling I reached silently from my rifle.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, despite the biting cold.

I stared into the darkness eyes wide straining for a glimpse of movement.

But nothing revealed itself.

Minutes stretched endlessly.

My breathing, shallow every nerve ending on fire.

Then without warning, the breathing stopped abruptly.

silence returned heavier, than before, Somehow that was worse.

I waited until dawn broke, again, eyes gritty and burning from lack of rest.

As pale sunlight finally washed across the trees, my gaze fixed numbly on the ground, just outside my tent flap.

Two Barefoot prints marked, the frost-covered soil, clear and human-like, but something about their shape felt subtly wrong.

Elongated distorted as if made by something only pretending to be human.

The realization sank, deep into my bones settling cold, and unshakable.

Whatever was stalking me through Deadman's Notch, it wasn't merely hunting.

It was studying Me by morning, I was barely holding it together.

My body warned thin from sleeplessness fear and exhaustion.

Every rational explanation I had clung to had slowly unraveled over the past two nights leaving behind only dread.

Whatever was out here with me had no fear of being discovered It was stalking me mimicking, my movements learning my habits and worst of all letting me know.

It could reach me whenever it shows.

I knew I had to get out returning to my original drop off.

Point would take most of the day, but remaining in this place was no longer an option.

I quickly packed what Essentials.

I still have abandoning everything nonessential to lighten my load.

As I walked, my eyes darted across the landscape pulse quickening with every shifting shadow.

I'd hiked for hours when I finally reached a rocky Overlook above the gorge pausing, briefly to orient myself.

My nerves buzzed with an uneasy awareness, as if being watched by something I couldn't yet.

See?

I glanced up from my map and froze across the Ravine about 300 yards away.

A figure crouched on a rocky ledge staring directly at me.

Through my binoculars, the breath caught painfully in my throat.

It warmed.

My ranger jacket, identical, in Colour and style complete with the familiar patches on its sleeves.

The same boots Stan's and even the same posture mirrored my own.

My hands shook as I raise the binoculars higher desperate to identify who or what was watching me.

My stomach turned, as I brought the figures face into focus, it was me.

My face, my short hair, the faint scar on my cheek.

All of it was there.

Yet something was horribly off.

The eyes sat too far, apart cold, and vacant the mouths.

Slightly opened lips slack like an imitation missing critical details.

Its head cocked.

Slowly to one side mimicking, my exact posture as I shifted my weight.

I lifted my rifle pulse pounding, trying to Steady My shaking hands.

I aim just above its head, hoping a warning shot would send whatever it was fleeing.

The sharp crack of the gun echoed Across The Gorge but the thing never flinched it remained motionless.

Its eyes fixed on blinking on me a cold sharp wave of Terror flooded me.

As I watched the figure drops silently onto all fours, and Scurry impossibly fast back into the Shadows of the Rocks.

Its limbs moving and jerky unnatural motions.

I didn't wait.

Instinct overtook reason and I turned and ran lungs.

Burning branches.

Slapping my face.

Every snapping twig and rustling Bush behind me, pushed adrenaline through my veins, urging me faster, the creature, stayed parallel tracking me through the trees.

It's distorted shape, glimpsed briefly and flashes between branches pacing, me effortlessly I skidded downhill toward the river legs shaking from the brutal pace.

At one point, I risked a glance over my shoulder.

My stomach churned.

When I spotted the thing again, closer, now its mouth wide open like it was screaming, but no sound escaped.

I stumbled and nearly fell but forced myself, upright, and kept moving.

The river appeared ahead wide and churning, a ribbon of Salvation cutting through the forest.

Without hesitation, I plunged into the icy water.

Cold seized my chest numbing instantly, the current yanked, me, Downstream pulling me beneath the surface.

My lung screamed for are as I fought to stay afloat driven by desperation more powerful than exhaustion.

Minutes stretched into eternity.

The Rushing Water.

Sweeping me along until finally gasping and coughing.

I dragged myself onto the muddy Shore.

Downstream limbs, trembling uncontrollably.

Night fell swiftly wrapping the Wilderness in oppressive Darkness, but I kept moving along the riverbank driven by the singular urge to survive.

Every Russell every cracking Branch set my heart racing again but nothing emerged from the darkness eventually my battered body collapsed on the rocky Shoreline utterly spent By Sunrise.

A Wyoming Fish and Game.

Patrol boat found me shivering violently.

Scratched bruised and barefoot.

They brought me in silent and staring vacantly into the distance, struggling to articulate, what I had witnessed.

back at headquarters, the dash cam footage from my patrol truck had been erased entirely leaving only static behind, Without video proof.

All I had were my notes sketches and the unsettling memories seared into my mind.

I wrote a brief guarded report carefully, avoiding speculation officially, it was logged as an unidentified threat.

But privately among Rangers, I warned them to avoid Dead Man's not at all costs.

I've since refused to patrol alone Bridger, Teton quietly restricted access to the gorge citing environmental recovery, but late at night, lying awake, my thoughts returned there again.

And again, I know now with bitter certainty that what crawled out of that Ravine remains hidden waiting patiently for the next person, Brave or foolish enough to wander into its territory.

Palo Duro.

Canyon was never forgiving in July under a son that blistered the Red Rock and cracked the dry Earth.

It became downright hostile The heat clawed at your throat.

Stole moisture from your eyes and turn the most seasoned hikers into stumbling mumbling shells of the themselves.

Most visitors underestimated it, arriving with flimsy water bottles and cheap sandals.

They came here looking for postcard.

Perfect views only to leave humbled if they left at all.

I knew the canyon well.

I had been a Texas state park ranger here, nearly 10 years, a lifetime after serving as an army medic.

I'd patched up snake bites.

Twisted.

Ankles heat stroke victims.

After a while, you thought you'd seen it all?

But the truth is the canyon was always waiting with something new something worse.

That summer July brought more than record-breaking Heat.

It brought disappearances three campsites abandoned within two weeks.

Campers gone Without a Trace.

No signs of struggle.

No scattered gear, just silence.

A cold sense of unease.

Had crept through the ranger team though.

Nobody spoke openly about it.

Maybe because we all remembered the whispered local Legends When Storms came in summer.

Shadows moved along the canyon walls Shadows tall and unnatural.

I tried not to dwell on ghost stories Rangers didn't indulge superstition.

But there was something about this July, I couldn't shake.

It was a Tuesday when the call came in.

Two hikers.

A brother and sister from Lubbock were overdue by two days from their planned.

Hike along the rock garden Trail.

A volunteer spotted, their old Subaru.

Parked at the trailhead untouched.

The Visitor Center raised an alert and I headed out at dawn to investigate before the sun became unbearable.

My patrol, mule Rosie knew the trails as well as I did.

she plotted patiently as we climbed higher into the canyon navigating narrow paths and Rocky slopes by mid-morning, the air was shimmering with heat and the sun beat down like a hammer when we reached the campsite my stomach tightened.

Two tents, stood, intact sleeping bags, laid open as if the occupants had just stepped out side.

A loaf of bread sat half eaten on a cooler already swarming.

With Anne's water bottles Maps, guidebooks, everything was still here.

Nobody packs for a hike and leaves all their gear behind a radioed headquarters, but the line was static the canyon Shear walls often killed reception.

Sighing higher to find a signal, glancing at the Towering Cliffs around me.

My breath caught.

Halfway up.

A Sandstone face was something dark, something unnatural.

Carefully picking my way through loose Rock.

I moved closer squinting and disbelief at what I found three deep gouges each six feet long and spaced evenly apart carved.

Neatly into the Rock.

They looked fresh the edges.

Sharp too precise to be animal claws to powerful for a human prank.

An uncomfortable shiver ran down my back, despite the Heat.

Instinct made me glance quickly over my shoulder at the empty Canyon behind me.

I took a shaky breath feeling very Exposed on the narrow ledge.

Whatever did this had strength and reach?

On the way back to the campsite Rosie froze ears flattened.

She pod nervously at the ground refusing to continue toward the dry wash weed crossed early.

A foul scent drifted on the breeze, something dead and ripe baking in the sun animals died here all the time, but Rosie had never reacted this badly.

She was usually steady unflappable.

I trusted her instincts.

We circled around choosing another route back eventually settling into a different clearing for the night.

The sun sank, behind the canyon walls.

Plunging us into an oppressive darkness.

No moon tonight.

Only thick choking Shadows.

That seemed to press inward.

I ate a cold dinner embedded Down Under the Stars, unable to shake.

The feeling of eyes watching me from the Blackness beyond the firelight, Sleep refused to come.

I lay awake.

Listening to The Silence of the canyon.

Sometime after midnight, Rosie's, terrified braying jolted me from my thoughts.

Scrambling up flash light in hand.

I sprinted toward the sound Rosie was thrashing violently at her tether.

Her cries abruptly silenced by a sickening crunch.

The beam of my flashlight found her immediately.

She lay crumpled throwed savagely, ripped open eyes wide and glassy, her legs were bent grotesquely beneath her as if something had snapped them with brutal force.

Bile Rose in my throat.

My flash light trembled in my grip as I searched frantically around me.

There were deep indentations in the ground, too long too, widely spaced for human feet.

Something large and heavy had moved quickly here silently approaching the camp.

Killing Rosie before retreating into the darkness.

I stood Frozen my heartbeat, roaring in my ears, realizing for the first time in my career that I wasn't alone in the canyon.

Something else was out here, something violent powerful, and utterly unknown, and whatever it was.

It wasn't finished yet.

I sat in the cramped Ranger Station, staring at my shaking hands.

My supervisor Mark paced slowly in front of me.

The room smelled of stale coffee and sunwarmed Maps.

I'd spent all morning filling out.

Paperwork about Rosie's death Mark, had insisted, I take some personal days, but that felt impossible.

I couldn't just go home and pretend, the canyon hadn't changed overnight instead.

I found myself buried in Old incident, logs searching through yellowed pages, that smelled of dust and mildew.

Maybe it was just denial or maybe I was desperate for something.

And anything to explain what it happened out there.

Either way, I was convinced, I wasn't the first person in Palo Duro, Canyon to see something.

They couldn't explain.

I found scattered notes, buried deep in the archives.

Entries from the 80s described campers Vanishing during heat waves their gear left untouched.

A Ranger named Roy Mendoza had written about strange marks along the rim, dated July 1999.

Then there was a vague reference to something the older locals called La, Sombra Del Canon, the shadow of the canyon The notes were frustratingly brief, but the Common Thread was clear.

Campers disappearing without reason, strange marking on walls citing.

No one could prove that evening as the sun sank low, Over the Horizon painting, the sky deep shades of orange.

And violet, I found myself packing Not the gear I'd usually take on routine Patrol but heavier equipment, my service pistol, a flare gun, an emergency Beacon and night vision goggles.

I'd borrowed from the station Supply Closet.

I didn't check out the gear properly, I didn't want anyone asking questions.

Rangers didn't go hunting folklore.

They'd say the heat was getting to my head, but something was out there.

And I couldn't shake the image of Rosie's broken body.

The gouges carved into the stone or the feeling of something close by just beyond the reach of my flashlight.

I headed out on foot.

This time moving slowly toward Capital Peak, avoiding Trails where hikers or fellow Rangers might spot me the sky darkened fast.

Clouds swirling, overhead, promising a storm that wouldn't bring rain only heat lightning crackling silently.

The hot air clung to my skin like a fever after a grueling climb, I reached a shallow cave.

I knew from Patrols Settling into the narrow Alcove, I waited night vision, goggles, heavy on my head, sweat stinging, my eyes hours, ticked by and silence the storm.

Finally gathered overhead around two in the morning lighting the canyon in Erie greenish bursts during a particularly intense, flash something moved across my vision, I froze heart suddenly pounding in my ears adjusting the goggles, I scan the opposite Ridge Another flash lit up the night and their silhouetted against the sky.

Stood, a shape.

My pulse quickened and my breath caught painfully in my throat.

It was tall easily, seven feet with limbs unnaturally long almost skeletal.

The storm flickered again and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of its skin pale and stretched tight across its frame face hidden in Shadow.

I fought down Panic, my breath shallow each inhale, barely filling my lungs.

Whatever.

This was it wasn't human or animal.

Not any species native to the canyon it lingered, unmoving.

Like it was waiting watching.

Then Darkness fell again.

My heart hammered as I blinked.

Sweat from my eyes frantically, adjusting the goggles.

when lightning illuminated the ridge, once more, the figure had vanished My hands shook as I forced myself to breathe steadily counting seconds.

Between lightning flashes.

Nothing moved.

Only silence filled the Gap, at Sunrise, exhausted, intense.

I left the cave and cautiously made my way down toward the drywash below, Capitol Peak.

As I moved, I noticed something dark trailing along the canyon floor.

Streaks of dried blood.

The trail was easy to follow winding through the wash and ending abruptly at a narrow Rock shoot.

The opening was tight.

Barely wide enough to squeeze through, but I pushed inside anyway, skin, scraping against the rough stone walls.

Wedged inside, I found an abandoned backpack.

The missing hikers pack from Lubbock.

My throat tightened.

Carefully.

I opened it, finding sealed granola bars sunscreen and unopened water bottle and a guidebook.

No wallet, no keys.

Beside it.

Lays something else, bones broken and Scattered unmistakably human.

I stumbled backwards stomach churning fighting the urge to be sick.

I grabbed my radio and called in desperation coloring, my voice headquarters.

This is Ranger Louise.

Do you copy static hissed back, empty and lifeless.

Headquarters.

My voice broke.

I tried again, voice thick with Dread only more static.

I was completely alone trapped in the heat ravaged Canyon aware.

Now that the missing campers hadn't simply wandered off, They'd been taken killed.

And whatever had killed them was still out here.

Waiting for Nightfall night came swiftly, and the Darkness fell like a heavy curtain, over the canyon I sat alone near the mouth of Sunday, Creek, feeling vulnerable, beneath a thick blanket of clouds.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Angry, growls promising a storm but no rain fell.

Instead flashes of dry, lightning illuminated the canyon walls and brief disorienting births of white hot light Each flash left right after images.

Dancing behind my eyelids, twisting my vision into confusion I had stopped trying the radio hours ago.

It yielded nothing but meaningless, static.

My leg ached from a scrape.

I'd picked up crawling through that.

Narrow Chute, sweat, stung the cut and every move sent.

Fiery jolts up my thigh.

Still, I knew staying still meant dying.

I kept low flash like grip.

Tightly moving cautiously through the loose.

Gravel in the dry wash.

My heartbeat enough to Echo off the walls and I forced my breath shallow, and controlled fighting to Steady My shaking hands.

Nothing stirred around me.

No insects no Breeze, only the oppressive silence between claps of thunder.

Then came a sound, so quiet at barely registered, a subtle shift of gravel, just behind me.

I spun around raising the flash light but the weak beam found nothing except empty space and dust particles floating in the air.

My pulse hammered at my temples.

Another flash of lightning split the sky and the canyon lit up in Stark detail.

Ahead of me crouched, low behind a cluster of Mesquite, shrubs was a shape.

Too thin Too Tall, limbs folded on naturally.

My stomach lurched in the brief.

Instant of Illumination, its pale skin seemed almost reflective drawn tight over bony joints.

one arm rows slowly impossibly long fingers reaching out toward me the canyon plunged Back Into Darkness I stumbled backward, nearly dropping the flashlight.

Terror surged through me Primal and urgent.

I turned breaking into a full Sprint down, the wash.

Gravel slid beneath my boots threatening to send me sprawling but sheer Panic.

Drove me forward.

The thing pursued, silent Swift disturbingly agile, gaining ground with each passing second.

I thought the air rushed past as it lunged for me missing by inches.

I spun and fired.

My flare gun wildly and the bright red glare cast Shadows dancing, crazily, off Canyon walls.

In that horrifying glow I caught a brief glimpse of it again now even closer head cocked at an unnatural angle, empty eye sockets blacker than the canyon around us.

The Flair fizzled out.

Darkness closing back around me like a tomb.

I ran blindly lungs screaming for are my injured leg throbbing, an Agony behind me.

Gravel shifted again, faster heavier It was coming.

My mind screamed at me to move faster to run until my legs gave out then without warning.

A bolt of lightning slammed into a cedar tree, only yards away shattering it into splinters of smoking wood and Flame.

Heat and light exploded momentarily.

Blinding me, I fell hard onto the jagged Earth hand scraped raw.

When I raised my head blinking rapidly to clear my vision.

The Burning Tree cast, an eerie glow across the wash.

I saw clearly the thing behind me Frozen mid-step recoiling from the brightness, its elongated arms.

Shielded its featureless face for the first time it hesitated I didn't wait.

Pain forgotten.

I scrambled to my feet and bolted lungs burning as though filled with fire the canyon blurred passed me rocks and brushed scraping at my skin but adrenaline carried me forward behind me.

The distant sound of movement faded.

When Dawn finally, broke pale and weak, I reached the ranger station doors, collapsing onto the dusty floor, gasping for air blood, trickled from the reopened gash, on my leg mingling with dirt and sweat.

Someone shouted for help but the voices sounded distant unreal.

By afternoon the park accepted my resignation without argument my silence taken as shock or trauma.

Within days.

A quiet announcement, went out.

Backcountry camping was suspended.

Due to fire, risks and trailer erosion.

But those of us who knew Palo Duro, Canyon understood the truth.

Even if none of us dared, speak it aloud.

I moved away to Amarillo and left the canyon behind But some nights a specialty when the heat rises and dry lightning flickers in the distance.

I dream vividly of Shadows.

Moving silently along.

Sandstone walls.

Shadows, that never fully reveal themselves but whose presence lingers unmistakably in my memory.

This morning wasn't much different, at least not at first dispatch, called me at Sunrise about an overdue Back Country.

Permit near bone Valley, two hikers, a husband and wife from Louisville had parked their Honda CRV at the Noland, Creek trailhead.

Six days later, no return tags.

No check-in, no contact.

Normally folks, either come wandering out sheepishly with an apology or they get themselves in trouble twisted, ankles dehydration hypothermia.

But something felt off about this one, from the start bone, Valley is isolated hard to reach.

If you pick that spot you know what you're doing?

Or at least you think you do.

I left my itinerary with dispatch grabbed my gear and headed out.

The trail up from Nolan Creek was overgrown, thick, branches and Laurel snagging at my pack and uniform sleeves.

Nobody had cleared this route in months maybe longer By noon, The Climb had me sweating through my shirt breathing heavy.

It was slow-going every mile or so I caught signs.

Someone had passed recently.

Small boot prints pressed into muddy soil, snapped Twigs, dangling, freshly from trees.

Near one stream.

I spotted a melted lump of Trail Mix.

The chocolate gone sticky and embedded with pine needles.

They'd come this way, at least by early evening.

I reached the clearing marked on their permit application.

At first glance, it was clear, something had happened.

The tent was half collapsed the nylon torn along one side shredded in Jagged strips.

The ground was littered with debris?

Cookware clothes, a paperback novel left to swell and Wrinkle In The Rain.

One sleeping bag.

Remained rolled out untouched.

The other was gone entirely.

I checked the area carefully, scanning the dirt and plants for blood or signs of a struggle.

Nothing.

But along a nearby tulip poplar, tree.

I saw a deep gouges in the bark.

Baer, maybe, but the marks didn't match anything.

I'd seen before they were wide set and alarmingly deep.

The hair on my neck.

Prickled as I ran a finger over the splintered groove's behind the clearing, the brush had been pushed aside creating a narrow Corridor through dense thickets I ducked low peering into the shadowed path.

Something big had come and gone through here repeatedly.

By debated following it, but the sun was already slipping toward the Ridge and daylight had a way of fading quickly in these.

Valleys staying out here alone after dark wasn't on my list.

I took detailed notes logged, coordinates and then turned to head back.

The sky was already a dim Violet.

As I hiked down, the trail Shadows, lengthened and shifted the forest had that heavy silent.

Feel it gets it Twilight.

Like the trees themselves are holding their breath.

Every few minutes, I paused to look behind me, scanning the dim Woods, it was then maybe a half mile from the campsite that.

I first noticed it.

Standing perfectly still about 20 yards off the trail was a figure tall, dark unmoving, I froze hand, inching instinctively toward my side arm, I blinked once twice hard then I raise my flash light heart hammering as the beam swung up but the figure was gone.

The light illuminated only Stone in Moss Twisted tree, limbs and dense brush I stared for a moment trying to shake the feeling crawling down my spine, just a trick of the fading light I told myself nothing more.

I resumed walking quicker now but the next time I glanced back, it was there again.

Exactly the same shape.

The same spot perfectly Motionless.

This time I whipped the flashlight beam across the space Harden my throat.

And again nothing but Stone moss and trees, the hike back was the longest I'd ever made.

By the time, I reached my truck at the Nolan Creek Trailhead, it was fully dark and the figure or whatever I had seen never appeared again.

Still, when I climbed into the cab locked, the doors and radio dispatch.

My voice was steady or than my hands.

The drive.

Back to, my Outpost cabin, near Fontana took nearly an hour.

The headlights, barely piercing the dense Darkness, I spent every minute trying to convince myself, I had seen nothing back there on the trail.

Just my imagination playing tricks after a long day.

The alternative was something I wasn't ready to consider.

By the time, I reached the cabin, the radio crackled as dispatch confirmed, my report.

They said, they'd send a search and rescue team to meet me at first light.

that should have eased my mind, it didn't Inside, I locked the door behind me double checking the latch.

It was a small Outpost, one room wood paneled with a desk, a cot and a modest kitchen area sparse.

But it always felt secure a tiny Sanctuary buried deep in the mountains.

Tonight though, it felt exposed.

I spread a map of the park on the desk, tracing roots, with my finger.

Outside the woods, stood silent.

The usual nighttime.

Sounds crickets distant.

Owls were absent.

There was only a heavy silence pressing in from every direction.

Around midnight, as fatigue.

Finally began to settle in.

I heard footsteps.

They sounded like bare feet quick and light circling the cabin.

I straightened instantly pulse jumping a bear, I thought or maybe a coyote.

But as I listened my heart saying the Rhythm wasn't animal, it was paced purposeful.

I moved quietly to the window.

Peering cautiously through a crack in the blinds.

I saw nothing but Shadows the urge to fling.

The door open was overwhelming, but my training screamed at me to stay put Bolted doors were better than an open Forest.

10 minutes later, the power flickered and died.

I sat Frozen at the desk, the room swallowed by Darkness.

Reaching blindly into a drawer.

I pulled out the emergency radio inflict, the switch.

Static Buzz softly then cut out.

Dead.

That shouldn't happen.

These radios always worked.

From above a Sharp Creek echoed through the ceiling.

Something was on the roof.

My pulse thudded in my ears.

The footsteps overhead moved slowly from one side to the other pausing then shifting again.

Whatever was up there.

Had wait, it sounded heavy solid.

My instinct screamed at me to stay in side to wait it out.

Then just as suddenly as they started, the footsteps, stopped I waited.

Breathe shallow, ears, straining.

Second stretched into minutes.

Just as I began to believe it had moved on a voice erupted from the trees.

Clear and sharp, as a rifle crack.

Eric, my blood turned cold, The Voice wasn't from dispatch.

Wasn't from another Ranger exactly who it sounded like my brother.

Josh, he died.

10 years ago on a rescue going wrong.

And Shenandoah fell into a ravine during a midnight search.

His voice had been silent for a decade and yet here in the middle of the Smokies.

I heard it.

Unmistakably.

Eric come out here.

Every fiber of my being wanted to shout back but I knew better.

I forced myself to stay still heart hammering.

So loudly, it felt like it.

Echoed off the walls, whatever was out there was trying to draw me into the dark and I wasn't taking the bait.

The Voice grew distant gradually Fading Into nothing.

Still, I didn't move.

Didn't sleep.

I just sat rigid at the desk listening until dawn crept over the ridge line.

Spilling soft gray light through the blinds when the search and rescue team arrived at Sunrise radio's, crackling and voices.

Calm.

I unlocked the cabin door and stepped into the cool morning.

Air, my face, a mask of my didn't feel as we loaded our gear and started toward bone Valley, I made myself a promise This would be the last Back Country Patrol I'd ever do alone.

The morning sunlight was sharp but did nothing to chase away the Chill from the night before.

As the search and rescue team gathered at the trailhead.

I kept quiet about the voice.

I heard there was no point spooking them before we even started.

For seasoned Rescuers in a cadaver, dog.

A Belgian Malinois named Riggs set out with me up the Winding Trail.

Rigs moved confidently, ahead nose to the ground.

When we reach the campsite it looked exactly as I left it.

The torn tent, the unsettling claw marks.

One of The Rescuers muttered.

Never seen marks like that.

Rigs stiffen suddenly his eyes fixed on the dense Laurel beyond the campsite his Handler.

Gave a sharp nod and rigged darted into the brush, the team moving quickly to follow.

We pushed into the Tangled undergrowth.

Following the dog's progress, along the narrow Corridor of disturbed Earth.

I'd seen yesterday.

The path Twisted through the thickets and ended abruptly at the base of a steep Rocky Bluff.

Riggs stopped body, low knows trained at a shadowed spot below a moss.

Covered ledge.

I stepped forward chest, tightening behind a curtain of Tangled Vines, a small cave mouth, yawned, open black and Dam.

We ducked carefully inside flash lights Illuminating walls lined with bones animal bones nod and cracked.

Near the back of the shallow cave.

Someone had a range to small living area.

Torn clothing.

Dirty blankets, and bits of camping gear were strewn across the uneven floor.

Got something one of The Rescuers called quietly.

He held up a weathered backpack its fabric crusted with dirt.

Carefully, he unzipped it pulling out a worn wallet and a crumbling permit tag.

My breath caught when he passed the permit to me.

The date, stamped on it.

Read clearly May 1498.

We found gear belonging to Michael Farris a Backpacker who had disappeared more than two decades ago on.

This very Trail.

The realization that someone somehow had remained hidden here all that time made my skin crawl Riggs.

Potted something else, his Handler crouched beside him retrieving a ripped boot from beneath a pile, of animal remains.

It matched the size and style of Footwear described in the missing couples report.

There were no bodies just signs that something had claimed this place for years.

By midday we radioed for forensic.

Support the team documented, everything packing, it for the lab.

Eventually we left the cave behind, but I knew its image would be burned into my mind forever.

Back in the station that evening after hours of interviews and uneasy glances, I submitted my request for immediate transfer to a front desk role.

There was no hesitation, I'd done my time.

I was done with the backcountry done with those quiet trails and lonely nights.

In the weeks that followed the story spread in hushed tones, among Park employees but no arrests were ever made.

The investigation stalled unable to offer closure beyond what we'd found.

But the truth was clear enough to me obvious in every shadowy corner of the Smokies.

Someone had survived out there for decades hidden from sight.

Someone who knew these mountains better than anyone.

Someone who I was certain still watched silently from the woods waiting patiently.

For the next hiker, foolish enough to wander two deep I've been guiding groups through the backcountry of Southern Utah for over a decade, but the grand staircase, Escalante has always felt different.

Remote expansive and starkly beautiful.

It's a Wilderness that commands respect.

I've LED dozens of expeditions safely through its slot, canyons Rocky, washes and Sandstone labyrinths, but last September's photography, Trek reminded me.

Why even seasoned guides can never fully trust the desert.

We were three days into a five-day Expedition.

My group was solid two photographers named Adam and Jesse a middle-aged couple Steve and Jan from Colorado.

A quiet college, kid named Ethan studying desert ecology and Pete.

An older guy obsessed with landscape time lapses.

Each was experienced enough to handle the long hot miles of hiking and that made my job easier.

After two straightforward days.

Hiking along Harris wash, photographing arches and rock formations.

The plan was simple.

We'd looped through 25 mile, wash and explore some narrower Canyons.

We were chasing good lighting and better scenery, and the group trusted me to find it.

But what we found that morning still haunts me, we left our second Camp early.

Eager to make good time.

Jesse had spotted mule deer tracks just after Sunrise fresh enough that the sand was still damp beneath their steps.

That got the photographer's excited thinking they'd finally get their Wildlife shots but less than half an hour later, we stumbled across something wrong.

Something that didn't belong there.

The tracks, we'd followed ended abruptly at a small clearing.

And their sprawled out in front of us, was the deer?

Or at least, what was left of it?

It couldn't have been dead more than 15 or 20 minutes.

Steam Rose off the stripped bones like fog on a winter morning.

Tendrils slowly dissipating into the dry Desert Air.

The carcass was so meticulously cleaned.

It looked like, it had been carefully prepared, not taken down by a hungry predator.

The meat was gone muscle fibers and tendons vanished.

But strangely there was almost no blood just bones placed in a neat pile.

Like someone was leaving a warning.

I didn't want to admit it then, but I felt a chill run down my back.

That had nothing to do with the early morning are Jan quietly asked me what could have done this but I had no good answers.

It wasn't Coyote's.

They're messy eaters and their kills never looked this.

Intentional, just he photographed, the carcass silently.

While Adam scanned, the area with anxious eyes.

We moved on quickly but things fell off.

A mile or two later, we startled.

A pair of coyotes drinking from a stagnant pool.

They bolted, like they'd seen death itself.

I'd never seen coyotes run, so scared, especially from humans.

The whole thing sat wrong with me, so I decided to alter our route heading toward a broader, less isolated Canyon, I remembered from previous trips.

By Sunset, we had camp set up in a Sandy.

Wash, surrounded by towering Sandstone walls.

It felt safe with a single visible route in and out.

But as dusk turned to night, my unease grew.

I pasted quietly around our perimeter checking gear looking for animal tracks or anything unusual.

It was all clear yet.

I couldn't shake the tension twisting in my stomach.

We turned in early tired from hiking and nerves frayed by The Strange Day.

Sleep came in patches.

And then around midnight, I awoke suddenly Footsteps, heavy and purposeful moved along the edges of Camp.

They stopped frequently as if someone was inspecting.

Each tent, testing our awareness.

I grabbed my flash light peering into the darkness but saw nothing that I heard my own voice calling softly from somewhere just beyond the tents.

You guys.

All right.

It's said clear as if I had spoke at myself, But I hadn't uttered a word.

A ripple of confusion washed over me had.

I imagined it I whispered for the others to stay quiet Adams tent Russell's and I knew he was awake too listening, just as intently.

My heart, hammered, as I waited ears straining for any sound, but nothing else came.

No footsteps retreating.

No further voices, Silence wrapped around us suffocating and thick.

I waited until dawn before leaving my tent again.

Light brought a little courage, but when I stepped outside something compelled, me forward away from camp.

I moved slowly at first, as if following an instinct buried, deep beneath common sense.

Before long, the camp was behind me, my feet bare against Cold Stone and gritty sand.

how long I walked, I don't know, but gradually, I realized I was lost My mind, snapped back abruptly, the trance lifting leaving me disoriented.

I stared around trying to orient myself to understand how I come so far.

When I finally stumbled back into Camp hours later, feet bleeding and head pounding, everyone stared at me like they'd seen a ghost I could only tell them one thing, even though it made no sense.

I left because something out there was speaking to me, I admitted shakily in my voice and I couldn't ignore it.

After I returned to Camp, everything felt fractured.

I could see it in the way, the group looked at me, the confusion and mistrust, hanging in their eyes, I didn't blame them.

Hell I hardly trusted myself, my feet were raw bleeding from hours of walking barefoot through Rock and Sand.

Every step felt like grinding glass beneath me.

But the physical pain was easier to handle than the creeping dread that wrapped itself around us.

All Adam approached me quietly after we broke Camp, pulling me aside while the others packed gear.

His eyes darted nervously toward the junipers scattered around the canyon edges.

Their Twisted shapes casting long ragged Shadows Rick, he whispered voice cracking slightly when you came back, you just weren't yourself.

Stared at him, a chill.

Creeping along my spine.

What do you mean?

He hesitated?

I searching mine for understanding last night after you went to your tent.

I saw something out there.

It was standing behind a juniper at first.

I thought it was you.

But then I saw your boots outside your tent.

This thing it didn't move didn't blink, its mouth hung open way too wide and its eyes Rick.

They were black completely black.

My mouth went dry, I glanced around unease clawing at my throat.

Adam wasn't the kind to panic.

He was steady careful with his words.

I believe you.

I finally said feeling as though, a weight pressed into my chest, whatever it is, we can't stay here.

The original route back, the quickest route was now off-limits in my mind, I couldn't risk passing back through the canyon, we'd come from back through, whatever had found us.

I unfolded the map with trembling fingers, tracing a new route, Northwest toward an old Cattle Trail that intersected, an abandoned Bureau of Land Management Road.

Where changing course, I told the group firmly trying to mask my own uncertainty its longer but safer.

We set out at a punishing Pace.

I moved at the back glancing constantly over my shoulder, each Shadow, each Russell of dry brush made my pulse Spike as evening came the oppressive quiet of the desert grew heavier, more suffocating I felt as though eyes followed our every move, but each time I turned nothing was there.

When the sun dipped below the Horizon, I pushed us further unwilling to camp out in the open again.

The group grumbled but followed without protest even they knew something wasn't right.

Around midnight.

We pause near a shallow, Sandstone, Alcove my breath coming fast from nerves rather than exertion will rest here.

I said, but my voice had barely died when we heard it.

Someone humming faintly from just beyond our line of sight up.

The trail ahead, every head snapped up, tension crackling silently Among Us.

The melody was slow.

Clear, almost inviting.

I gripped my small sidearm, tightly sweat, dripping down my palm, heart slamming in my chest.

Steve moved forward and totally someone's out there.

Maybe they need help.

Stay here.

I snapped surprising even myself.

Nobody moved.

He froze startled at the sharpness of my voice.

Ethan looked at me eyes wide and questioning Rick.

What is that?

I don't know, I answered forcing myself to breathe evenly but it's not human.

We retreated into the Alcove wedging ourselves tightly against the Sandstone wall.

I positioned myself at the edge gun pointed outward, trying to Steady My Trembling Hands.

The humming continued for several minutes.

Floating gently through the still air then stopped abruptly replaced by a silence that was somehow worse.

Hours passed agonizingly slow.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

As Dawn finally broke pale and gray over the Rocks exhaustion and fear had etched deep lines onto everyone's faces.

But at least daylight was a shield.

If only for now, we left the Alcove immediately following the Winding Trail higher and higher up the Slick Rock.

Adam fell in beside me quietly pointing to the Sandy ground.

My heart seized, as I saw the prince clearly marked.

There some Barefoot others.

Undeniably mine matching the tread pattern of the boots.

I'd Left Behind yesterday.

What the hell?

Adam murmured, softly pointing to a particular set of prints.

They moved beside mine.

But traveled backward, as though something had walked parallel to my path.

But in reverse, Keep walking.

I said Horsley don't stop for anything.

The Cattle Trail came into view ahead.

A narrow slash across open Rock.

Relief stirred faintly Within Me, overshadowed by the Primal instinctual fear that refused to release its grip.

As we climbed the final rise, I dared a glance back down the way.

We'd come there, partially obscured by Shadows cast from the canyon walls, something tall, moved quickly behind an outcropping of Rock.

Its movement was unnatural hunched, low gliding, too smoothly across rough Terrain.

I caught a brief glimpse of pale greyish skin stretched taut over thin bones, Don't look back.

I warned sharply pushing everyone toward the cattle trailer ahead.

We're almost there.

I knew the desert well enough to realize when it was giving a warning.

And this this felt more like a final threat.

I urge everyone forward with a desperation.

I couldn't hide anymore.

My throat burned from thirst and fatigue.

And my feet had gone numb.

Every step mechanical propelled by adrenaline alone, The Cattle Trail Twisted upward Slickrock, giving way, occasionally to patches of sand and gravel.

The old Route was faint.

But unmistakable marked here and there by half, buried Cairns left behind by ranchers decades ago.

Adams stayed closed, occasionally, glancing behind us.

His eyes darted nervously.

To every shadow, every rock formation we passed.

I didn't blame him.

My own imagination was working overtime, but I knew what I had seen and more disturbingly, I knew Adam wasn't imagining things either.

Mid-afternoon brought the first real hope in hours.

As we crested a Sandstone Bluff, the site of the faint dirt road below, nearly buckled my knees Pete.

Let out a shaky breath, Jan and Steve held each other.

Their shoulders slumping and relief.

Even Ethan.

Quiet and exhausted.

Cracked a weak smile.

Not much further.

I assured them voice hoarse, we get to that road, we get out.

Yet, I felt no real Comfort.

The closer, we got the stronger.

My sense of unease became gnawing at my inside.

I found myself constantly glancing down at the ground, following our Footprints, and those others that shadowed hours The prince that matched mine yet twisted and uncertain.

The Barefoot marks weaving beside the haunted.

Me it felt like what ever had followed us.

Whatever had tried to trick me into wandering, deeper into the canyon was staying closed, just out of sight.

Then Adam stops suddenly bending down to inspect the sand near the trail.

His face paled Rick.

Look at these, he whispered.

I knelt beside him.

Another set of prints.

but these moved backward, retracing our exact route back toward the canyon weed fled Each step was deliberate, clear evenly spaced, mirroring ours, perfectly my chest tightened with Dread.

Keep moving.

I said quietly, fighting the Tremor, in my voice.

Don't stop.

Again, we pressed on silence heavy between us.

As we approach the final 100 yards toward the dirt road, a flicker of motion to my left caught my attention.

I spun around sharply hand tightening on my sidearm.

For a split second, I saw a figure slip behind an outcropping.

Its movements were fluid, disturbingly graceful, hunched low, as it disappeared behind rocks.

In that momentary.

Glimpse, its skin looked too.

Pale.

Almost translucent stretched over long bones.

Then it was gone.

My heart slammed in my chest, I swallowed hard mouth, dry as sandpaper Jan touched my shoulder.

Her eyes widened and frightened Rick.

What did you see?

Just go.

I urge pushing them onward.

The roads, right there.

We stumbled onto the dirt road gasping.

Halo with exhaustion.

I scan the area desperately terrified.

We'd see something emerge from the brush again, but nothing moved.

Silence settled around us, thick and oppressive.

Then the distant Rumble of an engine, cut through the quiet.

Moments later.

A battered four-wheeler appeared driven by a local Cattlemen.

he looks surprised then concerned as he saw our ragged condition, You focus.

All right.

He called slowing to a stop.

I felt relief flood my veins.

Legs almost collapsing.

Beneath me.

Or not hurt.

I managed but we need help.

He nodded Gravely and we piled into his truck bed gratefully.

No one spoke much on the ride into Escalante each of us lost in thoughts.

We couldn't articulate.

By the time we reached Town exhaustion overtook fear.

I found myself sitting numbly in a diner.

Holding a cup of coffee, I barely tasted Later that day, I made an unofficial report to the local BLM office.

The ranger their listened to politely nodding occasionally, but his skepticism was clear.

There had been no similar Wildlife reports.

No disturbances.

Nothing to corroborate our experience.

Officially they considered a dehydration in panic, no more, no less, I didn't push.

There was no way to explain the things.

We'd felled the way my voice had called me from the darkness or the impossible figure.

Adam had described within weeks.

I quietly resigned from Guiding desert tours.

Grand staircase-escalante, once my home a place, I love deeply now.

Felt haunted irrevocably changed.

I knew I'd never return months passed and the memory faded but never left.

Atom called me once late one night.

He sounded rattled.

Rick, I went through my notes.

He said, softly from that morning, you came back barefoot.

What about them?

I asked where Lee there were two sets of prints that morning, he continued slowly.

I remember Clearly Now one was yours coming back toward camp but there was another set next to yours.

Identical in shape and size.

They mirrored yours.

Exactly.

Step for step then just stopped.

I closed my eyes.

The sickening feeling returning, instantly, what do you mean, stopped?

They ended abruptly, Adam said voice shaking as if whoever or whatever was walking beside.

You just vanished Into Thin Air.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment then.

Adam broke the silence one last time.

I don't know what we encountered out there, Rick, but it wasn't human.

It wasn't anything that belongs in this world.

he hung up shortly after leaving me alone in the dark wondering if I had ever truly left that Canyon behind I've spent more Summers than I can count guiding tourists through the deserts of Joshua Tree.

Most guides prefer the crowded trails around Hidden Valley or Barker Dam places with clear paths and plenty of foot traffic.

But I've always liked the remote Corners.

The Forgotten roads winding through Pinto basin Out there.

It's just you the sand the Heat and your instincts.

No distractions, no mistakes.

At least that's how it always was before I took John and Marta out into the Basin last July.

We headed out from the Jeep at sunrise.

Pinto Basin was already shimmering with waves of heat.

The early Sun promising a blistering day ahead.

John a Dutch guy in his 30s, looked fit and confident, already snapping on his hat and adjusting his sunglasses.

Marta.

Quiet in German moved carefully, checking and double-checking her gear.

I'd guided hundreds of tourists, but these two felt capable experience.

I liked that less babysitting, more Adventure.

The plan was a two-day Loop through the Maze of dry washes east of pinto Mountain.

It's easy to Reign to underestimate, people, think deserts are empty and predictable, but every Arroyo looks alike and the heat can erase your tracks in hours.

I navigated by landmarks most visitors.

Never notice.

Scorched rocks left by wildfires decades ago.

Twisted branches of dry Okatie, yo, certain rock outcrop shaped by centuries of wind We hiked quietly that first morning the rhythmic crunch of boots on Sand filling.

The Silence by noon temperatures pushed toward 100 degrees.

So I let us to a shaded overhang where we rested rationing our water.

I glanced at John who wipes sweat from his face with a steady hand, Martin sipped water slowly carefully, her eyes scanning The Horizon.

As if memorizing it after our break, we pushed deeper into the wash where the sand hardened into baked Earth, cracked and flaking underfoot.

As the sun rose higher even breathing, became an effort.

I kept the pace slow methodical until something in the distance.

Caught my eye and uneven shape jutting awkwardly from a drift of sand at the base of a bluff.

As we got closer, I felt an uneasy tightness in my chest.

It was an old shack.

Half collapsed roof, buckling inward, rusted metal panels hanging Loosely like broken teeth.

It looked completely out of place, even in a desert that had swallowed whole towns.

I'd walked this base and dozens of times, but I had never seen, or heard mention of anything like this.

Russ.

What is this?

John asked already moving ahead for a closer, look.

I hesitated no clue.

Must be an Old Prospector Camp.

John circled.

It slowly fascinated.

Marta, lingard back quiet, as always, studying the bones, scattered around the shack.

Small animal bones, bleached white by the sun.

Then I saw something else.

Partly hidden in the shadows cast by warped, wooden planks, longer bones, straighter and thicker than any desert, coyote or Jack Rabbit.

John nudged one with his boot.

What animal has bones like this?

I didn't answer right away, I knew Bone's I'd come across, plenty over the years.

But these looked unsettlingly familiar Almost Human.

A cold feeling ran down my spine, despite the Heat.

Let's keep moving.

I said finally breaking the silence.

We don't want to linger here.

John didn't argue just glanced toward Marta and nodded.

She was already backing away from the shack, her face tents.

We camped several hundred yards away near a narrow rise with good visibility in every direction.

I picked the spot on Instinct as though.

The distance could somehow erase what we'd seen.

Nightfall brought no relief from the heat.

My tent felt like an oven, the air.

So still it seemed to press down on me, sleep was impossible.

I lace staring at the thin fabric ceiling listening to John and Marta shift on easily in their tents nearby.

Then something else, caught my attention.

A soft rustling outside my muscles tense, as I strained to hear better expecting footsteps or whispered voices.

But there were none just silence punctuated by my racing pulse unable to shake the feeling.

I slowly unzipped my tent flap peering out into the darkness.

My heart nearly stopped.

In the faint, Starlight about 10 feet from our 10th, a figure sat cross-legged utterly Motionless.

It faced us head slightly bowed completely still.

Hey I barked my voice cracking from dryness and adrenaline, I grabbed my flashlight flooding the area with red tinted light.

The figure was gone.

My breath came in short rapid bursts.

As I scan the area expecting to see Footprints or someone retreating into the darkness.

But the sand was smooth untouched as though.

No one had ever been there at all.

I stayed awake, the rest of the night hand, tightly gripping.

My flash light ears straining against the silence waiting for something that never came.

Dawn, finally came offering thin Comfort after the longest night of my life, The memory of that silent figure, haunted me, but the morning brought immediate distraction, Marta's voice.

Edged with panic.

Snapped me out of my exhausted, stupor, Ross.

Look she held her hydration bladder the water dripping steadily into the sand from a clean slash across its side.

John Stood Beside her, holding his own bladder.

Similarly damaged, the cuts ragged or chewed through by desert Critters.

They were straight and deliberate clearly made by something Sharp.

my stomach tightened as I surveyed the campsite Someone or something, had done this silently inches from our sleeping forms.

I swallowed hard forcing calm into my voice.

Will redistribute my water?

It's enough to get us back.

If we're careful.

But then, I noticed something else.

Just beyond our tents neatly arranged in a perfect grid pattern.

Thin sticks.

Stood upright in the sand.

Each was pushed several inches deep.

Impossibly precise at Each corner lay a small black and stone charred like charcoal.

My pulse quickened as I stared the pattern alien and unsettling.

John cursed under his breath.

Someone's messing with us.

Maybe squatters I offered weekly though.

I didn't believe it myself.

Squatters in the desert meant scavengers or Prospectors people who value Solitude more than anything.

They wouldn't risk confrontation Marta watched me quietly reading doubt.

Clearly in my hesitation I brushed sand over the sticks with my boot erasing, the pattern, but the unease lingard thick, as the heat building with the Rising Sun, we need to move.

I said firmly will cut East and pick up a canyon.

I know it'll bring us back toward the Jeep will be fine if we don't waste time neither argued.

We packed swiftly silence hanging heavy between us every shadow.

Now felt ominous each rock formation, a possible hiding place, for whatever had visited in the night.

As we hiked temperatures, climbed relentlessly the sun, burning into our skin.

My route followed narrow washes and old fire scars, but my mind raced with thoughts of the figure the sticks.

The slashed water.

I had walked these desert paths, countless times yet now, they seemed hostile unfamiliar near noon.

We paused briefly beneath the Sandstone, overhang the shade barely enough to ease our misery.

Marta passed John.

My water bottle with a word.

Each carefully rationing their sips.

We had to keep moving this desert had a cruel way of punishing the slow.

After another grueling our Marta, abruptly stopped eyes wide.

Wait, where's John?

My heart.

Plunged into a sickening.

Drop turning quickly.

I scan the trail behind us.

Nothing.

He'd vanished with without a sound.

No Struggle, No, shout.

Not even a footprint out of place.

John, I called sharply fear edging, my voice, only the quiet vastness replied Marta, stood Frozen, her expression shifting from confusion to Terror.

Stay here.

I ordered.

Don't move.

Drink sparingly, I'll find him.

She nodded mutely eyes.

Never leaving mine.

Pleading silently, not to abandon her too.

I jogged back down the wash.

I scouring, every crevice, every shadow Then I noticed subtle signs, the scrape of boots, the bent limbs of dry okoto faint impressions.

In the sand.

Leading toward a narrow Chute between two boulders.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I followed the tracks.

In the shadows, my foot kicked something metallic hidden under a thin layer of sand.

Kneeling quickly.

I brushed it clear, a heavy length of rusted, chain, half, buried bolted, into Solid Rock.

The other end had snapped leaving it empty and useless the site sent chills through me.

Despite the blistering heat rust.

John's voice, startled me.

He emerged on steadily from behind a rocky ledge.

His face pale beneath layers of dust and sweat you.

All right, I asked sharply he nodded shakily.

I thought I saw someone watching from those rocks, he pointed vaguely behind him, then everything went blurry.

I passed out.

Heat exhaustion.

I lied.

Confidently.

Clapping his shoulder reassuringly.

Drink slowly.

We have to get back to Marta.

We hurried back my anxiety Rising again when I didn't immediately see her.

Then I noticed her pack sitting beside a small Rock Hollow.

Approaching slowly, I called her name.

Softly trying not to startle her Marta.

Crawled out cautiously eyes.

Darting nervously toward the wash.

We'd left behind Something came, she whispered voice cracking.

It crawled out from behind that Ridge covered in Ash or dirt.

I don't know.

It didn't look right.

It was crawling rust.

Like an animal.

Her words froze.

My blood.

No?

Desert prospector or squatter would behave this way?

No.

Rational explanation fit my hands trembled slightly as I helped her stand we go.

I said earlier than I felt now they nodded silently.

We pushed northward toward the canyon.

I prayed with lead us, back toward the Jeep and safety.

Every step felt like fleeing, every shadow hidden Menace.

Behind us, the sun began its slow descent.

Casting longer darker shapes across the sand, chasing us forward towards something.

I now feared waited, patiently ahead.

The canyon walls closed tighter around us.

As we move deeper Sandstone Rising steeply on both sides, my breath rasped in my throat, each intake of air hot and gritty.

Marta.

And John kept pace behind me.

Their footsteps, hurried and anxious.

I felt the tension radiating off them.

My eyes darted toward every shadow, every Bend ahead.

the Slot Canyon was familiar, at least I thought it was but in this late afternoon light, if it felt hostile somehow narrower darker Still, it was our best shot at getting out quickly.

We'd make it to the old Jeep Road and follow it back to the trailhead.

I repeated that promise silently like a mantra fighting to stay calm.

I heard it first.

A faint scrap of stone.

Then again, louder closer Marta.

Stopped abruptly.

Gripping my arm.

Her fingers.

Trembling rusted.

Did you hear?

Yes, I whispered sharply cutting her off.

Keep moving.

John had slowed behind us.

Stumbling slightly from exhaustion.

He wiped his brow.

His eyes Hollow with fatigue and fear were being followed, aren't we?

I didn't respond.

Just quickened our pace.

My heart slammed inside my chest, with every step, whatever it was, it wasn't bothering to hide anymore.

Each footfall, echoed louder.

Now, solid steady gaining ground behind us, I tightened my grip on the hatchet hanging from my belt feeling, the Warren wood handle slick with sweat.

Move I hissed, urgently almost jogging.

Now then a shadow detached itself from above dropping suddenly into the canyon directly ahead.

A figure landed in a crowd dust billowing around him.

My breath caught painfully as he straightened slowly revealing himself in full.

The man was skeletal.

Filthy, streaked head to toe and gray Ash and dirt his cracked skin raw and blistered from weeks, maybe months of desert exposure.

In his right hand, he clutched a sharpen piece of rebar.

The rusted metal gleaming faintly in the dimming light, He said nothing staring through narrowed unblinking eyes.

My skin crawled beneath his gaze.

Marta's breaths came in Rapid panicked.

Gasps behind me John began to move backwards.

Slowly stumbling over loose Stones, his face a mask of disbelief.

Who what is the man lunged forward without warning?

No sound no threat, just a sudden, explosive movement, he swung the rebar in a vicious Arc toward me, instinctively, I raised my arm to block pain flashed hot through my shoulder and I staggered sideways against the canyon wall, gasping.

I twisted sharply scooping A Fistful of sand from the canyon floor as the Man rushed again, I threw it directly into his face.

Blinding him momentarily.

He staggered backward.

Coughing violently clawing at his eyes.

It was my only chance run.

I shouted Horsley shoving Marta.

And John toward a narrow Gap behind us.

They bolted scrambling over the Rocks fear propelling them forward faster than exhaustion should have allowed.

I followed close behind each pounding step in effort, listening desperately for Pursuit.

We raced through twisting, passages, scraping against Sandstone walls.

The Echoes of our frantic breathing loud in the tight spaces.

My mind blurred every turn looked identical, just as despair began creeping in.

I saw it the rusted metal marker half buried at the mouth of the canyon signaling.

The start of the old Jeep Road this way.

I shouted leading them forward, legs burning with every step we stumbled out on.

on to open ground, The Fading Sun, washing, everything in a muted, surreal glow, Glancing back.

I saw no one following but I knew better than to slow down now.

We didn't stop until the familiar Shape.

Of My Jeep came into view parked exactly where I had left it two mornings earlier.

Marta leaned against the hood sobbing quietly.

John sank to his knees in the sand coughing weekly my injured shoulder throbbed.

Sharply blood soaking through my torn sleeve.

None of us spoke Later when I filed the report with the park rangers, their faces showed confusion skepticism, then quiet concern.

They found the shack exactly where I described, but nothing else.

No sign of the man, no tracks leading away, just the strange, precise grid of sticks and that buried length of rusted chain as inexplicable to them.

As it was to me, Eventually they called it an Old Prospector Camp.

Dismissing my question.

But I knew they didn't really believe it and neither did I?

Something had been out there waiting.

Maybe still was.

I don't guide tours anymore.

I spend most of my time indoors now away from the heat away from memories that won't fade.

But in a small drawer of my desk, I keep the single rusted chain link.

I pulled from that desert wash.

proof that it all happened proof that the desert has Secrets its willing to keep for the last six Summers.

I'd guided backpacking groups deep into Colorado's flat tops Wilderness.

A sprawling remote area in the heart of White River National Forest.

unlike more crowded spots, the flat tops offered Solitude miles of Wildflower, filled Meadows and trails, Untouched by casual tourists, This three-day Loop beginning at Stillwater Trailhead running along skinny, Fish Lake across, Devil's Causeway and ending in Bear.

River Valley had become my signature route.

I knew it intimately or at least I thought I did on this trip.

There were six hikers under my watch, two teenagers, Liam and Cody full of energy but lacking focus a couple from Boulder named Greg and Heather both experienced.

But overly talkative a quiet first timer named Jordan and a Solo Traveler named Tom from Missouri who seemed confident enough.

We had permits clear weather forecasts and no fire alerts.

It should have been an easy Loop.

It wasn't Midway through the second day under a blazing afternoon sun.

We reach the junction that marked the ascent toward Devil's Causeway.

I'd hiked this segment a dozen times.

Always admiring its dramatic exposure, and sweeping Vistas But in the familiar weather beaten wooden Trail marker.

We found a brand new sign, bright yellow, wood at Fresh black lettering.

Trail clothes, fire reroute, to Deep Creek Basin.

I frowned, feeling an immediate unease Wildfire closures.

Were not unusual in July, but this fell off.

I'd heard no warnings before departure and had meticulously checked every possible alert source.

Still, as the guide safety came first.

Reluctantly, I motioned to the group.

Looks like we're taking a detour.

I said, trying to sound reassuring, will Loop down into Deep Creek, Basin and cut back around.

It's going to add a few miles, but nothing we can't handle.

The new Trail was narrow in steep descending into dense, stands of spruce and fur.

The shade was welcome at first, but the unfamiliar route, quickly turned on settling.

Every guide develops an instinct, a feeling of something, being off course, even before confirming it on a map.

My internal Compass kept telling me.

We were drifting away from our intended Loop yet.

Every quarter mile or so.

A small red diamond marker nailed precisely to a tree appeared to reassure us.

We were headed correctly.

as the sun began to dip toward the Horizon, we reached a small clearing something unnatural catching my eye, through the underbrush I moved closer to investigate.

Hidden among thick, grass and overgrown.

Shrubs, a rusted, metal sign on the ground carefully.

I lifted a corner brushing away, Decades of Grimes, Pine Ridge, spur, Trail closed.

1984, I glanced around confused, this didn't match any Trail at ever.

Heard of there were no mentions of this spur on Modern Maps.

Unease.

Fred quietly through me but I kept it hidden.

What's that Heather asked?

Coming up behind me.

An old trail marker, I replied casually.

Nothing relevant.

Let's keep moving.

We continue down setting up camp, as Twilight painted The Valley in muted, blues and purples.

Everyone was quieter now, sensing something unspoken in the air.

After dinner.

While others settled around tents, I saw Liam staring fixedly into the darkness beyond the campfires reach.

You, okay?

I asked softly his face was pale.

I swear I saw someone crouched down in the bushes just watching.

I followed his gaze into the Shadows.

Nothing moved no eyes reflected, our light, probably just your imagination.

I reassured him.

It's easy to see things out here, but even as I spoke my chest tightened, I'd learned not to dismiss hiker concerns too lightly instead.

I double checked our bearings and kept my radio clip close to my sleeping bag.

I lay awake listening.

Around midnight footsteps, approached Camp, slow heavy purposeful, I tense reaching instinctively for my headlamp.

Who's out there.

I called my voice slicing through the silence.

The footstep stopped.

I listened closely barely breathing, nothing.

No further sound came eventually, fatigued me.

And I drifted into an uneasy sleep morning, brought gray skies and tension.

I woke Before Sunrise counting head silently as the group stirred.

Liam Cody.

Heather, Greg Jordan know, Tom instantly alert.

I scan the tents again.

Where is Tom I called?

Sharply Panic, flitted across phases, Heather pointed nervously toward the trees.

I saw him walk off earlier, but I assumed he was just, you know.

We spread out calling his name.

20 minutes later Tom stumbled back in to Camp from the opposite direction.

He was filthy mud, streaked across his clothes, his expression was blank eyes wide and Confused.

A vivid red scratch marked his neck fresh and bleeding lightly, what happened?

I demanded trying.

Not to sound accusatory.

He shook his head slowly blinking as if waking from sleep.

I I don't remember.

I thought I heard something.

Followed it then nothing.

The group, exchanged worried looks my stomach Twisted, sharply Trails, don't vanish.

People don't wander into the woods and come back with without memory.

Something was deeply wrong in this Basin quietly?

I packed my gear and forced myself into a facade of calm whatever.

This was I knew instinctively we had to move Trails.

Don't just vanish, but markers can be faked hikers misled, we're leaving.

I said, firmly stay together.

No wandering off.

We're getting out today.

Even as I spoke, I felt annoying dread a sensation that the trail behind us was no longer there.

That returning the way we came had ceased to be an option.

We were being herded, forward Guided by markers, that shouldn't exist into places.

Long forgotten and left.

Undisturbed And something in my gut warned me, whatever was guiding us deeper away from known trails and into forgotten Woods didn't intend for us to make it out easily.

I led the group out of Camp tension, pulling tight at my shoulders.

I moved us quickly down the narrow Trail.

Ignoring the quiet, murmurs and worried glances behind me.

Tom stated in the middle of the pack eyes, glassy and unfocused, repeatedly touching the fresh scratch on his neck.

I'd seen hikers act strange before exhaustion, altitude dehydration, but never quite like this.

The Morning Mist, lingard turning the trees around us into dark shapes on all sides.

The red diamond markers.

We'd followed the day before were now conspicuously absent.

I kept checking hoping they would reappear, but the bark on every trunk was Bare.

It was as if someone had come overnight and carefully removed every sign we'd trusted.

Greg quickened his Pace coming up beside me.

His voice was tight strained with forced calmness.

Emily.

Shouldn't we have hit the trail Junction by now.

I nodded, but kept my eyes fixed ahead scanning constantly.

Soon.

I lied trying not to let my voice betray.

How lost I felled?

It's just a bit farther down.

In truth, I didn't recognize anything around us.

The landscape had subtly changed.

The gentle ridges had become steeper the forest denser, we had somehow drifted into terrain that bore.

No resemblance to the route.

We were supposed to take Just as my anxiety, peaked, Jordan stopped abruptly.

Her breathing had quickened Does anyone else hear that?

Her voice was barely audible Fragile with nerves.

We all froze, ears, straining into the quiet around us.

I heard it clearly this time.

Slow footsteps, tracking parallel to ours.

May be 50 yards away in the underbrush.

They matched our Pace, exactly stopping whenever we stopped.

the rustling was Heavy, methodical and human-sized Cody's voice trembled, something's out there could be Wildlife.

I said attempting, reassurance keep moving, it'll likely lose interest.

But in my bones, I knew better.

I had spent too many seasons out here to mistake.

These sounds for an animal animals.

Don't stalk patiently matching, a group's Pace pausing whenever we pause.

We pressed onward.

Each step, taking us deeper into unfamiliar ground.

By midday, we reached a small clearing and saw another wooden Trail.

Sign ahead, weathered with faded lettering, that said, Ridge Cutoff established 1969, My pulse quickened, another Trail, I'd never heard of never seen marked on any of my maps or guides.

This isn't right.

I muttered pulling my pack around and grabbing my laminated topo map.

I ran my finger along every line, every elevation Contour, nothing, even resembled Ridge Cutoff.

Heather watched me nervously, Emily.

It's not on here.

My admission hung heavy in the air, Greg stepped closer, Voice, Low, and urgent.

Then let's turn around and retrace.

Find our way back to the main trail.

I stared back toward the trail behind using the unsettling lack of markers.

But Greg was right.

Retracing was our only clear option yet.

As I turned back toward the direction, we'd come from my breath, hitched the path.

We'd followed had become almost indistinguishable blending seamlessly into Tangled undergrowth.

I swallowed hard Okay, let's head back, slowly.

Watch your footing, everyone.

We trudged back every step.

Fueling my unease, an hour passed then too.

And nothing familiar.

Reappeared.

It was like the trail had simply vanished behind us.

Liam's.

Voice.

Broke the oppressive silence.

Hey, look up there.

We all looked ahead following Liam's.

Pointing finger, The Narrow Path.

We'd been cautiously navigating Rose upward along, a narrow Ridge pinched between two steep drop-offs on the ground.

Something glinted strangely beneath patches of leaves and pine needles, my gut Twisted with Dread Wait here.

I said, firmly inching forward carefully.

Kneeling down I brushed away leaves and immediately recoiled.

A crude trap stretched across the trail carefully disguised wire secured between Stakes with sharp and sticks, aimed directly upward, whoever placed it clearly intended harm.

Greg approached cautiously his voice strained.

What is it?

It's a trap.

My voice sounded distant, even to myself, and it was meant for people not animals.

A cold silence gripped.

The group, as I grabbed my trekking pole, jamming it into the wire to disarm the Trap.

Metal, scraped loudly sticks, broken and Scattered, but in the process, the carbon shafts splintered and snapped in my hands.

I cursed quietly tossing the broken pieces aside, Tom stared at the disassembled trap color draining from his face.

Someone's out here.

He whispered watching us I scan the Shadows around us.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The midday Sun had slipped behind thickening clouds casting the forest in Gray Gloom.

The darkness fell too early and too heavy.

We're moving.

I said my voice clip with urgency no more breaks will hike straight through the night.

If we have to keep your lights handy and stay close, We pushed onward silent intense eyes constantly.

Scanning the trees.

Around us hours passed marked only by ragged breathing in the faint crunch of boots on gravel Near Twilight.

We reached another faded Junction, sign the wood warped and splintered from Decades of neglect.

It read simply Trappers way.

Three miles.

The name was like ice water down my spine, another non-existent Trail.

Another ghost from decades passed Panic threatened at the edge of my mind, but I forced it away, locked it down, there would be time for fear later.

Stay alert.

I whispered barely loud enough for the group to hear.

We're not alone out here.

In the creeping Darkness, our headlamps flickered on one by one, the narrow beams cast jittery circles ahead of us Illuminating Twisted, branches and Tangled Roots.

Each Shadows seemed deeper more ominous and full of potential danger.

The footsteps that had Trails us earlier had returned always parallel always just out of view matching us step for step through the darkened Forest.

Whatever, or whoever it was, clearly had no intention of letting us go.

And now we were moving deeper into territory.

We should never have entered toward trails that had vanished decades ago where only forgotten threats remained hidden waiting patiently for hikers.

Like us to wander too far off course.

By Dawn exhaustion, weighed on each of us muscles burned our feet blistered raw, and our nerves felt frayed to Breaking.

But then at first light, the trees began to thin ahead.

The dark claustrophobic Woods, gave way to a narrow clearing that opened onto Ridgeline below us stretched Bear River, Valley familiar, and beautiful illuminated by the early morning.

Sun For the first time in hours, I exhaled deeply feeling, genuine relief.

There I said pointing down to a distant rib of gravel road, cutting through the valley floor.

We just have to reach that road.

There's Ranger access their Greg shoulders sagged with relief.

Thank God.

I pushed the group forward quickly, every painful step downward towards civilization, ease the dreaded since, we'd first seen the reroutes outside.

Soon enough, we reach the road wide tangible reassuringly.

Familiar.

Pulling my radio from my pack.

I flicked it on the static crackled, then a strong voice broke through.

Clear and firm White River dispatch.

Go ahead.

I nearly choked with relief.

Dispatch.

This is Emily.

Blake guide permit 338 We've had an incident, got rerouted into Deep Creek, Basin off Devil's Causeway.

We're out now on Forest Road.

112 requesting immediate assistance.

A brief silence then.

Copy that Emily.

This is Caleb with search and rescue.

You're saying Deep Creek Basin affirmative?

I replied.

A new reroutes sign was posted yesterday morning at Devil's Causeway Junction.

There was hesitation on Caleb's end.

His voice returned cautious.

that's, Strange.

Sit tight.

I'm on my way.

Within an hour Caleb's forest service truck appeared tires crunching on gravel as he slowed to a stop beside us.

He climbed out looking serious.

But confused, a binder of maps and paperwork tucked under his arm I recounted the previous days events in detail.

The strange sign at Devil's Causeway, the old Trails.

We'd stumbled upon the wire and stick trap Tom's disappearance and the Mysterious footsteps that had shadowed us through the forest Caleb's expression, darkened, as I spoke He flipped urgently through his binder Maps rustling under his fingers.

Finally, he looked up sharply.

Emily.

There's no reroute through Deep Creek Basin, there hasn't been in years.

That's impossible.

I said voice, edged with disbelief.

We saw the sign, it was brand new red diamond markers.

Let us the entire way down.

Caleb shook his head firmly, we pulled every sign out of their decades ago.

Nobody's been authorized back there since My stomach Twisted, I'll take you back and show you.

I said we left the markers in the Trap, right?

Where we found them.

Caleb.

Noted reluctantly visibly, troubled.

Show me.

Leaving the group safely behind at the truck.

I retraced our path back up the ridge, alongside Caleb.

I felt confident as we neared, the spot where we'd found the Trap.

Yet my confidence, vanished instantly as we emerged onto the narrow Ridgeline.

No trap, no markers.

No, broken Sticks.

No.

Disturbed Earth just dense underbrush.

Untouched appearing as though.

No human had Disturbed it in decades.

It was right here.

I insisted desperately.

I disarmed it.

Myself, snapped my pole in the process.

Caleb stared at the spot quietly eyes searching for any sign of our presence.

He shook his head, slowly clearly perplexed.

Emily nothing's here.

Hasn't been for years.

This is just an Old Logging path.

Reclaimed by the forest, we moved farther up, the trail toward the junction marked Trapper's way, but as we reached the spot, my pulse quickened, again, and confusion and dread the Warped.

Wooden sign, we'd seen only hours before was gone.

All that remained was moss covered ground and a faint indentation of a trail long abandoned I don't understand.

I murmured my voice small shaking they were here.

Caleb studied me closely.

You sure you're not just tired.

Emily.

Fatigue can make anyone see things?

I bit back frustration.

I know what we saw.

The entire group saw it.

Those Trails, the Trap.

It was real.

He nodded gently leading me back toward the truck.

Let's get everyone back to the ranger station and get you hydrated and rested.

We'll talk more there.

hours later, showered, and sitting at a desk inside the quiet ranger station, I flipped through Caleb's binder of official trail maps Page after page, year after year confirmed exactly what Caleb had said.

Each route.

We'd followed the Pine Ridge.

Spur Ridge, Cutoff Trappers way had been decommissioned erased from Maps decades earlier.

Caleb watched me carefully folding his arms.

None of those Trails have been marked or maintained since the 80s.

Nobody would bother rebuilding trails that deep.

There's no reason.

Then who plays the sign at Devil's Causeway, I demanded, who nailed those markers on the trees, and who built that trap.

Caleb's eyes, moved past me, fixed on a faded photograph, pin to the wall behind my chair.

I turned following his gaze.

It showed a smiling group of Rangers posed, near an old cabin, a sign behind them, reading, Deep Creek, Ranger Station, 1979, he sighed quietly, Emily some parts of this Wilderness have stories even older Rangers, don't like revisiting.

Trails, vanish here for a reason.

Maybe some things out there aren't meant to be found.

I shivered and voluntarily looking away from the picture.

Are you saying someone lured us into that Basin?

He hesitated shaking his head.

I don't know what to believe, but what ever?

It was your lucky.

You got out.

I stared blankly at my folded hands, thoughts tumbling chaotically.

I knew I'd never returned to the flat tops Wilderness.

Never set foot.

Again, on these paths, I thought I was don't vanish without reason, and if they do, maybe it's because of the forest is hiding something.

It wants forgotten, maybe Caleb was right.

Maybe some paths really aren't meant to be found again.

I've guided groups of teenagers into the marble Mountain Wilderness for the past four Summers.

At 33 years old.

My job isn't just about showing kids how to pitch tents or filter water from streams.

It's about teaching them resilience These kids come from rough backgrounds foster, homes, Inner City Apartments, troubled families, most have never left their hometowns.

Let alone hiked deep into the rugged, mountains of Northern California, Marble Mountain was perfect for our mission remote untouched.

A landscape wild enough to challenge anyone.

This particular trip had five teens on my supervision three boys.

Jason Caleb and Devin and two girls, Elena and Mia.

Elena 16 was quiet and observant, always a step behind the group.

But acutely aware of her surroundings.

Caleb 17.000 joked around covering his own insecurities with laughter.

Devin 15 and Mia 16 were friends, confident enough to take the lead on the trail, but in experienced enough to underestimate the mountains.

Jason.

Also 17 was The Quiet One often lost in thought, rarely engaging, unless spoken to directly We entered from Lover's Camp Trailhead a well marked spot near Etna and planned a Six-Day route.

Looping through Sky High Lakes Russian Lake and big elk Lake.

It was late, July warm, during the day, but crisp at night.

No phones, no, GPS, just Maps, compasses, and Instincts by our second evening.

We'd climbed to nearly 6,000 feet, setting camp at the largest of the sky-high Lakes.

We pitched.

Our tents near the Lakes western shore in the shadow of steep Granite Cliffs.

Dinner was straightforward.

Dehydrated pasta cooked over portable stove's.

The kids had settled into a rare moment of silence spooning food from metal bowls.

When Elena suddenly froze, mid-bite She turned her head eyes.

Narrowing, did you guys hear that?

I glanced up from my map here.

What?

Scream.

She whispered looking toward the North East Ridge behind our campsite.

I swear it sounded like a woman the group listened and a low murmur began uncertain, laughs shrugs.

Devin dismissed it first.

Suggesting it was probably just a mountain lion or maybe the wind blowing through the rocks.

I was inclined to agree.

Sounds traveled strangely out here.

Amplified and Twisted by Rocky, Cliffs and valleys but then just as we were starting to relax.

Again it happened a scream pierced the evening quiet, a shrill cry, that cut through the thin Mountain Air, it sounded human a woman in pain or Panic short but unmistakable.

Caleb jumped up from the log where he'd been sitting that that was close.

No, I said standing up slowly.

It sounds close but it's up there.

High on that Ridge.

Is someone hurt Elena asked softly?

Her face pale?

I studied the jagged outline of the ridge shadowed now by the Setting Sun, nothing moved.

If someone was hurt, they wouldn't scream.

Just once they'd shout or call for help besides there's no other permits out here right now.

Mia shifted nervously.

Should we go check it out?

No.

I said firmly The Ridges Steep and unstable and it's almost dark.

Whatever it is, will listen out if we hear it again, we'll reassess.

the group slowly settled back into dinner but the mood had shifted, I caught Jason scanning, the ridge, repeatedly, eyes, narrowed fists, clenched tight, 47 minutes later, the scream came again.

Exactly the same pitch.

Exactly the same length, but from slightly farther east along the ridge, we froze Even Caleb, usually quick with a joke when quiet.

That's not normal.

Devin murmured, shifting closer to Mia.

No it's not.

I agreed softly trying to hide my own unease over the next two hours the screams continued exactly 47 minutes apart always from different points, along the ridge.

Line each time the same voice identical pitch as if recorded and replayed But there was no Echo, no Distortion.

Just a pure single scream, slicing through the silence.

Elena finally broke down voice shaking.

Someone's in trouble.

We can't just ignore it.

I felt torn.

She wasn't wrong, but something about this.

Screamed wrongness to me, yet.

I knew they looked to me, as their guide, the adult who had the answer's?

I'll go take a look.

I said, finally stay here.

Stay Together.

Devon.

You're in charge.

Keep everyone close.

I grabbed my binoculars and flash light and climbed quickly up a Rocky, Knoll near Camp, scrambling onto a large flat Rock to get a better View.

Darkness was gathering, but there was still enough Twilight to scan the area.

I swept the binocular slowly along the Ridgeline following, the jagged Peaks searching for any sign of movement.

A flicker of motion.

Caught my eye instinctively, I turned back adjusting the focus.

My heart still a figure human-shaped but moving low to the ground, crawling rapidly across the talus slope on all fours.

Darted from one Rocky, Shadow to another at least 300 yards away.

Even from this distance, I could see it was too fast, too agile, for someone injured or lost.

I lowered the binoculars slowly my throat tight.

What kind of person moved like that returning to Camp?

I forced myself to remain calm.

Conscious of every word.

I didn't see anyone needing help.

I said carefully.

It's probably an animal.

Sometimes cougars are bears.

Make weird noises.

Let's just stay alert and quiet tonight.

Nobody seemed convinced, but the group reluctantly accepted, my answer as Darkness settled fully, I extinguished the campfire and ushered everyone to their tents.

Sleep, never came.

As I Lay awake, fully clothed listening to the rustle of nylon.

As the teens shifted nervously, the scream returned every 47 minutes again and again like clockwork until dawn.

I stayed awake gripping.

My knife eyes.

Fixed on the thin fabric walls of my tent.

Whatever was out there, I knew two things, for sure, it wasn't an animal, and it certainly wasn't lost.

Dawn, brought a tense silence.

We emerged from our tents groggy and pale each of us pretending not to notice how exhausted we all looked.

The screaming had stopped shortly before sunrise, and its absence was somehow worse.

at least when it echoed through the night, we knew where it was now, we Face an uncertain quiet and that put everyone on edge I quickly got the group packed deciding Weed, Head North East cutting through a saddle toward Russian wilderness.

I didn't tell the kids why I chose that direction, but it was the quickest route toward lower ground in an eventual Fire Road.

I knew existed near Little Elk Lake.

We needed a distance in daylight.

We broke camp.

At first light, the teen's following silently behind me eyes weary and feet heavy even Caleb.

Normally, light-hearted walked stiffly mouth pressed into a tight line.

Elena stayed closed ice, scanning nervously, with each step.

It was mid-morning by the time we crested a Granite Ridge that overlooked a steep basin.

Below us lay the remains of a campsite clearly visible Against The Pale Stone and sparse vegetation.

Charred tent fabric fluttered Loosely in the breeze and gear was scattered haphazardly across the ground.

What happened there?

Jason asked quietly.

Maybe a fire, Devon offered hesitantly could be I said scanning the area carefully.

We'll check it out but stay close and don't touch anything.

We descended cautiously into the Basin, my heart, sank, the closer we got, this wasn't just a campfire, accident.

The damage was too precise, too violent.

The tents were shredded fabric torn apart in ragged strips.

The sleeping bags looked as if they had been attacked stuffing spilling out in white clumps across the ground.

A portable camp stove, lay twisted and crushed.

As those something heavy had slammed down on top of it.

Mia.

Knelt beside one of the shredded sleeping bags Owen, what could do this a bear?

I shook my head slowly.

A bear would have left claw marks, chewed through food bags and dragged things away.

This this feels wrong.

Elena stood, Frozen near the edge of the campsite pointing silently toward something Tangled in a low bush.

I stepped closer and immediately saw it, a backpack, fabric ripped straps dangling, loosely Carefully, I pulled it free opened the main compartment and felt my stomach churn inside was a Blood Stained shirt.

Dark patches crusted, stiff and dry.

Caleb muttered softly.

Whose is that not ours, I answered grimly wrong.

Color, wrong size.

Jason's voice came low and controlled That, where are they?

I didn't have an answer, my mind.

Flashed back to the figure.

I'd seen crawling across the slope, fast inhuman, and Silent, whatever, had attacked.

This Camp was no ordinary animal.

And I was certain it was in any lost hiker either.

I marked the campsites coordinates on our map and stood abruptly.

Let's go.

We don't want to stay here.

We climbed out of the base and quickly.

The teen's moving with Newfound urgency behind us.

The wind rustle through the shredded fabric a sound that raised Goosebumps on my arms.

By after noon, fatigue began to set in.

We'd covered ground quickly and I knew the group needed rest.

as we paused briefly near a rocky stream, the scream erupted again, louder, closer, it echoed down the slopes slicing sharply through the Stillness Elena flinched, her voice tight, its following us, The group fell silent.

I checked my watch exactly 47 minutes since we'd stopped at the destroyed Camp.

My pulse quickened, with anxiety, I had no explanation.

Only a growing certainty, that we were not alone and that something was deliberately stalking us.

Keep moving.

I urge to fighting to keep the urgency out of my voice.

Will get down to that fire Road by tonight.

Stick together?

No one argued.

Our Pace quickened as daylight began to fade Shadows, creeping out from beneath the trees, swallowing up the thin sunlight.

Caleb stopped suddenly staring at something ahead.

I followed his gaze.

On the trail directly in front of us, sat accrued Stone figure.

Rocks and branches were stacked into the shape of a person arms outstretched as though, reaching for us.

Jason, stepped back in voluntarily.

What is that me?

His voice trembled.

I felt a chill run through my chest.

It wasn't a typical hike hers.

Karen, it was intentional carefully.

Placed someone or something wanted us to see it.

Don't touch it.

I warned we go around it.

Stay alert.

We skirted the Cairn cautiously.

But within minutes, we encountered another, then another Five Stone figures blocked or lined our path.

Each one larger, more imposing than the last.

The final one blocked, the Switchback ahead forcing us off the trail and into the thicker Woods.

It was dusk now, light nearly gone.

I took a slow breath realizing.

I'd have to make the choice.

I dreaded.

Were leaving the trail.

I said, finally, we'll cut East through the trees and head straight down toward the Fire Road.

It's rough, but it's safer than staying on this path.

No one spoke.

They simply nodded eyes wide trusting me, despite the growing Terror.

As we stepped off the trail, the forest pressed close around us darkness and developing the group.

My heart pounded steadily in my chest, each beat marking, my growing fear that whatever had to destroyed the campsite and followed us within human persistence was somewhere very close.

Now, watching us move deeper into the darkening Woods.

night, fell hard and the forest closed in around us dense and suffocating, The trees grew closer, branches, scraping our arms and faces as we stumbled through the brush.

I led the group forward by Compass alone, flash light, held low, barely Illuminating, our immediate path.

The teens moved in a tight line.

Each gripping the backpack of the person in front of them, careful to stay Within Reach every few minutes, I checked over my shoulder hoping, I wouldn't see anything trailing us yet.

Each time I glanced back, my imagination filled in the shadows with shifting shapes and unseen threats.

then came the scream again louder closer far too close this time it echoed off the rocky slopes behind us distorted slightly by distance and terrain Mia yelped in Terror stumbling forward against Elena nearly knocking them both down It's right behind us, Elena gasped.

Her voice thin and brittle.

Keep moving.

I urged desperate to sound.

Calm, don't stop.

No matter what you hear.

It's trying to scare us.

Don't let it But my own confidence, had eroded.

Each screen came at shorter intervals now, 20 minutes apart then, 15, worse.

Yet it shifted positions constantly, sometimes behind, sometimes beside us.

And once, even ahead, it felt as if, the sound itself was hurting us, steering us deeper into the darkness.

Whatever this thing was it was playing with us.

As we struggled on Jason suddenly stopped jerking Devin to a halt behind him, I saw something Jason whispered his voice tight.

There between those two trees, I spun around sweeping my flashlight.

Across the trees.

Nothing, no movement, no shapes.

Just dense forest and silence.

But Jason stood rigid staring wide-eyed I swear.

Oh and it was tall standing upright my pulse raced and I scanned again, nothing moved.

We have to keep going.

I whispered harshly were almost at the Fire Road.

Let's not slow down.

Jason didn't argue but his breathing quickened betraying his Panic.

We pressed on stumbling downward through thick underbrush, scratching ourselves Raw.

My map showed we should have reached the Fire Road by now yet.

It still alluded Us hidden by darkness and dense vegetation My Mind Race had I miscalculated.

Did we Veer off course I couldn't let doubt seep in not.

Now not when these kids relied on me minutes stretched into hours or at least it felt that way exhaustion slowed us legs heavy and clumsy until suddenly mercifully the thick brush opened onto a faint trail of packed Earth and abandoned fire Road narrow and overgrown, but clear enough for us to follow.

Thank God, Caleb muttered breathlessly relief.

Surged through me though.

Short lived.

We weren't safe yet.

I checked the compass again.

Guiding us Eastward along the dirt road.

My ears strained for any sign of danger.

Then headlights pierced the darkness twin beams of Salvation slicing through the trees ahead.

We froze momentarily, stunned.

Then waved our arms frantically shouting and stumbling forward.

The vehicle slowed tires crunching gravel, a battered Trail, maintenance truck rolled to a stop and the driver leaned out confusion on his face.

What the hell are you folks doing out here?

He asked sharply eyeing.

Our ragged appearance?

Suspiciously we need help.

I answered urgently.

Something's following us.

We've been off Trail for hours.

There's been screaming, destroyed, campsites, Stone markers, please.

These kids need out.

The Man's eyes softened at our desperation and he quickly knotted.

All right, get in hurry.

we piled greatly into the truck bed, collapsing, against the hard, metal, trembling with relief, The truck lurched forward rumbling slowly down the uneven Road toward the distant lights of civilization.

I sat with my back against the cab eyes, fixed behind us, half expecting to see something emerge from the Shadows, something tall, fast and wrong.

But the darkness stayed still unmoving.

The only sounds now were the engine steady hum and the soft sobbing of relief from Elena and Mia.

The following morning, I accompanied a small crew of forest service Personnel, back into the Wilderness, determined to show them what we had seen But the stone Figures were gone dismantled or simply vanished.

We found the destroyed Camp again.

Exactly, as we left it but the bloodstained backpack had disappeared as if someone had returned overnight to remove the evidence.

The Rangers noted, everything carefully photographed, the campsite, But ultimately Shrugged helplessly.

No permits out here for weeks, oh, and one of them finally told me and no reported missing hikers, either will investigate further but there's not much else we can do right now.

Days passed.

The teens went home shaken, but safe.

And me.

I stayed awake nights searching online and local news obsessively for any mention of disappearances or sightings any explanation at all.

I never found a thing.

I never guided another group back into marble Mountain.

I tell myself, I'll eventually forget that the nightmares will fade, but deep down, I know better.

Whatever was out there.

Didn't just want to scare us.

It wanted us to remember to always carry the fear of something unknown waiting in the dark.

It succeeded.

I've always found Solitude in the wilderness comforting rather than frightening.

Maybe that's why I took the Bear Valley assignment.

As a guide and Scout, my job was straightforward.

Find a suitable route for next Summer's trekking group.

After years hiking the Sierra Nevada, I knew Stanislaus National Forest like the back of my hand or at least I thought I did.

The terrain around, Bear Valley was rugged but manageable dense Cedar stands mixed with towering Granite.

Outcrops it wasn't Yosemite level popular but that's what appealed to me.

Remote peaceful, reliable.

I started my trip on a clear.

Tuesday Morning from Lake Alpine.

Trailhead leaving my Jeep park near Highway 4.

The registered showed a few hikers had been through the area recently, but by the second day, I hadn't seen a single soul.

Just me my gear and the Silence of the woods.

Everything seemed routine familiar on the third day, I followed the ridge east of Mokelumne Peak double-checking.

The root notes, I'd prepared weeks ago, it was hot but Pleasant the midday Sun cutting between trees and casting bright patterns on the forest floor.

Around noon.

I stopped to catch my breath, scanning my map for the next Landmark a creek crossing at the foot of the ridge.

But when I looked up something caught, my eye off Trail, just beyond a cluster of Cedars at first, it was subtle thin, slashes carved into the bark.

Each marking about waist height evenly, spaced, not animal.

Claw marks.

They were too clean too.

Uniform curiosity got the better of me.

I stepped off the trail pushing gently through underbrush to inspect them more closely The marks continued in a line stretching deeper into the woods.

Every 20 or 30 feet, another seater had been marked.

Identically, They had to be man-made Trail markers, may be but none I'd seen before and certainly nothing Maps.

Even more strange was the absence of any human Footprints below them.

I walked on cautiously feeling the map crumpled slightly in my tightening fist.

After a quarter mile, the markings changed.

Small piles of river Stones appeared at the base of certain trees stacked deliberately by someone.

I glanced again at the map.

Nothing.

No Trails.

Old Logging roads or known hunting paths.

The afternoon, Shadows began stretching longer and I hesitated, part of me.

Knew better part of me, urged caution Whispering.

It was time to turn back and find my intended path, but I didn't the strange Trail markers felt like a puzzle one.

I convinced myself was worth on raveling.

I pushed onward rationalizing that if the path didn't loop around soon, I had turned back before dusk Yet another tree appeared in front of me.

This one bearing, a carved pattern of intersecting diagonal lines.

Deep in recent enough, that fresh saps, seeped from the cuts, my cut Twisted, this wasn't normal, but my curiosity outweighed caution just a bit farther.

I told myself.

Before I realized the sun had dipped behind the ridge.

It grew.

Dark fast under the heavy, canopy too fast.

I was Miles off my planned, route and new backtracking would be foolish in this fading daylight.

So I made camp near a shallow Dry Creek, bed, gathering, firewood, quietly, as my ears strained against the heavy silence around me.

The evening slipped into night.

I sat by the small fire chewing jerky.

Slowly eyes straining into the darkness.

Just beyond the flickering light.

That's when the noise started a rustling of brush faint at first.

Then heavier clearer.

Twigs cracked methodically rhythmically as if something large, were walking carefully deliberately around the edge of my camp.

I held my breath adrenaline shooting through me my hand, inching slowly toward the knife strapped to my hip.

the sound continued stopping suddenly every time I shifted my weight, I strange to see past the Ring of firelight searching desperately for a hint of movement.

There was nothing only thick Darkness pressing in from all sides.

It stayed that way the movement invisible yet.

Unmistakable circling me until the early hours.

When the first gray hints of dawn, filtered through the trees, The Sounds stopped as abruptly as they had begun.

My back ached from holding myself rigid for hours.

Exhausted.

I packed quickly eager to return to the familiar, safety of the main trail, but something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

The creek bed.

I had camped by now stretched indistinguishability.

No, landmarks no clear incline or decline.

Nothing.

But repeating Timber and Stone.

My compass needle.

Spun properly pointing North, but North felt meaningless.

I tried to backtrack to the marked Cedars.

I'd seen yesterday, but each Direction looked identical and was trees repeating slopes the sense of disorientation closing around me like Fog by midday frustration turned to a creeping dread Bare Valley, a place.

I once found comfortingly familiar had shifted subtly overnight into something utterly alien.

I pressed onward.

Ignoring the gnawing sense that each step was taking me farther from safety, and deeper into whatever strange Trail at.

Foolishly chosen to follow.

That was my first real mistake not listening to Instinct and returning immediately to known territory.

And it was a mistake.

I soon come to regret far more deeply than I could imagine.

I struggled onward, hoping the strange confusion of the morning would wear off as the day progressed, but each Ridge, I crested.

And each Gulch, I descended looked just unfamiliar enough to gnaw at my confidence.

by midday, my water was running low and my nerves were frayed then I had navigated Wilderness to Reign my entire adult life.

Yet somehow Bear Valley had Twisted itself into something, unrecognizable.

Ahead through a break in the dense forest.

I spotted a small clearing.

My heart quickened.

Open spaces meant better visibility, perhaps a chance to orient myself.

I hurried forward nearly stumbling and relief.

When I saw the outline of an old campsite hoping desperately, it might give me bearing.

but as I stepped into the clearing, my relief turned to weary discomfort the camp was abandoned but not in the way Old Forest camps.

Usually are, there was a makeshift lean to partially collapsed beneath the weight of rotted branches and wind blown debris.

Next to it sat a pair of worn leather boots, upright and untouched placed side by side, as if waiting patiently for their owners return.

The souls were thick with mud but the leather wasn't cracked from age.

They hadn't been here more than a few seasons at most.

A rusted, hunting rifle leaned against a near the boots Barrel pointed Skyward.

I knelt carefully to inspect it.

The metal was parked with rust, the wooden stock brittle with moisture damage.

I pulled the lever gently and the empty chamber confirmed, what I suspected, it hadn't been fired in years.

Beside the rifle Leon, overturned canteen, its contents long evaporated and a scrap of a topographical map torn in half and now eligible from exposure to the elements.

A chill crept, slowly up my spine.

The silence around the clearing suddenly felt oppressive.

I'd stumbled into a band in camps before but this was different.

It wasn't the rusting rifle or the inexplicably, upright, boots that unsettled me.

Most it was the feeling that someone had intended to return yet simply never did I stood slowly backing away from the items as though distance could erase the unease gnawing at my gut.

Dark clouds were building quickly above the Ridgeline, bringing the smell of impending rain on the mountain wind.

I had to move find shelter and regain my bearings fast.

Staying in that clearing felt deeply wrong.

As if I had intruded somewhere, I shouldn't be.

I forced myself onward, climbing upward through thick brush, until I reached a higher rockier Plateau, the terrain, grew slick and treacherous as rain began falling in cold, heavy sheets.

The storm descended without Mercy, cutting visibility to Mere feet lightning cracked overhead briefly Illuminating, the trees and ghostly white bursts.

Each flashed turning Shadows into looming shapes.

Fighting panic.

I set my tent near a granite, outcrop fingers.

Trembling from the icy rain, As night swallowed, the storm darkened Valley, I lay awake alert.

My ears straining for any sound, beyond the definition of rain on Fabric hours, passed and gradually the storm East.

But as the rain tapered off the now familiar sounds from the previous night returned.

Slow footsteps, careful and precise.

Moving through the soaked underbrush, my muscles tense as the sounds approached the tent.

Then halted just beyond my limited view.

Second stretched agonizingly into minutes, my hand tightened around the cold Hilt of my knife.

when Dawn finally came pale and weary I emerged stiffly from my tent scanning for tracks or signs of movement, At first glance, nothing seemed Disturbed, but as I circled slowly around my campsite dread tightened my throat.

Branches on nearby bushes, were snapped cleanly as though, something had pressed slowly through them overnight.

More unsettling were deep drag marks gouged into the muddy Earth.

Trailing uphill into dense.

Forest marks that had certainly not been there the previous evening.

The direction they pointed was opposite.

The one I intended to take leading back toward the heart of Bear Valley, back toward whatever had been circling me in the Darkness.

I took a step backward, shaking my head against the silent Panic Rising inside my chest.

I had no choice but to keep moving to get higher and look for landmarks that could guide me back to familiar territory.

I began climbing up the rugged.

Granite slope ahead pushing my exhaustion aside and ignoring the screaming protest of my muscles.

My mind reeled caught between denial and fear.

denial that anything could actually be following me fear, because every step now felt watched studied As I gained elevation thick fog rolled in obscuring, everything in a featureless gray.

Shroud my breath quickened, my heart pounded painfully even from my elevated Vantage Point, nothing looked as it should no.

Landmarks know, familiar ridgelines, only endless layers of fog and shadowy granite.

I clung to the rock face.

Forcing myself to pause, trying to Steady My shaking hands.

I knew bear valleys to typography.

I had spent days, studying maps and trails yet somehow impossibly.

I was utterly lost every step.

I take him since following.

Those strange, carvings had led me deeper into confusion and deeper into fear and whatever had led me here.

What ever had left those deliberate markers and abandoned that unsettling campsite was still out there somewhere below waiting quietly for Nightfall, once more Night closed in with Relentless certainty.

I clung to the Granite Summit shivering beneath my damp jacket eyes.

Straining through the swirling fog?

My body ache drained from exhaustion, but adrenaline, kept my mind sharply alert.

I refused to descend blindly into that foggy maze.

From here.

At least I had the illusion of control the possibility that when the fog cleared I might see a way out.

The granite was cold and rough beneath my fingers.

Hours passed painfully slow marked only by my own uneven breathing and the wind slicing through cracks in the rock.

Eventually mercifully the clouds, began to thin.

Through the haze, far off to the east.

I glimpsed distant lights, tracing along a gentle curve.

Vehicle headlights.

Glinting off the unmistakable ribbon of highway 4.

My heart leaped with Fierce sudden hope it was the first familiar thing I had seen in days a faint life, line shimmering through endless wilderness.

I memorized the angle mentally imprinting it like a beacon.

Then I descended as quickly as I dared every step careful, but urgent.

Below the granite Summit, the trees thickened again, dark shapes crowding.

Tightly around me.

With only the distant glow of headlights.

As my guide, I plunged straight through the dense, underbrush ignoring the branches clawing, my arms, tearing through my jacket, scraping and cutting Exposed Skin, My breathing was ragged my throat dry my legs trembling from fatigue yet.

Even as I moved directly toward the highway lights signs of the same strange Trail.

Reappeared, another freshly gouged tree, another small stack of stones.

Each one angled slightly away from my intended route beckoning me off course My stomach tightened.

It felt as though, something unseen were intentionally.

Guiding me further into confusion.

I refused to follow in Stead.

I kept pushing forward stubbornly ignoring, the markings driven by pure desperation.

I stumbled more than once wrenching, my knee hard and a deep patch of brush pain, radiated sharply through my leg, forcing tears to blur my vision.

But stopping wasn't an option.

Every second felt critical the sense of being pursued growing stronger with each passing moment, and then a movement brief, but, distinct flickered between two distant.

Trees ahead.

Tall shadowed.

Unmistakably upright.

The figure darted swiftly from one patch of darkness in to another My heart surged in to my throat pulse hammering.

Wildly not human, surely too fast, but no animal in these Woods moved that way.

Either without thinking, I bolted forward running, despite the pain.

In my leg, ignoring the protesting screams from my lungs, Panic had fully claimed me.

Now driving rational.

Thought from my mind?

Branches whipped my face and tore fresh wounds along my arms, but I barely felt them.

Time lost, meaning.

Minutes blurred into hours, as I stumbled through endless Forest, always downward always toward that distant Highway.

Eventually my headlamp flickered.

Weakly nearly spent still, I kept moving blindly forward through the darkness refusing to pause or look behind me.

As Dawn broke softly, spilling pale light through gaps, in the trees, I reached a clearing of rock and low brush.

My knees buckled beneath me and I collapsed forward.

Gasping, I streaming with tears of relief below me.

Clearly visible through a screen of sparse Evergreens was a winding stretch of pavement.

Highway 4.

I have slid, half crawled down the rocky incline toward the road.

My clothes hung in tatters, crusted with blood, dirt and sweat.

My legs could barely support my weight but I managed to drag myself onto the gravel shoulder almost immediately the rumble of an approaching engine reached.

My ears moments later headlights washed over me as a patrol car.

Rounded the bend the crews are breaked sharply gravel, spraying as it pulled alongside me.

The CHP officer rushed out eyes wide with shock.

What happened to you?

He asked crouching down beside me.

His voice steady but urgent.

My voice shook as I spoke barely louder than a whisper got turned around, Bear Valley, been lost for days.

He nodded sympathetically, helping me gently into the patrol car and passing me a bottle of water.

I drank greedily throat, raw and aching.

While the warmth of the vehicle brought tears of exhaustion streaming down my face.

But as we pulled away from that stretch of highway I couldn't help glancing back through the rear window toward the dense forest.

I just escaped in the fleeting moment before we rounded.

The next Bend, I could swear a dark shape slipped silently back between the trees disappearing.

Once more into the shadowy woods.

In the months that followed I quietly discarded, every Bear Valley trail map by owned.

I refused to speak of those days offering vague excuses to my Outfitter about the terrain being too dangerous for guided trips.

My solo hiking days were done forever.

A year later, at a Trail Guide Gathering.

Someone mentioned a ranger Patrol had found a strange abandoned campsite deep in Stanislaus.

Boot Still Standing neatly by a cold fire rifle.

Rusting against a log.

No, sign of whoever left them behind.

I kept my face blank and said nothing, but inside a cold certainty settled into my bones.

Whatever had guided me into those woods.

Had guided others before, and might still be there.

Silently waiting watching from somewhere hidden deep within Bear Valley.

I wasn't going to post this, my cousin still won't talk about it and one of them hasn't spoken a word since but every once in a while, I get a message from someone asking, if I have ever heard of black Hollow, So, here it is.

This happened.

Five years ago, back in an area of Monongahela National Forest that's not even marked on most hiking Maps.

We thought it would be a cool isolated summer camping trip.

Just like the ones we took his kids.

We should have known better when even the locals didn't want to talk about the place.

If you're smart, you'll read this and stay the hell away.

It was early August and humid as hell.

The kind of thick West Virginia heat that sticks.

Your shirt to your back 10 minutes after you step out side.

My cousin's, Kyle and Ryan had driven in from Pittsburgh, I'd come up from Charlottesville.

We met up at a gas station in Elkins stocked up on ice and snacks and headed into the mountains.

Kyle was the oldest at 28 already complaining about his knees.

While Ryan was the youngest 24, and still convinced nothing could touch him.

I was 26 somewhere in between the two.

Still figuring things out.

Our summers together were an old tradition.

Even as adults, we always found time to disappear into the woods and pretend we weren't getting older.

We'd done Otter Creek Spruce Knob Dolly sods, you name it this time.

We wanted something different.

When we stopped for gas and asked the guy behind the counter about remote camping spots, he just laughed.

You want to disappear, he asked try black Halo really easy to disappear back there.

We thought he was joking.

We even laughed along with him.

We wrote down his vague Direction and set off our Jeep rattling.

Along a washed out fire road until we couldn't go any further.

We shouldered our packs checked, our gear and stepped into the forest.

The trail wasn't much of a trail mostly guesswork and bushing through thick brush and down steep slopes until we hit a valley floor.

Everything felt instantly darker here, even though it was just after noon.

The trees were old their limbs dense enough.

That sunlight came through only in patches We followed a stream until it widened into a rocky clearing black Halo.

Quiet.

As a graveyard Kyle said half, joking.

He wasn't wrong.

There was no bird song no wind rustling, the leaves just the steady trickle of water, over slick, dark stones.

It wasn't comfortable, but we were stubborn and the spot seemed ideal for privacy.

We pitched our tents gathered wood and set up camp.

That first afternoon was quiet, just a lazy routine of setting up cooking, some burgers and tossing back beers.

But none of us mentioned the odd feeling the way.

The silence seemed almost heavy pressing down like wet wool.

As Darkness closed around us Ryan, joked about local folklore Monster's an old curses.

He laughed loud and sharp, but it didn't quite cover.

The unease sometime after midnight.

I woke up hearing Kyle's Shuffle around outside.

He was shining his flashlight Upstream What's up?

I whispered poking my head out of the tent.

He hesitated Thought I heard something moving in the water.

We stood there, quietly, listening hearing nothing but the stream.

After a minute, Kyle Shrugged and climbed back into his tent muttering.

Something about raccoons The next morning, Kyle called us over to the food stash.

He looked confused staring at the tree.

We tied our bags to the hell Ryan asked, one of our food sacks was gone.

The Rope wasn't chewed or snapped.

It was untied neatly as if someone with fingers had carefully, undone the knot.

you guys screwing with me, Kyle said, frowning Ryan and I shook our heads, the ground beneath showed no animal tracks, no claw marks or signs of struggle.

Just an empty patch of damper Earth.

Ryan cracked a nervous joke.

Maybe we pissed off your raccoon, buddy.

We laughed.

But not really, it wasn't funny.

as we made breakfast, I found myself, staring into the trees imagining shape where there was nothing but shadow I couldn't shake the feeling that something was there watching waiting?

But we'd come all this way.

And no one wanted to admit the place was getting under our skin.

so, we stayed We stayed because we were stubborn because we were cousins who camped 1,000 times before, and Because deep down, none of us wanted to be the first to admit.

We were afraid.

Looking back, I'd have given anything to swallow that pride and leave right, then, it was just past noon on the second day when things got worse.

We'd finished breakfast late and were lazily cleaning up.

Camp arguing about who'd gather more firewood.

Ryan finally, lost the argument laughed, sarcastically grabbed his Hatchet and headed toward the thicker brush Upstream.

Kyle and I relaxed around Camp sorting gear and planning dinner.

An hour passed maybe two, we'd lost track of time.

Caught up in reminiscing about past trips and joking about nothing.

Important, Kyle glanced at his watch frowning, Should have been back by now, he muttered, he probably got lost chasing squirrels or something I said, but neither of us believed it.

We called Ryan's name into the woods of futon times, but nothing echoed back.

The thick canopy seemed to swallow our voices whole.

After another 20 uneasy minutes Kyle stood up abruptly.

All right, he said grabbing his pack.

Something's off, let's go find him.

I tried to hide my own unease, but I felt it heavy in my stomach.

Ryan was impulsive and Reckless at times, but he'd never stayed away this long.

Without yelling back, we started Upstream walking along the stream bed, the woods pressed in dense, twisted and Tangled.

Every step felt harder as if the brush was pulling us back toward camp.

Kyla, occasionally shouted, Ryan's name his voice louder.

Now, sharp with worry.

Three hours later we'd found nothing.

No Hatchet marks, no, sign of Ryan at all.

The sun had already begun.

Its slow, dip behind the ridge line.

Casting Long Shadows over black Halo.

A sickening realization hit me.

We might not find him before dark.

Just as Panic started creeping in, Kyle stopped dead in his tracks.

And grabbed my arm, his grip was painfully tight.

Look.

There about 50 yards, ahead, stood Ryan Motionless, in the middle of the stream.

He faced Upstream.

His arms hanging Loosely by his side's feet submerged in shallow water.

his shirt was torn along one sleeve revealing pale, scratched, skin beneath his boots were gone, and his bare feet were pale stained from mud, and leaves We moved quickly but cautiously toward him, calling his name.

He didn't respond, not even a twitch of his shoulders or a ton of his head.

When we reached him, I touched his arm gently.

Ryan.

He blinked once slowly and turned his head to look at me as if through a haze, his eyes were vacant unfocused as though he were staring past me, Ryan buddy, you good?

Kyle asked voice cracking, Ryan opened his mouth slowly but no words came.

He glanced at Kyle and then it me confusion washing over his features.

When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, barely above a whisper, I don't remember.

What do you mean Kyle pressed?

You were gone for hours.

Did you fall did something happen?

Ryan stared down at his hands noticing for the first time.

The deep scratches across his forearms thin line that Criss crossed like razor wire.

I was gathering would then I don't know.

Like I was falling forward into a blank room just black, we let him back to camp in silence supporting him as he stumbled through the brushing with each step.

When we finally made it back to our clearing, Ryan sank, down by the fire pit visibly shaking despite the summer heat.

Kyle wrapped him in a jacket and tried to clean his wounds.

While I cooked a quick flavorless meal, none of us ate By Nightfall, Ryan had stopped responding altogether.

He sat blankly staring into the dying Embers of our campfire, occasionally muttering something inaudible under his breath.

We decided quickly, we weren't sleeping separately again.

The three of us crowded into my tent shoulder to shoulder feeling safer with the closeness of each other's breathing.

But safety was a fleeting illusion.

I don't remember falling asleep.

The next thing I recall is jolting awake.

My heart hammering.

I could sense movement on the other side of the thin tent fabric, a slow deliberate pressure brushing lightly along the nylon walls inches from our heads Kyle's eyes snapped open too.

His breathing quickened but he stayed silent listening carefully.

Ryan Le beside us eyes closed breathing, shallowly.

Whatever was out there, circled slowly around the tent, the footsteps dragging slightly over dirt and rocks.

They stopped just outside the door flap, then a voice.

Clear as anything, broke the silence, a voice that belonged to Ryan, let me back in it's cold.

Kyle and I stared at each other eyes wide with disbelief and Dread.

Ryan's breathing was still soft and rhythmic next to us unmoving undisturbed again, the voice spoke softer.

Now, please let me back in.

We didn't move.

We barely breathed.

We sat motionless Paralyzed by a fierce, so deep.

It seemed rooted in something older than us older than these Woods after a long silence.

The dragon footsteps receded, slowly fading into the forest but neither of us dared to sleep again.

When Dawn finally came, it found us Wide Awake shaking and desperate to leave black Halo.

As soon as faint morning, lights seeped through the nylon tent.

Walls, Kyle grabbed my shoulder and nodded toward Ryan.

We both.

Understood without words, it was time to get out.

Ryan was still unresponsive, his face was pale eyes.

Unfocused locked on some distant Place, only he could see When we tried to get him up, he resisted at first pushing weekly against us, as though, we were holding him back from something important.

After a minute of careful persuasion, we managed to help him out of the tent and steady him on his feet.

Packing was chaotic.

Our gear went into packs without any order or logic.

Kyle kept nervously, glancing toward the tree line, his hands shaking Ryan, barely able to stand mumbled quietly about going back down to the stream, I held onto his arm firmly, determined not to let him wander away again.

We started the hike out slowly at first Kyle, and I supporting Ryan between us.

The uphill climbed tortuously, slow, each step dragging our boots slipping, in the muddy soil, Ryan stumbled repeatedly, his feet.

Dragging uselessly beneath him.

Forcing us to stop and adjust our grip every few minutes.

Kyle kept glancing behind us clearly on edge, you good.

I asked sensing his tension, he hesitated before answering, I think we're being followed, something's behind us.

I turned quickly scanning the woods.

All I saw Were Trees brush and Shadow nothing moved.

No one was there.

Still.

I felt the same creeping dread like something was matching.

Our steps hidden.

Just out of sight.

We pushed on refusing to rest until Ryan collapsed near a fallen log along a narrow, Deer Trail.

Kyle bent over Breathing heavily, his face strained with exhaustion.

Ryan sank, to the ground silently crying without tears staring at the ground beneath him.

We've got to keep moving Kyle whispered.

We can't stop here.

I nodded taking a quick sip of water watching, Ryan closely as I scanned.

Our surroundings, again, my eyes caught something beyond the dense, trees, something half crouched.

Quiet and still my breath caught in my throat, fear crawling up my spine, like ice, it was a shape vaguely, human low to the ground half hidden in Shadows.

One knee was up an arm resting casually across it head.

Tilted slightly as though it were patiently waiting for something.

I blinked once heart racing and looked again.

Nothing.

Just shadows and branches.

You.

Okay, Kyle asked sharply noticing my expression.

I forced myself to nod unable to voice the truth.

Yeah, let's get moving.

With renewed urgency, we hoisted Ryan back up continuing the slow, March uphill.

Ryan was growing, increasingly agitated muttering quietly, then suddenly with surprising strength, he tried to rent free from our grip nearly causing all three of us to Tumble backwards, down the slope.

I need to go back.

He whispered desperately, let me go back.

Kyle grabbed him, tightly shaking him by the shoulders were leaving.

Ryan listened to me.

We're getting out of here.

Just keep moving.

Ryan fought weekly still muttering about needing to return to the stream.

His voice breaking with frustration and confusion.

We practically carried him half dragging him forward through the brush.

I refused to look behind us.

Again, certain that if I did, I see that figure following us just close enough to stay hidden yet.

Never quite losing sight of us.

When the trail finally gave way to gravel and our Jeep came into view.

Kyle broke into a half run.

Ryan hanging limply between us feet.

Dragging.

Uselessly we practically threw him into the backseat.

Locking the doors.

The second.

They slammed shut.

Kyle jammed the keys into the ignition and engine roaring to life tires spinning.

As we tore away from black Halo, Ryan was hospitalized immediately in Elkins.

They said he was severely dehydrated and had experienced some kind of cycle break.

Eventually he was transferred to a psychiatric facility near Pittsburgh.

We visited it at first but Ryan didn't speak again.

He only stared vacantly the same lost expression he'd had since we found him standing in the creek.

Kyle moved to Montana a month later.

Barely saying goodbye cutting off contact entirely.

I stayed in Charlottesville unable to fully process what had happened unable to talk about it to anyone.

Eventually, I went back to Elkins to speak, to the gas station attendant who had warned us about black Halo.

He wouldn't say much but before I left, he leaned over the counter and told me in a low voice that a fire crew at once, come back from black Halo claiming they'd seen someone or something following behind them in the trees.

Never quite catching up.

Never falling behind.

I never went back.

I avoid West Virginia altogether now, and if someone asks about black Halo, I only have one thing to say, if you ever hear about it.

Ignore it.

It doesn't want you there.

And if you go, you might leave part of yourself behind.

I accepted the forestry internship with the forest service mostly for The Quiet.

The idea was to spend a few weeks clearing Trail, debris and earning some much-needed field experience.

Sure.

I could have gone for something closer to Laramie.

But Medicine, Bow National Forest called, to me a Wilderness where Lodge pole and Spruce climbed the steep, slopes creating a kind of isolation.

That felt genuinely appealing.

My supervisor, an older Ranger named Garrett.

Told me I'd be clearing Deadfall along a stretch of trail from Rock Creek Trailhead out towards Sand Lake.

It was a forgotten Trail segment, closed for nearly a decade after storms had rendered it practically impassable.

They issued me basic gear, a heavy chainsaw enough food for four days a temperamental handheld radio and an emergency Garmin satellite phone.

Garrett had warned that signals were spotty even on clear days.

Still, I wasn't worried.

I'd hiked Solo's of times and I figured Trail work would be a good introduction to the forest service.

The first day started smoothly, I drove out early parked my battered Tacoma near the trailhead and hiked roughly five miles to set up camp.

Lodge pole, trunks, Chris crossed the trail.

Their branches dry and brittle from years on the ground.

Clearing them was exhausting but satisfying and I worked until my arms burned by dusk.

I had a neat stretch of usable path and a fire crackling, softly beside my 10.

It felt rewarding.

It was the second morning that things shifted.

After packing Camp, I hiked another half mile scouting ahead to gauge the days workload.

The morning was cool air, crisp and damp Earth packed easily beneath my boots.

That's when I saw them.

Clearly, heavy boot prints pressed sharply into the wet dirt.

I paused comparing the tracks with my own.

They were not mine.

These were larger deeper with a heavier lug pattern.

Typical of logging Boots.

The kind I'd seen on Career Rangers or Timber Harvesters.

But no one else had been authorized here and the trail behind me was still largely impassable.

I keyed my radio but after a burst of static it cut dead, I pulled out the Garmin phone, the screen flashed searching then no signal.

A little unnerved.

I decided to follow the prince reasoning.

I might catch someone illegally harvesting Timber or setting traps.

People poached wood and game regularly, and Garrett had mentioned to casually in our briefing.

The tracks veered sharply off the flag Trail heading downhill toward unmanaged, terrain thick with underbrush and Fallen Timber.

I hesitated at the trails edge off Trail.

Hiking wasn't part of the assignment but curiosity and unease pushed me forward.

I stepped over a downed Spruce sliding.

My chainsaw carefully ahead of me and continued on.

After 10 minutes, the trees opened into a small clearing, my breath caught sharply.

There nestled against a shallow slope stood.

A structure a crude Hut or shelter half sunken into the ground and partially hidden beneath the branches of surrounding trees.

Its walls were rough, cut, logs and heavy branches stacked and wedged tightly together.

Moss clung to the corners but most of it appeared newly built my gut Twisted.

It was clearly man-made deliberately placed yet.

No one at the station had mentioned anything like it, I edged closer gripping the chainsaw defensively.

Inside Shadows obscured, most details.

But what I saw made my pulse Quicken Bone's arranged in orderly piles bleached and stripped entirely of Flesh from the size and shape.

They looked like deer and Elk.

But the way they were placed stacked sorted, meticulously made, my throat, go dry hanging from the ceiling.

Beams were small wooden carvings tied with course twine.

Bundles of animal hair wrapped around them.

I felt cold dread crawling up, my spine, who had built this place.

Why my thoughts shattered as a sharp crack snapped, through the trees, just beyond the Hutt.

I whipped around chainsaw.

Held out defensively scanning the dense growth.

My heart thundered so hard.

I felt it in my throat.

Another snap this time closer, not waiting to see who or what made it.

I backed quickly out of the clearing, eyes locked onto the shifting brush, until I finally turned and broke into a jog reaching.

My campsite again, felt surreal I sat for a few moments struggling to regain, calm.

Part of me wanted to abandon the task entirely hikes straight back to my truck and call Garret from the road.

But embarrassment and stubborn Pride.

Stopped me.

Maybe, I had overreacted squatters and survivalists.

Sometimes built weird things in remote forests.

It was strange, sure, but I wasn't hurt.

Nothing had actually happened.

I decided to stay.

But moved my tent closer to a granite outcrop.

It's rocky side, offering some small comfort.

I build the fire higher, keeping it burning well after Dark.

That night sleep came fitfully.

I startled awake at every snapping twig my fingers curled tightly around the chainsaw handle.

Sometime after midnight, with the fire nearly reduced to glowing Embers.

I heard it distinctly footsteps moving carefully, but audibly through the brittle, leaves and Fallen branches, just beyond my tent.

My breath froze, limbs locking and panic.

The steps weren't hurried or cautious.

Just a steady measured stride passing slowly by I waited heart hammering body, Ridgid expecting a voice or the sudden intrusion of someone ripping open my tent flap.

But nothing happened.

The footsteps receded, fading gradually until only silence remained broken by my own strange breathing.

I lay there motionless, fear gripping, my chest, until first light, seeped into the fabric of my tent when morning finally came, everything looked untouched.

Nothing had been Disturbed.

My food, my gear, all exactly, where I had left them.

I stepped carefully out stomach, and Knots and scan the surrounding ground.

Then I saw them the boot prints from yesterday now, freshly pressed right alongside my own trail from the previous day.

Whoever it was hadn't been following me.

They had been walking right beside me, step for step, unseen, but present.

My resolve broke.

I hastily packed up camp, deciding to abandon the rest of the assignment and Hike out the long way towards Sand Lake.

I left the trail pushing recklessly through dense brush desperate, only to leave the forest behind me, but even as I moved, swiftly away, Panic pushing me forward.

I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching from somewhere deep among the trees.

I moved through the forest faster than I should have cutting across unmarked slope's.

Guided more by Panic than logic.

The pack bounced awkwardly against my shoulders.

It straps.

Digging hard into my chest.

My chainsaw felt heavier than ever.

And every few steps I had to stop and shift hands.

My Palms raw from gripping, the Warren handle.

The initial adrenaline Spike faded within a few hours replaced by a slow heavy dread.

As I climb toward the northern Ridge, that separated me from Sand Lake.

My throat burned from breathing dry air, too quickly.

And dehydration made every uphill, step feel twice as difficult.

I kept glancing back half expecting someone to emerge from the trees, but saw nothing except endless rows of spruce Trunks and dense underbrush.

Despite my exhaustion, I pressed on relentlessly reasoning that putting more distance between myself and whatever had built that structure was worth the pain.

As the afternoon wore on, I finally crested the ridge.

The forest opened slightly revealing scattered.

Granite formations dried grass and scrub.

I paused to catch my breath.

Looking down toward the distant glimmer of Sand Lake.

I tried the radio again desperate for contact, but God only static.

the Garmin still refused to find a signal, no matter how high I climbed Frustration clawed at my nerve, a new Garrett would have eventually come looking if I didn't check in but how long would it take him to realize something was wrong?

A day 2?

By then it might be too late.

Leaning against a boulder, I glanced back down the slope, I'd climbed and felt my heart slam into my ribs movement.

Down among the spruce.

A figure moves swiftly between gaps in the foliage.

It was distant enough to appear small, but even at this range, I recognized the shape of a person, heavy jacket wide shoulders moving silently.

Uphill, not an animal, not a trick of Shadow.

Someone was following me panic, surged again, raw and urgent.

I scrambled down the opposite side of the ridge slipping on loose gravel and dried grass.

The chainsaw suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, pulling me off, balance anger, and frustration.

Collided.

And without hesitation I said it down, leaning it upright against a pine.

I told myself it was to Mark the route in case Garrett found my trail but truthfully I knew I couldn't keep carrying it.

My only hope now was speed.

Free of the saws.

Wait, I jogged faster.

Stumbling recklessly through the thinning trees.

Each breath felt like fire lungs constricted by altitude and exhaustion but fear pushed me forward glancing over my shoulder, every few minutes only increased my paranoia.

I caught brief glimpses of movement through the trees always distant, never clear enough to identify as Sunset approached Shadows stretched to cross the terrain turning familiar shape into ominous silhouettes.

By dusk.

I reached a small clearing on the ridge, overlooking Sand Lake, its Dark Water shimmering faintly in the fading light.

I chose a sheltered spot beneath a cluster of dense spruce, trees hidden from sight and hastily set up camp.

There was no fire tonight, I couldn't risk the smoke.

Giving away my position.

I sat silently in my tent.

As Darkness fell sipping, sparingly from my canteen ears, straining for any sound beyond the fluttering leaves and my own unsteady breathing.

Every snap or Russell outside said jolts of adrenaline through my limbs sleep felt impossible yet exhaustion finally dragged me into fitful bursts of unconsciousness.

Hours later.

I jerked away in Pitch Black silence a cold sweat coating my back.

For a moment.

I lay Frozen unable to pinpoint what had startled me then from somewhere down the slope.

A rhythmic sound drifted, softly upward, a steady slow thumping.

Would striking would repeatedly It wasn't frantic wasn't random each impact, echoed slightly up the hillside, a steady tempo, like a heartbeat.

I sat upright, muscles tense, barely breathing the noise continued, thump pause, thump, consistent.

And unwavering my mind raced picturing, someone standing in the darkness hammering against a log aware.

I was up here, trapped alone.

I had no weapons besides a small Hatchet and a folding knife.

Nothing capable of real defense if they came closer.

Eventually, the thumping stopped The silence afterward felt worse.

I remained awake sitting rigidly eyes wide listening until the sky shifted gradually from Ink black to muted Gray.

Only then did I pack silently each movement?

Careful cautious.

As though.

The Watcher might hear even the slightest rustle of nylon or zipper As Dawn, broke, I forced myself, back onto the trail, trembling with exhaustion, but determined to reach San Lake and Beyond it, the road to safety.

Whatever or whoever had followed me, would have to chase me into daylight now.

Still, I couldn't shake one terrifying.

Thought?

Whoever was out there wasn't hiding.

They knew I was aware of them, they simply hadn't chosen to show themselves yet.

I stumbled from the tree line onto the cracked blacktop of Sand Lake Road.

Just after midday my legs, trembling and eyes blurry with dehydration relief, flooded me when I heard the Deep Rumble of tires on asphalt and saw the white forest service truck rounding the distant Bend waving my arms.

Wildly, I nearly collapsed into the dirt, when it stopped.

Garrett climbed out eyes wide with concern.

Caleb.

You okay son.

He asked gripping my shoulder.

What happened?

I shook my head weakly Someone out there.

Garrett, something wrong.

I left.

The saw didn't have a choice.

His expression darkened.

And after getting me into the passenger seat and handing me a fresh bottle of water, he radioed the district station informing them, he'd found me safe.

The drive back was quiet, Garrett, didn't press me for details, sensing my exhaustion, and fear at headquarters, after drinking enough water to steady my hands and thoughts.

I told them everything.

The strange Hut the bones arranged in side, the wooden Effigies the footsteps, circling my tent in the dark and the Unseen figure following me all the way to the ridge.

I was prepared for disbelief, but Garrett listened closely, not in Gravely.

Poachers are squatters, sometimes move in.

He finally said trying to reassure me.

We'll send a team, we'll find out what's out there.

Two weeks passed and my nerves slowly calmed.

I didn't return to Medicine Bow, not yet, and instead worked desk shifts back at the main station, pouring over maps and logging Trail data.

Yet, my thoughts rarely left those four days in the wilderness.

Haunted by memories of unseen eyes, tracking me through the trees.

Then Garrett approached me quietly one morning.

We found your chainsaw.

He said carefully, exactly where you said you left it.

Strange thing is it was standing upright fuel cap off like somebody placed it.

There intentionally I stared at him dread pooling in my chest.

And the structure, the bones.

His face tightened reluctant to speak gone completely.

No shelter, no bones, nothing but bare Earth, whatever you saw they cleared it out.

My heart sank a hollow feeling spreading through my stomach.

But you believe me, right?

You know, it was there.

Garrett, nodded solemnly.

Yes, son, I do no question you saw something and I don't doubt someone else was there with you.

They knew the woods too.

Better than any of us.

Covered their tracks, but whoever it was, they're gone now.

But that night lying awake in my rented room in town.

I couldn't accept Garrett's reassurances.

There was something else a detail, I hadn't shared.

Something that had haunted me from the moment, I left the woods when I first followed, those heavy boot prints into the clearing, they had sunk deeply into the soft soil.

Clearly visible in the daylight.

But on the trail out, retracing my steps though.

Same Prince had appeared even deeper as if the one who left them.

Had carried something heavy on their way back.

The realization chilled me to the Bone, because the only extra weight leaving that clearing would have been me if they'd caught up The forest went quiet after that.

I heard from Garrett that hikers returned to the newly cleared trails near Sand Lake.

Nobody reported strange Footprints hidden structures or unseen Watchers yet.

I never stepped foot on those Trails again.

The Internship ended and I took a safer desk job analyzing GIS data far away from isolated Wilderness assignments.

But I never forgot the slow rhythmic thumping in the dark.

The silent footsteps, pacing past my tent.

Or the Unseen figure shadowing me.

Through medicine bows, endless trees.

Some nights when the wind picks up and shadows shift and dim corners.

I think about the old, Garmin phone still sitting in my desk drawer.

the one I used those four days in the forest, I think about the single accidental image captured as I stumbled through the underbrush, a distorted reflection caught in rainwater, pooled on Stone a blurred.

Looming shape standing right behind me, watching, silently and waiting.

I never showed it to anyone.

I don't usually share this kind of thing online, mostly because I don't like the attention.

But what happened to us last summer in Alaska.

Hasn't let me sleep rights since Maybe if I put it out there, it'll stop gnawing at my head.

My name's Kyle.

It was late, June and three friends.

And I had planned a trip out to tongass National Forest.

My cousin Jared said the whole thing up, he'd found this Fishing Forum online, where someone mentioned pristine spots, deep in the forest Off the Mark Trails far enough, Inland to make the average tourists turn back.

Jared, and I had been camping together for years.

We knew how to handle ourselves in the backcountry and we'd been fishing in remote areas.

Plenty of times.

Dean and Thomas were good, Outdoorsman too, both fit an experience.

So none of us had any hesitation.

But Alaska, was different bigger older, and wilder than anything we'd face before.

That first night in Ketchikan, the locals at the bar joked about bears and moose even wolves.

None of it worries me much animals followed predictable rules, you respected their space and they generally respect yours.

At least, that's what we thought.

The first two days.

When exactly as planned, we followed the trail along the unique River and camped out each night beside a rocky stream, fishing and enjoying the untouched landscape.

everything felt perfect, the air smelled, fresh and sunlight, filtered down through thick, canopies of Cedar and Spruce on the morning of the third day, we left the established route entirely following Jared's printed map, He said it was simple, navigation.

A straight shot through dense forest aiming to reach a remote estuary.

Dean and Thomas took the lead machetes, cutting back branches and heavy growth every step away from the main trail, the forest grew thicker wetter and darker.

Moss blanketed Fallen logs, muting our footsteps and the Tangled vegetation gave the sense that nothing else had passed this way in years.

We'd been bushwhacking a few hours when Thomas stopped short, pointing ahead.

Through a break in the trees.

There was a clearing perfectly circular and oddly bear devoid of the Lush Greenery.

We'd been trudging through all day.

Standing dead center in the clearing was a rough.

Wooden figure taller than me like some kind of distorted scarecrow.

We approached slowly stepping into the sunlight.

Up close.

It looked even stranger.

The figure was carved from a single narrowed trunk with Hollow eyes and crewed mouths hacked on evenly into the wood.

Driftwood formed its outstretched arms bound to the Body By chords.

bones, small animal bones, mostly hung from its Limbs and neck tied into place with string, shells, beads, and bits of feather dangled from these chords swinging, gently as we circled it Jared chuckled nervously, What is this?

Some Blair Witch thing?

Thomas laughed and walked right up to it.

It's probably just some old native marker, he said, dismissively nudging the base with his boot.

Dean shot him a warning glance, but Thomas was already committed.

Giving it another hard shove with a creek.

The thing toppled over hitting the ground with a dull thump.

The shells clattered in Tangled Dean's side, shaking his head.

Seriously man Dean muttered glancing around nervously as if someone might be watching from the woods.

Thomas Shrugged, relax.

It's just some weird statue.

Let's go.

We left the clearing quickly but even as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling we Disturbed something important that we'd crossed some unspoken boundary I didn't say anything.

Looking back.

Maybe I should have we camped about a mile away near a stream as planned.

We were all quiet tents without openly acknowledging it.

Something about that encounter had left us edgy.

Still we joked and ate trying to brush off the unease.

Eventually we settled into our tents that night I woke suddenly disoriented in pitch black darkness.

Before I could sit up a piercing scream erupted, just outside our tents.

Not animal, not like anything.

I'd ever heard raw and impossibly loud.

It shook the air and vibrated through my chest.

Jared scrambled out of our tent with his flash light, but the beam only illuminated darkness and swaying branches.

No sign of anything living.

What the hell was that?

Jared whispered Horsley he was pale shaking Dean and Thomas emerged slowly from their tent faces, equally drained of color.

No, one answered.

Jared's question.

We just stared at the woods waiting ears ringing.

At dawn, I stepped outside to inspect the ground around camp.

The soft mud near the stream was covered with tracks deep Impressions, unlike any I'd seen before.

wide splayed toes each tipped with long curved marks that looked like claws, Thomas tried to laugh them off as Bear Tracks but we all knew he was lying, Jared, didn't speak, and Dean just shook his head looking sick, as we packed up to leave, I took one last glance, back toward the clearing, nothing but thick forest behind us now, Yet even in daylight I could sense eyes on my back.

Unseen and watching we should have turned around right then but we didn't it didn't take long for us to realize we'd screwed up.

We headed back toward the main trail but everything fell off from the start Jared pulling out his Compass muttering angrily, I stepped closer and noticed the needle spinning aimlessly, never settling.

That happened before I asked trying to keep the concern out of my voice.

Shook his head jaw clenched.

Nope, it was working yesterday.

we stopped and Thomas pulled the satellite phone from his pack, he flicked the power button tapping, it repeatedly harder each time, Dead, he finally admitted it was fully charged yesterday.

This doesn't make sense.

A creeping unease settled over us.

The forest stretched in every direction.

Dense, Tangled dripping wet.

No landmarks just endless.

Green shadows and patches of muted sunlight filtering through moss-covered branches.

The ground beneath our feet was spongy soaked.

Clinging to our boots Dean suggested pushing on anyway.

We've got enough gear and food.

He reasoned trying to keep his tone, casual, it's probably just moisture messing with the electronics.

But we all know Electronics were not that fragile.

Still arguing, wooden help.

So we marched forward trying not to dwell on how silent the forest had become around us.

No birds, no rustling animals.

Just the sound of our breathing and the squelching mud beneath our boots.

About halfway through the afternoon, Jared suddenly stopped and dropped his pack frantically, digging through his gear.

He straightened slowly eyes dark and narrowed my knifes gone.

You probably dropped it back at Camp Thomas offered.

No chance.

I packed it away myself.

It was Secure Jared insisted a slight edge of panic in his voice.

The silence that followed hung heavy between us.

None of us wanted to admit what we were all thinking.

Something had taken it.

We moved on wordlessly more tense than ever, ears, straining at every faint sound in the undergrowth.

Several times, I heard faint cracking behind us, just far enough away to dismiss as paranoia, but close enough to keep me glancing nervously over my shoulder.

When we finally stopped for the night, we chose a spot in a tighter cluster of trees.

Hoping the natural barriers would Shield us from whatever might be following But even as we set up camp, we felt exposed vulnerable Thomas lit.

A fire struggling, to keep it going.

The Flames were weak and hesitant flickering load despite the dry wood.

We'd carefully gathered from undertale overhangs.

Twice its buttered out as if suffocated leaving us in unsettling, Darkness each time.

On the third, try it finally caught, but the week, orange glow, only accentuated.

The impenetrable dark pressing in on us from every direction.

We forced ourselves to eat talking in low, murmurs.

Thomas, tried cracking jokes but no one laughed eventually.

We crawled silently into our tents.

Our small, fragile bubbles of comfort.

But sleep wouldn't come.

I lay awake alert waiting sometime well after midnight Thomas's voice tore through the silence.

He wasn't shouting, he was screaming Dean and I scrambled out first stumbling, half asleep into the dark.

Thomas was thrashing.

Violently in his tent eyes wide, and blank feet, kicking furiously Thomas Dean shouted grabbing him and pinning.

His arms down Jared, unzip, the tent completely, and I turned my flashlight on Thomas's feet.

My stomach twisted and horror.

His Souls were shredded bleeding heavily.

deep gashes sliced across the bottom long and raw like he'd been dragged Barefoot over sharpened rocks, The blood soaked the sleeping bag pooling beneath him.

What happened?

Jared, demanded voice trembling.

Did you see anything?

Thomas, only shook his head, eyes wide and terrified breathing and ragged gasps nothing.

He finally croaked, I felt nothing.

I just woke up like this, we dressed his wounds silently, wrapping his feet, tightly in bandages, none of us, the obvious That this wasn't natural animals.

Didn't unzip tents quietly, inflict injuries and disappear without leaving a Trace.

Jared kept glancing at the surrounding trees eyes, twitching toward every shadow.

We packed up quickly deciding.

We had no choice but to push through the brush toward the coast.

Dean mentioned seeing a boat ramp marked somewhere near the shoreline, on Jared's original map, Jared.

Agreed immediately.

Thomas didn't speak.

He just stared vacantly at the ground shivering.

Just as we finished, breaking Camp, Jared pulled out his phone again.

His hand froze, halfway to his pack.

He stared down at the screen colored draining from his face.

What Dean demanded sensing his fear.

Something recorded last night.

Jared said, quietly voice memo.

But your phone's been dead.

I reminded him voice.

Halo.

Apparently, not weeded close holding our breath as Jared pressed play.

Thomas's voice filled the tense silence, but it wasn't right.

It was deeper guttural broken, like someone mimicking English without fully understanding it, the words crawled out, slowly, thick, and heavy bones, and trees, waiting find bones, he waits Thomas stared at the phone, his breath hitching and his throat.

That's me.

He finally whispered disbelief mixing with horror but I was asleep.

Nobody spoke after that.

Nobody needed to.

We moved quickly cutting straight into the Tangled, Forest toward the distant sound of the ocean hoping desperately we could outrun, whatever we'd Unleashed.

we stumbled blindly forward forcing our way through the Relentless, brush, branches, clawed at our jackets and Roots, caught our boots, with every frantic step, Thomas limped along between Dean and me.

His torn feet wrapped tightly but still seeping through the bandages.

Jared, usually strong and calm seemed lost eyes, wide, breathing ragged, we didn't have much of a plan Beyond making it to the coast Jared had mentioned seeing a forest service boat ramp on the map.

The map we'd now lost somewhere behind us.

We moved mostly by Instinct aiming toward the distant faint sound of waves, that occasionally broke through the forest noise.

Every hour or so, we'd pause gulping air, ears straining at every faint snap or Russell behind us.

Each time, the sounds grew closer clearer unmistakable.

The snapping of branches dragging sounds Across The Damp Earth.

Something was tracking us.

Late in the afternoon Jared on a moss.

Covered rock near a narrow Ravine.

Twisting his ankle sharply.

He hissed through gritted teeth.

Gripping a tree trunk for support you.

Okay.

I asked my voice barely above a whisper, he nodded stiffly eyes.

Clenched.

Shut just keep moving.

I'll be fine.

But he wasn't fine.

None of us were Thomas, his eyes were distant unfocused lips, moving silently as he limped forward.

I leaned closer trying to catch his words but all I heard were fragments of the Twisted recording repeated in his low, exhausted voice.

Bones waiting in trees.

The forest began to darken rapidly around us the Setting Sun Vanishing somewhere behind the dense clouds overhead.

Missed settled low among the trees closing in like a wall of damp Gray.

Dean's.

Slowed, glancing back nervously we have to stop.

He said reluctantly I scanning our surroundings?

Will never make it through this in the dark.

We reluctantly set up a makeshift Camp beneath a tight cluster of thick cedar trees.

Hoping their trunks might offer some cover.

we hung a tarp low, keeping the space tight comforting ourselves with the false sense of security at gave, Nobody spoke as we ate a handful of Trail Mix.

Thomas refused Foods, sitting with his knees pulled tightly to his chest staring blankly into the darkening Forest.

Darkness fully set in and we took turns keeping watch each of us.

Gripping a flashlight and knife eyes glued to the shadow tree line.

Around midnight during my watch something, large move just beyond the tarp pressing heavily against the brush.

Exhaling and deep rough breaths.

My pulse quickened as my grip tightened around the knife handle.

Whatever it was circled us slowly methodically never stepping into view its presence undeniable, but invisible.

I didn't wake the others.

I feared any sudden movement would provoke, whatever weighted just out of sight.

Dean revved me at about 3 a.m.

nodding silently as we switched places.

Exhausted, but unable to sleep.

I lay awake listening to the dripping moisture off leaves and the muffled sounds of Dean.

Shifting uncomfortably then Dean's, breathing suddenly froze.

He leaned forward tents, unmoving something stood inches from him.

Separated only by the thin flimsy tarp.

A deep heavy, breath, rasped audibly, so close.

I could almost feel its weight.

We stayed frozen like that for what felt like hours until at last, it moved away into the trees.

Dean didn't move, didn't speak until Dawn's weak light.

Finally broke through the Mist.

When we finally emerged, drained and numb, we saw thin marks in the mud surrounding the tarp long, dragging tracks with deep punctures spaced evenly apart, claw marks, unmistakable and fresh, we gathered our things silently eyes.

Hollow moving quickly toward the growing sound of surf ahead.

Just before midday the trees, thinned abruptly revealing, a narrow gravel Shore.

We pushed through the last Tangled branches and stumbled onto Solid Ground, breathing hard.

A rusted sign stood crookedly by the shore Forest Service boat ramp relief.

Flooded me there was no boat but a whether to emergency call box stood near the chained off dock.

Jared rushed to it, pressing the faded call button, repeatedly until a crackling voice.

Answered Jared, gave our location in a hoarse voice.

Barely coherent begging, urgently for a Ranger pickup, We waited huddled together, eyes, trained wearily, back toward the trees.

None of us, spoke each locked in our own thoughts.

Thomas, sat on the gravel rocking slightly eyes distant.

Jared, watched the trees knife still clenched in his hand.

After what felt like an eternity, we heard the low drone of a boat engine, a ranger boat, rounded the corner cutting quickly toward us.

The ranger helped us aboard without many questions, sensing our exhaustion and urgency As the boat pulled away from Shore, I finally felt my body relax.

I turned to face the ranger.

An older man with a weathered face in serious eyes.

What were you boys doing out here?

He asked quietly eyes narrowed, we got lost Jared lied voice flat The ranger glanced at Thomas, his bloody bandaged feet.

Now, clearly visible his eyes hardened Lost her.

Jared hesitated, then finally showed him, the phone, the ranger listened, once expression unreadable before quietly, deleting the file, and handing it back without comment.

You boys were lucky.

He said finally Voice Low and measured.

We don't Patrol this side much anymore.

That part of the forest hasn't been mapped right in years People stay away for good reason.

We rode back in silence.

Letting his words hang heavily between us, none of us wanted to know more.

None of us ever wanted to set foot in town gas.

Again A year later things still aren't alright.

Thomas never hiked again.

Won't even talk about it, Jared left for Arizona needing distance from the forests altogether, Dean cut contact entirely moving somewhere back east.

And me, I still wake up hearing that breathing outside the tarp feeling the oppressive dampness and the burning stare of unseen eyes.

We shouldn't have mocked that totem, whatever it was marking, what?

Ever boundary it represented, we'd broken it and I don't think any of us will ever fully Escape What followed us home I've been hauling Freight for the better part of 15 years enough, time to get familiar with just about every empty Highway across the south west.

Names.

Rick Harman based out of Colorado Springs.

tonight, I was hauling diesel generators down from Grand Junction Bound for a construction site out near Escalante it was a long lonely, stretch through Utah's, High Desert, cutting South along State, Route, 24, I crossed into Utah around quarter to 11 fueled up quick and Green River and set off Southward.

Anyone who's driven that stretch can tell you how isolated it is.

Miles of Rocky emptiness, moonlit mesas and Sandstone Cliffs casting weird, shadows across the road.

No cell reception, no traffic, just me, my rig and whatever kept skittering off into the brush at the edge of the headlights.

Half-hour Inn about 30 miles, South of the turnoff.

I crossed a cattle guard.

That's when I saw him standing just off the shoulder clear as anything.

A man.

At first glance, I pegged him for a hitchhiker common enough on these empty roads, but he didn't signal me.

He just stood motionless armed, straight down watching the truck pass.

In that quick flash of headlights, I saw jeans a white, undershirt and worn out boots.

Nothing else, no backpack, no jacket.

Just a silent figure completely out of place in the middle of nowhere.

I muttered to myself gripping, the wheel, a little tighter.

Hitchhiker's didn't usually make me uneasy but something about his Stillness, his isolation, just felt off.

My trailer hummed behind me Wheels.

Rolling steady over asphalt and I shook it off.

Maybe a local drunk.

Maybe somebody broke down, but I didn't stop.

I never stopped out here if I didn't have to.

25 minutes and 20.

Some miles later near a dried up Ravine that cut close to the road.

I saw him again.

I swear it was the same guy.

Same stance.

Same clothes, same on settling Stillness.

My headlights brushed over him again, standing perfectly straight unmoving.

No sign.

He'd even acknowledged my truck roaring passed.

I scan the side mirrors.

Looking for a parked car.

A motorcycle.

Hell, even a bicycle, but saw nothing just dark desert stretching.

Endlessly on both sides, impossible.

I said aloud my voice breaking the silence even at a full Sprint.

Nobody could cover that much ground that fast.

It had to be my imagination fatigue creeping in from the monotonous highway, but I'd pulled much longer shifts before and hallucinations were not part of the deal, not like this.

My skin prickled.

I rolled down the window.

A few inches, letting Cool Desert Air fill the cab kept my eyes.

Straight ahead.

No music, no radio chatter, just road noise and wind my mind.

Replayed, the image, the man standing motionless.

Empty desert surrounding him.

I kept driving uneasy now, waiting half expecting to see him again standing by the road ahead arms down waiting quietly in the dark about 20 miles further along Route 24.

I decided it was time to take a rest by law.

I was required to log a few hours sleep.

And even though I had been shaking by seeing that man twice exhaustion was creeping in.

There was a dirt pull out near South caneville Mesa marked as a rest area, a desolate spot.

I'd used before no lights, just a rusted trash bin and Faded.

Signs, barely visible in the dark.

pulling in, I cut the engine and sat quietly for a minute, listening as the hot metal of the truck, ticked and cooled down, I glanced out the windshield, letting my eyes adjust to the near Blackness outside.

Nothing moved.

Only miles of flat scrub in distant, Rocky, outcropping, silhouetted By Moonlight.

I reclined my seat and shut my eyes forcing myself to relax, Sleep usually came easy but tonight every sound seemed Amplified the wind outside something faint.

Scraping against the undercarriage.

Even my own breathing, seemed unnaturally loud.

My nerves felt frayed and despite my exhaustion sleep refused to come.

Then came the tapping three soft.

Taps rhythmic spaced out evenly against the metal siding, just behind my cab.

My eyes snapped open instantly.

My breath catching immediately.

I rationalized rocks kicked up by wind debris from the road.

But when I listened closer, the sound stopped abruptly replaced by silence.

Too quiet.

Even for out here.

I leaned forward, grabbing my flashlight from the console and carefully climbed down from the cab.

Sweeping the beam around the dirt clearing.

I saw nothing out of place at first, then stepping to the side of the truck.

I froze footprints.

Fresh clear footprints.

In the thin dust circling all the way around my rig.

Barefoot, no tread just the outline of toes in heels pressed, neatly into the dirt, my gut Twisted painfully.

I spun the flash light wildly around but there was no Trail leading into the desert, no Footprints came or went just a circle around my truck as if someone had appeared and then vanished Every Instinct screamed at me to get out.

Forget the rest break.

Forget regulations.

I scrambled back into the cab locked, both doors and fired up the engine.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, as I pulled, back onto the highway, watching the pull-out fade behind me in the mirrors.

Hours later after, unloading the generators in Escalante and picking up another load bound back East, I found myself on Route 24.

Again it was near midnight once more and every muscle in my body tightened as the same stretch of road appeared in the Headlights.

This time it started with the CB radio, a crackling burst of static.

Startled me the kind that comes when someone Keys the mic with out speaking?

I glanced down at the radio curiously twisting, the knob to clarify the signal.

As I listened my own voice distorted and grainy played back clearly through the speaker.

Loads heavy coming up on a hill.

My blood ran cold.

I had said that exact phrase early hours ago miles from here.

I snatched the mic off its clip my voice trained with anxiety, whose out there, identify yourself, static hissed back at me, empty and mocking.

No response.

Before I could think clearly the dome light in my cab clicked on by itself, then clicked off on again off again, my pulse raced Panic edged in.

I checked the fuse box beneath the dash fumbling for anything loose, any logical explanation, but everything was in place, secure and undisturbed a quick movement in my side.

Mirror, Drew my eye, back to the highway.

I caught a glimpse of something a shadowy figure darting past the tail of my trailer Swift.

And impossibly, quick Too fast to be human.

My Breath turned shallow, I punched the accelerator, the truck roaring louder pushing 70 miles an hour on that.

Empty Highway ignoring every speed limit.

I refused to look back again.

My grip locked tight on the wheel.

My eyes pinned Straight Ahead.

As I raced toward Hanksville and whatever safety, its lights might offer.

It was around three in the morning when the scattered lights of Hanksville.

Finally came into view glowing, dimly against the vast emptiness surrounding the highway I'd never been so relieved to see civilization.

Even if the town barely qualified.

My hands shook slightly as I guided the truck into the brightly lit.

Hollow Mountain, gas station a tiny Place carved directly into a Sandstone cliff The fluorescent bulbs overhead flooded every corner with light for once the harsh brightness felt comforting rather than irritating.

I parked right under the strongest security.

Light killed the engine and sat rigidly still for several minutes.

Just listening.

I was too on edge to even consider sleep, every Creak of metal, and hiss of cooling Machinery.

Sent jolts through my chest, my heart thumping, as though ready to burst from my rib cage.

Glancing, at the station's, closed convenience store, I felt a Pang of helplessness.

It wouldn't open for another two hours and the only human presence was a Clerk's vehicle.

Parked at the far end of the lot.

Empty and cold.

But at least I wasn't alone in the dark.

The security cameras mounted high on the rock face.

Gave me some small reassurance, whatever.

Had chased me here.

Surely wouldn't risk exposure now.

I took deep breaths steadying myself, when suddenly a single sharp tap.

Rang out from my passenger side, mirror, My breath caught instantly and my eyes darted toward the mirror.

I forced myself, not to look out side every fiber in my body, screamed for me to start the truck drive anywhere else anywhere but here.

But there was no, where to go.

This was the only lit Oasis for miles and something told me that staying put was my best.

Hope of making it through the night.

I waited intense silence minutes, ticking by painfully slow, until the Eastern Sky began to lighten.

Casting pale streaks over the distant desert.

With Sunrise approaching the station clerk, finally arrived, a weary middle-aged man on locking the store and flipping on even more lights.

Seeing him felt like waking from a nightmare and I quickly climbed out of the cab nearly stumbling as exhaustion and adrenaline clashed inside me, when I described what happened and asked, if we could review the security footage, he gave me a strange look but agreed without question.

We stood behind the counter staring into a grainy black and white monitor replaying hours of footage at high speed.

Nothing.

No figure circling, my rig, no flashes of movement.

Not even when the mirror had sounded that final tap the lot remained empty throughout the night aside from my own anxious movements inside the cab.

You sure you saw someone out there.

The clerk asked softly I nodded grimly, the image of the footprints.

Still seared into my memory.

You ain't the first trucker to say something like that.

He added carefully might want to talk to the Sheriff before you head out again.

An hour later.

I stood in front of the Wayne County Sheriff's Office, recounting my experience to a deputy who took notes quietly when I finished, he didn't seem surprised only resigned Without a word.

He led me to a back wall filled with cork boards maps and papers pinned up haphazardly among them was a handwritten list.

Labeled plainly Route, 24, Phantom, sightings dozens of dates times and drivers names each accompanied by a short, note abandoned rig quit, Trucking or missing He wrote my name at the bottom, adding the date and the simple, note stayed with truck made it out safe.

You did the right thing Rick he said, quietly, whatever.

That is out there, it's best not to be alone in the dark with it.

I thanked him numb and exhausted and walked slowly back to my truck.

I knew two things clearly I'd never haul.

Another load down, Route 24 again and I'd never forget the figure standing motionless by the roadside waiting silently in the Darkness.

I've been driving trucks.

Nearly half my life.

15 years, hauling reefer Freight between Boise and Portland, mostly Knights.

Less traffic fewer hassles and cooler roads, made the summer months.

Bearable But no matter how much experience you have some stretches of Road, never lose their Edge.

Dead man, pass, what locals call?

Cabbage Hill, was one of them, it earned its Grim nickname, with a brutal history of rollovers and recs.

If you've driven I-84 through the Blue Mountains, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

The steep grade, the tight curves, the unpredictable summer rockslides, everything there kept your nerves raw especially when the clock ticked toward 3:00 a.m.

It was mid July, humid enough that even the darkness fell.

I'd left Baker City at around, 2:45 a.m.

my refrigerated trailer packed with 31,000, pounds of frozen meats, Bound for Portland.

Scout.

My border collie was curled up on the passenger seat and the road was empty enough to let my guard down.

If only slightly Everything was smooth sailing until around

3:30.

When my headlights caught something unusual, just passed milepost 227.

A man was standing by the shoulder frantically waving one of those reflective emergency triangles.

His vehicle an old white SUV, was parked ahead at an awkward angle against the guardrail hazard lights.

Blinking silently into the darkness.

Instinct told me to keep going dead, man.

Pass wasn't the place to play Hero.

But something about the desperation of his movements forced my foot off the gas.

I slowed and carefully pulled toward the shoulder about 50 yards in front of his car.

Keeping a safe distance in case something fell off, as I shifted into park, Scout raised his head ears.

Perked dog's always sensed trouble before we do rolling down my window halfway, I squinted into the side, mirror watching The Mane cautiously instead of approaching my truck.

He stood Frozen behind his SUV.

He gestured urgently motioning me to get out and come over.

No, calling out.

No.

Explanations just desperate.

Silent gestures beneath the pale glow of my tail lights.

Hey you.

All right back there.

I shouted, aiming my flashlight out the window, the bright beam sliced through the darkness.

Illuminating him fully for the first time.

My stomach tightened his face.

It wasn't panicked or grateful or relieved.

It wasn't anything?

Just slack.

Emotionless.

Staring straight at me.

No expression.

Like, he'd forgotten how a human face was supposed to work.

His clothes were filthy his pants.

Shredded down, one leg.

He stood there motionless hand still extended toward me, like some bizarre statue.

A shiver crept, down my spine, everything in my body.

Screamed at me to get moving again.

You got a phone?

I yelled again.

Buying myself another second to decide.

He didn't respond.

Didn't move, didn't even blink.

The triangle dangled Loosely from his other hand.

It's reflectors gleaming faintly each time at caught my life's I glanced at Scout whose hackles were raised eyes locked on the stranger.

Nope, I muttered.

No way.

I threw the rig back into gear, creeping forward slowly at first pretending.

I was repositioning further down the shoulder.

In the mirror.

I saw him still standing.

Motionless illuminated by my red brake lights, then I punched the gas and felt relief surged through me as I left the unsettling, figure behind shrinking quickly into the blackness.

Scout settled slightly but I still felt tense shaken.

I tried telling myself the guy was drunk or high, maybe lost or hurt and Confused.

Maybe I should have called Highway Patrol but radio reception here was notoriously spotty.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp.

High-pitched alert from the truck system trailer door, open a cold jolt, hit my gut.

I clearly remembered latching and locking it before leaving Baker City.

Something I always double checked out of habit.

Probably a faulty sensor.

I reasoned trying to steady my nerves.

It had happened once before months ago.

Nothing major Still a nagging unease.

Refused to leave me alone.

I glanced in my mirror again, half expecting the man or his SUV to reappear on the road behind me.

The Blackness was empty and endless.

I drove on feeling strangely vulnerable, despite the massive steel rig beneath me.

I didn't realize it then, but pulling over a Deadman pass, had set something into motion.

Something I couldn't yet understand.

Something I'd soon.

Wish I had never stopped to find out.

It took about a mile before I realized something wasn't, right.

The truck felt off almost as if the trailer was fishtailing slightly enough to be noticeable.

But subtle enough that I initially blamed it on wind gusts.

Scout was pacing anxiously across the passenger seat whining quietly.

His ears flat against his head.

He wasn't normally skiddish years on the road had made him as steady as any truck dog.

Could be seeing him.

Rattled didn't help my nerves my dashboard lit up again a sudden Spike on the wait, sensors built into the trailers axle system.

My load had jumped up nearly 500 pounds, then immediately returned to normal.

Strange, but not impossible.

Sometimes faulty reading's happened on Long hauls, especially through terrain, like the Blue Mountains.

Still, this one felt different.

I forced myself to breathe, deep in steady.

I tried the radio reaching out to any trucker within a few miles.

Anybody westbound around dead man, pass picking up Crosswinds or weird road conditions.

I asked trying to keep my voice neutral after a few seconds static crackled before another driver responded, negative on the Wind eastbound quiet night out here.

What's up Lisa?

Trailers acting weird sensors bouncing all over the place.

I replied forcing a casual tone.

Probably nothing just jumpy I guess.

The other trucker chuckled a dry laugh over the radio.

Careful out there could be those cabbage Hill ghosts drive safe.

I didn't laugh.

My eyes kept flicking toward the side mirrors, watching the trailer carefully.

Scout huddled against the seat.

Now eyes wide it felt irrational but his reaction convinced me, this wasn't just paranoia, he'd been through plenty of rough weather, bad roads, even animal encounters but never acted this way.

I forced myself to keep driving trying to rationalize maybe the cargo shifted slightly when I pulled onto the shoulder.

Maybe I hadn't latched.

The trailer securely despite my clear memory of doing it.

My mind searched for normal explanations anything to avoid acknowledging, the dreads sinking into my gut.

Then the sensor jumped again, a spike of 600 pounds lasting.

A few seconds before dropping back.

It was as if something large was moving around.

Inside Shifting the weight distribution, unpredictably, my heart rate, climbed sweat dampening, my Palms against the steering wheel.

Scout what's back there buddy?

I murmured knowing he couldn't answer but desperately wishing he could About 10 miles from Pendleton.

I made a decision, I took the next exit and called Oregon.

Dot's 24-hour.

Hotline requesting an immediate inspection.

The dispatcher sounded skeptical.

But agreed to meet me at the eastbound weigh station, just outside town, I didn't care how it looked I needed someone else to verify.

What I couldn't explain.

I slowed to a stop at the empty weigh station engine idling softly in the pre-dawn quiet.

Before stepping out, I grabbed my heavy flash light and opened the cab door slowly.

Scout refused to follow, pressing himself, deeper into the seat.

My throat tightened, another bad sign.

The night air felt unnaturally thick and oppressive.

I moved quickly to the back of the trailer.

Heart hammering, as I aimed the flash light at the latch it was open.

Not broken or damaged simply unlocked.

Dangling slightly.

Ajar The lock itself was still securely in place confirming my earlier suspicion.

whatever had happened here, it had started inside my trailer, not outside my pulse roared in my ears, as I stared into the narrow Darkness between the trailer doors, I should have felt relief at not seeing anything, immediately obvious.

But in Stead my dread deepened.

The faintest smell drifted from the open Gap, rich and earthy like fresh soil overturned from a grave.

Stepping back instinctively.

I swung the trailer doors, fully open.

My flashlight beam swept across stacked pallets.

Tightly wrapped and undisturbed at first glance.

Then near the center of the trailer floor.

I saw a broken palette board splintered as if crushed by something heavy near it strange marks gouged the aluminum walls erratic deep scratches that could have only come from something large and Powerful, my heart dropped into my stomach.

I turned back toward the cab half running now and climbed inside.

Scout was trembling.

I locked both cab doors and waited for the inspection crew.

Eyes fixed nervously on the darkened mirrors.

What exactly had climbed into my trailer at dead.

Men pass and where had it gone.

The Oregon DOT pickup rolled into the weigh station.

15 minutes, later headlights, slicing across my windshield, briefly blinding me.

Two inspectors.

Stepped out.

Each carrying a heavy duty flash light.

I climbed down from my rig Scout following, hesitantly glued to my side as we approached the trailer.

You the one who called asked the taller inspector, an older guy with a weathered face and a skeptical.

Look Yeah, that's me.

I said forcing steadiness into my voice.

Trailer latch popped.

Open something.

Inside isn't right?

Loads shifting weird sensor spikes.

It's a mess back there.

He nodded slowly glancing toward his partner, a younger woman who wore the tired expression of someone already regretting her night shift.

She waved me over as they moved toward the rear doors.

My stomach, churned, as I followed, when the inspector opened, the trailer, fully the air seemed thicker than before heavy with a smell like, damp Earth and Moss, not Rod.

Exactly.

But something out of place like wet dirt Dragged In from somewhere far away the inspectors.

Exchanged a puzzled glance their casual skepticism fading quickly.

They stepped cautiously into the trailer flash lights, Criss crossing over the aluminum walls, highlighting the Deep ragged scratches that ran nearly waist high along.

Both sides.

You got an animal loose back here.

The woman asked her voice suddenly tight with unease, I shook my head quickly, know, just frozen meats from Baker, City doors were latched and locked before I left, whatever.

Did this God in later somewhere?

On dead man, pass.

the older inspector knelt down, shining his beam onto the broken palette near the center, Splintered wood.

Lay scattered around the floor, like matchsticks.

He glanced back at me eyes narrowed and you didn't hear any noise.

No, banging nothing unusual.

Nothing.

I answered honestly.

Just censor alerts a little Sway in the trailer.

I pulled over soon as I noticed.

I stepped further back feeling the oppressive weight of the trailer around me.

Something told me I shouldn't be inside.

Scout hovered anxiously outside pacing, the young and inspector who had moved deeper into the trailer called out sharply.

Hey, come see this.

We moved carefully toward her beams.

Converging on a strange Mound near the back axle, A pile of dirt dark and freshly Disturbed, lay heaped against the aluminum flooring.

Bits of moss and grass protruded from it.

Clearly not native to this stretch of Oregon.

What the hell murmur the older inspector kneeling to examine it closer?

He prodded the dirt.

Gently, his face creased in confusion.

Where did this even come from?

I felt sick to my stomach.

My Palms.

Grew sweaty.

The smell making me dizzy.

I don't know, all I can tell you is something climbed in after I stopped.

Maybe it dug through the floor somehow impossible.

He interrupted sharply.

Trailer floors are reinforced steel, beams aluminum, plating nothing digs through.

He stood abruptly shining, the light upward Illuminating the walls again.

He traced, one of the gouges with his finger voice quiet, but serious.

These look fresh, whatever it was, it wanted out badly.

my mouth went dry out out where he didn't answer instead they both stepped past me toward the rear doors.

We're gonna check your dash cam footage.

The older inspector said, firmly beckoning me to follow.

I hurried back to the cab climbing inside to retrieve.

The camera's SD card.

Scout pressed close to me shivering as if chilled.

I handed them the card silently, then watched as the younger inspector loaded it into a tablet.

She scrubbed through the footage quickly finding the time stamp just before.

3:30 a.m.

the video was clear at first my headlights cutting through Darkness, everything normal until suddenly inexplicably, the screen went completely blank.

Nothing but Blackness for nearly seven full minutes.

When the picture returned, I was already driving away the road.

Stretching ahead like nothing had ever happened.

She stared at the screen baffled.

You stop anywhere else.

No, just dead man pass.

When I saw a stranded driver waving me down I explained quietly except now Now what she pressed.

Her voice sharp.

I took a breath.

Steadying myself.

Now there's nothing on the footage.

No man, no SUV, no record.

I stopped at all.

They exchanged uneasy looks the older inspector clearly uncomfortable.

Listen, he said finally will file a report, send this footage up the chain but officially this is going to read like a brake in.

Keep it simple, right?

I nodded numbly, sure, simple.

They climbed back into their pickup promising a follow-up that we both knew wouldn't come once they were gone.

I sat in my cab for a long moment staring blankly at the dash trying to make sense of it, Scout curled beside me, finally, calling a little, I finished the drive to Portland in a fog, the trailer dragging behind me, feeling heavier than ever.

Have to unloading.

I refused any more solo.

The inspectors were probably right.

This would remain unexplained filed away neatly as a simple break-in.

Another Oddity lost among hundreds of Highway incidents but I knew better whatever climbed into my trailer, a Deadman, pass wasn't looking for cargo.

It was looking for a way out and I'd give it one I was 13 years old.

When my dad, missed our fourth of July reunion for the first and only time in my life.

Every year our family gathered at my uncle's property, just outside Billings Montana.

We grilled burgers lit, fireworks and stayed up late.

Swapping stories.

Around the bonfire.

Dad, a long-haul truck driver named Ray Martinez had made it home for every reunion since I could remember.

But that year, 2011 things took a different turn.

He was driving a load of refrigerated.

Produce from Cheyenne, Wyoming to Bozeman Montana.

Usually, he'd take the interstate through Casper and Billings, but wildfires forced him.

North through Cody, then West along route, 212, the Beartooth Highway.

It was longer lonelier and more treacherous but it was the only open route.

He promised to make it home by July 3rd.

When the day passed without word my mother hid her worry behind forced Smiles but even at 13 I could feel the tension thickening years later on a humid summer night in 2024.

Dad, finally told me the full story on our back porch in Billings as crickets chirped softly, and my own kids slept inside He spoke slowly as though, picking through memories long buried.

What he told me, explained.

Every silent glance every hesitant look.

He'd given root 212 since that July.

Historic began just after midnight on July, 2nd 2011, as he navigated a twisting descent along route, 212 near clay.

Butte Lookout, thousands of feet above sea level.

The road was slick with gravel from a recent washout, in the blink of an eye.

The heavy trailer swung wide.

The entire rig, shuttered violently, and Dad's Freightliner Cascadia skidded off the shoulder sinking into the dry brush and loose earth below.

Dad wasn't hurt.

Just rattled.

His heart hammered against his chest, as he checked for damage.

He stepped down onto gravel and dry grass flashlight.

Trembling in his hand and circled the truck.

The rig was lodged in the dirt, its massive bulk, half tilted, tires sunk deep, it was hopelessly stuck.

No cell signal up their dad explained quietly middle of nowhere no traffic road closures everywhere from fires My best bet was to wait until morning flag down.

Whoever might pass by, or hike to a ranger station.

So he climbed into his sleeper cab and tried to wrest telling himself.

It was just a setback But when

he woke at exactly 3:48 a.m.

the air was cold enough to see his breath, a sharp, contrast to the heat.

He'd expected in July, The trucks engine had cut out some time.

During his sleep, leaving the cab dark and silent.

He slid behind the wheel and turned the key.

Instead of a familiar Roar, he heard a grinding metallic shriek Echo from beneath the hood.

The dashboard flickered, angrily with warning lights, casting Eerie Shadows inside the cab.

Dad step, back out, Flash Light Beam cutting through, dust and darkness.

When he lifted the hood a bitter chemical odor.

Stung, his nose, His stomach tightened at what he saw the oil pan was ripped apart as if something sharp had torn through the metal with deliberate Force.

Oil.

Dripped onto the gravel mixing with coolant and pooling Darkly at his feet.

He moved around the truck.

I scanning the dim surroundings.

Heart thudding, now with something deeper than worry.

That's when he saw Footprints, bear human-like elongated pressed into the dirt and headed toward the dark wall of trees.

I thought maybe someone was stranded desperate, dad told me shaking his head slowly, but then I heard movement quick, quiet too quick to be a person.

He paused in his retelling, taking a long sip from his glass eyes distant.

What ever it was he continued.

Finally moved.

Upright like a man but faster.

More fluid.

It went around behind the trailer before I got a good look.

Dad wasted, no time, scrambling back into the cab, locking the doors, pulling his pistol, from Beneath the Sea.

Every nerve on edge, he sat rigid in the driver's seat.

Straining to hear anything beyond the silence.

minutes crawled by Then at 412, a.m.

he heard footsteps, slow deliberate moving Atop, The aluminum roof of the trailer.

He sat Frozen as they stopped directly over his head.

The metal creaking, softly beneath their weight, And then silence complete silence time stretched out painfully as Dad.

Waited, pistol gripped and sweating Palms.

Whatever it was stayed perfectly still above him.

I didn't know what to do.

Dad whispered looking at me through haunted eyes.

Couldn't shoot through the roof.

Blind.

Couldn't just stay there forever.

Eventually exhaustion pulled him back into an uneasy sleep, but sleep, offered No Escape.

Because what happened next blurred?

The boundary between reality and Nightmare.

And when Dad finally woke gasping in Terror, he'd come face to face with something.

He'd spend the next 13 years desperately trying to forget I woke up abruptly choking for are my heartbeat hammering painful in my chest.

The vividness of The Nightmare.

Lingard like an oily residue.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the sleeper cab for a split second.

I didn't know where I was.

Then reality returned.

I was stranded along route.

212 deep in the Montana.

Wilderness hours from any real help.

I checked my phone in totally

12:08 a.m.

But something was wrong.

I checked it earlier after the footsteps on the roof and it had said four 12 a.m.

my thoughts felt slow Tangled.

The darkness outside seemed unnaturally dense absorbing the feeble glow of the phone screen.

The nightmare itself clawed at the edges of my consciousness.

In it, I'd wandered through a twisted impossible, Forest filled with trees bent at bizarre angles and Roots nodded like gnarled dead snakes.

I'd walked aimlessly hearing strange.

Clicking sounds all around me.

Feeling unseen, eyes watching from behind every trunk.

In the center of it all stood, a dark totem, carved crudely from burned wood and bleached bones.

Just before I had awakened, something had stepped from behind it tall and wrong.

Its face stretched into an expression halfway between Agony and a grotesque grin.

I shivered forcing away the image, rubbing the sweat from my face.

as I sat up fully trying to gather my nerves, a sharp movement caught my attention my heart, lurked Something shifted outside, just beyond the driver's side window without thinking, I whip my head around and stared into the blackness.

My stomach, nodded.

Two eyes stared back.

The face pressed against the window was pale gone.

Almost skeletal.

Skin stretched tight across bones beneath the mouth set in a straight unreadable line.

It wasn't quite human.

The proportions were wrong, elongated cheekbones jaw set at an odd angle.

Forehead too high and its eyes.

Dark reflective too wide filled with a chilling emptiness.

That froze me in place.

For several heart stopping seconds.

We simply stared at each other.

My lungs locked up.

Muscles refusing to move.

My pistol.

Lay on the passenger seat inches from my hand.

I knew I had to grab it, but my body fell paralyzed, then with a burst of adrenaline, my hand shot out closed around the griped, the weapon and fired the deafening blast shattered, the silence as the window exploded outward in a shower of glass fragments.

Ears ringing.

I sat stunned for a moment.

My breath ragged.

I peered into the darkness beyond the jagged frame pistol.

Trembling in my grass.

Nothing.

Nobody, no sounds of movement.

No blood.

Just empty darkness and the Knights of Silence.

My breath shook.

As I slowly lowered the gun.

My heart still pounded violently and my ears buzzed painfully.

Cold Mountain are seeped through the shattered, window carrying a faint odor of burning metal and sulfur glancing again at the phone.

My blood ran cold the screen.

Displayed 12 13.

Mm, only 5 minutes since I last checked, it was impossible.

It felt like hours had passed.

I Rose cautiously from my seat and peered through the broken window eyes darting around searching.

The dirt beside the truck was smooth undisturbed no Footprints, no sign of anything moving.

The gravel lay untouched as if the figure had never been there at all, but I had seen it clearly.

I knew I hadn't imagined it.

Backing away I sank down into the sleeper.

Bunk wrapping my bleeding hand in a rag.

From Beneath the Sea.

My head spun thoughts, spiraling, what was happening time didn't make sense anymore.

Minutes stretched into hours yet the clock.

Barely moved.

Something deeply unnatural was happening.

Something I couldn't explain.

I spent the next hour sitting rigidly upright gripping the pistol, listening intently to every tiny sound, gradually, fatigue began, overtaking, the adrenaline pulling the unwillingly towards sleep.

I fought desperately to keep my eyes open terrified of slipping, back into that Twisted dream, but exhaustion claimed me again and when I woke next I wasn't inside the truck.

I was standing Barefoot in the woods surrounded by trees.

I didn't recognize with no idea how I'd gotten there.

I stood Barefoot in the darkness, the rocky Earth, digging sharply into the souls of my feet.

Disoriented and nauseous I stared into unfamiliar Woods heart thudding.

As I struggled to remember how I had gotten here my truck, my only life line was nowhere in sight.

The darkness of the forest was thick.

Oppressive.

Offering no hint of familiar landmarks or roads.

Shivering.

I realized I'd left the pistol behind unarmed and vulnerable.

My pulse quickened the surrounding trees Twisted Upward at unnatural angles.

The landscape unfamiliar despite hours spent driving through this region.

The air felt thick oppressive.

Not a single insect chirped.

Silence pressed in absolute and suffocating.

Behind me, branches cracked sharply breaking the quiet.

Something heavy, moved through the brush pacing and measured deliberate steps.

I turned quickly breathing, shallowly staring into the Shadows, I saw nothing.

Clearly just glimpses of movement, dark and Swift.

It stayed low shifting side to side weaving through the underbrush with unsettling speed.

My instincts took control.

I ran branches tore at my arms and face as I sprinted.

Blindly eyes streaming tears from panic and exertion every breath burned.

As I dodged, trees, and leaped fall in laws, desperate to put distance between myself and whatever, pursued me.

I stumbled tripped righted myself pressing on through the darkness.

Then mercifully.

I broke through the trees onto a rough clearing.

Ahead.

Barely visible beneath Moonlight filtering through clouds stood a small Log Cabin, smoke curled.

Gently from its chimney.

Promising shelter, My legs trembled from exhaustion but I surged forward driven by raw fear.

I reached the cabins porch, breathless pounding, my fist against the heavy wooden door.

Help my voice cracked.

Echoing hollowly through the clearing.

Please open up after several tents seconds, footstep shuffled inside and the door creaked open cautiously An old man appeared eyes.

Narrowed wearily above a Gray beard.

Shotgun gripped firmly in weathered hands.

What the hell's going on out here?

He demanded gruffly eyes.

Scanning the tree line behind me.

My truck broke down.

Something's chasing me.

I gasped voice shaking please.

Let me in.

I don't know what's happening.

his eyes studied me sharply evaluating before he stepped aside, ushering me quickly inside He bolted the door behind us gesturing toward a worn armchair in your crackling wood stove.

Sit.

He instructed voice, softer.

Now, you're safe for now.

At least I sank into the chair.

Still trembling glancing.

Nervously at the closed door.

The old man placed his shotgun carefully on a table eyes thoughtful.

As he studied me.

Names.

Jonas, he finally said been out here long enough to know something strange, when I see it start talking I told Jonas everything the crash the engine shredded without reason the figure at the window the Lost hours and the impossible way.

I'd woken up deep in these Woods.

He listens silently expression, Grim, nodding occasionally?

when I finished, he leaned forward slowly his voice low, and deliberate Heard stories all my life.

Jonas said Hunters campers folks disappearing or Waking miles from their tents with no memory of leaving him.

Most think it's nonsense hallucinations from altitude or fear but it's real real enough.

He stood crossing the small cabin to an old wooden shelf lined with books and faded photographs carefully, he pulled a warn journal from between two heavy volumes and thumbed through its yellowed Pages.

You ever heard of the Apple carry?

He asked glancing up at me.

I shook my head, silently chest tight with Dread old story, say they lived here long before any settlers or known tribes.

Secretive hidden, deep practice, dark things, things folks, stopped Whispering about Generations ago, he explained quietly, eyes locked on mine.

But they were not alone, they made things summoned them maybe or change themselves into something else, they're called the wrong ones.

Mimics, they look human enough to trick you but they aren't human not anymore.

He closed the journal slowly watching my reaction closely, My throat went dry.

Why me?

I finally whispered.

Jonas shook his head, slowly eyes shadowed no reason anyone can figure Sometimes folks, get close to places, they shouldn't see.

Maybe you drove through the wrong, stretch at the wrong time.

Once they said eyes on you, they don't let go easily.

They warp your memory twist up time, make it hard to know what's real.

How do you stop them?

My voice was barely Audible.

Jonas sighed, deeply shoulders sagging.

You don't.

He answered softly.

You just wait and hope they lose interest.

The good news is you're still here.

Means they have taken you yet.

We sat quietly for hours until dawn broke Jonas.

Brewed coffee, bitter.

And strong.

Handing me a steaming cup with a word as sunlight.

Pushed away the Shadows.

Jonas, led me back toward the road both of us wearing the trees constantly.

My truck.

Stood exactly where I left it yet.

Now, it was torn.

Apart completely doors, ripped open tires.

Shredded engine.

Gutted violently.

We exchanged a glance knowing what had caused the destruction.

Nothing was missing, just senseless.

Deliberate ruin.

Jonas clapped me on the shoulder gently.

As we climb toward Higher Ground to find signal, finally calling in help.

Before I left, he pulled me aside, whatever you do.

He warned eyes solemn, don't come back here, don't tempt fate twice.

I promised meaning every word But as I watched the rescue truck approach, I realized something chilling.

There were entire stretches of that night hours that I still couldn't account for.

Even Jonas with all his warnings, couldn't explain that missing time.

I climbed into the rescue trucks silently glancing.

Once more at Jonas's cabin in the distance, Deep down, I knew what ever had chased me wasn't finished, not completely.

But for now at least I was getting out alive.

13 years had passed since that night on route.

212 life had moved forward as it tends to do dulling the edges of what I experienced until it felt more like a vivid nightmare than a memory.

I have avoided speaking about it bearing, the event deep, but the truth about that July night, never faded.

Completely, it was always there beneath the surface.

Quietly waiting now on a humid August Night in 2024.

I sat out back on the porch with my grown son, sipping whiskey under the pale glow of the porch lights.

The evening had been joyous my grandson's birthday party.

Filled the house with laughter.

The Quiet Now felt comfortable peaceful until my son asked a question.

I'd spent years secretly dreading.

You ever see anything out there that really scared you?

I hesitated swirling, the Amber liquid in my glass.

Silent stretched uncomfortably.

My son, waited patiently.

Sensing my internal struggle.

Finally, I took a deep breath and looked into the darkness beyond our fence.

You remember the Fourth of July, reunion?

I missed in 2011.

I began cautiously.

He nodded I told you the truck broke down but that wasn't all of it.

I recounted every detail.

Slowly methodically dredging up memories long suppressed, the crash, the shredded engine, the figure at the window, the Lost hours in the woods, and Jonas is grim warning.

Which word felt heavy like an anchor dragged up from Deep Waters.

My son listened silent and intent the humor of early.

Now completely drained from his face.

When I finished, he sat back in his chair.

Exhaling.

Deeply Why didn't you ever say something sooner?

He asked quietly.

because I spent years trying to convince myself, it wasn't real, I admitted Telling anyone made it harder to pretend, but it happened every bit of it and it's still haunts me after a long silence, I Rose and went inside.

From an old box store in the attic.

I retrieved something.

I'd never shared with another Soul, a small fragment of bark.

Yellowed and curled with age, its edges crumbling Jonas, had handed it to me just before I climbed into the rescue truck eyes.

Full of a warning.

I hadn't fully understood back then.

Returning to the porch.

I placed the bark gently into my son's hand.

He squinted tilting, it toward the porch, light to read The Faded writing.

Don't call them.

Don't follow them, if they stopped watching you walk, don't run.

Don't think my son stared silently.

At the words, letting them sink in what did he mean by?

Don't think he finally asked.

I shook my head, slowly.

I don't know exactly maybe that they mess with your perception, make your mind play tricks, the less you dwell on them, the safer you are.

the more you acknowledge them, the more power they seem to have We sat and thoughtful silence.

He eventually stood classed my shoulder firmly and went inside.

Leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering Taste of memories.

I took out my phone fingers trembling slightly, as I typed route, 212 into the search bar pulling up satellite images of the highway.

I'd never driven again.

I studied the twisting route closely tracing it with my finger on the screen.

Even now years later my throat tightened just looking at it.

I realized then just how drastically I had altered my life after that night, how I'd rerouted to deliveries added hours, sometimes days, onto trips, simply to avoid that place.

But I never fully admitted to myself, why?

Sighing heavily.

I turned off my phone and stood up gazing into the darkness.

The unease was still there simmering.

Just beneath the surface.

Something Jonas, said, echoed in my mind.

Clearly.

Now, once they set eyes on you, they don't let go easily.

Walking inside I stopped and turned back one final time toward the yard looking past our fence into the Shadows Beyond.

I felt certain deep in my bones that whatever.

I encountered on route, 212 hadn't meant to harm me, not directly.

They had been curious.

Interested, perhaps in a way, a child might study an insect pinned beneath glass.

But curiosity like that wasn't human and it wasn't innocent.

I locked the back door carefully, double-checking the latch before, turning off the lights.

Casting the porch Into Darkness?

Upstairs, as I climbed into bed, I knew with Grimm's certainty, that the fear I'd carry for 13 years, wasn't irrational.

It was earned bought and paid for with lost hours and shredded metal.

A pale face at the window and footprints in the dirt that shouldn't have existed.

And asleep finally took me.

I knew one thing.

Clearly Above All Else.

I would never travel route.

212 again.

I've driven rigs for over a decade.

Now, mostly hauling livestock feed from Great Falls down to Billings.

It's steady work, predictable, even and US.

87 became a second home for me years ago.

On those long drives, you get to know every rise.

Every curve, every patch of grass, Montana has its own way of lulling you into a quiet sense of routine.

So when something breaks that Rhythm it, sticks with you late summer, had been brutally dry and Wildfire season was in full swing long stretches of Sagebrush and grazing, land were crispy and brown during the days.

The sun, blistered my windshield by evening.

The temperature dropped sharply enough to send chills through the metal doors of my cab.

My truck had been a Dependable companion.

A big blue Kenworth.

I'd take in good care of And as always, I kept a small arsenal of energy drinks protein bars and my glock tucked in the glove box.

I'd only reached for it once before, when a coyote charged me at a rest, stop outside Lewis town.

Until now.

Nothing else had ever come close to rattling me.

It happened around dusk about 25 miles.

North of Roundup.

I'd already been driving for hours squinting into the Horizon, waiting for the dark to bring some relief.

I'd clicked on my headlights just minutes earlier washing the empty 2 Lane Road in a dull yellow globe.

That's when something moved out of the corner of my right eye just off the shoulder.

my first thought was dear, maybe a pronghorn But when I looked again, my stomach twisted.

It was a man.

Shirtless barefoot.

Sprinting, like his life depended on it.

My foot lifted from the accelerator instinctively easing my speed from 65 down to 40.

At first, I thought he might be running from something in the fields behind him.

A dog, a Rancher, who knew what?

But when I glanced again, his eyes met mine, they were wide and intense staring straight through the passenger window, as if he knew.

Exactly who I was his muscles were tight, his body bruised.

All over skin, streaked with dirt and dried blood hair, Tangled and matted.

He looked desperate hunted, I nearly hit the brakes to stop for him, but right as my hand, hovered over the air horn to signal, I was pulling over the man cut sharply, right?

And Dove head first into the thick grass alongside the highway one second.

He was there.

The next Eve vanished.

My heart hammered as I rolled slowly past the spot.

My eyes scan the brush.

Expecting him to pop back up and wave me down.

He never did.

A surge of guilt twisted, my gut.

What if he needed help?

What if someone was chasing him?

But what if he was dangerous, the bruises suggested violence, may be drugs, maybe trouble either way the thought of stopping.

Now felt wrong like stepping into something bigger than I could handle alone.

After a moments hesitation I radio dispatch but all I got back was crackling static.

Cell coverage was practically non-existent here so calling.

Anyone was out of the question.

I swallowed hard steadied my nerves and kept driving.

15 minutes later, my knuckles were still white around the steering wheel.

I'd almost convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing.

When out of the darkness to my right, the same man appeared, again running parallel to the truck matching, my speed precisely every hair on my body.

Stood on end.

He didn't wave or shout.

He just ran eyes, fixed Dead Ahead.

Arms pumping methodically stride, even I floored the accelerator, the engine growling in protest, but when I dare to glance in the side mirror he was still there.

Running alongside as effortlessly as before.

My breath caught in my throat, sweat broke out on my forehead.

There was no way, no human could keep Pace with a rig going that fast and yet.

There he was a dark silhouette flickering through the headlights peripheral reach then just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he veered sharply and vanished again into the Shadows beyond the shoulder.

My rig thundered forward leaving him or whatever.

I just witnessed behind in the darkness.

I didn't stop.

I didn't look back.

I pushed forward.

Heart hammering against my ribs.

Eager to leave round up behind.

But deep down, I knew the night wasn't finished with me yet.

I made it to Billings around 10 nerves raw and mine still replaying the runner's face.

Pulling into the truck.

Stop on South Billings Boulevard felt like stepping into the first safe Zone.

I'd seen in hours, bright overhead lights, cast pools of white across the cracked pavement.

Making the whole place glow on naturally in the Darkness.

Even at this late hour, there was comfort in the distant drone of idling engines and murmured voices over by the gas pumps.

I parked the rig and shut off the engine leaning back in my seat to breathe deeply.

I'd plan to grab a bite and crash in my sleeper cab, but something fell off.

a persistent vibration had nagged at me the last 20 miles subtle but insistent, Maybe I'd hit something early and hadn't realized it road debris or a pothole after tonight.

I wasn't taking chances.

I reached behind my seat for the flashlight.

Grabbed my gloves and hopped down from the cab.

The cool night air made my skin prickle as I stepped around the rig shining the beam Along the trailer tires.

Nothing unusual there.

When I crouched lower my pulse quickened, Something was stuck under the truck's.

Chassis just above the rear axle.

As the beam caught it, a chill, went down my spine, a tangled clump of black hair hung from one of the mounts.

I leaned in closer, hoping it might be animal fur, but the moment I tugged at loose, I knew better.

It was coarse and Long, unmistakably human.

My stomach lurched.

And I scrambled back from under the truck breathing shallowly through clenched teeth, the hair felt wrong between my fingers, like a violation instinctively, I flicked it onto the pavement and stared at it, pulse hammering.

How in the hell had human hair gotten caught there?

Had, I hit someone The bruised Runner flashed through my mind again but I'd never felt any kind of impact.

Still shaken.

I stepped back toward the cab suddenly conscious of eyes on me from the truckers Milling about the pumps.

I forced a casual wave, then climbed back into my seat and locked the door.

The hair lay in the beam of my headlights, a dark clumps dark against the cracked asphalt.

Sleep came.

Reluctantly I tossed and turned in the sleeper cab.

Unable to find rest.

Every small noise outside the crunch of gravel beneath booths, the distance slam of a truck door.

Jarred me awake again, twice, I sat up sharply certain someone had brushed past my rig each time the window revealed, nothing but Stillness and empty pavement.

Mourning couldn't come soon enough.

At first light, I stepped out groggy and unrested.

I stretched stiff muscles determined to put the night behind me.

When I caught sight of something dry and reddish brown, smeared along the rear bumper a sinking dread Twisted inside my chest.

It was blood dry and unmistakable caked onto the steal and uneven streets.

It hadn't been there yesterday.

Without hesitation, I climbed into the cab, slammed the door, shut and fired up the engine.

The steady Rumble felt comforting now like protection.

As I steered out of the truck, stop heading North toward home.

I made a silent vow no more stopping and Roundup, not ever.

Whatever was happening there.

It was someone else's problem from now on My rig barreled down the highway.

And this time, I refused to glance toward the grass lining.

The roadside, some things are better left.

Unseen Two days passed, but the sense of dread hadn't faded.

It clung to me shadowing, every thought poisoning every quiet moment.

I tried burying it beneath chores at home, cleaning out the garage tuning up, my old pickup but nothing erase the image of that bruised Runner or the hair twisted around the axle.

I started wondering if I should have said something to the sheriff, or at least mentioned it to someone else.

But I didn't know how to explain without sounding crazy.

Then around lunchtime on the second day.

My phone buzzed with an unfamiliar local number I hesitated briefly before answering bracing myself.

Is this Sam Weller a gravelly voice asked?

Deputy Harris with mussel shell County Sheriff's Office.

I felt a sick tightening in my chest.

Yeah, speaking.

You called dispatch about something.

Strange near Roundup.

Two nights ago, someone running along us.

87 that correct.

Yeah, guy looked beat up running Barefoot, didn't seem right.

there was a pause on the line heavy and uneasy We need to talk to you about that.

Where are you now?

Home in Lewistown.

Why what happened?

He cleared his throat.

We had a Rancher.

Call it in yesterday.

Morning found a man alive down in a culvert off.

The highway north of Roundup.

Guy.

Had a length of chain still locked to his ankle, says someone held him in a pit.

Beat him when he tried to escape claims, he broke free and tried flagging down passing vehicles.

my throat like sandpaper, I leaned against the kitchen counter steadying myself, he was chained to his ankle Yeah, the deputy said looks like he was kept underground.

Pretty rough shape.

We're trying to piece together how long he was out there?

I remembered the bruises, the desperate expression of the runner who had stared through my passenger window.

Nausea rose again.

Listen Sam.

The deputy continued gently.

He mentions seeing a semi-truck.

A blue rig heading southbound twice.

Said he tried waving you down but thought you didn't notice him.

I noticed I admitted quietly guilt washing over me but he kept disappearing.

He never waived, never yelled just ran.

Well, you weren't the only one to pass him by trust me.

He said we just need to clarify details.

You didn't see anyone else nearby.

Another vehicle something suspicious Know, just him.

And nothing odd with your rig, after no signs of contact my throat tightened again, I pictured the hair dark and Tangled beneath my axle Mount.

I picture the dried streaks of blood smeared on my bumper, my heartbeat was pounding hard in my ears.

No, I lied.

Nothing.

There was another pause.

Just long enough to make me wonder if the deputy believed me.

Finally, he sighed.

Alright, we'll be in touch if we have more questions.

Stay safe out there Sam.

You too?

I muttered hanging up.

I leaned heavily on the countertop, breath ragged Palms sweating.

Every Instinct screamed at me that I had dodged something horrific.

Something very human and very real was happening along that Highway something worse than any nightmare I'd ever imagined.

That evening, as Shadows stretched long across my driveway, I worked silently.

Installing a high-powered Spotlight bar and a Dash mounted camera in the rigs cab.

My hands trembled slightly, as I tightened the bolts, each turn of the wrench, a quiet promise to myself.

The highway had always been my lifeline my comfort zone but that night.

It felt different dangerous unpredictable.

I knew I drive again, but never through Roundup.

Never along that stretch of us 87.

The rumors would spread among truckers whispered at rest stops and diners.

Don't slow down near Roundup.

Don't stop for anything.

In above all else.

If you see a runner along the roadside, keep your eyes forward and your foot down and never look back.