The pines There were three of us on that trip: my friend…
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The pines
There were three of us on that trip: my friend Marcus, my cousin Elena, and me. We had been talking for weeks about escaping the city, so we eventually chose a quiet state park tucked deep within the mountains. It was the kind of place where the trees grow so thick that the sun barely touches the forest floor, leaving the air smelling perpetually of wet earth and pine needles. At the time, the idea sounded peaceful; looking back now, I wish we had never gone.
Day One
We arrived in the late afternoon after navigating a road that twisted through miles of dense forest. By the time we reached the campground, the sky was turning a bruised orange behind the hills. There were only a few other campers scattered around the area, and most of them looked like they were already packing up to leave. Marcus joked that we practically had the whole place to ourselves.
We picked a campsite near the tree line where the forest felt uncomfortably dense. The trees stood so close together that their branches tangled like skeletal fingers trying to block out the sky. While we were setting up the tent, Elena suddenly paused and pointed toward the woods.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
Marcus and I stopped what we were doing to listen, but we heard nothing—no birds, no insects, not even the hum of cicadas. There was only the low whistle of the wind; the forest was completely silent. Marcus tried to brush it off, suggesting it was just the time of day, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness filled the gaps between the trees, the silence remained.
Later that night, we sat around the fire eating instant noodles and talking. That was when we heard the first strange disturbance: a heavy sound deep in the woods. Something was moving out there, but it didn't sound like a deer or branches shifting in the breeze. The noise was slow, heavy, and deliberate, sounding exactly like footsteps. We shined our flashlights into the trees, but we saw nothing except endless trunks disappearing into the gloom. Marcus laughed nervously and suggested it was probably a raccoon, but deep down, we knew raccoons didn't take steps that heavy.
Eventually, the sound stopped, and we tried to ignore our unease as we went to sleep. However, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of something walking around our campsite. I heard soft footsteps circling the tent—crunch, crunch, crunch. Then, a voice spoke.
“Marcus?”
It sounded exactly like Elena, but Elena was fast asleep right next to me. I held my breath and listened as the voice came again from just outside the fabric of the tent.
“Marcus… come here.”
Marcus whispered from the other side of the tent, his voice trembling, “That’s not Elena.” None of us moved a muscle. After a few agonizing minutes, the footsteps stopped, and whatever it was walked slowly back into the woods.
Day Two
None of us slept much after that. In the morning, we tried to convince ourselves that it was just another camper messing with us, but when we stepped outside the tent, Marcus froze. There were footprints surrounding the campsite, but they didn't make any sense. They looked human, yet fundamentally wrong; the toes were too long, the heel was unnaturally narrow, and the steps were spaced strangely far apart as if the creature had an impossible stride.
Elena looked physically ill as she suggested it might be someone walking barefoot, but Marcus simply shook his head and pointed at the shape of the prints. We followed the trail for a few feet before it vanished into the undergrowth. That was when we noticed a deer standing between the trees. It was staring at us—not moving, not blinking, just watching. Marcus waved his hand to startle it, but the animal didn't react.
Then, slowly, the deer stood up on its hind legs. Its limbs bent at sickening angles, and its body appeared far too thin to be healthy. When it turned its head toward us, it made a sound that wasn't a deer’s call at all; it sounded like a person trying to imitate one, resulting in a broken, choking noise. Elena grabbed my arm and insisted we go back to camp.
The rest of the day felt fundamentally off. We kept hearing movement in the woods—branches snapping and leaves rustling—and once or twice, we heard our names called from the trees. The voices always sounded almost right, but they were never quite perfect. We decided we would leave first thing in the morning, but the forest had other plans for us.
Day Three
The third night was the worst experience of my life. Around 2:00 AM, Marcus shook me awake and told me to listen. Something was outside the tent again, but this time, there were multiple sets of footsteps circling us. They were slow and patient.
Then the whispering started. We heard "Elena," "Marcus," and my own name being called in our own voices—perfect copies. One of them even sounded like my mother.
“Elena, open the tent,” the voice pleaded.
Elena started crying quietly. Suddenly, something touched the side of the tent, and we watched as long fingers dragged across the fabric with a rhythmic scratch, scratch, scratch. Terrified, Marcus grabbed his flashlight and suddenly unzipped the tent. The beam shot into the darkness, and we finally saw it.
It was standing at the edge of the trees. It was far too tall, with limbs that were thin and crooked as if they had been put together incorrectly. Its skin looked stretched tight over its bones, and I still don't know how to properly describe its face. It looked as though it were wearing a mask made of human skin. Its mouth opened slowly into a wide smile, and then it spoke in my own voice.
“Don’t leave.”
Marcus yelled for us to run. We didn't even stop to pack; we just grabbed our keys and sprinted for the car. Behind us, we could hear something heavy crashing through the forest at an incredible speed. Whatever it was, it ran parallel to us through the trees, easily keeping pace.
We jumped into the car and Marcus slammed the locks just as something heavy collided with the side of the vehicle. Elena screamed, and for a split second, I saw that face pressed against the glass, smiling at me. Marcus hit the gas and we tore down the dirt road, fleeing the park as fast as the car would go. In the rearview mirror, I saw it standing in the middle of the road. It wasn't chasing us anymore; it was just watching.
We never went back for our camping gear, and we never reported the incident to the authorities. We haven't even talked about it since that night. But sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear something walking outside my house with those same slow, heavy footsteps. Every time I think about that state park, I remember that smile, and I know one thing for sure: I will never go back
#entertainment
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There were three of us on that trip: my friend Marcus, my cousin Elena, and me. We had been talking for weeks about escaping the city, so we eventually chose a quiet state park tucked deep within the mountains. It was the kind of place where the trees grow so thick that the sun barely touches the forest floor, leaving the air smelling perpetually of wet earth and pine needles. At the time, the idea sounded peaceful; looking back now, I wish we had never gone.
Day One
We arrived in the late afternoon after navigating a road that twisted through miles of dense forest. By the time we reached the campground, the sky was turning a bruised orange behind the hills. There were only a few other campers scattered around the area, and most of them looked like they were already packing up to leave. Marcus joked that we practically had the whole place to ourselves.
We picked a campsite near the tree line where the forest felt uncomfortably dense. The trees stood so close together that their branches tangled like skeletal fingers trying to block out the sky. While we were setting up the tent, Elena suddenly paused and pointed toward the woods.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
Marcus and I stopped what we were doing to listen, but we heard nothing—no birds, no insects, not even the hum of cicadas. There was only the low whistle of the wind; the forest was completely silent. Marcus tried to brush it off, suggesting it was just the time of day, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness filled the gaps between the trees, the silence remained.
Later that night, we sat around the fire eating instant noodles and talking. That was when we heard the first strange disturbance: a heavy sound deep in the woods. Something was moving out there, but it didn't sound like a deer or branches shifting in the breeze. The noise was slow, heavy, and deliberate, sounding exactly like footsteps. We shined our flashlights into the trees, but we saw nothing except endless trunks disappearing into the gloom. Marcus laughed nervously and suggested it was probably a raccoon, but deep down, we knew raccoons didn't take steps that heavy.
Eventually, the sound stopped, and we tried to ignore our unease as we went to sleep. However, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of something walking around our campsite. I heard soft footsteps circling the tent—crunch, crunch, crunch. Then, a voice spoke.
“Marcus?”
It sounded exactly like Elena, but Elena was fast asleep right next to me. I held my breath and listened as the voice came again from just outside the fabric of the tent.
“Marcus… come here.”
Marcus whispered from the other side of the tent, his voice trembling, “That’s not Elena.” None of us moved a muscle. After a few agonizing minutes, the footsteps stopped, and whatever it was walked slowly back into the woods.
Day Two
None of us slept much after that. In the morning, we tried to convince ourselves that it was just another camper messing with us, but when we stepped outside the tent, Marcus froze. There were footprints surrounding the campsite, but they didn't make any sense. They looked human, yet fundamentally wrong; the toes were too long, the heel was unnaturally narrow, and the steps were spaced strangely far apart as if the creature had an impossible stride.
Elena looked physically ill as she suggested it might be someone walking barefoot, but Marcus simply shook his head and pointed at the shape of the prints. We followed the trail for a few feet before it vanished into the undergrowth. That was when we noticed a deer standing between the trees. It was staring at us—not moving, not blinking, just watching. Marcus waved his hand to startle it, but the animal didn't react.
Then, slowly, the deer stood up on its hind legs. Its limbs bent at sickening angles, and its body appeared far too thin to be healthy. When it turned its head toward us, it made a sound that wasn't a deer’s call at all; it sounded like a person trying to imitate one, resulting in a broken, choking noise. Elena grabbed my arm and insisted we go back to camp.
The rest of the day felt fundamentally off. We kept hearing movement in the woods—branches snapping and leaves rustling—and once or twice, we heard our names called from the trees. The voices always sounded almost right, but they were never quite perfect. We decided we would leave first thing in the morning, but the forest had other plans for us.
Day Three
The third night was the worst experience of my life. Around 2:00 AM, Marcus shook me awake and told me to listen. Something was outside the tent again, but this time, there were multiple sets of footsteps circling us. They were slow and patient.
Then the whispering started. We heard "Elena," "Marcus," and my own name being called in our own voices—perfect copies. One of them even sounded like my mother.
“Elena, open the tent,” the voice pleaded.
Elena started crying quietly. Suddenly, something touched the side of the tent, and we watched as long fingers dragged across the fabric with a rhythmic scratch, scratch, scratch. Terrified, Marcus grabbed his flashlight and suddenly unzipped the tent. The beam shot into the darkness, and we finally saw it.
It was standing at the edge of the trees. It was far too tall, with limbs that were thin and crooked as if they had been put together incorrectly. Its skin looked stretched tight over its bones, and I still don't know how to properly describe its face. It looked as though it were wearing a mask made of human skin. Its mouth opened slowly into a wide smile, and then it spoke in my own voice.
“Don’t leave.”
Marcus yelled for us to run. We didn't even stop to pack; we just grabbed our keys and sprinted for the car. Behind us, we could hear something heavy crashing through the forest at an incredible speed. Whatever it was, it ran parallel to us through the trees, easily keeping pace.
We jumped into the car and Marcus slammed the locks just as something heavy collided with the side of the vehicle. Elena screamed, and for a split second, I saw that face pressed against the glass, smiling at me. Marcus hit the gas and we tore down the dirt road, fleeing the park as fast as the car would go. In the rearview mirror, I saw it standing in the middle of the road. It wasn't chasing us anymore; it was just watching.
We never went back for our camping gear, and we never reported the incident to the authorities. We haven't even talked about it since that night. But sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear something walking outside my house with those same slow, heavy footsteps. Every time I think about that state park, I remember that smile, and I know one thing for sure: I will never go back
#entertainment
source
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