billymidnight
🇲🇽 life is a game of bones
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2024
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Buckle in yall cos yall are in for a special one
Hiking the Appalachian Trail had always been on my bucket list, and when the opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance. I had read countless blogs and watched dozens of YouTube videos about it. Everyone talked about the beauty of the mountains, the serenity of the forests, and the camaraderie among fellow hikers. I wanted that experience. I craved the solitude, the connection with nature, and the sense of accomplishment that would come from walking nearly 2,200 miles from Georgia to Maine.
The first few days were exactly what I hoped for. The trail was tough but manageable, the weather was perfect, and I met a few friendly faces along the way. But on the fourth night, something changed. I had set up my tent near a small, babbling brook, far off the main trail to ensure I had some privacy. As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness began to creep in, I started to feel uneasy, as if I were being watched. I shook it off, attributing it to my mind playing tricks on me. After all, I was deep in the woods alone, and that could easily make anyone's imagination run wild.
I zipped myself into my tent and turned off my headlamp, letting the darkness envelop me. It was then I heard it—a faint whisper, barely audible, drifting through the trees. It sounded like a low, mournful moan carried on the wind. My skin prickled, and I held my breath, listening intently. The sound came again, clearer this time, a shuffling and then a soft, guttural murmur, like someone whispering just out of earshot.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I tried to convince myself it was just the wind or maybe an animal moving through the brush. I lay still, every muscle tense, straining to hear any other sound. Minutes passed, and just as I began to relax, the whispering started again. This time, it was more distinct, almost like a chant. It was rhythmic, repetitive, but I couldn't make out the words. It sounded human, but there was something off about it, something that sent a chill down my spine.
I sat up slowly, unzipping my tent just enough to peek out. The forest was pitch black, the only light coming from the sliver of moon peeking through the dense canopy above. I couldn't see anything unusual, but the whispering continued, louder now, almost urgent. My breath caught in my throat when I saw movement—a shadow slipping between the trees about fifty yards away. It was tall, too tall to be a person, and it moved with an unnaturally smooth grace.
I froze, watching as the shadow glided closer, the chanting growing louder. It wasn’t a language I recognized. The words were guttural, primal, almost like a growl mixed with a whisper. Panic surged through me. I scrambled out of my tent, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the zipper. As I stood, I grabbed my flashlight, pointed it towards the shadow, and flicked it on.
The beam cut through the darkness, landing on...nothing. The shadow was gone, but the chanting persisted, now seeming to come from all around me. I spun in a circle, my light flashing through the trees, but there was nothing, no sign of the figure I had seen. The chanting stopped abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. I stood there, panting, my flashlight trembling in my grip.
And then I heard it—a soft crunch, like a footstep on dry leaves, right behind me.
I whirled around, shining my light into the darkness, and there it was. Standing just outside the reach of the light was a figure, tall and thin, its body obscured by the shadows. But its eyes...its eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the darkness, staring straight at me. They were unlike anything I had ever seen—inhuman, predatory, filled with a cold, malevolent intelligence.
I stumbled back, tripping over my tent, and fell hard onto the ground. My flashlight flew from my hand and rolled away, the beam flickering and then dying, plunging me into darkness. I could hear my heart hammering in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I scrambled to my feet, my eyes desperately scanning the dark for any sign of the figure, but I saw nothing.
And then I heard it again, the chanting, louder now, almost deafening. It was coming from all directions, surrounding me. I turned and ran, not caring where I was going, just needing to get away from that voice, those eyes. The forest around me was a blur as I sprinted through the trees, branches whipping at my face, roots catching at my feet.
I ran until my lungs burned, and my legs felt like they would give out beneath me. Finally, I stumbled to a stop, doubling over and gasping for breath. I looked around, my eyes wide with fear, but I was alone. The forest was silent again, the only sound my own labored breathing.
I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t dare. I stayed awake, huddled against a tree, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The chanting had stopped, but I could still hear it in my mind, a dark, ominous whisper that sent shivers down my spine.
When dawn finally broke, I wasted no time packing up my gear and getting back on the trail. I hiked all day without stopping, putting as much distance between myself and whatever that thing was. I didn’t see any other hikers, didn’t hear any other sounds except the rustling of leaves and the occasional bird call.
I never told anyone what happened that night. Who would believe me? They would think I was crazy, or that I had been dreaming, hallucinating. But I know what I saw. I know what I heard. And I will never forget those eyes, those cold, glowing eyes watching me from the darkness.
To this day, I still hear the chanting sometimes, just as I’m about to drift off to sleep. And when I do, I remember the whispering, the shadow, and the eyes in the dark. And I wonder if whatever it was is still out there, waiting, watching, whispering my name.
Hiking the Appalachian Trail had always been on my bucket list, and when the opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance. I had read countless blogs and watched dozens of YouTube videos about it. Everyone talked about the beauty of the mountains, the serenity of the forests, and the camaraderie among fellow hikers. I wanted that experience. I craved the solitude, the connection with nature, and the sense of accomplishment that would come from walking nearly 2,200 miles from Georgia to Maine.
The first few days were exactly what I hoped for. The trail was tough but manageable, the weather was perfect, and I met a few friendly faces along the way. But on the fourth night, something changed. I had set up my tent near a small, babbling brook, far off the main trail to ensure I had some privacy. As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness began to creep in, I started to feel uneasy, as if I were being watched. I shook it off, attributing it to my mind playing tricks on me. After all, I was deep in the woods alone, and that could easily make anyone's imagination run wild.
I zipped myself into my tent and turned off my headlamp, letting the darkness envelop me. It was then I heard it—a faint whisper, barely audible, drifting through the trees. It sounded like a low, mournful moan carried on the wind. My skin prickled, and I held my breath, listening intently. The sound came again, clearer this time, a shuffling and then a soft, guttural murmur, like someone whispering just out of earshot.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I tried to convince myself it was just the wind or maybe an animal moving through the brush. I lay still, every muscle tense, straining to hear any other sound. Minutes passed, and just as I began to relax, the whispering started again. This time, it was more distinct, almost like a chant. It was rhythmic, repetitive, but I couldn't make out the words. It sounded human, but there was something off about it, something that sent a chill down my spine.
I sat up slowly, unzipping my tent just enough to peek out. The forest was pitch black, the only light coming from the sliver of moon peeking through the dense canopy above. I couldn't see anything unusual, but the whispering continued, louder now, almost urgent. My breath caught in my throat when I saw movement—a shadow slipping between the trees about fifty yards away. It was tall, too tall to be a person, and it moved with an unnaturally smooth grace.
I froze, watching as the shadow glided closer, the chanting growing louder. It wasn’t a language I recognized. The words were guttural, primal, almost like a growl mixed with a whisper. Panic surged through me. I scrambled out of my tent, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the zipper. As I stood, I grabbed my flashlight, pointed it towards the shadow, and flicked it on.
The beam cut through the darkness, landing on...nothing. The shadow was gone, but the chanting persisted, now seeming to come from all around me. I spun in a circle, my light flashing through the trees, but there was nothing, no sign of the figure I had seen. The chanting stopped abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. I stood there, panting, my flashlight trembling in my grip.
And then I heard it—a soft crunch, like a footstep on dry leaves, right behind me.
I whirled around, shining my light into the darkness, and there it was. Standing just outside the reach of the light was a figure, tall and thin, its body obscured by the shadows. But its eyes...its eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the darkness, staring straight at me. They were unlike anything I had ever seen—inhuman, predatory, filled with a cold, malevolent intelligence.
I stumbled back, tripping over my tent, and fell hard onto the ground. My flashlight flew from my hand and rolled away, the beam flickering and then dying, plunging me into darkness. I could hear my heart hammering in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I scrambled to my feet, my eyes desperately scanning the dark for any sign of the figure, but I saw nothing.
And then I heard it again, the chanting, louder now, almost deafening. It was coming from all directions, surrounding me. I turned and ran, not caring where I was going, just needing to get away from that voice, those eyes. The forest around me was a blur as I sprinted through the trees, branches whipping at my face, roots catching at my feet.
I ran until my lungs burned, and my legs felt like they would give out beneath me. Finally, I stumbled to a stop, doubling over and gasping for breath. I looked around, my eyes wide with fear, but I was alone. The forest was silent again, the only sound my own labored breathing.
I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t dare. I stayed awake, huddled against a tree, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The chanting had stopped, but I could still hear it in my mind, a dark, ominous whisper that sent shivers down my spine.
When dawn finally broke, I wasted no time packing up my gear and getting back on the trail. I hiked all day without stopping, putting as much distance between myself and whatever that thing was. I didn’t see any other hikers, didn’t hear any other sounds except the rustling of leaves and the occasional bird call.
I never told anyone what happened that night. Who would believe me? They would think I was crazy, or that I had been dreaming, hallucinating. But I know what I saw. I know what I heard. And I will never forget those eyes, those cold, glowing eyes watching me from the darkness.
To this day, I still hear the chanting sometimes, just as I’m about to drift off to sleep. And when I do, I remember the whispering, the shadow, and the eyes in the dark. And I wonder if whatever it was is still out there, waiting, watching, whispering my name.
