I had been planning a solo camping trip for weeks. I made sure I had the weekend off work, didn’t make any plans, all of that. I told a few of my friends where I was going, when I was going to be there, and when I’ll be back, just for precautions. I even brought along the 9mm that my dad gave me when I turned 18. I started buying supplies a week before I went. I was gonna go camping in the forest near my town. I was so excited.
On camping day, I left around six in the morning. It’s an hour drive from my place so I was expecting to get there around seven. It was a lovely day, not a cloud in the sky, great weather, so I was pretty content with my arrival time. I parked my car ways away from the forest in a little clearing off the side of the road where I knew I would find it. I gathered my things and headed off toward the forest.
I made my way well into the forest, set up a camp, and started enjoying the wilderness. Everything went fine until the night came when I was about to sleep.
I started hearing something from the outside of my tent. Then the noise stopped. There was silence for like couple of seconds and the only thing I could hear is my own shaky breathing. Then there’s prancing. Four footsteps in quick succession. No crunching of leaves or snapping of twigs. Just the steady beat. It was getting louder, closer to my tent. I tried to peer through the fabric that separated me from nature but I couldn’t make out a silhouette. I clutched my 9mm rifle harder, scared as any person would be. Then the steps stopped close to my tent. Just outside of my tent. I could feel its presence near me. It was totally silent. Just silence.
And then it screeched.
That’s when I knew that that thing wasn’t anything I’d seen before. Nothing makes that sort of sound. It was like a cross between some sort of bird and a human. That’s when I let fear take over. I fired the gun in its direction, and holy crap was that a mistake. It screeched again and it scratched the tent. Tearing through the fabric, leaving a massive gash in the side.
That was my first look at it. I barely saw a silhouette through the hole in my tent. But I did see its long arms shredding the side of the tent. It was trying to get to me. I fired the rifle again, but I must have missed, because it didn’t flinch. That was when the flight reflex took over the fight, and I only wanted to do one thing: Run.
I turned around and fiddled with the opening of the tent, trying to keep my eye on the beast attacking me but also trying to secure my escape as fast as I could. I did it, and dove out of the tent breaking into a full sprint. Behind me, I heard the thing still tearing into my tent. I thought that maybe it mistook its enemy, or prey, for the tent and not me. But that relief didn’t last long. I wasn’t far from the tent when I heard it’s rhythmic prancing again.
Now heading towards me.
It was faster than me. Gaining on me. If I tried to outrun it, I would surely be caught. Just then, in what was either a moment of survivalist brilliance or suicidal stupidity, I stopped, and dove into a thick bush near me.
That decision saved my life.
It ran past me, stopping in the same place where I stopped. I didn’t notice before I hid, but that spot is just under an opening in the trees. A pillar of light penetrated the oppressive dark and, in the moonlight, I could see my assailant.
It was pale, made paler by the white of the moon, and hairless. Thin, like it had not eaten in weeks. I want to say it looked humanoid but comparing that thing to a human is just wrong. It’s hunched back protruded out, making it look larger than any human. It stood on all fours in such a way that no human could. Its rear low to the ground, its long legs bent in such a grotesque fashion that it almost resembled a frog, ready to leap. It circled around, silently, searching for me. I thought it was about to give up, but it threw its horrendous back upwards, and its legs straightened and it stood. On two legs. Like a person. A deformed, horrific human.
And then it looked at me.
It looked right at me. It saw me. I know it saw me. Nothing looks at you like that without seeing you. I clutched the rifle close to my chest. Too scared to use it, too scared to move. I closed my eyes and waiting for it to pounce. The prancing sound getting louder and nearer and then I opened my eyes.
It was gone.
I didn’t move for the rest of the night. I fell asleep in that bush, cuddling with the rifle, until finally being awoken by the sounds of birds. It was already daylight. Things seemed to be normal. The forest was speaking once again. Birds, deers, a plenty were in sight. I stumble back to my camp, packed, and I left.
The entire trek back to my car, I didn’t stop looking around for that thing. I didn’t let the gun leave my hands, either. It wasn’t until I got to the car that I relaxed, calling my friend to tell him I was heading home. I didn’t tell him about what had happened last night. I was still trying to process it myself. I don’t think I understand wholly what had happened until after the car ride home.
And that’s where the story ends. Six years ago, and I haven’t gone camping since. I haven’t seen the thing again, nor have I heard of anyone who’s seen it. As a whole, my life has moved on completely. But I will never forget that thing. I will never forget how it stared at me. And how it just left. It knew I was there but it left. Why did it left? I don’t think I’ll ever get an answer.
