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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/QLVincent on 2024-10-24 23:56:36+00:00.
[Hey, all. I’m posting here based on the recommendation of a friend. I frequently travel the Appalachian trails in my home state during the summers; sometimes alone, sometimes with a group of friends. What I’m about to detail here was my experience last week, as it left me baffled and searching for any shred of rationality in the face of the irrational.
Apologies ahead of time for being sparse on concrete details. I've been a bit shaken from the experience, and all over the place as of late. I also want to keep the location a secret for now. It comes from a selfish place, as I want to be the first to break the case if this ends up being genuine evidence of something… super-natural. I’m hesitant to use that word, but I have no idea what else it could be at this point. I also don’t trust people to not come over here and tamper with the area for a funny joke at my expense. As for what I found…
I was walking through a deeply forested trail, when the walkable path curved sharply into a dead end. Not a natural one, either. It was like a bomb had gone off in the area. There was a large pit in the center, as if a drill about 30 feet wide dug 50 feet down. Trees surrounding the area were either lopsided or fallen, but all of them had intense fire scarring.
In the center of the pit, at the bottom, was a leather journal. On the front cover, someone had carved the words “THE HEART OF MAN”. Looking inside, there was something on the inner binding that had been scratched off. From what I’ve read of the journal so far, I assume it to have been the name of the owner and a phone-number. Written above this damaged portion, “Sun”. Surprisingly (given the state of the surrounding area), the journal was incredibly intact besides that. All the actual written pages seem to be completely undamaged and legible.
I’m not sure how long it’s been here, but the trees have had enough time to heal and grow back their leaves from whatever happened. It was on top of… some sort of skeleton. I think it’s an elk skeleton, going off the skull. Massive thing.
I’ll try to upload a picture of the journal when I can. I’m working with a laptop and a mobile hotspot in the middle of nowhere, even loading up this website took a substantial amount of time. In the meantime I’ve been reading through the journal and transcribing it as I go. I’ve done a general search of the surrounding areas, but none of the maps I have match the description the writer has given so far, so I assume this journal has traveled quite a ways to get where it is now.
My hope is, by sharing this with you all, you might be able to pick up on stuff faster than I have, or find things I missed. I’ve read ahead to the second entry, so after I post this I’ll be moving based on what I found in it. When I’m settled into the new area, I’ll post the next entry. Sorry if I’m sparse until then, I’ll try to read your comments and reply when I can.
Until then, here’s the contents of the first entry.]
May 30th
If you are reading this journal, I hope it was by my own choice to show you the words penned here. I see it as critical to record my thoughts on paper, should I never be able to relay them by voice. I hope I’m speaking these words to you directly, as a changed person, wiser from the experience. If I’m not, and you’ve discovered this in search for me, or are carting me off to the morgue, I’m sorry. Thank you for at least managing to find this, so I am not simply another voice lost to the woods. I’m a fool, compelled by curiosity to search for knowledge despite common sense, warnings, and ill omens.
If you’re reading this, I have a few things to ask. Please do not follow in my foot-steps. Satisfy your curiosity if you like by reading this, but contact the police immediately. On the inside of the binding, I’ve written my name, as well as how to contact my family. Give it to them, so my story does not go untold.
A year ago, my uncle went missing.
None of my family knows where he went. While no one wants to say it out loud, a lot of us have been making peace with the fact he's likely dead.
My uncle was a strange case. Not in a bad way, mind you. He was just… anti-social. Kept to himself. Never texted anyone unless it was necessary. He'd show up once a year to family gatherings, share a few words with us (mostly with my mother) over drinks and dinner. Though, he only started attending these gatherings the year after my grandfather (his father) passed.
After that, he'd be gone again. For a whole year. He lived on about a dozen acres of Appalachian forest he owned. He had moved out when my mother went off to college, working every job he could to afford to escape from the world onto his own piece of land. When my mom and I visited his place years ago, I mostly remember being consumed by boredom. Like any dumb teenager glued to their cell phone, I didn't understand why he'd want to live so reclusively and detached from the city.
But, I get it now. There’s a harsh, violent noise to city life. You get used to it when you live in it, but it’s hard not to feel like a cog in the machine when you spend day after day inside it. It offers its conveniences, but has its downsides, as well. I can't say for certain whether my uncle was better off for secluding himself from the modern world, but I do understand it. Though, if he hadn’t been so reclusive, there’s a good chance we wouldn’t be mourning him right now.
There was a manhunt for him, of course. County police searched for him. We searched for him. The police never found anything pointing toward foul play. And, while the wilderness has plenty of dangerous predators, my uncle was an experienced outdoorsman. He knew all there was to know about surviving in the area he lived in. Had there been a freak accident, or some animal attack, the search parties certainly didn't find any trace of it.
He was here one day, and the next he had stepped off the face of the Earth.
The search efforts weighed heavily on my family, especially my mother. She took his disappearance the hardest. If anyone could get him to pick up the phone, it was her. After hours of bounced calls, day after day, she ended up finally breaking down. She knew something had happened. Worse, she knew there was nothing she could do about it. I’ve spent mornings, afternoons, and evenings doing my best to comfort her. The tears came at random, and frequently. I didn’t blame her for it, I just did my best to help.
She told me a lot of stories about him in his absence. It paints a distinctly different picture compared to the uncle I knew.
The one that sticks out in my mind is a trick he'd always do to cheer her up. When she was feeling down, he'd make a makeshift tent out of blankets and pillows. Afterwards, he'd invite her in and close it up. He'd ask her where they were. When she'd answer "Home, duh", he'd correct her. Actually, they were deep in a mysterious Appalachian forest; far away from the suburbs, far away from the problems troubling them. He'd paint a vivid picture of the foothills and the strong trees that sprouted from them, descriptions straight from botanical books and trail guides he collected. He'd mime as if he were listening for animals and mimic them with his voice. This is always what got her to start smiling again. The impersonations were so bad, she'd burst out laughing at them.
As my mom shared these charming anecdotes and family stories, I felt a knot in my stomach forming; the familiar, twisting pains of regret. It made me realize how little I knew the man. Can’t blame him for that, though. I was always more interested in trading cards and video games than the forests he was so fond of. If I had been more conversational myself, moping less about being stuck somewhere so “boring”, I could have known him better.
What those stories made clear, was that beyond his reserved exterior, he cared deeply for his loved ones. I wish I got to know him better. Or rather, I wish I had taken the time to reach out more and get to know him better. Although he kept to himself, I could have tried to connect with him more. It’s likely I don't have that opportunity now.
My mother painted a more complete picture of him, but it felt disjointed from the man I grew up knowing. He kept a lot about him close to his chest, even with her. She told me as much. From what she said though, he didn't seem like the kind of man to leave his sister, his best friend, alone like this. It felt like there was a missing puzzle piece in the jigsaw of my uncle's identity. That inherent mystery about him lingered in my mind, making me reflect more and more about his disappearance. There had to be more, something that my mother didn't know.
As she recalled our time spent with him, my thoughts returned to his log home in deep Appalachia. The memories of that endless expanse of forest came back to me in vivid detail. Now though, the recollection was tainted by my uncle's disappearance. I recalled the towering oaks and pines, the luscious hickory trees scattering sunlight between their leaves. In these tranquil woods, I saw them as looming sentinels, guarding buried secrets. The comfort of a campfire felt like a pointed transgression against them. The smell of damp earth brought to mind all the death and decay that enriched its soil. It was hard to clear the black clouds coloring these memories, the recent tragedy blowing a terrible storm-front to smother them. The forest itse...
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