this post was submitted on 12 Nov 2024
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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/InformationRemote865 on 2024-11-12 05:19:00+00:00.


I’ve been a park ranger in Mount Hood National Forest for over a decade, and nothing has ever truly shaken me. Sure, there are the occasional lost hikers, a few wild animal sightings, but nothing out of the ordinary. That changed a few weeks ago.

It started with a missing person’s report. A hiker had gone out alone on the Timberline Trail, and his wife called in a panic. He was supposed to be back by 5 pm, but it was now 7, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Something about the way she sounded—frantic, desperate—told me this wasn’t just a case of someone losing track of time.

I took the night shift patrol to search for them. The air was cold, thick with fog, and the trees stood like silent sentinels, blocking out most of the moonlight. As I ventured deeper into the woods, a deep unease settled in my chest. It was too quiet. The usual sounds of rustling leaves or animal calls were absent.

I followed the trail, each step crunching on the frost-covered ground, the silence pressing in around me. The usual sounds of the forest—distant calls of owls, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush—were absent, replaced by an unnerving stillness.

Then I found it. Frantic footprints. They led off the trail, deeper into the forest. The prints were erratic, almost as if the person had been running or stumbling in a blind panic. I crouched to examine them, my flashlight cutting through the darkness. The shape of the prints was unmistakable—a hiker’s boot, a solid, worn tread. But something wasn’t right. The ground around the prints was disturbed, torn up as though something had been dragged along with them.

I followed the trail further, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. But then I found something worse. Another set of prints. Larger. Much larger. And not human. They were too deep—and they spread unnaturally wide, the toes splayed out like claws. The earth around them was torn as though whatever left them had been moving with immense weight and power.

I felt the cold sweat on my brow, but I couldn’t stop now. Something wasn’t right, and I needed answers. The prints led further off the path, into the darker parts of the woods. The air grew heavier, the fog thicker, and for the first time in years, I regretted being out here alone.

I hesitated at the edge of the steep hillside, my boots slipping on the loose rocks as I followed the prints downward. The earth seemed to be alive, shifting beneath my feet with every step I took. And then, I saw it—a scrap of clothing, caught on a branch. It was torn, frayed at the edges, and stained with something dark. The fabric looked familiar, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was what I saw next.

The footprints of the hiker and the creature now seemed to line up perfectly, as though the thing had been stalking the person, step by agonizing step. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just following. It was hunting.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as the weight of the situation bore down on me. I couldn't turn back now. I had to know what was out here, and if I could help whoever was still out there.

I moved further down the trail, careful not to lose the prints, when suddenly, a scream pierced the silence. Distant, but unmistakable. A cry of pure terror. It sent a shockwave through my chest, freezing me in place.

But then, I heard something else. A low, guttural roar, far deeper than any animal I’d ever heard. It wasn’t just a roar, though. It was mixed with the scream, as if whatever was chasing the hiker was so close, it had begun to drown out their cries. The sounds twisted together, sending a wave of ice through my veins.

I didn’t wait. I ran.

I pressed my hand against my side, feeling the cold metal of my firearm beneath my jacket. It didn’t give me much comfort, but it was the only thing I had. I kept telling myself that if the hiker was still alive, the gun might be the one thing that could make a difference—if I could find them in time. If I could stop whatever this thing was.

The sounds of the forest seemed to grow quieter as I ran, the rush of my own breath drowning out everything else. My pulse thundered in my ears, each step making my heart beat faster. I had to focus. I had to find them.

I slowed, my chest tightening as I tried to steady my breath. My heart was pounding too loudly now, and I was beginning to lose track of the sounds that had been guiding me. I listened intently, straining to hear anything, but the woods were eerily silent. No more screams, no more growls—just the sound of my own feet crunching the underbrush.

The gulley opened up, and the fog seemed to thicken. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, a primal instinct warning me that something was very wrong. I stepped into the small clearing, shining my flashlight across the ground, scanning for any signs. My stomach twisted when I saw it—the signs of a struggle. Broken branches. Trampled ground. Torn-up dirt.

And then, I saw the fabric. Bloodstained, torn to shreds, lying in the grass like it had been discarded. I couldn’t breathe for a second as I crouched down beside it. The fabric was too familiar—it was the same as the scrap I had found earlier. This was real. The hiker was here. And they were hurt.

I fought to stay calm, but my mind was racing. This person wasn’t just lost. They were being hunted. I could feel it deep in my gut, that sickening certainty. I had to keep going, had to find them before it was too late.

But as I scanned the clearing, the silence grew heavier, more oppressive. Like something was watching me.

I kept searching, my eyes darting around the clearing, every muscle in my body tense, but all I could hear was the wind rustling through the trees. The silence was deafening, heavy, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. But then, I heard it—a gnarled, sickening crunch. A sound that made my blood run cold.

I whipped around, flashlight in hand, the beam cutting through the darkness. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes locked onto the unimaginable scene just beyond the treeline. There, lying in the shadows, was the hiker. Or what was left of him. His body was mangled, torn open like a ragdoll, his entrails spilled across the ground in a sickening display of brutality.

But worse than the body, worse than the blood, was the thing crouching behind him.

The creature was massive, its hulking form towering over the shredded remains of the hiker. Its body was covered in matted, dark hair, thick and wild. Its head bobbed with each sickening crunch it made, the sound of bones breaking echoing through the night air. I could barely comprehend what I was seeing.

Then it turned its head, its eyes locking with mine. Those eyes—they weren’t like anything I had ever seen. Dark, empty, and full of hunger.

Its mouth was a grotesque thing, stretched wide with sharp, jagged teeth, glistening with blood. The stench of it hit me like a wave, rancid and foul. In its clawed hands, it held the hiker’s legs, tearing through them with a grotesque ease. The creature chewed through bone like it was nothing more than celery, its mouth moving with mechanical hunger.

I stood frozen, too terrified to even breathe. The light from my flashlight wavered in my shaking hands as I tried to process what I was seeing. There was no mistaking it. This thing wasn’t some animal or wild creature. It was something far worse, something far older.

And it had seen me.

The creature let out a shriek, a high-pitched, piercing scream that rattled through my skull, making my ears feel like they were going to burst. It was a sound so unnatural, so horrible, that I thought I might lose my hearing entirely. Before I could even react, the thing launched itself toward me with terrifying speed.

I fumbled for my gun, heart hammering in my chest as I drew it. My hands were shaking, but I forced them steady. As it closed the distance, I fired. The first shot hit its shoulder, but the beast didn’t falter. I squeezed off another shot, and this time, the bullet slammed into its massive chest.

The creature stopped, its body jerking back from the impact, a guttural cry of pain escaping its monstrous mouth. For a moment, I thought it might charge again, but instead, it turned and fled into the woods. The sound of its massive frame crashing through the trees, snapping branches and uprooting saplings, echoed long after it had disappeared.

I stood there, frozen, my breath ragged in my chest, the adrenaline surging through me. My heart pounded in my ears as I listened for any sign of it returning. Silence. Nothing but the faint rustle of the wind.

I slowly lowered my gun, still on edge. I glanced back at the hiker’s remains—his torn, mutilated body—a horrible reminder of the nightmare this forest had become. The peaceful trails I had once loved were now tainted with blood, with terror.

The weight of what had just happened crashed down on me. I forced myself to take note of my location, marking the spot where the creature had attacked. I wasn’t about to leave the area unguarded, but I had to get back to the station, to report what had happened.

With slow, deliberate steps, I began making my way back, keeping my gun drawn, my senses heightened. Every shadow in the forest seemed to move, every sound felt like a threat. The night had become a living nightmare. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was watching me, waiting for its chance.

I a...


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