UPDATE: If you want to hear what happened on the hike after this one, you can find my other post here. (I’ll include the full link at the end of the post as well).
Hey. This happened a couple days ago, and I’m still processing it. In the moment, I was so sure that I was in incredible danger, but it’s barely 48 hours later and I’m already second-guessing myself… But either something incredibly wrong happened on that hike, or I’m going insane, so I’ll share my story and let you decide.
I suppose I should probably start with some context. I (24M) am currently on a solo road trip around the Midwest. I know that seeing the sights in places like Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio probably doesn’t sound like the most exciting vacation, but for me it’s kind of a big deal. It’s the first time I’m traveling for more than a day or two away from home and everyone I know truly on my own.
At first I wanted to do something big and exciting, like spending a week in Iceland, or joining a tour to Alaska. But it was all just too overwhelming, so I settled for a much tamer vacation. I figured it would be a good first step, and if all went well I’d have the confidence for a bigger trip next year. And what could possibly go wrong in the Midwest?
Well, I have (or at least had) three hikes planned for my trip, and the first one was a couple days ago. It also happened to be the longest and most remote of the three. For anyone who’s interested, I decided to do the Red Cedar Trail in Giant City State Park. It’s a 12-mile loop that pretty much covers the whole park. According to the internet, it’s “one of the best hiking trails in Illinois,” and it seemed like a good balance for me between challenging but manageable.
Now, I’ve done larger and far more dangerous hikes before this. Admittedly, those were done with other far more experienced hikers leading the way, but I still knew how to appropriately prepare. I made sure I had plenty of fluids (water and Powerade), some trail mix, bandages, sunscreen, etc. I had a paper map as well as a digital copy on my phone. I let multiple people back home know which trail I was doing, and that I hoped to hike roughly from 8 AM to 3 PM. I made sure my parents knew that if they didn’t hear from me by 7 PM or so, they should contact the park to let them know I might be lost or injured. I did everything right, but no amount of preparation would have helped with this.
The first thing that went wrong was the weather. I woke up at about 7 AM to gray skies and the sound of steady rain. It wasn’t a storm, but it was certainly more than a drizzle. I tried not to lose hope and checked the forecast, but saw that the rain wouldn’t stop until the late afternoon at the earliest. I don’t really mind being out in the rain too much as long as I’m prepared for it, but I knew it would make the trails muddy and the rocks slick. Still, I decided I had come all this way for the sake of this hike, and I would at least try it. I figured if it really was terrible, I could always turn back early. So I threw on my rain jacket and drove to the trailhead.
To get to the trail, I drove past several individual camping sites that people can use. Every other time I’ve been to a state park, it’s been packed. Kids running around yelling about the rules of whatever game they just made up, families fighting over who forgot to pack the marshmallows… But on this rainy Tuesday at the end of summer, the park seemed pretty much deserted. I think out of the dozens of sites I passed, I saw a grand total of two RVs and one tent, and none of them had any people out and about. When I pulled into the small parking lot next to the trailhead, I was the only car there. Maybe the lack of people should have made me nervous, but I was honestly excited to have all this nature to myself.
For those who care, you can find a map of the Red Cedar Trail online, but basically the trail really is pretty much a big, very irregular circle. The trailhead is at the easternmost point, and there’s a basic campground at the halfway point on the westernmost edge with some fire pits, picnic tables, and outhouses. On a whim, I went south first, going counterclockwise around the trail. As I started down the path between the trees, I immediately realized a few things:
First, I was definitely the first one to walk the trail that day, and maybe the first in quite a while. I cleared out about a dozen cobwebs with my face in the first 10 seconds and they didn’t thin out after that.
Second, the trail was definitely soggy, but still firm enough to hike.
Third, the dense foliage above my head made the falling rain very loud as it fell on the leaves, but also reduced the steady curtain of water to occasional fat droplets that usually missed me completely.
And so I walked. The trail was generally pretty obvious: it’s hard to miss a line of bare dirt in the middle of thick plant life. There were portions, however, where the trail was so overgrown I started to doubt it was even a trail at all, and other portions where several trails intersected and I wasn’t sure which was the correct path forward. Luckily, the path was marked by white diamonds with red circles, generally nailed into trees. As long as I saw a white diamond, I knew I was going the right way.
Despite spending a lot of brainpower between watching my step, looking for diamonds, and dodging the cobwebs, I still really enjoyed the first half of the loop. The thick branches above me ensured that the rain was soothing and peaceful rather than irritating and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the continued lack of literally any other human being allowed for a quiet contemplation unlike anything I’ve had in months. And so, after three hours, I hit the halfway point a little tired and very wet, but extremely glad I had decided to go through with the hike despite the rain.
Then things started to change.
The campsite at the halfway point was empty, which I rather expected. I doubted anybody would have camped there the night before considering how few people were in the main portion of the park. And even if they had, there was a good chance they would’ve packed up and headed out by then. But somehow the emptiness of the space felt wrong. I really don’t know how to describe it, other than it was quiet. I don’t just mean I couldn’t hear cars or people, or even that there were less animal noises, although all of that was true. I mean everything just seemed deafened. The rain on the surrounding trees didn’t seem to be falling as heavily. The wind that had been rising and falling for hours suddenly seemed to die completely. Even the outhouse door’s creaking seemed quieter than it should be. At the time, I just shrugged it off. The rain was dying down and the hinges must have been oiled recently by a ranger. No big deal, I told myself as I left the clearing to tackle the northern half of the trail.
Unlike the southern half, which regularly opens up into wide, flat sections and small clearings, the northern half of the Red Cedar trail is almost entirely through dense foliage. And when I say “dense,” I mean I frequently had to duck or turn sideways to make sure the reaching branches didn’t snag on my jacket. The trail itself was almost completely covered by foliage at points, and more than once I accidentally wandered off the trail on what seemed like the path of least resistance for a little bit before realizing I didn’t see any white diamonds ahead of me.
About a quarter mile into this thicker, darker portion of the woods, I heard a sudden rustling from maybe a dozen feet behind me. Now, I’m no stranger to walking in the woods. I figured it was a small harmless animal, and when I looked back and didn’t see anything, I assumed I must be right. Honestly, even now I still think that particular rustle was probably a squirrel. But the sudden sound made me realize that being alone in the woods miles away from literally any other human may be great for quiet contemplation, but can also make you very vulnerable. At this point though, all I could do was keep going. I was already past the halfway point. The only way out that made sense was forward.
As I continued, I kept hearing sounds that put me more and more on edge. While the rain continued to drum on the leaves overhead, there were more rustlings in nearby bushes and trees. Easy enough to shrug off, but still enough to make you jump. Enough to make you imagine patterns. More than once, some combination of falling water and/or animal movement behind me was enough to convince me that I heard the footsteps of something moving quickly behind me. Of course, nothing was ever there, but I started to get a little paranoid. I didn’t think there were any dangerous animals in the park, but maybe I was wrong? I tried not to think about whether it would be worse to have a bear or a person running up from behind.
But worse than the rustling leaves or the falling water was a sound that I started hearing maybe about a mile past the halfway point. I can only describe it as a kind of wet cough. Each time, I heard a single, percussive noise off to the side of the trail, simultaneously breathy and moist. Maybe a deer could make that noise, I thought to myself, or wait, don’t people hunt out here? Oh man, what if there’s a guy out there with a gun? Suddenly, I was terrified that some hunter might mistake me for an animal in the dim light and thick leaves, so I called out to make sure there wouldn’t be any accidents. “Hey! I’m a human! Leave me alone, please!” I felt embarrassed almost as soon as I said it, but it still seemed like a good idea. Whether it was animals or humans making the noises around me, they probably knew that I was here. I hadn’t exactly been quiet as I hiked my way through the brush. Announcing myself would encourage animals to give me more space and make sure humans wouldn’t accidentally shoot me.
After my little announcement to the forest, the wet coughs stopped and I started to relax. But then a much more disturbing sound started. Every 5 minutes or so, I’d hear what sounded like a little girl’s voice, maybe 10 or so years old. It sounded incredibly human, a lot like my younger sister, but I never heard it long enough or clearly enough to make out any words. I’d hear maybe a vowel sound and the hint of a consonant, and it’d be gone. It was always behind me, always sounding like it was over the hill or a couple turns in the trail back. More than once I called out again like I did before. “Hey! Anyone there? I’m a person, please don’t mess with me!” But I never got a response.
I really started to worry, but kept searching for ways to rationalize it. I’ve heard that people can experience auditory hallucinations when they’re isolated from the world for extended periods of time. I didn’t think four or so hours in the woods counted as “extended” but it was better than imagining a ghost child following behind me. Either way, walking forward still seemed like the best (and only) option. It’d get me away from the creepy sounds and back to my car so I could drive far away and stop freaking myself out. Honestly, at this point a part of me was laughing at myself. I knew that all of this was just me overthinking and scaring myself, and that I was just imagining things. I tried to keep calm by thinking about other things. I thought about what I’d get for dinner once I was done. I thought about the D&D campaign I’m supposed to run this weekend. I thought about how much my feet were starting to hurt. Anything but how creeped out I was. And, honestly, it worked. For a little bit at least. For maybe a mile or so, I managed to lose myself in my thoughts and just walk without noticing or caring overly much about what did or didn’t happen around me.
Until suddenly, a loud echoing thud forced my attention back to my current situation. It seemed like it came from just on the other side of the hill I was currently walking alongside and happened exactly once before the woods went silent again other than the rain falling above. My brain raced trying to figure out what it could have been. It wasn’t a gunshot, I’m sure of it. It was much heavier, and duller if that makes sense. It almost sounded like the trunk of a car slamming shut, but far louder and heavier than any trunk I’ve ever heard. Maybe a tree falling? Honestly, I still don’t know what that sound was, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that when that thud broke my train of thought is when I finally realized that I hadn’t seen a white diamond in at least half an hour.
I tried not to panic. I’ve been following this trail the entire time. There’s no way I’m lost. But… Is it really “the trail”, or is it just “a trail?” Is it a trail at all? Have I just been following a stream for an entire mile? It has been extra muddy lately… I stood there and thought for a long time about what to do, and eventually decided I had to follow this “trail” I’d been following backwards until I found a white diamond again. Otherwise, who knew how long I might be wandering in these woods? But as I turned around to head back, I slipped on a wet rock protruding from the ground and fell forward. I managed to catch myself well enough that I had no major injuries but that’s not why this fall was such a big deal. I can’t have been on the ground for more than a second or two, but before I could get back up, I heard that same damn wet cough. But this time, it was only a couple of inches above my head.
I’m not ashamed to admit I screamed as loud as I could, kicking and thrashing about, trying to hit whatever had coughed in my ear, but I only managed to punch a nearby tree and bruise my hand. I was on my feet no more than three seconds after the cough, wildly turning in circles, searching in every direction for whatever had made that noise. But nothing was there. Just me, the woods, and the rain.
As my heartbeat gradually slowed, I realized something that made my heart sink far more than all the sounds I’d been hearing. I was still on the trail I had been following (if it even was a trail) but between my fall and my wild spins to catch some sign of whatever might be tormenting me, I had completely lost track of which direction I’d come from. I didn’t have a compass with me, and between the thick clouds above me and the fact that it was near noon, I had no way to judge west from east, let alone north and south.
I pulled out my phone to try to call for help. Even if there was nothing out here with me, I was lost in the woods and that’s a good enough reason to call 911. But it was dead. It didn’t make any sense. It had been at 78% when I pulled it out to check the time at the halfway point, but now it wouldn’t turn on. I considered just staying where I was and waiting for someone to find me. Surely I wasn’t that far off the main trails. But waiting meant staying here in the woods by myself for hours, if not longer. Hours spent cold, wet, afraid, and alone. Or, even worse, maybe not alone. In the end, I knew I couldn’t just stay here, so I picked a direction and started walking along what I prayed was the trail.
I wanted to run, but I didn’t. I knew trying to run through the mud and wet rocks would just make me fall, and maybe this time I’d break something. So I kept my pace slow and steady.
I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. I had already called out to anyone who could hear me more than once and gotten no reply. Doing so again would be a waste of breath at best, and at worst might anger whoever or whatever was out here with me. So I stayed quiet.
I wanted to look behind me, but I didn’t. Not when I heard rustling footsteps. Not when I heard wet coughs. Not when I heard fragments of a little girl’s voice from just a little ways back. I knew I wouldn’t see anything, or I wouldn’t like what I did see. So I didn’t turn around.
For over an hour, I walked with no sign that this would ever end. Every turn of the “path” I followed just led to more thick woods. Every step felt harder than the last. Every sound behind me sounded closer than the one before. Every minute that passed made me more and more sure I wouldn’t be able to make it out of these woods.
And then suddenly I was looking at a white diamond with a red circle just a few feet ahead of me, and there was another one up ahead. The rain had died down to almost a complete stop. The wet coughs that had been happening every few seconds almost right behind my head ceased. Slowly, I turned my head to look behind me and saw nothing but an empty trail.
I didn’t wait for things to go wrong again. I picked up my pace as much as I safely could and made sure to follow the diamonds carefully. I didn’t walk more than five steps in any given direction unless I could see a marker up ahead. Gradually the trees were spread further and further apart, and the foliage surrounding me thinned, until suddenly I was back at the trailhead. I’ve never been happier to see an empty parking lot. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, and I laughed out loud as I started to make my way towards the car, when I heard the last, and worst sound of the entire hike from behind me.
“I’m a human!”
It was my voice. It was my fucking voice, and it had come from the woods behind me. Either I was truly going insane, or someone or something in those woods was trying to scare me. Toying with me.
So I ran. I forgot that my legs were on fire. I forgot that my feet felt like I’d just finished a 30 hour shift of standing behind a register. I didn’t worry about the mud or the mess I was bringing with me. I sprinted to my car, dove in, and drove off as fast as I could.
In my rear view mirror, I saw a figure emerge from the trailhead. I didn’t see it long enough to make out any detail, but I know one thing for sure: It was far too tall to be a ten year old girl.
--
I really don’t know what to think. I don’t really believe in monsters or ghosts, but I don’t know how to explain what I experienced. Maybe some asshole that’s really good at imitations and throwing his voice spent hours just trying to mess with me? It’s hard to believe, but honestly it’s probably the most likely explanation. At least, I want it to be.
I skipped the hike I was supposed to do yesterday for obvious reasons, but I’m supposed to do another one tomorrow. It’s in a different park hundreds of miles away from the Red Cedar Trail, and nothing weird has happened since I drove away from that figure two days ago… So I’m thinking I might go for it. I don’t want to give up on hiking and camping for my entire life because of what may or may not have happened to me. And this trail is shorter and more popular. There will almost definitely be more people around this time. It’ll be fine. I hope.