You can tell when you’re being watched. There’s nothing to actually prove this, but everyone knows it’s true. And as I crept my way through the woods, rifle in hand, I knew there was something else with me.
I’d been out in the woods on weekend hunting trips for years, and this wasn’t the first time I had felt this way. Usually it just meant I had been noticed by whatever critter I had set my sights on, though on one occasion my observer happened to be a rather irritable grizzly bear. This time, however, felt different.
I stopped moving, and peered around, trying to locate my unseen watcher. I scanned the trees carefully, wondering if perhaps I was just being paranoid. Everything was still, quiet. But the feeling remained.
The gaze didn’t feel hostile, like the staring of a predator stalking prey, instead it felt, well, I guess curious I suppose is how to best describe it. Like a child staring at you on the subway because you’re dressed funny. After a few moments, I heard a soft noise somewhere in the distance, something not unlike the sounds of a set of wind chimes in the breeze, but not quite right. I turned to look, but saw nothing but a flutter of leaves. The sensation of being observed subsided, and I continued on my path, trying my best to shrug it off.
At the time I figured it must have been a fellow hunter, maybe wearing camouflage. It explained why I didn’t see them, and why the gaze didn’t feel dangerous, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on the sound I’d heard. For some reason that noise bothered me, and I didn’t understand why.
Eventually I reached the hunting blind I’d set up deep in the woods and settled in for a few hours of watchful relaxation. I’d brought a book with me so I wouldn’t get too bored, though I needed to make sure I’d look up from time to time lest a whole herd of deer appear right under my nose.
I sat there in silence for a while. Maybe an hour or two. It was peaceful that deep out in the forest, utterly tranquil. Part of why I went hunting was to get in touch with the sublimity of nature, to experience isolation from the busyness and squalor of urban life. It was pleasant to be alone, with only trees and birds for company.
I was pondering this when suddenly I heard a twig snap. I put down my book quietly and looked out of my hunting blind, searching for the source of the sound. After a few moments of scanning the trees, I saw my target.
It was a buck, with a magnificent rack of antlers. Ten points at least, and perfectly symmetrical. I’m not usually one for trophy hunting, I’m generally just in it for the meat and as an excuse to be outdoors, but even I was impressed. I figured at the very least they’d look good above my mantle.
I raised my rifle and took aim through the scope, lining up the shot just right. I wasn’t in any hurry, it hadn’t seen me, so I had plenty of time to steady my breathing and place the buck’s head squarely in my crosshairs. It would have been a clean kill, an instant, painless death. That’s when I got that feeling again. I knew that I was being watched.
I could tell it was the same observer from earlier, I guess you could say the “vibes” were similar, but the intentions were different. Before, whatever was watching me had simply been curious, but now it felt angry. Like it was jealous.
The buck noticed something was wrong too, its ears pricked up, and it started to look around nervously. I knew that I had to take the shot right then, or else I wouldn’t have another chance. It was about to bolt.
But something held me back. I heard that faint sound of something almost like wind chimes from behind me, and I closed my eyes and set down my rifle. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I sure as hell knew I didn’t want to see it. This decision may have saved my life.
The chimes grew louder and closer, mixed in with the sound of rushing wind. Whatever it was, it moved as quickly as a freight train. I heard it move past me like the rush of waves against the beach, the pseudo-musical chiming reaching an almost unbearable volume.
I heard the buck cry out for a split second, before its scream was silenced with one of the most bizarre noises I’ve ever heard. I can’t even hope to describe it accurately. It was somewhere between a slab of gelatin being pushed into a paper shredder and a crystal chandelier crashing to the floor, but even that doesn’t fully do the hellish cacophony justice. It was so loud it made my ears ring, and it was followed by such intense silence that I swear I thought I had gone deaf. The whole forest had gone silent, as if every living thing was too scared to make a sound.
Eventually, after the silence had passed and the birds started chirping again, I opened my eyes. There was nothing there. No buck, no blood, no drag marks, nothing. It was as if it had never existed at all.
It was going to get dark soon, so I quickly left the blind, hiking as quickly as possible back to camp, perhaps a tad faster than was strictly necessary. I kept listening intensely, horrified that I would hear the sound of something not quite like wind chimes coming towards me.
Finally, I reached my tent. I was tempted to just pack up my gear and hightail it back to my truck, but by this point it was so dark that I feared I would get lost if I did so. Instead I simply slipped into my tent and got inside, fully clothed, with my loaded rifle next to me.
I didn’t sleep at all that night. At some point around 2 or 3 AM, I felt a presence outside my tent. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and that feeling of being watched came back in full force. After a few minutes of this, I faintly detected that sound of the almost wind chimes, very quiet, from outside. I clutched my rifle with white knuckles, not wanting to go down without a fight.
The chiming increased in intensity for a moment, followed by a loud, wet thump. Then, the not-quite wind chimes faded into the distance, and the paranoid sensation of being observed abruptly vanished.
I still didn’t leave my tent until the sun came out. I sat alone, terrified that the thing would come back, until the first rays of sunlight peaked through the fabric of the tent. I know it’s childish, but I felt safer in daylight. As I unzipped the tent flap and stepped outside, I detected a strange odor, almost like ozone. As I hastily began packing my things to leave, I stepped in something which I quickly concluded must have been the source of the smell.
It was a slimy pile of what looked like white and gray strings on the ground, along with a rounded object about the size of my fist, with a texture like undercooked noodles. I had no idea what I was looking at, until I noticed the two small orbs connected to the rounded object with white strands. Eyes.
It was the entirety of a deer’s central nervous system, meticulously stripped of flesh and removed from the body.
I nearly vomited on the spot when I understood what I was looking at. I’ve butchered deer before, but I’d never seen anything like this before or since. It would take a master surgeon to do something with that much precision.
I knew immediately that whatever had killed that buck left this here. It was a gift, a sign of appreciation for me letting it take the kill, an attempt at sharing the bounty. I don’t know if the thing that took the deer knew what parts of it we ate.
I packed up my campsite as quickly as possible and practically ran back to my truck. I haven’t been hunting since.