I have no idea how it happened. I don’t recognize half the technology I’ve seen in the last week, and all of my friends are unrecognizable. My old house is gone, I missed a pandemic (though everyone tells me I should be grateful for that), I needed someone to explain to me what this website is…
Okay, I’ve calmed down a little. Sorry. Maybe I should start over. I’m thirteen years old. And I was born forty-six years ago.
I don’t know what happened, but a lot of people here seem to have dealt with weirder stuff than whatever’s going on here. Maybe you’ll believe me. Because the police sure don’t, and the doctor called a psychologist as soon as he heard this story.
I grew up in a nice town. Not perfect, but pretty close. The people were nice, there were a lot of kids and backyards, even school wasn’t too bad (except for the math teacher, who hated me). My parents both worked, but they always tried to spend time with my brother Tate and I.
My brother and I were pretty close. I’m only a year older than him, and we look and act so much alike that we’re practically twins. We loved all of the same stuff: Star Wars (is it true that there are prequels AND sequels now? They must be amazing!), Bon Jovi, Converse shoes…and camping. We were both crazy about camping. At least, we were. Just thinking about camping now makes me sick.
Anyway, my uncle Jackson had gotten two days off of work, and had just paid off his new truck. He felt like celebrating, and wanted to spend the first weekend in October camping. He asked if Tate and I wanted to go. To us, it was a stupid question. Uncle Jackson was a ridiculously cool guy: he let us stay up late, bought us pizza and ice cream whenever we wanted, let us watch movies that Mom would NEVER agree to, and he never yelled at us for being too loud. We agreed immediately, even before we asked Mom for permission.
It took a little convincing (okay, a LOT of convincing), but we managed to talk her into letting us go with him. She gave us all of the typical mom advice (don’t stay up too late, wear a sweater if you get cold, blah blah blah), and then said we could go. We thanked her, but didn’t know why she was so worried. I was actually a little annoyed; she ALWAYS nagged us like that. I even mocked her a little bit as Tate and I packed our duffel bags. Looking back, knowing what I do know, I hate myself for that.
Uncle Jackson was picking us up at five that night to take us to the forest. I won’t bother to tell you the name. It isn’t a national park or anything, it’s just a big forest right next to our town, which you wouldn’t know the name of unless you lived there. There’s no fee or anything to hike, hunt, or camp there, so a lot of locals took advantage of it. Including Uncle Jackson.
We were hyping ourselves up as we drove to the forest, singing stupid songs and talking about what we were going to do when we got there. Uncle Jackson promised to tell us the scariest ghost stories he knew, and swore that he’d make sure that this camping trip was one to remember.
We parked his truck outside the forest, in a little dugout that had specifically been made for parked cars. We grabbed the tents, fire fuel, food, etc., and set out. With all of that stuff weighing us down, we couldn’t hike for too long. After about fifteen minutes, we found a good spot and basically dropped everything.
It was a spot that had clearly been used before: there was a nice open area with enough space to have a fire without catching any bushes or anything, with enough room to pitch the tents and a tall enough tree nearby to tie up the food (there were precious few bears in our area, but better safe than sorry). We all grinned at each other and got to work.
The sun went down at about seven. The three of us huddled around the fire, eating whatever we could roast on sticks while telling the craziest stories we could think of. Uncle Jackson, by far, told the best stories.
He’d just finished a pretty hilarious (but kind of raunchy, so I won’t put it here) story when we all decided to go to bed. I put out the fire as Uncle Jackson crawled into his tent. He always got his own tent while Tate and I insisted on sharing one. I told him it was so we’d be warmer. Neither us wanted to admit that it was really because he snored.
I was in the tent, Tate next to me, too excited to go to sleep. After everything that’s happened, I like to think back on that moment. I was doing the thing I loved most, next to my brother, the person I loved most. I was so happy, so at peace, that for one moment, I felt like nothing bad could possibly happen.
That moment ended when the forest went dead.
Have you ever been out in the wilderness, for whatever reason, and suddenly noticed that it was dead quiet? No birds, no bugs, no wind stirring the tree branches? From what I’ve learned since then, it’s called the Silence. Those who have experienced it consider it one of the most surreal, most terrifying moments in their lives.
That’s exactly what happened. One minute, I heard insects, the wind in the trees, even the distant hooting of some type of owl…
Then, nothing.
I was completely still, for a moment. Just, listening. Wondering what had happened. Tate looked me in the eye, and I could tell he was confused too.
I was about to say something, maybe something along the lines of “What’s going on?”, when we heard it.
Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Coming towards our tent.
I didn’t dare move. I didn’t breathe. I looked around for something, anything to defend myself. Could I kick it, maybe….?
Tate grabbed my arm; I almost screamed in surprise. He put his finger over his lips, his eyes wider than I thought possible, and pointed at the front of the tent. There was a dark figure in front of it. The tent flaps were ripped open.
I wish I could deny the incredibly unmanly scream I let out, although I would like to point out that Tate’s was higher than mine.
We both calmed down when the dark figure let out a series of colorful curse words, and knew instantly that it was just Uncle Jackson. He looked back in at us. It was dark, but we could still see him fairly well. He was wearing a bright orange shirt. He always told us that, should you be in the woods in the fall, always wear brightly colored clothing. If you wear white or brown, then there’s a good chance some hunter will mistake you for a deer. Following his instructions, I’d worn a sky blue sweatshirt, while Tate had worn a bright red one.
“Son of *****, boys, what was that for?” He told us. “You two okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, we’re fine.” I told him. “What are you doing?”
“Do you hear that?”
We both listened. The Silence will still going on. It felt so much worse, with us talking. Like everything could hear us.
“What’s going on?” Tate echoed me, his voice barely above a whisper.
“There might be a predator nearby.” I noticed then that he was holding his crossbow. He always brought it with him when we camped (he’d had a bad experience with a mountain lion when he was in college, and he had the scar on his leg to prove it). I’d never seen him actually take it out before that night.
He looked us dead in the eyes. I’d never seen him that serious. “You kids stay in the tent. No matter what, don’t come out unless I say. Alright?”
We both nodded. Our uncle left the tent, crossbow out in front of him.
There was mesh window in our tent. Not huge, but big enough that we could both watch him as he ventured out. He held the weapon out in front of him, moving slowly but surely.
What happened next was like something out of a crazy dream. My uncle took one step forward. Then another.
Then he vanished. He wasn’t there anymore.
I froze. I didn’t move, I couldn’t. I felt Tate’s hand squeezing my shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it left a bruise.
We couldn’t believe what we’d just seen. I wouldn’t believe it now, if not for what happened next.
As I sat there, trying to process what had just happened, wondering if I even had an uncle anymore, the tent started shaking.
It was like a giant hand had grabbed the top of our tent and was shaking it like a dog with a stuffed toy. Tate and I only sat there for a second, stunned, before fight-or-flight instincts took over. We both chose flight, and ran for our lives.
I didn’t look back as I ran out of the tent. For the sake of my sanity, I’m glad I didn’t. Tate didn’t look back either. I saw him running ahead of me. We went in the opposite direction that Uncle Jackson had. Even in that crazed, terrified state, we knew better. We just plain ran, not caring where we went as long as we got away.
Finally, after what either three or five minutes of running, we had to stop. I leaned against a tree, while Tate sat on a rock. We were both completely out of breath, sweating buckets and scared out of our flipping minds.
“What the h just happened?” I finally managed to say. I noticed that my words were a little louder than I’d intended them to be. I listened for a moment. Still no noise.
“I don’t know. Dude, Uncle Jackson…”
“I know.” I interrupted. I didn’t want him to finish. I couldn’t focus on that right now. I wanted to sob for my uncle, but I knew we couldn’t stop yet. Some primal part of me told me that there was something out there. This might be hindsight, but I could swear that I felt eyes on us. Watching us.
“We need to keep moving.” I whispered.
Tate nodded. He stood up, and took a few steps forward. “Hey, I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“We’re never going camping again. Deal?”
I managed a smirk. “Deal. After this, I’m never going outside again.”
Tate nodded, letting out a hollow, probably forced laugh. “Agreed. Let’s go. Mom will know what to do…”
We both locked eyes for a second, the same horrible thought crossing our minds. Jackson was Mom’s brother. Who was going to tell her?
I was about to say something else when Tate stepped forward. And sank into the ground.
Moving with a speed I never knew I had, I ran to him. I caught him as his lower body disappeared. I grabbed him by both of his arms and I pulled. I’d never been athletic, I didn’t pretend I was. But I put every ounce of strength in my body, everything I had into pulling my brother up.
“GET ME UP! GET ME UP!”
“I HAVE YOU!” I screamed. “I WON’T LET GO!”
I kept fighting. I fought harder than I ever could’ve expected to. For a minute, one beautiful minute, I thought I had him. I pulled so hard that the upper part of his lower body was visible. I thought I had him. I thought that I only needed to pull one more time and I’d have him. We’d race for home, get Mom to call the police. And stay the flip away from that forest for the rest of our lives.
Then Tate’s face and screams somehow became more panicked, and he shrieked something that’s haunted me ever since.
“SOMETHING’S GOT MY LEGS! THEY’RE PULLING ME! THEY’VE GOT MY LEGS!”
He was slipping back down. Try as I might, something was pulling him. Something way stronger than me. I fought, I fought with everything I had. Tears were slipping down my eyes, from exhaustion, sadness or fear, I don’t know.
“TATE!” I screamed his name as I lost my grip completely. I locked eyes with my brother for the last time as he slipped out of sight. Then he was gone. All that was there was the ground, covered in dirt and leaves. I slapped at where he’d just been. The ground was solid. Completely solid. As if it hadn’t just sucked up the person I loved most.
“TATE!” I screamed, I sobbed. I don’t know how long I sat there, wailing. I was so scared, so confused. What was happening?
My wails were ridiculously loud. The Silence was still there.
My instincts and unstable emotions took over. I got up and started running. I ran in the opposite direction Tate and I had been running. I ran adjacent to where Uncle Jackson had been going. I just ran.
Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. A hiker found me in the forest, out cold. I was covered in bumps and bruises. But other than that, according to the hospital staff, I was perfectly fine.
So much has happened in the last few decades. My dad is dead; lung cancer. My mom is dead; car accident. My friends are all in their mid forties; I don’t even recognize them. Tate and Uncle Jackson remain missing to this day.
I haven’t left the hospital since they found me two weeks ago. I have no where to go; my immediate family is gone, and none of my distant relatives believe that it’s me. The doctors, all of whom are shocked at how I haven’t aged, are keeping me here for now. There’s talk of finding a foster home.
I don’t think it matters, though.
Because I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.
Something got Tate. Something physically grabbed him and pulled him through that hole. Something…someone took him. I think that same someone took Uncle Jackson. And me.
That someone has my brother and uncle. Someone kept me somewhere for over thirty years. They did something to me. I know it.
Because there’s a strange mark on me that the doctor’s can’t—or won’t—explain.
A strange red welt, just under my left ear. It’s tiny. It doesn’t hurt, throb, itch, sting or anything. It’s just sort of…there.
Whatever, whoever did this to me, I think they’re coming back. Because last night…
I heard it start beeping.