I’ve been a biologist ever since I was twenty-two years old. I grew up on a farm in rural Illinois, so nature has never been a stranger to me. Playing in the woods was how I entertained myself growing up. Spending all my time in a forest as a child, people expect me to have stories about bigfoot, or strange noises, or finding some weird shrine out in the middle of the woods, but no. The weirdest thing I ever encountered was a bobcat screeching. It sounds just like a woman’s dying scream, and yes, to everyone who’s ever claimed to hear a “skinwalker” or “goatman” screeching in the woods at night, I promise you, it was just a bobcat. The truth is often mundane, and disappointing. You’d think this would mean I’d have gotten bored of the woods, but I never really lost my love for them. Nature is boring. That’s why I like it. You know what to expect. That’s why, after college, I decided to make studying nature my full-time career. I’m a biologist for the Sierra Club, specialized in the ecosystems of Midwestern America: fish, birds, deer, elk, bear, wolves, the like. I’ve spent weeks in fire-towers, cabins, campsites, always miles away from “civilization.” I’m usually gathering data on local wildlife, measuring for pollutants, determining whether the ecosystem is stable or if anything threatens it. The work is not glamorous, but I enjoy it. And nature had still never surprised me. Until my last assignment.
I was designated to be stationed, alone, in a cabin in the Ozarks. The assignment was supposed to last last three weeks in May. The Sierra Club was alerted to a steady decline in the local elk population over the last decade. Nothing drastic, but enough to raise concern. My job was to take census of the wildlife, measure for pollutants, the usual. These are my diary entries for my assignment, starting with my first night.
I arrived in the evening in early May. Nothing was amiss the first two nights. It seemed an assignment like any other. The sounds of the forest were exactly what you’d expect: crickets, an owl’s hoot, and the occasional elk call. I was sent here in May because that’s their mating season. The elk are out and about looking for uh, “dates,” and that makes them easy to count. Elk mating is pretty straightforward: the female lets out a call and waits for a male to find her. Usually it’s “first come, first served,” if you catch my drift. If only, right?
It was clear that love was in the air, and for all the calling, you’d think I would start seeing elk. But by the second day, I still hadn’t spotted a single one. The third night, I was lying awake in bed, uneasy. Something wasn’t sitting right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I was about to nod off when a female call cut through the night. I sighed. That was the second time that night I’d heard her. “What, are the fellas having a guy’s night in or something?” And that’s when it finally hit me.
I shot bolt upright in bed. For the last three nights, I had heard nothing but female mating calls. That should have drawn every male within half a mile. Now elk are not discrete, and they don’t beat around the bush. When that male gets to the female? Well, let’s just that the whole forest will know about it. I sat in bed, staring out into the night, pondering. There have to be males close enough to hear this female. So after three nights of her calls….why haven’t I heard the main event?
The third day, I went out onto the trails, once again looking for some sign of elk in the forest. What I found was not encouraging. About a quarter mile from my cabin, I was trekking down the trail when I noticed something thirty feet into the woods. A large, brown, fuzzy mass lying in the brush. I smiled. An elk taking a mid-day nap? I took out my binoculars to get a closer look. It was an elk alright. But my smile dropped when I realized that the brown, fuzzy mass was completely still. I carry a hunting rifle with me for safety. I readied it and approached the elk carefully. It looked fine from where I was standing. But I nearly dropped my rifle when I rounded to the animal’s front.
It was carnage. The poor creature had been completely gutted. What little remained of its entrails hung loosely out of its chest cavity. The ribs had been pulled apart, and huge claw marks scarred its flank. Its head was barely connected to its body by a few weak strands of flesh. I heaved, and almost lost what little breakfast I’d had. It was horrifying. I had to take a few moments to collect myself. This was the first time that nature had surprised me. What could have possibly done this? I’ve studied wildlife for years. This was a bull elk in its prime. It would have stood nine feet tall alive, a king of the forest. There is no predator on this continent that could have taken down a full-grown bull, pack or no pack. Even a grizzly wouldn’t mess with something this big. And bears are mostly scavengers anyway. My mind raced through possibilities, trying to think of an explanation. Maybe it had been sick? Maybe a predator came upon it in its sleep, took it by surprise? Yes, that must be it. It couldn’t have fought back. But this savagery….those claw marks were bigger than even a grizzly’s. And its ribs….no quadruped could have exerted leverage on the ribs to split them like that. You would need….arms. A chilling thought occurred. A human? Could humans have done this? But why? Hunters would skin it, or take the head at least, to mount on their wall. Is some psychopath out here dismembering wildlife for fun? And that still wouldn’t explain those gruesome claws…
Whatever this was, it needed to be reported. I was sent here to investigate the elk population declining, and this had to be related. I fished out my camera to take photos. Having to document the horror from every angle was….heart-wrenching. The look in its eyes. This elk had been terrified when it died.
I went to take one last shot. Just as the shutter clicked, my ears registered something. A sound from behind me, that my camera had nearly drowned out. I whipped around. I had barely heard it, but it was there. A twig snapping. My camera hung from my neck, and my rifle from my shoulder. I dropped the one to snatch up the other. “Idiot,” I thought to myself as I pointed the rifle towards the sound. I had been so shaken by the sight of the body I had completely overlooked one important fact: the kill was fresh. This corpse hadn’t even begun to decay. This elk had been dead no more than half a day. And that means whatever killed it…..may still be nearby.
With my rifle still trained on the spot, I backed away towards the trail. My hike back to the cabin was the only time in my life I felt scared of the forest. Trees surrounding me on all sides, no visibility. I jumped at the slightest sounds, never lowering my rifle, never going more than five seconds without looking behind me. I felt like prey: never knowing where the danger would come from, or when. I didn’t relax until my cabin door was closed and locked behind me.
I spent the rest of my day inside the cabin, shaken. I readied the photos and sent them to my supervisors. They would take a day or two to respond. Until then, my plan was to investigate. During the day. And with my rifle ready.
That night was my last night at the cabin. I was getting ready for bed when I heard a female elk call again. The first one that I’d heard that day. And close. Very close. Wildlife don’t like buildings. They smell of fire and metal and gasoline, all unnatural to them. They steer clear. What was this elk doing so close to my cabin? I peered out my window into the dark of the forest. No sign of her. She must have been beyond the tree-line. I grabbed my rifle. Of course, I wasn’t going to shoot the elk. But I might send a few shots into the air to scare her off. It would be nice to know the elk are breeding normally, but I could do without front-row seats.
I unlocked my cabin and took a step out onto my porch, rifle still in hand. My eyes scanned the treeline, looking for the female. That’s when a pair of antlers struck out from behind a tree. An elk’s head followed them, and turned peer right out at me. But this was a buck. Probably attracted by the female’s calls. This was promising: but all the more reason to scare them away. I raised my rifle to the sky and prepared to fire. That was when the elk flew into the air. Or….its head did. The buck’s head sailed in an arc towards me and landed just feet away from my door. I stood there in shock, trying to process what had just happened. Something….something or someone had been holding the head. And had just thrown it. I nearly pissed myself in fear. I pointed my rifle at the tree where the buck’s head had appeared. The light from my cabin barely reached….were my eyes playing tricks on me? Had I just seen claws retreat around the trunk? I was frozen. I needed to reach behind me to open my door and get back inside. But I was too scared to turn my back on the forest, or even take a hand off of my rifle.
After a few seconds, I finally gathered up the nerve to brace the rifle against my shoulder, my finger still on the trigger. I groped behind me until my left hand found the door knob, never taking my eyes off the tree. Thank God the door had not locked behind me. With my left hand, I turned the knob and pushed open the door, then drew it back to my rifle. I backed away quickly into the cabin, slamming the door and locking it.
I hurried to the windows, drawing all my blinds and making sure each was locked, never letting my rifle out of arm’s reach. The terror I felt as I approached each window, never knowing if there would be someone or something on the other side of the glass staring back at me. There hadn’t been, which was almost as unnerving. I rushed to the satellite phone to call the sheriff’s office at the base of the mountain. The relief I felt when they picked up. “You need to get up here!” I pleaded. “Who is this?” It was the sheriff’s deputy on the other end. I’d met him and the sheriff before beginning my stay at the cabin. “It’s me, I’m the guy stationed up at the cabin on the mountain.”
“Oh sorry about that, what’s the problem?”
“There’s someone up here fucking with me! Get up here now!”
“Whoa whoa, slow down, you mean like kids or something?”
“No, it is not fucking kids! Someone up here just threw a decapitated elk head at my cabin!”
In my panic, I’d somehow kept the awareness to use the phrase “someone” instead of “something.” I didn’t want this guy to think I was drunk or crazy. I just needed him to get up here.
“Well what did they look like, how many were there? Did they have guns?”
“I have no fucking idea man, they killed a goddamn elk, cut the head off, and threw it at my cabin, just get the hell up here!”
“Oh shit, okay, okay, lock yourself in there, we’re on our way!”
“Man, please stay on the line, I’m scared here.” I really was terrified. I wanted someone to stay on the phone with me, even if it couldn’t help me.
The man replied “I can’t get to you and stay on the line at the same time. I’m calling the sheriff now, we’re on our way, just lock yourself in and stay there!”
The man hung up. I swore. I was alone again. A female elk call rang out again. This time it was even closer. It sounded like it was right outside now. I took up my rifle again. That’s when the tapping started. While I was talking to the deputy, I hadn’t been watching the windows. The sound was coming from the window to the right of my front door. My eyes widened in horror. A single grey claw was tapping on the right edge of the window. Just one claw. Whatever it was attached to wanted to stay out of sight. The claw stopped tapping. Instead, it drew itself along the window and out of my sight, leaving a long, ugly scratch. The sound was horrible. But it didn’t stop when it left the window. I could still hear it, dragging along the wooden walls of my cabin. The creature was scratching through solid wood. Could it break through my windows? Why didn’t it? My knees shook. I tracked the sound of the scratching with my rifle. My mind raced. Could this thing get in? How long until the sheriff showed up? I was high up on the mountain. The drive up here took forty-five minutes. Even if they hurried it might be a half hour. Even if they did get here, could they stop this thing? “Should I make a run for my truck?” No. Whatever that thing was, it could get to me before I got the truck up and running.
Something nagged at the back of my head, but I could barely think. The scratching was louder and louder. Whatever this thing was, it had torn a bull elk to shreds. How could I stop it? The bull….that’s when I realized it. The head. It was the same head as the bull I’d seen earlier. It had the same scar down its right cheek. This thing….was taunting me. It must have been there when I found the dead elk. It had been watching me. And now it had thrown the head at me. Was it telling me to go away? To get out of its territory?
I gasped. With my mind racing, I hadn’t noticed that the scratching had stopped. Where was that thing? My eyes darted from window to window. No sign of it. Until the loud thud right above me. “It’s on the goddamn roof!” I thought. Its footsteps echoed through my cabin. Between each step came rhythmic taps, no doubt from its claws. Was it testing for weaknesses? Was it merely toying with me? It had only been a few minutes since I called the sheriff’s office. I was still far from safety. I hadn’t moved since the call. The thing on my roof thudded from spot to spot. The shock was starting to wear off. “Focus. Think.” I told myself.
The thing had probably seen me through my window. It was right above me. The bathroom. The bathroom was the safest spot. There were no windows. If it does break in, it will have to look for me, then break through the bathroom door. That might buy me an extra minute, and it might save my life. The creature knew where I was. I had to try to change that. I slowly slipped off my shoes. Keeping my rifle trained on the roof, I kicked a shoe towards my bed. Sure enough, the thuds on my roof followed, stopping right above the spot where my shoe had landed. “It’s tracking me.” I slowly shuffled to the bathroom, not raising my feet, afraid to make a sound. Praying that the door would not creak, I opened the bathroom, preparing to lock myself inside. I was shutting myself in, hoping that I wouldn’t die in this bathroom, when I heard a loud scratch, followed by a dull thud. It had jumped off the roof. It was on the ground again, outside the cabin. Why? Was it going away? I was afraid to hope that maybe it had gotten bored, maybe it had found some other prey.
That was when I heard the woman scream.
I gasped and covered my mouth. How was that possible? No one else is up here! A hiker, a camper maybe? The scream came again. “Heeeeeeelp!” she cried out. I gripped my rifle, crying now. I was frozen in fear. That thing was out there, chasing some poor woman, and I was too cowardly to help her. I just wanted to stay in that bathroom, hiding, hoping that every second the thing spent chasing that woman was another second closer to the sheriff getting here. I don’t know how long I sat there, cowering. Another, more desperate scream. “Heeeeeeelp meeeeee!” There was something in her terror. She was more scared than I was. And there I sat, letting her die. My shame overcame my fear. I gripped my rifle tighter, and left the bathroom. I marched to the door, ready to face whatever this creature was. Maybe I could distract it. Buy time for her to get away. Maybe the sheriff would find her, even if the thing got me first. Just as I was reaching for the doorknob, she cried out again. A pained, dying scream. I was too late. That thing had gotten to her. I was a coward. And because of that, she was dead. The woman moaned in pain, this time just a few meters away from my door. This must be her final moments. And I listened, safe in my cabin. She groaned once more. But this sounded different somehow…it was….
My eyes widened in shock and realization. I drew my hand from the doorknob, as if it had burned me. I had never unlocked it. Thank God. The moan came again. This time, unmistakable. That was not a moan of pain or terror. It was an entirely different kind of moaning. I backed away from the door. “You motherfucker…” I muttered. “You almost got me.” It all made sense now. There never was any female elk.
Mimicry is a common adaptation in all ecosystems, both for prey and for predators. This thing…it let out female elk cries to draw in males. And then….well, I had already seen the result, in the forest. That’s why I never heard the elk mating. There was no female waiting for them. Only this monster.
And now it was trying the same tactic on me. I nearly sobbed in terror. It had tried to lure me with the sound of a woman in distress. It thought that might draw me out. When that didn’t work, it switched to its tried-and-true method: a mating call.
I aimed my rifle at the door. The moans continued, louder and more intense, building into a climax. I was nauseous at the thought of whatever it was out there, squatting in the dark, mouth agape, emitting this perversion of a woman’s voice. Trying to draw me out into the dark, and rip me apart just like that elk. I stood with my rifle trained at the door, not moving. I had resolved that I was going to stand there until the sun rose or until the sheriff came, and the moment I saw this thing, I was going to shoot it.
I don’t know how long I stood there among the echoes of that sick creature. Eventually, the moans puttered out, and I was left in silence. Until the tapping began again. In the same spot as before. There it was. That single grey claw, tapping on that same spot where it had scratched the glass. But then a second claw joined it. Then a third. It drummed them along the glass. Slowly….ever so slowly….a patch a gray fur poked out from the edge of the window. Time stopped. And the creature brought its face into full view. It was…….terrible. Like…a sloth. But its mouth and nose were caked in blood. It had tiny, beady eyes, front-facing. A predator’s eyes. Large, pointed ears, almost like a bat. Thin, cracked lips. The monster looked right into my eyes. It cocked its head. And then……it pulled those terrible, bloody lips back into a smile. Its razor sharp teeth, still stained with blood and flesh….I’ll never forget them. It pointed that hideous grin at me as it drummed those claws on my window. “Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I told myself. But I was frozen. This thing was going to kill me.
Light poured through the front window. The monster disappeared out of sight. The sheriff and deputy had arrived in their truck. The two of them sauntered up to my porch and knocked. I had to shake myself out of my stupor and open the door. Both of them backed off and drew their weapons at me, screaming at me to put the gun down. I was still in shock. I think the only thing that kept them from shooting me was the terrified look in my eyes. They asked me what the hell was going on. I could barely speak. I just kept frantically repeating that they needed to get inside, that “it” was still out there. They eventually told me to come with them down to the sheriff station. At first, I refused to leave the cabin. They sort of half-dragged, half-walked me to the truck. They said I was like an owl the whole ride down: my head on a swivel, always scanning the tree-line for “it.”
I must have fallen asleep after I got to the station. I woke up the next morning in a cell. I was confused and disoriented. I nearly wept from fear when I finally remembered everything I had been through the night before. The sheriff and deputy sat me down in a room and asked me what the hell happened that night. I was silent at first. I didn’t know what to tell them. If I told the truth, they’d think I was crazy. They asked me about the elk’s head that I’d told them about during the call. It was gone when they got there. Just a bloody stain on the ground where it had been lying.
I made up a story. Said that some kids were prowling around my cabin, making noises, trying to scare me. I called the sheriff’s office because I thought I saw one of them with a gun. The sheriff only made me go over the story once. He seemed satisfied.
He took me back up there the next day to collect my stuff. In broad daylight, of course. Sure enough, there were deep scratch marks along the side of the cabin. The sheriff didn’t look at me. “Kids” he said. We collected my things quickly and hurried back down the mountain. I reported to my supervisors that it was probably overhunting causing the population decline. They would never believe the truth.
The sheriff saw me off while I was waiting for the bus to take me back home. He shook my hand and drew me in for one of them manly half hugs. He gripped my shoulder. “Don’t come back.” He whispered. I gave him a confused look. He stared me right in the eyes. “It knows you now. Has your scent. Seen your face. Heard your voice. You got away once. It won’t happen again. So don’t ever come back.”
That was years ago. I burned the clothes that I had worn that trip, so there’s no way they’d end up near the Ozarks again. Never been back anywhere near the Ozarks. And anyone who’s ever asked me, I always tell them to steer clear. I’ve spent so much time trying to forget what I saw that night. But that face….I remember every detail. It’s kept me up so many nights, with so many questions. What the hell was it? Some freak of nature, a mutant that somehow survived past infancy? Something supernatural? An alien? Those ears….perfectly crafted to detect minute sounds, just like a bat. That explains its mimicry. It grew up in that forest, hearing the elk calls. After a while it learned to copy them. I’ve spent so many nights asking myself “How….how did it know a woman’s voice?” I dread to ponder the answer. When sleep finally comes, I have nightmares. Nightmares about campers sitting around their fire, when all of a sudden they hear a voice calling out to them from the woods, crying for help. The voice in my nightmares, calling them into the darkness of the trees, away from the safety of their fire. The voice…..my voice.