It was the eyes that haunted me the most.
As I sit here, ten years later, the memory of that harrowing experience in the wilderness still makes my heart race. My name is Jeromie, and in 2013, I was a young man fresh out of high school, taking a gap year before college. I had decided to hike the entire Appalachian Trail, a journey of over 2,000 miles that would test my endurance and resilience. But nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered in the 100 Mile Wilderness of southern Maine.
I had always been an outdoorsy person, and hiking the Appalachian Trail was a dream I had cherished since I was a child. My parents were supportive of my gap year decision, and they helped me with the preparations. When I set off from Georgia in the spring, I was filled with excitement, my backpack brimming with supplies, and my heart overflowing with anticipation.
The first few weeks on the trail were a mixture of joy, exhaustion, and awe as I marveled at the stunning beauty of the landscapes around me. I met fellow hikers, each with their own unique stories and motivations for being on the trail. We shared campfires and meals, swapping tales and offering encouragement to one another.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I continued north, growing stronger and more self-reliant with each passing mile. By the time I reached the 100 Mile Wilderness in Maine, I had developed a quiet confidence in my abilities and felt prepared for the challenges ahead.
The 100 Mile Wilderness is a remote, rugged section of the trail that stretches from Monson to Abol Bridge. It is the longest stretch of the entire Appalachian Trail without any road crossings, towns, or resupply points. Many hikers choose to travel in pairs or small groups through this area, but I had always been a bit of a loner and was determined to tackle it alone.
The first signs of something amiss began even before I entered the 100 Mile Wilderness. The day before I reached the official starting point, I came across a group of hikers who were discussing strange occurrences they had experienced in that part of the trail. They spoke of disconcerting noises, an eerie silence, and the overwhelming feeling of being watched. However, I attributed their stories to simple superstition and the natural fear of the unknown that the remote wilderness can evoke. I had no idea how much those stories would soon resonate with me.
The first day in the wilderness started like any other. I hiked under a canopy of trees, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves and twigs. The sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. As the day progressed, I noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air grew heavier, and the usual cacophony of forest sounds seemed to gradually fade away. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional creaking of branches and my own footsteps.
By the time I set up camp for the night, the eerie silence was palpable. I built a fire, the crackling flames providing a comforting contrast to the unnatural quiet that surrounded me. As I sat by the fire, I tried to brush off the unnerving feeling that had settled over the forest.
The following morning, as I continued my journey deeper into the wilderness, I discovered the remnants of an old trail marker. The weathered, wooden sign was barely legible, but I could make out a warning: “Beware the darkness that lies hidden.” The words sent a shiver down my spine, but I dismissed it as an old hiker’s prank.
Over the next few days, my unease grew as I noticed other odd occurrences. I would often find my path blocked by fallen trees, their roots ripped from the earth as if by some unseen force. I would hear strange, indistinct whispers carried on the wind, though I could never quite make out their source. One morning, I awoke to find an unfamiliar symbol carved into the trunk of a tree near my campsite – a series of concentric circles surrounding a jagged, angular shape. It filled me with an inexplicable sense of dread.
Despite these unsettling events, I continued deeper into the wilderness, driven by a stubborn determination to conquer my fears. Each day, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, the shadows darker, and the silence more complete. I could feel the weight of isolation pressing down on me, as if the forest itself was trying to warn me of the danger lurking within.
It was on the fifth day in the wilderness that I found the abandoned campsite. The sight of the tattered tent, surrounded by the cold remnants of a long-extinguished fire, brought a chilling realization that I was not the first to experience the sinister presence in this forest.
As I continued along the trail, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The air was heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional snapping of a twig or the rustling of leaves. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.
As the days went on, my nerves were stretched to their breaking point. Every creak and rustle sent my heart racing, my breath catching in my throat. I began to dread the nights, when the darkness would envelop me, and my imagination would run wild with thoughts of the unseen horrors lurking just beyond the reach of my flashlight.
It was on the ninth night that the creature finally revealed itself. The events leading up to that night had gradually built up an atmosphere of fear and anticipation that left me feeling as if I were a rabbit caught in a snare, awaiting the approach of some unspeakable predator.
I decided to make camp early that day, hoping that a good night’s rest would ease my unease. As I settled into my tent, the darkness outside seemed to press in on me, the shadows twisting and shifting as if alive. Sleep eluded me, and I lay awake, listening to the soft, almost imperceptible sounds of the forest.
As I lay there in my tent, the unsettling silence pressing in on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there, watching me. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and dread, I carefully unzipped the tent flap, just enough to peer outside. My heart raced as I scanned the darkness beyond my campsite, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to make out any shapes or movement in the shadows.
It was then that I saw it.
A figure, tall and impossibly thin, stood at the edge of my campsite, its eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on its gaunt, inhuman face, and its long, spindly limbs seemed to defy the laws of anatomy. I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even cry out as the creature approached.
It seemed to glide rather than walk, its movements unnaturally smooth and silent. As it drew closer, I could make out the details of its face – pale, almost translucent skin stretched tight over a bony, skull-like structure. Its eyes were the most terrifying aspect, black and bottomless, as if they held the secrets of a thousand tormented souls.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. My hand trembled as I quickly zipped the tent flap shut, doing my best not to make a sound that might draw the creature’s attention further. I clamped my other hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the ragged breaths that threatened to give me away.
With the tent flap closed, I could no longer see the creature directly, but the moonlight filtering through the trees outside cast flickering shadows on the tent wall. I watched, my heart pounding in my chest, as the silhouette of the creature loomed larger, its elongated limbs stretching out like the branches of a gnarled tree. The shadow seemed to pulsate and shift with each subtle movement of the leaves above, a chilling reminder of the nightmare that stood just beyond the thin fabric that separated us.
The creature stopped just outside my tent, its slender, elongated fingers reaching out and brushing against the thin fabric that separated us. I was trembling, my heart pounding so hard it felt as if it would burst from my chest. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if the very air around me was tainted with a suffocating sense of dread.
As I huddled there in my tent, barely daring to breathe, I suddenly heard a sound that made my blood run cold – a guttural, bone-chilling wail that seemed to come from the very depths of the creature itself. The horrifying sound filled the air, echoing through the trees and piercing through the heavy silence that had enveloped the forest.
Instinctively, I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the terrible noise. My entire body trembled as I pressed myself further into the corner of the tent, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between me and the source of that unearthly cry.
As the sound continued, it seemed to vibrate through the air, rattling the fabric of my tent and sending shivers down my spine. And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the noise stopped. In the deafening silence that followed, I strained to hear any indication of the creature’s presence or movements.
Moments later, I heard the faint rustling of leaves and the creaking of branches as the creature slowly receded back into the depths of the forest. Relief washed over me, but I knew that the nightmare was far from over.
I lay there, too terrified to move or make a sound, until the first light of dawn began to filter through the trees. When I was finally able to muster the courage to leave my tent, there was no trace of the creature, no sign that it had ever been there. But the memory of its eyes, those endless pools of darkness, was seared into my mind.
I packed up my campsite as quickly as possible, my hands shaking and my breath still coming in ragged gasps. I knew I couldn’t stay in the wilderness any longer, couldn’t face another night of terror. I had to get out, had to reach the safety of civilization.
As I hiked along the trail, every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig sent a jolt of fear through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the creature was still out there, watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion, hiking at a breakneck pace, desperate to escape the nightmare that haunted me.
The encounter with the creature would mark the beginning of the end of my journey through the 100 Mile Wilderness. In the days that followed, the terror I felt consumed me, leaving me unable to focus on anything but my own survival. The forest, which had once been a source of solace and wonder, now seemed like a malevolent force, determined to crush my spirit and break my resolve.
Each day, I pressed on, fueled by a desperate need to escape the nightmare that had taken hold of me. The creature seemed to be always at the edge of my consciousness, its presence an oppressive weight that I could never quite shake off. I would catch glimpses of it from the corner of my eye, only for it to vanish into the shadows the moment I tried to focus on it. The knowledge that it was always there, watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike, pushed me to the brink of madness.
Sleep became a luxury I could no longer afford. My nights were spent huddled in my tent, eyes wide open, ears straining for any hint of the creature’s approach. I would drift off for brief moments, only to be jolted awake by the sound of a snapping twig or the rustle of leaves, my heart pounding in my chest as I fumbled for my flashlight.
In my more lucid moments, I tried to make sense of what was happening to me. Was the creature real, or was it simply a manifestation of my own fears? Was I being punished for my hubris, for daring to venture into the heart of the wilderness alone? Whatever the truth, I knew that I could not continue like this. The trail was taking its toll on my body and my mind, and I feared that I would not survive much longer if I did not find a way out.
As the days wore on, my thoughts became increasingly disjointed, my grip on reality slipping away like sand through my fingers. The creature’s presence seemed to grow stronger, its eyes boring into me with an intensity that threatened to shatter my fragile sanity. I began to see it everywhere – in the twisted branches of the trees, in the shadows cast by the rocks, in the swirling mists that hung over the forest floor.
And then, on the twelfth day, the creature was gone. The oppressive weight that had hung over me for so long suddenly lifted, as if a great burden had been removed from my shoulders. The forest seemed to come alive once more, the sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves returning to fill the air.
Though I could not explain the creature’s sudden disappearance, I seized upon the opportunity to make my escape. I pushed myself harder than ever before, driven by a singular purpose – to reach the end of the 100 Mile Wilderness and leave this nightmare behind me.
When I finally emerged from the forest, my body was battered and my spirit was broken, but I was alive. The nightmare that had begun with a series of strange and terrifying events had culminated in an encounter that would haunt me for the rest of my days.
Now, ten years later, I cannot bring myself to venture back into the wilderness alone. The memory of that time – of the creature and the darkness it brought with it – remains etched in my mind, a constant reminder of the horrors that can lurk just out of sight, hidden in the depths of the shadows.
Though I may never know the true nature of the creature or understand the events that led to its appearance, one thing is certain – I will never forget the fear and terror that it instilled in me, and I will never again underestimate the power of the unknown to reach out and touch us in our most vulnerable moments.
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OOC Note: >!This story was written as part of an ongoing experiment for scary stories generated by AI through prompt engineering. Feel free to comment with any criticism or thoughts about the story. I’d also be curious to know if you could tell this story was written by AI. If you want to learn more about how this is done or read more stories in this experiment, they can be found on r/ArtificialNightmares ( mods let me know if providing this r/ constitutes as spam )!<