We’re back home now, and things have become really freaky. I have some things to catch you guys up on.
About 25 minutes after passing the “Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest” sign and turning off of a few side roads, the cabin came into view, standing alone in the snow-covered wilderness. It looked just as I remembered—small and simple, surrounded by tall pine trees that seemed to embrace it as one of their own. As we pulled up, the crunch of snow under the truck tires echoed in the quiet surroundings. Everything in the area was so still, so perfectly silent. It made hunting more difficult in some ways, easier in others.
We unloaded the back of the truck and started to unpack inside. The main living area was centered around a vintage fireplace, its stone hearth reaching up to the wooden-beamed ceiling. The room bathed in natural light from the few windows that adorned the walls.
The worn wooden floor was softened by a series of mismatched rugs, adding a touch of comfort to the sturdy, old furniture. A plaid couch and a pair of well-worn armchairs encircled a low coffee table, now adorned with family photo albums and a scattering of nostalgic knick-knacks from past trips. The walls had one set of deer antlers, my first kill, surrounded by an array of framed photographs capturing moments of joy and shared adventures through the years.
In one corner of the cabin, a modest kitchenette stood with a vintage stove, and my dad began making himself a pot of coffee. A simple dining table, weathered and marked by the passage of time, hosted not just meals but also the intimate conversations that you wouldn’t ever get to unless you spoke in a place like this. From well-thumbed novels to family favorites and board games, the shelves reflected the diverse tastes and interests that had graced the cabin over the years. An old oil lamp, though no longer in use, remained suspended from a ceiling beam, an artifact of sorts. And in the other corner sat a loft, serving as the sleeping quarters where simple beds and thick blankets awaited.
We decided to take a break from the long drive and have lunch before gearing up for the afternoon hunt. I started making the meal as dad began making the fire. After a simple meal of sandwiches and hot soup, we sat at the worn wooden table, maps and hunting gear spread out before us. The conversation shifted to our game plan for the afternoon. My dad, always the seasoned hunter, shared his insights on the best areas to explore and the likely spots for finding deer tracks. Dad gestured at the map laid out between us, tracing his finger along the marked trails and hunting zones. “Alright, son, let’s plan our game for this afternoon. We’ve got some good terrain to cover.”
I nodded, getting giddy that we had arrived and could begin. As I said before, I wasn’t a big fan of hunting anymore, but now that we had arrived, a sense of excitement overcame me.
He leaned back in his chair, a glint from the outside snow in his eyes. “Well, considering the fresh snowfall last night, I’d say we head toward the western clearing. Deer tracks should be more visible there, and we might just catch them before they bed down for the afternoon.”
I traced the path he indicated on the map, mentally preparing for the upcoming trek. “Sounds like a plan. Anything else we should watch out for?”
“Keep an eye on the wind. We want it in our favor, carrying our scent away from where we expect the deer to be. And remember, move slowly and stay quiet. Patience is the key to a successful hunt.”
I picked up my rifle, checking it over as I listened intently. “Got it. Western clearing, favorable wind, and stealth mode engaged.”
He chuckled, a sound that resonated with both camaraderie and years spent in the wilderness. “You’ve got the hang of it, kiddo. Although you already know a lot of this, I think it settles into my mind more when I speak it aloud. Now, as we approach the clearing, keep an eye on the tree lines. Deer like to use those as cover. And if we’re lucky, we might spot some tracks leading us to a good spot.”
Our game plan solidified, we gathered our gear and prepared to venture into the snowy landscape. The door creaked open, releasing a gust of cold air, and we stepped outside, ready to navigate the vast expanse of the Wisconsin mountains in pursuit of the elusive deer.
Armed with our rifles, we ventured out into the snowy landscape, the weight of anticipation settling on our shoulders like the fresh blanket of snow beneath our boots. The quiet woods seemed to hold its breath as we moved stealthily through the trees, each step muffled by the pristine snow. The crisp air stung our faces, but the thrill of the hunt kept us warm.
Eyes scanned the landscape with a keen intensity, searching for any subtle movement or telltale sign of wildlife. Although my father has taught me how to shoot squirrels, rabbits, and quail, deer and elk are always our primary targets. They provide a host of meat and radiate as the largest trophy. We soon discovered a set of fresh deer tracks, yet the trail proved elusive, winding through the trees and disappearing into the underbrush.
We moved with careful determination, eyes narrowing as we scrutinized the ground for any sign of the elusive deer. The tracks, at first distinct, became fainter, and eventually, we found ourselves at a crossroads, the trail lost to the vastness of the winter landscape.
We both let out a sigh of disappointment. Hours had passed without any success, and a sense of worry crept into my thoughts. The thrill of the hunt was tempered by the realization that the first day might pass without the sighting we eagerly anticipated.
And then, as if on cue, I spotted it. A large buck with curved antlers standing some 200 yards away. I pointed and my dad’s face lit up. We crept towards it, and I prayed that it wouldn’t move. 175 yards. 150 yards. Just short of 125 yards, I cringed as a small snap noise came from under my foot, a hidden branch I had laid too much weight on. We both ducked down, but the large deer stood still, looking around but not noticing our presence.
“Do you think we’re close enough?” my dad whispered, implying I was going to be honored with the first shot of the trip.
“I don’t know dad, I think you should take this one. He’s pretty big”
He rubbed his beard as if he were thinking about it, although I knew his mind was already made up. “Tell you what” he started. “It’s not often we get a clear shot like this on our first hunting day. I think it’s a sign of good luck. I say you take it.”
I rolled my eyes and adjusted my stance, centering the large animal in my scope.
With my dad behind me, his hand reassuringly on my shoulder, I took an overly extended amount of time to prepare for the shot. Eventually, my finger folded against the trigger, and the loud blast disrupted the silent woods.
A direct hit, just behind the shoulder. The deer’s side visibly shuddered, and I anticipated its next move—either dropping to the ground or attempting to flee.
Neither happened.
The deer just stood there, as if nothing had changed.
“Did you hit him?” my dad asked.
My adrenaline curved into uneasiness. I thought to myself “Why is it just standing there? Did I miss? I could’ve sworn I saw the bullet land, and even if I missed the noise surely should’ve scared him off.”
I continued staring through my scope, and then I noticed the blood start to seep down the side of the animal’s side. “I hit it, I see the mark. Maybe it’s in shock or something?” I spoke.
“Maybe. Go ahead and take another shot” my dad said. I had never shot the same deer twice before. In hunting, your first shot is almost always your last for that target. It’s very rare you get a second chance.
I again aimed and shot. I wasn’t sure I had hit it this time, but either way it didn’t move.
“Maybe the thing is deaf?” dad muttered. A third shot followed, and a fresh stream of blood trickled down its side.
This time, however, the deer fixed its gaze on us.
The echoes of the woods, meant to disorient animals regarding the shot’s direction, should have prevented the deer from pinpointing our location. Yet, it looked right at us. It then began violently shaking, its head flailing in every direction. A horrifying noise emanated from its mouth, a screeching sound of sorts, like a barn owl trying to survive the assault of a fox. And then a low moan with ticking, gurgling in its voice.
A chill shot through my body like lightning. Something wasn’t just off, something was wrong. Seriously wrong, and I was afraid. This creature who I had hunted for years was suddenly a horror, and I was afraid of it taking a single step towards us. I looked to dad and his face held an expression similar to mine.
“This ain’t like anything I’ve ever seen. That deer is sick, we should leave it” is all he said. But I knew what he was really thinking. He was thinking the exact same things I was.
My dad and I slowly backed away, keeping our rifles trained on the increasingly erratic deer. The forest, which had been silent before, now echoed with the haunting cries of the distressed animal. As we distanced ourselves from the unnerving scene, almost out of sight, shapes moved in the periphery of my vision, but every time I looked nothing was there. Just shadows that flitted between the trees.
The deer’s cries intensified the further away we walked away, echoing through the stillness of the woods like a haunting symphony. But even as we traveled far, I still heard it, as if it was following us. I matched my father’s quickened pace and eventually we couldn’t hear the cries anymore.
Other than discussing what we should have for dinner, we didn’t talk much after making it back to the cabin. He offered to make some mashed potatoes and gravy, but I couldn’t eat and settled to nibble on jerky instead. We built a campfire and played “Sorry” until my dad decided he was going to turn in for the night.
“Make sure you pour a good amount of water on the fire before you go to bed. Love you son.”
Despite the creepy occurrence with the deer earlier in the day, the night was peaceful. I sat back in my reclining chair, cozied up in my soft blanket, and put in my headphones so I could listen to my Sci-fi audiobook as I watched the stars.
I was awakened by the snap of a twig.
I jolted up and glanced around. The campfire had dwindled from a bouncing blaze to a smolder, and the trees around me were only dimly lit. Seeing nothing, I grabbed my flashlight from the backpack and aimed the beam into the clusters of bark and branches. I skimmed it along, seeing nothing, until I saw the single deer.
It was large with curved antlers. The fur was stained with dried blood. And it was staring at me.
Panicking, I grabbed as much as I could carry in my arms and back towards the cabin. Once inside I closed the door and locked it shut with its slide bolt.
I sat in the cabin, my heart pounding as I peered out of the window, the beam of my flashlight cutting through the darkness outside. I thought I could see the creature still standing there, staring at me with those haunting eyes. I was overcome with an eerie feeling, a sense of unease that refused to subside.
Desperate for reassurance, I turned to my dad, who was in a deep sleep in his small bed. I shook him gently, whispering, “Dad, wake up. The deer is back.” His snores stopped for a moment, and then resumed, undisturbed by my attempts to rouse him.
Panicking, I faced the window again. The single deer was now joined by more, emerging from the shadows of the trees. It wasn’t just one or two; it was a gathering, a congregation of these creatures. A dozen deer, maybe more, were approaching the cabin. The moonlight revealed their eyes, reflecting an unnatural glow.
They moved with coordination, their movements synchronized in a way that defied behavior of wildlife. It was as if they were drawn by some unseen force, a shared purpose that guided their actions. The deer gathered around the cabin, their eyes fixed on me. It felt as though they were studying me, evaluating me with an intelligence that went beyond their usual instincts.
I quickly closed the curtains and ran to my dad, softly shaking him once again. This time his snores stopped and his eyes quickly opened in alarm. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“The deer I shot, it’s back! There’s tons of deer outside! What do we do?” I whispered to him. Groggy and confused, he got out of bed and walked over to the window. As he did, I heard soft patter of hooves in the snow. Once he opened the curtains, the deer were gone, although I spotted one or two of them running into the woods in the first second.
“What in the hell?” my dad muttered.
“I swear, there were tons of them! All over the place, including that one that I had shot, I swear!”
He turned to me, a stern look across his face reflecting in scrunched eyebrows and a flat mouth.
“I believe you Chris, I see the hoof prints. They’re covering the ground out there. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
The rest of the night was uneventful. I hardly slept, but every time I looked outside no one was there. Dad caught me once and told me to get some sleep.
The first light of dawn painted the cabin in soft hues of pink and orange. My dad was already outside, packing our gear into the truck. The air outside was chilly. I joined my dad, silently loading our rifles and keeping a wary eye on the surrounding woods.
As we prepared to leave, my eyes were drawn to the spot where the deer had stood the night before. There were no signs of the eerie congregation, no hoof prints in the snow. It was as if bizarre events of the night were erased with the new day. Still, a sense of unease lingered, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the deer were watching us from the shadows.
We hit the road, leaving the cabin behind. The drive back was tense, both of us lost in our thoughts. As we drove onto roads that were supposed to be busier, we found that they were surprisingly empty. Patches of blood lined the snow next to the street. Questions hung in the air, unspoken but heavy with significance.
Halfway between the cabin and home, a sudden sight brought us to a halt—a one-way road blockade on the other side of the road, manned by a few police officers and park rangers. An officer signaled us to stop, and as my dad rolled down the window, the officer approached.
“Good morning,” he said, eyeing us carefully. “There’s been an incident in the area. Are you coming from home?”
My dad shook his head, a sense of concern etched on his face. “No, we’re driving towards home from our cabin trip.”
“Alright, well we’re allowing people through, but once you pass this point, you won’t be able to return for a while. We’re working on resolving the situation, but for now, it’s best to stay away,” the officer explained.
“What happened?”
In the midst of the conversation a second officer walked next to the bed of our truck, took a good look around the inside, and then nodded to the man speaking with us.
The officer hesitated for a moment before continuing. “We’re not entirely sure, but there’s been reports of strange animal behavior. Some kind of mass migration or gathering. It’s not safe to have people in Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest at the moment, so we’re evacuating. Anyway, just wanted to let you know this road won’t be open for a while. Good day to you both.”
My mind raced with thoughts of the deer from the night before. I exchanged a glance with my dad, and his expression mirrored my own unease. I knew he wanted to ask more questions, but written on the officer’s face was the message that he had given us all the information we were going to get.
With a heavy sigh, my dad nodded. “Thanks for the heads up. Good day.”
As we drove past the road blockade I made eye contact with the wildlife officer we had met on our way here. He looked different than before. He looked dirty, tired and frightened.
As we continued our journey home, several all-black SUV’s passed us going towards the national forest, like those government vehicles you see in the movies. I checked my phone every few minutes, waiting for a signal so I could google what was happening, but when I eventually did nothing came up.
Since getting home, the mystery of the deer has lingered, and I can’t shake the feeling that we had stumbled upon something otherworldly. The patches of blood in the snow, the haunting cries of the distressed deer, and the strange gathering—all of it formed a puzzle with missing pieces. It’s been bothering me, and I just can’t stop thinking about it. I need to know what is going on out there, it’s like a terrible itch that I can’t scratch until I find out.
In fact, I think I’m going to sneak out there tonight to see if I can find out anything else.