I was nineteen years old when my life changed forever. The COVID-19 pandemic had just started that year, but our then-inseparable group “would never let a little bug keep us apart,” in Justin’s words.
Oh, of course. I should start by introducing my friends, so you know exactly who I’m talking about.
I met Justin in the seventh grade. I remember that he stood up for me when the “cool” kids picked on me for not being “cool” enough for them. God, I hate those types of people. But long story short, Justin welcomed me into his friend group, which consisted of Michael and some other people who eventually left as they grew up and grew out of us. From an outsider’s perspective, they would have been seen as “hillbilly” types, despite developing into fun-loving, well-educated, polite, professional, and competent individuals throughout their lives. It’s sickening how people make such judgments on first sight.
But I digress. Anyways, Justin was the “leader” of our close-knit group, and one of those guys who would make a good stand-in for Davy Crockett if they ever made a live action. He was pretty much born hunting and trapping with his father in Alaska for the first decade of his life, so he looked, acted, and felt like “one with the wild.” With sandy blond hair and beady, piercing blue eyes on top of a stern-looking face and massive tree trunks of arms, there seemed to be nothing he couldn’t - or look like he couldn’t - do.
Michael was more of a “follower.” With long, jet-black hair, a slightly “hippy” style, and a tall, thin, wiry build, he looked slightly out of place following Justin around, but not horribly so. He was born in the urban-as-can-be city of Los Angeles and ended up going back to college there, but still possessed that same affinity for the great outdoors as Justin and I did.
I, Kevin, would describe myself as somewhere in between: not quite as blond or burly as Justin, but not quite as dark-featured or lanky as Michael. I was born and raised in NorCal, but liked to travel around the various national parks the country had to offer.
So now that you have some reference of the three of us, we can proceed.
…
I have always loved the outdoors. As a middle-class American teenager in great physical condition but zero interest in mainstream sports, there was nothing I liked to do more than spend time in the wilderness.
Instead of playing football, baseball, basketball, or other typical sports like most of my peers did, I preferred to go camping. Blaze trails in an off-road vehicle. Spend hours swinging an axe, chopping enough dead firewood to fuel an entire winter. Go hunting. I’ll never forget the all-encompassing adrenaline high I felt when I took my first deer, a ten-point buck that sprang ten yards geysering blood from a bullet wound just behind its shoulder until it dropped dead. I was untouchable. Unbothered. Fully in tune with my body, my senses, and my few buddies who shared the same interest. Fully “myself.”
Every year, my friends and I would haul a camping trailer into the mountains of Northern Idaho, along with various other supplies like tents, non-perishable food, and fishing gear. We would have, as my buddy Justin would have said, “a hell of a time!” And most times, it sure was. We were once caught in the middle of a snowstorm in July (that’s Idaho weather for you), we once encountered a ten-foot-tall grizzly bear on an ATV trail and made the fastest U-turn of our lives, and we have heard inhuman, otherworldly screams echoing through the valleys in the dead of night. Despite all the highs and lows of our experiences together, however, we vowed to stick together as buddies until the end of time. We were inseparable. Even when we got girlfriends and moved to different states for college, we always managed to find time in the summers to plan our annual camping trip together. It was essentially tradition at this point.
But as Michael often repeated, “all good things must come to an end.” And to an end they sure came, on that fateful and final camping trip we went on together.
…
“We should go to the South Hills!”
“Nah man, let’s go to the Sawtooth!”
Justin and Michael were arguing at my front door when I answered. I noticed Justin’s Ram 2500 parked on the street, hooked up to a brand new trailer. It was much bigger than the one we had spent our previous summers in.
“Sup,” I said, as we dapped each other up. “What’s this about? Can’t decide which forest to shit in this summer?”
They grinned. “Nah, man,” replied Justin. “I’m trying to go to the South Hills, but Mike wants the Sawtooth.”
“We’ve been to the South Hills twice already,” Michael responded. “Why not try that new spot?”
I thought for a moment. “Bro, if you’re talking new spots, then what about that ‘Yankee Fork’ gold dredge in Bonanza?”
They both looked at me. “This guy, man. Always with the best ideas!” said Michael.
“Sure, I’ve never been there before,” said Justin. “Is it accessible for my new baby here?” He pointed to his brand new, gigantic trailer.
“I looked at the map. Sure is,” I replied with a grin. “And that’s a sick-ass trailer.”
…
It only took us a day to pack for what we had planned to be a two-week camping trip. Having done so before several times probably helped, though. Justin and Michael packed all their usual things - tents, non-perishable food, water, flashlights, batteries, radios, a legal firearm of choice, and a couple of pocketknives. In addition to food, water, and batteries, I brought along my new lever-action 45-70 rifle.
“Jeez, dude, you going to war?” Michael commented as I loaded the long, black, plastic gun case into the truck. We had never, ever brought a long gun of any kind on our camping trips before. The park rangers would have a fit if they caught us with one, especially out of hunting season. “And I thought my Glock was overkill already!” he added.
Justin, on the other hand, merely grinned. “Better safe than sorry!” he opined. “New toy?”
“Yep, wanna see it?” I asked. He nodded eagerly. I unlocked the case and popped the lid open, revealing the beautiful brass receiver and engraved walnut stock.
“Just as beautiful as she is deadly,” he whispered in reverence as he ran his hands all over it. “Sweet piece, man.”
“Thanks.” I grinned. “Cost me nine-hundred.”
“And I thought my AR was expensive…” Justin chuckled.
…
The journey to the campsite was largely uneventful, except for this one time we stopped to refuel. We stopped at a gas station in a borderline ghost town with less than three thousand people. The only other car was a crimson-red, vintage Charger with an old man smoking a cigarette standing next to it, his salt-and-pepper hair and beard as well as his weathered face indicating many years of age and experience. What startled me, though, was his black, almost dead-looking eyes which immediately fixated on mine when he looked up at us.
“Goin’ camping, young fellas?” he asked casually in a rough and gravelly voice.
“Yes sir!” I replied enthusiastically. “Yankee Fork region of the Challis.”
I was taken aback by his reaction. His brow furrowed and his eyes became even more intense as he leaned forward and growled, “Careful out there. Things will happen, things you’ll see that no one will believe when you tell them.”
My eyes widened. “Like what, sir?” I inquired.
He smirked and huffed, leaning back against his car. “I’d tell you, but wouldn’t believe me anyways.”
My face was quizzical. “Try me. I’m Christian, so I have a higher tolerance for the supernatural than usual.”
The man leaned forward again. “Ever heard of the Bulgarian Monk?”
“No sir,” I replied, listening intently.
He cleared his throat. “There was once a Bulgarian monk who lived in the area during the late nineteenth century. Apparently, he drowned in the river and his body was never found. To this day, they say his ghost wanders the riverbanks, clothed in black robes and carrying a lantern, searching far and wide for his fleshly vessel.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Wow, that’s insane,” I replied.
“Sure is, buddy. And it’s even more insane when you see him with your own two eyes,” the man said. I nodded in acknowledgement.
After a short pause, I replied, “Well, sir, thanks for the warning. I’ve got to get back to my buddies now. Nice talking to you.”
His eyes widened, his face frightfully intense as he leaned towards me. “The Monk is merely a harbinger. There are far worse things in that forest,” he uttered, his new sense of urgency and direness putting me on edge.
I took a half-step back with uncertainty. “What do you mean, sir?” I inquired.
The man’s face became a frightening, twisted contortion of grim warning, a symbol of the scarring he must have had from whatever those things were. “Just remember, son - they fear steel.”
I was a bit on edge, but acknowledged what he said anyways. “Y-yes sir!” I stammered.
He smiled and nodded, his face reverting into a softer visage like an old, world-war-hardened veteran reclaiming a sense of long-lost love and warmth in the presence of his precious grandchildren. “Good luck,” he said, then made the sign of the cross and quietly uttered a short prayer.
I turned around to face my friends, and to my surprise they were grinning like madmen and recording me with their phones.
“You see this guy?!” Michael laughed so hard I knew he had been holding it in for a while.
Justin quietly chuckled, amused. “Kev, you sure college hasn’t been fucking with your head too much?”
I was puzzled. “Wha- what’s wrong, guys?”
“You’ve been talking to the fucking air for like five minutes now!” Michael roared with laughter and doubled over. “I’ve never seen Kev like this before!”
Confused, I whirled around to face the old man with the vintage Charger. To my utter shock, he was gone.
Vanished without a trace.
I was no car expert, but I knew that I had to have heard the sound of him opening and closing his door. I knew I had to have heard the 426 V8 Hemi roar to life and power the 3100-lb. hunk of steel out of the gas station and onto the road.
Yet, I had heard nothing. Not a thud. Not a sound. Not a whisper.
I turned back to my friends. “Bro I swear I was just talking to this old man with an old Dodge Charger at that pump right there!” I frantically blurted as I pointed.
Justin raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Kev, you sure you’re okay? We can push our trip up a few days if we have to. I know college can get to you sometimes, especially with your major!”
“I promise, I’m fine!” I replied, almost shouting as I put all the bravado I could into my voice. I was so confused. I had no idea how that man had just disappeared without a sound or trace, and no idea how my friends hadn’t seen or heard him whatsoever.
“Alright man, just make sure you don’t do nothing stupid, especially with that 45-70!” said Justin, chuckling nervously.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I replied convincingly.
“Alright then, let’s get our asses back on the road before it gets dark,” said Justin, cheerfully.
As we pulled back out onto the main street, I almost thought I saw the taillights of an old Dodge Charger, miles ahead of us on the long, straight road.
…
We entered the Challis National Forest around dusk. Long, ominous shadows had started to creep into the valley from the tall trees and even taller mountain ranges. I couldn’t explain it; it was like a stifling feeling of being trapped, like the doors of the dungeon of fate closing in and shutting out the light of hope.
“We’re here, bros! Now we just gotta find a place to set up camp. Mike, Kev, be my eyes on the other side,” announced Justin. It was clear that neither he nor Michael felt the same unsettling atmosphere that I did.
We drove for several miles along the dirt road, kicking up a plume of dust for several yards behind the trailer. At several points, Michael and I piped up to notify Justin of a potential campsite, but Justin either decided it was too small for his new big trailer or the location wasn’t scenic enough.
Finally, we arrived at a clearing, a wide open basin by the river, surrounded by a grove of trees that resembled the wall of a fortress. Protecting us from the river, I thought, as I shuddered thinking of the poor monk who had fell in and drowned over a century ago.
“This is it, boys!” shouted Justin excitedly as we pulled into the clearing. Michael seemed to be just as excited as he leapt out of the truck and immediately began unpacking.
But even their excitement at our annual tradition wasn’t contagious enough to shake my stifled feeling about the place. As we finished unpacking and setting up our living quarters for the next two weeks, I was on edge for the whole night and could not find a comfortable position to sleep in, despite having done so on several similar trips without a problem. Every little sound, every little squeak of a cricket or breeze rustling the leaves made me startle, and my hand dart towards my loaded rifle.
I chose to stay the night in the trailer against the wishes of my buddies, who were sleeping outside in a shared tent. And as I eventually nodded off into a dreamless slumber, my eyes slowly closing against the window, I faintly remember noticing a tiny pinpoint of yellow light off in the distance along the riverbank, like one produced by an old-fashioned oil lantern.
…
Despite a relatively sleepless night, I was decently energized in the morning, a habit most likely developed from the relentless workload of my engineering degree in college.
Thud-thud-thud.
Three urgent knocks in rapid succession on the front door of the trailer.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Justin’s muffled voice.
Without thinking, I rushed to the door and opened it. Justin jumped in and slammed the door behind him, panting heavily.
I sat him down on the couch and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. “Justin. Bro. Calm down. Take a deep breath. What happened?”
“It’s,” he panted. “It’s Michael. I woke up and he was gone!” His face was strained from exertion. “I ran around the campsite in a mile radius.” Then he held up his hand. “Found this on the riverbank.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. It was Michael’s Glock, and unmistakably Michael’s: complete with his signature lewd anime wrap on the slide.
“How-“ I was terrified and confused. “Did you hear him shoot it?”
Justin shook his head, his hair still ruffled and matted. “No. Did you?”
I shook my head.
Justin leaned back and sighed. “All my years out in the wilderness. In Alaska, in Wyoming, in other parts of Idaho, and I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve seen guys ambushed by mountain lions and mauled by bears and go crazy of their own will and jump into rivers. I even grew up hearing legends of Skinwalkers and Wendigos and Bigfoot and all those cryptids and myths, but I never thought I’d see a man - who had just been sleeping in the same tent as me - disappear like that!”
“I’ll call the park rangers. I’ll call the police. We will get our boy Mike back,” I assured him. I whipped out my phone. Dammit, no service. I tried the radio, shifting through every channel I could. Pure static. “Dammit, we’re on our own,” I said forlornly.
“Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go find a ranger station! They have to have one somewhere,” said Justin, pointing to a spot marked on a detailed map of the area.
…
I ended up telling Justin about the old man at the gas station and everything he had told me. Justin nodded and seemed to agree.
“If that ghost monk or whatever it is has the ability to interact with the physical world, then we should be able to interact with it,” Justin reasoned. “I hope he likes the taste of silver bullets,” he said, drawing a massive stainless-steel revolver from his pants and twirling it cowboy style.
“Whoa, where did you hide that thing?” I exclaimed. “Is that a .44?”
“Yeah man. S&W 629. Got it a few months ago. I only take it out in worst-case scenarios like this.”
“Sick piece bro,” I replied with awe. “You got silver bullets in that thing? Because if it’s a werewolf then that might be our only hope.”
Justin grinned with glee. “Yessir! Six of them. I actually got them from my dad, who got them from his dad.”
We scoured the perimeter of the clearing. Near the spot where Justin had found Michael’s discarded Glock, there were drag marks in the mud, as if Michael had been forcibly abducted against his will. Interestingly, however, I noticed that there were seemingly normal-looking footprints on the bank of the other side of the river. “See that?” I asked, pointing for Justin to see.
“Yeah, let’s go check it out.”
“But how are we going to cross the river?”
“Let’s find a bridge or something.”
Luckily, just a few hundred yards from the campsite, there was a fairly permanent-looking bridge where the road crossed the river. We crossed, then scoured along the riverbank to the location where we had seen the footprints.
The footprints had been made from bare feet and were about Michael’s size.
“Michael!” Justin shouted as loud as he could, towards the mountain range just beyond the riverbank.
I joined in. “Michael!”
No answer.
“Let’s follow the footsteps,” Justin suggested, so we did. They led us in the opposite direction of the riverbank, and eventually to the outskirts of what we would later determine to be the old mining town of Bonanza, which had been restored into a museum. There were a couple of tourists and visitors meandering about, looking at the old artifacts and attractions.
“Um…” I started. “Justin? I probably shouldn’t go into town with a whole-ass rifle on me. You feel?”
He looked at me and understood. “True. I’ll go first while you put your rifle back in the trailer then meet me in town.”
“You sure we wanna split up?” I asked, cautious that whoever or whatever took Michael could also take me alone.
“The sooner we search, the fresher the clues will be,” he reasoned. He started off towards the town.
“Alright,” I said. The uneasy feeling of dread and paranoia returned tenfold as I turned around and started back into the woods we came from.
I was several yards into the tree line when I noticed that the footprints we had followed were gone. The mud of the riverbank was completely unaltered, like they had never been there. What? I thought.
As I continued further into the woods, the uneasy feeling intensified to the point of nausea. My knuckles were white, my fingers curled tightly around my rifle, whipping the barrel up towards anything I perceived as out of the ordinary. A piece of bark hanging off a tree, a falling leaf, a squirrel running up a tree…
Suddenly, a twig snapped. I whirled around and did a 180 spin, my rifle following my gaze.
“Kevin!” a voice called.
My eyes widened. It sounded exactly like Michael! With excitement, I opened my mouth to respond, but stopped. That dreadful feeling in my gut was permeating my mind, my body, and my throat in a way that I physically could not speak in reply.
For some reason, the old man’s words came back. Careful out there. Things will happen, things you’ll see that no one will believe when you tell them. And the events of this day had already confirmed that.
First, it was Michael’s odd and sudden disappearance, leaving behind his only form of protection and seemingly walking into town without us for no reason.
Secondly, his footprints had just disappeared within minutes. Gone, without a trace.
Both events were reasonable causes for extreme suspicion. I slowly, cautiously, with as little noise as I could, crept back the way I came, back towards the town.
As soon as I stepped foot into the grassy clearing, I broke into a full sprint and didn’t stop until I arrived at the door of the first building I saw, an old cabin restored into a historical attraction. Several visitors, parents and children, screamed when they saw I had a rifle in my hands.
Out of breath from running hundreds of yards, I made an attempt to hold it the most non-threatening way I could. “I’m not here to hurt you!” I gasped between breaths. “I need help! Is there a ranger around?”
A woman nodded frantically and pointed in a direction. “There’s like, an info center in the middle of town. There’s a big sign and you can’t miss it.”
I looked at her and nodded. “Thanks,” I acknowledged as I dashed out of the cabin.
The info center was only a few tens of yards away. I entered, ignoring the frightened stares of the bystanders around me, and marched straight up to the front desk. “Hello, ma’am, my name is Kevin. Sorry for the alarm, but my friend went missing this morning and I was wondering if there was a park ranger or service I could talk to?”
The woman behind the counter looked up. The first thing I noticed - and forgive me for thinking like this in a situation of such urgency - was that she looked beautiful. I mean, like out-of-this-world beautiful. Her facial features looked so perfect, like they had been sculpted by an artist. Her eyes were like a doe’s: big, round, and forest-green with just a hint of almond shape that added a touch of confidence and sexiness to her otherwise innocent and angelic look. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and cascaded straightly down her shoulders like a velvet scarf. Her name tag read Isabella, and she was wearing a tan ranger’s uniform.
“There was another guy here by the name of ‘Justin’ who asked the same thing. Our only ranger on duty today is helping him right now. Would you like to wait in the lobby?” she said in a voice like a leaf floating down the stream in autumn, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I had a big-bore rifle clutched in my hands.
I shifted nervously, almost stumbling over my words. “Actually, I would like to know where they are and what they’re doing right now. I heard something creepy in the woods and I don’t want them to get hurt!”
“Sir, please have a seat and wait for them to come back, or return to your campsite. We do not want to create a cause for alarm. It hurts tourism, you know?” She smirked.
“Ma’am, please. These are my friends we’re talking about here. If I don’t warn them, they could be in serious danger right now!”
“Sir, please leave the building. You’re already violating the ‘no firearms in state buildings’ policy.” Her tone was harsher and more firm.
“But-“
The woman looked at me sternly, unwaveringly, her face taking on a menacing and uninviting expression. I sighed, turned around, and left.
Guess I’m on my own for this one.
…
I couldn’t believe it. My lifelong buddies, Michael and Justin, had been separated from me by forces outside my control. We had been together throughout middle school and high school, standing as a team against bullies, enjoying crazy nights out with our girlfriends, bonding over all the precious memories we had created together.
I felt a new resolve build up within me. A determination so strong it completely overpowered the feelings of fear, dread, and unease I had felt in the forest earlier.
I looked up at the road ahead of me, steeled with new resolve. To my luck, I saw the dust cloud from a forest ranger’s pickup on the road in the distance. The only ranger on duty today, most likely working with Justin.
Luckily, the pickup was driving slowly due to the rough, uneven terrain of the dirt road, so I eventually caught up. I waved my arms, hoping they’d see me from the rearview mirror, and they did. The truck slowed to a stop and the ranger rolled down his window, a heavyset late-thirties man with a thick mustache.
“Afternoon, sir, how can I help you?” he asked curtly. I also noticed Justin in the passenger seat, and he nodded at me.
“I’m with my friend Justin here. We’re looking for our lost friend. May I join you guys?”
The ranger nodded. “Hop in the back if you’d like. No liability for injuries though,” he said with a subtle smirk. I grinned back.
The ranger drove us to our campsite and had us show him where we had last seen Michael. Justin showed him Michael’s dirt-covered Glock where he had dropped it in the mud when-
Justin looked at a spot on the ground with utter disbelief. I followed his gaze, and was just as shocked. The drag marks where Michael’s Glock had been found had disappeared. Just like the footprints I had seen earlier.
“Kev, are you seeing this?” Justin asked, incredulous.
I told him about the footprints too, and we walked over to see that they were also indeed missing.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” admitted the ranger, who went by Rick. Cue the Ranger Rick jokes. “I’m calling the rescue team when I get back to town. You folks stay put here and be ready to answer any questions, okay?” We nodded as he left in his truck while Justin and I returned to the trailer.
Barely five minutes had passed before we heard the blaring of a car alarm in the not-so-far distance. “What the- “ I started, but then the loud boom of a distinct gunshot pierced the air three times in rapid succession before I could finish.
“Shit, it’s probably the ranger,” hissed Justin between gritted teeth. We peered through the blinds of the trailer window, but we couldn’t see that far from our perspective.
I clutched my rifle. “Wanna go check?”
“He would’ve done the same,” replied Justin as he drew his revolver.
…
It took us a couple minutes of careful, vigilant walking to arrive at the site of what looked like a brutal car wreck. The ranger’s truck had been flipped upside down, and there were long, deep gouges in the metal of the body.
With me standing guard, Justin crawled down to check the status of the driver, and matter-of-factly reported everything to me. I could tell he was fighting to keep fear and emotions out of his voice. “No sign of driver. Seatbelt looks undone - no, torn off. And not a clean cut by a blade or anything. Something tore it off by sheer force. No blood anywhere.” He crawled out from under the overturned truck. “Ranger’s hat and service pistol found laying on the upside-down roof, with three spent casings. Those gunshots we heard were definitely his.” Then he muttered quietly, “I’ve never seen anything the fuck-all like this before.”
Suddenly, a branch cracked loudly from somewhere deep in the surrounding woods.
Before we knew it, Justin and I were back in the trailer, gasping for breath and recovering from the fastest two-mile sprint we had ever ran in either of our lives.
“Record that shit,” gasped Justin between breaths. “Write it down on paper. Something. We need a pattern. We need evidence.”
Without questioning it, I jotted down everything I had seen since day one of Michael’s disappearance.
…
As nightfall approached, Justin and I became increasingly restless. Every little sound we heard, every shadow from the branches cast on the closed blinds of our trailer windows scared us half to death.
We spent hours like this, pacing back and forth across the trailer with our weapons clutched in our hands, freezing at every little sensory change we perceived.
I was walking past the front door of the trailer. It has two parts: the main outer door (solid, relatively thick metal) and the screen door on the inside (a weak, flimsy thing that you could probably force open with two fingers). Both were locked independently, but being the overthinker I am, I decided to check and make sure the inner one was secured.
As soon as my fingertips made contact with the deadbolt knob, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air just outside the door.
“HELP ME!!!”
I instinctively leapt back, my back crashing into the opposite wall of the trailer with a loud thud. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Justin jump and raise his pistol to high ready, his eyes trained on the door.
“AHHHHH!”
It sounded like the ranger.
“WHAT THE FUCK!!!”
Justin crept next to me. “It’s the ranger, man. We gotta fucking do something,” he hissed urgently.
I nodded, and started towards the door. But as I reached for the handle, my hand stopped mid-air. I suddenly remembered the incident with Michael’s voice from earlier, about how his voice had been calling me from seemingly nowhere that I could see, about how his footprints had mysteriously disappeared, about cryptids of ancient legends who were known to use such tactics to lure human prey into an ambush…
“It’s not the ranger,” I whispered to Justin, a new realization washing over me.
Justin’s brow furrowed. “The fuck you mean, Kev? He’s out there, and if we don’t do something now, he could be dead! And it’ll be our fault!”
I quietly sighed with resignation and stepped back from the door. “He already is,” I replied cryptically. “Whatever took him earlier is out there and mimicking his voice to lure us into a trap!”
“Nah, man. That kind of shit doesn’t exist, Kev. I’ve lived my life in the woods way longer than you have!” he retorted. “I’m going to save that man. You can wait inside like the coward you’ve always been.”
Taken aback at Justin’s sudden hostility, I stood there and let him pass by. He opened both doors with a click, and cautiously stepped toward the open doorway. “Don’t just stand there, cover my ass from the doorway!” he shouted over the ranger’s screams, which seemed to be coming from further away now.
I nodded and took aim from the open doorway as Justin took several quick steps forward.
“AHHHHH! HELP ME! OH GOD!”
“It’s coming from the tree line by the river,” I reported matter-of-factly. Justin nodded and proceeded ahead, cautiously but urgently.
Just as he entered the tree line, I saw him fire a shot, his revolver bucking from the recoil and a huge fireball of muzzle-flash lighting up the otherwise pitch-black campsite.
“GET BAAACK!!!” he roared. I jumped as a pair of long, gray, blood-stained claws shot out of the shrubbery and wrapped themselves around his shoulders.
Wasting no time, I leveled my sights on where I thought the creature’s body might be, and squeezed the trigger as quickly and smoothly as I could. A deep boom like a cannon echoed across the valley. The wooden stock of my rifle kicked hard against my shoulder, and a plume of smoke puffed from the barrel as the bullet connected with whatever those sickly claws belonged to.
To my dismay, the powerful hunting cartridge seemed to have minimal effect, with the arms only seeming to flinch for a second as if solely affected by the kinetic impact and “push” force if nothing else.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Justin ripped off the rest of his revolver’s cylinder, again only seeming to make his mostly-unseen attacker flinch for a split second each time. After he ran empty, he tried to pistol-whip the long, gangly arms to similarly little effect.
That’s when the creature decided to whisk off with Justin in its claws, disappearing in the blink of an eye and leaving me alone in the trailer.
“Justin!” I shouted. No response.
A branch cracked several feet off to the side of the doorway, out of my field of vision.
I leapt back and slammed both doors shut, locking them into place, my heart racing. After a few minutes of pointing my rifle at the door, I slumped back against the wall, my face contorting with agony.
What the fuck was that thing?
Where did it take Justin, and what is it gonna do to him?
Will I ever see my friends again?
How could this happen?
Between the racing thoughts and flowing adrenaline, my body decided it had enough and forced me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
…
Stay tuned for Part 2!