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The story occurred in the summer of 2008. I grew up in Oregon and was acquainted with the outdoors at an early age. My favorite hobby came to be hiking, particularly in areas that are either very dangerous or isolated. The health benefits of hiking were secondary to the thrills of walking the edges of exposed cliffs, being in cougar and bear territory, and knowing that I was far from help. Into the Wild was released in the fall of 2007 and I immediately fell in love. Being a high school senior, I could barely go another week living at my parents house. The movie spoke to my sense of adventure and inspired me to hike the California portion of the Pacific Crest Trail. Upon graduation, I made it from the Mexico border to Northern California without much incident. I saw rattlesnakes and black bears, experienced dehydration, but nothing happened that made me fear for my life. Somewhere in the Lassen National Forest in northeastern California, I walked around a bend in the trail only to be startled by two people sitting on a rock. Dressed in nearly all white. Their faces were dirty, their appearance disheveled, and the man had a long, unkempt beard. Both seemed to be in their 40s. They looked like the couple who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart. What struck me as odd about the encounter was encountering anybody at all. I frequently went days without seeing a single human being. Their wide clothes could be explained away by the need to escape the California summer sun. Their scruffy appearance could be explained away by the fact that most thru hikers abandoned personal hygiene on the trail. After I said hello, they said nothing and simply just watched me as I passed. Even that I didn't find too odd. I chalked it up to them being foreign and not knowing what to say. I camped a few hundred yards off the trail that night, as I always did, following bare precautions. I hung the leftover food I had cooked that night from a tree approximately five feet off the ground. Packing up camp in the morning, I noticed the food wasn't there. I immediately thought a bear had entered my campsite, and so I began to look for paw prints. I didn't find any paw prints, but I did find boo prints circling the campsite. Two pairs of them. One of these prints led right up the rope from which the food was hanging. I thought of the couple I'd passed earlier, and everything clicked. I quickly packed up and left. My mind was racing the entire day, but I figured the couple was just simply hungry. If they had nefarious intentions, they would have come for more than just the food. Several days passed, and my mind was at ease again. I had begun to circle my campsite with sticks to wake me in the event of an intruder, animal or otherwise. I awoke in my tent one night to the sound of those sticks crunching. I grabbed my hunting knife. I tried to relax by telling myself that in the middle of nowhere, the source of that noise is much more likely an animal than a person. Then I heard frantic whispering. It was impossible to tell which direction the voices were coming from, though being in the dark, surrounded by trees a hundred miles from the nearest city plays tricks on your senses. I debated yelling out, claiming to have a gun, but instead decided to be silent and retain the benefit of surprise. I heard footsteps circling my tent, and I was ready to slash at whatever opened it. But just like that, it was over. No more footsteps, no more whispering. I lied there, frozen awake in my tent until sunrise, and opened my tent to find nobody there. The only evidence something had actually happened were the boot prints, the same as before. Several more days passed, and I was now in Shasta National Forest, probably 50, 75 miles from where I first encountered the couple. The trail became more or less a goat trail. Being on the side of a mountain and above the tree line, I could see the trail winding for miles in front of and behind me. I stopped for water in the rear shade and noticed two hikers miles behind me. All I could see were two white dots moving along the mountainside. I immediately said out loud, screw this. This trip is over. I pulled out my map and looked for the Nearest town, which appeared to be Castella, located off I5. The only problem was that it was 25 miles away. I hiked well into the night, trying to gain as much ground as possible. I kept losing the trail and decided to set up camp, this time far off the trail and into the forest. I got in my tent and tried to sleep, but every little noise kept me awake. After a few hours in my tent, I heard the telltale signs of another bad night. The footsteps, the whispering, the sticks breaking. Sound travels far in the absence of other sound. I knew they were close, but wasn't sure how close. All I could think was, this is messed up. This is so messed up. Damn it. Finally, a flashlight hits my tent, lights up the entire thing and goes dark. I unzimmed my tent and climbed out, carrying my knife, yelling nonsense in the dark. It was sort of like that cliche scene in movies where people in the wilderness hear sticks breaking around them and then the camera pans around the trees because the people have no idea which direction the sound is coming from. Then I heard footsteps running towards the tent and barely made out a figure moving in my peripheral vision. I turned and ran deep into the forest. I tripped several times and ran into several trees. After running for approximately five minutes, I tripped, rolled, and came to rest next to a downed tree. I got under the tree trunk and laid still. I saw the flashlight moving around in the distance. I laid under that tree for hours. I was certain they were gone, but I didn't move. Eventually, birds started to chirp and I knew sunrise would come soon. Once it did, I made my way back to the trail, abandoned my campsite, and I walked the rest of the distance to Castella, where the Pacific crest Trail crosses I5. I hitchhiked my way to the town of Mount Shasta and spoke with the police and Forest Service. They put me in a motel for the night, and my parents drove from Oregon to pick me up the next day. I followed up with the police and Forest Service months later who told me that there had been similar reports of items disappearing from campsites all throughout the surrounding national forests. However, there had been no reports of the terrorizing that I experienced. As far as I know, nothing ever came of the couple. I live in a small rural community in the eastern United States. It's a nice little town. Because of my work in the medical field, I've met some interesting folks. I'm also familiar with law enforcement and emergency personnel. Small town life is not as dull and uneventful as people think, especially since everybody knows somebody who knows somebody. I have a lot of stories to share, but since this one just happened, I'll start here. Because it's still very recent and the investigation is ongoing. I have to be vague with some details, but I needed to tell someone. I'm single and I live alone due to a stalker. I've moved twice, but that's another story for another time. However, it is relevant for this story for multiple reasons. The first reason being that I have a dog for the sake of protection as well as have motion sensors and outdoor security cameras. The second reason being the location of my home, which is literally down the street from the fire department and a couple of blocks away from the police station. I can see the fire department from my living room window. However, next to the fire department is the road department, which is basically a parking lot where they park their road equipment in empty garbage trucks at night and on weekends. Oddly, it doesn't have a security camera Small town life I suppose. My house sits on a hill with a good view of that side of the street due to the incline, the large trees in the front yard, and the half cornfield on the property next to me. Most of the people on the street below me wouldn't notice me in the backyard unless they were actively looking. However, I can see the street clearly. This incident happened Saturday evening. The county was holding its annual Independence Day spiel with a community barbeque, music, fireworks, etc. I didn't attend because it's just really not my thing. Plus, I have a dog and the sound of fireworks could be traumatizing. Before the big show, I took the dog out to relieve herself in the backyard. There was still at least an hour of daylight, but the entire neighborhood was pretty quiet because mostly everyone was at the fairgrounds or various other holiday events. So when an unfamiliar large white pickup drove slowly down the street, I noticed it must have turned around at the end of the street because I saw it again moving in the opposite direction only about 20 seconds later. This time it turned into the parking lot of the road department. Now, people have been known to toss things into the empty garbage trucks, usually at night to avoid getting caught because they don't want to or are unable to make the trip to the landfill themselves. Usually it's things like furniture or broken equipment, but I didn't see any of those things in the back of this truck. The driver was a somewhat stocky guy of average height. He took three large black trash bags from the bed of his truck and then he tossed them one by one into the hopper of the garbage truck. Then he left. Now, I swear I'm not one of those meddling rear window types who always think activity is suspicious and that their neighbors are up to no good, but something about this didn't sit right with me. Normally, when I see people tossing their garbage into the trucks and leaving, I don't bother reporting it because it's relatively harmless. But this time I had a gut feeling, so I called the police. If anything, they could get the guy for illegally dumping trash from a barbeque or whatever. While I'm on the phone with dispatch, I put my dog inside to cut down on distractions while the officers investigate. A few minutes later, an officer arrived and I crossed the street to meet him. I gave him a description of the events and pointed out which of the trucks the man had tossed. The bags. He found the bags. He took photos. He put on gloves and told me to stay back. The bags were tied in a knot at the top, and it took him a minute to untie one of them because of the gloves and how tight the knot was. But eventually he got it open, looked inside for a few seconds, then twisted it closed and took a few steps back. Damn, he hissed under his breath. What? What is it? I asked. It's a body. I felt sick. I could tell he felt sick too. I saw him grow pale. His hand was trembling when he held the radio. Even his voice was shaking as he gave the code to dispatch. The dispatcher sounded confused when she asked him to repeat it. Within 10 minutes, the county sheriff was on the scene. Even he looked sick at the contents of the bag. The Coroner arrived about 10 minutes after that, and the officer walked me back to the house along with another one who arrived at the same time as the coroner. Though I showed the first cop via the app on my phone when I described the events initially, I now show them the video on a larger screen. The camera caught footage of the truck as it drove by both times, as well as pulling into the parking lot, though unfortunately not a clear view of the license plate or of the man tossing the bags out of the frame. We watched the footage over and over, pausing frames, the officers taking notes. Ultimately, they requested this footage as well as a copy of the files from the past week to see if the truck had been to the area before. I've also been saving footage until the road department installs their own camera this week because this is still fresh. I don't know many more details. I know that the body was in pieces, but I don't know the Age of the victim, the gender, cause of death, or any of that. The information hasn't been released to the public. I don't even know if the coroner has been able to identify the body yet. A police cruiser has been parked at the fire department next door for constant surveillance in case the guy comes back. The guy who dumped the body was likely a local. How else would he know he could dump there? He probably thought he'd get buried in other people's illegal trash accumulated over the holiday weekend and the sanitation crew wouldn't have bothered to investigate. When I think about how this guy probably lives in my community, it makes me physically ill to think that he had clearly scouted the area for a dump site, that it may not have been the first time that this had happened, that this could happen again. If I hadn't called it in, if I hadn't been in the backyard at the exact moment, or if I had ignored that gut feeling, the victim would have never been found, may never find potential justice. Their loved ones may never have closure. In fact, there's a possibility that it just might happen again to another poor soul. I hope it's not me. Dear God, please don't let it be me. I think it's time I moved again. Third time's a charm, right? Temporary housing acquired I'm moving out. I've been trying to decide whether to post something about this and where none of the home security subs really fit or have posts like this. I think I just need some subjective feedback on how to deal with this using my throwaway account because I don't want people to know the layout of my house. Sorry for the length and thank you for any advice. So my partner and I just moved to a desert community in the American Southwest. I've always wanted to live down here and so far I absolutely love it. I love the quiet living on the outskirts of town with desert to the horizon in my backyard. How friendly people are. The stars at night, the wildlife, the space. I'm not bothered by the occasional snake or scorpion or coyote out in my yard, but recently I've been getting the feeling that there have been other creatures in my yard as well. Even if I'm not imagining it. I don't know if this is worth doing something about or what I can even do. I'll explain. My partner got a lucrative job offer from a hospital here where he covers the night shift for his specialty in most of the local hospitals in three states, small hospitals in remote areas often offer nice incentives to bring people in from larger cities and since we were looking to move here anyway, we decided to take the position for a couple of years and see if I could find a job in my field here in the meantime. At the moment I'm working remotely and I stay on the night shift to be able to see my fiance more. We get up 2 3pm and he goes to work early enough for me to run around to do any shopping and chores in the afternoon and he gets back at work at 5am and then we head to bed at around 7am it's an intense schedule, but he has every other work week off. This is important later on. So after 5pm I'm home alone all day at the duplex that we rent from an elderly couple down the block. We used to have a medical resident living on the other side, but she would never talk to us and she just moved out. Apparently she tore the place apart. So there are contractors working in the other side during the day most days, so I sit at the kitchen table and work during the night, occasionally going out to walk our old dog, get the meal, or to water the plants in the courtyard. The entire house is visible from the courtyard because there are windows and glass doors leading to basically every room from there. From here I'll just detail the incidents as they've occurred with minimal editorializing. 14 weeks ago I went back to sleep after my apartment left for work about an hour later. At one point I woke up and I realized that my dog had been barking for an unusually long time and doing this danger kind of bark. The lawn guy and delivery folks come into our courtyard and we just moved in, so I figured it's something like that. Still, he knows the delivery guy is in neighbors by now and they usually leave pretty quickly. He must have been barking for two minutes by now. I sit up in bed and look out into the courtyard. There's a man that I don't recognize and he's acting weird. He looks kind of like Willem Dafoe. He's near the front door trying to look into the windows around the side, looking into windows, progressively getting further from the door. Without thinking I call out, I'll be right there. Thinking he needs a signature or something, the guy steps back, quickly turns around and then speed walks out of the courtyard. As he does so, he gives me this extremely malevolent stare. I have never quite seen anything like it before. It startled me because he looked right at me dead in the eye through the window and just looked disgusted and hateful. But during the day you can't see through the blinds from the outside I've checked. How did he know where I was? I admit this event freaked me out and may have laid the groundwork for my impressions of the potentially perfectly normal events outlined below. I flashback to this moment regularly. For some reason two, three weeks ago, strange stuff started to happen. My partner offers to work some extra shifts on what would normally be his week off, so I'm often home alone. A few times I hear what I think must be one of my elderly neighbors around the side of the house, and when I go over, there's nobody there. I started to hear someone walking around the outside of the house at night. The area is surrounded by gravel, so unless someone steps slowly, you can hear things moving around. When I'm laying in bed working on things a few times, I become acutely aware of noise just outside of the bedroom window. Late at night, I start checking the area with the flashlight. When I go outside, I hear bipedal footsteps on the roof multiple times during periods when the neighbors confirm that no contractors are supposed to be up there often at night. The feeling of being watched a lot at night begins and I start leaving the outdoor lights on all night while I'm there, especially in the courtyard. I don't take showers alone because I sometimes hear footsteps on the roof when I'm in there. There's a skylight over the shower. I research, buy and install a security system and a couple of cameras in the courtyard. 32 weeks ago this is when things get more serious. I pulled into my parking space and see one of the elderly neighbors peering into my bedroom window. In the afternoon I greet him and he says he's going around the side of the house to activate the sprinkler system that happens to have the hub on our property. Unclear if this is related. I put up opaque clings in the windows of the bedroom to block some of the light when we're sleeping during the day. As soon as I do, I stop feeling watch from the bedroom window but begin feeling uncomfortable that my view of the courtyard is now obscured. I feel better for two days. The next night I start feeling watched from the living room windows while I'm working and eventually from the kitchen window. Especially that night I had a small panic attack and spent a lot of time in bed under the covers with my dog in the room with me. I don't know the source of my discomfort. I keep telling myself that I'm being paranoid and chalk it up to reading some creepy stuff that I read the week before. I have to cancel an event because I'm up all day unable to sleep due to extreme anxiety. I talked about it at length with my partner about getting more cameras, but we don't have the money and I'm still in denial about the reasons for my discomfort, so I drop it. Stuff in the courtyard is sometimes moved around and I watch the camera to figure out the neighbor woman did it. Beer cans and some other stuff is found around the property that isn't ours, but I think it's the wind. Things related to our cars and garbage cans start being messed with, but you can see around for miles and there aren't really many people here. I hear tapping on a window and ignore it. 4 Last week we were traveling for part of the week and when we got back we were in good spirits. My partner went right back to work and my nights became predictable, feeling good and doing things until a few hours after it gets dark. Suddenly feeling crappy, not wanting to do things that put me near the windows, I decided to curl up in my bed with my dog in my room and refuse to move until my partner gets home. This has happened every night this week. Finally I had noticed my dog kept staring at the kitchen window with both ears facing toward it, ignoring commands or questions for long periods of time. My very curious cat repeatedly kept trying to see something outside of it as well during the night. This finally jogged me back to reality and I realized that I feel this oppressive sensation of being watched every night starting at around 10pm and continuing until dawn. It's mostly from the kitchen window, but honestly the whole house freaks me out now. There isn't really anywhere to run that doesn't have windows except the garage or bathroom. I take my phone and a knife with me everywhere I go. I constantly check the courtyard because every room has a door leading to it. Tonight I took my dog out and I heard someone walking towards us from the side of the house and I called out and shined the flashlight over there but it stopped and I saw nothing. Normally I would have gone to investigate, but I had the strongest feeling that I shouldn't. The same thing happened later in the evening when I took the dog out. Yesterday around midnight, someone was coming across the field that I took him to with the flashlight and when they got near me they shut off the flashlight and I didn't see them after that and they didn't respond to my calling out. I feel like I'm in a slow motion horror movie, but during the day and my partner's weeks off, everything is usually fine so I don't know what to think. I can't tell whether any of this is real or not. I don't have any close friends here. I'm planning to buy a camera and motion lights for the back when I have money next week. But and I know this sounds crazy, I don't know if that's a good idea. I think whoever it is, once I've seen them, they're going to escalate. I don't know why. I think that my partner wants me to get my concealed carry and another younger dog. This isn't known to be an unsafe area at all, but the properties are spaced pretty well. Please give me your honest advice about this and thank you for your time. I wanted to provide some additional information. I'm a mid-30s female who's not easily spooked. I've worked in law enforcement and search and rescue and I feel confident in my ability to defend myself. The landlady was very insistent that we not change the locks. She said that a cleaning person who stole some of their things had a key to the lower one, so to not use that one and to just use the deadbolt for which supposedly only she and I have keys. The only other thing that happened last night after I wrote this post was that I was sitting in my normal spot and then heard a cough at around 2am and I got chills. Then I was like why am I so freaked out? And then about four seconds later I remembered that there was no one in the other unit and I was supposed to be alone. It sounded like it came from the kitchen window. It sounded like an old man coughing, if that's a thing. So screw that noise. I've purchased a bunch of equipment but I didn't make it back in time before sundown to put it all up. So I'm hoping this is my last night without outdoor cameras. A few minor things happened today. First, this woman drove by the house and slowed down and took photos. Twice. She took photos of me in the yard and everything. I assume it's because they're listing the other unit. My mail wasn't there today, even though I got a USPS informed delivery thing. It was just flyers, so maybe it was a mistake and it'll be there tomorrow. I don't know, but it's usually there the same day. Also, when I was coming back just after dusk, I heard something digging in the plants behind my courtyard wall. It sounded big, maybe a person or a dog. I called out and nothing replied. I've spoken to the police and I'm going to Send them some more information tonight. My name's Beth and I've always liked being outdoors. There's something about walking, especially alone, that calms me. It helps clear my head. I live in a small, quiet town in Florida where things don't usually happen. People leave their doors unlocked here, smile at each other in the grocery store, and spend weekends at the park with their kids. It's peaceful. And that's why I love the trail. It's a two mile path behind the community park, surrounded by trees and just far enough from traffic to make you forget you're in town. I went there almost every day during lunch hour. The sun was always high, the trail quiet. Just me, my thoughts, and the sound of my own sneakers on the gravel. That Tuesday started like all the others. I filled up my water bottle, grabbed my keys, and drove to the small parking lot at the trailhead. The air was warm and sticky, typical Florida weather, and a few clouds drifted across the blue sky. About 10 minutes in, and that's when I saw him. He was walking from the opposite direction, medium height, maybe in his 40s, with messy brown hair and wearing jeans. Despite the heat, as we passed, he had slowed down a little. Good afternoon, he said. Name's Chuck. I gave a quick polite nod, a hi there. Then I kept walking. It wasn't that strange. People on trails sometimes greet each other. I didn't think twice about it, but the next day, there he was again. This time, however, he was sitting on a bench along the path. He stood up as I walked by. Hey, it's Beth, right? He asked. I blinked. Um, how did you know my name? You told me yesterday, he said casually, but I knew that I hadn't. Something about him felt different this time. I nodded slowly and kept walking, my pace a little faster than before. That moment stuck with me for the rest of the day. Over the next week, I saw him more and more. Some days he'd just be ahead of me on the trail. Other times he'd showed up behind me. He never said anything threatening, but it felt wrong. He'd hum quietly, comment on my clothes, or mention that he liked how I always came around the same time. So I had started changing my schedule, walking earlier rather than later. But somehow he was always there. Like he knew. One day I got to the trail and didn't even get out of the car. I just sat there, staring at the entrance. No sign of him. I thought that maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe he just liked walking too. So I got out, took a short walk, and returned to my car, feeling relieved, that is, until I then saw a note on my windshield. It was a scrap of notebook paper, handwriting, sharp and uneven. I like your routine. See you soon. My hands shook as I crumpled it up. The parking lot was empty, just trees and the sound of birds. I didn't go back after that. I spent the next week locking my doors twice, peeking out my windows, and jumping at small sounds all around my apartment. I kept the note folded and hidden in a drawer, not sure if I should report it or pretend it never happened. But the trail haunted me. I missed it. So one cloudy Monday I decided to take it back. I dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses to blend in and tucked a small can of pepper spray in my pocket. No music, just silence. Just me listening. The trail was empty when I arrived. Everything looked normal, peaceful, even. I was about halfway through when I heard the footsteps steady behind me. I turned. It was Chuck. He was walking quickly. His eyes locked onto me. This time he wasn't smiling. Beth, he said, like I had done something wrong. You weren't supposed to stop coming. I backed up a step. Leave me alone. I just wanted to talk, he said. We were getting along. I never wanted to talk to you. He stepped closer. I pulled out the pepper spray. Don't come any closer. He tilted his head, confused, like I was the one acting strange. I'm not gonna hurt you. Then he lunged at me. I screamed and sprayed him full on in the face. He screamed, too, dropping to his knees and clawing at his eyes. I then turned and ran. Branches whipped past me. My chest burned. I didn't stop. I heard him behind me, cursing, crashing through the brush. Then up ahead, I saw two people, a man and a woman, jogging toward me. Help. I yelled. They froze, and seconds later Chug burst out from the trail behind me. The man stepped between us while the woman pulled out her phone and called 911. Chug stopped, panting, still wiping his face. She she attacked me, he mumbled. Hey, man, back away, the man said firmly. Don't move. Chug had actually tried to take off at this point, but the other man was huge, like 6 foot 5, over 240 pounds, if I had to guess, and he held Chug down on the ground until the police showed up, which was only about another 10 minutes. I gave them everything, the notes, the time I saw him, the way he followed me. I had to talk to the police at the station, though, and give a statement on everything that happened. Turns out Chuck had actually gave a full confession to them. Chuck had been staying in an old abandoned Cabin in the woods that was near the trail. Not only that, but he wasn't even from around here. He was a drifter who had decided to settle in Florida for a bit. Oh, and his name isn't even Chuck. It's Bradley. When the cops asked why he called himself Chuck, he told him that it was his way of being anonymous when passing through. Well, good job messing that up, buddy. He said that he was going to eventually move on, but then he saw me for the first time on the trail and decided that he couldn't leave, that he wanted me. He actually told the cops that he was, of course, arrested. The cops also told me that he hasn't worked in years. He spent the last three years of his life just hitchhiking through random states. He also had a history of stalking his exes. Big shocker there. I pressed charges and got a restraining order for obvious reasons. It took time, but eventually I returned to the trail. I walk it now with a different mindset. I carry my pepper spray in one pocket and my phone in the other. And I always, always look behind me. It's really nice to be able to go back because like I've said, I love it. And it really is my place to escape the world and just relax and enjoy myself. I'm so glad to finally be done with Chuck. My name is Drew, and this is the story involving myself, my girlfriend Chelsea, and our dog, Rose Bronco, when we went camping in the Appalachian Mountains. For some background, I'm 25 and Chelsea's 23. Here's the story. Last fall, we decided we needed a break from everything. Work, the city, noise and people. We were exhausted. We had been dating for almost three years, living in a small apartment outside of Asheville, North Carolina. And while life was steady, it had also become a little too routine. So we picked a weekend in October, packed our gear, and headed for the mountains. The Appalachian stretch north of us had dozens of trails and little known campsites tucked away from the more crowded parks. I found a spot on an old camping forum. Nothing official, just a few GPS coordinates and a note that it was quiet, flat and by a creek. It sounded perfect. We left early Saturday morning with our dog, Rocko, our tent and sleeping bags, and way too many snacks. Rocco, our golden retriever, was practically vibrating with excitement in the backseat, his tail thumping against the window. He always knew when an adventure was coming. The drive up was beautiful. Sunlight cutting through red and orange leaves, the road twisting like a ribbon through the forest. It took us about two and a half hours before we reached the narrow dirt road that led to the trailhead. There were no other cars around, just the three of us in the quiet woods. We hiked about a mile and a half in before we found the clearing. It really was perfect, just like the post flag ground fire pit built from old stones. Tree space, just enough to hang a tarp if we needed to. We could hear a small creak running nearby, the kind of peaceful white noise that makes everything else just fade. Chelsea looked around and smiled. This feels like our own little world, she said. We set up the tent, gathered firewood, and we let Rocco off the leash. He ran in wild circles, nose to the ground, tail wagging, just nonstop. I remember Chelsea laughing as he had splashed into the creek and came out dripping wet. I hadn't seen her in that light in a while. That first night was everything we needed. We roasted hot dogs, made s' mores, and we sat by the fire watching the flames dance. We talked about our dreams, moving to a place with more land, maybe even a dog friendly house. One day we fell asleep inside the tent with Rocco curled up between us, warm and peaceful. The next day was pretty much just as good. We hiked, took photos of the fall colors, and we found a small waterfall off trail that. That looked like something out of a postcard. That night we made soup over the fire and drank cider from a thermos. Rocco curled up by our feet while we watched the stars blink awake. It felt like the kind of trip we'd always remember. But that changed on our second night. It was late, probably close to 1am when I woke up. I didn't know why. At first everything was still and quiet, except for the distant rush of the creek. I thought maybe it was just the cold seeping in, or Rocco shifting positions. But then I noticed he wasn't asleep. He was sitting upright at the edge of the tent, ears perked, head tilted. Chelsea stirred next to me. What's wrong? She whispered. I didn't answer. I was listening too. And then I heard it. A slow, quiet scraping sound. It was coming from just outside the tent wall. At first I thought it was just wind rubbing a branch against the nightline. But there was no wind this night. The air was dead still and the sound was way too smooth, too controlled. It sounded like a scraping sound. Then I paused. Then it happened again. It moved, trailing slowly across the side of the tent, like someone was dragging something sharp. Rocco then let out a low growl. Not loud, but deep and steady. He didn't bark. He just stared at the tent wall, stiff as a board. Chelsea sat up, her voice tight. Drew, what is that? I moved slowly toward the zipper of the tent, my heart thudding in my chest. My hand shook as I reached for the flashlight. The scraping stopped. I waited a few seconds, then yanked the zipper down and shoved the flap open, shining the light outside. Nothing. Just darkness and trees. I stepped out, sweeping the beam across the clearing. I didn't see anyone. No movement, no flashlight, not even the sound of retreating footsteps, just the rustle of dry leaves. Rocco bolted out behind me, barking wildly, darting toward the trees. I followed him a few yards in, but stopped when my flashlight caught nothing but brush. No one. Chelsea was still in the tent, calling out for me. I brought Rocco back, both of us on edge, and then zipped up the tent again. We had stayed awake for the rest of the night, huddled together, waiting, listening. We heard nothing else. When the sun finally rose, we stepped out to pack up. Everything looked undisturbed, but on the backside of the tent, scratched into the nylon with something sharp, were three still watching you? Chelsea was so shocked she put her hand over her mouth. I felt like my chest had been filled with ice. We didn't speak much after that. We tore down our camp, stuffed everything into our bags, and made the hike back to the car in near silence. Rocco stayed close, ears flicking at every sound. We drove home with the windows rolled up and the doors locked. I checked the rearview mirror at least a dozen times, half expecting someone to be following us, but the road stayed empty. Back at our apartment, we stood in the living room with our gear still in our bags. Chelsea just shook her head and said, let's never go back there. I agreed. We haven't gone camping since. Sometimes I think it was just a prank, some stranger messing with us. But then I think about how quiet it was, how we didn't hear a single footstep, how the writing on the tent was at eye level, clean, intentionally placed where we wouldn't see it until morning. Whoever it was, they were close, too close, and they knew exactly what they were doing.