Image generated using AI / Art by vortexyem
The deeper I drove into Pine Ridge, the more the cellular signal dwindled until my phone screen went entirely dead. I was looking for solitude—a weekend away from the endless noise of the city, surrounded by towering pines and quiet trails. Pitching my tent just before dusk, I felt a deep sense of relief. The air was crisp, and the silence was absolute.
The trouble started around midnight. I woke up abruptly inside my sleeping bag, my heart hammering against my ribs. At first, I thought it was the wind rustling through the pine needles, but the forest was eerily still. Then, I heard it clearly: a low murmur coming from just outside the tent canvas. Someone was whispering my name.
"Mark... Mark, are you out here?"
The voice sounded chillingly familiar—it was my own voice, echoing with a flat, lifeless tone. I froze, holding my breath. I hadn't spoken a word since setting up camp. I reached slowly for my heavy-duty flashlight, my hands trembling.
When I unzipped the tent flap and flashed the blinding beam into the dark woods, the whispering stopped instantly. The beam cut through pale tree trunks and thick shadows, but there was no one there. Just the empty, endless woods. I forced a nervous laugh, convincing myself that sleep deprivation and the howling mountain wind were playing tricks on my ears. I zipped the tent back up, pulling my blanket tight around my shoulders.
An hour later, I woke up again. This time, the sound wasn't whispering—it was footsteps crunching loudly on the dry twigs right outside my door. Heavy, deliberate steps pacing back and forth.
Panic surged through me. I grabbed the flashlight, burst out of the tent, and swept the beam across the clearing. My light caught the edge of a small, stagnant creek nearby. For a second, the reflection in the water caught the glare of the light, but it didn't show the dark woods. Instead, the surface of the water showed dozens of pale, staring faces peering back up at me—faces of hikers reported missing in Pine Ridge over the past decade. And right in the center of them was a reflection of myself, smiling a wide, twisted grin that I certainly wasn't making.
A wave of absolute terror paralyzed my limbs. I turned to run back toward the trail leading to my car, but before I could take a single step, the voice spoke again—not from the creek, not from the trees, but right beside my ear, breathing cold air onto my neck:
"Where do you think you're going? You're supposed to stay here with us.
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