CAMPFIRE STORIES - Odd and Strange Tales from the Woods and National Parks

My name's Mackenzie, and I started to go fund me

for the adoptive mother of a nonverbal autistic child.

The mother had lost her job

because she wasn't able to find out

what care for this autistic child.

So she really needed some help with living expenses,

paying some back bills.

So I launched a GoFundMe to help support them

during this crisis.

And we raised about $10,000 within just a couple of months.

I think that the surprising thing was

by telling a clear story and just like really

being very clear about what we needed,

we have some really generous donations

from people who are really moved

by the situation that this family was struggling with.

GoFundMe is the world's number one fundraising platform

trusted by over 200 million people.

Start your GoFundMe today at GoFundMe.com.

That's GoFundMe.com. GoFundMe.com.

This podcast is supported by GoFundMe.

Hello, it is Ryan, and I was on a flight the other day

playing one of my favorite social spin slot games

on chumbacacino.com.

I looked over the person sitting next to me,

and you know what they were doing?

They were also playing Chumbacacino.

Everybody's loving having fun with it.

Chumbacacino's home to hundreds of casino-style games

that you can play for free anytime, anywhere.

So sign up now at chumbacacino.com

to claim your free welcome bonus.

It's chumbacacino.com and live the Chumbac.

Sponsored by Chumbacacino,

no purchase necessary VGW group void for prohibited by law

21 plus terms and conditions apply.

At the UPS store, reinsure your small viz stand out

with a variety of high quality paper stock options,

banners, posters for stores, and more.

Most locations are independently owned.

Product services pricing and hours of operation may vary.

See center for details.

The UPS store, be unstoppable.

Come into your local store today and get your print on.

I'm sitting here on my Krikey porch.

Urged to top the rugged landscape of West Virginia.

The darkness envelops me, wrapping around me

like a heavy cloak.

And I can't help feeling like I'm the sole survivor

in a post-apocalyptic world.

It's a feeling that haunts me often.

I'm not here with the roads and long and winding

and the woods are dense and foreboding.

But tonight, it's more than just a passing thought.

Tonight, I'm consumed with fear.

Every sound amplified by the stillness of the night.

The distant hoot of an owl sends shivers down my spine.

And I can't shake the feeling that something is watching me

from the shadows for the trees.

As long as I can remember, these hills have been my home.

The rolling landscape of green and brown,

dotted with trees and creeks,

was my playground and my sanctuary.

But lately, an unsettling feeling has crept into the air.

Whispers of something strange lurking in the shadows

have reached my ears.

They called them the feral folk.

What's human?

But now wild and savage creatures

who've lost their way in the woods.

I used to dismiss at all a small town gossip,

but now I can't help but wonder

if there is some truth to it all.

The thick canopy of trees above casts a hush

stillness over the land,

making every rustling snap seem loud and ominous.

My senses are unhired,

as I walk through these familiar paths,

wondering what secrets lie just beyond the edge of sight.

Once, on a moonless night,

my buddy Jake and I were deep in the woods, stalking deer.

The underbrush was thick and tangled,

making our progress slow and cautious.

Suddenly, a strange noise

pierced through the stillness of the forest.

It sounded like someone weeping.

There was something very unsettling about it.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up,

as I realized it wasn't a sound I'd ever heard before,

not out here in the woods.

A sense of danger flooded over me,

and I knew we needed to leave that place immediately.

We turned and ran,

a rifle slug over our shoulders,

as we pushed through branches and hopped over fallen logs.

Every step got like an eternity,

as we fled from whatever unseen terror lurked

in the darkness of those woods.

We hastily retreated back to my truck,

the sound of our footsteps echoing through the dense forest.

But before we could make it to safety,

I caught a glimpse of something moving among the trees.

It was tall and gaunt.

Its limbs stretching out unnaturally,

as it lurked in the shadows.

Its eyes glowed with an eerie light,

like embers burning in the darkness.

The chill ran down my spine as I realized

we were in serious danger.

The drive back home was silent,

with only the sound of our hearts beating

and our minds racing.

Our eyes were fixed on the road ahead,

but our thoughts were consumed by what we'd just witnessed.

As we pulled up to my house,

we sat in the vehicle for a moment,

still reeling from the experience

and looked at each other with a wide eyed disbelief.

The tension between us was so thick,

you could cut it with a knife,

like a fog that surrounded us.

It seemed as though our voices had been stolen

by the events of the day,

leaving us speechless and lost in our own thoughts.

The morning after,

whispers and murmurs swirl through town like a thick fog.

Rumors of the feral folk continued to spread like wildfire,

igniting fear and mistrust in the hearts of the townspeople.

Some claimed to have seen them roaming the woods,

scavenging for food and causing chaos wherever they went.

Others believed they were cursed to send us

to pioneers who'd lost their way in the wilderness.

While some whispered about government experiments

gone awry,

the once peaceful little town was now an edge

with every sound in the forest sending shivers

down in their spines.

Who were these mysterious creatures?

And what did they want?

Only time would tell.

I tried to dismiss it as a small town gossip,

but the persistent whispers began to take on a life

under their own.

Everywhere I turned,

the gas station, the convenience store,

someone was murmuring about seeing them.

Their eerie cries piercing the stillness of the night.

Some claimed that they were drawn to noise,

emerging from the shadows of the woods

at the sound of a gunshot or a revving engine.

Their presence loomed over its like an invisible threat,

sending shivers down our spines

and making us question every rustle in the trees.

As the days went on,

the sense of unease continued to creep over me.

Every time I stepped outside,

even into my own backyard,

a feeling of being watched over me.

Out of the corner of my eye,

I would catch a fleeting glimpse of something moving.

My heart would skip a beat as I spun around,

but there was never anything there.

The stillness and quietness of the neighborhood

only amplified my anxiety.

Every rustle of leaves or a chirp of birds

sent my heart racing like a rabbit's,

making me feel like prey in the presence of an unseen predator.

It was as if the very air around me

was thick with an ominous energy,

constantly keeping me on edge.

That night was the worst.

As the sun set and the world settled into quiet stillness,

I sat on my porch,

savoring every moment of peace.

But then, like a haunting echo,

again, I heard the sound of someone crying.

It was louder this time, closer.

My mind raced as I knew I had to do something.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my trusty rifle

and stepped out into the darkness.

My senses on high alert for whatever might be lurking

in the shadows.

The cool night-air squirreled around me

as I ventured further into the unknown,

determined to uncover the source

through the desperate whales echoing through the night.

I trudged through the dense forest,

my feet seeking into the damp earth with each step.

Still, the sound of mournful cries echoed through the trees,

growing louder and more desperate as I approached.

I knew that I was getting close to my destination.

Suddenly, as I stepped through a clearing,

there they were before me.

The group of figures hooded around a tiny flickering fire.

Their faces were eliminated by the dancing flames,

casting an eerie glow upon their features.

Each one seemed to have eyes that gleam

like hot coals in the darkness,

sending shivers down my spine.

I counted five figures in front of me,

all tall and gone with shallow, sickly-looking skin.

Their sunken eyes glinted in the dim light

as they huddled around a grump-task meal.

Looked like it had been a deer at one time.

My rifle shook slightly in my hands

as I aimed at them, my heart beating like a wardroam.

Something held me back, a feeling of unease

and reluctance that paralyzed my trigger finger.

I couldn't bear to know exactly what they were eating,

deer or not, and I just couldn't bring myself to harm them.

The smell of decay and desperation filtered toward me,

making my stomach churned with disgust and pity.

What did these creatures become?

And how did I end up facing them alone in this desperate place?

As I raised my head, I could feel their stairs

pour into me like icicles.

The intense gaze of the figures across from me

sent shivers down my spine,

despite the warmth of the small crackling fire between us.

We remained frozen in a silent standoff.

Our eyes locked in body's tins,

as if waiting for one to make a move.

The only sound in the stillness

was the gentle snap and pop of the fire

as if even it held its breath in anticipation.

As the menacing figures started to slowly advance toward me,

I felt like my heart was gonna beat out of my chest.

Panic set in, and I knew I had to get out of there and fast,

fight or flight, and I wasn't injured for a fight.

With a sharp turn, I broke into the sprint.

The sound of their cries growing increasingly louder

and more piercing with every step I took.

It was almost deafening, like a chorus

of haunting screams chasing after me.

I didn't stop running until I reached my truck.

My heart beat against my ribs like a caged animal.

My eyes frantically scanned the darkened surroundings

I fumbled through the keys,

afraid to look back and see them chasing me.

Once inside my truck, I fired it up

and peeled out of there and spent homeless fast as I could.

Adrenaline fueling my every move.

Now, I sit on my front porch.

The only sound in the airy silence

that envelops me like a shroud.

The world feels dustlet and empty again

as if everyone else has vanished in an instant.

Fear creeps up my spine as I wonder if I'm truly alone.

I think about the gravity of the situation.

The truth weighs heavy on my mind

about what I just experienced.

But who could I possibly confide in?

The sheriff with a skeptical eyes and dismissive meaner.

My friends always quick to joke

and brush off serious matters.

Nah, this burden is mine alone to bear alone.

With only my thoughts and fears echoing

through these empty hills and hollers.

Whispers of doubt and disbelief swirl around me

like a sinister fog, leaving me feeling isolated and helpless.

But I know I must face this challenge alone.

Or who would believe the unbelievable?

I climb off the porch and have a seat on the cold hard ground.

The darkness slowly surrounding me.

My mind racing with thoughts in my escape.

I need to devise a plan to leave this entire

forsaken place behind.

But where can I go?

I don't know anywhere else.

The feral folk, they lurk around every corner.

Their eyes gleaming in the dim light,

waiting for their next victim or meal.

Their presence has felt never inch of this desolate landscape

adding to the sense of unease that lingers in the air.

The only sound to the leaves of the wind

and the distant howls of some unknown creature.

Alone and vulnerable, surrounded by danger and ever turned.

But I have to persevere to find a way out of here

before it's too late.

Sitting here, thinking about all this.

Memories of my granddaddy stories flood my mind.

He would regale me with tales of the past

when these hills were still wild and untamed.

The Cherokee people who called this land home

lived in perfect harmony with nature.

Their knowledge of the forest and its secrets

passed down through generations.

I can almost hear the way the leaves and the trees

sounded that day in the distant cause of birds.

When he spoke of the Cherokee way of life,

so connected to the land and its rhythms.

These stories that my granddaddy told me,

they were my doorway into a world that felt both familiar

and mysterious were legends and reality

blurred together seamlessly.

Then a realization hit me like a bolt of lightning.

The Cherokee people had devised a way to deal

with strange things in the woods.

Through ancient rituals and ceremonies,

they were able to keep all these strange creatures at bay.

Memories of my granddaddy stories continue to flood back to me.

He would tell me about the Octina,

the giant serpent that resided in the mountains.

It was said to be a symbol of immense power

and protection against all evil forces.

The thought of such powerful traditions and beliefs

instills the sense and awe of reverence within me.

That overwhelming sense of urgency consumed me.

So I desperately searched for a way to tap into the powerful forces

that could ward off this menacing evil of the Pharaoh folk.

Memories flooded my mind in the ancient Cherokee shamans

and their ability to communicate with spirits,

their words and rituals passed down through generations.

With every step I took,

I could feel the weight of history and tradition

pressing down on me, guiding me towards whatever destiny this was.

The very air around me seemed to vibrate with energy

as I contemplated deeper into the mystery

so the Octina, the spirit guardian of our people.

Fear and determination battled within me.

As I knew that my success in this quest

would determine the fate of the people in this area.

I mind wonders to a place etched in my memory.

I hidden cave, my granddaddy had shown me, deep in the woods.

It was a place where the shamans would gather at night

to perform their ancient rituals.

It seems like a far-fetched idea

was the only possibility that I could imagine right now.

Trees loomed tall and dense around the cave entrance

casting deep shadows on the moss-covered ground.

The air is thick with an out and mix of earthy scents

and the faint sound of chanting drips through the air.

It's a place that holds secrets and mysteries.

For time seems to stand still and anything is possible.

This is where I must go to find the answers I seek.

Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing.

Victory Lane?

Yeah, it's even better with Jumbo by my side.

Race to chumpacacino.com.

Let's chump up.

No purchase necessary, VTW Group,

voidward prohibited by law, CTNCs, 21 plus,

sponsored by chumpacacino.

You know what I could really go for right now?

Literally anything that comes in a McDonald's carton,

wrapper, or bag, or a McDonald's cup.

Yes, any of those items you do it.

We've got your cravings covered.

Now stop in for the flaky filet of fish,

the crispy snack wrap,

or a large fries for just $2.99.

Limited time only, price and participation may vary,

cannot be combined with any other offer.

Ba-da-ba-ba-ba-ba.

Back to reality.

I run into the house and quickly grab my backpack

and start packing it with supplies.

Non-perishable food, bottles of water.

I also pick up my trusty rifle.

It's a risk for sure to venture out into the unknown,

but I have no choice.

The feral folk roam in these parts,

threatening the safety of me and my family

and all the townspeople.

I can't let them get too close.

Can't let them harm us as they have in the past.

With determination burning in my chest,

I make sure everything is secured

and ready for my journey ahead.

My hands shake slightly as I double check

the contents of my pack, knowing what dangers

may lay on the path before me.

But I'm focused and resolute.

I will do whatever it takes to protect those I love

from the terrors that lurk beyond our little town.

As I carefully slide out into the darkness,

I can sense the intense gaze of the feral folk upon me.

These primal beings are patiently waiting for my next move

anticipating my every action,

like some weird game of chess.

But I refuse to give them the gratification they seek.

I'm determined to reclaim my home and regain control.

Every step I take is calculated.

Every breath measured as I navigate through the inky darkness.

My sense is on higher alert for any sign of danger.

This is my land, my birthright,

and I will not surrender it without a fight.

As I make my way through the dense woods,

trees tower above me like ancient guardians.

Their branches stretch out in all directions,

reaching for the sky as if trying to touch the heavens.

Their stick with a centipine and moss,

and I can feel the weight of the forest pressing down on me.

The reminder of its ancient power and endless secrets.

My steps seem guided by some strange pull.

A primal instinct that tells me I'm getting close

to my destination.

Of course, it's in my bones, making them tingle

with anticipation.

Every snap of a twig adds to the suspense.

Until finally, I merge into a clearing,

my heart pounding with both fear and excitement

at what awaits me.

At long last, I've arrived.

The cave, in deep within the cascading veil of a waterfall.

Its entrance is shrouded not only in mist, but in mystery.

And it beckons me forward with an irresistible pull.

My heart thrums wildly in my chest as I inch closer.

My senses heighten to their fullest extent.

The air crackles within electric energy,

pulsing with the ancient power of the euktina.

Fear and excitement mingle with me as I prepare

to enter this sacred space.

I inhale deeply, stealing myself from what lies ahead.

With each step, the darkness swallows me whole.

Though I am alone physically,

I can sense the presence of the shamans in the room.

The ones that came before me,

their spirits hovering protectively around me.

The air is thick and heavy,

shroud of ancient power hanging in the stillness.

As my eyes suggest to the dim light,

I can make out to faint outlines of sacred symbols

adorning the walls,

imbuing the space with an aura of reverence and magic.

Slowly, I begin to feel a sense of peace wash over me

as I surrender to this sacred place

where the veil between worlds seems to thin and blur.

From somewhere deep within me, I begin to chant.

The ancient words of the euktina rolling off my tongue

in a foreign yet familiar language.

With each syllable spoken,

I can feel the energy building around me,

a thick, heavy aura that crackles with anticipation.

The air around me seems to shimmer and dance

as if responding to these words.

As I continue to chant,

my voice grows louder and more confident,

channeling the power of the euktina through me.

It's a feeling unlike any other,

a rush of pure, primal energy that courses through my veins.

And as I open myself up to this ancient force,

I now know that anything is possible.

In an instant, my mind is overwhelmed with vivid images.

The figures of the feral folk,

their eyes a glow with a primal intensity in the darkness.

The immense euktina,

its massive body coirling and writhing like a serpent.

The solemn faces of the shaman,

their expressions serious,

and their eyes bearing the weight of Leon's of knowledge.

These visions fill me with both awe and fear,

as I am truly glimpsing into a world beyond my understanding.

Determination fills my veins

as I knew exactly what needed to be done.

With a deep, stating breath,

I call upon the ancient spirit of the euktina for protection.

My words flowed like a river carrying my plea

to the powerful being that resided within the earth.

The weight of centuries seemed to tremble in my voice

as I spoke with reverence and urgency,

knowing that my fate hung in the balance.

And then, to finish, I spoke to these words,

O great euktina, please hear my prayer.

Protect me from the feral folk and keep me in your care.

Keep them far away, keep them at bay,

in this peaceful place, let me stay.

My words seemed to hang in the air, reverberating,

off the damp, cool laws of the cave,

that resonance amplified by the ancient power of the euktina

that was coursing through my veins.

I felt a surge of energy and connection to the land,

knowing that I had successfully called upon this ancient power.

The weight of the moment settled on my shoulders

as I stood in the sacred space,

surrounded by the mystical aura of the euktina.

It's a humbling and exhilarating experience,

and one that I will never forget.

A wave of relief washed over me

as I merged from that dark damp cave.

The weight of fear and danger

that seemed to suffocate me earlier

is now replaced by a sense of calm and safety.

I know that the feral folk with their wild hair

and sharp teeth won't dare to bother me anymore.

The euktina's power, radiating from the sacred cave,

will keep them at bay and protect me

and my loved ones from their savagery.

I take a deep breath of fresh air,

letting it fill my lungs, grateful for the euktina's protection

as I continue on my journey.

I slowly and cautiously made my way back home,

the once-suppressive darkness now feeling more bearable,

the dense woods that once seemed menacing

now appear welcoming as if giving me permission to enter.

My grip tightens around the sturdy wooden stock

of the weapon in my hand, the symbol of control I've regained.

With each step, I felt a sense of relief,

known that I found a way to protect myself

and my loved ones in the entire little town.

The moon's gentle light filtered through the trees,

casting shadows that danced across the forest floor.

My senses were still on high alert,

but for the first time in a long while,

I feel confident and capable in this familiar setting.

As I approach my home, a veritable wave

of comfort washes over me,

and I know that I will be safe within its walls.

And now, as I sit on my cozy porch,

the stars above me twinkle like scattered diamonds,

the general rustle of leaves and chirping of crickets

create a symphony of nighttime music.

In this very moment, I'm filled with awe

at the power of the Octina, the ancient magic

that flows through the land.

I'm one with nature connected to the spirits

and secrets that have been passed down for generations.

This night will forever be etched in my memory,

a testament to the mystique and wonder of our world.

Eventually, I get up off the porch

and head inside to my bed.

As the blissful embrace of sleep slowly pulls me under,

I feel a sense of peace and safety still washing over me.

The feral folk, those terrifying creatures

that used to haunt my dreams, they'll never bother me again.

The wise and powerful Octina, the guardian of the hills

and haulers in a rural West Virginia has my back.

Ancient magic and first protection

surrounds me like a warm blanket.

Managing any fears or doubts from my mind,

I'm safe in this enchanted land.

In these old hills and haulers,

where the trees whisper secrets

and the moon casts its gentle glow upon the land.

In this moment, all as well in my world,

as I dripped off into peaceful slumber.

I took the job with the forestry service

because I needed a break from people.

I was told the Firewatch Tower was isolated,

but I'd be alone for days, maybe weeks.

Perfect, I thought.

Salitude sounded like paradise.

The Tower was a Rickidiel structure.

Looking for excitement?

Jumbo Casino is here.

Play any time, play anywhere.

Play on the train, play at the store,

play at home, play with your board,

play today for your chance to win

and get daily bonuses when you log in.

So why are you waiting for it?

Don't delay.

Chamba Casino is free to play.

Experience social gameplay like never before.

Go to Chamba Casino right now to play hundreds of games,

including online slots, bingo, slingo, and more.

Live the Chamba Life at chambacasino.com.

No purchase necessary VGW group void for prohibited by law

at 21 plus terms and conditions apply.

I'm caught up in the game.

My attention is on every play and every whistle.

But what I'm missing is a signal coming from my kidneys.

That signal isn't like a ref's whistle.

It's more of a silent SOS, which could be warning me

of an increased risk for events like heart attack or stroke.

And a way I can catch that signal?

A simple urine test called UACR.

If you have type 2 diabetes or high blood pressure,

talk to your doctor about the UACR test.

Detect the SOS.

Visit detectthesos.com to learn more.

Merged on top of a hill in the absolute middle of nowhere.

The surrounding forest stretched endlessly

in all directions, the sea of green.

My job was simple.

Watch her fires, report any smoke, and keep the tower in good shape.

Easy enough, or so I thought.

Now the first few days were uneventful.

The loneliness was palpable, but I welcomed it.

I spent my days reading, hiking, and staring

out to vast expansion trees.

Nights were different, though.

There was something unsettling about the forest after dark.

The way the trees whispered in the wind,

the distant howls of unseen animals,

the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow everything.

It started on the fifth night.

I was sitting by the window, staring out into the darkness.

When I saw light, at first I thought it was a campfire,

but it was too steady, too bright.

It flickered, moving through the trees, coming closer.

I grabbed my binoculars and tried to get a better look,

but it was just out of range.

I radiated it in, but the ranger on the other end brushed it off.

Probably just some campers.

Keep an eye on it, but don't worry too much.

The light disappeared after a few minutes,

and I tried to convince myself it was nothing,

but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I locked the door and kept my rifle close that night.

The next day, I hiked out to where I saw the light.

There was no sign of a campfire, no tracks, nothing.

It was as if the light had never been there.

I told myself I was just being paranoid

that isolation was already beginning to play tricks on my mind.

That night, the light returned.

This time, though, it was closer.

I could see it moving through the trees,

weaving in and out of the darkness.

It stopped just at the edge of the clearing around the tower,

just beyond the reach of the beam of my flashlight.

I watched it for what got like hours,

my heart pounding in my chest.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.

I didn't sleep that night.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Every rustle of leaves, every creek of the old tower,

set my nerves on edge.

When dawn finally broke, I felt a small sense of relief,

but it was short-lived.

The following night, the light came back.

This time, it was right at the base of the tower.

I could see it clearly through the window,

a bright, pulsating orb of light.

I grabbed my rifle and pointed it right at the light,

but my hands were shaking so badly I could barely aim.

The light didn't move.

I radioed the ranger again, my voice trembling.

The light is back, I said.

It's right outside the tower.

It was a long pause on the other end.

Stay inside, lock the doors and windows.

We'll send someone out first thing in the morning.

I did as he said, but I knew it wouldn't help.

The light stayed there all night, unwavering.

I could feel its gaze, felt like it was probing my mind.

I decided to stay awake.

An exhaustion finally claimed me in the early hours of the morning.

I woke to the sound of my door creaking open.

I bolted upright, my heart pounding.

The light was gone, but I could hear footsteps on the stairs.

Someone was coming up.

I grabbed my rifle and pointed it at the door,

my finger hovering over the trigger.

The footsteps grew louder, closer.

The door slowly swung open, revealing nothing.

The stairs were empty.

I slowly approached the door, my heart and my throat.

I looked down the stairs, but there was no one there.

Just the empty creaking steps.

I radioed the ranger again, but this time there was no response.

I was alone.

The light didn't come back that night, or the next.

I started to think maybe it was over, that whatever it was had moved on.

But the forest, the forest had other plans.

On the seventh night, I was jolted away by a loud banging on the door.

It was like someone was trying to break it down.

I grabbed my rifle, rushed to the door.

It is Ryan C. Crest here.

There was a recent social media trend, which consisted of flying on a plane with no music,

no movies, no entertainment, but a better trend would be going to chumbacaceno.com.

It's like having a mini social casino in your pocket.

Chumbacaceno has over a hundred online casino style games, all absolutely free.

It's the most fun you can have online and on a plane.

So grab your free welcome bonus now at chumbacaceno.com, sponsored by Chumbacaceno.

No purchase necessary VGW group void for prohibited by law, 21 plus terms and conditions apply.

Hey, I'm Josh Spiegel, host of the podcast, lunatic in the newsroom.

If you enjoy journalism that drifts into my old panic, wild overthinking,

and a guaranteed nervous breakdown, lunatic in the newsroom is for you.

It's news like you've never heard before.

The only newsroom with a panic button, you'll laugh, you'll cry and gasp and horror

as the show spirals completely out of control.

It's not just news, it's emotionally unstable, lunatic in the newsroom.

Listen today, when I threw it open, there was no one there.

Just the sound of the wind and the creaking of the trees.

I was about to close the door, but it's not something in the distance.

A figure standing at the edge of the clearing.

It was tall and thin with long spindly arms and legs.

Its eyes were glowing a bright, unnatural red.

I raised my rifle, but the figure didn't move.

It just stood there staring at me with those piercing red eyes.

My hands were shaking so badly, I doubted I could hit anything, but I aimed anyway.

I took a deep breath, steady myself and fired.

The sound of the shot echoed to the forest, and for a moment everything was silent.

Then the figure began to move, not away from me as it had been my intention, but towards me.

It moved with a slow, deliberate grace.

Its limbs bending in unnatural ways.

I slammed the door shut and bolted it.

The banging started again, louder this time, more insistent.

I backed away.

My eyes darting around the room from something else to defend myself with.

The rifle suddenly felt useless.

The banging stopped.

I held my breath, listening.

Then I heard a scraping sound.

Kind of like nails on a chalkboard.

It was coming from the walls, from the ceiling, the floor, from everywhere.

I was surrounded.

I radioed the ranger yet again, but static was the only response.

I was alone, truly alone, and whatever was out there was coming for me.

I don't know how long I huddled in the corner,

clutching my rifle, waiting for the end, waiting for the end.

The scraping continued, relentless, driving me to the edge of madness.

I could feel my sanity slipping away, feel the darkness closing in on me.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Now the silence was deafening.

I waited, racing myself for the next assault.

But it never came.

The night stretched on, and eventually, exhaustion claimed me once more.

When I woke, the sun was just rising.

The forest looked peaceful, almost serene.

But I knew better.

I gathered my things and prepared to leave.

I couldn't stay here any longer.

Whatever was out there, it was beyond my understanding,

beyond my ability to fight.

As I descended the stairs, I saw something that made my blood run cold,

carved into the wooden steps in deep jagged letters with awards.

You are not welcome.

I didn't need any more convincing.

I already owed the ranger one last time, telling him I was leaving,

that I couldn't stay here any longer.

There was no response, but I didn't care.

I just needed to get out of there.

I made my way down the hill,

my eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement.

Even in the daylight, the forest felt alive, watching me.

I kept my rifle close, my finger on the trigger, ready for anything.

When I finally reached the main road, I felt a small sense of relief.

At least I was out of the forest.

Away from that occurs tower.

But as I walked, I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched,

that I was being followed.

I glanced over my shoulder more times than I can count,

but I never saw anything.

I hitchhiked my way back to town, found a motel.

I locked the door through the curtains, and collapsed on the bed.

I finally felt safe, with the sense of unease lingered.

The forest had left its mark on me.

That night, I dreamed of the light, of the figure at the edge of the clearing.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart racing.

The room was dark, but I could see a faint glow coming from the window.

I approached it cautiously, my pulse quickening with every step.

I pulled back the curtain, and there it was.

The light, it was back.

Evering just outside the window,

pulsating with an eerie, otherworldly glow.

I stumbled back, my mind reeling.

How could it have followed me here?

I grabbed up my things and bowled it out of the room,

not even bothering to check out.

I rented a car, drove for hours,

putting as much distance between me and that light as possible.

But no matter how far I go, I can't escape it.

It's always there, just on the edge of my vision, waiting.

I don't know what it is, or what it wants.

But I do know this.

I am not welcome, not in the forest,

apparently not anywhere.

And I don't think I ever will be again.

I always thought the forest was a place of peace,

a refuge from the chaos of city life.

That's why I took the job with the forestry service.

Working in a fire-watched tower seemed like a perfect way to disconnect from the world,

to find some tranquility.

Little did I know, I was stepping into something far more sinister.

They assigned me to tower 13, an old structure deep in the heart of the forest.

It was miles from the nearest town, surrounded by dense woods that seemed to swallow the light.

My first day was uneventful.

I hiked up the winding path to the tower, admiring the towering pines and the sound of birdsong.

The tower itself was a creaky wooden structure that grown with a wind,

but it felt sturdy enough.

Nights in the tower were another story.

The darkness was absolute.

The kind that makes you feel like you're the only person left in the world.

My first night, I settled in with a book, the only light coming from my lantern.

Around midnight, I heard it, a faint rustling sound,

like footsteps on dry leaves.

I brushed it off as an animal, maybe a deer or a raccoon, and tried to ignore it.

But the sounds continued.

Every night, around the same time, I heard footsteps circling the base of the tower.

They were slow, delivered, not like any animal I'd ever encountered.

I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination,

the isolation, letting tricks on me.

The deep down, I knew something was wrong.

After a week of sleepless nights, I decided to investigate.

Armed with a flashlight and a hunting knife, I descended the tower and circled its base.

The forest was eerily silent.

The usual course of insects and nocturnal creatures absent.

I found nothing, no tracks, no signs of disturbance.

Just the oppressive weight of the trees pressing in on me.

I heard back up to the safety of the tower, my nerves on edge.

A few nights later, the radio crackled to life.

It was an old static-filled unit that barely picked up anything other than

the forestry service chatter.

But this was different.

To the static, I heard a voice, faint, garbled, but unmistakably human.

Help me, please.

It repeated over and over.

Each plea, more desperate than the last, I tried to respond, but the signal was apparently too weak.

The voice faded, leaving me in silence once more.

I reported it to my supervisor the next morning, but he dismissed it as interference,

or it may be a prank from some kids in the nearby town.

Things escalated quickly after that.

One night, as I was scanning the forest with my binoculars, I saw a figure standing at the edge

of the tree line. It was too dark to make out any details, but I could see the outline of a person,

motionless, apparently staring up at the tower.

I watched for what felt like hours, but the figure never moved.

Eventually, I fell asleep, and by morning, the figure was gone.

The next night, the figure was closer.

I could see more details now, but all thin man, this face obscured by shadows,

he stood just outside the reach of my flashlight, always watching, never approaching.

I tried calling out to him, but my voice died in my throat.

Something about him filled me with a primal fear, a certainty that I was in the presence of something

not entirely human. I started keeping the knife with me at all times, even during the day.

Sleep became almost impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.

I'll, I'll hide, erectus grand, this seemed to stretch impossibly wide.

Bubba Wallace here from 2311 Racing. You know what's slower than a pace car?

Waiting at the car wash. That's when I fire up Chamba Casino.

It turns those slow minutes into fast fun. With new games every week, you'll never get bored.

Next time you're stuck in the slow lane, speed up with Chamba. Play now at chambacasino.com.

Let's Chamba. Sponsored by Chamba Casino. No purchase necessary,

VGW GroupFord, where prohibited by law, 21 plus terms and conditions apply.

Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a long time reporter and

an on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial

intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology,

I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it,

asking where this is all going. They come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon,

and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices,

in meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast

wherever you get your podcasts. I took to sleeping in short bursts. Always was when I opened.

Always listening to those dreaded footsteps. One particularly cold night, I walked to the sound

of knocking. It was soft at first, almost polite, but it grew more insistent. I grabbed the knife

in my flashlight, heart pounding, and crept to the door. The knocking stopped. I threw open

the door, ready to confront whoever or whatever was out there. But there was nothing, just the dark,

empty forest. When I turned back, I saw it, scratched into the wood of the door, deep and deliberate.

Help me. I couldn't stay there any longer. I packed my things and radioed for an early pickup,

claiming a family emergency. My supervisors seemed annoyed, but didn't question it.

I hanged down the path, feeling eyes on me the whole way, but never seeing anyone.

When I finally reached the main road and saw the forestry service truck, I nearly broke down in

tears of relief. I didn't tell anyone about what I saw, what I experienced. Who would believe me?

Instead, I tried to put it behind me, but the nightmares persist. I wake up at a cold sweat,

hearing those footsteps, that static voice on the radio, seeing that twisted grin.

A few months later, out of morbid curiosity more than anything, I decided to look up

the history of Tower 13. What I found shocked me to my core. There were reports of disappearances

in that part of the forest, dating back decades, long before the tower was even built.

Iker's campers, even other fire watchers, people who ventured into the depths of those woods,

and were never seen again. But there was one story that stood out. It was from the 1950s,

about a fire watcher named Daniel Harper. He had been on duty in Tower 13,

and it sent a series of increasingly frantic radio messages before going silent.

When a search party finally reached the tower, they found it abandoned. Harper was never found.

But they did discover something chilling, scratched into the wood of the door,

the same words I'd say, helped me. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had happened to

Harper was starting to happen to me. I needed answers, closure. A contact in the forestry service

and requested a meeting with my little supervisor. When I brought up Tower 13 and the strange

occurrences, he went pale. He admitted that there had been incidents reported by previous fire watchers,

but nothing concrete enough to shut down the tower. I demanded to know why they hadn't warned me,

why they continued to send people there. He looked down, avoiding my gaze, and muttered

something about budget constraints and lack of evidence. It was clear they were more interested

in keeping the tower operational than in the safety of their employees.

Jesper for closure, I decided to return to the forest one last time. I convinced a friend,

Jack, to come with me. We equipped ourselves with camping gear, flashlights,

had enough supplies for a few days. I needed to see if the figure was still there.

If the forest still held its dark secrets. We reached the base of the tower just before dusk.

As the sunset, I felt that whole familiar weight of dread settle over me.

Jack tried to reassure me, but I could see the unease in his eyes. We set up camp a short

distance from the tower, building a fire toward off the encroaching darkness. That night,

the forest was deathly silent. No wind, no rustling leaves, just an oppressive quiet.

Ground midnight, though, the footsteps started again. Jack heard them too this time.

We both stood, flashlights in hand, scanning the tree line. The footsteps grew louder,

closer, until they seemed to be right outside our camp.

Then we saw him, the figure, the same one I'd seen before, standing just at the edge of the

firelight. Jack shouted at him, demanding he show himself, but the figure remained silent,

unmoving. I felt that same primal fear, but I forced myself to step forward,

hunting knife, clutching my hand. Who are you? What do you want? I shouted, my voice trembling.

The figure tilled its head as if considering my question. Then an voice that seemed to echo

from all around us, it spoke. Help me. Jack and I exchanged a terrified glance.

The figure stepped forward into the light, and I finally saw its face clearly.

It was Daniel Harper, for what was left of him. His eyes were hollow,

his skin stretched tight over his skull, his mouth frozen, and that ghastly grin.

Help me, he repeated, reaching out a scale to a hand. I stumbled back, tripping over a log,

Jack grabbed my arm, pulled me to my feet, then we ran, bandaining our camp, our gear, everything.

We didn't stop until we reached the road, gasping for breath, too terrified to look back.

We reported what we saw to the local authorities, but they didn't believe us.

They chalked it up to an ebriation, exhaustion, maybe even a prank.

But I know what I saw. I know that the forest holds something dark,

something that has climbed others before me, and will continue to do so.

I moved far away from that town, far away from those woods, but I can't move far enough to escape

the nightmares. I still hear the footsteps, the voice on the radio, the knocking on my door,

and every time I close my eyes, I see his face, that twisted grin, and here his desperate plea.

Help me.

I should have known better than to take that job in the middle of nowhere,

but I was young, dumb, broke, and the posting for a fire look out in the remote sawtooth mountains of Idaho

made decent money for just having to watch for smoke-all summer. How hard could it be?

The high-end on the first day should have been my first warning sign. The trail leading up to the

tower cut through some of the densest, darkest forest I'd ever seen. Towing pines and furrows

blotted out the sun, casting everything in a perpetual gloomy shade. The canopy was so thick that

barely any undergrowth could survive, leaving the forest floor barren and covered in layers of

shed pine needles. About halfway up the trail, a stumble across what looked like sacrificial remains,

thousands of bones, bird feathers, and animal fur surrounded by strangely arranged sticks and

rocks, unnerving, but I tried to rationalize it as some eccentric hiker's odd idea of art.

When I finally reached the tower, my sense of dread only deepened. It was a decrepit relic,

hardly updated since it was built back in the 1930s. The rickety stair swayed unnervingly,

and the view from the watchroom's windows was obscured by grime and bird droppings.

The worst part was the solitude. The nearest thing to civilization was a ranger station over 15

miles away. My only neighbor was the immense suffocating forest that seemed to go on forever in

every direction, unbroken by roads, trails, or any sign of human activity. For the first few weeks,

my days passed uneventfully, keeping watch and recording weather conditions. I tried to keep

it myself occupied by journaling, reading, and exploring the woods around the base of the tower

during my off hours. But I could never shake the uncanny feeling that I was being watched from

the depths of the forest. I started noticing strange signs in the morning dew or scattered across

the pine needle beds around the tower, symbols, markings, and dirty etchings that looked

ritualistic or vaguely occult. Several times I walked through the faint sounds of wood knocking

together, like some kind of makeshift wooden windchimes or instruments being played in the distance.

Strangest of all were the medallated animal carcasses that would periodically show up at the edge of

the tree line near the tower. Mangle corpses of deer, elk, rabbits, and birds. There remains

twisted and ravaged in ways that seemed too calculated and cruel to be the work of natural predators.

I tried to maintain my sanity and ignore these oddities as much as I could.

Maybe I was just letting the profound isolation get to me, finding delusions and paranoia in my mind.

My work journaling the weather and watching for smoke plumes carried on week after week.

But everything changed the night I woke in a cold sweat to the sound of strange chanting

echoing through the forest outside.

Your excitement.

Chambacacino has been delivering thrills for over a decade.

So claim your free welcome bonus now and live the Chambalife.

Visit chambacacino.com.

Do you love romcoms? Do you wish you could talk about Christmas movies year round?

Then we have the perfect podcast for you, Holmarke's podcast.

Throughout the year we cover all things romance, holiday, and Holmarke, including recaps of every

homework show like when calls the heart and the way home.

You can also get loads of bonus content covering shows like Bridgerton, Sweet Magnolia,

and just like that. We are an all-female group of friends who are passionate for these

shows and movies and give our honest opinions as well as gosh over what we love so much.

But that's not all. Every Monday there are interviews with all your favorite actors,

writers, directors, and more. Check out Holmarke's podcasts on all your podcast providers

and on YouTube. That's Holmarke's podcast wherever you listen to podcasts.

Rising and falling, sometimes fading out briefly, only for new voices in the haunting chorus to

join in. I toggle my electric lantern on and stare desperately out each window,

hunting for the source. But I never caught sight of a single figure, campfire, or any science of

human life at all. Just the infinite dark labyrinth of tree trunks and bushes,

whoever, or whatever, was responsible for this deranged vocal ritual remained

entombed in the suffocating embrace of the forest. When the sun finally rose,

the chanting abruptly stopped as quickly as it had started. Besides my freighted nerves and

the dark circles under my eyes, there would no other clues that the nightmarish episode

had even occurred. Over the next few days, I became increasingly paranoid and reclusive.

Barely leaving the tower except for an absolutely necessary to stretch my legs around the

clearing. I spent most of my time in the watchroom scanning the tree line constantly

for any side of movement or another indication that I wasn't the only living presence out here.

One morning, as swirls of mist burned off to reveal another overcast day,

I spotted something that turned my blood to ice. There, at the very edge of the forest,

just behind the first wall of pine trees and shrubbery, were figures.

Silhouetted humanoid shapes, blending in with the dark backdrop of the woods, unmoving.

It was impossible to make out any other details, but I counted at least a dozen of them

arrayed in a straight line as if mounted century posts just inside the straight line.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on the end as I stared, analyzing,

watching for any tail-tell side of life or movement, with a reel, hikers,

rangers, or something infinitely more sinister. My mind raced, rapidly revising every previous

ritual symbol, animal medilation, and midnight chorus I'd so desperately tried to rationalize away

or dismiss. As the morning burned off more of the fog, the tree line came into sharp

her focus. That's when I noticed something that nearly caused me to black out from sheer terror.

The ominous line of watchers had moved at all, no breathing, no shifts in position,

no signs of consciousness or animation, just still lifeless silhouettes,

barely even discernible as humanoid shapes the more I focused in on them.

And then, all at once, I realized the horrifying truth with full clarity.

Those weren't any kind of living being or humanoid haunting the forest edge.

They were sculptures, totemic figures, carved and mounted on the outermost tree trunks at the border

between the somewhat civilized world of the tower's clearing and the unfathomable reality harbored

in the unknowable depths beyond. I watched them through my binoculars for the next several hours,

paralyzed, my mind really. On a single figure moved and portrayed the slightest hint of human life,

just evenly spaced bark and wooden renderings, eternally frozen and featureless repose,

centuries, facing eternally inward to whatever blasphemous entities lurked within the

primordial wooded citadel behind them. After that realization, my psyche shattered completely,

a full-blown panic attack set in. I preventulating and sobbing in terror, consumed by the knowledge

that I was indeed being watched, but not by anything remotely human. In my manic state,

I did the only thing I could think to do. Jammed a few belongings into my rug sack and spread it

down the tower's stairs and away from that occurs place like my soul depended on it.

I didn't stop hiking until the tower was over the horizon, and the dim lights of the

ranger station were visible off in the distance. As I blathered my tail of supernatural horror to

the bewildered staff there, one grizzled old ranger just slowly shook his head and muttered to

the other rangers. I happened to all of them. I wondered just how long that newest lookout would last

before the ancient tribes got to him too. With that cryptic thought in mind, I left never to return.

In the hallows, my job brought me to the remote and rugged regions of South Eastern Kentucky,

placed deep in the heart of what locals affectionately referred to as a holler country.

The company I worked for had set their sights on purchasing a vast tract of woodland for development,

and it was my role as land surveyor to lay out the boundaries.

However, even with the seemingly straightforward assignment, I quickly learned the things

are rarely straightforward in the secluded hallows of those mountains. The air was thick with the

sand of pine and damp earth, and the dense canopy above blocked out most of the sunlight.

Every step felt like an expedition through uncharted territory, each term revealing new pockets

of lush greenery and hidden streams. It was both breathtaking and a little bit unsettling

to be so far removed from civilization, yet exhilarating to be surrounded by such raw beauty.

With trepidation, an avigated my old truck along what seemed to be goat paths attempting to pass

his roads in this remote wilderness. As I delve deeper into the woods, I was enveloped by a sense of

peaceful isolation, the distant roar of highways fading into memory. The only sounds

of the general russet of leaves and the occasional call of a crow in the distance.

Although I had a map, it seemed insignificant compared to the vastness and wilderness of this

untamed land. It was clear that nature had its own, often unpredictable, boundaries out here.

Reaching the next spot, I parked and trudged through the thick undergrowth until I reached the edge

of a clearing. The sacred spot seemingly untouched by the sun's warm rays. Tiring trees,

their branches swaying in a gentle breeze, loomed like solemn guardians over the land.

With each strike of my hammer, steaks were driven deep into the earth, marking the boundaries of

this territory. But as I worked, a strange feeling crept over me like an unwelcome visitor.

The hair is on the back of my neck, stood at attention, and learning me to something unsettling

in the air. I brushed it off as mere nerves from being alone in this remote location,

but the eerie silence only amplified my unease. As the days passed, I ventured deeper into the

dense woods on this assignment. Each step brought me further from civilization and closer to the unknown.

A sense of unease began to creep over me, a prickle at the back of my neck that made me constantly

look over my shoulder. Shadows seemed to dance just beyond my reach, teasing and taunting me with

their elusive movements. My heart would skip a beat as I caught glimpses of something slinking

through the trees, only to have advantage when I turned to face it. But I pushed away these thoughts,

telling myself it was simply the byproduct of being alone in such a wild and isolated place.

Yet deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me,

waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself.

As the sunset and the stars merge into the night sky, I settled into my cozy tent, ready for

a peaceful night's sleep. But as I lay there, listening to the sounds of nature and feeling the

cool breeze on my face, I heard it. Footsteps outside my tent. These were not the light steps of a deer

or any four-legged creature, but heavy and delivered like those of a human. My heart began to race as I

called out into the darkness, desperately asking who was there. But all that answered me was an

airy silence. Minutes passed, each one filled with tension and fear. Finally, I mustered up the courage

to peek outside. The moonlit forest toned me with its stillness and emptiness. But as I laid

back down, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched by some unseen presence in the darkness.

As the first rays of morning sun broke through the trees, I ventured back out to my work site and

was immediately met with a scene of chaos. My carefully organized tools were scattered about.

There once pristine surfaces now marred with dirt and scratches. As I looked over the mess,

I knew in my heart of hearts that this was no accident. It was a clear message, a warning that

someone did not want me here. They could have stolen my tools, but instead preferred to just mess

with them. But I refused to be deterred. My determination, burning bright, despite the fear now

creeping into my mind. With shaky hands, I set to work, leading up my tools and reestablishing

my markers. It is Ryan C. Crest here. There was a recent social media trend which consisted of

flying on a plane with no music, no movies, no entertainment. But a better trend would be

going to chumbacacino.com. It's like having a mini social casino in your pocket. Chumbacacino has

over a hundred online casino style games all absolutely free. It's the most fun you can have online

and on a plane. So grab your free welcome bonus now at chumbacacino.com. Sponsored by Chumbacacino.

In a world of endless notifications, there could be an important one you're missing.

Your kidneys may be signaling in SOS. With high blood pressure or type 2 diabetes,

your kidneys could be warning you of early signs of damage, which may put you at higher risk for

events like heart attack or stroke. But there's a simple test that can help spot a hidden signal.

Ask your doctor about a urine test called UACR to help detect kidney disease and heart risk early.

To learn more, visit detectthesos.com today.

And delving deeper into the woods, desperate to uncover the secrets hidden within while doing my job.

And it wasn't long before I stumbled upon something I shouldn't have seen,

which caused me to question if my stubbornness would be my downfall.

Within a small clearing hidden by the tangled mess of underbrush,

lay the remnants of what once may have been a campsite. But this was no ordinary camping spot.

It reached of age and darkness, bones, both animal and some perhaps even human were scattered

across the ground like macabre decorations. My heart clenched as I took in the side of cracked

animal skulls. No doubt broken open was calculated intent. Fresh brains would never be on my menu.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized that someone or something had done this. And it wasn't accidental.

The atmosphere suddenly felt heavy and foreboding warning me to turn back before it was too late.

Despite my better judgment, I couldn't tear myself away from the scene. My curiosity

as twisted and unsettling as it may be compelled me to stay. With trembling hands, I snapped some

photos with my camera, capturing the airy atmosphere that surrounded me. Suddenly, I caught wind

of a soft whispering like the rustle of leaves in a general breeze. The voices were speaking in

a guttural dialect. Their words almost indescribable. Though I couldn't see them through the dense fog,

I could sense their presence drawing closer. A chill ran down my spine and fear took hold of me.

Without hesitation, I turned and fled for the mysterious figures lurking in the shadows.

With heart racing and hands trembling, I frantically backed up my campsite.

Gearing supplies were half-hazardly thrown into the back of my truck as I tried to keep my

composure. The thought of leaving this place forever was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As I turned the key in the ignition, the sickening sputter was all that came from the engine.

Panics sit in and I tried it again and again, but it was no use.

Scared, I got out of the truck to investigate, only to find my worst fear confirmed.

Someone had sabotaged my engine by cutting the wires cleanly.

Fear and anger now bubbled inside me as I realized I was stranded in this deserted place

with no way out. As the sun soon began to set behind the horizon, my truck incapacitated and

my options dwindling. I charged back to where I'd had my campsite.

I have a sense of unease settled in my chest as I surveyed the thick tree surrounding me.

I gathered an impressive amount of dry wood and built a towering fire,

praying it would serve as a barrier against whatever lurked in the shadows.

Despite my exhaustion from having to tear my sight down and put it back up,

and the issues of the truck, I found myself restless and on higher alert,

jumping at every distant ground and snapping twig that echoed to the night.

My mind raced as a huddle close to the warmth of the fire, desperately trying to ward off the

chilling fear creeping up my spine. As the sun began to break through the thick canopy the next

morning, I made the decision to continue my journey on foot. The sensation of being watched,

lingered in the air, causing me to constantly glance over my shoulder and jump at every sound.

Each snapped twig sounded like a heavy footsteps. Every whisper of wind felt like murmured

words directed at me. Hours seemed to pass as I trek through the dense forest, and just when I

thought I was nearing the edge, a sudden hush fell upon the woods. In its place came a haunting

course of whispers that seemed to emanate from all directions and circling me with their eerie

presence. I broke through the dense forest, my feet pounding against the earth, and twigs shattering

beneath me. The harsh breaths escaping my mouth were drowned out by the sound of my pursuers'

hows and shouts echoing through the woods. My mind raced with fear and adrenaline, unable to

imagine what fate awaited me if they caught up to me. Suddenly, after what felt like an

eternity of running, I burst onto a dusty road. My legs screamed for rest, and my lungs burned

with exertion, but I had no time to stop. Miraculously, though, a local sheriff's deputy

had to be driving by at that exact moment. He took one look at my disheveled appearance,

while died, covered in dirt and sweat, and he quickly pulled over to help me escape from my

tour of minors.

Sponsored by Chumpa Casino, no purchase necessary, VGW GroupFord, where prohibited by law,

21 plus terms and conditions apply.

Microsoft, Amazon, and plenty more.

So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices, and meetings with your

colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast wherever you get your podcasts.

His features contorted into a grave expression, as I spoke. His brow furrowing was concerned.

When I finished, he led out a heavy sigh, burdened by the weight of this newfound knowledge.

It was as if he had been tasked with carrying a heavy load on his shoulders.

His deep, low voice cut through the silence.

He stumbled onto something you shouldn't have, he said quietly.

For generations, we've known that there's families living deep in these woods.

Most are fine, just folks seeking a simpler, off-the-grid lifestyle.

But there are others.

Farrell Clans, who've been out here too long, twisted into ways we don't speak of much.

We'd our best to steer clear of them, and they usually do the same.

You got lucky this time, son.

The man's words were heavy with warning as he jestered toward the dense trees surrounding his

shafts of sunlight filled to do the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

A faint rustling could be heard from the underbrush,

hinting at hidden inhabitants within the dark thicket.

I realized that danger lurked in every corner of this untimed land,

and it was a miracle that I was making it out of this place.

And even on the way out, the sense of unease lingered, reminding me that we're only

visters in this wild rim. We finally arrived at a small mechanic shop with rusty tools scattered

around in the smell of oil and gasoline thick in the air. The good old boy who worked there

went and fetched my truck and started working on it. I knew my time in Kentucky was coming to an end

with no desire to return. The unfinished survey project weighed heavily on my mind,

but I couldn't bear to spend another day in these hollows where secrets echoed through the trees.

The company would just have to find someone else for the job. I'd reach my limit for this rugged,

unforgiving land. And even now, in the quiet hours of the night, when the world is still,

and my mind drifts toward slumber, I'm often visited by whispers that seem to creep from the dark

corners of my room. They are elusive and mysterious, stirring up that old sense of unease within me.

I tell myself it's just the wind against my window, or the creaking of old floorboards,

or maybe my own imagination running wild. A deep down, a part of me wonders if those

whispers originated from the depths of the woods I once explored. A place where secrets were

whispered and boundaries were ignored. Perhaps they followed me out like a lingering curse,

a reminder that certain paths should never be watered upon, and some mysteries should remain unsolved.

Whisperers from the hollow

Deep in the heart of South Asian Kentucky's dense forest, where the mist hangs like veils,

and the hills hide secrets darker than the cold seams run underneath them.

Their lies are placed local whisper about, but never visit. It's said that once you step into

these woods, the woods also step into you, marking your soul, listening to your fears.

This is the story of how I came to believe those whispers.

I was an ambitious young journalist from Lexington, eager to make a name for myself.

When rumors surfaced of mysterious disappearances in the remote parts of Harlan County,

I saw my chance, armed with nothing but a notebook, a camera, and naive courage.

I drove my old jeep into the heart of the Appalachian wilderness.

The road twisted and turned, squeezing between towering oaks that seemed to lean closer as I passed.

By the time I reached the village of El Kahlo, the sun was a mere memory behind the hills,

and fog crept across the road like a living thing.

In El Kahlo, really, just a wide spot in the road, I stopped at a run-down gas station,

for an old man with eyes as gray as the fog watched me approach.

When I mentioned the disappearances, his expression hardened.

Boy, some truths ain't worth chasing. Turned back, if you've got any sense, he rast

his voice the warning carried on the wind.

Ignoring his advice, I continued, driving till the paved road gave way to gravel,

then to dirt, and finally to nothing more than a cow path.

I set up campus, dusk, bled into night, the darkness in the woods so thick and felt tangible.

As I tried to sleep, the silence was oppressive, broken only for the occasional distant howl that

didn't quite sound like any animal I knew.

Sometime past midnight, I woke to the sound of footsteps outside my tent.

Creeping my flashlight, I unzipped the flap slowly, peering out into the darkness.

My light caught dozens of tiny reflections, eyes watching from the trees.

I told myself it was just animals, but a part of me knew better.

The next morning, I ventured deeper into the woods, following a barely discernible trail

marked with faded ribbons tied to branches.

Hours passed, and the deeper I went, the more I felt an unsettling presence all around me.

I stumbled upon a clearing where the ground was soft and disturbed.

Half bird in the earth, I found a shoe, a man's shoe, whether worn in muddy.

My heart raced as unearthed more, a torn piece of a shirt, the broken wristwatch,

a rusted pocket knife.

The remnants of the missing, perhaps?

That night, the true horror began.

A starting spell, the forest came alive with sinister whispers.

They weren't words exactly, but they spoke of hunger and pain.

I tried to convince myself it was just the wind,

until I heard a clear, chilling laugh, human and cruel.

I realized then that I was not alone, and worse, I was being hunted.

Shadows moved between the trees, circling my camp.

I could see their outlines now, not quite human.

Twisted by generations of inbreeding and isolation, and something far more unnerving.

In a panic, I ran, crashing through the underbrush, guided only by moonlight, branches,

torn my clothes and skin, but fear propelled me forward.

I didn't dare look back, so I could hear them following,

their footsteps and discord and symphony in the darkness.

Just when my lungs felt they were going to burst with effort and despair gripped me,

a light appeared through the trees.

A cabin, old and leaning, but it looked like sanctuary.

I burst through the door and barricaded with whatever was at hand.

Inside, the air was thick with a smell of mold and something else,

something rotten, like flesh.

Of the light of my now dying flashlight, I explored finding a room that chilled my soul.

And it was a shrine of sorts.

With bones arranged in grotesque patterns and dried remnants of organs,

which I feared might not be of animal origin.

The realization hit me then.

I'd found the layer of whatever hunted in these woods.

But before I could flee, the door rattled violently.

They were here.

Despite my barricading it, they were trying to get in.

I scrambled to the back of the cabin, finding a small window.

With no other choice, I smashed through it, landing hard on the ground outside.

The chase resumed, more desperate now.

I knew that if I stopped, if I succumbed to the exhaustion, I would not survive.

Miraculously, the first hints of dawn soon began to lighten the sky,

revealing the path back towards civilization.

These creatures, these ferrows, whatever they were,

painted back into the shadows with the coming light.

Their whispers still echoing in my ears.

I didn't stop running until I reached my Jeep, jumping inside and driving without pause,

until I reached the safety of my apartment in Lexington.

I reported the incident, showing the authorities my photos, and the few artifacts I'd grabbed.

They climbed that they searched the woods and found nothing but the cabin,

which was conveniently now empty of any evidence.

They told me it was probably a prank, probably kids trying to scare a city boy away from their

smoking spots. But I know what I saw. I know what I heard.

Now, at night, I sometimes wake to the sound of those whispers, thinking I see shadows shifting

just beyond the street. I tried to write my story to share it, but words failed to capture the

depth of the darkness in those woods. I warned you as the old man at the gas station warned me.

Every day, the world gets a little weirder, and a lot more awesome.

Cool stuff daily takes a look at everything from mining and space to the latest in the fight

against cancer to how AI is basically changing everything. It's all the cool stuff you didn't know

you needed to know. Join us for cool stuff daily as we take a quick look at science, tech, and the

wait, what stories that make you sound way smarter at dinner. Subscribe to cool stuff daily now

because the future is happening fast and it's way too fun to miss.

Some truths may worth chasing. Stay away from the hollows of South Eastern Kentucky.

Bring those woods. You're not the hunter. You're the prey.

The hollows echo. The remote stretches of South Eastern Kentucky,

where the Appalachian Mountains cast long shadows and the dives for us guard their secrets with

silent ferocity, lies a hollow for a holler that locals avoid when the sun dips below the horizon.

This is the story of my harrowing descent into that forgotten place, a journey that began with

curiosity and ended in terror. I was a folklore researcher from a university up north and

intrigued by the rich tapestry of Appalachian myths, tales of spirits, witches, and unexplained

phenomena drew me to the wilds of South Eastern Kentucky. A place steeped in mystery and suspicion.

My objective was clear, delve into the local legends for a new book project.

Upon arriving, asking around a bit, I was directed to a grizzled old timer named Jeb,

reputed to know more about the local lore than anyone else.

Jeb lived at the end of a crumbling dirt road, the South surrounded by the encroaching woods.

You're looking for stories, eh? Jeb eyed me skeptically over his steaming mug of coffee.

Well, stranger, there's one tale folks around here don't talk much about.

It's about that holler up north of here. I saw a morgan place.

Folks who wander there sometimes don't wander back.

His warning was stern, but it only fueled my curiosity.

I found the trailhead to the hollow early next morning, shrouded in a mist that seemed to swallow the

sound. The path was overgrown, the air thick with a strange smell, possibly decay.

As I pushed deeper into the woods, I felt an uneasiness settle over me.

A primal fear, a warning that this place was not meant for human trespass.

Hours into my hike, I stumbled upon a clearing. The ground was littered with old weathered bones.

Some clearly animal, but disturbingly, others were undeniable human.

Among the remains, I found a rusted old-fashioned camera. Curiosity overcame our evulsion and

I prided open, finding an undeveloped roll of film inside. I tucked it into my backpack for safe

keeping. As dusk approached, I realized I'd ventured too far into the hollow to return before dark.

Reluctantly, I broke out my tip, set up camp, the eerie quiet of the woods, unnerving in its

intensity. That night, the forest came alive with sounds. At first, I told myself as the wind,

but then it grew louder, whispers, forming words in a language I couldn't understand.

Shadows danced at the edge of my camp firelight, circling closer with each passing hour.

Panicking, I retreated to my tent, zipping its shut against the horrors outside.

But this mere fabric proved no barrier to my fear. All through the night, I heard footsteps circling,

soft murmurs being spoken, and once a guttural growl so close I felt I could feel the breath

through the canvas. Dawn brought no relief, only the realization that my supplies had been ransacked.

My only way out was to hike back the way I came in. So I packed up what gear I had left,

a low eerie home filled the air resonating through the trees. Then they stepped into the clearing,

figures, human in shape, but wrong in every other way. Their eyes were too large,

their limbs elongated and awkward as they moved. Their skin was pale, almost translucent,

the veins visible beneath like dark rivers on a map.

My froze, our eyes locked in mutual surprise. Then one by one, they began to whisper,

a noise of sounds that made my head ache. When they moved toward me, I ran.

My flight through the forest was a blur of terror in adrenaline, branches clawed at my face and

arms as I ran. These fiends chasing me like hounds from hell. Several times I fell,

each time scrambling up and driven on by raw fear. I didn't stop until I burst onto a roadway,

a lungs burning and my body covered in cut scrapes and bruises. A passing truck screeched

to a halt and the driver, seeing my wild appearance, I should be inside without a word.

Back in the safety of civilization, I developed a film from the camera I'd found.

Some of it was ruined, but a few of the photos were salvageable. These revealed images that

chill my blood, scenes of the same figures I'd encountered, only they were surrounded by weird things

hanging from the trees, bodies, others laid out in strange, ritualistic patterns.

I published my findings, framing them as an exploration of myth and legend,

but the truth of what I experienced in the hollow remains mine to bear.

Now, at night, I still hear those voices in the wind, a haunting reminder that some places

are better left unexplored. And sometimes, just on the edge of sleep, I wonder if he'll come for me

again to reclaim the secret I so foolishly sought and stole from them. Pray for me. Please pray for me.

When I took the job as a park ranger now, I'm not going to tell you which national park.

I thought I'd signed up for what would at least be a summer fresh air,

stunning views, maybe the occasional bear, the odd lost hiker here and there.

But what I didn't expect was the dark secret that other rangers shared in hushed tones around the

campfire. There's things in these woods, razzled head ranger, Mike told me on my first night,

things that ain't entirely human. I laughed. I assumed it was just a joke to spoke to the new guy,

big foot, arrow people, some local legend to add color to the park's history.

But no one else was laughing. As the weeks passed, I started to notice oddities,

facts in the dirt that didn't quite match any animal that I knew.

Here he housed that echoed through the trees at night, raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

Who'd gone missing from secured caches, claw marks on the boxes far too big to be from raccoons?

Now, the other rangers warned me not to go out alone, especially after dark.

They never explicitly said why. They deflected my questions with either uneasy silence or vague

muttering about them and the watchers in the woods. I tried to dismiss it as superstition,

ranger lore passed down to keep the noobies in line.

But then came the night, everything changed. I was out late, tracking a reported bear sighting.

The sun had long since dipped below the tree line, the shadow stretching long and dark across

the forest floor. I heard a twig snab behind me. I spun around, shined my flashlight into the

undergrowth. The beam caught a pair of eyes, blown in the darkness. But they weren't the eyes of a bear

or a deer or any animal I'd ever seen. They were human, but not quite. Too wide, too wild,

the pupils mere pinpricks in a sea of yellow. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.

I stumbled back a step as this creature emerged from the brush. I stood on two legs,

naked and filthy. But its proportions were all wrong. Its limbs too long, its face too angular.

It stared at me, had cocked at an unnatural angle. Then it opened its mouth and screamed.

The sound was like nothing I'd ever heard. A high keening whale seemed to pierce straight

into my skull. I clapped my hands over my ears, my flashlight tumbling to the ground.

Then this thing lunged. I caught a glimpse of sharp teeth, ragged nails reaching from my face.

And then a gunshot cracked through the night. The creature jerked, dark fluids sprang from its chest.

It crumpled to the forest floor, twitching. My mic stepped out from behind the

Tury rifle in hand. I told you not to go out alone, you said grimly.

I could only gabe. There was shock and horror at all that rendered me mute.

I stared at the thing on the ground. Its yellow eyes dulling in death.

What is it I finally managed to grasp?

We call them barrels, like it said. He prodded the body with his boot,

lip curled in this taste. Been living in these woods for generations. Back since the early

settlers days, some folks reckon they're the descendants of pioneers who went missing,

lost in the wilderness, in bread, peril, barely human anymore.

He looked at me with a piercing stare. And now you know, question is, can you handle it?

I swallowed hard, pardon me, wanted to run. Just put this job and never look back.

But a bigger part of me, part that had always been drawn to the mysteries of the forest.

The unknown, that part needed to know more. I nodded slowly. I can handle it.

In the weeks and months that followed, I learned the secret ways of the Rangers.

I learned how they tracked the Ferrell's movements. How they set traps and laid false trails to

keep them away from the heavily trapped areas. I learned the signs to look for. The scratch marks on

trees, the strange piles of bones, and how to calm panic campers with easy lies about bears and

cavities. But most of all, I learned to fear the Ferrell's. Step into the world of power, loyalty,

and luck. I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse. With family, conoles, and spins mean

everything. Now you want to get mixed up in the family business. Introducing the Godfather at

chumbacacino.com. Test your luck in the shadowy world of the Godfather slot. Someday, I will call upon

you to do a service for me. Play the Godfather. Now at chumbacacino.com. Welcome to the family.

No purchase necessary VGW group void for prohibited by law, 21 plus terms and conditions apply.

This is Mike Bolo of Lexicon Valley. And I'm Bob Garfield. Are you one of those people who

sometimes uses words? Do you communicate or acquire information with, you know, language?

Hey, us too. So join us on Lexicon Valley to true over the history, culture, and many mysteries of

English. Plus some life cracks. Find us on one of those apps where people listen to podcasts.

Because that first one I'd seen was far from the last. They moved to the forest like ghosts. Rarely

seen, but always since a constant prickling on the back of the neck. They were counting in their

own fair away, able to avoid the rangers best efforts to track them. And they were vicious.

I saw the aftermath of their kills. Camp sites torn apart as it by a whirlwind.

Here carcasses rent limb from limb. And on one horrific occasion, what was left of a person.

A solo hiker who had strayed too far from the trail. By the time the rangers found what was left

of it. The ferals that already had their fill. That was when the enormity, the true enormity

of the rangers task hit me. They weren't just protecting the park. They were the thin line

standing between the unsuspecting public and a horror that the public couldn't begin to imagine.

If word of the ferals ever got out, it would be absolute chaos,

pure panic, media frenzies, demands for military intervention.

The careful balance the rangers had maintained for decades would be shattered.

So they maintained the secret. Shouldering the burden silently.

They patrolled the woods, always watchful, always wary. They cleaned up the messes,

buried the bodies, and whispered cover stories. And at night around fire's burning low,

they traded stories of close calls and strange sightings. A grim camaraderie born of shared horror.

Years passed, I rose to the ranks. I became one of the most respected rangers in the park.

I knew the woods like the back of my hand. I could track a feral from the barest signs.

But I was unprepared for what happened at fateful autumn night.

It was late. The park was already closed for a season.

I was doing one last sweep before heading back to the ranger station.

The moon was full, casting the forest in an airy silver glow. Suddenly my scream rang out,

shattering the stillness. Made my blood run cold. I knew that sound all too well.

But not here, not so close to the ranger station.

My heart pounding, I'd race toward the sound, crashing through the undergrowth.

I burst into a clearing and skidded to a stop. The horror stealing the breath from my lungs.

They're in the center of the clearing, instead of feral. But not like any feral I'd ever seen.

This thing was huge, towering over the torn and bloody remains of a deer, and it was looking right at me.

In that moment, staring into those wild, yet intelligent eyes, I realized the rangers had been wrong.

Other assumptions, other theories about ferals, they'd barely scratch the surface.

This was no inbred remnant of lost pioneers. This was something else entirely,

something ancient, primal, and utterly unknowable.

The feral took a step toward me, lived spewing back from its bloodstain teeth.

I fumbled from my gun with numb fingers, knowing it was futile. I was going to die right here,

thrown apart like that poor deer. But the feral did attack. It just stared at me.

Head caught, almost curious. Then to my utter shock and amazement, it spoke.

Leave, it rast. The word guttile and twisted, but unmistakable. Leave us alone.

Then it turned and melted into the shadows, left me alone with a cooling deer corpse in my own

racing thoughts. I never told the other rangers what I'd seen, but I'd heard.

How could I? It went against everything they thought they knew,

everything that made their grim task bearable. Better to let them believe that the ferals were

just animals, fairly human. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

But I know the truth now. The ferals aren't lost remnants or even feral beasts.

There's something else, something intelligent and aware, and they've chosen this life,

chosen to remain in the wild places, hidden from the eyes of the world,

and they will fight to protect that choice. I put in a transfer the next day. I couldn't stay.

Couldn't keep up the charade, knowing what I now knew. Let someone else take up the secret burden.

Troll the borderlands between civilization and the primal dark. I was done.

My last night in the park, I hacked out to the edge of the forest. In the distance,

the wall of hell, the sound, raising goosebumps on my skin. But I knew it was no wall.

I'm sorry I whispered into the darkness. I'm leaving. I'll leave you alone now.

There was no reply. But as I turned to leave, I swear I filled eyes on my back,

watching from the shadows, those feral eyes, yellow and knowing.

And I knew right then that they would never truly be alone. The ferals, as they call them,

would always be there, waiting in the wild places, watching, starting their ancient secret.

And they're right to remain untamed.

Now I've been a park ranger for over 15 years, stationed in Yosemite National Park.

I've seen a lot, both the beauty and the danger that nature holds.

But there are things that happen in these woods to defy explanation. Things that haunt me to this day.

This is the story of what happened last summer. A story about people disappearing in the park.

And why I now believe there are forces in these woods beyond their understanding.

I started with a routine call. A young couple, I'll call them Sarah and Tom,

have been reported missing by their families.

They were experienced hikers, but they hadn't returned from a three-day trek they'd planned.

I was assigned to lead the search. I didn't think much over the time. People get lost.

And it happens more often than you'd think. But this one was different.

We set out early, small team of rangers and volunteers. We had a rough idea they planned

around, starting from a remote campsite far from the more popular areas of the park.

The first day of searching was unavailable. We found their campsite, but it was empty.

Their tent was still there, along with most of their gear. It was if they had just stepped out and

never came back. That night we camp near the site. The forest was unneveringly quiet.

The kind of silence that presses down on you. Around the campfire, the older rangers shared stories,

tells the people who had vanished without a trace of strange lights in the woods,

of voices that seemed to come from nowhere. I'd heard them all before,

but boy, did they ever feel different out there in the dark.

The next morning we found their trail. It led deeper into the forest,

away from the main path. We followed it for hours, the trees growing denser and the light dimmer.

The deeper we went, the more uneasy I felt. The forests seemed to change.

The familiar landmarks disappearing, replaced by an oppressive alien landscape.

Around midday, we found something that chilled me to the bone. It was an old abandoned cabin,

barely visible through the trees. Like I said, I've been working in Yosemite for years

and never seen it before. It looked ancient, the wood rotting and covered in moss.

We decided to investigate, hoping to find some clue about Sarah and Tom.

Inside, the air was cold and damp, boards creaking under our boots. The walls seemed to close in

on us. We found signs that someone had been here recently, a small fire pit, some food wrappers,

and a tattered map. There was something else too. Symbols carved into the walls,

strange and unsettling. None of us recognized them, but they seemed to pulse with a malevolent

energy. We left the cabin and continued our search, but the forests seemed to twist around us,

leading us in circles. By evening, we realized that we were lost. Our GPS devices,

usually quite reliable, showed us in places we hadn't been. It was as if the forest itself

was conspiring against us. That night, we camped again, though the sleep was elusive.

The voices started just after midnight, soft, unintelligible murmurs that seemed to come from

all around us. At first, I thought it was just a wind, but as the night wore on, the voices

grew louder, more urgent. It was like the forest was alive, watching us, waiting for us to make a

mistake. The next morning, we woke to find that one of our team members, Jack, was missing.

Oh, his gear was still there, the sleeping bag got rolled, but there was just no sign of him.

Annex said it. We called out for it, searched the immediate area, but it was as if he vanished into

thin air. We found his flashlight near the edge of the camp. It's been weak, but still on,

morning into the forest. We pressed on, now driven by a mix of fear and determination.

We had to find Sarah, Tom, and now Jack. The deeper we went, the worse things got.

The forest, it just felled off, it felt wrong. The air thick was a sense of impending doom.

We found more of those symbols carved into trees, the same strange markings as in the cabin.

Around noon this day, we stumbled upon a clearing. In the center stood a massive tree,

its bark twisted and arled, and at its base an old stone well.

The sight of it filled me with a deep primal fear. I approached it cautiously, not sure what would

be in there, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Looking down into the well, I saw nothing

but darkness, but then faintly I heard it, a voice coming from deep within. It was clear now,

almost understandable. It seemed to be calling for help, begging for release. A step to back,

scared out of my mind. We decided to leave the clearing and continue our search,

but the forest had other plans. The voices followed us, growing louder and louder.

By evening we were exhausted and no closer defining our missing people. As we set up camped or yet

another night, an overwhelming sense of dread settled over us. We felt like we were being hunted,

though by what? We had no idea. I was on watch, but I saw it, a figure standing at the edge of our camp,

barely visible in the dim light of the fire. It was a man wearing what looked like a ranger's uniform,

but it was tattered and dirty. His face was obscured by shadows. I called out to him,

but he didn't respond. He just stood there, watching. I woke the others, and by the time they were up,

the figure, of course, had vanished. We were all on edge, barely speaking, our eyes scanning the

darkness for any sign of movement. For the fourth day, our food and water were running low.

The forest seemed to close it around us, the trees growing thicker, and the paths more treacherous.

We found more signs of Sarah and Tom, discarded items, footprints, but no sign of them.

It was as if they were always just out of reach, leading us deeper into the woods.

That evening, we stumbled upon another abandoned campsite. It was clear it had been used recently.

There was a fire pit, this time still warm, and a half-eating meal. But there was something else, too.

A notebook, half buried in the dirt. I picked it up, flipped through the pages, and belonged to Sarah.

Her entries were frantic, filled with fear and desperation. She wrote about the voices,

about feeling watched, and the forest changing around them. The last entry was chilling.

We found the well. Tom says we need to leave, but I feel like it's too late. Something is following us.

I can hear it at night moving through the trees. I don't know if we'll make it out.

Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing. Victory Lane? Yeah, it's even better with Chamba by my side.

Race to ChambaCasino.com. Let's Chamba.

No purchase necessary, VTW Group, voidware prohibited by law, CTNCs, 21 Plus, sponsored by Chamba Casino.

Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a longtime reporter and an

on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial

intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology,

I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it,

asking where this is all going. They come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon, and plenty more.

So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices,

and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast

wherever you get your podcasts. We spent tonight at the abandoned campsite, too tired to move on.

The voices were louder than ever, surrounding us, pressing in on us. I barely slept,

our mind racing with fear and exhaustion.

The next morning, another member of our team was gone. Emily, one of the volunteers,

advanced during the night. And just like before, her gear was still there for sleeping bag empty.

It was happening again. The forest was taking us one by one.

We decided to split up, hoping to cover more ground. I paired up with Mike of season to

ranger. We headed east on what looked like a faint trio. Now the forest was dense, the trees

towering above us, walking out the sun. The air was thick and humid, made it hard to breathe.

As we walked, we heard those voices on the wind. Again, they seemed to come from all directions

echoing through the trees, and we found more of those damnable symbols carved into the bar,

more signs that we were not alone. Around midday, we found another clearing. This one was different.

It was filled with old decaying tents and rusted equipment. It looked like a graveyard

of lost hikers. Mike and I searched the area. We found more journals and notebooks,

all telling the same story. Hikers who got lost, let us stray with the voices, only never to be seen

again. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. This was where they all ended up. A graveyard

of the lost. We had to find a way out, but the very forest seemed determined to keep us there.

As we prepared to leave, we heard a noise, a faint rustling in the trees. We turned and saw

figures standing at the edge of the clearing. It was a woman, her clothes torn and dirty, her eyes

wide with fear. It was Sarah. I recognized her from her missing person poster.

We rushed to her, but as we got closer, she backed away, her eyes darting around the clearing.

You have to leave, she whispered, her voice barely audible. It's not safe.

We're here to help you, I said, trying to keep my voice calm. Where's Tom?

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. He's gone. They took him.

And they'll take you to, if you don't leave. Before we could react or even respond,

she turned and ran into the forest. We tried to follow her, but she disappeared into the trees.

Her voice trailing off in the distance. We regrouped with the others that evening,

what was left, sharing what we had found. The forest was playing with us, leading us in circles,

drawing us deeper into its grasp. We were running out of both time and options.

That night, we heard the footsteps again, slow, delivered, moving around our camp.

The voices were louder than ever, filling the air. I filled a cold hand on my shoulder and turned

to see the figure from before. The man in the tattered uniform, his eyes were hollow, empty.

You have to help us, he whispered, his voice echoing through my mind.

I screamed, waking the others. The figure vanished, leaving us alone and trembling in the dark.

We're beyond fear now, teetering on the edge of despair. The forest had become a living nightmare,

and we have become its prey.

The next morning, we decided to make a final push to find a way out. We couldn't afford to lose

anyone else. We headed west, open to find the main trail. The forest seemed to resist us. The trees

growing thicker, the underbrushed more tangled. The voices in the woods were now background noise

that nodded our sanity. As we walked, we found even more signs of the missing,

treads of clothing, a banding gear, and more of those strange symbols carved into the trees.

Each discovery was a reminder of how many had come before us and never left.

Known that day, we found yet another clearing, another massive ancient tree.

Its branches twisted and arled, reaching out like scalable fingers.

At a base was another well covered in moss and vines. This must be the well that Sarah had mentioned

in her journal. We approached it cautiously. The air thick was a sense of foreboding.

Looking down into the well, again, a different well. I saw nothing but darkness. Then faintly,

I heard it. Coming from deep within, you have to help us. It was the same voice I'd heard my

nightmares. That same plea for help. A step to back, shaken. We had to get out of here. We just had

to get out of there. But then we heard a sound, another one, a faint desperate cry. This time,

it was Sarah. She was down there, somewhere in the darkness. We couldn't leave her behind in

this old well. We rigged her open. I volunteered to go down. The others held it steady as I descended

into the well. The air grew colder and damper the deeper I went. The whisper surrounded me,

echoing off the stone walls. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the bottom. I turned on my

flashlight and saw a tunnel leading away from the well. I followed it. The whispers growing louder

with each step. Tunnel opened into a cavern, inly lit by some eerie phosphorus and glow.

In the center of the cavern stood Sarah, her eyes widened with fear. She was surrounded by figures,

mostly operations of those who had been lost in the forest. They all just stood there,

pleading for help. I approached Sarah cautiously, but the figures turned their attention to me.

I felt a cold hand on my arm and another on my shoulder. They were all around me, pulling me toward

the darkness. I tried to shake them off, but their grip was like iron. I felt their desperation,

their fear. They were trapped, lost souls looking for a way out, and they wanted to take us with them.

But then I saw it. I fainted light coming from the small opening and to far into the cavern.

It was a way out, a chance to escape. I grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled her toward the light.

The figures screamed, their whispers turning into a whale of despair. They tried to hold us back,

but we broke free and ran toward the light. We stumbled out of the cavern and into the forest,

gasping for air. We didn't stop running until we reached the main trail.

The forest seemed to open up around us, the oppressive weight lifting.

We were safe for now, but the memory of the cavern and the lost souls continued to harness.

We made it back to the ranger station by nightfall. Sarah was safe, but Tom was gone, lost to the forest.

We filed our reports, but I knew the truth would never be fully understood. The forest held its

secrets and wasn't done with us yet. In the months that followed, more people went missing,

the voices continued, the forest claiming more souls. I left my job as a ranger, unable to face

the darkness any longer. But the memories, they stayed with me, a constant reminder of the

horrors hidden within the trees. I shared this story not to scare you, but to warn you.

If you ever find yourself in Yosemite or any other national park, remember this,

there are places in this world that defy explanation, places where the line between the living

and the dead is thin. Respect the forest, stay on the trails, and never, ever follow the voices.

For two decades, I've served as a park ranger in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

In that time, I've witnessed the breathtaking wonders of nature, but have also encountered

unexplainable phenomena. This is the tale of the summer when I confronted the ghosts that

haunt these ancient forests. It was early June when we started getting reports of strange occurrences,

hikers and campers that were coming to the ranger station, with tales of eerie sounds,

ghostly apparitions, and unsettling feelings of being watched.

Now, most of us dismiss these stories as a result of overactive imaginations or

tricks of light and shadow, but as the reports grew more frequent and more detailed,

it became harder to ignore them. One evening, just as the sun was setting,

an older couple came into the station, their faces pale and their hands trembling.

They'd been camping near Elkmont, an area known for its abandoned cabins and rich history.

They claimed to have seen figures moving through the trees,

heard whispers in the night, and felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

They packed up and left in a hurry, abandoning their campsite.

I decided to investigate. I've dealt with wildlife and the occasional lost hiker,

but this felt different. I grabbed my flashlight and headed out to their campsite.

Elkmont was eerily quiet when I arrived. I started contrasting to the usual sounds of the forest.

I found the couple's campsite easily enough. Their tent was still there, along with their

cooking gear and backpacks. It was clear that they'd left in a hurry.

I scanned the perimeter with my flashlight, looking for any signs of wildlife or intruders.

That's when I heard it. I fainted whisper. Almost like a breath of wind,

but more in deliberate. I turned, shining my flashlight into the trees, and saw nothing.

I called out what the only response was the rustling of the leaves. I felt a chill run down my spine.

As I made my way back to the station, the whispers seemed to follow me,

going louder and more insistent. For the time I reached the station, I was convinced that

something was indeed out there watching me. The next day, I shared my experience with my fellow

rangers, and some of them laughed it off, but a few looked concerned. There were stories among

the rangers, hails with haunted trails and ghostly encounters, but they were usually told around

the campfire and not taken seriously. Over the next few weeks, more reports came in.

Iker's claim to have seen shadowy figures darting between the trees.

Camper's heard footsteps around their tents at night, and some even reported feeling an

unseen presence touching them. The park was buzzing with rumors of hauntings, and it was my job

to get to the bottom of it. One night, I decided to stake out a particularly active area near Kade's

co. I set up a small camp and waited. My flashlight and camera ready. The night was clear and cold,

the stars shining brightly overhead. I listened to the sounds of the forest, the rustling of the leaves,

the distant cause of nocturnal animals.

Hours passed, and I was starting to think it was the waste of time when I heard it again,

that same faint whisper. I grabbed my flashlight, scanned the trees, my heart pounding,

the whisper came again, closer this time. I swung the beam of light towards the sound and saw

them, two glowing eyes staring back at me from the darkness. The figure stepped into the light,

and I got my first good look at it. It was a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing,

but her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. She looked at me with a mixture of sadness and fear,

her lips moving as if she was trying to speak. I raised my hand, trying to show I meant no harm.

Who are you, I ask, my voice trembling? The woman didn't respond. She just stood there, staring at me.

Then as quickly she appeared, she turned to vanish into the forest, leaving me standing there,

my heart pounding. I returned to the station, my mind racing with questions. What had I seen?

Was it a ghost? A spirit trapped in the woods? I reported my findings to my supervisor,

but he was skeptical. Probably just a trick of the light,

he said dismissively. You know how shadows can play tricks on you out there.

But I knew what I'd seen, and it wasn't a trick of the light.

Over the next few weeks, more similar reports flooded in.

One night, I decided to team up with another ranger, I'll call him Jake, who'd also heard the

stories. We planned a more extensive search, having the areas of the most sightings. Jake was

skeptical, but willing to help. We set out early one morning equipped with cameras, audio

recorders, and a couple motion sensors. Our first stop was Altmont, where the couple had their

encounter. We set up our equipment around the perimeter and spent the day exploring the area,

looking for any signs of her normal activity.

And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial intelligence is changing the

business world and our lives. So each week on big technology, I bring on key actors from companies

building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it. Asking where this is all going,

they come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon, and plenty more. So if you want to be smart

with your wallet, your career choices, and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties,

listen to big technology podcasts or ever you get your podcasts.

We followed the figure to an old abandoned cabin, half hidden by the undergrowth. The door

creaked open and we stepped inside. There was cold and damp, the floorboards creaking under our

weight. We saw furniture, cobwebs, and dust, but no sign of the woman. As we explored the cabin,

we heard a noise, a faint echoing sob. We followed the sound to a small room at the back of the cabin.

There in the corner was a little girl dressed in old-fashioned clothes, her face streaked with tears.

She looked up at us, her eyes wide with fear.

Help me, she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jack and I exchanged a glance, our fear palpable. We approached the girl cautiously,

but as we got closer, she simply vanished, leaving us standing there, stunned.

We spent the next few nights taking out different areas of the park, each time encountering

strange phenomena, ghostly apparitions, disembodied voices, and cold spots that sent shivers down

our spines. We documented everything, but the more we saw, the more questions we had.

Another night, we decided to return to the cabin in Elkmont. As we approached, we heard the faint

sound of music, like an old gramophone playing a haunting tune. We stepped inside and followed

the sound to the same small room. There in the corner was a little girl again, once more,

her face streaked with tears. Please help me, she whispered, her voice built a desperation.

This time, we tried to speak to her, ask her what she needed, but she just looked at us with

those wide, fearful eyes. Then, just as before, she vanished, leaving us with more questions

than answers again. Determined to uncover the truth, we began researching the history of the area.

We discovered that it had been a thriving logging community in the early 1900s,

that had been abandoned after a series of tragic events. There were stories of accidents,

fires, and mysterious disappearances. Some believed that the spirits of those who had died there

still lingered, trapped in the space where they had met their untimely end.

We also found records of a family who had lived in the cabin we had visited.

Parents had died in a fire, and their young daughter had disappeared. Her body never found.

It seemed likely that the little girl we had seen was her spirit, still searching for help

after all these years. With us newfound knowledge, we decided to try a different approach.

We returned again to the cabin, this time bringing flowers and a small toy, hoping to offer some

comfort to the rest of the spirit. As we stepped inside, the air grew cold, and we heard the faint sound

of sobbing again. We placed the flowers and the toy in the corner of the room, and for a moment

everything went silent. Then, we heard a soft voice whisper, thank you, and the atmosphere in

the cabin seemed to lighten. We left the cabin, feeling a sense of accomplishment,

but also a lingering unease. Over the next few weeks, the recordings of hauntings in the park seemed

to diminish. It seemed that our efforts had brought some peace to the spirits. However,

the experience had left a mark on Jake and me, which seemed things that defied explanation,

and it was clear that the great Smoky Mountains held many secrets.

One night, as I was patrolling near Kate's cove, I heard that faint sound of music again,

like an old Vic Tola laying some haunting tune. My heart raced as I followed the sound to the

old abandoned church. Opening the door, I stepped inside. The air was cold and damp, and everything

creaked under my weight. I saw old pews, cobwebs, but no sign of the source of the music.

As I explored the church, I felt a sudden drop in temperature, a cold spot, just like the ones

Jake and I had encountered before. I turned and saw a figure standing at the front of the church.

It was a woman dressed in long old-fashioned dress. Her hair cascading in waves down her back.

She stood silently. Her eyes fixed on me. The haunting tune of the record player seemed to

emanate from her very presence. It took her cautious step forward. My flashlight trembling in my hand.

Who are you, I ask? My voice echoing in the empty church. The woman's eye has seemed to glow

within a ethereal light. She raised a hand and pointed to a spot on the floor. I followed her gaze

and saw a small weathered trap door, partially hidden beneath the layer of dust and debris.

Curiosity and fear battled within me, but I knew I had to see what was beneath the trap door.

As I approached, the woman faded away, leaving me alone in the cold, silent church.

I knelt down and carefully lifted the trap door, revealing a narrow staircase to sitting in the

darkness. I radioed Jake, who was patrolling nearby, and asked him to join me. Within minutes,

he arrived to space a mixture of concern and curiosity. Together, we descended the stairs,

our flashlights arcing the darkness. Once again, the air grew colder and damper the deeper we went.

The staircase opened into a small hidden cellar. The walls were lined with shelves filled with old

rotting books and bottles. In the center of the room, we found an old wooden chest that's

lided slightly at jar. Exchanging of glance, our breath visible in the frigid air.

With a deep breath, Jake and I opened the chest. Inside, we found a collection of personal items,

a locket, a diary, and a few other pieces of jewelry. These belonged to the woman we had seen,

and perhaps explained the haunting presence that lingered in the church.

I carefully opened the diary. It's rotting pages, yellow to the age. The entries were written in

a delicate flowing script. As I read, the story of the woman began to unfold. She lived in the area

during the early 1900s, part of the thriving community that had once existed here. Her name was

Margaret, and she tragically lost her life in a fire that swept through the town, making many

lives with it. The last entry was chilly. Margaret wrote about strange occurrences in the woods,

airy whispers, and a feeling of being watched, just like we had felt. She mentioned a hidden cell

underneath the church, where she planned to hide her most precious belongings in case of disaster,

in case she never made it out. With this new information, we felt a sense of purpose.

We needed to bring peace to Margaret's spirit. We carefully closed the chest and brought it

up to the main floor of the church. We placed the items on the altar, hoping to provide some closure

for a restless spirit. As we stood there, the temperature in the room began to rise,

and the oppressive feeling lifted. It was as if a weight had been lifted from the air.

We heard a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, and the faint sound of the gramophone made it away.

Over the next few days, reports of hauntings in this area of the park continued to diminish.

It seemed that our efforts had helped bring peace to Margaret, and perhaps other spirits as well.

The park began to feel like its old self again, filled with the sounds of nature and the laughter

of visitors. However, the experience left a lasting impression on both Jake and me.

We come face to face with the unknown, and have been reminded that the great Smoky Mountains held

many secrets. We continued our work, but we always remained vigilant, aware that the line between

the living and the dead was centered than we had ever imagined.

After nearly two decades of serving as a park ranger at Shanna Doa National Park,

I have been both mesmerized by the breathtaking splendor of nature and bewildered by unexplainable

occurrences. This is a tale of a summer that changed everything for me when I came face to face

with the mysterious beings that wander through these ancient woods.

Now, it started with a series of strange reports. Hikers and campers were coming to the ranger

station with wild tales of strange sightings, large shadowy figures moving through the trees,

eerie houses echoing through the night, and unsettling feelings of being watched from the woods.

Now, most of us dismiss these as overactive imaginations or misidentifications of wildlife,

but the reports that kept coming, each more detailed and disturbing than the last.

One evening, just as the sun was setting, the young couple came burst into the station,

pale and shaking. They'd been camping near Big Meadows when they heard something moving around

their campsite. At first, they thought it was a bear, but when they shined their flashlights into

the trees, they saw something else, something tall, covered in dark fur, with glowing red eyes.

They packed up and left in a hurry, abandoning most of their gear.

I decided to investigate, I've dealt with bears, bobcats, even the occasional coyote,

but this sounded different. I grabbed my rifle at a flashlight and headed out to their campsite.

Big Meadows was eerily quiet when I arrived. The usual sounds of wildlife absent.

I found the couple's campsite easily enough. Their tent was still there, along with their

coolers and their sleeping bags. It was clear that they'd got out there in a hurry.

I scanned the perimeter with my flashlight, looking for any signs of wildlife.

That's when I saw it. Set of large, deep footprints leading away from the campsite

into the woods, they run like any tracks I'd seen before. Too large to be a bear, too deep to be

human. I followed them, my nerves on edge. The tracks led me deeper into the woods, the trees

growing thicker and the light fading fast. The air was heavy with a sand of pine and

something else, something musky and unfamiliar. I kept my flashlight turned on the ground,

following these tracks until they suddenly stopped. I looked up, saw movement in the shadows,

a large dark figure watching me from between the trees. I raised my rifle, a finger hovering

over the trigger. The figure didn't move, it just stood there, silently watching. I took a

step forward and it vanished into the forest, moving with a speed and grace that seemed impossible

for something of its size. I returned to the station, my mind reeling with questions.

What did I see? Was it the same creature that had frightened the couple?

I reported my findings to my supervisor, but of course he was skeptical.

Probably just a bear, he said dismissively. You know how folks get out there in the woods,

everything scares them, right in their own shadow.

But I knew what I'd seen, and it wasn't a bear. Over the next few weeks, more reports came in.

Hikers, timings have seen these strange creatures. Campers hearing unearthly howls at night.

The park was a buzz with rumors of cryptids, and it was my job to get to the bottom of it.

One night, I decided to stake out a particularly active area near Hoxville Mountain.

I set up a small camp, flashlight and rifle close at hand. The night was clear and cold.

The stars shining brightly overhead. I listened to the sounds of the forest, the rustling of leaves,

the distant calls of the normal, nocturnal animals.

Hours passed, and I was starting to think it was a wild goose chase when I heard it,

a low, guttural growl, unlike anything I'd ever heard before.

I grabbed my flashlight and scanned the trees, my heart racing.

The growl came again, closer this time. I swung the beam of light towards the sound and saw them,

two red glowing eyes staring back at me from the darkness.

The creature stepped into the light, and I got my first good look at it.

It stood somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, covered in thick, dark fur,

and its eyes glowed that unnatural red light. It's faced a twisted, nightmarish blend of human

and animal features, and then it let out another growl. I felt a wave of primal fear wash over me.

Hey, it's Bubba Wallace from 2311 Racing. You know what it feels like forever?

Sitting on a plane waiting for takeoff. Good thing, I've got Jamba Casino.

With daily boost in social casino games on tap, this is a kind of fun that makes time fly.

Why not turbocharge a downtime? Play now at JambaCasino.com. Let's Jamba.

Sponsored by Jamba Casino, no purchase necessary, VGW GroupFord, where prohibited by law,

21 plots, terms and conditions apply. Hi, I'm Alicia, and I'm Stacey.

And we make trashy divorces. Everybody's favorite good podcast about bad relationships.

Looking for something true crimey without the gore or the body count?

We've been churning out funny, feisty, feminist episodes since 2019.

So if you're looking to put some scandalous stories told well into your ears this summer,

check out trashy divorces wherever you listen to podcasts.

Trust us, we've covered someone you love, or someone you love to hate.

I raised my rifle, but my hands were shaking. The creature took a step forward,

and I fired. The shot echoed to the forest, but the creature didn't flinch.

It just stared at me. Those red eyes burning with an area intelligence.

Then as quickly as it appeared, it turned and melted back into the shadows.

I stood there, my heart pounding, trying to make sense of what I'd just seen.

I'd encountered something beyond explanation, something that people say doesn't exist,

maybe something that shouldn't exist. I turned to a ranger station in a days.

I mine, lay it over the encounter again and again. I wrote up my report detailing everything I'd seen,

but I knew it sounded unbelievable. My supervisor read it, shook his head.

You've been working too hard. Take a few days off.

Clear your head, I suggested. I took his advice, but the days off did little to ease my mind.

I couldn't shake the image of those glowing red eyes, that towering figure.

I started researching cryptids, diving into books and online forums.

The descriptions I found matched what I'd seen.

Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Saabay, Skunkay. The names varied, but the accounts were eerily similar.

I returned to work more determined than ever to uncover the truth.

I decided to team up with another ranger, Charlie, who had also heard the stories.

We planned a more extensive search, having the areas of the most sightings.

Charlie was skeptical, but willing to help.

We set out early one morning, whipped with cameras, motion sensors, and tranquilizer guns.

We didn't want to kill it, we wanted to bring it back.

Our first stop was Big Meadows, where the couple had their encounter.

We set up trail cameras around the perimeter, spent the day searching for tracks or any other

signs of this elusive creature.

As night fell, we built a small fire and settled in.

The forest around us was silent, the air heavy with anticipation.

Around midnight, we heard it again, that low,

guttural growl that I'd heard before, grabbed our flashlights, scanned the trees.

Over there, Charlie whispered, going to the shadowy figure, moving among the trees.

We followed it cautiously, our flashlights illuminating the dark forest.

This figure, as big as it was, it moved quickly, weaving in now between the trees.

We lost sight of it several times, with the growls and rustling leaves guided us.

We followed the creature to a small clearing, and what we saw made our blood run cold.

There in the center of this clearing, was a crude structure made of branches and leaves.

It looked like a nest or a shelter, scattered around it were bones,

animal bones, and some that looked disturbingly human.

Charlie and I exchanged glances, our fear of making a sweat.

We took pictures, documenting everything.

As we were about to leave, we heard a scream, a high pitched, almost human scream,

that echoed to the forest. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching rapidly.

We turned and saw the creature was charging at us. Its eyes glowing red with rage.

We fired our tranquilizer gun, but the darts seemed to have a little effect.

The creature just roared and swiped at us with its massive arms, knocking Charlie to the ground.

I fired again, aiming for its chest. This time, the creature staggered,

this movement slowing. It led out a final roar before collapsing to the ground.

Jake was bleeding, he gained his feet, and we approached the creature cautiously,

its massive body lying still. We radioed for backup and soon a team of ranges arrived.

They were stunned by what they saw. We loaded the creature onto the truck, secured it,

and took it off to a private location for further examination.

Government scientists were brought in, and the creature was somewhat identified as a previously

unknown species, encrypted, that it somehow remained hidden in the vast wilderness of Shenandoah.

News of our discovery leaked out despite our best efforts to keep it secret,

and the park was soon swarming with researchers, reporters, and curious visitors.

The creature was studied extensively, and its existence confirmed the legends that have

been circulated for centuries. It was a monumental discovery, but it also raised many questions about

what else might be out there, hidden in the shadows. Charlie and I were hailed as heroes,

but the experience had left its mark on us. The forest no longer felt like this safe,

a mere place that it once had been. We continued our work, but we were always on edge,

always watching the shadows. Months passed, and the excitement over the discovery began to fade.

The creature was captured a secure government facility, and life in the park slowly returned to normal.

But the whispers of the cryptids never stopped. More reports came in, starting sightings,

eerie houses, and unsettling feelings of being watched. One night, I was patrolling near a

skyline drive, and I heard it again, that same low, guttural growl. My heart raced as I turned on my

flashlight. There, at the edge of the road, stood another creature, almost identical to the one we

had captured. It watched me with those same glowing red eyes. Its presence reminded that we had only

scratched the surface of the mystery hidden in the forest. I raised my rifle, but the creature turned

and vanished into the night, leaving me standing alone by the road, the whispers of the forest,

echoing in my mind. I knew that the park held many secrets, and not all of them were meant to be

discovered.

For as long as I can remember, hiking has been my greatest passion.

There's just something so incredibly calming about being immersed in nature, inhaling the

crisp air, standing among majestic trees. Growing up in California allowed me to spend endless weekends

exploring state and national parks. But, after what happened last summer,

thought of setting foot in the woods again since shivers down my spine.

It started with a solo trip to King's Canyon National Park. I had a week off work and wanted to

clear my head. I packed my gear, loaded my car, and set off early in the morning, eager to escape

the city's noise and chaos. The first few days were perfect. Iced for miles, snapping photos of

the breathtaking scenery, camping under the stars, paradise. The park was relatively empty,

which suited me just fine. I enjoyed the peace and quiet feeling of being entirely alone in

the wilderness. On the third day, I decided to venture off the beaten path. I'd heard about a

hidden waterfall, a local secret, not marked on any map. A ranger had mentioned it in passing,

and I couldn't resist the challenge. I followed a barely discernible trail,

pushing through dense underbrush, the sound of rushing water growing louder with each step.

After a couple of hours, I found it, a stunning cascade of water tumbling into a crystal clear pool.

I set up camp nearby, planning to spend the night there. Then as the sun did below the horizon,

long shadows being cast through the trees, I built a small fire, settled in for the evening.

But that's when things started to go south. It began with the feeling of being watched.

At first, I shrugged it off as paranoia. I know the woods can play tricks on your mind,

especially when you're alone, but the sensation grew stronger, more unsettling. I scanned the

tree line, but saw nothing, just darkness and the flickering glow of my fire.

Then I heard it, a soft rustling, like footsteps in the underbrush.

I froze, listening intently. The sound stopped. I convinced myself it was an animal,

maybe a deer or a raccoon, but deep down, I knew something just wasn't right.

I decided to turn in early, hoping a good night's sleep wouldn't ease my nerves.

I crawled into my tent, zipping inside. The forest was eerily quiet.

The only sound the distant roar of the waterfall. I lay there, straining to hear any sound of movement.

Hours passed, and I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Then my eyes snapped open at the sound of hushed whispers.

They were faint and fairly incomprehensible, like voices being carried through the breeze.

Panic began to grit me as I stray to make out what was being said.

The whispering grew louder and clearer, almost chattering now, and it seemed as if it was surrounding

my tent from all directions. I grabbed my flashlight, unzipped the tent, shining the beam into the

darkness. The whispers stopped abruptly as if someone had flipped a switch. I scanned the area,

but saw nothing, no movement, no sign of anyone, or anything, thereby.

I retreated into my tent, clutching the flashlight like a lifeline.

Sleep was now impossible. I lay there every muscle-tenth, listening for any hint of the whispers

returning. As dawn finally broke, I merged from the tent, blurry eyed and exhausted.

The force looked different in the daylight, less menacing, more serene.

I convinced myself it had all been some kind of fever dream, product of my over-imagination.

I started to break down my tent and make my way back to the main trail. However, as I was packing up,

I stumbled upon something that sent shivers down my spine. Footprints, human footprints,

circling my campsite. They were fresh, bare feet, impressions deep in the soft earth,

and there were dozens of them all around my tent, leading into the woods.

The panic returned. I grabbed my gear and started hiking back, moving as quickly as I could,

and feeling a being watched, though, that returned stronger than ever.

This is Alex Cantrowicz. I'm the host of Big Technology Podcast, a long-time reporter and an

on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial

intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology,

I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it,

asking where this is all going. They come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon,

and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices,

and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology Podcast

or ever you get your podcasts. I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see someone

or something following me. But the forest, it remains still silent.

For the time I reached the main trail, I was drenched in sweat, my nerves frayed.

I didn't stop until I reached the parking lot, practically sprinting the last couple of miles.

I threw my gear in the car and sped out of the park, not looking back.

But for weeks after, I couldn't shake that feeling of unease. I had nightmares about those

whispers and those footprints. I tried to rationalize it, telling myself I must have blown it out

of proportion. But deep down, I knew there was something more to it. A few months later,

I stumbled across an old forum thread about strange occurrences in California's state and national

parks. People shared stories of encountering feral people, wild untamed humans living deep in the

wilderness, avoiding contact with the outside world. The descriptions matched my experience,

the whispers, the feelings of being watched, the multitude of bare footprints.

One post, in particular, caught my eye. It was from a former ranger who claimed to have encountered

these feral people. He described him as almost animalistic, living in hidden communities,

fiercely territorial. He warned that those who venture too close, often disappeared without a

trace. It explained everything, the whispers, the footprints, the sense of being followed,

of being hunted. I'd stumbled into their territory, and they'd been watching me,

deciding whether I was a threat or possibly a meal.

I'd been back to the woods since. The thought of those wild, unseen eyes watching me from the shadows

is enough to keep me away. I traded my hiking boots for city streets, my love of nature,

tainted by fear. Sometimes, late at night, it's like I can still hear those whispers, faint,

just on the edge of my hearing. And I wonder, did they follow me back? Are they still watching me,

waiting for just the right moment to strike? So, if you ever find yourself alone in the woods,

and you hear whispers, run, don't look back, because once they've marked you,

they won't stop until they have you. And in the depths of California's forest,

no one will hear you scream.

I never should have gone hiking alone in that state park. I thought I knew those trails like

to back in my hand. I've been exploring them since I was a kid, but nothing could prepare me for

what I encountered that day. It started off like many other solo hike. I parked my car into

trailhead, double-checked that I had plenty of water and snacks, and set off into the tranquil

piece of the woods. The sun shown to the towering redwood as birds chirped overhead. I breathed

in the fresh piney air, feeling totally at ease and at peace. About two miles in, though,

I reached a fork in the trail that I'd never noticed before. Puzzled, I pulled out my trail map,

but this diverging path wasn't shown. Strange, I thought. But against my better judgment,

I decided to see where this mysterious trail led. This narrow path was more overgrown,

clearly not well traveled like the main trails. Little hanging branches scraped my face as I

pushed through. An airy silence settled over the forest. Usual bird calls replaced by an

unsettling stillness. Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something felt very wrong.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream ripped through the trees, echoing off the distant hills.

My heart nearly stopped. Sounded like a person, shaking in terror or pain.

Then another horrific whale joined the first and another. This unholy chorus grew louder

to the point that it sounded almost inhuman, like injured animals crying out. Pure dread washed

over me in waves. I spun around to run back to where I came, but frozen my tracks.

There, blocking the path behind me, stood three emaciated human-like figures,

barely clothed in tattered rags. The skin was kicked in dirt and what looked like blood,

and they crashed down like wild animals. Most unnerving of all, though, their eyes were totally dark

and empty, devoid of any humanity. They stared right at me. Their lips curling back to reveal jagged

black and teeth. Low, guttural snarls escaped their throats. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

Sure, terror glued me in place as I slowly crept forward. They're malevolent, dark eyes locked

on mine. A putrid stench of decay hit my nostrils, caused me to gag. I watched in a petrified

disbelief as one stretched out a gnarled hand tipped with ragged nails reaching for me.

It's grew some face, splitting into an insane grin.

At last my paralysis broke and I bolted, crashing wildly through the brush,

not caring where I was going as long as it was far away from those feral abominations.

I like it here was the blood rushing in my ears and the diminished shrieks of those

hearts giving chase close behind me. The only branches toward my skin and clothes,

but I didn't care. I didn't even slow down.

I saw a miracle. I burst out onto one of the main trails and sprinted to remaining distance

back to the trailhead in record time, not once looking behind me. I jumped in my car, slammed

the locks down and sped out of there like a bat out of hell. Only once I reached the safety of

the main road, then I finally dared to glance at my rearview mirror. The road behind me was empty.

No sign of any ferals. What I saw in those woods that day still haunts me.

The park service claims they've never had any reports of feral people living in the state of

park. They say I must have imagined it or mistaken normal hikers for something else,

but I know what I saw. Those things, they weren't human, not anymore.

Their predatory shrieks and dead solar sides are seared into my mind.

I did some digging and found reports buried in obscure corners of the internet

from hikers who encountered something similar in state national parks across California.

Yes, barrel humans, more animal than man, stalking the deepest reaches of the wilderness.

Now, these stories are quickly dismissed as hoaxes or hallucinations, but me, I know the truth.

Those creatures they're out there waiting. I've never gone hiking again and I never will,

because now I know we're not the only ones wandering those woods.

Now, I've always been a city kid, more than raised in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles.

The last summer, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and explore the natural beauty of

some of California's state and national parks. Those that I know, the wilderness held more than

just scenic views and fresh air. But I'll start it when I embarked on a solo backpacking trip

to the Sequoia National Park. The first day was unavailable,

built with the usual awe-inspiring sights of towering trees and crystal clear streams.

I set up camp as the sun began to set, the silence of the forest, broken only by the occasional

chirp of a cracket or the hood of an owl. As I lay in my tent, I felt a strange sensation

of being washed. I shrugged it off as nerves, a common side effect of city dwellers adjusting

to the wilderness. But as the night wore on, the feeling intensified. Suddenly, I heard rustling

in the bushes, what sounded like soft footsteps and quiet voices seemed echoed from every direction.

The next morning, I found footprints around my campsite. They were bare, human-like,

who with a strange, almost animalistic quality to them. I suddenly felt a chill,

as I realized I wasn't alone out here. I decided to cut my trip short and head back to

civilization. As I packed up, I noticed a figure watching me from the edge of the forest.

It was human, but wild and unkempt, with long, matted hair, and eyes that glinted with

a primal intensity. It disappeared as soon as I made eye contact, leaving me with an unsettling

feeling of dread. I hung back to my car as quick as I could, with the feeling of being watched

never left me. I heard more voices, more footsteps, and saw more figures darting between the trees.

Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology Podcast, a long-time reporter and

an on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial

intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology,

I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it,

asking where this is all going. They come from places like Nvidia, Microsoft, Amazon, and plenty more.

So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices, and meetings with your

colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology Podcast wherever you get your podcasts.

With the time I reached my car, I was in a state of near panic. I thought, well, that'd be the end

of that, but I was wrong. Over the next few weeks, I read stories of other hikers,

encountering similar figures in other parks all across California.

They spoke of wild, peril people living in the depths of the forest, surviving off the land

and avoiding contact with civilization. If you think about it, everything you need is out there.

If you know what you're doing, you have food, water, and shelter.