Scary Skinwalker Reddit Stories

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel and today we're getting into some scary skin walker Reddit stories and oh boy, do I have some scary? Terrifying creepy and just downright disturbing Skin walker stories for you guys today So make sure to stick around and I appreciate you guys stopping by it means the world to make sure you like the video and Subscribe to the channel the channel subscriber goal is one million subscribers before the end of the year So please subscribe. 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I stuck to myself Even in high school Because of my voluntary solitude I found time to invest in hobbies like fishing hunting and playing cards I used to always love games of spades with my parents and little brother Though I loved all the hobbies I partook in hunting was by far in a way my favorite I would hunt all sorts of critters when it was in season and spent hours just to hunt something See the fun part of it wasn't the fact that I just killed something It was the fact that I had outsmarted the animal and be in it. I Now had a trophy to signify my victory and I thirsted for this sense of victory Nothing even came close to the euphoria supplied to my brain when I came home with a fresh kill under my belt I would sometimes spend days out in the wilderness to hunt and I would get lost out there out in nature With nothing but the sounds of the other creatures that inhabited the woods in which I was choosing to steal life away from Due to my love for hunting and fishing. I never found time to do much school work I passed all my classes with at least to see and graduated high school But further education was not something destined for me. I was convinced hunting was my calling After high school, I began to not just hunt for pleasure, but for work too There was a company close by to my hometown that made deer jerky and was looking for hunters that could deliver them the meat Of course, me, the self-proclaimed lover of such activities applied for this position and after a week of waiting got the job I was to begin as of right then and there So I grabbed my gear and went out to the woods and set up shop up in tree I have been using for as long as I can remember and began to wait. I Must have sat in that stand for hours Because soon the sun was beginning to set. It was summer though So I knew I had some time before I was shrouded in darkness That's when I saw him a Mailbook pranced into view all the way on the horizon. I sat there watching it mesmerized by how it moved It commonly paced the forest floor bending over here and there to eat some grass or berries Until finally it came to the creek that I had set my stand up near to It stood for a moment looked around and dropped its head to take a much-needed sip of water This was it the moment I had been waiting for I Raised my rifle No one I only had one shot and named it directly behind its front shoulder. I Took a deep breath bang My shot was perfect It traveled directly through the buck's heart and killed him on the spot My heart swelled as again. I knew I won All this waiting was not in vain. I Nearly flew down the steps to my stand and rushed over to the buck. His eyes were still open I was glad it was instant so that he wouldn't have to suffer I picked him up and soon I was back home I called the company and soon they had someone come over to my house and pick up my latest kill I Thank the man as he left and shut my door feeling proud of the never I Know that this is what I was going to do for the rest of my life a Few years passed by and I continued doing what I loved and Eventually I received enough money from hunting that I moved away from my hometown and moved to West Virginia As I heard that the hunting there was great. I Wanted to live out in the backcountry as I wanted to be able to hunt all the time And I found a place where I could do just that There was an old cabin not too expensive that sat right in the woods Not too far away from my town Maybe a 15 or 20 minute drive so not completely isolated But the town it's close to is not exactly bustling. So it's not urban either I liked it very much and made a couple of friends in town Most liked hunting, but only one ever wanted to come with me to hunt His name is Brian Brian's a good guy and a young one too He's just about my age give or take a few years older, but we get along well and we've gone hunting multiple times The only difference between us is that he's got a full family wife kids the works Even has a golden retriever He's a lucky guy. I'll tell you what good shot, too Glad he's my partner I'd set up my tree stand maybe a week after buying the cabin out in the woods and maybe a month after that is when Brian and I First went hunting together We sat up in that stand for hours Waiting for something to turn up Eventually a doe showed up and we did our thing and carried her back to my cabin At this point I had learned enough about the making of jerky to know how to do it myself And with the help of Brian we skinned the doe and began making jerky and venison steaks That was a good night We would go hunting maybe once or twice every two weeks, but I would go hunting almost every night At this point I had found another company somewhat close by maybe an hour away That again needed hunters to gather meat and send it to them. So once again, I applied and got the job Everything seemed to be going well. I was good at my job and it paid well Because I was up in that tree stand for so long almost every night. I knew just about every sound in the woods From the elk yells to mountain line screams to foxes and coyotes You give me a noise out in those woods. I could tell you exactly what animal it was and sometimes which gender it was That's what made this certain night so different Like usual I was up in my stand and I heard a scream I played it off like it was nothing because it probably was nothing Except this scream was different It sounded similar to something I've heard before but I couldn't put my finger on it Brian was with me and he couldn't figure it out either Usually we don't really care about these noises as it's not exactly our business to worry about every little sound we hear in the woods at night However, this noise was just wrong Something was not right with the scream and after a good 10 minutes of sitting through it and thinking through every animal again could be, Brian and I decided that we would go check it out. After all, we were armed in both good shots, and if it was a mountain lion, we figured it would run away if it hurt us coming. We got down from the stand and began our walk towards the direction of the scream. After a minute or two, we could tell we were getting closer because the noise was getting louder. It seemed almost echoing through the trees, and I won't lie when I say it freaked us out both a little. However, we trudged onward and eventually, after another minute of hiking, we stumbled upon a clearing where we saw what the noise was emanating from. It was a huge elk standing in the middle of the clearing, just screaming out into the night. We looked at each other in through the relieved look on Brian's face. I could tell he still shared the same uneasiness that I was feeling. We turned to look at the huge elk still wailing, and deciding to let it be, walked all the way back to the tree stand. After some back and forth, we decided it would be best to just call the night and just go home. When we hunted at night, Brian usually stayed in the guest room in my cabin as it was usually late when we got done. Two or three in the morning and he didn't want to wake his children or wife up coming home. So he crashed at my place. However, even though we are far away now from the elk, it seemed as though it had followed us and was just as loud as ever. This freaked us both out a little bit, but we figured if we went to sleep, it would all be over in the morning. So we did. But it wasn't the ending. When we woke up, the scream had disappeared. We were relieved and Brian said is goodbye and left for his home. I did my normal routine, went into town and waited until dusk before going back out into the woods and into my stand. I was still a tad bit unnerved from last night, but I figured this would help me get my mind off of it. And it did. Until around midnight, when I heard a scream again, this time, however, the scream really sounded wrong, like really wrong. I could tell this was not the same scream from last night, but it again was not an animal I could put my finger on. I hoped and prayed it would go away, but it didn't. The screaming persisted and persisted until I couldn't take it anymore. I had to find out what the hell was screaming in the dead of night. I set out in the same direction as last night, expecting for the worst to be waiting for me. I trudged and trudged through the underbrush until finally I had reached the clearing from the night prior, where the scream had reached its peak. What I saw, however, shook me to my core. There was no elk this time, like I had expected. No. There was a figure standing in the middle of the clearing, facing away from me. I froze, unable to comprehend what I was witnessing. This thing was massive. At least 8 feet tall, and I couldn't tell if it was human or something else. I'll admit it, I was terrified. I had never seen something like this before, and I was ready to book it away from there. I didn't want whatever this was to see me though, so I backpedaled, as slow as I could, staring at this thing for as long as it was in view. As soon as it was just on the horizon, it stopped screaming. Again, I froze. Why did it stop, I wondered. I stood there, in the trees, dumbfounded, staring at this 8 foot tall creature that had just been wailing in the middle of the woods. I realized now what a fatal mistake I had made by not running home as soon as I saw this thing. As I stood there, this thing turned around, my body was struck with fear. Though I was at least 300 yards away from this thing, it stared directly at me. And I knew it knew I was there. Its yellow's eyes pierced daggers into my heart as it got down on all fours and began wailing once more, starting to gallop towards me. I stood there, frozen for another moment before booking it. I knew all the shortcuts to my house, and I took them all. No way, I may not have much time left. I sprinted faster than I have ever sprinted, hearing its echoing cries in the distance. It's growing intensity, only proving I was going to slow. As the sound grew louder than ever, I saw my house. I fumbled with my keys to get to the one that opened my front door, and as I reached the porch, I found it. I unlocked the door and shut it as soon as I reached it. The cries were right outside, and I knew whatever this thing was, it was on my porch, searching for a way to get inside. Terrified, I hid in my freezer, where I hoped the smell of meat and ice would help mask my scent to the bean. This is where I've been hiding for the last two hours. The creature has now found its way inside my home, and I can hear it moving around upstairs, tracking any signs of me. I'm in the basement, and in the cooler, so hopefully I won't find me in here. I tried texting Brian to get over to my place, but my messages have been going through, and given its three in the morning, I doubt he'd see them anyways. I have no idea if this thing will go away in the morning, but right now, it's my only hope that I have. If it doesn't, then it will eventually find me. And who knows what it will do then. If you're seeing this, please, I'm begging you, please heed my advice. If you hear screaming in the middle of the woods at night, do not investigate. And before we move on to the next one, I know I mentioned it in the intro, but make sure to check out my Patreon, where you get an extra bonus video weekly, where I read some of the most disturbing confessions and stories I've received from fans that I can't put on YouTube, and also you get an exclusive weekly live stream and also exclusive access to my Discord. I'd love to see you guys over there. We're also it's easiest for you guys to submit your confessions and stories to me, and so you guys are top pick if you're in the Discord. But anyways, it's $5 a month. It's the same price as the coffee basically, and you get four videos bonus weekly and also four exclusive live streams weekly. I think you get your money's worth out of it. I'd love to see you over there. The link is in the pinned comment and the description. Anyways, onto the next story. Don't touch the skulls when in the Appalachians, written by Kenya. If you ever end up in the mountains after sundown, be careful. Be respectful and most importantly, don't touch the skulls. The first time someone told me that I thought they were strange superstitious folk. I just moved to a little town nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, looking for a new start away from the busy cities I lived in for all of my life. A house with the forest for a backyard and neighbors a mile or so away sounded perfect at the time. It's what led me to bind the property in the first place. Now, I think I will regret that decision. Don't get me wrong. The house is nice. It has a few problems like a creaking porch and the kitchen is a bit too small for my liking, but it's cute. Quaint is what the realtor kept saying when she showed me the rooms and I agreed with her. Even if it is a little small, the real selling point was the acres of forest that would be considered mine. I remember my first trip to the town at the base of the mountain, a small place where everyone knows each other. Naturally, some weren't sure about me, but most were actually quite nice. Asking where I grew up, what I did for work, normal questions until the owner of the only grocery store in town, Mr. Faraday asked me if I planned on hiking in the forest. Well, yeah. Of course, I think I laughed as he bagged up my groceries, eyeing me the entire time. Of course, silly question. He agreed as he handed me the bags then continued. The forest is perfectly safe during the day. Just get home once the sun starts setting. You're asking for trouble with the wildlife, or you'll get lost if it gets too dark. Anything in particular I should worry about? We get black bears sometimes, zealot them though, and they'll usually run away. Scarity cats, the lot of them unless you find a Mama. Moose, foxes, wild boars, wolves. I paused in gathering up my bags and repeated, "Wolves?" I thought wolves were extinct here in the Appalachians. Mr. Ferrene shrugged and ignored my question, continuing like I hadn't said anything. Just be careful out there. Always take water. Be respectful. Help me one of them, city folk that make a mess of the place. See a flower and think it's pretty? You take a picture and leave it alone. Easy enough. Anything else I should do? I wanted to be nice, not just to blow the guy off. Even if most of his advice was common sense, then again, I didn't doubt there had been trouble in the past with some outsiders. It happened all the time in the parks I would go to as a kid. The parks that would come through and leave beer cans or cigarette butts everywhere. He met my eyes, staring for a second too soon before he replied. If you see skulls or bones, don't touch them. If they're in the way, you go around them. I stared back, feeling uneasy as he suddenly smiled and said, "You come back soon. You hear? I run specials every week on fresh produce and meat." I should have listened better to him. The first few times I ventured into the forest, it was always in the late morning. There's an old trail behind the house, overgrown but still usable and use it I did. The forest is beautiful. There are all kinds of songbirds and small animals and interesting plant life to see. I tried going in the morning when it wasn't too hot. I made sure to bring water and wore good hiking boots whenever I had time for a walk before work. There's a point in the trail where it branches off in two directions. And that is the point where I turned back around. The last thing I wanted was to choose the wrong path and end up hopelessly lost or unable to find my way back. Then work changed my schedule so I started going in the late afternoon. I stayed out longer just getting done with my hike as the sky was bathed in pinks and oranges, the sun no longer visible but giving it just enough light. I never noticed anything different between the morning and late afternoon hikes, other than less birds singing. Then small things began to happen, little oddities that were easy to write off. Trees that had long scratches down their trunks, the songbirds quieting down at the start of my afternoon hikes rather than towards the end. I figured it was from the seasons changing. The nights getting longer and days shortening, I had to be quick about my daily routine, only letting myself get maybe a mile into the forest before turning around. Even if I didn't believe the townsfolk that had gotten more vocal about being mindful of myself in the woods, I still didn't want to get lost. When I came across a deer skull, it was in the middle of the path back to my house, bleached and cracked looking far too old. I looked around the trees to see if anyone was around because it hadn't been there on my way up the mountain. I even called out a nervous "hello" and got nothing. The idea of leaving it where I constantly treaded made me sick, so I grabbed a stick and carefully put it through one of the eye sockets. I took a breath and tossed it off into the trees, watching as it hit the ground before dropping the stick and quickly making my way back home. That's when the howling started. It woke me up in the dead of night, a long, lone howl off in the distance. I was confused, startled, because until that point I had never heard a wolf howl before that wasn't on TV. I didn't even know if that's what it was. I laid there for a while, listening to it and turned on some music to drown it out and go back to sleep. For a week I would wake up in a cold sweat and the wolf would be singing away until I finally started going to sleep with music. I asked about it the next time I went into town, curious if anyone else heard it. Nobody did. Mr. Faraday shook his head and said he hadn't heard any noise as he gave me change for my groceries. The pharmacist told me it was probably just a lonely or hurt animal when I was looking for some sleep aid. Even the waitress at the diner shrugged and said "haven't heard a thing honey. Just make sure to keep your doors locked, always better to be safe than sorry". The next time I went into the forest I made sure it was right after work so I can enjoy a nice long stroll. The trees with the scratches were closer to my home but I shrugged it off, figuring it was just a bear or a moose. I did my usual circuit, followed the trail until I got to where it branches off and took a minor break. Sitting on a fallen tree to drink some water. As I got up to start my way down, I noticed that the forest had become quiet. I felt nervous, glancing around to look for a reason like a bear stocking about but found nothing. At that point I quickly headed back home and nearly tripped over another skull. A moose skull. Going off the huge antlers still attached to the white bone. Perfectly preserved and staring in my direction. I looked around wanting to find who was messing with me but I couldn't see anything but trees and lush ferns. I thought about picking it up and throwing it to the side but I took a breath and walked around it then began running back home. It appeared two more times before I had enough. On the third time I picked it up and threw it into the trees. I didn't stay to watch where it landed in the moment I got home. I slammed the door and locked up everything. I was shaking, trembling in my kitchen after locking the back door and dared to look out the window. I didn't see anything but I felt like something was watching me. A howl didn't wake me up that night. The sound of my porch creaking did. The groaning of wood had my eyes snapping open as my heart leapt into my throat. I laid in bed, unable to move when I heard a low growl near my window. The curtain was drawn so I couldn't see outside. But I could hear whatever it was. The sound was that of an animal but something didn't quite sound right. I tried putting my finger on it when the growling stopped for a second then a howl rattled my windows and my bones. I rushed to my bathroom, the only place in the house that had no windows and slammed the door shut, curling up in the bathtub. I didn't move until my alarm rang at seven and the sun was shining through the curtains. It kept happening. Every night the porch would creak. The groanling would begin then finally the howls that lasted until the sun came up. I had enough by the fourth or fifth night and drove back to town, functioning on a cocktail of adrenaline, fear and caffeine. I had to wait for the store to open but the moment it did I sought out Mr. Faraday who was stalking some items on the shelves. He glanced at me, then said, "You look like shit. If you need help sleep in, you should see the doctor. Something keeps showing up in my house. I think it's that wolf I was telling you about." He froze. A slight tremor in his fingers before he turned, calling Sarah "mind the front. I'll be back." He didn't wait for a reply and instead headed to the back of the store, motioning for me to come along. I did so following him through a door that let outside. Once out in the two sunny morning, he lit a cigarette inside. I told you to mind the bones. I broke down at that point, lack of sleep, leaving me without a filter. It kept showing up. I ignored it the first time and kept getting in my way. What was it? A mouskall. There was another scold two weeks ago. It was a deer, but I moved it with a stick. A shake of the head. Still counts, son. What happened after you moved the deer? I admitted that's when the howling first started, but it was too far off in the distance, too easy to ignore. Something that had him frowning, but not interrupting until I finally asked, it's not a wolf. Is it? Mr. Faraday looked at me for a long time and stubbed out the cigarette before reaching for another one. I told you what not to do and yet you did it. Now you've got a mess to deal with. I opened my mouth. So ready to demand he answered my question but he kept going. Now listen here and you listen. You're gonna buy some meat, the reddest, bloodiest meat I have and go home and put it in the fridge. When the sun is setting, you're gonna go into that forest with the meat and put it on the path. The minute you do that, you turn tail and run home. You don't look back no matter what sounds you hear or feeling you get, you run and lock up tight. And it will just go away. Just like that I asked. Feeling a tiny bit hopeful. The next words dashed those hopes away. Nothing is guaranteed, son. This is you trying to make a man. It doesn't mean you'll be forgiven. Anger boiled in me and I snapped at him. I didn't even do anything. He shook his head with a small frown and said, "You show disrespect and acknowledge them. That's enough in a place like this." I opened my mouth but he brushed past me and asked, "You're gonna buy the meat or what?" I ended up doing so. I didn't know what else to do and figured why not just go along with it. I couldn't explain anything else so why not try to make amends. I bought the bloodiest steaks I could and drove back home in a day. I set an alarm to ring just before sundown and crashed on my couch until then. It was surreal. Walking out to the trail as the sun began it's dissent. I noticed that more and more trees had the strange scratches on them and shuddered at the idea of something or many, somethings being so close to the house. I walked about 10 minutes up the path before laying out the steaks. It was disgusting. The blood collecting on the brown butcher paper but I piled them up then looked around. I couldn't see anything. Just the usual trees and decided to head back home. I took a handful of steps when I heard it, a low groundling from behind me that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Heavy thumping followed the groundling, getting closer and closer and breaking me out of my stupper. I got my feet moving again and headed back to the house as the sound of teeth repping into raw meat met my ears. Once I was at the end of the path my home is in sight. I dared to turn my head before I ran back to the house, scrambling up the porch and barely slamming the door shut in time. It had been right behind me, following like an obedient dog. Only it wasn't a dog. Not even a wolf. I had to brace myself against the door as it slammed into the wood, groundling and grunting. I managed to lock it. Just barely before rushing to the front door to make sure I locked it as well. It nearly beat me. I hit the door just as it started to open and pushed my entire body weight against it. It was barely enough to keep it out as I flicked the lock. I stumbled back, shaking and panting, tearing at the door as the groundling began all over again. This time I followed it to the back porch and peered through the window. It walked on all four legs. Fingers sprayed out with long claws for nails and covered in black fur in some places. Pale human skin and others. As it walked, the back legs bend unnaturally and make a horrific snapping noise. The bones visible through the skin and twisting with every movement. The head is the most disturbing. A bloodied muzzle that stretches out too much for a wolf, eyes glowing red and can open the mouth are too wide. The fangs are all black and red with blood, too long, too curved when it coals as it's jaw. Blood oozes out. I stared at it. And it stared at me before the lips peeled back into a sort of demented smile. The groundling stopped and instead a new sound started. A sharp high-pitched laugh, almost human, filled the air. I shivered, ready to shut the curtains when I heard more laughter. I looked beyond it and froze at the side of more pairs of red eyes out in the forest. The heckling grew in volume, echoing until it's all I heard. Even now. I still hear it. I hid in the bathroom again, feeling like a child and praying that my doors and windows would hold. Once the sun came up and I mustered up enough courage to get to my car, I found dozens and dozens of skulls on my porch, all different shapes and sizes, some bleached white, others black with decay, some red and others laying in pools of blood. One of them was human. I wanted to run to the car, bold those through the bones, but instead I forced myself to carefully step over each and every one of them. Once I got back into town, I sought out Mr. Faraday. He listened quietly to my account. I mean, disappointed and annoyed by the time I was done and said, I told you not to look. Now you really made a mess. Not just for you, but for everyone. My blood ran cold and I asked, what do you mean? Everyone heard them last night's son, because of your fuck up. He closed his eyes, then lit a cigarette, even though we stood in the paper good's aisle. What if I just leave? Just go back to where I came from. He shook his head and flicked the ashes onto the ground, uncaring of where they ended up. Then what? What do I do? You're gonna clean up your mess, a hunting party is gathering at the diner at sundown. You better be there. I asked if he was really thinking it could be killed. If it was possible and he waved his hand and said, we've done it before son. You're not the first one not to listen. You won't be the last, but you made the trouble. You better be ready to help get rid of it. I swallowed hesitating, then dared to ask, do people not come back from hunting all the time. This time won't be any different. Sundown son, or we'll just not be hunting them. But you too. We're gathered at the diner and I've been given a shotgun, and a crash course and how to use it. Shown how to load it, told what not to do and what to watch out for. According to Mr. Faraday, who was around for the last purge, the wolves of the Appalachians is what they call them. He's sticking close to me. He says having a buddy nearby is important. It's safer this way. The wolves like to drag people into the forest or decapitate their victims. They collect the skulls. The bullets I have are supposed to be special, blessed by the priest and bathed in holy water or something like that. I've never hunted before. That's why I'm leaving this account in case I don't come back hunting accidents happen all the time. That's what the townsfolk will say if anyone comes asking about me or anyone that doesn't come back. The sun hasn't set yet giving us time to prepare in the priest time to bless every bullet he can, but we can hear them. The wolves are laughing again. My hunt skinwalkers for a living. Written by frequent cat. For the public, my contact details aren't available. If they were, I'm sure I'd be hit up with many false calls both on purpose and accidental. My number is reversed for the higher ups who piece together if my service is needed. And last night, it was. Publicly, there were a number of disappearances reported around a little hiking trail in Utah. A terrible thing, but not too uncommon. However, on the social media of the recently missing family and friends, there were some statuses that caught my higher up's attention. Some of them posted that during a memorial at the edge of the trails. They felt they could hear their dearly beloved voice calling to them from the thick of the woods. Though they took this as a sign from God. And I'll see you next time. hoped that this meant the missing would return. The people monitoring their personal pages felt otherwise, and that's where I came in. Skin walkers are dangerous. In terms of raw strength, they outmatch us in almost every way, but it's their cunning that truly makes them the apex predator they are. I was called in to investigate as soon as I could. When I arrived, the police were there. The colorful lights bouncing around like a rave show. Leaning against the cars were a number of beat cops. Sent there for the satisfaction of the locals that something was being done. I could tell they had a disdain the moment I approached. As this meant their quest, night of fooling around was to be disturbed with actual work. Trails closed, one said. A tone of finality to the words. I was called in to investigate. I shot back. That's our job. Let us handle things here. You can just go home. He replied. The exasperation in his tone told me he wanted me to just leave. Afraid I can't do that. I sighed. With that, he just stared at me. I could see the gears grinding in his head, along with his teeth. He just stood for me to join the rest of them. And I informed them everything I was legally allowed to divulge that I was sent there from higher orders. And they were to let me do my job. However, a hitch I always run into is verifying the authority. You see, the paperwork I come in with always has no contact information for obvious reasons. But this means I am always faced with skepticism. In the end, I was met with a compromise. I could go in, but I was to take one of them as a partner to keep an eye on me. And my gun was to be confiscated. I begrudgingly agreed, knowing that this was the best I was going to get if I wanted to go in that night. I was left to go into the thick of the woods with my new partner in crime, Austin. If I thought the guys back at the cars were begrudgingly and talking to me, Austin was practically dragging his heels. It seemed obvious that he had the lowest seniority as he never even had a chance to protest about this arrangement. How long are we gonna be out here? He groaned as long as we need to. I said back, quieter than him. We've searched the trails a dozen times over. You're not gonna find anything he protested. You don't know what I'm looking for. I shot back, still a lower tone. What are you looking for then? He whined, his voice carrying through the trees. With the way things were going, anything within a mile was going to hear us clearly. He had no tact for being insipiduous, but I knew asking him to be quiet would be met with more questions. So instead, I tried a different approach. Have you, have you heard of skin walkers? I asked him, breaking them out of interrogation. Of course, they're a popular legend round these parts. They're often told to warn hikers not to wander too far. Do you know where they come from? Old native legend, do you try to scare me or something? Correct. The legend stems more specifically from the Navajo, a southwestern native American tribe by shot back, ignoring his question. He scoffed this seemingly not wanting to hear more, but I continued. In the Navajo language, the word skin walker is ye, naglusi, and translates to he who walks on all fours. He grunted at my ignorance of his hands for me to shut up. However, when I talked, he didn't. And I spoke in a much softer tone than he did. I knew he needed stimulation to stop moaning. He was obviously bored and uninterested, so I decided to keep him distracted with a tail. I used to walk some of these trails when I was younger. I grew up rural, so hiking was the number one pass time for a lot of friends and I. I started, yeah, yeah, a lot of people did. Some pretty popular walks round these parts. He bemused, not yet interested in my words. Well, this carried over to my adult life. When the stresses of my job got me down, I'd take to the trails and woods to calm myself. It was my form of meditation. You'll be surprised. The amount of kind of spirits you can bump into when in nature. It seems to bring out the best in people. That must be what she saw on me. I met her during a walk, nothing grand. Just doing what everyone takes for granted in a densely wooded area. And she was jogging the same trail. We stuck together for the rest of the way and were inseparable ever since. Two years later, I called Regina, my wife. Hmm, Austin grunted. Still not pulled in, but was now at least quiet. When we had our kid, Davis, I passed down this love for nature to him. He caught the bug as hard as I did his age. And we bonded as a family during our outings. We knew the land well, too well. So we decided to trails off to a lesser walked area. Our sense of adventure was at full swing. We knew we were more than experienced enough to look after ourselves. We had many tools to help us if we felt too far from society. But getting lost wasn't our downfall I carried on. At that last statement, Austin's brow furrowed. Now I knew I had his attention, though he didn't say anything. I felt he wanted me to go on. We'd set up camp, it was quiet, a serene place at first, but it was because of that solitude that the sound of a twig snap pulled us from our trance, the more creeks and crunches we heard, the more we realized how unnatural the silence was. It was an overbearing pressure that was only broken by the slowly approaching sounds of snaps. The closest we heard, it was the perimeter of our camp. And it stopped. We eventually settled down, but we never lost the feeling of being watched. I could hear the breaths through Austin's nose. Whether it was from exertion or anticipation of the story, he would probably never tell me the truth. The day after, things felt tense. We carried on with our excursion, but our backs always felt prickled with feelings of tension. It only took one lapse of judgment, and it was ironically when nature called, my son, Davis, just wanted to go potty. He told us he needed to go before sleep, so we let him out, autopilot didn't full swing after a heavy set of mental fatigue. It didn't take us long to realize our error. And that was all it took. We slipped out of our tent and consciously made our way to our designated Toilet area, and Regina quietly called out for Davis, he didn't answer. All that could be heard was our increasing breathing as panic started to set in, but it was quickly broken by a meek voice calling out. I paused, purposefully. I could feel Austin's gaze on me while he waited for more, something I withheld. Eventually he burst out saying, "What happened next?" seemingly out of impulse. I smiled, lavishing his attention, and carried on. "It's okay, Regina, I'm right here," Davis exclaimed, "doveyly," as he slowly stepped half into the light of the campfire. "Thank God," Regina soothed, rushing over to scoop him up in her arms. By the time I realized what jared me, it was too late. What fun I was having, scaring this fully grown man was gone by this point. This is the part of the story I hated telling the most. I didn't even wait for a response before going on. Davis's arm shot out, sharper than they had any right to be. and pulled her, torso first, into the darkness behind. Watching this, I froze. The words Davis spoke ringing in my head. Davis never called us by our names. I was kicking myself that I should have known sooner. I gritted my teeth. Even though I've told this story many times before, to prepare people for what may come, it never got easier to tell. Still, I felt obligated to finish my story. I wanted to go after them. I wanted to rush in and pull them back from the brink of wherever they were. They supported this idea. Regina and Davis whining out for me to come to them, to save them, to join them, but their cadence was off. Their emotions absent. I knew it was a trap. So I just dropped down and wept. All that lay after I finished the tale was silence. Austin's pace slowed at his mind, deliberated on the information I spoon fed him. I could practically see the cogs, turning in his head while he weighed the words I said on his scales of skepticism. Another toll on his mind was that I distracted him enough to the point that we were far into the appointed trail I was to investigate. When I figured he'd reached an acceptance that he was stuck with me, I started asking questions about the case. And I asked about the victims, where they went missing. When it happened, what's been found? I got them to put pock marks on my map. And that gave me some set areas to search. And search we did, to the moans and compliments from Austin for two hours. I did my best to ignore him and was quite casual in my work until I found something small and white, poking from the ground quite a ways away from the trail. A small piece of bone. I immediately hushed him in a serious tone and he took note, a reaction that was seemingly instilled by the mood I set earlier. I inspected it carefully, trying to figure out its origins. The serious look on Austin's face washed away immediately when he saw what I was looking at. He got worked up over that, a piece of chicken bone. I ignored him while I surveyed the ground for more. He sighed and resigned himself to just stand there. But I had a new objective. Followed the trail of bone fragments. There were more scattered in one particular direction. And if I was careful and observant, I would find another piece than another than another. Eventually, I found its origin, a body. However, it was not recently departed. The body before me, clad and torn colorful ribbons of hiking gear had been there for a number of months, maybe years old and decayed. The cop turned his head at this. Great, more paperwork. He must have been thinking, finding a body this old is nothing but a headache for authorities, a cold investigation of wasted time label for his feet. But I could recognize the work of a skin walker anywhere. No one Austin would not take what I told him 100% seriously. I gave him the most simplest of instructions. Austin, I want you to keep a lookout for something that looks like a hollowed out dog. Can you do that for me? Sure, whatever. He sighed in acceptance. I took to investigating the body closer. This skin had been removed completely. Was the first thing I noticed. But when I inspected the bones, I noticed they have been scraped away, not nod or chewed, but scraped. Oh no, I thought. Quick, I yelled to Austin. And I reached into my pack, put it on. I held out a mask, similar to the one I was putting it on myself at the same time. I was obviously met with apprehension, but my tone got to him on top of my own urgent actions. And he followed suit, and just in time too, as an ominous, obsidian cloud blew in around us. I forcefully covered my face in reaction. What is this Austin blurted, muffled by the mask? Though I could tell he wouldn't believe me, I told him that skin walkers make poisons from bodies. I knew he'd deny the part about the skin walker, but he couldn't deny the danger around him. I slipped my hand behind me. And pulled out my small blade. A needle-thin steak-like dagger. A crisp sheen flickered from its polished silver medal. I squinted over to see Austin withdraw his pistol. I knew it wouldn't work. However, I didn't want to discourage him since I knew it had still helped as a distraction at best. What I also saw was that he didn't cover his face when the cloud blew in. Something I felt I shouldn't have had to tell him, but he didn't figure it out in time. He was screaming in pain, rubbing the dust from his eyes, only making it worse since his arms and hands must have been coated by now. Before I had a chance to help him, he darted away, trying to get out of the cloud. A rookie mistake. I left after him at a more cautious pace. I eased my way to where he went following his panicked shouting, the juxtaposition of not believing what I told him to being attacked seemed to have been sent to him in a little bit of a frenzy. Though his skepticism was still apparent as he called out to his assailant like they were a human. Give yourself up and you'll be shown proper treatment. He screamed. A terrible bluff. I got him over here here, heard me say, which flipped his mood immediately. Thank God, they're gonna pay for this. He said threateningly through a grin and shot off towards my voice, except it wasn't me who said that. I didn't get a chance to stop him. Before I heard him jump into a nearby bush followed by horrific screaming. It echoed around and faded away at frightening speed, further into the wooded area away from where I was, trying to avoid me coming into help. At that, I stood up, sighed while stretching my aching limbs from all that sneaking and got to work. No way and I wouldn't be disturbed. I casually made my way around and set up my wards all around the main trail. I saw some side trails but ignored those that sheepskates only paid for the main trail. So they only get the main trail. When I made my way to the edge of the trail ready to call it quits, I saw them two familiar figures with fresh smears of red on their faces and hands. My fist clenched at the side of them. They don't have to do any threatening movements to provoke me because they know how to get to me. After all these years, they consistently taught me with the skins of Regina and Davis. Tattered, barely held together, but I recognized them regardless. It was done by the time I was done. I emerged from the trail and met with the other police officers from before. They had less energy to challenge me this time as they seemed tired from their long night of escapades. I told them I was done and grabbed my stuff. They asked where Austin was and I told them he said he'd head back to meet me not long ago in an innocent tone, acting oblivious to everything that went down. I used their confusion as a chance to slip away and headed back. I informed the higher ups that there shouldn't be a problem at that specific trail anymore and that I'm open for any more work they send my way, but I didn't tell them the gritty details. That's the secret with my job. 99% of the time, the skin walker never gets killed. I mean, they're damn near impossible to kill. You either have to burn their hidden skin, which they make damn well impossible to find, whisper their original human name, but that's often lost to the ethers of time. Or somehow overpower them and kill them with silver, which I mean, good luck with that if you wanna try. I've been around so long because I've been smart. I just work on cutting down their hunting grounds. One trail at a time. My friend went into the woods during a hike. What came back was not him written by Moby Big. There was something off about Max as he came back, popping into view between the pines and coming to join us on the trail. There was a rigidness to his step. A tension in his body that made him look like some. puppet played by strings. He paused for a moment to glance back over his shoulder, and into the woods as if to scan his surroundings before getting back on track. The rest of the group was mired in conversation in small talks, so no one seemed to notice the oddity of his movements as he joined the pack. His face was. Imagine setting your makeup, then forgetting it's even theirs. He knew Grippy's setting mist from Mavily New York. Zelda Miss' technology locks in your look for up to 24 hours, with flexible all-day comfy grip, no tightness, no stickiness, no residue. Just plump, dewy, hydrated skin that still feels like your skin. Try new Grippy's setting mist from Mavily New York. Maybe it's Mavilyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Expressionless as he came by my side and just as silent despite the rocky terrain he had just reversed. Not a huff, nor a puff escaped his lungs. I suddenly felt a chill at the back of my neck as our eyes met and I spoke up with unease. Max, you, uh. you alright there man? He stood still for a moment. That same blanket expression on his face before a sudden smile drew across it. It was like someone was yanking at these sides of his mouth to force out the smirk. It was strained and every bit as wrong as his walk had been. He replied with a voice that seemed to echo within. The movements of his mouth just barely not matching the words that came out. I'm prime man. Let's get back to it, yeah? Prime. Now that's not a word you don't hear many say at all outside of math class. I was about to respond when a sudden jerk pushed his body forwards and he joined the band that got right back on marching. Busy talking, no one bothered to do more than clans back and really take a look at him. No one except me. It was maybe 15 minutes of walking later. Max was silent as he kept pace along the edge of the group, dragging his right foot behind him as he moved with that same jerky and uncanny motion. No one seemed to pay a much attention as they talked. The conversation flowing from subject to subject as easy as the wind. We came to a halt once again as Josh went into the tree line to take a piss. There was a general chorus of huffing and groaning as he disappeared between the foliage. Only Max kept silent. Eyes locked on to Josh, following him with jerky motions of his neck. That was when I thought I heard something from deep in the woods behind me. A sudden rustling in the underbrush as movement cut through the darkness. I could just barely make out some kind of shape moving far off within the woods, illuminated by the occasional rays of moonlight that broke through the canopies. The forest had gone quiet, but for the chatter behind me, nothing but the gentle rush of wind as the birds and insects fell silent. Max was gone by the time I turned back around to see what the boys were up to. Daniel, Jack, Nick and Logan were all standing inside by side, talking about some TV show I can't recall exactly. Everyone was in their place, but for Max and Josh. I was just about to ask Daniel where Max had gone when another sound came from the tree line. And Josh appeared from behind a boulder. A ray of moonlight was upon his face so I could see that familiar blank expression that stretched across it. The same jerky motions seemed to pull and push his limbs to and fro as one foot dragged him behind. That same unnatural smile drew across his face as he stepped onto the dirt trail and met my gaze. He raised one rigid hand to wave when I heard a whisper in the woods behind me once again. It was Max, standing at the edge of the trail behind me. He too had a smile plastered on his face as he stared in my direction. Fifty yards behind him, a couple of bushes were rustling at the edges of the tree line. By all accounts he had traveled that distance in the split second between when I'd heard the noise and when I'd turned around to face him. I was mildly now at a startled "hello" when he walked past me and joined Nick and Jack. Throwing an arm around the ladder as the pack got to walking again. Much of the stiffness had disappeared from his movements and his words sounded almost natural as he spoke. And I listened in from the side. Yet he only spoke in "yeses" and "nose" and his mouth still didn't manage to move quite right when he looked at it for long enough. Josh on the other hand was a mere image of Max from earlier, sudden and jerky in his steps and dragging a foot behind as he moved. Somehow noticed by no one. No one but me. We had already come into view of the campsite a couple of minutes later. I was by Jack's side. I and Max and Josh as I walked. The forest had grown quieter still as we had approached the campsite. Even the wind seemed to be "dying" in the air. The lake lay visible at the side of the trail. Through a sparse line of willows that marked it short. It too had gone quiet. The gentle sloshing of waves replaced by a surface eerily still, reflecting the full moon like a perfect mirror. The conversation was plentiful, but all I could hear was the sound of Josh pacing a few meters behind me. The sound of his foot dragging across the dirt. It seemed to get closer if I didn't look over my shoulder for long enough. Every time I glanced back, he would be looking away. Every time I looked away, his eyes would whip around and lock right onto my back at the edge of my vision. That damn crooked smile would stretch across his face when I tried talking to him. He would answer with that echoing voice. Turning away, I tapped Jack on the shoulder, feeling those eyes digging into my back. Hey bro, I don't know if this is like a weird to ask, but you think Max had been acting a little strange? He paused for a couple of moments at the question, glancing to his right where Nick, Daniel and Max were arguing over video game balance. Max seemed mostly silent, looking off into the tree line between his short words and nods. Jack replied, "Nah man, it's not weird, but there isn't really anything wrong with him, I don't think." He turned towards the trio again before continuing, "I don't know, maybe he's walking a little weird, but he, like, hit his ankle around the pond earlier, right? Unsatisfied, I nodded and was turning away to face forwards when something caught my eye. It was Max, his dead eyes staring right into my own. I shook my head and quickly looked away. I could feel two sets of eyes watching me as we arrived at the campsite." The fire was blazing in the fire pit as we held out our marshmallows over the flames, watching them char and melt into the sticks. Josh was sitting in front of me, going back and forth between staring up at the stars and losing his gaze in the fire pit. To my left, there was Max, eating his marshmallows with sudden fierce bites as if it was raw meat and not fluffy sugar he was biting into. All around, the boys were tired from a long day's march, huddling around the fire in a cozy and intimate kind of silence, unaware of the strangeness in the air. I broke it by addressing Josh. Yo dude, you remember that time we stuck a raccoon into the admins room? What was that shit? It was, I gave a tiny pause, pretending to be trying to remember as I waited to see if he would say something. It was two weeks or something before the midterms, right? He softly nodded his head yes, looking up from the fire with that creepy smile. I continued, "Who was that guy they pinned it on anyway?" They said they'd seen him on a security camera snooping around, the time of the crime or some bullshit like that. I smiled at him between sentences and he mirrored it. His uncanny smirk widened into match my own. Mechanically, as if on a prompt. What was his name? Oh yeah, it was Tony Elkins, that Indiana kid. Giving a forced chuckle, he repeated after me. I gave him one last smile before turning away to pretend to look at the lake. Really, I was facing away to hide the fear that I felt creeping up from my stomach and into my face. There had been no raccoon incident and there certainly hadn't been no Tony Elkins from Indiana. I finally let myself admit the gut-wrenching truth. Whoever was sitting across from me was not my friend Josh and whatever was pretending to be Max was not really max. It's strange how, mundanely, the impossible becomes reality. One moment the world makes sense, simple and ordinary like everyday life. The next, it's all changed. All the while, nothing's really changed. The star is still shine in the night sky, and the ground is still solid beneath your feet. Yet really, it all has. Suddenly, there's just a little more to everything. A secret to every corner. Suddenly, there's no end to the universe. I caught Josh's eyes staring into me when I turned back. Eyes that were like two black holes piercing through the dancing flame between us. Daniel, Nick, Logan and Jack were all calmly eating their marshmallows, unthinking and hazy-like in a dream. They were talking of games and girls of schools and jobs. None of them saw the silent panic in my eyes. I then turned my attention towards Max. His marshmallow branch was twisting in his hand in a jagged motion. His fingers were both snappy and completely lethargic in their movements. Clumsy like a left hand trying to write. His marshmallow was a melty, gooey ball of sugar, as he lifted it straight out of the fire and popped it into his mouth. I'm pretty sure I heard the spit in his mouth sizzle on contact. He made no reaction. Watching him chew on the marshmallow, I noticed that his stubble was gone. His face, shaggy and unkempt mere hours before. Suddenly, spotless. I looked down to see that his arms were just as bare. In the shine of the flame, I noticed something else that sent shivers down my spine. His skin was wrong. It looked like plastic, pulled, taut over his bones. There was Matt finished to his flesh, almost sanded over. That was unlike any person that I'd ever seen. His skin was rubber. Despite myself, I reached for to touch it. My arm trembling as silence seemed to weigh down on everything. My fingers brushed past his forearm. He felt like spandex against my touch, stretching like gum beneath my hand, looking up and meeting his gaze. I saw the hollow of his eyes, a darkness in his pupils raging inside. About to burst open into a dark flame. I think I saw a tremor starting on the arm I was touching, something akin to an earthquake approaching from within when Nick interrupted. Well, you ladies have fun and enjoy the fire. I'm gonna head out and gather some more firewood. Max's arm was pulled away when I turned back around. His eyes suddenly calmed, staring into the stars. I watched Nick slowly walk away from the fire, and into the tree line, lit by the somber moonlight. Panic raged through me as I watched him disappear into the woods. In a sudden motion, I grabbed a flashlight and shot up to my feet. I'm gonna go take a piss, you guys. Try not to miss me too much. The eyes of Josh and Max watched me as I first went behind a boulder at the edge of the campsite and then followed Nick's entry into the woods. You don't really understand the darkness that lures within four a sent night until you've seen it with your own eyes. Under the cover of the canopies, it starts getting dark the moment the sun descends onto its afternoon arc. The air shifts suddenly as the shadows grow long and crooked. It is practically night around 4pm and it only gets darker from there. By the time the moon is out and shining, the forest is a pitch black that flashlights can scarcely even shine through. The branches of the trees were like a deep ocean as I looked for Nick, swallowing the flash lights glow so it reached only a few yards ahead. I was following the faint sound of footsteps that echoed from somewhere in front of me. I pursued the noise silently, not daring to call out to my friend as the weight of the forest silence seems to bear down on me. I had been walking for maybe only a minute but it felt like hours in the maze of the trees. That was when I heard it. Help. A voice called out meekly from a clearing that opened up before me. It was Max's voice, repeating that same word over and over like a broken record. Identical, each and every time. I approached the edge of the clearing where I saw Nick. He was maybe 15 meters to my left, walking on the grass towards the opposite side of the clearing from where the pleas echoed. Help. The voice called out one last time as the pleading came to a stop. The air seemed to hold it's breath as the forest skipped a heartbeat and everything stood in silence. Nick came to a sudden halt in the middle of the clearing, staring, straining his eyes to see something at the edge of the tree line. The quiet stretched on has dread built up in my guts. A hollowness from deep within as my subconscious prepared for something terrible. It was a man in khaki shorts and a red t-shirt that appeared. The moonlight was cast upon his face, its face, its head, really, for it had no face. Featureless and smooth like rubber. He had the synthetic no face of a mannequin. He raised an arm, jerking it with the suddenness of a string that had snapped. He waved, so snappy in its motion that it felt like my eyes were skipping frames. He put one leg forward and then another, moving in a broken motion that could scarcely be considered walking. Nick was frozen in place as was I, watching this thing approach my friend. Ten yards away and then nine, eight yards away and then maybe only seven. The creature seemed to move in slow motion in inevitable calamity. It grabbed Nick by the shoulders as my friends suddenly seemed to break away from his trance. He struggled against the things gripped but it was to no avail. It held him in place everlessly with one hand, clasped over his shoulder like an iron vice. That was when Nick started screaming. They were distorted, horrible shrieks as his shoulder blade crunched between the creature's fingers. His head whipped around frantically, eyes wide with terror as he looked for anything that could help him. His eyes met mine as his face spun in my direction. He started shouting in between his wails of pain, Matt, Matt. That was when the creature clasped its other hand over his mouth. His shouting and screaming felt a muffled murmur as it forced Nick to face itself. He struggled jerking his head left and right, trying to avoid its gaze. Yet slowly, the creature made him look. Nick tried to clinch his eyes shut for a few moments, hoping against everything that it would all just go away. The thing patiently waited. It's no face staring into him as he finally opened his eyes. I saw a crease forming at the sides of its head, running from ear to ear as something shifted underneath its latex skin. The crease slowly opened up as the top and bottom of the mimics head separated. A gaping ma appeared, revealing in a bis, surrounded by rows and rows of iron teeth, protruding up from its charcoal gums. That's when Nick started screaming again. His wails growing louder, breaking through the creatures at clasped hand. His eyes widened as did the thing's mouth, growing as large as golf balls in his panic. His legs shook down below and kicked away at the thing, powerless to do anything as it's ironed grip held him in place. All the while, the thing's mouth just kept widening. It had just about split its head into when it came to a stop with a springy click. The world, once again, seemed to skip a heartbeat right then. All was silent for a moment like the stars above, looking into the thing's mouth. I could see that the abyss inside was lit up. It was like the night sky, mesmerizing and infinite as a billion, billion stars spun in the void. Nick too appeared peaceful for a moment as he looked into his killer's ma. That was when the jaws closed. It happened too fast for my eye to register. One moment it was open and then it wasn't anymore. Nick's body convulsed for a few moments as the creature grinded its teeth against one another, crunching as he chewed through the spine. and the last one. I'm going to go to the next one. A hollow thud, a wet sloshing painted the ground as blood poured out from where his head had been. The creature cocked its head back before swallowing Nick. Its throat bulged, stretching like plastic as my friend's head traveled down into its stomach. A few moments had passed when it started convulsing. Shivers running up and down its body as it seemed to seize. Its face was blurring. Moving and shifting beneath the skin as a face seemed to take shape. First, it was a knot-like nose that rose to the surface and then two hollows that slowly turned into eyes. Its flesh rippled in waves as its clothes too changed shape in oscillations of color like a chameleon. It took only a moment and then it was done. It had become Nick. It shuttered one last time. Skin bulging and collapsing before he settled into its final shape. It got to walking then, startling me out of the horrified trance I had fallen into. I stumbled back and fell into a bed of bushes. My heart's skipping a beat as the rustling of the leaves blew past the silence. I saw my friend's face whipping my direction. It took a couple of rigid paces forward, pausing by an old weather-looking pine trunk. The moonlight was cast from behind him, hiding his face in shadows as I looked at him through the leaves. He paused for a moment or maybe an hour. It was hard to tell. My heart beat against my chest like a hammer as the blood echoes against my eardrums. I clenched my eyes shut, preparing to feel its death grip grabbed me by the shoulder when I heard its feet shift. His neck jerked around and his legs started leading him back to our campsite. Nick's headless body lay against the ground, slowly gushing blood through his esophagus. It dangled with the steady flow of the blood, shining underneath the moonlight. It was only Max and Nick around the fire by the time I mustered up the courage to find my way back to the campsite. Their faces were cast in shifting shades of orange and red, the flames dancing in the reflection of their eyes. Max was sitting on a cooler with a log to his side and on the log, the key to Daniel's pickup truck. He seemed even livelier than before, tossing and catching a marshmallow in the air as I approached and sat on a log to his side. He greeted me jovely, "Matt, my man, how long you been pissing for, dude? You got prostate cancer or something?" He laughed at his own joke, catching the marshmallow before popping it into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed on it and I gave him a meek nod. As I looked at him then, all I could see were those jaws closing around Nick's neck, looking over the fire at his mimic. I could almost see how his body would look with its head missing, how the blood would be gushing, shining crimson in the firelight. Forcing myself to look away, I swallowed hard before turning towards Max and speaking up. So, where's everyone gone, man? They ain't gotten snatched up by some Sasquatch, I hope. The force chuckle felt horrible as it came out of my mouth, leaving me feeling exposed on all sides. These things weren't stupid, right? They must have known that I knew they were just toying with me, leading me along until a jaw would suddenly close around my neck. Matching my chuckle, Max laughed. "No, man. Josh just took them out to gather firewood." He looked over to Nick. "Big guy over here apparently came up with nothing." Nick looked up from the fire. His face stretched with that uncanny smile. "Yeah, man. My bad. They'll find some for sure." The silence hung in the air again as chilly winds washed ashore from the lake, staring into the fire. I could see them eyeing one another with furtive looks. In between the cracks of the fire, I thought I could hear silent mutterings coming from their mouths. Strange clicking sounds unlike any human language. I felt exposed, like a lone tree atop a wind-swept hill. Death blowing around me with the wind, surrounding me from every angle. The firelight was shining on the metal of the keychain, dancing and tempting. Fear felt tight at the back of my throat, like a scream that wanted to escape. I pushed it down and got onto my feet. "Now I'm gonna get myself a coke from the car. You guys want anything or not?" Nick's head snapped up as I walked behind Max. "I'm the keys to his side." I was reaching down to get them when I felt him grip my arm. He was looking up at me. Face split between the flames and the shadows of the night. The smile on his face had none of the uncanniness it had before. The inhumanity of it was replaced by an evil that felt much too human instead. He spoke. "Why don't you sit down, Matty Boy?" His hand felt like an iron around my wrist as he dragged me back to the seat. Nick was sitting upright on his log, as straight as an arrow as he watched with a hunger that could have devoured words whole. I let out alongside a sudden upwell of emotions rising from deep within me. Tears slowly trickle down my face as I look back up to me, Max's hollow eyes. "You aren't gonna let me go. Are you?" That's when I saw a crease forming at the edge of his mouth, stretching from ear to ear as his face started to blur. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the same thing happening to my right. I had pretty much resigned myself to my fate when I saw it, a single red axe. Dug into a log between me and Nick. The fire shined upon its silver edge as it glowed as my last hope. The stairs were showing between Max's teeth already, a fractal painting of Nebulae and the plane of the galaxy. I felt almost at ease then, staring into that death. I thought of the late nights I would spend on the roof of my grandfather's farmhouse. I remembered how peaceful the wind had been. Brushing past my face like the comets did the sky. For a moment, death felt like coming home. It was a metallic click that broke me out of my trance as Max's head snapped back, with a courage that seemed to swell out of thin air. I lunged for the axe and felt the handle between my hands. The world felt his silence. All I knew was the wood against my palm as the weight of the metal rushed through the air. The world seemed to spin. The wind rushing past as the axe met my foe. With a loud crunch, the blade launched itself into Max's neck, a black tar-like liquid rushed out of the wound as I let go of the weapon as it swayed in the air, sticking out of the dark flesh. His gaping moss slowly closed as his body fell off of the log and met the ground with the thud. The black blood pulled on the ground and flowed against his face as he lay dead. His blank expression doubled with its reflection upon the liquid surface. Sound slowly returned to the world as I turned away. The wind suddenly seemed loud as it blew by my ears and carried within the death stench of the newly-filled corpse. The axe suddenly felt as light as a feather in my hand as adrenaline finally caught on to what was happening and rushed through my veins. My heart was beating against my chest so hard I could feel veins bulging in my neck. Nick was to my right, frozen mid-bite as it realized what had just happened. With a sudden clicking sound, his plastic skin undulated. His body shaking as he lunged up at me. His hand stuck just a few inches from my leg, biting into a log, crushing the wood like it had been made from cardboard. Jumping away, I yanked the axe free from the mimics corpse and raised it over my head, bringing it down on his elbow. It broke clean off with a crunch as black liquid gushed from the newly-formed stump. The clicking sound from before turned into an animal, wailing that threatened to best my ear drums. His sought-off hand was still moving, dragging itself across the first in my direction, leaving a trail of black in its wake. Stepping backwards, I squashed it like a bug as the mimic wung once again. It whipped through the air, scrapping by my torso, marking my back with a dark burning wound. I brought the axe down on its shoulder, separating its good arm from its body. It's wound seemed to squirm as its muscle fibers slithered over one another like dark worms. the creature. plunged again. Blood sprained from its gaping wounds. A streak of it hit my face as he swung the stump in my direction. I caught it mid-air with a swing of the axe, connecting to its torso with a wet thud. He collapsed on top of me as we came tumbling down on the grass, yanking the axe free from its chest. I shoved it beneath its jaw, ramming the handle across its throat as jaws tried to bite down. Gone was the night sky between them, only the abyss remaining in the mimics mouth. Despite its two missing hands, the creature's strength was immense and its jaws were creeping closer and closer to my face. Its drool dropping down on my face, burning my skin on contact. Jerking its head downwards, it bent off the tip of my nose, tearing it away in an instant with its jagged teeth. The pain was blinding, nearly breaking my grip on the handle. Holding the axe with one arm against the creature's onslaught, I reached out with my right hand desperation, grasping for anything that could save me. I could feel its breath, like death itself wafting down from its mouth, stinging my eyes as its mouth opened and closed inches from my face and my hand found purchase on a rock. With the last of my strength, I brought it to the mimics head, ramming it against its head over and over and over again. Wet thuds gave way to a hollow banging which slowly turned to crunches as I cracked its skull. Its jaw was wide open. Wrapped around my head at last, a split second from closing around my face when my final blow brought it down to the ground. It laid there for a few moments before the growing pool of its dark blood touched my face and jolted me upright, burning like acid. Both mimics lay dead by my side, soaked in blood, shining with the light of the dying flame. The adrenaline had mostly worn off by the time I got to the car. It was a strange calm driving through the binds, with death mere minutes in my past. It was maybe an hour later that I'd reached the edge of the national park. That's when it all came back crashing down. I got out of the car and fell down onto the dirt, clutching my stomach as its contents spilled on the road. I fell away from my sick and collapsed on the ground by the pickup side. The crunch of bones as the axe had met the creature, the sound of flesh tearing as the mimic chewed on Nick's neck. That damn smile as Max came back from the woods and joined us on the trail. It all played through my mind at a hundred miles an hour as I lay down, looking up at the stars. Despite everything that had happened, they shined on like they always had and always would. Silent and eternal in their celestial seats. I laid there for maybe half an hour, letting the night sky calm me before a sound from the forest woke me back up. I listened in close, looking deep into that forest that held death inside, meek sounding and seeming to echo. It was a help that came from between the pines. A moment later, the sound was multiplied all around me as the forest boomed with noise. Staggering back to the pickup, I grabbed a flashlight from the passenger's seat. Slowly, I shined it across the tree line. There were hundreds of them, standing at the edge of the forest. There were no faces, shined, smooth, with the light as my trembling hands led the flashlight from left to right. Their arms shot up to their sides, waving all in unison. They took a step forward, creeping closer from all directions when I ran back into the car. I heard their steps coming closer and closer as I fumbled with the keys against the ignition. I pressed down on the gas with all my might as the engine roared to life. I drove away on and on and on that night. The sun was poking up from between the mountains as I pulled into a motel. I had survived. It's been years now that this tale has been in my past. Sometimes I'll see something out of the corner of my eyes as I'm driving on the interstate. Maybe a meek voice from between the pines. Maybe it'll just be in my head, but I'll know to look away and drive on. If there's anything you take away from this tale, let it be just that. If for whatever reason, you should find yourself face to face with something without a face, asking for help. Don't be a good Samaritan. Just walk on and away. Walk on and you may just live to tell the tale. I didn't believe the white deer rule until it followed me home. Written by Pennyworth223. I didn't tell anyone. I was going that far in. That's the part I keep circling back to. Like, if I admit it out loud, it'll make sense why nobody came looking until the sun was already going down. I just texted my brother, heading up early, back by afternoon. No pin drop, no ridge name. No, if I don't answer, call someone. I'd hunted these mountains since I was a kid. I didn't think I needed the safety net. And I'd heard the stories everyone around here has. You grow up with them like you, grow up with black eyes and copperheads. Something you respect more than you believe. Don't whistle after dark. Don't follow a voice off trail. If you see a white deer, you let it walk. Most people say that last one like a joke. Like they're teasing you for being superstitious. The old guys don't say it like a joke. The old guys say it like they're warning you about a sinkhole. I went anyway. It was the first Sunday in December. The kind of damp cold the Appalachians do best. No movie snow, just fog, laid in the haulers and wet leaves that never fully dry. I parked at a pull-off, forest service road, '83. Where the gravel was chewed up by trucks and the brown sign for the trailhead had a sticker slapped over it that said, "Hell is real and block letters like somebody thought they were funny." I threw my pack on, checked my headlamp and stepped into the dark. I carried a 308 I'd had since I was 19. Nothing fancy. A rifle I trusted. I had a small kit. Cat turn a kit, a pack of quick-clock eyes, athletic tape, a Mylar blanket I'd never opened. Two game bags, a cheap GPS unit with a breadcrumb feature. A knife I'd sharpen the night before won't watch in football. I did everything right. That's what makes it so hard to explain. I was about two miles in when the world started to lighten. The sky didn't turn pretty. It just went from black to charcoal. The ridge I was climbing ran like a spine, steep on both sides. The kind of place where your boots slide on dead leaves and you grab saplings to keep from skating downhill. I moved slow on purpose. I didn't want to sweat and freeze. The woods had that quiet that isn't quiet. Owl's further off, a squirrel shaking a branch, somewhere water moving over rock. The kind of soundscape you stop noticing because it's been your whole life. Then I saw it. Not right away. Not like it stepped out into a clearing. It was a pale shape between two hemlocks, half hidden by Mountain Laurel. At first I thought it was a fallen birch. Then it lifted its head. And my brain made the jump. A deer. A buck. White. Not kind of light or cream colored. White like bone. White like a sheet hung out to dry. It stood still long enough for me to count the points. Eight maybe ten. And I felt that stupid sharp spike of adrenaline that hit the hunter when something rare walks into your sights. I remember thinking. Is it legal? Not like I'd studied the rags of albino deer. Who does? My mind did what minds do when they want something. It grabbed for excuses a deer as a deer. It's not like I'm shooting an eagle. I eased the rifle up. Rested against the trunk of an oak. And looked through the scope. The buck was facing slightly away. Head down. Picking at something under the leaves. I could see the line of its back, the shoulder, the clean curve of its neck, the shot was there. I squeezed. The recoil thumped into my shoulder. The buck jolted, kicked once and went down hard. No sprint, no crashing through brush, just down. I stood there for a second in that weird vacuum after a shot where you're listening for follow-up sounds, something bulting, something dying out of sight, there was nothing. I walked up slowly, rifle still shouldered because habits keep you alive. The fog was thicker down around where it fell, cold moisture beaded on everything. My sleeves, the lural leaves, the buck's hide. So when I got close, its white coat looked already sick and darkened in patches. Like the woods were trying to claim it back before I even touched it. I could smell the metallic edge of blood before I saw it. It lay on its side like it had been placed there. The eye facing up was open. That eye is the thing I think about most. It wasn't red like people always say without binos. It wasn't glowing. It wasn't supernatural. It was cloudy, milky like cataracts. The lashes were pale too almost invisible. It made the buck look old, sick, wrong. I knelt beside it and put my hand on its neck out of habit. Warmth was leaving fast. The fur felt thin, not sparse exactly, just not as thick as you'd expect in December. I should have stopped right there. I should have listened to that discomfort. Instead, I did what I came to do. I rolled it slightly and started fuel dressing. You don't need the gritty details, just know this. When I opened it up, the smell wasn't right. Not the normal warm musky gut smell. This was sharp, sour, like ammonia. Like something had been fermenting inside it. I paused, knife in my hand and looked around. The woods had gone silent, not gradually, not like it's early and birds aren't up. It was like someone had turned down a dial. No squirrel, no water, no movement sounds, just my breathing and the soft scrape of my glove against hide. A branch snapped to my left. Not a small twig, a branch, heavy enough that it made that thick cracking sound. I froze, knife still in the deer. I waited. Nothing moved. No deer bound in a way, no bear huffing, no human voice. Just fog hanging between trunks. Then it snapped again. Further back, same direction, like something taking a step and not caring if it made noise. My heart beat climbed and my brain did that dumb thing where it tries to be reasonable to keep you from panicking. Another hunter, bear, your keyed up. I pulled my knife out and stood, rifle still slung. I shouldered it, thumbed off the safety and culled out. Hey, my voice didn't carry like it should have. The fog swallowed it immediately. No answer. I looked down at the buck. I looked at the open cavity and that wrong chemical stink. I looked back at the trees. I made a choice that felt stupid in the moment and feels even dumber now. I decided to hurry. Finish what I'd started and get out of there. I bent down again, working faster, hands getting slick, trying to keep my breathing steady. That's when my hand slipped and the edge of the knife slipped and hit my palm. Not deep enough to hit anything major, but enough that blood weld up immediately. Warm and dark against my glove. It's stung in that clean, sharp way that makes your stomach flip. Jesus I hissed, clenching my hand. As soon as my blood hit the leaves, something in the woods answered. They sound like a wet click. Not a bird call, not a squirrel, not a twig. A wet deliberate click. Like someone tapping their tongue against the roof of their mouth. It came from behind me. I spun, rifle up, fog, trunks, loral, nothing. Then another click, same sound, closer. My skin crawled, every hair under my hat tried to stand up. I started backing toward the ridge away from the deer and my boot slid on wet leaves. I caught myself on a sapling and my injured hand smeared blood down the bark. The sapling shook hard. Not for me from something else grabbing it. I yanked my hand back and that's when I saw it. Not all of it, just enough for my brain to latch on to the worst parts. A shape behind loral, tall, and narrow. Too tall. It wasn't a deer. It wasn't a bear. It was standing, but it didn't stand like a person. It leaned forward like it had forgotten what balance was. And there was a smell. Broughton meat and something chemical underneath. Like bleach left too long in a closed room. I raised my rifle and tried to find a clean line through the branches. The shape shifted. There was a pale flash. Bone. Hide. I don't know. And then it was gone. Like it dropped out of view without making a crash. The click sounded again, this time off to my right. Like it had moved without moving. I took another step back and felt the ground give. My heel hit a wet rock and slid. My knee bent wrong. I went down hard and pain shot on my leg like an electric wire. I bit down on a noise because screaming feels like permission in the woods. My ankle was on fire. I tried to stand and it buckled immediately. Hot sick pain that told me it was sprained bad at best. Fog moved in front of me. The trees didn't, but the fog did. In a way that suggested something big had just passed through it. Click. I didn't try to be brave. I didn't try finishing the deer. I didn't try to reason with it. I grabbed the rifle, grabbed my pack strap and started dragging myself uphill. The ridge was behind me if I could get up there. I could at least see further. Fog sits in Hollers. On the ridge you can sometimes get above it. Sometimes. I moved like an idiot. Half crawling. Half hobbling. Using saplings like crutches. Every time my ankle took weight. Stars burst behind my eyes. My hand was still bleeding. I wrapped it in gauze while moving. That clumsy one-handed bandage job you learned in safety courses and never think you'll need. The clicking didn't follow in a straight line. It popped up wherever I looked away. Behind me, then to the left, then in front, faint. Like it was circling and every time it clicked, it felt like it was listening for what I do. At one point I heard something else. And it almost made me cry from a leaf because it sounded human. A voice far off calling my name. Ethan. My name is Ethan. Nobody should have been up there calling my name. The voice didn't sound like my brother or my friends. It didn't sound like any of the guys I hunt with. It sounded flat. Like someone reading a word off paper they'd never seen before. Ethan. It came from down the slope, from the direction of the white deer. I didn't answer. I kept moving. The ridge was steeper than I remembered. The laurel was thicker. That happens when you're bleeding and hurting. Everything becomes more difficult. I hit a patch of bushes that closed around me like a cage. The branches clawed at my jacket at my face. I had to push through. Rifle held close to keep it from snagging. The leaves were waxy and cold against my skin. That's where it hit me. Not a dramatic leap, not a roar. Just weight slamming my shoulder from the side. Hard enough that I went down and my rifle banged against a rock. I rolled trying to bring the barrel up and saw something. A blur of pale and dark, long limbs, too many angles. It was on me and off me in a second. Like it didn't want to wrestle. Like it just wanted to hurt me and and see what I did afterward. Pain exploded across my upper back, a burning rake like claws dragging through fabric and skin. I screamed then, I couldn't help it. I kicked, swung the rifle like a club, and felt it connect with something that wasn't wood. It made a dull, fleshy thump. The thing clicked right in my ear. Then it was gone. I scrambled for the rifle, finger shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My scope was smeared with mud. I wiped it with my sleeve and peered through. Fog leaves, nothing. My back felt wet under my shirt, warm. It wasn't just a scratch. It was bleeding. I forced myself up, angles screaming and shoved out the bush onto a narrow deer trail that cut along the ridge. I knew that trail, and I'd seen it before. I led toward an old logging road if you followed it far enough. I took three limping steps and my GPS chirped in my pocket. I yanked it out and saw my breadcrumb line. It wasn't straight, it looped. It doubled back on itself twice. There were sections where it looked like I'd stood in one spot for minutes, wandering in small circles. I had no memory of doing that. Click. This time the sound came from ahead of me. I lifted the rifle, aimed at nothing and fired. The shot cracked through the fog like a bomb. Birds exploded out of the tree somewhere, finally breaking that unnatural hush. And then for the first time since the white deer dropped, I heard the woods again. Wind, a distant creek, a squirrel chattering in outrage. The click stopped. Not like it moved away, like something closed a mouth. I didn't wait to see if it worked. I limped down the trail like my life depended on it because it did. I kept the rifle up, safety off, thumb wide around the stock. The logging road appeared like a miracle, a wide strip of old gravel and mud cutting through the trees, runted by ancient tires I could have hugged it. The moment I stepped onto it, my phone buzzed. One bar. I hit call on 911 before the signal could vanish. The operator answered. And I almost sobbed hearing a real person. I told her my name that I was injured, that I was on a logging road off a ridge. That I needed help. I gave her coordinates of the GPS, voice shaking, breath coming in white bursts. She asked what happened. I started to say bear because that's what you're supposed to say. Bears are rational. Bears are explainable. But my mouth didn't form the word. All I managed to say was something attacked me. She told me to stay where I was, help was on the way. She asked if I could see my vehicle, I couldn't. I was still a mile or more from the pull-off downhill. So I did the only thing I could do. I started limping down that road toward my truck with my phone in one hand and my rifle in the other, talking to her like it was a rope tied around my waist. Halfway down, I heard a voice again. Not the operator, not in my ear. In the woods beside the road, just out of sight, moving with me. Ethan, I stopped dead. My phone crackled, signal wobble. Then the operator came back clear, asking me to keep talking, asking me to describe my injuries, to keep pressure on the wounds. In the trees, something shifted. Leaves moved like a tall body, passed through them without pushing through. Don't go, the woods voice said. It wasn't pleading, it wasn't angry. It sounded like someone repeating a phrase they had heard once and weren't sure they got right. Don't go. I raised the rifle toward the brush and yelled, back off. My voice came out ragged, desperate. The clicking started again, right at the edge of the road. Then stopped. Then started again, two steps farther down the ditch, like it had paced me without ever fully showing itself. The pull-off came into view a few minutes later. My truck sat there like it had been waiting for me the whole time. I climbed in, hands slick with blood, and locked my door so hard I almost snapped the key in the ignition. I drove until I had full bars and sirens behind me. At the hospital, they cleaned me up. Six stitches in my palm. A sprained ankle, so bad the doctor whistled when he saw the swelling. Four long gashes across my upper back that needed butterfly closures and a lecture about infection. The nurse asked what did it. I said, I fell. She looked at me for a long second. Then asked very casually, why do your scratches go inward? I didn't answer. I didn't have one. Two days later, a game warden called me, polite professional, asked where I'd been hunting, what I'd taken if I'd recovered the animal. I lied at first. I said I'd missed. He was quiet for a moment and then said, we got a report of a white deer being shot up on that ridge. My stomach turned over. He said, we're going back up tomorrow morning. You're coming with us. We need to locate the carcass. I tried to get out of it. I told him I was injured. I told him I didn't want to get into trouble. He didn't threaten me. He didn't raise his voice. He just said, you're the one who called 911 from a logging road back there. Right? We found blood on the gravel. So I went. Three of us, the warden, another officer and me, limping and sweating even in the cold. They were armed and not with rifles. Sidearms, radios, practical confidence. Men who didn't believe in anything they couldn't ticket. We found the spot where I'd parked, followed my tracks in, easy to do because mine turned into a messy drag line. Boots, scuffs, and handprints in the leaves. We reached the general area where I remembered the buck dropping. The fog was gone that day. Blue sky above bare branches. The woods looked normal, which made my skin crawl worse than the fog had. We found the deer or what was left of it. No scavenger mess, no coyote tearing, no bear drag trail. It lay in a shallow dip under laurel like it had been put back. The hide was peeled open, cleanly along the belly. But not like a field dress, like something had opened it from the inside. The ribs were split outward. The cavity was empty. But there was no blood pool. No organs scattered, no gut pile from my work. Just a clean, hollow carcass in the head. The head was turned toward the trail, toward where we stood. The cloudy eye stared right at me. The officer beside the warden muttered, what the hell? The warden crouched, touched the edge of the hide with his glove, then stood quickly. Like he'd touched something hot. He didn't look at me when he spoke. He just said, we're leaving. We didn't take pictures. We didn't tag it. We didn't argue about legality. We turned around and walked out like the woods had suddenly become someone else's property. On the way back, the wardens radio crackled once. The wardens radio made that quick open mic pop. Somebody's button brushing a jacket, a burst of static, then dispatch came through. Normal voice, slightly annoyed, saying something like, unit 12, you're keyed up. And under that faint, like it was riding the same frequency for half a second, was my name, Ethan. Not clear, not booming. Not a ghost yelling through a speaker. Just a flat syllable bleeding through the static, like someone else had keyed up at the same time. The warden stopped walking. He stared at his radio like it had grown teeth. He clicked his own mic and said, dispatch, repeat last transmission. Dispatch answered, confused. Unit 12, I didn't call for Ethan. Are you, are you with someone? The other officer looked at me like he was trying to decide if I was messing with them. The warden didn't say anything else. He shut the radio off. We didn't speak until we hit the trucks. He didn't write me a ticket. He didn't even mention the deer again. Before he got in his vehicle, he finally looked me in the eyes and said, if you ever see one like that again. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. I haven't hunted since. I tell people it's because of my ankle. I tell them I don't have time. I tell them meat prices just aren't worth it. The truth is simpler. Every once in a while when I'm alone, when the house is quiet and the heater kicks on and the events tick as they warm, I hear a wet, deliberate clicking sound in the dark hallway outside my bedroom. And the worst part is my dog hears it too. He lifts his head, ears flat, eyes fixed on the doorway, and he won't move until the sound stops. If you hunt in the Appalachians and you ever see a white deer, do yourself a favor. Let it walk, some things don't belong to you. Even if you can kill them. Enterite guys, that wraps up some scary skin walker reddit stories. I really hope you enjoyed today's video. I loved every story in this video. I mean, they were scary, but you know, it's entertaining. They're scary, and they're creepy, and I just absolutely can't get enough of the skin walker sort of vibe. You know what I mean? It's just like very unique, and I understand why you guys love it. And so make sure to comment down below and let me know if you'd like to see more videos like this in the future. And also make sure to check out my Patreon. I appreciate everyone who stops by over there. You get exclusive bonus videos and exclusive live streams, and you also get to join the Discord. And anyways, I just want to say thank you guys so, so much for watching. It truly does mean the world from the bottom of my heart to your guys' support is just unbelievable. I mean, I can't believe we are one of the top podcasts on YouTube, and also one of the top podcasts on Spotify. It's just crazy, and your guys' love means everything. I'd be nothing without you guys, and you guys are just the best. And if you enjoyed this video, I'm sure you'll enjoy some other videos on the channel. So go check out some other videos on the channel, I'm sure you'll like them, and anyways, that's enough yapping. Thank you guys, once again, so much for watching, and this is Snook, and I'll see you next time. Bye.