It happened suddenly. We got a call from the police station in a nearby city. My uncle, who had been staying with my sister and me while our parents were away, answered the phone. I noticed the way his expression shifted, his face going pale, the color draining like he was about to be sick. Then the tears came—big, heavy sobs as he collapsed onto the chair beside him. That’s when I knew. Something was wrong, deeply wrong.
My sister and I exchanged nervous glances. I could already feel my stomach twisting into knots.
“Uncle Dave?” my sister asked hesitantly, her voice cracking as she reached out toward him. “What happened? Is it Mom and Dad?”
He could only manage a broken nod at first, tears still streaming down his face. It took what felt like hours before he spoke. “They… they found them,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “They’re gone.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Gone? I couldn’t process it. My parents couldn’t be gone. I was sure I heard him wrong, my mind refusing to let it in. But as I watched him break down, the awful truth sank in. They were dead. Both of them.
“They… they found them 11 miles away,” he continued, his voice trembling. “Far from where they were supposed to be. They’ve been gone for days.”
My world shattered. Everything around me seemed to blur, like I was trapped in a dream—a nightmare, really. My legs buckled beneath me, and I just collapsed onto the floor. The tears came next, hot and stinging. I heard my sister scream, and through my own grief, I watched her crumble into a ball, clutching her knees to her chest.
None of it made sense. They were supposed to be hiking. They’d promised us they’d be careful, that they’d be back by the end of the week. I kept telling myself that over and over. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
The sheriff had to ask us some official questions—where we wanted the funeral, if there were any special requests. The words sounded like they were coming from far away, muffled, barely registering in my brain. Uncle Dave took over, thank God. He handled it all while I sat in shock, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under me.
I don’t remember much of the weeks that followed. Everything felt like it was on autopilot. We buried them, but I couldn’t even see them. It was a closed-casket funeral. When I asked why, Uncle Dave told me it was better that way. I didn’t press for details. I was too numb, too lost in my grief to care anymore.
But then, weeks later, another call came. This time it wasn’t just news. They’d found something—evidence.
“They said it was… theirs,” Uncle Dave muttered, pacing nervously. “A camera.”
At first, we didn’t think much of it. My sister had been against it from the start, insisting that we shouldn’t reopen the wounds. But Uncle Dave seemed intent on finding out what happened. I was too curious to stop him. There was still so much we didn’t know, and some part of me needed answers. I think I just needed to see them again, even if it was only through a screen.
So we drove down to the station. The ride was quiet, tense, like we were all preparing for something terrible but had no idea what that something would be. When we arrived, they ushered us into a small, dimly lit room. A man was waiting for us there—a detective, I guessed, though I can’t remember his name.
“We haven’t reviewed the footage yet,” he said, his voice serious, but calm. “We found it on the third day of the search. It was still recording when we retrieved it, but the camera was damaged. Blood on it too. We thought it might help explain what happened.”
The words “still recording” sent a chill down my spine. What could they have possibly recorded?
We took our seats. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I could feel the tension radiating from my sister beside me. She was gripping the edge of her chair so hard her knuckles had gone white. Uncle Dave sat silently, his face a mask of determination mixed with dread.
Finally, the detective pressed play.
At first, it was simple. My parents were just walking, their laughter filling the air. The familiar landscape of the woods surrounded them as they strolled down the trail. They looked so happy. So… alive. I had to fight the urge to cry right there.
We fast-forwarded a bit. The scenery changed but only slightly. They walked more, did some fishing, skipped rocks. Nothing unusual. But then something shifted. On the second day, the tone of the footage darkened.
My mom’s usual smile was gone. She looked worried, glancing nervously over her shoulder every few minutes. My dad wasn’t his normal self either—his usual confidence replaced by a quiet unease. They didn’t talk much, but when they did, their voices were low, tense.
“Did you hear that last night?” my mom asked, breaking the silence.
My dad nodded. “Yeah… it was weird. Like it was right in my ear, but also… far away.”
My mom gave him a wary look. “You think it’ll happen again?”
My dad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was probably just an animal. We’re in the middle of the woods. Sounds can carry weirdly out here. Let’s not overthink it.”
But I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t convinced, and neither was my mom. They kept walking, but something was off. The way they scanned the trees, their sudden jerky movements whenever a twig snapped or leaves rustled—it was like they were expecting something.
By the time they set up camp that night, my mom was practically trembling. “What if it’s not just an animal?” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the wind.
“Come on,” my dad replied, though even his voice wavered. “We’ll leave tomorrow. It’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
The third day arrived, and something had shifted. It was in the air, thick and suffocating. My parents looked different. They weren’t talking much anymore, just walking in silence, their faces pale and drawn. My dad had dark circles under his eyes, and my mom’s usual brightness was completely gone. They looked… drained, like they hadn’t slept in days. The sound on the recording became distorted, almost as if there was static humming faintly in the background.
And then, in the middle of the footage, I noticed it—a noise. At first, I thought it was part of the distortion, but it wasn’t. It was something else, something low and rumbling, like a distant drone. My parents heard it too. They both stopped, frozen in place, glancing around nervously. The sound kept growing louder, louder, until it was almost unbearable.
Suddenly, the noise stopped.
The silence that followed was more unsettling than the noise itself. It was as if the forest had gone completely dead. No wind, no birds, no rustling leaves—just absolute, suffocating quiet.
I could see the relief in my parents’ faces. They exchanged glances and cautiously sat down by a small creek for a food break, as though trying to shake off the tension. I remember thinking that maybe it was over. Maybe the strange noise had just been some fluke of the wilderness. But then, the camera captured something else—something I wish I could unsee.
The noise came back. This time, it was louder, more insistent, almost like it was alive. My parents jumped up, panic written all over their faces. They didn’t even have time to grab their things. They just ran, tearing through the trees, breathing heavily, the fear palpable in their eyes. My mom tripped, and for a moment, the camera caught her terrified expression. Then came her scream—a bloodcurdling wail that echoed through the forest.
My dad didn’t stop running. He kept going, the GoPro shaking wildly as he pushed through the underbrush, panting heavily. Every so often, the noise would return, growing louder, almost as if it was chasing him. The footage was chaotic, glitching and skipping in places, but I could still make out the terror in my father’s sobs.
Then, somehow, he made it to our house—our actual backyard. The relief in his voice was unmistakable as he sobbed, still recording himself. He was so close to safety, so close to home. But just as he approached the door, something happened that defied explanation.
The camera caught it all. The light around him dimmed, like the sun had been blotted out. The air itself seemed to warp, bending and twisting like heat off asphalt. The footage glitched again, the distortion more violent this time, and that noise—the one that had been following him—returned with a vengeance. My dad whipped around, looking terrified, his eyes wide as he stared at something just offscreen.
And then, he screamed.
I’ll never forget that scream. It wasn’t just a scream of fear—it was pure, raw agony. My dad’s body jerked violently, as if something was pulling him backward, away from the house, back into the woods. The camera followed his movement as he was dragged into the darkness. I could hear the sickening crack of his bones breaking, the sound of his screams being cut off as something… something I couldn’t see took him. The screen flickered, and then, suddenly, the camera hit the ground. The final image it captured was my father’s lifeless body, suspended in midair, twisted unnaturally as if some invisible force was holding him up.
And then, the screen went black.
For a long moment, none of us moved. The room was filled with a heavy, oppressive silence. I felt numb, my mind struggling to process what I’d just seen. My sister was as pale as a ghost, her breathing shallow. Uncle Dave sat frozen, his eyes wide with shock.
Finally, the detective stood up, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We… we don’t know what that was,” he said, his voice quiet. “We’re still investigating, but… well, there’s nothing in the footage that we can definitively explain.”
He didn’t have to tell us that. It was clear to everyone in the room that what we had just witnessed defied explanation. My parents had been taken by something—something not of this world.
We were escorted out of the station. The drive home was painfully quiet. No one said a word. We didn’t even try to process what we’d seen. We couldn’t.
But then, as we pulled into our driveway, something happened that sent a shiver down my spine.
In the silence of the car, I heard it.
Faint at first, barely noticeable. But it was there—that same sound. The low, droning noise that had chased my parents through the woods, the one that had taken them. I glanced at Uncle Dave, and his expression told me that he heard it too. My sister’s hand tightened around mine, her fingers trembling.
We stepped out of the car slowly, cautiously. The noise grew louder, more distinct, as if it was circling us, closing in.
We rushed inside, locking the doors behind us. I don’t think any of us slept that night. The noise never went away. It stayed with us, just outside the house, growing louder and louder until it felt like the walls themselves were vibrating with it.
And then… just before dawn… it stopped.
We thought we were safe. We thought whatever had taken our parents had left us alone. But the truth is, it’s still out there. The noise comes back sometimes—late at night, when the house is dark and quiet. I hear it, faint but persistent, like it’s waiting for something. Watching.
Waiting for us to make a mistake.
We never go outside after dark anymore. We don’t leave the house unless we absolutely have to. But even then, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being followed. That it’s out there, lurking just beyond the trees, waiting to finish what it started.
I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know why it took my parents. But I do know one thing—it’s coming for us. And when it does, I don’t think we’ll be able to escape.
Not this time.
