I'm not one for long stories or wasting time. And, it is apt to reason, neither are you. But what I do have to say. What I have to tell you borders, well, on the extraordinary. Now, obviously, neither of us would be here if one of us didn't have a story to tell.

So here is mine.

I was hiking along a high mountain trail, in eastern Kentucky, the one that crosses to the Cumberland. I was running a little behind schedule and the sun started to fade. I had to either hot foot it fast as possible to the next town or set up camp. Well, I was dealing with a pretty bad sprain I got early on that morning. Sure, I didn't mind the pain at first, hoping it would go away. Of course, it didn't. And there I was atop a ridge somewhat literally between a rock and a hard place.

For the purposes of camping I chose the rock.

Now, you might wonder why I didn't phone for help. I did, but cell reception can at times be as unreliable as your own intuition and, boy, was mine off.

All was quiet at first. I set up my tent and had a pretty good fire goin'. All things considered, nothing out of the ordinary would have been expected. I was careful too. Extinguished my fire per guidelines, set up the tent per instruction, etc. Before zipping up my tent, I hung my necklace, engraved with the icon of Saint Christopher at the top. Not that I believe much in charms for protection, but, rather that it had been the curious practice of my mother, after which I followed suite.

But, it was about five past midnight, when I heard it. A loud screech, or roar, or more like something in between.

I got real nervous, figurin' it must've been a wild cat, a mountain panther, or something much like it. I hunkered down, hunting knife gripped firmly in my right hand, readying myself for the fight of my life should it come. There I remained, never hearin' the hollar again, only the accompaniment of crickets and tree frogs.

An hour or so passed, I still fixed in the same position. And, while I couldn't really hear nothin', I sensed something was out there. Something huge.

Softly, at first, came the noises. Firstly, the crumbling of the dirt and rocks, as if trudged upon by some massively imposing thing.

Then came, much louder, the sound like fingernails scraping against rock.

But, I laid low, as low as I could in my tent, as if that provided any security.

I dared not look up, as I figured seein' what it was would not help at the slightest and only induce further panic. But, even still, the zipper on the tent did not quite reach all the way to the top, leavin' just a little hole, no bigger than two inches.

Minutes passed, what seemed like hours flew on by, but the noises, they continued. After much apprehension, I resolved finally to see, to see what manner of beast or thing haunted me in the emptiness of the wilderness.

Crouching slowly, methodically, upward I peered through the small opening just above the zipper.

And, to tell you the truth, I would rather stop the story right here. But, I am compelled, even if only for the sake of my own sanity to describe what I saw.

It sat atop a rock, not perched like bird nor did it squat like a wolf, but it sat like a man, but whatever it was, it was no man.

It was silhouetted against the sky, which was visible around it and through it!

There were empty spaces along its torso, holes, like the openings on a rib cage.

The more I studied it, the more I wished to look away, but I was just too entranced, or engrossed in fear, in apprehension, to turn away.

It was not looking at me, but I knew it must be aware of me. It was, however, preoccupied. Its "hands," if I may describe them as such, though they seemed crudely formed, scrapped their long fingers into the side of the rock, back and forth. Curiously, in a motion, not unlike writing.

The "hands" were connected by what appeared to be arms, long, thin, and sinister in shape. Its body must have been twelve feet tall with an equally thin body and large head. Strangely, just below the neck there appeared to be a slit as if the two were somehow not entirely connected but propped upon each other.

I could not really discern any features, saved for its silhouette. Except for the eyes, the eyes glowed, a reddish hue. Apart from the scraping, the thing was accompanied by a sound like something wet, like dripping water commin' about from its hands.

It went on, and on, and on, until round 'bout two the temperature grew hot. Not gradually, but all a sudden, until it got hotter, and hotter, and hotter, the heat being so unbearable, I fainted from exposure.

I awoke the next morning, unharmed and extremely grateful. I was careful to see that the visitor had unquestionably left the vicinity before exiting the tent. I looked about for tracks of any kind and found nothing. It was as if it just vanished or had never existed to begin with.

I started to question whether it all had not just been a nightmare.

But, upon the rock, I had seen it scratchin' with its long fingers was written something chiseled by some crude instrument. It read:

”DON'T talk! Go to sleep!
Eyes shut, and don't you peep!
Keep still, or he just moans:
‘RAWHEAD AND BLOODY BONES.’“

Upon closer examination, each letter was also inked. Inked in something red, like blood.

I never returned after that. I packed up, grabbed my Saint Christopher necklace, and hurried out of there just as fast as my legs would take me.

Now, I left the site how I found it. I had no interest in gathering any ounce of evidence or proving what I have told you today.

I don't expect to be believed. And, I only tell this strange story to ask you a favor. The next time you may find yourself alone in the woods, camping or otherwise, in addition to your mosquito spray, climbing gear, hunting knife, or other implements, take for your own protection something a bit more personal, a reminder, something that speaks to you that there are things in this world bigger than you or me, something to quell the evil, restless, godless things out there, wherever they may lie waiting.

'Cause y'never can tell when that might come in handy.


— END —





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