This is a hard story to tell, for every time I tell it I shiver, always reminding me of that terrifying morning. I remember that cold feeling of loneliness, and then the damp feel of being watched, as I always get when pressed against darkness itself. Yet terror fascinates me when I think of it deeply. Like the living animals at the bottom of a lake to a drowning man.
It was five in the morning. The dew had settled on my tent. For a strange reason I wasn't tired, and had only stepped out into the dark haze of the woods when I heard a hiss in front of me. This was no snake this. No, this was a sound that brought me to my knees. Yet I didn't move, I didn't change emotions. I just stood still to hear something run in the opposite direction. I to ran into a ravine and pressed up against a tree. I caught control of myself and headed back to the tent, then stopped at the base of the ravine.
Something was behind me, no more than 10 feet away. I listened carefully and heard something extremely disturbing – like mice nibbling on a rotted brain. The sun was raised enough that if I turned around, I would see it, I would see my fear. Slowly, I turned around, turned, turned, turned, and to my relief, there was nothing. I released the built up air in my lungs.
I turned back around, only to see the most terrifying creature calmly walk across my vision path. It was tall and had a light covering of black fur, along with long, skinny limbs. It must have taken two hours before I built up the courage to go back to my tent and get the hell out of there.