The Thing in the Woods

My uncle J.D. saw the cursed thing back in ’83. Before he passed, he’d routinely get drunk and ramble about it. He’d crack open a can of steel reserve, light a chesterfield, and begin with a sentence with his unique dialect that I can only try to replicate.

“Have I ever told you the story of how my old buddy Bill really died? He, they, them damned cops… They always what lie to you, you know. Can’t trust em worth a hog’s penny… Them bastards called it one of them animal attacks, or somethin’ like that. It weren’t like that at all. If this damned thing’s an animal, I’m the pope. No, Ronny, this thing weren’t no damned aminal-.. Animal… However the hell you say it. I digress… No, this thing was a goddamned monster.” He’d crack his knuckles at this point, look each of us in the eyes, and then call out the skeptics.

“Bet y’all folks don’t believe in monsters. Bet you think ol’ J.D.’s had a few too many drinks, eh? Son, I’ve been to ‘Nam. I fought the goddamned V.C. for three tours of duty. But the thing me and Bill were attacked by, by Jesus, it was worse than anything I saw in the war. You see, boys, there are things out in these here woods around here. Things that iff’n you’re in your right mind, you’ll get the hell of out dodge, if you see them. But we didn’t. Me and Bill, well, we were young, dumb, and fresh out of the army. Funny thing, war. Makes a man want to shoot things. Now, that might’n not be true for everyone, but it was for me. We went out to that forest to hunt.” He’d pause dramatically, and then continue.

“We went out to this nature preserve to hunt. Big ol’ place, stretched on for miles. Nothin’ but trees for miles and miles. There were so many of the damned trees that in some parts of the place, you couldn’t even see daylight. We went up there to hunt, but something was hunting us. Tell you the truth, the moment we went there, I felt something was wrong. You know… The feeling of being watched, hearing twigs crunching every now an’ then. The whole place felt eerie, unnatural. Still, knowing Bill and I, we weren’t about to bug out because of a little paranoia. Honest to God, though, we should have. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about a horse. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” This was usually after his third or fourth beer, and J.D. was a big fan of both intermissions and bathroom breaks.

“Where was I? I forget.” We’d recap the last few sentences for him, and he’d usually get back to where he was.

“Day we went out to that forest, we cracked jokes about the Viet Cong in the trees, telling each other to watch out for landmines and such. We put up a deer stand, built ourselves a fire, and kept an eye out for anything moving. If it were an animal, we’d blast it, be it a crow, or a squirrel, jackrabbit, or a deer. We had ourselves a good old time, getting drunk, and killing wild life.” At this point, he’d squint at the audience, appraise their expressions, and accuse them of some sort of gibberish insult against their masculinity. Then, he’d start up again.

“Thing is, you kill that many things, and you don’t eat them, it starts to brew up a stench, mighty bad. That was what attracted that awful… well, I don’t rightly know what to call it.” He’d dramatically pause, and one of us would ask what the thing he was talking about was. Then, he’d turn cagey, and explain.

“We smelled that rancid scent, and we knew what it was. That weren’t no smell of an animal carcass. It was the smell of dead man flesh. But we convinced each other it had to be some sort of rotting animal, a raccoon what done died in a ditch or something. But up on that tree-stand, we were nervous. The normal sound of the forest had changed. No longer was it the sound of crickets and birds and what-not. It weren’t silent, before you folks get that impression. There was noise. Just, the kind of noise that what don’t sound like it belongs in a forest. Closest I can describe it is like a refrigerator compressor, or an air conditioner gone haywire, sort of. It’s hard to explain. But we heard that noise and we were scared. Not just unsettled, but scared.” Again, he’d usually eye the audience and judge their reactions, and then reassert his courage.
“You all’d be scared too, iff’n you were there. It was like watch duty, back in the army days. A lot of the time, it wasn’t what you saw, but what you didn’t see that freaked you out. The waiting, and all the expectations.” He’d always be chain-smoking at this point in the story, his eyes wide, as if he was flashing back to the event.”

“It was Bill who saw it first. He points out across the top of the tree-line and says something about a deer. The tone of utter confusion made me laugh, but looking back on it, it weren’t funny. I take a look, and damned if there wasn’t the head of a twelve point buck as tall as the goddamned tree-stand we were on. I sure as hell didn’t know what to make of it. But Bill, him being the person he is, shot first and asked questions later.” He’d shiver, having roped himself into the story as much as he had the audience.

“Every day I pray to God I never hear that sound again in my life. That damned droning became so… Well, loud isn’t the word for it. Hell, I don’t even know if I’d call it a sound. More like a vibration. I could barely think. There was more to it than that, though. The thing that looked like a deer, it didn’t shriek. It screamed. It screamed like a man and then shifted through a slew of voices, as it ran. It didn’t leave though. It stayed, watching us, just out of sight, and kept up the noises. It tried to lure us, a baby crying, off in the distance. A lusty female voice, calling out. And then… the voices of family members.” You could hear a pin drop, the room had grown so silent. J.D. had their complete attention. If my uncle was good at anything, it was telling stories.

“My father had been dead for fourteen years at the time. He taught me to fish, hunt, made me the man I am. But I heard his voice in that forest, calling for me. Calling out my name, telling his son J.D. to come out, come fish with him. Then, the voice changed again, gradually raised in pitch. It sounded identical to my wife, but it spoke in a sultry tone that Doris had never used in her entire life. It called to me. I asked Bill if he had heard anything, and in a shaken voice, he said no. Then, he apologized, said he was lying. He confessed that he heard the voice of his ex-wife, that she said she was willing to reconcile. That was when I realized it wasn’t using sound. It put words and voices into our heads.” He belched, complained that he was down to the last few cigarettes he had, and glanced out the window.

“I was scared witless. At that point, I’d have rather been back in ‘Nam, fighting rice farmers. But Bill had a smile on his face. He began calling to it, and started his way down the tree stand. I tried to convince him otherwise, but what-ever the hell the thing was, it had gotten inside his head. He wandered off into the forest, speaking words of love, all the while, the horrible droning and the odor of rotting flesh. After he crossed out of the light, his voice stopped midsentence, and my heart started beating like a drum.” He’d be down to his last smoke by that point, cursing the fact that it was too late, and he was too drunk to drive up and buy a pack. The audience just stared, waiting to find out what the end result was.

“I wait hours in that stand, listening to voices calling out my name. Then, after a while, I see a shape in the distance walking towards the camp. I trained my rifle on it, getting ready to shoot. Nearer the thing came to the tree-stand, the worse the putrid stench of death became. Then, as the figure entered the vicinity of the campfire light, I saw it. It was Bill. Only, it wasn’t really Bill. I know you folks probably think me crazy, and well, I have a few loose marbles up there, but I swear to God, this thing wasn’t Bill. He hadn’t been dead long enough, iff’n for what I can account for. Whatever the thing was, it used him like a lazy man uses a change of clothes. Sure, the outside was clean, but on the inside, it was rotten. Worse’n when my freezer full of them lousy fish what can be caught down by the river lost power.” He’d have chain-smoked his last by now, and one of the audience would offer him one, him it in his slightly trembling hands. He repeated himself an awful lot, but given the situation he was describing, and how drunk he was, it was forgivable.

“Bill wasn’t the same when he got back. He didn’t look right is what it was. Didn’t sound right either. See, when he came back, he walked right up to the ladder of the deer stand, and stared at it. He asks me to let him up. Now, he was fully capable of climbing a ladder. The statement itself was unsettling, but even worse was the tone. Completely flat, devoid of any inflection, Bill spoke in a monotone. Bill, or whatever it was that looked like Bill, stood there until dawn, staring at that ladder. I had never been happier in my life to see the sun. But Bill, he retreated into the forest. I had better sense than to follow after it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t him. ” By this point in the story, he’d usually be clenching some sort of weapon, something picked up subconsciously. It was the soldier in him.

“I kept a tight grip on my shotgun, looking left and right, and every goddamned direction possible. It was behind me. It was in front of me. The thing seemed to be everywhere. I couldn’t pinpoint it. But by the grace of God, and Remington, I made it through. The car had flat tires, all the soft parts torn to shreds. The thing had gotten to it. Well, goddamn it, I drove that son of a bitch on the rims for miles to get out of them woods. Completely screwed up the axle, cost me thousands in repairs. I’m alive though, and that’s what counts. The only thing I know for sure is that Bill wasn’t mauled by no animal. He was dead by the time he came back to the deer stand. Whatever it was that spoke to me, it was wearing him like a costume.” The audience would be agape at this point. Half of them probably wondered if J.D. was talking gibberish, and the other half probably hoped J.D. was making it up.

But I knew a little family secret about J.D. One about how he went into rehab and psychiatric counseling the years after, raving about it until they released him. He believed it, and I believe it myself. See, he was found torn apart, with a whole arsenal beside him, in ’99 in the same woods, eaten by what the authorities said was a bear. He couldn’t avenge his friend. But my uncle was my hero.

Next week, that’s when I’ll either die, or kill the evil thing, once and for all. Sixteen cans of gasoline, and a dozen Molotov cocktails. If this doesn’t end the unthinkable creature, well, it’ll damned sure render it unable to hide. Fire shall be my salvation.

Damn fine story!

Can't wait to see how it REALLY ends!

Grifter, you have to stop posting stories in the other threads, this one hits too close to home for me

a reply to: Grifter42

What creepy story!!!
Thanks!!

Awesome...you better be taking a GoPro with you. ATS demands HI Def video and if the video is there we will avenge you.

Sounds like he crossed the path of a Skinwalker.

I am one of you now.

a reply to: skunkape23

Don't talk about those damned things. I'm a man of Christ. I don't want to hear about no injun myths.

a reply to: Grifter42
Are you Steven King?

originally posted by: Grifter42
a reply to: skunkape23

Don't talk about those damned things. I'm a man of Christ. I don't want to hear about no injun myths.

There is no conflict, except language. I am not offended by the word "injun," but could you please at least capitalize the first letter, Nigger?

originally posted by: skunkape23

originally posted by: Grifter42
a reply to: skunkape23

Don't talk about those damned things. I'm a man of Christ. I don't want to hear about no injun myths.

There is no conflict, except language. I am not offended by the word "injun," but could you please at least capitalize the first letter, Nigger?

I apologize for the use of the word "Injun". Could you please not use the "n" word in here? That's like de-escalating a Mexican standoff by throwing down a primed grenade in the center of it.

a reply to: Grifter42

Really good writing style and storytelling ability.

originally posted by: Grifter42

originally posted by: skunkape23

originally posted by: Grifter42
a reply to: skunkape23

Don't talk about those damned things. I'm a man of Christ. I don't want to hear about no injun myths.

There is no conflict, except language. I am not offended by the word "injun," but could you please at least capitalize the first letter, Nigger?

I apologize for the use of the word "Injun". Could you please not use the "n" word in here? That's like de-escalating a Mexican standoff by throwing down a primed grenade in the center of it.

I apologize. My great grandmother on one side of the family was Tennessee Cherokee. My grandmother on the other side was Florida Choctaw. I was drinking and probably took more offense than I should have. Hell of a tale you laid out there. Peace.

a reply to: Grifter42

Very Kool Story! It enveloped me! Loved it!! Great Job!!!