This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Wooleyty on 2024-04-08 21:08:27.

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As I sift through my father’s old belongings, I can’t help but feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and unease. His recent passing has left me with a lot of questions, and as I come across his old hunting gear, it all comes flooding back to me. There’s something about that trip we took to the Arizona desert when I was a kid that just won’t let go. It’s like a bad dream that keeps resurfacing, haunting me in my sleep. I guess I just need to talk about it with someone who might understand.

So, here’s what happened: My dad grew up near a reservation, and he always talked about how important hunting was to him. He taught me how to shoot when I was little, and when I was about 10, he decided to take me on my first real hunting trip. I was excited, but I’ll admit, a little nervous too. We drove out into the desert, and as we walked deeper into the woods, the silence was almost deafening. The air was crisp and clean, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with tiny pools of light. It was beautiful, but there was something else there too. Something ancient and primal. I could feel it in the air, in the way my dad moved through the woods.

We’d been walking for about an hour when I finally spotted it. Through the scope of my rifle, I saw the head of an elk, but it was odd. It seemed too tall to be an elk. I remember thinking that maybe it was standing on its hind legs, or that there was something wrong with it. I wanted to show my dad, but before I could say anything, I heard him whisper, “Don’t move.” His voice was low and steady, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

We stayed perfectly still for what felt like forever. Finally, I saw my dad nod his head slightly. I took a deep breath and turned back to the elk. As I centered my scope on its chest, I felt a strange mixture of fear and determination welling up inside me. I wanted to prove to my dad that I could do this, that I was strong enough. So, when I squeezed the trigger, I did it with all of my might.

There was a sharp crack! and the elk staggered backwards. It let out a gurgling sound, and then collapsed to the ground. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. But as I looked at my dad, I saw a smile spread across his face. He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

We searched for the elk for what seemed like hours, but we couldn’t find it. The woods were thick and unyielding, and the underbrush made it nearly impossible to track the animal. Eventually, we decided to head back to the camp, but as we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. My dad, on the other hand, seemed increasingly uneasy. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if he expected something to jump out from behind a tree.

When we finally made it back to the camp, we were both exhausted. My dad built a fire and we cooked some dinner, but neither of us could eat much. I tried to make small talk, to pretend that everything was normal, but the silence between us was deafening. As the sun set and the stars began to emerge, I could see the worry etched into my father’s face.

Late into the night, I woke up to the sound of rustling leaves. I thought it was my dad, but when I looked over, he was fast asleep. The rustling grew louder, and then I saw it. A shadowy figure moving through the trees, darting from one hiding spot to another. I felt a chill run down my spine, and I knew that we were not alone.

I nudged my dad awake, and he sat up with a start. He listened intently for a moment, then nodded in the direction of the noise. “Stay here,” he whispered, before creeping off into the darkness. I could see the tension in his body as he moved, every muscle taut and ready to spring into action. I wanted to call out to him, to tell him to be careful, but I knew that I couldn’t.

I sat there, alone in the camp, and listened to the night around me. The rustling grew louder, and I could hear what sounded like footsteps crunching through the underbrush. I reached for my rifle, feeling the cold metal reassuringly heavy in my hand. I knew that whatever was out there, it was no ordinary animal.

It was then that I heard what sounded like my dad calling to me. I start to walk in that direction before I hear my dad’s voice again, behind me. I turn fast and see my dad standing there with his flashlight. I asked him what he needed and looked confused at me and said, “I need you to stay in your tent like I told you.”

My dad walked me back to the tent but when I tired to tell him what happened, he kept shhing me to stay quiet.

As we sat in the tent, I started to hear my mothers voice calling my dad and I knew something wasn’t right. My dad put his finger to his lips, telling me to stay quiet and not to go outside. We sat in silence for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. I could hear the voice outside growing louder and more frantic. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew that we were in danger.

As the voice crescendos more frantically, my dad put his hand on my mouth to stop my whimpering as I started crying, seeing my dad this scared. He pointed at the tent flap and I understood; we were going to escape through the back. We crawled out of the tent, my dad throwing me over his shoulder and headed straight for his truck. He entered in the drivers door, throwing me into the passengers seat. We left that night, leaving everything behind. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that I never wanted to go back to that camp.

As we drove through the night, my dad kept glancing in the rearview mirror, making sure we weren’t being followed. He was silent for the rest of the drive, his jaw clenched tight. I could tell that whatever had happened out there, it had changed him. When we finally reached our home, he helped me out of the car and into the house, but he didn’t come in. Instead, he went back to the car and sat there, staring at nothing for what seemed like hours.

As the days went by, he became more and more distant, spending most of his time locked away in his study, refusing to talk about what had happened. I tried to be understanding, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was losing him.

School resumed, and I tried to focus on my studies, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those shadowy figures darting through the trees, their eyes glowing in the darkness. I would wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that I could hear whispering outside my bedroom door.

Eventually though, school took over my life and I soon forgot about the incident. I think that made my father feel better, not having to explain anything to me.

Time passed, I graduated from high school and went off to college. My father and I didn’t talk as much as we used to, but we were still close. I’d visit him during the holidays and we’d share stories about our lives, but he never once mentioned what had happened that night in the camp.

I sometimes wondered if I had imagined it all, if the whole thing had been some sort of nightmare. But then I’d remember the look in my father’s eyes, the way he’d become a different person after that night.

My father passed away last month and I’m just now getting into his things at his home. When I saw the dusty camping/hunting equipment, the fear dropped into my stomach. That night came blasting into my memory and I felt the primal fear that I felt that night.

After that night, my father never went on any camping or hunting trips. What was once his favorite past time, haunted him.

I don’t know what happened out there that night, but I know it changed my father. It made him cold and distant, and I’m sure it haunted him until the end. I wish I had been able to help him, to understand him better. But now it’s too late.