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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/RedHotOwl on 2024-09-27 22:24:48+00:00.

I grew up in a pretty small, out-of-the-way town—one of those places where folk only stop by to ask for directions. I know that’s how a lot of scary stories tend to start, but if you think about it, it’s for a good reason. Before the advent of the internet, living in a remote town was like existing within your own self-contained microcosm. You wake up every day and interact with the same twenty or so people throughout your whole life. Sure, you might overhear something on the radio about what’s happening around the country, but it all feels so far away, like it could never apply to you. You could debate whether ignorance is bliss, but the bottom line is, when everything outside what you’re used to feels foreign and intimidating, it is all too easy to fabricate convenient ghost stories to account for the unknown.

Rest assured, though, my story doesn’t involve ghosts, apparitions, or anything that could be chalked up to a trick of the light. What I went through was very real and very tangible.

As I neared the old sawmill, the crowns of golden leaves flanking the structure stood in stark contrast to the industrial decay, with wildflowers peeking through cracks in the pavement. The place looked as abandoned as ever—a rundown relic from another decade, with peeling paint and broken windows that seemed to stare at me blankly. 

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the skeletal remains of the building. My heart felt heavy, each step squishing the damp earth beneath my sneakers. Finally, I reached the spot—a simple, vertically-embedded plank marked the place where my best friend lay buried, and I knelt, brushing away the weeds that had tried to reclaim it. The air was thick with the scent of pine and memories; I could almost hear him running through the tall grass, chasing after something invisible. 

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, tracing the letters carved into the wood. “I miss you.” The wind rustled the trees above, and for a moment, I imagined his soft fur against my hand, his joyful spirit lingering in the quiet of the mill’s ruins. I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my chest ease just a little, as if he were still here, only to be replaced by a wave of anger I believed I had long since let go of.

The memories of that day were as vivid as ever. We were playing in the yard, the sky clear and bright, his tail a blur of excitement. I had turned to grab my bike, just for a moment, and in that flash, he spotted a squirrel darting across the street. I remember the way I called out, my voice lost in the rush of tires on asphalt. Panic gripped me as I turned back, watching in horror as he dashed into traffic, oblivious to the danger. The screech of brakes and a sickening thud echoed in my ears. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back tears that threatened to spill over. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, the weight of regret nearly suffocating. My fingers shook as I placed my hand on that little mound of dirt, wishing desperately I could rewind time for just one more day with him. My parents had tossed around the idea of getting me a new dog, but even after nearly a year, I just couldn’t bring myself to move on. It was as if they were asking me to replace my own brother. They had no clue that I still came to visit his makeshift grave.

Ever since those girls went missing here a few months back, we were no longer allowed in the old part of town. There were all kinds of theories swirling around about what could have happened—everything from them just running away to whispers of a child-killer lurking in our midst. Naturally, I thought that something like that could never happen to me. I was a big, tough boy after all—just a few days shy of my thirteenth birthday and already taller than my mom. In other words, I was practically invincible. 

The forest around me crackled with life, the trees ablaze with fiery reds and shimmering yellows, making it feel like the whole world was on fire in the best possible way. I liked autumn. Sure, school was back in session, but I didn’t mind as long as it meant no more mosquitoes. To me, the trade-off was worth it. 

And then, amidst all the usual sounds of nature, a shrill scream sliced through the stillness like a knife. I perked up, my head snapping in the direction I thought it came from. There was a moment of silence before it echoed again—a sharp, sudden cry, unwavering in its pitch. By the third time, I was already back on my feet. In hindsight, there was definitely something off about those screams. They were too regular, almost robotic, lacking any real emotion behind them, like the indifferent wail of a car alarm. Stupidly, I decided to make my presence known:

“Hello…? Anyone there? Do…you need help?”

Silence. I took a few cautious steps toward the tree line, my heart thumping louder than the crunching of twigs beneath my feet. Even the crows had gone eerily quiet, as if they were anticipating something. Just as I was about to turn back, naively thinking that maybe I had scared off whoever was making that dreadful sound, the shrill scream cut through the air again—this time closer. My stomach dropped. I squinted into the dense thicket. My blood ran cold as I watched entire trees being violently shoved apart. Something was barreling toward me. Something huge. 

A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I sprinted over and dove behind the husk of a broken-down logging truck, my back pressed against its cold, rusted metal shell. Through the gaps in its decaying frame, I peered out, breath held tight in my chest. And then I saw it—a monstrous shape, casting a vast shadow as it broke free from the trees. An enormous bear, its fur matted and wild, erupted into the clearing. The sheer sight of it almost made me gasp out loud; its paws alone were the size of tennis rackets, each thud against the earth echoing like a death knell. I could vividly imagine them stomping down on me, crushing every bone in my body into dust.

But it only got worse from there.

The creature paused, sniffing the air, its black eyes scanning the surroundings with alarming intelligence. Suddenly, its massive jaws opened wide, revealing not just teeth but something grotesquely horrifying—a human head lodged in its maw, its mouth still agape in a scream of unending torment. The bear’s growls mingled with the cries, fusing in a chilling duet that sent waves of nausea through me. The head, with its hollow eyes and skin drained of color, looked resigned to its fate—an abominable marionette in the throes of its own suffering. The detachment in its expression as it shrieked for help terrified more than any frantic plea could have. 

Tears clouded my vision. This was it, I thought. Soon, it would be my head there, trapped in an endless limbo of reliving the last moments before that creature tore me apart. I couldn’t outrun it—I was almost sure of that—and it was only a matter of time before it discovered my hiding spot. My breathing quickened. I patted my pockets, as if searching for something with which to make my final stand. Instead, I found the granola bar I had tucked there earlier. I swallowed hard. It was worth a shot.

With as much steadiness as my fingers would allow, I peeled back the packaging, feeling like a pinned-down soldier about to toss his last grenade at the encroaching enemy. I didn’t see where it landed, but the rustle of the nearby bushes gave me a hint of hope; perhaps, just perhaps, it would divert the monster’s attention, if only for a fleeting moment. Fortunately, it did, as I witnessed it lumber off toward the source of the disturbance, accompanied by wet snorting noises. I didn’t linger to witness whether it showed any real interest in the food itself. Instead, I proceeded to try and sneak away toward the edges of the glade, each cautious step an exercise in self-control, as every fiber of my being urged me to run.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. A shudder ran down my spine. There it was—a hulking mass of fur and muscle, its attention momentarily diverted, but probably not for long. I gathered every morsel of courage left within me and took another tentative step, moving slowly, praying that the tall grass would be enough to shield me from its sight. It wasn’t. Suddenly, it lifted its massive skull, and in a single heart-stopping moment, its black eyes locked onto mine. 

Time creeped to halt. All sense of composure evaporated like mist in the sun, and before I could think, a raw, primal scream erupted from my throat. Panic ignited my legs, propelling me in the opposite direction. I tore through the underbrush, branches raking at my exposed arms and ankles. With every frantic stride, I forced myself to focus on the path ahead, but there was no ignoring the guttural roars that reverberated through my very bones. The trees above towered like silent sentinels as I zigzagged between their trunks, desperate to confuse my pursuer. Whether it worked or not, I had no intention of slowing down to find out, but the sounds of snapping bark made it clear the creature was more than capable of carving its own path. 

Through the kaleidoscope of autumn colors that blurred past me, my eyes caught sight of a distant sliver of gray—the back road that twisted its way through the woods, connecting the old parts of town to the highway. Not many people still used it, but it was the only glimmer of hope I had. I swerved sharply and took off toward it, my calves screaming in protest. Behind me, the hea…

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