This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/313deezy on 2024-10-03 08:50:44+00:00.

The wind howled through the trees, tugging at the tent flaps as I lay awake on my sleeping bag. My dad’s soft snores came from the corner of the tent, a steady rhythm that should’ve lulled me to sleep, but something felt wrong. I couldn’t shake this creeping feeling, like eyes were watching from the shadows just beyond the campfire’s dying light.

The trip had started out great—Dad and I hiked for hours through the thick forest, Kodak bounding ahead, his tail wagging like crazy. I was so excited, it was our first camping trip since I turned thirteen, and I felt like I was finally old enough to be trusted on my own out here. The air smelled like pine and earth, and for a while, everything felt peaceful.

But now, lying here in the dark, something was different. I couldn’t hear the forest anymore. No chirping crickets, no rustling leaves—just silence, thick and heavy. I propped myself up on my elbows and glanced toward Kodak. His ears were perked, his body tense. He stared at the entrance of the tent, his lips curling back into a snarl.

I froze.

“Dad,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Dad, wake up.”

He groaned but didn’t stir. Kodak growled low in his throat, and that’s when I heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps outside, crunching on the dry leaves. Not like an animal, either. These were heavy, deliberate.

Someone—or something—was out there.

I slowly reached for the flashlight next to my sleeping bag, my heart pounding so loud I was sure whatever was outside could hear it. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal, and I switched it on, the beam cutting through the darkness inside the tent. Kodak stood up now, his growl growing louder.

The footsteps stopped.

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to move, but I had to see. I crawled toward the tent flap, my hands shaking, and slowly unzipped it just enough to peek out.

Nothing.

The campfire had completely gone out, and the moon barely lit up the clearing. The trees loomed like dark sentinels around us, and everything was still. Too still. I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

And then, there it was again. The footsteps, this time moving quickly. They circled around the tent, faster and faster, like whatever it was knew I was watching. I yanked the flashlight toward the sound, my pulse racing, but the light revealed nothing. Just more darkness.

My breathing hitched when the footsteps stopped abruptly, right at the entrance of the tent. Kodak barked, a sharp, fierce sound that seemed to echo through the trees.

“Dad!” I hissed louder this time, shaking him frantically. He finally woke up, groggy and annoyed.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Someone’s outside,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Something.”

He sat up quickly, his expression shifting from sleepy confusion to alert concern. He grabbed the hatchet we brought for firewood and motioned for me to stay behind him.

We listened. The wind had picked up again, rustling the trees, but the footsteps were gone. Dad opened the tent flap fully, his hatchet at the ready, and we both stepped out into the cool night air. Kodak was already out, sniffing the ground, still on edge.

We scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of place, but the feeling lingered, thick and oppressive. Dad let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s probably just an animal,” he said, though his voice was tight. “Let’s get the fire going again, okay?”

I nodded, though I didn’t believe him. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it. But I helped him gather more kindling, my eyes constantly scanning the shadows. When we got the fire going again, the flickering flames seemed to push the darkness back, but not completely. I felt like we were being watched, like the forest itself was alive and waiting.

We sat by the fire for a long time, neither of us speaking much. Dad tried to reassure me, cracking a few jokes, but I could tell he was just as uneasy. Eventually, the exhaustion took over, and he convinced me to get some rest. Reluctantly, I crawled back into the tent, Kodak lying beside me, his body warm against mine.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, I woke up to the sound of heavy breathing. I bolted upright, my heart hammering in my chest, and looked around. The tent was empty. Dad was gone.

“Dad?” I whispered, my voice trembling. No response.

I grabbed the flashlight and stumbled out of the tent, Kodak right behind me. The fire had gone out again, and the darkness seemed even thicker than before. I called out again, my voice cracking with fear, but there was no answer.

Then I saw it—movement in the trees. A figure, tall and shadowy, just barely visible in the moonlight. It was too far away to make out clearly, but it was watching me. I could feel its eyes on me, cold and malevolent.

I shined the flashlight toward it, but the beam seemed to bend around the figure, like the darkness was swallowing it whole. My blood ran cold, and I backed away slowly, my hands shaking so hard I almost dropped the flashlight.

Kodak barked, his hackles raised, and the figure began to move closer, gliding through the trees with unnatural speed. I turned and ran, my legs barely able to keep up with the terror that surged through me. Kodak stayed close, his growls echoing in the night.

I didn’t stop running until I burst into a clearing, panting and terrified. But when I looked back, the figure was gone. The forest was still again, but that didn’t make me feel any safer.

And then I heard it—a faint whisper on the wind, like a voice calling my name. But it wasn’t my dad’s voice.

It was something else. Something wrong.

I never found my dad that night. When the sun finally rose, the search party arrived, but they found no trace of him. No footprints, no sign of struggle. Just an empty tent and a dying campfire.

To this day, I don’t know what was out there in the woods that night. But I know one thing for sure: I’ll never go camping again.