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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/IxRxGrim on 2025-08-27 22:00:53+00:00.

I need to write this down while I still can. I don’t know if they’re coming back for me, or if I even have much time left before… something happens. The truth is, I’m not even sure what did happen.

My name’s Henry Striker. I’m 34. I guess you could call me a YouTuber, though that’s not really true—I never posted anything. I had plans. Big ones. But after this, I don’t think I’ll ever hit upload.

I’ve always loved the outdoors. I grew up camping, hiking, all that Boy Scout stuff. Being out there always felt natural to me, like I belonged. So when I decided I wanted to start a channel, I figured solo camping vlogs would be perfect.

That’s what brought me to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I drove in, stopped at a little town on the edge of the park to grab some last-minute supplies, and then headed into the wilderness—my “home away from home” for the next week. Or at least, that was the plan.

I hiked deep into the forest, further than most people ever bother to go. The air was alive with birdsong, and a cool breeze cut through the heavy summer heat. The scent of moss, dirt, and sun-warmed grass clung to everything. It was the kind of air that fills your lungs and makes you believe, if only for a moment, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

I found a clearing about half a mile from a small creek—secluded, quiet, perfect. It felt like mine the second I saw it. I pitched my tent, set up camp, and told myself I’d start recording tomorrow. Tonight would just be about soaking it all in.

By the time I gathered enough firewood, the sun was already sinking behind the trees. I built a fire, simple but steady, and cooked myself an easy meal over the flames. As I ate, the sky darkened, and one by one the stars began to pierce through the twilight, until it seemed like there were more of them than I’d ever seen before.

It was beautiful, the type of beauty that takes your breath or makes your heart skip a beat. But one star in particular caught my eye. It wasn’t like the others. It pulsed, almost like it was breathing, flaring bright before fading to nothing, only to return again. I told myself it was just a plane, but deep down, I wasn’t convinced.

Eventually I doused the fire and crawled into my tent. I didn’t want to fall asleep under the open sky and wake up half-eaten by mosquitoes. I zipped myself into my sleeping bag, warm and comfortable, and for the first time in a long while, I drifted into a deep, easy sleep.

The kind of sleep I haven’t had since that night. The kind of sleep I may never have again.

When morning came, I unzipped the tent, GoPro in hand, ready to film my first introduction video. I wanted to capture the moment. The start of what could be my breakout moment. But as soon as I stepped out and looked around, the camera slipped from my hand and hit the dirt.

Because what I saw waiting for me… was impossible.

My campsite was a wreck. At first I thought an animal had gotten into it, but the longer I looked, the less sense it made. Nothing was torn apart or chewed through. Instead, every single item I owned had been moved—arranged.

My gear was scattered across the clearing like someone had laid it out on display. Pots and pans balanced on tree branches, my portable stove propped perfectly upright in the dirt, tools lined up in a row. Each thing placed with a strange, deliberate care.

No animal could’ve done that.

I gathered everything up, trying to convince myself it was just some prank, though I knew that wasn’t true. I should have packed up right then and left. Looking back, I still don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I was stubborn. Maybe I was stupid. Either way, I stayed. I stayed one more night.

The rest of the day passed in uneasy silence. Nothing else happened. Not until the sun set. That’s when the nightmare began.

I lay beneath the stars again, pretending it was all normal. But that star—the one that pulsed—was back. This time, it wasn’t just flickering. It looked bigger. Closer.

A sharp crack broke the quiet, and I whipped my head toward the treeline. For a moment my heart nearly stopped—then a deer stepped into the clearing. It saw me, froze, then bounded back into the forest.

I let out a shaky breath and turned my eyes back to the sky. The star was gone. My chest tightened until I spotted it again, a little to the left, shining brighter than ever.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t twinkling.

It was moving.

And it was getting closer.

Then it came. A sound I’ll never forget. A horrible, ragged scream. The kind of sound an animal makes only once, right before it dies. It was coming from just beyond the treeline. The deer. The same one I had just seen.

I turned toward the noise, heart hammering, and that’s when I saw them.

Lights.

Glowing orbs drifting between the trees, weaving through the dark like they were alive. At first there was just one. Then another blinked into existence. Then two more. Four of them now, gliding silently, heading straight for me.

One broke free of the trees and slid into the clearing. The moment it did, my campsite was swallowed in a blinding, white light so bright it erased the world.

I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was already running. Barreling through the forest, lungs burning, sweat pouring down my face. I don’t know how long I’d been at it—minutes, maybe longer—but I couldn’t stop.

When I finally dared to glance behind me, my stomach dropped. The orbs were there. Following me. Keeping pace, floating effortlessly between the trees.

I screamed and whipped my head forward—just in time to collide, full force, with something solid. For a split second I thought it was a tree.

But it wasn’t.

What stood in front of me was not human.

I’m 5’10, but this thing towered over me—easily two, maybe three feet taller. Its frame was impossibly thin, almost skeletal, but when I slammed into it at full speed it didn’t so much as flinch. It was like hitting a stone pillar.

It wasn’t wearing clothes. Its skin was bare, a grayish-purple that seemed to shift and ripple in the light of the orbs behind it. The head was wrong—too big for its spindly body, stretched and elongated. And then there were the eyes.

They were massive, jet black, but not smooth like glass. Fine white lines crisscrossed through them, forming perfect hexagons, as though I was staring into a hive that went on forever.

I screamed. I screamed so loud my throat tore, praying someone—anyone—might hear me, that somehow I wouldn’t be alone in that forest with this thing.

It didn’t move. It just lifted one long, stick-thin arm, ending in three elongated fingers. Slowly, it reached forward and pressed a single fingertip to my forehead.

The instant it touched me, everything collapsed into darkness.

When I came to, I was strapped to a table in a vast, empty room. The walls seemed to stretch forever, featureless and smooth, humming with a low vibration I could feel more than hear. My vision was blurred, my ears muffled, like I was underwater.

And then it leaned over me.

The same creature, its enormous head just inches from my face. I broke down, sobbing, begging—pleading—for it to let me go. I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. I wanted to live. I kept asking why me? I’m a nobody. Just a guy with a camera. Why would something like this want me? Was it just because I was there? Wrong place, wrong time?

It didn’t answer. It didn’t even blink.

Instead, it raised one hand and waved it slowly over my face. Instantly, my body went limp. My panic didn’t fade—not in my mind. In my head I was still screaming, thrashing, clawing for escape. But my body betrayed me, going silent and still, pinned down by something I couldn’t fight. Even my eyes resisted. I could only move them a fraction, and the strain made tears leak down the sides of my face.

I had no choice but to watch.

The creature lifted its arm. With a deliberate twist of its wrist, the skin along its forearm split open, and something slid out—thin, metallic-looking, like a needle growing straight from its flesh. At the tip was a dark opening, hollow and waiting.

Then I saw movement.

From within that opening, something alive began to emerge—a wormlike appendage, branching into several writhing heads, each snapping and curling independently as it reached for me.

And it was coming closer.

The thing shoved the needle-like appendage straight up my nose. The pain was immediate and indescribable—sharp and searing, like my skull was being drilled from the inside out. I could feel the worm-like growth writhing through my sinuses, twisting, burrowing deeper.

When it finally slid the needle back out, my nose and upper lip were slick with blood. The tip of the thing was crimson, dripping. If it noticed, it didn’t care. The appendage retracted into its wrist with a wet, sucking sound, vanishing beneath the skin as though it had never been there.

Then the real pain started.

A crushing pressure exploded in my skull, like a demolition derby was happening inside my head. My body convulsed violently, every muscle seizing at once. I couldn’t breathe. My jaw locked tight, tongue threatening to block my airway. My vision shrank down to a tiny, trembling tunnel of light. I thought I was dying.

And then—just as suddenly—it all stopped.

Air rushed back into my lungs. My body went slack. I could feel myself again, even tried to sit up, but something invisible still pinned me to the table. My chest heav…

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