This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DecisiveUnluckyness on 2025-10-25 02:36:21+00:00.

This kind of work isn’t exactly glamorous, but it pays well. The company had flown me out to this remote stretch of forest to conduct a preliminary geological and topographic survey for a future radio tower installation. The job was scheduled for four days, just four days of gathering soil samples, recording data, and creating an elevation map of the area.

They dropped me off near a small cabin, originally built for logging crews decades ago. I was surrounded by trees, snow, and whatever wildlife that hadn’t migrated south. The weather reports hinted at a snowstorm moving in by the end of the week, and the last thing I wanted was to get caught in the middle of it. The deep snow would make it impossible to do any work.

The forest surrounding the cabin was dense, a towering wall of snow-covered pine trees. The kind of place where the quiet becomes deafening. At least, I used to think I liked that kind of quiet.

Day one. The snow crunched as I drilled into the frozen earth to collect core samples. I collected samples methodically from different sites that had been marked on a map ahead of time. I spent the few hours of daylight as efficiently as possible, but I couldn’t help but notice the silence, a constant distraction tugging at the back of my mind.

Night had fallen by the time I returned to the cabin. The trees loomed like dark, twisted creatures, their branches bowing under the weight of the snow. I pulled the door shut behind me and made sure it was locked. The air in the cabin felt thick, almost suffocating. The hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock on the wall, at least the white noise provided some relief from the silence. I made myself a cup of tea and started sorting the notes and data I had written down throughout the day.

Day two. The headache started the next morning, a throbbing ache behind my eyes that wouldn’t go away. Must be the years of stale air in the cabin, I thought. I stumbled over to the window and opened it wide. The cold air hit me in the face, sharp and biting. The headache didn’t seem to lessen, but at least the cabin felt less stifling. I left the window open as I made breakfast and got ready for today’s work. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt this way. Jet lag, lack of sleep, stress. I assumed it was a combination of all of that.

By midday I started feeling worse. I would look down on my map for a few seconds and when I looked back up, the trees seemed… different. I would open my notebook to write down new measurements only to find multiple pages of notes I didn’t remember writing. It felt like time was slipping. I sat down on a rock to gather my thoughts, and when I opened my eyes again, the sun had already set.

The forest felt alien in the dark. I looked at my map and estimated that I was around forty minutes away from the cabin. That’s when I first saw it. A shadow in the corner of my vision. I froze and glanced up. Just beyond the tree line, something tall and thin shifted between the pines. I squinted, trying to focus, but it darted behind a narrow tree before I could make it out.

Something was following me. A shadow, always in the periphery. Every time I turned my head, it would disappear behind a tree. It looked too tall and too thin to be a human. I picked up my speed, but the shadow kept pace, flickering just out of reach all the way back to the cabin. I made the hike back in just twenty minutes.

Day three. The headaches had faded, but a constant dizziness took their place, making my head spin. I tried to push through it, focusing on my work. The first couple of hours went smoothly enough, I took it easy and drank plenty of water. I was writing down notes on some terrain features when I saw it again. The dark silhouette, quickly ducking behind a tree. I paused for a moment, my eyes focusing on the spot where I had just seen it.

In the daylight, I felt a bit more confident. I slowly walked toward the tree, my breath came in shallow bursts and my hands became clammy despite the cold. I reached the place where I thought I’d seen it, but… there was nothing.

I scanned the clearing. No movement, no shadow. The snow seemed undisturbed except for my own footprints. I circled the tree once, then again, searching for any sign that something, or someone had been there.

As I turned to leave, I caught sight of the entity about fifty meters away, peeking out from behind another tree. I took a step forward, expecting it to vanish like before, but this time it didn’t move. I took another cautious step toward it. In an instant, it darted upward, climbing the trunk with a speed that could rival a squirrel. It disappeared into the snow-covered canopy above.

I made it back to the cabin before dark this time. I lit a fire in the fireplace, gathered some snow to melt for my evening tea and grabbed my notebook from my backpack. The firewood burned bright and intensely as it heated up my small sanctuary.

I went back to the table… Suddenly, I was outside, in my socks, standing in the snow. I could barely feel my arms and legs. The notebook was still clutched in my hand. The light from the cabin was visible in the distance, and the front door stood wide open.

“How?” I muttered to myself. Had I blacked out? Sleepwalked? Or had the forest entity done this?

I stumbled inside the cabin and sank into a chair in front of the fire. My clothes were soaked, and I sat there, hoping for a sleep that never seemed to come. The rest of the night passed in a blur. The shadows cast by the fire danced across the walls, and with every hour that passed, they seemed to grow more alive. As the fire died down to smoldering coals, the shadows still remained.

Day four. I felt like I was losing my mind. I saw more of them now. Behind every tree, in every window, in the corners of the cabin, and in the darkness beneath my bed. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, not even the simplest tasks. I no longer cared about the survey. I no longer cared about the radio tower. I just needed to get out.

I grabbed my coat and stumbled out of the cabin, too dizzy to think straight. The snow crunched beneath my boots as I trudged through the trees. It was following me, always a few footsteps behind. I could feel it breathing down my neck, a cold breeze. Then came a low hissing sound, quiet at first, but growing louder with every step. My headache was becoming unbearable. Just as I felt my legs begin to give out from exhaustion, I tripped over something. A metal pipe sticking out of the snow.

The metal pipe, thick and rusted, protruded from the ground like a withered tree stump. Faint letters were stamped into the metal, nearly obscured by the snow and frost. Warning: Gas Pipeline. A loud hissing sound clearly emanating from the pipe, an odorless and colorless gas poisoning the air. I staggered back, my body tingling with a mix of horror and nausea. The shadow was right there, no longer hiding. It didn’t have to.

It stood in front of me, still and silent. Was it really just a figment of my oxygen-starved brain’s imagination? I used the last of my energy to get up on all fours and started crawling away. Then I blacked out.

I woke up in the helicopter with an oxygen mask strapped to my face.

“He’s awake,” someone said to the pilot. “How are you feeling?”

“What… what happened?” was all I managed to say.

“Well, we were about to ask you the same,” the pilot replied. “We found you lying face down in the snow. You’re lucky we got to you when we did. You have a mild hypothermia. We also recovered all your gear. Everything was stacked neatly at the rendezvous point.”

I’m writing this down, hoping that putting it on paper will help me make sense of what happened out there.