You know how sometimes you just wake up and know something’s wrong? That’s exactly what happened to me at three in the morning in my little REI tent down at Pisgah National Forest.
I’d been camping there since I was a kid, so I knew the sounds of the woods pretty well, but this wasn’t anything I’d ever heard before.
There was this scratching noise coming from outside my tent, and I swear I could feel someone watching me while I slept.
I sat up real quick, heart pounding, and grabbed my phone. 3:17 AM. That’s when I saw something moving just past where my campfire was supposed to be glowing.
The thing is, my fire had died down to almost nothing, so whatever was out there was moving around in near total darkness. I’d driven down from Charlotte the day before to get away from work for a weekend.
You know how it is—sometimes you just gotta get out in nature and remember what it feels like to be human again. Nothing fancy planned, just fishing and maybe hiking part of the Art Loeb Trail.
But crouched there in my sleeping bag with my Gerber knife in my hand, I realized how completely alone I was. The nearest other camper had to be at least a mile away, and my phone showed zero bars.
Then I heard this whistling sound, like someone trying to call a dog. Three short bursts, then complete silence. I held my breath until my lungs were burning, waiting for it to happen again.
After about twenty minutes, I finally worked up the nerve to peek outside. Nothing was moving anymore, so I figured it must’ve been a raccoon or maybe a black bear, even though the whistling didn’t make sense.
I didn’t sleep another minute that night.
Morning came peaceful and normal—birds singing, the Davidson River rushing over rocks in the distance. I felt pretty stupid about freaking out. I spent the day fishing, caught three decent rainbow trout, and by evening I was feeling that familiar camping peace.
That’s when I found the carving.
Walking back from the river, I noticed something pale against the dark bark of an oak tree maybe thirty yards from my tent. I grabbed my flashlight to investigate.
What I found was a face carved into the tree trunk. Not an old carving either—the sap was still wet and the wood was fresh. But this wasn’t some normal face.
This thing looked like what a crazy person might carve, with eyes that were way too big and a mouth stretched into this horrible grin that was completely wrong.
My hands started shaking as I moved the flashlight beam around. That’s when I saw there were more of them. Way more. They were carved into practically every tree around my campsite, all at eye level, all with that same sick expression.
I ran back to my Honda and started throwing all my gear in the backseat. But as I fumbled with my keys, I heard that whistling again. Three short bursts, much closer this time.
I gunned the engine and flew down that gravel road, checking my rearview mirror. I swear I saw someone step out from the trees—something tall and wrong-looking that moved like a puppet on strings.
I never did go back to get my tent.
