I’ve never told anyone this

I grew up in a town not many have heard of; Jackson. It’s a quiet town of about 2,000 tucked away in the mountains of Kentucky. Jackson is a very poor town & the scale of poverty is readily apparent. One drive down a holler and being able to the conditions of the homes people live in, and the looks they give you as you pass, would be eye opening for most that have never been exposed to it.

Needless to say, there isn’t much to do there, especially for an adult. Last I checked, Jackson holds one of the highest rates of opioid addiction in the country. As a boy, I never knew any different. I loved it. It was home.

Shortly before my 10th birthday, I moved to a larger city with my parents but always found myself back there on weekends and holidays. Nearly every summer was spent staying there with my grandparents

My grandfather was the best man I ever knew, and he made sure I was familiar with the wilderness. A stones throw from his backyard lay thousands of acres of untouched wilderness. We often journeyed into “the hills” to pick blackberries and look for deer tracks. He’d teach me to climb trees, whittle, and I eventually learned how to identify every type of tree in those woods.

When we’d get finished, always making sure it was before dark, we’d go back to the house and my grandmother would make the best dinners; fried chicken, dumplings, and the occasional salmon patty which was always met with disappointment.

I don’t have my grandfather anymore. I miss those days I spent with him in the hills, more than anything. Though I miss the days and time spent with him, I do not miss the hills.

I am going to tell you something nobody will believe. I know this is supposed to be a horror story, but this is real life.

In the days leading up to the last weekend of July, just before I was to return from school, I began having horrifying dreams. Each night, I dreamt that I peered out my bedroom window and saw a ghastly, skinny figure charging at my window from the treeline. It looks ravenous, and I sensed in the dreams that it knew I was there and was intent on taking me into the woods with it.

The dream would always end with it getting right up to the window, baring its teeth and smiling at me as I pressed myself against the wall so it could not look down and see me. Only then would I finally wake up. F

My room was a bit eery, still decorated from when I was very young with a spaceman theme. I had these glow in the dark stars on every wall, and each time id wake up, the stars would remind me of its eyes. I lost hours of sleep and always made sure to draw the curtains afterwords, not daring to look outside.

One day before my parents came to pick me up, my grandpa asked me if I wanted to go pick blackberries to take home. He had worked that morning, so it was later in the afternoon when we took off. Probably 5-5:30. We knew it would be dark soon, but it didn’t matter. We knew of a good bush to pick the blackberries that was only a short walk up the hill.

As we walked across the yard, there was about 30 feet of gravel path leading to a gate which opened into the forest. We had to put it up to keep the four wheelers and drunken teens out. He unlocked it and we started up, striking up conversation about the upcoming school year.

As we climbed, I saw the usual landmarks. Though oddly placed, they seemed to fit right in with the forest. There was a large building from the 1940s shortly past the treeline, overgrown now and unkept. He told me many times it was meant to be a theatre, but never panned out after the coal business left. A few old, trolley-looking buses sat parked beside it. Next was a cemetery, small and gated off with a rusty fence (yes, seriously). Last came the water tower, spray painted with graffiti. A cold fire sat below it, the site littered with beer cans.

A few hundred yards past the water tower was our stash; we had picking off this patch of buses for weeks. As we knelt down I noticed him look up and check the sun. I could feel that he was getting anxious about getting back. He told me to get another handful and we’d go.

As soon I reached into the bush, I heard a sharp whistle come from just behind me, where the clearing for the tower met thicker brush.

My grandpa quickly rose to his feet and faced the trees, one hand in his pocket, surely putting the overflow berries away as we always did.

Thinking it was somebody playing a joke, and being so incredibly young and naive, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I still don’t know why I did it, it felt natural, like something that would get a laugh out of him. I stood, and with two fingers in my mouth, let out a long and loud whistle back. His eyes shot to me, and I’ll never forget the look on his face.

As my eyes met his the smile I had quickly faded. He stomped over to me quickly and grabbed my shoulder. He began jogging back toward the house, nearly taking my arm off as he tugged.

“Don’t turn around” he said as we began running faster. My heart had gone into my throat. As my adrenaline kicked in, my senses began to return.

I heard crashing behind us, and a bloodthirsty snarl so close it sent a cold chill up my back. By now, the sun had started setting. We still had about a mile-and-a- half to go.

As we ran, I heard the footsteps turn and run into the woods, splintering wood as it tore through the woods. My grandpa gripped me tighter and gasped for breath as he pushed on.

As we neared the edge of the forest, almost back to the old building and the treeline, we had to carefully jog down a steep hill that I had tripped down more than once. By now, the sun had gone down completely. As we went down, his foot caught loose rock and he sent my flying over his head as he went down.

I landed hard, and turned back toward him as I tried to gain my footing.

As I stood, I fell back to my butt as I looked behind him. The creature from my dream stood no more than 5 feet behind him, unmoving and without having made a sound. Its teeth shimmered in the moonlight, razor sharp.

Its eyes glowed yellow like my glow in the dark stickers. I looked at my grandpa and he shouted at me to run. I fell back again as I stood, watching in horror as it approached him. With a swift swipe, it took his life, splitting his skull apart without exerting much effort. All the while, it never took its eyes off mine.

I screamed a blood-curdling scream of primal fear. As I turned and ran, I pretty much blacked out for the first few seconds. I could see the end of the trees in sight, but I knew it was gaining on me. Every rock between us was disturbed and I could hear them falling down the slope as it ran after me.

As soon as the trees vanished and the house was in sight, I ran faster than I have ever ran to this day. The garage door was open, and I knew if I could just reach it I had a chance. As I crossed the threshold, I heard it stop abruptly behind me. I didn’t.

I reached the door and frantically hit the close button. As I did, I saw it standing there one final time, covered in blood.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details of that night; they wouldn’t entertain you much. My grandmother consoled me and asked where my grandpa was. I tried my best to explain, and she went silent. The police were called to search for him, and a warning was put out about a bear in the region who had possibly attacked him. The body was never found. This was in 1996 and his case has gone cold to this day. I know what happened, but I dared not tell anyone else. I have always told everyone that we simply got separated.

I still have to go back there from time-to-time. Much of my immediate family still resides there, but to be honest, most of what brings me back are the funerals of those I grew up around. Smoking has taken most of my aunts and uncles, and now, my grandmother is not far. Every single time I go back, I have refused to set foot in my bedroom. I have refused to look out the windows, and I lost certainly will never go outside at night.

I have been in and out of therapy for years, dealing with extreme PTSD from that day. I’ve never had the courage to tell this story, the real story, until now. I needed to get it off my chest and I don’t care who believes me. I know what I saw.

Whether you believe me or not, that is your choice. I will leave you with this, and I beg you to listen. If you ever find yourself in Appalachia, stay inside as much as possible. Keep curtains on the windows. And most importantly of all, if you ever hear a whistle, never, ever, whistle back.