"GONE BEFORE":
I went to bed that night like always, snuggling under my blanket with my favorite stuffed bunny. My room felt safe, with the nightlight glowing softly in the corner. Mom had tucked me in, kissing my forehead and saying goodnight. Dad was downstairs watching TV, the sound faintly coming through the floor. I closed my eyes, thinking about school the next day and the fun games we'd play at recess.
Sometime later, everything changed. I didn't know it then, but I had started walking in my sleep. It was like being in a foggy dream where my body moved on its own. My feet carried me out of bed, down the hall, and right out the front door. The grass felt cool under my bare toes, but I didn't feel it much. I just kept going, straight into the trees behind our house. The woods were thick there, with branches reaching out like arms. In my sleep, I pushed through them, not caring about the scratches on my arms or the way my pajamas snagged on bushes.
When I finally woke up, it was because something sharp poked my foot. I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. Everything looked wrong. Tall trees surrounded me, their leaves blocking out most of the sky. The ground was covered in sticks and leaves, and my pajamas were dirty and torn in places. One of my shoes was gone—I must have lost it somewhere. Wait, I wasn't wearing shoes to bed. How did I get here? My bunny was nowhere around. Panic started to bubble up inside me.
"Hello?" I called out softly, my voice shaking. No one answered. The woods were quiet, too quiet. I stood up, brushing dirt off my hands. My legs felt wobbly, like after running too long. I looked around, trying to see a path or something familiar. Our house has a big red mailbox out front, but there was nothing like that here. Just more trees, going on forever. I remembered Mom telling me stories about kids getting lost in forests, but those were just tales to keep me from wandering off. This felt real, though. Really bad.
I started walking, hoping to find the way back. "Mom? Dad?" I shouted louder this time. Still nothing. My foot hurt from stepping on rocks and roots. The bushes scratched my legs, leaving red marks. I thought about the animals that live in these woods. Dad once said there are snakes that rattle before they bite, and big hogs with sharp tusks that run wild. What if one found me? I stopped and listened. Was that a rustle in the leaves? Something moving? I held my breath, staring into the shadows. It could be a squirrel, or maybe something bigger. My mind raced with pictures of eyes watching me from the dark.
After walking for what felt like hours, I found a big log on the ground. It looked like a good place to hide. I crawled under it, curling up tight. The dirt smelled earthy and damp. Mosquitoes buzzed around, biting my arms and neck. I slapped at them, but more came. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. "Please, someone find me," I whispered to myself. "I want to go home." I thought about my bed, my room, the breakfast Mom makes with pancakes. Why did this happen? I must have sleepwalked again. It happened before, but only inside the house—like going to the kitchen for water without waking up. Never this far.
As time passed, sounds started to scare me more. A branch snapped somewhere close. I peeked out from under the log. Nothing there, but my imagination made it worse. What if a hog smelled me and came charging? Or a snake slithered right next to me? I pulled my knees closer, trying not to make noise. The bites itched so bad, but I didn't dare move much. Hours went by, I think. My stomach growled—I hadn't eaten since dinner. Thirst made my throat dry. I licked my lips, wishing for water.
Then, far away, I heard voices. Real ones, not in my head. "Peyton! Where are you?" No, wait, in my story, it's Lily. "Lily! Lily, call out if you hear us!" It was faint, but it gave me hope. I wanted to yell back, but fear kept me quiet at first. What if it was a trick? No, that was silly. It had to be people looking for me. "Here! I'm here!" I shouted as loud as I could. My voice cracked, but I kept going. "Help! Under the log!"
The voices got louder. Flashlights flickered through the trees. My whole body shook with relief and fear mixed together. Footsteps crunched closer. "I think I hear her!" someone said. It was a man's voice, deep and kind. "Over this way!"
A light shone right on me. I squinted, covering my eyes. "Lily? Is that you?" The man knelt down. I recognized him—it was Mr. Johnson, my best friend Emma's dad. He smiled, but his face looked worried. "Oh, thank goodness. We've been searching everywhere. Are you okay?"
I nodded, tears coming again. "I think so. My foot hurts, and I'm itchy from bites." He reached out gently. "Come on out, kiddo. Let's get you home." I crawled out, and he picked me up like I weighed nothing. "You're safe now. Your mom and dad are waiting."
As he carried me through the woods, more people joined us. A lady with a uniform checked me over. "Any pain besides the foot?" she asked. I shook my head. "Just scared. How did you find me?"
"A drone with special cameras," Mr. Johnson explained. "It sees heat, like from your body. Josh flew it and spotted you curled up here." I looked up at the sky, imagining a flying machine looking down. It sounded like magic, but it was real.
We reached a clearing where cars and lights were everywhere. Mom ran up, hugging me tight. "My baby! I was so worried." Dad was right behind, his eyes red. "Don't ever scare us like that again." I hugged them back. "I didn't mean to. I was sleepwalking."
They took me home after the doctors checked me. I had mosquito bites all over, and my foot was bruised, but nothing broken. That night, Mom sat by my bed until I fell asleep. "We'll lock the doors better," she said. "And maybe get a bell on your door."
But even now, I think about those woods. The quiet, the shadows, the sounds that might be animals. What if the drone hadn't found me? What if I'd walked farther? It makes me shiver. Sleepwalking isn't just funny anymore. It's dangerous, like a hidden monster inside you that takes control. I stay close to home now, and I never want to feel that lost again.
The next day, everyone talked about it. Emma came over. "You were on the news!" she said excitedly. "They showed the drone video." I didn't want to see it. "Was it scary for you too?" I asked.
"Yeah," she admitted. "We all helped search. Dad said the woods have snakes and hogs. You were brave to stay put."
"I wasn't brave. I was terrified." We laughed a little, but inside, the fear lingered. Like a shadow that follows you.
Weeks later, I still wake up sometimes, checking if I'm in my bed. The woods call in my dreams, pulling me back. But I fight it. Because out there, alone, anything can happen. And next time, maybe no one finds you.
"STILL HAUNTED":
I went on this camping trip with my son in the big wilderness area in Idaho. We drove out there together, found a quiet spot near a dirt road, set up our tents, and shared a drink before turning in for the night. I remember crawling into my sleeping bag, feeling tired from the drive, and drifting off quickly.
Sometime later, my eyes opened, but everything looked blurry without my contacts. I stood there in the dark, trees all around me, feeling confused. At first, I thought I saw lights up on a hill, like houses where people could help me. My mind was foggy, like I was still half in a dream. I took a step forward, but my foot hit something hard—a log—and I fell right into a cold creek. The water hit me like a shock, soaking me all the way through. I gasped and pulled myself out, dripping and shaking.
Now I was wide awake. No houses anywhere, just endless trees and darkness. My clothes were wet, my feet bare except for socks, and the air bit at my skin. I had no idea how far I'd walked from camp or which way to go back. Panic started to build inside me. What if I couldn't find my way? What if I froze out here alone?
I pulled my arms inside my shirt to stay warmer, but the sleeves got stiff from the cold. My feet hurt with every step on the rough ground—rocks and sticks poking through my socks. I decided to head downhill, hoping to find a road. After a bit, I stumbled onto one, a dirt path like the one near our camp. But which way? I picked a direction and walked, calling out softly for my son. "Jordan? You out here?" No answer, just the sound of my own breathing and the crunch of gravel.
I walked a few hundred yards, but nothing looked familiar. So I turned around and went the other way, maybe a mile. Still no tent, no truck. My heart raced faster. The wet clothes stuck to me, making me shiver harder. I knew if I stopped moving, the cold would get worse. People die from that out here—hypothermia, they call it. I pushed the thought away and kept going, telling myself the road would lead somewhere.
Miles passed, or at least it felt like it. The road went up a ridge, and I hoped I'd see something I knew from the top. But no, just more valleys and peaks stretching out forever. This wilderness is huge, millions of acres with no people for days. What if I was going the wrong way? What if wolves or something found me first? I shook my head, focusing on one step at a time. My feet were numb now, but when feeling came back, it was pure agony, like walking on glass.
"Keep moving," I whispered to myself. "Just keep moving." Hours dragged on. The moon came out, lighting the path a little. That's when strange things started happening in my head. I saw shapes ahead—like buildings or animals crossing the road. Once, I thought a whole group of elk was right there, but when I got closer, nothing. Was I losing it? The cold messes with your mind, makes you see what isn't real. Fear gripped me tighter. What if I collapsed and no one ever found me?
I remembered stories of people getting lost out here, search parties looking for weeks. Would Jordan know where to start? He must have woken up by now, seen my empty tent. "Dad? Where are you?" I could almost hear him yelling. But out here, sounds don't carry far. I quickened my pace, ignoring the pain shooting up my legs.
After what seemed like forever—maybe five hours—the sky started to lighten in the east. Dawn was coming. That gave me hope. I could see meadows ahead, and I knew the highway turnoff wasn't far. If I made it there, maybe a car would pass. My socks were torn, feet purple and swollen, but I limped on. Then, at the edge of a field, I spotted a camper. Blurry without my contacts, but I saw movement. People!
I hobbled closer, waving my arms. Three guys came out, staring at me like I was a ghost. I must have looked awful—wet long johns, frozen shirt sleeves sticking out, barefoot basically. One of them, a tall man with a beard, stepped forward. "You okay, buddy? What happened to you?"
I tried to keep my voice steady. "I was camping with my son. I sleepwalked away from the tent. Been out here all night. Can you help me get back?"
They exchanged looks, surprised. "Sleepwalked? In this cold? Man, you're lucky. Hop in the truck; we'll take you."
The warmth of the cab felt like heaven as we drove. One guy handed me a jacket. "You could've frozen solid out there. How far did you walk?"
"I don't know," I said, teeth still chattering. "Miles. Thought I was done for a few times."
We got back to camp, and there was Jordan, pacing by the truck, looking worried sick. He ran over when he saw me. "Dad! Where were you? I woke up and you were gone. I searched everywhere, called your name for hours."
"I sleepwalked, son. Ended up lost in the woods. Fell in a creek, walked all night." My voice cracked a little.
He hugged me tight. "I was scared you fell off a cliff or something. Let's get you warmed up."
He helped me into the truck, cranked the heat. My feet throbbed, purple and cut up. "We need to get you to a doctor," Jordan said. "This looks bad."
I nodded, relief washing over me. But even now, thinking back, the fear lingers. That night, alone in the dark, cold seeping in, mind playing tricks—it's the scariest thing I've ever faced. The wilderness doesn't care if you make a mistake; it just swallows you up.
As we drove out, I looked back at the trees. They seemed endless, hiding who knows what. I hadn't sleepwalked since I was a kid, over 50 years ago. Why now? No one knows. But I do know this: I'll never camp without tying myself down or something. The thought of wandering off again, into that vast nothing, keeps me up at night.
The drive to the hospital took a while. Jordan kept glancing over. "You really okay? No broken bones or anything?"
"Feet hurt like crazy, but I think that's it. The cold was the worst part. Felt like it was eating me alive."
He shook his head. "I should've heard you leave the tent. I'm sorry."
"Not your fault. Just glad those guys found me."
At the hospital, the doctor checked me over. "Hypothermia was close, but you kept moving—that saved you. Feet will heal, but take it easy."
Jordan stayed with me the whole time. "Next trip, we stick to hotels," he joked, but I could see the worry in his eyes.
Yeah, that night changed me. The wilderness is beautiful, but it's dangerous too. One wrong step—or in my case, a sleepwalk—and it can end everything. I still shiver thinking about those hours alone, the pain, the doubt. Scariest part? It could happen again.
"THE BLADE":
I woke with a start, my hands sticky and warm. The ground beneath me was rough, covered in leaves and dirt. My sword hung heavy in my grip, and something large lay at my feet. A buck, its eyes blank, throat slit clean. Blood soaked the earth around it. I blinked, trying to make sense of it all. The trees pressed in close, their trunks twisted like old bones. I had no memory of leaving my bed.
My breath came short. The forest stretched dark in every direction. Branches creaked above, like whispers from hidden things. I stood up slow, my legs shaky. How had I got here? The last thing I recalled was lying down after a long day in the fields. Now, the moon filtered through the canopy, making patches of light on the ground. My shirt clung to me, damp from sweat or dew.
I turned in a circle, looking for a path. Everything looked the same. "This can't be," I muttered to myself. My voice sounded strange, too loud in the quiet. An owl hooted far off, and it made me jump. What if I had wandered too far? The woods went on for miles, full of wolves and bandits. Stories told of men who entered and never came out, their bones picked clean.
I hefted the buck over my shoulder, its weight pulling at me. Blood dripped down my back. I started walking, choosing a direction that felt right. Twigs cracked under my boots. Every step echoed. Something rustled in the bushes to my left. I stopped, heart thumping hard. "Show yourself," I whispered. Nothing moved. Maybe a fox, or worse. I gripped my sword tighter, the blade still wet.
The trees thinned a bit, but the dark played tricks. Shapes looked like figures watching me. I tripped over a root, falling to my knees. The buck slid off, thumping to the ground. Pain shot through my hand where I cut it on a rock. I sat there a moment, fear rising like bile. "Get up," I told myself. "Find home." I thought of my wife, asleep in our chamber. What if she woke to an empty bed?
I pushed on, the forest seeming to close in. A low growl came from somewhere close. Wolf? My skin crawled. I hurried faster, branches whipping my face. Scratches burned. The ground sloped up, then down. I slipped on loose soil, rolling a short way. When I stopped, I lay still, listening. The growl didn't follow. Relief came slow.
After what felt like hours, familiar landmarks appeared. The old oak with the split trunk. The stream I crossed daily. Hope grew. I dragged the buck the last stretch, my arms aching. The cottage came into view, smoke curling from the chimney. I dropped the animal outside and pushed the door open quiet.
Inside, I climbed the stairs to our room. My wife stirred as I entered. I grabbed my sword again, my mind foggy. I thrust it into the mattress, thinking of the buck or something else. She screamed, sitting up. "John! What are you doing?"
I blinked, fully awake now. The room spun a second. "I... I don't know." I pulled the sword back, seeing the tear in the bedding. She stared at me, eyes wide. "You were gone. I thought you left for the fields early."
I sat on the bed, hands trembling. "I was in the woods. Killed a buck. Don't remember going."
She touched my arm. "Sleepwalking again? Like when you were young?"
I nodded, the fear lingering. "Felt like the forest wanted to keep me. Noises, shadows everywhere."
She hugged me close. "You're home now. But we tie the door from inside tonight."
We dressed the buck the next day, meat for weeks. But the woods stayed in my mind. That endless dark, the feeling of eyes on me. I never walked in sleep again without a bell around my ankle. The terror of waking lost, sword in hand, haunts me still.
"THE WAY BACK":
I rubbed my eyes, confused at first. Why was the ground so hard and prickly under my feet? I looked down and saw I was in my pajamas, standing on a bed of pine needles. Trees stretched up high all around me, their trunks like giants in the dim light. I had no idea how I got here. Last I knew, I was tucked in bed at home, listening to the clock tick. But now, here I was, deep in the forest behind our house. Sleepwalking again. It had happened a few times before, like when I ended up in the kitchen eating cereal without knowing. But this? This was way farther.
My skin felt icy. The air nipped at my arms and legs. I hugged myself tight and whispered, "Okay, Ben, stay calm. Just turn around and go back." But which way was back? Everything looked the same – dark shapes of bushes and branches everywhere. I picked a direction and started walking, my bare feet crunching on sticks. Each step hurt a little, like tiny pokes from the forest floor. "Mom? Dad?" I called out quietly. No answer. Just the sound of wind rustling leaves.
As I moved, a branch snapped somewhere close. I stopped dead. What was that? An animal? We had deer around here, but also foxes and maybe bigger things like boars. Dad always warned about them rooting around at night. I crouched low behind a bush, listening. Another snap, then a low huffing noise. My mind raced with pictures of sharp teeth and glowing eyes. "Please don't come this way," I muttered to myself. The huffing faded, but now every little sound made me jump – a leaf falling, an owl hooting far off.
I kept going, trying to follow what might be a path. But it twisted and turned, leading me deeper instead of out. Thorns caught my pajama pants, tearing small holes. I pulled free, but my leg stung from a scratch. "This is bad," I said aloud. "Really bad." Hunger started to gnaw at me too, even though it couldn't have been that long. Or had it? Time felt stretched out. I found a big rock and sat down for a minute, rubbing my cold feet. "If I just wait till morning, maybe I can see better." But waiting meant more noises, more chances for something to find me.
Then came the scariest part. A growl echoed through the trees, deep and rumbly. Was it a dog? Or worse, a wild cat? We didn't have many, but stories from neighbors stuck in my head – animals that wandered from the hills. I bolted up and ran, branches whipping my face. "Help! Somebody!" I yelled, but my voice bounced back empty. I tripped on a root, falling face-first into mud. It smeared my cheek, cold and slimy. Getting up, I wiped it off, tasting dirt. Tears came then, hot on my chilled skin. "I want to go home," I sobbed quietly. The growl didn't come again, but I imagined eyes tracking me from the shadows.
After stumbling around more, I spotted something – a glimmer of water. A small creek we sometimes played by during the day. "Yes! Follow it home," I told myself. The water gurgled softly as I walked beside it, splashing my feet to wash off the mud. Bugs buzzed around my head, landing on my neck. I swatted them away, but they bit anyway, leaving itchy spots. "Go away," I grumbled. The path by the creek got narrower, forcing me to push through thick vines. One wrapped around my ankle, and I yanked hard to free it.
Hours seemed to pass. My legs ached, and I was shivering hard. I huddled under a low branch, pulling my knees up. "Dad, come find me," I whispered. Memories flashed – Dad telling me about the forest's tricks, how it could confuse even grown-ups. What if I never got out? A rustle nearby made me peek. Small shapes moved in the bushes – maybe rabbits, but in the dark, they looked bigger. I squeezed my eyes shut, counting to a hundred like Mom taught for bad dreams.
Finally, a hint of light crept in. Dawn. The trees thinned a bit, and I recognized a big oak we climbed last summer. "Almost there!" I ran now, ignoring the pain in my feet. The forest edge appeared, and beyond it, our backyard. I burst out, panting, and banged on the back door. "Mom! Dad! It's me!"
The door flew open. Mom's face went white. "Ben! Oh my goodness, where were you?" She pulled me inside, wrapping me in a blanket. Dad rushed in, still in his robe. "Son, we woke up and your bed was empty. We were about to call the police!" His voice shook.
"I sleepwalked," I explained, teeth chattering. "Into the forest. It was so dark, and I heard growls. I thought animals were after me." Mom hugged me tighter. "You're safe now. Let's get you warm." She made hot cocoa while Dad checked my scratches. "We need to do something about this," he said. "Maybe alarms on the doors."
The doctor came later, saying I was okay, just some bites and cuts. But that night changed things. We talked a lot. "Promise you'll tell us if you feel funny before bed," Mom said. I nodded. "I promise." Now, we have special locks, and I sleep better knowing. But sometimes, I still dream of those trees closing in.
I found another small path after that, one that looped back on itself. Frustration built up. "Why won't this end?" I kicked a stone, watching it roll away. More sounds – scratching, like claws on bark. My imagination ran wild: What if a badger or something dug nearby? I hurried on, whispering prayers under my breath.
When I finally saw our house lights twinkling through the leaves, relief flooded me. "Thank you," I breathed. Inside, after the hugs, Dad sat me down. "Tell us everything, Ben. From the start." I did, describing the growls and the cold. "It felt like the forest wanted to keep me," I said. Mom shook her head. "No more wandering. We'll watch closer." Their worry made me feel guilty, but glad too.
Days later, neighbors heard the story. One old man said, "Lucky boy. Those woods have taken folks before." But I was home, safe. We even joked a bit. "Next time, take a map in your sleep," Dad teased. I laughed, but inside, the fear lingered a little.
"EDGE OF DEATH":
I went on a quick camping trip with my three good friends to the Red River Gorge in Kentucky. We hiked in during the day and set up our spot near some big rocks and trees. "This place is awesome," my friend Josh said as we strung up our hammocks between the trunks. "No crowds, just us and the quiet." We ate sandwiches around a small fire and shared laughs about old adventures. "Remember that time we got stuck in the mud?" another friend, Tom, asked. We all chuckled. I felt relaxed and climbed into my hammock early, zipping my sleeping bag tight.
Sometime later, I stirred without fully waking. My body moved on its own, like a puppet. I swung my legs out of the hammock and stood up. The ground felt rough under my shoes. I took a step forward, then another, away from the camp. Everything blurred in my mind, but I kept going, drawn by nothing I could name. Branches brushed my arms as I pushed through them. The path sloped up a bit, then leveled near the edge where the land dropped away sharp.
Back at camp, my friends noticed. Josh sat up first. "Hey, is that Ryan?" he whispered to the others. Tom rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, he's walking funny. Ryan! What are you doing?" No answer from me. I didn't hear them. They got up quick, grabbing flashlights. "He's heading toward the cliff," my third friend, Dave, said, voice rising. "Ryan, stop!" They hurried after me, beams of light bouncing on the trees. But I was ahead, steps steady but blind.
The edge came close. Rocks crumbled under my feet. One more step, and air replaced ground. I tumbled forward, arms flailing useless. The drop pulled me down fast. Bushes scratched my face, rocks banged my sides. I hit something thick and bouncy—a big bush that slowed me. Then I slammed into the bottom, pain exploding everywhere. My leg twisted wrong, shoulder popped, head throbbed. I lay there, gasping, finally awake.
Confusion hit first. "Where... what?" I mumbled. Darkness surrounded me, trees looming like giants. My body hurt bad—sharp stabs in my leg, burning in my shoulder, wet cuts on my skin. I tried to sit up, but agony stopped me. "Help!" I called, voice weak. Echoes bounced off the cliffs. Sounds filled the night: leaves rustling, distant animal calls, water trickling somewhere. Was I alone? Something snapped a twig nearby. I held my breath, eyes wide, scanning the black. Another snap. Closer. "Who's there?" I whispered. No reply. Fear built slow, imagining eyes watching from the shadows. Pain made thinking hard. Minutes stretched long, each one scarier than the last.
Up top, my friends panicked. "He went over!" Josh yelled. "Call for help!" Tom pulled out his phone, fingers shaking. "We need rescue—our friend fell off the cliff!" Dave shone his light down. "Ryan? Can you hear us?" Faintly, I heard them. "Down here!" I shouted back, hope flickering. But the wait dragged. My mind wandered to bad thoughts—what if no one came? What if animals found me first? A low growl echoed far off. I curled tighter, ignoring the hurt.
Lights appeared above after a while. Voices called down. "Hang on, we're coming!" It was the rescue team—volunteers from nearby. They rappelled down with ropes, careful on the steep wall. One reached me first, a man named John. "Easy now, we're here," he said calm. He checked my injuries. "Leg's broken, shoulder out, head cut. But you're alive." They strapped me to a board, gave me something for pain. "That bush saved you," John added as they lifted me up slow. "Without it, things could have been worse." My friends waited at the top, faces pale. "We saw you walk right off," Josh said, hugging me gentle. "Scariest thing ever." Doctors later fixed my leg with pins, popped my shoulder back, stitched cuts. I had a concussion too. Turns out, I used to sleepwalk as a kid, but thought it stopped. Now I know better—doctors say stress or new places can trigger it. That night in the gorge changed me. The forest holds dangers you don't see coming, especially when your own body betrays you.