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I went to Sedona in late October to hike West Fork Oak Creek after the crowds thinned out.

I parked at the call of the canyon day use area off AZ 89A, paid at the kiosk, and crossed the little

footbridge over Oak Creek. A cashier at a small market up the road had warned me that morning

not to be in the canyon after dark. Things call your name

there. I smiled and said I'd be back well before sunset. I'd heard the word skin walker before,

but only in stories people tell to fill silence. My plan was simple. Walk a few miles in on trail

number 108, shoot some long exposure photos of leaves in the water, and head out by 4.30.

I left my headlamp in the glove box because I didn't think I'd need it.

Cell service dropped to nothing at the trailhead.

The first mile went the way everyone says it does.

Flat, well-worn path, shallow crossings, cold water that

stung my ankles. I passed the old stone remnants of the Mayhew Lodge, and kept going as the

trail narrowed and the canyon walls boxed in the light. I counted crossings out of habit. It keeps my

pace in check and gives me a turnaround point.

By the sixth crossing, the shade had a weight to it, but that's normal there. On the sandbar I saw

fresh bootprints from earlier hikers traced beside a line of elk tracks. The odd part was how

the elk prints pivoted mid-step. Not like a stumble. They kinked, then pointed

back the way they'd come, clean and sharp, as if the animal had changed direction without lifting

its hooves. I told myself the creek had undercut the edge and distorted the line. I kept moving.

...