We reached our campsite deep in Canyon to Shelley, just as the sun dipped below the sandstone cliffs,

painting them in deep hues of rust and violet. The desert heat that scorched us during the hike

quickly surrendered to the crisp coolness of nightfall. Our flashlights danced across the rocky terrain

as we hurried to pitch our tents beneath the towering cottonwoods, their leaves whispering softly

as darkness closed around us. Jason, Amber, Maya, Caleb and I had been friends since college,

always seeking adventures in remote places, but this

spot felt different, older, lonelier. I could sense an uneasy quiet clinging to the ancient

canyon walls, heavy and watchful, as if the land itself held secrets we weren't meant to disturb.

Once we got the campfire crackling, the comforting warmth briefly banished my

unease. We settled onto fallen logs around the fire, tired but relaxed, joking about past hikes and

minor misadventures. Caleb handed around marshmallows, which Amber eagerly skewered the sweet scent

mixing with the aroma of burning mesquite.

As the stars came out, bright and impossibly numerous, Jason nudged me with a grin.

Come on, Eli, tell us one of your creepy stories. You always have something that'll keep us awake.

I hesitated, glancing at the flickering shadows cast by the firelight on the

cliff face. It felt wrong to speak of dark things here, but my friends were insistent. Amber teased

gently, and Maya leaned forward eagerly, eyes wide with expectation. All right, I finally conceded

clearing my throat, but just remember, you asked for it.

I leaned in, lowering my voice for effect.

There's an old Navajo legend. They call it the Skinwalker.

It's said they're witches who've taken a dark path, learning to change their forms,

shifting into animals or even other people,

...