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That's Shopify.com.com slash special offer. This isn't a skinwalker story. In those kinds of stories, the Skinwalker follows the rules.

If you don't fall for its tricks, if you don't walk off into the bushes with your friends who

vanished for two hours and then came back acting strange, then you'll be fine. For some reason,

the Skinwalker can't touch you. It can peek at you from behind a

tree or talk to you, but if you leave quickly and make sure to stick close to your friends, it'll leave you

alone. So like I said, this isn't a Skinwalker story. This happened in late July, in a forest in Montana.

Although this was the same forest my dad and I hunted in every year, that didn't mean much.

It was wild and huge, stretched for miles and miles across rolling hills, until it finally

merged with the backs of the Rockies.

We had one small patch of forest whose trails he and I knew well, and which my dad didn't like

to go far from. He used to joke that we'd take the wrong turn on the path one day and come out

from the woods to find ten years

had passed and we were in California.

But that year I had been impatient and bored with our usual trails.

I was supposed to go to college that fall and I was anxious to shake off the parts of my

life I saw as childish and start fresh as a man.

...