It was just supposed to be a routine patrol, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.

I've done this a hundred times, maybe more, but something about tonight felt off. Maybe it was the

silence. Usually you'd hear the rustling of leaves or the distant call of an owl. But tonight, nothing.

It was like the whole forest was holding its breath.

I grabbed my flashlight from the passenger seat of the truck and stepped out.

The air was damp, like it had just rained, but everything was dry.

Weird.

The familiar smell of pine and moss was still there, though, which gave me some comfort.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease that had been creeping up on me all evening.

Just another night, I muttered to myself.

I flicked on the flashlight, its beam cutting through the thickening twilight as I headed down the trail.

I was out here to check on a few campsites and trails.

Nothing major. The radio was quiet as usual.

It almost felt too quiet.

You know that kind of quiet where your own footsteps sound way louder than they should?

Yeah, that. As I walked deeper into the woods,

I started noticing little things, things I'd normally shrug off, but, tonight, couldn't ignore.

Like this patch of underbrush I passed, all flattened out like something heavy had been lying

there. Maybe a bear. Could have been. But then I saw the tracks.

At first they looked like deer tracks. No big deal, right? Except after a few steps they changed.

The neat hoof prints turned. Strange. They were still kind of hoof-shaped, but longer.

More stretched out, like something was trying to look like a deer, but didn't quite get it

...