PART 8: THIS IS WHY PEOPLE ARE SCARED TO CAMP IN THE DARK DIVIDE WASHINGTON – Bigfoot Stories
PART 8 — THE SECOND WARREN
Warren opened his eyes to darkness.
For several seconds, he couldn’t remember where he was.
Then he felt the cold ground beneath his back.
The forest.
The turnaround.
The truck.
The voice.
He sat up too quickly and immediately became dizzy.
His flashlight lay several feet away, still burning.
The beam pointed toward the trees.
Warren stared at it.
Something had happened.
Something had touched him.
But there was no pain.
No blood.
No wound.
He reached for his shoulder.
Nothing.
His fingers found only the fabric of his jacket.
“Hello?”
His voice sounded wrong.
Too quiet.
He cleared his throat.
“Hello?”
This time it sounded normal.
Almost.
Warren grabbed the flashlight and stood.
The forest looked exactly as it had before.
The same trees.
The same rocks.
The same narrow road.
His truck sat thirty feet away.
The driver’s door was closed.
Warren stared at it.
He remembered leaving it open.
He remembered seeing himself behind the wheel.
He remembered the warning.
Don’t let it learn your voice.
His stomach tightened.
He took one step toward the truck.
Then another.
The radio was silent.
Warren opened the door.
Nothing was inside.
No second version of himself.
No blood.
No strange object.
Just the familiar interior.
He climbed in.
The clock on the dashboard read 1:17.
Warren frowned.
He checked his watch.
1:17.
He looked toward the sky.
The sun should have been lower by now.
But the light between the trees looked exactly the same.
Afternoon.
Golden.
Warm.
Unmoving.
He turned the key.
The engine started immediately.
Warren nearly cried with relief.
He shifted into reverse.
The truck rolled backward.
Then the engine died.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
He looked at the fuel gauge.
Half a tank.
He tried the ignition one more time.
The engine clicked.
Then the radio turned on.
Warren froze.
Static.
A woman’s breathing.
Then his wife’s voice.
“Warren?”
He reached for the power button.
“Please don’t turn it off.”
His hand stopped.
The voice sounded frightened.
“Warren, listen to me.”
He swallowed.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m at home.”
Warren’s heart began pounding.
“No.”
“I’ve been calling you for hours.”
“No.”
“You told me you were coming back.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
The transmission broke apart into static.
Warren leaned closer.
“Linda?”
The radio hissed.
Then his wife’s voice returned.
“That’s not me.”
Warren went completely still.
“What?”
“Whatever you’re hearing… that’s not me.”
A burst of static.
Then:
“Don’t answer it.”
The transmission ended.
Warren stared at the radio.
He didn’t understand.
He couldn’t.
If his wife was really speaking to him, where had the other voice come from?
And why had it known everything?
A sound came from outside.
Three knocks.
Warren looked toward the passenger window.
Nothing.
Three more knocks.
This time from behind him.
He turned.
The rear window was empty.
Three knocks again.
From underneath the truck.
Warren stepped out.
He crouched beside the vehicle.
Nothing.
Then he noticed footprints in the dirt.
Bare feet.
Large ones.
They began at the rear bumper.
And continued toward the driver’s door.
Warren followed them with his flashlight.
The tracks stopped exactly where he had been standing.
He looked down.
His own boots were beside them.
The strange footprints were larger.
Much larger.
And fresh.
The soil inside them was still wet.
Warren slowly stood.
The forest had changed.
He couldn’t explain how.
But something was different.
The trees seemed closer.
The road seemed narrower.
The sky looked farther away.
He walked to the edge of the turnaround.
There should have been a clear view down the mountain.
Instead, thick trees blocked everything.
Warren turned around.
His truck was gone.
He stared at the empty patch of dirt.
“No.”
He walked in circles.
“No, no, no.”
The vehicle couldn’t simply disappear.
He had been standing beside it.
He had touched it.
He had started the engine.
Then he heard a vehicle behind him.
An engine.
Warren turned.
His truck rolled slowly from between the trees.
The headlights were off.
The driver’s door was open.
Nobody was inside.
It stopped directly in front of him.
Warren couldn’t move.
The radio came alive.
His own voice spoke.
“Get in.”
Warren stepped backward.
The voice repeated:
“Get in.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
The radio crackled.
Then the voice changed.
His wife’s.
“Please, Warren.”
He closed his eyes.
“That’s not her.”
The radio became silent.
Then something spoke directly behind him.
“You’re learning.”
Warren spun around.
A man stood between the trees.
At first Warren thought it was another hiker.
Then he saw the face.
It was him.
Again.
But this version was different from the one in the truck.
This Warren looked exhausted.
His beard was longer.
His clothes were torn.
There was dried blood along his forehead.
He held a small notebook against his chest.
“Who are you?” Warren whispered.
The other man smiled sadly.
“You.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not me.”
“I was.”
The other Warren stepped into the clearing.
He looked exactly like Warren.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same scar near his chin.
But there was something wrong with his expression.
He looked like someone who had spent years being afraid.
“How long have you been here?” Warren asked.
The other Warren glanced toward the trees.
“I don’t know.”
“Days?”
“Maybe.”
“Weeks?”
“Maybe.”
“Months?”
The other Warren laughed.
It wasn’t a happy sound.
“Time doesn’t work here.”
Warren stared at him.
“What is this place?”
The other Warren didn’t answer.
Instead, he opened the notebook.
Inside were pages filled with names.
Hundreds of them.
Some were crossed out.
Some had dates beside them.
Warren recognized several.
Missing-person cases.
People who had disappeared in the surrounding forests.
Men.
Women.
Children.
Hunters.
Hikers.
Rangers.
The other Warren turned another page.
At the bottom was a name Warren recognized immediately.
WARREN ASHBY
Beside it was today’s date.
Warren felt cold.
“You wrote that?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
The other Warren looked toward the trees.
“It did.”
“What did?”
The answer came quietly.
“The thing that lives between places.”
Warren shook his head.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
The other Warren pointed toward the forest.
“You think you’re lost.”
Warren said nothing.
“You’re not.”
He pointed toward the road.
“You think you came here.”
A pause.
“You didn’t.”
Warren felt his stomach drop.
“What are you talking about?”
The other Warren stepped closer.
“You were brought here.”
“By what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I asked the same questions.”
He opened the notebook to another page.
There was a drawing.
A crude sketch of the forest.
A circle surrounded by trees.
At the center was a black shape.
Above it were three words.
IT COPIES YOU.
Warren stared at the drawing.
“What does that mean?”
“It watches you.”
“Why?”
“To learn.”
“Learn what?”
“Everything.”
The other Warren’s eyes met his.
“Your face.”
“Your memories.”
“Your voice.”
“Your habits.”
“Your fear.”
Warren looked toward the trees.
“Why?”
The other Warren whispered:
“Because it wants to leave.”
A branch moved.
Both men turned.
Something was standing among the trees.
Warren couldn’t see its face.
Only its shape.
Tall.
Thin.
Motionless.
The other Warren grabbed his arm.
“Don’t look at it.”
Warren tried to pull away.
“What is it?”
“Don’t.”
The thing stepped forward.
One foot.
Then another.
The other Warren’s grip tightened.
“Listen to me.”
Warren looked at him.
“If it speaks in your voice, don’t answer.”
The creature stopped.
Then Warren heard his own voice from the trees.
“I’m Warren Ashby.”
The other Warren closed his eyes.
The creature repeated it.
“I’m Warren Ashby.”
Warren’s breathing became shallow.
Then the voice changed.
His wife’s.
“I love you.”
Warren’s eyes filled with tears.
The other Warren whispered:
“Don’t.”
The voice became his daughter’s.
Then his brother’s.
Then his father’s.
Every voice was perfect.
Every memory was exact.
Then it spoke in Warren’s voice again.
“I’m scared.”
Warren looked at the other man.
The other Warren was crying.
“You have to go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Where do I go?”
The other Warren pointed toward a narrow opening between two trees.
“There.”
Warren looked.
There was no trail.
Only darkness.
“That’s not a road.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
“What happens if I go?”
The other Warren stared at him.
“You might get home.”
“Might?”
“You might.”
“And you?”
The other Warren smiled.
“I already did.”
Warren stared at him.
“What?”
The other Warren stepped backward.
“I made it out once.”
“Then why are you here?”
The other man’s smile disappeared.
“Because it followed me.”
Behind Warren, something moved.
The other Warren looked past him.
His face changed.
Fear.
Pure fear.
“It’s here.”
Warren turned.
The creature was standing ten feet away.
Now he could see its face.
It had no eyes.
No mouth.
No nose.
Only smooth, pale skin.
Then the skin began to change.
Slowly.
The shape of a nose appeared.
Then eyes.
Then a mouth.
Warren watched in horror as the creature built a face from memory.
His face.
The thing smiled.
And spoke in Warren’s voice.
“I’m Warren Ashby.”
The other Warren shoved him toward the trees.
“RUN!”
Warren ran.
Branches tore across his face.
He stumbled through the darkness.
Behind him came footsteps.
Fast now.
The creature was chasing him.
Warren didn’t look back.
He heard the other Warren screaming.
Then silence.
Warren kept running.
Until he saw light.
Real sunlight.
A road.
A highway.
Cars.
Civilization.
He burst from the trees and collapsed onto the pavement.
A truck stopped.
A man jumped out.
“Sir! Are you okay?”
Warren tried to answer.
He couldn’t.
The man crouched beside him.
“What’s your name?”
Warren opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, another voice answered from the forest.
His own.
“Warren Ashby.”
The driver looked toward the trees.
Warren’s blood turned cold.
The driver looked back at him.
“Was that you?”
Warren shook his head.
Then his radio began transmitting.
His wife’s voice came through.
“Warren?”
He stared at the device.
The driver heard it too.
“Who is that?”
Warren slowly lifted the radio.
A second voice whispered beneath his wife’s.
His own voice.
Closer than before.
“Don’t tell him your name.”
Warren looked at the driver.
The driver smiled.
Then his face began to change.
And Warren realized the forest had never been behind him.
It had been following him.
The entire time.
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