PART 5: THIS IS WHY PEOPLE ARE SCARED TO CAMP IN THE DARK DIVIDE WASHINGTON – Bigfoot Stories
The corpse smiled at me.
Then it stopped breathing.
I don’t mean it died.
It had already been dead.
I mean whatever had been moving its mouth suddenly stopped pretending to be alive.
Its eyes remained open.
Fixed on mine.
The woman pulled me backward.
“Leave it.”
I couldn’t.
“Who is he?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who is he?”
Her voice cracked.
“Thomas.”
I looked down at the body again.
Thomas Vale.
One of the six people from the photograph.
Dead for years.
Yet somehow floating in a creek beneath the same forest where he had disappeared.
I released him.
His body drifted away.
It moved against the current.
Upstream.
The woman grabbed my jacket.
“We have to get inside.”
I looked at the cabin.
Six silhouettes still stood behind the windows.
Five were perfectly still.
The sixth—the one wearing my face—was gone.
The cabin door remained open.
Darkness filled the doorway.
“Why are they waiting for us?”
“They aren’t.”
“What?”
“They’re waiting for you.”
She started across the creek.
I followed.
The water reached my knees.
It was freezing.
Halfway across, I felt something brush against my leg.
I stopped.
The woman kept walking.
“What was that?”
“Don’t stop.”
Something touched me again.
This time I felt fingers.
Five long fingers wrapped around my ankle.
I looked down.
Nothing.
Just black water.
I pulled my leg free and hurried after her.
When we reached the other side, my dog was waiting.
He had refused to cross.
He stood on the opposite bank, growling at the water.
Then he began barking toward the cabin.
I turned.
The woman was staring at the dog.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“He sees them.”
“Sees what?”
She didn’t answer.
The cabin door slammed shut.
We both froze.
Then something knocked from inside.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
The woman whispered:
“That’s the signal.”
“What signal?”
“The beginning.”
The cabin door opened.
Nobody was standing there.
The woman took a lantern from her coat.
“Stay close to me.”
We stepped inside.
The smell hit me immediately.
Wet soil.
Rotting wood.
And something metallic.
Blood.
The cabin looked abandoned.
Dust covered the floor.
An old table stood in the center.
Six chairs surrounded it.
On the wall hung the same photograph I had found in my bedroom.
Except this one was different.
There were six people in it.
But someone had scratched out every face except mine.
I stepped closer.
“Why is my face still there?”
The woman stared at the photograph.
“Because you were never supposed to see this.”
“What happened here?”
She walked toward the fireplace.
Behind it was a narrow wooden door.
She unlocked it.
“Down.”
I looked at the stairs.
They disappeared into darkness.
“Where does that go?”
“Below.”
“Below what?”
“The forest.”
That answer made no sense.
But by then, very little did.
We descended.
The stairs seemed far too long.
Ten steps.
Twenty.
Thirty.
The temperature dropped with every step.
After what felt like several minutes, we reached the bottom.
I expected a basement.
Instead, we stepped into a tunnel.
The walls weren’t made of stone.
They were roots.
Massive roots twisted around one another, forming a natural corridor.
Some were thick as tree trunks.
Others were thin and black.
The woman raised the lantern.
“Don’t touch them.”
“Why?”
“They remember.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She continued walking.
“You’ll find out.”
The tunnel eventually opened into a chamber.
I stopped.
The walls were covered with photographs.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
People.
Families.
Children.
Hunters.
Hikers.
Campers.
Every photograph showed someone standing in these woods.
Some dated back more than a century.
I recognized several faces.
Walter.
Daniel.
Thomas.
Ruth.
And others.
People I had never heard of.
The woman pointed toward the wall.
“Every person who entered the forest and disappeared is here.”
I moved closer.
“What are these?”
“Records.”
“Records of what?”
“The forest.”
I looked at her.
“You keep records of people?”
“No.”
She pointed toward the photographs.
“The forest does.”
A sound came from somewhere deeper inside.
A low vibration.
Like breathing.
The woman turned.
“We’re running out of time.”
“For what?”
“To show you.”
She walked to the center of the room.
There was a stone table.
Something was carved into it.
The same symbol.
Three lines.
A circle.
And beneath it:
SUBJECT ONE.
My stomach tightened.
“You.”
I stepped toward her.
“What does Subject One mean?”
She looked at me.
“You were the first person to survive.”
“Survive what?”
She took a breath.
“The crossing.”
“What crossing?”
“The place where the living and the dead overlap.”
I shook my head.
“This is insane.”
“No.”
She pointed at the roots.
“This is insane.”
The roots moved.
I watched them twist.
Slowly.
Almost imperceptibly.
Like muscles beneath skin.
“What’s under here?”
She whispered:
“A door.”
I looked around.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
The floor trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Then the woman opened an old metal box.
Inside were cassette tapes.
Dozens of them.
She picked one up.
She placed it into a recorder.
Static.
Then voices.
Young voices.
Laughing.
The same six people from the photograph.
My voice came through the speaker.
“Day three.”
Another voice.
Thomas.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
Ruth laughed.
“We’re already here.”
Walter spoke next.
“We found the cave.”
The recording became distorted.
Then my voice.
“There’s something inside.”
Silence.
A loud sound.
Like something dragging itself across stone.
Then Ruth screamed.
The recording stopped.
The woman changed the tape.
Another recording.
“Day four.”
Walter was crying.
“We lost Thomas.”
Another voice.
Ruth.
“Don’t say his name.”
Walter:
“Why?”
Ruth:
“Because it hears names.”
My blood ran cold.
The recording continued.
Walter whispered:
“It asked me to give it someone.”
Silence.
Then my younger voice:
“Give it me.”
The tape stopped.
I stared at the recorder.
“I said that?”
The woman nodded.
“You volunteered.”
“Why?”
“Because you thought it was the only way to save the others.”
My hands began shaking.
“What happened?”
She didn’t answer.
I looked at the wall.
One photograph had been placed apart from the others.
Mine.
The date was August 17, 1986.
Underneath it was another photograph.
Same face.
Same person.
But the date was August 17, 2026.
Exactly forty years later.
I stepped backward.
“They took me.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“We got you back.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked away.
“We didn’t.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“We never got you back.”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“Then what am I?”
She looked at me.
“That’s what we came here to find out.”
A sound came from behind us.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Wet.
The woman turned off the lantern.
Darkness swallowed us.
“Don’t move.”
The footsteps came closer.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then stopped.
I could hear breathing.
Right behind me.
Something leaned toward my ear.
And whispered:
“Hello, Elias.”
I couldn’t move.
The woman covered my mouth.
The voice whispered again.
“Did you miss us?”
The breathing stopped.
Then the footsteps moved away.
The woman waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Finally, she lit the lantern.
The chamber was empty.
But there were wet footprints on the floor.
They led toward a second tunnel.
I followed them with my eyes.
“Who was that?”
The woman stared at the footprints.
“The thing that wears your face.”
“Why does it know my name?”
“Because you gave it to them.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
She walked toward the second tunnel.
I followed.
We entered a much smaller passage.
At the end was a metal door.
It looked completely out of place.
Modern.
Steel.
A keypad sat beside it.
The woman entered six numbers.
The door unlocked.
Beyond it was a room.
Not ancient.
Not abandoned.
Modern.
Computers.
Monitors.
Generators.
Maps.
Photographs.
Dozens of surveillance screens.
I stared at them.
“What is this?”
“The real reason they brought you back.”
I walked toward the monitors.
Every screen showed the forest.
Different locations.
Different angles.
Some cameras were hidden high in trees.
Others were underground.
One showed my house.
I watched myself standing on my porch.
Another showed Walter’s farmhouse.
Another showed the creek.
Then one showed the cabin.
The woman walked to a desk.
She opened a folder.
Inside were documents.
My name was on the first page.
ELIAS MERCER
Beneath it:
STATUS: RETURNED
MEMORY: INCOMPLETE
IDENTITY: UNCONFIRMED
OBSERVATION PERIOD: 40 YEARS
I stared at the words.
“Who wrote this?”
The woman didn’t answer.
I flipped through the pages.
There were medical reports.
Photographs.
Blood tests.
Brain scans.
Dates.
Every forty years.
Another page caught my attention.
SUBJECT WILL RETURN WHEN THE FOURTH KNOCK IS HEARD.
I looked at the woman.
“You knew I was coming.”
She nodded.
“You’ve been waiting.”
“Yes.”
“For forty years?”
“No.”
She pointed at the monitor.
“For much longer.”
I followed her finger.
The screen showed the forest.
Something moved between the trees.
Huge.
Slow.
Almost human.
Then another.
Then another.
Dozens of figures emerged from the darkness.
They stood around the cabin.
Watching.
The woman whispered:
“They’re awake.”
I looked at the clock.
11:59.
One minute before midnight.
The lights flickered.
Every monitor went black.
Then one screen came back.
It showed my house.
The bedroom.
The shattered mirror.
Something was standing in front of it.
Me.
The older version.
He turned toward the camera.
Then smiled.
The screen changed.
A new image appeared.
A hospital room.
A baby lying inside a glass incubator.
The date at the bottom read:
August 17, 1986.
I stared.
The baby had my face.
But that wasn’t what frightened me.
The woman whispered:
“That’s you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She pointed to the screen.
The baby opened its eyes.
A symbol had been carved into its tiny chest.
Three lines.
A circle.
The same mark.
The screen suddenly filled with static.
Then a voice came through the speakers.
My voice.
But older.
Calmer.
“You finally remembered.”
I looked at the woman.
“Who is that?”
She backed away from the console.
“I don’t know.”
The voice continued.
“You thought the forest took you.”
The lights went out.
“You were wrong.”
The emergency lights came on.
Red.
The voice whispered:
“The forest didn’t take you.”
A sound came from the tunnel.
Something was approaching.
“The forest made you.”
The woman grabbed my arm.
“We have to leave.”
The steel door behind us slammed shut.
Something hit it from the other side.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then the fourth impact nearly tore it from its hinges.
The woman screamed:
“Run!”
But there was nowhere to run.
The tunnel behind us was blocked.
The door in front of us was shaking.
And then the keypad lit up.
Numbers appeared by themselves.
Four.
Zero.
One.
Nine.
Eight.
Six.
The year I was supposedly born.
The door unlocked.
Slowly.
The woman stared at me.
“I’ve never seen it do that.”
The door opened.
Beyond it was darkness.
Then a voice came from inside.
A child’s voice.
My voice.
“Come home.”
The woman stepped backward.
I couldn’t move.
The voice spoke again.
“Come home, Elias.”
And this time, I remembered.
Not everything.
Just one moment.
A cave.
Six people.
A black door beneath the earth.
Walter screaming.
Thomas crying.
Ruth praying.
Daniel running.
The woman beside me.
And me standing in front of the door.
Holding something in my hands.
A knife.
My own blood dripping from the blade.
I remembered looking at the others.
I remembered saying:
“If I don’t come back, don’t let me out.”
Then I remembered what happened next.
I opened the door.
Something reached through.
And it wasn’t trying to get inside.
It was trying to get out.
I looked at the woman.
“You knew.”
She began to cry.
“You were the one who opened it.”
I stared into the darkness beyond the steel door.
Something moved inside.
A figure stepped forward.
Tall.
Pale.
Wearing my face.
It smiled.
Then it said:
“You opened the door forty years ago.”
It took another step.
“And now…”
Its eyes turned completely black.
“…you’re going to open it again.”
Behind me, the steel door slammed shut.
The lights died.
And from somewhere deep beneath the forest came the sound of hundreds of voices whispering the same name.
Mine.
Then the four knocks began.
But this time, they weren’t coming from below.
They were coming from inside my chest.
