Tales From The Dark Forest
Victim's Son SPILLS THE BEANS About Wendigos
(upbeat music) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (speaking in foreign language) (birds chirping) (birds chirping) (birds chirping) - I've got the inside scoop from a real life survivor. And you won't believe what they revealed about when to go. (birds chirping) My father stopped hunting suddenly when I was a kid. As I swift through my father's old belongings, I can't help but feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and unease. His recent passing has left me with a lot of questions. And as I come across as old hunting gear, it all comes flooding back to me. There's something about that trip we took to the Arizona desert when I was a kid that just won't let go. It's like a bad dream that keeps resurfacing, haunting me in my sleep. I guess I just need to talk about it with someone who might understand. So here's what happened. My dad grew up near a reservation, and he always talked about how important hunting was to him. He taught me how to shoot when I was little. And when I was about 10, he decided to take me on my first real hunting trip. I was excited, but I'll admit, a little nervous too. We drove out into the desert, and as we walked deeper into the woods, the silence was almost deafening. The air was crisp and clean, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with tiny pools of light. It was beautiful, but there was something else there too. Something ancient and primal. I could feel it in the air in the way my dad moved through the woods. We had been walking for about an hour when I finally spotted it. Through the scope of my rifle, I saw the head of an elk, but it was odd. It seemed too tall to be an elk. I remember thinking that maybe it was standing on its hind legs, or that there was something wrong with it. I wanted to show my dad, but before I could say anything, I heard him whisper, "Don't move." His voice was low and steady, and it sent a shiver down my spine. We stayed perfectly still for what felt like forever. Finally, I saw my dad nod his head slightly. I took a deep breath and turned back to the elk. As I centered my scope on its chest, I felt a strange mixture of fear and determination welling up inside me. I wanted the proof to my dad that I could do this, that I was strong enough. So when I squeezed the trigger, I did it with all of my might. There was a sharp crack, and then the elk staggered backwards. It let out a gurgling sound, and then collapsed to the ground. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't believe what I had just done. But as I looked at my dad, I saw a smile spread across his face. He clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all." We searched for the elk for what seemed like ours, but we couldn't find it. The woods were thick and unyielding, and the underbrush made it nearly impossible to track the animal. Eventually, we decided to head back to camp, but as we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. My dad, on the other hand, seemed increasingly uneasy. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if he expected something to jump out from behind a tree. When we finally made it back to camp, we were both exhausted. My dad built a fire, and we cooked up some dinner, but neither of us could eat much. I tried to make small talk to pretend that everything was normal, but the silence between us was deafening. As the sun set and the stars began to emerge, I could see the worry etched into my father's face. Late into the night, I woke up to the sound of rustling leaves. I thought it was my dad, but when I looked over, he was fast asleep. The rustling grew louder, and then I saw it. A shadowy figure moving through the trees, darting from one hiding spot to another. I felt a chill run down my spine, and I knew that we were not alone. I nudged my dad awake, and he sat up with a start. He listened intently for a moment, then nodded in the direction of the noise. "Stay here," he whispered, before creeping off into the darkness. I could see the tension in his body as he moved, every muscle taught and ready to spring into action. I wanted to call out to him, to tell him to be careful, but I knew that I couldn't. I sat there, alone in the camp, and listened to the night around me. The rustling grew louder, and I could hear what sounded like footsteps crunching through the underbrush. I reached for my rifle, feeling the cold metal reassuringly heavy in my hand. I knew that whatever was out there, it was no ordinary animal. It was then that I heard what sounded like my dad calling to me. I started the walk in that direction before I heard my dad's voice again behind me. I turned fast and saw my dad standing there with his flashlight. I asked him what he needed and looked confused at me and said, "I need you to stay in your tent like I told you." My dad walked me back to the tent, but when I tried to tell him what happened, he kept shushing me to be quiet. As we sat in the tent, I started to hear my mother's voice calling my dad and I knew something wasn't right. My dad put his finger to his lips, telling me to stay quiet and not to go outside. We sat in silence for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. I could hear the voice outside growing louder and more frantic. I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew that we were in danger. As the voice crescendos more frantically, my dad put his hand on my mouth to stop my whimpering as I started crying, seeing my dad this scared. He pointed at the tent flap and I understood. We were going to escape through the back. We crawled out of the tent, my dad throwing me over his shoulder and headed straight for his truck. He entered in the driver's door, throwing me in the passenger seat. We left that night, leaving everything behind. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew that I never wanted to go back to that camp. I didn't know what was going on. I knew what was going on, and I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know what was going on. As we drove through the night, my dad kept glancing in the rear view mirror, making sure we weren't being followed. He was silent for the rest of the drive, his jaw clenched tight. I could tell that whatever had happened out there, it had changed him. When we finally reached our home, he helped me out of the car and into the house, but he didn't come in. Instead, he went back to the car and sat there, staring at nothing for what seemed like hours. As the days went by, he became more and more distant, spending more of his time locked away in his study, refusing to talk about what had happened. I tried to be understanding, but I couldn't help but feel like I was losing him. School resumed, and I tried to focus on my studies, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those shadowy figures darting through the trees, their eyes glowing in the darkness. I would wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that I could still hear whispering outside of my bedroom door. Eventually though, school took over my life and I soon forgot about the incident. I think that made my father feel better, not having to explain anything to me. Time passed, I graduated from high school and went off to college. My father and I didn't talk as much as we used to, but we were still close. I'd visit him during the holidays and we'd share stories about our lives, but he never once mentioned what had happened that night in the camp. I sometimes wonder if I had imagined at all, if the whole thing had been some sort of nightmare. But then I'd remember the look at my father's eyes, the way he had become a different person after that night. My father passed away last month and I'm just now getting into his things at his home. When I saw the dusty camping hunting equipment, the fear dropped into my stomach. That night came blasting into my memory and I felt the primal fear that I felt that night. After that day, my father never went on any camping or hunting trips. What was once his favorite pastime haunted him. He would never talk about what had happened and the fear that filled his eyes would only appear when he saw any of the camping equipment. I tried to get him to open up to tell me what he saw, but he only would shake his head and change the subject. Eventually, he shut down and my mom and I moved out of state. He was just always so scared of something, always on edge. He was a shut-in and eventually lived off of disability. As I look at more of his things, I found journals upon journals filled with nonsense. Eventually, I found a picture tucked into one of the pages. It looks like a picture right above the sink in the kitchen, looking outside at night with a light off inside but on outside. There's something outside of the window looking in, but it's hard to make out. It looks like my dad took the picture in a hurry since it was kind of blurry from movement. I looked at the picture for a long time, trying to decipher what was outside of the window. Eventually, I saw it. Antlers. It looked like the outline of the head of an elk, just like the one I saw hunting. My heart skipped a beat. My father must have seen it, too. Maybe it was the same thing that had been following him. I shuddered at the thought. Suddenly, a crash is heard in the living room, making my way down, I yell, "Hello?" The sound stops abruptly, and it's quiet for a few seconds before hearing. "Son?" My dad's voice says. "What the hell is going on?" "Dad?" I freeze in place on the stairs and listen closely. "Son, come here and give your dad a hug down here." It said, "Still sounding like my dad, but mispronouncing some words." My dad was from Arizona, so he had a typical American accent and never pronounced words like that. Chills ran down the back of my neck hearing it. Whatever it was, must've got impatient and heard. "Honey, give your own mama a hug, will ya?" Geezo, now it sounded like my mom. Still frozen on the stairs, I heard it moving closer towards me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I feel a shiver run down my spine. I take a step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. Another step, and another. I could feel something watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner, my eyes darting around the room. The figure standing near the fireplace is not my father. It's not even human. It had the body of a man, but the face of an animal twisted and deformed. Its antlers are massive, like they belong to an elk ten times its size. Its eyes glow with an unnatural light. I take another step back, my heart pounding in my chest. I reach for the phone, intending to call for help, but my fingers felt numb and clumsy. I struggle to find the right button to press. Finally, I'm able to comprehend what I'm doing and notice I have no frickin' service. I decide to take a picture, but as soon as I press the button, it swiftly moved into the shadow-filled corner of the room and crawled up the wall. I decided now was my time to go. I bolted out of there after I sent the picture to my mom. She was the first person who popped up in my head to think to call for help. When she saw the picture and called me to ask what was up, apparently I was incoherent and babbling about my dad and hearing her talk to me. That plus a mental break when no one believed me got me a ticket to the psych ward. So, as I sit here typing this at my lunch table, I can't help but feel a little relieved that I'm here. I feel safe, most of the time. Sometimes at night when I'm trying to sleep, I will hear my dad or my mom whisper to me. I miss them so much. Some nights I almost hope that it comes to talk to me as them, just to hear their voices again. I'm not going to be here. I'm not going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. I'm going to be here to talk to you as you can. Thanks for watching, and I'll see you in the next video.