My name is Jared Mitchell, and for years, Mohican State Park was my sanctuary. Nestled in the heart of Ohio, it was a place where I could escape the pressures of life, surrounded by towering trees and the gentle sounds of the river. I’d camp there for weeks at a time, hiking the trails, fishing in the river, and finding solace in the embrace of nature. It was peaceful, serene—a place where the world’s troubles couldn’t reach me. Or so I thought.
I had been camping at Mohican every summer since I was a kid. The park was practically my second home, and I knew every trail, every bend in the river, like the back of my hand. But last summer, something changed. The park didn’t feel the same. The familiar trails seemed darker, the air heavier. The usual sounds of the forest—the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves—were muted, replaced by an eerie, oppressive silence that hung over the woods like a shroud.
It was my third night in the park when things took a turn. I had set up camp in my usual spot, a small clearing by the river, far enough from the main trails that I rarely saw anyone else. The fire crackled softly, and the stars twinkled above, but the peacefulness I usually felt was absent. There was a tension in the air, a sense of unease that I couldn’t shake.
As I sat by the fire, sipping on coffee, I noticed something strange. The forest around me had gone completely silent. No birds, no insects—nothing. It was as if the entire park was holding its breath. The only sound was the crackling of the fire, and even that seemed muted, swallowed by the oppressive silence.
I tried to brush it off, telling myself it was just my imagination, but then I saw it—a shadow moving between the trees, just beyond the reach of the firelight. It was tall, much taller than any person, and it moved with an unnatural grace, its limbs long and spindly, almost like they were made of shadows themselves. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, as the figure stopped just at the edge of the clearing.
For a moment, we stood there, staring at each other. It was too dark to make out any details, but I could feel its gaze, cold and calculating, as if it was studying me, deciding what to do next. Then, without warning, it turned and disappeared into the trees, moving so quickly that it was almost like it had melted into the shadows.
I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed by the fire, every nerve on edge, listening for any sound, any sign that the figure was still out there. But the forest remained silent, oppressive, and when dawn finally broke, I packed up my camp and headed back to the main trails, eager to put as much distance between myself and whatever I had seen as possible.
But Mohican wasn’t done with me yet.
As I made my way back to the park entrance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent my heart racing. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure following me, but there was nothing—just the trees, silent and still.
It wasn’t until I reached the old covered bridge near the park entrance that I saw it again. It was standing on the other side of the bridge, its tall, spindly form silhouetted against the morning light. For a moment, it just stood there, motionless, as if daring me to cross. But as I took a step forward, it vanished, dissolving into the shadows like it had never been there at all.
I didn’t stick around to find out if it would come back. I left Mohican that day and haven’t been back since. But I still think about it, about what I saw. The figure, whatever it was, wasn’t just a shadow. It was something ancient, something that didn’t belong in our world. And I have the feeling that it wasn’t the first time it had been seen in those woods.
I’m writing this because I need to warn you. If you ever find yourself at Mohican State Park, be careful. Stay on the main trails, and whatever you do, don’t wander into the woods alone, especially at night. There’s something out there, something that watches, something that doesn’t want to be disturbed.
The forest has its secrets, and some of them are better left alone.
