The writer's grandfather and his Vietnam War friend are hunting in the Pacific Northwest when they encounter an unknown evil creature, and then later they see future 'visions' of themselves.
I received the following account:
"Hello. I thought that you might find this story interesting. My grandfather told me this story when I was staying at his place a couple of years ago. I don’t remember how it came up exactly. It was so odd and out of the blue, and I was so taken aback that I wrote down all the details that I could remember after the fact, so this isn’t a word-for-word transcription, but it’ll suffice.
Anyways, back in the 1960s, my grandfather on my dad's side was drafted into the Army for the Vietnam War. He gets discharged in late 1972, and drifts apart from all of his war buddies, except for one. They live remarkably close to one another in Washington State, and both exhibit some serious post-war PTSD issues. Therefore, they both decide to go on a hunting trip together, around the autumn season of 1973, to try to find healing or closure post-war.
As he tells it, he would always hunt deer in the woods behind his house. In those days, his home was more of a cabin, with basic necessities. It’s probably late afternoon in rural Washington. Anyone who has been in the Pacific Northwest forest knows how THICK and DENSE the foliage and trees are. Not to mention the fog. You can’t see far ahead of you. Sight lines become blurred. Sounds around you become amplified. This sense of isolation causes your blood pressure to rise.
So, my grandfather and his friend from Nam’ are both hunting off-trail, tying bright markers on tree branches as they move through the underbrush, so they don’t get lost. Suddenly, they hear a sound.
It’s the BLARING sound of a train horn. It’s so loud, it causes the two men to become disoriented. My grandfather recalls that he fell to his knees, hands on ear, screaming, feeling his throat moving air, yet not hearing it.
This sound doesn’t seem to have direction. The sound is all-encompassing. It’s everywhere. The ground is shaking. And, like a bad cliche, as soon as it began, it stopped, dissipating in an instant. They both are kneeling there, stunned. Their ears are ringing so badly they can’t hear their own voices. Their mouths move, but nothing happens.
As the sun sets, they begin to head back, obviously spooked beyond belief. As their eardrums are shot, they scribble notes to each other on a notepad as they hike back to my grandfather's cabin. As they are heading back, they see something hanging behind a tree up ahead on the trail.
Its outlines are blurred, but as it “floats” (the best way my grandpa described it to me) towards them it’s revealed.
It wasn’t like looking in a mirror per se. Because it was a CREATURE. My grandfather felt it. The thing was blurry and fuzzy, but my grandfather (in his early 30s at the time) said that he saw himself as an old man, with a white beard, and frail, sunken eyes. He had to squint, but his facial features were the same. His war friend, however, had a bullet hole in his head. The figure then morphed into BLACK. An eternal void. Death. The early evening pinkish-orange sun rays just ended when they reached this blackness. They panicked at this point, running backward into the woods, screaming like madmen. As darkness fell, they decided to keep on going, refusing to camp out in those woods.
When recounting this story for me, my grandfather, never overly religious, said, "I don’t know what in the hell that thing we saw was, but I know for sure that it wasn’t from this earth. What still bothers me is that I never saw what it actually looked like. I thought after the fact that it might’ve been a manifestation of Satan because it was EVIL. And I’ll tell ya, I saw true evil in people during the war. But THAT THING, I don’t know. It was something else. It was an evil being, and if I would’ve gotten closer, well…” He trailed off there, but his uncomfortable, haunted glance practically finished the rest.
After sprinting for a few miles, their flashlights luckily illuminating their trail markers, they reached the cabin, the night sky completely moonless. They anxiously stayed in the cabin until sunrise, their loaded hunting rifles next to them at all times, the windows and doors locked, blinds all shut, and no lights on. If that thing was still out there, their wooden door would’ve been a relatively fragile barrier.
Their anxiety-filled pacing must’ve made the time slow to a crawl. At one point they broke down and began praying, neither man ever being raised religious. Remind you, these are two battle-hardened, Vietnam veterans that both saw combat. They may have had PTSD but for something to scare both of them to this degree, yeah, it bothers you, doesn’t it? Personally, it makes my skin crawl.
Yet, with this said, no other strange encounters or experiences happened that night, or ever again for my grandfather. He moved shortly thereafter to a different town in Washington and promptly met my grandmother. He refuses to this day, nearly 50 years later, to step foot into any forest.
Sadly, my grandfather said that the thing he and his friend saw in the woods that night was a bad, accurate omen for their lives. My grandfather has been struggling with alcoholism his entire life. Even today, he has had a liver transplant and still drinks daily.
His friend, however, took his own life in 1975. He couldn’t handle his own personal demons. Perhaps if there had been proper mental health services back then, things would’ve turned out differently." S
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