The Trail Behind

Written by Nico Fuhriman

Although I’m pretty athletic, this was one of the steeper trails I’ve hiked—and by far the longest. The Appalachian Trail takes about 5 to 7 months to complete, but I was only doing a short segment in Tennessee, which would add up to 75 miles. I’d only be gone for about a week.

My only problem was that no one wanted to join me. They kept bringing up all the stories about people going missing and the creepy tales surrounding the trail. Honestly, I thought it was all ridiculous. Who even believed in that kind of thing anymore? I was convinced my family and friends were just being paranoid, which made me determined to complete this backpacking trip.

I decided I’d do it on my own.

My parents attempted to talk me out of it: “Hazel, please don’t take this hike. I mean, you'd be so far from home, and we wouldn't be able to reach you for days. What if something happens and we can't get a hold of you?” I knew they were worried, and rightfully so, but I wanted to get out before my youth was whisked away from me. I was an adult and didn’t want to put off the adventures before I settled down. Eventually, my parents soon realized it wasn't worth the strain of continuing to try to talk me out of it. I’ve always been determined to adventure out into the world, not to mention being incredibly stubborn.

After preparing myself physically and mentally for the trip, the date finally arrived. My bags were packed, and I was ready to go. I planned to drive to the trail parking lot and hike in from there since it was a round-trip hike. As I was saying my goodbyes, my parents tried to convince me to reconsider one last time, but I had made up my mind and wouldn't let the preparation I'd done go to waste. I had an itch to explore and get out in the world, and this would numb it. Once I got to the parking lot, the excitement kicked in. I took a deep breath to recollect myself before I entered my trip of solitude. I took one last glance at civilization as I slipped my pack on and stepped onto the trail.

The first few hours of my hike were easy. I had only 10 miles before the first site I had marked on my map. The forecast said it would have a bit of sprinkling, but nothing I would've been too concerned about. I made it to the campsite before sundown and used the last bit of my natural light to set up the tent for the night. The air was cooling and relaxing. That night I slept the way one usually would after such a drive and then the hike afterwards. When I woke up, the air was cold and brisk—it was so peaceful being out in the silent woods, listening to the birds chirping. I packed up my camp, aiming to make twice the progress I had made the day before. By the time I had reached my 8-mile mark, I was nearly out of the water, so I took a small detour to the creek, using my water purification bottle to refill.

Unfortunately for me, this is when my unlucky coincidences started piling up, starting with my map falling out of my pocket as I was putting the water bottle away. By the time I fished it out of the creek, it was soaked so thoroughly it ripped just by me touching it. As of then, I was out of a map and had to rely on the trail signs. After a few more miles of hiking, I came to a split trail, the map still being of no use to me. I had to use the signs. The right arrow was marked with “unmarked trail,” so being logical, I went left to the marked trail. It seemed to be more traveled anyway. I pushed forward, ignoring the lingering sense of something not being right.

The trail started to disappear, and by the time I had fully realized the signs had been flipped, it was dark. I'll admit I felt a panic surge in my chest, but this was the adventure I had been wanting. I set up camp in the flattest area I could find and hoped that I'd be able to find my way back in daylight. But then, as I was setting my tent up, I heard something rustling in the bushes. My heart dropped, and I froze trying to listen for other sounds. It could’ve been a raccoon or a squirrel, but of course, my mind jumped straight to mountain lions. Though it was unlikely for it to be on the trail I’d been on, that trail was no longer to be seen. My stomach churned as I peeked into the underbrush, and I let out a sigh of relief when nothing was there. I was being paranoid.

As soon as I turned my back on the bushes, the scream came.

It was so loud and eerie, almost like a woman's scream—a high-pitched wail that echoed in the trees. My blood went cold as I held my breath. I’d heard stories of mountain lions mimicking screams to lure people out into the wilderness. The only problem was that I was already in the wilderness. I knew I had to get out of there quickly.

I grabbed my gear, ditched my tent, and started walking briskly down the trail. I couldn't tell if it was already hunting me, but I did not want to find out the hard way. After a few miles of walking in the wilderness, it started dumping rain, making the path muddy and almost nonvisible. Just as my luck was running out, I saw what looked like a cabin roof in the distance. Desperation pushed me forward. I needed shelter from the storm and whatever else was out there. The mud was slick underneath my feet, and I slipped multiple times before I finally reached the cabin door—praying it was unlocked. I pushed into the door and to my relief, it creaked open. I slipped inside, drenched and out of breath.

I thought my luck was finally looking up. As I set my pack down, I realized I hadn't fully closed it before leaving. During my slips, my supplies had spilled out of the pack. My stomach sank as I realized they would be ruined by the mud, and I probably wouldn’t be able to find them even when the sun rose again. The weight of the situation I was in started to sink in.

As I tried to dry off, I looked around the cabin; to my luck, I found a box of matches and a lantern, although the lantern didn’t have much fluid left in it. I lit it and lifted it to get a better feeling of my surroundings. The cabin had 2 windows on each side and seemed to not be occupied for ages. As I looked around, I noticed what seemed to be salt on the floor, making a circle with some items in the middle. As I looked up, I noticed weird markings on the wall. They seemed to be drawn on with blood, while some were carved into the wall. I’d never seen anything like this before, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Drawing my attention back to the items on the floor, one of them was a newspaper. My curiosity got the better of me, and I picked it up. It was dated back to 1809, saying stuff about weird sightings up in the mountain and warning people not to go up on their own—the same warnings my family had told me.

The cabin probably hadn’t been occupied since then if this was still here. Looking back at the symbols, I tried to decipher what they could mean. Despite my efforts, I didn’t know what any of these symbols were supposed to represent. What I did know was that there was a negative atmosphere surrounding them, seeming to draw me towards it. Any restrictions I had towards this cabin disappeared as if I were in a trance. Before I knew it, I was running my fingers along the symbols, and one of them smudged.

As soon as I noticed it was smudged, the door flew open and the storm outside seemed to grow stronger. I forgot about the symbols and set my mind on securing the door closed. It would no longer stay closed on its own, so I found a crate to put in front of it, hoping that would prevent it from slamming open again. After the struggle to keep the door shut, I sat down on top of the crate to catch my breath. As I took a deep inhale, there was a sudden scratching on the door. It was slow—something was dragging its claws across the wood right behind me. I froze; my whole body stiffened in fear. The scratching came again, this time sharper, like the animal outside was growing more impatient.

I swallowed, trying to steady my breath while keeping quiet. I hoped that it would eventually get bored and go away. Despite my wishes, it continued to grow louder against the door. I could hear it echoing in the empty cabin. Each scrape heightened my nerves. My teeth clenched as my fight or flight was ready to trigger. Suddenly, the scratching stopped. I kept still, afraid it would hear me and come back. After a few moments when I thought it was gone, there was a loud crash against the door. I jumped off the crate onto the cabin door. Whatever was outside wanted in the cabin. It wanted me. I could hear it creating that eerie scream I heard earlier, accompanied by a nauseating smell.

I could hear the animal walking around the cabin; its footsteps were heavy. I knew it was looking for a way to get in. My mind raced, and I remembered the windows in the cabin—it would be able to see me, and from the sounds of it, it could easily break those windows to get in. Unfortunately, I realized too late. I saw its green eyes poking in; it was a feline-looking creature with one too many legs, but it seemed like I was only seeing its shadow peering through the window.

We made eye contact, and its pupils shrank, locking onto me as its prey. It let out its eerie scream once again as it lunged at the window.