The forest was still this morning, except for the whisper of the wind through the evergreens and the distant crash of waves beneath the cliffs. My boots sank into the damp earth as I followed a game trail deeper into the shadows, scanning for signs—prints, broken branches, hair, anything that might prove what so many dismiss as folklore.
A cluster of snapped saplings caught my eye, the breaks too high and too clean to be the work of deer. I marked the coordinates, photographed the scene, and collected a few strands of coarse, dark hair tangled in the bark.
The air felt heavier here, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. Every sound seemed muffled under a strange, invisible weight, the kind that made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. It wasn’t just quiet—it was charged, alive with something I couldn’t name, a pressure that pressed against my skin and made me acutely aware of every heartbeat.
From somewhere deep within the trees came a series of knocks—low, distant, deliberate. They rolled through the forest like drumbeats in slow motion, each one separated by a long, unnatural pause. I turned sloWly, straining to pinpoint the direction, but the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
At my feet, half-buried under a layer of damp pine needles, I found it—a footprint. Even before I brushed away the debris, I could see the sheer size of it. Broad, deep, and with a distinct mid-foot ridge, it dwarfed my own boot by several inches. I crouched down, my breath clouding in the cool air, and began to work carefully.
I mixed the plaster quickly, the thick white slurry steaming faintly in the chill as I poured it into the impression. My hands moved automatically, but my ears stayed tuned to the forest, alert for any sign of movement. The knocks had stopped. The woods were silent again.
When I finally stepped back, I couldn’t ignore the feeling creeping in at the edges of my mind—this was no relic from days past. The print was fresh. Too fresh.
Whether myth or reality, something is moving through these woods. And today, I’ve taken one step closer to proving it.
The Hidden Ones 
Drop Your Cryptid Clues