The trail cameras recorded nothing last night—nothing but the empty sway of trees and the occasional flash of a deer’s eyes in the infrared. It should have eased my mind, but instead it made the silence feel heavier, like something knew where not to be seen.
This afternoon, I followed a ridge overlooking the strait, hoping to find higher vantage points for the cameras. The air was damp and cold, and the wind cut through the pines in sharp bursts. I stopped to scan the shoreline below, and that’s when I saw it.
Across the ravine—maybe fifty yards away—stood a massive, dark figure wedged between two towering cedars. Its sheer size made the trees around it seem smaller, almost fragile. The outline was unmisTakable: shoulders like stacked boulders, sloping forward into a thick, muscular neck that was nearly lost beneath the bulk of its head.
The head itself sat low, jutting slightly forward, framed by a heavy brow that cast deep shadows over its eyes. Dark hair, coarse and matted in places, covered nearly every inch of its body. In the drifting sunlight, I caught subtle variations—patches of reddish-brown glinting against the otherwise deep, charcoal black of its fur.
Its arms were impossibly long, hanging almost to its knees, the hands massive and thick-fingered. Even from this distance, I could see the subtle shift of muscles beneath the fur, the way its chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths.
I blinked, half-convinced my eyes were just layering shapes together in the shifting light. But then it moved—slowly, deliberately. One broad hand reached to rest against the cedar, long fingers curling around the trunk as if testing its strength. The motion was smooth but heavy, carrying the weight of something that belonged here, something ancient.
For a moment, I thought I saw the faint gleam of eyes—amber or perhaps deep gold—catching the light through the trees. And then, just as suddenly, it turned and slipped into the shadows with a speed that made no sound at all.
The creature turned, its massive frame shifting just enough for the light to catch across its back. That’s when I saw them—long, jagged marks scoring through the thick fur, pale skin visible beneath. Some looked old, healed into raised ridges, while others were newer, still raw in their edges. They weren’t the random scrapes of an animal brushing against the forest; these were deliberate, violent wounds, as if it had survived something that should have killed it.
I scrambled to the spot, heart hammering, but found only a faint trail of disturbed ferns and a deep, damp footprint pressed into the earth. I cast it on the spot, my hands shaking so badly the plaster nearly spilled.
Tonight, I won’t sleep. I can’t—not knowing it’s out there, and closer than ever.
The Hidden Ones 
Drop Your Cryptid Clues