The forest woke restless today—branches groaning in the wind, loose bark clattering down like scattered bones. My first steps onto the trail felt heavier than usual, as if the ground itself knew what I was walking toward.
I went back to the ravine where I saw it yesterday. The plaster cast was still drying in its mold, but just beyond it, I found something else: a line of fresh impressions heading east. Not quite footprints—more like deep, rounded depressions where something heavy had stepped into the ferns.
I followed them.
The trail wound deeper than I’d ever gone, through a gully where the air was still and cold. I kept my recorder running, narrating my moVements, my breath loud in my own ears. Somewhere ahead, a branch snapped—sharp and close.
I caught a flicker of movement between the trees. My pulse spiked. I moved faster, the trail narrowing until the brush clawed at my clothes. That’s when the smell hit me—musky, earthy, almost metallic. It clung to the back of my throat.
Then… nothing. No prints. No movement. Just silence.
This was not the tracks of the creature I was hunting this was something else.
I turned to head back, but the forest behind me had changed. The trail looked unfamiliar, as though the trees had shifted. And somewhere, far too close, came a low, rumbling growl.
I don’t know if I’m still hunting—or if I’ve just been led exactly where something else wanted me.
The Hidden Ones 
Drop Your Cryptid Clues