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Sometimes it isn't what we see in
the woods. It matters. I've hunted

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all my life. I'll probably keep
right on honting until I'm too old and

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crippled to get myself out there.
To be honest, I have never seen

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anything that I couldn't explain. I
can't say the same for the things I've

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heard. There are always going to
be dead trees that fall over, And

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then there are the smaller critters that
make noises outside of their own chatter.

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Squirrels drop nuts, and raccoons and
rabbits scurry around and make scratching sounds.

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Even deer can make a lot of
noises. I know that every hunter knows

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that, and anyone who knows anything
about the woods knows what silence means.

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Usually that means a predator is nearby. It could be any kind of predator,

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depending on where you are. In
my neck of the woods, it

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means bears. So I can explain
most of the sounds I hear when I'm

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sitting twenty five feet up a tree
in my deer stand. The first time

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I began to think there might be
something out there in the woods that I

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didn't know about was years ago,
during a shotgun season. It was one

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of those frosty late fall mornings when
every step I took walking out to my

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stand was accompanied by the crunch of
frozen grass and sticks and acorn shells and

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leaves. It was take a step
and wait all the way in. Stalking

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in is generally the best policy,
but when there's frost on the ground,

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it always sounds twice as loud,
no matter how nimble footage you try to

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be. I got up in my
stand just as the sun was breaking over

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the horizon and I took a long, deep breath of cool air. There's

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nothing quite like being alone in the
woods. At least I thought I was

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alone. I was looking out over
a meadow, waiting for that trophy book

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that I knew was going to step
out give me a perfect shot, when

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I happened to notice this tree in
the woods on the other side that looked

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like it was rocking back and forth. It was a tall tree, and

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I couldn't swear to it, but
judging by its height, I'm guessing it

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must have had at least a little
girth to it. But that thing was

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rocking back and forth like it was
nothing more than a sapling. And then

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I heard it crack, And there's
a sound that a dead tree makes when

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it snaps. It's different from a
healthy, live tree. This wasn't that

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sound. The tree I watched sway
back and forth, then topple over like

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it was nothing, was green and
alive. I had a lot of questions

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running through my mind at that moment. I've since come up with a lot

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of answers. Time does things to
our memories. You forget things, you

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remember things wrong. Sometimes you add
things that weren't there. And the farther

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you move from that moment, the
more likely your memory is to be unreliable.

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And this was a good thirty years
ago. So I can't say,

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or I won't say, what pushed
that tree over. All I know is

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it left me with a lot of
questions. A year later, I was

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sitting in that same stand when I
heard a loud grunt from somewhere below me

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that I also couldn't explain. It
wasn't a deer snorting or any other animal

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that I knew. For one thing, it sounded larger than anything I'd ever

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heard before. I wriggled around in
my stand and tried to see as far

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around the tree as possible from both
sides. I was limited on how far

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I could see, but I still
managed to look quite a ways around.

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There was nothing out of the ordinary
that I could see. But it was

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at that moment that I recognized a
dead silence that comes with a predator's presence.

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Not even the bugs were chirping.
That was followed by footstep through the

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leaf matter that littered the forest floor. I could tell it was on two

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feet, so I immediately thought that
maybe another hunter was coming through. That

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didn't make sense because I was on
my uncle's property and I knew darn good

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and well that I was the only
person who had permission to be there,

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and if it was another hunter,
he was trespassing. So I called out,

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Hey, you down there, you
got permission to be out here.

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I didn't get an answer, and
the footsteps stopped. Hey, I yelled

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again. Still I didn't get a
reply. I said as quiet and as

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still as I could for several long
minutes, waiting for someone to acknowledge me

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and hoping it was my uncle.
After what must have been five minutes or

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more, I heard the footsteps again. They were moving away from me now,

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and I figured whoever it was,
they must have thought they'd been caught.

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They decided to move out and avoid
a confrontation. I settled back into

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watching the meadow and had almost forgotten
about that person when three distinct knocks that

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I recognized as being wood on wood
echoed through the woods from somewhere behind me.

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What the hell, I mumble to
myself as I swiveled around and tried

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to get a look in the direction
of those knocks. What kind of game

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was this guy playing with me?
Anyway? But before I could even finish

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the thought, another distinct set of
knocks came from the other side of the

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meadow, and I spun my head
around so fast it almost made me dizzy,

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and for a minute I expected to
look over at a tree line across

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the way and see a horde of
marauders pouring out. Another round of knocks

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from my side of the meadow had
me spinning around again, and then another,

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and then another, and this went
on for a good half hour.

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I don't know if it was because
I couldn't identify who or what was doing

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it, or if it was something
else altogether. I only know that I

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began to feel sick right about then
things quieted down a bit, and I

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stayed up in the stand for a
while to get a grip on myself before

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climbing down and packing up and heading
out. I didn't finish hunting that day,

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and I never hunted that spot again. Years later, I was squirrel

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hunting on another fall day. It
was earlier in the year and it was

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a lot warmer. Squirrel hunting hadn't
been on my agenda that morning when I

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got up, but I managed to
get done with all my honey dews a

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little early, and it was such
a pretty day I couldn't help myself.

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The sun was already beginning to set
in the west when I began to feel

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like someone was watching me. I
stopped at my tracks, and I felt

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the skin on the back of my
neck crawl and prickle, and my heart

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began to beat a little faster from
the increased adrenaline flow. I looked around

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me, scanning cli to see if
maybe a deer had snuck up on me

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and was checking me out, or
maybe a coyote or some other critter.

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Late afternoon shadows cut deep into the
foliage, forming a million pockets for curious

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eyes to look out from, and
I couldn't see anything unusual, so after

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a minute, I started walking again. This time I heard footsteps that didn't

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belong to me. They were so
nearly perfectly timed to my own steps that

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at first I thought it was an
echo, but there was always one more

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step that I hadn't taken. When
I stopped, I listened carefully. I

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was able to pinpoint the sound as
coming from somewhere to my left, and

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I stopped and I scanned the forest. But night was moving in, and

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the shadows were getting darker, and
the undergrowth was too dense to make out

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anything. I decided that it would
be a good idea not to take my

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time. I didn't want to run
and trigger any kind of predator instinct,

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but I didn't want to lose any
of the quickly fading daylight either, and

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I cursed myself for not grabbing a
flashlight or a headlamp before I left the

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house. The steps continued, with
me speeding up as I sped up,

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slowing down as I slowed down.
Now I looked at my watch, and

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I calculated that I had maybe fifteen
minutes of daylight left if I hurried,

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and I'd be at the edge of
the pasture leading to the house in ten

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minutes. I just needed to keep
calm and keep walking. When I started

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seeing bits and pieces of the field
between the woods and my house, I

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began to feel easier. I even
slowed my pace. I figured if whatever

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was following me had not attacked me
yet, it wasn't going to. And

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I stepped into what was left of
that daylight with a huge sigh of relief.

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And I glanced one time over my
shoulder, ten feet from the tree

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light, and at that moment I
was hit by a loud scream that radiated

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through me like a shock wave.
Logic and reason left me as I broke

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into a dead run across that field. I don't even remember stopping to open

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the gate to the fence that surrounded
the house. Maybe I jumped over it,

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I don't know. I took the
steps up into the porch too at

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a time and slammed so hard into
the front door that I thought I cracked

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the glass in the windowpane. I
had shut the door, and I was

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leaning hard against it, trying to
catch my breath when I looked down at

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my dog. And maybe it was
my imagination, and maybe I was projecting

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my own emotions on that dog.
I'll never know for sure, but when

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he looked up at me, I
was certain that he was as scared as

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I was. Looking back. It
may have been a panther, the biggest

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damn panther that ever walked on two
feet. But it might have been or

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it could have been some other animal
that naturally lives in those woods. I

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never saw anything to indicate one way
or the other. There's a reason God

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gave us five senses. If we
had to rely solely on our eyesight,

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we might already be extinct as a
species. I've hunted a million times on

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that land since that day, and
I've never had another issue. I've heard

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tree knocks and tree falls, and
occasional footsteps that sound by peedle, and

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an occasional loud huff. And when
I do, I quietly leave the woods

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and let whatever is out there do
whatever it does. I don't need to

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see it. I don't think I
want to, yah,