Speaker 1: Welcome to Bigfoot's wilderness. Tonight's story is called The Missing Hunter.
Speaker 1: What you're about to hear is part one, the beginning
Speaker 1: of a disappearance that left more questions than answers. The
Speaker 1: men who hunted Slate Ridge didn't call it Slate Ridge
Speaker 1: out loud very often, not because the name was secret,
Speaker 1: not because anyone would stop them, but because names have
Speaker 1: a way of turning places into invitations, and nobody wanted
Speaker 1: to invite anything around town. They'd say, up past the
Speaker 1: old spur, or that cut across and above the creek,
Speaker 1: or simply up there with a slight tilted the chin,
Speaker 1: as if the direction itself explained the rest. It wasn't
Speaker 1: superstition in the way outsiders imagine it. No charms, no prayers,
Speaker 1: no clumsy rituals meant to keep monsters away. It was
Speaker 1: closer to etiquette, a kind of Backwood's respect that had
Speaker 1: nothing to do with religion and everything to do with
Speaker 1: living long enough to grow old. Don't whistle after dark,
Speaker 1: don't wander from camp alone when the wind drops don't
Speaker 1: answer sounds you didn't make, And most important of all,
Speaker 1: when the woods go still, you go still too. People
Speaker 1: who grew up in cities think quiet means peace. Out here,
Speaker 1: quiet could be peace sure, an early snowfall muffling everything,
Speaker 1: a soft fog swallowing the ridge line. But quiet could
Speaker 1: also mean something else entirely. The woods had their own rhythm. Crickets,
Speaker 1: wind leaves stirring, a faint creek, chatter, a distant owl.
Speaker 1: When those things stop, the way of room stops, when
Speaker 1: a door opens, When nature itself seemed to pause and listen,
Speaker 1: then you knew you'd become part of the night's business.
Speaker 1: Slate Ridge was the kind of place that could do
Speaker 1: that to a man. It was steep in spots and
Speaker 1: swamps in others, with a creek bottom that ran cold
Speaker 1: even in warm months. There were old logging cuts with
Speaker 1: saplings growing thick, and pockets where the forest felt older
Speaker 1: than it had any right to be. The trail wasn't
Speaker 1: much of a trail, more of a memory, a two
Speaker 1: track spur road that started solid and turned to ruts,
Speaker 1: then to leaf cover, then to nothing. There was a
Speaker 1: deer camp up there, not official, not marked, not owned
Speaker 1: by anyone except the men who came back year after year.
Speaker 1: Canvas tents, a ring of blackened stones, a few sawed
Speaker 1: logs that served as seats. Oil lanterns, the kind that
Speaker 1: throw a soft yellow light and always smelled faintly of kerosene.
Speaker 1: Coffee boiled in an old, dented pot that had belonged
Speaker 1: to someone's father or uncle or both. They hunted deer,
Speaker 1: They told lies. They got quiet at night. Cal Morrison
Speaker 1: was the oldest man in the camp by the fall
Speaker 1: of nineteen eighty three. He'd been a logger once, back
Speaker 1: when timber companies still preferred to replant. His hands were
Speaker 1: thick with old scars, and his eyes had that flat,
Speaker 1: assessing calm men get when they spent years watching accidents
Speaker 1: unfold in slow motion. Cal didn't talk about monsters, didn't
Speaker 1: put on airs. If you asked him about sasquatch, he'd
Speaker 1: snort and change the subject. But Cal had rules. He
Speaker 1: wouldn't cross the creek bottom after sundown, he wouldn't let
Speaker 1: anyone wander off alone, and he never ever answered knocks.
Speaker 1: Nobody asked him why not any more. The first night
Speaker 1: the camp settled in that season, the air had a
Speaker 1: brittle bite to it, not freezing, not snowing, but sharp
Speaker 1: enough that breath showed. The fire popped and settled into coals.
Speaker 1: A thermist got passed around. A couple of men laughed
Speaker 1: a little too loudly at a story that wasn't funny,
Speaker 1: and the sound bounced wrongly off the trees. Then the
Speaker 1: woods went quiet. It happened slowly, the way dusk happens.
Speaker 1: One minute you're not paying attention, the next you realize
Speaker 1: the world has changed. The wind died, the leaves stopped whispering.
Speaker 1: Even the creek seemed to lower its voice. One of
Speaker 1: the younger men, Rhese's nephew, a guy named Danny, shifted
Speaker 1: and said, that's weird. Cal didn't look up from the fire.
Speaker 1: Don't say that, he murmured. Danny chuckled, trying to keep
Speaker 1: it light. What weird, it's banned now. Cal's eyes lifted.
Speaker 1: They warn't angry, they weren't scared. They were simply serious.
Speaker 1: Just don't talk, he said. Danny opened his mouth again,
Speaker 1: then stopped, a moment later, it came shhh, a heavy blow,
Speaker 1: like someone striking wood with wood. The amp froze s s,
Speaker 1: same weight, same spacing. Danny's eyes went wide. Someone's coffee
Speaker 1: cup paused halfway to their lips. A third strike deliberate, measured,
Speaker 1: not random. Silence, No laughter now, no shifting. No one
Speaker 1: reached for a lantern. The fire crackled softly, the only
Speaker 1: sound that felt aloud. Danny whispered, what the hell is that?
Speaker 1: Cal's voice came low and sharp, without volume. Don't what,
Speaker 1: Danny whispered. Don't answer, Cal said, don't mimic it, don't
Speaker 1: throw anything, don't shine a light. Someone else whispered, is
Speaker 1: it a person? Cow didn't answer. He only stared into
Speaker 1: the timber, like he was listening to something far beyond
Speaker 1: the knocks. Minutes passed, nothing else happened. The woods slowly,
Speaker 1: reluctantly began to breathe again, wind stirring, creek murmuring, the
Speaker 1: night resuming as if it had simply checked in and
Speaker 1: moved on. Men went to sleep, but no one slept deep.
Speaker 1: The man who would later disappear wasn't in camp that night.
Speaker 1: He wasn't even on the ridge yet. His name was Wade, Harlan.
Speaker 1: Wade lived on the edge of town, in a rented
Speaker 1: place that always looked like it had been abandoned half
Speaker 1: way through a move. Not messy, just sparse, A chair
Speaker 1: by the window, a table with the radio that didn't
Speaker 1: work unless you held the dial just so, a small
Speaker 1: stack of paperbacks, a coat hook with one good jacket
Speaker 1: and one old one. He wasn't married, didn't seem to date,
Speaker 1: worked odd jobs, hauling scrap, fixing fences, helping a neighbor
Speaker 1: replace a shed roof. He spoke when spoken to. He
Speaker 1: didn't try to be liked. But he hunted. He hunted
Speaker 1: in the way men hunt when they're not doing it
Speaker 1: for trophies. He hunted for quiet, for purpose, for the
Speaker 1: feeling that his decisions mattered. And Wade liked Slate Ridge,
Speaker 1: or maybe it liked him. In the diner, two weeks
Speaker 1: before the season got serious, Wade had sat at the
Speaker 1: counter with Cal. Not friends exactly, but the kind of
Speaker 1: men who understood one another enough not to force conversation.
Speaker 1: Wade stared into his coffee like it held weather predictions. Finally,
Speaker 1: he said, you ever feel watched up there? Cal didn't
Speaker 1: look at him. Everybody feels watched in the woods, he said.
Speaker 1: Wade shook his head slowly, not like that. Cal's spoon
Speaker 1: clinked once against the cup. Then don't go, he said.
Speaker 1: Wade gave a faint half smile. That's the thing, he said,
Speaker 1: I think it's already decided. I'm going cal didn't respond.
Speaker 1: That season, Wade hunted alone more than usual. He'd show
Speaker 1: up near the camp at odd hours, tray a few
Speaker 1: words except coffee, then slip away again, as if the
Speaker 1: firelight made him uncomfortable. He positioned himself so he could
Speaker 1: see the tree line, not in a paranoid way, more
Speaker 1: like a man sitting with his back to a wall
Speaker 1: in a bar. Once a man joked about the Knox
Speaker 1: Forced landlord. He laughed, collecting rent. Wade didn't laugh. Instead,
Speaker 1: he said, very quietly, it's not trying to scare you.
Speaker 1: The laughter died, and it died out fast. What's it doing? Then,
Speaker 1: the man asked, trying to sound brave again. Wade stared
Speaker 1: toward the ridge, checking, he said, seeing if you're paying attention.
Speaker 1: A cold little silence followed. Some one cleared their throat
Speaker 1: and the conversation changed. But a few men noticed Wade's hands.
Speaker 1: He wasn't shaking, he wasn't nervous. He was annoyed, as
Speaker 1: if being watched was an insult. The morning Wade vanished
Speaker 1: was gray and damp. The sky hung low and heavy
Speaker 1: like it wanted to snow, but it hadn't committed. The
Speaker 1: forest smelled like wet leaves and cold earth. Wade parked
Speaker 1: his truck along the old logging spur just after dawn.
Speaker 1: It was an old truck with a bench seat and
Speaker 1: its hool kit under the passenger side, the kind you
Speaker 1: fixed yourself, the kind you didn't baby. The cab had
Speaker 1: a faint scent of tobacco, even though Wade didn't smoke much.
Speaker 1: A paper map lay folded on the dash, corners curled
Speaker 1: from use. He shut the door, softly, shouldered his pack,
Speaker 1: and stepped into the timber. He never came back out.
Speaker 1: At first, nobody panicked. Hunters go long, Hunters change plans,
Speaker 1: Hunters sit on a trail and lose track of time.
Speaker 1: By afternoon, men came in camp and shrugged it off.
Speaker 1: Wade was waghe but as dusk came and the woods
Speaker 1: started to quiet again, unease crept back like a chill
Speaker 1: col noticed. First, he stopped stirring the fire and stared
Speaker 1: at the tree line. What someone asked, cow didn't answer immediately,
Speaker 1: He listened. Then he said, it's doing it again. What's
Speaker 1: doing what? The woods went still, not all at once,
Speaker 1: just enough that everyone felt it. Danny whispered, I hate
Speaker 1: this part. Then from up on the ridge came the
Speaker 1: sound shh, one hit, not three. Col's posture changed, his
Speaker 1: shoulders tensed, as if he'd heard a gunshot. That's different,
Speaker 1: someone whispered. Col's voice came out low, Yeah, he said,
Speaker 1: it is. They waited, expecting two more knocks. None came. Instead,
Speaker 1: far across the creek bottoms there was a faint, answering
Speaker 1: soun not as clear, not as close, but heavy enough
Speaker 1: that it wasn't a branch. Then nothing. The camp sat
Speaker 1: in silence that felt wrong in the mouth. Finally a
Speaker 1: man said what everyone was thinking. We should check the spur.
Speaker 1: He said he might have twisted an ankle or something.
Speaker 1: Cal nodded once two men. He said, no one goes alone.
Speaker 1: Danny volunteered immediately, mostly to prove something to himself. Rhyese
Speaker 1: came with him. They grabbed flashlights and walked down the
Speaker 1: spur road, their beams slicing through damp air. The night
Speaker 1: was thick. Fog clung low to the ground in places,
Speaker 1: turning the edges of trees into smudges. Their boots made
Speaker 1: soft sounds in the leaf litter too loud. In the quiet,
Speaker 1: Wade's truck sat where he'd left it, no sign of
Speaker 1: struggle around it, no broken brush, no deep ruts from
Speaker 1: a rush departure. The driver's door was closed, the windows
Speaker 1: were up. The truck looked normal, like a man might
Speaker 1: return any minute, and wonder why two people were staring
Speaker 1: at it. Danny tried the door, unlocked. Inside were Wade's gloves,
Speaker 1: an extra coat folded on the seat, a thermos, a
Speaker 1: paper sack with two crushed sandwiches. But Wade's rifle case
Speaker 1: was empty. His rifle was gone, his pack was gone. Wade,
Speaker 1: Wade was gone. Danny whispered, maybe he's still out there.
Speaker 1: Reese didn't answer. He shone his light down the spur,
Speaker 1: then toward the trees. The beam hit trunks, branches, fog,
Speaker 1: and then Danny said, did you see that? Reese stiffened.
Speaker 1: See what? Danny lowered his voice like volume could attract attention, movement,
Speaker 1: He said, right there. Reese swept the light again. Nothing.
Speaker 1: Danny swallowed. I don't like this, he said. Reese clicked
Speaker 1: his light off. Danny hissed, what are you doing? Reese
Speaker 1: leaned close. If there's something there, he whispered, the light
Speaker 1: just told it where we are. Danny's heart hammered so
Speaker 1: hard he could hear it. They stood in darkness, letting
Speaker 1: their eyes adjust. Shapes emerged, tree trunks, the faint line
Speaker 1: of the spur, fog like pale smoke between branches. Then
Speaker 1: they heard it. A breath, low, slow, close enough that
Speaker 1: it raised the hair on Danny's neck. Not a growl,
Speaker 1: not a snort, not a dramatic movie sound, just breathing.
Speaker 1: Danny's mouth went dry. He wanted to run, He wanted
Speaker 1: to shout Wade's name. He wanted to turn the flashlight
Speaker 1: back on so the dark couldn't hold secrets. Reese didn't
Speaker 1: do any of that, very calmly, barely above a whisper,
Speaker 1: We're leaving, he said. They walked back toward camp without speaking.
Speaker 1: They didn't run, because running in the woods at night
Speaker 1: gets you killed faster than fear ever will. But Danny
Speaker 1: could feel something behind them, not charging, not crashing through brush,
Speaker 1: just present following. They reached camp, pale and quiet. The
Speaker 1: others read their faces and didn't ask for jokes. Cal
Speaker 1: listened to the report, then said, we search At first light.
Speaker 1: A deputy from the sheriff's office arrived late the next
Speaker 1: morning in a brown truck with a light bar that
Speaker 1: looked like it had seen better days. His name was Finch,
Speaker 1: Harold Finch, though most just called him Deputy Finch. He
Speaker 1: looked tired before he stepped out of the vehicle, the
Speaker 1: way small town deputies often do. Too many calls, too
Speaker 1: few hands. Finch took statements he wrote in a small notebook,
Speaker 1: flipping pages with a thumb stained by ink. He asked
Speaker 1: sensible questions. Where was way last seen, what was he wearing?
Speaker 1: What time did he leave? Any medical conditions, any enemies.
Speaker 1: Then he asked the question everybody avoided? Anybody see anything unusual? Silence?
Speaker 1: Men shifted, cleared throats, looked away. Finally, Cal said we
Speaker 1: found tracks. Finch raised his eyebrows, human tracks. Cow looked
Speaker 1: at him with flat seriousness. No, he said. They walked
Speaker 1: down to the creek bottom, where the ground turned damp
Speaker 1: and dark. The smell hit them halfway down, musky, heavy, wrong.
Speaker 1: Finch wrinkled his nose and tried to hide it. What
Speaker 1: is that? He asked, Cow didn't answer. Near the water's edge,
Speaker 1: Prince marked the mud, big five toes, no claws, deep heel.
Speaker 1: Finch crouched and stared. He didn't speak for a long time.
Speaker 1: Finally he stood and said, could be a hoax. Cows
Speaker 1: gave didn't move. Then who made it? He asked. Finch
Speaker 1: looked around at the men. Someone wanting attention, he said.
Speaker 1: Cal's voice stayed level. Then why didn't they make a trail,
Speaker 1: he asked. Finch glanced back at the mud. That was
Speaker 1: the part that didn't fit. The Prince didn't continue. They
Speaker 1: came to the creek and stopped. No crossing, no exit,
Speaker 1: no chase, just prince facing the water as if something
Speaker 1: stood there for a while, looking down into the cold,
Speaker 1: moving dark. Finch's pen hovered over his notebook. He wrote
Speaker 1: something anyway, but later when men asked what he wrote,
Speaker 1: he didn't show them. As the search spread out that day,
Speaker 1: dogs refused the creek bottom. They'd whine and plant their
Speaker 1: feet and pull away, eyes fixed on the trees across
Speaker 1: the water. Handlers cursed and tugged and coaxed. Nothing worked.
Speaker 1: Near midday, a man found Wade's hat hung on a
Speaker 1: low branch, like it had been placed there. Not torn,
Speaker 1: not bloodied, just hung. Could have fallen, someone said, cow
Speaker 1: shook his head. Not like that, he muttered. The woods
Speaker 1: shifted around them as the day went on. Sometimes it
Speaker 1: felt normal. Wind would pick up, leaves would chatter, birds
Speaker 1: would flit. Then, without warning, everything would pause again, the
Speaker 1: unnatural stillness would settle, and men would stop talking mid sentence,
Speaker 1: as if they'd all heard the same thing, the same warning.
Speaker 1: Late afternoon brought the noox again, three hits, this time
Speaker 1: from up on the ridge. Men froze. Finch looked sharply
Speaker 1: toward the sound. His jaw clenched across the creek. Faintly,
Speaker 1: there came an answering three. The men didn't speak, They
Speaker 1: didn't laugh, even Finch. Deputy Finch, the sensible man with
Speaker 1: his note book, stood still as a fence post. When
Speaker 1: the woods finally resumed breathing, Finch exhaled as if he'd
Speaker 1: been holding air without noticing. Cal watched him. You hear it,
Speaker 1: Cow said quietly. Finch looked over eyes hard, I hear something,
Speaker 1: he said, Coal nodded once. Yeah, he said, that's enough.
Speaker 1: As the sun dropped and the light turned blue, the
Speaker 1: search paused. Men gathered back at camp, cold and frustrated,
Speaker 1: staring at the trees as if they might suddenly open
Speaker 1: and return Wade. But Wade didn't return. All that returned
Speaker 1: was the feeling, thick as fog, that something in those
Speaker 1: woods had already decided the outcome. Not a deer, not
Speaker 1: a bear, not a man, something that watched, And that,
Speaker 1: more than anything, was what Cow couldn't shake, because if
Speaker 1: something had been watching the whole time, then it had
Speaker 1: seen Wade disappear. And if it had seen it, it
Speaker 1: also knew who did it. All right, That's where this
Speaker 1: chapter ends for now, but the story isn't finished. In
Speaker 1: chapter two, the past comes back louder, clearer, and closer
Speaker 1: to home. What once felt ordinary begins to reveal something
Speaker 1: else entirely. Stay tuned. Chapter two is coming next week.
Speaker 1: Have a great night,