This is something that happened to me at the beginning of winter. It was a traumatizing experience and I’ve been keeping it quiet. You’ll see why. But, I thought, maybe if I post my story here, it can help me deal with it.

So, these particular events occurred at the beginning of winter, where there wasn’t too much snow yet, but the day-night cycle has definitely shifting. As a morning runner, I find myself drawn to the intensity of early workouts, especially when paired with that first breath of fresh air.

Something I truly looked forward to.

I moved to a new location in town, and my running route consisted mostly of trails in the forest—something I wasn’t used to. Previously, I ran only on sidewalks and pavement. This was a very exciting upgrade for me. With street traffic muffled and birdsong accompanying the run, one cannot ask for more than that.

It’s been almost half a year since I’ve been running that route; it was part of my daily routine. But then, the mornings began to subtly get darker and darker. For some reason, it crept up on me unexpectedly. I remember the first truly frightening run. I was making my way to the trail, which consisted of a few minutes of sidewalk running, with the path illuminated by the streetlights. Then, I went to turn into the trail, and unexpectedly, it looked like a dark chasm, waiting to consume me.

I decided to continue my run down the blackness of the trail.

I could only see a couple of feet ahead of me. As I listened to the music emanating from my headphones, I tried to convince myself that everything was fine. Since I do live in the city, I wondered who may be out here at this time. I wouldn’t be able to see them or react in time. I was going through scenarios in my head. But, I kept dismissing it as being paranoid.

Now, I’ve been running at the same time every morning and would see the usual people taking a walk with their dogs or running as well. However, during this run, I noticed that I hadn’t seen the usual people for a while. They must have adapted and either changed their schedule, or took a more illuminating path for their morning exercise. That’s where I started to doubt my ambitions. Maybe it was a mistake to continue down the trail.

But then, I saw one of the dog-walkers I usually see, and there he was, also walking in darkness. For some reason, this gave me comfort, validating my decision continue in the trail. With the usual greetings we exchanged with one another, I found myself more at ease, reassured not only by the presence of another person but also by the implied safety of the trail he had just traversed. I finished my run and didn’t think much more about it.

It wasn’t until the next morning, as I ran, I recalled the darkness. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal and ran my route once again. Unfortunately, my paranoia grew and I couldn’t help but feel scared. There was a phenomenon that I wasn’t accustomed to which involved the echoes of the pebbles behind me. I’ve never noticed this before, but as I ran, I would kick up pebbles behind me, which made it sound like someone running behind me. I can’t remember how many times I looked back to verify I wasn’t being followed, but it happened often.

Then, as I turned once to look behind me, when I turned back, I saw a dark shadow ahead of me. It was on the ground, to the side, and I wasn’t sure what it was: a coyote, a wolf, a dog. My heart started racing and I decided to proceed slowly, from jogging to walking. As I approached this thing, I realized it was large branch that must have fallen recently.

I took a deep breath and continued my run. As I continued, I can see a flash of light ahead of me. As I approached it, it looked like someone walking with a headlamp. I also noticed the fluorescent vest they were wearing. Then I recognized them: they were the dog walker. We passed by, did our greeting, and I thought to myself: Of course! Why don’t I also get some light.

Thinking back, it sounds so obvious, I should have thought of that right away. But then, when I did run in the darkness, the path was also illuminated by street lights; I never had to concern myself with my own equipment. However, that day, after my run, I picked up some equipment: a headlamp, a fluorescent vest, and for an added precaution, a high-powered flashlight. I would use my headlamp to brighten the path ahead of me, and use the flashlight to look around me, if need be.

The next morning, my run felt much better. I can see the path, and every time I turn around or look into the depth of the forest, I can see much better. But it was also eerie to point light into darkness, not knowing what I might see. The possibilities were also frightening. I tended to resist pointing it anywhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to look.

It was the following week, and nothing changed, other than the morning staying in darkness longer and longer every day. But on one of my runs, something unexpected happened. I was running down the trail, and I could see a dark silhouette of an animal up ahead. As the beam of my flashlight swept across the animal, I came to realize that it was indeed a coyote. Now, I’ve encountered many of them in the past, so it didn’t bother me. As I would get closer to them, they would normally take off. But this one seemed frozen. It was just staring intently into the darkness of the forest. As I approached it, it wasn’t moving. I got about a yard from it, and stopped. It didn’t notice me. Feeling a little uneasy, I clapped my hands and stomped the ground to get its attention. It snapped out of it, and was shocked to see me. It gave a brief glimpse at me and ran into the forest in the opposite direction to where it was staring.

I shone my flashlight into the woods where it was looking, but I didn’t see anything. Feeling a bit uneasy, I continued my run. Eventually, I met up with the dog walker and warned him about the coyote up ahead. He thanked me and we were on our way. Again, feeling the ease of meeting the dog walker. But, I did not know that would be the last time I would see them.

The following mornings, I would not meet the dog walker. After a couple of days of not seeing him, I concluded that he must have changed his schedule or route. Maybe being in the trail when it was pitch black wasn’t a good idea. I tried to not think about it and told myself he must have had different reasons to change his schedule. I myself would continue my runs in the dark trail, knowing well that I must now do it alone.

It was the following week since the dog walker abandoned his routine, yet I persevered. It was on one particular run that “it” happened. As I ran, with nothing visible beyond the reach of my light sources and no one else around, the crunch of pebbles beneath my feet seemed louder than usual that morning.

The rhythm was also off. It seemed like there was footsteps behind me, getting faster while I maintained my pace.

They were out of sync.

For some reason, I panicked and didn’t dare look behind me. Instead, I stopped running abruptly to tie my shoes, and that’s where I heard a couple of extra steps behind me.

I couldn’t believe — someone was following me.

I immediately whipped around and directed my high-powered flashlight on the trail. And what I saw was horrifying. It was not an animal, nor a person.

It was tall and slight, almost human in shape — but something was wrong with the proportions. It was too tall, too thin, its fingers trailing at an impossible length, and its legs jointed in reverse, knees jutting forward where they should have curved back.

Shocked and not knowing what to do, I kept staring at it, and it was staring at me. Then, it dropped on all fours and leaped into the woods. I snapped out of it, got back up and had to decide in a split second: do I run back the way I came, or finish the trail. I decided to continue. I couldn’t think quick enough which way would be shorter. I just ran.

I ripped my headphones out of my ears, and pumped full with adrenaline, I kept my attention on my surroundings. I ran faster than ever before. I didn’t look back because I knew it would slow me down, but I kept looking side-to-side and in front of me. However, I can hear crashing through bushes and snapping of twigs parallel to me, matching my speed. It was definitely chasing me. I would get a glimpse of it in the forest, and the way it ran, and the shine of its eyes from the light of my flashlight, it was pure terror.

I finally saw the end of the trail with light post illuminating the streets. I picked up my speed and ran to the end. The trail led to a busy street, in which when I arrived, I looked both ways and crossed to the other side. I looked behind me, and I was no longer being followed. But, I shone my light once more into the forest, and there it was, staring at me from within the bushes, not moving. That was enough to get me back into sprint until I reached my home.

As you can imagine, I stopped running in the mornings. I switched my schedule from morning to afternoon, where I can run in full daylight. I tried running once more in the trail, but in the afternoon. Although it was more crowded with people, smiling, and waving, as if nothing was wrong with this forest, my heart rate didn’t agree. It felt like I was having a panic attack, repeatedly monitoring the forest around me. I couldn’t focus. I was terrified of seeing that thing again.

I stopped going in the trail altogether. I felt bad for the people who had no idea what was in there. I tried telling a few people, like friends and family, but they thought I was pulling their leg or I was losing my mind. I thought the same would happen if I told the people of the trail or the authorities. So, I kept it to myself, hoping that no one would be chased by this thing as I had.

Then it dawned on me; what happened to that dog walker? Then my heart dropped. He stopped walking in the trail the day after the coyote incident. What if… Should I have warned him? Was he ok? It couldn’t have been… right?