Fort Campbell

When I was eleven, life was all about adventure. My father, a serviceman stationed at Fort Campbell, had been deployed for most of the time we lived there, leaving me with endless curiosity about the place we called home. Fort Campbell was a massive military base, a sprawling mix of civilization and wilderness that had a way of igniting the imagination. I spent countless afternoons exploring the woods, chasing the thrill of the unknown. But there was one night that would forever scar my sense of adventure, leaving me with a fear I’ve never quite shaken.

It was the summer of 1998. We lived on the edge of the base, in a small house surrounded by dense trees. The woods were both a playground and a place of mystery, teeming with secrets that seemed ancient and unknowable. The adults spoke in hushed tones about strange things seen and heard in the back 40, a vast expanse of undeveloped land deep within the base’s perimeter. As a child, I only caught snippets of these conversations, but even then, the tales of eerie howls, ghostly apparitions, and otherworldly creatures stirred a mixture of fear and excitement within me.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the cicadas began their nightly chorus, my father told us he had to leave early the next morning for a battalion run. He would be gone before dawn, and my mother would still be asleep. I was disappointed, as I had hoped to join him on the base, imagining myself as part of some grand military mission. Seeing my eagerness, my father hesitated before offering a compromise. “How about I take you along with me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. I eagerly agreed, my heart racing with anticipation.

That night, sleep was elusive. I tossed and turned, imagining the adventures that awaited me. Eventually, I must have drifted off, for the next thing I knew, my father was gently shaking me awake. “Skyler, it’s time,” he whispered. I rubbed my eyes, the room still cloaked in darkness. It was barely 4:00 AM, the world outside silent and still. We quickly dressed and headed out to my father’s jeep, the cool night air biting at our skin.

The drive to the base was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The road leading to the back entrance of the base was long and winding, flanked by dense trees on either side. As we rounded a particularly sharp curve, something caught my eye—a shadowy figure standing by the roadside, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. I leaned forward, squinting into the darkness.

“Dad, what’s that?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

My father didn’t answer immediately. He slowed the jeep, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the figure. As we drew closer, the outline became clearer. It was tall, impossibly tall, towering over the nearby trees. My breath caught in my throat as I realized it wasn’t a person at all. The creature was covered in matted hair, its eyes glowing a sickly yellow in the headlights. It stood on two legs, but its posture was hunched, as if it were ready to pounce.

Before I could scream, the creature let out a bone-chilling howl, a sound so primal and terrifying that it seemed to vibrate in my chest. The stench of rotting flesh filled the air, so overpowering that I gagged. My father slammed his foot on the gas, and the jeep lurched forward, the tires screeching as they gripped the asphalt. The creature moved too, sprinting across the road in front of us with a speed that defied its massive size. In a heartbeat, it disappeared into the woods, swallowed by the shadows.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. My father’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his face pale and drawn. I sat frozen in my seat, my mind racing to make sense of what I had just seen. Had it been real? Or was it some nightmare brought on by the early hour and my overactive imagination? But the smell…that horrible, putrid smell…it was too real to be a figment of my mind.

When we finally reached the command building, my father pulled over and turned off the engine. He sat there in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Then, without a word, he turned to me and said, “Skyler, I need you to forget what we saw tonight. Don’t tell your mother, and don’t tell anyone else. Do you understand?”

I nodded, too shaken to argue. My father’s stern expression softened as he ruffled my hair, trying to offer some comfort. But the fear in his eyes told me everything I needed to know—what we had seen was real, and it was dangerous.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I stayed inside the command building, doing my best to distract myself with books and games. But no matter how hard I tried, the memory of that creature lingered, a dark cloud that refused to lift. That night, as I lay in bed, I heard strange noises outside our house—rustling leaves, twigs snapping, and once, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. I pulled the covers over my head, praying that whatever was out there would leave us alone.

In the weeks that followed, I became obsessed with the back 40. I overheard soldiers talking about it, sharing their own stories of strange encounters and unexplained phenomena. Some spoke of ghostly figures seen at the old German POW gravesite, while others mentioned eerie howls that echoed through the woods at night. One soldier, a grizzled veteran, claimed to have seen a giant, ape-like creature while on a night patrol. “It’s not human,” he said, his voice trembling. “And it’s not something you want to mess with.”

My curiosity grew stronger, fueled by a need to understand what I had seen. I began sneaking out at night, exploring the woods near our house in the hopes of catching another glimpse of the creature. But no matter how far I ventured, I never saw anything…until one fateful night.

It was late September, the air crisp with the first hints of autumn. The woods were alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, their calls echoing through the trees. I had wandered deeper than usual, following a narrow trail that wound through the heart of the forest. The moon was full, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. I should have turned back, but something compelled me to keep going.

As I rounded a bend in the trail, I noticed a strange light flickering in the distance. It was faint, barely visible through the thick foliage, but it was enough to draw me closer. I pushed through the underbrush, my heart pounding in my chest. The light grew brighter, and soon I found myself standing at the edge of a clearing. In the center stood a massive, ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching toward the sky. At its base, a small fire burned, its flames casting long shadows across the ground.

But it wasn’t the fire that held my attention. It was the figure standing beside it—a tall, shadowy figure with glowing yellow eyes. The same eyes I had seen on that creature weeks before.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The figure didn’t move, but I could feel its gaze boring into me, as if it were sizing me up. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, without warning, the figure let out a guttural growl, low and menacing. I stumbled back, my instincts screaming at me to run. But before I could turn, the figure lunged forward, moving with a speed that defied reason.

I bolted, tearing through the woods as fast as my legs would carry me. Branches whipped at my face, and the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet, but I didn’t dare slow down. Behind me, I could hear the creature crashing through the underbrush, its growls growing louder, closer. Panic surged through me, fueling my flight. I knew I had to reach the house, to get to safety, but the woods seemed endless, the trees closing in around me like a trap.

Just when I thought I couldn’t run any farther, I burst out of the woods and into the clearing behind our house. I could see the lights of the house flickering through the trees, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Summoning the last of my strength, I sprinted toward it, my lungs burning with the effort. I didn’t look back—I couldn’t.

I reached the back door and threw it open, slamming it shut behind me. My mother was in the kitchen, her face pale with worry. “Skyler, what’s wrong?” she asked, rushing over to me.

I collapsed into her arms, my body shaking with terror. “It…it followed me,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

My mother looked out the window, her eyes scanning the dark woods. “What followed you?”

I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Instead, I just shook my head, tears streaming down my face. My mother held me close, whispering soothing words, but I could tell she was scared too. She must have sensed something was out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

That night, I slept in my parents’ room, the lights left on as a feeble attempt to ward off whatever was out there. But sleep didn’t come easily. Every creak of the house, every rustle of the wind outside, sent my heart racing. I kept expecting to hear that growl again, to see those glowing eyes staring at me from the darkness. But the night passed without incident, and by morning, the terror of the night before seemed like a distant memory.

Except it wasn’t. The fear stayed with me, a constant companion that lingered in the back of my mind. I stopped exploring the woods, stopped sneaking out at night. I avoided the back 40, refusing to listen to the soldiers’ stories about the strange things they had seen. I knew the truth—I had seen it with my own eyes.

Years have passed since that night, and I’ve grown up, moved on with my life. But I still think about that creature, about the fear that gripped me in those dark woods. Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed late at night, I hear the wind rustling through the trees, and I’m taken back to that summer in Fort Campbell. I wonder if the creature is still out there, watching, waiting.

And I pray that I never see it again.