I spent last summer backpacking and hitchhiking from Knoxville to New York. Having just finished my sociology degree, I figured I’d do something bucket list-y before starting my new job in early September. I’ve always loved spontaneous travel, to just go where the wind takes me; and that summer was the first time I had the money to do so with some comfort. I could stay at the occasional motel, hop on a train, or just take a cab every now and then. I had options, and I wanted this to be a final youthful adventure before I got stuck in the rat race.

I made my way up through Kingston, Princeton, and Beckley; heading north-east. I hitch-hiked most of the way, but I sometimes had to walk for hours before someone pulled over to give me a ride. I even had a cardboard sign, saying “New York, New York!”.

But man, it gets rough out there. Nothing to protect you from sudden rain, and there’s no guarantee you’ll find a place to stay before it gets dark. And you don’t want to fall asleep when you’re getting a ride from someone; safety first.

​

By the time I got to the small town of Juniper (WV), I was exhausted. I stopped at a café to get some directions and a bite to eat. Got myself a smiling little blue sunflower pin, some kind of local charity thing. What can I say, the thing was next to a wanted poster of two kids, I felt bad.

As I didn’t know a lot of the people in the area, and I’d been walking for the better part of the past two days, I decided to catch a greyhound going north. Not too far, just enough to get me to Morgantown. I knew some people there, and figured a shower and a warm homecooked meal would turn my frown upside down. I asked the cashier for directions.

“Buses don’t stop in Juniper,” she said. “We don’t get those.”

Strange.

I stuck around for a couple of hours before I got back on the road. No one was looking twice at my cardboard plea, so I just had to keep going on my own.

​

By that time, I had learned exactly one thing about Juniper; that buses don’t stop there. And I was about to learn a second thing; that the roads are concrete garbage.

I’d been walking for about… two hours. It was getting dark. I was following the main road out of town when a piece of concrete got loose, causing me to slip and twist my ankle. I fell over by the roadside, clutching my foot, and already seeing some bruising. Now there really was no other option but to get to a bus. I backtracked to a culvert down the road and found myself a piece of rebar that I could use as a walking stick.

As the streetlights turned on, I was pissed. I thought about calling for a cab, but I was in the middle of nowhere and didn’t know how to describe it. I get anxious on the phone.

​

Finally, just around a bend, I could see a bus stop. Just this little sign by the side of the road, not even a bench or anything. But there was already a guy waiting there, so I figured I was on the right track.

I hobbled up there and plopped down at the side of the road. I tried to bandage my ankle and give it some support, but I’d have a hard time walking for the next few days either way. There was no getting away from that.

All the while, the other guy kept staring at me. I had no idea what kind of bus went through there, but I figured if someone else was waiting for one it couldn’t be too far out of line. But judging from the way the other guy looked at me, something was off.

​

At first look, there wasn’t anything inherently strange about him. Just some guy in his early forties. Dirty jeans, rolled-up flannel shirt, and a grey baseball cap. The only thing that kinda stood out was his scarf. It was this yellow pastel fleece type scarf which covered most of his neck. It looked a bit out of place, but not so much that I initially even thought about it.

But the guy kept staring at me. There was something off about the way he looked at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know when the next bus gets here?”

No response. No acknowledgement of any kind. No nods or head shakes.

“Excuse me, sir,” I repeated. “Is there a bus coming?”

Still, nothing. I shrugged it off. Maybe he didn’t speak English. But even then, he ought to have said something.

​

I waited for the better part of an hour. The sky grew dark, and I was slowly coming to terms with having to sleep outside for the night, if need be. I had a tent, I’d be fine. Still, the creepy guy was still standing there, staring at me. He wasn’t even checking his phone or anything, he just kept looking my way, pacing back and forth.

I tried to put into words exactly what bothered me about him. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They didn’t seem to blink in unison. He would close one eye, open it, and then close the next one. And it wouldn’t be a pattern, it was seemingly random; but quick. You wouldn’t catch it at first glance.

Secondly, there was his chest. When he stood still, I could see him take very shallow breaths. There was this faint noise coming from his nose, like, micro-whistles.

​

At one point, there hadn’t been a single car passing by for 15 minutes. Suddenly, the strange man walked up to me. He looked at me with those wild, random eyes.

“Can I help you?” I asked. “Do you-“

Before I could finish my sentence, he grasped the bus stop sign and tipped it over. He barely made an effort. An uncomfortable thought washed over me; maybe he put that sign up in the first place.

​

I’d took out my phone, as if to show him that I was ready to call for help, if need be. I got up on my feet, leaning against my rebar crutch.

“There’s no bus coming, is there?” I asked.

There was no response. Instead, he stopped pacing. Not just stopped as in stopped moving, but as in stopping so completely that it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. The only thing moving was the size of his pupils, slowly growing wider; like a cat ready to pounce.

Something in the back of my mind screamed at me to run, but my ankle didn’t let me.

​

I got about three steps down the road before he tackled me, sending us both reeling down a 15 feet slope. All the while, he kept taking these shallow breaths, like an excited dog.

​

I found myself face first in the dirt, with this stranger’s body next to me. A dense pine forest stretching out for miles ahead. My head was spinning, trying to figure out what was even happening. As I scrambled to get back on my feet, I couldn’t stop focusing on this one stupid detail; that his body was incredibly light. It was like getting tackled by a water balloon.

By the time I got up, my attacker was ready to pounce again. Somewhere down the slope I must’ve dropped my phone. As he lurched forward, I swung my piece of rebar in a wide arc, smacking him on the side of the head.

It was like hitting a sandbag. It didn’t even slow him down.

​

Before I could build up the momentum to swing again, he grabbed me. It surprised me, making me trip over my own feet as he pulled my into the woods. He had this grip like a goddamn vice that just dug into my clothes, and he was much stronger than I anticipated. I was dragged along by my backpack. I managed to get it off and escape his grip for a moment, but before I could get away those hands got me by the neck of my jacket. No matter how much I kicked and screamed, I could see the lights by the road disappearing further and further away.

I got dragged through brushes, saplings, and branches. Things were poking into my skin, tearing at my clothes. I could barely breathe, but I kept struggling. The man in the yellow scarf just kept pulling me further away from the light. All the while panting with rapid breaths.

It didn’t matter how much I screamed, squirmed, or twisted; those hands weren’t letting up.

​

We battled for what felt like hours. I got out of my jacket, and he grabbed me by the foot. I got my shoes off, but he just grabbed my belt. After a while, I was just too tired to fight. I resigned to just holding on to whatever I could reach to try and slow him down, but all it did was bruise my hands. At some point, I just laid there, exhausted, as he dragged me further into the woods.

The rough forest floor turned to soft grass as I was pulled into a field. The full moon was out, and I could see all the way through the clearing. The man in the yellow scarf suddenly stopped and inhaled a deep breath; his torso swelling up like a balloon. There was a faint crackle as his ribs readjusted. He was smelling something.

I made an attempt to get up, but he just kicked me back down and put a foot on my torso. At the slightest movement, he would press down to keep me in check.

​

There were others there. I could hear them shuffle through the tall grass. From where I lay, I could only see the top half of them. There were three of them in total; two men and a woman. Two of them were carrying their own bus signs. All three of them were wearing scarves, similar to that of my assailant.

One of the men hissed. Actually hissed, with his mouth wide open. He made this threatening stance and stepped forward, but my attacker didn’t flinch. Instead, he hissed back. It wasn’t a normal sound, it was like someone desperately trying to cough, but never quite getting the phlegm out.

I felt like prey to a predator, as they nonverbally argued about who gets to do… something.

​

Something grabbed me by the neck. A fourth one, still wielding a bus stop sign. I was pulled away, and as my attacker flinched, they pounced on him. It escalated into a full-on brawl, but not like any fight I’d ever seen. They were contorting their bodies at impossible angles, their torsos swelling and shrinking like blowfish. They kept thrusting their necks forward while their heads just bobbled back and forth.

In the confusion, I started crawling. No one was looking at me. I crawled on my belly, trying to get away. My ankle was killing me; every little bump sent a jolt of pain up my leg all the way through my spine.

Suddenly, they all stopped. At the edge of the forest clearing, I could see yet another one. This one was much larger. A woman, easily 6’8”.

​

She was carrying a bus stop sign; this one of a slightly different model. And she had someone thrown over her shoulder. Another victim.

​

Before I could react, hands grabbed me. My arms, my legs, my clothes; and they started to drag me through the clearing. Whatever disagreements they’d had must’ve been cleared up by the presence of this leader character.

Out of reflex, I tried to talk. I demanded that they listen to me, that they explained themselves; anything. I could hear my voice breaking as I got nothing but vacant expressions in return. These dumb, rolling eyes. All of them blinking at random, all of them taking shallow breaths.

But this last one, the large one… she was something different entirely. She moved like her joints didn’t matter. She bent her arms back and forth, and she kept swiveling her head like an owl. Her mouth was wide open, like she was constantly screaming; but she didn’t make a sound. Just a completely vacant expression.

​

We got to a mound at the edge of the clearing, where they’d made a makeshift shelter. They’d dug into the dirt and covered it in branches and moss. It was also a sort of storage, with at least a dozen different signs. Stop signs, bus stop signs, and even a couple of simple benches. This was some sort of tactic to catch people who were either on their own, lost, or desperate. They utilized anything that could make a victim change their behavior. To stop for a moment, or wait.

The large one dropped a person next to me. An overweight balding man in his late 20’s, with some of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He was nodding in and out of consciousness, and I could see deep bruises on his neck. He must’ve been choked out.

As our five attackers started going through their collection of signs and symbols, I tried to wake the other victim. He was completely out of it, muttering something about white doors and gardens. I couldn’t make sense of it.

When he finally came to, he could barely form a coherent sentence. My first thought was that he needed medical attention; he was clearly unwell. Still, he was coming to.

“They… they got me at a… a… red light,” he wheezed. “Pull… pulled me out of the car.”

“They got me at a bus stop. Had a fake sign.”

“Do… do they want money? I-I got money.”

“I don’t think so.”

There was something deeply inhuman about these people. If they wanted money, they would’ve just killed me. No, they wanted something else, and it worried me.

​

Before we got a chance to talk, they grabbed him by the foot and dragged him along the ground. The large woman didn’t even flinch. This guy was easily 300 pounds, but she pulled him along like he was a bag of chips. He flailed and protested; the sleeve of his shirt getting stuck and pulled off on a sharp root. They all helped each other holding him down, as he looked at me, calling for help.

Those desperate pale blue eyes. Never seen anything like them before.

The large one took off her scarf, revealing a massive wound in the middle of her throat.

​

It still looked red and fresh. A throat wound leading all the way into her esophagus, showing the contracting raw musculature. That’s where the whistling sound had come from.

I could see it now. They weren’t just taking shallow breaths, they were cycling their lungs. While one lung breathed in and out the other did so at a different interval; like when you peddle a bike. One foot goes up, one goes down. That’s why the chests moved so much, they were constantly breathing. The whistling came from them inhaling and exhaling seemingly simultaneously, and continuously.

These weren’t people. These were something different entirely.

​

The large woman leaned in close, hugging her victim.

Putting their necks against one another.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

​

I had to do something. Anything. I grabbed the sharp root with the ripped-off shirt sleeve. I intended to use it as a weapon, swinging it wildly, but I couldn’t get over the pain in my leg. There was no way I’d get away from them. They were fast, unharmed, and could do things that I just couldn’t. So I just sat there with my root, watching the large woman undulate, with something large moving in and out of the wound in her throat. Still with that expressionless face.

I put all the things I knew together.

They had displayed a kind of social structure. This was an alpha. They had tactics. They need their victims alive, for something. And all of the people I was looking at were just… people. There was no pattern. Just broken, twisted people.

So I had to try something. Anything.

​

Using the torn-off sleeve, I tied it around my neck; using the blue sunflower pin to hold it together. It was a rudimentary scarf, in a way.

Then, I got up. And before the rest of them caught on, I walked up and stood next to my attacker. The man with the flannel shirt and yellow scarf. I tried to mimic their expressions.

There was an immediate reaction. The man with the yellow scarf looked at me, then back at the others. They, in turn, just looked at the alpha. She leaned her head back, leaving the exposed wound in her victim open to the air. I could see something white moving in her throat, like a long white tongue retracting into her chest.

There was a moment of silence as she observed us. She seemed confused. I tried to blink seemingly at random, and take shallow breaths.

I could feel something wet on my throat. Apparently, there was a little blood. Probably from my hands.

​

The alpha got up, her head bobbing back and forth. She hissed. There was a vibration as something rattled in her chest. My attacker seemed agitated, and he pushed me away. I fell over next to the signs, as the alpha stormed forward. First to discipline my attacker with a show of force, and then to inspect me.

I grabbed a stop sign and got up, letting the adrenaline flow through me. I couldn’t show pain. I just couldn’t. Rapid breaths. Blink at random. Head on a swivel. I had to look like them, or this was doomed to fail.

The alpha looked me over, making a rattling noise. She smelled the blood, poked at me, and presented her neck. I could see the wound just inches from my face. And all the way down her throat I saw something bone-white, rattling back and forth like a stick in a barrel.

She reached for my sleeve-scarf, held together by that tiny pin. As her cold hands touched my neck, and her fingers started to bend into a grip, she suddenly stopped.

​

The other victim was moving. I could’ve sworn he was dead, but he was moving now. A long white branch-like appendage was moving out of his open neck, reaching for open air. And for a moment, the group just looked at him.

His body screamed. Not him, as a person, but his body. A long-drawn out shriek. A grown body crying like a newborn - blood still spurting from his open wound.

They all gathered around him. But as my assailant stepped forward, the alpha hissed; causing him to retreat. Then, looking at me, it hissed again. It didn’t like me, and it wanted me to leave. Both me and my assailant. Still holding the bus stop sign, I tried my best to confidently walk out of there. The sign had this heavy lead pipe that I could use to defend myself, if need be.

​

I got about 40 feet before I realized I was being followed. The man in the yellow scarf was still coming for me, and he seemed angry. But this time, I had a sturdier weapon.

I tried to gain some ground, to get away from the others. Whether they had been tricked by my antics or just didn’t like me didn’t matter, it was just me and this… outcast. And as he charged me to wrestle me down again, I was ready. This time, I swung my bus stop sign in an overhead arc, like I was chopping firewood.

I closed my eyes.

I held my breath.

And hit him square in the chest.

​

This was much more effective, and he doubled over. I just started beating him over and over, as his chest expanded and shrunk.

As his scarf fell off, I could see something poking in and out of his neck wound. Something white, looking for an opportunity to escape. It pressed against his throat, making it bulge. Like a snake throwing up an egg.

I just kept beating him. I beat him until the white thing stopped moving. Until I was covered in blood. Until the shrieking died down, until the fingers stopped twitching in different directions, and until the head stopped swiveling back and forth.

I beat him until my muscles burned, and my breathing turned rapid from exhaustion.

When I finally wiped the salt from my eyes, I was looking at nothing but broken bone and a yellow scarf.

​

I barely remember making my way back to the main road. I remember collapsing as the sun rose, and a man in a pick-up truck calling for help. I remember a familiar face. A white door. Something blue.

Later on, my friend drove down from Morgantown to see me, and I got a dozen calls from friends and family asking me if I was okay. They also had me take a drug test. Apparently, I’d acted “irrationally”.

​

Just be careful. They can easily be identified. They wear something to cover their necks, and they travel one by one. They use something to get our attention or to separate us from others. Stop signs to catch lonely drivers. Bus stop signs to get drifters. They probably have a dozen other similar tactics. I think they’re learning about us with secondhand information, testing and prodding to see what works. They don’t talk, and they can be very patient. That first one stayed with me for a long time before he attacked. Maybe he was making sure I was alone.

Looking back at it, I can barely even believe it happened. You ever have that one day that is just so different from anything else you’ve ever done? That one day that just feels like another life, another time? That was one of those days. Sometimes I even manage to convince myself that it was all a lie. A nightmare. Something I cooked up in my sleep-deprived brain.

But then I look at that blue sunflower pin. The one that held that sleeve together.

And I know they’re still out there.