A few days ago, I was out for a morning hike in my local forest, on a trail I had walked a hundred times before. It’s a five mile loop that passed by a creek, and it was just isolated enough to feel like a refreshing sojourn away from the suburbs without being too remote.

It was a bit of a surprise to me when I came across a fence about a mile into my walk, right across where the trail normally continued. There was a sign that said something along the lines of “government property, no trespassing” and I sighed in annoyance. I’d been down on this very same trail nearly a week prior, and the fence and sign hadn’t been there before.

I almost turned around, but it was such a nice day, and the trail was so short, I figured it wouldn’t be too big of a deal if I just hopped the fence and finished my hike. I could find another route the next time.

I didn’t see a security camera or anything else like that, so I simply hopped the fence and continued with my walk, annoyed that it may be the last time I would be able to hike on that trail. Its a beautiful area, and I stopped occasionally to listen to the birds or smell the fresh air. After about 2 miles or so, I reached the creek, and decided to sit down and enjoy the view.

As I took a swig from my thermos of hot tea, listening to the gentle burbling of the nearby stream, I had almost forgotten about the fence. Out in the forest like this, I felt like I was one with the sublimity of nature. Everything was quiet, calm, and serene.

After a few minutes though, I began to feel a little uneasy. It took me a moment to realize why. There were no birds singing. I hadn’t noticed at first because the creek was so close by that it provided its own ambient noise, but once I was aware of the birds’ absence, the silence was deafening.

A couple years back I had an experience with a mountain lion. It was on a different trail, but in the same general part of the state. I recalled that all the birds had gone quiet, instinctively silencing themselves in the presence of the beast. It had simply come down out of the bushes, walking across the trail before looking at me curiously. Luckily, I had managed to keep my wits about me, and succeeded in scaring off the cougar with a combination of yelling and flapping my jacket to make myself look bigger. As soon as it departed, the chirping of birds returned. After that day, I always carried a small air horn with me on my hikes.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the air horn, looking around cautiously in search of anything that could be scaring off the birds. I didn’t see anything, and was almost on the verge of simply pressing down on the air horn preemptively, when I heard a snap far away on my right. Turning cautiously, I strained my eyes to see what could have caused the noise, the air horn at the ready. Knowing what I do now, it is very possible that if I had chosen to use the horn, I wouldn’t be here to tell my story.

Though at first it blended in with the trees and brush, I noticed the deer rather quickly. I relaxed a little, exhaling in relief as I put the air horn back into my bag with shaking hands. I still felt uneasy though, even at this distance I could tell that there was something off about the animal, and the birds still hadn’t returned. Staying quiet and lying low, I grabbed my binoculars and took a closer look at the distant deer.

It was a buck, with a beautiful set of antlers. This already struck me as somewhat odd, as most of the bucks around here had long since shed their antlers at this point. Even odder, however, was the structure of the antlers, rather than two large antlers with multiple points facing upwards, it seemed more like 6 to 10 spikes extending out of the skull. On further inspection, the deer was malnourished, emaciated even, with clumps of fur missing. As I watched, it hobbled feebly on unsteady legs towards the river, lowering its head to drink. My thought was that it must have been suffering from Chronic Wasting Disease, perhaps coupled with a bit of mange. I felt sorry for the animal, and with sadness, continued to watch it through my binoculars.

Then its antlers twitched.

It didn’t look like they were going to fall off due to shedding or anything like that, the points moved outwards slightly, like a hand unclenching from a fist. As soon as the antlers twitched, the deer stood up from its drink, eyes wide, almost as if it were standing at attention.

As I watched, the now clearly articulated antlers further stretched, bending until the points touched the side of the buck’s head. Then they began to push.

As I watched in stunned horror, something ripped itself out of the deer’s skull with a disgusting crack of splintering bone. The objects I previously thought to be antlers were, in actual fact, the spider-like legs of some sort of horrible monstrosity. My hands were shaking too much to get a clear view, but it was somewhat crab-like in appearance, with sharp mouthparts and beady black eyes.

As soon as the creature pulled itself fully free from the skull, the deer’s corpse fell down limply into the stream, its bright red blood polluting the fresh water. The antler-thing scuttled off rapidly into the treeline, disappearing in an instant.

As soon as it was out of sight, I ran as fast as I could down the trail, not stopping until I had jumped over another fence and got back into my car. When I finally arrived back home, I vomited on the side of the road. I called out of work for the next couple days, claiming that I was feeling ill, which, to be fair, I was.

I have no possible idea what that thing was. All I do know is that I won’t be going on any hikes again any time soon.