The Hand on the Tent

I've spent enough time camping to know the difference between normal forest noises and something that immediately sets off your instincts. This happened during a solo backpacking trip when I hiked into a remote clearing that was roughly three or four days from the nearest road. I chose the spot specifically because it was isolated. There were no campsites nearby, no trails crossing through it, and, as far as I knew, no one else for miles. By sunset I had my tent set up, cooked dinner, and settled in for what I expected would be one of the quietest nights I'd ever spend outdoors.

Not long after it got dark, I started hearing footsteps just beyond the edge of the clearing. They were slow, deliberate, and seemed to circle my campsite over and over again. They never came close enough for me to see anything, but they never really went away either. Every twenty or thirty minutes I'd hear leaves crunching from a different direction, followed by complete silence. I grabbed my flashlight several times and swept it across the tree line, but all I ever saw were empty woods. Eventually I convinced myself it had to be a deer or some other animal moving around in the darkness, even though I'd never heard an animal walk in such a steady circle for hours.

Sometime in the early morning I finally drifted off to sleep, but it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes. I woke to the sound of someone whispering right outside my tent. The voice was soft, almost conversational, but I couldn't understand a single word. It wasn't English or any language I recognized. I held my breath, hoping I'd imagined it, when I saw something that made every hair on my body stand up. In the moonlight shining through the fabric, a human hand slowly pressed against the side of the tent just a few inches from my feet. I could clearly see every finger pushing into the material as if whoever was outside wanted me to know they were there.

I didn't think, I just sat straight up and shouted. The hand disappeared instantly, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone sprinting into the forest as fast as they could. Not walking, not stumbling, but running flat out through the trees. I jumped out with my flashlight a few seconds later, but there was nobody there. No voices, no movement, nothing except the sound of branches settling back into place. I packed most of my gear before sunrise because there was no chance I was sleeping again. Even now, what unsettles me isn't that someone found my campsite in the middle of nowhere. It's that they spent hours circling it in complete silence, waited until I finally fell asleep, and only then decided to let me know they were standing right beside me.