The Smoker in the Woods

While studying biology at university, I joined a field trip to collect water and soil samples for an ecology experiment. Our group consisted of students and a supervising professor. We camped at a remote site, and several students became sick after eating soup, leaving only the professor, one other student, and me well enough to work.

The professor had originally required us to travel in pairs and return before dark, but the schedule changed because we needed to collect the samples. I set out alone to follow a stream, stopping every quarter mile to gather water and soil. The route was long, and by the middle of the day I realized I would probably still be in the woods after sunset.

While I was eating lunch on a log beside the stream, I smelled cigarettes. It was not the normal smell of a freshly lit cigarette, but the musty odor of an old smoker’s car. I looked around and saw no one. The vegetation was not especially thick, yet there were enough trees and bushes for someone to hide. The smell stayed close for several minutes, making me feel as though someone was nearby and watching me. I packed up and continued.

The smell disappeared for several hours. It returned at my final sampling location, when dusk had begun to darken the woods. I shone my flashlight around but saw only shapes that might have been people crouching behind trees. I hurried back along the stream and reached camp shortly before late evening. I did not mention the smell to the exhausted professor.

Later that night, I woke needing to use the woods. After walking a short distance from camp, I noticed a tiny red glow in the darkness. It flared, faded, and moved slightly closer to the ground as someone took a drag from a cigarette. I could not see the smoker, but I suspected he was watching the camp. I returned quietly and woke the professor.

When we went outside, the ember had disappeared. The professor woke the other healthy student, and we took turns watching the camp. Nothing else happened during the night. In the morning, however, we found about ten cigarette butts beside a tree. The bark and outer wood had been damaged as if someone had repeatedly twisted or stabbed a knife into it.

The professor decided that we should leave even though the sampling was incomplete. As soon as we reached the paved road, a white panel van pulled out from a clearing and began following us. It stayed behind us throughout the drive and stopped only when we turned toward the university campus. We unloaded the equipment and stayed late cataloging the samples.

When I finally left the biology building, I smelled the same musty cigarettes. A short distance away, off the path, I saw the red glow of another cigarette. I kept walking and passed the smoker. When I looked back later, the glow was following me. Around the next stand of trees, I saw the same white panel van parked alone.

I sprinted toward my residence hall. Behind me, the cigarette ember fell to the ground and a dark shape began running through the grass. I reached the locked entrance, got inside, and watched through the glass. The figure stopped just short of the lit path. After a moment, a lighter briefly illuminated a shaggy beard and the brim of a baseball cap before the cigarette glow returned.

I went upstairs and looked out the window, but the figure and the ember were gone. I never saw the van again and never smelled the cigarettes after that night. I still do not know who the smoker was or why he followed me from the woods to campus.