Eyes of the Forest: The Dover Demon

Eyes of the Forest: The Dover Demon - YouTube Video

I never imagined a drive home could turn into a nightmare. My name is Carol Kingston, and I was driving down Miller Hill Road for the first time after a dull party with someone trying to sell me on a multi-level marketing scam for something called Hourglass Health and Wellness that failed to distract me from the strains of my everyday life. It was 1977; I was feeling quite unsettled. My car's headlights tried hard but couldn't cut through the gloom that hugged the road like a clammy hand.

Inside the car, I sat there, trying to focus on the road ahead. My hand clung to the steering wheel. I glanced at the flask beside me; it was old and had belonged to my father. It felt like a piece of him was with me, but it was more of a weight than a comfort in that moment. I’d taken a few swigs earlier, trying to feel less... alone. But the alcohol didn't warm me. I remember the engine’s hum was a lonely sound, like it was the only living thing for miles. The rest of the world was so quiet like it was holding its breath. And then, out of nowhere. Something—it was too quick to see correctly, but it was alive—shot across the road. My heart thudded against my ribs, and I jerked the wheel hard; the tires screeched, and suddenly, my car was spinning out of control. The crash shook the ground, threw me against the seatbelt, and smashed my head against something hard. I can still remember how the pain shot through my skull, sharp and hot, and how the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

When I came to my senses, I was a mess. My forehead was split open, and blood was trickling down, getting in my eyes, blinding me. I tried to get out of the car, but my legs were shaky, and the world tilted in a way that made no sense. The night was still quiet, but there was a new sound, like a whistle that was too high, too strange to be anything made by humans. It seemed to come from the trees, calling me, maybe, or warning me.

Only then, as I stood there on wobbly legs, feeling the cold seep through my clothes, I understood just how alone I was. No one was on this road but me and whatever had caused the accident. My mind was foggy. I fell to the ground, my hands scraping against the gravel, and it was then that I felt it—someone or something was watching me. I couldn’t see anyone, but the intense feeling made my skin crawl. I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp stings on my palms and knees, and moved away from the car. The forest was right there. It was full of trees that seemed to move despite no wind. My heart was beating so fast, I could feel it everywhere, pounding against my ribs, throbbing in my throat, making my head spin.

As I moved deeper into the woods, the air got colder, and my breath came out in white puffs. I kept going, even as the branches grabbed my clothes and scratched my face. I just wanted to get away. That’s when I saw them—stick figures, hung up in the trees, made of branches and twine, everywhere. I tried to call out, but my voice sounded choked. There was no answer, only the sound of the stick figures clicking together like dry bones. The silence was heavy, pressing down on me until I felt like I couldn't breathe. I wanted to scream, run, and do anything but stand there, but my feet wouldn't move.

The deeper I went, the more figures I saw. Some had old clothes on them, all dirty and ripped. It was like a bad sign, saying I wasn't the first to get lost here.

It was too quiet. There were no birds or bugs, just silence, like the forest was holding its breath, too. I couldn't hear myself anymore. It was like the woods were eating up the sound of my steps and my scared breathing.

I kept going, wondering where I was. The trees seemed to bend and twist, making faces in the dark. The fog was like a wall, and I felt like it was alive, touching me. I was curious to know how long I'd been walking or if I'd ever get out. I ran through the woods, my shoes barely gripping the damp earth below. I could hear the children's laughter, though I couldn't see them. It was a creepy laughter that didn't belong in these woods or anywhere. It followed me, circling my head like a flock of birds you can't shoo away.

The further I went, the more I felt something was off. The trees and paths all started to look familiar, too familiar. I stopped, my heart sinking, as I realized I had seen the same broken branch, the same rock jutting out like a crooked tooth, not once, not twice, but countless times. It was like the woods were playing a trick on me, keeping me in a loop. Fear grabbed me, making my stomach feel like I just dropped down from the highest point of a roller coaster.

I was standing behind the tree. I started to lose hope and was about to accept my fate, but suddenly, I saw a wooden rotted structure in the distance. As I walked towards it, it was a cabin that seemed as old as time. The wood was all warped and covered in moss, with windows like dark eyes staring back at me. I walked up to the door hanging off its hinges as if it had given up trying to keep people out a long time ago.

Inside, the moon shone through holes in the roof, lighting up the place ghostly. The walls were covered in handprints that were too small to be from grown-ups and placed way too high. They were scattered all over like someone had been flinging paint. That is paint, right, or is it something more sinister? My hands shook, and a cold sweat broke across my forehead as I looked at them.

I saw a horrific scene etched into the wall in the corner of the cabin. It was a drawing deeply carved into the wood as if done with frantic energy. The figure depicted was monstrous, a grotesque blend of human and beast, with oversized, bulbous eyes that seemed to stare into nothing and everything all at once.

The creature's body was a distorted version of a human's, with limbs that were too long, bending in unnatural ways. It had fingers that ended in points, like the branches of a bare winter tree. The thing was half-seated on what looked like a crumpled form of a person; its posture was both triumphant and terrifying. Its clawed hand held what the carver had made to look like strips of human flesh, and the detail was sickening. It was not just the sight of the monster that deepened my dread; the depiction — an act of horror that seemed to be both a warning and a display of its power.

I couldn't help but feel the creature in the drawing knew fear. It thrived on it; maybe it even fed on it. The eyes in the drawing, though just carved lines, were made with such attention they seemed to follow me, no matter where I stood in the cramped, musty space of the cabin. The laughter from outside seemed to grow in intensity as I stood there, rooted to the spot by the terror the image inspired. I wanted to leave the cabin as soon as possible. So, I decided to leave that eerie cabin behind and find a way to escape. 

When I stepped out of the cabin, the woods felt even colder, if that was possible. The trees stood like tall, dark figures watching me run, their branches reaching out as if to pull me back. I had to get out and find a way back to a world that made sense. And then, for a moment, I thought I did. Ahead, there was a glow, a soft, warm light that looked like it could be from a house or a street. It felt like hope, like a warm drink on a freezing day. I ran towards it as fast as I could.

But as I got closer, the light started to change. It wasn't steady like a lamp; it flickered and moved like a flame. And then it wasn't in front of me anymore — it was above, floating away. It was just fireflies, a bunch of them, making a fool of me. I stopped running and sat on the ground; tears rolled down my cheeks. I turned to go back, or maybe it was forward — it was hard to tell now.

I scrambled to my feet, confusion clouding my judgment about whether I was retracing my steps or charting a new path. That's when the earth beneath me betrayed my trust, suddenly gone, as if it had never been there. I was falling before my brain could catch up, hurtling down what felt like a natural slide carved out by some cruel twist of nature. The descent was a series of jolts and spins, an endless torture chamber of natural obstacles. My hands were outstretched, futilely reaching for anything to halt my fall, but they met only with the harsh slap of branches and the unyielding solidity of rocks that punished my body.

When my frantic descent finally halted, my back hit the ground with such force it expelled the air from my lungs.

Pain exploded in my leg, a stark, blinding presence that eclipsed all other sensations. I felt a jagged fire in my shin and a wetness that seemed out of place. My fingers tentatively explored, coming away with the slick, undeniable evidence of blood. A sharp-edged branch had pierced my leg, an uninvited intruder that brought agony. As I grasped it, intending to free myself from its bite, the night erupted into chaos overhead. A flurry of bats burst forth. Amidst the flapping wings, a sound drifted down to me, a chorus of children's laughter echoing through the trees, chilling and incongruent with the scene of my suffering.

My attempts at removing the branch were clumsy, fueled by desperation, and each movement sparked fresh torrents of pain that threatened to pull me into unconsciousness. In the depths of the woods, the silence was so heavy my breath seemed to disturb it as I stood frozen. I strained my eyes to see as the pain spread to my body. When I tried not to close my eyes, I heard rustling behind the trees; within a few seconds, a horrifying creature emerged behind the trees. 

Its head was massive, out of place on its puny, faintly glowing body, as if it held a light within its skull-like face. The skin was a sickly peach, rough and disturbing to look upon, stretching tight over its bony frame. Those eyes, large and round, were pools of orange and green, flickering with an internal fire, fixating on me with a gaze that felt like it was trying to peel back the layers of my soul. It didn't have a nose, ears, or a mouth, but those eyes were enough to scream danger. My body jolted to life, spurred by a primal urge to escape. I started running without caring what was coming in front of me. Twigs snapped underfoot, leaves rustled violently as I pushed past them, and the cool night air burned in my lungs. My legs moved as if they were separate from my panicked mind, screaming for me to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

I stumbled upon an oak tree; its trunk was wide and reassuring. I was sure it would be the best place to hide from the creature. The Demon's approach was not loud or brash; the quietness of his advance chilled me to the bone. Every inch he moved closer felt like a minute stretched into an eternity, the waiting itself a torment.

I could feel my shirt sticking to my back, damp with the cold sweat of fear. Adrenaline propelled me from my cramped refuge behind the oak as the space between us diminished. My limbs were heavy and uncoordinated with terror, yet they carried me forward in a clumsy sprint. Suddenly, the chase came to an abrupt, violent end. The Devour Demon lunged, and its hands were on me, shoving with a strength that felt otherworldly and utterly relentless. I was thrown onto the forest ground; the breath knocked out of me as my back slammed against the soil. The Dover Demon loomed over me and settled onto my chest, its weight an unbearable oppression. It was as if a mountain had collapsed upon me, the force so intense that I feared my ribs would give way.

Pinned beneath the creature, each attempt to draw breath was a battle. I was caught in a vice, the cold of the ground seeping into my spine while the Dover Demon's presence crushed me from above. There was a smell, too, a sickly-sweet stench that made my stomach turn with the instinctual knowledge of danger.

His form loomed over me, tall and impossibly thin, yet carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the very atmosphere. The ground beneath me was hard and unyielding, and as I was pushed against it, the small stones and twigs dug painfully into my skin. My muscles were tense, and my joints ached from the effort of staying impossibly still, hoping against hope that stillness could render me invisible. There was no cry for help that would save me, no last-minute hero on the horizon. 

Without warning, it struck, its hand smashing against my face with the brutality of a sledgehammer to porcelain. There was a sound, a sickening crunch that reverberated through my skull, and then a bright burst of pain that eclipsed all reason. My head snapped back, the back of it meeting the unyielding ground, and stars exploded in my vision, a grotesque fireworks display behind my eyes. The world tilted, a nauseating swirl of darkened woods and the leering face of the demon blending into a vortex of despair.

I woke up with my head pounding like someone was hammering inside my skull. For a minute, I just sat there, squinting as the early morning light threw sharp edges on everything in the car. My body ached, and there was this sharp sting on my face. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the steering wheel in front of me, the dash lit up with warning lights, and the rearview mirror showing nothing but the empty road behind.

Then I heard gravel crunching outside like someone was approaching the car. I tried to straighten up, but my muscles weren’t listening right. A police officer was approaching me. I read the name on his badge, Officer Sullivan, and he looked like he was probably in his 50s. Officer Sullivan appeared beside my window. His face looked fuzzy around the edges, like when you rub your eyes too hard. He asked me;

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

My tongue felt too big for my mouth when I tried to speak. 

"I don’t remember... I’m lost," I told him. 

My voice sounded strange, all scratchy and weak. 

"All night…. There was something” I wanted to tell him more, but I could not remember what happened to me. 

Officer Sullivan leaned closer to me and asked, "What did you see? Did it look like this? 

As I peered through my pain-fogged eyes at Officer Sullivan, his form wavered like a reflection of water disturbed by a stone. At first, I thought it was my vision playing tricks, but then the reality—or the nightmare of it—began to unfold before me. His features, once as familiar as any small-town cop's, started to distort, to melt into something otherworldly, something wrong.

It was happening slowly, like watching a movie in slow motion. The officer’s skin seemed to ripple, and then it changed, becoming a sickly gray, the texture turning rough and uneven, like the bark of an ancient tree. The shape of his face elongated, bones stretching and sinew twisting, reshaping into a grotesque mask that no longer resembled a human. His eyes, once a benign shade of brown, were now changing colors.

His mouth and the lips began to thin and then sealing over, leaving behind a smooth patch of skin where a mouth should be. I watched, frozen in terror, as his nose flattened into nothing more than two slits above that now-blank expanse. What I was looking at was no longer  Officer Sullivan; it was something else that couldn't be.

And then his fingers began to stretch, the knuckles bulging and then elongating into thin, spidery digits that seemed too long for his hands, the tips tapering into points that no human should have. By the time the transformation was complete, the being before me bore no trace of the man I had just seen. It was as if Officer Sullivan’s very essence had changed into this horrifying form.

The creature then moved, not with the grace of a human but with a strange, fluid motion that was both fascinating and terrifying. Its elongated fingers brushed against my arm, leaving a trail of icy fear. As it disappeared into the trees, the air grew lighter, the oppressive aura it carried dissipating with its departure. I was left alone, shaken and bewildered, with only the morning dew as my witness.