Alright now, pull up real close, ‘cause this story’s one that might just keep you up at night. It’s about Stoney Creek, way up in the Appalachian Mountains. A place where eyes are always watchin’. This here is called Mountain Eyes, and I reckon by the end, you’ll see what I mean.
They was watchin’ me from the woods. I was sittin’ by the fire, chewin’ on some dried deer meat, when I got that crawlin’ feelin’ up my spine. You ever had that? Like somethin’ is lurkin’, starin’ at ya from the dark? Well, that was me all day long, even before I saw them eyes glowin’ from the trees.
It was pitch black, no moon to speak of, just the crackle of the fire. We live deep in the hollow near Stoney Creek, tucked away in the Appalachian woods. Ain’t nobody comes up here unless they are lost or lookin’ for trouble. The way we like it.
Now, my Great Granddaddy always told us about the creatures in these woods. He said they been here long before we were, always watchin’. As a boy, I never saw ’em, but I sure heard ‘em. Late at night, you could hear ’em rustlin’ in the trees, breathin’ heavy just outside. Gave me the chills.
Then came the day I was thirty-four. My boy Jack had just passed—fever took him. We was headin’ up to the ridge to bury him, and that feelin’ crept up on me again, like eyes were on us. Sure enough, on the way back, I saw ‘em. Big, glowin’ eyes in the woods, starin’ right at us. Scared the missus so bad she has not been outside much since. That was twelve years ago.
We keep to ourselves mostly. My Great Granddaddy always said, “Do not bother them, and they will not bother you.” But even if we leave them be, it does not stop them from watchin’. I see ‘em every now and then, peekin’ from the trees. Long as they stay out there, I reckon I do not mind none.
Today started like any other. Me and my boy, Danny, went down to Stoney Creek to catch some fish. We do this most days, catchin’ our supper from the stream. By sundown, we had ten trout ready for the fire. But as we were packin’ up, I heard it—a strange wail, like a woman cryin’. Sent a shiver right through me.
I looked at Danny and said, “Best we head home.” He did not argue. We started packin’ up our gear, but before we could finish, I saw ‘em. Eyes. Big, round eyes, glowin’ just beyond the firelight. Ten sets at least, starin’ right at us. My heart near stopped.
Danny saw ‘em too. He whispered, “Pa, we gotta go now.” So we did, grabbin’ our fish and makin’ a break for it down the trail.
We were halfway home when I heard it again—that rustlin’ in the trees. Only this time, it was not the wind. No, it was somethin’ heavy, movin’ toward us fast. My heart started poundin’. I knew what it was. Them creatures, comin’ for us.
We ran, fast as we could, through the trees. My paws were hittin’ the ground hard, diggin’ into the dirt as we tried to outrun ’em. I could hear ’em gettin’ closer, breathin’ heavy behind us.
When we finally made it back to the den, the missus and the girls were sound asleep. I shook the missus awake, told her what we saw, and we crept to the entrance, quiet as could be. Sure enough, there they were, movin’ through the trees, just past our home.
There was a whole group of ’em, ten or more, walkin’ on two legs, carryin’ rifles over their shoulders. I had heard stories, but this was the first time I had seen ’em that close. Humans, my Great Granddaddy used to call ‘em. Strange creatures from the towns below, with their clothes and tools, wanderin’ too far up the mountain.
We watched ‘em pass by, real quiet like. They did not see us this time, but I knew they had come lookin’. Lookin’ for us.
Now, we know better. When there is that many, you stay hidden. Ain’t nothin’ more important than keepin’ the cubs safe. One day, when me and the missus are too old to hunt and fish, maybe them humans will stay in their towns where they belong, and leave us bears in peace.
