Work Text:
Statement of Robert Hawkins, regarding a camping trip to North Cascades National Park. Original statement given February sixth, 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
Ever since my brother was little, he’s loved the outdoors. I’ve never really been the outdoorsy type, but ever since we were little, Tom’s been obsessed with nature. Even though he’s a few years younger than me, all he ever wanted to do was stroll into the woods and check under rocks for moss and stuff.
Anyways, last year, Tom decided to go camping with some friends and invited me. I was working on my master’s, but my school’s schedule lined up well enough with his that I could make the trip.
I was studying down in southern Oregon, and Tom wanted to explore North Cascades National Park, in Washington, so it was a bit of a road trip. But I hadn't seen him in a while, and he never quite outgrew using the little brother voice to get what he wanted from me, so I decided to come along.
When I met up with Tom he introduced me to his friends, none of whom I had met before. I never got their last names but he called them Nathan, Tyler, and Mia. They were nice enough, but we didn't really have much in common besides our relation to Tom. They had all met him through classes at his university.
The thing was, Tom was the only one of us who had much interest in the outdoors, and even he had never attempted as long a stay in the woods as this, so none of us really knew what to expect, and only Tom had even the most basic idea of how to prepare. We all knew to bring a tent and heavy clothes. It was the middle of winter, and we planned to stay in the park from the tenth of December until the thirtieth. Tom got our passes, told the rangers when to expect us back, and he made sure every person in our group had a headlamp. He told us light was important since though it didn't snow much, that far north that time of year, night falls fast and isn't in any hurry to leave. Apparently, it was dangerous to go out without a light source. I had brought a penlight I found in my glove box but it paled in comparison to the heavy-duty headlamp Tom supplied.
Mia had brought a bear bag, a heavy duffel looking thing that you put your food in and hang from a tree to keep it away from bears. Tom didn't mind bringing it, but he told us not to worry. He said bears were pretty rare in that area, so we wouldn't have to worry about them. That, and Tom had only packed dehydrated trail mix and various instant meals. When he told me he expected us to live on kraft mac and cheese and cup ramen for twenty days I nearly keeled over. What’s the saying? You can take the student out of the dorm life, but you can't take the dorm life out of the student.
With preparations finished, we set off into the park. It was raining somewhat, but so long as I kept moving, the tree cover kept most of it off me. Tom had rented a backcountry campground, which meant we’d have to hike for a few miles just to reach it. It was deeper into the woods than I’d ever gone, and I was a little bit nervous. The others felt it too. I felt like there was something watching us. There was no discernible path, and whenever I looked down at my feet I kept tripping over rocks and undergrowth, but if I just trusted my feet I could walk fine. I just wanted to get to the campsite as soon as possible, set up my tent, and hunker down. I kept feeling weirder and weirder as we kept going and I caught up with Tom to ask him what he had done to prepare for emergencies. My cell phone had already lost service, and everyone else reported the same. Tom just laughed and told me escaping our cell phones was the whole point. He pulled out a compass and map of the park and told me he’d be able to find his way back just fine.
We found the strangest thing when we got to our campsite. As we walked into the clearing an owl, which Tom later told me was a great horned owl, stood in the center of the campground, a dead rabbit clutched in its claws. It swiveled its neck around and pierced us with this crazy stare. They have these big yellow eyes, and I could swear it was glaring. They’re not small birds, you know. A great horned owl can get up to two feet tall, forgive me if I don't know how many meters that is, and this one looked like it could be pushing three feet, with the wingspan to match. I didn't think it was likely to attack us, but there was just this… malevolence… behind its eyes. I didn't want to find out. I moved in front of Tom, some instinct telling me to cover him, but the owl just kept that piercing stare leveled at us.
For a moment, no one moved, but as if sensing some unseen cue, the owl lept into the air, still holding onto the rabbit. As it flew away I realized it had been completely silent. No hooting, no shuffling wind, and its wingbeats didn't even make a whisper as it gained altitude.
No one said anything for a while, even as we mechanically started to set up camp. It was stupid of us to be so shaken, I know. We wanted to get in nature and that’s what nature is, the survival of the fittest and all that, but it was just something else to see it in action. The claws on that thing just seemed so disproportionally massive compared to its body, and the rabbit’s coat was just covered in blood. Out of everything, I think that’s what I’ll have the most trouble forgetting. That piercing gaze, and those massive talons.
Nathan ended up being the first to break the silence. He cracked a joke about owl-gebra, and none of us laughed, but it functioned to break the uncomfortable silence. Nathan’s crappy jokes were what we got for camping with a math major I guess.
After we had each set up our tents, Tom started working on the cooking area. I walked over and knelt beside him. He had set up a camping stove so we could heat up our meager camp rations and we worked together to dig a small pit for a more traditional campfire. Open fires with friends are just one of those things that’s truly immune to the passage of time I guess.
That was when it got dark. See here’s the thing about an overcast day. The clouds refract sunlight, so just a sliver of sunlight can light up the whole sky. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon, but as soon as the sun finished setting the sky turned dark as pitch.
I was completely taken aback. Looking up I saw the barest sliver of moon. It provided no illumination. I hadn't expected night to fall so early and my headlamp was still in my tent. As Tom, Nathan, Tyler, and Mia each switched on their lamps, beams of light cut through the dark. None shone on my path though, and as I stumbled back to my tent, I pulled out my penlight. I flicked it on and it did nothing to illuminate the ground. I looked down at it, and the bulb was working. The darkness just… swallowed it up. But I had no way out but forward, so I staggered forward, arms out to keep from crashing into anything. Nothing happened, I didn't trip or anything, but when I finally staggered into my tent my breath was short, and I was all too happy to turn on my headlamp.
It had seemed so bright before, but now it seemed to strain just to illuminate a few feet in front of me as I walked back to the campfire. Tom and Nathan were taking turns trying to lighten the mood, but I think we were all feeling a little creeped out by the sudden dark. The treeline was just a few feet away, and even all our lights together didn't illuminate a single branch. The five of us settled into silence as we waited for the water to boil. I picked at my noodles, but they weren't that appetizing. Maybe that was just the college food. I tried to relax, listen to the forest, but that’s when I realized what had set my teeth on edge.
The forest was almost completely silent. No crickets, no branches snapping, or leaves rustling. And I don't know, it was the middle of winter, I guess most things would be hibernating, but I couldn't shake this feeling of… wrongness at the complete silence. I couldn't hear anything out there, but I still felt like I was being watched.
I looked up at the stars. This far from everything there were a hundred thousand swirling across the sky. I looked for the familiar constellations, Ursa Major led me to the Big Dipper, pointing me towards Heracles. But despite how many stars there were, they just felt dim and distant. I mean I know they’re always distant, but tonight they didn't feel like constant guardians from the heavens, they just felt like passive observers, drained of any real light.
I shifted closer to Tom, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to look over his shoulder or have him look over mine. Nathan suggested we make s’mores. Poor kid just wanted to lighten the mood. No one said anything, but I think we all felt the same skin-crawling unease. I guess we all just dealt with it differently. When we all decided to turn in for the night, Tyler and Mia stood up, headlamps flashing and declared they were going to find out what was out there watching us. The three of us argued it wasn't safe to go out in the night, that despite the good weather it was still bitingly cold, that they could get lost, but they wouldn't have it. I guess they were just brave enough to face their fears. In the end, we just let them go out there; they passed the tree line, and the dark closed around them like a viscous ink.
I did my best to relax in my tent. I thought the sooner I went to sleep the sooner I would wake up in the morning. But that feeling of being watched wouldn't go away. Hours went by as I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I stepped out of my tent to get some fresh air and did my best to calm my nerves. I didn't have my headlamp with me. The stars still seemed dim, and the moon’s thin crescent played its part in this cruel cosmic joke. It’s sliver provided only enough light to remind me how much light I was missing.
As I tried to convince myself there was nothing out there, Tyler returned to camp. I heard him long before I saw him. He was breathing heavily, and he was running and stumbling through the underbrush, constantly tripping and hitting low hanging limbs. He still had his headlamp on his head but it flickered on and off like it was damaged. He crossed into the clearing and kept running. He made a beeline for me and before I could react we crashed together.
I only managed to stay standing because he grabbed my shoulders like a vice. His eyes were wide, and he couldn’t make eye contact with me. His gaze flicked around, trying to see behind me, to the side, I half expected his eyes to roll back in his head. I tried to ask about Mia, but he just babbled, half screaming about “that thing in the woods”.
By this point, Tom and Nathan had emerged from their tents. I tried to explain, but I didn't even know what was happening when Tyler suddenly quieted. He went completely stock still, and I became aware of that same acute sense of silence. I knew there should be noise, I knew something was happening, something was coming, but all I heard was a gentle wind in the trees. Then the night sky itself fell upon us.
One second, Tyler was standing in front of me, hands on my shoulders, and the next second he was being thrown violently to the side, taking me to the ground. I tried to raise my head, but my vision was swimming, and I couldn't make sense of what was in front of me. Tyler’s lamp had been knocked free and from where it lay on the ground, it illuminated the biggest bird I had ever seen.
Even now I can’t do justice to its size. I can barely describe any part of it. Its feathers were black. Deep black. They didn't have the traditional sheen, no, its coat was so black it seemed to just draw in light, rather than reflect it. It was black in the way a black hole is black. Its claws were massive, so big that as they pinned Tyler to the ground, talons sinking through flesh, he just looked like a rag doll in the hands of a child. I stumbled to my feet and looked to Tom. He was only a few feet away, but on the other side of the clearing. He might as well have been miles away. I tried to take a step towards him and only succeeded in drawing the owl’s attention.
It turned its head towards me, hooked beak spattered with blood, and it fixed me with its unblinking yellow eyes. In that moment I knew what it was to be prey. This thing… all it wanted to do was pin me down, and tear the flesh from my bones.
It opened its beak, and it broke the silence with an ear-shattering scream. I locked eyes with Tom one last time, his hand in Nathan’s, and the three of us gave into our frenzied instincts, running into the woods.
Despite the treacherous terrain, despite my fear, I looked back. The owl stayed crouched to the ground, head cocked to the side. I gave a brief prayer that maybe it was satisfied, maybe it was just as afraid of us as we were of it. Then, having given us our head start, the bird effortlessly leaped into the sky. I tripped on a root, fell to my hands, and frantically pushed myself back to my feet.
Nathan and Tom had a headlamp, and I tried to find them as I ran, wished I had any light with me, but nothing could penetrate the night. I looked behind me, above me, but I had lost sight of the owl. I hoped against hope that I had lost it. Some deep, dark, scared part of me hoped it had decided to hunt my little brother instead of me.
I just kept running, sprinting through the forest even as my body tried to give out on me. Branches whipped at my hair, thorns tearing at my skin, but I couldn't feel it. There was only the pounding of my heart in my ears, the burn of exhaustion in my lungs, the fear of the apex predator above me.
I don't know how lucky I was, but as I stumbled through the night, I began to hear the ragged gasping of two others. I didn't dare try calling out for Tom, so I tried to locate them just off the sound of their heavy footfalls. I think I cried with joy when they came into view. We didn't even stop running, the roar of blood pumping filled my ears and everything else was silent.
I looked up at the sky, and I couldn't see anything at first. But then I noticed the shadow that seemed too big to be real. It was so black it was indistinguishable from the sky behind it, and I could only see the owl’s silhouette where it blotted out the stars behind it. It was truly massive; I had one look at its outstretched wings, the span of a semi-truck before it tucked and dived, and the night sky fell upon us again.
I don't know how long I ran. I had to stop for breaks every now and then, usually whenever my legs gave out. I wanted to turn back, to fight. I wanted to have reacted quicker, to have thrown myself between that creature’s talons and my baby brother, but all I did was run. Every now and then it screamed again, sometimes close and sometimes far, always reminding me it was still hunting.
As day broke, I stumbled out of the woods and made it Tom’s car. The spare key was where he left it in the tailpipe and I got inside and got his phone. I called nine one one, called the emergency park number, I think I even called my parents, but I was delirious and exhausted, and the next thing I remember I was waking up in a hospital bed. They asked what happened and I told them the truth, but all that did was get me reduced doses of painkillers.
Ever since then I’ve just been drifting. Nothing really feels right anymore. I certainly haven't been camping in a while, and I try to avoid long periods of silence.
Statement ends.
While not many elements of Hawkins’ story can be corroborated, it is worth acknowledging that someone, likely Mr. Hawkins himself, did report his brother and the others missing upon his return to civilization. They have not been found, despite numerous forays into the area by the park service. We have attempted to reach out to Mr. Hawkins, but he offered no further comment. Little more information can be gleaned, as the Magnus Institute has many connections, but we apparently do not have connections high up in the United States park ranger service. If Sasha can't get access, I doubt I could do any better. It is likely that something happened to the group, but whether the more… unpredictable elements of his story are to be believed is up in the air. It is worth noting, however, that North Cascades National park has seen a recent uptick in missing persons cases, and in every case, there was one survivor, usually raving about “that thing in the woods”.
Recording ends.