Wes Coffey

They came from below me, directly below me, in the leaves at the base of my tree.

I looked straight down.

There was a person standing at the bottom of my ladder.

I couldn't see much.

The light was almost gone, but I could see the outline of a figure standing upright, facing the tree.

Not looking up, just standing there, both arms at their sides.

No visible clothing that I could make out.

No pack, no gun, no gear of any kind.

I didn't say anything.

I don't know why.

Something in me, something old, something that lives in the back of your brain and only wakes up when you're in real trouble, told me not to make a sound.

Told me that acknowledging this person's presence would make something worse.

I don't know how to explain that.

It was not a decision.

It was a reflex, like pulling your hand off a hot stove.

The figure stood there for what felt like five minutes.

In reality, it was probably sixty seconds.

Then it moved.

It walked away from the base of the tree in a straight line, heading south.

And this is where I need to be very clear about what I heard, because it's the part that still keeps me up at night.