I used to camp out in a place where camping was not allowed. A few college buddies and I were avid fishermen and we would fish beyond sundown, which was when the forest closed to the public. It progressed to a point where we would stay out all night, and depending on the weather, often sleep in the tall grass near a large secluded lake. We just liked having miles and miles of forest and lakes to ourselves, with only the occasional Ranger truck or ATV to spook us into hiding. It was a lot of fun, but there were dangers. Being that this area was in the deep south, you always had to be on the lookout for wild dogs, rabid animals, and meth heads. We considered ourselves tough outdoorsmen, but we had an ace up our sleeve if things got uncomfortable. One guy with us, Brian, was a former Green Beret.
Anyway, the area was massive with no less than 11 lakes, and we fished them all. One of the big lakes had a small concrete shack and old rickety barn next to it. This shack was a Ranger station and the barn was used to store equipment used for controlled forest burns. There was also a sodium halide lamp (think orange streetlight) on a pole overlooking the small shack.
If you were serious about fishing, this big lake was where it was at. Big bass, alligators, warmouths, shell crackers, catfish, you name it. We spent a lot of time there. However, when the sun set, we would switch to a more covert style of fishing. We mostly sat quietly and talked by the shore, passing a joint between us before we either fell asleep or decided to go for a hike.
Well, one night in particular we decided to go for a hike. We had been fishing the big lake all day and decided to stretch our legs before getting some rest and waking up at dawn to fish again. We left at maybe 10:00PM and hiked well into the night. It was probably around 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning when we decided to head back to the lake. My friend, a former Green Beret earning his degree, was leading us through the woods and once we hit the treeline with the lake in sight. He dropped to the ground.
We thought he was messing with us, but we all took a knee and I asked him, "Brian, what the fuck man?" He told me to get down, shut up, and don't move. Of course we did what he told us to. After a minute or two, Brian crept backward towards us, but he never turned around. All he said was, "Look at the shack. Is that a person?" There was no doubt about it. A man was standing in the orange glow of the light by the shack, staring directly at us from about 200 yards away.
Brian said there is no way he could have seen us, but he may have heard us considering how easily sound travels over water. Brian told us to slowly creep back into the tree line, separate (but not too far), find thick brush, and hunker down. This happened before cell phones were waterproof, so we only kept one in my truck and none of us had one in our immediate possession at the time.
Anyway, we all spread out and stay down. Brian is hiding under a fallen log about ten or so feet to my left. I don't know if he can still see the guy under the light, but I sure as hell could. The guy is still staring in our direction when he fucking bolts. I mean the guy sprints full-speed out of the light, rounding the bend of the lake directly at us. We're all just cowering under bushes muttering, "oh shit oh shit". "SHUT THE FUCK UP" Brian hisses.
It takes a few seconds for us to hear the "pat pat pat" of feet running in the grass toward us. The footsteps got a lot louder and quickly. Through the trees and brush, we see him turn the corner of the lake and come barreling toward where we were hiding in the treeline. This guy is thrashing around in the branches and bushes just howling "WHERE ARE YOU?! WHERE ARE YOU!?" It was the most unsettling thing I have ever witnessed.
After about 30 seconds of him just ripping through the woods, he stops about thirty feet or so to my right. My other buddy, Jack, was curled up in a ball no less than five feet from this dude. We can all hear this guy panting and heaving, but he doesn't say anything. He just stands there, in complete darkness, for what seemed like forever.
The guy then does a complete 180 and hauls ass out of the woods, slamming into branches and bushes just like when he came through the tree line. He runs farther past the lake and out of sight down an old logging trail. Once we couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, Brian tells us to get up and run to my truck. We may have all qualified for the USA's Men's Olympic 400m Sprint Team that night.