I moved here six months ago for a job I don't even like. My coworkers are fine but they're all married with kids and their idea of a wild Friday is happy hour at Applebee's. I needed friends. I needed to get out of my apartment. I needed something. So I joined a run club.
Found them on a local Facebook group. Casual trail runners. All levels welcome. The photos were normal. Smiling people holding post run coffees. Sweaty selfies at trailheads. Everyone looked happy. Everyone looked safe.
The first run was a Saturday morning. Five miles. Easy pace. I showed up nervous, new shoes, water bottle, pepper spray on my keychain because I'm not stupid. I know what it's like to be a woman alone. I know the rules. Don't walk to your car with headphones in. Don't leave your drink unattended. Don't trust a man just because he smiles at you. But he had a really nice smile.
Let's call him Jake. I don't want to use his real name. I don't want to think about his real name ever again. Jake was cute. Not like model cute. Approachable cute. Good smile. Good energy. He ran beside me the whole time, asking questions, remembering my answers. Where I moved from. What I did for work. Whether I liked the trail so far. He made me laugh twice. When I tripped on a root he caught my elbow and said "first one's free" and I actually blushed. I'm not a blusher.
I know what you're thinking. Love bombing. Too nice too fast. I know. I've read the articles. I've watched the TikToks. I know the red flags. But when you're lonely and the cute guy is looking at you like you're the most interesting person on the trail, you don't want to see them. You want to believe he's just nice. You want to believe you're just lucky.
The second run was the same. He found me at the trailhead. Ran my pace. Asked about my week. Remembered I had a big meeting on Wednesday and asked how it went. He remembered. I thought that meant something. I thought he was interested. I thought maybe this run club thing was going to work out in more ways than one.
The other women in the group were quiet. Not unfriendly. Just quiet. One of them had scratches on her arms. I asked about them. She said branches. Didn't elaborate. I didn't push. I should have pushed. I should have asked her if she was okay. I should have asked her if he'd been nice to her too.
The third run was his idea. He DMed me on Facebook. Said a few of them did sunset runs on Thursdays. Cooler. Prettier. "Trust me," he said. "The light through the pines is incredible."
I felt that little prickle. You know the one. The voice in the back of your head that says something's off. Running alone with a guy you barely know. In the Uintas. At dusk. I heard the voice. I told myself I was being paranoid. I told myself he'd been nothing but nice. I told myself not all men are dangerous and I should stop being so suspicious and I was going to ruin a good thing because I couldn't just relax and trust someone.
I said yes. Obviously I said yes. The cute guy who remembered my meeting was asking me to a sunset run. I put on my favorite running leggings. I did my hair. For a run. In the mountains. I'm an idiot. The group was smaller. Four people. Two guys, two girls. The other woman was fast. Gone ahead within the first mile. The other guy kept pace with her. It was just me and Jake. Alone. On a trail I didn't know. In the fading light.
I should have noticed how quiet the woods were. No birds. No bugs. Just our feet on the dirt and his voice in my ear. The Uintas are never that quiet. There's always something. Wind. Elk. A plane overhead. But that night there was nothing. Like the whole forest was holding its breath.
I should have noticed that my phone had no signal and his did. "Different carrier," he said. I believed him. I should have noticed a lot of things. But I didn't want to. I wanted him to be the nice guy. I wanted this to be the story I told at parties about how we met. I wanted to be the girl who took a chance and it worked out.
The sun dropped below the ridgeline and everything changed. The trail got harder to follow. The pines looked closer together. I couldn't hear the other runners anymore. I called out. Nothing. Just Jake behind me saying "they're probably already at the cars, we're almost there."
Then his hand was on my shoulder. Not catching me. Not steadying me. Holding me. I turned around and his face was different. Not cute anymore. Not friendly. His eyes were doing something I'd never seen before. Like he'd been waiting. Like he'd been patient. "Come on," he said. "We're alone now. No one can hear us."
I said no. I said it clearly. I said it twice. I said it the way we're taught to say it. Firm. Direct. Unmistakable. He didn't stop.
I want to tell you I fought like a hero. I want to tell you I kneed him in the groin and ran. That's what I always imagined I'd do. That's what every woman imagines. But when it actually happens, when a man's hands are on your body and his weight is pressing you down and your brain is screaming that this is real, this is happening, this is not a drill you don't always fight. Sometimes you freeze. Sometimes your body just stops. Because this wasn't supposed to happen. Because he was nice. Because you trusted him.
I froze. For three seconds. Maybe five. Long enough for him to get my shirt up. Long enough for his hands to be where they shouldn't be. Long enough for me to feel the dirt on my back and the weight of him and the absolute certainty that I was about to become a statistic.
Then something in me snapped. Not courage. Rage. Pure, animal rage. I kneed him. Hard. He doubled over and I scrambled up and I ran. I made it maybe twenty feet before something hit the back of my head and I went down. He'd thrown a rock. A rock. He'd been holding it the whole time. He came prepared.
He was on top of me again. Heavier this time. Angrier. His hands around my throat. My vision going spotty. My shirt ripping. I was screaming. Screaming so loud my throat tore. My eyes were closed. I couldn't look at his face. I couldn't look at what he was about to do. I was praying. I don't even believe in God but I was praying. Please. Please. Someone. Anyone.
Then his weight was gone. Not pushed off. Not pulled away. Snatched. Like something grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him into the dark so fast the air cracked. I opened my eyes. He wasn't there. Just a drag mark in the dirt. Wide. Deep. Like something heavy had been pulled through the underbrush at a speed that didn't make sense.
Then the screaming started. Not my screaming. His. I have never heard a human being make that sound. It started as a scream and then it became something else. Something higher. Something wet. His voice cracking and breaking and then the sounds underneath the screaming started and those were worse.
Bones. I heard his bones breaking. Not one at a time. All at once. Like someone snapping a handful of dry sticks. His ribs. His spine. His legs. The popping of joints being pulled apart. The wet tear of muscle separating from bone. His screaming stopped mid breath. Not because he passed out. Because something crushed his chest and the air had nowhere to go.
Then the chewing started. Wet. The sound of teeth on something hard. His skull. I heard his skull crack open. I heard the wet sound of something inside it being eaten.
I ran. I didn't look back. I couldn't. My legs were moving before my brain told them to. I was bleeding from the back of my head. My shirt was torn open. I had one shoe. I don't know when I lost the other one.
The woods were black now. I couldn't see the trail. I couldn't see anything. I just ran. Branches cutting my face. Roots grabbing my ankles. I fell twice. Got up. Kept running. That's when I heard it.
Not behind me. Beside me. Something was running parallel to me in the dark. Matching my pace. Not chasing. Keeping up. I could hear its feet hitting the ground. Four feet. Not two. Four. A rhythm that was too fast and too smooth and not even breathing hard.
I stopped. It stopped. I ran. It ran. It was playing with me. I heard its joints popping. Wet clicks. Like it was adjusting its body to run better. Like running on all fours wasn't its only shape. Like it could become anything it wanted and right now it wanted to be something that could keep up with a terrified girl in the dark.
I don't know how long I ran. Minutes. Hours. Time doesn't work the same when you're running for your life. But I saw light. Headlights. A road. I burst out of the treeline and onto a dirt road. A pickup truck. The driver slammed the brakes. An old man. Gray beard. Flannel. Ute tribe sticker on the back window. He rolled down his window and started to ask if I was okay and I was already climbing into the truck bed. I didn't ask. I didn't explain. I just screamed at him. "DRIVE. DRIVE. PLEASE DRIVE."
He drove. I lay in the truck bed, bleeding, shaking, crying, and I looked back at the treeline. It was standing there. A woman. Naked. Skinny. On all fours. But the proportions were wrong. The arms were too long. The legs bent backward at the knee. The skin was gray and stretched tight over bones that didn't fit right. Like it was wearing a woman's skin but the woman underneath was something else. Something older. Something that had been in these mountains since before the Mormons. Since before the Ute. Since before anyone.
It wasn't chasing the truck. It wasn't moving at all. It was just watching me. Specifically me. Like it was memorizing my face. Like it wanted to remember the one that got away. The truck turned a corner and the pines blocked the view and it was gone.
The old man drove me to a gas station outside Duchesne. He didn't ask questions until I was out of the truck bed. Then he looked at me. Looked at the blood on my face. Looked at my torn shirt. Looked back at the mountains. "You were up in the Uintas," he said. Not a question. I nodded. "After dark." I nodded again.
He was quiet for a long time. Then he said: "My grandmother used to tell stories. About things in those mountains that wear the skins of animals. Sometimes other things. She said they were men once. Witches. Chose to become something else. Something hungry. She said if you ever see one, don't look it in the eyes. It'll remember you."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. "Did you look it in the eyes?" I thought about the treeline. The gray skin. The arms too long. The way it was watching me. Specifically me. "I don't know," I said.
He nodded slowly. Didn't say anything else. Just got back in his truck and drove away. I made it home. I don't remember how. I called an Uber from the gas station and the driver didn't ask questions. I sat in my shower for three hours. I threw away the clothes I was wearing. I threw away the one shoe. I deleted Facebook. I blocked the run club group. I blocked Jake's profile even though Jake is dead in the mountains with his skull cracked open and his bones scattered across the forest floor.
I googled it. The thing I saw. "Woman on all fours Utah mountains." "Gray skin long arms." "Skinwalker Uinta Basin." I found a forum post from 2014. A hiker. Same description. Same area. The post had one reply. From an account that had been deleted. "That's not a woman. Don't go back. Don't look for it. It already knows your face." Here's the part I keep coming back to. The part that keeps me up at night.
I almost didn't knee him. I almost froze completely. I almost let it happen because I didn't want to believe it was happening. Because he was nice. Because I trusted him. Because I'd been taught my whole life to give men the benefit of the doubt and maybe I was overreacting and maybe he didn't mean it that way and maybe I should just calm down.
I almost died because I didn't want to be rude. That's the thing they don't tell you about being a woman. It's not the stranger in the dark alley. It's the cute guy from run club. It's the coworker who's always so helpful. It's the friend of a friend who seems so normal. It's the man you trusted. The man you liked. The man you made excuses for because you wanted him to be good.
I don't know what that thing in the mountains was. I know what the old man called it. I know what the forum post said. I know the Ute and the Navajo have been telling stories about them for centuries. Witches who chose to become monsters. Who wear the skins of animals. Who can look like anyone. Who are never satisfied. Who remember faces.
I don't know if I believe in skinwalkers. But I know what I saw. And I know it saw me back.
Fuck run clubs. Run clubs are not it. I don't care how cute the guy is. I don't care how pretty the trail looks at sunset. I don't care if the whole group is verified saints with background checks and glowing reviews. I am never running in the mountains again. I am never running with strangers again. I am never running again.
I'm gonna finish this beer and go to bed.
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