The Solitary Night Walks
There was a time in my life when long, solitary walks through nature became a sort of ritual. I craved silence - pure, undisturbed silence. Often at night, I would set out with nothing more than a few supplies and a plan to walk 10 to 15 kilometers through areas where no one ventured after dark. One of my favorite routes led past a deserted golf course, across dunes, and toward a beach near a former military zone. It was quiet, wild, and overlooked the open sea. From time to time, I’d catch sight of distant ferries slipping across the horizon. But one night, that peaceful habit collided with something I still can't explain.
A Bench, a Sandwich, and Something in the Distance
I had brought sandwiches and a couple of beers with me. My destination was the bench with a view, just before the forest. It was one of those places where the quiet sinks into your bones. As I sat, watching the night unfold, I noticed something moving in the distance - slow, deliberate, and massive. At first glance, it looked like a giant cat, but it was far too big. Too large for any domestic animal, and even larger than most dogs. It moved with feline grace. I froze, blending into the shape of the bench and surrounding terrain, heart hammering as I realized I was watching something that shouldn’t be there.
Its coat was dark, black as the night itself, and it bore the sleek form of a predator - like a black panther. I was uphill, the wind in my favor. It hadn’t detected me. I didn’t dare move. I could see it clearly now: this was not an illusion. It passed a tree, and I saw its back align with the lower branches - meaning it had to be over a meter tall. My entire body became alert in a way that felt ancient, primal. I slowly retreated in the opposite direction, toward another forest, carefully choosing the path that would keep me out of its view.
A Predatory Presence
Every fifty meters I stopped, crouched, and checked its progress. It remained on its steady course, never straying. I found a sturdy stick - not much of a weapon, but better than nothing. I wasn’t panicking, but something deep inside me screamed this was not a typical encounter. I’ve spent many nights alone in nature. I know how animals behave. This … this was different. It moved like it had a purpose. A plan.
Eventually, I reached the outskirts of the housing area and slipped back indoors, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I had never felt that level of alertness, not even during my military years. I kept replaying what I saw. Some call them “devil’s lions,” shadow creatures said to prowl the edges of the human world. All I knew was - I’d seen something real, and it had seen nothing. That was my only comfort.
Return to the Bench
Despite the fear, curiosity burned in me. A few nights later, just before dawn, I returned to the same bench. This time, I lit a cigarette and scanned every direction. My lighter was a military-grade one, giving off only the faintest glow. The night was still, the wind blowing smoke out toward the fjord. It was quiet again. Nothing seemed out of place - until I spotted them.
Two figures, standing exactly where I had previously seen the creature. Both were tall - taller than me - and wore identical black outfits that clung tightly to their bodies, like wetsuits or flight suits. They moved slowly, in sync, like machines following a program. I snuffed out my cigarette, crouched behind the bench, and watched. Something wasn’t right. The way they behaved - it was mechanical, almost rehearsed. I stayed on my knees, barely breathing. I knew no one walked out here at 4 or 5 a.m., not even hunters. And yet, here they were.
When the Air Lifted
Then it happened. One of the beings slowly levitated - yes, floated - upward, circling the other as if inspecting something below. Every hair on my body stood upright. I knew then I wasn’t dealing with anything human. I dropped to my stomach, slowly inching behind the dunes, trying to remain invisible. They were too far away to notice me unless I made a mistake. But dawn was coming, and light was beginning to rise.
Still lying flat, I peeked over the dune to keep watching. They hadn’t left. They were focused on something on the ground. A hole? An object? I couldn’t tell. Then the impossible happened again - both beings lifted off the ground, hovering at mid-height, and began circling the site in perfect sync. Then they shot off - fast, almost too fast to follow - flying counterclockwise toward the hills more than a kilometer away and vanishing in the blink of an eye.
The Aftermath
I was frozen in disbelief. I stayed hidden until full daylight, smoking cigarette after cigarette, scanning the entire area for any sign they had returned. When I finally stood and walked back along the beach, I was shaken to my core. Nothing in my life had prepared me for what I saw that night. And though I’ve seen wild animals, fought danger, and lived through chaos - this was beyond my understanding.
I never walked that path again. Some encounters are meant to stay in the dark, remembered only when the night is quiet and the world seems thinner than usual. I still don’t know what I saw. But I know I wasn’t supposed to see it.