The Midnight Hour & Other Scary Stories

Click Clack

June 5th, 1897

We've set out to hunt some elk. The terrain is rocky and the trees thick. It'll make things more than a little difficult. The men and I are ready though. This isn't our first hunt. I've scouted a clearing by the river. We'll set up camp there and move out at morning's light. I've heard tales that these woods are haunted. Superstitious folk spreading nonsense, no doubt. I've been hunting for fifty years and the scariest thing I've ever seen is a wildcat on the prowl. Bunch of hogwash.

June 6th, 1897

After camp was set up, the men took turns talking about their hunts. There were some outlandish tales for sure, but Tom had to have the craziest of them. He said that he had been hunting very near this neck of the woods when he heard something called the 'Click Clack'. An old wive's tale.

Apparently, it's some creature that skins its victims and wears 'em like a coat. It hangs the bones in the trees to warn others not to come into its territory. No animals come by the Click Clack's stomping grounds either. Says it's eerily quiet.

Old Tom has always been a little off-kilter. If you ask me, he's been out under the sun a little too long.

Blast him though. After that little ghost story, I didn't sleep well. I had one ear to the wind, listening. Didn't hear anything of course. Fool that I am.

Morning came too soon for my liking. Apparently, the others had a similar night. We left across the river a little after dawn. The woods were thick and our progress slow. Found a few rabbits but no elk. We did spot some elk tracks, however, but it was getting too late for us to follow. We got back to the camp near dark.

Tom's been acting funny ever since he told us that story. Jumpy. He keeps looking over his shoulder. Darn near scared away a rabbit. What's gotten into him? Why do I even ask? It's just Old Tom being himself.

June 7th, 1897

I woke up before the others and got to work fixing the morning coffee. As the sun started to rise, I saw this ugly-looking bear across the bank. It was under the cover of the trees. At least, I think it was a bear. It was about the right size, but its fur seemed patchy, balding in places. The thing lumbered off into the woods not long after the sun broke the treetops. I didn't tell the others. 'Specially not Tom. Funny thing is, I didn't hear the birds chirping this morning. Odd.

After some cooked rabbit, we started off into the treeline again. We went back to the place where we saw the elk tracks. We followed 'em to a nice ravine a bit farther back. Didn't like the forest much there. It felt strange. Can't say why.

The elk were eating near the edge. We took our shots. I managed to hit one and it took off. But, wouldn't you believe it? There was a wood bridge! Don't know who built the thing or why, but the blasted animal decided to use it to cross.

Now, again I don't know why, but the forest on the other side felt even stranger. We could hardly hear any birds or other animals. Tom, in particular, looked mighty ill. He kept muttering prayers and clutching a rosary. The rest of us ain't religious, but even we had a feeling that something was wrong.

We followed the elk a good ways into that part of the woods and found it dead in a little clearing. When I checked on it, I saw these great big claw marks across its belly. It was missing a leg. Some animal must have gotten to it before us. Meat was still good though, so we set to work, prepping our kill's meat for travel. Just as we were about to leave with it, Tom stopped and told us to be quiet. We listened to him, and put our ears to the wind. It was faint, but we could hear something in the distance. Sounded like windchimes, but not quite.

Now, I'm not a superstitious man, but I swear I got a chill down my spine. It sounded like bones clicking and clacking together. Couldn't hear anything else but that.

All of us hauled back to camp. We wanted to leave that place as soon as possible. Real or not, I didn't want to find out just how much sense Old Tom had left in him.

When we got back to the place where we first saw the elk tracks though, Tom let out a shriek. He pointed to the mud and said 'It was here!' I didn't know what he meant until I looked at the tracks. Mixed in with the Elk prints were the tracks of something I didn't recognize. They led back to camp.

We raced back to our tents to find that everything was still in order. Again, we couldn't hear the sound of any animals. The men agreed that we should leave at first light, so then we went to sleep. I don't think any of us slept well. I kept one ear to the wind at all times. Once or twice, I swear I heard something moving around outside, but I didn't think anything of it.

June 8th, 1897

It must have been early in the morning when I heard the screams.

I raced out of my tent to see what had happened. The others did as well. Tom was missing. We saw footprints leading across the river, but they weren't Tom's. Worried that something might have happened, we set into the forest with our lanterns and followed the trail back to the ravine.

Now the sun was beginning to rise, and light had just started to skim the treetops. Tom's clothes were scattered in front of the bridge. They had been torn apart.

None of us wanted to go past that bridge. We stopped, unsure of what to do.

Then, the wind began to blow. There were no animals to make noise. No birds singing. No insects chirping. The forest was dead quiet. Then, I heard it. The faint click clack of bones on the wind. When I looked up, I saw, high in the trees, bones tied together by string. A grinning skull looked down at us.

The rest of the men screamed and ran as fast as they could back to camp. I joined them, but only after stopping long enough to turn around. I felt eyes on me from across the ravine. When I looked into those thick trees, where the forest was sick, I saw a single eye looking back at me. I couldn't tell what it belonged to, but it must have been about the size of a bear and covered in skins.