u/Agitated-Specific-14

Part 1

I want to start out this entry by saying thank you to everyone that has read part one. 

I really didn’t think anyone would believe what I had to say, let alone reach out with such great advice on how to move forward with what has quickly become my latest obsession. 

If you have not read my initial journey entry of this abandoned island please stop now and read it through. The link to it is above. 

With that being said I have quite a bit to update you all on.

The first few days following my jaunt through the woods of mystery island came with serious reservations from my Mom who was adamant that going back was a bad idea. I wish I could say she was wrong about that, but there was some amount of justification to her concern after all.

My Dad held a different stance entirely. I don’t know if he actually believed everything I had told them about the island, but he seemed genuinely interested in taking a look at it himself.

It took a lot of time and convincing, but finally my Mom relented and told us that if we wanted to go back and hike it together she would hold her tongue on the matter. So, a few days after my first trip we set sail once again. This time, by her request, we left Mom home.

With no other plans or time constraints, Dad and I agreed we could spend more time exploring the island during this trip.

Which meant we could potentially venture a little farther in than I had initially gone, but seeing that the trails were old and mostly overgrown we needed a way to ensure we could always get back to the boat. 

As we were packing up and discussing this a thought crossed my Dad’s mind and he went straight to the garage without another word. A minute later he returned with a can of yellow spray paint. He tossed it to me and instructed me to pack it in my bag.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“We’ll use it to mark some trees. Like a breadcrumb trail” he replied. The old man was smart. I could not deny that. I slipped the can into my bag then we made our way back towards the boat. With a wave goodbye to Mom we set sail to Mystery Island.

We arrived at the old rickety pier a little after 1pm. The weather channel had originally reported that it was going to be a hot sunny day. Perfect for a day on the lake, but the sky above paid no credence to what the weatherman had promised. It was overcast and gloomy over the entirety of the lake. It even looked as if there was a chance of rain.

Regardless of this, we tethered our pontoon to the pier and helped each other off the boat. We took inventory of our supplies then finally made our way towards the stone steps and began our ascension.

We made our way slowly up the stairs; pushing limbs and leaves out of our eyes when we finally arrived at the stone patio I had last stood only days before. My Dad trailed slowly behind me trying to catch his breath. I had to remind myself that he was almost twice my age now, but once he finally made it onto the stone flooring he stood up and looked around. 

His eyes were almost immediately drawn to the altar like a magnet. 

“Holy shit” he whispered, fighting back a wheeze. “It's actually real”.

“I showed you the pictures. Did you not believe me?” I added.

“No, no it's not that I didn't believe you. It's just… I thought you were pranking me or something.” he chuckled a little, but there was a nervous tension to his voice that left me a little unsettled.

He looked over the altar and, much like I had, ran his fingers over the bed. Then he turned and looked towards the stone benches facing the altar.

“There's gotta be at least 30 benches here” He sighed in disbelief.

“Do you think this was added after the land was sold back to the town?” I asked.

“Mmm. Doubtful” My Dad took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away the beads of sweat running down his face. 

“Where would it have come from then?”

“Don’t know. Traditionally the Boy Scouts are a secular organization, but I have heard that some chapters take their own liberties to the teachings. Add to that the fact that this chapter was active in the 50s and 60s and who knows what they were teaching out here”.

After a few more moments of discussion we decided to head up the amphitheater and began traveling down the path I had ventured prior. Before we got too far my Dad mentioned that we should begin marking some trees every 30 yards in order to find our way back. I unshouldered my bag and dropped it to the ground as I retrieved the can of spray paint.

Just as instructed, every 30 to 50 yards I would pick a tree. On one side I would spray a circle, and on the other an X. The idea was that following the circles would guide us away from the pier and the X’s would guide us back to it. 

It didn’t take us long to make our way to the run down house whose brick chimney still stood in remnants like a monolith in the woods. And it was just about that point that my Dad noticed the same thing I had before.

“Real quiet out here” He said, breaking the silence.

Little by little we made our way through the path. The crumbled building we had once seen faded away with the tree line as I continued marking our path as we moved forward. I wasn’t exactly sure how much paint was in the can. It felt half empty when I shook it, but we figured we would just keep moving until we ran out of paint then we would head back for the day.

I had just finished marking an X on the backside of a tree when something caught my eye. I stood breathless for a moment as my heart skipped a beat for a reason I could not comprehend, but then I broke the silence.

“Dad?”

“What’s up?” He asked as he came marching up behind me.

“Are those… forts?” I asked, trying to sound as calm as I could. 

“What?”

Standing there, maybe twenty-five feet away, were two small manmade structures. I am attaching photos of them so that you do not misconstrue what I am trying to get across to you. 

These were not cabins, nor were they really buildings at all. They were a collection of sticks and branches carefully thrown together like a makeshift shelter. Like the kind of thing you would see on shows like Man vs Wild.

“I thought you said there’s no camping on the island.” I whispered.

“You’re not supposed to.” He replied. 

“Do you think we should start heading back?” I added. He thought it over for a few minutes then I saw a part of him relax. He checked his phone for the time then looked back at me.

“That shelter looks like it's been there a while. I think whoever made it is probably long gone by now.” He followed that by making a joke to ease the tension he felt coming from me then followed it by saying “I say we venture a little farther forward. Get a bit more lay of the land then stop for lunch and head back. That is, unless you want to head back now.”

Seeing his nerves calm had made me feel a little better and besides he was probably right. Looking at the little make shift forts I could imagine to myself that they were far older than I initially thought.

“I’m good to keep going” I said. With a nod my Dad decided to lead us forward.

Eventually we found ourselves traveling up a hill upon a narrow path and by the time we could see over the hill once again we were so high up that I could not make out the bottom of what I could now describe as a miniature canyon. 

I stood near the edge looking down into the abyss for a reason I could not express. 

I have always hated heights. 

I hate the way that feeling of being high twists your stomach into knots. 

How it forces waves of imbalance and nausea into you from your head straight down into your toes which curl and feel the rush of blood that rebounds straight back to the ringing in your ears.

I peered out over the ledge looking into the distance when I thought I heard a sound. Like a rustling of trees just over the canyon. The first sight of something here that wasn’t us. 

Shocked by this; I leaned forward just enough to peer a little further into that void. 

Then I lost my footing and the edge of the path that was housing my feet gave way and I felt myself begin to fall. 

It started with a scream.  A feeling of helplessness washing over me. I felt impossibly heavy as gravity betrayed me. The world around me spun forward and twisted my perceptions of reality as heaviness turned to weightlessness all in but a fraction of a second. And in that moment, over 100 feet above the ground below, I truly believed I was going to die.

By the time I felt my Dad’s grip on the collar of my shirt I was nearly over the ledge entirely. My worst nightmare was coming to life. I was going to fall to my death over a stupid little hike in the woods my Mom had warned me about, and worst of all, my Dad would be plummeting with me for simply trying to save my life.

But somehow he had caught himself with his arm wrapped around the trunk of a nearby tree and anchored himself into place. The abrupt stop of my fall had shifted me entirely and I felt the can of spray paint fall from my fingers down into the wooded abyss below. I remember hearing it strike branches on the way down before its sound disappeared entirely.

The old man pulled slow and steady as an ox until I was back on solid ground holding my chest and breathing hard for dear life. 

Unable to catch my breath I threw open my bag and dug through it like a desperate racoon trifling through the garbage until I found my inhaler. I shook it violently then depressed the trigger filling my lungs with medicine. After a few moments I could finally feel my airway opening once again.

“Fuck” I nearly cried. “I… I don’t know what happened.” I trembled.

My Dad knelt beside me and wrapped his arm around me tight.

“You good? You okay?” He asked. I nodded back as I puffed my inhaler once again and forced back a coughing fit. “Good. Maybe we should start heading back now. I think I have had all the excitement I can stand for one day”. I nodded as he helped me back up to my feet. 

I looked up the trail ahead and realized we were only feet away from the peak of the mountainous hill we had been climbing.

“H-hows a-a-about w-we head a little bit farther? S-stop for l-lunch?” I wheezed. He thought it over for a moment then with a reluctant sigh he said “Sure”.

We made our way to the top of the hill then rested on the forest floor as we unpacked a bag of sandwiches that Mom had made for us. In total we probably rested for 20 - 30 minutes.

We spent most of that time in silence with only the occasional small talk when finally my dad spoke up a concern. 

“Do NOT tell your Mom what just happened.” I already knew better than to ever speak about that with her. So, I nodded in agreement.

The cloudy skies above gave way to some new found sunlight which illuminated the distances of the forest and as we were cleaning up we checked the time. Somehow nearly 4 hours had passed since we docked. 

Finally, Dad put his foot down and stated it was time to head back. So, we packed our stuff and followed the yellow X’s back to the pier. 

Along the way back we made our way back down the hill that had nearly taken our lives, and curved past the makeshift teepees that I had now convinced myself was an older campers survival project in the 50s. 

Could such structures survive the test of that much time? Truthfully I didn’t believe so. But standing there passing them by once again; it was the truth I wanted to believe. I think it was the truth Dad wanted to believe too. 

Finally, we were back on track and making good time. At this rate we would be back to the boat in a little under an hour.

My Dad and I made some small talk just to fill the void. We weren’t even talking about the forest anymore. He asked me about school and work. Asked if I was seeing anyone then mentioned that my cousin Lee had been accepted into Michigan State University for Bio Engineering. 

Then I saw something in the distance along the path we were heading back on. I wasn’t exactly sure how we had missed it when we first came this way. Maybe it had been due to the overcast weather shrouding the distances, but there it was. 

In the distance maybe 40 yards out from the path was an old park pavilion. And inside it seemed to be 4 picnic benches chained to each leg of the pavilion. 

Curious, I pointed it out to my Dad and told him I wanted to take a closer look. At first he protested and stated we should come back another time to check it out. But after a brief discussion he once again relented and we made our way towards it.

It stood there in a small clearing. The concrete foundation beneath it had been cracked due to years of weather and wear, and yet it still stood strong.

Beside it, about 15 feet away, was a small fire pit surrounded by logs of a tree. Each was about 2 or 3 feet in diameter and were settled around the fire pit for what was clearly organic seating. The fire pit was rusted and worn. Chips of rust flaked at the corners and painted a clear picture that it had not been used in decades.

We looked around the pavilion for a little while longer. We found an old scrap grill that was basically falling apart at the screws. As well as an old scythe resting against one of the pillars of the pavilion. 

I know that may sound scary, but it wasn’t exactly how you imagine it. Less like a tool for the grim reaper and more like a golf club with serrated edges. Nevertheless, I left it where I found it.

I took a few more photos around the area then sat at one of the picnic benches scrolling through them as Dad went to take a piss. 

By this time I had completely moved on from the fall that had almost taken my life about 2 hours back. 

The woods had regained their allure to me and flipping through those photos rejuvenated my adventurous heart.

That was when I saw something in one of the photos that sent chills down my spine and froze me down to the bench I was sitting on. 

Slowly I stood up and moved back towards the center of the pavilion and looked out past it. I was now facing a new direction we had yet to travel down. 

Standing there, holding my phone in hand, I saw exactly what had been printed across my screen just as Dad approached me from behind. He was mentioning something about getting back home for dinner when, without a word, he saw exactly what I was staring at.

On one tree about 30 yards from where we were standing was a marking. 

It was neither an X nor an O. It was a bright yellow arrow pointing us forward. The exact same shade of yellow we had been spraying all over the forest that same day.

In our entire adventure through the woods we had yet to see a single marked tree that was not marked by us, and yet here stood a seemingly fresh marking which whispered to us “Come and see”.

“Did you mark that for next time?” My Dad asked.

“N-no. I lost the can back when I nearly fell down the hill” I whispered. The skies above began to darken over the forest and we felt cold drops of rain cascade down around us.

“We should go” My Dad whispered as he gripped my shoulder. It took a minute, but I was finally able to pry my feet from the floor then I moved towards the direction my Dad was pulling me.

By the time we made it back to the path the rain had begun falling like bullets all around us. It was then that we started sprinting down the path trying to get back to the boat as lightning cracked above us. 

Long after the pavilion was out of our line of sight I could still hear the sound of falling rain against its battered roof like golf balls colliding into it.

Once or twice we slipped in the mud that caked its way around our boots and heels as we hoisted ourselves back up and made our way back towards the boat. Flying by a bright crying X nearly every 30 yards.

Finally, we came down the last curve of the path we had taken and found ourselves back at the amphitheater. Carefully, we stepped down the stone steps passing row after row of stone benches that were now painted nearly black by the rain.

Gallons of water were now falling from the roof of the altar and splashing into the newlt formed puddles below which drained back behind the altar and down towards the lake below.

After a few more moments we were walking down the last of the stone stairs towards the pier. Then we raced down the pier and threw ourselves back into the pontoon. 

Dad started the engine as I raised the bimini top of the boat and within moments we were moving. Partially covered and protected from the rain as we pulled out from the dock. 

My Dad had been in such a hurry that I don’t think he fully registered something that I still could not rectify in my mind. Once again, standing there in the boat, I could no longer see the altar of the pews that sat before it. From here it was as if they did not exist at all. 

But just before we rounded the final curve of the island, lightning cracked overhead.

For a fraction of a second the entire shoreline lit up.

And standing at the edge of the trees, where the stone steps met the forest, was another little yellow arrow.

Pointing inland.

Then the darkness returned.

The waves on the lake nearly flipped our boat twice on the way back, but we did eventually make it back home.

Mom was worried sick about us. She said she had been trying to text and call us all day, but could not get a hold of us. We chalked this up to bad reception, but I swear that every time I had checked my phone for the time I had always had 3 bars or more.

I decided against going home tonight. I’m sitting here in my room reliving the day my Dad and I had and replaying it across my keyboard for you all.

I don’t know where he stands on all of this anymore. I don’t even know if I want to go back. At least not without some more information on the island. 

Too many things are not making sense and I cannot tell if my feelings are justified or if it’s truly just my mind playing tricks on me. 

Nevertheless, I think I will cut it here for now. Give myself some time to rest and recover and we’ll figure out where we stand tomorrow.

Thank you all for your advice and encouragement so far. You guys really are helping keep me motivated to learn more about this island. 

I’ll update this subreddit as I discover more. 

- Jay

Mystery Island: https://imgur.com/a/B06BT2E

There is an island near my parents’ lake house that nobody talks about.

Well, that’s not entirely true. They’ll acknowledge it. Maybe even point it out to you if you ask about it. But no one ever goes there. And I want to find out why.

I will be linking photos of what I find to my posts for visuals.

About a year ago my parents purchased a cozy little lake house about 45 minutes from my home. They are in their early 50’s now and, although they have a few years left until they retire, they took this opportunity to treat themselves after years of hard work, raising kids, and following the long path that society tells us is the responsible one. 

Truthfully I am happy for them. 

The lake they live on now is quite beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful. And is at the center of a small town. Its population is approximately 3,000 people in total according to what census data I could uncover online and of that 3,000 I would estimate only a few hundred actually live on the lake itself full time. 

Like most small towns everyone seems to know everyone. 

It didn't take long for my parents' names and faces to be added into that collection and whenever I visit and we go for a pontoon ride or even just simply sit on the rocking chairs above the sea wall of their property we almost always catch a passerby or two. The interactions are always the same: a wave, a friendly hello, and some neighborly banter. 

Granted it has only been a year; my parents have never really had any complaints about any one of the neighbors that inhabit the 16 miles of shoreline. Everyone just seems to be genuinely nice. Which is what made what I discovered a few weeks ago all the more perplexing.

It all began when I came to visit my parents for the weekend. I had gotten off work around 4pm that Friday and headed straight to their house from work. I wanted to get there with enough time to swim and maybe go for a boat ride before the sun set for the day. So, I had packed my bags ahead of time to save myself the extra trip. 

I got there a little after 5pm due to traffic and when I entered the house I said hello to my parents and went to their spare bedroom to unpack and change into my swim suit. We spent that evening how we spent most evenings at the lake. We swam. We ate some barbecue my dad grilled. Then ended our evening with a nice relaxing pontoon ride across the water.

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky like a beautiful mosaic of deep blues, crimson oranges, and slashes of yellow across the evening sky. By then there weren’t very many boats left on the water. I have found that most of the residents on the lake were well into retirement so once 8pm rolled around each night the waters became a mostly empty void with only the occasional craft to pass us by.

That evening we decided to venture a little further down the channels than we normally travel and as we came out of the channel we found ourselves in an open body of the lake I had never seen before. There were a few houses scattered across the shoreline in the area, but not nearly as many as there were in the direction we had come from. But what caught my attention more than anything was the island.

Near the center of that body of water was a large wooded island whose trees were so thick you could barely see more than a few feet into the foliage. Curious, I moved up towards the front of the boat and looked out a little closer to the tree line. 

Unlike most other areas of shore this island did not have a sandy shore line. It was nearly all stone which cascaded into the mild tides that brushed against it. My dad, who always had to be the captain of our ship, made his way slowly  around the island. He essentially had used it as a pivot point to redirect our course home, and he navigated around it as if he had charted this route a hundred times before.

By the time we were halfway around the island my curiosity had gotten the best of me.

“Is this private property?” I asked him. He reached forward and turned down the radio before he replied.

“No, it's public actually. I think it actually used to be a summer camp for the local boy scouts chapter. When the owners of the camp finally decided to sell the land they sold it back to the city who has marked it as public property.”

“How big is it?” I asked.

“I want to say it’s about 100 acres in total… Maybe 125.” he replied.

As he finished we passed the only dock I had seen all around the island. It was an old wooden pier that had bent and twisted due to years of storms, ice, and neglect. Where they met the shore gave way to an old set of stone stairs that lead up into the woods and seemed to be swallowed by the trees entirely.

“Do people ever camp out here?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. I am not exactly sure if there is a rule that prevents that or not, but honestly people just don’t often go there.”

“They don’t?” I was a bit more than confused by this. I would have figured a nice wooded camp ground would have been a highlight point for people on the lake. Clearly I had been wrong.

“I’ve never seen anyone there. Never even really heard anyone talk about it. The only reason I know anything about it myself is because I read about it shortly after we moved in.”

“Have you guys ever gone there?” I probed.

“Ummmm, we have passed it a few times. Never actually docked. From what I have read it’s pretty run down. Not much to do there. Maybe a path or two you can walk down, but no one maintains it. Not even the town so I would imagine the paths that were there are mostly grown over at this point. Mom and I typically stick to the walking trails close to home.” My Dad added. 

I think he saw some amount of intrigue in my eyes because shortly after that he added: “If you wanna visit it tomorrow we can go..”

“Really? I would definitely be interested in doing that.”

“Sounds like a plan to me” he finished. Then he turned the music back up and we made our way home.

Although my dad had turned the music back up and my mom was still infatuated by her kindle; I found myself watching those stairs long after we had passed them. They grew smaller and smaller as the distance between us grew larger and larger, and before I knew it we were passing through the channel once again. Within minutes we were back to waters I was far more familiar with.

I spent a good chunk of that night researching the island online. My dad had been mostly right. The island was about 116 acres and had been previously owned by the local charter of the Boy Scouts back in the 1950’s. 

What struck me as odd was how abruptly everything seemed to end.

Around the early 1960’s the land was sold to the local township seemingly at random. The same year that the sale was finalized, the local Boy Scouts chapter dissolved entirely. 

I figured attendance numbers might have been dwindling. Maybe the camper numbers just dropped year after year until the cost of the land became too expensive for them to manage. Still it seemed strange. 

There really weren’t a lot of pictures I could find online. Most were just old group photos of scouts with their troop leaders. 

Faded photographs.

Sun bleached smiles.

Children who, if still alive, would now have been old enough to be my grandparents. 

Around 3am I closed my laptop and set it aside on my nightstand and decided to get some sleep. It took nearly an hour, but after a while I was finally able to drift to sleep.

It was about noon the following day when we decided to hit the waters again for a boat ride. By then we had already had breakfast, did some swimming, then finished off some burgers for lunch. 

It was then that my Dad asked if I was still interested in exploring the island, which we had begun to call Mystery Island. I replied with an enthusiastic yes and with a nod we grabbed the keys to the boat and made our way to it. 

Prior to hopping on the boat I decided to pack a small backpack for myself. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect on the island so I packed a knife, a bottle of water, a portable power bank, and a charger for my phone. I also had changed into long pants out of fear that the tall grass would give way to bug bites and poison ivy.

We boarded the pontoon and started making our way toward the island. Once again we traversed familiar sights and shores until we came upon the channel we had traveled down a little more than 16 hours ago. 

It was then that what had been familiar to me grew increasingly foreign. The waters felt calmer here. Almost quiet. Then as the channel opened back up into a greater pool of fresh water I saw it there in the distance. 

Mystery Island.

We followed the same path we had taken the day prior and took the bend around the shore until we made our way back to the old wooden pier that rested there about 10 feet out stretched from the stone stairs. I spent a long while watching the woods. Watching the trees bend and twist in the breeze of the mid afternoon air. 

As we got closer, my dad put the boat idle then made his way over to the wall of the boat closest to the pier as he deployed the fenders. In moments we had safely docked. 

I stood up and threw my backpack over my shoulder and made my way out of the boat then turned back to help my Dad out of the boat and onto the rickety old pier. 

He was strong and stable, especially for his age, but the last thing I needed was for him to roll his ankle simply because I wanted to go on a silly hike. But just as I was about to help him out of the boat my mom spoke up.

“You’re not going with him are you?” She asked my Dad.

“I was planning to.” He replied.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t. I am really not comfortable being left alone here by myself.”

“Well why don’t you come with us?” My Dad asked.

“Hell no. The last thing I need are bug bites or worse rabies!” We all chuckled a little at that. “Why don’t you let Jay check it out. We can swing by the ice cream shop we passed on the way then circle back to pick him up.”

Although he had been a bit apathetic to begin I could tell my Dad had grown interested in the island. Maybe, if for no other reason, simply because I was intrigued by it. Defeated, he turned to me with the faintest smile.

“Are you comfortable hiking this one on your own this time around? We can always come back another time when Mom stays back.” He asked.

“No, I am okay really. I’ll be fine. I want to take a look today if that's okay. You guys can go get your ice cream. Maybe meet me back here in an hour?” My dad proceeded to check his phone for the time and nodded.

“Want us to pick you up a scoop?” He asked.

“Sure, that would be nice”

“What can we get you?” My mom inquired. After a moment's thought I replied.

“Surprise me”

I stood there on the dock and watched as they pulled away. They threw me a few waves and smiles then made their way back around the bend of the land and within moments were gone out of sight.

I stood there a few moments longer then finally I turned and faced the stone steps that rose from the pier and made their way into the thicket of woods before me. With a deep breath and an unquenchable curiosity and excitement I made my way towards them then followed where they led.

I am not exactly sure what I was expecting to find as I climbed those stairs in the woods.

Maybe overgrown trails. Fallen trees. A few scattered remnants of the old camp.

What I didn't expect was stone.

The staircase opened onto what appeared to be an enormous stone patio that stretched across the forest floor and climbed partway up the embankment overlooking the lake. 

And sitting there, only a few feet from where I had entered, an altar.

( I'm attaching photos because I realize how unbelievable this sounds.)

I just stood there for a moment staring.

The structure was far larger than I would have expected for an abandoned island on a midwestern lake, and yet what was far more perplexing to me was the fact that I had not seen it when we first arrived. 

Standing there I could see out to the water and the pier as clear as day, and yet I swear to you when we arrived I did not see this spot from the boat. It seemed almost impossible to me now to have been able to miss it in broad daylight.

I stood at the center of it and ran my fingers over the bed then up the stone cross that hung above it when I looked over and realized that the altar had not been all that the forest had hidden away here. 

Standing before the altar were at least 2 dozen rows of hand carved stone benches which stretched up the hill and embankment. 

All of which faced towards the altar as if an invisible congregation had one day just stood up and vanished forever. 

Truthfully, when I first saw them I nearly jumped. Even in broad daylight the sight there ran a chill down my spine, but after a moment my nerves relaxed. 

This place had been more or less a summer home for the Boy Scouts years ago. All of this was simply a relic of time gone by. After a few moments I made my way up the amphitheater and past the open stone cathedral. Then I made my way into the woods and back onto grass and soil. 

When it came to the paths my dad had been right. Years of neglect and entropy had reclaimed the land that footsteps had regularly fallen upon nearly 60 years ago now and it was clear that since the selling of the property to the township few feet had traveled here since.

That being said, years of boots tearing into the soil had taken its toll and although the paths were almost entirely grown over once again there still were the distinct displacements of the ground beneath the grass and vines. After a moment of inspection I could just barely make out the original trail, but once I had I decided to venture forward.

I hadn’t noticed it at first, but the air out there on the island was finer and cool even as I made my way deeper into the forest. 

What was perhaps more unsettling than anything was the utter quiet of the woods. I had gone hiking before and the silence of the woods was no stranger to me, but there was always the occasional sound of birds or branches breaking in the distance due to the hooves of the native deer or the scampering of squirrels. But there was none of that there. As cliche as it sounds It really was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. 

The only sound that filled my ears then was the beating of my own heart and the flush of blood that made its way up my throat and into my ears. Then I saw it.

Along the path I had taken, nearly a quarter of a mile into the woods now, there stood what remained of a small house. But to call it that now would be the same as calling a human skeleton a man. 

Sitting along the path was a concrete foundation maybe 500 square feet in size. What remained above the foundation could only paint an idea of what the house had once looked like. There was one wooden wall at the far corner of the foundation with a window that had shattered seemingly years ago. And yet I found no shards of glass at its base. 

Sitting across from the wall was the remains of an old brick fireplace that rose towards the sky and rested open in the small clearing. 

I walked slowly around the foundation, trying to piece together what it had once been.

A house?

A cabin, maybe?

A rec center?

Whatever it had been, nature had erased it. Or more accurately, nearly erased it.

I stood there for who knows how long allowing my imagination to run wild with possibilities. Then I realized that I had really no idea how long I had been out here. Instinctively, I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen to life and took note of the time. 

Somehow 50 minutes had passed without me knowing. That felt impossible as I swear I had only just docked 10 minutes ago at most, but clearly my sense of time had failed me. 

My parents would be back soon. I decided to pack up and begin heading back to the dock. My dad had been right once again: We would need to come back sometime soon.

Just as I shut off the screen of my phone and slipped it back into my pocket I heard the first noise I had heard in the entire time since I ventured out here alone. 

An echoing crack of a stick in the distance. 

How far away it had been I could not tell you, but with how quiet it had been prior to that, hearing this caused me to spin so fast on my feet that a wave of nausea overtook me. 

I looked out in all directions of the woods, nearly in a panic, but everywhere I looked I was met with nothingness.

No deer.

No squirrels.

No raccoons.

No birds.

No... no one.

No one but me.

I can’t quite put into words why this unsettled me as much as it had, but I turned and made my way back down the path I had come. Back towards the stone amphitheater and back down the steps. 

As irrational as it was, my heart was suddenly hammering in my chest.

I kept telling myself it had probably been a deer.

Or a raccoon.

Or maybe I had simply startled some small animal hidden in the underbrush.

Even so, I found myself walking much faster than I had on the way in. Finally, I made my way back to the amphitheater. Back to the altar.

As I reached the altar I looked down towards the pier that I had arrived here at and, to my relief, saw my parents and their boat resting at the dock. They sat there eating their ice cream and talking about nothing at all.

I waved to them, but they took no notice of me.

Originally I had been confused how I could have missed the altar and pews from the water, and yet it was abundantly clear to me that even now as I looked down at them from the edge of the altar they could not see me at all.

I took one last look around and collected a few more photos then made my way back down the stairs and back into their line of sight. 

My feet met the pier once again and I casually threw myself back onto the boat. By then my heart had stopped racing, but still I could not remember the last time I had been so glad to see my parents.

I helped my dad untether the boat from the dock then he put it in reverse and we pulled away from the pier as my mom brought me over a vanilla ice cream cone. 

As we pulled away they asked me how the hike was and I told them of what I had found. I think this scared my mom more than anything, but after looking over the photos I had taken my dad stated he would be interested in coming back out sometime to see these for himself. 

Something about that made me feel a little better about the whole situation. 

As we made our way around the curve of the island I looked back towards the dock and the stairs that rose from it. Sitting there in the boat looking up towards it I could no longer see the altar that had just minutes ago been bathed in the sunlight from the shoreline. And after a moment the pier was gone from our line of sight entirely.

I am back at my parents house now putting all of this down as nothing more than a journal about my adventures on the island. 

Writing it all out is almost therapeutic and I know some of you online may actually find this interesting. Maybe that will motivate me to continue documenting my journey. 

My nerves have mostly calmed themselves now. I thought as unnerved as I had been that I wouldn’t want to go back, but it seems to be quite the opposite. 

I plan to go back. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. I want to know what else is on the island.

I will keep you all posted in the coming days and weeks on what I find. 

Thanks. 

- Jay

Mystery Island: https://imgur.com/a/ufOSoiW