The Rake's Hunt: Claw Marks of Fear

Table of Contents

The Rake's Hunt: Claw Marks of Fear

It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel right. The woods near Raven Hollow were usually full of life—chirping birds, rustling leaves, distant animal calls. But tonight, silence suffocated the forest like a thick fog. Owen gripped his flashlight tighter as he led his group of three deeper into the dark, his boots crunching through dried leaves and broken twigs.

"Are you sure this is the right spot?" asked Mia, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear, her voice hushed and tense.

"It’s what the map said," Owen replied, unfolding the faded, hand-drawn sketch they found in the old ranger station. "Claw marks, broken branches, something’s been hunting here. If the stories are true, this is The Rake’s territory."

Behind them, Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. The Rake? That’s just an internet legend. We’re wasting time looking for a creepypasta monster. Next thing you know, Slenderman's gonna pop out and dance for us."

"Then explain the claw marks we found on that abandoned cabin," Owen shot back. "Explain the animal corpses. Or the missing hikers."

Jeremy opened his mouth but stopped short. The memory of the torn carcass they found earlier that day, ripped open like a paper bag, silenced his sarcasm.

They pressed on, the flashlight beams slicing through fog and branches. An eerie chill hung in the air, unnatural and biting. Then they saw it—trees shredded with long, deep gashes. Fresh. Blood still glistened on the bark.

Mia gasped. "Oh my god... this isn’t a bear. These marks... they’re too long. Too deep."

Suddenly, a high-pitched screech echoed through the forest. Not animal. Not human. Something in between.

Owen froze. "Did you hear that?"

Jeremy whispered, "Yeah... and it was close."

Then, from the shadows, came a rustle—fast and erratic. A shape darted between trees, too fast to be seen clearly. Owen raised his flashlight and caught a glimpse of pale skin, elongated limbs, and eyes like burning coals.

"Run!" he shouted.

They sprinted. Branches whipped at their faces as they dodged through the thick woods. Something was chasing them. Something that moved like a nightmare come alive.

They burst into a clearing and collapsed, gasping. The silence returned—but not peacefully. It was the same dead silence that warned of a predator nearby.

"We can't stay out here," Mia said, breathless. "It’s toying with us. Herding us."

Owen scanned the treeline. "There’s a ranger tower half a mile from here. If we can get there, we can lock ourselves in."

They didn’t speak again—only ran.

The tower loomed ahead, wooden and ancient, half-rotted but still standing. They scrambled up the steps and slammed the hatch shut. Jeremy bolted it with a metal rod.

For a moment, there was hope. Safety.

Until they heard the scraping.

Long claws dragged across the wooden frame. Slow. Deliberate. A growl rumbled beneath them, deep and animalistic.

"It’s here," Mia whispered, clutching a rusted fire axe she found in the corner. "And it’s not leaving."

The hatch shuddered. Wood splintered. Then it stopped. A cruel silence returned.

Owen held his breath. Jeremy, shaking, leaned by the window. "Maybe it—"

CRASH!

The window exploded inward, and Jeremy was gone in a flash of claws and teeth. Screaming, blood, then nothing.

Mia swung the axe at the window, but it was too late. The Rake had vanished into the trees again, dragging Jeremy’s mangled body with it.

"We’re next," Mia said, her face pale. "It’s a game. It hunts for fun."

Owen nodded grimly. "Then we don’t wait. We fight. We set a trap."

They worked quickly—barricading windows, luring the creature with a loudspeaker app on Owen’s phone playing recordings of their earlier hike. It worked. The Rake returned, furious and snarling.

As it leaped through the doorway, Mia swung the axe with everything she had, burying it deep into its side. It shrieked, thrashing, but Owen was ready. He lit a flare and drove it into the monster’s face.

Blinding red light filled the tower as The Rake screeched in agony, retreating, clawing wildly. Then silence.

Owen and Mia collapsed against the wall, the air filled with smoke and blood.

"Did we kill it?" Mia asked, barely audible.

Owen stared out into the woods. "No. But we hurt it. And it knows we’re not prey anymore."

But as dawn approached and birds began to sing again, Owen noticed three fresh claw marks across the inside of the hatch door.

They hadn’t kept it out. It had let them live.

For now.

Later that day, police arrived after receiving Owen's emergency call from the ranger tower's ancient radio. They found Owen and Mia alive but traumatized, covered in blood that wasn’t entirely theirs. No trace of Jeremy. No monster. Just the claw marks.

The investigation was closed a week later—officially labeled a bear attack, with signs of psychosis from the survivors due to "wilderness isolation." But Owen knew. Mia knew. And neither could sleep for days afterward, afraid of the night, of the silence, of the claw marks burned into their memories.

Months passed. The media frenzy died down. But Owen couldn’t forget. He spent sleepless nights researching every Rake sighting, every ancient reference to similar creatures. It wasn’t just a myth. It was older than that. Older than stories. Something primal. Something forgotten.

One night, he received an email from an anonymous sender. It contained a single sentence: "I saw it too. In the Yukon. It doesn’t stop." Attached was a photo—snow, red stains, claw marks in an iron door.

He printed it and pinned it on a board beside maps, strings, and articles. Owen wasn’t going to run. He would find The Rake again. Or it would find him first.

Mia moved away, to a coastal city, far from the woods. But even with the ocean breeze and distant sirens, she sometimes woke up screaming, swearing she saw eyes glowing from the corner of her room. Her therapist said it was PTSD. She knew better. The Rake had followed her once. It might again.

The final journal entry Owen wrote before vanishing read: "If you find this, and you hear claws at night, don’t ignore it. Don’t run. Don’t hide. The Rake doesn't forget. And it never stops hunting."