They Vanished in Redwoods, 4 Years Later Hikers Find a Strange Fungus Infestation at Tree…
“I swear I saw something moving near the roots,” Jenna whispered, her flashlight trembling over the gnarled bark.
The air smelled like wet soil and decay, but something else lingered — an almost metallic tang that made her stomach twist.
“It’s… not normal.”
Her friend, Marco, knelt, pointing at the twisted trunk.
“Look at this fungus… it’s alive, I think.
And it’s spreading fast.
Like it knows we’re here.
”
I remember standing behind them, heart hammering, recalling the missing hikers from four years ago — their photos tacked on trailheads, faces frozen in time.
And now, this tree… this infestation… it seemed to whisper their names.
“What if they never left?” Marco muttered, voice barely audible.
“What if this is why?”
The spores shimmered under the beam, pulsating as if breathing.
I wanted to step back, run even, but something tethered me — a horrifying, magnetic curiosity.
I didn’t know whether to curse my curiosity or thank it.
The air was thick, wet with the smell of rot and moss, yet tinged with something almost… electric.
Jenna shone her flashlight along the tree trunk, tracing the veins of the fungus that clung to it like a living tattoo.
“Marco,” she whispered, “look closer.
It’s… it’s pulsing.”
Marco knelt, brushing a finger along the strange growth.
His face paled, eyes wide.
“Pulsing? Like a heartbeat?”
I swallowed hard.
I had read about weird fungal infestations before, some harmless, others toxic.
But this… this didn’t follow any biology I knew.
The spores shimmered faintly in the dim beam, as if breathing, as if aware of us.
“Maybe it’s radioactive,” I joked, trying to keep my voice steady.
The joke landed on deaf ears.
The forest around us was eerily quiet, almost waiting.
The kind of quiet that presses in on your ears and makes your heartbeat thunder.
Jenna crouched lower.
“Do you remember the hikers?” Her voice cracked.
“The ones who vanished four years ago?”
I nodded.
Their faces had haunted me ever since — cheerful snapshots tacked on trailheads, notes in journals, a community desperate for answers that never came.
Until now.
“What if…” Marco started, hesitating.
He glanced at the tree, then at the fungus, “…what if this is why they disappeared?”
I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Could it be the tree itself? Or the infestation? Something about the way the fungus crept along the roots and bark made my stomach twist.
It wasn’t just a plant disease.
It was… something else.
Something alive.
“Do you think it’s… I don’t know… alive in the way we are?” I asked, voice almost a whisper.
Jenna swallowed hard, nodding.
“I don’t know… but it reacted when I shined the light.
It’s… aware.”
We froze.
The spores flared suddenly, like a reflection of panic, as though whatever was in there recognized us.
I stumbled back, nearly tripping over roots thick with the infestation.
Marco grabbed my arm.
“Don’t move too fast,” he warned.
“Whatever this is… it doesn’t like sudden movements.”
I wanted to argue, to flee, to scream.
But curiosity anchored me.
One more step.
One more closer look.
The tree’s bark had split in a strange spiral pattern, revealing a hollow beneath.
Fungal threads crept inside like tiny, writhing fingers.
Jenna lifted a piece of bark carefully, revealing what looked like… something inside.
Something pale, shiny, and irregularly shaped.
“I think… oh my God… is that…?” She trailed off.
I leaned in, stomach churning.
It was impossible.
Something long, thin, almost bone-like, half-buried under fungal growth, yet unmistakably organic.
The spores clung to it, wrapping around it, pulsing in rhythm.
It was as though the fungus had claimed it — preserved it.
“Is that… a human…?” Marco breathed.
I wanted to deny it.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
The missing hikers.
Could this be them? Or remnants of them? Somehow… preserved, altered, absorbed.
Suddenly, a rustling echoed behind us.
I whipped around.
Nothing.
Only the endless shadows of the towering redwoods and the fog that curled like ghosts.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” I muttered.
Jenna shook her head.
“No.
We need to see.
We need to know.”
Reluctantly, Marco and I edged closer.
The hollow seemed endless, a small cave of fungal threads pulsing like veins.
And then, almost imperceptibly, the threads twitched.
Moved.
Like muscles.
Something stirred.
I froze.
A whisper of sound slithered through the air — not wind, not an animal, but a soft, almost vocal sigh.
“Did you hear that?” I hissed.
Jenna nodded, eyes wide.
“It’s… calling.”
I wanted to run, scream, anything.
But the next moment, the fungal threads recoiled from the hollow’s center, unveiling… a journal.
A tattered notebook, yellowed with age, partially devoured by mold, yet legible.
Marco grabbed it carefully.
Pages were filled with scribbles, maps, and notes.
Names.
Dates.
The missing hikers’ handwriting.
“They were documenting it,” Jenna whispered.
“The fungus… the tree… they knew something was alive here.
”
I felt a wave of dread.
Alive.
Not alive like a deer or a bird.
Alive in the way something unnatural is alive.
Something that consumed, preserved, and perhaps… hungered.
One page detailed experiments — the hikers had tried to interact, study, and survive the fungus.
Strange marks, symbols, even sketches of the hollow and spiraling growth patterns.
And in the margins, a single warning, scrawled in frantic lettering:
“It sees.
It waits.
Do not touch the heart.”
“What does that mean?” Marco whispered, voice shaking.
Before I could answer, a low hum rose from the hollow.
The spores glowed faintly, almost iridescent, moving in rhythm.
The “heartbeat.
” And then, unmistakable — a voice.
Faint, distorted, like a child speaking through water:
“Leave… now… or join us…”
Jenna stumbled backward, dropping her flashlight.
Its beam flickered across the hollow, illuminating shapes writhing beneath the fungus.
Shadows danced, then solidified into forms — barely human, pale, elongated, entwined with fungal threads.
I realized then with horror: the hikers were here.
Not gone.
Absorbed.
Part of something unnatural.
Preserved, yes, but alive in a way we could not comprehend.
“Run!” I shouted, grabbing Marco and Jenna.
But as we turned, the hollow’s threads surged toward us, glimmering, pulsing, reaching like living fingers.
I tripped.
Marco fell beside me.
Jenna screamed as a strand wrapped around her boot, tugging her toward the hollow.
My hands clawed at the fungus, trying to free her.
My heart pounded.
The voice whispered again, louder this time, almost commanding:
“You should have stayed away…”
And then, as suddenly as it began, the motion stopped.
The hollow was still.
The glowing threads retreated slightly, just enough for us to scramble back into the foggy forest.
Breathing hard, covered in spores and dirt, we ran without looking back.
Hours later, safe near the trailhead, I dared a glance over my shoulder.
The tree stood silent, the infestation dark and foreboding, as if nothing had happened.
But I knew.
I knew what we had seen.
And deep inside me, an awful thought burned: the hikers weren’t gone.
They were still here, somewhere, absorbed into that pulsing, living nightmare.
Waiting.
