It was a moonless night, lit up only by the headlights of the car as it bounced down a hole-filled road. The day had been long, dominated by a hike to a gorgeous picnic spot half-way up a mountain. Certainly, an eight-year-old such as she should be tired at this point. And she was, but she couldn’t sleep.

Not with those yellow eyes staring at her.

Her thirteen-year-old sister was next to her, earbuds in, head back, mouth open. She occasionally let out a snore, oblivious to the world outside her dreams and music. Their three-year-old brother was on the other side of her sister, sleeping peacefully in his little car seat.

hose eyes weren’t looking at them, but right at her.

Her mother was curled up in the passenger seat, the gray streaks in her hair barely visible. Her father was driving, a hulking shadow in the darkness. They were chit-chatting quietly. “Dinner was really great. We should take your mother there.” “I think she actually worked there once.” “Really?” “I think. I know she was a waitress here, just can’t remember which restaurant.” “Do you think she fed the dog?” “Of course. She loves that thing almost as much as she loves the kids.”

The simplicity of adult conversation usually fascinated her, and she tried to focus on it. But those eyes. They were so bright. Were they eyes? Occasionally they disappeared, as if whoever– or whatever– they belonged to had turned its head to focus on the path ahead. And then they were back.

Whatever they belonged to, it easily kept up. The car wasn’t moving very fast down the winding road, but nothing should’ve kept up with it. Right?

It’s an animal. I’m just panicking.

Her father accidentally hit another bump, jolting the car. Her sister snorted and then turned her head, not even bothering to open her eyes.

Maybe I’m imagining it.

Her mother turned to check on them. “Aren’t you tired, honey?”

She was. They had hiked up a trail for two hours, then sat and picnicked for an hour before making the descent. Then fishing and swimming before supper at a restaurant with a gorgeous view of the mountain. They had overstayed since her father had ran into old friends, but she had enjoyed listening to the stories from their youth.

But she couldn’t sleep. Not with those eyes staring at her.

She shrugged and turned back to look out the window. The eyes were gone. They stayed gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was an animal or her imagination after all…

Her father suddenly slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward. Her brother woke with a cry and her sister with a cuss.

“What the hell?” Her sister demanded, taking out her earbuds. Then she screamed.

Staring in the beams of the headlights was a thing. A monster. It looked like a hairless gorilla, but taller and thinner. Its arms were long, brushing the ground, and the nails on its hands and feet were talon-like and covered in dirt (she hoped that it was only dirt).

Its eyes were yellow.

It stared at them for what seemed like an eternity. The car was quiet, save for her brother’s whimpers. Then the monster turned and meandered off, its curiosity sated. They sat in that car for a few minutes, staring out the windshield in shocked silence. Then, slowly, her father started to drive back to their camp.

Needless to say, no one slept that night.