u/Kindly_Hope2424

I was never the type to stay at home. Even as a kid I'd go away for days, and that didn't change with age. I blow through money like crazy so camping with barely any gear in the middle of nowhere and cheap holidays to foreign countries were things very dear to me.

Over the years I'd find myself in uncomfortable and dangerous situations, but nothing compares to last week.

Frank, a friend of mine called me one morning, talking about a trip to the Amazon that could end up being free. Aparently a wildlife preservation firm was hosting a paid animal photography contest. The competition was less about the artistry that goes into photography and more about whoever photographs the rarest and biggest animals. As long as either of us did reasonably well, the reward prize would pay off our entire trip, with some to spare.

I'd never refuse that. We scraped together for the cheapest flight to Manaus, I was excited to board, I'd never been in a place like that and neither did Frank. On the flight there, we browsed listings for local tour guides, and secured a middle aged guy who worked construction and was a tour guide on the side.

After landing, I felt the warm yet humid air on my skin, engines rattling and chatter became the constant background noise in Manaus. As soon as we got out and took out the little things we had brought, we went to meet with Paulinho, he talked to us in broken English and seemed amazed at the reason we were there. The midday heat was unbearable, and the hunger crept in too, so we stopped for lunch. Paulinho suggested we drop off our extra gear at his house.

Finally, we set off for our first day of the weeklong competition. The plan was to spend the first night or two at Paulinho's in Manaus before setting off deep into the jungle, sleeping on hammocks and relying on what we could carry to help us make it through the week. This way felt more adventerous, more hardcore. He advised against this, citing vipers, mosquito fever and river currents. After mentioning spirits in the forests and urban legends, Frank looked at me all freaked out, seeming to trust each word he was saying. I was unconvinced. It was more realistic to me that this guy would prefer we just paid him for food and shelter.

Paulinho took us to a small boat near his house on the Amazon. I made sure the cameras were all charged while they loaded the boat. On the river, we were sweating with cameras in hand, while he mentioned that we could get a shot of a Jaguar or a Caiman if we're lucky. That kept us motivated and got us to keep our eyes open. It didn't take long for me to notice that the jungle was bustling with life in all directions, toucans flew in pairs overhead and schools of fish swarmed beneath us.

I managed to snap a few photos. Frank was pointing and yelling at a group of monkeys on the shore nearby, then swearing as they scattered before he got his camera to focus. Paulinho didn't seem at ease, he kept one hand on the motor and smoked with the other, seemed focused at the water and the river banks. I tried to lighten up the mood by asking if he was alright. He said he was fine, just watching out. "People don't always come back home from rides like this, you know?" His tone was way off and It creeped me out even though I was very skeptic of his stories. I asked him what he meant by that. He replied that recently disappearances have been more common than usual, I atributted that to the tourism season. He replied with a scoff. That statement was stuck in my head while he waved his hand around, pointing at the thick brush and the dense jungle, "About a million places something could hide here." I listened intently for the I'll admit, the first time since I've met this man, then asked "Such as what?" He tried to reply but Frank interrupted by yelling "YES! FUCK YES, LOOK AT THAT." He procedeed to show us a photo of a fully grown caiman, bathing in the sun on a tall rock on the shore, for an amateur, Frank sure did nail it this time, and he made sure we know it. The caiman laid on the rock unbothered, like it's on a throne, Paulinho smiled after seeing the photo.

We continued downstream, my eyes were darting from tree trunk to tree trunk, looking for jaguars. I'd gotten my mind off Paulinho's words, feeling uncomfortable to ask again. And instead fantasized about a perfect shot of a mom and cub jaguar. Few bird photos and small talk about wasted football talent later, it was time to turn back. We still had a few hours of daylight, but Paulinho's grim words about getting caught here in the dark made us not want to argue.

Frank was going through the gallery on his camera, visibly satisfied, I was wiping the sweat off my face, picturing a jaguar on the way back, and Paulinho steered the boat around, calmly dragging his cigarette as he'd done a thousand times before. Just then, a sharp sound unlike anything I heard up to that point echoed from the jungle so loud, I visibly flinched. Frank looked up, asking what the fuck that was and Paulinho slowed down for a moment, before shrugging it off as a big bird. Now, I don't know if that explanation was convincing to Frank, but I've heard birds' calls all day and nothing compared to that.

The ride back was quiet, there were less birds and no caimans or monkeys this time, Frank kept bothering Paulinho about it. He settled on the explanation that smaller animals usually scatter when an apex predator is nearby. He advised to keep our eyes open and cameras ready.

Once we got back I took our gear out, while Frank and Paulinho docked the boat. The walk back home was short but felt like a different world compared to the river. I took a shower and collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the flight and the boat ride. After tossing and turning, I fell asleep.

This is the part I feel the most guilty about. The next morning, despite Paulinho's pleads and Frank's on the fence attitude, I insisted we head inside the jungle alone. Paulinho talked about how easy it was for even locals to get lost in the jungle, much less two tourists, how a snake bite in the grass is a death sentence and a million other warnings. Frank was eager to stay, especially after Paulinho offered a discount. But I was sure. We ended up going.

Paulinho wished us luck and told us about a store where we could get more gear and food. We packed up and parted our ways. That very morning we bought hammocks, medicine for insect bites, strongest flashlights available, a pair of machetes and all the food and drinks we could carry.

The transition from city to jungle was something you could feel, shadows loomed over us, making us feel like ants. I thought the humidity inside the city was bad, until I've seen this. Vines crept down all around us and there were flowers and fruits in just about every color you can imagine. A feeling of sticking out and being exposed lingered, but I shrugged it off.

We were squeezing through the thinning footpaths before having to resort to carving our own path with machetes. We would take turns, stopping to listen. Frank took over so I could rest, glancing back, our path was already dissapearing behind us. He hacked our way through the forest, then said wait. I looked down. Pawprints. They were deep and wide, catlike. The prints led us to the right, towards the river. We lowered our voices and made sure to use our machetes only when we had to. Frank saw it first, there it was, our perfect shot. A fully grown jaguar on a little clearing by the river shore. We both snapped photos but were unsatisfied. Most of it's body was hidden by branches and trees. We slowly creeped in closer, and tried to get a better picture. Then it started walking away, not running, not chasing anything, just walking, as if aware it's untouchable.

We followed quietly, ocassionaly snapping pictures, none of which turned out well. It led us through a thinner part of the jungle where we didn't have to hack as much. After what felt like hours of this cat and mouse game where we tried to be as quiet as possible, yet as close as possible, we finally took some good photos, from around 30 meters away, and with most of the beast in shot, Frank urged me to turn back, as we were deep inside the jungle, and niether of us paid close atenttion to the path we took. He was worried we would get lost, but I of course didn't have enough, I wanted to get even closer. Promising we would turn back soon, I kept going.

Then we heard it again, the same shriek, this time it came from the other side of the river. Frank gasped, "Same thing?" The jaguar stopped in it's tracks, then changed direction away from the river, picking it's pace up. Far away as it was, it still echoed loud enough to drown all the sounds of the jungle. My eyes focused on the jaguar again, which was too far for us to track any longer. Just as Frank turned around to leave, there it was again. This time the shriek came from our side of the river, it's impossible to pin point exactly how far away it was, it was even louder this time. My hair stood up, and Frank looked like he saw a ghost. The jaguar didn't hesitate, it turned and ran. Not the way it did before, this time it was a clumsy panicked sprint straight through the brush. It was gone in seconds.

Frank was ready to take off back the way we came from, he grabbed my hand, "We're leaving. Now." I didn't respond. I had to find out what it was, I had to take a picture. But Frank wasn't budging this time. "There's no way you're serious. I'm leaving." After some back and forward arguing, we realized that we're the only sound in the jungle. Even the bugs were silent. The only thing you could hear was the Amazon's waves crashing on the shore. He started walking back the way we came from quickly, and I crouched in some tall grass. Eyes focused in the direction the screech last sounded. Few minutes later, footsteps. More then one. approaching.

I put the camera on the shaky stand and started filming in the direction of the sound. The footsteps stopped, all at once. Animals weren't that coordinated. Then started again, this time, faster then before. Towards our path, towards my hiding spot. I felt hunted. I lied down. Held my breath. I heard them directly infront of me, once stopped, more behind me. Then to the left. Whatever it was was all around me. All movement suddenly stopped. And then the most deafening shriek I've heard all my life. I exhaled reflexively, my body twitched and one of my eardrums ruptured. It made me nauseous. My hand gripped the machete as hard as it could. Then back to silence.

I tensed my body in pain, but wouldn't dare make a sound. Then the camera fell down, or I think it did. The ringing in my ears made it hard to tell. That was followed by clicking noises. The clicking only ramped up. Short pauses and varied pitch. A series of clicks in front. Moment of silence. Then more clicking behind me. Amidst the footsteps, a patch of grass shifted right next to my face. I heard breathing right above me. Closed my eyes. The footsteps gradually got further away. Then gathered right next to me again. Then sprinted towards our footpath. I could breathe again. I lied there unmoving for a long time. Watched the sun move over the sky. Afraid to move. Afraid that the slightest twitch would be replied to with another deafening shriek and footsteps again. The bugs returned and eventually I got up. Still holding the machete I looked around. Nothing. I stared at the camera and debated if I even wanted to know what was there.

I fast forwarded the beggining of the footage, until the built in microphone started picking up sound. It had gotten close. I skipped more. There was a shadow on the grass. It was unclear. It appeared slim. One of it's hands looked like it was holding something. The shadow showed a round hollow object. The footsteps died down. It moved out of view at this point. Then the shriek. I could barely endure hearing it again. Few moments later, movement resumed, the shadow turned back and brought a tail to view. It was thick at the base and got thinner as it went. It didn't look like any other tail I'd ever seen. The camera knocked over, facing the sky. Only the clicking remained for the rest of the recording.

I knew it went through the trail Frank and I made. I heard it go that way. But I had to follow. All the other directions led deeper into the jungle. I could only hope I don't run into it. I was worried about Frank. I walked for hours, struggling to stay on track. Just before nightfall there was something weird. In a few places there were Frank's bootprints. They were deep, then it looked like he slipped. Then I saw more. Right on the trail, a mixture of prints left by his boots and others I can't explain properly. They cut across one another and hid their shape in the dug dirt. His machete was there, contrasting the greenery. I cautiously got close. The same one as mine, undeniably Frank's. He would still need it to get back. My gaze followed the prints. Something dragged from the trail briefly, then nothing. I almost missed his backpack in the jungle, far out, but I could still see it on the grass, abandoned. I wanted to call out his name, afraid that he went in the wrong direction, but I wouldn't dare provoke another screech. Time was running out. There was nowhere else to go. I moved forward, there were no other prints.

I fell to my knees after getting to a point that was way too familiar. A tree trunk I was sure I passed before. It was as if the jungle itself wouldn't let me leave. Night fell, I still had a long way back, and there I was circling around. I buried my face in my hands. I marked the trunk. I tried to get around in the moonlight, cutting my arms and legs on the sharp branches carved on our way here. I took out the flashlight. Just as it clicked, the bugs got quiet. Not fully, but enough to feel wrong.

I put it on the lowest setting. Something shifted. It was just out of the light. I shined in that direction. Nothing, just a tree thick enough to stand out even here. My ruptured eardrum and constant ringing in the other made it hard to tell but I could swear I heard footsteps from the side, walking at the same tempo as mine. When I stop, they stop. I went faster, they caught up. From the other side, another pair. And then, Click. It made me freeze in my tracks. They stopped too, after a delay. Soon there were more footprints. And clicks. Series of clicks rattled from different directions. They didn't overlap. I noticed that stopping wasn't making them quiet down any longer. I didn't look. Didn't shine my flashlight. Just walked ahead.

Something leapt behind a big stone that was right next to the path. I flinched. I heard scraping. The clicking got frantic. My fingers twitched and body got tense again. I couldn't keep going. But I couldn't stop. So I dropped my bag and ran off the trail in the direction it sounded like there were the least of them. The brush was too dense for the flashlight to help. Sounds of leaps towards me cut through the air. My foot caught on a root. I slipped and lost my flashlight and machete. Just as I was scrambling to stay on my feet my whimpering was replied to with a click so close, it left the smell of breath on my face. I turned my head away, trying to run, just for a sharp tail to pierce my ribcage the very next moment. I lay helpless, blood filling my lungs as I locked eyes with something that shouldn't exist, and saw the jungle isn't empty, even when it's silent.